I'm Not Dead... Yet! (45 page)

“No, daddy—
two
cows; they’re herd animals. One cow gets lonely and needs a pal.”

“But—it’s a cow!” (My cowboy friends referred to cows as ‘Dumb on four legs.’ They didn’t know our cows.)

Karla’s childhood friend had a dairy farm, and she found this idea appealing. Lyric had already done research on the internet looking for miniature Jerseys. A miniature cow is not like a miniature donkey or a miniature
anything
—there is nothing miniature about a miniature Jersey except it doesn’t weigh 800 to 1200 pounds—it weighs 500 pounds! No animal that weighs 500 pounds is miniature, unless it’s a miniature elephant. (I would’ve liked one of those.)

As we were driving down a dirt road with our real estate agent, there were many opportunities to take pictures. It was all so beautiful. Everything. Even a simple fence.

We drove up (Up! The angle was so steep I wondered if the car could make it) the hill to a house. Oh my goodness gracious—what a house.

We found a cedar home on eleven acres (cow property!) paralleling the Blue Ridge Parkway, with a barn, a stream, an apple orchard, and one of the best views I had ever seen. It gave us all a sense of peace.

The interior of the house needed a lot of work.
I imagined sitting at my desk staring at this remarkable view that changed with every cloud and every ray of sun.
I could just look out the window… forever...see Karla and our dogs...(But I was not getting a gun!)

I couldn’t believe anyone could be lucky enough to live here. Our ‘city kids’ were in heaven, running up on down the big hill and into the pasture. Freedom!

Before we put an offer down on the farm Karla asked, “Would you be happy to live here even if you’re not affiliated with the University?”

We bought it immediately. I named it K.J. Farms in honor of my goddess, Karla Jayne.

I had been a working professional for thirty-six years and paid cash for the house, so (everyone repeat on the count of three:) “
No-matter-what-ever-happened-to-me, my-family-would-have-a-roof-over-their-heads.”
(And their cows’ heads, too.)

Could we be so lucky? My heart felt... at ease.

Every time the sun moved, the view was radically different and more inspiring. The Blue Ridge Mountains were alive with color.

The sunsets were glorious.

I finally understood what drives people who are adamant about protecting our Mother Earth. For the first time in my life, it was evident to me why people believed in a higher power—God. The overwhelming humility of being smack dab in the middle of nature at her finest is something I never want to forget. Being alone with the power of the forces of the Earth, taught me so much. The power of the wind (wind power! Why aren’t we investing heavily in wind power?), the sun (solar power! Why aren’t we investing heavily in solar power?), the rain, and the raw elements were awe-inspiring.

I wanted to exist in this uncultivated, feral environment and experience… everything.

Oh, and did I mention, they sold us a tractor with the house? A tractor! It did not run on solar energy nor was it a Prius Tractor. But the little boy in me went batty when I saw that orange tractor. It turned the grown man into one big fossil fuel guzzling hypocrite.

‘This land is your land; this land is my land…’

It was hokey, but I finally understood what being an American means. It’s not New York and Los Angeles. Not at all. It’s here, there and
everywhere!

C.M. Harris bought this property in 1961 and built the house himself in 1991. He gave me tractor driving lessons. He wouldn’t hand me the keys until I understood everything about the big machine because as he put it, “Even the best farmers die in tractor accidents. Every day. That cannot happen to you. I won’t allow it.”

The tractor had not been driven all winter and a mouse had nested in the engine. We didn’t know this until we were out in the open field and I was in the tractor seat and the mouse couldn’t stand the heat and the sound of the engine and found sanctuary
in my lap
. Now, as a New York city kid, anything that remotely looks like a rat is my enemy. At first, I froze, poised to throw a quick right hand down at the mouse’s head, crushing it instantly. Of course, my follow-through would’ve done damage to me—but I’d already had my children. C.M. guffawed.

I looked down at the mouse and just as I was about to end its life, the mouse looked up at me. I looked into its little eyes as its nose wiggled and it seemed to… thank me for being a soft place to stay while the tractor was destroying its nest. In one breath, my relationship with this mouse changed. The mouse wasn’t my enemy—it was alive, and had every right to stay alive. It was doing me no harm. As a matter of fact, I had such a change of heart I thought the little guy might enjoy a tractor ride. And that’s exactly what happened. The mouse and I had a wonderful tractor lesson. After the lesson, the mouse decided to retreat to the safety of the tall grass and find a new home. In the silliest of ways, I’d found a new home, too—and a renewed love of all creatures, not to mention that big ol’ Kubota tractor.

“Oh, and one last thing. No takin’ it up the hill, keep it in the flats of the pastures.”

I had to ask, “You’re saying
no one
has ever taken a tractor to the top of this hill?”

He could not lie. “Marvin Storie has done it. But he’s been working this land all of his life. Don’t you try it, ever!”

C.M. was a good man, but had no idea he was dealing with an actor who had done dangerous stunts in a lifelong career. Afraid? Of a tractor? Really—what could go wrong?

Working at my desk looking out at Mother Nature’s ‘best side,’ it was impossible not to be prolific. Mother Nature didn’t need plastic surgery—she was gorgeous and much appreciated.

Who needs a muse when you have Mother Earth? And, speaking of a muse, isn’t that Karla… …way down there? I can see my muse! Just like I imagined...