Well, hello friends...

It seems like a month since I've been here, written to you, laughed about crazy things....like why our dog food bag says, "Improved Flavor!"; who would know that? Seriously? Do you think some poor guy is hanging out at Purina, tasting dog chow?
"Oh...YEAH!...THAT is MUCH improved, Bob! Slap the label on there!"

I feel almost like starting out like Garrison Keillor:
"It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown..."
Except that I haven't actually BEEN in Cohagen for the last week, really.  We loaded the family up and boarded a train in Glasgow, MT (not to be confused with Glasgow, Scotland, Alice), rumbled across the High Line of the state to Bigfork for Thanksgiving, and time in the mountains with friends we call family. 

To catch you up to that point, however, you need to know a couple things:

1. The Harvest Supper/Pie Auction went brilliantly, with the community coming together and supporting our little school as they usually do, whole-heartedly and appreciatively.  Who won the Pie War, you're wondering? Well....I did, between Traci and I, but I think Susie Milam took us BOTH out with her chocolate-mocha-frozen-ice cream-homemade fudge sauce on top pie.  As well she should have! I mean, my goodness...!

2. This is sad news; Daisy's calf Rosie died on Saturday before Thanksgiving, taking the OC herd back down to one.  I'm still very sad about it, and I don't really know what to say except that this is the cattle business, however small, and these things happen.  But 50% of a herd is sort of a big deal.  I have her little eartag and am trying to think about next spring and Daisy's upcoming calf.

3. I had my first root canal on the Monday before we left.  I can honestly say that I'd rather give birth than have a root canal done.  And it wasn't that I had a bad dentist...quite the opposite; Dr. Matthews is great, and listens to me as I'm drooling and shaking, adding liberal doses of anasthetic.  I'm just that big a wimp, when it comes to dentists.  But I lived and it's all much better.  Still...this was a noteworthy event in my life!

Now, then...
I feel I need to do a separate Thanksgiving post, because this is just a catch-up, clean-up, check-in post, so that's tomorrow.  This evening, I'll leave you with a couple pictures from the Harvest Dinner!  I didn't take many because that darn tooth was hurting like crazy and I had two options: slumped in the corner with a hydracodone coma...OR...alert and hurting.  I chose the alert because there WAS a Pie War going on, you know, and Traci is beguiling.  I couldn't trust that my sour cream raisin meringue, bourbon pecan, and fresh lemon meringue pie could each hold their own against her flirty ways...

We had cowboys and Pilgrims and Indians.  One Pilgrim was a bit surly, because she thought she was more suited to being an Indian, but eventually got over it.  Pilgrims don't wear feathers.  Or fringe.  Or headbands.

The tribe...

A very serious trapper with a clip on tie under his neckerchief...one never knows when one might be called upon to mediate a trade and it's vital to have the proper wardrobe.

Customers!  Friends and family! Pie bidders!

Our friendly, courteous staff is eager to serve you...

Ham, roast beef, cheesy potatoes, rolls, corn, applesauce, pie, coffee or cider, pie; you get the idea!

Traci, coercing a bid, I'm sure....or demonstrating her square-dance prowess.  Not sure, really. It was entertaining, obviously!

The Thanksgiving reader's theatre/dang cute kid display.  Mrs. Carroll just gathered up any old kid, costume or not, student or not, to join the Cohagen students up on stage.  It's not shocking at all (to us in Cohagen) that you can't tell the costumed ones from the ones off the street, so to speak. 

The lemon meringue, before it made its way to the community hall for the Pie War; isn't it pretty? But not pretty enough to beat Susie M....alas! Next year.  Watch out for next year's pie!

Mrs. Eunice Surle's Mardi Gras Party Cake

(Because I know Aunt Bert will want the recipe...)

Typed EXACTLY as it was in the cookbook!
Even with ingredients in bold type....

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Melt............2/3 cup Nestle's Butterscotch Morsels in
                   1/4 cup water, in saucepan.  Cool.

Sift
Together.....2 1/4 cups sifted Pillsbury's BEST All Purpose Flour
                    1 tsp Morton salt
                    1 tsp soda and
                    1/2 tsp double acting baking powder.  Set aside

Add...........1 1/4 cups sugar gradually to
                    1/2 cup shortening (part butter may be used), creaming well.

Blend in.....3 unbeaten eggs, one at a time, beating well after each.  Blend in melted butterscotch morsels;
                   mix well.

Add...........the dry ingredients alternately with
                  1 cup buttermilk, beginning and ending with dry ingredients.  Blend thoroughly after each
                   addition. (With electric mixer, use a low speed.)

Turn............into two 9 inch round layer pans, well greased and lightly floured on the bottoms.

Bake...........at 375 degrees for 25-30 minutes until cake springs back when touched lightly in center.
                   Cool; spread Filling between layers and on top to within 1/2 inch of edge.  Frost sides and
                    top edge with Sea Foam Frosting or whipped cream.

Butterscotch Filling

Combine 1/2 cup sugar and 1 T cornstarch in 2-quart saucepan.  Stir in 1/2 cup evaporated milk, 1/3 cup water, 1/3 cup Nestle's Butterscotch Morsels and 1 beaten egg yolk.  Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until thick.  Remove from heat; add 2 T butter, 1 cup coconut, chopped, and 1 cup pecans or walnuts, chopped.  Cool.

