The joys of living in farm country

Also: Jen’s Talking About Poop Again.


So, I live in farm country.  I don’t live on a farm and I can’t see a farm from my front porch, but a ten minute walk east or west or a ten minute drive southeast or southwest, or north for that matter, and I’d be roof-deep in corn fields.  Lots of corn fields.  Also a lot of cows and apple orchards and tree farms.

Oh, and hey!  All you city folk!  Guess what farmers LOVE.  Oh, they love it so much.  They want to hug it and squeeze it love it all to bits.  They love it so much they have to share it with everyone in a bajillion kilometer radius.  Love, love, love.



Of the animalian variety.  Cow poop, sheep turd, pig feces.  Mmm…animal poop.

All up in our air, stinking up the place.

I park my car in my garage, so I don’t come into contact with weather or the environment until I’m dropping the kids off at the pool my mom’s house.  I never have to scrape frost off my windshield or brush snow or combat scorching heat.  It’s great.  Except that I have no idea what’s going on with the outside world until it’s much to late to defend myself.

This morning we emerged from my car at my mom’s and I quite honestly nearly puked.  I eat breakfast, so it would have been disasterous.  The air, my dear readers, smelled like manure.

WAIT.  That’s much too polite a discription for this smell.  I can do so much better than that (heh…)

It smelled like the inside of a sick baby’s diaper.

It smelled like a sewage treatment plant on fire.

It smelled like a septic tank exploded and it’s particles hung suspended in the air long enough to create confusion and rained down liquid evil.

It smelled like rotting skunk carcus.

It smelled like Death ate questionable luncheon meat and didn’t make it to the restroom in time.

It smelled like this guy:

I’m not at all uncertain that the smell stuck to my clothing.  And my hair.  And every one of my coworkers’ clothing and hair.  And it’s all up in my nostrils, hanging out, being obnoxiously foul.

And this is just the beginning of farming season.  We have a good six months left to enjoy the smell of cow crap.


Me: Smell that? You smell that?
Eirinn: What?
Me: Manure, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
Me: I love the smell of manure in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn’t find one of ’em, not one stinkin’ dink body. The smell, you know that cow poop smell, the whole hill. Smelled like
[sniffing, pondering
Me: victory. Someday this war’s gonna end… Now, hurry up.  I’m late for work.
[suddenly walks off]


Oh, the joys of living in farm country…


15 thoughts on “The joys of living in farm country

  1. There’s only one thing worse than manure in the morning…the smell of rotting chickens on a chicken farm.

    Don’t drive down Brock St./Baldwin St. in Whitby in the morning (north of the Walmart/Superstore).

    It only happens about two times a month (maybe they move the dead SO worse than manure.

    But they’re selling beautiful new house lots just next door to the chicken farm! I’m sure that’ll be a great place to set up your new home!!

  2. Cow shit don’t bother me. Pig shit do. It was a happy day in the ole schoolhouse the day the neighbours closed up the pig barn.

  3. I have a visceral reaction to the very memory of that smell. College in the springtime. They covered every unconcreted inch of campus with it. It was a full-frontal sensory assault. Those bastards.

  4. My parents live near a pig farmer and yes, it’s worse than cow manure. Nothing like heading onto the back deck in the summer with a cold beer when you’re upwind of a fresh batch … it’s a real treat I tell ya.

    My work is very close to the dump in Pickering. There’s a constant mouth watering smell that eminates from there even a couple of kms away. Especially nice when you’re on your lunch break or queasy from a hangover!

    And then there’s the delightful smell on Lake Ontario when you’re trying to eat on a patio at one of those fancy restaurants by the water. Last year there was a parasite that was killing the fish, so they’d have these dead bloating corpses in the harbour just beside the patio … yum! Needless to say, I didn’t order the fish special. Can I make anyone reservations??

  5. See, I thought here in the wonderful metropolis they call “Kansas City”, we were the only ones who had to deal with random farms. By day, I work in medicine. I work in a largely human populated area of KC. Why do I bring this up? From my medical office building, I can see not one, but two fields growing nothing more than your run of the mill corn and soybeans. I am, however, disappointed in the lack of poop in said fields. A boy can dream, right?

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