Planting Potatoes

This month, generations of my ancestors rolled in their graves when potatoes were not planted on St. Patrick's Day.  I'm so glad that my dad bucked tradition; however, and waited for his grandsons to come home during Easter weekend and help him out.  

Kenyon and Kade thoroughly enjoyed themselves.  Not sure how straight the rows ended up or if everything planted was indeed a potato (Kade liked to play with clods of horse manure that were roughly the same size), but nevertheless, a good time was had by all.

Possessed?  More like an allergy induced fog that lasted the entire weekend.

He has aspirations to become a plumber one day.

More Calves

Every day is a scavenger hunt for calves.

I wasn't lying; we really do have to stop and introduce ourselves to every single calf.

It is a bit difficult to see, but there is a bit of woody brush just to the left of the calf in this picture.
It is in the shape of a 'V'. 

And it just so happens to make a really great scratching post.

Perhaps the best scratching post ever.

Babies, Babies, Babies

It is raining babies in our pastures.  The boys and I go out nearly every evening to survey the progress.  I like to roll down the windows in the pickup so Kenyon can lean out and really get a good look at everything going on.  He is so friendly with all the calves.  

"Hi, my name is Kenyon.  This is my brother John and this is my mama."  He tells to each and every baby, regardless of whether or not they are paying attention.  He then will turn towards me.  "Uh, Mom, you can drive to the next baby calf now."

It's the EXTREMELY early stages of pasture burning.  Huge pillars of smoke are becoming more commonplace on a daily basis, provided the wind isn't blowing 100 miles an hour. 

Don't you love it when you want to take a picture of your son and your dog actually thinks you're taking a picture of her?
I didn't want to bruise Laurie's ego, so I let her think it really was all about her.

Kenyon loves playing with these little metal trucks.  They were his grandpa's, then his dad's, and now his.

Rich Man, Poor Man

Recently, we had a friend from our college days that was sick and laid up in the hospital.  Several of our friends from surrounding states gathered at the hospital to check in on our buddy, Wesley being one of them.

While hanging out in the hospital waiting area, our friend Dwight* started to tease Wes about the state of his life: an often nagging wife, two kids in diapers, cattle and chores that need tended to daily, unstable cattle and grain markets, honey-do lists and the fact that Wes hadn't even been to the grocery store in years (I was a little thrown off by that jab, but nevertheless he listed it as it must have been a priority to him).

I guess Dwight had a point.  He did make his life sound pretty glamorous: single, carefree, no worries, going to the bar and hitting on women any time he wanted, able to go where he wanted and when he wanted.  He was able to eat exactly what he wanted because he bought exactly what he wanted at the grocery store (still not sure why he was so hung up on the grocery angle, but nevertheless, he was).

These statements were all pretty factual.  My husband does have a wife that nags him a bit too much; there isn't any financial stability in our lifestyle - especially when we are entirely dependent upon one income.  Dwight painted a pretty rosy picture of his lifestyle, but we could easily cast the same sort of negative light on his glamorous life.  He's single because his wife ran around on him and now they are divorced.  He goes out to the bars at night because he's too lonely when he sits at home by himself.  He eats grilled cheese sandwiches because he buys bread and cheese at the store. 

And I don't mean to totally make fun of his lifestyle, I just couldn't understand why he was being such a braggart and claiming that his was far superior to ours.  We survive financially because we're frugal (like, squeaky frugal), we have healthy kiddos and we enjoy our rowdy nights together in the feed pickup checking cattle.  I think we're doing okay.

I'm sitting here and trying to wrap my brain around the perfect quote to put all this into perspective and find a perfect little moral to my story.  The best I've been able to come up with is, "Dwight is an ass."  Which I feel is true, but not particularly nice.  And this isn't any sort of new revelation; I never much cared for him in college either.  So... It's all about perspective?  Life is what you make of it?  You're only as rich as you feel?  It's a Friday and I just can't quite put my finger on it exactly.  I'm open to suggestions.

*Name changed to protect the arrogant.

And Just Like That, We Became Chicken Farmers

My husband can be rather impetuous; I am not.  Most definitely not.  I like to discuss things with my spouse; my husband does not.  (We get along so well because we're like yin and yang.)  

So.... yesterday we were in the farm and ranch store together when Wesley said, "Let's get chickens."

