It was Easter 2020. The first holiday after Covid, to some extent, infiltrated the USA.

The first holiday where most of North America was asked to not gather and instead get used to this thing called “shelter in place” - a term that is no longer scary, but was at the time.

My cappuccino self was hating being home.

Working in Corp America and adjusting to full remote work for my company & my teammates across the world was not an easy task. While I worked remote part time usually, they did not and it was a huge adjustment operationally. Add on extended time off school + distance learning. Can I get an Amen from parents nationwide who were ready to lose it during the spring of 2020??

Plus, no Starbucks while going to the big city for work once or twice a week, spring break plans to Scottsdale cancelled, restaurants and my beloved coffee shops closed... and to top it off we had a winter blizzard Easter weekend.

There went the spring time church outfits (to watch church online ... but hey, I could sport a blouse and heels in my living room) and Easter baskets hiding outside. Not only were we unable to gather with our loved ones for our traditional Easter gathering, but I was forced to get a frozen pizza in the oven or put my big girl pants on and cook a ham and get out the crystal for a fancy Easter dinner myself. I chose to reach for the Waterford and show my sons the value of getting the china - even just for ourselves - to celebrate Easter and Jesus (#goodmom).

That Easter evening, my farmer and the boys brought Easter dinner to the original farmer (my father in law) at the farm and returned with news of the first spring baby lamb born.

How nice I thought......

An Easter lamb, born during a pandemic, in a snow storm...there’s some Biblical lesson there to teach my children (lamb + Easter + sins made white as snow through the blood of Jesus) . You know... since I was sheltering in place with the end of the world upon us and all, I was going educate my sons in any way I could on Biblical truths! (#greatmom)

However their story did not stop there....

Due to the blizzard it was hard to get to the sheep
barn, the mother was a first timer and wanted nothing to do with the lamb. In fact, the newborn hadn’t been cleaned by her much, she refused to go near it/feed it and it seemed that the lamb had a broken leg.

The Cornfield farmer in me kicked in ... and I looked at my farmer who shrugged and said that the poor little guy won’t make it, but hey, it’s survival of the fittest right now due to the conditions and if it survives the night, maybe we can go in the morning and help give it some milk or try to keep it warm after the blizzard ends - and see if the mother will take it or we can introduce it to another mother once the other babies are born soon (that’s a thing!) .

At first I agreed.

There’s a fine line between getting involved emotionally with farm animals. They are not pets. Those lambs will live for a year or so at the farm and then be sold at market or possible kept for breeding (the females) or end up in my freezer. You cannot get attached to these lambs. I knew that. They are not pets. They deserve to be cared for and kept healthy of course....but they are not pets.

i repeat - they are not pets.

Scroll up now and look at the photo above.

Needless to say, this guy became a pet.

Back to the story:

My cappuccino self poured a Waterford crystal glass of Pinot Grigio (i was trying to get into my chilled/spring wine collection) and started to think how I could turn the pending decline and ultimate, probable passing of this unwanted Easter lamb into another lesson about redemption and sacrifice and Easter (#smartmom). We all sat down to watch a beautiful theatrical performance of the story of Jesus and Easter on tv (shout out to Sights and Sounds Theater streaming their past performances on Easter = incredible) .

But the sad faces of my sons... and the look my farmer was giving me pushed me over the edge.

I slammed that glass of wine and got up, took off my fuzzy slippers and pulled on my boots. I reluctantly grabbed my farm winter coat from the back of the closet (that I thought was done being used for the season) , grabbed a few “supplies” and headed out in the blizzard. It was a long 2 mile drive to that farm. It was dark. It was snowing, it was cold. But it was Easter and there was a newborn baby lamb in need. I was on a mission.

The original farmer was concerned and I think very glad to see me. I think he was, as a seasoned sheep farmer, weighing options of trying to care for this lamb who would not survive likely without the colostrum / first milk of his mother and with a broken leg in the blizzard.

As much as it pulled at one’s heart strings, it wasn’t a pet and a farmer must be smart and realistic. Plus he couldn’t do much on his own due to the elements and frankly a whole slew of pending lamb births were soon coming... but I knew I could help.

I trudged through the snow and pushed open that heavy old barn door like a cornfield-farmer-rural woman champ. Ma Ingalls had nothing on me...

