Simple Hobby Homesteading

Fridays on the Farm

I am a guinea. No wait, I am a horse. No, no, no, I am certainly a guinea. Wait, if I am a guinea then why do I feel like I am a horse?

Before you pass me off as some sort of stark raving lunatic please rest assured that I am most certainly probably some sort of stark raving lunatic. But hey, I can explain!

It all started about 2 years ago when I was hatched out in a little nest deep amongst a thicket of blackberry bushes. Mama guinea promptly led me and my 18 siblings through the dewy grass and boom, our numbers were down to 15. It was cold, we were merely 6 hours old but allegedly mama guinea had a hankering for some chicken feed so we just had to get up and go. Wet cold grass does not do well for newborn guinea keets. No “Mother of the Year” awards there.

Well, on the way to the grand buffet Mama guinea thought it best to parade us past a crew of shady felines. Sure enough, numbers down to 12. Seriously… all this in a mere first day of life. Wow oh wow.

We made it to the hen house where we met up with a crazy chicken feeding lady who actually wanted to PICK US UP! The nerve of that woman! I ran, Mama guinea ran, and all the rest of my brothers and sisters ran… some straight into an area with a couple goats who totally freaked out (ridiculous) and stomped around like elephants being attacked by mice. Down to 10 we were.

However, this woman was smart and apparently had some sort of clue about how totally ill-equipped our mother was in the area of “keet care.” We were all rounded up (Mama guinea too and man did she put up a fuss… pretty sure there was human blood shed) and placed in a fenced in area with a nice warm snuggly mini sun, fresh water, and amazing food. Now this I could get used to.

Mama guinea kept freaking out, flew up and straight through a clear opening making a loud crashing noise breaking what I would later come to find out is a “garage door window.”  To say she “flew the coop” would be an understatement of the century.

We all just kinda looked around in bewilderment and then went back to eating, drinking, and sleeping all snuggly under that mini sun.

We kept eating and drinking, growing bigger and bigger, and were being gently handled often which actually wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t really bad.  I’m not sure why we freaked out all those years ago (actually only months but it sure seems like forever ago when you are abandoned by a Mama who will crash through windows to get away from her parental responsibilities).

When we got big enough to not be cat bait we were allowed to head out and explore the world that we had been kept sheltered from for oh so many years (once again, just a couple months) and it was quite wonderful. We explored the woods, attempted to escape Mr. Fox who we found out later was not just trying to share his candy, he wanted to eat us! Our numbers went down to 6. If we stuck around the farm we were well protected by Fuzzy Bear, the big white fluffy dog who claimed day and night she was a German Shepherd but looked nothing like the other 3 German Shepherds on the farm. Seriously, someone needs to talk to that girl about her identity crisis… crazy, just crazy, thinking you are something you are not. Pure denial, I call for an intervention!

We would head over through the dense deciduous depths to the neighbor’s house a few acres away and partake of amazing cat food, millet, and black oil sunflower seeds. The neighbor thought we were a rare wild species of game bird sent straight from heavens above to entertain and bless him with our presence. Who were we to tell him any different?

A couple of my “not the sharpest tool in the shed” brothers decided to head across the road to check out the dining selection over yonder and suddenly a great noise, flash of metal, and gust of wind came by… our numbers were down to 3. Me and my two sisters, that’s all. It had been a rough 5 months.

We headed back home and ran into Mama guinea and her husband (why had we never seen him before… is this Dada guinea?!?!). She was sitting on a nest just full of eggs! I knew how that was going to end up… seriously some sort of protective service agency should be called right now… darn my lack of opposable thumbs and lack of telephone knowledge in general.

We would later find out that her stubbornness and superior nest hiding abilities made her and Dada guinea an easy target for Mr. Fox that night. We had seen the chicken feeder lady look for Mama and Dada guinea and their nest earlier to move everyone and everything to a safe place but I just wasn’t feeling up to showing her the way, it had been a long day and I was just wanting to snuggle under my mini sun.

The weeks went by and you’ll never believe what happened… My two sisters started laying eggs. Just going around and dropping these little speckled white things out of their little behinds. How weird is that! It creeped me out s I distanced myself from them and started looking for new friends to hang out with.

That’s when I found them, Mercedez and Pepsi. Two of the most salt f the earth folks you will ever find. Not prone to gossip as my sisters were and the little brown eggs that sprang forth from their nether regions actually attracted some of the best beetles and bugs to feast upon. This, yes sir, this, was the good life. They would rummage through the hay, perfectly sifting the seed heads down for me to eat to my heart’s content and I would stand guard as they lay down and dozed the warm afternoons away. It was the most perfect relationship and they just seemed to really “get” me as I “got” them.

Things went on in much the same fashion and the guinea population number dwindled as their less than intelligent ways found them in more and more predicaments that the chicken feeder lady just could not save them from. My time with the horses grew me in ways you probably can’t understand. We were like a well oiled machine, each knowing our part and place in the herd and no one getting their feathers ruffled by the latest farm scandal news.

I had found a true love for the grain and sunflower seeds that were fed to Mercedez and Pepsi  and they were always so kind to share abundantly. I really felt like I belonged. The goats, dogs, sheep, cats, and rabbits were chased away but me, nope, I was always welcomed with open hooves. More and more time went by and as I looked around I saw less and less guinea tracks in the dirt. More and more empty dust bathing holes and the farm just seemed quieter. Then it hit me, I was the last one… the last guinea. The last of the Mohicans… errrr, I mean guineas. I was a survivor.

I quickly realized I was different from all those other guineas that had gone before me. I was resourceful, quick, sly, wary, always on guard… not like a guinea at all…

I… was… a… horse. It all made perfect sense now. My keen senses, my love for all things seed and grain rather than tick and chicken feed. My lightning fast reflexes and constant urges to creepily stare through the windows at the lady chicken feeder and her family. Yes, I was certainly a horse stuck in a guinea’s body. I only hope some day medical knowledge will catch up and help me in my present condition. Men becoming women, women becoming men, why not guineas becoming horses when they know truly in the depth of their being that is what they are. Sound crazy? Yup, it is but that’s me, just plain stone cold crazy.

Apparently my horseness has the family concerned and they thought it best to get me around more of “my kind”. More horses, are we getting more horses? Please more horses!

No such luck, the woman got more guineas. Obnoxious, loud, gossiping, tick eating, egg dropping, and unintelligent guineas. Great, just great! Worse yet, they want to be around me. This will never do, never. I have shunned them and for now it seems to be working but I see Pepsi has been talking to one in particular (not me, I feel betrayed) and even offered up some of his grain the other day (more betrayal). It is a saga of which I do not know the ending… stay tuned…

Fridays on the Farm…

This week we are answering a reader’s question…

Samantha asks, “How much food do all your animals go through in a week?” The boys and I (feeders of the animals) gathered the critters around to ask their input. Here goes…

Nala (German Shepherd Dog): I get one and a half cups of the tolerable dry kibble each morning and evening. When eating the kibble it is vitally important that one takes a few pieces out and places them on the floor so as to add some extra floor dirt flavor. My evening meal is lovingly drizzled with a little extra virgin olive oil (boys, stop giving me that cruddy “classico”, I know the difference) and a couple brewers yeast tablets which are supposedly meant to help me in some sort of fashion. Perhaps they help put hair on my chest! For my afternoon snack I search out the spine, leg, or pelt of a random deer carcass that the lovely hunters just happen to leave for us throughout the woods.

