Life on the farm 2/9/09: On the road again

February is a busy month, not for the farm - we aren't plowing and planting yet - but we are preparing for farmer's market season.

Besides doubling up on cheesework, we transport our own steer, veal, and pigs over the mountain to Troy (VT) to be commercially processed. This is our tenth year selling the farm's products and we've progressed to the point where we have our own little cattle trailer and a decent truck to do the hauling.

Today, my husband Dan and I traveled to Brault's Custom Processing with two beef steers and three vealers. The roads were clear and the coffee hot, but when we arrived in East Berkshire, instead of going over Jay (rte#118, to #242) Dan headed toward the alternate route, Richford #105, which would take more time. When I asked him why, he said he had spoken to a professional trucker that morning, and the guy said, 'no one ever takes a full load over Jay'. Well, in fact, we have done that exact thing many times before, but maybe this fella knew something we didn't. We went the long way around.

The route was completely deserted. We met one town truck with the blade down, coming toward us; as we progressed, our side of the middle line was beginning to look as though it hadn't been touched all morning.
The road was increasingly not good. And by "not good", I mean practically impassable; there was no place to pull off, turn around, or go back after the point where it all started to go slushy and snow covered. There was no choice but to keep going and hope our lane cleared up ahead. We were creeping slowly along in four-wheel drive at ten miles an hour both up and down the mountain peak.

Think a white-knuckle ride is the worst that could happen? Try rolling-down-the-window-to-puke-your-breakfast trip-travel! There's just so long the human body can scream on the inside before something forces its way out, but neither of us spoke, save for one uncomfortable moment when the satellite radio lost signal. How freaky is it that where the right-hand roadside is bottomless chasm, an object in outer space can't pinpoint our location?

Modern tow-behind cattle trailers have their own set of brakes, which saved us from jackknifing or losing control and ramping over the snowbank-covered guardrails.

We made it to Brault's after an extended length of time, pale and shaken. I confirmed an appointment for the pigs next week and reviewed the cut sheets to make sure we don't wind up with briskets instead of ground beef, or soup bones instead of center-cut veal shanks.

With no desire to relive the morning's experience, Dan turned on to the "usual road" to get home. Here both lanes were clear and in some places, bone dry. We met several big semi-trailers coming down the mountain, and a Fairpoint brigade directing traffic around their truck and workers. (As you can see, the road was perfect for travelling.)

"Hey", Dan said, "I thought we were gonna die back there."

 
Me, too.