[christmas.card]
This years Christmas card. For your enjoyment.
farming
the untimely demise of a kitten named Butterball
I never liked cats. Not really. They seemed… well, gross. All their licking and hair and eating dead rodents. But then we started milking cows and a half grown kitten showed up. My husband called her Gray but I dubbed her KitKat and “accidently” spilled extra milk while feeding the calves. She was pretty. Stayed…
[life.rambles]
Indian summer is upon us. The warm November sun, fresh bales of fourth and fifth cutting hay all giving bursts of energy. Maybe this year, maybe, we can be ready for snow. My red Ford “car-truck” as my husband affectionately calls it, is piled high with firewood. The combine, the hay wagons, the baler… they…
the real thing
He gets these crazy ideas sometimes. Walking into my kitchen with that look in his eye. “New York Pizzeria.” He says. “I’ve had a hankering all day.” I glance at the clock. Milking time. Right now. It would be crazy. But I shrug. After tomorrow I will frown on such thoughts (since I will be…
![[before.winter]](https://natashametzler.com/wp-content/uploads/tashas137.jpg)
[before.winter]
He grips my hand as we step out of the barn. It was another late night milking. Part of getting ready for winter. Using every bit of daylight to do field work. We’re almost to the house when I feel his tug. I step off the rough rocks of the driveway into soft grass. “Come…
![[beautiful.life]](https://natashametzler.com/wp-content/uploads/img_5067-scaled.jpg)
[beautiful.life]
His tiny feet stepped through the cornfield. Toes covered in mud. “Put this on the pile,” the Farmer’s voice instructed him, handing over the ear of field corn. He chubby little hands circled the ear. He looked at the pile, then back at the man who was pulling corn from the mud. He smiled and…
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