Once in a red moon...

My alarm shrieked at 1:45 am this morning.  An odd hour indeed (and yes I am exceptionally sleepy today), but there is a perfectly good explanation.  A total lunar eclipse happened last night, coinciding with the winter solstice.  My daughter and I put on coats and mittens and scarves and blankets and went out into the back yard to see what we could see.  We looked up and were amazed at the almost unreal beauty of a cloudless sky filled with a ruddy red moon and many bright stars.  Occasionally a bit of fog would float in the periphery, framing the scene above, but never obscuring that intimidating moon.  While I leaned back to watch, Becca brought out her camera and tripod and started snapping shots.  Well, snapping is inaccurate.  The longer exposure needed to capture light in a dark winter sky made her camera sound like it was nearly frozen.

As I lay there watching this grown up child of mine capturing the moon, my mind went back to what seems like a few days ago.  A mom and two kids camping out in one bedroom, watching a huge red moon through the window panes.  I don’t remember how old my children were, just that they were old enough to wake up and watch in awe, but too young to stay awake for all of it.   They vaguely remember that night.  I remember it well – one of those treasures of motherhood that will be tucked away until the next middle-of-the-night excursion.

Confessions of a Snowaholic

I wrote the following last fall.  Since blogging time has been preempted by the chaos of fostering, adopting out and now owning one of the kittens, I am being lazy and reusing my snow rave.  Plus, I am again bummed by this winter's lack of snow . . . 

I was born during a blizzard. Either that was incredibly appropriate or a monumental influence on my infant psyche. 

I don't remember a time when I didn't love snow.  The more the better.  Blizzards are cool - trying to see across the street while it's piling up in the driveway.  I know, I know!  You're probably yelling "WHAT?" in disbelief.  You hate cold and snow and gray days.  Believe me, I try to be sympathetic.  I know snow can be dangerous, costly and annoying.  I know it can ruin plans and force your heating bills up.  It has postponed a few trips in my life.  I try, but I'm beyond all help.

The high today is predicted at 78° - in mid October.  People are loving it.  I'm thinking - summer is supposed to be over (anything over 75 is summer to me).  I'm sure you think I need medication for this.  A chance of snow is forecast in a couple of days.  You're looking at the 50% chance and thinking "Aw man!"  Not me - I will watch it over the next couple of days hoping for the 50% to climb to 100%. "c'mon get up there...yay 60% now!...woot 70%!...dang, we're back to 50%"  It's odd, I know.

I root for the temperature to drop - below freezing is best.  (Of course I hate the heating bills, but as I said before - I'm not always rational.)  I HATE, LOATHE, & DESPISE heat - anything above 85 or 90.  On a hot day you can only take off so much (really) and it drains you, makes you tired and prickly.  Cold grabs your nose & wakes you up.  Brisk days put a zing in your step.  (Stop shaking your head.)  And when you get inside it's all about snuggling up in sweatshirts & afghans & sipping hot chocolate.  Not - get away, you're sweaty...need more ice.

Snowaholics (I actually wondered why spellchecker didn't recognize that - ha) are a persecuted people.  My peers (husband included) gripe about the snow & cold.  I usually keep my mouth shut to let them be content in their misery as well as to avoid the eyerolls & sideways glances.  Snowhaters are a harsh group.  Mention your love of snow as they grumble through their sweater & scarf and you WILL feel the wrath.  (Feeling guilty at all ? . . . I thought not.)

I leave you with these thoughts as a plea for leniency...

Breathtaking white landscapes (and without snow, yes, naked trees can be scenic), snowmen, snowball fights, snow angels, snow forts, Daisy bounding through drifts, no yard work, using 4 wheel drive, sledding, wearing layers & big ole boots & gloves, building fires, thick fuzzy socks, snoozing on a snowy afternoon, Christmas & Christmas goodies (MUST be cold & snowy to truly enjoy those), seeing your breath, catching snow flakes, bragging rights over whose drifts are higher, moisture for the fields, bragging rights over who drove through the worst storm on the worst roads for the longest time, no bugs.

Don't you just LOVE it? (at least a little bit) I DO!!!

You know you need one!

