New Life Old Farmers

“Try it and see how it works”, is good advice for plenty of things, well maybe not bungee jumping.  However, it would seem great advice when growing new things, and as it came straight from the one we’ve made the resident expert, Our Friend the Farmer I had every reason to follow it, that of course and the fact that I have few other options.

The call to our expert came over concern about the pumpkins (of course).  My pumpkin obsession continues, but I feel much better about it now that I have proof that it is ‘normal’.  My Neighbor dropped by to share the fruit from her pear tree.  She eagerly said, “I want to see your pumpkins.”  Music to my ears.  I confessed to her that I might be driving my family crazy with my pumpkin obsession.  She said, “Oh, I do the same thing to my family and I’ve only got 3 pumpkins”.  So, at my 30 plus pumpkins, I realize that this is just a ‘normal’ farm thing.  (The Teen is taking High School Psychology and says that this is called ‘Transference”.  UGH, kids).

The pumpkin emergency came as I found a handful of the pumpkins have gotten rotten.  Rotten and still on the vine!  This is what led to my concern and my call to Our Friend the Farmer.  The question, “Can my good pumpkins catch the ‘rotten-ness’ from the ‘bad’ pumpkins?  Should I cut them and move them and if so, will they still continue to turn orange?”  Our Friend the Farmer said he’s not on that good of terms with Mother Nature, but he’d confer with all the other farmers in the valley and get back to me, or maybe he said he’d just ask his Son The Farmer who has grown pumpkins commercially.

Luckily for me, Our Friend the Farmer makes house calls, so it wasn’t long before he showed up to examine the pumpkins himself while bringing us a cantaloupe, watermelon, zucchini and lemon cucumbers from his vegetable garden.  (Yep, our neighbors are the best)!  We checked out the pumpkins and found that many are turning orange and most quite healthy.  The vines have mostly done their work, so I could cut some off and set them up to see if they’d continue to turn orange, “try it and see how it works” and no the healthy ones won’t catch the rot from the rotten ones, phew.

“Why were some turning rotten?”  I asked,

Age old farmer wisdom, “Ellen, they just don’t all make it”.

This is what faith looks like.  Our chickens are only old enough to scratch, poop and eat.  I have hope, but My Loving Spouse has faith in them laying eggs in another month, so he has been getting prepared.  The youthful flock has gotten bigger so they go through the food quicker.  Keeping their chicken feeder filled is a bit like trying to keep the refrigerator full with teenage boys around.  We have 6 roosters (or teenage boys) and I’m told this is, “Surplus to requirement”.

There has been some talk of changing the roosters names from Lionel to Stew.  I’m not sure if it was the pooping in my clean barn or the practical side of me seeing just how much chicken laying meal they were eating, when we all know that they’ll not be ‘laying’ anything, but I surprised us both the other night, when My Loving Spouse asked, “Well, what do you want to do about the roosters?”  I might have been in a vengeful, tired, practical, farm adjusted mood, when I said without hesitation, “Let’s eat one”.

The four gray roosters are big, but one should be called ‘Lucky Lionel’ as My Loving Spouse likes the ‘look’ of him, so he has been earmarked for a long rooster life.  One of the Not-So-Lucky- Lionels was now ‘Stew’ and ‘dispatched’.  I was told exactly where Stew was ‘hanging’ so I wouldn’t stumble upon him by accident, information which I greatly appreciated.

My Loving Spouse not only grew up in the country, but was also apprenticed as a chef.  (Yes, he is practically perfect).  So he was completely capable of taking the Not-So-Lucky-Lionel/Stew from the chicken coop to the dinner plate without my having to see, touch or advise on any part of this operation, which was Lucky-For-Me.  The closer we got to dinner, the less I was able to actually imagine eating Stew.  Adapting to all things in the country might take a bit longer than this.  My dinner ended up being… a lovely bowl of rice.  It was the best I could do.  When asked how his dinner was, My Loving Spouse said of course, “Tastes like chicken”.