Sea Foam Frosting

Combine in saucepan 1/3 cup sugar, 1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar, 1/3 cup water and 1 T corn syrup.  Cook until a little syrup dropped in cold water forms a soft ball (236 degrees F).  Meanwhile, beat 1 egg white with 1/4 tsp French's Cream of Tartar until stiff peaks form.  Add syrup to egg white in slow, steady stream, beating constantly until thick enough to spread.

Mrs. Eunice Surles

...of Lake Charles, Lousiana really couldn't believe it when her cake won the first grand prize.  She's baked many a cake in her life, often for her church suppers, but never with such a triumph as this.  The recipe is from the long-ago days of the South, high in glamour as well as the taste.

Isn't that EXCITING?!

I don't know about you, but with a billing like that on the back cover, I HAD to buy the little

Pillsbury's BEST 11th Grand National Bake-Off Cookbook

to get the high glamour, triumphant Southern cake recipe submitted by Mrs. Surles.

100 Prize-Winning Recipes for 25 cents!

I couldn't go wrong.

And I was not disappointed....

More on Mrs. Eunice Surles:

I think the dear lady also devotes much of her time to eating her very own wares, bless her heart!

Are you dying to see the $25,000 Mardi Gras cake?

(And doesn't it make you chuckle to think of Mrs. Surles baking something so daring and festive? Mercy!)

I know you can't read the text in the top corner, telling you yet MORE about Mrs. Surles, but this is what it says:

Eunice G. Surles of Lake Charles, Louisiana, is a widow who lives alone in a three-bedroom apartment.  She's a cooking hobbyist and has won a number of contests with her fancy baking.  Mrs. Surles plans to use her $25,000 Grand Prize money to improve her property.

I don't know how she intended to improve her three bedroom apartment, but I'm wildly guessing it wasn't by purchasing something so frivolous as a canopy bed....

Here's the spread on the actual contest.

Please note that everyone is polished and smiling, even as they measure their Pillsbury's BEST flour...

In the bottom right-hand corner you'll see a group of women sitting around a table.

The caption there reads:

Behind closed and well guarded doors, top food editors from newspapers and magazines judged each of the 100 best recipes of the year before selecting prize winners.

I shudder to think what sort of bribery and strong-arming would've gone on, had the doors not been well guarded.

The little cookbook really does have some good recipes, with the exception of Sheila Pittman's Cookie Cakes which not only contain small pieces of diced prunes, but also are coated in a prune glaze.

And Donna Jean Izzo's Pizza Pancakes.

And Senora Yolanda de Lizardo's Chicken Rico Ring.

(I swear, I'm not making Sra de Lizardo's name up! Isn't it the bomb?!)

There WERE a couple pie recipes in there, but I think I'll stick with my original plan.

Pie Wars

It all starts out so innocently....
with a harvest dinner to raise money for an interactive white board for the school. 
And then, in a flash of brilliance, it is decided to have a silent auction for pies!  Yes!  Who doesn't love pies?  With Thanksgiving just around the corner, folks can buy a pie at the auction, stick in their freezer, whip it out on Wednesday before to thaw and voila! baking done!

Yesterday, over coffee and amidst the clamor of tired kids, my friend Traci and I were sorting out the details of the dinner; assigning jobs, figuring out who cooks what, drawing up a floor plan (complete with little circles on the big rectangle to represent pies on a table).  We were visiting about the pie-lent auction and Traci unknowingly threw down the first challenge while I was planning the sign up sheets: "Yeah!  And we could see whose pie brings the most money!"

The Great Pie War of 2011

We both laughed and I patted her on the shoulder; in that chuckle, though,we both KNEW at THAT instant that we were destined to be fighting for the prize with our pastry.  We agreed to be friends, no matter how it turned out, but it's definitely on....

We have a little background in friendly competition.
One summer, we decided to see who could walk the most miles in a month, for fitness purposes.  It started out very nicely, each of us turning in our mileage every couple days and encouraging one another.  But then, about 7 days into the competition, the tone changed.  I HAD to win.  And, as it turns out, so did she.  We were killing ourselves to rack up the miles.  I mean to tell you...I went to Butte for a MASBO conference and worried like everything that while I was sitting in workshops on school finance that she'd be inching up in miles.  So I doubled mine up before I left, AND walked while I was there.  Just in case.  Traci developed plantar fasciitus in her quest to squash me.  It was not pretty. 

But bless her heart, she presented me with my winning trophy at one of her family functions, in front of everyone...a little tennis shoe charm that is one of my most cherished possesions.  And we laughed and hugged, realizing that perhaps we were both perhaps a little too competitive for our own good.

That was a few years ago.
I'm sure we've outgrown that silly sort of behavior...

I'd like to invite all the Chronicles readers to come to Cohagen Gym next Friday evening, November 18th, starting at 5:30 p.m. and bid on the bourbon pecan pie or the sour cream raisin pie with miracle meringue topping.  Remember...it's for a good cause!  (The interactive smart board is a pretty good reason, too, if you have to have another.)

*I was just told that my bum calves brought $800 dollars, total, at the sale barn on Tuesday.  I know my husband is going to be standing close to the pie-lent auction table, making sure I don't bid my own pies up with this funding....
**As if I'd do that....

(I'd like to note that this war is not between anyone but Traci and I.  If it was over ALL the pies, we'd just have to hand the ribbon over to Nancy Horn before it even began...)

HELP!

I need help with html.
(No, that does NOT mean "hot meal".  If that's what you thought, you are A.) obviously more into cooking than computers; call me.  or B.) not in touch with your inner nerd; really probably a good thing in the long run but of no service to me at this time, thanks anyway!)

