Code Name

Living in a small town, sometimes it's hard to keep a private life very private. I know, it seems funny in such a small town. But the LOL network - the Little Old Lady network - is pretty much paparazzi without the zoom lens. Hard as it sometimes is, my family has always kept private things as close to the homestead as possible. So when the concept of putting names, faces, etc. out on the most public place of all (even though I'm pretty sure no one reads this jibberish anyway!) it put them a little on the defensive. So, I promised to try and refrain from using names over the airwaves. To protect the innocent, of course.

With the impending release of the most innocent of all - my first child - I had been pondering what to call her on the bliggity blog. As it always happens with me, I was doing my best thinking just as I was falling asleep last night, and here's how the Thought-Go-Round went ...

Well, her name is going to start with a Q. I could just use that and call her Q, but I think I can do better. Hm. One of my KC friends calls newbies 'bee-bees' so I guess I could call her 'the beebee.' Not right either. I could combine the two: beebee Q. Oh, cripes. Beebee Q. Heh. Say it out loud: BBQ.

BWA-HAHAHAHA!! That's it. A nickname (and a daughter) is born: BBQ. Arriving January 4th.

Plan Q

The last few months have been spent prepping the nest for baby's arrival. The showers were had, the layette was washed (in baby detergent, no softener), the hospital bag was packed, the birth plan was done ... the plans were made and everything was falling into place.

But this afternoon, I learned my first lesson in 'planning things when it comes to baby'. That lesson is: don't do it. :) The DH and I went to our appointment, and the doc did the first ultrasound he'd done in a few months. But wait, at 37 weeks, ain't that supposed to be where her HEAD is? And scrolling up, ain't that supposed to be where her butt is? Yep. Defying the first instructions she was ever given ("Hey kid, all you gotta do is cooperate, and I'll do the rest."), Baby Q is breech.

So, for the next 20 minutes or so, the DH and I were bombarded with new information and what the options are for little Q now. Doc said to be on the lookout, since breech babies tend to come early. And, weather systems have an influence on birthin', so we're on high alert. We live about 45 minutes away from the hospital, so with all this crazy weather, I've been quarantined for the last couple of days with the in-laws who live about 10 minutes away from hospital.

If I'm able to make it through this weather and not have my timer go off, then we're going in on Tuesday to try and turn her. If that's successful, we're going ahead with this deal. If it doesn't work, then we're scheduling a c-section for sometime very soon, likely later next week sometime.

So, at this point, everyone's just kind of waiting around for something to happen. I feel a little like a time bomb ... no, not the red wire, the BLUE one! ... But, this has been a good lesson for me and the DH: to heck with Plan A, Plan B, or even Plan K. Guess we'd better just get used to going with Plan Q for a while!

Who has this kind'a time?

http://marylouise22.wordpress.com/

Nerdy pencil sculptures. The gift for the gal who has everything!

Women DO this??

I have a couple of friends who have had babies lately, and apparently, in all the preps that go into getting ready for an arrival, you also need a birth plan.

In my head, I'm thinking that birth plans are really more for those women who have, er, more eccentric notions of child birth than I do. But I don't want a tub of warm water present, I don't need burning herbs, birth coaches aren't my thing, I could care less if the Air Force marching band is playing next door (I might actually find that motivating!). All I really care to have at the end of this is a healthy baby. 10 fingers, 10 toes, breathing, spurting, etc. But, the friends insisted this plan was not an option.

Fine. I got online and found a birth plan that you just go through and check the things you want/don't want. That's what I'm about: no nonsense, just vote yes or no.

It starts out very mundane. Name, Doctor's name, etc. Then, it gets into preferences for Labor. "Please don't so any prep until/unless I request it." Sure, that sounds reasonable. "I would like to play my own music." Duh, I would think that would be obvious.

And on it goes. No big deal. Until.

The Delivery section contains a number of options, including: "I would like (coach) to help catch the baby." "I would like (other) to help catch the baby."

"I WOULD LIKE TO HELP CATCH THE BABY."

WHATINTHESAMHELL??!!! I would like to help catch my own baby?! I cannot even fathom the mechanics necessary to achieve this act. Perhaps a frog-like squat allows for this option? I mean, isn't that a little like being able to pitch a baseball to yourself? This has got to be a trick question, and I'm not falling for it. 'No'. Check.

Then, after I've gotten over this shock/awe/laughter, I get to the After Birth section. Blah, blah, question, question, then "Please show me the placenta after it is delivered." Nah, just put mine in a jar so I can bury it in the back yard. YAK!! NO! I JUST WANT TO HAVE A BABY!! DEAR GOD, LET ME BE DONE WITH THIS STUPID PLAN!!

