I was on the Gallia County Farm, standing in front of the bridge over Symmes Creek, when I noticed a rather large flock of perhaps 100 white geese just a couple meters from me. Happy to see the geese, I thought perhaps my father had brought them to the Farm. The last time I had been on the Farm, I had bought 100 pounds of shelled corn to feed to wild animals; I might be able to get some of the corn and feed it to the geese. In my mind I could see the geese scrambling for the corn when it was thrown to them. I even imagined throwing corn in the creek and watching the geese dive in the water for it.

All the geese finally moved away, except one right next to me. I watched the goose as it used its beak to dish out loose gravel at the corner of the bridge. It would dip its long beak down into the gravel like a shovel and raise the gravel up on top of its beak. When the goose had finished, it had created a hole big enough for it to slide into a space under the bridge and hide. It was interesting that the goose had created a place for itself like that.

I walked back up to the Farmhouse and stepped into the living room. I was surprised to see my sister sitting there; I hadn't heard her drive up. Five or six other people were also here. My father was talking to someone who looked like my uncle Liston. My father was offering to lend a piece of farm machinery to the man during the winter if he needed it.

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