The light on this is not great, but I love how free Maggie looks and how big the sky is.

Check this out...

It's very seldom I read an article on the internet that I want to pass on. It's even more rare that I want to stand up, after reading one, and shout, "AMEN, Brother! Preach on!"

I happened upon a blog that was discussing vegetarian vs. omnivorian lifestyles, and took the time to comment...quite strenuously, as you may have guessed. I was reading through the other comments, an article kept popping up in those who supported the meat-eating faction, so I thought I'd go there and see what was so outstanding about this piece of journalism.

There's no way for me to do the article justice. I encourage you to read it, by the link I'll put here, if you eat food. Yes, that's right, just if you eat food. Which, in my estimation, will cover the entire population....

Tell me what you think, after you get done with The Ominivore's Delusion.

Oh, For Tech's Sake!

Some of you know that I really, really love football. Some of you know that I really, really, really love the Texas Tech Red Raiders. Some of you know that I also really, really love my friends, Scott and Traci Glasscock who love the Texas Longhorns. Some of you know that three of us friends have a girl's weekend for our birthdays in September, and the husbands join us on Day 2. It's the best weekend of the year, and we all look forward to it and hang on to the promise of it when things are going rough the rest of the year.

I just looked at the Red Raider's football schedule.

Yes, as you can see, my Red Raiders play their Longhorns on Couple's Night of the getaway weekend. When we are supposed to be sitting in Old Piney Dell Restaurant, plowing our way through the best food to be had in the great state of Montana. When we are celebrating Traci's and my birthday. When we laugh and drink outrageous wine and talk about anything but kids and farming.

This is going to be a SERIOUS test of our commitment to friendship, tradition, and sportsmanship.

I just have to say this: Last year, the Red Raiders, in a stunning ESPN-worthy moment, dehorned Texas in a really big, televised game. So the Horns are out for revenge. AND this 2009 game is televised, on ABC.

SO....

Scott Glasscock and I will be sitting there, at the restaurant, trying not to bolt to the nearest television, and making small talk with the others while trying to hurry them along with their steaks and twice baked potatoes. And I realize not everyone is quite as excited about football as I am, so I'm going to work on cultivating some self-control between now and then.

And I also realize the odds of the Red Raiders winning this game are not all that encouraging (Texas is #2 in the pre-season polls), but anything can happen, you know?

Mercy!

Stay tuned, the weekend of September 18-20th, to find out how it ends. (Hopefully, not the friendship...)

Bulls

Today is Day 3 of the Bull Removal and Relocation program, a job we do every early August. They've been in with the cows for a little over a month, taking care of business, and now it's time they come home, to rest up and prepare for NEXT June. Yeah, it takes them that long.

As you know, when we move cows, I wear makeup and earrings, because it's good to remind the guys that there is a woman in the mix. It doesn't seem to create any more empathy or leniency, but at least they are reminded. But when I get ready to move bulls, I always think, "It's so I'll look good in the ambulance."

I'll tell you right here and now that I am really scared of bulls. My Dad did a good job of putting the fear of those black devils in me, and I've seen what they can do. They weigh over 2000 lbs, easily, and they don't care if they smash whatever is in their way. Yesterday, one of them shoved another with all his might, and the underdog's leg snapped, in two. Their legs are BIG, like the rest of their bodies, and it just popped like a twig.

We are on 4-wheelers, and there's no protection, to my perception. To the bulls, we are just really irritating flies with wheels. And my father-in-law and husband really and truly expect me to wade in there and show them who's boss. Neither the bull, nor I, are really convinced of that. It's some pretty high adreneline stuff, considering we are in rough country, the bull has the weight and mobility advantage, and knows the pasture better than me. I keep telling myself that I can do long division and he can't, but somehow that's not all that reassuring, the idea of superior intelligence. And if you take a whole person, and divide them up into the parts that a bull could make you, it's less comforting. Perhaps I should look into another example of higher thinking....

And the guys really are not all that worried or concerned, and they are rather amused by the bulls, after they ram them with their 4-wheelers and shout obscenities at them. And they know I'm scared, so that makes it a little more amusing.

