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Archive for August, 2007

I Scream, Ewe Scream!

Where were we?  Ah…yes…ice cream!  That glorious goodness from the freezer.

Well, let me tell you something.  There was nothing oh-so-glorious about what I managed to create in my two day ice cream making adventure.  As you may recall, I had made a late night run into the grocery store for eggs and half and half.  Come morning, after my mixture had cooled (that’s what they called it in the book; mixture), I poured it into my ice cream maker with the hopes and dreams of eating chocolate chip mint ice cream for breakfast.

Then I read the directions, which mumbled something about two to three hours.  What???  Okay, so ice cream would have to wait until lunch.

There was one thing that bothered me, however.  Those eggs…beaten as they were, I could still see strands of yellow in my ice cream mixture.  They’d dissolve, though, right?  After 40 minutes of mixing in the machine with a motor loud enough to make you think you lived on the runway of the airport, plus that two to three hours of chilling in the freezer afterwards, I anxiously pulled my ice cream out and spooned it lovingly into containers.  But wait…what was that?  Its…yellow!

Not only had not all the egg broken up and cooked smoothly into the mixture, the ice cream smelled funny.  Like mint custard.  Not in the least bit appetizing to the children, who both wrinkled their noses and said, “I’ll pass.”

So that left me with a gallon of my very own original mint custard ice cream.  Anyone want to come over for a bowl?

Just to help me get over that failure, Darling and I made a cheese dip.  This time, we done good!  Garlic, onion, basil, oregeno and a splash of red pepper.

To!

Die!

For!

 

Ice cream for breakfast is delightful, no doubt, but this?  Lip smackin’ goodness!

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After procrastinating until the very last minute, I finally finished that article.  I proofread it.  I proofread it again.  I lifted my finger and held it above the send button.  I proofread it one more time.  I closed my eyes tight and pushed the button.  And immediately felt sick.  Why had I said I’d do this?  Not for the money, as it was a freebie.  For the prestige?  Hardly, as it’s not exactly one of those magazines that circulates the globe or anything.  I’m not really sure what possessed me, but I did it, and I sent it, and I felt sick to my stomach.  What if it sounded…stupid?

That was in July.  In a couple of days it will be September, the issue the article will be in.  Darling and I have made countless trips to feed stores in the past 48 hours to see if it’s out yet.  “It’s mostly about me, right?  About Quiet Storm?”  Darling wants her 15 minutes of fame.  Small town fame.  Hick town fame.  But fame, none the less.  “I don’t recall; I think all three horses are in there.”  Darling was disappointed.

Yesterday I decided I had ample milk in the fridge and really needed to try something other than cheese.  Ice cream was the winning idea, so last night I tossed sugar into the milk and heated it.  I went to get some eggs from the fridge and found there were only two.  City Boy has been wondering why I feed chickens when we can never find eggs, and here I was, heated milk and needing eggs and faced with making a 10 pm trip to town.  Chicken may be for dinner tonight, as driving to town isn’t my favorite thing to do.

I turned off the heat under the milk, asked Darling if she wanted to come along for the ride and we headed off.  Glad I don’t live any further away from town, I must say, as I was getting tired.  Who knew making ice cream would be  two day ordeal for me?  Oh…I forgot to mention that I’d need to let the milky mixture sit for two hours.  No way was I going to be making ice cream after midnight!  But back to my yawning trip to town after dark…

We picked up our eggs at the store and grabbed some half and half while we were there.  Seems that’s something else home made ice cream needs.  This stuff was becoming more and more expensive as the night wore on.  Before leaving for the car, Darling grabbed my arm and reminded me to look in the rack for the magazine.  Low and behold…there it was!

Darling snatched up a copy and tore it open to the table of contents.  “There I am!  There I am!”  Sure enough, there she was, crouched down with Quiet Storm’s face pushing up against her nose.  A few more pages were dealt the rapid fire of Darling’s fingers, “Look!  There I am again!  And again!  It’s mostly pictures of Quiet Storm!!!”

Thankfully, no pictures of me, so no worries about a big butt.  Darling’s head, however….

 blog-contest-copy.jpg

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Good Grief!

Am I late getting a post up today, or what?

Got up this morning and went out to milk Bessie.  While she was munching down on her grain and I was busy squirt, squirt, squirting milk into the pail, I heard a horrible commotion from in front of the barn.  I could tell it was metal clanking and suspected someone was making an attempt to get through a gate.  I left a confused ewe in the stand and ran out to see what was happening.  There stood Quiet Storm with her neck through one of the gates.  She’d bounced around enough to get the latch to let go, but her head was still temporarily stuck; she looked as though she were a cow waiting to be milked.  Since both of the main gates were secure, I just left her and went back to Bessie and finished.

Trouble is my middle name! 

It would appear that if anything out of the ordinary is to happen around here, it’s to be during milking time.  Day before yesterday I had just finished up when Tait began to raise a ruckus out in the woods.  Next thing I know Carrot, Pokey, and the whole darn gang are headed out of the trees into the backyard.  Should have left Carrot tied up down in the field.  Silly ram.  Hasn’t he figured out yet that the grass is down there and we only serve hay at this joint?  But it didn’t take long to see why he’d wanted to venture on home as the rivalry over Bessie’s affection between the rams began as soon as they were through the gate.

Playing hard to get. 

I hate to rush off, but I’ve got soap oils being measured and gotta get to it.  Ewe all have a blessed day!

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Barn Raising

City Boy ordered lumber, and this weekend he put posts up for the barn.

