The Road Over Travelled

 "Now remember Herb, no talk of politics or religion tonight," I remember my mother saying to my father  many years ago, before leaving for a rare get together with friends.  

My father, who spent 16+ years under the tutelage of Jesuits replied, without the tiniest tinge of irony, "What else is there to talk about?"

Though my own Catholic education was restricted to a single year of diminutive nuns who raptly rapped the knuckles of any kindergarten disciple whose attention strayed from the reading of the Ten Commandment, I come by my dogma honestly and Facebook is my pulpit.

In the beginning, I giddily reconnected with old friends. The smell of baby oil and Bubble Yum emanated from the screen as I scrutinized photos of beach barbecues with the skill of a forensic scientist.  Joyful journeys down memory lane, soon took a detour down a dark and dangerous road, as reminiscing of past lives turned to goings on in current lives and even more ominously... current events.

Let the unfriending begin!  "Wait!" the little voice tells me.  "Not until you spend three hours/day for the next 132 days trying to convince someone you once went to a Depeche Mode Concert 23 years ago, that her belief system is all wrong!  You owe it to her to set her straight.  Yes, you must spend more time researching the existence of climate change for your two line retort, than you did for every high school and college paper you ever wrote combined."

Charts are created.  Lego animations are produced, illustrating what the difference between a rise of average temperature by 1.5 degrees Celsius versus 2.0 degrees will mean for the planet. Surely this post will settle things. 

"What's that my young son? You are hungry and still waiting for me to check your school work? Just one minute while I finish scrolling through the 47 Facebook ads for outdoor lighting, that have mysteriously shown up on my feed, after a quick Google search for solar torch lights. I need to find the post about AOC from my second cousin twice removed, whom I have never met.  She is not shrill.  She is an empowered woman who happens to have a high pitched voice. What a misogynist."

I have had a tumultuous relationship with social media and particularly Facebook over the past ten years, but can a platform that helped launch the Arab Spring, and disseminate a call to action for millions of Black Lives Matter activists after the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd be all bad? No, but even Wonder Woman's Lasso of Truth can have nefarious consequences if it falls into the wrong hands or is used for the wrong purpose.

I have missed too many episodes of South Park with my kids.  I have missed too many phone calls with people I love.  I have missed too many walks on a sunny day, because I refreshed my Facebook Feed one more time. This year I make a simple pledge, and encourage you all to do the same.  I am removing the Facebook app from my phone.  It will no longer be the first thing I check in the morning or last thing at night. I can still login on my computer to look at cute pets and kids, but  I will avoid the constant scroll.  This is the social media road I choose to take this year.  Hopefully, it will make all the difference.

The Silence of the Goats

Has the thought of 4 year olds cleaning their prison toilets got you down?  Or maybe the thought of having your reproductive rights taken away by a black out drunk teen sex offender keeps you up at night?  Maybe you're stressed out because you just don't think you can learn the Russian National Anthem in time for the midterm elections?  Doctor won't give you another prescription for Xanax because you've, "Reached your limit?"  Try a little goat therapy.  It may not relieve all of your symptoms, but it will give you a minute of joyous amnesia to the fact that the Earth will probably be uninhabitable in your kids' life times.

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.