Dear Followers (if there are any left),
It has been a LOOOOOOOONNNNNNGGGGG winter, hasn't it? I have single-wide trailer fever, which is the less glamorous version of cabin fever. Cabin fever brings to mind a cozy fireplace, stew on the stove and Nordic sweaters. Single-wide trailer fever, on the other hand, conjures up microwave popcorn, ratty sweatshirts and Jeopardy blaring on the television.
FaceBook has been interesting, this winter. My classmates are organizing a 21 year class reunion in August, in conjunction with a GCHS all-class reunion. Seeing all of them signing in makes me panic a little....bringing out insecurities I thought were long buried! I found myself wondering if I could somehow lose 15 pounds, get a degree in Animal Science, photoshop and re-do the yearbook pictures of myself, and volunteer in some noble cause....all in about 6 months time. Really! And before you all start telling me it's just about seeing each other again, and no one cares what you are doing or have done, I can assure you I already know that. It's crazy. My high school career was not brilliant and I don't want to have to painfully revisit those days, so I think I'm trying to distract my classmates with new stuff. Of course, no one is MAKING me go to the reunion, either.
Anyway, as God's great plan would have it, I was asked to help with a simulcast about....insecurity. I know. And I was voted Most Likely To Lead The Local Dissection And Discussion Of The Book On A Blog. Just so I can't be in denial and get out of anything, I assume.
Drats.
Valentine's Day is fast approaching...my very favorite holiday! But someone moved it up on the calendar, apparently, because I just turned the calendar over to February and only have eight days to make valentines for 80 people, AND 103 with the kids for friends, cousins and classmates. (That is, of course, an exaggeration, but sitting in front of a pile of construction paper and lace, it feels like that.) Does anyone else make valentine's by hand, anymore? Or is it all e-greetings?
You just read about my battle with the cows, I assume. Big news, there.
I finally relented and got a library card in Miles City; we'll see if that helps the book budget out.
We're going to Glasscocks for Super Bowl. Actually, we're going to Glasscocks for contact with other human beings, with the Super Bowl as a convenient reason.
Bookclub is this upcoming Thursday....stay tuned for the report!
The school bus driver for our route is leaving us, to be a minister in Harlem, Montana at the end of this month. So no bus after that! And that was our favorite part of school, too!
Also (and I've been avoiding this) Wayland's grandpa died last Saturday, and we had the funeral yesterday. Even though he had been very sick, and died at home, quietly, it was still very difficult. For some reason, funerals and memorials are harder in the winter. It's already so bleak! We saw a lot of family that we hadn't seen in a while; bittersweet gatherings.
I've missed you, this last week, and have great plans for upcoming posts. (I know. You're on the edge of your seat. Well, you'll just have to wait!)
One of my friends recently floored me with the news that he only looks at the pictures and scans the posts for mention of him. This is sort of how it went...
"You don't READ the posts?"(incredulous)
"Sometimes. If it has pictures." (flippantly)
"I thought you were following along! You said you read the blog!" (still stunned)
"Well, I don't have time to read EVERYTHING" (defensively)
"Yeah, well I take the time to look at your People of Walmart forwards..." (a bit righteous)
"Well, THOSE are hilarious! That's good stuff, there!" (on to a new topic)
(Thinking to myself, now...) "Well, there won't be anymore pictures for a long time, now. AND you may never see your name in the Chronicles again, buster." (fluffed)(and retaliatory)(I'm sure he will suffer because of it)(although now he's chortling, because he just earned an entire paragraph of dialogue)(drats)
Thanks for sticking with me during this season of blah!
Much love and many hugs, (especially to the kind reader who sent me cookies and coffee, knowing the fragility of my sanity last week)
The Farmer's Wife
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Cow-tastrophe
It started with one cow.
#920 found a little patch of alfalfa that Wayland opened up when he plowed around the yard with the tractor. She would, with great purpose, come up the hill from the feed grounds where the other cows were lollygagging, to graze near the yard. She kept one eye on the house (where squealing and barking eminates with regularity) and one eye on the rest of the cows down the hill. We named her Millie. And we thought she was cute.
Apparently, Millie could bear the secret of the alfalfa-cicles no longer, and just had to tell one of the other cows about her richness. And that cow told three of her friends. I think somewhere in the telling, the little patch of alfalfa turned into a glorious field of alfalfa, because Millie ended up with 4 or 5 cows accompanying her the next day. The 10 square inches of heavily grazed alfalfa didn't live up to the advertisement, but the little bunch of cows noticed that beyond the flimsy two rail yard fence, there were trees and sunflower stalks.
They sent a scout.
She reported back that, indeed, there was a wonderful opportunity for forage, if only they could slip through the fence. The other cows (and this is pure conjecture) basically said, "Fence, shmence!" and proceeded to make a plan to crack the yard wide open. (When you see cows with their heads together, don't be fooled into thinking they are simply trying to stay warm or keep flies off one another. They are plotting. Or gossiping. Cows are the worst gossips.)
The next day, while Millie was pretending to graze on her little patch of now-trampled alfalfa, two of the other cows slipped into the yard. The whole herd had come for the show, and they were standing by the newly discovered parking shed/cow barn.
I saw the cows in the yard and ran (in my pajamas, mind you) to put on my muck boots to run them out.
Perhaps you've seen pictures of the 4 foot drifts in our yard that support cats, dogs, birds and kids, but not adults or cows.
