I started running this morning, and, as usual, started making a list of all the reasons I hated running in the country: the skunk that met me at the edge of our yard, the deer that made me turn into Russell from the Disney movie Up, clapping three times to get them out of my way, the garbage truck that kicked up dust as it passed.
However, once I hit the hard road, I was back to liking being out here, running alone in the early morning light.
Alone, until I passed my cousins' house and their beloved chocolate lab joined me.
Sigh.
"Go HOME, Remington."
Remington is part of the pair of labs my cousins got around the time we had our first dog. They were a pair. They would disappear for days, spending one Christmas in Doggie Jail (i.e., the pound). They were often trucked home by friends as far as five miles away, and were always frolicking with each other...just not in their own yard. They're friendly, not jumpy, not barky, but not homebodies.
Unfortunately, Gunnar, the yellow lab of the pair, was killed on one of their adventures. Remington can be found out and about, but not as adventurous as when she had her buddy.
However, this morning, she was up for a run. So, she trotted alongside me up to the next neighbor's house, and when I turned around and she didn't, I thought I was safe to go on my way.
Not so fast.
She sprinted ahead of me, blazing past, stopping just long enough to poop, and then started again. We passed her house, and even though I called for her to go home, she kept going with me.
As we neared the corner where our road meets the hard road, I knew she would go home, as this was the corner where she can sometimes be found hanging out with the other neighbor's dogs. I thought now I was free to trudge back. I went a little farther and a little faster today, and was hurting. Remington turned the corner with me, and by my side, she kept me going, all the way to my yard, where she promptly set up shop on our deck and snacked on Sadie's (our dog) dog food.
As Joe hauled Remington back to my cousin's house, I realized how nice it was to have a canine companion this morning. I wasn't as skittish as I neared the corner where I sighted the skunk, and when the corn rustled, obviously not from the wind, Remington headed towards it and scared whatever it was away. I just kept going.
Maybe I could make this running with Remington a new thing.
Maybe it would keep her out of doggie jail!
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Back in the Saddle
I guess I should be careful with my title, as I am not literally back in the saddle. Living on a cattle farm, one could get confused. I am speaking in the figurative sense of the phrase, as I have been cleared for running.
This makes me happy. This makes me whole, and this is usually marked by a new pair of shoes, a new outfit, new route, and a renewed love of a sport that brings me balance.
I'm balanced, or as balanced as I can be, but with the USDA crop report (think the 1983 classic, shown weekly on USA Trading Places) out yesterday, with the market projections limit down (if you don't know what that means, I wouldn't suggest asking a grain farmer, unless you want a deep, frustrated sigh and a not-so-happy explanation), a new outfit and shoes were out for the time being. However, I am looking at the bright side of no new shoes, as running on gravel in new shoes would be foolish.
I'm digressing.
Anyway, back to being in the saddle, so to speak. As I put on my running shoes, I took off on my second run of the postpartum running season and noted a marked difference in my run, route, and thoughts between my first and fourth children. Instead of running the "country" trail at Lake of the Woods Park, ticking off my mileage by noting the spray painted mile markers along the paved, well manicured path, I took off from my gravel driveway to the gravel road, dodging a dead bird and then a live snake. Instead of meeting other runners, I met mama cows, who gave me inquisitive looks as I pep talked myself up the hill. Cars whizzed by me, but unlike city commuters, they looked, waved, and were potentially the t-ball coach, a cousin, or a neighbor off to work, chores, or to the coffee shop for some gossip. Instead of marking my turn-around point with a pit-stop at the public restroom, I made my turn around at the pile of raccoon poop.
Nice, huh?
Even though the differences between the settings are polar opposites, the run is the same. My feet still hit the ground, whether it's manicured asphalt or gravel. My sweat is still sweaty, whether I'm enjoying a cool off point at a water fountain on my route or being shaded by the timber. It's all the same.
This is why it's good for me to run. I am balanced, and through this, I can realize once again, that even though our summer is rough and the crops here look great-- even though there's always the markets, hail, or a random windstorm to put the farmers ill at ease at all times-- we are okay. We are thriving, not just surviving. We are healthy, the kids are happy, and I can run. Shouldn't I be grateful just for that?
Man, balance is clairvoyant, isn't it? Here's hoping I can keep this up, and keep out of the way of dead birds and snakes during my moments of clarity.
