Crawley, The Crawdad

I took the grandsons to Cumberland Falls State Park last week for our annual (or semi-annual) State Park trip.  We arrived on a beautiful afternoon that felt a lot like fall, with temperatures in the upper 70's.  We were way early for check-in but the helpful girl at the front desk located a cabin that was ready and allowed us to check in early.  After dumping our stuff in the compact, brown cabin we headed out to see the falls.  Surprisingly, I don't remember ever visiting this park as a child of park visiting parents.  It's possible I did but kid-like just don't remember.  So I was a little unprepared for the overwhelming experience of seeing the Falls themselves. 

The Cumberland River tumbles down the steep gorge, full from all the recent rains.  The broad expanse looks serene as the sun sparkles off he little riffs and white ripples of the green water as it moves toward the drop-off.  We first walked down to the shore above the falls, which is mostly limestone rock that has been worn smooth over time.  The kids soon tired of wandering along the rocks and we moved on down to the overlook area.  We could hear the falls thundering and see a mist rising above the river but it wasn't until we reached the edge of the overlook that we could see the falls themselves.  The river rushes into a drop of 65 feet, literally pouring thousands of gallons of water a second in a cascade that can reach 300 feet across at flood stage.  The curving expanse of water is breathtaking.  Even for a five and seven year old.

After several seconds of amazement (about as long as the little boys could take without climbing on something) we decided to take the trail down to the lower look-out.  The well traveled trail led to a lower over-look that let us view the expanse of water from about the middle level.  We then continued on the trail to the area below the Falls.  Here the river spreads to a fast moving but deceptively placid looking body of water.  We exited the trail onto a smooth rock, sand and mud beach that had obviously been created by surging overflow from the river.  Several downed trees had been left, providing seating for watching the river and the children enjoying the space.  A constant flow of visitors provided ample people watching while the little boys dug in the sand and happily got filthy.

We finally moved to go back up to the visitor's center driven by thirst and a need for a potty break.  Not ready to leave yet the little boys wanted to go back to the rock area above the falls.  There they spent their time exploring the various spots where water had collected in dips in the rocky ledge along the shore.  Soon I was called to watch as they discovered the various puddles were home to dozens of crawdads, mudbugs to some, or crayfish if you like.  It wasn't long until the seven year old had captured a lovely, big crawdad, who looked around in surprise at viewing the world from such a lofty height.  He rinsed out his cup from our slushy earlier, and filling it with river water placed his new friend inside.  Capping the cup with the lid, he continued his exploration with his friend, Crawley, carefully carried along.

When we left for the truck, nothing would do but for Crawley to come along.  Now I know some of you are starting to think about cruelty and environmental issues and maybe even the legal issues of removing a creature from a State Park.  You are right, but he's seven and logic and demands are met with determination and frustration.  Also, I know from experience that crawdads are resilient, adaptable and tough.  So, Crawley came along.  Did you know that crawdads can actually live for quite a while out of water?  The kids and I once spotted one trudging across the back field heading for the creek.  How he got there we have no clue--dropped by a predator, moving to a new location, who knows, but there he was, seemingly unperturbed by a stroll through a cow pasture.  So I wasn't too concerned about his ability to survive for a while in a cup of water. 

For the next two days, Crawley was our constant companion.  He slept (?) on the bedside table, watched t.v. from the living room table, went to craft classes and supervised the painting of a wooden snake, and rode in the truck as we moved around the park.  I thought we might lose him when the five year old decided he needed clean water and dumped him in the bathroom sink and refilled his cup with tap water.  I figured the tap water chemicals would do him in by morning, but he greeted us with feelers waving the next day.  (We did make a trip to the river to refill his cup with river water.)

