Christmas in…September?

I don’t know what it is this year, but I’ve been thinking about Christmas (and looking forward to it) since August. So much so that I have once again volunteered to host Christmas at my house again, even begging people to come. What kind of whacko WANTS to host Christmas, with all of the cleaning, mess, and chaos? Well, I guess that whacko would be ME.

So what is it that’s so alluring about Christmas? Well, I guess it would have to be that many of my happiest memories happened at Christmas. Like the time I got the Barbie when I was about 3 or 4 that had the ‘magic’ solution that would perm her hair. I remember my eyes going wide as Barbie’s lovely long blond locks shrunk and curled up into an Afro so tight, it could have rivaled Roberta Flack. Or the year Great Uncle I.B. pulled out his false teeth, and I clearly remember my revulsion. Or maybe just being at Mamaw and Papaw’s, with Mamaw’s tree in the corner, adorned with handmade ornaments and the house being so full of people there wasn’t anywhere to go. Or, the year that my mom put up the biggest Christmas tree I had seen (besides one in, oh, Times Square) and it was piled with glass ornaments, all in shades of gold, white, or iridescent pearl. Coincidentally, that was also the year she nearly stabbed out her eye with one of the branches, and had to wear a huge eyepatch all holiday. And, the year of the big ice storm in the 80’s that knocked out power for days, and all there was to do was sit in the living room under a blanket and listen to the sound of ice pellets bounce off of the roof. ,

I look forward to most everything about Christmas. Some of my favorite things are; the food (duh), baking, looking at Christmas lights (even in the rain), wrapping presents, playing Santa, getting to see everyone in one place, and decorating my SIX Christmas trees. I especially love Christmas lights. The bright fuschia ones, for whatever reason, just about make me drool. I don’t use any all-white lights on my trees; I love the rainbow of colored lights.

Can you remember the Christmas trees you had growing up? I can. For years, we had a “White Trash” tree, that is, one with a multitude of colored lights and nine zillion ornaments in nine zillion shapes and sizes. I call ’em White Trash trees because it seems that MOST trees you see nowadays all have the white lights with cutesy coordinated ornaments. Not mine, honey! I have TWO White Trash trees and they are adorned with about 400 ornaments each, some of which really aren’t even official ornaments, just cool stuff I stick in it. Like the plastic uber-tacky Nativity scene with plastic donkeys and the tiny, plastic, molded little baby Jesus. I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. Or, the clothespin reindeer with googly eyes that my Mamaw probably made in the 70’s, or, the funky gold-glittered bird made out of clothespins that takes up a good 1/16th of the tree. I also have two vintage aluminum trees (one is the ‘pompom’ variety), which I haven’t put out in a while due to my children consistently trying to rip the aluminum from the branches.

Anyway, I am ready for the madness and joy of the season! Are you?

All good things…

…as they say, must come to an end.

I have never written a chicken obituary/memorial before, but I figured that I owe one to this particular bird. The other day, as we were coming home, Jason spotted a familiar chicken that we all know and love….in the middle of the road. Quite flat, actually. I am glad I did not see it.

It was not THE Wayward Jones, but rather her sister, who apparently, even though she was warned of the dangers of hitchhiking and living loosely, still ventured too close to the road. I COULD mention the age-old joke here…but out of respect, I won’t theorize why the chicken crossed the road. Actually, now I suppose we’ll never know. Anyway, Ms. Jones was interred September 17th, 2010. Casseroles, chicken scratch, and donations to P.A.R.C. (Persons Against Runaway Chickens) will be accepted.

In other news, it is finally cooling down enough that I have made progress around the farm. Tonight, we have been working on adding a top to the chicken yard. A couple of weeks ago, I found the headless body of one of my barred Rock hens, which is indicative of a raccoon murder. Let me say here that I do not like raccoons. Sure, they may look all cute and fuzzy, what with their little people-like hands, thick fluffy coat, and ringed tail. But behind their mask lies a cold-blooded serial killer. Let’s not mince words here. I won’t go into detail about what I would like to do to the ‘coon, lest you think I am just a cruel person. So, to avoid further bloodshed, particularly for the ‘coon, we are putting a ‘lid’ on the outdoor run out of wire.

