Off Topic: Dinner Drama

Does anyone else feel like preparing dinner is like being on one of those competitive cooking shows? I swear that some nights (like tonight) I hear Ted Allen’s always-charming voice inside my head...

 

 

 

Ted: Contestants, open your baskets! Tonight you must prepare dinner with… (dramatic pause)…

 

1. Bone-In, Skin-On Chicken that you bought because it was cheap and now is threatening to spoil if you don’t cook it soon
2. Pasta, because you served rice last night and one of your kids would rather NOT eat potatoes
3. A completely filthy kitchen, with at least two loads of dirty dishes sitting around

 

You Have 30 Minutes. Please begin!

 

 

 

Judge 1: Oh, the producers have a bit of a sadistic streak tonight, eh? I mean, after the long day she had today, they give her bony chicken AND dirty dishes all over the prep table? Ouch!

 

Judge 2: Chicken leg quarters are inexpensive and low quality. But more importantly, they take at least an hour to roast in the over, and she only has HALF that time!

 

Judge 3: I agree, and Farmer is at a real disadvantage here. She will HAVE to bone out and skin that chicken if she’s going to finish in time, and she has only the smallest of experience butchering birds. Her real talent is disassembling pork. Couldn’t we cut her a break and give her more time?

 

Ted: No chance. Those kids have school in the morning, and they need to get up early. Besides, there is no doubt some homework that has yet to be completed, so she’s gotta get them fed so she can discover it. Wow! Look at her washing the dishes while the pasta-water boils! Excellent time management!!

 

 

 

25.5 Minutes Later:

 

 

 

Ted: The clock is running down. The table is nearly set, and the hubby is starting to circle. Water glasses are filled… She’s draining the pasta… Wait! The Hubby just called the kids to the table! They’ve come running and the dish isn’t assembled yet! Look at those faces staring into the kitchen as she stirs the sauce into the noodles…

 

Judge 2: Get it served… GET IT SERVED!!

 

Ted: AAAAANNNNDDD…. Time’s Up. Please step away.

 

 

 

Me: Whew. Hope you like it.

 

Family: MMmmm…

 

 

And Then the Cycle Repeats....

 

Off Topic: The Mouse

By popular demand (and with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe):

"The Mouse"
by Mrs. Farmer

Lazy morning, warm and cozy

Back to bed but not quite dozing
Not a worry, work would not begin for several hours more
Wood fire blazing, blanket calling
Kids at school, ambition stalling
Back to sleep I'll soon be falling
Nothing on TV and damn the chores.



Heard a noise, but not above me
Through the pillow, thinking, "Lovely,
What on Earth is scurrying down below me on the bedroom floor?"
Through the window, sunlight streaming
Wondering if I might be dreaming
Across my head it ran- I'm screaming!
Sat straight up, but still He snores.



Convinced that it was just not real
'Twas not a mouse, a phantom feel
So I rested back upon my pillow undisturbed once more
Heard the noise again and sat up
Saw the mouse this time, and spat up
Wouldn't believe how fast I got up
Grabbed my gear and made for the door.

***

Well, that's the story of the mouse running across my head as I slept a couple weeks ago. I hope eveyone had a nice Thanksgiving!!

Life Is Good: Breakfast in Bed? No, Thanks.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!


I know my blog appeals to women and mothers in addition to others that are interested in the Rural Arts, so I'm going to step off topic a little today, if you will indulge me. The tradition of serving dear old Mom breakfast in bed on Mother's Day is sweet and quaint. The idea behind it, I suppose, is that Mom probably makes breakfast (or at least coffee) for everyone in the house every day for a large number of years. Therefore, on her special day, she should be treated not only to a breakfast that she did not prepare, nor needs to clean up, but that she should not even need to tidy up her appearance or even so much as get out of bed to enjoy it.

But wait- Shouldn't I enjoy it? Shouldn't I be pleased that I get to eat a hot breakfast on a Sunday morning? Shouldn't I be overjoyed that I get to sleep in a little and still eat breakfast long before noon? After all, if I wanted to make a hot breakfast on a Sunday morning I would first have to clean up the kitchen, wash up and get dressed, deal with whatever drama the kids could create during that time, and then feed everyone else their hot breakfast before I could eat mine. This is the reality of Sunday Morning Hot Breakfast on any of the other 51 of the year. The reality of Mother's Day Breakfast in Bed is a little different.

