Entry 4

Entry 4

 

 

Yesterday afternoon, we watched clouds boil on the horizon. Late last night they came to fruition, waking us with its extraordinary violence at the midnight hour. The morning light revealed for us our newest task.

The storms wind had ravaged at the outbuildings, peeling several boards from the barn's siding. But the worst of the damage was came in the form of a tree fallen against a row of fenceline, tearing an unwelcome opening in our pasture.

All six of us spent the day hunting various forms of our livestock, rounding them up and herding them in. The Reynolds had suffered a similar problem, and our efforts were only confused by the mingling of flocks that then had to be sorted.

It took much of the day to gather our scattered animals from the surrounding countryside. The boys stayed out in the deepening twilight to patch up fences and buildings best they could as Mother and I retired to the house to cook up dinner. We promptly warmed whatever was at hand  and ate the quick supper, quietly retiring to our rooms afterwards. And now here I sit, recording this day's trivial excitment - if that what today's work should be called - ready for the warm comforts of sleep after a cold, wet day sloshing through the mud and thicket after rowdy goats.

In a few days, there will be a party of sorts at the Lindons' farm, and when today was for making little cookies of the like to bring, tomorrow will be instead. I hope that afternoon showers do not plague the party's fun, although I do not particularly look forward to having to spend the night with Ryan or any other of the Reynolds boys at my side. Perhaps I should at least have someone to dance with, though.

I will stop writing now before my handwriting gets any more illegible - with the pillow calling I find it hard focussing on much else.  

 

The End

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