The 7-year-old visitor wrinkled her nose.
She had a question.
“Is this what you call country living?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I like it,” she said.
“Me, too.”
And here’s why.
Yogi Berra said, “You can observe a lot just by watching.” In “country living,” there’s so much to observe, such as:
▪ Curious George, our 300-pound llama, enjoys chasing our 1,500-pound mule around the pasture. The comedy ends when Maggie brays, “Enough of this.” And she starts kicking. The observation makes me laugh.
▪ Two black fox squirrels hang out in our yard. The other day, a divebombing mockingbird had one of the ebony squirrels hightailing it for the woods. Mockingbirds are a fussy bunch, but I like their brassiness. I especially enjoy observing them chase crows.
▪ Pam first observed this and called me. A mama fox and her two kits were at our front door, as if they were coming for a visit. I circled the house in my truck and snapped a photo. Cute, but I know these critters are rabies-prone.
▪ This time of year, the purple martins put on a show. If I’m near their condo on a pole, I stop and observe their aerial antics. They make me smile.
▪ We have an occasional visitor down by the lake, but I look for it every day. And when I observe the bald eagle—perched on top of the dead pine tree—I always take a few minutes, Yogi, to watch and wonder where it will go next.
▪ Once we had a small herd of Belted Galloway cows, nothing more than pasture ornaments. Today we “have” the best cows ever. They graze over the fence in neighbors’ pastures. I like to observe and hear their mooing, but without the responsibilities or expenses. (Well, unless they get out. Then, we go help round ’em up.)
▪ People ask, “Why do you have those llamas?” They, too, are pasture ornaments. And excellent lookouts. Our llamas are sentinels, posting themselves on the highest ground. If you observe their fuzzy banana-shaped ears standing at attention, something is going on or somebody is coming.
▪ Living in the backyard shrubbery is an almost-tame mother rabbit. When you talk to her, she seems to listen. And if you wait, you can observe a pair of tiny Peter Cottontails hop into view.
▪ My afternoon “cocktail” doesn’t have a drop of liquor in it. When the catfish feel the vibration of my truck’s tires, the lake’s surface ripples. By the time I open the metal feed can, a frenzied school of 10-pound cats are swirling for their supper. It’s calming to sit on a bench and observe the turtles, waiting for their turn at what’s left of the chow.
▪ The afternoon ritual includes observing a great blue heron. As soon as I toss the floating pellets, Willie—with his 6-foot wingspan—swoops down and parks on the dam. Herons are opportunistic predators. Willie is waiting for his opportunity to spear a small bream for his supper, too.
Why do I call the giant bird Willie? He got his moniker from the infamous bank robber of the Great Depression. When asked why he robbed banks, Willie Sutton said, “Because that’s where the money is.” And our Willie knows where his evening meal is waiting.
▪ The late afternoons have a bonus observation—magnificent setting suns, each unique. It’s as if God used a spatula to smear rainbow sherbet across the sky. Only our Creator can paint pictures that beautiful.
And there’s something else that I observe when I am wandering around the farm. I can see my neighbors across the way. Well, not really. But I know they are over there on all four sides. And we share the same commitment: Neighbors help neighbors. We call it the Smithonia Way.
If my chainsaw is broken, someone has one to lend.
Should someone’s lights go out, I have a generator to loan.
That’s the way it works where we live.
You can observe it every day.
Yes, ma’am.
I don’t just like country living.
I love it.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
