This weekend was busy, as I noted. Our lawnmower is broken, which on the one hand is the perfect excuse not to spend time mowing the lawn! On the other hand, my dad is visiting next weekend, so we need to get busy... B needs to repair the starter. However, I may become the small engine expert.
It has been so nice after the recent oppressive heat. On the one hand, I have been inclined to spend time outside in the nice weather, but there is something to be said for hanging out on the couch with the gorgeous breeze passing over you. Admittedly I spent a little time doing that yesterday.
Aside from that, and shopping, and all of the other Sunday-mundane orders of business, I did head out to the garden and begin the weeding. It's amazing that one's crops can suffer in the heat, yet the weeds seem thrive. Why can't we raise weeds? And with all the technology we have, can't they create a way to keep weeds out? On the other hand, we stay away from those pesticides and altered stuff. Anyway, I didn't get much weeded, as I was sidetracked by the huge crop of green beans. I planted them in succession, so I wouldn't have a bumper crop all at once. So the first five bean plants yielded me over a gallon ziplock bag of green beans. The peas will be ready soon, as will the corn. Also, I have a huge crop of tomatoes, but I fear that the tomato hornworms have had their fill, and the crop will not be as prolific as it could be. We have been picking them off, and I believe that the birds have come along and helped, but much has been destroyed. It's amazing the amount of devastation that they can wield in a few hours.
Okay, off to say good morning to the furry kids, and then to work. : )
Oh, the new doeling is doing well, settling in. She has a weepy eye, however, and I am troubled by that. I have given her antibiotics & B complex, and she is eating and pooping well, so fingers crossed... No name yet.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Saturday, July 22, 2006
what's up buttercup?
Yes, I am officially the goatmom now, though I did want to be the food lady. I can still title my blog that. I’m not sure I like the look, so I will probably mess with that soon. I am going to also delete the references to my farm name. Too distinct… but you know how to find me if you want to buy a goat. : )
So I posted a blog the other day, and it didn’t take. It bummed me out, and I haven’t
attempted to blog since then. From now on, I will blog in Word, so if it doesn’t save, I have not lost my entire post!
Yes, the excuse for being incommunicado is still that we are extremely busy. It is just hitting us with one event or commitment after another. Of course, they are all events or activities that we have signed up for and agreed upon, but still…
“The blog that wasn’t” talked about my experience entering the State Fair photo competition. I have not yet heard if I was accepted, but I am not optimistic. I am hopeful, but the odds are not in my favor. I arrived about 2 hours before the deadline, and I was entrant number 1101. Each of my photos was tagged A, B, C and D, so if everyone entered 4 photos, that would mean a total of 4400 photos! What an immense pool of entries to choose from.
The woman checking everyone in said that the average is about 3 photos chosen out of every 10 photos that are entered. I guess they are not impossible odds, but still quite slim. In a way, that is great. You know that if you were selected to exhibit, that you have something worth considering. It wasn’t one of those “I got first place out of one entry” deals.
Speaking of that, now that I am a bit more anonymous I will have to tell you all about the county fair show. WELL!! Quite the gossip, let me tell you…
First of all, there are not a lot of goats in our small county. We have several 4H clubs within our county, but the show superintendent happens to be in our club. Her kids are members, and she is a parent volunteer. The show superintendent arranges for the judge and the prizes, and fills out the paperwork. This woman does the work out of the kindness of her heart, and helps the kids get ready for the show. Her daughter is older than L, and she offered to help him get ready, although of course, we had the fiasco and were not able to show this year.
So anyway, we decided to go and support the other 4H members who were showing this year. We showed up, and were disappointed when the previous show’s judge (a dairy cattle show) announced that he would be judging the dairy goats. He was a young man, and explicitly stated that he did not know a thing about dairy goats, but was “told by someone he trusts that he should judge them like a dairy cow.” Umm, okay… So he picked the largest goat in each class, without regard to proportion, without looking at other areas that might have disqualified them or made them outstanding. There were kids there (fleshy, people kids) that were showing tiny several-day-old kids, which were darn cute, but how could they compete in showmanship when they are scooting a goat around the ring basically making it “ski”!? And they ended up getting first! When he was pointing out the placings, he would say things like “these white goats” (which were Saanens), or this little brown goat (an alpine). It was sad. But the saddest thing of all was that when the meat goats came around, he specifically stated in the ring that he docked the Boer goat for having more than 2 teats! Boer goats are supposed to have four teats!!
It was really frustrating, and even L was sad for the other kids. However the superintendent’s daughter actually got so many trophies that she had to pack them up in a box to carry them home. I bet she had over 12 trophies. On the one hand, I was sad that L didn’t enter—he could have won. But, on the other hand, there is no guarantee that he would have won, since the judge’s criteria were not fair or accurate. Also, if he is going to win, it’s better that he wins in a hard competition, where he can really be proud of his prize because he really deserved it, not because the judge was crappy and gave him a gift.
One interesting thing that happened is that I ran into someone that I know. I have not been forthcoming lately about some things that were going on, just because I wanted to remain under the radar. But I can now say that a little less than a year ago I became a member of my state organization that supports the livestock industry that I participate in (yes, I am being vague). I was asked to be a committee chair, and I did so. I then was required to attend board meetings and it was quite an interesting experience. After a few meetings, it became election time, and I am now up for election to the board. I don’t know if I will win or not, but if not, I’ll still continue on as committee chair, so I can report on the happenings.
Okay, so at our county fair I ran into this lady from the board, and she is actually very nice. (As an aside, the woman is not from our county, but lives about 2 counties away and was making the rounds to all of the 4H goat shows that she could attend. She pointed out several goats that were being shown that she had actually sold to 4H-ers in my county.) We were both appalled at the judging. But then one of the moms came over. The mom somehow knew her, and was freaking out because her daughter was not being judged fairly. She was NOT being judged fairly, so the mom had reason to be upset, but it was quite unbecoming. (I am SO filing this away for future reference!!) The woman turned out to be someone I know, also. She was M’s special ed associate last year at school. There were some issues there, so I didn’t immediately call attention to the fact that we knew each other. Plus, she was freaking out. Her kid ended up winning, so it was all good, but she was freaking out about the judge. It was an interesting, people-watching moment.
Everyone knows the expression “six degrees of separation.’ However, in my state it is like 2 degrees.
Today we picked up our newest doeling. We put a deposit down on her in May, and had been trying to arrange with the breeder a date to pick her up. It was really hard to come up with a mutually agreeable time to go and get her, but we finally agreed on today. I do believe I broke the first commandment of goat buying, which is not to buy a goat that was less expensive without regard to the husbandry of the breeder. I go back and forth about the decision. I mean, she was not cheap! But she was a few hundred dollars cheaper than the other ones we bought. She has really good bloodlines, too. And she is pretty. But admittedly, her breeder was less than the ideal animal husband. I may be being a little unfair, as I think what is really the case is that he is starting out, and instead of starting small, he went and bought a huge herd of goats from Texas. He has a livestock background, but not in goats. And he just can’t keep up with them. He is not neglectful or malicious, but he just doesn’t have a handle on what he is supposed to be doing. He has so many kids this spring, and he hasn’t tattooed or tagged them. So he has this giant herd, and I am wondering how he can even figure out who are the parents of which kid. On the other hand, we picked out our doe, and he managed to keep that straight (we took pictures, so we know we got the right one). He did get a health certificate (unheard of, but supposedly required), and vaccinated her. But when I asked him about the vaccinations, he assumed I was not sure what I was asking, and his detailed explanation was wrong. The doe was muddy and dirty, and we bathed her as soon as we got her home. So… we will cross our fingers and hope for the best. It could be the worst goat mistake we’ve made, or it could be the best deal. We shall see.
For now, her name is Jane Doe. Her mom’s name is Sapphire, so I was wanting to name her Gemma. But nobody else likes it. So we’ll wait to see who she says she wants to be.
Now I think I am caught up. I will try and be better about blogging now!
So I posted a blog the other day, and it didn’t take. It bummed me out, and I haven’t
attempted to blog since then. From now on, I will blog in Word, so if it doesn’t save, I have not lost my entire post!
Yes, the excuse for being incommunicado is still that we are extremely busy. It is just hitting us with one event or commitment after another. Of course, they are all events or activities that we have signed up for and agreed upon, but still…
“The blog that wasn’t” talked about my experience entering the State Fair photo competition. I have not yet heard if I was accepted, but I am not optimistic. I am hopeful, but the odds are not in my favor. I arrived about 2 hours before the deadline, and I was entrant number 1101. Each of my photos was tagged A, B, C and D, so if everyone entered 4 photos, that would mean a total of 4400 photos! What an immense pool of entries to choose from.
The woman checking everyone in said that the average is about 3 photos chosen out of every 10 photos that are entered. I guess they are not impossible odds, but still quite slim. In a way, that is great. You know that if you were selected to exhibit, that you have something worth considering. It wasn’t one of those “I got first place out of one entry” deals.
Speaking of that, now that I am a bit more anonymous I will have to tell you all about the county fair show. WELL!! Quite the gossip, let me tell you…
First of all, there are not a lot of goats in our small county. We have several 4H clubs within our county, but the show superintendent happens to be in our club. Her kids are members, and she is a parent volunteer. The show superintendent arranges for the judge and the prizes, and fills out the paperwork. This woman does the work out of the kindness of her heart, and helps the kids get ready for the show. Her daughter is older than L, and she offered to help him get ready, although of course, we had the fiasco and were not able to show this year.