Mother's Day morning, on more than one occasion, I have been awakened by the well-meaning giggles of little children. It doesn't take long to figure out what they are up to, so I stay in bed. I can't sleep well, since it is somewhat late in the morning already and there is much clinking of glasses and banging of pots and pans, but I stay put. I strain to hear what is going on- desperate to discern something that assures me that there is adult supervision in that kitchen. I doze off a little, wait a little, and doze off for a while longer. Then, when the meal and small, darling, hand-made gifts arrive, everyone wishes me a Happy Mother's Day...

AND LEAVES.

Suddenly I am alone. Father and the children eat their breakfast at the dining table, quietly so as not to disturb me. I have adorable little cards or paper cups with precious little sprouted pea plants in them, a hot breakfast, a steaming cup of tea, and no one to enjoy it with!

Many years ago I explained this to my family. I made them bring their breakfasts along and we all had a picnic in my bed. On Mother's Day, the last thing I want is to be alone. Before my daughter was born, I was so excited for my "day off." I couldn't wait for that day in the hospital where the nurses would take care of the 2nd child, my parents would take care of the first, and I would sit back, enjoy the quiet, and rest. By 10 am that morning I was crazy with loneliness and boredom. I wanted my crazy toddler to chase around! Having a day off on a day when the kids are in school is the same: If Mr. Farmer is out and about, it isn't long before the empty house seems... well... empty.

So children young and old I implore you: DO NOT abandon your mother in her bed alone with a tray of food on Mother's Day. Eat quietly with her. Tell her happy stories about how you made the breakfast or the paper-doily greeting card. Joke and laugh and say kind things to your siblings in front of her so she feels like she brought you up right.

Then do the dishes.

Homemade English Muffin and Tea

UPDATE: The kids did great. I got my breakfast in bed, with company. Little Miss Farmer was her usual clever self, Young Master Farmer did the cooking, and they both (via Mr. Farmer) got me a beautiful flower to plant. I had a blast playing in the dirt and making the bed at the end of the driveway beautiful. What a perfect Mother's Day!

Life is Good: Sunshine?

No one can argue it anymore... Punxsutawney Phil was WRONG.

Like all good fortune-tellers, Phil's predictions are just vague enough to be accurate regardless of the outcome. If he sees his shadow, as he usually does, there is to be "6 more weeks of winter." Since Spring doesn't officially begin until late March, there are ALWAYS at least 6 more weeks of "winter," regardless of the weather. If Phil does NOT see his shadow, then "Spring is right around the corner." In a 52 week year, certainly anything between 2 and 8 weeks could be considered "right around the corner," couldn't it? He can't be wrong!

Most people, however, take Phil's prognostications to be an indication of a greater prevailing weather pattern for the next 6-8 weeks. If you take that view, and if you live in his home state of Pennsylvania like I do, then he was wrong. Dead wrong. The sun is shining. The trees are budding. My spring allergies are a full 2 months early. The garlic is sprouting. The songbirds are raucous in their singing and the hawks are screaming overhead. Canada geese are stopping by a bit early on their way back North.

All this sunshine means that we are walking a bit slower between cars and houses. I've been noticing the toll that the warm winter's cycle of freeze and thaw has taken on my stone walls. I'm starting to daydream about how I want to set up the yard for the summer. Where will the fire pit go? When will I find the time and energy to start picking up the many rocks that the pigs dug up? Is that grass seed that Mr. Farmer brought home the other day? I had better hurry. Wow. It is barely March and I am already starting to hurry. There is still sausage to pack up and freeze. There are still pigs to slaughter and preserve. There is much inside work that isn't finished yet, but still...

Outside is calling...

Our only REAL snow this season... October 2011

Merry Christmas!

From my family to yours, a very Merry Christmas.  Thank you for your support and kind comments through the year. All the best to you.

