Winter in Farm Country

 

 

 

 

Winter in Farm Country

It’s been brutally cold here for a brutally long time. I haven’t seen the ground for weeks – it’s been buried under a foot of snow. It’s boring here in farm country in winter. And this year, with the pandemic still in full vigor, it’s even more boring – if that is even possible.

The list of things I can safely do is shrinking.

However, some folks find plenty to do indoors. Recently I saw a crowd of people standing around in Walmart watching Walmart “team members” put up St. Patrick’s Day decorations right next to those big, red hearts and boxes of Valentine’s chocolates – which will soon be living in the “reduced for quick sale” bin.

I can imagine that it will be fun watching those heart-shaped boxes being unceremoniously dumped into the “I am not wanted” bin. I think there must be something deep and profound in all of that, but for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on it.

Maybe my mind is not working so well anymore – that’s if it ever did. This winter is taking a toll on me. 

Winter is getting old; the pandemic is getting older. 

In farm country, these bitter, cloudy, winter days seem to run together in an endless trail of torture. It’s Nature’s way of exacting a toll on someone foolish enough to live here where I do… in farm country, in the Great Lakes region of the USA.

Smack-dab in the middle of farm country.

While soon – I hope – I will see some signs that winter is entering its golden years and tulips and crocuses will begin sticking their heads up out of the frozen ground. And already the sun is setting later and in a more northerly inclination.

But here in farm country, I know from experience that March will bring nothing but more harsh, wet, windy weather. Sometimes March can be the cruelest month of all — with its promise of spring wrapped in an icy gift wrapping of rain, wind, snow, and cold temperatures.

Just when you think winter in farm country is over, March slaps your face with wind-driven sleet and snow.

Every year on the news they show some St. Patrick’s Day parade somewhere in a northern city and every year the spectators are dressed in winter coats, hats, and gloves. St. Patrick’s Day is March 17 –past the midpoint of March, two days after the infamous Ides of March, three days before the Vernal Equinox — and winter just won’t let go.

I know that Winter’s stubborn grip here in farm country will last at least until mid-April and probably longer than that. Even the trees know better. They don’t dare to display their tender leaves until mid-May.

When you live in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of farm country, as I do, you eventually learn to be resourceful or you become a shawl-wrapped lump, sitting in front of a TV watching reality shows and end up a bored and surly person.

So many people in the Great Lakes region have become curmudgeons because they run out of ways to deal with winter. When you pass them on the sidewalk and say hi to them, they just growl.

I am a pretty happy sort. I like to find creative ways to entertain myself when I’ve grown tired of doing the things I have to do and sick of doing the things I only do to chip away at the time until spring finally comes and melts the ice and snow… when the ominous gray sky becomes blue, and the flowers finally bloom here in farm country.

I do really like spring. It’s the time of year when the sun finally reappears after its long absence and things get warm enough for human beings to do fun things outdoors like mow the lawn, grovel around in the garden, swat the bugs, paint the house, spray bug spray, pull weeds, and stuff like that.

Spring and summer bring with them a myriad of things to do. Girls look particularly good in summer. In summer I can actually tell a girl from an old bum. In winter it’s tough to do that since bums and pretty girls look very much alike when they are swaddled in sweatshirts, winter coats, gloves, hats, boots, pandemic face masks, and other winter accouterments.

I’ve learned to never  toodle-up behind some crazy, brave soul walking in the winter wind and yell “Hey Babe!” That “babe” often turns out to be a stinky, prune-faced, male bum with gnarly skin, no hair – and bad breath.

Thank heaven for facemasks!

It can be very embarrassing. For me, it can get expensive. I always feel sorry for old bums, especially now during the pandemic. In these tough economic times. I often end up handing them a $5.00 bill so they can buy a bar of bath soap or a Big Mac. 

I’ve learned to save my ogling for summer when a woman is a woman, and a bum is a bum.

I digress….

Last Thursday, the needle on my fed-up-with-winter-o-meter was bouncing in the red zone, and my “fed-up with the pandemic” meter was off the charts.

By this time in February, I have nearly exhausted my litany of creative ways to deal with winter boredom.

So, for something to do, I decided to take a trip to one of our local farm supply stores. If you are a city slicker you have no idea what a farm supply store is. I am not going to bore you with details, but you need to know a couple of things about farm stores; I will now enlighten you.

Here’s the picture you need to envision: A farm supply store is a Walmart-look-alike but instead of being filled with things you need or want — it’s filled with things that farmers need and want. What farmers need and want is quite different from what city slickers need and want.

Farms stores smell like dusty, dry cattle feed and wood shavings.

You will never find a computer, iPod, or a throw-away cellphone for sale in a farm supply store. You might see iPod earbuds stuck in the ears of some of the hipper farmers or a 4K TV showing a video on how to cure goat scabies. it’s quite interesting if you have a goat in the throes of scabies.

But generally, you won’t find high-tech electronics in a farm store.

What you will find, however, are many interesting things you never knew existed. Being a transplanted city slicker, I was so astounded I spent two hours walking around that earthy wonderland of things completely foreign to me. I might as well have been in a store on Mars.

I was fascinated.

And yes, Karen, I wore two masks for the entire two hours – the coronavirus likes farm supply stores just as much as Walmart.

