Geeking out as a fear response.

If I were bit by a radioactive spider on my farm, and turned into a me-version of Spider-Man, it would go like this:

In the absence of my need for
real glasses, I could totes rock
 fake hipster glasses like the Beebs.

I would get to personally live that cool scene where I suddenly realize I don’t need to wear contacts anymore.  This would be the BOMB.  I just picture me putting the contacts in, realizing everything got blurry, taking them out, and then strutting outside to look at actual leaves on trees, and identify people from more than 20 feet away, NOT run into things, and generally do things that I, in my non-super-powered life, could never do.

I would also never worry about how heavy eggplant is ever again.  Reader, eggplant is HEAVY.  You fill a basket up and then you look at how far it has to go to reach the cart, and you realize filling a basket up was the dumbest thing you ever did.  This would no longer be an issue.  

If I could do this I would.

Not only does Spider-Man have super strength, but he’s also way flexible—so none of that lower back pain that results in all kinds of made up yoga contortions while picking peppers.  Never again!

In fact, the whole nature of the harvest would be dramatically changed.  Instead of going out and picking everything, I could just shoot it with my way-cool wrist webbing.  A quick jerk, and then all veggies would come to me where I would be reclining comfortably at the end of the row.

My Spidey-Sense tells me that these cows

are a bunch of jerks, hanging out in the

chicken pen, feasting on chicken feed.

Again.

Or maybe on top of the pole barn.  As a Me-Spider-Man, I would have the uncanny ability to climb and stick to all kinds of surfaces.  From my perch on top of the pole barn, I could also watch out for escapee cows and sheep.  

That is, ALL cows and sheep. 

I see it looking more
 like this.

For that matter, through industrious use of super strong webbing, I could just create fences that they can’t get out of.  Other non-super-hero farmers have come up with their own solutions to this problem, but we scoff at those systems on my farm.  Spidey-webbing it is.

Collecting eggs would also be quick and easy in the same way as the veggie harvest—though it would undermine the bonds of trust I am trying to develop with the hens.   I would have to use a gentle touch.  Reader, you know me.  Gentle?  With the comic book equivalent of a power tool?  Hm.

The mosquitoes would never be a bother again, as I would have a sweet costume including mask and gloves that would be totally mosquito proof.  Even if I took a day off from my rocking secret identity, I would have all that hyped up metabolism and imperviousness to drugs, toxins, and venom that would make their bites a total nonissue.

C'mon, Bro, I'll make you dinner.

I am a humanitarian by nature, though, so for the benefit of my fellow farm hands I’d probably just call my buddy the Batman and have him and his peeps come eat all the bloody demon spawn.

There’s probably a really developed seedy underground in my sleepy town that I could eradicate in my free time, too.

All this was going through my head today in the sweet potato fields when we ran into the Black Widows.  Who live there.  Where we were.  For hours.  Digging up their homes and basically doing things that, if I were an arachnid, I might have strong opinions on.

I am totally going to be a super hero.

Animal Farm

Ohhhhh my gosh, so we have started taking care of the animals....

Animals = deliciousness

Ok so: the farm has 10 acres of organic vegetable production, and we also keep pigs, chickens, and sheep.  Traditionally, the interns have only been associated with the veggie side of the farm, but in the last two weeks, we have started to handle all the livestock chores as well.  This means that every morning someone has to go feed, water, and generally check on the critters, every afternoon we collect eggs, and somewhere in there we move fencing around so that the animals are on fresh grass.

Farm Vision: Creatures!

A few notes on the basic infrastructural of the farm: The livestock were brought in at the get go because of the owner's vision of having a commercially viable small scale animal and produce farm.  Having said that, there were no fenced paddocks or irrigation systems in place for animals.  There's plenty of land, however, so with traditional visionary zeal, the farm decided to just do it and figure it out as they went.

(The fact that I live on the farm right now demonstrates that I am also susceptible to visionary zeal, and just-do-it decision making.  Nike, if you are reading, you should probably hire me.)

