A Trip (down memory lane): Part 4

As we were wrapping up lunch I was whining to the Loved One again about the loss of my ATM card.

"Give me your wallet," he said.

It's not in there, I assured him as I opened it and showed him the empty space where it usually lay. Not there. Then to further prove my point, I pulled out the assorted receipts and credit cards from another slot in the wallet and low and behold there she was, my brand new Chase ATM card twinkling in the light. I stared at it for a second and the Loved One saw it right away. I shoved it back in the correct place and mumbled, I told you it was in there the entire time.

I don't normally lose things a lot. But when I do, I lose them well. I lost a pair of keys in my backpack for about a month. I was convinced our third roommate at the funeral home had gone in to my bag and taken them while I slept. I moaned about it for days and even paid to have a new set made. One day, at the Loved Ones apartment, they fell out of an inner pocket deep inside the bag. Again, they were not in their usual place. Whose fault is that? And after the Mormon and I broke up I left my ATM card in a bank machine three times in three weeks. Two of those times I had to wait for a replacement card to be mailed to me. It was frustrating but think of all the money I saved in that time. I made no pointless purchases.

Let me go in and tell Kenda that I found it, I said to Loved One.

Sheepishly I walked in and approached her. She greeted me with a warm smile. I just wanted to let you know, uhm...I found my ATM card. "Oh! Good! Where was it?" I looked down at the floor, It totally wasn't in my wallet. She smiled a knowing smile and I waved goodbye and ran right into Marta who was arriving for her shift. "How were the llamas?" We're on our way right now, I said. "Be careful," she cautioned. We laughed and waved goodbye and headed to the car.

The farm was just a few minutes away and we arrived, of course, early. We initially drove past the farm and immediately knew by looking out the driver's side window and seeing a veritable sea of llamas, some lying in the sun; some picking at the grass. We turned the car around and slowly approached Llama Lane. The white gate opened automatically as our powdered blue colored Kia made the slow ascent up the drive. I was a little unclear as to how this was going to work. Was there a group before us? Would someone greet us? The Loved One asked these questions out loud and all I could say was, I don't know. As we were turning the car into a parking space, a tall lanky man dressed like...well, like a modern day farmer gave us a smile and a nod and I said, I guess that's who we see.

We got out of the car and I went up and shook his hand and introduced myself. I thought he said his name was Nick so I proceeded to call him that for the rest of the day. It wasn't until we got back to Greenpoint and the Loved One did some research on the farm that we found that, actually, his name is Dick. Oops. Sorry, Dick. I introduced the Loved One and D/Nick led us into the barn. "Which one of you is from Philly?" he asked. I am, I answered. But originally. We live in Brooklyn now. I grew up in Philly and spent my summer's in upstate PA but, I guess, in a more western section.

"Whereabouts?"

St. Clair. Near Pottsville.

"That's not too far," and then he thought. "Not Pottstown?"

No, Pottsville.

"Well, welcome. This is the llama farm." And D/Nick launched into a very detailed and thorough history of the farm and how he, in 1985, retired as a corporate executive from NYC and bought the farm, which was built and used as a dairy farm in the 19th Century. He knew he needed to maintain it to keep it up and going but he didn't want traditional farm animals. After doing a lot of research he settled on llamas -- which can also be spelled lama. I hurled questions at him like a reporter. The only problem being I wasn't writing anything down so I was trying to retain as much as possible and I had a thousand more questions swimming around in my head.

First, D/Nick took us into the original barn. Posted along the back wall were rows and rows of blue and red ribbons. Next to these were large cardboard cartons, some of which were open and I could see llama hair pouring out. "This is the shearing room," D/Nick explained. He took us over to a large metal contraption that has two long, tufted poles that lock the llama in place so that it doesn't hurt itself while they shear it. There's also another device that lifts the back legs up so the llama doesn't try to sit during the process. I laughed and said, I wish I had one of those for my dog when I give him a bath. "What kind of dog do you have?" Oh, just a little thing but he hates it and squirms like crazy. It drives me insane. Truth to tell, I was a little embarrassed to explain my little gay Havanese pup to this farmer. Ripley is anything but a little gay lapdog but it's hard to describe him without making him seem otherwise. Plus, once you say Havanese you have to go into Bischon and Shih Tsu territory and it just gets gayer and gayer...

D/Nick took us over to the cardboard boxes and told us to feel the hair. I expected it to be coarse and rough but it was very smooth and fine. Then he showed us that his sweater was made from llama hair as well. Although it can be dyed, most llama hair is kept in its natural state and D/Nick explained the various features and colors, etc.

He then took us to the main barn. As he was talking and explaining things to us, suddenly a white head precariously balanced on a long white neck popped up, chewing hay in its mouth and giving us a questioning look. It had the most startling clear blue eyes you could imagine. "That's Bright Eyes," D/Nick said. "I can see why," the Loved One replied. Curiously, Bright eyes made its way over to us. D/Nick stuck out his hand and it sniffed with little interest and then went back to chewing. Suddenly, three or so more llamas came in to the barn. D/Nick knew each and everyone's name. Some came over to check us out, while others went right to the hay. D/Nick explained that the llamas got to know you by sniffing your hair. So if one came over, we bent our heads down and offered up our shiny locks to them to smell. It's a very scary position to be in, I have to say. The llamas look very powerful. And by putting your head down, you're obstructing any view of it whatsoever. What if it bites down on the top of your head? What if it grabs your ear and won't let go? What if it messes up your hair? None of this happened. We got the same half-hearted sniff of interest and then they walked away.

