A long time between visits.

I got no excuse for not writing. I ain't been no busier than usual and I admit that's a lot less busy than most folk. Land o' Goshen, just about everybody's on the trot lately.

Anyway, it seems the head master of the tony (my missus uses that word when she talks about the local private boarding school) yes tony local private boarding school helped himself to paid up tuitions and the building fund and skedaddled to Florida or Mexico.

People send kids to boarding school to get rid of them so far as I can see. Most of the kids are a thousand miles from home. Tuition costs more than I earn in two years on the farm! They got a pool and a rink in winter and a nice gym built to look like a barn. You'd think the boys had everything they needed right there but once a month, the underpaid teachers, who also live in old Randall Coatsworth's place, bus the kids out to my place for some old-timey fun. The bus makes three trips to deliver everyone. Old JM is the bus driver.

When Pastor Rick suggested the idea, I was about as enthusiastic as I'd be voting for Missus Ramjack Clinton. Snooty and jaded rich kids? Who needs them? But, of course, Pastor Rick had already got the okay from my missus!

Pastor Rick is an honorary board member of Andrews Collegiate. A member of the clergy lends an air of credibility to a lot of endeavours, though not as many as it used to! Pastor Rick enjoyed tea and biscuits with the head master several times a year. Why are these things always British? Now, Pastor Rick bears some legal obligation for the missing money. I told him to offer to pay it out of the collection plate every Sunday! He wasn't laughing.

Well, the first visit came during sap collection time and the thought of 75 kids traipsing around the bush and the boil house cost me a few nights sleep. But the kids got off the bus and into the hay barn where the missus had gallons of hot chocolate and peanut butter cookies and everything went "swimmingly" as several of the teachers said.

Yours truly explained the process of sap gathering and boiling and such. "Any questions?" I asked, knowing there could be none. I was very thorough!

"Do you have kids, sir?" Small kid, needed a hair cut but clean looking.

"Yeah, 3 boys and a daughter..."

"Did they help you on the farm?"

"Well, yes but when they got to be useful they moved away." No one laughed.

"I don't know what my father does."

My missus was already giving him a hug and refilling his mug.

Another voice. "I don't know what my father does either. I think he's in Europe, somewhere."

And another. "My father is a partner in a law firm in New York, or London. I see him at Christmas."

And on it went. None of the kids said dad all said my father.

Finally a teacher intervened, suggesting we all visit the boil house, and everyone brightened up. I guess orphans are resilient.

As they were boarding the bus I asked the little boy who started it all when he'd see his father. "I don't know. It's a long time between visits."

"That went well, said my missus. I invited them back for a hayride in July."

"Is there school in July?"

"Some new system, dear."

"I thought I like to show 'em a calving."

"In May? I thought you didn't want them here?"

"Well, they'll get a strange idea if they just come for a sap boil and a hayride! I'm a hard working farmer! I don't want to think I live soft like a darn bureaucrat or politician!'

"Chester got to you didn't he?

"The littliest orphan?"

She nodded. "Bring in the mugs, dear, when you come."

So, I'm sorry I orphaned all of you! I'll be back for a visit real soon.