Sweet Pickin'

It feels as if summer has officially arrived.

Flowers are coming on full force.

Colors are vibrant from ampule rain and sunshine.

Calves are fat and sassy.

Calendar turns to July tomorrow.  (How is THAT possible?)

Now let me begin things in reverse and show the results before the finale.

A few extra dirty clothes to launder.

A couple new mosquito bites.

A scratch here and there.

A trip and fall in a tangle of brambles.

Sweat dripping down foreheads and backs soaking hat brims and leather belts.

But all SO worth the effort.

Because before the clouds burst into a down pour, little guy and I scored BIG on our first summer hunt.

Wild black raspberries are drooping with fruit this year and beginning to ripen.

What a simple joy to watch little guy woof down his dessert made delicious from his effort.

The best part?  There will be more pickin's to follow this one as  oodles of red ones are just waiting to turn color with sunshine.

Additional laundry, a few minuscule scratches, and distracting spots to itch are small prices to pay for the simple pleasure of experiencing and TASTING real summer with a six year old boy.

Guessing I might be wearing summer on my hands for a day or so!

Red Box, X Box,...Make Mine Cardboard Please!

Awhile back I got some bug.  The doctor gave me a shot, some pills and an assignment.  "Go home and take care of yourself."

Will Do!  My first thought:  chick-flick and sole control over the TV and couch.

This idea took me to the intimidating big red DVD machine in front the our one and only grocery store in town.



How tough can it be to rent a DVD?  I watch the kids do it all the time.

 Big girl pantie time.

All went okay. Even got the chick flick I wanted.  Pressed a button here and pushed a button there.  A swap of the debit card.  Wahoo!  Ready for the 21st Century.

Two mornings later I am back on my feet and headed to work. Time to return the DVD.

I stand once again in front of the intimidating red thing.  I see the gadget where in DVD came out.  Goes back in the same hole.  Easy enough.

Not working.  Cannot read the instructions.  Trip to the car to get the reading glasses.  Oh, hold the DVD case this way.  Hmmmm, still not working.  Try again.  Try again. Try again.

Look around for help.  Only people going to the grocery early in the morning have white or blue hair.

C.r.a.p.  I'll try over lunch hour. Machine is broken. Someone will fix it by then.

Leaving work.  *&^?!  The DVD is still in the passenger seat.

Hello old friend Red Box.  The hole. The DVD.  Try again. Try again.  Try again.

THIS SHOULD NOT BE SO HARD!

Call the daughter who works at the grocery.  Think the your store's X box is broken.

What?

Cannot return my movie.

Oh.  The Red Box.

Yeah, whatever.  It is broken.

Did you push the button?

There is no button!  I have been looking for the RETURN button everywhere.

On the touch screen mom.   Says return.

Oh.  I see it.  Yeah, it took the movie.  Box not broken.  Thanks.

Teenage son comes home.  Tell him the story.

He looks at me and says:

Why did you rent a X Box game at the Red Box when we have a Wii not a X Box?


What?

Teenage explanation followed.

Oh, so along with a DVD you can rent a X Box game from a Red Box, but not a Wii game.

Like a foreign language test.

When I was his age,  we had dumb phones with cords that tethered us to the wall.  VHS was but a little star. Cassettes of the top 40 songs were recorded off FM stations.  The flickering cursor on DOS programs was an infant.  TV channels were limited to 4 and you had to get up to change the dial.  Video games were only played in arcades or roller rinks.

But we had cardboard boxes then.  We have cardboard boxes now.



From here on out, cardboard is box for me.

Strawberry Plants, a Whispering Pine Tree and Daydreams

My order of strawberry plants arrived in the mail last week.  I took the time to plant them on Saturday.

Saturday was a beautiful day to play in the dirt, and I did my garden work under the guidance of our old pine tree. Working near the big pine on days with a gentle breeze is a joy as the breeze makes the needles sing.

Saturday was no exception.  The sun was shining and the old pine was whispering sweet nothings.

During the dirt scratching exercise and pine tree serenade, my mind wondered off. Daydreams turned to pictures of yesterday year: comings and goings on our farm for 100 plus years.

Here is our first documented existence of the pine tree.  The photo is dated 1913.  See the small row of trees in front of the house?  Our old pine in its infancy.

Roughly the same photo shot, but in 2014.  See the big pine standing tall?

This is the only pine which remains of the original row.

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A previous owner of our farm wrote a book of memoirs.  This book includes happenings from the homestead. One authored recount is of a Christmas during the Great Depression and a improvised Christmas tree.  A limb from a pine tree at our place was cut off and served a Christmas tree.  This limb was moved three times: to a one-room school house, a country church, and to the old farmhouse.  With each transition the decorations were gently removed, transported to the next location and painstakingly replaced.  I'd like to think that special limb came from the remaining old pine.

A stately character.  Always observant.

I wonder how many generations of brothers this tree has watched over the last century?

If there is equipment, it will break.  Somebody has to fix it and someone has to learn the art of repair

How many generations of momma's taking care of their babies?
 

"You have a milk mustache.  Here let me lick it off."

And how about this time honored tradition?  How many big brothers received the glory of the "fixin"?

And how many little brothers got the job of putting away the tools?  

Best to put them away now.  Dad will not be happy if the tools turn up missin!

The old pine has seen many changes the past century, but really the "things" just change.  The people, the seasons, the purpose, and the cycles remain the same.

