Wandering

"This is a moon rock," she said.  "Yeah, it's a moon rock because it looks like the moon and it came from the moon.  It fell off of it while it was sleeping and landed here."

My first thought on Wednesday evening was that I would drop little man off with his dad to make some rounds on the tractor with him while he was seeding winter wheat.  I would then proceed home for a while with the little lady and get some chores done so that life might not be so chaotic as we prepared to leave for Missoula later in the week.

My second, infinitely better, thought was that he would ride the tractor, while her and I explored the Green Trail looking for treasures of yesteryear.  The Green Trail is a two track dirt road extending from Brockway to the west.  Largely abandoned except for the occasional farm vehicle or fall hunter, it meanders straight west up and down hills, undoubtedly tying together many paths of history.  And like most dirt road two track trails around here, every year brings a new crop of rocks, bullet shells, long lost tractor parts, and with enough patience and the right eye, tools of the native trade:  scrapers, rocks that have clearly been manipulated by human hand and arrowheads, the greatest find of all.

As my girl and my dog and I walked that evening, we found the most beautiful rocks and had the most beautiful conversations.  From moon rocks to talking about her Grandpa Bob losing the shells and tractor pieces (and how happy he would be if he knew that we had found them), I was reminded that I need to take more time to stop and smell the roses freshly planted soil and the hint of smoke in the air from the wildfires preparing to die in the mountainous areas west of us.

I sometimes mourn the fact that we live almost 1,000 miles from the ocean.  Walking along though with my head turned downward in true beachcomber fashion, I realized that these roads, these hills, these are my beach.  Just as you can see to the horizon and dream about what is beyond as you look across the ocean, so too can I see to the horizon and dream even more deeply and wildly about what lies beyond.  I know that there is way more than just water. 



Time...marching on.

2003

 Danish Cowboy started this tradition years ago and didn't really realize that it was a tradition until just recently.  I have married a man who believes greatly in the karma of tradition and here goes his philosophy:  since we started taking pictures of us in the winter wheat fields just prior to them turning to those amber waves of grain that everyone likes to talk about, hail has stayed away.  For the most part.  So we carry on...

 2005

 2005

While we're out there, we also inspect the wheat to see if it is filling and how many grain rows it has.  There's this idea that the number of rows/kernels per head on average is a good indication of the potential yield of the crop.  It's called counting your chickens before they hatch and it's pretty hard to resist doing.

 2007

The fun part of taking winter wheat pictures is the thrill of walking in to often times waist to chest high wheat where rattle snakes might lurk.  Note the pitchfork he carried to kill any wayward snakes this year.  We lecture repeatedly to ourselves and our kids:  "don't walk in the tall grass!"  So what do we do?  Walk in to the tall grass.

2007

 For added fun in this particular year, we sent the uber-pregnant lady in with the pitchfork. 

2008

 The year after the babes were born, we somehow forgot picture taking in the winter wheat field prior to it ripening.  I can't imagine why.  It's not like we were delirous from lack of sleep.

 2009

Ah yes, 2009.  My favorite year by far.  The kids were almost two and their heads were only a foot below the wheat.  I had the fantastic idea to abandon them in the field to get cute pictures.  You can imagine how that turned out.  You tell your kids who are just beginning to explore their world to not go in the tall grass because of snakes and then you abandon them in tall grass.  True, we were only a few feet away, but it didn't really matter to them.  Brilliant parenting.

2010

 We've learned the power of bribing, however, and pictures are gradually getting better. 

 2011

Self-timers on cameras are excellent features.  The hail has stayed away for now although several neighbors a few miles to the south lost a significant portion of their crops.  Harvest is two to three weeks in the future and we'll keep watching the western sky, hoping that the karma of our tradition keeps those clouds friendly.

 Just a curious sidenote:  how can it be that two children of the same age and origin can be so very different?  She hams it up at every opportunity.

And him?  Well, can you just the see the agony in his face as he musters up the energy to say "cheese?"  It's tough being a kid, sometimes. 

Bummer!

One of the many reasons that I love living where I do.  Animals give kids a sense of responsibility and a good work ethic.  Thunder and Boomer (the calves) are our two bums that my kids and my two nieces are raising this spring and summer.  It has been a delight to watch them gain confidence by interacting with them.