The morning arrived to leave and I began to wonder if I could make a two hour trip with a crawdad without them dumping him out in Hubby's new truck--which was already suffering from feet returning from trails and muddy pursuits.  Sitting down with the boys I wondered how to reach a small boy with logic.  "You know, Crawley has had a pretty amazing experience."  I started.  "He has gotten to go to craft class, visit a cabin, see a playground, and make new friends.  However, he is probably missing his brothers and sisters and wishing he could tell them all about his adventure."  Blue eyes looked at he seriously, "But I'm going to take him home and put him in the creek at the farm.  There are lots of crawdads there for him to be with." (Hmmm.  Now what?) ."Well, but they won't be his family.  How would you feel if we stopped on the corner in Somerset and just dropped you off by the street.  There are lots of people there, would you feel right at home?"  He thought about this for a few minutes and the steady gaze began to waver.  Rushing in for the coups de grace I hurried on, "Just think.  He has had a grand adventure and he must really want to tell everyone at home about it.  Just like you want to tell your parents and sister about your trip!"  Finally, his face lit up and he agreed, "OK, let's take him to his home!"

So in a drizzly rain we trooped back to the river one last time and placed Crawley in the same hole of water to tell his friends all about his grand adventure!

(We also spent a couple of hours the next day scrubbing all the evidence of our great adventure out of Hubby's truck!)

Kentucky's Fabulous State Parks

School starts next week for the grandchildren, so it was time for our trip to a State Park.  My father was a huge supporter of the State Park system, taking us to the parks and teaching us about our natural resources while we had fun.  I am trying to do the same with the grandkids.

Kentucky is blessed to have one of the finest state park systems in the United States.  It is often under appreciated by those who live closest to these wonderlands.  The state parks have over 50,000 acres of land ranging from the Appalachian mountains in the East to the Mississippi shores in the West.  Each year over 7 million people visit these parks to enjoy a variety of activities from mountain hikes, boating, canoeing, white water rafting, horseback riding, nature trails, cave exploration, and just relaxing.  You can visit State Historic sites such as the Perryville Battlefield (most destructive Civil War battle in Kentucky), Big Bone Lick(an early salt lick and the site of a large prehistoric fossil discovery in 1807), Lincoln's Birthplace, My Old Kentucky Home (home of the outdoor drama "The Stephen Foster Story") or the William Whitley House (first brick house west of the Appalachians and in my home county).  If you are adventurous you can explore one of the 24 recreational parks that feature outdoor camping facilities and various activities,from fishing and picnicking to hiking and swimming.  Or if you are like me and prefer your experience a little more comfortable, you can stay in one of the 17 State Resort parks that have full lodges (with dining rooms) as well as comfortable cabins with full kitchens.

The system, which was started in the 1920's, was designed to be economical on all levels.  The lands acquired were all donated or gifted to be used as part of the State Park system.  Many of the facilities and improvements were made during the period of 1930's with Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and the Works Progress Administration (WPA).  They were never intended to be luxurious escapes for the wealthy but rather an economical recreational area for the normal, everyday citizens of the state.  The lodges are rustic, the cabins basic and the settings breathtaking!  What they lack in the high dollar amenities (don't expect an in  room massage or a fancy health club) they more than make up for with balconies that look out into the side of a forest covered mountain, crystal blue lakes surrounded by virgin timberland, well maintained hiking trails through hundred year old woods with stunning vistas of natural beauty, and some of the most spectacular natural phenomenon in the world.  You can see natural rock arches (bridges), spectacular caves, towering mountains, thundering waterfalls and abundant wildlife. Besides the natural beauty the resort parks also feature swimming pools, tennis courts and golf .  The best thing may be the charming and enthusiastic employees who seem so eager to answer your questions and assist in any way.  Each park also has a naturalist that will present programs and information on the local area wildlife and landscape.

Did I mention golf?  I don't play myself but we travel with others that do and if you can trust their word, the courses are great!  There are dozens of courses snuggled into mountain valleys, hugging rugged hillsides, overlooking sparkling lakes, and rolling over the bluegrass.  Many were designed by world class course designers and represent a challenging and visually stunning game. 

If you prefer water sports to hiking or golf you can enjoy one of the many lakes that were created for watershed and flooding control.  From east to west you will  find parks like General Butler, Kentucky Dam Village, General Burnside Island, Barren River, Green River, Lake Barkley, Rough River and many others that feature facilities for launching your boat, docks, beaches, campsites, resorts, trails, and picnic areas.  On a recent trip to Kentucky Dam Village State Park we found ourselves in a modern, tastefully decorated room with a balcony overlooking a sparkling marina of beautiful sailboats. We sat until evening watching the lovely boats tack their way into the harbor, then wandered into the dining room and sat next to a 10 foot wall of glass and watched the sun set over the lake.

