I know, it's been a super long time since you've heard from me. Don't judge. There's still a ton of stories in my head just busting to get out and one day you may find them here. Kind of like the skunk in the barn. I swear that little stinker's just waiting for an opportune time to do a little something, too. In the meantime, my heart is bursting with pride and I want to share.
It's no secret how proud I am of each of our sons. Hon and I are truly blessed. It's amazing how quickly time has flown and they're young adults or on the cusp of adulthood. Our Young'un is 16, Kid is 18, and Eldest is 21. They are so different from each other, yet the same in other ways, like pursuing their dreams, conquering their fears, and finding their way in the big wild world.
If you've been around my blog for a while, you may remember after we first moved here one of my dreams had been to turn our little silo into a space for my ever growing collection of looms, fibers, spinning wheels, and the like. I hadn't gotten to it in the 11 years we've been here now, but figured some day I'd get to it. As I've gotten older...and no, I'm not old...50 and on the cusp of 51 is still a spring chicken far as I'm concerned... Anway, as I've gotten older, I've slowed down with the fiber arts, enjoying it immensely still, but at my own pace. I still shear, clean, spin, knit, weave, demonstrate... That's not changing, but I've mellowed.
Some time ago Eldest mentioned wanting to give making pottery a go. Because I'm worse than a dog on a bone when it comes to some things, I pursued the possibility. When Will (aka Eldest) turned 21 this past July, Hon and I gifted him some pottery lessons at a great little church-run pottery shop in Chillicothe, The Potter's House. I met the wonderful volunteer manager, Rachel, of Biers Run Mudd, there. The Potter's House is completely run by volunteers, by the way. You should check them out if you haven't. Their mission is amazing. Anway, before I knew it, I walked out of there, gift certificate in hand for pottery lessons...then walked right next door to the stained glass shop to get myself into trouble with a future project for myself, but that's another story.
Long of the short of it, Will has become an incredible potter. Hon and I are absolutely amazed at the talent that has poured out of him. He goes to his job at 3:00 a.m. and then heads over to the Potter's House afterwards to spend time at the wheel...or the kiln...or the glaze...whatever it is mudslingers do at any given stage of their craft. We're still in awe that he makes his own glazes, instead buying pre-made ones. He even gives lessons.
In talking with Hon about our budding young artist as the months have gone by, I revisited my goals, looked at what's important to me vs. what's still important but not quite so much. I decided as much as the little silo redo into a Sharon-silo was a dream, it WAS a dream. It was time to let it go and hand over the possibilities of the space to Will if he wanted it. He had already built himself a lovely little greenhouse last summer just off the back of our home, so I had no qualms over whether he was up to the task if he had interest in conquering the silo. Let me tell you, the man has plans!
Will has been cleaning the little silo up and out and looking for equipment he needs to further his dream. Just the thought of the snakes I've encountered in there over the years gives me a bit of a shudder. There's painting to be done, electric to be hooked up, and who knows what else in the works for the space. It's real small, but will be an amazing place for him to get his creativity on.
Hon and I are super proud of how Will has taken a hold of his dream and not let go. He's sold his pottery at craft and artisan shows, and is going to be participating at a juried artisan show/sale in Cincinnati next weekend. He's sold pots to the wonderful gal at Wild Roots in Chillicothe and has pottery for sale at The Potter's House (along with many other amazing artists). Tom Johnson of Two Roasting Joe's and Livy Cakes, a new coffee shop and bakery he's opened up with his daughter in Chillicothe, has some of his mugs for sale. Even the fantastic little hardware store in town, Frankfort Hardware, carries some crocks that they special ordered from Will. He's sold hand crafted bonsai pots (Will's into bonsai, too, by the way) and various other pieces to folks through word-of-mouth and the internet. It just amazes me how he has bloomed and it's exciting to see him grow!
So, there you have it folks. Trust me, I could go on and on. Will's one of our kids, so my long-windedness knows no bounds. Last week he settled on a name for his business, by the way. Little Silo Pottery. Gives me happy tears and makes my heart swell with joy knowing our eldest young man is putting his creative stamp on the big wild world. Until the next story, which may come sooner than you think... Smiling & Waving, Sharon
So, if you’re in Ohio, or most places in the northern part of the united states, you’ve gotten snow last night, it’s snowing now, or you’re waiting on it. Nature of the beast, baby. Live in an area that gets the colder winter weather, you’re more than likely going to get snow of some sort.
Earlier today I was perusing Facebook, looking at posts from friends. Marsha had a picture of her husband shoveling snow, the goat lady posted that she slid off the road and thankfully got back home safely, and Becky was trying to figure out how much she may have gotten with the drifting. Post after post, other folks were grumbled about having to shovel, plow, or snow blow snow away.
