More Tightwad News!

Okay. (deep breath) I'm going to do it.  I'm actually going to do it.

I'm restarting the Tightwad Round Robin.  No more wondering if I will or if I won't.  I'm going to do it.

So here's the details so far...
Send me your tips, tricks, tightwad hints, gardening ideas, favorite recipes, etc. in the form of a 'newsy' letter.  Print copies will be $2 per issue but I am offering something different this time in hopes of drumming up some more contributions.  FREE (yes you read that right) e-copies will be available this time too.  It will be in the form of a Word document and will be emailed to the address of your choice.  Due date for Spring submissions is May 1st.  You can email me your letter (which is the preferable route and makes it FAR easier to put together an e-version) at ji_olson@hotmail.com or you can mail it directly to me.

Any other questions?  Feel free to ask.

Know someone who would be interested and has some awesome tips to share?  Let them know about the TRR. Spread the word!  

I'm hoping I get lots and lots of letters.  I know there's always a chance this won't pan out and the TRR will remain in retirement but I'm willing to try and revive the old newsletter. 

Wishful Thinking and Tightwad Tips

No waxing poetic about the crystalline snow as is shimmers in the winter sun or how Jack Frost tickles your nose when you walk outside in the crisp, COLD winter air in this blog post. Nope, this post is about pinching pennies and tightwad tricks.  Not mine. Well, not ALL mine anyway.  Everyone else has tips and tricks for stretching those hard earned dollars, right? Soooo.....I was going thru a box of papers this morning and came across my old copies of the Tightwad Round Robin (all four of them) and just had to read them front to back, cover to cover.  Now I'm wishing for a new edition...Am I the only one who misses the old newsletter?  Is there interest out there for resurrecting it?

I'm even offering to be editor if there's others willing to contribute letters.

A time to chill

The last few mornings it's been especially hard to roll outta bed.  I'm not a morning person by nature and it's so tempting to just swaddle back into my cozy flannel sheets and multiple fleece blankets when my other option is to throw back the toasty covers and step onto a chilly floor in a cool semi-dark room.  6am comes around alot earlier it seems when you beat the sunrise every morning and the temps are hovering just under 10 degrees in the pre-dawn hours.  Then I still have to bundle myself and the kids into multiple layers of clothing, brave the breeze to the van and head to the barn fighting yawns the whole way.  There the cement floor is slick and icy, the wind blusters it's way thru every crack it can find, and my fingers begin to fumble from the cold.

You'd think I'd be pretty miserable at this point, right? Sure things are slippery and I spend the first 10 minutes of chores getting my shivering back under control but this cold snap brings about a certain feeling, a sense that Winter is at hand.

There's a magic in the air when those few snowflakes drift down and tickle my nose as I'm heading out to feed calves.  There's something so charming about seeing rosy cheeks on my children as they come in from outside.  There's this sense of anticipation as calendars begin counting down days til Christmas.  I start dreaming of afternoons spent cross-country skiing, ice skating, or sledding followed by mugs of hot cocoa and snuggles under cozy warm blankets.  I consider Winter as time for our family.  For us, it's the slowest time on the farm so we are able to enjoy evenings instead of the hurry up rush-rush pace of Spring planting, Summer haying, and Fall harvesting.  L is around a little more and there's time to work on housing projects. We are able to travel a little more (depending on the weather of course) and the holiday season gives plenty of opportunity for visiting with family we don't see on a regular basis.  Outdoor activities become family outings.  In fact, this year V might even fit into his skis!  And since I apparently have a fishing license (the hubby bought it but didn't tell me) I'm guessing ice fishing just might be added to our list of things to do together.

Sure there will be the frigid days where it's so cold vehicles won't start and your eyelashes freeze together as soon as you open the door.  There will be snowstorms that dump inches of snow, winds to build drifts across the driveway, and ice-covered roads to make driving perilous.

But just as I find the magic in new life burgeoning in Spring, in watching the crops and pastures growing lush and thick in Summer, and in walking through the colorific splendor of an Autumn forest, I'm seeing magic in the crisp snowy Winter.

So while I'm attempting to keep feeling in my fingers and toes while doing chores, I'll be dreaming of all wonderful things I'll hopefully get to do this winter and it helps warm me from the inside.

A day in the life of Me

It struck me after a recent conversation with a family member, that many people may not know what exactly goes on on the farm.  It varies depending on the time of year (spring is planting, summer is haying, and fall is harvest) but here's a glimpse into my daily life. 

Rise and Shine!  The alarm goes off at 5:30am and while we are slow to rise from our warm bed with it's cozy flannel sheets, we beat the sun on a regular basis now.  She doesn't poke her nose above the horizon for another hour so its dark, frosty mornings that greet us each day. After bundling into as many or as few layers as necessary depending on Mother Nature's thermostat, I drive five or so miles to the winter barn to milk our herd of cows, feed calves, and help with the general set up/clean up in the barn.  This usually takes 2-2 1/2 hours right now but sometimes it's longer if we have troubles and sometimes it's less if things go extra smooth.

