The Lumberjack's Wife

Let’s talk about pigs!  For they delight us so.

David bought pigs #8, 9, and 10 this weekend.

Why, you ask?  Well.  I don’t know.  But he did and that is that.  On this same day he bought them, he also butchered three pigs.

I have a confession to make.  I saw pig guts.  It was all very disturbing.  I could have done without it.  David had invited a friend from work to join in on the butchering fun, and he brought along his wife.  His wife was thrilled beyond words to be able to play spectator to this sort of thing.

?

We have a lot in common, her and I.

So, naturally, I felt kind of rude to stay barricaded inside, which was my original plan.  I made an effort to be friendly, all while trying to not see the horrors going on inside the garage.

This may surprise you, but David, who thinks he is hilarious, tossed not one, but two kidneys our way.

He is so romantic.

Kidneys look just like kidney beans.  Just confirming any suspicion you may have had about how kidney beans got their name.

So, for those of you keeping track of such things, we had seven pigs originally, butchered two, bought three more, then butchered three more.

Did you keep up with all that nonsense?  We have five currently residing at our homestead.  On Sunday, I was feeding the blessed creatures while David was fixing the electric fence.

Stand down, Readers!  If we do not have the electric fence, the pigs dig out and run amok down the road.

It hath happened twice.  True story.

So, he got the fence all wired up.  He is good at these sorts of things since he is, in fact, an electrician.  The poor pigs could not figure out what was going on.  Two pigs kept running from end to end, would hit the fence, squeal in horror, then hit the fence again.  It was a vicious cycle, the poor dears.  Finally, the two pigs just stood in the middle of the pig pen, not moving.

They stood there for hours, I kid you not.  They were probably talking amongst themselves.  As pigs do.

“Harriet, do not move a muscle.”

And, yes.  I decided one of the pigs should be named Harriet.  It suits her.  Or him.  I did not investigate the gender.

For those of you just dying to know, no.  We are not eating ten pigs.  We are selling them off to innocent bystanders.  Out of all ten of them pigs, David thinks we will only keep 0 to 1/2 of a pig for our freezer.

One might wonder what the point of all this pig care-taking is, wouldn’t one?

One would.

***

Announcement:  the children have finally saved up the required money to get a horse.

Therefore and henceforth, come spring, we will be building a barn and a fence.

This concludes the announcement.

***

I hate building fences.

***

We are getting low on firewood, so David decided we should look around the property for dead trees that we can use to burn.  The kids went “scouting” and Handsome Dude was certain he had found the perfect, dead tree.

David and I were suspicious.  Can you blame us?  The boy can’t even aim properly into a toilet bowl.  How, pray tell, can he scout for wood?

Well, not only did he find a dead tree, but it was a red fir.  And red firs, dear readers, are my Lumberjack’s second favorite type of wood-burning tree.  The first, of course, being Tamarack, for those of you who care.

He was quite proud of himself.  And rightfully so.  Also, the tree was already “felled.”

And is not “felled” a ridiculous thing to say?  But that is how people talk around here.

Seriously.

They do.

Later, dudes.

Oh, yes.  We are going to talk about the weather.  And swine.  Because, apparently, I am a senior citizen now.

The weather.  Does anyone else have crazy weather?  Yesterday, we woke up to cloudy, gray skies.  I remember it distinctly because when Sweet Pea woke up yesterday, she joined me on the couch and said,

“Looks like it is going o be a beautiful day, Mom!”

I looked out the window and decided she was out of her mind.  Not wanting to crush her spirit, I agreed with her.

Shockingly, it soon decided to rain.

We did our school work, and had a fantastic time doing so, I might add.  We came upstairs for lunch and saw gorgeous blue skies and sunshine.  Naturally, the kids whooped and hollered and went outside to play.

Soon after, Daisy Mae comes inside.

DM:  Mom, can I put on shorts?

Me: No.

DM (looking like I crushed her entire will to live):  PLEASE?

Me:  No.

DM:  But I am dying of heat!  DYING!

Me:  It is 40 degrees.  You are not dying of heat.

After the kids played for a bit, it was time to come back inside and resume our favorite pastime:  school.

Yes!  School!  Apparently, we can’t get enough of it.

After school, it was time for yours truly to feed the animals.  Handsome Dude was going to join me, as he is fond of gathering the eggs.  As soon as we stepped outside, we heard the most ferocious thunder.

Handsome Dude threw the egg carrier in the air and dove back in the house.

For the next hour or so, there was massive thunder, hail, and rain.

It cleared up and I went out again to feed the animals.  We went to town and on the drive home, I encountered big, fat, fluffy snowflakes.