Let me tell you, I have a secret obsession. Well, it was a secret, but I’m going to finally be free of it. I’m ready to share with the world of folks that read my stories. Just don’t tell Hon and the boys because they don’t read my stories and I’d rather they not be wise to it. *shhhhh* I like to shove snow. There. I said it. I’ll say it again…loud and proud… I LIKE TO SHOVEL SNOW! Truly. I don’t particularly like the cold, but I, in all actuality, love love LOVE to shovel the snow.
Now, to all you who are thinking, “Cool! Come on over babe, I’ve got plenty for you!”. Let me just clarify…I like to shovel my own snow. Not yours, deary, definitely not your twisty one, girlie, and particularly not that scenic and lovely goat trail of a driveway, gal - and you know who you are. I love you dearly, but ugh, no. Ours. Just ours. Our driveway, our sidewalks…I even shoveled around the water spigot outside the house juuuuust in case, you know, on the off chance someone needed water from it, even though the water is turned off to it for the time being. I don’t just shovel around the mailbox, I shovel down the road leading up to it too, so the mail lady has a nicely formed exit ramp leading to it. I usually shovel completely across the road from the driveway before the township snowplow gets here, but they must have been out in the wee hours this morning, because it’s a rare occasion they beat me to it.
Let me tell you, our township snow removal guy is awesome! The man usually comes around when I’m at the area where the driveway meets the road. He could be like the plow guy where I grew up, burying the end of the driveway in snow from the road, but he slows and turns the plow to face the opposite direction as he gets to the driveway, so he doesn’t block in what I’ve already shoveled. As much as I like to shovel, it’s no fun shoveling hard compacted snow from the snow plow.
There you have it folks. My secret is out. Snow removal. Nothing fancy, though. As much as I’d love to be yahooing around on a tractor with a plow blade, or even zipping around with a snow blower, it’s just me and my old trusty rusty handled snow shovel. It’s like when I’m working in the garden. I have time to myself to collect my thoughts, let them wander, or belt out show tunes no one will complain about. Remember, ixnay on the owremovalsay, okay?! Keep this on the downlow. I asked Hon to take my picture, telling him it was for a Facebook post showing how much snow we got, even though it ranged anywhere from 6 inches to a foot on account of the drifting. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my trusty snow shovel awaits… And guess what, the weather forecast for Monday is…yes, you got it. SNOW! Smiling & Waving, Sharon
So it’s Wednesday and I got to thinking about last weekend and this one coming up. Oh, happy hump day, by the way! Anyways, fall seems to be the time of year when there’s a lot of fun activities going on. It’s a great way to get yourself out in the community and have a good time before the cold weather sets in and you’re freaking out over the holidays…try not to do that, by the way. Those holidays will come regardless and you might as well try and enjoy without stressing yourself to the moon and back.
Think about it…fairs, festivals, parades…runs, walks, hikes…haunted houses, fun houses, dinners at houses…and that’s what I’m thinking about mainly today. The dinners. You know I’m a foodie at heart, whether I’m making it or someone else is. Plays an important part in social interaction, too. Even in books and movies you’ll find meals being described and folks gathering around the table.
Just this past Saturday Hon and I went to a spectacular dinner. Truly. Spectacular. You see, it was Pastured Providence Farmstead’s second farm-to-table dinner and a movie. Our friends Paul and Heather are the caretakers over there at Pastured Providence in Chillicothe. They and their kids are one of the most personable and kind families around. Again, truly. I don’t mince my words – look at the size of my stories.
Last year Paul asked me if we’d be interested in contributing to his first dinner and a movie, and of course we were all about doing it, both the contributing and the eating. We’re a family that gets a lot of enjoyment out of participating in community events, whether it be helping get it together, contributions of some sort, or just plain ‘ole attending it. It was a fantastic time and we had hoped for an encore this year.
Earlier in the summer Paul had asked us if we’d be interested in doing it again this year and I kindly said, “Sure,” while in my mind I was hooping and hollering and yelling, “Wahoooo, yeeeees to another dinner!” He had asked if we’d be interested in contributing acorn squash, which we had been growing and knew we’d be able to have for it despite the persistent squash bugs we’d been battling. Ugh squash bugs *shudder* We also had planted sweet potatoes, which also became a part of the meal. I had asked Paul if he were interested in us throwing in a goose too…figuratively, of course. Let me just say, together with other area farmers and businesses folks who provided food, drink, their culinary skills, music, and more… It just makes me so darn happy to see folks working together to bring something like this dinner to the community!