Traditions

 I set out with this post to tell a story about Easter.  This curious mind knows the Christian version quite well, but that story doesn't really tell you where the word and the traditions come from.

 Turns out it's not so simple.  As with many things in our world, there are lots of stories to go around.  Most of them are valid, some not so much.  Traditions start, people move, events happen, cultures assimilate and change.  We believe the stories that provide us with the most meaning, the ones that are the most plausible in our mind's eye.

Easter egg dying has a history that dates back to the time before Christ was even born. Or to the 13th Century, take your pick.  Either way, the egg has been revered as a symbol of rebirth and renewal for many generations.

And as for the word Easter?  The foundation for that depends on which translation you prefer the most.  Eostre, a goddess in Norse mythology, represents the sunrise and the spring.  The East, where the sun rises, is named for her.  It's easy to get to "Easter" from here.  Another version of the origin of the word Easter is that the celebratory word "alba" used to represent the resurrection of Christ was translated in to the German word for sunrise "ostern" and from there it readily converts to the English usage of the word as "Easter." 

The people over at PAAS have been helping people celebrate whatever version of Easter they choose to believe in for over a century.  Did you know that they named their company after the Pennsylvania Dutch word for Easter which is Passen?  I didn't either!

 I really don't think you can go wrong when you can get super concentrated food dye, stickers, clear wax crayons, glitter, shrink warp, cardboard egg wrappers AND a handy egg tray AND copper egg dippers for $2.99.  Try to find me a craft project for that price that provides two hours of fun and you'll be searching for a long time. 

What's even better is that in the many years since I've dyed eggs, the colors have gotten more exciting and the glitter that you dump in to the egg dye cups is a really nice touch.

I love sharing my childhood traditions with the kids.  We all had fun, they took great pride in what they made, and I have lunch all planned out for today even though it's only 7:30.

Egg salad, anyone?

The Expert

Having grown up on the prairie, all that Danish Cowboy really knows of sledding consists of short hills and pulling a sled behind a four wheeler or a snowmobile.  Having grown up in central Pennsylvania, I know more.  A lot more.

I know so much in fact, that I would consider myself an expert.  I've always wanted to be the awesomest at something and now I've figured out what that is.  I am an expert sledder.

I've been downhill sledding since I can remember.  It started out with long treks to the water tower at the top of the highest hill in our neighborhood and then progressed to really long runs down the hill behind our church.  In late elementary school and middle school, my friend Becky and I (along with our dogs) would spend hours sledding.  We stayed out until the ice collected in such huge balls on our dogs' legs that guilt would force us inside.

There were no snowmobiles to pull us up to the top of the hill back then and we could read a run or build a snow jump with the best of them.  So when Danish Cowboy suggested we trade in our farm yard snow piles for the challenge of the rock hills, I was all in.  He (of course) snowmobiled out there with the kids.  I snowshoed.

Let's just observe right now that there were no pictures taken on Sunday.  There was no time when my expert knowledge had to be relied upon.

When I got to the site that Danish Cowboy chose for the kids' first real sledding experience, I looked up.  Straight up.  Honest.  Here was my husband about to send my children over a 10 foot cliff.  So maybe it wasn't 90 degrees, but the drift was very close to near vertical.  I didn't say a word.  'Tis best to keep your mouth shut and let the lesson teach itself in these sensitive situations.

He sent the little guy over the first time with great success, great luck and a cheer at the end.  He sent him over again and there was a minor wrist injury that was easily healed with a little sympathy and a quick kiss from Mom.  He sent the little girl over and she went cheek first into the snow that had by now developed an icy crust due to the warm weather.  I gently suggested that maybe we should find another hill.

He gently reminded me that we were on the prairie and hills were in short supply.  Both kids refused to go down the hill again.  I refused to go down the hill.  It was so steep that even an expert was wary of it.

The rock hills that no doubt marked the spot for so many homesteaders before us are thankfully composed of multiple hills, so we loaded up the snowmobile and snowshoes and moved south.  He drove straight towards another steep hill, this one with rocks strewn about and then I proceeded to regale him with my sledding knowledge and we opted for the gentler hill, the one without rocks for them to hit, the one that might be fun for a three year old.  And what fun they did have.  They caught a little air, the run was pretty long and there were no major spills caused by cliff-diving off of snow drifts.   I might be useless at tractor driving and cattle-whispering, but sledding is where it's at.  The expert is on duty.