We drag the big water tank around on a trailer,
and put a hose into a teeny tiny water pump,
into another hose, into the smaller tank
with the chickens or pigs or whatever.
This is Dumb. 

So in place of pipes and faucets, we have water tanks that take 45 minutes to fill and 45 minutes to empty.  In place of wood-and-nail fencing, we have wires attached to rebar and hooked up to a car battery, and these funny bendy waist high nets made out of soccer netting and good intentions.  They work...ok.

Rouge chicken escapes tiny, bendy, cloth fence.
Story at 11: How Did The Fence Go Wrong?!

Then we got cows, who laugh at our pithy fencing and go where they darn well please.

Well, the cows are moving off the farm and we are actually in process of setting up real irrigation and fencing, but in the mean time, let me tell you what I have learned about farm creatures:

1. Cows are greedy bastards.
Just look at this!  Stealing all the chicken feed, upsetting the hens...Not sorry at all!  Whoever coined the phrase "placid as a cow" never worked on a farm with crappy infrastructure.

Do not assault me!

2. Pigs are the most adorable creatures ever.
When you pull up in the truck they race each other across their pens to come say hi.  They get in wrestling matches.  Like, 2 boy pigs go at it shoulder to shoulder while the next two watch and cheer them on.  And, true story, they sound just like the pigs in Angry Birds. (Side note: pigs don't seem to be into raiding other livestock pens like the dastardly cows, but they do eat eggs.  Ahh, Angry Birds, you must have a maverick research and due diligence team!)   They are also huge, and curious, and playful.  Like, if you drop something on the ground they will take it and back away like a dog begging to be chased.  One girl was refilling the water trough and a pig pulled her pants down.

So maybe playful with an edge of "sex offender," but I think it was all in good fun.

3. I am the chicken whisperer.
Thiiiiiiiiis might not be entirely true, but I was very proud of myself when I went to close the chicken roosts up tonight and coaxed all the hens out of their warm comfy nests.  We keep the roosts closed at night to deter them from pooping all over their eggs, and open them first thing in the morning to encourage laying.  They are not entirely 100% keen on this plan, but they also have brains the size of a pea, so we're not super worried.

The roosts are in movable trailers that we
 spent an hour hitching to the truck
 and dragging 15 feet this morning,
 so that the chickens don't have to live
 in their poop and get sick and die.
We're pretty much doctors.

The roosts are wacky because there are about 60 or 80 for about 250 birds, and each day certain roosts will just be empty and others will have 5-10 eggs in them.  I sort of feel like they're equivalent to public rest rooms, but the birds are pooping out eggs (which I then collect and, as often as possible, eat...so, yeah, I get that it's gross logic, Reader.  I know.).  So they're not really like public restrooms, they're like public birthing rooms.  And the chickens go for the ones with the heaviest traffic.  (Also gross- you're welcome, Reader).

BECAUSE I AM THE ROOSTER!!!

We have one rooster for all these fine ladies.  He thinks he's a big deal both because, as a rooster, that's just in his nature, and also because he has a harem bigger than a sultan.

The pecking order really exists and there are some beat up looking chickens, but I guess that's the natural order or something.  I don't think any of my anti-bullying curriculum would work.

Speaking of "pecking order," all kinds of phrases I've heard my whole life take on a whole new meaning on the farm.  Like calling someone a chicken no longer means they're a coward, but it might mean they're reeeeeally dumb.  The birds barely get out of the way of the car, and they tend to just hunker down when scared, or try and crawl in a hole, or cluck.  On the other hand, saying a group of talkative, gossipy, perhaps naggy women is like a gaggle of hens is spot on.  You gotta coax them out of the roost, gentle as can be, but then they sit around for 10 minutes telling each other, "Did you see what just happened?! She just MOVED me-- I can't believe it!  Who raised her? Did you SEE what she did?!?"

We also have teeny tiny baby adorable
 chickens (that one day we will batter and
 fry and they will be DELICIOUS!)