My Dad wouldn't let us near the bulls, and I remember him on one occasion, using buckshot on a bull. I have a lot of respect for that man. If I had had a gun yesterday, I think I would've used it. But the job has to be done, and we are down to using women in the mix. It's a hard-won privilege, to be allowed to help with the cows, and I really do love being out there. With the COWS.

So, I see by the clock that the hour has come to face the job. My funeral plans are in the front of my Bible, along with the list of pallbearers and choice of minister. (You laugh; it's true!) I'm going to wrastle the kids into the car and haul them to Grandma's house, and put on my Texas Tech cap and Nutra-lix sweatshirt for courage, and wade in. (That's the best I can do, armor-wise. Sad, sad, sad...)

The Chronicles continue....

*Update: I lived! Unfortunately, the bull with the broken leg did not. There is no way to repair a broken leg on a bull, and we were unable to get him to the sale barn in Miles City. If we had taken him to the sale barn, he would've had to have been able to walk off the trailer on his own power, AND not have a fever, which he almost certainly would've had, in order to sell him through the ring. And we had just taken another lame bull to the packing plant for hamburger, so there was no possible way to salvage the meat. A sad ending for the bull, but I'm glad he isn't hurting anymore. Without being unnecessarily graphic, the leg was only held on by hide. It was awful and this was the right thing to do.

We only have one more bunch of bulls to get, and we're going to wait a few days on them. The guys are working on getting the combine running for harvest, and grain cleaned out of the bins. There's so much tension, because we are teetering at the edge of harvest, and it continues to shower, the hoppers continue to close in, and the crops are ripening unevenly. Without a big heat blast, to finish it up, the crops languish. And every rain lowers the protein in the seed heads, which is the big nutrient, and the higher the protein, the better the money. It's a nail biter, I tell you, this ranching business! More later...

Ten Commandments of Coffee (according to me...)

1. Thou shalt have no beverage before coffee. In the morning, that is.
2. Thou shall NOT REHEAT old coffee left in the carafe, defiling the sacred cup. (And you know who you are....) There's always time to make one little fresh serving. Or to swing by a coffee shop, if thou art in a civilized geographical location.
3. Thou shall buy fresh beans, not grounds.
4. Thou shall not hoard thy fresh beans. Buy in smaller packages, and if they are in danger of going stale, have a coffee klatch to use them up.
5. Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's espresso machine. Make the best coffee thy can within thy means, and be grateful for thy French press.
6. Thou shall NOT consume or serve decaffienated coffee between the hours of 4 a.m. and 2 p.m.
7. Thou shall NOT BREW WEAK COFFEE. It is better to not brew coffee at all, than to dishonor the sacred bean in this manner.
8. Thou art prohibited from referring to instant granules and tiny tea-bags o'java granules as coffee. They also defile the sacred cup.
9. Thou shall consume coffee in conservative amounts on six days of the week, but on the seventh day, thou may pour an extra cup on the day of rest. (There are some, again, you know who you are, who abstain everyday except Wednesdays and Saturdays. Thou art twisted, sad individuals, and I am praying for you.)
10. If thine office coffee offends thee, step up and provide good coffee for the work force when thy can. They shall fall down and call you blessed, and thine influence will extend far beyond those generous carafes.

I just can't help it...

If you are looking for something to make you smile, if not out-right laugh, try http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/ (The description is: When Professional Cakes Go Horribly, Hilariously Wrong. They speak the truth.) On the right hand side-bar, there's a category called "Beyond Bizarre" that is not to be missed. I laughed until I had tears! Of course, it may be funnier to those of us who have attempted to decorate a cake, but they are still pretty humorous.

This is an example of one of the cakes....Peeps, for a wedding cake.

I may live in a trailer, and drink wine from a box, occasionally, but I've managed to avoid faux pas such as this.......so far.

Out of the nest

Daddy bird, swooping around to protect the little ones.Mama bird, calm as usual. Probably tuckered out from fetching up grasshoppers for...

....the Baby birds, who finally ventured out of the rain gutter nest and on to the roof.

Aren't they just funny? Fat little things!