Once chores are over, we head back home where I whip up a quick but hearty breakfast (more like brunch since we usually eat around 10am) before L heads out to do whatever is on the agenda for the day.  In Spring, there's fields to be plowed, prepared, and planted.  In Summer, there's hay to cut, rake, bale, haul, and wrap or corn and black beans to cultivate.  In Autumn, there's grains to be combined, corn to be chopped, and the last of the hay to be hauled. Winter is slower since we can't work in the fields but there's always repairs to be made, places to be cleaned and tidied, and equipment to be worked on. Sometimes L will work on several of these a day but, while his days are busy, they usually aren't that late as the sun sets earlier now and it's hard to work in the dark.

While L is out in the field, the shop, or elsewhere on the farm I'm typically found working at home.  I do all the usual things-wash dishes, tend the house, raise the kids, (not) weed my garden, etc-that most stay at home moms do but I'm also partly in charge of the books for the farm. I am responsible for entering information into our computer program for tax season as well as updating our cow records with health and breeding stats. L does some of this too but he does more with field and crop information and keeping track of what we feed our cows. Today I made breakfast, swept the floors, washed the dishes, made supper, worked on books for a half hour, and cleaned up the multiple messes my children are so great at making.

In the evenings, I will make supper and (if it's my night for chores) I'll bundle my kids up before heading to the barn for evening milking.  Cooler evenings mean many layers, even in an enclosed milking parlor.  But things seem to click along easily most days and I'm back home by 7:30pm, just in time to feed the kids, let them play a while before sending them off to bed. If I'm not milking, I keep on with my daily work until L comes home, when I serve supper. My day ends with a few minutes to myself to read or work on a puzzle before hitting the sack around 9:30pm.  5:30 comes awfully early.

Anniversary Celebrations

This is a sort of rare occurrence. Six years ago today I married L and for pretty much the first time since our wedding day, we aren't working on our anniversary.  Usually we are moving cows from the summer barn to the winter barn or doing our monthly milk testing on the cows or plowing fields or harvesting corn or doing something farm-related and there just isn't time to celebrate ON our anniversary as a consequence. Such is life on a farm.

But today is a Sunday. A day of rest.  And I had thought briefly about going out to eat or hiking thru the woods or doing something to celebrate our anniversary on the actual day for once.  But I can't.  I'm at my parent's house, loading my van and getting my kids ready to drive back home after a long weekend vacation. And L is at home...several hours away...

So, yet again, we aren't doing anything for our anniversary on the actual day.  But I've found it doesn't matter all that much because we celebrate our marriage every day anyway.  It's in the small things-the I love yous, the holding hands, the raising of our children, the daily routine that makes up our lives and being helpmeets to each other. So when we acknowledge our marriage every day, we don't NEED to celebrate it on that one day.  We already do...

Sure, we'll probably go out to eat sometime in the future and say, "This is our anniversary dinner." and maybe the next year will go by and we won't have done anything at all.  But it'll be okay either way.

I'm still going to hurry home as fast as I can (or at least as fast as the speed limit, traffic, weather and my children's bladders will allow) so I can give my hubby a hug and tell him how much I love him.

Happy Six Years, L.  I can't wait to see what the future holds for us.

Leaves falling like tears

Last week, a friend of mine S passed away rather unexpectedly.  She had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago but appeared to be pulling through despite seemingly insurmountable odds.  Then, last week, she was gone.  Just like that.  Her passing leaves a very large hole in her family and her community. Many of us have been touched by her generosity, thoughtfulness, and kindness more than once and it's hard to think that this person who is/was so dear to so many isn't here. And while I'm so very sad at her passing (as many are), I'm also happy because as one wise person put it, "Her battle is done."

I've been thinking how, no matter how difficult it seems the last few weeks have been for myself, nothing can compare to what S went thru in the last year.   I've had my days of 'what ifs' and 'why mes', but when placing my troubles next to what S must have experienced, mine are the lesser. And I've been reminded of some pretty strong truths.

~Live life to it's fullest and as if every day were the last for you never know when your time will come.

~To count my blessings and celebrate even the smallest moments.

~Putting others first is so much more satisfying than putting myself above all others.

~No matter how bad I think things are for myself, there's probably someone whose feeling the same.

~Believe and I mean truly believe in miracles.

~There's immense power in simple, honest words and prayers.

~Most importantly, never to give up on my faith for even if everything else is gone, my faith will still remain.  

And I've been thinking alot about S this week as it's Autumn and even the trees seem to crying at our loss as their leaves fall earthward like the so many tears that have fallen. Nature is slowing down and life is going dormant in preparation for the long Winter's rest so it's fitting in a way that S went to her peaceful rest at this time of year. But, while things are easing into their restful winter slumbers, there's that one last brilliant splash of color as the leaves change to their Fall coats.  And that's S to a tee-vibrant, colorful, and full of joy. 

Garden, Garden, where's my garden?

