read at your own risk: pouting & cuteness ahead

Its hotter than Hades here in Minnesota and I, for one, am wondering what July and August will bring. Our 3 rms, view apt has fans running at high speed, drying out our eyes and Pashka-dog is pacing from one room to another looking for a cool wall. Plus, I don't like to sweat if I don't have to. There, my rant is complete. Sorry you had to read this. . .
My mother's family is from Colby, Wisconsin -- home of that round, mild cheese. Her parents moved to Idaho in the 1920's and farmed in Rockland, where her dad sold milk to Kraft. Grandma never returned to Colby. Years later I took my mom on a trip to Wisconsin to visit relatives she'd only heard about. She was not surprised at the lovely rolling hills and lush farmland because her mother had continued to remember how beautiful it was in Wisconsin. Grandma was a school teacher before she married and moved to Idaho. We found the hillside where Clovernook School once sat. Walking up the hillside, my heart and my head were full to overflowing as I imagined young Esther Rosin teaching in a one room school house in that small farm community.

The reason for this history lesson is because I believe I've inherited dairy cow farmer's genes. My secret dream that I've always been cautious to share is that I've wanted to have a cow or two and learn to make cheese. Wouldn't that be lovely to travel on a grant to Europe and apprentice with a cheese maker? It hasn't worked out yet, but I'm not ruling out any future possibility. In the meantime I love to visit the Jersey and Guernsey cows at the state fair. So I was moved to tears when Dave showed me these photos he's taken especially for me at a dairy farm in, you guessed it, Wisconsin, where he worked at a motorcycle rally this weekend. And, these Jersey calves were for sale! No lie.

Sometimes grace comes with big brown eyes and wet noses.