I was not going to put this little story on my blog simply because it was inappropriate, but after sharing it with the whole of the local grocery store this morning I figured, what the hell. You all are brave if you have been following me anyway.
Sunday was Day 3 of Spring Work, and I was happy because today Brett was driving tractor, and not me. His turn to suck! The Boss took him out just after 8:00 A.M. to give him his first lesson. For those of you who don't know, Brett is 15 and up to this point he has only plowed for us, which apparently, although I have never done it, is not as technical as harrowing. I waited until just after 10 o'clock to text the Boss and get a read on the competition.
How's he doing?
He's a natural.
Figures.
Such a natural in fact that the Boss is going to leave him out there to get that much needed spraying done. I spend the remainder of the day doing what farm wives do when they are not on a tractor: cleaning house. Now, I have always liked to clean my house. In fact I have severe OCD about it. I am so anal about it that the joke around here is that you better hold on to your coffee cup if you want more because if you set it down I will have picked it up and put it in the dishwasher. I like a clean house, and I liked that I had all day to clean it.
Well, all day that is between moving equipment, cleaning rabbit cages, making lunches, answering texts, paying bills, doing the endless laundry, teaching the other son to mow the lawn, playing with those new cute piggies, and constantly reprimanding my daughter for letting her bunny sit the counter. Remember the Sheep? Rabbit is starting to look mighty tasty about now.
Anyway, I digress. The funny part of the day is when I get a text from Brett that he is broke down. Bad.
The bar thingy snapped in half and a green thing is missing. And, I'm in the back of the field. Way in the back.
Hmmm...let's see...nope, I don't have those is the tool drawer. In fact I don't even know what they are, but he says it's bad, so I have to go with that.
Does it need welded? I ask.
Yeah Mom, he texts back. It's bad.
Crap! I advise him not to tell the Boss yet. He just started spraying and I don't want him to have to stop if it isn't necessary. I grab my daughter, more so that she would keep her bunny off of my furniture than anything else, and I head out to the field.
When I get there I see that he is not lying; not only is he in the back, but he is way in the back, high on a hill and behind a ditch that we cannot cross in the pick-up. No way. No how. So, he decides to walk down to meet me. We wait, and when he gets down to us, he retells the story.
I say, "Well, lets not just stand around here, let's go have a look."
At which point I get a groan from the daughter. She is not at all interested in walking back through the field. She's too tired. Which to me means: she needs to get out and walk through the field. So, we do and boy howdy is it a hike. The tractor is alike a mirage on a highway and I swear that it is getting further and further away with every step.
Finally we make it up there and I look at the two broken parts. He's right, it's a bar. But it's more like an iron finger that holds two bars together. In addition, there is a green thing missing that holds the bar on, but it doesn't need welded. The finger and the green thing are attached by screws and the screws are missing.
"Hell," I say. And this is where this blog get's the R-rating for language and crude humor. "I can fix that on my own. I don't need a penis to fix that."
When I say that, I am referring solely to a funny story another farm wife told me about her daughter backing the trailer up. I have blogged about this before, but it is so funny it is always worth bringing up again. My friend's daughter wanted to wait for Dad in order to back the trailer up for her, and her mom, the farm wife, said to her, "You don't need a penis to back up a trailer. Have you ever seen your dad whip out his penis to back up a trailer?"
Since then, I have used that as my own motto whenever I talk to my children about what we can and cannot do on our own. It's wrong. It's crude. But funny? Yeah!
"Did you check the toolbox for parts?" I ask.
"What toolbox?" he says.
"The one on the front of the tractor. It has bolts and junk."
"Nope," he said. "Didn't know there was one."
We pop up there and dig around until we locate a bolt, a washer, and a nut. Then we find the tools and I proudly walk over and replace the green thing. I rock! Hell yeah, I rock. I've heard hired hands call the Boss for less.
"There," I say, wiping the dirt directly on my butt for good measure. I earned that dirt. It's going home with me.
"What about the finger?" he says, pointing to the other broken part. "You still might need a penis for that."
"The hell I do," I say. "Get over there to that tool box and find the part."
