The 3-pronged Pitchfork is for food, not S$%&

Here is the deep south. It's rural, it's far away, and I can't understand a bloody word of the dialect. That's not true. Rosa, the matron of the family with whom I am staying here in Friedlingen, usually speaks slowly and loudly for my benefit, so that I have a little more than just intuition guiding me as I learn the great art of shoveling horseshit, my primary function as an inhabitant of the farm. For 2 or 3 hours everyday, I employ myself with a shovel and a rake, or a 4-pronged pitchfork, depending on the behavior of the terrain. The horses aren't stupid; they don't shit where they eat, so it's usually all in one pile, which is convenient for everyone. When that's done, Rosa and I haul out the Kutsche (the carriage) and harness up 2 of the 9 horses, who are all of German heritage, and go for a charming jaunt along the countryside. Indeed, it's just as cold as it is beautiful.

The first night I was here, Monday, Peter (the head of the household) came in and asked me if I wanted to come with him to milch die Kuh, whose name is Emily, and of course I jumped at the oppotunity. My job was to hold the flashlight, since the barn has no electricity. It was interesting, to be sure, and then we returned to the house for supper, which is a small meal. The warm meal of the day is Lunch, which suits me just fine. But this first night, I watched a real German eat. Peter is a large and strong fellow, with a beard and overalls. He spends his days working with metal, his nights fighting fire, and all the time in between tending to the animals. He cut himself a long strip of miscellaneous dry meat that was in the house, probably something he slaughtered himself. He held a boule of bread near his heart and cut a large slice for me and one for himself, the way I always wanted to cut bread, but the way that parents always tell you not to use the knife. He ate pickled cucumbers and pickled peppers. He used a wooden plate, and but his food into cubes as he ate them. The Germans, I have found, always hold their knife while they eat. They use it to cut, to spread, and to push the food around on the plate and on the fork so it is just the right size and shape to put in the mouth, no strings of kraut ambling about. When he was finished eating, there were crumbs everywhere, and he had created a royal mess, but a German one. His air is that of a woodsman, Herr Nägele, and he carries himself proud.

This, my friends, in an experience to be had! Despite the fact that communication is so difficult, I'm very content here for the time being. I enjoy the manual labor, the fresh air, and especially the animals. You must understand, that this is practically a childhood dream becoming fulfilled. My childhood play was always based around animals, farms, stables, and secret adventures, and this satisfies each one of those fantasies. And too, I have many times thought that I wanted to be a world traveler, but I am beginning to understand that it is actually time travel for which I yearn, and this is practically the same thing.

Today I have a free day, so I have come to Konstanz, a larger city by the lake Bodensee, which is 9 miles wide and 46 miles long. I am not sure what is here, but there is activity, so I must explore. Signing off.