The Morning Barn

Soggy ground from gentle, misty rain gives way under my boots on the path down to the barn.

A wispy breeze follows me along my path, eyes ahead of my muck boots and a grain bucket in my hand.

I pause at the barn door, listening for what the goats might be up to. Sometimes, they hear me and call to me softly. Sometimes, there’s a clomp or a thud, or the sound of a goat rubbing against a stall door for a good scratch. There isn’t the sound of babies playing tag and rough housing yet - it’s too early for that.

This is the peaceful pause after the harshness of winter, the expectant hush before the explosion of new life.

The creek is full from the recent rain and snow melt off. I hear it swishing along its twists and bends as I take a deep breath.

Scents of damp earth, hay, straw, grain and rain mingle around me and then rush past as a fresh breeze comes down into the hollow.

I swing the creaking barn doors open wide to let in the daylight and see the goats in various states of repose. They gather themselves and gather around me as I fill their hay feeder, jostling for position and shoving their noses into the mass of dried grass in hunt of the best pieces.

Yesterdays fallout is swept up and waters are checked and filled as needed. The chickens hunt and scratch for fallen bits of grain.

The day has begun.