MommyCoddle

Little things, two of them incredibly cute

Oh, people. Remember my list of "Things That Are Stressing Me Out"? Well, last night at dinner the girls said to me, "Guess we can cross off 'check if sheep are pregnant', and 'find out what I need for lambs' birth', and 'set up lambing pens' "!

Totally unexpectedly, and probably for the best, I was greeted at my bedside very early yesterday morning by my breathless husband...."You've got lambs. Two of them!" He was on his way to work and just as he was pulling out, remembered something he forgot, and as he stepped out of the car to get it, he knew that the sounds he was hearing from the sheep shed were most definitely NOT Penny or May.

We have babies, people! 

I pulled on my boots and went out to the barn in the dark of yesterday morning to discover two sweet and still-wet baby lambs being every so carefully cared for by Penny. 

Those first few hours were nerve-wracking, I tell you. Watching them struggle to nurse and latch on. Me, lying under a very patient Penny and making sure her milk was starting, trying to direct teats into tiny mouths...(yes, I may have over-managed this a bit.), but little by little, under my nervous eyes, all is well. Though one is smaller, they both seem to be nursing. Dan and I took turns checking on them throughout the night and we made it with no problems. 

I couldn't have asked for a better mother. Penny is patient and calm and just the right amount of protective--that stamp of her foot at the cats wandering into her pen, or when too many people are visiting her, lets us know she needs her space. 

And the babies, keeping with the tradition of naming them with the same letter as their mother, are being called Pete and Paige. A boy and a girl. 

Next comes May. Maybe Penny's little ones will trigger something in her. She is definitely keeping a watchful eye on everything. 

Spring is most definitely just around the corner.

In other news....

I was most-honored to be asked to write something up for new-to-me site 3ThingsForMom. Joined by other lovely contributors like Heather of Rookie Moms and Pilar Guzman of MS Living (hello!?!) I shared my 3 things this week--a truth, a tip, and a find. I think some of you may recognize my truth. It was a lesson that needed some serious re-visiting in my life these days. Be sure to check out Lauren's lovely site. It is a well-crafted collection of mama-wisdom. 

My favorite way to procrastinate is to pour my energy into all the wrong things. Case and point, I'm about to do a major move and redesign of this blog. I'll be moving to a new host which requires pushing the figuartive "big red button" and moving my eight years of writing over to the new space. So if things look wonky or strange for a few days, bear with me. I hope to have things ironed out soon. 

We have a moving date! The Woodlawn house will be HOME beginning the weekend of March 9. Ack, just over a week away. Perhaps it's time to pick out a faucet for the kitchen sink? We're living in the land of chaos, but every time I step foot in that sweet old house, my heart thumps in my chest with anticipation and joy of calling it home. I can't wait to share more of the process and projects with all of you! 

Happy weekend. Happy March 1st. More soon....

 

fingers crossed

They are home.

Yesterday morning in the rain and sometimes-snow the girls and I drove to pick up our sheep from the breeder a few hours away. 

Now home and tucked in their warm pen they are being spoiled and checked on often, just because. It's so nice to look out my kitchen window, across to their pen and see two white faces looking back at me from the gate. 

So fingers crossed and prayers thrown above, this place of ours will be bouncing with a few fuzzy-headed baby lambs come spring!

Being brave when you're afraid

I'm probably not writing this post from the best of places. It's been a long, hard week. Parts of it, horrible. But other parts filled with those moments when you look at your children and admire their strength and bravery in the midst of things that are just plain hard.

I've questioned how much of this story to tell here. When we first moved back to Maryland and lived on my grandmother's farm, my uncle once said to me, "Life on a farm is tough." And indeed, we've learned that lesson many times over in our little family. 

I'll start at the beginning and share briefly without digging into the details that I've had to rehash over and over this week. 

On Friday morning, my girls were in the kitchen baking muffins for breakfast. We always leave the doors to our mudroom open during nice weather. The dog has her bed out there and we like her to be able to come and go--she's a good watch dog and always investigates anything that seems "off" around our house. 

But this Friday morning, Ruby was inside, lounging in the kitchen, most likely taking advantage of the sloppy baking going on. When Mary heard something crying, she went to the kitchen door to discover a raccoon on the mudroom. She frantically came to find me and when I discovered it, I blasted through the door to yell at it and get it off our porch. 

The worst part of all, was that the raccoon was killing our kittens, just about 8 weeks old. When I ran after it, it dropped the one in its mouth. The girls, coming out behind me, didn't realize the kitten was dead and begn to pet it to comfort it. 