So anyway, we decided to go and support the other 4H members who were showing this year. We showed up, and were disappointed when the previous show’s judge (a dairy cattle show) announced that he would be judging the dairy goats. He was a young man, and explicitly stated that he did not know a thing about dairy goats, but was “told by someone he trusts that he should judge them like a dairy cow.” Umm, okay… So he picked the largest goat in each class, without regard to proportion, without looking at other areas that might have disqualified them or made them outstanding. There were kids there (fleshy, people kids) that were showing tiny several-day-old kids, which were darn cute, but how could they compete in showmanship when they are scooting a goat around the ring basically making it “ski”!? And they ended up getting first! When he was pointing out the placings, he would say things like “these white goats” (which were Saanens), or this little brown goat (an alpine). It was sad. But the saddest thing of all was that when the meat goats came around, he specifically stated in the ring that he docked the Boer goat for having more than 2 teats! Boer goats are supposed to have four teats!!
It was really frustrating, and even L was sad for the other kids. However the superintendent’s daughter actually got so many trophies that she had to pack them up in a box to carry them home. I bet she had over 12 trophies. On the one hand, I was sad that L didn’t enter—he could have won. But, on the other hand, there is no guarantee that he would have won, since the judge’s criteria were not fair or accurate. Also, if he is going to win, it’s better that he wins in a hard competition, where he can really be proud of his prize because he really deserved it, not because the judge was crappy and gave him a gift.
One interesting thing that happened is that I ran into someone that I know. I have not been forthcoming lately about some things that were going on, just because I wanted to remain under the radar. But I can now say that a little less than a year ago I became a member of my state organization that supports the livestock industry that I participate in (yes, I am being vague). I was asked to be a committee chair, and I did so. I then was required to attend board meetings and it was quite an interesting experience. After a few meetings, it became election time, and I am now up for election to the board. I don’t know if I will win or not, but if not, I’ll still continue on as committee chair, so I can report on the happenings.
Okay, so at our county fair I ran into this lady from the board, and she is actually very nice. (As an aside, the woman is not from our county, but lives about 2 counties away and was making the rounds to all of the 4H goat shows that she could attend. She pointed out several goats that were being shown that she had actually sold to 4H-ers in my county.) We were both appalled at the judging. But then one of the moms came over. The mom somehow knew her, and was freaking out because her daughter was not being judged fairly. She was NOT being judged fairly, so the mom had reason to be upset, but it was quite unbecoming. (I am SO filing this away for future reference!!) The woman turned out to be someone I know, also. She was M’s special ed associate last year at school. There were some issues there, so I didn’t immediately call attention to the fact that we knew each other. Plus, she was freaking out. Her kid ended up winning, so it was all good, but she was freaking out about the judge. It was an interesting, people-watching moment.
Everyone knows the expression “six degrees of separation.’ However, in my state it is like 2 degrees.
Today we picked up our newest doeling. We put a deposit down on her in May, and had been trying to arrange with the breeder a date to pick her up. It was really hard to come up with a mutually agreeable time to go and get her, but we finally agreed on today. I do believe I broke the first commandment of goat buying, which is not to buy a goat that was less expensive without regard to the husbandry of the breeder. I go back and forth about the decision. I mean, she was not cheap! But she was a few hundred dollars cheaper than the other ones we bought. She has really good bloodlines, too. And she is pretty. But admittedly, her breeder was less than the ideal animal husband. I may be being a little unfair, as I think what is really the case is that he is starting out, and instead of starting small, he went and bought a huge herd of goats from Texas. He has a livestock background, but not in goats. And he just can’t keep up with them. He is not neglectful or malicious, but he just doesn’t have a handle on what he is supposed to be doing. He has so many kids this spring, and he hasn’t tattooed or tagged them. So he has this giant herd, and I am wondering how he can even figure out who are the parents of which kid. On the other hand, we picked out our doe, and he managed to keep that straight (we took pictures, so we know we got the right one). He did get a health certificate (unheard of, but supposedly required), and vaccinated her. But when I asked him about the vaccinations, he assumed I was not sure what I was asking, and his detailed explanation was wrong. The doe was muddy and dirty, and we bathed her as soon as we got her home. So… we will cross our fingers and hope for the best. It could be the worst goat mistake we’ve made, or it could be the best deal. We shall see.
For now, her name is Jane Doe. Her mom’s name is Sapphire, so I was wanting to name her Gemma. But nobody else likes it. So we’ll wait to see who she says she wants to be.
Now I think I am caught up. I will try and be better about blogging now!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Just too busy
Sorry it has been so long since I've posted. My friend Jim gives a great explanation for us both:
"You may have noticed that posting is getting more and more sparse as summer comes on. That is not because nothing is going on, it’s because so much is going on I just haven’t been taking the time to write about it."
Life has been crazy at our farm. B's parents came for a nice visit, and then my mom arrived with my two nephews in tow (4 and 12 years old). It was an exhausting couple of weeks! We had great fun with both sets of families, but the housework, the outside work, barn chores, and that daytime gig all still need to be done. B and I worked 1/2 days, so we could leave at lunchtime and get home to the fun. But that means we spent the morning trying to cram 8 hours of work in!
Lest you think that this weekend was spent recuperating, think again! I had to proctor a test Saturday morning at work, so I was there until noon, and then left for an industry organization's board meeting. I didn't arrive home until 5:15 pm, and I left in the morning at 6:45 am. B had a project at work last evening, too, so he high-fived me on the way out the door. He worked all night and got home about 8:00 am. He worked outside yesterday, cleaned the barn and mowed the lawn. I think that we are both taking today OFF completely.
Next weekend promises to be the same, I have another work function on Saturday, and another industry function on Sunday. I will hardly see B or the kids next weekend. : ( The week after that is the Madison County Fair, and the following week my dad comes. It truly never ends, at least until school starts.
You might notice that I have been mentioning "industry events." I would like to blog more about them, as the cast of characters is quite interesting and gives me much blog-fodder, but it's too sensitive.
I've been doing some thinking, and I have decided to change the name of my blog to something more anonymous. If you were thinking of buying a goat from me, you might google our farm name and come up with my farm site and my blog site. You could easily connect the two. My blog gives insight into some deep personal issues, and I don't really think that it is the business of my customers and my colleagues. I realize it sounds silly-- after all, the blog is public, for goodness sake!! But it's an anonymous kind of public. The fact that one can bare all under the safety of anonymity is very cathartic. Tying my two sites together risks people who deal with me on a superficial level having the opportunity to judge me based upon words or insights taken out of context. If someone inadvertently surfs into my site and judges me harshly on those words/insights taken out of context, I don't really care. I can choose to engage in debate with them or not. And they can do the same, or just surf on to the next site. However, if you and I are doing business, then the blog gives you an insight into me without dialogue. I don't have an opportunity to know those things about you, or explain myself beyond the one dimension that you are reading.
As I said before, that was the reason that I removed the link to my blog from my farm's website. I think I need to go the extra step and make it officially anonymous. So, in the next few days, I will be switching my blog over to goatmom.blogspot.com. If you accidentally come back here, I will leave a link for a few weeks, at least. Eventually I'll remove the link and the old site will be only for superficial farm posts. goatmom will be for the deep stuff.
Happy Sunday! Look forward to more posts when the changeover has been made. There is lots to say, but much of it is personal and I am unable to say it in cyberspace unless my name is not attached!
"You may have noticed that posting is getting more and more sparse as summer comes on. That is not because nothing is going on, it’s because so much is going on I just haven’t been taking the time to write about it."
Life has been crazy at our farm. B's parents came for a nice visit, and then my mom arrived with my two nephews in tow (4 and 12 years old). It was an exhausting couple of weeks! We had great fun with both sets of families, but the housework, the outside work, barn chores, and that daytime gig all still need to be done. B and I worked 1/2 days, so we could leave at lunchtime and get home to the fun. But that means we spent the morning trying to cram 8 hours of work in!
Lest you think that this weekend was spent recuperating, think again! I had to proctor a test Saturday morning at work, so I was there until noon, and then left for an industry organization's board meeting. I didn't arrive home until 5:15 pm, and I left in the morning at 6:45 am. B had a project at work last evening, too, so he high-fived me on the way out the door. He worked all night and got home about 8:00 am. He worked outside yesterday, cleaned the barn and mowed the lawn. I think that we are both taking today OFF completely.
Next weekend promises to be the same, I have another work function on Saturday, and another industry function on Sunday. I will hardly see B or the kids next weekend. : ( The week after that is the Madison County Fair, and the following week my dad comes. It truly never ends, at least until school starts.
You might notice that I have been mentioning "industry events." I would like to blog more about them, as the cast of characters is quite interesting and gives me much blog-fodder, but it's too sensitive.
I've been doing some thinking, and I have decided to change the name of my blog to something more anonymous. If you were thinking of buying a goat from me, you might google our farm name and come up with my farm site and my blog site. You could easily connect the two. My blog gives insight into some deep personal issues, and I don't really think that it is the business of my customers and my colleagues. I realize it sounds silly-- after all, the blog is public, for goodness sake!! But it's an anonymous kind of public. The fact that one can bare all under the safety of anonymity is very cathartic. Tying my two sites together risks people who deal with me on a superficial level having the opportunity to judge me based upon words or insights taken out of context. If someone inadvertently surfs into my site and judges me harshly on those words/insights taken out of context, I don't really care. I can choose to engage in debate with them or not. And they can do the same, or just surf on to the next site. However, if you and I are doing business, then the blog gives you an insight into me without dialogue. I don't have an opportunity to know those things about you, or explain myself beyond the one dimension that you are reading.
As I said before, that was the reason that I removed the link to my blog from my farm's website. I think I need to go the extra step and make it officially anonymous. So, in the next few days, I will be switching my blog over to goatmom.blogspot.com. If you accidentally come back here, I will leave a link for a few weeks, at least. Eventually I'll remove the link and the old site will be only for superficial farm posts. goatmom will be for the deep stuff.
