The Doors

A quick shot of our neighbors' new carousel milking parlor
Word is the cows love to ride on it.

Normally I open the big double front doors in April. 

I still haven't even taken the blankets and things we use to keep the draft down off yet.

Bah humbug!

Still, I have faith. There will be screen door days and lightning bug nights.....someday....somewhere....just not necessarily here.

Yeah, it's that kinda Day

Apologies

Taken from the landing on the front hall stairway

This is all my fault. See, fool that I am, I washed my down work vest and my fleece go-out-in-public vest and put them away.I should have known better.

So now, the irises that were coming up under the bird feeders are looking kinda black and squishy. Ditto pretty much everything else that was shooting for spring. The dogs came in from their morning constitutional both the same color.....Mack is always mostly white, but Daisy not so much. Ick.

Birding here is rarely dull.....these guys, about a dozen of them,
stop by whenever they get wet to dry out on this dead elm tree.....

There is little to be said except bah humbug and I will say it early and often.

We took a drive in it yesterday....well, actually, when we left home it was cold, but clear and sunny....out to Bass Pro in Utica. Not too many miles to our west we drove into a truly nasty squall. The car was completely coated with slush and ice when we stopped. There were some horrible accidents around, especially that huge pileup down on I 88.

Once there we discovered that fish tank is down for maintenance, which was a bit disappointing, but then Alan bought me a Crossman BB/pellet CO2 pistol, which is very cool. Consider me armed if not too terribly dangerous. 

We took it out to shoot enough so I would be familiar with it, after we got home, but before the storm reached us here. It makes a very satisfactory bang when shot and will no doubt deliver a nasty sting to anything that wants to give us trouble when we are out walking. 

 Beck took Mack out walking Saturday and as soon as they reached the spring where I saw all the coyote tracks last week, he came right to her feet and would not go even an inch away from her. He is usually very bold, but his little tail was tucked right down. Thus the armament.

There is no choice but to either crawl under the heifer pasture fence or walk through there if you want to get out on the hills....and we often do....so we have to pass that way.

Another squall hit here just as the boss and Alan and I went out to split some firewood. We had big plans, but it was snowing so hard my glasses were soon completely covered with snow and I was plastered with a coating of icy pellet stuff so thick it cracked when I bent over to pick up a block. We called it a day after only splitting one skid steer bucket full. No doubt better days are coming...and that much wood will last a little bit. Anyhow, Alan was supposed to have today and tomorrow off, a phenomenon to which we were looking forward quite eagerly, but late yesterday he was called back to work.

To which I repeat bah humbug and heartily too. We so enjoy having him home, but he has a living to make....I guess.

Anyhow, I apologize for bringing this weather down upon us. I should know better than to start putting winter clothes away before June at least. 

Props to McDonald's for using real dairy .
I took this at our local one where we grabbed coffee and food yesterday

The Moon on the Breast of the New-Fallen Snow....

"Gave a luster of midday to objects below...."

Yeah, a snapping, snarling little squall dumped a smattering of snow on us last night. Just enough to make it feel colder than it was, and it was plenty cold enough. Then the wind rattled the trees and scooped up the flakes and gave them the old who-flung.

I came downstairs in the middle of the night and it was bright enough to throw sharp shadows from the trees and through the banister in the front hall. 

It caused me to remember a couple of words from another Christmas classic........

"Bah humbug!"

On Dancer and Prancer, on Dunder and Blixem....
only there were an even dozen there this morning, not just eight
Kind of like spare tires right?
Only spare deers.

Tamias Redux

Why, yes, there is still a chipmunk in the dining room.....despite efforts by much of the family that would have made a good reality show if there had been anyone here to film it.

We moved the hutch. The hutch is large and has glass thingies on top of it, which are (very) rarely dusted or moved. They are now dusted. They are now moved. 

Not unlike honey badger, chipmunk don't care.

Becky went upstairs and retrieved her giant black cat, Demon. Demon is such that I was wishing I could use him to dust as opposed to old towels and Clorox wipes. He is fluffy. He is foofy. And large. He is not particularly interested in chipmunks.

Alan stuffed him under the old green desk, whence he emerged indignant, covered with cobwebs and dust, and sans chipmunk. The chippie simply scurried into the front hall, repository for every object that no one has a place for....for two families....it is not tidy.

Thankfully he later returned to the dining room, where at least there is some hope of someday catching him.

While I was sitting here early yesterday morning he knocked over a bag, which knocked over the baby doggy gate, setting Mack into paroxysms of barking. He hates that gate.

Later he sat on the other side of it cheekily staring at Liz as she drank her coffee.

When, after a day of finding and assisting in the installation of a new washer so we can stop paying off the national debt at the laundromat, I was sitting in my Sunday chair, he ran right up to my feet.

