That is what Blueberry gleefully exclaimed all day yesterday! It was great. We actually had a pretty good, though cold day. I got all the dishes done, made lunch, dinner, and 8 meat pies for Dearest to take to work, cost $8 to make, saved $56 in eating out for Dearest. Sweet.
Up today, wash beddings and clean fridge our really well. I need to purge the freezer and pantry of expired things as well. Clean bird cages and do chores in the cold rain. Next week= sunshine, right?
Lil'Bug hauled firewood, stating that it was an important farm chore. Which prompted a family discussion about what is important to the farm as far as chores go, and laundry and picking up after yourself, toys and clothes, are just as important chores as firewood or mowing. We all do our part. To which she ROLLED HER EYES. Oh no.
Today I am thinking about raspberries. We have some planted, but I really want a PATCH not a row. I think I will need an acre or so for my cultivated berries. Gooseberries, currant, blackberries, raspberries, and strawberries. I have lots of wild, but those fruits are small and hard to get to. We also have elderberries, lots of them. I am thinking I might bring those to "market" if anyone is interested. Thoughts?
Wednesday 12 May 2010
Happy Happy ME!
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).
The birds and bees and sweet smiling girls.....but no pictures.
Farm life is so incredibly busy in the Spring! Mother's Day we transplanted my excellent red raspberries from our Des Moines house (which is still for sale.....). I think we should transplant a few more, but we'll see. I started with 12 plants exactly six years ago and planted them at the Des Moines house while I was 4 months pregnant with Lil'Bug. This time Dearest planted them for me, but I was really feeling sick and not really "digging" being outside at all. Lil'Bug planted her 4-H sunflower and some petunias. She's got quite the flower garden going at one end of the garden. It is really quite lovely.
The girls played with their Christmas wagon outside for the first time. It had been the train to Hogwarts in the living room since Santa dropped it off for Aunt Deedle.
Blueberry and I planted herbs too, until she got stung by something. Her whole leg swelled up for a bit, but after a bit of ice and benedryl, I think it was actually an ant bite or something along those lines and not a sting. Poor kid did not take it well, the bite or the medicine. She fussed the rest of the day and cried herself to sleep in my arms around dinner time.
Dearest and I checked the weak hive together. They have not eaten any of the sugar water since Friday nor built out any more frames. Very lethargic ladies who were barely bothered at all when I opened them up and examined the frames. I am worried that something may have happened to their queen, but as long as there is activity of some sort my job is just to watch. I will call the head beekeeper at Blue Gate later this week and report on the findings.
The pigs are loving the pasture. LOVING. Feeding them there instead of the holding pen is quite a bit more work in some regards, but they are even more gentle and happy and so it is not quite the same close muddy quarters as it was before, even when it is pouring buckets like today.
The girls played with their Christmas wagon outside for the first time. It had been the train to Hogwarts in the living room since Santa dropped it off for Aunt Deedle.
Blueberry and I planted herbs too, until she got stung by something. Her whole leg swelled up for a bit, but after a bit of ice and benedryl, I think it was actually an ant bite or something along those lines and not a sting. Poor kid did not take it well, the bite or the medicine. She fussed the rest of the day and cried herself to sleep in my arms around dinner time.
Dearest and I checked the weak hive together. They have not eaten any of the sugar water since Friday nor built out any more frames. Very lethargic ladies who were barely bothered at all when I opened them up and examined the frames. I am worried that something may have happened to their queen, but as long as there is activity of some sort my job is just to watch. I will call the head beekeeper at Blue Gate later this week and report on the findings.
The pigs are loving the pasture. LOVING. Feeding them there instead of the holding pen is quite a bit more work in some regards, but they are even more gentle and happy and so it is not quite the same close muddy quarters as it was before, even when it is pouring buckets like today.
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).
Mother's Day
Mother's Day. * warning, not a happy post.
Mother's Day means cards and flowers and gifts with pretty bows for most people. But there are others who do not share the joy of this day. Children who's mothers beat and abused them through their precious and formative years, for who the whole idea of mother is wrapped up in grief and anger and fear.
