Quotes About Farm

Dad's going steady with a pig in the barn.

The scarecrow walks at midnight," he uttered in a low voice.

I'll scream! Likely. If not before, certainly during. I expect they'll hear ye at the next farm; you've got good lungs.

It doesna matter how many things ye do on a farm, there's always more than ye can do. A wonder the place doesna rise up about my ears and swallow me, like Jonah and the whale.

was remote, even for a Highland farm. No real roads led there, but the post still reached us by messenger, over the crags and the heather-clad slopes, a connection with the world outside. It was a world that sometimes seemed unreal in memory

I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills.

on a ranch I believe I would have been called the choreboy.

Highveld sky. The farm, which is what they call it

The place looked more like a genteel horse farm than the roar-and-fume venues where they usually played. Vast, grassy ranges stretched in every direction, with neat, sun-shaded shooting platforms at the head of each. Men—and a few women—were stretched out on the platforms, aiming rifles downrange. Others stood laughing and talking, holding rifles in cases. But for the occasional snap of a gunshot, it was quiet enough to hear birds singing.

We have some goats, some chickens, and we used to have pigs. There used to be two ostriches as well, but they were a little bit violent, so we had to give them away. When we were little, we used to play with the goats all the time. We each had our own little goat, and we'd go and run around with them.

Well, traditionally, my husband and I go back to our farm in Virginia but we do Christmas every day. We truly do. For us, it's about giving. We are of the Christian faith we believe that if people can see God in us, then we're actually doing our job.

Our farm is a 15-minute walk to Pablo Picasso's last home. Alongside it stands the lovely Notre-Dame-de-Vie Chapel with its 13th-century bell tower, which was visible to Pablo from his atelier.

On the farm, in our first-floor bedroom, my sister and I were sheltered in the essence of normal. We were not hidden, but unseen. The orange farmhouse was our castle, our kingdom the fields around, and the shallow creek that bisected our property the sea we crossed to find adventure.

Every day when I wake up and head out for chores, I'm struck by the beauty we enjoy on our farm. Based on visitors' comments, that's a shared awareness. Not one of our doors has a skull and crossbones. We want visitors to be struck not by what we've done, but rather by how we've caressed this beautiful niche of God's creation into a productive and profoundly inspiring place.

I challenge you to go to any industrial farm. You'll see anti-microbial shoe dips, shower in shower out, plastic suits. Whenever we get scientists visiting our farm, they invariably remark about how seemingly nonchalant we are about bio-security. The industry is paranoid about bio-security because their animals and plants are fragile. If our farm plants and animals had as dysfunctional an immune system as that found in industrial facilities, I'd be paranoid, too.

I can't control my own income, I can't control my own destiny, I can't even control my own farm if I'm a farmer. This is not going to last.

The old farm roads a four lane that leads to the mall, and our dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall.

The sunlight lying on an acre of farm land weighs several tons, believe it or not.

I used to feed the chickens for you all the time," said Evan. Jessie

But I don't bet the farm on any of those possibilities, either. I'm also preparing, intelligently, to walk away from this, and walk away from it happy to have had the experience.

Competition got me off the farm and trained me to seek out challenges and to endure setbacks; and in combination with my faith, it sustains me now in my fight with Alzheimer's disease.

On a farm you learn to respect nature, particularly for the wisdom of its dark underworld. When you sow things in the spring, you commit them to the darkness of the soil.

T. Cluck, the head rooster, had just made a shocking revelation.

VIRGIL HUNG UP and said to Stryker, "We started a prairie fire, boy. You're gonna be a hero." "Either that, or I'll be a farmer again