Scenes from paradise...

Yes, I AM alive, still! I've been trying for two days to download pictures of the aftermath of the storm that hit here, but every time I would attempt the download, the internet would disconnect. We have Wild Blue satellite internet, and it will be the death of me.

Wayland and I borrowed Naomi's camera to take with us, to document the glamorous life of a rancher. I know she thinks we're nuts, taking pictures of cows and tractor tires, but at least there's two nuts!

I never know how these posts are going to come out, with the pictures, so I'll try to explain each photo. But it may make no sense at all. In which case, you abandon the explanation and just look at the details in the picture....

Cow 183, who calved in the night, and agreed amicably to pose for this documentary.

We didn't give her any time to freshen up, but I think she looks pretty good.

These are the cows in "the maternity ward" who we have sorted out as being closer to calve.

They have no regard for our opinion, whatsoever, and aren't calving any faster than the ones we sorted off as late. Here they are enjoying shredded hay, breakfast of champions.

The sideways freezing icicles, next to the old shed. The wind was blowing THAT hard.

This is the dash of the feed pickup, filled with various essential components to the operation.

You see the strap of the binoculars to the left, for looking for cows and their numbers. Then there are gloves, a plastic bag of eartags and marking pen, shotgun shells, half-eaten chocolate chip cookies and the book we record numbers and notes about the cows and calves.

The Farmer, before the stress of the day had strained our relations. He didn't have a chance to freshen up, either. Notice the bushy sideburns. You can tell all the ranchers who are calving and lambing, because they don't get to town to get thier hair cut, and they start cultivating a sort of 1974 kind of look. AND they get a little defensive about it, if you hold up your fingers in the "peace" sign.

Here's #183, again, checking to see if this is her calf. They make funny little moo-coos at their babies; it's hard to describe. You know how women talk to tiny babies? That's how cows talk to calves, sometimes. I think it's so beautiful, to hear them murmuring back and forth.

Vern, putting chopped hay into the hay wagon to take out to the cows.

This is one of the calves we found that was chilled down. He'd just been born, and his mama cleaned him off good, but he was wet and cold, and his ears were starting to freeze.

So we put him in the pickup, with the heater blowing full blast, to transport him to....

...the hotbox in the shop, where he stays for an hour or two, depending on how frozen he was. This is a calf who is ready to get out. He's looking perky and dry.

Wayland with one of the calves that had been born in the barn, the night before.

So that's what we've been doing the past couple of days. Today was warmer, and the sun came out...hooray! Traci and I took the kids to preschool, but CUPS was a pretty quiet affair, since Anne was sick, so we had tea in the church basement and just caught our breath!

I hear babies stirring, awake from naps, so I'd better get off the computer. Hope you enjoy the pictures!

I don't see the tulips, Margaret...

Since I couldn't get pictures off my camera, my mother-in-law sent some from her house.

March, in Montana, ain't for sissies.

The icicles are freezing sideways!

The barn is on the far left; you can't see all the cows, but they're right next to it, and on the hill.

(Okay, you'll just have to take my word for it, but there IS a hill there!)




Pictures of Naomi's yard, toward the south. There are a lot of mad geese, I'm sure, wishing they'd stayed south a week longer...
I know a ranch wife who's probably looking at property in Arizona, right now, wishing she'd stayed south a little longer, too!

Not exactly the look I was going for...

Well, I was going to post my pictures and write about this evil spring storm that's blowing through, but I got a CF error message on my camera. The camera was quite insistant that I change the card, and even though I took it out and put it back in several times ( mistakenly thinking I could trick the camera), it still won't work. It's a pretty smart camera. I'm not getting anything by the EOS, I can tell you that.

So, I decided I'd try to find an image for "blizzard", and lo and behold, this is what I got! I'm 82 miles from the nearest DQ, mind you, so sitting here typing, looking at the picture is almost painful. Angus would say, "Hice cream? ummm...OKAY!", which means, "I'd like somma that, and it doesn't matter what you think, I already okayed it!"

