Guess What I Found?

Guess What I Found? 

By John R. Greenwood

It was an emotional reunion; a milkman and his old friend ‘THE GMC’. That’s what we called him back then. “Load THE GMC” and “Take THE GMC”, were common words heard between the handful of employees who worked with me during the years I owned and operated Price’s Dairy. I was a small milk dealer in and around the Saratoga Springs area from 1979-1989. 

According to the registration in the windshield the last time THE GMC was driven on the road was 1984. It was around that time I sold THE GMC to Sam Holland a local business owner who operated Sam’s Glad Rag Saloon in Porters Corners, NY. At the time Sam planned to use the truck to refrigerate beer and soda during racing events on his property. I don’t remember how much I sold THE GMC for, but I do recall letting Sam drive it to his property and bring back the license plates the next day. That’s the way you did things back then. Sadly I found out that Sam passed away on 1/11/11.

So how did I the reunion come about? 

I wanted to find the truck for several months now. I was hopeful that it was still around and that Price’s Dairy was still visible on the sides. The lottery hit would have been to find, ‘Clem Signs’ written in the bottom right-hand corner. I knew where the bar and Sam’s property were located but I had never been there. Sam’s was a little off the beaten path but not far away. I got out of work early the other day so I thought I would take the opportunity to try and find THE GMC.  

I creeped down the dirt driveway and like a soldier returning home, panned the nearby homes looking for a familiar face. All I saw was a neon beer sign. That was close enough for me. I pulled up along side the bar and parked my truck. As I looked up I saw him. The rear doors of an old friend were peering out from behind a tired outbuilding. My heart rate jumped a notch. Suddenly I knew I was about to be reunited with an old friend from back-in-the-day. 

Not so quick, this was private property. THE GMC might remember me but to everyone else I was a stranger. I needed to go inside and ask permission to say hello to my old coworker. It would be hard to deny me a reunion. I approached the dimly lit bar with mild trepidation. The conversation began, “This might sound a little strange, but...” The explanation and introduction continued until I was sure the women tending bar trusted my crazy request. Sam's gracious daughter Lynn granted my wish and allowed me the opportunity to go out back and take some pictures of my dear old workhorse. 

Smiling from ear to ear, a heart hitting on every other beat, and with a mind bursting with vintage milkman memories, I approached THE GMC gently and respectfully. A surreal calm seemed to envelope the two of us. I had climbed in and out of this truck a thousand times. I could hear that strong GMC 4500 engine purring under the hood. The creak of those school bus type doors opening and closing in the wee hours of the morning echoed through the field. This was more than an old truck rusting in the high grass. This was a man’s life wrapped up in a moment. A feeling of contemplation and reflection lifted my spirit. 

This story may or may not have an affect on you. You may find it hard to understand why a rusty old relic could have such an emotional grasp on a man with half a century under his belt. It’s simple really. It was my life 24/7 for over a decade. It was also the prime of my life. I could picture my sons standing on a milk crate looking out the windows as we drove down Broadway. I remember subzero January's when I would drive around with a kerosene heater on the floor up front- a gentle glow reflecting off the windshield making it appear I invented the first nuclear reactor driven milk truck. There was the day I left an August bank deposit in one of the empty milk crates in the back, only to discover it missing later that day. The afternoon spent in a frantic heart wrenching search that mimicked Uncle Billy's in 'It's a Wonderful Life'. The instant relief felt when it was found circling the production line at the Saratoga Dairy. All those photographs reeling through my head, each one bringing me to the next. 

Today's find felt good. Instead of feeling sorrow for my rusty old friend I felt comforted he had a quiet resting place. He was free from car crushers and cluttered junkyards. He had grass around his tires and shade over his head. As I turned to walk away I glanced back and thought to myself; that's not such a bad way to end a career of back-breaking work. To be able to go out with your belly full of beer and have thirsty men milling around you with dirt in their boots and racing in their hearts, all yelling, "Go Man Go!" 

