Bare feet hit the floor early in the morning, the drape of a clean white gown unravels from under the sheets. A little girl with sandy blond hair and freckles like cinnamon sprinkles, yawns, pulls on a sweater and sticks her feet into her tall rubber work boots.
You see the girl as she stomps out of the house, pushing through the screen porch door and hear it’s rusty hinge slam shut behind her, she clobbers down the porch steps and out across the yard, one foot turning slightly into some mud and manure. “Ouch” escapes her tongue in her groggy morning voice. You hear the stool being pulled from the barn wall, it’s legs scraping it’s way down. She sits on the stool, scooted up next to her goat, the hem of her gown has gathered muck. She milks the goat as she sings softly, “In the morning when I rise, in the morning when I rise, in the morning when I rise, give me Jesus”. She leans her forehead into her goat, tenderly and patiently doing her chore as she does twice a day, as she’s done every day since she could get that stool down off the wall. She like’s being relied upon, she likes being needed. It makes her really fit in here. Here, service means family.
She muddles up the ramp going into the henhouse, the hem of the once white gown collecting hay that’s now sticking to the muck. The hens cackle softly as the girl says “excuse me, pardon me, just here collecting the rent honey”, her little hands reaching in, her hair lights up golden in the sunrise streaming through the cracks in the henhouse, and the freckles on her face seem to dance as she smiles. She says to the hens ,“The worker deserves her wages, and I woke up hungry today!” She turns around and heads back to the house after dropping their scratch feed down for the hungry chickens. They cluck their thanks and get busy eating the morning offerings as she heads back to the house, her day only beginning.