We are reasonably reliable people who get most places on time.  Living in the country, punctuality is a bit harder to come by.  “I’m sorry we’re late for church, but there was a rooster in the middle of the road.”  The rooster was also accompanied by turkeys.  We had to stop for the rooster and we had to stop and take a picture of the turkeys, being careful not to hit them, as A. it is not Thanksgiving, so what were we going to do with a turkey and B. since we are under a strict ‘no more animals for awhile’ policy, we all know that the turkeys didn’t belong to us.

Beyond late, the Bride and My Loving Spouse did not even make it to church this Sunday.  They were however, doing a much-needed job called ’tiling the ugly bathroom shower’.  “Tiling the ugly bathroom shower’ has needed to be done since day one.  Trying to find a time when A. the Bride was here to teach how to do it and B. we didn’t have a herd of people needing to shower in it has been problematic.  The work crew decided they had to miss church in order to get this job done.  As they were on their knees to ’tile the ugly shower’ and praying it all came out right, they were connected to us in spirit.  The bathroom now has beautiful tile and ugly walls.

“I’m sorry I am going to be late for quilting the farrier is here.”  There is SO much new in that sentence that if you’ve known me for any length of time, you are probably re-reading it.  My first quilt came out pretty neat and the crooked seams don’t show in the picture.  It will now go to a child in foster care.  It is extremely appropriate that my friend Dawn is the one holding my quilt in this picture, because as she was teaching me how to make it, she got very little work done on hers.

“Sweetie, can you handle the farrier today?” My Loving Spouse said in the same tone my father use to say “Honey, can you pick up my shirts from the cleaners?”  Trust me, this is not the same.  Thinking all I had to do was write the check, point to the pasture and offer him a cold drink, I figured I could handle it.  Our farrier is a gentle and knowledgeable guy, so let me say that we really like him.  I knew we were in trouble when he got here and said, “Do you need help getting the horses?”  We have two horses and one of me.  Even though I have two hands, I wasn’t wearing my Wrangler jeans or my boots and even if I was the answer would still be a resounding yes.  Sometimes horses do not want to be tied up and have a pedicure.  In this case the farrier thinks it would be ‘helpful’ to have someone hold them.  The ‘someone’ in this case would be me.  The horses and I are on a steep learning curve, I have learned a lot, but so far they know more about humans than I know about horses.  Getting the ‘opportunity’ to be ‘helpful’ and hold something bigger and stronger than me who doesn’t want to be held was an ‘opportunity’ for growth on my part and being 6 feet already, I was hoping that I was pretty much done growing.  The good news is that neither the farrier nor I got bitten but it wasn’t for a lack of trying by our little filly.

The teen and I are used to summer lasting for at least 6 months, so our 3 months of summer here felt like a blink of an eye.  I have sandals I haven’t even worn yet.  Our beautiful weeping elm is starting to drop small yellow leaves and I can’t help but wonder… isn’t this sort of early?  The calendar and the climate, however says that Fall has started, so all I can think is… here we go!

Number One son has lived in the snow for 6 years now, and is a bit concerned with our adjustment.  He gently offers me information on getting ready for winter.  “Mom, you’ll need to blow out your sprinklers so they don’t crack.”  I’m afraid my ‘learning new things’ category is filled to over flowing so I answered in the manner of the teen boys we had this summer with a mumbled, “Hun?  What?”

My Loving Spouse who has lived in lots of snow is on the ‘Winter is coming’ band wagon as well.  Yesterday was spent getting a pair of chains fashioned for Jubal (our tractor) as Jubal is slated to plow our driveway.  My Loving Spouse assured me that the cussing and cursing that went on over the chain fitting was nothing compared to what would have happened had he procrastinated on this job until November.  I also heard him mention how we need to put up the storm windows and do something about the dogs being outside.  I’m guessing that the electric dog water warming bowl I saw at the store was not actually a gag gift.  The country magazine he bought me also has advise for this change in season and reminds us to bang on our car hood before starting the car as cats like to sleep where it is warm and might climb into your engine.  Really?  Probably the only thing worse than all these barn cats would be greased and fried barn cats.