Happy Sunday! Look forward to more posts when the changeover has been made. There is lots to say, but much of it is personal and I am unable to say it in cyberspace unless my name is not attached!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Anything Boys Can Do, Girls Can Do Better
Okay, I don’t really believe that, but I do think that, with the exception of having babies and peeing sentences in the snow, tasks can generally be interchanged between the genders. Tasks that require tremendouis physical strength may tend to be more successfully carried out by men, for example, but by and large both genders can pretty much tackle tasks equally.
I was thinking about this the other day, as we went to a “caprine industry event” and heard a goat farmer talking about marketing and his customers. He was saying that he had individuals that came and butchered on the farm, and he had learned a great deal about their cultures and practices. He spoke very highly of them, and remarked that his and his family’s lives had been enriched because of these interactions with those of other faiths and nationalities, and that he was proud to have furnished the goat that facilitated those interactions.
One thing that he mentioned, however, is that in some cases, the men will come to purchase and/or butcher the goat, but they refuse to transact business with his wife. He said that often they will not even speak to her on the phone—not even to confirm an arrival time, or ask for directions. The speaker noted that in their culture(s) they cannot transact business with a woman.
For me, this poses somewhat of a problem, since the goat operation is primarily mine. I have an amazing amount of support and help and contribution from B, but if you want to know how much we feed, or what we use to worm, or who was vaccinated with what when, you ask me. I am involved in the day-to-day operation, and B is part of the decision-making process and direction of the venture. So, when it comes to fixing a price based upon market value, plus what we have invested into the animal, you would need to ask me.
I have often reflected on how I was brought up. My dad is a truck driver, and when I was younger, my mom had to run the house when he was gone. She ran it when he was home, too! I have always had an example of an independent woman, so I am very independent myself. Not only that, but my father has reinforced htat in me. I used to struggle quite a lot in math (well, let’s be honest, I still do!), and my dad would work with me whenever he could to help me understand. They supported me when I went out for sports teams, and encouraged me to pursue my interests when I headed off to college. There was never an expectation (or lack thereof) because I was a woman.
In fact, the other day I had this very conversation with my dad:
Dad: Hey, did you and B ever get that lawnmower running?
Me: Yeah, but it’s hit or miss. It starts sometimes, but not others. I know you told B you thought it was the starter, but he hasn’t had a chance to take the engine apart to see. You know, it’s interesting, he dives right into a lot of DIY projects, many of which he hasn’t done before. But he’s told me that he just doesn’t feel comfortable with small engine repair. I think it will come with time—after all, you need to know that on a farm! But for now, he’s just not comfortable.
Dad: Why don’t YOU become the expert in small engine repair?
Well there ya go. Just do it myself, and why not??
So, to think that a potential customer would not feel comfortable doing business with me is just mind boggling! That they would eat the fruits of my labor, but could not hand the money over to me, or haggle with me over a price, is just a very unfamiliar and even unsettling concept.
Of course, I will be respectful of that, and B can transact business just as well as I can, but I have really spent a great deal of time mulling this over and trying to make sense of it in my head.
I was thinking about this the other day, as we went to a “caprine industry event” and heard a goat farmer talking about marketing and his customers. He was saying that he had individuals that came and butchered on the farm, and he had learned a great deal about their cultures and practices. He spoke very highly of them, and remarked that his and his family’s lives had been enriched because of these interactions with those of other faiths and nationalities, and that he was proud to have furnished the goat that facilitated those interactions.
One thing that he mentioned, however, is that in some cases, the men will come to purchase and/or butcher the goat, but they refuse to transact business with his wife. He said that often they will not even speak to her on the phone—not even to confirm an arrival time, or ask for directions. The speaker noted that in their culture(s) they cannot transact business with a woman.
For me, this poses somewhat of a problem, since the goat operation is primarily mine. I have an amazing amount of support and help and contribution from B, but if you want to know how much we feed, or what we use to worm, or who was vaccinated with what when, you ask me. I am involved in the day-to-day operation, and B is part of the decision-making process and direction of the venture. So, when it comes to fixing a price based upon market value, plus what we have invested into the animal, you would need to ask me.
I have often reflected on how I was brought up. My dad is a truck driver, and when I was younger, my mom had to run the house when he was gone. She ran it when he was home, too! I have always had an example of an independent woman, so I am very independent myself. Not only that, but my father has reinforced htat in me. I used to struggle quite a lot in math (well, let’s be honest, I still do!), and my dad would work with me whenever he could to help me understand. They supported me when I went out for sports teams, and encouraged me to pursue my interests when I headed off to college. There was never an expectation (or lack thereof) because I was a woman.
In fact, the other day I had this very conversation with my dad:
Dad: Hey, did you and B ever get that lawnmower running?
Me: Yeah, but it’s hit or miss. It starts sometimes, but not others. I know you told B you thought it was the starter, but he hasn’t had a chance to take the engine apart to see. You know, it’s interesting, he dives right into a lot of DIY projects, many of which he hasn’t done before. But he’s told me that he just doesn’t feel comfortable with small engine repair. I think it will come with time—after all, you need to know that on a farm! But for now, he’s just not comfortable.
Dad: Why don’t YOU become the expert in small engine repair?
Well there ya go. Just do it myself, and why not??
So, to think that a potential customer would not feel comfortable doing business with me is just mind boggling! That they would eat the fruits of my labor, but could not hand the money over to me, or haggle with me over a price, is just a very unfamiliar and even unsettling concept.
Of course, I will be respectful of that, and B can transact business just as well as I can, but I have really spent a great deal of time mulling this over and trying to make sense of it in my head.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Sixteen
It's been sixteen years that I have been married to the love of my life. Lucky, lucky me.
He sent me these sixteen roses on Friday. Are they not lovely?
Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for such an amazing man.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Chevon Castle
Is this not the best goat digs ever??? B did a marvelous job giving all the kids their own space, and extra space to boot.
Notice that great construction-- nothing is going ANYWHERE. See the feeders and water buckets? We designed the stalls so everyone could have their water and food refilled from the outside. We can't do that with hay, unfortunately, since putting the hay too close to the buckets means dirty water buckets too frequently. But the rest is down to a science. The opening allows them enough room to put their head outside the stalls, but not the rest of their body (keeps the poo out of the feeder, too, which cuts down on worm infestations).
The white PVC pipe outside of each stall holds minerals. There is a little part that sticks into the stall so the goat can eat it whenever it wants. One is mineral, and the other is baking soda. Baking soda is like "goat tums" and helps prevent bloat or other tummy troubles.
Notice the black kitty by the far pen (Wolfgang's pen). Our goats have their own kittens.
Big pat on the back to B. He's the man. ; )
Introducing Aurora!
Click on the photo for a slideshow of our newest baby, Aurora. (Click here just to see the photo set, if you aren't able to view the slideshow.)
We brought her home on Sunday, and she is finally settling in. It's taking some time, as she's quite skittish. Cindi did not take so much time, but she was also bottle fed, and loved to be loved on. Aurora is skittish, and misses her old herd.
She was born on March 24, so she is just a few months old. I would estimate her weight to be about 45-50 pounds.
In other developments, Ernie hurt his foot, and while at first we thought it might be broken, I think it was just a very painful bruise. He is now walking on it, and seems to be much better. On the other hand, you know the old joke about if something hurts, then just hurt some other body part worse, and the first pain will seem insignificant? Well, his other horn came off, so he has a massive head wound there! The first horn site is virtually healed over, and he doesn't mind being touched on that side of his head. He is obviously favoring the second side. And maybe that's why he's walking around on his foot! Doesn't seem so bad now! But seriously, I gave him a vitamin b shot and he was much better after that. I can't tell you the significant difference I have seen in goats who have been "under the weather." Give them a Vitamin B shot and they are up running around like they are in tip top condition. Do people get Vitamin B shots?
It's in the high 80's today, and the flies are MISERABLE. They are much worse than they have ever been. I'm going to go to Menard's this afternoon to buy some more fans for the animals, and also to see if they have any sort of gizmo/gadget/miracle to ease the fly problem. This year we have more animals, so it stands to reason that we'd have more flies. I have the fly traps, the fly paper, even a funky fly sprayer that automatically sprays ever 15 minutes. It seemed to work well at first, but now seems useless. I bought some diatomaceous earth, and hope to begin feeding it to the animals-- if it is in the poo, then it is effective when they lay eggs and the larvae hatch. The fly spray that we've used for years is not phasing them one bit, and even the Repel-x that I bought last year as "The Big Gun" is acting like a water pistol this year.
Speaking of guns, the neighbors' dog was outside the other night, probably about 11 pm when B and I were watching a movie. We were all snuggled on the couch, L was sleeping (M is in San Diego, visiting grandparents), and the dog chased a car down by our house. Of course, all of our windows are open, and he can hear voices from the tv. He begins to bark and bark and bark and bark... and it goes on for over 1/2 hour. While he is off of their property, he is across the street and not on our land. But he may as well be, since he is virtually right outside of our door. My dad happened to call, and I was venting to him, and he suggested firecrackers! I am SO buying some!! My dad is great, isn't he? I will keep you posted on the outcome...
We brought her home on Sunday, and she is finally settling in. It's taking some time, as she's quite skittish. Cindi did not take so much time, but she was also bottle fed, and loved to be loved on. Aurora is skittish, and misses her old herd.
She was born on March 24, so she is just a few months old. I would estimate her weight to be about 45-50 pounds.
