Guest Post by Hardscrabble Farmer
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Robert Frost
Last Saturday my wife and our children walked down the lane to the neighbors house for dinner. The wife is four generations out from the man who owned our farm at the turn of the 19th century and over the course of the past seven or eight years we have established a genial friendship; her teenage sons work on the farm over the summer break, we look out for their home in the off season when they reside in the Boston area and we get together and grill the bounty of the harvest whenever our schedules make it possible. They are the very definition of good neighbors and we look forward to seeing them whenever they come up to visit. Dinner that night was laid back and just after dark we began to say our good-byes when the local police drove into their driveway.
“Cows are out.” he said with a smile.
I jumped up and headed to the house for the dogs and a bucket of grain. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, but instinctively I knew it was my fault. I had been slowly replacing several miles of old fence with new high tensile wire and had ended the day with a section no more than ten feet long incomplete along a rock wall on the southern boundary. I had to remove the electric that had previously contained the border field in order to string the line and failed to secure what I hoped- in vain- would escape the notice of the herd for one night.
We were in the midst of calving, six cows bred from a new bull we brought in last winter and the herd was, due to this, restless. A cow that calves on free range will often seek out a spot away from the others and the existing relationships between mother/daughter pairs will become erratic and unstable. Cows are matriarchal in their social organizations and maintain deep bonds with their female offspring for their entire lives. When they go into labor those dynamics change and the younger heifers from previous years will be pushed away.
These bovine equivalents of teenage girls will become sulky and petulant and often head off on their own, away from the herd in an act of rebellion and seek other forms of distraction. I know this and should have anticipated the outcome, but like anyone else at the end of a long week with obligations to friends and family, I ignored my better judgment and failed to secure the perimeter. My responsibility to not only the livestock, but my neighbors as well.
I made my way down to the road in the darkness and could see from a distance the probing shafts of flashlights across the blacktop and behind these were the voices of another neighbor hollering something in an angry tone. Between us I could see the outline of the lone heifer standing at the edge of his property, head down to the lawn. He called out from the darkness that there was only one and when I rattled the bucket with grain, she headed in my direction immediately. The dogs trotted up to her flanks from behind and together we walked her back across the road and found the gap in the fence and made our way back in the moonlight to the rest of the herd in the upper pasture.
That night I dreamed of loose cows, broken fences, obligations and responsibilities. I woke frequently to the sound of the dogs going off after a fox or a porcupine in the darkness and before dawn I got out of bed and headed back out to finish the job I should have completed the night before. It took a couple of hours and when I was done I let the cattle back into the pasture to graze. There was a new bull calf born to the piebald Hereford during the night, white-faced like his sire. When I got back to the house I made plans to visit the neighbor whose lawn had been grazed without permission and apologize for the intrusion on his Saturday evening.
It has been my habit to bring my children with me whenever I have amends to make. If they can share in our success, they can observe how we respond to our failures and so I brought our youngest son along for the ride so he could see his father make something right. This particular neighbor had always been very stand-offish with us since we moved in. Both he and his wife were lifelong residents of the village and both worked for the State. They maintained beautiful gardens and a picturesque property on a small lot directly across the road from our lower fields and while they had never responded much to waves or greetings from us, they never gave us a moment of trouble either.
Older than myself and established in the community I held him in respect and while I did not look forward to the meeting, I understood my obligation to my neighbor. We drove into their driveway in the truck and both of them were sitting at their picnic table, a bottle of wine between them, facing their garden in the sunlight. I approached slowly, my son climbing out of the truck behind me and bringing up the rear, both of us clearly humble with a proverbial hat in hand.
“I’m sorry about last night…”
“You should be.” he said, turning around to face me without rising. She looked up at us as well, both of them red-faced and clearly on the edge of rage. I could see instantly that both of them had been drinking even though it was early afternoon and I sensed that they had been stewing over the very thing I had come to apologize for. “You people think can come up here and fahm. You’re no farmah.” he said, his voice rising in anger.
“I came to make it right.” I replied, looking back at my son who was clearly shaken by the way things were unfolding. She said something to me as well, angry and bitter but I couldn’t make out the words, only the tone. “Was there damage? I’ll pay for anything that’s been…” I began.
“I don’t want your money.” he shot back as he turned his face back towards the garden. “My father fahmed for sixty years and he never had his cows get loose. He was a fahmer.”
“Can I bring you some beef? A pound of flesh?” I asked. It was an uncomfortable response intended to bring some humor to the moment, to diffuse the rising tension because I was clearly not getting the response I had hoped for.
He said something then that was so angry, so provocative and vile that I was, for the moment, embarrassed for him. To have said it to a man who was clearly trying to apologize and make things right was one thing, but to say it in that tone in front of an eight year old stunned me. Both of them glared at me with red faces. I could see the moisture on the wine bottle, see their fingers clenched on the stems of their wine glasses so hard that I thought they might break.
