did start practicing the new song heâd written last night for him and Chris Greynard to sing at youth group next week:
Who moves the mountain?
King Jesus!
Who moves our hearts?
King Jesus!
Hearts and mountains
Big and small,
Theyâre nothing to the King,
He can move them all!
In His Spirit
We can move them, too
Hearts, minds, mountains,
We move them all
With the power of your love
Your precious, precious love,
King Jesus!
He started to sing more loudly, then remembered where he was: in the milking shed. Not that the cows, or even Dale, would tell on him, but Nanny sometimes came out unexpectedly in the middle of milking to inspect him.
She never worked with the cows, not because she was eighty-seven and couldnât handle the workload, but because the herd had been her daughter-in-lawâs idea. The Schapens used to raise cows back in the early 1900s. They even had their own dairy, Open Prairie, back then, but during the Dust Bowl Robbieâs great-grandfather had to butcher or sell the herdâthey couldnât cultivate their own grazing land during that long drought, and they couldnât afford to buy fodder for the herd.
Nanny blamed the Grelliers. Back in the Depression, they raised beef cattle, which they grazed on their acres down by the Wakarusa River. Nanny thought the Grelliers should have sacrificed half their herd and shared their grazing land and fodder with Arnieâs grandfather. Just imagine if the Grelliers had suggested the same thing to them! Nanny thought Susan was a Communist who was bound for hell just for running that co-op market. If sheâd said kill half your cows for us, Nanny probably would have burned down the Grellier house.
According to Junior, his and Robbieâs mom thought she could start Open Prairie up again when the organic craze first got going twenty years ago. Sheâd bought a mixed herd of Guernseys, Jerseys, and Brown Swiss, starting with fifteen cows. She looked after them herself, before and after her day job at the bank. On her own, while Dad and Nanny scoffed, Mom had dug and lined the lagoon. And she had gone around the county to all the independent grocers, finding buyers for her milk.
His motherâs job at the bank in Lawrence had been essential for the family to make ends meet. Like most small-farm families, someone had to work outside the farm if they were going to keep the landâthatâs why Dad had become a sheriffâs deputy after Mom left. When she started the herd, though, she had had high hopes for her cows. Sheâd thought they might let her quit the bank job and stay home with Robbie instead of leaving him in Nannyâs care.
When he was little, Robbie loved going out in the early morning with his mother to do the milking or make rounds with her to the local grocery stores. He could hardly believe it now, leaning against Gillyâs side, trying to keep his eyes open. Heâd stayed up too late last night, working on the new song, which he had to do almost silently so as not to bring his father or grandmother in on him. He and Junior took turns doing the early shift with Dale. He didnât know what would happen when Junior left next fallâRobbie would probably have to get up every morning to do the milking.
Mom and Robbie had named the cows. That was their secret together, Robbieâs and hers, because Dad and Nanny thought naming cows was a sissy thing. He hadnât been supposed to let Dad know the cows all had names, although now that he was older he realized it wasnât that big a secret: Mom used to write the names on the backs of their ear tags. Each tag showed the breed, the date of birth, the registration number, and, on the back, the name she and Robbie had given it. They tried always to give new calves names that started with the same letter as the mother.
It was how he learned his alphabet, Mom squatting to look at him, her face smiling. âOkay, Robbie, Sunflower
Who moves the mountain?
King Jesus!
Who moves our hearts?
King Jesus!
Hearts and mountains
Big and small,
Theyâre nothing to the King,
He can move them all!
In His Spirit
We can move them, too
Hearts, minds, mountains,
We move them all
With the power of your love
Your precious, precious love,
King Jesus!
He started to sing more loudly, then remembered where he was: in the milking shed. Not that the cows, or even Dale, would tell on him, but Nanny sometimes came out unexpectedly in the middle of milking to inspect him.
She never worked with the cows, not because she was eighty-seven and couldnât handle the workload, but because the herd had been her daughter-in-lawâs idea. The Schapens used to raise cows back in the early 1900s. They even had their own dairy, Open Prairie, back then, but during the Dust Bowl Robbieâs great-grandfather had to butcher or sell the herdâthey couldnât cultivate their own grazing land during that long drought, and they couldnât afford to buy fodder for the herd.
Nanny blamed the Grelliers. Back in the Depression, they raised beef cattle, which they grazed on their acres down by the Wakarusa River. Nanny thought the Grelliers should have sacrificed half their herd and shared their grazing land and fodder with Arnieâs grandfather. Just imagine if the Grelliers had suggested the same thing to them! Nanny thought Susan was a Communist who was bound for hell just for running that co-op market. If sheâd said kill half your cows for us, Nanny probably would have burned down the Grellier house.
According to Junior, his and Robbieâs mom thought she could start Open Prairie up again when the organic craze first got going twenty years ago. Sheâd bought a mixed herd of Guernseys, Jerseys, and Brown Swiss, starting with fifteen cows. She looked after them herself, before and after her day job at the bank. On her own, while Dad and Nanny scoffed, Mom had dug and lined the lagoon. And she had gone around the county to all the independent grocers, finding buyers for her milk.
His motherâs job at the bank in Lawrence had been essential for the family to make ends meet. Like most small-farm families, someone had to work outside the farm if they were going to keep the landâthatâs why Dad had become a sheriffâs deputy after Mom left. When she started the herd, though, she had had high hopes for her cows. Sheâd thought they might let her quit the bank job and stay home with Robbie instead of leaving him in Nannyâs care.
When he was little, Robbie loved going out in the early morning with his mother to do the milking or make rounds with her to the local grocery stores. He could hardly believe it now, leaning against Gillyâs side, trying to keep his eyes open. Heâd stayed up too late last night, working on the new song, which he had to do almost silently so as not to bring his father or grandmother in on him. He and Junior took turns doing the early shift with Dale. He didnât know what would happen when Junior left next fallâRobbie would probably have to get up every morning to do the milking.
Mom and Robbie had named the cows. That was their secret together, Robbieâs and hers, because Dad and Nanny thought naming cows was a sissy thing. He hadnât been supposed to let Dad know the cows all had names, although now that he was older he realized it wasnât that big a secret: Mom used to write the names on the backs of their ear tags. Each tag showed the breed, the date of birth, the registration number, and, on the back, the name she and Robbie had given it. They tried always to give new calves names that started with the same letter as the mother.
It was how he learned his alphabet, Mom squatting to look at him, her face smiling. âOkay, Robbie, Sunflower
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