 

 

While City Boy was out sweating in the sun, Darling and I went shopping.  Isn’t that just like a woman?  “Oh, Honey…build me a barn, will you?  Lift those heavy posts that way ten times as much as you and cement them into the ground on your own while we go spend your hard earned money…”

 

But, hey…it was worth it, don’t you think?  Darling is now set to go to the state fair in a few weeks with her new shirt and belt.

 

 

I’m off to milk my ewe now.  Afterwards I’ve got a….get this…job interview.  I swore I wouldn’t return to the work force, but I want a horse trailer, so to an interview I go.  Y’all have a blessed day!

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Vermiscious Kinittens!

It’s no longer safe to walk through the house.  No matter where you step, there’s a vermiscious kinitten ready to pounce upon your unsuspecting bare feet, nibble at your toes, or climb your pant leg!  And leading the pack is their mother, Alice, who tells us she’s teaching them survival skills.  Yeah, right…like that’s what mothers do!

Alice demonstrates how to devour a bird.  Thankfully, it was just one of those feather toys. 

Bandit catches on quick. 

Cleopatra has a bit of a struggle, but manages to get the bird into her mouth for the kill.

“Has anyone seen my bird?”

Okay, so Milo is a bit slow.  She’s…different.  Smaller than the others, and slower more thoughtful, too.  While her sisters battle it out and play like kittens ought to, Milo sits on the side, carefully contemplating her plan of attack.  Occasionally she’ll lift a paw like she’s going to reach out and swat them, but then thinks better of it.  By the time she’s ready to pounce, her sisters have moved on and she’s left with just an empty carpet in front of her.  We like Milo.  She’s special.

Uffington takes a bath. 

 Sad news from the kitten nursey, though:  Uffington, our little orange male, died.  We don’t know why.  It’s been a couple weeks ago now.  They’d all just opened their eyes and begun to crawl around their little world.  One day Uffington seemed a bit slow.  By late afternoon he began to meow as though he were uncomfortable.  In the morning, he was gone.  The last picture we got of him was when City Boy decided the kittens needed baths (Alice, being primarily and outdoor cat, managed to give that sweet gift to not only her kittens, but the rest of us as well!)

Thankfully, the other three are doing well, and hopefully they’ll be fighting over birds and feathers in new homes before too long!

Hey, Mom, I want to kill the bird this time!

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…what have you gotten done so far today?

 

Me?  Well, Bessie’s been milked, three skeins of yarn have been spun, animals fed and watered, more wool in the dye pot, yarns that were dyed last night are hanging in the bathroom to dry, and I’ve completely doused myself with water while trying to rinse out my milking equipment.  Now that the days are getting shorter, I’m out of bed later and things just don’t get done like they used to  🙂

I tried  my hand at making cheese yesterday.  Darling and I have done that soft cheese where all you do is heat the milk and add vinegar; it’s pretty simple and makes a nice addition to pasta and salad.  But yesterday I wanted to make Ewezarella.  That would be mozzarella, only out of sheep’s milk.

I failed.  Miserably.  I think it’s still cheese of some sort, but it’s rather tasteless and certainly not mozzarella.  I wonder if it’d still melt on a pizza?  I’m not sure I want to find out.  Best to just feed it to the Screamer as one of her last meals.   The good news is that there’s the whey left over, and it would appear that ricotta is as simple as the other soft cheese I make, so ricotta it will be!

We never made it to the rodeo last night.  The heavens opened wide and completely dumped on us here.  City Boy thought that would make the rodeo more interesting, especially barrel racing and bull riding.  Laura, is that true?

And just for those of you who prefer the bulls and the clowns…

Come on, you little baby calfie…come to JJ…
What’sa matter, you chicken?

Peek a Boo, little calfie… 

I smell me some clown… Cluck cluck…who’s the chicken now?

Back to the woolly grindstone for me!  Have a blessed Sunday, y’all!

 

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Hold on Tight, Cowboy!

 

Broncs, blood, dust, mud…but fortunately without the mud.  Tonight?  Maybe mud.  But yesterday the weather was lovely with no rain to spoil Darling’s and my evening at the PRCA Rodeo.

We were at the fair last week when we purchased the tickets.  City Boy was with us, and I asked if he wanted to come along.  But only, of course, if he really wanted to see  the rodeo.  We were standing at the ticket window having this conversation as the man inside looked back and forth between us as though he were watching a tennis match.

“City Boy, would you like to come with Darling and I to the rodeo?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you if you’d like me to.”

“I only want you to come if you’d really enjoy being there, not only to keep Darling and I company.”

“So what you’re saying is, you don’t really want me there.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.  I’m saying come if you’d enjoy seeing the rodeo.  I know it’s probably not something you’d go see on your own.  But if you think you’d really enjoy it, then come along.”

“You don’t want me with you while you’re watching the cowboys, is that it?”

“Yup, that’s it,” said the man on the inside of the booth. “Your girls are wanting to watch those cowboys in their tight fitting Levi’s!”

“Wranglers…not that I’ve looked.”

“Oh, so the truth comes out.  You’re not wanting me to come along so that you can teach our daughter all about what cowboys wear at rodeos and you don’t want me interfering by explaining what the cowgirls wear.”

The truth is, City Boy gets fidgety when he’s not interested in something, and sitting for three hours of rodeo would most definitely make him fidgety.  I’d end up spending the time worried that he wasn’t having any fun and miss out on enjoying it myself.  We finally decided that perhaps he should stay home while Darling and I checked out the cowboy butts the broncs and the blood.

If you ever wondered what it might be like to sit on the back of a bucking horse, here’s your chance to take a good look without having to get on top of one!

 

 

Can we say “Good Ride, Cowboy?”  I think we can.  And perhaps a trip to the chiropractor…

Darling and I are thinking we may go back tonight, providing it doesn’t rain.  We may just bring City Boy along this time!

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