All posts by Cindra@lifewithafarmer

The Porch Light

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Coming home to a cold, dark, empty house is such a sad feeling. I’ve never liked it. Even if all of us were coming home together, I wanted a light to be burning some place in the house to welcome us home. When my children began to go places without me, I would always leave the front porch light on and the door unlocked. As they began driving, I would leave the front porch light on, the door unlocked, and wait up for them. Now that some of them have moved out and have their own homes, if they leave after dark, I stand by the door and wait until their tail lights go up and over the big hill and go out of sight before I turn off the porch light,

Fortunately for me, as each one grew up and moved away (as it should be J), there would be another teenager to leave the porch light on for. But with the passing of time and my increasing age, I found I couldn’t keep the same hours as my last teenager (son #4), and would sometimes go to bed before he got home. But during the night some time, I would wake up, see the porch light was off, know the door was locked, and he was home safely.
Recently, son #4 was married. After we got home from the wedding celebration, I began to lock up the house and turn off the lights, walking over to the front door, I reached up to turn on the front porch light and realized I didn’t need to leave it on.
“Leave it on,” I said to Myself.
“There’s no reason to”, Myself answered. “He’s on his honeymoon, I don’t think he’ll be coming in tonight.”
“But just in case there’s an emergency”, replied I, knowing that there wouldn’t be.
“Well, maybe just for a little while”, Myself gave in.
But eventually, I had to go back and turn off the light and lock the door. I was surprised at the sudden feeling of loneliness that was brought about by this simple ritual of turning off the porch light. Although this signifies another chapter closing on Enloe Farms, there are still lots of stories to be lived out, talked about, and retold around our dinner table.

Just a note, I still have 2 teenagers at home, but they have to be home before dark! J


The Porch Light
The porch light shining through the night
Reminds me of God’s shining Light
That brings about some wayward soul
Who is lost in the world so dark and cold.
I leave the light burning on the porch
So none of my children will be caught in the lurch
The light breaks through the darkness dim
And guides them home to me again.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

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The Farmer had one week of vacation left for this year, so he decided to take off and spend it with the girls and me. What could be more fun than spending a week here on the farm enjoying the sights and sounds of the blessings God has given us here on the farm?
 
So we wake up the first morning and The Farmer says to me, “Are you ready?”
 
“Ready for what?” I ask expectantly.
 
“Ready to start on the shed!” he exclaims.
Oh, right…I had forgotten this was a working vacation.

“Well of course I’m ready,” I say, “but I’m not sure we’ll be able to do that without help. The sidewalls are too high.”
 
“We’ll figure something out”, he assures me.
 
“Maybe we should call the boys over and see if they can help”, I comment.
 
“Everybody’s busy. We can do it ourselves,” he says dismissively.

We walked out to the shed and sure enough, those walls were high. The sidewalls, which we had planned to cover with tin, were 13’ high. I’m 5’2” fully stretched out and shamefully afraid of heights. The only thing I could think about was if The Farmer was going to be the one screwing in the screws, then that left me to be the one climbing and holding. I don’t do either one of those well.

So putting on a brave front, I climbed up on a 5-gallon bucket to hold up the first piece of tin, which had to be held up 4’ from the floor. I made sure my end was straight and secure, and waited (and waited) for The Farmer to screw it onto the wall.

Okay, this isn’t so bad, I tell myself, the first minute or two. It’s not as heavy as I thought. All I have to do is hold this up and he’ll have it done in no time. Wow, my muscles are starting to ache—still speaking to myself—and I think I let my end slip a little (and said as much to The Farmer, who waited patiently for me to tug it back into place).
“Can I let go, yet?” I ask.
“Well, can you hold it until I get a screw in it?” He inquires.
“How many?”
“A couple at least,” he says, as he picks up the level to mark where the screws are going to go.

Oh my gosh! I’m not going to be able to hold this much longer! Breathe, breathe…

About the time I think I’m going to drop it I hear The Farmer say, “Okay, that’s good. You can let go.”

Dropping my heavy, aching arms to my sides, I watch as he screws in several more screws, checking to make sure my end was held straight. We hang up a couple more pieces at that level, me counting down the minutes I have to hold the tin up and he diligently measuring and screwing in all the screws. At last, we stand back and look at the next row to hang.

