Sunday at the farm

Woke up to a rainy Sunday today. Soft, spring rain that nourishes the spring-into-summer flowers and greenery.

What else could I do but head out the Farm and see what was blooming?

Well, the buttercups, for one!!




The labyrinth was full of flowers …







And more flowers!







And, there was new life and old equipment!






By the time I was done my traipse, my pant legs were wet, my feet were soaked and I’m pretty sure I had baby goat hoof marks on my clothes from all the jumping.

It was perfect.



A day at the farm

I don’t want to be a farmer but I sure love hanging out at a farm.

On Sunday I had the opportunity to hang out at an organic farm for the day. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I’m not sure why I’m surprised about that but when I arrived back home exhausted I realized that I was completely content and smiling on the inside.


My tour guides were two young girls who live at the farm. Ages five and three and three-quarters (remember when you measured your age by part-years?). The five year old informed me that she had lived at the farm for a very long time and so she was the best person to show me around. And so she was.

We visited the chickens where we learned there were nice ones and mean ones. And, one who was allowed out to wander the farm outside of the pen because the other chickens picked on it (well, pecked on it) and so it needed to be held and petted.farm_chickens

We distracted the chickens with kale so we could visit the goats. They all had names, although I missed most of them due to the rapid-fire delivery of the list of names by my younger guide. It must be so frustrating as a kid to constantly have to repeat things until the adults finally understand. One goat was named Gorgonzola, which I thought was a great goat name.


We visited the labyrinth where it was okay to either follow the winding path or take shortcuts to get right to the middle.


We traipsed down the fields and watched the train go by.  And, we visited the meadow. And then it was time for lunch and Mom’s mac-and-cheese, a clear favourite.



I had forgotten how kids that age are a steady stream of information, ideas, thoughts and possibilities. And, energy. And, noise! By the time the tour was done, I was longing for the relative silence of the 200 chickens.

And so I did what I suspect many a parent tries to do. I escaped to the bathroom for some peace and quiet.


I sometimes think that I should ditch the city and head out to live somewhere where the road isn’t the main source of sound. Maybe I will someday.

In the meantime, I think I might need to go back after the goats have babies.  Anyone know what a little gorgonzola is called?