Wheat Field Farmers

We just finished silage and will get a good start on wet corn and beans soon, very soon. 

 I thought it fitting to share a few photos of...WHEAT harvest.

 

Only a month behind.

 

These are a few of my favorite things (Sound of Music voice, please)...

 

{The colors}

 

 {My husband and his big, green tractor (sing-song voice again, please)}

{My son and the confidence he gains when he gets to run the grain cart (the machine in the next pic)}

 

 

{Don't know why I love this pic...just do}

{Dirty faces}

{Kids running for a ride in the combine...and the conversations shared that won't be forgotten}

 

 

{The beautiful, blue sky that shows us just how small we are in this world}

 

 

Gosh darn we're blessed.

-Becky

Yellow

Raise your hand if you are familiar with the term "calf-scours". 

Now raise it even higher if you know what it smells like!  YUK!!

 

If you didn't get to raise your hand, prepare to be enlightened.  Scours is basically diarrhea in baby calves - NOT A GOOD SITUATION - EVER!  And it smells even worse than it sounds...can make a grown farmer cry when coming into contact with the stuff.  And it has a lovely drab yellow tone. And it's the exact color this house was painted when I moved in after we got married.

 

The poor lady who chose the color, painted every out building the same golden hew - even the barbed wire fence.  God bless her soul.

 

Needless to say, for the first 13 years of our relationship I had banned from our home and yard anything that looked like it might be YELLOW.  However, for our wedding the roses were yellow....hmmm. 

 

But now I've found a love for the color.  Check out the dresser.

 

Here's the ugly pic from my dumb phone of the $10 chest-

 

Finished.

Painted with a bright yellow paint...I mean BRIGHT!

Sanded.

Waxed with a Jacobean-colored furniture wax.

New handles.

Took the brassy things off the middle of the drawers.

{Yes, I saved them!}

 

Looks good with the hollyhocks.

Looks even better in our dark blue bedroom. 

 

Yellow's not so bad.

Becky

Bling!

The girls needed new work coats.  Dark brown and light brown were their options.  #3 was less than thrilled about her choices.  Taking the "glass half full approach", she chose the light brown one so that she could BEDAZZLE IT!!!!

...and BEDAZZLE she did.

 

Hoping your last day of May is warmer than ours...

 

Becky and the Cattle-Working Crew

Working Cattle

It's been a while since I've been inspired to share anything on this forum.  Then many wonderful and surprisingly entertaining thoughts/ideas popped into my head.  The first of these was a photo journal of our family "working" a pen of cattle.  Ya don't just see that everyday...or do you? 

It was then that I chose to check in on my Bestie in Nebraska to see what she had been talking about...you guessed, didn't you?  Working THEIR calves!  Ugh.  I thought I had an original idea.  Not sa much.

I will give J. credit for being first but I have to share our side of the coin since I edited all of those stinkin' pictures.

Here we go-

 Prop open the gate to desired pen of cattle in a mechanical engineering kinda way...

...with a stick.

Hide behind the tractor until they start to come out of the pen.

Wait for the cattle to come out of their pen.

The arrow points to where the photographer (me) was... then they needed my professional help to chase the rest of 'em out.

Now it's time to get these boys moving in the same direction towards the alley and working chutes {up between those two silos, in other words}.  I often times find myself talking to them like Babe talked to the ewes, "Now, if you fine gentleman would kindly walk up the alley in an orderly fashion, I would be forever grateful."  This dialogue is happening in my head.  My fellow cowboys would look at me with disgust if I actually said it out loud.  That's ok.  The cattle KNOW ME.

They are in the alley ready for their tiny little shot to keep them healthy, make them strong, and most importantly, TASTE GOOD. 

 That was cold.

Keep in mind, they haven't been fed yet and it's almost 9:00am. 

Most of them are as pissed off as #1088 here. 

 "They move better if they are hungry."  Tell him that when you're down in the alley with all 1100# of him.  Oh no. Wait.  It's ME that's down in the alley with him.

Oh look...the princesses have arrived...apparently, there was a uniform today.

AND we mustn't forget the basketball.

Pregame talk with Dad.

