Collecting eggs is basic. It’s typically done once a day. Growing up, I collected them every morning. The key is keeping the eggs clean and safe so we can eat them, which is why we wear gloves.
Wren has about twelve chickens. Once inside, I let her handle the collection and I take care of the boxes. I go behind her and clean the nesting boxes of feathers and debris then adjust the pads. The more comfortable the chickens, the more they lay.
As soon as we are done, I gently take the bucket of eggs back to the main house and place them at the back door. When I make it back, I find her in the goat pen, filling their food and water bowls.
“You couldn’t wait on me?” I ask.
“I’m just used to doing this. It’s my morning routine. I cook breakfast, collect eggs, then handle my goats. Biv and DeVoe are wild and I usually have to clean up. Bell is cool. He likes to stay under Whitney and TLC,” she says and I shake my head.
“Are those their real names?” I ask, amused as shit.
“Yes, they are,” she exclaims. “Be honest. Look at her. My pretty spotted Saanen. She looks like T-Boz, especially with her ears flapped down. It’s giving bob.”
Just to appease her, I squint and stare at the goat and shit. As crazy as this shit sounds, the damn goat kind of favors T-Boz. I can’t suppress my laughter.
“You wild for that,” I say, laughing.
“But you see it. So, naturally, the other two Saanen had to be Chilli and Left Eye. I can’t break the group up,” she says with a smirk. “Now, I don’t want to assume or offend by asking, but have you milked a goat before? I need to this morning.”
“I grew up on a ranch and I’ve been working as a ranch hand for the past two years. I can and have done everything you can think of on a ranch. So, to answer you, pretty lady, yes, I have.”
We spend the next hour milking TLC and Whitney then clean out the pen. Not only is Wren absolutely beautiful, she’s fierce and hardworking. I love how she isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and the love she has for this land and her small animals is everything. She puts her heart and soul into keeping this ranch running and that shit is admirable and sexy as hell.
When we finish with the goats, I carry the three buckets of milk inside the house. She strains the milk and bags it, preparing it for the freezer while I move her freezer from the barn to the back porch. Out on the porch, I notice the wood pile by the back door for her fireplace and see she only has two stacks of logs. As cold as it is, and with me needing a log or two for the small freestanding fireplace in the attic, she’s going to need more.
We both shower, her in the house and me in the attic. It’s actually spacious and nice up here. I’ve been on some ranches where the housing wasn’t nearly as nice as this. While some ranches offer shared living spaces with actual beds, I’ve been on some that just offered cots.
She was right. It was a little dusty up here, but a broom and some wipes fixed that before I lay down last night. I have a full-size comfortable bed, a dresser for my clothes, and a small portable closet. There’s a small fridge and microwave and the bathroom has a full-size toilet, small sink, and a nicely sized shower. Even with Christmas décor and a few boxes filling half of the space, I still have a lot of room for me. However, the best part is the two round windows and the huge skylight over thebed. I gazed into the dark night as I drifted off to sleep and now the sun is beaming down, providing a beautiful glow and hint of warmth.
When I’m dressed, I head downstairs, start my uncle’s truck, then walk to the front of the house onto the wrap-around porch. The main house is a modern bungalow with a rustic log cabin vibe. The structure is log and the walls are logs but the exterior has a blend of stucco and stone. The chimney and base of the walls are also made of fieldstone, but the base of the posts on the porch and supporting the roof over the porch are surrounded by fieldstone. When she opens the door, she flashes me a devious smile then snatches my Jaxson off my head.
“Your hat looks better on me.” She smirks as she places it on her head and I can’t argue. She looks pretty as hell with my shit on her head. “Come in. I need to grab my boots and purse.”
She walks away from the door and I walk inside. I trek over to the grand fieldstone fireplace and warm my hands against the heat. A few minutes later she walks back into the living room with her boots on and a small bag on her shoulder. She steps over to me then turns the fire off.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“Yeah. The truck is already warming.”
“I just started mine,” she says.
“Then kill it. You’re not driving me around. I told you, while I’m here, I got you,” I reiterate. It’s obvious she has a hard time not taking care of or handling everything. While I admire that in her, the man in me can’t let her do the things I’m capable of and should be doing.
“You don’t know where the store is,” she counters.
“I put it in my phone. Just turn it off, Wren,” I say, and reluctantly, she pulls her keys from her bag and kills her engine.
We walk out of the house and trek toward the truck. As soon as we are inside, she turns on the seat warmer on her side. Iback out, drive down her small private road, then head to the hardware store.
“You can turn left at this stop sign,” she says just as the navigation prompt says to turn right and she laughs. “You can cut that off,” she adds. “I know my town better than she does. A right is stupid. You’ll have to U-turn a few blocks down.”
I make the left then turn off the turn by turn directions. According to her, we are another fifteen minutes from the store. I can tell when we get closer to downtown because more street signs become present. Out by the ranches, there are minimal street signs.
“So, are we getting Amara a tree today? She was serious about the lights and decorations,” I say.
“She loves Christmas. All holidays really but Christmas is her favorite. Mine too but she’s a little more merrier than me,” she says with a grin. “It was our dad’s favorite too. We lost him five years ago but we make sure to keep our traditions with him alive. It keeps him with us,” she says.
“Sorry to hear about your father.”