Something I really like about Pastured Providence Farmstead is their way of doing things, the way they rotate their herd, the way the livestock grows up to be some of the finest beef, lamb, pork, and poultry around. Paul took the time in between eating and watching the movie to tell his guests about their way of working with their livestock and the importance of rotational grazing. People enjoyed their glimpse into how some of what they had just enjoyed for dinner was cared for. Really. I listen. Sat with a nice couple who came from Toledo…that’s right, folks. They were in the area, saw some information on the dinner, and BAM there they were! Wonderful people they were.
The movie Pastured Providence showed this year was called “Sustainable.” In a nutshell, it’s about the instability of our food system and people who are leading and teaching others a way to fix the problems. It may not be a romance or a shoot ‘em up bang bang, but it was absolutely outstanding and I really do recommend it. After watching the movie Hon and I felt in our hearts, even more than before, we’re right where we need to be on our little farm.
So, there you have it folks. Our great time last weekend out at Pastured Providence Farmstead’s farm-to-table dinner and a movie. What are you going to do this coming weekend? Why not check out some of the local activities going on? I know while I’m at the last Chillicothe Farmers Market of the season, Hon and Eldest will be at a pigeon show in Louisville, KY. You’ll be amazed at all the little things going on that fit any budget and walk of life. It may be getting chilly outside, but there’s plenty of good times to be had before we’re wrapped like pigs in blankets keeping warm. Oh, and thanks to Paul for letting me snag a picture of their dinner off his website…which happens to be www.pasturedprovidence.com I’m not above plugging a great family business. Check ‘em out! Smiling & Waving, Sharon
A few nights ago Hon came in and asked if I’d ever seen a glow worm before. Nope, never had, so of course that meant investigating was in order. I grabbed the flashlight and away I went. Now, let me tell you, I was fully expecting to see worms. We’ve had springs where it was so wet there were worms sticking out all over the ground at night. The fun of it was when I’d shine a flashlight on them and they’d pop back in their ground holes quick as lightning. Knowing they were out there and stepping over them in the dark wasn’t a joy to think of, but I figured as long as I had my shoes on…
Anyway, back to the glow worms. When I went outside and turned off the flashlight I was able to see their faint glow in the grass. They really reminded me of lightning bugs the way they would glow…and then as soon as I tried to take a picture they’d disappear. GAH! However, because I’m a bit persistent over things, I finally was able to take a picture for you…just in case you’ve not seen one before. Note it looks worm-ish and for some reason it reminds me of the green worm thing that was eating hot dogs at a hotel in the Ghost Busters movie. I'll have you know I took more pictures of the dark before finally getting this one for you.
Here’s the thing about the glow worms, though. I learned they’re not worms at all. I know, I can’t believe it either! They’re more like a beetle type insect. I figured they were a worm, like those old glow worm toys from years back, only obviously not so big and without the nightcap. You know, a worm. Now I feel there’s one more thing that’s not quite what it seems…like French fries that didn’t originate in France, and tomatoes being a fruit, even though they’ll always be a vegetable to me. Glow worms aren’t worms at all.
So, there you have it folks. Glow worms. They’re not actually worms, but they were an interesting sight to see and I’m happy to have had the experience. A cool night outside next year would be worms popping in and out of their holes by way of flashlight while glow worms walked about. May have to keep an eye out for that. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
Sometimes social media gives me grand ideas. Okay, so sometimes it gets me in trouble, too, but I don’t mean for it to happen. It just…does. Usually it’s Pinterest. Fantastic ideas at the click of a button right there! Well, a few weeks ago it happened to be Facebook. You see, there I was…innocently scrolling through posts…and then I land on one from a friend with a picture of her geese. They were beautiful, and further investigative reading was needed on what she wrote. They happened to be a breed of geese I’ve been drooling over at the poultry show for years. Well, come to find out, she was wanting to rehome them. I swear I heard angelic music from above while sparkles rained down from the sky, lighting up my computer screen. I couldn’t help it. I just had to see if they were still available, so I quickly posted my interest in bringing them here. I also made sure to call Hon and ask him if he minded. I figured it was best to say something instead of doing the, “Wow, where did those geese in the pasture come from?” routine. I also figured I didn’t want to put him over the edge seeing as I had taken down a wall in the kitchen and did a bit of cabinet and appliance moving around while he was backpacking a bit ago. Leave me without supervision and who knows what’ll happen, you know?!
Anyway, the deal was that I could bring the geese home because he knew I was going to be downsizing the young American Buff geese be it by reselling to a farm or to a nearby freezer. I was so excited! Arrangements were made with my friend, and Eldest went with me to pick them up. Eldest and I had a nice drive together, it was wonderful to visit with Shay and see her farm, and then we began our drive back.