Fuzzy (Great Pyrenees dog who insists she is a German Shepherd in disguise): I get three cups of dry kibble in the morning and four cups in the evening. Allegedly I am eating them out of house and home but that is ridiculous as the home is still standing perfectly and as far as I know there is no other house that they have. Liars… a bunch of exaggerating liars! For a mid-morning snack I get four satin balls which are lovely concoctions of beef, egg, oil, molasses, oats, wheat germ, Total cereal, and gelatin. They are AMAZING and really pack on the weight for me with my thoroughbred-like metabolism. You can get the recipe here… http://www.instructables.com/id/Put-weight-on-your-dog-with-satin-balls/ .  For an afternoon snack I get three more satin balls which are as equally yummy as my mid-morning snack.  I also have a weird taste for ear dirt. I just love ear dirt.

Axel (1 year old German Shepherd dog): ANYTHING and EVERYTHING! I eat anything and everything that I find. Stuffed toys, cat toys, linoleum, trim, cat poo, dog hair, sticks, paper, carpet, rocking chair legs, trash, etc. You name it and I’ll eat it. In the morning I come across a bowl full of dog food and I eat that too. At night I always come across another bowl full of dog food and yup, I go ahead and eat that too, bowl and all. I love to eat! At my last dog doctor visit I overheard the lady farmer asking the doctor if I was “normal.” Apparently my eclectic diet may be contributing to an astronomical growth spurt and the rumor is my daddy was a great dane. Totally not true, I am full Shepherd, these folks are just nasty rumor spreaders and it’s just plain not funny.

Simba (son of Mommy Cat and resident king of the Mouse Patrol posse of cats):  Mouse bodies, lizards, and baby snakes. I really can’t stand the mouse heads and tails so I leave those on the porch for the other cats to eat. It’s also kinda funny to see the family scream when they almost step on them as they walk out the door.  I also like that cat food that the family gives us but I’m a little tired of having to defend those little nuggets of goodness from the dogs and chickens. They could have a huge bowl of their own food just sitting in front of their face and they still choose to come and chow down mine. Rude, just plain rude.

Mo (sheep): I love oats, grass (dried and fresh varieties), and the leftover chicken feed that is way at the bottom of each bag.

Elliott (Nigerian Dwarf Goat… top of the herd despite his smallish stature and lack of any great beard): Let me clear something up RIGHT NOW. Goats do not eat anything and everything and I wish people would stop claiming that absurd fact. If you want proof of things eating anything and everything I give you exhibit A and B…  (A) Axel the dog and (B) all chickens. They eat everything within sight and smell. Goats do not. We are actually quite picky, only selecting the very best forage, hay that has never been stepped or sneezed upon, grains and pellets of almost any kind (ok, we aren’t too picky there),  and the occasional pant leg. The list of things we will not eat is actually quite extensive… won’t touch dog food, that stuff is quite foul. There are countless plants and grass types which are also unappealing to our sensitive taste buds. We don’t eat cans, we are not barbarians. I will lick out yummy goodness from the inside of cans but rest assured I’m not planning on eating metal. However, we are force fed not-so-little capsules of iron rods but let me be very clear that this is not by our own doing and we do occasionally get a hankering for a finger when the farmer lady sticks those things in the back of our throats and demands us to swallow. Long story short, my public service announcement is this… Please stop perpetuating unkind stereotypes of the eating habits of goats. That is all.

Muffins (rabbit formerly known as Batman until she had a litter of cute babies…apparently “Batmen” don’t have babies but Muffins certainly do): Poo, I eat my own poo, yes I do. Google it.

Chickens (in a loud chorus together): WE EAT EVERYTHING! Maybe we are part Axel or Axel is part chicken because that guy is definitely part of the family proven by his eating habits. We especially like sugar of any kind and our favorite time of year is December because the family makes their annual gingerbread (they’re graham crackers, don’t let them fool you) village and we get to go all Godzilla on it when they are finished. They just stand there, watch, and giggle as we happily lay waste to all of their hard work. These people are seriously disturbed. We love traditions. Some of our favorite morsels to find while out roaming are mouse parts (those crazy cats are so uppity and only eat certain parts. Sometimes I even think they just kill for sport, horrible), bugs, grass, worms, frogs, dirt, cat food, dog food, horse food, goat food, sheep food, rabbit food, chicken food, leaves, do I really need to go on? If we can find it, we eat it. Everything just tastes so amazing!

Katja (oldest German Shepherd Dog EVER… well at 15 maybe not, but she’s gotta be close): I eat dog food but only after it has been moistened by water that is neither too cold or too hot. I’m like the baby bear of water temperature… it has to be just right. Even then I will not touch it for several hours but just lay there and guard it from all would be predators trying to get my dog food. Sometimes I decide to eat it and sometimes I make the family throw it out and give me new perfectly moistened dog food. Oh and bacon, I love bacon! None of that nasty turkey bacon, give me the pig stuff, it’s not hard to tell the difference, really people, come on.

Zelda and The Duke of Wesselton (guinea pigs): We are what you might call “high maintenance”… we demand a variety cup of fresh vegetables with a bit of fruit each day as well as fresh cool water, pellets with those dried pieces of sweet potato, pear or apple tree branches to chew on, fresh hay twice a day (it seems to get a stale taste when it sits out for a couple hours), and a salt lick wheel with which to lick upon. Life is hard, we can’t live without this perfect diet (at least we have the family thinking this… don’t tell them if you know any different).

Pepsi and Mercedez (horses): We go through about 70 pounds of hay each day as well as a couple pounds grain. Slight favor here… would you tell the farmer lady and her sons to stop spreading the hay all over the place. We would prefer to stand in one spot all day and eat. This whole walking around to get our food thing is getting quite ridiculous and we know not everyone lives like this. I (Mercedez) once went to a place with lots of horses and they got to stand in one place all day and night and just eat eat eat. I know it is possible and some horses are living that lap of luxury, why not me? I don’t care about “conditioning” or “natural hoof wear”… I just want to not have to move to get my food… am I really asking that much? We have a salt and mineral block that we love to eat in a day one time and leave for several weeks at other times. However, once again, this is many long and strenuous strides away from where I eat my hay. The rate at which we eat our yummy block really confuses the farmer lady and we find that comical. Take that one who makes me walk around for me food, we’ll show you! I also like to splash around profusely in my water before taking a drink… it just feels good.

Guineas: we love ticks… we hunt those little evil doers down and eat them like their ain’t no tomorrow!

 

Well, I guess they pretty much summed it all up. We go through a lot of feed on the farm each week but we try to keep their diet as natural as possible. Have a great weekend all!

