This morning, I went outside to feed the livestock with my little buddy Bambam, just after 6 a.m.. He is getting older and those stairs are more of a challenge for him. But he needs to be wherever I am so, with some hesitation, down he goes. The hesitation today, may not have been age related so much as due caution however. The other day Mama decided he got too close, and in a pique of hormonal anger, she gave him a good head butt, so he is more wary around her now.
I know how he feels, I have a small bruise on my right rib cage where two hundred pounds of annoyance... AKA Galaxy... caught me good last evening. It is sobering to think how quickly an accident can occur on a farm, even a tiny one, such as ours. Also that animals react instantly to their environment, and often their first reaction is fear.
Last evening as dusk was approaching and we were doing yard work, I had let the livestock in the fenced side yard to exercise and graze. During a quick break in math studying, I had decided to tidy that area, while keeping a wary eye on Mama, whose due date is the 24th.
The back end of the dwarf bunny condo is reachable from this part of the yard, and in a fit of industry, I decided to tear down the plastic that had covered the rear of the condo all winter. The plastic had prevented drafts on the bunnies within, but was unnecessary now with Spring allegedly approaching.
Grabbing the tarp, in a heap in my arms, I began walking towards the back yard, and apparently I startled Galaxy with my crinkly, odd shaped, parcel. I had not even given him a thought, and ended up coming in between him and his Mother.
Now a wether in a herd is suppose to offer protection for the lady goats. Galaxy or Baby as we still call him, was Mama's first kid and she joined our family when he was only 3 weeks old. She was a new mom and adjusting to suddenly being herd queen of 2 instead of a willing lower goat in a much larger herd, at her home farm. She ended up being an over indulgent mom in her loneliness and inexperience.
By the time she had Capella, I think she regretted some of her parenting choices and became a more stricter but loving parent. Capella is independent and while they both remain affectionate towards one another, Capella is quite capable of handling her own issues and not needing Mama every second.
Baby on the other hand still sleeps with Mama and hovers around her all the time. He will try no new food unless Mama tastes it first. When startled he instantly leaps towards Mama...to cower behind her and force her to face the disturbance first! It is comical usually, but not last night.
Anyway, as I walked in between the two goats my thoughts were only for Mama and her ever expanding girth. Last time we were sure she would have twins, instead she gave birth to nearly nine and a half pound Capella, a good 3 pounds bigger than a typical kid. Meanwhile, I never realized I had even walked 'between' the goats since Baby was a number of yards away.
Just as I was passing near Mama, who looked with some concern at the plastic in my arms, but made no move to shy away: just at that exact moment WHAM, Galaxy head butted, from off to my right, the offending plastic, and therefore the person who was holding it, completely innocent and unsuspecting me!
He got me right in the breadbasket. As the air wooshed out of me he looked with some astonishment into my eyes, and then flew to hide behind Mama. I am not sure he realized it was me holding the plastic. I think he saw this scary thing getting between him and his mother and being the mama's boy that he is, he simply struck out at the object while heading to hide behind Mama's coattails.
This morning he was all cuddly and cozy, trying to help me do the morning chores, insisting on a good ear scratch! He is fascinated by the new dwarf goats and would love to get in their pen. But we are keeping the two groups separate until after Mama delivers, and little Ireland grow a bit more.
Tomorrow we will put live online the camera that faces the nursery. There will not be much to watch until Mama goes into labor. But I figured fans of the farm can practice accessing the camera and getting ready for the special delivery. Twins? A big singleton? Who knows. But the excitement is growing, new life for spring.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Monday, March 31, 2014
Dog Days
According to my mom, my first word was doggie. This was rather disconcerting to young city parents, born and bred. Neither particularly liked dogs (although they, my dad especially, loathed cats so it was not as bad as all that I suppose.) I often wonder if they regretted promising me a dog if we ever lived in the 'country'. With 3 babies born in their first 5 years of marriage, I imagine it seemed a safe thing to promise at the time.
One of my absolute clear memories of early childhood was the giant "Little Books" series book, The Poky Little Puppy, that my dad brought home for me when I was 3. Another sharp memory was that remarkable moment when the squiggles and baffling code on the page became clear to me in first grade as we read about the plucky black cocker spaniel Tag. "Tag. See Tag. Tag can run. Tag can play. We like Tag."
Great literature it was not. But that moment of going from nonreader to true reader is a thrill not soon forgotten. As a matter of fact, I get to relive it in school as a teacher, when I help my little friends learn to unlock the code of the squiggles, and it is still a spine-tingling moment.
These two tales of dogs, opened for me many worlds, including the joys of a specific reading genre, that of dog stories. Oh, and I have read them all, from the insipid My Dog Marly, to the classic Call of the Wild, to the zany Marmaduke and Snoopy.
Some books, like the Big Red series by Jim Kjelgaard, were worth rereading over and over. Other dog stories came from favorite authors who in addition to being writers were also dog lovers. Many authors take to writing at least one short story about their beloved canine. Even movie stars are known to pen stories of their rescued canines and pampered pooches, and I gobble up every one.
My latest dog story book is from a children's author Gary Paulsen; his My life in Dog years is riveting, heartwarming, and harrowing as only the best novels can be. Each chapter, highlighting dogs in his life, is magnificent. These stories are written for fifth graders and I wish more popular adult novelists would compose their prose with the same spare, clear, to the point, style.
One of his stories, about Rex the farm dog, really caught my imagination as we await the arrival of our new bearded collie puppy. By the way, our puppy has not been born yet. She won't arrive here until this summer, or he, as of course we do not yet know the dog's sex.
I have never gotten a dog for a specific purpose before, I mean beyond companionship. All our dogs of course have become much more than companions. But this will be our first true working dog and expectations and anticipation run high.
