Our day began with sweet little girls all decked out out in their Easter dresses complete with gloves and hair ribbons. (The gloves lasted all of 10 minutes!)

It included a trip to church, palm branches and goody bags full of Cheerios, pretzels and mini-marshmallows.

The girls really got into waving those palm branches! And even though they whacked us in the face several times – and whacked their brother’s heads in the row in front of us, I’ll still call the morning a resounding success.

The afternoon, however, was a different story.

It wasn’t the girls though – they had a wonderful time! They were finally able to go outside.

They discovered that their pretty pink boots made big splashes in the mud puddles; they fed the chickens, gathered the eggs and walked the length and depth of the yard.

Oh the happiness!

No, the girls had a very lovely adventure. It was the big boys who had a misadventure – a very muddy misadventure!

Remember my overconfident declaration – “I’m not worried about the boys, we’ll feed them when they’re hungry and make sure they wear clean underwear when they go home”?

Yeah – we might be rethinking that one.

Right after lunch they headed out to explore the ravines. I just told them to stay away from water, stick together and stay off the road.

They stuck together all right.

I’m not sure of the details, but the story goes that they were down in the ravines exploring when James stepped into the “Mud Pit of Death”. It instantly sucked him in up to the top of his boots. Of course the older cousins had to “rescue” him.

In the heroic attempts to “save” their cousin – all of the older cousins got into the “Mud Pit of Death” with him – which instantly started sucking the boots and shoes right off their feet.

Yes – just like a giant vacuum cleaner. What a sacrifice!

The final causality count was three boots, three shoes, and an untold number of socks.

Aunt Julie and I were shocked with the muddy, shoeless group who drifted back to the house.

But don’t worry – we  aunts got our revenge! There was no way those mud- encrusted jeans were setting foot in my house – so the boys had to drop their drawers outside the basement, wrap a towel around their skivvies and sheepishly walk upstairs to the showers – carefully navigating all the safety gates we have in place.

It was priceless!

Then this morning they had to go outside in their pj’s and spray off those jeans to remove the biggest chunks of mud before I could wash them. (They loved this part!)

We’ll be off to the Amish store  in a few minutes to replace some of the boots, Aunt Melinda found shoes in the shoe bucket to replace some of the ones buried in the ravine, and the jeans did come clean in the wash.

So, while the outward evidence of the misadventure are gone – the memory made will last forever!

And that’s what this week is all about.

The temperatures are warming up, there’s rain – not snow in the forecast, and the 4 legged varmints are back.

You know the ones – raccoons, ‘possums, skunks and the like.

Although none of these animals actually hibernates during the winter months, they sleep longer and don’t do as much stuff. Some call it a state of “tupor” – waking from time to time to search for food.

That sounds very familiar – much like my own winter pattern!

As the days get longer and the warmer, they venture out and become nuisances.

We counted 3 dead skunks on the way to church yesterday. (Bet those cars will remember that stretch of highway for a long time!)

One friend reported that a critter had gotten into their chicken coop and killed every chicken. The intruder didn’t eat them – just killed them.

Another friend had a similar occurrence – but they only lost half of their flock.

At lunch today – I  saw a big fat ‘possum walking across the farm yard as if he owned the place.  I was concerned that he might be diseased so I checked online.

The site I found was full of interesting information. I discovered that although opossums are nocturnal, to have them wandering around in daylight isn’t too unusual – just like cats.

They are also very immune to rabies, but you should still avoid getting a bite. (Now that’s good advise!)

I also found that possum tastes like chicken, but if you wish to eat them, you should first catch it and feed it table scraps and other good food for a while to work all the carrion out of its system.

Right… like I really want to look the critter in the face and ask when it ate it’s last meal of carrion?! I wonder how long it would take to remove the effects of a carrion diet anyway?

But this particular sight didn’t recommend the practice of eating opossums at all. It sited that “a small cadre of renegade opossums has been known to have sought out people who have eaten their compatriots and lay siege to their dwelling. Armed with crude but efficient crossbows, they may shoot arrows into the car tires or capture and hold hostage the pets of the offending citizens.“

Wow! And since it’s online – you know it has to be true! I guess we’ll cross ‘possum off the menu this week.

I sent the boys out to take care of the offending critter.

Let’s just say it won’t be eating any of our chickens or eggs; nor will we be eating it.

Things will settle down here in a few weeks when the rest of our corner of the world wakes up and shakes off the winter doldrums.

But in the meantime we’ll keep the critter gun ready – and a close eye on the flock!

I hate my chest freezers.

I know – this love/hate relationship thing can be confusing – but seriously!

I love the space they offer which allows me to stock up on things when they are on sale.  They also give me ample room to store our home grown chickens, pigs and cows, and all of our home baked goodies.

