"Snowy and Rainy Days"

Howdy Folks,

 

Snowy and rainy days have a different feel about them for me than clear sunny days. Of course all days are beautiful, for their own reasons, but the "bad weather days," as we called them on the dairy farm where I grew up as a foster kid, are extra special for me. To me, they are cozy.

As a kid we had plenty of work on those bright sunny days. I would be busy hoeing thistles in the corn field, picking beans in the garden, mending fence, thinning hedgerows, maybe carrying water for wash day, or any of the other many tasks needed to be done on the farm.

There was plenty of work on snowy and rainy days, too. We still had to milk the cows, tend the horses, pigs and chickens, but the in between time, those hours when we would do the extra work, were a bit more relaxed.

Our barn was big old Pennsylvania Bank Barn with the milking stable in the middle, flanked by horse stalls, each with the splendid wooden feed troughs and hay racks above them, and box stalls for young stock when they weren't out in pasture. Between the horse stalls and milking stable was our feed room. Along the back wall were wooden slant topped feed bins for the loose oats and corn for the horses. One of my jobs was to keep the bins full. Sacks of ground feed for the milking cows were stacked along the side wall. I can still smell the blackstrap molasses in that ground feed. I loved that smell! So did the mice!

This barn is very similar to the barn to the barn on the farm I grew up on.

Back then, burlap bags were really made of burlap and no match for the enterprising mice who made certain nearly every sack had a hole of their own design chewed through it. On bad weather days it was my job to hand stitch those holes closed with a long curved needle and white cord. Some days ol' Bill (the man who raised me) would join me in the stitchin' party and it was kind of fun gathering there, working a little and talking. I suppose it was our version of a quilting party. Whether Bill was with me or not, the horses and cows were, and it was cozy in that feed room, and sort of a day off. There were other bad weather day chores, but that feed room, between the horses and cows, stitching up those sacks, well that's my treasure.

For a long time now, bad weather days, have not had much to say about my daily duties, but often they'll carry me back to that cozy old feed room between the horses and cows. I suppose at a young age I was conditioned to the gentler feeling of rainy days.

The Coffee Clutch family enjoying this rainy morning.

As Kessy, Tigger, Saturday and I enjoyed Coffee Clutch this morning, rain danced lively on the tin roof. And while my routine won't be stirred, my memories were.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Singing and Riding in the Rain"

Howdy Folks,

It wasn't as if the dark midday skies hadn't tried to warn me. It wasn't as if Kessy hadn't tried to make her opinions known, by walking away when she saw me grasp her halter from its peg on the wall. I chuckled at that, for she'll do it about half the time. It's a game she enjoys. Sometimes she'll even run a lap around her wooded pasture, bucking and snorting. I just sit on the old stump by her barn and wait and she comes to me, when she's proven it's sure enough her idea. The eye she cast skyward as she stood next to me, now that was a bit unusual.

But you know, by golly, it was Sunday, and Sunday is the only safe riding day in deer hunting season, and even though it was growing darker, and more windy by the moment … we were heading out.

As we readied and tacked up I asked Kessy if she thought it would hold off until we got back. I said one nod for yes and two nods for no … She shook her head and snorted. I didn't know for sure what that meant, so we did our pre-ride exercises and I swung up in the saddle, called Saturday and we were off.

It was like riding into the sunset, without the sun. Sort of like riding into the darkness.

But I had a plan … I have this little Christmas tradition I started just two years ago when I found an old stone foundation and fireplace chimney deep in the woods, well off the trail and in a part of the forest we rarely ride. It's a beautiful spot, the old homesite, but difficult to get to in good weather with good footing as the banks are steep and the brush thick after leaving the trail. But atop the knoll, by the old foundation the view was beautiful and the setting as peaceful as any I've ever enjoyed. Towering ancient Oaks had kept underbrush from crowding it out, and all around the foundation is an almost open lawn. It was easy to see why some long ago pioneer had selected that little hill above the wide stream to build a home.