Peace and Joy,
Mrs. Farmer
Mr. Farmer
Young Master Farmer
Little Miss Farmer

Blogging: Cold, Lonely Internet

I know that I have been a little quieter than usual lately, and I apologize for that. It has been quiet here this fall, so there isn't much to write about. The pigs are far enough away that I miss out on their daily antics, and the weekly visits that I make to them don't always result in any kind of real story. The chickens are molting, and therefore not laying, but that isn't much to talk about. The garlic is planted for next year, and the garden has been put to bed for the winter. So, I have been filling the time I usually use for writing with reading other people's blogs and trying to promote my own a little.

I added a fan page on Facebook. As of today, I had SIX "Likes". That is sad, people. I am really pretty disappointed about that. Even adding a link to it on my sidebar isn't helping much, nor was recommending the page to almost everyone I know on Facebook. I do not update every day, so you don't have to worry about me jamming up your feed, if that was your concern. I do, however, post when I put up a new article, and post status updates when something happens that isn't long enough to write an entire story or essay about. If you want to follow me on Facebook, you can use the LIKE button here directly, or see my page HERE (then click LIKE, right?).

I set up a separate Twitter account for the blog as well. Like the Facebook page, it will include short updates, links to new and old posts, and maybe the occasional farm-related joke (I will keep the puns to a minimum, for those who know me personally and who have requested it). Of course you can send me @ replies and direct messages as well, and I will always answer (though not always immediately- I have a day-job, you know). Did I mention that I follow back? Well, I do. Here's my TWITTER PROFILE.



https://twitter.com/StealthFarming



I want to thank you all for your support. I know that we crazy, chicken-chasing, dog-snuggling, wood-splitting, fruit-canning, yard-planting, animal-slaughtering, suburban hicks are a rare breed. This blog, and others like it, are a small niche, and I appreciate each and every one of you. See you on the InterWebz!!

My Dearly Departed Father-In-Law's
Top-of-the-Line Commodore Pet PC
Circa 1984
Belongs in a Museum, right?

Off Topic: Mushrooms

As I have mentioned, 2011 was a crazy, wet summer. The rain was almost unending, and the ground was almost constantly mushy and slick. The tomatoes drowned. The eggs (and the chickens themselves, for that matter) were constantly muddy. The park and lake flooded. The wild mushrooms, however, were amazing. I saw more interesting mushrooms in the late summer than I have in my entire life. I became almost consumed with hunting them down and photographing them. Here are some of my favorite photos.

There were white mushrooms:

Inside out mushroom

There were brightly colored mushrooms:

Something was nibbling on this red one

This one is SO bright yellow- the picture doesn't do it justice

Mushrooms in bunches:

Traditional Rotten Log Fungus

Amazingly Cool Orange Mushrooms
Right at the End of My Street

Mushrooms that stood alone:

Red Mushroom

I found mushrooms that looked like flowers:

Doesn't it look like a Daisy?

This one looks like a petunia
(Mr. Farmer says, "There's no such thing as a black petunia!")

And mushrooms that had some animal company:

Orange Salamander
Just hanging out with the Mushrooms

Giant Slug!

I even saw a pink/coral Indian Pipe, which is not really a mushroom, but grows in similar conditions:

Indian Pipe

Aren't they great?

Off Topic: Blog Stats

I avoid checking my blog statistics too often. After all, this is a small blog, followed by like-minded people and people I actually know. I don't advertise; I don't go to Blog Hops, and I don't have enough followers on Twitter or Facebook to drive any real traffic here. I don't want to be disappointed when I see how few people are reading the blog that I put so much work into writing, so I usually keep my visits to the blog statistics page infrequent.

Imagine my delight when I recently saw that I had 159 views in one week! I just had to see what I had written that had caused such a buzz. Was it the usual front runner in my stats, the No Shell Egg post? No? It was the Piglet Castration post! I don't consider it my best work, and it certainly doesn't have the most compelling photos or any useful, step-by-step information. In fact, it is little more than a post about me complaining about how dirty and exhausting the process is, with just a sprinkle of me being proud of myself for actually helping out with the process. I must admit, I was surprised to see all those hits.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I just had to look further. Was I getting all those hits from web searches? No. Was I getting them from that "Link Within" widget on my own site? No. Then people must have been following a link from another site! Wait, I thought, that site name kind of sounds like... no, it couldn't be... (after visiting the referring site)... Good Lord... It's an ADULT site!!

(I guess it is clear now why I edited the name of the referring site out of the screen capture above.)

Apparently, since human castrations are illegal in this country except in cases of serious medical issues, there are a group of people out there who indulge their morbid curiosities by researching animal castrations. Again, since I removed the name of the site, I have the uncomfortable job of explaining that my post was of particular interest because I am a woman. (Shudders.)

The Internet is scary sometimes. Maybe I should stop looking at my stats altogether.

Off Topic: My September 11 Story

Everyone has a September 11 story, especially those of us in the Northeast. Since I have this blog, here's mine: ten years and 12 hours later.

Young Master Farmer was not quite six years old in September of 2001. We were between homes and living with my parents in the Lehigh Valley. He was home-schooled then, and we started our studies at 9 am. Before that, of course was the usual running around: breakfast, getting dressed, watching cartoons on the television. I believe Little Miss Farmer and I were watching Dora the Explorer or some other Nickelodeon show when the phone rang. My best friend from school was on the other end:

"Are you watching the news?"
"No, we are watching cartoons. (To myself: I have kids, silly thing.) Why?"
"An airplane just flew into the World Trade Center!"
"What? Was it an accident? (Of course it was an accident! What made me think that?)"
"I don't know, but it's bad. Turn it on."
"What channel?"
"ALL OF THEM!" (She almost squeaked.)

We watched the news like everyone else who was able at that time. When the second plane hit the second tower, my suspicions were confirmed. This was most definitely not the accident of the century. It was an attack!

Then the TV went black.

The home of my youth is situated nicely between New York City and Philadelphia. My whole life we had two of every TV station, even before we got cable. There were two ABCs and two NBCs and even two different PBS stations: One was from New York, and the other from Philadelphia. The only station we had just one of was the "local" station, which was actually from Wilkes-Barre/Scranton (over an hour and a half away by car). Fortunately for us, this meant that we could still watch the news. The New York stations were gone, but the Philly stations remained. We watched over and over video of the second plane hitting, the smoke, the people screaming and scrambling, and the bodies falling (jumping?!?!) from those big buildings. When the first tower fell, the commentator fell silent for a moment then said, "I have no words."

We watched the coverage in stunned silence for what seemed like hours. Footage became available of the first plane. Another plane crashed into the Pentagon. The government reacted publicly. Another plane went down in rural Pennsylvania, and no one knew for sure why (did we shoot down one of our own planes?). I cancelled school, "because of a national emergency." Young Master Farmer was glad that he would not have to write his letters or do his math flash cards that day.

Little Miss Farmer was barely three years old. Recently diagnosed with PDD-NOS, an autistic spectrum disorder, she was not yet speaking, except to occasionally repeat us or read a word she knew from a book or song. I had not noticed that since we turned off the cartoons that she had been sitting there on the opposite couch, quiet, thoroughly engaged in the news that repeated that horrible scene for what seemed like hours but was really less than two. Her eyes were round and wide when I turned to look at her when she said, "Plane go boom." It might just have been her first sentence that she neither read from a book or repeated from one of us; I'm not sure, but I knew immediately that it was time to put the cartoons back on.

For the rest of the day, we shooed the children out of the living room when we watched the news. My office called and told me not to bother coming to work that afternoon as they would be closing for the day soon, but not to worry, as I would be paid for the shift nonetheless.  We learned of the terror plots, the bravery of the souls on the flight over Pennsylvania, and the panic in NYC. We watched millions of people walking across bridges back to New Jersey. We experienced difficulty using our phones. We felt pity for those trapped, lost, without news, TV, phone service. We cried and prayed for those who did not know if their loved ones were alive and for those who knew they were not.

You already know what happened next. There was grieving and bravery. There was fear and resolution. There was pain, and there was kindness. There were flags everywhere. And those of us with small children hoped that this war which seemed inevitable would be over before our little ones grew up and wanted to enlist in the military. I don't care if it's selfish; I really did the math in my head- twelve years and nine days until he's eighteen. Surely long enough to beat an enemy so small and so far away, even if they were evil enough to do all this.

