Summer like cotton sheets

Yesterday I was feeding the chickens and suddenly looked up as I felt a Lull descend like a floating white cotton sheet upon the Farmy. A summer lull. 

Long before the times of fitted sheets, (which I hate by the way – they are useless when the elastic gives up), my mother would make the beds by throwing the sheet high up into the air, adjusting it as it fell through the sunlight, so it floated flat and full straight down onto the mattress in exactly the right spot for her to tuck the sheet in with the perfect hospital corners that we were all taught to do.   It is a perfect memory I have of her – looking up at her throwing that sheet. Sometimes if she had time she would Make the Bed on Top of us. She would put the bottom sheet on and we would help tuck it in, cover the pillow with its new pillowcase, holding the pillow between our teeth, then we would lie on the empty bed, our tiny skinny bodies grinning all over, toes wriggling with delight as she stood at the end of the bed and threw the sheet up into the air so it floated ever so softly, gently and perfectly like a mothers kiss to cover me perfectly. Then she would tuck me in. She would kiss me goodnight, bless me,  do exactly the same thing for my sister then switch the bedroom light off, turn the passage light on and we would listen to her footsteps as she moved onto the next bedroom filled with more children waiting to be tucked in and then the next one. It must have been a Saturday. We always changed our sheets on a Saturday. I still do.

This is exactly how it felt yesterday afternoon. As though Our Earth Mother had lifted the crisp sun dried sheets with their salty smell of beach breeze and shook them out above me, one after the other,  then let the sheets descend ever so slowly, wafting down, the summer quiet floating down to blanket the farm with good.

Every single animal on the farm was asleep in the warm afternoon sun. Everyone but me that is. There is a lot to be learnt from an animals siesta. The cows were down the back as far away as they could get their head tucked into their hocks. Naomi was in her long grass, Little Bobby under his cherry tree, Tima and Tane laid in a mud hole and Manu and Sheila slept in their respective tin huts (I must get a couple more of those before winter).  Poppy’s piglets fell off her breasts like fat full babies and slept with their mouths open against her belly.  I picked old hard corn and sunflower heads for the animals dinner and worked at releasing the grape vine from its two summers of  neglect. But I worked slowly. Without hurry. The muslin of summer resting gently on my shoulders like a blessing.

Even the bird songs, though crystal clear, were strangely muted as though they came from far away. Another dimension or time. I walked into that tunnel of summer stillness  and stayed there all afternoon.

Little, drunk each of his bottles without coercion yesterday in fact all the calves drunk everything without complaint. So it was a good day. All the West Wing Barn babies are all on full bottles now. Tomoyo feeds two and I feed the other two and we were looking at each other over their greedy heads and laughing out loud at the delightful sounds and head butting. I am still afraid of being optomistic but they are really doing so much better. And any runny bottoms are few and far between now over there.

Little is still so weak and so slow and still has the scours when he is lying down but is showing signs of waking up. For such a long time he has been In The Woods. I think today will be his turning point – one way or the other.

I hope you have a lovely day,

Your friend on the farm,

celi