I was by myself. In a barn. With a horse named Joe.
I’m a city girl. Not by choice. If I had my druthers I’d be an in-the-woods girl. Right now, I ain’t. Right now I have my little brick house and fenced in half acre smack dab in the middle of Suburbia, USA.
But this past weekend, I traded that for Indiana country. 25+ acres (I thought it was 80; felt like 80). Hay rides. Chickens and freshly laid eggs for breakfast, and ham from pigs freshly butchered–yep, butchered and they say that without cringing. Crowing roosters and really loud bugs. Frogs and fishing in a pond and a campfire with blueberry wood–copper tubing shoved inside a section of garden hose–the colors were unbelievable, turquoise and purple and green–amazing and I was laying on my back on an upturned aluminum boat, smoking a stogie and drinking an ice cold beer. . .
Yeah, they drove the cooler out on the chuck-wagon, they call it. Some small truck thing, a working vehicle. So here came a full cooler of brews on ice for the four of us, must’ve been around midnight. An almost full moon pinned in a starry sky and I’m laying on my back on that boat, smoking that stogie and looking up. . . what did she say? “There goes the preacher’s son in his Beemer.” Then he tells us about getting rolled half mile from the house by county cops. “They had nothing on me,” he says, “brought the dog out, came around to my side of the vehicle. Oh I been drinking but that’s why I was in the back seat, dammit. I shoulda kept my mouth shut but hey.”
Speaking of which, my better half baled hay. Not new to him, he lived on a farm so he knew the ropes. The guy with the baler said he’d be there at four. He showed up at five and they went to work, stacking bales on a flatbed, loading ’em on some sort of contraption that fed ’em up into the barn rafters, stacking ’em ceiling high. It was hard work but good work, real satisfying or so I hear.
I was fishing.
We ate real good and sat around in front and back and over by the pond. We drank coffee out on the porch. The weather was perfect, upper seventies, slight breeze. There were kittens. I was in heaven.
Late afternoon, I ventured out to the barn by myself. Me and Joe had a long conversation. Didn’t say too much.
Didn’t have to.