Hazards of Farming


Last summer I spent quite a bit of time telling you about the process of doing hay.   For city people, it’s quite an education.  I am still learning – in fact every time I get on the tractor, it’s like learning all over again.  Well, this year I learned something new.  It’s a bit embarrassing, these lessons of mine.  But I feel like you need to know.  I mean, if you ever get thrown onto a farm (willingly or reluctantly) I want you to have the knowledge that I wish I’d have had before this process.  It’s like the parent who wishes their kids would learn from their mistakes and not let their kids learn from personal experience.  It doesn’t always happen that way, but at least I’m doing my part. 

One day I was in a store – can’t remember which store.  I saw this, and thought it was a sort of gag item.  Something that might have been sold around April Fool’s day or maybe Halloween.

Doing research for this post, I happily stumbled across this:

Let me ‘splain.  It’s been hay time again.  And while I’ve helped fairly extensively in past years, there’s always been reprieve.  Prince Farming’s dad and his help have come over, and Prince Farming has done at least one of the processes himself, so my time on the tractor was broken up.  But this time I had to mow, fluff, and rake three huge fields.   Normally I mow with a tractor that has an air-conditioned cab.  But on my way down the hill when I tried to raise the mower arm, there was a hydraulic hose in just a wrong spot, and the hose got pinched and broke, rendering the hydraulic system useless.  With very little time to spare (rain in the forecast), I parked that tractor, and rode over to Prince Farming’s dad’s farm and borrowed their mower, which was already conveniently attached to their tractor.  An open cab with a canopy.  No worries, I can handle an open cab.  Never mind that this tractor has to be started, not with a key, but with a loose wire that you hold to two spots and it kicks on.  That’s another post though.  So I got started mowing, and only an hour later than I’d hoped.  The shade of the canopy was good, but it was still hot.  I was in shorts and flip-flops, and figured I’d probably get a bit of sun, which couldn’t be a bad thing.  First day – all the mowing was done. 

Second day – on to fluffing (or teddering, for those of you who can’t stay on the farm when the word fluffer is used).  This time I could use our own tractor – but not the air-conditioned cab one.  The little cub cadet – also with a canopy – was the vehicle of use (not choice).  I don’t love this process because I can’t see where I’ve been as clearly as when I mow or rake, but it’s a necessary process to help in the drying of the hay.  I got all the fields teddered, and went to bed exahausted.  Spending 6-8 hours on a tractor might sound like a lazy day, but my body was sore and my mind numb.  I woke with a start at 2am.  It was POURING RAIN on my freshly cut and teddered hay.  That means that instead of raking first thing in the morning, I had to go over and fluff all over again.  So there I was – on the open tractor.  Let me paint a little word picture for you.  It’s HOT.  The fields are BUMPY.  On the sides of hills, you can barely keep yourself from sliding off the seat. And you’re SWEATING.  The combination of wet, sweaty shorts, very bumpy, slidey riding . . . well.  Here.  This might give you a better idea.

This is what spending endless days on a tractor leaves you feeling like.  I’m not kidding.  Prince Farming came  home from work when I was just done with the teddering and suggested I take a break.  I was SO relieved.  I really didn’t want him on the tractor much – especially on the bumpiest of fields because he hurt his back a  few weeks ago, and I didn’t want him to aggravate the injury.  His dad came over to help bale.  I’m not sure how the conversation went between them, but Prince Farming made it known that I needed a break from the tractor seat for a while.  He finished raking and his dad did the baling.  And my butt got a break. 

It took a couple of days to feel totally better, but I was able to go back out and load the hay bales onto the trailer and bring them to the barn before too much more time went by.  And I wasn’t on the open tractor for long enough to aggravate my injury.

There.  Consider yourselves educated.  And warned.


Miscellaneous Sky



This is a random post from skies past.  This first one was from last year when I went to Bermuda for a week.  We had a blast – just a girls trip (well, and Prince Charming).  My creative and wonderful friend from UStamp4Fun.com took me as her guest. (Note:  Amy is NOT taking me to Hawaii this month . . . her husband decided it was his turn.  Whatever).   It was incredibly windy for part of the trip, but you’d never know it from this picture.


