New Life Old Farmers

“Everyone” is getting ready for THE Fair and THE Rodeo.  We know a lot more 4-H kids this year, so we are very excited for the 4-H live stock auction, to watch the pigs go for a lot of money and the grandfathers pull out their check books.  I was going to tell you all about the kids and their pigs…the girls’ pigs names are “Crispy Bacon & Ham” and “Howie”, the boys pigs are named…”pig”.  However, everyone has to finish their work before the fair and we were no different.

I had a one person tractor task today.  Jubal and I were to back fill the trench behind the work shop, as we’ve finally achieved a workable plan to keep the North 4 and the workshop from flooding.  It would take some time, but it was to be just Jubal and I…it was bound to be a good day, I’d get a lot done and be calm and relaxed, ready for The Fair and The Rodeo, until… Jubal (and I) ended up in the ditch.  Oh…blast…(or something like it).  My beautiful horse Beau, looks on without a care in the world.

My one person job was now a two person job, as I required Number Two Son to help pull Jubal and I out.  Events quickly led to the whole fiasco becoming a three person job, as Jubal was at such an angel, that the gas was not going down the gas line, so The Teen was recruited to go and pick up more gas.  The Teen was also the ‘interpreter’ from myself on the tractor (tilting at a 45 degree angle) to her brother who was driving the diesel truck and couldn’t hear a work either of us was shouting.

 The good thing about this particular three person team is that none of us really knew what we were doing, and we’re sort of okay with that and just try to do it anyway, so although there maybe ‘tension’, there are none of those arguments about ‘why aren’t we doing it right’, as we have no idea what ‘right’ is.  We had, however received our instructions and they had been shared with the whole team.

 We tried it….it didn’t work.  We tried it a few other ways, and they didn’t work either.  Being the one on the tractor sitting at a 45 degree angle was something of an experience, as I had to hang on to keep from sliding into the ditch myself.  However, we did not break the truck, get anything else stuck or break Jubal.  And then…we tried it a different way and like a wild ride, I was going backward on the tractor with Number Two Son towing us and all of a sudden we were out.  High fives and feeling pretty proud of ourselves, even if Jubal and I were just a tad muddy.  I finished filling the trench and looking at the beautiful sky…. and so now we are ready for The Fair and The Rodeo as well.

It takes time (a year), dedication and determination to make Sloe Gin.  We have a special set of Family members ‘across the pond’ who do so and let me tell you, their Sloe Gin is good….really good.  Now all of my American readers are saying…’hun?…’sloe what?…  In order to explain it better, I went to thekitchn.com/History of Drink to come up with this apt description, (and no, I did not misspell kitchen).

To understand sloe gin, we must first answer the question: “what, exactly, is a sloe”? Sloes are little berries, about the size of a dime, that grow wild in hedgerows all over England. One reason you might never have heard of sloes is that they’re not widely cultivated, because they taste terrible. Ripe sloes may be lovely to look at, but their taste is highly astringent and generally unpleasant.

But our compatriots across the sea are an inventive sort, and they came up with a way to make the sloes useful: soak them in booze. The Brits have been making sloe gin for hundreds of years by infusing the berries in high-proof gin, along with a little bit of sugar. The result is a liqueur that’s tart, but with a delicious richness and depth of flavor.

Sloe gin is especially nice on a cold winter’s night.  We drink it in very small amounts.  Now this could be because it is a liqueur and that is how one drinks a liqueur, in small amounts, or it could be that procuring our Sloe Gin from The Family across the pond is problematic, so we enjoy it sparingly.  Last year The Family sent us a grandson to stay at the farm for 6 weeks, but no Sloe Gin.  This year The Family sent a second teen to the farm, but no Sloe Gin.  The Sloe Gin situation on our end was becoming dire, so we upped our whining to a new level.  Great measures were taken by both The Family and our current British Guests to rectify our supply for which we are extremely grateful.

