Big honking clouds! (But no tornado. Whew!)

Last night, the National Weather Service issued a tornado watch and severe thunderstorm warning for the residents of seven Montana counties, including Garfield County where our humble single-wide trailer is anchored (horrifically) on cinderblocks. That's it. Cinderblocks. 

Nice, huh?  The only trailer park in the Langs Fork Suburbs of Cohagen.  Can you spell "tornado bait"?

I was a wreck, because the day had been muggy and warmish and just had that "weird weather" feel to it. 

Wayland had the computer radar up all evening, watching big ugly green patches of precipitation with red centers and startling little yellow boxes float around the map, like ugly amoebas under a microscope.  I appreciate the radar and all, but I trust my eye witness more, so I paced around the yard and deck with my camera, taking pictures of the incredible clouds to the east. 

Blessedly, the storms went on either side of us.  I believe it was due to the fervent prayers of a little girl and her mother all evening.  But here are the pace-y pictures for you, along with a couple cow images, just because they are adorable.

This is how it started out, to the southeast:

Oooo! That's impressive! (I didn't really think the clouds would get a whole lot bigger or more "poofy".)

They did.  I couldn't get them all in one frame, so from here on out, they are in chunks, so to speak.

This side of the storm kept morphing into different types of clouds, every few minutes.

This old girl thought I was nuts, taking pictures of clouds.  She'd graze a little, then lift her chin to check out the photo shoot with some suspicion. 

And my babies, Cosmo trying to nap and Linnie ready to bed down.  They've had their bottles and have warm, full tummies.  Isn't Linnie pretty?

It's "...a misty, moisty morning, when foggy was the weather..." sort of day, today.  I'm going to head out and check on all the baby plants, pull a few (hundred pounds) weeds and sprinkle seeds with great abandon.  When I come back in, to fetch up cocoa bobboo for the barnacles, I have a picture of my white iris for you.  White!

Breaking up is hard to do....

I am in mourning, folks.

My hair stylist of 11 years closed up shop and is moving to Bozeman to be with (get this) her new husband. 

How could she do this?!!! I thought we had something special. 

We've been through everything together....infertility, divorce, pregnancy, new babies, weight loss and gain and loss, moves, mothers, mother-in-laws, coffee.  And even more serious issues like bad home coloring jobs, whether or not to get bangs again and the organic hair products guaran-dang-teed to give us lift and volume at the bargain price of $20 a bottle. 

She left me.

I walked around the house in shock, yesterday. Seriously!!! 

I was JUST getting through all these insecurity issues from the Beth Moore book; I'm believing that I'm clothed in strength and dignity and all that jazz.  How, I ask you, am I going to be secure with myself when I have bad hair?

And I JUST KNOW I will have bad hair all summer, because no one knew how to color the grey to where it looked perfectly naturally blonde and how to trim that odd little cow-lick-y thing at the nape of my neck.  It's going to be bad.  And I'm feeling a little panicky.

(My three, no!, FOUR male readers are rolling their eyes and saying things like, "It's just hair," and "I think she's over reacting a little" and "Color, shmolor...get over it and get on with it."  Bless your hearts, I wish I could explain how painful this is to a woman!)

So I got the number of one of the stylists that used to work in the same salon and called, with a trembly voice, requesting a cut and color in June.  That'll give me time to work through some of these issues.

*sniff*

Garden Dirt

I got my tomato plants in the soil, last night.  All 8 of them.  Does that seem a bit extreme to you, considering I'm the only one in this four person household who even eats tomatos? 

Well, I count on a high mortality rate. 

I've always had a hard time calculating how much to plant.  And as you may have noticed, I'm not an incredibly moderate person, but it's even more extreme with plants and seeds.  And weeds. But that's another post....

A packet of cosmo seeds doesn't really look like it could cover all the area I need it to cover! So I buy two.  Then, I think I want to send a packet to a friend.  So I get another.  When I look on the back to see the planting "ideas", (Never "instructions"; that's way too limiting...) it insists that the plants will grow to be 12-16 inches tall and that I really should space them about 10 inches apart when seeding.

I have absolutely NO FAITH that my seeds will grow into anything more than 6 inches tall, if at all.  So I seed heavily, hoping that at least half will germinate.  I KNOW not to do this.  I KNOW the plants will be bigger than I anticipate. I KNOW the reason there are "ideas" on the packet is because that's the truth of the plant.  I cannot seem to reconcile what my concrete knowledge says with my planting insecurity!

I went to the greenhouse(s) on Wednesday of last week and bought quite conservatively, in my opinion.  Once the tender annuals and tropical vegetable plants had been purchased, the weather turned to frost, wind and general misery. And the grasshoppers hatched.  I've been moving the little plants around the sheltered outside corners of the house, promising them sunny skies and balmy days to come. 

There are about 6 pepper plants, 28 marigolds, 16 zinnias,  all my herbs, interesting flora that I can't remember the name of but want to try (ie: kill) this year, and some statice.  Okay, a LOT of statice.  And a gallon ice cream bucket's worth of flower and vegetable seeds.  When the Farmer comes home for lunch, I'm sneaking out the back door and spending about 30 minutes planting, even though it is raining and windy and cold. 

