Yesterday, after milking, I drove off to pick up a load of manure, wending my way down our lane with about ten people milling around, four or five unexpected to look at goats and four or five planned to pick up some kids. Where did we put that sign? "Elk Cliff Petting Zoo: $ 8.00 entrance fee."
My soil amendment suppliers, not the horses but their owners, have turned into good friends. I'm afraid I often overstay my welcome. This time we talked about rabies, which appears to be more of a mystery than settled fact, infected by notions aimed at protecting humans from faint possibilities to the detriment of animals that haven't a hint of disease. And trout. Three hundred rainbows were delivered to their almost-all-natural spring-fed pond. "They'll grow fast. Karen and Adam are welcome to bring their rods in a month or two." And performers. They recently attended a 3 1/2 hour concert. Important: You've got to quit while the listeners still want more.
After laying a couple rows of black plastic in the field garden, it was time to fire up the brick oven. While we ate pizza with friends of our son, I thought to ask, "Is your father named Owen?" "No, but my uncle is." Owen Young, cellist with the Boston Symphony, stayed with us in Salisbury about 10 years ago, a guest who felt like a friend. Having professional musicians as guests came with our association with the Salisbury Symphony, which offered to place guest soloists in homes rather than hotels, if preferred. Who would have guessed that 10 years later his niece would connect with us, too?
"Cool," says Virginia. "Connections, old and new."
[See http://holesinmyjeans-kpannabecker.blogspot.com/ for Karen's take on this coincidence -- "It's a small world afterall," April 30, 2011.]
2 weeks ago