Old Dogs and New Tricks

I have just spent the better part of three hours trying to save time.  My children have long belittled me for not keeping up with the new financial times.  I resist using a debit card for minor purchases.  I insist on writing checks instead of having the cash register print them, because I use duplicate checks.  I keep a full set of books (on the computer but entered manually) instead of just letting the bank do it.  I even occasionally use real money.  They consider me to be hopelessly outdated and old fashioned. 

So tonight I decided that possibly there was some merit to their claims that Internet banking was much faster and more efficient, especially if coupled with my Quicken program on my computer.  Since computer programs no longer come with a manual so you can read up on what you are going to do, I just started in by clicking.  Before long I had accessed some of our bank accounts and with a click things started to download.  Great.  Soon I had a whole lot of new information in my Quicken accounts.  It didn't take long until I was clicking away and clearing transactions from my accounts.  So far so good.

Then I hit a snag.  I couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do and since these programs are so fool proof they don't tell you what to do or even what you are doing, I was lost.  I think they are based on the idea that first you must do it wrong then find out what to do right.  Of course, once you've done it wrong you have to undo the whole thing and start over.  Of course you can go to the help menu, however you have to figure out how to word the question so the help menu gives you an answer.  I must word things very weird, because I never get the answer that I want, so I have to keep asking and reading and reading.

After hours of reading answers that aren't what I need, clicking random buttons, and becoming more and more frustrated.  I have accomplished about half of what I could have done in about 15 minutes using my old method.  Plus I have a whole mess of stuff I don't know what to do with.  Now I will have to call one of the whiz kids  tomorrow and seek help to straighten it all out.  All of this because it is so much easier and quicker to do my banking electronically. 

Maybe you can't teach old dogs new tricks.

Welcome Granddaughter

We welcomed our third granddaughter, Hadleigh Kathryn, yesterday at 8:45 pm.  Her arrival has been awaited with excitement, especially since she has three older brothers.  Her mother and father kept us, and the world, updated with postings to facebook.  It was interesting to see the comments from friends and the parents-to-be responses.  This is certainly a different approach to labor and delivery than we had in the old days.

When my son was born we didn't even tell anyone we were going to the hospital.  I thought I just wanted peace and quiet and a well trained medical staff.  What I discovered is that labor is unbelievably boring.  You aren't comfortable enough to lose yourself in a good book and you can't sleep.  So you just lay there and wait for the next contraction and try to keep from throwing something at your husband.   My husband couldn't really figure out why his presence was required (frankly, neither could I) so he entertained himself by commandeering the television and watching a ballgame.  Just what I needed to take my mind off my problems.  The staff would come in periodically to break the monotony, but offered little in the way of entertainment.  To questions of "is it time yet" would be laughter.  I took that to mean that I was very funny. 

When our son finally arrived and I was freshened up and back in bed, I eagerly awaited the visit of the new father.  I wondered what he would have to say to me since I had just presented him with his firstborn son.  I was feeling rather proud of myself and couldn't wait to bask in the glow of his appreciation and love.  He walked into the room and came to the bedside.  He looked deeply into my eyes and said, "Do I put my socks in with the white clothes or my shirts?'  All he was concerned about was having to do his own laundry until I got home!!  Maybe that was appreciation of a sort after all.

Today's parents work it all out a little differently with all the technology and birthing suites where the fathers stay and bond with the new baby.  However, one thing is the same.  There is no feeling on earth like holding your child for the first time and getting to meet her (or him) face to face.  It is amazing how the love just wells up in you and overflows. 

Welcome, little Hadleigh, you have joined a family full of love for you.

To The Rescue

This has been a very volatile spring with lots of rain and severe weather.  My daughter, who lives in Iowa,  reports that there have been several tornadoes and lots of storms in her area too.  She has discovered that in the plains states you take weather warnings very seriously.  There is something about the fact that there aren't any mountains to slow the winds down that makes their area truly part of "tornado alley".  While we may sleep through a storm or two they are often up all night checking the weather minute-minute on the computer. 

Last week they had one of these storms come through.  However since they had only been back in their home after their remodeling for a couple of days, their computer wasn't hooked back up yet.  Taking no chances, they bundled the girls into the basement and settled down to spend the night checking the weather on their phones and camping on the couch.  At one point they heard a noise upstairs. When her husband went up to look,  he discovered the wind had blown open the garage door, the dog had come in and was so scared she had crawled to the back of their closet to hide. Soon the dog joined the girls in their basement camp out.  Early the next morning, the girls and dog woke their bleary eyed parents from their fitful doze in the chairs.

Daddy immediately jumped up and decided he would go out and check to see what damage had been done.  In just a few minutes he called the house to tell my daughter to grab his chainsaw and hurry to the farm in the "curve".  (When you live in Iowa, a road with a curve in it becomes a major landmark!)  She grabbed a movie for the children, a sack of doughnuts and hustled the girls into the car.  Grabbing the chainsaw from the barn she took off.  By the time she arrived at the "curve" there were already several pickup trucks that had answered the call for help.  All were getting out their chainsaws and beginning to start them up. 

The "curve" farm was where they had a field for the last few pregnant cows to pasture.  In the field was an old barn that had seen better times.  For some time they had talked about the need to go on and tear it down.  Well, they didn't have to worry about that any more, since the barn was flat on the ground.  The problem was all the cows had taken refuge from the storm inside.  So they now had a pile of broken lumber with eight pregnant cows underneath.  The men circled the rubble with anxious faces, hoping for signs of life but fearing the worst.  Then they nodded, started their chainsaws and approached the mess.  They attacked that pile of wood like a swarm of termites.  Soon chunks of timbers were being cut free and thrown out of the way.

The first cow they reached was pinned to the ground with rubble over her legs.  She was moaning and wild eyed but they didn't see any major injuries.  So they started working on setting her free.  Within minutes they had her uncovered and she was trying to sit up.  Then with a lurch she staggered to her feet and was clear.  With a nod of satisfaction they moved on to the next animal.  Cow by cow they worked to free them from the wreckage of the barn.  Miraculously, each time the cows would stagger to their feet and with a little assistance would move out of the area. At one point a little shout of surprise alerted everyone.  One of the chainsaw wielding farmers turned with his arms laden not with his saw but a new born baby.  One of the cows had decided to deliver during the storm and the little one was alive and well.

 Finally they were down to the last cow.  She was flat out under the ridgepole of the barn.  She hadn't been moving and they had little hope that she had survived, but they determinedly began to cut her free.  When the last piece was removed they stepped back and surveyed the situation.  To their surprise, she lifted her head and looked back at them.  After a few minutes she tucked her legs up and tried to roll into a sitting position.  The men rushed to help her.  Soon she was sitting up and checking out all the mess with a look of mild surprise.  With a heave, she pulled herself up into a standing position and took a step forward.  Step by step she walked out of the remains of the barn to the cheers and encouragement of her rescuers.

Unbelievably all eight cows and the new baby had survived with no major injuries.  Cut, scratched, stiff and sore, but alive.   With a few handshakes and shoulder pats the friends left to go back home or to help others. All had left their own farms, chores and clean-up to rush to the aid of a neighbor in need  As one man laughed when he left, "Now, I guess I can't put off  tackling that tree that fell on my mother-in-law's house any longer". 

Kaboom!!

When we first moved to the farm it was a vastly different looking place than it is now.  There was little landscaping, as in two old lilacs and a holly bush,  lovely shade trees, lots of yard and a farm that consisted of basically one field.  That reads, no fences to speak of.  So for the first few years we did a lot of fencing.  After gaining a lot of experience putting in boundary fences, creating fields, and building cattle working lots, hubby decided it was time to get creative. 

