The farm experience tapers off gracefully to a close. There may be a few more days, or not - remains to be discussed with the folks when they get back. I write this as I'm sitting in Charleston airport, waiting for their flight from Chicago - and I hope they had a wonderful time.
By the holy skull of Mogg's grandmother, I have stayed healthy. I completed my list of things on the farm that I wanted to accomplish this morning, just before leaving for the airport. There's enough left to keep a farmhand busy for two years, but I got the biggest rocks out of the way.
Finished the basement last night about midnight. Shovel, hoe, rake, hose, wet-dry vac - all were used in abundance to bring the place back to some semblance of normalcy. This morning I posted The Old Wolf's 10 Commandments
above the door, one of which read "Thou shalt nevermore allow the basement to become the Abomination of Desolation, such that when the farmhand hath finished cleaning it, he must needs go shovel manure as a Pleasant Diversion." I still wouldn't want to eat off the floor, but at least going down there is not like a descent into Bolgia 10. And a check mark for Saturday.
Chatted with several good friends on the drive down to Charleston - makes the time go a lot faster. One blessed angel sent some See's candy to the farm to help overcome the stress of chasing sheep and being constantly assailed by - to put it charitably - an elderly lady who's just a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. And it did the trick nicely, too.
Today is the last day of my 58th year on this backwater planet in an obscure arm of the galaxy. I was reflecting just the other day that I now have a clear memory of half a century's worth of triumphs, tragedies and progress. All it makes me think as I review the incredible developments I have been privileged to witness is, "What will my granddaughters see in their lifetimes? Unimaginable things."
Life is good. If I were any better, I'd have to be twins.