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


The Architect


A Little Cow

I’ve been thinking about these so much that last night I dreamt I had one.

My sister, Rechelle, and I have a serious problem with dreaming of the next greatest thing.  She will call me and say something like, “What I think we should do is turn your house into a guest house, build two new houses and renovate the barn.  We will wear cute skirts, cardigan sweaters and sell lovely little things.  And we need to have pretty baskets draped on our arms at all times with fresh produce.  Yes, that’s what we’re going to do.”
Sometimes Rechelle’s dreams are a bit unrealistic…..I would never have a basket on my arm, I strictly use plastic buckets. 
As for me?   I’m just dreaming about a little cow.  A teeny, tiny, itty, bitty, whittle cow.  And when I get her, she will have a baby and then I will milk her.  And, and, and then I will make artisan cheeses.  Uh-huh, I will.  And butter.  And yogurt.  And I will always have cream for my coffee.  And people will love me more because I have a Dexter Cow!!!!
Oooh, oooh, oooh, and I’ll train her to mow the lawn and only poop in the garden.  And I will love her forever!  She will have baby boys and I’ll eat them and not feel guilty.  I will only name them meatish names like Meatball, Gristle and Rump Roast.
I won’t give up on this dream.  I will have my cow.  I will!!!!
But first, I need some fencing.  And a big water trough.  And a hay supplier.  And I might need to find the cow.  These are just some of the minor details. 
So, do any of you have a Dexter?  Any advice or wisdom you want to pass along?

Tick Tick Tick Tick

People keep asking me if it’s going to be hard 0n my kids to take these girls to butcher on September 21st.
No.  But I’m going to be a wreck.  I love these darn pigs.  Dang it.
I take care of them every day.  I cut overgrown asparagus for them to eat.  I spray water on them to cool them down.  I buy fly traps to hang outside their pen and then watch them eat the fly trap if I hang it too low.  Dummies!
They happily greet me every time I go out to check on them.  They squeal and grunt at me if I’m in the orchard or caring for the chickens.


And I’m going to eat them.

Yer Daily Dose of Feel Good

If you came here today to feel better about your dumb self, you, my friend,  are in the right spot.  For I am an THE Idiot Extraordinaire.

This week I hung a load of bed linens and blankets and towels out on the line and then my ‘Thinkin’ Ahead’ button got pushed and I said, “Why not start burning some brush?”  Do you know where the burn pile is?  Yep, right next to my clothes line.  Do you know which way the wind was blowing?  Yep, towards the clothes line.  
But I figured it didn’t matter  with the fresh air blowing  and I had the kids fold the dry laundry and put it away.  Now I keep smelling smoke in the house and having little panic attacks that the kids are torching each other.  I took a shower and the fresh towel I got out smelled like….you guessed it, smoke.  It was the last towel so I had to use it. 
And then there’s this thing.

It’s my prepubescent squash plant.  He’s saving himself for just the right gal.  He’s grown so big and so strong and so handsome but has produced zero offspring.  And like any good mother I am so proud of him that I continue to let him get bigger and stronger.  But what I really want to say to him is, “Please find a female and have some fun.  Babies are good.  I want to eat your babies.  Please go out in the world and spread your seed!”

I’m on the brink of cutting the apron strings here.  By that I mean yank the zero sexed guy straight out of the garden and toss him to the pigs.
And of course there’s the rooster.  Clay named him Deacon.  He got the crud beat out of him by the other rooster so now we are letting him roam free…..and wak us up at ungodly hours in the morning.
There’s something about having a rooster running around the place that makes me feel official.
And despite his annoying crow, I feel sorry for the guy.  Because, I’m a chicken doctor and I learned early in my training to love all my chickens no matter how much they irritate me.  
That’s it for now from Idiotville.  Stay tuned and I might tell you about the time I answered the door straight out of the shower wearing my husband’s robe with a hole in the absolute worst place.