For years, all of our vacations and most of our socializing took place at cattle shows. We would spend a week at the State Fair, a week at the National Jr. Angus Show, a few days at the North American Livestock Exposition, and then a day here and there at other shows. Usually the same group of parents and kids would show up. The kids would visit and care for the cattle while the dads supervised and talked shop. The moms doled out food, watched for accidents (moms always expect the worst), and caught up on each other's lives. Some of my dearest friends were found in those cattle barns.
We were sitting in the barns one day when one of the wives entertained us with a tale of how she broke her husband from coming home with too many beers under his belt.
It seems, in his younger days, he loved to go out with the guys and drink a few beers. He would then stumble home in the wee hours and fall into bed. His bride wasn't too taken by his activities or his buddies. She tried pouting prettily. Didn't work. She tried pleading earnestly. Didn't work. She tried reasoning. Didn't work. She resorted to shrewish nagging. Didn't work.
Finally the night came when he stumbled home, after a night of whooping it up with the boys, to discover his bride waiting up for him. Smiling sloppily, as only a drunk can, he peered at her. "Aw honey. I just had a few with the boys. It's ok." he mumbled. She simply pointed at the couch and he promptly fell down and was soon snoring peacefully.
Now this was a seriously pissed woman.
She wanted revenge. She wanted retribution.
She turned and marched into the bedroom and gathered up all the bedclothes she could find. With arms loaded she marched into the living room and piled them on top of her sleeping husband. Not satisfied with that, she gathered up the afghan and a couple of jackets laying around and piled them on too. With an evil smile, she gathered up her coat and headed for the door. On the way out, she turned the thermostat up as high as it would go and went home to sleep at mamas.
He reported later that he woke up in the night, burning up, and thought he had died......and gone to hell!!!!
He became a "one beer" man overnight.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
The Old Farm House
When we bought our farm 30 years ago my Hubby was excited beyond words. For years he had searched for the perfect farm in the perfect location, now he had it. Before this we had been farming a steep, hillside farm about 20 minutes from our house in town. Commuting there every night after work was time consuming to say the least. The thing about buying a farm is that you are buying a farm. You just "make do" with whatever house comes with it. The quality of the barns will be discussed and taken into the equation, but the house is incidental. To the farmer--not the wife.
The first I knew that this farm was even under consideration was when Hubby came in one afternoon and wanted to know if I would like to check out the house. Being in the real estate business it wasn't uncommon for Hubby to go to auctions with the idea that he might buy "if the price was low enough". Since we were pretty much on a very tight budget, the price was never low enough, so I never got too excited over his ideas. After spending the past week cooped up in the house with a sick child, an excursion sounded great to me.
After touring the farm house I was actually pretty impressed. The owner had fixed it up cute and it was very homey. It did have some problems, like a wall caving in in the basement and semi-finished sub-flooring for the kitchen floor, but wasn't as bad as some he had looked at. When he left the next morning for the auction, I encouraged him to go ahead and bid if he thought it had potential. I was thinking of a quick resale profit--he was thinking something else. He arrived home that afternoon and announced he had bought the farm and we could have possession in 60 days. I made him produce the papers before I really believed him!
Taking in the disbelief on my face, he put his arms around me and murmured into my ear, "I know it's not the house of your dreams, but if you'll just live there for five years I'll build you a new one."
Well, it's been 30 years and he actually has kept his promise--I do have a new house. We have literally rebuilt the old farmhouse one project at a time! You see, the problem with an old house is that it is old.
After spending a week at home during Christmas, our daughter hugged us tightly as they prepared to leave the old homeplace. "I don't want to be rude, but I figure you probably don't spend a lot of time in the upstairs. So-o-o, you might want to consider doing some updating. There are cracks in the bathroom wall, the window doesn't close tight, the hallway needs to have the paper stripped and painted and you need a new mattress on the bed." I'm sure my mouth was gaping like a hooked bass.
Hubby and I waved them out of the driveway and turned to each other in disbelief. "I thought I taught her better manners!" I sputtered. With a sigh, we went upstairs to take in the situation. She was right, we did need to start the rebuilding process once again. The front foundation of our old house is just stacked rocks, which are continually shifting ever so slightly. Consequently, we have problems with doors that decide not to close, windows that get out of square and won't shut, and walls that develop cracks. The hallway is the last of the old plaster and lath construction and will have to be drywalled to cover the lumps, bumps, and cracks in it. The bed she will have to live with--the only way to get a queen sized mattress in the upstairs, due to the low clearance in the stairwell, was to take it in through the roof when we added the bathroom. I'm not sure how we would do it now.
