The Awokening

Wow! It has been over a year since my last post. Many of the five people who read my blog have lamented the loss of tales of inept farming combined with self-indulgent stories of my life. I am sorry to let you down. I just haven't had it in me.  Over the past year and a half I became the mother of REAL teenagers; not adorable 13 year olds who have not yet gone through puberty and still want to hang out with you on the weekend, but rather the teenagers that don't want to talk to you but do manage to return texts when they need you to drive them to the movies or pick them up from a friend's house.

I have also been suffering from PTTSD (Post Traumatic Trump Stress Disorder) but sadly, it is not post. I am still in the thick of it and have thrown myself into all things political including my own run for Town Council.  I lost.  Oh Emily's List, where were you when I needed you?

Just as I was done licking those wounds, good old Harvey came toppling down and I realized I wasn't as woke as I thought I was.  The stories of the women he threatened and assaulted rang a distinct bell from my time trying to build a movie career in the 90's.  I never thought twice about being told the agency didn't need a woman director because they already had one or pretending to be flattered  in order to avoid being called a bitch or worse, when creepy handsy men in powerful positions complimented me on my looks.

 Holy shit the Weinstein domino effect was a wake up call!  I paraded around my house in a pink pussy hat taking every opportunity to lecture the men in the house about the chauvinistic mysoginistic storylines of any movie, book, video game, song or sporting event they seemed to be enjoying.  Nothing was spared from my wrath.

"I don't know what a bustier is mom, but I agree it is ridiculous that Wonder Woman is running around in heels even though she is an Amazon.  Can we just watch the movie?"

"All the characters in Fortnite wear tight clothes mom, not just the women."

"You are right mom, my history class is pretty heavy on the dudes.  Can I go back to studying for my AP Euro test now?"

"Well if there was a WNBA game on now I would watch it but it is the NBA finals.  No, I didn't realize how much more money the male players made."

Have you seen "16 Candles" lately?  The revelation that Jake is really a dick who encourages a man child  to have sex with his passed out girlfriend broke my 17 year old heart and fueled my 50 year old rage.  And god bless my husband when he thought he was showing solidarity for my righteous feminism by suggesting I see "Red Sparrow" because the women were tough.  The one good thing about that conversation is that I online friended a very impressive young film reviewer from the Hollywood Reporter who shared my horror at his recommendation.

So... How could I go back to writing about the Farmette 2.0 when the world is going to hell in a hand basket?  The answer to that philosophical question is, because the world is going to hell in a hand basket and it will probably help my overall demeanor to write about the misadventures of a woke feminist farmer.  There's a whole new batch of chickens, a new dog, and more, so the five of you who read this, please stay tuned.

Good Morning! It's time for your 3:30 a.m. Panic Attack!

Perimenopause.  It sounds like it could be a new color in the Crayola Crayon box or a cocktail you might order at a tropical resort:  Just add two parts pushing 50, with a splash of night sweats. Shake vigorously with some over the top rage and heart palpitations, pour over ice cubes made from uncontrollable tears and be sure to add a garnish of Trump really is the President.  Oh, and this drink can only be made at 3:30 in the morning.





 There's quite a bit of preparation for girls before they start menstruating.  There is the big talk in middle school when they separate the boys and girls and show a movie about your changing body.  Girls whisper about whether the curvy girl with the training bra has started her monthly visits.  My mother, who was not one to talk about these things, brought a very worn copy of, Are You There God? It's Me Margaret home from the library for me to read.  I knew what to expect and I had my diaper sized sanitary napkins ready in anticipation.




There is no such fanfare surrounding menopause  and I don't think there is a Judy Blume book, but maybe I should check. When you reach your mid forties, there are questions from your gynecologist about whether you have missed your period and when I went a few months without, I thought, "I guess that was menopause.  That wasn't so bad."

Not so fast ladies!  Menopause is when it is all done!  You get a 3 to 4 year farewell tour for the end of your reproductive years.  Only the staying up all night isn't because you are partying, it is because you are vacillating between being overheated and having chills while your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest because a fleeting thought in the middle of the night about this year's garden or your plans for the weekend, leads you down a mental road to Armageddon.

It makes perfect sense really.  The female reproductive system is an impressive mechanism. My notion that it would just quietly stop working one day is embarrassingly naive. So my advice to any of you out there who are experiencing or will be experiencing the joys post fertility, dress in layers, exercise, meditate and if none of that works add a little Xanax to your Perimenopausal cocktail. 

