Farmgirl Follies

My secret house

Posted by Farmgirl on August 20, 2010  |  3 Comments

One of my favorite childhood books happened to belong to my mother.

Today I read it to my children. Its simple message was magical to me and I made sure to find a secret place that would last me into adulthood … it happens to be in another state, but that makes it even more special.

A Little House of Your Own
by Beatrice Schenk De Regniers, 1954.

Everyone has to have a little house of his own.
Every boy has to have his own little house.
Every girl should have a little house all to herself.

Of course you live in a house with your mother and father.
But that isn’t what I mean. That isn’t what I mean at all.
This is what I mean …

When I was a little girl, my mother had a dining room table.
It was a round table with a big white tablecloth on it.
When I was a little girl, I lived under the dining room table.
Not all of the time of course. Just sometimes.

And the story goes on to describe all kinds of secret houses and quiet places where children can get away by themselves. Even moms and dads have secret places, it professes, like when Dad is reading his newspaper and you can’t see his face and you don’t want to disturb him. Dad is in his secret house.

So I ask you … where is your secret space?

How do you feel when you’re there?

And why don’t you go there more often?

Just something to think about.

Your own little house doesn’t have to have windows with curtains
or a chimney
or a door.

A big umbrella makes a fine house.
A secret house just for you.
A cave behind the bushes is a good little house.
No one can find you there.

The story concludes with an important observation …

When you are in your own little house no one should bother you.
And if you should be walking near somebody’s little house
Remember

to be very polite
walk softly
speak gently.

I’m in my secret place today … I’ll be here for a week or so.

When you have a chance, go to your secret place.

Breathe deeply.

Smile.

Out with the old & embracing it, too

Posted by Farmgirl on August 16, 2010  |  8 Comments

Be honest: have you ever spit-shined a child’s face?

I knew I wasn’t alone.

We’re human … and in my case, possibly yours too … female. We like to scrub up and wash down. We like to clean and polish. We wash and fold and tidy and straighten and organize. We like to tie up loose ends.

And that’s the dilemma.

Sometimes there’s a fine line between doing what you know needs done — the cleaning out and tidying up — and feeling as though you’re altering life as it should be.

That’s when we must remember …

We’re discarding. NOT disregarding.

Yesterday the gang gathered at my grandma’s house on her birthday.

The above photo was taken exactly one year ago. The babies are little boys. The little boys are older, wilder little boys. And the girls are taller and wiser and gigglier.

The only difference?

Grandma wasn’t present this year.

The happiness comes from the fact that we know she’s in heaven waiting on the rest of us. She’s in a better place this year, and so are we. Time tends to turn sharp absence into dull ache. And perhaps that’s why we determined it was prime time to do what needs doing.

And so we did … at least partially.

When there are two children, four grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren who live and breathe a woman, and they know her not simply by the way she looks, but also by the placement of each cusion on her couch, each forget-me-not in her china cabinet and each Bible in the basket on her counter … it’s difficult to do the discarding.

The place is as much the woman as the woman herself.

And that’s when we force ourselves to remember … discarding is not disregarding. In fact, discarding is one of the most reverent actions we could take. Every item holds a memory, a link to another, a conversation starter. Each newspaper clipping … each handwritten note … each crystal bud vase has meaning. 

The things connect us all in ways we never imagined.  

And then realization hits.

It’s ok to let go of the things that made a woman. Because those things gave birth to events that burned into memories that are shared by one generation and passed on to the next.

It’s not about the things in our lives, it’s about what we did with those things that

inspired others …

and made a difference …

and touched a heart in some small way.

Sometimes the greatest inheritance is as simple as the stainless steel measuring spoons that banged against a cupboard door when it was opened by a work-roughened hand … or the aluminum scoop that dipped ice cream into a bowl for spit-shined children who laughed while Grandma petitioned for The Lawrence Welk Show and Grandpa demanded the Solid Gold dancers.

Nothing is as precious as recollection and sharing yours with others.

Discarding is not disregarding.

It’s turning over a new leaf thanks to the strength of the plant on which it grew.

