After singing along to an amazing Beatles tribute concert by Shout with an opening act by an incredible young man’s rendition of Frankie Valli, Neil Sedaka and Bobby Darin … my next adventure began.

Still tooling around Michigan, this past week was spent on a Mini-Farm with my middle grandson, Robbie, and his family: Sarah (wife), Jackson (12), Tom (8), and Midge (4).

They live on a fourteen-acre mini-farm raising, what else, but mini-cows — only they are not as miniature as one might guess.

Currently, the herd consists of one bull named Hercules and two yearling heifers named Flower and Dot. They will be heading to the slaughterhouse in the fall. Four more heifers are becoming mothers. Sweet Pea and Tina had their calves while I was there.

What a wonderful thing it is to witness a new birth, regardless of the species. Family members rotate naming all the critters on the farm. Minnie was born first. One week later, on Aug. 4, the anniversary of my late son’s death, Tina had her calf. In honor of him, they named the new calf Kelly even before they knew its gender. Turns out it is a she, but the name works either way. Spot and Millie are due any day now.

The two young calves have bonded and spend much time together under mama’s watchful eyes, of course.

Other critters consist of a lone duck, because some bigger, meaner varmint keeps killing every companion they get for her; a pair of turkeys; and umpteen chickens. The lone rooster, Johnny Cash, struts among his plethora of hens like a proud peacock.

The two boys are responsible for feeding, watering, and gathering eggs from the fowls. They help Mom and Dad with feeding and watering the cows, too, along with other farm chores.

Robbie’s full-time job is with the military. Since his deployment to Iraq, he serves as a Battalion Medical Readiness NCO with the Michigan Army National Guard. Weekend drills and taking and teaching classes at other bases in other states means he is not always available to help. Sarah and the boys manage well, handling everything themselves as needed.

Things are rarely dull in a household with three active children, and everyone stays busy operating the farm.

Friday was a “Farm Work Day” with Robbie operating the big tractor with the front-end loader to clean out the inevitable manure. The others were able to pick their jobs. Tom, small but already possessing a strong work ethic, chose to weed eat the chicken pens and around the fences. Jackson helped with lawn mowing. Sarah was busy opening and closing the gate to make sure no cows escaped as Robbie drove in and out to haul off and dump muck.

Other chores too numerous to mention were performed in the hot, humid weather while I met a dear old friend for lunch. Seniority does have its perks.

Though Robbie had drill that weekend, the rest of us attended a cookout for most of my family in the area at a lovely niece’s home. My southern roots and hospitality were evident, with tables laden heavily with every imaginable dish. We enjoyed the food and company, lingering until evening.

This extended trip has been amazing for me, having been shut-in for nearly three years as a caretaker and the isolation of the pandemic. Nearly every day has been spent enjoying friends and family, catching up with dear ones, and enjoying every minute and conversation.

John Denver’s song says it well, “Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back, Ain’t much an old country (gal) like me can’t hack. It’s early to rise, early in the sack! Thank God, I’m a country (gal).

Well, a simple kinda life never did me no harm, A-raisin’ me and family and workin’ on a farm. My days are all filled with an easy country charm. Thank God, I’m a country (gal).”

The last part is so fitting: “Well, I wouldn’t trade my life for diamonds or jewels, I never was one of them money hungry fools. Rather have my fiddle and my farmin’ tools. Thank God, I’m a country (gal)!”

Truthfully, I have been to the big city, but most of my life has been spent in rural areas where we grew most of our own food, worked hard, and loved to porch sit watching sunsets. True pleasure is found in the simplest forms like a flower in pudgy, smudged hands presented with pride and a beaming smile.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed with trying to keep up with the Joneses just look me up, and we’ll sit on my porch with a tall glass of fresh lemonade and watch the world go by.