Monday, Monday

Monday is one of those days when the housework gets done. The other is Thursday. Yes, I am one of those old-fashioned people that believes in housework. I don't farm it out to paid help; I do enlist the other people who live here.

Mondays, the stalls get raked out. Mondays, the beds get stripped. Yes, we wash sheets weekly, odd as that is to many. I remember my mom doing it, and I love the feeling of those clean sheets. So it's worth the work to me. Mondays, the floors get vacuumed, even though we have hard floors everywhere and no carpeting. Mondays, the frig gets cleaned out, and all the stuff that might turn green soon finds a new home in the trash. Other leftovers get slotted in for meals during the week. Oh, yeah, I make up a menu for the week. Sometimes it's just in my head, but, with Matthew and Keri here, we've been writing it out as much as possible. Mondays, the laundry gets started. Laundry for a family of 6 adults takes 2 full days to finish, but we get it done. Mondays, the bathrooms get cleaned, the trash goes out, the cat boxes get scooped, the garden shed gets swept...It's a lot of work, but it feels so good at the end of the day, to have it all done.

At least until Thursday, when it starts all over again!!

Saturday Farm Report

Last night we got The Call. "I left a rack of hay on the hill for you. I need the rack back by 10:30 tomorrow morning."

That's how it works. The man who cuts the hay on the field behind our house regularly leaves us a rack full of hay when he bales. We unload it and give him his rack back...with a check for the hay. We usually have more time, though, to empty the rack.

This morning we were up at 6am, out at 7, to unload hay. I wish I had $1 for every time I though, "I wish I knew where my camera was." It's gone AWOL again. I had so many neat shots to capture for you. Mary flinging bales off the rack, the morning sun making her a silhouette. John moving hay from the hand truck to the hay tent, little beads of sweat growing on his Army Dad t-shirt. There was even a neat, artsy-fartsy one with soft strands of green grass hay filling the viewfinder, with a small, dried Queen Anne's Lace in the right lower quadrant. Can't you just see it?

About 10, with 120 bales in the tent and another 30-40 still sitting on the driveway, I had to head to work. I came home with fried chicken, beans and watermelon. Keri had made an apple pie. Jay and Kris brought the younglings. It was a nice evening.

Now I'll sit back and relax in front of a movie. Maybe this one.

My Bleeding Heart

No, this is not another garden essay, although I do have to do something about the bleeding heart. They're getting old...

But this is another matter. Tonight I am worrying about a 7 year-old boy named Joey.

Joey and His Friend came into the store today. I checked their groceries through, and His Friend, a 40-ish man who seemed to have lived a hard life, did not have enough money to pay. He was about $3 short. He said, "If it's OK, I'll just run get more money." I said it would be OK, and off he went, leaving Joey with the groceries.

Now, most people would have meant they were going out to the car, and that is what I assumed. But, no, this Friend left Joey at the store while he drove home for money. I didn't know this. Neither did the lady behind them in line. We waited, me cooing over her toddler boy, she asking about some specials...and Joey anxiously looking out the door. I noticed that he ran to the door about three times, then out the door. When he came in, said, "I can't find him," and began crying, I went to the parking lot with him. That's when we realized he had left.

Joey didn't know His Friend's phone number, nor where he lived (except that it was in the town where the store is, and that Joey actually lived in another town, just over the Illinois-Wisconsin border.) He did tell me his mother's name, stepfather's name, and where he lived...but he didn't know any phone numbers, or the street address.

My manager was no help, telling me that she had customers to help and couldn't help me with the increasingly frantic little boy. Checking through the nice lady with the toddler, I headed to the office to try and call mom. Surely she'd care that this friend had left her son in a grocery store? But, although we searched several phone books and tried to reach directory assistance, we never found a working number.

His Friend, whose name I still do not know, returned. It had been about 20 minutes. He claimed it was "only 5." He told Joey, "I would never leave my food, Bud, and I would never leave you." We looked like a bunch of fussy hens to him, I suppose, and they left. It was the hardest thing I could do, to let him go off with that man, but I had no one to back me up. The kid came in with him, so the kid had to leave with him.

About 20 minutes later, the police showed up. Someone--most likely Toddler Lady, we decided--had called. Finally someone at the store decided to step up for the boy; my manger (remember the one who had customers?) told the officer that "That man was intoxicated." About the only positive thing I could say about the guy was he probably was not. The officer thanked us for caring, and left.

I wonder if I'll sleep tonight?

If you have young children, (remember, Joey is 7) please teach them the basics. Kids as young as 4 can memorize their names, addresses and phone numbers. If nothing else, write it on the inside of a piece of clothing.

And for the sake of all you consider holy, keep kids under 10 with you. They're too young to go off with Your Friends, unless they know those things. Bad Things can happen, even to your kid.

Lessons Learned

Some friends just stopped by, and dropped off their dog. They'll be doing college visiting this weekend, and needed a dogsitter. So Shiloh is at doggy camp for a couple of days.

While they were here, they asked for a tour of the garden. Hahahaha! You mean the garden that has become a weed field? Remember how I started this spring? Well, it's not that tidy anymore. As summer begins it's third and final month, things are pretty messy out there. And I am beginning to tally up lessons learned this summer.