My wheels immediately started turning and the questions came flowing out.  Our conversation went kind of like this:

Me: Blah, blah, blah, PLAN, blah, blah, RESEARCH, blah blah, BREED, blah, blah, EGGS OR MEAT, blah, blah, CHICKEN HOUSE, blah, blah, LOCATION, blah, blah, HOW MANY, blah, blah, blah. 

Husband: Woman, we're getting chickens. 

So now we're chicken farmers.  

Kenyon enjoys them immensely.  He is a big helper with feeding and watering and puffs his chest out when he tells folks about his newest adventure.  Wesley has never raised them and it's been more than 20 years since I had chickens, so we'll all have some major learning curves.  Fingers crossed!

Our pride and joy.  All five of them.

Why, yes, that is our son leaving the store in a chicken coop.  Nothing unusual to see here, folks.

The chicks are home and under heat lamps.
Please don't be alarmed when Kenyon tells you they are 'on fire'.

The look of contentment and anticipation all at the same time.

Kenyon's Task

They say if you do what you love, you never work a day in your life.  I think we have found what Kenyon loves, and I hope that John follows suit.  

When Kenyon woke up this morning, his mood matched the weather outside.  He was dreary, gloomy, melancholy.  However, as soon as he heard the rumble of a pot turning around in the driveway his mood immediately changed and he had his boots on and was out the door like a flash.  One of his very favorite activities in the world is loading pots and heaven help us if we are late to help load.  

Kenyon has learned that all the calves need to be counted on and counted off a truck and he is very diligent in this task.  Even though it was a very windy, chilly, gloomy and overcast day, it didn't matter to him.  Kenyon is firmly a believer that 'your best day inside is still worse than your worst day outside'.  I'm so proud. 

I feel badly because I don't write humorous stories about Loop and Laurie anymore,
but rest assured they are still with us and still behaving nicely.
Ill mannered dogs and ill mannered kids send my blood pressure sky high.

He has taken over his new task of counting cattle onto the trucks and it is serious business.
Seriously.

These cheeks.  I will never be able to get enough of these cheeks.

Just a few helpful suggestions on how the men should load the next truck.

If this kid doesn't have his numbers down by the time he gets to kindergarten then there won't be any hope for him.
He's given ample opportunities to count cattle onto the trucks. 

'Lettttttt the marinade enfold you,
God, be with thee till we meet again'
(And the next time we meet, this steer had better be a steak.
I just couldn't muster the mental capacity to fit that much into lyrics for the hymn.)  

This Kid

Kenyon.  Oh, Kenyon.

A few times a week I talk to my dad on the phone and say something to the effect of, "I don't know about this kid.  He's something."  Translation: He will keep us on our toes forevermore.

Kenyon is a fun little two and a half year old.  I love the questions he asks, the thoughts he puts together and the way he is starting to develop quite the sense of humor.

His vocabulary is quite extensive (we think) for a kiddo his age.  He loves to tackle big words.  LOVES.  Some of his favorites the regularly come up in conversation include:

• Chicken chimichangas (I make them a few times a month just to hear him say this.)
• Impact wrench
• Delicious
• Disappointed
• Magazine
• Pipette (I know that one's not very long but it still makes me giggle when he says it.)
• Ambulance
• Spaghetti 

His Achilles heel?  Granola bar.  He absolutely cannot say this, no matter how much we practice.  One might think it was easier to pronounce granola bar rather than chicken chimichangas, but then you would be sorely mistaken.

He is quite the little man, as one would expect.  We don't hang around many other kids - mostly just the neighbors and hired men.  It's the same way that Wesley and I were raised and we don't feel like we suffered much because of it.  As a result, Kenyon talks about man things: cattle, tractors, dozers, and what's for supper.  

Kenyon loves to read.  If he must be inside, he will probably amuse himself by reading.
We realize we are quite fortunate in this regard.  I hope it lasts.

Few things in life are better than creeks.  And, of course, rocks to throw in the creeks. 

Our herd size is depleting rather rapidly.  Why?  Kenyon stands on the porch at night and 'shoots' the cattle with his stick gun.

This is how he looks when he is in the midst of explaining something to his rather slow mother.
He starts these little lectures with, "Uh, Mom...."
Translation:  Keep up, lady.

Being a 2 1/2 year old is exhausting.
The end.