I have been lazy in my garden. I haven’t pulled weeds in weeks and haven’t really cared to. Jason made the comment the other day, “Nice bed of Bermuda you’re growing here.” I couldn’t argue. If I were TRYING to grow Bermuda, it couldn’t have looked much better than the thick, jungle carpet that has now dominated my old lettuce patch. BUT, now is the time to plant, so I hope to take new pics and show you what will be in store for winter. I am planning on having a really kick-butt winter garden this year, mainly by really utilizing row covers and my chenilles.

In farmhouse news, it’s really nothing new. Please, please, please, if you do repairs on your house, have them (or do them) professionally. And for crying out loud, please don’t use the cheapest parts you can buy. Our poor heat pump/blower was apparently brought over on the Ark, and probably the same model used by the ancient Egyptians. Ok, maybe those time periods don’t coincide. Whatever, you get the picture. Our kitchen faucet is leaky, the kitchen sink is made out of white plastic (what masochist picked THAT out???) and the supposedly new septic tank is overflowing. Not complaining, just venting. Anyhoo, it boils down to I am about to have to spend a good chunk o’ change to have a new heatpump installed, so that we don’t freeze to death this year. I mean, last year, our house was at 58 degrees. I’m sorry, but I don’t care to live in a meat locker. Thank the Good Lord for all my quilts. I looked like some sort of strange chrysalis all winter last year, wrapped in about 14 quilts, along with thermal underwear, a full set of clothes and 2 layers of socks. I didn’t go anywhere without my throng of quilts. THIS YEAR (I’m pulling a total Scarlett O’Hara here), with God as my witness, I will not freeze again! We are going to insulate the house. I hope they blow 5 feet of insulation in the attic. I want so much insulation, it is scraping the rafters. I want so much that it is spilling out of every vent and pore of this house. I can’t say enough about good insulation.

I think I will end my post here. Hopefully, next go ’round I will have some sort of interesting pictures for you all.

Millions of peaches, peaches for me

May I apologize now to you, dear readers, for I have neglected my blog somewhat. Two things have kept me from being a faithful blogess…#1, my computer came down with a virus. Well, actually three viruses. I have had the same computer for seven years and have never had a virus. Oh, what I would love to do to the little programmer who came up with my viruses. A baseball bat does come to mind. Anyway, the good news is that my Jason bought me a laptop to take the place of my ill computer (who is fixed, but anyway). #2 reason is that it is, as the weather service has been fond of saying lately, OPPRESSIVELY HOT. When it is OPPRESSIVELY HOT, my brain does not function well. I become gripe-y and snippy and say things which I would otherwise reserve for my mid-month part of my ‘cycle’. So, to protect you, the reader, from any more long and annoying ‘On my Soap Box’ posts, I have just refrained from writing for a while. Now, on to something non-snippy:

This, apparently, was a banner year for peaches. If you had a properly kept peach tree, you had a ton of peaches. We severely trimmed back our old, overgrown peach tree last spring. I wasn’t even sure if it would survive. It looked like a terrible tree massacre had taken place, but our extension agent who performed the job assured us that it would put off a ton of new growth, on which peaches would form. Well, either that or it would die from shock. Happily, it chose life over death and survived its pruning session. Here are some before and after photos:

As you can see, this peach tree is quite tall with a lot of vertical growth. Ever drove by a peach orchard? You will notice that peach growers keep their trees very small, no more than about 8 feet tall or so, if even that. It makes for more fruit since the tree does not have to put as much energy into all of those branches. The vertical growth doesn’t produce peaches anyway (they are called water sprouts/shoots), so by removing them, your tree can concentrate more onto making you some lovely peaches. Here is Joe about to perform some major work:

Now, as you can see, the tree has lost most of its vertical growth. With peaches, you want the tree to look bowl-shaped, with an open center for ventilation, and keep growth horizontal. He did leave some smaller branches to try and prevent sun scald on the tree when it did leaf out, since the tree was used to a lot of shade.

