Meet the Milkman

I really like him. He's got the greatest smile. I get a little nervous when I am around him. I can tell I'm nervous because I talk too much. I should be listening. He has so much to tell. I have to listen intently because his voice gruff and small. But his knowledge isn't. And I can just bet if I'd stop peppering him with questions, I'd hear more than just the answers I seek.

Mr. Lankford will be 80 this year. He's my favorite person in Cherryville. Thanks to him we drink fresh, raw milk. Thanks to him we make our own butter. Thanks to him our chickens are eating organically and laying through the coldest months. I never tire of driving across town when we need milk because I know I'm going to learn something from his words. On the drive back, I try not to forget what he says about okra and soil and timing. I have a journal back home where I record his admonishments on gardening and animal husbandry.
As soon as the sky stops dumping snow on us and the sun warms the ground, he's going to teach me to milk a cow. Living simply has brought many blessings.