No jelly doughnuts. What the heck?

I’m back from my long, long day. And there were no jelly doughnuts to be found anywhere at the greenhouse plastic covering ceremony.  But in the good news category, I did learn how to set up my greenhouse and cover it with plastic.   I also learned the proper way to attach rocks to the plastic when throwing the attached ropes over the greenhouse roof.  This will avoid ripping the plastic like what happened earlier today.  Good to know. My mental greenhouse list of “what to do” and “what not to do” is full. I can now set forth with setting my own greenhouse up.  Now, I just need the ambition to do it.

Now on to really important stuff…Help me out here.  Is this normal?

Our Hereford bull who obviously thinks he is a dog.

Why can’t he be like the other cows?  Noooo. Our bull has to sit on his bum and act like a watch dog.

See? The other cows are normal.

What's up with him?

So, that’s what today’s post is about…the lack of jelly doughnuts at a greenhouse raising and our bull…otherwise known as “The Dog.”

I think I need to think of some new material.

Just Stuff

I never thought it would take me this long to get another post together as I thought my life would be slowing down a bit this fall. It certainly is not as busy as this past summer but I’m still pretty dog gone busy.  I only have two more farmer’s markets for the season and that is a good thing.  I am ready for a break. 

Since the last time I blogged, there has been a few notable happenings.

We had a Halloween Harvest Hoedown on the farm last weekend.  It was cold, wet, muddy and miserable but we still had a good time.  We usually have  hayrides, games and other fun party stuff but not this year.  We did, however, have a wonderful bluegrass band that played from 6pm until midnight. It was more or less like a jam session with players and pickers taking the stage at any time. And they sure played some great bluegrass music.

Our bandstand filled with bluegrass pickers.

Our pavilion filled with friends and kin folk listening to the music.

I think these two partied too much.

What else happened? Oh, yeah. My oldest boy got his first deer.  I am not a hunter myself but Cranky likes to partake in the slaying of innocent animals.  Needless to say, Cranky sure was proud of our son.  Cranky claims, “It was a hell of a shot!” Yadda, yadda, yadda.  I will just take the photos and pretend that I am so excited about this great  achievement when actually, all I wanted to do was get in out of the cold into the warmth of my house and sit on my bum.

Sorry about the blood.  I forgot to warn you there would be blood and gore in this post.

 

Just look at Cranky and how happy he is.  I have about 50 million other photos just like this.  They  just had to take a crap load of pictures all posing in the same pose of the dead deer, Cranky’s huge, proud smile and the spent bullet. This obviously was exciting stuff in their lives.

I guess one of the traditions of Cranky’s family is that you have to drag your first deer to the butcher shop, skin it yourself, drink the blood and eat the heart. (And pose for more pictures next to the dead deer.) I don’t know if this is bogus or not.  Truthfully, I don’t care.  Cranky took all the youngin’s, the dead deer,and the camera to the butcher shop and left me alone in the my warm house sitting on my bum.

Dragging the dead deer with no help from his brothers.

Is this the part where he eats the heart? I now understand why hunting is so fun.

Okay, enough about the dead deer, proud papa Cranky and ole dead eye, my son. 

I have to head off to bed now.  I have to be up early to help a friend put plastic on her new greenhouse at 7Am.  Seriously, who plans to put plastice on a greenhouse at 7 in the morning?  On a Sunday morning, no less?  Well, my friend, Elaine does.  And when I finally get around to setting up my greenhouse and putting on the plastic, guess what time I am going to do it?  At 7AM and Elaine’s butt better be here helping too.  She is serving donuts.  Really, that is the only reason that I am helping at 7AM on a Sunday morning.  I would never help someone out unless there is donuts involved. And she better have jelly filled too.

 

I blame it all on Jeannette.

