LIFE ON THE FEEDLOT

We are surrounded by farms. To the west, a thousand-head of cattle merrily graze  on a thousand acres. To the south, a hog confinement graces the horizon. Heading north we find two llamas guarding a herd of sheep. Head east and  you get all of the above plus an Amish farm with over a hundred goats. That, by the way, is a lot of Mason jars full of canned goat meat. Across the English River you’ll see emus racing around their pen. If you go to Sunday dinner at their house, do not ask for the drumstick. So here’s an invitation: come to my neighborhood, climb up on a big platform, pick up a bullhorn, and announce, “I am a vegetarian.”

In truth, I pretty much keep that information to myself. If someone is about to plop a steak on my plate, I mumble something about my vegetarian status. While I consume my fair share of soybeans, farmers around here cannot contain their disgust towards us "meatless whackos."

I can’t imagine demanding that a carnivore explain why she eats meat, but vegetarians are grilled, broiled, and ridiculed, sometimes by people we hardly know. It’s open season, as though I am going to the bank and personally withdrawing everything from their farm accounts. Mothers put their children behind their legs as though I'm going to force a  rutabaga on them. Go to the Volunteer Fireman's fund-raising breakfast, and before you can speak, they throw bacon, sausage, and ham on top of your pancake. A three-meat breakfast is an expectation.

I don’t push my food beliefs on others. I’m not always greeted with the same consideration. When they ask me why I don’t eat meat––and they always do––I say I won’t eat an animal if I wouldn’t kill it myself. I don’t go into gory details about why I wouldn’t kill it or why I won't let someone else do my dirty work. That's because they have already moved away from me shaking their heads.

The farmer who owned the nomadic herd (see entry for March 7) came over for dinner one evening. When he finished eating about 3 pounds of sloppy joes, he looked up at me and said, “Thought you didn’t eat meat.” 

“I don’t,” I said.

“What’s this then?”

“That’s soy protein.”

“Is not,” he said. Then he emptied the bowl of Mrs. Miller's Sloppy Joes, vegetarian style, onto his plate.

Just beyond his place, at the end of our road, is a very nice woman who farms alone. She grows crops and tends cows come rain, shine, or miserable blizzard. She’s frisky, strong, and warm-hearted. One weekend she called and invited us to come for dinner on Saturday night. She’d invited all the neighbors. “We’re having turkey, gravy, and potatoes. If you want vegetables, bring your own.” I figured I could do without them for one meal. Besides, she makes the best cherry pie in Iowa.

I will never live here long enough to understand the country paradox. A farmer will fight to save a lamb during a difficult birth. He'll spend the night freeing a heifer trapped in a washout on Old Man’s Creek. Then, he'll turn around and slit the animal's throat.

Your Easter Ham?

Still, I won’t make an issue out of killing animals, not until I go home and change out of my new leather shoes.

THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS

PART 4: GREEN HERONS AS ART

Green Herons are funny, entertaining, surprising, and always beautiful. Their emerald sheen, brilliant rust, black and white feathers are breathtaking. They can assume a compact, ovoid shape or elongate that graceful neck. The head and beak create a variety of angles––chin tucked against the breast, twisted to peer over the shoulder. This is a moving, constantly evolving work of art. Here is a tour through the Gallery of Greenies

Emerald as rich as the greenest sea

The graceful neck at 5 days and 3 weeks

                                                    

Regal in rust

Perfect balance

Parallels on the hypotenuse

Light on the white

Soft colors, gentle shape

Graceful stalking

The emerald ballerina

So ended the summer of Green Herons. It's as though Cirque du Soleill dropped onto our front 

field and performed every evening for our personal viewing pleasure. But better. Quietly. 

Naturally. Once in a lifetime.

THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS 

PART 3: WHATCHA DOIN’?

Green Herons have one purpose in life: make lots more Green Herons. To do that, they must stay alive. And to do that, they must eat and not get killed.

Eating is easy at first. Open up, and mom or dad stuffs something in. But within weeks, the little ones must learn to find and catch food independently. The ideal Green Heron buffet features bugs, fish, and small animals.

A Green Heron stalks its prey along the shore, from trees, and on the wing. It pulls its head back and shoots that long neck out like a blow dart at some poor fish lolling about in the shallows. It also scoops dragonflies out of the air.

But surely the most amazing thing about Green Herons is that they use bait to catch their dinner. They actually find some little scrap, a feather, or a small insect and float it out on the water. When a frog or fish comes to check it out, zap! That pointy beak brings home the bacon. There are precious few animals that use bait to obtain food. Surely you remember those junior-high social studies films called Man––The Tool Using Animal!  We thought using tools differentiated us from other beasts. Not only was it sexist, but also a bit cocky. I’ve seen a Green Heron fish, and I’ve seen friends and family fish in the same pond. This pea-brained bird can rightfully sing, “Anything you can do, I can do better.”

One way Herons protect themselves by leaving; flight is a definite advantage in a war with a raccoon. 

They blend nicely into the leaves, so hiding is another defense. 

Having a spear on the front of your face is surely useful in battles with smaller pests. 

And the cry of a heron may give some pause.

Sometimes Green Herons form small rookeries; we’ve had 3-4 nests on the pond at one time. Mom and dad both tend to the young, but you need good eyes to tell one from the other. The pair sticks together through the season and sometimes longer. They may raise several clutches during a summer. If Green Herons can hang together while raising two or three families in a few months, perhaps they can challenge us at more than fishing.

Tomorrow: Part 4: The Art of Being Green

To hear a Green Heron:

http://www.enature.com/fieldguides/view_default.aspsortBy=has+audio&viewType=list&curFamilyID=219