Historically Accurate Rodeo Clown etc.

On my last visit I chose to dress as an 1890's rodeo clown. I donned 42 x 30 pants in order to really let the suspenders do their job (I typically wear 38 x 30). I sported a vibrantly colored checkered shirt. And, I topped it all off with an extremely Amish looking, wide-brimmed, straw hat. I greeted everyone with a "Hello, English" in proper Amish form. I was happy to provide the comic relief for the day. (I must admit that I enjoyed the freedom and roominess of pants several sizes too big -- I could get used to it.) I'm craving a straw hat I can call my own for everyday summer use.

More Sheep Shed Cleaning

I've been remiss in my volunteer duties of late -- over scheduling my weekends, my life. However, I'm back on track and managed to get back to the farm today after being gone for about a month. And, lo and behold, found myself in the sheep shed once again.

If after you die you wake up in a hot, humid, rustic, sheep shed with a long handled ice-scraper in your hands, I have pretty good idea of where you ended up. Rhymes with smell.

(I must note that the lemonade was exceptional today. Not too sour. Not too sweet. Just how I like it.)

Tegan was enamored of a barn swallow. Such a pretty little bird.

Ag Volunteer Initiation

Began cleaning the sheep shed. Muscle-straining pitchforks full of eye-tearing, throat-burning, sinus-cleansing, hard-packed, ammonia-stench, sheep dirt. Nothing else quite compares. Once you break the seal with the first puncturing scoop of the fork tines, a Pandora's box of stink escapes. This is the true initiation of the Ag volunteer. I welcome all comers to a morning of sheep shed cleaning. And, you get to find the occasional trophy of shed lamb tails -- sort of like the prize in a box of Cracker- Jacks.

Farm Fu

I'm developing a new martial art called Farm Fu. The first animal based style will be "Chicken" style. You hold one hand in front of your face like a beak -- this is the striking hand. The other hand you hold behind you with fingers outstreched -- like a tail -- to distract your opponent. You crouch slightly and move about in a "chicken-in-the-straw" kind of shuffling candence. You make the high pitched chicken "coo" in your throat (Bruce Lee-ish), then squawk loudly as you strike with your "beak" hand.

It was Sheep Shearing Day at the farm last Sunday. Blustery weather. Visitors actually showed up! We sheared a few. Mark put on his energetic, humorous, and educational demonstration. A visitor, Jimmy, a music teacher from Indiana, volunteered to turn the crank on the historically accurate man-powered shearing machine.

Tegan, Faith and I watched the sheep dog show for a few minutes after stopping at the visitor's center to buy hand-spun yarn made for KCF sheep's wool on the way out after our shift. The day's chores had also included mixing feed, filling the horse barn and sheep shed with hay, picking-out a few livestock pens, and spreading some fresh straw. (A chicken almost landed on Tegan's head when we fed them.)

New Calf

A new calf was born the other day. Mixed breed -- angus / short horn. Mostly black with a brown sheen in places. White spot between the back legs. 100 lbs. Put short horn cow and new calf in with the angus cow and calf. The mixed breeding means the a.i. didn't take. The "clean-up" angus bull was successful.

Saw turkey buzzards circling up high in the sky.

Stress Relief

There's nothing like real physical labor to get rid of all your work week stress. Harnessing horses with heavy gear. Tossing hay bales around: toss them from the lost, carry them down the barn ramp, load them on the wagon, toss them off the wagon, carry them to the shed, stack them in the shed. There's nothing like a good tired from real physical labor with a purpose. I can't make myself walk a tread mill (isn't that what the work week is?). I can't make myself jog. But, the sheep, cows and horses gotta eat, so there'so backing out of it. Who needs an expensive gym with a trainer when I have the farm!

Dragons

A week ago Sunday we were at the farm. (We volunteer every other Sunday morning. Used to be every Sunday morning, but then we adopted Boo, our 70 pound Aussie / Collie mix with I think a pinch of Lab thrown in, 3 years ago -- who is basically another child, hyperactive & neurotic -- and, so, it is too much for my wife to care for Boo and our four-year-old son, Wyatt, without someone ending up in the hospital, namely, my wife, under sedation... "Mommy needs to rest.") So, we were at the farm a week ago Sunday. It was mostly pleasant weatherwise, if I remember correctly. Did the usual chores. Tegan bottle-fed a lamb -- which, of course, left her grinning from ear to ear and is better than Disney World. We tossed and hauled hay. I'm always amazed at how Faith, my 14 y.o., can carry the awkward-t0-carry 40 pound bales. Then, Tegan jumped in with a little visitor friend to wrestle some bales onto the sleigh. We also mixed some feed -- Tegan doing the scooping and weighing -- me doing the supervision and any heavy lifting -- while Faith was off grooming the horses. At one point in the horse barn, Tegan asked to pet Annie -- I escorted her into the stall, and she bravely reached up to pet Annie's side. I say "bravely"because Annie is an almost 2000 pound animal with sharp talons and breathes fire (in my eyes), and Tegan could almost walk under her without bending over. Girls and horses! I still keep a healthy terror under my belt when dealing with the work dragons. Somehwere in there we took a break, and I enjoyed some of Wayne's wonderful 1890's style coffee and some 1890's style popcorn. A good time was had by all. (We listened to country music on the way home.)