Wayland, Vern and I spent all afternoon yesterday bringing cows in closer to the barns and shelter, and sorting the ones we thought might calve to keep in the pens by the barn. It's that time of year when they ALL look 6 hours away from dropping their calf, so our "In" pen was markedly larger than the "Bye" pen. And one of the "In" cows did, indeed, calve about 20 minutes after sorting. The cows hate all this nonsense, but there's not much cover on the prairie, and with the 3-6 inches of predicted snow, there's 30-40 mph wind! (In one of the pictures on the stubborn camera, you can see the snow blowing completely sideways. ) That's no good for wet baby calves.

Maggie and I fed the bum calf in the barn. Well, not exactly a bum, since her mother is laying there, too. But the cow is so sick she can't feed the calf, so it's been getting bottle fed. It was so much fun to share that experience with my daughter, since that was my favorite thing when I was a kid. When we got done, I asked her what she thought about it and she offhandedly said, "It was alright. But I REALLY like feeding bum lambs better." AND when queried as to her preference of cows, instead of black Angus, she chose purple cows. I'm afraid her ranching career may be a shaky proposition, and we should look into other vocations when the time comes to choose.

And today, the cows are calving with all their might. Wayland and I have talked about how they seem to be more likely to calve when the barometric pressure drops, and there's weather. It appears to be true, to the grief of ranchers everywhere.

I'm going to get busy, here, washing everything I can, because I don't think we'll have power much longer. I'm completely astounded it has stayed on this long!

(And despite being completely technologically impaired, I do know what to do with the CF card, I just don't have the means to fix it right now. I'm just saying that so I won't have a whole lot of helpful tech comments on the fridge door. Just tell me what's going on in your igloo, today.)

Preschool sleepover...

Alright, I'm just going to say it right now: WHY do they call them sleepovers when no-one in the entire house sleeps?

We have cousin Livvie Ann here for the night, for a "sleepover" with Maggie Bella. And it has been so fun! So far, they've worn every dress up outfit they can find, played with dolls I forgot we had, terrorized the cats outside, swung on their tummies, drank hot cocoa, watched about 4 minutes of 3 movies, ate 'asghetti, played mermaids in the bathtub, listened to 3 stories, said prayers and now are quietly giggling in their sleeping bags. So here I am, at the computer, to squelch any tiptoeing or squeals until they finally give it up and go to sleep. You see what I mean?

And the thing about sleepovers, is that someone is going to wake up in the night and throw up. It may be the little brother, it may be the dad, it may be the guest...heck, it may even be the dog! But I can guarantee it will happen. At least that's what I remember from all the sleepovers when I was a kid.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get the sausage out of the freezer because HRH's desire biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast, and their wish is my command...sort of.

Things that are older than Mike G.

1. Singer treadle sewing machines are older than Mike G.


2. Most California redwood trees are older than Mike G.


3. The Dead Sea Scrolls have been carbon dated, and appear to be older than Mike G.


4. Gene Autry films are older than Mike G.


5. I will have to do some research, but we believe cast iron waffle irons are older than Mike G.


6. Arrowheads are older than Mike G.


7. The United States Constitution is older than Mike G.


8. Some dinosaur fossils are older than Mike G.


9. Is the Bison Bar older than Mike G.? I think so.


10. Turning 40 jokes are older than Mike G., but I couldn't resist!*

*I hope we can still be friends. Happy Birthday!

The Farmer's Wife tells all...Part III

I've been studiously avoiding this question, from Princess Jennevieve...
It's a question that is asking for trouble, I think. Please keep in mind these opinions do not reflect the actual opinions of the Pluhar house, and may, in fact, be completely off base. (There's my disclaimer. You read it here.)

3. If we asked your husband, what would he say your best quality was? How about your biggest vice?

Alright, let's deal with the vice first. The word vice, defined by Webster, is an evil trait or habit. Are you kidding me? That seems a bit, I don't know...harsh, doesn't it? Do I HAVE evil traits or habits? And if I do, do I want to air them in the blog world, knowing full well family and community members are following this, whether they sign the guest book or not...? (After that diatribe, you no longer care what the vice is, I'm sure!) I think he would say it is this: procrastination. There. You have it. My evil trait or habit. Were you hoping for something more evil?

My best quality, according to my husband? That I'm a curious person. And not just in the curious-strange sense, but also in the curious-let's find out sort of way. It causes me to read a lot, talk to people I've never met, take tons of training and classes. Did I mention read a lot?