Then he ran right under my footstool. While my feet were on it.

There is talk of glue boards and other trap setups, but we must be safe with a toddler in the house. The air gets a bit blue at times.....I used to like chipmunks.

Tax Time

What tax time feels like

Or at least---catching up on the book work you should have been doing all year so that you are ready for the accountant---- time.

Last year was depressing. Selling the cows was like losing a family member. Having to do days upon days of new and unfamiliar record keeping and creating of accounts and stuff to tell the tale so that the government can get their share was too painful to contemplate.

So I didn't.

Silly me. It didn't go away just because I avoided the office like a root canal.

So now I am in a full time crappy mood, running back and forth from the office to the kitchen...where I can visit the online banking site to try to figure out what the heck I was doing during those ugly times. 

Note to self...no matter how downed out you are, keep putting those notes in the checkbook. You know, the ones that explain exactly why you transferred five bucks from the boss's account to the farm account. Why you gave one of the kids $17 off the farm account. Where that extra $200 in that deposit came from.

Much as I have hated keeping the books, ever since the boss's mom handed me the bills, the check book, and the meager milk check, and signed off on the job in 2001, I have kept careful, faithful, books. Our beloved bookkeeper, who comes and fixes my mistakes and balances stuff for the accountant has always had kind things to say.

Last year I just didn't. I moped and grouched and hid my head in the sand. It was a lousy year and I was a lousy bookkeeper.

Talking to you all here helped and thanks....blogging is a lifeline for me sometimes, taking the place of keeping a journal, which helped me stay sane (or perhaps sane-ish at least) for many years before this.

However, going back through the months leading up to and right after selling the girls is awful. The story of every inch of disaster is laid right out in black and white....and red....lots of red. Who knew that a checkbook could have a plot and a story line?

It makes me sad to see that a reasonably prosperous 2014 for most who remained in the dairy industry looks like being followed by another bad year for dairy folks, one which may be as horrible as 2009...that awful year of disastrous prices that plowed many farmers under and pulled the rug out from under us in a big way.

Okay, there, thanks for giving me a minute to whine. I know that in real life I am downright stupid with good fortune, great family, good place to live, lots of land both wild and tame to enjoy, dogs, cats, a couple cows left in the barn, poultry, ponies, and plant projects for spring...heck I can talk to all my kids every day, ditto my mom and dad, lots of aunts and uncles too. Beautiful brothers with magnificent wives. Lovely granddaughters all over the place......I have nothing to complain about, and as soon as I get the checkbooks caught up I will do my best to rejoice and not whine.

Meanwhile, stay warm and have a great day!

Boycott American Women

Just  call me immature and unchaste and all that

 The comment below showed up overnight on my handy-dandy photo blog, which I use upon occasion to dump photos that are too good not too keep, but too numerous to save forever on my computer.


I am an American man, and I have decided to boycott American women. In a nutshell, American women are the most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don’t know how to cook or clean, don’t want to have children, etc. Therefore, what intelligent man would want to get involved with American women?

American women are generally immature, selfish, extremely arrogant and self-centered, mentally unstable, irresponsible, and highly unchaste. The behavior of most American women is utterly disgusting, to say the least.

This blog is my attempt to explain why I feel American women are inferior to foreign women (non-American women), and why American men should boycott American women, and date/marry only foreign (non-American) women.

BOYCOTT AMERICAN WOMEN!

Do you suppose this is spam? Do you think he knows that I am an American woman? Should I boycott myself? Should I click that link?

Nah, I don't feel like catching anything he is spreading.

But I feel all fat and cheaty now. And unstable. Arrogant, and self-centered.....Yeah, that too.

I guess he told me! 

Anyhow, I will leave it there for today as a source of sneering laughter and satire, and then he is going to get his sorry, insulting, ignorant fanny deleted. Yep. Click.

You Gotta Read This

Long time blog friend Alphecca shared this outrageous overreach of government power this morning. Seems like the feds want you to get a permit before you click that selfie in the wilderness.

I left a comment....for what it's worth...You can too, if you feel so moved. Here is another link Jeff shared with some clarification of the potential ramifications of this one. First Amendment anyone?

Cruel and Unusual

The stolen calves were finally found, but four were dead and the three remaining are not in the best of shape.

This just makes me sick. From photos of the barn where they were stolen, they lived in the best of conditions before they were taken. The place looked clean and bright and comfortable.

Now some jerks, for want of a better term, are alleged to have neglected them unto what was undoubtedly a horrible death.

Calf care is a highly skilled task. They are babies and need consistent and appropriate feed, care, and housing. Every little detail is important. You can just bet the farmer knew what height to place their feeders, what temperature to feed their milk, and what to watch for in the way of problems.

