Last Thursday was what I call a perfect evening. After another snow storm, it warmed up to 60 degrees and the wind stopped briefly. So I donned a bright yellow Max Mara cotton sweater, nice black pants and some low heels and sashayed into town. The Grand, our one upscale watering hole, was jumping. From welders with blackened hands to me in my MM, we called out in joy that the wind had stopped and maybe, just maybe, we might get a splotch of spring, a wiggle of warm, a blast of balmy.
Patty came in and sunk into a stool and groaned. She has had 14 sets of triplets in her no small sheep herd. And this while bottling calves in her cow herd. She and my husband, Mike, compare notes on calving while I chatter away with Bruce about the latest Netflix rentals he has seen.
Mike and I decide to head home and make a jambalaya. But as I ease on up our road I spot “COWS IN THE HAYSTACK!”. Continue reading