Now that the tree had been trimmed, it was just a game of wait and see. That year (2009), the tree decided to live and it prospered. There was a ton of new growth to try and replace what had been taken. So, in February of 2010, we trimmed her again. This time, not as severely, but mainly any water shoots. By March, the tree came alive with tons of pink blooms:

We were so excited. The big killer of peaches around here is an early frost. Even though this year we received two snows which NEVER happens, we were fortunate enough to not get a late frost. What often happens is that after flowering, a late frost comes along in April and kills all the little baby peaches trying to form. Well, this year, that didn’t happen, and we were rewarded by many, many 10’s of pounds of peaches.

I wish I could give you the final tally, but unfortunately, my scale broke in the middle of weighing one day. My estimate would be a good 60-70 pounds…maybe a little more for that one tree!

So, what do you do with 60 pounds of peaches? Well, I hate the taste of canned peaches, so I froze them. It’s very easy to freeze peaches. First, I take the fresh ones and dunk them in boiling water for about 45 seconds. Then I put them in a big pot of ice water for a couple of minutes. This allows the skin to peel right off like magic. This is also how I peel tomatoes that I am going to can. Anyway, then you peel them, and I sliced them into halves. I simultaneously kept the halved peaches in a bath of water treated with Fruit Fresh (calcium citrate, I believe). This prevents browning. When you freeze peaches, they need to be in a sugary liquid. Some people do actually use a sugar/water concoction, but I used organic apple juice instead. I mixed the apple juice with some Fruit Fresh…whatever the directions on the Fruit Fresh recommend. I think it’s a teaspoon per cup of liquid or something like that. Then, I put the peaches in a Ziploc gallon bag, and poured enough of my apple juice concoction on them to cover about 3/4 of the peaches. I lay the bags flat and freeze them on a cookie sheet so that they freeze nice and flat, too.

Forgive the pictures, they’re not great!!!

The Country Spice Rack

So, way back in February, I did a post called the Country Pantry, which gave you an idea of the foods I regularly keep in my pantry. Now, I’m on to the spice rack. Let’s talk spices just a minute. Spices rapidly lose their intensity and flavor in light, which is why most people keep them in the cabinet. They also don’t need to be exposed to too much heat, so don’t park them right next to your stove, either. Ideally, your spices should be no more than 6 months to a couple of years old. (why can I hear some of you laughing?) After that, their flavor starts to go downhill. Now, of course, we have no way of knowing how old they were to begin with, in the store, right? Just to add to the confusion.

About 4 years ago, I began buying my spices in bulk at a local natural foods store. I cannot tell you how big of a difference that makes! I have actually read where some published ‘foodies’ have said that they buy those 50 cent (to a dollar) spices you find on the bottom shelf at WalMart, because it doesn’t make a difference. Now, it may not make a difference if you are buying Great Value spices, but there is a HUGE difference in these fresh, bulk spices and GV brand stuff. The chili powder is soooo strong, it makes you long for enchiladas and chili. The cumin makes you drool. So, I’m just telling you there’s a difference. Also, did I mention that it is so much cheaper to buy in bulk? You aren’t paying for packaging, so you are just paying pennies for this stuff.

Also, people, STOP buying pre-ground pepper. I would like to slap the fool who came up with that! There is NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING like fresh ground pepper. All other pepper should be deemed illegal. If you want to be cheap (like me), go to the McCormick section, buy a little $2 pepper grinder (complete with peppercorns), and when it’s empty, have your husband wrestle off the top so you can refill it with fresh peppercorns. It can be done. I have refilled mine twice now. I admit I can’t rip the top off myself though. If you love pepper, go with peppercorns. I promise you, you will not regret it.

Also, pass on the garlic salt/onion salt/etc. It’s so easy to make this at home, and they charge you an arm and leg for these specialty items. (ok, maybe $3 isn’t an arm and leg, but if you already have the ingredients, might as well make your own, right?)

I save my old spice jars (especially glass ones…I’m trying to get away from plastics), and just refill those with the bulk spices. I know approximately how much I use in a couple of month’s time and buy accordingly. We fly through cumin, garlic powder, and chili powder around here so I go through a good amount of that. I store everything on a double stacked ‘lazy susan’ in my cabinet.