Kittens are a lovely and entertaining distraction.  We moved Farm Cat and her family to our house nearly 3 weeks ago now.  The kittens were wobbly little fluff balls then.  And now – bigger fluff balls chasing toys and ribbons and each other around the bathroom (their temporary home).  They collapse into a pile of sleepy purrs on the lap of anybody who sits on the floor, but only after they’ve exhausted all possible ways human legs can be used as a jungle gym.  The only problem with all this is I don’t get anything done besides kitten-watch.  I find myself drawn into their play, or just sitting and staring at their antics, smiling…until I remember I’m supposed to be getting ready for work or making supper or picking someone up or any number of important things. My husband calls them the three stooges (times 2).  They are a comedy of leaps and tackles and falls.  Sometimes one will be sneaking up on a brother or toy when yet another comes flying from the side and there is a tumbling of legs and tails.

One or two at a time, they get to explore the rest of the house, experience a little one-on-one time and meet our dog, Daisy.  Daisy and Farm Cat are already friends.  Farm Cat would very much like to rub against Daisy’s legs and Daisy would very much just like to play.  They seem to have settled on hello sniffs and sitting close to each other when the humans are too boring.  The kittens however, either want to play with Daisy’s nose or paws or they watch her warily and make tiny little hisses.  She looks back quizzically, wanting to play, but not really sure how to do that with such a tiny little creature.

Our favorites change almost daily.  They have their own moods and personalities and when they come running to greet you each day, you just want to scoop them up and hold them all morning.  So, it is time to get them to their new homes!  As much as we’d love to keep any or all of them, eight is not enough – eight is TOO MANY! 

If you are a cat lover and have a home that is in need of a fluff ball, let us know.  Some things of importance - They are all boys and will be eight weeks old on the 11^th.  They have been eating dry cat food for about two weeks now and are nursing less each day.  Their mother is a calm and friendly tabby who has taught them well, including how to use the litter box. (Yay!)  They will have their first distemper shot within a few days. Also, we may not be able to keep Farm Cat, so she may need a loving home as well.  She was just spayed yesterday and today is nursing like nothing has happened, though the vet said that will only be possible for a few days.  She has her rabies and distemper shots.

 

My daughter shot some video of the kittens last night.  You can view it here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rf5LC2cnDbQ.  And be prepared to fall head over heels!


(If you want to know the unique story behind Farm Cat and her "little" family, check out the blog in September - "Then there were seven!" )

Pete's the Man

“Can you farm today?”  No, this doesn’t mean I’m headed out to work the fields.  It usually precedes a trip to some farm-related establishment or ride shotgun to do some cleaning/maintenance or a bit of chauffeuring is required.

On a recent afternoon, parts were needed from John Deere.  Because my knowledge of machinery is very limited (none), this requires some explaining by my husband.  Him: I need two picker bearings for the Fallowmaster. Tell them it has a square shaft and is an older 35' Fallowmaster.  Me: Okay.  Him:  If he can’t find it right away, they may have a record of one we bought before.  Me: Okay.  Him: It’s not the undercutter bearing.  We’ve gotten those too.  The undercutter uses a similar, but different, bearing.  The undercutter is an older Sunflower Richardson and has Richardson pickers.  Keep in mind, none of that is relevant to what I’m needing.  Me: Ha. (scratching out my notes)  Him:  Make sure they don’t give you an undercutter bearing. (Like I would know.)  Him: (Something) is not really a pillow block – more of a sandwich. (I can’t really remember what that was about – I’m using the notes I took that day.  I take a lot of notes when he calls for parts.)  Him:  And, if they’re still not sure, ask for Pete.  Me:  Which Pete? (There are two.)  Him:  Somewhat grumpy Pete.  You know him.  Me: Yeah, just making sure.  End of conversation.  Just to clarify, the John Deere part guys are generally very helpful and friendly.  However, the guy who apparently knows it all is Pete and I think Pete gets tired of being the go-to guy, because he can get a little impatient and mildly irritable at times.

So, it’s a quick change to old clothes and grab a drink and a snack (never know what you’ll wind up doing or how long you’ll be at the farm) and I’m out the door.

