Flies in the buttermilk.

Today was one of those awesome Sundays that you can’t plan or predict. At the suggestion of a neighbor, Gail and I took a ride over to Flint Hill Farm, to check out all that they do there. We really didn’t know what to expect, and when we arrived we were pleased to see some friends.

Gail loves to grow vegetables, so we toured the gardens with our friends Dave Reber and Mike Holliday, who were also there to play music in the big barn.

A little while later Dave Fry invited me to play some songs with him. I didn’t have my guitar so I played Dave’s while he played mandolin. In these instances Dave plays music for the families – the kids and the adults that accompany them. It’s not what I do, but I sure do appreciate what it takes to do it well. The kids are fabulous, especially when they really get into it.

Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.
Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.

We traded some grownup folk songs too, with Mike Holliday sitting in too. Somewhere during the seventh verse of a Dylan tune, I looked over to see Gail standing nearby, holding a leash, with goat on the other end. That’s what happens when you visit a farm.

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