In other developments, Ernie hurt his foot, and while at first we thought it might be broken, I think it was just a very painful bruise. He is now walking on it, and seems to be much better. On the other hand, you know the old joke about if something hurts, then just hurt some other body part worse, and the first pain will seem insignificant? Well, his other horn came off, so he has a massive head wound there! The first horn site is virtually healed over, and he doesn't mind being touched on that side of his head. He is obviously favoring the second side. And maybe that's why he's walking around on his foot! Doesn't seem so bad now! But seriously, I gave him a vitamin b shot and he was much better after that. I can't tell you the significant difference I have seen in goats who have been "under the weather." Give them a Vitamin B shot and they are up running around like they are in tip top condition. Do people get Vitamin B shots?
It's in the high 80's today, and the flies are MISERABLE. They are much worse than they have ever been. I'm going to go to Menard's this afternoon to buy some more fans for the animals, and also to see if they have any sort of gizmo/gadget/miracle to ease the fly problem. This year we have more animals, so it stands to reason that we'd have more flies. I have the fly traps, the fly paper, even a funky fly sprayer that automatically sprays ever 15 minutes. It seemed to work well at first, but now seems useless. I bought some diatomaceous earth, and hope to begin feeding it to the animals-- if it is in the poo, then it is effective when they lay eggs and the larvae hatch. The fly spray that we've used for years is not phasing them one bit, and even the Repel-x that I bought last year as "The Big Gun" is acting like a water pistol this year.
Speaking of guns, the neighbors' dog was outside the other night, probably about 11 pm when B and I were watching a movie. We were all snuggled on the couch, L was sleeping (M is in San Diego, visiting grandparents), and the dog chased a car down by our house. Of course, all of our windows are open, and he can hear voices from the tv. He begins to bark and bark and bark and bark... and it goes on for over 1/2 hour. While he is off of their property, he is across the street and not on our land. But he may as well be, since he is virtually right outside of our door. My dad happened to call, and I was venting to him, and he suggested firecrackers! I am SO buying some!! My dad is great, isn't he? I will keep you posted on the outcome...
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Photos
I need your help!
I have decided, with some encouragement from others, to enter some of my photos in the Iowa State Fair photography competition. I have selected my favorites and put them into a set. Click on the link below for the slideshow.
Photo Slideshow
If you can't view slideshows (this problem was recently brought to my attention), click here to view the photos one at a time, in a set.
Photo Set
Which ones do you like best? I can't decide!
Thanks. : )
I have decided, with some encouragement from others, to enter some of my photos in the Iowa State Fair photography competition. I have selected my favorites and put them into a set. Click on the link below for the slideshow.
Photo Slideshow
If you can't view slideshows (this problem was recently brought to my attention), click here to view the photos one at a time, in a set.
Photo Set
Which ones do you like best? I can't decide!
Thanks. : )
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Llama Trauma
It has been so hot here lately that we knew the inevitable was coming: Joe would need to be sheared. So we put pencil to paper and decided that we could probably do it ourselves with an initial (hefty) investment for some "Shearmaster" clippers.
As an aside, I have some Oster clippers that I use to clip the dog and the horses, and let me tell you, there is a colossal difference. I was thinking that maybe I could try the Osters, but knew that once we started we couldn’t go back, so I didn’t want to go through all of that trauma only to have to stop halfway. Well, there was no comparison, the Osters wouldn’t have even cut an inch of this fur. That is why people charge $50 to shear your llama—it’s a job for the person and a job for the clippers. The Shearmasters are literally the size of my forearm, and they are built to run for extended periods of time. The Osters would have burned up if I left them on for the 45 minutes or so that it took to shear him.
Saturday we went out for some supplies and stopped at the grocery store. You remember, the beautiful store to which I hate to go… Anyway, B and I nearly busted out laughing when the checkout girl (a teenager), said, “So, you guys have any big plans for the weekend?” I’m sure she anticipated us chirping about our plans for a family gathering at the park, or a cookout, or even the excitement of a graduation party. I’m sure “We’re going to shear our llama” was not the response she expected. So we left it unsaid. But we should have said it…
I have asked B to make a llama chute so that Joe would be safe. However, we have hemmed and hawed about that because it is a lot of work for a contraption to be used once a year. And where will we store it? So it didn’t get built. Instead, we rigged up a sort of chute using a livestock gate. It was actually fine, except that when llamas are frightened, for some reason their instinct is to lie down. So they put supports under the llama’s body so that they cannot lie down. It’s definitely difficult to shear a llama when he’s lying down in a small space. Instead, we used a board, but it was at a small angle, and Joe ended up kicking it over. So that was not a good solution.
He has the most amazingly soft fur, and the Shearmasters worked a treat. It did take forever, however, and he struggled the entire time. I was drenched in sweat after finishing, and I bet if llamas could sweat, Joe would have been sweaty, too. But because he can’t sweat, well, that’s the reason we sheared him in the first place.
Here is a photo of the newly nekkid Joe Llama:
As an aside, I have some Oster clippers that I use to clip the dog and the horses, and let me tell you, there is a colossal difference. I was thinking that maybe I could try the Osters, but knew that once we started we couldn’t go back, so I didn’t want to go through all of that trauma only to have to stop halfway. Well, there was no comparison, the Osters wouldn’t have even cut an inch of this fur. That is why people charge $50 to shear your llama—it’s a job for the person and a job for the clippers. The Shearmasters are literally the size of my forearm, and they are built to run for extended periods of time. The Osters would have burned up if I left them on for the 45 minutes or so that it took to shear him.
Saturday we went out for some supplies and stopped at the grocery store. You remember, the beautiful store to which I hate to go… Anyway, B and I nearly busted out laughing when the checkout girl (a teenager), said, “So, you guys have any big plans for the weekend?” I’m sure she anticipated us chirping about our plans for a family gathering at the park, or a cookout, or even the excitement of a graduation party. I’m sure “We’re going to shear our llama” was not the response she expected. So we left it unsaid. But we should have said it…
I have asked B to make a llama chute so that Joe would be safe. However, we have hemmed and hawed about that because it is a lot of work for a contraption to be used once a year. And where will we store it? So it didn’t get built. Instead, we rigged up a sort of chute using a livestock gate. It was actually fine, except that when llamas are frightened, for some reason their instinct is to lie down. So they put supports under the llama’s body so that they cannot lie down. It’s definitely difficult to shear a llama when he’s lying down in a small space. Instead, we used a board, but it was at a small angle, and Joe ended up kicking it over. So that was not a good solution.
He has the most amazingly soft fur, and the Shearmasters worked a treat. It did take forever, however, and he struggled the entire time. I was drenched in sweat after finishing, and I bet if llamas could sweat, Joe would have been sweaty, too. But because he can’t sweat, well, that’s the reason we sheared him in the first place.
Here is a photo of the newly nekkid Joe Llama:
Friday, June 02, 2006
Keeping you posted
There is much to report these days! B and I have been very busy preparing our barn and farm for two new doelings that we bought. We went last weekend on our quest, and did not return empty handed. Actually, we did return empty handed, and also empty bank-accounted. :) The farm account doesn't have much money, it always has its hand out begging us for money...
We bought two little does, and they are not yet weaned. We bought them from two different farms, and will return in a few weeks to pick them up. It has been interesting to look at how other people do things, or don't do things. We are taking lots of notes about how we will and won't do business. It's very interesting.
I have photos of the two girlies, as yet unnamed. They are not good pictures-- the first girl was going potty when I took her picture-- the only way I could get her standing still!! When we bought the other girl, I had left my camera at home, so all I could get was a far away shot with my cell phone cam. Of course, when they come to live with us, you will have more photos than you ever wanted.
Jane Doe #1
Jane Doe #2
The garden is in and growing. Here are some pictures of the plot, and some of the corn and a cool bean sprout. Amazing how fast they grow! We planted corn, peas, beans, carrots, tomatoes and strawberries. We'll see what we get!
I've had some time to take a few pictures lately, here are some I took last night. I especially like the ones with the funky sky over the hay field.
We bought two little does, and they are not yet weaned. We bought them from two different farms, and will return in a few weeks to pick them up. It has been interesting to look at how other people do things, or don't do things. We are taking lots of notes about how we will and won't do business. It's very interesting.
I have photos of the two girlies, as yet unnamed. They are not good pictures-- the first girl was going potty when I took her picture-- the only way I could get her standing still!! When we bought the other girl, I had left my camera at home, so all I could get was a far away shot with my cell phone cam. Of course, when they come to live with us, you will have more photos than you ever wanted.
Jane Doe #1
Jane Doe #2
The garden is in and growing. Here are some pictures of the plot, and some of the corn and a cool bean sprout. Amazing how fast they grow! We planted corn, peas, beans, carrots, tomatoes and strawberries. We'll see what we get!
I've had some time to take a few pictures lately, here are some I took last night. I especially like the ones with the funky sky over the hay field.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
I'll Not Tolerate Rudeness
One of my big complaints about living in the suburbs, and even when I lived in Phoenix and Chicago, is that everyone is very me-centered and busy. I remember coming back from living in England and really and truly being astounded that people couldn’t at least return their carts to the cart places in the parking lots. Like they were just SO busy on their way from the Wal-mart that they couldn’t take 45 seconds to scoot their cart back to the little corral. But those people would be the same ones to be angry if and when someone else’s stray cart banged into their cars. Or they would drive around for 10 minutes looking for a parking place really close to the store, when they could have come in and out in that time.
Now I’m not perfect, and I am sure I do some of those things to some extent. But I know that I have not gone completely over to the dark side yet, because I still notice them, they still bug me, and when I lived in suburbia, it was those types of things that drove me away.
So Monday was the first day of summer vacation for the kids, and they were home alone. (See the above snake story.) I had too many calls that day to referee (he hit me, she is bossing me around, he won’t do his work, she’s making me breakfast I don’t want to eat… and on and on and on and – feel my pain yet??). So I stopped at the store on my way home. The final breath I could take before opening the door into the lions’ den. I didn’t exactly hurry, even though I hate that store.
