48 HAPPY HOLLOW FARM 



first fond vision, you might take a notion to 

 do your pooh-poohing under your breath. 



If home is no great shakes without a mother, 

 neither is a farm without a cow. Our tenant 

 had no cow. He argued that a cow would be 

 a needless extravagance; for he and his folks 

 ate sorghum molasses on their bread, and they 

 drank creek water instead of coffee. But we'd 

 grown used to keeping a cow, and we wanted 

 a cow now. We argued with the tenant that 

 every farm ought to have a cow on it for dec- 

 orative effect, even if the farmer didn't use 

 milk or cream or butter. He gave his consent 

 that we might keep one, if we'd keep her tied 

 up somewhere along the creek-bottom and not 

 let her muss up his crops. So that afternoon 

 we went over to a neighboring farm and 

 bought a cow. 



We gave thirty-five dollars for her, and she 

 was a good one for sure we knew enough 

 about cows to be able to make sure of that. 

 She was a black Jersey, three years old, eligible 

 to registry, gentle as a plump kitten. After I 

 got her home, I spent the rest of the afternoon 

 with an ax, clearing out the undergrowth 

 along the creek, to make a place for pasturing 

 her on a tether. Bluegrass and clover stood 