Not soon enough, and I have my birth plan. Whew. I sure hope the Q appreciates this effort. Watch me not even remember it when I get to the hospital.

Bliss!

And here I thought the top o' the mountain was that on September 19, every year, I get to celebrate National Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day.

But today I find out that - wait! There's MORE!

There is, in existence, a Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar (of which, yes, I am now a card-carrying member). For the Society's annual event, on March 4 every year, they hold

... National Grammar Day.

My life is complete! :)

Conversation with an 11-year-old

(Setting: The Manor House)

11-year-old: Hey, L, what's this?
Me: What?
11YO: What is this thing?
Me: You're kidding. You don't know what THAT is?
11YO: Huh-uh. I've never seen one before. What is it?
Me: Um. That, my dear young pup, is what we fogeys call a 'Record Player'.
11YO: Oh. What does it do?
Me: Uh, boy.

(Fade out of scene as L proceeds to give a demonstration to poor 11-year-old-has-lived-under-a-rock-boy. His first record was Finlandia. Why not.)

Obsession

I'm convinced that the matron border collie on the farm, Sydney, has Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder. Of course, I think ALL border collies have OCD in varying levels, but Sydney's is definitely the most pronounced.

A couple of years ago, we had pigs on the farm. Sydney was transfixed by these critters. Anytime you couldn't find her up on the porch, she was stalking around the hog lot, staring them down, sizing them up, and basically flaunting her status on the totem pole.

Now that we don't have pigs anymore, Sydney has developed a new obsession. This one is even more weird, 'cause no one has seen the object of her fascination. She'll go out and lay about 25 feet from the mulberry tree and stare up into the branches. And not for just a couple of minutes here and there ... she does this FOR HOURS.



Never breaking her stare, she is absolutely mesmerized by whatever the heck it is up there in the tree. We've all tried to analyze the look that's on her face ... is it malice? Is this an old rivalry? Or maybe it's pleading, as in, 'Come down, let's romp!' The jury is still out. One thing is for certain, though. The girl has dedication. And because of the as-yet 'imaginary friend' status of this obsession, she's also maybe got a little bit of the ol' family crazy.

Summertime at the Office

It happens every year here. Right around April/May, all the office ladies get so excited about gardening season! Can't wait to get in the garden and put out my tomatoes! Green beans! Cucumbers! Squash! I'll can and freeze to my heart's content and won't even glance at the grocery store produce section until November, HURRAH!

And then, about July/August ... reality. All those beans, maters, and vines have to be picked. And picked. Aaaand picked. and picked. And canned, and frozen, and fed to the children in as many imaginative ways as possible until the kids are dying for a meatloaf. No one can just leave a bean on a plant and let it go to useless waste. Better to bend over, pick 'em dry, and ...



Pawn 'em off on the officemates! Ha! And usually, I admit, I'm one of the pawnees. But not this year - the folks and I have quite a productive community garden. I might even bring some beans into the office ...

Beef Sting

JBS S.A., the world's biggest beef processor, and others are under investigation by Brazil's federal prosecutor's office in a widespread corruption case. Several meatpackers and leather and hide companies are part of the investigation, which began about a year ago. The public relations department of Brazil's federal prosecutor's office released a statement saying 22 people had been arrested following police sting operations, including officials at the Banco da Amazonia bank, and local and federal officials of several government offices and ministries. The prosecutor's office said it was investigating the bribing of public officials, racketeering, corruption, fraud and collusion.

What does that legalese translate to in real words? That companies under investigation paid inspectors and public servants to approve projects and clear products such as meats for consumption.

They PAID officials to allow people to eat meat that most likely should NOT have been consumed!! Out.Freaking.Rageous. Just add this to the long, long list of reasons why it's not only good for the American cattle farmer, but good for consumers to KNOW where your beef (and any other meat product, for God's sake) comes from.

And by the way, Broken B Farms meats are bribery-, racketeering-, corruption-, collusion-, and fraud-free. They don't have any dyes or ammonias or fragrances either. And they've never been tested on animals - only people. Who seem to love 'em.

I'm published!

Okay, so it's just a letter to the editor. And it's in a weekly rag in KC. And they had to cut down my original letter to their 300-word limit (cause I can write for years when my industry gets bashed).

But it's still IN PRINT. Yee-haw!!

A few weeks ago when I was in KC, I picked up a Pitch. I only got as far as the letters to the editor, though. The first one was from an ignorant animal agriculture Nazi, revelling in the horrors of feeding corn to animals rather than people.

