Farm Footnotes from Fish Hatchery Drive

The anticipation was tight in my chest as we turned east onto Fish Hatchery Drive that hot August afternoon in 2012. I leaned forward in the seat just hoping to see something I recognized from photos on the website. We were the new owners of a place I’d never been. Every ounce of this transaction in buying our farm was a leap of faith. We spent years dreaming of owning our own farm and raising sheep in the pastures of the Willamette Valley. We found our farm on-line, and Joe came from Colorado six months prior to check it out. Everything I knew about the farm was second hand or from photos and images, and after pouring over these images online I believed that in some naïve way --- I knew this place we were about to call home. It was a long road of creative financing, prayers and a stroke of good luck to make the stars line up so we could close the deal, and I believed with every ounce of conviction that we were “coming home” to our forever farm.

Joe slowed then turned on his blinker and pointed up the hill to a little blue farm house sitting back off the road. “There she is,” he said, “we’re home.”

He stopped the car at the end of the driveway let me out to make the rest of the journey on foot. Overcome with emotion, and maybe exhaustion I shook and wept tears of gratitude as I took the first few steps in the grassy meadows of the next chapter of our lives.

This chapter was destined to be an action packed thriller. Ohh we worked; we worked like I didn’t know we could! Every page of struggle and toil in this chapter on Fish Hatchery Drive was followed by a page of joy, humor and ultimately contentment. Sheep farming was a full-time endeavor, and of course we changed the rules of engagement and expanded to two and then three agricultural endeavors -- AND we both continued our day jobs. We found our days surprisingly refreshing on the INHALE and expectantly exhausting on the EXHALE. We learned that the trick to survival here was to keep breathing.

Now, however, almost 5 years later we are preparing for a premature departure from our beautiful farm as we prepare to leave in a few weeks. The journey of life takes some unexpected turns -- which is entirely another story. Let’s just say this wasn’t in the script. We’re not done writing the book, but forced to change the cadence and story-line that we compose the following pages. It’s sort of crazy to realize that we’ve spent our whole life planning how to get here, and not a minute planning on how to leave. How do you pack up your hopes, dreams and prayers of a lifetime and drive away? We’re about to find out.

The last few weeks I’ve walked every inch of this farm with particular awareness to detail. I’ve touched……. I’ve smelled…….. I’ve stood and listened……… and I’ve watched……. as I created my list of “farm footnotes” to explain our affection for this place. This list is NOT complete, but attempts to describe why I believe this farm has been such a slice of heaven for us. These footnotes will never make the sales contract, but will stay documented in a very safe and significant part of my heart. Here goes:

The pond is the best mirror on the farm. At sunrise and sunset you can see the silhouette of the opposing horizon and a perfect image of both barns in the smooth glass-like surface of the water – the same is true for mirror images of ducks, geese and egrets that swim here. [1]

The top barn sits on a hill just above the pond, and is a sanctuary of sorts for me to sit in the quiet of the moment, to reflect, and to process emotions and thoughts. It is equally as peaceful and thought- provoking in the moonlight as it is by day. My favorite time, however, is at the first hint of daylight, just as the as the mist is lifting off the pond and the doves are taking their first morning flight around the top barn. Somehow the sight of 50 white doves disappearing into the mist only to reappear with the sunlight reflecting off the brightness of their wings, puts a lump in my throat and often a tear to my eyes. On dark days or during our most difficult struggles, I’ve found peace, hope and refuge in this special spot. [2]

A beautiful symmetric oak tree grows in the pasture east of the house.It is as spectacular in the summer when in full-leaf, as it is in the winter when branches are bare.I fully understand why sheep find refuge from the heat in the summer, but can’t explain why they continue to bed under this immense tree (with no leaves) in the rain of winter. We call this large oak “The Tree of Life” and have found inspiration in its profile over and over again. [3]