This next shot is more recent . . . we’d had a huge bonfire on a Friday night in early February.  The next day, the cows were warming themselves by the coals – in fact they visited that area for several days in an attempt at staying warm.  It reminded me of Farside jokes from long ago . . .


And, for those of you who have been missing it, here’s a shot of our pond – in the winter time.  Some time I’ll post a photo of the kids playing on the pond – for now, this is an undesturbed pond in the winter time. 


You can see more photos of skies (and ponds and even animals) from around the world by visiting here.  Happy Skywatch Friday!

Blogging the Past


Here’s something that should have been blogged, but missed it’s time. . . and alas there are no photos.  It was a photo-worthy and bloggable thing for sure. 

We’ve been having some amazing weather.  The contrast between hot and cold on two different days is crazy.  And the wind!!  It’s been so cool to watch and hear.  We were home on a day off (President’s day or another day when the teachers had inservice) and the forecast predicted strong weather.  With the radio on, the "weather alert" was going nuts – every few minutes that disturbing, belching and mechanical "beep, beep, beep . . . we interrupt this broadcast with a special weather update . . . " with tornado warnings and watches and strong wind advisaries.  Living on a hill with a panoramic view is awesome at times like this – you can see the wind, but can’t feel it.  I love that!  And when it rains, it feels like you’re sitting right in the rain, but you don’t get wet.  It’s the coolest thing.  Anyway – we were home, and the winds were picking up speed.  We kept saying "the trampoline is going to fly" and we watched it – and it lifted and lowered, but didn’t move.  Until one huge blast of wind picked it up and threw it down the hill and across the drive way.  It was like the thing weighed less than a feather – it was so effortless.  The rain was coming down in torrents and so some of our visibiiity was obstructed.  When it cleared enough for us to see, the trampoline was upright against the neighbor’s fence.  Upon closer inspection (after the storm) we saw that part of it was over the fence.  There were trampoline parts all the way down the hill (mostly springs).

A couple of weeks after the storm, we had a house-full of guests.  Prince Farming suggested we use the man-power to bring the trampoline back up the hill (makes a person want to stop in for a cup of tea, doesn’t it?).  It wasn’t too difficult with all of us – and we had the kids do a sweep of the hill for missing parts.  Almost half the springs were "sprung" all over the place.  We dragged the trampoline up and put it back where it had started, but it wasn’t "jumpable" yet – two of the legs had been ripped right off.

Last week Prince Farming got home from work "early" (still daylight).  He went down and got the welder from the shed and I found all the extension cords I could in the garage.  We figured out which leg parts went where and did the necessary repair.  We had to bend some of the net-braces up and fenangle a few other parts to fit – but we finally got the trampline looking almost like it used to.  There is a significant bend on one edge which gives the trampoline an almost egg-like appearance, and the kids say it doesn’t have as much bounce – but at least it’s useable for getting rid of the extra energy and craziness that periodically occurs in smallish people.

Isn’t it great to have someone around who can fix things!?  In a former life, that trampoline would have sat there, on it’s end, till it naturally deteriorated.  Or it would have been dragged to some trampline graveyard heap.  Prince Farming can mostly fix anything!!

Finally Friday


Or maybe I should say "finally skywatch."  I’m reluctant to post (more reluctant about that than being a farm chik at this point), but am being sucked in by the amazing shots I’m seeing as I scroll through the skywatch list (1st time in many moons, it seems).  Your photos inspire me.  So I’ll share too.  No pond today -it’s still out there, just not recently photographed, I don’t think.  Let’s see what’s on my my desk top.

Oh yes – this was when we were clearing behind (actually in front of) our house.  We also needed wood for our outdoor furnace (that heats our home and water during the winter).  My son and I started this fire with all the scraps – the stuff that isn’t worth hauling over to the furnace.  Great fun.  We’ve had several big fires lately.  Luckily all of them controlled and contained.

