Little Kids

"I'm three!," announced the little boy as I opened the door to my new milk customers.  "Well, yes, you are, and hello, everybody."  Jennie is among those who feel that our food is being overprocessed and over-chemicalized (that's probably not a real word) and wants to give her growing family food from more nutritious sources. 

My customers may not realize that I get an added bonus whenever they come to pick up their milk.  I get the company of little kids for awhile.  Corrina's mom and dad have been buying milk from me since she was drinking from a bottle; she's now in first or second grade, and I've watched her blossom into a beautiful young girl.  I have a goose statuette by the front door with outfits for every month.  Sarah's three-year-old daughter, Calendula, has been given the task of changing Goose's dress and bonnet.  This week, her first words to me were, "It's April!," (she'd been waiting since the first of March) so we found the appropriate clothes and she dressed the goose for Easter.  Her little sister, Anara, is six months old now, sweet as a bonbon.  Seeing Jennie's family is like watching a rerun of my own kids:  a girl first, quickly followed by three boys (her third son is due in just two more weeks).  Her littlest one stayed in the car, but Michaela and Andrew came trooping in and were fascinated by all the "pigabilia" in my house; figurines, pictures, stuffed toys, etc.  I've long been known as The Goat Lady, and Andrew has given me a new sobriquet, "Mrs. Piggy."  (Could be worse.)  The parents keep me in touch with the outside world, and I've come to know them as friends.  Who knew that goats would become my connection with people.

Yesterday was cold, overcast, and then flurries of snow interspersed with a bit of sunshine now and then.  When I texted my son that it was snowing again, he wanted to know if I still lived in California.  (I told him to forward all mail to Nome, Alaska.)  Joel and I were trying to remember, and it seems that we've had snow as late as May once or twice.  Looking out at the thick frost this morning, it's hard to work up much pity for poor Mark, stuck in eighty-degree weather on the beach on Guam and facing his next assignment to Hawaii.  I'm here, considering teaching Bessie Anne to "mush!"  Get over yourself, Mark.