"Get you some of this "slow, down, fast.""

 

 

Our all American girl playing in the creek with her all American dog, Independence.

 

Because being a kid means muddy feet, finding crayfish, dog slobber, and summer time popsicles.

 

And being the parent means enjoying the clean up of an afternoon well spent.

 

Glory Downs Farm Gets a New Look

Hi! And Welcome back to reading this thingy called a blog.

Who came up with that word anyway?

So a lot has happened since my last entry..... We had a son:)

Its a pretty big deal.

Life has been busy, with life stuff. You know... waking up, feeding little ones, feeding feathered ones, doing daily things, brushing your teeth and then doing it again the next day.

Honestly, life has been pretty sweet.

But coming back to this blog thing is a lot like dusting off an old novel that you swear you love- but completely forget what its about.

So- as a busy mum, farmer, life do-er, and big mouth, I've decided to ramp up this blog to more modern-ish times. Like modern as in today. And as in today I'm talking about all the trendy crap people like to read about.

So this blog will succumb to todays social vacuum and provide, facts, advice, pictures, comfort, care, an occasional box of chocolates, and a hug regarding all that is chicken, duck, and honeybees.

Feel free to share. Feel free to ask questions.  Feel free to laugh your ass off at yet- another blog dedicated to the same old crap that people seem to enjoy.


Maybe there will even bee a casserole recipe or two.

Enjoy!

Muse

Five years ago I walked thru a door and closed it behind me.

I entered a room that was bigger than expected. It was far more beautiful than I could have imagined.  It was full of all sorts of paths and journeys that were enticing, scary (in a good way:)) seemingly fun.  Paths I have always wanted to take, but never brave enough to do it on my own.  There was something intersting about this room though. It was full of all sorts of different uniforms. Each uniform hung up pristine and inviting ways.  And as if a child I couldn't wait for the opportunity to try each one of them on.  Whether it would be play pretend, or actually "fit, " the uniform worn, I was excited.  I tried on each one, some more carefully than others, and each one lead to a different adventure.......





Who had made this room?
Who opened this door for me?
Who invited me here.

I call him my Muse.

Some of you might know him better as Huckleberry
Or Fantastic Mr. Fox.


But most of you know him as David.



Five years ago today we were married.
My best friend. The one who knows me better than anyone on earth. The one who knows my deepest darkest secrets, and loves me. The one who said "be mine," and "I do."

He was the one who made an eloborate room called "this life with you," and opened the door for me.


My husband.



We met almost eight years ago in Kentucky.

I was at a point in life were I was so full of self conceit I couldn't see straight.
My dance career was my all in all but somehow still not enough.
I wanted more.
I wanted to be noticed.
So I decided to out my dance career on the sidelines and audition for New England Patriots cheer leading squad.
I was on my way to audtion, when my loving brother offered to pay for my way to a church conference called New Attitude.

He knew I needed one:)



I woke up the day of the audition and purposely stayed home.
I had been praying to our God who I thought had long forgotten me.
I was tired of the path I was going down.
Tired of the hurt I brought into myself.
Tired of driving my dangerously unsafe car.

I asked God to take over.

I went to the new attitude conference.

Little did I know that going there would have changed my life!

The conference was alot to take in.

I was raised Cathoilc and I was used to the traditional ways of the church.  At the conference I saw people rejoicing over the Saviour, and openly proclaiming His glory.

It was totally weird to me.

But them something else weird happened.

I was in the hotel room when I sudden downpour caught my attention.
The rain came down in sheets.
It was so strong, it was breath taking.
I grabbed my camera and went to the window to take a picture of it......I have always loved the weather.

I snapped the picture and saw something across the hotel way.
A pool!
I didn't know that was there!




The next day it was wicked hot.
Like humid and stagnant.
The conference meeting had let out and I couldn't get to the pool fast enough.  I didn't want to attend the next meeting as I was having my fill of all theses happy Christians.  I didn't get their happiness.  It couldn't be legit.

But it was.

So I went to the pool and sat down.

Within minutes a guy who had caught my attention days before say next to me.

It was David.

He thought I was there for a Beetles festival that was happening at the same time.
I thougt he was actually a cool Christaian.  (My feeble mind didn't know at the time they existed)


We started talking and never stopped.

We talked that day for hours.
We met that night to talk more.
The next day was the end of the conference.
We talked that morning.
And as I boarded the plane to fly back to New England, we were texting.

