We spent last week with my family, marking the passing of my Aunt Peggy (more formally, and puzzlingly, Cordelia Margaret Ann... no one knows where my grandmother snagged 'Cordelia' from, it likely wasn't Othello!).  After the funeral, we all gathered back at the family farm~ the place built by my grandparents in the late 30s, and home to my Uncle and family for many years.

The grown ups were sad and subdued, but with 6 young boys and one rambunctious girl under the same roof, it was hard not to smile at the persistence of life and joy.

Before dinner, there were chores to do.  I doubt my (cantankerous) Uncle John really appreciated the children tearing around his barn, but he put up with them and minded their safety (after all 5 of them are his grandsons!).  For those of us who grew up playing in the barn, knowing all the secret passageways and best places to find kittens, it was pleasant to revisit familiar places and happier days.

After all, spring on the farm is a time of new life.

The children, scampering like puppies themselves, played with the one lone pup left from Mindy's latest litter.  They got chased by the rooster.
They found eggs.
Rowan thoroughly investigated the nanny goat's feed pail (and nearly got herself butted for her curiosity!)~ she was more circumspect when checking out the Clydesdale's oats, although I had to keep pulling her back with the caution that being smacked sideways by a draft horse's head in full swing was not a pleasant experience (I know too well!).
They learned a lesson in the realities of farming as they heard Uncle John and Cousin Glen discuss the amount of meat on the impressive heifer who was slated to go to market the next morning.

But the highlight of the visit to the barn?
The four day old Clydesdale foal! So precious.
He was very shy, so I only snapped one picture (the flash frightened him), but Rowan and I each got close enough to feel his soft warm milky breath and touch his silky curly tail, still a little crusty from birth.
And look at those eyelashes!
And Rowan got her boots sprayed with horse milk, courtesy of the crusty farmer who told her she had to milk the mare.
We left the barn in our borrowed rubber boots... muddy, smelly and peaceful.
Assured that life does go on all around us, and within us.♥♥