But then again – I hate how much space there is!

I’m always losing things in them. You may remember that just a few weeks ago I cleaned both of them out and discovered all the frozen bananas.

After that incident, I thought I had the freezers all sorted and organized.

But this morning I went down to find a pork roast that I had just put in a few days ago -  and I couldn’t find it.

I had to dig down deep, moving large chunks of meat and a variety of home baked goodies, and even a few bags of frozen bananas.

I felt like I needed to call one of the kids to hold my feet – or tie a rope to them so I didn’t fall in and get lost forever among the frozen rhubarb and blueberries.

It’s so bad that my kids act as if they are being banished to Siberia when I send them down to the freezer to find something.

But – no matter how frustrating they are to sort and keep organized – I won’t trade them for anything!

I’ll just make sure to wear climbing gear before I enter their deep dark recesses!

We really had a lovely fall temperature wise- and a nice long one.

But once winter finally decided to make an appearance the first of December – it came with a vengeance.

We had our first major storm the second week of December with about a foot of snow dumped and strong winds to blow it around.

That was followed by the infamous (and deadly) Christmas Blizzard of 09. We had just barely gotten that one cleaned up when the next one hit this week.

From what I can figure – we get a new storm about every 2 weeks. At this rate – we should have snow up to the second story windows by March.

The snow itself isn’t so bad – I guess – but the arctic cold that comes with it is! With air temperatures below zero day after day – things start to break down. Important things – like vehicles and well pumps.

The combined effect of continual snow, wind, and frigidly cold air is numbing to the mind. It makes everyday things – like simply feeding the chickens – a nightmare.

We have a 4 feet high by 21 feet long by 10 feet wide drift that starts at the back door and covers the driveway and the house that is so packed in our tractor can’t budge it. The boys dug it out after the first snow – but gave up after Christmas since it keeps blowing shut.

Now we drive around it – over the lawn.

Just getting to the car means walking all the way around the drift – or through it. Try unloading a van full of groceries like that!

But my minor concerns are nothing compared to the large livestock producers in the area. Keeping the critters fed and water in this weather is both time consuming and dangerous.

Area schools have already missed several days of classes – and the winter is just beginning.

But it’s not all bad.

We’re safe and warm.

We have a wonderful furnace and nice thick insulation.

Our pantry and freezers are well-stocked.

We have electricity, running water and internet access.

But mostly we have rest.

My calendar for January is almost empty because no one has ventured to plan anything. Just imagine – an empty calendar.

I’m sure that once the weather warms up and the snow stops blowing – my schedule will start filling up. But for now – I will relish the quiet days with the wind blowing, the snow falling and my family around me.

Rest.

Despite the early freeze – they’ve come.

Just as soon as the sun came out and the temperatures rose – they came crawling out of the soybean fields where they spent the summer, shaken loose from their homes as the combines sweep through the fields.

What are these dreaded creatures? Some call them the Mexican bean beetles, others say they are Asian bean beetles.

I call them pests.

They swarm in the air so thick you could hear the buzzing.

They congregate on the walls of the houses looking for the tiniest holes to walk through.

They surround the windows and doors making you walk through a gauntlet to go outside.

They land in your hair, on your clothes, even on your face.

Not the nicest part of fall in the Midwest – but definitely a reality of rural living.

Rumor has it that some intellectual dude decided it would be a good idea to introduce these little buggers into soybean fields to eat the soybean aphids.

Nice idea. I’m all for using a natural method instead of spraying a chemical.

But nobody checked to see if they have any natural predators.

They don’t.

Even my chickens won’t touch them.

So now they multiply, swarming through the country side every fall when the fields are harvested, and invading our homes.

Maybe that dude should come and run the vacuum at my house for a few days – sucking up those smelly little varmints.

He might just think twice about his next big idea.

Isn’t he cute?

He was cute out in the pasture. Every day we watched him venture out into the newly mowed hay field.

Every day he got a little braver and would come out a little farther and stay a little longer.

It was so cute!

Until the other night.

The kids were in the living room when one of them saw Bambi – right outside the window – enjoying a late supper of my climbing rose bush!

Thankfully he was easily scared off with some hand claps.

Bambi in the pasture is cute. Bambi in my yard eating my flowers isn’t.

Well, okay – maybe a little cute.

I’ve watched this fad from a distance for awhile now and I am still not impressed.   Do I really want to wear clunky plastic shoes in bright neon colors?

I think not.

Or … at least I thought not.

Until…I found a pair for a quarter at a garage sale a few weeks ago. They were even my size.

So I bought them.

Now I know why I don’t like crocs.

