As a young boy growing up on a small dairy farm in Vermont I had a few afternoon and after school chores to do, such as filling the wood box behind the kitchen stove, chunks for the parlor stove, and in summer the 5 p.m. ordeal of fetching the cows from our 100-acre pasture. I say “ordeal” as this pasture is located about 3/4 of a mile from the farm, with about half of the distance on the main dirt road and the rest up a very steep hill which had frequent water bars to divert rainwater to the sides and avoid washouts of the gravel surface.  There is a story that these water bars were called “thank you ma’ams,” as they were an aid in resting the horse when pulling up this very steep hill, by letting the rear wheels of the wagon stop in the lowest part of the ditch, thus taking away some of the load for the horse to hold.  Supposedly, at this time, the horse would look back with sort of an expression of gratitude — thus the “thank you ma’am” expression came about.  — At a much earlier time in history this road was the main and only connection between the east and west parts of the town, a road also traveled during the Revolution by Ethan Allen and his “Green Mountain Boys” — hallowed ground indeed!  — But enough of history… there are 15 cows to fetch from the pasture which was virtually divided into 3 sections:  the south woods – a heavily forested area of pine and hemlock, the middle section – comprising of an old apple orchard and some open grazing, and the “sugar woods” – with hundreds of maple trees and also the most open grazing section of the pasture — and — the most distant part of the pasture.  This area was bordered on one side by what was known as the old Boston Post Road connecting Brattleboro, VT with Boston, MA.  Several old cellar holes along this abandoned road told of earlier occupation — holes long ago fallen in and overgrown with grass.  I remember running as fast as I could down into and up the other side of these depressions — sort of a roller coaster effect!  It was here that I had my scary experience with wildlife…

A light misty rain had been falling all day, coming, it seemed, from clouds only treetop high and giving me a feeling of depression – and even more so when I found no cows waiting for me at the pasture bars.  Cupping my hands around my mouth I went through the routine of calling “ca-boss — ca-boss” several times while intently listening and hoping to hear the sound of bells from the two cows wearing them.  This was a time when “silence was not golden” so I set out to find them.  I was wearing knee-high rubber boots, had an open umbrella, and started to follow a cow path which would eventually lead me to the so-called sugar woods.  As I was passing by a large tree stump, in a line fence that had been cut off just above the top wire and about head high to me, there was an explosion of feathers only inches from my face, scaring me so that I quickly reversed direction and ran for home – not taking time to close the umbrella –and how I wished at that time that my rubber boots were sneakers.  Of course, running with an open umbrella would be a bit like rowing a boat without pulling in the anchor.  As I reached the bar way, I was greeted by a small animal, the likes of which I had never seen before and caused me to make another detour, running through a field of tall wet grass that soaked me to the waist. —Out of breath and scared I finally got home and told my story of the big bird with the explosion of feathers, was assured that it was only an owl, and possibly the animal was a weasel.  Without even a snicker or a reprimand, my brother-in-law said he would get the cows, while my mother calmed my fears of my first wildlife experience, and advising that I should always close the umbrella while running and that owls and weasels are not harmful to little boys!