It only took seven months to find someone to do chores, but Sam and I got to go on our honeymoon at long last the week after Christmas. December had been a tough month for us at Berglane Farm, and I think the spouse and I were both looking forward to a break from the madness.
Up until about a week or so before we left the farm, we had planned on driving somewhere warm and south of the frozen tundra that hadn't seen an outbreak of Zika virus yet. After realizing that we'd spend more time in the car doing that than actually getting a chance to relax and unwind, we chose a destination that is often regarded as the Cape Cod of the Midwest: Door County.
Our first stop was Green Bay, where we visited the Vatican of the Wisconsinite - Lambeau Field. We've been known to draw big green Gs on our cows with paint sticks on game day, and Sunday evening chores don't start until a 3 p.m. game ends unless the score is quite lopsided. The mere notion of our boots walking the same ground as our football heroes, Brett Favre, Aaron Rodgers, Jordy Nelson, Reggie White, Bart Starr, and Ray Nitschke, was enough to make the Packer fan in me get goosebumps from head to toe.
We spent nearly all day touring Lambeau Field and the Packers Hall of Fame, marveling at how those muscled men we cheer and sometimes scream at every weekend suddenly became more real for us. For example, Ray Nitschke had a Jekyll and Hyde personality on and off the field, and Paul Hornung's scouting report had written on it that the running back's weakness was not speed nor strength, but rather girls. Reggie White had passed away exactly ten years prior to us leaving for our trip, so anything that had to do with him was understandably crowded with adoring fans, and we got to see a softer side of Vince Lombardi that popular legend and sports media often forget to portray.
Next, it was on to Door County, where it was revealed that I am better at being a tourist than Sam. I like to go shopping, visit wineries and sleep because dairy farming doesn't allow for a lot of that. He likes to visit people and look at cows. After taking a ferry to Washington Island across a strait known as Death's Door, and having said ferry nearly capsize during a miniature gale on the way back to the mainland, Sam finally got his wish and we went and visited some of our farming friends on that side of the state. I think he missed the cows at home even though he didn't vocalize it, but I don't think he would have admitted it for a minute; the only things he's ever openly admitted to missing are me while I was away at college and football season.
Although I wanted to get away from the farm even before we left, I missed it as soon as we pulled out of the driveway that Monday morning. Our friend, Jeff, who had graciously volunteered to milk for us while we were gone, said that everything went great other than the normal irritants that go along with milking an unfamiliar herd of cows. When we drove back down the farm lane on Saturday evening, the first thing I did upon leaving the car was scoop my barn cats into my arms and hug my cattle. Like they always say, you can take the girl from the farm, but you can't take the farm from the girl. Even though it was back to reality once again, it was refreshing and rejuvenating to take some time away from our adulthood obligations to just focus on each other for a while.