Gives one a sense of calm thinking about the repetition of it all.

Hmmm.  Over 100 years wonder how many strawberry plants have been planted on Saturday afternoons?  

And wonder how many daydreams got this carried away,................... 

Happy Birthday Mr. O!

Mr. O has a birthday today.

Happy Birthday to the Rock. Predictable.  Dependable. Responsible.  Full of dry humor, wit and unexpected adventures.  

Love you dearly.  Cherish you daily.  Best friend, life partner, lover, co parent, and soul mate - all rolled into one package.  In my eyes, a perfect package with piercing blue eyes and a butt so firm it could crack walnuts.

During good times, Mr. O often wishes time could stop.

Can't make time stop for you guy, but can recap your past year.  You made the most it!

Making a fashion statement:  UnderArmor as yoga pants 

Patient fishing buddy

Last bale of summer 2013

Quality time on the porch swing

Great catches

Hamming it up at Christmas

Duck Commander look alike

Role model

Underwear up the flagpole

How'd you do that?  

Icicles on mustaches

Snow on pear blossoms

Major farm improvements made

Newest family addition and future fishing partner for you, grandpa

Time rushes by.  Somehow years turn to decades, and beards to grey. Daily adventures turn to memories.

Before your eyes babies became teenagers.  Teenagers became young adults.

Through all the phases you are consistent.  Easy to find by those who look.  Ready to give a comforting word, a congratulatory pat on the back, or a swift (and loving) kick in the butt.

Mr. O the rock.  With biceps like Popeye,  you fiercely tackle any job or adversity.  You do so with grace, humility and humor.

Enjoy the day; it belongs to you.  Guarantee it will go fast.

Here's to health and happiness for the upcoming year.  Thanks for the ride and adventures.

Love you deeply,.........

Made Me Smile

While trying my best to organize my photos on my hard-drive.  (I so flounder at this endeavor!)  I stumbled on a couple of pictures that made me smile.  Chuckled a bit too.

Just thought I would share.

If I remember correctly, it was towards the end of July.  It. was. really. hot.  Like over 100 with unmentionable heat indexes.

Summer days with long evening shadows.

A local farmer in the area who sells sweet corn, said I could glean his field for the "second ears".

Little guy and I headed out in the morning, but not early enough.  It was already hot.

With 5 gallons buckets and empty feed sacks, we picked and lugged the bounty out of field and to the truck bed.

We sported our wide brim hats.

The corn was shucked in the shade and then schlepped in the house to be "put up".

A few of the nicer sized ears were saved back for supper.

The bags of corn ready for the freezer.

Then the clean up process started.  What came in the house must go back out.

The remains from the process.  Best chicken treats around.

At this point, I remember wondering where Little Guy went.  I went in search and this is what I found.  

Fast asleep in his little tent set up in the yard.  He was pure tuckered out.

It was a good day, and I had forgotten it until stumbling on the photos.  

The recalled  memory will make the corn taste even sweeter for the rest of season.

It's the Butt Time of Year

Lined up for Butt inspection

The calendar makes it official.  Calving season has started.

It is the time of year to become infatuated with Butts.

It's all about trying to figure out who will calf when.  To be around just in case help is needed.

Butts.  Butts.  and more Butts.  Morning, noon, night and sometimes midnight.  Butts.

Here's the typical Butt check procedure.

Different angle for a different Butt view

As the Butts are observed, the same questions are asked:

Does it wobble with the walk?

Is walking possible?

Anything strange seeping out of the Butt?

Does the bag look tight?

Has the Butt changed since last inspection?

Most of those in our maternity ward do not mind the Butt observation drill.  It is just tolerated. For them it is the normal daily routine. 

Who is behind me?  Oh it's just the human Butt observant,....again

Butt sometimes (get the Butt humor?), there is a cow who likes to keep her Butt to herself.

If I stand in the corner by myself, maybe no one will try to look at my Butt

Butt that strategy does not work (ha ha again).  The Butt check has to happen.

Oh my 42, from the front you look like a swollen tick!

Okay 42, no hiding your Butt.  Let's see ya.

Can't a girl just be left just be left alone?

The swollen tick walks!

Butt check complete until next time.  

No red flags.  No sounding alarms.  All Butts checked out "okay".  

Final verdict?  All cows still pregnant and will calf when they are darn good and ready.  With or without a Butt check.

Butt regardless, Butt checks will continue, because we have to ask the same questions.  

We think we can predict when labor will begin.

Butt we know it can't be done.  Butt we can't help it.  We are infatuated with BUTTS.

Beautiful Cold Evening Drive

Not sure what happened (other than my organizational skills - the lack of - showing through), but just found this story in my draft folder.  I already thought it was spinning out into cyber abyss.  It is a couple of weeks old, but I will share anyway.   At that time we were in the thralls of the second polar vortex of the season.

Sunday the temperatures dropped again.

We made the conscience choice of being cold weather pansies.  After doing the bare minimum required outside, we stayed inside.  All.  Day.

As the sun started its descent, cabin fever struck.  We climbed into the truck and went for a little drive "around the block". 

Our "block" is 9 miles of hilly, curvy gravel road.

Evening cruises around our beat usually have interesting sites.

Definition of interesting:  our fanatic outdoor interest

Sunday was no exception.

Canada geese taking off from a corn stalk field

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Sunset beginning

Changing hues

Beautiful Finale

Thankful to live where we live.