Farm stuff

Dad's been working all weekend so it feels like Wednesday, not Monday. I haven't been working nearly as hard, but I won't bore with horrifying tales of writer's stuck-ness that only terrify me or never-ending housework. There must be a special place in hell where people are consigned to do nothing but housework for all eternity. Guess I'm not going to make maid of the year, huh?

Chickens are growing fast. Too fast. One likes to sit on top of the water and shit on the other chickens. Yes, he'll make it in the serial. I expanded their habitat yesterday and they're quite aggressive about it. They fly at each other and screech. It's kinda scary. Especially since they're only eight inches tall.

We've got cattle out on grass, or at least they think they are. It hasn't been warm enough to turn everyone out, but we have some lots we don't mind getting marked and muddied up so they've been taking those down. All the rain and sun but no heat and that's what grows grass. I'm almost jonesing for it as bad as the cows.

So spring continues here and we're all not-so-patiently awaiting summer. It oughta be here anytime. (She glances outside and gives the sky a disapproving glare. After all, it is Michigan. Wait five minutes if you don't like the weather, it'll change.) Anytime now.

“Who’s Your Daddy?”

The creature bedded down in the nest scrambles around in the hay and our heroine jerks again. She has a secret fear about creatures jumping out at her, mainly due to an incident with a raccoon over the winter. But this fearsome creature is neither fearsome, nor a creature, in the strictest sense. It’s a duck. A momma duck. With eggs. An even baker’s dozen.

“Well, Momma Duck,” our heroine farmer says, “you’ve got quite a job ahead of you.”

The farmer sits up too fast and raps her head on the edge of the flatbed wagon.

“Son of a bitch!” she curses and one of the twin lambs, who had been creeping up to smell this vaguely remembered invader from last week when it couldn’t figure out how to nurse, runs off with a frightened bleat.

Momma Duck flies off to take a swim in the waterhole out the back of the barn that resembles more of a small pond than a puddle. Another duck flies up to join her, a mallard, presumably Momma Duck’s boyfriend.

“And where’s my child support?” she asks. “I’m busting my duck butt sitting on a nest filled with your eggs and where are you?”

“Chill baby,” the mallard assures her. “I had a gig. You know, getting’ the band back together.”

“You and your band,” Momma Duck complains, ducking her head into the water and shutters.

The farmer decides to make an exit to let the duck couple figure out their differences on their own.

“You know,” she hears Momma Duck say, “I heard on the radio that couples are signing marriage contracts for five years and then reevaluating if they want to continue the contract. Maybe we could set that up. If you call your Uncle Bertie…”

The farmer counted sheep, and found the little white ewe lamb missing. She was a twin and hadn’t been the strongest of the pair since birth. The ewe seemed unflappable and unconcerned as she grazed and made soft momma noises to her oldest charge, a white weather lamb. The farmer began looking around for the ewe lamb, but failed to find her under the trailer, in the horse stalls, beneath the baler, or any in tight corner of the barn. At wits’ end, our heroine does the only thing she can think of: she calls in the big guns.

To be continued…

Next time: we meet our farmer heroine’s partner in crime: Dad.

Happy Beltane

Happy first of May everyone! You might know it’s Beltane, but did you know it’s also the Day of the International Solidarity of Workers, National Love Day in the Czech Republic, Lei Day in the Hawaiian Islands, Unity Day in Kazakhstan, Maharashtra Day (Maharashtra Divas) in Maharastra, India, Constitution Day in the Marshall Islands, and Walpurgis Night in Northern Europe? The Roman Empire celebrated the all-female festival in honour of Bona Dea today as well as the fourth and last day of the Floralia in honour of Flora. In the United States, it’s Law Day or Loyalty Day. And as far as Saints’ observances, it’s the Feast of Saint Joseph the Worker and an observance of Saint James the Less, Saint Philip the Apostle, Saint Andeol, Saint Asaph, Saint Brieuc, Saint Sigismund of Burgundy, Saint Theodulf, and Saint Augustin Schoeffer. I have not the slightest clue who any of these people are, but this is what Wikipedia told me, so bitch at them if I’m wrong. It’s also Maharashtra Day and Gujarat Day in the Indian states of Maharashtra and Gujarat respectively to commemorate the formation of the two states. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_1 Just because I’m an English major and we cite our sources.