By this time the Boss has gotten word over the radio that we are broke down and that it is his wife, his son and his young daughter out in the field trying to fix it, so he is on his way. I'm fairly sure that Brett is over at that tool box texting the Boss like mad, advising him that I am making the penis comments again and that he better get out here STAT before something gets broke even worse.
"Well," I say as Brett comes back. "What did ya' find."
"Nothing Mom," he said. "I told you we needed to call the Boss."
"No we don't," I say, pushing past him.
By this time, the Boss is already hiking up the hill, so I'm rummaging even faster. I can do this without him. I know I can. But, I can't. There are no fingers in there. I turn around to face the Boss, dejected at the fact that he had to rescue the damsel in distress - and I'm talking about Brett here. Just kidding.
"What's the problem?"
"That finger," I say. "Don't you have a spare here? If you did I could have fixed it without you."
"Did you see all the chain in the toolbox?" he asks.
He's being super nice, but I know he hated shutting off that sprayer.
"Yeah," I say, following him like an eager puppy back to the tool box.
"Well," he said. "All you do is wrap this chain around it and bolt it tight. It's a farmer fix, but it will get you through the day."
"Oh," I say, watching him simply put it around the bar.
"See, Mom," Brett says, grinning at me. "Guess you needed a penis after all."
Showing posts with label spring. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spring. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
DAY 1: SPRING WORK: Watch out. A harrow can bite you.
I don’t like it when signals don’t work correctly. And I’m not talking about turn signals or hazard lights. I’m talking about signals a boss gives an employee. I have not been an employee for nine years now. And just to clarify for the sake of my blog, the definition of an employee is a person who works for another for financial or other compensation so please don’t try to placate me, or deviate from my intent here by trying to apply the Rosen/Romney standard to my plight.
Now back to my original comment: I have not been an employee for nine years. Back in the days when I was an employee there as one thing I appreciated in some bosses –even the ones I loathed – their ability to give good directions. If they did not give clear directions, I was not the best employee.
Yesterday, DAY 1 in my new job, the signals did not work correctly. It started out like this:
It was a nice sunny day. My boss – who I have already decided is not my husband when I am on the ethereal clock – told me that since there was little wind that day he needed to “spray.” In this case he needed to round-up our fields to prep them for planting. However, since it was a nice day he wanted to take a couple of hours to move my tractor out to the field that I would be working, and teach me to harrow. After that, he would spray and I would be done for the day because he did not want to leave me in the field alone on my first day. That makes sense to me!
By 7:30, with four kids fed and off on the school bus, I had our lunches made and was gung-ho -ready to show him that although I had no farming skills – and I mean none – I still learned a damn lot about listening and following directions, and I knew from my previous employment that I could learn fast.
So, we move out to the field and he keeps saying how important it is that he spray – right now. Living in eastern Washington, most of you know as well as I do that days without wind are at a premium around here and when you get one you better use it wisely. So, I ask him how long I will be out here. I have a reason for this, but I don’t want to tell him yet – even though it directly affects him.
To add one note, when the boss asked me to work for him he said it would be insane, asinine, crazy, and downright irresponsible for me to work after the kids get out of school. I agreed. Besides, after school, I spend most of my time moving tractors, sprayers, trucks and running for parts – so, right, I should not work. Okay, I know, I just applied the Rosen standard myself. That is called comic relief because I’m not laughing later.
Therefore, he does the math, which I swear all farmers spend have the day doing. And at this time, he is being good as gold and patient as can be with me.
“Let’s see,” he says. “It will take about two hours to teach you, but then I do need to get spraying.”
Cool, I think. Home by noon so I can do that thing I have to do this afternoon.
Now all employees know that their first day on the job they are expected to listen and not give advice, so I nod my head, look at the clock and say, “Okay. Sounds good.”
We get to the field and the boss teaches me how to start the tractor, warm it up, and lay out the harrow, which promptly gets tangled. A harrow is a series of long bars with big spikes set along each bar that when folded up can tangle like a pair of arthritic hands folded in prayer. So, we hop out and start yanking and pulling and the boss says to me, “Watch out. A harrow can bite you.”
So, I move out of the way as he starts yanking and pulling, leaving me to stand there and think, what am I going to do if he’s not here. Call him on the radio to help me unkink my chain. Hell no! I wouldn’t hire me to stand around.
