Showing posts with label a farmers life for me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label a farmers life for me. Show all posts
Life
This life with its brokenness and joy, beauty and pain, struggle and strife...
This life with all of the vehicles breaking down around our ears. The lawn mowers and weed-eaters, washing machine, vacuum, dishwasher, computers and refrigerators all waiting for the repair man.
This house with its peeling paint (inside and out) and the huge brick chimney that barley hangs on. Some days I can almost hear the groaning as it slowly tips back away from the house, pulling up the floor boards as it goes. This house literally bursting at the seams.
These four children of mine; one man-child preparing to fly, one young lady training for womanhood, one girl blossoming to adolescence, one boy, the baby, finding his own voice.
These kitchen floor tiles eating away at my supply of dishes; oh the heaps of broken dishes. This weeks tally: 1 coffee mug, 6 plastic cups, 7 drinking glasses, 1 cereal bowl, 1 saucer.
These silly children that grow too fast to suit me and ask too many questions (in their best British/Australian/Scottish/French accents, of course) that I cannot answer.
These silly, crazy days so full of fret and worry; days filled to overflowing. Days wherein, I forget to love, be patient, hold my tongue, have mercy or be graceful; awful days where I don't lean on my Father who loves me.
This one room school house with its toppling towers of books and strong willed children. This mama worn and weary trying hard to do the right thing, anxious and excited over all the possibilities.
This faith full family doing Kingdom work.
These chickens that don't lay eggs and two silly pigs with a food budget bigger than our family of six. A farm dog with a thyroid problem and far too many fluffy kittens to suit the Mister. One lonely rabbit whose sole purpose is to produce fertilizer for the garden.
This husband and wife struggling with the daily grind and frustration.
This little hill of clay that I coax to grow more than just blackberry and poison oak. This sad little oasis, where once I dreamed of glorious gardens I would grow and tend. I see those wild blackberry vines creeping and those shiny leaflets of three and wonder if that dream will ever come to fruition.
This house turned upside down in effort to purge and make space. Space for the school books and space for kids who just need their own corner of this house. A bit of space for the Mr. and space for this girl to make beautiful things again. Such a deep need to be creative again.
.....
These are the things of life right here and now.
This life with all of the vehicles breaking down around our ears. The lawn mowers and weed-eaters, washing machine, vacuum, dishwasher, computers and refrigerators all waiting for the repair man.
This house with its peeling paint (inside and out) and the huge brick chimney that barley hangs on. Some days I can almost hear the groaning as it slowly tips back away from the house, pulling up the floor boards as it goes. This house literally bursting at the seams.
These four children of mine; one man-child preparing to fly, one young lady training for womanhood, one girl blossoming to adolescence, one boy, the baby, finding his own voice.
These kitchen floor tiles eating away at my supply of dishes; oh the heaps of broken dishes. This weeks tally: 1 coffee mug, 6 plastic cups, 7 drinking glasses, 1 cereal bowl, 1 saucer.
These silly children that grow too fast to suit me and ask too many questions (in their best British/Australian/Scottish/French accents, of course) that I cannot answer.
These silly, crazy days so full of fret and worry; days filled to overflowing. Days wherein, I forget to love, be patient, hold my tongue, have mercy or be graceful; awful days where I don't lean on my Father who loves me.
This one room school house with its toppling towers of books and strong willed children. This mama worn and weary trying hard to do the right thing, anxious and excited over all the possibilities.
This faith full family doing Kingdom work.
These chickens that don't lay eggs and two silly pigs with a food budget bigger than our family of six. A farm dog with a thyroid problem and far too many fluffy kittens to suit the Mister. One lonely rabbit whose sole purpose is to produce fertilizer for the garden.
This husband and wife struggling with the daily grind and frustration.
This little hill of clay that I coax to grow more than just blackberry and poison oak. This sad little oasis, where once I dreamed of glorious gardens I would grow and tend. I see those wild blackberry vines creeping and those shiny leaflets of three and wonder if that dream will ever come to fruition.
This house turned upside down in effort to purge and make space. Space for the school books and space for kids who just need their own corner of this house. A bit of space for the Mr. and space for this girl to make beautiful things again. Such a deep need to be creative again.
.....
These are the things of life right here and now.
Slow down summer, slow down life
Slow down summer.
Slow down and see the finches carefully stealing snacks from the garden beds.
Slow down, smell the hot summer air, heavy with blackberry and cedar.
Slow down Katie, see the children grow and rejoice.
Slow down life.
Slow down and taste those last glorious bites of summer.
Slow down, fret not.
Slow down, sit back and crank up the volume on the summer playlist.
Slow down .
Slow down and see the finches carefully stealing snacks from the garden beds.
Slow down, smell the hot summer air, heavy with blackberry and cedar.
Slow down Katie, see the children grow and rejoice.
Slow down life.
Slow down and taste those last glorious bites of summer.
