Green Acres

Yes, it's been a few days, letting my fingers heal up from the whole moth debacle. My aunt tells me there are moth boxes that you can buy at Lowes to keep in the cabinet, so Handyman has been ordered to stock up on those during his daily trip to Lowes.
Just to keep things interesting, there was an outbreak of giant black flies in the kitchen. With all the cracks and holes in that room there is just no way to know where they are originating, but the first day I killed 10 in the front window, ten! They are big and slow, thank goodness. But big means squishy and gooshy, wipes necessary. After I massacred the ten I turned around and there were more on the fluorescent light by the washer/dog kennel. I got a new smacker and headed that way. Would you believe I got four in a row on the string hanging from the light?? Stupid squishy flies.
At lunch, #1 joined in the killing frenzy and we got more in the window and more on the light. I'm beginning to think they're coming from the light fixture. My BBFL called and she suggested those sticky strips that we hang in the barn in the summer--very attractive--but we happened to have some. I watched with glee as the flies left the light fixture and stopped for a little R&R on the sticky strip! Na na na boo boo! Hotel California--you can never leave!!
When I was at the library loading up on DVD's for this glorious west-of-Ohio slop-from-the-sky mudfest, I found the entire first season of......GREEN ACRES! That's right. My kids have never seen Green Acres, although they have heard the term many times over the last few years. I figured they need to understand the cultural implications of Green Acres on their lives and get to know Arnold Ziffel.
Of course they love it. They're singing the theme song. They especially love that Zsa Zsa left a note for the hen to leave them three eggs and the hen, who lays her eggs in a china dish, left four! (Mom--don't they know that a hen doesn't lay four eggs in a day??) They also loved that Zsa Zsa didn't want to break the eggs to cook 'zem "because the hen worked so hard at making 'zem."
I so appreciate that the kids think our life is not Green Acres, even though most of our family does. They realize we are WAY above that stage in life. After all we have electricity in the barn now, even the hayloft has its own switch. (I think they forgot about that whole rooster in the shower stall incident.)
Well, I gotta go remove the fly tape from the kitchen ceiling before the company comes--ick.
Greeeeeeeeen Acres is the place to be. Faaaaaarm living is the life for me! Land spreading out so far and wide. Keep Manhattan just give me that mud inside!
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Jan. 1, 2008 - A New Favorite?
Posted by MayTheyBeMightyMen (75.57.192.33)
I happened to stumble in here, and I love your humor! I may have a new fave to add to my list of favorite blogs!

Culture shock

With regard to my recent post about the mean mommmy:

I have that terrific letter floating around in my head for a couple weeks now (which is great!) I went shopping to Costco the other night while the littles were at Awana and #1 was sewing with Grandma. I LOADED up with yummies for holiday week and some gifts for Handyman. I had promised to bring home Churros, those cinnamon twist dough things from Costco and so while I waited for them to make some more, I ate a slice of pizza at their little cafe area. There was an asian couple in the row in front of me with two little girls, one about three and one about six. The dad and the six yr-old had their backs to me and the mom was facing me with the little one kind of running around some. The older child was standing on the floor, eating pizza. Her dad's tone of voice caught my ear. He was speaking Japanese, but it sounded to harsh, I wondered if it was the nature of the language or the conversation's intent. I eavesdropped...absolutely unintelligible, but the intent was unmistakable. I've spoken like that. :(

He pushed her sleeves up and I thought, oh good, it was just about her manners or eating habits. It's over. Wrong. When Dad would stop, Mom started, with glaring eyes. For awhile the little girl seemed unaffected, so I kept thinking/hoping "that's just how Japanese sounds". They never spoke to the younger. They never turned their heads; they never spoke to one another. They continued the jackhammering. Finally she wiped the back of her little hand across her eyes and spoke something back. I had been giving the mom the evil eye, pointedly, but to no avail. At one point the little girl looked back over her should at me. I wondered if the mom was saying, "That nasty American lady is staring at you because you are so awful," or something.

I wanted to stop at their table and say, "For goodness sakes, she isn't old enough to be that bad. or I'll take her if you just can't put up with it any longer, Lady. or "For crying out loud People, it is CHRISTMAS time." All I could imagine is what will this little girl be like by jr. high???
They never did stop or change. I made eye contact with the mom more than once and she gave me not a moment's thought. They were still jackhammering away when I left. I stopped at Customer Service and told the gal there that these parents were berating their child without ceasing and she said that was too bad and there wasn't much she could do, but she would give them the evil eye.

