Care a little?


To my Mother
by Robert Louis Stevenson
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
For love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.

This is not so much about the farm.  Sometimes I just write for therapy’s sake.

I just read “Girl on the Contrarys” post about her Thanksgiving kickball game and how her Grammy didn’t play this year.  Also about how her Grammy gave her the blessing to go ahead and blog about her if she wanted to.  Girl is plucky and honest and her posts make me smile or giggle regularly.

I had to tell Girl that I was a wee bit jealous because my mom, my kids’ “Grammie” (note we use an “ie”-ending) hasn’t read my blog and doesn’t care to, that I know of, either.  Her internet connection/computer is pretty awful.  That would be a huge contributing factor.  But also, I’m pretty sure it just doesn’t interest her.

I don’t think it is mature for me to rant.  Being a parent myself, I realize there is no way you can be perfect.  Everyone is doing their best in any given moment.  That’s what I believe.

My mom is awesome and everyone that knows her loves her to pieces.  She’s jolly and sweet and loving.  She’s funny and says hilarious things.  She works like a dog.  She loves to cook for people(hmmm, who else do I know like that?!)  She’s sometimes pops off onto some unrelated subject and we all stare at each other wondering….butterfly.

She taught me a lot about frugality and being homespun and Yankee ingenuity.  She taught me how to save every container to re-use.  She taught me how to haul off our recycling to the recycling place down the road when we lived in California.  She worked at North American Rockwell during the Apollo Lunar program while raising 5 kids. She breastfed all her babies during the heyday of formula.  She travelled alone across the U.S. more than once with the 5 of us when we were all miniature and troublesome, my sister and I in our matching homemade pinafore dresses(that matched her own homemade dress), lest we get lost.  She taught me to can and to freeze and to save. She can flute a pie like nobody’s business.  She is fiercely competitive.  She’s fascinated by the weather and competes to “top” ours/anybody’s whenever possible.  She ran off and married my dad in Las Vegas.  She’s boasted to me at being engaged 3 times(I’m not too sure that’s anything to boast about.)  She undid all my knitting, and still does, whenever I couldn’t get it right.  Then she’d re-knit it all for me. (Side note:  I’m still a horrible knitter.)  She doesn’t play kickball, like Girl‘s Grammy does, but she does play badminton.

She taught me about my ancestors.

I think I wish that she would blog.  I’d definitely read her posts.

It’s quite likely that if I care that much that my mom read my blog, I simply need to ask her to do so.  She would if she knew that it meant that much to me.

That being said, I have no problem vowing to read my kids’ blogposts.  Even if my eyes were to glaze over because I couldn’t get past technical jargon or their interests were(are) vastly different from my own.  I’m pretty sure I could learn something from reading what they’re passionate about, even if I already knew it.  Not to mention that I actually DO love to read my kids’ blogposts.

Above all, I’m thankful that I have my mom still.  Really, who cares if she doesn’t read my blog.  She’s a busy gal.

But for all you Oprah fans out there, WHAT I KNOW FOR SURE:

Grammie would rather I call her up and talk to her ANY day, than read about what is up in our life online.

Love you, mom!

Grammie demonstrates excellent “fluting” technique to SJ & Char

Conversations With Farm Women, a Celebration of Beauty and Abundance


the Farm Women of Wing and a Prayer Farm

Re-posting -not something we’ve done before but because the very talented Amy Anselmo has put this latest bit together after visiting us here at Wing and a Prayer, we decided it was worthy of sharing on our own site.  

The story gathering project of the Threshold Collaborative is featuring women farmers over the next year or so, “sharing and celebrating the Strength, Beauty and Abundance of our Farms and the Women who work the land.”

It is quite a noble project and we were very honored to have been the second farm featured.

Here is a link to the project, and feel free to have a giggle at my expense when I proclaim our LOVE for chevre:

Conversations with Farm Women

Bubbles


Yesterday I visited Char in her summer office.  She plans on being a writer, and for the summer between her Junior and Senior year in high school, she is continuing work on her Great American Novel.

Char decided to convert her childhood playhouse into summer writing quarters and so with a bit of effort and a lot of extension cord, she set up shop.

When I visited her, she offered me bubbles.  So I blew bubbles outside of her office door, commented on the flora and fauna, sang to my goatsies that graze behind her, and, in general, enjoyed the retreat very much.

When SJ got home from her job where she plays with a cash register and sells flowers and vegetables all day, she chatted with us also.  She told us all about the Shade Avoidance Response and why the red/far-red sensors were causing the pigmentation in the Clematis vine that was growing through the roof and into the house’s ceiling.  She loves biology and got very excited about this phenomenon.  It was fascinating.  I wished she’d been my biology teacher when I was in school.

Char is so cool.  I wanna be her when I grow up.