The next day I wore them out in the garden and ended up with filthy feet because of  all the dirt that fell through the holes in the shoes.

I wore them out to the mailbox in the rain and ended up with soaked and slimy feet as the water poured right in those same holes.

But the final straw was this afternoon. I slipped them on to run out to the hen house for an egg. All was fine until I headed back to the house.

I suddenly noticed that something was gooey in my left shoe.

It was not only gooey – but it smelled quite nasty.

A nice sized chuck of chicken manure had slipped right in one of those holes as I gathered eggs and was now smashed all over the bottom of my foot.

I don’t like crocs.

It was an engineering challenge big enough to excite any man.

A challenge that turned into quite an afternoon!

It started the other evening when our dock was sitting patiently on the side of the pond waiting to be installed for the season. A storm hit bringing torrential rainfall. The rain came so hard and fast that the overflow couldn’t handle it fast enough and the pond level rose quickly.

The next morning we found our heavy wooden homemade dock on the other side of the pond, completely turned around and sitting with one end on shore as if placed there.

That must have been some rain and some wind!

The dilemma was how to move this extremely heavy dock from the overgrown and inaccessible side of the pond where it was currently resting to the other accessible and mowed side.

It couldn’t be carried – it was too heavy.

It couldn’t be transported on a trailer – the tractor and trailer would never get to it.

Our only solution – float it.

No worries – my engineering husband and sons had a plan and an entire Saturday afternoon to try them out.

By the time the girls and I got there, all three of them had sheepish grins on their faces.

I discovered that they had somehow gotten the 4 wheeler through the underbrush and fallen limbs to the other side of the pond (the overgrown inaccessible side) – where no 4 wheeler had ever gone before.

Then the 4 wheeler had promptly died and would not start again.

What function the 4 wheeler had in floating the dock – I don’t know and I didn’t want to ask!

But they had managed to get the dock floated across – tied to the paddle boat with Dad laying on the dock to stabilize it while the 2 boys paddled. (Somebody was thinking ahead…)

So now they had the dock on the right side – but just floating in the pond with a rope tied to a tree to keep it there – and the 4 wheeler stuck on the other side.

Now how to get that heavy dock pulled in to shore and one end pulled up on shore – without getting their feet wet or hurting themselves.

Their answer – another machine! This time they used a tractor and a wench to pull the dock. I will admit to closing my eyes for this one.

They had the tractor facing backwards on a steep, muddy hillside just a little way from the swollen pond. It looked like an accident waiting to happen – and my boys were grinning from ear-to-ear!

Thankfully the dock was pulled to shore and secured temporarily.

Nobody was hurt.

Nobody got wet (well except for some damp socks).

The dock is back on the right side.

The 4 wheeler started again – after another paddle boat ride across the pond and some tinkering.

And I have 3 pretty pleased guys.

All’s well that ends well.

I haven’t had a strawberry bed for years.

The last time I tried it the plants were skimpy little things with tiny strawberries. I spent more time weeding the bed than picking or eating berries.

So I mowed them off, tilled them under and planted green beans.

Why mess with strawberries when I can go into the ravines and pick all the wild black raspberries we could eat?! I didn’t plant them, weed them, or water them. All I had to do was pick them.

That plan worked great until last summer.

After I suffered 2 very nasty bouts with poison ivy from picking those wild black raspberries,  I decided it was time to revisit the idea of a strawberry patch.

Armed with a shovel and some strawberry plants my husband graciously dug up from a friend on Sunday, I prepared for battle strawberry.

I decided that what was lacking in my last attempt was fertilizer and planned to pick up some Miracle-Gro in town.  But… uhh…  umm… well you see … I kinda forgot it….several times.

But since I had the plants in hand and they needed to go in the ground, I had to come up with a Plan B.

My only solution: chicken droppings. Yes, THAT stuff. Sometimes called manure, poop, dung, or meadow muffins!

It was time to attack the chicken house.

I won’t tell you how deep the droppings were on the floor of the coop – but I will say that it has been several years since anyone ventured in to clean it.  I must admit this is not the most glamorous job on farm and I really struggle to find volunteers.

My two well-filled wheel barrow loads hardly made a dent in the well-composted chicken manure laying underneath the chicken roosts!

I then carefully maneuvered this wheel barrow of stench across the yard, over the ridge and into the garden (I never realized before how far away everything is!) and unceremoniously dumped it in the garden.

Then, using my handy – dandy Mantis tiller (the wonder machine), I carefully tilled that smelly, but hopefully potent  fertilizer into the ground.

One back ache and 70 strawberry plants later, I am the proud owner of a strawberry patch.

I only hope that the chicken droppings work – and I have strawberries the size of small eggs!

Stay tuned!