Slow down, fret not.
Slow down, sit back and crank up the volume on the summer playlist.
Slow down .
Truth
“All you have to do is write one true sentence.
Write the truest sentence that you know.”
—Ernest Hemingway
The day you decide the chickens are headed for the chopping block due to a lack of egg production-they will inevitably start laying eggs, mountains of eggs.
Farm Tour Day 3
I always plant flowers with my veg. This year I sprinkled Cosmos seeds in the Hot Pepper patch. Those pink blossoms really stand out amidst all the shades of green.
My darling menfolk made me a new squash patch this year and while it didn't produce scads of Winter Squashes as I had hoped, I was pleased that this special plant produced 3 healthy fruit. This is Red Kuri or Potimarron or Onion Squash. I hear it has wonderful sweet flesh that tastes a bit like chestnuts. I can't wait to try it.
For school the kids are studying Honest Abe. The youngest farmer boy finds Abraham Lincoln most fascinating. He writes himself notes so he won't forget a single detail.
Fall leaves make my heart go pitter-pat.
This is how I spent a healthy portion of the weekend. It was heavenly. The pounding/pouring/sloshing rain only distracted me slightly.
Note: Pay no attention to the frown lines on my forehead this is a good book! It's about Depression Era farm women.
Inside/Outside:: Farm Tour
Time does slip quickly by when one has far more chores than there are hours in the day... (Deepest apologies for the lack of photo editing here...not enough time!)
Garden harvest 22 October -in the torrential downpour/thunder and lightening storm.
Bloody rotten APHIDS!! eating happily away at my Brussels
Farm dog-Hard at work keeping watch for errant toys
Garden Mums. My favourite.
Never ending pile of laundry to be folded or Mt. Foldme
New to the farm this year- raised beds in the front courtyard. Didn't do quite as well as hoped, but still blooming!
After-school mess making...er, playtime.
Raised bed #2 sporting a healthy (5.5 ft. tall) crop of Redbor Kale and the blasted aphid drowned Brussels.
I have carpel elbow from all of the chopping/stirring/slicing/stuffing I've been doing this last month. In the pantry: Cider and juice, salsa, dried fruit/veg, butters and jams and still more to can.
Raised bed #3. Home to wayward strawberries, various herbs and Cole crops.
Outside-the rain tumbles from the sky. Inside-the fireplace crackles and the tea kettle whistles. Dinner is simmering in the oven and the water-bath canner bubbles steady.
A picture's worth::Farm Tour
I haven't taken y'all on a photographic walking tour of the farm in ages and thought it was high time. So, I have declared this week Farm Tour Week. Enjoy!
Blue Orpington baby (Thank you Dora)
Big Town
Let me preface-I do not like town. I do not desire trips to town. I do not dream of town and all the glories that live there re:Target, Sonic, Thrift Stores (well maybe I dream about the thrift stores a tiny bit). I prefer to stay tucked in safe and cozy right here at home. I prefer to stay home in my comfy yoga pants-ignoring the rising costs of, well...everything.
After suffering far too long with an empty pantry, I girded my loins and made my way to Big Town for some much needed supplies. (One can only make the same pasta dish so many weeks in a row before the natives start to protest.) I loaded-up all four of my (smallish, touchy-grabby, grouchy, hyper) personal assistants and off we went.
Here, I must pause for dramatics.
My children-while they are still children-are incredibly well behaved. I on the other hand am the one who suffers ill behavior. I am a hermit and slight agoraphobe; a person who would rather stay safely tucked in at home. Shopping makes me grouchy. Spending money makes me grouchy. Reading labels and making decisions makes my eyes want to pop out of my head. Being in Big Town makes me want to shoot things and say naughty words. Big town is 40 miles-at the outskirts-from my house, my Suburban gets 10 miles to the gallon. Petrol was $4.29 at the last fill. This coupled with my hermit longings for my comfy pants and humble home...makes me grouchy. Needless to say, when I went to town I was grouchy.
Having bribed my four assistants with a scoop of their favourite ice cream, we set out to fill our basket. I asked the Man-Child to steer the ship freeing the other three and I to search out the needed items on our list. We made it through the store with only one Potty Stop and one small run-in with a very impatient elderly woman who didn't care a snit if I wanted to read the labels on ALL of the bottles of Fish Sauce, she wanted me and my brood to remove ourselves from her path. Harumph!
After a quick chat with an old friend and much begging-pleading-whining from the children we proceeded to the checkout and most importantly, to the ice cream. . Whether by the impatient woman or my own grump, I must have been distracted. I forgot to check The List before leaving the store. I always check The List...this small act is key to my success and sanity in Big Town, re: Petrol $4.29 per gal., thirsty Suburban, agoraphob-ish, grouchiness, lack of comfy pants. I forgot the Mayo.... For the love of Pete! Mayonnaise.
Grr. On the menu for today's lunch: Tuna Sandwiches.
