Rodeo in the East Orchard

2.5 acres may have seemed small compared to for-profit farm outfits, but we certainly new how to pack variety into small spaces. I recall, growing up, that I was near bored out of my mind in class when the teacher wanted to "educate" us about farm animals -- I had the whole menagerie at home! Chickens, geese, ducks, cows, cats, and perhaps the most notable in this story, sheep.

Animals came and went at our home, but they always seemed to be soon replaced by others. While they called our spit of land home, they often became endeared to us by their peculiar characteristics. There were times when they earned their names for their deeds, and others when they signed their own death-warrants for their iniquities (Mom, I don't think there is any question about who needs to fill in the blank here). One thing that I observed is that there were varying levels of "IQ" from species to species. The geese were probably the most astute, and cognitive -- and sheep seemed to have the mental capacity of algae. The rest were sprinkled somewhere in between.

Sheep had two uses on our farm. 1)Mowing the grass in the orchards. 2) Pooping (alright, maybe we can lend some dignity to it by calling it 'fertilizing'). Perhaps the occasional lark of pointing out the deficiencies in our farm fences. Aside from adding some variety to our barnyard of sorts, I had trouble figuring out exactly why they had become a fixture on the farm. I made it my duty to make sure that no animal on our farm felt disused or unprofitable. I set out to find gainful employment for them. (Early exploration in this field involved a BB gun, as I recall).

Fortunately for both parties, I had recently learned the skillful use of a Lariat. Any farmer who owns animals who can out-run him should have one, and know how to use it. During this same time, it had become painfully apparent to Alan Thatcher and I, that our bicycles had gone out of vogue. We were in need of a stylish steed, and what could be more stylish and comfortable than Wool? Alan Thatcher's reckless disregard for safety, combined with my bored imagination was akin to pouring gas on a fire. Sooner, rather than later, we were both in the east orchard where the sheep were kept at the time, I was anxiously holding my Lariat, Thatcher keeping a lookout for any onlookers. For an animal as smart as a clump of Algae, they sure seemed to figure out in rapid fashion that they were going to end up with the short end of the stick! My determination was stronger than theirs, and Thatcher's determination seemed to be stronger than that -- even (as I would come to find out) stronger than blunt objects that were rapidly closing in on him.

Within minutes, we had our first test subject ready, and I allowed Thatcher to have the honor of the maiden voyage -- this honor was extended frequently when I wasn't entirely sure that the outcome of a given escapade would be in my best interest. Without a saddle, a bridle, or reins, bareback was the only option, and the thick outer coat of wool seemed as good a place as any to hold on for dear life. Free of the lasso's restraint, the sheep was off like a shot, and I was surprised and morbidly fascinated to find that Thatcher was still on-board! Too late, I realized that I had forgotten to account for obstacles that might present a challenge to us as riders -- namely the cages made of iron T-posts, and metal farm-mesh fencing. To the sheep's eternal credit, it made a B-line for the nearest fruit-tree cage and before Thatcher could grasp the nature of the imminent danger, brought about Thatcher's involuntary and un-graceful dismount to the rear. While strained laughter may not have been the most appropriate response, it was greatly cathartic!

After a few more test-rides we were convinced that bicycles were very much still in vogue, and we could find more worthy endeavors for his reckless abandon, and my bored imagination. Higley was just the place for the two of us - and had I stayed there for a few years more, there would be much, MUCH more to write about!