We've been watching the story unfold all summer. This little bird couple built a nest in the end of our rain gutter, the end of May, and hung on with great tenacity through some real gully-washers in June. The last 2 weeks, they've been working themselves to a frazzle, feeding TWO little grubby babies. We're all shocked they made it through all the weather, and I've been trembling at the thought of them being "discovered" by our cats. I think they're going to make it. The parents are incredibly protective, and our cats are big chickens. These are the birds Maggie has been praying for. (And me, too, truth be told!)

Written and Illustrated

A story...written, illustrated, published and bound by Her Royal Highness Maggie Isabella:Once upon a time there was a fairy named Maggie...
All the fairies danced around a flower...

...The End!

( It's hard to develop a really good plot, when you don't know how to spell.)

Corn-y

Avenue Montaigne

I've been watching a French movie called Avenue Montaigne in 15 minute chunks of time over the last 3 days. It's a PG-13, which is edgy for me, but it got that rating because of some objectionable language. The great thing about watching movies in another language is that you don't know when they are saying those things, AND you don't have to read them in the sub-titles! It's true.

Anyway, the film is about a fresh little wide-eyed girl, Jessica, whose grandmother told her about not being able to afford a life of luxury, but the ability to work in that life. So Jessica goes to Paris, to the upscale Avenue Montaigne, and gets a job as a waitress in a cafe' visited by everyone...actors, stage-hands, truck drivers and musicians; all sorts. She is absolutely guileless, and in a short time has gotten involved in some of her regular customer's lives. An art collector is agonizing over the sale of his collection, but there's more there than meets the eye. A television/stage actress is trying to get out of the box and into the movies, but she keeps flubbing her chances. A famous pianist wants to quit his touring and be part of life with real people.

I'm only about half-way through the movie, but it has been such fun! It's like a virtual post-card from Paris, and occasionally I catch myself just looking at the architecture and fashion around the actors, and forgetting about the plot. And then I have to go back and re-read those sections. I've never thought of it, before now, but perhaps that's why I like foreign films...I can read them!

Vocabulary lessons

My daughter learned a new word.

Decay

Only she calls it "decave".

And she's been walking around our yard and house, pointing out things that are evidence of "decave".
Apples that fell from our little tree, and bruised....decaved.
A peach on the counter, that is getting a little soft....decaved.
FRESH meatloaf on her plate....that's not decaved, is it Mom? (Mercy, I would hope not!)
She was headed toward the fridge, on her quest for decaving organisms and I steered her back outside. I can only take so much, you know? And the next thing you know, she'd be pointing out the circles under my eyes....definite decave, there.

It's good to know that even though my physical body is "decaving", my soul won't, in the Lord.

Here's the ride of my dreams! Do you think women with fat fenders should drive something with fat fenders? Okay, maybe something with curves. That's a nicer way of saying the same thing, really.

Can you see this little pickup, going down an Eastern Montana dirt road, playing jazz and carrying a couple flats of flowers and a bag of calf crumbles? Backed up to the trees for a picnic of fried chicken, grapes, Havarti cheese, bottle of wine and sinful chocolate pie? Taking two friends to Miles City for "groceries" (Kafe Utza coffee) and a manicure? Going fishing with two excited kids?

Golden Day

Yesterday was one of those ordinary, puttery days that turned out to be one of the best I've had in a long time. You know, nothing about the day really stood out as exceptional, but all the little things added up to make it a treasure.

It was cool, cool....felt like mountain air in the fall, crisp as an apple you pick in September. There was a little moisture on the grass, from showers in the night, so the cats were picking their way around the yard on prissy feet, shaking them and looking disgusted. My calves made a break for freedom, and were eating on peas in the field, as fast as they could, pretending they didn't hear me shaking the feed bucket but watching carefully out of the corner of thier sly little eyes.

The kids went with their father and I felt like the calves...free time! Of course, no time is really free, when you work in and around the home. I decided to do some baking to get ready for those long harvest days, fast approaching. Dug out some old CD's to listen to and set to making cookies as fast as I could!

Have you ever heard the soundtrack to "Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood"? It's great if you like Cajun, blues, big band/swing, and pure jazz, all together in one place. Jazz and big band are good to cook to, for me. That, and it seems to run everyone out of the kitchen when I put it on!

Anyway, my Aunt Bert called, right in the middle of the mess, and we talked about going to a folk school this next year to learn some soapmaking, stained glass, knitting and bookbinding, to name a few ideas. I can't think of a better time to spend with her than that.