One did get a little "mother hen and her chicks" with me when I was getting her out of the roost, and tried to peck me.  It was mostly hilarious.  She went in for like, 4 or 5 solid pecks, and even grabbed my sleeve and tried to worry it like a dog, and none of it was painful or effective in the slightest.  Turns out, little lady, you're a chicken-- not exactly nature's perfect killing machine.

*I* am nature's perfect killing machine.

4. Caterpillars are gross.
Ok, caterpillars, aren't gross, but caterpillar infestations where I'm in charge of killing them all ARE gross.  You just reach out and squish them, and they POP (Gross!) and SPRAY THEIR GROSS INNARDS ALL OVER EVERYTHING.  I did a little research on insect blood and why it's green, something to do with chlorophyll, and I don't care at all, it's disgusting.  One or two, fine, but the other day I had to go into the tomato tunnel and it was like the Killing Fields.

This is what I am up against.

There are a variety of caterpillars in residence on our tomatoes, each bigger and grosser than the next, but one in particular is worth mentioning.  He was longer and thicker than any finger on my body, and had a vicious looking spike on his butt.  He looked like he was going to make a cocoon and a hawk was going to come out.  I had to wrestle him to the ground and curb stomp him and when he went POP I decided I was done for the day and was heading home.
G. R. O. S. S.

5. Sheep...?
 I don't really have anything to say about the sheep yet, except that they all stick together and when they run around and jump over things in herds it really looks like counting sheep to go to sleep.

That's all for me, I have to go wash animal off of me.  Bye, Reader!

Country Living

This...looks nothing like my farm.

Ahhh, the peaceful allure of country living.  I am in an edenic haven, nestled in a peaceful sanctuary, surrounded by a whole bunch of nothing.  Just to be clear, I mean…NOTHING.  Well, Mosquitoes.  Occasional alligators, sure.  Um…there’s a Dollar General.  That’s about it.

So, as a born and bred city girl, let me tell you a thing or two about country life:

This is exactly how I feel after about 9 pm,
 and  between 6 am and my second cup of coffee

1. Country people go to sleep at dusk because there is nothing else to do.  Ok, yes, sure, possibly also because they (by which I mean *I*) get up at 6 am to drink a ton of coffee and eat some delicious farm fresh eggs in the attempts to fortify myself for a long hot day of manual labor.  

Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful work, but this ain’t no office job and my soft city behind needs all the help I can get.  After a day on the farm it’s not like I’m dying to burn the midnight oil. 

Having said that, there is no midnight oil.  If midnight still exists, I wouldn’t know anything about it.  If there is oil associated with it, well, they’re fresh out at Dollar General.  Reader, don’t make fun of my Dol Gen—we’ll be getting to that in a moment and you’ll see I might take offense.

 To contend with the abundance of nothing, you come up with some pretty impressive hobbies (For additional research, please see the post: Things My Roommates Do).  Now, I always thought, based on a strong personal background in bad movies and city-held stereotypes, that country folk were up on the weekends tipping cows and maybe setting things on fire.  If this is true, I have not yet been introduced to it (more information below).  Given the complete lack of anything to do, here are my impressive new hobbies:

Q: How many sweeps does it take
to constitute a clean swept floor?
A: At least one more.

·         Cleaning:  Anyone reading this who happens to be related to me will not believe this, but it’s true.  It’s obsessive.  Everything is always covered with dirt, and everyone else here has lost heart—but I have found a string mop and a burning passion to clean.

·         Bringing about the end of Mosquitoes:  Ok, I know we’ve talked about this, but you really don’t know how bad it is—no one does, til you’re out in the midst of them and you feel a panic attack coming on and maybe you want to vomit.  It’s that bad.  Anyway, I have spent some time researching this new hobby, with very disappointing results I might add.  (Thanks, internet. Webpage 1:How to kill mosquitoes: Birds! <click on link> Webpage 2: Birds eat insects.  Lots of birds eat insects.  They eat all kinds of insects.  Yep, they sure do!  Just bunches of them.  We love birds!  Birds are great!”  Fat lot of help that does me; I don’t want general insect eaters that go for any poor shmuck with wings (including my precious dragonflies), I want trained kill birds that only thirst for things that thirst for me. None to be found.)

