One year later

The moment I saw this:

11-27-2011

I knew I had to go digging for this:

11-26-2010

Makes me wonder what next year's picture will look like?

Our internet is back up to it's regular nearly-intolerable speed, which is a whole lot better than the all-but-unusable mess I earned us these last two weeks. Funny how you appreciate something a whole lot more once it's taken away. I'll be posting here more regularly again. Tomorrow's project: 10 on 10

Thoughtful gift

You will never, ever guess what my parents got me for Christmas. Not clothes, not cookware, not a fancy suitcase, not even a book or movie.

One Christmas my mom got my sisters and I nutcrackers. You know, the little metal tool you actually use to crack nuts open. Mom laughed and laughed at her own joke while we looked at her like she was crazy, although that really wasn't so unusual.

Anyway...

I know you'll never guess that I unwrapped a shiny, new, gleaming, expensive, sharp, forged steel head, unbreakable handle, lightweight, evenly balanced axe. It has the obligatory caution sticker on it with the usual blah, blah, approved eye protection, blah, blah, blade is sharp, keep from children... and guess what else it says on there? "Use cutting edge for cutting wood only."

Why on earth did I get an axe?

For cutting chicken heads off... obviously. "For cutting wood only", WHATever.

WARNING: There is a headless chicken picture posted below, so don't get all mad at me if things like that upset your delicate stomach, and you chose to keep reading anyway, even though I warned you. It's not a horrible amount of blood, but I'm just saying.

As much as I can, I try to put food that we grew and knew on our table. At times, I admit it can be rather entertaining. Getting this poultry project going was quite an experience. My main goal was to establish a flock of laying hens, but there were a number of roosters that had to be dispatched along the way. There is a good chance we will do meat chickens in the future, and I almost have my husband convinced we should try turkeys too.

This is me last summer, with a freshly beheaded rooster. Don't worry, he earned it, BIG time. I thought about letting the hens eat his testicles, but that just seemed wrong, even though "cruel and unusual punishment" could have been his middle name.


Do I look just a little bit too thrilled?

He was one mean son of a lady chicken.

Yes, I did chop his head off myself, and despite what you'll read below, he was small enough (and I was determined enough) that I did do it ALL by myself.

The axe I used last summer is double sided, with a four foot long wooden handle, and I swear if that thing weighs ten pounds, it weighs fifty. It is absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to hold a chicken's legs in one hand, while stretching it's neck out across a tree stump with a rake, and swing that hefty axe with the other hand. Believe me, I have tried. And even if you could do it, I don't know how on earth you could ever aim that thing properly to squarely hit your target.

The blade on the old axe is also curved, so unless the strike is made in exactly the right place, it won't take a chicken head clean off in one swing. Chickens have a lot of feathers which makes it hard to see where, exactly, to aim. So you see, even though the chicken would feel nothing after the first whack, it's chop, chop, chop... you get the idea. Lots of fun (not really).

So, besides being quite an ordeal, the axe swinging is a two handed job, which by default makes chicken slaughtering a two person job.

Actually there is a way around it, but my chicken slaughtering procedure isn't that streamlined yet.

That shiny axe, it was actually quite a thoughtful gift. Unfortunately, the blade on the new axe is only about five inches long.

Hmmmmm... I think I might return it for a machete.

My Christmas

Beth cancelled You Capture this week for reasons beyond her control. However, I decided to put my photos up anyway since I had them ready.

My Christmas this year didn't feel much like Christmas. We cancelled our travel plans also for reasons beyond our control, specifically, snotty noses and because of this...


...which is a heck of a lot more snow than it looks like. Really fun snow too, for boys of all ages. Following in the snow tradition we have established for ourselves, Daddy uses his snow blower until it breaks. Then he uses the plow on his truck, which thankfully did not break (this time).

It also didn't feel much like Christmas because one by one, all our Christmas decorations were attacked by small children, taken down and put away. By the time Christmas rolled around, we were left with nothing but the tree. The only reason the tree survived is because it's locked away in the sun room. Kid proof.


The boys opened their presents, the little bean ate the wrapping paper, and there was much rejoicing.

Please excuse my on-camera flash, it's been so long since I used it, I just wanted to be sure it still worked (or else my kids get up soooooo darn early I didn't feel like using my brain).


It was a quiet Christmas at home, just the five of us.


Well, quiet except for the kid noise, which alternated between fighting, and happily playing at the speed of boy.

A Christmas poem

Christmas morning as I watched
the snow swirling around on my farm,
I was confident once again
that it could do me no harm.