So, there you go.  In my neck of the woods, you can have kids dying of heat AND snowflakes all in the same day.

***

The pigs.

I know you love it when I update you all on the goings-on of the swine.  I have had some questions lately regarding the delightful creatures, so I thought we should have an update.

Yes!  A pig update!  This is my life now.  Be jealous.

Back in October, David brought home seven pigs.

Because seven is not excessive at all.

This is, of course, our first time raising pigs, so we things have not gone exactly as planned.

Imagine that!

David’s plan was to put the pigs in the garden, raise them, butcher them mid-January, and then plant our garden in May.

Why the garden?  Because it is fenced and he figured the pigs would, ahem, fertilize it.

Well, January came and went and the pigs were not fat enough.  About two weeks ago, two pigs were ready and David “took care of them.”

“Took care of them” is my discreet way to break the news to you that he slaughtered them.

The astute reader might recall that the original plan was for me to drive the “taken care of” pigs to the butcher in my minivan.  I am happy to report that my husband saw the look of panic in my eyes and made other plans to take them in himself.

See?  After nearly 13 years of marriage, the romance is not dead.  Nothing says “I love you” like your husband removing the burden of you having to haul slaughtered pig bodies to the butcher in your minivan containing four children.

We have five pigs left.  Three are going to get “taken care of ” this weekend and I am playing no role in it whatsoever.

The two pigs that are left are small.  We don’t know why.  They are going to need at least another month to fatten up.

Hold on to your pants, readers!  This is where things get spicy!

David figures that since we have to take care of these two pigs for at least another month, why not add three more to the mix?

Well, of course!  Why not?

So, on Saturday, David is going to get three more pigs that he found for a “smokin’ deal” on the Craigslist.

But, wait!  There’s more!

Turns out you should not use pig manure for your garden!  It’s like super bad.  So I called our extension office and the gal was aghast, yes, aghast that we would even consider using pig manure around edible plants.

Our garden needs a year to recover before we can plant anything in it.

Epic gardening fail.

My husband was quite forlorn about this news.  I, yes, I, Teller Maiblahblah, came up with the perfect solution, because I am awesome.  We are going to move the rabbits and have our garden where the rabbits live for this year.  We must have a fence around our garden, you see, lest the deer eat the fruits of our labor.

And for those of you who saw my last post, there were three deer in he above picture.

Cheers!

It has been forever and a day since my last blog post.  The reason?

The Group Project.

Allow me to explain.

I am taking 6 credits online through our local college.  For reasons yet to be determined, the instructor of one of my courses assigned us with a group project.  Are you confused on what a group project is?

Allow me to explain.

Basically, you shove five people who know nothing about each other into a “group” and you give them an assignment with a three week deadline.  Nobody does anything until there is one week remaining.  Finally, the two anal people in the group attempt to light a fire under everyone else’s behinds.  The anal people, of course, being myself and one other gal.  We’ll call her Gladys, simply for the fact that Gladys is a fantastic name.

Gladys is a bit more efficient than I am and starts throwing out jobs.  The other three people are not chiming in, so Gladys instructs me to do two of the people’s jobs and she will cover the third persons.

Fine.  Great.  Whatever.

I end up writing everything, except maybe one paragraph.  Like 6 pages.  I felt it was unjust and almost as if I did about 70% of the work for 5 people.

But I am not bitter.  Nor am I complaining.  I think group projects are swell and I thoroughly enjoy them.

So THAT is why I have not been blogging.  In case you noticed.  And you probably did not.

Oh, and fun fact!  I don’t have anything to talk about.  So, be glad you stopped by!

David was showing me his text-versation with his brother, Alex, last night. Alex had texted David a picture of a herd of elk.  Of course, this makes David salivate, but what else is new?  David replied in his text-versation that he, too, had recently seen an elk herd.  And no, I am sure this is not at all brotherly-male-competition regarding who has seen the most big game in the past week.

Alex asks David to send him a picture of the aforementioned elk herd.

David tells him he doesn’t take pictures because, and I quote, “nobody here cares.”

Dear readers.  This is a dig on me, the wife.

And, hello?!  I care.  See?

Not only do I permit this beauty of a deer mount to be displayed in my humble abode, I even took the time to adorn it with pink winter gear.

And we all know that every manly-man hunter desires for his trophy buck to be decorated with a pink scarf.

So, in the spirit of showing my husband that I care about the things he cares about, I snapped a photo of the view out my kitchen window while I was feeding the hooligans breakfast.

I told him it was so exciting that I nearly wet myself.  It wasn’t entirely true, but at least he knows I care.

