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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

Neighborhood Competition

Ramone and Virginia are my neighbors. Ramone just celebrated his 88th birthday and Virginia is a young and vibrant 86 year old. Virginia amazes me. She gets up every morning and takes a walk with my dog, Preacher. Then she hangs her laundry out on the line. 

Since seeing her laundry swaying in the morning breeze it has been my soul’s desire to get my laundry out before her. I don’t know why, I just wanted to beat that old gal to the clothes line!
But, dang!  She gets up so stinkin’ early and I uh, well, um, I don’t.  But, a few mornings ago, I couldn’t sleep and got tired of fighting the covers so I drug my bodaciousness out of bed and hung out the laundry.  When I looked over at Virginia’s line it was empty.  YES!  Finally, I beat her.
When she did come out this is what she put out on the line.  Four things.  Which probably meant she didn’t have any other laundry.  And I was just getting started.  An hour later she came out took down her meager load and I was left standing with another ginormous basket of wet clothes to hang out.  Load after load all day long.  My enthusiasm for defeating her dissipated quickly.
You know what else Virginia has?  A propane tank.  Not just a propane tank, but a propane tank painted like a cow.  And she has an old fashioned water pump there in the background.  She fills her bird bath with it.  How stinkin’ cute is that?!
And this.  The kissing tractors.  I want kissing tractors!  Why don’t I have kissing tractors?  Shouldn’t every homestead have these love birds sitting out in a field?  Yes, I think so.  At least I get to look at them through my dining room window.

Just call me the chicken doctor.

Guess what I had to do again tonight? I’ll give you a hint. Spoink.
This time I got it all on film.  I know!  How lucky are all of you?!
This is Clay saying, “Are you seriously going to take pictures of this?”  Yeah.  Isn’t his haircut cute?  He has an awesome stylist.  She lets him sit outside and get bombed by mosquitoes while she hacks away at his sweaty head.  He never leaves her a tip or for that matter pays her!  Humph!

Here’s our poor little gal with the prolapsed pooper shooter.  She layed an egg today so I’m hoping that the egg was her problem.
My assistant does not have a very good attitude.  It’s so hard to find good help these days.
My diagnosis; Pastey Hiney.  Dear me, that is just not pretty.  Mr. Assistant, please take Miss Pastey Hiney to examination room 1.  I need to go get my surgical tools.
Uh, could someone please get the water logged DOG out of the examination room!  This is a sterile environment!  I don’t need my patient getting upset!  Geesh!  Who is in charge of security around here?  Wha?!  THE DOG!  Oh, Moses smell the roses!  What has the medical world come to?  And the fly?  The fly on Mr. Assistant’s arm?  Please.  People, is this a medical facility or a barnyard?  Huh?  What’s that?  It’s a barnyard?  Oh.  Then we’re good.  Carry on.
Okay, Miss Pastey Hiney, let’s take a look.  Mmm Hmm, just as I suspected.  Yes, your crapolotic has fallen out of your poopmoreola.  I’ll get you fixed up in a jiffy.
I’m just going to clean you up.  You should just feel a little pressure and maybe a small pinch.  Isn’t that what they all say instead of this is gonna hurt like hell?  
Now, I’m preparing the special ointment that was made by millions of tiny buzzing pharmacists.  

Just a dab’ll do ya.

And now….. Spoink.  

Okay, I want you to stay quiet for a couple more days and you should work on preening your feathers a bit hon, you’re looking a bit shabby and I don’t mean shabby chic dahling.  And try to keep your pooper shooter inside your body, I don’t want to see you back here tomorrow.

Goodness, this doctoring business really works up an appetite.  Now who wants chicken for dinner?

Shucka Corn

Every single time I shuck corn I am reminded of that song I Feel For You.


Shucka Corn, Shucka Corn, Shucka Corn let me rock you let me rock you Shucka Corn….

If you don’t know what I’m talking about then please get off the internet and go ask your parents. And if I hear, “Um, yeah, April, it’s Chaka Khan” I am going to roll my eyes back into my brain and then email you some of my sarcasm, wit and ability to recreate the words of any 80′s rock song to fit the mood of the moment. It’s a gift.
Anyway. I mowed down my pathetic corn. I couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore. It was disgusting me. The sight of it was a constant reminder that I have a garden full of rocks. It had to go.  I failed.
As I was mowing it down Clay yelled at me, “Don’t you think that’s being a bit rash?! I mean look at that one stalk. It was doing really well!”
Then I mowed over him. Now my garden looks great.
Admitting to my failure I went down the road and picked sweet corn at a U-Pick farm.  

Shucka Corn, Shucka Corn

Shucka Corn let me boil you, let me boil you Shucka Corn

Oh, and one more thing about corn……..

Hey!  Ramone!  Hey, Ramone!!!!  Look at my cucumber!!  It’s bigger than the corn!  Have you seen my cucumbers?!  Huh?  Huh?  My cucumber can kick your corn’s kerneled butt!