Fall to me before just meant football and bulb planting, luckily some things never change.  I’ve been a bit overwhelmed at the size of our garden here and the fact that I have so much new gardening info to learn.  However, planting bulbs is a favored Fall activity, there is nothing like seeing those blooms come up in the spring.  The 80 bulbs I put in yesterday just seems like a drop in the bucket.  I think I need more bulbs.

Anybody down South need some sandals?

Attending our first farm auction took ample preparation.  Both Number One son and my Loving Spouse were beside themselves that they had to work and miss the big (manly) event, so the Bride and I were slated to go and represent our family in the quest for a good ‘deal’, but only on stuff we ‘needed’.  I have a feeling that our men were both comforted and horrified at the prospect of our going off to an auction (over tools mostly) with bidder cards, cash and zero experience recognizing a great tool bargain when we saw one, even if it was a tool we might possibly (probably) own and not ‘need’ another of.  My Loving Spouse went as far as to give us a ‘bidding tutorial’ the night before, complete with the most appropriate method to nod one’s head at the Auctioneer, shake one’s head ‘no’ when done and how not to wave one’s bidder card around like a cat on a hot tin roof.  We practiced our nodding technique dutifully, because we were a bit anxious over making our first bid and because we had been served wine.

We women packed up carefully for our auction with thoughtful preparation.  Outfits comfortable enough to fit in with the farmers, but not too crummy, so that if we needed help lifting something heavy we’d be able to find a few strong willing men, ‘the’ list of  instructions from our spouses, bidder cards, wet wipes (in case the port-a potty was gross), and CASH.  We swapped vehicles, since we were looking to fit in and a farm auction is no place for a jaunty red Lexus, we needed to drive the truck.  Besides if we got ‘everything’ on ‘the’ list we’d use the full bed of the truck.  I drove in and looked like one of the gang, until I had to park.  Country men like to back their trucks into parking spaces, perhaps so that all the dogs left in the cab can look out the wind shield and catch the action.  I stood out as a woman driver as I zig-zagged our long bed truck in reverse across the field into a parking spot.  Once parked, we were ready, all we had to do was wait for the auction and hang on to our bidder cards with all the confidence of a first time traveler clutching their passport.

A farm auction is 98% tools or things with motors, so the crowd was 98% men.  Men with little sons, men with big sons.  Men in caps.  Men in hats.  A few men smoking and a few young men chewing (and spitting really far), yea that part was gross, but it is the price one pays and at least they all wear their pants were they were meant to go.

We were prepared to stick to ‘the’ list, after all we’d thought this through and figured it out.  It only required patience and a good nod, which luckily for us we’d been practicing.  We did great with our plan, up until the time the auction actually started and while our first bids/victorys/ ‘Sold’!s were not exactly on ‘the’ lists, they were a great ‘deal’!

We got good at our ‘nods’ and the truth is that the bidding was thrilling and fun  A bit like being at an amusement park, with a lot of waiting interspersed with an exciting ride then more waiting.  I only got carried away once…  I’d decided the nicest looking saddle was going to go for more money than agreed upon on ‘the’ list, so I’d bid on my second choice.  Well, after being the winning bid on the second choice saddle, I was under budget and feeling a bit high with my ‘win’.  I started bidding on my first choice saddle.  (At this point we  have one saddle at home, one saddle I’ve just bid on and won, one more I’m bidding on), oh, and we currently only have one horse that can be ridden.  This is just bad math.  In my defense… it was a really, really pretty saddle.  Luckily, I ‘came to’ in time and did the head shake ‘no’ I’d been taught in our tutorial.

