The dogs and I drove north through the high peaks region of the Adirondacks and, as planned, continued north on route 30 past Paul Smith's toward Malone. We were headed for the Scottish Highland cattle farm in the pine forest. But I wanted to let the dogs out for a break before we arrived, so I found a trail head for a state run horse riding forest. The dogs thought it was just fine, a good place to poop and run around a bit. The photo above is Wren and Wally, intrepid Adirondack explorers.
Wally, Casey and Fergus head on down a horse trail.
Wren gets tired quickly. "OK Dad, I've secured the area and scouted for bears. Can I go back in the car now and get some sleep?"
Wally, Fergus, Seamus and Casey in the dappled sunshine and pine scented air. Life is good.
Anyway, I arrived at the cattle farm and a young man and his little girl walked me into the woods to meet the cattle. I once owned my own herd of Scottish Highland cattle and loved them dearly, though I was intimidated by their giant horns.
Scottish Highland cattle are an ancient breed of long haired, long horned hardy cattle who can thrive in frigid climates and on poor forage. They are even tempered and easy to tame. Even so, I got nervous as we walked towards them. I noticed that the farmer's two dogs refused to enter the pasture. They knew better.
This young heifer was very sweet and curious. Her horns are just getting started.
The big fellow above is the herd's main bull. He's magnificent but I kept wondering what we'd do if he got angry.
The bull was reportedly the tamest animal in the herd. Indeed, he came right up to have his head scratched. Unfortunately, he didn't want us to quit scratching his head and became quite insistent. How does one refuse?
The farmer admitted that one day, the bull swatted at a fly and accidentally stabbed him on the inside of his thigh. The doctor later warned him that one more such incident would likely prevent his fathering any future children.
Another youngster. They sure are cute. If only they were polled. I pretty much decided that as with Yaks, Scottish Highlands just have horns which are too big for my comfort. I need a breed which is safe and cuddly. I am an old man with no one to help should I get myself on the wrong side of the giant horns. So I'll keep checking out cattle breeds.
The cattle farmer told me about Red Tavern, pretty much the only building on the long, lonely road through the Adirondacks from his farm to my farm. He said that one can stay there for $15 a night and at 8:00 they turn off the generator and hand you a lantern. He said it's a historic landmark and I must stop in for a beer.
I almost drove past it but then stopped and snapped the above picture. A couple of old guys sitting on the picnic table under the canopy invited me inside and were happy the old tavern was getting some attention.
I walked inside and ordered a beer but then quickly said, "Oh no, I left my wallet in the car. Cancel the beer." An old guy in the corner (almost hidden behind the post) bought me one and I chatted with the bar tender and the only other customer for a while. Just as I was leaving, a couple of bikers came in.
There's a game room adjacent to the bar room, but no one was inside. I didnt' ask about the generator/lantern story, but the bar room certainly had electricity. On the other hand, I suppose the upstairs might not be wired. I'll check farther into it some day.
I left the Red Tavern and drove the Red Tavern/Port Kent Road along the high lands which look out over the northern Adirondacks. This road leads directly to within a couple of miles of my farm. It's a fascinating and beautiful world up there.
I arrived up at the farm Sunday mid-day and the dogs were happy to run around, stretch their legs, sniff everything and pee nearly everywhere. There's 3 tiny kittens living somewhere in the barn but they won't let me get near them. They're awfully cute, though. It was evident they came up onto my porch to play during the night as they'd taken a coil of clothesline and pulled it down the stairs into the driveway. Anyway, the Lesser Stitchwort of former weeks is now being replaced by Bedstraw, Galium sp as the "Baby's Breath of the Hayfield." It's everywhere, including the photo above.
And the various clovers are side by side with the yellow flowered Birdsfoot Trefoil, Lotus corniculatus, an alien legume which can be found almost everywhere, from the sides of city streets to hay fields far off in the hinterlands.
There's still Canadian Tiger Swallowtails flitting about the flowers and they are lovely.
And another view of the same butterfly in my hay field. The undersides of the wing are more pale than the brilliant yellow upper wing surfaces.
Hop Clover, Trifolium agrarium, a yellow flowered alien, is currently in full bloom.
A friend who saw my photo of Blue Flag alongside Mountain Pond dug up some in her back yard and gave it to me to plant up at the farm. I put it in the new garden next to the house where the Roses are floundering and the Columbine never even began. Blue Flag is a native Iris which should be right at home here. Thanks, Mary Ellen.
Casey on the newly mowed lawn. Some of the other dogs are back under the apple trees.
The barn. It needs a new door at each end, new windows, and much more - but it's spacious and serviceable.
I discovered one of my favorites, Butter-And-Eggs, growing with the Bedstraw alongside the barn's milk room. It's scientific name is Linaria vulgaris, and it's an alien import which you can clearly see is a member of the Snapdragon Family. I think it's one of the most descriptively named flowers.
Wally and Casey doing their business.
Fergus smells the kittens hiding in the barn but they won't let themselves be seen by him.
Wren and Winky, a pair of buddies who go their own way at their own speed.
This small orange butterfly was flitting around in large numbers in the hay field. I looked it up when I got home and think it's the Least Skipper, Ancyloxypha numitor.
And of course Cinquefoil. I'm not sure which species, but I think it's Rough Fruited Cinquefoil, Potentilla recta.
And for the final picture of the day, I present to you the two youngsters, Seamus and Fergus. Can you see the mischief in Fergus' face?