“Well, we’re never going to be able to hang that row without help”, I summarize.

But The Farmer wasn’t so easily put off. “Oh, we can do it.”

I was sure he couldn’t see the height difference between my arm’s reach and where the tin needed to be held, so I stretched out my arm, as high as I could and said, “Look, this is as high as I can reach”.

“You can use the stepladder,”  he instructs, “and I’ll get the wagon and climb up in it ”.

Okay, that was a quick fix, and I’ve never seen anyone fall off of a stepladder, I assured myself, I’m sure I’ll be fine. We picked up the next piece of tin, held it against the wall, and I began climbing up the ladder. The first two steps weren’t so bad, but when I began to put the tin into place, I wasn’t high enough. So I stepped up one more rung. Still can’t reach.
 
“You’re going to have to go to the top step,” The Farmer stated as he patiently held his end of the tin.
 
“I can’t.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“Have you never read the instructions on this ladder? It says not to stand on the top rung.”
 
“You’ll be fine”, he assures once again. “Just be careful and don’t lean against the wall too much.”
So as I begin to precariously climb to the top of the ladder, I consider my fall route, just in case. It shouldn’t be too bad, I tell myself, I’ve seen my boys jump from heights higher than this 6’ stepladder. I’ll just jump away from the ladder, and hopefully miss the 5-gallon bucket I left underneath the ladder. And I need to fall away from the wall, or should I try to catch myself against the wall? Securing the tin to the wall and getting it lined up with the first row, I begin to lose my grip on the tin.
 
“Lean into it”, calls out The Farmer.
 
“You told me not to lean!”
 
“Well, lean in a little to help you hold the tin. But be careful not to kick the ladder out from under you”, he states obviously.

Securing my position, as much as possible, I successfully held the tin until he got enough screws in that I could let go. We hung the next few pieces without incident, and my confidence grew as each piece of tin was firmly fixed into place.

Wow! I was impressed. We hung all this tin up without injury. Looking at the third row that needed to be hung, reality set in once again. “We make a great team,” I encouraged, “but we’ll never be able to do the third row without help. I can barely reach the bottom of the third row even if I stood on the tiptop of the stepladder. You’ll have to wait until one of the boys can come over to help you.”

But The Farmer isn’t so easily discouraged. “Let’s sit down here and consider our options. I’m sure we can figure out something.”
This unwavering ability The Farmer has to look at a situation and conquer it comes from the encouragement of his Father who often told him, “There’s always a way to accomplish a thing, you just have to figure out the answer.”

I, on the other hand, am not so gullible; there are many things in life that I can’t accomplish. But I sat down with him anyway, to contemplate the situation (and to drink a cup of coffee).

We tossed around some ideas and decided to use the stock trailer to climb on top of, which seemed like a great idea because we would be able to stand on a large, flat surface. But when he pulled the trailer into the shed, and I began to climb the stepladder to discover that the trailer was still a large step away from the very tip top of the ladder, my confidence began to waver. “Maybe we should have the girls come out and help,” I suggest.

“I think we’ll be okay.” His confidence in his own abilities is so frustrating at times.

Wow…this is really high (back to talking to myself). I’ll be okay, I can hang off a rafter if I start to fall, except I’m not sure how long I could support my weight, since the tin proved to get too heavy for me at times. If I do fall, I need to tuck and roll, I’ve seen that done when people jump from rooftop to rooftop on action films. Be real that’s not going to work. If I fall, it’s going to be a splat! not a roll. Maybe I can catch myself between the trailer and the wall…

“Hey! Can you grab this piece of tin?” I hear The Farmer urge.

“Uh, no.” I can’t quite reach it.”

“Try harder.”

So I do and I did. I managed to get the first piece up on top of the trailer. Climbing up the ladder, The Farmer noticed he forgot the drill. So he climbed back down and started up again, going back down to get the level, oh, and the saw. He gives into my idea of having the girls come out to help, which was fortunate, because it ended up that we needed one of them on top to help me hold as he cut around the rafters.