So, I asked myself, what would any Farmgirl worth her salt do...."What would Julia do?" Of course, Julia would make fresh Mayonnaise; none of that paltry commercially prepared concoction would do.
With Julia Child's signature vocals echoing in my head I set to making, for the first time ever, homemade Mayonnaise. I strapped on my well worn apron and set to work. I had this preconceived notion that making Mayo was something so difficult that only Professional Chefs or Parisians dare attempt it. I was deceived. With the aide of my trusty little Cuisinart Food Processor I whipped farm fresh egg yolks into frothy submission. It was fresh. It was lemony.
It was heaven.
Whoda'thunk that one forgotten pantry item would be life changing?! Now that I don't have to rush off to Big Town for Mayo I shall never again have to haul my assistants and my agoraphobic self about in the petrol loving Sub! I shall never again suffer evil looks from grouchy elderly ladies!
I shall forever live in my yoga pants!
( I will need my yoga pants after eating all that glorious, lemony homemade mayo!)
I shall forever stay tucked in safe and cozy here at the farm. That is, until I need chicken feed.
After suffering far too long with an empty pantry, I girded my loins and made my way to Big Town for some much needed supplies. (One can only make the same pasta dish so many weeks in a row before the natives start to protest.) I loaded-up all four of my (smallish, touchy-grabby, grouchy, hyper) personal assistants and off we went.
Here, I must pause for dramatics.
My children-while they are still children-are incredibly well behaved. I on the other hand am the one who suffers ill behavior. I am a hermit and slight agoraphobe; a person who would rather stay safely tucked in at home. Shopping makes me grouchy. Spending money makes me grouchy. Reading labels and making decisions makes my eyes want to pop out of my head. Being in Big Town makes me want to shoot things and say naughty words. Big town is 40 miles-at the outskirts-from my house, my Suburban gets 10 miles to the gallon. Petrol was $4.29 at the last fill. This coupled with my hermit longings for my comfy pants and humble home...makes me grouchy. Needless to say, when I went to town I was grouchy.
Having bribed my four assistants with a scoop of their favourite ice cream, we set out to fill our basket. I asked the Man-Child to steer the ship freeing the other three and I to search out the needed items on our list. We made it through the store with only one Potty Stop and one small run-in with a very impatient elderly woman who didn't care a snit if I wanted to read the labels on ALL of the bottles of Fish Sauce, she wanted me and my brood to remove ourselves from her path. Harumph!
After a quick chat with an old friend and much begging-pleading-whining from the children we proceeded to the checkout and most importantly, to the ice cream. . Whether by the impatient woman or my own grump, I must have been distracted. I forgot to check The List before leaving the store. I always check The List...this small act is key to my success and sanity in Big Town, re: Petrol $4.29 per gal., thirsty Suburban, agoraphob-ish, grouchiness, lack of comfy pants. I forgot the Mayo.... For the love of Pete! Mayonnaise.
Grr. On the menu for today's lunch: Tuna Sandwiches.
So, I asked myself, what would any Farmgirl worth her salt do...."What would Julia do?" Of course, Julia would make fresh Mayonnaise; none of that paltry commercially prepared concoction would do.
With Julia Child's signature vocals echoing in my head I set to making, for the first time ever, homemade Mayonnaise. I strapped on my well worn apron and set to work. I had this preconceived notion that making Mayo was something so difficult that only Professional Chefs or Parisians dare attempt it. I was deceived. With the aide of my trusty little Cuisinart Food Processor I whipped farm fresh egg yolks into frothy submission. It was fresh. It was lemony.
It was heaven.
Whoda'thunk that one forgotten pantry item would be life changing?! Now that I don't have to rush off to Big Town for Mayo I shall never again have to haul my assistants and my agoraphobic self about in the petrol loving Sub! I shall never again suffer evil looks from grouchy elderly ladies!
I shall forever live in my yoga pants!
( I will need my yoga pants after eating all that glorious, lemony homemade mayo!)
I shall forever stay tucked in safe and cozy here at the farm. That is, until I need chicken feed.
{pretty, happy, funny, real}
~ Capturing the context of contentment in everyday life ~
{pretty}
This is from one of the weddings I shot this summer. I love the clothesline. I love the strings of lights. The twilight....very pretty.
{happy}
I captured this tender moment between brothers yesterday. Both of my boys are suffering from illness. My man child has just returned from a mission trip to Mexico, where he must have been bitten by a dog or a seal because he is barking up a storm. He sounds terrible but that didn't stop him from reading a little of "The Sneetches" to his baby brother who has a mild case of Conjunctivitis.
This makes me so happy. I love that my oldest isn't too cool to snuggle on the couch and read Dr. Seuss to his brother.
{funny}
This is my youngest child; dramatic and funny are his middle names. We have been standing in the July heat for 1.75 hrs waiting for our local parade -in which he is participating-to start. Someone just told him he is allowed to "shoot" the crowd with a squirt gun. He was excited, to say the least.
