While on the subject of cows, birds, and Easter I will recount another tale from the farm. In celebration of our first Easter living on a farm my oldest sister and her husband decided that it would be great to give their four kids and our three kids baby Easter ducks. Oh, what fun to see those cute little fluffballs waddle around on Easter morning. What fun to watch them paddle around in a tub full of water and to see them curl up together in a cardboard box padded with an old towel. Weren't they adorable?
What wasn't so adorable was the fact that ducks are little poop machines leaving their little trails everywhere they went. Our outside dog was not quite so taken with these tiny creatures so they had to be kept inside the house until they got a bit bigger and the weather turned warm enough to put them in the pen attached to the barn. So they lived in our kitchen for a few weeks. It was a lot to take care of, but they finally were big enough to move them outdoors. They were safely penned out of the reach of the dog and I thought the kids would be able to run down to the barn a couple of times a day to feed and water them. I didn't realize how the resident geese would react. These two geese somehow got confused and must have thought the ducks were their babies. They became very protective of the little ducks and would hiss and peck at anyone who came near that pen. My children, who were only three, five and seven at the time, were afraid to go anywhere near them so the feeding task fell upon my husband and me. It got so difficult to go near the pen that I would take a broom with me to swat at the geese as they came hissing with their necks craned, ready to attack. I couldn't wait for those little ducks to grow enough to set free by the pond.
One particular afternoon my husband and I stood watching the geese from a distance. A group of cattle had congregated near the duck pen. The geese went on attack mode and began hissing and pecking at this herd relentlessly. Though they were cornered by the herd the geese were ferocious in their attack, never waivering in their effort to get the cattle away from their adopted brood. I would not have bet the birds over the bovine but after suffering many beak blows to their faces the cattle backed off. The geese had won the battle. I was relieved in some ways, disappointed in others.
A few weeks later we were able to free the ducks and we enjoyed watching them swim around the farm pond with the geese. If you think about getting tiny farm creatures for your children, you had better think twice. And make sure you have some good farm friends!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Turkey for Easter?
As I talked on the phone this morning I happened to glance out the kitchen window to see a huge bird running across the street toward my house. I continued talking while squinting my eyes to focus on the unusual sight before me. Was this a duck or a goose approaching? Nope, upon closer inspection the bird now heading toward my porch was a wild turkey of the Thanksgiving kind. Now I would fully expect at this time of year to see Easter rabbits hopping about the yard, but a turkey? Really? I quickly said goodbye and ran to get my camera. The big bird strolled along the edge of my driveway pecking away at the sodden ground for unseen morsels. As I cracked the door open to ease the camera lens into position for the photo op the turkey nervously glanced in my direction then continued its leisurely meandering across my yard. It strutted among the trees, stopping occasionally to look around, then moved on toward the neighbor's yard and the open nine acre field of grass beyond that.
I was reminded of the morning years ago when I was busily getting my children ready for school before I headed to work. My husband rushed out the door to go to work, then popped his head back in the door just long enough to inform me that there was a cow in our yard and it looked like it really needed to be milked. Then off he went, leaving me to deal with this cow mooing in agony, with swollen udders nearly ready to burst. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just leave this poor animal unattended. I tried to call a couple of the farmers that I knew who lived nearby to no avail. I had no idea whose cow this was. I finally called the local police. When the officer arrived we tried to approach the cow but it bolted away, then looked forlornly back at us. It seemed to want our help but was too afraid. The officer contacted a local farmer who arrived with a cattle trailer. After the cow was safely loaded onto the trailer I was able to get my kids to school and myself to work, much later than originally planned. Explain that one in a note to their teachers: please excuse my children for being late due to udderly unforseen circumstances!