The geese have been here for around 1 ½ weeks now and they’re settling in nicely. I’m crossing my fingers we’ll have goslings from them in the spring. You see, they are Dewlap Toulouse geese. Another heritage breed, and one that is a bit bigger than our American Buffs. Oh, I’m still loving on Moe, Alice, Frick, and Barbie. They’re not going anywhere, and I look forward to more of their goslings in the spring again, too. However, having a larger breed of goose also gives more of a size variety as we expand into selling goose for folks and their holiday meals.
Oh, did I tell you a doose came with them? Hmmm, I didn’t think so. Well, the doose came, too. He’s a Pekin and the geese are his family. You see, here at The Silver Maple Farm we don’t just have chickens, ducks, and geese. Oh no no! We also have chucks, gucks, and now a doose. Chucks are the chickens that think they’re ducks. Frick is our guck, or goose that thinks she’s a duck, and now we have a doose, who is, yep, you got it, a duck that thinks it’s a goose. It really does all make sense if you think about it. Shay said the geese and doose were all raised together, so there’s no way I could leave the little guy without his family. He’s adjusting pretty well, too, happily walking all over with them, swimming on the pond, enjoying their new farm. We love all of our animals, confused or not.
So, there you have it. A trio of Dewlap Toulouse geese and their doose-friend. We’ve named the gander Mr. Big Stuff, the gray goose Vodka, and the buff goose Angel. If you hear me talk about Biggie Smalls, that’s the doose because he’s a big goose at heart. Beginning later this week we’ll also be selling processed Certified Naturally Grown goose from our farm for a delicious addition to your upcoming holiday meal. All the information on them will be on our website. They are being processed right here on our farm with the help of our friend Christen, of Slate Creek Farm, who is just up the road. We are going to be adding processed pigeon (squab) and duck next year, too. Big things are happening at The Silver Maple Farm! Smiling & Waving, Sharon
It’s simple math, Really. You take two ganders and two geese, let them do their magic to produce goslings, and there will be mayhem.
In hindsight, I suppose the mayhem started last year with Frick and Barbie. Frick was a boy and Barbie was a girl. Everything was right at The Silver Maple. Then spring came and Frick was found sitting on an egg. I did a double take at it and then figured surely, he’s just confused…or keeping some of Barbie’s eggs warm while she went galavanting around. Barbie, on the other hand, also looked to be laying eggs in the barn in one spot, while Alice hadn’t begun laying in her usual place yet. I hadn’t actually seen Barbie laying them, but *pft* what else could have been happening?!
After a few weeks, I had a sneaking suspicion…okay, I had to finally admit that something was amiss in the goose/gander sexing department. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I kept hearing Steven Tyler sing “Dude Looks Like A Lady” in my mind. It seemed Frick was determined to lay eggs and hatch out goslings. We had discussions about it, but it didn't matter. He was actually a she. Out were the days of calling Frick things like “Mr. Frick” and “Frick-A-Saurus.” In came the days of saying “Miss Frick and “Frick-A-Licious-Frick-A-Saur.” Then there’s Barbie. Barbie wasn’t laying the eggs in the barn like I had thought. It was Alice. She decided to give a few spots a try with eggs before settling on her regular nesting area. So, Barbie was officially a boy. Again, cue Steven Tyler singing. GAH!
Now, back to the mayhem of things. Between Frick and Alice, we have 13 goslings running around. A group of geese is called a gaggle, by the way, but around here it’s more like a posse of mayhem with Barbie and Moe in the lead.
Nothing is safe, whether it be bags of mulch they rip open or plants in pots they pull up. Everything falls under their jurisdiction. Nothing escapes their attention. Sadly, I forgot that this morning.
There I was, sitting on the patio, happily planting seeds in trays and labeling the rows for fall vegetables…spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage… My stomach told me it was time for lunch so I left what I was doing and went inside. Didn’t think anything of it. Then…I heard the chaos.
When I looked out the window I saw geese of various ages standing around my trays, two standing on top of them. They were pulling the labels out, tossing them aside, then sticking their faces in the dirt, grabbing whatever they could with their mouths and dumping it out. Then there were others that decided to play bobbing for strawberry plants that were rooting in a tub of water, grabbing those and tossing them onto the grass. It was mayhem! I should have known better.
It’s now a mystery what kinds of seeds the trays hold, if they hold seeds at all, or if I’ll be trying to grow dirt for a few weeks before I realize cups are empty. I suppose it’ll make things interesting…not that we’re ever really boring around here anyway.