As our little livestock herd increases, I need a companion to help me with them and my children are fast outgrowing me. Soon, even Joe will be off at college, and so the need for a dog who can move the stock and provide modest protection is a necessity, not simply a wish.
It is fascinating to me how different species interact. We all of course have had the experience of dogs who are devoted to their owners. Ferocious pitbulls who roll on their backs, while their special toddler friends tug at their ears. Or untrained family dogs who remain by the side of a lost in the woods small child. Or dogs who alert their owners to a cancer or an upcoming seizure. That dogs and people, especially children, are so intertwined is not surprising.
But I find the relationship between dogs and other pets or dogs and livestock to be equally fascinating. Our Beardie Lily for instance adored baby bunnies. She spent hours outside in the bunny barns watching over them and playing with them. She never met another creature she did not instantly like and spent all her days herding and guarding the small creatures under her watch.
She was always surprised and a little hurt when the cats would get exasperated with her need to herd them. When they would whirl around in annoyance and swat her nose, she always had the same comical expression of disbelief and wounded dignity. Then there is my farmer friend who has a magnificent Maremma, who would rather sleep with the stock than go in the house, and who can snuggle up to the newborn sheep in one minute and then leap up and tear apart a skulking coyote. That is amazing to me.
Of course a good working dog needs to be trained. But it baffles me how much is simply born and bred in them. My beardie had absolutely no herding training for instance. But she naturally gravitated to the animals e and longed to be with them and guide them.
I wonder what our new beardie will be like? Will I be able to train her to be an effective working dog? As I sit here and type this I can smell old man Bambam, who in spite of multiple baths and doggie colognes, still always retains his au d' wet rug smell. I have never been able to train him not to bark incessantly when people enter the house. Nor have I been able to keep him off the furniture. His hair is always a bit scruffy and if he can sneak food off the kitchen table, by golly it is worth any scolding to him.
Yet at 13 or 14 (we have lost track) he remains an eager companion, a lover of all creatures littler than him, and a great secret keeper. He can barely see now, and his hearing is starting to go. His only goal in life (besides whatever might be on the kitchen table) is to simply lay near me, wherever I am. He snores in his sleep and his scent lingers on whatever he lay on. But who can resist a friend, even a smelly one, who simply wants to BE with you, that is all, just bask in your presence?
I am not sure that Gary Paulson, Jim Gjelgaard, or the great Jack London, could ever pen a riveting heroic story about Bambam. But in my heart, he will always be a good story.
One of my absolute clear memories of early childhood was the giant "Little Books" series book, The Poky Little Puppy, that my dad brought home for me when I was 3. Another sharp memory was that remarkable moment when the squiggles and baffling code on the page became clear to me in first grade as we read about the plucky black cocker spaniel Tag. "Tag. See Tag. Tag can run. Tag can play. We like Tag."
Great literature it was not. But that moment of going from nonreader to true reader is a thrill not soon forgotten. As a matter of fact, I get to relive it in school as a teacher, when I help my little friends learn to unlock the code of the squiggles, and it is still a spine-tingling moment.
These two tales of dogs, opened for me many worlds, including the joys of a specific reading genre, that of dog stories. Oh, and I have read them all, from the insipid My Dog Marly, to the classic Call of the Wild, to the zany Marmaduke and Snoopy.
Some books, like the Big Red series by Jim Kjelgaard, were worth rereading over and over. Other dog stories came from favorite authors who in addition to being writers were also dog lovers. Many authors take to writing at least one short story about their beloved canine. Even movie stars are known to pen stories of their rescued canines and pampered pooches, and I gobble up every one.
My latest dog story book is from a children's author Gary Paulsen; his My life in Dog years is riveting, heartwarming, and harrowing as only the best novels can be. Each chapter, highlighting dogs in his life, is magnificent. These stories are written for fifth graders and I wish more popular adult novelists would compose their prose with the same spare, clear, to the point, style.
One of his stories, about Rex the farm dog, really caught my imagination as we await the arrival of our new bearded collie puppy. By the way, our puppy has not been born yet. She won't arrive here until this summer, or he, as of course we do not yet know the dog's sex.
I have never gotten a dog for a specific purpose before, I mean beyond companionship. All our dogs of course have become much more than companions. But this will be our first true working dog and expectations and anticipation run high.
As our little livestock herd increases, I need a companion to help me with them and my children are fast outgrowing me. Soon, even Joe will be off at college, and so the need for a dog who can move the stock and provide modest protection is a necessity, not simply a wish.
It is fascinating to me how different species interact. We all of course have had the experience of dogs who are devoted to their owners. Ferocious pitbulls who roll on their backs, while their special toddler friends tug at their ears. Or untrained family dogs who remain by the side of a lost in the woods small child. Or dogs who alert their owners to a cancer or an upcoming seizure. That dogs and people, especially children, are so intertwined is not surprising.
But I find the relationship between dogs and other pets or dogs and livestock to be equally fascinating. Our Beardie Lily for instance adored baby bunnies. She spent hours outside in the bunny barns watching over them and playing with them. She never met another creature she did not instantly like and spent all her days herding and guarding the small creatures under her watch.
She was always surprised and a little hurt when the cats would get exasperated with her need to herd them. When they would whirl around in annoyance and swat her nose, she always had the same comical expression of disbelief and wounded dignity. Then there is my farmer friend who has a magnificent Maremma, who would rather sleep with the stock than go in the house, and who can snuggle up to the newborn sheep in one minute and then leap up and tear apart a skulking coyote. That is amazing to me.
Of course a good working dog needs to be trained. But it baffles me how much is simply born and bred in them. My beardie had absolutely no herding training for instance. But she naturally gravitated to the animals e and longed to be with them and guide them.
