Fourth of July Feast

The morning of the Fourth of July leaving the Big Horn Mountains it was dark and grey and pouring rain, but we were excited to get to our first farm with dreams of fields full of lettuce, tomatoes, onions, beans, melons, cucumbers, corn and any other vegetable imaginable. I was hoping to see a flock of chickens, a tree lined drive up to an old white farmhouse with a wraparound covered porch and wisteria in full bloom growing up the porch columns and a big old red barn. You know, the idealistic old farm you see in movies.

We reached Sheridan, the closest big town to the farm, and Jessica called the farm to get directions. We were still about an hour away and Mona, the farm owner, asked us if we could pick up some hamburger buns for the bbq that evening. After going through Sheridan and stopping at Safeway we were nearly there, three thousand miles after leaving Portland and nearly three weeks on the road we were almost there. We thought we had left the rain in Oregon, but it was still coming down pretty hard. There weren’t many turns to get to the farm, just sixty miles of rural country road, nothing new to us. At the town of Leiter, which didn’t have so much as a speed zone, we were to turn left at the gravel road, cross the railroad tracks, go over a bridge and when we came to the sign that read, “Slow Down You Sons-A-Bitches,” we would soon cross a cattle guard and their driveway was the first on the right. When we turned down the driveway half of the road was lined with giant cottonwood trees and hay fields, the other side was scrub brush. I was feeling confident now that half of my dream farm was here, an oasis in the brown land east of the last notable mountain range on our map until the east coast. The driveway seemed to go on forever, the tree line stopped, we passed a old farm and some falling down out building that Mona had said were her neighbors, and then passed a single-wide trailer Mona said was about half way to their house. The mud was picking up, the van was having a tough time and was handling like we were in snow. As I tried to steer the van down the straight drive the horn in the van took on a life of its own. I like to honk occasionally as we drive through the country but I wouldn’t do it this close to our destination, Jessica looked at me disapprovingly like I was doing it on purpose, and I looked at her dumbfounded, the van honked a dieing sounding honk, straight out of “Little Miss Sunshine” and we both burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that brings uncontrollable tears. We composed ourselves and I kept the van between the fences and we finally slogged through the mud, leaving deep ruts in the driveway, up to the farmhouse.

Before we were out of the van the screen door opened on the enclosed porch of the simple house and out walked Mona, a mid-50’s lady with short dark hair wearing crocks. She reminded me a lot of my parent’s friends, happy, energetic and very welcoming. As we introduced ourselves we met her dog, a short and friendly black and white boarder collie named Belle and we let Juno out so they could do the doggie-dance. The rain had let up and Mona thought we should see the farm. She walked us through the ankle deep mud to the greenhouse where tomatoes were growing chest tall and putting on tons of green fruit, she pointed out the old shed she wanted me to turn into a chicken house and as soon as she said it Juno took off in a dead sprint like she does when chasing cats in the neighborhood or seagulls at the beach and just as fast chickens started screaming, feathers started flying, I started yelling and tried to run her down with twenty pounds of mud stuck to my shoes. I caught a glimpse of Juno with a black and white speckled bird in her mouth, my yelling turned to screaming and Juno released the bird. My blood pressure and adrenaline were up, to say the least, and I was able to get a hold of my friendly white dog. I’m not sure Mona saw the whole ordeal but she didn’t seem too upset about it. We trudged back up to the house, I tied Juno to the metal railing leading up to the porch and Mona invited us in for fried ham and eggs.

I quickly realized this wasn’t the farm from the movies I had dreamed of but after seeing the place and meeting Mona and Steve I knew we would be in good hands and have a great time while we stayed and worked at Mitzel Farm. Over coffee, fried ham and fried eggs we visited about our trip, their farm, what our daily activities would be and generally got acquainted. We were going to be primarily working with Mona with the rare exception that Steve would need help with the hay operation. Mitzel Farm consists of 420 acres, of which nearly all was hay for their cattle operation. Mona had fenced in 14 acres for gardens across the creek to keep the deer and antelope out and had erected two high-tunnels along with a heated green house and a small tunnel to grow peppers in. Mona and her neighbor Carol serviced 57 CSA’s, or community supported agriculture, where three times a week we would have to pick vegetables, wash them, and make equal bags of produce that would be combined with produce from Carol’s farm and either Mona or Carol would drive them to drop sites in the surrounding towns for people that signed up for the farm fresh organic veggies to pick up. When we weren’t picking, washing or bagging veggies we would be weeding, pruning, spraying organic grasshopper killer, watering or tending to the chickens turkeys or guinea hens and I was in charge of turning an old decrepit farm building into a chicken house to keep the birds out of the harsh Wyoming winter weather.