As we began to finish that row on the wall, my fear of being on the trailer began to diminish. I was semi-confidently walking back and forth handing The Farmer the drill, or saw, or level. After climbing off the trailer (with much trepidation), I was feeling very proud of what we had accomplished. Between The Farmer, myself, and two teenage daughters, the use of a 5-gallon bucket, a couple of ladders, a wagon, and a stock trailer, we were able to do in eight hours what a crew of capable carpenters could have done in two.

“Looks great! So, what are we doing tomorrow?” I ask expectantly.

“We’ll be closing in the attic over the workshop,” The Farmer replies.

I look up to assess the situation. “You’re kidding, right? We’ll never be able to do that without help.”

The Before…

 The first row

 The second row with the wagon

 The third row using the stock trailer

The cleanup

 

 

The After…

The attic (which we didn’t need help with) 🙂

 

Exercise Is So Over-Rated

Weight Loss,

Because I’m a full size woman, some people think it benefits me for them to tell me ways I can lose weight.


My favorite advice is when some skinny smart-aleck says, “Just stop eating”.

Wow, genius, I wish I had thought about that!

Although, I have had some good and beneficial advice through the years, nothing ever comes easy. If it did, I guess I wouldn’t continue to need it. With all the advice given, the most common denominator is get out and get some exercise.

I’ve been walking 3 miles almost every day for about 6 weeks, and to tell you the truth I don’t see what all the fuss is about exercising. In fact, I agree with the Bible, exercise is so over-rated. Well, the Bible doesn’t say it’s over-rated in those exact words, but it does say it doesn’t profit us much. (1 Timothy 4:8)

Seriously, I start out each morning dreading going on my walk. In the first place, I have to change out of my comfy pajamas before 6:00 and tug on my socks and shoes (although it has been easier since I lost 8 inches off my waist). Then I force some kind of energy food down my throat, so I will have enough strength to make it back to homeschool daughters #4 and #5. I go out into the cold, dark morning (well, so far it’s been pretty nice, but I’m thinking ahead). Then I unleash an over-excited border collie, who runs ahead and then back to me several times as I’m treading up and slipping down TWO long, precarious hills. Finally reaching the blacktop of a busy highway, I must keep the dog and myself out of harm’s way as we dodge and dart between all the cars and trucks (okay that may be a little exaggerated, but sometimes a vehicle does pass by).

Then horror of horrors! I have to come back home over the same two hills I had to climb in the first place, but this time the most dangerous hill is like a mountain standing between me and survival! When I first started walking, I literally had to stop 4, maybe 5, times before reaching the top. And even though I can usually make it to the top with only one stop, my heart begins beating so hard I’m afraid it will burst through my chest and my breath comes in quick, unsteady gasps leaving me barely conscious to make it all the way up the hill. My calves and quads begin to burn and ache (what if they freeze up and I can’t make it home?). My only choice is to stop and rest before my whole body shuts down. Seriously, how can this be good for me?

I finally make it home, stumble into the door (after watering Baxter), grab my water, and take a long, deep drink of it before switching on the ceiling fan and collapsing on the couch, where I’m forced to recover for the next 15 minutes.

And then this brings on a much bigger problem in my life. The people who know that I walk (and are responsible for encouraging me to get exercise) have turned me into a liar. I’m not kidding. The same people responsible for the trauma exercise has brought into my life, have now forced me to lie to them. The conversation usually goes like this:

Them: “So, are you still walking?”

Me: “Yeah”.

Them: “Great! I’m excited for you. Aren’t you glad you started?”

Me: “Yeah”.

Them: “Exercise is really good for you. Don’t you feel better?”

Me: “Yeah”.

Them: “Well keep it up. Don’t you feel like you have more energy?”

Me: “Yeah”.

What I want to say is “No, No, No”, I’m not glad to be exercising, I don’t feel better at 6:00 in the morning, and I don’t have more energy until after I’ve crashed on the couch. However, that would make them feel badly and make me sound like I don’t appreciate the benefits of walking. So, if you have any respect for me at all, the next time you see me please don’t ask.