John Deere is huge and has a nice front area with all kinds of tempting merchandise inside the main front doors.  That’s for the fake John Deere people.  Real John Deere people, aka farmers, use the side door that leads directly to the parts counter.  Today I am a farmer, so straight to the parts counter I go.  As usual there are a few men sitting on stools or leaning into the counter, discussing things I haven’t a clue about.  Old men, young men, father-son duos – most in well worn jeans, farm stained shirts and dusty farm caps - all with an incredible amount of knowledge of their machinery.  I am in awe of them.

Back to our picker bearings.  Dave tells me I’m next, so I start to explain what my guys need.  He reaches for my note and I hold on – "this will only confuse you.”   He gives me a funny look, but starts searching on the computer.  Him: Is it a 1 inch or 1 and a half inch? (or something like that)  Me:  Um, he said you would just need to know it’s a square shaft and it’s an older 35 foot Fallowmaster.  Him:  Well….no…. (staring at computer)….hmm...  I then repeat all of my husband’s comments (except the irrelevant parts).  He still looks perplexed and keeps scrolling through something on the computer.  I chat with one of the managers while he is looking.  I didn’t want to do it to him, but finally, I fall back on “He said Pete would know what he needs.”   I get an ever so slight dirty look and he says “Well, Pete will probably just say 'I don’t know' too.”  But he gives in and walks over to Pete.  I hear my father-in-law’s name and Fallowmaster and apparently Pete didn’t say “I don’t know” because Dave immediately went to the back and brought out two boxes.  Thank goodness for Pete.  I thanked Dave and hoped Pete really did know.  There could’ve been two paper weights in there for all I knew.

It turns out Pete was right.  The Fallowmaster has two new picker bearings and I earned my Farmerwife stripes for the day.

Then there were seven!

soaking up lap time after supper & story telling

The cat that adopted our farm greeted us last night with a half eaten mouse.  I was impressed.  My daughter was grossed out.  I was impressed because she is feeding six little ones and can use the extra protein.  Yes, I said SIX!

The story of Farm Cat began before harvest in June.  My son was at the farm by himself and heard insistent meowing.  Here comes this scrawny loud friendly cat.  He shared his beef stick with her and scratched her bony back.  A couple of days later we all went out to get things ready for harvest.  (There is no house on our farm - just machinery & storage buildings.) She was still there, still friendly and still skin and bones - literally.  It was like petting fur-covered bones.  Lucky for her, she showed up at the best time of year.  Harvest started and we were out there every day with scraps.  By early July she had taken over the place, so we got her a flea collar and started leaving cat food in her tree.  As the bony edges softened, I pondered taking her to the vet to be spayed.  Ponder, ponder.  We also started searching for a home.  My husband is somewhat allergic to cats and we didn't want to worry about her out there in cold weather.  We found a willing friend in mid August, but didn't make plans to move her right away.  A week after we talked to him, I noticed her tummy was a little big and soon after that it was really big - way too big to just be full of food.  Dang!  Deviously, I wished we had moved her right away!

So, over the next few weeks her tummy grew . . . and grew.  Last week, while the guys were loading seed wheat, I sat in the back of the pickup with a very lumpy purring cat on my lap.  You could easily see the little dudes in there wiggling around.  Hmm - looks like she's probably going to have four.  I thought that seemed like a lot for our little cat.  The next day she didn't show up.  And then the next day, after some loud weird meowing calls from my husband, she comes walking from behind a covered cow/horse trailer.  And . . . she was thin!  We thought the trailer sides were too high for her.  We were wrong.  I looked in through the shoulder high openings and there in the straw was a pile of multicolored fur.  I opened the side door and took a quick count - four, no FIVE . . . NO SIX!  I yelled "That darn cat had SIX KITTENS!"  My husband's response was "Stupid cat!"  He really does like cats, but now we had to find homes for a few more than we expected.  Sigh.

