The story of a girl who bought the farm, the horses and a backhoe.
by Billie on August 10th, 2008 • 2 Comments »
Can you hear it?
I don’t think that I am imagining it…
I think that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir has come to town and is singing the Hallelujah chorus in my pole shed.
Hay Stacking, Summer 2008 has come to a close! We have over 2500 bales put up, and in desperation gave the last two wagon loads to my friend Jennifer in recognition of all of her help… oh, and because not only is the pole shed full, I just can’t face stacking any more!
Next year, I believe that I will investigate cup stacking as a new hobby and will feed my horses nothing but the finest rice cakes.
Even having worn gloves, my hands are slightly swollen, blistered in places and sore from the constant bite of strings into my flesh. My knees ache from constantly stepping into the inevitable holes between hay bales. My abdominal muscles, which like to hide out in their padded lair, are shrieking at me. My left shoulder and arm are abnormally large due to the manner in which I had to load the hay elevator. There are still assorted bits of hay chaff lodged in my ears and plastered to my scalp, despite numerous showers and one very lengthy bath laden with Epsom salts. I feel pretty!
Uncategorized
by Billie on August 9th, 2008 • 5 Comments »
Last week, we took a brief respite from baling hay to attend Kevin’s father’s memorial service in one of the Chicago suburbs. It was emotionally draining. Perhaps later I will share my funeral-type stories, but am not up to it just yet.
What I fail to understand is why there has been such a length of time between the passing of a loved one and their memorial service. Both my grandmother and Roger had passed about two months prior to their services. For me, this just opens again a wound that is beginning to heal.
It has truly been a year of death for our family, which I am learning now extends to the families of friends. In addition to losing my uncle, a cousin’s teenage daughter, my grandmother and Roger, two close friends have lost grandparents just within the last month. I truly hope that with the change of seasons, we will put this trend to rest.
Back on the farm we are again baling hay… it is simply amazing to see the sheer volume of hay that has already been taken off of our modest fields. As of last night, the count is just over 1200 bales (each of which weighs 50-65 pounds and must be stacked by hand) harvested from a total of 15 acres. We are still working to bale and stack the majority of our largest field, and our lovely hay guy tells me that there is enough hay remaining there to fill 4 to 5 more wagons (each holding roughly 200 bales). We are literally running out of space in the pole shed!
Last year we baled hay from about 20 acres, which yielded a total of 750 bales, or 38 bales to an acre. This year, we are averaging over 150 bales to an acre. That is really a lot of hay! Aside from the regular torture of unloading and stacking it, the benefit is that we will not have to spend thousands of dollars to purchase hay as we have in past years. Another benefit, though questionable, is that I am developing arms that would make the Incredible Hulk quite jealous.
I am eternally grateful to our little cherubic hay guy Ray for his dedication and kindness. His latest feat was quite a pleasant surprise. It seems he had driven past a farm that had a hay elevator sitting outside. He casually walked up to the door, met the farmer and somehow convinced this stranger to send his hay elevator over to our farm for a few days. Ray is remarkable.
The benefit of the elevator (which is like an escalator for hay bales) is that instead of having to heave hay bales incrementally up to the top of the stack, we simply allow the elevator to do the heavy lifting and position a person at the top of the pile to stack bales. Genius! Since we are stacking hay to the rafters, this is eliminating a tremendous amount of labor and causing me to swear far less than I had been.
Last night, Kevin refused to come out and help, so I was once again stacking hay by myself (and cursing under my breath). Ray noticed the situation and lent a hand. I was royally upset by Kevin’s laziness, and still am, to be frank. I can’t help but feel that it is ridiculously unfair to even allow this 69 year old man to do my work for me, but I am ever grateful that he does. I keep hoping that a day will come that I can return the kindness.
The other fun project that has been consuming my time is the mowing of our horse pastures. We have a bumper crop of thistles growing this year, seemingly out of nowhere. The pastures are dotted with six foot tall thistle plants, and other various weeds that the horses will not deign to eat. The messiness drives me crazy, so my trusty lawnmower and I are out mowing pastures every chance that we get. It is slow going, as the tough thistles must be run over multiple times and the lawnmower deck is a meagre 48″, but thus far I have one immaculate pasture.
