The Market

This was the big event of the year- Strawberry Festival and our first day to sell at the market. It was a fun family experience!!
John Deere Ice Cream!
What Flavor?

The Market Part 2

Farm Managers
Spray bottle battle - we are so professional!
Customer
Going Home

Sheep Shearing

Sherlock has been apprenticing under a sheep shearer. This new skill not only added to his income potential, but also enabled him to shear Percy and Benjamin.

Springtime on the Farm.....and off

Nap on the swing Staining the new chicken coop
The Chicken Yard
Farm Fresh Eggs
Cuteness!
Happy 15th Birthday Smokestack!
Guntersville Lake

Father and Daughter Retreat March 2010

Dusting off the blog and catching up on family memories.............

A Stonewall Minute

LITTLE FEET
by Edgar A. Guest

There is no music quite so sweet
As patter of a baby’s feet.
Who never hears along the hall
The sound of tiny feet that fall
Upon the floor so soft and low
As eagerly they come or go,
Has missed, no matter who he be,
Life’s most inspiring symphony.

There is a music of the spheres
Too fine to ring in mortal ears,
Yet not more delicate and sweet
Than pattering of baby feet;
Where’er I hear that pit-a-pat
Which falls upon the velvet mat,
Out of my dreamy nap I start
And hear the echo in my heart.

‘Tis difficult to put in words
The music of the summer birds,
Yet far more difficult a thing—
A lyric for that pattering;
Here is a music telling me
Of golden joys that are to be;
Unheralded by horns and drums,
To me a regal caller comes.

Now on my couch I lie and hear
A little toddler coming near,
Coming right boldly to my place
To pull my hair and pat my face,
Undaunted by my age or size,
Nor caring that I am not wise—
A visitor devoid of sham
Who loves me just for what I am.

This soft low music tells to me
In just a minute I shall be
Made captive by a thousand charms,
Held fast by chubby little arms,
For there is one upon the way
Who thinks the world was made for play.
Oh, where’s the sound that’s half so sweet
As pattering of baby feet?

A Stonewall Minute

Thought I'd sneak a minute in (since the blog has been dead so long). This is a poem we particularly like:

It Couldn't Be Done
by Edgar A. Guest

Somebody said it couldn't be done.

But he with a chuckle replied,

That maybe it couldn't, but he would be one

Who wouldn't say so 'till he'd tried.

So he buckled right in with a trace of a grin

On his face. If he worried, he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn't be done. And he did.

Somebody scoffed, "Oh, you'll never do that

At least no one ever has done it."

But he took off his coat, and he took off his hat,

And the first thing we know, he'd begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

Without any doubting or "quit-it".

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn't done. And he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done.

There are thousands to prophesy failure.

There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,

The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in, with a bit of a grin;

Just take off your coat and go to it.

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

That cannot be done--and you'll do it!

Snowmen!

(Headless Harry)

(Thomas the Tumbler)

(Sheriff Shane)