·         Building furniture:  I had some help with this, and it was actually quite fun—and now we have a coffee table.  And given that my thunder thighs have fallen through one porch chair already, this looks like a skill I should hone.

·         Paper Mache:  We made a piñata shaped like an eggplant!

This show is the bomb.

·         Hulu.com:  Of course we don’t have a TV in the house, because the house is filled with the types of people that move to organic farms and make their own bread.  Myself included, as it turns out.  I can confirm: we don’t own televisions.  Ahhh, but we have laptops… I used to read, and now I’m too tired.  At 32 years of age, I have finally discovered the stupid-box.

That’s all I got so far, but I’m looking into a sewing machine.  Reader, send me hobby suggestions.  Really.  Please.  Please…..

Please.

    2. The Dollar General is the best store ever.  All you people who hate on WalMart but shop at Target, or who have your favorite little corner stores in your quaint neighborhood filled with cute, unique shops, or who, I don’t know, build your own brooms or make your own shoes or something: shove off.  Dollar General wins.

First of all, it’s cheap.  You might have already known this; it’s not called Bank Roll General.

Second of all, they carry Windex, Comet, and Pine Sol.  Remember how I said I’m into cleaning?  Well, I’m also a cleaning snob—I have my brands, and nothing else will do.  Please direct any questions about that point to my mother, or, if she’s unavailable, my sister.  

Finally, there is literally nothing else for 20 miles north or 30 miles south, so if I need toilet paper or a Kit Kat or a string mop at 8:30 at night, I can roll into town, and get it done.
       

     3. Country people are different from not-country people.

Those are VHS cassettes.
In the Gas/Hardware store.
For rent.
I could not make this stuff up....

So, across the street from my beloved Dol Gen, there is a gas station.  It’s at the flashing light that represents my entire town, so you can’t miss it.  Now, this is more than just your average gas station: this one comes equipped with an entire hardware store attached, where clearly nothing has been restocked since the McCarthy Era except the Honey Buns.

However, they have a better selection of cheap beer than Dol Gen (WHAT, you say?  Oh yes—cheap beer and about 10 brands of SUPER sweet wine are available for purchase at Dollar General.  This includes Manischewitz, which sort of balances out the fact that they already have Christmas decorations for sale.) and if you are, say, building a coffee table, the hardware-gas station represents a necessary if unfulfilling stop.

I head on in there the other day and discover two things: First of all, a line.  A line? Because so many other people are also building coffee tables and cannot wait to also be disappointed in the array of finishes and sealants available?  Apparently yes.

Second of all, I got the down-up-eye-roll-look-away look from at least three different people when I walked in. Reader, I want you to imagine the look that city girls start taking their earrings out over.  I want you to picture the look that the kids where I used to work would have interpreted instantly as, “Oh, it’s about to get REAL.”  From three separate, diverse people.

This is not what I looked like.

This is also not what I looked like.

I mean, it’s not like I came straight off the farm and was covered in mud and mosquito carcasses, and it’s also not like I was rocking Prada and Red Bottoms or hollering into my phone about my GTL regime.  Just a girl in jeans and a tee shirt trying to buy some basics from one of the only two stores in a 50 mile radius.

Then the guy behind the counter called the guy in front of me by name and asked him what he was up to that night (Answer: Deer hunting) and I thought, “Ok…they are friendly, curious people…maybe they just do things differently.  They just don’t know me.” Reader, I know you love me, but I also know I take some getting used to.  New hobby: figure out how to make friends and get invited to cow tip and light things on fire.  I’ll keep you posted.

He looked like this

Outside of this store there is always an old dude playing guitar (not kidding) so I think next time I’m going to stay a while and listen and see if I can’t find a way to make conversation. One day it’s going to be me that the guy behind the counter is making small talk with, don’t you worry.  Then I’ll get to answer “What are you up to?” with, “Scrubbing the bathtub,” or “Craft Night!” or some other epic fun.  Til then, I’m off to bed: it’s getting dark.

Country Living!!!!