So I grab a spike that I think poses the greatest threat to our tangle and he smiles approvingly at the gesture. Let me just digress to say that men as strong, and my husband is damn strong after years of pulling harrow. So as I am holding, and he is yanking hard, hard, harder. The harrow pulls free, and promptly slams my hand between it and the harrow bar. Luckily, the spike missed my hand.
But as I am trying not to scream, throw up, pass out like a baby, my boss – who let me say has a bit of affection for this employee – rushes back to me, pulls the harrow bar out and starts apologizing. I say I’m fine and pull away, not wanting to have to press sexual harassment charges the first day on the job and all. I turn away, look down and see that between my pinkie knuckle and my ring finger is a bump with a purple bruise, not on one side, but on both and my rolling stomach tells me that it bruised all the way through. I chalk it up to lesson learned: Watch out. A harrow can bite you.
Finally, we get to the lesson, and it goes as expected. I pretty much suck. But hey, I’m not going to let that stop me. It’s my first day. So I learn and he still maintains a good attitude about it and then we stop to get him off to his sprayer and on the way back he says, “I wish I could just leave you out there.”
It is now noon and that is when I pull out the trump card that farmers are not concerned with in the heat of the move.
“I have to get our daughter from school at 3:30. I can probably go another hour.”
Once again, he’s doing the math. Keep in mind that he said I should never work after the kids get out of school, and that we were only going to be out here just to teach me and then he needed to spray.
“Damn,” he says. “This just isn’t going to work.”
“What?” I say. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There is no way you are ever going to get anything done if you have to leave early.”
I take a deep breath and remember that I hate when signals don’t work. Tell me what you want. Tell me to dig a six foot hole, two feet wide, and I will do it. Don’t tell me to dig a six foot hole, two feet wide and then three feet in act like I should have known that you wanted and 8x6.
So, being the first day on the job, I take a breath, nod my head, realize that I – as the newbie – must have missed the signals, and vowed to listen better tomorrow.
Just wait until tomorrow…it only gets better.
Now back to my original comment: I have not been an employee for nine years. Back in the days when I was an employee there as one thing I appreciated in some bosses –even the ones I loathed – their ability to give good directions. If they did not give clear directions, I was not the best employee.
Yesterday, DAY 1 in my new job, the signals did not work correctly. It started out like this:
It was a nice sunny day. My boss – who I have already decided is not my husband when I am on the ethereal clock – told me that since there was little wind that day he needed to “spray.” In this case he needed to round-up our fields to prep them for planting. However, since it was a nice day he wanted to take a couple of hours to move my tractor out to the field that I would be working, and teach me to harrow. After that, he would spray and I would be done for the day because he did not want to leave me in the field alone on my first day. That makes sense to me!
By 7:30, with four kids fed and off on the school bus, I had our lunches made and was gung-ho -ready to show him that although I had no farming skills – and I mean none – I still learned a damn lot about listening and following directions, and I knew from my previous employment that I could learn fast.
So, we move out to the field and he keeps saying how important it is that he spray – right now. Living in eastern Washington, most of you know as well as I do that days without wind are at a premium around here and when you get one you better use it wisely. So, I ask him how long I will be out here. I have a reason for this, but I don’t want to tell him yet – even though it directly affects him.
To add one note, when the boss asked me to work for him he said it would be insane, asinine, crazy, and downright irresponsible for me to work after the kids get out of school. I agreed. Besides, after school, I spend most of my time moving tractors, sprayers, trucks and running for parts – so, right, I should not work. Okay, I know, I just applied the Rosen standard myself. That is called comic relief because I’m not laughing later.
Therefore, he does the math, which I swear all farmers spend have the day doing. And at this time, he is being good as gold and patient as can be with me.
“Let’s see,” he says. “It will take about two hours to teach you, but then I do need to get spraying.”
Cool, I think. Home by noon so I can do that thing I have to do this afternoon.
Now all employees know that their first day on the job they are expected to listen and not give advice, so I nod my head, look at the clock and say, “Okay. Sounds good.”
We get to the field and the boss teaches me how to start the tractor, warm it up, and lay out the harrow, which promptly gets tangled. A harrow is a series of long bars with big spikes set along each bar that when folded up can tangle like a pair of arthritic hands folded in prayer. So, we hop out and start yanking and pulling and the boss says to me, “Watch out. A harrow can bite you.”