All Dogs Go to Heaven

It is funny how certain seemingly inconsequential memories stick in your head for years.  Mine is from a warm autumn Sunday four and a half years ago.  The boys and I had spent a fun afternoon with friends hanging out at the park.  When I got out of the car, enshrouded in my confidence that I was indeed a fantastic mother for giving my kids this wonderful experience,  I looked over to see the tears streaming down the face of my little Prince.

"Prince, why are you crying?"

"I miss my friends!"

Ahh.  Therin lies the problem.  We had just moved up to the farmette full time from the city and when you are ten and you have a fun day in a new place with new friends, it reminds you of the fun days you used to have in your old place with your old friends and that can make you feel even more sad and lonely.  And that is when it happened.

"I am lonely," the sad little Oliver Twist sobbed.

"Do you want a puppy?"

"OK."

Now it probably didn't go down quite like this but I did suggest a puppy almost immediately despite the fact that we already had a 9 month old dog we rescued a few months earlier.  As soon as the words came out I wanted to go just 10 seconds back in time and have a Harry Potter Dementor suck the words and soul out of my body.

The husband was not pleased.

Less than a month later we had a four month old black lab.

The puppy tincture worked for a while. There was talk of taking her for long walks at the lake and she was absolutely going to head of to college with him when the time came.  I could keep Pepper the Great Pyrenees but Athena was all his.  But when the novelty wore off and the loneliness subsided a bit, Athena was left to me.  He still loved her and there were concerns about whether or not she would be too old to go to college with him, but the Timmy and Lassie days were over.

Athena grew into a big sweet pain in the ass. Her entire existence revolved around a neurotic need for love and food.  She could move like a ninja to devour an unguarded plate of muffins on the counter and return to her resting place under the dining room table in seconds.

Her same ninja moves enabled her to escape from the fenced in yard whenever the need moved her which was usually when her people went for a walk through the trails without her.  No matter how many times I was sure she was barricaded in, she would show up tongue hanging down to the ground and tail wagging wherever we were.

Sadly her Houdini qualities cost us all dearly the other night and she was struck and killed by a car.

Scrappy and I clung to each other and sobbed when we found out.  Prince and James Dean cried quietly and even the husband got choked up when we buried her in the backyard.

As we all gathered at the grave united in our sorrow and the absolute knowledge that if there is a heaven, Athena had a non-stop flight there, we hugged and consoled each other. Sure, we had the chicken massacre and we put Billy Beef in the freezer, but this was different. Athena was family.

Walking back toward the house, I realized that my memory from four and a half years ago was anything but inconsequential.  It was a memory of agreeing to give my son one of the greatest gifts anyone can know; the love of a dog.  Athena's love and loyalty were unwavering.  She had a gentle nuzzle when I was sad and tried relentlessly to cheer me when I was mad. Popcorn Bowl moments are not always happy ones, but Athena's death is one that the five of us will all share for years to come. Strangely, having her buried out by the blackberry briar makes the Farmette 2.0 seem like even more of a home than any other place we have lived.  Where there is loss there is also love.

Thelma and Louise

When Thelma first laid eyes on Louise, she was filled with curiosity and relief: Curiosity about her missing eye, crooked beak and bald spots and relief that because of the missing eye, bald spots and crooked beak, Louise would surely take over Thelma's last place position in the pecking order.

"Ma ma maybe those barnyard bitches will stop taunting me now," thought Thelma.

Louise saw Thelma staring at her from across the yard and sauntered over.

Thelma stammered with as much bad ass as she could muster, "Wha wha what happened to you? You look like you just fell off the back  of a truck."

"That's because I did," replied Louise with a raspy confidence that sadly assured Thelma that she would indeed maintain her last place position for the foreseeable future.  "I was on the back of the Purdue truck headed to the slaughterhouse with 250 of my closest friend when a van full of PETA activists drove us off the road. The back door opened and my cage fell out and slid half way across the highway.  Took a pebble to the eye.  It was more like a bullet at that speed.  Road rash so bad it took most of my feathers off. Next thing I know some pink haired woman who swore her hair dye had never been tested on animals,  is driving me thirty miles in the opposite direction to my new home."

Thelma nodded her head in amazement as she caught a look of disgust in Louise's one good eye.

"What's going on over there?" Louise asked nodding her head in the direction of Big Red who was standing on the neck of one of the hen's as he dismounted and headed toward them.