~Jhenna and the critters

 

From the cave of Zelda, guinea pig extraordinaire.

The last two months have been quite perplexing for this little guinea pig. Things were going great… I had my own condo, tons of fresh veggies, hay, pellets and even some fruit when I threw an especially big squeaking fit. Pear tree branches all for me to nibble on to my heart’s desire. The lap of luxury, yup, I was cradled nicely in that lap of luxury.

Whenever the family reached in to pick me up I would run around like crazy and they usually gave up and went on to my neighbor, The Duke of Wesselton.  He just stood there, begging to be picked up, strange fellow indeed. He had been my neighbor for several months and I was just beginning to be able to tolerate him from a distance when suddenly he was thrust into my world. Not next store anymore… he was IN my space. My bubble… my lap of luxury. INVASION!

The day started off all innocent… the hobby farmer lady reached in to pick me up, I ran and hid, she tried for a bit to catch me and then she gave up. Success. As expected, she shifted her attention to Duke. She reached in, he just stood there and sure enough, she picked him up. “You’re a good piggy… what a sweetie…” blah blah blah, whatever.

Then she did it, she just PUT HIM IN MY WORLD, right in it! He looked at me, I looked at him, and lettuce, carrots, apples, and all sorts of other treats were thrust right in front of the both of us. Who was I to complain? We both munched happily and I guess that was the start of the end… I got all mushy feeling, he gave me a little wink and yes, my heart was won.

Life went on and we settled into a routine. Some chasing, mostly eating, a little romancing here and there, napping, nose twitching, twig chewing… you know, the typical piggy stuff.

Then guess what? He was taken away. My Duke was TAKEN AWAY! Piggy napped, all points bulletin, be on the lookout, my lovey piggy has disappeared! I tried to tell him to run like a maniac whenever a hand came into our little den of love but nooooooooo, he wouldn’t listen. He was snatched from me in the dead of night with no goodbye.

Well, when I woke up I did find out where he had gone. Apparently, he just moved back over to his bachelor pad. I gave him the silent treatment… he tried to woo me back into his good graces but I was having none of it. I have sworn off relationships for good.

The weeks passed and I noticed the family getting more and more tenacious with the petting, handling, and in general poking and prodding. Apparently they think I may be pregnant and all of a sudden some bizarre Google searches are in the works.

“How to tell if my guinea pig is pregnant…”

“What is the gestation period of a guinea pig?”

“Is guinea pig birth difficult?”

“How long do guinea pigs nurse?”

“Signs of a guinea pig pregnancy”

“Size of a guinea pig litter”

“Is loss of hair around guinea pig nipples a sign of impending birth?”

“Signs of labor in guinea pigs”

“What should the diet be of a pregnant guinea pig?”

Bizarre, just incredibly bizarre. I am not pregnant. You should see some of the weird responses that came up from these searches. Today the woman actually held my tummy up to her ear to see if she could hear babies (apparently Google told her to do it). Google, stop it, just stop giving this woman really weird advice. I have gained some weight, I am not pregnant, deal with it.

Please someone tell this family to just leave me be. Keep throwing in veggies, fruit, and other treats, but other than that just leave me alone to gain my weight without judgment. While you are at it, tell The Duke of Wesselton I am still not speaking to him and no, his apology is not accepted.

Sincerely, in all sincerity,

Zelda

From the desk of Ella,

What you think a goat shouldn’t have a desk? Well, let me tell you, I have plenty of needs for a desk. Where else would I keep my massive stationary collection? Hey, that stuff makes a great midnight snack! It is also quite comfortable to hop up on top and taunt the young kids and old goats who aren’t as agile and mountain climby as I am… yes, my desk is my own personal mountain. Go ahead, be a little jealous. Get yourself a desk and you can have your own mountain too. We can be mountain goats together!

I have to be quite honest with you… things around this “hobby” farm can be quite boring when there are no visitors. Besides, what is a “hobby” farm?  Am I being led to believe that I am nothing more than a hobby to these people? I don’t quite know how I feel about that as I ate the dictionary pages d-tr and therefore have no idea what “hobby” even means. Should I be flattered or insulted? Seriously, someone please tell me, I’m losing sleep over this.

So I get bored. A girl can only chew cud and scream like a woman being murdered (go ahead, YouTube it… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlYlNF30bVg  )for so long before even that becomes just plain boring. When I get bored I tend to make up fun games for myself and any other hoofed (or is it hooved… I really wish I would have read those dictionary pages before I ate them) critter lucky enough to have my acknowledgement for the day. Recently, I have been trying my hand at a new game, “Escape from prison.” It’s actually quite fun and gets more and more challenging each time as the fences get higher, electric tape and wire is added, holes get mended, and less and less volunteers let me climb on their back to hop over the gate. Why is it all about keeping us behind fences for these hobby farmers? Do they not realize I have a few boyfriends over in yonder enclosure? Perhaps they are training me for the next “goat ninja warrior”… I would rock that hardcore!

Today I was able to not only escape my own enclosure but I was able to break INTO the great hay room of dreams. Seriously, all the hay you could eat and it was the good stuff… alfalfa, orchard grass, a lot of clover and some divine fescue… like eating candy… if candy was dried grass. I ate, chewed my cud, dropped some berries and ate some more… it was magnificent! Admittedly I am not holding this girlish figure very well after that little escapade but wow was it worth it and the boys in yonder enclosure are still giving me that “come hither” look so I must wear the extra weight well.

Now, don’t think I don’t get fed often without breaking into the hay loft and feed room. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression… I get fed well and often. It’s just that the other goats tend to eat from the same spot I do and they slobber all over and lick every piece of hay and that is just plain disgusting. It’s not like I want to live in a bubble free from all germs and coodies but I  have to draw the line somewhere and having others slobber, lick, and even look at my hay makes it… well… it just makes it unappetizing. Don’t judge me.

Another fun game is one I like to call “kick the bucket.” I get up on the milk stand, start eating my grain like a good little goat, let the lady farmer start milking and singing sweetly to me (she’s totally tone deaf but seems to delight in singing to us goats), and then just as my udder is almost empty I take my back left hoof and kick the milk can right off the stand. It is HILLARIOUS! Of course the singing stops (a blessing if I ever had one) and sometimes the lady farmer even totally gives up emptying my udder and lets me loose to run off and tell all the other goats how much fun I just had. Sometimes she gets a second can and empties me out which actually feels good so whether I partake in this game or not is a toss up every morning and night.

We are on a break from milking for a while as the lady farmer has announced that it is “breeding time.” I’m not sure what that means but the last time she talked about breeding time I got super duper fat and five months later I ended up with a loud mouthed little kid (the visitors all swooned over him) with a huge head! It will be interesting to see what happens this time during “breeding time”… perhaps we will eat raspberries all day or take long hikes at sunset through the woods. We’ll see, I’ll keep you posted!