Okay, so I have been telling you that I was REALLY busy this past summer and I think most of you believe me because I live on a working farm, have four little youngin’s, two aging parents, one blind brother, a big garden to feed the babes, lots of animals, a new donkey, and one very cranky husband. (This sentence works better if sung to “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Do it. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. Nah, not really, but try it anyway.)

So, on top of all this active lifestyle, I also like to peruse Craig’s list. I never even knew anything about Craig’s list until  the summer of 2008 when my dear friends from Wisconsin came to stay with us for a week. That was the summer that I lived in the outfitter’s tent with the youngin’s. I will mention the great thing about Joe and Jeannette from Wisconsin is that they are the greatest houseguests EVER. When they visited, they were thrilled to stay in the outfitter’s tent for their stay which meant that I did not have to clean my insanely messy house for their visit. I could just move back into my own house for a week and it does not bother me one bit to live in this constant state of mess. Thus, this avoided the “whole freaking out because my house is a freakin’ mess and I have guests coming in 3 hours because I procastinated putting off cleaning it because I would much rather be outside puttering around.”  This is my mentality pretty much all of the time. And I wonder why Cranky is cranky?

This is Joe. Joe likes trees. I mean, REALLY likes trees. For Pete's sake, the boy has several college degrees in trees. Seriously.

This is Jeannette. This photo was taken this past winter right after Jeannette just finished puking because she was preggers. She is not pregnant anymore as she delivered a healthy baby boy named Eli who has a lot of hair. A lot.

By the way, Jeannette really does not have red eyes. I have no idea how fix the red eye thingy feature on my camera. But in other news relating to my technically challenged brain and zero computer knowledge, I now know how to link on my posts. Can we hear a big, “HooAhhh!” for my competency in that area?

 So, back to Joe and Jeannette. When they visit, they also cook for themselves, make bread and I can put them to work on the farm and they love it. In fact, Jeannette can throw a hay bale farther than any gal I have ever seen. She is, after all, a former Wisconsin state tree climbing champion. I kid you not. She won a chainsaw out of the deal. Yep, from what I hear, that’s what ‘them there’ cheeseheads do in Wisconsin, milk cows, make cheese, climb trees and polka. Mercy, can’t forget the polka.

Where was I going with this Joe and Jeannette thing?

Oh, oh, yeah, right. I remember.

Jeannette and I were talking about the good, bad and ugly things with computers and the internet. She suggested that I check out Craig’s list as she thought I might like it, as I am cheap and like to barter.  Turns out that I really like Craig’s list.  So much so that Cranky threatens to disconnect the internet because I am always finding “deals too good to pass up” on there. Like the greenhouse. Well, I’m not going to get into the greenhouse incident but let’s just say that one did not end so good. The greenhouse deal ended up with us being involved in a hit and run accident in the Sheetz parking lot, spilled cappuccinos, and several appearances to testify in court against the thug who hit us. But that was just one good deal with bad ending. There were plenty of other “good” deals that went just dandy.

Like for instance, last spring, I answered an add for “hypothetical turkey poults”.  That should have been my first indication as to what type of person was on the other end of that add. Come on, seriously? Who posts an add for turkey poults that aren’t even hatched yet?  Well, this chick did.

Okay, the chick I'm talking about is not the one in the lavender jacket and not the one walking away. It's the chick in the apron in the farm stand. That chick is Katie.

Katie, my Craig’s list “hypothetical turkey poult” add posting friend did just that.  I now consider Katie my friend, because that’s what our Craig’s list connection has blossomed into.  We connected in so many ways, it’s uncanny.