The first time we'd ridden up to it had been Christmas week and I got lost in thoughts of children all snug by that warm fireplace eagerly anticipating Christmas morning and guessing what surprises their parents may have for them. I pictured the hand-hewn kitchen table and chairs, on a dirt floor, and an old rocker by the fire. I could see the children sitting on a rag rug, knee to knee, by the hearth singing Christmas songs. I remember singing Oh Holy Night, well at least most of the first verse, right there as if those children could hear me caroling outside.

Well, I'd decided each year around Christmas I'd ride up to that old homestead and sing, most of, the first verse of Oh Holy Night to those youngsters of long ago. The brush seemed thicker this year, the footing was slick as Kessy climbed the hill, but surefooted as ever, she made her way safely to the tired old chimney. The yard and chimney welcomed us like old friends. Then the clouds opened … I sang a few lines  anyway, tipped my hat, tossed a smile toward the hearth, then turned Kessy down the hill.

In those few moments what had been slick footing turned into pure grease and the straight line downhill didn't feel like a good option, so I angled Kessy down toward the trail. The brush was thicker but the way safer and soon we were back on the solid trail. But an hour from home, and it was raining like it meant it.

Kessy didn't say much as I untacked and rubbed her down. I put her cooler on as the temps really dipped and she was wet to the bone, like me. I heard her snort as I headed for the house.

It took me all afternoon to get warm, but it was a fun ride and after all, if a fellow's set on keeping a silly tradition, he might as well get soaked doing it! I don't know if this is a Christmas story or not, but that's what Kessy, Saturday and I did yesterday.

Gitty Up,

Dutch Henry

"Rainy Mornings"

Howdy Folks,

Rainy mornings bring a different feel of togetherness to the Coffee Clutch. Especially chilly raining mornings like today. With a steaming cup in hand, I settled into my chair next to Kessy, who with matted, dripping hair was eagerly tugging at her hay, Tigger jumped into my lap almost before I was down, and immediately began rubbing her wet hair on my coveralls. Saturday burrowed deep in the straw piled in the corner of Kessy's stall for occasions just like this. He snuggles so far down all that can be seen is the tip top of his back.

It's fun to watch the chickens on rainy mornings. One or two at a time, they fly from the chicken house, waddle about, keeping a lower profile than normal, then drift in single file, complaining little groups past Kessy and me into the barn. I have two areas, one under the picnic table which serves as my, "place to pile things I need often," and at the far end of the dirt floor aisle, where I scatter a bit of scratch each day. These inside feeding stations are the preferred dining halls on inclement days, and often the waiting line for tables is three to four chickens deep.

Wet chickens waiting for their tables, strut about the barn annoying or entraining, depending on the opinion of those being annoyed or entertained. Kessy for instance, keeps an eye on the hens who are certain the seeds in her hay are put there just for them. Almost no rainy morning is complete without a head shake, snort and foot stomp from Kessy establishing the parameters around her hay, beyond which no hen, or rooster is allowed. Funny thing, that parameter always shrinks and shrinks as the persistent chickens persist, and eventually Kessy and a chicken will be, beak to nose!

Saturday enjoys scratch too and will, from his warm nest in the straw, keep an eye on the band of chickens under the table, and when he sees an opening, sneak in and grab a bit of grain. His delight usually lasts about 20 seconds. That's about how long it takes for a feisty hen to decide he should go back to bed. So he does.

Tigger never moves, curled deep in my lap. Actually for her the Coffee Clutch routine is the same every day, snow rain or shine. She hops in my lap as I settle down, curls up tight. And never moves. Unless it is below 30 degrees. Then she stays in the house and forgoes Coffee Clutch altogether.

I hope you have as wonderful a morning, and day as Kessy, the Coffee Clutch gang and I did today … Of course you ARE part of the Coffee Clutch gang … So let us know what you love about a rainy morning … And God Bless!!

