The start of April had been hectic. Storms and heavy weather alternated with ever longer and stronger periods of sunshine. The Arfajia Valley, located directly below the Dino Mountain Range as it was, felt it badly as the mountain ranges funneled the results of hurricanes over the east end of the country of Minnaluna. The geography made it worse, as after passing over the Fenn Desert, the tail ends of hurricanes had lost most of their power, but they gathered some of it right back up over Coelacanth Bay which jutted inland to almost halfway down the total landmass.
In the valley, Butterfly Farm was seeing a rush it had not seen in over a decade at least, and possibly longer. Sunny and calm days were utilized until deep into the night to cut all the grass on all the fields as fast as possible, bale it up as fast as possible and wrap the bales as quickly as could be managed. Stormy days were utilized to not only do maintenance, but even upgrades to the farming equipment, to make sure it could withstand the rush of heavy usage it would see in only a small amount of time and pretty much around the clock. A home weather station had been purchased and installed, along with two additional laptop computers; one to gather and process the data from the weather station, the other to constantly monitor all the weather reports, satellite images and forecasts. The tall, freckled human woman Sasha and her fluffy purple and white vixen-taur wife Buddleia were working harder and longer than any of Butterfly Farm's previous farmers had ever worked to get everything done in time and in between the weather.
But somehow, they managed. Maybe it was the excitement of finally putting crops back into arable fields again after more than half a decade. Maybe it was sheer willpower to make the old little farm work again as it used to. Maybe it was stubbornness in not wanting to give up on a vision that had presented itself with a reasonable possible outcome of success. Whatever it was; it worked.
Days after days, during the calm, sunny periods, eggs were left where they were and goat's milk was merely filtered and stored so more time was available during the day to cut and bale the grass. Side projects had been shifted to the backburner. Even visits to the tiny village of Rolling Hills were postponed in favor of staying at the farm and doing all the work that needed doing.
The front-side left field which had been divided into two fields designated Field 1 and Field 2 had been cut and baled in tandem, and the bales had been wrapped and removed from the field in tandem to free up the surface of the fields. The same had been done on the stretches of land between the re-routed dirt roads on the left side of the farm, in the areas designated as Field 5a and Field 5b. Their neighbor, the small-ish Dutch Spaniel named Marian Witteveen, and one of the three biologists of the University for Agriculture from Enfanor, the Belgian Hare woman named Janni Baston, had given help so Buddleia could continue cutting and baling the grass in the other fields while Sasha rushed to prepare fields 1, 2, 5a and 5b.
Full days were spent with the subsoiler ripper behind the John Deere tractor, tearing up the grass and turning over the ground, creating straight rectangular fields out of Field 1 and Field 2, and larger rectangular fields with a few diagonal sides out of Fields 5a and 5b. Several more full days were spent with the cultivator behind the same tractor to smooth out the furrows and break up the clumps of soil in the newly plowed fields to create smooth seed beds. The tan Katanga lion Ag Agent Daniel Tawnto had been talked into saving them the seven to eight hour round trip to the Ag Co-op by delivering pallets filled with bags of Austrian winter pea seeds and large bags of minerals from which they mixed the potassium- and nitrogen-rich fertilizer the recipe of which they had gotten from one of the other biologists, the gray-blue tabby cat woman named Barbara Westing. Some of it was put in the planter that got hitched behind the John Deere tractor in place of the cultivator so it would be spread over the newly cultivated fields at the same time as Sasha was planting them with the winter peas. They didn't need much, as the remaining grass had already been cultivated into the fields, and the peas would just be a cover crop that would also be cultivated into the fields come June, shortly before the fields would be re-fertilized and planted with their first actual crop of sunflowers.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner were short and quick each day, and the regular relax-and-cuddle time afterwards was foregone on for the time being. A bath in the pond was only had at the end of the day, sometimes late in the night, merely to wash off the grime and sweat collected during the hard, hectic day. Food was quick and simple; the regular filling porridge of grains, bread, milk and fruits to start the day, sandwiches for lunch, and canned soup or stew for dinner, to save as much time as they could so that more time could be dedicated to the work.
And they had managed. As Easter came and went and the third week of April got underway, stacks upon stacks of gleaming purple wrapped bales were fermenting away under both the shelters they were stacked under, hay had been dried and baled in the narrower strip of land between the right-side field behind the shed and double silo and the large copse of trees, and the dirt road connecting Butterfly Road in front of the farm and Waving Grain Road running along the back of the farm; the bare patch of dirt at the right side of the long driveway had been cultivated and seeded with a mix of coneflowers, flowering bushes had been planted and transplanted into the strip of ground between the driveway and the large pond, and four of the eight fields of Butterfly Farm had been plowed, cultivated and planted with a cover crop that already started germinating and poking tiny green shoots above the ground.