Then I saw him. Shivering in the corner. He was covered in snow that was blowing in through cracks in the pen where the farmer was able to get the mother as she was in labor. She was stomping her foot, standing as far away from the sad looking creature as she could. She was not sheared because she was not intended to have gotten pregnant. She was not one of the usual breeding ewes from what I remember at this point, so she had no clue what was happening.

I hopped into that pen instantly and picked up this lamb still covered in frozen/dried after birth (usually the mother cleans the baby immediately) and noticed the oddly wobbling leg. Definitely broken.

The original farmer happily agreed to allow me to take the lamb home to our house. I immediately posed it as a learning opportunity for the boys and he agreed (probably sighing in relief).

I had no clue what I was doing.

I put him in a box, he was wrapped in a towel and immediately brought this creature home. We washed him in warm water. I had powdered lamb milk (yes there is such a thing) with I believe some sort of colostrum / first milk supplement that the original farmer gave me. I also had a syringe and tube because, you see , you need to put this tube in its mouth, down its throat and literally feed him directly into his stomach. Something to do with sucking and air and ensuring the nutrients get into their stomach.

Apparently this can be fatal because it can get into their lungs. I hate this - i don’t get it - it’s way above my head, but I’m still learning and haven’t killed any lambs yet ...so I must be doing something right - there you have it.

After a successful tube feed and warm water bath in the laundry room sink, this creature stopped shivering, he actually opened his eyes and put his head up. We were all in love.

We used a narrow box as a pen (the photo is just of him in it initially, to ensure he fit. We made a nest of warm blankets in it, but he immediately snuggled into the hard enclosed space and wanted to nap).

After a quick nap he enjoyed looking around and being pet by curious red headed boys.

​Within a half hour, he was alert, warm and most importantly, as a guest in my cappuccino house... he was clean.

TO BE CONTINUED......

This summer my farmer decided we needed one more thing on our plate. A farm garden at the “Orchard”.

The Orchard is a property that is mostly tillable land (tillable land means land that is farmed... as in there are cornfields there). However, the Orchard also has acres of non-tillable land, which means there are acres of tall grass, fruit trees, an old barn (that we are renovating, finally!), along with other old & cool (that’s the nice way of saying falling down & old ) farm buildings that are easily 75+ years old, and have been untouched for close to 50 years.

As part of the Orchard barn renovation this spring, we had to transport wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of 100 year old cow manure, dirt, decayed wood etc.

Who do you think got recruited for this job?

Me of course.

Why not? We were in the middle of a shelter in place mandate, so I was happy to get out and do something.

Thankfully, due to a certain pandemic, I hadn’t had a manicure in a long time and had browsed barn renovations on Instagram and Pinterest until my brain was ready to burst with ideas, so I was ready to get my hands in there and get started.

im somewhat shocked as I re-read that, I was actually excited to shovel ancient cow poop.... for a garden...that I had no clue how to start.

The area to be emptied was the basement of the barn. Lucky for us it’s a walk out-basement type of set up (the barn is built into a hill). The garden area was maybe about 50 yards from the barn, so after a number of wheelbarrow filled drop offs, the garden spot was full of loads of rich, dried up and ancient goodness.

The boys and I took over this garden project as the farmer got deep into the spring planting season in May.

It started out nice and pretty.

We planted seeds and seedlings of a variety of things. However, we had no idea what we were doing, even though I thoroughly exhausted my research assistants Mr Google and Ms Pinterest.

We planted things too closely together, not in proper straight rows, did not properly mark what was planted, planted too many varieties and did not take proper weed precautions.

​I blame the research assistants.

Much to my dismay, i had to bring in the big guns.

The weeds had to be taken on by the farmer.....He is the master at controlling weeds. He got in there with some sort of rototiller type of machine that ate them up.

​We then were tasked with pulling weeds until our backs hurt. We used various sorts of weed block material, staked down in between rows of little seedlings, and did our best to control the weed garden we had created.

The boys loved using the old school, rusty hoes we found in the barn and with time, our seedlings turned to plants and suddenly the weeds diminished and we had a garden!

We even had to put up a fake owl to scare away critters. We named him Harold, and he seemed to work!

My garden taught me something good after all. I had that feeling finally... that feeling farmers feel when they harvest their crop.

It’s a feeling of accomplishment.

It is a feeling of accomplishment in working hard and working with your hands to produce something.

It’s a thrill to go out to the Orchard Garden and see the zucchini, pumpkins, cucumber, acorn squash, decorative squash, Brussels sprouts, watermelon & sweet corn grow.