Does anyone else but me have garden eyes that are bigger than their logic?

Computer Klutz

I am a computer klutz. 

(Whew! I'm glad that's out...)

This doesn't come as any great shock to my friends, but they have no idea the actual depth my ineptitude actually goes to. 

We bought a new computer tower with some of our tax refund money this year and I'm still getting to know it, 3 weeks later.  I had JUST gotten familiar enough with the old one to make it do most of the things I wanted it to! We'd only had it about 8 years and we were finally getting along fine.  He'd grind along slow enough for me to change my mind and I didn't expect too much from him.  But it was time to put the old Gateway out to pasture.  He didn't want to deal with 1200 digital images a year.  And who can blame him?

Our new computer is all that and a side of fries, but it is WAY beyond my limited range of ability.  This computer actually sort of sneers at me. Yes, sneers.  I know computers aren't supposed to have personality, but when the machine smugly "ding"s at me as I fumble around, looking for the 3 photos I downloaded, opening files that look promising but are obviously none of my business, according to the computer, I'd consider that sneering. 

She's sleek.  She's fast.  She has more memory than I ever had or hoped to have.  She's great at filing, anticipating my searches on the internet and condescendingly asks me if I'm sure I want to do that.  I don't think she makes coffee, but that remains to be discovered....

I apologetically sit down and request access with my crummy little password.

She considers it, and finally with a sigh of her fan, allows me entrance to my screen. 

From there, our relationship deteriorates.

She brought with her the latest greatest versions of everything; sort of like a Mary Kay lady who brings all the same products only *NEW*IMPROVED*MORE EFFICIENT*CHANGED PACKAGING!  It sort of looks the same, but it's not.

  For instance, I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to get a Word document to print! I could translate the entire thing into Ethiopian, but it appeared I'd have to pack the computer to my friend in order to send the actual message.  In Excel, I can make pivot tables 'til the cows come home (and at my house, that's literal) but I couldn't get a simple formula to show real numbers. All it would do was: ######.  And everytime I tried to fix it...."ding".  Yeah.  That's the computer, calling me a moron.

I was excited about having Photoshop! Yes! At last, I could whiten my teeth, imperceptibly, in my photos before releasing them to the rest of the world!

Photoshop requires a person to think in layers.  I have to think of the end product and work backwards, layer by layer.  So I can't just highlight my teeth in the picture and shazaam! they're fixed.  No. I have to work with opacity, hue and saturation. (Doesn't that sound like the members of a funky band?  Opacity, Hue and Saturation...live....from Saturday night!)

I'm sort of with Donkey, on the movie Shrek.  Parfaits have layers. And I can find my way around parfait layers, as you all know. But photo layers are killing me. 

So I end up closing down the programs and my computer asks me if I really and truly want to do that.  And I feel like such a quitter! But I say yes.  Then she asks if I want to SAVE my changes.  Looking at the 27 pivot tables enumerated with #######, I get the feeling she's mocking me.  I say no.  She shrugs her electronic shoulders dismissively and I'm back at the main screen.

I'm allowed to use the internet without much comment, but occasionally I get nagged about the security updates. I love telling her "Not Now" and x-ing that little box! That'll show her!

I hope it doesn't take 8 years to make peace with Dell-a.

 (Yes, that's her name. Don't you name your computer?)

Multi-tasking

I'm still here!

I always feel apologetic to you when I haven't posted in a while....as though you are hanging on your computer, checking the Chronicles every 15 minutes.  (Because THAT'S how riveting ranch life is.)

(Sarcasm is hard to express in type...)


It's been crazy busy!
Or maybe just crazy.

And I left my camera at Marisa's house last Thursday, so I've been nearly handicapped! I didn't realize that I took photographs constantly.  All week, I've been wandering around reaching for my camera, only to remember it was taking a vacation in Jordan. And what a week to be missing it!

The kids and I left in a flurry on Saturday to go to the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale parade, swooping in to pick up Celestia on the way.  I'd informed everyone that I couldn't go, because we were branding, so my friends were shocked to see me.  Especially my friend Elise, whom I've never met in real life, only in Blogger and Facebook! She brought her four kids (beautiful, funny, kind kids) and we were able to watch the parade together.

The high points of that day were free cotton candy in the park, Angus touring every bathroom in a 1/2 mile radius, losing my car keys when the town's population had quintupled with visitors, and seeing our favorite Caledonians piping and dancing in the parade. (I didn't say they were all GOOD highlights.)

Sunday and Monday were basically eaten up with my school board job.  I think I complicate things.  Things like Quickbooks, Excel and Word.  Anyway, we had our board meeting Monday night until.....(get this).....a little after midnight, when Traci and I turned into pumpkins and the other two board members gave up on us.  I got home at 1 a.m.   Summer conference had better be a whing-ding-dilly this year or there's no reason for me to continue on with this little jobbee!