I drug Dad to see Tamora Pierce in Ann Arbor tonight. She was really great. If you ever a get a chance to hear her speak in person, it’s well worth it. She has a great personality and really cares about helping young (especially teen and under) writers and readers. After revisiting her books a few months ago, it amazed me how good her stories are and how the issues in them aren’t just for kids, but also adults and show the gray area in problems. They show how to work through various problems without being moral. Characters screw up, realize they were wrong, evolve and change. And that’s all one can ask for good storytelling for any age.

It’s been cold here and the weather forecasts aren’t calling for warm weather any time soon. We need heat on this grass. The cows are getting restless and it’s getting increasingly difficult to keep them busy. Expect our valiant heroine to face a jail-break in upcoming episodes.

Well, it’s Friday night and I’m n bed at 9 p.m. giving you people something interesting (I hope) to read. Boy do I need to get a life. Or a boyfriend who isn’t dating the Army on the side.

"Chicken"

After leaving the cows rather unhappy, our heroine farmer found the chickens on protest.

“What’s this about?” she asked them, since she was unable to read their chicken-size placards.

“NO MORE EGGS!” one chicken said.

“What the hell?”

“We don’t like eggs! We don’t want them!”

“Well, you don’t get to keep them. We do.”

“Murderers! You eat our children!” another chicken cackled.

“But you didn’t want them!”

“We should have the choice! Pro-choice! Pro-choice!”

“I dunno,” a little silky hen said. The farmer wasn’t even sure where this hen came from. She’d been dropped off or something because one day there was this little silky hen in the hen house with no explanation. “I say our eggs serve the greater good and if we don’t want to brood on them, the humans may as well use them.”

At last! The farmer sighed. A voice of reason. But as with all things political, the silky hen was charged with sexual misconduct and war crimes by the other chickens, tarred, feathered, and run out of the hen house.

Some days you just couldn’t reason with the chickens.

Since it was getting on quitting time (if there ever was such a thing) she went and got a beer. When she came back, the calves had gotten into the hay barn, a thing they’d been doing for months. When worried passersby stopped to point out the calves in the driveway, the farmer just shooed them back, since they never went anywhere anyway.

That was before.

Now the calves were having a serious case of pre-teenage angst and wandered as far from their mothers as possible. The cows themselves were glad of the relief; their udders were chapped and sore after a long winter in and out of wet mouths and cold wind. The farmer decided not to both putting the calves back in the pen. They’d go back when they were good and ready and gates kept them from escaping the hay barn. While she drank her beer, she wandered around, filling waters, pushing up hay, all the usual night stuff. When she went to the back barn to check on the baby lambs, a scramble under the front axle of the flat bed wagon made her jump and spill her beer. The farmer bent down to peek under the wagon and was met with a rather astonishing surprise.

To be continued…

Next time: Who’s your daddy?

So hopefully these episodes entertain you as much as they do me. There's not much going on right now, just the usual springtime-farm-garden-writing-install-a-new-water-heater stuff, so at least this is more interesting than hearing me list what we do around here most days. Be sure to tell me if this isn't that funny or any other comments or confusions. Happy Day.

An Explanation and "Pilot"

My grandmother’s “good ideas” combined with my brain can have interesting results. So the title is still up for grabs. I’m vacillating between “Tales from the Corn Crib” and “The Lone Ranger-Manager, but it’s a serial post about “our heroine farmer” and the adventures, dire peril, and narrow escapes she faces on the farm. (It makes more sense if you do chores with me. And no, that is not an offer.) But here is the pilot episode and no, the heroine is not me since I'm not sure if I'm going to give her superpowers or not yet, and names have not been changed to protect the criminally insane. Let me know what you think.


“Pilot”
We meet our heroine in mortal danger. It’s April and the cows are getting hungry. She stands in the barnyard, hands on hips, a farmer surveying the situation.

“What the hell?” our heroine asks. “Can’t you keep the kids in?”

The boss cow blinks slowly. “We’ve tried,” the boss cow says. She’s been with our heroine awhile and they have a good working relationship. She knows keeping the calves in is a full-time job for the farmer and does her best to keep her calf close. But they are growing up. And a mother is hardly a good mother if she won’t let her calf out of the stall. “The neighbor’s winter wheat really looked scrumptious after that lightening storm.” Lightening puts nitrogen in the air, making the grass green. Our heroine knows this. She also knows that fresh green grass after stale hay all winter is to cows what pizza is at a weight watchers convention.

“It’s only three weeks until grass,” our heroin says. “Can you try to keep the calves in until then?”

