When I write about what project we're in the middle of or what animal or child did what funny/cute/intelligent act or what delicious meal we just ate, I may inadvertently make people think that everything at the farmstead is all sunshine and rainbows and happy, fluffy animals and cheerful, polite, helpful children.
|A tree from our forest fell onto the road. Yay.|
(Just being authentic. That's the thing nowadays, isn't it?).
A lot of times, it's mud, poo, crying, messes and hard work.
|The horses and I wondering why there's a lake in the pasture instead of green grass.|
LOTS of mud.
|That is a wheelbarrow full of soiled straw from the chickens.|
LOTS of poo.
Occasionally, I imagine what Noah must've thought as he was riding the waves with a boatful of animals--I doubt he loved every second of it and may have occasionally thought of pushing a few of them off the ship to keep his sanity (Hey, I know you felt, Noah). I am an animal lover at heart--always have been, and I'm assuming always will be, but sometimes they drive me bonkers. Like when I caught the dog clobbering a hen for the fun of it because she couldn't find her soccer ball and settled on the barred rock minding her own business in the backyard (Whoops--she apologized for that one). Or how the horses become nippy and greedy and pushy during the coldest months, when I'm not exactly excited about being outside either, hauling water over the frozen tundra or divvying up grain, only to have them shove me out of the way instead of saying thank you. The chickens who are so incredibly messy, it's almost impossible to believe a bird so small is capable of such mayhem and the rooster, who is sure he's doing his job and protecting the hens from children, spreads his neck feathers like he's a dilophosaurus right before he spurs an unsuspecting someone from behind. The cats? Let's just say their goal in life is to be the bane of our neighbor's existence by decimating the chipmunk population, then bringing the evidence of their slaughter to the back door, so when we walk outside, we're shocked just long enough that they sneak inside, choosing of all places to clean off after their bloody massacre, someone's pillow. And those are just our animals--don't get me started on the woodpeckers who systematically drilling holes in our house, the wasps that I'm sure are pure evil, the greedy foxes who eat ALL the chickens in one sitting, or the mice who welcome themselves into our kitchen to chew on the kids' crumbs and poop wherever they feel like it. So. Rude. And gross.
|On the right, our beautiful new bathroom floor! On the left, the subflooring in our bedroom that we've been living with for three years! I dream of carpet...someday...|
|Everybody loves Henry!|
|The girls taking a friend for a spin on Stoney.|
Keeping a garden is constant, backbreaking work--almost like having another child to take care of. But, like children, the reward is great. All year long, we enjoy the fruits of our labors and they are delicious.
The garden produce, not the children. Just to clarify.light up a campfire whenever we feel like it and take hikes in our own yard, the moon and stars are never impeded and there is a never ending supply of nature to observe. Every time, it's a memorable experience.
|Thank goodness for a large mud room, where we can hang dry clothes when the dryer goes kaput.|
|Everyone getting along. So sweet.|
Just living the dream.