As we looked around the trailer, we realized she must have been using it as a safe spot for longer than a few days.  If you're squeamish, skip the next sentence.  There were rabbit feet and bits of fur scattered about the trailer.  It turns out she is a good hunter and found the perfect place to eat in peace.  Now it's home to seven.  And right now pretty much all that goes on in there is sleeping and nursing - lots and lots and lots of nursing.

a circle of fur and purr

With a little family now, I've been contemplating names.  We hadn't actually named Farm Cat.  We were going to let her new owner do that, but what the heck.  I'm thinking either Unsinkable Molly Brown or Edna.  The kittens are all tabbies -  three dark, two grey and one ginger.  I have dubbed the next few weeks What Shall We Name Them Days.  So far - for the dark trio: Larry, Curly & Mo; Crosby, Stills & Nash; or Winkin', Blinkin' & Nod.  The grey duo: Woofer & Tweeter; Abbot & Costello; or Caeser & Brutus.  The ginger cat will NOT be Ginger.  I'm thinking either Honeybuns, Sugarpie or Macaroni.  I haven't checked the boy/girl status, so that may influence the name game.  In the meantime, we'll just keep cuddling them and taking pictures.

Muddy Roads and Clean Wheat

I should be driving a pickup right now.  It rained, so I’m not.  Weather dictates schedule most of the time in farming world.  My scheduled farmerwife job for the day was to drive 40 miles and pick up my men.  By the way, I’m officially changing my title from farmwife to farmerwife thanks to my daughter (see July 9 post).  Spell check won’t recognize it, but isn’t that how all new words start out?  Anyway - Last night a storm rolled through and left 4 inches in the farm rain gauge.  That makes driving two heavy trucks, one filled with wheat, out of a dirt (mud) farmyard and on country roads more challenging.  Trip postponed - no ride home needed.

tractor not pulling the drill

You might be pondering why the wheat was going somewhere else or you may not care one bit.  Doesn’t matter, I’m telling anyway.  In the fall, a week or two before drilling season, the seed wheat needs cleaned.  Now you’re wondering what we’re drilling for.  Well, it’s not oil (unfortunately) or water.  That’s what planting wheat is called.  No, you cannot actually say "planting".  That brings dirty looks from lifelong wheat farmers.  They will promptly correct you and may consider you a bit of an idiot if they’ve had to explain it before.  Drilling involves pulling an implement called a drill (of all things) behind a tractor.  The drill makes thin ditches, the seed wheat falls into the ditches through tubes connected to a grain box and then is covered up by another part of the drilling implement.  I’ve never fully understood why we can’t call that planting, but I like a happy husband so I don’t ask anymore.  Now he's saying something about planting being more precise than drilling - okay fine.

Back to the business of cleaning wheat.  (Yay!)  There are no detergents or Merry Maids involved.  The wheat has to be cleaned to get out the bad stuff such as shriveled or broken grains, bug bits, evil weed seeds, dirt and other undesirables.  Naturally, this is not done by hand.  Small farmers, well tall farmers too I suppose, especially those on family farms, generally take their wheat to a grain cleaning facility at an elevator (grain elevator – not up & down type – then again…it moves the grain up at times and down at times, I guess that works too, but I digress…again.)  That sentence was entirely too long.  Apologies.  My fact checking husband notes there are traveling grain cleaners – large contraptions on semi trailers - that will clean wheat at your farm.  There.  He’s happy now.

our classic (old) wheat hauling truck

I started out intending to relay the various “jobs” this farmerwife winds up with.  Obviously I lost my way.  We’ll save that for another day.  Lord knows I need more ideas as it’s taken me almost two months to write again.

Happy seed wheat cleaning time!

Razing Memories

They tore it down today. I am so incredibly bummed it’s just silly. The air condition-less (at that time) dorm I mentioned in a previous post is no more. That old limestone monument to college days gone by is now just a pile of rubble. According to the experts it was decrepit & had to go – make room for the new style of housing the spoiled children need these days. I feel old. Well, I suppose to them I am old. I would’ve thought I was old if I saw me when I was in college.

Now it’s all about suites – adjoining rooms and a shared bathroom for too few students. How the heck are they supposed to get any character building done like that? We crammed clothes, shoes, pictures, makeup, hair products, cassette tapes (yes, cassette tapes), boom box, micro fan, illegal hot pot, overpriced school books, stuffed animals, ruffled bedspread, and high school memorabilia all into a room the size of your parents' bathroom. Plus - two twin beds, two creaky wooden desks, two creaky wooden chairs and a wall phone (no cell phones, no free long distance). I think there was a dresser too, but I’m not sure. There must’ve been because I don’t know where else we’d have kept our underwear. Funny how I can’t remember where I stored underwear in college. Anyway - You learned to live in cramped quarters and compromise without driving each other nuts. An excellent life lesson.

