I guess you’ve decided to show up after all – and how!

After a very mild fall, and weeks of above normal temperatures, you finally arrive with below zero wind chills and snow flurries – overnight.

Really? Couldn’t you have broken us in gently?

One day I take a walk in jeans and a hoodie.

Just 24 hours later it takes me 15 minutes to don insulated coveralls, boots, a winter coat, ski gloves and a stocking cap just to get the mail. Talk about full battle gear!

All together that pile of winter wear weighs over 5 pounds.

You know there’s nothing like a pair of insulated coveralls and an extra 5 pounds of weight to make a gal feel ladylike and feminine!

And there is absolutely nothing very positive that one can say about “hat hair” – especially hat hair full of static from the dry cold.

Okay winter – I’ll admit that you hit us with hard left-hook, but you haven’t won this round!

Yes, I know that the electric fencer isn’t working, both the hydrant and the water in the cow tank are frozen, and the satellite internet is spotty.

But both cars started, the well is still running and the furnace is working just fine!

And the sun is out, the cows are staying in the fence, and I have running water in the house.

You may have knocked us for a loop – but you haven’t beaten us yet! You just make us tougher.

So there.

Anybody up for a winter walk?

“I felt a bit overwhelmed today. Today was “coat sorting day”. A warm coat for church, a warm coat for farm chores, a warm coat for town, don’t forget a lightweight coat for the days that it goes back up to 60…”

I can totally relate.

This is one of those rural realities that you just have to live with.

Everybody needs a warm coat to wear around the farm – one that they can do chores in, go sledding in and get muddy on four-wheeler rides.

But they also need a warm coat that stays nice to wear to church and to town.

Ditto for lighter weight coats for spring and fall and rain gear and sweatshirts and fleeces.

You start multiplying my family members and the number of coats per person and you soon see how overwhelming it can be.

And don’t forget the hats, mittens, overalls, boots and shoes – all in multiples.

It’s not just the outer wear! We almost need 2 separate wardrobes – one for going away and one for staying at home.

It is a known fact that whatever clothes are worn outside to do chores will get dirty, stained, ripped and otherwise made unfit for public wear. That’s why we set aside some clothes just for that purpose.

Trust me, the chickens and cows don’t care.

But we have other clothes that are saved just for going away where people will actually see us.

Although it never fails that the one day you don’t wash your hair, have on your worst looking jeans and the t-shirt with stains – will be the one day that you need to run to town to buy a bolt and pick up baler wire.

Never fails.

I get a chuckle every time I see a magazine article describing how to simply your wardrobe. Ha! What I need is some hints on how to practically store the gazillion coats, hats, mittens, boots, and shoes that are piled in my mud room.

But then – as my friend said -

“..multiply that times 12 and you get 48 coats in our closet. That is nuts- but thank you Lord for all 48 coats.”

So true! Thank you for Lord for each and every coat – and the healthy bodies to wear them!

First the coon, then the bunnies, and now a wood chuck.

I remember reading that back in the depression hobos used to leave marks on fences and trees so other tramps would know the houses to avoid, which ones had good food and where the mean dogs were.

I’m thinking some varmint put a sign out in the back 40 saying, ” Try these humans – they’re an easy mark and worth a laugh!”

However he found us – a solitary woodchuck ambled into the yard a few weeks ago and decided to make a permanent home under the wood pile in the machine shed (the only outbuilding with a gravel floor.)

We did not realize his presence for awhile and by the time Pedro first noticed the large pile of dirt and gravel in the back of the shed – he had dug out quite a home for himself.

My husband was not happy.

At first I didn’t mind so much. He was kind of cute in a 4- legged varmint-y kind of way. Besides he stuck to himself and didn’t chase chickens or eat my edamame.

But then I discovered the partially eaten pumpkins and winter squash in the garden.

Cute little Chuckie had crossed the line.

Now – how does one remove an unwanted woodchuck from his burrow underneath a large pile of wood inside a machine shed?

Good question.  But – never fear – Google has the answer.

We set the live trap for him – right outside the front entrance of his domicile – and baited it with carrots just as the website said.

Within 4 hours little Chuckie was history and his home was blocked up so no other little varmint would move in.

Maybe I should add a “no vacancy” sign.

Or “vagrants not welcome”.

Take that you little varmints. These humans are getting smart.

Photo thanks to Matt Reinbold.

Almost as big as my thumb, these beauties topped our ice cream, landed in our oatmeal, and were luscious in our scones.

But ohh…the pain of picking the late summer blackberry!

It’s bad enough that it grows smack dab in the middle of the poison ivy at the edge of the ravine. But then you have the thorns – or should I say spikes?

Those bad boys are so nasty you almost need almost full-body gear for protection!

And of course – there’s the heat and humidity – making that full body gear almost unbearable.

So why do we bother?

Because the warm, sweet deliciousness of a freshly picked blackberry – that stains your hands, your tongue, even the kitchen counter – is just that good.

It makes that kerplink – kerplank – kerplunk in the bottom of the bucket music to our ears.

