Back in the spring, I mistakenly thought that as we mostly work outdoors in the fresh air, our farm outreach would not be much affected by COVID fears. Yet we lost all our volunteer apprenticeship families, and only this month has our horse club met again. Two weeks ago, a prospective apprenticeship family came to visit, with plans to return. Last week, we were blessed to host a minicamp day as part of our friends Andrew and Margaret’s “Camp Memaw-Papi” with eight of their grandchildren, plus one of the mothers. Without our normal volunteers, I wasn’t sure how either event would go. Mostly new families with young children RSVP’d for horse club. How thankful I was when one of our apprenticeship graduate families showed up as well. Their older kids caught horses, directed the horse-grooming teams, tacked up, and led younger riders around and around in the heat before they took their own rides. Again, for the mini-camp day, with me as the only REACH volunteer available, I was wondering how I would manage. Before they arrived, I set up the petting zoo pen with our two baby goats. Fortunately, as former horse owners, “Papi”, “Memaw” and their daughter were all familiar with horses. In fact, the adults became excited about getting to ride again themselves after many years out of the saddle. We ended up saddling Arrow (our 17 hh Kentucky Mountain Horse) as well as our pony Shorty. They all pitched in, helped groom and tack up and instruct and lead the children around. I alternated between the horses and the petting area, with the addition of little Kennedy the bunny. Our toddler granddaughter Sara has become my regular companion for chores, stirring wet beet pulp instead of mud pies, scattering scratch feed, and insisting on stopping to pet every horse we pass. When it’s time for milking, however, I have told her she has to help by brushing and watching. Only. Watching and trying to understand what I am doing, she has a tendency to grab and pinch poor Honeysuckle’s teat. Hard. The poor doe, a first-season milker, does not appreciate the attention. Sometimes Sara also helps hold Honeysuckle’s back leg—often with new goats, you have to hold up one back leg, milking into a jar with the other hand. A few nights ago, while Sara was busy with beet pulp around the corner in the barn, for the first time I was able to let go of Honeysuckle’s leg for a few minutes and milk two-handed. With the intense summer Alabama heat, I have gotten in the habit of doing chores in stages. First thing, I let out the little bucks to allow them some fresh grass. If they can graze for an hour, they will happily chew their cud back in their pen for much of the day. Next I take out poor old Vanilla Marshmallow’s cold pack, usually a one quart bottle of water pulled out of our chest freezer, pick some fresh grass for both bunnies, and refill their food and water. A few days ago, following a rainstorm, the morning started out cool and cloudy. I thought, okay, maybe Vanilla doesn’t need the ice today. However, when I checked back at 11, the clouds had burned away and I found the elderly bunny stuck on his side, waving his feet in a fruitless try at righting himself. Several times we have found him thus in the mornings. However, so far, when we rub him all over, prop him up, give him fresh grass, and supply him with an ice pack each day, he revives and hops around his cage with ears up for several days. He is six weeks into his 11th year. His daddy lived to be 13, but his brother died last spring. I hold my breath each time I approach his hutch, afraid that this is the time I will find he has expired. Little Sara is a determined egg finder. This past week, peeking under and climbing over, she helped me discover several treasure troves of free-range eggs, several of them studded with pale blue “Easter” eggs from the new Americaunas. Some under a different corner of the milking stand. Another set under some pallets near the chicken pen. More in the grass near the hay bales, where I am surprised the dogs hadn’t discovered them first. Sadly, some of the eggs I shared with our daughter Abby a few days ago had apparently waited too long, a danger with free-range eggs. The last couple of days, Sara has proudly carried her “pretty” eggs that we know could only have been there since we raided that spot the day before. Sadly, Abby is not a huge fan of home eggs; nice reliable pre-washed store eggs are just fine for her