Please remember to have your gourds spayed or neutered

So last year Big Bud went on a kindergarten trip to Treworgy's orchards where they were able to pick one apple and one pumpkin. Woo hoo, thought I, being the snotty wanna-be farmer that I am. They also got to pet a goat and look at baby chicks. Pffft, big deal.


So we went home and displayed his "pumpkin" on the sink window sill until it went a little punky. Then I threw it in the compost pile.

One year later, we have gourds....lots and lots of gourds.



Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Why Dottie will never be America's Next Top Model...

So Margaret at Nanny Goats in Panties got her gift, so now I can show you...


Remember she sent me a pen? Read about it here.

So I told Dottie what I wanted was for her to stand next to the bag, cock her head toward it and put some sparkle in her eyes.

Me: Ok, Dottie stand right here...
Dottie: No.

Me: Ok, that's good, now look up at the camera...

Dottie: No.


Me: Smile with your eyes Dottie! Smile with your eyes!

Dottie: No.

Me: Work it Dottie! Work it!

Dottie: No.

Me: Don't eat the bag, love the bag Dottie, BE the bag Dottie!

Dottie: No.

Me: Where are you going?

Dottie: I quit. I just can't work under these conditions.

Me: Fine, where's Stella?

Dottie: Oh, please.

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

My new favorite house...

If houses were husbands, I would be a horrible cheating wife. I just totally fall, head over heels, crushing big time, in love with houses. Weird. This is my new one . It is in Calais, pronounced Kallus, not Calay. It's a Maine thing. Don't ask. I would very much like to live in this house and would you look at the price? Holy crap. Calais, is just not very prosperous. The road that it's on is pretty busy too. You get to Canada through Calais. But, oh it is so pretty.

Smiles from my stupid LITTLE farm that has no gingerbread trim or porches (I KNOW, ironic isn't it?)

Lisa

The Big Bang Theory

Upon the fall of Man, God said to Eve:

I will greatly increase your pangs in childbearing;
in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband,and he shall rule over you.

I'm not sure how that's working for you but in deference to God, I'll let him have at least half of that. However, there is one thing that is not mentioned that has been a burden to me all of my life.

It is...bangs. When Eve was cast from Eden was it not decreed that as a female she shall now know the uncertainty of bangs? Should she wear them long, should she cut them short, in the early 90's should she mousse them to stand up higher than a 12 foot satelite receiver? If at almost 40 years old she finally figures out the whole bang thing, will it be that she has to prove to her 15-year old that the flat iron just dropped in the toilet still works and proving thus melts the bangs she has grown out for two years, hence facilitating a hasty decision to all of a sudden HAVE bangs? Albeit straggling, standy up and look so stupid, frizzy ones?

Somebody pray for me.

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Oh and in case I have offended anyone, please know that my God has a sense of humor. Or at least I hope he does. If not, I'm in a world of hurt.

Nanny Goats in Panties and Ashton Kutcher love me...

I will be the first to admit that I don't get all the nuances of blogging. I don't know how to Tweet and I only just get the rudimentary aspects of Facebook. I am sooooo old. But what I do understand is that there are some blogs out there that I have to read the minute they have a new post. There is a whole list of them over there---> No, down. Down more...ok there. See 'em! I LOOOOOOVE my blog list. Sweet blogs, and farm blogs and funny blogs and Maine blogs and I even have three goat blogs from Washington, which is far, far away from Maine. Some of my blog favorites are sweet ladies with nice manners, some are loud chicks who sometimes swear a little, some are both (I'd be willing to bet, most are both some of the time!) Some of them have giveaways. None of them have ever given anything away to me. UNTIL last week! Nanny Goats in Panties had some pens. She was giving them away to the first ten people to comment. I was number 19. So I very politely and smoothly asked her if I could have one.

Me: Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen? Can I have a pen?

N.G.I.P.: Holy crap, stop it. I'll send you a pen!

And she did! Isn't that nice? I plan on writing a Goat Manifesto with my pen. Or checks for school lunch.