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence and I said only, “Well okay then.” and turned back to the truck, my arm on my son’s shoulder steering him to the passenger side.
As I opened my own door he raised his voice once more. “Keep your cows on your side of the road!” I could feel myself nodding, but I didn’t reply.
We drove over to the Interval in silence. I didn’t know what to say and clearly my son was shaken himself. He looked out the window as we drove and I, like most men, felt the flush of adrenaline and testosterone flooding my body and my thoughts. All of the smart comebacks I could have made, all of the things I should have said, the guilt I felt for having been responsible for causing the neighbors to react in that way swirled around filled the cab of the truck as we drove.
I wanted to say something to my son- to let him know that sometimes adults can say things they probably don’t mean or wish they could take back- but more than that was the single phrase that repeated itself over and over, “You’re no farmer.” I thought about everything we had done over the past seven years, the labor, the sweat, the investment of everything we had ever earned, the long nights, freezing cold, endless chores and tasks, the injuries and losses, the bounties and successes, all of it sweeping by like a cyclorama of images and emotions reduced to a single sentence. “You’re no farmer.”
We got to the hayfields my friend had been mowing and worked for the rest of that Sunday helping him load bales under the blistering sun, mostly in silence, my embarrassment hotter than the day. My son who is normally talkative was as quiet as a church mouse and even my friend could sense that something was off, but he gave us space and worked with us in mutual quiet until we were done. That night as I lay in bed reading, my youngest son beside me playing with his Legos, my wife walked into the room and asked if something was wrong.
I didn’t want to tell her what had happened, what he’d said but we don’t keep secrets and I spilled the beans as best I could while my son watched us intently. My wife is not an easy person to anger, she makes excuses for everyone’s worst behavior whenever possible in order to diffuse tensions and bring peace, but I could see it in her eyes as I retold the story, she was tearing up but not in sadness. I was bone tired, as much from the confrontation as from the work that day and didn’t have anything to add at the end of it, only that I tried to do the right thing, tried to channel my wife’s decency rather than respond in the way I wanted to, to set an example for our son that if you made a mistake, you had to make it right even if it cost you more than you thought it was worth.
We calmed down enough to say our good-nights but I know we both went to sleep that night unsettled and for me feeling worse for my neighbor than I did for myself. I understood him being angry about a cow on his lawn in the middle of the night and I understood him not caring for some out-of-stater coming into his hometown and trying to become a farmer from scratch, but
I didn’t understand why he had to try and embarrass me in front of my son when I was clearly trying to apologize and I wondered if he was kicking himself for taking it that far to make himself feel better. Of course that’s conjecture. A person can maintain a perfect garden and be filled with problems you can’t see underneath. But then again, maybe he was right. Maybe I’m not a farmer.
The next day I walked the entire perimeter of the property checking the fence lines with a laser-like intensity. I found a couple of weak spots and repaired them, checked on the new calves- six now, two heifers and four bulls- and tried to think like a farmer. Over the course of the day several other neighbors stopped by, for eggs, for syrup, to borrow my york rake, to drop off some blackberry jam made from berries we’d let them pick a couple of days earlier.
By the end of the day I was back to where I was on Saturday evening eating barbeque with the folks down the lane, content in what we doing and how we were living our lives and feeling that no matter how poorly some things turn out, it’s what you think of yourself that defines you, not how others see you. I don’t want to be defined by my current failures any more than I do by my past successes, but how I live every day going forward. I hope that my son can see that as well and that he has the kind of life that compels him to make things right when he has made a mistake and to make every day count no matter what anyone else thinks.
You want real fun, have a car run off the road in the middle of the night and tear out a hundred feet of fence. Never believe that the cows in that pasture won’t find the gap and go wandering.
You’ve been there seven years. They’ve seen your work. To mouth off about your not being a farmer is terminal mindwarp, to be as polite as possible. Either his father was uncommonly fortunate, or your neighbor is glossing over reality.
Trash people talk trash.
HF
I just love this story! THIS is the kind of post which should get 400 comments.
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” …. maybe he was right. Maybe I’m not a farmer.” ——- HF
Just stop it. Don’t believe the words of a drunken douchebag. This country could use a few million FARMERS such as yourself.
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“All of the smart comebacks I could have made, all of the things I should have said …” —-HF
Jesus said, “The meek shall inherit the earth.”
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When people see “meek” they think of the lamb, not the lion, in the above picture …. passive, mild, even spineless.
They couldn’t be more wrong. Jesus described himself as “meek”. Was he passive, mild, or spineless? Hardly!!!