Three questions down, two to go! Stay in your seats, folks...the ending will be riveting...

"We buy and sell junk!"

I just committed to being a stop on the Cohagen Community Garage Sale, to be held in May, and the more I think about it, the funnier it is! I am ALL about garage sales...some of my best junk has come from garage sales. And community garage sales seem more efficient, make sense and have a sort of party feel to them. Like everybody got together on the same day for coffee and a clothes and Tupperware swap. Nice!

The funny part is, that unlike block-type garage sales, our garages are something like 15 miles apart from each other! So the Tour de Stuff will encompass about 60 miles, round trip. AND, get this: our customers will have to drive a minimum of 23 miles to get to the first stop! You have to really want to get some $.25 paperbacks and score big on gently used clothing!

The other funny thing, to me, is how the idea of garage sales brings out the entrepreneur in me. The minute I signed on, I started looking around my kitchen, trying to evaluate how attached I really am to that pot that is right at this minute full of macaroni, or trying to remember what sorts of sale-able things I have stored under the house. Could I make things to sell? Yeah! That's it! I'll make garden art and when people walk around looking at the yard, as they WILL do, they may buy some! And I can sell the kittens! Or throw them in bags, when the customers aren't looking. By the time they find them, they'll be so far in the tour that they won't have gas enough to turn back and return them....AND if they just leave them at the next garage, we all win.

THEN my mind goes to the yard, and my heart sinks. Do you realize how much work I have to do between now and then to make the place worthy to set up 3 card tables and a clothes rack? Maybe we can get the pergola done, get all the pots full of blooming annuals, have complimentary lemonade and ice tea with brownies on the deck...first, we have to stain the deck.... Can you rent mature trees for the weekend?

And we don't get much company here, so by the time all is said and done, I'll be thanking them as they try to get in their cars with my junk, the whites of their eyes rolling, stuffing dollar bills through the crack in the window...just so they can get away from that crazy farm wife and her kids. Only 8 more miles until the next sale stop!

Can't you see it?

Sadly, by the time the Tour de Stuff gets here, I will have probably only managed to price about 1 card table's worth of stuff, the deck will be unstained (except for the perpetual red Koolaid stains), nothing will be blooming, the customers will be politely looking at the kid's toys scattered around the yard and trying to figure out how to get out of eating the brownies offered by grubby little hands that cause the Koolaid stains on the deck. We will probably have to brand calves that day, so we will all be frazzled and I'll end up paying everyone $3.00/car to go to my mother-in-law's for some truly classy items, in a sanitary environment, where the tulips are in bloom.

And there you have it. Third Friday and Saturday in May. We buy and sell junk.

Muddled Monday Meanderings

In no particular order, you are going to have a sampling of some random little things that run through my mind, here and there, that don't deserve a post of their own.

My neice Kamryn calls me Crazy Mary, instead of Auntie Mary. Her sister, Livvie Ann, who is 3, calls me Uncle Mary, instead of Auntie Mary. This summer, we are going to have Crazy Uncle Mary's Sleepover Camp. I'm still working out the plan, but it will include sleeping in tents on the lawn, 3 wading pools, t-shirt painting, face painting, forbidden foods and a movie on the deck. (Wayland will be looking for lodging for those two days, so watch out!)

This is something I already talked to Traci about, but it's still bouncing around in my head...and NO! I wasn't under any anesthesia when I was thinking of it, either. You know Lazarus, Mary and Martha were dear friends of Jesus, right? And how Lazarus died, and Jesus brought him back from the dead. You know, Lazarus was in Heaven, glorious Heaven, with God. Then, WHOOP!,there he was, back on earth with all the earthly pain and fears again. What do you suppose Jesus told him, in explanation? Can you imagine being yanked back? And what poor little Martha must've been thinking about the laundry and bath issues? (This is why all the Bible studies I join seem to either fold or forget to tell me where we are meeting next...)

My family eats cereal and ice cream out of coffee mugs. Very portable, and your hands don't get cold holding the ice cream. I eat soup that way too, but they prefer bowls for that entree.

