The beans have finally discovered that the poles are there for their aid and have chosen vertical growth over vapid horizontal hovering. Once on their way, they go up like a shot, seeking sunlight and clinging limpet-like to whatever surface presents itself. There are flower clusters starting on the most ambitious of the potato plants (killed five more potato beetles et ova today), and the morning glories are putting out their delicate blue flowers, white star of mystery in the center.

Few places are more peaceful than a barn in the early morning, before the rest of the household begins to stir. The air smells pleasantly of hay and horse, and the inhabitants whicker softly at the entrance of She Who Bringeth Food. Outside there is no sound but the birds, and the sunlight glances down and turns the fields to gold. I go about the daily chores of feeding, mucking out, changing water, and all the other tasks that horses bring with them, all the while thinking about the way I felt riding yesterday, when May was a four-legged extension of myself. There is always a link.

What does one do with twenty-five spare feet of heavyweight tow chain?