Now, let me just paint a little picture of that store. I hate it because it’s the Beautiful People Store. It’s a grocery store chain, and there are plenty in not-so-beautiful neighborhoods, but this is one in a new, upscale neighborhood. It has a Starbucks, a huge deli, a video rental, a large liquor store, a pharmacy. Quite the beautiful one-stop-shop. It’s the last one in the burbs before you hit the country, so it’s where we shop. It’s about a 20-25 minute drive from our house. My feelings alternate when I go in there—I NEVER feel like I fit in, but either I am walking around very self conscious about my hick appearance, trying to blend in, or I purposely put on my barn boots and overalls and walk around checking out peoples’ reactions to me and my traveling stank.
Monday I was just trying to fit in, and since I was in my work clothes, I did okay.
I got up to the checkout, and was taking the items out of my cart, when I realized that the kids hadn’t called me in the 25 minutes I had been shopping. No, that CAN’T be right! I fished my phone out of my purse, and saw that they had called three times and I missed their calls. Fearing that this would be the one time that the kids didn’t cry wolf, I punched the button and called them back. Right there in line.
Now, if you remember why I hate the burbs, it’s the me mentality, and the disconnect from others. So it is my SUPREME, GRANDIOSE, HUGEST, GIGANTICIST pet peeve to see people chatting away on their phones in line, in the drive through, in the store, totally oblivious to the people that are around them IN REAL LIFE.
So I am in the line, and I am being hypocritical.
Imagine my surprise and horror and shame when the bagger (a teenage boy) came over to me, and actually said, (and I’m quoting, because this scarring situation is forever branded and seared into my memory), “Ma’am, you just keep talking on the phone. I’ll empty your cart for you.” And he proceeded to TAKE ALL OF MY STUFF OUT OF MY CART WHILE I CHATTED ON THE PHONE.
No, I take that back. He really did say that, but there is no way in hell that I would let the story be told like that. First, I winced, like he had just right-hooked me. Because it was that shocking. I mean, here he is ENCOURAGING people to be rude. And being so nice about it!! So I hung up the phone immediately, of course, and told him that I should be paying attention to my shopping, and that if folks couldn’t take 2 minutes to go through the grocery line without the phone jammed into their ear canal, then perhaps they needed to rethink their priorities. And that instead of offering to help them unload their carts, that next time he suggest that they stop talking and pay attention to what they are doing. And I took my own stuff out of my own cart.
He looked at me a little puzzled. And with a sort-of grin on his face. I’m not sure what he was thinking—like, “Yeah, that’s what I think, too, but I can’t tell that to customers” or “This woman has just escaped from the home, and she is completely loony and unfit to be roaming in public” or even, “Jeez, I tried to help her out and she’s lecturing me on how not to be nice.”
Anyway, had I worn my overalls, he probably would have just looked at me and understood.
Now I’m not perfect, and I am sure I do some of those things to some extent. But I know that I have not gone completely over to the dark side yet, because I still notice them, they still bug me, and when I lived in suburbia, it was those types of things that drove me away.
So Monday was the first day of summer vacation for the kids, and they were home alone. (See the above snake story.) I had too many calls that day to referee (he hit me, she is bossing me around, he won’t do his work, she’s making me breakfast I don’t want to eat… and on and on and on and – feel my pain yet??). So I stopped at the store on my way home. The final breath I could take before opening the door into the lions’ den. I didn’t exactly hurry, even though I hate that store.
Now, let me just paint a little picture of that store. I hate it because it’s the Beautiful People Store. It’s a grocery store chain, and there are plenty in not-so-beautiful neighborhoods, but this is one in a new, upscale neighborhood. It has a Starbucks, a huge deli, a video rental, a large liquor store, a pharmacy. Quite the beautiful one-stop-shop. It’s the last one in the burbs before you hit the country, so it’s where we shop. It’s about a 20-25 minute drive from our house. My feelings alternate when I go in there—I NEVER feel like I fit in, but either I am walking around very self conscious about my hick appearance, trying to blend in, or I purposely put on my barn boots and overalls and walk around checking out peoples’ reactions to me and my traveling stank.
Monday I was just trying to fit in, and since I was in my work clothes, I did okay.
I got up to the checkout, and was taking the items out of my cart, when I realized that the kids hadn’t called me in the 25 minutes I had been shopping. No, that CAN’T be right! I fished my phone out of my purse, and saw that they had called three times and I missed their calls. Fearing that this would be the one time that the kids didn’t cry wolf, I punched the button and called them back. Right there in line.
Now, if you remember why I hate the burbs, it’s the me mentality, and the disconnect from others. So it is my SUPREME, GRANDIOSE, HUGEST, GIGANTICIST pet peeve to see people chatting away on their phones in line, in the drive through, in the store, totally oblivious to the people that are around them IN REAL LIFE.
So I am in the line, and I am being hypocritical.
Imagine my surprise and horror and shame when the bagger (a teenage boy) came over to me, and actually said, (and I’m quoting, because this scarring situation is forever branded and seared into my memory), “Ma’am, you just keep talking on the phone. I’ll empty your cart for you.” And he proceeded to TAKE ALL OF MY STUFF OUT OF MY CART WHILE I CHATTED ON THE PHONE.
No, I take that back. He really did say that, but there is no way in hell that I would let the story be told like that. First, I winced, like he had just right-hooked me. Because it was that shocking. I mean, here he is ENCOURAGING people to be rude. And being so nice about it!! So I hung up the phone immediately, of course, and told him that I should be paying attention to my shopping, and that if folks couldn’t take 2 minutes to go through the grocery line without the phone jammed into their ear canal, then perhaps they needed to rethink their priorities. And that instead of offering to help them unload their carts, that next time he suggest that they stop talking and pay attention to what they are doing. And I took my own stuff out of my own cart.
He looked at me a little puzzled. And with a sort-of grin on his face. I’m not sure what he was thinking—like, “Yeah, that’s what I think, too, but I can’t tell that to customers” or “This woman has just escaped from the home, and she is completely loony and unfit to be roaming in public” or even, “Jeez, I tried to help her out and she’s lecturing me on how not to be nice.”
Anyway, had I worn my overalls, he probably would have just looked at me and understood.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Home Alone
So this summer, both kids will be home, at least part time. L will go to daycare on the days they go swimming, and he has football camp and band lessons…
But today there was nothing. Just the two of them, the dogs, cats and a list of chores. One was to clean the back porch, which involves sweeping it and neatening up the boots/shoes out there.
Remember last year, when I got the frantic call from M that Bub’s head was stuck in the jar?
Well, I had a dentist appointment this morning, and called B in advance to tell him to be listening for the kids to call—if they called my phone I would not be able to answer, being in the dentist chair and all. They know to call him if they need something and can’t get ahold of me.
Sure enough, the phone vibrated three times while I was in the chair, and I was wondering what crisis could possibly have occurred that would warrant three calls in less than 30 minutes—that B couldn’t handle! Immediately I checked the multitude of voicemails left for me, to find out that there was a snake in the house! Come to find out, it was only on the back porch, which is technically not in the house. But it had slithered down to the basement to hunt for mice. I hope it ate its fill and slithered back out again. M said it was about 3 feet long.
L did not have to clean the back porch, he got out of that chore for the week.
I have won the award twice now for the best reasons to pack up and go home early;
1. My cat’s head is stuck in a peanut butter jar
2. There is a snake in my house and it’s holding my children hostage.
What next?
But today there was nothing. Just the two of them, the dogs, cats and a list of chores. One was to clean the back porch, which involves sweeping it and neatening up the boots/shoes out there.
Remember last year, when I got the frantic call from M that Bub’s head was stuck in the jar?
Well, I had a dentist appointment this morning, and called B in advance to tell him to be listening for the kids to call—if they called my phone I would not be able to answer, being in the dentist chair and all. They know to call him if they need something and can’t get ahold of me.
Sure enough, the phone vibrated three times while I was in the chair, and I was wondering what crisis could possibly have occurred that would warrant three calls in less than 30 minutes—that B couldn’t handle! Immediately I checked the multitude of voicemails left for me, to find out that there was a snake in the house! Come to find out, it was only on the back porch, which is technically not in the house. But it had slithered down to the basement to hunt for mice. I hope it ate its fill and slithered back out again. M said it was about 3 feet long.
L did not have to clean the back porch, he got out of that chore for the week.
I have won the award twice now for the best reasons to pack up and go home early;
1. My cat’s head is stuck in a peanut butter jar
2. There is a snake in my house and it’s holding my children hostage.
What next?
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Autism Speaks
Click Here to see an amazing movie about autism. It will open your eyes to the lives of those who care for children with disabilities. I am so lucky, M is mostly self-sufficient.
When one has a child, that naturally comes with hopes, dreams and expectations. Whether it will happen or not, we dream about that baby girl's walk down the aisle on her wedding day, dressing her for prom, cheering her on before her first job interview. We think about our little boy's sports, band concerts, what will he be when he grows up?
When one has a child with a disability, those dreams are replaced by hopes that he or she will walk, talk or feed themselves. We read others' Christmas letters and hear all about how Johnny is captain of the football team. We consider that they might not understand our excitement for our child's final ability to control their bladder at age 12, or reaching the bare minimum of grade level performance on a standardized test, or even going to Target without a meltdown. For us, those are causes to celebrate.
It's good that we don't take those things for granted. Nobody should, really. But they do. And because our situation is not the norm, it is such an incredible struggle. As parents and people, we have dreams for OUR lives as well as our children's lives. Yes, we want them to succeed, and we'll be there to do whatever it takes to help them succeed, but for some parents it means abandoning their own dreams and desires. That's NOT what we "signed up for" when we became parents. Or at least that's not what we thought we signed up for.