I’ll admit even the critters won’t touch some of it because it’s rotten or no good.... . but by golly, it grew!

It’s been a whole year since the last post. If you’re reading this it means you have interest in my stories - so be sure you follow me on Instagram or Facebook. That’s where many more stories are told & you’ll get a real time view into things as we continue to meld into farm life.

Summer is beautiful at the farm. It’s also the in between period between the insanely busy and stressful spring planting and fall harvest season.

However, I’ve learned the work never really stops and there is not much of a break. I also have learned to appreciate the beauty of summer in the farm. I surely have a new found appreciation for the evening sun light over the soybeans, and sunsets over the cornfields along with the thrill of seeing my boys help with equipment prep and farm gardening activities.

Since my last post, a lot has happened.

In September 2019, a beloved uncle was tragically killed in a farming accident here. He was a retired policeman with a lifetime full of people who were affected by him through his service, his love for his family and his love for farming. He was one of my favorite people from the get go, upon marrying into this family of farmers & he is greatly missed. The lost left a deep hole in the extended family & we will continue to remember him & think of his loved ones. Farming has a bit of a different sentiment in my mind as well now, as I have reflected on the legacy he has left his family with their memories of times on their farm with him.

The 2019 fall harvest that followed was a difficult one for many reasons. As it wrapped up and winter set in, we continued on with life, completely unaware of what was in store for us spring of 2020.

Spring planting + a pandemic + distance learning for kids + quarantine made the planting season a whole different ball game. There was joy in much of it and the weather the good Lord graced us with, made it a successful one.

Check back for more posts on some of the insanities of our winter and spring, that included an attempt at forging a walking path at the “orchard woods” , fostering barn animals in my cappuccino house including a scrawny kitten and our beloved lamb, Snow.

I took part in birthing and dealing with the death of baby lambs, was promised the start of a barn renovation that I’m still waiting on, a farm weed garden that about killed me but is now finally producing (!!) & many more interesting stories.

A few months ago we had barn cats at the farm whose mother disappeared. They were just too young to be without their mother & it was unseasonably cold, so we scooped them up and took them to the Cappuccino house for a little R&R away from the brutalities of life as a barn kitten with no mother.

As you can see from the various photos, what started out as skittish and afraid little puffs of dirty, stinky fur - soon became snuggly, soft pets...a lot can change fast in the life of a barn kitten.

We had some medical issues to deal with. Nothing serious and I was told to not spend money on vet bills.... (barn kittens with no mother to teach them to earn their keep by hunting and ridding the barn of rodents, are unfortunately not worth what could be a hefty vet bill in the eyes of a busy farm operation). I get it, I do, but they were now in my cappuccino territory, so I vowed to do what I needed to do to keep these little puff balls healthy.

As a side note, I find this interesting: in my old cappuccino life, one would pay to have an old tire discarded, or would pay for cornstalks and other items for their fall decor at some big box store. In the cornfield state of mind, one would likely GET PAID for that old tire because someone somewhere round these parts would want it for something. Or in my new cornfield life....one would just keep that tire on a pile of other old tires in hopes that one day there may be a use for it... and likely, there would be a use for it at some point - or it just would become a towering farmyard rubber sculpture.

And for the record.... in my land of cornfields, one would never, ever, under any circumstances pay for cornstalks for their fall home decor (read about my experience with that, here).

Back to the kittens.
​

The kittens had some health issues. I knew I needed to channel my inner farm mindset and respect the animal & do what was right, while still respecting the dynamics of barn life and think twice before I dove into pet motherhood and spent my life savings on vet bills for kittens I could never keep (household with cat allergies)

I turned to research. (Ie. Good ol’ Google... I tend to do that... for more examples of my incredible research skills go here ).

I quickly found what ailed one of the kittens.

I have three words for you....

Feline Rectal Impaction

Its a real thing and I dare my cappuccino/urbanite or non pet owner friends to image search that one.

I knew I was up to my eyeballs in feline crap (no pun intended) and had to take action. One little puff ball kitten had a major impaction and was not eating, very lethargic & stinky...oh was he stinky.

So, after a variety of home remedies, warm water soaks & a web educated diet change, the impaction passed and within a day that kitten was a new and improved cat. His little bottom that literally was a gaping hole, (again, don’t google images unless you really want to....) very quickly & miraculously healed and he was our biggest eater, warm milk drinker & by far the most active. I was increasingly proud of myself as a #farmwife and #barnkittenmother (doing my best to be hip here with hashtags).