Be A Mama, Mama

Enloe Farms, , ,

During calving season, we are always watchful. Although most of our cows are all seasoned pros (some too seasoned, as one is 13 years old!), problems still may arise during the birthing process. A calf may be too big, or turned wrong, or a heifer (first time mama) may not tap into her natural instinct and take care of that little wet thing she suddenly finds laying on the ground next to her.

The first calf born this season was born to a mama that had already calved 3 other times. I consider her a pro, so there shouldn’t have been any problems. And there wasn’t when she had the calf, but later, as The Farmer watched, he noticed that the calf was still in the same place where it had been born and that mama was too far away for safety’s sake. Upon further investigation, the cow just didn’t seem to be responsible at all. In fact, another cow was watching over her baby closer than she was. When the calf would get up to nurse, the cow seemed impatient and uncaring, walking away and kicking at her baby to get him to stop. Fortunately, he was very persistent and seems to be doing well now.

In the short video below, The Farmer is tagging the calf. Usually, he is looking over his shoulder hoping not to get mauled by an overprotective “mama bear”. However, even after her precious bundle of joy runs across the fence into the neighbor’s woods, this unconcerned mama is more interested with chewing her cud than keeping watch over her helpless newborn.

http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/dJ-7QW_XBJU&source=uds

The calf continued to run over the next hill and through the fence.

After waiting around until almost dark to see if mama assumes her responsibility, The Farmer finally decided to intervene. He crossed the fence and began “mawing” like a baby calf (he’s quite good at “maw” calls). Finally, mama’s interest awakened enough for her to investigate. She came to the “rescue” about the time The Farmer coaxed the calf close enough to the fence that he poked his head through. Mama and baby were reunited and walked away without so much as a “howdy-do” or a “thank you” to The Farmer.

As I watched this unfold, I thought about human moms in general (I always compare cow mamas to human mamas, you wouldn’t believe how much we are alike) 🙂 This was a sad comparison, though. I thought about how some mamas have children and then seem too eager to abandon them. Having a baby is easy (I should know), but the endeavor of the day-to-day, week-to-week, month-to-month, year-to-year labor of raising children is the most important part of parenting.

When I saw the cow look up from her grazing and ignore the situation until the calf crossed the fence I grumbled, “It’s too late to care, now”.  Nonetheless, that’s how some parents are. They allow their children to run, to make their own decisions, to watch out for themselves, while they are busy with work, or play, or whatever takes them away from their job of being the adult authority figure, and only show interest when they’re child crosses the line–gets into trouble, leaves home, or causes embarrassment to the parent.

If God has allowed you to be a parent, then be a parent. Be vigilant, watchful, alert when it comes to your children. Guard them against danger, difficulties, and error. Don’t ignore them until they cross over the fence and someone else has to chase them back. If you have had a child placed into your custody, then be a PARENT.

Protect them from being harmed or damaged (physically and emotionally)

Arm them with the tools they need to succeed

Require them to be responsible

Earn their respect by being a good role model

Notice them; they need your time and attention on a daily basis

Transfer them to their own life (allow them to move away) when you have finished raising them, by preparing them along the way

Fall Has Arrived

Enloe Farms, ,

The days are slowly becoming shorter and the nights are dipping down into the 50’s. The official first day of autumn is just around the corner, but fall has arrived early on the farm. Our fall-calving season is in full swing, and we have six brand new baby boys kicking up their heels in the field. (Which is very exciting because steers are worth more than heifers).

We had some beneficial rains in June and cooler than normal temps in July, which left our fields green and fertile. Unfortunately, the weather turned dry and hot, and now our fields are beginning to suffer the consequences. We got less than 1” of rain the last two months.

Our cattle are on a rotational grazing cycle, which means we move them every three or four days into a fresh paddock of grass. Because of the dry weather, we have to move them more often to keep the grasses as healthy as possible. Believe it or not, the cows always tell us when they need to move on. When The Farmer jumps on the four-wheeler, if they are ready to move, they begin bawling, “Mooooove! Mooooove!”  So he lets them into a new paddock, because happy cows make happy calves. 🙂

My Gratitude List

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Life on the farm isn’t always a bed of roses, what life is? But this morning was just another reminder of how fortunate I am to be a farmer’s wife.