Truth of the matter: a confession

Posted by Farmgirl on August 11, 2010  |  4 Comments

My husband and I are a mixed up mess of agricultural experience.

He was raised on a dairy farm like his father and grandfather.

He spent half of his young life on the seat of a tractor. Took the regional dairy show circuit by storm. Broke hearts at county fairs. Spent long, hot summers making hay when the sun was shining, and sweating in the mow when it was time to restock for the coming winter. He went to school for engineering, switched to computer science, and now works as some kind of computer-AV techno-brand training guru for Certified Angus Beef LLC.

I was raised on a fruit and vegetable farm.

I picked apples, peaches, green beans and pumpkins, started rotten tomato fights with my siblings, and daydreamed on the back of a very old Quarter Horse named Cherokee. There was a ramshackle band of Herefords in my early years, but they were replaced by Angus cattle. AI began. Club calves were sold. County fair steer shows were conquered. As were hog shows. And I wore my pink lacers everywhere.

I went to a liberal arts college barely aware of the agriculture industry. They responded with shock and awe when I landed an internship at Farm & Dairy newspaper. I worked at PBS Animal Health while going to school. I worked at a chestnut farm when I graduated. Then I worked as public relations coordinator at the Ohio Agricultural Research and Development Center.

Then I married FarmGuy.

Had a baby. Quit my job for motherhood.

Began part-time career at Certified Angus Beef LLC. 

Had more babies.

Now it’s 2010. I’ve been focusing on Angus cattle for nearly 10 years, FarmGuy for 13.

The truly messed up part?

We feed Holstein steers for my father-in-law. We balance our loyalties between his freezer beef, the Angus beef grown and sold by my family at the fruit and vegetable market, and the internationally recognized Certified Angus Beef ® brand products we market and promote as employees of a company that’s been around since 1978. 

Oh … and my brother (and next door neighbor) raises feeder calves, too. And my cousins (and next-door neighbors) raise Polled Shorthorns. 

It can be overwhelming.

And I won’t even mention the chickens, rabbits and at one time, goat that live amongst us all.

I still daydream from the back of another, very old Quarter Horse … though not as often as I’d like.

There’s a fat little pony around here somewhere, too.

Dogs and cats come and go.

It’s a big hot mess.

Did I mention my girls think they want to show sheep at next year’s county fair?

Welcome to the Funny Farm …

Where all the women are strong, the men are good looking, the children above average and the cows are every color under the sun.

Oh wait.

That’s only at Lake Wobegon.

You do know Garrison Keillor, don’t you?

Chocolate Wars

Posted by Farmgirl on August 3, 2010  |  8 Comments

Family Iron Chef … Battle of Chocolate

It was a feast of epic proportions, from the chocolate-covered biter biscuits entered by my 14-month-old niece to FarmGuy’s homemade chocolate malt milkshakes. We sampled chocolate cake, chocolate raspberry cheesecake, fudgesicles, chocolate-covered marshmallows, white chocolate cheesecake, Snicker bar salad drizzled with chocolate sauce, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate fudge and my own chocolate trifle. I called it afternoon delight!

We learned something profound.

Are you ready?

It’s truly groundbreaking …

Indeed you CAN have too much chocolate.

I profess the truth, but I urge you to prove me wrong … it was a delightful road to enlightenment.

We gathered at ‘Bernice’s Pond’ on a sultry summer night.

Our host and hostess are there on the right. Sometimes I question their sanity. Adults are nearly outnumbered by kids … and we did see a stork fly over! (Or maybe it was a crane.)

Here’s our kind hostess now.

She loves parties. She loves people. She’s planning a shopping trip for the ladies and a girls’ night for the little princesses. And I heard Barbie may be there. I cannot convey the depth of my daughters’ excitement at an evening of toenail painting and Barbie games. They’re pleased, to say the least.

This photo makes me think of Fantasy Island. “De plane, Boss! De plane!”

I want you to see the results of our gluttony.

But first you need to understand how we arrived at that point.

The first step involved chocolate milkshakes.

Step two: ginormous chocolate and nut-covered marshmallows on a stick.

Throw in cookies, cake, chocolate-whipped cream-caramel-brownie trifle and some cheesecake.

Stir.