I really want to get rid of the little "New Blog!" flag on the upper left hand corner of the Chronicles banner, but I can't find it in my html code!

Any ideas?
And it doesn't have to disappear, but I DO have to change the words.  It's not a new blog.  It's ancient. 
Any ideas on what to change the wording to?

AND...
I'm unable to comment on certain blogs!  Marina's simply hates me! I can't find ANYWHERE to comment on Christine's, but perhaps she doesn't want comments. There's THAT.  Traci's makes me use Anonymous and I'm always worried that crazy "Really-and-truly-the-original-and-ONLY-Anonymous" person is going to find me and discipline me for using that function. 

If you can,
HELP me!!!

A Veggie Tale

If you're a sensitive lover of vegetables, look away...this post is not for the weak of heart!

This is a photo of what remains of a romaine lettuce head.  Or maybe it's the heart. 
Either way, it was a disturbing find on the counter when I was doing dishes a few days ago.  Moved aside a plate and AAAAGGHGHGH!!!  Oh, the carnage...!

I have a child who requests the end of the lettuce head, who turns down cookies for carrots, who can't understand why other children don't eat red bell pepper slices like candy, who paws through the fridge for things like celery and sugar pea pods for a snack. 

In the sage words of Jeff Foxworthy: "That ain't RIGHT."

This child will take the lettuce off her hamburger and eat it first, before anything else on her plate.
She's the one who happily tells me at mealtime, "Thanks, Mom, for the salad; lettuce is SUCH a treat!!"
Other moms hide vegetables in the dishes they serve their families, hoping they'll accidentally ingest zucchini slivers in their spaghetti sauce before they realize what happened.  I just lay vegetables out on the counter and they're gone.  Handy, huh?  Sure saves a lot of scheming and fine mincing on my part! 

I can't even begin to comprehend veggie-love at this level.
I like vegetables, but I can tell you I've never been passionate about them. 
I'm more of a carrot cake sort of person. 
My kid would rather have just the carrots, thank you very much, and get rid of all that yucky sweet cake junk you have wrapped around it!

So when we come to your house for a visit, lock up your lettuce.  Hide the cucumbers in a cake mix box.  Put the pea pods under the soda pop cans.
I'm trying to save you from the horrors I encounter every day, the corpses of vegetables lying on the counter on their paper towel shrouds....

One Thousand Gifts

Do you know?
I believe I could find one thousand gifts...little reasons to be grateful for grace...right there in our bookclub.  Maybe in one evening, even! 
Well, that might be a bit much...I mean, I'd be writing things down like, "Grateful for secretly procurred toothpicks to spear pickles while Traci isn't looking" and "Ice cubes that melt slowly" and "The second sentence about mold in the thirteenth chapter of the book."

Our book this month WAS entitled One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp, and it was essentially about recognizing and giving thanks for God's gifts of grace in our lives.  What a timely selection, hm?!  And it was a good, thought-provoking book, although I had a hard time with the author's style of writing.  All I can say is that it's rich; like a really rich dessert that one can only eat a little bit of, then needs to take a break or it's overwhelmingly too much.  It's not a bad thing, it's just a book I had to pace myself in or I would start feeling ill, because I couldn't handle the intense descriptions of life. 

It highlighted how we all could be more aware of the little quotidian joys and blessings that surround us, daily.  Traci first read it during a hard month last winter and it helped her outlook immensely.  During the winter, here, we all really struggle with cabin fever, everyone and everything getting on our nerves, feelings of despair, bleak views out our windows.  It's easy to get down.  She said it helped her recognize the true blessings and get over the little irritations in her life at that time. 

We had a great discussion, chewing on different ideas we pulled out of the book, talking about individual blessings, big and small. 

Speaking of chewing....

We also had a really good meal.
(I know.  This shocks you.)
*insert sarcastic tone, here*

Traci made gumbo, which after she told us the ingredients, we realized it contained nearly every major meat possible: ham, shrimp, crab, sausage (I think it was a beef based sausage), chicken,  loads of veggies and great spices.
I ate too much, but it was wonderful!

We had sweet potato rolls, pasta salad, spinach salad, and these incredible pinwheel appetizers that Joni made!  (Joni C. of "I don't really cook all that often, so don't expect big things from me" reknown.) They had bacon and cheese and olives and bacon in them (I meant to do that); I ate too much, but it was wonderful!

Anne brought weird beverages that we loved!  Fauhncy root beer in vintage apothecary looking bottles, a berry fizzy malt beverage that was sort of like strawberry champagne only softer, and wine.  (She'd just been to Bozeman and was giddy with the access to all the frou-frou beverages!) I drank just enough, and it was wonderful!

We ALSO had homemade apple pie, this too from Joni Don't-Expect-Big-Things C.

topped with homemade ice cream that froze while we ate the rest of the meal.

(She didn't want me to take her picture holding the pie, so here is a picture that she can't squawk about.  Pretend the meat is a pie and you'll have the general idea of what she looked like holding it...)

Here's the actual pie:

Incidentally, I ate too much, and it was wonderful!

Here's a shot of my plate, before the decimation began...

Marisa's boys joined us for bookclub and they were, of course, adorable and well-behaved all evening. (Comes from the Mosby side of the family....)

(I have a cousin who just fell off his chair laughing, after reading that.  The best part is, he IS a Mosby, so he should be standing and applauding, saying "That's RIGHT!")

Everett loved Sweetie Boy, the cat, but I can say without hesitation that the feeling wasn't mutual.

