It's Friday, Folks.

Some photos for my faithful few.  This made me LOL.  And I never write "LOL" unless the situation warrants it.   Silly truck. 

And here we have Charlotte.  Charlotte, unlike our other feathered acquaintances, has no fear.  She will boss the horse, the sheep, the dog, the other ducks, probably the cattle if she could get close enough and for certain, she will boss you.   I hope you aren't thin skinned because she will cut you down.  I don't appreciate it but what can I do?  What can I do?  

Perhaps get a life and stop dialoging with animals you say?   

Homecoming

I turned older last Sunday and I expect that I will next year too.  That seems to be the trend these days.  But where has the past 10 years gone?   Sheesh.  Between waking up and going about our daily routines and then falling asleep watching any number of reality shows on cable television, what really separates one day from the next?  It all becomes squashed.  Life becomes a uniboob of memories. 

On my next birthday, I'll be turning th...th....thhiii.....thiiiiirt.....thirteeeeeeeeeeee-----n. Yes, thirteen, folks.  You thought I would be turning 30 because that's what happens when you subtract my birth year from 2012.  And that’s ridiculous.  

However, I wouldn't want to go back to being 13.  Most of you have seen pictures of me in Jr. High.  Sweet. Merciful. Savior.  

Last weekend had me driving to Ohio for an old high school friends baby shower.  She's as cute as a button. Her husband wants to name their son "Lucky" which makes Sarah very upset.  How wonderful it was to see these old friends in their current capacities as mothers, wives, and teeth-cleaning technicians.  Each of them has enriched my life simply by being in it with their lovely and hilarious selves.

I also visited the town where I spent part of my early childhood.  Going back to my roots was like greeting an old friend.  I had this intense urge to re-introduce myself in case they had forgotten what 23 years could do to a person.  No more potbelly, glasses and pigtails.  They scarcely recognized me.

While driving down Bradley Street at a fast enough clip that I wouldn’t creep out the neighbors, yet slow enough to trigger a flood of nostalgia, I realized that childhood has a way of distorting reality.  Houses, trees, streets, front porches all are smaller then what you remember. The world is just a grander place when taken in from a tiny set of eyes.  

Everything made me think of mom.  She colored my little world, even then.

Driving away and catching a glimpse of my childhood past growing smaller in the distance, I felt a keen sense of gratitude for the life I had been given and for my life now that is completely sustained and propelled by a similar tenor of grace.

 

What the heck I've been up to besides not blogging...

July had me running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Or, in the case of our unfortunate farm animals, like a duck with my neck sawed to shreds.  By an gigantic owl.  Anyway, it doesn't even apply because ducks just plop over dead when their heads get severed off.  Ours don't run for anything.  Ever.

Bad example.

So, work has been keeping me knuckle dragging honest and quite busy.  Other than actually being quasi-productive at work (sans today, of course), I have managed to do a few fun things here and there.

Clint came into town for the 4rth of July.  We had us a celebration!  This pictures kills me because dad looks like a mischievous little boy here, no?  Or an Iguana. 

 Here I am taking Clint on a white-knuckle 4-wheeler ride around the property. 

When we arrived at the old Schoolhouse, Clint became very tired and decided to take a nap on a rusty fence.

Totally. Normal.

For no reason really at all, I felt that he should be put in the corner.  Maybe it was repressed memories stemming back from our childhood together or the fact that he sometimes does not return my calls or just because the wind was blowing outside.  It just felt right in my soul.

 Next, Clint gets a refreshing drink from the watering trough. 

We visited an old cemetery down the road and came across some headstones from the early 1500's.  Or maybe they were from the 1600's?  Eh.  What's being off by 100 years when it was a bazillion years ago either way?  

I took many, many more pictures of headstones but I will spare you.  The intricate details were beautiful, though.  Early settlers took dying seriously.   

Here I took in a beautiful florida sunset while celebrating my friends' long awaited nuptials. 

... And here is my friend putting her husband in a Twister Simulator at the local mall.  It was the best $2 investment of her life.

You all come back now, ya hear?

Sowy.

Sowy.  It's been about a month since I last wrote which means that you have already cut me out of your will.  And that's appropriate because sometimes, I just cannot keep up with your demands.  All one of you.

You should know a few things about my day today:

1) I love the sweater I'm wearing.  It is a pleasant color blue, it's from Target, it's soft and smells great because I hosed myself down with perfume this morning.  However, if I sweat or even think of glistening, it shrivels and darkens to a degree that's embarrassing and makes me want to hide in my office bathroom.  But, I love my sweater.  So today I will keep my arms plastered to my side and wave only from the elbow.  And if I happened to be roped into performing the YMCA song today, I will demand that I be the "A"(the gay fireman?) because I can still maintain my stationary elbow pose.

2) You should know that my drive into work most every morning is very lovely and peaceful.  That is until about 15 minutes in when black lab with no manners and a limp lies in wait for me and Cheryl to come around the bend.  Then out from a ditch, he bolts out in front of my car.  The first 50 times this happened, I would jam on my breaks because unlike hippies, I will break for dogs.

His careless owners who have bequeathed him a red collar must know about this.  It happens almost every morning right in front of their front porch.  Sometimes when it's an especially close call and I have run out of Xanax, I have impassioned dialog in my car going over just what I would say to his owners if I were ever to knock on their door in a fit of anger.  I can be a completely unreasonable and a total jerk in my head.

However, past experience has told me that whatever profane dialog I had practiced prior to would come out something along the lines of,  "Hello there!  Would you kindly keep your doggie inside between the hours of 8:30-9:00 Monday through Friday.  Okay?  Love your flower garden!  Would you like a sandwich?"