They say it takes 3-4 days to acclimate yourself and truly relax when on vacation, which is why anyone who takes only a weekend vacation is wasting time and money. (Note to self...)

These kittens, however, within about 24 hours had relaxed, rejuvenated, and properly acclimated to their warm, snuggly vacation cappuccino resort and their new diet.

They had quickly become true house cats. They played amongst themselves nonstop, they enjoyed their warm milk that they licked out of nice little IKEA-esque porcelain bowls & snuggled with their human redheaded brothers on the couch atop beds made of towels and blankets after their spa appointments (ie daily washings to clean their little selves properly as they were not yet litter trained so they tended to mess the floor of their little bed area and walk, sit in it etc).

They rode in the car with us for school drop off, one insisted on being held and snuggling against my chest non stop (whether I was cooking or working etc- see above photos!) They loved to be held and snuggled and purred all the time.

It was blissful.

Now i have to admit. I’m not a cat person. Only because I’m allergic big time. I want to literally claw my face off if I have a reaction. Sneezing, itchy, itchy eyes and face, runny nose, a hard time breathing.... I “researched” that too and apparently kittens don’t develop the dander that older cats have (that is the root cause of most cat allergies) until later in life.

Who knew... so for those of you who are allergic... note to self: You can probably snuggle a kitten against your face and be fine..... like all baby creatures, they are pure and sweet and amazing.

We had them less than a week. We knew that we would have to eventually give them up for adoption or reintroduce them to barn life somehow since we knew we could not keep them due to the allergies that would develop in my household.

Before the week was up a call came in from the original farmer, that Ms mother cat had returned with another kitten.

Why she and the 4th kitten went away from the barn for so many days, we’ll never know.

After some “this is real life/you can’t have everything you want” discussion, & a few little redheaded boy tears, we reluctantly brought the three kittens back to be reunited with their family.

We snuck (literally... because if you feed barn cats too much, I was told, they don’t hunt and rid the barn of rodents) into the barn multiple times within the coming weeks to bring warm milk as well as meat/juice and other scraps for mama. We also snuck an old towel or two if the evening was predicted to be cold.

This experience was a good one for my boys, to love something so much, care for it, bring it back to health & then return it to its rightful “owner/mother.”

Fast forward through spring and now summer and the mother and barn kittens do not seem to be at the barn. Though one current barn cat does resemble their coloring and could be one of the kittens, now grown up.

Their potential demise is still only somewhat known. We like to think they migrated to another farm or are living somewhere warm and cozy.

Such is the life of a barn cat I suppose.

I’m an animal lover, I value the life of animals and respect them & have learned to really respect their purposes. Especially the purposes of work or farm animals. Farm life has taught me that, with time.

My kids are learning that upfront though as they have witnessed barn animal birth and death (sheep/lambs and other barn cats mostly). It’s an amazing and real way to look at life & another reason I know we are all becoming more and more part of the cornfield life.

So, here’s to our barn kittens, may you be out there catching rodents & enjoying the feasts of mice and rats and who knows what somewhere, with a faint memory of your vacation with us...

I've had a bit of a winter (and spring) hiatus.

I’ve learned in the farming world it’s not uncommon to have a winter hiatus. Since we don’t have animals (except for hobby) the winter months on the farm are slow, the terrain bleak, the air cold & yet I have found incredible beauty.

Sheep still needed to be fed and barn kittens needed a warm home for a few days when their mother left the barn and didn’t return.... Left alone they’d freeze and starve..... so we took them in. They quickly became accustomed to the warm cappuccino house, snuggling & playing by the fire.
​
My gentleman farmer kept his days busy with buying & selling a variety of things, assessing machinery & equipment, cleaning up after harvest only to start prepping and strategizing for the spring planting season.

We traveled to warm destinations and took time to relax and reconnect as a family.
Our town has an incredible youth wrestling program, so our weekends were filled with little boys wrestling and screaming at the top of our lungs as parents, for our son to “Get ‘em down! Hold ‘em down!” Etc — to any non wrestling parent the screaming of such things by otherwise lovely nurturing women may seem odd, but if you’re a wrestling mom it’s OK for your son to make the other kid cry...because chances are your kid will be crying at some point while being held down by a stronger kid ... so it’s how it goes. Case in point — see video below. The redhead in the black singlet is mine....he totally “got” that kid.... (sound on to hear my screaming)

2019 Spring time planting in MN has been tough - it’s been on the news & is the talk of the town to some extent. We are now midway through June and we are getting close to the season being done. Better late than never.

