Tobacco Setting

This is my son's second year to plan tobacco.  Years ago when we were young married we also grew tobacco.  It was a great cash crop that would make the farm payment for the year and give you a little money to get started for the next year.  However, it also was a labor intensive crop that required lots of friends or family to make it profitable.  Back in those days you didn't hire Mexicans to do the work, you did it yourself.  Every  farm had a tobacco base and nearly everyone put out their crop.  When it was time to put it out (set it), top, cut, hang and strip you pulled in your neighbors and family to help.  When it was their turn you helped them.  It meant a lot of hours but it got your crop done with little cash outlay. 

However, things have changed.  Most of the small farmers with a small crop are gone.  Now most of the tobacco is grown by the large farms.  In fact a large portion of our tobacco is now imported from overseas.  The government has "bought out" most of the farmers and they have agreed to take a cash settlement and not grow tobacco.   Many farmers, like us, are farming part time and find the time needed to grow tobacco prohibitive.Now we are gradually seeing a decline in the production of tobacco.  I am convinced that by the time my grandchildren grow up it will be a rare thing to actually see tobacco growing in the fields.

Todays young farmers are using tobacco as a cash crop in addition to another income.  It might be outside income from another job or from other crops.  It is still possible to make a profit from tobacco but it isn't the main income anymore.  So when our son decided to grow tobacco last year we fussed and worried and finally decided to jump in and help.  It's been an experience.

With this in mind I am determined to chronicle the growing of tobacco for my grandchildren.  So I rush down to the tobacco patch and take pictures of every step and every drop of sweat.  I want my grandchildren to remember and know this crop that has meant so much to Kentucky.  No, I don't want them to smoke, chew, dip or otherwise use it but I do want them to understand how much the economy depended on these small farmers and their tobacco crop. 

In a small rural community, before the advent of large factories, there wasn't a single part of the economy that wasn't affected by the growing of tobacco.  Our insurance agency set their farm policies to be renewed and paid in January because the farmers would sell their tobacco in November or December and so would have the cash to pay then. The drugstore would carry customers on credit until they sold their tobacco.  Farmers bought their fertilizer and seed on credit until their crop was sold.  The warehouses where the tobacco sold provided employment for the community.  Literally everything could be traced back to someone's tobacco crop.  

Times changed and rural communities quit being so isolated.  Factories arrived with more opportunities for employment.  Roads improved and people began to move around more.  Women became a major part of the work force and lots of farmers went to part time when they got a job off the farm.  All of this changed the face of farming in our part of the world.  Farmers still farm but like everything else in the universe it is changing with the times. 

Therefore, I am taking pictures of our son and his son growing tobacco. For those of you who may not be familiar with the process, enjoy the learning experience. For those of you who remember tobacco in your younger days, dust off your memories.

 A two row tobacco setter.  Two people alternate putting plants in revolving row of fingers that put to the tobacco in the ground between the two wheels in front.  The water tanks in the back water each  plant as it is set, resulting in mud all over you.  Riding the setter requires that you "play well with others"!

 Someone has to follow the setter to replace those plants that are missed or don't set well.  This means walking every step of the tobacco patch and bending or squatting repeatedly.  For this reason, it is usually designated for someone young.  It would kill most adults.  This is by far the hardest job especially in the record high temperatures we are having. 

Tobacco plants are now grown in float trays in a greenhouse.  It costs more but is so much easier.

Aunt Doe

There are some people who will always remain larger than life.  Some by what they accomplish, some by events around them and some by just who they are.  One such person was Aunt Doe.  She wasn't any relation but in the era I grew up in all adults were Mr. or Mrs., unless they were close friends then you could address them by their first name, but usually with uncle or aunt in front as a honorific..  She was the mother of the local doctor and a widow for some years.  She was one of those people who always have time to visit with a child, however she was also one of those people you might not want your child to visit with.  She was notorious for saying exactly what she thought.  She was a local wit who kept everyone on their toes and laughing. To me, Aunt Doe was just my special friend. 