As a final note, here’s another reason to avoid certain spices. Salmonella sickened over 250 people after they ingested a certain brand of salami which happened to be seasoned with pepper that contained salmonella. So, I am wary of cheap-o spices. I’m not sure if those spices were even available to the public, but still. I pay attention to where the spices are manufactured.

My Little Country’s Spice Rack:

Salt (sea, iodized, and pickling)

peppercorns and grinder

chili powder

cumin

garlic powder

onion powder

celery salt (I loooove celery salt, wonderful in chicken salads)

celery seed (great in cole slaw)

dried oregano

ground oregano

parsley flakes

dried dill

cayenne pepper

paprika (another spice that is waaaaay better fresh)

ground mustard

mustard seed (used in pickling)

ground turmeric (mostly used in pickling)

ground ginger (for stir fry sauce…I could get away with about a teaspoon a year)

dried basil

lemon pepper

Knorr chicken bouillon/beef bouillon (I use the kind found in the Mexican food section. It is in powder form..who wants to screw with those blasted cubes???)

poultry seasoning

pickling spice

crushed red pepper

whole cloves

ground cloves

whole allspice

ground nutmeg

cinnamon

Zatarain’s/Tony Chachere’s cajun spice

That’s just about it for spices. I also have a product called Jane’s Krazy Mixed Up salt, and it is delicious! I am sure if I tinkered enough, I could make it, but….nah. It’s good on everything and the salt is flaked, which I really like.

Now, here’s a word on poultry seasoning and pickling spice. Don’t go into the store come Thanksgiving or Christmas and expect to find any poultry seasoning. Likewise, don’t go into the store in summer and expect to find pickling spice. Good luck. So, I am warning you NOW, when October comes, run out and snatch up some poultry seasoning (which around here, we use to season our dressin’ with…we don’t have stuffing, we have dressin’). It is also good to use if you ever make sausage, because it has quite a lot of sage in it.

The pickling spice will go on sale probably around September or October, so gear up for next year’s pickling season soon! Don’t be one of those women, such as my old self, who would go looking in vain for some dadgum, stupid poultry seasoning and NO STORE HAS ANY. Well, that was actually before I discovered the health food store, but still.

Now, let’s talk spice mixes. I have been making my own taco seasoning for the past couple of years and it’s delicious and so easy to make. I saved a tiny jelly jar to keep it in. Here’s the recipe. I double it, but really need to quadruple it, honestly. You can do that very easily with allrecipe’s serving size calculator. I also had, for quite a while Paula Deen’s House Seasoning. If you can’t find Jane’s Krazy Salt, here’s a super easy recipe for a great, all-around seasoning for everything:

1 cup salt
1/4 cup black pepper
1/4 cup garlic powder

Mix together, put in a little glass container, and there ya go.

Now, let me also mention using fresh herbs, too. In my garden, I try to keep rosemary, parsley, cilantro, dill, oregano, majoram, thyme, and tarragon going. Then I just walk out the back door and snip what I need. You just can’t beat the flavor of fresh herbs.

Lastly, here is a good guide to storing spices in your home. Bon appetit!

Super Fantastic Cat Alarm 2

If you haven’t read my post: Super Fantastic Cat Alarm, well, go there first.

If you have, here is a picture of my little alarm cat, Garfield. Also known as Garf, Garfunkel, The Orange Marauder, and now, El Garfo (my kids made that up). This is a cat who has adopted my husband as his own kind and incessantly circles his ankles, crying for food. Doesn’t matter if there’s food in the dish or not, he wants FRESH food, for crying out loud. He also torments my husband in the bathroom, where my poor hubby is just trying to enjoy his ‘morning constitutional’ and Garfield is consistently scratching the door until he is let in. He also follows him into the bathroom for shower time, where he will patiently wait until Jason is out of the shower, whereupon he cries until Jason gives in and gives him more food. He also doesn’t like Jason typing on his laptop, and will jump into his lap and try to sabotage anything Jason is doing.

But, with a face like that, how could you get mad? Well, you really can’t. No matter how much you want to get mad, you just can’t get upset looking at a squooshy little face and tiny ears. Please excuse his ‘cat boogers’ in his nose…I guess it’s time for ‘mommy’ to wash the cat’s face.