My quandry in this specific task lies in the fact that there are large numbers of prairieland creatures that inhabit the pastures. Specifically, little brown clumps of hair in the shape of moles or something similar. They are cute little buggers. Last week, I mowed one down, not realizing until I came across it’s lifeless form. I had to quit mowing at that point. I felt like Cluny the Scourge. (Yes, I am a hopeless dork and am referencing Brian Jaques’ Redwall Abbey).
I am now mowing at a snail’s pace watching vigilantly for little brown furry creatures. I cheer for them as they run, and shout encouragement to those that run in my intended path. Thus far, I do not believe that I have wreaked any additional havoc on their little community.
Taking this time to mow leads my thought in many directions. The latest of which stemmed from the realization that I do not like anything about clowns - I find them frightening and not the least bit amusing. From there, I gave thought to parades, which I do not care for either. I have decided that the only parades that I would like to see at present would be:
- Young, virile farm hands looking for hay to stack, or
- Tall, muscular firemen dressed as Klingons, who also want to stack hay.
I have such a one-track mind.
Uncategorized
by Billie on July 23rd, 2008 • 2 Comments »
Last week, as I had feared, our hay guy cut the front pasture. The next day, he spirited himself over and raked the fallen hay into windrows. The next, he reappeared and baled the hay.
That meant, on Sunday night I had two wagons full of hay which needed to be put away before any possible rainfall, which was in the forecast for the overnight.
Fortunately, friends Jen and Katrina both volunteered to come out and help me to unload and stack the 200 or so bales of hay.
Jen arrived, we bred one of her Dutch Warmblood mares to my young stallion, visited the other horses and set to work on the hay. Within 3 hours we had stacked all of the hay (just about the time Katrina was able to arrive due to scheduling issues) with Jen acting as a slave driver, pushing me on in the heat.
It felt teriffic to finish that hay stacking. I was hot, plastered in sweat and hay particles, my arms could only hang weakly from my shoulders. We sat in the shade and ate popsicles to celebrate the completion of stage 1…
That was several days ago. Yesterday, hay man Ray appeared out of nowhere and cut another 4 acre field. Today, I spotted him raking the hay, then saw him actually baling some hay…
I was crushed.
However, Ray is a lovely man in his late 60’s or early 70’s. He stands about 5′9″ with a slight stoop. His close cropped white hair, perpetual farmer’s tan, cherubic face and quiet manner make him instantly likeable. I like him.
We chatted for a few minutes and went back to our respective chores. He finished baling about 80 bales at the same time I finished mowing weeds in one of the back pastures.
Some of the bales felt as though they might be a bit damp, so Ray had quit for the evening. We parted ways, and I went inside to get a bit of dinner and return some client phone calls before heading out to unload the hay wagon.
An hour and a half later, I finally changed into a long-sleeved shirt and long pants, put on my work gloves and headed out to the pole shed.
It was dark, as the sun had begun to set, so I flipped on the interior lights and got the shock of my lifetime. Ray had come back to the farm and started unloading the hay from the wagon, as he knew I would be up late tonight doing it by myself. I was utterly stunned and I don’t believe that I could speak for a moment (unlike my typical habit of chattering on and on… like now).
Ray, who was atop the pile of hay stacked in the corner of the barn, gently looked down at me and told me that he was just unloading my hay.
He didn’t think that I should do it alone.
Had I known that Ray had returned, you could bet I would have been back outside in a heartbeat! I have a hard time with the idea of asking for help, and oftentimes feel guilty when I have asked for someone’s help. I could never have allowed him to do my work for me!
Nonetheless, this sweet little older fellow (that I’ve met less than a dozen times) was in my barn, refusing to leave having only unloaded a quarter of the hay on the wagon.
We worked together for about 45 minutes, in companionable silence. Once in a while he would take a brief rest and share and tale of the horses on his own farm, the grandkids, or how the 20 pound rock he’d gotten jammed in his haybine (hay cutter) going through my back field. (I have the rock as a totem on the back porch).
When the job was done, Ray quietly said goodbye and waved as he walked back to his truck.
I am astounded by this act of kindness and generosity, especially being the jaded cynic that I am.
What a singularly lovely gesture.