So, what does Katie have to do with my busy summer?  As Katie and my internet connection grew, we shared our dreams for our respective farms with the thoughts of how to sustain our agricultural livelihoods.  Turns out that Katie, who has a small scale iris and plant business, Stoney Creek Iris  was looking for someone to share a stand at a new farmer’s market starting up not far from our homes. Turns out that I was in the process of obtaining my farm bakery license  and was looking for an avenue to sell my goods.  And thus, with some collaboration with another partner, we have had a stand at a busy, thriving farmer’s market from this previous spring to the present time. The market is called appropriately enough, Farmers on the Square as it sits on the square of a little county seat town in Pennsylvania. Farmers on the Square is a local and producer’s only farmer’s market which means than all the goods being sold are produced within a 100 mile radius from the market. It is a participating “Buy Fresh, Buy Local” market.  Our stand is called “The Three Sisters Stand” and we offer quite an ecclectic array of goodies. From goat’s milk soap, shitake mushrooms, herbs, unusual produce, homegrown and homeground artisanal breads made from our own all natural wheat.

 So, now I have this little farm business going which I can not keep up with. I’m just not organized for this type of lifestyle. I mean, come on, I have to be at market at a certain time!? That’s like having a real job. This coming from girl who refuses to wear a watch because I once read that people who do not worry about the time live longer. So, from that day on, out went my wristwatch and I try not to look at our clocks, unless it’s market day. I just know, market day is going to take a couple months off of my life span. I just know it.

So, where am I going with this post? Oh, heck, I forgot. The one thing I can remember is that I blame my new “job” on Jeannette. She is to blame for all of this. Because if she wouldn’t have told me about Craig’s list, I would have never have read the add for hypothetical turkey poults and never met Katie who needed a farmer’s market partner and thus, this vicious cycle would have stopped. It’s like the 6 degrees of separation thing.

And I blame it all on Jeannette.

The Drama Queen

 

My baby girl wrecked her bicycle and became an instant drama queen.  I think I told her to “suck it up”. I’m so sympathetic.

God save the Drama Queen! Let it go, child. It was just a bicycle wreck.

The Queen celebrated her 6th birthday with one angel food cake and one huge whompin’ whoopie pie.

And then proceeded to give her cousin holy hum for something that ticked her off…yes…still the Drama Queen.

The Queen found out what the peons do when she interned as a short order cook. (and when I say, “short”, I say it literally as she needs a stool to reach the stove.)

The Queen swam in her underwear as previously mentioned. 

Spent some quality time with Pete, her royal donkey.

The Queen ordered her older brothers to boat her around the pond, like the royalty that she is…

so, she could do a little fishing. With her busy schedule and all those duties as the Queen, she finds it hard to find time for herself.

With her grand palace to look after…the Queen is so busy.

She just has to make time for fishing. And dear Queen…you really need to ditch the ratty, dirty, torn purple shirt. Don’t you have something better fit for the Queen that you are?

Ahhh…yes, that’s much better. Don’t wrinkle your nose at me! I am, after all, the original Queen’s Mum.

So many things to comtemplate in life…what’s a Queen to do?

Yep, that’s what I thought…fishing is good for the Queen’s soul.

Easily Amused

What my second son did this summer.

 

This is a hot air balloon basket. 

Please don’t ask me, “Why do you have a hot air balloon basket?” 

I  do not know exactly.  Someone asked me if I wanted a hot air balloon basket and I never say no to any type of junk, so we have a hot air balloon basket sitting on our farm.

It’s actually pretty cool.

I have no desire to go hot air ballooning in it but maybe someday, I will figure out what I can do with it.

Until then-

This is my second son sitting in the hot air balloon basket.

Here is my second son blowing bubbles in the hot air balloon basket.

When I asked him why he was sitting in the hot air balloon basket blowing bubbles, he replied matter of factly, “Because I can.”

Alrighty then.

Guess we figured out another one of life’s great mysteries.

Next person who asks me, “Why do you have a hot air balloon basket?”

I’m going to tell them, “Because I can.”

So what did we do this summer?

It’s just easier to show you.

We put up some hay.

My baby boy started driving tractor.

My baby girl started driving.

My baby boy learned mechanics.

My oldest dug my 30 year old motorcycle out of the barn and got it running.

And then became so enthralled with motorcycles that the kitten was named 'Yamaha'.

The boys shucked corn.

