I flew to Winnipeg last week.
My colleagues and I left Tuesday afternoon after yet another thundershower and stared in amazement out the windows at the land.
Every pothole, every slough, every dip in every field was brimming with water. Sure, it’s been raining, but holy cow — what a lot of water.
While we were in verdant, but much less soggy, southern Manitoba, it rained some more in Saskatchewan. It rained hammers and nails, my husband said.
Flying back on Thursday, we again looked out the windows at the fields and couldn’t believe the difference. In just two days, some fields went from studded with ponds to shimmering with water. If anyone up there is listening (I am talking to you, Mother Nature), cut it out.
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Worrisome drop in grain prices
Prices had been softening for most of the previous month, but heading into the Labour Day long weekend, the price drops were startling.
Speaking of cows (see second paragraph), I do have a suggestion for temporarily diverting one’s attention from these ridiculous conditions. It’s a volume of poetry entitled The History of Naming Cows (Hagios Press) by Mitch Spray.
I like poetry, although I realize not everyone does, but in this case, I think most people, especially farm people, will be on the same page, so to speak.
Spray was raised on a small mixed farm near Okla, Sask., says his biography on the back page. Even it is well written.
“He can cut and saw lumber, calve, nurse and kill cattle, cut the meat and wrap it. He has changed a few toilets, wields a mean cleaver and will clean the resulting dead chickens.”
That a farm boy with those talents can also write poetry shows excellent multi-tasking skills.
The History of Naming Cows landed on my desk on Friday, and this is Monday, so I can’t say I have read every word or had time to really absorb it all. But this is worth a read. It’s gritty, moving, gory, farm-loving, grassroots poetry. I particularly enjoyed coming across the names of the cows: Old Kick in the Head, Lucky, Liz, Billy, Salt, Pepper and my personal favourite, Katmandoo (a bull, naturally.) I don’t want to share too many because it’s always a wonderful surprise when a new one appears in the next poem.
If you have the tiniest urge to catch some wonderful words, try Mitch Spray. If you’re from a farm, you’ll love them.