Throughout the course of the rest of the day, we'd find the mother cat, badly injured, and the rest of the kittens, dead....all except for one that we named Cora. Cora was loved on and spoiled for the rest of the weekend. Her mother nursed her some, napped with her occasionally, but was pretty badly hurt and not her mothering self. But Cora was scooped up by our family, loved on, spoiled. We brought her in to the kitchen where the girls set up a special corner for her, with food and water and a pillow to sleep on. It seemed like all the grief was poured out in love for Cora, even my own sadness and disgust for all that had happened. Loving on her made everything feel okay. We had Cora. 

In the wee hours Sunday morning, I woke up with a thought that kept me from sleeping for the rest of the night. Though the raccoon on the mudroom was fluffy and healthy, it suddenly occured to me that the girls had touched the dead kitten that was covered in the saliva from the raccoon. Though they washed their hands, who knows in those minutes between if they touched their mouths, rubbed their eyes? 

Then there was the mother cat. We eventually made the decision later in the weekend to put her down. But was she injured by the raccoon? For safety reasons, we had to assume that yes, she was, and for this reason, she'd now exposed Cora, the kitten we'd been loving on all weekend. 

So with dread, I sent my pediatrician an email Sunday night, explaining the situation to her. She wrote me back right away--the girls, especially Mary and Elizabeth, who touched the dead kitten would have to be treated for rabies. And the rest of the family, would most likely have to be treated too, because of the interaction with Cora. 

So I called her husband, who happens to be our vet. Yes, our veterinarian and our pediatrican are married. I wonder what their conversations were that night around the dinner table. The vet confirmed what I worried would be true, the whole family needed to be treated. We needed to go to the ER. 

And worst of all, we had to face what needed to be done with Cora. 

So Monday morning, I spent hours on the phone, with doctors, vets, the health department...telling my story over and over. Hearing recommendations, some that completely contradicted another. I got texts on my phone from other family vets while in the ER with more questions, more possible scenarios, more recommendations. 

But rabies is something you can't take chances with. We all got treated. Though the chances our whole family was exposed to rabies is probably miniscule, who wants to flirt with the alternatives? 

Treatment for rabies involves shots, lots of them. The first day of treatment Dan and I had 8 shots, the girls had anywhere from four down to two, for Birdy. Mary and Elizabeth especially are mortified of shots. Even that description seems like an understatement. It was horrible. 

Yesterday we went back for round two. We'll go again, two more rounds to go. 

In the meantime, I feel wiped out. I feel drained. I can't finish the story, the Cora part because my kids don't know how the story ended yet. But I think that part, hurt me the most. You know? She was that one bright spot. 

But you know, my kids are amazing. Though they may buckle at times, and we've all had our moments, they are so strong and resilient. It's remarkable. They clench their teeth, they cry and ask if it could be some other way, but then they face the reality and handle it with bravery despite their fear. 

So, thanks friends, for listening to this long story. Keep our little family in your thoughts, prayers. 

xo.

 

getting the girls married

The girl sheep, that is.

Wednesday night, I kind of felt like I needed to throw a bachelorette party. After a few months of searching, and through the help of a 4-H friend we finally found suitable husband material for the sheep. Being the old-fashioned girl that I am, I've been referring to this little rendevous as taking the sheep to get married. 

Thursday morning, bright and early (and with a vomitting child to boot!) one of Dan's wonderful customers and farmer-friends showed up with his trailer and helped us load up the sheep to take them off to a breeder a few counties away. 

Danielle, who owns the ram, and I have talked on the phone several times to figure out plans for this day and for her to field a lot of my questions. Do they need to bring anything with them? An overnight bag? Toiletries? Just the sheep, she assured me. 

For the next two months, the sheep will live with their new ram friend at Danielle's farm where they will ahem, get married and (fingers crossed), pregnant. Sheep have a gestation period of about 145 days, so if all goes well, there will be new little lambs in early spring. 

Meanwhile, things seems strange around here without the girls. There were some tears at bedtime last night--worries about them in their new home. How much they are already missed. Requests to visit them next week. I have to admit, I really miss them, too. I keep looking up at the clock when it strikes five and wondering if Emma has fed them yet. And should I haul over a bucket of water? And did they romp around before you let them back into their pen? 

After dinner last night I told Dan, next year, I think we should host the wedding.

She's baaaaack!

A post from Mary.....