We live on a hill with a long gently curving drive.  He wanted to put a black plank fence along the drive, following the gentle curve.  Our neighbor and close friend just happened to be an engineer with his own bridge building firm, so we discussed the fence with him.  He helped figure out the curve and was sure it was a job hubby could do without the expense of hiring a crew.  So, a week was picked and the first fence post holes were dug.  The tractor and post hole digger were working along and progress was rapid until they hit about the middle of the drive.  Then things came to a screeching halt.  They hit rock.  Not just a big rock but a shelf of rock that they just weren't going to dig through.  After all, this is Kentucky. Look at the road cuts and you'll notice quickly that they consist of a thin layer of dirt on a lot of rock.  Limestone rock that grows great grass for thoroughbreds but still rock.

Hubby retreated to the porch with a beer and the neighbor to discuss the problem.  Heads were scratched and ideas tossed around.  Finally, they decided they had the solution to the problem.  They needed somehow to get holes through the shelf of rock.  The answer was obviously a jack hammer.  It just so happened that the friend had one at his shop.  Off they went to gather up the needed equipment and in the process gathered up the friend's two sons.  Soon the sons were manning the jack hammer and rock and dirt was flying.  However, it didn't take long for them all to retire to the porch with another beer and another problem.  The rock was hard and thick.  They weren't making much progress.  More head scratching. 

Finally, the engineer said there was only one solution.  They needed to blow the holes.  After all, that's what you did when you were in a building project, just blow the holes.  Naturally, he had the explosives and he knew how to do it, so the decision was made.  Off they went again to gather up more supplies.  At this point the kids and I had taken up seats on the front porch to watch the show.

They soon gathered back and began the preparations.  Knowing that explosions can create some hazards, they made their plans carefully.  Because we live on an access road , they decided they needed to block traffic so no car would accidentally be damaged by debris or drivers startled by the explosion.  To coordinate everything they would use the boy's trucks since they had 2-way radios in them from work.  The explosives were placed and the trucks took off to block the road and the countdown began.  Everyone watched in amazement when the plunger was pushed. A huge rumble  roared up from the hole.  Rock, dirt and smoke filled the air fifteen feet from the hole.  Everyone looked startled, even the engineer.  I began to wonder if beer and explosives were such a good idea.  The crew rushed back  to view the results.  They certainly had a hole.  It may take "bit" of fill around the post, but boy did they have a hole.

The process was repeated three more times, but with a slight reduction in the explosives!  

To this day, that fence is probably hubby's proudest accomplishment and has become a landmark for the farm.  It also is one of our favorite memories of the friendship of a great neighbor.  We miss you.

Best Friends

I have always been fascinated by the animals that inhabit our farm and home.  They give me endless hours of entertainment as I watch them from the windows or the fences.  We have always had dogs and cats, sometimes in multiple numbers.  When my father moved to the farm he added a small terrier mix dog called Amy.  She was his constant companion and he loved her dearly.  At the same time I had a German Shepherd and a collie.  They formed a funny looking pack with the two big dogs and feisty little Amy. 

Boomer, the big German Shepherd, soon become very attached to the little Amy.  They could constantly be found in each other's company just laying around the yard, checking out the cats in the barn, or hanging out with my father.  Surprisingly they also became hunting buddies.  They would take to the fields in the early morning and happily track and chase rabbits, squirrels, mice, ground hogs, or anything else they could scare up.  By the time the farm was stirring good and morning chores were underway, they would return for breakfast with tongues hanging out and doggy grins on their faces. 

We suspected their antics but didn't really know what they were up to until the morning that they didn't come back.  No one was concerned until nearly lunch time when the two dogs were still missing.  Neither was likely to voluntarily skip the possibility of a few tasty scraps from the dinner table so everyone began to get a little concerned.  After lunch the kids took off to the fields to see if their friends could be found.  Soon the valleys echoed with the calls of children's voices.  Still no dogs.  By late afternoon I had joined in the search party and we were beginning to wander a little further out.  Still no dogs.  Finally, I called a halt to the search since it was time to return to the house for chores and supper.

