Today we sold our soybeans at over $9.00 a bushel! Last year they were going for about $5.50 a bushel. I was worried because we committed to alternating crops in that field each year between corn and soybeans. Our farmer asked us if we were still on track to switch back to beans, and we said we were, even though last year we got such a good price on corn and prices continued to rise on corn. We noticed that just about everyone planted corn this year, we thought our bean field looked a little loney, but we were hoping that it would pay off because everyone and their brother were planting corn. Sure enough, it did! This year corn is much lower, right now it's going for $3.25 a bushel.
For once we did it right! Mamma needs a new pair of shoes!
Well, really, the goats need a new scale and a heat lamp.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Home
I went into our tiny little town today to do an errand. I decided to wash my car at the car wash/laundromat, and as I was hosing off my car in the new facilities (they just put a carport over the drain at the car wash), I was watching the people go by. I saw the 7th grade boys walking home from football practice, folks walking their dogs, parents coming out of the IGA with the ingredients for supper. I smiled when I saw a combine go by, just driving down the main street of our little town. Nobody's head turned, not any big deal at all. It was a comfort-- somehow that big combine driving down the street, turning nobody's head just made me smile and snuggle up into my community. Strange, I know, but that's me. :)
I am in my homestretch of my busy time with work. It is easier this year as I am taking medication for ADHD and am able to focus on the important things and put pen to paper and work on the tasks at hand. My medication is not a stimulant, however, and provides the added benefit of "taking the edge off of the anxiety" as my psychiatrist so eloquently pitched it. And it does.
I have alternated between feeling comfortable enough to rely on my experience at my job (aside from the time off when the kids were smaller, I have done this job since 1990), and feeling the old pangs of anxiety. However, I am not in the fetal position! I have not shed tears! That may seem like baby steps, but it's progress over last year, and I will take it!
Think of me these last few days of this week. I'll be busy, out of town, out of the safe, snuggled community that I love, and away from the family that means everything to me. My client is not my favorite, has been highly critical in the past, but it looks to be an exciting and successful event-- this side of it. So, though I am swimming upstream, the end of this week marks the end of my crazy month at work. And I look forward to some R&R next week.
Keeping my eye on the prize...
I am in my homestretch of my busy time with work. It is easier this year as I am taking medication for ADHD and am able to focus on the important things and put pen to paper and work on the tasks at hand. My medication is not a stimulant, however, and provides the added benefit of "taking the edge off of the anxiety" as my psychiatrist so eloquently pitched it. And it does.
I have alternated between feeling comfortable enough to rely on my experience at my job (aside from the time off when the kids were smaller, I have done this job since 1990), and feeling the old pangs of anxiety. However, I am not in the fetal position! I have not shed tears! That may seem like baby steps, but it's progress over last year, and I will take it!
Think of me these last few days of this week. I'll be busy, out of town, out of the safe, snuggled community that I love, and away from the family that means everything to me. My client is not my favorite, has been highly critical in the past, but it looks to be an exciting and successful event-- this side of it. So, though I am swimming upstream, the end of this week marks the end of my crazy month at work. And I look forward to some R&R next week.
Keeping my eye on the prize...
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Wave
It’s an interesting subculture living in the country. It’s an unwritten rule that if you live in these parts, you wave at folks on gravel roads. It’s kind of ridiculous when I actually talk about it, but it’s a real thing.
The wave is varied, depending on how well you know the “wavee.” Your hand doesn’t leave the steering wheel if you don’t know them. It’s like you just raise your pointer finger off the wheel at them (did you find yourself trying that out as you read it?). It's about a 50/50 response rate, as you might be waving to someone who doesn't know how all of this works, and they may not wave back.
If you do know them, then you take your hand off the wheel in a full-on wave. But you never wave “vigorously” at a farmer. They don’t have time for that. It’s ridiculous and childish. You still wave more than just a “lift a finger” wave, but you don’t get all excited about it.
In-between are those people that you know, but don’t know. Neighbors that you see outside, but you might not have actually been introduced to. Instead of just your finger leaving the wheel, you can lift up your four fingers. But it's not a full-on wave, and your hand still doesn't leave the wheel.
It's amazing, you don't forget to wave, and you don't wave on pavement. It's just second nature after a while.
