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nowgoesquickly to write for eight days about good things. So, um, I'm working on that.
To-day I couldn't get out of bed until five; I was too sick. But when I did get up Daddy made me chicken broth (from our own chickens) with orzo in it, and Maria told me she wanted me to go with her to get milk. So we drove together to the Beidler place and when we went to go into the milk barn a big dark furry shape brushed up against the door and slammed it shut. We both jumped back.
"Was that a cow?" I asked.
"Yeah!" Maria said.
But Mr. Beidler shoved his way out a minute later and we gave him our milk jars. They're big like for three or four gallons and have spigots on them: you turn the spigots and the milk comes out. They're low down at the bottom so the cream can be skimmed off. And he filled our milk jars for us and we carried them out to the car through the ice, and when we got home I fed the cats, who are as round and soft as heavyweight bowling balls with a fur coating, and Maria climbed up on the truck to cover the windshield with feed bags. Then we shooed the turkeys up into their house. They're so big it's just crazy, and I was stroking one, and I asked Maria where the guineas went at night.
"They're in here too," she said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, just a sec--" And she went in and got one for me and they are just the warmest thing. "I love these guys. Protected by the ghost of Snapper."
Snapper is Paul's father. He's sort of like the Chuck Norris of Oriental--if Snapper couldn't do it, it couldn't be done. He even got a road named after him, which out here is just as good as getting a town. It's epic. And when he died, he died of an aneurysm in the corn crib, and they had to get a backhoe to get him out, because the corncrib is deep and they had to lower a man down in there to lift him onto the backhoe and then use that to get both men out. We built the range shelter where the corncrib used to be, so Maria and I say that Snapper is looking out for our birds now.
When we started down the hill we could see the moon shining off this big patch of ice in the pasture near the road, so we ran down and skated around on it for a while in our farm boots, sliding back and forth in the cold. And nearly fell over a couple of times.
Then we came in and put the milk away.
That was good.
nowgoesquickly to write for eight days about good things. So, um, I'm working on that.To-day I couldn't get out of bed until five; I was too sick. But when I did get up Daddy made me chicken broth (from our own chickens) with orzo in it, and Maria told me she wanted me to go with her to get milk. So we drove together to the Beidler place and when we went to go into the milk barn a big dark furry shape brushed up against the door and slammed it shut. We both jumped back.
"Was that a cow?" I asked.
"Yeah!" Maria said.
But Mr. Beidler shoved his way out a minute later and we gave him our milk jars. They're big like for three or four gallons and have spigots on them: you turn the spigots and the milk comes out. They're low down at the bottom so the cream can be skimmed off. And he filled our milk jars for us and we carried them out to the car through the ice, and when we got home I fed the cats, who are as round and soft as heavyweight bowling balls with a fur coating, and Maria climbed up on the truck to cover the windshield with feed bags. Then we shooed the turkeys up into their house. They're so big it's just crazy, and I was stroking one, and I asked Maria where the guineas went at night.
"They're in here too," she said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, just a sec--" And she went in and got one for me and they are just the warmest thing. "I love these guys. Protected by the ghost of Snapper."
Snapper is Paul's father. He's sort of like the Chuck Norris of Oriental--if Snapper couldn't do it, it couldn't be done. He even got a road named after him, which out here is just as good as getting a town. It's epic. And when he died, he died of an aneurysm in the corn crib, and they had to get a backhoe to get him out, because the corncrib is deep and they had to lower a man down in there to lift him onto the backhoe and then use that to get both men out. We built the range shelter where the corncrib used to be, so Maria and I say that Snapper is looking out for our birds now.
When we started down the hill we could see the moon shining off this big patch of ice in the pasture near the road, so we ran down and skated around on it for a while in our farm boots, sliding back and forth in the cold. And nearly fell over a couple of times.
Then we came in and put the milk away.
That was good.
