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Farm Dancing

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“Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance and holler,   just trying to be loved.”

– Alice Walker, The Color Purple

Ahhhh, the celebration of life that signals the fall, the harvest, food aplenty, with cool clear evenings and bright sunny skies greeting the day!

Jackie Moad‘Twas not that surprising then to see the beautiful Jackie Moad, my long-suffering partner who puts up with me through many and varied intrigues, slowly dancing through the orchard.

I stood and gazed upon her from across the field. How lucky I’ve been, marrying such a free spirited, happy woman, so confident and composed, no second thoughts in expressing happiness whenever the urge should call.

Our young collie pups took up the dance, jumping and cavorting beside her. And even the older dogs seemed caught in the novelty, circling, bumping and pushing at one another, enjoying completely the frivolity and pleasure of play. That surely is one of the joys of farming, letting go, being free, living fully in the moment.

And Jackie was in one those moments, which I was busily tucking away in memory. For these were the good old days I’d be remembering when I was in my rocker, on the porch looking out over the pond in retirement, occasionally directing one of our eager, highly-paid farm hands to pick up an apple or maybe a pear they’d missed, or perhaps just tidying up and being sure all the weeds were gone from the flower beds. But there I was again, lost in future thoughts, lost in wonder at the good fortune which had found us farming in paradise.

Momentarily transfixed, I shook my head and slowly re-focused on the scene before me. My beloved Jackie, still dancing, combining sultry rumba and wild flamenco high-steps in a most innovative manner. And that had to be a bit of ballroom flair, juxtaposing modern dance moves that I hadn’t seen her try for many a year. Swirling, dipping, knees high, ready to leap and fly … that was my Jackie alright. A mover and shaker, and dancer bar none. Wow, she was a sight to behold.

And the dogs were really getting into it too. There was barking galore, and mebbe a couple of snaps as they too made tight circles, weaving in and out amongst themselves, almost under Jack’s feet. And a yelp! High spirits and lots of energy in the fields this day!

I had to get in on the act and, reaching the fence in the lower field I could just barely hear Jackie, singing or calling something … waving me over, so that I hurried to get my dance card filled.

‘Something, something, idiot’ … I thought I heard, which couldn’t be from the sweet, sweet lass I’d been so enthralled with for 37 odd-years, or more – memory and dates being what they are these days. But yes, I did hear something like ‘idiot’ again, and something, something ‘get over here’, as she threw her arms open and twirled, gyrating, the dance spinning wildly, madly so it must soon end. And no, that could not have been an expletive deleted? I rushed to my love.

Through the trees she moved, dogs at her heels, in a dance with no equal. Unafraid to let her hair down, to toss it with great flair and flourish, hat flying off. She was going all out, dropping any pretense of classy, flowing walking-on-air arabesque in favour of a swirling dervish that verged on Tasmanian devil woman.

She twisted and turned, in tune to some grande ballet or concertina jangling that only she could hear. On the edge, but rather lovely really. I could only look on in amazement. Through the air, around her head, hands akimbo with blackberries spinning from her open palms, somewhat distracting, and I made a mental note to tell her she might want to tone it down just a notch if she planned to take this new crazy dance on the stage to New York or gay Paris!

And what the heck was that slapping at her sides all about, most unbecoming, as was the shaking head twitch which became so much more apparent the closer I came.

And ow, ow, ow I took a swat at a flying blackberry. What the heck, yellowjacket attack! I deigned to copy the form and essence of my love’s footsteps, flailing and farm dancing … through the orchard, beeline t’wards the house, beating a hasty retreat, dogs snapping and snorting, looking forward to winter’s shy embrace.

 

Laurie Gourlay_Jackie MoadLaurie Gourlay & Jackie Moad
Laurie Gourlay has worked with environmental groups for thirty-odd years, farms 20 acres organically with life-partner Jackie Moad, and both do indeed farm dance regularly as the urge, thorns, nettles, wasps and bees dictate, actively seeking local solutions to global challenges, of course.

 

 

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