Going north of my house you venture into another county, where they don’t really wave. Stuck up, they are. You also don’t wave on paved roads. You encounter folks who don’t understand the wave. But here on my road, you can wave all you want. Just be sure that you DO wave. Otherwise you might be mistaken for an outsider.
The wave is varied, depending on how well you know the “wavee.” Your hand doesn’t leave the steering wheel if you don’t know them. It’s like you just raise your pointer finger off the wheel at them (did you find yourself trying that out as you read it?). It's about a 50/50 response rate, as you might be waving to someone who doesn't know how all of this works, and they may not wave back.
If you do know them, then you take your hand off the wheel in a full-on wave. But you never wave “vigorously” at a farmer. They don’t have time for that. It’s ridiculous and childish. You still wave more than just a “lift a finger” wave, but you don’t get all excited about it.
In-between are those people that you know, but don’t know. Neighbors that you see outside, but you might not have actually been introduced to. Instead of just your finger leaving the wheel, you can lift up your four fingers. But it's not a full-on wave, and your hand still doesn't leave the wheel.
It's amazing, you don't forget to wave, and you don't wave on pavement. It's just second nature after a while.
Going north of my house you venture into another county, where they don’t really wave. Stuck up, they are. You also don’t wave on paved roads. You encounter folks who don’t understand the wave. But here on my road, you can wave all you want. Just be sure that you DO wave. Otherwise you might be mistaken for an outsider.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Hanging in there
It has been a difficult week, as you can imagine. We are exhausted, and the new week is demanding our undivided attention. I have yet another two meetings this month (the last of the year), so tomorrow the plan is to hit the ground running. It is not just me, but B has the same time demands.
Still, we are attending to the task at hand. We have been listing all that was lost in the shed fire, discussing plans and costs with our electrician, and spec-ing out new pole buildings. We are optimistic that by the end of October we can have all evidence of our current shed and contents cleared away and begin construction on the new building. We need to be done by winter.
That is all for now. We are tired and there is not much to report.
Still, we are attending to the task at hand. We have been listing all that was lost in the shed fire, discussing plans and costs with our electrician, and spec-ing out new pole buildings. We are optimistic that by the end of October we can have all evidence of our current shed and contents cleared away and begin construction on the new building. We need to be done by winter.
That is all for now. We are tired and there is not much to report.
Friday, October 05, 2007
The Unthinkable
On Tuesday I left for an annual convention that I am in charge of planning. I called B just as I was about to get into town to the hotel, as he should have been close to arriving home to meet the school bus, which is my usual role. He assumes that role when I am gone.
Instead of his cheery voice, I was greeted with news that knocked the wind from me: our machine shed was struck by lightning and was burning.
What I can describe now in a very concise timeline, actually unfolded in a maze of facts, misstatements, confusion and assumptions over the subsequent 8-hour span.
A horrible, fast-moving storm sped over our area, and lightning struck a transformer on our property at about 1:45 pm. A fireball was propelled from the transformer down the power lines and into the shed. It immediately lit on fire, and was consumed within a matter of minutes. A wonderful neighbor passing by saw the fire and called 911, after bravely moving our farm truck which was parked just outside the shed. I am not certain I would have been so brave. (And say what you will, but I am thankful that we leave the keys in that truck!)
The fire department was there within 8 minutes, but the fire was so hot and intense that the roof had already fallen in, and the building was a total loss. The flames were 20-30 feet high, and came within 5 feet of our propane tank. Treetops were scorched, some trees were even burnt. Plastic trim on our house was melted as was our picnic table. The fire department fought it for a couple of hours, leaving when they felt that it would burn itself out. The rain was torrential, so I can only imagine what could have happened had it not been raining so hard.
At 4 pm the kids got home from school, but B was not yet home. In the few minutes between those two times, L saw the shed on fire and immediately burst into tears. He frantically went to the pump to get water, only to find that it was not working (the electric company had cut the power lines to the other buildings on the property, including the well pump). In his distress, he ran into the house to get a mixing bowl, futilly filling it with water and dumping it on the inferno. I can only imagine that scene, but it plays over and over in my head. My heart breaks every time I think of it.
As it was, B had to call the firefighters back about 7 pm as the flames became more intense. The crew arrived within minutes with two tanker trucks, and worked in the rain until late in the evening. They were still there when I called for a 10:30 pm update.