~Ella

From the desk of Katja:

Dear Puppy,

Welcome to the farm… actually welcome to MY farm. It’s called The Shepherd Hobby Farm and I, dear puppy, am a Shepherd. You are not. You are some little round buff ball of fur with very floppy ears. I’ve seen other puppies like you and quite honestly I’m not impressed. They just don’t name hobby farms after puppies like you and the sooner you accept that fact the happier all of our lives will be.

I feel it is my duty to explain the farm rules and give you some tips. After all, the farm is named after me… did I mention that? It is my farm.

1. I am not your personal jungle gym. In fact, let’s just keep a mutual two feet separation between us for everyone’s sanity. We will call it the “restraining order” game and it will be played all day and night, every day and night. You’re a puppy, you like games.
   

   Clearly you are disobeying the two foot rule…

2. My food is my food. There is much food like it but this is mine. Don’t look at it, don’t smell it, don’t feel it, don’t even think about it.
3. There are a few cats on the farm and they want to conquer the world. The rule is, we humor them in this endeavor and they promise to avoid cuddling while paparazzi are around.
4. Black, brown, red, green, orange, and yellow substances are all meant to be rubbed in. The more off putting the aroma is to the lady farmer and her family the better. I get first rubs and rolls in these spots and you puppy will obviously get last dibs after all the other dogs, all cats, and goats if they are up for it.
5. After rubbing and rolling avoid being put on a leash. If the lady farmer puts you on a leash you will most assuredly be going to get a bath and baths make us all smell horrible. Don’t even try to rub the horrid smell of bath off on the carpet, it just doesn’t work.
6. Watch out for Nala, the German Shepherd with the really long hair. You’ve seen it, it’s so long you could braid it if only you had opposable thumbs. Anyways, she hates all types of group fun. She’s quite militant, kinda a Marine Corps kind of dog. Appease her by just not playing, ever.
   

   Nala

7. Watch out for Axel, the German Shepherd with really long legs who has no idea his body continues behind his head. I seriously wonder about him. He’s been a little slow on the uptake of these rules and tips but I haven’t lost hope for him as he is a Shepherd.
   

   Axel

8. Watch out for Fuzzy, the Shepherd who wears a disguise of a big white fluffy coat and ears that are floppy… similar to yours. Hmmmm that’s weird now that I think about it. Those ears must be part of her disguise. She sits and watches things all day long and finds interesting ways to enter the house at night. She will get you in trouble so just avoid her at all costs.
   

   Fuzzy

9. Stop eating your own poop, it’s grossing everyone out.
10. The squirrels will taunt you, just let it go, do not engage them. Chasing them up trees does nothing, you can’t climb trees and they will just tease you mercilessly while the lady farmer takes stupid pictures and posts them on Facebook to further humiliate you.
11. The best snacks come from visiting children. Seriously, they carry some yummy tidbits right around that mouth of theirs, lick freely when no one is looking.
12. When the lady farmer and her family turns the lights out and goes to bed it is time to get on the furniture and snuggle in for our own sweet dreams of  fresh bacon, eggs, and t-bone steaks. I get the blue chair, Nala gets the couch, Axel gets the other couch, Fuzzy gets under one of the kids’ bed (not the sharpest tool in the shed), and they tend to stack things on those red chairs to thwart our comfy sleeping so I guess there’s no place for you, oh darn, I really feel kinda bad for you, or maybe I don’t.
13. When anyone pulls up in a vehicle it is our sworn duty as Shepherds to bark ferociously and act like we will indeed rip them from limb to limb. You are not a Shepherd, we expect nothing from you in this department. In fact, having you with us will just detract from our ferociousness so you must hide in the bushes and remain unseen.
14. So you are a “golden retriever”, what makes you golden and what are you meant to retrieve? This is not a rule or a tip but I am naturally curious as I thought all other dogs on the face of the earth, besides the German Shepherd of course, had died out long ago as people found they had little to no use for them.
    

    That is fine right there… no closer.

15. Soon it will be time for the lady farmer and the family to bring a dead tree into the house and decorate it with what I have always assumed to be dog toys. It is best to sneak these toys off the tree when no one is looking because they tend to get angry about it for some weird reason. There are peppermint stick dog toys, cloth dog toys, ceramic dog toys, metal dog toys, and even a few neat glass ball dog toys, now that’s fancy!

 

Life is good at The Shepherd Hobby Farm, really good. I have made this farm good, never forget that and we’ll be all right, that is all puppy.

~Katja

 

 

 

 

Fridays on the Farm

From the desk of Mountain Man… Intermingler of the legs, catcher of the mice, and all around good guy to hang out with.

Dear Family, particularly the woman who feeds me and calls me “Handsome”,

Stop poking and prodding at me. I will not stay your handsome boy if you continue to poke and prod. Yes, I was bitten by a very angry creature who claimed, “I scratched up the wrong tree” but I do not think this gives you the right to do the monstrous things you have done to me in the name of “saving my life.”

You think I couldn’t have licked this wound clean? You think my immune system is so weak I wouldn’t survive one little encounter with a crazy squirrel, opossum, raccoon creature? You think that abscess was big? You think I need you? You think a handsome cat doesn’t know how to keep up his appearances despite an infected festering wound? You think western medicine is the saving answer to everything? You think this wound is something a gluten free vegan diet can’t cure? Just give me a couple days to get that GMO out of my diet and all will heal perfectly. Just leave me alone!

Family, hear me loud and clear… I… am… a … cat. I need no one. Sure, I cuddle you mercilessly and nuzzle your face but that is merely to give YOU the will to live. Without me you have nothing, get used to it.

So, you were a little alarmed when I came to dinner a few nights ago looking like I had stuffed a huge ball of yarn in my left cheek? Well, I came to dinner, why didn’t you immediately feed me? What was with all the scooping me up, poking and prodding at my face, and then the absolute disgust when you discovered the oozing.  Your poking and prodding did it, why in the world were you surprised?

However, let me take a moment to say, “Thank you.” My head and neck actually did feel better for a split second. Then, guess what, you had to go and ruin the moment. You brought me inside, making me think we would be cuddling on the couch and sharing a nice shrimp cocktail all the while knowing darn well there would be no snuggling and shrimp. Instead, you began to gather random tools of torture, all the while claiming that my oozing did not smell agreeable. Reminder, you caused this so it is your fault.

You, lady who feeds me and gives the best behind the ear and rump scratches, you are no doctor. Stop trying to play one in the home. A steady hand, yup you’ve got that. Some basic first aid knowledge, yes I’ll give you that as well. However, this night you were acting as if you had stayed in a Holiday Inn and suddenly channeled your inner Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. What? No, I never watch TV from the window behind the couch late at night. Can I make a request. Yes, after all this I think I can. I’d like for you to get the satellite TV back. Or maybe cable TV. Heck, I’d be happy with a couple local channels. I’m getting a bit tired of the Andy Griffith DVDs and Star Trek… you guys are such nerds.

The minutes turned into hours, the hours into days as you worked. The bright surgical-like kitchen lights warmed me just enough to lull a light sleep as I was worked on. No growling, you’re welcome. No biting, you’re welcome. No scratching, you really owe me.