So, I move out of the way as he starts yanking and pulling, leaving me to stand there and think, what am I going to do if he’s not here. Call him on the radio to help me unkink my chain. Hell no! I wouldn’t hire me to stand around.
So I grab a spike that I think poses the greatest threat to our tangle and he smiles approvingly at the gesture. Let me just digress to say that men as strong, and my husband is damn strong after years of pulling harrow. So as I am holding, and he is yanking hard, hard, harder. The harrow pulls free, and promptly slams my hand between it and the harrow bar. Luckily, the spike missed my hand.
But as I am trying not to scream, throw up, pass out like a baby, my boss – who let me say has a bit of affection for this employee – rushes back to me, pulls the harrow bar out and starts apologizing. I say I’m fine and pull away, not wanting to have to press sexual harassment charges the first day on the job and all. I turn away, look down and see that between my pinkie knuckle and my ring finger is a bump with a purple bruise, not on one side, but on both and my rolling stomach tells me that it bruised all the way through. I chalk it up to lesson learned: Watch out. A harrow can bite you.
Finally, we get to the lesson, and it goes as expected. I pretty much suck. But hey, I’m not going to let that stop me. It’s my first day. So I learn and he still maintains a good attitude about it and then we stop to get him off to his sprayer and on the way back he says, “I wish I could just leave you out there.”
It is now noon and that is when I pull out the trump card that farmers are not concerned with in the heat of the move.
“I have to get our daughter from school at 3:30. I can probably go another hour.”
Once again, he’s doing the math. Keep in mind that he said I should never work after the kids get out of school, and that we were only going to be out here just to teach me and then he needed to spray.
“Damn,” he says. “This just isn’t going to work.”
“What?” I say. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There is no way you are ever going to get anything done if you have to leave early.”
I take a deep breath and remember that I hate when signals don’t work. Tell me what you want. Tell me to dig a six foot hole, two feet wide, and I will do it. Don’t tell me to dig a six foot hole, two feet wide and then three feet in act like I should have known that you wanted and 8x6.
So, being the first day on the job, I take a breath, nod my head, realize that I – as the newbie – must have missed the signals, and vowed to listen better tomorrow.
Just wait until tomorrow…it only gets better.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Spring has Sprung!
I know, it's not a very catchy blog title! I just thought I would pop in and update ya'll on where I am at on writing, farming, raising kids, and pigs, and a husband...two dogs and a billy goat. No just kidding.
As farmers we take the winter off, which means that I spend the winter writing - which I did. I finished THE POLIS and will go to The Wenatchee Writer's Conference in May to try and sell it to an agent. This was a difficult book to write for me because it was in a different genre. This is a Young Adult adventure book instead of my usual Women's Fiction. Thankfully, it is done and put away, knot-tied on the binding until May.
In addition to writing, this winter Wave and I did a fair amount of fishing for Steelhead, winter camping, game playing, and hot tubbing. We did not get to do a lot of sledding or igloo building with the kids so that was a bummer. We took the kids to Disneyland for Christmas and then we went to Kauai in February. For those of you that did not hear, once again we had plane trouble over the Pacific and had to be returned to Hawaii which once again resulted in free plane tickets. Last year they had engine problems, this year the windshield "shattered" half way over the ocean. Most people think we are nuts if we attempt to go back to Hawaii again. As I have said though, we always get there, it's the making it back that seems to be a problem for us!
Since then, I have been working on my third book, which some of you know the title to, and others might not. For those you don't, I am keeping it a secret from the internet world. The title is too good, too yummy, and too leading. I don't want anyone else to have it - greedy me! It is once again a women's fiction book and it has caused a lot of "laughter through tears" as I have been working with my good friend and accomplice Mary in the character planning process. We are actually gaining stomach muscle from all of the gut-holding giggling we have been doing while plotting out this nasty little gem.
