the one cloud over Pawlick's barn — worked out longhand by Grandpa Odell, still not worked out
[1] Timed her with the egg timer off the stove. Your grandmother wanted the egg timer back, which is how I know it was eleven and not twelve.
[2] Skimmerfall: when rain leaves a cloud, gets about waist-high off the ground, thinks better of it, and goes on back up. You hear it more than see it — sounds like somebody shaking out a tablecloth upstairs. Bertha does two or three a season. The county man says there's no such thing. The county man has never sat on this porch.
[3] Fella from the college came out with a ruler on a stick. Wouldn't have told him even if I'd known. Some numbers are hers.
[4] There is always a one. I have never found what it's carried to. If you get further than I did, don't write me — come sit and tell me, and bring the good chair up from the shed, the wicker one has gone soft.
[5] This footnote is for the barn cat, Dennis, who is not part of the equation but wanted to be listed.