It had been so hectic. It had been such hard work. It had been incredibly intense. But the result most definitely showed the resolve. They could be proud. A tiny farm in the middle of nowhere, with only the two of them to work it, working against the odds of the stormy spring season with outdated equipment, and they had done as well as large, professional farms with new or at least much newer equipment and a crew of workers.
There was no rest for the wicked. This had only been the preparation. But at least they could take a breather now. The hardest work had been done, now it was just a matter of keeping up with it while waiting for the grass and the cover crops to grow. They'd had an extensive dinner of Sasha's grandmother's stew to celebrate their success. The next day, they'd had an even more extensive dinner of a forager's stew Buddleia had cooked after a recipe from her grandmother, together with both Marian and Margot Witteveen, their neighbors, and the three biologists from the Enfanor university, to thank them for their help with the most rushed of the work. They'd had a couple of relaxed, slow days, to catch their breath and catch up on the rest and relaxation they had missed during the two hectic weeks.
Even the weather gave them a break. Clear days with ever strengthening sun mixed with overcast but calm days that occasionally released sprinkles of rain that was just enough to keep everything fresh. Sasha finally got to setting up the two Langstroth beehives she had bought from the beekeeper Jasper Nicla in the village, and he had come over to Butterfly Farm to install a starter colony of honeybees into one of the hive boxes, and relocate a small colony of bumblebees into the bumblebee box that had also been set up near the windmill. The tall human woman also took a few days to process all the goat milk that had collected over the first two weeks into stacks of butterfly-shaped cheeses and jars full of butter. Buddleia returned to tending to her vegetable patches in the small garden behind the old farmhouse, as well as the herb garden and the berry garden that had been added to the right side of the small house in the area where the old, rickety open shed had been removed and the ground had been dug up to enlarge the concrete underground bunker.
Expansion. It was a mess sometimes. But the results, so far, were worth it. The hard work and stubborn determination had paid off and showed in both the health of the farmgrounds, the livestock and the crops, as well as the health of the farm's bank balance. The mythical million had not yet been reached, but the first of the six figures on the balance showed it was not all too far off and still a realistic goal for the year. Sasha was content and confident they could make it; Buddleia didn't even know what to say or how to feel over the prospect as the farm had never made such large amounts of money before.
Another day of tying up loose ends and catching up on things that had fallen a little by the wayside during the first two weeks had been concluded with a calm bath in the pond and some relaxed time spent brushing each other while drying inside the small old farmhouse as another sprinkle of rain had started coming down. Their cuddling was cut short by a grumbly statement made by the vulpine taur's tummy, which had caused them both to giggle and decide to make some dinner. While Buddleia went over to the cast-iron stove, set a large pot with water on it and started cleaning and chopping some vegetables while in a frying pan small chunks of beef were browning, Sasha sat down on the simple chair by the desk Buddleia had built for her and checked several weather reports and forecasts on her laptop.
Eventually, the freckled human woman shut off her laptop and turned on the old wood radio instead. For a moment, she drew a breath she held for a heartbeat or two and turned up the volume just a bit when John Denver came on the radio with "Back home again", the calm music drifting through the room and perfectly capturing the scene, the atmosphere.
There's a storm across the valley,
clouds are rolling in.
The afternoon is heavy on your shoulders.
There's a truck out on the four-lane,
a mile or more away.
The whining of its wheels just makes it colder.
He's an hour away from ridin',
on your prayers up in the sky.
Ten days on the road are barely gone.
There's a fire softly burning,
and supper's on the stove.
There's a light in your eyes that makes me warm.
Hey, it's good, to be back home again.
Sometimes, this old farm, feels like a long lost friend.
Yes and hey, it's good, to be back home again.
Supper was on the stove, as Buddleia was working on cooking it. Earlier, she had built a small fire in the fireplace so they could lay on the rug and dry up after their bath, and it was still calmly flickering away. Sasha glanced around the small and simple living room; the exposed wood beams of the roof, the cracked and faded plaster they still had not gotten to redo yet, the scuffed bare wood floorboards with their frilly patterns and knots. The simple sink, cabinets and small counter under the two-pane window in the side wall, with next to them the iron stove upon which Buddleia was cooking dinner, her bushy tail slowly and contently moving from left to right and back again; not exactly wagging, but more a calm, happy sway, her plush pointy ears perked up and swiveled backwards to the music. The quiet crackling of the fire accompanied by short, silent hisses and whistles as wind and drops of rain came down the brick chimney. Home. This old little farm, neglected and on the brink of death, brought back by will and determination and hard, hard work; a friend, a home.