Uncategorized
by Billie on July 13th, 2008 • 2 Comments »
I dragged myself out of bed this morning feeling like a lumber truck had run over me, causing its load of logs to fall off which then in turn rolled and bounced over my body. I am sore. Muscles I did not know that I have (never was good in biology) are screaming at me.
It is all because I had conceived of another of my “great” ideas. I have had beautiful fence posts sitting in a nearly forgotten pile, waiting to be put in as real corner posts for all of the back pastures. My friend Jennifer and I decided that the time had come to put them into the ground.
My first job was to run to town to get diesel for my beloved tractor. Check
Next, I had to take the platform off of the back of the tractor. (I use this to haul hay, water and grain to the horses). Check.
Then, tools and supplies needed to be gathered. I had to locate and arrange all of the tools that I thought we might need… challenging, Dad and Kevin tend to use tools and never put them back where they belong. I loaded shovels, post hole digger, bags of concrete, four posts and my water bottle onto the riding lawn mower’s wagon (made from materials reclaimed from the old barn before it was torn down).
Jennifer arrived and we wrestled for half of an hour trying to mount the huge auger onto the back of the tractor. Since we are strong and belligerent women, we knew that this had to be possible, though at times it surely did not feel that way. Eventually we won out over gravity, got the heavy beast on, and set off for the field.
We figured out how to engage the PTO shaft and soon the auger was spinning. The tractor’s hydraulics are a bit jumpy, so learning to raise and lower the attachment somewhat smoothly was a bit of a challenge. We were in business! I carefully lowered the auger into place… and nothing. It seems that the pin that connects the drive mechanism to the auger had sheared off. I didn’t even know that the thing had pins.
Back up to the pole shed we went in search of anything that we could use. Since my father is a collector of odd parts, we found a huge bin containing bolts, nuts and washers. Taking handfuls of parts in varying sizes, we headed back down to the field.
20 minutes later, a new pin was installed and we tried again. Post hole one was great! The auger smoothly removed dirt at a blistering pace, the hydraulics were cooperative and we were in business! After cleaning out the hole by hand with a post hole digger, I poured half of a bag of concrete in… this is when I realized that I had forgotten to bring water down to the back of the field.
Back up to the pole shed to get several buckets, fill them, then back down to the field I went.
I poured water in the hole, Jennifer dropped a post in, I poured the rest of the concrete in and we refilled the hole with dirt. Success!!! We had our first corner post in place!
The next hole proved more difficult. We sheared at least 6 pins trying to achieve anything greater that the one foot depth that we wound ourselves at. Our soil contains precious few rocks (most are fist sized or smaller), so I had a hard time believing that we had hit anything underground. Finally, we gave up and moved on to the next hole. The same thing happened at a depth of just over two feet. Jennifer and I were becoming proficient at replacing pins in the auger.
We soon discovered that the problem might be the speed with which we were trying to dig. I slowed the RPM’s by about half, and we tried again. Before we knew it, we had a hole! In went concrete, water and another post! Holes 3 and 4 were quickly completed as were 5 and 6. In a mere 4 hours, we had put 6 fence posts into place!
I was tired, hungry and ready to quit. Perky, energetic Jennifer was not, so we headed to the front of the pastures. Here I have to say that when we put in the fiberglass line posts (those that run the length of the pastures) we used a surveyor’s transit to create straight lines. When we put the loafing sheds in, we used a transit from every conceivable angle to keep all lines as near to perfectly straight and square as possible. Dad had the transit. I have virtually no sense of spatial relations. In the back none of this mattered much to me, as no one would likely ever see any possible imperfections. The front is ridiculously visible. We would have to measure.
Kevin arrived home from his motorcycle riding class just then, so we enlisted his help. Back up to the pole shed to get the 150 foot measuring tape. Back down to the field to start measuring.
We measured as best we could from the corners of the loafing sheds to where we thought the fence should be. Our target was 40 feet from the shed to the new and improved fence line. In went posts at both ends, from which we strung a reference line of orange baling twine. Having measured, looked and planned, you would think that the line would be straight. We no sooner put post 3 in the ground when the realization struck that the line could not possibly be straight. Something was horribly wrong. I think. Since the gravel lane in front of the pastures meanders in a line with many curves (due to the large piles of topsoil which our excavator has yet to remove from the property) having any point of reference for the eye is not possible. The standing fence line was hastily thrown in, and is is no way even something that resembles a straight line, making visual clarity even more difficult to come by.