This makes me happy. This makes me whole, and this is usually marked by a new pair of shoes, a new outfit, new route, and a renewed love of a sport that brings me balance.
I'm balanced, or as balanced as I can be, but with the USDA crop report (think the 1983 classic, shown weekly on USA Trading Places) out yesterday, with the market projections limit down (if you don't know what that means, I wouldn't suggest asking a grain farmer, unless you want a deep, frustrated sigh and a not-so-happy explanation), a new outfit and shoes were out for the time being. However, I am looking at the bright side of no new shoes, as running on gravel in new shoes would be foolish.
I'm digressing.
Anyway, back to being in the saddle, so to speak. As I put on my running shoes, I took off on my second run of the postpartum running season and noted a marked difference in my run, route, and thoughts between my first and fourth children. Instead of running the "country" trail at Lake of the Woods Park, ticking off my mileage by noting the spray painted mile markers along the paved, well manicured path, I took off from my gravel driveway to the gravel road, dodging a dead bird and then a live snake. Instead of meeting other runners, I met mama cows, who gave me inquisitive looks as I pep talked myself up the hill. Cars whizzed by me, but unlike city commuters, they looked, waved, and were potentially the t-ball coach, a cousin, or a neighbor off to work, chores, or to the coffee shop for some gossip. Instead of marking my turn-around point with a pit-stop at the public restroom, I made my turn around at the pile of raccoon poop.
Nice, huh?
Even though the differences between the settings are polar opposites, the run is the same. My feet still hit the ground, whether it's manicured asphalt or gravel. My sweat is still sweaty, whether I'm enjoying a cool off point at a water fountain on my route or being shaded by the timber. It's all the same.
This is why it's good for me to run. I am balanced, and through this, I can realize once again, that even though our summer is rough and the crops here look great-- even though there's always the markets, hail, or a random windstorm to put the farmers ill at ease at all times-- we are okay. We are thriving, not just surviving. We are healthy, the kids are happy, and I can run. Shouldn't I be grateful just for that?
Man, balance is clairvoyant, isn't it? Here's hoping I can keep this up, and keep out of the way of dead birds and snakes during my moments of clarity.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Purposeful Mower
It's July, hot, and we're currently enjoying the in between phase of farm life. There's not a lot of haste in the farmer's steps, except when hay is down and the rain is coming. This new pace is refreshing, but idle hands drive the farmers in our operation crazy.
Thus, the mowing begins.
At first, I didn't understand what the whole deal was with mowing roadsides. Sure, cosmetically, the edge of the fields look better, and there's that whole weed control aspect of it, but seriously? Do we need to have three mowers going at once.
Answer: yes.
As a newbie field observer in all things farming, it has taken the crossing of my love of running, the fact that I live on a farm, a treadmill on the fritz, and an unfortunate run-in with a dead skunk this morning to make me realize the multifaceted resoning behind mowing roadsides.
Reason #1: Weed control. This is somewhat obvious, probably. Just like mowing our own lawn and completing the string trimming, it helps keep the weeds out of the edge of the fields. Weedy soybean fields are not only unsightly to a farmer's keen eye, but are also not great for production. I wish we would have followed this set of rules with our garden, but there's always next year!
Reason #2: Cosmetic appeal. Farmers may have the stereotype of "gettin' down and dirty," but the farmers around here not only wear collared shirts as they grease the zerts (seriously, that's a part of the combine. . .I think), but pride themselves on keeping the fields well groomed. I guess coffee shop talk about who has the nicest looking place is like junior high peer pressure.
Reason #3: Safety. This is where I come in. This morning, as I enjoyed my five miler (if that is really possible in July) on our gravel road and the blacktop, I met up with an early morning "commuter." I eased over to the side of the blacktop, but only as far as the waist high weeds would let me. Not wanting to fall into the camoflauged ditch or get poison ivy, I only went as far as the pea gravel on the edge of the blacktop. Thankfully, the driver scooted over as well, and I was happily not knocked off pace, but I found myself wondering why the heck the neighboring farmers hadn't gotten out and mowed their roadsides. My pace quickened also as I met up with my cousin's golden lab, busting out of the now neck high weeds on her way home from her morning tour of the neighborhood. If the weeds would have been mowed, I could have been completely out of harms way and wouldn't have nearly screamed when I saw Gunnar. Seriously, get in your air conditioned cab and mow the dang roadsides.
