Two Days

Thank heavens for our Good Friend who keeps things going while we are gone. I have been traveling a lot this Winter and Spring and that puts me in an odd position of "visitor" in my own life at the Homestead. I have not unpacked my suitcase in 14 weeks. Yes, I have done laundry, but I have not unpacked and I have more travel in the near future.

This puts me at the Homestead about 2 days a week. These two days basically consist of this:

Kiss Mr. B and Mrs. B one hundred times.

 

Throw the "chicken" 200 times.

Change into my grubbiest clothes.

Chug a large mocha pot of espresso. Eat a boiled egg and potato chips.

Proceed to move 20 wheel barrows of horse poop from here

 

to here.

Set/ clean mouse traps.

Assess and buy animal feed.

Tighten ropes holding tarp roofs over our leaky trailers.

Eat a strange soup made of: one can of un-drained green beans, one can of condensed chicken noodle soup and one can of chicken pieces. Eat from pan.

Take a shower outside but forget to bring a towel.

Play a couple games of solitaire.

Think about building a little campfire, 

 

but go to bed instead.

Sleep the sleep of the exhausted.

Wake up sore and stiff. Drink large cups of black tea and honey to wash down Advil and Benadryl.

Put on clothes that are now even grubbier.

Kiss Mr. B and Mrs. B one hundred times.

Look all over the farm for the "chicken".  Now, where did we walk yesterday?

Check what might still be edible in the garden.

Get the "Witches Knots" out of the horses manes and tails.

Consult about strange or bothersome chicken behaviors/ act accordingly.

Weed, weed, weed, mow.

Patrol the fence line. Chop/pull Scotch broom and Blackberries.

Start summer garden plans.

Get propane tanks filled.

Chug a large mocha pot of espresso. Eat a handful of cashews and an apple.

Spy on the bee hives from a distance (no close contact with the bees, as promised to my family). All seem fine.

Plan more weeding and mowing.

Change carburetor on mower, thereby removing most of that bothersome skin on my knuckles.

Eat rest of strange soup, hastily heated.

Shower as hail storm pelts me.

Fall into bed. Watch an episode of "Downton Abby" on the computer. Fall asleep before it ends.

Let dogs out in middle of night (they claim they need to pee, but just stand on the deck for 5 minutes and then come back in).

Sleep fitfully until sunrise.

Repeat tea and pill breakfast.

Dress in "town clothes" and repack bag.

Stand on the deck, breath deeply, listen to the birds sing their hearts out and the frogs croak like there is no tomorrow.

Say to Mr. and Mrs. B

"I wish I didn't have to leave... But I'll see you next week."