Agriculture

On the rare occasion that I ever leave the farm for more than a day, my recurring fear is that something will happen that can’t be handled by whomever I’ve entrusted with its care, requiring me to abort my trip and rush back. Rarely have such events happened. But last week, when I went to the City for four days, I had a momentary scare. The purpose of my trip was to retrieve some essentials from my office (I’ve been reunited with my notary stamp); to catch up on some deferred medical checkups (I’ll live); and to incidentally socialize and grab some culture (If Omicron doesn’t close down the theaters, do see Caroline, or Change at the Roundabout; it’s terrific). But I must admit that even such a short and mundane visit can seem like a vacation. I was still abed on my first morning in the City when I got a panicked message from Steve. You know Steve, the friend who thought I should figure how to manage my sheep herd through “trolley problem” analysis. Steve had kindly volunteered to come up and mind the f