Saturday night with the kids.

Fresh whole trout from Jimbo at Big Pine Trout last night. Roasted with garlic and peppers and onions in olive oil. Along with some fingerling potatoes from Ojai Farm. And fresh corn on the cob that we picked yesterday evening. Nora ate freshly milled whole wheat baguette. The kids had to shuck the corn, but we didn't even have to gut the fish! And all the food so very fresh. Real food really is better, folks.

Instead of writing about the continued trials of the mill, and Tim and Amber Wilborne spending their entire Saturday taking the machine apart, pulling out a pound of putrid old flour that had accumulated in and around the stone, and putting the thing together, as a blessing to me, and instead of writing about chocolate brioche, and instead of writing about the two loads of seasoned and split white oak that Katie's husband's coworkers gave me and Katie's husband brought over, I decided to read two chapters of Charlotte's Web to the girls on the deck after supper.

Reading great books aloud to the children is one of my very favorite things.

Thursday Evening

I was grateful to be able to mill and bake today. The feed corn helped to clean the mill a bit. Not perfectly, but better than before.

We had several drop-in customers. One was a friend from our homeschool coop. As her children hunted eggs with the kids and played down by the creek she encouraged me and I made bread and rolled out pizza crusts. Her words of blessing toward me and the kids and our new public school adventure were just in time.

The day was hot and thunderstormy. We staked our tents at the farmer's market this afternoon, but when gale force winds and rain arrived, we still had to hold on for dear life. Signs were flying everywhere. A few tents were blown over and destroyed. Tables were dumped. Goods were drenched. Everyone worked together to make the best out of a challenging situation.

The wind and rain stopped. Drenched vendors rearranged and all of a sudden the sun returned, the skies cleared and those of us who could went back to business. I was so thankful that we managed to sell most of our breads and pizzas.

Sean and Julie dropped by. What a surprise! Their visit made the end of the market a real treat. It is hard to believe that this sweet newlywed couple, young and happy and on vacation down the road would want to spend time chatting with the former "farm boss!" I love them so much and am grateful for the amazing friendships that have come about, all interestingly linked to the farm.

After supper and dishes, (ugh, all the bakery dishes) Nora and Rose and I went out to the front porch to read our chapter in the dusk. It was the chapter in Charlotte's Web about crickets singing the song of the end of summer. Our crickets sang along with the story and as the sun set considerably earlier than last week I knew the song was true.

I must hit the sack and get ready for another bakery day tomorrow, but I have to mention that one of the sweetest sights I saw all day was Coco, standing at the fence in the front, lovingly kissing Duncan the bull through the wire. Cows are so tender toward one another. Even the calves like to give each other a gentle lick on the side of the face as a greeting or gentle gesture. Duncan gave her a kiss and they stood quietly, facing each other for a very long time. It made us smile.

Fleeting.

This morning I asked Thomas to do a feed inventory after I milked Coco.
Sure enough, one bag of non-GMO dairy cattle food left. The laundry was washed, way too hot to work in the garden, seemed like a perfect day to run errands. We loaded up the paperwork, dropped some off at a couple of schools, ran to the NEW Goodwill in Daleville (Yeay! We love Goodwill.) Didn't find the loaf pans I was hunting for the bakery, but both Thomas and I found a couple of "new" books and I found a cute outfit.

Then off to Stuart's Draft for a feed run. I enjoyed singing with the pop radio, Nora napped and Thomas and Rose read books. We were thanking God for the a/c as the temperatures crept up to 96 degrees. I usually try to do most of the shopping at Goodwill, but hadn't had any recent luck in finding the right size loaf pans so we made a stop in K Mart and found 12 the right size! I bought them all. Along with some lipstick. (So I am vain. A girl has to have a little fun!)

We ate some short ribs we left cooking all day long and tried to work through some farm management stuff. I wrote out a list and asked the boys to make sure the feed got off loaded and placed in the right places. Then the sky darkened, a cloud descended on our valley, and an awakening electricity replaced the sluggish calm. We ran out to the truck. The boys began to unload but we realized we were too late. They cleared a path and I parked in the milking area. Thankful to have a spot out of the rain!

The girls and I grabbed Charlotte's Web, intent on reading in our favorite spot, the cozy chairs on the front porch.

"Boom! Crash! Splash!"