When I walked outside this morning, the temperature was in the high 60’s, that’s very unusual for this month, which normally is in the high 70’s or low 80’s in the morning. A lot of times the air is dry and humid, but not this morning.

Baxter and I took our walk up and down the driveway, around the fields, lingering to take in the sights: geese on the pond, red-headed woodpeckers snatching the cat’s food, baby pears hanging on the trees, and the wonderful smell of fresh-cut grass, which daughter #4 cut last night. Even the weeds around the flowers were a pleasure to pull out this morning. (wow! Starting to sound a little too mushy 🙂

At any rate, the peacefulness of the morning gave me another occasion to be thankful for my “haves” instead of dwelling on the “have-nots”.

Do you ever do that? Take an inventory of the blessings you have received this side of Heaven, whether big or small.

Here’s a small part of my list:

  1. knowing Christ as my Kinsmen Redeemer

  2. having family, both close and faraway, that know me and still love me (some of them even like me)

  3. the freedoms that we still have here in America

 

 

More Important Than A Royal Birth

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The top story of the day is “Kate Middleton In Hospital Having Royal Baby”. Even as I write this, the mob of reporters (some who have flown in from all over the world) are stationed in front of the hospital awaiting the arrival of the third heir in line for the British throne. People are placing bets on the gender, the name, time of arrival, and the length and weight of the little Prince or Princess of Cambridge.

As a mother of nine, I realize as much as anyone does the importance of the birth of a new baby. I can see how the next heir to the British throne would be important to the Brits, but we broke ties over 200 years ago, so maybe our top stories for today should start with one of these headlines:

  • Detroit Declares Bankruptcy after 60 Years of Financial Irresponsibility (18 billion dollars in the red)

  • Top Government Leaders Undermine Court Ruling by Injecting Racism into the Zimmerman/Martin Verdict

  • Gas Prices Soar Nationwide- Up $.12 in One Week

  • Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) Employer Mandate Delayed-Employees Will Still Be Held Captive

  • Unfair and Unjust Furloughs for Our Military Heroes

  • Congress Needs to Stop Wasteful Spending (and live on a budget like the rest of us have to)

  • The Tea Party Demands Answers Involving the IRS Scandal

  • All Americans Should Demand Answers to the NSA Scandal

  • Family Members of the Murdered Victims in Benghazi Want Washington Held Responsible

  • Underemployment/Unemployment—Highest it’s Been Since 2003

Okay, in case you are really curious (and living under a rock), Here is the announcement:

The Royal Highness The Duchess of Cambridge was safely delivered of a son

Her Royal Highness and her child are both doing well.

Local County Fair

Enloe Farms,
The Farmer and I took the two youngest to the local county fair. Sorry to say it was anything but fun. Too small, too unorganized, too expensive. 🙁
Wouldn’t be a county fair without goats, pigs, and horses
Blue Ribbon Winners
Carousel
Funnel Cakes, Corn Dogs, and Cotton Candy
Ferris Wheel
Mud Run (hmm…)

 

How Does Your Garden Grow

Enloe Farms, , , ,

e779d-gramingreenhouseFor many years The Farmer and I  put in a fairly nice sized garden. We planted about 12 tomato plants, 2 rows of green beans, some peppers, onions, watermelons, cantaloupes, cucumbers and whatever other plants my Dad would give me from his greenhouse.

My parents own A & N Greenhouse, out on Hwy 47 towards Potosi. (you know where that is if you live locally) It’s too late this year, but that’s the place to go when you want really good garden plants and flower baskets.

Ok, back to my story. As I was saying, we

used to put in a nice sized garden. A couple of years ago, Daughter #1 enlightened me to the efficiency and ease of square foot gardening.  I really loved the idea. The Farmer made boxes for the plants, we put down a weed cloth to deter weed growth,  we sectioned off the boxes into 1 ft. squares, and then we planted the vegetables according to a chart that I had drawn up. I was really excited to do this, because square foot gardening was supposed to be easier (less weeding), until I saw The Farmer re-seeding the yard around the boxes. When he was finished, the garden was full of grass seed. It didn’t take me long to lose interest in this gardening style (there were still weeds!)

