This evening, as I went about my dusk-time
chores, I locked things in and out. I locked the chickens in. They need
protection from coons and possums and foxes and coyotes. When we built
their coop, we designed it to be predator proof. That means that there
are absolutely no small openings anywhere that aren't covered by tightly
attached chicken wire. Nowhere for snakes to slither in, nowhere for rats
to reconnoiter, nowhere for predators of any kind to eat, maim or steal eggs
from my girls.
After the chicken
house, I locked the horses into the small lot in front of the house. I
let them out during the day to graze on the green blush of grass just beginning
to color the fields, but I coax them back into the small lot at night so that
they won't pester my dogs and steal their dog food. I also want them in
the small lot at least half of the time because both of my horses will eat
fresh green grass until they founder which leads to sore feet and possible
downing. The small lot is a place where the grass truly is greener on the
other side of the fence.
Next, I lock the lambs
into the woodshed. Two lambs live there because their mamas in the big
fields won't claim them. One doesn't have enough milk for two lambs; the
other is just plain mean. Who knows why she rejected this lamb and loved the
other? Both lambs enjoy the open doorway, protected by a pallet gate
during the day, but during the night I'm sure Mr. Coyote would welcome an easy
meal. So, I slide the door closed and lock it for the evening.
Spring means we are also
constantly locking animals back into their proper fields. At this time of
year, drunk on that first taste of spring, the sheep and cows covet all the
grass that is not theirs. They are masters at creating openings in a
fence: first finding a weak spot, then poking a head through, then pushing
until the opening is big enough for escape. Our sheep have been chased
out of three yards this week and we have corralled a group of calves who were roaming
the roads. Once the escapees are returned, then the fence pliers, staples
and wire come out and the animals are re-contained until the grass is growing
evenly all around or they find another weak spot in the fence.
What I got to thinking
about last night, as I did all the latching and bolting and closing, was that I
never worry out here about latching and bolting against human predators.
My worries are all centered on animal enemies. When I take a walk
in the early morning, before the sun brings the day to full shine, I worry
about running into a skunk, not a human. I know almost everyone who lives
in my county. I trust them. I don't trust the mama bears with babies or
the raccoons roaming around in the middle of the day.
When one of my sons
turned eleven, he asked if he could have a sleepover. I agreed and three other boys descended on my
house and immediately began lobbying to camp out. I gave permission, thinking that they meant
in our yard. It wasn’t until they headed
across the creek and into the woods beyond, that I realized that they had other
ideas.
I stayed up all night,
glancing out the window, worried, but not wanting to go spoil their fun. I wasn’t worried that they would be
abducted. I was worried that a stray cow
might stumble through their tents, or a raccoon might slip in to sleep with
them. I couldn’t believe that they would
make it through the night. The next
morning, they all climbed back over the fence, waded the creek and demanded
pancakes and bacon. They’d had a
blast.
So, locking and bolting
have a different meaning here in the mountains.
Locking and bolting mean that I keep my animals safe and don’t worry so
much about myself.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