Tuesday, we branded a big bunch of calves. And I messed up with the ID tags. I wake up in the night, in a cold sweat thinking about it!  To quickly explain, we are putting button tags in the calves' ear to verify the source of the animal, so when it's processed for food, it can be traced all the way back to our pasture.  The button is about 3/4 inch in diameter and has a 21 digit code on it that has to correspond correctly with the number of the calf tag. 

My job, when we brand, is to put the button tag in the calf's ear, record the calf number and sex beside the ID number, reload the tagger, grab a syringe with Nasalgen and squirt that in the calf's nose, run back and pick up the tagger and then do the Ivermectin on the calf's back before they turn him out.  In a couple minutes. Accurately.  And when the syringe runs out, refill it.  And keep track of the kids, who are running around the corral. 

I had gotten up early to make coffee cake for treats for the crew and was just rummy from no sleep. (My mother-in-law had thoughtfully made bar cookies, but I didn't know that! Drats.) I didn't write down one number, toward the end. That can mess EVERYTHING up, in a big way, if it's not caught immediately.  Fortunately, I caught my error immediately and we adjusted, but it still makes my palms sweat to think about it....

Yesterday, I thought I was going to have to move bulls and work with them in the corral for (Alice, brace yourself) semen-testing.  My father-in-law told me he thought they could handle it without me on the top rail of the corral, waving my sorting stick, ready to bolt. Strange. But okay! 

I went to the green house in Miles City instead, thanks to a kind offer from my friend Traci to watch my kids.

I can spend hours in the greenhouse.  I had the incredible privilege of working there one spring and summer, and don't tell them, but I would do it for no pay.  And when I'm there, I usually end up selling plants as I shop, myself.  And deadheading. 

Here's the thing about green houses: when you assemble your plant purchases THERE, it looks conservative...pitiful, even.  When you get home, the plants have grown in number and size in the back of your car and you wonder where you're going to put them all! (Well, I don't, really.  But my husband does.)

I'll write more about my plants tomorrow.  This post is LONG.

Today we gather another big bunch of pairs to brand tomorrow. And I get to plant up some pots!

Thanks for hanging in with me! Come back to the Chronicles when you can....I miss you all when I don't visit with you in a while.  What's going on in your world?

To Pollywog Creek from the Montana Prairie

My friend Patricia, at Pollywog Creek, takes the most stunning nature photos I've ever seen.  I always comment on her blog that our countryside and the plants that grow here are so subtle, so small that if you aren't looking carefully you might miss the beauty.  In the spring, Montana pulls out her very best and this afternoon I had a few minutes to photograph it for my friend at Pollywog Creek. 

We also have "friends-like-family" in Missouri who are homesick for the prairie.  Don, Shelly and baby Ison wrote with a copy of Don's grandmother's prairie poem that I'll post at the end of the photos.  Shelly writes that Frances grew up in South Dakota and I love her poem about springtime; I'm sure you will, too.  I wish I had met her; I believe we were kindred spirits.

Some folks like the desert

Where the snowflakes never fall,
Where the sun is always shining
And the world doesn't change at all;
Some like the mighty mountains
With their pretty Christmas trees,
Where the snow lies deep and level
And the lakes and rivers freeze.
Some even claim the city
With its bustle, clang and rattle,
Where a man doesn't have to don his boots,
Get out and hay the cattle.
But though the hills look bleak and bare,
And the winter winds blow raw,
There's nothing like the prairie
When the snow begins to thaw.
I like the way Old Meadowlark
Heralds in the spring;
He tops a fencepost deep in snow,
Throws back his head and sings.
The badger and the ground owl
Come out to prowl around,
While up the draw the muskrat
Makes riffles 'cross his pond.
The sandhill cranes come drifting back
Like leaves before a storm;
While high above the roof at night
The wild goose blows his horn.
Old Bullfrog clears his throat and croaks
A message to his kin;
They all come up to answer,
And it makes a cheerful din.
Flowers strew across a hill
Where prairie chickens drum;
Deep into dusk the grouse-birds chuckle
Like they were having fun.
Cattle call and fife of killdeer,
Scent of green things come to light;
White young moon and balmy southwind
Make a heaven out of night.
Threads of wild ducks winging northwards,
Old black crows that flap and caw;
Man, I'm glad I'm on the prairie
When the snow begins to thaw!

For Lori R., if she still reads this blog...

A true confession and humble groveling....



I actually bought AND PLANTED a couple packets of yarrow seeds for my New York flower bed. Knowingly paid good money for bad flower seeds that I've repeatedly cautioned other gardeners about. If I wake up tomorrow to rotten vegetables pelting the house, I will know why.


It's a hellaciously hot, dry bed located ten feet from my yard, across the gravel driveway and I can't get anything to grow there, except noxious weeds.  Like gypsophilia and iris. The reason I call it the New York flower bed is because I test suspicious plants in it....if they can make it there, they'll make it anywhere. (And everyone joins in, "...it's up to you, New-York-New-York! dum-dum-dahddy-dum, dum-dum-dahddy-dum..." Now you'll have that song in your head all day. You're welcome!)

