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96 SALLY EVANS The Feast in the Barn A) PAsT AnD FUTURE The farm welcomes us with sheepdogs. We tumble out on the driveway into the stable where candles wait to be lit. Our host reaches into his reservoir of legend but his mind is on his woodland, his newly laid-out woodland over the hills where sheepdogs follow, new oaks for a legend of druids’ groves, on the driveway Scots pines for the reaches. He’ll plant them like small green candles. Under the awaiting candles his eyes see future woodland wave on the hill. He reaches out for his glass. The sheepdogs mill outside in the driveway as though they could scent the legend. On his barn walls, in the legend pictured under the candles, the traveler reaches the driveway from his trail in the ancient woodlands, sure at his heels his sheepdogs, safe in the farm he reaches, and the feasting company reaches its way into lasting legend in the secret language of sheepdogs, the light shed by the candles, the past and future woodland. Our host stands in the driveway. He turns at the point in the driveway where it runs uphill and reaches the fence dividing the woodland and all that it knows of legend from the homestead of fires and candles and ubiquitous sheepdogs. Woodland surrounds the driveway. Sheepdogs sleep in the reaches of legend as he lights the candles. b) PREsEnT Inside the barn before supper there was a gathering of ladies of whom I was one. The kitchen was the next room. Counting glasses and plates, someone was singing. We’ll need half a bag of turnips, potatoes, parsley, and for the turnips butter and pepper. Then the supper will run itself, almost. Singing “Don’t forget the haggis, ladies,” our host brings in a box of glasses. Many people throng the kitchen, not all cooks. In the kitchen pans of vegetables and turnips boil. We spread cutlery and glasses and cloths across the trestles. Supper will be on time. Trust these ladies! On the stove the kettle’s singing. Now the music, speech and singing starts, and emptied from the kitchen, partners, wives, dressed-up ladies enjoy. Soon the only turnips are the jokes told after supper. Ha! The speaker’s lost his glasses. Water or whisky splashed in glasses under the candles, the true singing and music complements the supper. Quick hands clear the kitchen. Sheepdogs are fed, remaining turnips left for the sheep. Well done, ladies! Gents smoke in the driveway, ladies peek into their looking glasses. Trifle now replaces turnips. Coffee. Songs and legend, singing loud in stable, barn and kitchen. In the woodlands, after supper tired of turnips, feisty ladies, slaves of supper, raise their glasses, singing—this is not the kitchen! THE NATURAL WORLD ...

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