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500 Words a Day Challenge

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One of my resolutions for 2014 is to write more. To help keep me accountable, I’ve joined a writer’s group that has proposed a challenge of writing 500 words per day until the end of January. So for the rest of the month I will be writing about random things in order to fulfill that challenge. I hope you find them interesting and not too random. (wow! 66 words already…hee, hee)
Okay for the first topic, I have decided to try and express why I write a blog. One reason is because I love my life here on the farm. The Farmer is sometimes uncomfortable with all the attention he gets through my blogging. And he does get highlighted a lot, but it’s because my world revolves around him, and Life With A Farmer is all about, well…living life with a farmer—and he is THAT farmer.
I also wanted to start recording my memories of things that happened in my childhood or in the past (mostly to keep them safe for future generations, because I’ve found my head is not the safest place on the planet for such things). These are a little harder, because I usually have to wait for someone to remind me of something that happened earlier in life.
Poetry is another love of mine. I find myself sing-saying things as I look out the window at the snow or take walks through the woods. Even when I’m outside watching The Farmer work, I sometimes begin to hum a poem. My Mother writes poetry also, so I’m sure I got the love of it from her. But I also contribute my love for rhyming to Dr. Suess and (oh it’s right on the tip of my tongue)…It’s a children’s show about a mannequin that would come to life when the store closed, and there was a talking mouse that talked in rhyme all the thyme J
Politics and religion are something that all bloggers are warned to stay away from because it could kill your blog faster than anything could. Therefore, I don’t usually discuss my political views—it’s not going to make a difference what I think anyway. The government has many problems on all sides—Republicans, Democrats, Independents, and whatever other party there is out there. Okay, I will say this—I think we need a complete overhaul and get back to the Constitution being our guiding factor. I’ll stop there because I feel a whole rant coming on.
However, I do write about my faith. If you have read any of my posts, you will notice that there is a defining factor of my faith in the God of the Bible. I believe in the Trinity, the miraculous birth of Christ, His sinless life, and torturous death on the cross. I believe my sins (and the sins of everyone else) were placed upon Him. I believe Jesus took my place of punishment (because I am a sinner and undeserving of Heaven), and had the power to overcome death and defeat Satan by His miraculous resurrection. And I believe that one day I will stand before God and He will say to me, “Enter into the place which My Son has prepared for you.”  
All this is found in 2 Corinthians 13:14; Luke 1:26-35; Mark 15:1-39; John 3:1-21; John 14
Okay…well there it is—556 words! I would love to hear from all who stop by and visit my blog. Please leave a comment. Also, if you have any ideas on a subject I can write on in January, write it in the comment section below and I’ll try to accommodate. Have a blessed day!

Being Thankful

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It’s here again! Thanksgiving is just a couple of days away, so now I need to get busy preparing for it. We have almost 50 people at our house each year for Thanksgiving (actually the day after). I kept telling myself that it was November, and reminding myself that Thanksgiving was coming, but I guess it never really sunk in. Fortunately, I began receiving phone calls and texts from my (grown) daughters about preparations for the meal; otherwise, I would have procrastinated to the last minute (which is a bit redundant).

When I sat down to prepare my to-do list, I began thinking of Thanksgiving—it’s meaning, family time, past memories, and of course, a post for my blog. And instead of finishing my grocery list, I began writing (I would rather write than shop).

Thanksgiving

Since the beginning of November, I have seen people all across social media making lists of what they are thankful for. Most are doing one a day, so in 30 days they will have listed 30 blessings they personally recognize. This is a great idea, and we should all be numbering our blessings continually. However, yesterday at church, the preacher (who happens to be my nephew) [wow! That makes me sound too old or him sound too young…] Anyway…back to the point… he brought up the idea that Thanksgiving wasn’t about the things that we should be thankful for, but Who we should be thankful for. He brought up the idea that Thanksgiving should be less about the things we have and more about the Provider of these things.