She held court each afternoon at the local drug store.  At around 3 pm all the women gathered for a coke and gossip.  It was an event not to be missed.  My real aunt, Aunt Anne, was graciously tolerant of our traipsing in and out of her house, until 2:00 rolled around.  At that time she would retire into her bathroom to begin the process of getting ready to go to town to the drug store.  We knew that any crisis from then on we'd have to deal with on our own.  Even my mother, who worked, would arrange her day to be on her break in time to go to the drug store.  I'm not sure if it was all for the fun or to protect yourself, but they all showed up. 

One day the gossip was still hot when a young matron rose to leave, saying that she needed to get home to start supper for her husband.  Aunt Doe looked at her incredulously.  "You're cooking supper?" she inquired with surprise.  "How long have you been married?"  The young woman responded smugly, "Nearly 8 months."  Aunt Doe howled with laughter. "and you're already cooking supper.  I was married two years before I cooked a meal.  I would meet Thomas at the door each evening wearing my most revealing negligee and ask him if he wanted supper or.......never did have to cook for two years!"  That was Aunt Doe. 

She's the one that stopped me from sucking my fingers.  I don't know how old I was, but old enough to have given up sucking on my fingers.  I would walk around when I thought no one was looking with my middle two fingers in my mouth.  Nothing my mother had tried would induce me to quit the habit.  Aunt Doe called me over one afternoon at the drug store and said "You know what is going to happen to your fingers if you keep sticking them in your mouth?  Well, I'll tell you.  See that old man sitting over there?  Well, he used to do the same thing and one day a big boy came along and slapped him on the back.  That caused him to bite down on his fingers and he bit them off!!"  I gazed at her in awe but didn't remove my fingers.  "Hey, Bud!" she called, "You come over here and show this girl your fingers."  The gentleman did as he was told (no one ever refused  Aunt Doe) and walked over.  "Hold out your hand", she ordered.  He did and to my amazement the middle two fingers on his right hand were gone down to the first knuckle!  I stood in total shock and slowly my fingers slid down from my face.  I never sucked my fingers again.  I might forget and slide them in my mouth but then the horrible picture of those two missing fingers would appear and they would come right back out.  Cruel by today's standards?  Maybe, but it worked!

Nothing was off limits for her.  She called the local mortician over one day to her table.  She had some instructions for him.  "When I die,"  she said, "I want you to be sure and get my very best bra for me to wear.  I want my Betty Boops to be standing high and proud when everyone comes to see me. "  The drug store erupted in laughter as the startled mortician beat a hasty retreat. 

When the time came however, we were all happy to see that he had remembered and obeyed.

Sunshine on the Farm

The weather has finally cleared and we are able to get into the fields to cut hay.  With several days of sunshine forecast farming is moving forward at a fast pace.  The big question now is will the repairs on the hay baler work?  It seems like every season we spend about as much time fixing equipment as we do using it.  Putting up hay goes like this.  Cut hay.  Pray the mower keeps going until it is all cut.  Wait for hay to cure.  Run tetter over hay to fluff it up so it can cure more evenly.  Replace broken teeth in tetter.  Straighten two bars and replace two bars.  Rake hay.  Replace teeth in rake lost last year.  Bale hay. Work on baler. Bale hay.  Call dealer to send repairman to fix baler.  Bale hay. 

It seems like farmers are always working on equipment.  For one thing, you can't find out if it will actually work until you need it.  So, you make repairs and pray.  Another thing is that most farmers don't replace their equipment all that often.  It's expensive and since every farmer is a shade tree mechanic they just tinker with it until they get it to run.  I look out my sunroom window and it looks like a used machinery lot.  I'm pretty sure we have one of everything and they are all out getting ready to be used. 

The trick this week is that we have tobacco to set and hay all at the same time.  Hopefully, we will be able to get the tobacco in the ground while the hay is curing.  I'll be busy cooking for the help that will be riding the setter.  Not many people cook for hands anymore, but I enjoy it.  It's always fun to feed people that are hungry. 

Well, that's life on the farm for today.

I Believe in Miracles

Fifteen years ago, May 25 fell on a beautiful Saturday in the middle of Memorial Day week-end.  It was a day that changed our lives forever.  For once we didn't have hay to bale or cut so the day had been designated yard clean up day.  Our daughter had just finished her freshman year in college and had spent the afternoon alternately cheering on our efforts at pruning and tidying the yard and refereeing the on going battle of who prunes too little and who too much.  As the afternoon waned we closed up the action and went inside to get dressed to go to a charity wine tasting.  After agreeing to return home to see that my father got his supper and was settled for the night, she went to town to retrieve her purse that she had left in a friend's car the night before. 