The storm descended with a fury, twisting the willows in a furious dance. The rain chased us off the chairs and into the door frame. We couldn't bear to enter the house, it was so fresh and alive outside and so hot and sticky inside. We watched the flashes, counted the seconds, thrilled in the shower, and merrily watched the stream form as the happy water rushed from the National Forests, the road and our barn roof toward the stream.

As the wind shifted, the rain quit hitting us in the face and I commenced the reading.

Tonight we read one of my favorite chapters in Charlotte's Web.

"Dr. Dorian"

Fern's mother, Mrs. Arable, is quite concerned with Fern's behavior. She wonders why Fern shows no interest in her own friends and would prefer to pass her free time in the barn cellar, making up stories about the animals. Especially her bottle fed pig, Wilbur.

Dr. Dorian doesn't seem a bit perplexed by Fern's behavior. In one very brief visit he calms Mrs. Arable's fears and covers some pretty amazing territory in regards to miracles, faith and developmental psychology.

I especially like his thoughts on Charlotte's web:

"Well, who taught a spider? A young spider knows how to spin a web without any instructions from anybody. Don't you regard that as a miracle?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Arable. "I never looked at it that way before. Still, I don't understand how those words got into the web. I don't understand it, and I don't like what I can't understand."

"None of us do," said Dr. Dorian, sighing. "I'm a doctor. Doctors are supposed to understand everything. But I don't understand everything, and I don't let it worry me."

We ended the chapter. The storm passed. The evening is cooler for the moment.

Patrick is going to milk for me so I can go to sleep and get ready for an early morning of baking, thanks to Tim and the new motor. I think I will start extra early since tomorrow is supposed to get extra hot.

August. Summer is nearing her end, but not without a flash of steamy personality and a few scorching glances. Yesterday evening Rose and I walked the driveway to say goodbye to our visitor. As we walked back to the house in the dusk, we remembered the days of shoveling and shoveling snow in the driveway.

Was that a hundred years ago?

Tuesday Already?

It is a good thing I worked so many hours in the garden yesterday. It was pleasant and fresh.

Not today.

Rose and I left the house bright and early today to belatedly celebrate her 10th birthday. We breakfasted at our favorite birthday breakfast locale: Thelma's Chicken and Waffles in Roanoke.

Fried chicken and waffles and fried potatoes all in one meal. With coffee.

Wow. I have many favorite foods. Fried chicken is one of my very all-time favorites and I have to say it is hard to find a good piece of fried chicken anywhere these days. Unless you stop in at Thelma's.

Rose and I both got the Fried chicken tenders and belgian waffles and side of fried potatoes. We talked about the mileposts of her 9th year. She had been reading for a few years, but this year she became a book worm. Her piano playing skills have improved significantly. She can milk a goat all by herself. She learned how to make an omelet. She got to take on a week of dishes duty this past year (not a real highlight for her, but definitely happy news for the older siblings.)

We were a bit teary as we talked about the most horrible thing that happened in her 9th year. We laughed at some of Philip's antics and missed him.

It was a good date.

After we got home we worked on house chores for a bit then headed out to the garden. I was worried about consuming so many simple carbs in one meal until I began to sweat continuously for two hours. Working in the garden is a much more pleasant task in cool, low humidity. Oh well, I still was satisfied to have my fingers in the dirt.

This afternoon Tim came over and replaced my burned out motor with a new one. Suggested we take all other appliances off that electrical outlet. Suggested we put on a thermal overload. Suggested we perhaps upgrade to a stronger motor at some point.

A friend came over and we all traipsed out to see Patrick's bridge and let me enjoy the wildflowers. They are so pretty. Jewel weed, cardinal flower, Queen Anne's lace, flowering mint, so many others, made a beautiful bouquet for our dinner table, courtesy Patrick.

For dinner we had one of our favorites: pork and cabbage stirfry.

Onions from our garden, garlic, Jonathan's cabbage, our carrots, our pork, olive oil, sesame oil, soy sauce and sesame seeds. So tender and sweet. Perfect with a side of Japanese cucumbers. We slice the cucumbers and dress them with a mixture of 2 TBSP vinegar mixed with 2 TBSP organic sugar. Top with sesame seeds. Yum. We were fighting over them.

Tonight we had the weird yearly phenomenon of these annoying little flying insects. Once a year they pop up out of nowhere, bigger than fruitflies, smaller than houseflies. I wanted to sit outside, but they crawl on your arms, on your face, in your eyes and ears. Ick. Thankfully they don't stick around for long.

