Sounds of the Weekend Farm
This weekend, I had the joy of living on the farm for a few days—and with it, the chance to see it in a way I haven’t before. I like coming to work at Red Dog Farm and look forward to seeing my new friends, working hard, and the always-changing nature of our work. But on the weekend, when everyone goes home, the farm is a familiar but different place.
On Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of the box truck tires clicking up the gravel road for market. In the morning light, with a cup of coffee, I started doing my rounds: checking the plant starts for moisture, opening up the greenhouses for air, and spending some time with the pigs.
While I walked around the fields, being orbited by the orange-eyed farm dog named Maggie, the quietness struck me. Where you usually see us harvesting, trucks bouncing on the dirt roads, and jets of water flying through the air—there was just stillness.
Near the office, the usual sounds of tractors, walkie talkies, and music from the packshed was replaced by the hum of the greenhouse fans.
In the evening, I did my rounds again. I went to check on the pigs one more time, bouncing down the road in one of our old Ford pickups, with Maggie racing alongside. While we fed and talked to the pigs, the truck headlights glowed from under the caked-on mud, and the sky got dusky.
Later, from the bed of the truck, we watched the full moon rise, caught some faraway fireworks, and listened to the coyotes cry. Then once again, just quietness, until the sound of the box truck tires clicking up the road to Sunday market.