D/Nick showed us the original foundation of the barn and then how he had expanded it and made it bigger, particularly because he was so tall he could hardly stand up in it before. Then he took us upstairs to where the hay was stored and showed us how they could just drop it down to the feeding area below. He pointed out an original feature of the barn. The wood beams that supported the roof were hand cut. You could see each and every hack of the ax that was used to whittle the tree into this state. I had never thought of that. Why would I? When have I ever had to build a house? But I stood there looking at the ax marks imagining the kind of guy who had to build his house and his barn by chopping down the trees around him and then chopping them even further into the appropriate shapes before fitting them together. My mind doesn't work that way. I wish it did. And then I thought, what a great workout. Crunch could introduce Tree Choppin' to its city folk clients.

All this time a cat was following us from one location to another. "He gets all the little critters," D/Nick said. "Obviously, he's solely an outdoors cat." Unwillingly to leave the dark hunting zones of the upper barn yet, D/Nick made sure that the cat could get out from somewhere before we headed back down. We walked through the feeding trough and D/Nick pointed out a large black llama with a large infection around its eye. Oh no, what happened! I exclaimed. "She had an ingrown eyelash," D/Nick explained. "The normal vert wasn't there and the one that was removed the wrong eyelid. So she tears up constantly and it leaves that area all infected like that." As he was telling us this story a chicken wandered in and jumped into a feed trough. D/Nick checked to see if it was laying an egg. "We have a few of these, you'll see around. They only lay about 10-12 eggs a day though." 10-12?! I thought they would only lay one egg a day. So much I didn't know.

There are about 60-70 llamas on the farm. The males are separated from the females and only get it on when D/Nick says so. There's even a breeding booth, as it were. Apparently this is because female llamas ovulate AFTER they copulate. So, I guess, they're guaranteed to get knocked up after sex.

We walked out to where the female llamas were. Most immediately moved down the field, further away from us. A curious, smaller black and white llama named Chicklet was much more curious than her counterparts. She would approach and then back off. We would offer our closed fist or our head and she would approach and then back away. Rinse and repeat. I loved it. We then walked off to another section where the male llamas were kept. Quite different from the females, the males almost stampeded to the gate to greet us as we stood there. One particularly fiesty one, Mitchiko, got on famously with the Loved One; nuzzling him, smelling his hair, sniffing his hand, etc. I had asked D/Nick earlier if the llamas ever made noises. He said occasionally but rarely and only in certain circumstances. All of a sudden, one of the male llamas started making a noise as another male attempted to mount him from behind. We moved away.

We asked about spitting. Everyone has heard about or seen a scene of a movie in which someone gets llama spit in their face. D/Nick explained that it only happens rarely; usually when the llama feels physically or territorially threatened (and usually it spits at other llamas). I was amazed that D/Nick knew each and every llama by name. The creatures don't really respond to call by name but can be trained to. D/Nick pointed out Annie who was his oldest llame (they live to about 20 years). She was blind but still managed to get around fine and follow the rest.

As we moved around the grounds, the curious males followed us as far as they could.

D/Nick pointed out where he was using some of the grounds for selective lumbering. We came across some of his farm hands sifting llama manure to use as fertilizer in the gardens. We walked further out to a large pond. Daffodils were beginning to bloom in patches everywhere. The Loved One told him how ours were almost ready to bloom and we were afraid it was going to happen this very weekend while we were away. D/Nick explained how because he was higher up in the mountains, some 1100 feet above sea-level, the spring thaw took a little longer. As we walked around the pond he said that the koi probably wouldn't be out yet but we saw them in abundance; white koi, orange koi, some almost a foot long swimming lazily through the reeds. Our shoes squished in the mud as we circled the pond and I thought how I would love to sit out here and read or paint or throw parties.

We walked back toward the house and D/Nick showed us the greenhouse and the gardens. He supplies the Delmonico at the Hotel Fauchere with its summer herbs and vegetables. Four or five young guys were working here, getting the ground ready for planting. D/Nick told us that the man usually in charge of all of this had passed away not to long ago. D/Nick had come home to find him passed out from an aneurysm on the floor. In the midst of all this life, there is also death. Sad. I wanted to ask D/Nick more about his personal life but it didn't seem right. Where was his family? Was he lonely out here? Aside from someone named Joe who acted as a kind of manager and some assorted other staff, did he have close friends and people to relate to. But getting so personal, so quickly didn't seem appropriate. I was so fascinated by what this man had done though. Left his life in the city behind and created this successful existence out in the country. How could I do that?

As we stood outside the greenhouse, I stood on a large log that acted as a border to the entrance. The Loved One and I were looking at a beautiful, towering oak tree that hung over the property. I, of course, in my clumsiness managed to dislocate the log from where it had been fixed and couldn't manage to get it back in its proper place. The Loved One stood, amused, in the doorway just watching me trying to fix it.

We slowly walked back to the car. I didn't want to leave but we had taken up almost two hours of D/Nick's time. The chickens and roosters were pecking away in the driveway as we said our goodbyes. Four beautiful guinea hens also made an appearance. From up on top of a hill, I could see Mitchiko the llama looking down at us -- almost wistfully, I thought.

I couldn't thank D/Nick enough for this thorough, extremely educational and fun tour. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to offer him money, and I felt he would almost be offended if I had but he had so graciously offered up so much of his time and energy to us. We shook hands and he said he'd be dining at the hotel later that night and maybe we'd see him there.

The Loved One got in the car and asked me to be on chicken watch in the driveway while he pulled out. A man and a little girl had appeared thought, friends of D/Nick's, and the young girl had chased all the chickens away. The coast was clear.

I plopped down into the passenger seat and turned to the Loved One. Were you bored by that? I asked hesitantly.

"Are you kidding?! I loved it!"

Good. Me too.

Dinner wasn't until 8:30. That meant it was time for a sweet treat, some coffee and a nap before pre-dinner drinks at the Bar Louis.

I want a llama farm, I said as we drove away.