The farm life goes on even as vineyards take over.
The vines butt up against the barbed wire fences.
Open land is getting swallowed up.
Even a ridiculously steep hill looming over the freeway,
heretofore known as unusable land,
has become wall-to-wall grapevines.
Little farms are being subdivided and sold off,
to winemakers or gentlemen farmers
with big shiny new horse trailers
with new, matching high powered matching trucks.
Landscape architects work on blueprints,
designing gardens with fountains and pools
and pergulas.
Here, farming continues on.
We've got our sheep, cows and horses.
We've got our sheep, cows and horses.
Big pastures along the road
with teetering wood posts holding them back.
Chickens, ducks, geese and goats.
In the fall, it's stinky with cow fertilizer spread in the pastures.
In the winter it's puffy breaths in the air.
In the winter it's puffy breaths in the air.
In the springtime it's a cacophony
of sweetest baby sounds.
Summer hosts the livestock shows at the Fair.
Loud speakers announce the next entry.
Stepping in is the white clad owner in green 4-H tie.
Showing a fattened lamb, maybe.
Day and night, the animal has recieved unending care,
up at dawn even on school days.
Some country people know the calls:
Some country people know the calls:
"Suuuuuuuey!" for the pigs.
"Chick, chick, chick." for the fowl.
A click of the tongue for the horses."Chick, chick, chick." for the fowl.
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