Yes, we signed up for whatever it demands. But who rubs their very pregnant tummy and thinks about the possiblity that their baby will be developmentally delayed and will require constant supervision, requiring them to choose between working and staying home permanently to care for their child? Who considers the birth of their baby to be the end of their own lives as they know it? Yes, we put our immediate dreams on hold, and yes our kids come first. But what if your life is never yours again? What if your sole purpose in life is to be your child's caregiver? Not just a cheerleader, a guide, an encourager, a teacher-- a diaper-changer for life, a seeing-eye dog, sleeping with one eye open because your child can unlock doors and run away in the night.
If that's the case, you grieve. You grieve for the child you were supposed to have. You grieve for the life you were supposed to have. You have to. If you don't, you aren't human. Your grief has to propel you into doing superhuman things, but if you don't ever stop to say, "THIS SUCKS AND IT'S NOT FAIR" then you are not only doing yourself a disservice, but doing your child the same.
There's no answer. There's not a judgment. It is what it is. This little video will give you a glimpse of what life looks like when it's not your own.
When one has a child, that naturally comes with hopes, dreams and expectations. Whether it will happen or not, we dream about that baby girl's walk down the aisle on her wedding day, dressing her for prom, cheering her on before her first job interview. We think about our little boy's sports, band concerts, what will he be when he grows up?
When one has a child with a disability, those dreams are replaced by hopes that he or she will walk, talk or feed themselves. We read others' Christmas letters and hear all about how Johnny is captain of the football team. We consider that they might not understand our excitement for our child's final ability to control their bladder at age 12, or reaching the bare minimum of grade level performance on a standardized test, or even going to Target without a meltdown. For us, those are causes to celebrate.
It's good that we don't take those things for granted. Nobody should, really. But they do. And because our situation is not the norm, it is such an incredible struggle. As parents and people, we have dreams for OUR lives as well as our children's lives. Yes, we want them to succeed, and we'll be there to do whatever it takes to help them succeed, but for some parents it means abandoning their own dreams and desires. That's NOT what we "signed up for" when we became parents. Or at least that's not what we thought we signed up for.
Yes, we signed up for whatever it demands. But who rubs their very pregnant tummy and thinks about the possiblity that their baby will be developmentally delayed and will require constant supervision, requiring them to choose between working and staying home permanently to care for their child? Who considers the birth of their baby to be the end of their own lives as they know it? Yes, we put our immediate dreams on hold, and yes our kids come first. But what if your life is never yours again? What if your sole purpose in life is to be your child's caregiver? Not just a cheerleader, a guide, an encourager, a teacher-- a diaper-changer for life, a seeing-eye dog, sleeping with one eye open because your child can unlock doors and run away in the night.
If that's the case, you grieve. You grieve for the child you were supposed to have. You grieve for the life you were supposed to have. You have to. If you don't, you aren't human. Your grief has to propel you into doing superhuman things, but if you don't ever stop to say, "THIS SUCKS AND IT'S NOT FAIR" then you are not only doing yourself a disservice, but doing your child the same.
There's no answer. There's not a judgment. It is what it is. This little video will give you a glimpse of what life looks like when it's not your own.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Spring!
Click on the photo to watch a slideshow of my photos. They're good! (Nothing like a strategically place zinnia... sorry B!)
My To-Do Hell
This weekend’s to-do list:
Finish the goat pens
Rototill the garden
Set plants in the garden
Landscape a small piece of ground around the Terre d’Esprit sign
Purchase various plants for planters and areas around our steps and the sign
Plant above plants
Fix the engine on our rototiller
Clean the house
Do the laundry
Make treats for church on Sunday
Shave Rocky (he sheds so badly in the summer)
Build a chute for Joe Llama
Put Joe Llama in the chute and shear him
Finish a newsletter I am working on for an organization to which I belong
Send my friend her baby gift (the baby will practically be driving by the time he receives his gift—which I have, I just haven’t sent.
I crossed out those items which are done, and the ones that
What a weekend it’s been. We got up at 0-dark-thirty yesterday morning and worked all day long. It was one of those days, however…
We have a rototiller that we got for free. It wasn’t working, and while I know NOTHING about small engine repair—let me rephrase that: while I KNEW nothing about small engine repair, I decided that it was worth a try. And it may well be worth my try.
I thought perhaps the gas line might be clogged. So I removed the gas tank and cleared the line with B’s handy air compressor. It did start up, but didn’t stay running. After several unsuccessful attempts at adjusting the carburetor, I had two thoughts:
1. we are wasting time fixing this Barbie-sized rototiller and we should just rent one, since I have an approximately 10 x 20’ garden plot planned, and this will take 2 weeks to till
2. maybe the rototiller needs a spark plug, and we could get it running with a spark plug
So B went to the TrueValu and rented a rototiller and bought a spark plug. The rototiller was half as big as my car—and good thing, too, since I had never done this before. And the little one would have been as effective as me out there with a garden trowel trying to dig up the 100 year old established grass carpet.
As it was, rotilling out there really made me closer to God. You know, as in, I WAS SCREAMING HIS NAME!!! If you have never had the experience of rototilling, I would NOT recommend it. Well, I would recommend it if you would like to find out how weak you are by being dragged around by a machine that has a mind of its own. Then the next day you are reminded how weak you are by how your muscles are moaning. I have slathered my entire back and arms in BenGay for the past two evenings, and I am still in screaming pain. People, you will be taking Advil for a week if you try this at home.
Am I painting the picture here of a pleasant experience? It was hellish, let me tell you!!
As I was doing it, I asked L to bring me several loads of compost from the manure pile (the manure we brought out when we first moved in is beautiful black dirt now!). He complained with every load. You would have thought I had tied him to the tiller and dragged him around. It was really endearing, since I was living my own personal hell trying to command the stupid rototiller. But we got it done.
B is one of those men who does not have a problem with women being independent. If I have a crazy idea, he is usually supportive, and he lets me do it myself. He doesn’t usually try and step in to help if I struggle, since he knows that I think it’s important for me to do my own thing. I see some men that can’t stand for the women they love to struggle, so they will “rescue” them every time. And I seriously do appreciate that about B. I think some men try to be chivalrous, but he respects me and lets me do my own thing. But Saturday, he asked me if I wanted him to do it. And I practically begged him to. He finished off the last pass while I went to whimper in private while ensuring my arms were still connected to my body (since they felt like they had been ripped off).
Let me rephrase this, if I haven’t been clear. This rototilling process, it kicked my butt.
We finished tilling the garden, but the day was young! We went down to Winterset and bought some lunch, took the tiller back, and spent too much money on plants and seeds for this new garden.
We came back home and B went into the barn to work on Ernie’s pen. I was still struggling with my limbs, but L and I tore out some grass to make way for some flowers around the Terre d’Esprit sign. It’s a really steep slope there, and it’s terrifying to drive the lawnmower down such a steep incline. So we decided to plant flowers around it. We put roundup on the foliage that was there, and tore out a section of grass and put landscaping bricks in. There is also a large hole on the other side of the driveway where it appears a tree stump had been removed, and last time I mowed I got the mower stuck in it. So we filled it with good compost and lily bulbs. I also bought a cool Zinnia and planted it in a planter for the new table on my front porch. It goes with the new patio set we bought.
But wait, there’s more! We came in after the animal chores, about 7:00, and enjoyed the sunset on the front porch. B went to the store, where he proceeded to purchase all of the ingredients for me to make snacks for Sunday’s church service. We are in charge of treats every Sunday this month. So I made brownies, lemon bars and cherry cheesecake bites. We didn’t get to bed until about 12:30 (B was stargazing while I was baking), and got up bright and early for church.
I figured that since I had been doing a lot of calling upon God’s name on Saturday, that we really didn’t need to go to church Sunday. But we had to bring the treats. After service we had a road cleanup. I was actually thankful that I was able to stay behind and clean up the dishes from the morning snack/coffee, but B and the kids decided to go on the 2-mile walk.
We came home and went back into the barn, where we got busy on Ernie’s pen. I will have to take pictures when the pens are done—B has crafted them like a master. He plans the construction so carefully—trying to anticipate where any weak spots may be, or how the animal could get out or get hurt. He also tries to anticipate how our use for them might change, in case we might need to add more pens, make them smaller or larger, etc. He uses bolts and screws that can be removed or moved if necessary.
We stopped and took a supper break, but worked on the pens until 10:30 pm, and then went to bed. Needless to say, I am exhausted, and I am cursing that noon meeting I have today, since it will be next to impossible to stay awake…
No rest for the weary, though. Today I will stop on my way home and pick up another board that we will need to finish the job. Hopefully we can get the pens done this week.
Because…
Next weekend we are visiting two goat farms in Iowa, with the intent to add to our herd! We will then have plenty of room to allow for our new additions.
I will post photos I took this weekend…
Finish the goat pens
Set plants in the garden
Landscape a small piece of ground around the Terre d’Esprit sign
Fix the engine on our rototiller
Shave Rocky (he sheds so badly in the summer)
Build a chute for Joe Llama
Put Joe Llama in the chute and shear him
Finish a newsletter I am working on for an organization to which I belong
Send my friend her baby gift (the baby will practically be driving by the time he receives his gift—which I have, I just haven’t sent.
I crossed out those items which are done, and the ones that
What a weekend it’s been. We got up at 0-dark-thirty yesterday morning and worked all day long. It was one of those days, however…
We have a rototiller that we got for free. It wasn’t working, and while I know NOTHING about small engine repair—let me rephrase that: while I KNEW nothing about small engine repair, I decided that it was worth a try. And it may well be worth my try.
