If you have been following us, you may have noticed that the Little Farmhand does a pretty good job of being available on a moment's notice to work with Dear Farmer. Indeed, he does!
The Little Farmhand is the smallest of the Farm-boy trio. He's the one who has to ask Dear Farmer, "Hey, Pop! Wha'chya wearing today?" Then, he puts on the choice clothing (his size) as well. If Dear Farmer is wearing a hat, the Little Farmhand has one on. If Dear Farmer shaves his head, the Little Farmhand wants the same haircut. You get the picture. So it should come as no surprise to anyone that if Dear Farmer pops in the house and grabs some tools there's quickly the Little Farmhand saying, "Can I come, Pop? Can I?"
If it's during the workday, and Monday through Friday, the answer's no. There's weeping and moaning, tears and hugs, but eventually he comes to grips with it. However, on Sundays, the answer's "YES!" Sunday is the day when during the workday, there's a little shadow following Dear Farmer. And let me tell you, that shadow has a smile that's beaming from ear to ear!
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Dear Farmer and Family stop traffic
Yes, you read the title correctly. No, we didn't go walking out in public, we literally stopped traffic on the road...here's the story...
Dear Farmer ordered equipment, shipping here from Texas. Should have been here a week ago, and the fields need the (fill in the blank) on them, Dear Farmer was getting antsy. So, Dear Farmer is out on a date with the Wife (awww) to Menard's and while in the check out line he gets the phone call...equipment is coming on a semi truck at 6pm. Date, done. Dear Farmer and the Wife scoot back home to be ready for the semi-truck to come. He says to the Wife, "Well, our date isn't really over. We're just re-directing it to the road outside the house. You can make sure cars stop while I'm on the tractor unloading the equipment." How romantic, Dear Farmer, Wife, and semi-truck driver...in the middle of the road unloading farming implements.
Upon arrival home, however, the children see Dear Farmer and Wife. "You're home! You're home!" Is shouted inside the house and out in the yard. Date, done...officially. Up onto the instructor seat goes the Little Farmhand. Looking down, the Wife has a couple very sweet little Farmer's Daughters holding her hands. Out goes the entourage to the road, the dog and couple cats and a chicken following.
There were no cars while we were awaiting the arrival of the semi-truck, but once he pulled up, suddenly traffic started! Thankfully, the near-by Veggie Farmer came over and helped stop traffic on one side of the semi (The semi was blocking his driveway, so he really had no choice, but he did help so kindly. Thank you, Veggie-Man!), while the Wife and Farmer's Daughters stopped traffic on the other side of the semi. Our usual protocol is: stop car. make sure it is safe on other side of truck. allow car to go ahead. while car passes, smile and wave. The cars were coming in a steady stream, so we were needing to stop three or four at a time, and alternating directions of traffic, this was quite a task. The Farmer's Daughters, however, looked too sweet while smiling and waving! It may have been the Tu-Tu's they were wearing.
About a half hour later, traffic was able to flow freely again, the semi-driver and truck were on their way further north, and Dear Farmer had his implements and was looking forward to using them the very next day.
Dear Farmer ordered equipment, shipping here from Texas. Should have been here a week ago, and the fields need the (fill in the blank) on them, Dear Farmer was getting antsy. So, Dear Farmer is out on a date with the Wife (awww) to Menard's and while in the check out line he gets the phone call...equipment is coming on a semi truck at 6pm. Date, done. Dear Farmer and the Wife scoot back home to be ready for the semi-truck to come. He says to the Wife, "Well, our date isn't really over. We're just re-directing it to the road outside the house. You can make sure cars stop while I'm on the tractor unloading the equipment." How romantic, Dear Farmer, Wife, and semi-truck driver...in the middle of the road unloading farming implements.
Upon arrival home, however, the children see Dear Farmer and Wife. "You're home! You're home!" Is shouted inside the house and out in the yard. Date, done...officially. Up onto the instructor seat goes the Little Farmhand. Looking down, the Wife has a couple very sweet little Farmer's Daughters holding her hands. Out goes the entourage to the road, the dog and couple cats and a chicken following.
There were no cars while we were awaiting the arrival of the semi-truck, but once he pulled up, suddenly traffic started! Thankfully, the near-by Veggie Farmer came over and helped stop traffic on one side of the semi (The semi was blocking his driveway, so he really had no choice, but he did help so kindly. Thank you, Veggie-Man!), while the Wife and Farmer's Daughters stopped traffic on the other side of the semi. Our usual protocol is: stop car. make sure it is safe on other side of truck. allow car to go ahead. while car passes, smile and wave. The cars were coming in a steady stream, so we were needing to stop three or four at a time, and alternating directions of traffic, this was quite a task. The Farmer's Daughters, however, looked too sweet while smiling and waving! It may have been the Tu-Tu's they were wearing.