So, there you have it folks. Feathered mayhem. Oh, and while I’m thinking on it, we can’t keep all the mayhem. Mayhem of this size will create even more mayhem in the spring and my plants won’t survive the insanity. Therefore, we’ll be offering Certified Naturally Grown holiday goose this fall. Only CNG goose you’ll find in the great state of Ohio that I know of. Then come spring we’ll find Moe, Alice, Frick, and Barbie raising a new batch of mayhem. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
I cried this morning. I visited social media to catch up with friends, acquaintances and complete strangers and cried tears of sadness instead of tears of joy or tears from laughing so hard at something that struck me funny. Why, you ask? What would make me cry out of sadness and then come here and tell a story about it when I’m an upbeat and humorous person? What would inspire me to tell you an actual serious story and not one full of humor and farm life? The elections yesterday. Not only that, but the precursor to the elections and its aftermath. I know, seems awful dramatic, doesn’t it? Well, to some it may be, but I cried. Hold on tight. This may be a long one.
You see, we are privileged to live in an awesome country. I truly believe it. We live in the United States of America. Our country was founded on the blood, sweat and tears of thousands upon thousands of people. No, not all aspects of the founding were good. Not everything leading up to today has been puppy dogs and rainbows. Many suffered and continue to suffer. Others didn’t suffer in the beginning but do now. Some have never had to suffer. Whatever the case may be, we still live together, breathe the same air, and should be finding ways to work together, not tear each other apart.
It seems as social media becomes more popular, if that’s even possible, it’s also become a monster, the elephant in the room, the place where people feel safe to judge, belittle and say things they would never in a million years say to someone’s face. I get that it’s a person’s right to say what they feel. I understand that you want your voice heard. I like to be heard, too. My question though is where does it end? Where do you draw the line? Do you even have a line or is it only important that you say what you want to say without thinking first of the potential consequences, without using your judgment? I’ve read how it’s a person’s “wall” and they can say what they want, how they don’t care about another person’s views, how they are offended that someone has the gall to have a different view. Rational discussions seem to have flown out the window and into judgment land.
Yesterday’s election was what I consider to be the roughest I’ve had the privilege to participate in. From when I was a child and my parents took me with them to vote in the big voting booths that had curtains and all the levers, to the first time I had the honor of casting my vote by filling in a circle on a ballot, to yesterday’s election where our eldest son and I went together for him to vote in his first Presidential election, it was the roughest. I was never so happy as to see 7:00 p.m. arrive on the West Coast when all of the polls were officially closed.
Pre-election mud-slinging usually goes on between candidates, which is expected due to the nature of the beast they are trying to conquer. Money rules the airwaves and fuels the audience fires. There seem to be no bounds when it comes to many running for office, although I have seen some do it with grace and integrity. I wonder for many where their morals come in. What has happened to giving the facts and thereby the audience’s ability to make up their own minds? I know you want to make a story juicier. Heck, look at my stories. I want to paint a picture the way I see it in my mind. I do it, however and in my opinion, with at least an ounce of integrity and morals.
I have seen friends and acquaintances cut off all ties because of hurt feelings and views that are not the same with regard to the election. I have seen arguments and fights over opposing views. I have seen people get hurt. All of this makes me hurt physically and emotionally. It makes me cry. I understand everyone has a right to their views, but where is your personal line or do you not have one?
Not all my views are the same as my friends and neighbors. Do I judge, belittle, and disassociate with them? No. I find value in each of my friends and acquaintances. I find value in strangers. Regardless of us not seeing eye-to-eye on everything I value them in more ways than I care to list in this novel I am writing. I have found being the non-partisan in the room to be a blessing in my relationships…which doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the arguments that have ensued in my head…or that I don’t enjoy a rational discussion. Agreeing to disagree is a-okay.
This morning I knew there would be hatred on social media. Given the state of the pre-elections and on election day, I knew post-election mayhem would ensue. I just didn’t think it would be as bad as it is or affect me so much. People who have been dissatisfied with our country and left, people who are here and are saying they are going to leave, people who will stay and continue to voice their dissatisfaction instead of find even a shred of silver lining, people who do not live here and voice ugliness and hatred… When will they be ready to move on and work together, stop being afraid, angry? We can’t all get our way, but we can come together and find some assembly of balance.
In the personal opinion of this middle aged strawberry blond slowly going grey wife mother and small time farmer, we need to find unity. We should come together as a country and work together. No, not everyone I selected to hold office was chosen. That’s okay with me. I’m really okay with it. In fact, it doesn’t matter to anyone as far as I’m concerned who I did and did not vote for because I value working with what we have and within the confines we are given to make our country great in whatever way I am able. Please note, and from what I can think back on as I type this, I have not shown favoritism towards any candidate, elected or not. My vote on issues is a matter of public record, but I will not voice it to the masses. Why, you ask? Because my voice has been heard in the way it should be, by casting my ballot, by being a proud citizen of the United States of America, by instilling the importance of participation in our children. It weighed differently with each vote I cast, but it was heard. I am important…and so are you.
