From the Barnyard to Baking

Reader Contribution by Tracy Houpt
Published on June 30, 2015
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I love the smell of a barn; a wet barnyard is a different matter, and with the monsoon June we’ve had in our area, that is unfortunately what it smells like as I go out for morning and evening chores. The bugs are bad, the animals are bored, and the garden is waterlogged. The rooster spends his days up by the barn and sinks to his spurs if he doesn’t stay on the gravel path. We need a drying out period! The upside of all this water is that the rain barrels have remained full. That’s what I try to focus on as I go about the daily work.

Of all the animals that live here, the barn cats seem best at taking difficult weather in stride. In the winter, they have lots of warm hidey holes in the hay and straw, and staying dry is not a problem; in hot weather they lounge on various shelves and surfaces, legs dangling carelessly as they nap. I envy their adaptability. My genetics make me prone to wilt in hot and humid weather. My ancestors came from Scotland, where a day in the 60s can bring swimmers out for ocean fun. (We saw that happen once, when I was with my parents and an aunt on a three-week trip to that gorgeous country.)

The other animal who wilts quickly around here in warm weather is our Great Pyrenees, Sam, who finds relief by digging holes in and around the barnyard to reach cooler dirt. In fact, he’s dug quite a hole near the front of the milkstand, and I think we’d better fill it in or my milk goat and I may have an unpleasant jolt one of these days … how many ways can a bucket of milk get spilled? That would be one more.

Our old farmhouse does not have central air, but we use window air-conditioners and fans to keep things comfortable. I’m grateful for electricity! I grew up in a big two-story farmhouse, and we had a wonderful concrete and stone screened porch that held sleeping cots in the hot summer months. A big attic fan supposedly drew air up through the house, but it didn’t help me sleep in my upstairs room when the temperatures were sweltering. I’d head for the porch, and eventually fall asleep listening to the bullfrogs croaking in the pond. Sometimes friends would be there for a sleepover, and we’d make pallets on the living room floor and wait for the oscillating fan to blow in our direction. Despite the heat, I remember lots of laughter and silliness.

My mom didn’t really do much outside with the animals. That was Dad’s area, and mine. She was good at promoting gracious living, and she always had cold iced tea or lemonade for me and my friends. Even though we were just children, she’d pick sprigs from the big mint patch and put one in each glass, as if she were entertaining her most treasured friends. We’d have lunches and suppers on that screened porch, with family and friends, and she had an eye for food presentation that I can only envy.

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