So the gardening set idle for a season or two, until we determined that we were going to have fresh garden tomatoes on our BLTs. We both like the idea of having a garden, but he doesn’t have time to weed the garden and I don’t want to. 🙂 So, necessity being the mother of invention, we came up with what I thought would be a simple plan–patio gardening.

Here’s what we did:

Early one morning, The Farmer went out to get our special mix of highly organic soil. This is the field where the cows winter. A visitor came as he was mixing the fertilized soil with peat moss. At one time these tubs contained protein supplement for the cows. I guess Otis (the bull) remembered, but wasn’t interested when he found that The Farmer was filling it up with dirt.

The Farmer mixed the soil and peat moss, and loaded the tubs into the bucket of the tractor. He used the bucket of the tractor to lift the tubs on to the back deck. I know it looks like he does all the work, but I planted the tomatoes and peppers, and harvested them each time we used them…and cooked ALL the bacon (everytime). 🙂

We only did 3 tubs. You can see the remnant of the sq. ft. garden in the background. I planted 1 tomato plant and 2 pepper plants in each tub. I later discovered that I should have planted the pepper plants in a tub by themselves. Live and learn!

Update: the buckets worked well. We had plenty of tomatoes that summer, and they were easily accessible. This method does require a LOT of watering, especially on hot, humid days. But the weeds are minimal.

From The Pasture To The Picnic

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It takes over a year to get the perfect steak on our picnic table.

The calves are born in the spring. They stay with mama until weaning time, which is sometime in November. At this point, we put them in a pasture by themselves where they stay until they are well over a year old. Soon afterwards, their diet is supplemented with locally grown hormone-free/antibiotic-free corn. This is what gives beef it’s highly prized marbling texture and increases the meats flavor and tenderness.

At the beginning of the next summer, when we see the calves approaching their optimal weight, we begin contacting our customers and set an appointment up with our butcher at Swiss Meat. A quaint locally owned family business (but that’s a story for another day).

After two or three weeks processing time, The Farmer and I pick up the meat and bring it back to the farm so our local customers can pick up their meat from the farm where it was raised.

The steak that took 16 minutes on a hot grill took 16 months to prepare.

      So we savor every bite!

This is what we had for supper last night. I also made Homemade Peach Cobbler for dessert.

I added the recipe >>Here<< or go to the "Recipe” tab on the right of this page.

Family Reunion

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This past week we had our annual family reunion on my Dad’s side. Besides a funeral or wedding, this is usually the only time families living far apart get together. I have a great family (for the most part :)), and I love seeing uncles, aunts, and cousins that I haven’t seen since last year, or sometimes haven’t seen for longer than that. We enjoy catching up on what everybody has been doing and meeting new additions to the family-sometimes through birth, sometimes through marriage.

 My Dad and Mom have officially hosted all the family reunions since 1995. There were many other impromptu reunions that just happened over the years, because people decided to come together at their house. Thanks Mom and Dad!








One of the first family reunions that we went to when The Farmer and I were first married, I volunteered to bring a dessert. The only cookbook I had at that time (or maybe one I had borrowed from Mom) was one that my Grandma Lorene’s church put together for a fundraiser, which is probably one of the best I’ve ever had.

Searching through the pages, I found the recipe for Banana Split Cake. Sounds great, right? I recognized all the ingredients, except one. The recipe called for one stick oleo. I know what you’re thinking, but at the time I was a young bride and didn’t have much experience in the kitchen, unless you count a frozen pizza or a TV dinner.

So I went to my local IGA searching for oleo. Much to my relief I found the oleo next to the sticks of butter (imagine that!). Taking my one pound of oleo home, I followed the recipe to the letter, measuring the ingredients meticulously, allowing the oleo to come to room temperature before mixing it with the other ingredients.

The last thing I had to put on top of the cake was the whipped topping. Remembering the way my Mother spread meringue or icing by making little peaks, I spread the whipped topping onto the cake. It turned out beautifully! Off to the reunion we went. Carefully packing away the little dessert that I was sure would WOW everyone! My first dessert, a Banana Split Cake—how impressive!