The Greek word means … pay attention!! …. “strength brought under control”. Greeks employed the term to describe a wild horse tamed to the bridle.
ANYBODY can respond to a cur such as your neighbor with a “fuck you!!”. Anybody. It takes real strength, real character, a REAL man to respond as you did. Your son should be massively proud of you … as I am certain he is. Your action taught him what a real man is. This country needs a million men like you.
HSF,
I’m originally from New England. My Grandfather lived in New Hampshire for over 25 years, but he had the “misfortune” of being born in Charlestown, MA instead of in The Granite State like the two prior generations dating back to the mid 1800s. He was considered an outsider by the natives up there despite the family history. Don’t take the cold treatment by the neighbors personally. You could be as saintly as possible and they would still find some fault of yours (real or perceived) to quibble about. That’s just an old Yankee habit.
Just because you had good intentions with your apology doesn’t mean the neighbor will recognize that and reciprocate. Some folks have nasty dispositions and no amount of kindness can break through it. Count yourself fortunate that he chose to resort to insults rather than litigation in this day and age. It’s unfortunate that your son was exposed to the incident, but you’ve got a great teaching moment to work with now. Your son can be taught the importance of accepting responsibility for ones actions and when you say you’re sorry, not everyone will automatically accept it. You can also talk about the importance of self control with respect to ones anger as well as the importance of temperance. And you can also talk about seeing a job through to completion and not putting off tasks that require prompt attention.
Undoubtedly your neighbor could have handled the situation with more decency and respect. Your actions were admirable and appropriate – you have nothing to beat yourself up over. And as your other neighbors and your family can readily attest, your crabby neighbor’s assessment of your farming skills are grossly exaggerated.
HSF,It’s a shame that your neighbors let their pent-up, narrow-minded prejudice towards “city folks” boil over, especially in front of your young son. I too, live in a very rural area and know the sting of being labeled in such a manner. You are obviously not a farmer, nor have you ever been one, or ever will be, in their eyes. I suspect that if you farm your land for three more decades, you never will be a farmer in their eyes. In their shallow-minded ignorance, you simply don’t belong on their turf, as it were. That said, you handled the situation as a gentleman would, and should. A wise man does not let his hurt and anger get the best of him, especially in front of his son. I got a strange premonition when I finished reading this that someday these “neighbors” will need your help in some way, and that you be more than gracious enough to oblige them in their need. I have no doubt about that. Best of fortunes to you.
Hi HSF, like you I’m an import to NH. I’ve been here over 20 years, but that doesn’t matter. In my town if you’re not at least 3rd generation you’re not a local. That part I can live with. What I don’t understand is your neighbor’s antagonism towards someone who is at least trying to maintain the local lifestyle while they and their local friends sell off grandpa’s farm piecemeal to developers putting in rows of McMansions to be sold to MA imports who move here to get away from it all and then try their damnest to turn the town into a carbon copy of the one they were trying to get away from. You’re being more successful in honoring your neighbor’s ancestral way of life than your neighbors are. Perhaps that is why they are so angry.
On the subject of fences, we have a 5 or so acre “field” that we’re looking to fence to give our goats some roaming room. What we really want is fixed knot fence with pounded wooden posts, but we’ll take anything that will keep the goats and dogs in and the coyotes and bears out. Unfortunately hubby and I are too old and unskilled to take on this level of job ourselves. Do you know of anybody in southwestern NH who does this type of work?
About seven years ago we had friends who moved to a small town in Vermont (aren’t they ALL small??). They were sooooo excited. Less than three years later they moved back to NJ. It wasn’t that VT was hell. It was that they were totally ignored, almost shunned. Other than one or two friends, they could never gain acceptance from the community as a whole. You were either “one of them”, or you were not. Simple as that. Sounds like hell to me.
Stucky,
That’s the way many if not most smaller communities in New Englandare are like. It can be hell for someone who moves there looking for a community welcoming them with open arms. If you’re looking for solitude, it can be a terrific place to live. I don’t think it’s necessarily a good or bad thing. It’s just the quirkiness of the region. If you experienced a true emergency, most folks would help you out readily. Just don’t expect them to have you over for supper every weekend.
I moved South to Virginia nearly 20 years ago and it took me a while to adjust to the friendliness of strangers. The regionalism in our country is one of the parts that makes this a great country to live in.
Forewarned is forearmed, etc. It can take years to know someones character – you have received a valuable insight.
You may find many of your other neighbors share your new knowledge, but are too polite too speak of it.
HF,
I respect the amount of work you’ve done. You and I have similar backgrounds. You went North and made a go of trying to farm. I stayed in the South and made a go of it.
