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Some of the things I enjoy about living on a farm are the continuous experiences and lessons gleaned from being surrounded by Mother Nature, whether in full, lush leaf or the browns and greys of winter. I see, for example, along countless walks to and from the stable, the first tinge of rusty red on the dogwood berries during breathlessly hot summer afternoons, giving proof that autumn really will be arriving if we can just hold on.

I see the bluebird and wren fledglings— the latter usually leaving nests built in the most inconvenient of places, the most recent being in the engine of our 1954 tractor—take their first, wobbly flights.

And then there’s the scents: the roses during their peak glory in May, the gardenia bushes near the front steps in June, the ripening of the muscadine grapes from their twisted vines come September, tempting deer and bears alike as the days begin to shorten.

Let us not forget the funk.

Because nature isn’t, by a long shot, all golden hazy images from Instagram posts. There can be sights and smells that can stop us in our tracks long enough to remind us that while we humans may have invented indoor plumbing, our fellow guests who inhabit the planet can have a very different idea of what they consider to be public facilities.

“Something is marking their territory all around the house and barn,” I remarked to my friend, Donna, as we were finishing our respective chores with the horses. “I’m wondering if it’s another feral tom cat since we took in the last one and made him gender-neutral.”

“Does it smell like cat pee?” Donna asked.

Like a sommelier, stroking my chin thrice before delivering my verdict, I replied, “It’s pretty strong. I first smelled it near the pony paddock, then I wondered if it was fox pee.”

“Fox pee,” Donna mused, “Is some serious funk.”

I nodded. “Yeah, and tends to be muskier, like a skunk.”

Turning into the tack room, I stopped.

“I can smell it in here!” I exclaimed. “Smell it?”

Donna did a quick turn around the room and passed judgement.

“That’s snake pee.”

First, I had to wrap my brain around the fact that snakes do actually pee and, secondly, that Donna would actually be able to distinguish it.

“What? Snake pee has a smell?” I queried.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “It smells like cucumbers.”

“But it doesn’t smell like cucumbers in here, it smells like ammonia. More acidic.”

“Well, snake pee smells kind of like acidic cucumbers.”

“An acidic cucumber is a pickle.”

“Right! Snake pee smells like pickles.”

Now, come on, that’s a bit of a stretch. I turned around to switch off the light and slide the door closed. Turning back to face her, I said, “I don’t know if that’s snake pee, but I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You just wrote my next column.”