Weeeel, that lit my fire. So I got onto my computer and composed a congenial rebuttal online. Which was cut down to fit, and published in this week's Pitch.

With an awesome headline. :) Thanks, CJ Janovy, Editor.

One man's trash ...

... is another man's trash. This lovely item was seen at an auction this past weekend. (No, I did NOT take this one home with me. I'm tacky-to-the-max, for sure. But I gotta draw the line somewhere!)

How does your garden grow?

Having been raised on a farm, one could reasonably assume that I know how to grow things. Well, one could not be more wrong.

Animals, yes. I can grow animals. Plants? They typically don't stand a chance around me. I'm the human equivalent of herbicide. But for whatever reason, I can't help but keep trying. Maybe I just love to have my hands in dirt. (Have you tried it? There's something awesome about getting your hands dirty when you're doing something for your own benefit.)

My parents, on the other hand, have green thumbs. Thumbs, fingers, hands, toes ... the people can grow anything. Not only can my mom grow just about any plant, she's the 'social worker' who takes dying plants away from me and my sister and rehabilitates them into beautiful, lush, textbook examples of flora.

Last year, I had one little tomato plant. And it did, through some miracle, bear fruit. So with that one little success under my belt, this year, I really wanted to try my hand at a more grand scale of gardening. In true me fashion, I was ready to till up a good half acre and stick billions of plants in the ground. But, reason (and compassion for plants) took over, so before I launched into my own endeavor (that would, undoubtedly, end in disaster) I enrolled myself in Gardening Bootcamp. Which means I helped plant a few things in the family plot, and am going to participate in the watering, weeding, picking, canning, etc. over the next few months. With the experts to guide me, hopefully I can't screw this up. (And look! A couple of things are actually above ground, green, and growing!!!)



That, plus the fact that green beans are the cockroaches of the plant world. I'm not sure even I can screw them up!

"Baking" Fashion

For whatever reason, I am diametrically opposed to the words 'pregnant' and 'preggo'. I can't blame it on the hormones, either, as I've never really thought of them as very feminine or attractive words. (and yes, I do have a thing for words)

So I've decided I'm not either one of these things. Rather, I am 'baking' a bun. And as a coworker informed me recently, one of the most rewarding aspects of 'baking' ... is the new wardrobe shopping. So I thought I'd give it a go.

In deference to the unexplained vintage-y/off-beat fashion bender I'm on, I decide to do some online shopping for "Vintage Maternity Clothes."

Oh, my dearest ladies who happened to be baking in the last 40 years. While there admittedly were a lot of cute items that came out of your years - even some that I will likely sport - I can say with utter confidence that I never, ever, ever want to see how the words 'tent dress' or 'muumuu' actually look when on my person.

What a week.

Starting on Wednesday last week, there were literally and figuratively tornadoes ripping through my life. Here's how things went down. The DH was taken to the ER on Wednesday morning with stroke-like symptoms, and that evening they decided to transfer him to St. Luke's. While he was there, they did a whole battery of tests. The doctors, nurses and other staff were absolutely wonderful.

Also on Thursday evening, a vicious twister tore through the countryside here, and among other horrid acts, managed to swoop up a very, very dear lady who will be terribly missed.

On Friday morning, the results of several of DH's tests came back and it was determined that he did indeed have a couple of mini-strokes. He has a VERY, VERY small bit of his brain that was affected (the size of a pencil eraser). He has no motor skills damage, no lingering physical or mental issues at all. So, in that, he is EXTREMELY blessed. The doctors released him on Friday with a prescription for a cholesterol-lowering drug, and orders to take a daily baby aspirin, and (I quote), "Get your sh!t together."

AND, after I got him out of the hospital on Friday, I think I almost gave him another stroke, as I broke the news to him that he's got another reason to get his stuff together: I've got a bun in the oven. Yep. It'll be done baking right around Christmastime. (I had been to the doctor on Wednesday morning, the same day as his stroke, and the tornado. I think I'm gonna call this kid Captain Mayhem!)

Anyway. That's the news update. Thank you again for sending good vibes in our direction, it was definitely needed/appreciated.

To the tune of 'Jingle Bells'

Dashing through the mud
With one boot on, one off
Wish I had the other boot
But I don't have time to stop!

Once the cows are in
I skip o'er to my boot
It's barely seen above the mud
And I about can't pull it out!

Oh, working cows!
Working cows!
Fun for everyone!
The only part that ain't real cool
Is the laundry that needs done.

Less power, more tool.

Sorry, hammer. I didn't know you were so cheap.

Or that I'm such a badass.