I do this every single year...I've killed supposedly un-killable aloe plants.  My thumbs are only green if I've been painting with green paint.  Things only get watered if the hubby reminds me or if he's kind enough to run the irrigator past the garden.  And my chosen method for weeding usually involves a fully-fueled weed whip. My theory on gardening is to let my husband plow the garden and smooth the dirt as best he can with the tractor, plunk some fence posts in the ground to roughly mark my rows, dribble a few seeds down the (mostly crooked) row, weed once or twice a summer, and pray I get something out of the weed patch I call my garden. (I always picture a sign by my garden saying, "Weedville Population 10,000")

A master gardener, I obviously am not.

So why do I continue to plant a garden year after year? Because there is just something about eating a tomato YOU raised and tended and (in my case) rescued from the chicken's beaks and children's grubby hands.  That fresh-from-the-garden taste can't be duplicated with store-bought produce.  I start off each year with the best of intentions-daily weeding, regular watering, and neatly labeled stick straight rows. And each year, I end up losing those good intentions somewhere after I've planted the seeds.  But I persevere because I'm hopeful at some point I'll get so enthused about gardening, I'll ENJOY pulling those weeds and I'll be HAPPY to dig in the dirt and I'll NOT kill every other plant out there.  And c'mon, who doesn't love those juicy red tomatoes picked straight from the vine, those sweet cobs of corn plucked from the slender stalks, or dig those fist-sized spuds from their dirt home and know "I did this. I GREW this."?

And every year I do a little more. This year, I got an extra weeding in there.  Yep, I weeded a whole THREE times...A new record for me. I downsized the size of my garden and I weed whacked the weedy section before it could go to seed so I prevented at least this year's crop of weed offspring from adding to the population boom.  Another new thing for me.

And the African Violet on my window sill is going strong even after a year and a half of semi-neglect...

Hmmm...There might just be a hint of green in these thumbs 'o mine after all.

Autumn's Glory

Leaves change color, geese fly south, temps drop and the combines and corn choppers are out in force.

Must be Harvest time again.

And so starts the day...

Do you like corn on the cob?

I do.  There's nothing quite like fresh sweet corn with supper, is there?  And, while my sweet corn wasn't as bountiful as it has been in years past, we still got one picking out of the corn patch. 

And did you know cows like corn on the cob too?  Well, if you didn't, now you do.

If you need proof, just come look at our corn field right now and you will see exactly where the cows managed to not-so-sneakily-wander their way in and ramble about til we found them happily munching away this morning.

Let's just say we had a herd-ful of bellering, bossing animals this morning that weren't too pleased to be chased out of their bountiful breakfast feast.

Autumn is upon us...supposedly

September.

This month always makes me think of crisp cool mornings with the dew heavy on the grass followed by milder slightly breezy days, excited schoolkids (well more likely excited Moms) climbing onto big yellow busses, the infusion of color as the trees herald the seasonal change in an explosion of yellows, reds, oranges, and all the hues in between, and enormous V shapes of squawking, honking geese following the generations old call of the southern climes (after all, aren't they the original 'snow birds'?).  All these signs hints that Old Man Winter is starting to snuffle and snort his way out his summer slumbers.

September.

It's a month of high school football games, jeans and sweatshirts replace shorts and t-shirts, raking leaves, and harvesting the garden's bounty. It's a time of pumpkins, squash, and apples by the bushel.  It's a time of peace as life begins to slow in readiness for long winter's sleeps.  Trees begin to color and shed their leaves, animals tend their winter beds and food stores, and we moms start hauling out the kids winter gear only to find half pairs of mittens, thread bare knit hats, and jackets that mysteriously shrunk two sizes in storage.

September.

It's the first month that, to me, says Fall Is Here.

And yet, tomorrow the high is in the mid 90's and the heat index will be pushing 100...
If it's September, why does it feel like August?

Changing Seasons

Life doesn't stand still and since it doesn't, time has to pass. What I'm learning now is that everything has it's season-the year has four seasonal changes that affect growth and weather, my kids are changing sometimes daily, my secret dreams shift as my interests expand, even friendships ebb and flow like the seasons of the year.

This season is more than just leaves changing in the trees, cooler winds blowing, school busses driving down the road  after a long (well, short) hiatus, and harvesting the last of the garden before the first frost.  I'm finding seasons in my children's daily activities.  A had a very real conversation with me this morning.  It was filled with bright observances of her surroundings, logical questions pertaining to her family, and more unconditional love than I could ever imagine.  It was a bittersweet reminder than my daughter's Toddler Season is approaching it's end and, while the next one is just as bright and cheery as this one is, it'll still be a different time.  A different season of her life and a different season in my own.

A friendship that needed dusting off is now fresh and renewed.  It's so amazing to discover that we could pick up really where we left off yet there's evidence that experiences have happened and we are both different people. 