I planted them early, early one morning nearly in the dark,  wearing pajamas of course, and feeling hypocritical and terribly guilty. I don't think anyone saw me and I destroyed the seed packets immediately, but still....I can't live with myself.

 So now you know.  Garden havoc will begin in approximately 10-15 days, if the conditions are favorable. (Favorable conditions for yarrow being "anywhere on the planet" and "any sort of moisture, even that from bated breath, in the air"...)

I brought it on myself.



*I also have about 50 pounds of iris tubers to dispose of and I don't really want to throw them away, but I have run out of places to put them.  Every flower bed I have in my half-acre plot of ground has iris.  And they just keep multiplying! If anyone wants them and can't come pick them up, I will SHIP THEM, free of charge to the shippee. Anyone who comments on this post and uses the magic word "iris" will automatically entitle themselves to 5 pounds of iris tubers! You can ALL win!

**Two boxes of iris tubers are ready for D. and Fontie!

To answer Fontie's question, there's nothing wrong with iris.  They hang out for a couple years, looking for all the world like soldiers, and putting up neat little helmet blossoms to accentuate their spear foliage.  Then, all of a sudden, the troops expand into a wad of mangy looking misfits and that's your cue to divide them.  The first time you divide them, you'll be giddy, because they are EASY to tease apart and plant.  The third time you have to divide them, you'll be frantic to find homes for them, because you will actually have pain if you toss them over the fence.  Find someone who needs a filler flower and make them think they won a horticultural blog contest. Box up 10 lbs and ship with a lovely note and best wishes....

Book Review!

Before I start....

My friend Patricia told me about a program called BookSneeze, where someone with an established blog could review books from publishers and...get this...keep the titles reviewed. Free. That's right; someone will send me a book, I read it and review it on my blog and a couple other places and then I keep the book.

 I was so excited about this I could hardly stand it!

 I didn't actually think they'd send me a book.  They did!

 I didn't actually think I'd like the book. I did!

So, now you'll be subjected to my reviews...

Without further ado, meet Mary Ann Kirkby and her book, I Am Hutterite.  (*Farmchick is scrambling for a piece of scrap paper or used cupcake wrapper to write down the title...)

Mary-Ann writes an amazing memoir of growing up in a Canadian Hutterite colony in the 1970's and 80's.  Having grown up visiting the colony outside of Lewistown for corn every year, I was always fascinated with Hutterites and their old fashioned ways of dress and "secret" language which turns out to be high German. No one I knew really had a good relationship with the colony, to tell me what their beliefs were or why they lived that way.  I Am Hutterite is a gentle view into the day to day life of a Hutterite colony, with very matter-of-fact explanations of their customs and beliefs. 

I was entranced with the idea of community living, once I read the book. After all, there's a community cook and her helpers, so everyone shows up for meals that are already prepared!  BUT the other side of the story is how that sort of life was constraining and tense for Mary-Ann's parents.  She tells of their little family leaving the colony and the struggles and blessings of living independently.  I appreciated her honesty and generosity of spirit with this portion of her book, because as a teenage girl it would be very easy to have a lot of resentment about being yanked away from the colony and thrust into a world of extremes.

I didn't really know what to expect from my first BookSneeze selection. (Doesn't that make you want to say, "guiesuintite!" ?) (Does anyone know how to spell that correctly?)  I'm thrilled to say it was a great book and I'm happy to put it on my shelf, next to Goodbye Wifes and Daughters, A Yank Back to England and Red Helmet. (Shamelessly plugging my other favorites from talented friends...)

*Annie, this is a really great book.  You'll want it to keep, I promise you.  If you lose the used cupcake wrapper, you can call me or look it up again on the blog!

Mother's Little Darlings...

The Princess of the Prairie

The Farmer brought the calf shelter over, so we could move my baby bums home soon. 

The kids tested its durability and strength.

Cordelia May, our mama cat, soaking up some attention.

Any reason for roasting "shmushmallows" as Angus calls them...

No napkin? No problem!

Campout clothes...

(If that isn't a Tide commercial, I don't know what is...)

Unwanted affections from his sister. (Yeah. They practically stuck together after all that shmushmallow.)

Laughing at Angus' story.

Glazed over eyes from all the sugar and no nap.

We live in the Big Sky state, you know.

Capt'n Farmer

Meet the bums!

It's time you met Cosmo (on the left) and Linnie (on the right). 

Cosmo is the chubby-faced, no-tag calf.  He has a very impressive girth already and has started putting a hurting on the milk pellets I stick in the little rubber trough every morning.

It's nearly impossible to take pictures of hungry calves, because they mob me and all you see is their noses.  Then, if I don't produce the bottles in a timely manner, they start butting me. That hurts.   

Here's a close up of Mr. Cosmo.  He WANTS the bottle.  He wants the bottle, NOW!  (See his greedy little tongue sticking out?)