I have a new appreciation for farming after living in our new cornfield world for a year. Exactly a year... I spent my first night here & moved my urban household a year ago this week.

​We wouldn’t change it for the world!

I’ve found the best privately owned small town coffee shops a cappuccino lover like myself could ever ask for.

My family has made lifelong friends - some of whom also have migrated from city life to the cornfield/small town life for various reasons.

I’ve realized that many people who live in this cornfield land are farmers or grew up on a farm... some still “live off the land” in ways. Many have lived here their whole lives with multiple generations farming the same land. There are also those who want to live in the land of cornfields because they value the slower pace, smaller community and peace that this place offers. They may work in the city & have nothing to do with cornfields, but value the cornfield life.

I’ve come to appreciate that beautiful “smell of cows” (you know.. that cow manure smell) that drifts through town, and waiting in a line of cars because a tractor is ahead and no one can safely pass.

I’ve come to appreciate the fact that our town seems to have a dozen last names that belong or are related to just about everyone.

I’ve come to appreciate that I have to drive 30 minutes to the nearest Target store - this was a hard one, but I’ve come to appreciate supporting local retail businesses instead and re-thinking the way I shop and spend money.

My cappuccino self and my cornfield self are continuing to merge.

I love my cappuccino house. I love putting my feet on my pretty ottoman in my pretty sitting room and having morning coffee and devotions there in the morning before anyone else is up. I love keeping it tidy and decorating it in ‘cappuccino style’ — while still finding joy in and accepting the huge amounts of farm dirt and messy little farm boys who run through its clean floors and sit on its clean furniture.

I also can proudly sat that I have continued to foster my relationship with the farm truck (for a refresher course in this: www.cappuccinoandcornfields.com/home/first-morning) and can now properly drive and back it up. I also can blindly track down my gentleman farmer, via a great app on my phone, in the middle of a 150+ acre field of crops.

I’ve also learned how to properly walk through knee high, grassy farmland in flip flops....

​I also can chase and catch up a rambunctious lamb and learned this year how to properly milk a mother ewe for colostrum.

I’d say this year I’ve definitely had some resume builders with combinations like that.

One magnificent thing about living in a farming community is the array of beauty that changes with the seasons. Not only is the air crisp and the leaves changing, but the landscape is too.

Gone are the green rolling hills as far as the eye can see. They are replaced with golden fields of tans and golden browns and it’s a new kind of beautiful.

My 5 year old (the wee ginger) and I had just returned from a local garden center. The farm truck was laden with mums, fall plants & bulbs for landscaping at the cappuccino house.

Notice what I did there? I mentioned the farm truck without hesitation.

In fact, I happily hoisted myself up into the trusty farm truck to go to the garden center and enjoyed truckin’ in and loading up the back with my mums and pumpkins etc.

I’ll admit part of me didn’t want to risk getting dirt in the back of my vehicle, but the ol’ farm truck fits in just fine around here and I like to think it welcomes fancy dirt from the garden center and the pretty plants...

{Click HERE to read about my relationship with the farm truck}.

So many of the incredible fall decorations that cascade the outside entry ways of the #homesofInstagram, or on the cover of all the various home magazines include corn stalks gathered together and on display.

Beautiful!

Ive never had the type of entry way to properly secure them so I’ve never considered it.

The garden center was selling them for $5-$10 a bunch. Without thinking I said to myself, “huh,could it work at the cappuccino house? Hey, not a bad price...probably because they are so readily available down here...they probably cost more in the city” and I contemplated how my entry way would look and if I should buy some.

Buy some.

Let me say that again... BUY cornstalks. My brain actually went there. That’s the cappuccino in me.

My cornfield self looked at the farm truck and remembered I have corn stalks coming out of my ears (farmer humor) and if I actually paid money for corn stalks, my gentleman farmer would never let me live it down.

I left the expensive corn stalks, hoisted myself & the wee ginger back up into that trusty farm truck & made our way to the farm.

The wee ginger and I marched right into one of our fields and yanked corn stalks right out of the ground. Yup, just hoisted them up, root and all. The wee ginger thought it was great fun.

I never ended up using them - I just couldn’t make it look like the #homesofinstagram entry ways. I plucked the ears of corn off though, and tied them into my fall wreath and tucked a few in between my pumpkins.