I wonder what our new beardie will be like? Will I be able to train her to be an effective working dog? As I sit here and type this I can smell old man Bambam, who in spite of multiple baths and doggie colognes, still always retains his au d' wet rug smell. I have never been able to train him not to bark incessantly when people enter the house. Nor have I been able to keep him off the furniture. His hair is always a bit scruffy and if he can sneak food off the kitchen table, by golly it is worth any scolding to him.
Yet at 13 or 14 (we have lost track) he remains an eager companion, a lover of all creatures littler than him, and a great secret keeper. He can barely see now, and his hearing is starting to go. His only goal in life (besides whatever might be on the kitchen table) is to simply lay near me, wherever I am. He snores in his sleep and his scent lingers on whatever he lay on. But who can resist a friend, even a smelly one, who simply wants to BE with you, that is all, just bask in your presence?
I am not sure that Gary Paulson, Jim Gjelgaard, or the great Jack London, could ever pen a riveting heroic story about Bambam. But in my heart, he will always be a good story.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Bad back is back
Julie, Joe, and I adventured back to a Rhode Island horse farm where the second of three rabbit shows is being held this spring. Julie adored the horses, Joe adored reading Stephen King's the Stand, and I , well to be honest I cannot say I adored my time there. First, it was cooooooold. Second, very early before the show even started Julie and I were setting up the raffle, when I took a simple half step backwards and for whatever reason my lower back went into a charlie horse kind of tremendous muscle spasm. It was so bad that it wrapped around my hips and eventually affected the upper muscles in my legs. Youch!!!
Now I have not really had any back trouble worth mentioning in a year. But boy did my back make up for lost time. Of course I had no muscle relaxer, nor did anyone else. Eventually a friend gave me a pain reliever, but I am going to have to use a past due flexeril tonight, very shortly as a matter of fact because those muscles are still seizing.
The third thing that happened during the show is what really brought the day to a sobering stop. One of our New York rabbit friends, died unexpectedly the other day, and when the news hit those of us at the show the place silenced in shock. This woman was only 47 and had been showing for longer than I have. She was a quiet unassuming, honest person with wonderful rabbits and a kind sportsmanlike manner.
All of those competing in Netherlands today at the show have her rabbitry animals in our pedigrees, every one of us. It was a shock, to hear of a death so suddenly and out of the blue.
3 weeks ago a dear friend and mentor suffered an aneurysm and she is still in ICU. Another friend was diagnosed over the weekend with Guillian Barre and is undergoing intense treatment. Now our rabbit friend Wendy.
The whole drive home I listened to my young kindergarten friend sing Disney's Let It Go song and rattle on about important 6 year old things and it was rather comforting. Then when Joe and I got home (Julie stuck around in RI to visit a friend) we tackled the unloading of the rabbits together. Of course with my back still in spasm I lifted nothing heavier than a 2 pound bunny. While we returned them to their cages we bred various breeding pairs, fed and watered rabbits, chickens, baby chicks, sheep, and goats. In addition Joe cleaned out the travel cages and I gathered eggs. We tried to let the young goats out and about with us while we worked but as I have mentioned before, goats think they are a greats help with chores. They ARE NOT.
Listening to Joe's joy at the antics of the goats and his ducks, pausing to marvel at 7 year old Ginger (an ancient hen) who decided to fly about the yard like a young chick, plotting with Joe about our fortunes to be made this year with bunny sales, debating the best breeding pairs, planning hen-house and barnyard improvements, chuckling at Mama's ever increasing girth (twins twins).... the first hour home was so full of important conversation, contemplation, and companionship. I treasured every moment, poignantly aware of my three women friends and the worry and grief that their families are going through.
My back is a major inconvenience, and right now extraordinarily painful. But I am lucky to still be able to muddle through my day and do the things I love with people I love. If you all could keep my 3 friends and their families in your thoughts and prayers that would be nice.
I am off to take a muscle relaxer and a nice warm shower. I am as always grateful for my treasures, which today included an honest to goodness egg hunt because the lady hens have taken advantage of these 2 sunny days to run about the yard and lay eggs in all sorts of hidey places.
Now I have not really had any back trouble worth mentioning in a year. But boy did my back make up for lost time. Of course I had no muscle relaxer, nor did anyone else. Eventually a friend gave me a pain reliever, but I am going to have to use a past due flexeril tonight, very shortly as a matter of fact because those muscles are still seizing.
The third thing that happened during the show is what really brought the day to a sobering stop. One of our New York rabbit friends, died unexpectedly the other day, and when the news hit those of us at the show the place silenced in shock. This woman was only 47 and had been showing for longer than I have. She was a quiet unassuming, honest person with wonderful rabbits and a kind sportsmanlike manner.
All of those competing in Netherlands today at the show have her rabbitry animals in our pedigrees, every one of us. It was a shock, to hear of a death so suddenly and out of the blue.
3 weeks ago a dear friend and mentor suffered an aneurysm and she is still in ICU. Another friend was diagnosed over the weekend with Guillian Barre and is undergoing intense treatment. Now our rabbit friend Wendy.
The whole drive home I listened to my young kindergarten friend sing Disney's Let It Go song and rattle on about important 6 year old things and it was rather comforting. Then when Joe and I got home (Julie stuck around in RI to visit a friend) we tackled the unloading of the rabbits together. Of course with my back still in spasm I lifted nothing heavier than a 2 pound bunny. While we returned them to their cages we bred various breeding pairs, fed and watered rabbits, chickens, baby chicks, sheep, and goats. In addition Joe cleaned out the travel cages and I gathered eggs. We tried to let the young goats out and about with us while we worked but as I have mentioned before, goats think they are a greats help with chores. They ARE NOT.