Linnie is one of the twins I posted about, nearly a month ago.  You can see that she's delicate and fine, with long fawn-like legs.  She's very suspicious, still, and examines every change with caution. For instance, while I was taking these pictures, Molly was in the corral and Linnie couldn't focus on the bottle. She finally overcame her worries and neatly finished before Cosmo.

(This annoys him to no end.  She's a world champion bottle sucker, even though he's been my bum longer. He hustles right over and starts working on his bottle with all his might, snuggling into me, tail happily going back and forth.  Linnie heisitantly steps up, feels the nipple a little before starting, then blows him away with her speed.  His eyes roll and you can see him trying to compete, but she has much better form.)

Here's Linnie after the bottle...little flecks of milk on her impossibly long eyelashes.  You can't hear their little "mmmmnnnn" sounds, but even after their bottle, they try to sweet talk me into just a little more...

Here's Cosmo.  He's worked so hard at his bottle that he has a foam beard.  I usually end up with sticky, foamy calf slobber all over me, but this evening I jumped in the empty hay feeder to take pictures. They were sincerely miffed and after circling the feeder a couple times, urgently insisting they were still starving, they shook their little heads and trotted off.

Last Day of Kindergarten

Today was my baby's last day of Kindergarten.  She dragged home her sleeping bag, a bag of art projects and papers, her backpack and a black eye.  The black eye was from last week, but it lingers and makes her look very tough.  To add to the injury, a cat scratched her nose a couple days ago. The Princess is looking a little fraggled. 

While she kicked back, watching a Barbie movie, I went through her projects and papers and found her report card and certificate of completion.  After admiring her improvement, I decided to put the report card in her baby book while I was thinking about it.

Nobody tells mommies that they will cry on the last day of Kindergarten, too. 

Kindergarten is where the baby book ends.  There's a place for all the teacher/friends/memories and a couple pictures, then the book is done. 

I wasn't ready. 

I filled out the spaces with all the appropriate information, pasted the report card in, and walked back through the first five years, tissue in hand. 

It's amazing what I wrote down, about this child.  The first time she went to the church nursery, she hit another baby in the head with a block.  She didn't like the walker we borrowed from the neighbor...hated it, in fact.  A week later, it's noted that she now loved the walker.  Her first word was "Haaaeeee" (Hi) and her second word was "keekee" (kitty-kitty).  She laughed out loud for the first time when Molly barked at me.

As I type this, a couple days before Mother's Day, I am overwhelmed by how huge motherhood is.  It's the biggest, wildest, sweetest ride of life....I hope I never forget to notice the little celebrations along the way.

Eastern Montana I-Spy

The game of I-Spy is really challenging, when you live in Eastern Montana, particularly if you are age 5.  Here's the transcript of our game last night, on the way to Vern's to feed our bum calves:

Mag: I spy something....green.
Mom: Grass
Mag: Right. I spy something....black.
Mom: Cow
Mag: Right! I spy something....sorta grey.
Mom: Sagebrush
Mag: Right. Boy, you are good at this game! I spy something....blue.
Mom: Sky
Mag: Right. Okay, now it's your turn....

If you've ever seen the Disney movie Brother Bear, you'll recognize the two moose Rutt and Tuke playing I-Spy with all the trees....

Honest Scrap

My blog friend, Texas Ghostrider (the name sounds more menacing than he really is) gave me the Honest Scrap award this week.  The award has two components. You have to first list 10 honest things about yourself (and make them interesting), and second,  present the award to seven other bloggers.

I tell you all 10 honest things about myself in almost every post, so it's hard to come up with new ones! (The REALLY hard part is making them interesting.)

1. 
   
   I'm scared of heights, but oddly enough, not of flying. "Heights" being the top of a footstool or cinder block.  This disgusts my husband who strolls about on top of the house, nonchalantly, checking vents and shingles, while I stand on the ground with sweating palms watching him.
2. 
   
   When we were kids, my family had a cat named Fleabags.
3. 
   
   I am a plant nerd and like their Latin names. In fact, I almost always use Latin names in my head and have to translate before I talk about them with other people.
4. 
   
   Cauliflower makes me throw up.  There must be a chemical in it that I'm allergic to, because I've tried it every possible way and it always has the same effect.
5. 
   
   I love aprons.  Aren't they just homey and practical, pretty and personal? It's great that they are becoming more popular.
6. 
   
   I used to play piano by ear. I haven't been around a piano for so long, now, that I'm not sure I still can, though....  When I was in high school, I got in trouble for not looking at the notes, so I quit the piano and lessons and didn't look back.
7. 
   
   When I was dating a game warden, I had the opportunity to go to Colorado and band ducks one fall. It was hot, buggy, swampy and I loved every minute of it!
8. 
   
   I lived in one of the last public high school dormitories in the U.S. all four years of my high school career, along with about 25 other kids. 
9. 
   
   Maybe you've noticed, but Duttons personify everything, and my daughter thinks I know what machinery and animals are saying. She'll talk to my dog, Molly for instance, and then turn around and query, "What did she say, Mommy?" and I'll tell her.  It's a very odd talent, but useful when you spend a lot of time around preschoolers and young children.
10. 
    