​Nevertheless it was a win.....

After stealing corn stalks from the field, we heard from my other son that some lambs had escaped and were out roaming, in the unfenced pasture.

Operation save the lambs was officially under way.

My eight year old is a want to be professional athlete. He is as big as the average 11 yr old and has a knack to turn anything into a training opportunity. He’s really into Rocky right now, so I think the kid has the Rocky training montage running through his head at all times.

He was ready to wrangle a lamb or two and become the heavy weight champion of the world while he was at it.

Rocky had to catch a chicken if you recall, my son had to catch a lamb.

He was ready, focused and exhilarated.

Now, these lambs have lightening speed and agility like you’d not believe, and they run as a pack. Our lambs are big too, probably 50+ lbs and when they run together you better watch out, they will knock anything out of their way when spooked.

The goal was to locate them first (photo below)

Then get them to run as a pack to the barn (see video).

A seasoned sheep dog would do this no problem.

I had an 8 and 5 yr old humming Eye of the Tiger.....

​I found myself humming the circus theme...

The lost sheep were successfully wrangled back into their pens and two triumphant little boys were chattering about their accomplished feat. They also made sure to talk quietly to the sheep and calmed the mayhem in the sheep pens.

This isn’t the first time a run away lamb has had to be caught. While this below photo is from an earlier occurance, it shows the pride a kid can have turning a farm chore into a serious training accomplishment.

I find myself more and more impressed at the awe and determination my two boys suddenly have, whether it be pulling corn stalks out of the ground or chasing a lamb.

These boys are learning a lot, completing tasks and challenges and doing so with a fire in their bellies & a soft touch when dealing with animals.

I love that.

They love jumping on hay bales and yelling “Yo Adrian, I did it!”

This sentence brings either excitement or dread for most everyone I’d guess.

For me it brought dread on this warm, really warm summer evening not too long ago. I had a million things to do in my cappuccino house and was feeling blue because a dinner date for that evening in the city had to be declined.

I begrudgingly had to change into my farm clothes (yes, I have farm clothes) which is a whole other story.

We all hoisted ourselves up into the farm truck, you know the one (if not click here to read about the infamous farm truck) .

We left town and made our way to one of the fields. I bounced along in the blasted farm truck with my children chatting happily about the mysterious project and wondering if it involved any heavy machinery.

When we arrived, I immediately noticed the beauty of the setting. It was mid evening and the sun was starting to lower. It was a hot summer evening and the light hitting the tips of the corn was a spectacular site. You know, perfect for social media post worthy pictures #winning

Meanwhile my gentleman farmer is explaining that we need to go down the lane & gather all the hay clippings and pile them into the bed of the truck.

Sounds easy enough and doesn’t sound like it will require anyone getting dirty. #farmwifewin

He, then, hands me a pitch fork. Like, an old school big pitchfork.

Meanwhile, my children are climbing the hay bales, laughing and chattering - with the cornfields behind them and the sun setting just so.... I realized I was looking at a great photo opportunity (aka social media post worthy opportunity).

I dropped the pitchfork like a dirty farm boot and took my iPhone and started snapping pictures of the boys.

This went on for a few minutes and I realized my gentleman farmer was looking at us all with his hands on his hips....

Like three naughty children, we got back into line and followed him picking up the hay and piling it into the bed of the truck.

Here’s the kicker. My three adult siblings and their spouses were all at dinner in the city at a very “cappuccino-esque” eatery at that very moment. A dinner date we were to have gone to, but couldn’t make it work, now that we lived out of the city and all.

As I grabbed pitchfork piles of hay I imagined the incredible glass of wine my sisters were drinking and the summertime dishes my brothers were noshing on. Dressed in cute outfits..... in a chic restaurant with fancy bathrooms....

Three months prior I’d have waved good bye to the babysitter, jumped in an Uber and been on my way in adorable summer shoes and my new summer clutch.

I started to really get annoyed - that is, until I looked up at the ol’ farm truck and saw my two little boys with triumphant looks on their red cheeks because they had climbed into the bed of the truck and were sitting on the roof after having jumped and stomped the hay down - they were commenting on the view from “up there” and telling me to work faster so they had more hay to stomp down.

These boys were loving this outing. There were no sounds except for the crickets and the birds - and their little voices. The sun was setting over the fields and it was hot and muggy and sticky and dirty and they were loving it.

