sweating trumpets

The humidity yesterday seemed to be about 100%. I dripped sweat like a crazy man in some savage jungle. My clothes were soaked and clung to me in a very irritating way. But, I needed to do these certain things! Something must get done, and only I can do these certain somethings!

But I felt horrible. Dizzy, nauseous, hot, bothered. Whatever I had eaten sat like a lump in my gut. But I must get this thing done!

These animals all around, good god, they had fur and feathers, how awful. Insects seemed smart, body made of chitin, no sweating there. These alien beings swarm en masse all around us; in the soil, the grass, the trees, inside the walls of our houses, in our hair.  Very successful little machines, they feel weather differently then us mammals do.

So do plants. Plants are even more comfortable in this weather. They love this humid sweat bath. And woody plants basically don’t even try to get comfortable. Trees and shrubs just stand outside naked all winter

So what is my problem? Is Kung Fu Farmer nothing but a coward? For bravery, I thought of the rewards of the future; a fan, a cold one, a delicious BLT. And yes, it is a simple ploy, but it is also a strategic tactic that has won many battles. And so I did finish the important something, and I did enjoy the spoils of victory. But again, today,  as I glanced at the weather report, I heard the trumpets of war off in the distance.

 

Corn Song

The Corn is proud. No matter where it is, it will try to be the king. And, if on good soil, it will succeed and demand many gifts of nutrients from the Earth. The Earth, as is her wont, gives her all with no thought of recompense, forever until her end. The Sun burns through the thirsty clouds. He is the tyrant that rules all life, but without his daughter, Water, life as we know it would not be. The living green things would not shoot forth from the soil, the flowers would not beckon the bees, and all animal life would have nothing to feed on.

So the Elements combine and cycle to provide nourishment for life. Why this is so I do not know. But there it is.

So, as Kung Fu Farmer, my job is simple. I observe, I act. I plant, I weed. I feed, I harvest. There is always the action, Wham! followed by the inaction, Zzzzz. Actually, if all I did was nap, life would continue all around me, without my help. But I desire certain things, like corn and pickles. So I decided, years ago, to make a pact with the Elements. We would work together instead of as enemies. And so far, the peace has been kept.

So I plant the corn seed. Is this a gift to them, or to me? Am I being selfish or selfless? If I don’t exactly know, I must be on the right track. When I plant the corn, weed it, water, pick it, eat it, compost it, it all actually stays in the cycle. In a way, the corn is feeding itself.

Well, now, as I stand amongst the corn and listen to them breathe, I hear their leaves play a song, rubbing against each other like cricket legs in the dark. But this is a sunny song, one of great muster and joy. I can smell the sweet pollen as it drifts down and out from the tassel. It is a humid morning, and the sweat is already beading at my brow.

There is a fog out amongst the clumps of goldenrod and birch. It is a blanket over the landscape.

Poult crash

The turkeys cock their wattling prismatic heads and turn one eye orb towards me. They must see like rabbits see, almost all around their heads but not directly in front. But it is cute, aside from the science.

They coo, snort, and trill, and I heed their call. With food and water set before them, they sometimes seem to want more. I have no more to give, unless they want to play but even that is not within me, there is too much to do today.

What I learn from them is no nonsense. They fight yes, but mostly they take their time, strutting through their kingdom. I feel kinship with these big birds, as they are not afraid of anything and definitely do not back down when challenged. And yet they are not the most vicious of creatures. Yes a wild dog or fox could most likely take them down, but by god not without a serious adversarial confrontation. They stand up for themselves.

I am their mother. So is my wife. We are two mothers feeding, watering, and taking care of these otherworldly feathery lizards;  strutting flesh and bone. And they are delicious.

They like to escape, and wander. I understand this urge. They are not afraid to take significant shits. Good for them.

One small poult is free, outside the paddock filled with the briar patch where Rabbit lays and watches me. The poult squeaks as I reach for it. Snatch! and it is in my hand, alarm call in the air, wings surprisingly strong for such a small thing. A real living creature in the palm of my hand, wondering why the giant mother bird is being so crazy. I can’t talk to it, a she most likely, but I can put her back in with her family. She flutters down like a plane crash, and I turn to work on the many other things beckoning me.

Briar Rabbit vs the Net

Rabbit looks at me with gentle cooing eyes of steel. I look back. There is no way I can traverse the distance between him and I within a span of a millisecond. He knows this. So he is calm, every so slightly wary with his ears perked forward.

The rabbits in the tractor look at me with eyes pleading for food. They are hungry always, for they are growing.
Rabbit outside of tractor is always eating the grass, clover, dandelions. He too is always hungry but he has the ability to satisfy himself, and do as he pleases. But that doesn’t fit into my plans, because I cannot catch him and therefore Rabbit will not feed me, and I am growing.
I will try to catch him anyways. I walk toward him softly, but then at the last moment, right before I pounce, he trots away nonchalantly, through the fence so that I can not reach him in the briar patch. Untouchable by net, I will have to use other methods, like a trap. But meanwhile he hangs around his brothers and sisters in the tractor. Munching, munching.