Then, it happened. What all cats fear. My paws were bathed and wrappings were applied. I tried to scratch the wrapping off from around my neck when I suddenly realized there was something very wrong. The very foot I was attempting to scratch with was also bandaged in a Chinese finger trap type of wrapping which would take quite some time to finally be free from. Torture, pure and simple. I was a cat being tortured.

I really feel for those kids you claim to love because I have seen you gather these same types of tools of torture to treat their afflictions promising no shrimp cocktail to them as well. You have bandaged them, you have washed them, and you have made them cry with your efforts. Well, woman, I was crying. You didn’t see it (because I’m a manly kind of cat) but rest assured, I was crying. It hurt.

I just thought… well, you know… I just thought our relationship was different. I thought you understood me. I thought we had a connection. You, woman, you are dead to me. But it gets worse, oh wow does it get worse.

You took me to place that shall not be named in the vehicle which is a warm haven of happiness when sitting in the driveway and a deathtrap on wheels as soon as the engine revs up. At least you were smart enough to know every ounce of my street cred would be ruined if you stuffed me into a little box for the ride. Yes, woman, you were smart to allow me to sit on your lap while you drove the deathtrap on wheels to the place which all us cats on The Shepherd Hobby Farm have been to for what you call “alteration.” I was young and don’t remember much but apparently I will never be a father… fine by me.

We arrived and yes, I clung to you like Velcro. My claws dug in, and I have to say I did not appreciate your giggles at my utter terror. The comments about the weight… I could have done without those as well. The vet said I looked great so your little, “Wow, I didn’t think he had gained THAT MUCH weight” was downright hurtful. Eight pounds woman, I weigh eight pounds. I think you weigh a bit more than eight pounds! Yet, I say nothing.

 

Yet, I come back for more.

The actual appointment went well, she didn’t cause me pain like you did woman who is dead to me. Apparently I owe you a “thank you” as well because the wound was drained and they wouldn’t need to flush it out (flush sounds like it involves water so I do thank you woman… I really don’t like water on me. There may be hope for you).

My neck was shaved and four spots were pointed out where obviously jaws clamped down on my neck. Well duh, I already told you that woman… remember, that creature in the tree… yup that thing did it I bet. It’s all so blurry now, it happened a day or two ago and I’ve been too busy to keep track of details. I told you I could take care of it on my own so I don’t know why we are even here. That wasn’t fun but I sucked it up and took it like a man.

The only happiness of this visit was the confirmation from the vet that I am indeed a handsome cat and knowing you had to pay money for my care… haha the joke is on you woman who is not as dead to me as you were a few moments ago.

Now, understand this, I’m what you would call a country cat. You know this… you made me be a country cat by bringing me to the country. I happily roll in the hay, catch mice and bring their heads, ears, and tails to your doorstep, and bask in the sweet warm sunlight 10 hours each day. You’re cramping my style with the twice daily wound care and medicine. The other cats are starting to talk.

However, that moist yummy bit of amazing goodness you set in front of me after you squirt that horrid liquid in my mouth is something akin to a bear gorging on honey after enduring a few bee stings to get to it. The cuddles are pretty neato as well.

Keep on in your endeavors family, keep on.

~Mountain Man

From the desk of Axel…

Here it is, a beautiful fall day and I, Axel, am stuck inside because my humans say it has been raining for a “Noah’s time” (who is Noah and has he ever come over to play with me? Noah isn’t a new goat my lady farmer human got is it? I need to watch her more carefully!) and apparently we don’t like mud in the house. Dirt, cobwebs, food bits, dust, random piles of books and papers, toys, dog hair, and kid prints all over the windows is cool but NO MUD! I just don’t get it. I rather like mud… the way it squishes up between my toes, the cool feeling it gives me on my nose, the playful splatter on my tummy as I run at full speed through it’s oceans of silkiness, the amazing softness as I dig down deep into it’s depths… yes, I like mud.

However, I am kept occupied by bits of mail that people send me so at least the day is not a total wash (get that… get how I used a word related to water when I just got done talking about how it had been raining and that created the mud and that’s why I am bored on this beautiful fall day… not great? Ok, I’ll work on it.) For example, today I received a wonderful handwritten thank you note from the lady who lives a cat’s dash away beyond the barn which contains some foul mouthed goats and an area that has these huge creatures that try to run me down when I get too close… my humans ride them and they don’t seem to ever try to run them down so I am wondering what I ever did to them. Oh well, to ponder another day.

Anyways, back to the thank you note… did I mention it was handwritten? Really a lost art, the whole handwriting thing. Rumor has it my lady farmer human once let Katja (a fellow canine on the farm, kinda the matriarch of the whole thing as she is older than dirt… ooh wait… older than mud!) paint on a t-shirt which she was going to wear on the Price Is Right but I guess painting isn’t quite like writing and I have no clue what a price is or whjy it would not always be right. Point is, I ramble, and I can’t read or write yet. I’m not even a year old, give a male some time! However, I turn one on the 31st and I’m expecting one heck of a party… did you see what they did for Nala’s birthday a couple days ago? A cake, toys, singing (not good), and oh so much attention. It…was…amazing! Yes, I want all that and more. I want a field trip too. I wonder who will write my thank you notes… I’m a thank you note kind of guy.

Oh yes, back to the thank you note! I got one today, from the lady I stayed with when my humans attempted to abandon me. They just dropped me off early one morning. Me, my food bin, a bag of toys, a leash, my man cave (they call it a kennel… what is a kennel… oh yes, it must be my man cave), and a simple pat on the head with some lecturing words which I didn’t hear because this lady had other dogs that just HAD to play with me!

They realized after being gone for twelve days they couldn’t live without me and they came back. Yes, I am that irresistible. Truth be told, this woman was amazing and I’m thinking they should abandon me more often. The thank you note is quite beautiful with this purple thing on it and lots of writing. My lady farmer human read it to me and I melted…

Dear Axel,

I know you can’t read yet, so let your mommy read this to you. The gift card for Knittwitts is such a thoughtful idea. That place is like a doggy bone store – sooo much to drool at! Next time your family travels, come and stay with us again.

Thank you,

Aunt Phoebe

Sheebah, Eddie, Bella say “Woof”

Well now, that was just so sweet. I don’t remember getting her any gift card to a place called Knittwitts… that doesn’t really scream my style. I would, in fact, be more apt to get her one to the above mentioned doggy bone store… yes, that is my style. Oh well, she is happy and has showered me with thank you note worthy attention so I will play along like I am indeed fully responsible for this gift that she obviously adores.

Am I obligated to send her a thank you note for the thank you note she sent me? Get on it one of you boys who taps away at keyboards while talking into screens or lady farmer human who refuses to let me play in the mud… make this thank you card for the thank you card happen, I don’t want to appear rude.

