“Garth the Big” for Bread and Butter Farm and Agrarian Trust
by Dan Close
May, 2021
Garth the Big
upon viewing the Bread and Butter Farm’s video of the pig herd
heading off to its summer pasture
Oh, Garth the Big was a mighty fine pig
With a mighty fine curlicue
On his mighty fine tail. When he’d give it a whirl
He could stir up quite a stew
With a hint of mischief in his bright blue eyes
He’d wink, give a grin or two
And an ‘Oink!’ would emerge from deep below,
Somewhere near his heart, just for you.
For Garth the Big was a big-hearted pig;
Had a heart that was true-blue
And one fine day in the merry month of May
Garth met a young sow named Sue
Who was destined to become the grandmother of one
Great big pen of piglets. It’s true!
Well Sue took the heart of that big wild boar
And turned him into a puddle
Of blubbering pathos enlaced with bathos
And blithering porcine stew.
“Oh, won’t you come gambol and snarfle with me,”
Said Garth the Big to Sue
“I can see you like edibles sloppy and wild,
Like mushrooms and acorns and beechnuts too.
“I know a spot where pig dreams are born.
It’s up on that hill in the forest.
We’ll feast on chanterelles, that rhymes with bells
That will play on our wedding day,
“And there we’ll stay, wile the summer away,
Midst the walnuts and hazelnuts, too,
And fungo porcino and champignons
With shitakes, enokis, and portobellos
And morels, and hen-of-the-woods, woo-hoo!
And if we are lucky, my sow young and plucky,
We may snuffle around and root out of the ground
Some funky and muskkevous black truffles, too.
A paradise we’ll find, my one Sue sublime
This is my promise to you.”
And to this day, they oink away
In perfect pig bliss and true,
And coming in spring, while bluebirds sing,
A litter of piglets for two.
The Life of a Farmer
You wake up in the morning
Just before you go to bed
And you hit the sack in evening-time
But before you rest your head
You hear the rooster crowing
In the pre-dawn morning light
And you realize time means nothing,
It’s the farmer’s daily plight.
But while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
You must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood.
Yes, while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
It demands that you stand up
And work it as you should.
So it’s up and rise ‘fore sun-up
It’s what the cows demand
It’s all a part of working
On each farm across the land
And while each lonely farmer
Starts his daily milking chores,
The cows are always willing
To produce a little more.
But while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
We must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood
Yes while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
It demands that we get up
And work it as we should.
Maple in the springtime,
Haying in the summer sun,
Cutting sheets of ice in blocks
For the summertime’s long run
Tending to the animals,
Mending fence and rail,
Got to keep on gittin’
Or the critters will prevail.
But while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
We must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood
Yes while the land is fertile
While the soil is good
It demands that we go out
And work it as we should.
While our backs are breaking
With the burdens of the day
Still we have to look up
And figure why we stay
The scent of good turned farm soil
The patter of the rain
The colors of the rainbows
Are why some of us remain
And while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
We must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood
Yes while the land is fertile
While the soil is good
We will keep on working
In the fields and in the woods.
Through hail and snow and fire
And a billion locusts more
Though across our land they travel
And plague us evermore,
We cannot leave the land we love,
We cannot leave our farms
Until ten thousand bales of hay
Are safe within our barns.
And while the land is fertile,
While the earth is good,
We must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood.
Yes, while our soil is fertile,
While our land is good,
We will keep on working
In the fields and in the woods.
While our backs are breaking
With the burdens of the day
Still we have to look up
And figure why we stay
The scent of good turned farm soil
The patter of the rain
The colors of the rainbows
Are why some of us remain
And while the land is fertile
While the earth is good
We must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood
Yes while the land is fertile
While the soil is good
We will keep on working
In the fields and in the woods.
Through hail and snow and fire
And a billion locusts more
Though across our land they travel
And plague us evermore,
We cannot leave the land we love,
We cannot leave our farms
Until ten thousand bales of hay
Are safe within our barns.
And while the land is fertile,
While the earth is good,
We must keep on working
In the fields and in the wood.
Yes, while our soil is fertile,
While our land is good,
We will keep on working
In the fields and in the woods.
The Breed from Devonshire
We are the Red Breed of Devon,
The oldest breed on Earth
To have been stamped and measured
From horn to tail to girth.
‘Twas in the Shire of Devon –
That’s the place that we called home,
Where mighty ancient herds were born.
We’re Red Devon to the bone.
But we left the land of Camelot,
We went a’sea and roamed,
And when we found Australia’s sunny shores
We were set to call it home.
But suddenly up and at it again,
Once more we sailed the seas,
And to America’s shores we came
And now we do graze free.
In these pastures of the Green Hills
We graze the lush green grass
And helping to make this land we’re on
We chew our cud en masse.
And in the course of nature’s way
We finish what we’ve chewed;
We leave our little gifts behind.
(Oh, please don’t think us rude!)
We’re only doing naturally
What nature has intended
To make the grasses green once more,
And make us, too, contented.
We are not large, by any means,
Like Holsteins or like Jerseys tended
Who have been turned to milk machines,
Their udders great distended.
We do not live in grand new barns
With thousand other bovines bound,
For we live free, as it should be,
And revel in kind nature’s charms.
No, we are not great clompers,
But with our smaller tread
We gently graze upon the earth
And make the earth our bed.
Oh, we are blessed, we must confess,
To sojourn happily here;
To go about our duties
And hold our land so dear.
And some of us are hornless,
While some of us are horned,
And some of us get horny,
Which is how our calves get borned,
But lest you think us racy
And lest you think us wild
We’re simply quite good-natured
With dispositions mild.
And in conclusion, let us say
Before another thought we utter,
“Upon this land we’ll make our stand,
For it is our Bread and Butter.”
Photograph: Jan Albers
Dan Close is a poet and novelist living in the hills of northwestern Vermont. He is the author of a book of poetry entitled What the Abenaki Say about Dogs, which chronicles the lives, past and present, of the Abenaki of the Champlain Basin. It will soon be available in an audio version. His novel The Glory of the Kings was awarded Best In Fiction prize by Peace Corps Writers. He currently serves on the board of the Poetry Society of Vermont. Join him at danclose.net
Agrarian Trust (agrariantrust.org) supports land access for next generation farmers for sustainable food production, collective ecological stewardship, complex land succession, with accounting, estate planning, retirement planning and legal and technical assistance.