My Savior Lives!

Happy Easter Everyone!  What a glorious day here on the farm, for we know that our Savior lives!  We attended church service on Sat night (which seemed strange) but as with all holidays, we all have to work.  Our pastor shared a very meaningful message about Jesus and Heaven...and I am always in awe that Jesus Christ was tortured and hung on a cross.....just for me so I could be a friend of God.  There is nothing more humbling than that.  So, today, we shall revel in the knowledge that Jesus proved He holds the keys and has power over death when He resurrected from the dead.   

Suddenly, there was a great earthquake!  For an angel of the Lord came down from heaven, rolled aside the stone and sat on it.  His face shone like lightening and his clothing was as white as snow.  The guards shook with fear when they saw him and they fell into a dead faint.


Then the angel spoke to the women.  "Don't be afraid," he said.  "I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.  He isn't here.  He is risen from the dead, just as he said would happen.  Come, see where his body was lying.  And now, go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead and he is going ahead of you to Galilee.  You will see him there.  Remember what I have told you."  Matthew 28 5-7.


If this doesn't get you going on Easter Morning....I don't know what will! 

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Update

Well, it's Thursday, April 21st and my living room looks surprisingly like it did on April 17th. Shocking, I know.  Just thought I should tell you.  I did ask about the floors and  a "maybe this weekend" was heard.  Key word in that sentence "maybe."  In almost 15 years of marriage, I have learned that "maybe" means "not on your life, so don't hold your breath, sister."  I do know that weather like we've been having is making The Dairy Farmer put his finger to his temple- you know...pretend gun style.   He can't get out in the fields to plant and the more rain we have- the more our manure pit is rising.  If you can't get in the fields to plant, you sure can't get in the fields to spread manure either. 

 So, if you are a local and you know where our farm is located.....you know that our manure pit sits right out front for all the world to see.  We know it's not the most attractive aspect of our farm and it sure isn't where we'd prefer to have it located, but when your farm's located on a bit of a grade and last I checked....shit still flows downhill.....you gotta work with what you have.   As you drive by- say a little prayer that all things stay where they belong and that we get a few nice days to firm up the ground and that we don't have any spillage.  We do have some select individuals who think it's their duty to watch the lip of our pit as they drive by....just waiting for a drop to flow over.  If you're reading this and you're one of "those" people...we know, ok.  We've got it under control. 


And, another update in case you were curious.....remember this?

This is The Golden child's sister.....Goldilocks- and she showed up on my porch on January 18th. I told her she wasn't allowed to come in.  I only have room in my life for one vintage 1970's baby shit yellow piece of furniture.    Guess where she is now?  Residing in my garage. She's been there since January and I'm sure she ain't going anywhere none too soon. 

Things around this place move S-L-O-W.....it's kinda like living on island time, but without the warm sun, the salty ocean breeze and the dark skinned cabana boys serving you fruity drinks and fanning you with large palm fronds.  I'm in desperate need of some island living.....and, then, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't give a rip about my hardwood floors or maybe....I just need a drink. 

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That's It! We're outta here!

We've had enough of this farm life and we're packing our bags and hitting the road, Jack.   That's right, The Dairy Farmer is ready to live the good life in the city.  He's trading in his muck boots for a 3 piece suit.  He's trading in his pickem up truck for a Benz.  He's going to try his hand at lawyer-ing, or broker-ing or president-ing....or some sort of occupation that involves an expensive suit.

This is my living room- unloaded.  All my precious knick knacks are all packed up waiting for the moving men to show up.  Oh....I kid.  We can't leave this farm....and The Dairy Farmer certainly isn't cut out to wear a suit.  Well, he is actually.  He looks good in a suit... but not everyday.  I like his faded levis and worn work boots.  I digress.....

I'm actually putting this picture up as a public challenge for The DF.    When I was sick (I kinda get tired of saying that...but I have a feeling that's how my life is referenced now....when you have a fancy french illness that affects your life, that's what happens) The DF borrowed a recliner from his momma for me to rest in while my nerves mended.  Well....now he wants a recliner....so in Aidan fashion, he "gave" me the gift of one for my birthday.   

Now, I'm not a big recliner fan.  They seem to be big and bulky and remind me of  "pap's chair."  But, they are comfy and I could be persuaded by the right one.   We went shopping for the perfect chair....and ended up with a full, leather sofa with 2 end recliners.  Sweet!  But, there was a stipulation placed upon the DF prior to our shopping trip......before any new furniture (or TV or sound system....cuz you know with new furniture comes new electronics) enter our living room, our poor, sad, neglected hardwoods need refinished.  Not a problem, he said.  I can do it myself....we'll just move everything out, enclose the room in plastic and go to town.