I thought perhaps the gas line might be clogged. So I removed the gas tank and cleared the line with B’s handy air compressor. It did start up, but didn’t stay running. After several unsuccessful attempts at adjusting the carburetor, I had two thoughts:
1. we are wasting time fixing this Barbie-sized rototiller and we should just rent one, since I have an approximately 10 x 20’ garden plot planned, and this will take 2 weeks to till
2. maybe the rototiller needs a spark plug, and we could get it running with a spark plug
So B went to the TrueValu and rented a rototiller and bought a spark plug. The rototiller was half as big as my car—and good thing, too, since I had never done this before. And the little one would have been as effective as me out there with a garden trowel trying to dig up the 100 year old established grass carpet.
As it was, rotilling out there really made me closer to God. You know, as in, I WAS SCREAMING HIS NAME!!! If you have never had the experience of rototilling, I would NOT recommend it. Well, I would recommend it if you would like to find out how weak you are by being dragged around by a machine that has a mind of its own. Then the next day you are reminded how weak you are by how your muscles are moaning. I have slathered my entire back and arms in BenGay for the past two evenings, and I am still in screaming pain. People, you will be taking Advil for a week if you try this at home.
Am I painting the picture here of a pleasant experience? It was hellish, let me tell you!!
As I was doing it, I asked L to bring me several loads of compost from the manure pile (the manure we brought out when we first moved in is beautiful black dirt now!). He complained with every load. You would have thought I had tied him to the tiller and dragged him around. It was really endearing, since I was living my own personal hell trying to command the stupid rototiller. But we got it done.
B is one of those men who does not have a problem with women being independent. If I have a crazy idea, he is usually supportive, and he lets me do it myself. He doesn’t usually try and step in to help if I struggle, since he knows that I think it’s important for me to do my own thing. I see some men that can’t stand for the women they love to struggle, so they will “rescue” them every time. And I seriously do appreciate that about B. I think some men try to be chivalrous, but he respects me and lets me do my own thing. But Saturday, he asked me if I wanted him to do it. And I practically begged him to. He finished off the last pass while I went to whimper in private while ensuring my arms were still connected to my body (since they felt like they had been ripped off).
Let me rephrase this, if I haven’t been clear. This rototilling process, it kicked my butt.
We finished tilling the garden, but the day was young! We went down to Winterset and bought some lunch, took the tiller back, and spent too much money on plants and seeds for this new garden.
We came back home and B went into the barn to work on Ernie’s pen. I was still struggling with my limbs, but L and I tore out some grass to make way for some flowers around the Terre d’Esprit sign. It’s a really steep slope there, and it’s terrifying to drive the lawnmower down such a steep incline. So we decided to plant flowers around it. We put roundup on the foliage that was there, and tore out a section of grass and put landscaping bricks in. There is also a large hole on the other side of the driveway where it appears a tree stump had been removed, and last time I mowed I got the mower stuck in it. So we filled it with good compost and lily bulbs. I also bought a cool Zinnia and planted it in a planter for the new table on my front porch. It goes with the new patio set we bought.
But wait, there’s more! We came in after the animal chores, about 7:00, and enjoyed the sunset on the front porch. B went to the store, where he proceeded to purchase all of the ingredients for me to make snacks for Sunday’s church service. We are in charge of treats every Sunday this month. So I made brownies, lemon bars and cherry cheesecake bites. We didn’t get to bed until about 12:30 (B was stargazing while I was baking), and got up bright and early for church.
I figured that since I had been doing a lot of calling upon God’s name on Saturday, that we really didn’t need to go to church Sunday. But we had to bring the treats. After service we had a road cleanup. I was actually thankful that I was able to stay behind and clean up the dishes from the morning snack/coffee, but B and the kids decided to go on the 2-mile walk.
We came home and went back into the barn, where we got busy on Ernie’s pen. I will have to take pictures when the pens are done—B has crafted them like a master. He plans the construction so carefully—trying to anticipate where any weak spots may be, or how the animal could get out or get hurt. He also tries to anticipate how our use for them might change, in case we might need to add more pens, make them smaller or larger, etc. He uses bolts and screws that can be removed or moved if necessary.
We stopped and took a supper break, but worked on the pens until 10:30 pm, and then went to bed. Needless to say, I am exhausted, and I am cursing that noon meeting I have today, since it will be next to impossible to stay awake…
No rest for the weary, though. Today I will stop on my way home and pick up another board that we will need to finish the job. Hopefully we can get the pens done this week.
Because…
Next weekend we are visiting two goat farms in Iowa, with the intent to add to our herd! We will then have plenty of room to allow for our new additions.
I will post photos I took this weekend…
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Disgusted with myself. :(
I really, really, really did something dumb. Something that eats away at my gut every time I think about it-- which is often today.
I missed the deadline for filing the papers for L to show Cindi at the fair. : (
Just typing it makes me want to burst into tears.
I have no real good excuse. Lots of reasons-- we have been so sick on and off lately, I went down to the extension office and actually picked up the form the week before last, and dug out all of the registration paperwork to fill it out. It was ready to go. But then last week I had my meeting, so I was out of town. And I announced to the entire house that I would be making it a priority to take it down in person yesterday. (My announcement was in hopes that nobody would let me forget.)
M got sick yesterday-- the school nurse called and said she was vomiting in class, in the nurse's office, pretty much any and everywhere. So I left work in a hurry, and early, to pick her up and kept her comfortable all afternoon. And, as I felt like I might be coming down with it, I slept.
And slept through the deadline of 5:00 pm.
I am just so gutted over it. I have let L and Cindi down.
B took it down this morning, just in case. Not a chance-- a big sign on the door noting that there will be no exceptions, and they were all due yesterday. I can't blame them, I deal with that all the time in my work. But it is still so, so sad for us.
Ugh, I just feel so terrible.
I missed the deadline for filing the papers for L to show Cindi at the fair. : (
Just typing it makes me want to burst into tears.
I have no real good excuse. Lots of reasons-- we have been so sick on and off lately, I went down to the extension office and actually picked up the form the week before last, and dug out all of the registration paperwork to fill it out. It was ready to go. But then last week I had my meeting, so I was out of town. And I announced to the entire house that I would be making it a priority to take it down in person yesterday. (My announcement was in hopes that nobody would let me forget.)
M got sick yesterday-- the school nurse called and said she was vomiting in class, in the nurse's office, pretty much any and everywhere. So I left work in a hurry, and early, to pick her up and kept her comfortable all afternoon. And, as I felt like I might be coming down with it, I slept.
And slept through the deadline of 5:00 pm.
I am just so gutted over it. I have let L and Cindi down.
B took it down this morning, just in case. Not a chance-- a big sign on the door noting that there will be no exceptions, and they were all due yesterday. I can't blame them, I deal with that all the time in my work. But it is still so, so sad for us.
Ugh, I just feel so terrible.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Iowa
I am not an Iowa native. But after living in England for 3 years, I didn’t think that coming to Iowa would be that much of a culture shock.
And it really wasn’t.
Iowa is a great place, and nothing that I am saying here is really disparaging the great state, it’s just pointing out the differences.
And there are some differences.
They say things differently in Iowa. Like there is a town called Madrid. No, NOT like Madrid, Spain. Madrid, Spain is pronounced kind of like Muh-DRID. No, in Iowa it’s like MA-drid. Kind of rhymes with “rabid.” And there is a town called Laurens. I would say it like the possessive of a girl—that’s Lauren’s book. NO, not in Iowa! You say it like Luh-RENZ. And the town of Peru? It’s PEE-roo. What’s up with that?
There is also the May day thing. Do you celebrate May day? Here you make a basket for your friends, and secretly leave it for them. We have made them for the neighbors and leave them hanging on their mailboxes or their doorknobs.
Beggar’s Night is also a local tradition. They don’t have Halloween or trick-or-treating (well, they DO, but they don’t call it that). Here kids go from door to door, dressed up in costumes, around Halloween time, but they have to tell a joke. If the joke is worthy of candy, then they get the loot. So while you ensure your kid is all decked out and in costume before he goes out, you also ensure that your kid has his joke ready.
Do you know what a kaibo is? It’s a port-a-potty. Um yeah, took me a while to figure that one out. Our realtor mentioned something about a kaibo at our construction site. I was thinking, “I don’t remember discussing that upgrade with the builder! I hope it’s included.” I had no idea it wasn’t some sort of lighting package or fancy insulation… Some people also call it a Bob, but I don’t know if it’s an Iowa thing or not. Kaibo is definitely Iowa.
There is also the typical vocabulary of the Midwest, but to me that is not unique to Iowa. I grew up saying groceries go in a sack or you drink pop, etc.
But we sure never peed in a kaibo.
And it really wasn’t.
Iowa is a great place, and nothing that I am saying here is really disparaging the great state, it’s just pointing out the differences.
And there are some differences.
They say things differently in Iowa. Like there is a town called Madrid. No, NOT like Madrid, Spain. Madrid, Spain is pronounced kind of like Muh-DRID. No, in Iowa it’s like MA-drid. Kind of rhymes with “rabid.” And there is a town called Laurens. I would say it like the possessive of a girl—that’s Lauren’s book. NO, not in Iowa! You say it like Luh-RENZ. And the town of Peru? It’s PEE-roo. What’s up with that?
There is also the May day thing. Do you celebrate May day? Here you make a basket for your friends, and secretly leave it for them. We have made them for the neighbors and leave them hanging on their mailboxes or their doorknobs.
Beggar’s Night is also a local tradition. They don’t have Halloween or trick-or-treating (well, they DO, but they don’t call it that). Here kids go from door to door, dressed up in costumes, around Halloween time, but they have to tell a joke. If the joke is worthy of candy, then they get the loot. So while you ensure your kid is all decked out and in costume before he goes out, you also ensure that your kid has his joke ready.