It was another month of phone conversations all hours of the night before David came up to Mass "to see about a girl."
It rained the day he left to go back to Maryland.
It was one month after that he told me he loved me during a rainstorm on his parents front porch.
(the rain has stayed a symbol to us)



Just a chance meeting at a random church conference?

I think not.

In the same month that I met the person I was spend the rest of my life with.  The man who would be the father of the child I hold in my lap at this moment.
I also found God
who truly never let me go.


My life started.

 Like really started that day at the pool.  My life as a Christian began long before in Gods Holy hands, but like Dorothy opening the door to Oz and color becoming evident in life,  so did mine.


Colors were more vivid.
The sky was always bright.
Grass greener.
Snow Whiter.
Life sweeter.
Fun, truly fun.




If I ever doubt Gods love for me. I just have to look at the rings on my finger.
If I ever think God doesn't really know me.
I just have to look at the man who carries my hand when it gets too heavy.

David is my proof of Gods love and existence.
And i get to spend this life with him.




We celebrated our five years married last night by going out to a nice dinner at our favorite restaurant.

David always being the one to have sweet surprises gave me a bracelet that I will treasure more than I can say.  But Im not good with sweet surprises like that.  I have never had the creative mind that gives someone special a meaningful gift.
I'm not good with that stuff.


Let e give you an example.

David, for my birthday bought me a brick at Fenway park (that is to be placed IN the wall of Fenway) with the day we met on it, and a I love You...... (that same birthday he bought me a gun. A brick and a gun for your birthday....he knew what would make a Boston girl smile:))
For Davids birthday I ....well I cant remember anything truly special I got him..

I can never top the thoughtfulness he possesses.

So for our anniversary I got .....

I got David a measly card.

But its what the card said that triggered this entry.

It said I could never write you a love letter because there aren't enough words.
And its true.

But that doesn't mean I cant try.

God has gifted me with words, and I want to do my best to share them with you.

Its my words that I can give to you David as a gift.

Like I did five years ago on that warm, (but snowy) January day. I can give you my words.

Like the song said "these three words, are not enough."
  They are not.
 The "I love you can," only go so far before its stopping point.  But the way I feel for you and the gratitude, admiration, and cherishment that I feel for you does not have an end.
I can tell you that in words.

So I hope as I type this and you read that you really do know how I feel.

You are my muse.
You are the one who truly DOES believe in me.
The one who makes me want to be better.
More sweeter.
To keep my thicker skin.
Who dances more than I do.
Who would give his daughter the universe if he could hold it.
Who is glad I'm from where I'm from.
Who whispers "it'll be ok."
Who never questioned my past.
Who never held wrong doings against me.
Who tells me I'm not like other girls.
Who likes that he got me into country music.
Who bought me cowboy boots, guns, ducks, and antiques.
Who lets me try things I have never been brave enough to try.
Who helps me relax.
Who inspires me to write.
Who listens to me talk about the existence of Bigfoot, werewolves, aliens and Chupacbra.
Who makes me laugh so hard at the same joke for the past eight years.
Who hears me complain.
Who thinks I'm pretty when I feel most ugly.



Who always says sorry first.
Who stands up for me, when I least expect it.
Who is proud of me.
who drove 300mph (kinda:)) to come to my dance competition just in time to see me take second place.
who always puts me first.
who misses Ash as much as I do.
who loves my family.
who feels part of them.
who is proud of being Irish


Who thinks I'm actually witty.
Who calls me smart.
Who ask me questions.
Who wants to know about my day.
Who spoils me.
Who would let me sleep in if I only had the mind to ask.
Who tells me I should have confidence.
Who cares for the way I feel.
Who helps take away pain.
Who helps me forget mistakes.
Who never stays mad at me.
Who works so hard at so many jobs so I can stay home and play Snow White.

Who teaches me about the glory of God.


Who tells me that there is no one better that could mother the child we created together.


And so like the Muse song that was our recessional David,
I will always be chasing this starlight that is our marriage.



I love you. Today. Tomorrow. And into Eternity with Our Loving Father.

Your blessed L.
Happy Five Years<3

Chores.

Let me begin by saying that I am no way shape or form a picture perfect Mom.

I don't measure anything I bake (if I bake anything at all)
I often look unkempt (pjs till 2pm.)
I don't make caption worthy breakfast' ( and I'm usually downing goldfish crackers myself by 9am)
.......and I don't do Mommy and baby play dates with other Mommys and babies, cause well......I got other shit to do, animals to feed, daily work to be done, and minutes to be filled.

