The biggest ongoing battle that I fight on a daily basis, is the tug of war between THE HOUSE and THE FARM. This is one of the most brilliant perks of being a female farmer, said no one ever. Some days the house wins, some days the farm wins. Oh, but then there are the days it seems like they've both been through a tornado, followed by a hurricane, then shaken up by an earthquake. That's when I conclude that the shit has officially hit the fan and landed, in slooow motion. And I'm the one in charge of cleaning it all up. However, on the most rare and special of occasions, they both look pretty damn good! You know the surreal moments in life when you swear there is a grand musical score playing along to that particular scene..it's like that. Those are the times you can find me sitting on my front porch swing with a mason jar of sweet tea, taking it all in because I know what a fleeting moment it is..all is right with my corner of the world, la la la. Ah, but I'll be back to pulling my hair out and cursing the disasters soon after. The key is balance, as in all things..but it is easier said than done when you're the one doing the balancing act.
As a farmer, you always have an eye on the sky. Mother Nature is one of the primary predictors of how my day is bound to go. Although regardless of what she's got on her agenda, certain responsibilities have to go on with or without her blessing. The animals have to be fed every morning and every evening, 365 days a year, all four seasons..no matter what the weather. Oh yes. Throwing hay, hauling water, filling feed troughs. I have done it in 100 degrees, wearing my panties and bra with boots..and I've done it in sub zero temperatures, wearing five layers of clothes and battery powered socks. (Don't know which is more embarrassing to admit..farm chores in my underwear or battery powered socks, haha..maybe I should have kept them both to myself, but there it is...some TMI for ya.) Regardless, the animals don't give a rat's ass what the thermometer says or what I'm wearing or not wearing..all they care about is being served with their food. But if animals could laugh, I bet mine would have a good long laugh at little ole me and the things they see and hear, oh my. Okay, back to the weather: So on the days that the sky is pouring rain or snow, for the most part I pay more attention to the farm house..dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning. These days feel like Groundhog Day to me..one big deja vu of the same random assortment of routine B.S. that I've dealt with at least a million times before. But on the fair weather days, my focus is on the farm and all things outdoors. If it's really pretty outside, you almost couldn't drag me inside. I'll just keep on finding work to do and completely dismiss whatever mess the house is in. The best are those long summer days where the sun comes up early and goes down late..plenty of hours for work and play. The short days of winter and it's grey skies force me to be indoors way more than I prefer, but the alternative is bundling up, freezing my butt off, and fighting the elements. So I just put another log on the fire and daydream about someplace tropical. In the fall I tend to be in my kitchen a lot, because I get in the mood to be in my kitchen that time of year..canning and baking, cooking up a storm. And I also do a lot of walking around the farm with my camera, to capture the colors before they disappear. Spring is my favorite of all the seasons..time to dust off the long winter and watch everything come back to life.
One would think that a 2,000 square foot house would be a lot less of an undertaking than 112 acres..making The Farm the automatic winning opponent over the Farm House in this battle. Not to mention the farm has, let me see, eight standing structures on it aside from the house itself..all of which are occupied and/or used for some purpose. And let's not forget that the farm has sixty-some residents roaming around. Miles of fences, tools and equipment, gardens and trees, ponds and creeks, fields and forests, and manure..a SHIT TON of manure to be exact. Seems like the prospect of keeping up with all of that would far outweigh any task to be done within the farm house. Four people, a few cats and dogs..couldn't be that hard, right. Wrong. When you have everyone constantly coming in and out...it can get turned upside down and inside out real quick. Stuff from the house ends up outside..dishes, clothes, shoes. Stuff from the farm ends up inside..hay ties, horse whips, buckets. So I do a lot, and I mean A LOT of sorting and packing of things that are out of place. I always have my arms full of such items every single time I come in and the same with going out. And do I dare mention the instances when something is really drastically out of place. Talkin' bout the things that make you go hmmm. Here's a prime example: I walk into the house, which was spotless at the time. Oh, but I notice something out of the ordinary. A trail going down the hallway. A trail of chicken feathers, poop, chicken feathers, poop...leading to my bedroom. So I follow this trail, so afraid of what I might find at the end of it. If a musical score had been playing during this scene, it would have been the same song from the shower scene in Hitchcock's Psycho. And about the time when the shower curtain opens, is the time when I see IT. The chicken. On. My. Bed. And I probably screamed just like Janet Leigh..can't be sure because it was all a blur. Next thing I knew I was on my bed wrangling the chicken..and immediately after, with chicken in hand, chasing some mischievous kids out of the house while trying to dodge the chicken shit on the floor in the hallway. You wanna talk about "madder than an old wet hen"...that was me in that moment. My head most likely spun around like the Excorcism. I told the kids they better run and hide where I won't find them for a week, cussed that chicken like a sailor...then cleaned up the mess, and had a good hard laugh about the whole damn thing. Shoot, what else can you do when these WTF moments happen, but laugh.