Everyone was feeling pretty down and discouraged as they trudged through the feeding and bedding of the cattle.  Suddenly my son started calling for his dog again but with excitement in his voice.  We all rushed to the fence to see two muddy figures walking toward the barn.  The little Amy was covered in mud from her head to her tail.  I mean covered.  Every hair was encased in a ball of mud until she looked like a walking beaded curtain.  The bigger Boomer had his entire underbelly caked in mud.  We welcomed them back with thankful hearts, cleaned them up and fed them dinner, all the while trying to figure out what had happened. 

It took a while and lots of watching where they went to hunt before my son figured out what had to have occurred.  They had developed a hunting partnership to trap groundhogs.  Groundhogs, a large rodent , live in dens they dig into the ground.  Amy, with her vermin hunting terrier background, would enter the groundhog hole and flush the groundhog out the opposite end (they always have an escape tunnel).  Boomer would wait at the end of the escape tunnel and catch the groundhog as it came out.  Unfortunately on the day in question, the groundhog wasn't a very good builder and the hole collapsed, trapping Amy underground.   Boomer, sensing Amy's peril, began digging.  He spent all day digging and digging trying to rescue his friend.  It wasn't until late in the afternoon that he was finally successful.  Fortunately Amy was trapped with enough air, so she only suffered from thirst and mud.  With his friend finally safe the two started for home, rescuer and rescued together.

Dick Francis

I am an avid reader.  Ever since I learned the code that made all those funny symbols become words, I have been obsessed with reading.   My mother learned early that this was an obsession that could work in her favor.  When she was forced to drag me along on a shopping trip, the first place we stopped was the children's floor of the old Tots and Teens department store in Lexington.  There I would be allowed to pick out a new book.  At the time I was deep into the "Rick Brant, Scientific Mystery" series and that was sure to be my selection.  After that she could go anywhere and shop to her heart's content as long as I could find a place out of the way to pursue my new mystery.

I will read anything, the back of the catsup bottle, magazines, fine print on medicine, just about anything with words.  However, I have always had a fondness for mysteries.  I love trying to figure out the solution and matching wits with the hero.  Although I will read anything, except "bodice rippers" or romance novels, who tend to be long on bedroom scenes and very short on story, I find that I always gravitate back to the mystery novels.

For years my all time favorite author has been Dick Francis. He probably is the only author that I have ever collected all of his books and kept them (except maybe the Rick Brant books as a youngster).  He also is the only author that I will routinely return to and re-read.  Most of his books I have now read three, four or five times.  A new book I will read twice, immediately.  The hard part is trying to explain why his books are so readable when I never am interested in reading anything else twice., much less three or more times.  The mysteries are intriguing but not gaspingly thrilling.  There is violence but generally it is mild, involving bruising and battering but only as a last resort.  The heroes aren't heroic, but ordinary people that use their heads instead of their gun-power.  I think the key is the writing, not the story.

 Mr. Francis managed to use a simple straight forward style to tell you about ordinary people who were faced with devious problems in their every day lives.  He manages to draw you into those lives and bring you to understand the ins and outs of their careers and livelihoods as they use intelligence rather than brawn to solve the problem.  He does all of this with a quiet tongue in cheek humor that makes his characters very real.  At the same time the story moves quickly to a satisfying conclusion. 

Sadly, Mr. Francis died last year at the age of 89, while writing his latest novel.  The last four novels have been co-authored with his son who took the place of his wife as his research assistant and helper after her death.  The collaboration has been successful with another string of best-sellers.  This summer his son will continue the string of novels with a new one entirely on his own.  I hope he has studied his father's attention to detail and quiet humor.  I also hope he has his father's work ethic.

Dick Francis started working as a youngster as a steeplechase jockey, eventually rising to the position of champion jockey and jockey for the Queen Mother.  When age and injuries ended his career he became a sportswriter.  After a sterling career in that field he launched into the area of mystery novels.  He was the author of more than 40 books.  He was awarded the Edgar Award 3 times, the Crime Writers; Association Cartier Diamond Dagger award and Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of American.  In 2000 he was awarded the title of Commander of the British Empire by Queen Elizabeth II.  Not bad for a guy who retired from two other jobs.

Good luck, Felix, in filling your father's shoes.

