Forgive me, dear readers.

It has been eight weeks since my last article, and I know I’m going to have to do penance to catch everyone up on what has been happening around the compound, ahem, the farm.

Surprisingly, the frigid temperatures we all faced a few weeks ago didn’t do much damage at all. Not going to lie, it was a struggle to get last-minute heaters plugged in, only to find out two of the four I had had gone on the fritz and were not working.

This necessitated needing to move one of the bantam chicken flocks in with one of the others, resulting in a wonderful new situation as there are now only three flocks to work with instead of four.

The potbelly piggies, Chester and Spike, caused me the most concern, as I wasn’t sure how they would handle the extreme temperatures. I knew they needed several bales of straw, but when one waits until the last minute to get supplies before a big event like that, one has to realize resources will be limited, and limited they were.

When I went to purchase said two bales of straw at my usual location inside a barn where they have the money box on an honor system, they were, no surprise, out. Almost in frustrated tears and ready to finally succumb to my reservation at bringing farm animals into the house, as I drove away from the site, I noticed a hay wagon filled with a dwindling amount of straw bales and a pickup truck nearby with who I presumed was the straw farmer inside.

Talk about begging and pleading, I walked up to the truck and asked the man inside if those bales on the wagon were for sale. He nodded and gave me the price. It seemed to be a bit more than usual, but at that particular moment, I would have just about paid any price for straw. I paid the man and didn’t even scoff when it turned out I didn’t have change and ended up giving him three extra dollars.

Lesson learned for me: Procrastination equals cost inflation.

I must have looked like a crazed woman as I then heaved myself up on the wagon, grabbed two bales, leapt down and crammed them into my Honda Fit. My only reservation being that I hoped the bales weren’t harboring some sort of rodent that had sought shelter in them.

The bales were brought to the pigs, and they spent several days inside the barn, snuggly in their straw pile bed. Of course, they didn’t get bored, as I still had some fall pumpkins to keep their minds and their mouths busy.

We’re now on the downhill trek toward spring, and I pray no more extreme temperatures, but I was reminded of a valuable lesson that day: Don’t ever wait until the last minute to do something critical. More effort and resources are spent that could have been used elsewhere.

Next year, when the hint of winter begins in the fall, you’d best believe I’ll be purchasing enough straw bales to get me through the winter and then some.

Perhaps I’ll borrow a truck, though, just in case something decides to tag along.

Until next time…

Stephanie Strothmann owns Purple Shamrock Farm LLC in rural Seymour. Send comments to [email protected].