So when you read this next lil excerpt please don't picture a picture perfect Mom.  Don't picture the hair all done pristine, The makeup seemingly unseen, and the clothes up to date and fashion forward, the dinner on the table, something from better homes magazine.

No.  Please picture, a girl in her sweats, and muck boots, with chicken feed somewhere in her hair.  The house a blissful mess of toddler toys.  Something burning in the toaster oven. dust bunnies hopping all around the house. A sweet, beautiful, terrifyingly intelligent, baby girl sitting on her hips, as she gets "stuff done, " around the yard.

That's the real picture.

So here goes.

I was hanging up some laundry last night after our daughter went to bed.  I was hanging up clothes that couldn't be put in the dryer because they would shrink beyond wearing (mainly-my hoodies that I like to keep obscenely baggy for my "I'm feeling large days").

As I hung them I thought to myself, " how easy it was to do this with both hands."  I could hang them upstairs with out the fear of our baby girl falling down the stairs after opening our bedroom door when I wasn't looking that split second.   Or her getting into the toilet and doing something with it that would cause my human germaphobeness to unleash pandemonium. There was no lil one to get into some sort of self harm as I did this boring chore.  It was easy to do.

It was so easy in fact, I could actually take my time......I could have three minutes of quiet, and peacefulness, and concentration. The laundry could be hung with actual strategy and care.

I ponderd this for a spilt second as I finished and waked into our bedroom.

There was our daughters bath tub.
Full of clothes that need to be donated.
Surrounded with her stuffed animals she pulled from her room.
Binkies abounding as I stepped over her tub.      
Previously folded laundry placed in random piles that acquired thought beyond my possession.

I took it all in.

It was help.

Special help.

Help that I "asked for," earlier in the day.

With previous loads of laundry that i had done earlier in the day, and wanting to get put away, I had asked for my daughters, "help." I thought to myself it's something I need to get done before I do ab and c, and our daughter can feel busy by"helping. "

Her help consisted of taking her bathtub out of the bathroom.
Placing old clothes in it.
Organizing particular stuffed animals around.
Making piles of Mommys folded laundry.

Enjoying some bright colored binkies, while doing so.

This was the best help I could have asked for.

I went back to my seconds before, of my "peaceful, " orportunity to hang laundry as our daughter slept.

The ease that I had done with now seemed so lonely.

The time I could take doing it was empty.

The enjoyment I thought I had of a moment "alone," was now vile.

I missed her as she lay sleeping in her room a few feet away.

I almost wanted to wake her up, take down all the hung clothes and have her help me.

It was a moment in mommy hood that I don't think I'll forget.

My. Special. Helper.
My buddy.
My best friend.
My accompany.
My heart walking around on the outside of my body.

It hit me.
Hard.

I love being a mom.
I love even the "difficult, " times.
The late nights.
The temper tantrums in a five minute car drive.
The un asked for hugs.
The willingly share of her food.
The excitement over any animal*and you feel the same way)
The wearing of your clothes.
Jewelry.
Shoes.
Even socks.
The smiles when you get her up in the morning.
The breakfast in the couch together as you watch reruns of Match Game 75.
Her eagerness to help you in boring mundane chores. ....

I would take that special help over self sufficiency any day.

Closed for the season?!

Nope.


So it's been since July that I last made an entry.....

I sorta feel like a bad friend to my blog.
We haven't gone out for coffee together.
I haven't asked how blog is doing.
Haven't even checked in.


The blog, and our friendship together was closed for the season.


But it's been busy.


A non stop of people here.
Daily.

There is not much room for quiet time

But this is what we signed up for.

Our season is starting to wind down.  The farm stand has gone a bit better that anticipated, and we have come closer to breaking even than expected.  Since October is a stones throw away, we are going to start concentrating on pumpkins, and fall favorites.


Our chickens are well.  We have gotten plenty more.  Out of the fifty something we have about twenty five are laying.  The ones we got waaaay back in spring have been a disappointment.  They are still not quite at laying age.  And now are in molt.  What an unexpected amount of money you have to put into feeding hens that are not paying for themselves. .....but this is part of the learning process.


We have gotten two more roo's.  A buff, and an Americana Wheaton.  Lovely,  lovely,  boys.




The ducks.  Are awesome.

And in being so awesome our farm took an unexpected turn in direction.


We are now a duck farm

Yup.
Ducks.


We got a shipment of fifty something in the mail today
(Ya, you can get ducks in the mail!?)