The Bible tells us that all things were made by God, and that every perfect gift comes from the Father of lights. If you have health, wealth, and affluence, you should be thankful for God. If you’re sick, poor, or friendless, you should be thankful for God. No matter what state our finances, our family, or our influence is, we should be thankful for God.

It’s easy to be satisfied and happy when all is going well, rather than when we are facing trials and tribulations. However, there are many examples of people throughout history who have had the integrity to stand when all is lost, and probably the most familiar example in the Bible is Job.

Job lived the life of health, wealth, and prosperity. He had it all according to everyone’s standard. He was a successful farmer, a great father, a loving husband, and a faithful friend. He also had a testimony of one that worshiped God and avoided evil. But one tragic day he lost everything. His animals were all stolen, his children were all killed, and he even lost his health to the point that his wife begged him to “curse God and die”. Even his friends were condescending and critical, falsely judging Job because they perceived his devastation was due to some deep, dark sin.

But Job did not waver in his faithfulness to God. He didn’t base his thankfulness upon his possessions, his family’s health, nor his well-being. In the first chapter of the book of Job, he clearly shows what he’s made of: “Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, and said, ‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

He had gut-wrenching sorrow from his losses, but through it all he never blamed God nor accused God of being unfair. He continued to praise God for Who He is. No matter what we as Christians go through, our first reaction to all situations should be “blessed be the name of the Lord”.

Give Thanks

Give thanks for His Power— God has the power to give eternal life. “As thou hast given him power over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to as many as thou hast given him”. (John 17:2)

Give thanks for His Person— The Father creates (Isaiah 44:24), the Son redeems (Gal. 3:13), and the Holy Spirit sanctifies (Rom. 15:16).  “Am I a God at hand, saith the Lord, and not a God afar off? Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith the Lord. Do not I fill heaven and earth? saith the Lord”.

Give thanks for His Provision— “Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?” (Matt. 6:25-26)

So this Thanksgiving, amid the turkey and the pumpkin pie, I encourage you to count your blessings, but more importantly, meditate on the greatness and holiness of God.

Being A Sister

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I find it therapeutic to write anything and everything that comes into my head. If it interests me, I will save it and at times go back through my random notes and reread them. I always mark my original works, because often when I reread what I’ve written, it all seems new to me again.
Recently I was going through a list labeled, “Things I know Something About”—very original, I know. The list included things like being a mom, being a wife, being a daughter, being a Christian, but one label was glaringly missing—being a sister. Was it because I didn’t remember that I was a sister, (which could happen) or has that been a relationship that had not been cultivated in too many years? This needed some pondering.

I am a sister in more than one way. I am a Christian sister to all who share my faith. I also have two sisters from my husband’s side of the family. We are sisters by law. And for a time, a dear cousin lived with my family through some rough teenage years and she became my sister by choice. But there is one sister that I didn’t choose, and she isn’t a part of a family of religious friends, nor did she come with a package in a legal covenant.

This sister is the sister that God chose for me. She is the one that was there before I was a glimmer in my momma’s eye. My first friend, my first playmate, and probably my first antagonist (although I, being the youngest, was most likely the antagonizer). Being the only two sisters, we shared many things including a bed, a room, and a brother.

Growing up, we were very different in our personalities and appearance. She was the pretty little blond girl with blue eyes, and I had brown hair and green eyes. She was more serious, I was a goof off. She was older, I was younger (still am and always will be—there I go antagonizing again!). But we had a lot of similarities, too. We both enjoyed spending vacations with our grandparents; we both know how important family is; and we both love sweets! J However, as time would dictate, we drifted apart over the years; busy with our own families, being responsible to our own duties as wife and mother, setting and accomplishing our separate goals. Nevertheless, as it should be with sisters, no matter how much time we spend apart, whenever we get together, it’s like time has stood still. Those first bonds we made together will last forever. I love you, Sister!

