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Thursday, November 7, 2019

We're not that kind of farm

We're not THAT kind of farm. Ok, I supposed technically we're a "ranch", but our name is Arella Farm, therefore the whole farm stigma. Yes, we did that to ourselves. It got it's name from us, but come on, Arella Ranch would have sounded funny and would border on a tongue twister at that. But, I digress, no, we don't grow anything. Our job is to do our best to keep things fed, healthy, and generally happy. That's it. No yummy vegetables or fruit, though we do have one pear tree in the field, but that's not what we're TRYING to do here, it just happens to be here. I'm certain an accidentally fruit tree does not count as farming per se.

By now I'm sure you're wondering why I'm going on and on about defining who we are. It's our neighbors, I'm afraid. I don't actually know them. I really don't even think of them as human. Our neighbor is a field. You see, there's no house there, just the field, and I've never seen anyone out there personally. I'm certain some unseen humans are tending to the field from time to time because there are things growing in that field. Once a year the things growing in that field are plowed down for whatever reason. It is then that I wish my neighbors were as self contained with their "farm" as we are with our "ranch". We would never allow our animals to roam about the neighborhood reeking havoc on other's people's property, but this "field neighbor" of mine clearly does not share my values.

Every fall thousands of visitors invade our home from the now naked field. They are quite intrusive and, quite frankly, don't smell good either. The wander about our home as if it were theirs with their orange bodies and black spots. It is for this reason that I considering becoming an advocate for the first ever LADYBUG LEASH LAW. Whose with me? Anyone?

Disclaimer: I truly hope all American farmers AND rancher thrive in achieving the American Dream. I share my temporary misery only in the name of fun.