The result?

Pure, filthy, unadulterated BLISS!

And lots of grass and dirt in the crevices. It was a chocolate-induced frenzy that resulted in dancing, flinging, rolling and stomping. And eventually some smearing.

To be honest, I think that patch of bare earth began as an ant hill, but they quickly headed for the hills and fled for their very lives. (As did the parents of these two rugrats!)

Things eventually calmed.

Or maybe this was prior to the madness, I can’t remember.

I’m still coming out of my sugar coma.

These were not casualties of the chocolate war.

They were highly prized, though, and if I’m not mistaken currently reside in my daughter’s bedroom. I don’t mind. These are much prettier than the locust carcasses I discarded the other day. A nicer alternative to the cow teeth she’s been bleaching for her collection jar.

What?

I really can’t explain. Well I could, but … no.

Hey, they do say chocolate is an aphrodisiac!

Evening.

Spent with family and friends and chocolate and kids and dragonflies and croaking frogs.

A perfect memory.

Especially for the winner of this battle of the bulge.

Raspberry Swirl White Chocolate Cheesecake.

Don’t worry, I will get the recipe. You want it, trust me.

It was prepared by my grim-faced brother-in-law.

He does smile, just never when I want him to.

He’s beaming with pride at his victory — can’t you tell? Really. He is. And because he won, he chose next month’s secret ingredient. Could he pick something normal — like chocolate or peanuts or cheese? Of course not.

Iron Chef September: Battle of Onions & Beer.

P.S. If you happen to have a recipe with both onions and beer, please send my way.

Class in session: spring heifers

Posted by Farmgirl on July 20, 2010  |  5 Comments

A blonde and a Holstein walk into an open class ring …

… followed a little later by a brunette and a Brown Swiss.

The blonde was intense.

Somebody told her not to take her eyes of the judge.

She wanted everything to be perfect …

… so the judge couldn’t take her eyes off the blonde’s heifer.

The blonde had a stubborn streak.

And she didn’t put up with any nonsense. When it was time to walk, that heifer walked.

The brunette thought it best to ask advice.

She figured her daddy and her grandpa had tips that would make this thing a breeze.

She was so relaxed, she took time for a pre-show photo shoot.

But she never, ever considered letting her little brother show that heifer.

Even though he wanted to.

Badly.

The brunette, as it turned out, was just as intense as the blonde.

She took that Brown Swiss around the ring like an eight-year-old pro.

She even had a nice little conversation with the judge.

And after that, she got to stand in the second place spot.

The brunette is very proud of her red ribbon.

And the blonde?

She received a purple ribbon on her photography project.

So the sisters’ ribbon count was equal.

Which is a good thing.

And the blonde wanted everyone to know that when it comes right down to it …

Girls just want to have fun.

That and …

“Hey, Mommy — this is really fun!”

Celebrating independence

Posted by Farmgirl on July 5, 2010  |  2 Comments

Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we went.

Surrounded by corn and …

Fields of beans and …

… all the family’s tents!

Family campout around the lake. It’s been a family tradition for several years now. Aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings gather together for a weekend of fun.

We fish.

And compare, contrast and concoct stories to tell everybody else.

We play.

Did I mention how hard they play?

They play until they’re eyelids get heavy.

And then we eat.

And eat …

… and eat.

We also smile. Continuously.

And we smile while we cuddle.

We also chat.

Discuss.

Ponder.

And listen and learn.

And when the sun goes down …

… we grab our chairs and some marshmallows, cozy up to the campfire and listen, learn, laugh and love some more.

And when it’s time to go

we look forward to next year so we can do it all over again.

Happy Father’s Day

Posted by Farmgirl on June 20, 2010  |  1 Comment

We spent the weekend celebrating the man in our lives.

He’s been a father for nearly 10 years. Three rambunctious little people call him Daddy.

And did call him … often and loudly … throughout our weekend camping trip.

“Daddy! Catch me before I float into the river!”

“Daddy! Don’t rock the canoe!”

“Daddy! Will you go for a walk with me?”

“Daddy! Will you play catch with me?”

And sometimes he was the only daddy within calling distance for a bunch of little people.