When dessert time came, I got out my beautiful Banana Split Cake, and just as I had anticipated, the ooos and wows started coming in. I cut a piece for The Farmer (before he was THE farmer), because I figured since it was my first dessert, he deserved to be the first to eat it. Then I cut pieces for my uncles and others.

But then a hush settled among the ooos and wows, and someone asked (I remember who it was, but they shall remain nameless here), “Did you put butter in this cake?”

“No”, I answered and started naming off the ingredients.

“There’s a lot of oleo in this”, chimed in others.

I remembered I only put in one stick, just like the recipe called for. And began to think that maybe there had been something wrong with the recipe. Someone must have typed it wrong.

“How much oleo did you put in?” asked one proficient cook.

“It called for 1 stick”, I answered defensively.

“It tastes more like 1 pound!” stated the cook.

At that time—the time when my whole family was turning against me, the family that I had been born into, that I had spent all my life with, extended family that I had shared my summers with, the people that I would have given my life for—I turned to look at The Farmer who was not only eating my dessert, but he was ENJOYING my dessert. It was at that moment that I knew I would always love him and support him. 😉

Although the memory of that first family reunion may have been idealized just a bit, the unadulterated truth is I did make a Banana Split Cake that called for 1 stick of oleo, but I ended up using 1 pound of oleo.

To redeem my reputation, I made the same Banana Split Cake at the next reunion; it was the special dessert that I had hoped for. I began making this dessert for every reunion we have, and every year it’s turned out perfectly, but every year I’ve been reminded of that first time when it tasted like butter. It’s just something I’m always going to be known for, but that’s okay.

Something else I’m known for is being late (unfortunately), so my Mother and I had decided long ago that I would never bring a salad or side (something that needs to be there when the meal is first served). But I would bring a dessert, then it wouldn’t matter how late I was. I began bringing most of the desserts for the family reunion, and now that my girls are women with their own husbands and households, they have been helping, too. This year we ended up taking 10 desserts.

Here are the desserts I took.

apple pie, cherry pie, cheese cake, coconut cream pie, lemon meringue pie

and of course a Banana Split Cake.

For several years, I have been making a double sized Banana Split Cake;

not as pretty, but I believe I have been completely exonerated. 🙂
I have included some of the recipes under the Recipe tab at the top of the page.

Checking The Cattle

Enloe Farms, ,

The other day Baxter and I went out to check the cows, and I couldn’t believe the enticing aroma wafting in the breeze. I stopped the 4-wheeler and just sat there for a bit enjoying the sweet smells of the summer pasture. Mmm…

The field is covered in little white flowers, which I think resemble some type of small daisies, and The Farmer thinks that it is a weed called Snowcap. But whatever they are, they make the fields look beautiful.

Baxter and I found the herd laying around under the cool shade of a small group of trees in the field. The babies are looking so good. With the abundance of pasture this year, mama is doing well, so baby is doing well.

Look at this baby! He was born in March.

Not bad for 3 months old.

We have other babies on the farm, also. A few weeks ago we discovered that we had eggs; not chicken eggs but Kildee eggs. The poor mama laid her eggs in our busy driveway. These birds like to lay their eggs on gravel or small rock, but I’m betting they didn’t realize how busy our driveway would be. I put a little table over her nest to keep the eggs safe from some crazy motorist.

When the Kildee perceive someone or something is going towards their nest, they run in the opposite direction. Their nature is to lure you away from their nest. They begin running, then they begin to squawk, and if that doesn’t get your attention, they flap around and at times appear injured. It’s quite a routine.

Unfortunately, when The Farmer was bringing in the bales of hay, the mama bird (I assume) about worked herself to death, because she is nested in front of the gate where he brings in the bales. So every time he brought a bale through the gate she would begin her ritual.

We are not the only ones awaiting the arrival of these new babies—so is the cat!

Update: The eggs are missing! I don’t believe it was the cat’s doing, because there is no physical evidence. So I choose to believe that the mama and daddy birdies rolled their eggs off to safety where no human being nor cat being will be able to ever harm them.

(I Do believe in fairies; I DO believe in fairies…)

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