Check out the truly irritated demeanor of the cat, as evidenced by the glare of his eyes and the slant of his ears...

(You see Finn, there in the background....)

I'll start the count on the 1000 Gifts of bookclub:

1. We are thankful for fun evenings with amazing friends (and wine)...

2. Dinosaurs and good books...

(How many bookclubs are thankful for dinosaurs, I wonder?)

3. HOMEMADE APPLE PIE AND ICE CREAM!

(On pretty china, no less!)

4. Happy babies that let us smooch them with ice cream-y lips and coffee breath...

Okay, he doesn't look so happy here....he's tired from all the smooching and it's almost time to go home.

Next month, we meet at Susie's house! We're all excited about that, because none of us has ever been to the beginning of the end of nowhere, except me when I was a little kid but that's been a few years.  I'll let you know the book when we know; Susie was gone for this bookclub and I teased her about choosing a Harlequin.  She may, just to drive me insane, so stay tuned!

Mental Diarrhea...

THAT got your attention, didn't it?!
(Oh, how I hope my mother doesn't read this...)

I've got all sorts of little, insignificant thoughts that can't stand alone as a post, but I feel the overwhelming (and probably ill-advised) need to share them with you. 

For instance...
Nearly every morning, when I run, I meet this grumpy old skunk who is trundling back to his burrow after a long night of carousing up and down the creek.  We've gotten sort of accustomed to one another; I holler so he knows I'm coming, he raises his tail in greeting, we keep going.  This is going to sound completely deranged, but I've gotten to where I look forward to seeing him and am disappointed when he's not there.

It's pie season!  Yes!  Remember last year, when I went through about a month of sincere pie-love?  It's back.  Cohagen School is having a harvest dinner/pie auction on November 18th, and I think I should start practicing now.  Sour cream raisin pie....I think there's probably only one person in ten that like a sour cream raisin pie and I'm that one, here.  With meringue.  *sigh*  Pie love...there'll be more on this, later. (Incidentally, if you're planning on coming to the harvest dinner and think you'd like to bid on a pie, I will take requests now, to ensure that your favorite kind is there.  And if I can't do it, I know of a couple other pie girls who CAN!)

My bum calves, Lily and Willy, are gone.  I know.  I'm a little sad.  Do you know what makes me cry, about this?  It's not that they're going to be hamburger soon...although that's not a pleasant thought, either.  It's the thought of how scared and bewildered they must've been at the sale barn, how frightening the sale ring was for them.  Every year, that nearly kills me.  But next spring will come, with new flower-baby bums, and we'll start all over again!

This is out of the blue, but do you watch the music/movie awards shows?  I usually don't, simply because they're deadly boring.  But when I DO, it brings out the worst in me; for about thirty minutes, I find myself cattily looking at the over-the-top fashion (good and bad), watching the faces of the nominees, rolling my eyes at the acceptance speeches.  Last night was the CMA awards and I got sucked in because Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood were hosting, picking on EVERY person in country music.  It was highly entertaining when they brought out the Tim McGraw and Faith Hill Barbie dolls. And this morning, I notice that everyone is all in a fluff that Taylor Swift got Entertainer of the Year.  Drama, drama, drama...(She had a lovely dress and wore it well.  Drats. I can't even disparage her fashion sense...)

Today is Sara Hagedorn Calvert's birthday!  Huzzah! Now THERE'S a girl who can understand pie love, sad bum goodbyes, and friendly skunks....  :)  Think Bon Appetit meets Agri-news.  She's a treasure of a friend and I'm so grateful she e-ntroduced herself last year.  Happy birthday, Sara!

Tonight is bookclub; we've been reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp and you'll get the report/menu tomorrow.  I know.  You'll be waiting breathlessly until then....

That's all for right now.
See? It wasn't as bad as you'd imagined after reading the title of the post, right?

But, it's just make up!

Because she won't tell you herself, unless you accidentally trip over some of her pink and black boxes, my sister is now officially selling Mary Kay.  Yes!

And Saturday evening she had what the invitation termed as an open house, but what she referred to as her "coming out of the closet" get-together. It was a big deal for her, as well it should be, and she'd cleaned and baked and fluffed and prepped all day for the shindig; as the day went, though, friends started calling and cancelling.  Su much so that when I talked with Jen at 1:30 p.m., she sounded sort of frantic and begged me to come so she wouldn't get skunked.  Please?

Well, what's a sister to do?! I had to go.  I know how it feels to have a party that no one can make it to.  And I didn't want her sitting there in her pretty dress, in her clean house, looking all sad and drowning her sorrows by eating the whole Double Chocolate Bailey's Irish Cream cake by herself.  I mean, if she's goona be sad and eat cake, I should be there to join in and support her in any way I can.

The weather was AWFUL.  The morning was just cold, but it started snowing that afternoon and just wasn't going to let up.  I thought it wouldn't be so bad, because I'd get in to Miles when it was relatively light and evaluate whether to risk the roads after the party.  I told Wayland that I'd turn around if the roads got too bad...no big deal.  And took off, thinking of all the times Jen had come through for me. 

As far as the road went, they were alright, except for the last 70 miles.  Those were white-knuckle, tense shoulder, 40 mph, blowing and melting and freezing sorts of miles.  I kept thinking I'd run out of it.  By the time I decided to turn around, I was closer to Miles than home, so may as well plow on in...

It took 1 1/2 hours to get there. 
Yeah.

