We’ve had our first snow!
And now that we’ve had this thrill, I say- Well! That was lovely, wasn’t it? Let’s move on. To Spring! But despite the first blooms of the lenten roses and snowdrops, I’m afraid we may still have an ice storm ahead.
(We’ve had one, yes. But what about Second Winter?)
Our first goat babies of the year have come….
Although I love to be at the births, there is something wonderful about walking in the barn and finding them waiting…. dry, bright eyed and absolutely perfect.
(It was a little humbling, I’ll admit, the first time. YOU MEAN THEY DON’T NEED ME?!)
And for fun, in closing, here’s a recent piece I wrote for the weekly prompts I share with my friend Sarah:
My daddy was a military kid. He was hauled all around the world as he grew up: Japan, Germany, California…. And interestingly, the base he was born at, Fort Gordon in Augusta Georgia, was the last base of his dad’s career. So dad’s birth place became his resting place, for (as there was no reason to move around anymore) he stayed right where he was.
Growing up, Daddy’s favorite “home spot” was in Esto, Florida. There was no military base there, just my grandmother’s extended family, and this is where they would go when they couldn’t travel with my grandfather. My great-grandparents were rooted deep in Esto. They had a farm complete with two mules (Ater and Gater were their names) who they came to a woeful end one day when they wondered onto the railroad tracks. But that’s another story.
So for once, my daddy belonged to a place, because he belonged to a family that belonged there. He was one of the Sheffields, and those mules were his too.
I suppose this is why he took on the accent of North-West Florida. His years there were relatively short, but in their language, he found his own. In a hundred different words you can hear the drawl and pull and natural other-ness. But mostly in a handful of words that end in a “s” sound, for a “t” is added. For instance:
“Sarah, you’re gonna have to do something about Angus. He was on the road, not oncet, not twicet… but three times.”
And again, in a most tender example, but one that always makes me grin:
“Oncet again, dear Lord, we ask for your mercy, oncet again.”
“Where’s your dad from?” Someone will ask. “It’s southern, I know, but there’s something else in there too.”
“He’s from everywhere,” I say. “But He picked up that “something else” in Esto, Florida and he’s held onto it ever since.”
That’s all folks! Happy February!