No doubt he understood the necessity for the esophageal groove to close so that the milk went into the abomasum and not the rumen, and how to achieve this goal.

And the need for warm, clean, dry bedding and freedom from drafts and damp. He surely understood animal husbandry. These brutes certainly did not. 

 I hope they throw the book at whoever did this ugly thing. 

Clean Water Confusion

Pink lilacs have nothing at all to do with this story......

Been researching EPA proposed changes to the Clean Water Act. 

Yow! 


Talk about confusing. And dangerous to property rights and national commerce, and especially to farming.

Seems that whenever the government sticks its oar in, the waters get muddy.

I admit to not having read every single word of some of these pages, but even a quick skim will scare you.

Except perhaps that they require water to grow

Or it should.

Some links:

Rapanos v. United States

Update on a National Shame

The Grey Lady weighs in

Fox has its say

Google Books too

The Daily News

American Farm Bureau

I have many more if you are not bored yet. This week I am earning my stipend......

And these clouds contain water...but don't worry...the EPA regulates that too.

Update: Here is another ridiculous overreach the boss brought to my attention.

Working for Uncle Sam

....today, as thousands of folks across America are, particularly small business people.

 So far the phone has been out of order, the printer won't print, and there is a weird smell in the house..............which offered an excuse to at least open up the sitting porch to let in some fresh air. Been closed since last fall.

Robins were not thrilled to have me step out there, but they will just have to deal.

Spent a couple hours fighting with the printer. Old Windows XP computer, old printer, which has always been too complicated to do the simple jobs I need done. Finally got it to print if I only put one paper in at a time. Thank goodness our favorite bookkeeping person is patient with such foibles.

Wish us luck, cuz we are sure gonna need it.

Should I

Enroll in some form of health insurance to meet the Obamacare deadline? Or take the penalty? Everyone else in the family either already has insurance or is young enough to get away with not having it for another year.

I am the only holdout. We stopped buying our own insurance through the milk cooperative when Alan was still in school. Just couldn't afford it, when the premiums went up to over two grand a month. Nothing has happened that would change that....probably eligible for Medicaid from the state, but sure as heck can't crank an insurance payment out of the tiny milk check..

The sign-up for state coverage is insanely complicated. I know this because I did it when Alan was in school and not so healthy, although in the end we never used it. It is not geared toward people who are not on welfare. The people you talk to during enrollment have no idea about farming, how farm income is made and distributed, or anything but signing up people for government handouts who are already getting them.

So, take the penalty when tax time comes? Or go through the hellaciously horrid process of signing up for a government handout?

What would you do? What should I do?

The Storm and the "Holiday" and more Hay Mow Pics

Each dangling strand of hay on the edge of the upper mow had a lovely beard of frost

Liz took me shopping yesterday. 

What an epic tour that was. 

Well, okay, really it wasn't that big a deal, but we felt so intrepid after hearing the hype from every media outlet around.

We even took advice as to whether we should venture into the snow-lashed wilderness. I asked Gus, our friendly new milk truck driver, what he thought about the pregnant lady and the old lady heading off into the wild. He said, "It's not that bad yet. You should be fine."

The storm itself was truly not nearly as bad as threatened. We are kind of on the fringe and other areas got nailed a lot worse. However, the hysteria induced by the media whipping everyone into a frenzy of fear was ridiculous.


Banks were closed. Stores were closing. People were fretting. People were driving sixty on un-plowed roads and whoa!!!!!! Into the ditch with you, and you and you.

We made it home just fine. Jade made it home from way-the-hell-out-west where the trailer he was hauling broke down and almost stranded him on the road all night. Al made it home from working dark-to-dark digging holes in the bottom of the river and filling them back up, with a side tour to say hi to his fiance for a couple of minutes. Becky got home okay from her off farm job and we all got in from the barn in good shape.

I really think today will probably be a lot worse because of the wind.

As for the holiday,..............................................................nuff said. Too old for young love, and I can buy my own chocolate thank you.

Research

Here are some horses that actually often live the way the carriage horses supposedly do

Working on a column about the NYC carriage horses.

Amish horses

Here are some stories I am reading:

What does cruelty really mean

Report from NYC Carriage Horses

Trainer Talk

I'll bet these guys wouldn't mind a heated stable, vacation time, and a vet on call 24-7

Conclusion

If anyone ever raises a statue to Gil the dog, I am calling in these guys.
They do good statue work

You know that uproar last night? When the dog awoke the house in a barking frenzy? When the women leapt out of bed and ran around outside looking for escaped cows, burglars, zombies, errant deer or any other thing that might stir him up that bad?

When the old lady wrenched her knee and raised a great big knot?

Yeah, that fun event....

