Phil was finishing his morning chores, and I had just started breakfast when Butch came up in the tractor. "Your cattle are out in the field next to mine," he said. "They aren't doing any harm, so there's no hurry, but I thought you should know."
Without knowing how many were out, we figured it would be good to feed everyone before we went to drive the cattle.
Phil quickly found the breakout place. A small section of electric line was only about two feet above grade due to a natural rise in the terrain. Then, incredibly, a tree limb had fallen on that precise spot, which both shorted out the electric line and offered a free pass to all who wanted to traverse the barrier.
Our original five cows were all still in the pen, periodically bawling. The five calves, plus Snowman the bull and Catherine the stubborn, had all wandered through forest and across path to reach the neighbor's hay field. Butch has a small view of the field from his house, and must have noticed the seven red cows against the brilliant green field.
They knew they had been naughty. We approached them: Phil in front with the kelp, and I from behind, pushing them. It is a bit odd to interact with Snowman in a completely unprotected environment, but, as always, he was a complete gentleman, and acted as he should, without a hint of aggressive behavior.
I was also thrilled to see him sniff Catherine's backside. She gave birth 82 days ago, so she is right about ready for breeding back (most dairies expect 60 to 90 days).
Though the cows tried evasive action once, in which we got them all headed in roughly the right direction before they ducked back into the hay field, it didn't take us that long to drive them home. The reunion of cows was a happy occasion, and the whole process went quite smoothly, really. I helped Phil set the next paddock and pull up the old one, and we moved the water trailer. And with all that, I was still back to the house just before 11am.
Phil spent the afternoon lumberjacking. After a few hours in the lower pasture, he came up: he had hung up a large tree on another one: it had started to fall almost exactly where he wanted it to go, but had caught on another tree way up at the top.
Unfortunately, he wanted to use the caught tree. And he planned to down the tree it was stuck on. Furthermore, he had other downed trees for lumber underneath the leaning tree. So, basically, the entire lower pasture ground to a halt until the leaning tree landed on the ground.
After some internet research to confirm his ideas about how to proceed, he went back down. First, he cut through the last tiny bit of bark and tree, to ensure it was fully free to fall.
Then he looped a sling around the trunk a few times, and connected the sling to the tractor.
He used the tractor to pull the tree. Isaiah and I watched as the tree turned a bit, again and again. But the tractor would go a bit, and then stop. Phil would back up and try another angle. I prayed that the Lord's strength would help push the tree.
After multiple attempts, he stopped and we went to look. The tree had certainly moved over on the stump!
Phil tried to dislodge it manually, laughing at himself for even attempting such a feat. He didn't dislodge it, but he did shake it, which I thought was pretty impressive.
Back on the tractor for more of the same. Phil said later he was just about to give up when
the tree fell.
Marvelous.
We celebrated.
I am glad Phil planned to cut down the tree it had stuck on. The branches on its side were entirely stripped by the fall of its companion.
For now, the tree stands alone, for another day.
This day, too, ended only after adrenaline-pumping, dangerous tasks were met and overcome.
***
In less dramatic news, the trees are turning gold.
The collection of already safely cut logs rests in a row in the lower pasture, waiting for the sawmill.
I see new fungi every day. Someday I plan to learn about mushrooms, but for now I enjoy their incredibly diverse colors, shapes, and sizes. The orange is especially appropriate for October, I think.
The bees have chewed through the paper between hives, leaving a soft wood pulp beneath the hive.
Abraham loves his "fur" lined booties. He calls them his rocket boots, and does amazing feats against imaginary enemies.
A productive, pleasant day.
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