Letters from the Country: From High Heels to Wellington Books. A Memoir and Survival Guide

Marsha Inc. Boulton

Description

What happens when a city woman takes up rural roots and becomes a shepherd? Read "Letters from the Country: From High Heels to Wellington Boots. A Memoir and Survival Guide" and find out.

Journalist and broadcaster Marsha Boulton made the leap that so many urbanites only fantasize about. As more and more people today are choosing country life over city life, Marsha's experiences propel the reader into her world with hilarious consequences.

Who knew that a hair dryer could become an indispensable farm tool?

What lessons are learned when a lawyer buys a farm as a weekend retreat and then buys 10 bulls to breed his 10 cows?

Whether in the lambing shed serving as midwife, picking two acres of pickle cucumbers or analyzing the intelligence of turkeys, Marsha's observations on her rural learning curve offer a roller coaster ride filled with bucolic wonder and genuine affection for creatures large and small.

A runaway bestseller when first published in Canada, "Letters From the Country" received the Stephen Leacock Award for Humor, prompting one of her neighbors to say: "Don't let that go to your head, girl. After all they nominated a pig named Babe for an Academy Award."

Now, for the first time in the United States and around the world, readers can revel in what one reviewer cited as "humor on the lamb."

Editorial Reviews

"If you're thinking about a move to rural digs, 'Letters From the Country' is must reading." (The Calgary Herald)

"An affectionate, humorous and personal account of a city woman's leap into life 'down on the farm' - Boulton's voice of experience makes her book a unique achievement." (David Staines, University of Ottawa)

"If nothing else, you'll know why sheep sometimes have crayon marks on their backsides - a sweet collection, sprinkled with insights about the realities of moving to the country." (The Hamilton Spectator)

"One of those rare books that will appeal to almost every reader."
(The London Free Press)

"Boulton's musings are as soft as a lamb's fleece. The 57 pieces in the collection, classified by the four seasons, capture some key elements of rural living ... Another good choice for the humor prize." (The Globe and Mail)

Reader Reviews

"This is a great book - one you cannot put down. Each chapter is a story of funny and serious antics as a woman who made a major career change. Sure to please anyone who lives in either the city or country." - Babs

This is a very pleasant book to pick up and enjoy, a chapter at a time. I am not a wannabe farmer and Marsha Boulton does not paint a perfect picture of farm life. However she does manage to convey the joys and aggravation of life in the country. I wouldn't want to live there but I would certainly like to visit. (As long as I don't need to deal with the sheep!) - Teacher Suzanne

"This is one of my comfort books. When I'm feeling down or out of sorts, I take refuge in a hot bath with this book. The book is a collection of stories written by a woman who moves from the big city (the 'big smoke' as her country neighbors call it) to a farm. The stories are arranged by season and there are a good variety of topics. The writing is light but very competently written nonetheless. - John

Journalist and broadcaster Marsha Boulton - big city woman - moves to the country and becomes a shepherd. She never dreamed she would do this and how it came about is enjoyable and funny. - Helen

"Love the short tales which allow me to read a few chapters before bedtime. I live in a rural area and can identify with the stories in this book." - Patricia

Sujets

• Vie de famille
• Relations familiales
• Personal Memoirs
• Biography
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780988015234
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Letters from the Country
from High Heels to Wellington Boots, a Memoir and Survival Guide
Marsha Boulton
Winner of the Stephen Leacock Award for Humor
Copyright © 1996, Marsha Boulton This edition published 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.
LETTERS FROM THE COUNTRY: From High Heels to Wellington Boots, A Memoir and Survival Guide eISBN 978-0-9880152-3-4
Published by S.D.S. Communications Corporation
Web: http://www.marshaboulton.com Email: [e-mail]
Contents
Foreword
Spring
Away in a Manger
Mailbox Murders
Murphy’s Lobsters
A Midwife’s Tale
Fly Wars
The Richest Dog in Canada
Just Say No to Porcupines
The Mother Goose Wars
Hold the Kitty Litter — The Cat Came Back
Rabies and Relationships
Tigger, Tigger, Burning Bright
Shear Delight
Let’s Get Ready to Gambol
Summer
The Pickle Summer
Roy Rogers and Me
The Early Bird Catches the Worm-Picker
The Orange Dump Truck And Other Auction Nightmares
The Rite to the Silence of the Lambs
The Humps of Holstein
Rub-A-Dub Dub, Two Sheep and No Tub
Manure Spreading Day
Fear And Loathing From the Garden of Eden
Of Bulls and Variables
The Farmer Gets a Tan
God Gave Us a Horse
The Soaking Baby-Doll defense
Owls in the Chicken Coop
Fall
Getting the Lingo and the Lay of the Land
A Labour of Love
Three Strikes and Summer Is Out
Apple Annie In Eden
Glasnost Can Be Ducky
Pumpkin Mountain
Winners, Losers and Hermaphrodites
A Hunting She Will Go
Talking Turkey
Kiss A Pig For a Cause
Hedgehog Futures
The Great Minto Cow Hunt
Elwood’s UFOs
Casket Lids and Other Found Treasurers
The Unpredictability of a Farm Weekend
Winter
The Hair Dryer — My Indispensable Farm Tool
Just a Passing Wind Storm
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
Tree Thieves Beware — Palomino on Patrol
What My True Love Hatched for Me
Christmas Angels
All Skunk’s Eve
Maximum Blue Jay
Always Over-Estimate the Intelligence Of Sheep
Wainscotting of Many colors
The Pump House Wars
Training Taffy Lovely
Everybody Gets the Fever
In Praise of Long Underwear
Maple Memories
Foreword