Anyone know what those crazy creatures are?

August. I hope a thunderstorm is in the forecast. I believe tonight I will be sleeping with a nice wet bandana to keep cool. Too many bugs to sleep outside. Where is that mosquito netting when we need it?

The Garden

Oh, the poetry that is written in a crisp ear of Silver Queen corn.

Today I got up, started the laundry, milked Coco, drank my coffee and enjoyed the morning's readings. Got the kids moving then went out to tend the garden.

The morning wasn't cold like the weekend, but drizzly and cool. Soft and gray. Perfect for garden weeding.

I felt like the garden was mildly reproaching, like a neglected lover. The last couple of weeks have been filled with livestock chores and the garden has been an afterthought, a quick run grab something for supper and pull a couple of weeds while running back to the kitchen.

I said my "I'm sorry's" and got down to business. Started with the green bean rows. Worked around the okra. Got Thomas to bring me some more hay for mulching. Deep mulch only works to prevent weeds if you make sure and pull the errant ones and smother the other ones. Tackled the tomato rows. Oh, my, goodness. We staked a few, didn't the rest. I think the tomatoes are aliens from another country, working to take over the country, unstaked garden by unstaked garden.

Pulled mounds and mounds of weeds around the corn. Threw down more mulch. Opened up one ear, wondering. Would tonight be the night? The night of the first corn?

Yeah, I know. We have eaten corn already this year. But it was market corn. Definitely better than supermarket corn. But I guess we are spoiled.

There is nothing, no, nothing, like corn picked from your own garden, shucked by little girls and dropped into boiling water right then and there. And of course smeared lightly with Coco's butter and sprinkled heavily with real salt.

Crispy. Crunchy. Juice squirting. Face smearing goodness. Packaged in lovely green wrappers, tucked here and there on dark green stalks of promise. What used to be a dried up kernel, tucked into dark soil by young persons hands, what managed to survive hungry goats and cow, flood and drought, sun and weeds, brought us a gourmet seasonal gift. No sugar could be more satisfying than the sweet of that Silver Queen.

I ate 4 ears. So did Rose. I think Patrick ate 5. It went well with a little side of green beans and venison and leftover mashed potatoes.

I didn't finish the work in the garden. But she is feeling a bit better about our relationship. And so am I.

Have I mentioned that working in the garden is one of my favorite things? Dirty and sore, I better grab a shower. Then I will dream of alien cherry tomato takeovers. And the Silver Queen.

Sunday

This afternoon Nora, Rose, Brownie and Blackie and I walked up to the far pasture to bring back Coco so we could separate her for milking. The middle pastures are too steep for mowing for hay. The grass is tall. The cows are happy to graze up there. It was a nice hike. Cool. Damp. Feels like my very favorite season of the year, fall. I know we have plenty more dog days to come. But the earth is turning and we are nearing the end of the summer season. The end is in sight.

Thank God for the seasons.

I took another nap early this afternoon. Why am I so tired? I have hardly worked the last two days. It was a sweet nap. Zaccheus, our cat, climbed up for a cuddle. Since Philip died she rarely comes to our bed. She was a comfort to me this afternoon.

I had emails to write and laundry to wash, but it seemed good to rest.

After my nap and our hike the girls and I sat out on the front porch to read our evening chapters. We are reading Charlotte's Web, one of my favorites. I sat in the rocker with Nora in my lap, Rose was in the ratty old blue wicker chair. Coco munched on grass in the front yard. The mama hen and her babies followed along, snagging their supper, cackling and cheeping. The guinea tribe hunted bugs up along the driveway and their babies peeped and screeched, doing an amazing job of keeping up with the grownups. Sheep made their way into the barn, goats maaed to one another.

Even though I feel pretty lonely without Philip this weekend, I wondered at how content I am here on the farm. Crickets chirp. Rocker creaks. Girls giggle at the part in the story when Fern's brother tries to get Charlotte with a stick, trips, tumbles and falls on Wilbur's trough, breaking the rotten goose egg. They have smelled rotten eggs before. They can imagine the fumes.

As overwhelmed as I get with farm responsibilities and parenting responsibilities, and as sad as I get about Philip's death, it is odd that I can feel that life is good. What a paradox.

Fall?

A cool front came in on Saturday. Can you believe it? After days in the dripping 90's we were only 58 degrees this morning. It felt like October. I wanted to pull on a sweatshirt, but didn't. I did wear a cardigan to church.

