Cohagen High School Rodeo, 2012

Mostly photos, but they're worth a million of my words!

Hot, sticky, blowing his $2 as fast as he can on liquid sugar...

This is about all the rodeo Maggie saw.  She gave a token ten minute glance, then it was off to...

...the DIRT PILE!!!

There was a goat tying clinic put on by a very competent, handsome young cowboy who was concerned that my kids didn't know the first thing about the event. 

He had a pretty good time on that run, but then the goat didn't offer a whole heck of a lot of resistance...

She had sort of a crush on my boy....

I could hardly STAND how adorable this child was!

You'll see more of her later.

It was all I could do not to smooch those grubby little cheeks every time I saw her.

Here's the older sister of the goat-tier and little girl with the crush,  running the poles.

I was too close, so you don't really SEE the run very well, but then it wasn't her best so maybe that's alright. The horse was fun to photograph!

Here's the pole bender with her granddad and friends...

Can't believe she turned around just when I was taking the picture!

(Incidentally, my introduction to this girl was when she was about a week old and her mom said to me, "Want to see the world's cutest baby?"

She's just gotten even prettier as she's grown...)

Love all the hats!  Black is the new trend and I think it's pretty classy.

Remember this little hat?  I was in the cookshack, visiting with my friends who immediately put me to work pouring pop and fetching chips, when I turned around to see this little miss standing on a cinder block to be tall enough to get her nose up to the counter.  She got some candy in a hurry and headed off to make sure there was a nice layer of dirt to cover the tell-tale sticky spots on her face...

The Gang, swapping candy and making elaborate plans...
Rodeos are a rockin' good time for the whole family, but those under the age of 10 seem to REALLY get the most fun out of the whole experience.

More cuties...
I really didn't see a lot of the rodeo, because I was very busy photographing dirty faced kids.

This is probably my favorite photo of the day.

The bull watching the kids at the chute getting ready for their bull rides.

Announcer and timers...man, what a long day for those folks!

And we have the first bull ride of the day!

According to THESE judges, it wasn't a qualified ride.  But it was deliciously dangerous and exciting!

More spectators...

I like the dog!

Little boots captivate me...

Downtown Cohagen, MT:

Everyday population, 4-6; 

High school rodeo weekend population, 250.

So We Run

Remember the Montana Women's Run that my sister talked me into doing?

It was this Saturday before Mother's Day!  

There was an option to run either the 5 mile or the 2 mile and of course, we went for the 5.  Two miles is such a piddly little distance and if we're going to run, we're going to REALLY run.  

Cari Mae, our sister (step, but we forget that most of the time) also signed up to run the 5 miles and Karen Leah (step mom, but we forget that most of the time) signed up to walk the 2 miles with her friend Kay.  It was a family affair!  Also, 8,700 other women signed up for the event.  Yes, you read that right.  I'm sure most of the Chronicles readers didn't think there were even that many women in the state, but it's true!  And they were all shapes, sizes, colors, ages, hair styles....amazing.

Now, before I talk about the race experience, I need to tell you that in our family each one of us kids is Dad and Karen's favorite.  We'll call and say, "It's your favorite daughter!" and they say, "You sure are!".  (We all know B.J. and Barry THINK they're the TRUE favorites and we let them because it would bruise their fragile egos to think that they aren't.)  So it was three of the Favorites running!  Our own little team in a way, and next year we're going to get our own tee shirts proclaiming that.  

I won't get into a mile-by-mile report, but I will tell you the highlights.

In BULLET POINTS, TOASTBA!

(That should make you happy.)