I thought about calling 911, but did not. I thought of all the times that I have worried, as a homeschooler, about the dangers of people calling in false claims about homeschoolers, and all the troubles it causes. I wished I had one of those No Greater Joy cards with me that you can just give to people. But these folks didn't seem to have one weak spot about pummeling their child verbally.

My last thought...there but for the grace of Christ, go I.

Of note...

I received this through Homeschooling Today last week sometime and had to print it out and post it on my dresser, to see as I pass through my room. It is a great reminder to me--almost exactly as I would have wanted to say it myself--okay, a lot more thorough and specific--but how I would WANT to say it, if I were incredibly wise and thoughtful! Especially at this time of year.

A Letter: To Whom It May Concern
by Kara Murphy

Dear Mean Mommy,

I am writing, once again, to protest your visit to our house yesterday. I would have thought that my last litany of complaints would have given you pause before you returned, but no. You seem to come and go at will. Well, I have had enough.

First, you never give me any warning that you are coming. If I knew you were coming, I would be able to prepare for you as I do all my other guests. Why must you always arrive when the house is in such disrepair? In general, we do a fair job of keeping things picked up, but without fail, when the house is at its messiest, you show up. Not only that, but you time your arrivals when I feel my worst. Your last visit was after a sleepless night with our newborn. Before that, it was during a stressful time when the bills were late. No one should feel free to visit at tax time, especially when I have put off important record-keeping until the last minute. I suppose you would not think twice of arriving at our door immediately after we have just had back-to-back company. These are not the times to make unannounced appearances at our house!

Even if we were aware of when you were coming, I would still not appreciate your attitude. Must you whisper those words to me all day long? You can’t do this. You are failing. Another woman would do a better job than you. What are you doing to your children? It isn’t enough that you pick on me, but must you also be so grumpy toward my children? All day long, you nag and complain about them. Do this. Do that. Hurry up. Get back to your work. You are a broken record and you need to be replaced! Don’t you realize that children are not finished products, yet? They are adults-in-training, but they’re not there yet. And must you be so impatient with them? Sometimes, you are like a steamroller, plowing through the house. I would hate to get in your way! You are running us all over.

But the worst of it is your appearance you look so much like me, my children may not realize the difference between us. They might actually think that you are me! I have had to apologize repeatedly for your troublesome ways.

This is it. Your reign of terror must stop. Please leave and never return.

And should you be tempted to come back, just remember that I am onto your tricks. Your wiles will not fool me any longer. I am going to fight to keep you away. And I know the best way to do that, too.

God's word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against Him. —Psalm 119:11

First, I have determined in everything, to give thanks seeing that this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning me. (1 Thessalonians 5:18) I will rejoice in the Lord always (Philippians 4:4) for I am learning, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me. (Philippians 4:11, 13) When those doubts begin to creep in I will be confident of this very thing, that He which hath begun a good work in me will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ. (Philippians 1:6)

If you could just stop blustering and ordering everyone around long enough you might see an eternal perspective. You would realize that there is so much more to life in Christ than the day-in-and-day-out ups and downs. Step back for a moment from the immediate stressors. Why, there isn't a hair that falls from my head that the Father is unaware of. He cares for birds and flowers in the field. How much more does He care for me and my family? (Matthew 6:25ff) Not only that, but He is working every circumstance in my life for my good and for the good of my children who love Him. (Romans 8:28)

Since I know that I must be sober, to love my husband, to love my children (Titus 2:4), I will be gentle among my little flock, even as a nursing mother cherishes her children: So being affectionately desirous of them, I will be willing to have imparted unto them, not the gospel of God only, but also my own soul, because they are dear unto me…even when I must labor night and day. (1 Thessalonians 2:7-9a) And most of all I will remember that charity—an antiquated term for our word love—suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity or love never faileth. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

If I have to, I will get really radical. When you show up, I intend to meet you at the door intent on bodily harm. For I see who you really are. You are the old (wo)man that Scripture speaks of so clearly. But I know this, that my old woman is crucified with Christ, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth I should not serve sin. (Romans 6:6) I will likewise reckon myself to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord. So I will let not sin therefore reign in my mortal body, that I should obey it in the lusts thereof. Neither yield my members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield myself unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and my members as instruments of righteousness unto God. (Romans 6:11-13) Because I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20)

