I could tell you about my long drive through beautiful countryside to pick up horse feed. I passed many gorgeous falling-down barns (I'm sort of obsessed with decrepit barns) and farmhouses. A state police officer did a U-turn and stopped my heart but then stopped the car behind me. Is it wrong to be relieved? Speaking of relieved, Gracie wet her pants while waiting for a town. She does not believe in roadside peeing. She believes in me washing her carseat cover. Argh.
I could tell you about the hunting of the chicks to get them safely back in their coop. We lost a couple of chicks to a raccoon, and this is unacceptable. I am not at the shotgun stage yet, but I'm not in love with raccoons either. You know when you live in the city, you think of raccoons as evidence that wildlife is still cute and cuddly and willing to come on your back porch to eat cat food? Don't tell me those stories, because out here in the sticks, raccoons are the bandit-eyed velociraptors who leave the feathers of innocent pullets in your side yard.
I could tell you about the cruddy thieves who broke into our barn while we were gone and stole a saddle, a lunge line and two brand-new bridles. Madeleine's first reaction: "Why don't they get a job and buy their own tack?" My thoughts exactly.
I could tell you about my decidedly unfarmish visit to the IRS office.
But I'll leave you with the best thing that happened today: Coming home.