Yesterday was Easter, and I just wanted you all to know that we ate some DIVA! If you don't know who Diva is, read the last blog. She is the devil who tried to kill me last September. Therefore, we ate her. And, I have to admit that she was fairly good. Wave was a master chef, especially for someone who never cooked lamb before. My problem was my imagination. All I could see were the poop covered dreadlocks that I had to trim off of her "roast" area last Fall. I only had a bite because I could not get over that image for anything. That being said, master chef at the grill or not, lamb will not be my favorite meat. We did have some more "Evil Dr. Pork Chop" as well, in the form of a shank ham, and it was divine! I can eat that because - as I said before - I never had to clean a pigs butt, or trim their poop from their hind end. Never. Not once.
As for pigs, we are off to Moses Lake with another 4-H family next week-end to start the whole project rolling once again. Yeah!! I love this time of year! It means more time out doors and more blogs about farming with a pack of young un's, a yard full o' animals, a stressed out tired farmer, and a hot headed farm wife. I love this time of year...no really, I do.
FYI: You should see these pigs though, they are said to be grand champions boars, but they look more like a bull dog/rhinoceros mix. They are monsters and I think they come with their own weight lifting sets and boxing gloves. They might scare me worse than Diva, if that is possible.
Summer and Jack will not be doing sheep this year - most likely because I said, "Hell No!" Instead, they are raising bunnies. They each got one for Easter. They are a mini Lionhead mix and they are so super stinking cute!
Well, happy Spring and back to writing!
Amy
As farmers we take the winter off, which means that I spend the winter writing - which I did. I finished THE POLIS and will go to The Wenatchee Writer's Conference in May to try and sell it to an agent. This was a difficult book to write for me because it was in a different genre. This is a Young Adult adventure book instead of my usual Women's Fiction. Thankfully, it is done and put away, knot-tied on the binding until May.
In addition to writing, this winter Wave and I did a fair amount of fishing for Steelhead, winter camping, game playing, and hot tubbing. We did not get to do a lot of sledding or igloo building with the kids so that was a bummer. We took the kids to Disneyland for Christmas and then we went to Kauai in February. For those of you that did not hear, once again we had plane trouble over the Pacific and had to be returned to Hawaii which once again resulted in free plane tickets. Last year they had engine problems, this year the windshield "shattered" half way over the ocean. Most people think we are nuts if we attempt to go back to Hawaii again. As I have said though, we always get there, it's the making it back that seems to be a problem for us!
Since then, I have been working on my third book, which some of you know the title to, and others might not. For those you don't, I am keeping it a secret from the internet world. The title is too good, too yummy, and too leading. I don't want anyone else to have it - greedy me! It is once again a women's fiction book and it has caused a lot of "laughter through tears" as I have been working with my good friend and accomplice Mary in the character planning process. We are actually gaining stomach muscle from all of the gut-holding giggling we have been doing while plotting out this nasty little gem.
Yesterday was Easter, and I just wanted you all to know that we ate some DIVA! If you don't know who Diva is, read the last blog. She is the devil who tried to kill me last September. Therefore, we ate her. And, I have to admit that she was fairly good. Wave was a master chef, especially for someone who never cooked lamb before. My problem was my imagination. All I could see were the poop covered dreadlocks that I had to trim off of her "roast" area last Fall. I only had a bite because I could not get over that image for anything. That being said, master chef at the grill or not, lamb will not be my favorite meat. We did have some more "Evil Dr. Pork Chop" as well, in the form of a shank ham, and it was divine! I can eat that because - as I said before - I never had to clean a pigs butt, or trim their poop from their hind end. Never. Not once.
As for pigs, we are off to Moses Lake with another 4-H family next week-end to start the whole project rolling once again. Yeah!! I love this time of year! It means more time out doors and more blogs about farming with a pack of young un's, a yard full o' animals, a stressed out tired farmer, and a hot headed farm wife. I love this time of year...no really, I do.
FYI: You should see these pigs though, they are said to be grand champions boars, but they look more like a bull dog/rhinoceros mix. They are monsters and I think they come with their own weight lifting sets and boxing gloves. They might scare me worse than Diva, if that is possible.
Summer and Jack will not be doing sheep this year - most likely because I said, "Hell No!" Instead, they are raising bunnies. They each got one for Easter. They are a mini Lionhead mix and they are so super stinking cute!
Well, happy Spring and back to writing!
Amy
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Flowers and Rum Do Mix!
