Farmgirl Follies

‘I’ of the needle

Posted by Farmgirl on June 30, 2009  |  No Comments

This is an 18-gauge needle attached to a syringe filled with 30 mL of  Aquacillin. It helps prevent infection. I am very proud to report that I can now administer injections.

It wasn’t always so. In fact, yesterday it was not so.

My fear of giving an animal a shot goes back to a horse that was gored by a bull when I was 10 or 12. I’m afraid the needle will bend or break off. The thought of trying to stick a needle in something has paralyzed me with indecision. It’s like being afraid of heights and walking on a ledge. Your legs will hardly move because you’re scared.

Farm Guy taught me his technique. After filling the syringe, he removed the needle. He rubbed the spot a few times to help the Cara relax. Then, punched her with the side of his fist twice. On the third time, he stuck the needle. ‘Punches’ isn’t the right word. He was very gentle. And then he grasped the needle in one hand, attached the syringe with the other, and slowly injected the antibiotic.

He’s had lots of practice on Holsteins. And thought his technique probably wouldn’t work on some wild or cantankerous beast, it works on a calm and gentle old mare.

He would not let me practice on an orange, though I begged. 

He laughed when I stood there rubbing my horse for 10 minutes while indecision and fear of failure paralyzed me.

“It’s simple. Just go boom — boom — stick.”

Eureka!

He uttered the magic words. And though I hate to mention Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana in this post, I must. My daughters and I sing Hoedown Throwdown all the time. And the song starts like this:

“Boom-boom clap, boom-di-clap-di-clap … ”

I had a beat. “Boom, boom STICK … ” and it worked. And she didn’t flinch. And it was easy after that. I have now given three injections. Thanks to Miley’s beat, it’s simple! And I have a great horse … let’s not forget that.

I am a woman of needles now … I can inject with the best of ‘em. Well … no, probably not. (To any doctors, nurses or veterinarians reading this post, I apologize). I am not an expert … but I overcame a real fear and that’s a good thing.

Cara’s wound is starting to look better … and her elevation to ‘princess’ has pleased her immensely.

Bee-ing loved

Posted by Farmgirl on June 29, 2009  |  10 Comments

Bernice McClester — my Great Aunt Bee — was a heck of a woman. I don’t know what having her as a grandma must have been like, but I know being her great niece was a privilege.

Aunt Bee was one of four daughters. My Grandma Sara and great aunts Bee, Martha and Elnora made childhood a magical place that my siblings, cousins and I will never forget. The “four sisters” are legends. They provide fodder for stories already being passed on to the next generation. And though I can’t describe it all, here are a few highlights.

Aunt Bee hosted pond parties and cookouts, skating parties and pony rides. She wore Band-aids instead of bras when it was hot outside. She traveled around the world on mission trips. She was a home economist and the most loyal Buckeyes fan Ohio State has ever had.

Aunt Bee and Grandma Sara taught my brother, sisters and I to ski — they were in their 70s and early 80s! Aunt Bee made several rafting treks down the Grand Canyon. She usually drove a station wagon and had room for everyone. She had the biggest Christmas tree every year. She made banana punch on special occasions and sometimes for every day. She documented our entire family’s history from its beginning, or almost. She hosted foreign exchange students and invited us to go along on trips to Cedar Point and Washington, D.C.

She donated her body to science. She attended church every Sunday. She had a grandfather clock that kept track of time and a big, luxurious bathroom with carpet the color of green grass. She walked and jogged every day. She kept binoculars in the kitchen. She had a map in her living room with pins marking every place she’d traveled. She and great uncle Bob were the first in Ohio to donate land for an agricultural easement to the Ohio Department of Agriculture. She was a daughter, sister, farm wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend to all.

 I was lucky enough to have Aunt Bee in my life. Today, I am lucky enough to share her view.

I posted the above photo last week. This is Aunt Bee’s barn, taken from my yard.

On June 28, she found her place in Glory.

Sing the wondrous love of Jesus,
Sing His mercy and His grace.
In the mansions bright and blessed
He’ll prepare for us a place.

When we all get to Heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

While we walk the pilgrim pathway,
Clouds will overspread the sky;
But when traveling days are over,
Not a shadow, not a sigh.

When we all get to Heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

Let us then be true and faithful,
Trusting, serving every day;
Just one glimpse of Him in glory
Will the toils of life repay.

When we all get to Heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

Onward to the prize before us!
Soon His beauty we’ll behold;
Soon the pearly gates will open;
We shall tread the streets of gold.

