Mind Games

While Aster munched away on her grain, Thea washed her udder and teats, then dried them. She washed her hands, too, then used Lucy’s udder cream.

Next came the stripping, to make sure the milk was clear of any dirt before she placed the bucket.

But then came the fun part, the way the milk pinged in the clean, empty bucket at first. Then it sort of plopped when the bucket started to fill.

She liked to sing along with the rhythm of the pings and plops, and thought Aster liked it, too. When the first quarter went soft, saggy, she moved onto the next, still firm to the touch.

She imagined outside her magic forest, in a green valley, another girl milked a cow. She wouldn’t know about the struggles inside the forest, the quest, the battles that could make her a slave until good defeated evil.

As she milked, Thea added the girl to the dream. Then the milking was done. Or that part was.

When she carried the pail, now lidded, into the house to strain and pour into a glass jar, Rem stood at the sink washing today’s eggs.

His hair stood up in spikes, and he had a sleep crease in one cheek.

“Did you feed Cocoa?”

“Yes, yeah, yep. She was starving. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving.”

“Grammie said we could have scrambled eggs and ham, cheesy grits, and toast with blackberry jam. We’ve still got eggs from yesterday, but I gotta wash the poop off these. Lots of poopy poop! Chicken shitty poop!”

Thea just rolled her eyes at him.

By the time they all sat down for breakfast—and now she was starving—the animals had been tended, the milk pails ran in the dishwasher for sanitizing, and the dogs barked away squirrels trying to get into the bird feeder.

The rest of the morning meant making soap.

Lucy had an order sheet from the shop in town, and some special requests, so they came first.

Lucy called it cold process making, but it was hot work!

She had special pots just for soap making, and all the oils and the colors, Molly’s milk and lye water, the dried herbs and flowers.

Everybody had to wear long sleeves and gloves and goggles. And even though Thea was almost a teenager, Lucy said another year before she could handle the lye or pour the piping hot, raw soap into the molds.

But she got to weigh the oils and melt them, and after Lucy added the lye water, and it looked like batter, Rem got to add the colors, and she got to add Molly’s milk.

They made a batch with dried lavender, another with rosemary, more with oatmeal, and Thea’s favorite, one with mixed flower petals.

Lucy tapped the mold pans on the counter to get out air bubbles, then set them aside to cure, and that took a whole day before Lucy could cut it into bars. And she always waited two weeks before she put her rope tie and label on it.

It seemed like an awfully long time and a whole lot of work for soap, but Thea knew people bought Mountain Magic soap, and candles and lotions and bath salts and all the rest.

People from all over who came to Redbud Hollow to hike in the mountains or just stop off on their way someplace else went into Appalachian Crafts and bought things her grandmother made right in the craft kitchen.

It felt good knowing somebody would buy and use something she’d helped make.

“Now, that job of work’s done.” After stripping off her gloves, Lucy swiped a hand over her forehead. “I think we’ll have a little bite of lunch, then we’re going to box up some already made stock and take it into town, so that’s another job of work.”

“Can we get Popsicles?” Rem wanted to know.

“Now, that seems like a fine idea, as the day’s sure heated up. And I’ve got another fine idea seeing as I’ve got two such hardworking helpers. What do you say if I made us a pizza for dinner, and followed that up with hot fudge sundaes with homemade vanilla bean ice cream?”

Rem’s opinion was a cheer as he threw his arms around his grandmother. “With a cherry on top?”

“Can’t be otherwise.”