Eat what?

The few bits of pink pasture flowers that are left. The Queen Anne’s Lace has folded itself up ready to shake out some seeds for the next season’s coming attraction.

There’s something to said about transparency. I’ve heard a good deal about it in regards to politics; however, I did learn that by laying things out for the naysayers to attack is easier than having them running amok with tales of their own devices. So it is that I have laid my daily activities on this little farm exposed for the ravens to pick.

I knew the risk when I started to expose the open flesh wounds and all. The pictures of my animals included were shared with the intention of allowing others a sneak peek. Since I’m not crazy about frequent visits by well intention interested people this seemed like a good alternative. I remember the car that pulled into the drive to deploy their additions to the human race. The darlings attacked at once running to the barn door to pull it open, followed by a screaming adult with a bag of unidentified goodies for the poor animals. I know that my feet didn’t hit the steps to get outside at a full sprint.

When I reached the crowd gathered at the alpaca girl’s gate Beauty was about to try a nondescript bit of rotten something. I immediately imposed myself between the woman and pushed the darlings back while stating that she might ‘bite’. Of course alpacas really don’t bite, but it seemed like an easy way to discharge the throng. The mother did draw her darlings under her in a wing-like repose. Then without warning the mother put her face smack into Beauty’s. Beauty took one sniff and spit out the regurgitated hay, grain and saliva mix into mother’s upturned face. I was torn between an outrageous all out laugh and a subdued giggle with an ‘atta girl Beauty’.

This same woman later visited the village to repeat her story of being attacked by my fierce animals. I enjoyed the rhetoric and added to it every time I was accosted with the litany. Frankly, it was great fun to hear it repeated significantly changed every time. It was then I realized the lack of reading and writing level in the area. This may explain the reason so many are unemployed, too. I never gave it a thought, but filling out a job application does require some reading and writing.

Signs indicate that there is indeed an electric fence on the property. In addition, there are several signs that state pretty clearly that trespassing is not allowed. Posted all around the back of the property are signs to indicate not only trespassing, but hunting restrictions. None of these are apparently anything but decoration. Here I thought I was being so helpful to state things clearly; however, not once did I think that someone would not be able to either read or comprehend the signs. What was I thinking?

Consequently it is much the same with transparency. Even though I have been more than forthcoming with my daily trivial life on my insignificant, tiny excuse for a farm there are those that still are unable to refrain from sniping and quibbling. So here’s to the little minds that are bound to extract whatever they are able to from my writing and photographs. And here’s to those that believe whatever is passed around through their tin can line of exaggerated lies. I’ll have to get one of those party tin cans and see if I can add some more to it for their entertainment.

Meanwhile life goes on in quietude. The animals are all well fed with great hay and grain. Their buckets are filled with fresh water. They are all dewormed regularly in the proper manner. I give them veterinary care as appropriate with the state required shots as well as emergencies. And indeed I do hoard the animals that live here. I do not eat my animals served up with their half cooked blood running across the plate. I do not have a freezer full of dead chickens to boil, bake, or roast. In addition, there will not be any goose dinners for holidays here either. I hear the natives in South America do eat alpacas, but there can’t be much meat. I doubt that I will imbibe anything as exotic though.
And so it goes…
Copyright © 2011


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