Some things in life are just worth the extra effort.

]]> http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/blackberries/feed/ 4 http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/be-careful-what-you-wish-for/ http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/be-careful-what-you-wish-for/#comments Wed, 20 Jul 2011 19:45:26 +0000 Country Gal http://www.bluejeansandcottontees.com/?p=5408 Just look at what happens when you confess on a blog post to being unable to grow zucchini…

…in less than 36 hours you are given 9  zucchinis!

BIG ones, too!

As my friend Martha said to me as she handed me a bag full of the veggies, “Be careful what you wish for!”

Right now I’m wishing for roasted Italian zucchini with Parmesan cheese – and thanks to my sweet friends – I’m going to get it!

Take yesterday for example.

After church we all piled in our faithful old mini van, cranked the AC and headed down the blacktop for the 25 minute -very rural – ride home.

Things started out pretty normal.  We were just humming down the High and Dry when Jan suddenly noticed that the engine was starting to heat up. He quickly turned the AC off and slowed down.

It didn’t help. That temperature kept rising – fast . He turned the heat on full blast in a last ditch effort to cool things down. He pulled off in the nearest driveway just as the engine died.

Would you believe that we ended up in a cemetery?!

Our car died in the cemetery!

I don’t make this stuff up. Honest. But wait – there’s more!

So there we were in the the Forrest Home Cemetery with steam coming out under the hood.

Now normally – I love to roam around an old cemetery and read the inscriptions – but with the heat index around 101 and oppressive humidity – we headed right for a shady spot among the gravestones.

There we sat – all six of us – in the Crockett plot by the fence under the oak trees.  I perched myself on a nice flat head stone of one Elvious Crockett while we discussed our options.

Jan immediately started calling friends and neighbors to ask them for a lift – but nobody was home!  Nobody. Not even you Lavern and Carolyn!

We thought about walking home – but decided that hiking over 8 miles in the excessive heat with no water and wearing flip flops was probably not a good idea.

We thought about flagging down a passing car – if there ever was a passing car.

We searched the graveyard for water. But of course there was nothing – not even a pump.

Meanwhile the bees were buzzing, the temperature was rising and Elvious was feeling a little bumpy.

Finally, Jan – the hero of this adventure- decided to walk about a half mile up the hill to the nearest farm house and see if he could borrow some water to try to make it home.

Would you believe they weren’t home either?! Were does everybody go on a hot & humid Sunday afternoon in July?

He found a bucket sitting by the well, filled it with water, carried it all the way back to the van in the oppressive heat.

We cheered when the van started up.

We returned the bucket with our fervent thanks to the unknown farmer on the High and Dry who left a bucket by his hydrant that morning, and waved good-bye to our buddy Elvious.

Then we drove home with all the windows down – the heater going full blast and a heat index of 101 degrees.

Home never looked so good.

Air conditioning never felt so good.

Lunch never tasted so good.

I’m telling you people – you just never know when an adventure will strike.

The broilers are fat hunks of meat that are just a week away from the freezer and the layers are lively little buggers scratching and running all over.

They have done beautifully -  until Sunday night.

It was just another peaceful night in the country. We had the windows open to enjoy a light breeze when at midnight a ruckus in the pen woke me from a very sound sleep.  I then woke Jan and – being the good wife that I am – sent him out to investigate while I rolled over and went back to sleep.

He came in about 30 minutes later and reported a coon had run off from the chick’s pen but he didn’t get a shot at it. He said it was a little hard to hold both the gun and the flashlight – so if the coon comes back, I’d need to come out too.

<Gulp>

Thankfully the rest of the night passed without a return visit.

Round 1: Coon – 0 Us – 0. A Stand-off.

The next night we were ready. We had reinforced the pens and went to sleep confident that they were coon proof. Ha!

My peaceful slumber ended at 3:30 when the entire pen exploded with noise – including the frantic cry of  a chick.

Now – at this point – I should have been prepared. I’ve seen enough Little House on the Prairie to know that I needed to sit up and proclaim, “Oh no, Charles, they’ve got Matilda, my best laying hen!”

My husband would jump out of bed, pull on his pants throwing his suspenders over his shoulder as he grabs the gun from the mantle and avenges my hen.

But no – it didn’t look quite like that.

Instead – I jump out of bed, knock over Jan’s radio, run into the door, trip over my shoes and finally make it outside in my jammies with the flashlight.

Meanwhile, my husband pulls on his cowboy boots with his pajama shorts and heads out to grab the gun.

But we’re too late. Somehow that wily coon had attacked a poor defenseless layer through the fence.

(Let’s interrupt this story for an object lesson – if that silly little chicken had stayed inside the plastic pen inside the fence she would still be alive today. How many times do we step out of God’s protection and do things our own way – only to get hurt!)

Okay – back to the chase.

We shine the flashlight all over – but can’t spot that varmint. Jan grabs the flashlight and heads off into the darkness.  It took just a few minutes before I realized that there I was – in the dark – in my jammies – with a blood thirsty coon on the loose.  I quickly ran after him and took back the flashlight.