Do you apologize to plants when you pinch them back or accidentally yank them out, thinking they are weeds? I thought I was maybe the only one, but then I ran across this passage in People With Dirty Hands :

"When I pull up a good plant by mistake," she writes me at summer's end, "I say to myself Mr Rochester's words after his marriage to Jane Eyre is interrupted: 'Jane, if a man had a lamb that was the love of his bosom and he sent it to slaughter, he could not rue his bloody mistake more than I do.' That's if I pull a whole plant. If I cut the wrong flower, sometimes I say, 'Jane, I never meant to hurt you.' If it's only cutting a live bud when I'm deadheading, I just say, 'Jane.' They know what I mean."

And speaking of gardening...you know I was going to get there! I just watched a French movie, Jean de Flourette, and I want to recommend it to anyone who has struggled with a garden, big dreams and neighbors. It made me laugh and cry and shake my head and wish I had a friend to share the movie with and, of course, talk about it! (It's got subtitles, but if you can get past that, I highly recommend it.) And here's something funny: I'm reading the captions, right? Because I don't actually speak French. BUT the kids started squalling and I found myself shushing them! Like it would matter!

There's a music player at the bottom of this blog and it's loaded with all sorts of weird music, naturally. I have it set to where if you want to listen to the songs, you have to hit the play button yourself. This is in deference to those mommies who check blogs while their kids nap. I can just see someone sitting her poor, longsuffering self down with the much anticipated coffee to read Cohagen Chronicles, only to have Ella Fitzgerald's Cow Cow Boogie waking the baby up. I don't want to be responsible for that sort of thing. ALSO, different posts seem to need different background music...soundtrack, if you will. When you read about the kids, please try Mr. Mom or Loretta Lynn's classic, One's On The Way. Cooking posts are good with jazz. Posts about Jordan and Garfield County go nicely with the old country songs...you get the idea. Enjoy.

Okay, I think that's about all the craziness you can handle this morning. Everyone is on the mend. Be sure and read my husband's post about night calving and the skunk...made me laugh! (His blog changed, and the comments don't work...bummer. )

The dog in the picture isn't mine...I just thought it looked like most people do on Mondays...

Seed Swap Sunday

Well, it was supposed to be Seed Swap Saturday, BUT better late than never, right? Here's what I'm going to do. I'll list the seeds I have for give-aways and the seeds I'd like to get my grubby hands on. If you see anything that interests you, leave a comment. We can email addresses, then, and I'll put the seeds in the mail on Wednesday, when I take Maggie to preschool. Also, if you leave a sticky note on the fridge door (comment), I'll put your name in a drawing for a reclining ceramic frog. He's cute, kitchsy, and small enough (5 inches) that he won't make the neighbors groan if you put him in a flower pot!

Here's what I have:

1. Super Sugar Snap peas (Doesn't that remind you of Sugar Smacks cereal?)
   
2. Blue Lake bush beans
   
3. Short n' Sweet carrots (Grows in heavy soil...mine is sandy. I think Maggie threw those in the cart last year.)
   
4. Peony poppies
   
5. Cosmos
   
6. Zinnias
   
7. Sugar Sprint peas
   
8. Ruby Queen corn
   

Here's what I'd like:

1. Sweet peas (Do you think I've been buying the wrong kind of peas?)


2. Forellenschuss lettuce


3. Pinapple tomatillo


4. Four o'clocks


5. Anything that is vine-y and annual...but NOT morning glories! (That's for Eric Miller...)
   

And, if you have any compost tips, I could use them. It's always too wet, too dry, too green, too brown, too fluffy...never steaming and black. That's my goal and I'm failing miserably.

The Farmer's Wife tells all...Part II

Here's the second interview question from Princess Jennevieve:

2. You left a comment on blog about living in Vienna. What do you like and dislike about living in rural Montana? If you could move somewhere else, where would you like to live?

This is what I like:

• Space and freedom
• Really intelligent, strong, faithful, funny, authentic people around me
• Cows
• This may get me lynched, but I like the definite seasons; the cycles of the year
• Living with my hands in the dirt
• Rural schools
• My kids go to work with me, and know what it takes to care for animals and produce food

This is what I don't like:

• So hard to get away to see family who live in other states
• They don't deliver pizza or flowers here, no matter how much you beg.
• Random internet
• 27 miles from the library
• Live so far from church that we only get there sporadically, depending on the weather and the animals.