I have a black thumb, and apparently black eyes too. I’m a farm wife, and yet I can kill a flower just by looking at it. Therefore, when my girlfriend Shelly came over to visit the other day and saw me standing on my sidewalk staring at my brown wooden house with an empty drink in hand and a stoic look on my face she apparently felt the need to intervene.
“I have no color,” I said to her.
The next day she did what all girlfriends do, she drove back over with a full bottle of rum, some diet Dr. Peppers, a trunk full of clippings from her yard, and the spirit of sight that I was lacking.
Still in the doldrums, she made me a drink, turned on the stereo and instructed me every step of the way on how to add color to my yard. What started out as a mere planting of starts soon turned into an art form born of shear imagination progressively inspired by Captain Morgan!
“So,” she said, “Whatcha got in the barn?”
“Huh?” I asked, straw sticking to my lips.
“Come on,” she said. “Show me whatcha got in the barn.”
“Okay,” I shrugged.
Apparently, an old broken down wagon makes for a cheap and easy potting bed. Who knew? Well, definitely not me. From there we walked the rest of the place, so much so that I feared a sobering up coming on. We went to the garage where Shelly’s eyes beamed at a pile of old broken toy trucks.
“Hens and Chicks!” she said.
Hens and chicks are a great little plant that looks like an artichoke that apparently needs little dirt, water or maintenance to grow. What can I say, the girl has known me for a while now. Within an hour we had rusted out toy trucks full of plants and flowers.
From there, things got almost aerobic as Shelly placed her drink down and drug me into every outbuilding possible, even daring to go into my husband’s shop and rummage around in his stuff only to locate an old blue tool box which we stole and immediately drilled holes in.
She nailed old pots to broken off telephone poles, filled washbasins with dirt, made a broken clay pot into a piece of art I cannot stop staring at, and turned a wood box into a beautiful flower box which I – in my apparently new found inspiration had Jack color flowers all over – into a flower box for the porch.
Thanks to Shelly, her rum, and her imagination, my house finally has a personal touch and I am starting to see things around my house with a new wonder and excitement. As for the black thumb, that has yet to be determined, but I was overwhelmed with possibilities and a renewed sense of hope by the time she left.
“Thanks!” I said. “Really, I would not have done this without you.”
“No problem,” she said. “Just wait until you see what I can do on Tommy Bahamas!”
Friday, April 29, 2011
March (I mean April) 29, 2011: Aptly Time To Bitch
Here is my latest update on Spring Work in eastern Washington:
Maybe we are in Fall Work instead of Spring Work - which I've already told you are capitalized in our neck of the woods. It is April 29th, although it feels more like March. It has snowed all morning, it is freezing cold, and the wind is blowing like crazy. I had to put another bag of pellet's in a stove that is normally clean and hibernating this time of year. I had to turn the heat lamp back on for the outside cat, and on top of that our new piglets have runny noses.
Additionally, the boys and I are supposed to be getting ready for Bloomsday, but the thought of training down my dirt road (or as I'm calling it today, my mud hole) in this weather is absurd and just begging for pneumonia. Therefore, this morning, after bracing my face against the wind for the past week just to make a feeble attempt to stretch my legs before Bloomsday, I instead made myself a large banana waffle and loaded it down with butter and maple syrup. I poured a large mug of steaming hot coffee and I sulked all the way to my cubby hole to write instead of run.
Until tomorrow's update~
Maybe we are in Fall Work instead of Spring Work - which I've already told you are capitalized in our neck of the woods. It is April 29th, although it feels more like March. It has snowed all morning, it is freezing cold, and the wind is blowing like crazy. I had to put another bag of pellet's in a stove that is normally clean and hibernating this time of year. I had to turn the heat lamp back on for the outside cat, and on top of that our new piglets have runny noses.
Additionally, the boys and I are supposed to be getting ready for Bloomsday, but the thought of training down my dirt road (or as I'm calling it today, my mud hole) in this weather is absurd and just begging for pneumonia. Therefore, this morning, after bracing my face against the wind for the past week just to make a feeble attempt to stretch my legs before Bloomsday, I instead made myself a large banana waffle and loaded it down with butter and maple syrup. I poured a large mug of steaming hot coffee and I sulked all the way to my cubby hole to write instead of run.
Until tomorrow's update~
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