Independence Day

We had a July 4th party one day early at my sisters farm. This is a picture of my daughter Karen, my son-in-law Doug, and grandson Merrick. My sister and her husband "Woody" have 22 acres with a barn full of goats. 2 males, 3 females, and 2 little toddler girl goats. They usually sell off the baby boys.

Last year...at the end of our kickball game...a loud, eerie sound came from the barn. It sounded like someone was in-between a scream and a very loud groan. The someone was Hazel, the goat. She was in intense labor, and was having a very difficult time. Woody, the sometimes farmer, and his brother raced inside. They made everyone else stay outside.

We all waited by the barn door. The sounds coming out of the pen were not sounding good. After a very long time...2 little goatees popped out. They finally allowed the photographer in. The kids were precious, but Hazel still looked bad. The afterbirth hanging from her rear was almost obscene...like she had pushed out her innards. My wife...the nurse...came in and did her evaluation. The nurse was very concerned. The sack full of liquid eventually broke, and I think Hazel ate it. The camera guy nearly lost his lunch.

Today was a warm day. 85 and humid. At 58 years of age...I was hoping they would call off the annual kickball game. They didn't, and I'm too stupid to say I don't want to play. We divided up into 2 family teams. Our team was old and slow. Their team was young and fast. Two of their young "horses" hit the top of the barn 5 times for automatic home runs. We had no homers.

They jumped to a 17-5 lead. There was not much hope for the Mudville nine. But...our team kept chipping away. Our girls starting kicking the "snot" out of the ball, and then we had the big inning we were waiting for. We woke up and "presto"...the score was 19-19...in a game to 21. 21 runs wins the game. They came up to kick...got a couple of runners on...and made a couple of outs. It came down to 2 on and 2 out...game on the line...and young "stud" Kyle at the plate. He lofted a big fly that was drifting my way. In the old days...I would have eaten it up. I stood and watched the ball. My brother ran a long ways from his position...dove....and couldn't hang on to the ball. I hung my head, and felt like I was 59 years old.

We lined up for the handshakes. I told my players to spit on their hands. We had to watch as they accepted the new traveling trophy. "WAIT TIL NEXT YEAR...YOU YOUNG PUNKS!!! Win or lose...nephew Allen did a great job of organizing the game.

A great meal, a good game, two baby goats, one baby robin in the barn, baby Merrick with his mom and dad in the pond, a new puppy, and my dad and sister making home made ice cream. Always great to be around family...no matter how hot it is, or how far my kickball game has eroded.