It has been twenty-nine months since we sold the two milk cows and
butchered the last calf. They will never be forgotten but springtime
always refreshes the memories of what they gave us when I back the truck
up to the big pile of compost between barn and coop to replenish the
garden. Four half-ton truckloads or more each year give the garden beds
two or three inches of topping after I fork and rake. I estimate thirty
tons are left and so should last until I turn sixty-six. What will I do
for the following forty years?