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Glimpses into our farm

By Kara

 

On August 16th, we had another lamb born! Papa, three of my sisters, Cameron (an employee), and I all got to be there. We waited for the last 15 minutes of labor. The ewe was rather restless, and kept standing up, turning around, and laying back down again. A bit later, Papa saw the little snout and front hooves begin to come out. We were a tidbit worried because we weren't sure if we should help her, or just leave her be. But everything went well, and a few minutes later, a little lamb was born!

 

 

It let out a tiny little "maaa!", and its mother started licking it vigorously right away. It's amazing how well animals' tongues can clean! The lamb was all messy, but the ewe got its whole head and neck nice and clean in several minutes. The lamb opened its eyes and tried to stand up right off the bat. It tried to start nursing, but had an awkward time of it, because its mother was trying to clean it. A few times it tried to take a wobbly step, and ended up sprawled on the grass. It was both comical and cute. Cameron said that is looked like him trying to ride a unicycle.

 

 

We watched a little longer, and then one by one we left to return to our unfinished jobs. It was wonderful to see another little creature born into the world; an experience I will treasure. 

 

Updated: Aug 20, 2018

By Julia

 

 

 

Interviewer: Good evening, Mr. Yoshi, and how are you doing?

 

Yoshi: Quite well, thank you!

 

Interviewer: Mr. Yoshi, the Streblow Family Farm recently was extremely unsettled upon finding bunches of turkey feathers in your domain. After a hasty countdown, they found-- to their great relief-- that their ten pleasantly sweet and terribly ugly turkeys were still with them. Have you anything that could quiet our infinite curiosity on this topic?

 

Yoshi (smiling reminiscently, yet blushing with embarrassment): Ahhh... yes! In fact, the mentioned occurrence happened but five days ago!

 

Interviewer: Do tell, dear Mr. Yoshi!

 

Yoshi (taking a sip from a beverage at his side): I shall. So, on the morning in question, I had determined, after a quiet breakfast and leisurely stretch of the legs, to take a refreshing nap under the deck. After turning about three times-- a habit I find I can not break!-- I quickly fell asleep.

 

 

An hour or so later, I wakened to a low trilling.

 

What was my great indignation and surprise to see my front lawn covered in turkeys! Not only were they there, on my own personal estate, but the toms! why, they were strutting about like they were lords of creation!

 

Interviewer: Whatever did you do, dear Mr. Yoshi?

 

Yoshi: I rose, and dashed out! I hoped that my presence would give them shame enough to flee, but no! I must confess, my feelings overcame me; I dashed into the midst of them and gave them slight nips to urge them on. At last, whether from pain or shame, they left. Then, quickly recovering my temper, I returned to my nap, leaving a small heap of feathers behind.

 

Interviewer: My dear sir, I must thank you for clearing this case for us. Streblow Family Farm will be most relieved to hear these results.

 

 

 

Once upon a time, there was a straw hat. This straw hat once hung forlornly on a peg in a white-washed thrift store. But one February day, a loud family with a heap of kids burst into the store and began to explore it like a treasure-filled cave. After a while, the family subsided and was about to depart, when the oldest girl saw the hat as he bore the company of a gaudy green necklace who was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. Her invisible eyebrows rose up to her hairline, and her jaw descended only slightly. Her hand moved forward, as if in a greeting, and plucked the straw hat from its peg. She put the hat over her bright red hair and zipped the bead up its string so that it nestled under her chin.

 

 

Many months later, the sun was shining outside, and the hat dangled complacently in a row of old and comfortable hats and coats. A breeze rushed by and went out the door—it was the hat’s owner. His red-haired owner had been rushing in and out the door for several minutes now, carrying out a new load each time. His time would come soon, the hat knew; she always grabbed him last minute. Sure as the wind blows, a hand took hold of him suddenly, and he was whisked onto his familiar bed of hair. The hat took the jostling ride towards the navy-blue van, Mr. Knightley. Then he was inside Mr. Knightley, and the door slammed shut. Now a peaceful ride to the farmers’ market.

 

An hour later, the straw hat was sitting complacently on his own head, surveying the scene of farmers’ market. Below him, his owner was absorbed in an old green book having to do with scarlet daffodils; to his right, a fellow hat, Australian-style, was slouched over its owner’s head. (The Australian hat’s owner also had red hair, because he was the brother of the straw hat’s owner. It is certainly a small world, as they say.) Beyond and behind the straw hat sprawled a busy scene of many-colored canopies and vegetable-laden tables. It was rather like those pictures one sees of encamped medieval tournaments, only there were farmers instead of knights, jousting in a blood-free fight for customers.

 

Every once in a while, the hat’s owner began to giggle or whisper to the adjoining person, and occasionally she would rise from her chair to wander the market. That’s when the real activity began for the hat. Up and down he went, a straw wave upon its sea of hair. Besides that, his owner continually loosened him from her head, and down he would go to hang upon her back. Then a little later—up he went again and was secured tightly.

 

But every day must end. The straw hat did not much care how the day’s sales had been, nor whether its owner had remembered to bring business cards or not. He only knew that soon he would be tossed onto Mr. Knightley’s dashboard, and would bathe peacefully in the sun’s rays as the humans drove Mr. Knightley home. Then he would rest once again, reclining from his hook until his services should be required at the next farmers’ market.

~Ariana, the second oldest.