Just One More Round.

One of the chores I enjoy the best on our farms is clipping pastures.  It doesn’t take a lot of concentration or skill to clip weeds and grass that the cows have left standing.  There is a pleasant satisfaction when I hear the chopper grinding into oblivion the arrogant thistles and multiflora rose bushes that seem to flaunt their ability to withstand the heat, drought, and any of nature’s challenges.

With every round, I watch the underlying grass appear.  It seems to thank me for helping it overcome the tough competition that has overshadowed it for too long.  Our cattle watch with anticipation of greener pastures from inside the barnyard fence.  They seem to realize that they won’t have the eye-offending brittle stalks of grass and weeds to contend with as they forage for young clover and new grass once the gate is opened and they are released into the freshly mown section.

Clipping pastures does not have the stress level that I associate with mowing grass down for hay.  Generally, there are fewer ground hog holes to watch out for since the cows are very efficient at closing these farm-equipment offenders that play havoc on the tractor drivers, too.  Rubbing their faces in the fresh dirt around the burrow entrance is a favorite pastime for our Herefords.  Within a few days, any pasture-squatting ground hog will have his excavated entrance hole politely but permanently closed.  That’s a relief for people as well as cattle since all of us won’t be at risk for breaking something as we travel across the field.

We try to clip pastures when the weather forecast is too risky for curing hay.  Storm clouds on the horizon generally bring cooler breezes and some refreshing showers to cool off the chore of clipping.  Raindrops on the tractor muffler burst into puffs of steam as the clouds pass overhead.  The dry ground soaks in the welcome moisture as the pastures seem to sigh with relief when much-needed water finds its way to thirsty roots.  As long as the clouds hold back down pours, I generally continue to wage my war on weeds and old grass.

Last week, as I was clipping pastures at my parents’ farm, I watched dark clouds gathering far to the west.  I prayed that these clouds would bring rain to the farm’s fields since several weeks had passed with no precipitation.  Each round I made with the tractor and mower was one pass closer to finishing the job.  I wanted to get finished with this chore so that our time could be spent on hay-making efforts.  Finding those windows in the weather to mow hay and let it dry, rake it and bale it without getting rained on is always a gamble when forecasts change without warning.  Since last weekend had one of those “chance of rain” predictions by professional meteorologists, pasture clipping became the top priority.

I kept the tractor rolling and the PTO revved up to clear another pass through the pasture.  I was almost able to see my progress from across the knob of the hill.  While I prayed for rain, I had conflicting hopes of finishing the job, parking the tractor, and enjoying the rain fall from inside my parents’ farmhouse.  As the staccato of the raindrops increased on the tractor’s hood, I knew the clouds were beating me to the goal line.  I saw my husband, Mike, walking toward the pasture and waving me to stop.  I figured he wanted to pull the tractor and mower through the pasture gate and into the shed.  But, instead, he said he would take over and finish the mowing.  He had just finished the fence-line trimming task he was working on.  Even though I questioned his judgment, I hopped off the tractor and headed for the house.

The sound of the tractor was drowned out by the rain hitting the metal roof of my parents’ porch within a few minutes.  I dashed back to the metal shed and found Mike, tractor and mower thoroughly soaked.  Now equally drenched, I hauled on the sliding doors to close them and keep the blowing rain outside.  The percussion of the rain made the inside of the metal shed reverberate like a drum.  There was no point in talking since we could barely hear ourselves think with all the noise.

Inside my head, the “I told you so” thought kept bouncing around as I saw the water pooling on the floor around us.  Trying to get one more round before the rain had left both of us soaking wet, but glad for the shower.  We waited for the storm to subside before walking back to the house for a welcomed break and a home-cooked meal of chicken pot pie, prepared by my mom and daughter Emilie.  We enjoyed the family fellowship for the next hour, and finished the pasture clipping after the sun returned later in the afternoon.

Sometimes it seems God is telling us to take a break and enjoy what truly matters in life.  And even though I enjoy driving tractors,clipping pastures, and getting jobs done, these rain-interupted interludes remind me that spending time with my family is what is truly important in life.

   
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