Let’s see if there’s a sky picture somewhere.

Yes – this is on the way back from the in-law’s.  The horse mail box is just out of sight to your right.  I took this shot because of the amazing moon hanging out above the cloud, but my iphone camera doesn’t have a zoom (or any other feature other than "click") so the clouds are more impressive than the moon.  And the partial wooden fence adds character too.

You can see more amazing sky pictures from all over by clicking here.

The Sun Will Come Out . . .


Hey look – I managed to figure out how to log on to my blog again!  It’s crazy how that works.  If I don’t do something often, I forget.  It freaks me out sometimes to think that something so simple can be pushed to such deep recesses in my mind that I struggle to access it.  Not that it’s such a huge deal.  It’s just that it happens more than I’d really care to admit in areas that are a bit more critical than blog access.  It makes me wonder if this is how I am at 40-something, what’s going to happen in 10 or more years?!?!  I have notebooks with user names and passwords and information to remember . . . sometimes I have a very vivid memory of "I didn’t write that down because I KNEW there’s no way I’d forget it . . . .now what was it!?!  Anyway . . . that’s not what this post is about.

This is a big step – this posting of a new blog entry.  Life got a little nuts – you might recognize the decline in the last several posts over a month (or more) ago.  The desire to stay with it – to keep producing.  To have the outlet.  But I couldn’t maintain it.  I was kidding myself.  Kind of like "if my life on the blog looks okay, then my life must really be okay."   I couldn’t keep all the balls in the air.  So I dropped them.  Just about all of them.  Very recently when I logged back onto my Facebook account, an epiphany struck.  I was trying to think about a status update.  I wanted it to say something about seeing the light – being able to take on life with a bit more courage and energy.  I had the analogy of a cave in my mind.  A hiding place (by the way, I hate caves – claustrophobia and I are pretty tight).  And when I started entering the status, it came out as "I’m almost done caving."   I’ve been working hard on not caving.  Caving as in "giving up" or "giving in."   But as I contemplated that status, I realized that I had been giving in – to a large extent.  And the strength that I am fighting for, that I am seeking after, is actually the strength I need to just BE.   No giving in.  No escaping.  No caving. 

Thank you to those who have continued dropping by to check on me.  Forgive me for not responding.  I didn’t have anything to say.  I still don’t have a lot to say.  What needs to work through my system will continue its journey.  I will share where I’m able and deal with the rest.  And I’ll lose the cave analogy.  Spring time will probably help. 

See you on the blog . . . and I’ll be visiting some too – as I am able. 

Now I have to check my anti-caving sentiment.   Can I click "publish"?



Organized People . . .


. . . . Make Me Crazy

Probably because I want to be one too

And I just can’t get it together.

You know who you are.  Your Christmas shopping is all done, and everything was wrapped and ready before December even hit.  AND your Christmas cards are handmade and mailed with perfectly matching holiday postage stamps.  Arggghhhh.   My Christmas list isn’t even complete.  I mean, I went shopping last week, and spent one month’s salary stipend in an alarmingly short period of time.  And while I suffered some amount of "AAaahhhhhh" over the bill that will be coming, I felt some satisfaction in being pretty much done.  A few online orders to place, and I thought I was SET.  But as the days have gone by, I’ve realized this small detail:

My LIST isn’t even done

Meaning, I didn’t have a complete list, so my shopping is not complete.

Unfortunately, all the money I’ve set aside for Christmas is long spent.  So, I’ll just have to THINK about the things I would want to give to the people who didn’t yet make it onto my list.  Because it’s the thought that counts, right!?  RIGHT?!

And you KNOW those people aren’t going to be getting any truffles!!




