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They do love a four-wheeler! It’s like….their leader!
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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And she's ornery. Read my barnyard stories!
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11:08
am
So the bull is still there?
Good line, cows!
5:59
pm
It is the human element. To a cow Human means feed, hay, salt, and on your farm cookies or pastries. If we used to walk a mile for a Camel, how far will a cow walk for sweet feed.
A history point, when the Sergents moved from the big farm to Charleston to live, my grandfather Carl got the job of leading the milk cow from Walton to Charleston some 35 miles. The city house had a big enough lot that a milk cow was kept in town. There is no story of Bessie making the return trip to Johnson Creek.
11:49
pm
When I move my cows I open the gate and call them and they come running to me. I have to stand back at the gate and let them go by. Yes to all Cousin Mark said about the feed.
1:05
am
I’ve been with you from almost the very beginning, but your posts have become more and more infrequent, and with so much less depth than your readers have learned to expect from you. I don’t know what’s happened; hopefully, your life is so good and so full that you no longer have time for you blog. However, it would be nice if you would offer some sort of explanation, even if it’s “good-bye, thanks for the good times”, to those of us who have stuck by you through thick and thin.