In Washington growing like weeds along the roads and trails are Choke Cherries.  One can imagine how good they taste, just based upon their name.  They can however, be made into syrup, jelly or even wine.

So began the great Choke Cherry vodka experiment.  We picked plenty of the tart fruit, washed them, stripped them of their leaves and threw out any random bugs we’d collected along the way.  My Loving Spouse then added sugar, vodka and who knows what else and set it to ‘brew’…  When The Family makes Sloe Gin, the sloe’s which are a bit like plums are pricked, legend has it by a virgin with a silver hat pin, (and no, we’ve no idea what or who is pricking The Family’s sloes) to release the flavor into the gin.

Choke cherries are so small, My Loving Spouse was confident that the flavors would release over time and just shoved them into the jug.  It did become fascinating to watch the color in the jug change and the cherries start to move from resting on the bottom to floating on the top.  As choke cherries are so abundant here, there was great hope that My Loving Spouse might be ‘on to something’.

Luckily for all of us, there was constant dialog with The Family about the process and the procedure for the making of the Choke Cherry Vodka.  More research was uncovered and it was at this point that The Family did a double-check with My Loving Spouse.

“Did you leave the cherry pits in?”

“Yes, they are quite small.”

“Yes, but it says they are poisonous…perhaps you should taste it….”

Cyanide will taste like almond, so My Loving Spouse took a small taste of the brew and said….

“Bad British word”

Moving hay is a learned task, which so far…we haven’t ‘learned’.  We are still at remedial hay moving.  Most of what we’ve learned, we learned the hard way.

1.  Wear gloves (still have blisters)

2. Wear long sleeve shirts (arms still scabbed and scratched from the sharp ends of hay…looks like I got pushed into a dozen rose bushes).

3. Barn cats are no help at moving hay.

This was actually alfalfa, not hay, but all moving issues are the same when it comes to 150 (or so) pound bales.  We had 3 tons of alfalfa delivered for our herd for the winter.  One big stacked pile of hay behind the barn about 12 feet high and each one heavy.  I needed the help of Number Two Son to get the whole hay-ball rolling.  I convinced him to climb up on top of the stack and push some bales off, so then we could drag them into the barn and begin a new stacking pile.  He did not really think this was such a great I idea, as

1. he was wearing shorts

2. he didn’t have gloves

3. the wind was blowing…. I mean it was really blowing

After he’d knocked some bales down, he became concerned that he might be the next to hit the ground and asked if we could stop.  Being a ‘good’ mother, I agreed and we proceeded to just clean up the 18 bales we’d managed to get inside.  I kept telling him how ‘glad’ he was going to be this winter when we needed to feed the herd and only had to do it from the barn, but with hay scratches on his arms, legs and hay in his eyes…he didn’t seem to care about winter or hay, all that much.

Day two I tackled on my own, mostly because I was in a bit of a bad mood and using the opportunity to be stubborn on a job that needed to be done often seems to help.  I was just getting the hang of it, with plenty of huffing and puffing going on, as I reduced the pile to a dozen bales or so.

I was actually feeling fairly proud of myself as I’d figured out how to use the previously stacked bales to bring the new bales in and stack them even higher.  Stacking the hay/alfalfa up 4 bales high….(note to reader…these bales are heavy)

I moved about 30 bales of hay before the reinforcements arrived with only 6 bales left to go where they shook their heads at my stubbornness and went to find some gloves.

For a 54-year-old ‘city’ girl…all I can say is…not too shabby.

I often struggle with stopping work to ‘play’ with creative bits.  Luckily My Loving Spouse believes in the benefit of my doing so and I am fortunate that Number One Wife also loves to make ‘stuff’ with me.  Working around the Damn Cat, however is another issue….

I am not someone who can sit down and come up with great cards right at the drop of a hat, I always have to get a few ‘not so great’ cards out first…like ideas…the best ones seem to come after a bit of practice.  However, since I do not get to my paper crafts very often the ‘not so great’ cards…yes, they get sent out as well.  My Seattle Cousin knew I ‘needed’ a barn stamp and I pretty much think she was right.