On that note, and as the sun was well on its way down, we decided to quit for the day. Jennifer and I are going to give it a try again, perhaps on Tuesday.
I can definitively state that sitting at a desk in an office does nothing to prepare one for manual labor.
Stacking hay this week (please, let it be next week) will put me in the hospital.
Uncategorized
by Billie on July 11th, 2008 • One Comment »
July 10th is the grumpiest day of the year for me. I wake up cranky and slowly percolate throughout the day. Of course, this is my birthday. It is not that I mind aging - I accept this as a normal part of like - I just want one Hallmark moment.
Of course, that never happens. My almost Pavlovian response of adopting a bad constitution for the day can only serve to assure this.
So, I eventually got over my lousy mood upon arriving at work. The three college kids that I work with are charming, sweet and cheerful. Normally that would make me wince on principle, but these are seriously great kids.
The happy girls were as chipper as chickadees - someone brought in doughnuts and another anonymous someone brewed the good Hazelnut coffee. Not bad. We worked on a series of menial tasks associated with the launch of a new product and the lovely samples that go with it.
It is at this time of the day that we torture the youngsters with the Ideas Network of WPR… we graciously allow them to listen to mindless pop for a while in the morning, they are forced to recriprocate the kindness by listening to something found by we elders in the tribe to be of greater interest.
At lunch the girls ordered pizza, and I volunteered to take the drive to get the food. When I arrived back at work I saw the break room festooned with streamers. The girls, Kastrina and several friends (including the instigator, Malinda) were waiting in or near the bathroom, I couldn’t tell to surprise me. At last, a little Hallmark moment of my own! We ate, I was sung at, we had cake, I left for the day and didn’t even have to clean up.
It was hot when I arrived home, so I ran down to the front pastures to “water” the horses. I may be absurd, but it is one of the funniest things to see horses trotting to the fence to be sprayed down, while others head for the proverbial hills.
I took Kevin to Ambulatory Surgery for a second epidural cortisone inkection. He stayed awake, though numbed, while the Doc shoved a huge needle into his back. Kevin actually watched the series of x-rays that documented the needle’s progress through his body. I am phobic as hell where needles and spiders are concerned. To do this procedure on me, the hospital staff would have to cosh me on the back of the head with a fire poker.
Since this was his second experience with the injections, Kevin knew what to expect and was just fine within minutes. He sat chatting up a very funny nurse, sipping Sprite and eating those pre-packaged cheese and crackers things. The nurses even gave Kevin a “get welll” card.
When we arrived home, I recieved a phone call about one of my horses for sale. The woman had phoned before, but had wanted to schedule a visit to meet the horse. Since I was home and not terribly motivated, when the woman asked to come in an hour’s time, I agreed.
The woman and her 13 year-old daughter met all of the “really huge” horses, then spent some time visiting with and brushing Lerus. We tacked her up and put her to work on the longe line (she is not started under saddle yet) with the young girl directing her. It went well, the horse was happy and the girl quietly confident.
Next, we set up a trio of jumps in Lerus and Duncan’s pasture so the prospective buyers could see her natural jumping ability. Neither of the horses had ever seen jumps before, so we led them over poles on the ground and over tiny x’s to help them to understand what was going on.
When we set them free, both Lerus and Duncan came trotting to the jumps and bounded right over them. Granted, the horses are just over 5′6″ tall at the shoulder and the jumps were only 12 inches… they easily stepped over them, but that is the kind of response I like to see anyway.
We slowly elevated the jumps to just over 2 feet (still small, but since the horses were so young and it was their first experience, I felt that we shouldn’t ask too much and let the horses enjoy the learning experience). Both horses were very cooperative, but had different responses to the jumps. Duncan would come charging at the fences like a maniac and never slow down or hesitate a bit. Lerus would approach at a forward but not crazy pace, then would slow down, look and think before jumping. It seems a classic example of the differences between young boys and girls, regardless of the species.
