Monday Musings.

I was musing about what a worry-wart I am.  And I think I can follow the trail of 'worry' beads back to when I was just a tadpole myself - a blissful 8 year old with nothing to think about but school, cleaning my room, hiding my field mice in a shoe box, and feeding my beloved guppies.  It were the guppies that done me in.  My mother was not one for 'pets', although she did agree to a dog.  A small dog.  A small dog she could train.  You know, that dachshund was the ONLY doxie I have ever met that was truly trained.  My mother said - "Go do your business", and Inger would make a beeline for the pine trees in the back of the yard.  Once, she went within a foot of a rabbit without a sidelong glance.  She knew my mother meant business.  As did we all.

Anyhoo, back to the BGs (beloved guppies).  After the annoying constant whining and crying and carrying-on, she let me get a fish tank and some guppies.  I cleaned the tank every week and picked out some plastic ferns and a little castle and treasure chest.  I loved them.  And I was thrilled to watch as Mama Guppy grew fat with babies!  And even more thrilled when the babies were born!  And then the parents ate them!!!  I was horrified and kept a close watch on my own parents for quite some time.

In the six years that I've lived here, I don't think I've seen my farmer-neighbors without their feed company caps on more than a handful of times.  And every time that I have, I am reminded of the fragility of egg shells.  It must be that most of them are bald as an egg and, since the caps are on about 99% of the time, when the caps are doffed, the bald pates are very reminiscent of those very same things - pale egg shells.  It makes even the burliest of farmers look rather adorable.  I drove by my neighbor's farmhouse this weekend and witnessed such a sweet scene - Old Leo bending down slightly from his stoop, while his daughter gave him a smooch on his pale, bald head.  It brought tears to my eyes.

Despite the fact that the G's are like a bunch of old yentas, gossiping mightily at every occasion - they all perk up when a new victim listener walks into the barn - they are a very tight group.   Cows on the road?  A posse of red pick-up trucks descend (they seem to prefer red pick-ups) and the cows are taken in hand.  Someone not up to snuff?  The same posse descends on the dairy barn and chores are done.  They visit each other often; you'll almost always find one or the other leaning on a red pick-up, chewing the fat, spreading the word.  And they all keep an eye on me and my place.  Leo or Doug or Elmer or Lou will scrap their boot in the dirt and say something like, "You know, yesterday there was a grey car in your driveway.  Hadn't seen it before....." Then I assure them it was allowed and all is okay.  It's nice.

p.s.  Linking to Nancy at Little Homestead in Boise and wishing her a Happy Anniversary!