The Porch Light

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Coming home to a cold, dark, empty house is such a sad feeling. I’ve never liked it. Even if all of us were coming home together, I wanted a light to be burning some place in the house to welcome us home. When my children began to go places without me, I would always leave the front porch light on and the door unlocked. As they began driving, I would leave the front porch light on, the door unlocked, and wait up for them. Now that some of them have moved out and have their own homes, if they leave after dark, I stand by the door and wait until their tail lights go up and over the big hill and go out of sight before I turn off the porch light,

Fortunately for me, as each one grew up and moved away (as it should be J), there would be another teenager to leave the porch light on for. But with the passing of time and my increasing age, I found I couldn’t keep the same hours as my last teenager (son #4), and would sometimes go to bed before he got home. But during the night some time, I would wake up, see the porch light was off, know the door was locked, and he was home safely.
Recently, son #4 was married. After we got home from the wedding celebration, I began to lock up the house and turn off the lights, walking over to the front door, I reached up to turn on the front porch light and realized I didn’t need to leave it on.
“Leave it on,” I said to Myself.
“There’s no reason to”, Myself answered. “He’s on his honeymoon, I don’t think he’ll be coming in tonight.”
“But just in case there’s an emergency”, replied I, knowing that there wouldn’t be.
“Well, maybe just for a little while”, Myself gave in.
But eventually, I had to go back and turn off the light and lock the door. I was surprised at the sudden feeling of loneliness that was brought about by this simple ritual of turning off the porch light. Although this signifies another chapter closing on Enloe Farms, there are still lots of stories to be lived out, talked about, and retold around our dinner table.

Just a note, I still have 2 teenagers at home, but they have to be home before dark! J


The Porch Light
The porch light shining through the night
Reminds me of God’s shining Light
That brings about some wayward soul
Who is lost in the world so dark and cold.
I leave the light burning on the porch
So none of my children will be caught in the lurch
The light breaks through the darkness dim
And guides them home to me again.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

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The Farmer had one week of vacation left for this year, so he decided to take off and spend it with the girls and me. What could be more fun than spending a week here on the farm enjoying the sights and sounds of the blessings God has given us here on the farm?
 
So we wake up the first morning and The Farmer says to me, “Are you ready?”
 
“Ready for what?” I ask expectantly.
 
“Ready to start on the shed!” he exclaims.
Oh, right…I had forgotten this was a working vacation.

“Well of course I’m ready,” I say, “but I’m not sure we’ll be able to do that without help. The sidewalls are too high.”
 
“We’ll figure something out”, he assures me.
 
“Maybe we should call the boys over and see if they can help”, I comment.
 
“Everybody’s busy. We can do it ourselves,” he says dismissively.

We walked out to the shed and sure enough, those walls were high. The sidewalls, which we had planned to cover with tin, were 13’ high. I’m 5’2” fully stretched out and shamefully afraid of heights. The only thing I could think about was if The Farmer was going to be the one screwing in the screws, then that left me to be the one climbing and holding. I don’t do either one of those well.

So putting on a brave front, I climbed up on a 5-gallon bucket to hold up the first piece of tin, which had to be held up 4’ from the floor. I made sure my end was straight and secure, and waited (and waited) for The Farmer to screw it onto the wall.

Okay, this isn’t so bad, I tell myself, the first minute or two. It’s not as heavy as I thought. All I have to do is hold this up and he’ll have it done in no time. Wow, my muscles are starting to ache—still speaking to myself—and I think I let my end slip a little (and said as much to The Farmer, who waited patiently for me to tug it back into place).
“Can I let go, yet?” I ask.
“Well, can you hold it until I get a screw in it?” He inquires.
“How many?”
“A couple at least,” he says, as he picks up the level to mark where the screws are going to go.

Oh my gosh! I’m not going to be able to hold this much longer! Breathe, breathe…

About the time I think I’m going to drop it I hear The Farmer say, “Okay, that’s good. You can let go.”