The two villianous cows knew exactly where I could maneuver and where I was helpless, and they sneered at me while I staggered through the drifts, trying to run them out. They'd take a couple steps toward the opening in the fence, then look at me and taunt with their ears and snooty noses in the air.
Wayland took pity and came into the yard to help. They noticed that we were playing man-to-cow offense now, the number of each being the same, and decided it would be in their best interest to leave the yard. But they were mad about it, and instead of going through the 5 foot opening in the fence, they chose to leave by jumping the fence, taking the top rail down in two different places. Aren't they spiteful, wicked creatures? And the other cows were applauding and egging them on!
It was unclear who had the victory, but they got bonus points for adding insult to injury.
Thus began the battle.
Cows love a challenge.
So far, in the last 10 days or so, they've managed to sneak in to the parking shed/cow barn in the middle of the night, jostling for position as not all 65 head will fit at once. When run out by the returning person, they are absolutely huffy and act as though WE are the interlopers.
They've discovered my front step, and delight in squeezing their bovine butts around the corner, BACK into the yard, to stand by the garden shed where they leave cow plops and chew on dried sunflower stalks.
We close the big gate from the pasture on them and they try all sorts of things to get back in....first they try to look hungry, hoping we'll take pity and open the gate. Then, seeing that our hearts have hardened (and they can't understand why) they take to L-E-A-N-I-N-G on the gate, hoping to pop it open. No dice. They stare. They glare. They pace, stopping only to glare some more.
Wayland said, last night as we were returning from Vern and Naomi's, "I'll bet they walk all the way down the hill and around to get in." Sure enough. Those old girls had figured out the OTHER open gate, down the hill from the yard and hustled around...WAY around, through another pasture....to bed down, literally, on my doorstep. And the others in the cow barn (which is no longer the parking shed), of course.
We exchanged insults, and they grudgingly allowed us to park near the house.
There are cow plops, frozen and otherwise, all around the driveway.
They always seem to get in the last word.
(To be continued....)
#920 found a little patch of alfalfa that Wayland opened up when he plowed around the yard with the tractor. She would, with great purpose, come up the hill from the feed grounds where the other cows were lollygagging, to graze near the yard. She kept one eye on the house (where squealing and barking eminates with regularity) and one eye on the rest of the cows down the hill. We named her Millie. And we thought she was cute.
Apparently, Millie could bear the secret of the alfalfa-cicles no longer, and just had to tell one of the other cows about her richness. And that cow told three of her friends. I think somewhere in the telling, the little patch of alfalfa turned into a glorious field of alfalfa, because Millie ended up with 4 or 5 cows accompanying her the next day. The 10 square inches of heavily grazed alfalfa didn't live up to the advertisement, but the little bunch of cows noticed that beyond the flimsy two rail yard fence, there were trees and sunflower stalks.
They sent a scout.
She reported back that, indeed, there was a wonderful opportunity for forage, if only they could slip through the fence. The other cows (and this is pure conjecture) basically said, "Fence, shmence!" and proceeded to make a plan to crack the yard wide open. (When you see cows with their heads together, don't be fooled into thinking they are simply trying to stay warm or keep flies off one another. They are plotting. Or gossiping. Cows are the worst gossips.)
The next day, while Millie was pretending to graze on her little patch of now-trampled alfalfa, two of the other cows slipped into the yard. The whole herd had come for the show, and they were standing by the newly discovered parking shed/cow barn.
I saw the cows in the yard and ran (in my pajamas, mind you) to put on my muck boots to run them out.
Perhaps you've seen pictures of the 4 foot drifts in our yard that support cats, dogs, birds and kids, but not adults or cows.
The two villianous cows knew exactly where I could maneuver and where I was helpless, and they sneered at me while I staggered through the drifts, trying to run them out. They'd take a couple steps toward the opening in the fence, then look at me and taunt with their ears and snooty noses in the air.
Wayland took pity and came into the yard to help. They noticed that we were playing man-to-cow offense now, the number of each being the same, and decided it would be in their best interest to leave the yard. But they were mad about it, and instead of going through the 5 foot opening in the fence, they chose to leave by jumping the fence, taking the top rail down in two different places. Aren't they spiteful, wicked creatures? And the other cows were applauding and egging them on!
It was unclear who had the victory, but they got bonus points for adding insult to injury.
Thus began the battle.
Cows love a challenge.
So far, in the last 10 days or so, they've managed to sneak in to the parking shed/cow barn in the middle of the night, jostling for position as not all 65 head will fit at once. When run out by the returning person, they are absolutely huffy and act as though WE are the interlopers.
They've discovered my front step, and delight in squeezing their bovine butts around the corner, BACK into the yard, to stand by the garden shed where they leave cow plops and chew on dried sunflower stalks.
We close the big gate from the pasture on them and they try all sorts of things to get back in....first they try to look hungry, hoping we'll take pity and open the gate. Then, seeing that our hearts have hardened (and they can't understand why) they take to L-E-A-N-I-N-G on the gate, hoping to pop it open. No dice. They stare. They glare. They pace, stopping only to glare some more.
Wayland said, last night as we were returning from Vern and Naomi's, "I'll bet they walk all the way down the hill and around to get in." Sure enough. Those old girls had figured out the OTHER open gate, down the hill from the yard and hustled around...WAY around, through another pasture....to bed down, literally, on my doorstep. And the others in the cow barn (which is no longer the parking shed), of course.
We exchanged insults, and they grudgingly allowed us to park near the house.
There are cow plops, frozen and otherwise, all around the driveway.
They always seem to get in the last word.
(To be continued....)
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