A Silent Tribute

A Silent Tribute
By John R. Greenwood

Phyllis Edmunds Dake
9/6/26- 5/30/12

Nourishment

Nourishment
By John R. Greenwood

The Parker Farm in Granville

I am a lucky man. My life has been surrounded by milk. There is nothing more nutritious. It has nourished my life in many ways. As a young boy I was fortunate to live close to a dairy farm called Brookside Dairy. That farm provided the nourishment of youth. I learned what hard work and hard play were. I learned to appreciate friends, animals, and the outdoors. It established a strong base for my future. At the time I had no idea my entire life would revolve around such a pure and nourishing commodity. Milk has been the main source of income for me since the day I was married in 1974. It continues to be the mainstay of my livelihood as I creep slowly toward life after work. I took the above photo recently while out picking up milk with one of my coworkers. The joy of my job and my life has been meeting wonderful people who enjoy hard work and it's rewards. This beautiful barn and the farm it anchors are no exception. There is nothing more refreshing than an ice cold glass of farm fresh milk. It is made even better when you know it comes from places like this. Thank you Parker Family. You do nice work.

A Little Extra Help?

A Little Extra Help? 
By John R. Greenwood

The strangest thing just happened to me and I'd like to share it. I was attempting to put together my presentation for next Friday's Hubbard Hall Writers event. I  purchased this banner to help promote the blog. I wanted to take a photograph of it so I could post it here and on the Raining Iguanas Facebook Page. Here I have the banner in front of our picture window. The light was right and it seemed like it would be a great spot. After grabbing the camera I started clicking away. When I went to the computer to download the shots I realized I had taken out the memory card at work and never put it back in. I was upset at myself and the thought of having to drive back to work only added to my frustration. It was then that I remembered I had purchased a spare card a few weeks ago. I would use that one. Well, as you might expect, I couldn't find that little card anywhere. I tore apart every nook and cranny in the house searching. I really wanted to get those photos so I decided to go back to work and get the memory card I left there. I went to get a pair of shoes. I'm not sure why but I grabbed my hiking shoes. I didn't need hiking shoes to drive four miles to work, slippers would have been enough, but I grabbed them anyway. As I tilted back the second shoe to put it on, something dropped into my hand. It was that memory card that I bought weeks ago. It was as if it appeared out of thin air! I got a chill and a warm flush feeling all at once. I can't explain how that card got there or what made me grab that particular pair of shoes. I called out to my wife in that, I-just-saw-a-ghost voice. I asked her to come and see what just happened. When I was done with the re-enactment, she never batted and eye and with the confidence of the Long Island Medium said, "Just say a Hail Mary". 
So I did.
Then I sat there for five minutes staring into my hiking shoe looking for answers. 

Whether a simple coincidence, or divine intervention for a missing memory card, no one will ever know, but as I got up to put my shoes back in the closet this nearby photo of my my mother seemed to be looking at me in a way I'd never seen before? 

Happy Grass

Happy Grass

by John R. Greenwood

may day after rain 

a summer soaker aftermath

green blades of joy stretch skyward 

like a slender miss

sun salutation tall

grass full of life and breath

happy grass


Submitted to Poets United
 Poetry Pantry #151 

Sleeping In Your Eggs

Sleeping In Your Eggs 

By John R. Greenwood

Compton's has been a Saratoga Springs landmark for over thirty years. I was a milkman throughout the 1980's and John Compton was one of my best customers. I delivered milk there every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday for over ten years. I would get there about 4-5am. That was early Saturday morning for a milkman and late Friday night for the Caroline Street leftovers (Insert your name here-you know who you are). The restaurant would be packed with a vibrant collage of personalities, each one trying to speak over the other with another tall tale of the night. Most of the booths would be packed with happy drunks hungry after a long week of hard work and a short night of hard drinking. One morning I was lugging in a couple cases of milk and I see this kid sound asleep in a booth with his face buried in a plate of 'over-easy' eggs snoring little yellow yoke bubbles with every exhale. He was having his own version of breakfast in bed. It was free entertainment for me and everyone around him. I continued on to the kitchen like it was just another day on the job. When I asked John the owner what he was going to do he just smiled that ear-to-ear grin of his and said, "Nothing. I'll let him sleep it off. I found if I try to wake them up, they come up swinging. I let them wake up on their own, pay the bill and leave. No sense calling the cops, he hasn't hurt anyone." John was like that, calm and easy going. He also had kids of his own. He knew the drill. 

This post was initiated by a painting by Saratoga Artist Robert Wheaton. Robert had done a painting of Compton's as part of his Saratoga Diner Collection. His post ignited this memory and many others that I collected in my years as a Saratoga milkman. It was so much fun I think I will dig up a few more to add to my, "Days as a Milkman" Collection. 