Someone trying to make a go of living off a patch of dirt – especially today – should be given respect even for trying. To invest 7 years into what you’ve done – with a good amount of success – well, you’ve got my respect if even only for your work ethic. I don’t have your gift of writing, though sometimes I wish I did…
I spent some time in Noo England. Enough to know that me and them are… incompatible. Reading your account of things, I couldn’t but help think of the way we handle things down here and compare the two.
Literally, two days ago, it’s foggy as hell. Pea soup. Visibility was maybe 50 yards, tops. When a front rolls in, we get serious fog and mist off the river and it rolls right over us.
It’s 6:30 am and my wife calls to me and says “Hey, there’s mules in the driveway!”…
Thing is, we don’t own any mules.
I looked out the window and saw three mules – one of which I recognized as Big Red, our neighbors mule. They must have a section of fence down. I called our neighbor…
“Hello?”
“Hey Bobby, it’s me.”
“Oh hey! Good mornin’!”
“Yep.. good morning to you too… say listen, not to be rude, but I think your mules got out. Red’s in our driveway…”
“Aw hell… welp, lemme get the truck and see if I can round ’em up..”
“I’ll throw my boots on and meet you in the driveway..”
We met up in my driveway about two minutes later. You couldn’t see anything hardly at all… I traced the hoofprints though the grass – the dew made them stand out really well, so not a hard task – and we tracked them to the far side of Bobby’s property. He called to them and they started our way, their hooves “clopping” on the road.
“Hey Bobby?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m thinkin’ you got some fence down… ”
“Yep… most likely”
“Putting those jailbreakers back on your land in’t gonna help a whole lot… hole’s still there. Why don’t you run ’em on my land till you get that fence squared away?”
“I was about ready to ask you that… ”
“No problems.. ”
We got the jailbreakers rounded up and shooed into my pasture and locked down.. they spread out and explored…
“Welp, I best get to repairing that fence…”
“Hey, if you need some help? Gimme a holler.. ”
“I think I know where the break is… shouldn’t take too long”..
“Okay, but you ain’t that young anymore… you know where I am if you need me…”
Livestock getting out? It happens. Having a shitty attitude about it doesn’t help anything. Far as I’m concerned, you made an effort to make amends and had it thrown back in your face. That says much about your character and his lack of same….
So fuck him and the horse he rode in on… if my neighbor spoke to me that way, I wouldn’t piss on him to put him out…
Your conscience should be clear as a bell… sleep easy.
Yep, that’s how we handle things here in KY. We always wave and say “howdy do” too. Makes life real nice and simple. Yankees tend to be more combative and confrontational.
@HSF: Dude, you are letting this guys small-dick insecurities over his own life get to you.
YOU ARE THE FARMER, the farmer your neighbor wishes he could be, but isn’t man enough to be.
This guys lives in a country setting for chrissakes, cows through the fence is a well recognized hazard of that. He works in a cushy make-believe state job and the most he has to deal with is a papercut or a broken pencil.
That he is drinking in the early afternoon instead of doing something worthwhile like the hard work of farming should speak volumes about his “farmer” cred.
Bet you dollars to donuts some illegal aliens keep his yard and home picture perfect.
Chill dude, you are the real deal and he is just a pasty faced, limp wristed bitter old weirdo. The message to your son should be that there are totally crazy jackasses in the world and no matter how nice you try to be to them, it will never be enough. Do the right thing, smile when it is thrown back in your face and go on with your day. That asshole isn’t worth another nanosecond of your time or consideration.
Small town gubmint workers, I have just a bit of experience with those. I wouldn’t have let it bother me for 2 seconds, they are not worthy.
Hardscrabble’s neighbor and his big “fuck you” to an act of reconciliation reminds of Bea Lever.
@ Bea,
I’ve met more friendly folks in the South than the North, as a general rule. As far as combative and confrontational? Heh… I’m thinking you know what I mean when I say that we can actually be worse if our friendliness, generosity and amicability are thrown back in our face… serious No-No, right there… that’s how feuds used to be started…
A guy I know – very successful guy, churchgoing family man – you’d never know it but he ended up over here because the Judge gave him the option of getting out of the county or going to jail.
His family and another were feuding. A member of the other family made death threats of something like “shoot on sight” the next time they met… his car got spotted and the guy I know – along with his daddy and brothers – lit that fucking car up end to end… didn’t kill anyone, thank God, but it got the Law’s attention. He was given the choice – leave, or jail. He ended up here and made good. Very successful man, pleasant, cheerful, always respectful…
Just don’t cross him.
HSF,
I commend you for holding your tongue and setting a wonderful example for your son on how to act in a situation that could have easily turned into something very ugly. Your ability to exit with grace and dignity intact in the face of that nor’eastern longtimer attitude is something your son will come to understand was the only way to handle a difficult situation.