I was 15 minutes late, missed the big shpiel, had to hurry up with the interview card, and was all twitchy from the trip and the football game I could hear on in the next room.  This is love: that I would miss the biggest college football game of the year to apply moisturizer and make-up with the girls.

It turned out that a couple of friends who thought they couldn't come, did, and Mom was there, too, so there were five of us.  Yay!  We Mary Kay-ed from 6:30-10.  I'll admit, I did sneak off and watch the equivilant of one quarter of the LSU-ALA game, while everyone was eating chocolate cake and drinking chai. 

I decided to spend the night, which really was no choice at all, considering what I'd driven through to get there, so Jen and I visited and laughed, went through all her products after everyone had left, planned and plotted.  We were counting on the time change to buy us an hour.  Then we blew right through that hour and kept going....I think it was 1:30 by the time we finally called it quits and went to bed. 

I came home the next morning with all sorts of little trial sized lotions and potions, some new colors for my face, and a happy heart from having sister time. 

And this morning, I'm moisturized and spackled up, ready for whatever the world might toss my way!

If you need Mary Kay, contact Jennifer Pitcher at 406  853-5901.  You can tell her I sentcha!

Pajama Day

Yesterday (and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that) was a hurry-up-get-your-things-and-get-going-Buttercup day.  Angus seems to be able to roll with it, but Maggie's "easy does it" way to begin the morning was seriously disrupted.  HRH does NOT like to be rushed, especially in the morning. She gets all fluffed and frazzled, and sincerely grumpy.  Then we throw her on the bus, and I end up calling her teacher and apologizing.  It's not pretty.

So, yesterday, while she was all weepy about missing the shipping and the company, and feeling all disgruntled about the fourth frazzly, harried morning, I promised that we could stay in our pajamas until noon on Saturday.  Wayland was going to be gone, helping the neighbors ship, so we'd just relax and regroup.  Maggie was thrilled!  Yes!  And was I going to stay in MY pajamas, too, please?!  Well, sure.

It's now 9:30 a.m. and I'm about to go crazy.  I'm NOT a stay-in-my-pajamas sort of person.  I went ahead and did my hair and makeup, because I couldn't stand it.  Now I'm trying to do chores in my pajamas and I'm about to ask her for a get-out-of-jail-free pass. 

For the last few years, I've made a real point of getting ready in the morning for whatever the day might bring.  Always do hair and makeup, always get into "real" clothes...the lounge-y stuff isn't allowed until after 5 p.m.  And it's not sweats, when it does come out.  This has been a good strategy.  The kids no longer ask if we're going somewhere when I do my makeup and come out in nice clothes.  (Not "goin' to church" nice, but everyday nice.)  I can get a call from W. to run to Miles City for parts and voila!  I'm already ready! 

I only have 2 1/2 hours to go, on Slob-out Saturday. 
It's killin' me.

The kids are completely happy, playing and rolling around, and now snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie.  It has been essential for them to have a Slob-out Saturday and they're pleased that I'm participating, so I'll finish it out.  Who knew it would be so stressful?!  And yes, I know....crazy. 

Here's a picture from after the Halloween party at school, when we all came home and crawled into our pajamas, sat on the couch and watched A Snoodle's Tale.  It's pretty much what we look like today, only well rested. 

Today was shipping day on our ranch! 
As Angus says (and he really DOES say this, by the way), "Huz-zah!!"
The steer calves are G-O-N-E, GONE.

In a brief summary of the day....

The Highlights  :) 

• The steers weighed EXACTLY 625 pounds, average, which happens to be the EXACT weight we contracted them at. 
• The day was perfect.  And when I say perfect, I mean: sunshine, light breeze, 57 degrees F., no precipitation.  Perfect!  Yesterday, we read predictions of snow, wind, ugliness.  Today we saw...perfect.  (And I said, "Thank you, God!")
• We had a terrific, experienced crew that all showed up AND no one got hurt.
• The food turned out and the crew ate it!  Okay, my mother-in-law's food is always great...ALWAYS....but I worry every year that the coffee refreshments (my responsibility) will bomb. 
• My father-in-law didn't have a heart attack, stroke, panic attack or any other sort of awful medical emergency caused by stress.  And this was without the aid of the Valium we threaten to drop in his orange juice, the morning of.
• It was payday, rancher-ly speaking...we now have money to buy feed for the cows to get them through the winter to do it all over again next year. 
• The Farmer and I are still speaking.  This is BIG. I got yelled at for legitimately messing up, but I didn't cry or yell back.  (I quietly plotted what to put in his meal, later, to create gastric distress.  She laughs best who studies herbal properties and applies them, last....)
• Angus had a friend to play with all morning!  Jackson, the scale man's son, came and spent all morning with him, chasing around and having fun while the rest of us worked.  We love Jackson; he loves us.  Too bad we only see him once a year!

