The first incident was on Sunday. We were helping our in-laws move, and their new house happens to only be 7 minutes from ours! We were unloading a bunch of stuff, I was working on the small, light items, and Luke was helping with the brute work - the chest freezer, the washing machine, the dryer. All of a sudden, Luke came outside and said "Mel, the sky looks really dark and the radar shows rain. One of us has to get home, now, to cover garlic." You see, we harvested 5 pallets worth of garlic, and we are in the drying process right now, which takes about 4 weeks. But, if the garlic gets rained on at all, it halts the drying process and can even cause rot. Therefore, we have been working very had to assure this doesn't happen. I ran to my car, jumped in, and headed home.
As I was driving, I could literally see the rain coming down ahead. I know it was close to our farm - how close, that I wasn't sure. I was driving a decent amount above the legal speed limit, but I needed to get home quickly. As I was working my way down County Rd B, the sprinkles started to hit my windshield, and I could literally see the downpour coming. I pulled a pretty highly technical turn onto our road, and probably kicked up a decent amount of rocks on our gravel driveway. I grabbed the tarps and threw them over the garlic, and then the downpour hit. It was literally perfect timing. I didn't do it all as skillfully as it sounds - I did trip over a cement block and cut up my leg - but that is pretty standard for me. I had to put weights on the tarp as I was getting poured on, but the garlic was dry, and that is what mattered. I then rushed around in the rain, closing the garage, putting the four-wheeler away, putting the lawn mower away. Of course, once I was finally done, the very brief rain shower had stopped and the sun was back out.
The second time I heard "Get Home" was last night. I was at school, working with an AP Biology teacher from a different district, doing some lesson planning together. Ironically, he was Luke's former biology teacher from high school, but it was a smooth transition from former teacher to colleague. All of a sudden my school phone rang, and when I answered I could hear the desperation in Luke's voice. "Mel, I'm so sorry to do this, I know it will screw up your planning, but a pig is out and I need help. Can you please get home and help me?" He sounded so urgent and panicked. When the pigs get lose, it is very important they don't get into the corn field, or we may not get them back. I looked at my colleague, apologized, said I would be back as soon as possible, and then literally sprinted out of the building and drive quickly home once again. Thank goodness it's a small town and I work close to where I live.
I pulled into the driveway, leaped out of the car for the second day in a row, and found Luke, corralling the pig back towards the pig pen. The pig didn't want to go back in, so I helped by opening the pig pen door, then providing a block so that the only place for her to go was back in. Of course once she was in there, she was content and fine. I threw some pig food at them, and then went back to school. Crisis averted.
The last "Get home," came from me. Banjo, our little black cat, is missing. The picture is him as a little kitten. Banjo and Murtle always spend their days perusing the farm, looking for mice and enjoying their day. They return every night for some food, wrestle each other, and sleep on the lawn furniture. They always join us for a campfire. They typically munch again in the morning, and then head out for another day. But, the last I saw Banjo was Thursday night, and now I'm starting to panic. He never is away from home for this long.
The last I saw Banjo, was Thursday night. I was cleaning out the mudroom, and he was being pesky as usual. Trying to sneak in every time I opened the door, and climbing the screen all the way to the top when the door wasn't open. Every trip I made to the garbage he followed me, rubbing up against my legs and cuddling. I would lightly scratch between his ears every time, but I never stopped to really pick him up and pet him, because I was busy and figured I could the next day. And I haven't seen him since. I didn't give it much thought until Sunday, and then by yesterday I was feeling pretty helpless and sad. The worst part is seeing Murtle last night and this morning, just sitting there, "meowing," calling to her friend that she normally wrestles with every night. She looks so sad and lonely, and it breaks my heart. I shed quite a tear over Banjo yesterday. I know he could still show up, cats do wander, but my hope is starting to disappear. Neither Luke nor Austin saw Banjo in the fields yesterday, which is very, very unusual. That is his hunting grounds. All I can do now is hope he is okay, and pray for him to "get home."
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