It was one of those sunny days when you can’t sit still, when something stirs in your belly – in your blood – and you’ve got to get out and do something! The sound of a lawn mower danced on the breeze; the smell of fresh-cut grass and evergreen sap flowing through grandfather-trees surrounding the house. The weathered barn, with its slate roof, stood strong against the unspoken murmur of clouds sizzling away in the morning. Chickens ran madly from their house into the open lawns, and dogs in the kennel scolded them for … well … maybe just for being chickens. It was summer at the farm in Michigan. The unpredictable breeze off Gull Lake could wash the pastures in a minute’s whim. The horses were calling.
