While I've been sitting on the front porch, sometimes in the sun, sometimes not, sometimes with the dogs and sometimes alone, I've had many things to take in.
Yesterday I watched the farmer across the road make hay. Mid-June is time for the first cut and, as the farmer circled his field cutting his crop, he released all sorts of allergens into the air. If you're an asthmatic with a severe allergy to all things named GRASS, (ahem) well, it probably wasn't a wise thing to sit and watch him cut & bale his hay. I sat and rocked, watching the tractor create row upon row of cut grass which was soon bundled into round bales of hay, all while sucking on my inhaler like a baby with a pacifier.
I also got to observe two robins doing "it". Usually the bird show we have here in the OBB is the Birds of Prey Show, with Eagles chasing Osprey, Osprey chasing Hawks, Hawks chasing Ravens and Ravens chasing anything they can get their beaks on. But yesterday, yesterday it was bird lovin' brought to you by the rockin' Robins. It's not a very pretty show, and suffice it to say, if people did "it" the way these birds were going at "it" well, there'd be a lot of black eyes at the end of "it".
Today, our farmer-neighbour out back completed the soil preparation for planting potatoes. With two tractors he carved out raised beds to plant the potatoes in and then followed up with spraying a healthy does of liquid fertilizer over the beds. And how do I know it was liquid fertilizer and not something else? Well, my friends, it was because of the unmistakable smell of liquid fertilizer. It smells like shit. Oh, we've been here before...a certain sign that spring has hit the island is the distinct scent of manure in all its forms permeating the air and lingering, like the bad odor it is.
Summer arrives this weekend and here on the island, that means that Parks Canada will start charging entrance fees into the national parks and beaches there-in. It also means that there's an endless stream of campers making their way up our road to campgrounds in Cavendish and points beyond. With the steady stream of traffic making their way north, one in ever 4 or 5 vehicles is a big-ass camper trailer. How these people afford to drive these behemoths, I'll never know, but there's certainly no shortage of them making their way to their summer campsite.
Our little old farmhouse is perched across from the island raceway, where the local car clubs run drag races and stock-car meets every other weekend. It's not the sound of the modified engines that we hear as the local rednecks race their way around the track...oh no...it's the rumbling sounds of modified motorcycles careening up and down our road, with 50+ year old men living out their 'born to be wild' fantasies. If one out of ever 4 or 5 vehicles is a camper trailer, then one out of every 3 or 4 vehicles is a modified motorcycle. I kid you not.
People ask if I'm lonely out here in the country, far removed from the city centre (a mere 20-minutes which for me is NOTHING, but for people on the island it's almost on another planet) and all the hub-bub that comes with city life. I can honestly say though with all the comings, goings, bird-whoopie, hay-making and the like, it's hardly tranquil, seldom quiet and definitely not lonely.