The blogs I visit don’t ever have comments about blogging or not blogging, or guilty feelings over long pauses in blogging.  Well, except for this one.  But then maybe it’s because I’ve not only NOT been blogging, I’ve also not been visiting my friends blogs to hear them whine (I’m starting to see the wisdom in blogging even more clearly now!)  But seriously – I have this feeling of "what a loser am I – I can’t even keep up with my blog."  Even though Louise, who set the blogging hook that others had cast, said that I shouldn’t worry about when I can’t blog – to just do it when I could – but I still just love to torture myself obviously gain SOME pleasure with guilt.  Whether its warranted or not.

It’s not like I don’t enjoy blogging.  I do.  Although I find it freakily weird that people actually stop to see what I write.  But I get it when I go and read other people’s blogs.  It’s like people-watching in the airport.  It’s fun to see what other people are doing.  And blogging gives a little window into their world.  So I miss out on seeing what people are wearing most of the time on blogs.  But the great trade-off is I get to see what they’re thinking and doing – which is what I wonder about when I’m in an airport.  Blogging is deeper.  Airport people-watching you want to go and add "when you decided to wear that travelling" to the usual "What are you thinking?" question.  So here’s my plan.  Since my iPhone camera seems to be doing fairly well, I’m going to start doing little blog entries (well, right after this one, I mean).  Just sort of snippets.  Of the things that float through my life and head where I think "this is bloggable."  I’ll go ahead and blog it.  Just like writing a status update on Facebook, which I manage to do fairly frequently.  So there.  You can breathe a sigh of relief, or remove me from your reading list – whatever you choose.  I’m back.

You know I’m only back because it’s a stressful time of year, right!?  It’s like "What else can I possibly cram into this week!?  Oh wait, this is bloggable."

This has been my current dilemma:  Actually no.  This has been what I SHOULD be worried about, and am, on some level, or I wouldn’t have used it in my Facebook status either.  Now I’m blogging about it.  Maybe it warrants some analysis.   I bought these truffles at S*Ms club.  A 3-pack, that I might be able to use as gifts if the need arose.  They’ve been in my house for about 2 weeks.  This weekend I decided I should open one of the boxes, just to check them out.  If they’re disgusting, I certainly would not want to give them away. 

Well, let me tell you.  I won’t be giving any of these away.  They’re absolutely TERRIBLE.  Like melt in your mouth into buttery extasy.  Wonderful.  Delicious.  Completely non-shareable.  Well, except for single others who might be able to appreciate how divine they really are.  And worth the hour-drive to go buy the whole stock in case they aren’t available after the holidays terrible.  Ghastly.  Like a lump in your stomach because you have NO SELF CONTROL.  Gross.  Like maybe if I eat some yogurt or an orange, this heavy feeling might go away.  But oranges and yogurt aren’t melt-in-your-mouth delicious, so maybe I should have one more. . .. it’s sick.  Really.  I know.  I probably ought to have therapy.  Then I started to wonder (out loud, on FB) how many truffles are in one serving.  If any of you want to know, I recorded it here.

You can look and see, but please don’t tell me, because even though I asked the question, I truly do NOT want to know the answer.  Nor do I want to know what’s in these amazing orbs.  Unless of course S*MS has run out and I have to try to make my own.  Then I’ll take them to a lab and have them dissected and analysed so I can reproduce them.  Oh – but only half of one, because I’ll not want to waste an entire one on science.  Unless that science has it’s processing plant in my own body – like this is how chocolate travels from your mouth, down your throat and plants itself on your hips, butt, and stomach.  And thighs.

I’ve been so proud of myself, because my previous vice was this:


Laced with this:

in milk.  I had it daily.  Sometimes multiple times daily.  For YEARS.  And years.  And I finally gave it up this year.  Not because I haven’t tried before – it just didn’t work.  This year I got sick for a couple of days.  Really sick.  And couldn’t eat or drink anything.  And when I came out of it, I just didn’t feel like my coolers anymore.  There are still at least 8 boxes in my pantry, because I had to buy them in the big city – no local place would stock them.  I tried – believe me!  And the bonus was that I lost about 20 pounds.  Just when I quit!  I didn’t know I was losing weight till I went for a 6 month recheck at the doctor and my weight was vastly different.  I had to get on the scale a 2nd time just to check.  Hmmmmm.  What a wonderful thing.  Now I’m starting to worry.  How many truffles will it take to turn this thing around? 