~Axel

 

The above definition comes from Google but if you are more of an old school type person perhaps you would prefer Merriam-Webster’s take on things…” an avoidance of extremes in one’s actions, beliefs, or habits <the kind of person who does everything in moderation>”

We’ve all seen it, heard it, felt it, and practically even tasted it… the want to do better, be better, feel better, and seem better in our own eyes and those around us. Many pour over the pages of Pinterest for great ideas on how to decorate, cook, exercise, eat, garden, craft, parent, dress… the list is seemingly endless.

When is it ever enough? When will our thirst be quenched? If you are anything like me you have a long list of “Things To Do” inspired by the pages of magazines, Pinterest, Facebook, or friends. For every one item I check off I add 10 more to the list and if I keep running on my hamster wheel at this rate I will have the most beautiful house, best kept farm, and a family with delightfully full tummies… but at what cost?

My sanity will have been drowned in gallons of paint, my animals will crave the cuddles and sweet attention not afforded to them as I hurried to “make better” their enclosures, and the tummies of my family will empty and just have to be refilled. More importantly, I will have missed the mark completely of what I was put on this earth to do.

I know I was put on this earth to glorify God, love and strive to be the best helpmate to my husband that I can be, mother my children by raising them up in the way they should go and teaching them diligently all the while loving them so fully that often times I feel I may burst.

I want to eat well, I want to exercise, I want to avoid chemical laden food, I want to celebrate my children’s birthdays and holidays, I want to homeschool, I want to continue my own education, I want to grow my own food, I want to create crafts, and I want to learn more about the dangers AND the positive aspects of genetically modified organisms (GMOs). Any food product that has been altered at the gene level sounds a little Frankenstineish (spelling? Wow, I have no idea and spell check is stumped as well) and I’m not sure I want to be consuming it but I need to look into it further and see if I want to change my spending and eating habits to jump this GMO hurdle. There are folks who will have long raging debates over the uses of GMOs in food that OTHER PEOPLE eat. People like me… they are giving me a tongue lashing because I don’t have an opinion at this point about whether or not GMOs should be banned.

Chill out people, just chill out. I really don’t think GMOs are going to be the downfall of mankind.

There are basically three areas that I want everyone to take a look at when I beg them to look at chilling out and jumping from the “all or nothing Pinterest painted” world to the world of “moderation.”

EXERCISE

If you know me you know that I am all about living in the world of “moderation.” The only exercise I love to do is bicycle, so I do a lot of bicycling. However, I also look for opportunities to incorporate exercise into my daily life. I have two older sons (10 and 15) who I am not overly concerned with running out in front of a moving car in a parking lot. So guess what, I can park further away at the store and have a nice walk in to get some extra exercise. When I come out I can also unload my purchases and walk the cart all the way back into the store collecting others’ carts for them along the way with the help of my non toddler sons. Have you heard me loud and clear when I say I do not look down on the mother who looks for that parking spot as close to the entrance as possible because she has young kids who could very easily dash in front of a moving car? Guess what folks, that mother is getting as much, if not more exercise, than me and my stroll from my Neptune like distance parking space.

No time for exercise? Hogwash, everyone has time for some form of exercise. Want some creative examples? Exercise is anything that elevates your heart rate and takes your body outside of its normal comfort zone…

-10 sit-ups before you get out of bed

– Get some friends or your family together and head for a hike… through the woods, around the block, around the house, wherever, just make a concerted effort to get moving. A wonderful tradition is to start a 15 minute walk after dinner each evening. Is it dark? Take flashlights, extra fun!

– Dance. Yup, that’s right, the girl with no rhythm (Zumba solidified that fact) says you should dance. For me it looks like a woman having a seizure and embarrasses my son in the privacy of their own home but it really gets the heart rate up and can be done anytime and most anywhere.

– Roughhousing with your kids. I am THAT mom who wrestled with my boys constantly and encouraged them to wrestle with each other. Do you have little ones? Gentle wrestling on the ground, airplane rides with them on your legs while you lay on your back on the floor, and the bouncing on your knee showing how the “farmer goes to town” are all great ways to interact with your kids while exercising.

– Stop meeting for coffee… instead go for a walk, play some golf, or do some volunteer work at the local dog shelter (walking dogs) or on someone’s hobby farm (hint hint… The Shepherd Hobby Farm is all about helpers) with that friend or client.

– Play with the kids on the playground. You probably don’t want to be “that guy” who does this when your own kids aren’t there but if you have kids or can borrow someone else’s kids then run, climb, and play with them on that playground. You’ll be amazed how quickly that heart rate rises!

You get the point. Find ways to incorporate some exercise in your day as often as possible. It helps to clear your mind, maintain your body, and sets a great example for your family and friends.

FOOD

Seriously people, relax about the food. Give yourself permission to allow some moderation in your eating habits and then maybe you will lighten up with the rest of us Pringles eating and Coke drinking people. I’m not suggesting Pringles and Coke should be your breakfast but take a lesson from this mama, it won’t be the end of the world if it is once in a while. That was my breakfast for an entire week straight when I was pregnant with my oldest son (gotta love cravings) and I can tell you right now that fifteen years later he suffered no ill effects then nor now (unless you count his obsessive tendency to want to stack all things in a nesting type configuration… Just kidding).

It’s wonderful to strive to find produce which was grown without the use of chemicals but should you break the bank over it and stress about it? No! Almost all of those insecticides and herbicides can be washed off of produce before you eat it if they haven’t been already (most produce gets thoroughly washed before it comes to you). If you are really that worried about your food then why not put the extra time and effort (added benefit of exercise) to grow your own food? Maybe go in on a garden together with your church, your neighbor, or a friend. Share the cost, work, and the abundance of food!

It’s great to give information to others about different ways to do things but please remember preferences do not equal black and white or right and wrong. Be sensitive to the reaction you get from friends and family when you discuss your food selections and  your advice about the latest and greatest studies on GMOs, antibiotic laden beef, and cancer causing Pop-Tarts (for the record, I do not think Pop-Tarts cause cancer). When you come over to my place do not give me a dirty look when you see my kid eating Doritoes and drinking a Coke. What you may not know is that while I have given up all hope on that kid I have another one who eats nothing but carrots, cucumbers, melon, and free range eggs.

I may have exaggerated a bit about my kids above but I figured you could use a laugh and I know some parent out there feels like that is their life… one kid who is super eater and one who will no doubt weigh 600 pounds and find Twinkies in their fat rolls as they live with 30 cats. Be the parent while you can… you are the one who buys the food and drinks, sets the rules, and decides what is allowed in your home and what is not. In our home we do limit those things that really don’t have much (if any) nutritional value and ensure our kids fill their bodies primarily with plenty of fruits, vegetable, dairy, whole grains, meat, and water.

Cut back on the eating out and get your family in the kitchen with you to cook together. Watch cooking shows if that’s your thing (I recommend “Chopped”) and challenge each kid to pick out a recipe each week (online, cookbook, wherever) and help them make that for a meal during the week or weekend. Slow down with the “outside the home” activities and concentrate on the family in the home.