Babies

My son and his wife are awaiting the emminant arrival of their daugther so conversations in our house tend to center around pregnancy and childbirth. I, frankly, just can't believe  how much things have changed since I had my children.  The technology is amazing.  Just the other day they had a 3-d ultrasound of the baby and can now tell that she looks just like her middle brother.  Wow!  That's a long way from the dark ages when we delivered and didn't know until we met our babies if they were boys or girls.

Back then, pregnant was just pregnant, which left room for lots of surprises.  We lived, at that time, in town in a great neighborhood with lots of young couples.  One of the couples, that are friends to this day, lived just behind us.  She was a great source of information and support in those early days of parenthood since they had three boys, the youngest being about six.  So, it was with excitement and a little embarrasment that they announced that they were having a surprise visit from the stork.  When they had finally gotten used to the idea that their family would be expanding they began to look forward to the new addition,. 

My friend started thinking about redecorating a room for the baby and began acquiring baby supplies.  Of course, she had long since given all her things to her friends and they were now worn out.  Given the time period, that meant that you did everything in yellow and green because you couldn't use ayything that would scream boy or girl until you knew for sure (like during delivery!)  Our little bridge group had a little shower to help her out and we all donated back what larger items we weren't using.  Not too long after that I discovered I would be sharing the delights of preganacy with her.  She was due in November and I was due in February.We confided that we both hoped for little girls to add to our boys (her three and my one).  It was such fun dreaming about our children and how they would be in the same grade and probably close  friends. 

As time went on we both increased in size as pregnant women do.  I always gained considerable during pregnancy, from my head to my toes.  I became a regular Pillsbury doughboy.  She on the other hand gained only in her tummy, but she certainly did gain there.  I don't think I really realized how much until one night when I watched her balance a cup and saucer on top of her belly while she visited.  She just laughed and said that all her boys were big babies. 

One Sunday morning, late in October, word started passing around the church that she had gone to the hospital to deliver.  We were all excited and eager to know the sex of the new baby.  It wasn't long until the word reached us (small towns can beat cell phones for speed) that she had delivered twins.  Everyone was totally surprised, even the doctor.  Not only had she had twins but it was two boys!  Immediatly the women of the church went into full grieving mode.  "Poor dear.  What will she do with two more boys in that house?  Oh, she so wanted a little girl!  Poor thing!"  The church echoed with our lamentations.

Then one of the husbands gathered us up and read us the riot act!  Not only had she just had twins, a wonderful and exciting event, but they were perfect, healthy children.  He was right and we were ashamed of our outburst.  The parents of the little boys were delighted with their sons and didn't know of our comments for years. 

Oh, and our children did grow up together, went to school together and my daughter counts them as her best friends,  so that much was right.

T-Ball

I have been accused of favoring the granddaughters over the grandsons since I tend to write more about the girls.  The truth of the matter is that boys tend to do all kinds of funny and entertaining things, but most of them wind up unprintable.  However, I do have one funny story that all mothers will be able to appreciate.

My son has three sons...does that sound like an old tv movie?  (It's about to change since they are expecting a little girl to join them any minute).  The younger two sons are three and five years old.  They love to come to the farm, but I suspect that is to see how many ways they can cause me to have a heart attack.  However, that is another story for another time.  The two little boys are on the same t-ball team.  Now if you haven't had the chance to see a t-ball game you have missed a real treat.  Picture a field full of 3-5 year old boys (and/or girls) all playing baseball--no wait that's the wrong picture.  Picture a field full of little boys all playing...that's it.  They are drawing in the dirt, watching butterflies, talking to each other, calling to their mommies, wandering around and occasionally seeing a ball.  Since they are so little most of the batting takes place with the ball on a stand or "t", thus the name. 

