King for a Day

Back at the castle, one day between trips to Ohio and Pennsylvania, the Lady of the Manor, a/k/a the Queen, greeted the King and Prince with venison lasagna.  Several of the subjects quacked, a few whined welcomes, and the Boxers begged for belly pats.  The egg layers couldn't care less. 

Or were the whines expressions of suspicion?  My day began with unfinished business, a return trip to the abattoir.  When I arrived home with two full coolers, I glanced at the goat paddock with a twinge of guilt, not yet a full-fledged farmer.  Tonight's dinner plays out the deal I mentioned in an earlier blog -- continuing carnivore versus virgin vegetarian.  We sort of agreed that if we could not eat Shasta and Dodger, then meat markets would become off-limits.  Unlike the protein most of you eat, I like to think they were happy from birth to death.  In fact, not too many birds, butterflies, rabbits and other creatures suffered as they traveled from farm to table -- which is not the case with the out-of-season produce that graces grocery shelves throughout the year.  Tears have been shed, something that most likely can't be said for most of the hamburger and green beans (look at them under a microscope sometime) devoured here and around the world.  We, kings and queens, sit on the top of many pyramids.

My trip to Bluffton often reminded me that big rocks to little children are simply stones to adults.  On the morning I ran past the Community Market to buy a couple "expensive" navel oranges for my mother, the house that guards the entrance to the skilled nursing facility surprised me.  Not only could I see it from the town hall, it was merely blocks away.  My 4-mile trudge through waist-high sludge to elementary school had shrunk to less than a mile. Today I ran to our post office and local bank before launching my 8-mile round-trip to Arrowhead Lodge, reminding me that we live near a small town, too.

"You smell like gasoline," says Virginia.

She's right.  This afternoon I cranked up my Stihl and divided a few logs into firewood.  Welcome home, King!