The Lowlights  :(

• Heifer calf #704 may be ruined for life on trailer loading.  It's not for lack of trying, that's for sure.  She is our new poster-girl for the term "bullheaded", closely followed by a picture of the Farmer, who was certain we could just shove her on there because...well....he wanted her to go on THAT trailer. 
• I screwed up.  A lot.  But they won't can me, because I bring the breakfast burritos and the cinnamon rolls. 
• Speaking of breakfast burritos, it was pointed out to me SEVERAL TIMES that the cattle buyer and the scale man really and truly were hoping for Scottish eggs.  They looked everywhere for them and even though they each ate a pile of breakfast burritos, the lack of Scottish eggs was a sincere disappointment.  To the point that I'm not sure we'll get that great a price on our calves next year unless this is figured into the negotiations. 
• My bum calves, Lily and Willie, had a really traumatic day (much like the buyer and scale man).  They were separated, loaded, hustled, mixed with strange calves, run around, re-hustled....it was awful.  The minute they were reunited, they went together like two sides of a sandwich and were completely content.  The heartache of bums....my inability to emotionally detach.  
•  Maggie had to go to school, missing all the excitement...the thrills, the chills.  She has made it her life's ambition to get a horse.  Several of the neighbors helping us today HAVE horses.  This was a monumental missed opportunity. (They don't bring their horses, mind you; she just shmoozes and bats her eyes in the hopes they remember her when they retire a good horse.   So far, nothin'.  But she's no quitter...)

It really was a perfect day!  Now the heifer calves are being weaned at the Big House and the next week or so will be fraught with anxiety about them breaking out and running amok.  I'll keep ya posted. 

From a page on FB called The Bliss Sisters.

Montana Ranch Glossary

For Joni C., who keeps telling me I'm talking in a foreign language, even though SHE'S the one with the accent. Go figure, huh?

Pairs- noun, pl.- A cow and her calf is considered a pair, more than one of these such groupings would constitute pairs and that's what we're gathering today.

Ship- verb- To send away from the ranch by truck, selling and procurring just enough money to keep the rest of the cows alive, fed and producing calves, in order to do it all over again.  Tomorrow, we ship the steer calves, which is the reason we're gathering pairs today.

Wean- verb- To remove the calf part of the pair equation from the cow part of the pair equation so that the calf will become independently sustainable and the cow will plod through the winter to produce another calf in the spring, thereby restoring the pair equation.  We will wean the heifer calves, tomorrow, as opposed to shipping them.


Cattle buyer- noun- Not the actual purchaser of the calves, as one might presume from the title, but the middle man who cuts the deal between the rancher and the actual purchaser; an agent, of sorts, who gets a commission from facilitating this transaction. Our cattle buyer, Toby Larson, will be here tomorrow to sort the calves and eat cinnamon rolls.

Sort- verb- The act of separating the cows from the calves, then the steers from the heifers, then the heavy steers from the light steers, weighing them, shaking one's head, separating steers again, etc.  It's where I generally make some memorable, monumental screw-up, thereby causing the neighbors to mention it every time they come back to help. We, the ranchers, sort the cows off of the calves and the steers from the heifers, then our cattle buyer sorts them by big and little. 

Portable panels- noun, pl.- Beautiful inventions of steel, basically light fence panels that can create pens or alleys where there had been none before.  They are also considered appropriate "Oh, are you hung over? What a shame. And we have to set up panels all day, too" disciplinary devices on some ranches or arenas.  We have portable panels set up south of our house, in the lot, to sort this little bunch of pairs.

Neighbors- noun, pl.- This should be common knowledge, but in Eastern Montana, neighbors can be people living as far away as 25 miles.  These are the guys that come help gather, sort and haul the cows and calves; in exchange, we help the neighbors gather, sort and haul THEIR pairs when the time comes for them to ship. They also bring interesting stories to the dinnertable at noon, compliment your cooking, make your kids feel 10 feet tall, say nice things about your cows and so forth.  Good neighbors are gifts from God and not to be taken for granted.  Our neighbors will come help, tomorrow, and one of them is a brand inspector.

Brand inspector- noun- The person liscenced by the state whose signature we have to get on many pieces of paper stating that he's looked at all the livestock we're shipping and certifies that yes, indeed, they are all ours because they all have our brand on them.  We call our brand inspector Mike Green, and he's also, very conveniently, our neighbor.

That's all the time I have for this little glossary; I have to start the cinnamon rolls for tomorrow.
Hope that helps, Joni C.!

Taps

I don't know how many people actually know the lyrics to the melody called Taps; I do, because I was a Girl Scout, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and we'd sing it in the evenings before going to bed in a really dusty, spider-y cabin or a sweaty tent in the middle of a cactus-land-mine campground. 

Taps wasn't played at the funeral today...there were other, more fitting songs really.  The obituary said that Tim was an Eagle scout, no small accomplishment, and I think he'd have know the lyrics.  They keep running through my head this evening, so I'm going to "release" them here.

Day is done, gone the sun



From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky


All is well, safely rest


God is nigh.


Fading light dims the sight


And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright


From afar, drawing near


Falls the night.


Thanks and praise for our days


Neath the sun, neath the stars, neath the sky


As we go, this we know


God is nigh.







Tomorrow is a long day on the four wheeler, gathering pairs, getting ready to ship on Friday!  Such a crazy week...
Thanks for your kind words and prayers this week! 

You just never know....

A week ago, to the hour, I was flying around the kitchen trying to come up with breakfast for two friends who were coming to my house for breakfast, having called from mile marker 67 saying they were on their way.  That gave me approximately 15 minutes to make a plan and start the eggs. 

The Farmer had just spent two days with these guys in Miles City at the fire hall and diving, getting some EMT time in and going over wet/dry suit checks.  He'd called from Miles Sunday afternoon, asking if I might be up to cooking breakfast and I said it would cost them, jokingly. I'd cooked for them the year before and charged them a bottle of rum, which had never materialized and which I didn't care if it ever did, really.  They're great guys and we just like having them around, you know?