Dropping my heavy, aching arms to my sides, I watch as he screws in several more screws, checking to make sure my end was held straight. We hang up a couple more pieces at that level, me counting down the minutes I have to hold the tin up and he diligently measuring and screwing in all the screws. At last, we stand back and look at the next row to hang.

“Well, we’re never going to be able to hang that row without help”, I summarize.

But The Farmer wasn’t so easily put off. “Oh, we can do it.”

I was sure he couldn’t see the height difference between my arm’s reach and where the tin needed to be held, so I stretched out my arm, as high as I could and said, “Look, this is as high as I can reach”.

“You can use the stepladder,”  he instructs, “and I’ll get the wagon and climb up in it ”.

Okay, that was a quick fix, and I’ve never seen anyone fall off of a stepladder, I assured myself, I’m sure I’ll be fine. We picked up the next piece of tin, held it against the wall, and I began climbing up the ladder. The first two steps weren’t so bad, but when I began to put the tin into place, I wasn’t high enough. So I stepped up one more rung. Still can’t reach.
 
“You’re going to have to go to the top step,” The Farmer stated as he patiently held his end of the tin.
 
“I can’t.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“Have you never read the instructions on this ladder? It says not to stand on the top rung.”
 
“You’ll be fine”, he assures once again. “Just be careful and don’t lean against the wall too much.”
So as I begin to precariously climb to the top of the ladder, I consider my fall route, just in case. It shouldn’t be too bad, I tell myself, I’ve seen my boys jump from heights higher than this 6’ stepladder. I’ll just jump away from the ladder, and hopefully miss the 5-gallon bucket I left underneath the ladder. And I need to fall away from the wall, or should I try to catch myself against the wall? Securing the tin to the wall and getting it lined up with the first row, I begin to lose my grip on the tin.
 
“Lean into it”, calls out The Farmer.
 
“You told me not to lean!”
 
“Well, lean in a little to help you hold the tin. But be careful not to kick the ladder out from under you”, he states obviously.

Securing my position, as much as possible, I successfully held the tin until he got enough screws in that I could let go. We hung the next few pieces without incident, and my confidence grew as each piece of tin was firmly fixed into place.

Wow! I was impressed. We hung all this tin up without injury. Looking at the third row that needed to be hung, reality set in once again. “We make a great team,” I encouraged, “but we’ll never be able to do the third row without help. I can barely reach the bottom of the third row even if I stood on the tiptop of the stepladder. You’ll have to wait until one of the boys can come over to help you.”

But The Farmer isn’t so easily discouraged. “Let’s sit down here and consider our options. I’m sure we can figure out something.”
This unwavering ability The Farmer has to look at a situation and conquer it comes from the encouragement of his Father who often told him, “There’s always a way to accomplish a thing, you just have to figure out the answer.”

I, on the other hand, am not so gullible; there are many things in life that I can’t accomplish. But I sat down with him anyway, to contemplate the situation (and to drink a cup of coffee).

We tossed around some ideas and decided to use the stock trailer to climb on top of, which seemed like a great idea because we would be able to stand on a large, flat surface. But when he pulled the trailer into the shed, and I began to climb the stepladder to discover that the trailer was still a large step away from the very tip top of the ladder, my confidence began to waver. “Maybe we should have the girls come out and help,” I suggest.

“I think we’ll be okay.” His confidence in his own abilities is so frustrating at times.

Wow…this is really high (back to talking to myself). I’ll be okay, I can hang off a rafter if I start to fall, except I’m not sure how long I could support my weight, since the tin proved to get too heavy for me at times. If I do fall, I need to tuck and roll, I’ve seen that done when people jump from rooftop to rooftop on action films. Be real that’s not going to work. If I fall, it’s going to be a splat! not a roll. Maybe I can catch myself between the trailer and the wall…

“Hey! Can you grab this piece of tin?” I hear The Farmer urge.