I also told the kids that summer is not over and please don't pack away your summer clothes. August is upon us and that means plenty more hot.

Nevertheless, the cooler temperatures are a welcome relief. A gift. It drizzled off and on all yesterday. Not enough to add to the pond or to make the stream run, but enough to green up the grass.

Strange thing about grief, when I have a lighter work load I feel the grief so much more strongly. It was great not having to bake on Friday. I filled out forms for school, washed dishes, cooked meals and ran to the DMV to turn in some license plates. After waiting in line for quite a long time I felt a bit disconnected and alone. The car drove to the cemetery and I found myself sitting down in the shade by Philip's grave. A surge of grief washed over me and I wept. A lot.

I didn't even know I was so sad. I told Philip I missed holding his hand. I missed feeling his strong arm tucked around me. I missed our wrap up the week or the end of the day chats late at night. I missed being his loved one.

After a good cry I headed for home and fixed a nice end of visit meal for our guests. It was so nice not having to market over the weekend. It gave me margin to enjoy our company. Kathryn and I shared red wine and chopped veggies. I roasted some chicken wings, teriyaki style with green beans for the non-red meat contingent. I made an improv almost ratatouille, sauteeing some onions from the garden, garlic from the Thomas's garden, tomatoes and peppers from our garden, a couple of runt eggplants out of our garden and thyme. Cooked up pork chops and steaks for the big meat eaters. Thomas boiled up a bunch of potatoes from our garden to make mashed. He wanted to add lots of garlic and onions, but I requested the simple version of butter and cream for the younger set. Sliced cucumbers from the garden and a little salad made with our cherry and golden tomatoes tossed with our goat cheese made for a feast. We lit candles and gave thanks for many things.

Next day, instead of hurrying off the market, I got up early and drank coffee alone and read the Bible. Then milked the cow and sold the remainder of our bee hives to a gal. Was thankful to make some money on a weekend when the mill was down. Some friends worked on electrical stuff. Kathryn and Thomas delivered milk. Then we walked down the field to see Patrick and Max's project.

They had built the most beautiful bridge over the creek. I was so impressed I cried. A few years ago Philip cut down a tree to cross the stream and cut off the rounded side so the kids could easily scamper across. Max and Patrick carried out lumber in the back of the truck and added on to make a very impressive bridge. Maybe someday I will figure out how to put in a photo because it was so lovely. They also began building a hall, A-frame style, up on the ridge.

I don't very often go walking in the woods. It was good to walk in the cool, early afternoon, marveling at the handiwork of those clever boys, sliding around the damp leaves, grabbing onto saplings to keep from falling down the hill, smelling earth and enjoying ferns and moss and bark.

After a late lunch with our dear friends, we said our goodbyes. Teary. Anticipating the next visit. I wearily fell into bed for a nap. Soft rain cushioning the afternoon. What a good weekend for a motor to burn out.

Thursday Evening

Can you believe I am still sore after our sheep shearing workout?

Today was Thursday and that means Catawba Farmer's Market. Got up early to begin the baking. The mill was giving me trouble. Last year I was making cornbread mix, milling the corn after I finished all the bread flour milling. I never had any trouble with the motor or the stones getting gummed up.

This year I have not found a source of non-GMO corn to mill and don't want to compromise. Consequently we have had no cornbread mix for months. And the mill has been giving me trouble since the hot humid weather set in.

I try to coarsely grind the wheat after I am done to clean the stones. Even so, the mechanism has been straining and pulling and constantly throwing the breaker. This morning I called the manufacturer and they confirmed what I had deduced, that the humidity is causing the wheat to hold more moisture and that it is clogging the mill. That using corn would clean the stones. I need to use at least 5 or 10 lbs to grind off the residue. That putting the 50 lb bags of wheat and spelt in the freezer prior to milling would reduce some of the moisture.

Well.

That was great information, but I received it about an hour too late. The motor burned out due to the extra stress. I continued to work on the flour I had already milled and made an extra large batch of granola. At least 12 quarts or so. Kathryn washed more big bowls than she has probably seen in her lifetime. Rebecca came over for a visit and ended up drying. The boys came up from the creek out of breath.

They held something in their arms. I thought it was a dead chicken.

