Giddy undertones flow through our goofy conversations as we near the end of the last CSA pack out. We liken our silliness to two restless pupils on the last day of school. At lunch, Rufus strums a set of guitar chords that elicit elevated joy from the seat of my affections. We play music and bust out some dance moves in the barn as we bag the last of the spinach. We roll in the last pallet and hold each other in the warm glow of the woodstove. We did it. 



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