We made apple cider.

My oldest finally started earning his keep.

They swam in their underwear. Why? I don't know.

We had fun this summer!

I’ll be back with more photos tomorrow…maybe, maybe not.

Yooohoooo! I’m back…just 3 months and 1 day later!

Holy cow! Three months? Where the hum have I been and what did I do in all that time?  I thought I would be back at blogging in August but I will soon be pushing October so I thought I better check in.

What’s up in my world? I am still residing at the boathouse. Not Cranky, though. He is still enjoying the peace and quiet of our old home. The boathouse has turned out to be a great place to live. The only problem we have encountered in living in a world 8 feet or so above water is the resident bull frog that has hindered a few night’s of good sleep. The first night, I seriously thought of pouncing on him at 3AM and having frog’s legs for the dinner the next night. Instead, I just covered my head with a pillow but I still heard him. BrrrRummm BrrrrRummm! And then, the other bullfrogs placed strategically around the pond would answer him…all night long. I do wonder what they were saying to each other in bull frog language? Is it bullfrog code for “Hey, other green dudes! This is my neck of the great big pond and do not even think of coming over here or I will kick your scrawny bullfrog @#*! ” Or, are they talking about the baseball scores and who’s team is going to make it to the World Series? Do bullfrog’s watch baseball? Or do they make fun of the resident fish that also reside in the pond?  I wonder.

Anyway, this is my boathouse. 

 It’s a cute little shack, isn’t it? And get this? It’s totally off grid with solar power. Check out the solar panel on the roof.

The point of my summer adventure’s is yes…to annoy my children but it was to originally teach them to live without all the modern conveniences that we are so used to in our lives. No electricity, tv, phone and all that crap. You know? Just a simpler life with talking, reading and having fun together. Okay, I admit, the inverter thing was just too tempting and we did have fun watching movies one rainy night with the portable DVD player. But the neat thing was…we used the sun’s stored power to watch those movies. I’m talking myself into the theory that it was educational for them even though we watched a totally stupid and far fetched movie that night.

So, we had electricity this year. But doesn’t the boathouse look so romantic and cozy with lights on at night?

Yep, we are all about romance around here…aren’t we, Cranky? I guess considering there are four youngin’s to show for it, there had to be some romance at some point in this unconventional marriage. He he he he. Speaking of romance…Cranky sure has not lost his touch, no?

Cranky passed out in the boathouse- July 4th weekend.

Now, ya’ll try to contain yourselves. That boy is all mine and don’t go trying to steal him from me.  For Pete’s sake, I’ll just give him to you. No give backs, though. That’s my only stipulation. I kid, I kid. You know I’m not getting rid of that boy. He is my meal ticket and neither one of wants the kiddos so we will just stay together for convenience’s sake. I kid, I kid…again. Geez, it’s a joke.

So, we were really busy this summer…as the previous photo proves. Maybe in my next post, I’ll tell you what we really did.  I’ll try to do it before October.

Until then…

A dream come true

Hey All! It’s been a crazy and busy summer so far.  We are not in our summer living digs yet but it is happening soon. (As soon as I light a stick of dynamite under Cranky’s bum to get it moving on finishing our summer home!) Turns out, we will be living in a boathouse. Cranky liked the idea of the boathouse so he went ahead and started that project. Plus, he really wants me and youngin’s out of the house for the summer. That, in itself, is motivation enough to get this project finished.

Here is the boathouse without the roof, porches and steps which are now installed, but you get the idea. Too cool, right? Yeah, I know, that Cranky is alright. I guess I’ll keep him. He is kind of handy. Plus, divorces these days are way too expensive.

In other news, the girl has been granted a dream come true.

