Our stranded traveller returned to us today bearing whisky. Bowmore Islay 12 year old whisky, to be precise.
It isn't often that one hears a knock on the door around here (I can count on one hand the number of times that has happened in a year) and well, I think I can safely say that I will never again open the door to a near stranger bearing whisky. It is a most pleasing experience.
Meanwhile, our one year anniversary on the farm (and our four year anniversary of our engagement) came and went without a mention on the blog, though it did not go unnoticed by us (or by me, anyway).
Though I try not to be melodramatic, the only way that I can describe this year is as one of blood, sweat, and tears. A little blood (mostly thanks to Austin), a hell of a lot of sweat, and enough tears to make me stand on the top of the hill at 0 Fahrenheit, with the wind screaming by at 50 miles an hour, after having spent 20 minutes hunched over a pipe with a dying hairdryer, pleading with it to work so the horses can drink their gallons a day and not colic, and think "wow, this is the life." I'm not sure I can properly explain that part.
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