Another picture from younger son, tree with the first hint of leaf.

Younger son viewing the sunset over Buck Mountain.

I handed younger son the digital camera just before sundown last night and asked him to take a few pictures. Here is his view of Hogback Mountain from the front yard.

No, that is not a small cow. It is one of our harlequin lambs who is not happy to have his picture taken.

The population of our county until very recently has been made up of blue collar tradesman, laborers and farmers. Now, those of us who farm even part time are an ever-decreasing minority as suburban sprawl invades our hillsides. We are still mostly blue-collar, but with the influx of commuters seeking cheaper housing, our working folk are beginning to be priced out of the houses they help build. Beside commuters we have would-be country gentry who come out to buy a big house with some acreage for their horse. Oddly enough, we do have a horsey set out here already. Some are part of the Gold Cup Race/fox hunting set more properly found in the counties east of us. Others are part of a group that is hard to find outside places like Warren County, the blue-collar horseman (or woman). Yes, we have folks who are rednecks with saddles and proud of it. I was behind a pick-up belonging to one member of that group yesterday; truck bed full of sweet feed from Southern States and a bumper sticker that said: "My horse bucked off your honor student."

The priest at my home parish, Fr. Alexander Webster, notes the passing of Archbishop Iakovos, the retired chief hierarch of the Greek Archdiocese, in today's Wall Street Journal.

Today's link is Moonmeadow Farm, a blog from the mountains of North Carolina. (North Carolina is the quiet cousin stuck between South Carolina and Virginia; a "gentle valley between two towering mountains of conceit" as I heard one wag put it.) She raises goats on 85 rented acres and the family is searching for a more permanent place in the world. Our author also has a great quote on her site which is worth sharing here: "It is a rule of nature that taking a day off on a farm sets a person back at least a week. --Jane Hamilton in A Map of the World."

A pack of dogs came into the field yesterday morning, two adults and four half grown pups. The sheep and llamas were disturbed to say the least. I took the truck up the hill and encouraged them to move on. I am still on good terms with our animal wardens from my days as a prosecutor, so I passed the word on when I saw them in Court later that day. Roving dogs are one of the great challenges to the sheep farmer here in the east, even worse probably than the coyotes who have made themselves at home in our mountains. While heading back down to the barn I took this picture. As you can see, the pasture is getting green again, but it is still too early for the trees to leaf. Maybe another week or so.

Llamas in the barnyard.

Today's blog link is Mountainfarmstead. At the head of her site is a quotation I might be tempted to steal for myself:

“A journal always conceals vastly more than it reveals.

It’s a poor substitute for memory, and memory is what I would like to nourish.

But if I do give in, this is what I have in mind. I want to count the crows in the field every afternoon.

I want to record the temperatures, high and low, every day and measure the rain and snow…”
Verlyn Klinkenborg ( THE RURAL LIFE )

If I counted correctly, today's blogger is still shy thirty names for this year's crop of kids. (Those are baby goats for you suburbanites.) If you have suggestions that begin with the letter "T" she wants your input. So far there are a Tallulah, a Tully, a Tyler, a Tia, a Tya, a Tuppence and a Tommy. If the rest are anything like other goats I have known, they are probably being called things that begin with many other letters than T, so stop on by and save them from the ignomy. Stop by in any case for the goat pictures and a little taste of farm life.

After a long Saturday down at the sheepbarn, I was moving a little slow Sunday morning and the time for leaving to liturgy came and went while I was still doing the morning chores. Our rams were a little slow off the mark last summer so we are still having lambs, which means the seasonal work has spread from winter into spring. I feel bad about missing Church, but take some comfort, that if I were Catholic, my absence would be deemed respectable. From Father Jim Tucker at Dappled things: A question that frequently comes up in the summertime is what constitutes an excuse from the Sunday Mass obligation. Because modern-day Catholics have become very lax in their Mass attendance, one sometimes encounters a rigorist approach to the precept, which errs on the opposite extreme. So, I thought I would post these excerpts from Moral and Pastoral Theology, vol. 2, by Fr Henry Davis, SJ, published in London in 1936. Since everyone asks about excuses, these are the parts I've chosen. (and here is the part I have selected out of his selection) "It is held that those are excused who would have to forgo -- occasionally, but not as a general rule -- a good stroke of business or considerable gain, such as would be the case with merchants, and during the lambing season with farmers...."

Been there, done that, though never in Grand Rapids. For our own tale of llamas on the loose, go here in the archives.

There are a number of fine blogs out there that have linked this one. Until I actually get around to reworking my links on the right hand side, I will be featuring one or more of them each couple of days, both out of thanks for the link, and because they are well worth a visit in their own right. Todays link is The Ink Spinnery, raiser of homing pigeons, eraser carver and future homesteader.

Gideon Strauss has linked to my answers to his first three questions. This is both gratifying and embarrassing. Gratifying, because he has kind things to say about my responses. Embarrassing, because I still have yet to answer two of his questions. While both of the remaining questions are good, the last is particularly thought provoking: "What are the deepest connections between your Orthodoxy, farming, and lawyerly practice?" There is a refreshingly non post-modern assumption there, that a life is not a bricolage of unrelated fragments. To put it in literary terms, we are all writing novels, not short story collections. To put it musically, is your life like a Bach cantata where a coherent whole is created by interweaving and mutually enriching parts, or more like a group of unrelated concert pieces that happen to be performed by a single musician? Teasing out the underlying themes from the everyday racket of life requires more thought than I have had time to give it yet. Perhaps this weekend!

Pear trees in bloom.

Walking west towards the Courthouse.

Looking back east.

After work, I stopped and took a few pictures on Main Street. The warm weather of the last two days brought the bradford pears to bloom. Here is the view looking west past the Gazebo up Main.

Post-modern literary adventurer Mark Woods offered a belated birthday greeting yesterday to one of my favorite poets, Irina Ratushinskaya. I wrote about her two years ago and suggested her as a suitable companion during Lent. In one of her poems written in a Soviet forced labor camp she labels the era we live in "Cainozoic", that is, the age in which we slay our brother. Her work can ring with anger and she is well acquainted with loss. Nonetheless, through it all there is hope, and even joy in her writing. Cornerstone Press has a recent collection of her poems for those who are interested in reading more.

One of my favorite stops of late has been Minor Clergy, the blog of a part time Orthodox seminarian and full time practicing attorney. Last week he posted a couple of entries on the tensions that arise when the journey to holiness meets the practice of law. The first one is here, with the follow up here.