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.”