{real}
My friend Miri and I have a tradition. Every October, we make a birthday (Miri's) pilgrimage to the Sylvia Beach Hotel. We lounge. We read. We take photos. We sip tea and take in the glorious ocean air. Otherwise, we enjoy the quiet lack of children, animals, cell phones and T.V.
Note: The hotel, from-which my friend is basking in the ocean sunset above, is remodeling. Alas, there will be no pilgrimage this year. There will be no sipping of tea or lounging. There will be no photographing. There will be no lack of noise. This year we must make other plans.
(Insert loud sigh here)
Dear Sylvia Beach Hotel,
Hurry up with that remodeling!
Love,
Katie and Miri
Happy 20th Anniversary of your 20th Birthday my dear sweet friend! May it be wonderful even without the quiet ocean view.
Note: The hotel, from-which my friend is basking in the ocean sunset above, is remodeling. Alas, there will be no pilgrimage this year. There will be no sipping of tea or lounging. There will be no photographing. There will be no lack of noise. This year we must make other plans.
(Insert loud sigh here)
Dear Sylvia Beach Hotel,
Hurry up with that remodeling!
Love,
Katie and Miri
Happy 20th Anniversary of your 20th Birthday my dear sweet friend! May it be wonderful even without the quiet ocean view.
The busy-ness of me
I have been flitting about in such a fashion as would make a Humming Bird nervous. I have forgotten where I was a few times. I lost track of time, got lost in town and forgot my own name while placing a phone order. Seriously, I have hardly keep the days straight. At one point I was processing a Canner full of jam, making supper, entertaining company, helping kids with school, watering the garden, loading the dishwasher, starting a new batch of jam, taking photos, reading a recipe and talking on the phone!
I have been overwhelmingly busy. Dreadfully busy. Much, much to busy for me....
I have canned umpteen jars of Tuna, barbecued Tuna, smoked Tuna, vacuum packed some 50 lbs of Tuna and Salmon and otherwise lived like and frankly, smelled like, a fish monger. I camped with my family. Attended two funerals, in the same day. Attended a baby shower. Canned blackberry syrup, apple & pear butters, plum jam and rhubarb. Forgot to water and weed my garden. Fetched my mother from town for a week of canning fun. I have taken an entire truck load of "stuff" to the Goodwill, (thank you Joy). Accidentally made cottage cheese. I have lovingly, labouriously, plucked raspberries from the vines in my garden and tucked them into the deep freeze. Visited friends and loved ones at the hospital in Big Town. I have taught classes at church and home. I have shredded and frozen scads of zucchini. I have eaten my body weight in zucchini. Spent a morning getting in firewood with my family. I have dried tray, after glorious tray of herbs in my food dehydrator. In general, I ran like a head with my chicken cut off.
I have never in my adult life canned/put up so much food. Or run to town so many times while in the middle of said canning. When returning from the grocery with mass quantities of large and small mouth canning lids and military sized bags of sugar, my oldest son asked if I was preparing for a nuclear holocaust. Not a holocaust son, I said, just putting up food so I can feed you during your next growth spurt. (Dear sweet baby boy, please stop growing!)
While not preparing for disaster, I have been busy filling the pantry with good, old fashioned, staples in hopes of making ends meet ( re: feeding of teenagers) All the while, juggling the things that make up this crazy, calamitous life of mine. This kind of busy makes my very happy. Crazy, but happy.
What's been keeping you busy lately?
I have been overwhelmingly busy. Dreadfully busy. Much, much to busy for me....
I have canned umpteen jars of Tuna, barbecued Tuna, smoked Tuna, vacuum packed some 50 lbs of Tuna and Salmon and otherwise lived like and frankly, smelled like, a fish monger. I camped with my family. Attended two funerals, in the same day. Attended a baby shower. Canned blackberry syrup, apple & pear butters, plum jam and rhubarb. Forgot to water and weed my garden. Fetched my mother from town for a week of canning fun. I have taken an entire truck load of "stuff" to the Goodwill, (thank you Joy). Accidentally made cottage cheese. I have lovingly, labouriously, plucked raspberries from the vines in my garden and tucked them into the deep freeze. Visited friends and loved ones at the hospital in Big Town. I have taught classes at church and home. I have shredded and frozen scads of zucchini. I have eaten my body weight in zucchini. Spent a morning getting in firewood with my family. I have dried tray, after glorious tray of herbs in my food dehydrator. In general, I ran like a head with my chicken cut off.
I have never in my adult life canned/put up so much food. Or run to town so many times while in the middle of said canning. When returning from the grocery with mass quantities of large and small mouth canning lids and military sized bags of sugar, my oldest son asked if I was preparing for a nuclear holocaust. Not a holocaust son, I said, just putting up food so I can feed you during your next growth spurt. (Dear sweet baby boy, please stop growing!)
