This aint cornbread and chicken...

After my lesson in the barn on my first night at the farm...

I was actually really excited to come home yesterday and practice what I had learned.

I ran in the house and grabbed my boots. Those boots that helped my luggage exeed all weight limits, that I had to have, because my brother had given me so much hope of creating memories with the horses... I just couldn't do that without boots. Little black flats would be an embarrasement, like I didn't know what I was doing.

Then I headed down to the barn... grabbed the spikey thing, I thought was called a pitch fork, until my brother came down and was asking for the pitchfork? And I exuberantly extended this out, and was informed "that's not a pitchfork, that's an apple picker". I still haven't wrapped my mind around why it's called an apple picker, all that stuff I was picking up with it, certainly wasn't apples.

So thinking of all the help I was being, and what great exercise this was... I did everything I could remember very carefully not to goof anything up or let any animals get out or scoop anything into a wrong bin.

These guys... there are two big white ones, and a little short brown one.... are called Billy Bob and Pickle!
Billy and Bob both come and aren't particular about who is who... I guess you just them in pairs.
Goats... I am not even close to knowing how to relate to goats... I guess that will be another lesson, for another day.

It was such a peaceful night at the barn... this could very possibly be a great thinking spot with the moon coming up over the back pasture... if I were a country girl that is.
But something about the smell on my hands tells me I am just not, not matter how much I am going to try,
will I be able to transform in a short week.