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Fresh Tracks


The first time a fox visited our henhouse and took some dinner back to his den, my kids and I mourned, cleaned up the wreckage, and then poured plaster-of-Paris into the paw prints.  We were pretty successful and I think the scoundrel’s signature is still kicking around this house in a basket or cubby somewhere.

Though most of the footsteps that I’ve delighted upon on a snowy, winter morning are obviously identified, I do enjoy imagining the stories told and decided to capture and share the seasonal delights of winter tracks.

Run, Blue Runners, run!

Marcia (and apparently a little bird friend)

Jill

Cricket, the professional fetcher

Mystery rodent!

Weekly Photo Challenge: Simple


Simple Amusements, Simple Accommodations - this is "Chica" in the little house that my daughters made for her, back in the day....

“To poke a wood fire is more solid enjoyment than almost anything else in the world.”  ~Charles Dudley Warner,  an American essayist, novelist, and friend of Mark Twain.  He was also known for the quote, “Everybody complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.”  I found it interesting to learn, according to Wikipedia, that he was born and lived nearly in my grandparent’s backyard in Massachusetts.

This quote, to me, sums up the treasures we discover when we live in the moment, which children are so adept at.

We have much to learn from building fairy houses, poking in the fire, skipping stones and the like.

(nearly) Wordless Wednesday-One Year Ago


One year ago in the henyard,

and one year ago Balrog arrived,

one year ago some fat Broadbreasted Bronzes were waddling around (note Rogue-the-Rooster above!),

one year ago Abe was still patiently waiting for a stick,

and one year ago, Nite Nite was still ADORABLE!

Sing it!


Harry Belafonte, 1954

My kids and I are shower-singers.  Char has nightly opera rehearsals. Sarah Jane has decided that she would initiate the “sing-in-the-shower-movement” at her college.   I’ve heard Jody’s beautiful tenor voice rhapsodize some bluegrass or country tunes. It is where I practice all of my high notes.  What an incredible venue for heartfelt melodies and, oh yeah, for bathing.

But then there is… the BARN!  Now that is my opera-house of choice.  I am always grateful that I don’t have close enough neighbors that I have to be inhibited when I am on the barn stage.  Fantastic acoustics.  The great outdoors.  All kinds of props.  An appreciative audience.  It fully supports your “Climb Every Mountain” needs.

Carnegie Hall? Sydney Opera House? No, Wing and a Prayer Farm!

Also,  because we live set off from the road, when you are belting or rehearsing particularly tricky bits, there is no fear that the Jones’ family is going to file a complaint.  Or at least I hope not because then I am truly living in a bubble…  As far as I can tell, it is a private audience only consisting of the sheep, the goats, the horses, the barn kitties, the roosters, chickens, turkeys and peafowl.  Oh, and Bean the bunny.

There is a lot that you can learn, too, from the animal friends.  They are baa-ing, neigh-ing, meh-ing, meowing, barking, crowing, gobbling, cackling, every-thing from a fantastic support system.  I can just imagine the diaphragm strength.  If I spend enough time observing them in action, it makes for great incentive as well as a reminder of how to sing properly without straining my voice.

Singing in the barn should only become an aerobic activity because of my chores while out there, not because of my vocalizing.  Truly, they do feel as if they go hand-in-hand, though and the songs do help make the duties less burdensome!

sweeping and singing

When we built that lovely ark, one of the first things that Jim did was to install his old stereo(from the 70′s) in the tack room.  (I think the second thing he did was hang up the old castaway thermometer from his family’s vacation home in Lincoln, VT.)  We can play c.d.’s, the radio or even MP3′s if we like.  Four small speakers are mounted in the aisle and the run-outs and if the horses want to, they can neigh along with us.  Jim’s motive, though, was to be able to listen to baseball games while working in the barn, and we do that, too.

“Singing is linked to lower heart rate, decreased blood pressure, and reduced stress,” says professionals.  I say, it’s free and convenient.  Two good things that also lower the heart rate, decrease blood pressure, and reduce stress.

Last summer we were so fortunate as to help host a singing workshop for a week with use of the barn and our music room in the house.  We put a keyboard out there and it was helpful for finding your notes or for accompanying yourself  if you needed to.  But I do have my old upright piano that I grew up with, sitting silently in the corner of the music room, that I could imagine finding a home in the tack room.   If only we could make sure that mice wouldn’t find their way inside…

Along with our annual Pumpkin Contest gathering, one of these days I hope to host an event, or two, in our barn.  I imagine it would be a lovely venue for barn dances or musicals, operas or simple recitals.  How heavenly it would be to put our passions of farm life and music together.  For now I will continue to pitch hay bales and muck stalls, sweep aisles and draw water to my own personal playlists.