Either way, you're destined for the Great Toolbox in the Sky. Happy trails.

I'll whip your will.

Early this week, I was sung awake at about 4:45 to the tune of 'whip-poor-WILL! whip-poor-WILL!' The little dude was, I exaggerate not, sitting ON my windowsill. He was cute, and he had a lot to say, so I just smiled and put my head under the pillow for a few more winks.

Then he showed up the next morning, same unGodly time. And THIS time, he managed to awaken the DH as well. Which ain't no small feat, I'll vouch. It being strike one between the DH and the bird, though, DH accepted it as a happy early riser and went back to sleep.

Ah, but the next morning was too much. Whipoorwill had entirely too much to say at entirely too early of an hour. It was closer to 3 AM on Wednesday when the DH skipped strike two, went directly to strike three, and put the shushdown on the wee feathery puffball.

heh.

Not to be discouraged, however, Whipoorwill has maintained his ever-flowing crowing. I can still hear him in the small hours of the day, talking up a storm, but he is decidedly further from the window ... although I think he gets more courageous and a little closer every morning.

A Bright Spot!

I'm trying to live in my house AND do construction on it at the same time. ILL-ADVISED, friends. Especially for a borderline OCD organizational freakazoid like meself.

However, I am loving watching progress be made. And I am loving the toys that the constructo-dudes leave behind for me to play with. I almost put these on while everyone was gone for lunch ... but my reasonable side kicked in: "Hey, L, get into mischief here, and you're likely to bust yo' ever-lovin keester. Or your melon. Either way, you'll be lying there 'til lunch is over." So, I employed every ounce of patience I have and waited til I could strap 'em on while properly supervised.

This is how I tromp around in stilts:


This is how you're SUPPOSED to do it (note the cunning use of BALANCE!):


I think I need to get me some'a them. I'd probably wear them to the grocery store.

Pond Wildlife

So there's this log kinda lounging in our new pond. Well, as it turns out, we've discovered that it is, indeed, a Lounging Log! Or, perhaps this is where the turtle kids go for recess, and I just happened to catch them at a game of Red Rover ...

Food (meat, actually) for thought.

It's time to play "Who's Getting Fired Over This Screwup?!" Yeesh, PETA's really stuck their foot in it this time. This article is from Penton Media Group:
-------
"According to public records from the Virginia Department of Ag and Consumer Services, a total of 21,339 dogs and cats have been euthanized since 1998 by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) workers. In fact, last year, PETA killed 2,124 pets and placed only seven in adoptive homes. It’s for that reason that the Center for Consumer Freedom (CCF) – www.consumerfreedom.com – has petitioned the Commonwealth of Virginia to classify PETA as a slaughterhouse. You can read the article at: consumerfreedom.com/.

“PETA has a $32-million annual budget. But instead of investing in the lives of the thousands of flesh and blood creatures in its care, the group spends millions on media campaigns telling Americans that eating meat, drinking milk, fishing, hunting, wearing leather shoes, and benefiting from medical research performed on lab rats are all ‘unethical’,” CCF says.
-------

They killed more than 2,000 dogs and cats last year?? Maybe they're on a kick to feed the local buzzards? Maybe somebody didn't read the PETA Employee Handbook down at the shelter?

In my very humble opinion, animals are to be respected. Treated as well as possible, and allowed to fulfill their purpose while living. Then, when it is appropriate for them to be useful in dying, they need to be dispatched humanely. And that is what an animal is for - to be purposeful in both life and death. I believe that what groups like PETA are trying to do is make animals exist without a purpose. And even humans like to live their lives with purpose.

My house is like camping.

I woke up this morning to this view from my porch. I think I'm going to like it here. :)

You can move, but you can't hide

A few weeks ago, my DH and I bought a house. Eager to get out of our rental situation, we closed and moved THE SAME WEEKEND (don't ever make that mistake, FYI). And of course, in all the pre-move and move-in hustleup, there were a couple of small things "we" (read: I) were remiss in completing. Granted, in a move, there are always going to be things that get forgotten. Someone thought someone else was going to move the utilities, no one thought to schedule the cable hook-up ... other minutiae.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, when I get my every-other-month fix of MentalFloss magazine. I devour it, as usual, learning new factoids and truthisms, then put it in my purse to carry around and chew on whenever I need a little gray cell diversion. On one such occasion, I absently gazed at the cover for a few nanoseconds before casually flipping it open ... then snapped it back shut. What the DELL?! I had been getting this magazine delivered to my house for almost a year. Now, on most occasions, that'd be reason for celebration - aces to the Postal Service! But this was more of a Whiskey Tango Foxtrot cause for pause: when I subscribed to this magazine, I didn't know exactly where I was going to be living, so I put my parents' address on it. Since I subscribed, I had moved. Twice. The address label still had my parents' address on it. But it was still being delivered ... to MY mailbox!!