To wrap this one up: The battle between the Farm House and The Farm will never cease to exist as long as I'm here. But I welcome the challenge and the chaos, because it's all part of what makes life interesting to me. I might not put on make up and go to work a 9-5 job like most women. And I'm also far from your typical housewife. I wear jeans and boots some days, aprons and high heels on others. My office is a barn, a hay field, a tractor..depending on the day. My hours are flexible, but full time. And I divide my attention among many different people and things. Just trying to balance it all like every other woman. As Confusius said: "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life." That's what it comes down to at the end of the day.
Till Next Time,
Happy Balancing :)
Farmer Tiff
Yeah, so I've been called an Animal Hoarder..but I'd rather like to think of myself as an Animal Collector. Not sure there's much difference, but collecting sounds more endearing and official than hoarding.
And after all, what's a farm without animals..EVERYWHERE? But more importantly, what's a Funny Farm without some randomness added to the mix?! I should mention that I have many accomplices in my endeavors, who should like to remain anonymous. But I'm here today to blow their anonymity, mwahaha!
Accomplice #1-Farmer Faith: A Milk Cow
So, let's be honest..you can't call it a farm if it doesn't have something that says MOOO. Well, maybe you can..but singing "E-I-E-I-O" doesn't sound quite right without a cow in the first verse. Old MacDonald knew what he was doing..and all other farmers should follow suite, naturally.
Well, approximately one year ago, my little girl asked her Daddy for a milk cow. How could he say no to those big blue eyes?? And besides, she does drink half a gallon of milk per day. That organic stuff gets to be expensive when you have a milk hog in the family!
So we thought on it, and subsequently came to the decision that the kids should first try some raw milk, to see if they even like it, before we go starting up a dairy operation. Jas finds a local Jersey farmer, and brings home a fresh gallon, straight from the udder. And the kids loved it! Also, we find we can get more milk for less mu la like this..so we proceed to purchase a couple of glass gallon moonshine jugs, and down the road our milk man goes to get 'em filled twice a week. I figure you can't get any more organic than that, and I like the green factor of ceasing our share of plastic jugs making way to the landfill.
Almost a year comes and goes, and we are in the swing of a new routine of getting our milk from a farm instead of a grocery store. We almost forgot why it was that we even began buying fresh milk to begin with. Then Christmas comes around, and Faith has her heart set on asking Santa to bring her a milk cow..a baby milk cow to be precise..a black and white baby milk cow to be even more precise. Figuring that Santa couldn't possibly fit a calf on his sleigh and down the chimney, we persuaded Faith to take the cow off her Christmas list, and perhaps she could get one for her birthday.
So between December and March, we scurry to find the perfect calf. Let me tell you that shopping for livestock is not an easy task. Luckily I have a few connections within the agricultural circle, and I was able to enlist the help of my horse farrier..who happens to also be a distant relative of mine. Faith's birthday was drawing near, and timing was everything. So the farrier's parents, who are full time dairy farmers, were headed to the cattle market in the Amish country of Ohio.