Red Wagon Society

Red Wagon Society 

On Saturday morning the Red Wagon Society met to discuss the upcoming planting season. 'Wide Red' as the young Flyers like to call him asked everyone to gather around so they could review the list of Red Wagon Rules and Regulations for the 2013 Season: 

1. No squeaking before 10am. If your wheels are dry be sure to get over to the WD-40 shed and get them sprayed.
2. Be cautious with anyone under the age of six. Children under six forget that the wagons are for plant transport only and are not toys. There were several mishaps in 2012 and insurance premiums have soared because of it. 
3. Every wagon must now punch out for lunch. The NYS Labor board cracked down this year after they received several reports that some wagons were working through their lunch hour just to get extra road time. This is no longer allowed under NYS Red Wagon Regs.
4. There is a meeting planned for next weekend after closing. At that time we will discuss putting together a fundraiser to get 'Rusty Bottomside' painted. He is the oldest wagon in the fleet and we felt it would be a nice gesture if everyone pitched in for a new coat of wagon red. New decals were donated by the Radio Flyer Production Plant and should arrive in two weeks.
5. We are expecting bigger than normal crowds this season because of the spread of Green Thumb disease. It is expected to peak this season and nurseries and greenhouses are looking forward to record breaking profits. 
6. Recently it was brought to the attention of management that some wagons have been secretly talking about getting yellow flames painted along their sides with their first big paycheck of the year. We want to remind every wagon here today that they signed a Moral Code of Conduct on Easter Sunday and it clearly states that flames were deemed unwagon-like and have therefore been added to the banned practices list on page 14 of your contracts. 
7. Last but not least we have all been invited to participate in this years Wheels For Wagons 5k. All proceeds go to benefit retired wagons who can't afford to get their wobbly wheels aligned or replaced due to cut-backs by the present Wagon Administration. The first 25 participating wagons will receive a WFW sticker for the back of their wagons.

Missing: 30 Years

Missing: 30 Years

By John R. Greenwood

Where did the last thirty years go? It seemed to vanish into thin air? With it went two little boys. Two young sons who battered my garage with hockey pucks and stray basketball shots. Two active boys who left me with dent peppered aluminum siding and fond memories. Corners of my attic hold dry boxes of cherished remnants and Star Wars leftovers. It’s a constant reminder of my boys; now two grown men with sprouting families of their own. It stops me in my tracks.

I pine for the days when they would push me to the brink and I would snap and threaten their precious little lives. I miss the mischievous adventures and misadventures. It’s the thought of that relentless backseat poking and antagonizing that keeps that period of my life vivid and dear to my heart. Fidgety boys with endless energy and no regard for a parent’s mental well being. Yes, my heart aches for it. They were a joy and a journey. I would repeat it first thing in the morning if I could. 

Last weekend as I was putting away my tree planting gear in the tool shed I noticed some thirty year old artifacts nestled on a ledge in the back. Some 1980 reminders of dirty faced boys with untied sneakers and grubby knees. Polite little boys in their Dukes of Hazzard t-shirts. They would charge in the back door, hot dog hungry and Kool-Aid thirsty. Two great kids who enriched my life and carried on the family name of my father and fathers before. 

One hundred photographs passed before my eyes. Pictures of babies on picnic tables in state parks. Pictures of blanket wrapped toddlers sound asleep in squeaky wheeled strollers. Pictures of fun-parks, ballgames, and elementary school graduations. Visions of boys on red bikes, green plastic tractors, and my old white milk truck parked in the shade. I am swarmed by the priceless recollections of two warmhearted boys. If I had one last wish it would be to take them back to the county fair and walk them down the midway for one more round on circling helicopters and bell ringing boats. 

I am not sad. I am blessed. I am thankful I was given the privilege of children and the joy of fatherhood. Not everyone is that fortunate. I miss my boys. I wish them the same joy. 

Business Card Delivery

Business Card Delivery

By John R. Greenwood

When you reach an age where the simplest joy has you reaching for the camera and writing pad you will truly understand the significance of this short post. With our Hubbard Hall Writer's Presentation quickly approaching I realized I have nothing to hawk or display. I thought it might be fun to have a business card with my blog and email address on it; something simple that I could hand out; a card that would grab your attention and create a conversation. I tried a few websites and finally found the card I wanted. I designed the card myself using my own photograph and quotations. I placed my order Sunday night. That Friday as I left for work, I spotted a brown box sitting under our arbor on top of my wife's flower stand. It was my blog cards boxed up like fragile crystal. Work would have to wait a minute. My pulse jumped a little. I was as anxious as Rudy waiting for his Norte Dame acceptance letter. I grabbed a pocket knife and zipped open my midyear Christmas present. 