So I guess this spring Hubby and I will tackle the last remnants of the old farmhouse and replace and repair. Then I really will have a new house. I'll bet it would have been cheaper to have built a new one to begin with.
And lose all that farmhouse charm.....never.
The first I knew that this farm was even under consideration was when Hubby came in one afternoon and wanted to know if I would like to check out the house. Being in the real estate business it wasn't uncommon for Hubby to go to auctions with the idea that he might buy "if the price was low enough". Since we were pretty much on a very tight budget, the price was never low enough, so I never got too excited over his ideas. After spending the past week cooped up in the house with a sick child, an excursion sounded great to me.
After touring the farm house I was actually pretty impressed. The owner had fixed it up cute and it was very homey. It did have some problems, like a wall caving in in the basement and semi-finished sub-flooring for the kitchen floor, but wasn't as bad as some he had looked at. When he left the next morning for the auction, I encouraged him to go ahead and bid if he thought it had potential. I was thinking of a quick resale profit--he was thinking something else. He arrived home that afternoon and announced he had bought the farm and we could have possession in 60 days. I made him produce the papers before I really believed him!
Taking in the disbelief on my face, he put his arms around me and murmured into my ear, "I know it's not the house of your dreams, but if you'll just live there for five years I'll build you a new one."
Well, it's been 30 years and he actually has kept his promise--I do have a new house. We have literally rebuilt the old farmhouse one project at a time! You see, the problem with an old house is that it is old.
After spending a week at home during Christmas, our daughter hugged us tightly as they prepared to leave the old homeplace. "I don't want to be rude, but I figure you probably don't spend a lot of time in the upstairs. So-o-o, you might want to consider doing some updating. There are cracks in the bathroom wall, the window doesn't close tight, the hallway needs to have the paper stripped and painted and you need a new mattress on the bed." I'm sure my mouth was gaping like a hooked bass.
Hubby and I waved them out of the driveway and turned to each other in disbelief. "I thought I taught her better manners!" I sputtered. With a sigh, we went upstairs to take in the situation. She was right, we did need to start the rebuilding process once again. The front foundation of our old house is just stacked rocks, which are continually shifting ever so slightly. Consequently, we have problems with doors that decide not to close, windows that get out of square and won't shut, and walls that develop cracks. The hallway is the last of the old plaster and lath construction and will have to be drywalled to cover the lumps, bumps, and cracks in it. The bed she will have to live with--the only way to get a queen sized mattress in the upstairs, due to the low clearance in the stairwell, was to take it in through the roof when we added the bathroom. I'm not sure how we would do it now.
So I guess this spring Hubby and I will tackle the last remnants of the old farmhouse and replace and repair. Then I really will have a new house. I'll bet it would have been cheaper to have built a new one to begin with.
And lose all that farmhouse charm.....never.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
A Farmer's Weather Lament
It's a well known fact that people are never satisfied with the weather. Some want it warmer--some cooler--some wetter--some dryer. It's just human nature I guess. However, few people are as adamant about their weather wishes as a farmer. I sometimes wonder if God doesn't get confused listening to all the farmers and their weather demands.
In the spring, they want enough moisture to germinate their seeds but not so much that they can't get in the fields to plant. Then they want sunshine to make them grow but not so much that they dry up. Rain enough to nourish but not enough to wash out the little plants. Add to that the fact that every farmer is on a different schedule and need and I can see why God would throw up his hands in exasperation!!
In their defense, farmers have to do their chores no matter what the weather is. Cows must be fed and watered, fences repaired, and crops tended without regard to the desires of the farmer to just "stay in the house and snuggle with a good book --or ballgame".
Living with a farmer is a challenge.
This time of year is especially a challenge. Yesterday it was 50 degrees and beautiful. Knowing that there was a change coming Hubby launched into a rare day off work that coincided with the pretty weather. A rational person would have noticed that his list of chores was a lot longer than a day. However, with the optimism that only a farmer knows, he eagerly attacked the list. First off was delivering a piece of equipment to the shop to be repaired. Then after, a brief (?) visit with the owner, he returned to the farm to help get some cattle up to be moved. This is more of a job than it seems since with the warm weather came thawing of the mud surrounding every feed trough, waterer, fence line, gate, or anywhere else that humans or cattle move. Boots protect the feet but soon become encased in inches of heavy mud so that it is like hiking in concrete blocks.