Mama Hen

So here is the result of letting my crazy Cochin hen set her own eggs. As you can see, the results went really well! 3 out of 4 eggs hatched. The ‘dad’ is a Silkie and the ‘bio mom’ is ???, though I think that for the 2 little white hens it is a bantam Cochin mother. These pics are from June, but now, the little guys are all feathered out and interestingly enough, they all have ‘ear muffs’, and a mohawk. I’ll have to grab some new pics soon. Another interesting thing is that while my brooder raised chicks all contracted coccidia, these guys did not. So there ya’ go…probably better to let Mother Nature ‘do her thing’ rather than depend on an incubator.

Another funny thing is that this hen, I thought for sure, would be dead about a year ago. We rescued her from a really bad situation. Her butt was LITERALLY ripped off…she is missing a lot of her tail. I am sure a dog got a good hold of her at some point. Anyway, when I first got her, she was so thin and ugly, I gave the poor thing a bath. She was absolutely filthy, and had huge gaps in her skin. I have no idea how long she had suffered along with that, but after her bath, she did nothing but get better. So, as you can see, she made it another year and did a great job raising these babies for me.

If you have never been around a mother hen and chicks, it is so neat to watch them interact. You can really see in the first few photos she is teaching them to peck the ground. The chicks are only a few days old in these pics. She makes a very soft clucking sound over and over and the chicks immediately stop what they’re doing and do whatever mom is doing. I wonder…would my kids respond to clucking???

The Wayward Sisters

It’s been a hot summer. I have fallen into my summer routine of doing outdoor chores either before 11am, or after the sun has fallen past the treeline. You won’t catch me out much during mid-day, unless it is in 100% shade. The heat has a way of turning us crazy. Not just humans, but apparently it works on chickens, too.

Last week, Jason completed fencing in our chicken coop and orchard. I admittedly did not help much…I am just not a ‘work in the heat’ person. I tend to forget what I’m doing, wander off, and end up in the house somehow. This is why I can somewhat sympathize with the Wayward sisters. If you are not familiar with Wayward Jones, my ever-lost chicken, you’ll have to read my post called “Where’s Wayward” first. Now you can continue.

I don’t remember if I mentioned it before, but Wayward has a sister who looks almost identical, except she has more white feathering on her head, causing her to look EVEN MORE like a strange black and white version of Big Bird, or perhaps even a chicken lollipop. Anyway, the fact is, is that they are the most mindless little birds…I’m not sure now if it’s intentional or unintentional or what. About a week or so ago, before the fence was up, we were still having to catch some of the chickens nightly and put them up for the night. I have 2 sets of chickens that I must pay special attention to: The Dovies, which are a pair of tiny, dove-sized Old English Bantam hens who enjoy scaling trees at dusk and laughing at us attempting to retrieve them…and then, of course, the Wayward Sisters, who could get lost in a paper sack.

So, one day at dusk, I couldn’t find the Sisters. Oh, of course, they had been around earlier, but now were nowhere to be seen. A little bit of panic always sets in when I can’t find the Sisters, because there is no telling where they could be. Finally, I decided to take the golf cart and go check by the road. I pulled the cart out of our gate. There, at the VERY tip-top of the hill no more than about 18 inches off the (very dangerous) road, I saw a familiar lollipop-looking head.

“WAYWARD!”, I screamed. The lollipop stood straight up and stiffened. “WAYYYYYYWARD!”

I flew through the ditch as fast as the cart would go. The lollipop-headed chicken ran towards me. ‘Chariots of Fire’ was playing (I think). Golf cart thundering down the side of the road, chicken running with wings outstretched….you get the picture.

Anyway, as it turned out, it was THE Wayward Jones, but I still couldn’t find her sister. Fortunately, her sister also responds to the name ‘Wayward’, so I was still screaming that, driving up and down the road, holding a black and white chicken. It was probably pretty funny for the passersby.

