D Is For...

"Delightful, Delicious, De-Lovely!"  Okay, Cole Porter got there first, and I know he wasn't referring to a sandwich.  In the late afternoon, I went out to the garden to pick the first green beans and do a little watering.  A few turnips were ready, and a single beet, and then I saw the ripe red tomatoes and my plans for dinner changed.  The turnip and beet greens went to the chickens on my way back to the house.  I didn't even wait to fry bacon, but sliced the tomatoes while the bread was in the toaster.  It might seem like humble fare, but the taste of thick-sliced, juice-dripping, just-picked tomatoes still warm from the sun against a background of mayonnaise is hard to beat.  I'll do something with the green beans and the beet tonight.

D is also for Delayed.  For whatever reason, the girls were balky about coming in for milking yesterday (and the day before) and the routine went kattywhompus and took forever.  Esther, the nonmilker, is usually the second or third in for breakfast and I run around the corner and give Twenty-Two his bottles while she eats.  She came in last yesterday after a lot of coaxing and Twenty-Two had to wait.  Inga hadn't come in on Saturday and her full bag took twice as long to empty.  By the time I got to Twenty-Two, he was sure he'd never eat again and attacked those bottles with a vengeance.  He sucked so hard and fast he pulled the nipple off the first bottle and I was D for Drenched.  I was able to save some, but it was D-ifficult to get the nipple back on with milk-sticky fingers while trying to fend off a frantic baby.  It's hard enough on the little guy to get cut back to two feedings a day without throwing delaying tactics into the mix.  I will say he and I both enjoyed our D-inners.