View allAll Photos Tagged FARMING
A short lane from the road marks a well trod trail to a farm house and a barn. Decades ago, yellow school buses made the meandering journey from a town school to many stops in the country. Farm youth were well acquainted with the sudden jarring as they came from a noisy day at school and were deposited at the end of a quiet lane leading to their farm site. Their walk from the road to home was a time of adjustment, a time to face chores.
A farmer's irrigation hose reel. Seen on farmland in Clumber Park.
We have had little rain where we are in the UK, & a lot of farmers have had to irrigate their crops.
Having discovered who now lives behind the blue door on the Milltown Road, we now discover that Mrs Farmer from Clonmel was an elegant lady. If she was the wife of a farmer named Farmer, then she did not farm in that elegant outfit!
+++ UPDATE +++
Thanks to Sharon Corbet for revealing at lot more about “Mrs Farmer”. Mary Constance Farmer (née Barry) was married to retired Captain Langford Llanwarne Farmer. They had married in Kanturk in 1903, and had two sons Arthur and Frank. Mary was aged around 40 in this photograph. And speaking of “revealing”, if you read down through the comments, you may be discombobulated by the discussion of knickers. To see why, zoom in on the catalogue Mary Farmer is perusing...
Photographer: A. H. Poole
Collection: The Poole Photographic Collection, Waterford
Date: ca. 9 March 1910
NLI Ref: POOLEWP 2012
You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie
The technique stayed relatively unchanged for centuries. Sea water is being dried in "salt pools" with brick floors, scraped using a harrow in the afternoon, and collected into baskets. These baskets are left there overnight to allow excess seawater to drip and are then hauled the next morning. Each basket sells for about 40-50 pesos depending on quality. The price more than triples by the time the salt reaches the supermarkets.
I don’t get embarrassed much anymore at my age. A psychologist might tell me that is because I have lowered my expectations of myself.
But I did feel a little uneasy a few days ago on an isolated country road. My full-time wildlife spotter and I were traversing our way alongside a large partially snow-covered field when we spotted a male and female sandhill crane stopped in a field just about 15 yards from the road.
The larger male crane was seeking to impress the uninterested female with a traditional crane mating dance, jumping high into the air, picking up some dead grass and throwing it as high as he could and just generally making a fool of himself.
He must have gotten a little discouraged the lack of response as he paused when he saw our stopped vehicle. He then left his mate and came over to the edge of the field directly in front of us. With little ado, he began a dance just for me, at least I hope it was for me.
This photo gives a pretty good view of just how enormous the wingspan is of these creatures who are now flying back to Minnesota to spend time with us.
(Photographed near Cambridge, MN)
Bus 27 taking chalk farmers to the chalk farm at Chalk Farm to farm chalk. Due to the food crisis the poor use chalk mixed with flour in making bread. I blame Boris Johnson.
An ant farming some aphids on a plant. They feed on the honeydew the aphids produce as they feed on plants.
Taken last year at John Heinz Wildlife Refuge
This sturdy looking barn looks to be in good shape yet even though the barn is surrounded by tall grass and mature trees that illustrate it has been a good number of years since the doors were left open for cows to enter and be milked.
In most of the earlier years of its intended use, a young farmer probably had no thoughts of his lifestyle and method of making a living coming to an end. Like most farmers as he went about his daily work he probably twirled ideas around in his head thinking about how he could expand his operations and maybe even provide a pathway for one of his sons or daughters to carry on his farming lineage.
But today looking back, there was a day when he ground feed for his cows for the last time, milked for the last time and saw the milk truck rumbling out of his driveway for the last time. Gone were the thoughts of expanding and in their place was probably a struggle to adjust to the new realities facing him.
Last times in our lives often sneak up and nip us much like a stranger's ornery dog, quietly and with little warning. My wife and I have been privileged to travel to her family's home in Australia over a dozen times but one day we suddenly realized health problems signaled those trips were all in the past.
(Photographed near Princeton, Minnesota)