• When we five-milers lined up for the race, (all 3,000 of us) the announcer said, "Anyone who runs slower than a 5 minute mile needs to move back from the front."  And the entire crowd laughed heartily. Except for the 6 women in front who actually DID run a 5 minute mile; they were quite serious about the run.  
• I looked down during the line up and was just FASCINATED by all the different shoes! Brand new, old scruffs, big ones, small ones, what-in-the-world-is-THAT ones, every color imaginable...crazy.  
• I learned I'm a really, really slow runner.  Especially when I don't know the course in order to pace myself...who knew when mile 3 was going to end?!  I ran a 10 minute mile through the whole thing except for the last block.  I really wish I'd pushed myself harder.
• Speaking of the finish line...my sisters are faster than me by 3-5 minutes and they'd run together most of the way.  When I got there, they immediately met me and we hugged...we lived!  Then Cari asked me if I'd had fun.  "No! I did NOT HAVE FUN.  This was NOT fun, Cari.  Nothing about this was FUN, do you hear me?!"  Later, I realized it really HAD been fun but we all learned the important lesson: never ask a runner who has just crossed the finish line if they had fun.  It won't be a pretty response.  
• My only goal was to run the whole thing without walking at all; goal accomplished.
• When we were trying to get Karen's attention at HER starting line up, we hollered, "MOM!" and all these heads turned around to see if it was THEIR kids.  That was funny!  She told us to look for a pink hat and a purple race tee shirt; I'm not exaggerating when I say there were probably 60 women with pink hats and purple race tee shirts.  We called quite a few of them Mom, but they didn't seem to mind.   
• I was ridiculously hungry after running, but not really tired or sore, which was wonderful!  My sisters were exhausted, almost too much to eat.  After the race, I had half a sweet roll...bless Perkins' heart for donating them....then at the pizza joint took on a largish salad, half a Thai Pie, a beer and bunches of water.  Followed by a bunch of Milk Duds on the ride home.  Appalling amounts of food.  
• I don't think I'm a great racer.  And I'm certainly not a great racer with that many people involved.  If it was a race with 5 friends, I'd run until bloody to beat them but I don't really care when there's 8,000 or so.  But I'm glad I did it.  
• My sister is NOW training for a half-marathon.  I told her I'd send her flowers.  My next thing will be a series of 5 and 10Ks for fun...especially if they have groovy tee shirts. 

Pictures to follow!

A Cautionary Note from Maggie:

Flaming sugar balls...

We have FIRE!

We have SUGAR!

And the perfect evening to combine kids with those two elements...

 Doesn't that make your mouth water?!

Here's the best part:

Even Jack Sparrow likes marshmallows! 

The Barnacles, right before the sugar hit their bloodstream.

We have FIRE!

But no marshmallows.

Dang.

That's okay.

We'll just put sticks in the fire, wait until they catch flame, then pull them out and wave them around.

It's GREAT!

Inappropriate, if any, footwear...

We live on the edge.

Of sanity.

*Grandparents, don't look!*

Studying the effects of hot air on fire-brands...

Guarding everyone...Molly gets worried when we do things that she KNOWS could go wrong.

She finally crawled into my lap and hugged me...

What a beautiful evening for a fire!

I'm going to town this afternoon to pick up vet supplies for branding tomorrow and marshmallows for the campfire tomorrow night.

Want to join us?

*~*~*~*~*~*

I have this pergola; a beautiful, open-yet-shaded place that I designed and the Farmer built.  At each corner is a big raised planter where I put my vegetable and flower mess.  (Try as I may, I cannot plant vegetables without flowers. And vice-versa.) There's a fire pit on the northeast corner and a picnic table under the center, and though my plans were to eat there, we generally end up sitting there with beverages, not food, dogs panting underneath, and talking about really important things such as whether hummingbirds really hum with their beaks or whether the carrots are ready.  (It's designed, you see, to be able to graze as we visit....plucking a pea in mid-sentence or deadheading with a glass of wine in hand.) 

Last year, I saw in a catalog that there was such a thing as solar powered white lights.  You know, the little white Christmas lights one drapes on a Christmas tree?  Immediately I thought of the pergola!  She needed those.  She HAD to HAVE those!  So I ordered some.  Three sets, to be exact; two strings for the pergola, one string for my garden gate/seat....I wanted the pretty sparkles, the little stars in the night.  And they did not disappoint!

Tonight, after the whole family was in bed, sleeping sweetly and deeply, I wandered out with my glass of  chardonney and strawberries to sit in the pergola at the picnic table. It's so incredibly serene here when the wind isn't blowing, and the stars were brilliant.  The moon was nearly to the mouse's whisker stage...slivered and white.  Earlier in the day, the prairie was LOUD with birds and wind, but now....soft and quiet!