Do you know what a kaibo is? It’s a port-a-potty. Um yeah, took me a while to figure that one out. Our realtor mentioned something about a kaibo at our construction site. I was thinking, “I don’t remember discussing that upgrade with the builder! I hope it’s included.” I had no idea it wasn’t some sort of lighting package or fancy insulation… Some people also call it a Bob, but I don’t know if it’s an Iowa thing or not. Kaibo is definitely Iowa.
There is also the typical vocabulary of the Midwest, but to me that is not unique to Iowa. I grew up saying groceries go in a sack or you drink pop, etc.
But we sure never peed in a kaibo.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Reflecting
I’ve been quite reflective lately. April 22 was the 2nd anniversary of our move to Terre d’Esprit, and I have been thinking a lot about how we have changed. I mentioned that to Eileen yesterday, and she asked me how I felt that I have changed. I gushed for nearly the entire hour.
Remember the mouse post? The one where I found mouse poo in my kitchen drawers? And I freaked out? Now, mind you, I still don’t have much in my kitchen drawers (and what is in there is either washed first before using, or contained in mouseproof containers), but I feel like people have lived in that house for 85 years, and for probably over 80 of those years have been shared with generations of mice. I am relatively certain that nobody’s obituary has listed anything to do with mice as the cause of death.
I have always loved horses, and as a child I dreamt about having my own. Never did I think that I would be running a veritable breeding operation of livestock of any sort. Major and Lady have been busy lately, and hopefully this will be the first and last heat cycle this summer. The past few days Major has not come when I called him for his “dinner” and to come in for the evening, so I have had to go take the lead rope down to the bottom of the pasture and get him. I led Lady first, figuring that he would follow. I hadn’t counted on the fact that having him follow her puts in him in a very opportunistic position, no pun intended. I had to avoid being stampeded the past two evenings as they came into the barn. Let me tell you, it’s a little uncomfortable being around 2200 collective pounds of horny horseflesh. As I said, I hope the job gets done. But never, never did I mention myself on the other end of a leadrope while a mare was getting bred.
While I would never have considered myself superficial, I think that I have been just as interested in fashion and trends as the next person. I still admit to scanning the front covers of the tabloids as I stand in line at the supermarket checkout. I do watch “What Not to Wear” (and vigilantly check for hidden cameras when I go out to the barn in the morning). In the past I have been enticed by the cool toys the neighbors have had. Now, however, I take most of my pleasure from simple things. I have never been interested in, or any good at, photography. I can’t believe that it is me taking some of the pictures that I have taken at Terre d’Esprit. Truthfully, I just look through the lens and the photo takes itself. Nature yells and I just turn my head and snap the camera. It really isn’t my doing. What IS my doing, however, is the listening. I am not a good listener, and I think I have really turned into an excellent listener in the past couple of years. We look at the stars, we hang out in the hammock. And I wear clothes that don’t match out to the barn. I wear yellow rubber boots that look ridiculous with most things. And flannel, plaid jackets. And I don’t care.
Things are much more simpler, and I am finally starting to follow suit. I think we’ve used our good china once in the past couple of years. And you know, that is fine. I love it, and I keep it for good (which I said I’d never do), but it does convey a sense of complication, of pomp and circumstance, fussiness and frilliness. I don’t have an issue with that—and have loved that in the past—but I am seeking something simpler. Our meals are uncomplicated—things like cheese soup and pasta, lots of grilled food. Our everyday dishes are plain white—perfect for the job.
It’s not that I don’t like the fuss, or the complication, or the effort of those things. On the contrary—I love to cook a gourmet meal. I love to get dressed up and go out. I love a clean house, and to have all of the laundry/dishes/cleaning done. But I used to try to do that every day. So if you came over and “caught” me off guard, you might find me cooking a gourmet meal. Or you would catch me with a spotless house. Or you would never see me with messy hair or in my pajamas.
Now, if you come over, you’ll likely catch me in my pajamas, or sweatpants, or some other unmatching outfit. If you come over for dinner, you might get stuck helping cook it. And it likely won’t be gourmet. And we’ll serve it on the white dishes. You’ll have to overlook the mass of veterinary supplies that are stored in a bin on my hoosier. You’ll have to avert your eyes at my full laundry basket in the mud room, or the baskets of clean clothes stored in my bedroom. Or the smelly barn shoes on the back porch. And you’ll definitely have to look away from the dust that has settled on my furniture. Or, you could always write me a sweet message in it!
But I am so much less complicated myself. I can’t believe how liberating it is. No pretense, much easier to enjoy the moment when it’s not tainted with expectation.
It’s peaceful—truly full of peace.
Remember the mouse post? The one where I found mouse poo in my kitchen drawers? And I freaked out? Now, mind you, I still don’t have much in my kitchen drawers (and what is in there is either washed first before using, or contained in mouseproof containers), but I feel like people have lived in that house for 85 years, and for probably over 80 of those years have been shared with generations of mice. I am relatively certain that nobody’s obituary has listed anything to do with mice as the cause of death.
I have always loved horses, and as a child I dreamt about having my own. Never did I think that I would be running a veritable breeding operation of livestock of any sort. Major and Lady have been busy lately, and hopefully this will be the first and last heat cycle this summer. The past few days Major has not come when I called him for his “dinner” and to come in for the evening, so I have had to go take the lead rope down to the bottom of the pasture and get him. I led Lady first, figuring that he would follow. I hadn’t counted on the fact that having him follow her puts in him in a very opportunistic position, no pun intended. I had to avoid being stampeded the past two evenings as they came into the barn. Let me tell you, it’s a little uncomfortable being around 2200 collective pounds of horny horseflesh. As I said, I hope the job gets done. But never, never did I mention myself on the other end of a leadrope while a mare was getting bred.
While I would never have considered myself superficial, I think that I have been just as interested in fashion and trends as the next person. I still admit to scanning the front covers of the tabloids as I stand in line at the supermarket checkout. I do watch “What Not to Wear” (and vigilantly check for hidden cameras when I go out to the barn in the morning). In the past I have been enticed by the cool toys the neighbors have had. Now, however, I take most of my pleasure from simple things. I have never been interested in, or any good at, photography. I can’t believe that it is me taking some of the pictures that I have taken at Terre d’Esprit. Truthfully, I just look through the lens and the photo takes itself. Nature yells and I just turn my head and snap the camera. It really isn’t my doing. What IS my doing, however, is the listening. I am not a good listener, and I think I have really turned into an excellent listener in the past couple of years. We look at the stars, we hang out in the hammock. And I wear clothes that don’t match out to the barn. I wear yellow rubber boots that look ridiculous with most things. And flannel, plaid jackets. And I don’t care.
Things are much more simpler, and I am finally starting to follow suit. I think we’ve used our good china once in the past couple of years. And you know, that is fine. I love it, and I keep it for good (which I said I’d never do), but it does convey a sense of complication, of pomp and circumstance, fussiness and frilliness. I don’t have an issue with that—and have loved that in the past—but I am seeking something simpler. Our meals are uncomplicated—things like cheese soup and pasta, lots of grilled food. Our everyday dishes are plain white—perfect for the job.
It’s not that I don’t like the fuss, or the complication, or the effort of those things. On the contrary—I love to cook a gourmet meal. I love to get dressed up and go out. I love a clean house, and to have all of the laundry/dishes/cleaning done. But I used to try to do that every day. So if you came over and “caught” me off guard, you might find me cooking a gourmet meal. Or you would catch me with a spotless house. Or you would never see me with messy hair or in my pajamas.
Now, if you come over, you’ll likely catch me in my pajamas, or sweatpants, or some other unmatching outfit. If you come over for dinner, you might get stuck helping cook it. And it likely won’t be gourmet. And we’ll serve it on the white dishes. You’ll have to overlook the mass of veterinary supplies that are stored in a bin on my hoosier. You’ll have to avert your eyes at my full laundry basket in the mud room, or the baskets of clean clothes stored in my bedroom. Or the smelly barn shoes on the back porch. And you’ll definitely have to look away from the dust that has settled on my furniture. Or, you could always write me a sweet message in it!
But I am so much less complicated myself. I can’t believe how liberating it is. No pretense, much easier to enjoy the moment when it’s not tainted with expectation.
It’s peaceful—truly full of peace.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
What is it about gravel roads?
People do weird things on gravel roads.
I am sitting here in the relative dark, watching out my window. Of course, we notice every car that passes, and a farm implement’s passing is cause for running to the window to see who is out and about today. If we’re really lucky, they’ll stop and say hello.
I am watching a car stopped in the middle of the road. It backed up, and then stopped. Someone got out (using the binoculars, I was able to discern that it was a woman). She went onto the roadside for something—Mushrooms? Marijuana? Lost diamond ring? Needle in a haystack?
We’ve had people drive by slowly to take photos. The llama in the paddock is also cause for gaping. I know that as summer gets closer, there will be more tourists, since we are near one of “The Bridges.” (That movie is getting older and older, though, and soon it will be forgotten!)
It just seems like folks do things on gravel roads that they wouldn’t do on a paved road.
I am sitting here in the relative dark, watching out my window. Of course, we notice every car that passes, and a farm implement’s passing is cause for running to the window to see who is out and about today. If we’re really lucky, they’ll stop and say hello.
I am watching a car stopped in the middle of the road. It backed up, and then stopped. Someone got out (using the binoculars, I was able to discern that it was a woman). She went onto the roadside for something—Mushrooms? Marijuana? Lost diamond ring? Needle in a haystack?
We’ve had people drive by slowly to take photos. The llama in the paddock is also cause for gaping. I know that as summer gets closer, there will be more tourists, since we are near one of “The Bridges.” (That movie is getting older and older, though, and soon it will be forgotten!)
It just seems like folks do things on gravel roads that they wouldn’t do on a paved road.
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