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

I once had a dog that was emancipated.

Language.  It’s something we all use.  Some of us use it better than others.  Some of us disregard well founded grammar rules.  Pronunciation and definitions are meaningless dribble.  Some of us are far to creative or, dare I say, lazy to use words properly.  Some of us like to make up our own vocabulary and expect everyone to comprehend our violent slaughter of the English language.

I, myself suffer violent bouts of language slaughter, mostly after a visit with my beloved parents.  Usually, it’s my mom that makes up words.  Like last week she told me that a lady in her church was at home suffering from ‘epaplasia‘.  I hadn’t heard of this ‘epaplasia‘, but I thought that the old lady must be on her death bed for sure.  Later, I figured out it was a young woman in her third trimester that had preeclampsia.  There is no way in hell Mom will ever be able to remember the word preeclampsia or be able to pronounce it, so from now on if a lady is suffering from the dreaded preeclamsia it will forever be known as epaplasia.
A few weeks ago my dad and I were sitting in the parking lot of the local custard joint enjoying our frozen treats and watching a couple walking their Standard Poodle.  Dad and I admired the dog and reminisced about our own Standard Poodle, Thunder, that had been our family pet when I was growing up.  Then, it happened,  Dad innocently threw out this wing-dinger…..
“Yeah, poor Thunder, he sure did get emancipated in his old age.”
“What?  Thunder was emancipated?  From what?  Dad?  I think you mean emaciated.”
“What?  Emanciated?”
“No, e-ma-ciated.”
“Oh.  Well, I guess he was both.”
Mom and Dad also say these words: End-dustry, Choir-practor, Eye-talion and my favorite Warshington.
Thanks Mom and Dad.  I needed something to write about today.  I love you best.
Your Favorite and Prettiest Daughter,
April

Peanut Butter and Asparagus and Wine

So, so, so, so, what have I got?  Hmmm, oh, I wanted to warn everyone that is allergic to peanuts not to touch my kitchen counter top lest you die.  Because my sons use peanut butter to polish the counter everyday and sometimes I just let it happen, yep I do.
We eat the natural peanut butter.  I buy Smuckers.  I love it.  My kids don’t know  they don’t love it….until last week, in desperation, I bought some cheap peanut butter from Aldi and I stuck my finger in it and then put that great big glop of sugary crap in my mouth and nearly died….it was so sweet.  Also, my kids ate it so fast I didn’t have to put the lid back on.  Now they want THAT peanut butter.  I told them NO, you will eat the oily gunk and like it.  And they do.
Our asparagus patch is up and running.  Dear God in Heaven THANK YOU!  I can pick a stalk and eat it raw in the garden it is amazing!  But, there’s  a draw back, you know, the whole urine smell thing.  When I use the bathroom I have to  plug my nose, because if you think eating store bought asparagus makes your urine smell bad, well, let me tell you, eating it raw in the garden will make you wretch and fall off the pot and possibly die. 
Oh, I’m planning on serving my asparagus at a wine tasting party next weekend.  Those poor folks, there in for a dilly-whopper of a surprise. 
Now, how about you all leave me a comment and tell me what you would want to eat at a wine tasting party?  Because I have a few ideas but I keep having little panic attacks at 3:00 in the morning that I’m the only person that will like pears with Wensleydale cheese, asparagus with a drizzle of balsamic vingarette, bleu cheese buttons with tart cherries, herb rubbed flank steak on a Rosemary biscuit and what else?  Maybe that spicy shrimp that is so popular now?   Or how about P-Dubs goat cheese logs rolled in dill?  Yes?  No?  What have I gotten myself into?  Why did I say I would do this?  Do you think I could just bring one of those gigantic plastic trays from Sam’s with all the veggies and fruit and toss in a few Ritz crackers?  Oh, wait, no, we don’t have a Sam’s here.  Help.   Please give me some ideas.  And if any of you say buffalo wings or fried cheese sticks or anything with ranch dressing  I’ll send a leaking bag of my asparagus pee in the mail to you, for free!

The Happiest Dog in the World

I’ve never known a dog like Preacher. He plays with everything. And I do mean everything! I’ll look outside and he’ll be coming out of the cornfield with a four foot cornstalk in his mouth. He’ll drag that stalk around until he gets tired and then he’ll jump up on the trampoline and do a few flips…not really, but he probably could.
He loves to play with the swing. He loves to play soccer. He loves to chase our neighbors cattle. He loves to slosh around in water. He loves life.
But, mostly he loves to torment the chickens and the barn cats. We are certain that there is a little bit of herding dog in Preacher. He keeps his flock of chickens in check and makes sure the barn cats are never where they shouldn’t be, like outside the barn. Poor things haven’t seen the light of day for months thanks to Preacher.
So far, the chickens are protected from our over zealous pup by our “Heitschmidtized” enclosure. Did you know all you need to build a mini chicken coop are two tires, some old wood, two doors and some chicken wire? It’s true.
And it works perfectly fine. Preacher agrees.