Down on the Farm

I received my monthly update from Thundering Hooves Farm http://www.thunderinghooves.net today and it struck a chord in me. I consider myself a bit of a computer geek and love the outdoors and wildlife that abounds there. Clarice makes a good point about both of them.

Like fresh garden greens, new words crop up in our English language every year. Recently, there's been googling and blogging, texting and twittering - things we do with technology. Some words help us read and write more than ever, while others are for searching, and learning, and loving. For Thundering Hooves, we now talk about vertical-integration, holistic management, mobile abattoirs, zip drives, and digital imaging as if we have known about these things our whole lives. But as spring arrives, some words on the farm are as ancient as ever - bleating and bawling, goobling and cooing. But isn't it odd, how now it is possible for us to communicate more often than ever, but say so much less?

Before, "spam" was spam,
and "spiders" were spiders,a
nd "vertically-challenged" was short.
Words have changed and lives are online,and help comes from "integrated logistic support."

I wonder what tweetering swallows who swoop from their nests,to feed on the fruit of pie cherry trees at their best,would say to the twitterers, twittering away on their juicy, fantabulous gossip,emerging by magic on LCD flat screens through a digitized 0-1-1-0 blip?Would twitterers notice a tweeterer's song in their midst,while texting the latest of LOL jokes to their BFF list?

If Blackberry's® stuffed in a pouch were to linger,could we clear out a fragment of time to de-tox our fingers,and stain them instead with the juices of blackberries down by the creek,while breathing in life through our nostrils, as berries are stuffed our cheeks?

For it takes just as long to wipe off the drips 'round our lips,from blueberries and strawberries and messes divine,as it does to respond now to every last e-mail on topics of waste and ginormous detail,and position our protocol, know-it-all scale.

A Wii® may amuse and soak up an hour,arms flailing about 'til losers turn sour.Yet, where is the measure of time without points or a sound,for that joyous young "wee!" from a child lifted up off the ground,or dare holding fast to a tree-to-tree glider,with squeals of delight yelling "higher, more higher"?!

If we google and text just passing the hours,perpetually checking receptions from towers,we may have to pass on a chance to scroll down the caller ID's in our zone,or squeeze in the last of the mobile, leftover, rollover minutes we own,to hear the full sound of a gobbling old Tom in dazzling array,warbling his song to his hens with the grandest of plumage in sway.

For we know that the "cells" that exist at the core of our being,are far more essential then head phones, and blueteeth, or web cams and keying.And downloaded ring tones cannot replace,the wireless song of a robin transmitting its grace,on the world wide web of whispering winds and their ancient vibrations,speaking in pulses to all of creation.

For while the winds weave a linguistic notation,And a meadow lark broadcasts its' sweet proclamation,Receiving and channeling messages without a single-solitary abbreviation,They utter together a much more far reaching narration,

And thus, life is calling on our best concentration,for life has a balance, and begs conversation!

Clarice Swanson
Thundering Hooves