I started to throw hay into the truck faster (after getting a great photo of them of course) and reminded myself that award winning city restaurants and cute summer shoes have their place - and I love them. However this is a chapter in my life and God has opened doors for us to have this opportunity and experience this farm and all that goes into it.

At least it makes for some great photo opportunities and good stories.

Oh, and I made it to a phenomenal city restaurant recently with some of my favorite cappuccino-loving lady friends. It was divine. And I may or may not have visited the fancy bathroom 3 times just to see it...

​I came home though and relooked through my pictures from that other “project” evening and marveled at the fun we had out there in the fields with the hay.

I guess this Cornfield thing is really growing on me.

Even my kid knew enough to take this photo of me in action throwing hay with a giant pitchfork into the farm truck - not the most flattering perhaps, but hey, I couldn’t care less because it shows me throwing hay with a giant pitchfork into the farm truck! When I otherwise would have been dressed up & sipping expensive wine at a city restaurant - and that is the whole point of this blog! #nowimtrulyafarmwife
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One thing I've learned about being near or affiliated with a farm is that dirt is everywhere.  It's everywhere, and that's OK.

It has taken me a long time to be able to say that.  Here's my story on my acceptance of dirt.

I had this "cappuccino" vision of farms that included cows trotting toward their owner upon hearing a certain song (you've all seen that video, right?) .  If you watch until the end...you'll get a surprise at how smart those cows are (Go BIG RED - for you Wisconsin Folk) .

I also had a romanticized view of farm life from Instagram.  Oh Instagram...  You know, the photos of chickens being chased by cute kids, and gorgeous little goats climbing on someone while they sip wine & munch on a wood fire cooked pizza. You know the ones. 

I love those photos and waste a lot of time on social media scrolling through them.   But that's not my reality, and that's a fact.

My reality is dirt.  Lots of dirt. 

I have a cappuccino house.  I'll admit it.   I also like it clean.  Very clean. 

So, when my gentleman farmer walks in on my gorgeous new hickory wood floors with his dirty farm boots - I bite my tongue.  Ok, I don't bite my tongue, I let him have it. 

I've tried to enforce a rule to take ones' shoes off in the garage prior to walking into my mud room that's way too pretty to be a farm related mud room.  The challenge I've found with that though, is that there is still mud and dirt all over, it's just on my steps in and all over my garage.  It then gets into my house by little feet that come in and out constantly through the same mud trodden garage.

It's a never ending battle. 

Other rules include the fact that I force my gentleman farmer and any little farmer boys who are muddy, to strip down in said mud room, and leave their dirty farm clothes in the adjacent laundry room.  I then will assess if a good rinsing must take place prior to placing the dirty clothes in the washer. 

Call me crazy - I dare you.  So far, it works. 

Currently they are fixing tile in the fields.  Don't ask me to explain what that means, but I know it entails a lot of mud caked clothing.  This photo does not do it justice in the least.

 
This photo is after a lot of rinsing - and the dirt just kept coming and coming and coming.

But it's just dirt.  It can be cleaned.

Dirt is also beautiful.  It really is.  Have you ever put your hands in good clean dirt? 

What about dirty dirt?  Not as nice but still nice.

Dirt is everywhere on our farm.  EVERYWHERE. 

When my gentleman farmer comes home with mud caked jeans and boots it means he's been working hard.   Making something better.  Don't ask me what, but something.

The dirt on those boots signify that something has been planted, or harvested, or assessed, or fixed, or worked on, or taken care of on our farm.  Dirt means that work is being done and things are being accomplished. 

Dirt means money is being made and projects are being completed.

I still hate dirt.  I'll still roll my eyes as my high heeled self steps over the mud caked shoes in my garage. 

However, dirt and I have a new appreciation for each other I think. We try to stay away from each other, but in the end, we always end up around each other.  Whether I like it or not. 

Unless I ask for the strip down to happen in the driveway (much to, I'm sure, the would be  amusement of my neighbors), the dirt will make it's way into my home, and so I vow to find beauty in the blasted dirt...

And get a bigger mud room.

"Knee high by the Fourth of July!"

Most everyone, cappuccino or cornfield folks, probably know what that saying means here in the good ol' US of A.

I always, always thought it was odd when I started to dip my pedicured toes into the world of cornfields.

The blasted corn was ALWAYS much higher by July 4th.  In fact, July is one of the most beautiful months in the land of cornfields.