Listening to Joe's joy at the antics of the goats and his ducks, pausing to marvel at 7 year old Ginger (an ancient hen) who decided to fly about the yard like a young chick, plotting with Joe about our fortunes to be made this year with bunny sales, debating the best breeding pairs, planning hen-house and barnyard improvements, chuckling at Mama's ever increasing girth (twins twins).... the first hour home was so full of important conversation, contemplation, and companionship. I treasured every moment, poignantly aware of my three women friends and the worry and grief that their families are going through.
My back is a major inconvenience, and right now extraordinarily painful. But I am lucky to still be able to muddle through my day and do the things I love with people I love. If you all could keep my 3 friends and their families in your thoughts and prayers that would be nice.
I am off to take a muscle relaxer and a nice warm shower. I am as always grateful for my treasures, which today included an honest to goodness egg hunt because the lady hens have taken advantage of these 2 sunny days to run about the yard and lay eggs in all sorts of hidey places.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
SOAP MAKING 101
Julie and I have been eager to make our own goat milk soap. We have been reading books and watching videos about it. I have been following my FB friend Ann who is a fellow bee keeper. She invested a lot of time and effort this winter teaching herself how to make all kinds of soap. She used Mama's goat milk in some of her first attempts. Then a couple of FB friends who are also rabbit and goat breeders began making it and gave me lots of tips.
But I went into it with trepidation because, well because I am a spiller and rather messy when I cook or bake. That is fine of course, wiping up warm goat cheese, or chocolate melting on the floor is no big deal in cooking. But LYE is one scary thing to work with. You can not read a single thing about soap making without dire warnings about the dangers of lye.
Just finding the lye proved a Herculean task. Shaws use to carry it but since you can use lye to make crystal meth they apparently no longer sell it. The same with Walmart and Aubuchon Hardware. Tractor Supply not only did not carry it but I think we freaked the girl out when we told her the varied uses of lye. "You can use it to unclog a drain, destroy a dead body, make drugs, or, you know, make goat milk soap." When we said that to her, with a big grin, she nervously commented, "But you are making soap, right?" Some people have no sense of adventure or humor I guess.
Anyway we eventually found it at Lowes. But the gods of DIY were against us because when we returned home we discovered that not only was there no olive oil (a staple in this house) but that Yon had thrown away the Pringles cans I was saving to use as a mold.
Mind you I have been planning all week to make this soap. I put the date aside on the calendar, purchased the items, double checked that every thing was all set to go. Julie and I even re watched videos about it last night so we would be all set! Yet we still got off to a late start and I was fuming about the delays. Then, at the last possible moment I realized that I could not find the book that contained the simple recipe we were going to try first. I hope I returned it to my friend Barbara!
Soap measurements seem quite exact and there are dozens of recipes and ways to do things. Everyone stresses warnings of the dangers of lye, and exact measurements by WEIGHT of ingredients, not cups. However, some measurements are in ounces and some in grams, oh and some in cups lol, just to confuse. By the time Julie and I began we felt like chemists.
But once we had our work stations all set, things went very smoothly. She is a fun person to work with because she is very easy going, yet precise. The whole thing from set up to clean up took about 2 hours. We carefully put our soap making products away in one designated box, to make things easier the next time.
We have already decided to get a new container to stir the lye into the goat milk because the one we had, contained internal ridges that the lye granules stubbornly clung to.
Now we wait overnight for the soap to set in the Pringles can. Tomorrow we will cut the soap into pretty round pieces and then let them cure for a month, when they will be ready to use. We are going to make this type of soap a few more times until we are sure we have everything correct, then we will move on to honey soap, from our own bees, and maybe some oatmeal soap, or lavender soap, or or or.....
It is pretty amazing to think of all the adventures I have gotten into all the people I have met, all the things I have learned, and all because I wanted to have a little milk goat.
9 ounces olive oil
9 ounces coconut oil ($6 for 14 ounces.)
8 ounces goat milk
4 ounces lye ($14 for 2 pound bottle)
$20 for stick blender
$15 for pan, spatulas, bowls forever to be used only for soap making
$15 safety goggles (Because we are afraid of lye).
PS: Saponification is a fun word to say and thorough out the soap making process I said it under my breath like Brick on the tv show The Middle, saponification, saponification.
But I went into it with trepidation because, well because I am a spiller and rather messy when I cook or bake. That is fine of course, wiping up warm goat cheese, or chocolate melting on the floor is no big deal in cooking. But LYE is one scary thing to work with. You can not read a single thing about soap making without dire warnings about the dangers of lye.
Just finding the lye proved a Herculean task. Shaws use to carry it but since you can use lye to make crystal meth they apparently no longer sell it. The same with Walmart and Aubuchon Hardware. Tractor Supply not only did not carry it but I think we freaked the girl out when we told her the varied uses of lye. "You can use it to unclog a drain, destroy a dead body, make drugs, or, you know, make goat milk soap." When we said that to her, with a big grin, she nervously commented, "But you are making soap, right?" Some people have no sense of adventure or humor I guess.
Anyway we eventually found it at Lowes. But the gods of DIY were against us because when we returned home we discovered that not only was there no olive oil (a staple in this house) but that Yon had thrown away the Pringles cans I was saving to use as a mold.
Mind you I have been planning all week to make this soap. I put the date aside on the calendar, purchased the items, double checked that every thing was all set to go. Julie and I even re watched videos about it last night so we would be all set! Yet we still got off to a late start and I was fuming about the delays. Then, at the last possible moment I realized that I could not find the book that contained the simple recipe we were going to try first. I hope I returned it to my friend Barbara!
Soap measurements seem quite exact and there are dozens of recipes and ways to do things. Everyone stresses warnings of the dangers of lye, and exact measurements by WEIGHT of ingredients, not cups. However, some measurements are in ounces and some in grams, oh and some in cups lol, just to confuse. By the time Julie and I began we felt like chemists.
