Sweet Summertime

The year is flying by.  Nothing major ever seems to happen around here but we are making all sorts of tiny steps towards our little people becoming more grown up, independent folks.  

Each morning the kids are up and out the door as the sun rises so they can feed their livestock and walk the hogs.  I often wonder if the kids realize how fortunate they are to witness such a beautiful time of day in such a beautiful area, or if some of these sunrises are totally wasted while they cuss and discuss various 'little 80 year old man' topics.  

This year the boys work with their 4-H calves all by themselves.  Get them caught, rinsed, walk them in the yard, they can do it all.  It's so incredible to watch a 50 pound boy be able to control a 1400 pound steer.  Mom, I'm 56 pounds - please get it right.  

When the kids are working on their arts and crafts projects for the fair this summer I just give them the hot glue gun and walk away.  I think some of the kids have burned their fingertips enough times they may not have any fingerprints left, but perhaps they'll grow up to become bank robbers and thank me for being so farsighted.  

The oldest is 10 and cuts all his own boards for woodworking.  I'll admit, I still peer over his shoulder on this one.  Partly because it is super dangerous, but partly because I love woodworking so much.  He seems to enjoy it as well and I love that we can bond through this.  

The three oldest kids all played baseball this summer and had a great time.  All three also played catcher at times.  This was my favorite position growing up and it gave me great pride to see them tough it out during miserably hot games.  

This day was particularly rough. She got up early to help load cattle, had swimming lessons during the late morning, picked up rocks and sticks from a previously flooded field all afternoon and then was absolutely comatose during the hour-long drive to the ballgame that evening.

Arguments are starting to evolve around here as the children age.  During breakfast last week I heard a heated discussion on what type of spray we needed to use on our soybeans.  I don't think my favorite PBS cartoon, Daniel Tiger, has a helpful jingle I can sing to diffuse these sorts of arguments.  Also along those lines, I miss many of the PBS cartoons that helped us along during the past decade.  It seems now we've graduated to old westerns, science documentaries and exploration-type shows.  

I'll admit, we push our kiddos pretty hard out here.  We see how the rest of the world is spiraling and it only further solidifies our desire to raise our children more like '80's babies', with less technology and more time outdoors and filthy.  But it's not always work!  This summer we've tried to make more time to carve out a little bit of fun.  Great Grandpa stops by occasionally and though he doesn't stay long, the kids always glean a little bit of knowledge (and a lot of bull) from him.  We recently stole away for a weekend and went camping with cousins.  The kids are now hooked and have been mentioning pooling their money to purchase a camper.  And one of the best perks of kids maturing is that we can now eat at a restaurant and actually enjoy the experience!  Our good friends recently opened a sundry in a nearby town and it is quite the place.  I enjoy a reprieve from feeding a small army and the kids enjoy eating at such a fancy place with familiar faces. 

Teeny, Tiny People

When the babies were little, they were constantly attached to me.  I was often holding them on my hip or chest so they were RIGHTINMYFACE and BREATHINGMYAIR most all day, every day.  Which is the wonderful part about having babies, don't get me wrong.  Even for their small size, they were huge in my eyes due to their proximity. 

Now the babies are getting older and.... smaller.  They no longer breathe my air.  The are rarely right in my face, unless they are showing me the latest bump, scrape, bruise, turtle, blackbird or the like to impress me.  These days I mostly see them from a distance, which is becoming increasingly alright with me.  A friend told me once that raising kiddos never gets easier, it just gets different.  Each day I am becoming more aware of just what he meant.  

See what I mean?  I wasn't joking.  Blackbird.  In my face.  He was so proud of himself for catching it.  Still not sure how he managed that one. 

We spent a few days last week hauling hay.  Kenyon LOVES to drive the pickup and flipper trailer through the fields so I can load him with the tractor.  Once I get him loaded he dutifully slides over and lets me drive down the road to the hay yard to unload.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Load after load. 

Not only can he do the manly chores like haul hay, but he's great at walking home to make sandwiches for everyone as well!  He really wanted to keep loading hay while I went home to make sandwiches, but he definitely lost that argument. 

