50x50x2010: Marianne's Year Long Birthday Blog: September 2010

Growing up in RI, I could see the corn fields and apple orchards from my bedroom window. We were separated by a river which was traversed by a bridge built by neighborhood kids. On the farms, we picked apples and corn, gathered stalks to decorate for Halloween, and helped ourselves to a pumpkin or two. Jaswell's farm was the one we hit first after crossing the bridge. Started in 1899, it is now being run by the 4th generation of Jaswell's. Apples, cider, corn, pumpkins, strawberries, pick-your-own, and now a bakery graces the acres. Next was Matteo's Farm which had most of the same. We would cut through Jaswell's Farm to get to Matteo's when we needed to 'bring' corn or apples home. We wouldn't 'borrow' from Jaswell's because we really liked them. But we did buy their cider. Our first paying jobs were picking apples for Mrs. Laney, the small orchard next to Matteo's, at 5 cents a bushel basket.

I grew up as a tough country girl, a farm girl, a yokel. At least that's what I thought until I spent a day with Sandy M. on Hadala's Farm. Sandy is a country girl, a farm girl, a yokel. I am definitely not. I first met Sandy when I worked at the Berkshire Music School. She is the friendly voice on the phone, the first smile you see when you walk in the door. After knowing her for only a few months, her husband died suddenly at age 48. This left Sandy on her own with several apartments and, as I soon discovered, various animals to take care of. I wasn't sure how this meek, dependent, music school registrar was going to handle these new responsibilities. And then, a few years later, her mother passed away leaving Sandy with the family farm.

Sandy has since moved to the farm and invited me to spend the day with her. I drove to Adams on a warm sunny day and drove up a long hill as instructed by my Google map. Hadala Farm was at the top with the most amazing view of Mt Greylock and most of the town of Adams. The view, the 150 year old farm house, the big red barn and the hay field took several minutes to drink in and comprehend. While Sandy was showing me around and describing the buildings, I heard a very strange and eerie repetitive sound – sort of a low muffled drumming. I shook it off as we continued on. Near the house was what looked like nearly a 1/2 acre of fenced in area where the drumming sound was coming from. The emu cage. It looked and sounded like something out of Jurassic Park. When Sandy said we would be going into the cage to feed them, my eyes grew three times their normal size and heart began to make a similar but rapid drumming.

Before the feeding, we took a ride to the Family Feed store. This was like a Toys'R'Us to Sandy. She lit up showing me the trough de-icers, baby bottles for calves, and various bags of feed. Everyone knows everyone and I even knew an old co-worker at the feed store. We picked up 5 - 50lb bags of feed for the emus for the week. Sandy had me unload them for the full 'experience.' We had to pour them into 55 gallon plastic storage drums to try and keep the raccoons (unsuccessfully) out of it. Now it was time to load up some buckets of feed and visit the emus.

Since Sandy had no good reason to want me dead, I decided to trust her completely. We wore boots to get through the muddy entrance as 13 emus came from all sorts of paths and tall grasses to great us. They were large and intimidating but not to Sandy who greeted several by name with a hug and pat on the head. The beak and feet were the most daunting and I decided not to take my eyes off of them for fear of losing those very eyes. They like shiny things and took to the yellow sheep on the back of my t-shirt. Peck, peck, peck. Stop that! Although their bodies were covered in feathers, the outer feathers are 18 inches long and felt much like straw.

Emu oil contains some of nature’s finest therapeutic aids. Emus also provide up to 50 pounds of meat and bone and their eggs are sought after both for cooking and carving. One emu egg is the equivalent of about one dozen chicken eggs. The egg is a beautiful deep speckled jade and can be carved through as many as 7 layers of shades of green. So you can see why Sandy and her husband had decided to give raising emus a try. However, they are now basically a pet as marketing and selling the emu products is something Sandy has found little time to do.

We were hoping to do some haying during my visit but you need 3 dry days in a row and we just weren't having it that weekend. Sandy’s dad spent many long days in the hay field and to spend time with him, she would ride along on the tractor. She described the smell of the hay as she beamed and took in deep breaths of air. You could see that the hay field woke all of her senses and brought back fond memories spent with her dad.

In the barn, I saw the bales from a prior haying. Sandy had me get up on the wagon to have the full experience of what it’s like to load the bales. I knew that no matter how hot the day was, you would definitely need boots, jeans, and a long sleeve shirt. And these suckers were not light! The farm hopes to produce hay 3 times per summer with most buyers more interested in the 2nd and 3rd haying. Good dry bales can fetch up to $3.50 each while wet or moldy bales get $1 and are seen typically on road construction sites. Sandy said the hay helps pay the taxes on the farm. In fact most money raised on a farm goes back into the farm. Barns to roof, animals to feed, taxes to pay. I asked her if she ever had sleepovers in the giant barn and she said yes but most of her girlfriends didn’t make it through the night.

The dairy barn has been dormant since 1984 when they sold the last of their 32 milking cows. I was shocked to learn that Sandy had never milked a cow. Her father wouldn’t allow it as it was too dangerous. The swift swing of that fierce tail could actually blind you! The neighbor cows (or heifers) were curious and decided to come up to the fence and greet us. Sandy said let’s go in! And once again, I put my trust in her. She is so comfortable with the animals – big and small. It didn’t faze her that every 60 seconds, one of them started to pee a bucket load or poop a pie. I was glad I wore my rubber boots.

I could write pages and pages about life on the farm or all that Sandy taught me that day but mostly, I felt overwhelmed by the expanse of the land, the decrepit barns, the taxes, and a summer of haying. Sandy said it could be overwhelming but mostly, it was soothing. She was brought up in it which makes it all part of her normal life. And no, it is not for the meek.

I asked Sandy if she felt resentful with being left with so much. In her own words, she replied:

“I'm not resentful at all. I am extremely grateful to my Grandparents, my Dad and my Mom for allowing me to be able to live on this beautiful place. My Grandparents and my Mom had opportunities to sell the farm at various stages of their lives; they did not. Yes, my sister and I have a lot of repairs to do, but I understand how the farm got to this place. The small family dairy farm is going by the way side. It's a crime that this is happening. Farmers are getting prices for their milk that they got in the 1950's - how could anyone survive today on a 1950's paycheck?! Never mind trying to make repairs to the property. Any extra money went back into improving the land or buying newer equipment. There have been government buyouts of cows, but the factory farms (out west) then buy more cows and produce more milk! That's a whole other chapter, but one for more research. I could go on and on about this. Do you think I'm a little bit bitter about the "milk industry"?

My life on the farm has made me who I am; and I often think that my experiences here have helped me to cope with the losses in my life. I gain strength from the land, and I take great pride in coming from a farming family. Without farms, there would be no food. I wish that the public could be more exposed to farm life so they would have more of an appreciation for the land and the people who care for it.”

I know I do.