The bluish-white lights that I had strung on the pergola were softly dancing in the darkness with the slight breeze, casting j-u-s-t enough light for me to set my wine glass down and see the little coat that had been left on the picnic table when it got too hot for a cowboy (or Indian) to wear denim.  I hadn't thought it would be cold wearing just my pajamas, but it was, a little, so I draped the coat on my shoulders to break the breeze, blessing and admonishing at the same time the child who had dropped it there. 

The cats found me.
And they were mystified..
It was the time for people-bodies to be in bed and for CATS to be ruling the yard! 
I had no food (curses!) and I had no blanket (drat!) so they gave me a very quick "we-know-you're-crazy-but-we-understand" rub on the ankle and bounced off into the night to do their cat jobs. (Which I hope consists of slaying mice and laying waste to meadow moles; sworn enemies of mine.)

The dark covers up all the warts and wrinkles of my yard and garden and leaves just the form, the scent and the...feeling.  In the light of day, all I see is what I'm not getting done and what is lacking, but at night it's so serene and lovely!  I sit there with my child's coat on my shoulders and see the Big Dipper, which was the first constellation I ever recognized when I was a child, and think about how teensy I really am, how amazingly miraculous it is that I'm allowed to spend even 15 minutes in this world, how incredibly blessed I was to be born and live in Montana, and how my wine is getting bugs in it because of the solar lights. 

There's no such thing as Better Homes and Gardens moments, here; no matter how great the build up.  :)

So, I wave good night to the moon and promise her I'll be back another night, accidentally wander back through the 15 inch tall maple twigs, and toast the cats' efforts with the soggy strawberries in the bottom of my wine glass...

Summer is coming...

It's different!

*Warning!  If you're not an adventurous food person, you may want to just scroll quickly to the next post.*

I've had this idea for a long time, but have never actually tried it out, mostly because breakfast at our house is not a good place to present surprises.  My kids are great about trying new offerings, but they'd really rather start the day with familiar dishes like....pancakes.  Angus would have pancakes DAILY.  And if we could work them in at supper, that would be nice, too.  Maggie's more of a sausage gravy and biscuits girl.  And the Farmer just lurches to the table and eats whatever lands in front of him.

I've been wanting to do a savory French toast.
*gulp*
I know.
You have to think outside the box for a minute.
Work with me....and let me give you more details.

I wanted to slice a cheddar jalapeno artisan bread, soak it in the egg custard with salt and pepper, cook it just like regular French toast, except sprinkling it with chili powder.  And serving with cheddar cheese, salsa and sour cream.

My mother-in-law gave me part of a loaf of garlic cheddar bread, so last week, I just made it.
Exactly like I just described to you, except in a stroke of genius (it never happens, so it's remarkable), I put the shredded cheddar on the toast and melted it (by putting a lid over, so the egg-iness wouldn't burn).

The Farmer was the first recipient/victim.
And he said it was (and I quote) "Alright."
He says that about EVERYTHING I cook.

Maggie was next.
"Is this an omelet?"
"No, it's sort of a...cheesy French toast.  Try it!  Dad likes it..."
Yeah.  Right.
She cautiously cut off a piece and chewed it for a minute.
"It's GOOD!  Like cheese pizza!  For breakfast!  I really like it!!!"
Bless your heart, child.

Angus ate about half of his and wondered if maybe we could have pancakes tomorrow.
Again.

I was the last to try it and was very happy with the results!  It's almost like a Mexican omelet, but starchy, obviously.  If it was just me, I'd make it with the jalapeno cheddar bread because I like the kick.  All I could think (as I ate my second piece) was, "Why doesn't anyone do this?"  I've never seen it on any of the internet recipe sites.  But now you, my faithful readers, have the recipe.  Of sorts.

Try it, if you like something a little different for breakfast, and let me know how yours turns out!
(I'm sorry there are no pictures.  Maybe next time, if I make it on a weekend when we don't have to meet the school bus at a specific time!)

It's not the Boston Marathon, but...

My friend Lori ran the Boston Marathon this last Monday.  I admire her greatly for many things but this put her on a local running pedestal, really.  I mean, it's not enough that she's pretty and smart and better at yoga (because yoga is a competitive sport, don't you know?) but she had to go and run the Boston!  Seriously!

