We kept a nanny goat which Dad milked. This provided basic sustenance for Sister and me as well as the parents. Cheap nutrition, for it is true that feeding a goat is not expensive-- she will eat anything. And that reminds me that on Monday we were at a luncheon meeting where the entertainment was provided by the FROGS, that is, Four Really Old Guys Singing. They did barbershop and they were good. One of the numbers was "Bill Grogan's Goat" and of course I sang along. It is a song I have known for many decades. Their goat was greedier than Bill's goat of yore, though, for it ate six red shirts. The earlier version downed only three. Well, I got sidetracked there, did I not?
I believe I mentioned it earlier on this blog, but a field lay behind our house and watching the harvest crew bringing the sheaves to the stationary steam thresher was fine entertainment for a four-year old lad. Beyond the field ran the rail line and watching the interurban cars pass by was fine sport, too. Yes, I was easily entertained.
My left index finger has a slightly odd appearance and it requires a minimum of seven snips to properly pare the nail. This is a result of a very curious thirty-month old climbing onto the windmill platform and getting his finger mashed by a bolt in the shaft as it came down on said finger.I have a scar inside my right wrist which goes nearly all the way across the arm. Mama's Little Helper scooped up a chunk of broken blue glass from the kitchen floor (I mean, he broke the glass in the first place) and was carrying it to the trash receptacle on the porch, tripped on the threshold. Hurt. A lot. Bled. A lot. Jumping to the end lest you worry: I lived. Mother told me the original slash was across the base of the palm, but the scar has migrated more than two inches up my arm in the intervening years.
I was waffling on the issue of showing you the scar, but yeah, we all like train wrecks and the like.
We moved to Colorado arriving there on July 4, one day before my fifth birthday.
9 comments:
I don't actually recall the windmill moment but heard the story enough times that it seemed I was there. It was told as a cautionary tale, I'm sure. Message: Stay away from big things that move.
Vee, we did hear our share of "cautionary tales." Though I carry the warped finger as proof I don't actually remember crawling up onto that mill. The blue glass-- that I remember!
I've always loved the song Bill Grogan's Goat. There's adventure, suspense and the hero wins. How can it get any better?
Chuck and it is fun to sing! Win all around.
I don't know about Bill Grogan and his goat. I will have to google. Sounds like fun.
It's amazing we are all alive after those childhood adventures.
Lin, it is amazing that we survived childhood.
I bought goat's milk awhile back, thinking that it I might be able to digest it better than cow's milk. It tasted like a barnyard. On the other hand, I really like goat cheese. How can this delicacy come from that disgusting milk? Oh, and I have a scar on my forehead that came from putting my all on the altar when I was preschool age, an event that you likely remember.
Ilene, I do indeed remember your bloody experience at the altar. Terrifying. One you don't remember and that scared me even worse was the time you climbed over the rail of your crib and fell headfirst onto the concrete floor.
Ilene, although I was raised on goat milk, drinking it four of the first five years of my life, I had an experience similar to yours when I tried some a few years ago. Essence of Barnyard would be an apt description of the flavor.
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