The days were short. Flurries became storms. Milking was done in the dark at both ends of the day, and required boots. Water froze in the buckets and chores included carrying pails of hot water from the kitchen sink to pour onto the ice in them. The goats drank the water hot and loved it. We called it goat tea.
We shivered in the milk room. The milk began to freeze in the pail before we were done. The barn was cozy, but not warm. The goats seemed comfortable enough, but ate more, and we gave them extra hay.
When the chores were done, we headed back to the house. A bright yellow rectangle lighted the way and served as a beacon. We were happy to reach the door, hand over the bucket of milk, and feel the first waves of warmth of the kitchen and the waiting meal and cozy pajamas.
Or if this was the morning milking, the children scurried to get on their school clothes, eat their hot cereal, and bundle up again to meet the bus. It was hard going out into the wintry day again, and their thoughts were already turned to returning home.
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2 comments:
It's interesting getting your perspective on things that I've only heard about through the eyes of a child before. It's different. I mean, I guess the plot is technically the same, but the motivations and the backstory are different.
And it will change again, and again.
This is only a beginning. Days of innocense.
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