So....while the lil gals (all gals) peep outside my porch window, and our lil baby girl is sleeping, I finally decided to catch up with my ol friend, blog.


It's been awhile.

But it's good to be back:)

There's a monster outside my room, can I have a glass of water?

"All right, listen, we both go outside, move around the house in opposite directions. We act crazy, insane with anger, make them crap in their pants, force them around till we meet up on the other side."

You ever see that movie "Signs?"

It scared the piss out of me.

I do still, and always had an (as I like to call it)  "natural fear," of aliens

Go ahead laugh.

But they are flipping scary to me.

So back when the movie "Signs,' came out I of course, had to feed into this alien fear of mine by seeing the it.

Naturally my fear held strong, thru the entire movie, and ride home.  Maybe I cried.  Maybe I emotionally ate my popcorn.  Maybe I hid my face in the sticky movie theater seat.  Maybe did all three of these things at once. But as I left the theater I packed up the fear and carried it home. Driving back home was a good distraction from the scenes I had just witnessed BUT as I approached closer to my sweet comfort of home (which happened to be down the street from a couple of corn fields) I realized that the power had gone out throughout the street.   This meant I had to walk into my dark house, dark room, and try to sleep without darkly thinking about aliens running around on the roof above me.

I'll never forget the noise they made.

Like raccoons.

Chattering.


Or how bout their footsteps?
The aliens had these long clawed feet that made a slight scratching sound.  I remember seeing  the foot shadows slide out from the crack where the door meets the floor, as they walk past.  

You could hear them run across the roof.

So what did Mel do in this alien invasion?

Well he brought his family to the cellar of course!

And it was in those scenes as the alien feet above scratched the floorboards of their home, that my fear of "anything pertaining to outer space with a large oval head," was scratched into my being.  My human. being.



Skip to today.


I'm in our cellar.

The bulkhead is closed (don't know what that is?  http://callwalsh.com/images/doors_08.jpg  There ya go cityfolk.)

and then I hear it.

the scratching footsteps.

it runs across the metal bulkhead.

I freeze.

Turn my head.

gulp.

its aliens.

and I see the shadows.  The feet. The sunlight that's peaking thru the crack of the bulkhead door, getting interrupted by scratchy, claw-ee, chattering feet.



aliens?






I in my frozen, feared state, come too.

Nope just the chickens. (and ducks)

They knew I was where the food was so they were waiting outside for their handout.



no alien encounters today.  And I consider that good for two reasons.


One being that, and alien encounter would probably cause my arms to fall off or something dramatic like that because of the fear.  And having my arms fall off wouldn't be good.

and Two, being that I don't know if the beautiful state of Maryland would recognize aliens as livestock, nor would I have the slightest idea of what to feed the critters.  



I'll stick with feathered livestock that enjoy water;)

Last one in is a rotten egg!

Or twenty eight or so........

Since we free range all our hens we suspect to lose a couple eggs here or there.   Hens get creative when they feel the call of nature, when they are...well.. Out in the nature.  Maybe an egg under a bramble of brush.   Maybe two or three under the tractor.  Maybe an entire clutch of them rotting under our porch.

So I knew a couple gals would head under the porch to lay.  I caught on when two of the gals came out announcing they had just laid an egg. (Yes hens do that and sometimes mr. Roo joins in). So knowing that they were getting the call to lay under the porch I got creative myself.   The moment I would see them head under, I was prepared to get them out with a bucket of water.  You see the went under the porch. I'd throw water down threw the cracks until they came out.

But the hens won.

They managed  to lay this large clutch.  And then the heat, and humity managed to rot them.

So no longer able to take the smell as we walked out the door.  I crawled under the porch and pulled each egg out one by one trying my hardest not to even put the slightest crack in one for fear of it exploding in my face.

Luckily none exploded, but the ones that were so far gone, and full of maggots happened to disintegrate in my hands.

Yup.  Maggots.

The things you do, that you never could have imagined yourself doing.

What did I do with the rest of the rotten eggs? 

Well throw them at some trees in the woods to watch them burst! 

Come on......that was fun.

A lil ditty

So today was one of those wonderful pinoeerrific days.


The hot muggy weather.

The first time I heard the chickadads sing their song.

The quietness of the song birds as they wait for evening to come, when flying wont be such a chore.

My sweet baby in an oldtime jumper outfit... ( plaid and all)

Me in a sun dress (glorified patterned moo-moo)


I was going to hang laundry!





