Mr. Darcey is no more

Mr. Darcey, AKA Curley, was put down today. For the last several years he was the bull on our ranch. He was a gentle stupid guy and he created wonderful calves. Curley had a mop of blonde curls on the top of his huge head, and he kept his ladies in shape (mostly pregnant). As his feet hurt more and more we often saw him up to his neck in the pond where it seemed he got a little relief from his pain.

This morning I observed Curley behind the barn, alone, limping pitifully and barely able to stand. For a long time we have all noticed that he had major foot issues and it became increasingly apparent that he was unable to mount the cows (however much he wanted to.) You might think that we could just get a vet. Not so easy. How do you get a three ton lame animal into the pen, and then up into a trailer? Not quite possible. Curley lay down behind the barn at the edge of the woods. I called Warren, the ranch manager and the owner of Curley. "I think Curley is in trouble," I began. "He doesn't seem to be able to get up. What do you think?"

Warren came over and we looked at Curley who was obviously down and couldn't get up. Warren is the most decent person I know. He loves these animals. But he took a look and couldn't stand to see Curley in such pain. He had hoped that Curley would heal on his own. Warren went home to get his gun.

Half an hour later I heard the gun shots - it took five. Soon, we got a call. "Is it O.K. to leave the carcass back behind the Dentist Cabin field (our furthest)? Soon, we heard the craziness of the herd of cows stampeding behind their fallen leader as he was dragged to his final resting place, (many dinners for the vultures). I wonder, are those cows all out there now, circled around the dead Curley?

Farm life goes on. A few years ago we had a calf whose mother died in childbirth. Warren saved this tiny creature, we all bottle fed her and then Warren gave her to a neighbor up the road. This was Peggy Sue. She prospered and was bred to Wilber. Their bull calf was called New Jean (sp? no one knows.) This bull went to someone in the neighborhood known as "Pap". Now Pap will sell us this bull who is known as a most gentle bull who loves to have his back rubbed. He comes with two cows.

I cannot still believe that I am embedded here where these things happen! But there I was, shedding a tear or two for this bull who actually had no more personality than a turnip.

So we are going away for close to a month and I am already missing the place. I have made peace with the fact that the gardens will die, get eaten by insects and worms, or grow wild. The vines will send large tendrils onto the porch, and the orchids will have to survive (or not) without me.

When we are on our trip to New Zealand, I will hardly think about this place (my paradise) while I am gone. I will stare up at the stars of the Southern Hemisphere and wonder. I will look carefully at birds and flora I never see here and rejoice. And, predictably, on day eleven of the trip, I will have a momentary funk. Then, I will get myself together and realize that the trip is only halfway over and there is still so much to see and do.

Look for my blog in early December.

Catching Up

Here is a little guy I will be visiting on our upcoming trip to New Zealand. He is the son of a woman I have known since she was this exact age. Kristie made the decision to live in New Zealand as a young woman. She works in the film industry as a 'creature' editor. She has worked for Peter Jackson and has been involved in the Hobbit films and King Kong and others.

A few years ago, we went to New Zealand to attend her wedding. It was , a marvelous event, set in the rolling hills of the South Island where much of 'Lord of the Rings' was filmed.

We loved the trip from Christchurch to Clyde. There was not another vehicle on the road and the scenery changed dramatically from mile to mile. Sheep, lots of sheep, green hills, steep canyons, rain forests and beaches with penguins were all there. The small towns were friendly and so doable. I felt that we had gone back thirty years in time. Our anxieties melted away in this friendly land. I could well understand how my friend could have adopted this country as her own and decided that this was the place to raise children and make her way.

Every year we have taken a long trip with my brother and his wife, always to Europe. But this year we are making the long trek across the Pacific to Auckland and we'll travel from the North Island all the way to the tip of the South Island and on to Stewart Island, the farthest south I have ever been. Along the way, we'll make a grand American Thanksgiving celebration with the expats. (They are worried about the availability of cranberries, and how to find a suitable turkey?) We'll make do, no doubt.

I cannot wait to begin the journey. I will not think about the dreadful state of the world, the war, the embarrassment I feel because of our current occupant in the White House, and the environmental problems.

For the last several days we have been completing tasks, tying up affairs, getting things in order. Our conservation easement went through this week. Now, our land is perpetually not to be developed. We are thrilled. And so are the critters, turkeys, cranes, and deer who stroll by. Unexpectedly, we were paid a bunch of money by the state for this. These last couple of days it has been fun to write checks to pay for grand children's education, a large gift to marine science at USF, and other philanthropies, and of course a good bit to Uncle Sam. (We were not tempted to buy a Lexus! The old Honda still serves.)

We need to start packing for our trip. Hopefully the weather will be cooler than it has been here in Florida. In New Zealand it will be early spring, a cool maritime spring.

We'll be gone for the month, but I will write again when we return.