CONFESSION: WHEN I TRADED my high heels for Wellington boots and moved to the country some 30 years ago, I had no idea what I was doing. The closest I had ever been to a sheep was the Pure Wool tag on a sweater. In fact, I only decided to raise sheep because they looked small enough for me to handle and they only have front teeth on their lower jaw, so they couldn’t bite me.
I had been working at a national newsmagazine, where I edited the “People” section and wrote what might best be described as informed gossip. In my heyday I would have scoffed at the notion of trading the chance to have cocktails with Sophia Loren for a barn full of sheep. The closest I got to anything “country” was joining Willie Nelson on stage to sing “Mama’s Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Cowboys.” Decisions I made never had life or death consequences. Instead I dealt with questions like: Should I attend the platinum record presentation to Aerosmith or would I be better trying to get an interview with Leonard Cohen after his daily dip in the YMCA pool?
I never stood in line at film festivals. If I saw a sign in a nightclub that said VIPs only, I scooted right in. Plus, the magazine gave me a clothing allowance.
Most mortals would be happy with that, but I felt that I was missing something. It was like a mystical void that refused to reveal itself under fluorescent lights.
I knew how to order a limousine, but I had never seen anything be born. My eggs came in cartons and my chicken was vacuum-sealed. Appearances meant more to me than the weather. Half the time I didn’t even know what the weather was like because I was sitting in an office cubicle talking on the telephone. When I watched Green Acres on television, I identified with Eva Gabor. And counting sheep never occurred to me when I wanted to go to sleep.
So, my move from the city to the country was not a festering dream waiting to be fulfilled. It was a spur of the moment thing — a case of extreme impulse buying. One morning, I was visiting friends in the country. By that afternoon, I was in the real estate agent’s clutches, ready to sign a mortgage on a yellow-brick farmhouse and 100 acres of unfenced land, surrounded by forest and centered by a pond full of frogs. Had I thought too long about the commitment I was making and the huge lifestyle changes it entailed, I might never have embarked on the great adventure.
I have learned a few things in the decades I have spent on the farm. For instance, I have learned that dinner is what is served at lunchtime and supper is what you eat at dinnertime. Lunch is a sort of snack that the “ladies” serve when the euchre game ends or the dance is over.
And one thing I know for certain is that my farm will never be mine. I could write BOULTON FARM on the barn in 10-foot high letters, but nobody will ever call it “the Boulton place.” No, my farm will always be “the Noonan Place.” This despite that fact that no Noonan has trod the land for three generations and those who first settled the land are all ecologically integrated in the pioneer cemetery two farms away from mine. But I don’t mind that anymore. It teaches respect for the past. Ultimately, it is what we, as farmers, do with the land that makes our imprint on the future.
You can learn a lot from books, but nothing can really prepare you for farming. I was filled with visions of flowers and trees, newborn foals on wobbly legs, lambs gamboling in the fields and the smell of freshly mown hay. Reality is red ink and rabies and that one little lamb that just doesn’t make it. Sort of the difference between Stephen King and Garrison Keillor or Straw Dogs and Lassie . Somewhere in between, there is an opportunity to find balance and sanity.
For many years, I did not write about my life on the farm. I was too busy making mistakes and learning from them. My neighbors, who populate this book, remain my greatest teachers and becoming part of their community was the first hurdle I faced. The weaving of a newcomer into the existing warp is not something that is achieved simply by “buying the farm.” Acceptance comes through hardships shared and endured, bowling leagues joined, livestock exhibited, dances attended and Crazy Hearts hands expertly played.
On every concession road, information is as much a commodity as soybean futures. It must be gathered in person, not garnered from the Internet. Word got around fairly quickly that I was a writer trying to farm. I think I was something of a disappointment, because I kept asking basic questions about how to stack hay and what seed to plant in a sheep pasture. I did not speak in iambic pentameter distinguished by 50-cent words. I had no credibility until someone saw my name on a magazine article at the dentist’s office.
When I lived in the city, the only neighbor I knew was my landlord. Nobody else spoke, either to each other or about one another. Nobody cared if unread newspapers stacked up outside an apartment door. In the country, if I do not pick up my mail after two days, Len the mailman drives up the lane to make sure I’m still alive.
I take some comfort in that sort of interest.
It took me some time to get used to the fact that when I drive along my stretch of gravel road, my travel will be duly noted by someone along the route. The plain fact is that after all these years, I know all of my neighbors’ vehicles by the sound of their tires on the roadway. When they drive past the end of my lane, I know the direction they are headed and, probably, where they are going.
Shepherds taught me about sheep, although I did pick up some basic notions from my Sheep 101 instructors at university. I spent seven years as the secretary of the local sheep producers association. I learned a lot at those meetings, but even more over the doughnuts and coffee afterward. Whatever wisdom you find in this book comes from practicality and reality. Animal husbandry is an applied science, and you can learn more about it by spending time in a barn with a knowledgeable farmer than you can from charts and graphs.
It has been a pleasure writing stories about people, animals and events that touched my life. Super technologies and the information highway have expanded my knowledge base and allowed me to choose a path that seeks respect for farmers, the food we grow and how we choose to grow it. Like a valued friendship, agriculture can only be sustained through care and attention to detail. Observing livestock, watching the way they chew and what they chew and how they move or don’t, is key to appreciating everything from health to happiness. Likewise, there is always a good reason for a farmer to be out standing in her field.
I am always pleased when farmers tell me that my stories put them to sleep at night. Knowing how hard farm families work and the stresses they are under, it is a great compliment to be granted any moment of their time.
In Canada, this little book received a literary award much like the American Mark Twain Prize — the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humor. I guess it says something about Canadians that they give a person a medal for writing something that can make them smile. My neighbors told me it didn’t come as a surprise to them, after all Americans gave an Academy Award to a film about a talking pig named Babe.
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