Fences are the issue, aren’t they? At least your animals will respect the boundaries you erect for them. We are facing a real crisis in this country where people do not respect any of the boundaries that society has normally recognized as being barriers to certain types of behavior and language. What will your ill-mannered neighbors do when their yard is overrun not only by a few cows that have found a break in a fence line but by a hungry pack of recently discharged FSA scouts hellbent on finding a target rich environment where they might direct the hungry marauders behind them?
Why, they will call you for help! And you will come and you will do your best to help them. God willing, if that day ever comes to your neck of the woods, it will be enough.
Look at your son and tell him how you were doing what was right. But there are these people in the world,Known as DICKS. And he well have to deal with them for the rest of his life. Point out the thoughts about the booze also. I continue to instill in my kids that people around them don’t necessarily think the same. And they have to be able to deal with them. Many people are more prone to violence. A lot of ignorance out there also. I am glad people are more friendly where i live.
Stucky- I WAS ready to smoke the peace pipe with you UNTIL I found that dandy little hit piece titled “Reverse Festivus”. Nice hit on me and Dilligaf.
“I don’t want your money.” he shot back as he turned his face back towards the garden. “My father fahmed for sixty years and he never had his cows get loose. He was a fahmer.”
————
Isn’t it obvious? Your neighbor knows full well that HE isn’t a farmer (no matter how many years or how successfully his father had farmed), and you’ve put in seven years proving that you ARE.
You pushed his “guilt” button.
He’s not as good as his dad had been, and looking at you grinds that fact home.
The miserable bastard is dealing with his inadequacies, and doing THAT job badly, too.
Try to get that across to your eight-year-old.
Bravo, Hardscrabble! It’s called character. Live a long and healthful life. You make the world a better place.
Billy pretty much summed up everything I was going to say. HSF, there are only so many hours in the day, only so much energy in the mortal frame. No one got hurt. No one died. You did the honorable thing, apologizing in person. accepting that apology would have been the honorable thing on his part. So fuck him, his opinion doesn’t matter.
This is a wonderfully written post which has elicited some thoughtful
comments. When I read that your neighbors had shunned you for 7 years, were state workers with an immaculate place and drinking wine when you arrived, I could see one of two possibilities. The long shot was that they would cheerfully brush off your apology, ask you to join them and offer your son a glass of soda or lemonade. I really anticipated what actually ensued. You encountered two pathologically angry creatures who fortunately are a rarity among country people. With two government paychecks they have no need to get along with or help their neighbors.
The Dali Lama says “My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness”. You did your best. Your behavior was impeccable, and as the I Ching would say, “No blame”.
They had to call the police, there was no one else to call.
Drinking alone….
I’d feel sorry for them in their weakness and isolation.
HSF
I’m going with Tucci78’s comments.
“Isn’t it obvious? Your neighbor knows full well that HE isn’t a farmer (no matter how many years or how successfully his father had farmed), and you’ve put in seven years proving that you ARE. ……..
He’s not as good as his dad had been and looking at you grinds that fact home.”
I’m neither a mind reader nor a psychiatrist, as those comments suggest. But I agree.
Move on, HSF.
Damn Yankees is my first thought. I moved into a small tight knit community in North Georgia 4 years ago and have been welcomed by many of the old families. The south does have its charming customs and mores, but hatefulness is not one of them. In this community one must prove his untruthfulness rather than prove his worth. You are given the benefit of the doubt and welcomed with openness…until one proves unworthiness. Many Yankees come to this idyllic community and learn the hard way, while most of us Southerners have no problems. Why is that?
A couple of things:
HSF – The lessons learned by your son in this incident are very valuable, but it can go wrong. Nonetheless, there are good lessons in there for your son. However, if something nasty is afoot, I do not think you can rely on the other person to make any allowances for your son being there. It might actually inflame the situation, as they may see it as a manipulation as opposed to a learning exercise.
The old couple have made it clear they will never accept you. Further, it is clear they have also made it clear they are prepared for a lifelong feud. It is most unfortunate, but it is not, I am sad to say, rare.
Also, they exhibit characteristics I have encountered before, that have been/can be quite dangerous. They appear to consider their land entirely sovereign, that they are entitled do/behave in any way they see fit with respect to their land. On face value, that seems understandable, but here is an unfortunate example of where that leads:
I lived in East Texas. A young family man bought some acreage, and began setting up for his family. He bought a large, nice mobile home for them to live in. When bringing it to his property he discovered he could not get it onto his property because of narrow road, tree interference, etc. he determined if he backed it a short way onto the property across the road, he could get it in.
He duly asked permission from the property own across the street. The property owner told him no.no explanation – just no.
The young man, furious, said he was going to do it anyway. The old property owner said he would shoot him if one wheel came onto his property.
