Friday, April 17, 2015

Fiddle Day Campers?!

Hey there! If you signed up for the Fiddle Day Camp on May 2nd, please email me at Jenna@itsafarwalk.com to check in? Some I have not heard from in a few months and want to confirm I am prepared for all attending? Or if you have changed plans - let me know so someone else can take the spot?

2 Comments:

Blogger Lela Buck said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

April 17, 2015 at 7:00 PM  
Blogger Lela Buck said...

My most memorable experience on the farm happened when I was younger on our family farm. My brother broke his leg playing football in school and couldn't milk the cow, Merry because of his cast. So my father had to milk her. He was not a milker, he ran the equipment and managed the fields. My brother told him that Merry wouldn't let him milk her if he didn't have the radio on. Well he found out the hard way. The first day milkings were a disaster. My dad was old school, kind of grumpy, not saying much kind of guy. The next morning he went to milk and said he would have milk when he came back and he wasn't going to play the radio. We all waited until he got almost to the barn and we followed him. Our milking stanchion was in the basement section of the barn, so we circled around to the hill side where the windows were that looked down into the basement section. We watched and waited. All of a sudden my father started humming this beautiful tune and then began to sing. He had such a wonderful voice. None of us including my mother knew he could sing and had never even heard him humming while he worked. It was the most beautiful song. I don't know what the song was to this day, but he was born and raised in Canada and he was singing it in French. We all listened to the song and then went back to the house before he finished. My mother made us all promise not to let him know we heard him. But none of us five kids did. We begged him to sing to us. It took a while but he finally started humming tunes, usually when he was cutting wood, and after that, occasionally on a cold winter night we would set around the cozy fire and he would get out his harmonica and play for us. After he passed, the only thing that was important to me was that harmonica, and I still have it today.

April 17, 2015 at 7:04 PM  

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