Let me begin by saying that I was raised to be outside.
On nice days if me and my brother were parked in front of the tv, my Mom would come, over, shut it off, and tell us to "get outside!"  Let me tell you that I appreciate that more than she will ever know and let me also say that it was rare for her to do so, because on nice days.......me and my brother----were always outside.


I was also raised in New England, this I have mentioned many, MANY times.  And in New England Yankee Ingenuity and hard labor, are character developers.  Things to give you grit.  Suches that keep you true to real life, and a step away from yuppydom.  Practices that were instilled in me, that I am most grateful for.



One of these practices is hanging the laundry out to dry.




Yes. Yes. People still do that.  Young (ish) people even.  And one of them is me.


You see,  it's seems ridiculous, almost irritating to set a dryer for sixty minutes to dry your towels, or blankets when outside it 290 Fahrenheit and you have countless trees and bright yellow rope hanging around.

I had a "clothesline, " hanging up before our big benefit party but that got taken down, to make our place a lil less redneck.  Total revamp of the redneck fengshui if you ask me..


Any how, on my pioneer fueled morning I decide to take that yellow rope and venture off to make a bigger, better, longer, and possibly higher clothesline, and put to use Gods good earth and its free drying abilities.



I go.  Strap a teething baby to my back (cause I need both hands free)and set forth into the back yard in glorified moo-moo, and feel the call of my lumberjack ancestors to intimidate some trees into becoming my dryers.

(Really folks.  Think about it.  It's friggen stupid to set an electric machine to "hot," on a day that is piping hot, to dry your clothes......it's like worrying about your food in the fridge going bad during a blizzard......just stick it in the snow genius.)



So I have two trees.  One a sumac.  Ugly and branchless but non poisonous, and completely pointless unless used for a clothesline.  The second a Sassafras.  With one perfect high up branch to wrap a rope around....

ah.


I make a makeshift one quickly.  Its my baby girls morning nap time and I have shit to do.  I use these two trees and just tie a rope around them.  The rope hangs low, but it was ok, -----for the moment.  My t-shirted laundry will have to just deal with sweeping the ground.  ( you see the weight of the wet laundry drags the rope lower. You need to have the rope taught and high in order for this not to happen.)

Undeterred in my thoughts I go back inside, and conjure up a plan as I rock our daughter to sleep.


The next load of clothes washes in the machine.....

Anticipating.  Possibly dreaming (if clothes do so) being hung, to blow in the breeze.


Well day to day things happen and it gets to be later in the day.  Our daughter wakes up.  Farm chores get done.  Lunch is had.  And driving is completed.


Time to hang the awaiting batch.......

I take down the makeshift line
Stare down the two trees I have in sight.
Puff up my chest.
Crack my arthritic knuckles.
I grab my rope.
Tie a rock to one end
Give it a good aim and swing.
And with crying teething baby on my back.
Moo moo dress creeping up a bit too high for comfort.
Sweat pouring off my face.
Patience non existent
Wet laundry waiting to be blowing in the breeze.



I swing.

Annnnnd.......I ...


Don't miss?!?!?!?!!


I scored a perfect hit!   Got the rope right were I wanted!


Feeling good about myself I go I for the second swing.  This one will help me to wrap the rope around the branch and tighten the line to bring it fully off the ground.  My laundry will blow in the breeze, and dry like it was 1876!

I swing again!
And as if in slow motion!
 I watch!!!



I.......


I miss.....
But not fully.

I somehow managed.
In my moomoo. With a crying teething baby strapped to my back.
And the ducks now laughing at me.  About twenty five chickens around watching me for the show.......managed to wrap the rope, and rock around the most minuscule, with the strength of Hercules little twig.....


It would not budge.


I pull.
I swear.

I give it dirty looks.

I cause more calluses to grow.

I pull some more.


Still no budge.


So here I have a rope laying on the ground.  A mighty twig laughing in my face.  A baby really frustrated at the growing she is doing. A moomoo creeping way to far up for any public to see.  And wet laundry staying.....wet.




it took about another half hour.  And the motivation of my husband coming home soon, and not wanting him to see, that I was finally able to pull the stuck rope down.  As well as a gigantic branch of the tree.


I tried again.  This time much more humbled.  I swing my rope with rock and score a pretty good branch.  I put all my weight ( and my sweet girls weight who is strapped to my back) into it.  I pull as hard as I can. I look back at my new and improved clothesline and the rope looks taught.   Pulled high.  And ready for personal items to be hung on it!
All humilty leaves me at this point and I'm beaming in my pioneer ways.