My dreams are a constantly moving, swirling mass of thoughts in my head and the only constant amongst them is that they are my own.  I'm constantly coming up with new ideas, discarding old, and adding to the current ones.  When I realize one dream, even then it usually spurs another.  I just added to my dream box this morning when I came across a new recipe that I'd like to try adapting.

Things have been crazy lately with appointments, errand running, harvest arriving upon us, and just life happenings in general.  Sometimes I wonder how I keep my head on straight and everything just overwhelms me.  But then I stop, take a breath, and concentrate on making order of it all.

So, while it might sometimes seem like life is unraveling and coming apart at the seams, I'm having fun re-winding the yarns and knitting something new as we enter another season of the year.

Weeding and Whacking

There is just something so...I don't know...satisfying about weeding the garden.

Especially when your garden is a sticker patch and you use a weed whacker to do it.

Seriously though. I spent a good two hours out in my garden today and it felt so good to stand up, stretch and see my whole four rows of potatoes, six tomato plants, and four pepper plants are now the only things standing tall in my huge (and hugely empty this year thanks to the late spring) garden. The weeds are chopped or pulled, the stickers are cut back and it looks like it should. Weeded.

Now to wait for my apparently prolific tomato plants to start showing some red amongst the green...I'm drooling over the thought of a fresh picked tomato...

And wishing I hadn't chosen one of the HOTTEST days of the year to go work outside. Whew...

What better to do on a hot sunny day?

 V and A enjoying their 'swimming pool'

Ever seen a black turtle?

Bean, that is.

Last year, we experimented with growing edible black turtle beans and the results were decent enough to convince the guys we should do it again this year.  Since we had a dearth of black beans on hand, I managed to get a few gallon bags of dried beans for our own personal use.

And never seemed to get around to using them.

So now I am.

In an effort to better our eating habits, use what foods we have readily available (and conversely lower the grocery bill), and free up the counter space that currently houses a large tupperware container of black beans, I'm cooking black beans.

On the menu thus far are black bean burgers, baked black beans with ham, black bean chili, and black bean burritos.  I've even peeked at a few black bean brownie and cake recipes.  I have a feeling we will be eating ALOT of black beans in the near future.  We'll be a rootin', tootin' black bean-eating bunch.

And if not, then at least I'll have liberated another chunk of countertop...

I counted too soon..Darn it...

Having never been around agriculture before marrying L, farm life was an adjustment for me. And that's putting it mildly. Even now, six years later, you'd think I'd know better than to plan a weekend vacation during the summer months. But NO...I had to go and do it anyway.  And ended up postponing the trip three times in total. So far.  It's still only July.  I've got to get through August and part of September before it 'officially' becomes a Fall vacation...

My first mistake was planning the vacation at all.  My second mistake was planning it first for the end of May.  That turned out to be a no-go when it quickly became apparent in April, that Mother Nature had her seasons mixed up and thought it was still winter before switching to monsoon season.  The end of May saw us frantically trying to get crops planted between raindrops and cooler temperatures delaying fieldwork.

My second attempt at a vacation was derailed when the hay crop decided to have a weekend growth spurt.  Being an understanding, if slightly disgruntled, farm wife, I pushed my plans off for another week.

My third try came thisclose to success when L was literally one foot out the door to go buckle the kids in their carseats when the phone rang.  It was unexpectedly bad news about a near and dear family member and there was only one decision to be made under the circumstances.  Luckily, the bad news quickly turned into not-quite-so-bad news and it's now at pretty-darn-good status but our trip was still pushed off.

We are currently awaiting an update that will let us know whether our 4th stab at a summer family vacation will happen in another week or if it will be two weeks out.

But, as any good farmwife knows, the only sure things about summer on the farm are the hay has to be made, the cows need to be milked, and vacations aren't to be planned.

Life doesn't stop for the hard stuff.

I've been dreaming of writing this blog post for two and a half months.  I still am writing this post but it's not going to be as I envisioned it.  Instead of being a post filled with joy and brimming over with happiness, it'll be filled with bittersweet hope.  But it can't be any other way.  For that's how life is sometimes, isn't it?

To start, ten weeks ago I found out I was pregnant.  Two pink lines appeared instead of one.
This last week, however, my two pink lines weren't quite enough.

It's hard knowing I'll be doing this yet again but I'm at peace too.  This baby, my angel, is resting in God's own embrace.  Knowing my child is with the one person who could love and care for him/her as much as L and I do, helps me get through these sad days.

The things that hurt the worst are knowing this is another child I won't see doing all those 'firsts'. I won't spend hours trying to figure out who they look like.  I can't see them take that first step toward independance, or muddle my way through their teenage angst or see them graduate high school or enter into their own life.  There's so many things I'll miss and that tears me up inside more than the physical loss does.

Yet, I can't wallow in my grief either. As I wait for the physical parting to start, I know the spiritual parting has already happened and my baby is at peace and without pain.  It's been said God only gives you what you can handle and I firmly believe there's a very special place for babies taken too soon.  Perhaps they are guardian angels... All I know is that He wouldn't put me through this time and again if there wasn't some higher purpose for it.