The boss cow shakes her head. “Not sure.”

“Well, please try,” our heroine half-implores, half-informs. “Or we’ll be forced to take some drastic measures.”

The boss cow has no illusions about what this means. If animals don’t have the proper respect for fences when they’re young, they are sold. Cows form strong social bonds so it affects the herd dynamic when animals come and go. The threat is clear: if the boss cow wants her herd to stay intact, she’d better teach them to obey the rules. The boss cow gives the farmer a slow nod.

“Oh fuck that, 119M, you chicken shit,” 106P says. “Why should we both staying in when there’s all that damn grass out there?”

“Because if you don’t Dad might decide to start carrying side arms,” the farmer says laconically.

106P blinks. It was her calf that escaped last spring who the senior farmer would have dropped, given a gun and the opportunity.

“Stay in and we won’t have any problems. Get out, and… well, we’ll see, won’t we? Savvy?”

The farmer doesn’t give 106P time to respond, but turns and walks away. When she reaches to the gate, an even scarier fate awaits.

To be continued…

Next time: Our fearsome heroine turns chicken

Cow Flu

It's another twoferMonday, people. Sorry about the whinning. I'm not a good sick person. I'm calling it cow flu, where all you feel like doing is laying around and ruminating. Or laying in the sun.

Friday
I’m not sick that often. At least it doesn’t seem like it. But this spring has seemed like cold after viral deal after headache. Today is the latter and it just makes me cranky when stabbing pains give me double-vision and shatter all hopes of concentration. Getting any work done goes out the window when it takes all of one’s energy to figure out what settings to put the laundry on.

Okay, I’m done griping.

The weather is beautiful today. Which is a great change from earlier in the week. The lambs are doing great and we have a momma duck sitting on a dozen eggs under the front axle of one of the wagons. So far we’ve kept the dogs out and they haven’t found her. The cattle are starting to complain about the hay and have put in their demands for grass. Hopefully we can hold them a few more days, giving the grass time to grow. Another couple weeks and we’ll have plenty of green stuff, but right now it’s a lean spring. At least it is spring. The onion sets came this week and I hope for good weather to put them in and also pot the tomatoes I’ve got started in the house. The peppers and eggplant are coming along much more slowly, but make steady progress. With any luck, we’ll have potted plants all over the house this weekend. And my famous last words were “no house plants.”

Monday
Can’t believe April is almost gone. Dad is back from his Ohio trip and the tomato plants we started are in pots. Now just a few dozen pepper and eggplant starters and we’ll be set. Did I mention I ran out of pots three tomatoes ago?

Anyway, I feel good, which is a nice change. I spent half of last week down with headaches and exhaustion. It seems like most of April went like that, so feeling good is a nice change.

Dad bought twenty Rhode Island Red chicks from TSC over the weekend. They are adorable. I took some pixs and will post them when I get technologically inclined. They’re growing by the minute and already have wing feathers and cute little beaks and beady eyes. The lambs are growing equally as well, though we’re still waiting to see if the white ewe lamb is actually bred or just getting fat. Lightning storms the other night have left the grass a verdant green that never ceases to amaze. My theory is that we forget what nature green looks like during the winters so even if it’s not really green, it seems like it since it’s been so long since we used the part of our eye that sees green. Anyway, it’s pretty.

Dad’s getting the tire fixed on my car this morning. Two flat tires inside of a week has not left either of us very happy. But whaddya do? Gram’s getting new appliances today, new fridge and stove, so that’ll keep her fluttering for a few days. She’s been on this kick that I should write children’s stories since I’m always speculating (obviously wrongly) about what the animals are saying or doing. I just tell her that children’s books can’t have Bessie the cow saying “Goddamn it, quite pulling on my tits you f*%#er!”

Pirates!

In followup to yesterday's "book good" lecture, today's good book is a young adult novel (and I have to agree with http://www.bilgemunky.com/pirate-reviews/books/pirates-reese/on this one) unfortunately titled "Pirates!" by Celia Rees. Strong female lead, adventure, love, dastardly evil enemies; it's got everything. I stayed up late last night to try and finish it and did finish it over coffee this morning. I'd write more, but Maxine is looking up at me with her lovely impatient eyes, begging for some action. Swashbuckling or dad's dirty socks, it doesn't matter much to her, as long as something's going on. I'd better take her for a walk before she shreds anymore beer cans (aka - much-needed grocery money).