Winter birthday parties nowadays require sitting outside, which worked out quite well on Saturday because Jeff and I were working with the sheep in the barn that morning.
We’d dropped off some Christmas trees a little while ago, trees that neighbors had wanted to recycle. It’s said there are some beneficial properties to evergreens that will help sheep rid themselves of parasites, and so we’ve been trying this the last couple of years.
So far, the Shetlands like the pines, but not the firs.
The needles have been a nice supplement to the hay. Jeff tucked the trees into the square panels of the fence so that the sap at the bottom of the trunk wouldn’t stick to the wool, as the plan is to shear everyone soon and send the wool to a fiber mill in southeastern Indiana.
Also Saturday morning, Jeff helped put hay out to the cows, and while he did, he took a picture of my new (to me) cow.
Just before the year’s end, my great-aunt placed the numbers of her cows on individual sheets of paper, and Dad drew a number for me. This number became my gift cow. She’s a Shorthorn cross, and she may have a calf this spring.
After putting out hay, we visited my grandparents for Grandmother’s birthday. My aunt and uncle had built a beautiful bonfire (this was before the snowstorm rushed in), and we all gathered around it, eating Forfar bridies and fudge.
Then, sleet started, and we retreated to the front porch to sing “Happy Birthday” to my grandmother, who sat just inside the front door. The cake boasted the St. Andrew’s Cross and the Rampant Lion in icing, and matching flags lined the edges. We ate on the porch, enjoying the fresh air and waving the flags that came with our cake slices.
No matter what, there’s always a way.
The Kiwi Hoosier 