There's all the news to tell him;
honey, how do you spend your time.
What's the latest thing, the neighbors say.
Cherry Blossom Farm, newly occupied and brought back to business by the elegant white and orange Dutch Spaniels Marian and Margot Witteveen; also doing well. The news of them working hard to start back up, the successes they'd had so far, small as they might be, their gratitude for the help Sasha and Buddleia had given them, and the help they had given in return.
And your mother called last Friday;
'Sunshine' made her cry.
You felt the baby move just yesterday.
Hey, it's good, to be back home again, yes it is.
Sometimes, this old farm feels like a long lost friend.
Yes and hey, it's good, to be back home again.
The brick walls with their faded and cracking plaster felt so rich. The limited space of the small room felt so inviting and intimate. A simple homestead, built to withstand the ages, giving the basic needs of shelter in an open land for the folk working the land. It had withstood ages, had been a home for generations upon generations, and was so much more of a home than the city had ever been.
Oh, the times, that I can lay this tired old body down,
and feel your fingers, feather-soft upon me.
The kisses that I live for,
the love that lights my way.
The happiness, that living with you brings me.
Sasha's gaze drifted towards the left side of the room again, towards the counter and the stove, towards the fluffy purple and white vixen-taur standing there cleaning and cutting vegetables and dropping them in the pot of calmly bubbling water. That big, soft, fluffy double body, that silly but always genuine smile, the warmth in those deep golden eyes, the true, the so very true caring and drive to help and make others feel happy. The lights in the city had always kept her in the dark. The aura of gentleness of the vulpine taur was so much more of a light. The witnessing of an accident in the night, in the distance. The finding of an injured person. The immediate drive of giving help without even thinking about it. It had given so much more than just a rescue from the accident. It had given a brand new life, of happiness; it had given a true home.
It's the sweetest thing I know of,
just spending time with you.
It's the little things, that make a house, a home.
Like a fire softly burning,
and supper on the stove.
And the light in your eyes, that keeps me warm.
One of Buddleia's ears twitched and she turned her head at the sound of a light sigh. The fire in the stove lent a glow to her deep golden eyes as she looked in Sasha's direction. The freckled human felt the warmth waving through her like a pleasant, calming tingle. Her smile caused the lips of the vixen-taur to curl up as well, exposing the upper and lower canine teeth in the pointy, slender muzzle, the tip of the dark pink tongue just peeking from between them. Home.
Hey, it's good, to be back home again, you know it is.
Sometimes, this old farm feels like a long lost friend, of mine.
Yes, and hey, it's good, to be back home again.
I said hey, it's so good, to be back home again.
It was so true. It were those little things. Each scuff and scratch in the floorboards told a story. Each crack in the plaster, each weathered brick had a personality. The simple, cast-iron stove fired with wood. The glass jar of rubber bands on the shelf above the two-pane window, the small jars of spices and dried herbs on the shelf-sill under that window. The coffee table with the split in one side of the top and its hand-hewn legs. The threadbare pillows of the nest-bed showing so much proof of so many nights of being slept in. The hooks high up on the wall over the front door, holding old fishing rods. Even the soot stains on the small brick fireplace.
This old little farm. Having weathered so many seasons, so many years, decades. Always steady, always there. Oh, if those bricks could talk, the stories they could tell. An old friend indeed, a home, a true home. As small as it was, as old as it was - it could come across as cramped. But still, so inviting. Warm, comfortable, cozy. Perfect in its simplicity. It was all that was needed.
Sasha turned the volume of the radio back down when the song hand ended. She rose to her feet and walked over to the stove, wrapping her arms around Buddleia's upper torso and pressing her nose against one of the perked ears, the one without the feather in it. Those little things. The feather. The fluffy border between light purple and off-white fur. The warm, deep golden eyes. That unusual, somewhat silly smile on the slender muzzle that showed the canine teeth and a smaller or larger part of the tongue depending on how deep or wide the smile was. The simpler mannerisms. The broken speech. That always so cheerful and positive outlook on life. The genuine friendliness, regardless of how people reacted. Those little things that made the vulpine taur as unique as the farm she had lived her whole life on. Warm, welcoming, as much an old friend and a home as the little farm.
Despite how hard the work had been, despite how hectic the past two weeks had been, there was always the steadiness of the farm's homeliness. Home. It was so good, to be home.
