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My uncle's farm lay nestled in the central Wisconsin hills
A beautiful location sure to cure this city boy's ills
So imagine my delight when invited to stay a week
During summer vacation, this was certain to be unique!

As we approached the house appeared a lumbering St Bernard
Whose regal name was "Caesar" skilled in protecting the front yard
If Caesar didn't know you he'd send you running for your life
His master's safe word left me slathered in drool, sticky and white.

Near the back door the gray feral cat "Bluebell" held me in awe
As I reached out to pet her she became a Langolier buzzsaw!
Shaken but not stirred, I entered the house without further fuss
In the kitchen barking like a dog was their pet pig named "Gus."

Gus was running around the kitchen chasing after beagle "Snoopy"
Snoopy (primary herd dog), Gus (Snoopy's primary groupie)
When Snoopy springs in to action they just leave him on his own
They know Snoopy will not return until all of the cows come home.

The yummy supper was comprised of the finest, freshest food
Sitting there quite satisfied and not wanting to appear rude
Said "I need to use the bathroom, is there one on either floor?"
First came silence, then laughter, "You'll find it outside the back door!"

It was night, pitch-black dark, there was psycho Bluebell's ghastly howl
Plus hosts of other nocturnal beasties surely on the prowl
Turning on the flashlight I made a beeline for the latrine
The visual and odors did not make an inviting scene.

Just like other things in life, subsequent "breaks" were not as bad
The fun on the farm the rest of the week left me very glad
I received hands-on experience in churning fresh butter
I milked cows twice daily by manipulating their udder.

I rode the wide hay wagon pulled by the bright green farm tractor
I dropped hay bales, my allergies were the limiting factor,
Ending up with severe hay fever after only two days
The city boy jokes I had to endure left me in a daze!

Fifty years later I fondly reminisce about that week
My week on the farm, of which I now hardly find time to speak
There's joy in working a farm seeing the beauty of the land,
And the satisfaction that comes from working with one's own hands!



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October 20, 2019
F T I series 3 pastoral
Brian Strand, sponsor



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10/20/2019

Poetry form: Pastoral (in couplets)

True story.  All of it.  I was 15 years old when I stayed on my aunt and uncle's farm for a week.  They have since passed away, but their memory and the memories of that amazing week will stay with me.
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