Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Vent-age Farmer on the Dell

I have so much to say and little ability to recall it while sitting here at the computer, a laptop perched on a, literally, old school desk with an empty inkwell... the kind I sat in at school, although I'm not THAT old.  The school I went to was old, both in thought and facility.  When I sit at the computer, it's like there's this different world.  Things I virtually commit to rarely make it on my real calendar.  And things I mean to look up once I boot up the Farmer in the Dell, are often forgotten once I see the screen.  There's an impenetrable veil between the worlds.

Today is Coyote's 7th birthday.  It was a good birth, lo, these seven years ago.  It was a quick, honest three and a half hours and out came a screaming 9 pound tub of discontent who didn't talk until he was 3 and cried for several hours every day for the first... um..7 years and counting.  The only way to keep him quiet was to take a long bath with him for an hour a day for that first year. 

Pomona (the latest name for our farmette) is again basking in the afterglow of several firsts.  It's fun to have a hobby where two years in to it, I'm still having firsts. I like big, big projects.

First first: butter, thereby proving that I'm not a witch and not worth burning.  Thanks for your patience.  I'm temporarily having real cream and the butter is easy to make but intense.  Our strawberries, peas, cucumbers, herbs, radishes, etc, etc, plus butter, milk and eggs are radically flavored.  After getting over the spring shock of taste, I have a hard time understanding how everything store bought is so utterly bland.  What do they do to these things that makes them so tasteless? Do the stores have taste sucking equipment? or is that on the truck that brings it?  Does it keep us coming back for more, do they tease us with a fix and then ensure we leave less than fully satisfied?

Snow on Mt. Spokane ruins
Second first: sold a cow.  Ginger was just over one and very ready to breed.  She was short and fat with a wonky build and despite all that, I think I sold her for too little.  That's classic me: under valuing all that I have to offer. It was sad to see her go. She is my most adventurous cow with a curious and playful streak.  She seemed ready to see what came next, excited actually, as the trailer pulled away.   I was sad, but the much needed cash buoyed my spirits.  And I could actually say with some confidence that she was going to a better place with more acreage, taller grass, daily grain, lots of friends, and a bull. 

Third first:  castration.  Beignet is a little... under the weather today.  It took four of us.  Huck and Sergei to hold him down and Maria to work the rubber band machine and me to fret and ask if there was something I should be doing, over and over again.  But now I've seen it done... so I think that some day I could see someone else to it again. Only next time I could probably yell directions too: "Are they both in there?  Hold the legs tighter!  Keep his head down!  Is he still breathing?"  He was wild boy, big and strong and he wasn't that in to it.  And I have to say that I do feel bad about that too.  But I really have even less use for a bull than a steer, no matter how long his odd white eyelashes are, and how wild his soul. 

Mt Kit Carson
I think I also wanted to say something about the light switches in this house.  It's an old house and apparently, back in 1901, they really didn't get lights or switches or the whole concept.  They thought, "Why would you want to turn the light on as soon as you walk in to a dark room?  Why not just stub your toes all the way across the room, like we always used to, and rub your hands up and down the walls until you find the most unlikely possible place, and THAT will be your switch!"  And I find this affects me when I go to hotels and other people's houses.  I walk in to a room and immediately think, "Where's the worst possible place to a put a light switch?"  And my hand instinctively goes there.  I can see how 110 years ago, people might be new to this and hadn't worked out all the kinks.  But in '97, the house got all new electrical wiring and I can't understand how they didn't think to fix this insanity then.

And since it's summer, I also wanted to address body hair, which I have hanging out all over the place here.  Women always confide in me, "Oh gosh, I wish I could go without shaving too.  It's such a pain!"  And I always think, "Wait, do we have the Taliban... or Caliban or whatever here?  Do you get stoned to death in the soccer arena for not shaving legs? Or are you full of shit?" I can't even believe it's an issue.   Ladies: you don't have to shave.  Period.  Stop pretending you do. There's not even any blow back. No one has ever said a critical word to me about it... almost never.  I had a boss who made me shave my legs to keep my waitressing job (see why I don't want to work!?).  And my friend once asked me to shave my pits before clubbing, which I felt was fair enough.  But as far as me waltzing around town in short shorts and a tank top: no one has ever said a thing, grimaced, spat, scowled, NOTHING.  It certainly doesn't seem to put a dent in the assessments from the males.  And the only thing the women ever say is: I wish I could go without. Then do.  You're hair will start out dark, and you'll never get the original downy fluff back, but then the sun bleaches it and most people don't even notice.  And the only comment you'll ever get is:  I wish I could go without shaving.  And if someone has a problem with you being a post-pubescent mammal, you don't need them.  Now... I will say that if you aren't ready to do this, if your family is a little outspoken with their disgust at people being hairy, mammary-glanded animals (unlike mine who would be alarmed if I did shave), and if you don't care to engage in that conversation with them, by all means, let them bully you into wasting hours and hours and hours of your life dragging razors over your skin and numbing yourself to the breezes of life.  Don't envy me.  Don't hate me just because I don't give a shit. Just please stop lying about it.  You too can stop shaving.  Now.

Gotta go birthday party now!

No comments:

Post a Comment


Related Posts with Thumbnails