Monday, February 7, 2005

The Wild Cow of Alvada ~AND~ Dancing in the Dark

Ohio steers don't often jump fences and make a run for it, mostly because steers in Ohio (I imagine) have enough sense to realize that reaching steer "it" would require a ticket on a jet headed west and an awkward transition through airport security. "Is that fertilizer that we detect on your hooves?" Talk about having some 'splainin to do.

Farm life. Once last spring a steer did jump a fence on a neighboring farm and managed to both stay loose for more than a week and work the men folk into a frenzy. There were men in pickups and on 3 and 4 wheelers running up and down roads, lanes and into every patch of woods for miles around. Steers are dangerous and one on the loose with plans to head west, maybe by jumping a freight train, have to be found.  It was quite exciting, at least for the fellas. Maybe not so much for the steer because it was found it was in a clearing in a woods eating grass, without evidence of any further travel plans.

Farm Life. Farm folk don't get out much.  A person has to be good at being alone if they are going to be happy out here. I am better at alone than anybody I know.  Still, I miss dancing.  My solution? Every night after the fella has fallen asleep, I creep into the basement, CD player and headphones in hand, in the dark I dance.

Dancing alone in the dark is similar to singing really loud while driving down the freeway.  Liberating and joy full and blessedly without an audience.  I love to dance, always have. That I have always been completely uncoordinated and have now reached an age when random body parts fail with no warning whatsoever will not stop me. If I can manage to negotiate the grocery aisles wondering if my knees are going to lock or my elbows suddenly refuse to bend or maybe just a finger or two refusing to bend, I can dance in the basement in the dark. It aint wild cow chasing, but it will do.

1 comment:

shadp said...

LOL - you should consider writing regular articles for country/farming magazines! Steers were always breaking out on the farm I grew up on - but in UK we called them 'bullocks' rather than steers. Try getting your fella down to the basement for a bit of dancing - it could do wonders for him, you never know!