The Quiet Life

          The Quiet Life

Suzanne Marsh

“Move to the country, enjoy a quiet life.” I needed a quiet place to write the novel I was working on. The sounds of city life were deafening, so I decided to write in a peaceful setting. I needed something, so I purchased the farm. I thought about Green Acres, about the good life. I could see myself sitting on the back porch conversing with nature. Nautre however proved to be less than conversive.

I began packing up my house, I had visions of raising a cow, pig, and some chickens. Most folks think about life on a farm but few move to one. I had just finished packing all of the necessities, computer, paper, ink, pads, pens, and some clothes, the rest would follow in the Uhaul rental truck. Finally, I closed the door on city life, and the trip to the farm began. My first thoughts were I wanted to get a dog, they are great companions and will walk with you as you meander from place to place. An hour later I pulled up to the farmhouse. The realtor told me it was rustic, nothing that could not be fixed. I had the misconception that everything would be repaired before I moved in, that however was not done. We began moving in, the French Doors that led into the piano room were painted a flaming red, that would not do, I wanted those white. One door was missing a hinge, no biggy, that my husband could repair. The rest of the house was as I remembered it, the side porch needed repair, and I made a mental note. The process of unpacking began, and then Mother Nature provided us with a small furry body, that scurried over my shoe. I looked at my husband:

“We’ll get several mouse traps when we go into town.” He must have thought I had been kidding when I told him I had purchased the farm. Now reality was settling in, there were a lot of things that needed to be repaired, he sighed:

“There goes my vacation for this year.” We began to unload the Uhaul. Dinner that night was a miserable affair. The gas stove should have been gone at the end of the last century. The electricity was and I found a hot plate, I was very creative in making two omelets. We finished unpacking the bedroom and kitchen, and went to bed, hoping for a better day.

Dawn arrived earlier than either of us was used to, no rooster crowing could have been more

jolting moo of a cow. I bolted out of bed to find a cow standing on our front porch. Ole bossy stood there chewing her cud, but where had she come from? The closest house to us was a ten-minute walk. My husband Mac stood oogling the cow who continued to chew her cud peacefully. Finally, a frantic woman found the cow. I asked her where the cow belonged, then I realized we were surrounded by cows. She explained that somehow the first-year heifers had gotten out and were all down near the porches except for two, she was still looking for them. So much for my idea of raising a cow.

We returned to bed and a few more hours of sleep. The alarm went off at eight so it was time to continue to unpack the Uhaul. We continued to unpack all day. Noontime lunch was a challenge I could not get the wood stove to work properly. I knew there had to be a flue somewhere on the stove, so I opened what I thought was the flue, and smoke began pouring out the windows. My husband came running in with a garden hose:

“What happened? I thought you were going to make lunch.” I turned to him with a look somewhere between if I knew how to start the thing I would and if you say one more word I will personally toss you out. “I have no idea how to work a wood stove, when can we get a gas or electric stove?” He put more wood in the stove, then opened a small device at the side of the stove. I still had no idea how to use the wood stove, but I felt I was capable of heating up some soup, as soon as I found it along with some crackers. We ate lunch at about five in the afternoon, and my husband did not dare ask about dinner.

Several days later we went into town, to a feed store; there I saw ducklings and baby chicks. I had to have them. My husband bought chicken wire, there was a small pond next to the barn. We left the baby chicks in the boxes until we had constructed a small chicken coop, with wire mesh, and wood. The ducklings found the pond, they were paddling around.

I finally got my computer plugged in, and the wifi hooked up, and I was ready to write. I wasn’t ready to feed baby chicks and ducklings. I didn’t think about it until I heard a pipping sound, I looked at my office window, and the baby chicks were out. I chased them down and then returned to the article I was writing. I wasn’t pleased with farm life thus far. It was peaceful enough, but I missed the city. It took an hour to go to town, the city I could walk to a store in five minutes. There was something wrong with this picture. I wanted to return to city life, my husband loved the quiet. He was already looking at a tractor, plow, and disk. One afternoon these items arrived, and he bounded out the door, and I was hot on his heels. Something told me we would be staying not returning to the city. I had to admit it was peaceful, quiet, serene, no one warned me about what happens when pigs get loose. I was just sitting down to finish my article when I heard a strange snorting noise. I thought: ‘No, this can not be happening, not again, this time with pigs.’ There in our driveway stood a large man, with long white flowing hair attempting to catch a pig. The pig had other ideas, he would chase the critter, then try to urge it into the back of his horse trailer. My husband was out there attempting to help, the more they ran the more the pig ran. I wondered who was going to win this contest, my money was on the pig.

We have lived on the farm for twenty-five years, now when I awaken I see the beauty of the earth, the sky. I turned to my husband and said: “I wish we stay here forever, the quiet is deafening,

but I am happy here. The corn is almost knee-high now, the cow now has three calves, and the pig is almost ham. The chickens stay in their pens, the ducks are such fun to watch. I don’t think I would ever want to return to city life.’ My husband smiled, and we were home.