That's my story. Thanks for listening.

A Pennsylvania Corn Field
October 2001

Thrift: Best Coupon Haul So Far

You know how weight loss ads usually have small print at the bottom that read, "Results Not Typical- Your Results May Vary"? Those Extreme Couponing shows should have the same disclaimer. Getting the great deals like they show on TV takes a lot more time and work than they would like you to believe. Many steps in the process are left out. When they say, "So-And-So's six hour shopping trip netted her $625 worth of groceries for $18," you hear "$625" and "$18" but did you hear "six hour shopping trip?" I bet you missed that one, didn't you? I'm going to give you the details of my best coupon stock-up deal to date, the good and the bad.

The Deal:

• ShopRite had a special "Advantage" deal where the register printed out a $5 coupon and a free reusable shopping bag coupon for your next order for each 6 qualifying items you purchase.

The Steal:

• Many of the qualifying items were less than $1 each with the regular sale price or coupons. With the right combinations of items, you could end up getting a lot of things for free, nearly free, or tax only.
• That $5 coupon printed out as soon as the 6th item scanned, not at the end of the transaction, so it could be used on the same transaction!

The Catch:

• Many of the items had limits on the number you can purchase at the special price. That means that in order to stock up and make use of the deal multiple times, you need to make multiple trips or multiple orders (something they gloss over on TV). This takes time to do, and it can be embarrassing. 

The Plan:

• Qualifying toilet paper was 4/$3 (must buy 4). Qualifying tissues were $0.99.  A set of 4 rolls and 2 boxes would be $4.98 and the 6 items would return a $5 coupon and a free shopping bag.
• Qualifying pasta was 8/$10 (must buy 8). I had coupons for those which doubled to $1 off each box, making the price 8/$2, and yielding a $5 coupon and a free shopping bag. CHA-CHING!$!$!
• To keep within the limits, the TP/tissue combo could only be done twice per transaction. To be able to use the two $5 coupons on the same transaction, the total had to exceed $10 in merchandise (not tax), so I added a packet of Kool-Aid to get the total up.
• Lost yet? OK, here's the fun part...

The Haul:

Actually, This Isn't All of It

• 40 Rolls of Toilet Paper
• 20 boxes of Tissues
• 20 boxes of Pasta
• 11 Re-Usable Shopping Bags
• 4 packets of Kool-Aid
• 2 packs of Paper Napkins (regular price, non-qualifying... I just needed them)
• Retail Price (including sales, but not coupons): $75+
• TOTAL COST: $5.92

How My Results Varied:

• At some point during the scanning of my coupons, the coupon bin did not register one of the free shopping bag coupons. Having been distracted, I thought perhaps I had not placed it in the box, so I inserted another identical coupon in its place. In the end, only 9 coupons for shopping bags counted instead of 11. Loss: $1.98.
• This deal took 6 orders to complete. I spent about an hour and a half in the store between the 2 visits.
• I was so tired after this trip that I did NOT visit another store that had something else I needed on sale. I missed out on that deal because of it.
• The next day I went to a different store for items for dinner as well as a few things we had run out of. I spent $35 on 9 items.

So there you have it: Coupons in The Real World. Of course this is one example, and there are people who spend all their time doing this. It really did feel good to spend a nickel on each item, and to have the peace of mind to know that I won't have to buy them again for a while. It is work, however, and does not work every time without fail. I guess I won't be buying tissues or toilet paper for a while - unless they are on sale and I can stack that sale with a coupon! 

Skunk Wars: Part Three

That's right, this means war. I like skunks, I really do, but the fact that this one has eluded us for so long is getting to me. Now it's personal.

(In case you missed it, the stories of our previous attempts to catch the skunk(s) can be seen here: Part 1 - Opossum and here: Part 2 - Raccoon. If you don't feel like going back and clicking the links, here's a quick summary for you: I saw a skunk. We put out a trap. We caught a 'possum. We put the trap out again. We caught a raccoon. To be continued...)

