Wednesday, May 27 Have been trying to find out if masks are required for Uncle Carl’s funeral in Indiana next week. Marc and I plan to drive up. After my experience wearing a mask while returning home from Idaho (almost passing out on the plane) I have vowed not to go anywhere requiring a mask. My breathing/oxygen capacity still hasn’t recovered from the trip. Today I was noticing the difference just walking around. Tonight I found a bottle of “Breathe Easy” essential oil blend. Maybe that will help. DJ suggested, instead of calling off the whole trip, how about making a mask of gauze? Tests have already shown that the COVID-19 particles are so small, they pass right through the structure of both cloth and surgical masks (kind of like minnows going through a deep sea fishing net) so it’s not like it would really make much difference as far as The Virus is concerned. Our internet has been out today, so I haven’t been able to check on motels and suchlike. Isabelle and Jeremy appear none the worse today for their escapade. Mary Marie was NOT happy about being confined to the barnyard pen, though. Sometimes she sounds like a bellowing cow. Shorty seems to be back in his role of dominant horse. Sometimes in the past month or so, Jaz had begun edging out the others at feeding time. She would reach over for Shorty’s bucket and he would back off, to my surprise. When he was here over the weekend, Marc shoveled out the loose hay dust that had gathered in the bottom of the manger. He would even have swept it if I had come up with a broom in time. Sara was so excited when I came back from the church yard sale with a toddler helmet for her. She used to borrow her cousin’s, but I took that out to Ella in my suitcase. I promised to look for one for Sara so she could be horseback riding again. The first day while helping at the sale, I looked but didn’t find one. Saturday, I spotted one down in a bag of athletic gear. Perfect, it was even pink! I don’t know if it had been there previously, or came in with later items. As soon as Sara had the helmet, of course, right away I had to give her a ride on Tamaya. As I don’t trust a toddler’s ability to stick on the horse without someone holding on to them as well, giving her a ride by myself is a juggling event. With my right hand, I grip Sara’s clothes enough to be able to swing her off if need be. Holding Tamaya’s leadrope with my left hand, I shake it at her and cluck for her to walk, but not too fast. Most of our horses are pretty good natured about the procedure. The children love it when Uncle Marc is here and willing to help give rides; his are much more fun. He can hold them securely even way up on Arrow’s back (17 hands high, each “hand” equivalent to four inches) while I lead up and down and around until my foot gives out. Sometimes Uncle Marc will even put his saddle on Arrow and mount up. I help hand up the first child and away they go, around and around and up and down the driveway, the child’s face split wide with a grin while the next one jumps up and down anticipating a turn. Saturday we were blessed by a visit from Mr. M. We view him as God’s warring angel, sent to fight for us some years ago during a time we were crying out for the Lord’s help in a difficult situation. This was Mr. M’s first time to visit us at our own farm, although we had invited him many times to bring his specialneeds grandson for a visit. Unfortunately, as he arrived, his low-slung car got hung up on the driveway entrance. We ended up with a slew of neighbors (already gathered for the Memorial Day weekend) coming and basically lifting his car off the bank—a great showcase of the value of good neighbors! I was somewhat at my wit’s end trying to entertain little “Ben” meanwhile. He really wasn’t that little, and he was much more fascinated by tiny Sara than the goats and dogs and animals of the farm he had come to visit. At one point, I locked Sara in the cab of the truck to safeguard her from the 8-year-old’s poking and unintentionally too-strong handling. Yet after a bit, she seemed to understand the situation and would take Ben by the hand and cajole him to come look at the goats, or the rabbit, or to hunt for eggs. He remained more interested in her toy school bus than in any of the animals we tried to distract him with. Once Ben’s “Papa” assured her that he would give it back before he left, she let him keep the toy throughout the visit. “She is a treasure,” Mr. M exclaimed more than once. We ended up sitting at the picnic table, drinking orange juice or decaf tea and swapping stories. “Did you grow up with farms and animals?” Mr. M asked, and that led to DJ’s testimony of how his parents moved to a farm to get him away from poor influences and keep him busy with building fence and feeding cows. They remained blissfully ignorant of DJ’s penchant for growing pot at the edge of the property and partying, until eventually he surrendered to the work of the Holy Spirit and found peace and purpose in his life. Then Mr. M pulled out a picture of a young hippie and we heard the amazing story of God’s intervention in his life. Having only known him as a strong, respected leader in his church and community, by the time he finished we were all close to tears. It wasn’t until the next day that I realized we’d totally forgotten to have Mr. M sign the legal waiver which our nonprofit board requires of all farm visitors. As a lawyer, I wonder if he was surprised at the lapse