Green Acres

Position: 45°42’18″N 121°30’38″W

Oliver Wendell Douglas is a name that will strike merriment in the heart of anyone over the age of 50. As a lawyer Oliver was an unhappy man. As a farmer, he found his true calling and his life’s bliss. His wife, Lisa, took a much dimmer view of the enterprise, but nevertheless agreed to a six-month’s trial. Six years and 170 episodes later, Green Acres was a hit. It was eventually cancelled in CBS’s “rural purge”, but reruns kept us occupied through high school. Given the recent success of Amazon’s rich-git-turns-farmer series Clarkson’s Farm, and a disturbing amount of nostalgia for the worst excesses of the 1960s, I’m surprised Green Acres hasn’t been revived. Or has it?

Our current house sitting engagement has us looking after a horse, three lamas, ten chickens (the ladies), a lovable Pyrenean Mountain Dog, and a marmalade barn cat named Mama. Like Eddie Albert, we’re slinging hay and pitchforks around the paddock twice a day. Hood River runs alongside the property and we’re enjoying all the zen ASMR whitewater rapids can trigger.

Yippee

Birds flock to the feeder outside the living room window, spinning it round and round as they alternately light, grab a bite, then take flight again. A score of fat California quail make short work of the scratch feed we throw on the ground. At night, the yips and howls of the local coyotes remind us to keep the chickens cooped up lest one of the ladies is carried off as an entrée.

Keeping the coyotes at bay during the day is easy. Tula, the pup, patrols the courtyard and keeps a watchful eye out for, well, everything. She is fulfilling her life’s calling. No chicken has been lost under her watch. When we take her for a walk, we tune a radio to Oregon Public Broadcasting and crank up the volume. That keeps the wolves at bay and makes the chickens smarter. You’ll have to take our word for that.

Horsing Around

There aren’t many things bigger than me, but it doesn’t matter. If it’s on two legs or four, it will put the fear of Dog in me. To address this problem I took horse riding lessons the summer I turned 13. The school wasn’t prepared for a six-foot-tall male klutz. Its clientele were mostly little girls with ambitions of barrel racing. Ponies the size of large guinea pigs were easily straddled by my long legs. Eventually, they rustled up Digger, a 16-hand quarter horse who was about as dumb as he was docile.

Digger took one look at me and figured I’d be satisfied with a walk around the arena. He was right. We never did anything energetic or complicated. Fortunately, the summer ended without loss of life or limb. Lessons learned, from that point on I rode bicycles. Bicycles are neither wilful nor do they require feeding (beyond inner tubes and oil). They don’t have much personality, either. In the 52 years since Digger and I failed to ride off into the sunset, I have come to value personality more highly than I ever anticipated.

Fresco, our equine charge, is a character. Also 16 hands, he is tall, dark chestnut and handsome. He is also intelligent and has a sense of humour. In the summer, he could pass for a Thoroughbred. Right now, he’s fluffy in his winter coat, so he could be almost any breed (don’t ask me, I’m a cyclist). Occasionally, he nuzzles my ear in an endearing way. Given his height and Carol’s relative lack of it, I’ve landed the job of haltering him for his twice daily meds. Don’t worry. It’s nothing serious and it gives us a chance to bond a little each day. (Pictures to follow. – ed.)

Daily Llama

The llamas are purely decorative. This trio’s skills lie in obduracy and escape, not in packing or trekking. The paddock has been re-fenced at the insistence of the local animal control officer. On country roads an escaping llama is as dangerous as a moose. Should you hit one, you may not live to regret it. I had no idea llamas in search of freedom can crawl on their knees and elbows and squeeze through the tiniest gaps in fences.

Should you look Miss Piggy, Tawny or Dottie directly in the eye they will spit at you. Taking a salutary lesson from Captain Haddock, we keep our heads down and spread their hay as quickly as we can. Llamas are skittish and easily shooed, so it’s not much of a challenge.

Stay Tuned

Will country life replace life at sea? It is too early to say. We have another couple of weeks here. Assuming all goes well, and we all get out alive, we will address that question in the fullness of time and rich experience. Do not adjust your dial…

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