Farm Wife Fail
July 22nd, 2016
I have been a farm wife for almost ten years. I was probably the least qualified person to fill this position.
Scared of cows.
Never gardened.
Never canned produce.
Hated chickens.
Never drove equipment.
Was used to making plans ahead of time and being able to have said plans happen regardless of cows, weather, or crops.
Did not have the magical powers of producing an assortment of baked goods whenever someone randomly popped in for coffee.
Some things have changed. I'm not scared of cows. I can and freeze stuff. I drive tractors. I know how to bale. I've given up on making solid plans if they involve Sheldon.
Some things have not changed. I still hate chickens. Sheldon begged for YEARS to have the dinosaur fowl and I finally caved with one condition - I was having nothing to do with them. I wasn't feeding them, I wasn't watering them, I wasn't picking the eggs, I wasn't cleaning their coop, and he could forget getting meat birds because I was absolutely not butchering them. This lack of chicken effort on my part is a huge source of amusement to my sister as it is one of those "in the farm wife code" things. But I am a special snowflake and I dance to my own chickenless drum.
Oh, two conditions. Roosters had to be kept separate as the thought of eating fertilized eggs totally grossed me out even though the eggs are picked before they start developing I'm still like, no. No sperm eggs for me, thanks.
I also have not mastered the whole making baked goods appear on demand. On a good day you'll get some Oreos in the cupboard. My baking never makes it to the freezer, which is what I suspect is many farm wives secret weapon.
My biggest farm wife fail however is...
THE GARDEN.
Yes. Yes, those are thistles almost as tall as me. In a garden where rows are almost indecipherable. Now, this year, it's true - this is not entirely my fault. We went from dry, dry to WET, WET. Which means nothing grew and then BAM everything grew. We have a pretty flat yard, which means my garden doesn't drain very well and it was basically a mud hole. Add in the fact that when I needed to weed the most I was in the "all I want to do is sleep and throw up" stage of pregnancy and well... It's gotten away from me. Like it's in Mexico, that's how far it's gotten.
Unfortunately, I can't really blame it all on weather and pregnancy as it has been ten years and I have yet to make it through one blasted year with my garden under control. Generally we harvest it amongst the weeds and then work everything under, swearing to do better next year. (not unlike doing farm books for tax season... Although I am slowly getting better at that. Very... Very... Slowly.)
I drive past immaculate gardens all the time. I'm fairly certain there is not ONE weed. I have no idea how they do it. Well, okay, I'm pretty sure I do... They probably get their arse out in their gardens every day and weed and know how to use a rototiller.
One day I will be a pro at this. Maybe. Probably not.
I have been a farm wife for almost ten years. I was probably the least qualified person to fill this position.
Scared of cows.
Never gardened.
Never canned produce.
Hated chickens.
Never drove equipment.
Was used to making plans ahead of time and being able to have said plans happen regardless of cows, weather, or crops.
Did not have the magical powers of producing an assortment of baked goods whenever someone randomly popped in for coffee.
Some things have changed. I'm not scared of cows. I can and freeze stuff. I drive tractors. I know how to bale. I've given up on making solid plans if they involve Sheldon.
Some things have not changed. I still hate chickens. Sheldon begged for YEARS to have the dinosaur fowl and I finally caved with one condition - I was having nothing to do with them. I wasn't feeding them, I wasn't watering them, I wasn't picking the eggs, I wasn't cleaning their coop, and he could forget getting meat birds because I was absolutely not butchering them. This lack of chicken effort on my part is a huge source of amusement to my sister as it is one of those "in the farm wife code" things. But I am a special snowflake and I dance to my own chickenless drum.
Oh, two conditions. Roosters had to be kept separate as the thought of eating fertilized eggs totally grossed me out even though the eggs are picked before they start developing I'm still like, no. No sperm eggs for me, thanks.
I also have not mastered the whole making baked goods appear on demand. On a good day you'll get some Oreos in the cupboard. My baking never makes it to the freezer, which is what I suspect is many farm wives secret weapon.
My biggest farm wife fail however is...
THE GARDEN.
Yes. Yes, those are thistles almost as tall as me. In a garden where rows are almost indecipherable. Now, this year, it's true - this is not entirely my fault. We went from dry, dry to WET, WET. Which means nothing grew and then BAM everything grew. We have a pretty flat yard, which means my garden doesn't drain very well and it was basically a mud hole. Add in the fact that when I needed to weed the most I was in the "all I want to do is sleep and throw up" stage of pregnancy and well... It's gotten away from me. Like it's in Mexico, that's how far it's gotten.
Unfortunately, I can't really blame it all on weather and pregnancy as it has been ten years and I have yet to make it through one blasted year with my garden under control. Generally we harvest it amongst the weeds and then work everything under, swearing to do better next year. (not unlike doing farm books for tax season... Although I am slowly getting better at that. Very... Very... Slowly.)
I drive past immaculate gardens all the time. I'm fairly certain there is not ONE weed. I have no idea how they do it. Well, okay, I'm pretty sure I do... They probably get their arse out in their gardens every day and weed and know how to use a rototiller.
One day I will be a pro at this. Maybe. Probably not.
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