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Guest Column by Mark Bernard

 

This past week at the ranch ushered in the new year and with it some ringing out the old as well as trying to keep some of it.

For instance, our resident male cardinal decided it was a good idea to fly into the pole shed, noisily chirping while flying between rafters. The cats watched his every move. Even with the overhead doors being partially open, he refused to leave. I opened the south door all the way up and hoped for the best. By evening chore time he was nowhere to be found, so I wasn’t positive if he’d made it out or had become cat food. The next morning he was back in his usual spot chirping at me, so at least that was a relief.

I catch a lot of flak from my wife, Mrs. Cheviot, about my chore time apparel, in particular my chore coat. Granted, I am not nattily attired, although my main goal is to stay warm. Besides, the sheep really don’t care if I look like a fashion plate. As long as they get food on their plate, er, in their manger, that’s their primary concern. The coat is just going to get dirty and ripped up anyway, so what’s the point?

I come by it honestly, however. My mom used to wear some pretty interesting getups back in the day.

The military coveralls she wore had to be my favorites. When they became ripped or torn, she would get out the sewing machine to patch them up and get some more mileage out of them. The process repeated itself many times over the years.

I finally relented and grudgingly swapped my good old chore coat out for its replacement. Even I had to admit, the chore coat had perhaps seen better days. An old seed corn jacket, it was greasy, dirty, as well as ripped and torn on the quilted sleeves revealing the batting. The pockets also dangled like oriole nests out the front in plain view. It served me well and, amazingly enough, the zipper still worked. The coat’s replacement was one I’d worn for many years for work, heavy duty and just plain heavy. The cuffs on the sleeves were becoming tattered so for wearing in public, it probably needed to be replaced.

Certainly nothing a little duct tape wouldn’t cure. Best of all, I shouldn’t have to wash it. Just wearing it to the barn every day anyway. At least the zipper on the hooded sweatshirt I wear under it is broken.

Don’t you love it when you make what appear to be wise investments? Last winter, for me, it was a cab for the 656 so I wouldn’t freeze to death while bucketing snow. Earlier this winter I bumbled across an old (new to me) snow blower a friend had that he wanted to divest of. After having neighbor mechanic Jon go through it to get it operational, I tried it out on some leftover wet snow. It worked great and, while the tractor on it isn’t overpowering, it’ll get the job done.

That was back in early December. In the back of my mind I suspected purchasing a blower would likely mean I wouldn’t have to use it. So far, so good. I told some neighbors about my good fortune and they offered to take up a collection so I could buy one every year. I should probably buy a lottery ticket while I’m at it.

Remember, Confucius say agronomist have rye wit.

Mark Bernard and his wife raise a nationally competitive flock of Border Cheviot sheep on their farm. He also writes columns for the NRHEG Star Eagle.