Treasures in the Bathroom

Please, let me show you my dream bathroom...

Truth be told, I googled "spa-like bathrooms" and came up with this.

If this was in my house, it would take up half of the main floor's square footage. 

Even though it looks like you could eat off the floor of this bathroom, 

it might be a touch awkward when guest came over for a meal.

"Welcome to our home! [said with Martha enthusiasm] 

We juts remodeled and added a 700 square foot spa bathroom. 

The living room, dining room, and kitchen had to go... but isn't it beautiful?"

I'm temped, but will keep our modest accommodations (all 28 square feet of them) in the washroom.

Especially when my house's bathroom is perfectly adequate. 

Toilet.

Tub.

Sink.

What more could a girl want?

There is a lot of danger in letting my mind dream of "what if...?" in the terms of remodeling my adequate, functional, quaint farmhouse into a chic spa.

Because reality is.... 

I live in a farmhouse.

With a farmer.

And three farm kids.

Today I found a plastic bug in the tub and I thought it was real.

[Thank you Jr. Master Gardener Camp for providing my daughter with such a "fun" toy]

I also saw turkey lunch meat on top of the toilet lid and I screamed.

*I'm not sure what my brain went to first as it tried to process the site... a pile of fleshy skin maybe?!! 

That isn't realistic at all. 

Lunch meat makes a whole lot more sense.

And then there are the dirty hand prints. Dirty foot prints.

We LIVE in this space. I clean it, get freaked out by what I find and move on.

And what more could you want out of a bathroom?

Ode to Wheat

This is taken in the wheat field by our house, summer 2010

• Farmer's receive about 4 cents of the cost of a loaf of bread sold at retail.

• A single bushel of wheat (about 1 million kernels) will make 73 loaves of bread, 53 boxes of cereal or 72 pounds of tortillas.

• An acre of wheat can produce enough wheat to furnish a family with bread for nearly 10 years.

• It takes a combine nine seconds to harvest enough wheat to make 70 loaves of bread.

• The United States uses over 3 million bushels of wheat each day.

• Wheat was first planted in the United States in 1777 as a hobby crop.

 (Wheat Marketing Center and Idaho Wheat Commission Statistics, as seen in Capitol Press).

Raw Hide!

There was a day in the not-too-distant past when I new nothing, literally nothing, about agriculture. My dad's family had a farm when he was young and inevitably at family gatherings, talk would turn to the good ol' days on the farm. What I heard: "Bwa, bwa, bwa, bwa, bwa, bwa." I had no interest in farming, or tractors, or cows. I should have been listening more closely, it would have saved me from looking like a complete idiot on a daily basis. See the "howdy wave" post.

I married a farmer not because I loved farming, but because I fell in love with this guy's forearms and he happened to be a farmer. Perhaps part of my allure was that I was a blank slate. In a good way of course. I didn't know the difference between a John Deere and a New Holland. I truly thought that farmers chose the paint color for whatever tractor based on whether they liked red, or blue, or green. Like cars.

I also thought that a cow was a cow was a cow. What's the difference between a steer and a bull? No idea. A Jersey and a Black Angus? I'm hungry for a hamburger for some reason.

The road to understanding this great life in agricultural has been a fascinating one. And occasionally painful to my nose (manure) and my laundry pile (manure again).

Last week we sold our calves as we do every year at this time. Occasionally I long for my innocence before I understood the hard, tiring work that goes into growing things from scratch. I miss the days when I thought that bread came from the store, McDonald's served yummy hamburgers, and fruit magically appeared in the produce department at Safeway.

Ignorance is bliss and you'll never be the same again....

The calves are usually born in the spring. That happens because of strategic planning with the bulls. Kind of takes the romance out of it. The cows have their babies and graze on the fertile fescue fields all summer. The calves are so cute scampering about in the sunshine.

When the rain comes and the fields get too muddy for grazing in the late fall, the hardworking farm guys move all the cows, and their calves to the barn at our house. At this point, Jeff monitors and feeds them morning and at night, 7 days a week.

There are some icky details that I will spare you like how a boy cow goes from bull to steer and how the calves are taken away from their mamas and cry all night long.

The general purpose of bringing them into the barn is to feed them and fatten them up. Jeff and his dad grow their own hay, straw, and grain, and then feed it through the winter. A nice situation economically speaking, although it assures that the work is never done.

When the calves are about a year old, it's time for selling. The price goes by weight, so in this instance, chubby is better. The calves are marched through this chute into a trailer.








Goodbye our beautiful bovine! Emma cried really hard, finally understanding this year what the process was all about. With young kids, every moment of conversation is a teachable moment. Lately, Emma has been asking what kind of animal we are eating at our meals. Ham = pig, hamburger = cow, chicken = chicken, and so on. As the cows were being loaded and taken away Emma asked, "Are you going to eat me for meat when I die?" A teachable moment about cannibalism.








Mmmm. Tastes like chicken.