I grab those sopping wet towels laying on the ground.


I begin the hanging.


Slowly.
Mockingly.
The rope........sags.
Droops.
Lowers itself in a beautiful, yellow, laugh in my "pioneer," face bow.



All that work and for nothing.

My laundry hangs.
But half on the ground.

I apparently did not pull the rope tight enough..
My pioneer strength is that of a pioneers broken wagon wheel....




I walked away defeated.

And in my Yankee/Southern oriented mind, thought "That's good enough......let it droop onto the ground.....  And its too dang hot to care anymore."





The laundry is still hanging, and is still wet.

Catsup, or ketchup.

Yah.  Definetly need to catch up.




Ok so here goes.



We opened the farm stand.
Wow.

It's busy as crap out there every weekend.

Good thing.

Chicks hatched.

Bees here and pissy as can be.

Dogs, fat sassy and lazy.

Baby girl. Stunning.

The amount of interesting,people showing up at our house at all random times. Countless.

Country musis. All I listen to now.

Cowboy boots
Bought.


Encouragement for David to grow a beard....everyday.

Chicken yard.  To be expanded. Iiiimmmensly.

Chicken coop.  To be moved.

Goats and other such creatures.....wanted.

Romantic comedies.
Still disgust me.

Amish people.  Very humorous,  Who would have thought?

Fourth of July benefit for a good friend with a Nobel cause.
Awesome. (Yes been too busy to even blog about it so Im just slipping in this update and hoping you don't mind I do.)




Can I think of anything else? At the moment not really.  It's just been THAT busy around here.  Every minute has been used either working, tending, cooking, cleaning, sleeping, or driving.   And every one of those minutes has been blessed.  Thanks for checking back in ------

“The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.”
HDT

Make the Most out of a Rainy Day.

As JaseJase did here.



If you can see the mud behind my dear duck, that is just a small amount of the actual amount they seemed to have created, in todays rain storm.

About a quarter of the fenced in chicken yard (which a quarter is a large amount) is now entirely mud.  I can't even walk in it.  Its deep.  Its slippery.  It stinks like old man breath.  And its mudddddd.

Ducks make the best out of every weather situation.


It is almost an art form to watch them.  Sling, nibble, throw, play, and I swear to you --- create mud.


And they love it.



The chickens on the other hand, seem pretty appalled.



I've been told - even by the lady who sold us the ducks ( and loves ducks herself) that "ohhhh there so messy....they're sooo dirty, right?!"

Well yah.

Thats their job.
and its a good job at that!





Loving these guys:)

ITS THE FINALLLLL CCCWWWWOOOOOUNNNTDOWN!!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMRA0r92iachttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMRA0r92iac



.....But I'm not a magician, and my name isn't Gob.



(anyone?)


SO-  this is it!   The final countdown to alot of things!

This weekends opening!
The broodyboo hen hatching some eggs
A-rod getting suspended......(had to add that)



And well- I guess thats it.
Its been more exciting sounding in my head this past week, thank I guess it might actually be for the rest of you......let alone read about it.


So let me make use of your time now that I have your attention.



































You still there?



Ok-




So tomorrow we head on down to Southern (more south than us) Maryland to the produce auction.  Its run by Amish farmers, who practice organic farming, sell in bulk to peeps like us, and its one awesome time.
I'm looking forward to hopefully seeing familiar faces there, and the little Amish children running around barefooted and on the back of horses.  (it is quite an expierence.....and a beautiful one at that).


We WILL finally be opening our stand this weekend!!!

Whooo!!!


So how does it work?

Let me put it simply-


We (small time farmers who grow only a big enough graden to support our own appetites) Go to the Amish auction.
We bid on seasonal "duce." (farners talk for produce)
We bring it back on up here.
We sell it at comparable prices to any good local yokel and folk who happens to stop by our stand.
We "hopefully," make some money.

You ever see them watermelon stands on the way to Ocean Shitty? ( I mean City?)
Yah-  thats what they do too.  Bid on about 500 melons- hopefully get half the lot, and then resell.

Its how it works.

There is no way we could get quality produce the same way that these Amish farmers can.  Our soil is different.  Our acerage is forest preserve.  Our skill is in providing the quality- but not being the ones growing it.