When I was 11 . . . .


As I read various people’s blogs I wonder what it is about me and my life that makes it so absent of stories.  Like there’s someting that’s repressed or missing.  But then as I considered it further, I realized that my life is as full of stories as anyones.  It’s just so close to who I am – to my reality – that I don’t see it as "a story."  It just is.  So here I am – sharing.  Tentatively.  Madge wrote a beautiful post about when she was 11, and she was inspired by someone else . . . so I’ll keep the theme going.

You must know that I don’t specifically remember myself at 11.  I actually had to do the "in which year was I 11?" math and then sort of remember details based on the year.  It was the year 1978 (there – now you all can do the math).  This story actually starts when I was still 10.  My family (2 parents, 2 brothers and me) were living in Somerset West (near Cape Town), South Africa.  My dad had been the business manager of a small college there, but for some reason was working for. . .a company that also employed a lot of Koreans.  I can’t remember the name of the company, I just remember him getting impressive presents from Korea from some very gracious people.  It was the only time that I can remember my dad not having denominational employment.  

We were getting ready to move to Rhodesia (Zimbabwe on this map).  My dad had been called to be the auditor for our church’s division office in Salisbury (Harare).  I wasn’t part of the discussion referring to the timeline of our move, I just knew that I was going to start the school year in Somerset West, but would not be finishing school there.  The school year in South Africa goes with the calendar year.  Being in the southern hemisphere summer break is in December.  So in January (or whenever school started back) I got SOME school books – not all of the "writing in" books because they’d probably be different at the next school, and it was too expensive to buy stuff I wasn’t going to completely use.  Also, because we knew that we’d be moving, my oldest brother was sent to boarding school near Johannesburg, because that was closer to relatives, and to where my parents would be living.  They didn’t want him to have to move schools part way through the year – with starting high school and all.  It was a very sad time.  I remember my mom sobbing for a week after dropping him off at the airport.  She said she felt like an arm had been pulled out of her body.  I remember feeling completely inadequate because I couldn’t help her to feel better.  

I can’t exactly recall when we left Somerset West, or what event took place to make it the time to leave – I just remember living with my grandparents in Pretoria.  Sort of a "stop over" on our way to Rhodesia.  But then something in the political scene in Rhodesia made it too dangerous to proceed, so we stayed in Pretoria for a while longer.  And my brother and I were enrolled in a small school there.  I believe it’s the same school my mom might have attended as a child.  To get to this school we had to take a city bus to the center of town, and then another city bus to a bus stop near the school.  Then we’d walk the rest of the way.  My mom took the bus with us several times, and met us on our way back several times, to make sure we’d know which buses to catch.  It must have been very difficult for her to let her little kids out that way.  If I were to make a comparison, it would be like me dropping my kids off at the DC Metro to get to school.  I’m sure lots of people do it, but considering our current lifestyle, it just seems like I’d have a hard time doing it.  But that was how it was at the time.  I’m glad my brother was there – he always watched out for me – and carried my backpack if it was too heavy for me to run when we were late for a bus.  That school does not have a pleasant spot in my memory.  I remember some kids from there, but only because we met up again when I went to highschool.  I only vaguely remember names from that time.  My non-memory might also be because we were there so briefly (again, I don’t recall the time period).  It was hard because in our home we spoke English.  I could understand some Afrikaans – the other "national language" in South Africa at the time, but it was not comfortable for me.  I couldn’t hold a regular conversation in Afrikaans.  But this school was an Afrikaans one.  That meant all the kids there were fluent in the language, and the classes were taught in Afrikaans, with English being offered as a "second language."  I remember having to give two speeches in Afrikaans.  I was completely out of my element.  And I did NOT prepare as I should have.  And I was so embarrassed by my performance, I could hardly stand to be there.  I also remember the teacher trying to get us to memorize poems in Afrikaans.  I can still recite one of poems.  There was another poem she tried to get us to learn.  I remember her trying to teach us intonation and expression.  She wanted us to say a phrase in a certain way, and the entire class did not get it.  We just sat there and listened to how she wanted it said, and we did our best to imitate her, and we failed miserably every time.  She’d get SO frustrated.   I remember that phrase, and how we WEREN’T supposed to say it, very well too.  I also remember music class, for some reason.  It seems a different person taught us music.  And all the songs were in Afrikaans.  It was just like a sing-along.  No instruction, as I recall.  Just singing.  For fun, it seemed.  Which was fine for me.  And gym.  We had sort of a tumbling/gymnastics class, the idea of which I LOVED, but the actual doing of which I hated because people were watching me when I failed my tumble pass.  The part about living with my grandparents was cool.  I shared a bedroom with my grandmother.  My brother and I would talk about which TV shows would be on in the evening on the way back from the bus stop. (TV only started at 6pm – that with a sort of short devotional).  It was the only time we’d ever had a TV in our lives (till we moved to America).  Monday and Wednesday started out in English, then switched to Afrikaans at 8pm.  Tuesdays and Thursday started out with Afrikaans and switched to English with the 8pm news.  We never watched TV on Friday nights, and the weekends alternated between languages – with lots of American shows dubbed over to Afrikaans.  We watched CHiPs in English though.  I had to go to bed half way through it (because the clock, and my mom, said so).