No, I don't get a commission from the State Park System.

Don't take my word for these treasures--come and visit them.

For more information www.parks.ky.gov

Space Mountain

When our daughter invited us to join them on a trip we were warned ahead of time that this was a trip for the kids.  Everything would be pretty much geared to what they would enjoy.  There wouldn't be adult dinners, movies with real people, or quiet afternoon naps.  We would however, have the option to not participate in the "family" activities.  The first test came when the girls announced that the next day we would be going to the amusement park.  The youngest looked up at me solemnly,  "Mama says you don't do roller coasters.  It's o.k., I can stay and keep you company if I'm not tall enough to ride."

She's right.  I don't do roller coasters.  In fact I don't do any ride that goes fast, high or gets me wet.  I have stood on the ground, covered in a terror-sweat, watching my whole world going around on the Ferris wheel, but could not get on it for anything.  All I could do was watch and pray that my children returned to earth unharmed.  The mothers of the astronauts could not have felt more fear.  So here was this five year old earnestly reassuring me that she would hold my hand while I waited.

Hubby and the kids always loved the amusement parks.  I would carry packages, keep up with tickets, study the park maps, wipe faces, and hubby would ride the rides with the kids.  I usually would stand in line with them to pacify the kids, and keep hubby from getting too restless at the wait, then slip out as they approached the head of the line.  I could then browse the shops or wander until I met them at the exit gate.

This worked fine until a trip to Disney World.  We had enjoyed a long day at the park and were heading for one last ride.  Dusk was approaching but the kids wanted to ride one more time.  They chose the Space Mountain ride for their final run.  I lined up with them and we chatted about our fun day as we waited.  The line gradually moved up as we wound in and out of the line up area.  It gradually began to dawn on me that we had moved inside of a building.  I began looking for a way to get out, so I could wait for the rest of the family after the ride.  Looking around, I couldn't see any way to leave without climbing over the long line of people behind us.  No doors, no exit signs, no place to chicken out.  I was stuck.

I decided that I could do this.  After all it was a perfectly safe form of entertainment.  Nothing more.

Chanting softly to myself, "It's just a ride.  I can do it.",  we inched forward.  Around the next turn in the line I found myself facing a sign listing all of the people who should not ride....those who had high blood pressure, heart problems, back problems, breathing difficulties.  With sweaty palms and a dry mouth, I assured myself that it was perfectly safe.  They couldn't run a ride if it was truly dangerous.  My kids gripped my hands and murmured reassuring words as we moved steadily forward.

We finally arrived at the starting point and were ushered into the cars.  The lap bar locked down and we were ready.  "What?  No seat belts, three point harnesses?  Just this little bar?!"  With that we were OFF!  We roared into the darkness amid the screams of the riders.  Around and around we flew, up and down, faster and faster.  The wind rushed by my face but I saw nothing.  I had my eyes screwed shut and was holding on for dear life.

An eternity later the ride was over.  The passengers started to exit from the cars.  My son, sitting next to me, gave me a prod.  "Come on, Mom, we need to leave."  I just looked at him helplessly as the attendant approached our car.  "Is there a problem?" he inquired politely.  I looked up in embarrassment, "Yes.  You see I can't make my hand turn loose of the grab bar."  I had gripped so tightly that now the muscles were locked onto the bar. 

With infinite patience, he smiled and proceeded to pry my fingers loose, one at a time.  Stuttering with shame, I apologized for the trouble.  He just laughed, "Lady, I do this all day long every day."

Yep.  I would let the grandkids ride and I would hold the packages and wait.  I tempted fate once but never again!!

