Mabel and Babe

In the late 1940s my maternal grandparents, Adolf and Karen Larsen bought a small dairy farm in Orland, Calif. Farr, Danish for Father, first worked his farmland chores with two plow horses, Mabel and Babe.
My Dad later helped him acquire a John Deere system of farm equipment. Mabel was a friendly, silver animal and Babe was a deep chocolate Brown.    Babe had a curious disposition and told Farr told me more than once, “never get around Babe, she has an attitude.” I spent summers in the 1950s on the farm and got to know farm work first hand. If you’ve ever seen plow horses at the end of day, they’re hot, tired, and sweaty. I’ve been a Handyman now for 16 years. At the end of my working day I too am often hot, tired, and sweaty. I tried to combine these two working images in the next poem.

Workhorse and Me

Workhorse coming in
from the back forty,
hot and tired and sweaty,
star thistles in his mane and tail,
freshly plowed dirt on his hooves,
blackbird poop on his back,
summer heat across his body,
crows’ noise in his ears,
latex stains on his shirt,
caulk stains on his pants,
sawdust in his cough,
check in his pocket,
and bills at the post office
to be paid from the metal pail
full of them that he keeps
around his neck.
The farmer can’t lay him off
because the farmer likes to eat.
©Peter Bray 7/29/2016
All rights reserved

I graduated from UC Berkeley’s College of Engineering in 1966. My studies there are a far cry from where I am today at 75. It’s been an Odyssey:

The College of Engineering

The College of Engineering
never taught us
how to stack our poems,
we had to learn that
the empirical way:
Stack a few,
see how they withstand
wind forces, vibration,
corrosion, harmonic waves,
phase shifts, nautical expansion,
tidal action, couplet robbing,
ekphrastic observations.
Then the type –
All those font choices,
flush right? Left?
And the photos, logos,
signature sign-off
at the bottom –
Rights? What rights?
Who’s gonna steal this stuff?
Some toothless bear
in the woods? Mick Jagger?
Norman Rockwell?
Get real.
©Peter Bray 7/13/16
All rights reserved

Buy The Farm

(It’s a funny song I wrote to coerce my wife, Janice into marrying me in 1989…it took another 5 years (1994) despite living together since 1984. The house we owned and were living in then and now, has a huge side yard, the size of a small farm…the rest is history – Love you, Jan! –pb)

She won me over
with her French fries,
her good looks and her charm,
but she never married me to this day,
so I think I’m gonna buy the farm, Uh-oh,
I think I’m gonna buy the farm.

Now a marriage ya see
is a buncha’ bills,
romance, and some thrills –
A marriage scene
caught somewhere between
the kids and the Undertaker.
But if you’re lucky you’ll only
Do it Once, and while some
get better with Age,
for me and you it was One and Two,
and Three would be a Royal Rage,
Oh yeah, three would be a
Royal Rage.

Chorus:
She won me over
with her French fries,
her good looks and her charm,
but she never married me to this day,
so I think I’m gonna buy the farm, Uh-oh,
I think I’m gonna buy the farm.

I got married for the first time,
when I was younger
than the Garden Gate.
Number Two we ran right through,
but Three says we’ll have to wait.
Well, I’ve never been
such a Patient Man,
I guess I’ll have to settle down.
and buy a little farm
at the edge of town
and wait for her to come around.

Chorus:
She won me over
with her French fries,
her good looks and her charm,
but she never married me to this day,
so I think I’m gonna buy the farm, Uh-oh,
I think I’m gonna buy the farm.
I think I’m gonna buy the farm,
Uh-oh, I think I’m gonna buy…the farm.
©Peter Bray, 1989 and 2018
All rights reserved

Peter Bray lives, works, and writes in Benicia
and has written this column since 2008.

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