Naturally, my pantry is full of caviar, smoked salmon, Moët and Chandon, and fragrant black truffles….Bwahahaha!
Round One Grace tiptoed up the garden path. Okay, really, she slogged down the garden path. She had a bucket of grain in one hand and four blocks of hay in the other. She weaved carefully between the beds. It didn’t really become interesting, until she had to precariously balance the hay on the arm of the ‘grain hand’ to free the other to unlatch the gate. I watched as she performed a quick balance-unlatch-rebalance maneuver and prepared to step into the temporary sheep pen. Suddenly, halfway through the gate, with one foot hovering midair, she froze. She only spoke
Fire and Ice. Oil and Water. Black and White. Day and Night. Seth and Jonah. My two older boys couldn’t be more opposite! Seth is fair-skinned, red-headed, blue-eyed, and fearless to the point of recklessness. As a kid, before learning to swim, he jumped into the deep end of pools…twice. The first time, age three and a half, I pulled him out and he said, “I wanted to see what the deep part was like. I knew you’d pull me out before I ‘drownded’.” He repeated the experiment at age four and a half. That time, when I pulled his
Our farmhouse sits on about five acres of ‘yard’. These five acres are much more trouble than the other 25+ acres of ‘pasture’. Why, you ask? Because, they’re encircled by a wooden rail fence. Although the fence is fairly aesthetically pleasing, it has a serious downside. You can easily spot the downside when you notice the sheep’s reaction to it. They don’t wander about inside it. They don’t poke their heads through its gaps and graze on the other side. No! They put their hooves over their mouths in a failed attempt to smother laughter as they run straight through
An Open Letter To Young Women Today’s post is neither farm nor food related. However, it is something I’ve been thinking about lately. So, I decided to take the blogger’s privilege and write it anyway. Last month, Liam and I celebrated our 29th wedding anniversary. We met when I was twelve and began ‘going-steady when I was sixteen. Our wedding was two months after my eighteenth birthday. For those of you who are mathematically challenged, I’ll confess that makes me 47 years old. Though each of us dated other people, we are each other’s only loves, only sexual partners, and
For those of you who’ve never been K.I.S.S.ed, I should inform you that it’s an acronym. In nursing, farming, the military, and many other fields, K.I.S.S. stands for: Keep It Simple, Stupid. I find it handy to remind myself of this philosophy when I try to over complicate life. Now, let’s get on to our post:
Oh, my! So, there are some new farmy friends around here. First, meet Nemo. Nemo was adopted by our family twice. First, I brought him home to be a barn cat. I planned on him living outside and helping keep the mouse-y, mole-y, vole-y, icky populations under control. However, Grace claimed him the moment she laid eyes on him. She reminded me that I’d promised she could have a kitten to replace our dear old Killian who passed away this spring. I pointed out the obvious litter box and cat shedding issues, but a promise is a promise. (Liam and
Last year’s garden was abysmal. There, I said it. We built raised beds and hauled in special soil. The soil was a tremendous disappointment. Anything planted in it struggled to stay alive, refused to grow, or just keeled over graveyard-dead. Then, I had my second surgery and wasn’t allowed in the garden for the rest of the season. My kids and husband, who already have full plates of their own, had to take on my chores. Inevitibly, some things fell through the cracks. Things like watering and weeding. So, this year the kids dumped what seemed like tons of