But once we had our work stations all set, things went very smoothly. She is a fun person to work with because she is very easy going, yet precise. The whole thing from set up to clean up took about 2 hours. We carefully put our soap making products away in one designated box, to make things easier the next time.
We have already decided to get a new container to stir the lye into the goat milk because the one we had, contained internal ridges that the lye granules stubbornly clung to.
Now we wait overnight for the soap to set in the Pringles can. Tomorrow we will cut the soap into pretty round pieces and then let them cure for a month, when they will be ready to use. We are going to make this type of soap a few more times until we are sure we have everything correct, then we will move on to honey soap, from our own bees, and maybe some oatmeal soap, or lavender soap, or or or.....
It is pretty amazing to think of all the adventures I have gotten into all the people I have met, all the things I have learned, and all because I wanted to have a little milk goat.
9 ounces olive oil
9 ounces coconut oil ($6 for 14 ounces.)
8 ounces goat milk
4 ounces lye ($14 for 2 pound bottle)
$20 for stick blender
$15 for pan, spatulas, bowls forever to be used only for soap making
$15 safety goggles (Because we are afraid of lye).
PS: Saponification is a fun word to say and thorough out the soap making process I said it under my breath like Brick on the tv show The Middle, saponification, saponification.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Dress for success
At Sacred Heart High School in the late 70s and early 80s there was no school uniform. There was however a very strict dress code which my sister and I always maintained was worse than any uniform. I would try at every opportunity to break the dress code rule, but in a way that prevented me from getting sent to the principal's office. Actually, infractions were dealt with by the vice principal Sr Johnette who called herself the Dean of Discipline.
At home I always wore my Red Sox hat, tshirts with the number 37 on the back (for lefty pitcher Bill Lee), and bright rainbow suspenders covered in buttons kept up my chinos or corduroy pants.
In school however our dress code prevented such whimsical expressions of freedom. So... on the Ides Of March I showed up at school in a toga. (We still took Latin in those days, veni, vini, vici...) On Valentines Day my best friend Eileen and I wore non-dress code shorty red skirts, with bright red tights and shirts with huge hearts pinned to them. We made sure of course, to have Valentine cards at the ready for Sr. Johnette. But we were never called to the office. As a matter of fact I still remember her indulgent smile when she saw us in the hallway.
I was reminded of her smile when my Corey was still in high school. He, like his mother, had a penchant for hats (my Red Sox hat went on my head as soon as the last bell rang at Sacred Heart. The nuns, ever the loyal Red Sox fans, never had me remove it indoors.) Corey however, also had the habit of wearing long argyle socks with mismatching shorts. Even now he has an unusual flair for clothes. To explain his taste I think it helps the reader to know that he like how Howard dresses on The Big Bang Theory. Does that paint a picture for you?
Julie too wore clothes not quite the current fashion. Do you recall my blog post when she won Homecoming Queen? All the other lovely ladies wore fashionable short dresses and heels. Julie wore a long kimono, slippers, and had chopsticks keeping up her hair bun.
This brings me to the littlest Blauss. Joe for years wore jeans (often the same ones for days without them ever seeing the inside of a washing machine, but that is another story.) He also liked Spongebob tshirts although in recent years he has worn a series of video game and superhero tees.
But recently he has begun to spruce up his wardrobe, wearing button down dress shirts and a skinny black tie (same jeans though.) This morning however, he came up from his room in a crisp back suit, dress shoes, fedora, and black sunglasses. He was also carrying his saxophone case, like he was in the mob. He claimed not to want any attention from us, and absolutely refused to allow me to photograph him.
In a word, he looked adorable, this youngest son of mine. We have come a long way from his father's day of high school fashionable bell-bottom pants, tye dye shirts and long flowing hair, or his mother's colorful suspenders and curly perms.
I am glad I suppose that alternative clothing, at least in Joe's eyes, means dressing up. It reminded me of Sr Johnette though, being amused and indulgent by our attention grabbing costumes. In effect Joe and Corey and Miss Julie all wore costumes, as every bit as those teens wearing gothy clothes of a few years ago, or every middle school girl and their insistence on clothing from the gawd awful Hollister store.
We make our way in this world, often playing dress up, although don't tell Joe I called it that. I do wish he had let me photograph him. He finally cut his fair over the weekend. Its shaggy disarray defied any comb to keep it from waving in every direction but straight down. He insisted on cutting it himself though, and did not do half bad. It is sort of a crew cut meets flat top.
He avoids being photographed like the Wicked Witch of the West avoids buckets of water, which is frustrating. We have more family events immortalized on film with a red headed blur darting out of camera range.
I did by the way ask him if there was a special occasion that triggered the snazzy clothes. With a shrug he simply replied, "Me and Jonah just decided to suit up."
He is finishing his junior year. It is hard to imagine that after 30 years of kids home it is all winding to a close for me. Incorrect grammar aside, I will miss remarks like "Me and Jonah just decided to suit up."
If any of you see Joe today, do me a favor and try to capture him on film. I would like to have a picture of my mischievous redhead even if he is looking all grown up.
At home I always wore my Red Sox hat, tshirts with the number 37 on the back (for lefty pitcher Bill Lee), and bright rainbow suspenders covered in buttons kept up my chinos or corduroy pants.
In school however our dress code prevented such whimsical expressions of freedom. So... on the Ides Of March I showed up at school in a toga. (We still took Latin in those days, veni, vini, vici...) On Valentines Day my best friend Eileen and I wore non-dress code shorty red skirts, with bright red tights and shirts with huge hearts pinned to them. We made sure of course, to have Valentine cards at the ready for Sr. Johnette. But we were never called to the office. As a matter of fact I still remember her indulgent smile when she saw us in the hallway.
