WildLife, Volume 2

Spring Chores. Springtime was my favorite time of year in the hills. On a clear blue morning the snow-capped Olympic Mountains seemed to stand so tall they could have fallen over, but they didn’t. Although I was never one to stand around and enjoy the view when there were chores to do. Springtime on the homestead meant that even though the days were getting longer, there still were not enough hours in the day to get all the chores done. I had to prioritize, delegate and move on. I didn’t set myself up for a lot of unrealistic expectations. When it came to chores on the homestead, the sooner you realized your expectations are unrealistic the better. It is an eternal truth that you need the right tools for the job. Archaeologists tell us that man has been a tool user for over a million years. Recent advances in radiocarbon dating have determined that many of those tools were borrowed. In the course of human evolution, whoever borrowed the most tools, ruled. Inevitably, early man gathered into walled cities to make beer. Over the centuries, Man’s tools became more advanced. Anthropologists have theorized that the more advanced the tool, the greater the likelihood it was borrowed. Take my shovel, please. It was one of the most highly evolved tools I owned. I needed one to spade the garden. Too bad some worthless clam digger borrowed my shovel and never brought it back. That was OK. I’ve never been able to find a shovel that fit my hand anyway. I had to prioritize, delegate and move on to the next chore. Springtime was way past time to split and stack up the firewood rounds I had cut the winter before. I wanted to split the wood and get it properly seasoned so it would burn without causing a chimney fire. Unless I had a loose ax handle. Go splitting wood with a loose ax handle and you are asking for trouble. The ax handle could fly off at any time endangering myself and others. It was safety first at all times homestead. I had to soak that ax handle so it would swell up and fit tight in the ax head and that was not a job you could rush. Prioritize, delegate and move on. By then it was way past time to mow the hay, except for one thing. The dandelions were in bloom. That meant the honey bees are working the blossoms. Honey bees were nearly extirpated from their range by parasites and disease. It was lucky miracle when a swarm of honey bees moved into a hole in the wall under the eaves of the house. I could listen to them buzz at all hours, making money while I slept. I wasn’t one to jerk the welcome mat out from under the bees by mowing the dandelions before they went to seed. There was no way I was going to mow the dandelions after they went to seed, if I wanted to call myself a bird watcher. Our Washington State Bird, the Gold Finch gather the dandelions downy seeds to line their nests. I wasn’t about to sacrifice unborn generations of State birds on the alter of bourgeois sensibilities just to mow the lawn. That’s life on the homestead. We work with the rhythm of the seasons to sit back on the porch at the end of the day to watch the ax handle soak.