At any rate, and before I digress much further, the people want to come out again next week to work with Lerus and get to know her a bit further. Even if she doesn’t sell to this family, she seems to relish the extra attention, so it is well worth my time and effort. It made for a good evening.
Uncategorized
by Billie on July 9th, 2008 • 3 Comments »
Horses in general do not much care for being sprayed with a hose. We spend hours desensitizing our horses so they accept and learn to quietly stand for bathing or hosing off after work sessions. Knowing how much more difficult and potentially dangerous this job can be with a large, frightened animal, I decided that yearling Donnarwind (who is about 1000 pounds and already stands just over 5 feet tall at the withers - that is the place where the neck and back connect in laymen’s terms) had best be introduced to the hose now, before he gets any bigger.
Conveniently, we have a hose running to the pasture that Donnarwind and his friends are in, so step one was simply to walk outside wearing waterproof shoes. I decided to scrub and refill the water tank, and found that DW and friends were quick to investigate my actions. Pasturemate Mirelle (the Draft cross mare) was very, very interested, so I decided to spray her and see how she reacted. Much to my surprise, she loved it! She turned in small, lazy circles as the water cascaded over her back and legs. Having watched his friend with great interest, DW decided to step into the spray himself. His initial reaction was to turn his hind end into the water, then he too decided that it felt quite nice and allowed me to spray him all over (with the exception of his face). Mirelle became jealous and chased DW out of the way so she could put her entire head in the spray while trying to catch water in her big, floppy lips. Brillar and Killarney stayed well out of reach of the spray, as normal horses tend to do.
It may sound like a fairly ridiculous hobby, but I have found myself coming home from work each afternoon eager to water the horses.
Uncategorized
by Billie on July 5th, 2008 • One Comment »
I have been meaning to write a post about last weekend’s… festivities. Sadly, it is a long tale, and one I am not up to telling as yet. Suffice it to say that Sunday was my Grandmother’s memorial service and my family is clearly blurring the line (or simply stepping over it) between sanity and the lack thereof.
The week has been filled with work, horses and phone calls. Since part of my job involves acting as the sales and marketing staff for my clients, I spent some time updating my website and posting various ads online for several new sale horses. 600 emails and 45 phone calls later, I believe two client owned horses have found new homes. One will be going to Colorado, the other to Kansas - so long as the contracts are signed, sealed and delivered, payment is arranged, shipping firms hired, a vet visit for interstate health certificates arranged… I sometimes wonder if selling booze during prohibition was as complex as selling horses.
Kevin and Malinda are the cute couple of the year, spending most afternoons either on the phone or here at the farm. Both are taking a motorcycle class next week, so in anticipation have been riding Kevin’s pink (he calls it magenta - semantics) crotch rocket down our farm lane. Neither knew how to ride a bike and both have bruises to show for having dumped the machine over on themselves at 5 mph. The first night both were afraid to shift for the first 45 minutes. I stood outside snapping photos and laughing, though not even thinking about getting on the bike myself.
Since, Kevin has taken his written test and has recieved his learner’s permit (Malinda didn’t quite pass, but will try again soon). He asked if I thought it would be OK to ride his bike to Chicago this weekend. Because I do not enjoy seeing my friends splattered on pavement, my response was abrubt and negative. He did ride to the gas station in Edgar, then the next day braved the wilds of Highway N to travel into Wausau. The other night Kevin disassembled the bike (in as much as he knew how) and painted all parts pink a lovely shade of blue. The bike looks a bit cooler (if a crotch rocket could ever look cool) but I do miss the pink.
Uncategorized
by Billie on June 23rd, 2008 • One Comment »
Not much of any value has been happening of late. Kevin and I are getting along for the most part. The Lad is off traveling for work. Killarney has stopped trying to kill me, at least for the time being.
Work has been far too easy - my little grey cells are not getting their exercise.
Two new client-owned horses arrived on Saturday. One of them I am especially fond of - she may stay here forever. I don’t want to give her back. The girls (Perlinda and Lady Dax) are both Dutch Warmbloods that are here to be bred to our stallion Solarwind (Duncan), so are only slated to stay for a couple of weeks.