100 (meaningless) points to whomever can tell me how many deer are in the picture.

***

The other day I made brownies.

Handsome Dude:  Mom, I love brownies!  I hope my mom makes them for me!

Me:  Um, I am your mom.

Handsome Dude:  No!  I mean my new mom!  You know.  When I am older!

Me:  I will always be your mom.

Handsome Dude:  No!  You know.  When I am a big boy.  Like a man!  That new mom I will get.

Me:  Your wife?

Handsome Dude:  Yeah!  Her!  I hope she makes me brownies, too!

I would like everyone to applaud my interpretation skills on that doozie of a conversation.

Thank you.

***

Alright.  I best be off.  I need to feed the pigs (joyous!) AND do my homework AND get to Handsome Dude’s basketball game.

Handsome Dude is playing quite well.  Last game, he was the top scorer for both teams!  We are ever so proud.

I have a few Handsome Dude updates for you all, as I am certain you are all dying to hear the latest on the boy.

1)  He has lost his first tooth.

We were at the gym waiting for the girls to get their basketball pictures taken

Wait!  Did you think I was at the gym for to exercise?  Ha!  I laugh at the thought.

But, anyways.  The boys had found many sundry friends of all ages and stages to play tag with.  At one point, Handsome Dude came up to me and I could see his bottom tooth was quite loose.  I asked him if he wanted me to help him pull it out.  Of course, this idea was preposterous and warranted nervous whining and whimpering on his part, as per his usual custom.  So, off he ran with his wiggly tooth.

He came back to me about 3 times, and each time we talked about it, his fears grew deeper and deeper.

A few moments later, Handsome Dude and a random, newly-acquired friend walked up to me.

Handsome Dude’s tooth was gone.

Me:  Dude!  Your tooth!

Handsome Dude:  Yup!  It’s all gone!  My friend helped me!

Friend:  I pulled it out.

Me:  You what?

Friend:  He kept talking about it and I just grabbed it and pulled it out.

Well.  That sounds sanitary.

2)  I would like everyone to know that I am at the point in my life where I just hand my kids their tooth fairy money.  I am not ashamed to admit that I cannot ever remember to play the whole “Tooth Fairy” role.  So I don’t.

3)  Last weekend, David and I were kidless for two, yes TWO nights!

Two!

Nights!

While we were gallivanting about town, and most certainly not feeding pigs, we got a call from my mother who was caring for the children at the time.  She informed me that Handsome Dude wanted to talk to me.

Me:  Hello?

HD:  Mom?

Me:  Hi!

HD:  Mom?  I have sum-fing to tell you.

Me:  Ok, what’s up?

*Silence*

Me:  Buddy?

My mother comes on the line and tells me that he is sad and wants her to tell me that he misses me.

Precious.

4)  Handsome Dude has taken it upon himself be the Chief Egg Gatherer.  He is really quite good at the job.  He goes out and carefully gets the eggs.  Then he walks in the door and shout/announces to me how many he has gathered.

“Mom!  I got thirteen eggs!  Are you happy, Mom?  Hmmm?  Mom?  Are you happy?”

He always asks me if I am happy.  And, yes.  I always am.

He then cleans the eggs and gets them all packaged up and ready to go.

That boy.  Precious to my heart.

Raise your hand if you have been dying to hear a “cat update.”

Don’t lie.  You know you are.

Fact the First:  Peter is still missing.

This news saddens and grieves me as I loved him.  This is odd, seeing as how I have never been a cat person in my life.  However, Peter grew on me and the best part about Peter was that he basically didn’t need me.  He was fun to visit when I was outside feeding the other animals, who, sadly, DO need me.

Also, Peter kept things spicy.  He left us dead mouse bodies all about the property, which was always delightful and not all disturbing.  Once, he even crept into the rabbit yard, kidnapped a newborn rabbit, and deposited it into the garden.

Why?  Because he could.

Stand down, Readers!  The poor, infant rabbit survived and was returned to his mother’s bosom.

Anyways.  Peter is gone.  We are sad.

I told Little Dude that Peter may have found some friends and went to live at their house for awhile.

Little Dude looked at me and said,

“Mom.  I think Peter got eaten by an animal.”

So, there you go.  Fun chats with four-year-olds.

Fact the Second:

Mr. Poppers was robbed of his manhood today.

Yes.  It’s true.  He done got neutered.  I felt a bit ridiculous checking him into the vet office as:

“Mr. Poppers Maliblahblah.”

Didn’t sound ridiculous in the least.

Fact the Third:

Apparently, Mr. Poppers is a find!  Every single staff member commented on his beauty, and I would be remiss if I robbed you of seeing his beauty once more.

