January is creeping to an end. I like January, but I anticipate
getting a lot more sleep in February. More sleep is good.
For those who think it is only the parents of babies and small
children who lose sleep, you have interesting days ahead.
Last night (as has happened once or twice or more times a week
since the guys got the boat rigged for gigging season)the guys
were out gigging. It was after 3:00 am before the fish were all
safely gigged, cleaned, scored, and stored in the freezer.
They have all the fun, and they do all the work. I just stay awake
until everyone is safely tucked in bed.
I'll get more sleep in February because the season ends January 31st.
Don't tell them I'm throwing a party. It'll be a sleepover.
Look at Joel's beautiful giant.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Recently Overheard Conversation at Fernnook Farm.
Man: I really miss that fresh milk we used to have.
Woman: Oh, man! What about the butter, and the cream for
our coffee? I dream about those things.
Man: We could get another milk cow.
Woman: We could.
Man: You feel like milking her?
Woman: Nope. You?
Man: Nope. But I sure do miss that milk.
I walked down to visit G'ma Opal a few days ago. She was
up on a stool fooling with one of her shades. We worked
and took both shades off and fixed the strings for them and
then washed them.
While we were working we started talking about milking cows.
G'ma started milking when she was six years old. Her folks
bought her a little shiny milk bucket that was wider at the
top than it was at the bottom. She told me some stories about
her milking days and then the conversation took this turn.
(This is a paraphrase, my memory these days is slippy.)
G'ma: I miss the milk, but I do not miss milking.
Laurie: Boy, can I relate to that.
G'ma: The horseflies were the worst.
Laurie: There are about one or two days a year when milking
is lovely, romantic, a fun thing to do. The rest of
G'ma: Yes! When it is dry out and pleasantly warm.
Laurie: Every once in a while you would be sitting there by the
cow, on the stool, and the sunlight would filter in just
right through the slats in the barn. There would be dust
dancing in the rays of light. The cow would be relatively
clean and quiet and you could rest your head on her side
and milk. Of course, it would be 72 degrees out. Just
G'ma: Usually though you'd be dripping sweat and she would dip her
tail in the bucket and then slap you with it.
Laurie: Or your hands would be red and chapped and there would be
mud (and worse) caked all over the cow that you just couldn't
G'ma: I sure do miss that milk though.
Laurie: Sure do!