This revelation prompted me to do a little more postal probing. My investigation revealed that several companies had been sending mail to different addresses for both me and my husband, but everything was still being delivered very competently to our current address. (Which is a good thing, because some of those bits of mail surprisingly weren't junk!)

Come to find out, no, I did not have a postman stalking me. And no, I don't have some kind of invisible force field that attracts my mail to whereever it is I might live. Chalk it up to Small Town Livin'. The same postal guy who runs my parents' route, also runs the route where my DH and I USED to live, AND our new house where we live now. And, knowing where we were, he didn't want me to miss an issue of Mental Floss, or a bit of useless promotional mail, bless 'im. Ain't that convenient? It's nice to have someone looking out for you when you forget those little things. Now if I could just get the UPS guy trained like that ...

He is Risen

You're welcome, Kansas City.

In my eons of free time, I like to do activities. One activity I like to do is freelance advertising writing. Recently, a client approached me with a small budget and said, 'How far can we stretch THIS on the radio?!'

We managed to make several pretty sweet spots. How'd we do it? With my history in the biz-nass, I was able to write, produce, direct, and star in the spots. The bonus? Mr. Client said my voice was the voice he'd have picked out of a lineup for the spots anyway. I'm not sayin' I'm like buttah or anything. I AM saying I have a very good operator-type voice.

So, KC, perk your ears up for the Wellspring spots. They'll be on the air starting this week. Yeah, yeah I know. You're welcome.

heh. :)

Sorry, Frosty.

Yay! We had the best, wettest, snowman snow of the winter on Saturday. What to do with a little two-year-old nephew? Go out in the morning and craft a snowman, thus:



But you know what they say about the weather in Northeast Missouri. If you don't like it, wait a bit and it'll change. By early afternoon, it was all but over for Frosty. Sorry, dude.





Ah well, circle of life and all, I guess. :)

(P.S. look at all the green grass comin' up! Spring is working on springing! YAH!)

You ain't got no alibi, you UGLI.

Even when I was a lil'un, I don't remember ever being much for calling the other kids names or teasing. I remember GETTING teased by the cool kid bullies, though, and not being a big fan of it. (sniff, sniff. poor me!) Ah, well. What doesn't kill you ...

... apparently makes you pick on things that can't defend themselves! An Ugli fruit?! Sure, it's not exactly the most attractive, still-life-worthy fruit on the planet. It doesn't have the symmetry of an orange, or the colorful appeal of a watermelon, or the tactile fuzz of a peach. But to actually NAME the fruit UGLI?! You know this one came from a kid who got hung in his locker one too many times.

It's SPRING!

I know, the calendar doesn't officially say it yet, but I knows what I knows. And you ask How do I knows? Well, one day this past weekend the weather was 65 degrees and sunny. So, we kicked off the Broken B Farms Spring 2009 Family Farm Fun Activity Extravaganza (or something like that)! Working cattle, moving groups of pregnant cows to different fields so they'll have nice fresh grass to have their calves in, the Hubster and I went fishing for the first time this year, and we saw/heard the first redwinged blackbirds of the year!

Of course, the 'other' harbinger of spring was spotted recently as well ... not quite as welcome as the pretty redwinged blackbirds, but certainly useful in their own gruesome, visceral way. Ladies and gentlemen, one of the few truly creepy, ugly birds on the planet: the turkey buzzard.

When several of these guys start circling in the sky, it's really ominous. A bunch of 'em circling overhead can only mean two things: they've zeroed in on something dead, or, you'd better work faster. :) They can throw big, dark shadows on the ground on a sunny day, and they look like the angel of death. (oooh, I just thought of a good ghost story: if you're outside and are unfortunate enough to step into the shadow of a turkey buzzard, your name will be next on his list! Yep, that one will make a campfire debut this summer ... mwa-haha!)

It's funny how many turkey buzzards have been protrayed in Disney animated movies. Usually they're slightly dopey, and they're ALWAYS the bad guys. Oh well, with a lumpy red head like that? They're easy prey ... heh.

Yikes. And I didn't even TRY on that one. Sincerest apologies.

