Spring is really here with the grass, growing greener in the sky, growing bluer, with the big white washing down the road and the big white washing up the hill, waving hilarious, greetings to my big white washing, and the trees of my farm. Sending Jonty messages to the trees of your farm and getting them back again by the warm wind, that whistles and whirls and urges the countryside to one grand suite chorus of rejoicing.
Everything throbs with vitality, from the gay dawning to the peaceful night. Seems as though the village lights off to the southeast twinkle, more vivaciously than ever, these evenings and the row over airplane beacons around the northern and western horizon flare more brilliantly in their steady rhythm – now, the first one describing it, slow, bright arc, now, the next, and the next, and the next.
In the moonlight nights! Is there anything more thrilling than the glorious white light of the spring moon? One of the children woke up a night or two ago, and exclaimed at the whiteness of the glow. That woke the other two, and we let them stand at the windows and marvel at the site. To them (they are so seldom awake at that time of night in) it all seemed "wonder strange."
A Red Letter Day
It Is warm enough that ruth comes trudging Home from school with her coat flung open and a little bit of moisture on her flushed forehead. As Sonny remarked, "she is so warm she is covered with sweatness." The boys come in for meals, flushed and covered not only with sweatness, but with dust. It was a red letter day for them last week when busy day when Daddy got up from the breakfast table to hurry away and said, "Boys, you feed the calves for me this morning." What a squaring of shoulders was there, what exaggerated strut, as they tossed their caps on sideways (in intimidation of the current hired man). How proud they were, that they were given instructions, like the rest of the men, but not detailed instructions like babies! Daddy knew better than to tell them what to feed, and how much: had they watched him do it every time it had been done so far? They went to get their chores done and reported afterward that they had made an equitable division of the five heifer calves now on hand. Sonny chose the two largest ones, because they will be grown the soonest, and brother took the three little ones, because there are more of them. Since that day, the boys have tended the calves, and played with them, and almost lived among them. Sonny even wanted to know if they could take their naps out there, as he had tried, resting his head on one of the calves, and made such a soft pillow and lay so quiet. Brother wanted their supper packed in paper bags, as It Is when they play miner or workmen going to the factory, and wanted to eat out there with the calves. When I pointed out it was not just exactly a sanitary place in which, to eat, he maintained that the white on the calves was wider than snow, and that they smelled so sweet!
Hitches in Single and Double
They have harnessed the cabs and driven them single and double. Wilbert has named his three Petty, Small, and Nice. He wants Sonny to name his George and Link after the father of his country, and the great emancipator, respectively, but up-to-date Sonny hasn't seemed impressed with the suggestion.
One day they took me out to give me a demonstration of putting the calves into the stanchions to feed. The system was for Sonny to push on the high quarters and Wilbert to stand in front of the stanchions and guide the head into the proper place and clamp it. All went well with the first four: they looked rather bored, and made no trouble, as they had no desire to go anywhere else. But the fifth and largest displayed a little obstinacy. It jerked and pulled away, kicked up Its heels and went into reverse, dragging Sonny, sprawling. He burst into tears of rage and humiliation, and cried, "You're always shoving me around!" But then, catching the look of alarm in my face, and apparently fearing that I would forbid further activities in such a dangerous place, he quickly straightened up and remarked with force casualness, "He kicks me lots of times, but it never hurts."
Today we are using our precious hour of playtime together to drive over to the village and call on your preacher, who is still sick. Will pick up Ruth on the way, and we're going to look for pussy willows as we go.
Happy little children.
Cry and laughing shout,
"spring is coming, com
Pussy Willows out!"
– Hope