I was able to have replacements come to work my meeting so that I could come back home to be with my family and assess the damage. We lost so much that we have worked to build up over the last three years here. B and I moved to this farm with a push mower and four screwdrivers, and maybe a hammer, and we thought we could be farmers. We have collected equipment and tools specifically for the needs we have on our operation. I remember how little we knew and how little we had when we first started on this venture together. It feels like we had climbed halfway up the mountain and have fallen back down to the bottom.
We lost all of the chickens and all of the hay we put up for the year. Hay went for upwards of $10 a square bale last year, and we paid our hay guy 70 cents per bale to cut and bale it for us (of course, we did the stacking and putting it up). But we will never find it for that cheap.
Losing the chickens is devastating, too. Thinking of them suffering is hard to stomach.
The worst part about the fire is the sense of security that is lost. Your home is where you go to escape from these things—ours especially is tranquil and peaceful and AWAY from the cares of the world. While are are not naïve enough to think that it doesn’t happen here, I suppose we do operate in a manner that can’t fathom that sort of thing happening. Our home was broken into when I was a teenager, and it is the same sort of feeling.
At the same time we are feeling blessed—we have incredible neighbors, adequate insurance, and a shitload of tenacity. We will do it again, and better, faster and cheaper this time.
For now we are sad. We don’t even have a shovel to scoop up the trashbin that melted into a puddle.
Instead of his cheery voice, I was greeted with news that knocked the wind from me: our machine shed was struck by lightning and was burning.
What I can describe now in a very concise timeline, actually unfolded in a maze of facts, misstatements, confusion and assumptions over the subsequent 8-hour span.
A horrible, fast-moving storm sped over our area, and lightning struck a transformer on our property at about 1:45 pm. A fireball was propelled from the transformer down the power lines and into the shed. It immediately lit on fire, and was consumed within a matter of minutes. A wonderful neighbor passing by saw the fire and called 911, after bravely moving our farm truck which was parked just outside the shed. I am not certain I would have been so brave. (And say what you will, but I am thankful that we leave the keys in that truck!)
The fire department was there within 8 minutes, but the fire was so hot and intense that the roof had already fallen in, and the building was a total loss. The flames were 20-30 feet high, and came within 5 feet of our propane tank. Treetops were scorched, some trees were even burnt. Plastic trim on our house was melted as was our picnic table. The fire department fought it for a couple of hours, leaving when they felt that it would burn itself out. The rain was torrential, so I can only imagine what could have happened had it not been raining so hard.
At 4 pm the kids got home from school, but B was not yet home. In the few minutes between those two times, L saw the shed on fire and immediately burst into tears. He frantically went to the pump to get water, only to find that it was not working (the electric company had cut the power lines to the other buildings on the property, including the well pump). In his distress, he ran into the house to get a mixing bowl, futilly filling it with water and dumping it on the inferno. I can only imagine that scene, but it plays over and over in my head. My heart breaks every time I think of it.
As it was, B had to call the firefighters back about 7 pm as the flames became more intense. The crew arrived within minutes with two tanker trucks, and worked in the rain until late in the evening. They were still there when I called for a 10:30 pm update.
I was able to have replacements come to work my meeting so that I could come back home to be with my family and assess the damage. We lost so much that we have worked to build up over the last three years here. B and I moved to this farm with a push mower and four screwdrivers, and maybe a hammer, and we thought we could be farmers. We have collected equipment and tools specifically for the needs we have on our operation. I remember how little we knew and how little we had when we first started on this venture together. It feels like we had climbed halfway up the mountain and have fallen back down to the bottom.
We lost all of the chickens and all of the hay we put up for the year. Hay went for upwards of $10 a square bale last year, and we paid our hay guy 70 cents per bale to cut and bale it for us (of course, we did the stacking and putting it up). But we will never find it for that cheap.
Losing the chickens is devastating, too. Thinking of them suffering is hard to stomach.
The worst part about the fire is the sense of security that is lost. Your home is where you go to escape from these things—ours especially is tranquil and peaceful and AWAY from the cares of the world. While are are not naïve enough to think that it doesn’t happen here, I suppose we do operate in a manner that can’t fathom that sort of thing happening. Our home was broken into when I was a teenager, and it is the same sort of feeling.
At the same time we are feeling blessed—we have incredible neighbors, adequate insurance, and a shitload of tenacity. We will do it again, and better, faster and cheaper this time.
For now we are sad. We don’t even have a shovel to scoop up the trashbin that melted into a puddle.
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