One of the downsides of working alone on the farm is that there is no one to say Well Done. Our John comes home so late and leaves so early he simply does not see what I do. (So I am lucky that I have you – The Fellowship is laden with people, women and men alike, who know how important it is to say – “That was well done.”)
I knew a lady in New Zealand, she was a check out girl in a busy supermarket- though she was no longer a girl. She was large and bosomy, blowsy and over blown in the most delicious way. Short with big feet and a smile that was powerful. She beamed. She was Glory. And when she saw me in her check-out line at the supermarket, she would loudly greet me “Hello Beautiful Girl!. How are you my friend. Your work last night was glorious,” she would say referring to something my students had done, or “Hello Beautiful – I loved our homework last night.” Referring to the work her son brought home from school.
She would shoot my purchases across the scanner with an efficient movement that I envied. She was completely at home in her Self. And she always called me Beautiful. Even though, as I gathered up my bags and slung them across my shoulders, marshalling my children, ready for the walk along the beach and back up the hill to my little house, I would hear her call out with absolute sincerity: “Hello beautiful, how are you?” – to the next person she knew in her queue and she was the kind of person who knew everyone. It never once took from me that lovely feeling of being recognised and empowered by her beautiful ‘Well Done. ‘
Well Done miss c, I tell myself – for finally raking the hay properly. Following my instructions from the hay man to the letter – it came out perfectly. I have been learning how to do this for two summers. Now I have got it! I am now confident in my hay raking abilities. And I felt delightfully and quite ridiculously proud of myself as I drove the tractor and the rake back to the barn leaving a perfect field behind me. Now if the showers that are predicted do not fall, this will be a small but gorgeous load of hay.
I have decided that we cannot afford to buy another cow this year. I have two trips to New Zealand in October and January – dates I would not miss for the world. I will take you with me! And as we all know – money does not grow on trees. But we will rattle on. Life is life. I will live with it! Maybe I can milk Daisy once in a while, share with her calves every now and then. Given that I can get her healthy. But my stomach cannot tolerate pasteurised milk, I cannot digest it, so it will be a mostly dairy free summer, next summer. Until Aunty Del comes on line the following spring.
We will work it out – you and I.
I hope you all have a lovely day.
Your friend on the farmy,