Folks, we are not a country that was founded with sprinkles on our ice cream sundaes and pretty ponies in all of our pastures. We are a country founded on blood, sweat, and tears. No, we will not all get along, although it sure would be nice. No, we do not all have the same views. We are diverse. We have opinions, loves, hates, and wants. We need to pick ourselves up by our proverbial bootstraps and work together to be who and what we want to be. Why? Because we are the United State of America. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
You're minding your own business, cleaning out the chicken/guinea/ducks that think they're chickens coop because happy chickens and company make for a happy farmer...and the farmer would be even happier if the chickens would lay eggs, but that's a story for another day I suppose.
Anyway, coop. You're cleaning the coop of it's nasty splodge. You finish with hauling the yuck out and you are now into the nicer task of spreading clean straw. You go to the little silo where the straw is stored and find that there's just enough straw left in the open bale to put in the coop.
You finish that task and then move on to the next, which is cleaning out the ducks who know they're ducks/a goose that thinks it's a duck/geese house. Before you head over there, since it's in the other field, you stop by the little silo to get the straw on the way. You glance up at the stack of straw that's quite a bit taller than you, but figure by flailing your arms around and standing on your toes you'll be able to snag the corner of one and maneuver it down. *pft* Who needs a ladder, right? Besides, no one is going to see, and if they do they probably wouldn't think of it as being out of the norm around here.
You jump up, catching the corner of a bale by your finger tips, watching as it quickly starts to wobble on it's side to fall down in a near miss with your body. As this is happening you notice something starting to slide off the top of the straw bale. In the slow motion action that instills in your mind, it looks to be long and stick-like...but not. There's no stopping the horror.
Because you've been flailing around and your arms are still up in the air trying to steady the bale so it doesn't conk you on the head, that loose v-neck t-shirt you're wearing has come down in front more and has gaped at the bottom of the V. The snake plunks onto your baseball cap, slides down it from the side of the brim, catches your t-shirt's V neck and then...because nothing else can go wrong with the situation...slides into your shirt. You don't exactly know whose more mortified, but you're guessing yourself.
Thankfully you didn't tuck your shirt in. The snake slides clean through, lands on the floor, and slithers away under the straw bales...hopefully to contemplate it's choice of homes, pack up and move.
After you've stopped freaking out over the situation you decide not to share the experience with your family. If you do, you know they'll use it as an excuse to not only leave coop cleaning to anyone but themselves, but also torment you with for the rest of your days. As you're typing this story to share with non-family members, your eldest sees your story and starts laughing and says, "No way, that did NOT happen!", like I'd make something like this up. He tells your youngest, who then wears a look of horror on his face and says how disgusting the situation was and how he's glad he wasn't out there. I don't think he'll be going into the little silo any time soon. So, there you have it folks. Snake. A short story. The End. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
Disclaimer - No farmers or snakes were harmed in the process of this harrowing tale. The picture of the snake is one that had been seen last week at The Silver Maple Farm and is not related to the gardener snake in this story.
Some folks say Pinterest is a social media site that can hook you for hours, and I don't disagree. I occasionally find myself there, wading through picture upon picture of all sorts of things to dream about...and terrify Hon with if it involves me using tools. On occasion Facebook can do the same thing, and that's where this all began. Because of Rose.
A few days ago a gal I know who I'll call Rose, and may or may not actually possess that particular name, posted a picture of some window cleaner she found to work fabulously. Gave it a rave review. I read her post, looked out our window, re-read her post and then squinted while again looking out our window. The word "ick" came to mind. I keep a clean house, especially the kitchen. It's the windows I tend to ignore.
I thought about Rose's window cleaner post all weekend. All. Weekend. Even when I was in Louisville with Eldest at a pigeon show I thought about that window cleaner post. Okay, not so much that particular cleaner, but the fact that her windows were clean and mine were, well, ick. I decided to remedy that situation yesterday.
There I was, drinking my coffee at the counter, looking out the kitchen windows and thinking I suppose I should do something about those before it gets cold. You know, because of Rose and her window cleaning post. I finished my coffee and decided to get busy. After digging through the cleaning supply cabinet I found the window cleaner. Not the fabulous kind she raved about, but something that I knew would do the job.
I washed the windows over the kitchen sink inside and amazingly outside too, thanks to nifty windows that let me do it without having to go out. After I stepped back and admired my work, the sun shining brightly into the kitchen, I noticed that the windowsill could use a bit of a cleaning...because of Rose and her clean window post. I took everything off the windowsill, washed it off, then put everything back. As the sunlight streamed through the sparkly windows and bounced off the shiny clean windowsill I noticed the reflection on the appliances didn't look so nice any more...because of Rose and her clean window post. I decided to continue on and clean the appliances. After that I took a step back to admire the sunlight streaming through sparkly clean windows, bouncing off the shiny clean windowsill, ricocheting off the dazzling appliances, and then over to the other side of the kitchen to highlight those dirty windows. You guessed it, I then cleaned them...because of Rose and her clean window post.