About a half hour later, traffic was able to flow freely again, the semi-driver and truck were on their way further north, and Dear Farmer had his implements and was looking forward to using them the very next day.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Dear Farmer get's the "bird"
There was someone who once said, "When a chicken looks at you with a gleam in it's eye...it's giving you the "bird"." If you've been around chickens in mass quantity, you'd know it's true. There is something a little disconcerting about large quantities of foul.
Dear Farmer doesn't really like to raise chickens, but they act as our veterinarians. They follow the cattle and clean up the pasture of cow patties and bugs, making the pasture a sanitary place for the grass to grow and cattle to roam a month later. So, in our situation, doing things natural and organic...the chickens are needed and the job is important. Bonus: Dear Farmer brings the Wife an egg or two!!!
There are meat birds that Dear Farmer raises as well. This is totally only out of necessity for eating. (People like to eat chickens, Dear Farmer will supply.) And our chickens are raised on fresh grass everyday. Dear Farmer built the movable pens, he's a genius!
Our need was for 200+ chickens to be vets and we have 1500+ for meat. Do some quick addition...this is more than 1700 birds at any given time.
Dear Farmer has to open the door to the chicken houses and step inside to fill feed buckets. That's when he gets it...the "bird". With a gleam in their eye, they look at Dear Farmer and all his wonderluss buckets of food and water. For some strange reason those chickens think Dear Farmer is only there to fulfill their desires. Should Dear Farmer not move fast enough, they will pounce on him!
Dear Farmer's been hen-pecked, nibbled, spurred and pooped on. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother him one bit...and his reply to getting the "bird"?
"In the end, it all tastes like chicken."
Dear Farmer doesn't really like to raise chickens, but they act as our veterinarians. They follow the cattle and clean up the pasture of cow patties and bugs, making the pasture a sanitary place for the grass to grow and cattle to roam a month later. So, in our situation, doing things natural and organic...the chickens are needed and the job is important. Bonus: Dear Farmer brings the Wife an egg or two!!!
There are meat birds that Dear Farmer raises as well. This is totally only out of necessity for eating. (People like to eat chickens, Dear Farmer will supply.) And our chickens are raised on fresh grass everyday. Dear Farmer built the movable pens, he's a genius!
Our need was for 200+ chickens to be vets and we have 1500+ for meat. Do some quick addition...this is more than 1700 birds at any given time.
Dear Farmer has to open the door to the chicken houses and step inside to fill feed buckets. That's when he gets it...the "bird". With a gleam in their eye, they look at Dear Farmer and all his wonderluss buckets of food and water. For some strange reason those chickens think Dear Farmer is only there to fulfill their desires. Should Dear Farmer not move fast enough, they will pounce on him!
Dear Farmer's been hen-pecked, nibbled, spurred and pooped on. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother him one bit...and his reply to getting the "bird"?
"In the end, it all tastes like chicken."
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Country Hospitality: Example B
Here in the country there's a need to feed people. Where the Wife grew up people didn't bring over casseroles and there was never a zucchini drop on a doorstep. Dinner invitations, though frequent, never involved butchering livestock or stacking hay. So, the Wife had to be educated in country hospitality, where people are fed...constantly. We grow double the amount of garden produce simply to give away. This is country hospitality.
So when the Wife first asked Dear Farmer for the garden plot (there were Honorable Sons No. 1 & 2 at the time), he made for the Wife a 20x40 plot well tilled. "Gracious", thought the Wife, "Who else are we feeding?" She quickly found out! As soon as the garden was producing (and over producing) Dear Farmer began making neighborly visits. First the relatives, then the neighbors, pretty soon even for the people in towns next door. Preserving keeps your pantry stocked, but also something on the shelf to give away!
Dear Farmer also began inviting people over for dinner when he and Wife were first married. Apparently everyday is a reason to invite families for dinner:
"We're hanging laundry on the line! Want to come over for spaghetti?"
"We're butchering the layers, how about you pluck feathers? We're having BBQ Chicken!"
"My wife broke her little toe today, would you like to come over and have Chinese?"
(not one of these is a joke, all true.)
As time has marched on, the Wife has learned the joy in Dear Farmer's need to feed. It's part of good old country hospitality!