Gitty Up,
Dutch

Soft Rain and Lullabies

Gentle rain tapped out a soothing melody on the tin. Chickens preened to fluff their wet feathers, others seemed not to care about their disheveled, soggy look as they scratched at the cracked corn scattered under the picnic table in the barn. Saturday, having apparently spent the night snuggled in the hay room sat beside me, warm and dry. Tigger found my lap the second I settled into my, coffee with Kessy chair. 

Kessy tugged at her hay, her steady munching adding rhythm to the raindrops playing on the roof. The heavy morning air carried the clicity clack, then the whistle of a distant train. A tiny Carolina wren sat on the half wall enjoying the protection of the roof overhang.

There's something tender about a gentle morning rain. Everyone gathering in the barn for shelter, doing what they always do, but somehow it feels sweeter. It's a little darker, sounds travel farther to join us inside, the roosters perch on the half wall to crow, the cats purr, Kessy munches and the rain taps. The soft steady taps on the tin sing us a happy song.

Without warning the rain increased its intensity, changing the tune on the tin from a sleepy lullaby to a hurried whisper, as if setting a new tempo to make a point. The point it did make was to drive the rest of the chickens into the barn, clucking and squawking. Kessy gave them a look that shouted, "If you're going to sing along at least get the words right. And stay out of my hay!" The late comers scattered to the corners to shake, preen and complain. Just as suddenly as the rain picked up the tempo it slowed again, and peace reined in our little cozy world once more.

I think there are few places in the world as embracing as a barn on a warm rainy morning ... Snuggled under a blanket with Ravishin' Robbie watching a good movie on a cold and snowy night is of course the very best … and the way I'm reading the signs of fall, one of those snuggle movie nights can't be too far away. Get your blankets, movies, hot chocolate and sweethearts ready.

Have a wonderful day! ~ Dutch.

Fall Rain & Wet Chickens

Rain pounded the tin roof with a ferocity that set up rumble through the barn that only an earthquake could match. I'd just sat down and poured my first cup of steaming black coffee. Kessy was enjoying her hay, Saturday snuggled tight against the tired old lawn chair that serves as my perch each morning as Kessy, me and the gang enjoy Coffee Clutch. Tigger and Miss Kitty had stayed in the house. I'd needed to hurry a bit through the morning chores, the thick clouds offering plenty of warning the dumping would soon commence.

And dump those dark clouds did when they decided it was time to unload! Buckets of driving rain slammed into the tin with a thud that echoed into the woods. Kessy snorted and spun to look outside, Saturday wiggled under my chair. A dozen soggy chickens raced single file into the barn. Clucking, squeaking and shaking water soaked wings they dashed between Kessy's legs and by my chair then huddled in corners to complain and preen. Water flew in a dozen little clouds as they shook themselves dry. Saturday watched in terror, Kessy never noticed.

It was the first morning this fall cool enough to raise steam off my coffee. It was the first morning we had no hummers at the feeder at the barn, but we did see some later in the day when the clouds parted. It was the first morning cool enough to see Kessy's breath, too.

The rain continued to pound the roof, more chickens found their way to the barn to huddle in the hay room, on the half wall and the picnic table. Saturday found his nerve and crawled out from under my chair. The temperature continued to drop and too soon I had to give up on Coffee Clutch and retreat to the house for my standard Sunday morning breakfast of Ravishin' Robbie's, melt-in-your-mouth waffles, swimming in butter and pure Maple syrup ... Robbie still uses her mother's 60's vintage waffle iron, cloth wrapped cord and all.

It did warm up a little in the afternoon, all the way to 50, and we snuck out for a short ride. A bit muddy, wet and chilly, but by golly the leaves are beginning to show their fall colors already. After I warmed up I was able to rejoin Kessy and the gang in the barn to write for about half an hour. I did more thinking than writing ... No finer place in the world to write, or think, than in the barn. And as long as I'm there Kessy will stay with me. Often she'll lie down and nap. Saturday stays too. The chickens, I don't think really care.

Well, I'm off to Sprouses Corner ranch today. Have a brand new horse and volunteer to introduce to "Therapy For Therapy Horses."

Have a perfect Monday and God Bless!! ~ Dutch