We ordered our new ...did I say leather? sofa.   What on earth was I thinking....we have 2 xxl dogs, 2 cats and 2 kids.  Do you think they will give a leather sofa the respect it deserves?  They darn well better or they'll be out on the curb quicker than they can say "oops."  And I told The DF, he has 3 weeks to git r done....they have to grow the cow to make our couch.  

Now, I've said it before...he's not a "honey do- er."  I can make him a fridge list, I can tape a list to the door he goes in and out of every day, I can write it on his hand, or tattoo it on his forehead.....he just doesn't have extra time to do "things."  But, "things" still need done.   So, last night,  I started unloading the living room and I am putting forth this public challenge.  This project was officially started on Sunday, April 17th.  I'll let you know when it is finished.  I'm pretty sure the day I unhook the TV will be the day he knows I mean business.

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Come to my window

Crawl inside and wait by the light of the moon......if you live in the greater Chambersburg area, you know that we have some serious dark, damp, deep depression going on here.  It is spring and with spring comes rain....it just seems that we are seeing our fair share.  Now, as the better half of a farm couple, I try not to complain when we have rain.  There will be a time that we are praying long and hard and dancing in our undies hoping to see a few drops.  Perfect example......last summer  And we are paying the price for a drought now.    But, seems that when we are privy to a day of gorgeosity here and there....70 degrees, sunny, warm....and then....SNATCH!  It's taken away, that's what makes it tricky to make it through the dreary, rainy days. 

Here is what it looks like around here:

Can you see the rain??????  Poor, dumb horses.  I bet they wish their owner had a nice, warm, dry barn for them.  Wait....she does!!!  They just don't use it!!!  With the rain comes lush green grass and these guys know they better get it while the gettin' is good.

One day this week, we had a break from the rain.  I was working in my stamping room and suddenly, I realized the house was unusually quiet.  What's the deal with that?   So, I went in search of the punks to make sure they were both still breathing.    I walked into The Diary Farmer's office and I saw something amazing outside his window.  Quickly, I ran and grabbed my camera, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash....and here is what I saw:

side bar:  when jr. edition was in 3rd grade, they recited Twas the Night Before Christmas.  His line was the one I just wrote.....he asked me what a "sash" was and if it hurt when you threw it up.  Classic.

Ok...so here is the view outside my window:

A game of catch was going on.  Now, it's not often that The DF is done working when it's still light outside.  Or when the weather is nice....so for him to be home "early" AND take the punks out to play ball was unheard of....but there they are, complete with The Beast.  And, if you have never seen the movie The Sandlot...well then.....you're killin' me, Smalls.   Best.....Movie......Ever. 

The Beast spotted me and hurried over to my window to say "hi."  And to ask me to please wipe his massive drool string.  It had wrapped around his leg and he was having trouble walking.

I also caught a glimpse of some free range chickies.  There is pure joy when the ladies get to "chicken" all around the yard.  I wish you could hear their happy chicken sounds.

At some point, the ladies overstep their bounds and have to be herded back into their pen.  Go Chicken Wrangler.  We've tried to let them out for longer periods of time, but despite the fact that we have acres and acres for them to hang out in....they always go to the road.  And a dead chicken is no fun.    We've also had a hawk come after the girls in the past, so we keep them protected at night.   Country livin' can be tough!

Then this showed up at my window......thought you might like a bird's eye view.  

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Have I gone mad?

The other day I posted about my birth defect.....sadly, I was born without a cooking gene.  The Dairy Farmer is well aware of this situation and he still loves me.  We decided early on in our courtship that if either one of us planned on living, he was going to have to do some cooking....and I was happy to clean up.  Now, you might think I am getting the better end of the bargain, but let me tell you that when a person KNOWS they don't have to clean up after themselves while making dinner....they really don't care what mess they leave in their wake. 

For years, this unwritten agreement has worked well for us.  Until I got sick.  Many kind hearted friends and family provided us with lots of meals.  Our fridge and freezer are well stocked and The Dairy Farmer hasn't had to cook in weeks.  He has become complacent, he doesn't hang out in the kitchen anymore, he doesn't google cooks.com looking for new and exciting recipes, he hasn't made a pot of "kitchen sink" soup in forever!   It's true....The Dairy Farmer quit on us!