After getting the cattle settled into their new location, it was time to put out some hay for them. Sounds easy--fire up the tractor and spear a bale of hay and dump it in the waiting ring. Except for the mud. Every gate has to be opened, and closed, involving a slog through the mud to open then a trudge back to the tractor. Now repeat on the other side of the gate. Even the tractor tires will slip and slide in the mud.
Even little chores, like re-hanging a gate or replacing a plank in the fence become a game of slip and slide. Don't even think about trying to head off the frisky calf that decided to take advantage of the gate being open to make a dash for freedom!
Days end came with a spectacular sunset, that Hubby was almost too tired to notice.
Today we awoke to snow and falling temperatures. It is forecast to fall into the low single digits, which means all that mud will freeze to holes, ridges, spikes and dips. Today's chores will be done in the Arctic cold, in fading light, after work. Waterers will freeze and have to be broken loose, ponds will freeze and have to have holes chopped for the cows to drink and extra feed will have to be delivered to the mama cows.
At least the mud is frozen.
Now, God, about this snow.......
In the spring, they want enough moisture to germinate their seeds but not so much that they can't get in the fields to plant. Then they want sunshine to make them grow but not so much that they dry up. Rain enough to nourish but not enough to wash out the little plants. Add to that the fact that every farmer is on a different schedule and need and I can see why God would throw up his hands in exasperation!!
In their defense, farmers have to do their chores no matter what the weather is. Cows must be fed and watered, fences repaired, and crops tended without regard to the desires of the farmer to just "stay in the house and snuggle with a good book --or ballgame".
Living with a farmer is a challenge.
This time of year is especially a challenge. Yesterday it was 50 degrees and beautiful. Knowing that there was a change coming Hubby launched into a rare day off work that coincided with the pretty weather. A rational person would have noticed that his list of chores was a lot longer than a day. However, with the optimism that only a farmer knows, he eagerly attacked the list. First off was delivering a piece of equipment to the shop to be repaired. Then after, a brief (?) visit with the owner, he returned to the farm to help get some cattle up to be moved. This is more of a job than it seems since with the warm weather came thawing of the mud surrounding every feed trough, waterer, fence line, gate, or anywhere else that humans or cattle move. Boots protect the feet but soon become encased in inches of heavy mud so that it is like hiking in concrete blocks.
After getting the cattle settled into their new location, it was time to put out some hay for them. Sounds easy--fire up the tractor and spear a bale of hay and dump it in the waiting ring. Except for the mud. Every gate has to be opened, and closed, involving a slog through the mud to open then a trudge back to the tractor. Now repeat on the other side of the gate. Even the tractor tires will slip and slide in the mud.
Even little chores, like re-hanging a gate or replacing a plank in the fence become a game of slip and slide. Don't even think about trying to head off the frisky calf that decided to take advantage of the gate being open to make a dash for freedom!
Days end came with a spectacular sunset, that Hubby was almost too tired to notice.
Today we awoke to snow and falling temperatures. It is forecast to fall into the low single digits, which means all that mud will freeze to holes, ridges, spikes and dips. Today's chores will be done in the Arctic cold, in fading light, after work. Waterers will freeze and have to be broken loose, ponds will freeze and have to have holes chopped for the cows to drink and extra feed will have to be delivered to the mama cows.
At least the mud is frozen.
Now, God, about this snow.......
Friday, January 17, 2014
Those Pesky Numbers
My brain just doesn't do numbers. I love words. I love how they sound, what they mean, and what you can do with them. I just love words. Numbers are another story. They never seem to do what I want them to. That's why I keep the farm accounts on Quicken. All I have to do is make sure I enter the numbers right and the computer makes them do their thing. It's genetic. My dad wasn't a number person either. My mother, on the other hand, could make a spreadsheet balance to the penny while carrying on a conversation with a customer. Both my husband and daughter tend to think in numbers. I don't and unfortunately, my son inherited my genes on that one.
When I was in college I had a chemistry teacher that looked a lot like a cheery Santa, but that's where the resemblance ended. I lived in terror of his lightning attacks on hapless students who didn't meet up to his expectations. Although, as he constantly informed us, his expectations were low because he knew we weren't very capable. While returning a quiz we had taken the day before, he roared out to me. "I don't understand it! You should have gotten a A! You worked everything correctly, you used the correct formulas and the proper equations but you still managed to GET THE WRONG ANSWERS!!!! TELL ME THE REASON!" Without pausing, he continued to the amusement of the entire class. "I'll tell you why! You can't add 2 plus 2 without getting 5!!!" Cowering in my seat, I could only nod in agreement. In those days before calculators, I was constantly making silly, careless errors. Numbers just didn't like me. I understood the methods, the reactions, the formulas, I just couldn't make all those numbers behave.
