Hunters, Holidays and Tall Tales

We interrupt this Christmas season for a brief hunting interlude.

Why? Because  – let’s face it – hunting season definitely lands smack dap in the middle of yuletide preparations.

Think – pint sized Joseph decked out in camouflage  at Christmas program practice.

Or deer carcasses hanging in full view of the Christmas lights.

Or cooks taking a break from cookie baking to process this week’s kill.

Such is life in hunting season.

Such is my life this week.

The culprits are Grampa French, Mr. Cheesey, and Brian – our three hunters from Michigan. They’re camped out in our basement, spend the day reducing our deer population, and in the evening – they entertain us with their stories.

Oh my – such stories!

I’ve decided that hunters (at least these hunters) are much like fishermen – you never quite know where the truth ended!

They were talking about how many rabbits we have around here – and I mentioned what a nuisance they were in the garden.

Grandpa French leaned in and said, “You want to know how to catch those rabbits?”

I was all ears.

He continued, “Find a flat rock and sprinkle it with some freshly ground pepper” He paused and glanced around the table to make sure he had his audience.

“Then carefully lay a romaine leaf directly on top.”

Another dramatic pause.

“The rabbit will start eating the lettuce leaf…”

We all leaned in so as not to miss anything.

“Then the pepper will make him sneeze – throwing his head forward and he knocks himself out on the rock!”

Ouch! The master story teller got us again.

And so the laughter continues…

Poison Ivy – Revisited

I can’t believe it.

Here I am a miserable, red itchy mess again – thanks to my nemesis – the dreaded poison ivy.

After my last horrible episode with the toxic weed I have been extremely careful outside. So how could I possibly get poison ivy when I have barely left the house for a week? I wasn’t even out of the yard since last Monday?!

But the kids were.

They were all over the property – in and out of ravines and up and down the hills.

Then they took their dirty clothes off and put them in the laundry.

Clothes

I’ll give you three guesses as to who helped to sort that laundry and start it through the washer.

I must have gotten some of that nasty urushial oil on my forearms and spread it – everywhere – my arms, legs, back, all over my abdomen and even on my face.

With an outbreak this big, many of the things I’ve tried before just weren’t practical. I did shower twice a day using Dawn soap to stop the oil from spreading.

And I changed our bedding every day and I never wore any article of clothing more than once before washing it.

But the real hero for this nasty bout has become my die hard blow dryer – the one I bought back in college and now  pull out once a year to defrost the freezer.

Dryer

I read online that blowing a blow dryer directly on the rash and holding it there for as long as you can will help with the itching. In my desperation, I tried it and – believe it or not – it worked.

It heats the rash up until it stings and itches so bad you can’t stand it.  But it stops the itching for a good two hours.

It wasn’t a cure all – nor did it stop the rash from spreading – but it did keep me sane until I could get in to the doctor for a round of medication.

Oh – happy pills – how I needed you!

Needless to say – it’s been a painful week thus far.

But there’s always a bright side – with the rash on my forearms I can’t do any laundry or dishes so I won’t spread it to others. :)

Just What Is a Homesteader?

homesteadingYou may have noticed that I often refer to my family as “homesteaders”.

I will admit that it has raised some questions.

Most people think of a homesteader as those brave souls who took up the “free” land offered by the government in the 1800′s.

They lived in tar paper shanties or earthen dugouts while they  “proved” up their section. They survived freakish blizzards and grasshopper plagues while settling up the mid-section of our great country.

That’s not us. (Although some of last winter’s weather was a bit freakish! :) )

Neither are we farmers – or ranchers – or pork producers – or cattle producers – or dairymen. But I think the world of this people (and you should too if you ate anything today!) Some of my closest friends and many relatives would fall into these categories.

Even though we both live in rural America – those folks all have lots of land, big machines, large flocks or herds and they feed the world.

It’s their job and they do it well.

But it’s not us.

We’re homesteaders. We have some land, miniature tractors, a few animals and attempt to feed ourselves.

We don’t make a living from our land – but we try to live off our land.

We raise a few chickens for their eggs and their meat. We may have a few cattle or a few pigs – all with the intent to butcher them for our own needs.

We have a large garden and orchard so we can enjoy fresh fruits and vegetables. On a good year we even have some to share.

Webster’s dictionary defines a homestead as “The home and adjoining land occupied by a family”.

That’s us. We’re living on the land and making it a home.

We’re homesteaders.

Blue Jeans And Cotton Tees – Proof in Pictures!

As I was packing for our upcoming “epic adventure” – I had to giggle as I saw my pile of clothes.

Mom

I had a rainbow of cotton tee shirts sitting beside my pile of blue jeans!

Dad

Then I saw my husbands pile- same thing – only in more masculine colors!

Blue jeans and cotton tees – it’s what we wear – it’s how we live.

Now I have the proof in pictures!

Easter Dresses and Muddy Messes

Yesterday was our first full day with all the children- and boy was it a day of contrasts!

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.Muddy Jeans

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.