Every now and then, when I’m pulling a tick off of a barn cat, or chasing chickens into the barn in the evening before some fox kills them (there have been two massacres in the last two years), or rounding up a stubborn pony for vaccinations, I wonder how it is that an urban kid like me ended up spending so much time doing this stuff I used to only read about. Or that I never thought about. Mostly the latter, as I was usually reading about intergalactic adventure or swashbuckling derring-do.
But I quickly remember that I married a country gal and think about all of my nonsense that she puts up with. And I think, too, about how much better shape I am for puttering around outside even when I don’t want to, and how the kids have a good work ethic because of the required daily chores (those horse stalls don’t get cleaned on their own, nor do the eggs get collected by house elves) and I realize sometimes the strange paths we take end up being good ones.