Random Thoughts

We were out of town for a week with the mid-west family and returned home to backed-up chores, high heat, and grandkids, so time to share has been limited, to say the least.
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The massive rains (11 inches in two weeks) have created some nightmares on the farm.  Our son's tobacco crop was declared 100% loss.  The beautiful rows of green plants were reduced to yellow and brown from the unrelenting rain.  Farmers must keep the ulcer medicine companies in business. 
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I spent all spring on a campaign to reduce the size of my garden.  Hubby just loves to plant and I usually wind up with rows and rows of beans to pick and can.  So this year instead of nagging, I've been feeding him green beans every meal, telling him all the time that I need to get the number of jars stored in the basement down to make room for the new ones.  The garden was actually planted while I was away visiting  and the plan worked.  He only planted four rows of beans with plans to do a few more for a late crop.  Then the plan boom-a-ranged on me.  We arrived home from a week in drought and heat stricken Missouri to find that the incessant rain had reduced my garden to mush.  The few beans that survived were demanding to be picked immediately. (Beans are like a lot of plants...if allowed to bring beans to complete maturity they will quit producing new beans, since they see their job as done!  Hence, you have to keep picking for them to keep producing.)  So, I started picking in the heat and mud. 
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Grandchildren tickle the heart and exhaust the body.

My daughter-in-law is out of town this week on business and the oldest grandson is on a mission trip to far Eastern Kentucky, that leaves my son and I hustling to keep up with the younger ones.  I found out that I am completely out of practice at keeping up with a 2, 5, and 7 year old and cooking three meals a day.  We've managed to have a lot of fun but I'm usually running about a step behind.  The plus side is the delight we have had in the time with them. 
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Saw a quote I just have to pass along.

"Here in the South, we don't hide crazy.  We parade it on the front porch and give it a cocktail."

It made me think of some of my favorite relatives, which are, at best, eccentric. 
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A mother can always find something to feel guilty about.

I know I am not responsible for the weather, but I find myself apologizing for it.  My daughter is suffering from a severe lack of rain, so when I talk to her I tend to downplay our crisis of too much rain.  When I talk to my son, I tend to be careful not to dwell on the plight of the hot, dry situation of his sibling.  Why?  I certainly can't fix either's problems.
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Hubby and I took an extra couple of days and made a one and a half day drive going and coming from Missouri to vacation with the Iowa family.  It was a grand trip out, full of anticipation at being with the granddaughters and total enjoyment of the peace and quiet returning home.
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On our trip we crossed into Missouri at Wickliff, Ky.   A fascinating adventure.  We first crossed the muddy Ohio River in full flood.  We arrived off the bridge on a little spit of land then, continued on a second bridge to cross the slightly smaller Mississippi River.  Looking to your left you can see where these two mighty rivers join to become the massive, rolling, muddy, Mississippi River.  Awesome!
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Hope you are neither too hot, too dry, too wet, or too cold. Or as Baby Bear says in Goldilocks, just right.

I Hate Pigs

I am an animal lover.  I  love baby ducks, toddling calves, and kittens.  I even get warm fuzzies from petting the old show cows as they come through the barn.  I think the smell of a sweaty horse is pure perfume.  The dogs and cats follow me like the Pied Piper as I go about the farm.  I gush over new calves and dote on the cats.  However, I just can't get all excited about pigs.

I should have taken note of the fact that Hubby earned his spending money by raising feeder pigs when we were dating.  However, they were down at the barn and as a "townie" I wasn't expected to visit the barn much.  I knew they were there and that they smelled, A LOT---but I was young and in love, so I didn't give it much thought.

Then, all of a sudden we were newly-weds living on a farm in Breckinridge Co. and trying to make ends meet.  The next thing I know Hubby has brought home three sows to live with us on the farm.  "Pigs!!" I exclaimed, "You bought three pigs!?"  Smugly he replied, "Do you know what pigs are bringing?  They'll make us good money off their litters.  You just wait and see!"

What I saw was that pigs are smart and a pain in the butt. (plus they smell)

Pig manure is so strong that it soon ate up Hubby's boots, so he had to start wearing rubber boots.  His clothes now stunk up my utility room so they had to be washed immediately (not always convenient).  That, however, was a minor point. 