Get your finger outta my face

We all know that the livestock industry has been under increasing levels of heavy artillery fire from everyone - PETA, HSUS, the EPA - and all the money that they've thrown behind their efforts has certainly made a big impact on the public's opinion. And, it's no secret that their wailing and finger-pointing has really started to chap my ass (sorry, mom!). So, I wanted to take a sec and share a little article from BEEF Magazine Online yesterday, that shows an illuminating light on what turns out to be a despicably deceptive, widely-publicized, livestock-bashing report. Somehow, I imagine that it won't get put on CNN's prime time. Enjoy.

"No question about it: The 2006 United Nations report Livestock's Long Shadow. put a new jolt into animal-rights and other anti-meat campaigns. The report’s claim that 18percent of global greenhouse gases are caused by animal agriculture has become a rallying cry for activists whose fondest wish is to weld the animal rights and environmental movements into one giant behemoth to remake the way we eat. But something has always smelled a little funny about that “18 percent,” and we worked to put a finger on it.

The Marlborough Express reports that the company’s marketing manager spoke with Pierre Gerber, a livestock policy officer who co-authored the UN report. And Gerber apparently agreed that “18 percent” was a generalization that might not apply to every country.

“Buried in the report,” writes Express reporter Jon Morgan, “is the information that deforestation—mainly in the Amazonian rainforest—is included in that figure. Without it, livestock's contribution falls to less than 12 per cent.”

They don’t clearcut or burn down forests for pasture land in New Zealand, you see. And neither do we in the United States.

But even 12 percent still sounded a bit unrealistic. So we went digging.

In April the EPA released a 473-page report called the Inventory of U.S. Greenhouse Gas Emissions and Sinks: 1990-2006. It’s a complete accounting of global-warming-related emissions in the United States and where they come from. Here's what the EPA has to say...

In 2006, the agricultural sector was responsible for emissions of 454.1 teragrams of CO2 equivalent (Tg CO2 Eq.), or 6 percent of total U.S. greenhouse gas emissions.

Yes, six percent. Not 18 or 12. And that six percent represents all of agriculture, not just meat production. It includes greenhouse-gas emissions from farming cotton, wheat, broccoli, soybeans (tofu, anyone?), and everything else that comes out of the ground.

It gets more interesting still. The EPA actually separates out the various kinds of agricultural emissions, including two categories (“manure management” and "enteric fermentation") which are clearly related to raising animals for food, and many (like “rice cultivation”) which clearly are not.

The livestock-related greenhouse-gas emissions from 2006 add up to 181.9 teragrams of CO2 equivalent. And the EPA reports that the entire United States emitted 7,054.2 teragrams during that year.

We did the math. Greenhouse-gas sources directly related to livestock production in the United States only account for 2.58 percent of the total. And the latest USDA figures we could find, show that 95 percent of the animal products we consume are produced right here in the United States.

In addition to deforestation, the UN report counts livestock-related carbon emissions from a few other sources that the EPA doesn’t consider. Burning fuels to make fertilizer, for instance, along with tilling soil to grow feed crops, and the transportation of meat to market. But we’re asking ourselves this: If livestock production disappeared tomorrow, wouldn’t we just be transporting more tofu around? And wouldn’t we just be plowing and fertilizing the land to supply PETA’s vegetarian utopia?

That settles it for us. “Livestock’s Long Shadow” has officially disappeared, at least where domestic meat production is concerned. All it took was a little bit of light."

Amazing.

One Stop Shopping.

Shopping list for Stella Bleaux:
- gun
- socket set
- Lay-Z-Boy
- hookah
- African fertility statue
- kitchen drapes
- wine
- snow tires
- weedeater
- snakeskin boots
- golf clubs
- pogo stick
- cocktail dress

And then when you're done shopping, you can head on over to Snappy's! I love rural Missouri.

Mass Skunkicide?

Does anyone know why, in the last month, there have been an (literally) overwhelming number of skunks (literally) throwing themselves under the bus? On my way in to work this morning, there was one grim, grisly, pungent skunk death scene after another. Every 10 miles. I know this because just about the time the smell from the last one had cleared out of my car, in swept the perfume from the next one. And of course, with that kind of assault at that hour of the morning, I couldn't help but think weird thoughts about it. here's how my internal conversation went:

Maybe the stripey creatures get to this time of year and think that winter is never, never, never going to be over and that it's time to end it all? (Come to think of it, some days I can't say I blame them.) Or maybe they're all in the same skunk cult (a 'Skult' perhaps?) and last night was the night they were all directed to drink purple kool-aid and go play in traffic? Or maybe it's not suicide at all ... maybe there's a mass skunk murderer on the loose in our area who likes to befriend innocent skunks, hit 'em with a hammer and shove them onto the street? Shouldn't someone be investigating? (Someone call NCIS. Nat'l Crimes Involving Skunks!)

