There was a silver gate too thin and ridged to be comfortable to sit on, and a  red road, redder with rain, like a dividing line between the lush pastureland above and the dull fields of old cane grass below.   

     
    Two black and white dogs to take on walks up that road; Heidi and Misty, we called them- Heidi after the little girl in the Alps, and Misty because we liked the name.   They pulled on their leashes, straining to escape and be off, running free after the cows in the fields- they were born for such joy, but untrained as they were their longings went unfulfilled unless one of them could slip her leash and escape. I don't think I enjoyed those walks like I could have, but the memories of those times are sharper and more vivid than many of the things I've done since for amusement's sake alone.

     A horse named Copper, large boned but sweet,  consented to being climbed on and
played with, saddle or no saddle, but riding him was a slow affair and you would have to stir him up soundly to convince him to achieve even a mild canter. 

      There are pictures in photo albums and in my mind of little brothers, wearing mismatched slippers at least four sizes too big for them and carrying chickens around like kittens or lap dogs. The grass grew long in the back yard, and so we would fence it in with electric fences and let the sheep graze it low. Victoria would feed them oats and molasses from a silver bowl, her big blue eyes under her straight blonde bangs as beautiful then as they are now.   


     What gracious beauty in the midst of chaos. What beautiful precious faces and unstained minds,  what moments of delight, high in the ironwood pines as they tossed like waves in the sea.

 The glory of this latter house shall be greater than of the former, saith the Lord of hosts: and in this place will I give peace, saith the Lord of hosts.

    Haggai 2:9