While not preparing for disaster, I have been busy filling the pantry with good, old fashioned, staples in hopes of making ends meet ( re: feeding of teenagers) All the while, juggling the things that make up this crazy, calamitous life of mine. This kind of busy makes my very happy. Crazy, but happy.
What's been keeping you busy lately?
Mrs. McDonald??
Old McDonald had the farm and on the farm, he had some chickens....but Mrs. McDonald was surely the chicken guru. I can just see her in her kerchief and apron, flinging scratch out across the chicken yard. I can hear the chickens clucking and cackling to each-other as if sharing the latest gossip. I can feel her excitement build as hens grow broody and thoughts of new babies invade her peaceful mind.
I can relate.
To me, chicks are dang near the cutest barn yard critter. Don't get me wrong, all newborns are adorable. There's just something so cute about that teeny-tiny, fluffy little fluff balls that make me wanna love'em and hug'em and squeeze'em and call 'em George or Fluffy.
My name is Katie and I have an addiction....I am a chick-a-holic.
I am not alone in my addiction. Four of my closest farm-girlfriends are just as consumed as I. I have it so bad I started a fan page (well, I made my friend Alexis do it for me cuz she's much better at that techno stuff than I....thanks Lex!) ...for chick-a-holics. Its a safe place for all us crazy chicken folk to share, commiserate, drool over newly found breeds or ask questions.
The latest craze is by far the most consuming. We call it "The Bator" or cheap-Styrofoam-beer-cooler-turned-incubator. The Bator is the creation of my farm-chickie heroine, Cara. Cara fell madly in love with my Silkie chickens of which, 3 out of 5 happened to be of the crowing variety. So, she hatched a plan to acquire for herself some fluffy bottomed chicks. After a quick trip to The WalMarts and a jaunt out to the Calamity Hen House, Cara had all she needed to start her own in home incubation center. And start she did. Best of all, the plan worked. The beer cooler turned incubator actually hatched out live chicks.
Well, I was hooked.
I borrowed The Bator, loaded it with 7 tiny Silkie eggs and waited. And turned eggs. And fretted. And candled. And fretted. And turned eggs. And waited some more.
Then...yesterday, the most amazing thing happened!
They started to CRACK!
They started to HATCH!
Soon we had a chick, followed shortly thereafter by another chick. So far, just two of the seven are out. They are a Black/Cinnamon Splash. The other five eggs are pipped and we are anxiously awaiting the new arrivals. I almost can't contain the squeals of delight. My kids are ecstatic! We're gonna love'em and hug'em and squeeze'em and we're gonna call this one... George.
Welcome to Calamity Farm George. *squeeeal*
P.S.
While I was busy playing Mrs. McDonald I totally forgot my plan to celebrate my Blogiversay. As of June 6 Katie's Calamities is four years old.
Happy Blogiversary to me! Here's to four more year of Calamity fun!
I can relate.
To me, chicks are dang near the cutest barn yard critter. Don't get me wrong, all newborns are adorable. There's just something so cute about that teeny-tiny, fluffy little fluff balls that make me wanna love'em and hug'em and squeeze'em and call 'em George or Fluffy.
My name is Katie and I have an addiction....I am a chick-a-holic.
I am not alone in my addiction. Four of my closest farm-girlfriends are just as consumed as I. I have it so bad I started a fan page (well, I made my friend Alexis do it for me cuz she's much better at that techno stuff than I....thanks Lex!) ...for chick-a-holics. Its a safe place for all us crazy chicken folk to share, commiserate, drool over newly found breeds or ask questions.
The latest craze is by far the most consuming. We call it "The Bator" or cheap-Styrofoam-beer-cooler-turned-incubator. The Bator is the creation of my farm-chickie heroine, Cara. Cara fell madly in love with my Silkie chickens of which, 3 out of 5 happened to be of the crowing variety. So, she hatched a plan to acquire for herself some fluffy bottomed chicks. After a quick trip to The WalMarts and a jaunt out to the Calamity Hen House, Cara had all she needed to start her own in home incubation center. And start she did. Best of all, the plan worked. The beer cooler turned incubator actually hatched out live chicks.
Well, I was hooked.
I borrowed The Bator, loaded it with 7 tiny Silkie eggs and waited. And turned eggs. And fretted. And candled. And fretted. And turned eggs. And waited some more.
Then...yesterday, the most amazing thing happened!
They started to CRACK!
They started to HATCH!
Soon we had a chick, followed shortly thereafter by another chick. So far, just two of the seven are out. They are a Black/Cinnamon Splash. The other five eggs are pipped and we are anxiously awaiting the new arrivals. I almost can't contain the squeals of delight. My kids are ecstatic! We're gonna love'em and hug'em and squeeze'em and we're gonna call this one... George.
Welcome to Calamity Farm George. *squeeeal*
P.S.
