It’s the end of May and the beginning of a hot day. I trudge up the hill, next to a four wire barbed wire fence. The hawthorne and chokecherry bushes are blooming by the masses. Their creamy white blossoms create a misty haze where the bushes grow on the hillsides and along the creek bottoms. The blossom-scent waffles on the air; a faint, sweet wash into my lungs. I can almost wrap myself in its creamy lace-shawl warmth. Today I am checking the south fence of the horse pasture. After a long, cold winter with snowbanks that buried fences in…