The biggest problem with pigs is that they are SMART.  Animal Farm had it right--pigs are definitely leaders and thinkers.  The first thing those three sows learned was how to escape from their pens, in the barn.  The second was that dog food was goo-oo-d.  So it seemed that almost daily I would look out my kitchen window and see pigs eating the dog food on the porch.  The dog would be crouched in a corner, tail between his legs, begging for his life!  (even he knew pigs were to be avoided).  Being more than a little scared of them myself, I wasn't about to go out and run them off (sorry dog, you are on your own).   In desperation I would crack the door enough to get a broom through it and whack at the pigs in an attempt to run them off.

 Hubby would eventually come through and laugh at me and herd the pigs back to their pens. "You don't have to be scared of them", he would laugh, "they won't hurt you."  Yeah.  Sure.  I also saw him a few weeks later do a great imitation of Superman, as he flew head-first over the pen fence one leap ahead of a angry mama hog!  Nothing is meaner than a mama hog.

Eventually the babies were raised and the mama pigs were released into a field behind the barn.  To ensure they stayed put Hubby put an electric fence around the lot.  The old sows would stand at the fence and look longingly at the house and the tempting dog food bowl.  They knew that the fence was painful and they couldn't cross it.  I looked back, in scorn and triumph, because they were unable to get to me (and the dog food).

Then I noticed one old sow had started backing up into the middle of the lot.  Step by step she backed away from the fence.  "Aha!  I have finally won!", I thought to myself.  When she reached the middle of the lot, she stopped, and spent a long moment just staring at the fence.  Then with a snort she started running.  With every step she squealed and grunted.  Faster and faster she came, the squeals getting shriller.  I stared in horror as she closed her eyes, squealing piercingly, and ran, headfirst,  into the single strand of electric fence!  The squeals reached a crescendo and then she was through the fence!!

Gradually slowing to a walk, she looked to the window where I watched in amazement, and I swear, she winked! 

Hope the dog didn't mind sharing.

Summer Days

Summer has set in on the farm.  The days are long and hot with not a lot going on.  The tobacco is set and now we spend a lot of time just watching it grow.  The wet weather has created some problems like stem rot and we're seeing some black shank.  Both are diseases that can cause severe problems.  So far it's just at the watch and wait stage.  The hay is cut and now hubby is bush-hogging off the pastures to clean up and stimulate the grass growth.

The grandsons have been spending a lot of time hanging out on the farm.  So once again I am hearing the sound of laughter as the little boys busily dig around the base of the old maple tree.  The grass will grow back but the memories of farming in the dirt will last forever.  Some of the toys they have drug out are left from the days of their father's childhood.  They don't make toys like that now.  The old metal Tonka trucks and bulldozers are still doing a hard days hauling and digging.  They even had some old metal toy tractors, plows and planters, also their dad's.  The new ones we bought last summer have long since been broken and thrown away.  Progress isn't always better.

It's been really hot, so I caved and brought out the water guns and water balloons.  Some basic rules: 1.  You cannot get grandma wet.  2.  You cannot spray the windows I just washed  (good luck with that one) 3.  No running into the house to hide and drip all over my floors.  4.  No whining.  5.  About anything else is legal.  The porch was awash with water and the fight was on within minutes.  Shrieks and shouts filled the air. 

About this time my son wandered into the house to check on the survival rate (theirs or mine).  "Who were the men in the gray truck?" he asked.  I shrugged, "What truck?  I haven't seen anyone.  The only time the dog barked is when you came in."  (The dog always assumes my son is the bad guy!)  It seems that the boys had reported that two men had arrived at the farm to look at some bulls.  After waving to the boys they checked out the cattle in the front field and drove off. 

"Why on earth" I mused "would they not come to the house?  They saw the boys playing.  They had to know someone was in the house!"  My son looked at the wet porch, spraying water hose, and the furious water battle taking place on the sidewalk and slowly grinned.  "Are you kidding?  They would have been walking targets in the middle of that onslaught!"

I looked around, laughed, and quickly slammed the door before we became targets, too.

Hail in the Heartland

There are few things that leave us as powerless as extreme weather.