I'm turning into one of the sheep.  Always consternated and skittish.

Happy July 4rth weekend, Friends!

Snappy Times

Hello, again.  It seems as if my brain is taking a writing hiatus. I hope you don't mind.  One day I'll have thoughts again and will tell you about them.  

For now, these are snappy times.

The sheep are interested in me only when I am shaking my can.

(Perverts!)

But really "shaking my can" consists of an old Folgers tin filled with sweet-feed which is like crack cocaine to those sheared beasts.  

They hear me calling "Sheeps!"
*shakeshakeshake*
and they. come. running.

Although they don't look like a force to be reckoned with, have one of them step on your toe once and you will know what it means to fear the stampede.  It isn't like they line up in single file formation either.  Sheep are neither clean nor orderly.  But they are cute and they let me pet them while they are eating so I will deal with a lose toenail or two. 

Look at that long neck.  She's a virtual Grace Kelly of the sheep world.  Except that Princess Grace did not eat grass and poop where ever the urge hit her. 

Helicopter ears. 

 One of my favorite pictures to date.  Pretty much sums up how sheep view personal space. 

 They are sweet, no?!

 And mildly suspicious.

My name is Blossom.  Nice to meet you.

In case you've gotten to this point and muttered out loud to yourself, "I wonder how those baby ducks are doing?"  I have some answers for you.  As of this morning, we are down to 2 when we started with 6.  I have some theories about this, reader. 

Our "baby ducks" are really closer to being pre-teens now.  And we all know how terrible pre-teens are.   Maybe it got to be too much having them around eating up all the bugs, Wonder Bread scraps or gluten free bagels that tasted terrible and grew mold in exactly 3 days from the date of purchase. 

Perhaps they were sent off to boarding school,

Or sent down to the pond to be with the guys,

Or just maybe we have a fox.  

And Charlie is sleeping on the job.

Again.

And every other day that ends in "y".

It's a reality of caring for animals that are not under your constant watchful eye.  I would bring them inside but they do not care for the human variety.

Happier [less dead] times.

Take a walk with me...

Last Saturday, I got off my duff and took a walk around the farm.  It was 75 degrees and sunny which makes it a virtual crime to stay in doors.  I would have liked to take you with me but you were all busy. I know because I peeked in your windows.  You all are impeccable house-keepers. 

Come along with me...

For whatever reason, I always feel like I should provide commentary on every picture but that is not always necessary.  Plus, you might be tired of my snarkiness. 

So, here's some fence posts that are covered in what appears to be green scabs. 

Cows are in a constant state of panic.  For really no reason at all.

Oh, looky.  An outhouse.  How convenient after a long walk. 

Don't mind if I doo.  

 That must have hurt.  Don't ask me why people were eating shoes back in the early 1900's. 

Moving on...

Next stop, an old schoolhouse on the outskirts of the property.  I know a lot about school because I was in for a very, very long time. 

Just ask Sallie freaking Mae. 

I am researching the origin of this early 1900's schoolhouse so I hope to be able to update you at some point.  For now, I've been instructed to talk to the neighbors to my left and the lady at the post office down the road for more information.  However, it's fun to imagine what may have taken place during that time period... 

The inside of the school house.  

Imagine all the lessons that were written on that board or the many noses that were pressed up in the corner...

As a little girl, I wanted to be a school teacher.  My brother, mother and who ever else would give me the time of day were my semi-cooperative pupils.  I won't say I didn't yell at them or give them big red "F's" on their worksheets.  I was tough, but fair.  Mainly, I was just bossy.

 Well, I'm exhausted.  How about you?  Let's go.  While on the way, let's take a picture of the cotton ball clouds.  Sorry if I am excited about the most mundane of objects. 

Almost home.  Calves.  Burning.

Thanks for coming along with me.  

Coming soon, the story of my crazy neighbors.  Literally. 

Nekkid

Montana holds the official title of "Big sky country" but I'm pretty sure West Virginia is its kissing cousin.  Please take a moment to revel in the subtle inference of incest.  

These things come to me in flashes of brilliance.

I hope to show you one day what I mean by "big sky" but my camera has been around for years and is very, very tired.  Its shutter speed is such that the object I intend on capturing on film will have graduated college, gotten married and moved cross country before their image registers.  In other words, the ideal subjects for this rattle-trap Nikon are stationary items like statues, buildings and old people.

Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yes.  Because of the big sky panoramic views, I am able to forecast inclement weather days in advance.  Well, not days per se.  It sure feels like it.  

Here is a shot of a storm rolling through the other evening.  In the background are Quincy and Winnie being regal. 

The sheep were kept in the barn or "jug" overnight while this weather system moved through because they were getting their hair done cut off the very next morning.  Wet wool is apparently brutal on electric shearers.

The close quarters caused much consternation amongst the community. 

"Say wa? You say this Jerry Curl is coming off?" 

This guy is always consternated. 

At 9:00 the next morning, we had a professional sheep shearer come out the farm and strip these guys nekkid. 

You should know right off the bat that sheep love being on their backs and even more then that, they love loud tools that hover a mere millimeter from their flesh.

Look at how relaxed this guy is?  He's LOVING it.

"Fa-la-te-da"

And just in time for summer, Leila gets a bikini trim.
(sorry, I know that's unsavory but I couldn't help myself)

Going,

going...

 gone.

Coming soon to a mailbox near you, Lands' End Winter Fleece collection 2012.