A Little Slice of Summer

We almost got a goat. Paul Bunyan thought we could just chain him up outside the house and build him a dog house and he could eat the lawn...and then he (PB) would never, ever have to mow the lawn again. We tried to herd the alpacas up the hill to chow on the long grass last week. We didn't have enough herders. I don't usually see Paul Bunyan get pissed. He was pissed. It didn't work.

Paul Bunyan's been trying to come up with every excuse to NOT mow the lawn. He even had to go so far as to replace a culvert in the dirt road, which leads up to the pole barn, which is where the mower is stored over the winter. He said (yesterday) that maybe we should just let the grass keep growin' so that we could harvest the seed and sell our very own, local (!), grass seed.

Right.

Here's why I don't like the grass so long:

1) the dogs still shit in it
2) the kids can't see where the dogs have shit in it
3) the kids step in the shit because they can't see where the dogs have shit in it
4) the kids track the shit, that they couldn't see, that's in their shoes, into the house, where you know who, has to pick it up

So I was very happy to see that this was happening today.



I just love a man and his son on the tractor...



even though I know it's completely against all rules of safety to have a child on the tractor while it's running.




Here is the littlest grunt cleaning up the toys in the yard. Poor Grunt, he got the short end of the stick.



And now I'm spying on the beauty of the event through the tamarack tree, just so Paul Bunyan can't see my excitement.



Get out of my way tree.



Yes, now we're talking.




Ooooh, what is that?




Ooooh, I think I like that back. Yes, I know I like that back.




It's the same one I couldn't stop wrapping myself around when you were wooing me thirteen years ago. Remember that? Paul Bunyan? Do you remember?? Oh, Right. I won't bother you. You're too busy mowing. Thank you, by the way. Oh, and have I told you lately? I really like your tattoo.

*more about Paul Bunyan's tattoo tomorrow

Spring on the Homestead

On Winter's Disappearance


The fragrant dance is about to start.
But beware: it only lasts a few days.
Its sweet siren's song will spring forth,
And let winter's whisper fade away.

I dream of sleeping on beds,
Made from your scented petals.
Or perhaps unfurling myself in your sails,
As we drift quietly in a cool nights' breeze.

How easy I forget my winter's frozen blood,
How quickly it washes into the stream bed,
When the silent slumber in your stalk,
Finally, stretches in the sun.








Things are..








About to...










POP!

Our Woodsplitter Apprentices

Paul Bunyan says that it's the husbands, the tough wood splitters themselves, who come into the Emergency Department with fingers dangling by ligaments or packaged in sandwich bags, saved to be reattached. Guilty wives stand next to them, trying to tell them how sorry they are. The women are the ones running the lever on the splitter; husbands, being the stronger gender, place the heavy logs on top and invariably lose appendages because the wife wasn't looking, or wasn't paying attention, or didn't listen and flipped that lever into the forward position, squeezing the log against the blade and inadvertently chopping her husband's finger off. Woops.

I've been hesitant to run the splitter with Paul Bunyan for this reason. I don't want to be standing beside his hospital bed, apologizing to his favorite colleagues (who are trying to stitch his index finger back on) that he will no longer be the 'go to' nurse for pediatric i.v.'s or digital disimpaction because I wasn't watching what I was doing. They'd be very upset with me. So, needless to say, I was very happy to see these two grunts learning the ropes of the splitter. Beside the hum of the Honda motor, the valley echoed with the booming voice of Paul Bunyan yelling, "FORWARD" and "BACK". There was no way for the little apprentices not to hear his commands; but still, it was a bit of a risk to have two four year olds at the helm.



Especially when they need one of these to operate the machinery.





Paul Bunyan can't get his fingers smashed with this log...it's too big.





But with one this size, if all parties are not paying attention, it could be the "wrecker".





I hope this goomba finds splitting this fun when he has to do it after a night of binge drinking with his buddies.



But I'm definitely glad he's trying to concentrate.



Even if it is just for a short time.

















Yea, I'm glad it's you and not me buddy.



Keep workin' hard and daddy just might buy you an excavator (a real one, so he can use it).



Or maybe a skidder, if you really want one.



And probably a dump truck (so you can sell and deliver all this wood). That is, if you don't chop his fingers off. Good luck (and pay attention)!!