On the way to town, a distance of about 3 miles, a young man, on his way home from a church retreat, fell asleep, ran off the road, over-corrected and swung back across the road and hit our daughter's car head on.  Now miracles start to happen.  The car following her was driven by a paramedic who worked in Louisville, 60 miles away.  He had decided to go into work an hour early when a job on a steam engine came to a halt for lack of a part.  He was the first one on the wreck and immediately began to triage the accident.  The ambulance arrived but because at that time our county only had EMTs, they could do little other than try to remove her from the crushed vehicle.  Fortunately, the paramedic, Rick, had a IV kit in his car and was able to start a line on her immediately.  Fortunate, because she had a ruptured spleen and was rapidly bleeding out.  He was the one who called for the helicopter and made the decision to take her first to the local hospital and have the helicopter meet them there.  These actions saved her life, because they were able to give her blood and fluids on the way to the trauma center, which kept her alive. 

Upon reaching the trauma center she was rushed immediately into surgery.  We arrived to be met at the door by the hospital chaplain who escorted us to the surgery waiting room.  The only word we had was that she was in surgery and was still alive at that point.  So the waiting began.

You have to love small towns.  News travels fast and before we left to come to the hospital our minister and our lawyer, his brother-in-law, had arranged to drive us.  Both of these young men have proved to be supportive, understanding and comforting friends, both then and later.  As the hours passed the waiting room filled with friends to help us through the long night.  At one point I had to laugh as I looked up and there were three of Leigh Ann's ex-boyfriends, coming together to offer support.  We sat, we prayed and we waited for the next word from the operating room.  Periodically, someone would come out and try to explain her injuries and the procedures they were performing.  Thank goodness, two of the friends with us were  husband and wife veterinarians, who were able to translate the medical picture into understandable words. 

We were finally allowed to see her about 1:00 am.  The young resident led us into the surgery recovery room to a sheeted bed.  I stood staring at the swollen figure unsure of who it was.  A nurse placed an arm over my shoulder and assured us that it was, indeed, our girl.  She proved it by opening her eyes and asking her dad the question every insurance agent's kid knows, "Was it my fault?"  We informed her that it wasn't.  She then proved that she'd listened to my lessons, too, by turning to her uncle and telling him politely, "Thank you so much for coming." and she closed her eyes again.  Those words gave us such relief to know that her brain was certainly alright.

She stayed in the surgery recovery for the next 36 hours because her state was so fragile they were afraid to move her.  She suffered 17 breaks on her left side from her pelvis to her heel, including a broken tibia that had a piece of bone missing.  She also had a ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, and bruised pancreas.  Before she left the hospital 21 days later, she had had six more surgeries.  During the second one they nearly lost her again.  We began to hear the miracle word again and again.

 Once when I was leaving the parking garage I met one of the trauma doctors who had treated her during those first days.  She was now on the orthopedic floor and doing better.  He called out to me and wanted to know how my daughter was doing.  I began to thank him for the wonderful job he and his fellow doctors had done in saving her life.  He looked at me very seriously and said, "You need to go back to your daughter and tell her that she needs to be very, very good because God definitely has a plan for her.  You see, we did everything medically possible to save her and frankly, it wasn't going to be enough.  So it's apparent to me that God has saved her because he has a special plan for her life. " 

It took six years and fourteen surgeries but she recovered.  During the whole process, I never saw her cry, become angry, whine or complain.  She managed the whole situation with humor and grace.  The nurses loved her and the residents would make special visits to her room to entertain her.  She did everything she was asked and then some.  The results were remarkable healing and recovery.  I am in awe of my own child.  Her strength, fortitude, courage, faith, and sunny disposition have made me humble and proud. 

She is now a happily married mother of two (more miracles with a pelvis broken in seven places) who hurries through life with a laugh and a hug.  She is convinced that her life means something important and is sure that God is still working through her. 

I believe in miracles, don't you?