Thoughts here:

a. No, he didn't go to the "Final Four".  We shop at Goodwill.

b. The kid with the stick has no idea what his dad is saying at this point.

c. The ladies are thinking about doughnuts and how much longer 'til we can go make sumthin' outta duct tape.

Getting the job done.

Fast forward 90 minutes.  Done.  Cattle are back in their pen eating their breakfast. 

Another Saturday morning.

The next three photos are what you get when you hand the 6 year old the camera when you are busy and say, "Put this in the pick-up for me."

Happy trails-

Becky

Opie

It's calving season - my favorite time of the year. 

Some years can be extremely difficult - mostly weather related. Others are as smooth as chocolate pudding and entice you to buy MORE cows for next year!  This is one of those years. 

 Thank Goodness.

However, when Dad comes in and says we had twins, it isn't said with enthusiasm but with some disdain.  One would think that, hellooo, you get TWO calves.  Isn't that better than one?  Not really.  We usually take the weakest of the two away from mama so that she can raise

ONE BIG STRONG HEALTHY BEEF WAGON

and we keep junior as a "bottle calf" until we can find him a new mama.

Here's the only "weakest one" we've had this year (so far).

Opie...

Just born...kids are drying him off and I'm trying to get him to stand up on his own. 

 He weighed in around 80 pounds.  Hard on this chick's back.

Me covered in birthing goo. 

 I didn't even touch my own babies until they'd had a bath. 

Kidding.

The reason I don't get manicures.

My sister calls my hands "man hands".  It took a lot for me to show you these meat hooks.

After he sucked, he was sent to the nursery pen for some toddler TLC.  Works every time. 

Keeps the toddler busy, too.  Win, win.

He gets three of these everyday for awhile.

Then he becomes a playmate for some...acting like the family dog at times...well, except for the fact that this dog likes to suck on everything. 

 NEVER, EVER, EVER wear clean clothes when feeding a bottle calf.

A neighbor lady once told me that no matter how hard we try, "when us farm women go to town we're always gonna have s*#t on us somewhere".  True story.

Opie.

ahhh...farmlife.

Becky

Smell that?

Here we are at #1's Saturday morning basketball game.  All is going splendidly until...

Me:  sniff, sniff...hmmm.  Someone smells a little ranchy. {I said that in my head in my best church lady voice.}

Me: {surveying the area to pass judgment on the one who apparently doesn't know how to wash clothes after feeding/bedding/checking cattle}

Me:  {realizing that the only ones in sniffing distance are town folk}

Me:  {panic a little when realizing that the only people sitting in the bleachers that could smell THAT bad would be members of MY 7!}

Me:  {not paying any attention to the game now knowing that everyone else is passing judgment on my stinkin' kids and my mothering abilities.  But that's ok because now I have a plan - when we get home EVERYTHING is going in the washing machine - on hot - with extra rinse - baking soda - and extra fabric softener.  If Febreeze can't kill it, nothing can.}

That's what we did. Washed everything and the kids went through all the hats and gloves to get rid of the misfits that needed to be culled. Why do we have 12 extra left handed gloves? It was a snowy day and it provided some unforeseen fun.

No, she doesn't have premature lack of hormone induced facial hair.  It's chocolate milk.

I even played along.  Not very becoming but hey it was a snow day.  Don't expect pretty.

Who knew sorting hats and gloves could be so fun?

This one didn't help.

Unfortunately,"ranchy" is what we smell like nine times out of ten. 

 But for a day...we smelled April Fresh!

Becky

Weight Schmeight

 Before I begin:

My apologies for addressing this ugly subject, but I had to use these great cow pictures.

Onward:

If you know that by the end of the holiday season you are going to feel a bit wide through the middle like this old gal...

Check out this chick's blog to help you mind your intake.

Roni's Weigh

and her food blog...

Green Lite Bites

She's inspirational and REAL!!

Keep the Chex Mix and Divinity binging to a minimum so that we can maintain our svelte bikini beach bodies.

My goal from November 1 to January 1 is to not be consumed by social eating extravaganzas.  I can do this!  I CAN weigh the same on January 1 as I did on November 1. 

Who's with me?

