Archive for the ‘rural living’ Category

One more onesie, that’s it, I promise

Wednesday, June 9th, 2010

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We’re naming our daughter June.

We used to have a dog named Junebug who passed away before her time.

Is it wrong to name your firstborn child after a beloved dog?  Not when you’re the kind of people who drink tomato wine!

(I’ll stop with the pictures of the baby clothes. Seriously.)

Selects from a baby shower

Tuesday, June 8th, 2010

I think the general consensus among the ladies who showed up to my baby shower — that peculiar rite of passage wherein women voluntarily gather round to watch a milk truck (that would be me) open one delightful onesie after another — up in Baltimore this weekend is that our daughter is going to be 100 percent Hee-Haw.

We’re naming her June. Aunt Melanie has June’s middle name already picked out.

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And if we don’t go with June Deere, at least she’ll have the right socks.

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And a country kid has to have a lot of gingham.

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This adorable gingham bathing suit emblazoned with a chick is perfect for splashing in the crik.

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Jake’s little sister Abby handmade these adorable onesies. Yessir, I think baby June’s going to have more country cred than Willie Nelson.

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Notice the heart is a fence. Aaah!

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Her pa’s company:

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A diaper bag for the country

Monday, June 7th, 2010

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This multi-use diaper bag — also known as a 5-gallon bucket fitted with a carpenter’s caddy — can carry diapers, wipes, drill bits, hammers and haul water down to the chickens, essential for the jerky-eating, DIY mom on the go.

(Thanks, Mark and Christina.)

Self-sufficiency and physical strength

Wednesday, May 5th, 2010

A month or so ago, I wrote a post questioning what it means to be a feminist when living “back to the land.”

I got a lot of feedback from that article, and a fair amount of flak.

Some commenters didn’t understand where I was coming from, some intellectualized the bejesus out of what I was trying to say (note to self: refrain from using the word “feminist” in future articles).

My “dilemma,” as it were,  really boils down to not being able to perform key physical tasks that living a more agrarian lifestyle demands. There’s nothing intellectually rigorous or theoretical about it. Rather, it’s a practical, tangible, day-to-day issue that I deal with. It’s also a pain in my ass.

Witness: The chicken tractor.

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Jake spent the last couple of days fashioning this cool new chicken tractor prototype that will be used to house 50 new chicks.  The design protects the birds from predators while the open bottom means they’ll have a constant supply of fresh grass to munch on. Each day, my job is to manually pull the tractor to a fresh patch of grass. Easy, right?

Only there’s one small problem.

The damn thing is too heavy for me to pull.

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Jake meanwhile can pull it fine.

Some might say…..”AND?? He’s a man! You’re a woman! Dudes are stronger! Get over it, whiner!”

But for someone like me, this seemingly inconsequential scenario has, in many ways, shaped my rural existence. It seems I am constantly faced with another task I suck at or can’t perform because it’s either too heavy or too hard. The cumulative effect is that I’m often left feeling that maybe I should go back inside and watch reruns of Supermarket Sweep and fold laundry while my husband takes care of all the outdoor stuff…..which pretty much makes up our entire lives down here.

For someone who has always prided herself on her self-sufficiency and independence — at least that’s how I defined myself in New York City  – this has been a manure-stained pill to swallow.  A “niggling purposefulness” sets in; I’ve often felt helpless; I start questioning who I am, both as a woman and a wife, and, um, why the hell do I live here?, and before I know it I’m having a meltdown in the laundry room because I’m folding my husband’s socks because it appears that’s the only household task I can handle with any real proficiency, along with cleaning the bathtub and — holy sh$*, I really am June Cleaver.

On some level, my consternation is the result of my own physical competitiveness. I’ve run marathons, I exercise religiously. Pulling a chicken tractor around the yard seems like something I should be able to do. Yet I can’t. It also doesn’t help that my husband places a high premium on one’s physicality….this is to be expected from someone who’s been horned in the face by a bull.

So it’s either back to the drawing board for a more lady-friendly version of the prototype OR Jake will have to pull it around the yard. Either way, I’ll probably be inside, fending off waves of guilt for not doing my part and/or wishing I still possessed that free and easy sense of self I took for granted in New York, when the heaviest thing I had to lift was a 5 pound weight at Chelsea Piers.

It’s not Paramus

Monday, May 3rd, 2010

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A glimpse of the backyard in May (that yellow thing is the lawn mower).

Big news in the world of marriage and fencing

Friday, April 30th, 2010

My husband, a fence builder, is on the cutting edge of technology and relationships.

Jake is the first dude in the region to invest in a machine that allows him to operate his Bobcat by remote control.  What this means:  He doesn’t need anyone to manually drive the Bobcat anymore while he pounds posts for building agricultural fence.  He gets to do it all on his own — pound the posts and drive the machine.  The new technology allows for greater quality control and improved efficiency and he gets to keep more money in his business (no workman’s comp).

And, perhaps most importantly, he doesn’t have to put up with abysmal Bobcat operators—ME! That would be me!—anymore. Our marriage just got three times stronger.

Bobcat itself came out to his job site to help him install the new technology and witness the event. I have a feeling other fencers will want to follow his lead.

My husband: Trail blazer. Trend setter. Marital visionary.

Jake with his new toy

Jake is quite pleased

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It's like a video game console

Look, no one is in the Bobcat.

Look, there's no one is in the Bobcat!

A smooth transition

Monday, April 26th, 2010

Yesterday on the way to work, Jake and I were listening to a Sunday morning radio program called Rise Up on a country western station, in which a smooth talking DJ encourages listeners to call in and share their tales of adversity. Each little uplifting anecdote was followed by a Top 40 country song. There were tales of getting over a painful divorce with the help of the church; relying on the kindness of strangers to get out of debt; having a heart to heart conversation with a distant loved one.

And then there was the call from a young woman who told about the time her ex-boyfriend held a gun to her mom’s head.

The DJ paused for just a moment.

“Well, can’t say I’ve ever had a gun held to MY mom’s head,” he crooned. “On a lighter note, here’s  ”Kiss Me” by Jason Aldean on 94 Country FM.”

The chirpy song came on.  Rise up, people.

Hungry chickens, happy dog

Friday, April 23rd, 2010

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Cute calf pics of the day (just cause)

Tuesday, April 20th, 2010

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Tinkerbell is growing right up. She’s so cute!

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Land demolition: Before and after

Monday, April 19th, 2010

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We’re gearing up to put more animals on our property — we want to have a petting soon by the time the baby arrives — so this weekend, we cleared another 2-3 acres of trees to make way for future horses and pigs and perhaps a donkey named Assland.

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We still have a lot of work cut out for us, but many a tree bit the dust this weekend.


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