Was caused in all probability by the barn kitten cavorting on the back porch.

That is all. Thank you, Gil. I will get even, I swear it. Even if it takes a while. See above.

Why Do We Allow

The government, which rarely gets anything right at all ever, to reset our internal clocks, twice a year?

Why? If you search for death rates right after the time change, you will find them up, especially in spring. Car accidents and work place injuries too. We are hardy mechanisms, we humans, but like most other creatures we function best within a framework of routine.

This willy-nilly messing up of our rhythms is bad for us so why on earth do we put up with it?

I dunno, but it seems stupid to me, and the cows don't like it either.

Blinked

Kiss me, I'm Irish

So, one side blinked, the other side didn't. Nobody outside the Beltway won and the big scramble was all for nothing. Lots of big, juicy stories to keep the media in the money, lots of misery for small folks, and a whole new set of expensive mandates that will do nothing to keep us healthy and everything to keep us broke. 

The gloom and rain today here in the Northeast seem quite fitting for the mood. Think I'll go milk a cow...or maybe a dozen.

Higher Taxes

I can hear the TV, droning away in the living room...a place where I spend very little time....

It says the president is insisting on "at least some" higher taxes. Wonderful. Taxes are putting us out of business, to the tune of nearly six grand for just one tax....just one. We may have to sell the cows to pay it, then what...

Try and drag that out of a dwindling milk check, then find money to pay for health insurance, which we haven't been able to afford for at least a decade, and see how "at least some" higher taxes resonates with you.

Is it any wonder that heartland America, the people who drive trucks and grow food and work at ordinary jobs doing ordinary, but necessary work, are frightened? And angry?

Never mind clinging to guns and religion. Far too many of them are trying to cling to their homes, and businesses, and to their very lives. Drive around this area and look at all the houses with peeling paint, shaggy lawns, and beat up cars in the driveway. Half a decade ago, many of them were lovely homes, with manicured landscaping, and decent vehicles. Not rich people, just American people, living the dream.

Look at them today. Lay offs everywhere....not just on the news...real people talking in stores and gas stations right here in town. Hours cut to avoid the health care penalties. The boss and kids bring home stories every day. People are hurting.

Wake up Washington. Stop looking for places to throw money, tighten your belt, and listen to America. Your people are restless.

Can you tell that the remote control is broken, so the boss has to get up to lower the volume, so I have no choice but to listen to that stupid idiot box blaring away? 

Still, the bad news is real, and it is affecting people we know right along with us. And there is no reason for it.

Shocking New Image of Congress Critter

Never Let Down

Your guard. Received my stipend from the paper this week and opted to spend it on groceries. Thus, after the many storied joys of shopping, we started milking a bit late.

Well, more than a bit. We were a good hour plus late to let the ladies down in to eat and equally askew in the hour of putting them in the barn.

Just about dark.

Becky, who was letting them into the barn two or three at a time, so we can get the new little SWD Valiant* daughter safely into her new stall calls out to us.

"Cows are going up the hill." She hollers.

No big thing. Sometimes when they finish the feed they head back to pasture. They generally realize their mistake and come back down in a minute.

"Cows are going up the hill," she calls again.

Well, yes all right, we'll get them in a minute, just let us get the rest of them locked up in their stalls.

Then she barged into the barn in a grump and stomped off up the hill.

The other hill.

Some rotten little somebody had jumped on top of the gate that leads to the rest of the farm and bent it beyond redemption. A good third took advantage and ran off.

I won't bore you with the hour-and-a-half at least details of the chase. I stayed at the barn at the broken gate to keep the remainder of the ones who didn't get out and don't go in the barn confined. And to direct traffic when the runaways returned

Beck and the boss ranged over hill and dale, through head-high thistles and burs, in the dark, chasing the naughty beggars. 

It took a long, awful time. Eventually the escapees stampeded into the barnyard and stood, heads up, breath whistling, and obviously thinking, whoa, that was fun!

Tails full of burs are so nice at milking time. The better to beat you with, my pretty.

I felt so bad about being at the barn while they ran and tripped and stumbled and swore that I bought them sundaes for supper. Ice cream will cure a lot of ills and even if if it doesn't wipe off the bramble scratches, it does help you forget about them.

Worst of it was, as soon as those that were milked were turned back outside, they ran right up to the gate that they broke, ready to do it all again.

Joke's on them. The boss hung a monstrous feeder gate in its place. Awful heavy to open and close, but if they jump that we'll put them under saddle and take them to the Maryland Hunt Cup.  Won't we be famous then.
  

Chasing cows sure gets old fast.

*Have I mentioned finally having a daughter of the great old bull SWD Valiant? No? Guess I've been keeping quiet so as not to jinx her. I have waited over thirty years for this.