A Farm Visit

The sweeping view of Vermont’s Green Mountains opened up as I turned the curve at my daughter’s goat farm. Down the road near the red barn, I could hear baby goats calling to their mothers out in the tall grass. The babies were leaping high above the waving grass as if they had springs on their feet trying to find their moms.

I climbed out of my car and decided to walk along the dirt road to stretch my legs after a long trip. The hay fields were a delicious spring green and rolled gently away from the road. Along the edge of the fields something caught my eye in the grass. I stopped and began to look more closely.

Wildflowers were beginning to bloom. The more I looked — the more I saw. I chuckled. Baby goats were leaping high to see above the grass, and I was crouching low to see what was in the grass. There were spurts of deep pink clover and dancing yellow buttercups. Daisies were opening. Fern fronds were beginning to unfurl.

Each day during my visit, I strolled along the road — enjoying spring’s changing palette as it moved beyond green. Summer’s palette would bring changes, too; and the baby goats would grow taller than the grass. No leaping necessary.