After I cleaned the windows on the other side of the kitchen, admiring the sunlight streaming through sparkly windows on both sides of the kitchen, bouncing off clean windowsills and appliances, my eyes landed on the hutch and my grandmother's milk glass collection, all of which kind of looked sad because so many other things were sparkly clean...because of Rose and her clean window post. I dusted the hutch off, washed and dried the milk glass, set it all back and admired the view. It looked so nice, the sunlight streaming through sparkly windows, bouncing off clean windowsills, reflecting off dazzling appliances, a dust free hutch and grandma's gleaming milk glass....because of Rose and her clean window post.
As I continued my gaze around the kitchen my eyes stopped at the cabinets. They just looked sad because they hadn't been cleaned too. All I could do was press on...cleaning the cabinets so they, too, were sparkly clean...because of Rose and her clean window post.
At that point a good portion of the day was gone...me spending so much time in the kitchen and I wasn't even baking! I may or may not have still had my pajamas on. Eldest decided to have some fun and put his finger on a sparkly clean window *eek* and then proceed to tell me I missed a spot. He then found himself vacuuming the family room. After that he thought it would be funny to point to other sparkly clean windows and show me the spots I "missed." He cleaned the bathroom. Because he thought it would be fun to continue poking the bear, the kitchen floor was swept and the garbage was taken out.
By the time Hon got home I was stick a fork in me done. I ushered him into the kitchen to marvel at the sparkly clean windows. I dazzled him with the clean windowsills. I amazed him with the gleaming appliances. The cabinets in all their shining glory were also pointed out. If I had a white glove I'd have considered doing the glove test on the hutch and milk glass. I even talked to him about some ideas I had from a foray on Pinterest a while ago to make some pendant lights for the kitchen. I think that made him a bit nervous seeing as that will involve me using tools and electricity, but in the end I think it will be fabulous....because of Rose and her clean window post.
So there you have it folks. My usually clean kitchen is now cleaner than ever because of Rose and her magnificent clean window post. When I was getting ready for bed last night I mentally calculated how many windows and door windows I had left to clean. Twenty. *eek* Twenty to go. Well, since getting up this morning I cleaned a whopping three windows, the front door and it's storm door, none of which have led me off the rails and into other cleaning endeavors, but it's that much less to do. It seems nature's creatures are happy with the sparkly windows too, because since yesterday's clean-fest the outside of the kitchen windows are full of Asian Lady Beetles trying to find a way inside and messing them up with this stinky yellow substance they trail around, and a Golden Garden Spider has decided to take up residency in a new web complete with leaves sticking to it. . Smiling & Waving, Sharon
Have you ever done something that you never thought you'd do? You take care of something meticulously and then in a moment of weirdness you lose all sense of what's going on and that item you have taken such care of suddenly finds itself in a situation it shouldn't be in?
So you all know that Young'un has a small two-beehive apiary, right? He's beginning his third year with it and is so excited about selling some honey at the Chillicothe Farmers Market this year. He's even more excited that he's been able to raise his bees naturally, without synthetic chemicals, and is hoping to have his apiary Certified Naturally Grown, just like our livestock and produce.
Here's the thing with his bees ~ his original hive is nice. That hive of bees came from Dan Williams of Williams Honey Bees here in Frankfort. They get a bit of an attitude on occasion, but for the most part I don't feel like I'm risking life and limb while I stand there as Young'uns sidekick in my false sense of security suit trying to help get the job done. The second hive, on the other hand, must have bred with bee spawn from Hades. That hive came from the first swarm we caught a few years ago and had raised it's own queen.
Young'un and I went out to do some hive maintenance because that's just part of what you do when you're a beekeeper...or the sidekick, as in my case. It was a beautiful day. Young'un just puts his suit on over whatever clothing he's wearing. Me, oh nonono. I have on heavy jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a jean jacket, and a baseball cap under mine. I also put my cell phone in the bee suit's front pocked so I can call for backup if needed. This all stems from my first false sense of security suit. It was thinner than a t-shirt, which had me feeling every single sting those bees dished out last year without layers on. Along with us being dressed for the occasion, we also had the smoker, lighter, and a few hive tools needed for the job.