Wet Spring

This is well on the way to being one of the wettest springs ever.  A friend just called and was telling me about the onions he had ordered for his garden.  They are a special sweet onion called Candy, which arrived in mid-March.  The instructions specified that the onions needed to be kept well watered during the first few weeks.  The friend reported that since March 20 he had recorded 22 inches of rain.  They were certainly kept "well watered".  The only problem is that they rotted!

On a small scale this is the problem that farmers are facing in this storm struck area.  As I write this we are preparing for another "30% chance of rain" storm.  We had one this morning about 5 am that dropped about 1/2 inch of rain and woke everyone up with the thunder and lightning.  My early broccoli suffered the same fate as the friend's onions and the beans and corn are standing in water.  Multiply my frustration by thousands and you begin to feel the farmer's plight.

Everywhere farmers are anxious to get in the field and get their crops planted, hay cut and ground worked.  Unfortunately, just about the time the ground gets dry enough to work, it rains again.  As one wit said after another downpour, "Well, the one day drought has broken!".   Laughter aside, the situation can get serious. 

Our son has been trying for two weeks to get his tobacco set.  The plants are ready, the ground was plowed, the help lined up, the sitter arranged for the kids (me) and the cook notified (me).  Then it rained.  Just about the time it dries up almost enough, it rains again.  The same thing has happened with the hay.  The grasses are ripe and ready to be cut.  However, it takes three sunny days to put up hay.  One to cut, two to cure on the ground.  Again, every time we get ready to cut, the forecast is for rain.  Those who plant corn are facing the same problems. 

I don't know of any job that has more stress built in, than farming.  There are so many things that are beyond the farmers control.  He can make the best deal for his crops, find the best markets, arrange for the best prices but if it rains too much or doesn't rain enough, he simply can't do a thing about it.  His success is subject to drought, floods, bugs, disease, oill prices, labor prices, market prices, and just plain luck. 

Why do all these smart young men and women risk so much?  Because they love it.  It's born in them to work with the land and produce for the populace. 

Thank you farmers everywhere..

Gray Hair

Raising children will cause you to become prematurely gray.   The amazing thing is that they don't realize the stress that they create until the grow up and have children of their own.  One of those times happened when my son was about 13 years old. 

This was during the time when we were hauling show cattle around to various shows over the summer.  We were a shoestring operation so we did everything we could to cut corners.   While the cattle on the show string we kept them stalled in the barn.  For easy clean-up we bedded their stalls with shredded bark that we bought from a local lumber mill and hauled in by the truckload.  We piled this huge mound of bark just outside the barn.  Naturally, since our farm is mostly hills, it never is simple.  The bark pile was just outside the barn but down a short slope.  To make hauling this up to the barn easier we found a home-made two wheel cart for the kids to use. 

When you take cattle to a show you are provided with a spot to tie them when they aren't being actually shown. It's up to you to provide everything else. That includes their bedding that they will lay or stand in during this time. Most of the bigger shows will have companies that will supply this bedding for a fee. For us, one of the corner cuttings was to supply our own bedding.   Since we were getting ready to take the cattle to the state fair the kids had been assigned the chore of sacking up bags of bark to take.  .  This amounted to a lot of bags, since the kids wanted the cattle to stand high and proud on a bank of bedding in the barns.  The sacking had been going on for several days and the number of sacks was mounting  up, but more were needed.  My job was to keep them working until they had the required number. 

On this day they had a helper in the form of a friend of my daughter.  The three kids had been having a ball working and playing while they sacked the bark.  The friend had finally brought us all to laughter when she proceeded to pull a lawn chair to the top of the small mountain of bark and announce that she was the official "supervisor".  Lunch time approached and I went to the house to get ready.  It wasn't long until the two girls just appeared in the kitchen.  "What's wrong/", I asked, knowing that look too well.  "Oh, nothing.  He's just being stubborn."  I finally pried out of them that they had teased my son too far and he had lost his temper.  So they had left.

We chatted on for a while and I gradually became aware of a thin sound coming in through the kitchen window.  It soon organized itself into a thin, high scream coming from the direction of the barn.  "Help me. Somebody please, help me.  Help me!  Please,somebody, please help me!"  Each call getting weaker and more desperate.  Immediately I knew that something horrible had happened in the barn.  Flashes of him being pinned under the tractor or caught by a piece of equipment tumbled through my head.  I started running.  Never has the distance to the barn been covered as quickly or taken as long.  With every stride I was screaming, "I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm coming!"  By the time I rounded the corner of the barn I was in full rescue mode and ready to lift that tractor off my baby.

I was greeted with the sight of my son trying to pull the two wheel cart up the slope to the barn with a too heavy load of sacks.  As he pulled the front of the cart higher the center of balance moved back over the wheels until he reached the point where he could no long make any forward progress.  He also couldn't go back because the cart would immediately overbalance and pull him down the hill.  In other words, he was stuck.  Realizing that he wasn't in danger just totally pissed, drained the adrenalin out of my legs and I went down in a heap. 

We did eventually rescue him, but I lost ten years and developed a lot of gray hair on my way to the barn.

Big Hair

A few years ago we had a large family wedding that necessitated a bunch of us staying in a local motel.  In the party were several friends from the mid-west.  We were all having a wonderful time visiting back and forth between rooms and shuffling kids as we dressed for the event.  In the process of removing a granddaughter from our room and into her parents room I bumped into one of the women from Iowa in the hallway.  She was standing gesturing with  a hair brush while talking to a friend.  She looked up at me and said, "I wish I had full thick hair like yours!"  I just started laughing. 

I wear my hair chin length and it is fairly thick, but that isn't what she meant.  You see, I am from the South.  That means I understand the concept of big hair.  I looked at her and said, "You just need to tease it a little."  She looked at me blankly.  "I know I'm old, but surely you know what teasing is, don't you?", I laughed.  She still looked bemused.

You see in the South, Big Hair, has never left.  We have tamed it down a little but we still like our hair-do's to be full...you know, big.  No Southern gal feels herself well dressed until her hair is fluffed, smoothed and sprayed in place.  We come from generations of women who have prided themselves on being well groomed, as only the South knows it.  (I'll bet you don't know the cut-off date for wearing white shoes --it's Memorial Day to Labor Day).  We tend to look at things a little differently.  Maybe it's the humidity but we have never completely given up our big hair, sprayed stiff,  even as the styles have changed.  We like our hair to be fixed in place.  Think Dolly Parton (from the neck up). 

That doesn't mean that we aren't stylish.  We'll wear the latest slick, smooth styles, but we'll just tease it a little on top to give it a little fullness and spray it good to keep it from going limp.  We just do these things.  Like I said , it's a Southern thing.

Needless to say, I didn't convince the two young women that teasing was back to stay.  When you are young and beautiful you can wear your hair any way you want to.  Unless you are born south of the Mason-Dixon line.

Where's Your Sister

Being a mother on a farm means that you must learn to deal with the occasional emergency situation.   On most occasions I have maintained a calm grip on the situation, however there are times when the old brain just slips a cog and starts to fizzle instead of think.  This was one of those days.

It was a warm summer day and the kids had been helping hubby with the barn chores.  He had been cleaning out stalls, rearranging the equipment, and in general just puttering around.  I had noticed from the kitchen window that off and on both kids had been riding with him on the fenders of the tractor as he puttered around the barn.  (Yes, I know they shouldn't ride without seats and seatbelts, but I'll bet most farmers are guilty of providing their kids with a free ride.)  Everyone was having a grand time and I went back to cooking.  I had just noticed hubby passing the house with both kids perched on the fenders when my attention was needed to get something out of the oven.  I looked up a few minutes later to see hubby coming through the back door to get something. 

About the same time I heard a horrendous noise coming from the barn.  I could hear crashing sounds, a tractor motor growling, and kids screaming.  Knowing that just moments before the kids had been on the tractor I went flying out of the house.  The tractor that had been sitting in front of the barn was no where in sight.  My son was galloping toward the house screaming at the top of his lungs "GET DADDY".  I immediately started running toward him screaming at the top of my lungs "WHERE IS YOUR SISTER???"  He kept coming, screaming, 'GET DADDY' with every leap, while I kept running screaming "WHERE IS YOUR SISTER".  The noise was reaching a crescendo.  We met in the middle of the sidewalk with me still screaming "WHERE IS YOUR SISTER".  Finally, with a look of total incredulity, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me shouting over my screams "SHE'S RIGHT BESIDE YOU!!!"  She'd reached the house and was just standing in open-mouthed amazement!  I was so panicked that I had never noticed her.

It turns out that the tractor had popped out of gear after everyone had gotten off and rolled over the hill and through a fence below the barn pulling a metal trailer.  Damage minimal-scare factor maximum. 

The tractor we have today has a full cab, a buddy seat and a seatbelt!  Hubby still never leaves a child on a tractor or within reach of a running tractor.  He is very careful with our precious cargo.

Help!

Our daughter married a wonderful man seven years ago in a beautiful wedding in our little church.  What many people didn't know is that the groom probably didn't know much about the day.  All summer leading up to the wedding he had been suffering with severe back pain. As the big day approached his back just got worse and worse.  At one point I told him that if we needed to we could just prop him up on a refrigerator dolly and roll him down the aisle.  During one party our doctor pulled me off to the side and told me that he probably needed to have surgery immediately just from what she had observed that night.  He made it through the wedding but we won't talk about whether he really knew where he was.

Soon after they returned to the farm in Iowa he was scheduled for surgery.  Our daughter had grown up dealing with cattle and she assured him that she could handle the cattle chores if his brother and father could cover the crops.  There probably isn't anyone in the world who is as frustrated as a farmer that has to lay in bed and watch someone else deal with his chores.  His new bride proved to be as good as her word, dealing with the feeding with few problems.  That is until one day.....

The last group of cattle to be fed each day was a pen of young bulls just below the front yard.  She loaded up the four seven-gallon buckets with feed and hoisted them into the back of the four wheeler cart to take it to the bulls.  Normally, her hubby would have only used two buckets but because she couldn't carry two fully loaded buckets she had spread the load out.  She pulled up to the gate which opened into the yard.  She grabbed two buckets and carried them into the lot to dump them in the feed trough, fully expecting the calves to follow her to the feed.  Now, as I have mentioned before, young males of all species like to play around and cause trouble.  These were no exception.  Instead of following her deeper into the lot they decided to check out what was on the cart in the yard.  Before she could stop them they had trooped out to investigate. Once they were out they kicked up their heels and decided to play. 

The problem was there is no fence around the yard and they were heading for the highway.  She tried to circle around but they just danced out of the way, getting further away from the pen.  She tried leading them in with the buckets of feed, but they were having too much fun.  A little germ of panic began to glow.  After a few minutes she decided that she needed help.  Running to the house she got on the 2-way radio that they used to communicate with the tractors in the field and called her father-in-law to come help.  He replied that he would be there as fast as he could and to just hang on until he got there.

What she didn't know is that the radio was broadcasting to anyone with a receiver on the correct settings.  Her quivering voice must have hit a chord with everyone who was listening because soon the cavalry started to arrive.  First on the scene was the UPS truck who had been delivering just up the road and heard the call for help.  He slid to a stop and leaped out.  Right on his heels came a neighbor who had been in his tractor and just left it standing in the field to come to the rescue.  Following him came the feed truck from the local farm supply who was on his way to a delivery.  Last but not least, came her father-in-law.  While the others gathered up the wayward bulls he walked up to her and just enveloped her in a big hug.  My strong, independent daughter promptly burst into tears.

Then they all trooped into the house to treat hubby to the details of the rescue over a plate of cookies.

It's nice to know chivalry is not dead.

Escape

I'm not sure why it is, but if the weanlings are going to have some fun they will do it during the days that I am here by myself.  We have recently weaned some calves, which means we have separated the mama's and youngsters so they will learn to eat their fill without sneaking a snack from mama..  These aren't babies but more like pre-teens.  This group contains several young bulls and, like young males of any species, they will dream up trouble to get into if they are left to their own devices.

We usually place these youngsters in the lot behind the barn, which is convenient for several reasons.  One, they are close at hand to be fed morning and night.  They also are under eye to be sure none of them get sick or get pushed away from the trough and don't get enough to eat.  The downside to this arrangement is that the barn lot borders one corner of the yard.  These youngsters don't take to being shut away from their mama's and their snack bar, which means we get serenaded  with their loud and vocal complaints.  If we're lucky they settle down after a day or two and we get peace.  Unfortunately, this time weaning coincided with a warm spell just begging for open windows and fresh breezes.  The nights got a little long.

This little group had gotten bored with their captivity and cramped quarters.  For the past few days they had been playing and pushing as little bulls will.  Their lot is on a direct sight from my kitchen window so I have watched their antics as I stood at the sink.  This afternoon as I was cleaning up after lunch, I looked out in the yard and noticed all the calves standing at one place along the fence.  On closer inspection, I noticed that some of them actually were standing on the yard side of the fence.  Deciding this didn't look good I stepped out on the porch and saw for the first time that in their pushing and shoving they had completely broken through one section of the plank fence.  Why do they always do this when I'm alone?

The trick was how to get them back into the lot and from there to another lot.  With all the rain the barn lot was knee deep in churned up mud.  Not my thing.  With a little reaching I managed to open the gate from the barn lot to the next lot.  Now to get them to move without having to chase them trough the mud.  One thing I have learned over the years is that it is easier to out think a cow than try to out run it.  Deciding on deceit, I went to the barn and got a feed bucket and carried it to the fence along the lot.  They could see me moving with a bucket and followed on the other side of the fence hoping for an afternoon snack.  Soon they were through the gate and looking hopeful.  Quickly I slid and mucked through the mud to fasten the gate.  With puzzled looks they watched me pick up my bucket and return to the barn.  Poor babies.  I'd had to use an empty bucket because I couldn't get to their feed.

They are still looking hopefully at the house.  I feel like a heel.  Maybe hubby can give them an extra scoop for me tonight.  Or maybe that's just what they get for keeping me up all night.

Happy Birthday

This week-end is a very special time for our family.  We have two grandchildren, in two states, turning three.  It still amazes me that these two were born so close together.  My son's third son was born at about 1 pm on May 14th.  My daughters second daughter was born at 8 am on May 15th.  For the past three years it has been like having twins, only far apart.  Each phone call has been full of comparisons on which one is doing what and who has mastered the next phase of growing up.  The little boy walked first and hasn't quit moving since.  The little girl crawled forever.  She spent so much time on her hands and knees that she had calluses on her knees.  She didn't walk but she crawled at warp speed.

The little girl talked early with delightful little phrases, mostly at the top of her lungs.  The little boy took his time.  For the longest time we would look helplessly at the older boys to tell us what he was saying.  Not surprisingly they seemed to understand what to us was total gibberish.  However, once he got the hang of talking he is a constant babbling brook.  Cheerful and impudent, he fills every waking hour with questions and comments. 

Both of them are outgoing and never meet a stranger but the little boy is the one that runs to greet us with total abandonment.  The little girl has always been unusually loud.  They even had her hearing tested but she checked out just fine.  She's another little red-head and I suspect she just wanted the world to know that she was around.  It wasn't uncommon for her to lean out of her stroller and call out to people passing by.  Most would be captivated by the cheerful little redhead and return her greeting.  Those that didn't would get a look of total disbelief.

The little boy is just like his dad was in that he just can't be bothered by rules.  Especially rules concerning staying in one place.  He has no fear with wandering off into a crowd to follow his own interests. It completely amazes him when we come frantically hunting him. It especially a challenge to take him to the massive Farm Machinery Show in Louisville.  He is fascinated by tractors and can't wait to climb on each and every one (again just like his daddy).  His obsession with seeing every tractor usually means that one of us is permanently assigned to stay one step behind him all day.  Trust me that's a busy day.

All in all these two imps have been a delight and constant entertainment.

Happy third birthday!

Turtles

We have had a very wet spring.  At one point we had 14 inches of rain in a 10 day period.  The flooding that is occurring on the Mississippi started with the tons of water that fell on us and had to go somewhere!  Let me tell you that you know the rain is bad when you get an inch of rain and it's not even a topic for conversation at the coffee break group at Hardy's.

I realized that it was unusually wet when I started out the door one morning to be met by a turtle.  This wasn't the friendly box turtles or terrapins that we find in the fields and gardens, but a pond turtle.  I guess he had decided it was wet enough to come visiting.  My grandson showed up and identified it as a slider (whatever that is).  It was small, about 5 inches across the shell.  We decided to keep him around a while for the little ones to see, so we put it in an old dog cage for a little "show and tell."  After everyone had said "hi" we turned him loose and he disappeared. 

We often collect up terrapins or box turtles and bring them home for the little ones to see.  These are friendly creatures who soon become accustomed to little faces and hands petting them.  After a short while they will be ambling around the porch without pulling their heads and feet in when touched or picked up.  We usually keep them for a few days in the old dog cage with water and vegetables.  They mostly eat produce (which is why they are not welcome in the garden) and small insects.  We once dropped one in the window well of the basement and forgot him.  He hibernated all winter in the well and was fine and dandy come spring.

An interesting note on turtles is that they don't have box turtles in Iowa.  My daughter took her girls to the zoo to discover they were considered a rare, oddity in Iowa.  She laughed and said she had played with them growing up in Kentucky.  I guess it has been plowed so much that they don't have a habitat.  It could be they prefer the wooded, rolling hills of Kentucky.  I suspect the zoo personnel thought she was a little odd to be playing with turtles but when you grow up on a farm you have strange pets.

The pond turtle visiting remained just a strange event until I went out to the garage a couple of days ago and his big brother was sitting in the driveway.  While he wasn't the biggest I've seen, he was big enough.  Probably 12-14 inches across.  Now we have a problem.  Pond turtles are NOT friendly little creatures.  To begin with, they are meat eaters, which means they have razor sharp mouths (or beaks).  Also, they move incredibly fast.  Forget the stories of the tortoise and the hare, these babies can turn on a dime and fling their heads out half their body length or more, snapping viciously with their jaws they whole time.  Which is why we call them "snapping turtles".  They also get to be huge.  I'm talking two feet or more across the back.  Now, mix all this up with a really aggressive, mean disposition and you have a dangerous reptile. I used to raise ducks before the turtles moved in.  Turtles consider baby ducks to be a delicious snack.  Which is fair, I guess, since lots of people consider turtles to be great eating, too.

Another interesting fact is that they travel.  When a pond gets too crowded or there are too many young male turtles or the food gets low,  they just wander off in search of a better pond and adventure.  We have seen these big guys moving along the road, strolling through the pastures or wandering up the creeks.  However, I have never seen them come to the house before!  I don't know if it is the amount of rain that has flooded the ponds and creeks, or if they have just had a great breeding year but these things are on the move.  Believe me, two is too many.  I'm declaring war!

Turtle soup anyone?

Garden Time

We're back home and in the swing of things again.  We had a wonderful week hopping from island to island in the southern Caribbean.  The amazing thing is that the rainy weather followed us.  We were on the island of Barbados in a downpour when our tour guide says "We are a very arid island.  We usually have about five rainy days a year.  This week it has already rained four days."  I understood.  She had a whole tour of southerners.  Obviously the rain had followed us!

Since we have been home the weather has been hot and dry, which is good.  A little unusual for this time of year, since it hit 90 degrees today.  Naturally, that's the day that hubby decided to plant the garden.  I talked to my daughter a bit before I went out to help plant.  She immediately responded with "Man!  I hate to miss the show.  It's the funniest day of the year!"  Why do our children think our direst moments are funny?  Planting the garden is a traumatic time. 

See the game is--hubby always wants to plant too close together.  I want to plant too far apart.  He usually wins and the rows are just close enough that when the plants start to mature he can't get the tiller trough the rows and I have to do the weeding by hand.  Which makes me one very unhappy camper. (I can't help but wonder if that is the plan all along.) The day progresses with me yapping for moving the string marking the rows farther apart and him pounding the stakes closer together.  The kids think it is hysterical!

My son and his three sons showed up this afternoon to help.  A 3 year old and a 5 year old helping to plant was a lot of help.  At one point we gave up trying to explain that the corn needed to be so far apart and just told them to plant it anywhere.  We may have corn coming up all over.  I know for a fact that the 13 year old stood on every hill of cucumbers and squash until they were packed and flat.  However, the fun of planting and watering with laughter and giggles makes the adventure of finding out where stuff is planted, worth it.

At the end of the afternoon the kids were playing kick ball in the yard and hubby and I were collapsed on the porch.  I think we may be getting too old for this.