Party Animals

We went to a very fine party last night, something that takes some serious planning on the part of a farm family. First the washing machine passed away unexpectedly the night before, requiring Herculean efforts to locate a replacement. (Its motor gave out from overwork, and a new motor costs nearly as much as a new machine. Plus we would have had to wait for a motor to be ordered.)

Thus we drove around all day finding and transporting the new washer, then came right home and began evening milking two hours early. Calf bottles were relayed from hot water bath eager pink mouths at warp speed. You never saw straw bedding being shaken out so fast. I swear, you couldn’t see the kids, except for the blur when they went by. We needed to get everyone through the shower and all primped and prettied up by 7:30.

It wasn’t easy but we got it done.
We were among the first to arrive.
The dinner was potluck.
It was a farmer party.
Farmers for the most part have farm wives.
And daughters.

Thus the food was pretty close to dangerously good. (Which was nice, since we missed lunch due to the washing machine hunting expedition.)
I am talking a serious threat to the waistline and cholesterol level. From about seven different salads to three kinds of meatballs with beans and filled breads in between, there was no reason to go away hungry. And that was before dessert. Which included cake….cookies….pies and cobblers…. Oh dear.

There was Karaoke. (And no, I did NOT sing.) However, after a substantial payoff, plus a promise that I would take him practice driving today, Alan performed Steppenwolf’s Magic Carpet Ride, (with his back to the audience.) I have a picture. Do you want to see it, even if it is a little dark and blurry?
Steppenwolf must have offered an undeniable assault to the eardrums of many present, who are a little more accustomed to George Strait than seventies hard rock. They clapped anyhow.
And he was pretty good.
For Karaoke.

We heard stories of genuine tragedy, and stories that were knee-slapping funny. We sat with people we had missed for years and didn’t expect to meet again. (They were forced out of the industry by hard times and family squabbles.) We saw babies, toddlers in cowboy boots, gawky teenagers, and old men with polished heads.

We had fun.
A lot of it. My face hurt from smiling.
I sure do like farmers.