we are young, without fear

not yet married

well and truly entwined, we feed horses

cows, both dry and with calf, bulls, bred heifers

weaned heifers

every morning with the ford 8n and wagon

loaded with square bales of grass hay

make the long drive

into each pasture, martha driving

me on the wagon bed

cutting twine

flaking hay, the process repeated 

until all are fed, all the livestock

every last one

~

each pasture having a source for water

creek or pond

in january, and this is january

ponds frozen, some creeks as well

i cut ice

using my double-bladed axe

chopping and shoving the rectangular floes

beneath

the  larger expanse of ice

half of november, all of december, no exceptions

and now

now it is mid-january—spring seems a myth

hard work, necessary work

a sunny day makes it less like work

~

sound of the tractor brings cattle 

from the timber

timber is shelter from winter cold, summer heat

never in a hurry, slow paced 

huffing and chuffing

white mist, from flared nostrils

seemingly content to wait for flakes of hay

to appear magically

their catered meal, replete with bovine grace

a moo of gratitude, tails swishing away 

memories of flies

sounds—a hawk, a distant down-shifting truck

a mama bawling with mild concern for her calf—

where art thou, little one

~

for the heifers, coming-on two-years old

as well as hay

we pour range cubes

from 50 pound sacks into troughs

supplement

protein and mineral and vitamins

so they will grow strong through the winter

to be ready

come elusive spring

to bring forth their first calf, first of many

we hope

for the bulls we flake hay at a distance

giving them wide berth

and ourselves a margin of safety

~

if the weather isn't icy or snowing

if the ruts 

aren't too deep

if the tractor runs as it should

if the tires hold air

if the load rides steady, if trouble stays at bay

if we hold our tongues just so, we might finish 

by noon, if not, we might see 

moon and stars before day's end, or a gray sky turn black

if the horses, heifers, cows, calves, bulls are sound

without ill

our morning is over

to be repeated, true enough

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

~

afternoons mean different chores

mend, weld, hammer

bitch, grunt, moan–most days end at dusk

a ritual of coming home

shedding hats

gloves, scarves, overalls, boots, sweaters

a pile of leather, cotton-duck and wool 

by the front door

building a fire in the wood stove

cooking dinner—guitar, radio or records 

for atmosphere

books to be read after the washing up

then bed, maybe love, little sense of what lies ahead

we are young, without fear