Prepared to do battle,
A Loving Mama

My little neighbor boy is in 6th grade, I think. Since he is a boy, we just wave at him and buy Boy Scout popcorn once a year. C'mon, he is a boy after all! Handyman will tell you, it's just him, a lame, blind rooster, a rooster who weighs 2 lbs. and the rest of the boys on this property are neutered!! Anyway, our neighbor is a nice boy, other than that he blasts his trombone on occasion to try to get our roosters to shut up. (Doesn't work--our driveway is tooooooooo long.)

That poor boy gets on the bus at 6:30 a.m! I know, because I try to hay the Equine Money Suckers at 6:30 am, and there comes the bus, through the pitch dark with the twirling yellow light on top. I am not terribly coherent at this time of the morning. I don't always have all my undergarments in place; my hair is definitely not under control and I DO NOT brush my teeth before greeting my big snorty poop machines. This little guy across the street has had to get up, dressed, breakfast, got his backpack together and dash out the door, at 6:30~~He must get up before 6! How is that allowed?? I think if I wasn't homeschooling already when I moved here, that alone would put me over the wall! No child should be on a grind like that.

My chickens look sleepy at that hour. I know this because I put a light bulb in their house to wake them at 4 am. Some of you may think this is cruel, but it is a fact of chicken life that no sunshine makes for no eggs. And here in the great state of West-of Ohio, we have little sun after October. We are the reason for the term "palefaces". Sooooo, before the light bulb, my 17 or so hens were laying 1 or 2 eggs per day. That's a lot of chicken feed doing nothing! After light bulb, we're getting 6 eggs a day. That's a little better.

Don't anyone post to me about chicken soup--cause that ain't happening here at Netherfield Farm. We don't do death, unless we're pushed into it--like one former rooster who was hand-raised, and beautiful who took to chasing and spurring #1 to the point that she carried a trash can lid and a plastic light saber to protect herself. He would not even approach Handyman or my Dad, but as soon as #1 came through the gate, he was at DefCon 5. Well, he made a small tactical error by spurring #3 (at that time 2 years old, almost his height) on the cheek, just below her eye. She was actually bleeding! That was the signature on the death warrant. Papa woulda/coulda done with his own hands, I think, but he used my nice little gun he bought for me and Cogburn headed for that big henhouse in the sky.

But, I digress. My neighbor: nice boy who deserves his sleep. No child should be rousted before 6, well, to go to institutionalization, I mean. Cowboy children can get up by 6 and head out with their dads to work cattle. Check out www.thepioneerwoman.com !

Decadence on parade

(I wrote this twice, last night. Each time sent into oblivion. Ever seen the part of Little Women where Jo goes after Amy for burning her manuscript?? That was me with computer...finally I just went to bed and read Tony Dungy's book. Much more peaceful.)
Anyway, what I said was that the other night I threw aside any thoughts of conservation and drove my SUV out to the barn to feed the late night hay. Handyman was out of town, AGAIN, and that means cold bed, cold feet and no comforting snoring unless you accept canine/feline. Also, it was windy and I hate wind in the winter. So, I decided I'd just hitch up the old Expedition and drive myself out there rather than walk. It's only 100 yards, but dark and cold is dark and cold when you're by your lonesome. Take that Algore.
Then to kick the decadence meter up a notch, I came in, cranked up the world wide web and ordered a small animal heat pad for my old rooster to sit on! You may remember that I have this old charity case rooster who came to me with no toes (frostbite) due to some idiot's negligence. Anyway, I admire his perkiness and gentleness and yes, I do what I can to give him special treatment. Well, last summer he got run out of the hen house by the little banty rooster that we hatched from the eggs that came through the mail (another story). So "John", named after Sir John Middleton from Sense & Sensibility, moved over to the horse barn. He nests under this plywood at night. I was able to convince Handyman to put up a windbreak for him in the late fall, since the wall is not completed there. But still, he's sitting on the cold ground.
On Super Bowl Sunday last year, I brought him into the bathroom that we don't use off our kitchen and started keeping him in the shower stall there at night. I would really like to not do that this winter. The early morning crowing and the smell are a little much, even for us. So, I found a little heating pad for small animals that only heats up to 102 (their body temp), when they are sitting on it. So, rather than get myself something purty, I ordered it for this old rooster, with no toes and one eye that stays dialated. He drinks water when I hold it for him. He crows when I carry him out to the barn in the morning, while I am carrying him and he comes when he hears my voice. What's a girl to do?
I guess I am truly rich.
The two versions I wrote last night were better. Sorry.
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Dec. 15, 2007 - Untitled Comment
Posted by HeartnSoul (63.237.209.162)
Aww what a pampered rooster :) That is so funny - no lace Mrs. Bennet LOL. Thanks for stopping by :) Denise aka /CuriousCat
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Dec. 15, 2007 - Untitled Comment
Posted by blessedwith2angels (64.136.27.226)
That is so sweet to buy your rooster a heating pad. It actually sounds like something we would do--but my son's rooster stays nice and warm in a fancy chicken house on my father-in-law's farm. Pam
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Dec. 17, 2007 - Untitled Comment
Posted by Jessica (207.32.9.245)
Still, a good version... Our rooster is lucky he gets to sleep inside. We weren't even supposed to have a rooster, and my husband isn't too keen on the crowing, but I like the strutting... Found you via Pioneer Woman www.farmfreshiowa.blogspot.com
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Dec. 18, 2007 - hi
Posted by midwifeliz (70.231.130.228)
Just wanted to stop by and say hi. I love the tales about the rooster. Merry Christmas!
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(I wrote this twice, last night. Each time sent into oblivion. Ever seen the part of Little Women where Jo goes after Amy for burning her manuscript?? That was me with computer...finally I just went to bed and read Tony Dungy's book. Much more peaceful.)

Anyway, what I said was that the other night I threw aside any thoughts of conservation and drove my SUV out to the barn to feed the late night hay. Handyman was out of town, AGAIN, and that means cold bed, cold feet and no comforting snoring unless you accept canine/feline. Also, it was windy and I hate wind in the winter. So, I decided I'd just hitch up the old Expedition and drive myself out there rather than walk. It's only 100 yards, but dark and cold is dark and cold when you're by your lonesome. Take that Algore.

Then to kick the decadence meter up a notch, I came in, cranked up the world wide web and ordered a small animal heat pad for my old rooster to sit on! You may remember that I have this old charity case rooster who came to me with no toes (frostbite) due to some idiot's negligence. Anyway, I admire his perkiness and gentleness and yes, I do what I can to give him special treatment. Well, last summer he got run out of the hen house by the little banty rooster that we hatched from the eggs that came through the mail (another story). So "John", named after Sir John Middleton from Sense & Sensibility, moved over to the horse barn. He nests under this plywood at night. I was able to convince Handyman to put up a windbreak for him in the late fall, since the wall is not completed there. But still, he's sitting on the cold ground.

On Super Bowl Sunday last year, I brought him into the bathroom that we don't use off our kitchen and started keeping him in the shower stall there at night. I would really like to not do that this winter. The early morning crowing and the smell are a little much, even for us. So, I found a little heating pad for small animals that only heats up to 102 (their body temp), when they are sitting on it. So, rather than get myself something purty, I ordered it for this old rooster, with no toes and one eye that stays dialated. He drinks water when I hold it for him. He crows when I carry him out to the barn in the morning, while I am carrying him and he comes when he hears my voice. What's a girl to do?

I guess I am truly rich.

The two versions I wrote last night were better. Sorry.

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Dec. 15, 2007 - Untitled Comment
Posted by HeartnSoul (63.237.209.162)
Aww what a pampered rooster :) That is so funny - no lace Mrs. Bennet LOL. Thanks for stopping by :) Denise aka /CuriousCat
• Permanent Link • Edit • Delete
Dec. 15, 2007 - Untitled Comment
Posted by blessedwith2angels (64.136.27.226)
That is so sweet to buy your rooster a heating pad. It actually sounds like something we would do--but my son's rooster stays nice and warm in a fancy chicken house on my father-in-law's farm. Pam
• Permanent Link • Edit • Delete
Dec. 17, 2007 - Untitled Comment
Posted by Jessica (207.32.9.245)
Still, a good version... Our rooster is lucky he gets to sleep inside. We weren't even supposed to have a rooster, and my husband isn't too keen on the crowing, but I like the strutting... Found you via Pioneer Woman www.farmfreshiowa.blogspot.com
• Permanent Link • Edit • Delete
Dec. 18, 2007 - hi
Posted by midwifeliz (70.231.130.228)
Just wanted to stop by and say hi. I love the tales about the rooster. Merry Christmas!
• Permanent Link • Edit • Delete

Unit Study

We did a unit study today. Okay, probably not a real unit study. I did not go to the library to pull a lot of things together. In fact, I did very little, okay NO research at all. I did draw on past experience with the topic, which I've had some. Here's what happened.

