My Favorite Things

For fifty-one weeks of the year I am a farmer, or at least a full-time farmer's wife, all farming, all the time.

I let myself not think about cows and bills and weather and grass and food politics for a few hours on Sundays, but the rest of the time farming is who I am and what I do.

.....In cast you hadn't guessed........well, I write a little too, but it is usually about farming so I don't think it counts as an adventure.

However, for one week, one very short, magical week, I let go of all of that. I do not read newspapers, newsletters, bills, or anything but novels and stories and the state fishing laws.

Whatever kids are available....although they are really not kids any more....go camping. Not subsistence camping with a blanket, a pan, and some matches, but fun, cool, old-fashioned cabin-with-a-porch-that-hangs-out-over-the-lake camping.



It is sweet. I revert to who I used to be before I dipped my toe in dairy farming and found the water warm and bubbly.

There are frogs and loons and fishing lures. I have a thing for fishing lures and have a tackle box full. For most of the year it sits in the closet, plastic worms melting into one another to form a rubbery, funky-smelling mess, hopefully not engulfing any of my "good" lures. Then out it comes and I paw and peek through the drawers and trays. Jitterbug-check.  Flatfish-check. That cool metal thing we found on the bottom one year-check. Yep all still there. I love my toys. I rarely catch any fish with them, but I love them. Al says he debated whether to replace my getting-kinda-wonky phone for me or get me a new pole for my birthday. Came down on the side of the pole and some Rapalas and it was the right decision....

Yesterday was tackle box day. Next week is camping week. Doing double duty on the farming thing this week to clear the decks for next. Maybe the books will be up to date. And maybe I will say the heck with it and do it later. Not like it really matters, just feel guilty if I don't have it done.