Country Living

Our "farm" isn't really a "working" farm any more. I miss the horses. A lot. I even miss the neighbor's %#*$ing bull bellowing outside our bedroom window at daybreak. But it's summer and there are moments when I'm reminded we're definitely out in the country.

Like when I hear the plaintive cries of coyotes wafting through that bedroom window in the middle of the night.

And in spite of those coyotes, we have a whole family (several generations, at the moment) of rabbits living in and around our yard. I call them the Bun family. Mr. Bun, Mrs. Bun and babies. Bigger babies (the teenagers?) and wee babies (second crop of the year).
 They're not very spooky and pose for photographs almost daily.

Our grand-nephew has bought my mom's house and is the sixth generation to live on this farm. Sort of. No one in the fifth generation ever resided here. But he's embracing his newfound farmer status.



He especially embraces his great-great grandfather's Farmall. Big boy toy.

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