I wouldn't probably choose to live anywhere else, oddly enough! There are a lot of places I'd like to visit and explore, but I love living on a ranch and even though the mountains sometimes send their siren song winging east to my prairie, I wouldn't willingly leave to live there.

Billings, rewind...

Yup, it was a Girls Only trip, to Billings. And according to Traci, it was excruciating. Of course, she's been known to drink and blog, so take it for what it's worth.

These are my high points from the trip:

• Kafe Utza coffee...Miles City has WAY superior coffee than Starbucks, amazingly enough!
• Complete girl talk all the way to Billings; a 2 1/2 hour trip.
• Shrimp won tons, pomegranate pear martini among other good things at the Rex. (Did Traci mention she had her first martini ever? Apple-tini!)
• Hot tub at the hotel
• Cheap pedicure!
• Great moscato with bubbles!
• I watched "Jon and Kate Plus Eight" for the first time. (I like her hair!)
• Fastest IV and first time with no nausea at the dentist!

These are my low points from the trip:

• NO COFFEE ALL DAY THURSDAY!
• Didn't even darken the door of B&N...so sad...
• Unable to have complete girl talk all the way back from Billings.
• Smelling the Pickle Barrel sandwich all the way back from Billings.
• Sick babies at home and I was unable to take them to the doctor, and couldn't get anyone else to, either!
• Feeling like I was a burden on everyone.

Everything turned out okay, though. I have an implant, that's healing, and I took the kids to the doctor yesterday and found out they both have terrible ear infections, poor babies! We're all on antibiotics, AGAIN! Traci just called and despite all the torture she endured, she's bringing the kids over for a playdate, scones and Sumatra Blend coffee. The friendship survived!

This is the way we pack our bags...

I'm packing this morning for my big Billings dental trip. Traci and I are going to spend the night, after shopping for stuff, eat pizza in the hotel room, because we can, and I go under the knife tomorrow morning. (Shudder...)

I'm concerned about two things:
1. The lack of caffeine until 2 p.m.
2. Traci may take pictures of me while I'm still coming out of anesthesia and use them as black mail
fodder.

This is something I've been wanting to blog for a while, but haven't had a reason to up 'til now. It's the packing habits of men vs. women.

When a man packs for an overnight trip, this is what he takes:

• Change of underwear (hopefully clean)
• Extra pair of jeans
• Team sweatshirt (in case he goes someplace fancy for supper)
• Toothbrush and deodorant (see previous reason)
• Extra pair of socks (optional)

When a woman packs for an overnight trip, this is what she takes:

• 3 changes of underwear + 2 bras
• 2 pairs of jeans (one "skinny" pair, one comfortable pair)
• tshirt and sweats (in case she has to run to get more ice or chocolate from the vending machine)
• Swimsuit (possible pool and/or hottub at the hotel)
• 2 pairs of shoes, BESIDES the ones she's wearing
• 2 dressier outfits (in case they go someplace fancy for supper)
• 3 carefully sorted clear cases of toiletries (may do a pedicure in the hotel room, all the face spackle and makeup, hair care products)
• brush and comb
• curling/straightening iron
• 3 pairs socks or hosiery
• plastic wine glasses and travel corkscrew
• light jacket
• leather jacket
• case of medicines (in case someone gets a headache, sore throat, scratch, cold, can't sleep, forgot thier prescription)
• camera (to capture the travel moments)
• book and magazines (in case the television at the hotel only gets 180 of the promised 278 channels)
• Bible (because if you were in an accident, you would want this reported to your mother...I actually kind of like the Gideon Bibles)
• emergency food (in case the vending machine doesn't accept anything smaller than a $20)
• towel (optional)

Go figure.

Don't wear white...

So, I've been doing laundry this week, embarrassed into it by my husband's commando comment on his blog. And as I chuff the clothes in the washer and haul them to the kitchen table to fold, I've noticed we really don't have a lot of whites. (Besides the much whined about underwear...)

Here's a tip, if you come to visit the Farmer's Wife: Don't wear white. It will come here white...glowing, fresh and crisp...and it will leave here a little, um, mottled or pinkish or tannish.