Thursday, May 21, 2015
The "Loaded" Goat
Last year Honorable Son No.1 bought a milk goat. The idea was that he would have milk to sell to people who would request the product. However, Honorable Son No.1 was not able to do any of the work. So the work for the milking, feeding and watering was divided out among the siblings, with the agreement that the family got to keep milk first, the rest could be sold. Everything was going good...then the Farmer's Daughter and Honorable Son No.2 were given male twins. They were so sweet, the three goats. Alas, tragedy struck when the one runt male died, and just one of the twins remained with the milk goat. Being a family that has a maxim "Only profitable pets" the remaining buckling had a job to do. As the buckling grew it became clear he had plenty of testosterone...maybe too much? Honorable Son's new-to-him Cadillac was getting butted and defiled by the buck. Children were running inside crying because the buck bit their fingers, coats, mittens, etc. When the buck ripped Honorable Son's new jeans with his horns and gave son a nasty bruise; it was decided the buck would be better as sausage.
Never fear, with the buck into ground sausage, the milk goat was not lonely. With ten pairs of hands to pet her, and bowls of oatmeal willing to be shared with her, she was being loved and loaded with treats. She actually acted more like a family dog. She'd go on walks with the children, play in the yard with them, and cut the grass. All with the benefit of a quart of milk each morning (not bad production in the winter).
About February Dear Farmer (who had previously raised goats, so this isn't his first go-around) said to the Wife, "I think that goat's pregnant."
"How so?", said Wife.
"About three months.", replied Dear Farmer.
A goat's gestation being five months, that would be there should be a kid in two months time.
Two months went by with no kid. The next time Dear Farmer brought up the possible pregnant goat he was quickly squashed by the Wife, "The goat's just loaded with oatmeal." , she said.
For the rest of April and into May it has been the family joke:
Honorable Son No.1's goat looks like it swallowed a tic tac sideways.
The goat's loaded (with oatmeal).
She's not over-weight, she's under height.
Well, today came. It's the Farmer's Daughter's duty to milk this morning. She's running behind schedule and had to be gone in two minutes. Out she ran with the milk bucket, and back in she skipped with a smile on her face. "Won't be milking for a while!" She happily exclaimed.
Dear Farmer, the Wife, and the Farmer's Daughter all ran out to the goat pen where they found...
Two dear little kids and one proud mama goat. The kids are both female, one looks like the buck and one looks like the milk goat.
With tongue-in-cheek the Wife laughing said, "Well, I guess she was loaded with a little more than oatmeal."
Honorable Son No. 1 will not have any milk to sell this summer, we have a nursing mama goat. But NEXT year, we could have THREE loaded goats.
Never fear, with the buck into ground sausage, the milk goat was not lonely. With ten pairs of hands to pet her, and bowls of oatmeal willing to be shared with her, she was being loved and loaded with treats. She actually acted more like a family dog. She'd go on walks with the children, play in the yard with them, and cut the grass. All with the benefit of a quart of milk each morning (not bad production in the winter).
About February Dear Farmer (who had previously raised goats, so this isn't his first go-around) said to the Wife, "I think that goat's pregnant."
"How so?", said Wife.
"About three months.", replied Dear Farmer.
A goat's gestation being five months, that would be there should be a kid in two months time.
Two months went by with no kid. The next time Dear Farmer brought up the possible pregnant goat he was quickly squashed by the Wife, "The goat's just loaded with oatmeal." , she said.
For the rest of April and into May it has been the family joke:
Honorable Son No.1's goat looks like it swallowed a tic tac sideways.
The goat's loaded (with oatmeal).
She's not over-weight, she's under height.
Well, today came. It's the Farmer's Daughter's duty to milk this morning. She's running behind schedule and had to be gone in two minutes. Out she ran with the milk bucket, and back in she skipped with a smile on her face. "Won't be milking for a while!" She happily exclaimed.
Dear Farmer, the Wife, and the Farmer's Daughter all ran out to the goat pen where they found...
Two dear little kids and one proud mama goat. The kids are both female, one looks like the buck and one looks like the milk goat.
With tongue-in-cheek the Wife laughing said, "Well, I guess she was loaded with a little more than oatmeal."
Honorable Son No. 1 will not have any milk to sell this summer, we have a nursing mama goat. But NEXT year, we could have THREE loaded goats.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Dear Farmer goes to Market
To Market, to Market
To buy a fat pig
Home again, Home again
Jiggity Jig
No, Dear Farmer didn't go to market to buy a fat pig...but the verse is so quaint. He did, however, make his first trip to a farmer's market. In the past it has been Honorable Sons No.1 & 2 that have gone to market. This year the Farmer's Daughter was finally able to go. Honorable Son No.1 asked Dear Farmer if he would like to go as well. "Hmmm" , thought Dear Farmer, "Talk to people all day..."