We put the trap out again. And again. And again. The other day I thought I heard the trap rattling. It had not been checked that day, so I walked around and around trying to find it. I couldn't find it, but I heard a strange sound. There was scratching, and metal clinking, and water splashes. I followed the sound to a 55 gallon drum. I peeked carefully inside, through the spiderwebs that covered the top of the barrel, just over the edge in case it was something that could jump or bite or... gulp... spray me. When I finally got the guts to pull off the webs and look over the edge I saw.....

A soaking wet chipmunk.

The trap had been dragged off by some large animal. We dumped the chipmunk out and gave it its freedom, and reset the trap. That evening, when looking for Mr. Farmer right after dark, the fluffy white skunk walked right behind me. I swear I felt her little fuzzy tail brush against my heels. When I told Mr. Farmer of her brazenness, he told me she had hissed at him earlier in the day, and that he figured she was expecting. I went to bed a little freaked out, but with great hopes that we would catch her for sure. What pregnant animal could resist the DOUGHNUT we had baited the trap with? The next morning we checked it and FINALLY....

A neighbor's cat. Pole cat? Nope. House cat. Mr. Farmer released it before I could get a photo. I was more than a little disappointed about that. Then, to add insult to injury, he loaned the trap to a friend, dashing my hopes for skunk capture prior to reproduction.

So, for now, this story is still "to be continued." Arriving home late from work yesterday I watched the entire skunk family trot across my tomato garden in the light of my headlights. First the proud, sleekly black-tailed Papa, whom I had not seen before. Next came the fluffy white Mama with two black kittens in tow. They ducked under the house, and Mr. Farmer has vowed to put chicken wire reinforcements under the front porch to keep them out from underneath. Hopefully they will just move on. Otherwise, I guess we'll have to set that trap... again...

 

Not a Skunk

I am shaking my head in disbelief. We had another skunk sighting the other day, so Mr. Farmer set the live-catch trap again. When morning came we found this little guy in the trap:

Not a Skunk

For the zoologically challenged among you, the animal pictured above is a raccoon. It is not a skunk. You see, skunks are black with a white stripe of varying width down the back, and they spray nasty smelling musk when provoked.  They waddle around looking all cute and maybe dig up your garden a bit and harass your dog. Raccoons, on the other hand, have a mask-like pattern on their faces and ringed tails. They are nimble and slick and generally prefer your trash cans (which skunks aren't clever enough to get into) to your garden. They don't stink, either. When provoked, they arch their backs like cats and... well... run away. Pretty much the only thing these guys have in common with skunks is that they generally creep around at night, and that they could possibly carry rabies.

Remember this nasty guy?

Pennsylvania Tree Rat

This is not a skunk either. This is an opossum. He's a nasty, tree-climbing, giant, white rat who also found his way into my trap when trying to catch a skunk.

I'm starting to get frustrated now. That trap has caught many things over the years: cats, 'possum, 'coons, and yes, even skunks. Our desired prey is elusive, however, and we just can't seem to get him. When will it end?

Pocono Tree Rat

Sure, I can hear you saying it, "Aww... look at the cute little 'possum!" In his cage he looks innocent enough- perhaps even fuzzy and cuddly? I think not.

This little guy and his cohorts have been terrorizing my property for the past few days. First the dog started barking like the house was under attack. I went to the window to see a fat skunk waddling away from my herb garden. We warned the neighbor to keep an eye on his dog, who routinely runs without a leash, so that he could avoid disaster. The following evening we hear what sounded like a large rodent in the attic (ok, it's a crawlspace). We couldn't catch it in action, but it sounded much to big to be a mouse. When the sound changed to something that sounded like someone was moving furniture upstairs (we don't have an upstairs!), Mr. Farmer decided to set a live-catch trap in the yard.

I was a little surprised to see the opossum in the trap and not the skunk. After all, I knew the skunk was out there. He probably still is. It makes sense, however, that the noises overhead could be cause by the Pocono Tree Rat. For one, skunks don't climb. Secondly, 'possums are BIG, and they do climb. He was probably never in the house, just having a grand old time on the roof. They are rodents, and have the scratchy nails like mice and rats, so the scratching noises and the bumping noises all make sense.

