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Second Place My Cow Friend Hyacinth Tauriac I know trespassing is illegal, but I think an exception could be made for this situation. However, I will admit that I had been eying this place for years. It was a small farm, only a two-minute drive from my house. Wood and steel fencing neatly wrap around the property, creating a barrier between the thick forest. There’s an acre and a half of green pastoral field where a herd of about a dozen cattle roam and feed. Towards the back of the land is a twenty-foot-long cowshed made of aging dark walnut wood. Its slanted tin roof hangs over a rusting green metal and wire coop, home to a flock of ten chickens. A quaint two-story, offwhite colored farmhouse sits on the right of the property at the intersection of Winter and Highland Street. Speckles of pine show through the chips on the painted siding. Cracks in the exterior wood carve and curve like veins carrying life and memories into the still house. Four long white columns support the front porch with steps that lead up to a pale corn silk door fixed symmetrically in the middle of the house. A warm yellow hue emits from a singular bulb, softly seeping from the first floor through the windows. The one light is always on, but no one is ever home. That’s what made this place so intriguing to me. Through all the chaos of life, I longed to understand how anything could exist so calmly. How could a light always beam, the grass always flourish, and animals carry on when all I knew was how to barely get by? A couple of years ago, on a late
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drive home from school in the final days of October, my curiosity overcame me. I turned into the driveway, rolling past the private property signs nailed to the side of the house. A light flicked on over the back door as I pulled into a gravel parking spot. I was busted. I practiced an “I’m so sorry...I got lost...please don’t shoot me” pleading speech in my head, preparing for someone to break through the door with a cocked rifle pointed my way. But then the light went off. No one came out. It was silent, except for a few crickets. Breathing a bit easier, I got out of my car and furtively crept up the rickety wooden back steps. I stayed low and hoped to hide under the automatic illumination. I peered through the window of the door to see a white refrigerator and a clean kitchen counter top. The solo bulb shone over a round table with no chairs. I stepped back down onto the gravel to admire the docile cattle that nibbled to themselves. I guess I actually wasn’t as alone as I thought. I tiptoed towards the wooden gate, cautious of the dry leaves that Illustration by Jamie Kinteris crunched and the stones that shifted underneath my feet. I stretched my arm over the splintered plank and whistled as I waved my hand. A cow standing a few yards away took notice. She stared at me motionless, with only her tail swinging side to side. I whistled a little louder and pronounced my wave, hoping to draw her closer. Uninterested in my calls, she moseyed further away from me. I laid my arms atop the
