Parts "Я" Us

"You need to go on another parts run."  This time it's my son calling and, fortunately, no odd descriptions needed.  "They'll have a sack of parts with Grandpa's name on it."  Alrighty.  "But you could also check to see if the part on back order is in."  I think I spoke too soon.  "We ordered it Saturday and if they have it..."  wait for it... wait for it... "it'll be a square with holes in it and pins sticking out." pause ... laughing...   I reply, "Oh man, you guys really need to be on my end when I get these calls.  Okay, I'll go get it and bring it with supper."


At John Deere, they have the sack ready and it's all good, until I ask for the back ordered part.  Joe (I believe Pete doesn't work evenings) goes in the back, then comes back and asks if I really want the something-or-other (he uses the real name, which I don't remember) because it's nearly 8 feet long (my husband says I heard him wrong) and heavy.  I later discover it's something my husband ordered for the combine header to replace after harvest.  "Well, no, that won't fit in my vehicle.  There should be something the guys ordered Saturday."  

This, but silver with less "pins" and a hole in each side.

They check the computer, find that the mystery part has indeed arrived and bring out another sack.  I look in to discover an over sized metal Lego.  I have no idea what it's for, but, yep, that's it. 

RePete

My husband and son headed to the field at 8 am yesterday for the first day of harvest.  I called at 11:30 to ask about lunch.  Along with the lunch order, my husband informed me he already needs me to run to John Deere (or drive, it’s a little far for a run on a hot day).  Hey!  I get to see Pete on the first day!  Most people have not cut a lot yet.  Not a lot of break downs yet.  That means not a lot of questions and dilemmas yet.  I’m kinda’ looking forward to seeing Pete before mayhem sets in.  If you’re reading this, you may have read the October 2010 post about Pete.  He’s The Man.  I mean, he’s the John Deere parts man who knows pretty much whatever you need him to know.  You need to read Pete’s the Man to know about Pete.

Back to the phone call.  My husband says, and I quote, “You need to swing by John Deere and pick up a belt for the tachometer for the cylinder.”  …. And that’s all he says….. I know, right?  I wait a moment and repeat his words and add, “I suppose they’ll know what that means?”  After a brief explanation of what the belt for the tachometer for the cylinder does (which I immediately forgot), he adds, “It’s for the 7720.”  I ask, “combine?”  He, of course, uses his you-KNOW-this voice “That’s what our combine is.”  You’d think I’d remember that – I help wax it every year and it rumbles by me numerous times each harvest – large numbers on both sides.  He then relays his conversation with Pete earlier in the morning about trying to fix the belt/tachometer/cylinder ailment with greasing or oiling or something – I forget.  But the fix isn’t going to last – need a new belt.  I’m glad to hear he already talked to Pete.  Then he says “You’ll know it’s the right thing if it looks like a big rubber band.”  Okay!

I get a big box of fish & chicken at Long John Silvers and the nice drive-through lady gives me an extra box when I tell her it’s for the guys in the field and one of them might need to take his food to the elevator with him.  Next stop – pick up the big rubber band thing.

I’m in farmerwife mode today and head straight to the parts counter.  The first guy at the counter, we’ll call him Joe, asks what he can do for me.  I see Pete at the far end helping somebody.  I think they strategically place Pete there so the other guys get more practice at part finding.  Oh well, we’ll give it a shot.  I unfold my note - “I need a belt for a tachometer for a cylinder...for a 7720.”  Obviously Joe knows more than me.  He starts typing in the computer before I get out “7720.”  I mention my husband called and talked to someone.  He asks if the part was pulled out.  Umm…huh?  “I …don’t know?”  Joe heads to the back and I realize he was asking if it was supposed to have been set out for me to pick up.  Oops.  Joe returns empty handed and I tell him Pete gave my husband some advice on trying to fix the belt/tachometer/cylinder situation, but we’ll need the part after all.  Joe leaves again and returns with a large clear rubber band looking thing.  That’s it! (I think.)  Pete is free and Joe casually tells him what’s going on and asks Pete if he advised just using a rubber band.  They both laugh.  It’s nice to see Pete in a good mood and it’s nice to get a part without making someone ask Pete.

