I'm still here. Just super busy and feeling a bit under the weather. I plan to post bunches tonight, but we'll see if that actually works out.
:)
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
Quick Hello
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
Monday, 6 October 2008
October and Apple Butter
Every October I suffer a little bit of depression. Not without reason, as some pretty traumatic things happened so long ago in October, always Octobers. So this year I am going to try and write through it.This time at the park a discussion that has been in my draft box over and over in the past year came up again: perfect birth obsession. Not just wanting, planning, and hoping for a "perfect" birth, but to the detriment of the baby. I could have held out with Lil'Bug or with Blueberry but to what end? To what harm? With Blueberry I know that I went to great lengths to ensure a healthy pregnancy, baby, and mama, and this paid off in my recovery and in her health. It was one day. I'm the mama to these babes for their lifetimes.
So the discussion veered toward, get over it it is just one day.
But, you know, I get it. I do. One day of feeling helpless, victimized, ect. can really haunt you. One day is enough for years of nightmares, depression, and life changing consequences. One day.
On the other hand, the lifetime outweighs the one day, especially if you can fill it with joy.
For me, I'm not talking about the births of my babies. I am talking about my own liberation from a childhood of hurt. A separate traumatic event slammed my world into something else, like a tornado destroyed my world and set me down somewhere else. Something somewhere someday. From there I was new, afraid and fragile. Soon after I was blessed with meeting my husband (again, since we were introduced several times that year) and he helped me heal as a person and then blossom. But it was just a day, right?
I don't know. It's October.
Also, October means more of this:
Spoons to lick.
Mmmmmm, apple butter.
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Farm Crawl 2008
Today we farm crawled, mama with two in tow, hurt wrist style. That means no pictures.
We toured 3 of the 6 farms and focused on the three that were most like what we want to do. CSA, orchard, pumpkin patch/pick your own......veggies, apples, pumpkins, honey, chickens, but no beef. I know that one of the farms we did not visit has meat herds but by 2 pm Lil'Bug was clamoring to go home and sick of being in the car with a 45 minute drive still ahead.
We met some people that will be our neighbors. They were friendly and helpful and this reinforces our decision to move there. Did I mention the crawl was through the county our farm to be is located in? Yes indeed. For those of you who were wondering...we close in December!
We toured 3 of the 6 farms and focused on the three that were most like what we want to do. CSA, orchard, pumpkin patch/pick your own......veggies, apples, pumpkins, honey, chickens, but no beef. I know that one of the farms we did not visit has meat herds but by 2 pm Lil'Bug was clamoring to go home and sick of being in the car with a 45 minute drive still ahead.
We met some people that will be our neighbors. They were friendly and helpful and this reinforces our decision to move there. Did I mention the crawl was through the county our farm to be is located in? Yes indeed. For those of you who were wondering...we close in December!
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
What We've Been Up To, or Why Rubber Chickens Are Funny
* WARNING, pictures may gross you out. But at least you cannot smell them. Just saying.
The lovely Abby at Sugar Creek Family Farm invited us out to help with chicken preparing. Good times that. I'd helped with this chore as a kid at Deedle's farm, but Dearest had never even seen it done. We are all about hands on learning.
So, chickens are calm when you hang them upside down by their feet.
Feathers come right off after a scalding dip. That's the part that smells. Really smells yucky.
Dinosaur looking feet snap right off. You know, I never really thought about that part before.
Wee tots hiding under native lean-to. Cute toes. They mostly avoided the carnage of the day. Despite Lil'Bugs exclamations of, "We'll eat them!"- I think some of the visuals upset her. She's learning too.
Me? I held the baby. Thank you Blueberry! Hey, I'm good with fruit. Fruit is not bloody, does not smell like wet feathers, nor does fruit come pecking at the carnage bits of its tree brothers. Shudder. Apple anyone?
Then, I was blessed with the chore of laundry. I washed the chicken blood spattered clothes three times, frustrated and grossed out that a spot on Dearest's work jeans just wouldn't come clean. Until I realized it was a paint spot. Red paint from our parlor ceiling. Gah. The same red staining paint that has plagued me in recent times into thinking I had a rash. I am never using red house paint ever again.
The lovely Abby at Sugar Creek Family Farm invited us out to help with chicken preparing. Good times that. I'd helped with this chore as a kid at Deedle's farm, but Dearest had never even seen it done. We are all about hands on learning.
So, chickens are calm when you hang them upside down by their feet.
Feathers come right off after a scalding dip. That's the part that smells. Really smells yucky.
Dinosaur looking feet snap right off. You know, I never really thought about that part before.
Wee tots hiding under native lean-to. Cute toes. They mostly avoided the carnage of the day. Despite Lil'Bugs exclamations of, "We'll eat them!"- I think some of the visuals upset her. She's learning too.Me? I held the baby. Thank you Blueberry! Hey, I'm good with fruit. Fruit is not bloody, does not smell like wet feathers, nor does fruit come pecking at the carnage bits of its tree brothers. Shudder. Apple anyone?
Then, I was blessed with the chore of laundry. I washed the chicken blood spattered clothes three times, frustrated and grossed out that a spot on Dearest's work jeans just wouldn't come clean. Until I realized it was a paint spot. Red paint from our parlor ceiling. Gah. The same red staining paint that has plagued me in recent times into thinking I had a rash. I am never using red house paint ever again.
Mother, wife, sister, friend. This is our second year on the farm, a dream we've had since we were first married. We unschool, AP parent, and grow our own food (or try to).
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