The baking soda worked. Floppy fellow couldn't walk on his own the first day, but by yesterday afternoon he looked perfectly normal. Our Dr. friend Serge explained to us what could have been the problem. He suggested that when there is oxygen deprivation, maybe in the case of a prolonged delivery (he is a very long-legged baby) or dehydration acid will build up in the tissues. The bakng soda neutralizes it.
So there you have it. Nice to know that some problems are so easy to fix.
Yesterday our down the road neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Gibson came over and he used his little tractor tiller to till our garden. After a few years of doing it all with shovel and little tiller I wanted to cry with joy to see the job done so efficiently and easily! He tilled and Mrs. Gibson visited and played with the baby goats and lamb with us girls. What a gift.
After a big morning of school the children were happy to have their friends come and play for the rest of the day. Patrick, James and Boone collected brush to make a bonfire. The girls and Sophie took many toys out to the loft of the barn to play store. Rachel and I made soup and shared important news and readied for the ladies' Tuesday night Bible study.
The last few days I have been so grateful for the community in our life. Different farmers, friends, all working together to make life work. Sharing sorrows and joys and worries and hopes. I am thankful for my parents giving me such a good model of communtiy as they lived and worked together with their group of friends.
BTW, my friend Stewart came over late last night to pick up James. He and Patrick were tending the brush fire in one of the garden beds. She laughed when I told her that my prescription for keeping boys out of trouble was let them make fire. It was so beautiful, the brilliantly full moon rising over the ridge, the thousands of rubies glittering in the garden bed, the boys working together, scheming and planning, poking sticks, thoroughly smoked.
Life could be worse! Baby goats, little lambs, baby pigs, green grass, peeping frogs.
I wanted to write a poem about the solitary little forsythia blossom, so eager to join the springtime, trying to wake up her fellow blossoms who keep grumbling about the cold weather to come end of this week, not time to get up yet, just go back to sleep. But I didn't. I wish I could write poetry. I can almost taste the poem. Will have to settle on simply enjoying the picture in my mind, and catching another view out the window.