Or: How I Worked My Way To Breakfast
My form wandered around upright this day, although it is still a tad weeble wobbly. Regardless of the fact that I was as weak as a vehicle with a clogged catastrophic converter, today was to be an on my feet day whether I liked it or not. This vertical state of being had to be achieved due to the fact that my boss had scheduled a couple days off, so there was a library to open, not to mention the fact that my entire family was down due to the remnants of food poisoning and one of them had the flu.
I have all sorts of vacation stories that I want to regale ya'll with, but I am saving the composition of such yarns for when I am not all zombified. This morning I had a reckoning moment of just how much I enjoy my existence as I did all of the farm chores for the day. I suppose one could say that sometimes gratitude rises like bad bacterialized stomach bile.
We had a wicked thunder storm last night, it blew my kids swimming pool over into the lilac bushes, and as I was experiencing post puke-phoria I found that I cared not. It could be flipped over with somewhat cuss-free ease if enough of us grabbed a hold. The yearly three week plague of gnats have hatched and my poor horses reminded me that I needed to reapply my super-secret homemade fly salve to their ears in order to give them some relief from the little blood suckers. There were conciliatory ear scratches given to the bug besieged equines after I tossed their morning alfalfa.
The barn was my next stop. The kids take care of their 4H market hogs without any help from us, with the exception of illness, so I got to give out pig scratches to the four heathens in the barn. Wearing shorts to feed is never a great idea, but at least I didn't wear flip flops into the pig pen. I needed a shower before work anyway, yet I really did hope those slobber smears on my bare legs were mud or pig feed. Sure it was.
One of my hens has moved in with the pigs, a smarter bird I have yet to meet. She roosts in the barn rafters and dines on show pig feed, pine beetles, and various greenery that surrounds the barn. She was kind enough to lay all her eggs on top of the feed bin while I was on vacation, and I decided on a scramble for breakfast.
The garden was my next stop. On my way across the horse pasture to my garden I heard the yowl of my Siamese herd cat. It came loping through the grass yelling all sorts of cat complaints. Cinders cannot walk in a straight line and lives to trip me and perhaps fracture one or many of my cervical vertebrae. I told her that I had already served breakfast to her clan, and out of missing the first grub irritation she ran slideways through my corn. Ornery she cat.
As I set my bucket of eggs by the frost free faucet it occurred to me that I should have some Red Russian Kale at baby stage and thought that it would taste pretty spectacular with my eggs. Soon thereafter I had plucked a bunch from the earth and was wandering my way towards my kitchen for breakfast.
Just a simple morning on my feet, doing chores, and eating food that I produced on the farm gave me great joy. It's good to be alive, and hopefully by tomorrow I can get back to my normal, slightly off kilter scribblings. Hope you all have the most pleasant of evenings!
Want to read more @Generikat posts?