    I have a good memory for completely useless facts, but an almost worthless recollection of important ones.  An elephant is pregnant for 22 months...almost 2 years, for heaven's sake! But I really don't have any idea what my daughter's social security number is.

That was grueling.

I'm supposed to pass this on to seven people, but because I don't like boundaries and I'm terrible at links, I'm passing it on to 3.  They can choose seven if they wish!

1. Guilford Road  My new friend, Alice, at Guilford Road writes great posts about her life, is an Anglophile and also an editor.  I chose her because we've been writing back and forth in emails, sharing personal tidbits and this way she can put 10 in a row, if she so chooses.
2. And Two Became Three  My cousin Robert married this great girl, Marina, who has brought a lot of class to the Dutton family! This is her blog. I wish they lived closer, because I adore her.
3. Busch Family Adventures  My friend, Kim, from college, who will have no patience for this whatsoever because she's trying to wrap up her teaching year, but who is one of the more interesting people I know.  And I think her blog needs more exposure. 

So there you have it. Ten honest things.

Ranch Business

It's been awhile since you were bombarded with cow propaganda and stories....

This evening, I remarked to The Farmer that we'd moved the two most challenging herds on the ranch: the yearling heifers and the bulls (referred to from here on out as The Bully-boys).

Yearling heifers have two views.  You either see their snoopy little noses advancing on you, to see how very interesting you may be or you see their tails in the air half a mile away in a cloud of dust when they decide that you are, indeed, "dangerous".  (Don't take it personally. Tumbleweeds are considered "dangerous". Baby bunnies are considered "dangerous".  A cummulonimbus cloud on the horizon is considered "dangerous"....you get the idea.) 

We trailed (tried to keep up) the yearlings in to run them through the chute for their leptovibrious (I have no idea on the spelling) shot and de-louse Ivermectin treatment. 

 My bum calf from last year, Daisy, is in this bunch and I always look for her, anxiously hoping she is gaining in weight and stature and will not embarrass us. To my great thrill, I couldn't pick her out in the herd, so she's right up there with the pretty Lang's Fork heifers! (Bum calves are usually about 8 inches shorter, with a big belly...real ugly.) I finally saw her in the corral and I'm so happy with her growth. The next big test is whether or not she'll breed up when we turn the bulls out with them.  She's the ONLY cow in my OC herd and she bears the burden of building my future herd. (Vern is horrified. My brand is on the wrong side. We have to get another color eartag for my rotten little cow. Lots of fuss.)

Our yearlings look so good, although if you ask the men, one will mutter "Should just sell the whole bunch for $800 a head and be rid of them!" and the other will say, "They're not looking TOO bad...".  (It's considered bad luck to admire your own cows.  I think that because I'm a clueless female, which in ranching is a redundant term, I can get by with it.  But any rancher that does it will bring down disease and destruction on his herd.  Now you know.)

Anyway, after churning the heifers around in the alley and chute for awhile, we trailed them to their summer pasture, had lunch and commenced to bring The Bully-boys closer to home. They are going to be treated on Wednesday to semen tests. I will not begin to describe the process to you....it's not pleasant for anyone involved: the chute man, the vet, the corral help and least of all, The Bully-boys. We are checking their fertility, as we had too many open cows this spring and are suspicious that one or two of them are shooting blanks. 

There are 17 of these beasts, right now, with 6 or 7 more coming sometime in the next month.  You know how I feel about bulls. See the diagram below.

Technically, that's a steer, but you get the idea.

There were no wrecks, thankfully, and we all rode away on our four-wheelers unscathed. (Nothing will draw you closer to God than moving a bunch of bulls.  I pray non-stop. The guys see my lips moving and they think I'm talking to the bulls, but I'm praying for protection. You know that verse about asking God to move a mountain, if you have faith as a grain of sand? I fell like I'm moving Black Angus mountains.)

From here on out, it's going to be a blur of cow work and branding.  I love it, but it's exhausting. 

Oh! and I have two bum calves this year!  Cosmo, my little bull calf, and today I got one of the twins, Linnie. She's sort of wild so she got a shortened version of the Latin name for blue flax: Linum, which gets rather wild in my yard. Linnie also has long, delicate legs, just like the flax foliage.  No pictures yet, because they are both still in the barn at Vern's, but hopefully we can move them home soon, and I'll post pictures.

Shaking things up...

I remember now that I did this LAST spring on a rainy day.

For some reason, everytime I get the Chronicles to a comfortable place, where everyone knows what they'll find, it starts irritating me and I have to do the Great Template Hunt.  And the more templates I look at, the worse it gets!  There are no ranchy-French-book-garden-photo-fishing blog templates anywhere.  Can't imagine why. 