Johnny Kelley, winner of the 1935 Boston Marathon

My sister and I are committed to running in the Mother's Day Women's Run in Billings this year.  In fact, today is sign up day for us! Huzzah!  But since she's just a beginning runner and I've never been in an ANY K race, we're only doing the 5K.  Which feels sort of wimpy, following Lori's showing at the Boston.  Well, it IS wimpy, but it's a start.

HOWEVER....
Runner's World Magazine just delivered the Trail Running edition and I found my race.  It's almost as though the organizers knew me and created it specially to make me feel better about being a running...dingbat.  Here's the blurb from the actual race sign up...see if it doesn't just scream "Farmer's Wife, this is for YOU!":
(It's long, but it's fun reading...don't be intimidated!)

When a Half Wit entry is said to be "outstanding in his field", it is because he or she is not bright enough to find his way OUT of that field! Especially if the grass is really high! Only a rare breed (thank God!) enters the Half Wit Half since this demented trek requires one to have very limited common sense, no regard whatsoever for their body, a desire to suffer more than a Charles Dickens' orphan and more balls than the driving range; much like those running for the Republican Presidential nomination. The "Half Wit Half" Marathon 13.1M Trail is a never-ending barrage of rocks & roots, serious ascents & descents, downed trees (no water crossings), urban relics like the "128 Steps from Hell" and stifling heat; and that's the NICE part of the course. And yet 450-600 people of limited gray matter & low SAT scores do it every year. WHY? Well, first of all, DUH, they're not too bright! But many of them site the unique aide stations (some w/alternate beverages), the horses butt awards, the eclectic tech shirt artwork & the post race party at the Liederkranz German Singing & Sports Club that goes on forever, mainly because they lost their keys. The HWH is maybe PCS’s most gnarly race, Dude. It's a true challenge for the race leaders who would rather break a femur than have a 2 hr plus half marathon to their credit. Yet, it's doable by the person that downs 3 Snickers bars while reading the National Enquirer on the rack as they wait behind a BlueHair with 97 coupons at the supermarket. Yes, the HWH will be the most unique race you'll ever do, although if you are truly a Half Wit, you'll probably follow your Tom Tom's direction without question and end up in Cape May. LEGAL B.S: You are responsible for your health and welfare at all times during this race!! NOT the place to do your first “trail race” or “race” ever. It’s tuff! Plus, we don’t look for you if you get lost; we'll be too tired from marking the course the day before. Since this race is a REAL BUGGER, we don’t allow entries under 18. We also reject people that think that U.S. companies will ever bring back the jobs they sent off to people who will work for 16 hrs straight for $3.26/day before taxes, and anyone who doesn’t think that bouncing a quarter off Joan River's face would be hilarious. However, if you've ever bought cubic zirconia jewelry, a Jessica Simpson CD or a ticket to ANY wax museum ANYWHERE, we welcome you with open, very hairy arms!

AWARDS: 1st and 2nd M & F overall + 1st M & F Masters (no repeats) +
18-29: 6M/5F 30-39: 6M/4F 40-49: 6M/4F 50-59: 6M/4F 60-69: 4M, 3F (60+ for women) 70+: 2M,

REGISTRATION/ENTRY: Reading Liederkranz, 140 Spook Lane (off of Hill Rd), Reading, PA Reg. opens at 7:45 a.m., race starts at 9 (approx.). Fee: $32 w/shirt if postmarked by Mon, 7/23/12. Afterwards, $38 while shirts last (inc. raceday), $28 when gone. WARNING: FEW EXTRA TECH SHIRTS printed than the # ordered by prereg entries so if you don’t enter beforehand (even if after the cutoff), the only way you’ll prove to your friends that you’re a “Half Wit” is by telling them about the time you aborted your hunting trip before it even began because on your way there, you came upon a sign on the road that said "Bear Left". We race in heat, rain, humidity & pestilence. No refunds, mailed shirts/awards; running with pets (it would be cruel) or in-woods kanoodeling, especially with our deer. We reserve the right to delay the race start a shade if the weather is mega-foul, such as lightening. For your fee, you get a “collector’s item” tech shirt reflecting the limited smarts of those entered, finisher awards to all, (alternate type mailed to others if we have more finishers than estimated), very unique trophies, lots of munchies, well marked course, 5-6 water stops (some with snacks& alternate beverages), immediate results, results on www.pretzelcitysports.com in 1-2 days, indoor johns & porta johns on site, ambulance present & on-course surprises!