They offered to pick up a Holstein baby for us the first week of March. Since Faith's birthday wasn't till the 26th, I sent her off to school that day knowing she was completely unaware of the HUGE (literally) surprise in store for her when she got home.
I led Faith to the stall where her new friend awaited, opened the door, and the calf greeted her with a great big "Moooo"!! The look on her little face was priceless as she said, "This is the best day of my life"!! And so "MerryBelle" became an instant member of our ever-expanding farm family.
Faith is responsible for giving Merry her bottle everyday, and is more than happy to rush to the barn and spend time with her black and white baby milk cow. Now, she has some serious competition when it comes to the milk rations, since the calf drinks a gallon a day. But I have a feeling that when MerryBelle becomes the dispenser of seven gallons a day, there will be plenty of milk to go around!
Accomplice #2-Aunt Susie: A Polar Bear
Every girl dreams of having a Fairy Godmother, right? Well I just so happen to have one! "Aunt Susie" is undeniably one of the most colorful characters in my life, and such a blessing. She has been responsible for making not just one, but several of my dreams come true. But I've learned that I have to be careful what I wish for though, cause I just might get it! And she reads into everything..if she even thinks I might like, need, or want something..she'll make sure that I get it. I swear it's like magic! So because I would never want to take advantage of her kindness and generosity, I have become extra cautious with trying to hide even the slightest hint of anything that might interest me, cause she'll pick up on it and run with it.
Once I mentioned how I'd love to have a little monkey, (not even half serious)..and that one almost got me into a heap of trouble with the Mister. Next thing I knew, she was scouring the internet trying to find an Organ Grinder...for me! I began envisioning this monkey swinging from the ceiling fan, pulling my hair, biting the inlaws, and worst of all...FLINGING POOP! And these things live for like thirty years..so I then pictured my kids grown and gone, my hair gray, and I still have this damn monkey. Now I had to do some arm wrestling to talk her out of that one, but I just couldn't let those visions come to pass. And divorce would certainly have been among that sequence of events. So alas, no monkey for me.
What does this have anything to do with a Polar Bear, you ask? Well, when it comes to my dear Aunt Susie, it's all relative. At this junction in the story, I have a slight confession to make: Last Christmas, I got the kids a movie on dvd.."Santa Buddies, The Legend of Santa Paws". Well, I fell IN LOVE with the character of Santa Paws. This was my first introduction to the big, white, beautiful beast known as the Great Pyrenees. So I made up my mind, when I'm an old lady, I'm going to have me a dog like that!
Now back to the story: Just over a month ago, Susie and I had a brief conversation about what kind of dog she would want if she was to get one. And I very casually say, since I already have three dogs, "well when I'm an old lady, I want a Great Pyrenees". A few weeks later, Sue calls and says she wants to take me out that next day to have lunch and shop for my birthday. That was March 11th, and my birthday was a month away, so I thought it a bit odd. But I agreed to it without giving it a second thought.
So we head off that day, down to the Tamarack for lunch and shopping. We dined on native rainbow trout, fried green tomatoes, red velvet cake, and peach iced tea..then proceeded to walk circles around the Tamarack. And although a few things caught my eye, I let on like I didn't like anything, because it was all way too expensive. We exited the building, and made way to the parking lot. I took no notice to the fact that Susie made a call on her cell phone. Little did I know she had something up her sleeve.
As we get to the truck, a van pulls up beside us. And out of the van comes....A GREAT PYRENEES, Holy Cow!!!! "Happy Birthday" says Aunt Susie. Now omg, how did she even recall that fleeting conversation we had, remember the dog breed, and actually find one within a week or two in order to shake this surprise from her magic wand?? I may never know. Although she did seem to omit the "old lady" part of my sentence...unless 32 is considered old in her book. After my initial reaction of dream-come-true-excitement, my next response was "Oh Shit, my husband's gonna kill me"!! Now I've said this a time or two before, but I was really worried I might actually end up on the evening news this time around.
