August – Meet Riley

August 8, 2016 Jeanne at No Rhyme or Reason Farm Chester County, Farm, Homestead, Renovations

About this time last year, we had to have our cat put to sleep. She was old, wasn’t managing the move from our previous home to our interim stop at the Homewood Suites, and wasn’t going to live long enough to make it to the farm. So with a heavy heart – I took her to the vet. My daughter and granddaughter went with me for moral support.

The whole event, though sad, was done in a very compassionate way. We stayed with Shadow while they gave her the shot and she peacefully passed away. Arianna wanted to stay with Shadow for the process, but at five years old, I wasn’t sure what she really understood – and what she didn’t. Once Shadow was “asleep,” Arianna announced it was time to go – so we did.

Now, a year later, they have a cat that needs a barn – and we have a barn that needs a cat. Before bringing Riley to the farm, she needed to have her shots up-dated, and that has brought about a barrage of questions from the now six-year old Arianna.

Upon hearing that Riley was going to need shots, she’s been full of angst about how, exactly, does the vet know the difference between an “alive” shot and a “dead” shot, because she wouldn’t want Riley to go in for the shots to keep her alive, only to end up with the wrong shot. She apparently has given it considerable thought because we had a lengthy conversation about the alternative ways they could keep the shots separate. I suggested she ask the vet when they took Riley for her “well shots,” and she did. Apparently the “dead” shots are under lock and key, the others are in the refrigerator. That’s all she needed to know.

Now Riley has taken up residence on the farm. Chris built “cat stairs” so she can get from the storage side of the barn where her bowl of food is — to the outside, by way of the run-in shed side of the barn and she’s on the prowl to keep the mice away. She’s happy, we’re happy – and Arianna is happy that Riley only got the “alive” shot.

DSCN7169 — Riley in the barn where she sleeps on top of the hay.

DSCN7152 — Riley perched on top of a fence post under the roof of the barn, trying to keep out of the rain while surveying the pasture.

August – ABSOLUTELY No Rhyme or Reason

August 1, 2016August 1, 2016 Jeanne at No Rhyme or Reason Farm Chester County, Farm, Homestead

We have just a little farm – and along with that has come a variety of “accessories” needed to help maintain the farm – a small John Deere tractor, a chain saw, a chipper/shredder, a snow blower – the normal, everyday variety of “guy toys” that require gas and someone strong enough to yank the cord to get things going. Power tools. I get it.

But now we’ve moved into a new realm. A pick-up truck — a big 4-door, silver, Silverado, with a back seat. The truck is nearly as big as the farm itself and just barely squeaks into the garage. Apparently this became a necessity to haul hay for the two horses that reside in our pasture. Mind you, our hay provider is barely five miles away and is more than happy to deliver a truck load for barely more than $19. It takes a LOT of $19.00 hay deliveries to equate to the price of a new pick-up truck. In fact, I think it would be about 2,315 hay delivery charges!

So, now we have a farm truck. To me, a farm truck should look beat up and muddy. It’s a badge of honor; it shows how hard the truck has worked. This truck looks like it just stepped out of the beauty salon – everything is picture perfect, not a blemish, not a scratch. I can only imagine how long that will last, and how upset Chris will be with the first ding, the first scratch in the bed liner or a spill in the extended cab.

But it fits right in – there is ABSOLUTELY No Rhyme or Reason for this truck – other than it’s a guy thing. So why not, it’s No Rhyme or Reason Farm.

DSCN7145 — Here he comes home in the “lumbering giant” that barely fits between our tree-lined driveway.

DSCN7132 — It does fit into the garage (thanks Forest Ridge Builders for building such a BIG garage!).

DSCN7127 — But here’s some sticker shock.

July — What lurks on the farm?

July 27, 2016July 27, 2016 Jeanne at No Rhyme or Reason Farm Chester County, Farm, Homestead

We’ve been clearing land. We could clear land until the day we die and we’ll never clear it all. It’s hard work, but it feels productive at the end of the day when you step back and see the progress.

The problem is, there is a lot to contend with as we bushwhack our way through the brambles, briars, vines and spindly trees. The first problem is the thorns. They rip up our arms and legs. I look like I was in a fight with a cat – and the cat won. The second problem is poison ivy. As careful as I am, if I even look at the stuff, it sends out feelers and attacks me. The third problem is ticks. They crawl on the grass, they fall out of the trees, and they carry Lyme Disease. The fourth problem is “things.” “Things” like a box turtle, a weird frog – and a SNAKE.

Chris was running the trimmer into the tall brambles, oblivious to my screaming, running, and flailing of arms. I climbed up the back of him like I was climbing a tree. I wrapped myself around his shoulders and my legs around his waist – because I wasn’t leaving my feet within striking distance of that SNAKE. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

I explained there was a SNAKE, a huge, long snake with BIG yellow stripes and it was looking right at me. And it looked hungry! I pointed out the direction it was headed.

“Where?” he asked, looking for a huge, long snake with big yellow stripes.

“Right there,” I insisted.

“It’s just a little garter snake,” he said, unimpressed, but I noticed he started pushing around in the brambles with a long handled rake after that.

I went to Home Depot and bought one of those Tyvek outfits. They’re cute. They’re a white, one-piece jump suit intended to be worn when you are painting. The problem is, they only come in extra large, so I lopped off the bottom of the legs and the extra long arms (that didn’t fix the problem that the crotch came to about my knees). I donned my new attire, tucked the pant legs inside of tall white socks, and figured this would solve problems one through four (above).

For the second time that day, Chris looked at me like I’d lost my mind, tried to hide his laughter and said I looked like I escaped from a mental institution.

I guess that’s what working on the farm will do to you.