Now, we're coming to the end of our prepared meals and I think he got scared.  He enjoyed his sabbatical and really isn't too keen on having to be the chef of the house.  Again, all of us have grown accustomed to living, so he made a suggestion the other day.  He thought, maybe....just maybe....he and I could take a few hours, prepare some dinners and freeze them.  Then, we'd always have meals to fall back on.  He...wanted me.....to <gasp>......cook?  with him?  in the same kitchen?   at the same time?  Oh dear. 

Friday afternoon, he schlepped off to The Wal Mart to gather supplies.  Saturday morning, we began this crazy task.    We did well.  The kids were shipped off to a grandparents (that solved a big issue right there) and we locked the dogs in the living room (another problem solved) and we got to right down to business.

Here is what we made:

That's FIVE....count em FIVE containers of Chicken Spaghetti thanks to my friend, Jenn and The Pioneer Woman! Love 'em both more than my luggage!

Two pans of crust less quiche.  It wasn't supposed to be crust less, but we had a misunderstanding and we went with it.

There was a casualty.....my sink.  But, she took one for the team, as we kept filling her up with dirty dishes.   She didn't complain once.

After she coded, we were able to revive her.  With a little soap and warm water, she quickly came around.  And the best news of all......we walked out of the kitchen with a freezer full of food and a marriage still intact.

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Proof

It's pretty widely known among my close circle of friends and family that I don't cook.  I think I was born without a "cooking" gene, but, I can wash dishes like no one's business.  I will dust the house, do laundry till I turn blue, I will iron and wash floors on my hands and knees.  But, I don't cook.  Now, don't get that statement confused with I don't know HOW to cook.  I do.  I totally know how....I just don't like it.  In fact, I hate it and if momma is in the kitchen, look out, cuz she's a real bear (and that's putting it mildly).  She's angry, hateful and she might throw things.   

I do, however, have proof that I do cook, periodically, when the moon is in the seventh house.  The Dairy Farmer had a few evening meetings this week and I was left unattended with two hungry punks.  I told them we'd have quesadillas for dinner and this is what showed up in my kitchen.

And see.....in the bottom left of the picture.....that's my quesadilla.  I am a firm believer in the theory set forth by Chef Gusteau in the Disney movie, Ratatouille......."Anyone can cook."  It's just that some of us don't like to.  And if a little rat showed up in my kitchen and wanted to prepare me delicious gourmet meals, I would say "bring it, Little Chef." 

Here's a closer look at the order:

Spelling just isn't the youngest one's strong suit.  I think it's adorable that he asked for plane cheese. 

He may just have a future as a waiter in a diner writing up short orders for "Adam and Eve on a Raft... and wreck em!"

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Big Red

I have a nemesis.  It is called Mount Washmore and I climb it over and over and over again.  The laundry around this joint just never ends. I know many of you are saying "honey, you're preaching to the choir."  And I hear ya.  It seems that where there are kids.....there is laundry.  It seems that where there is a farm......there is laundry.  I'm like Monica on Friends when they played boys against girls trivia for the girls apartment.  One of the questions was "how many categories of towels does Monica have?"   "Everyday Use.....Fancy....Guest....Fancy Guest.....11!"  That's how I feel about my laundry.  Everyday Use....Play....Barn.....Winter Barn.....I even have laundry to do for horses and sometimes calves! 

Needless to say, my washing machines work very hard.  So hard, that occasionally they just up and quit.  Not that long ago, my machine quit and I was dying in a sea of dirty, stinky clothes.  In our haste (and I think the word "divorce" was thrown around a bit) The Dairy Farmer took me to pick out a new washing machine.  I found one I liked, but it happened to be red. 

Red is not the color I would prefer in a washing machine.  Red seems to me to be, sort of, an angry color.  I mean, if you're a bull, seeing a red cape infuriates you.  So, the last thing I want to do is walk into my laundry room, see red and start ramming my washing machine with my head.   But, I had grown tired of telling the punks to turn their undies inside out and have a do over, so we bought it.    Big Red arrived the next day and has been humming along ever since.  She even sings the cutest little song when she's done washing and if she can be that happy whilst washing manure caked jeans....than I can too. 

Until last week.  I was having her wash my bed comforter and she started singing a very odd tune.  A sad tune....a tune of fear and angst.  I checked on her and low and behold, the comforter had turned into a 400lb ball of wet.  She was giving it everything she had, but she just.....couldn't......spin!    We called the repairman and they planned to show up on Monday.  Oh dear.....Monday.  We weathered the weekend with a big ole pile of steaming, hot barn clothes (which were just begging our housecats to come use them as their litterpan) and a laundry basket full of mildewing bed spread.