Of course, that skunk is still out there somewhere....

*bites nails nervously*

Off Topic: Waffle House

Recently I had the unpleasant experience of giving the Waffle House another chance. The last time I was in one was somewhere in the neighborhood of 1994-95. I don't remember the visit much, except that I always had this nagging urge to vomit a little when we passed one every time since then. Imagine my surprise when Mr. Farmer suggested we eat there again, all these years later.

We were trying to choose a place for dinner out, and when he said the words "Waffle House?" I replied, "Really? *choke* I mean, you are in the mood for breakfast for dinner?" He was, and when I asked him if he remembered how I liked it last time he said, "You were not impressed." Well, not impressed isn't the worst thing in the world, I thought, and we went inside.

The entire kitchen was in plain view behind the dining counter. I could see the waffle iron had not been cleaned and was dripping with batter. The stainless was not exactly shiny, and the place had all the feel of a greasy spoon restaurant. The grill was manned by a pimple-faced teenager, and the waitress didn't look happy to be there at all. There were very few patrons, and it was the heart of dinner hour.

All of these things are forgivable of course, so long as the food is delicious, which it was not. Each piece of our meal arrived separately. First my runny eggs and paper-thin steak arrived. Then came my undercooked, flavorless, instant grits. My cold toast followed, and we had to wait another minute or two for Mr. Farmer's hash browns. We decided to stop waiting and eat when his flour-and-water-wallpaper-paste-covered biscuits arrived.

The meal gave me cause for so many questions. How do you mess up instant grits? Why did she even bother to ask me how I wanted my steak cooked when medium is clearly not an option for a steak so thin? Who makes cream gravy without any pepper in it? What were we thinking?

When the waitress returned to the table to ask how things were, I quickly shoveled a bite of tasteless food in my mouth so I wouldn't have to answer. If you can't say anything nice, you shouldn't say anything at all, right? I was in no mood to send it back, mostly since I had no confidence whatsoever that any of it could have been done better. I mumbled under my breath, "I cook better than this."

I have repeatedly assured Mr. Farmer that I forgive him for taking me to the Waffle House, but I assure you that it will be another 15 years or so before I give them a third chance.

Off Topic: Searching For Myself

I was reading an article recently that pointed out how a certain company had registered terms and phrases related to homesteading in urban situations as trademarks. The article spelled out how a number of cease and desist letters had been sent to bloggers and other authors using their trademarked terms, and how legal action was actually possible under these circumstances. There was even some controversy, as the terms are apparently common enough that numerous bloggers were using them, and a book had actually been published some 10 years ago with one of those terms in the title!

I had never really thought about the idea of trademarking, especially since almost no one reads my blog. I didn't even really consider the fact that perhaps the term "Stealth Farming" was clever or original. After all, the revelation of the Stealth Bomber in the days of my youth was such a dramatic one that in my generation's lexicon almost anything done secretly or even quietly was referred to as being done in "stealth mode". This article made me think, "Is this movement so widespread that I need to think about a copyright, or even a registered trademark?"

Naturally, all I could do next is a little research to see if the term "Stealth Farming" was actually original. So I visited a few search engines and found that maybe it is! The majority of results from that search were related to the kind of video games where you build your own world, and the farming was actually more of a code word for stealing. I was lead to a few blogs that were similar to my own, where "stealth" and "farming" were used in the same post, but not as a term in and of itself. Oddly, though many blogs were displayed and many of them were from this very same blog-hosting service, mine did not come up in any search engine (but that is an issue for another time). Perhaps my name is original after all!

Mr. Farmer thinks registering a trademark is a good idea. After all, there are a number of blogs like mine out there, and this country continues to grow in population. The more realistic sustainability movement is overtaking the pie-in-the-sky "green" movement on a daily basis. Additionally, this current weak economy is driving folks to creativity regarding how to stay afloat until this passes. Americans are endlessly creative and determined people. Adapting to the changes in the world by combining old technology with new- and combining agriculture with the need to house large numbers of people in limited space- might just be the way of the future. Maybe we won't even need to do it in stealth by the time my grandchildren are on their own. Until then, I'll be keeping the term Stealth Farming. Don't expect a cease and desist letter any time soon, though.