"A hawk! A red-tailed hawk!" they cried. They found the hawk lying dead in the stream next to a dead snake. Next to the hawk was a wounded screech owl. They got the tarp from the tent (where they are camping out for the week) and carefully, very carefully, moved the wounded fowl to a stump to dry off. After running up to share this news with us, and running back down, the owl disappeared. Apparently it recovered quickly once its feathers dried.

A mystery.

Did the hawk hunt the snake? Did the owl try to fight the hawk for the snake?

We may never know.

But it certainly livened up the morning!

Dutch Valley orders were picked up. I asked my friends to pray for our mill to be fixed. Bread was baked. More dishes washed. Cow share holders came by to pick up milk. Once of them deals in motors and took apart the mill and is going to work on ordering me a new one at cost. Should be back in business next week.

But now I have an enforced rest. Will spend some time tomorrow doing stacks of paperwork. At least that is my plan.

But the first order of business is to sleep in past 6am. And to make sure and enjoy a couple of cups of coffee with Kathryn. And share a late breakfast after milking.

Mini-vacation.

We had a couple of thunderstorms this evening during market, but they passed very quickly. It is hot and sticky. We hope for more rain.

Crickets and other loud night noises are a pleasant serenade. I think I would be much cooler if I were to sleep outside. But I don't think I want to offer myself up as a sacrifice to the mighty mosquito. Maybe I better find a mosquito net for the month of August, which is nigh upon us.

Damson Plums

This morning I went to pick up the Dutch Valley order. A half ton of spelt berries, wheat berries, organic raisins, almonds and lots of other goodies for the bakery. We did the milking. The boys and girls unloaded the goods off the truck in case of rain. We picked the plums.

After taking care of town chores with Kathryn and Nora (that involved a delightful lunch), we began the task of preparing the plums.

After a quick foray into web-land, I found a satisfactory method of preparing brandied plums. Here's what I found:

1 quart plums, pierced at the stem end with a fork
2 cups sugar
brandy to cover it all up

We placed the plums in a gallon jar, poured in the right amount of sugar and then added the brandy. You could use vodka, but I really don't like vodka at all. The online recipe suggested twirling the jar around occasionally to stir up the sugar. I am imagining Christmas gifts and visions of sugar plums, I mean brandied plums, and happy chats in front of the fireplace with snow on the ground.

After completing that task, the kids pulled homemade pizza crusts out of the freezer to make their supper and Kathryn and I began to cook down the plums to make the jam. For that I need no internet. I have the wonderful old-fashioned cookbook written back in the 20's or 30's.

Here's the basics:
pit the plums.
per cup of fruit, add 2/3 cup of sugar

Bring to a boil and boil and stir and stir and boil until the jam sheets on the spoon. Use the highest heat you have. DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM THIS PROJECT. Not even for a few seconds. I keep a little saucer by the pot, and as the jam thickens, I spoon a few drops to see if it thickens.

It is easier to make jam in little batches, say, 4 cups of fruit at a time. 8 cups of fruit works, but takes a lot longer to thicken up.

After the jam is nice and thick, pour into sterilized jars, place on lids or pour layers of paraffin wax to seal.

Damson plums are amazing. Ripe on the tree, the blue fruits are a work of art. Placed in the galvanized bucket, with an occasional leaf for contrast, it looked like a work of art in Provence.

Don't try to eat these plums off the tree. Sour. Sour doesn't even begin to express the taste. But once they begin to cook down, a perfume fills the air. Perfume that makes me think of the essence of the perfect tea party, buttered toast and a pretty pot full of ruby goodness to go with the most lovely of china tea cups, billowing white curtains and frilly dresses, bouquets of roses and a friend.

I don't really wear frilly dresses and have no white curtains, but that is the smell for me.

The purpley blue fruit transforms into a crimson puree, then, as the sugar and fruit begin to boil, become a ruby bubbling mass, like Dorothy's red slippers.

Magic.

Kathryn and I sweated and stirred, then stirred and sweated. We talked about work. About friends. About sad things and funny. About God in the middle of it all. We tasted and stirred and checked for the moment when the jam jammed.

I planned to go to bed at 8pm, but the jam didn't jam until 9. All of a sudden the syrup coagulated, the stirring stopped and we poured the ruby gold into sterilized jars, sealed them, put on labels and imagined the joy that treasure would bring us during the winter months. I was too tired to finish, so put some of the pitted puree into the freezer to finish another time, when another friend could come over to chat and stir and sweat with me.