I was reminded of her smile when my Corey was still in high school. He, like his mother, had a penchant for hats (my Red Sox hat went on my head as soon as the last bell rang at Sacred Heart. The nuns, ever the loyal Red Sox fans, never had me remove it indoors.) Corey however, also had the habit of wearing long argyle socks with mismatching shorts. Even now he has an unusual flair for clothes. To explain his taste I think it helps the reader to know that he like how Howard dresses on The Big Bang Theory. Does that paint a picture for you?
Julie too wore clothes not quite the current fashion. Do you recall my blog post when she won Homecoming Queen? All the other lovely ladies wore fashionable short dresses and heels. Julie wore a long kimono, slippers, and had chopsticks keeping up her hair bun.
This brings me to the littlest Blauss. Joe for years wore jeans (often the same ones for days without them ever seeing the inside of a washing machine, but that is another story.) He also liked Spongebob tshirts although in recent years he has worn a series of video game and superhero tees.
But recently he has begun to spruce up his wardrobe, wearing button down dress shirts and a skinny black tie (same jeans though.) This morning however, he came up from his room in a crisp back suit, dress shoes, fedora, and black sunglasses. He was also carrying his saxophone case, like he was in the mob. He claimed not to want any attention from us, and absolutely refused to allow me to photograph him.
In a word, he looked adorable, this youngest son of mine. We have come a long way from his father's day of high school fashionable bell-bottom pants, tye dye shirts and long flowing hair, or his mother's colorful suspenders and curly perms.
I am glad I suppose that alternative clothing, at least in Joe's eyes, means dressing up. It reminded me of Sr Johnette though, being amused and indulgent by our attention grabbing costumes. In effect Joe and Corey and Miss Julie all wore costumes, as every bit as those teens wearing gothy clothes of a few years ago, or every middle school girl and their insistence on clothing from the gawd awful Hollister store.
We make our way in this world, often playing dress up, although don't tell Joe I called it that. I do wish he had let me photograph him. He finally cut his fair over the weekend. Its shaggy disarray defied any comb to keep it from waving in every direction but straight down. He insisted on cutting it himself though, and did not do half bad. It is sort of a crew cut meets flat top.
He avoids being photographed like the Wicked Witch of the West avoids buckets of water, which is frustrating. We have more family events immortalized on film with a red headed blur darting out of camera range.
I did by the way ask him if there was a special occasion that triggered the snazzy clothes. With a shrug he simply replied, "Me and Jonah just decided to suit up."
He is finishing his junior year. It is hard to imagine that after 30 years of kids home it is all winding to a close for me. Incorrect grammar aside, I will miss remarks like "Me and Jonah just decided to suit up."
If any of you see Joe today, do me a favor and try to capture him on film. I would like to have a picture of my mischievous redhead even if he is looking all grown up.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Farming Relationships
Yesterday since I had to be off my feet to let the steroids work their magic on my plantar fascitius, I decided to download and watch the first season of The Fabulous Beekman Boys. I was hoping it would be a lot more about the creation of their farm, but as is typical of reality TV shows, it was more about the relationships between the 2 guys. Nonetheless, I have been able to glean some good ideas about our little farm here and our plans to expand.
Later in the day a friend recommended A Dirty Life which is a memoir about a city woman who marries a country guy, and how they get their farm from dream to- more real than she ever expected- reality This novel had a lot more hands on farm stuff, but interestingly enough was also about the relationship between this woman and her eventual husband and how HIS dream became THEIR dream, and how they finally were able to work as one.
The early struggles of both couples brought to mind a few friends I have in the 'animal' world. They are single and one of the things they insist on in a relationship is that the other half MUST be into animals, and share their hobby and accompany them to shows, and although the other person can have their own hobbies they must understand that the animal hobby comes first. The whole "accept me for who I am Bud, or hit the road, philosophy."
I do know a few couples who are totally into the animal thing together. It must be wonderful to be able to discuss breeding pairs, points, and future vacations that center solely on the show season.
The more I watched the first season struggle of the Beekman boys, read the early farm struggle in the memoir, and contemplated my single friends 'love me love my animals or else' I realized how much work it all really does take and how open couples really have to be to make it work.
Everyone knows of course the the early years of raising tiny children can be all consuming and you are an ass if you think your needs come first. Not that those needs are not important, but if you are the adult in the relationship then you suck it up, ride it out, keep the other adult in mind and eventually you begin to have couple time again as well as me time. It is the same if you are married to an account. You realize that from February until April 15th you may as well be a widow, but that once tax season ends you get your spouse back.
Being in a relationship with a farmer however is different, especially if your farm includes animals. Because there is no down time. Usually the dead of winter is a quiet time for most working people. But if your farm includes meat animals then your babies are being born December January and February, in order to reach harvesting weight at the right time. We are lucky that because we are using our livestock for wool, milk, and show that we can have spring babies. My friend went to feed her baby lambs this morning, she lives out in western Mass. Just as she opened the small shed door the roof collapsed on the baby lambs. She immediately began shoveling snow and frantically tugging at the roof. Thankfully all the animals survived and the blood she was seeing was from her own torn up hands.
While our farm is a much smaller scale to hers, we have our own challenges.For instance, because Joe is showing birds this year we could not wait for late spring to have outdoor baby chicks, they need to be showing age by early summer (and laying eggs for the farmers market.) This means our chicks are in the living room, raising a racket and about to raise a stink.
Meanwhile Don is busy trying to get our own taxes done because we need to make sure there is enough money for a new furnace which is overdue to die. At the same time of course some of that money will be put aside for the sheep dog pup coming this summer. It is easy enough to love any new dog. But our plans to raise sheep mean someone besides me needs to be able to herd them. Sheep unlike goats run in the opposite direction when frightened oblivious to anything but their own fear. A bearded collie becomes a necessity not a luxury.
