Thursday 26 May 2022

The Unseen of Farm Life




In agritourism (agricultural tourism) one often sees the best aspects of a farm. You know; The cute cuddly full of personality animals and the tall green healthy stalks of a happy garden.



Not commonly seen is the pile of dirty unwashed equipment, the ever growing manure pile, the hours of work put into starting seeds that didn’t grow, and the most hidden but ever prevalent….


Death 



Where life is abundant so is death. On my social media or at a farm event you will see the cute animals of our farm having a good time. You won’t see the massacre ravens left after killing thirty of our chickens for fun or the remains of a Pekin duck taken out by a raccoon. We have five healthy baby goats but there was a baby goat that didn’t make it. Death happens, and sometimes because of the frequency I can get rather numb to it. 


But that numbness doesn’t apply to all the animals at the farm and I am testament to that! This past week 
my gosling died.


What’s worse is our puppy killed it…



Getting a gosling was not my idea, Aiden kind of just brought home the little bugger and because of its age it had to spend the nights in the cabin. At first I was like, “Great, one more creature to look after!” However, I fell in love with it and it imprinted rather strongly on me following me around and laying at my feet. Aiden’s son named it Dino Doug. The puppy Nyx and Dino were in the house together and although the puppy would chase him now and then, Dino always managed to find away to fit somewhere that the puppy couldn’t.


The accident occurred while I was breast feeding. Dino Doug had been spending most of his days in our front field forging. Occasionally, he would slip through the fence and come into our yard but if the puppy was in the yard he tended to stay in the field. Usually if they had an interaction I would hear Dino’s cries for help and would rush out and make sure he had got away or call the puppy off of him. I don’t know if the puppy got him further away from the house or if I snoozed in the middle of feeding the baby and didn’t hear the commotion….

I laid the baby down for her nap and went outside to check on the pets. Nyx stared up at me wagging her tail with my gosling gutted all across the yard. 


It was like being in a really bad dream. A sound exploded from my frame and I chucked a rock at Nyx howling with furry and falling on my knees. I sobbed, I ugly cried, I screamed up at the sky and at the dog and at myself, and repeated “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Over and over again to my goose. I was alone, no one else was at the farm. I called at least four people before finally getting Aiden’s parents on the phone asking if they could come over. I felt like I might kill the dog if she kept staring at me; And in my state of complete shock, horror, and grief I didn’t feel competent to care for my own baby. 


They came and I spilled out my thoughts, emotions, and unprocessed feelings to Aiden’s Dad (who is a councillor) while I stroked Dino’s mangled frame. We then proceeded to bury him in the field where Dino so loved to forge. 



It was a rather surreal experience while Aiden’s Dad dug the grave for me. I stood there in the field with Dino wrapped in a blanket clutched to my chest. I still felt chills of emotion rush through me, tears still welled in my eyes, but the initial shock had worn off. On the horizon dark storm clouds had formed but behind me I could feel the sun and it lit up the field with a warm ambience. The sheep, calf, and piglets continued their grazing and it was like nothing had happened. 


Life went on….


Life goes on; I grieved but also knew from previous experience that just because one creature dies the others don’t stop living. I let myself fully feel the moment of terror, pain, and grief as I lay my beautiful goose to rest…


Then I let him and all the pain go. Life goes on, and so must I. Life is full of darkness but also full of light. 



The unseen of farming is part of what you see in those of us who do it. It is the ability for those of us who farm to move on and to continue cultivating life.