Meet Pete. Hey, that rhymes. I am a poet and didn’t even know it! Anyway, Pete is my girl’s dream come true.  She has been asking for a donkey since she was 3 years old. She is only 5 1/2 years old now, but trust me, if you had to listen to her ask for donkey every day for the last 2 1/2 years, you would have caved and bought her the donkey too.  Either that or you would have chosen to beat your head against a concrete slab.  The pain was the same.  Sometimes, it is just easier to give in to their every whim and demand.

So, the girl is very happy and can not stop looking at, playing with, touching, brushing, leading, tugging, and pulling her donkey.  Aren’t little girls supposed to play with dolls and want a horse? Yep, I should have some personal experience with this girl thing.  I never played with dolls but I do remember that I did want a horse. A donkey never, ever crossed my mind as the coolest animal on the planet.  My daughter’s new best friend is her donkey.  Should I be concerned?

You should note that Pete was transported to his new home in our ugly, two-tone brown, whompin’, tricked out van, otherwise known as the Love Machine.  The Love Machine has transported the likes of calves, pigs, goats, chickens, dogs, cats,  and now has the distinction of the bringing home a donkey.  It’s moving up in the world of cool ass vans. Now, it has donkey poop in it too.  Yep, that’s right, Pete pooped on the drive home.  Pete’s a gem.  Did I mention that it was a hot, humid day in Pa?  (Another rhyme…ha…I kill me.)

Don’t worry, I hosed it out. 

When we were looking for a different van, I told Cranky that I had a few demands for the ‘new’ van.  First, it had to be cheap. I do not do car payments so it had to be in our price range.  Like something we could barter for.  We evenually did barter a couple pigs to bring it to a more manageable green, hard cash reality. It also had to be a huge gas guzzling clunker cuz, you know, I’m all about polluting the Earth.  It also had to be able to haul many things…like animals, my endless supply of junk from junking excursions and my youngin’s and their friends. Although, this has not come into play as of yet. First, my youngin’s are much too embarrassed by the Love Machine and the smell inside is the real kicker.  For some reason, my youngin’s do not invite their friends along in it. That’s okay with me.  It saves me gas money to not have to haul other people’s snotty, little twerps around.  The last requirement for the van?  It had to one that I could hose out with the pressure washer.  So, no bells and whistles on this baby. Just plain Jane, old, ugly van that we affectionately refer to as the Love Machine.

Have I ever told you how much I love my Love Machine? There is alot of love in this family and I have to share it while driving down the road, with the windows rolled down and the wind blowing Pete’s poop smell for all the passing motorists. The Love Machine rocks.

One more thing…take another look at the photos of Pete.  See that little dude in the back window? That’s my legally blind brother. He had no idea that I was taking a photo and he has no idea that he is on my blog. But since he is blind, he will never know, will he? He would flip out if he knew…he he he.  His name is Yimpy. Not his real name, but his real nickname. Seriously. I had a speech problem when I was little and that’s how he got his nickname. Don’t ask me how I got “Yimpy” out of the name, Charles. I stopped trying to figure it out. Either way, he answers to his nickname among many others, Captain Pissypants and Mighty Midget, just to name a few. We are a cruel family but we have some pretty cool nicknames among us. I think I will post about our nicknames sometime. My momma goes by Squaw and it had nothing to do with a speech problem.

Later tators, I have to get to bed.

Cheesychick…another great nickname, if I do say so myself.

Busy as a bee and a whackjob momma

Well, holy moly, I have not been able to blog for two weeks.  I have been so busy…like my bees, who are plotting, as I write this, to swarm and get the heck out of dodge.  I am pretty ticked at my bees.  Couldn’t they see that I have been a little busy?  They had to see me in these last couple weeks, driving by on a tractor, or working in the garden, or building fence, or taking care of youngin’s and animals, or getting hit by a hit and run driver in the Sheetz parking lot?  I was getting around to putting the supers on for some extra room in their digs, but no, they have to jump the gun and get ready to move on to bigger and better places.  Well, you just go you little twits.  You just see how easy it is on your own without your sugar water and your nice litte cramped quarters.  I will lavish all my attention on the hive that has chosen to stay on as my servants of honey production.  I’m not going to play your little swarming games.  Just go and see how this big, bad world works.  I bet you all get eaten by bears.