The Farmer had said they'd call if they were coming out, this last Monday, but we hadn't heard from them until mile marker 67.  Turns out, they thought the plan was to call if plans changed.  Man communication.  :)

Well, by the time Tim and Tyson got here, there were breakfast burritos going and hot coffee, and the kids were all over them.  They laughed and played good/bad guys with Angus, held Mags on their laps and discussed hunting with my husband.  As harried as I felt, it was good to have the company around the table and I remember thinking so as I was getting ready fly out the door with Angus to preschool. 

It was a cold, cold day...raining and blowy....and when the great white hunters got back that evening for bean soup and rolls, we had another cozy visit.  The guys talked about a book on the psychology of war and fear, took apart a pistol right there in the middle of the bowls and plates, and the kids climbed all over Tim and Tyson.  When they left to go back to Miles, there was teasing about how they now owed me a much more expensive bottle and invitations to stop at the firehall with the kids any time. 

And life moved on; the week went by and everything was normal.

Friday morning, The Farmer had to leave early to help a neighbor ship, and once again, the morning was sort of jumbly. I got a call from Traci and her voice was really weird; she said she had bad news, and I thought it was about their young friend Liam, who'd died from leukemia the night before.  But no.  She told me that our friend Tim McGlothlin had died in an accident that night, Thursday night.  Our friend who had been sitting at my table telling me that he loved breakfast burritos, that I'd read his mind that Monday morning.  My husband's dive partner and "I've got your back, man" friend.  The kids' fireman hero.  Just like that....in a mountain bike accident of all things...he was gone. 

And this morning is so very hard.

It was a really awful weekend, not only for our family but Scott and Traci's, too.  Harder for them, because they're coping with two losses.  I've read the obituary, we've talked it out, but it's still so surreal, you know?

I know the Lord has Tim in His hands, and that's a comfort...a great comfort.  We who miss him, though, struggle with the "why?".  At least I do.  No matter how old I get, how much life I live and how near I crawl to God for answers, that "why?" question will always be there.  Why this person, Lord?  A big hearted man whose life work was to help others? Why the kind, funny, talented one?  Why now, at age 39?  All these "why?"s rattle around in my head, even though my heart knows everything is in God's hands, that He has a plan and that He loves us, always. 

In a few minutes, I'll make the pancakes for my little family and we'll head out to work, school and CUPS, just like we do every week on Mondays.  And on Wednesday, we'll go honor Tim's life at his funeral in Miles City.  And life will move on. 

It's Rotten

Confession:  I used to have this friend who USED to belong to a Rotary Club, USA that served absolutely hideous meals every Monday which (and not without much coaxing and pleading on my part) my friend photographed with a smart phone and relayed the images to me those afternoons, along with a funny (and often painful) description of the cuisine. 

I was sworn to secrecy, having ALSO begged to be able to use these as a Monday feature on the Chronicles.  Really, something this grotesque should be shared, you know?  Sort of like People of Walmart pictures, only of food.  But no, the only way I'd get the images was if I promised not to publish.  So I kept the secret, looking forward to Mondays like you can't imagine, knowing that no matter how completely rough the week was going at least around 1:30 p.m. I'd have this wonderful, horrible treat in my email to gag and laugh over.

Last week, without warning me, my friend quit Rotary and sent the last photo with a little note jokingly saying that the hope was that we could still be friends. 

Let's just say that I didn't take it well....

And I thought we could still be friends, but here it is, Monday morning and I'm faced with the cold, hard reality that there will be no more Rotary Rot forever.  Forever!  I'm just not sure we CAN remain friends.  Friends don't take friends' reason to get up on Mondays away so coldly and cruelly. 

So this is my therapy session, my way of dealing with the hurt:  I'm going to share some of the Rot with you along with my friend's descriptions. Am I going to be in trouble? Maybe. I can live with that risk.
I'm going to slap a warning label on here, though.
If you have a weak stomach, you'd do well to leave the Chronicles this minute.
If you're on a diet, you may want to print some of these pictures out and put them on your fridge!
Just sayin'...

How many ways can you think of to serve soggy beef fat?  Today we tried it sliced.  Actually, I didn’t try it—I saw it, snapped a quick picture, suppressed my gag reflex (which came on surprisingly strong and fast), and went to the salad bar.  Now I’m wondering how in the world a spinach salad, bowl of soup, and a mound of cottage cheese is going to hold me over until tonight.

It also bears mentioning that the Rotary Board met today at 11, and the agenda is attached.  Note the agenda item to make lunch an optional cost (right now, it’s mandatory part of the dues.  You pay for lunches, whether you come and eat them or not).  I thought it was a great idea—it would save me about $350 a year.  Moose liked it too.  Unfortunately, the rest of the Board nixed it for reasons I can’t explain. Rats.

Most of the time, people puke after they eat.  At the ----------, they prefer if you puke right in the serving trays.  Saves money on gravy…

Nasty, nasty.


I had salad bar. And even that was disgusting. Fortunately, my appetite was ruined, so I’m not hungry.

Dainty “PLEASE NO” Moore stew…
(Auto-correct changed it from "Dinty" to "Dainty", I was told.)

I don’t know what this is. I don’t even know what it was supposed to be. I even asked someone who ate it, and he didn’t know either. No one knows. I had Moose hold it up so you could get a better look at it. If you figure out what it is, let me know.

Actually, don’t.


Even the salad bar was nasty today. The sign said the soup was tomato, but turns out it was actually watered-down spaghetti gone bad. It even had foot-long spaghetti noodles swimming around in it.


Yuck.

