Farmer's Hours

The dawn is gorgeous we wake at 3:45

but I am not virtuous - we sleep at 7 or 8.

I love it and I only wish I was the farmer to go with my farmers hours.

I lived on a farm in Vermont the summer I was 15- in 1976 There's nothing like feeding the chickens and milking the Jersey cow at the early hour with just the sound of the milk hitting the metal bucket and the occasional snorting and chewing and kicking.

The chickens stepping on the tops of my bare feet tickled. Goats jumped around and over the picnic table, eagerly awaiting their food.

I get up and let Lily dog out to pee in the dark and then I feed her 2 scoops and then I feed Sammy cat and feed Lily 2 more scoops. We call it breakfast one and breakfast 2 (a minute apart).

I turn on public radio and start up my computer while setting up coffee and tea and an army of toast in our 4 slot toast machine.

I toasted my raisin sunflower bread and sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar. The shape looks like biscotti. I drink a few ounces of hot black coffee in a thick tiny chipped porcelain mug.

I have my Russian looking black fleece hat on but I've opened the windows and doors because the air outside is warmer than inside!