Hey, it was 5:45 AM and I was driving. What ELSE was I supposed to be thinking about??

Schotzi's Toys

In December, I got a fantastic Christmas present: a new border collie puppy. (eeeEEE!) My hubby and I went to check out the litter of pups that some people had, and they had two left. We knew someone else who wanted a puppy too, so we took them both. The other folks just wanted their dog as a pet, so before we decided which one to keep, we spent a couple of days with both of the pups. I had learned some things about picking out a good (read: smart, loyal, cattle-minded, instinctual) border collie puppy, and for those couple of days, the pups didn't know it but they were auditioning.

I clapped my hands at them, turned them over, looked at the roof of their mouths, went on walks with them, played with them ... it was basically a three-day job interview for them. As you would expect, Big A wanted to keep one dog and I wanted to keep the other. And also as you would expect, I won. :)

So, me and Schotzi have been doing some early puppy training. Mind you, I'm still constantly watching her, looking for hints about her future skills as a cattle dog. And she is showing some great potential. We go on walks almost daily, we play, and she goes with me whenever I go help out on the farm. This past weekend, the weather was gorgeous, so I grabbed my chainsaw and my dog, and went to help my dad cut some firewood.

Schotzi was bounding around the field having a great time, not fazed at all by the chainsaw noise (which is another good thing), and was adventurously meandering around but not roaming too far (which is yet another good thing). We had been there for about 30 minutes when the very curious and friendly young heifers who live in that field came to investigate the hubbub we were making.

Because she's too young yet, Schotzi has not been formally introduced to cattle. But as soon as she saw the approaching heifers, she immediately locked on target, like a missile launcher. All at once, she was rock still and all business. The heifers walked closer as a cluster, until one brave one broke out from the group and walked up to sniff Schotzi out, nose-to-nose. Too bad Schotzi wasn't interested in making friends. As soon as the one separated herself out a couple of steps, Schotzi's herding instinct kicked in. She got behind the heifer and started chasing her around the truck! We tried calling her off, but she was focused entirely on her 'job'. It wasn't until I literally caught her in mid stride that she quit running after the heifer! And she is FAST for a little black-and-white!

At the same time that I was telling her 'No', inside I was glowing. Ha! Another very big positive! Some border collies just don't 'have any cow in them' which means they can sometimes be scared of cattle or don't have any natural interest in them. This would be a very bad thing for Schotzi's future if she didn't have any cow in her. However, this accidental encounter was proof that we aren't going to have any trouble with that.

Not wanting her to get hurt playing with her new 'toys', we put her in the truck until the heifers wandered out of eyesight over the hill again. But even when she couldn't get to 'em, she was still vigilant. I think the caption for this one would be something like:

Until we meet again, my friends.
or
You may have won the day. But before the war is over, you will do as I command.


Ha. Get 'em, Schotz.

Homestead Searching

In a small town, searching for a house is an interesting, frustrating venture. In a more urban area, if you don't like the choices you're coming up with, just wait 15 minutes, hit the refresh button and presto! There are 20 more to choose from.

In the city, your selection criteria could look something like this:
- good neighborhood
- 2,200 square feet
- 3 bedrooms
- new appliances
- 2 car garage

In the country, if there's one new listing every week, it's a miracle. So, you either take what's available, or you build something. Well, with the prices of building being quite a bit higher than buying right now, we decided to start by looking at what's already out there. Our selection criteria look something like this:
- not so far out of town that if we got home one day and discovered that we forgot to get canned peas at the grocery store, we could actually go back and get some without first having to get to a gas station or abandoning the peas altogether.
- far enough away from neighbors that we could garden naked if we wanted to, but close enough to neighbors that if we needed sunscreen, we could throw on some tennies and a robe and be back in a ... flash.
- must have access to high-speed internet. Believe it or not, some places are still so far out in East BoJangles that smoke signals and dial-up are the only options.
- do the neighbors have 4 rusty lawn mowers, 3 goats, 18 free-range chickens, a dog kennel, a couch, and 12 kids in the front lawn?
- was the home built in this century? Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing but love for the Century home, but if I'm going to buy something permanent, I would really like to be able to run a hair dryer and the refrigerator at the same time without blacking out the entire neighborhood.
- something that's on a well-maintained rock road. I would rather not need a 4x4 monster truck to get down the road to the house in the Spring. Of course, having a monster truck would be pretty sweet ...