The hardest thing about miscarriage is that there isn't a physical place to go to for closure like when an older family member dies.  There's no grave marker in a cemetery to place flowers at.  So many women make their own memorials.  Some make a box with ultrasound pictures and special mementos-perhaps a rattle or a pair of booties given specially for the baby. Others send out balloons with messages or seeds inside.  I have a quiet little place tucked into the trees where I plan to plant a bush or tree as my way of memorializing my babies.  It's the place I go to when I'm in need of solace and comfort for there, in the dappled shade of my own little 'secret garden', I feel most at peace.  It's as if my children are there, saying, "It's okay, Mom.  We're so happy where we are and Thank You for giving us life, as brief as it was. We love you."

I'm happy I have my V and my A and I am so very very aware of just how miraculous it is that I have them. My two precocious, precious children have made me smile through my tears and kept me in the Real World this last week when all I've wanted to do is crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. When all I wanted to do was hide from my troubles, they would do something to make me see life didn't quit on Tuesday afternoon-like A taking off her diaper and promptly proving she's not ready for potty training or V hauling in a board so he could go 'hunting' and 'fishing' in the living room.  They've kept me smiling instead of crying and helped start healing my bruised and battered heart with slobbery kisses and hugs from jam-sticky hands.  Just today, they were sitting on the chair 'singing' at the top of their lungs while 'reading' their books. The sight made me laugh.  I mean, really laugh.  And laughter is the best medicine of all, right?

Life on the Farm-the Good, the Bad, and the Evil Roosters

Almost a year ago, we added to our brood-our chicken brood that is.  Sixteen new chickens (hopefully more laying hens than roosters) brought our coop population up to 24.  For about two weeks that is...The first chicken died because it, oddly enough, liked being at the bottom of the chicken pile.  I'd pull it out from under the ten chickens sitting on top it's head only to see it tunnel right back underneath.  Glutton for punishment that it was, I found the chicken dead one morning.  Apparently, it was the eleventh chicken that broke the dumb one's neck.  Over the course of the next six months, a territorial new momma dog and her exuberant offspring decimated the flock.  Once winter's chill set in, the flock decreased yet again.  Frost bite was the cause this time.

So by Spring's late arrival, we had gone from 24 chickens (the final tally was 6 roosters and 16 hens at the peak population) to 3.

And as soon as my hubby has the time to help me, that 3 will become 1.

The reign of the evil twin roosters is coming to an end.  About a month or so ago, they went after V.  Luckily, L was right there and got between the bullies and their quarry before much more was done than give V a bad scare.  Since then, they've left my kids alone.

Until last week...A and V were happily playing outside and I was hurriedly washing dishes before making supper when I heard an unearthly squawk followed by a terrified little girl scream.  I don't think I've ever clambered down my front steps that fast.  Truthfully, I'm amazed I didn't break a leg as it's entirely possible I vaulted the railing and landed like a cat eight feet below. (Okay, not really, but I was moving down those steps at an awfully fast rate and I certainly wasn't watching where I was going.)  The roosters had gotten to A.  I immediately got between her and the vengeful birds only to become the object of their malicious desires.  After a few well-placed offensive maneuvers on my part sent the birds into quick retreat, I turned to tend my wounded daughter.  Luckily, it turned out her frightening-at-first-glance wounds were minor forehead scratches that, while they bled copious amounts at first, quickly stopped bleeding with a damp washcloth and quick first aid.  I doctored her up and prescribed extra hugs which had an immediate effect on her disposition.  Then I went and locked the roosters in nearly solitary confinement. (I shut the door on the chicken coop and as there's only three chickens left, it's nearly solitary.)

Needless to say, we have two roosters who have a hot date with the stew pot. And soon... I'd do the butchering myself but the big bullies are cowards at heart and I simply can't get near them.  It's like they either know my intentions for them or they are afraid to pick on someone bigger than they are. 

Farm Life

Life on a farm isn't like it seems in those Old McDonald picture books.  Our cows aren't all white and black, my chore clothes aren't pristine blue jean overalls and a straw hat, and our farm isn't red outbuildings with white trim.  We don't use a pitchfork to pitch hay, we don't have hay stacks, and most of our cows have numbers instead of names.

The modern dairy farm is turning more and more automated.  Our fields are worked by horsepower (as in John Deere) as opposed to horse power.  Our hay is baled, not stacked, and lines the driveway at the barn in long white plastic wrapped rows. We use skidsteers and tractors with loaders to haul and feed hay.  No pitchforks involved. Our cows are numbered for convenience (ever try coming up with 40 new names each year without overlapping the 120+ names you already have in use?) and are black, white, brown, red, grey, and every shade in between.  My chores clothes are sweat pants, T-shirts, and sweatshirts and on my feet, the ubiquitous blue mud boot found at the fleet supply store in town.  Our barns are more pole buildings with steel siding/roofing as opposed to the iconic red barn with soaring hay loft.  Fields are plowed with tractors pulling plows that cut a several foot swath instead of a single row of sod turned over by a walk-behind plow pulled by a trusty farm horse.  While I do know how to milk a cow by hand, I rarely have to use that skill for more than the occasional cow as our automatic milkers with their automatic take-offs do all the hard work for us.  If you really want to get fancy, you can get a robotic milker for even more ease.