This reminded me of another incident involving an animal in my yard years ago. It was a drizzly spring morning and my children were entertaining themselves while I was tidying up the house. Our dog began barking furiously outside and then the whole house trembled. I wasn't sure what was going on. I ran outside and there stood the neighbor's biggest bull, escaped from its prison of fencing, face to face with our dog. The dog kept barking and began chasing the bull, round and round our house, the bull occasionally crashing into the siding, shaking the house like an earthquake. I struggled to get the dog onto the screened porch so the bull would calm down. Then I had to figure out how to get the bull back into its confines without getting myself hurt. I had lived in the country but I was not a farmer so I was not quite sure how to force an animal at least ten times my weight into a space it wanted to be free from. I tried the only thing I could think of at the time. I opened the gate to the field, walked through, called out to the bull several times, then began to sing. Don't laugh. I was not completely insane.
When we first moved to the country the year before I was out mowing the grass around our home. With headphones on and the walkman cranked up on high I pushed the mower up and down our lawn, singing out loud as I went. After mowing the first few strips I turned to make another pass. I was astounded to see a row of twenty or so cows lined up along the fence row watching me intently. I slowed my pace as I walked past them, wondering what it was they were fascinated by. Was it my singing, the humming of the mower, or were they plotting their escape? I felt a bit creeped out as I recalled the plot of "Animal Farm" by George Orwell. The cows just stood there watching until I finally made the turn toward the back side of the house. Then they simply walked away one by one, back to grazing in the pasture.
Back to the bull: it finally heeded my cajoling and singing and wandered into the pasture. I slipped back out through the gate and wrapped a chain around the gateposts, very tightly. Then I headed back across the yard to let out the dog and continue with my chores after assuring my children it shouldn't happen again.
Such is the life in small Midwestern towns!
I was reminded of the morning years ago when I was busily getting my children ready for school before I headed to work. My husband rushed out the door to go to work, then popped his head back in the door just long enough to inform me that there was a cow in our yard and it looked like it really needed to be milked. Then off he went, leaving me to deal with this cow mooing in agony, with swollen udders nearly ready to burst. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just leave this poor animal unattended. I tried to call a couple of the farmers that I knew who lived nearby to no avail. I had no idea whose cow this was. I finally called the local police. When the officer arrived we tried to approach the cow but it bolted away, then looked forlornly back at us. It seemed to want our help but was too afraid. The officer contacted a local farmer who arrived with a cattle trailer. After the cow was safely loaded onto the trailer I was able to get my kids to school and myself to work, much later than originally planned. Explain that one in a note to their teachers: please excuse my children for being late due to udderly unforseen circumstances!
This reminded me of another incident involving an animal in my yard years ago. It was a drizzly spring morning and my children were entertaining themselves while I was tidying up the house. Our dog began barking furiously outside and then the whole house trembled. I wasn't sure what was going on. I ran outside and there stood the neighbor's biggest bull, escaped from its prison of fencing, face to face with our dog. The dog kept barking and began chasing the bull, round and round our house, the bull occasionally crashing into the siding, shaking the house like an earthquake. I struggled to get the dog onto the screened porch so the bull would calm down. Then I had to figure out how to get the bull back into its confines without getting myself hurt. I had lived in the country but I was not a farmer so I was not quite sure how to force an animal at least ten times my weight into a space it wanted to be free from. I tried the only thing I could think of at the time. I opened the gate to the field, walked through, called out to the bull several times, then began to sing. Don't laugh. I was not completely insane.
When we first moved to the country the year before I was out mowing the grass around our home. With headphones on and the walkman cranked up on high I pushed the mower up and down our lawn, singing out loud as I went. After mowing the first few strips I turned to make another pass. I was astounded to see a row of twenty or so cows lined up along the fence row watching me intently. I slowed my pace as I walked past them, wondering what it was they were fascinated by. Was it my singing, the humming of the mower, or were they plotting their escape? I felt a bit creeped out as I recalled the plot of "Animal Farm" by George Orwell. The cows just stood there watching until I finally made the turn toward the back side of the house. Then they simply walked away one by one, back to grazing in the pasture.