This is one of my little worker bees when we had a cordial relationship.  She fell into the feed tank and I saved her, but do I get any thanks for that humane gesture?  Noooo. (Yep, I know…the photo sucks. I still have yet to read the owner’s manual for the camera.)

I’m not bitter about my bees moving on…I really have not had time to even check on them. I can’t blame them.  I have not been a faithful bee keeper.  Things are going to change from here on out.  I will get organized with my life and be able to keep up with everything.  Yep…okay…not going to happen but I like to get cocky with myself every now and then and pretend that I am “the Woman”.  I am woman, hear me roar. 

What?

I’m not drunk…at least I don’t think I am.  I am so tired that I quite possibly might be just silly and goofy.  Wait…I’m like this all the time but I do try to clean up my blog and pretend that I am normal.  I guess you could say I put on the dog blog.  Ha. I kill me.

I read a couple weeks ago, in our local paper that the key to blogging is to blog regularly,provide alot of links and keep your posts short.  It will keep people coming back.  Well…sucks to be me (or you) because that just ain’t gonna happen here.  I don’t have time to blog regularly over the summer, I have no idea how to link and me…keep anything short and sweet?P-pleasssse. 

Here’s the scoop.  I am taking a summer sabbatical from blogging. First off, I just can’t keep up with regular blogs over the summer.  I am too busy on the farm.  It’s down right crazy on the farm right now.  How do other farmers get everything done that they do?  I probably would get more accomplished in a day if I would lay off the bon-bons and the skunked beer.  It’s just so hard to give it up when I am so addicted.

We finally got the last field of soybeans planted today.  Cranky celebrated by drinking a whole case of beer himself.  Okay, it wasn’t a whole case.  Let’s just say, he drank alot of beer in joyous celebration.  Cranky is one of those people who really just likes loves the taste of beer.  He doesn’t drink it to get drunk, he drinks it because he really likes beer. (“And it makes him a jolly old fellow, he likes beer…whiskey’s too rough, champagne costs too much, vodka puts his mouth in gear, so this little refrain should help him explain, as a matter of fact, he likes beer!”-sung to the tune of the greatest Tom T. Hall song ever.)   Can you believe that I love Tom T. Hall?  Does anyone know who Tom T. Hall is?  Someone? 

Usually, there is a week or two window after the beans are in the ground before we cut hay but not this year.  We are a little behind getting the beans in and the hay has been ready to cut for a week now. So now, it is on to hay making season, then harvest the wheat, then oats, then the second cutting of hay (if we are blessed with rain), then…the list goes on. So, my point? I will be busier than that one legged man from here on out till fall.

My second reason for not blogging over the summer?  I will be leaving the confines of my house and living a somewhat…shall we say, “primitive” lifestyle over the summer.  Last summer, I got a brainstorm idea to live in this for the summer.  “This” is an outfitter’s tent. (The photo of the outfitter’s tent was supposed to be right here but it is a scanned photo and I do not have a clue how to size it correctly. Work with me here, I am not gifted with computer proficiency.) 

I had been bugging Cranky for quite a while that I wanted an outfitter’s tent to live in with the youngin’s for a summer.  I had this idea that one day, when I die, I envisioned my youngin’s sitting around the kitchen table on the night of my wake, telling stories and reminiscing about their momma.  I can hear the words now coming out of one of their smart@*# mouths, “Remember that summer, Momma made us live in that outfitter’s tent?  She was such a whackjob!” If one of my children utters those words, I promise not to haunt them from my grave. My life’s work as a mother will be complete. 