Thanks, Mom!

I don't remember very many Halloween nights when I actually went trick or treating.  I remember the feeling of excitement, the avoidance of certain scary houses, the dumping of the candy on the carpet when I got home to inventory the loot. It was a much anticipated holiday for me.

I do remember one Halloween in particular when I was in high school.  The marching band had a Thursday night practice that fell on trick-or-treat night and we decided that there would be a costume contest amongst all the different instrument groups.  The flute/piccolo line chose to be Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  Being the gangly brunette in the bunch, I got to be Snow White. 

We didn't buy a Snow White costume that year.  My Mom instead took a tank top, some flowy material for sleeves, and the most hideous yellow polyester for the skirt then turned it in to the most wonderful princess dress that you ever did see from found materials.  I still wonder why she had that yellow polyester, but it worked.  It truly did.

 

I didn't realize the seriousness of the Snow White costume making situation until this year when I became inspired during a bout of insomnia and headed down the slippery road that is constructing your children's costumes all by yourself.  I had put the finishing touches on the tractor and the cowboy told me that he wouldn't wear it without a loader bucket.  My little cowgirl refused to put her vest/skirt combo on for more than five seconds.  Halloween approached with great trepidation on my part, but the kids came through.  

They wore their costumes well on Sunday night.  Cowgirl wandered around the dark streets of Circle, daydreaming as usual, with glitters here and there from her rhinestones.  Cowboy took his job of holding the tractor up very seriously.  He even learned how to negotiate curbs pretty quickly.  I learned a lot this Halloween about sewing, cardboard crafting, the weird nature of spray paint intended for tractors.  Most importantly though I learned about this Mom thing:  you do whatever you can to keep your kids happy and it feels really good to do it.  It might be making costumes or it might be as simple as giving them an apple and letting them snuggle up to an episode of Curious George once in a while.  Maybe it's just laying with them for a few minutes at night before they go to sleep and quietly talking about life's adventures.  This Mom thing;  it's the best job in the world.  

Autumn Adventures

When the frost has knocked the plants to a deep winter's sleep,

and there is no more wheat left to reap,

 

We leave our farm yard on foot and bike,

introducing the kids to the art of a short little hike.

The hay yard to the north is a favorite spot,

the perfect distance for an evening jaunt.

Tons of hay, tons of barley, rows of straw and homestead history, too

And all around us the great Big Sky of blue.

Believe it or not, whatever you read or see:

There's a lot more to life out here than us just being "flyover" country.

Jesus & the Peanut Butter Egg

There's probably not a passage in the bible that says "thou shalt distribute multi-colored eggs filled with candy and goodies on the day before Easter,"

but by golly, I love this tradition! My kids have been practicing for weeks and though they have now tired of Easter Egg Hunts and the pressure to perform, we'll certainly look forward to them next year.Yes, even though one got cactus stuck in her pants and we were the last family to the finish (we couldn't leave any eggs uncollected, of course), it was a delightful experience.And for the parents like myself, I'm also thankful for that little known passage in the bible that decrees "thou shalt consume peanut butter eggs during March and April."
I can remember as a little kid looking forward to going to church during Lent because there was the possibility that it would be our week to take home a peanut butter egg. We probably received more than one peanut butter egg during the season in those early years, but they disappeared so quickly that the number seemed minimal. When my dear mom sent me six (yes, six!) of these eggs this year, it seemed as though I had hit the jackpot. But there was something different about them.

I remember a peanut butter egg in a generic piece of waxed paper stapled shut. A permanent marker was then taken to them to denote either a C for coconut or P for peanut butter. There were no ingredients listed, no display of origin. Back then, parents had to be responsible for discerning that a peanut butter egg did indeed have peanut butter in it, so they had best not let their allergic child consume it.

Oh, how the times have changed! They are now hermetically sealed with a distinct listing of ingredients. Thank goodness today's parents no longer have to worry about their child consuming peanut butter AND the staples in the wax paper.