Here's the reason: If my kids like you, they will swarm you, and whatever unknown substances that are attached to them will transfer to you. AND we may have to hop on the four wheeler for an impromptu bovine relocation assignment. Whatever is on the four wheeler will transfer to you, as well as whatever flies up from the wheels. AND when we get home, we'll dutifully squirt the white article of clothing with Spray and Wash, and launder it, but because of rust in the water, it will acquire a different sort of finish. That tannish thing I was talking about.

It occurred to me that you could probably place the location of someone's home in Garfield County by the color of thier"whites"....I'm thinking within 10 miles, at least. At Big Dry School, there was a lot of coal in the water, so the whites were gray. There are places the water comes out of the faucet a delicate shade of orange, and those whites are yellowish. Here at my house, you can't see the rust, because we were told it's "ionic", but it will turn things tan OR, my personal favorite, mottled. (Resembles the giraffe print on my handbag. Nice, huh?)

This has been a public service announcement. (My posts are dramatically shortened when the kids wake up and Wayland comes back from the barn...)

The Farmer's Wife tells all..Part I

I'm never sure who's really reading this, so here's a disclaimer: I signed up for 5 interview questions from Princess Jennevieve, and if you aren't ready for unvarnished, unplugged Farmer's Wife opinion, you may want to check out another blog. I'd suggest Country Wife, Country Life...she's not controversial and has great pictures of Montana. Keep in mind Princess Jennevieve and I have never met, face to face, so she made up the interview questions with just the information from my blog.

So, without futher ado or warning, Interview Question #1:

1. Your house is burning and you, your family, and pets have all been safely evacuated. What 3 things do you grab on your way out of the house and why?

First of all, this is a question that has kept me awake at night many times. After much reflection, this is what I came up with.

First, I'd grab my Bible. My folks gave it to me for Christmas when I was a Junior in high school, and it has traveled many life journeys with me. When some photo or note is especially meaningful to me, I stuff it in my Bible, which is causing great stress to the binding, but nothing Gorilla glue can't fix. I have obituaries, birth announcements, marriage announcements, handprints, notes from family and friends, and my funeral plans in the back. (You can never be too prepared. Right down to the list of songs to be played there and pall bearers. ) So it's the Word of God and the story of my life. Handy, huh?

Secondly, I'd grab my camera. It has become an extension of my person, and I feel lost without it! Besides, with my procrastination tendencies, it has all the pictures I haven't printed...500 of them, so it's like grabbing a scrapbook.

Thirdly, and again, sometimes it's a blessing to procrastinate, I'd grab that big file box of photos of my kids and friends and family. If I had it all together, they'd comprise 18 scrapbooks, but I haven't had the time to paste them in. It would appear that it's easier to grab and carry the valise o' photos than 18 scrapbooks, so that'll work.

Stay tuned for Parts II-IV.

Happy birthday, little dog!

Molly turns 10 years old on St. Patrick's day this year. And make no mistake about it, she's my dog. In her little world, the ladder looks something like this: Molly, Mom, (this one is tricky...Vickie or Marisa) friends, bunnies, the guy who feeds her, his offspring. She ranks the guy who feeds her second to the bottom because he shoots guns, just to fray her nerves. If he didn't distribute dog food, he wouldn't make the ladder at all. The kids are there because they drop food...there's really no other reason to have kids around, because they shriek unexpectedly, and take the good spots on the couch and bed.

Molly knows how to roll over, shake, balance a treatie on her nose until she gets the nod, sit and down by hand commands, the alphabet. I can ask her if she likes the Broncos?...no response....the Cowboys?....no response....San Fransisco?....barking and some excitement, so a treatie. I can shuffle the treatie under my hand and she'll tap the right one. When she needs to go out at night, she "whispers" her wuff, and if given the shush signal, can bark with her mouth closed. We spent a lot of time together, alone, in a trailer house those first couple of years!

The week Angus was born, Maggie was horribly sick and it was harvest time. I had to take the kids to Miles City to the doctor...Angus was only 4 days old...and they wanted to hospitalize Maggie, because of dehydration and fever. I had had NO sleep, and was nearly wild with worry, when Wayland called and said, " I ran over your dog. With the loaded grain truck. I don't think she's going to make it." My mom and sister drove my car north, and met him, and picked up my dog to bring to Miles City to the vet, while I nursed the babies, and cried, and prayed. Wayland had given me enough information that I was sure I wouldn't see her alive, but when I got to the vet's, they said they couldn't find anything broken, and she was trying to wiggle at me! We finally got home that night, and Wayland assured me he had completely and accidently run right square over her body, because he felt the speed bump sort of feeling in the truck.

