Smoky Mountain

The storms that swept through my little valley left a smoky mist that clung to the creek bed and the piney ridge.  The sheep who had been driven back into the barn twice by heavy rain ventured out to graze in the fog.  During storms like this I am always grateful for my "big strong barn" with the metal roof.  Sister Berndadette, my next door neighbor, likes to remind me that every panel has three nails in it.  The nails were pounded in by herself and her sister, Sister Grace, when they were teenagers, before they were recruited by the Franciscans and taken away for a life of prayer and service to the Church.  The Church got them off the barn roof and "out from under the cows." Oh, the stories those Sisters can tell about life on my farm, long before I got here.