“Daddy? Daddy!

Hey, Uncle Farmboy, would you please help us onto our rafts?”

“Look at me Daddy!

Daddy! Look! Here we goooooo!”

And then sometimes, everybody just ignored the daddies.

And the mommies.

They just played and played and played and … got dirty.

Just like they’re supposed to.

Until the begging began.

“Daddy! Can I pleeease have this kitty?”

No.

“Pleeease?”

No.

“Aw, Daaa-dy!”

*stern look from Daddy*

“Ok. Can we at least play in the creek then?”

*smile from the Daddy*

“Thank you!”

Happy Father’s Day, honey.

You have some great kids!

Eastbound and down

Posted by Farmgirl on June 18, 2010  |  3 Comments

Loaded up and truckin’ …

Since Father’s Day is coming up, my kids told their dad,

GET OUT!

(and to take us with him of course).

We’ve packed his clothes and some food, loaded kids, tents and marshmallows, and we’re hightailing it into the woods for a weekend in the great outdoors.

FARMGIRL FINDS IS CLOSED TODAY AND TOMORROW.

Have a wonderful weekend … celebrate your dad, your children’s dad or any dad in your life!

Pride & prejudice

Posted by Farmgirl on June 16, 2010  |  4 Comments

Pride.

This is the second time in her brief nine years that she has cut 10 inches of blonde from her head for a donation to Locks of Love. It’s an organization that provides hairpieces and wigs to children suffering medical hair loss.

There is no hesitation. She climbs into the chair and awaits the scissors with enthusiasm and a huge smile.

Prejudice.

I happen to think she is one of the two sweetest girls in the world.

Memory keepers

Posted by Farmgirl on June 10, 2010  |  7 Comments

It looks like a wonderful apple harvest this year.

The peaches look fantastic, too.

We’ve had some spectacular storms this spring, but so far [knock on wood!] the hail has fallen elsewhere and the fruit trees look beautiful. We’re expecting sweet juicy peaches and crisp, crunchy apples, and lots of other homegrown produce that’ll knock your socks off.

And when I say ‘we’ I mean my family.

My parents and brother are directly involved in the daily operations of Manfull Orchards. They grow the produce. They tend the orchards. They keep things growing.

It’s true … the legacy part, I mean.

We all feel the same connection to this place.

The roots are deep … they go back generations. In my memory, though, they come from my great-grandfather. He lived to the ripe old age of 101, and my siblings and I had the good fortune of growing up across the road from him.

On his 100th birthday, the newspaper did an interview. When asked the secret to such a long life he replied, “Hard work, eating eggs and Coca-Cola. I’ve eaten eggs every day for 90 years.”

And I can attest, he drank a two-liter of Coke every day, as well.

My brother and sisters and I were fortunate to grow up in the midst of wise folks.

Not only did we have the company of a century-old great-grandparent, but we had the daily — sometimes hourly — guidance of grandparents. My children never met my grandpa, but they talk about him often. His presence is still so very strong for all of us.

And we don’t have to look far to find him.

Grandma passed away last August, but her presence remains. Sometimes it’s almost palpable.

I think it’s because their legacy lives on in each apple tree and tomato plant and patch of blue sky.

They taught us to love God.

They taught us to love the land.

Most importantly …

They taught us to love each other.

Unconditionally and always.

And when you stay true to those three things …

Life is really, really sweet.

Even when it’s not.

Just keep on keeping on.

Enjoy the present, plan for the future and don’t take either for granted.

These mums are going to be spectacular in September …

… if we do what we need to do as best we can.

Which is really the case in any situation.

Do what you need to do.

Do it to the best of your ability.

Always.

Something to remember when you’re growing hundreds of tomatoes.

Each one is as important as the next.

Just like family members.

Individual parts of the whole.

And sometimes you have to let new members into the fold.

Like Freckles, here.

She showed up one day and isn’t leaving anytime soon.

Because she has eyes for him, only.

And he treats her right — something she never knew in her short time on this earth.

And really … all of us have a short time on this earth.

Which is why we have to make the most of it, remember the best parts and pass them on to the next generation.

Memory keepers.

That’s what we should be.