Let's start exercising BEFORE Jan. 1st.  That way we don't look quite so cliche at the gym in Jan.

Or we could make cookie dough and watch Christmas Vacation while eating every last wonderful spoonful.

What's it gonna be?

I'm still on the fence-

Becky

Bales

Harvest is done and now comes everything that has to be done before winter sets in.  Mike baled cornstalks until 10:30 last night.  Now we have to bring the bales home.

Hauling bales with a pick-up and two rail trailers really isn't a tough job.  However, in some situations it can be treacherous.  These possibilities of danger are amplified when performing job responsibilities with a two-year old in the backseat. 

{She did her own hair.  "No, me do it!"}

Let me preface today’s story by letting everyone know that #5 has been diligently trying to master the art of putting on her own mittens.  Now you’re up to speed for the rest of the story.

This is the first year we’ve farmed this particular piece of ground.  Therefore, the first time I’ve hauled bales from there to the feedlot.  When Mike asked if I could help, I said “sure”! (maybe not that willingly, but it looks good on paper)  Then I drove over there.  I forgot about “the big hill.”  It’s tough enough to pull 12 BIG bales of stalks up the hill, but having them push you DOWN the hill is another story.  I'm totally being a girl here.

Before the journey even begins, I can play in my mind the exact happenings if something went terribly wrong on my way back to the feedlot from the field: a cornstalk bale carnage, if you will.  Bales everywhere, me afraid to call the farmer, rail trailers bent all to hell, two-year old screaming, myself crying, farmer shows up, MORE crying …  Get the picture?

This grade may not look like a big deal to some of you; but to a forty-something flatlander farmwife it’s as intimidating as the giant slalom is to a twenty-something mountain-raised Olympic skier.  Seriously.

Clearly, I’m nice and relaxed when I get to the field.  I did have a little down time before the farmer and his pay loader showed up.  I perused the latest issue of Vintage Victorian (or something like that) to calm my nerves.

We’re loaded.  Good to go.  Time to scoot.

 I tootle along through the first two miles singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” and approach the crest of THE BIG HILL with caution.  I brake steadily and wind down to a nice kinda Dodge Ram kinda crawl. 

As we begin our descent to the valley below, number 5 says, “Fum in der.”  Let me translate:  “Thumb in there!”  She’s found some mittens and was able to get her thumb in the right spot all by herself.  She’s proud and I wasn’t listening.  She knew I wasn’t listening…

“Fum In Der!”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

“FUM IN DER!”

“I know, I see.” 

(I really didn’t – my eyes were fixed on my course.)

“FUM IN DER!!!!!!!”

…no response from me…still trying to drive and stay married.

Due to my lack of attention, she starts screaming.  I’m almost crying.  I do my best to ignore her.

 I reach the bottom; the sweet, sweet bottom of the hill.

She picks up her pretend “Cars” phone.  Sobbing,, quietly, deep breaths, (you can picture it) she says, “Daddy, come git me.”

I couldn’t have been happier that Daddy didn’t have to “come git us”.

Navy Seals should train with a two-year old in their backpack.

Becky

Harvest

A few random end of the season farming thoughts...

Corn harvest is winding down.  A good feeling for our guys. I'm listening to the trucks roar by our house as they try to get a field done late into the night.  They work so hard to keep this "well-oiled machine" operating at maximum efficiency.  I tell Mike from time to time that I sure couldn't do what they do ...together...as brothers...as sons...as uncles...as nephews.  Their father is so proud.  I'm grateful for their efforts.  We lead a darn good life.  Exhausting at times but darn good. 

It's been a great year.  Almost perfect growing and harvesting conditions. 

I only had my camera with me a couple days during bean harvest.  These pics were taken about a month ago.  The colors, oh, the colors!

Supper in the field.

Lasagna - can you tell?

Talking over what they might do next, who they will ride with, how they'll do it different when they "get big", and "Hey, you gonna eat that cookie?"

Wonder what she's thinking about. 

So long harvest.  So long fall.  Time to keep things safe and warm 'til spring comes again.

Winter IS coming. I've been in denial.

  Maybe this weekend I'll put my patio furniture away.

Becky