The game had been going on for a while and the youngest little boy was on second base.  He had kicked the dirt, watched the birds, talked continuously (he never stops), and just had a good time.  T-ball doesn't move fast, so he had been out there a while when he decided he had an urge.   Now he knew that when he was on the farm and had an urge, then his daddy would tell him to just "pee in the grass".  He looked around, he was in a big field....and he really had to go.  So he did what his daddy always said...he dropped his pants to his ankles and "peed in the grass".  The stands exploded into laughter.  The coach, who was pitching, caught the action and got so tickled that the game slowed to a stop until the little boy had his pants up.  My son just buried his face in his hands as his friends congratulated him on having a boy "just like him".

Yep, boy stories are just a little different.

The Fishing Hole

My daughter and son-in-law decided it was time to take some time off and just have fun with their girls on Sunday.  They had been working hard getting the crops out and remodeling their house (the never-ending project) so a day of relaxation was in order.  In a short time an expedition to the pond on one of the farms was organized.  They loaded the truck with chairs, cool whip containers (for the worms), a bucket, (for the fish), two girls, one five years old and one three, a Barbie fishing pole and a Princess fishing pole, one dog, and two adults and took off for a fun afternoon.

Now, the five year old is an old hand at fishing.  She got her first Princess pole two years ago and unlike most little ones, set about learning how to use it.  She practiced and practiced until she could cast like a pro.  Surprisingly, baiting the hook with worms doesn't cause her a tremor.  She thinks worms are cute but fish are slimy..go figure.  So, she baited up her hook and gave it a mighty cast.  Plop! into the pond it sunk.  In just minutes she had hooked a little brim.  She reeled him in like the little pro she is and handed it to her mommy to take it off the hook.

Soon both girls were fishing away.  The time passed and mommy commented that it didn't look like the fish were biting anymore.  The older girl looked at her witheringly, and remarked, "Mommy, you have to be patient to fish!"  Soon the three year old tired of being "patient" and joined the dog in chasing the frogs around the pond.  The only question was if the dog and the girl would go into the pond with the frogs. 

The afternoon settled into barking dogs, squealing girls and laughing adults.  Soon the little one had tangled up her line on her pole and brought it to mommy to fix.  Mommy straightened it out and gave it a trial cast.  Not being as accomplished as her daughter, she landed her cast near the bank of the pond.  She started reeling it back in and soon felt a jolt on her line.  She reeled some more and the line kept trying to get to the bank.  Then it tried to jump on the bank.  Somehow she had managed to hook one of the frogs.  This quickly became a daddy job.  Daddy grabbed the line and pulled the frog to the bank and caught him.  The frog promptly jumped back in the water.  Now the dog decided she would help and jumped in after the frog.  Daddy drug the frog and the dog out of the water and tried to grab the frog again.  Now both girls and the dog are jumping up and down trying to help.  Eventually daddy has the frog corralled, the dog has been called off and the girls are watching in fascination as he works the hook out of the frog's skin.  With a quick caress from both girls for the "poor little froggy" he is returned to his pond.

With the sun going down and feeding to be done, they load up the truck and head back home.  Who says you have to have an amusement park to create wonderful summer memories.  Eat your heart out Disneyworld.

The Grandmother Brigade

Never under estimate  the power of grandparents.

The oldest grandson is now out of school for the summer break and showed up at my house today to spend the day.  Fortunately, a little rearranging and I had the day free to enjoy his company.  (For some reason they all think that I do nothing but sit around all day.  Just shows I have everything under control and just look like I'm never busy!!)  Anyway, it soon became apparent that he wasn't too interested in just hanging out with me.  With a hopeful look, he asked if he could have his friend out to spend the day.  He wanted to show off his farm to the boy who lived across the street from him in town.  I know from experience that two boys are a lot easier to entertain than one, so I readily agreed.

Now in today's age, nothing is ever that simple.  First of all the he lived with his mother and second husband, but she was out of town, so my grandson thought he might be staying with another relative.  He tried looking up his father's name, but couldn't find it listed.  Since the Internet didn't even have a number, we assumed he was probably using a cell phone.  His step-dad was at work, and unreachable.  Deep gloom was beginning to settle over the house.

