Country Boys Go To Town

The Keeper of The Flame, The Pied Piper, and The Farmer's Shadow have all spent exactly four full weeks in town over the last eight weeks.  They had no choice, they were told to get in the car~so they went.  We are blessed to spend time in a town that desperately wants to be a suburb, but its not yet found a city to belong to. The town once resided in the country, and it seems to think it still does...but now that we live in a true country setting(okay, we think it is...we have to drive 40 minutes to get to a WalMart and our nearest neighbor is a mile away as the crow flies, isn't that true country?) we kinda chuckle.  This is a town.  A bonafide, curb-enhanced, paved, town.  Complete with two gas stations and four restaurants.

For boys who have only grown up in the country, and on a farm...coming into town is different.

First of all: no peeing outside. This is an actual issue.  Country boys are used to watering the tires.  Even some country girls can do it (I heard tell). But in town they will have NONE of it! So zip up those pants and wait until you're inside.

Secondly: Please don't flush the toilet for fun.  In town you have to pay for that water going out, and the water coming in!  

Safe-fun only: My country boys tend to be the knife tossing, hatchet wielding, hole digging kinda boys.  But in town...well...the police aren't so happy about eight year old knife throwing boys.  Especially when they think the best targets are the trees in the front yard, next to the road...

And though we have lived in a recreation of the WWI trench wars...we don't want to go back, so please leave the turf in place now.

"What CAN we do?" , they ask after the Wife has shot down any hope they had for outdoor fun.

"How about you build a fort with sticks for pine cones? You could make an obstacle course and time each other running through it. OR fold laundry!"

"What's the fun in any of that?", they ask.

I have no answer for them.

An hour later the Wife found this in the back yard....

Its definitely big enough for pine cones, a large dog, or an eight, ten and twelve year old...but they say they built it for the six, four and two year old (whatever).

And as a side note: this structure is NOT safe! Those logs are all stacked on top of each other. There's no stability at all.  The six, four and two year old did not get to play long in it, before a wall fell down and there were tears. Thankfully no cracked sculls.

"Girl" chores: we aren't gender neutral around here.  There are specific "boy" chores and "girl" chores on our farm. The boys do the hard work and heavy labor.  Basically, the nasty stuff the Wife doesn't want to have to do again.  Like cleaning the barn, stacking hay, and trimming goat feet. What on earth do boys do in town?  The Keeper of the Flame has cut the grass(which is the size of a postage stamp) twice! And I fear it's not going to come back it's so trimmed! The garbage has gone out of every room...hourly, every day, just to give the Pied Piper some work to do!  In a final act of desperation, the Wife gave the Farmer's Shadow a "girl" chore: unloading the dishwasher.  The poor boy, he's a sweetheart, he did it, but he nearly cried as he began putting away silverware.  The other two hid-I'm not sure if they were concerned that they might have to help, or just felt the Shadow's shame.  Since then, they have been folding laundry, loading dishwashers, washing pots and pans, vacuuming and sweeping. The house has never been so clean with ten people in it!

Country boys in town find trees to climb-usually in front of some poor lady who never heard of tree climbing children, or maybe had only read about them in a book and cannot believe that the Wife would permit her children to climb a tree in a public place.

Country boys end up on the roof of the garage. Or the house. Or have one on the garage roof and one on the house roof and begin sending signals back and forth using mirrors.

Country boys spend a LOT of time at the beach with a net and goggles trying to catch the elusive cat fish they imagine lives under the pier.  They find dead fish and dissect them in front of all the other children on the beach.  They get dark and dark-er tan.  

Country boys say "HI!" to every passer-by, and pet every dog.  They laugh loud and shout to each other when they walk down the sidewalk.

In the end...they will go back to the country and talk all winter about the fun they had.  When they were made to use the bathroom EVERY time they had to "go", when they build forts for little siblings, and they only had to do "girl chores". In the end, it will be a fond memory...when the Country boys went to town.

To Mow a Lawn

The Keeper of the Flame has had the esteemed job of mowing the lawn. Not just your average postage stamp of grass, but rather a couple acres. By push mower.
As parents we were super impressed with our forward thinking that the mower we gave him to push is gas powered. The Keeper of the Flame dilligently pushed for three weeks of the July heat index beyond 100F. The lawn is large enough to make it divisible into five smaller parts so that it was five days of an hour or two of lawn mowing. Small complaints were breathed, but no large blow-ups. And then the day came when the request was made, "I don't need any birthday gifts. Save the money to buy a riding lawnmower." This is the way to any mother's heart, through humility and self denial. Willing to give away all worldly pleasures for a simple riding mower with which he could bless his parents and continue to cut the lawn. So when the neighbor was selling his riding mower, the Wife was willing to pay whatever he was asking for her dear sweet boy. The haggle was short, and the mower drove to its new home. At dinner that night the conversation was light and good humor abounded. Tomorrow the Keeper of the Flame would be cutting the full lawn in one day. Everyone was jovial! Soon the conversation became something new to the Wife's ears..."Hey, Pop! Could we hook up a trailer to the mower to haul water buckets?"
...Such a thoughtful son, she thought, helping do his brother's chores...
"Pop, I could drive the mower to weed the bean field with the neighbors.."
...ahh, everyone should have a son so willing to be a blessing to everyone...
"and we could hook a trailer up to the back for the canoes going down to the canal, maybe we could tweek the engine to go a little faster? How do we lift it for four-wheel drive? do you think I could drive it to the gas station to get ice cream?"
...eh?...who's child was this?
And this was when the Wife realized...she had just bought her son his first vehicle...which just happens to cut the lawn.

(He is still a sweet boy, thoughtful, and diligent.)

The Adventures of Dear Farmer and Indoor Plumbing

Disclaimer:this is probably one of the more disgusting posts. But in our family everything is shared news. Everything! It is part of Dear Farmer we love. However, the Wife does not believe that this is part of country hospitality....though, should you visit, you should know this beforehand.


No, We do not have an outhouse. Yes, we do have indoor plumbing. However, we have the indoor plumbing from when indoor plumbing was first made. And then in the ninteen sixties someone thought it looked old, put a new pink face on it, and made it appear hip and trendy.
A mere fifty years after the facelift, the bones of the original plumbing are brittle and clogged...and needing replacing.
Insert Dear Farmer's newest adventure...indoor plumbing.
To give Dear Farmer more time to research the "how to" his family has come up with a jingle you might have heard in a playground, " If its yellow, let it mellow. If its brown, flush it down." This is the core of playground humor, and reality in this old farmhouse. Well, reality until Dear Farmer has figured out how to fix and replace the old plumbing.
Insert the family joke: "but what do you do if its green?"
Now you can screw up your face, giggle and laugh. But really...what do you do?
Here in lies the adventure every time we open the toilet lid. What did the person who used the bathroom before you do? What did they do with the green?

Raspberries for Breakfast

We have the most giant patch of red luscious raspberries right outside our back door. 
When the Wife was a littlest girl she had a raspberry patch that she used to eat breakfast in. A cup of milk from the kitchen and out the door to the raspberries for a morning graze.
 
This morning, while the Wife was cooking oatmeal over the cooktop outside, the Chicken Dinner Farmer's Daughter followed her out.  But she didn't stay with the Wife.  She continued past the Wife and began a morning graze...in the raspberry patch.  She was happy and completely content eating berries. 
The Wife did finish up the oatmeal, and took it inside for everyone for breakfast.  Chicken Dinner happily brought in a few berries to add to her oatmeal, as well as a few to share with siblings.

How can you not just LOVE raspberries from your own backyard for breakfast?

Low Stress Farming

Dear Farmer came in yesterday and did his electrician thing. Wired up the outlets for a brilliant chuck wagon, the "sock" and the "shoe". Then we took a walk in the garden with children howling beside us (they are the local natives). He decided to get gas and took three daughters with him. When he came home, it still wasn't bedtime. What is this strange life? We call it " low stress".  No need for a pot of coffee and an hour of pacing to get worked up enough to walk out the door. No bombardment of phone calls or emails. For anyone wondering if it's worth it to make a major lifestyle change or have a stroke...do the change!!!

What we changed to:
Pay cut
Tiny house
Smaller herd
Bigger garden
More time
New job
Moved location

No Regrets!

Country Hospitality: Example E

Part of Country Hospitality is making sure that you don't care what the other person looks like...the Wife had just gotten out of her robe and thrown her hair helter-skelter(not suburb ready by any means, not even a lick of make-up on!) The neighbor was a little more polished than the Wife.  She had been to the store.
She lives down the road quite a way.
She drives past the farm everyday, saw that we were outside and thought, "Today is it! I'm stopping!"
So glad she did.
She grew up on a beef cattle ranch in N Dakota.  Where her oldest brother(who just turned 80) carries on.  His son, in his 60s is trying to convince his dad it might be time to take it a little slower.  At least, just ride the ATV, instead of the horses, to check the fence lines. She's the youngest of 12 children!  Most of them still live in N Dakota, she's one of the few who doesn't and misses being there with the family.
She made this comment, I think you'll love: "Farming works this way. You clock in when you're five and you clock out when you die."
She's right.  I gets in your blood.  The hardwork, the ethic, the appreciation, the smell of fresh air, the quiet of the breeze and sound of the grass.
It's a great place to raise a family, that's for sure!
Now her son, grown with a family of his own, raised on his parents small farm down the road-lives in town. Guess what he does every weekend?  Takes his children to the farm.  So they can grow up with a taste of what he grew up with, which is what she considered so important, with a taste of what her father considered the most important way to raise his family.
Apparently she's familiar with Country Hospitality...because she drove up in the driveway and popped out to have a chat.

Things...they are a changin'....

Change is a tough thing.

The world changes seasons, we grow up, grow older, grow wiser, dye our hair, go gray...
In our world right now, we are changing locations.

We have lived in the North for our entire marriage.  We are now moving South.  It's not in the deep south.  It's the northern part of a central state that is south of where we currently are.
The move, in this case, gives us time.
Time...something we never have enough of...
The move gives us four extra weeks of growing season a year.  Deep dark and rich soil.
More time to grow in the garden...more time to grow hay...more time to enjoy life.
The vision is the same.
The people will be the same.
The location will be different.

Change.  Sometimes people run from it.
We are embracing it!

The Bear Cub Puppy Grows Up

Yesterday the Haus Frau Farmer's Daughter had a long and beautiful day to spend outside.  She spent it out there with the former "bear cub" puppy, 'Mate. 'Mate has grown into a ruggedly handsome aussie-teen.  He's tall, sleek, and has just enough puppy left in his face to call him "adorable" as well.
The Haus Frau Farmer's Daughter has been teaching him not to jump up on anything...
this is a huge ordeal for this breed.  The instinct of the Australian Shepherd is to stand and lean on cattle to move them, if that doesn't work, they move to the front for the nose.
Interestingly enough, no one wants a dog jumping up on them after the rain with muddy paws, or on a Sunday morning as we make a mad dash for the van to get to church on time! Nor does anyone want a dog nipping them at their nose if they aren't doing what it wants.  So, training was necessary on this level.
'Mate has been doing great!
He also has instinct to herd the animals to a location where he can see them all.  This means every chicken that goes behind the garage, the house, or in the woods is getting flushed out and driven home. 'Mate is quite the task master, we've watched chickens pant because he won't stop.
Of course, the Haus Frau is finding that 'Mate demands her attention at all times.  There's no downtime for a working dog-until the sun goes down.  He loves working all day!  Doesn't matter what the weather, doesn't matter if the Haus Frau has sniffles, or would really rather go to see a movie.
Responsibilities always come first on a farm!
The Haus Frau Farmer's Daughter is doing good at training her first farm puppy/dog. It hasn't been the "cake walk" she thought it'd be, but she's making it a sweet time anyways!

