Today is the 74th Birthday—-Wednesday, May 2, 1944

Posted on May 2, 2018 by Dayphoto

Today is Terry’s 74th birthday!

On every birthday Terry’s father would tell the tale of how obliging Terry was at birth.

For you see Terry’s parents, Jack and Marjorie Brown had a dairy not far from where we live now…just about three miles away.

Diary’s never take care of themselves. You can’t put them on automatic to run until you can get back to them. The cows needed to be fed and milk on clockwork basis.

Morning and evening. Fed. The milk hauled into the milk cooler, then swirled and swirled until cooled waiting for the huge semi to come deliver it to bottling plant.

Like all first-time babies (Terry is the oldest of a brother and a sister) he took his time all through the long night, until….

the sky started to lighten and the need to get to the dairy started to strengthen in Jack.

You see Jack ran the dairy all by himself, he was a one-man dairy farmer.

Then right on time. In the most perfect of wondrous ways, the new little boy arrived in the world.

All obliging.

“So I could go milk right on time.” Jack would announce.

Every year, on each and every Birthday. [Jack passed on several years ago]. just as the sky starts to lighten Terry always says: ” Now, Dad. It’s almost time.” And I always say “Happy Birthday, You gave your Dad a perfect gift and he gave you your life.”

We always feel most grateful, Terry and I!

Happy Birthday, my husband. 74 years and still farm’n!

Love you,

Linda

Spring is Breathing Restless—Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Posted on April 26, 2016 by Dayphoto

Terry planted corn, in another huge wind storm complete with rain. It couldn’t be helped. The ground was just at that ‘perfect place’ — not to wet and not to dry. To wait any longer and the tiny window of opportunity would be gone.

The air was sharp with ozone and wet dirt, extremely cold against my face, when I delivered sacks of seed to him, or to go get him for lunch.

Boomer would be shivering by the time we got back to the house.

It blew and rained off and on all day. Then cleared late in the evening to allow my lovely sour cherries to freeze (?) I sure hope not. I didn’t check the temperature this morning. It was what it was.

But it was cold, so fresh and sharp that it tickled your lungs to breath…by five o’clock I had to start up the woodstove; the heat felt lovely. It’s still going today and it looks like I will be filling the woodbox for at least five or six more days and nights.

Sigh! This spring is very restless; very wet and cold and windy.

We are still creating and setting dams. Two more and we will be done for the year.

This morning I woke the normal silence of the house. House silence isn’t like farm silence– farm silence is full of winds that whisper, the flutter and swish of birds, and the vast sounds of the sky.

Nor is it the disturbed silence of town–the swooshing of tires passing, the slamming of a far away door, a roaming and uneasy always constant movement.

The silence of the house is the dim glow of first light coming through the window…a gradual lighting of the night into day, the feel of slumbering thoughts, of those still sleeping, the pad of Boomer’s feet as he follows me into the kitchen.

The tea kettle’s boiling water signals the day has begun!