We had to wait nearly 10 minutes for the men to switch fields and bring us a tractor, which is approximately 10,000 eternities in young man years.  He sat on the tail end of the flipper trailer and nearly died of boredom.  

"Seriously, Mom.  I think they forgot about us.  There is no way it should be taking this long.  We should just go find them."

I love picking up these tiny hitchhikers I find alongside the road.  All the kids love to take turns riding in the swather and baler with their grandpa and dad.  After spending many long hours bouncing around in the cab I drive to the appropriate middle-of-nowhere location and find the tiny dot standing at the side of a field that is hopefully my child. 

I loved stumbling upon this scene a few days ago.  The kids found the best vantage point (the top of the ground load trailer) and watched their dad go back and forth with the tractor and baler.  I believe if you click on the individual photos you can enlarge them.

Nearly every Saturday morning while the rest of the world is watching cartoons, we have our kiddos out working a load of calves that arrive to our place the night before.  I run one side of the chute- giving shots, worming and putting in ear tags while my husband works the other side.  He runs the hydraulics of the chute to catch each calf, gives other shots and implants as well as brands each calf with a hot iron.  We both keep an eye on the kiddos as they push calves up the alleyway or simply see how much dirt they can possibly cover themselves in.  Not to brag or anything, but they could earn a gold medal in the filthy kid category.  Hands down.  

The boys have to practice their penmanship skills when they number all the ear tags and vials for BVD testing that I then run in the afternoons.  

This new, different chapter is difficult for me to process at times but I'm slowly adapting.  I never dreamed it would be this enjoyable to watch the children grow bigger physically but become teeny-tiny in my eyes as they become more independent. 

...And Just Like That

And just like that, we blinked and summer was over.  We played our hearts out in baseball, had weeks of swimming lessons and vacation bible school, survived the fair, sold our animals, spent countless hours in the hayfield and one day in town buying school supplies.  

That is a completely accurate recap of our summer.  

It was exhausting, but we seemed to manage very well.  The kids were up and out the door early each morning to walk their animals or ship cattle and then spent their afternoons in a myriad of activities - swathing, raking, baling or hauling hay mostly, and then we'd eat a light supper and head to the ball fields or work with animals again.  We had three children on two different baseball teams this year and it went pretty smoothly.  Everything this summer seemed to go smoothly even though it was incredibly busy.  Last summer each breath and each activity seemed to be a torturous struggle but that weight was somehow lifted and things were rather delightful these past few months.  

After spending so many years at home with small children I am now meeting more parents through all these activities and truly loving this little tribe we've created.  It is refreshing to find another soul that shares similar values and standards, not only in child rearing but their own work ethic and mannerisms.  Conversations are easier when you don't want to beat your head on a wall.  

The kids are getting older and starting to be really helpful with activities.  Some of them can even read, so now I can leave for short periods of time and leave them notes with instructions or lists of chores to accomplish.  (Funny, the first few times I left chore lists they always seemed to mysteriously blow away.  Hmmmm.)  

It's an exciting new phase of life, one where I can walk away from children, take a deep breath and be fairly confident they'll survive for a few moments.  We can skip naptime and the entire world does not end.  (Close, but not quite.)  And we are thisclose to being done with diapers FOREVER.  It's a thrilling time around here, let me tell you.  

John found a shell with the live snail inside.  He was so proud.  This was our exciting Father's Day.  The girls rode in the air conditioned tractor with Wesley to bale hay and the boys and I picked up logs from the edges of fields since a recent flood had carried them in. 

We are a filthy little family.  But I'm proud that they spend so much time outdoors on adventures.

Kenyon designed a replica of Big Brutus and took it to the fair.

Again with the filthy kids!

Oftentimes it feels like we eat as many meals in the shop as we do around our kitchen table.

Horrible picture?  Undoubtedly.
But this was my view repeatedly this summer -
three kids running out the door long before the sun came up.

She loves to drive the dozer, dinosaurs and the color pink.  Such a funny little one.

Everything can be made into an obstacle course, especially pallets of mineral.