I made gingersnaps first, then, for some impulsive reason decided to make Annie's Vermont Maple Cookies....usually reserved for Christmas, according to her rules. Rules, shmules. They taste like little tiny maple bar donuts, without the frying. For a bad day, take two of Annie's cookies and a cup of dark, smooth coffee on the deck for about 10 minutes. You'll be a new person.

I've been threatening to post this recipe, because of the Fontologist's cookie challenge and also because I think it should be in the hands of the people....so, here you go...enjoy!

Annie's Vermont Maple Cookies

1/2 cup shortening

1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar

2 eggs

1 cup commercial sour cream

1 tsp maple flavoring

2 3/4 cup flour

1/2 tsp soda

1 tsp salt

Mix shortening, sugar and eggs thoroughly. Stir in sour cream and maple flavoring. Blend in dry ingredients. (This dough is VERY soft...don't be concerned.)

Heat oven to 375. Drop teaspoons of dough on GREASED cookie sheet and bake about 10 minutes or until imprint remains when touched lightly. Cool completely, then frost with Maple Glaze.

Maple Glaze

Heat 1/2 cup real butter until golden brown. Blend in 2 cups of sifted powdered sugar and 2 tsp maple flavoring. (It will look AWFUL, I can promise you...the next step will fix that.) Stir in 2-4 tablespoons HOT water until icing spreads smooth. (During the frosting process, you may need to add little bits of water to maintain consistancy. It won't hurt it.)

Makes about 4 dozen cookies.

Now go find yourself some Taj Mahal and Ann Savoy to listen to, grind yourself some French Roast and get baking, if you've a mind! (Fontie, I'm pretty sure this will win the contest, but I don't know who gets the prize....it's Annie's recipe and my submission.)

Oh! And in the cool afternoon, after naps, we got to go move the heifers to another pasture. It was so much fun! Then we loaded up and went to visit Glasscocks while the guys had Bible Study. A glorious day, full of little pleasures.

(Dutton Crest. My Grandma did extensive research on the medieval origins, and this is what she came up with: "William the Conqueror led the Norman conquest of England, defeating the English at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. He expelled the clergy from the English churches, replacing them with Normans or other foreigners. To add insult to injury, he insisted that French be used in the courts and in law proceedings. He ordered the French language to replace the use of English in schools.

Six Dutton brothers accompanied their uncle, Hugh Lupus, into England in the train of William the Conqueror, who was their great-uncle. They were: Nigel, Geffry, Odard or Huddard, Edard, Horswin and Wolfaith."

At least we weren't descendants of old William the Conqueror...)

Just got back from the Dutton Family Reunion, in Miles City, last night, with some tired, tired babies. Usually, the reunion is held in the Lewistown area, at Camp Maiden, but for reasons I'm not entirely clear about, we had to find an alternative site, so we went to the CowTown.

Dutton reunions are held every two years. We started out, every 5 years, I think, but then the family decided that since some of the older members were dying off (I know, isn't that terrible?) that we should have them with a little more frequency. That, and I think we all just like each other so much that we really wanted to see each other more often. We would've ended up getting together that often, anyway, so may as well just make it formal. We have them on the odd years, because, as my cousin Connie so eloquently put it, "It's so appropriate..."!

If you ever accidentally stumble upon of one of these gatherings, or marry in, or take a National Geographic job documenting the nuances of English/Irish families, here are some things you might observe:

1. Huggage. Duttons hug everyone. They will hug you if they know you, they will hug you to get to know you, they will hug you if you stand still for 3 consecutive minutes in one spot. This is one of my favorite things about my family, but one of the most distressing things for my husband, who professes to be allergic to hugs. He has been known to walk around the Dutton reunion with a cooler of water/beer/juice in front of him, in order to not be hugged. It doesn't matter. They hug him from the side, and he can't fight back.
2. Nicknames. We all have them, we all use them, and some of us have forgotten what the actual, legal name of some of the cousins are. This also is distressing to my husband, as he will be introduced to, say, Peaches (whose real name is Margaret), then later someone will tell him about Margaret (who may or may not be Peaches, as about 30 Margarets actually are floating around) and he's completely confused. Speed's real name is Roy, Dittie is Dorothea, etc. Sometimes, in lieu of a nickname, you will have your middle name used in conjunction with your first name....Carl Lee, Mary Margaret, and so forth. Tricky.
3. Storytelling. I assume this comes from Grannie's side of the family, but I'm not sure. You can almost always pick a Dutton out by the story he tells. Great mimickry, attention to funny details, caricature and good build-up in the plot. They aren't picky about exact dates or facts, most of the time, which drives my Grandma (married in), crazy. And sometimes, they are laughing so hard at their own stories, it takes awhile to finish.
4. (This pertains to the women...) The Dutton butt. Yes, you read that right...the Dutton butt. Dutton women are amply endowed with wide rear ends. My cousin, Cynthia told me that one of her sisters (to remain un-named) said it was like going to a pear convention. I just about fell out of my chair laughing at that! It's true, and it's WONDERFUL to spend two days with a bunch of women with butts as large or larger than yourself, hugging on you and telling you that you look good. Bless their hearts!
5. Admiration for each other. Aunt Bert once told me that one of the things she loved about the Duttons was that they are just so proud of each other.
6. Teasing. I thought all families teased, but they don't, I guess. My family is TERRIBLE about teasing, and the more they like you, the more they tease you. This, too, can be distressing for those dear ones that marry in. And it's not malicious teasing, but sometimes rather sarcastic and occasionally dry.
7. One doesn't marry OUT of the Dutton family, others marry in. I am considered a token Pluhar, but a true Dutton. I don't know why. My husband married in. He just donated a new last name to the list, and two beautiful new little Dutton children. And he gets teased mercilessly. They really like him.

*AND The Farmer missed this reunion...something about hauling hay, looking at a trailer at the neighbor's place, checking wells. He came up with a myriad of reasons.

We are returning to Lewistown, in two years, and I'm looking forward to it. The kids should be old enough that I won't have to herd them around all the time, and I should get some good visiting in. And the Farmer will be required to attend, so he'd better get his game face on!

Swimming in the Swan

Maggie, building rock castles on the shore of Swan Lake. The green tube was coveted by all the kids! It was pretty cool.


Yes, those are Wayland's kids, and yes, I was the one taking the picture, not supervising within arm's reach...

Allison, testing the ice water.

Maggie and Allison have the same swim suits! We looked like a redneck swim team...

Honestly, the water was SO cold, I don't know how she was able to spend all the time she did out there.

The ferocious kid-eating tube....

Kisses!

Ben, getting brave with the tube.

Cold, cold, cold!

Celestia and Jasper joined us later in the evening, with a picnic lunch.

We went swimming at Swan Lake, Friday afternoon. In order to give you an idea of how cold the water was: go run yourself a glass of cold water out of the faucet, put 5 ice cubes in it and let them melt...THAT cold! We could get out and warm up in the sun, on the rocks, like lizards, but when the sun started to go behind the mountains, it was all over.

Choose your identity...

Have you noticed, at the bottom of the comment box on the blogs, there's a caption that says, "Choose Your Identity"? (It's okay if you haven't seen it, I may be the only one...play along.)

It completely intrigues me, that in this medium of communication, we get to choose our identity! As a child, I spent a lot of time trying on identities in play....pioneer woman, prom queen, cowgirl, princess, teacher, mother. There was no pressure to maintain that persona beyond the game of pretend.

I also remember the angst of trying on identities in high school. Was I a brain? Was I a jock? Class president? Back-of-the-class-please-don't-notice-me? I would see some of my classmates who had obviously settled that particular issue, and envied their confidence in themselves! (Truth be known, they were probably going through the same thing, just better actors...)

Through my twenties, I was still choosing my identity, only I didn't have as much time to spend analyzing it. There was too much to do! Too many people to meet! Rent to be paid and real live jobs.

Now I'm in my thirties...I won't say how far into my thirties....and I'm still working on the identity. But there's no pressure, and I'm really enjoying the process. I'm a lot different than I thought I would be, which is a surprise to my sister, specifically. She calls and wants to plumb the depths of my psyche, and when she's done (to her satisfaction), she basically tells me that I'm not who I was, and she can't figure out how I got here, from there. I'm assuming she means from childhood. And I would have to agree with her.