We have a symphony of frogs along the creek leading to the pond for much of the year.There is, however, a small group of vocal frogs that make their home in a spring that runs year-around near the lower barn.I came to know this small orchestra during night checks in the lambing barn.The road to the lower barn goes right past the spring and If you approach quietly the music continues.Conversely, with the slightest sound of passers-by the chorus stops immediately – only to resume when you’re a safe distance past the spring.[4]

The lambing barn sits just below the pond and has been the venue for a range of events on the farm.It is amply named as its primary function is for lambing (birthing sheep).The last 5 lambing seasons we have birthed close to 2,000 lambs through that barn.It sits empty and clean now, but shows signs of prior lambing activity with pen numbers written on the walls with grease marker above what used to be lambing “jugs” (pens), and iodine bottles resting in their wire sleeves near the door to iodine the navel of the next born lamb.The lambing barn cleans up pretty well and has been the setting for lamb barbeques, ranch hand parties, Muslim New Year celebrations, and most recently hosted Sam’s graduation party and a friend’s wedding.It is rustic AND so beautiful with its large beams and lofted ceiling. The first winter we were here we put a window in the west wall, and appropriately dressed the window with a floral valance purchased at Good Will.Those curtains have been the backdrop for ALL events hosted here and were as similarly as charming during lambing season as they were at the wedding.[5]

Winter rains are something we’ve learned to respect and appreciate, and we’ve come to recognize ques that are cause for concern.The first signs of saturation can be heard when the ground percolates much like a dripping coffee pot. You can actually hear this and see bubbles on the surface of the ground.This phenomenon only occurs in the deep of winter.There’s a point where the spongy ground can’t absorb any more of Mother Nature’s bounty.The pond subsequently swells beyond its banks and pours over the spillway to the creek below.The roar of the water rushing in and out of the culvert and over the spillway can be heard from our back door.We learned to listen closely on winter mornings for the roar of the pond as a barometer for the urgency to check on animals, and get them to higher ground. [6]

The first signs of spring are evident by mid to late February as a 100-foot row of daffodils poke through the layer of mulching leaves along the driveway.They are unnoticed in the summer, but were obviously planted with intent and symmetry and such a welcome symbol of warming days to come.Next are the wild plums, and crocus’, and by Easter the Rhododendrons are in full bloom followed by blackberries, apples and pears, and roses.Wild and domesticated fruit is available here from June through October – depending on the year, and it sure makes for a great snack while working in the pastures.[7]

Summers here are dry, and once the spicket is turned off in June, we rarely see rain until September or October.Just after we arrived in August 2012, I heard what I thought to be rain drops.I looked up and the sky was blue, so I followed the sound off the hillside under the grove of large Oaks, only to learn that it was raining acorns. [8]

If you close your eyes on a warm summer night you can feel the breeze and almost hear waves crashing on the beach.There are so many trees around the headquarters that the rustling of leaves in the wind sounds like the ocean.By late November most the leaves have fallen, and the leafy lullaby is replaced by the sound of rain.If you can’t get a good night sleep on Fish Hatchery Drive, I’m not sure what to suggest. [9]

The Japanese Maple in front of the house makes a frame for whatever grazes in the pastures below.From the window at the kitchen sink the branches have grown symmetrically and make a perfect diamond shaped frame for the landscape beyond.[10]

The doves will stay here and it pleases me to know they’ll watch over the farm for us.In time the new owners have promised to send some squeakers (baby doves) to us so they can imprint and fly at our new home.Once imprinted doves can’t be moved, and still fly free. I couldn’t bear the thought of them becoming captive birds. Until then I’ll look to the skies for wild doves as signs of good things to come. [11]

I’m going to stop there, though the list is far from complete. I know that the tears I cried that first day on this farm pale in comparison to the breadth of gratitude and reverence I have for the life we built here. Though our options have changed, I’m committed to moving on. It’s what we are called to do, and MAYBE just MAYBE we’ll find a new kind of magic and a new slice of heaven that I can footnote to explain our gratitude in the next chapter.

[1] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[2] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[3] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[4] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[5] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[6] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[7] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[8] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[9] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[10] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017

[11] Ellen Nieslanik, Life on Fish Hatchery Drive 2012-2017