I hope you can find someone with a damson tree. Or maybe you should plant one yourself. What a treasure. If not damson, please try to make some jam at some point in your life. You might become a better person. At least the people who get to share toast with you will definitely think so.

Sheep Shearing

I made omelets at 6:45 to go along with our strong coffee to fortify us for the work day that awaited.

Jason arrived shortly thereafter and opened up the box of shearing equipment.

I was so happy that he took the initiative to read the instructions.

We gathered up supplies, mason jars of cool water, put on our work boots and moved out to the barn. Took deep breaths. Said our positive affirmations: You can do this. We can do this. God, please help us do this and not hurt anyone too badly.

Grabbed a sheep and set her on her bottom just like in the Youtube videos.

I oiled the clippers, plugged them in and wondered where in the world to begin on a wiggling creature, cradled in Jason's arms, covered in the most abundant of wool.

It was nervewracking. But somehow or another, before you know it, the wool was off of two ewes with minimal damage, a nick here or there, but nothing too bad. The expensive clippers glided over the skin just like a hot knife over butter and the wool slid off the animals beautifully. Some other friends arrived as we were in the middle of the third ewe and I got performance anxiety and cut the dickens out of her. Made me swear and get very annoyed, but somehow managed to shake it off and focus on the task instead of the worry about others watching me do what I had no idea how to do.

We worked out an assembly line, with some of us on shearing duty and the others on hoof trimming duty. We found our group cohesiveness and chatted and grunted and occasionally received a few good kicks.

It was a wonderful thing to realize that we could shear our own sheep. Very hard work, but I actually enjoyed it, knowing that with some practice I would eventually figure out my technique and style.

I wanted to work through and get all of the sheep done before we went in for lunch, but started to run out of steam. At 12:45 my hands and arms did not want to obey me and I was afraid that in my exhaustion I would hurt one of the sheep. I turned over the clippers to Jason and headed in to the house to prepare lunch for our hungry crew.

With a fridge full of garden produce from our friends and our backyard I decided that lamb curry was in order. I sauteed a couple of pounds of our lamb stew meat, took it out and then sauteed onions, carrots, eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, fingerling potatoes, and zucchini all together in the big wok with some curry powder. Once the veggies started to simmer, I threw the meat back in the pot, topped with salt and a lid and we made more coffee. Sliced bread and cucumbers. Talked about sustainable living and community with our very interesting friends who happened to come over to help with the sheep.

Our gang sat down to a delicious meal, ate, grew very tired, drank coffee and headed back out to the barn on a deliciously not hot day.

At this point the clipper ceased to work the way it had been working and I thought it was because I was exhausted.

I was exhausted, but after further investigation, we determined that the clippers weren't working the way they had been.

We gutted it out through the last three sheep, taking turns, a couple of us, trying to figure it out. The blades were sharp. We worked on the tension. Made sure to keep adding oil.

Still didn't find the sweet spot.

We decided that it would be more efficient for us to stop and wait on the last three sheep until we figured out how to keep the clippers working the way they were supposed to.

Cleaned up the barn. Gathered up the goods. Returned to the house to set out on the front lawn with cold water, cold beer and some cold wine. And cheese and smoked trout.

We shared stories, played with baby Samuel, laughed at Coco as she investigated our party, and relaxed for a few minutes, completely worn out by the hard physical labor and thoroughly satisfied with our community effort. Nora climbed up the plum tree to pick a few plums. Maggie hung out in the hammock with her pal Mary and Patrick and Max shot bows and arrows and walked out to the woods and the rest of us sat.

I wish I could say we were done, but I felt it was wise to know our limitations. It is empowering to learn a new skill. Or at least to be in the process of learning. Not only how to shear, but how to maintain the equipment.

We are thoroughly moisturized by all the lanolin. The greasy wool was rich with it. Our muscles are thoroughly worked over.

I love our farm so very much. Even the hard parts, like having to do hard and scary things like sheep shearing. Everything is so much bigger than us, we have to be involved with other people in our community and I feel enriched. So, thanks, Jason and Rachel and Kathryn and Max and Mary and Jonathan and Carl and Jenna and Raymond (and of course my own children, but that goes without saying.)

And now, these weary muscles are ready to fall into bed. I certainly hope I will be able to move to get out of bed in the morning. I wonder if the others are going to be as sore as me when they wake up tomorrow???