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Sounding off at the farmette

It's a gorgeous, though cool morning at the farmette. Temperatures are a bit more normal than in the past couple of weeks, which were scorchers. Good news on the vaccine front - I'm booked for my second shot on the 12th - in Collingwood, which is an hour away. That's okay. I'd drive further to get this done!

We're not sure what's going on in the neighbourhood, but there's been the drone of heavy equipment since Canada Day. We think it might be across the road, and we think it might be a wood chipper. If that's the case, there's enough mulch being made to supply Grey County!


Anyhow. The incessant sound made me think of the many other noises - naughty and nice - that we hear on the regular at the farmette.


This morning, the drone has yet to start up, so I could actually hear the scree of the red-wing blackbirds, the rusty gate sound that the robin makes and the sweet tones of the gold finches.

Yesterday, there was a woodpecker working away at some bugs in Hagar's branches. She's an almost-dead tree who houses many critters and is named after the main character in Margaret Laurence's The Stone Angel. Nothing quite like hearing the dulcet tones of a red-headed beauty literally banging his head against a wall to get his dinner.


On the not-so nice side of the aural picture here are the screams of feral cats - either fighting or loving (it's hard to tell) next door at Joanne's place. She has anywhere from four or five to ten felines, depending on the time of year.


We can tell when the turkey vultures are about with the scratching sound they make as they land on the barn. They like to use it as a lookout for carcasses that may be lurking in the back pastures.

Finally, my favourite sound is the comforting pulse of a purring cat. All five of ours purr - and some of them can even meow.


Bea has a lovely murp (meow-purr) that she uses in the mornings before she settles on the Rossie chair (named after a dear departed friend who had it in her cottage) for her daily "lump" under the wool blanket.


But Fred here only has a strangled yelp that emerges from the back of his throat. Poor thing - you can tell he's trying to say something by the fact that his mouth is WIDE OPEN - but alas, nothing that sounds remotely like a cat comes out.


Here's to taking the time to enjoy the sounds of the season - lovely and loathsome. Until next week.