And finally, Reason #4: Roadside Treasures: I wish you could hear the sarcasm in my voice as I say the word, treasures. As I traveled down the serene road, wishing I had a camera to take a picture of the sun rising, I was met with not only a dead skunk (and its smell), roughly half a dozen water bottles, beer cans, a container of spinach salad (seriously), and a dead coyote pup hidden in the tall grass (almost causing scream #2). However, all of these treasures were found on the unmowed roadsides, whereas the mowed ones just made me realize more and more how necessary this chore is. I guess seeing a patch of tall weeds makes a traveler think that the road is his or her trash can. As far as the road kill goes, I just wish I would have had some time to mentally prepare for seeing the critters. . . bugged eyes on a dead animal at 6AM is not fun.
Regardless, my smarty pants approach to farming and its activities is once again thwarted. A seemingly unneccessary chore that takes Joe away for the entire day, makes Dad use the mower we call the "Man Killer," and leaves all of them sweaty and nasty at the end of the day is absolutely necessary. Now if I could just get the men to think that the artwork I need to hang in my bedroom is as necessary as keeping up with the mowing!
Thus, the mowing begins.
At first, I didn't understand what the whole deal was with mowing roadsides. Sure, cosmetically, the edge of the fields look better, and there's that whole weed control aspect of it, but seriously? Do we need to have three mowers going at once.
Answer: yes.
As a newbie field observer in all things farming, it has taken the crossing of my love of running, the fact that I live on a farm, a treadmill on the fritz, and an unfortunate run-in with a dead skunk this morning to make me realize the multifaceted resoning behind mowing roadsides.
Reason #1: Weed control. This is somewhat obvious, probably. Just like mowing our own lawn and completing the string trimming, it helps keep the weeds out of the edge of the fields. Weedy soybean fields are not only unsightly to a farmer's keen eye, but are also not great for production. I wish we would have followed this set of rules with our garden, but there's always next year!
Reason #2: Cosmetic appeal. Farmers may have the stereotype of "gettin' down and dirty," but the farmers around here not only wear collared shirts as they grease the zerts (seriously, that's a part of the combine. . .I think), but pride themselves on keeping the fields well groomed. I guess coffee shop talk about who has the nicest looking place is like junior high peer pressure.
Reason #3: Safety. This is where I come in. This morning, as I enjoyed my five miler (if that is really possible in July) on our gravel road and the blacktop, I met up with an early morning "commuter." I eased over to the side of the blacktop, but only as far as the waist high weeds would let me. Not wanting to fall into the camoflauged ditch or get poison ivy, I only went as far as the pea gravel on the edge of the blacktop. Thankfully, the driver scooted over as well, and I was happily not knocked off pace, but I found myself wondering why the heck the neighboring farmers hadn't gotten out and mowed their roadsides. My pace quickened also as I met up with my cousin's golden lab, busting out of the now neck high weeds on her way home from her morning tour of the neighborhood. If the weeds would have been mowed, I could have been completely out of harms way and wouldn't have nearly screamed when I saw Gunnar. Seriously, get in your air conditioned cab and mow the dang roadsides.
And finally, Reason #4: Roadside Treasures: I wish you could hear the sarcasm in my voice as I say the word, treasures. As I traveled down the serene road, wishing I had a camera to take a picture of the sun rising, I was met with not only a dead skunk (and its smell), roughly half a dozen water bottles, beer cans, a container of spinach salad (seriously), and a dead coyote pup hidden in the tall grass (almost causing scream #2). However, all of these treasures were found on the unmowed roadsides, whereas the mowed ones just made me realize more and more how necessary this chore is. I guess seeing a patch of tall weeds makes a traveler think that the road is his or her trash can. As far as the road kill goes, I just wish I would have had some time to mentally prepare for seeing the critters. . . bugged eyes on a dead animal at 6AM is not fun.
Regardless, my smarty pants approach to farming and its activities is once again thwarted. A seemingly unneccessary chore that takes Joe away for the entire day, makes Dad use the mower we call the "Man Killer," and leaves all of them sweaty and nasty at the end of the day is absolutely necessary. Now if I could just get the men to think that the artwork I need to hang in my bedroom is as necessary as keeping up with the mowing!
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Farming and Exercise
It may be obvious that farming is an exercise in patience, but farming as a form of exercise? As a town girl transplanted to the country, I am finding out that this is true.