The young man left, decided he was going to do it anyway, as he was desperate to get his home in, and backed the trailer a few feet onto the old man’s property.
The old man then duly shot the young man dead with a deer rifle.
What I am getting at is some people view property and property rights differently than most. They believe they have absolute right to even kill someone over the most minor transgression of their property. They certainly are not above killing wandering dogs or livestock.
I advise extreme caution when dealing with anyone who exhibits an attitude that suggests they take an extreme position re their property. This old couple seem to fit the general profile.
Good luck in the future. I hope it sorts itself out, but I suspect chances are slim.
Gryffyn says: “…as the I Ching would say, “No blame”.”
Excellent! He is also what the I Ching would call a “Superior man.” – T4C
HSF
This guy says his dad was a farmer. I have a hard time believing that. Anyways I grew up next to my grandparents farm. We had to go collect strays every once in a while. It was never a big deal. Our main concern was making sure nobody hit cow with a car. Eating some grass was not a big deal. Your neighbors have must lead a very sad life if they can get upset about something like this.
A farmer to me is someone who loves and respects the land, his family, and the animals he cares for. From your writing I can tell you do this better than most. If you ever tire of farming in Boston States you could come to on Nova Scotia. You would be more than welcome here.
Rob
Your neighbor is an asshole. You’re a great farmer, HSF and I admire the shit out of you for having the balls to follow your heart and move your family out there. You’re making things happen. Your neighbor is jealous of your accomplishments, even if “you ain’t from here”.
If you live in the country and have animals, at some point in time you will have some animal get out of its enclosure. That’s just a fact of life.
For someone to claim a person had animals for sixty years and never had one get out of its enclosure is absolute total bull shit!!
As usual great story HSF, despite the somber content of your tale. Great comments also except for the “damn Yankee” horseshit, as if this kind of thing would never happen in the south, the land of never ending hospitality, honesty, and beneficence. Yeah right. True enough, on the few occasions I did venture down there, the folks were on the surface, unfailingly polite in a way that’s unheard of here in yankeeland. But traveling through Tennessee I was absurdly accused of stealing a magazine at a gas station. In Mississippi, I was ignored and even insulted by the fair sex for being a, you guessed it, “a damn Yankee”. Same thing in Virginia. And up here a couple from South Carolina live down the road–I trust them as as far as I could throw them, the lying weasels. I have had enough the the holier than thou southernor “damn Yankee” bucket of shit.
I think the most astute comment is from llpoh. There are property rights fanatics, presumably all over the country. And they dwell among us “damn Yankees”. A few years ago, my buddies and I went on a canoe trip up up here, as is our annual custom. Well, we are nearing the end of it, tired, stinking, and hungry, and belly up on the back side of a luncheon joint, which sits on a brackish river. But we have to carry our canoes a ways across their property, a short portage. There are PRIVATE PROPERTY signs all over the lawn. I am sent as an emissary to tell the owner that as soon as we drop off our canoes at the public landing we’ll return for lunch. Well, whaddyaknow, the owner peers out the back and before I say anything he shouts, “you fucking assholes”. I apologized profusely to his wife in the front for the temporary trespassing, and we ate lunch there nonetheless. So, we got called assholes for having crossed his lawn and spending 70 dollars for lunch? Whatever. What a dickhead.
On a slightly different note, I live in a house built in 1798. My neighbor comes from a family who owned it and the surrounding area to the tune of thousands of acres dating back to before the revolutionary war. His grandmother lived in my house. He and I could not be more different. And yet since I started spending my “wintahs” here, he has shown nothing but kindness towards me. And that’s the way it is up here, in true yankeeland (no, noo yawk, as billy puts it, and noo joisey, as stucky puts it, are not yankeeland). You cannot be a true mainer unless you have been here for several generations. But if you make it through a few wintahs, and keep to yourself, you are no longer a “straphanger” or “outtastater” or as my neighbor puts it, an “insurgent”. And that is fine with me. Since when does a close-knit community have to be welcoming to intruders anyways? It doesn’t. Not one bit.
One final note, because I’m rambling a bit here. TBPers like Billy and Hagar would be most welcome in rural maine. There’s a reason why Maine is called the Deep South of the far north. Hunting, shooting, trapping, fishing, camping, canoeing, tinkering, hotrodding, etc.–all northern hillbilly activities are open year round here. But do not expect the delicate politeness you may be used to. Doesn’t exist here. The long and cold wintahs prohibit it.
I usually never respond to one of my posts but I can tell we’re at the end of the comments and I wanted to clarify a misunderstanding I may have caused.