Firstly, don't bite off more than you can chew. Our garden started at roughly 40'x60'. When I decided to convert to raised beds, I should have tallied to cost in cedar before I committed my brain to it. It's been easy enough to just say, "Hey, the money's not there for all of the beds. We'll make do this year, and finish up next." But my perfectionistic little brain looks out there and says, "Major fail." It's not, and I really do know it, but I have to keep reminding myself.

Secondly, plant things you know you're going to eat and enjoy. While we like zucchini bread, and zucchini boats, we get tired of them quickly. Why plant three plants? I won't do that next year. One will be enough. Potatoes. We'll need more of those. Tomatoes. More Romas, because I like to can sauce, but fewer slicing tomatoes, because they mostly took up space that Romas could have used. Grape tomatoes will always be there, though!

Weed. Weed religiously. Weed when it's cool, in May and June, when it's too pretty to do work. Because in July and August, when it's too blazing hot to do work, those little weeds you neglected in May and June will be as high as your eye. And you won't like it.

Plant in compost. We have grape tomatoes the size of some Romas you'll see in stores, which are half the size of our Romas. And the flavor....Yes, poop smells badly. But it imparts lovely flavors...Oh, get over it!

I hate picking beans. I hate it. The mosquitoes live under the leaves and leap out to feast when you reach under to pick. I love eating beans. I'll have to find a way to reconcile the two.

That's the beginning of my list of Garden Lessons Learned This Year. I'll have more, I'm sure, before First Frost. But that's six weeks away now. I'd better go see what I can get in the ground before then!!

Gold Star Mother

I found this clipping on my mom's dresser the other day. We were cleaning out clothes, jewelry and other items that she had collected through the years. I remember seeing this when I was a young mom, maybe 24-25 years old. I sobbed like a baby, thinking, "I hope that won't be my son." I had only one at that time, and would have gone bonkers if someone had told me, as I read this poem, that someday I'd have three, all serving in the military.

It's a little smarmy and silly, but it's all true.

She gave him birth and watched him grow
And dressed him up from toe to toe.
She taught him how to smile and walk,
To eat and drink and how to talk.
She made his lunch for school each day,
And she taught him how to work and play.
She urged him on and helped him choose,
And nursed each cut and bump and bruise.
She guided him from wrong to right,
And she told him how and when to fight.
But most of all, right from the start,
She gave her boy her loving heart.
While he, in turn, was more than glad
To give up all he ever had,
That you and I and other sons
Might never meet the blazing guns.
So let us pay our deep respect,
And solemnly let us reflect
Upon the grave she gave that we
Might carry on to victory.

She told me once that the clipping had come from her mother, who thought it was moving and shared it with her. There is no author cited, so I can't give credit! Thank you, unknown person!

Back in the saddle, yet again!

Yeah, I took an unannounced blogging break. It just seems like there's one thing, then another, then five more. But I will try to be back for good this time.

Celebrated an anniversary this weekend. 29 years. I remember when only old people were married that long. Go figure.

Canned peaches last week. I think I'll freeze them next year. They always float in the jar, leaving me with half jars of peaches for all my work. Frustrating.

I spent yesterday helping my sisters clean out Mom's dresser. I found a poem I had been looking for for a LOOONG time. I will share it here tomorrow. It's titled Gold Star Mother. Bring Kleenex.

Today is planting in the garden, going through old, old, pictures, (some are pre-1920) and heading to work. But I've had some coffee and it's a gorgeous day. If I could sing in public, I'd be singing this today.

Saturday Farm Report

Back home again, after 3 days in a foreign land. Indiana, that is.

We came home to RAIN. It started out as simple rainstorm, and became a torrential downpour by the time we got to the house. Since we had planned a campout with our family for the weekend, we were plenty disappointed. We weren't going anywhere, just camping out on the farm, but it is still a disappointment. We still managed to grill some brats and have a nice family evening with all the grandchildren, children and an aunt and uncle thrown in for more noise. We may try it again tonight, although NOAA is still mentioning rain. We'll camp inside tonight, if it happens.

There are beaucoup tomatoes in the garden. I need to hit the WalMarts for some household products, and Woodmans on Monday for groceries. I also want to find some peaches and get them canned. The tomatoes and peaches will make for a hot, steamy canning adventure, but I'll be glad of it in the winter months. And that's what central air is for, right?

A jar of pickles hit the ground last night, courtesy of a helpful grandchild. He was trying to load pop into the frig so it would be cold, and out fell a half gallon jar of that cucumber salad I mentioned a while back. Never fear! There are also plenty of cukes in that garden, so we'll make more. It helps to have Keri here; she jumps in and cooks, slices, and even cleans at the drop of a mention.

So, there's my day. Feed critters, hit the farmers' market, WalMart and a local orchard. Come home, can peaches. Harvest tomatoes. Can those, maybe tomorrow, if I run out of steam (Bwahahahaha!) Grandchildren coming for supper and possibly a sleepover. A normal Saturday, here on the Farm!