Down on the Farm

(Heckle, the famous feral cat. Photo Socotra.)

I am down at the farm this morning. It was a quiet night, the mercury vapor security light flooding the circular driveway with bright light against the rich, full country dark. I am glad I was not Secretary Geithner, having to look at the Europeans roll their eyes at his advise on the currency when he visited the EuroZone summit. I would have been squirming in embarrassment at the presumption.

I am amazed I know that this morning- my connectivity survived shock and aftershock without problem down here.

It has been a while. The guy who cuts the fields in back of the barn was kind enough to put out food for Heckle, the feral cat. But there was no sign of the feline in the afternoon when I drove up. It is entirely possible that that she has found a better paying gig elsewhere, and I was resigned to the idea that I might actually be feeding the raccoons.

Frank brings in the mail so it did not spill out of the box on the county road out front- the local papers in the stack still had the reaction to the earthquake, which had it’s epicenter over at Mineral, VA, not far away.

I had been apprehensive- there was no telling what might have happened inside The only damage here was a stack of magazines that went crooked and fell over and the pictures were all crooked on the walls. I bustled around for a while straightening things, cranked up the satellite radio and let myself sink into being in the place.

I fired up the truck, pleased that the trickle-charger has kept the battery strong. I found some things I had been looking for elsewhere stored in the cab, and some furniture I had completely forgotten about in the wake of the sale of the little condo at Big Pink. How long ago was that?

Jeeze, surprising the engine on the truck is so strong. Tires need air, and it needs a good wash and the oil pressure gauge has given up the ghost.

Projects and things to do in all directions. I want to go visit Rosemary down the road at Summerduck Farm and inquire about riding lessons in the Fall. It would be interesting to learn how to get around in a manner that takes exactly one horsepower.

I spend a lot of time taking care of the multi-horsepower machines. No time for horseplay today, though. The pool is open for the last two days, today and tomorrow, and my younger boy wants to shop for cars today with me along as the good cop/bad cop partner. Maybe it will work. I mean, how tough is a car salesman?

We will arrive at the dealerships in the Bluesmobile.

Appropriate, really, since the last one that Ford is ever going to produce came off the assembly line at the plant at . Thomas in Ontario, Canada. That is where mine came from, though the actual end of the line was not a Police Interceptor like the Bluesmobile.

It was an alabaster white civilian model, tan interior, bench seats and an optional rear-seat air conditioner for customer in Saudi.

They are not so sensitive to the cost of gas there, apparently. With it’s cousin, the Lincoln Town Car, that marks the end of the Panther full-sized body-on-frame automobile. Thirty-two years in production, and that is it, turn out the lights. The plant will be decommissioned, and 250 of the plant’s roughly 1,200 workers will be kept through December to help shut it down.

Rest in Peace, Crown Vic. I think I will hang on to mine. They never offered anything except a V-8 in those beasts. Oh well, I will never buy another.

I intend to get a good swim in this afternoon, if the temperature permits. It has turned Fall in earnest, with the temperature plunging down to the 40s at night out here on the road to Cedar Mountain.

I slept the night in two parts, dreaming hard in between.

Good to be down on the farm. The next time I will be here will be with the colors changing around the pastures, and I will get to work on cleaning out the barn and garage for what is going to come next- not that I know precisely what that is. But it will be for longer than a night’s rest.

And the best news was that Heckle the black and white feral cat returned home for breakfast. She must look for me each morning, on her patrol.

She will be finding me more often as the trees turn.

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com