While I was busy playing Mrs. McDonald I totally forgot my plan to celebrate my Blogiversay. As of June 6 Katie's Calamities is four years old.
Happy Blogiversary to me! Here's to four more year of Calamity fun!
Flower Power
Sometimes you feel like a nut....
I think we have Spring Fever around these parts. The girls have been playing with the flowers and my camera. I will share more of the weirdness as soon as I get them edited.
Farmishness
Every now and then I jot down what goes on at Calamity Farm. Sometimes I remember to write in my handy-dandy farm journal spot. Most often I don't remember to write at all. Click on the picture (you'll be like Alice stepping through the looking glass) to see whats going on. Or not, I will try not to cry.
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| Calamity Farm |
Listing
Speaking of the listing, I made a random list of funny stuff that has popped out at me over the last several days. It might not be that funny in reality. I am sure its just the cold/sinus meds talking, but you can judge for yourself. I have been sick for so long I have to take the joy where I can find it.
:: Silkie chickens' fuzzy little bottoms are the funniest thing to watch. If you don't have Silkie's, get thee some. 'Nuff said.
:: Strange things you don't want to hear out of your 8yr old girl-child "Hey Mom! LOOK! I built a b*mb."
:: The Pioneer Woman's Sour Cream Noodle Bake is fabulous, amazingly simple, infinitely adaptable and a sure crowd pleaser.
:: One of my Best Girlfriends told me that I reminded her of the Pioneer Woman. (P-dub, call me. I think we were separated at birth.)
:: Chickens are like crack to me. SERIOUSLY, people! I need a 12 Step Program for Chicken Lovers. I luff, love, lurve my multi colored flock of chicks and chickens. The puffy cheeks...The fluffy bottoms...All the different color/pattern combinations send me right into a tail spin. I can't resist. I must buy more chickies. The soft fluffy cuteness of chicks is too much for my farm-girl self to bear. Don't even get me started on the eggs. The multi-colored eggs make me so happy I could sing. Everyday is like Easter around here. Easter everyday, how great is that?!
:: Chicken Crack. Buwhahaha! Seriously I need help.
:: Wondering what to make of my soon to be 7yr old son sliding across the kitchen floor ala Tom Cruise in Risky Business (underwear, and air guitar included) singing "I'm on'a hiiiiiiwaaaaay ta helllllll!" followed with a fairy dance and the vocals "La-la-la-la-laaaah". Boggles the mind doesn't it?
:: When you have guests over the last thing you want to find in the Loo is poo in the pot with no paper. Sorry about that one. Blame the cold meds. But wasn't that some great alliteration?
:: Have you ever been "schooled" in what is "lame vs.cool" from your 15 yr old man-child? If not you are missing out! I learned things I never wanted to know about Mario Bros., Star Wars, and about being a Dweeb/Geek/Nerd in general. It made my brain hurt.
::We are studying Countries of the child's choosing for a Co-op project due this week. When I told the kids to get on it one morning, my youngest child informed me that he "doesn't wanna be a Japanese boy" any more, he wants to be a farmer boy. I told him that Japan was a country and farmers were people and that we are studying Countries. He replied with his hands on his hips, " Farmers are from the country". Alrighty then.
::I was singing in church this last Sunday and everyone around me kept turning to look. I didn't comprehend at the time why they might be looking at me. This perplexed me most of the afternoon. I checked my crazy hair when I got home. Checked my teeth. Did the sniff.... but couldn't sniff. Then I remembered that my ears are plugged. Yep, I was singing my heart out and couldn't hear a thing. I can only imagine the joyful noises I was making. I think though, I experienced true worship for the first time in my life. Thanks be to my mucus filled head.
Sit and spin
Still trying to iron out the wrinkles in the very outdated and dusty computer/interweb business. Whodathunk that every program we own would have to be updated, upgraded and dug out from under piles of junk. Not me I guess. I assumed (ahem, we all know what that means) that my darling spouse would simply plug the computer in to the modem and interweb as we knew it would be up and running, lickety-split. As will all things technical, well all things in general, nothing is ever easy here in Calamity-ville.
Whodathunkit?
Obviously not I. I am like a spoiled child. I want my candy. NOW. I want to sit at my desk and open my picture files, effortlessly of course, and upload photo after lovely photo to my wonderful little blog. But no! I sit down and immediately my computer sticks out her tongue and says "neener-neener you can't play here". Then Ms. Compy proceeds to blow a big fat raspberry right in my face. How could she? I mean seriously! She simply doesn't understand that I have dreamed of the day I would have the interweb again. What does she expect me to do while she does her house keeping? I have blog posts galore waiting to be published. I have recipes, stories and photos to share. All this will have to wait till all the cobwebs are swept away and Ms. Compy has her house in order again.
