Out in the middle of the farmland, out in the midst of flocks of chickens, where there are cattle grazing, there’s a little farm store. It’s not easy to find. It’s up a long dirt road that winds up a hill. And when you finally get close to the top you see a sign off to the left that says: Eggs.
As I pulled up a pickup pulled away and the men waved to me. I waved back and we all smiled.
The little dog barked in shrill tones. I let her out of the car. The smells were pulling her right and left. But she couldn’t go in the store, so back in the car she went. And she kept voicing her desire to leave and follow those delicious smells!
Sadly, there were no eggs in the cold case. I didn’t need as much raw milk as they had in containers. I’m more of a pint sort of person. However, there were lovely, freshly picked strawberries that were at the peak of perfection.
So I wrote down what I got along with the fee in the notebook on the counter. I put my money in the plastic container on the counter and left the little store. It was full of bills and change and I had to smile at how simple things in life can be when you’re a Mennonite farming family in rural Vermont.
No photos today. Hoping the verbal picture is enough. The strawberries are small, jewel bright, and luscious.