Putting on a New Coat

Putting on a New Coat

by Emily Gibson, Washington

Generally mid-September is when we start to see the Haflingers growing
in their longer coat for winter. Their color starts to deepen with the
new hair as the sun bleached summer coat loosens and flies with the late
summer breezes. The nights here, when the skies are cloudless, can get
perilously close to freezing this time of year, though our first frost
is generally not until well into October. The Haflingers, outside during
the day, and inside their snug stalls at night, don't worry too much
about needing their extra hair quite yet, especially when the day time
temperatures are still comfortably in the 70s. So they are not in a
hurry to be furrier. Neither am I. But I enjoy watching this daily
change in their coats, as if they were ripening at harvest time. Their
colors are so rich against the green fields and trees, especially at
sunset when the orange hue of their coat is enhanced by the sunlit color
palette of fall leaves undergoing their own transformation in their dying.

In another six months, it will be a reverse process once again. This
heavy hair will have served its purpose, dulled by the harsh weather it
has been exposed to, and coming out in clumps and tufts, revealing that
iridescent short hair summer coat that shines and shimmers metallic in
comparison, although several shades lighter, sometimes with nuances of
dapples peeking through. Metamorphosis from fur ball to copper penny.

It occurs to me our old barn buildings on our farm have also undergone a
similar transformation, having received a new coat of paint this summer.
As a dairy farm for its previous owners starting in the early 1900s
until a few years before we purchased it in the late 80s, it has
accumulated more than its share of sheds and buildings constructed over
the years to serve one purpose or another: the big hay barn with mighty
old growth beams and timbers in its framework (still hay storage), the
attached milking parlor (converted by us to individual box stalls for
our weanlings and yearlings) and milk house where the bulk tank once
stood, the older separate milk house where the milk used to be stored in
cans waiting for pick up by the milk truck (now garden shed and harness
storage), the old smoke house for smoking meats (was our chicken coop,
but now the dogs claim it), the old bunk house and root cellar (more
storage), the old large chicken coop (now parking for our carts and
carriage), and the garage (a Methodist church in its former life and
moved 1/4 mile up the road to our farm some 70 years ago when the little
community of Forest Grove that had formed around a saw mill, store,
school and church disbanded after 30 years of prosperity when there
were no more trees to cut down in the area). When we bought this farm,
these buildings had not seen a coat of paint in many many years. They
were weathering badly--we set to work right away in an effort to save
them if we could, and got them repainted--"barn red" for the barn and
cream white for the other buildings with red trim around the windows and
roof lines.

That was over 10 years ago now and we've been trying to hold off on
another round of painting but it was clear this summer that it needed to
happen. Now that they have their fresh paint coats, these old buildings
appear to have new life again, though it is only on the surface. We
know there are roofs that need patching, wiring that needs to be redone,
plumbing that needs repair, foundations that need shoring up, windows
that are drafty and need replacing, doors that don't shut properly
anymore--the list goes on. That superficial coat of paint does not
solve all those problems--it will help prolong the life of the
buildings, to be sure, but in many ways, all we've done is cosmetic
surgery. What we really need is a full time carpenter --which neither
of us is and at this point can't afford.

In my middle age, there are times when I wish fervently for that "new
coat" for myself--i.e. fewer gray hairs, fewer pounds, fewer wrinkles
and one less chin, less achy stronger muscles. I buy a new fall jacket
and realize that all my deficiencies are simply covered for the time
being. I may be warmer but I'm not one bit younger. That jacket will,
I hope, protect me from the brisk northeast winds and the incessant
drizzle of the region, but it will not stop the inevitable underneath.
It will not change who I am and what I will become.

True change can only come from within, from deep inside our very
foundations, requiring a transforming influence that comes from outside.
For the Haflingers, it is the diminishing light and lower temperatures.
For the buildings, it is the hammer and nail, and the capable hands
that wield them. For me, it is knowing there is salvage for people too,
not just for old barns and sheds. Our foundations are hoisted up and
reinforced, and we're cleaned, patched and saved despite who we have
become. And unlike new paint, or a winter coat, it lasts forever.

Emily
BriarCroft Haflingers

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