“Uh, no.” I can’t quite reach it.”

“Try harder.”

So I do and I did. I managed to get the first piece up on top of the trailer. Climbing up the ladder, The Farmer noticed he forgot the drill. So he climbed back down and started up again, going back down to get the level, oh, and the saw. He gives into my idea of having the girls come out to help, which was fortunate, because it ended up that we needed one of them on top to help me hold as he cut around the rafters.

As we began to finish that row on the wall, my fear of being on the trailer began to diminish. I was semi-confidently walking back and forth handing The Farmer the drill, or saw, or level. After climbing off the trailer (with much trepidation), I was feeling very proud of what we had accomplished. Between The Farmer, myself, and two teenage daughters, the use of a 5-gallon bucket, a couple of ladders, a wagon, and a stock trailer, we were able to do in eight hours what a crew of capable carpenters could have done in two.

“Looks great! So, what are we doing tomorrow?” I ask expectantly.

“We’ll be closing in the attic over the workshop,” The Farmer replies.

I look up to assess the situation. “You’re kidding, right? We’ll never be able to do that without help.”

The Before…

 The first row

 The second row with the wagon

 The third row using the stock trailer

The cleanup

 

 

The After…

The attic (which we didn’t need help with) 🙂

 

My Gratitude List

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Life on the farm isn’t always a bed of roses, what life is? But this morning was just another reminder of how fortunate I am to be a farmer’s wife.

When I walked outside this morning, the temperature was in the high 60’s, that’s very unusual for this month, which normally is in the high 70’s or low 80’s in the morning. A lot of times the air is dry and humid, but not this morning.

Baxter and I took our walk up and down the driveway, around the fields, lingering to take in the sights: geese on the pond, red-headed woodpeckers snatching the cat’s food, baby pears hanging on the trees, and the wonderful smell of fresh-cut grass, which daughter #4 cut last night. Even the weeds around the flowers were a pleasure to pull out this morning. (wow! Starting to sound a little too mushy 🙂

At any rate, the peacefulness of the morning gave me another occasion to be thankful for my “haves” instead of dwelling on the “have-nots”.

Do you ever do that? Take an inventory of the blessings you have received this side of Heaven, whether big or small.

Here’s a small part of my list:

  1. knowing Christ as my Kinsmen Redeemer

  2. having family, both close and faraway, that know me and still love me (some of them even like me)

  3. the freedoms that we still have here in America

 

 

More Important Than A Royal Birth

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The top story of the day is “Kate Middleton In Hospital Having Royal Baby”. Even as I write this, the mob of reporters (some who have flown in from all over the world) are stationed in front of the hospital awaiting the arrival of the third heir in line for the British throne. People are placing bets on the gender, the name, time of arrival, and the length and weight of the little Prince or Princess of Cambridge.

As a mother of nine, I realize as much as anyone does the importance of the birth of a new baby. I can see how the next heir to the British throne would be important to the Brits, but we broke ties over 200 years ago, so maybe our top stories for today should start with one of these headlines:

  • Detroit Declares Bankruptcy after 60 Years of Financial Irresponsibility (18 billion dollars in the red)

  • Top Government Leaders Undermine Court Ruling by Injecting Racism into the Zimmerman/Martin Verdict

  • Gas Prices Soar Nationwide- Up $.12 in One Week

  • Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) Employer Mandate Delayed-Employees Will Still Be Held Captive

  • Unfair and Unjust Furloughs for Our Military Heroes

  • Congress Needs to Stop Wasteful Spending (and live on a budget like the rest of us have to)

  • The Tea Party Demands Answers Involving the IRS Scandal

  • All Americans Should Demand Answers to the NSA Scandal

  • Family Members of the Murdered Victims in Benghazi Want Washington Held Responsible

  • Underemployment/Unemployment—Highest it’s Been Since 2003

Okay, in case you are really curious (and living under a rock), Here is the announcement:

The Royal Highness The Duchess of Cambridge was safely delivered of a son

Her Royal Highness and her child are both doing well.