So here you go.

Yes.  Bask in his beauty.  Please.  I’ll wait.

Apparently it is rare to find a male calico cat.  The people at the vet were surely rising and calling me blessed.

But then, we brought Tank in and I think I was no longer being considered “blessed.”

Tank weighs 107 pounds.  Apparently, he is aptly named.

Tank also had a raging ear infection, of which I never noticed (oops!) and needs his teeth brushed.

But let the records show!

I have a beautiful kitten.

While the vet was examining Tank, she had to take his temperature in his, ahem, rear end areas.

Little Dude was basically rolling on the floor laughing.

Fun times.  Fun times with four-year-olds.

I sent Handsome Dude and Little Dude outside this morning because they were driving me insane it is good for them to get fresh air.

They asked if they could get the eggs  And I, the mean mom that I am, said  “no.”  I have a very logical reason for this.  The hens will still lay eggs and there will be more to gather later in the afternoon.  I do not wish to have the eggs coming in all throughout the livelong day.  I like to clean them once and put them away and be done with it.

So, they go outside and I do the happy dance because I get to clean the kitchen in peace.

A few moments later they barge in the front door.  They are panting and covered in a poo/mud mixture.  But this is not abnormal.

Handsome Dude:  Mom!  You lied!

Me:  What?

Handsome Dude:  You said there would be no eggs.  But there were eggs, Mom!

Me:  I never said there would not be eggs.  I said do not get the eggs.

Handsome Dude:  Oh.  Well we got eggs.

Me:  Well, where are they?

There were no eggs in their grubby, little hands, nor did they have our little egg carrier.

Yes.  We have an egg carrier.  Don’t you?

Little Dude:  They are in my pocket!  Surprise!

And Little Dude started pulling eggs out of his pockets.  It was like a magic trick, I kid you not  They just kept coming!

Three came out of his coat and I asked if that was all.

Little Dude:  Nope!

And he started pulling more eggs out of his pockets.

As he was pulling them out, he exclaimed: “Oh, gross!  I fink there is baby tricken in my pocket!”

Allow me to interpret.  He said “I think there is a baby chicken in my pocket.”  Which was, in fact, merely a broken egg.

No baby.  Just yolk.

Lots of yolk.  In his pocket.

Have you ever tried to scoop a broken egg out of your four year old’s pants pocket?

Oh, its fun.  I implore you to try it immediately.

All in all, Little Dude have seven eggs hiding in his tiny pockets.

One, regrettably, did not survive the adventure.

So, tell me, dear readers.  What crazy things have your kids done?

Surely, I am not alone.

Right?

This post is disgusting.

Proceed at your own risk.

So, trying to take college courses while rearing children is difficult.  Case in point:

Tonight I was attempting to start on my schoolwork.  I got all set up when I heard Handsome Dude wailing from outside.  And you can imagine my surprise when I see Handsome Dude AND Daisy Mae covered, oh yes, COVERED, in pig poop.

Pig.

Poop.

Turns out they decided to “help” their dad with the pigs and fell down.  Needless to say, Taylor’s study time did not happen.  But emergency bathroom cleaning did happen.  So, there’s that.

Have I mentioned that I feel at times that I was not meant to live this life?  Yes?

Let’s look at another example, shall we?   David and I were having a little convo regarding the pigs and their upcoming impending doom with the butcher.  Just so everyone is clear, before we got the pigs, David assured me that some butcher man would be coming to our place, killing the pigs,  and taking the pigs away.  I did not want any butchering-nonsense happening at our house.

I knew that David was starting to do his “scheming”.  He has had a glimmer in his eye and  been watching YouTube videos on how to skin/gut a pig for the past couple of weeks.

What’s that?!  You didn’t know there were such videos on the YouTube?

Well, you are missing out, dear friends.  Nothing like hearing a pig scream and beg for mercy upon his life.  Good times.

You will be pleased to know that I put my foot down and make him wear headphones now during his YouTube sessions.

David:  Taylor.  If I shoot the pigs and take them into the butcher myself, we will save $50 a pig!

Me:  Nope.

David:  Why?

Me:  I am not going to be THAT person.

David:  What person?

Me:  The person who has pigs being butchered on her property.

David (trying to look patient):  But it will be so much easier.

Me:  What’s going to happen?

David:  I shoot the pig and then I have to gut it and clean it.

Me:  NO!  Where are the guts going?  Where is the blood going?  Ew.  No.

David:  Well, that’s exactly what the butcher will do if he comes out here.

Me:  WHAT?!?!?  I thought he was just shooting the pigs and taking them.