First, shock of all shocks, the glowing orb made an appearance today, right over my house, slanting in through my glass-paned door so boldly that I called the children from their rooms to gaze at it, for perhaps the last time this year! We soaked it up. I headed out to the barn where my very crabby 800 lb. and 1100 pound gorillas horses were imprisoned, testing the ground to see if I darest let them out.

I did. The almost galloped over me before I got the gate open. Once they settled down a little I did some maintenance work on our trench. We call it the pasture scar. We just laid the cable to hook up power to the barn a couple of weeks ago. (It's my Christmas present.) Said cable went in a 3 foot deep trench which I filled in that day (250 yards of shovelling and raking, thank you very much.) Madonna never had such biceps--and you should see my latisimus dorsi! Hoooooo!

As all trenches do, this one is settling and filling in. The glowing orb thawed enough of the dirt (that and the 60 degree weather this week) to allow me to fill in some more, which I did. That's when I had the delightful experience with our soil. I am using the term "soil" pretty loosely here. While it looked a lot like mud, when I would scrape it up, it would not come off my shovel. Now I know you have all experienced mud clinging to a shovel. There are several approaches...you can bang the side of the blade on the ground, the clump of mud will break loose and fall off...tried it, many, many, many times. Did not work. Not once. I would bang the side of the blade on the ground and the first problem was that the blade would slice neatly into the soft earth. No jarring impact. Mud is firmly seated on shovel. Shovel is completely vertical, no change. I tried banging the straight bottom edge of the shovel into the ground...same result. I tried turning the shovel over, so mud is "hanging" upside down. There was no hanging. The mud had no fear, did not budge.

I come prepared for this stuff...I have the coolest boots, Muck brand chore boots. They are serious outdoor boots, rubber and neoprene. Love 'em. I put 'em to work. I tried scraping the mud off the shovel with my big black boot. Mud loves my boot. Adheres immediately to my boot. Not some of it, while some falls off. ALL of it transfers smoothly to the bottom of my boot. We're talking mud the size of a half a cantalope or more. Sooooooo, I scrape the bottom of my boot on the shoulder of my shovel and mud returns to the shovel. No sagging, nothing. I thought to myself, this should be a Lucy and Ethel show. I could not, COULD NOT, dislodge this stuff. I was lucky to be able to scrape it into the trench at all. When I left that work, I dragged the shovel behind me in the damp grass, thinking this would sort of clean off the blade as I walked. Nope. Not a bit. It was kind of creepy. I should sell it for Christmas crafts or something.

Anyway, the unit study...I went to check out the water tanks that are now being filled by the downspout from the metal roof. Way cool system, I must say. That end of the paddock holds water pretty badly, must be that terrific soil we have. So I started trying to dig little trenches under the fence to move some of the water out. It got a little fun making little rivers and dams. I remembered that the Children's Museum in town has an activity a lot like this, but with way less horse manure in it. I decided to head up to the house, while the orb was still showing and see if I could recruit some help.

I burst into the kitchen calling them to come. I'm having fun out here you guys--yeah right...but I did convince them to come. We took the pointy hoe and a little kiddie hoe and sure enough, it got to be fun and then obsessive. Each horse footprint in the silt was a little pool of water waiting to be released. #3 of course fell to her knees more than once in the silty, poopy, muddy muck and then the orb headed off to Colorado or New Mexico or wherever it winters, so I volunteered to head up and make lunch and begin the industrial laundry. #1 admitted that she thought I was just fooling when I said I was having fun, but it was indeed, fun. She stayed behind, working on, considering a career in drainage, hopefully not sewage, but we all know and must admit, that advances in plumbing have saved civilization. I don't know if ditch digging qualifies for DOE credit, but it certainly helps out around here.