Back to the bull: it finally heeded my cajoling and singing and wandered into the pasture. I slipped back out through the gate and wrapped a chain around the gateposts, very tightly. Then I headed back across the yard to let out the dog and continue with my chores after assuring my children it shouldn't happen again.
Such is the life in small Midwestern towns!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Splenda'd Morning
On the weekends I generally cook breakfast for my husband since he cooks most of our dinners throughout the week. I am always up before him and have already enjoyed two cups of coffee while I peruse my emails and blogs before he eventually wakes and makes his way down the hallway. This morning he wanted biscuits and gravy but I had no sausage thawed so I fried up some crisp bacon and cheese omelets. Then I surprised him with a treat that I had forgotten about for quite some time. I quartered the canned biscuits, lightly rolled them into balls, and dropped them into hot oil . After they were evenly and lightly browned I drained them on paper towels then dropped them into a plastic container filled with a cup of Splenda with just a couple of tablespoons of sugar added for better flavor. After attaching a lid I shook them to coat each one with a dusting of sweetness. Voila! Homemade little donuts.
I remember my Mother fixing this treat for us when I was a child. It was an easy and inexpensive substitute for bakery donuts. It was fun to help cut the biscuits up into fourths and watch her drop them into the hot oil. We got to take turns shaking the little donuts in the brown paper lunch bag that she used for the sugar. Then we would divide them up evenly between all of us. Six children and sugar donuts. It doesn't get better than that. After washing them down with big glasses of cold milk we would be sufficiently hyped up for a morning of play. Oh, sweet childhood memories!
I remember my Mother fixing this treat for us when I was a child. It was an easy and inexpensive substitute for bakery donuts. It was fun to help cut the biscuits up into fourths and watch her drop them into the hot oil. We got to take turns shaking the little donuts in the brown paper lunch bag that she used for the sugar. Then we would divide them up evenly between all of us. Six children and sugar donuts. It doesn't get better than that. After washing them down with big glasses of cold milk we would be sufficiently hyped up for a morning of play. Oh, sweet childhood memories!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
KISS Excellence Goodbye
I know I tend to be a stickler for detail but it seems as if our society has accepted mediocrity as the norm in our work and education environments. Is it wrong to circle the errors on the notes my children brought home from their teachers because I expected that teachers should set a good example to their students? Whatever happened to proof-reading their own work, especially if the teacher in question was the Advanced English class teacher? My children would complain about having to take these corrected and signed notes back to school, partly due to embarassment and partly due to fear of teacher retaliation. I tried to explain to them that it was the principle of the matter.
At my job in the healthcare field we have written policies and procedures. Sometimes when there is a breach of these policies and I try to report it as instructed I am treated like a tattletale who should mind her own business by the higher level managers, directors, and administrators. My feeling is that if they don't really expect that the policies will be followed then they should not have them or they should amend them. It is very frustrating to try to do a good job and follow the rules and then suffer the consequences. This is not just the principle of the matter, it is the legal and moral issue of the matter. I have read many publications over the years and attended enough seminars and education meetings to understand the implications.
Today after taking a test for my online coding class one of my answers was marked as incorrect when, in fact, it was not. There were two correct answers for the multiple choice question but I was instructed to only select one. Was it petty of me to email the instructor of the course and inform her of this error on the test that kept me from getting a 100%? I scored a 96% on the exam and I only have to obtain a score of 70% or higher to pass each module in the course so did it really matter? I considered just letting it go but I was aggravated that I would pay $1300.00 for this course in order to obtain a certificate for something I have already been doing for years on the job and the creators of the course could not even make sure that their exams are accurate. It was a simple medical terminology question. This does nothing to boost my confidence in the accuracy of the more complicated coding issues to be addressed in later modules.
I feel like a dinosaur in a world of complacency. The dumbing down to the lowest common denominator seems to be so much more acceptable in our society now than when I was younger. Somehow we have moved away from striving for excellence to just striving for fairly average. Once we are all just fairly average where do we go from there? I suppose the acronym KISS (keep it simple, stupid) is more appropriate than one might think.