We have two pet mice. Mice are great little pets. They don't require much. They don't cost much. They don't live very long. Abby's mouse, Stella, is a gray satin mouse with a trademark tail that is half black, half white. Her tail differentiates her from Edey's mouse, who is also gray. While Edey's mouse, Delilah, is very calm and content, Stella is a handful. So it was no huge surprise to me when Abby shouted from the living room that she had lost Stella. Simply holding her while watching tv, Stella saw her chance and Abby was distracted, and she was gone. So, for almost three weeks, yes, three weeks we would see "evidence" of her presence in our house. We had several fleeting glimpses of her, tail high in the air, in an almost rude gesture of defiance. She would dash from corner to corner, only to disapear under some piece of furniture or seemingly vanish in thin air. She took up residence in the toy basket, the blanket basket and a mudroom drawer. She consumed one entire pack of Ramen, several dog biscuits and who knows what else. Then, last weekend, we caught her. Fed up, after one recent sighting, I got boards from the barn and with many hands helping, we cornered her, thumped a plastic container over her, and plopped her back in with Delilah. Abby was thrilled. Me too, really. I mean, what mom likes to have "Catch mouse" on her list of to-do's? She nestled back in to her captive lifestyle, none worse for the wear. Then, the unbelievable.

One day later, she was gone again. This time she shimmied up the smooth plastic side of the water bottle, and chewed through the plastic lid on the cage. It was right at bed time that we noticed and I did my required search in the girls' room before turning out the light, but I was done with this game. She could be wild, or she could be terminated. No more motherly heroics this time.

The story isn't over, folks. Stella, the wild child, was discovered in the bath tub one day later. My husband blearily staggers in for a morning shower and there she is. Stuck in the tub. So, she is back. This time we gave her an exercise wheel. A bit of exercise is good for the soul. She seems more content now. Like maybe she has had her wild fling. She seems to be in remarkably good shape, more rotund then I remember to be before. I hope there wasn't more to her "fling" than we thought, otherwise our mouse population may be growing.

 

cat naps

Whirlwind

A post from Mary...

As usual, the summer is flying by. We are down to the final few weeks before we will be forced back to somewhat of a routine. And the kitchen re-do? It has kind of been at a stand-still this summer. It will get done. In time.

We survived a full eight day county fair, and actually, we are still recovering. Our fair overlapped with Molly's fair, and we probably found ourselves watching this kind of action at the same time.

There were lots of high points, like watching Abby bravely handle her big dairy steer, that weighed in at 1300 pounds.

And here, Edey winning best in show with her sweet Clementine.

And Caleb, polishing Buckley to a winning shine for the show ring.

But also the lows, as the market animals were paraded one last time in the ring, for sale to the highest bidder.

It's never easy to say goodbye to the animals we have loved the past few months. Selling the steers was hardest for all. We have had them since they were only a few days old and when they sell, they are about 20 months old. Caleb's big black dairy steer was bought by some farmer friends. And while the end plan for him is still for consumption, he has a little more than a month on their farm to relax. We went and visited him this week.

I know many of you will want to comment about this part. How do we do it? How do our kids handle it? Why are we knowingly putting our children through this? I'm here to say it isn't easy. I had a hard time with it myself as a kid. I was one of the few kids that openly cried when I had to walk my steer onto the trailer heading to the processors, and only come back to the barn with a halter in my hand. I could get emotional about it even now. It was hard.

But as I tell my kids, you have to think about the good. The fact that those little calves were spared a frightening and stressful trip to the sale barn at only a few days old. Instead, they came to us, and had a warm, clean barn and the best of care. They were loved on...scratched in all the right spots, treated with fly repellant in the summer, got to lounge under a big shade tree in the heat, never missed a meal. It was a good life. And it ended. It's just the way it is. And we will remember them. And we will start it all over again in a few months. New faces to love. New curls of hair and new spots of color to get to know. More to love, again.

 

Coming off the county fair high

I'm not even sure where to begin with this post. I think we're all still recovering from last week's hot, exhausting but oh so fun week at the fair. There are still sheep blankets and halters on my mudroom, coolers in the corner of my kitchen, extension cords in my dining room. 

From Tuesday on, it felt like we touched down at home long enough to change clothes, shower, collapse on the sofa for twenty minutes and then get back in the car and do it all over again. 

But of course, the big highlight was our inaugural year of showing lambs. 

I grew up in 4-H. Showing my sister's lambs before I was even "legal" 4-H age all the way until I became too old when I was 18. So going through this now, with my own children has been a pretty special experience. 