Dear Farmer's Morning Call

It is slightly unusual that Dear Farmer will call from the barn.
If we get a phone call, it's usually not good.
"I need help!" is most often the message.
So when the phone rang this morning, the Wife shouted-"It's Pop!"-before she even answered.  Children began scurrying and searching for shoes.  The house was in general chaos.

On the other end, this is what we heard:
"There is the cutest baby goat down here!  He's about four hours old."

A hip-hooray from the children went the cheer, and out the door they flew!
Babies are the chocolate of the job, with whipping creame and a cherry on top!  Baby Goats are nearly the most adorable thing we have ever seen.  They even rank higher than baby ducks(which are pretty darned cute as well).
And so, the children rushed down to say "good morning" to our newest member of the farm family...Peppercorn.  And a hearty congrats to his mom, Cumin.

We don't mind these phone calls from the barn ONE BIT!

Multi-tasking...

There are a lot of things Dear Farmer can do.
Multi-tasking, however, should not be one of them.
Dear Farmer has a habit of working in his head on a project, "listening" to the Wife talk, all while actually working on another project.
Surely I exaggerate, you say? No.  I am totally serious.
The fact that he does this, and does it on a very (all too) frequent basis, can fool most people into thinking that he can do it well.
The Wife concedes...usually he does do it well.
EXCEPT!  Except if it is late at night.  Late at night and driving.  Not a good combination.

Example: Dear Farmer and the Wife were out on a date.  Another "hot date" to the local farm-implement store and lumber yard.  While in these locations the Wife had opportunity to think on the present "tiny house" project we have going.  Think and think...and then release on Dear Farmer.  The conversation on the ride home was lively and funny and insightful.  And un-knowingly to the Wife...Dear Farmer was building the ideas into the plans of the "tiny house" in his head.  He was measuring lengths and angles while the Wife continued on the conversation about wash-tubs and clothes lines...
Then it happened.
As we were driving down the highway, approaching our turn-off to home...Dear Farmer didn't slow.  At all.
Not even a little. And the turn was coming up really fast!
The Wife did a little yelp ("turn.").  He didn't respond.
The Wife did a little more forceful yelp ("Turn!").  He blinked and looked around bewildered.
The Wife got all out bossy ("TURN, NOW!").
 Dear Farmer finally responded, "WHY? WHERE ARE WE?!"
"At the ROAD we LIVE DOWN!", the Wife elaborated in a rather forceful voice.
Dear Farmer yanked the steering wheel, stomped on the brake and turned (not a delicate movement by any means).
"What were you DOING?!", the Wife laid into Dear Farmer.
Sheepishly, Dear Farmer responded..."I was working on the tiny house, and driving home from Illinois on a Sunday night."
So we could either say that Dear Farmer was multi-tasking...or displaying signs of early-onslaught dimensia.  We'll go with the multi-tasking.
Dear Farmer, being his wonderful multi-tasking self, was figuring out the gutter system for the tiny houses, thinking about his upcoming commute to see us at the family garden on the Illinois farm and then returning to the Northern Farm on a Sunday evening, all while talking with the Wife on our drive home from our "hot date".
But late night, the worlds in his head, and in reality clashed...and he almost missed the turn to home.

Lots of laughter, lots of elbowing, and some good chuckles from the Farmer's Daughters, the Nordic Ninja, and the Wife.
We love our Dear Farmer...even while he's multi-tasking.

Hey! They clean up pretty well!

Permit me a proud moment of bragging...because I have good cause, not bad character...