Stealth Pig???

Off Topic: Musings on Being 33 Years Old

As of this writing, I am 33 years old. Solidly in my thirties, I am compelled to take the time to consider this leg of my journey and decide if this decade of my life is what I've heard it would be. Many of the axioms are true. Some of my own preconceptions were a little off. My kids can't imagine being this old, but I am overwhelmed by all the adventures that are- God willing- still ahead of me. Age is just a number (old saying), but experience cannot be denied (Mr. Farmer).

I would have to disagree that I am old enough to know what I want to do but young enough to still do it. When I was very young, I wanted to be a wife and mother, and I am. Professionally, I wanted to write. I figured I'd go to college, learn how to do something in the psychological realm, do it for a few years, and gain some experience on which to base my writings. Instead I pursued goal number one first and found that the subjects of raising children and being a wife and mother are subjects with which the literary world is completely saturated- ironically by people with experience predominantly in the psychological realm. So this leaves me with my blog about the only thing people seem to find unique about my experience: all this old-fashioned, farm-like living that my family practices a mere 5 miles from town. I am young enough to still have time to experience things to write about, but I am not certain what those things will be. I really don't know what I want to do next - yet.

I would prefer to illustrate my mature, yet still youthful, mental state by saying that I am confident enough to try some new things, but experienced enough not to try others.  Since I turned 30 I have lost a significant amount of weight, started writing again, and learned how to cook well. These were all major hurdles for me. I stepped out of the bounds of the mindset that I could not change my habits. I allowed Mr. Farmer to drag the more social me out into public. I joined a committee. I wore a short skirt. But I did not go skinny-dipping, nor did I stay out all night (okay, maybe just that ONE time). Not because I was afraid, but because I felt the consequences outweighed the value of being able to say, "One time...". Happiness is about balance, and I think I have found that.

Thirty-three is good. I still have my health and my mind. I have hope for the future and experience to make that hope reasonable, not just pie in the sky. There is so much more to come, good or bad, but plenty to look back on and think about. Now is a good time. But then it always is, isn't it?

Off Topic: The Zen of The Cosmotron

An unassuming, single-story grain silo is tucked behind the classic Tea Cup ride and the very popular “Paratrooper” at Knoebels Amusement Resort in Elysburg, Pennsylvania. It houses the “Cosmotron” – my favorite amusement ride ever. The word C-O-S-M-O-T-R-O-N flashes old-school style on a red LED screen above the door and oldies music can be heard when the door is open. As you enter, a number of large black-leather and steel sleds encircle a huge disco-ball. You take your seat; the door closes, and the ride begins.


The lights go out. The oldies music fades to silence. After a few seconds, classic rock starts blaring, colored lights start flashing, and the ride speeds up. The smoke machine pumps out white smoke and a strobe light replaces the colored lights. A small child screams and multiple hands start waving in the air to the music, jumping around in the moonlight-like strobe as the ride slows… then stops… then changes direction to reverse. Strobe and colored lights alternate to the beat of the rock music (and I swear the reverse part of the ride is faster and longer than the forward). But since all good things must come to an end, the ride eventually slows. The colored lights flash slower and are replaced by the steady house lights. The same oldies song that was playing before begins again, right where it left off, as the doors open and the hot summer air rushes in, and the fake smoke rushes out.

I don’t know how long the Cosmotron ride lasts, but it is like a moment of Zen in the midst of a hectic day of demands from the children, hot weather, and way-too-much-walking. For a few minutes the kids are happy, the sun is unable to torment me, and I’m dancing in my seat- without stressing my poor feet. I am not “Mother Farmer” at that time. I’m ME: rock-loving, sun-despising, non-nauseated ME. It’s my happy place.

Can we ride it again?

P.S. I don’t know why it isn’t the “Kozmotron” since everything else in that park seems to be “Kozmo”-related. (NOTE:”Kozmo” is the teddy-bear mascot of the park.) There is a fish called “Kod-zmo” and a mini-coaster called “Kozmo’s Kurves”. But this ride is the “Cosmotron”- with a “C”. Odd.