Outfitter’s tents are expensive so Cranky told me that I would have to wait till I found one for a good deal.  He told me this to passify me, never thinking that I would actually find one. I evenually did found one that was too good of a deal to pass up, so Cranky left me buy it.  Last summer, we set it up and I lived in it all summer with all four youngin’s.  Cranky wanted nothing to do with living in this primitive manner and chose to stay at our house all summer.  He has no idea what he missed out on.  It was quite possibly the best summer of my life.  No tv, no electric, no phone, just me and the youngin’s living on the farm in a tent.  We read alot of books at night by flashlight and we listened to bluegrass music every Sunday night by turning the handle on a hand crank portable radio.  It truly was the greatest summer ever.  The only problem with this “great” idea?  The youngin’s now want to do something like this every summer.  They have come up with a few ideas…a pontoon boat with a tent.  I guess you could call that a redneck houseboat.  Another idea is a large treehouse.  I like that idea.  They also want to stay in the caboose for a summer.  Have you seen that baby with all it’s Sweet and Low packets all over the floor?( This is where it would be great if I knew how to link to a previous post.  Silly me, I am so computer stupid!  Anyway, for those of you just joining me, a while back, I took you on a tour of my caboose as one of my posts. Yes, a real caboose…not my butt.)

So, we are going to do something different…we just aren’t sure what it is yet.  I will be away from my computer pretty much all summer.  I will try to stop in once in a while and let you know how we are doing and what we decided for our summer residence. I’m thinking a boathouse.  Wonder what Cranky will think of that idea? 

Until then…have a great summer and I will see you in the fall when we return to our regularly scheduled program.  

She has a way with words

This photo has nothing to do with the story I am about to share with you.  I just like this photo. It’s of our neighbor’s dairy herd set against the Appalachian Mountains.  These cows are here at this spot every morning when I take the youngins to school. Makes me smile every morning.  (Unless, it is one of those mornings, if you smell what I am stepping in.)

Okay, the story.

Yesterday, I went to a mother-daughter banquet at Cranky’s grandmother’s church.  Got that?  Anyway, every year, Grandma always invites me and my little girl because since Grandma is the mother of five children, lots of grandchildren and tons of great-grandchildren, she always gets the best door prize for the mother with the most offspring.  I just love Tommy’s Grandma.  She is 86 years old and the sweetest Grandma. And she loves the door prizes at the mother-daughter banquet. 

So, of course, my little girl and myself were all gussied up in our finest attire, which translates into cowgirl boots and a pretty dress.  Yes, my girl does wear dresses…just always with cowgirl boots.  We arrived fashionably late, as always.  We were doing farm chores all day yesterday and could not quite get everything done in time to make it to the banquet on time.  The farm chores consisted of moving pigs and castrating them which will play into my story shortly.

Anyway, we sat down with our plates full of food to a whole table of Grandma’s kin and some of her womenfolk friends.  Those dear women are Grandma’s oldest friends and are very sweet but I know not a one of them has ever set foot on a farm of any kind in their whole lives.  I guess, hoyty-toyty would be a great word to describe those women.  To make conversation with the late arrivals and to make us feel welcome, Grandma leaned over to our girl and asked, “So, what is happening on the farm today?”  My girl answered in all the honesty that she possesses, “Well, Grandma, not much but that boar hog of ours doesn’t have his balls anymore. You should have see the size of them too. His balls were huge!” And she took another bite of ham.

Grandma’s one friend made some type of choking cough, Grandma merely said, “Ohhh, I see” and the rest of the table just chuckled.  Me? I crawled under the table.

This is the same girl who when we sent her off to kindergarten last fall, we had to work on some basics.  Not writing her name,  remembering her teacher’s name or working on the alphabet or numbers basics.  No, she mastered those with no problem.  The biggest worry I had was her using the word, “shit” in school.  My fears were erased early on when on the way to school the first day, she excitely announced, ”Momma, I finally understand.  Cows and pigs go shit, I go to the bathroom!”  She gets her matter of factness honestly.  It’s all my mother’s fault.

Oh, by the way, Grandma got her door prize.