CRAFTINESS

Ok, this one is completely selfish. I can’t keep up with all you crafty moms so you are just going to have to slow down. In fact, quit all together. The awesome headboards, DIY kitchen tables and centerpieces, scrapbooks, blankets and quilts… just STOP, you are killing me!

Or… we could work through this together. You help me to understand that even though we have the same 24 hours in a given day our 24 hours look different and we have different responsibilities and life set-ups. I will try to stop comparing myself to you super women out there if you promise to help keep me accountable for priorities that we all know come before our Pinterest and Facebook crafty craziness. When I talk about a project or boast about a finished item of supreme craftiness (I know, I shouldn’t boast… I’m working on that) feel free to ask me how my scripture reading was that day or what book I read with my sons. Ask me what great conversation I had with my husband or how I showed him he was important to me that day.  Ask me how my prayer time went and who I was able to help that day. Ask me if I got the things done in my home which makes it inviting to my husband and family. These should be the focus of our days and the rest can be filled in within the realms of moderation.

Oddly enough I just want to end this with a sincere and heartfelt, I love you all. I’m not typically a mushy person but I love every person who takes the time to read these heartfelt ramblings and every person who is in my life in one capacity or another. I just really love you all and want to see everyone chill out a bit in the areas that don’t matter as much as you salvation, your marriage, and your parenting.

 

 

 

I am so glad I chronicled our trip because twenty years from now (or tomorrow) my mind isn’t going to be what it used to be and I will appreciate reading these pages as if the whole trip was new to me.

While chatting last night my ever-so-insightful aunt and uncle asked Kevin and me (and yes, I am am almost completely certain it is “me” and not “I” in this case) what our most memorable moments of the ride were. The serious answer for us both was of course the fabulous miles logged beside each other… best friends, woven together through God’s amazing plan.

The more light-hearted and comical answer for Kevin was the quick stop to do some doctoring on an injury, having the RV pull over and start taking pictures, and then refusing to leave. Mine was a memory that I don’t think I included in the days’ logs but that happened on either day 7 or 8 of riding (I think it was day 7). We were riding along and were coming up to a stone bridge that went over a culvert type thing. There were about eight of us riders and I noticed a person squatting up against the bridge wall ahead. I assumed it was a homeless person as we had seen quite a few that day already but I was struck at how strong he was to squat like that instead of just sit down. Wall squats are not easy to do for long periods. As we rode closer and then passed I realized it was a gentleman who had obviously eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him and there the poor guy was, pants around his ankles and the evidence of his tummy issues all over the wall and sidewalk. I felt so bad for him but couldn’t help but chuckle (I know, I’m horrible). Worse even than his loose bowels was the parade of riders strolling past with really no other scenery to avert our eyes to. Now, that is a bad moment for all involved.

We woke up Sunday morning and luckily Kevin checked his email. My flight, which was supposed to leave at 9:00am was delayed three hours. Really? Well, at least this was confirmation Spirit Airlines was in fact a real airline (I was dubious up until this point as I had never heard of it before). Kevin’s flight was scheduled to leave at 11:00am anyways so we decided to just head to the airport at our normally scheduled time to see if there was any way I could get on an earlier flight. I wanted to try to get back to Monroe (Wisconsin, where the boys were staying) before the Cheese Days cheese curd stand closed down… priorities people!

Aunt Marcia drove us to the airport along many of the same Malibu roads we had biked on the day before… these hills weren’t so tough now… in a car! She dropped us off at LAX and Kevin walked with me to check my bag in and check on an earlier flight for me (no such luck… I would have to wait two more years for Optimist cheese curds). I walked Kevin over to his terminal and we passed the oddest mural. Apparently it was “abstract art” or else people in Los Angeles don’t have heads…

It wasn’t fun to kiss Kevin goodbye and walk back to my terminal alone. Knowing that it would be several weeks before I would see him again is never fun, especially going from being with him nonstop for the last two weeks. Luckily technology allows for us to text often and keep each other updated of every little happening in our day lol.

I loaded my backpack onto the security conveyor belt and stepped into the chamber of certain death by radiation poisoning. I expected to be waved through without incident but something in my bag was holding things up. They took my bag off and sent it through again while I stood there. I was then asked to step to the back and they proceded to empty out my bag in front of me. What was in there that was causing such an issue? Laundry detergent? No, I had used all that up. A pocket knife? Nope, didn’t bring one of those. My epi-pen? Nope, had put that in my checked baggage because most assuredly there would be no mammal meat in the LAX airport… California people are all vegan, right? hehe

There it was… the rubber headed mallet that we had used to pound tent stakes in while we were camping on the ride. I had completely forgotten it was in my backpack. Ugh, I knew they thought I intended to take over the plane with a rubber mallet so I tried to explain that we had been camping and used that mallet for the tent stakes. I also told them that I didn’t care if they confiscated it, I didn’t need it. It was somewhat comical because the TSA guy must have thought I said, “I desperatley want that hammer, it is everything to me, I will not part with it.”

He called his supervisor to see if I could take it on the plane and I again reiterated that I did not want the hammer. I just wanted to get past security and go get a sandwich (I am very cranky when I am hungry… I hadn’t been hungry before this but suddenly I was famished). He talked with his supervisor for a while and then his supervisor called his supervisor. I contemplated just bolting… I had no mallet so I could do no harm to anyone, surely they wouldn’t stop me. I then came to the conclusion that bolting for any reason at any place in an airport would certainly cause an issue and I didn’t want to go to airport jail.

After long discussions, much chin scratching, and all assurances from me that I had no emotional attachment to the mallet they confiscated it and I was free to take my bag and head to my gate.

I stopped and got a sandwich at Starbucks but it lacked that potato goodness that I had been without for 24 hours now… this must be what withdrawal feels like.

I was able to sit and people watch, hoping to see some famous folks… after all I’m sitting in LAX. After seeing none (and I had looked for a whole 15 minutes!) I put my sunglasses and baseball cap on and walked around like I was a famous person… it’s amazing what one will do when they are bored and have no husband to tell them they are being ridiculous. I sat back down and Kevin and I texted back and forth for a while.

It was time to board the plane and I did… no little TV screen of my own and no snacks… Spirit America is most assuredly nothing like Virgin America… I like Virgin America. Meanwhile, Kevin boarded his plane bound for Detroit (and then on to Evansville/home and then the next day he would drive to Oklahoma City) and scored a first class seat. WHAT?!?! How did that happen… my plane didn’t even have a first class section.

I arrived in Chicago after going almost completely batty on the plane (I really don’t like sitting still). You will be happy to know that I was able to uneventfully get my checked bag and make my way to lot F via the O’Hare shuttle. I found the van right where we had left it at S1 and I headed to Monroe to SEE MY BOYS!

The two hour drive went quickly but I was still way too late to get cheese curds… I had officially missed Cheese Days in Monroe 🙁 It was awesome to see my boys and they enjoyed hearing all about the trip as much as I enjoyed hearing all about their Wisconsin adventures. I slept well at Grandpa and Grandma’s and we loaded up in the morning and started the eight hour drive home.