-------------------------------

It's not the cards. 
It's not the upcoming event at Hubbard Hall. 
What is it? 
As someone old enough to remember the day Kennedy was shot, the point is this: 
If you have a passion, desire, drive, a push, a pull, or a blaring siren telling you not to wait more day to do something? 
DO IT. 
Time is not waiting for you. 
That damn clock will still be ticking in the morning the same way it was last night. 
The old, young me, would have put off ordering those cards for one reason or another. I would have bitched about the price and kept looking for other options. I would have dawdled away another day, another week, another year of my life. Each day I look at the kid in the mirror. He looks different than he used to on the outside but his spirit is still garden fresh and searching for the next raft down the Mississippi. 
If you would like a signed card email your address to jgreenwood@rainingiguanas.com and I will get one out to you. Or, you could come and meet the Hubbard Hall Writers on May 31st at the Freight Depot Theater and get one there. We would love to see you! 

Tree Planning Part #2 - ‘Snow Flake’ Finds A Home

Tree Planning Part #2

‘Snow Flake’ Finds A Home

By John R. Greenwood

It was early Sunday morning and after a quiet night on the Tundra (Toyota) ‘Snow Flake’ was anxious to get down to earth. She appeared to be afraid of heights and was stretching her branches toward the new hole I had dug for her. 

Before I could shake a leaf, I heard a knock at the back door. It was my cavalry. My youngest son and soon to be dad arrived at the break of dawn to rescue his father on Mother’s Day. We formulated a plan to get Snow Flake safely in the ground. It involved a collection of big boy tools like chains, ropes, tow straps, ramps, and a come-along. We backed the truck into position and remeasured the hole. After a fresh cup of coffee we began our engineering feat. 

I estimated Snow Flake and her root ball weighed well over 750lbs. With neither of us having an AFLAC duck in our yard we proceeded cautiously and methodically. I live every day uttering the words, “Be Safe.” 

"Snow Flake's on the Tundra" 

This was no time to ignore my own advice. We hand winched Snow Flake to the tip of the trucks tailgate. It’s at times like this that you appreciate the sound advice your wife tried to give you, and you chose to ignore.

Unfortunately no matter how many times I tell myself, “She was right again.”, I still revert to moron status and do it my way. At least I had my son with me this time so he could learn by bad example what 

"You should have listened to mom."  

not to do the next time he’s faced with choosing pride over intelligence. 

So with 750 pounds resting precariously at the edge of the truck’s tailgate we jointly closed our eyes and inched her on to a pair of 2x6 ramps we built a few minutes earlier. Snow Flake’s decent was in motion. A few grunts, groans and, creaks later all three of us were on our way. At one point I saw one of Kevin’s eyes pop out, but other than that it was clear sailing. Snow Flake landed like her great-great-grandfather in the blizzard of 1888. Puff, kerplunk and we were on the ground and a foot away from her final resting place. 

"Snow Flake"

There are many adventures like this in my past. Some turned out well, some did not. Few turned out the way I planned. That’s pretty much life in general. What I have found in the last few years is to take things as they come. Don’t sweat the stuff you can’t control. Try to stay positive. The most important thing I've learned is this; women are smarter then men, especially the ones who have, "look after you leap"-husbands. They're used to cleaning up their miscalculations. 

Happy Mother's Day! 

Tree Planning

Tree Planning 

By John R. Greenwood

Planting a tree sounds easy right? Dig a hole, plunk her in. It didn’t go quite that smooth today. Sometimes it makes sense to do a little more planning before planting.
The scrawny white birch in the middle of my yard took a turn for the worse this spring and I had to take it down. After looking around and doing a little research  Mrs. G and I decided to replace it with a flowering white crabapple. 


We heard that Mandy’s Spring Nursery out of Granville recently set up a new tree yard in our neck of woods here in Wilton. Mandy’s has been in operation since 1939 and since they are a local business, we decided to check out their selection. We were greeted by an accommodating Scott and Jamie, who while ignoring the pelting rain, provided a wealth of information and suggestions. They were patient and friendly. It made buying a tree enjoyable and fun. It wasn’t just a sale it was an occasion. 

When we finally made a decision it was time to load the tree. Mandy’s would have delivered the tree free of charge because we lived within a five mile radius of the tree yard, but nooo, I’m the owner of a big old pickup truck. I don’t need anything but the mail delivered to me! That turned out to be another one of my knucklehead decisions. 