We were there for enough time to realize that the current way of living was too unsettled.  My dad was able to do his auditing job from South Africa, because to go anywhere from Rhodesia for his job would require him to fly through South Africa anyway (geographically that doesn’t make sense, but South Africa was the hub through which most people went to any southern or central African country at the time).  My dad’s job required quite a lot of travelling.  So we moved out of my grandparents’ house and into a rented house in Johannesburg.  Right next door to the school where my aunt (my mom’s sister) taught.  This was a cool thing because my aunt became my teacher.   I don’t know why time, or the passage of  time, is so hard for me to remember at this stage.  I don’t remember much about school during this time.  But I remember odd bits about church life and time outside of school.  I don’t remember any specific friends.  I was in a class with a first cousin and a couple of 2nd or shoestring cousins.  So we played together.  But I don’t remember having a "best friend."  The school (and our house) was right next to a city park – that’s where we had recess.  I vaguely remember walking there and having a feeling of being completely disconnected.  Like I didn’t belong.  Not in Johannesburg.  Not in Pretoria.  Not in Somerset West, because my friends there had gone on without me in their lives.  And not in Rhodesia, because we hadn’t gotten there yet.  I don’t remember school ending.  I don’t remember good-byes.  I do remember not going back to that school the next year.  Somewhere during that summer break we made the move to Rhodesia.


Veteran’s Day


This holiday crept up on me unawares.  The only reason I knew it was happening was because the bank was closed when I got there.  And there was an event in "Veteran’s Park" in our little town.  I know if I listened to the radio or got out a bit more there’d be no way I’d miss the holiday – it’s not like it goes unpublished.  We were doing a cooking class in the community room (you know – that wellness job of mine).  And Jake, the very gregarious director of tourism (who says his job is to get "heads in the bed" for our town), asked if we’d come across the street after our class for a short ceremony.  They were going to add the name of a young soldier to the monument in honor of our town’s boys whose lives have been given for our country.  I’d never attended such a ceremony, and given the size of our town (population less than 3,000) I thought it would be a good thing to experience.



It was quite a ceremony, with a local TV station reporting and the highschool ROTC cadets strutting their stuff as Color Guard.


The Master of Ceremonies is a local church pastor who did a very nice job.


There was a collection of veterans who gave a gun salute to the fallen soldier.  And a lone soldier in the distance who did taps.  The drizzle and cold weather were particularly gray.  It was all fittingly somber.



