Wake up call

I need no wake-up alarm here at the farm.

At 5:59am every morning Larry peels up our gravel driveway in his rusty and not-so-trusty Ford and begins hammering, sawing, nail-gunning, scraping our porch.  All this carpentry commotion is merely backdrop to Larry's music hullabaloo, which also commences at 6am.  Country, rock, 80's dance pop (the style matters not ) is all played exceedingly loud.

And above all that din, Larry sings.  Every. Word.  Whether he knows the song or not.

Larry teaches the Hall boys how to properly scrape paint from the porch

We all appreciate Larry.  He is quirky, kind and works without ceasing.  A master carpenter who could not keep a steady job due to the bottle, Larry is now in a program for recovering alcoholics and has been sober for two years.  No matter the weather, he is usually shirtless by mid-morning and has a huge tattoo on his left chest that reads "God saved me".

Larry brings fresh farm eggs and blue ribbon summer squash from his garden.  He surprised Colvin with a rope swing so she could "swing above the ivy".  He can fix anything and knows something about everything.  Who knew that bleach helps poison ivy?  Mothballs keep snakes away?  The praying mantis eats horseflies?  The kids regale their father every evening with all their Larry learnings.

Last night, my sweet six year old was having a good boo-hoo over missing her best friend, Kate.  She released the floodgates with shuddering sobs that had built up in that little, brave body the last few weeks and we talked about friends.

"Larry is my only friend in Maryland", she sniffed.

"Mine, too, baby." I hold her tight.  "Mine too. But he's a good friend, isn't he?"