The Lay of the Land
Evening last, I watched as cascades of rain blew in shimmering curtains across the fields of tall pasture grass, wetly veiling the day’s last light, while pelleting the tin-roof under which I sheltered. The roof, a recent safeguard, was raised last summer and placed like a blue crown atop the time-worn remnants of a once grand homestead. It had arrived beyond expectation, like a governor’s reprieve, for a leaking wooden structure well on its way to a moldy gallows. Capping three sturdy rooms on their field-stone foundation; as well as a season of gain in the old farm’s fortune after many years of decay and neglect. The new roof brought needed protection and purpose to a structure, once condemned, now transformed into The Shepherds Post: My modest reside, and locus of activity for a nascent grassfed ranching operation in the battered wilds of Upstate New York. A speculative enterprise of some 600 sheep and 150 black angus cattle, roaming on a thousand rugged, diverse and verdant acres. All now being washed in the fierce summer rains; stoically accepting the conditions of their freedom. Their eyes, like mine, watching the setting sun as it briefly flared beneath the cloudfront, turning the rain to crystal, before sinking into the darkness from which grow the possibilities of tomorrow.