I finally gave up and decided that I was just going to have to leave it up to chance. Either she would be around in the morning, or she wouldn’t. Well, I woke up the next morning and she wasn’t. We had to leave later in the day to run errands, and as we pulled out of the gate, Jason said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”. There was Wayward Sister #2, sitting about a foot off of the road. I could have sworn I saw a tiny knapsack and a sign saying, “Mexico or Bust”, but maybe it was just the heat playing tricks on my brain. Once again, ‘Chariots of Fire’. She excitedly ran in circles (God bless those chickens, they just can’t get it right), and hopped in my arms.

So NOW I have learned that the Sisters are not to be let out of the chicken yard. Unless I want them to end up being little black and white spots on the road, which I do NOT. After all, we have made it all this way, all these months together of finding them in the pasture, trees, kitchen windows, toy dump trucks, and by the road. I’m not giving up now.

Can’t see the forest for the trees

*ALERT…Soap Box post*

Do you ever feel like you are the only person who DOESN’T care what the Kardashians are doing, or anyone in Hollywood for that matter? The only person who turns off the Disney Channel in disgust for the way the kids on the shows are portrayed as being more intelligent than the adults? Maybe the only person who doesn’t read the news for the fact that it is now written for ratings? The only one who actually really does care where their food comes from and how it is affecting us?

If so, you and I have something in common! I got so fed up with television’s programming, the so-called ‘news’, and the junk that we stuff our faces with that I actually decided to do something about it. Our Directv box broke down about 6 weeks ago. Haven’t missed it YET, and have cancelled service. We don’t even miss the evening news, which I thought Jason would just up and die if he missed. Turns out all he watched was the weather anyway. Now we are hooked on Netflix instant streaming video. We can pick what the kids watch. Last night we all watched Fraggle Rock, and I don’t know who liked it more; me or them!

If you are familiar with my blog, you will know that we do raise a LOT of our own food. Do you know what you’re eating? Foods are so full of preservatives, colorings, and artificial EVERYTHING nowadays. When I think about food, I think about my days working at the veterinarian’s office. Inevitably, one of the first 3 questions we ALWAYS asked was: “What is your pet eating?”. Now, I want you to think back to your last doctor visit when you were not feeling well, and you tell me….were YOU asked that question? Ever? Oh sure, we all know we are supposed to eat whole grains and lots of vegetables and fruit, but….

Seems everything now is treated with a pill. For crying out loud, Pfizer just came out with a DOG OBESITY pill recently. I read that and I swear I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or what. Come on now….who is really getting the benefit? Does anyone think it’s the dog? The owner, having to shell out who-knows-how-much? Isn’t it obvious that the drug companies are the ONLY ones to get benefit here? Here’s a revelation: Drug companies follow the money. Hello? Anyone listening? Sure, I am happy they are there. We need the Pfizers of the world, after all, to a degree. But not every malady on earth needs to have a pill solution. Oh, and here’s your fat dog solution: go outside and play with the darn thing. A walk would benefit the both of you, mentally and physically.

As Americans, one of our worst flaws is our dependence on convenience. We can drive just about anywhere we want. We can get in our car and go and pick up food out of a little window, go back to our air-conditioned, perfectly temperature controlled homes, and sit in front of a TV with our choice of instant entertainment. I wonder how many people stopped to think once about where the wheat that made the burger bun came from. Or the meat in the burger (which, if it is fast food, is almost always combined with an ammonia laced ‘filler’. It’s true. Look it up.) Or the tomato, or the lettuce. There is a price that we all pay for convenience. We aren’t going to see it at the McDonald’s drive thru, but think about this: Do you ever wonder who harvested those vegetables, who slaughtered your meat, or the thousands of miles that were driven to make that one 99 cent sandwich?