Yet, farm life isn't all mechanical. There's still the charm of seeing newborn calves wobble about on gangly unsteady legs.  There's still that one favorite cow who nuzzles up for a neck scratch. There's still the appreciation for the land and the animals.  Farmers still sigh with satisfaction when the last load of grain is in the bin and harvest is done for another year.  While things have gotten more automated and farm life has changed considerably since the days of Laura Ingalls Wilder, the essence of family farming still remains.  My kids will grow up on the same farm their father did and maybe someday V and/or A will farm with their own children here.  Til then, they'll ride tractors with their daddy, watch the calves gambol about in their pens, and grow up as honest-to-goodness farm kids.

Mother's Day musings

This past Mother's Day, as with the last few Mother's Days, I celebrated my journey into Mommydom and I honored my mother, my mother-in-law, my grandmother(s), sister/sisters-in-law, aunts, and friends who have been blessed with children. Since I've had kids of my own, I've come to appreciate just how much my own mom did for me.  Thinking about it, she's had 27 years of washing seven kids worth of stinky gym socks and dirty underwear, picking up toys unnoticed until stepped upon, attending musical concerts from kindergarten choirs to high school band performances, disagreeing over chores not getting done and homework not being finished, tending to sick kids, planning high school graduation parties, navigating the minefield that makes up the teenage years, and more recently, sending her children off into the big bad world.  All while working nearly full time hours.  Now, some of us have married and have families of our own.  Some of us have gone on to college, graduated, and now have (or are looking for) 'real' jobs in the 'real' world.  It all makes me contemplate my own future as a parent.  I see my son wanting to do more for himself and if Daddy is heading out in the tractor, it's like I turn invisible. "Mom? What's a Mom? Dad, let's go.".  I see my daughter ready to launch herself out into her future (or at least off the living room couch) even though she isn't even two yet. It's my job to give my children the tools they need to succeed in life but I can't help my kids use them.  That's something they have to learn on their own. I can cushion my daughter's belly flop off the couch but I can't protect her from life and I'm learning to trust she and her brother can venture into life without me being there 24/7.  I can't stop every bump even though I want to.  So, Mother's Day has become a day of contemplation and a reminder for me to take the time to enjoy my children now because they are growing up oh so fast.  They can't stay little forever.

And on this past Mother's Day, as I honored my own mother as well as the other moms in my life, I also said a prayer for all those women who yearn to be moms, feel they are a mom yet have empty arms, and have troubles (whatever they may be) making their dreams of motherhood come true.  Why do I do this?  Simple.  Because I was one of them just a few years ago and I still am one of them, in some ways.  It took two years and three miscarriages before I successfully carried a baby to term.  V was my miracle baby in more ways than one.  A has just reinforced my idea that children are gifts from God because, despite numerous tests being run, I'm still having problems sustaining a pregnancy and my doctors can't say for certain why that is.  I would love to have more children and I don't feel that our family is complete.  Yet I'm content with the two children I have. Knowing what it's like on both sides of the coin makes for a bittersweet yet joyous holiday.  There's joy in knowing I'm a mom because of V and A.  And there's bittersweetness in knowing I have six (yes, six) other babies who aren't here with me.  So, when I celebrate the motherhood of all the moms I know and love, I also honor the ones who-like myself-have empty arms but yearn to be a mother more than anything else.

Little Green Box

My kitchen isn't very big and, thus, I have very little storage space. If you were to look in my cupboards, there isn't much in there that I don't use regularly because I simply don't have room for extra stuff. (To put it in perspective, my crockpot is currently being stored in our bedroom because there isn't room for it in the kitchen.) Still it's the usual assortment of dishes, pots and pans, and pantry items.

However, if you were to sneak a little deeper peek, you might just find a small olive green tupperware container and a small tan box with a bumpy clear lid.  These are oddities in my kitchen because I've yet to use anything in either container since I got married.  Even before I got married, these two small boxes were often dust collectors in a box under my bed. I think I've used them about three times since they were given to me.

So what is so special about this little green box and tan container?  Simple.  They were the last things my late grandmother gave me.

When I started college, I moved in with my grandparents to help out.  In exchange for free room and board, I did the occasional load of laundry, washed a few dishes, and played chauffeur on weekends.  It was an idyllic time for me.  I was moved away from home (no pesky little brothers to bother me), had no rent, and my grandma did most of the cooking.  That's what I thought at first. Slowly, I started to actually talk to my grandparents and I realized they were some pretty cool people.  My grandpa talked about his beloved HAM radio buddies and his favorite bluegrass singers.  His memory wasn't the best but he had his favorite stories to tell about the three F's and the P-growing up on the Farm, visiting Finland, surviving the Fire, and being stationed in Panama. His stories always got more outrageous with each telling but that was how my Papa was. My grandma, recognizing I needed a hobby and some encouragement, took me under her wing. We spent hours talking, often late into the night, about everything from my class schedule to boy troubles to how to make bread.  She taught me how to cook by sight and taste, knit cozy socks and sweaters, and showed me her photo album of cakes she had decorated over the years. 