My Loving Spouse is delighted with a planer I scored for him.  I did go over ‘the’ list’s budget for this, but only a bit and besides, he is really worth it.  The planer is and I quote him, “A beautiful old piece of machinery”.  I’m happiest with the antique bed that I practically stole, as the other 98% of the bidders were taking a quick break as they’d finished auctioning diesel barrels and hadn’t started auctioning heavy machinery.

We left the auction exhausted, happy and invigorated to experience something new.  Satisfied with how we’d done with ‘the’ list and smugly delighted with our bidding ‘nod’.

 

 

 

 

The rip out, remodel, repair, restore, Advil dance continues, but we’ve added a bit of creativity (and its frustration) to the mix.  We’ve been asked to host a barn sale here at Glory Farm with multiple vendors  in a few weeks, which has been the driving force behind the BIG barn clean up.  We expect there to be antiques, fall decor, vintage farm items and pumpkins (if the magic pumpkin fairy visits and they turn orange in time).

One man’s trash is usually… another man’s trash.  However, add a wife and some creativity to the mix and you get, well, a pile of trash… with potential.  This shed of debris was easy to put far down on the list for clean up, as we did not need to go through it for any reason.  There were old/new kitchen cabinets that were re-purposed for My Loving Spouse’s work shop, a LOT of dust, dirt and a large pile of wood that I now go through regularly in my quest for treasured bits of weathered pieces.   This is the  inspiration room.

My Loving Spouse is creative, so he is encouraging (even when he doesn’t understand what in the world I am doing).  He is usually ready to help with tool knowledge and wisdom when I get stuck, which happens often.  My creative process looks more like an idea that doesn’t work, perseverance, trying something else, giving up, trying something different, whacking some wood, doing some laundry, counting the pumpkins, coming back to the project with a new idea and Ta-Da!  Frustrating and rewarding all together.

My Loving Spouse on the other hand just gets his projects done.  I mentioned to him that the old fencing wood would make great frames, so he made some.  Sometimes he makes things look so easy.

We really are looking forward to the Barn sale.  This group had been looking for a place to host their idea for sometime, so it is good to be able to help them out.  It is also nice to take some time for smaller projects away from the huge ones at the house.  A time where we can quickly see a beginning and an end (even if the middle was sort of frustrating).

 

I never expected to learn more about computers living in the country!  There’s no tech team here, no latte enticed tech knowledgeable friend to come help me out.  There is Number 4 son, (who is not really our son, but the Bride’s brother) who lives in town, but I can only ask him so many times to bail me out and as my biggest frustrations with the darn computer usually come at about 10:00pm when I’m sitting in bed in my cozy pj’s with My Loving Spouse snoring softly beside me, it would not actually be all that appropriate.  Besides, Number 4 usually asks me complicated questions that I never know the answers to like, “What did you do to get here?”

The computer is a bit like our chickens, fascinating and unpredictable.  It links me to the world we left behind and the world we’ve entered.  Writing this Blog has been rewarding, enticing and such a gift to me!  I have learned more about how to manage the mysteries, codes and language of the computer than I ever thought imaginable.  Then when I want to make a change to the site, it (just like the chickens in our ‘clean’ barn) poops all over.

And who do I ask about the current set up?  For example, I LOVE getting your comments.  I don’t know how to make the type larger, display them differently, then do I answer each one, (which I do in my head) or is that off-putting to the other readers and would the writer of the comment come back and read the response anyway????

I have found some ‘forums’ (fancy computer word for people who know a LOT about computers and share their knowledge) to be helpful.  However, finding people who speak middle-aged-mom language and not computer language is part of the challenge.  I’m currently learning two new languages.  Computer blog, where a ‘plug-in’ is not an electrical appliance and Washington where a ‘pop’ is not a person it is a soda.