NOTE!! THIS IS ONE OF PCS’s SUMMER RUNS THAT STARTS AT 9 AM. DON’T BE LATE! ALSO, YOU MUST REACH 9M IN UNDER 2 HRS, 30 MIN. If it takes you any longer, it’s dangerous for you to go on (ask the girl who was last in 1999). It also ups the chance that all the food will be gone, the finish line will be packed up & the race committee will be knee deep in their body waxes. So you’re not tempted to “finish or die trying” after the cutoff, we remove the last section’s course markings starting at that time, give the wildlife water balloons and release our touchy-feely Aunts and Great Aunts onto the course. Bail-out” spot (9M) occurs within 1/4 mile of the finish. If you “bail”, PLEASE don’t CROSS THE FINISH LINE to tell us that you quit/got lost/got hurt/only ran part of the course, etc.!!!; It screws up our timing ROYALLY!!!

What do you think?

According to Runner's World, runners have to recite a humorous, self-demoralizing rant know as the Oath of the Half-Wit, there are beer stops at miles 9 and 11, there truly is polka music at the post race party and all finishers get a trophy that is shaped like a horse's hind end.  That beats a flaky old tee shirt, huh?!

One of the (many, many, MANY) things that snagged me was the part that said it could be done by someone who downs 3 Snickers bars while reading the National Enquirer on the rack as they wait behind a Blue Hair with 97 coupons at the supermarket.  I read People magazine, which is a quite a bit classier than the N. E., and prefer Milk Duds to Snickers bars, but other than that, they have my number!

It's August 12 in Reading, Pennsylvania.

Can you imagine? Me....running with my own kind!  

It's too good.  

Round, round, get around...

We're in a Beach Boys kick right now, thanks to Ivan Jasper, although he knows nothing about it.  After he reads this post, however, he may come knocking on our door to demand we give back his Beach Boys Greatest Hits Volume 2 tape back.  I guess if he wants it that badly, we'll have to hand it over, but not before we've gotten about 200 rounds out of it.

When Celestia found out that my car has a cassette player in it, she dug around and found a couple of Ivan's old tapes for the ride home.  It was rainy and grey, almost the entire way and when we got to Vaughn, we'd exhausted the Chronicles of Narnia Radio Theater (The Silver Chair).  It's a rather dark little story, too, and most of it takes place underground. Greyishly.  She pushed the Beach Boys in the player and instantly, it was summer in the car!

And we played it at a high volume.
Singing loudly.
Because, you know, the Beach Boys lyrics are not all that hard to get a handle on....
"Round, round, get around; I get around.  Get around, round, round; I get around!"
and
"Bah-bah-bah-Bar-bar-bra-Ann, Bah-bah-bah-Bar-bar-bra-Ann,  Oh, Barbara Aaaaaa-ann, come take my haaaa-aaand..."

By the time we got into Great Falls and pulled into the Sonic drive-in, we needed board shorts and a jalopy.
We got onion rings and cheeseburgers, instead.

But we've been listening and belting out Beach Boys tunes ever since we got back, whenever we get in the jalopy....I mean, "car"....rolling down the windows and making surfing motions with our hands in the wind.  We're so groovy you can't stand us.

I had forgotten how many Beach Boys songs were a part of my life, growing up!  And not because my parents listened to them, but more in high school of all places.  Our pep band rocked "Barbara Ann", nearly every game.  TWO of my best friends at the time had the name Rhonda....so I was CONSTANTLY singing  "Help Me, Rhonda".   Our choir sang "Peggy Sue" (Beach Boys songs are the bomb if you're trying to learn harmony).  "Fun, Fun, Fun" because one of our friends drove a T-bird..  And this was in the 1980s!  But the songs are timeless.

What's your favorite Beach Boys song?
And if you don't have one, "Come Go With Me" in our car with Ivan's cassette blasting.
You'll find one.

