Sleepy-eyed, I stepped out of the guest bedroom on one of my last mornings in this small town. In a soft, cotton t-shirt and bare feet, I stepped carefully around sleeping dogs sprawled peacefully on the brown-carpeted floor in the front room. I rounded the brick-wall corner and moved left into the cluttered kitchen. Pots, pans, ladles, and spatulas of all sizes hung from hooks on the far wall, alongside various framed cross-stitch projects and a set of mounted longhorns. The tile counters were crowded with glass jars, mint green antique appliances, and pitchers full of cooking utensils. A small radio shoved in the corner softly played an oldies country station.

Mom stood by the griddle, in jeans and a pink tank top (also barefoot), using one hip to lean up against the island in the center of the kitchen. She said nothing. She tended to the five slices of thick-cut maple bacon frying in a cast iron skillet. The grease bubbled and the edges of the meat began to crisp; the heavy, welcoming aroma filled the quiet house. The coffee pot gurgled as Kirk's lanky figure, fully dressed for farm work, came into the room. He stopped at the kitchen table and picked up a lighter, striking it and bringing the flame to the tip of his Camel Wide cigarette.

"Mornin', girl," he grumbled in his sandpaper southern accent, acknowledging only me. "Lot of bales to load today. No rest for the farmer." As he spoke, his cigarette wagged at the corner of his dry lips.
The mutt puppy, no larger than a shoebox, awoke in the other room and came trotting to my feet, his black-tipped tail bouncing and collar jangling all the way. Still barely dark outside, the blue light of dawn leaned in through the cobweb-cornered window above the kitchen sink. Mom handed me a hot cup of coffee and I moved to stand beside the sink.

Through the warped glass I saw the pasture, still serene with morning. April, the chestnut mare, sauntered over to her meal bucket, sniffing the bottom, hoping for a leftover morsel of her sweet oats and grain from the day before. She lifted her head, and the soft hair on her nose reflected the pale light of the early morning sun.

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