"I'm in!", he declared!
Away they went to market. Honorable Son No.1, the Farmer's Daughter and Dear Farmer.
As the day progressed Dear Farmer had a wonderful time. Talking to the passer-by, jabbering with the other vendors, and laughing with his children. Dear Farmer was able to see what he already knew existed, a whole new neighborhood. Upon arrival home, Dear Farmer decided he wants to go to market once a week (if he's not cutting hay) with the children. The children would like to have him along as well.
The next time you are at your local farmer's market, enjoy talking to the people who grow your neighborhood produce! You might just pick up a pig and do a jiggity jig!
To buy a fat pig
Home again, Home again
Jiggity Jig
No, Dear Farmer didn't go to market to buy a fat pig...but the verse is so quaint. He did, however, make his first trip to a farmer's market. In the past it has been Honorable Sons No.1 & 2 that have gone to market. This year the Farmer's Daughter was finally able to go. Honorable Son No.1 asked Dear Farmer if he would like to go as well. "Hmmm" , thought Dear Farmer, "Talk to people all day..."
"I'm in!", he declared!
Away they went to market. Honorable Son No.1, the Farmer's Daughter and Dear Farmer.
As the day progressed Dear Farmer had a wonderful time. Talking to the passer-by, jabbering with the other vendors, and laughing with his children. Dear Farmer was able to see what he already knew existed, a whole new neighborhood. Upon arrival home, Dear Farmer decided he wants to go to market once a week (if he's not cutting hay) with the children. The children would like to have him along as well.
The next time you are at your local farmer's market, enjoy talking to the people who grow your neighborhood produce! You might just pick up a pig and do a jiggity jig!
Monday, May 18, 2015
Little Farm-boys are Made of Mud
Frogs and snails
And puppy-dog tails
That's what little boys are made of.
Whoever came up with that verse forgot to mention that Little Farm-boys are made of one more special ingredient...MUD. Good old fashioned, mud. Dear Farmer has, in his woods, the best "mud wallers". So say his trio of Little Farm-boys. The Keeper of the Flame informed the Wife today that he "just couldn't say he loved being on the farm if there weren't a mud waller." Wow, strong words. I guess Little Farm-boys need mud to grow up big and strong. They probably boost their immune systems by half if they have had ample time to roll in the mud, slather mud on their faces, and fling it back and forth.
Today is a beautiful day. It's warm, but not too warm. Humid, just enough. And a perfect blue sky, in some places. The Keeper of the Flame, appointed spokesperson of the trio, asked the Wife if it would be okay for the trio to go down to the mud waller and roll around a bit. Great shouts of joy, whoops and hollers went up when the answer was "YES." The trio got on their very dingiest rags(we keep for just such and occasion) and away they went. As they walked out the door the Keeper of the Flame said this was "the best day EVER!" The Pied Piper said, "Your the BEST mom!" And the Little Farmhand gave a big hug to mom and whispered, "Bend down so I give you a kiss." We will be saying more "YES"'s to the mud waller this summer, now that we know it's what Little Farm-boys are made of.
And puppy-dog tails
That's what little boys are made of.
Whoever came up with that verse forgot to mention that Little Farm-boys are made of one more special ingredient...MUD. Good old fashioned, mud. Dear Farmer has, in his woods, the best "mud wallers". So say his trio of Little Farm-boys. The Keeper of the Flame informed the Wife today that he "just couldn't say he loved being on the farm if there weren't a mud waller." Wow, strong words. I guess Little Farm-boys need mud to grow up big and strong. They probably boost their immune systems by half if they have had ample time to roll in the mud, slather mud on their faces, and fling it back and forth.
Today is a beautiful day. It's warm, but not too warm. Humid, just enough. And a perfect blue sky, in some places. The Keeper of the Flame, appointed spokesperson of the trio, asked the Wife if it would be okay for the trio to go down to the mud waller and roll around a bit. Great shouts of joy, whoops and hollers went up when the answer was "YES." The trio got on their very dingiest rags(we keep for just such and occasion) and away they went. As they walked out the door the Keeper of the Flame said this was "the best day EVER!" The Pied Piper said, "Your the BEST mom!" And the Little Farmhand gave a big hug to mom and whispered, "Bend down so I give you a kiss." We will be saying more "YES"'s to the mud waller this summer, now that we know it's what Little Farm-boys are made of.
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