I felt so sorry for the family of the soldier.  They have made the ultimate sacrifice – the death of their young son.   I couldn’t hold back tears as they unveiled the soldier’s name on the monument – to forever be honored for his service and his sacrifice.  There are so many more who serve and sacrifice for the freedoms that we enjoy.  It was a great reminder of something that I so often take for granted.

Just Ramblin’


Every week I swear I’m going to blog more faithfully.  I mean, there’s so much going on – it’s not like I’m lacking for information.  But I have this feeling of needing to have "stellar" writing – something witty or amusing or clever.  And my life just isn’t that witty or amusing or clever.  So here’s the ramble.

This past weekend my kids participated in a choral festival in Georgia.  There were over 200 kids there from all over the place.  I went down with a friend to listen to their performance and was totally blown away by the quality!  Granted, their teacher here worked with them for the past several months so they’d be familiar with the music.  But bringing that hodge podge of miscellaneous groups together and getting them to sound like something decent is quite the feat.  Here’s a poor-quality iPhone shot of part of the group.

The empty chairs are where the strings came in during some of the pieces – they added quite a lot to the overall effect.  We drove home after the program – which means we got to bed somewhere around 1:30am.  Maybe that’s how come I feel so totally wasted today (my dad always said "you paint the week red on Saturday night – we were out on Friday night, but it’s having the same effect).


A project that has been looming for a little while is getting our chickens OUT of the garage and into a new dwelling somewhere on the farm.  I’ll take pictures of them soon – but just know that chickens do not take a long time to grow up.  Prince Farming is quite fond of his chicks and is worried about what wild life might not respect chicken life as much as he does.  I told him we might need to appease the Raccoon and Hawk gods with a sacrifice or two, but he’s wanting to take a chance without that pay-off.  Last Thursday we started working on getting the small barn ready for chickens.  It’s been a bit of a dumping ground since we moved here, so there is a lot of clean-up to do.  It’s not done.  I did spend some time helping to stack some HUGE logs.  They were HEAVY.  And after only 2 hours of work out there my back ached.  And my wrists haven’t been the same since.  We were going to do more work on the chicken house on Sunday, but . . . . I’ll have to tell you about that another time.  Brace yourselves.  It just might involve a cow story.


This week we have a cooking class – actually we call it a "Lunch & Munch" – don’t know where that term came from, but it’s stuck.  In my non-farm, non-home life, I am the coordinator for a Wellness program which is grant driven (not-for-profit).  We do all kinds of lifestyle classes, including smoking cessation, healthy living, dealing with diabetes, cooking classes, and wellness lectures in public schools, among other things.  It’s a fairly new program, and from year to year we never know how much work we’ll have to do (or get paid to do – there’s always a lot to do).  So tomorrow is a short class – we’ll do the same thing twice (11am and 12pm).  We have to have everything done in short order because people come through on their lunch hour and hope to get interesting information and a good meal out of the deal.  So today we prepped and cooked.  And we video-taped the demonstration so that people could be eating while they watch how to prepare the dishes.  I am also responsible for the recipe cards – had to get them printed, cut, and collated.  It’s been a FULL day.  And tomorrow will be the same.


Next week I have committed (advertised and everything) to having a Christmas Card stamp class.  I’m very excited about doing a class again – it’s been over a year already (can’t believe I said that out loud!).  So I needed to figure out what I’m doing so I could get an order placed so my materials would be here in time for the event.  I’ll post about that soon – I want to have the cards done so you can see what I’m up to.  It just added to an already full day today.  I placed an order.  I just hope I have thought it all through enough to have what I need.


This week is full speed ahead.  Thursday is going to get here and I’ll be ready to take a nap, but I’ll have the chicken thing to contend with.  Unless Prince Farming gets distracted by something more pressing.  One can only hope.  Although I’m REALLY ready to have those smelly things  (chickens) OUT of the garage.  It just doesn’t seem fitting to have 25 fully grown chickens roosting in the garage, does it?!


This about sums up my rambling post:





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