She's kinda like her momma and has a soft spot for sweet little old men.

Reese is an excellent cattle counter, just like her dad.

She does a nice job of keeping herself entertained in the tractor while we move hay together.  
Also, I highly recommend the $11 writing tablet she's holding.  She can draw for hours with her finger and be perfectly content.  

*I should have mentioned that she enjoys almost all reptiles (like turtles) and not just dinosaurs.  My apologies. 

I'll See You in May

***Warning - I began writing this post in late March.

He came home from burning one night.  I told him to freeze - I need to shoot you!- he replied that he was so tired he'd like to be shot and put out of his misery.
This is one of my favorite pictures of him EVER. 

Most mornings my husband and I have a bit of a 'morning meeting' before he heads out the door as the sun rises.  It's not much of a conversation; more like a trading of our lists of chores and obligations for the day.  It's rather informal.  I sit on a little six-inch step stool our kids use at the utility room sink; Wes sits on his bench and laces up his work boots. 

Late last week his tone turned serious as he spoke to me.  "I just want to let you know; next week the spring run is on.  I won't be around much."

I used to take this talk more seriously, to be honest.  This time I laughed.  In his face.  I regretted it (to a degree) almost instantly.  

***I'm concluding writing this post in mid-May.  If anything, life has gotten worse over the years after the spring rush has concluded.  After pastures are burned, corn is planted, calving is over, cattle are out to grass and calves are worked we now have a huge rush with activities for the children: field trips, baseball, t-ball, spring concerts and award banquets.  

We. Are. Tired.  

At this point I laugh about the struggles we used to have.  I no longer worry about solo parenting everyone.  At this point I feel I'm well versed in the art of solo parenting four kiddos and honestly my husband's presence often throws a wrench in our routine.  Our struggles these days come from trying to find balance.  We *only* participate in baseball and 4-H during the summer, which sounds manageable.  This is alright until we add in evening chores with critters, homework and trips to the field to visit Dad.  

We have no trouble when our heads hit the pillow at night.  

I realize these struggles are temporary, but goodness they are still exhausting.  We are all counting down the days until July 1.... when the next adventures can begin...

Babies, Bucket Calves and Bred Heifers

Several weeks ago we had our heifers preg checked to make sure they all had calves in their bellies.  Our oldest son, Kenyon, had turned his show heifer out in this pasture after the fair and we had high hopes that she would be bred as well.  

But before I tell you that story, I need to tell you this story. 

I hated that heifer.  

I realize that I'm not supposed to say hate, but I need to make it clear just how much I despised her.  And most of it wasn't really her fault.  It was more that she was a constant reminder of a whirlwind time in our lives and just one more thing that we didn't really need on our plates at that moment.  

It was the beginning of the pandemic and no one really understood just what was going on or the best course of action.  On top of that, I was pregnant with our fourth child.  On top of that, we had to begin our remote learning journey with our kindergartener.  On top of that, we had begun a bit of home renovation as we were having another bedroom added on for this new child and it's impending birth.  On top of that, springtime is generally a special type of hell around here; what with burning pastures, kicking calves out on grass, cooking for a crew, and on and on and on.... I could elaborate further but I feel I've adequately made my case.  We. Were. Busy.  We were busy, but somehow we were managing to just keep our heads ever so slightly above water.  

In late April I had the baby.  24 hours later we were back at home.  24 hours after that my husband gave me a bucket calf, a tiny black baldy bull.  24 hours after that (72 hours post-baby for those of you keeping track) I was given another bucket calf.  A red baldy heifer that was wilder than a march hare.  

I remember during that time mixing two large bottles for the bucket calves, loading the baby into the stroller, balancing the bottles on the stroller and walking down to the barn.  I remember nursing the baby in the barn and sometimes she would cry if the hungry calves bawled too loudly and frightened her.  So sometimes the calves got fed while the hungry baby bawled because honestly, she was much quieter than the other two.  While I fed bottles to the tiny human and tiny calves the rest of the children would do their best to help me with the other chores.  