I told The Farmer that every template I looked at, I had to imagine what cow pictures would look like on it.  He indicated that he'd never thought of it and that I was perhaps a little....extreme.  He's very content with his blog.  After about 2 months of wrestling with it, he's more or less going to leave it alone because he's got better things to do. (Like fixing my clothes dryer, which is sort of why I'm writing this post...far from the scene of the mechanic-ing.)

Anyway, I apologize for the upheaval and the weird sidebars, the off-kilter pictures and the half-way music list.  I'm trying to edit HTML. We'll see....

This is sort of a weird combination of two templates...and I don't actually mind it.  But I may just bag the whole thing and go back to the original.  What do you think?

It runs in the family...

It's no secret that I'm challenged, fashion-wise.  Sometimes I get close; most of the time I miss by a mile. 

It would appear the little crabapples don't fall far from the tree.

C.U.P.S.

It's been awhile...

There are some new readers of the Chronicles and you'll need some clarification.  C.U.P.S. is an acronym that stands for Coffee Under Pretense of School.  It started when Country Wife and I decided to enroll our oldest children in once-a-week preschool in Jordan.  We had to find some way to kill 3 hours in town, besides getting milk and eggs, so we invited ourselves to Farmchick's house and didn't feel too bad about it because we always brought food and magazines.  Our preschool days became the highlight of our week and we've been missing C.U.P.S. a lot, lately.

We convened this week here at my house on a kindergarten day, partly because of tradition, partly because we couldn't possibly fit any more kids in my little house.

As it was, I counted (with the babies) 8 children, ranging in age from 5 months to 4 years old.  Crazy! But they were great and we were actually able to accomplish what we'd set out to do: eat an entire pan of caramel rolls, leaving no evidence of a party, and drink a gallon of Kafe Utza coffee.  Honestly....I'm not sure I can look another caramel roll in the eye, now.  Mercy!

We were privileged to be joined by a Travel M.U.G.S. (Mother Under General Stress), Rachel Sloan who drove 80 miles from Miles City to join us with her 4 children...bless her heart! Rachel is an amazing woman and I love her to bits.  In fact, I don't know anyone who doesn't love her to bits....hmmm....

As we were saying goodbye to one another and hugging, we kept saying, "It's been too long.  We need to have C.U.P.S. again SOON."   

I hope we do. 

Happy Birthday, Aunt Bert!

Yesterday was my Aunt Bert's birthday, so this post is a little late...

This is a picture of us at a C.U.P.S. meeting last spring.

Isn't she beautiful?

As long as I can remember, I wanted to grow up to be like Aunt Bert.  When I was little, she was the most glamorous woman I knew and I really and truly thought she could do anything.  She taught me things like:

• People notice your hands, so keep your nails trimmed and clean and use lotion. When you paint your nails, do at least two coats. And toenails look better with a little polish.
• Always use real butter and real vanilla when you're cooking.  Use the best ingredients you can afford; it makes a difference on how things turn out. (She recently confided that she's started using *I can barely type this word* MARGARINE of all things, in her cookies to keep them soft. I can't do it.)
• Wear moisturizer and sunscreen, always.
• With regards to sewing: measure and fit, measure and fit...and if it's not right, rip it out and start over, no matter how painful that might be. 
• Write letters.  Take pictures. They remain long after you are gone.
• Texas Tech is the football team to cheer for, always. Red Raiders Rock!

And those were the practical things.

Aunt Bert loves the Lord and is always growing in her faith.  She challenges me to move beyond my comfort zone, always (although that's not something I really struggle with) and is a lifelong learner.  She's interested in people and their lives. And she's usually working to keep them trying a little harder to be better and more than what they are right now.

She loves antiquities, French culture and it's trappings, cats, shoes, fashion, family, old books, telling stories, handmade treasures, coffee, walking and talking out frustrations, good food, terrible political jokes, Conservative politicians, handbags, kids, and football.

She can be bull-headed and bossy, on occasion. 

(Those aren't bad things! These traits are signs of great ideas and determination to accomplish them.)

(I hope Grandma Dutton reads this.)

She's one of my very best friends, my kindred spirit, my role model.

I still hope I grow up to be like her.

True Confession #372

(Okay, I skipped a few.  But 370 looks so....even.  For those who are keeping track of my true confessions, this will be distressing.  As will the content of this blog to my mother-in-law....she'll just count her blessings I live 5 miles away and call ahead everytime...)

Are you ready?




(Anything that makes my mother-in-law want to call ahead everytime she drives by my house has GOT to be shocking, don't you think?)

(It's not.  She's easily horrified by me.)

(And yes, she reads this blog.  And cries.)





I like to garden in my pajamas.

There. I've said it.

I don't INTEND to garden in my pajamas.  It just happens!
In the summer, I like to have my morning coffee on my deck and watch the sun rise and listen to the bulls and meadowlarks warble.  Sometimes our mama cat goes hunting and brings me something marvelous and dead, like a trophy meadow vole. That adds excitement, especially when the other cats find out.  But I digress...

I can't sit still long.  And the thought occurs to me, "Perhaps I'll wander over to the herb bed and see if there are any chives for eggs this morning."