On Friday, Emma stepped into the showring for the first time, in a novice Showmanship class. If it was ballet or tap, I think I might be labelled as one of those "dance moms". Sitting there on the bleachers watching her show it took every once of self-control for me to not blab frenzied, whispered advice from the sidelines. I will admit to giving her a few exaggerated reminders in sign-language form to keep her eyes on the judge when her sweet wandering eyes were paying more attention to what was going on outside the ring, than in. 

But even without my frenzied coaching from the bleachers, my sweet Emma won her showmanship class. She was a pro out there. Cool and calm. Smiling. And working hard. I was proud. (And so was she.)

The hardest part of the fair, comes at the end. To clarify, the lambs Emma took to the fair, were not the girls from Sarah. These were two lambs that we got in May, raised specifically to be part of the 4-H Market Lamb project. 

I tread lightly here as I tell the rest of this story. The end of the fair for a market lamb means just that, it is time for market. Saturday night, the animals are auctioned and sold. And they don't come home. 

Emma and I had talked about this long before we made the decision to get the lambs. We talked about whether or not she could handle it. I explained to her that she was giving the lambs a wonderful home--with love, attention, care, green grass, fresh hay. A much better alternative to some generic feed lot type of existence. In the end, she decided she wanted to do it.

I admit, there were tears early on. But as summer progressed she seemed to settle in. Then the girls arrived and they soothed the concern even more. She'd always have May and Penny.

I was suprised Saturday night, as I sat in the front row of the auction how emotional the whole thing would be for me. I'm sure it was the long week of exhaustion as much as anything else. But I found myself fighting back tears for several moments. The sounds of the auctioneer. The 4-Hers walking their animals through the ring. Another mother taking pictures of her son, with his grand champion animal, getting teary-eyed behind her camera lens.

I'm sure for many people, from the outside, it seems like something too hard to handle. But I can tell you that these kids work hard and take good care of their animals. They know them. They've cared for them. If anything, it's more respectful and respectable. And the people there, the buyers, are there more for the kids and the community and the small farms than they are for the animals. Better prices can certainly be found other places. There's much more behind this sale. 

I stood outside the showring Saturday night with Emma, waiting with her for her turn to go in. Everything seemed okay, until I suddenly felt the thump of her head into my chest. And then the tears began to flow. She didn't want to do this. Lily had been so good. She had won the blue ribbon for her. She didn't want to sell her. It wasn't fair.

Of course, being the strong, calm and collected mother that I am (not really) the tears began for me, too. I remembered all of this. I had done and felt and experienced all of this as well. We talked through it again and despite wanting to snatch up that lamb and take it home with me, I sent her into the ring. Through tears she put on her smile. 

When she walked out, the lamb was sold. To our local Senator, active in our fair, our community and for our county's farmers. He was working at the auction and had been serving as a superintendent of the fair. He pulled Emma aside and told her he had a field of nine lambs, and one more would make it ten. He was taking Lily home to his farm. 

I'm convinced it was a little gift from God to Emma. A sweet blessing. 

I really can't imagine a better way for her first year to go. Her "what if I don't want to do this next year" has changed to "when we do this next year....". I'm not sure what form it will take--breeding sheep, market lambs, but we'll definitely be hanging our sign in the sheep barn again. 

As always, thanks for sharing in these stories with me, friends.

More soon....xo.

(P.S. Thank you to my cousin Katie, for being chief photographer during the show, so I could, you know, sit on the sidelines and coach.)

here we go

It's almost here--the county fair officially begins this week. Tomorrow evening the girls will take their indoor home arts exhibits in to be judged. Wednesday morning, we'll trailer the lambs to the fair to settle in before it officially opens to the public on Thursday.

Of course this also means that today the house is in a crazed state. Digging through cupboards for cake ingredients. Painting canvases. (And repainting, thanks to some creative input from Birdy.). Framing of sketches. Printing of photograhs. 

I'm pretty sure it was this same time last year that I promised myself to be more organized this year. Never again! I vowed. And here we are. Now, I'll just claim it as tradition. The pre-fair scramble. 

But this year, on top of the indoor exhibits, we've also got two little 4-H lambs that will also be going to the fair. Yesterday there were show clothes to buy--khaki pants and white collared tshirts. Green ribbons around the neck. Cowgirl boots were polished. 

It's not all chills and excitement at this point though. I'll be honest enough to admit that there have been tears. And not moments ago Emma sat at the kitchen table and said, "What if I don't want to do this next year?" 

Sigh. 