So, when I leave a comment for my blog friends, I look at that little phrase and wonder what identity I should choose. It's been a lot of fun to be The Farmer's Wife! But sometimes I am really tempted to leave a different name, such as Sophia Laurenz, or Jane O'Jungle, or Annie Oakland Raider.....

Little Man

My other baby, Angus, turned three on the 20th. Can you believe that? Three! And he is a very delightful three-year old; a stark contrast to what he was the first year of his little life. Angus was colicky for about 7 months. One time, I rather wearily remarked to his father that he'd have to get by on his good looks and charm, to which Wayland replied, "You'd better hope he's really good looking!"

Now, he's busy, cheerful, and yes, really good looking. Every day with Angus is an adventure! He has a chirpy little voice that can be heard commenting on absolutely everything he sees or has seen. His eyes are sharp and sparkly, and he knows how to use them to get what he wants, particularly from grandparents. (Wayland and I have become immune to the power he tries to exert...)

Angus likes frosting, loves anything John Deere, sings songs he's only heard a couple times, and hauls cats around everywhere he goes. He calls all older women "Grandma" and pats their arms. He's not afraid of water, bugs, most heights and the dark, but a sticker on his foot will paralyze him. (It's true, and his sister uses this knowledge for evil purposes.)

Raising a boy is a special job, and some days I don't feel adequate. But then, he'll come over to me while I'm doing dishes, hug my leg and say, "I hold you me, Mama," and we sit down and rock and snuggle, and I thank the Lord for my little man. And I realize we'll figure it out along the way.

This year, we'll be spending some time alone, when his sister goes to school, and I predict there will be much building of train tracks, dozing of dirt, capturing of bugs, chocolate milk mustaches, trails of cookie crumbs to the drawer where the cat is safely stowed....

Every day is an adventure, with Angus!

We're back!

Pretty much like this illustration, only without the mother-in-law and the dog...

Pictures to follow later, along with a riveting narrative of our adventures across the great state of Montana and back.

Code this...

I attended a budget workshop put on by the Office of Public Instruction, today, in Miles City. School finance, if you don't know it, is one of the more complex systems of rules, codes, numbers and nonsense found in the United States. There are a few strange individuals who think it's exciting and challenging. The rest of us find it confusing and frustrating. (I have the good fortune of having a friend who loves school finance, and I really and truly try to share his interest in coding things and calculating MOE and highest budget without a vote. I've yet to muster any sort of genuine affection or even tolerance of 15 figure codes.)

That being said, the people who keep the books for schools are earnest and dedicated, and I enjoy getting together with them occasionally and hearing about thier offices and professional opinions. It's interesting to sit in the back of the room and listen to how they approach various funding issues and personnel knots, and I love to watch otherwise conservative people get all fluffed up and huffy over a .632% error in OPI's spreadsheet. They are perfectionists, I would say, and when playing a quiz game, for chocolate, will actually get down in a huddle and start quoting Montana Code in defense of their answer. I'm not worthy to be in their midst, but I greatly enjoy it! (I haven't memorized even one subsection of the Montana Code....but I can find if, if need be.)

I think a lot of people aren't aware of the clerks and business people in their schools. They are often stuck away in offices, with computers and impossible deadlines, quarterly reports and transportation disputes. And they work all summer, despite the common misconception that everyone in the school leaves, when the students do. In Montana, June and July are hellish months for those in school finance. If you see a school clerk or business manager, this month, give them a hug or buy them a coffee. They will be completely shocked and pleased, and you will have made a huge difference in their day.

This will be my last post for about a week, because we are going to the land of no electronics! I can't wait to read all your goings on, when I return.

Grasshoppers, Eeewww!

Grasshoppers on my porch wall. They are that thick in the grass, too. Working over the hollyhocks...

They are COVERING the hose, in the grass!

This used to be a pea vine. Two days ago, it had soft green leaves and peas.

The tomatos, beans, spinach, lettuce and thyme are all being decimated.

But, NOT the yarrow! Apparently, even grasshoppers have some taste...

I'm reluctant to spray them, because of the kids, and besides, there are so many that I think I'd have to spray everyday. It's hard watching the flowers and vegetables just being chewed away!