I've been browsing through some old journal posts, and stumbled upon a few good stories I'd forgotten about. I've decided that some of them deserve to be shared, so over the next few days I'll be posting some of my best true farm tales from "back in the day" to here. I've been guffawing all morning over some of the shenanigans my dear friend B and I have got ourselves into! Perhaps I can convince her that our chicken butchering deserves a spot of honor in this blog as well. ;) This journal entry was originally wrote on December 9, 2010. Enjoy.
Day 1 – Battle with Carhartt’s
Carhartts - 1 Me - 0
would seem that the White Death has already reared its ugly head this
year. All of those prayers floating heavenward begging for a White
Christmas in typical Bing Crosby fashion are on the fast track of being
answered this year.
For me and the chickens of Chick-topia, it’s the most horrible time of the year.
hate the White Death. Snow-mageddon came earlier than I had anticipated
this year. I like those green and dry Christmases – and I don’t mind
waiting until January for the first flurries. February would be even
better. Or, just one day of the White Death – December 25 – would be
But, alas, as it is, we’re in the midst of the beginnings of Snow-mageddon 2010 – 2011. How’d we get so lucky?
only are we battling the angry swirling white flakes that mockingly
skip, twirl, and pirouette their way to covering our corner of this
precious earth, but the deep freeze has settled in for a long stay.
Frozen pipes and poultry water are all I have to show for the Devilish
Deep Freeze. The Thaw seems far off in the distance.
appreciate this weather, one would have to be born as an abominable
snowman. This short chubby woman doesn’t do well with the cold. I have
secret desires – that my husband doesn’t share – to move south – to a
warmer climate. But not so far south that we’d be near the water.
had to brave the unbearable and wicked elements of December today. I
knew my precious poultry and other critters were depending on me to drag
my frozen carcass out there and relieve them of some of their misery in
all this mess.
I completely dreaded it.
It’s been so bad,
in my mind that is, that I’ve threatened to sell every Critter off the
whole place – just so there’d be NO outside chores. But, alas, I cannot
bring myself to part with the goats – who are so full of personality it
isn’t funny! And of course none of the chickens can go! (Ok, 6 gals
received pink slips today, but no one else is going!) I almost evicted
the lop rabbits - aka The Dukes – but when push came to shove, and they
turned their big beautiful eyes on me, I just couldn’t bring myself to
So as I was trying to psych myself up to go out and
freeze, out of the corner of my eye something caught my attention. It
was brown, and lying in the corner of the kitchen in a heap. Hmm….is
that my other half’s…why yes, it is! Men’s coveralls!! Carhartt’s at
A hair brained scheme began to form in my mind –
and I snatched those bigger than I am coverall’s off the floor, shook
them out, and proceeded to don them. I shoved my left foot in first,
then my right, pulled them up to my waist and quickly jammed my arms
into the sleeves. With great pride and feeling quite pleased with my
ingenuity, I padded to the bedroom where I found my red thermal Taz
socks – complete with slip proof stuff on the bottom of them!
I then padded back to the kitchen where I pulled on my rubber boots. It
was at this point I decided that maybe putting on two layers of clothes
before the coveralls wasn’t a good idea. My arms were so thick, and the
coveralls, being larger and not made for me as they should be, made it
difficult to bend down and pull my boots on. After several frustrating
tugs, the boots were on, and I was out of breath. I bent over one more
time to zip the pant legs over the boots.
Thirty minutes after I
started, I was out of breath and felt like I’d already done a day’s
worth of chores. I hadn’t even made it out the door yet!
finishing touches of my perfect winter ensemble were two pairs of
gloves, and the man’s Case Farms Chicken toboggan – where the best
chickens come from. Try explaining to your chickens what Case Farms
is! I totally lied to the girls when they questioned my wearing the
hat. I explained to them that it’s a farm that thinks they house the
best layers in the world, but we know better because the best girls are
in our yard. (I’m hoping they bought it, but a couple of the gals looked
skeptical! Especially after I handed out the pink slips to the light
So proud of my ingenuity to wear my other half’s
coveralls, I excitedly called out to him, “Do you see I’m wearing your
He replies, “Yea, will you go get me a screwdriver?” *rolls eyes*
I trudged outside in midst of the White Death, it became increasing
apparent that those coveralls were definitely NOT made to fit me. I
also became aware of why people like them so much – they definitely kept
me warm! The problem was trying to successfully walk in them while
rotating out frozen waters for fresh and filling feed pans. The crotch
of the coveralls stayed somewhere around my knees – making it difficult
at best to walk. My dear other half said I looked like a penguin
waddling around Antarctica….frankly, that’s how it felt!
I made it work. I trudged back and forth to the barns filling water,
feeding, and making sure everyone was dry and warm. By the time I was
done with the chores, I was overheating. If I hadn’t known better, I
would have thought those coveralls were forcing me into early menopause
with the heat wave running down my back and legs. Sweat was running
down my back, and I was so warm I couldn’t wait to get to the house and
remove the now offending garment.
I honestly believe the body heat radiating from those coveralls melted a path from the barn to my house.
stumbled in the door, nearly tripping over the too long pant legs that
had fallen down under the heels of my boots. I ripped off both pairs of
gloves and yanked up on the pant leg zippers. I grabbed my boots and
huffed, tugged, and heaved until they both came off and I fell
backwards. Then I unzipped the front of the blasted heat wrap and tried
to pull my arms out.
Panic! I couldn’t get my arms out! I knew
there was no possible way the stupid things had shrunk – at least I
didn’t think they could have. I tried to shrug out of the sleeves, but
they were so tight across the shoulders I couldn’t get either arm out –
at least not without help. I tried to reach my right arm across to tug
on the end of my left, but again I couldn’t reach. At this point,
standing in our too warm kitchen, it was beginning to feel as I was
wearing my own individual sauna. I was slowly roasting to death! I
could feel my first shirt beginning to shrink wrap to my body, and my
pants were sticking to places they should not have been sticking. My
temper started to rise right along with my body temp.
At that moment, my wonderful other half came in.
I asked him to please pull on my left sleeve and to help me out of the
now suffocating, offensive coveralls that I had excitedly crawled into.
He gave one hard jerk, and I stumbled backwards into the wall.
Sputtering, I started to yell at him for not being gentle – but wait! My
arm! It’s been freed!
I scrambled out of those coveralls as
fast as I could and tossed the offending garments into a heap in the
corner, totally convinced they were some evil device created as some
sort of torture device.
The truth of the matter, though, is that
I was warm! I didn’t come in from chores chilled through the bone – and
it’s all thanks to those cursed coveralls. Just don’t know if I dare
attempt it again…