Today was a big day for Bedlam Farm. We are finally and officially ready for winter, which will be here in a blink. We can thank Vince for helping out.

Vince Vecchione is originally from New Jersey, he has lived upstate and built a career in construction, excavation (and snow plowing). He is a neighbor, and I have christened him the King Of The Big Men In Trucks because is a special kind of the first responder, he comes whenever there is trouble to help and re-order the earth so it is right.

He can literally move mountains and re-shape pastures, he conducts rather than drives his tractor, much like a conductor conducts an orchestra.

Every September, he comes with a giant truck of gravel, replaces the worn-down surface of the Pole Barn, cleans up the raggedy pasture, builds draining ditches so the water from the barn roof doesn’t leave us and the animals with a giant muddy pool.

It’s difficult to capture what a person like Vince means to a person like me up here in the country. He makes life possible. I am not a man who knows how things work, and the idea of re-arranging a landscape with a tractor in four hours is incomprehensible to me.

Vince does it almost effortlessly. He is the King of the Big Men In Trucks.

He smooths out the ground, spreads gravel and dirt, pushes boulders back where they belong, asks how we are, takes time to talk about things I do not understand – code, zoning, walls, and building plans. He treats me with courtesy and respect, even as he smiles sometimes at my helplessness and confusion

I admire Vince for a number of reasons. He is conscientious, he is a man of his word, he loves to help people out, and he always goes above and beyond what he needs to do. And he does great work for a fair price. He does things I could never do.

I get the feeling he cares about us.

When he comes roaring into the yard with a giant truck two stories tall and looks down on me smiling and waving, I feel that everything will be okay, even better than that.

I remember calling him when Simon lay dead in our pasture, he came quickly with his big tractor and dug a big hole so we could bury Simon on the farm. He wouldn’t take any money.

I remember when the Pole Barn wall started to bow he came with his big trucks and tractors and dug a huge ditch so the wall could be straightened and reinforced.

I remember when we were wearing out hauling buckets of water to the pasture by hand, Vince came with his big machines and dug a trench so we could run a water line into the barn.

I remember calling him when I couldn’t get Lulu to cross the path to the outer pasture, he came with his machine, and build us a culvert and a road wide enough and hard enough for a donkey to walk on.

Today, he came with a couple of tons of gravel and smoothed out the Pole Barn floor, hard as concrete after a winter of animal-sleeping and standing. He put in a new layer of clean and soft sand, cleaned up the pasture muck and mounds, build a new draining system.

He spent hours here with his son Chad, driving the tractor, moving the gravel, repairing the ravages of winter. He used a giant truck for the gravel, a tractor and a flatbed truck to transport the tractor. He was here for more than half a day.

When he’s done, he insists I walk with him to inspect his work, of which he is proud. Vince was a Jersey Guy, now a country guy. He is one of those people who understand how the world is put together.

Looking back on it, Vince was here for just about every critical moment in the life of our farm.

This preparation for winter is a critically important thing for the farm with animals. Once winter comes, there is no changing it or turning back.

His work means the animals will be comfortable lying and sleeping in the Pole Barn; it means water from the snow on the roof will drain down the hill,  not flood the pasture. it means the paddock will be plowed smooth and flat.

This work is important, it is the difference between control and chaos, between the animals lying in mud and ice or sleeping on dry, soft, raised gravel and dirt.

When Vince comes, the pasture and barn still show manty if the scars of winter. When he leaves there are no scars. He is the King Of The Big Men with Big Trucks, I am always touched by his courtesy and patience.

Watching him up there on his tractor, lifting up the shovel, curling it up and back, never knicking the poles or side of the barn, backing up and moving forward, he looks like Leonard Bernstein up on the podium making some beautiful music.

He knew Zelda was being put down Wednesday, he stopped the tractor and waited for her to move on her own will. “I know she’s the one who’s sick,” he told me,”I don’t want to stress her anymore.

His face has this granite kind of Rushmore look, a warrior taking on the land, leading his big trucks and tractors into battle.

When he isn’t moving gravel, he buys land and builds houses.

For us, the preparation for winter starts in May. First, we start ordering firewood, then hay, (then a new $1,000 ridge cap for the barn this year) then Vince for the finale. We’re ready for the winter.

There is nothing else we have to do.

It is a good and warm and special feeling, I am the planner, not the doer. I even had the heating oil company come by to inspect the furnace, in case there is trouble with the stoves.

Vince also gets up early in snowstorms in his smaller truck and plows driveways, including ours. He is the reason we can always get out after a snowstorm. That is no small thing up here. When I get up, I can get to my car.

I suspect he doesn’t need to do this, but it’s typical of Vince to get up in the dark during a blizzard and move the earth around some more. Like many people in the country, he takes being a good neighbor seriously.

Vince and I have a similar kind of humor, we can make each other laugh. He is a serious man about his work, he doesn’t joke about it, but if you get him talking about politicians and the dumb regulations they approve,  he can go a good long while.

We both have a bit of Jersey in us (I went to high school in Atlantic City), that helps, I think.

When he leaves, I shake hands and wave goodbye. I probably won’t see him again until next September. I feel good knowing he’s out there, though.

He makes all of this hard work look ridiculously easy. He charged $440 for all of it. He explained in great detail what he had done.

I understood little of it, but I nodded gravely, and once in a while, I caught him smiling out of the corner of my eye.