I have fond memories of those cakes.  Each birthday during my younger years, it was a special treat to get a decorated cake from Grandma. We looked forward to that cake all year because, even if you chose what the cake would be, you never quite knew what it would look like in the end.

Towards the end of my time at my grandparents, she was beginning to teach me a bit about cake decorating. Unfortunately, my grandparent's health took a sudden decline and they were unable to live at home anymore even with my assistance.  Before leaving the house that very last time, my grandmother made a point to give me her cake decorations and her decorating tips so I could continue my cake decorating lessons on my own.  I've had little opportunity to use them since they were handed to me that day but I can't bring myself to simply pack them away again or pass them on.  They are one of the last links I have to that very special grandmother and, now that I have kids of my own, I hope to one day pull out those battered old decorating tips and aging decorations to make their birthday cakes as special as the ones I remember from my childhood.

But most importantly, I'll remember that it isn't about the cake or the decorations.  I'll be passing on the love my grandmother shared with me.

*I wrote this essay in honor of my late grandmother for Mother's Day last year but tucked it away in a folder and forgot about it until I found it during a Spring Cleaning spree.

Life with a Chicken Coop

In the last few days, the old adage "In springtime, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love" has come true in our chicken coop. Due to a territorial new momma dog in the fall and two marauding (and apparently hungry) puppies this winter, the population in our chicken coop has dwindled down to two quite large roosters and a lone laying hen. Ms. Hen was being 'wooed' quite vigorously by her two suitors the other day and V just happened to get in the way.  The more ardent of the two roosters took exception to the fact V was blocking his (the rooster's) view of his ladylove and proceeded to make his feeling known.  Luckily, L was only a few feet away and managed to get the rooster away from V before it could do more than flap it's wings a few times and try jumping on V's back. Aside from a slight scare, my little boy was unhurt although he did want to put 'that mean chicken in time-out'.

The rooster, on the other hand, was a tad worse for the wear.  L knocked it out when he grabbed it away from V.  The slightly bedraggled rooster was up and about in a few minutes but he spent the rest of the day in the coop. Sulking or recovering, I'm not sure...All I know is that rooster makes a wide path around my kids when they are playing outside now.

Breathe Deeply

Ahhh...Smell that?  Spring is in the air.

What is Spring to me? It's a time of melting snow, suck-the-boots-off-your-feet-sticky mud, and dirty kids tracking said mud around my spring-cleaned house.  It's a time of dirty-ness.  All that clean white snow is disappearing only to reveal dull brown grass, half rotten leaves, and (due to a home renovation project last fall) a swampy muddy back yard with various piles of construction debris intermingled with the remnants of our wood pile. 

Yet, soon, hopefully anyway, that brown forlorn pasture will provide a lush clover meal for grazing cattle. Bare branches will be clothed in vibrant shades of green.  My soupy back yard will be transformed into a smooth grassy play area with a new sandbox, clothesline, and flower garden. (Okay maybe I'm dreaming a bit here on that last one.)

Mother Nature likes to Spring Clean too.
Just hope she doesn't put it off like I usually do.

Spring Cometh...Or not...

Spring 2012
The days were warm and sunny.
The garden was growing and bird were singing in the oak trees behind my house.Cows were grazing in the lush green pasture.
My wardrobe was T-shirts, capris, and flip-flop sandals.

Spring 2013
Yuck...
Muck...
It's snowing...again...
I'm still wearing my winter sweats, warm socks, and knee-high rubber boots.

There's going to be plenty of irritated people if that forecaster who predicted 60's and (gasp!) 70's for this weekend turns out to be wrong.

Words, Words, Words

Here's something you may  or may not have known about me. I read ALOT.  I can't go a day without reading.  For me, reading is like breathing-it's necessary for daily life.  And I've always been like this.  I have childhood friends who will tell you they had to hide the comic book box whenever I would come over because I would literally grab a stack and go hide in a corner to read instead of playing. Really. My favorite job in high school was working in the local library. I was so sad when I graduated because I couldn't work there anymore. In college, the classes I enjoyed the most were ones in which we read actual books instead of dry, dull textbooks. I've been known to read a book from an encyclopedia set and will even page through a dictionary now and then to learn a new word or two. Even now, despite being a mom of two busy children and a farmer's wife/black-thumbed gardener/errand runner/so-so sous chef/farmhand extraordinaire, I make a near weekly trip to the library for a fresh supply of reading material. (I've worn out two book bags already.)

