The Weather Radio

Ah…spring in the country.

Blue skies, green grass and the singing of birds!

And the incessant buzzing of the weather radio.

I have a love/hate relationship with this vital piece of our homestead.

I obviously love it because it has the potential to save our lives. When you live beyond the sidewalks there are no tornado sirens to warn you of impending bad weather.

We can’t depend on the local TV station – because there isn’t one. And even if there was – satellite TV is the first to go when the clouds roll in.

Not that they would be able to tell us if we were in the path of the storm. Even our GPS has no idea where we are. When we turn on our gravel road it tells us “Driving on (then a pause as if confused) road.”

Our cell phones are useless. Our cell service is spotty even in good weather.

We really depend on that weather radio.

So, why do I hate such an important and useful tool?

You would not be asking that question if you had ever been awakened from a deep sleep with the incessant beeping of a weather radio.

Seriously. It’s enough to cause a heart attack. Or bladder issues.

And when you are in active weather pattern like we have been for the last ten days – it goes off night after night after night.

We get so sleep deprived, I want to unplug the thing, kiss my husband and say “If we don’t make it through the night, I’ll see you in glory, honey!”

It would be bad enough if it was just storms that directly affected us. But the weather radio covers a large listening area and many of the storms are well north, or south, or east or west of us. Then, when you finally settle back to sleep, it goes off again to tell you that same area has a flash flood warning.

You would think in this day and age someone would create a personal weather radio. One that said, “Hit the basement, Melinda! The tornado is about ten minutes out!”

Or, “Wake up! You have 15 minutes to get the chickens in before the torrential rainfall begins!”

Or. “Better cover your tender plants, it’s gonna freeze tonight!”

Surely, with our GPS capabilities this could be a thing!

Oh wait, GPS doesn’t even know where we are.

Scratch that idea.

And there it goes again – the incessant weather radio alarm informing me of our daily afternoon storm. Better get this posted – I’m about to lose internet.

Ahh…spring in the country!

Small Victories

Can we talk about the weather this winter? I’ve been trying to find an appropriate adjective to describe it, but I’m torn between unrelenting and horrid.

It’s been frigid, snowy, icy, rainy, foggy, windy, and muddy.

Sometimes all on the same day.

It’s been tough. Frozen bales. Snow drifts. Tractors that won’t start. Cows that walk over drifted fences. Ice. There were several days the only vehicle we could get out of the driveway was the 4 wheel drive truck – and that was iffy.

No church for three weeks in a row.

We had to cancel the Valentine’s Banquet, which is my favorite church event all year.

But the saddest part of all was that none of the kids could come for my birthday, and the weather was so bad Jan couldn’t even take me out.

It looked for a little bit like winter had us beat.

But we’re tougher than that. We got creative with our schedules and found a Saturday to get together with the kids.

Then February fought back with a massive blizzard due to arrive that day.

But we were undaunted. We watched the weather forecast with the intensity of a mama who was sick of winter and wanted to see her babies. It looked as if the rain would turn to snow about 6:00 in the evening, giving us a small window of opportunity, when the ice from the night before had melted but before the snow started.

And we took it!

It might have been one of the crazier things we have ever done, but we drove an hour and half in dense fog and drizzle to Laura and Steven’s.

We didn’t have a lot of time to do much, but we were together. I saw their faces. I hugged their necks.

And we left at exactly 4:15, which was enough time to get home before the snow started.

We hit heavy rain less than 10 minutes into the drive.

It turned to sleet.

And then snow flurries for the last 45 minutes.

But we made it!

Over three hours on the road to spend a little over 4 hours with our kids. It was so worth it.

So there, Winter! After weeks of giving in to the weather, we finally beat it!

It was a small victory, but oh so sweet!

It might be dangerously cold outside again today and there might be more snow in the forecast this week, but that little victory has given me confidence.

Winter won’t win.

Chuckwagon and a Movie

When most people invite their friends over for a barbecue, they heat up the grill and throw on some burgers.

But not Dave and Lillian.

Oh no. They go all out!

When they invite you to a barbecue what they really mean is a cowboy feast!

Complete with a chuck wagon.

And an incredible pit master who used a smoker and a campfire to cook up some mighty tasty meats.

Well done, Dave!

Ribs, brisket, pork loin, chicken. Even a few hot dogs for the kiddos.

All served up on a hay rack, cowboy style.

i heard one old-timer tell a newby to “wear his loosest pants, no belt and don’t tuck your shirt in”.

Yep, it was one of those kind of meals.