We have a farm full of animals but if you ask Don he will honestly tell you he is really not all that into them. Left to himself, he would have a cat, maybe. But he would also tell you that left to himself he would probably still be living upstairs at his mothers house. He would get up go to work each day play his guitar and go to bed. He might still coach or ref and he imagines he would still hike. His single life was not without companionship or interest. But until he hitched his wagon to mine it certainly was not very colorful and it was pretty darn predictable.
He would not have gone out 'looking' for a relationship with someone who wanted to be a farmer.... yet one of his favorite stories is the time he sat milking the goat. Nikki's boyfriend had tagged along in hopes of ingratiating himself to his new girlfriend's dad. The boy rambled on and on about this and that, hoping to impress Don. Then I wandered around the corner with the grain bucket. Don finally spoke to the boy. "See that tool on the shelf above your head? Do you know what that is? That is a castrator, and she (pointing to me) knows how to use it. Just remember, when you are dating my daughter, that my wife owns and knows how to use a castrator."
I have downloaded plans for an automatic milker, a sheep stand, and a spinning wheel. Because while he may not be into animals he likes to build things and save money. He will happily tag long to any show as long as he does not have to show. But he is more than willing to carry cages, figure out ways to pack everything in the van, and eat fried dough. He is never going to make cheese but he is more than happy to taste test every batch.,
When I was little I thought I would marry the farmer. It turns out Don married the farmer. It takes both of us though to make it work. We are in a relationship and in the relationship there was never the make or break rule that he had to be into animals. But the day he made my hope chest and the first thing I put in it was a dog leash and bowl, he got an inkling.
Well all grow and change although I think the essence of who we are remains the same. When we argue Don invariably says "but you knew this is how I am." It took me many years but finally one day I shouted it back at him "But you knew this is how I am." he lapsed into stunned silence and then gave a big grin. Fight over, as usual I was correct.
So he married a farmer which means he has to put up with animals in the living room and a baby monitor disturbing his sleep during kidding time. But he also gets to build things and eat eggs still warm from the chicken. He sits in a garden bursting with berries and vegetables that taste divine. He rakes under the apple trees and the very loam smells like apple pie.
He does not need to be into animals to be part of the farm. He just needs to love the person who is into the animals and that is enough.
Being in a relationship with a farmer however is different, especially if your farm includes animals. Because there is no down time. Usually the dead of winter is a quiet time for most working people. But if your farm includes meat animals then your babies are being born December January and February, in order to reach harvesting weight at the right time. We are lucky that because we are using our livestock for wool, milk, and show that we can have spring babies. My friend went to feed her baby lambs this morning, she lives out in western Mass. Just as she opened the small shed door the roof collapsed on the baby lambs. She immediately began shoveling snow and frantically tugging at the roof. Thankfully all the animals survived and the blood she was seeing was from her own torn up hands.
While our farm is a much smaller scale to hers, we have our own challenges.For instance, because Joe is showing birds this year we could not wait for late spring to have outdoor baby chicks, they need to be showing age by early summer (and laying eggs for the farmers market.) This means our chicks are in the living room, raising a racket and about to raise a stink.
Meanwhile Don is busy trying to get our own taxes done because we need to make sure there is enough money for a new furnace which is overdue to die. At the same time of course some of that money will be put aside for the sheep dog pup coming this summer. It is easy enough to love any new dog. But our plans to raise sheep mean someone besides me needs to be able to herd them. Sheep unlike goats run in the opposite direction when frightened oblivious to anything but their own fear. A bearded collie becomes a necessity not a luxury.
We have a farm full of animals but if you ask Don he will honestly tell you he is really not all that into them. Left to himself, he would have a cat, maybe. But he would also tell you that left to himself he would probably still be living upstairs at his mothers house. He would get up go to work each day play his guitar and go to bed. He might still coach or ref and he imagines he would still hike. His single life was not without companionship or interest. But until he hitched his wagon to mine it certainly was not very colorful and it was pretty darn predictable.
He would not have gone out 'looking' for a relationship with someone who wanted to be a farmer.... yet one of his favorite stories is the time he sat milking the goat. Nikki's boyfriend had tagged along in hopes of ingratiating himself to his new girlfriend's dad. The boy rambled on and on about this and that, hoping to impress Don. Then I wandered around the corner with the grain bucket. Don finally spoke to the boy. "See that tool on the shelf above your head? Do you know what that is? That is a castrator, and she (pointing to me) knows how to use it. Just remember, when you are dating my daughter, that my wife owns and knows how to use a castrator."
I have downloaded plans for an automatic milker, a sheep stand, and a spinning wheel. Because while he may not be into animals he likes to build things and save money. He will happily tag long to any show as long as he does not have to show. But he is more than willing to carry cages, figure out ways to pack everything in the van, and eat fried dough. He is never going to make cheese but he is more than happy to taste test every batch.,
When I was little I thought I would marry the farmer. It turns out Don married the farmer. It takes both of us though to make it work. We are in a relationship and in the relationship there was never the make or break rule that he had to be into animals. But the day he made my hope chest and the first thing I put in it was a dog leash and bowl, he got an inkling.
Well all grow and change although I think the essence of who we are remains the same. When we argue Don invariably says "but you knew this is how I am." It took me many years but finally one day I shouted it back at him "But you knew this is how I am." he lapsed into stunned silence and then gave a big grin. Fight over, as usual I was correct.
So he married a farmer which means he has to put up with animals in the living room and a baby monitor disturbing his sleep during kidding time. But he also gets to build things and eat eggs still warm from the chicken. He sits in a garden bursting with berries and vegetables that taste divine. He rakes under the apple trees and the very loam smells like apple pie.