David:  Well he still has to gut them!

Me:  I thought he would just throw the pig carcasses in the back of a shady-looking van and take them away.

David (trying even harder to remain patient):  No, Taylor.  He would gut them at our house.

So, dear readers.  I lost.  I am waving my white flag and next weekend the first two pigs will be killed, skinned, and gutted by David. And then they will get transported to a butcher.

But, wait!  It gets better!

The butcher will only accept the pig bodies (?) during hours when David is at work.  So, I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, will be hauling two pig bodies into town, where David will meet me and unload them.

But, wait!  It gets better!

David will be putting the dead pig bodies in a tarp in the back of my minivan.

Minivan!

And to put my mind at ease, he has assured me he will be purchasing a new tarp.  And he promised it won’t smell.

Oh

My

Word.

This was not the life I was meant to lead.  To even it all out, my friend, Amanda, and I are going out to get makeovers in the big city the day before the pig butchering event is to commence.

If I am going to be hauling dead pigs to town in my minivan, I am going to look stylish doing so.

Life is still busy.  Another list is what we shall do.

1)  The girls are FINALLY done with basketball.  I have been taking them to practice every Monday and Wednesday and to games on Saturdays since the end of October.

Basketball.  Over it.

They won their last game and each scored points, so it was all pretty awesome.  And speaking of awesome, let’s check out another fab photo edit by yours truly.

I dedicate this beauty to my pal, Melissa K, who was so very proud of my last “blur out the name of the town” job.  I am sure she is admiring my nice, straight line and how wonderfully the shades of red match.

Oh, sure.  I could spend hours upon hours trying to figure out how to make things look, well, nice.  But ain’t nobody got time for that.  (Name that famous YouTube character, if you can)

2)  I cooked chicken.  I mean, our chickens.

Do you remember last summer when David grew weary of feeding geriatric hens and went on a butchering spree?  Well.  Some hens were pressure canned.

And some were thrown in the freezer.  I cooked three, count them THREE hens all by myself, shredded the meat, and added them to a delicious casserole.

And, you had better sit down for this next part.

I ate it.

I, yes, I, Taylor Maliblahblah, ate meat of which I knew from whence it came.

This is a big step for me, people.  I even knew the name of one of hens.

Sassy.

I ate Sassy.  In a casserole.  The end.

3)  I also ate elk.  I mixed it with beef and shoved it in a casserole as well and just went for it.

Who have I become?

4)  Thankfully, I did not have a name for the elk.  That probably would have killed the deal.

5)  Do you remember that I gave the pressure canned chicken to my sister in law and her husband as a Merry Christmas sort of blessing?

They ate it and called it delish.

Attention all readers of this blog who have been horrified every time I post this picture and deemed these tasty, canned meat morsels unfit for human consumption:

Take it back.  Apparently, it is divine.

6)  In retrospect, Sassy could have been one of the gals to be canned and not frozen.  So I might not have eaten Sassy for reals.

FYI.

7)  I can’t find Peter.  It is making my heart sad.

I have never been a cat person, but I really enjoy visiting with our two cats when I go outside to feed the animals.  Today, I looked everywhere for him and he was nowhere to be found.

True.  He is a cat and could care less if I call him or not.  It is quite possible that he was asleep in a barrel of pig food and simply could not make the effort to make his presence known.

But still.  I worry.

Because I am a 31 year old homeschooling mom who tends to chickens and pigs and I worry about these sort of things now.

8)  I would like everyone to know that last week at church I had a group of people tell me that they would have never guessed that I would ever live on a farm and raise pigs and chickens and all that nonsense.

I just want the records to reflect that.  Thank you.

9)  Look at the woodbox my husband made!

Shoot!  I thought I moved that vacuum cord.  You know.  Photo staging.  Or something like that.

Oh, well.

Anyways.  He made it out of scrap wood and it is a vast improvement on our old wood box, which has been falling apart for, oh, like two years.

10)  Speaking of my husband, he did something really nice for me!  We were at a store together and he noticed I like this certain hooded, sweater vest.  I thought it was too expensive and we left.

Please note!  We were at a store that sells work boots.  My Lumberjack would never be at somewhere like, the mall.

Please note!  Is it sad that I like clothes at a place that sells Lumberjack-ish work boots?

Please advise.

Anyways.  He went back to the store later on to try and get the vest for me.  They did not carry my size.

Please note!  He knew my size.

Amazing.

Anyways.  He found it online and ordered it for me.

David.  My husband.  Shopping.  For me.

This is like the equivalent of me eating Sassy.

And I am wearing my cute vest at this very moment.

Happy Monday!