Name That Tune

Some of my favorite lines from songs....do you know them? Without Google-ing them?

1. "You see these bright, white, smiling teeth? You know they ain't my own; mine rolled away like Chicklets down the streets of San Antone.  And I left that person, cursin', nursin' seven broken bones, but he only broke...uh, THREE of mine..."

2. "I'm gettin' bored drivin' up and down the same old strip. I've gotta find a new place where the kids are hip..."

3. "But here in Topeka the screen door's a bangin'.The coffee's boilin' over and the wash needs a hangin'
One wants a cookie and one wants a changin' and..."

4, " ...don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart;
then you can start to make it better."

5. "Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer."

6. "I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees..."

7. "I'm going where the sun keeps shining
Thru' the pouring rain,
Going where the weather suits my clothes,
Backing off of the North East wind,
Sailing on summer breeze
And skipping over the ocean like a stone."

8. "We may never, never meet again
On that bumpy road to love
Still I'll always, always keep the memory of
The way you hold your knife
The way we danced till three
The way you changed my life..."



For some reason, I can't remember things like my mother's year of birth or the school's actual 911 address, but I can sing "Big John"...EVERY word...accurately.  It's a curse.
Especially since karaoke scares me to death.

The game's afoot...UPDATE

Maggie decided this morning that it was time to check the ice cream carton for prints.  With a magnifying glass.  Very professional detective work, very thorough. 

After a few minutes of examination, she pronounced that there was, indeed, a fingerprint. 

More examination...."It's too small for Dad's!"

Crud!

More examination...."It's too big for Angus!"

Double crud!

Umm......

"So what's your next step, sweetie?" (Hoping to stop this OBVIOUS process of elimination...)

"I have to fingerprint everyone!"

Yes!  Yes, you DO that, Ms. Holmes.  That'll take awhile.
Can you believe I'm sweating this?
I'd confess, of course, except that it would ruin the mystery for her.

Well, it's TRUE!

(No comments from the Forsyth readership!)

It seemed like the write thing at the time...

Do you remember the Indiana Jones movie about the Holy Grail, in which Henry Jones Sr. keeps a scrapbook-like diary with all the clues, symbols and research he's done on the artifact and its location?

It intrigued me more than the plot of the movie, really, and that's saying something because the Indiana Jones movies are my favorite stories in cinematography.

I have been given countless blank journals as gifts and they intimidate the heck out of me!  Pristine, empty pages....books and books of them....waiting for something brilliant to be inscribed on them.  And I've got nothin'.

Well, that's not true.

I've got plenty of things to write and say; it's just that the minute I open one of these dear little books, I get brain freeze.

MORE SO than normal....

The pressure of making it worthy, beautiful and enduring, is huge.  I imagine my family and friends finding the journals after I'm dead and gone, reading them and thinking, "That's it?!  That's all that was in her head?! She wasted ink on THAT?!"

You've read my blog, obviously.

I can write pages about flies and hole-y underwear and skunks.

With passion!

Can you imagine stumbling across 15 books of THAT?!

Don't let's.

That's not a legacy.

It's a comic book.

BUT...

I did grab one in a moment of weakness and jot a couple quotes in it.

Then, I pasted a great wine label that I couldn't bear to throw away with the bottle onto one of the pages.

And tucked a funny card from a friend in the back.

Taped in a Dilbert comic that made me laugh.

And wrote another couple quotes.

It suits me; it suits my personality.

Informal, not bound by duty, whimsical, bright, occasionally deep....

It's a little volume of delights and memories for me to return to, a place to tuck my smiles.

It certainly won't save any one's life, as the clues in Dr. Jones' diary did, nor reveal any sort of treasure, but it's a start.  It's almost full, so I'm looking at the next empty journal to begin volume two in. 

Do you keep a journal?

Besides Facebook or a blog?

Spring Break, Part II

When the kids and I go to Bigfork, we don't really DO anything except eat, sleep and play outside. That's it.

That's all we WANT to do!

Sometimes we all load up and go into Kalispell or Bigfork for groceries or tarps or Scotch tape.

(Or donuts.  Rosaurs has the BEST donuts!)