The calves were taken away in style. This trailer is double decker with a lovely sweeping staircase in the foyer. Sure, the occomodations were tight, but with such luxurious surroundings, no one was complaining. Very much.


The buyer of our cows will take them to his feed lot and probably sell them for slaughter [tried to find a nicer word than slaughter and couldn't find one] in late summer after they put on even more weight.


In our lot remains the mama cows who are oblivious to the process, but I imagine they notice it is much quieter now. They will go on to meet with their favorite bull of the month and have more babies to scamper about in the sunshine. And so it continues....

Things I've learned on the farm: the "howdy" wave

When I was preparing to marry a farmer, I really, really, really thought that farming was an occupation. Like any other occupation. It was no different than marrying a dentist, or an accountant, or a bell boy.

I was in for some culture shock.

Farming is a way of life, not just an occupation. It is like a whole little sub-culture out here in the sticks. My life in town with neighbors 10 feet from my back door is long gone. I've learned about 45,000 things since becoming a farmer's wife. I have a lot of catching up to do because country kids know the difference between a New Holland and a John Deere before they can walk. I just learned the difference when I was about 25 years old.

During my first summer season on the farm, I began to notice my husband waving at vehicles he passed on the rural roads around the farm. I didn't know who these people were. I would ask, "Who's that?" Sometimes he would respond with "That's Big John," or "One of Horton's crew," and sometimes he said, "I have no idea, it's just what you do."

The wave. Of course I wanted to fit in, so I started waving at everyone I saw when I was in my little green Jetta. If I was on the road and you happened to pass me, watch out.

(Please note: the dinner plate serves as the steering wheel in this reenactment)

I didn't realize there is a technique along with subtle nuances that turn a good "howdy" wave into "what the heck is wrong with that city girl? There must be a bee in her car."

It took me years of practice to master the wave. Let me share with you the secret, to spare you the embarrassment I've faced.  The secret is not to lift your hand from the steering wheel, just the four fingers on top of the wheel. Sort of a salute.

It's not fool proof. You must also learn to control your expression. Play it cool instead of conveying, "I haven't seen another person in 14 days, I'm desperate for human interaction. You complete my existence."

Don't shake your fingers around in a faux wave. It is too much. For this kind of energy, consider starting a blog. It worked wonders for me.

(Not for use within the city limits)

Move hand to top of steering wheel and lift just 4 fingers. Include a head nod, if you dare. A head nod says, "Ya, I belong. You belong. We all belong. Howdy neighbor."

These days I drive a minivan and still don't blend well in the country. I pull out my "Howdy" wave only for vehicle/drivers I recognize from a distance. My main occupation here on the farm is meal delivery service to the stars and child care provider to the future farm hands of america. If I am needed and those in charge want to risk me driving some valuable farm vehicle, I wave at all other farm vehicles. It is what you do. I blend. It is beautiful.

Until next time when talk about the art of watermelon seed spitting and corn husking.

Field Report

It occurred to me that I haven't done a farming post in awhile. You've probably noticed that everything is green and beautiful and if you have allergies, they are bugging you full-tilt about now. That is because the farmers have started cutting for hay and the pollen is a floatin'. They'll be busy cutting and then bailing for the next month or so in the Valley.

Jeff was about a mile down the road from us this afternoon, so we went for a walk. We went by and then through our wheat field, such a pretty color of green. It always amazes me the transformation from the grassy green looking field in the spring to golden ripe stocks of wheat by mid summer.

You can see the wheat berries peaking out of the stock.

I'll take more pictures as this field changes. I may be the only one who finds the changing fields fascinating, but I have to do something to pass the time -- the hard working farmer isn't around much these days.

The girls enjoy our outings in the sunshine as much as I do. Man, those rainy days are hard on a mama and her Little Ones! Emma rides her bike, although she would really prefer to take the Gator. And Mandy is relegated to the stroller. She yelps and screams and cries and groans, wishing she was able to ride a bike too, or even walk, or run.  It is a rough life for the little sister. I think even the position in the above picture would be preferable. Don't ask me why, but both girls love to cram themselves into the bottom shelf of the stroller. There is a big sticker that says, "Not a seat." They can't read.

Jeff was discoing with his new iPod

Recently we joined the rest of the world and bought an iPod. Jeff wanted one for some time so that he can listen to it while working. He spends hours and hours in combines or tractors and some of the machinery have tape players/just am radio/just fm radio or one has nothing at all. He becomes a bit of a crazy man after listening to only am radio all day or, worse yet, being in a cocoon of silence all day. The iPod was a great idea, but we couldn't figure it out. As with everything Apple related (my computer is a good example), once I knew what I was doing it seemed SO easy. In the midst of it though, I felt like a bone-head. Thanks to my friend, Jenni, the iPod is up and running and has enough lectures on Revelation to entertain Jeff for hours on end. The Jr. High class that Jeff teaches is going through the book of Revelation and he studies for the lesson throughout the week.

