In the morning there is a dusting of snow and more falling, albeit so lightly I have to look carefully to see it in the air. I halter Pip to the stem of a young birch and milk in the pasture, my right knee pressed into the soft ground, the small flakes melting into the heat of her flank. I can hear the mountain stream running strong with the melt that’s still flowing out of the high woods. I can hear the steer, Saul, rummaging through the pile of hay I’ve heaped before him. I can hear the twin streams of milk hitting the bottom of the pail, and the change in tone as the milk accumulates. My nose is cold and I press it into Pip’s side for warmth. It’s the simplest of pleasures, the tiniest of comforts. But for now, it’ll do.
Ben Hewitt 
Hi Ben….This is precisely what I needed on this warm, late morning as I spend interminable time cooped up in a Las Vegas suburb. The imagery and sounds play through my head providing refreshment and pleasure brought by the sensitivity held within your words. It’s all beautiful and will captivate my thoughts for some time to come. Thank you.
Ben – lovely picture you paint. You probably haven’t spent a whole lot of time fussing about social distancing up on that mountain. Nor have I out here on the prairie. On April 27 it was 16° F here and on May 1 it was 90°! Totally messing up our spring planting schedules. Even without Covid 19, everything to do with gardening/farming is about 3 weeks behind this year, some things further. I usually have my potatoes in the ground by 3rd week of March and they are still sitting in a box in my cellar. It is 75° today and visually gorgeous, but the effing wind is blowing 40-50 mph – which makes many farm tasks insufferable, if not impossible.
Thank you. I needed that today.
Scott
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Those simple pleasures can be the sweetest.
This is so visual and so real. Every time I read your writing, it brings me back to the sounds, colors and smells of Vermont.
Thanks, Bee. Nice to hear from you!