The two men working the yard did a great job loading 'Snow Flake.' Not one leaf or branch was harmed in the creation of this piece. My only regret is not having these two talented tree-wrestlers bring 'Snow Flake' home and plant her for me. 
I got 'Snow Flake' home safe and sound. She waved at everyone we passed on the way. 

She was glad to have been adopted and seemed to be looking forward to getting her roots deeply planted in a friendly yard on a busy corner. Unfortunately 'Snow Flake' would have to wait another day. Why? Because she lied about her weight. I am no slouch when it comes to heavy lifting but this was going to be a bigger job than I could handle alone. 'Snow Flake' would turn out to be a two man, two day, project. Time to call for reinforcements. 

Part #2 of this treemendous saga to follow tomorrow. I hope? 

You can find more photographs of 'Snow Flakes' journey in a album called 'Mandy's Spring Nursery Day' on the Raining Iguanas Facebook Page. 

Work Life

Work Life
By John R. Greenwood

My work life is my bread and butter. My writing life is my strawberry shortcake. I love both. They both fill me. Dessert is just a little bit sweeter. The attached photo is a snapshot of a recent training session at work. I am fortunate to be surrounded by talented, hardworking coworkers. I try hard to keep work and writing separate but it is hard when what you do for a living plays such an integral part in your life. Lately I have been trying to mix and match the two. When you depend on two things for survival it's crucial to keep them both well fed. My job responsibilities run 24/7 and that's okay. I know what I signed up for. I look around and realize how fortunate I am to have a good job. I am even luckier to have really nice people who show up every day and join me. I don't have to choose between writing and working. If I did, work would win because I like to eat and be warm. Writing keeps my heart and soul full but it doesn't do much for the refrigerator. As most people do, I often wonder, "What if?" What if I had become an author or a teacher, an artist or a park ranger? Would my life be better, happier, more fulfilling? I can honestly say that I don't think it would be. Life is as good as you make it. You are as happy as you want to be. I have everything I need. It isn't that you cease striving for more. To me that's the healthy part. My goal in life is to keep a goal in life. That goal for me is to keep absorbing, writing, sharing, working. 
The grey atop my head keeps drawing that, "So, you must be ready to retire?" comment. No, I'm not ready and I won't be ready tomorrow. 
I say, "They are going to have to drag me out kicking and screaming!" and for the record, I mean it. 

New Paint

New Paint

by John R. Greenwood

What is it about a new coat of paint that transforms, not just the look of a front porch, but also the outlook of the painter? It gives things a fresh look and the sense of a new beginning. I have always enjoyed painting outside in the spring. The weather is painter friendly and apt to supply a friendly breeze and lower humidity. Curious songbirds and passing locals peek shyly to see what's changing on the corner. 

As seen by the sloppy side of my $3.00 can of $24 mis-mixed bargain shelf gallon of American Tradition, I am no professional. It doesn't matter. Latex paint is forgiving and a blessing for paint brush wielding men like me. In fact my father used to call me, "Shmear" whenever I was helping him paint something. 

The original premise of this post was meant to highlight the rebirth that spring brings. A new coat of fresh paint is like a new start. Over the years I have made many attempts at new starts. Sometimes it was a commitment to lose weight. Sometimes a a promise to budget better. It could be a vow of getting to that long overdue project. Today I painted a porch, but my heart is in writing, sharing, and doing more in the upcoming year. I promised myself that I will not be one of those who whines away life. I don't salivate about retirement. Work, hard work, has defined me. I plan to work at something for as long as I am able to. 

My daily joy comes from life between slices of work. For now I have weathered one more winter. I am joyfully immersed in one more spring. 

My outlook for the approaching summer is to keep painting porches with brushes and stories with pens. You are all welcome to follow along. 

Bring a friend, Raining Iguanas loves company...