Sure enough, there are chives.  But I notice the pansies I planted there are looking a bit droopy and their little heads are bending, sadly.  No one can bear a sad pansy, especially not the person who planted them with promises to love and care for them until the first frost! So I wander over to fill my big aluminum watering can, after abject apologies to the neglected plants with the assurance that I'll try harder.  (Usually, a cat lays on them while I'm apologizing, adding serious injury to insult.)

By the water hydrant, there are always errant plants....like YARROW....that are invisible during the broad daylight while I weed.  In the soft morning light, they almost charm me, but then I remember their relentless march into the lawn with intent to vanquish the grass and I handily yank them out. 

One shouldn't waste flowers...even weedy ones...and this prompts me to think I'll start a bouquet for the table.  I can't use the watering can to store them, because obviously that is in use. I remember an old jar in the garden shed and potter off that direction in the dewy grass, pausing to roll up my pajama bottoms on the way. 

At this point, I KNOW some of you are thinking, "Why doesn't she just go back inside and get dressed?" or even "Why doesn't she get dressed before going outdoors to have coffee?" 

If you are one of those people, you probably don't understand that once one is dressed, gardening is work.

By the garden shed is a bed that is sad, sad, sad.  I cover my eyes as I pass, trying not to look at it squarely.  I'm not prepared to apologize to THOSE plants quite yet.  But in the garden shed itself, I usually find whatever it was that I was after (despite my husband's despair over my organizational method) and bonus treasures, too!

A left-over seed packet with 3 scarlet runner beans in it! I can't have random seeds lying around, without a home, so I gleefully rub my hands together thinking of the perfect spot.

(I now have a my coffee cup and it's cold contents, the half full watering can, a couple stalks of yarrow, an old jar and a seed packet. Good thing my pajama top has a pocket, huh?) Off to plant the runner beans by the garden gate.  Where I find that odd petunia from the greenhouse that didn't really fit in anywhere. Except there's a pot on the deck that's looking sorta empty....

And so it goes.  This all takes place before 6 a.m., and it's the most fun I have all day. (Which is a sad commentary on my life, really.)

By the time the rest of the family wakes up to turn up their noses at the eggs 'n' chives, I've mended relationships with most of the annuals, made outrageous claims to the crowded perennials, cautioned a tree I call the Wart that it's really and truly his last year again if he doesn't shape up, found a toad for Maggie and scattered seeds all over. 

All in my pajamas. 

What's on your nightstand?

There are night readers, those who simply cannot fall asleep without consuming some form of literature...even 3 words...and there are non-night readers (I am told) who are too weird for me to contemplate. 

Ever since I broke the glorious reading code and learned to take myself to worlds beyond my own by way of books, I've been reading in bed.  With a flashlight at Girl Scout camp, the phonebook in a motel room when I forgot a book, and last minute parenting tips in the hospital after having Maggie. 

It's indiscriminate.  All books are eligible. I HAVE learned not to read mysteries, unless I'm at the very end of the book, or I won't sleep...I'll have to read one more chapter.  Then one more chapter. And, since it's already 12:30 a.m.....one more chapter. 

I have comfort books, for when my life feels out of control or too distressing...All Creatures Great and Small, Lucia and Mapp, Cordelia Underwood, Patrick McManus.  And if I've been housebound, buried under snow and laundry, with no means of escape, there will be travel books. 

Here's an actual list, taken directly from the pile of literature on my nightstand, in no particular order. (Really. There's no particular order...there's no order whatsoever and it's driving my husband crazy, so after listing them, I'm going to reshelve them somewhere. Probably under the bed, because the bookshelves are gloriously full.)

• Vanity Fair, by William Makepeace Thackeray
• A Test of Wills, by Charles Todd
• Mrs. Roberto, by Van Reid
• The Bullfighter Checks Her Makeup, by Susan Orlean (this month's bookclub selection)
• Mrs. Greenthumbs, by Cassandra Danz
• The Three Musketeers, by Alexander Dumas
• Baby Penguins At Home On The Ice, by Jennifer Boudart (Maggie's, but I read it)
• Cordelia Underwood, by Van Reid
• Servants of the Map, by Andrea Barrett
• Desert Queen, by Janet Wallach
• A Yank Back To England, by Denis Lipman (Look for a post on this book, coming soon!)
• Prayer, by Phillip Yancey
• The Death of a Pope, by ? Read
• They Shoot Canoes Don't They?, by Patrick McManus
• Blazin Bloats and Cows on FIRE!, by Baxter Black
• Moonfleet, by J. Meade Falkner
• The Hungry Ocean, by Linda Greenlawe
• Eat, Pray, Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert
• The Art of Eating, by M.F.K. Fisher
• Going Rogue, by Sarah Palin
• The Lord God Made Them All, by James Herriot
• Women's Study Bible NIV

Yeah. Maybe I should put them away a little more often. 
Do you ever look at people's bookshelves and try to figure out what sort of person they are by what they read? I do, and I feel sorry for whoever looks at our shelves...

What's on YOUR nightstand?