Most of my neighbors are exceptionally gracious, supportive and helpful and have been nothing but a blessing towards us since we first arrived. The reason I wrote this piece wasn’t to criticize my cranky neighbor but to try and work out how I felt in the aftermath of having been taken to task for not seeing to my own responsibilities- closing up the hole in my fence line. That and how to show your children what it means to be a good neighbor.
The comments were spot on although no one ever knows what’s in another person’s heart or what kind of troubles they may have. Sometimes it’s not about you, sometimes they’re working out their own struggles and you just happen to be down range. Friendly fire, so to speak. I trust that in my neighbor’s case this was the reason for his comments.
I especially appreciate Llpoh for pointing out the risks of placing my children in situations where unintended consequences may manifest- I never thought about that when I involved him, only that I wanted him to understand the importance of contrition when you’ve failed to do right by someone else. Their safety, however, trumps any lesson I may have been trying to teach. I will use better judgment in the future.
There’s no way to convey the respect I have for this type of community-TBP- people who only know me by my words but offer the kind of neighborly support you rarely find in the world today and it’s because of this that I try and share these stories no matter how idyllic- or embarrassing- they may be. It’s what I have to give back. I wish it were more substantial or relevant, but it is heartfelt.
So thank you.
You’re an eloquent and gracious dude, Hardscrabble. Wish you were MY neighbor.
HSF, you are being too tough on yourself. Livestock has a will of it’s own. Anybody who’s ever kept livestock knows that things happen, some of which you aren’t proud of. It’s the nature of the beast. I try to get along with everybody in my world. Some people you just can’t reach. Some people internalize the smallest slight. Nothing to be gained by soul searching here. It’s not you.
HSF, good you received the response from the comment section that you did. i see some many stories within a story here. i speak from experience as living in rural VA. and farming. first off the mentality of a bureaucrat. clearly on display. you produce, he is a parasite, who would gladly confiscated from you if he could do more than he already does. this event is not unique, cows get out, try goats? repeat offenders cause some major irritation, cows/dogs when in gardens do require restitution, i had four cows/calves bolt soon as we unloaded from the market, a neighbor unknown to me put them up, was i ever worried for a multitude of reasons, would not consider any recompense at all, another occasion of the 30 goats i was moving, four escaped, the wildest of the flock, guard dog gone, so once they were baited back into the corral i was to return again one problem, the coyotes beat me back, ate a kid, ran the others to a distant neighbor, in their fear they break a Pella window, not cool, before i could make the return journey of 35 miles they have eaten some shrubs. the folks were extremely understanding, under the circumstances. restitution made promptly, homemade food delivered more apologies. one heifer can only cause so much damage during the course of several hours. does not say alot for the state of bernie, their rising star. “Forward till next Tuesday” HSF, you certainly are a farmer, i struck out like you did in 83 on the same quest, hard work, few pay checks, miking cows the works, then the wife sees greener pastures, with the state of the union now she may have second thoughts. two years of food stored, herd up to 25 cows hay in the barn, firewood at the ready, the poof it is all for naught, because it does take a team for it to work, and we had cleared the highest hurdle along with the house burning halfway to the ground, droughts, colder winters than i have seen since.this was done in 7 years, with much still to do. . i applaud you, you are an inspiration to many, yet most under state the commitment of seven days a week, enjoying those moments when something unforeseen does not occur. . i recently read a great book by a lady whose military husband died after WWII in an air crash. pregnant with beaucoup kids she decides to move to NH and farm. her travails are understood by some of us, yet presistance paid huge dividend for her and her children.( i remember reader’s digest condense books/ she later wrote other books). she faced huge challenges with no skills going in. she had some farmer neighbors with poor fences and pushed the situation to the limit, poor pastures poor farmers, some times realize others’ forage is good for their cows. today i gaze at a once upon time overgrown eroded farm abandoned in the 40’s, sitting fallow yet i am content living in a one room, inside a barn smiling at the beautiful hardwoods that.are.60′ and taller that were allowed to thrive after the virginia pine harvested. your son was taught a valuable lesson, i hope to think i would have done the same. glad that this site exists, three cheers to all especially jim. enjoy your get together in the big apple, will be interesting,
Anyone who has lived on or near a farm, as others have observed here, knows that livestock will escape. My wife and I have had visits from a pair of geese, a domestic tom turkey, a little red pig, a bull, a small herd of cows, and several stray or lost dogs. I built a temporary pen for the geese until we found out who owned them. The turkey went into his fanning and strutting routine when my wife ventured outside and actually attacked her until we cooled his ardor with the garden hose. I ran down the piglet and not having a rope, used my belt around his midsection and walked him home holding my pants up with the other hand hand. The bull impregnated our two cows and when our neighbor and I found him way down in the hollow he actually jumped over the fence on the way back. A telephone call got the wandering cattle back on their pasture and the fence repaired. One hound dog jumped into the back of my pickup, rode into town, got out and walked the two blocks to his home. I didn’t know what he was doing but he sure did. I have never heard a cross word , but have heard many a chuckle about wandering critters. One friend who could not get the owner of several cows to retrieve them finally sent the fellow a bill for grazing the cows, which brought an immediate response. They were gone the next day.