This past weekend the Wife had the pleasure of working at the Farmer's Daughters' Prom.  The Wife had the joy of shopping for dresses with the Farmer's Daughter and the Haus Frau Farmer's Daughter.  We looked at hairstyles, accessories, shoes...lots and lots of shoes...we talked logistics of time-frames and conversations with people-we-really-like versus other-people.  It was a pleasure to spend a month of planning and seeing the results of age, maturity, and life-experience.  We had a great time.  Then came the moment of truth...the Wife left the Farmer's Daughters with the beautician and went to the Prom location for set up and preparation.  Having already been briefed by the Haus Frau Farmer's Daughter on good photography-know-how(the Wife was the photographer #2 for the event)...the Wife was off and running!
It was between the pictures of the appetizer table and drink fountain table that the Wife was able to see the most beautiful girls in the event walk through the door.  The Farmer's Daughters, with their BFFs(who are also farm-girls) walked in like Greek Goddesses(a look I think they were pleased to have attained).  They floated on clouds, laughed liked music, and conversed with ease...making all in their presence feel like royalty. And all the Wife could think was, "They clean up pretty well!"
See, covered in the muck and damp from the rain.  In the middle of feeding a bottle to a calf, or hay to a horse, a farm-girl is pretty impressive.  It wasn't a charade for an evening.  They weren't playing a part.  They really are these beautiful Goddess looking ladies on a day-to-day basis, just cleaned up for the "Ball". They are beautiful on the inside as they muck stalls, wipe off grime and bend down to clean gooky-noses all out of love. Daily they are disheveled and dirty with no make up on...But when that farm-girl can get cleaned up and walk with the best-of-them(in high stiletto heels) in a situation so opposite from her day-to-day...THAT'S pretty impressive.

Dear Farmer Places an Order Online

Dear Farmer is of the opinion that phones are for calling and talking to people...not texting, snap-chatting, insta-gram-ing, taking pictures, or reading on.
Dear Farmer likes to do business with a handshake...not bids, quotes or contracts.
Dear Farmer likes to buy things from a person...not the self-checkout, vending machine, or online.

These days aren't like the days when Dear Farmer was a boy.  Bread costs more than a nickle a loaf, gas costs more than ten cents a gallon, and there are some things you just order online.
"Back in my day..." Dear Farmer will begin a story, and the children groan.
"Pop! Get in the twenty-first century!", they say.  But that's not when Dear Farmer was born.
So, ordering online is a big "to-do" when Dear Farmer has to do it.  He only orders from companies that he's dealt with in the past...ones that have people on the other end.  Then spends hours "one-touch" typing in the desired items. It's so painful, none of us can watch him anymore.  He has to do it himself!
Then, after hours and hours of filling a cart....he calls in the Wife to checkout....
He has learned that the quick typing and quick clicking is un-nerving...so he usually tries to leave the room when it comes to checking out.  There are some times he has to be present for the orders because they need special instructions...he's usually found rubbing his head for the headache that comes on afterward.

No, these aren't the days that Dear Farmer grew up in.
It only takes two days to get something from an online order, he doesn't pay extra, and we don't have to wait at the mailbox for the delivery.
Pictures of animals are sent instantly from farmer to farmer with questions, concerns, or for sale.
Decisions take seconds, not weeks.
Modern machinery can do the work of three-hundred horses.
His tractor can do 45 mph on the road!

"Those Good Old Days", we remind Dear Farmer, "you still get to live.  You walk among your herd, hear the softness of the hay being munched during feeding, touch the tops of the grass as it begins to seed-head. You work in the beauty of creation every day! One afternoon ordering an automatic chicken door that's timed to close at night and open at the break of day(so that none of us have to do it)...that's really not that bad!"

Dear Farmer is Inside Too Long

The snow returned for it's last few appearances before spring.  It throws the whole family into a "tizzy".  First of all, we can no longer find half the gloves.  Secondly, no one is really excited about playing in the white stuff AGAIN.  Lastly, Dear Farmer is anxious to get on with spring preparations, and it places everything he wants to do on 'HOLD'.
When Dear Farmer has to 'hold' for the snow to melt away, it usually means he has to do paperwork.  Because he's done everything else there could possibly be to do.
And Dear Farmer would rather not do paperwork.  Ever.
On days when paperwork is inevitable morning chores takes a lot longer. And then Dear Farmer
d-r-a-g-s himself inside.
Dear Farmer drinks about two pots of coffee.
Snuggles the littles.
Gets the biggers moving.
Eats breakfast.
Fiddles with the woodstove.
Makes several laps through the house commenting of the deplorable amount of stuff this family has.
And finally makes it into his office to sit down and do paperwork.
Then he spends hours as a caged animal in the office.
We hear thumping and grumping, the occasional bark.
By the fifth time that he's asked "When's lunch?" and it's only ten o'clock in the morning...we know it's going to be a long day.
So, here is the conclusion we have drawn: Dear Farmer doesn't like paperwork.  We had a pretty good idea before, but now we are sure.
Also, Dear Farmer needs to be outside where there are no walls, the scenery is constantly changing, and the jobs are endless(unless there's snow and ice mix with windchill temperatures in the single digits or lower).
We are all anxious for the spring-like weather to reappear, so that Dear Farmer can go about being the happy farmer we prefer.