When we approached the hive from Hades we did so cautiously. The smoker was lit and Young'un smoked the daylights out of the little pistols as I got the top off the hive pried off. As I opened it I found that it was stuck more than what we usually deal with. The top box had the feeder in it, which we had filled for them earlier, but they weren't wanting to use, so we were going to take it out. I attribute their not wanting the sugar syrup to all the flowers that seem to be doing their thing early this year, a bonus for the bees. Well, when I got the top off I found that they had literally been busy little bees making their own free form comb in there. It was quite a good size considering it hadn't been long since we had been in there. It was actually very neat looking to see, and it was being used for honey storage. As much as we'd have liked to let them continue doing their own decorating, hive maintenance would have been impossible with it sticking to everything.
I began cleaning it out, angry bees flying all around us, Young'un smoking them. I kept telling myself to breathe...remain calm...breathe. I remember reading that they can sense a person's nervousness, so in hindsight I should have done calming exercises beforehand I suppose. Anyway, as I was cleaning and the bees were literally in my face with their little behinds twisting their stingers in the mesh of my hood I noticed the smoker wasn't really smoking much, so I asked Young'un to take a look, relight it...something. Well, that's when the lighter decided it was done. No more. Kaput. There we were ~ no more smoke. Angry bees all around. Both of us messing with their hive. I took a deep breath and decided to persevere. Young'un and I worked quick as we could to get the the job done, the hive put back together, the tools picked up, and us out of there as soon as possible. WHEW!
As we were walking away from the hives we were a mess. Taking the honey comb out kind of had us all sticky...and there was grass and dirty stuck to that. We checked for bees on each other and started peeling off our gloves. When we got to the house I told Young'un I'll just stick everything in the washing machine. As we stood there in the laundry room getting our sticky stuff off I heard a bee buzzing around my neck. I couldn't see it, but it was there. I started running around, flapping my arms. Hon opened the door for me to run out, him behind me to find it. Well, he saw it and started slapping at it instead of trying to pick it out of my hair. Ouch. Hello? That's my neck and head.
When he finally got it out I think I was as irritated as the bee. I stomped into the house, grabbed our bee suits and gloves, put them in the wash, and turned on the machine. Then I went about my business, still annoyed. All of a sudden there was a noise. Kind of like a blunk-blunk-blunk *pause* blunk-blunk-blunk *pause*. I told Young'un I have to have someone come fix the squeak it's making again, but the blunk-blunk-blunk noise was new. I figured maybe the drum was unbalanced so I opened the lid to redistribute our clothes.
As I opened the washer lid it hit me...I didn't take my cell phone out of my pocket. AHHHHHHHH! In all the years we've had cell phones, since bag phones were a hot item in the late '80's, I have always always always taken supreme care of my cell phones. Hon's the dropper, the one that has the ability to ruin one of those heavy duty Otter Box cases. Not me.
I scrambled around in the washer for my false sense of security suit, found the pocket, got my cell phone out, and then try as I might I couldn't get the Otter Box case off of it. Gesh, those suckers are not easy to get into when cell phone life depends on it. I tried it, Hon tried it, and then Eldest was finally able to pry it apart. I lovingly dried my cell phone and watched as the screen flickered all sorts of weird colors and then slipped into a coma. I was devastated.
As I stood there in shock, not knowing what to do, Eldest said he's always read to put it in dry rice and turn it periodically. What did I have to lose, you know? It wasn't looking too good. For days I lovingly rotated my cell phone around in the bowl of rice in hopes of it coming back to me. After three days, just when I was ready to give up, it flickered...then it went back under...so I continued it's rice bath. Next came the miraculous ability to reboot it, at which time my cell phone completely lost charge...but there was still hope. I plugged it in and then I was promptly given an error message that the cord and adapter I had plugged it into weren't the correct ones so it refused to charge. I tried every charger we had and still nothing. I was losing hope. I gently tucked my cell phone back into the bowl of rice figuring I might as well let it go...in the morning...to the store so I could tell my shameful story and see if they could help.
Then...a miracle happened. In the morning I found my cell phone plugged in ~ and charging. Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes!!! Hon said he was going to give it one more go at plugging it in and it just started up, accepted what it was plugged into, and was happily charging away. My cell phone was alive!
So there you have it folks, a cell phone miracle. I've been told many instances of cell phone washing haven't turned out well and mine is one of the fortunate. I've hung a sign up on the washing machine reminding myself to check all pockets to prevent an unfortunate incident like this again. It's kind of like periodically having to put a sign on the toilet to remind the testosterone around here to put the lid down and flush. We do what we have to. The bees are happy, this sidekick is happy, and I'm assume my cell phone is happy to be fully functioning again. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
I'm the queen of our farm, although the animals haven't figured that out yet. My title is Head Chicken Wrangler, but most days I'm called Mom. Life is a comedy and I plan on documenting it.