I am rushing to get my ‘inside’ chores done this morning, because I am feeling a creative ‘need’ and there is a workshop and a welder and a whole lot of ‘good’ junk out there just waiting to get welded.  My Loving Spouse’s goodbye to me this morning…

“I love you, don’t burn the workshop down.”

Trying to find a good saddle is a bit like trying to find a good bra, except it is okay to try it on with a lot of people milling about.  Unlike a bra, a saddle that is ‘pre-owned/used’ is actually preferred, they are less expensive AND broken in, so it is just one less job for me and my…seat.

In Ellensburg, there is the most wonderful saddle maker and his store is absolutely one of a kind.  You have to be ‘in the know’ to find it as it is out in the country and they don’t advertise, they don’t have to.  They do have a sign, but you have to get there to see it.  Their sign says to ‘come in the coffee is always ready’ and I have been offered a cup each time I’ve walked in the door.  The store itself is a plethora of  bits, boots, clothes, a wonderful wooden floor, handmade saddles, chaps and all things for your horse.  They are experts at fitting a saddle, so I figured just like the expensive bra shops, that they would be able to tell me exactly what ‘size’ saddle I needed, thereby eliminating any chaffing or pinching.  When I said that to them…the guys just looked at me…”ah…we’ve never shopped for bras, but I don’t think it is the same”.  Well, so much for being the expert saddle fitter for my…seat.

The saddle does also have to ‘fit’ the horse, and it was here that they were truly experts.  As my beautiful Beau doesn’t talk, I was glad they could fit the saddle for at least one of us.

The saddle that turned out to be ‘just right’ is prettier than anything, I’d ever imagined.  Wait, who am I kidding…I never imagined having my own horse or even needing my own saddle…dreamed it maybe…but really and truly imagined it to the point where I needed to make sure it ‘fit’…never!  The truth is that as much as I try to see the humor in the day to day…there was a time, where my life was quite dark and my hope was slim, where I could only see ‘hope’ in the small tiny pieces of belief from others, that my life would get better…  A time where even this dream was so far from reality that I ceased to dream it…  So, if you need it, take my saddle as a bit of ‘hope’, my beautiful ‘used’ saddle, which is broken in, the leather is soft, scuffed a bit, with some shiny pieces of sterling silver, that when our dreams seem beyond hope…it is not hopeless and I believe that one day you will find that your life becomes as they say in Ellensburg…’even better’.

“White is not a color.”  Or at least that is what the other kids would say to me, when I was a kid playing those school yard games where you called out a color to keep from being ‘it’.

If white is not a color, why is so much of my house white?  Inside…white on white with white trim and white curtains.  Now officially old, I’d have to agree, white is not a color.

The time had come to tackle some of our white rooms upstairs.  I had a painting crew (Number Two Son) and the absence of people sleeping upstairs.  I even knew what color to paint it because, I’ve been ‘pinning’.  According to my sources (Pinterest) gray is the new warm color for painting the interior of your home.  Benjamin Moore gray paints to be exactly ‘right’.  I had the ‘right’ paint number, so I was sure to get the ‘right’ gray.  Except… I went to My Loving Spouse’s favorite hardware store (#1) and they do not happen to carry Ben’s paint.  So being slightly an impatient type person, I picked out another grey paint.  (Collective gasp from true designing type folks).  Now, I may be impatient, but I am careful (sort of, ‘seasoned’ might be a better term, when it comes to picking out the wrong paint.  I’ve painted a lot of rooms the ‘wrong’ color before, all the while you are painting and trying to tell yourself it will be ‘fine’ when it dries, and it never is).  I checked those little paint swatches and made sure I did not get a brown gray, (which would not be ‘right’), but got a blue gray.  It was a lovely light, warm gray…on the swatch. My painting crew had gotten the little room upstairs ready, deposited Zoe the puppy into her crate and had our painting music set and we were ready to roll.