"Tha tha that's just Big Red.  He protects us in exchange for sexual favors.

"That's no favor I'll be paying," snarled Louise.

Big Red came over with chest so puffed out he almost passed out from lack of oxygen.  "Well well, what has the cat drug in?"

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about," retorted Louise.

"Mmm, not much to look at, but I like feisty.  Why don't you girls come on into the chicken house now.  It's getting dark."

"No thanks. I'll be spending the night with them," said Louise motioning to the cows.  "800 pounds of cow is a whole lot more protection than 5 pounds of feathers."

Thelma was enchanted.  Not only would Louise not be last in the pecking order, she might be the alpha of the whole barnyard.

"Suit yourself," hissed Big Red.  The blow to his ego hit hard and he took it out on Thelma with a spur to the neck.  Thelma followed him back to the chicken house as Louise looked on in horror.

The next morning Thelma immediately went in search of Louise.

"Ha ha how was your night?  Did the cows cause you any trouble?"

"Not as much as that flashy asshole caused you!  What the hell was that?"

"He, he he's not that bad once you get to know him and he does a good job protecting us."

"Are you shitting me?  He's a prick!  I'd rather be back on The Purdue truck trapped in a cage with four other hens sitting on my head than get to know him."

"Wa wa what else can I do?"

Louise turned her head slightly so she was looking right at Thelma with her one good eye, "You can stick with me."

The next few days were exhilarating for Thelma.  She and Louise avoided the chicken coop and more importantly, the chicken feed as a way to establish their independence from the tyranny of Big Red.  The other hens did not speak to them for fear of retribution from him, though most were envious of the duo's gutsy self-imposed exile.

They managed to elude the wrath of Red for a few days by sticking to the front yard, eating cat food and sneaking to the cow pasture to sleep at night, but their days of freedom came to an end at sundown Friday when Thelma and Louise were ambushed on their trek from cat dish to cow patty.

"Well, well, well.  Funny meeting you girls here," snarled the Rooster as he jumped out of the bushes and onto Thelma.  "Better be careful out here.  Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you two purdy ladies."

Thelma squeaked in pain.  Without missing a beat, Louise dug her twisted beak between his meaty breasts.  The vexed rooster flew up in the air and ran toward the hen house to nurse his wounds.

"Holy shit Louise! What did you do?  He is going to kill us!"

"Don't panic."

"He's going to kill us!"  screamed Thelma again running in circles like a chicken with its head cut off.

For the first time since she arrived at the farm, Louise seemed scared and unsure. "I'll figure it out," she mumbled, but there was no time.  Big Red was out of the shed and headed back toward them with a look that sent chills down Louise's back.  She looked around to see where they could hide but the only direction they could go was toward the street.  Red would never follow them because chickens never cross roads.

"Follow me!"  yelled Louise.  Thelma waddled after her as fast as her short legs would carry her.  They reached the road and stopped as Red came closer.

"Let's not get caught," Thelma whispered to Louise.

"What are you talking about?" asked Louise

"Let's keep going."

"What do you mean?"

"Go!" Screamed Thelma.

"You sure?"

"Yeah!"

And with that, the two friends linked wings and headed across the road.

It Takes a Village

Or in this case, one crazy surrogate who has decided to raise everyone's offspring.

When You Play With the Bull, You Get the Soccer Net

The Farmette has moved!  Think of it as the movie version of The Popcorn Bowl.  The producers have decided to cast the role of the Farmette with a much more attractive actor, and my character will be played by Christina Hendricks.

The Farmette 2.0 is 46 acres of, "Pinch me! I live here?" beauty.  There is a fenced in yard for the dogs and a ramshackle of a chicken house that leads to many acres of grassy pasture for a cow and her much too old to be nursing, kid.  It's a perfect set up that should bathe the critters in vibrant contentment... NOT!

Athena the Lab started things off.  We came home from school about a week after moving in and the dogs were nowhere to be found.

"That's impossible! I said to the kids.  "How the heck did they get out?"  I probably didn't say heck but this is a family movie.

I saw that one of the gates was open.  We began calling to them.   Soon James Dean heard whimpering in the distance.  He went into the barn and found them locked in one of the stalls.  We had met a neighbor on the other side of the hill a few days earlier and I assumed he must have found the runaways and locked them in the barn.  Crisis averted.  I would pay my kindly neighbors a visit over the weekend and apologize for any damage caused by the puppy outing.

