"I'll show you something cool, Clark," Pete offered, reaching for the yellow and blue crayons. The boys were lying on their stomachs, coloring. "See, if you color yellow, and then color blue on top of the yellow, you get green."
"How?" Clark was staring at the crayons and at the duckling Pete had just colored.
"Dunno. Just the way crayons are, I guess." Martha fortunately didn't have to hide her grin at his worldly-wise tone, as he was reveling in Clark's amazement. "Hey, it stopped raining, can we go out again, Mrs. Kent?"
"Okay, but no more mud puddles, guys." Clark nodded solemnly, Pete cheerfully. Neither of them had quite understood why it was a bad thing to come indoors again, dripping mud and running around, but had philosophically put down the Kents' objections to another adult weirdness. Jonathan had finally taken them outside and stood them under the hose, so at least all they dripped on their return to the house was water.
Pete headed directly to the barn, and Clark and Martha followed. "Whatcha doing, Mr. Kent?"
"Milking the cow. Usually, a machine does it, but Maggie hurt her leg so it's easier if I do it by hand." Clark had seen this before, but Pete was fascinated.
"I thought you put milk in bottles," he commented, after a few minutes.
"No, first a bucket, then we heat it to get rid of any germs, and then we put it in bottles." Maggie was the best-natured of the herd and had already gotten used to Clark. "Do you want to try? Pete, you sit on this side here, Clark, you go around to that side. Okay, now take the part that's hanging down, and squeeze it from the top down."
"It feels like a water balloon."
"You're right, Pete, it does. There, you got it, just like that." Pete grinned hugely as a stream of milk squirted from the teat into the bucket.
Several loud meows demanded attention as Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, and their assorted offspring, attracted by the smell of the milk, approached. "Watch this, guys," Jonathan whispered. Without missing a stroke of the two teats he was holding, he aimed for Emily, the grey tabby, who opened her mouth expectantly. A stream of milk shot right in, and Jane, whose black and white pattern made her a natural for the barn, let out a raucous feline screech for her turn. The kittens, realizing they were missing on something, began to clamor, but hadn't quite understood how to open their mouths to catch the treat and were soon milk-spattered, occasionally sneezing in between licking themselves and one another.
Clark surreptitiously opened his own mouth and squeezed, then sputtered. "It's warm," he complained.
"Well, yes, it's warm when it comes out of the cow. But people shouldn't drink it right from the cow, it's not been cleaned up yet."
"But cats can?" He sounded worried.
"Cats can, just fine."
"That's probably your dad now, Pete," Martha said, hearing the sound of a car pulling up the drive. Pete tore out the door, then re-appeared, leading his father.
"And see, that's where milk really comes from," he finished explaining.
His father nodded as if finally enlightened. "I always wondered, since orange juice comes from oranges, and apple juice from apples, but you can't go to the store and buy milk fruit to squeeze."
"Cows are milk fruit," Pete added, firmly. As the youngest in his family, he wasn't often in the position of informing others, and enjoyed the opportunity when it came.
"That's good to know. We'd better go pick Mom up now."
"Thank you, Mr. Kent and Mrs. Kent, see you later, Clark!" Pete was still explaining more of milk production as he and his father left.
Back in the house, Clark returned to the living room, where he lay on his stomach again. He colored a house blue, and the house next to it, red. "Blue and red make..." He frowned. "Mommy, what's this color?"
"That's purple, Clark. Blue and red make purple."
"How?" Clark was staring at the crayons and at the duckling Pete had just colored.
"Dunno. Just the way crayons are, I guess." Martha fortunately didn't have to hide her grin at his worldly-wise tone, as he was reveling in Clark's amazement. "Hey, it stopped raining, can we go out again, Mrs. Kent?"
"Okay, but no more mud puddles, guys." Clark nodded solemnly, Pete cheerfully. Neither of them had quite understood why it was a bad thing to come indoors again, dripping mud and running around, but had philosophically put down the Kents' objections to another adult weirdness. Jonathan had finally taken them outside and stood them under the hose, so at least all they dripped on their return to the house was water.
Pete headed directly to the barn, and Clark and Martha followed. "Whatcha doing, Mr. Kent?"
"Milking the cow. Usually, a machine does it, but Maggie hurt her leg so it's easier if I do it by hand." Clark had seen this before, but Pete was fascinated.
"I thought you put milk in bottles," he commented, after a few minutes.
"No, first a bucket, then we heat it to get rid of any germs, and then we put it in bottles." Maggie was the best-natured of the herd and had already gotten used to Clark. "Do you want to try? Pete, you sit on this side here, Clark, you go around to that side. Okay, now take the part that's hanging down, and squeeze it from the top down."
"It feels like a water balloon."
"You're right, Pete, it does. There, you got it, just like that." Pete grinned hugely as a stream of milk squirted from the teat into the bucket.
Several loud meows demanded attention as Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, and their assorted offspring, attracted by the smell of the milk, approached. "Watch this, guys," Jonathan whispered. Without missing a stroke of the two teats he was holding, he aimed for Emily, the grey tabby, who opened her mouth expectantly. A stream of milk shot right in, and Jane, whose black and white pattern made her a natural for the barn, let out a raucous feline screech for her turn. The kittens, realizing they were missing on something, began to clamor, but hadn't quite understood how to open their mouths to catch the treat and were soon milk-spattered, occasionally sneezing in between licking themselves and one another.
Clark surreptitiously opened his own mouth and squeezed, then sputtered. "It's warm," he complained.
"Well, yes, it's warm when it comes out of the cow. But people shouldn't drink it right from the cow, it's not been cleaned up yet."
"But cats can?" He sounded worried.
"Cats can, just fine."
"That's probably your dad now, Pete," Martha said, hearing the sound of a car pulling up the drive. Pete tore out the door, then re-appeared, leading his father.
"And see, that's where milk really comes from," he finished explaining.
His father nodded as if finally enlightened. "I always wondered, since orange juice comes from oranges, and apple juice from apples, but you can't go to the store and buy milk fruit to squeeze."
"Cows are milk fruit," Pete added, firmly. As the youngest in his family, he wasn't often in the position of informing others, and enjoyed the opportunity when it came.
"That's good to know. We'd better go pick Mom up now."
"Thank you, Mr. Kent and Mrs. Kent, see you later, Clark!" Pete was still explaining more of milk production as he and his father left.
Back in the house, Clark returned to the living room, where he lay on his stomach again. He colored a house blue, and the house next to it, red. "Blue and red make..." He frowned. "Mommy, what's this color?"
"That's purple, Clark. Blue and red make purple."