We were a great team.  I cut in…Number Two Son rolled…  I had one of those ‘Mom’ moments realizing he’d grown up.  Number Two has painted a lot with me, but always in a controlled environment where spills mattered very little, either he painted outside or he’d been assigned to paint the inside of the closets.  Yep, my boy had grown up and was rolling on color in the house… a warm blue grey, that looks…well, mostly blue.

It’s a nice blue…almost a gray-blue…but I’d have to say for certain, that it is not gray.  It is however, not white on white, it is clean and it is fresh, and our pretty windows now stand out in this sweet room upstairs, so I’d have to say…I like it.  As far as one of my mistakes go, this is not bad at all.

However, it would not do to paint the landing this shade of blue, so it did require more paint.  This time we were at Lowes (#2) and they do not actually carry Ben’s paint either.  I was determined to get it ‘right’ this time, so I even stuck the paint swatches in under their special multi-light tool, to see what the color would look like in different lights.  This time I was sure, that I got a nice warm, light gray.  Day two of the painting began, by now we were a well seasoned and completely orchestrated team.  The music was playing softly, the puppy only got into a little of the gray paint, the room was looking fresh, clean and inviting.

“It sort of looks like the color we painted yesterday, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It’s not…it really is different….it’s just that we might be the only two people who will ever be able to tell.”

“Yeah, I know….”

“But it looks good…”

“Yeah, I know…I like it..even if it’s not ‘right’.”

….and the funniest part of all…. in these pictures…it looks, well…gray!

Shopping for jeans!

If that statement doesn’t bring up loathing, disgust and dread to both you and your wallet, then you are a man…you’ve worn the same size forever, can buy the same jeans at Sears, Wal-mart, or JC Penny and can even find them on sale.  You’ve never worried if your jeans made your butt look fat.  You have always probably been able to wear any of your jeans and sit down without pinching anything.

Shopping for jeans is a trying experience for woman.  If it is not, well then you probably do not read this blog, I’ve never met you (or anyone like you).

The last time I was in ‘the city’, My Loving Spouse said, “Sweetie, don’t rush home, go get yourself some jeans while you are near the mall.”  We go through a lot of jeans here, so this was a thoughtful suggestion.  It almost sounded…easy…ha!  I went to one major (large) store and they did not even have ONE pair of jeans in a long/tall…pant size.  (Plenty of petites…oh, don’t get me started!)  At major store number two, I found only three to even try on…all different styles, but the only ones in long…the only ones they had…only one pair really works…the others make me sweat, where uhmmm, excuse me one should not sweat!  Suffice it to say…shopping for jeans…stinks, wearing ‘bad’ jeans stinks worse.

Today I was feeling brave.  I needed jeans!  Ones that were looooong enough gosh darn-it, didn’t pinch or make me sweat.  I had my wallet and I was going in.  Into town…(no freeway)…no mall, parking was easy at my favorite store (where I’d decided to try shopping for jeans).  There was plenty of parking near the front door, so I chose a spot near the wheel barrows.  I entered  The Hardware Store/ Feed & Seed, went past the ropes, nuts & bolts, stopped briefly at the dog treats, glanced at the work gloves, did not get distracted by the boots or hats and went directly to the wall of jeans….$10 off all women’s jeans, oh be still my heart.

It turns out, that the Hardware/Feed & Seed is a plethora of jean choices for women (at least 14 kinds)…boot cut, low-rise, really low-rise (I don’t think so), booty up (yes, really), long and extra long.  The Feed & Seed knows something the malls don’t….not everyone is short.  They have looooooong jeans.  I even tried on a pair that were too long, I didn’t know that was even possible…it was a sweet moment.

Good bye city mall,

Hello country mall.

The Hardware/Feed & Seed where they have everything I need.

Okay not everything,

they don’t have bras or chocolate….