Case in point: this morning. We were visiting Joe's family on their farm, and after visiting Grandpa Dick and Grandma D-lo (she was D-lo way before J-Lo, so Joe says!), I decided to run back to my parents-in-law's house. It was a three mile trek, but I needed an easy run after yesterday's long run. Joe's grandfather was horrified.
"You're going to do WHAT? WHERE? And WHY?"
He was not necessarily shocked at the fact that I was running, but the fact that I was going to tool down the gravel road up to the hard road and then up to the home place. It seemed completely logical to me, as the only cars that truly frequent this route are those with the drivers who have the same last name as me. Wouldn't it be safer for me to run on this set of side roads rather than a busy street in town? Plus, I don't have to drive into town to do my run that day (have I mentioned that I even keep a running stroller at my parents' house. . .yes, I have two, but who cares. . . in town?).
Anyway, I took off, with my grandparents in-law watching and shaking their heads at their grandson's crazy wife, and was left to the silence of the country road. I enjoyed my three miles of solitude, and do I mean solitude. The only creatures I passed were birds, one cow (who quickly ran the other way, after seeing me), and a wild kitty. My run was glorious, alone, silent, and done for the day. It was bliss.
So why were the farmers around here so freaked out that I was going to use their roads as a workout facility? Why aren't more farmers and farm wives taking up walking/running/biking down these solitary roads with light traffic? Where are the farmers in my PowerPump class? Where are the farmers in the community softball league?
Well. . . I think I have figured out some possible reasons:
1) Farmers rarely have times for hobbies such as exercising. This goes without a lot of explanation. Joe rarely has time to keep up on his paperwork and bills, let alone take up running.
2) Farming in itself is exercise. I live with an example. My husband, upon taking on the cattle operation, dropped 35 pounds and gained muscle. He looks fantastic. My dad, uncle, grandpa, father-in-law, grandfather in-law all are other examples of what getting in and out of tractors, hefting bags of seed and bales of hay and walking fields can do for your body. They are fit as a part of their occupations.
3) Roads in the rural route, although solitary and not too congested, are pretty dangerous to use as a running route. Crazy farm dogs, farm wives headed out to town, tractors pulling heavy equipment all are on these roads and are not looking out for Little Ole Me. The hills are great, but are blind, and while I loved running by myself in the middle of nowhere, the gravel could have done some serious damage to my ankles.
I will continue to pack my running clothes when we visit my in-laws, however, I am not going to make running our country roads a habit. Instead, I'll keep packing up my kids up in the car and head to town and run. Town folks don't shake their heads and watch me until I'm just a dot on the gravel road as my grandparents in-law did today. Rather, town folks won't even notice the crazy lady pushing two kids as she runs.
Case in point: this morning. We were visiting Joe's family on their farm, and after visiting Grandpa Dick and Grandma D-lo (she was D-lo way before J-Lo, so Joe says!), I decided to run back to my parents-in-law's house. It was a three mile trek, but I needed an easy run after yesterday's long run. Joe's grandfather was horrified.
"You're going to do WHAT? WHERE? And WHY?"
He was not necessarily shocked at the fact that I was running, but the fact that I was going to tool down the gravel road up to the hard road and then up to the home place. It seemed completely logical to me, as the only cars that truly frequent this route are those with the drivers who have the same last name as me. Wouldn't it be safer for me to run on this set of side roads rather than a busy street in town? Plus, I don't have to drive into town to do my run that day (have I mentioned that I even keep a running stroller at my parents' house. . .yes, I have two, but who cares. . . in town?).
Anyway, I took off, with my grandparents in-law watching and shaking their heads at their grandson's crazy wife, and was left to the silence of the country road. I enjoyed my three miles of solitude, and do I mean solitude. The only creatures I passed were birds, one cow (who quickly ran the other way, after seeing me), and a wild kitty. My run was glorious, alone, silent, and done for the day. It was bliss.
So why were the farmers around here so freaked out that I was going to use their roads as a workout facility? Why aren't more farmers and farm wives taking up walking/running/biking down these solitary roads with light traffic? Where are the farmers in my PowerPump class? Where are the farmers in the community softball league?
Well. . . I think I have figured out some possible reasons:
1) Farmers rarely have times for hobbies such as exercising. This goes without a lot of explanation. Joe rarely has time to keep up on his paperwork and bills, let alone take up running.