I walked in the front door Monday afternoon to see my young repairman friend working on Big Red.  "What's the good word?" I asked.   Well, apparently.....her lint trap was clogged.   Hello.....my girl has a dirty lint trap?  I had no idea.  I felt awful.  I am always cleaning out the lint trap on my dryer.....but I.....I......I just didn't know.....and it was full.....full of dirt, straw, hair, fur and....a needle (hazards of farm laundry)  She's all cleaned up now and fully functional.   And, I'm here to pass the word to all you front loader owners out there.   Let me be an example.....I want to spare you the pain and embarrassment of having someone tell you that you have a dirty lint trap.

Now, there is an upside to this story.  I did have to take this picture not only to show you where to find the elusive lint trap, but to show you that after that repairman left.....my laundry room has NEVER been cleaner. 

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We're going to party like it's 1299!

HEAR YE! HEAR YE!

On the eve of the thirty-first day of March in the year of our Lord, two thousand eleven, the Farm of Brechbill welcomed a most precious addition. 

The honour of thy presence is hereby requested at the naming ceremony of the first born babe of Lady Brown Sugar and Lord Random Bull.  

The ceremony will be officiated by Princess Taryn of Brechland Farms and will begin at half past the fifth hour in the eventide.  ( I think that's 5:30pm?)

Please join us for much feasting and merriment. 
(actually, this is a virtual party, so don't come over)

Little red and white heifer calf......I hereby christen thee.......

CHEEZ-IT. 

 

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Houston, We have a problem......

There is an old TV show from the 50's called To Tell the Truth.  I recall having seen it once or twice (and no, not in the 50's).  Basically, a panel of 4 celebs would question three contestants (one is the real deal and the other two are imposters) and try to figure out which one is telling the truth.  Once the votes are cast, the host says "would the real ...... please stand up?"  Then everyone oohs and ahhhs and it's good fun and they all go home.  Let's play, shall we?

I blogged about my walkabout the farm yesterday where I happened upon an interesting situation.  Remember this POST?  The one about my sister and her birthday calf?  Well, apparently March 1st came again this year and when I rounded the corner.......this is what I saw:

WOULD THE REAL AUNT SHELL PLEASE STAND UP?

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Walkabout

I went on a walkabout today.  Remember Crocodile Dundee?   The movie from 1986?  The movie I saw IN THE THEATER no less than 5 times?  Why?  I don't know.   I liked Paul Hogan, I guess.  Why?  I don't know.  Whatever happened to him anyway?  Is he still alive?   Anyway, he talks about going on a walkabout.  And I went on one today.....google says it's a Aboriginal right of passage....and I'd say that's about right. 

This afternoon, The Dairy Farmer walked in the house with a large blue lead rope.  He dropped it on the floor and said, "go get your own horse, we have enough to do."  Now, I was about to go postal on him, because, hey.....I've been working on rebuilding nerves here!  That is NOT as easy as I make it look!  But, I have not worked on this farm since the beginning of February.  So, he's right.  They do have a lot to do, because one dairy farmer and two farm punks have been sharing my workload for over two months.  Not only have they been taking care of all the calves, they've been taking care of my horse.  So, I donned my work boots and off I went to find him......

See, I have this horse.  I got him when I was 9 years old, I think?  He was a pistol.....they had to drug him to put him on the trailer to haul his behind from upstate.  Why, you may ask, would parents let their young, impressionable daughter have such a crazed animal?  And you may be right?  He turned out to hate men too!  A friend of mine, who was.....a grown up man, decided to ride him to "check him out."  Up in the air they both went and if my 40 yr old brain remembers that long ago, I'm pretty sure they both went over backwards.   Scared the 9 yr old crap out of me and took me awhile to ride him.  Turned out, he was....and is.....the best daggone horse ever.  

 He never did trailer well......many horses shows were long over and there we were.....trying to load a stubborn, blindfolded horse by car headlights.  Oh, he'd walk right on at the barn, but not when it was time to go home!  When we moved, I had to ride him to his new boarding barn, more than once!   The day came when I was heading off to college and I "tried" to sell him.  It wasn't that no one wanted him.....I just couldn't part with him.   I decided to donate him to Wilson College to be used as a lesson horse.  When it was time to retire, I'd be the first phone call.  Perfection.   Well, until they came to get him and we couldn't get his sorry butt on the trailer. 