I read because I absolutely love words and how they somehow come together to paint a picture in your mind. There's always something new to learn-a new knitting pattern, a new recipe to try, a new idea for decorating, or even just the definition of a new word. There's always another world or time to visit-historical London, early Plains settlements, wild and wooly frontier towns, modern day cities, or fantastical places that don't exist other than between the pages of your book. After suffering several miscarriages, I read all I could get my hands on about the subject in an attempt to understand more about what was happening. I've read biographies, recipe books, and I even have to admit to reading the occasional Harlequin romance. (I prefer the really old ones.) There's always something to make you laugh, something to make you weep, and something to make you go Huh, I didn't know that.  That's the beauty of a book-you never know what you'll take from it when you are done.

I have always felt like I have all this creative energy but no outlet for it. My painting talents are limited to a single solid color on a wall and, while my cooking won't kill you, it's simply mediocre. I can't sculpt, I usually copy other people's decorating ideas, and my quilts are made for warmth not display. I can knit but it's nothing to write home about. I am a lackadaisical gardener with a high plant mortality rate and photography isn't my forte. Since I have little artistic, culinary, or other talents, I have fallen back on the one thing I do know I'm good at-words. (Not one of my siblings will play Boggle with me for that reason.) I have long harbored a secret wish to write a book but never seemed to find the time/energy/etc to finish the ones I've started.  It doesn't help when the author has just decided to sit down and type only to find her plot won't make it past the first paragraph without characters, a plot line, or even a deciding which genre it will be. I have been told by more than one person that I should write a magazine or newspaper column so I started this blog to see if I could write often enough to make that dream a reality.  As you may have noticed, I haven't written even monthly at times so that idea sort of fell by the wayside.

However, lately odd things have been happening.  I've been reading about acquaintances who have written or are writing their own books and I see that anyone can find the time to write if they truly want to. Many years ago, my mom gave me an idea for a children's book and lately it's been knocking around my brain like it wants some attention.  At a recent mother/daughter weekend I attended, we had to draw a talent to practice for next year's retreat.  The paper I drew just so happened to say Write a Children's Book.  Just today, I was sorting through some papers I saved from college and came across an old note from one of my advisers saying she thought I should look into writing as a career because my easy, breezy style of writing was enjoyable to read. It's almost as if fate is trying to tell me something.  Wonder what it is...

Just kidding.  Seriously though, wish me luck! I have a feeling I am going to need it...that and a good editor.

One thing always leads to another

It's been a whirlwind of a month. We all started the new year sick. L and I coughed, wheezed, and slept for two weeks while the kids battled the stomach bug that was going around. Once we were all recovered enough to at least sit up in bed, I settled down to start working on our income tax paperwork.  That was when we found out the zip drive with all of our 2012 farm records (and necessary information for some tax paperwork with a quickly looming deadline) on it was conspicuously absent.  Panic, on my part anyway, ensued. My husband's clear head prevailed, however, and we spent the better part of a week spelunking, treasure hunting, and peering into all those dark, dusty corners you forget are in your house in an attempt to find the missing zip drive.  Just when I was beginning to think it had gone to the same mysterious place dryer-eaten socks go to, we found it...in a box I had dumped out and searched during the first hours of our week-long hunt for the drive.  I breathed a deep sigh of relief anyway as I filled out the necessary forms and sent them in with plenty of time to spare.  Apparent tax crisis averted.

Then, just as I was sitting down to enjoy my sparkling clean house (well as sparkling clean as a house can be when it's in a renovation/construction mode), the hubby springs a new project on me-we were going to paint our living room floor and install laminate flooring.  After a few days of sweeping, furniture moving, and floor painting, we decided to amend our initial plans and install new flooring in our kitchen as well.  Contrary to my initial worries, it only added a few hours of work and moving the cabinets proved easier than I expected.  Due to the furniture moving portion of our flooring project and the addition of a new doorway, I now am enjoying a larger kitchen and living room.

It's been well worth the hassle of the last weeks. Due to the cleaning necessary for the flooring project, my laundry pile no longer resembles Mount Everest, the sink is empty of dirty dishes, floors are staying relatively clean, and all of our tax stuff is corralled in one place.  I can now sit down and work on just tax paperwork without housework intruding.  I think it's the first time I've ever looked forward to tax season.

White Christmas Tree Revisited

Our Christmas tree this year was on the simple side. It was so refreshing to leave all the decorations in storage and only take out the white lights.  Our needle-less poplar, though not the stately birch I wanted, needed little tending other than the occasional reminder to the kids to leave the lights alone.  No watering, no needles on the floor every five minutes, and no sticky sappy fingers on the kids. There weren't even that many ornaments to take off-just a few homemade applesauce/cinnamon ornaments, jingle bells, and candy canes.  It was sweet, simple, and somehow matched the country Christmas image I had in my head. The lights twinkled just as bright, the candy canes hung just a nicely, and the magic of a Christmas tree was there even if the green wasn't.  I'll definitely do this again. Perhaps it will become our own unique Christmas tradition.