My mom is a sporadic "reader" of this blog, mainly keeping to the photos, though she's extremely appreciative and supportive of the things she sees here. She occasionally does hit the Google translation function, and then she calls me in fits of hysterics to tell me what Google-Italian goofiness she's just read. So, when the other day I was on the phone with her after hours spent shoveling and carrying horse dung, and I heard her surprise (the "yuk!" kind of surprise), I realized that she'd never learned from last year's post that I'd already done the dung deed once before.
My mom has lived all her life in a city, and has never really experienced country life, beyond driving up into the Swiss Alps, where my parents have always spent their holidays. Naturally, she knows about manure, having seen heaps of the Alpine bovine kind, but she never quite associated it with her daughter's garden, much less with her daughter. So her somewhat clueless conclusion about my dungish endeavors was, "Oh, you're so brave!" As I said, she's always extremely appreciative and supportive, and always has been. Even when she didn't fully understand what I was up to.
To be honest, though, I didn't feel at all brave on that day. I felt grateful to have a very brave friend who's working hard to keep and train horses, her dream come true. Especially when the horses unexpectedly broke into a gallop and ran out of their pen, chased by fierce looking dogs ... no, I did not feel one bit brave. I was only too glad to go back to the manure: it didn't look either wild or fierce, it stayed put, and was about to become food for my garden.