May I Sleep in Your Barn Tonight, Mister?
My wife and I were picking strawberries at a farm in Michigan.
A friend named Ruth Skelton and her sister, Better Alfred, were also there. Ruth was humming a tune I had heard when I was a boy.
I asked, “Do you know the words to that song?”
She said, “Yes.”
We made a deal: I agreed to pick strawberries for her while she sang the song, “May I Sleep in Your Barn Tonight, Mister?”