The next day we returned home and there was Pepper the Pyrenees safely inside the fence wiggling with excitement to see us, but no Athena.  The gate was closed this time.  James Dean decided to go check the barn again and there she was.  I was a little nervous because nothing says, "Hillbilly neighbors" quite like an annoying garbage eating, cat chasing dog showing up in your yard two days in a row.

It seemed a little strange that the neighbors hadn't left a note saying, "Keep your stupid dog in your yard" or something to that effect.  I decided to put my Nancy Drew skills to use and we left her unattended in the yard and went upstairs to watch from the window.  She immediately squished herself throw a space in the fence that attaches to the chicken house and headed directly to the barn where there must have been some remnants of food.  I was relieved that she wasn't pestering the neighbors and got to work with my staple gun, which I  am a pro at ever since the chicken tractor carnage of 2011.

The next day I had to pick her up from the dog catcher.

Two days later I am talking on the phone with the husband and notice, what I am sure must be an optical illusion that gave the appearance of the cows being on the wrong side of the fence.  No wait. Now they are in the middle of the road.  That is some optical illusion!

I jump in the car and race down the wrong side of the road honking my horn at the cows and the oncoming traffic.  The cows run into the front yard.  I jump out and wave my arms and scream like a lunatic.  Billy Beef gives me the stare down.  I am still unsure how they ended up back behind the fence, but I know there was hay involved.

The Beef scares the piss out of me.  Noelle is my baby.  Granted an 800lb baby, but she is fairly obedient and good natured.  Her delinquent kid is another story.  When we first moved in the husband put a soccer net in the pasture.  Still not sure why, but I am assuming he thought the boys could play in there while practicing for the Running of the Bulls. Run they did.  The soccer net soon became Billy Beef's favorite toy. He rubbed his head on it, tossed it in the air, and slept inside it.  I was sure he was going to break it into pieces.  I decided to go rescue the goal one afternoon when Beef and Noelle were all the way on the other side of the pasture.  I had managed to drag it almost to the edge of the fence when Beef comes charging at me full gallop. He is obviously not pleased that I am messing with his property.  Again, I wave my arms and scream like a lunatic while hiding behind the flimsy aluminum poles that hold up the net, sure that the boys are going to find me squished under their goal. I found a few rocks to throw at him which really pisses him off. Somehow I managed to leap over the barbed wire with only a minor tear in my pants and a major adrenaline rush.

I shouted a few terms of endearment in his general direction as he wandered back to his mother. I then pulled the goal to safety and moved it out of his sight.  The good thing about having an asshole steer is that I am no longer sad about him becoming Billy Filet Mignon. Being a cattle rancher is definitely not in my future.  I am thinking pygmy goats or maybe pandas?

I Know What You Did Last Weekend.

What did you do this weekend?  Did you go out to brunch, see a movie, go shopping? Want to know what I did this weekend?  I eviscerated 18 chickens.  I know. I know.  You are very jealous.

There is nothing enjoyable about processing chickens,  and while the YouTube video of the woman with the baby on her back digging intestines out of a chicken carcass looks easy enough; it is not.  The husband and I have done this deed before but unlike bike riding and ice skating there is no muscle memory to bring it all back.  I am pretty sure your brain locks the memory in a special dark place so you don't have to relive the farting sound that vibrates through you as you shove your hand into the chicken's warm gut and pull out all of its organs, or the sight of a headless chicken running around the yard. Yes, you will remember it as you try to go to sleep that night, but the memory fades with time and tequila.

The husband was in charge of the killing and plucking with our brand new handy dandy electric chicken plucker.  There is some humorous Deliverancesque video footage of our hillbilly operation, but I opted to not post it here.  You're welcome.  This picture should tell you everything you need to know:

You may ask yourself, as I did over and over again as I stood at the counter for 7 hours with my arm thrust inside 18 chickens "Why not just be a vegetarian?"  I reminded myself on Sunday morning after a night racked with dreams of broken gizzards, that we moved up here to try to grow our own food, and when you decide to locate in a place that offers a rocky clay soil and a four month growing season, you would probably starve to death if left to a plant only diet. So we eat animals. We eat every last bit of those animals because we know what it takes to keep them and nurture them until they are ready to put in the freezer. We know how much work it is to ward off predators and how difficult it is to butcher them when the time comes.

When I go to a grocery store  now, I see the faces of the people who grow that food and I am in awe.  It ain't easy folks, but when you put a roast or a salad on your table that you grew in your backyard, nothing tastes better or is more gratifying.