Scrubbing Out the Muck Boots

When was the last time you had on your "to do" list...scrub out children's muck boots. ????
It ended up on the top of my list today.  I'm not exactly sure how that happened, I was doing a pretty good job of making sure that there were more important things to do all the time.
But I had it there...and the children saw it...and they expected me to do it....ugh.  Thankfully it was a nice day...
The Wife dug in.  The children were no where to be found.  It was nasty! Inside the boots were muck, mud, leaves, twigs, bugs, and I think I saw a frog-leg...
But now they are clean! Well...one pair is clean.  Four more pairs to go.
There will be a lecture soon: What Muck Boots Are For
One would think it would be a "no-brainer"...well, apparently not for my children...

Family Series(Part 2)..Honorable Son No.1: Your Future American Farmer

There are some relationships in families that are questionable.  For example: how does a mother who is ultra-athletic get along with a daughter who is ultra-lazy?
In our family the question was: How is Dear Farmer (farmer-extraordinaire) going to get along with Honorable Son No.1 (philosophical-egg head)?
The answer is: surprisingly good.
In the beginning of Honorable Son No.1's life it was rough.  Neither father nor son understood eachother and both frustrated the Wife daily.
But 20 years later they are friends.  Good friends.  They go to eachother when there are problems, build eachother up when there are difficulties, challenge weaknesses and combine strengths.
So it came as no surprise to the Wife when Honorable Son No.1 changed his major from "Mathematics and Sciences with a desire for a PhD in sciences relating to epigenetics" to "Marketing with a certification as an independant organic inspector for the USDA".  His passion for health related to your food hasn't changed, but he's more interested in developing a relationship with the consumer and the scientist...and less likely to sit in front of a desk and test tubes with no human interaction.
Today Honorable Son No.1 is working as a Farm Market Manager for a wonderful four-generation farm and orchard.  He's a Certified Independant Organics Inspector. He writes for many blogs, but especially his own: Farmingthedream.com.
He has a passion as an Intellectual Agrigarian, like Thomas Jefferson.  But he understands the practicality of life, like Dear Farmer.  He is your best friend, a man who knows your food and where it comes from.  And he is your worst nightmare, a man who knows your food and where it comes from.

What Country-Folk Don't See

The trip to the City was eye-opening for both Dear Farmer and the Wife.  There's oodles of ladies walking around in fashionable muck-boots and riding-boots...they've never seen and ounce of muck or manure. There were no animals in a ten square radius of where we were.  There were lots of stop-lights at nearly every corner.  There were lights absolutely EVERYWHERE, we couldn't see the moon there were so many lights at night, it looked like daytime.  There were more cars than we count in a month.  There were so many restaurants to choose from, and then you could go to an indoor gym on each corner or strip-mall.
Country-folk don't see things like this.  When we look outside we see fields and trees, barns and equipment, fences, the moon and the stars. When Country-folk go to town, we don't dress like we do for the barn work.  So far as all those stop-lights goes...Dear Farmer has always said, "If the town has to get a stop light, it's time for us to move, it's getting too crowded."
For the record, Dear Farmer and the Wife are pleased here in the Country.  A day away from where you live is fun.  To see all the things you don't see on a daily basis.  It was wonderful for us and then to go home to what we know and love.