We experienced that while visiting our daughter in Iowa.  Hubby and I had been left in charge of the farm while our daughter and son-in-law took the oldest grandchild to the doctor in Des Moines.

Hubby was comfortably stretched out in the recliner watching a golf match, when it started to rain.  The rain became harder and harder then it began to sound even louder.  We went to the door looking out on the back deck and discovered it was beginning to hail.  The little flakes of ice were about the size of a fingernail but as we watched the rain changed entirely to hail.  It looked like a snowstorm.  Soon the deck was covered in white.  Then we noticed that the hail covering the deck looked like it had small craters in it.  In amazement we watched as hail stones as big as golf balls began to fall faster and faster, pounding the deck, literally exploding the smaller hail covering the deck out of the way.  Almost as quickly, it was over.  The cloud passed and the sun came out.  The storm, which had arrived with no warning had lasted less than 10 minutes.

We ran to the door  to check the damage.  We stared in disbelief at the cars and truck  left in the drive earlier.  All were beaten and covered in golf ball sized dents with windshields and tail lights broken.  The ground was covered ankle deep in leaves from the surrounding trees, the flower beds were beaten to a pulp, her little vegetable garden just gone, with not a leaf left of the beans, tomatoes and peppers. Flower pots on the deck were shattered. Then our gaze went to the corn field in front of the house. Where once had been rows of little green plants were now just stubs.  The metal buildings were now sporting a coat of polka dots where the hail had blown the paint off.  The huge plastic covered worm of silage so recently stored for winter feed looked like it had been blasted with a huge shot-gun.  The plastic was just covered in holes.

Our son-in-law and daughter arrived home to utter devastation.  He immediately took off to check the fields.  He came back to report that his hay crop was beaten to the ground but the cows and calves were all accounted for.  The corn was stripped of the leaves but if the growth nodes weren't damaged it could come back.  Maybe.  He also discovered that the hail storm had been extremely local...almost just their farm.  Going a mile in any direction and you soon drove out of the damage area. 

Looking around at the mess, he said, "It could have been worse.  It wasn't a tornado and we could have had the tractors and planters here instead of at the other farm."  He was right.  We were safe and so were the megabucks expensive tractors and delicate planters.  On a farm, cars, roofs, and buildings are secondary to the all important planting equipment.

I have to give my son-in-law credit.  Not once did he ask "Why didn't you put some of these vehicles in the shed?"  A question hubby would have been screaming at the top of his lungs.  The truth is it was unbelievably vicious and fast. 

When we left for home a few days later our daughter laughed and said as she hugged me, "You won't be crying when you leave this time.  You'll be driving 90 miles an hour to get the hell out of here!"

The Joys of Being a Farm Wife

I recently had the opportunity to spend some time visiting with a group of farm wives in Iowa.  It was planting time so the men were spending long hours trying to get the corn and soybeans in the ground.  The spring weather had been unusual, to say the least.  Temperatures that week had soared to 90 degrees while just ten days before there had been 10 inches of snow on the ground.  The farmers, knowing that rain would come, were planting until all hours of the night to get the seeds in the ground before it got too wet to get into the fields.  During this time it becomes a female society.  Everywhere you go you see women carrying on the daily chores of life with nary a man in sight.  (Some of the women also work in the field, but obviously, I didn't get a chance to visit with them.) 

I was enjoying chatting with the women while we were preparing dinner for the men, who would be taking a break to celebrate a fifth birthday.  The child in question hadn't seen her daddy for several days, since he was getting in long after she was asleep and leaving long before she got up.  They were planting the field next to the house, so they were taking a break to eat lunch and celebrate with birthday cake.  Then back to the field.  The conversation took a turn to the joys of being married to a farmer. 

We discovered, for instance, that getting called to pick up parts entailed the same frustrations whether the machine in question was a huge planter or a two-row tobacco cultivator.  No matter that the guys had called and assured us that the part was ready and waiting, only needing to be picked up, it never was that simple.  Inevitably the parts manager would have a question. "Is it for the right disc or the left?"  "Did he mean metric or US measurements?"  "Did he want one or the pair?" We all agreed that cell phones came in pretty handy then.  Or the instructions would be that the part would be left on the loading dock, just drive around back and pick it up.   What they didn't tell her, one wife declared, was that she would have to unlatch a big bin only to discover 8 or 10 parts for different customers.  Then she would have to dig through them and identify the one she needed.  All of this on an hour detour with two kids in the car.

