|Everybody relaxes on Sunday (plus, scifi laser-eyes!)|
We like our Sundays. They are the only hours we have each week with the slightest chance of following a schedule – contrasting with the weekly-daily waiting for fate to unleash five fresh new hells at random intervals (a.k.a. normal life on the farm).
I’ve covered this subject before and I’ll say it again, because the redundancy comforts me.
Here’s how it goes:
1) Morning Chores (5 a.m.-ish)
2) Trip to the My T Fine Restaurant in Swanton, featuring chipped beef or sausage gravy over everything, and milk (plain or chocolate); Oreo cookie pancakes or Sandy’s Special (a pancake full of pork and eggs, just ask, it’s not on the menu) – and loads of jelly on buttered toast for closers.
They also do a pretty pair of poached eggs for those of us watching our girly figures.
Plus, there are mimosas, rarely offered as a special outside of Mother’s Day, but they can be had at a reasonable price anytime (by Burlington standards), providing the champagne delivery arrived (and now that the secret is out, there won’t be any when I want it).
3) Dan Takes a Nap
Who wouldn’t need a big one after eating a full breakfast that would make any non-farmer abstain from food until the following sunrise?
4) There’s barbecue going on the smoker; could be pork, beef or fish, and farmer’s market veggies on the grill.
5) Watch Movie(s)
Preferably featuring expensive stuff that blows up real good, or slow zombies and face-huggers (all of that, if I can find it). And those would be commercial-full, instead of PPV or On Demand, ‘cause I’m saving up money to afford some quality health care.
(Like I said, redundancy comforts me.)
Biggest disappointment so far, has been “The Woman in Black”. It made “Piranha 3DD” look like cinema gold – and that was only because of the scanty and late appearance of “The Hoff”.
6) Evening Chores (no one wants to do those.)
So, this is the order of our life on the farm’s Happy Happy Sunday – however, this past weekend, there was a knock on the door.
We don’t like upsets in our routine. We really, really don’t.
Two young men were at the door.
Each held a peeping chick in their hands.
My first thought was that the meat birds had escaped the safety of their pen, creating yet another financial disaster - like that time the rat killed off half the turkeys.
Thankfully, that was not the case.
These were wild turkey babies discovered beside their dead mother on the road.
(I was silently thankful that they hadn’t brought her back for me to cook up).
They didn’t really know what to do, so Dan advised them to put the orphans under the incubator, just like regular hatchlings - though experience has proven this won’t be enough to rescue them.
We gave three a fighting chance.
One lived until morning; it now has 75 day-old laying hen chicks to keep it company.*
Hope for the best. We do.
*It died the next day.