For two years my college buddies & I lived on the lowest level, otherwise known as “The Ghetto” and we were proud of it. Our doors were usually open & we’d wander in & out of rooms – staying to do homework, yak about boys/partying, or watch soap operas. It was usually necessary to leave your door open if you left to visit a Ghetto neighbor. This was so you could smell if the water boiled away in your illegal hot pot and the egg you were making started burning (or blew up).

You can end on that odoriferous note or read this one last mushy memory. Many evenings I ran up the stairs across from our room to the locked side door where my boyfriend (now husband) was banging on the door. Off we’d go in his illegally parked blue Grand Prix. The steps are gone. The heavy door is gone. So sad.

Photo by owner of illegally parked Grand Prix
(my dorm was behind him)

All we are is dust (or tomatoes) in the wind

Ages and eons ago, my best friend & I blew into this Kansas college town.  We were homesick Colorado chicks suffocating in a tiny dorm room with no air conditioning, 110-degree days and the last puny fan left in town.  And then there was the WIND.  Every. Single. Blasted. Day!  Unbelievably, you kind of get used to it.  I know this because about a week after we arrived, we were walking to class and something seemed odd.  We couldn't put a finger on it - what was so different that day?  It took us a good 5 minutes to realize the wind had stopped.

Wind has cost us shingles, a van window, a van door, a few random pieces of mail, a tree, and large sections of a heavy wood fence that wound up in the neighbor’s yard.  They called it straight-line winds – like a tornado, only it doesn’t go round and round.

All this wind makes gardening a challenge.  I, of course, garden.  I had what I would call average-ish gardens until we moved across town and gained a fabulous sunny garden with perfect soil.  Suddenly my garden was above average-ish.  I had tomatoes that grew full & tall - more surface for the wind to push around.  It was common for the wind to have blown over several of my plants, wire cages and all, by summer’s end.  Last year my husband had a brilliant idea - electrical conduit for tomato stakes.  So, I walked into the hardware store/lumber yard place and asked for electrical conduit.  As I was directed to the 10’ metal pipes, the sales guy asked if I needed whatever it is you usually need when you buy conduit. (He was more specific.)  I said, “No, I’m using them to stake tomato plants.”  Looking perplexed, he exclaimed, “Wow, you must grow killer tomatoes!”  I explained about the wind issue and this was my solution.  He seemed amused.  It wasn’t until I was hauling the conduit into the garage that I realized I hadn’t mentioned to him that I was cutting them in half.  Oops.

Oh, and they’ve worked great.  Excluding a tornado, I think I’ve conquered the wind on this one.

Recipe or horror movie?

In the summer my work hours start at 7 am. My husband is a night owl & my kids are typical teenagers. Summer means going to bed before my entire family, including the dog, and then getting up well before the entire family, including the dog. My intentions to maintain a decent schedule are a mere daydream by mid summer. The family entices me with movies or games or conversation. Rapscallions!

This reluctance to hit the hay means some mornings at my desk can become a slightly sleep-deprived haze. My task yesterday was to make a list of various policies needing additional proofing. So, I jotted my list and set it aside. Done for the day and home I went. At work this morning - I turn on the computer, check e-mails, chat with the ladies a bit and then it's time to go over the list. I spread my paperwork in front of me and scan down the list of policies, e.g. Severe Weather Policy, Travel Policy. About 2/3 through the list I read this: "Missing Student Casserole." I stare at it for a moment wondering if I just can't read my own handwriting, but there's no mistaking it reads "Casserole" instead of "Policy."

Seriously, could you read that and not burst into laughter? Thankfully, my coworkers shared in the joke. However, I think they may have tired of my occasional chuckling as I continued working on the list throughout the morning. At least it kept me awake!

