Here's the latest newsletter from Boggy Creek Farm. It's a tribute to Tubby.

April 5, 2004
A Last Farm Walk

Greetings Friends of the Farm,

    If I'd known it would be his last farm walk, I would have
carried him. Instead, when he paused, I called, brightly, "Tubby,
come along! Farm walk!"

    He came with us to this piece of bottom land almost twelve
years ago. He was Dot's (our daughter's) kitten. She'd named him
"Sable," in reference to his blackness, and together they came to
help us start the farm. He had baby fat even then, probably as a
result of the alteration of his tom-cat status, and to me, "Tubby"
seemed a friendlier name. But because he deserved a full name, I
titled him "Tubby J. Tupelo." I explained to the curious that his
ancestors came from Tupelo, Mississippi, like the other famous
black-haired individual, Elvis. Nonsense, yes, but it suited him, and
me.

    Dot and Tubby worked side by side, clearing the land, and
planting broccoli. That first winter, we all endured the cold
farmhouse -- Tubby keeping Dot warm -- I, waking her in the wee hours
of the morning, singing cheerfully the theme song of "Mighty Mouse,"
but changing the hero's name to "Tubby": "Here he comes, to save the
day...Tubby Tupelo...he's on his way...." Soon, perhaps encouraged by
my singing, she moved on to create her own family, and is the custom
in most all families, left her beloved kitty behind.

    He became Larry's "main man," the Tubster (so cool!), and as
one dear friend remarked, "an important part of the culture of the
farm." In cold weather he'd come to the field, where we'd be
bent-over, or squatted-down, planting, and hop up on our backs to be
in our company, yet avoid the cold wet ground. We'd be silly enough
to crab-walk along to the next planting so as not to disturb his hold.

    Everyone, at least those who were cat-friendly, loved Tubby.
When the farm stand began, in 1994, he was a fixture -- greeting
folks, and allowing, through the years, thousands of little toddler
hands to rummage through his fur, to the admonitions of the parents:
"Be gentle..."  It didn't really matter if they rippled his hair this
way and that; he loved them.  At least for the first two or three
hours of market. When he felt that he'd had enough massage and that
the pulses of stressed-out visitors had been calmed by the
experience, he'd head out to lie under the okra or the fig tree and
be an observer of the market action.

    When it came time to design a label for Larry's jar products,
and the t-shirts, we used Dot's photo of Tubby relaxing on top of our
old tractor. The first day we brought the new t-shirts home, I draped
one on the back of a chair. Tubby hopped up to check out the new
cat--his image. He approved, of course, when he realized that it was
not a competitor.

    He loved the Spring arrivals of the Purple Martins--swooping
through the air in acrobatic fluidity. When the baby birds were in
the nests, the males would dive-bomb Tubby, who "innocently" lay,
half hidden  under the day lilies, beneath their house on high. He'd
turn over on his back, offering his soft belly to their passings, his
hand, with claws extended, ready to hook any who dared to buzz him
closely.  Of course we chastised him, trying to rescue the birds. He
came to know that mice caught were celebrated; birds and lizards had
to swiftly be taken under the farm house where they could be consumed
in private.

    Many a tour group, of college students, garden clubs, foreign
farmers, were surprised that a black cat went along on the march
along the back field, the side field, the front field, and over to
the farm stand. Ignoring the official tour leaders, those in the back
of the group could be seen bending down to stroke his ebony fur.

      And every evening, we three, Larry, Tubby and I, would go on
farm walks -- checking the crops, planning changes, smelling the
aroma of Spring flowers. And on the numerous nights that I'd
forgotten to turn off irrigation tapes or lock up the chickens, Tubby
would show up to accompany me in the dark on the mission. He'd sit
outside the Hen House, waiting for me to latch gates and replenish
feed or gather eggs. One of his favorite foods was Hen House eggies,
but he never bothered even tiny chicks.

    And on his last day, he ate an egg, two mice, and an
unfortunate lizard. In the evening we went on the farm walk. He was
slower, sitting down when we paused, but completed the tour. Back at
the house, he hopped up onto Larry's lap as we sat on the back porch.
The phone rang; Larry moved to go in. I said, "Oh, don't answer it;
Tubby looks so comfortable." Later we went in, and Tubby went off to
sleep in the green house, beneath the racks of freshly-harvested
garlic, in the company of lizards.

    The next day, market day, we didn't see him. Later, while
KLRU filmed and folks picked strawberries, Andy pulled me away, and
said, "I found Tubby. He is dead."

    The illness that plagued him for the last three months had
finally taken him in the night, in his sleep. I went to the
greenhouse, and he lay as if dreaming, his hands cradled beneath his
chin, his body warm from the sun. I stroked him and covered him with
white filmy row cover. Larry and I went to the laundry shed and
cried, and then we sat on the rocking chairs on the back porch,
without him, and did the interview. The lady asked me to introduce
the farm. While she fiddled with the camera, I turned to Larry and
said, "I can't think about anything except that our Tubby lies dead
in the green house, under the garlic."  Larry replied, "I know." But
one must do what one must.

    Later, we wrapped him in a towel that we both had used, so
that our scent would go with him to the bottom land soil in which he
would rest, beneath a tall pecan tree near the house -- to be a part
of the farm forever. And we consoled each other that there would
never be a cat like he, who would live a life like his, and who would
be loved so much and who would love so many....

            Tubby J. Tupelo, Farm Cat  March 1991 - March 2004

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And for market this week, Wednesday and Saturday, 9-2, we'll be harvesting

The Salads (Lettuces, Chicories, Baby Arugula, Butterhead Babes,
Tender Spring Greens); Succulent Spinach; Bok Choi; Kohlrabi;
Escarole; Endive Frisee; Fresh Garlic; Fresh Onions; Green Garlic;
Head Lettuces; Broccoli;  a bit of Cauliflower (Wed only); Broccoli
Greens; Chard; Kale; Dandelion Greens; Italian Flat-leafed Parsley;
Chervil; Floral Bouquets (Sweet Peas, Larkspurs, Snapdragons);
RainWater; Pure luck's Award-winning Chevre; Wateroak's  goat-milk
Ricotta, fresh curdy Yogurt and Ice Cream (many flavors!); White
Mountain's Organic Tofu and Homestead's Grass-fed Beef; Miles of
Chocolate... and lots of Fresh Eggs. And, for Spring planting:
Fertilizers, Potting Soil, and Compost from John Dromgoole's The
Natural Gardener!
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And so, as you who have lost pets/friends know, "life goes on" as
long as it can, and memories are forever.  Many thanks and love to
all of Tubby's friends.
Carol Ann
PS: Our garlic will be featured in the May issue of Texas Monthly
Magazine, in Pat Sharpe's column.
PPS: Tune in to KLRU (PBS), this Friday at noon and at 9 PM, and
Sunday at 5 PM, Tom Spencer's "Austin Now," for a tour of the farm.
The only thing missing will be Tubby ... but you know where he was.