Everything is beautiful and everything is green.  The usually continuous August heat hasn't quite hit yet, and there have been enough rainy and enough hot days for things to green up and become lush.

I brought the saying up once to my gentleman farmer, and he told me it was hogwash.  Just an old saying.  

This year, my first Independence Day close enough to cornfields where I can smell them, I decided to figure out why the corn is so high - and where the saying comes from.

I did a little bit of research (ok, I don't really have time nor do I have patience for research, so I should say a quick google search showed me what, I will take, as the answer),  and found out that it is an old saying and frankly the past century or so has made the saying obsolete. 

Corn is many times very high - higher than your head as in the photo above (taken July 18th, 2015) in July.

It seems to me that the modern world that has made that saying obsolete.  The world of technology & commercialism - the need to be better and bigger and produce more has changed the world of farming over the last century.  Which is a good thing!

Think about it - if you were a farmer in the 1800's or even first quarter of the 20'th century, you either planted your fields like Charles Ingalls, strapped to a plow and a horse, or had an old tractor that hummed a long slowly planting corn. 

Besides, in Minnesota, the spring time can be farm friendly or make farming very difficult. 

Anyone in the Midwest can probably imagine what the snow-nami of April 2018 did to the farming spring planting season. 

Modern day technology allows for not only the best of hybrid seed that has been revolutionized to produce incredible fields of produce, but also machinery that quickly plants acre upon acre coupled with specialized fertilizer, weed control processes and water drainage tiling systems to ensure that the environment this precious corn is growing in, is superb.

It's actually quite intriguing and very 'cappuccino-like' I think.

What's next?  Remote control drone-esque machinery that will plant for you while you sit in a coffee shop sipping a cappuccino watching the action via an app on your iPhone?   

Actually, they may already have that...I'll have to google, I mean research that.

Click HERE to read my "research"

Click here to read part 1 and find out how a runt newborn lamb got to the city...

Part 2:
​Within the matter of a few days of Pearl’s arrival we realized she was not thriving, so we called the University of MN veterinarian / residency program and they heartily agreed to see her.

I pulled up to the University and opened the back hatch of my vehicle. Pearl was snuggled in a big cardboard box with blankets.

The lady doctor who met me outside was seemingly excited. She examined Pearl in the vehicle and then fetched some syringes of vitamins and saline and gave me strict lamb doctoring instructions.

My gentleman farmer came home to find me holding Pearl like a baby and gingerly administering nourishing vitamin and hydration supplement doses.

My city friends were all intrigued. We had many visitors.

We included Pearl in our day to day life.

We read books to Pearl, she walked around our home like she owned the place in her diaper.

She sat in the warm spring sun in our chain link fenced city yard, and ventured out to a nearby park a couple of times with us.

Pearl was was weak, slept a lot, ate little, but oh she loved the attention. She would purr, romp around a wee bit in the grass and loved to snuggle any chance she got.

My boys were about 2 and 5 at the time, and told everyone they came across that we had a pet lamb including the preschool teacher, barista at Starbucks and cashier at Target. Most people smiled and would look at me and I’d nod and say, “we do” - but only if I had time to explain, which was necessary 100% of the time.

A few days later Pearl and I trekked back to the University. This time the lady doctor was joined by not one, but six students in matching polo shirts and wearing name tags.

They were waiting for me.

I stepped away as the 7 of them hovered over Pearl who was in the back of my vehicle.

They all took notes and discussed what could be wrong and various scenarios.

Even these veterinarians-to-be were intrigued by this little runt lamb.

Unfortunately - she continued to go down hill and we made the sad decision that almost all pet owners, at some point, have to make.

I drove Pearl back to the University one last time, and the lady doctor took her box out of my vehicle and asked if I wanted to say good bye.

I petted Pearl and she purred and snuggled my hand.

The lady doctor told me they would do an autopsy, and use the findings in their studies. Perhaps Pearl’s circumstances would help train a vet student who could care for another little lamb, and have a better outcome she said sympathetically.

I acted tough, but cried the whole way home.

Pearl’s short life was full of soft blankets, cuddles, warm bottles filled with specialized lamb formula, vitamins and hydration supplements. We truly gave it our all.

She slept in a clean blanketed cardboard box bed, had warm baths, played in a green grass filled yard & enjoyed the city parks. A different life perhaps for a runt lamb than otherwise.

I like to think I perhaps brought a little cappuccino to her life.

She absolutely brought a little cornfield into mine.