When we all get to Heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

Personalities

Posted by Farmgirl on June 28, 2009  |  No Comments

Some people want to be in charge. They like to be followed. They don’t realize that followers can be planners … the movers and shakers of the world.

And just when the leaders are confident in a situation, the planners like to shake things up a bit.

And then the planners become leaders and they are followed … in hot pursuit.

It’s all about strategy.

Just ask the competitors. They want to be the best … and they mentor others with a competitive nature.

Wanna-be competitors who learn to compete with focus, drive and determination.

Then there are others … easy-going folks … who are happy to enjoy life’s simple pleasures.

Still others are daredevils and adventurers … they learn that playing with fire gets you burned.

Though that doesn’t really describe these folks. They’re enjoying the fire … but they’re careful not to sit too close.

And the lesson there is … um … oh, yeah … summer nights are perfect for bonfires.

Walk the line

Posted by Farmgirl on June 28, 2009  |  1 Comment

We don’t worry about jaywalkers around here … or haywalkers.

In fact, haywalking is strongly encouraged at family functions.

It keeps kids occupied for hours.

It’s also a useful tool for expending energy.

First we make them run laps.

Then they practice marching. Practice makes perfect, you know.

The next time I say in my stern-mommy voice:
“I want you to go right back there and pick up that mess, now — march!”
They will all know exactly what I mean.

Marching practice always leaves them famished.

So we feed them. And then it’s right back at it.

A sutures-n-saline kind of day

Posted by Farmgirl on June 27, 2009  |  7 Comments

This photo has nothing to do with this story … although Sugar did watch with mild interest while veterinarians attended to today’s trauma in the barn. Sugar’s photo is here to ease you gently into this post. If the sight of blood offends your sensibilities, stop reading now.

*** pausing for your decision ***

I was at the shop when my phone rang. “Hello?”

My husband’s voice: ”Your horse needs you, badly.”

Those are panic words. Those are instant-action-required words. Those are words that had me high-tailin’ it back home and ordering him to call a vet.

And this is what I saw when I entered the barn.

This is a 10-inch gash on my horse’s right-front shoulder that peeled back her skin and exposed the muscle beneath. The red you see is shoulder muscle. The black line running through the middle is a gash in the muscle itself.

This should not happen to any horse, especially not an 84-year-old lady (28 in people years) who is living the high life in a plush retirement home. Normally, her days consist of leisurely strolls toting kids and her keeper. She takes her meals in a lush, green pasture with a babbling brook.

For at least the next two weeks she will be confined to a stall with twice-daily wound flushes and penicillin injections.

 She will not be happy … but she will heal, I hope. It’s a bad time of year to have an open, draining wound.

Incidentally, this is what ‘blood red’ looks like.

There was a lot of blood. First, the vet clipped the hair around the gash. Then she scrubbed it with a saline and iodine solution. Next, she used blunt-edged scissors to trim the damaged muscle and skin. There was just enough skin left to suture together and protect the flesh beneath. She left the bottom open so the wound can drain.

A tranquilizer helped Cara relax and injections around the wound prevented pain. Throughout the ordeal she stood quietly, occasionally swaying to and fro, with her head dropped heavily in my lap.

There were about eight stitches to the muscle, and eight or nine on the outside. Twice a day I will insert a syringe into the hole and flush the wound. We’ll smear Vaseline all over the leg to protect it from the constant drainage. We’ll do our best to keep the flies off and away.

And poor Cara — who used to be a cranky, middle-aged lady but mellowed into a kindly old woman who patiently endures my children — will get the best treatment I can provide.

Because this is my fault. A bossy little mare may have forced Cara into a corner, but I’m the idiot who thought one of these on the front of a stall door was a good idea. Handy for lead ropes and fly masks. Not even sharp … but it’s not blunt enough to prevent trauma upon impact, either.

Have any hooks hanging around your animals? Remove them now. Convenience isn’t worth it.

Robin, the vet, was great. Not only did she help my hurting horse, she and her assistant? vet-in-training? patiently answered every question my kids asked. Including: 

A truck with a water hose in it? How does that work?

What are all of those bottles?

You have a refrigerator in your truck?

I’ll keep you posted … literally  … on Cara’s progress.

Poor old girl.

Egg on my face

Posted by Farmgirl on June 24, 2009  |  No Comments

I discovered this sticky mess late this afternoon. It had been there awhile.

No one … I repeat … no one knew how it happened — or who did it.

I may have ranted and raved and raised my voice a bit.

Just a little bit, mind you.

And then …

I opened the carton and dropped two more.