I grew up in a little farm in CT, with a broken down barn and an old house. My parents were the hard working children of immigrants and earned the respect of their Yankee neighbors. As a four year old I was really impressed by our neighbor, Star Clark, who stopped by to check out Dad’s new electric fence. Star was a a huge guy. He grabbed the wire, held it forever, then nodded his approval and told Dad he’d done good.
This was in southern New England, so perhaps folks there are less hard-bitten than their more northern brethren, though I have always met good people in my travels throughout New England and the rest of the country for that matter. My wife and I moved to a farm in the southern mountains 40 years ago. The only craphead we had to deal with was a guy we hired to cut our hay the first year. I asked him to mow everything and just bail the good grass. We filled the barn with the junk he bailed first, not knowing it was full of briars. He saved the good timothy and orchard grass for himself. So north, south, east and west, you will find good neighbors everywhere and just have to avoid the few bad ones. The guy who cut our hay might have had a yearly job but he only got to screw us once.
Oops! That should be “baled” not “bailed”. I hope Stuckey doesn’t try to piss on my leg over the typo.
How HF would have proposed if he lived in farm country when he was young.
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I always enjoy your posts. I’m also eternally envious, though I’m sure it’s hard work. Like others have said though, some people are just unpleasant. Just the other day I was up on a friend’s land with him and a neighbour’s son threw a fit when we started shooting *towards* my friend’s land,from where we thought was also his land. As it turns out we were a few feet over. Oops (cmon, 75 acres may not seem a lot to some, but it can be hard to draw the line for us city types trying to change our scenery) . And hell, I totally get why someone may be a bit concerned about people shooting on his land. Anyway we stopped as soon as he started yelling, confirmed it all and apologized. His elderly vet father drove out to talk to us a little while later in another area; being a fellow marine we comiserated for way to long. Good guy. Said his son was just being grumpy. Again I get it, we screwed up and should have driven around to everyone to let them know, but it was the *one* property we didn’t. As it stood, we hoped to go talk to the son in the morning and apologize, maybe invite them to shoot with us, but he was jumpy and unwelcoming. I don’t know, maybe he’s right. Shooting on another man’s land isn’t a minor thing, but it’s not like we were shooting at his house or his animals. I do think some people need to lighten up, but I get that some are more prickly than others.
Sorry 0351 but your neighbor was right to be grumpy and you’re lucky he didn’t call the cops on you. When going target shooting ALWAYS get permission from the landowner and NEVER shoot without a good solid backstop. That’s shooting 101. If you can’t follow shooting 101 you shouldn’t be shooting. I don’t care how far you think you are from buildings, livestock, and people. ASSuming you’re safe just doesn’t cut it. What if he had been out walking his land? What if his livestock got loose?
@351 & Araven: Subject of hunting on farm land….
As a Boy of about 14 I recall one day riding with Dad in his old 63 Chevy 3/4 ton pickup…we’re on a winding barely 2 lane road and an approaching truck was taking his half out of the middle and we ran off the road..no shoulder and about a 60 degree incline. The truck was close to rolling over. But we got out and started walking toward town, about a mile away.
Along comes a car with a couple of guys and they offer us a ride. Talk gets started and one fella says to my Dad, “say since we’re giving you a ride, you wouldn’t mind us hunting on your farm would ‘ya? He responds, yes I would I have cows, ponies, pigs, so sorry but no. The fella then starts up with some verbal abuse about fucking farmers, etc (I think he’d been drinking), and I never thought I’d see my Dad blow his top this badly but he did; I thought a fight would start right there in the car, he turned beet red & loudly said “STOP THE CAR”. We got out, further words exchanged, and they took off.
So 0351, please be advised many farmers and STRONG opinions about allowing hunting on their property. Especially by drunk city slickers who would sooner shoot you or your animals than look at them.
I completely agree Araven, the issue was that we were certain (wrong) about the property boundary. Again we should have swung by their place anyway just to let them know, but we had called everyone else. The one guy we didn’t have the phone number of. Also, it was the guy’s father’s property – dad recognised us, but his son had been staying with him recently and was the one who was grumpy. Again I get it, I just meant that once the confusion was done let it go man. The old guy came by and told us that he didn’t mind as usual, his son just didn’t know. And yeah, he could have called someone… And waited an hour or two… Fact is we both made assumptions and caused friction because of it. I didn’t say he wasn’t right to challenge use.