Wild Goose Chasing

I have spent countless hours in many positions with a variety of titles that came down to nothing more than wild goose chasing of the metaphorical variety. Until my current position of farm wife, my life was mostly confined to classrooms and offices. A wild goose chase would involve tracking down a document that didn't exist or validating a system that was about to be retired or some such.

Today I took up my literal role as wild goose chaser. I bundled up against the drizzly rain that I knew would get wetter the further I got from the farmhouse, and, armed with a wind whirling toy, I headed for the fields. The geese saw me long before I saw them. That's their job. And without my mysterious whirler, they would have startled, maybe lifted off, flapped about, and then settled back down. With my high tech armament, they were dazzled into flight--not just the requisite lap around the field, but up, up, and away. They have probably gone across the road to our neighbour's fields. Well, I'll offer him my services, too, if he likes, now that I am an experienced wild goose chaser.

Of course the first skirmish is not the entire battle. I need to up the arms race. I am turning my creative talents now to a cross between scarecrow and installation art. I envision a ballerina with a tutu on the breeze in the middle of the field. Arms and legs need to be separately jointed so as to look more like a ballerina-scarecrow. If the geese are not put off by it, we can call it art and share it with the tourists who are beginning to appear now that the season is lifting. When I was a tourist on the bus going past the farm, I daresay I would have liked to see a ballerina in the field, but then I am quirky.