On the floor.

What a chore.

I don’t look so hot with egg on my face … but my kids think I’m funny.

And scrambled.

Though I’m not a push over-easy.

I try to see the sunny side-up, even when life is a little hard-boiled.

Here’s your sign

Posted by Farmgirl on June 23, 2009  |  1 Comment

Every once in awhile I have a decision to make or a choice to ponder and I say silly things like, “I wish God would just put up a billboard so I’d know!”

Well … the other night God sent me his idea of a billboard. It said, “I’m here. Nothing is bigger than me. Chill out and enjoy the beauty that surrounds you.”

We’re Jammin’

Posted by Farmgirl on June 23, 2009  |  No Comments

Mmm. Strawberries.
They’re my favorite.  In mid-January when it’s snowin’ and blowin’  … thoughts of June strawberries and homemade shortcakes sprinkled with sugar … sweet summertime.

Today we were jammin’ — nothing to do with Trent Willmon’s Good One Comin’ On blaring in the background. I do strongly recommend, however, that you schedule appropriate musical accompaniment to any and all jammin’ sessions.

I was feeling a bit confrontational this morning, so our song list included some Miranda Lambert selections. And then to quiet my rallied soul, I topped off a detestable mood with Some Beach by Blake Shelton.

See … all better. And just look at these berries … smashed into pulp.

Perfect for jam or anger management.

Have you ever made jam? I prefer the cooked version to freezer jam. And I use the old-fashioned method. No water baths here. I pour the boiling jam into the jars, screw their lids on tight and turn them on their tops for five minutes. Then I set them upright. They always seal.

First, however, you need fruit pectin. I’m not partial to particular brands. The Sure-Jell happened to be on sale at Amish Wal-Mart.

It’s not a real Wal-Mart … it’s an Amish-run business on a back country road about a mile from here. And because I can buy dog food, watermelons, canned goods, lip gloss, homemade afghans, John Deere toys and fruit pectin in the same location, I call it Amish Wal-Mart.

My neighbor calls it “The Bent-N-Dent” because the canned goods are roughed-up a bit. I don’t care that my Bush’s Baked Beans is dented, especially with its 39-cent price tag.

But I digress …

You need fruit pectin. And sugar — lots and lots of it (I did not make the No Sugar Needed Recipes on the box).

My assistants washed jars while I watched pot never boils.

But it did … eventually.
Here’s a tip: add a teaspoon of butter to your pot to keep foam from foaming.

And with assistants clear of scalding-hot-liquid strawberries, I filled the jars.

We will enjoy our provisions immensely … until we see thee again, June.

And one last recommendation:
A free endorsement for the elves … Town House FlipSides Pretzel Crackers are delicious.
Dipped in strawberry jam, they’re snack-a-licious.

Enjoy!

Straddle the fence

Posted by Farmgirl on June 23, 2009  |  No Comments

Every once in awhile I run across something fabulous that just does not fit inside the shop … like 75 split-rail fence posts. Wouldn’t these look nice in your primitive, Early American or Colonial-style landscaping?

They are for sale on ebay.  CLICK HERE to view. They can be picked up at Farmgirl Finds.

Trumpet in the land

Posted by Farmgirl on June 22, 2009  |  No Comments

Meet bull #1. We’ll call him … Red Bull.
He seems to think the grass is greener on the other side.

This is Red Bull’s herd—registered Shorthorn ladies.
They’re my neighbors. Every year about this time, they graze the
pasture that borders our pasture. We get to enjoy the new babies.

This is bull #2. We’ll call him Angus.  He is our eastern neighbor.
Every year about this time, he grazes in the pasture that borders ours.
Incidentally, it also borders Red Bull’s pasture—sort of a pasture intersection.

Ever wonder what happens when two fertile herds graze nose to nose?
Or two virile bulls manage fertile herds that graze nose to nose?

Well … it’s loud. It sounds like trumpeters in the valley. And growling.
Lots of low, angry mumbles and grumbles.

And standoffs.

Every once in awhile, they both approach the very hot electric fence,
stare deeply into the other’s eyes and paw the ground in fruitless anticipation.

Then they retreat. Only to beller and approach and back off, over and over.
So far, no one is brave enough to engage—the other bull or the electric fence.

But last year …
Let’s just say there’s a calf of a different color among the shorthorns.

I hope all conflicts can be resolved this year. It’ll take a good woman to
sort through all of the bull, but it looks like there’s one who is up for the job.

It’s ok dear, don’t let his B.S. get to you. You’ll always be my stud … in theory.