With bright red pimples across her chin crease, Jennie headed outside. Immediately she felt like a hot, wet towel had whipped across her face and body, the sticky dampness felt gross.

It was around 2 in the afternoon, the sun burned in full force, no clouds were in sight. Jennie’s skin screaming a strong rejection to this type of treatment. Raising her right arm up, the back of her hand stroking her greasy forehead. Having left one inferno, now heading into another. Her father’s heated voice still hung in her ears. The hot breeze outside resembled her father’s breathe. She felt it like a burn across her face, “Get outside and do your chores.”

Trixie, the loyal family pup looked over to Jennie. A small Border Collie, always smiling. She strutted across the barn yard to meet her friend. Jennie smiled, wondering why dogs run in a sideways pattern, when they are in a relaxed strut. The Border Collie’s legs looking like a knit one pearl two pattern as she strutted towards Jennie. Looking like a roadside drunk, severely failing the sobriety test. By Jennie calculations, this beautiful black and brown Border Collie, would broadside the shed before she reached Jennie.

“Come on girl,” Jennie called out to her trusted companion
“Let’s brave this heat together.”

One of chores on Jennie’s list, discing the back field. The harrow was already attached to the rusty, old orange Case tractor. Jennie needed to drive it down the back lane. The grass and dirt pathway, lead out to the back field. She would be reworking the soil, father wanted the field free of weeds and freshly worked.

The old Case tractor puttered along, sounding like an elderly man with a pronounced stutter. This beauty was an oldie but a goodie. As Jennie moved the clutch, embracing more of her vintage power, a large puff of dark smoke shot out of the tall brown rusted muffler that rose from above the engine. Cuban cigars had nothing on this old girl. Like a raunchy old cigar, the billowing smoke caused Jennie’s tonsils to ask for water and her olfactory bulbs to go on strike.

The uncomfortable metal seat clanged against the steel frame of the tractor. Like a thoroughbred first out of the gate, they were off! No one could catch them. Except Trixie, that crazy dog thought she might. Smiling larger now, she gave chase to her metal companion. Her tongue hung far out of her pointy mouth, which dragged across the tops of the grass blades along the path. The wild daisy’s peeked their heads out amongst the wild grass, laughing and dancing at the sight of the race.

The hum of the tractors motor competed with Trixie’s heart rate, or maybe her panting? Trixie, in full gallop now, her tongue double its length, the tip touching the ground. You could see green blades of wild grass sticking to Trixie’s soft plush tongue.

The old Case would not be the thoroughbred today. With all her devotion and laboured strides, it was Trixie.

Trixie would be the thoroughbred champion, on this hot summer’s day.

This story is a reflection of my time at our home farm. Early on in my life journey, my parents taught all of us, the joy of work. Seeking to find the gems of every day. The joy of interactions and the love of life itself. We were never paid for the work we did with money, we recieved a greater payment. A payment of engagement, of appreciation and of a cooperative worth. Understanding our connection to all things, which I continue to honour today. Miss you Trixie, miss you Case old girl- amazing memories-thank you.

Keep looking for the gems they are sparkling every day……

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