…in some kind of red sauce, then cooked in hell’s oven until it is completely stuck to the pan…and served up as Rotary Rot.

*There was no description for this one.  The email title said, "Parts is parts" and the image title was "Foul".

I should say so!

I saved the best for last...

Or maybe it's the worst.

Turns out bacon doesn’t make everything better after all. Take the -------’s World Famous Cat Vomit, for example. Still looked and smelled like cat vomit, regardless of how much raw bacon they stacked on top of it.

Maybe if they’d have cooked the bacon. Yeah…maybe THAT would’ve helped.


Look how many pieces of bacon got picked off and left to fend for themselves in the puddle of greasy yellow stomach bile at the bottom of the pan…


Now THAT’s gross…

Today’s offering was the -------’s very own incinerator-lasagna. The ------- didn’t want to serve obviously burned food—they have a reputation to protect, after all—so they did the noble thing: sprinkled a little more cheese on top of the blackened heap and threw it back in hell’s cauldron. After all, why stop at one scorching if you can have two?? And who’s gonna notice?

* Editor’s note: That mangled, nasty looking piece on the upper left that no one wanted? Yeah—THAT one…?? Well, Moose ate it…


But wait! There’s…



 More!

It’s an unprecedented Rot-ary two-fer!


If it the pot-shot wasn’t enough for you, maybe an pic of the greasy aftermath clinging to a white plate will send your stomach into full convulsions…

This is sort of an appropriate place to end the post, even though I have other images that are dear to my heart.  You can see how my Monday afternoons will be sad and empty.  *sigh*

Party, party, party!

I told you I'd post about the Cohagen School Halloween Party, and so I will...

One thing you need to know, before I get rolling, here, is that our new teacher Mrs. Carroll came from a school system where the kids and teachers weren't allowed to dress up in costume for Halloween.  She was SO tickled, to see all the kids in their various costumes that we could've just dressed 'em up and walked them around the gym, and it would've been a big deal for her. 

Really, that's pretty much all the kids needed, too. 

Here they are, in all their glory, completely unimpressed with the idea of a group picture. 

This one makes me smile, because I think only one child is actually looking at the camera, and the cow is making a break for it! Also, please note Batman.  Batman KILLS me.  He's the most cherubic little super-hero, ever.  I see that we're missing the little devil, too....you'll catch her later in the post. 

The mummy contest, in which one child is the mummy and the other kids on the team attempt to swath him/her in cheap, one-ply toilet paper as fast and completely as possible.  This game is a particular favorite, because the kids can't believe their good fortune in being able to totally WASTE an ENTIRE roll of toilet paper!  And no one yells at them!  In fact, parents are cheering.  This is craziness...
(See the pumpkin in the background, with a ramp?  That was for Pumpkin Mini-Golf.  Traci made a hole-in-one, lefthandedly.  This is a huge accomplishment and needs to be acknowledged in a public forum.  Please congratulate her if you see her out and about....and no, she didn't get a big old prize for it, nor did she make a little kid cry....)

I don't think they actually WON the mummy contest, but they did get points for having a gen-u-ine Egyptian princess on their team.
The mummy does look a little worse for wear, but she recovered nicely and went on to play...

...Smoosh the Wart on the Witch.

(I was NOT the witch.  I painted the witch.  Let's just get that straight here and now.)

Here's Traci, giving each little contestant their multi-colored wart and instructing them carefully on the goal of the game. 

Ah, THERE'S the little devil!  I can't think of a more unlikely costume for this particular child, but she was so darned cute!  The "big kids" (ages 7-8), waiting their turn at the witch game....

We think he MAY have cheated. 

Here's the rogue cow, corralled for a couple minutes.  Honestly, I couldn't look at this baby without laughing!  Even in this picture, you can see the bright little eyes and ambition; my Gramps would've said, "She's a caution..."  and in a good way. 

FOOD!  You can't see, but there's another table with more food.  One thing about Cohagen: everyone feels very strongly about making sure people at a potluck get fed, and fed WELL.  We're talking fried chicken, pickles and cream cheese rolled up in ham, gooey butter cakes, homemade sugar cookies, brownies, and more.  Yum!

Jack o'lanterns!

I'd think one could tell by the name tacked on the punkins, but did you know Halloween basically started in Ireland? A holiday full of teasing/pranks, candy and big stories....yeah, that would be Celtic, alright.

(I like the fangs, on the big one.)

The crazed cat, Guns Up Jack (Sparrow) o'lantern, and friends, looking zany and completely at ease!

Nothing but bones and grins...I think Weight Watchers is working, don't you? 

And Mrs. Carroll sent home goody bags full of TERRIBLE, WICKED junk to make a parent want to weep.

Things like fake, rubber witch's fingers that Angus promptly discovered would keep his REAL fingers clean when he picked his nose, eliminating that pesky "Gross! Go wash your hands!" admonition.

I was trying to come up with some sort of retribution, but then realized that she gets the kids on Tuesday.  You know.  The kids with the sugar hangovers from the night before...

It goes around, it comes around...

She packed up her potential...

I found these images a few weeks ago, when I was feeling very uncertain....ironic, hm?

I saved them, wrote down the website, intending to write to the author/artist and tell her how much I liked her work, how it made me smile and looked just like the stuff in my head. 

The little slip of paper got tossed, I'm sure, because it was written on the back of an envelope; it makes me sad, because I can't credit her, here or write to her, either. 

I'm hoping I find her website again, and then will do so.

In the meantime....