Another wife laughed and said that, for her, having company was the challenge.   Their daughter had recently graduated from high school and in the local tradition they had thrown a large graduation party for family and friends.  The plans and preparations had gone on for weeks before the big date.  The house had been cleaned, food cooked, the yard manicured, tables had been set up and tents erected.  What had hubby done while all this was going on?  He washed his tractors!  All the while, insisting that he was doing his part in getting ready.  I laughed and agreed.  Before our daughter's wedding my hubby was only concerned with the barn being clean.  Another replied that at least they were there.  Her farmer would decide at the last minute he had one chore that just had to be done, that would take until the party was half over to finish.

Laundry and the stinking messes that men can get into came into the conversation.  My daughter chuckled about the night her hubby had managed to get covered with the smelly remains of a dead calf.  Gagging he had called for her from the back door.  He had stripped off his clothes and left them in the driveway and was yelling for SOAP!.  "What kind?' she yelled back.  "Anything that stinks good!" he yelled back.  With no more ado he had started lathering and rinsing with the garden hose.  He wanted to throw the clothes away but after being hosed down and airing for a day or two they washed up as good as new.

I remembered a time when hubby had been trying to get a cow in a working chute.  Every time he would get her almost in she would back up and get out of the alley way.  In desperation, he finally just crowded her up and put his chest right against her so she couldn't back up.  With that, she lifted her tail and filled the top of his coveralls with warm, spring grass runny, manure.  Within minutes it was dripping out of both pant legs and oozing out the sides.  When I finally quit laughing, we had to hose him down before he could even get out of his clothes!

We all agreed that living with a farmer was a challenge.  We all know that on a farm often the crops and animals will take precedence over family.  However, we also know that these good men, who give their lives to caring for the land and the animals with such dedication are a very special breed.  That the same love and devotion they give to their farming they return to their families 10 fold, by being loving, steadfast, dependable, devoted and dedicated spouses, parents, sons, and siblings.  They are the salt of the earth.

One other thing the wives agreed on.  We wouldn't change places with anyone.

The Streaker

I'm convinced that living in the country makes men do strange things.  There is something about the open spaces and the lack of close neighbors that tend to make them forget their manners.  There never was a farmer that could walk into a barn without having to "see a man about a dog" immediately.  The same men teach their sons to "pee in the grass" when outdoors,  then wonder why they "pee in the grass" off of second base in T-ball.  Farm wives are facing an uphill battle in their fight to "civilize" our males.

A recent visit with a farming family revealed one wife's struggles to tame her hubby.  It seems that back in their early years, hubby was a bit of a streaker. 

At the time they were living in the old farmhouse on the home farm.  Like a lot of old houses, the bathroom had been added on to the kitchen to consolidate the plumbing.  Also, like most farm houses, the kitchen door was the one most often used by everyone coming to the house.  (My front door is so seldom used that it swelled shut and no one knew it until a poor visitor knocked on it.  We then had to run around the house and tell him to come to the back so we could let him in!) 

The farmer in question had a habit of coming in dirty from the field and sliding straight into the bathroom to clean up.  He would then "streak" through the house to the bedroom to get into clean clothes.  The farmwife had cautioned him repeatedly that he needed to plan ahead and not just wander around in his birthday suit.  However, he was younger then and not shy about flaunting the hard, toned muscles of the working man, so he continued his dash.

It so happens that the phone was located on the kitchen wall, just across from the bathroom.  The farmer also had a habit of answering the phone by rushing out of the shower and grabbing it.  The wife was getting pretty put out with having a naked man lounging in her kitchen chatting on the phone or grabbing a cookie on his way to jump into his jeans.

