He's flying south next week to wrap up the loose ends on his daddy's estate, so to speak. I can't say that I'd know the dude if he walked up and tapped me on the shoulder, yet he's in charge of the details that will sometime or another be the future of this farm. Sometimes you're the windshield and sometimes you're just the bug. Way back when, I offered to write a book about the history of the Ferguson Farm but I got lazy and stuck with my day job, hoping that the answer to true happiness was just a smile and a whistle away. There was talk about getting this piece of land on the national historic registry because of that big fat honkin' dairy barn across the road.
Mama and Daddy were both volunteers at the hospital where I work. They were actively involved with the volunteer blood program that supplies our facility with those life saving precious fluids known as leukopoor red cells or single donor platelets and FFP, pheresis style. They pushed wheelchairs and answered phones and generally looked after the sick and dying. We never much discussed the state of things due to HIPPA regulations, but we all knew that Jesus said to do unto others and so we did, without question. Occasionally an imaginary line was crossed, but mostly but we just kept the faith.