Family Reunion

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This past week we had our annual family reunion on my Dad’s side. Besides a funeral or wedding, this is usually the only time families living far apart get together. I have a great family (for the most part :)), and I love seeing uncles, aunts, and cousins that I haven’t seen since last year, or sometimes haven’t seen for longer than that. We enjoy catching up on what everybody has been doing and meeting new additions to the family-sometimes through birth, sometimes through marriage.

 My Dad and Mom have officially hosted all the family reunions since 1995. There were many other impromptu reunions that just happened over the years, because people decided to come together at their house. Thanks Mom and Dad!








One of the first family reunions that we went to when The Farmer and I were first married, I volunteered to bring a dessert. The only cookbook I had at that time (or maybe one I had borrowed from Mom) was one that my Grandma Lorene’s church put together for a fundraiser, which is probably one of the best I’ve ever had.

Searching through the pages, I found the recipe for Banana Split Cake. Sounds great, right? I recognized all the ingredients, except one. The recipe called for one stick oleo. I know what you’re thinking, but at the time I was a young bride and didn’t have much experience in the kitchen, unless you count a frozen pizza or a TV dinner.

So I went to my local IGA searching for oleo. Much to my relief I found the oleo next to the sticks of butter (imagine that!). Taking my one pound of oleo home, I followed the recipe to the letter, measuring the ingredients meticulously, allowing the oleo to come to room temperature before mixing it with the other ingredients.

The last thing I had to put on top of the cake was the whipped topping. Remembering the way my Mother spread meringue or icing by making little peaks, I spread the whipped topping onto the cake. It turned out beautifully! Off to the reunion we went. Carefully packing away the little dessert that I was sure would WOW everyone! My first dessert, a Banana Split Cake—how impressive!

When dessert time came, I got out my beautiful Banana Split Cake, and just as I had anticipated, the ooos and wows started coming in. I cut a piece for The Farmer (before he was THE farmer), because I figured since it was my first dessert, he deserved to be the first to eat it. Then I cut pieces for my uncles and others.

But then a hush settled among the ooos and wows, and someone asked (I remember who it was, but they shall remain nameless here), “Did you put butter in this cake?”

“No”, I answered and started naming off the ingredients.

“There’s a lot of oleo in this”, chimed in others.

I remembered I only put in one stick, just like the recipe called for. And began to think that maybe there had been something wrong with the recipe. Someone must have typed it wrong.

“How much oleo did you put in?” asked one proficient cook.

“It called for 1 stick”, I answered defensively.

“It tastes more like 1 pound!” stated the cook.

At that time—the time when my whole family was turning against me, the family that I had been born into, that I had spent all my life with, extended family that I had shared my summers with, the people that I would have given my life for—I turned to look at The Farmer who was not only eating my dessert, but he was ENJOYING my dessert. It was at that moment that I knew I would always love him and support him. 😉

Although the memory of that first family reunion may have been idealized just a bit, the unadulterated truth is I did make a Banana Split Cake that called for 1 stick of oleo, but I ended up using 1 pound of oleo.

To redeem my reputation, I made the same Banana Split Cake at the next reunion; it was the special dessert that I had hoped for. I began making this dessert for every reunion we have, and every year it’s turned out perfectly, but every year I’ve been reminded of that first time when it tasted like butter. It’s just something I’m always going to be known for, but that’s okay.

Something else I’m known for is being late (unfortunately), so my Mother and I had decided long ago that I would never bring a salad or side (something that needs to be there when the meal is first served). But I would bring a dessert, then it wouldn’t matter how late I was. I began bringing most of the desserts for the family reunion, and now that my girls are women with their own husbands and households, they have been helping, too. This year we ended up taking 10 desserts.

