|BTW, this is Liz's arm|
You run over to the milk house windowsill at the barn to get a roll of Vetrap to doctor on your arm, upon which you have poison ivy, or wild parsley poisoning, or some other natural, outdoor, chemical, nasty burn.
You are certainly a farm girl if it doesn't bother you that it is calf scours yellow.
And, yes, Virginia, there are beans. Beans for dinner last night. Another big bowl in the fridge waiting to be put up today. One half row almost ready, the picked over rows putting out a few already, and at least three more rows in the upper garden not in bloom yet and needing weeding, but growing.
I am seeing beans in my sleep.