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But in my heart, I know she feels this way because she's yet to experience those chills and excitement of the fair. Of stepping into the show ring. Of setting up her own little space for her lambs. Of being on the inside when everyone from the outside walks by to see her lambs and ask her questions. To walk into the ring nervous and scared. And to walk out with a ribbon--no matter the color. 

As you can imagine, I'll be ducking out of this space for the rest of the week. But I'll be posting some peeks into our week on Instagram ( I'm @MollyBalint) and on the MommyCoddle Facebook page. 

So if you don't mind, cross your fingers and wish us luck. I'll report back next week! County fair, here we come!!

 

choring

I've been covering for Emma while she's been away at camp this week. I have to admit, I've really enjoyed taking over her usual morning tasks. She often rises before anyone else in the house and heads outside to work her way around to all the animals. All is quiet outside until the animals hear the tell-tale slam of the mudroom door. Then the whinnying and maaing begins. The barn kittens swirl around feet as you scuffle your way to the shed for their food. The pony stomps in her stall and chews impatiently at the fence. 

The 4-H lambs have learned my routine and wait at the gate to be let out for their grain, which they get outside the pen. They need to grow, my other sweet girls, need to watch their waistlines a bit. 

Birdy has become my righthand man and before I can even give her direction she's picking up green feed pans and trying to hook them on fences. Walking to the stone barn for a slice of hay. Trying to pry open the can of chicken feed. Climbing the coop steps to throw out the eggs for me. Oh yes. 

Tonight we'll pick Emma up from camp. She'll hug her baby sister and carry her around on her hip, showing her off to all her friends. She'll most likely be flippant about missing us. But tell me how much she missed her pony and how are her lambs doing? When we get home tonight, I'm pretty sure I can bank on the fact that she'll make the rounds just before bed. 

Everyone will be happy she's home. 

Lasiurus borealis

A post from Mary:

Little known fact about me: I used to have an elaborate dead animal collection. Mostly birds. It was part of my dowry, and the frozen brown paper bag traveled from the homestead to the rental home when we married. I had collected it over the years, often finding perfectly intact specimens on the bridge at the end of our farm lane, most likely traveling the freeway of the stream and getting hit by cars as they flew over the bridge. I would identify them and tag them with the date and where and how I came to have them in my possession. Then in the freezer, in the brown sack they'd go. A budding naturalist. Maybe a slightly unusual collectible. But, when we moved to our home, I decided to toss them. Some of them were pushing a decade of age. It was time.

I give you that background information about me so you are not shocked when you read ahead...

It is a nice day. I go for a jog. I find a perfectly wonderful dead bat on the road. I must bring it home. I am only about one mile from home. My hands are sweaty, but I can carry it. The kids just must see this fellow.

Bats tend to evoke scary thoughts and images. But have you ever really seen one? They are incredibly intricate, beautifully made little flying teddy bears. I don't think I know a softer fur. Tiny little faces with little snouts and pricked ears. Silky, but super tough wings.

So we got out the field guide. I knew what kind it was, but I wanted my gang to go through the steps and figure it out. We examined, measured, mapped. A male Red Bat. Lasiurus borealis.

And when we were done, guess where he ended up? Bagged, and in the freezer. Maybe the beginnings of the next generation of dead animal collections.

hello, girls

There's an old VHS video clip I have of my grandmother, walking out to her sheep in the pasture, "Hello, girls." she calls to them in that voice I miss hearing. Immediately, they respond--a mix of warbled baa's from lambs who have their lips pressed to the earth ripping out clumps of grass and others strong and clear who already noticed her coming. Deep throaty baa's of mama ewes who know her voice so well.

My first lamb, when I was eight years old, came from my Grandmother's flock of Hampshires, Dorsets and Southdowns. I remember well, picking out Buttons that day. I picked him not because he was going to win blue ribbons in my first county fair, but because he came up to me and started nibbling and tugging at the hem of my sweater. He had been one of her bottle-fed projects. Now he would ride home with me purely for the fact that we'd become immediate friends. Standing in that barn while sheep and lambs swirled around us and a border collie crouched anxiously outside the gate.

For the next ten years I would show lambs in 4-H and state fairs. We'd win some years. Other years we'd learn lessons the hard way--like never tie your lambs to Japanese Ewe bushes while they wait in line to be sheared. All will be lost.

When I would graduate and go off to college, my mother would still keep a few lambs on the farm. She loved them as much as we did. She was the sheep lady whenever she'd speak at churches, garden clubs, and women's groups.