I decided it was time to call on the Grandmother Brigade.  I knew the step-dad's mother so I gave her a call.  She thought that her step-grandson might be staying with one of his other grandparents.  She found the numbers for his paternal grandmother, both home and work.  So I called the other grandmother.  She returned my call and filled in the information that he was staying with his father and he did indeed use a cell phone.  I called his dad's number only to be sent to voice mail, with a promise that he would "call back later".  After leaving a message outlining the plan to get the two boys together, there was nothing left to do but wait for the promised call back.

I had begun to think that it had all been for nothing, when the phone rang.  Success!  The friend had been found.  A quick trip to pick him up and I had two contented boys spending a day on the farm.

Chalk up another one to the Grandmother Brigade.

Mystery in the Neighborhood

My son has solved a mystery.

It all started when the oldest grandson suffered a broken arm in a skateboarding accident.  This happened just at the end of May in the middle of our rainy spell.  He earns money during the summer mowing yards in the neighborhood now, with only one "wing", he was unable to mow for several weeks.  To help out the neighbors and his son, Mike and his buddy started mowing the yards.  First Mike revved up the mower and started on the yard across the street.  Everything went along fine for a while, then the mower started missing and sputtering.  Soon he was dead in the tall grass.  He tinkered with it all afternoon and could find nothing that seemed to be wrong.  So he loaded up the mower and took it to the local handyman to check it out.

His neighbor, Brian, being a good kind of guy, decided he would help out and finish the yards.  He revved up his mower and started to mow.  It wasn't long before his mower was chugging and coughing and soon it was sitting under a tree while the two men scratched their heads in puzzlement.   Nothing they did improved the situation, so they loaded up the mower and took it to the handyman.  The handyman is now loving this.  He wanted to know if Brian had loaned his mower to Mike, because he had already torn  up one and brought it in!  The men laughed but they were both wondering just exactly what was going on.  Did they have a vandal in the neighborhood?

The handyman called in a few days to report that they could pick up their mowers.  Both mowers had obviously had something added to the fuel and it had clogged up the carburetors.  Now they really were concerned about someone tampering with their equipment.  The conversation wandered through possibilities while they sat on Mike's deck.  Suddenly the five year old grandson wants to know what the problem is.  They explained that someone had added something to the lawn mowers and now they wouldn't work.

It took several days and lots of questions but the answer finally arrived.  It seems that the two little boys had decided to help daddy and Brian out with their equipment.  The five year old, in the spirit of helpfulness, topped off the gas tank with some oil.  Not to be outdone, the three year old topped off the other gas tank by peeing in it!

The handyman is still laughing. 

The New Farmer

Farming is not a science, unless you figure on the science that whatever can go wrong certainly will. 

My daughter has a new neighbor.  A lawyer from the city has bought property adjacent to them. He is so excited to be in the country and becoming a farmer.  Being the friendly, helpful people that they are, my son-in-law and daughter have become his mentors for this new adventure.  He will show up with questions on everything from crops, to soil, to fertilizer, to fencing, to equipment and back again.  My son-in-law patiently explains the ins and outs of farming and tries to guide him in the things he needs to do.  He goes home and attempts to follow the instructions and then shows up the next day with more questions. 

They have tenderly nurtured him through the fall, winter and a wet spring.  Now he is trying to get into the swing of farming in real time.  It's time to get your hay up and those of us who have lived through it know that it is a very stressful time of the year.  It sounds simple.  You cut the hay down.  Let it cure in the sun.  Rake it into winrows and then bale it.  In a perfect world it takes about 3-4 days per cutting.  However, in a perfect world it doesn't rain, equipment doesn't break down, other jobs don't interfere, and the sun always shines. 

He showed up one morning this week with a woeful expression on his face.  My daughter asked him what the problem was.  He answered with frustration, "I need to be putting up hay, planting soybeans, and fencing.  My hay baler is broken down, my planter is in the shop and my help didn't show up this morning.  It's supposed to rain tomorrow and I don't know how I'm supposed to get this all done!  I couldn't sleep last night for worrying and I am at my wits end."

 "Congratulations!  You are now a farmer!", she laughed.