Farm Fresh Blog

I head out to feed on yet another cold and drizzly night when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'd like to say I don't recognize that person, but I do. I'm certain I arrested that old woman for public intoxication and fighting about 15 years ago. I stare at her in the mirror. Eegaads! When did that old woman sneak up on me? When did I become her?

Have you ever noticed that barn attire in the winter bears a striking resemblance to the way homeless people dress? Layers. Lots of layers. And the top layer is a dirty camouflage jacket. You don't bother to wear clean clothes because frankly, you're just gonna get dirty again. In muddy weather cleanliness lasts all of thirty seconds once I exit the door. A dog will greet me with muddy paws, or a goat will stamp muddy hoofprints on my clothing. A horse will then give me a kiss, wiping mud on my cheek. I resign myself to wear mud all winter.

Homeless people have an excuse. I don't. I have a hairbrush. I just didn't use it today. I stare at my hair sticking out in all directions from a loose ponytail. Talk about fifty shades of gray! And I believe that's a piece of hay left over from this morning's feeding.  Shaken out of my daze by the tiny paws bouncing on my leg, I look down at her toothy grin, but the rip in the leg of my gym pants glares back at me. The puppy really doesn't care what I look like. She doesn't care that I smell like muddy cow shit already. No, the dogs don't care, and Other Half is out of town, but I look in the mirror and decide that I care.

At least at this moment I care. When I am rested. When I'm not hungry. When I'm not overwhelmed with too much to do and not enough time to do it. I care today. I look at the dirty old woman in the mirror and resolve to make a better effort to walk outside not looking like a homeless person. The neighbors might appreciate that. Tomorrow?  Well. . . we'll see how much time I have.