As we finished eating and were sitting around talking Jake and Carla came up to the house. Jake and Carla are a married 30-year old couple from Utah, leaning on the granola side of the cultural spectrum who had come to Wyoming in early April to spend the planting, growing and harvesting season learning how to run an organic farm with Mona and Steve. Jake and Carla were staying in the singlewide up the driveway and Mona suggested we stay with them. According to Mona they had expressed a desire to have a little more people interaction, I can see why after experiencing the desolation of north-central Wyoming, so we followed them out to the trailer and got the grand tour. Three bedrooms, kitchen, bath and washer and dryer along with Happy and Eli, Jake and Carla’s dogs, and a cat that wouldn’t leave their room. We were so accustomed to sleeping in the van that we weren’t sure we would stay in the trailer but we’d park out there to use the bathroom and kitchen. After getting to know each other for a bit we were given the rest of the tour of the farm, Jake gave us a boat ride across the creek so we could see the outside garden, to the untrained eye it was a weed garden, but we were assured there were veggies in there somewhere. We finished the tour and headed back to the house where Steve was cooking burgers on the grill and Mona was preparing the rest of our Fourth of July feast. We left Juno and Belle to play outside and headed inside.

Burgers, potato salad, chips and beer, a great Fourth of July meal. We sat in the dining room, talked farming, travel, religion, hunting, raising beef cows and the organic farm life for an hour or more before I wanted to check on Juno and throw a Frisbee for her and Belle and I headed outside. Belle is a better behaved version of Juno, she wants to play as much but is much more polite about it and I went to throwing the Frisbee for her. About fifteen minutes later Jessica came out to find me and when she got near she looked down and asked, “So… did Juno do this?” “Do what?” I replied as I threw the Frisbee again. Moving her foot around in the grass, “This…” I backed up, praising Belle for her last catch, to where Jessica was standing, looking upset and I saw the dead bird. “Hmmm…” I said, “I don’t know.” Juno came running up to us and picked up the bird, tore a piece off of it and proceeded to have her Fourth of July feast. My stomach sank, it hit me that my dog had killed one of Mona’s birds. My voice shaking, I sighed, “I guess she did.” “What should we do?” Jessica asked. The first thing that crossed my mind was to hide it and pretend it didn’t happen, I didn’t want to get kicked off the farm before we got a chance to help out, I wanted to be accepted and Juno to be welcomed. These people let us come all the way from Oregon and before we could unpack our dog had killed a part of the farm. “Well… I guess I should tell Steve and Mona and see what they want to do about it.” I told her.

With my head down and shoulders hunched I walked back into the house, “I think I owe you a chicken…” I said to Mona. “What happened?” Steve chimed in. “I think Juno got one of your chickens.” I explained. “I’ll keep her tied up, I didn’t think she’d do it but there’s a dead bird in the lawn. Let me know how to make it right, I’ll pay for the bird and do anything you want to make it up to you. I feel terrible.” I said. “These things happen, don’t worry about it. Just work.” Mona consoled me. She could tell I felt terrible. “I feel like the parent of an irresponsible kid.” I said. Mona and Steve then told me about Belle and the night she killed four chickens a friend had given them. Steve said that he tied one of the birds to her neck and left it there for four or five days until it stunk and she was so sick of it that she never went near another bird again. “If you want to cure her that’s what you have to do.” Steve told me. I wanted to cure her, I knew it wasn’t her fault she killed it, it was mine, she was just acting on her instincts and I neglected to keep her from them and apparently the best way to train her was to tie this dead speckled bird around her neck.

I walked out of the house, down to the shop looking for something to tie the thing to her neck with and found a length of stiff wire. I picked it up and walked back to the house, found Jessica with Juno and the bird, jammed the wire through the carcass, and called Juno to me. She sulked up to me, head down and tail between her legs and sat at my feet in front of the bird on the wire. I threaded the wire through her collar, coiled it a few times, and Juno was now attached to her kill. She stumbled around a bit with this four pound feathered, bloody mess hanging between her legs. Jake and Carla had ridden their bikes back to the trailer so Jessica and I got on our bikes and headed back to meet them. Juno, usually leading the way, was lagging behind, unable to run she dropped out of sight by the time we reached the trailer. She soon showed up without the bird and the wire stuck under one of her front legs. I sighed, and knew I had to go find the bird and reattach it to Juno. I rode back down the driveway and found it, called Juno who reluctantly came because she knew what was in store, threaded the bird back onto the wire and Juno was again attached. She made it back to the trailer and it was nearly dark, Jessica and I decided to sleep in the van and unpack the following day. There was no way Juno was going to get to sleep in her cushy spot in the van so I tied her up outside the van and after showering Jessica and I went to bed.

We woke up with the sun and heat early, Mona wanted us up at the farm at 7 am to pick veggies for the CSA, which wasn’t a problem being up before 6, and opened the van door to check on Juno who had been surprisingly quiet over the night. As soon as I opened the door I could tell something wasn’t right, Juno was still there but there was little more than a wire around her neck and a pile of feathers on the ground. She ate the whole bird. Bones, feet, guts, everything. Surveying the site and kicking the feathers I found the only remaining piece of the bird, the head and about an inch and a half of the neck. Thinking she could still learn a lesson I got some thin rope out of the van, picked up the head and tied it to her collar. Looks like Juno won this round, but I was going to make sure there wouldn’t be a round two.