You ate till it hurt, then you ate some more because it was just so good!

Then, as the sun went down, we all gathered in the barn with our lawn chairs.

All ready to watch a movie on the big screen.

And I do mean a big screen!

Four king sized sheets sewed together and attached to the front of the barn.

Now that’s creativity!

With the sun setting behind us, the heat of the day gave way to cool evening breezes as we settled down with popcorn and twizzlers to enjoy the show.

What a fun way to spend a Saturday night!

The Cow Whisperer

It’s never a good thing when the phone rings at 7:30 in the morning and you learn that your cows are out.

Your routine gets tossed to the side as you scramble into clothes, go to the bathroom (just in case), grab your coat and head out the door in the rain.

I was very thankful Nate was home to help as we drove down the gravel looking for the renegade critters. We quickly spotted them in the neighbor’s hay field and Nate hopped out to chase them home while I sat in the heated van thinking how well that had turned out for me!

My warm, dry wait quickly changed when a neighbor pulled up to tell me that there was another group heading down the gravel to the east.

I looked around for help, but saw only myself, so I headed out to round them up solo.

You may remember that several of my attempts to chase cows by myself have not ended well. But this time would be different. At least that’s what I told myself as I rounded the corner and saw the four varmints running down the road. I drove ahead of them, stopped the van and prepared for battle.

The goal was to get them turned up the dirt road that would lead straight to the pasture. Sounds easy right? Not. Those cows went every other way possible. I was almost in a panic when a young cowboy in a pick-up truck pulled up.

“Them your cows?”

I thought to myself. “Of course they’re my cows! Why else would I be standing on the side of the road in the rain wearing mismatched clothes and soaked to the skin at 7:30 in the morning?! ”

But I answered with a simple, “Yes!”

He replied, “Need some help?”

Help?! Oh glory yes! Yes, indeed!

He went from smart aleck to super hero with those three simple words.

Then he got out of his truck, stood at the end of the dirt road and pointed while making a strange sound like maybe a “yuuu-up”

And believe it or not, those renegade cows turned right into the road and trotted down as docile as anything!

A perfect stranger and they did whatever he wanted!

Was it the cowboy boots?

Maybe the “yuu-up”?

Or is it that they just don’t like me?

Whatever the reason, I was thankful!

Even more so when that Super hero walked the entire mile to the pasture with me in the rain! When they took off for the tree line instead of heading to the gate he simply said, “Bet that’s where they got out. Funny, they can usually find it right back.”

Maybe for you Mr. Cowboy, but if it was just me, we’d still be running in circles around the neighbor’s muddy field.

Sure enough, all four ran up to a spot in the fence and squeezed back through.

Then they headed back to the rest of the herd, but not before taking one more look back at me and the Cowboy.

And I’m pretty sure they winked.

Varmint cows.

Of Wood Chucks and Butternut Squash

Did you know that wood chuck’s love butternut squash?

I know this to be true because I sacrificed one to bait the live trap last week to catch the furry little varmint who was trying to move into the pole barn.

It worked! That wood chuck ate every piece of that butternut squash as he awaited his fate.

When my husband told me the news, I jokingly replied, “At least he had a good last meal!”

To which my husband responded, “I think I’ll just take him with me to work and let him go at the river.”

I won’t repeat my reply.

Fast forward to that afternoon. Nate and I went to help some new neighbors move in about ten miles away and Jan joined us later, after work. When we were finished, we sent Nate home alone so the two of us could ride home together.

I had a few minutes to sit in the suburban alone savoring the peace and quiet after the busy afternoon before Jan joined me.

We took off down the gravel road, and I proceeded to fill him in on every little detail of my day (as only a wife can) and was in the middle of a long – but very important story – when he suddenly stopped the Suburban on a bridge.

I paused mid-sentence and asked the obvious, “What are we doing?”

He pulled on his gloves as he said, “Letting your little furry friend go.”

What?! That creepy rodent of unusual size was sitting behind me the entire time?! I shuddered at the thought.

I don’t know what was worse – sitting there in blissful silence while a beady-eyed wood chuck sat menacingly behind me or if he had a made a noise and announced his presence.

I think the latter.

“I thought you were going to let him go this morning on the way to work?” l asked while he carefully grabbed the trap from behind me.

“I couldn’t find a good spot”, he replied as he carried the cage to the edge of the concrete bridge and opened it.

I won’t repeat my reply.

But I wasn’t happy as I sat in the Suburban and watched my husband try to get that critter to leave the cage.