As would happen, he came in from the field one day dirty, hot and tired.  He immediately went to the bathroom to clean away some of the accumulated dirt.  Just about the time he got good and wet, the phone rang.  Expecting a call, he quickly jumped out of the shower and ran across the kitchen to answer it, where he proceeded to lean against the counter and talk.  The wife, signaled to the oldest daughter and told her to run out the front door and then knock loudly on the back door. 

The knocking came, and with cheerful tones the wife called out "Maybelle how good to see you!  What brings you out to this part of the county!  Come in, come in.  I'm sure I've got some pie left from lunch."

The farmer looked up in a panic.  He was trapped.  To get to the bathroom or the bedroom he had to cross in front of the back door.   If his visitor took one step into the kitchen he was in plain sight.  He looked frantically for something to cover himself with but all he had was the phone.  In desperation he opened the cabinet door and tried to scrunch himself down behind the small door.  All the while listening to the cheerful invitation to "come on in and sit down".  Footsteps approached and his wife and daughter burst into giggles at the sight of him attempting to climb into the cabinet. With a sheepish grin, he realized he had been "had".

"That will teach you to strut around in your birthday suit!", the wife laughed. 

He said later, that all he could think about was that Maybelle was the biggest gossip in the county and she would be running back to tell everyone about his kitchen "welcoming" if she had indeed walked through the door.

His family's laughter gave me the feeling that he didn't need Maybelle to spread the story....I was betting they had done a pretty good job without her.

A Farm Wife's Lament

                                                         My Job
                                  It's not my place to run the train.
                                          The whistle I can't blow.
                                   It's not my place to say how far
                                          the train's allowed to go.
                                  It's not my place to shoot off steam
                                            nor even clang the bell.
                                 BUT let the damn thing jump the track...
                                       and see who catches hell!

Years ago we were traveling home from a week spent at a cattle show when I found this plaque.  After a week of being the low man on the team, taking orders from everyone, including the cows, I thought it just about described my life.

Farm wives become accustomed to being at the beck and call of everyone on the farm.  When hay is down or tobacco is being set she is expected to be everywhere with just the needed things (whether it be lunch, cool drinks, or baler parts) with no consideration to what else she may have on her schedule.  My kids learned at an early age that the power lay with the farmers.  "I'd love to help mom, but daddy needs me in the barn.", they would call as they left the house.  I have actually caught them doing "chores" by sitting on a couple of feed buckets playing cards on a bale of hay.  Important work.

Hubby was a master at passing through the kitchen and casually mentioning that he would have a couple of hands for dinner.  (I once fed five men on two chicken breasts and a lot of cheese and tortillas.  Show me a farm wife and I will show you a well stocked pantry ready to stretch a meal for additional hands.)  He also was good at pausing to "request" that I come help with the tractor driving, since I wasn't busy--I guess a mountain of laundry and hands for dinner don't count as busy! 

However, few farmers ever admit that their spouses know one thing about farming.  Trust me I have had a crash course in farming but because I am the "little woman" I'm often not taken seriously.  Nothing is more frustrating than coming up with  a good idea only to have it laughed off by the men,  then have the same idea pop back up later from a "male" as the best solution ever heard! 

One area I have been accepted as an authority is when the cows are in labor.  For some reason hubby just doesn't "get it".  I realized he needed help early on when I wandered down to join him at the fence, "What are you doing?"  "I'm watching that cow.  Do you think she's calving?"  he mused.  I watched her obvious labor contractions for a few minutes and asked, "Uh, just what do you think she's doing?"  "Well, she's acting a little funny but she's not quite due." he responded.  With a snort, I replied, "Of course she is in labor and working hard.  If she doesn't deliver in about 15 minutes you better get her in the barn and help her!"  Fifteen minutes later we were walking her to the barn and fifteen after that we had pulled a dandy, big calf.  "How did you know?"  he asked.  I just shook my head, not surprised at his denseness. 

After all this is the same man that made me wait to go to the hospital to deliver our daughter until he had gone to the office to finish some paperwork.  She was born barely thirty minutes after we arrived at the hospital.  He thought it was great timing.  The doctor thought he was nuts!  I was just glad she wasn't born in the pickup truck.