All Purls. No Swine.
Yes, the pedantic me (or "I" as it should more properly be) knows that in his most famous quatrain, William Ernest Henley spells, and is using the word "strait" as it applies to a narrow body of water, often difficult to navigate and get through in one piece. And certainly, sometimes when you're undertaking a… Continue reading How Straight the Gate!
Well, TBPH, I didn’t sleep through it. I discovered, decades ago, that the reason I don’t get much sleep is not that I can’t get to sleep; it’s that I’m a very light sleeper, and everything wakes me up. So last night, I was unsurprised to be awoken at 2:30AM by a pack of yelping… Continue reading While I Was Sleeping: Death Comes to the Farm
I don't believe that for a moment. Although it's a frequently-expressed opinion from a man I used to respect. No more. For I know that: He. Is. Wrong. Let me explain. I live on a farm. I'm a widow and on my own. I'm almost 67 years old. I'm increasingly dependent on friends and neighbors… Continue reading Quote of the Day: “America is Too Stupid to Live”
Well, winter is over. You can't be sure, in this part of the world, until you've been visited by the "three snowmen," although, in contrast to general population-growth trends (or lack thereof) in these United States, the guys seem to have a fruitful year, and I counted about half-a-dozen of the little bastards taunting me,… Continue reading Building Your Own Chicken Coop: Womanly Feminist Edition!
Haiku #1 Better not to try Painting things that matter much When lambs are around. Haiku are delightful little snippets of poetry in a form that originated in Japan, and which follow rules too numerous to deconstruct here, other than to mention that they often express complex thoughts in simple language and often with natural or… Continue reading Farm Haiku
Today, May 10, 2021, would have been my husband's 83rd birthday (He always called himself "a good pre-war model.") He died on July 3, 2020, after suffering a decade of chronic health problems, and several years of mental degeneration due to dementia. His last months weren't made any easier by COVID lockdowns and the near… Continue reading Happy Birthday, Mr. Right!
Thirty-five years ago, Mr. Right and I sold our house in one of Pittsburgh’s lowest-rent districts, moved ourselves into a tent in a field in Washington County, PA, where our prospective new home was nothing more than a hole in the ground, and started to build. I’m sure the neighbors thought we were nuts. Nevertheless,… Continue reading The Snowman Cometh
OK, before anybody make a scatalogical joke, I'm already reminded of this billboard: But, seriously. Grain bins. What I need (and all I need) is a bin in which I can securely (that is racoon and mouse-proof-ly) store a few hundred pounds of sheep feed at a time. Many years ago, I built a nice… Continue reading Building a Small Grain Bin From Septic Tank Riser Sections
They’re so funny. And, in many ways, so very human. This is Oleg. He’s tiny for his age (about six weeks), and his “sister” (Tatiana) who’s only a couple of days older, is almost twice his size. I only named them this morning, upon the increasing certainty that the little fermentation vats that comprise their… Continue reading Guilty Pleasures
I like to share the vicissitudes joys of life on the farm with those I love. So this morning I sent the above shot of Pinky and Perky in their playpen in my kitchen, replete and mercifully (temporarily) quiet after breakfast, to my brother. His response? “You’re microwaving them?”