Fast forward thirteen or so years.   I was married, I had 2 small children and I got a phone call.  The old guy was pretty arthritic and it was time to retire.  After a "discussion" <read: tearful pleading> with The Dairy Farmer, it was decided that we didn't have any use for a hay burner on this here farm.   We had one child in private school and a little boy who took up a lot of my time and we really didn't have extra funds to bring a half dead horse home.   I conceded.  The Dairy Farmer was right....although it killed me to agree with him.    Just before I was to make the phone call telling Wilson to try to find someone else, The DF came to me and said "I know how long you've been waiting for that horse.  Bring him home."   That was August of 2003.   We figured, how long will we have him?  A year or two?    

Well, the reason I went on my walkabout was to go try and catch my 39 yr old pain in the butt!  He chokes on his food and he has no teeth, so he has to eat very special, very expensive feed.  He has to eat separately from the other horses and since the weather turned nice, he does NOT want to leave them to come inside to eat.....so, we have to chase his old, arthritic bones all over the pasture. 


On my walkabout, I decided to go visit my calves, one in particular who we will discuss later.  And I encountered something interesting....something strange.....a conundrum, if you will.   And, we shall discuss that later too.

In the meantime, here are some other things I saw on my walkabout:

I found this sneaky other horse......grabbing a taste of someone else's snack.  I really do like this horse, but I'm pretty sure there is only one other person who feels the same way (shout out to Virginia...his first mom)  He is a mustang and he is alpha.....he is also referred to as "the bastard" and "the 'beep'hole" by The Dairy Farmer.  But, this guy....loves me.  And as soon as he saw me, he came over and put his guilty head on my shoulder and breathed his warm horsey breath in my ear.   

I found these girls who ran along the fence making their happy chicken noises.  Hang on girls, I'll send a punk out with fresh feed for you, and if this weather stays nice, there will be plenty of big, fat, juicy crickets under your water bowl soon!

And, then I found this.  The reason for my afternoon stroll.  He's hard of hearing, his vision isn't what it used to be, he's thin, arthritic and slow.  He's sporting his winter look and is in need of a good shave and a haircut.  But, daggone it....he wintered well.   As my vet says every year.....4 good feet and a strong heart.....he may be here awhile.

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Is This Normal?

I have a niece.  Her name is Boo and she is the best thing since sliced bread.  She's 16 months old and I'd bet a week's pay that she's the cutest daggum toddler east of the Mississippi.  There is one problem.  She does not live next door to me.  In fact, she doesn't even live close by.  She's a Jersey girl.  I know, it could be worse, she could live in India or Antarctica or Timbuktu.  Jersey's really not that far away, but it is like a whole different world.  A world of odd smells (and that's coming from a farmer's wife), lack of street signs and potholes bigger than my pickem up truck. 

When I was in the hospital, my sister came to visit and Boo came along.  But, you know, babies and hospitals aren't the best combo, so she stayed away.  I'm feeling better now and it was high time to have a Boo fix, so we packed up and headed to Jersey last weekend. 

Now, my son capital L loves his little cousin.  And, I realized last weekend that it is totally mutual.  They have had a bond since the first day they laid eyes on one another.  I mean, how could you not be infatuated with her.  And, Aidan dotes on her hand and foot.  He plays with her, he feeds her, he gets her whatever she wants.  He is her.....manny.    She's able to talk now and we spent the entire weekend listening to her tell "Aidy" what to do.




I mean, seriously.....you can SEE the love!

Aidy!  Color!  And he does.

Aidy!  Jacket!  And he puts on her shoes and jacket, she grabs his hand and they are ready to go out on the town.

 Aidy!  Nite Nite!  And he lays down with her in his sleeping bag.

 Yes indeedy.....they have a bond. I may have to steal her and make her live with me. 




Now, I do have another child and she loves Boo just as much.  But, they have a different sort of bond.  A bond that involves a television and Mickey Mouse Club House. 

Hello?  Hello?  Bueller?  Bueller?  Nope.....nothing. 




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A spoonful of Sugar

Aren't you lucky?  You are the very first to know.......I am sitting here working on business "stuff" and an email came through from The Dairy Farmer.   He went in to the maternity pen this morning and guess what he found?

That's right......a little Sugar arrived and that ain't no April Fool's joke.  And, we're so happy, cuz she's a she and she's a red!  We get to keep her!    The DF wasn't sure she was bred to a red bull, so we didn't know what we might get.  We prefer those red bulls because they give you wings.  Get it?  Red Bull....you know....like the energy drink.   Yeah, I know, sorry. 

 The punks don't even know she's here  because I've already shipped their little hineys off to school.  You got to hear the news first and see her up close and personal.  Aren't you a privileged lot?    Stay tuned for .....drum roll please.........THE NAMING OF THE CALF.... which will happen around 4pm this afternoon. 

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