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The Living Without Series

This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out: liv011Living #2liv031liv04

Coal Creek Farm on Facebook

The Chicken Doctor

April

The Architect

Clay

Procrastination

I told the kids that I was in the office working and they had to practice piano, do memory work, fold laundry and watch the little ones. Muhaw haw haw!

This weekend or last weekend, hmmm, you know the one we just had? Anyway, it was so great. Why? Because…

1. I got the front walkway landscaped and it looks sooooo much better than the railroad ties that lined the front. I dug them up and used them in the garden.

2. We finally broke down and bought a lawn tractor and can mow our lawn in like 30 minutes compared to 2-3 days with the push mower. We are inching ever so closer to being the farming family. My next big purchase will be a drum composter, uh huh, one of the big honkin’ ones that will make black gold, Texas tea! The next thing ya know ol’ Jed’s a millionaire!

3. We moved the chickens to their coop and they are all still alive. This is really amazing to me.

4. The kids and I spent all day Monday moving brush and burning it in the fire pit. I’m seriously thinking about starting a little firewood business. We have so many dead trees to cut up. If anyone wants firewood come get it.

5. I started to tame the hill where all the iris, day lilly and forsythia have grown into one big
tangled mess.

It was just a great few days to be outside. I love the gardening torture…sore hands, sore back, black boogers, aching feet, filthy clothes. It’s my happy place.

Ellen is destined to be some sort of horticulture guru. After about five hours of working outside we were still raking and hauling leaves and she said, “I like it when we work outside, it makes me fill like I really accomplished something”. She begged to work outside yesterday, while it was raining. Geesh! Take a break girl. She loves the tractor more than I do.

Okay, back to work…”Kids? Did you get that laundry done?!! I’m slaving away in here, don’t disappoint me!”

Blogger spell check is worthless.

ps. I know I promised pictures of Edna and the garden, but it takes about 15-30 minutes to publish each picture and this Mamma just has no patience for that right now. Stay tuned, I’ll do it eventually.

Wisdom and Maturity

I can’t believe more of you don’t have anything to say about my “mud on the tires” blog, but okay..I’m not in the least bit concerned. Pardon me while I wipe another tear from my cheek and catch the snot dripping onto my keyboard.

A typical conversation between the two adults in my house;

A-(sniffing like a hound dog around herself) I smell something bad and something good.

C- Are they both me?

A-No.

C- You should blog that.

A- What? That I smell something bad and good?

C- No. What I said.

A- But, you wouldn’t have said it, if I wouldn’t have asked.

C- I’m still funnier.

A- Yes, and you’re still a bigger…

C- Honey, don’t say something your going to regret.

A- Moron.

C- Oh, now honey, you didn’t have to go and..

A- Remember the time I accidentally threw the t.v remote at your nose?

C- (does slow motion action of remote crashing into his nose)

A- We don’t want to repeat that, do we?

C- What would people think if they heard our conversations?

A- That I’m right and your wrong.

C- April, you’re only hurting yourself.

A- I think I’m gonna hurt…..

C- No. Nip it.

C & A- (wrestle ruthlessly)

A- (in her most pathetic whine) Ouch! That hurts! Stop! You’re gonna give me a bruise!

C- (holds up his index finger and crooked pinky finger) You mess with the bull, you get the horns.

A- Look at your crooked finger! (holds her finger in a bent fashion mocking C) Dur! Hur! Hi, I’m Clay with the deformed finger! You mess with me and I’ll give you a crooked pinky horn!

C & A- (look at the bent finger and commence to hysterics)

C- We’re stupid.

A- I know. What’s that smell? I think it’s me!

Amazing!

Jandy you are so awesome! Thanks for my new look. I can’t believe I was able to follow your instructions.