Chiggers, Coyotes & Peas - Oh My! (or harvest 2010)

Harvest is the pinnacle of the farmer's year.  We recently finished harvest so I'll share a bit of it.  You should know that we live in town and our family farm is about 10 miles out with no house there anymore - just various buildings and machinery.

We have gained a farm cat who will need a new home sometime before winter. (husband is allergic) She's friendly, adorable and now has some meat between her skin & bones. Any takers?

A calm twilight after 2 days of wind & heat brings out the wildlife. A fat badger scurried away when I pulled into the farm that evening. Then, as I was finishing up cat visitation, some coyotes started howling & yipping unnervingly close (adrenaline rush/goose bumps.) I saw some hazy figures in the distance & quickly plopped the cat up in her tree and drove off. That's when I realized the figures were four deer observing me.

My 17 yr old daughter & I still both fit in the combine with Alan. Only now I can't see much in front of me & when we get out it takes awhile to walk normal again.

We can still all four fit in the big tractor, but it's humorous, especially when Becca knocks it out of gear with her overly expressive elbow.

Overheard while riding in the combine with Alan: 
My son asks via the CB (needing to know how soon his dad wants to dump on the grain cart) "How much wheat do you have out there?" 
dad - "A whole lot." 
son - "That is NOT helpful." 
dad - "I won't know until we finish this field." 
son - "Okay, can you now answer my question the way it was originally intended?"

Chiggers like me better than my son. A night without bug spray is painful, especially behind my knees. I guess I'm just sweeter.

Becca - "Why do they say farmwife? You married a farmer, not a farm."
Me - "It's kinda' like housewife."
Becca - "Except you didn't marry a houser."

Mother/son entertainment during a field supper - try to land Alec's hat on each other's heads until Alan snatches it & tosses it into the ditch.

Becca - "They make pink John Deere shirts. Why can't they make a pink John Deere?"
(yes, she was joking)

I am driven by one ultimate goal each night: Keep all the hot food hot until the last man eats!

Me to my Pop-in-law: "Want some peas?"
Al - "Oh my, that was too much last night. I still have that great big cup in the fridge"
Me (louder) - "I said PEAS, NOT TEA."

Next day to my Pop-in-law (handing him lunch): "There's a cookie in there too"
Al - "What???" & looks at me like I'm nuts
Me - "A COOKIE"
Al laughing - "Oh, I thought you said a turkey."
(I love him - hearing challenged & all.)

Al - "Those are some real good pork chops!"
     No joke here, I just love to impress him : ] 

The men I cook for: one prefers handheld food, one wants all hot home cooking (my hubby-he wins), one loves fruit and hates sweets and another hates fruit and loves sweets. It's a challenge I relish - at least for one week out of the year.

Farmers generally have names for each field - often after whatever family used to own it or you still rent from, or by the closest road or town. Two of ours are super clever - the furthest east one is "Over East" and the newest one, which is the now the furthest west is - yup - "Over West"

I have a good guess how many miles to each field, but directions tend to sound more like this: drive north, turn left at the black top, turn right at the feedlot, turn left at the road that goes by the water tower. Once you go past the really big tree that hangs over the road in a low spot - you're almost there.

And I'll end with my version of the farmer wave. -Innn- (One finger lifted casually off the steering wheel - okay it's a skinny, short finger, but you get the idea)

I begin - about nothing

My writer sister once commented that I should start a blog. She has about 3 or 4 or 5, (I can't keep track) all with different types of content. As we were trekking across the prairie this Mother's Day, I was flooded with ideas for a blog. Well...now I can't remember any of them, or at least not enough to make an interesting blog. I imagine my readership will be an audience of one supportive sister. Oh well, writing is good for the soul even if no other soul reads it.

So what shall I blog about? Ugh - WRITER'S BLOCK. I'm hoping some day I'll look back and laugh at this rambling.  Should it be an introductory blog about me & my life?  Or is that just for the "about me" section. I am lacking in blog rules and etiquette.  My daughter will likely laugh at me.  What else is new?  Should I blog about procrastinating?  Maybe later.  (See how funny I can be?)  For now I've spent too much of a busy day just setting up this blog and pondering it's contents.  Now I have to go stock our tornado shelter.  Hey - a blog idea for next time!