The sights and sounds and smells of farming . . . stanchions bumping against each other as cows position themselves and reach for the hay freshly delivered to them, calves letting Mary know they are ready to be fed, chickens (and eggs!) everywhere, barn cats . . . bales of hay waiting to be put to use . . . it all pulled me back to our family farm and my teenage years on Blanchard Road just north of Beaver. And reminded me of my dad, who has been gone for 10 years now.
Ray and Mary revived in me or reminded me through our time together of how proud I can be of growing up and living in this community that is largely founded on the backs of farmers and loggers, home keepers and fishermen . . . hardworking men and women who do their work with pride and humility and with no time for “nonsense”.