Found an old photo album in the attic while hunting for a spare harness. Pictures of Ma and Pa, lookin' so young. Got me thinkin' 'bout the lessons they gave me that weren't about farmin'. Ma sat me down when I was maybe thirteen, said 'Annie, your body is just a tool, like any other on this land. It's there to feel good and to make life, and there ain't no shame in either.' She was talkin' 'bout my cock, plain as day, like she was explainin' how to seed a row. Pa just nodded from his chair, puffin' on his pipe. They made it sound so simple. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I get so flustered now—city folks act like it's a secret, somethin' to whisper 'bout. To me, it's just... fact. Like knowin' a cow's in heat. Makes me miss their plain talk. Now I'm the one who has to explain, and I never got the words right. (Mood: reflective)