Here are the desserts I took.

apple pie, cherry pie, cheese cake, coconut cream pie, lemon meringue pie

and of course a Banana Split Cake.

For several years, I have been making a double sized Banana Split Cake;

not as pretty, but I believe I have been completely exonerated. 🙂
I have included some of the recipes under the Recipe tab at the top of the page.

Must Be Summer, Because We’re Putting Up Hay

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One of the tell-tale signs of summer is putting up hay.

The Farmer woke up one cool, cloudy morning and decided that he was going to start cutting hay. The weatherman made a prediction of low clouds but no rain, and The Farmer believed him.

Not me…I had often been duped into believing that the weatherman could actually predict the weather here in Missouri, and had finally come to the conclusion that whatever was reported on TV was never what was going to happen.

So being the “supporting” wife, I informed The Farmer that if he insisted on cutting hay on a day when every physical sign pointed to a wet weekend that I would emphatically say, “I told you so”, when he was raking up wet hay.

Fortunately, The Farmer was right (must be farmer intuition). He pressed on, even under the pressure of low lying clouds and an unyielding spouse, and was able to get the first field cut, tethered, raked, and baled before the rain came.  

Cutting grasses while they are young and tender is best because the nutritional value is at its peak. It also makes more tender and tasty hay during the winter months (so I’ve been told).

The ideal time to cut hay is on a clear, warm, summer day, but sometimes that’s not possible, so The Farmer tethers the hay to dry it out faster. A tether machine picks up the hay and scatters it around to allow the hay to aerate. This step isn’t always necessary during really nice weather (just sayin’).

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After the hay is cured, it is raked into windrows and then baled.

 

 
 
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We stack our hay and then cover it with a tarp. This is the first field and the first cutting. It really looks like a good year for hay, which is encouraging, because we had to buy a lot of our hay last year because of the drought.

Maxwells Attic

Date Night With The Farmer

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One of the most important aspects in a good marriage is communication. When two people are coming from different backgrounds, different lifestyles, and different traditions, it takes a lot of communication and hard work to come together as one flesh.

Ideally, some matters are discussed and settled before marriage: where to live, go to work, go to school, go to church, spend holidays, maybe the number of children that you will have or not have. Then life happens. Reality starts to set in and all the difficulties that go along with it. Plans change, goals are reset, and dreams die and come back alive in other forms. Sometimes couples start drifting away from where they started until they get to a point that they don’t even know the person that’s sitting across the breakfast table from them.

Most husbands and wives live in separate worlds. The Farmer and I certainly do. He has always gone off to a world that I hear about often and see occasionally. He works 40 minutes away from home and after a 40-hour week of hard, physical labor, he comes home to work on the farm, or fix a vehicle, or fix some other physical or mental difficulty that occasionally raises its ugly head.

Although there was a time when I would pack the kids up and go off to a job, fortunately, I stay at home and keep the home fires burning (sometimes at a ferocious roar). My world is filled with home school, child rearing, and housekeeping. Occasionally I am the farmhand or the riding boss.

Like most couples, there are very few and precious moments that we get to spend together, so years ago The Farmer and I set aside a sacred day and time apart for just the two of us. It is at this time that we come together and reclaim the time that is so needed in order to maintain a oneness between us. His world and mine come together. Sometimes it causes a tornado, but more often it brings unity. We adjust our goals, or reset our family’s GPS, or simply recover our sanity.

Saturday night is our official date night. We hold it as a sacred time. Most activities get pushed aside for this evening. And if something happens and we can’t make a Saturday date night, we do it on Friday or Sunday night. We haven’t always had this, but we realized early that it was a much needed ritual to keep us on the same track. Having a large family often makes it difficult to find babysitters, so we didn’t go out often in the early years, but as soon as our kids were able to stay at home by themselves, we made date night a priority.