So why do this?
So we can be "the local," you all talk about on your bumper stickers.
So we can work good work.
So we can worry, not about traffic but about the weather and how that will affect prodcution and growth, and prices of crop.
So we can be the ones to provide the quality. Tomatoes that are actually red when you cut them open. Watermelons that are sweet, and don't taste a thing like water.
So you can see the dirt still on the cucumber you are adding to your salad.
So you can know that the onion in your hand has passed through two hands before yours- The picker, the bagger, then you.
So when you talk about eating organically.  You actually are.
To do my ancestors proud.
To be in an American industry. Small.  Simple.  Important.








*sigh.


Someone que up a country song or something please-  I'm getting all heartfelt.


The second countdown we have going on is Broodyboo---


This Monday or Tuesday she will hopefully be hatching out some eggs- eleven (as of last count ) total.

Excited more so this time.  All eggs seem well, and Momma hen a bit more healthy, and relaxed looking.  She has even gotten off her nest a number of times (on hot days) to eat and drink (and kick ass)




Well I don't really know how to end this entry soooooooo I'll end with a quote

“Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.” 
― Anthony G. Oettinger

Debut-in

We got lots o flowahs poppin up around the yahd.

Thought I'd snap some pictures of them to share.  The flowers are too pretty not to share with others.

I am noooooo photographer.  I snap pictures with my phone and sometimes luck is on my side to get a good one.  Most times my phone does a good job grabbing the same image I'm seeing:)

Hope you enjoy.

The climbing rose in the front yard.  I think they are called peace roses..... I dunno though. I just call them roses.

"I'm ready for my close up Mr. Demille." 

"Suddenly Seymour." 

“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.”  

“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.” 

The Tailess Wondersaur

Last night was a late night.


We had some errands to do and then get baby girl in bed.   By the time we were done it was 11:30 when I went to go close up the chickens and ducks.


There was one pullet still out.  It was one of the new girls.
Since they haven't quite learned that I'm not the "official," boss of them, (the rooster is) they are usually pretty tame and easy to get in the coop.

Shine a light on them- they stay still- and you grab them and place them back in the coop.


Well.  Not tonight.


As I reach for the bird, she dives off the coop and into the yard, face first into a little hole in the ground.

A slight chuckle at the sight of a chicken taking a nose dive into the ground as I walk over to her.

She is still
Face in the ground.

I'm trying to be light on my feet.

Shine her with the flashlight, right in the eyeballs.
She won't see me coming.

I grab her.

She.....


flies.


Clear across the yard.

I'm....


stunned...


I have never seen a chicken fly that sort of distant, while screeching,  and then as if she never existed.....disappear into the moonlit night sky.


She was gone.

Was there ever really a chicken there?

Was I dreaming?

I look down at the hole she had just flown out of.

No sign of her there.

Not even a cloud of dust.

I shine the flashlight alll over the yard.

No.
chicken.

I look down again, and whats in my hand?

Something soft.
Warm.
Fluffly.
Something that smells a bit like....
pee.

Its feathers.

But no chicken.

I realize....

I'm holding her tail.

But not the chicken.


So as I look at the clump of tail in my hand, a thought occurs to me.

Chickens really are dinosaurs.
Not only do they screech, have the ability to fly across the yard at night, are mindless meat machines, but they also have the ability to lose their tails like their great lizard cousins?!


I swallow hard.

I look back at the coop.

I hear quiet clucking.
Plotting?

I am caring for a sum total of 45 shin high dinosaurs.

Its a full on Jurassic Park in my back yard.

Roll with me.

You ever hear the saying "like water off a ducks back?"

Cause water rolls right off- it doesn't soak into their feathers.

Well I thought about this yesterday and today, while the rain showers did their thing.

And I watched the ducks and chickens.

While the chickens stand in the rain, get soaked and look miserable.

The water does indeed- roll right off the ducks back.

But not only that-  the play.

and play hard.

A rainy day is as good as a sunny day to the ducks- if not even better.

So while it pours, gets muddy, and looks "icky," out.

The ducks, splash, play in the mud, get dirty, talk loud enough you can hear them over the wind, jump from puddle to puddle, and embrace the downpour as if it were brought on---just for them.

The chickens.

Just stand, look miserable, and wear disappointment terribly.

The ducks have alot to teach.

ChickyBoomBoom

This title is not to make light of things.


But the broody Mommas eggs didn't make it.



I was sick to my stomach.

 But as the years go on doing this sort of "work,"  the more prepared your heart becomes for disappointment.  (but as the years go on-  it does not break any less for the actual disappointment)

SO ---   The eggs were rotten.
You could smell it.

Having dealt with rotten eggs under a broody hen before I knew that they had the potential of exploding.


