Quilting, Farming, Variety

Sunday, May 28, 2017

To The Barn

I slipped off to the barn like a naughty child this afternoon to see these:

The farmer has been feeding the cats for me and told me about the kittens a few days ago.  It's been a little over three weeks since I have done my barn chores and I'm missing out on a lot of changes.  I was also bottle feeding a little calf, a twin forsaken by its mother;  the farmer feeds her too.   A lot of the time when  a cow has twins, one will stay behind and one will follow her and she never goes back to get the other.



The other twin with the mother:

Since I'm not supposed to bend over with my head lower than my behind :) I've had to make some changes to my daily inside chores too.  For instance, the bedspreads have not been pulled up for almost three weeks; however, I do straighten the sheets and quilts.  I sweep, then leave small piles for the farmer to collect in the dustpan; the piles might sit there for a couple of days but he gets around to it before too long. :)  I've tried not to ask him to do "everything" for me.  

I've crocheted and embroidered to pass the time, so I'll share some of that at another time.  

Charlotte

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Two Aprons

Here are two little farm aprons, as handy as can be.
How would you choose to use them?  I'll just wait and see.





Have a good day!
Charlotte

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

One Down ....

I thought I should let you know that the first cataract surgery was done this morning and it all went well.  Now it's a matter of time to heal.  The last four days I worked hard at getting everything in order around the place: raking hay, laundry, mowing, weed eating, things I won't be doing for a while and the farmer has too much put off on him as it is.  Yesterday was my last day to walk through the chickens.  Today our daughter and son-in-law have come to help the farmer with them.

Thanks for all your kind thoughts and comments for me.  One of life's hurdles...

Charlotte.

Monday, May 1, 2017

The Old Home Place and the Fields

After church one Sunday, I asked my husband to drive past the old home place and the fields where I grew up. Many big houses had been built in what used to be grown-over, wooded land, and houses that at one time were grand, in comparison to ours, now looked run down, and some even boarded up in front.

As the old home place and the fields, so changed now, came into view, I seemed to be grasping for something that couldn't be attained. I wanted to walk in the field where cucumbers and watermelons grew. I wanted to stand in the little pine thicket, once set on fire by lightning. I wanted to sit beneath a cedar at the edge of the strawberry patch and smell the sweetness of the ripe, red berries. I wanted to scrape soapstone from the banks of the ditch by the old garden, and put my foot in the branch where my paper dolls swam and crawdads grabbed eagerly for a piece of fat meat dangling from a string. I wanted to scour the hillside looking for the rocks that made our playhouses, and maybe find a glass mason jar lid from which our dolls had been fed. I wanted to taste the golden molasses, cooked at the old sorghum mill, and roll down the pile of pummies, swarming with yellow jackets and wasps. And most of all, I wanted to be where the old house had been, to see if something of it might still be there.
We drove across the top of Turkey Mountain, and I wondered if the trail we walked every day, to catch the school bus, was still there. I wondered if the sawdust pile and the slabs, on the side of the hill, had rotted away; I wanted to build another "cabin" with the slabs.

At the bottom of the hill, where the fence ran northward, we left the home place behind and came back to the present. I have a different life now; we've made memories, but nothing as profound as those of a little girl running wild and free over that rocky, hillside farm.