What I really love about life on the farm is that there is consistency. It keeps a person in line, reminding them that while the world can swirl around out of control, each morning certain things are going to happen pretty much like they did the day before. I suppose it is like the office worker picking up the danish at the same corner shop and heading in on the same train to the same cubicle with the same people and their same habits. For me, it's much more pleasant hearing the donkeys bray than the guy in the corner cubicle slurp his latté. Morning means a bit of yoga and Martyn doing the dishes [Yes, ladies, he cooks and does the dishes in the morning...he came that way]. It means Huck thrilled just because, and a line of sheep descending from an old barn - usually in a pecking order that no one would notice except the shepherd. Morning means carrots for the donkeys, and to watch Pino Blangiforti eat his morning carrot is worth the mortgage. He does not simply eat the carrot - he 'smokes' it, like a fine cigar. I have seen him hang onto his carrot for 20 minutes or more, and then, s...l...o...w...l...y eat it, never dropping it, but chewing off one bite at a time while holding the carrot in his mouth. His father Angelo actually brays with his carrot in his mouth - like Art Carney screaming with a cigarette dangling off his lips.
There are some exciting new things happening around here - but I must run. I will share the newness in a soon to be post. And if you are having a bad morning, or a dull morning, perhaps you can just think of a little donkey smoking his carrot. Surely that is something to hold onto...
