Monday, October 24, 2011

Old MacDonald had a farm

When I was young, I believed God made me a farm girl.
Then Papa moved us to the city and I got bit with the city bug 
and grew too sophisticated for country life.

Or so I thought.
At twenty-seven, I fell in love with goats.
People like to ask me why, and there's not much of a story to tell
so the best answer I offer is
"Why not?"

Once a year, built into our family traditions is a trip
to the pumpkin patch.  
Even better is when the pumpkin patch comes
with a farm attached, because then I get to pretend
I'm that country girl who never grew up into a city woman.

I love the colorful personalities of animals.
No two are the same.

I think watching animals beats watching tv any day-
well, except for those days when I'd rather be
wrapped up cozy in a blanket on a sofa.
But any other day, animal watching trumps all.

I love the majestic beauty of animals,
those intricacies I'm rewarded with when I stoop 
low to study the works of art that they are.
Studying animals places me in an expansive outdoor gallery
with endless potential for wonder.

And sometimes animal watching offers pure entertainment.

When I'm around animals, 
the child in me wakes up.

I remember those days of rolling in hay,
of not caring how dirty I get.

Days of stomping in puddles of chocolate milk.

And riding in cow-painted barrels through 
fields of mud and corn and pumpkins.

I think we all glow with the happiness of simple joys
when we break away and play at a farm for the day.

We remember.

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