It didn't take me long to decide my career choices probably wouldn't include being an accountant or chemist.
Fortunately, the career I chose let me play with words to my hearts content.
My son, who as I mentioned was the unfortunate recipient of my "no-numbers" gene, was having a rough time with an Algebra assignment while in high school. At the time I was working as a substitute teacher whenever they needed me. It was a standing joke in the teacher's lounge that I was willing and able (especially in English, geography, history and even in Ag) but I was hopeless in teaching a math class unless it was VERY basic!! Still I felt obligated to attempt to help out my struggling son. We managed to wade through most of the problems with some success (as verified by the answers thoughtfully given in the back of the book) but one had just plain stumped us. After trying it several different ways, my son was all for just giving up and leaving it unanswered. I just kept insisting we try one more thing (did I mention that I am also stubborn?) We worked and worked and finally achieved a solution that arrived at the correct answer. I was jubilant. He was just relieved that I would finally let him go to bed.
The next day I was subbing in one of the classes at school. As I made my way down the hall after lunch, the algebra teacher flagged me down from his room. "You helped Mike with is homework didn't you?' he inquired with a laugh. "Why? Weren't the answers correct?' I replied with a little hesitation. "Oh, yes. They were correct. Every one of them. Even that hard one at the end." he answered with a little laugh. "Well, then. What makes you so sure I helped with them?" I asked, a little more sharply. "Because," he said laughing heartily, "In 20 years of teaching algebra I have never seen anyone use that method or logic to get an answer and get it right. I have spent all day trying to duplicate it on the board with my classes. With only limited success, mind you. You are the only person I know that could have created that solution!!" Still laughing he waved me down the hall.
As I hurried on to my own classroom I couldn't decide if I had been complemented or insulted.
Like I said my brain just doesn't do numbers like everyone else.
When I was in college I had a chemistry teacher that looked a lot like a cheery Santa, but that's where the resemblance ended. I lived in terror of his lightning attacks on hapless students who didn't meet up to his expectations. Although, as he constantly informed us, his expectations were low because he knew we weren't very capable. While returning a quiz we had taken the day before, he roared out to me. "I don't understand it! You should have gotten a A! You worked everything correctly, you used the correct formulas and the proper equations but you still managed to GET THE WRONG ANSWERS!!!! TELL ME THE REASON!" Without pausing, he continued to the amusement of the entire class. "I'll tell you why! You can't add 2 plus 2 without getting 5!!!" Cowering in my seat, I could only nod in agreement. In those days before calculators, I was constantly making silly, careless errors. Numbers just didn't like me. I understood the methods, the reactions, the formulas, I just couldn't make all those numbers behave.
It didn't take me long to decide my career choices probably wouldn't include being an accountant or chemist.
Fortunately, the career I chose let me play with words to my hearts content.
My son, who as I mentioned was the unfortunate recipient of my "no-numbers" gene, was having a rough time with an Algebra assignment while in high school. At the time I was working as a substitute teacher whenever they needed me. It was a standing joke in the teacher's lounge that I was willing and able (especially in English, geography, history and even in Ag) but I was hopeless in teaching a math class unless it was VERY basic!! Still I felt obligated to attempt to help out my struggling son. We managed to wade through most of the problems with some success (as verified by the answers thoughtfully given in the back of the book) but one had just plain stumped us. After trying it several different ways, my son was all for just giving up and leaving it unanswered. I just kept insisting we try one more thing (did I mention that I am also stubborn?) We worked and worked and finally achieved a solution that arrived at the correct answer. I was jubilant. He was just relieved that I would finally let him go to bed.
The next day I was subbing in one of the classes at school. As I made my way down the hall after lunch, the algebra teacher flagged me down from his room. "You helped Mike with is homework didn't you?' he inquired with a laugh. "Why? Weren't the answers correct?' I replied with a little hesitation. "Oh, yes. They were correct. Every one of them. Even that hard one at the end." he answered with a little laugh. "Well, then. What makes you so sure I helped with them?" I asked, a little more sharply. "Because," he said laughing heartily, "In 20 years of teaching algebra I have never seen anyone use that method or logic to get an answer and get it right. I have spent all day trying to duplicate it on the board with my classes. With only limited success, mind you. You are the only person I know that could have created that solution!!" Still laughing he waved me down the hall.
As I hurried on to my own classroom I couldn't decide if I had been complemented or insulted.
Like I said my brain just doesn't do numbers like everyone else.
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