What a gift he gave the public by allowing his beautiful property (346 acres!!) and home to be open at no charge to the community.
We wended our way over bridges,
along lush fields bordered by wire fences and peeling wooden gates still swinging on their 50 year-old hinges,
and around the vegetable garden with its comical, lopsided scarecrow.
But these were just sidelights to the true goal of the walk . . . the goat barn! The newborn goats that we knew we'd find at the end of the trail.
And find them we did. Soft caramel and cream Nubians. Wiry cocoa brown Alpines. All about a week old. The children and their cousins crowded around . . . 7 children jostling for the rubbing of silky ears, the stroking of warm, soft muzzles, the tickling of sunshine-soaked flanks.
In a flash, the goat babies had new names, had been claimed by respective children picking "their" goat, and plans were in the making for taking them home. "Mom, please can we have one of them. It could live in our yard."
As we left, we strolled past the females in their pasture and the males behind their fence. Hmmm, yes, goats grow up. Not so cute now. A little malodorous, a little too large, a little too bossy and aggressive.
No, please, no goats in our yard. But we'll be up again next year to walk to Carl Sandburg's barn and love on the spring babies.