Life In The Center Lane

Life In The Center Lane
By John R. Greenwood

Life in the center lane is more interesting than you think. It's living life in the lane of least resistance. Sure, every so often you need to "blow out the gunk" as Bill Cosby once quipped but if you spend too much time in the passing lane eventually you'll be facing a town court date. If you dawdle too long in the slow lane you will eventually get sideswiped by an unapologetic life-is-all-about-me'er  with a cell phone glued to their right ear socket. By living life in Averageville you get to experience life on both sides, and from front to back. You have more choices. The one thing you never want to do is stop in traffic. Keep up with it. Get out and pass when things are going slower than normal, and if Averageville seems to be growing at a faster pace than you are capable of keeping up with, don't hesitate to move to the right and let things speed by. We seem to forget that we are the one holding the steering wheel. We are the one paying the car payment, and we are the one who's going to see the insurance increase when we screw up. There are days when you need to get out of Averageville completely. You take Exit # Change-O-Scenery and leave the main highway completely. Your need for adventure keeps poking you in the ribs saying," Come on, come on." As soon as the main highway is out of sight your breathing eases and your minds-eye begins to see clearer. One of my favorite places to visit is the Rest Area. The name alone puts me at ease. Those short little breaks prolong memorable journeys. They add dimension and texture to any trip. You park just far enough off the noisy highway to remain apart of it, yet it seems more enjoyable to listen to the whistling tires speed by. You can close the world off for a moment and pretend you are in an alternate dimension. So no matter where you spend your time don't forget to enjoy the trip itself. I'm a vintage car with a rusting body. My tires are worn, my motor rough. I refuse to park in the driveway. I would rather sit patiently at the curb, tank full, map on the seat, ready to take off at the break of day. How about you? 

An Authentic Life - In fewer than 13 lines

An Authentic Life - In fewer than 13 lines

By John R. Greenwood

1. an honest heart purrs contently at a backyard picnic table
2. a genuine hand upon a friend's weary shoulder, their pain is your pain
3. tears run deep with every soldier lost, no parent deserving of such anguish
4. this father's pride swells watching sons help others in need. A homerun, a touchdown, a goal all come a distant second
5. "I love you's" free and frequent come easy in the place you call home. 
6. nature your refuge, you embrace every leaf, every rainy day
7. music singing, strumming, whistling, or a steady drum beat fill your spirit with fuel for the next 100 miles
8. a new book smell, an old book smell - both stir the need to flip pages on the seat of a bench, in a park, with a breeze and children sounds in the distance
9. little fear of change, old age or barking dogs. Life will show up regardless
10. long winding roads in pick-up trucks, with windows down and sleeves rolled up to the forearm, stonewall lined fields and pine tree miles, slow your pulse to a crawl. 
11. coffee
12. writing down anything on a pad, a black and white one, lined, with a pencil, give you a warm reminder of why you breathe, today, and tomorrow

* This post is a submission to a Poets United poetry prompt: "An Authentic Life" in fewer than 13 lines. 

Office Door

Office Door

John Greenwood

how many years of faithful service gone unnoticed

the list of problems endless

office doors real or imaginary

swing one way

day after day

rough and weary the receiver of all things broken

puts one foot      ahead           

of the day 

before 

he simply wipes a furrowed brow

pulls more magic from the weathered hat

showing up for work 

for one less yesterday

one more today  

one more

?

Pearl

Pearl
By John R. Greenwood

"Pearl and her baby"

L-R : Barley, Pearl, Willow-Marsh Farm owner Chuck Curtiss

Pearl the dog and her stuffed animal greeted me on this beautiful spring morning. Pearl's infectious smile and wagging tail filled my day with sunshine in one fell swoop. It was another farm dog day and I was out numbered. I struggle to call it going to work when I get to enjoy portions of my day filled with Pearls and Barleys. Barley and Pearl, two farm dogs with captivating grins and playful demeanors romping in the barnyard with a stuffed animal like two carefree children on a day home from school.

Barley kidnaps the baby with Pearl in hot pursuit!

They tugged and wrestled, nipped and nudged. I was in love with two dogs I'd just met and the day was just beginning. What is it about life that we don't get? Why aren't simple joys like Pearl and Barley enough for us? Why do we need so much and want to give so little? I don't have the answers nor do I want to waste my time worrying about it.

Bulk Milk Driver- Robert Mosher

For now I want to continue my day traveling from farm to farm picking up milk with my driver. It is a day of sharing ideas and growing at our jobs together.From Saratoga County we head off to Washington County where the hills get a little bigger and the roads a lot windier.  

Our next stop has a welcoming committee. A trio of attitudes and altitudes. A growler, a snorter, and a stone silent stalker. It's funny how the differences in humans are similar to the differences in dogs. These three were as different as night, day, and midmorning. They demanded to know who the new guy was and were quite upset when they found out his biscuit supply had been exhausted by the previous administration. The silent stalker seemed especially perturbed. The skeptical part of my brain said the silent stalker used that silent, unsure stance as a ploy to exude fear and thereby extra insurance biscuits, "just in case?" 

"The Silent Stalker"
Friend or Foe?

What do you think? 








Note* 
I would like to thank all the dogs, farmers, and drivers who helped make this post and the fine day it describes possible.