Now, the crazy thing is that I truly believe God had His hand over that little dog, because I couldn't take another thing, not one more thing. I've not seen miracles, much, or maybe never recognized them until later, and I will never understand why a dog's life was spared, but others lose those people dearest to them. She's been my constant sidekick for 10 years, now, and I'm grateful everyday for her little presence in my life.

Pot O' Gold

The treasure isn't always really obvious, despite the cartoon depictions of the leprechaun, rainbow and gold. I'm surrounded by little people everyday, and sometimes I miss it. (Of course, they don't have beards and a lilt, but they do jig, especially when they have to go potty, and they play tricks, just ask the cats with nervous tics...) Sometimes I think the rainbows come from the spray of water from the tub, during bathtime, or tears when Barbie doesn't fit in the horsetrailer.

My treasures are tiny gems, hidden in the dirt of the day. I need to watch for them, because sometimes I miss the little hand that pats mine, when I'm picking up the 200 miles of Thomas traintrack, or the slobbery smooch as I hand over the "cocoa bobboo". (Chocolate milk...in code.) When the dog collapses beside me in companionship, or the cat escapes the Little People Castle/Torture Chamber and seeks me out for a minute of purring. When new friends call, out of the blue, and make me laugh, or when old friends call, predictably, to share stories from the trenches...those are gems. My husband clears the table, because he can tell that picking up another Honey Nut Cheerio may just put me over the edge, or when he makes me coffee, for no real reason at all, or laughs at my corn-ball sense of life. He's a gem!

As I write, my mind starts thinking of all little treasures in a day; all the people and blessings that I've been missing, and the pot is running over with jewels of joy, moments of gold, silly silver seconds and diamond days. My prayer is that I will learn to see not an empty life, but all the amazing gifts, and be able to fill other people's heart pots.

(And if I was a good writer, I'd stop there, but I just can't. Because you know, I keep thinking that the overflowing pots are usually the toilets in this house, and you don't want to know about the treasure I find there. )

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Ten things about the man of my dreams...

Were you thinking this would be a post about George Strait trivia?

Wayland...I'm talking about Wayland, my husband!

1. He lived in Hawaii for 3 1/2 years. BEFORE me.


2. He can't eat tomatos. Ketchup, yes. Salsa, yes. Tomatos, no. Yeah, I don't understand either.


3. He lived in the high school dormitory the same time I did, but I was a Senior and he was a Freshman, so I only remember him vaguely from that time. Since Jordan had SUCH a big school (89 students that year) and I was SUCH a bigshot (bookworm).


4. He's been to Japan, Korea, Phillipines, Canada and Mexico. And has the currency to prove it. He drifted by Guam.


5. He hates farming in real life, but he has two virtual farms. Go figure!


6. He's stone tone deaf, and can't hear a beat. Remember the kid in Mr. Holland's Opus who wore a football helmet while they beat the rhythm out on the side of his head? That's my baby!


7. He once ate an entire fish (literally, the ENTIRE fish) with chopsticks.


8. He's a metal fabrication artist...can create ANYTHING out of metal, with only a drawing on a napkin for a diagram.


9. He didn't BLINK at $10,000 to save a completely worthless Irish Sitter (sic), but whines incessantly about the estimated $3000 to fix his wife's teeth. (He suggested this little comment, so it wasn't me...)


10. He loves dogs...as evidenced by #9...and if he wasn't governed by time and space, he'd rescue every dog that comes across the t.v. screen as needing a good home.

Isn't he cool? And he just changed the most atrocious diaper. What a guy!

I'm waiting for his list of 25 random things. Turns out, we're finding out more about each other by reading our spouse's blogs. Now, how sad is that?!

The Raisin' O' The Roof

For the Garfield County Library, that is!

Tomorrow, March 15th, the Garfield County Library is having a pancake supper to raise funds for repairing the roof on the building, AND, I'm assuming, doing any other structural repairs they can.