After several minutes I had had enough. I grabbed an extra set of gloves, marched across that bridge, picking up a stick as I went and then -mumbling something about pesky varmints and husbands who should listen to their wives – I whacked the cage where his back side sat with a primal scream that sent that critter running.

“And you better not show up at our place again!” I yelled as he disappeared.

My husband laughed.

The laughing stopped two days when he looked out the window and saw a wood chuck hobble across our yard.

My husband said it might not be the same one – but then again – it might be limping with a sore backside from a ferocious whack!

I won’t repeat my reply.

But I did sacrifice another butternut squash to catch that furry nuisance.

And this time he didn’t get another chance.

At least he had a good final meal.

Going, Going, Gone

The old house has finally come down.

How well I remember the first time I laid eyes on that old farmhouse!

We had seen the ad for the farmstead in the Sunday paper and had driven two hours with three kiddos under of the age of five to check it out.

We went around the curb, down a hill, up the other side and turned into the driveway.

No. Please no.

It was ugly, tired, saggy and wind blown after a century of sitting on the hill. A horrible 1960’s renovation had removed most of it’s former glory and the farm crisis in the 80’s left it vacant for awhile. Thankfully, it had indoor plumbing – although some of it was a garden hose. The only heat was a wood stove and the floor had a definite slant.

But my husband reminded me that while houses change – the land doesn’t.

And the land was beautiful! Rolling hills, ravines, a farm pond. Beautiful views in every direction! Just what we dreamed of!

We bought it, named it the hovel and moved in.

It sheltered us for more years than I care to remember while we worked on our dream house. Cold winters with frozen pipes. Hot summers canning in the kitchen with mud daubers buzzing around my head.

It was an exciting day when the new house was finished and we could finally move in!

The old farm house has sat empty now for several years. Every year we said it would have to come down. But year after year other projects were more necessary and there just wasn’t time.

Until this year.

We started August 4th. Piece by piece it came down. Starting with the lathe and plaster.

Windows. Doors.

Then the roof and the second story.

Burning everything we could. What didn’t burn went in a dumpster.

The kids all pitched it. Peter even brought his Bible Study group down to help.

We paused in wonder at the workmanship of one section, and shook our heads in disbelief at the haphazard construction of a later addition.

Almost every day I had a different view.

It was going, going, and then gone.

We saved whatever wood we could and the limestone rock that made the foundation will soon line my flower beds. We had already used much of the trim in our new house.

All that’s left is a dent in the ground.

And the memories.

It was a huge job that we dreaded for years. It’s a wonderful feeling to know it’s done!

Calf Races

It’s Teen Pact week for Buddy!

While he is at the Iowa State Capitol running for office, passing legislation, playing ultimate Frisbee and hanging out with friends – I’m doing his chores at home.

So of course – a cow gets out.

I spotted it eating grass in the ditch on Tuesday. My first response was to call Buddy – who would have grabbed his boots and coat and calmly taken care of the situation.

But then I remembered that he was gone.

So I called Angel Girl – who thankfully had the day off from work.

“Can we do this ourselves?” I asked.

Angel Girl took one look and said, “It’s just a calf – no problem – I got this.”

“Do you need my help?”

She shrugs, “You can come out if you want to.”

By the time I went to the bathroom (at my age you don’t run anywhere with a full bladder), found shoes and socks and a hoodie, she had calmly walked out and with a few waves of her arms had that calf were he belonged.

Seriously.

In yoga pants, flip flops and a t-shirt.

I was impressed.

Fast forward 24 hours.

I look out the kitchen window and see that same varmint calf in the ditch.

What? I thought the fence was fixed?

Buddy’s gone. Angel Girl’s at work. It’s just me. But if they can do this, honestly, how hard can it be?

I went to the bathroom as a precautionary measure, found shoes and socks and a hoodie and walked calmly down the road just like the kids.

But that calf took one look at me and started running. The opposite direction. Fast.

Seriously? Do I look that scary in the morning? Maybe I should have combed my hair?

We run back and forth along the fence line a few times before he bolted for the yard. Under the clothesline, past the house, and through the garden with me in hot pursuit.

He hooked a right just as we got to the gate, ran back to the yard and we did the whole thing again.

Twice.

As we rounded the corner past the house for the third time I called it quits.

Varmint calf won.

I walked in the house and called my husband.

I can’t tell you what I said, but it worked.

He drove home.

He calmly walked to the ditch where he found the varmint calf resting, obviously exhausted after our race.

Then he waved his hands.

And that varmint calf miraculously found the hole in the fence and jumped back in.

