I wasn’t there when Stormy died. A friend stood in my place as a veterinarian ended the misery the little horse’s reoccurring laminitis had inflicted upon him.
They had tried hard to save him, yet again, but this time the awful inflammation of blood-vessels between the hoof wall and coffin bone progressed too rapidly to be forestalled by anti-inflammatory meds and days-long ice-water foot baths.
He went to his end calmly but with his ever-present mischief: grabbing a big bite of the green grass that he had been restricted from for so long. Chant, his buddy of many years, and three times his size, waited quietly and looked back only once as he was led alone back to the pasture Continue reading
As time progresses, the definition of fun changes. I was born in Westmoreland, New Hampshire,October 29, 1921 at the Reed Place. We lived there while Dad substituted farm labor for Mr. Pierce in place of another hitch in the Army. I know the Reed Place only from photos, stories my Mother told, and personal observations made in later years. We moved to the Goodrum house when Dad went to work for John Burt. That house I remember. The main floor plan, the smokehouse and barn. Small front and side lawns. All situated on the main road through town. Continue reading
“Allen andChester, please bring all the straight chairs here, into the dining room,” Mom said, as she hung up the phone. “Eleanor and Mildred, we need to go into the kitchen and make cucumber sandwiches.”
“What kind of sandwiches?” Eleanor and I asked, in one voice.
“Your Aunt Mina just told me that cucumber sandwiches are the very latest thing for tea time.” Mom answered.” Served with a bit of onion, salt, and mayonnaise, they’re a big hit with guests at Mrs. Aumell’s ‘high teas’ where Mina works as a cook.” Continue reading