Barkin' at the Moon

All is quiet on the home front tonight. It's been a crazy (smazy) day. Started baking a lemon butter cake with fresh strawberries and lemon cream (ta die for) at 7 a.m. this morning...for 2 very lovely wombats who are about to have breathing, moving things come out of their bellies in the next couple of weeks. So we lovely ladies showered them with love and affection for three hours this afternoon. But in order to get to E's today for the baby shower, I needed to finish the cake, lift some weights with Paul Bunyan (he's P90X-ing folks...I'll explain later), load the truck with alpaca shit for our local baker (who doesn't bake with it, thank god), bring a bucket load of shit up to my garden, take a shower, feed the punks lunch, load bus up, drive 30 minutes south to drop goombas off at play date, stop and get two measly gallons of gas (the frickin' pump was too slow), drive 30 minutes north for ballet practice (which I was only 8 minutes late for), drive 15 minutes south to drop ballerina off at best friend's house, drive 15 minutes west to Burlington for shower, retrace steps to pick up punks.

Here, let's see if you can follow the arrows:



Have I told you that I hate leaving the mountain? Yea, I think I did. But I'm not complaining about my day. Really, I'm not. I'm not. I just needed Claire to remind me that "there is no home like the one you've got" and I'm definitely not leavin' it tomorrow. And you can't make me.

Claire Barking at the Moon

A Beautiful Day For A Haircut (and tiny packages)

Nicole, the very nice woman at Hairy Bear, cuts the boy's hair in the fall and winter. They love going because they get to sit in:

1) a jeep with windshield wipers that go back and forth
2) or on top of a motorcycle
3) or on top of a horse
4) or in a pink car
5) or in a yellow race car
6) and they get a lollipop
7) and a balloon

Paul Bunyan gets to cut it in the spring and summer. He loves it. They don't. Why? There are no jeeps, race cars, or horses. And most definitely, there are no balloons and lollipops. So, in order to bribe the goombas into cutting their long locks, I had to run down to the "country store" to get lollipops. When I returned to the homestead...



Life was about to change...



For a certain Timmy G.



And a Mr. Auggie Doggie.



Auggie's flat top has gotta go. It's not so good.




I think he concurs.



But Timmy G...he's pretty proud of the mohawk.


It has led to increased confidence.



And along with his new sneakers, a little hair gel, and his tiny package...nothing will get in his way. NOTHING!!

It's Official!! We're goin' to the Fonz's house...

It was unfortunate that the R.S.V.P. card for the Winkler wedding was just a blank piece of cardboard. As Vermont hicks, with little to no wedding etiquette, we didn't quite know what to write back. With no lines to write on, or boxes to check, we were (for certain) confused. I'm sure we should have said something like Mr. and Mrs. August Ganzenmuller IV, with the utmost appreciation, accept your invitation to attend the wedding of your daughter to Mr. Robert Reinis. Or Mr. and Mrs. Ganzenmuller IV will be present at the festivities in your garden on June 27th, 2009. Or Mr. and Mrs. Ganzenmuller IV would be honored to accept your invitation to the wedding of your only daughter, Zoe. Or even, Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Fonz for your gratious invitation. Mr. and Mrs. Ganzenmuller IV would be honored to accept it.

Instead, this is all we could come up with. I'd love to know what you think.






I think it's good. And it does the trick!! Don't ya think??

Spinach 101

First of all, I know many of you planted your spinach a month ago...when the soil could be "worked". I realize I could already be eating lovely lettuce and sensational spinach and not spending Paul Bunyan's hard earned cash on plastic containers of the organic stuff. I know this. But, well, life gets in my way (a lot!) and here I am...today...finally...planting...my spinach. Plus, I needed two goombas for cheap labor, and they're hard to pin down.


This box was left for naught at the end of last fall. So, for obvious reasons we needed to weed first.



That's what the goombas are for.



Look, they can rake pretty good too.




And plant pretty good too.




Yes, now we need to pray that it stays cold enough so we can feast on the green leafy goodness. Oh, and that I can get my peas in. Yea, Yea...I know, I should have had them in today too. But give a girl a break, the goombas are needy little suckers.