Walking through the orchard to feed the pigs, I stop under an apple-heavy tree to gather drops. Even as I fill the bucket, I hear the thump of more apples hitting the ground, like a clock ticking down the minutes until winter. The pigs are happy for the apples, they eat they voraciously, one bite and an apple is gone. I will bring them more this afternoon.
Later, I halter Pip at the height of the knoll overlooking the house, the barn, the old church steeple. The air is thick with humidity. I wish it would break to rain. We need the rain. Pip’s calf lingers nearby, watching as I take my share. I watch him back, then turn my gaze to the steeple. Milk fills the pail.
Still later, a shower. It is only passing, but the sky remains dark, the air still heavy. Maybe there will be more. The milk is cooling in the fridge. Later, I’ll drink it straight from the jar.
Ben Hewitt 
Reminds me of a tourist, stops his car to watch a farmer holding a fat piglet up to the apples. Asks farmer why. “I just love this pig.” “But doesn’t it take a lot of time?” “What’s time to a pig?”
Same thing it is to an apple??
Sent from Mail for Windows 10
I love your writing! I can feel your contentment and joy (and occasional frustrations) in the everyday activities of homesteading. There’s so much beauty in life everyday if we only look around and really see.
Thank you, Ann.
Sent from Mail for Windows 10
It does feel like that clock to winter is staring to pick up the pace….