Ding dong my blog is dead
14 hours ago
Why didn't they go to the country and get a piece of land, Grandpaw would keep asking. It seemed so simple to him, secure in his barnyard with centuries of survival music to assure him: hens clucking, hogs squealing, cattle lowing, sheep blatting, roosters crowing, horses whinnying, bees buzzing, calves bawling, sons arguing, daughters giggling, and Grandmaw calling him in to dinner. If we lived such a dull life compared to our "urban counterparts," as the sociologists (the sons and daughters of those breadlines) say we did, why was my family always singing?