2) Farming in itself is exercise. I live with an example. My husband, upon taking on the cattle operation, dropped 35 pounds and gained muscle. He looks fantastic. My dad, uncle, grandpa, father-in-law, grandfather in-law all are other examples of what getting in and out of tractors, hefting bags of seed and bales of hay and walking fields can do for your body. They are fit as a part of their occupations.
3) Roads in the rural route, although solitary and not too congested, are pretty dangerous to use as a running route. Crazy farm dogs, farm wives headed out to town, tractors pulling heavy equipment all are on these roads and are not looking out for Little Ole Me. The hills are great, but are blind, and while I loved running by myself in the middle of nowhere, the gravel could have done some serious damage to my ankles.
I will continue to pack my running clothes when we visit my in-laws, however, I am not going to make running our country roads a habit. Instead, I'll keep packing up my kids up in the car and head to town and run. Town folks don't shake their heads and watch me until I'm just a dot on the gravel road as my grandparents in-law did today. Rather, town folks won't even notice the crazy lady pushing two kids as she runs.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Rain Days
As a kid, and then later as a teacher, I ADORED snow days. They were filled with possibility, pancakes, and sleep! As a farmer's wife, now, rain days (depending upon the number of consecutive ones. . . last year was not the year to rejoice in the rain) are comparable to snow days. Joe is usually near the house, able to help with the kids to give me an opportunity to run to the grocery store without having to talk about every single purchase, what letter it starts with, and why we cannot buy PEZ dispensers.
This weekend, "they" (who are these weather gods anyway?) are calling for rain. Now, I have quite a dilemma. Typically, rain is a really good thing for the new crops. We have been able to "row" crops that are already in, which means, from the road, see little promises of corn plants (it's still too early for beans to be in the ground here) in their perfect little rows. Anyway, this weekend is a race in which I have been in training for quite some time. The girls are in the youth run (a 1K, isn't that funny?), and we are returning to our dear Alma Mater for the weekend. It's supposed to rain.
As a runner, I should be disappointed in this, however, as a farm wife, I am ECSTATIC! I don't have to be a single mom, or beg my mom to come and babysit the girls while I participate. We can actually do this activity as a family!!!! Oh the JOY!!
Farmers are not the only folks at the mercy of the weather, it's all really relative to whomever you are. We all want green grass, but not a flooded basement. Don't most adults need sunlight to get kids out in the yard, attend Little League games, and just be a generally nice person. Isn't a rainy day good for all of us to not feel like we have to be potting plants, mowing the grass, pushing the kids in the swings, plant the garden, and grill out dinner. . . all simultaneously, of course!
My Facebook alerts in regards to this run and the potential rain have been pretty funny. I laugh at the comments of, "OH NO!" or "I am hoping for it to be sunny!" That was me, just a few years ago. Now I have a piece of me that would like to not have to run 13 miles in a torrential downpour, but if it means that Joe can be there to watch me and the big girls cross the finish line, and will give our crops a well deserved drink, I'll take it!
This weekend, "they" (who are these weather gods anyway?) are calling for rain. Now, I have quite a dilemma. Typically, rain is a really good thing for the new crops. We have been able to "row" crops that are already in, which means, from the road, see little promises of corn plants (it's still too early for beans to be in the ground here) in their perfect little rows. Anyway, this weekend is a race in which I have been in training for quite some time. The girls are in the youth run (a 1K, isn't that funny?), and we are returning to our dear Alma Mater for the weekend. It's supposed to rain.
As a runner, I should be disappointed in this, however, as a farm wife, I am ECSTATIC! I don't have to be a single mom, or beg my mom to come and babysit the girls while I participate. We can actually do this activity as a family!!!! Oh the JOY!!
Farmers are not the only folks at the mercy of the weather, it's all really relative to whomever you are. We all want green grass, but not a flooded basement. Don't most adults need sunlight to get kids out in the yard, attend Little League games, and just be a generally nice person. Isn't a rainy day good for all of us to not feel like we have to be potting plants, mowing the grass, pushing the kids in the swings, plant the garden, and grill out dinner. . . all simultaneously, of course!
My Facebook alerts in regards to this run and the potential rain have been pretty funny. I laugh at the comments of, "OH NO!" or "I am hoping for it to be sunny!" That was me, just a few years ago. Now I have a piece of me that would like to not have to run 13 miles in a torrential downpour, but if it means that Joe can be there to watch me and the big girls cross the finish line, and will give our crops a well deserved drink, I'll take it!
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