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It was a dark and stormy night …
Stormy? Well, not so much. Dark? Pitch dark.
<<<<< When, what should my wondering ears hear? Ü >>>>>
Hooves on gravel. (Rooftop, no.)
In farm-speak, hooves-on-gravel means trouble is afoot. Four of them. Four feet or pairs of four-footed critters on the LOOSE. Running. On the gravel roads that surround our farm. In other words, not pasture-fed, but free range, soon to be out-of-range cows (maybe horses) if something isn’t done quickly. Done and gone. Gone before dawn.
I threw on a robe, pulled on some boots, grabbed my derringer, scrounged a headlamp. Down several flights of stairs and into the dark, my searchlight searching for eyes. Whose?
Look who I had tea with this week in Cape Cod. Deb Bosworth!!!!! Our BEACH Farmgirl.
I was smitten before. Now I’m over the moon in love. It was wondrous to finally meet her in person.
At the doctor’s office recently, I heard myself say, “Well, I can’t let this define me.” (Lingering injuries from an accidental electrocution continue to test my patience.)
Driving to the farm the next day in the early hours of daylight to cook breakfast for our Bed & Breakfast guests, I was thinking about that statement. If I don’t want it to define me, what do I want to define me? …