So, we loaded the big boy up in the truck, and started the long haul home. My mind was swarming with excuses, reasoning, a hundred different ways to ask for forgiveness. Maybe I could hide my giant puppy and the Big Chief wouldn't notice for awhile. Not likely since he resembled a baby Polar Bear more so than a giant puppy. Uh-Oh, I'm in trouble. We pull in the driveway, where my dear sweet husband greets us. The first thing out of his mouth was, "so what did ya get for your birthday?". Then, as if prompted, Susie opens the door to the truck. The man and the Polar Bear regarded each other. Silence for a moment. Then a big "What the hell is this?!" A dirty look flashed my way, and if looks could kill I woulda been a goner right then. But then the big majestic beast stepped out of the truck, sat before the man, and looked up with those big brown eyes...making that one singular comment and that one dirty look the extent of my scolding. Shew. Tiff lives another day!!
After brief deliberation, I decided give my Great Pyrenees the name of "Gandalf the White". He has taken up residence at the barnyard to fulfill his purpose as Livestock Guardian. I've had him for one month now, and I write this on my birthday..reflecting on the gift that keeps on giving. Gandalf the Polar Bear has quickly found his way into my heart as well as the hearts of all family members. Long Live Gandalf!!
Accomplice #3-King Napoleon: An Ugly Baby
This co-conspirator is not of the human kind, but he is nonetheless guilty of adding to the animal population on the Funny Farm. As you remember, (if you read my last post), Napoleon the mini-stud strolled onto the place with a complex, thus his name. Well, he's shaken my herd all up and out of order, and his complex has only gotten bigger. I'm talkin' to the point that I swear he fancies himself a full fledged Draft horse at this point, (probably an Andalusian). Ey-yi-yi.
I aimed to get him cut, or to find him a new home..whichever came first. But for the life of me, I can't catch the blasted thing!! Since he was tied up by his previous owners, he's vowed to never let another human lay a hand on him again. So although we've had him for three months, I've never gotten close enough to him to become attached. He's basically just another mouth to feed. Although I have to admit he can be quite amusing..charging through the fields like a war horse with those little midget legs and crazy hairdo.
Alas, here's where Napoleon comes into play: I thought him and Ginger would make some cute little mini foals, since they are a perfect pair. I figured if nothing else, that would be a good thing to get out of his time here on the funny farm. But what transpired instead, is NOT-SO-FUNNY!!
Pocahontas, my most PRIZED POSSESSION...Oh. My. She's had a vendetta against King Napoleon, or so I thought. And I wasn't worried when she came into heat about a month ago. I was 100% convinced that she wouldn't let that thing near her with his ten foot pole, (ewww..the thought makes me cringe). Besides that he's a mini horse, so unless he has a step stool, it ain't happenin'. Welp, either he had a step stool, or he somehow wooed Pocahontas..not sure which is more likely.
All I know is that all of a sudden they started acting all lovey-dovey, yuck! And then a few weeks later, I took one look at my beautiful mare, and saw that unmistakeably pitiful look that is apparent in a pregnant animals eyes. It's usually the first indicator. Now her belly is rounding out and she's seeking extra attention. Ah Horse Manure!!
Not that I would mind having a foal out of Pocahontas. But have you seen Napoleon?? He is ugly as sin. Has a face that only a mother could love. Oh, and he happens to be a MINIATURE horse!! Now what kind of ugly baby is that going to make?!? I'll be afraid to look when it goes to hittin' the ground, honestly. On the other hand, maybe it will take after it's pretty momma. It might not be so bad. Perhaps it will turn out to be just the right size for the kids to ride. Or like my Uncle Stanley said, "Maybe it'll be the next Triple Crown Winner". Now that's laughable. Guess I'll know for sure in about 10 more months!!