Does anyone but me wonder why people are so driven to make more money? When is enough, enough? Have you ever wondered why there are people who make 5 times what you do, and yet they are still filing for bankruptcy and divorce? Admittedly, we are not poverty level, but not too terribly far from it. If all of my debts were paid off today, I could live very comfortably on what we bring home, and be happy with it. I will be the first to admit that I am a very, very lucky woman who has a husband who knows his priorities. And guess what? Work is on down on that list, and we own our own business. Yes, we take off of work to spend time with the kids. Kids will only be little for so long. I also realize that we are so extremely fortunate to be able to get to do this. My plea to you is: Please don’t fall into that common mistake that people make of working harder/earning more money ‘for the kid’s sake’, or to ‘be able to live a better life’. The kids don’t care if you make five dollars or five hundred thousand. They don’t care about your promotions or that you worked 70 hours this week. They just want you there with them, spending time with them. I hate the term ‘quality time’. That is the most infinitely STUPID term I’ve ever heard. Any time you spend with your kids/spouse/whatever IS quality time. Whatever quality time is supposed to mean, I don’t even really know. And, if you don’t have kids, then spend that time loving your spouse. And if you don’t have a spouse, then spend some time for yourself. Point is, don’t work yourself into an early grave just to earn some money to make that next big purchase. Be a miser with your money, and save wisely. Please don’t go blow your paycheck on a TV or a new car. Or, just something that you really can’t afford. Don’t try and ‘keep up with the Joneses’. News flash. The Joneses were last seen on the Mexican border using the alias ‘the Smith’s’, running from the IRS for tax evasion. The Joneses were in debt up past their necks.

It’s time for us to wake up. We have been sleeping for about the past 60 years or so, ever since we gave up our farms and all decided we needed to make more money (for WHAT?) and moved to cities in search of ‘jobs’. It is time for us all to realize that Hollywood isn’t Washington, D.C., and it isn’t where the most important decisions are made that affects all of us. Most importantly, it’s time to go outside and feel the sun on your face and get your hands deep in the soil.

You are a child of Nature. You can laugh about that, but you are. You are a part of something as large and as infinite as the Heavens themselves, and you are important. We may just be a drop of water in an endless ocean, but we all are important and, most importantly, we are ALL connected. A decision as simple as picking up a burger at a drive-thru, or buying all of our goods from non-American made sources really does affect people. Maybe not you today. But it will in the long run. We are so preoccupied with Dancing with the Stars and American Idol, and who is breaking up with who in L.A., and how were gonna pay for all of that stuff that we don’t really need that we forget to pay attention to what really matters. Ourselves. Our families. Our environment. What our government is doing up there.

I don’t want to sound self-righteous. I do things that everyone else does like take out food, shopping at WalMart and the Dollar Tree, etc. But I am now conscious of my choices. Due to that, I am now a label reader. I do care where my stuff comes from, and what’s in it. I want to know what I am eating. I want to know when our government is about to pass a law that will negatively affect us. I want my children to grow up NOT sitting in front of a television set, and to be well-informed and aware adults. I want us ALL to go outside more and realize that we are a part of something bigger than ourselves and that every one of us can make a difference with each decision that we make.

And, in my own selfish thoughts….I want every kid to know that an egg comes from a chicken and not a box in the grocery store.

(I send out a virtual hug to all of you now. Now stepping down from my box and going to resume my much more comfortable position as humorist/farm life writer)

Technical Errors….

*If you are a new reader to this blog, please semi-ignore this post. It is boring and I don’t want to scare you away. Y’all scroll on down for a better post*

Sorry, readers for this completely boring post, but I just found out that a small application I am using on WordPress may have been blocking some of your comments! So, just a second ago I was reading this really funny comment by a stranger which had been incorrectly labeled as ‘spam’, laughing about it, and I am using this new laptop, and my fingers tapped the little dumb touchpad, and I permanently deleted it. ARRRRRRG. I apologize for this post sounding like a FaceBook status update, but I wanted you guys to know that I may not be getting some of your comments. :0( I’ll be working on this NOW.

Snakes in the henhouse…doodah, doodah

Apparently it was officially Snake Week here on the farm. I guess somehow I missed the announcement. I have found a snake in the chicken coop three times in about as many days. No, wait. FOUR times. Sorry. I am losing count.

Snake one: Large black ratsnake, northeast corner of the coop. Easy catch, no problems.