But eventually, the farm would be sold. I'd get married. And have children of my own.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, maybe the back of my heart, I'd dream and hope for the day, when things would fall in to place again. When the time would come again, when my children would get their first lambs.

Once we moved to Thomas Run, I'd try to figure out ways to make it work. Ways to afford the fencing we didn't have anywhere. The buildings we'd need, that didn't seem to exist.

Then a pony would come in to the picture and horse fence would go up. Fence that wouldn't work for lambs. And I thought maybe we'll end up being horse people. Maybe lambs won't be their thing. The pony was definitely meant to be.

My husband, who likes to remind me of how I should just trust him on this, has always said that I need to just sit back and wait. That the right things, at the right time, will fall into our laps. The doors will open when we're ready. When the time is right. We needent force anything.

So I sat back. And waited. Sometimes I let it go. Other times a sight or sound or memory would make me want to work and work to make lambs happen again.

But then, in a matter of weeks, the door would open. Out of nowhere. I'd look at a building on our farm in a completely different way and suddenly see potential. I'd get drawn into a conversation at a 4-H meeting that would get me thinking. I'd make one mention of it out loud, that I almost didn't say, because it just seemed too impossible to admit. 

Then, there'd be an email. 

And here we are a few months later. 

I waited. Not always patiently, I admit. But now it's here. It's happening. And it couldn't have arrived in any better of a package. At any more perfect of a moment. 

I am in love. We all are.

Hello, girls. Hello.

an end and a beginning

I was planning to sit down at my computer this morning and write a post about all our goings on...

But instead I find myself sitting down at this screen with tear stained cheeks.

Emma lost her cat Henry this morning. We found him on the road in front of our house just a few hours ago. He was the cat that came with us from Wisconsin, to live in the apartment on my grandparent's farm when we moved to Maryland, and finally here to Thomas Run. He was the first of what has grown into many pets and animals and cats for our family. But he was always there. Showing up at every morning round of chores. We are so heart-broken. 

But with every end their is a new beginning.

There is a story that I have been waiting to tell all of you. Anxiously holding the news close to my heart for the last two months as details have been worked out. But I also knew that it wasn't my story to tell first. 

I hope you'll take a moment to read Sarah's words, and learn of the new and the good for our family. And what brings tears of gratitude to my eyes this morning as well. 

Sorrow and wonder, all in the same breath.

(We are heading to the ocean...Dan is caring for the animals, and diving into some variety of house projects while we are away. More from me next week.)

xo, my friends.

Molly

Batten down the hatches

There are big storms brewing in our area this afternoon and this evening. We got a robo-call this afternoon from the county governemnt...hail....tornadoes...damaging winds....power outages.

Since the master gardener is still at work, the girls and I had to handle all the outside pre-storm prep this afternoon. 

Standing in the garden, cell phone in hand, I had to call him for his priority list--who would get covered, who would not? On a recent decluttering whim, I thrifted a bunch of mismatched, unused sheets. Crud. So we're short on garden cover and there's just so many vintage tablecloths that I'm willing to lend to the garden. 

So with our makeshift weights to hold down corners, and a good supply of clothespins we covered up as much as we could with priority to the tomatoes and cucumbers. Beans can always be replanted. Corn will have to fend for itself. We're crossing our fingers for you, potatoes. (***edited to add: So there's some controversy on covering the plants...will the sheets act as sails and knock everything over in the wind? Or is it the best defense against the hail? Opinions? Thoughts? Experience?***)

Animals are fed. Water buckets are filled. Flakes of hay are distributed. The barns feel all kinds of cozy.

Inside, water is gathered. We're starting a steady stream of baths and showers in anticipation of no power, no water. 

The big crock has been brought in, washed out and filled up with fresh water. I'm so thankful for this birthday gift from Dan many years ago. It's been put to lots of good use. 

There's nothing like a little storm excitement. I can hear the thunder as I sit here at my desk in the kitchen.

Happy weekend, friends. Here's to blue skies on the other side....

cute overload

Hello friends! Happy Monday. Sorry for the radio silence last week but I had several things breathing down my neck that needed me to slip away for awhile. 

But I'm back with a little cute overload for a Monday afternoon in the form of adorable Flying Squirrels. We used to have these in the attic of our farmhouse growing up, but this adorable pair are being raised by my uncle. 

Seriously. It's a whole handful of adorable. Silky soft and just searching for any little dark corner of your shirt, collar or sleeve to curl up in. Birdy was suprisingly brave--actually, I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. I had to watch how hard she tried to squeeze them in her hands. Yes, they're just that cute. 

More soon. And good to be back here!