a bowl of apple oatmeal
Fall is on his way.
The apples were collected because oatmeal made on the stove with fresh apples, cinnamon, Brett's maple syrup and brown sugar is a powerful way to fortify a woman for a day like today. In the next few hours I will meet up with Ajay from the farm down the road, do all the morning chores and feeding, share my breakfast pot, and load up in the truck for the oxen competition at the Washington County Fair. Neither Ajay or I have ever watched oxen in action and we aren't missing the weight pull. Lunch will be served, fair style, and then we're coming home to dress in long pants and shirt sleeves (regardless of the heat) to help a neighbor bring in his hay. Haying is the marathon chore of the summer and the older farmers could use two 30-year-olds to buck and jive in the wagons and help load into the lofts. By dusk both of us will be too tired to eat and will return to the Fair for the pro-rodeo to watch the broncos and bull riders. We'll watch the glory and guts of the rodeo, tired and sore under the lights of the ferris wheel, baptized in hard work from a day of hay and sweat.
But it all starts with a bowl of apple oatmeal.