Hydration Appreciation

My garden is watered via a hose - trickling in ditches and "dishes" - no sprinklers.  It's a conservation thing. And our dog completely loves it.  I unwind the hose and she happily dashes to the garden gate.  The water fills thirsty indents while I weed or pick veggies ... or smack mosquitoes.  Daisy follows me to each area, investigates briefly, then flops down in a dog-size dent nearby.  That doesn't last long in the summer heat.  She retreats to the shaded deck, returning only if I call or if she needs a drink.  I adore our neurotic mutt (she barks at everyone), but face slurping is generally off limits.  However, this is one time when it is always allowed because I'm fairly certain she'd just feel awful and offended if it wasn't.  

The routine:  Daisy shows up and stares at the hose lying in the dirt.  "Hey girl - ya' thirsty?"  I lean down, lift the hose, cup my hand and let the water trickle into it.  Slurp, slurp, slurp... slurp, slurp.  Wagwagwag.  (I swear I can see her smile.)  My head is just above hers.  She gratefully and quickly plants a sloppy dripping kiss on my chin.  "You're welcome!"  Yes, I say that out loud and with enthusiasm.  Back to the deck she goes.  Back to watering & weeding I go.

I'm kinda' glad the dog is the only one who wants to drink from the hose.

It ain't heavy, it's my garden.

the chair, the book, the paper - a plan

I cannot imagine spring without a garden or summer without the harvest.  However, as fall approaches, the garden and gardener grow a bit weary.  The spinach & peas were done long ago.  The cucumbers have succumbed to mites or beetles or a case of the-gardener-doesn’t-love-us-anymore syndrome.  I’m tired of keeping those stupid carrots watered.  And forget about the out of control tomatoes – who eats all those anyway?  Fighting heat, drought, weeds, bugs and ever-present wind…  At this point, I’m fairly certain I won’t be planting so much next year.  I should know better.

Winter slips by.  Shortly before the calendar announces spring, I notice seed packets and seed potatoes appearing in stores.  My Growing Vegetables in the Great Plains book whispers from the shelf behind my chair.  The garden beckons rototiller-man (my husband).  Suddenly I’m planted in front of a seed display, pulling out envelopes – “Hmm, maybe leeks this year…or turnips…do I want to fight smut and grow my hubby some corn? (I hate corn, bleh) … oh, those red spotted beans look cool."  Here we go!

Before planting can start, there is the planning, square foot by square foot.  
I swipe a piece of graph paper from one of my kids and start mapping.  Let’s see, I planted tomatoes here last year, but over there the year before, so....  (Disease fighting tip – don’t plant tomatoes in the same place every year.) Square by square everything finds a home.  This usually takes a day or two.  
I like to marinate ideas.  They taste better that way.

Then – nearly my favorite time of year.  Trenches are hoed, holes are dug, peat is added (lots of clay in the soil here) and seeds are sown.  Waiting begins.

2011 garden in May

I have a white plastic chair at the edge of my garden.  It wasn’t planned, I pulled it out of the shed one day to take a break and there it stays.  It’s excellent for musing a garden plan or admiring the day’s effort, for watching bees working the oregano or squirrels straddling the fence or just waiting around for things to grow.  Once the garden is in – the plastic white chair is my hammock.

The first fruits are the best part really – first green onions, first red radishes, first tender asparagus, first crisp rhubarb, first little green tomatoes that take forever and a day to ripen.  The rest of the summer entails watering and weeding and picking and hoeing and staking and watering and mulching and fixing and plucking and canning and watering and cutting and pulling and on and on.  

2010 garden late summer

Gardening is good for the body and soul...until it's not... when the ole joy-of-gardening battery starts to run down.  A few tomatoes go bad on the vine, the cucumbers don’t get watered soon enough.  Mites stake a claim on the eggplant.  Weeds sneak in under the pumpkin vines.  The squash bugs just won’t go away no matter how much you yell at them…  About that time I start watching the forecast for the first frost.  Hoping...  The die hard gardener will plan for this.  Fairly certain I’m not one of those.  I cover my tomatoes a time or two before plucking the green ones to ripen indoors.  This year I was oh so ambitious and covered up the best plant every night in late October – sheets & towels & straw.  Made it to November 1, then threw in the towel – or off, however you want to look at it.  Probably a record I’ll never break.  Later the sad brown remnants are hauled to the community compost pile.  Next year I will NOT plant that many tomatoes!  And forget corn for at least 10 years.  Smut – ew!

Well, it’s April 4.  The soil has been worked and evened out and the onions went in before the rain chased me out of the garden.  A stack of seed envelopes sit next to me – too many once again.  I blame Dad.  Every year he announced the garden would be reduced and every year he’d just keep adding.  I know there are worse addictions, though it’d be nice if this one didn’t involve squash bugs.

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!" )