Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Wet Hair Inside

My family came to visit last Memorial Day. It had been beautiful weather last spring, and then they came and it was 90 and humid and felt like the world was melting.

Well, it is almost Memorial Day again. Yesterday we were tempted to put the A/C in, but there's something so wussy about using the A/C in May. I mean, for thousands of years people lived without air conditioning, and had wool or heavy cotton clothes as well.

I was reading to the older boys this morning, fan blowing in my face, when Abraham and Joe, who had been playing cars or something in the room next door came to show me something. I looked at them and they appeared to have showered. Their heads were wet; so wet, I asked if they had been putting ice cubes or something on their heads. "No, we're just sweating."

Well, that seemed a bit too extreme. So Phil put in the A/C and we ran it for a few hours until temperatures in and out equalized. I am thankful we have that option: I have grown more grumpy over the years with the heat, and the idea of sweltering with ever enlarging belly—I could say that the whole family is thankful that I have air conditioning.

There is little to report around the farm. Phil continues to work on engineering projects and does the daily necessary tasks, like moving cows, but nothing extra.

Belle yesterday annoyed me by both peeing and then pooping while I was milking, entirely fouling her area. Especially because she stands mostly still, but still moves enough that I could see that the cow pie was going to be my sitting place.

I tied her to another post, and she danced more than ever, but we finally finished.

The milk splashes a bit as I get towards the end, covering my legs with a bit of milk flecks. Yesterday a fly found this irresistible, and came to drink. I watched as he extended his tongue and sucked that milk fleck dry. Then he moved to another fleck, until that one, too, vanished. I've never felt like a fly soda dispenser, but it amused (or should we say tickled?) me.

The 17-year cicada chorus has begun. One magazine said it could get up to 90 decibels; happily, it's not that loud yet. We find a few of those red-eyed bugs around. Joe asked me about a bug on the ground and I called from indoors that it was a cicada. "I don't think so," he replied. "I think it's a dragonfly."

And when I went to look, sure enough, there was a dead dragonfly, its beautiful wings outspread. Joe is pleased with his farming expertise.

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