So not only did she send me a pen, she sent me TWO. Unfortunately, one was promptly absconded with. There is some urban myth about me stealing other peoples precious pens and losing them and so payback being the person that she is, I didn't fuss. I'd show you the N.G.I.P. pen, but I can't seem to lay my hands on it right now. You can go to her blog and check them out though, they are lovely pens.

So dear, dear Margaret, I made you a little sumpin, sumpin. I'll post pictures after she gets it, I don't want to ruin the surprise.

Oh and one time Ashton Kutcher sent me his picture, cause I did a Girl Scout thing with my troop and we wrote to movie stars and he was the only one that responded. It's not a real photo and the signature is printed. Therefore, I did not make him anything.

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Normal?

First of all thanks for all the hugs. I needed them. To answer a few questions, yes I still have goats. I have Stella and Dottie who are Nigerian dwarfs. DWARFS. They weigh about 30 pounds each and on tip toes come about up to my waist. Hopefully Dottie will have a successful "date" next month and we will have babies in the Spring.

Ben and Jerry were standard dairy goats. Ben weighed in at about 170 pounds and stood over six feet tall when he jumped up, which he did a lot, on me. They were also wethers, so they couldn't make babies or milk so their purpose here was as pets and big freaking pets at that. With all my endeavors, I just couldn't chase them down the road one more day. They have gone to an awesome home and they now have a purpose of keeping their friend, Mr. Horse, company, so I am happy. I don't know the horse's name, 'cause I was kind of trying to keep from crying when they were being looked at and loaded up. The crate on the back of the truck had a stencil on the side that said, Live Baby Elephants. I don't even want to know what that means.

So while I am missing my goats and Dottie is too, she is still looking for them, I need to form a new normal and keep on keeping on. So though this will probably cause my 12-year old daughter, Little Girl, to never speak to me again, I need to ask you all a question. Am I the only one that sees the resemblance?



giggle...giggle

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Letting go...

Today, in one of my fits of reorganization and overabundance of duties, responsibilities and stuff...I made an abrupt decision to find new homes for Ben and Jerry. I placed an ad in Uncle Henry's (kind of a Craig's List thing-if you're from Maine you know.) and within an hour they were spoken for. They have gone to a farm to be friends with a horse.

I am NOT crying.

I've tried my best to raise them well...

I've failed.

It's the MTV and the world wide web. You just can't keep kids down on the farm anymore.



Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Who does that?

Our house was built in 1900. It is a small cape cod style house with two attic bedrooms and we need more. So we have decided to move the summer kitchen and build an addition. Note, I did not say we are tearing down the summer kitchen. No, we are MOVING it. Slowly. Like it's been a year in the making. Well the floor is now gone and there are the neatest things in there. There are old bottles, a broken bed warmer, old toys, shards of pottery, lots of soles to shoes? I don't know why.



Well it is nice and dusty and the chickens have taken a liking to getting in there and scratching and stuff. Well how lovely, they dug this up from it's eternal resting place to torment and terrify me. WARNING: THE FOLLOWING PICTURE IS GROSS, STOP NOW IF YOU WANT TO SLEEP PEACEFULLY TONIGHT:

Yup, that's what it is. It's a cat mummy. Great. I made the terrible mistake of expressing my disgust and disdain for said cat mummy to the others in this house who previously had claimed to love me. Now I have people chasing me with a dead freaking cat. They've named it Fluffy. Am I wrong to find this NOT COOL? I mean really, who does that? And please note that I have no idea WHO this cat is or how long it has been buried under my shed. My cats are all accounted for.

Smiles (and shudders) from the farm,
Lisa

O Death

**There are no actual dead chickens in the video. Well actually, they are dead NOW, but in the video they are alive. It's more of an intellectual retrospective focusing on the physical and mental acceptance of the connection between sustenance and conscience. Ok, I almost got that out without laughing. It's a bunch of pictures of chickens, that are now dead but weren't then and I am trying to be serious and funny at the same time. Again, no dead chickens, no blood, no gore. Just didn't want to scare anyone off. (Char, ya big baby!)**



I don't know if I could handle the moral ramifications of slaughtering all of my food. Stupid conscience.

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa