A Ride to the Farm

(L to R: Benjamin, Tricia, Emery, Kristian, Russ, Mom & Dad)

Since most of the family was in for Christmas, we decided to load up and drove to the farm in Oberlin in the late afternoon after lunch.  It was a remarkably beautiful day, and we drove around and visited and brought up many good memories.  The farm is leased out to a farmer who grows rice and crawfish.  Dad still goes out every day and checks on the wells and changes the oil.

There have been lots of changes in farming over the past decade or so.  Many of the irrigation well engines are being converted from diesel power to electric.  Also, our farm borders the northern area of rice growing region in Louisiana.  Because of that the land isn't as flat as rice land further south.  An effort is being made to laser level the land and take out levees, resulting in larger, flatter cuts within the fields.  An instrument is used to level and large tractors with dirt buckets move mass quantities of dirt with precision.  When done, the land is as flat as a pool table.  This makes irrigation very efficient as you can pump exactly 3 inches of water across the entire field.  In old days, you may have 3 inches of water on one end and 9 inches on the other.

The size and cost of equipment will blow your mind.  It enables fewer people to work more acres, but it also means that your capital investment is very high, which presents serious problems when commodity prices are low.  One other change that we marveled at was that a farm just to the north of our land that we rented to farm was planted in pine trees and they've grown.  Fields that we planted soybeans and rice on are now forest land.  It's totally unrecognizable.  Time sure flies.  Nothing stays the same, it seems.

We passed by the old graveyard with the huge live oak where we'd park in the shade and eat our lunch each day while listening to Paul Harvey.  We drove down gravel roads where Louisiana iris grew wild in the ditches.  In the photo above directly behind us toward the woods was our first crawfish pond.  My grandpa bought me some traps and an aluminum boat that I would pull way back in the early 1980's before farm-raised crawfish (versus Atchafalaya Basin crawfish) took off.  We were early pioneers in the crawfish industry, catching and selling crawfish locally for boils.  Now the boats are primarily motorized and manned by labor brought in from foreign countries to run.

What memories!  As we rode around and talked, and so many sentences began with "Hey, remember in that field we..."  Some of the old landmarks are gone and much of the technology has changed, but our love for the land has not.  The farm is part of me and love for agriculture and all things pastoral and dealing with seeds and dirt flows in my veins and remains a integral part of who I am.

An Afternoon Out at the Farm

Last Saturday I got to thinking that before long it will be hot and humid.  The mosquitoes would be attacking and summer would be on.  We'd better enjoy the nice weather while we could.  I loaded up my smoker and all the accoutrements for a picnic and headed to Oberlin.  Dad and Mom agreed to meet Tricia, me and Benjamin at the farm on the old homeplace.  We got the smoker going and we sat out in lawn chairs and visited.  The weather was nice, but it was a little windy. 

The menu for the day was smoked meatloaf, smoked macaroni 'n cheese, and salad with strawberries and walnuts.  Here is the meatloaf right when it is going on the smoker.

I must admit, we were ready to eat when it came off so I didn't get an 'after' shot.  However, I've linked the recipe from a previous post in 2021:  Recipe for smoked meatloaf  I like it.

The old live oak tree could tell a lot of stories I'm sure.  I remember 50 years ago climbing up in its branches covered in resurrection fern.  It was huge back then.  No telling how old it is.  It has had a big hole in the middle of it for as long as I can remember.  When I was younger, we watched a mama red fox raise her babies in the hole of the live oak.

Right behind the old oak was where the old homeplace was.  That's where my grandpa was raised.  There was a water well off to the side of the house and a big persimmon tree that made big orange persimmons we'd eat.

Here is the macaroni and cheese about to go in the smoker.  The mac 'n cheese only needs to go on the smoker for an hour or so.

Here it is coming out of the smoker.  Delicious!  We gobbled it down. 

With everything off the smoker, it was time to eat.  Dad moved his truck to block off the wind and we set up the table right next to it and began to eat.

We visited until the sun went down.  By then the smoker had cooled down and we could load it in the back of the car and drive back to Jennings.  What a peaceful, relaxing, and enjoyable day spent with people you love and good food.

Simple Saturday in the South

On Saturday in Late November 2020, we woke up to a beautiful day.  We took care of a couple of items on our project list that we've been wanting to knock off the list.  Although the weather was beautiful, it was still a little warm with the temperature being 77 degrees.  That doesn't exactly seem like fall, but oh well.

Right after lunch we decided to get in the pickup truck and drive out to the farm.  It's a 30 minute drive to the farm.  We live in the country on our little homestead, but Oberlin, Louisiana is even further in the country.  On the way, we stopped off in a small town called Elton.  Elton boasts a good little specialty meat market called "Mr. T's."  We got some smoked boudin and boudin balls and some root beer and continued on our journey.

Upon arriving at the farm, we filled the water trough for the cows and walked across the pasture to the gully and watched a bunch of striped-head turtles swim in the muddy water.  The irrigation well droned on in the background, pumping water to fill the crawfish ponds.  It was quiet.  We walked through the old pecan orchard that my great-grandfather planted.  One of the old pecan trees succumbed to Hurricane Laura.

It lay tragically on its side, uprooted by the strong south winds of the hurricane's fury.  I have on my list of things to buy is a good chainsaw.  Once I make that purchase, we'll cut the tree up and split the wood for firewood.  It'll keep us stocked up for years.  Sad, though.  These trees stood tall and strong for years and years.

There is another old tree, however, that remains standing - the old live oak tree.  It is literally hundreds of years old.  I reckon this tree could probably tell some stories about the changes it's seen and storms it has weathered.  Its strong limbs stretch out, coming close to the ground and then reach back upward again.  Some of the limbs have bark that is smooth like grass.  The cows like to rub their backs on the limbs, polishing the bark in the process to a glossy shine.

Benjamin had climbed high up into the tree like I used to do when I was his age and much younger.

The live oak has a hole on one side and has been like this for as long as I can remember.  It doesn't appear to have weakened the tree.  At one time, I remember, a momma red fox had a den at the base of this tree and raised some little ones.

The cows came running to meet us - all 16 momma cows and 15 calves.  They're pretty tame.  They were expecting some feed, but we didn't bring any with us.  Mom and Dad drove up in Dad's pickup truck.  We let the tailgates down and sat down and visited for a long time, waving as people drove by slowly on the country road in front of the old home place.  It seemed everyone had the same idea.  It was a nice afternoon to relax and not do anything in particular.

As the afternoon faded into late afternoon, the sun cast long shadows across the landscape, taking in the beauty of God's creation made me thankful a full five days prior to Thanksgiving.

I'm thankful for a simple country life - thankful for a place to enjoy the afternoon without Covid, without politics, without stress, without phones ringing - just peace, quiet, and simplicity.  My kinda place.

Cows Back on the Farm

We've had cows on the farm in Oberlin far as long as I can remember.  My grandfather always had them and Dad kept the tradition going.  After a calf crop we'd bring them to the Sale Barn in Kinder.  It is a good way to create a very modest income stream coming off of the farm.  This past year the fence around the pasture fell into disrepair.  The cows were always getting out on the road and Dad would get calls from the Sheriff's Department regarding cows on the road.  It is a dangerous situation as cars hitting a 1000 pound plus animal is never a good thing. 

We sold our existing herd and for months the pasture grew grass almost neck-deep with no cows to eat it.  There was no bovines loose on Cottongin Road.  No moo's to be heard.  That changed two weeks ago.  Dad and I decided to go in halves on a much smaller herd - 16 momma cows, to be exact.  They are all black cows - two year old heifers that are five months pregnant.  After Christmas lunch, we drove out to the farm in Oberlin to look at 'em.

They were all bunched up, eating grass, when we came upon them...

They stared at us, curiously, with grass hanging out of their mouths.

All sixteen cows were in the pecan orchard.  It was planted by my great grandfather many years ago.  The old family homestead was located directly behind where the cows are standing.

The cows are all fat and conditioned well.  The grass in the pasture has been burned by the freeze, but underneath the top layer, it is still green and full of nutrition for the cows as they prepare for delivery in four months.  I mentioned they are all black cows - two of them are baldies.  I like the way this one holds her head high with pride.

And this one has a white face with black circles around her eyes.

It is nice to have livestock back on the farm.  In the Spring, hopefully we'll have 16 baby calves on the ground.  Spring calves are a joy to behold as they run around the pasture with tails in the air.  Currently, electric fencing powered by a solar charger keeps the cows where they should be.  We will have a work day or two to fix the fences so that we don't have to worry about cows out on the road.  Where's the Beef?  Well, it's back on the farm!