Jenni came to spend some time just "hangin' out." She is used to her friends having kids and knows that there isn't a lot of down-time, but life is really different on the farm. I think she said a total of 14 times, "How do you do this?" It varied a little with, "Why do you do this?" and "I couldn't do this." The baby was crying for more food from the high chair as I buzzed randomly around the kitchen trying to pack the lunch while Emma ran around showing off, changing clothes, trying to get glue and buttons out to make Jenni a picture all while I attempted to carry on a normal conversation. Usually I pack lunch without another adult around so I can throw Mandy food, Emma is much calmer, and I don't attempt to carry on a conversation with anyone. I take lunch to Jeff because he can't come home, it just isn't feasible and I want to see him. The girls do too. So, Jenni came with us on our daily ritual and we had a picnic in the dirt in the field where Jeff was disking -- using the tractor to pull the disc, putting all that straw stubble under the dirt. 

Interruption: my spell checker didn't like "disking" and wanted to substitute "discoing" -- Jeff was discoing. LOL, now I need no more laughs in my day.

"Where is the closest bathroom?" "Do you let Mandy eat the dirt?" "Why can't you turn off the tractor?" "Are you out here by yourself or can other people disc at the same time?" "How long does this take?"

I love Jenni's interest. She is a city girl through and through.
The 3 of us have been friends for almost 8 years, but there are a lot of everyday details that are still a puzzlement to the city folks. They are a puzzlement to me too. Now, why do I let my baby eat dirt and watermelon in the same meal?

These 2 were matching. Too cute.

It was a fun day. I learned a little about the outside world where people eat veggie wraps from restaurants for lunch and I was able to download stuff to the iPod. It was great! And Jenni learned a little what it is like to be a farmer's wife/mom in my very dusty, rarely clean, but blessed life. I love easy friendships that take no more work than a drive to the country.

Hey, there's some hay!

I don't have pictures right now to show you the difference between hay and straw, but I can give you some pointers so you can tell for yourself and protect you from any "hay" blunders. Generally speaking, hay bales are green. The grass is cut green and is very nutritious for the live-stock to eat. Straw on the other hand is a very blond/yellow color. Also, the time of year you see the bales will help you differentiate. Hay is cut earlier than straw, in May and June. Straw is taken and baled after the harvest, so you will see it in all its *blond beauty in July and August. Of course hay and straw are hauled all year on trucks, so you will need to look closely if you are out of season. It can be tricky, but I hope this helps!

*My farmer husband was completely opposed to me using the word "blond" to describe the color of straw. I'm just trying to be descriptive. I am not a farmer, I just work here.

On a walk/ride

I love walking. It is a break. It is a release. It is relaxing and exhilarating. I try to walk every day, rain or shine and was up to 3 miles up until a few weeks ago. I would trudge out the door frustrated and irritated, but come home tired, but refreshed with 2 girls in the stroller bored and ready to play nice again.

Then a few weeks ago, Jeff accompanied me on a walk and allowed Emma to ride her bike instead of ride in the double stroller. She did really well on that ride, obeying immediately when we told her to go off to the side to let cars pass. The road where we live is not very busy and has a nice wide shoulder. So, you don't have to be a parenting genius to figure out what has occurred every day since.... Emma wants to ride her bike. She is up to 1 1/2 miles now and I am very impressed with her.

I walk along behind her and she keeps me at quite a peppy pace. Too bad the way home is UP hill. She usually gets tuckered out and then we have a tired girl and a bike to deal with. I put the bike up on the top of the stroller (boy, it is heavy) and Emma resumes her seat in the nice, practical double stroller. Yes, I am still getting my work-out.

Someone commented the other day that I was lucky that I had lost the baby weight. I smiled sweetly. I don't know why I do that when really I am seething inside. Lucky? Maybe lucky because I skipped dessert and went for a walk. I don't feel especially lucky after pushing a 30 pound stroller with a 30 pound bike on top with a 30 pound kid and 18 pound baby in it... and I am still craving dessert.
Along the way, we see the sights of the country. Hey that's a good lookin' farmer out raking.

The tractor he was driving makes a put-put sound. It makes me smile. It reminds me of a song (the ring tone that announces my husband's calls):

She thinks my tractor's sexy. It really turns her on. She's always smiling at me as I'm chugging along. ... she's even kinda crazy about my farmer's tan...

This is a creek that we see along the way. Anyone want to go swimming. The sun may be shining, but it is still 58 degrees outside. 

Lunch brought the men to my deck for hamburgers. Janice found us at lunch time too. It is funny the way farm life works. Some days we are bored to tears and don't see anyone. I go stir crazy and invent things to do to see them. Then one day, they work by my house, and need food. I love when they need food. It gives me something to do. I feel so farmer's-wife-ish, rustling up grub for the men folk (and me, Emma, Mandy, and Janice).