I know what I’m about to write might create some discord this week, but allow me to plead my case. Things may not always be what they seem.
You see, I’m anxiously awaiting daylight saving time in the next day or so. I only enjoy this oddity of time switching in the fall because it means an extra hour in the morning to peacefully sip coffee, a chance to walk down to the chicken coops to open the doors in daylight instead of darkness and extra time to get ready for my work during the day.
The evenings are a bit more harried in that I need to move faster to get chores completed before birds start roosting for the night as the darkness descends quicker, but that morning hour is a gift.
I’ve discovered over the years that farming is truly run by daylight. When the farm animals are awake and outside, I want to be awake and outside. However, the minute the sun sets, I’m ready to be indoors tending to baking, cleaning and whatever else a house with five dogs and two cats can create that needs attention.
Ask me if I’m a fan of daylight saving time in the spring and I’ll grumble as that morning “extra” hour is whisked away and I’m left feeling exhausted and struggling to catch up. I know it’s the same hour both times. It’s just all in perspective.
Daylight saving time is interesting in working with animals, too. In the fall, the indoor pets get rather anxious having to wait that extra hour for their food bowls to be filled.
Though the time change means I could sleep an hour later, usually a nudge by my big dog as I try to lay sleeping or whining from the smaller ones force me from needed rest. Then I am obliged to trudge begrudgingly into the kitchen to fill bowls, only to have the creatures gulp down their breakfasts and snuggle back into sleep while I sit and contemplate what I need to get done that day.
Looking at it this way, I guess I really don’t get an extra “hour.” I just get the opportunity to be up an hour earlier to get more things done.
Perhaps I’m really not as excited about daylight saving time as I originally thought, but I won’t lie. It is nice to not have to navigate the damp morning grass in the darkness hoping I don’t step into a molehill and end up twisting an ankle or at best getting the hems of my pajama pants wet.
Regardless of what time it is, whenever I am up and moving about, the animals always think a meal is just a step away. I guess I should be thankful I’m needed so badly around the farm.
Until next time…
Stephanie Strothmann owns Purple Shamrock Farm LLC in rural Seymour. Send comments to [email protected].