I grew up on a farm in Indiana, which is the most wonderful thing that can happen to a child if the child is able to overlook certain facts of life and death. Well, it would be more honest if I said I ‘squatted’ on a farm in Indiana, and the owners were too kind to call the town marshall. The things I learned there! For instance, if someone says, “We’re having eggs and brains for breakfast,” that is no metaphor. If one is told to “pick that dead cat up by the hind leg and toss it over the fence”? Also not poetry.
These days, though, I live on my own farm and I thought you’d like to see some of what goes on here.
This is the bunny coop, where the rabbits lay their eggs. The rabbit you see here is named Joseph Mitchell, and she hasn’t been much of a producer for a long time, but we keep her for sentimental reasons.
So there you have it, our own little rural enterprise. We will only lose money on it until we die.