I really don't care how they arrive, though. The packaging is quite nice and the peanut butter egg is still to die for! Creamy on the inside with just a hint of chocolate. As in days of old, we slice the peanut butter egg in pieces so as to save some for later. We then become surprised when, 45 minutes later, the entire egg has been consumed. No worries, though. Danish Cowboy says that there's peanut butter in them, so they're not that bad for you.

Thanks for the present, Mom and Dad!

Weekend Education

The weekend is over and what an eventful one it was. I feel fortunate that it was also an informative one for me. Here's what I learned: Number one is that spring is here. The bunch grasses are slowly greening up around their crowns, the animals are wandering farther from their hay in search of fresh pasture. The whole prairie will soon turn from a monotonous shade of brown to a verdant green.

The number two item that I learned from my kids is that I can make a calf. It's true. Danish Cowboy and the kids were out on the tractor on Friday evening feeding. A cow was having a very difficult time calving and had become hiplocked (the calf's hips fail to pass through the mother's pelvis). Danish Cowboy motioned me out on the four wheeler and while he took it back to the barn to gather the necessary equipment to help the calf out, the cow laid down on her side and began pushing. I pulled mightily in time with her contractions and out popped baby calf, much to the kids' delight! I was told all weekend that I had made a baby calf. Such powers! And then I ran a different cow through the fence and we had to fix the mess that was made. However, I promptly returned to gloating over my calf-making abilities all through dinner.The number three item I learned is that apparently, unbeknownst to me, I am pregnant. Unlike my calf-making powers, this is not true. You can imagine my mother-in-law's surprise when she heard second-hand that she was going to be having another grandchild. You can imagine Danish Cowboy's surprise when he learned (third-hand?) he was going to be having another kid. And you can imagine my eyes rolling uncontrollably when I learned (fourth-hand?) that I was with child. No word yet on when the kid is due or if it is even limited to one kid. I'll keep you posted if I hear anything.

Number four revelation for the weekend: Having potty trained twins is awesome.

Yes, awesome with one exception. When you live in the country there are few restrooms available and they learn early on that sometimes you have to go potty al fresco. And then they decide that EVERY time they go potty, it should be outside. So when I leave them outside to play for a few minutes all by themselves, I can rest assured that one will soon be squatting in the gravel and the other will be delightedly seeing just how far he can make that stream reach.
Much like Lewis and Clark in this very same region 200 years ago, they are constantly searching out new places to mark their territory.
After all, the cows seem to consider the world their restroom, why shouldn't we?

Stuck

When you have cabin fever, your sense of humor becomes warped. You find yourself laughing hysterically at your children when they are so bundled up that they can't see anything and they have shuffled themselves into a very deep snow drift. You tell yourself that they look like an image from South Park and giggle some more and take some pictures before your rescue them.

And then your husband wonders why you haven't written anything on your blog in almost two weeks. And you tell him there's nothing to write about unless people want to hear stories of how I shake the thermometer, begging, pleading it to rise above zero degrees Fahrenheit,

and that my days have recently been sent sorting through the family history, some of which is not so much history as weird memories and most of which is truly history and a remarkable tale in images and words of how a family came from all points of the globe in the fairly recent homesteading past to create what we are experiencing today. You tell your husband that until you sort through these pictures and stories and get them ready to share with the world, there just isn't much interesting stuff going on.

"Then why don't you write about there being nothing to write about," he says.
Brilliant!

Did you know that the term cabin fever was apparently first associated with people who got sick in Ireland because they ate potatoes that were too wet after an especially moist growing season? I didn't either and I'm a little leery of that fact.

I am fairly confident, however, that cabin fever does relate to people being stuck inside for far too long due to unfavorable weather conditions in the great outdoors. It can cause them to do goofy things and, I have a hard time believing this, become irritable.
Now don't get me wrong, I love winter. I love snowshoeing and seeing the wildlife come in closer to the house. Hearing the coyotes howl on a cold star-filled night sends chills down my spine. What I do not love is when the thermometer does not even register because it is so cold and the vehicle whines when you start it and the wind blows and the weathermen tell us that even five minutes of skin exposure will cause you to become a frostbitten snowman.
With the busy growing season just around the corner, we recognize that winter is good for family time. And no matter what your lot in life is, we can all use more of that.