(yikes)

So as my brother and sister in law watched (eventually in horror)

Take them out from broodyboo
and
I chucked them.



Not too far though
Cause I wanted to see at what stage of development that these chicks might have been in.

curiosity

BOOM

BOOM again-


The eggs explode as I chuck.


Then

Drop.

So I go and check out the egg that "dropped."

Crack its shell

Lo and behold

a chick.

Gasp.  Gasp.  Gasp.

And pass.


As my brother and sister in law watch.


sad.


( so sorry guys-- I was NOT expecting any kind of chick.)

SO what happened.


there was a chick - that was developed.

But not fully.

The chick should have been at breaking point of getting out of the shell. (which it was not)
It should have been "peeping."
It should have been cracking the shell on its own.
There was plenty of yolk still left.
There was poop in the shell(yes poop)
There was a chick not fully there yet
and the poor little thing was days passed its "due date."

So did I kill it-
I feel like I did.

But as the other eggs burst open (some with chicks long gone and stinking pretty bad) I knew this one had no chance.


But that does not make me feel any better about it.

A life is a life.
A heartbeat a heartbeat.
A chick is a chick
A baby is a baby.



As far as Momma-  she sat on an empty nest for all of fifteen minutes.

I grabbed twelve more eggs and gave them to her.
I did not "stick," them under her
But instead "asked," if she wanted them-

She excepted them all.

Gently rolled them and tucked them, as she clucked.


What happened to the other clutch??
Your guess as good as mine.

temp? first time momma? one bad rotten egg? young rooster ?  Who knows.

But there is a second chance.

So we will see if this clutch hatches.

I pray they do-





On other farm stuff notes-

The bees are in. Yea!!!!

We got the new batch of chickens!!! (yea again!)
The old hens are still with us!!!! (((((shhhhhh---- don't tell David but YEAAAAAAAA!!)
and it was our daughters first birthday --- (amazing yea<3)
(can't believe she is one)
(............wow.......)


The ducks are good- and ooooh so sweet.   I love watching their agenda.   We definitely have three hens out of the bunch and Phil is the only male.  Prettttttty excited about that!







SO that all I have for tonight-.

It's like that.

You ever read a book, so good, that you know it has quietly and dramatically changed your life.  Your view point is slightly different.  You remember certain quotes and repeat them daily.  Maybe there is a chapter that you'll never forget?
It's like that.

You ever been away for the ocean so long that when you get the chance to go back to it, your driving and you smell the sweet salt before you see the water? And you swear you could float the rest of the way there?
It's like that.


When winter feels eternally long, that when spring arrives, you cannot wait to feel the grass on your bare feet?
It's like that.


It's the joy of an early sunrise when no one else is awake.  You feel that God has risen the sun in such a precise and colorful way, that only you think he has drawn it just for you?  Right then and there.

Its the feeling of relief when you slip into bed at night and all is quiet.  Your belly is blessedly full, and your lungs are breathing the cool night air, in and out.
It's like that.

You ever have a day that was just so good you wish you could repeat it?  You talk about it for years, as if it just happened yesterday?
It's like that.



The warmth of colorful Christmas lights that bring you back to wonderful childhood memories.










The taste of candy.
The smell of the atmosphere after a storm passed
The unexpected feeling of existence when someone tells you they love you.
The question of existence when you look at the stars.
The sight of your favorite stuffed animal, that no one knows you still have.
The comfort of coming home.
The smell of hay
The excitement of an upcoming trip
The feeling of the earth in your hands
The comfort of a warm blanket
The breeze of the summer wind thru an open window when you pass by.
The feeling of a dog leaning against you for a loving pat.
The chirping of a newly born chick
Green roots sprouting from the ground so fiercely that if you just listen hard enough, you can hear them doing so.
The blue glow of snow on a full moon winter night.




Your favorite song and your friends there to dance along with you.
It's your husbands love
Your wife's joy
Your mothers embrace
Your fathers smile
Your brothers laugh
Your sisters understanding.














































































It's all like that.



But it's also more.
So much more.


There are no words.
No image.
No emotion that could fully describe how i feel when I look at our daughter.
















                     

She ignites my bones.

God I thank you.


   
On my knees I thank you
For the miracle, she is.
The gift you have given us.
For this year of vast changes.
For this new role
For the tender care
For the music of her heartbeat.

For the love I never knew could exist.














Happy happy first birthday sweet Reveille.

You are poem, written by God<3

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