Meanwhile, I am trying not sit and spin my wheels: aka trying not to stomp my feet and throw a fit like the big fat baby I am. So, I am planning the garden for this year. I am trying very hard not to be tempted by the adorable baby chicks at the feed store. {I barely made it out sans chicks yesterday.} I am catching up on the laundry pile up. I am spending far too much time dreaming of moving to the "real" country; thanks in no small part to The Pioneer Woman. After the big wind/rain storm we had on Sunday, I am reevaluating my emergency supply stash and finding it seriously lacking. Wishing I could be stitching up a batch of these little beauties.
Well, 'the days a wasting' as Grandma would have said. Have a productive week.
Whodathunkit?
Obviously not I. I am like a spoiled child. I want my candy. NOW. I want to sit at my desk and open my picture files, effortlessly of course, and upload photo after lovely photo to my wonderful little blog. But no! I sit down and immediately my computer sticks out her tongue and says "neener-neener you can't play here". Then Ms. Compy proceeds to blow a big fat raspberry right in my face. How could she? I mean seriously! She simply doesn't understand that I have dreamed of the day I would have the interweb again. What does she expect me to do while she does her house keeping? I have blog posts galore waiting to be published. I have recipes, stories and photos to share. All this will have to wait till all the cobwebs are swept away and Ms. Compy has her house in order again.
Meanwhile, I am trying not sit and spin my wheels: aka trying not to stomp my feet and throw a fit like the big fat baby I am. So, I am planning the garden for this year. I am trying very hard not to be tempted by the adorable baby chicks at the feed store. {I barely made it out sans chicks yesterday.} I am catching up on the laundry pile up. I am spending far too much time dreaming of moving to the "real" country; thanks in no small part to The Pioneer Woman. After the big wind/rain storm we had on Sunday, I am reevaluating my emergency supply stash and finding it seriously lacking. Wishing I could be stitching up a batch of these little beauties.
Well, 'the days a wasting' as Grandma would have said. Have a productive week.
Friday Freak Out
One Friday a few weeks back.
As is the norm for us, Friday is freak worthy. Most every Friday we have an in home tutor come to help out with spelling drills, math and science. On most Fridays my little family spend the morning trying to get ready for the tutor; clearing off the dining room table, sweeping, you know the "company's coming" kind of cleaning. There are books to be found, lunch to be scarfed all with just a moment to spare before the tutor descends upon us.
This particular Friday is no exception. The morning brought one disaster after another. Broken glass shattered across the kitchen floor as the children fought over the "good" cereal, you know the stuff you never buy. Milk splashes clear across the house. Tears burst forth as the middle child is sure that she will get none of the sugary stuff. Clean up of this mess takes way too long and half of the moring is already over.
After the children are fed, they are sent off to do the morning animal chores. Frantically trying to find clean clothes, I am met with a mountain of dirty things and not one decent clean outfit. So, proceeding through the morning frenzy in my jammie's, I start to pick up the living room, only to be met with the most disgusting odor. Seeking out the source, I move from room to room, shuffling piles to and fro'. Not finding where the vomitrosious smell is coming from.
Upon entering the hallway, the source becomes painfully obvious; both physically and via nasal airways. I plant my foot in the largest pile of nasty, fowl & odiferus dog poop ever known to man. Now mind you, I am NOT dressed to shoes, as the Flylady encourages us to do before starting our morning chores. I choke back my cereal. Swallowing very hard, again and again, I hop to the bathroom at the end of the hall to cleanse the pooh off of my offending appendage. I am gaging and crying the whole way down the length of the hall. Cursing under my breath that the dog will be shot! Again! (this is a story for another day)
As I near the bathroom I can see water glistening on the tile floor. This causes my blood pressure to rise even more. Hobbling into the bathroom proper, I scan the room for the source of the water. It's the toilet. We have a smallish bathroom so I prop my disgusting foot on the side of the tub, leaning over to see what has obscured the flow to the throne. I find that the pot is full to the brim with Pull-Ups. YES, packed completely full of the most enormously swollen Pull-Ups. Now you can only begin to imagine my state of mind. To say that I was fuming would be an understatement. I am lucky that I didn't have a heart attack. So, turning to wash my foot of its festering mass. I find all of the soap has been dumped out in the bath tub. Let me tell you how beautiful it looked. The entire bottom third of the tub was full of liquid gold. And blue. And pink.
I am considering hanging the kids out by their toenails, to say the least. When.....
The doorbell rings. It is the tutor, his is on time for the first time all year. Can you imagine his nerve? Couldn't the guy see the fumes floating out the windows? Couldn't he smell the poop from miles away? Couldn't he just go home and let me continue clean myself up? And get dressed for crying out loud??
"Hello," he hollers as one of the offending children escort him into the house.
Hell.........O! Indeed.
As is the norm for us, Friday is freak worthy. Most every Friday we have an in home tutor come to help out with spelling drills, math and science. On most Fridays my little family spend the morning trying to get ready for the tutor; clearing off the dining room table, sweeping, you know the "company's coming" kind of cleaning. There are books to be found, lunch to be scarfed all with just a moment to spare before the tutor descends upon us.
