We received a few inches these last few days.
Not a huge fan of it, but what do you do?
Well, I know what to do. Check on my farm kitty’s newest gashes, to make sure he doesn’t need stitches.
He’s good.
Unfortunately, the second I turn my back, he is ready to roll with farm pup and she’s tough, but not tough enough for him.
It’s April, right? What does your April look like? Are you staying warm? Are you going crazy yet? Send me a lifeline.
xoxo, Country Wife
Now that the snow has melted, it’s time to start looking for sheds.
We have extensive territory to cover and only a short window of time to do it, before competition builds or the pressure of harvest season begins.
I don’t always go along with him on these adventures; he’s got friends who match his passion and who don’t wimp out so easily. (Hey, this wind is cold. And dressing weather-appropriate would be smart).
But when the sun is shining and I can wear a tank top, I’ll be there!
While my husband picks up horns, you’ll find me staring at the spooked deer or the garbage remnants left behind from previous dwellers, because that’s what they did at that time, I guess.
It’s always a sad sight but I know we can do better by the land.
Even though I was “skunked” this time around, I will keep tagging along as long as I can.
P.S. To the gopher I called a prairie dog, I apologize. I hope you are not easily offended but full of grace. I really was born and raised in this state, believe it or not.
Tobi the Magnificent, out and about.
Tree looking toward Spring.
Resilient thistles, ready to come alive and annoy farmers.
The prairie dogs are always ready for that task.
This prairie dog is cautious and quick,
too quick for the prairie yorkie dog.
Come to my birthday party?!
Oh well, better luck next time, Tobi the Magnificent.
Dreams ahead, the old behind,
and in the Meantime of life I sit.
And it’s in the meantime waiting that quietness settles
and I wonder what all this waiting is about anyway, and
if these dreams will materialize or if they won’t.
Which is more terrifying, I can’t decide.
In the meantime I sit like a good girl on a Ferris Wheel,
sometimes the lucky one and it stops at top and that’s where I smile, laugh,
but sometimes at the bottom which I really don’t like at all.
No matter where I’m stopped, I wonder if all his dreams will come true, too,
and I think I’d do just about anything to make them all happen, to see
him stand on his land and look for miles at the harvest ahead.
But I can’t, because it’s the meantime and the instruction is to wait.
So I do, and perhaps you’re there with me, and we
could take hands and ride round and round, up and down,
until it’s time to leave Meantime.
I am surrounded by faces.
Black faces, red faces, speckled faces…
Snow-covered faces, too.
Faces that won’t stop for a second,
and some that are world champion relaxers.
Furry faces not from this farm but a friend’s…
the sheep farmers wouldn’t notice if they were one less, would they?
Some faces that are sweet but often up to no good,
and a black face that is just as sweet but up to more good.
The one she-human face,
the one manly face,
and the cattle’s view of it all.
… you can say something mildly funny, and they will laugh like they’re in the front row of a Jim Gaffigan act.
The thing about parents is, each you time you call them, you’d think your voice was their lifeline by the arietta in their hello.
It’s a love I receive, but will not full circle understand until I experience it myself.
And if I am honest, it’s a type of love that scares me, the way many parents discard pride in the hopes of a small morsel of affection from their child. The way they put their scarred heart out there again and again. For years and years.
I see my parents several times a year, and am ached they are no more excused from aging than the next person. Why do they have to do that?
If I could alter space and time, I would make it so my Mom and Dad would wait for me to gain enough wisdom so we could all be great pals and golf together and then die at the same time. But if I could alter space and time, perhaps I’d make it so we wouldn’t have to die at all. That’s another topic.
This spring my Dad will enter his sixth decade in life, my Mom trailing behind a year, and together their third decade of marriage.
We’ll be celebrating those events with them, as they sure enjoy an escape to the country to see their daughter and the son-in-law they so adore. Even my dogs seem to recognize them, as evidenced by the way I no longer exist when they arrive.
I know those two will have plenty of food and trinkets in tow, because, well, that’s another thing about parents.
Beyonce,
I watched you perform last night from the warmth of a friend’s home. From the moment your silhouette slowly, seductively made its way up on to the well-lit stage, two words came to mind: uh… oh.
Uh-oh because of the world I find myself in that is quick to to come down hard on a woman who doesn’t live up to their conditions. Uh-oh because I knew of all the criticisms to come, the worst flowing from the mouths of your own kind: women.
I don’t understand women who don’t support other women. We have to. – Martina McBride
Criticisms like “God help her”, “That’s no way a woman should dress”, “I had to turn my TV off”, “This is what’s wrong with our country today”.
But truthfully, Beyonce, this isn’t even about you… this is about all women: my sister, my mom, my friend, you… me.
This is about every woman who worked hard to buy a window outfit that spoke to her, only to have someone call her “slutty” or “inappropriate” or “trashy” when she found a night to wear it.
This is about that mentee with the mentally unstable mother, who bought a cute shirt at the second-hand store after earning the money at a real job, but it could never meet the quality of her peers (and I watched it happen).
This is about me being so damn tired of women not supporting one another.
This is to women with young daughters, who hear every tsk tsk and “We need more role models, not scantily dressed women on stage!” you utter. Because you are the main role model, and at this very moment, you are teaching them how to treat other women.
And because I don’t want to ever again see that look on a young girl’s face when she learns her outfit and body have enemies she didn’t expect, and she finds she can’t trust a women’s voice again.
Thanks for listening.
Sincerely,
Country Wife