Where? The Jordan VFW Hall

When? Sunday, March 15th, from 4-8 p.m.

Knowing Janette, our crazy librarian, costumes will be encouraged. She's a blast! If you come, just to see what she's wearing, it will be worth it.

Please come, (if you don't live in Idaho, Florida, Washington or the Dominican Republic...) and help support this little library with big problems!

Putting out pairs...

Brand new baby by the barn...I love the corrugated tin in the background!

This is one of the heifers and her calf that we hauled this morning. After they calve, they spend a little time in the "maternity ward" until the calf is strong and we know he's nursing well. Then they get hauled in the horsetrailer to a nursery pasture.
This baby is soaking up the sunshine, in the corral, next to the water tank. Those black baby calves are like little solar panels! The red tag tells that this is one of Linda's calves; Vern's cousin that we lease pasture from. I was laying on my stomach, in the alley, taking this picture...I think Vern thought I'd lost it. Again.

While Wayland hauled pairs with the trailer, I got to feed the old cows, who aren't calving yet. This is the feed pickup, with a cake feeder mounted right behind the cab, and hydraulic bale handler. And about 200 lbs of gumbo mud clinging to the frame. I love it because it's an automatic transmission, and MUCH easier to back up and load those round bales.

Little known fact #264: I'm TERRIBLE at backing up with mirror. Attach a horse trailer, and it'll take me 20 minutes. Don't tell Vern.

Two of the pairs Wayland hauled to the Jacobson place, checking out thier new digs. Montana in March is SO dismal and cold! But in about 10 days, it'll start greening up a little. And by the end of April, the green will take your breath away.

Have I mentioned that I love cows?

And I love living on a ranch in Eastern Montana.

And I hope you look at these images with generosity of heart, because to me they are beautiful and honest.

March Bookclub Report

Ah, yes, another action packed post from the Farmer's Wife...

Do you have your coffee and tirimisu ready?

Alright, here we go.

The Underground Bookclub met at Clara's house to discuss John Moore's book Loosening The Reins, with the very rare privilege of having the author present! John and Debbie Moore live just north of Miles City...a native son...and they graciously consented to a grilling by the bookclub. Well, we told them it would just be spaghetti and meatballs, but we had our questions all ready. We were going to go easy on him at first, but then get him with the zingers when he was trying to elegantly eat spaghetti.

*A side note here. If you have a guest who may accidentally intimidate you, serve spaghetti and meatballs. It's the great leveler of classes. Have you EVER been able to get around a plate of spaghetti, without slapping some of it on either your face, shirt or neighbor? Perhaps they should serve that at those stuffy White House dinners, with visiting diplomats from the Middle East. And the women could just suck the noodles through those little air holes in their burka hoods! But I digress...

We were missing a couple of bookclub members, sadly. I won't give you their real names, but "Feather", "Shelma" and "SethAnn" all had really good reasons to be gone. Calving came up frequently as an excuse, but Karen saw "Shelma" at the grocery store on her way to Lewistown for a rendezvous, so that alibi is busted...

Conversation was lively and we learned a lot about the craft of writing. At one point, Mr. Moore mentioned that we would make a good cast for a murder mystery novel, and proceeded to go around the table pointing out personality types. (Flake, Deep thinker, Has unplumbed depths, Down to earth, Mysterious, Lived a lot, English teacher) Yeah, I know. Now you are trying to go around the table in your head, placing people. He said you might do that.

Our menu was Mama Clara's Italiano Spaghetti and Meataballsa, tossed salad, cheesy garlic bread, green AND black olives, cheese stuffed pimento celery sticks, 4 bottles of wine, coffee and purtineer tirimisu. And wine.

AND at one point a tall, handsome, mysterious man drifted through the party, murmuring something about the grocery store. A brazen bookclubber requested dark chocolate. Twenty minutes later, the man returned with two huge bars of the darkest chocolate he could lay hands on in Jordan Montana, and was rewarded with hugs and kisses. He stuck around for a while after that. Too bad we are all married and so is he.

It was a really enjoyable evening, and we didn't let having the author restrain us. He, on the other hand, may never be the same. I asked Debbie to come back another time and give us the real stories, but I'm not sure she'll return, either. Unless Marisa makes more of that tirimisu... Have mercy, girl!