But for the most part, we just hang out in the mountains and soak it up.

Grandpa was burning leaves every day we were there, so we smelled deliciously of smoke and mountain air!  I don't know what else the kids tossed in the fire, but they were always over there, poking and stirring, keeping the smudge going. 

Slugs are fascinating! Maggie didn't really want to touch it, exactly, but she wanted to examine it more closely....turns out, clothes pins are the PERFECT slug-struments.

Grandma and the kids worked on the tree house.

By the time we left, she was even talking about painting it!

We were laughing at how it was sort of....red-neck-ed....in an otherwise neat neighborhood.

See?  Just right for all sorts of adventures and sieges!  A great lair for eating toasted marshmallows and chocolate Easter candy, when the adults are eating boring things....ham and sweet potatoes and the like.

There was much swashbuckling!

Every so often, we'd hear tromping through the house and a voice calling out, "Has anyone seen my helmet?"

Armor is frequently misplaced.

Or swiped.

I think he wore that shirt for three days.  I kept washing it and he kept digging it out of his bag...

Johnny-jump-up

All my bums have flower names. 
Daisy, Lily, Sweet William, Cosmo, Linnie (linum is the Latin name for flax), Rosie...
The bull calves are the hardest to name because...well...flower names really aren't all that masculine for the most part.  This year, I didn't think I was going to have a bum calf; two that looked promising were given away and the later the season gets, the less likely I am to have a baby to care for.  But, one of the rare afternoons this spring that I was asked to help put out pairs, there was a twin.  And his mama didn't want him.  She wanted the heifer, but left the little bull calf in the dust....literally! 

The Farmer picked him up, in the pasture, wandering around by himself.  He'd seen the twins the day before, but was hoping the mother would claim them both.  She did not.  And cows usually only want one of the two, really.  Two calves are confusing!  There's only supposed to be one!  The interloper, the rejected one, is cleaned off but generally kicked off or left because the mother prefers the other for some unfathomable reason. 

He put the calf over the seat of my four wheeler and told me to idle back toward the road, that we were going to get to the Honda Big Red and take him in to the barn and feed the little thing.  He knew that by the time we got back to the barn I would be completely attached to the baby.  And he just let me. 

Twins are so tiny. 
Calves are little and knobby kneed, big eared and adorable, but there's something exquisite about twins. 
I tucked the baby's back legs under my right knee and his front legs under my left knee, his sweet head rested on my thigh, bumping along as I drove through the sagebrush back to the Honda.  When we got to the ATV, the Farmer lifted the baby into the Honda and told me to take him back and feed him.  He may as well have told me to just take him on home and put him in the porch, because he was mine.  And I was worried, because I'd planned to take the kids to Bigfork already....would they give him away while I was gone?

May I introduce Johnny-jump-up?
This is the 2012 bum calf, for you all to fall in love with and follow through the summer!
And you WILL fall in love....

Spring Break, Part I

The kids and I migrated to western Montana for Easter and spring break; we love the mountains and miss our family in Bigfork. We didn't get there until Saturday evening, Easter Sunday was a flurry and we decided we hadn't scarred Uncle Frank sufficiently on family drama over the weekend, so we all drove south, past Polson to a little stage stop called Allentown to meet him for lunch on Monday.  Here are some photos from that little jaunt:

These were the first swans I'd seen in western Montana, despite all the references to Swan Lake and the Swan Valley!  Maggie was enchanted by them and they were very unconcerned with us tromping around in the rushes, noisily chattering about turtles and cormorants.

Angus found some bone and feathers, the grisly remains of some animal's dinner the night before, and wanted to show Uncle Frank.   There's treasure EVERYWHERE.

The cattails were a big novelty and I'm pretty sure we all had the fuzz in our hair and clothes by the time we loaded up to leave.

This weed is Dr. Seuss-ish to me in its form!

I don't know what it is, but I took several pictures because it fascinated me so.

Grandma Celestia and Grandpa Jasper, soaking up the sun and listening to the chatter....

On the way back to the cars to load up!  There was a little museum there, but it was closed so we decided to roar down to St. Ignatius to the mission.  I wish I had taken pictures there, too! 

More photos to follow, in Part II!