Farm Impressions #3

Monday made wrestling the goats over the weekend seem preferable.

Up at 5 and down to the barn. Chores and milking as usual. Four hours. Back to the farmhouse to shower and change into clean clothes. Can’t have poop clothes in the cheese room. Prepare and cook breakfast: eggs I collected and sausage from former goats. Cheese of course. All of that in a half hour and then it’s back to the cheese room.

LP the cheese maker is like the Mr. Miyagi of cheese. No more breaks. Just scrubbing and brushing and sanitizing while he makes cheese and leaves me for hours without instruction. Then comes back all flustered and gives me more orders. Then leaves. After six hours of that it’s back to the farmhouse to change out of my soaking wet, bleach and mold reeking cheese clothes. Poop clothes back on and then it’s down to the barn for round two of chores. Finished around 7pm. Dinner. Tried to play video games but fell asleep. Tuesday and Wednesday were exactly the same. I’m exhausted. Every muscle in my arms and back feels weak and achy. I feel raw and beautiful. Fuck that taxi seat. This is what my body is for. But can I keep it up for six more months? I’m going to need more calories.

Today is my birthday! I’m here on the farm. First week. Fifth day. The first day in thirty years or so, that my mom didn’t wake me up with The Beatles ‘Birthday’. When I wasn’t living at home I’d get a call wherever I was and when I picked up the phone I’d hear nothing but the needle hitting the record and then the song in my ear. Eventually my mom would start singing along into the phone. I’ll admit, there were a lot of mornings that I didn’t want to be woken up. I was annoyed at my mother’s yearly persistence. Now I could stab myself in the neck, I want that call so badly.

A. and my step-dad remembered. They called and left birthday wishes. My father will remember sometime this week or next and call me. I guess that’s what I get. I never remember anyone’s birthday.

In honor of my birthday, HJ and JM invited me to their house for dinner. HJ asked me what kind of beer I liked. Anything I said. I was excited as I haven’t had a good beer in over four days! I showered quickly after chores and headed over with a lightness in my step.

There are two houses on the farm. The original farmhouse and a more recently built home separated by fields and a small stretch of road that cuts through the property. HJ and JM live in the newer house. I live with LP the cheese maker in the original farm house. It’s over a hundred years old and has been added to over the years. At first the house was a two room cabin. Just the kitchen and a room above. The original web-choked staircase remains behind a door in the corner. The ceiling in the kitchen seems a foot or two too short.

At some pointed a proper house was added on. Living room, dining room, three bedrooms upstairs plus a bathroom. I’ve settled into the largest of the bedrooms. The window looks out on the road and a small shed, the forest beyond. My room has a built-in shelf perfect for my HD projector which I brought along with my PS3 to play video games after my hard days of work. A little piece of home.

Unfortunately the upstairs bathroom is the only one in the house. I have to share it with LP the cheese maker. He leaves his underwear on the floor and hairs in the sink and all his toiletry shit all over the place. Not to mention, he’s kind of my boss. Who wants to run into their boss on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night?

I arrived at my birthday dinner. Beer! Where’s my birthday beer!?

HJ pulled a can of Rolling Rock from a 24-pack in the fridge. My heart plopped into my stomach. If I’m getting drunk on my birthday, I’d rather do it on three or four high alcohol beers than the fifteen or so Rolling Rocks it would require. But a gift is a gift. I accepted it gladly. Any beer goes well with a hard day’s work.

LP the cheese maker joined us at HJ and JM’s house. HJ was holding the baby in the dining room. I was in the kitchen, already grabbing my second beer. LP whispered to me, “Babies weird me out. They remind me of creepy old men. They look at me like they know what I’m thinking.”

In addition to cooking the meal, JM baked a birthday cake for me from scratch. Goat cheese icing. It made me feel so damn welcome. Like I was part of the family now. Part of the farm already.

But, really, we didn’t know each other. LP the cheese maker had only been there a month more than I. No one knew what to say. We sat silent around the table sipping our beers. The baby gurgled and smacked at the air. It wasn’t until HJ finally broke out the whiskey that the conversation came alive. At least for me and HJ. JM took the baby into the living room. LP was falling asleep at the table with his chin in his hands. HJ and I talked farming. He broke out a three-ring binder with photocopies of relevant essays and articles. “Required reading.” He said and handed me four separately stapled handouts. Three were by Wendell Berry. I grabbed the articles and as many Rolling Rocks as I could carry cradled in my shirt and pockets and headed for home.

Tried to get drunk sitting on the porch listening to an owl but I was too tired and had to go to bed. Another birthday done. They come faster and faster, adding urgency to life. By the time I’m done here, I’ll be halfway to another one. And still no closer to owning real estate.