I’ve found that the old saying is certainly true…

“If you want to hear God laugh?”

Make plans!

Truth is plans are good.  They keep me communicating well with My Loving Spouse as we discuss, chat, talk about and ponder the many possible outcomes of whatever it is we are dreaming scheming up.  Plans keep us moving forward…well, okay they keep us moving…sideways mostly.

Plans are the blue prints for dreams and sometimes you just have to go back to the drawing board.

Some of our ‘plans’ when we moved here were how we were going to bring in an income to…feed the offspring,  feed the ever-growing animal population, finish restoring the house and fix all the stuff we break.  Those plans have not gone as…well, as we’d planned.  So we’ve been brainstorming…researching…talking with trusted friends…and done more….planning….for an additional stream of income.

So we’ve bought a school bus….and that alone has sent us scurrying around the country quite a bit.  We’ve seen them on-line, in fields, in junk yards, bid on them at auctions, and finally procured one today, which only meant we had to drive to another city in another state…back and forth all day…the first trip was around a city we didn’t know looking to fill up the gas tank of a bus we’d never driven.  The bus does have ‘normal’ brakes, so anyone of us could drive it…”Yes, in theory,” said Number Two Son.

Our plan?????

It will become a mobile kitchen with a small eating area….”The Bus Stop Dinner”.  Oh, yes, I’m sure that these plans will result in some humorous moments.  Will it all go well?  Hmmm….. I doubt it.  Am I grateful to be married to someone willing to try… to plan…. to dream…. to take a chance…oh most definitely!

The Dogs get on board for their first bus ride.

I know that look...The Teen is 'planning'.

Demolition days are exciting!  They mark the start of a project!  The removal of the ‘problem’ and the beginning of the ‘solution’.  Except when the demolition just happens…it is not planned…then it is just a… Bad British Word.  Such was our reality a few days ago and now that tempers are cooler it is probably safe to tell the tale.

It started with me… (I hate that).  A house fly was annoying me and our guest at the breakfast table, so I picked up My Loving Spouse’s cap and swatted it.  Not only did I NOT kill the pesky fly, but the metal bit on the cap cracked the 100 year old glass in the window.  NO!!!!  I want a do over, as I thought to myself… Bad British Word!!!

Number Two and The Teen have been sharing a car and the sharing of filling the gas tank.  This has not gone real well.  So when we had the opportunity to pick up an inexpensive/cheap auto, we jumped at it.  It is a manual…a stick…clutch…gas…all that stuff…stalling etc.  Number Two needed to learn to drive a stick.  Being a good mother and still suffering from the whole learning to drive a clutch nightmare I experienced with my father, I carefully explained to him how it all worked.  I was the model of a patient and loving teacher (of course this was all handled at the breakfast table.)  Later when Number Two was behind the wheel, he said to My Loving Spouse, “I really think Mom is over exaggerating the difficulty of all this.”  He then popped the clutch, ‘drove’ (and I use the term lightly) in reverse across the yard running over a fence post ending up high centered over a plumbing box with one wheel spinning.  Luckily it was a ‘fancy’ plastic fence post, so he wasn’t hurt nor was the car….the fence post however, is not looking too good.

With all the ‘excitement’ of cars with clutches being driven about, My Loving Spouse”s truck got parked where it had never been before and just maybe a tad too close to The Teen’s car.  So needless to say, she left for church group after backing into the truck, rounding out the day with three demos in one day…..(Bad British Word).

Stuff just happens.  Figuring out whose ‘fault’ it is…seldom seems helpful…I guess the answer is just learn from it and try to do it differently…better…let the fly live or wait for it to land on something more solid before whacking it.  Driving cars…stuff always happens…My Loving Spouse knew that the best part was that no one got hurt…the next day things were better…and in any case if need be I can look back and say…”Who in the world taught these two to drive anyway?” and he will say….(Bad British Word).

(Insert cute puppy picture here)