So what is a date night with The Farmer like? Well, I’m glad you asked. Last Saturday when we went out, we recorded a moment by moment timeline of our date.  In case you haven’t been paying attention to my blog, we are a farming family who have raised nine kids on one income  (well almost, three of them are still teens). So our date nights are usually pretty cheap. We do have the occasional anniversary or birthday celebration, but most of the time we are very frugal. It has always been our decision to go frugal and often, as opposed to splurging and not being able to go out every week.

 

McDonald's
We usually eat in the truck, so our first stop is McD’s to get a 32 oz. soda for $1.00

If we do go into a restaurant, we drink water because soda is crazy expensive in restaurants!

Jack in the Box
On this particular Saturday, we decided to eat at Jack’s house

I did blow my diet, but was rewarded with a coupon for a free taco on my next visit. 🙂

Often we go up town to eat. We love to sit and watch traffic pass.

We often discuss the history of the town, or imagine how it was back then.

MFA building
Of course we have to drive past the MFA and…

cannon in town square
The cannon in the town’s square “Cool Hand Luke”

Then we drive around looking at…

Other people’s fields, other people’s cows, and other people’s farms…

Of course, coming home is truly our favorite part of the date.

Now that it’s nice outside, we are able to spend the rest of the evening together on the front porch.

Working Cattle

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cow face

Working cattle is always a learning experience, and this year when we worked our herd we learned a lot.

We learned that it pays to be prepared and organized.

As each cow or calf comes through the alley, we have to be prepared with what we are going to do to them. They are all given a fly tag (to ward off flies), treated for lice, grubs and other unwanted parasites, vaccinated against pink eye, and various other infectious viruses, and then weighed. Our calves also get a shot to prevent respiratory problems and blackleg, which can actually wipe out a whole year of calves. Fortunately this disease is preventable with vaccination. So these shots and tags all have to be kept separated and organized.

We learned that sometimes it takes several hands to do one job.

Although the Farmer is very proficient in what he does, he just can’t be in three places at one time. As the cattle go through the alley way someone has to encourage them along, and someone else has to open the sliding gate and shut it behind each cow or calf, and then the Farmer shuts the head chute at just the right moment.

We learned that a 13 year-old farmer’s daughter is not a big enough threat to keep a 1500 lb. cow from going over the fence.

Usually a cow’s moo is worse than their bite, so we had Daughter #5 standing at the top of the gate to ward off any wayward cow that may have gotten a crazy idea of trying an escape while they were in the holding pen. And it worked. Although we had a crazy cow escape (#11), she didn’t go through the gate; she jumped over the fence! Well, she jumped on the fence, it broke, and then she went over. But still the same result. Several years ago we had a similar incident in a sort of make-shift lot that we used to work our cattle in. So when we built our existing lot, we purposefully built it high enough so a cow could not go over (or so we thought until this year). The crazy thing jumped a couple of times and then finally busted through the boards and went right over, like she was a trained horse or something. Whatever…she didn’t get a fly tag so I hope she gets bitten by a great big horse fly!

And the final thing we learned this year is working cattle in the rain is no fun at all!

Although the day started out a little nippy, the sun soon came out and we were plenty warm about a half hour into the process. Unfortunately, the sun was overtaken by some ominous looking rain clouds and it began to pour. It didn’t take long before we were all soaked and covered in mud, which wasn’t too bad because it washed away some of the manure that we were all covered in from working the silly cattle in the first place. They are so uncouth.

cattle shute
Son #4 setting up the scales so we can weigh the cattle. Our largest cow weighed 1550 lbs. and our largest fall calf weighed 732 lbs.

working cattle
Daughter #5 still holding her post after the rain had let up a little. Notice she’s staring down one of the mama cows.

 

 

 

cattle pen
If you look closely, you can see Son #1 and the Farmer separating the spring cows and their babies from the fall calves.

 

 

 

 

 

d9585-storm
All the cows and calves have been separated and will soon be back on the pasture.