Holding the cold brass lock in my hand, my thoughts rush around me like the bare autumn wind. I drop the lock and pull the chain through, the chiming in my ears is a familiar music that welcome me home. I walk in the gate and lock it behind me, I begin my walk trying to calm myself by focusing on the noise my flip flops make against the cold, hard asphalt. I pull my thin sweater closer to my body clinging to what little body heat I have left in fear of losing the rest to the cold that nips at my nose and toes. I am embraced by the smells and the sounds that surround me, the animals sing a sweet symphony of yearning and excitement. A deep voice calls out and instantly silences the crowd, my baby has recognized me just as I have recognized her. The damp, earthy scent wafts through my nose and burns my lungs awakening my mind and body. As I pass through the gate a gust of wind drags across my face stinging like a thousand tiny ice shards. The goats and sheep bellow for my attention, even though I know they just devoured there giant flakes of alfalfa and buckets of sweet grain, I still take pity on those round, obnoxious noise machines and feed each a hand full of hay. I continue on my journey following the scarred cement path no longer hearing the bellows of sheep but now the noise is replaced with the grunting and squealing of pigs. My ears strain trying to hone in on a particular piglet, my eyes wander off and land on the fattest guilt there. Though she’s is not mine I hop in her pen and rub her belly, still listening for a particular grump. Finally a sharp, yet failing squeal rings out announcing it owners hunger. I hop out of the pen and scuffle over to the owner of the scream,and there Bonnie sits. Spoiled and well aware of that she remains sitting and seems to lecture me on my tardiness to feed her, her shrieks are heard loud and clear until I dump a scoop of feed in the bowl this has reduced her to nothing but a pair of smacking lips. I take this as a chance to sneak out before she’s guzzled it all down. This time I continue down a dirt trail reflecting on the state of the beaten and battered tack shed that comes to veiw. Though it's beat and battered that shed has been there for me like an old friend in times of need. Inside the tack shed 8 bails are laid out horizontally with two feed bags neatly aligned on each end. My thoughts are broken my a deep erratic  “MOOOOOOO” I turn and look in her direction and she looks at me excitedly, she then heaves her humungous paunchy body back and forth creating momentum to stand her and her unborn baby to feast on her evening meal. Finally like a clock's pendulum swinging back and forth she rises and begins her graceful greeting dance. Every day, two times a day my big ol’ girl jumps and bucks, stretching out her body, challenging the gates that surround her when runing around in circles as she awaits her food. I unlock her feed box and scoop out 6 hefty scoops of the sticky sweet smelling grain and pour them into one of her silver feed pans then I heave 5 flakes of Itchy scratchy alfalfa that always seems to end up more in my boot and sweater than in the feed container. Finally I am done with the rounds and I sense the skies descent into darkness so I climb to the top of the old wood shed with a blinging metal roof and lean back on a rough knotted tuliptree that has grown next to the shed. My favorite time has arrived and the sun has begun to set, a giant flaming chariot on it's way to retire it's horses after a days job well done. The sky is painted an assortment of vivid, rich color; The colors seemed to be tossed together at random: red, orange, light blue, purple with beautiful streaks of salmon. As the sun slowly sinks down if loses is hold on the land sending the corners of the patchy field into darkness, inch by inch the whole field is consumed. The last drop of sunlight leaves me feeling  renewed, and now chilled to the bone. Any bit of body heat lost to the night yet a smile still broadens my face as the bright lights flicker on across the schools campus, the giant CIF board catching my eye. The farm might smell, the field might be patch and the people can be pretty bizarre but home is home and there ain’t nothing like home.