First, I wander into a section called “Pharmaceuticals”. Ambien, Viagra, Paxil, Zoloft, and things like that? No way! Not here! Animals don’t need help sleeping, or… you know. But what I do find are two aisles full of antibiotics like Ampicillin, Penicillin-K, Penicillin-G, tetracycline just to mention a few.

I gaze at all these fine antibiotics and debate whether the penicillin is the same as the stuff the doctor sometimes prescribes for me. Right within my grasp, no prescription needed, on sale for just $9.95 a bottle are all the antibiotics I would ever need.

I pick up a bottle of penicillin and read the label. It says “500mg, potassium penicillin G, USP.” There are one hundred tablets in the bottle. That’s what it says but I don’t count them to make sure. I ponder if would I dare take this stuff if I thought I had some bacterial infection.

I think for a minute or two and conclude that, yes, I would. I bet it wouldn’t kill me. Best of all no annoying doctor visit, and I hate doctors. I could save myself a couple of hours waiting in the doctor’s smelly, germy waiting room, and the embarrassment of taking off my shirt and having my belly fall out on the examining table… not to mention the $120.00 fee for the office visit.

I really like self-diagnosis and self-treatment. With cow penicillin so readily available and so cheap, I feel empowered. 

I don’t buy the penicillin. I am a little angry with myself. I can be such a wuss. I’ll probably get some nasty infection tomorrow and end up paying the doctor $120 to prescribe penicillin. I’ll fold up like an accordion and wish I would have purchased a bottle of this cow penicillin and treated myself.

But what if it’s something serious? So much self-doubt. Cow penicillin would be handy to have in my medicine cabinet— like aspirin or Tums. It occurs to me again that if it won’t kill a cow, it probably won’t kill me either. 

A cow is slightly larger though.

I walk toward the next aisle, still regretting that I didn’t put that cow penicillin in my green farm-store shopping cart.

In the next aisle, I am dazzled by an absolutely astounding array of cattle prods in assorted colors and sizes. I’m gasping with excitement. These things look powerful – and very useful.

The bright yellow ones really attract my attention. Just by browsing that aisle, I learn that cattle prods are available in all sorts of colors, sizes, voltages, and amperages. I look at the most expensive one. It’s on sale for $79.95, but the wand is extra.

I am enthralled and continue to digest the information I glean from the labels. I discover that these cattle prods pack a mighty electrical wallop. They are sort of like a TASER on a stick.

I read the description on the box of the big, yellow one that’s on sale– it says that it’s powerful enough to stabilize a large cow.

Wow!

Although I’m a city slicker, I know cows can be very large. I remember that because I can recall a trip to a farm I took in grade school — and because I once bought a whole cow for my home freezer. It was all cut up though.

If this cattle prod can stabilize something as big as a large cow it must be potent. I think of several people I would love to stabilize. I laugh at the images that follow that thought. But I think I’d better not – laws and so forth being what they are – I pass up the cattle prods.

However, once again I have second thoughts. A cattle prod would be a fun device to own. I am thinking of all the things I could use a cattle prod for and smile. Strangely, not one of the uses of which I am thinking has anything to do with cows.

I push my shopping cart around the corner to the farm clothing aisle, where I am delighted to see a vast selection of bright green John Deere overalls. In all sizes from S to XXXXX.

I want a pair!

I imagine myself working around my little town wearing a pair. They are so green and the John Deere logo looks so hot on the pocket. I am sublime in my imaginary sartorial splendor. And better yet, they are on sale for just $39.95!

I seriously consider buying a pair. I wonder if a city slicker like me would look good wearing them. If I had a pair, I’d wear them everywhere. I’d even wear them to the doctor’s office. I wonder if he’d make me take my shirt off then.

Despite my John Deere lust, I pass up the sale on the overalls and move on. In the middle of another bout of self-doubt, I spot a whole shelf full of John Deere hats.

Like the overalls, they too are bright green and adorned with that cool John Deere logo. Wow! I see that it even has earflaps too. It would be ideal for keeping my head and ears warm on my long winter walks. Winter still has a long way to go too. I try one of the hats on, fold the earflaps down and look at myself in the mirror.

I look so cute! The hat imparts a splendid farmy look to my double-masked countenance. The hat is very becoming, I admire the “farmer” in the mirror. I really do look like a rugged, hard-working guy, I think, admiring myself.

I have that fresh-from-the-farm look. I do kind of look like a guy who drove a tractor to the farm supply store. I’m such a wuss though. I take off the hat and put it back on the rack.

I really want that hat — but I pass. I know I would end up falling in love with it and wear it everywhere. After a few months, it would become stained, soiled, and ratty and I’d wear it anyway – and I’d wear it everywhere. That hat would really be annoying to folks in the city. I laugh. I’m such a funny guy.

I don’t buy the hat.

I look at my watch and I cannot believe that I’ve been in the farm supply store for two hours– and my shopping cart is still empty. The cattle prods are the hardest for me to resist. And they’re on sale today. I almost go back and get one, but I don’t. Instead, I put my empty shopping cart back and walk out of the store — into the gray gloom and harsh wind of a typical, bitter February day.

I should have at least bought the hat — I think to myself.

I get into my car –which I am now pretending is a John Deere tractor– and pull out of the farm store parking lot and head back to my transplanted city slicker existence.

I drive all the way home thinking about those cattle prods and all the things I could do with one.