There are women for who infertility is just becoming apparent, and with every monthly check of the pregnancy test they suffer, Mother's Day is just another marker on the yearning. (I was there 8 years ago....)
There are families who have lost all their children, for who mother's day reminds them of their loss.
There are mother's who's children have walked out and are somewhere out there, suffering in drugs or mental illness.
And there are others.
I fall into the first category, and for me Mother's Day, no matter how many smiles and hugs my kids lavish on me, is still filled with anger and memories of fear. It is easy to say move on, not as easy to do. The materialism and vanity of the holiday was the cornerstone of the abuse for me as a child, as it was the basis of it everyday, but Mother's Day, Christmas, and birthdays were an amplified terror. Even as an adult, I have trouble with family members believing me. No one would have thought (insert super villain or abusive schmuck of your choice here) was a bad guy until he/she confessed, most abusers have a similar cover story and identity. Some go as far as appearing on Oprah to advocate for gentle parenting (and upon returning home beat their daughter with a vanity mirror until it shatters on her skin and embeds glass shards deep in scar tissue). Crazy is as crazy does.
This Mother's Day is no different for me. I want it to be. I look at my hands and see that they are not hers, nor is my heart. I don't have to try to not turn into her, because I am not her.
I have reclaimed Christmas for my girls, learned to replace the hurt and fear of that holiday with the JOY of Christ's birth. Mother's Day is not about Jesus though, it is about cards and presents. My idea of reclaiming this holiday is to just harvest hugs, be loving, and cherish my children EVERY day. Today I celebrate all the women who stepped in to role model what a caring adult should act like, how a human being should care for others, and told me I was loved. Aunts, cousins, teachers, neighbors, professors, friends.....have all replaced and filled in the blank that was once filled with regret, longing, terror, and anger.
I am not my mother. This is not my Mother's Day.
Mother's Day means cards and flowers and gifts with pretty bows for most people. But there are others who do not share the joy of this day. Children who's mothers beat and abused them through their precious and formative years, for who the whole idea of mother is wrapped up in grief and anger and fear.
There are women for who infertility is just becoming apparent, and with every monthly check of the pregnancy test they suffer, Mother's Day is just another marker on the yearning. (I was there 8 years ago....)
There are families who have lost all their children, for who mother's day reminds them of their loss.
There are mother's who's children have walked out and are somewhere out there, suffering in drugs or mental illness.
And there are others.
I fall into the first category, and for me Mother's Day, no matter how many smiles and hugs my kids lavish on me, is still filled with anger and memories of fear. It is easy to say move on, not as easy to do. The materialism and vanity of the holiday was the cornerstone of the abuse for me as a child, as it was the basis of it everyday, but Mother's Day, Christmas, and birthdays were an amplified terror. Even as an adult, I have trouble with family members believing me. No one would have thought (insert super villain or abusive schmuck of your choice here) was a bad guy until he/she confessed, most abusers have a similar cover story and identity. Some go as far as appearing on Oprah to advocate for gentle parenting (and upon returning home beat their daughter with a vanity mirror until it shatters on her skin and embeds glass shards deep in scar tissue). Crazy is as crazy does.
This Mother's Day is no different for me. I want it to be. I look at my hands and see that they are not hers, nor is my heart. I don't have to try to not turn into her, because I am not her.
I have reclaimed Christmas for my girls, learned to replace the hurt and fear of that holiday with the JOY of Christ's birth. Mother's Day is not about Jesus though, it is about cards and presents. My idea of reclaiming this holiday is to just harvest hugs, be loving, and cherish my children EVERY day. Today I celebrate all the women who stepped in to role model what a caring adult should act like, how a human being should care for others, and told me I was loved. Aunts, cousins, teachers, neighbors, professors, friends.....have all replaced and filled in the blank that was once filled with regret, longing, terror, and anger.
I am not my mother. This is not my Mother's Day.
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 4 May 2010
Grampa Visits and We Move the Pigs!
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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