Snake two: Another large black ratsnake, same corner. It is midnight. Jason has already gone to bed and I had forgotten to close the coop. I am sweeping my flashlight over all the hens and BAM! there’s another dadgum snake. He sees me and tries to escape out the little hole he came in. I grab a hold (a’holt) of his tail and hang on for dear life. He’s not escaping the Crocodile Huntress of East Texas! Bear in mind that I am trying to hold onto my flashlight and the butt end of a snake simultaneously here. After a few minutes, it is apparent that he’s not giving up and neither am I, and his head end is already outside, and no amount of pulling is going to get this snake back in the coop. Naturally, I forgot to turn on the coop light when I came in, and I now need a third hand to flip the switch. Since I couldn’t pop one of those out, I take a deep breath, clutch that snake tail in my left hand, get the flashlight in my right and STREEEEEEEEETCH myself into a weird ‘X’ looking position and somehow manage to flip the light on with the tip of my flashlight. All the while not quite sure that Mr. Snake’s head has not popped back into the room. I work at him a little more with both hands, trying not to damage any scales in the process, and it’s obvious we are like the proverbial two old goats on the log over a ravine. Ever heard of that one? Neither would move out of the way for the other, so they both fell in and died. But, I was ready to get into bed, so I let go of the tail, and ran as fast as I could around the corner of the coop. There he was, snaking down the side of the tin and WA-POW my hand shoots out like a bullet and snatches his head. His mouth is wide open and boy, is he mad at me! I told him to get over it and I plopped him in my official handy-dandy snake bucket.

Snake Three: We come home after dark, and Jason drives me up to the henhouse to collect eggs for the last time for the day. I gather up a shirtfull of eggs, balancing them carefully in the front of my t-shirt. I talk to the hens and…yeah you guessed it. Another snake, same corner. (See the pattern here?) I look around wildly, hoping that Jason sees my look of desperation. I have people beating down my doors for these eggs, and I can’t afford to break any. I see no response, so I hold onto my shirt with my left hand and say a little prayer for the safety of my right hand. Luckily, the snake’s head is within my grabbing distance and POW! I grab up that snake with my right hand. I come out of the coop balancing a dozen eggs and a 3 foot long snake. Jason apologizes for not seeing me, but it’s nothing that the Huntress can’t handle.

Snake Four: Snake four was last night. A smaller ratsnake, probably 2.5-3 foot long. I was gathering the last laid eggs, look up, and there’s a snake’s head, peering down at me. I think to myself, “You have GOT to be (………) me”. (You can add in your own word here, but I wasn’t really thinking “kidding”). Anyway, of course, I am alone. This snake is the smartest by far. He has completely wedged himself behind a board holding up the tin, and there is absolutely no way to get him out. I go outside and beat on the tin to try and run him out. I poke him with sticks. He must have flattened himself to the width of a piece of paper, I swear. I go out and beat on the tin again. I come back inside and as I am poking him with another stick, here comes a yellowjacket, rubbing his eyes, looking at me and my flashlight as if to say, “What in the HELL is going on out here?!?” I freeze. Snakes, I can do. Snakes PLUS an angry nest of yellowjackets? Mmmmmm, not so much. Then I hear buzzing. I decide that even the Huntress can’t win them all and I shut off my light and run out the door. As I walk back to the house, somewhat dejected, the comical aspect of the entire situation occurs to me.

I am not big into video games, but I think we can all relate to Super Mario Brothers, right? You know how each successive level gets more and more difficult? It occurs to me, at that very moment, how this is really getting to be like a video game.

Level One: Catch a snake in the open, while wearing pajamas and flip flops

Level Two: Catch a snake in the open, while wearing pajamas, flip flops, and carrying a flashlight.

Level Three: Catch a snake in a building, while wearing flip flops, and the snake is about 5 foot above your head.

Level Four: Same as three, except the snake is large and angry, and you must get it down with a pole saw, a nervous husband, and finally a rake.

Level Five: Catch a snake in a chicken coop.

Level Six: Catch a snake in a chicken coop, while in pajamas and flip flops, and balancing a flashlight.

Level Seven: Catch a snake single handedly, in a chicken coop, while balancing a shirt full of delicate eggs in one hand.

Level Eight: Catch a snake in a coop, single-handed, while being attacked by an angry nest of yellowjackets.

Level Nine (hypothesized): Catch a snake in a coop, single-handed, while also playing “Beer Barrel Polka” on an accordian and a kazoo, and being attacked by an angry pack of rabid raccoons, while wearing stilts.

Enough said?

Is it also a strange coincidence that my Chinese astrology symbol is the Snake?