Those crazy, hazy, lazy days of summer are slipping fast away.

I don’t think there is anyone, anywhere, who will argue that point with anybody.

Time seems to pass more rapidly as one gets older, but nothing keeps pace with summer. It always seems a little slow in getting here but wastes little time in disappearing for another year.

This week, I sat on my butt trying to watch a hodgepodge of about 15 young goats scamper up, down and criss-cross while playing king of the castle on the small mountain of huge stones that were hauled in with a giant skid-steer from the back of the farm especially for them to play on.

As they were all born within 10 to 15 days of each other, it was difficult to tell which were singles, which were twins, and which three belonged to the set of triplets. But it made little difference to them, as they were all out for fun and games.

But they will all separate quickly when their moms come back in from the pasture. It is then that they fill their tummies and flop down for an hour or so to snooze.

I thoroughly agree with a noon snooze, but lately I have missed one or two, as we usually tour the outskirts of the animal enclosures two to three times daily, just to check on them. I often find myself loitering back by the pond, where the grass has been shortcut and the well-worn path also circles. It is a neat place to sip a cool drink, and I am not adverse to brown-bag a lunch to enjoy back there. There is a small, single elm, which survived the tornado, close to the water’s edge; under its leafy branches we have placed a table and chairs.

From there, we can watch the dragonflies dart forth and back across the water, which is as crystal-clear as their wings. The small, finger-size minnows jump clear of the water, catching mosquitoes, and one can hear the green leopard frogs carrying on their deep-throated conversation and the teeth-grinding bugles of the bullfrogs as they make their presence known.

Often, too, a flock of wild turkeys will wander in from the nearby tall second-growth forest, and a female deer with a dappled fawn will stop to wet their lips and sip. And, too, we have seen the undisputed footprints in the mud of a cougar that had stopped to quench its thirst during the darkness of a previous night.

It is no doubt a pleasant, out-of -sight, quiet place that is enjoyed by more than just me.

But I would suggest that if you don’t find me at the house, don’t come looking for me there, unless of course, you promise faithfully to go skinny-dipping with me.

Take care, ’cause we care.




Barrie Hopkins