My dad and Kevin fixed the riding lawn mower today. This is a relief as I had not planned on growing hay crops in my front yard. Even the Great Dane was close to disappearing in the lush growth. The smaller dogs stood not a chance. I very nearly called our farmer/neighbor to come and bale the yard. I am relieved that I am no longer in the position to do so. For those who wonder why not push mow… I tried. Weeks ago, I was out mowing nearly every evening. The little push mower and I could not keep up. Then came the rains, and there was not much to be done.
Asparagus season is at an end (sigh of relief). I had to have picked at least 50 pounds of the stuff myself, then an Amish neighbor asked if he could pick some for his family. Being kind (and tired of picking/cleaning/blanching and freezing vegetables) I let him pick every day for a couple of weeks. Now the ferns have been allowed to grow, which I thouroughly enjoy.
I did attemp to plant some flowers. Don’t ask how that is going. I have a case of black thumb.
The one bit of excitement to be had the other day, while fencing and terribly hot and sticky was some topless farming. Since no one could see me (that I am aware of) and the sun was beating down, I thought I would give it a try. The sunburn on my back tells me this was not one of my best ideas.
Uncategorized
by Billie on June 6th, 2008 • No Comments »
Today was better than the last few have been.
After yesterday’s mad scramble to keep busy, I settled down some. I worked 5 horses, not including some time spent with Killarney in the wee hours too close to dawn for my liking. No one bucked me off or injured me in any way, so there is some modicum of success. Mirelle is actually making very steady progress, which leads me to believe that she will be ready to show and be competitive in the next month or so. She still is a young, very large and opinionated horse wont to throw temper tantrums from time to time. It is to be expected, but she is making an effort to understand what I am asking her and does her best to answer the questions that I pose. I love this honeymoon period…
The Lad made a somewhat surprising late morning call which was quite lovely. Upon ringing off and after a quick shower, I was on my way to develop my maternal instinct through interaction with small children at my friend Katrina’s.
Playing in the dirt with three charming little boys has its way of quieting my internal dialogue. The middle one, aged three, insisted that he wanted to come home and live with me. There is nothing as sweet as that kind of compliment from the mouth of a child that has reduced his vocabulary to the word no. He cried piteously when I left.
I returned home, did chores, returned several phone calls and was hoping to be off to dream land. Except that I am once again facing a bout of insomnia. It has been at least three weeks since I have gotten decent sleep. I even resorted to Tylenol PM last week, which left me feeling more comatose in the morning than lack of sleep does. I am not sure what to do from here, as per usual. Drugs don’t seem to be the answer. Meditation is not helping. Yoga earlier in the evening felt terrific and helped me to wind down, but sleep is a long way off.
I think I will shop for something argyle to elevate my mood. Hooray for online merchants.
Uncategorized
by Billie on June 5th, 2008 • 6 Comments »
My plan has been to turn myself into a meringue this summer – light and fluffy. Enjoying small things, putting worries on the back burner and just taking things day by day.
Already though, the plan has backfired. Instead of simply enjoying the company of The Lad, I have begun to develop feelings for him – hell, who am I kidding here, I like the guy far too much for my own good. I am fairly disgusted with myself. I have stepped over the thin line from hedonistic to masochistic in a matter of days. Red flags galore. There is nothing right about this situation - innocent as it actually is - that I have created. (Yes, I know. Raise your hand if you saw this coming. Why I am surprised, nay, blindsided by this I can not imagine.)
Added to the drama is another vexing masochistic program that I have myself on. As a Mountain Dew addict, I am trying to learn to like the diet version. I hate it. Really, I do. It is awful. I have been trying to choke down the same can for about 5 hours now. It is awful. I am starting to appreciate water, which I suppose is a good thing. Oh, I am out of cigarettes too and have denied myself the simple trip to the store to replenish the supply. I theorize that if I am to suffer, it may as well be on a grand scale.
Otherwise, I am burying myself in work today. Let’s see if it offers respite. Likely not. My major (additional) project has been put on hold until Monday – perhaps that distraction will prove to be helpful. I am eager to find out.
The dogs must know that something is up. They are more attentive and demanding than usual. The horses too are being remarkably cooperative, with the exception of Killarney who still wishes to kill me. Dodging her flying hooves definitely takes a great deal of concentration on my part. I am really beginning to appreciate her.
Uncategorized