See, I married a real
do-it-yourself boy,
who even came with
a big four-wheel-drive toy.

Just yesterday he figured out
the corn burner could go
if hooked up to the car (what the heck!)
so I say, "Let it snow!"

We've got heat, we've got eggs,
we have all that we need.
As long as we don't run out of toilet paper
we'll be doing just fine indeed.

We spent half of the morning
eating cinnamon bread,
and the sugar went straight
to the littlest boy's head.

Our dog is curled up
all warm in her den,
while the cat lost his marbles
and slept in the nest of a hen. (really)

Day one of our blizzard
and the snow drifts are already a sight,
but I can still see the barn,
so I think we're alright.

But the wind hasn't yet
hardly started to blow,
so thank goodness we've got
not a darn place to go!

The only problem we have
is that I decided to cook beans,
and when we're all stormed in the house
I fear what that means.

And there's lots more snow coming,
they say that it's true.
So perhaps I'll continue later
with Christmas poem, part two.

Waiting

It's Christmas Eve, and we're waiting.

We're waiting for snow and wind, and lots of it. The kind of snow that falls all night long, and all day long, and all during the following night too. The kind of wind that picks all that snow up from fields miles and miles around, and then drops all that snow when it hits our tree row. You know, on top of our little farm.


The kind of snow that makes my husband wish Santa would leave him a tractor. A real tractor.

I don't suppose that would fit under the tree.

If we really got into the whole Santa thing, I suppose we would be waiting for him too. I understand that there is a place for that magical part of Christmas, but I have a really hard time with Santa, because of the requirement of lying to my kids. I remember when I found out Santa wasn't real. But rather than being devastated that he wasn't real, what I remember was feeling utterly mislead, and intentionally lied to.

All it came to this year was, "Well, some people don't think Santa is real, but a lot of people do believe he's real, because that is fun."

We're also waiting for our coughing and snotty nosed kids to feel better. I wonder if I had kept count of the number of tissues we've used, or somehow had an accurate measure of the volume of snot we've dealt with... would I even want to know?

On the other hand, I've been rather entertained by the baby's snot bubbles.

No, I do not have a picture. But have no fear, I may get one yet.

But mostly, we're waiting to celebrate our Savior's birthday. I wanted to write that we were waiting to "celebrate his birth", but thankfully, that has already happened.

My oldest boy has a hard time understanding that Christmas is only one day. We hear so much that it is Christmas-time, but I keep trying to impress upon him that actually it is Advent. And that Advent is the time when we are waiting for Jesus birthday. We put up the Christmas tree, and do lots of other fun things, because we are excitedly waiting...


Until I had my own little farm, I had no idea hay was such a good insulator. Laying the little babe down to "sleep on the hay" was probably not such a bad deal.

I'll bet that stable was snug and warm, or anyway, better than a car.

Not that I'd know anything about that.

We played the part of the Holy family at our church program the year our littlest boy was born. I joked that Mary would (rather frantically) have to tell Joseph, "pull that donkey over right now, you're going to have to help me!".

Definitely the stable was a better option.

Just think of the commotion they might have otherwise caused. Jesus the King of Kings, born as his mother dismounted a donkey! On the side of a very busy road!

Good thing Jesus kept them waiting until they arrived at Bethlehem.

And we're patiently waiting now too, but just for a little longer.

Christmas program

This one is mine.


We practiced saying "Welcome everybody!", and he knew what he was supposed to do. He said it at home. He said it in the car. He said it at our Wednesday night practice.

But this one has a mind of his own. Oh boy, does he ever.

Perhaps we never had a chance, you see, the other side of his card actually said, "Welome".

He walked right up to the microphone, giggled, put on his very best smile... then grabbed himself and spoke in some strange alien tongue. Twice, because the lady in charge gave him a chance to try again.

Then he sat down, very adorable. But it didn't last long.

Going... going...


Flopping around like a desperate fish.


I was so proud.

(I retrieved him shortly after taking that photo, and he screamed at me. He knew exactly what he was doing.)

This one is also mine.


Last year the only way he would go on stage was attached to my leg, like superglue. And his younger brother said his line for him. Yes, the younger brother who did a dying fish impersonation this year.

Look at him now.

I was so proud.

He stood with the other children and said his line.


He understands the concept of reading, even though he doesn't yet read. He knew his line was written on that blue card. I love how he kept the card in his hand, examining it constantly, and "read" it perfectly.

What a difference a year makes.