I have some remembrances of my parents. One especially vivid one is when Dad and I checked the fence.
Since Dad had a dairy farm the cows spent days from Spring through Fall in the pasture. Actually pastures since there were many small fields with some separated by stone walls. Each Spring before he let them out of the barn he walked the electric and barbed wire fences to make sure there were no breaks.
One year I went with him. I wish I could remember how old I was—I know it was before I was sixteen. We were walking along the fence; deep in the woods. We entered part of a small clearing; most was on the inside of the fence. It was all ferns. A beautiful spot; sunny after walking beneath the trees.
As we walked along talking with each other we stopped. A fawn jumped up from the middle of the ferns, bounded (maybe three) across the clearing; stopped at the edge of the woods. She turned her head and looked at us for a second or two; then leaped into the woods and disappeared. We had watched in silence. I turned to Dad and said “I’m never going hunting.”
As we walked along he told me the fawn’s mother had probably left it there while she went to get something to eat.