We slowly circle the out-buildings – looking for the pesky critter.  It reminded me a little of playing Ghosts in the Graveyard when I was a kid – only the “ghost” hiding in the darkness was not a sibling, but a very alive and crafty coon.

My ankles felt very exposed.

After a thorough search of the area – we decided the coon was long gone – probably enjoying his chicken dinner and wouldn’t be back. So we went to bed.

Ha! It was 4:30 – just about the time that I had finally settled down and forgotten that there were such things as coons in the world – that the chicken pen exploded with frantic cries again.

We grab our shoes, the gun and the flashlight and rush to the pen. We see a fat old coon ambling off down the trail – but he’s too far away to get a shot. Grrr.

The next morning we surveyed the damage. All of the good little chickens who stayed inside the pen were safe, only one chick was lost.

Round 2: Coon – 1, Us – 0.

The next night we decided not to take any chances. We manually moved all of the chicks into the building and the next morning we manually moved them all back out.

Take that you pesky varmint!

It was wonderful to get a full night sleep’s – even if we did add an extra hour of work onto our day.

But this is just a temporary fix.

Somewhere out there is a crafty coon with a taste for young chicken and this farm ain’t big enough for the both of us.

Your days are numbered.

Just wait for round 3.

In a 1990 blue Ford pickup with a bench seat and manual windows pulling a borrowed trailer – we drove over 8 hours to pick up some new calves.

Eight long hours fighting a head wind.

Eight fun hours talking, laughing and enjoying each others company.

Eight hours that included over an hour of white knuckled driving through St. Louis. Boy did we look out of place – like hillbillies from the sticks! We should have rolled the windows down and spit every now and again to complete the look!

But these cute little ladies were worth it! They are Belted Galloway heifers – otherwise known as Oreo Cookie cows. (Now – how perfect is that for a Chocolate Lady like me!)

We loaded up early Saturday morning, turned the rig around and headed it right back home – another 8 hours.

And of course the wind changed – so we got to fight a head wind all the way home!

Along the way I made a few observations:

Riding on a bench seat in a pickup truck helps you discover muscles and bones you forgot you had – and the experience stays with you for several days! (A strategically placed heating pad helps!)

A Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup McFlurry is the perfect treat while cruising down the highway in the sunshine with your windows down.

Six calves in a stock trailer for 8 hours can make a really big mess that requires a power washing on Sunday morning before you leave for church.

My husband is still my favorite person to take an adventure with.

And – the very best part of any road trip is pulling in the driveway and knowing your home!

And I don’t mean the marshmallow kind!

We’ve got the real thing! Some cute little layers to replace the older ladies that are in the coop waiting for retirement.

These feisty little Buff Orpington’s and Red Island Reds should keep things lively for awhile! They’ll grow slowly all summer and will start laying later in the fall.

Hardy little critters and fun to watch!

Then there’s the Cornish Cross broilers. They are cute now but won’t stay that way for long!

In just 8 short weeks and lots of feed this little guys will be butchered and in my freezer. I’m afraid nobody falls in love with the broiler chicks. They really don’t do anything cute – like chase each other around or look for bugs. They just eat. And eat. And eat.

All the chicks have a few more days inside under the lights to stay warm – but then they’ll be outside in the sunshine and on the green grass.

Somehow it just seems more like spring to have baby chicks in the barnyard!

I had just returned from a quick trip to town. The kids were all doing their regular Saturday work. Jan was in the workshop. I was standing in my bedroom talking to my sister on the phone when I heard it.

A train horn.

It was so close it sounded like a diesel engine was running through my living room!

My mind raced. We were at least 45 minutes from the nearest still-working railroad. The tracks in the nearest towns had long since been pulled up and bike trails developed.

What in the world could it be?

The sound died as quickly as it started.

I shook my head and tried again to concentrate on what my sister was saying.

Later, as I was walking down the stairs it started again.  I rushed into the kitchen and asked the Angel Girl if she heard it too.

“Oh yeah – it’s been doing that all morning long. We can’t figure it out!”

Again the horn ended but at least now I knew that I wasn’t the only one hearing things.

I pulled on my shoes and went out to the shop to see Jan.

“Did you hear that sound? Where is that coming from?”

He smiled, “The Amish kids must have gotten hold of a train horn somewhere. They’re probably blowing it using an air compressor.”

Mystery solved.

The horn sounded again.

“That is so annoying!” I said.

Jan smiled again – a little sheepishly this time.

“You know,” he said, “I have that old semi horn in the back building.”

I grinned. “Let’s find it!”

By the time their horn ended – we were ready with an answering one.

Honk Honk Honk Honk!

Hhhhhhooooonnnnnnnkkkkkkkk

Honk Honk Honk Honk

Hhhhhhooooonnnnnnnnkkkkkkk

Honk Honk Honk Honk

And the Great Horn Battle of Middlefork Township continues!

Train photo by Dan Hershman. Semi photo by PRA.