At my job in the healthcare field we have written policies and procedures. Sometimes when there is a breach of these policies and I try to report it as instructed I am treated like a tattletale who should mind her own business by the higher level managers, directors, and administrators. My feeling is that if they don't really expect that the policies will be followed then they should not have them or they should amend them. It is very frustrating to try to do a good job and follow the rules and then suffer the consequences. This is not just the principle of the matter, it is the legal and moral issue of the matter. I have read many publications over the years and attended enough seminars and education meetings to understand the implications.
Today after taking a test for my online coding class one of my answers was marked as incorrect when, in fact, it was not. There were two correct answers for the multiple choice question but I was instructed to only select one. Was it petty of me to email the instructor of the course and inform her of this error on the test that kept me from getting a 100%? I scored a 96% on the exam and I only have to obtain a score of 70% or higher to pass each module in the course so did it really matter? I considered just letting it go but I was aggravated that I would pay $1300.00 for this course in order to obtain a certificate for something I have already been doing for years on the job and the creators of the course could not even make sure that their exams are accurate. It was a simple medical terminology question. This does nothing to boost my confidence in the accuracy of the more complicated coding issues to be addressed in later modules.
I feel like a dinosaur in a world of complacency. The dumbing down to the lowest common denominator seems to be so much more acceptable in our society now than when I was younger. Somehow we have moved away from striving for excellence to just striving for fairly average. Once we are all just fairly average where do we go from there? I suppose the acronym KISS (keep it simple, stupid) is more appropriate than one might think.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sugar Sugar
"I like water."
"Wait a minute. Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"
For those of you who know me or who have read my previous post about my obsession with soda of the reddest kind you will understand my hubby's concern. After polishing off the last of the Big Red over the weekend I began my withdrawal from sweetened sodas. I know I am getting a late start as I was supposed to begin on the first day of Lent, but what the heck, I'm a little slow at fasting. There will be extreme fatigue, excruciating headaches, sluggish motion. The flow of profanity, the hissing, and the tantrums as the sugar demons attempt to control me will rival Linda Blair in The Exorcist. As my husband dons his silver cross and douses himself with garlic oil I slump in a near-coma in the rocking chair. Quickly he passes a brownie under my nose, trying to revive my limp body as he whispers a short prayer, though I am not sure which of us he is praying for. With shaking hand I press a glass of water to my lips, my third of the day, and let the clear liquid trickle its way down my esophagus. I begin to shiver uncontrollably as my body temperature drops. The endless yawning begins and I fight to maintain control as my head bobs helplessly. I finally give in to the exhaustion and settle back for a quick sleep. When I garner the strength I trudge off to bed. One day down, thirty-four more to go. Yay God!
"Wait a minute. Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"
For those of you who know me or who have read my previous post about my obsession with soda of the reddest kind you will understand my hubby's concern. After polishing off the last of the Big Red over the weekend I began my withdrawal from sweetened sodas. I know I am getting a late start as I was supposed to begin on the first day of Lent, but what the heck, I'm a little slow at fasting. There will be extreme fatigue, excruciating headaches, sluggish motion. The flow of profanity, the hissing, and the tantrums as the sugar demons attempt to control me will rival Linda Blair in The Exorcist. As my husband dons his silver cross and douses himself with garlic oil I slump in a near-coma in the rocking chair. Quickly he passes a brownie under my nose, trying to revive my limp body as he whispers a short prayer, though I am not sure which of us he is praying for. With shaking hand I press a glass of water to my lips, my third of the day, and let the clear liquid trickle its way down my esophagus. I begin to shiver uncontrollably as my body temperature drops. The endless yawning begins and I fight to maintain control as my head bobs helplessly. I finally give in to the exhaustion and settle back for a quick sleep. When I garner the strength I trudge off to bed. One day down, thirty-four more to go. Yay God!
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