This is our neighborhood and it shows the technical/country combination of my life now.  I love the view of both the wind farm and the cows.  The cows are pretty great neighbors, they moo and they eat.  The wind mills are large, quiet and blink a red dot in the night, but they do not always turn.  The cows, well, yes, they do always poop.

 

Number One Son called yesterday and we chatted about the farm auction we are going to and no, they don’t auction the farm, they auction the stuff from the farm, tractors, trucks, fence posts, tools, so it is a second-hand sale.  The auctioneer has a very cool website with lots of pictures of the treasures.  Since I recognize most of the tools as being just like the ones in my Loving Spouse’s workshop, I doubt that many of these treasures will move from the ‘want’ category into the ‘need’ category.  There are some saddles to check out and if you have the ‘back’ to a 55 Chevy, apparently they have the ‘front’.  Number One Son’s workshop is yet to be built and outfitted, so he might score some precious items.

Then he got around to the real reason for the call.  “Hmm, so Mom, do you miss your cats?”  Apparently, you can take the cat out of the barn, but you can’t take the barn out of the cat.  The two fierce & mighty barn kittens are wreaking havoc on the newlywed’s two bedroom apartment, wrestling each other and spreading kitty litter from one end of the apartment to another probably searching for mice and snakes.  Tigger & Pooh have flunked city life and will be returning to the farm and the outdoor life they know, fine by us all.

Aren’t second chances great!  My way of doing things is to often blunder forward and try.  Often followed by, “whoops”, not quite what I wanted, now what do I need to do.  I’m glad the offspring are willing to blunder forward in life as well.   There have been plenty of new things to ‘try’ here and so far my list of ‘whoops’ is pretty long, however I haven’t run over anybody with the tractor or cut off anything I needed with the ax so I’m good.

I might be a bit over board with my fascination, wonder and awe at the robustness of my pumpkin patch.  I as yet, do not have a lot of repeat visitors here.  The Preacher’s wife is my most regular visitor and good-naturedly views the amazing (to me) patch.  The truth is my family has shared the brunt of my pumpkin patch mania.  I can get every member of my family to roll their eyes, if I so much as mention the word ‘pumpkin’.  I have a hunch that if I whispered ‘pumpkin’ while they are sleeping, I believe that they’d groan and roll over in bed.  How many pumpkins there are and when they’ll turn orange has seemed like perfectly good conversation starters (and finishers) to me.

The pumpkin patch has had a few tough days.  When I bought the seed packet at the end of June, I did check to see that we had enough time to plant them, water them, grow them etc. in time for Halloween.  I did the math and it was not a problem.  Plant after the last frost, check.  We were good to go!  Nowhere on the packet did it say anything about the next frost.  It is not like we didn’t have frosts in California, we did.  I even have pictures of the year it happened and it wasn’t in September.

Luckily, our friend the farmer told me, that when it got cold enough for a frost, I should cover the pumpkin vines with sheets.  This might keep them warm enough to not freeze.   At first, I thought this might be a little like a snipe hunt.  (Let’s see if we can get the pumpkin crazy city girl to put her pumpkins to bed at night with sheets) but it wasn’t.  Our friend the farmer might tease about cats, but not about growing stuff.  He knows what he is talking about and this was good old farmer type advice.

Given my repeated sharing of all things pumpkin, it was quite the testament of love the other night, in the dark and the cold as my Loving Spouse helped to cover the pumpkins as advised.  4 bed sheets, 5 beach towels, and 2 extra-large tarps only covered a small portion of the beloved patch.  Trying to cover the patch at night by the light of the stars and not step on any of the coveted pumpkins was something of a challenge as well.  Even the Teen helped to tuck the pumpkins in, covering pumpkins with a beach towel found in the depths of the debris from the back seat of her car.

Now we have a multi-colored patch, half the leaves are green and the other half black from frost, and finally a few pumpkins are turning orange.  I’m wondering how many I have left, how many will turn orange, if they’ll still grow now that it is warm again and I’m trying very hard to not wonder out loud.