The Old Oak Tree

TREES

by: Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

 THINK that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

 

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

 

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

 

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Read more at http://www.poetry-archive.com/k/trees.html#FRhWsPH5yLBwAsHc.99

Joyce Kilmer wrote a simple poem that most everyone knows that perfectly describes trees.  What most people don't know is that Joyce was a man.  I can't say that I've ever heard of another guy named Joyce.  I was thinking that Joyce must have been a tough fellow to have grown up being named Joyce.  I can only imagine the teasing and ridicule he received on the playground.

Turns out, if you read here you can learn that he was indeed a man.  A hero, in fact. Joyce died at the young age of 31 in France in World War 1:

During the Second Battle of Marne there was heavy fighting throughout the last days of July 1918. On 30 July 1918, Kilmer volunteered to accompany Major William "Wild Bill" Donovan (later, in World War II, the founder of theOffice of Strategic Services, forerunner to the Central Intelligence Agency) when Donovan's battalion (1–165th Infantry) was sent to lead the day's attack.

During the course of the day, Kilmer led a scouting party to find the position of a German machine gun. When his comrades found him, some time later, they thought at first that he was peering over the edge of a little hill, where he had crawled for a better view. When he did not answer their call, they ran to him and found him dead. According to Father Francis P. Duffy: “A bullet had pierced his brain. His body was carried in and buried by the side of Ames. God rest his dear and gallant soul.” A sniper's bullet likely killed him immediately. According to military records, Kilmer died on the battlefield near Muercy Farm, beside the Ourcq River near the village of Seringes-et-Nesles, in France, on 30 July 1918 at the age of 31. For his valor, Kilmer was posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre (War Cross) by the French Republic.

Kilmer was buried in the Oise-Aisne American Cemetery and Memorial, near Fere-en-Tardenois, Aisne, Picardy, France. A cenotaph erected to his memory is located on the Kilmer family plot in Elmwood Cemetery, in New Brunswick, New Jersey. A memorial mass was held at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan on 14 October 1918.

The reason I started thinking about Mr. Kilmer's poem is regarding a story I'm going to tell you about an old live oak tree at the farm in Oberlin.  Here is a picture of it:

The Old Oak at Durio Cemetery

The old oak's limbs hang low and provide shade for the cows in the pasture as well as being a back rub for them.  The live oak is a fixture in the Southwest corner of the family cemetery and has been there for a couple hundred years, I'm sure.

The Old Live Oak at Durio Cemetery in Oberlin

It's limbs stretch out heaven-ward and birds and squirrels nest in them and raise their young.  Since Durio Cemetery is on a secluded back road, many kisses have been shared beneath those branches on Friday and Saturday nights.

The branches of the old oak

But our story today isn't all happy and romantic.  There is trouble in paradise.  The tree has split down the middle.  If you click on this link: Weathering the storms of life you can read (and see photos) about how we were successful in saving the big live oak at our house that had a similar, albeit not as serious, problem.  This tree's prognosis isn't as bright & cheery.  Unfortunately, it's going to have to come down.

Terminal tree trouble

You see, the heavy limbs of the tree have fallen on some of the older graves that lie beneath its sheltering limbs, damaging the old graves by the sheer weight.  Although the live oak tree is still alive, it is sickly and shows signs of rot and as the situation worsens, the entire east side of the tree threatens to come crashing down.

A grave situation

Dad and the Cemetery Commission met to discuss ways of salvaging the old oak and sadly, there's no saving it.  It will have to be cut down and moved to the pasture where we'll limb it, cut it up, and split it.  The limbs whose shade has provided shade and a respite from the heat for generations of the past will now be used to provide warmth for generations in the future.  Interesting how things change.

The Old Rugged Cross and Old Glory beneath the Old Oak

You can click the link here and read the names and see the graves and learn about the people buried here at Durio Cemetery. Most are my ancestors.  Some were born way back in the early 1800's and several tombstones mark the grave sites of soldiers in the Louisiana Infantry back in the Civil War.  It's a peaceful place of rest and it is quite sad that the shade you see in the photos above and below will no longer be providing a covering for the tombstones.  Some of the tombstones are old and crumbling.  Some of them are 'homemade' with names and dates scrawled into the wet cement before it dried.

A final place of rest

Sort of a sad and somber post, but I wanted to capture it in pictures and words before its gone.  Oh, we'll plant another tree there, but I don't have 200 years to see the glory of the replacement tree, and like Joyce Kilmer says, "Only God can make a tree."