Boom. Just like that.

I give up.

I think I’ll stick to quilting.

Fresh Gravel

There are a few realities that those of us who live beyond the pavement have to accept as a part of life.

Important things – like fresh gravel.

One might think that fresh gravel would be a good thing, after all it fills in holes and those nasty ruts that come after a heavy rain.

But the initiated know better. They slow down to almost Amish buggy speed on fresh gravel. They’ve learned the hard way that fresh gravel is slick.

It just lays on top of the existing surface like a pile of marbles on your living room floor. if you drive too fast it can send you flying where you don’t expect to go.

Like upside down in the ditch.

Just ask Angel Girl.

But that’s not all – they also know that fresh gravel is sharp.

Really sharp.

Like puncture a tire sharp.

As in four new tires in the last two months sharp.

So sharp we punctured a brand new tire within weeks of buying it. Weeks.

I jokingly said, “Those folks at the tire store must really love us after all the money we’ve spent there this spring!”

Then – a few days later – Angel Girl got a card in the mail. No return address but it had a local postmark. She opened it and held up a nice graduation card with a gift card inside. She looked confused. “Who are these people?” she asked.

A quick look at the signatures made me laugh out loud.

The owners of the local tire store.

I knew they liked us!

Chick Date

Jan asked me on a date today.

He said he would pick me up as soon as he got home from work and then we would drive through the beautiful countryside on an adventure to pick up the week old baby chicks he bought from a guy on the Swap.

I like dates. I like baby chicks. I like drives through the beautiful countryside with my husband. So of course I said yes.

We took off in the Geo (the little tin can on wheels that Jan drives) across miles and miles of gravel roads.

And all those gravel roads were covered with new gravel.

Trust me when I say that driving on new gravel in the tin can car is not an enjoyable experience.

But we finally arrived at the farm of the nice older man who was selling the chicks. This fella was quite the character and entertained us for at least 15 minutes with stories punctuated with “dadgum” and “cotton picking” before he produced the chickens from somewhere inside the house.

We pronounced them perfect and paid him.

Then he continued, without a breath, for another twenty minutes with more “dadgum” and “cotton picking” stories.

We finally pulled ourselves away and took our box of chicks to the car.

I climbed in first and Jan handed me the box saying, “You better hold them.”

So I did.

Off we go, in the Geo, down the gravel road covered with new gravel, with a box of week old chicks in my lap.

Did I mention the fact the Geo makes makes strange and wondrous noises – especially when it is bouncing along on new gravel?

All these noises and wild bouncing frightens the little chicks. Do you know what little chicks do when they are frightened? I immediately wished for a thicker box as that tiny car started to smell very ripe.

I, of course, got a nose full and was praying for deliverance when my husband announces, “I think the guy we get our honey from lives down this road.” And he turns down a gravel road in the opposite direction.

The bumpy turn on new gravel really sets the little chicks off and they attempt to fly out of the box on my lap.

So now we are taking the long way home, in the Geo, on gravel roads with new gravel, while I’m holding a box of week old chicks who are pooping up a storm and trying to fly in my face.

It was a long, smelly ride.

It is safe to say that I did not enjoy the beautiful countryside, nor could I enjoy the lovely fragrance of the wild plum blossoms that lined the ditches on both sides of the road.

At least he came through with the adventure part.

Trust me when I say that I plan to be the only chick on our next date. 🙂

Before the Grass Comes In

I’ve discovered that there is a new season on the farm – one that our city cousins don’t necessarily encounter.

I call it “Before the grass comes in.”

This season happens directly after the snow melts and before the grass greens up and starts growing – which signifies the start of the spring busy season.

I know the season has arrived when I hear –

“Those varmint cedar trees need to be picked up and burned before the grass comes in.”

“I’ve got to get that baler fixed before the grass comes in.”

“Those locust trees down by the pond should be taken care of before the grass comes in.”

“I really should burn the ditches before the grass comes in.”

“There’s lots of brush and thorns to clean up from that last snow storm before the grass comes in.”

With each added minute of daylight as spring approaches, the list gets longer and my husband gets busier.

And I will admit that he’s not the only one with a list.

I know that as soon as the grass turns green all indoor projects will be put on hold until the ground freezes next fall.

There’s a shower that needs to be fixed, a quilt that needs to be finished and a basement that we’ve been slowly working on all winter.

But I wouldn’t be surprised if these projects sit undone. It’s hard to get motivated to work inside when the sun is shining and the temperatures are climbing!

After all – the grass is greening up!