This particular Friday is no exception. The morning brought one disaster after another. Broken glass shattered across the kitchen floor as the children fought over the "good" cereal, you know the stuff you never buy. Milk splashes clear across the house. Tears burst forth as the middle child is sure that she will get none of the sugary stuff. Clean up of this mess takes way too long and half of the moring is already over.
After the children are fed, they are sent off to do the morning animal chores. Frantically trying to find clean clothes, I am met with a mountain of dirty things and not one decent clean outfit. So, proceeding through the morning frenzy in my jammie's, I start to pick up the living room, only to be met with the most disgusting odor. Seeking out the source, I move from room to room, shuffling piles to and fro'. Not finding where the vomitrosious smell is coming from.
Upon entering the hallway, the source becomes painfully obvious; both physically and via nasal airways. I plant my foot in the largest pile of nasty, fowl & odiferus dog poop ever known to man. Now mind you, I am NOT dressed to shoes, as the Flylady encourages us to do before starting our morning chores. I choke back my cereal. Swallowing very hard, again and again, I hop to the bathroom at the end of the hall to cleanse the pooh off of my offending appendage. I am gaging and crying the whole way down the length of the hall. Cursing under my breath that the dog will be shot! Again! (this is a story for another day)
As I near the bathroom I can see water glistening on the tile floor. This causes my blood pressure to rise even more. Hobbling into the bathroom proper, I scan the room for the source of the water. It's the toilet. We have a smallish bathroom so I prop my disgusting foot on the side of the tub, leaning over to see what has obscured the flow to the throne. I find that the pot is full to the brim with Pull-Ups. YES, packed completely full of the most enormously swollen Pull-Ups. Now you can only begin to imagine my state of mind. To say that I was fuming would be an understatement. I am lucky that I didn't have a heart attack. So, turning to wash my foot of its festering mass. I find all of the soap has been dumped out in the bath tub. Let me tell you how beautiful it looked. The entire bottom third of the tub was full of liquid gold. And blue. And pink.
I am considering hanging the kids out by their toenails, to say the least. When.....
The doorbell rings. It is the tutor, his is on time for the first time all year. Can you imagine his nerve? Couldn't the guy see the fumes floating out the windows? Couldn't he smell the poop from miles away? Couldn't he just go home and let me continue clean myself up? And get dressed for crying out loud??
"Hello," he hollers as one of the offending children escort him into the house.
Hell.........O! Indeed.
Rested
After a nice, semi relaxing day, I am back to the grind-stone.
I am working on a corn husk doll tutorial for the long neglected Sanity Savers site, a new triptych for this site and currently trying out the 'blogger in draft' -which I like so far.
I am finally settling into a good groove with our homeschool. Four years later. Seems odd to me that it would take so long.. Whatever, things are really going well as far as schooling goes.
It is rainy and cold here this morning and I have secret hopes of pulling out the sewing machine and sneaking in a few hours of stitching. I have been inspired by Erin's scrappy log cabin blocks. Check out the absolute adorableness of them here and here.
Hi-ho, hi-ho, its off to work I go...
Easy does it
I have run so harry-carry as of late, I am feeling the need to take a day off. The busy, bustling of "putting food by" has taken a toll on my house and my attitude. For months I have poured out my energies, with abandon, on my garden and now...
I find I have lost the heart for tending and toiling. And canning.
Ad infinitum.
I think I will play the grasshopper for a day and simply watch the ants scurry past.
Summer in pictures::A Royal Blast
During the balmy days of summer the Rural Firefighters treat the local communities to an Ice Cream Social disguised as a fundraiser. Leave it to those wily firefighters to lure in the locals with the promise of homemade pie and ice cream. Top that off with a down-home fire-hose dousing and you have what the Calamity Folk dub: A Royal Blast.
The Calamity boys took on the task of defending the family's honour in the Water Jousting event.
Bold Knight Head-Strong takes one for the team.
The Young Sire, Head-Long, gives it his all while looking especially smart in his stripes and fishes ensemble.
The Young Mistress shows her support by offering up her best(toothless) chocolate ice cream grin.
No ice cream shall go unvanquished!! (Or uneaten!)
No Royal outing is complete without a send off from Princess Grace herself.
Good times were had by all. Peace was restored in the kingdom.
And they all lived happily ever after....
The Calamity boys took on the task of defending the family's honour in the Water Jousting event.
Bold Knight Head-Strong takes one for the team.
The Young Sire, Head-Long, gives it his all while looking especially smart in his stripes and fishes ensemble.
The Young Mistress shows her support by offering up her best(toothless) chocolate ice cream grin.
No ice cream shall go unvanquished!! (Or uneaten!)
No Royal outing is complete without a send off from Princess Grace herself.
Good times were had by all. Peace was restored in the kingdom.
And they all lived happily ever after....
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