Believe it or not, not many houses have met this criteria yet. Okay, no houses have met this criteria. But, we'll keep watching the obituaries ... er, the real estate listings, I mean. There's bound to be something. Like the Muppets said, 'I hope that something better comes along!' There are other alternatives in a pinch, though. I could just get my hands dirty and dig into a south-facing hill. It wouldn't be that bad, would it? I mean, look at the pride of ownership on this guy's face!

If wishes were skunks ...

I'd have gotten mine this morning. Of course, at the time, I really wished that I hadn't hit it (this was before I contemplated the idea that the skunk might double as a wish). There is also the possibility that I didn't actually hit it, but just skeered it so bad that it poofed on the undercarriage of my car. Either way, it was unavoidable, as Pepe was moving at a pretty fast clip, it was 5:30 AM, and I was only on my first couple of sips of coffee. In fact, I didn't really even know WHAT it was that I'd gone over at the time, as at that hour and under those circumstances it looked a lot like this:

But when I arrived at my destination - 30 miles later - it was quite obvious that it was indeed, to quote my nephew, a 'stunk'. So I apologize to all those other morning gym-goers who had to walk through the parking lot and get a whiff of my car's offputting aroma, believe me, it was unavoidable.

But it'll all be worth it if I get that wish ...

Maybe people need gestation crates ...

One of these things is ... almost exactly like the other.



I just read an article on Slate about a new study that has come out. The study was performed in respose to the growing movement toward parents 'co-sleeping' with their babies. The 'Aye' vote says this practice makes breast-feeding more successful, promotes mother/child bonding, etc. And you know, I can't say that I DON'T agree with that. If you have a perfect angel child, sleeping in the same bed as your babe might seem like a beautiful thing. But this new study confirms that the risks involved with having your infant in your bed are NOT worth the potential benefits. Take, for instance, what the author calls 'overlying'. This is when an adult in the bed rolls over onto the child while asleep, and suffocates the tyke. So, the study strongly urges the parents to keep their new person separate while sleeping.

Now, I don't mean to over simplify things here, but I cannot ignore the fact that this article could just as easily been written about our porcine population. Yep, guess what? Farrowing crates are used for PRECISELY this purpose. The sow is able to have her pigs and hang out with them, the piglets are able to nurse when they want to, and the piglets can sleep separately from the sow - preventing them from being laid on and smothered. Which, I can tell you from my own Been There/Done That, happens frequently without a crate.

Now, granted, new human moms don't have the same indescribable urge to eat their young that sows sometimes do. (Well, MOST human moms, that is. I do wonder about some women, though!) So, let's add to the fact that farrowing crates allow the new piglets to not only escape being smothered - but also escape being eaten!

All I'm saying is that here we, human beings, are, telling our new moms and dads to NOT sleep in the same bed as our newly-minted family member, because it's dangerous. Essentially, we're telling new parents to employ a more sophisticated version of a farrowing crate. Just because we put a fuzzy blanket and a soft pillow in our baby's crate, it's still not that far removed from what a farrowing crate is designed to do. If we ourselves are utilizing these practices, there are just as many - no, more - reasons to help the animal world to raise their young as well. It's just good, responsible animal husbandry.

A 2009 Double-Dog Dare

No one can resist a good dare, right? I mean, I once dared a guy to make a naked snow angel, and he did it without a second thought. Don't worry, this one ain't nearly that shocking. (heh)

In this age of ever-increasing environmental awareness, we are all urgently drawn to look for ways to continue life while at the same time preserving the best parts of it for our next generations.

In 2009, I am daring you to dig into that same bucket of responsibility, and find out about your food.

Yeah, I dare you. I even double-dog dare. We care so much about what we put into the environment at large, but I'm asking you to activate a little micro-awareness here. What do YOU put in YOUR body? What do you feed YOUR family? And I'm not just talking about 'beef' or 'carrots' or 'natural' or 'organic'. I'm talking about 'what country do my potatoes come from?' and 'where is this company located?' and 'what does a company in Zimbabwe/Argentina/etc. know about producing healthy x?' and 'who owns the beef/carrot/potato/chicken farm?' and 'does this company care about its produce/animals/workers/etc.?' Beware, though, because in some cases, you might not like what you find.

Get intimate with your personal fuel supply. Or better yet, get involved in the food supply. Better still, grow some of your own food. Or, the Holy of Holies, spend some time on a real, live, working farm and experience what it's like to have a hand in growing absolutely everything that is on your dinner plate just one time. Weed the carrot bed. Carry the feed/water to the chickens/cattle/hogs/sheep. Pick the spinach. Literally get your hands dirty in our nation's largest employment industry: agriculture.

Try it, just one time. Or, let it hook you, and do it all the time! I double-dog dare ya.