I was always thankful for such a pretty view as I sat in the barn nursing the new baby.

Hats off to the parents that survived remote learning and
many thanks to the creative teachers that made this all possible! 

We'd walk back home and I'd do my best to whip up food for a crew of men.  I'm not the best cook on a good day, and these were far from good days.  My most sincere thanks to the hungry men that choked down my food and said thanks.  (I'm trying, guys, I promise!)  I'd load up the food in the back of my car, drive to the designated pasture and we'd have a pasture picnic.  I'd set out all the lawn chairs, lay ou the buffet in the back of the car and then nurse my tiny human baby while the men ate.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Day after day for most of our spring this is how things went.  And in the back of my mind was always the fact that we had to feed those damn bucket calves twice a day.  

I'm fine,
we're fine,
everything's fine.

But like most things in life, our situation was temporary and things started to look up after a few months.  Although one calf sadly did not make it, the red baldy finally started to take a bottle from Kenyon and allowed me a bit more freedom.  The change of the seasons meant I didn't have to cook nearly as many meals to take to the pasture and the baby didn't require quite so much of my attention as she got older.  I thanked God countless times for such a happy baby.  I don't think we could have survived otherwise.  

The heifer seemed to explode growth-wise overnight and started to look like a decent show heifer prospect.  We knew she wouldn't win any major awards but at least we wouldn't be laughed out of the ring.  After some deliberation, we decided she could be Kenyon's show heifer when he joined 4-H the next year.  He took his responsibility incredibly seriously.  Although she never calmed much for my husband or myself, Kenyon could have lead her to the ends of the earth.  They were quite good buddies and their bond was evident, as it should be with 4-Hers and their animals.  He had tears in his eyes after the fair when the trailer doors opened and he took off her halter one last time and kicked her out to pasture.  

So this fall it came time to preg check the heifers.  We allowed Kenyon to leave school early that day so he could witness the process with his heifer.  In the days leading up to this, he was so excited as he hadn't seen much of her in a few months.  My husband and I were a bit nervous as to how the ordeal would go.  What if she wasn't bred and we had to send her to the sale barn?  What if she was a total nutcase and we couldn't keep her around?   

I was elated when I got the text from my husband that the heifer was bred.  I loved it even more when he sent me this picture and said that Leeva the heifer had remembered Kenyon.  After being gathered from the large pasture and preg checked, Leeva was kicked out in a large pen with 50 other heifers.  Kenyon walked right into the middle of the herd and stood his ground as the heifers nervously frittered around him.  Little by little, he was able to make his way closer to his heifer.  Although wild by default, he said she seemed to calm when she finally realized who was in the pen with her.  He then was able to spend several nice minutes talking to her and scratching her all over.  

Even though I despised this heifer and the tumultuous time she represented in our lives, this picture still brought tears to my eyes.  (Contrary to popular belief, I'm not totally heartless.)  

I've heard countless time over the course of my life that 'a picture is worth a thousand words'.  To me, no words can do this picture justice.  To me, this photo is absolutely priceless.  

If You Give a Girl a Brahmer Bull

July 2021

If you give a girl a Brahmer bull, no good will come of it.  

You must realize you've given her one of God's most stubborn creatures, even if they are rather adorable with their distinctive features. 

She'll quickly learn to dig in her heels and stand her ground, stand up each time she's knocked down.  

She'll become independent and self sufficient with no time for clowns.  

Chances are she'll become rather gruff, with very little patience for fluff. 

Honestly, you'll likely alter her entire disposition by giving her such an acquisition.

Therefore it's likely someday she'll find a man not prone to coddle, stubborn as her with no time to doddle. 

The ensuing battles will be epic when they disagree but most days they'll work together in sweet harmony. 

So by all means - go ahead if you want to ruin her life, cause her blistered hands, early mornings and late nights

But please realize there are rather serious implications when giving your daughter one of God's most stubborn creations. 

So I hate to sound the alarm but realize you're causing irreparable harm.  

In short, please heed my advice before you alter the course of her life.

If you give a girl a Brahmer bull, no good will come of it.  

July 1994