This, That and Sounds of Selle

 

This is my sisters' hay pile. 

Ours will come today. 

Theirs has about 35 tons of hay, which needs to be stored in their barn.

Their hay crew is probably working as I type.

Our crew, headed by my friend Levi Wood, will be here at Oh-Dark-Thirty tomorrow morning.

When Levi and his crew leave in late morning tomorrow, I am presuming that the single most anxiety-producing concern with owning farm animals will turn to instant calm for another year.

The hay will be safe and protected from the elements. There will be more than enough to feed the horses for another year. 

Lots more anxiety comes throughout the year with living on a farm and caring for animals, but having enough hay, especially hay which has not been rained on, for the next year is always the No. 1 concern.

Bill and I have long passed the days of bucking most of the bales on our own. 

I can remember a few times at the Great Northern place actually loading a pickup full of bales by myself.

  That's pretty tricky, especially jumping in and out of the pickup in between driving to the next bale and urging that bale into the pickup bed. 

These days, the first time our hands touch the bales is when we cut the twine and load up flakes for breakfast or dinner for the horses during the winter and spring months. 

I'm always more than happy to write the checks for the hay itself and for the labor.  

And, so, there's a lot on the mind for the next 24 hours or so.  

Add to that CB's first trip to my sisters' arena today and possibly the first time my friend Terra will climb aboard and ride him. 

And, even more:  Annie's coming home tomorrow evening.  She'll be spending a long weekend here.

 

It's also Festival time in Sandpoint.

Although we seldom go, there's always excitement when the annual music extravaganza begins. 

We Love's put in our time at The Festival during the 1990s working with the usher staff, and we've only gone occasionally since.  

Still, we're happy that the event, which runs over two weekends, continues to attract an eclectic and high-level range of performers. 

Except for the heat, audience members should have ideal conditions for picnicking and listening to music at Barlow Stadium. 

On these warm mornings in July, it's always fun to listen to the music of the fields, the woods and the general area known as Selle Valley. 

We hear trains passing through in the distance.  The crows are always talking in their wide range of voices. Bulls are bellering in pastures two or three places away or maybe even next door. 

Turkeys are gobbling or whispering in their maternal turkey talk to their young-'uns as they pass through the deep grass the horses' pastures. 

To the west, there's an animal species I do not know, but it has a high-pitched babylike wail which often sounds like it's just a few feet away.  

This creature's cries are usually among the first sounds I hear when I take Bridie out for her early morning duty. 

This morning, all those familiar sounds were loudly interrupted by an unknown ruckus just north of the barnyard in the Meserve's field.  

Twas loud and frantic, and it sounded like dogs.  Our dogs were napping in the house, and there are no other dogs in the vicinity directly north of us. 

I heard the sound once and wondered, and when I heard it again, I yelled downstairs to Bill, asking what that was. He didn't answer.  

By that time, the dogs were barking and racing around the house with hair raising on their backs. 

Bill had gone outside when he first heard it.  The unusual barking continued, and it soon became obvious that it was not coming from a dog. 

By the time I stepped outside the garage door, horses, which had been standing and staring across their fenceline, performed synchronized about-faces and began racing with tails and heads in the air toward the south fence. 

They wheeled around for a minute or two, stopping to look toward the direction of the sound.  Bill walked on one side of the barnyard, and I walked on the other. 

Whatever was going on over there ceased as quickly as it had started. 

Soon, horses had settled down, dogs inside the house had decided the drama was over, and Bill and I are still wondering what the heck had gone on.  

It certainly was a loud and somewhat alarming break in the normal morning concert of outdoor voices. 

Right now, the sound of the ceiling fan rotating seems to dominate and cool the air. 

And, now, I guess that's enough for today.

Stay cool. Happy Wednesday. 

I still haven't personally met former resident and author L. Scott Hancock (left), who used to talk fishing and hunting, et. al. with friends, including my dad, at the Pend Oreille Sport Shop,  but I do know his friend who's standing in the photo above. 

Scott sent me this photo from a book event in Southern Idaho this past weekend. 

Both Scott and E.C. Stilson signed their books at the event. 

That gentleman standing used to be our neighbor when we lived on the North Boyer farm. 

His name is Ken Watts (SHS Class of 1967), and he's a retired engineer who also writes a column dealing with local issues in Island Park, Idaho. 

Nice to see this group, and maybe next time I see you, Scott, it will be in person.