Memories being made

I’m sitting on my back porch snuggling with my hubby on the swing as we watch the last bit of the sunset. The sky is a golden yellow with dark red clouds lazily hanging in the soon to be night sky. The llamas are hanging out with us, BOB is talking to Gobble Gobble and the crickets are chirping out their goodnight melodies. It’s my last evening being in my 50s. In a few short hours, I begin a new decade. One that will gently usher me into more of a ‘senior life’.
I’m resting in Chad’s arms watching Lincoln our alpaca hunt for food on the table a few feet away from us as Sweetie the llama strolls past. My heart is bursting with love and thankfulness for this goofy little farm.
I know that as we grow older, farm life will become physically hard for us to manage, we will have to walk away from our farm, our home, when that season sneaks up on us.
Someday, our beloved llamas will gallop off to greener pastures that Jesus has all ready set up for them. BOB and C.S. will also be gone as well as my naughty donkey. Chippie and Biscuit will be running with Tribble, playing with my little girl Sarah, giving kisses to my mommy, and my BFF Liz in heaven. My heart will surely break with each and every passing of a much loved fur baby big and small.

I’m trying to cram this night, my farm, my husband, my fur babies, my past life deep into my aching heart tonight.
I want to be able to dig deep inside my memories many many years from now when it’s all gone and pull up this moment. I want to recall every sound, smell, sight and feeling that this evening is blessing me with. I don’t want it to end.

Maybe 25 years from now, I will be holding a great grandchild snuggled against my bosom with Chad’s arm draped around my shoulders. I will tell my grandchild about a crazy little farm in La Porte Indiana filled with llamas who sat on the porch with us, who stared at us through the windows. I will laugh as I tell about the turkey named BOB who gobbled every time we yelled out his name. I will roll my eyes as I bring up the memory of the annoying pig named Remi Doodles that appeared out of nowhere as soon as grain was thrown on the ground. I will let great grandpa tell about the naughty donkey who ruled the farm, who made poor old G-Pa chase him from house to barn to pasture then back to the house. I will fondly tell them about a mini horse named Laci who would eat herself into a coma, about our little goat named Sugar Baby who sat on the swing with us cuddling, and of course the little chihuahua named Chippie who hated everything. I’m positive that every memory that I tell to my precious grandchild will be accompanied by a tear as my heart yearns for August 28th 2019, the night before I left one decade to begin another one.

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