He does not need to be into animals to be part of the farm. He just needs to love the person who is into the animals and that is enough.
Saturday, February 08, 2014
computers and learning curves
My dad fell in love with computers and their potential early. For years he insisted that the kids would be better, smarter, more in touch with the world if only we too had a pc. I had my doubts, Mary, after all was number one in her class without a computer.
But at some point, I think it was Mamie's sophomore year, we broke down and got our very first computer. Well, my dad and I did. Don has a marked lack of interest in modern conveniences. He would still be listening to 8 track if I had not insisted he have a CD player.
Anyway, I figured out how to hook up that first pc all by myself and to this day I am the one who researches the newest computer, schleps it into the house and sets it up. I have figured out all the ins and outs for the most part by myself although things were made noticeably easier when Mary began dating and eventually marrying her computer geek!
There were few hiccups along the way of course. For instance, please take my advice when looking up flora and fauna, pussy-willow is ONE word!!!!
We have struggled with the whole parent control issue as well. Some of my children simply displayed common sense (or blind obedience) and made good computer choices, at least at our house. But I also have had children who were determined to out smart me, to their peril. I have no wish to block sites or check histories or be my kids' myspace and later Facebook friend in order to make sure they navigate the www with the same caution and class they navigate the real world. But such is the thankless role of the parent, I have been forced at times to do so.
But I have also discovered, somewhat to my surprise, that I love not only, the online world, but also the geeky components of it, the whys and wherefores, the physical and electronic-al and magical qualities of it. I love to research the newest phone, tablet, laptop, or pc. I love to ponder how a Roku works, how to save money by reducing Comcast to the basic channels, by adding inexpensive Hulu+ and Netflix, how does a text message or Skype really work, etc. Although I am neither a gamer nor music person I am even fascinated by the gaming systems and ipods and mp3players.
I once read a great article that said people under 30 have learned the modern language of computers as a native one but that most of the rest of us come at it as if it is a second languag. Some of us become fluent but many of us live in this translation-confusing no man's land, using our modern electronics to make a call or send off an email, but the rest remains a foreign language for which no amount of subtitles will help.
Which are you? A native? Or is it all a foreign language to you?
This morning I am sitting here typing from Julie's 5 year old Macbook. Those Apple products are darn expensive, but her little Macbook chugs along 5 years later as if new. My own cheaper Dells and Lenovas were wonderful pcs but have never lasted longer than 4 years, so in laptops, as in life, you get what you pay for.
OK I need to put this little Macbook down and get some work done. Later however I will use it to explore new phone technolgies. My phone is up for in April and I am thinking an Apple phone for the first time. Although I adore my Droid and its android system, which I also have on my Galaxy tab3 is very intuitive. Also our incredible Dell pc (that we got when Matt's game company went out of business, before he switched to Bungi, makers of Halo) is fading after 6 years. I should begin researching a new pc. I could care less about shoes, clothes, cars, and other trappings of the modern world, but my online world and how I access it, is endlessly fascinating to me.
But at some point, I think it was Mamie's sophomore year, we broke down and got our very first computer. Well, my dad and I did. Don has a marked lack of interest in modern conveniences. He would still be listening to 8 track if I had not insisted he have a CD player.
Anyway, I figured out how to hook up that first pc all by myself and to this day I am the one who researches the newest computer, schleps it into the house and sets it up. I have figured out all the ins and outs for the most part by myself although things were made noticeably easier when Mary began dating and eventually marrying her computer geek!
There were few hiccups along the way of course. For instance, please take my advice when looking up flora and fauna, pussy-willow is ONE word!!!!
We have struggled with the whole parent control issue as well. Some of my children simply displayed common sense (or blind obedience) and made good computer choices, at least at our house. But I also have had children who were determined to out smart me, to their peril. I have no wish to block sites or check histories or be my kids' myspace and later Facebook friend in order to make sure they navigate the www with the same caution and class they navigate the real world. But such is the thankless role of the parent, I have been forced at times to do so.
But I have also discovered, somewhat to my surprise, that I love not only, the online world, but also the geeky components of it, the whys and wherefores, the physical and electronic-al and magical qualities of it. I love to research the newest phone, tablet, laptop, or pc. I love to ponder how a Roku works, how to save money by reducing Comcast to the basic channels, by adding inexpensive Hulu+ and Netflix, how does a text message or Skype really work, etc. Although I am neither a gamer nor music person I am even fascinated by the gaming systems and ipods and mp3players.
I once read a great article that said people under 30 have learned the modern language of computers as a native one but that most of the rest of us come at it as if it is a second languag. Some of us become fluent but many of us live in this translation-confusing no man's land, using our modern electronics to make a call or send off an email, but the rest remains a foreign language for which no amount of subtitles will help.
Which are you? A native? Or is it all a foreign language to you?
This morning I am sitting here typing from Julie's 5 year old Macbook. Those Apple products are darn expensive, but her little Macbook chugs along 5 years later as if new. My own cheaper Dells and Lenovas were wonderful pcs but have never lasted longer than 4 years, so in laptops, as in life, you get what you pay for.
OK I need to put this little Macbook down and get some work done. Later however I will use it to explore new phone technolgies. My phone is up for in April and I am thinking an Apple phone for the first time. Although I adore my Droid and its android system, which I also have on my Galaxy tab3 is very intuitive. Also our incredible Dell pc (that we got when Matt's game company went out of business, before he switched to Bungi, makers of Halo) is fading after 6 years. I should begin researching a new pc. I could care less about shoes, clothes, cars, and other trappings of the modern world, but my online world and how I access it, is endlessly fascinating to me.
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