We got home that evening and all the critters were happy to see us. I buried my face into the warm neck of Mercedez (one of my horses) and gave all the goats a good petting. The dogs were played with and loved on and the cats refused to be left out (forceable petting to the extreme!). Guinea pigs, chickens, guuineas, and rabbits were great and it felt amazing to be home.

Kevin made it safely to Oklahoma City and was glad the boys and I made it home safe and sound.

The question I get the most is: “Will you do the ride next year?” Up until writing these ride day blogs I had said, “no” citing several solid reasons…

– Quite expensive logistic side of things (getting bikes there, plane tickets, etc)

– Difficult to find farm sitters (huge shout out and thank you to our amazing farm sitters!)

– A lot of time away from our boys

– Used a lot of Kevin’s vacation time when we would like to do a vacation WITH the boys

However…. now I’m just not so sure. I wonder if we could get creative and get the boys out there with us somehow… I’d love to ride again and I’m officially putting my thinking cap on… I’ll welcome any and all suggestions! The combination of the ride experience and the money raised for the Arthritis Foundation makes this the most perfect time and money spent. I’ve never come across anything that even comes close. Well done Arthritis Foundation and riders… well done.

A couple final thoughts…

I’m not done fundraising yet and still quite a ways from my goal! Have you enjoyed reading about my adventure? Consider donating in my name to the Arthritis Foundation TODAY! Don’t wait! You can donate here and it’s the perfect end of year tax write-off!

http://ccc14.kintera.org/jhennaconway

 

Think you have what it takes to make this an adventure of your own? Trust me, if I can, you can! Sign up here!

http://ccc15.kintera.org/faf/home/default.asp?ievent=1121403

~Jhenna

 

 

 

 

As I sit and write today it is raining. It has been raining quite steadily for the past three days (no, I’m not trying to brag California people) and it looks like we have a few more days of it ahead. I love writing in the rain as it is incredibly peaceful. My dogs are usually curled up around my feet, goats munching hay in the barn or their outside shelters, cats sitting on the window ledges completely dry but looking as pitiful as ever hoping I will let them in, chickens refusing to set foot outside the henhouse, and horses usually looking for a mud bog to roll in (I think my horses are half pig).

I have mixed emotions as I write about the last day of riding. Our adventure is almost to an end and tomorrow I kiss my husband goodbye as he heads off to Oklahoma City for a work trip. We have spent almost every second together for the past ten days and I have loved it. I miss my boys and can’t wait to see them but I know reuniting with them means we start another one of the many periods with Kevin away from home for work.

This has been a blessed trip for Kevin and me to reconnect with each other. Sometimes we get so busy living life, caring for our kids, and just being pulled in so many directions that we forget to concentrate on each other. When our marriage is strong our family is strong, it’s a simple fact. I will certainly remember this fact as we return home and make that extra effort to happily greet him at the door when he gets home and live up to my end of the saying, “Let the wife make the husband glad to come home, and let him make her sorry to see him leave.” ~Martin Luther

My legs and arms are tired, my face is sun burnt and my feet have continued to swell. With all that being said, I would willingly stay on the bike if this adventure continued on… I’m hooked. Amazing riders, stellar support and staff, breath-taking scenery, and uninterrupted time with my husband… awesome! Ooh, don’t forget the whales… we saw whales!

We wake up excited to finish the ride strong today. Ventura to Los Angeles (Santa Monica) where we will be met by my aunt and uncle (they live there). We hop on the bikes and head over for breakfast. I’m super hungry today and eat a ton!

Kevin and I take off at 7:30am and don’t plan on stopping a whole lot. We want to kinda give ourselves some extra breathing room in case of flat tires or other troubles. All of the riders will meet up at the final checkpoint just short of the finish line (out of sight of all families etc. waiting for us) so everyone rides over at the same time (spectacular sight) and the last thing we want is the crew having to wait on us lol!

There are some straight up climbs but they are relatively short so they don’t give us any troubles. We ride 55 miles today and they are easy miles. Riding by the Channel Islands I happened to be looking out to the ocean and I saw dolphins! Yes, another first for me in California, dolphins! They aren’t doing any crazy acrobatics like the whales were but it was a neat sight nonetheless. The pictures I got remind me of pictures of the Loch Ness Monster but I know what they are so that’s all that counts. Once again the sea creatures were not cooperating for their photo ops.

Kevin must be super excited to finish today because he set a faster than usual pace for us and there’s some points I’m quite winded and barely able to keep up with him. I’m loving it though as we speed along.

About a mile or two from the last checkpoint there’s Gladstones, a restaurant/bar that many folks stop to get spirits before tackling the final hill (my last California hill, WOOHOO) to the checkpoint and finish line. Kevin and I think about it, but would rather stretch out on the grass at the checkpoint for a nice little nap. We are about two hours early to the checkpoint so we grab some snacks, chat with a few other riders (not many here yet), and sprawl out in the warm California sun for a well earned nap.

The riders trickle in over the next two hours and about 20 minutes before we all get gathered up to head to the finish line Kevin and I are surprised by my Aunt Marcia and Uncle Jim walking down the sidewalk. Hugs all around and I don’t even care that I probably smell like stale sweat and grass… my aunt and uncle don’t seem to mind either. It is so good to see them as I think it’s been a year or two since we’ve laid eyes on each other.

We chat for a few minutes and then they head up to the finish line to get the “full effect” of over 200 riders coming across in one huge group. We get all gathered up and take off for the last couple hundred feet of our epic ride.

We cross the finish line but for some reason it just doesn’t seem “over”. I’m not sure why and I still can’t explain the feeling. I couldn’t wait to hand my bike over to the shop that would disassemble and ship it back to Indiana but the moment I did I suddenly missed that two-wheeled wonder. My carbon frame that made for a smooth ride, the multitude of gears which afforderd me the ability to climb Mt Everest (maybe not, but it seemed like it), my itty bitty hard seat that I never thought I’d be able to get used to, my handlebars that I seemed to know like the back of my own hand by now, the tires that were thin as could be but never once went flat on me, and those speed play pedals… who can forget those speed play pedals. Now that I am completetly comfortable in them I seriously feel like I could take on the world!

We had a wonderful taco meal and listened to closing ceremonies. We lugged our packs one last time to the car and later realized we completetly forgot our tent. I talked the big talk about being glad to be rid of my bike but on the way to Jim and Marcia’s house I whispered to Kevin, “I miss my bike.” He squeezed my hand and gave me a soft, “Oh hon” that just seemed to make everything better. We stopped at Starbucks which further made everything “all better” and had an amazing supper that night of pasta, lasagna, and salad… but… where were the potatoes? Nooooooooooo, no potatoes, how could this be? I had to laugh to myself but didn’t say a word even jokingly otherwise I was afraid my amazing aunt would have been in the kitchen in a heartbeat whipping up potatoes.

It was such a blessing to catch up with my aunt and uncle and hear how everything has been going with life, work, and family. I did some laundry so our cycling clothes wouldn’t have to stay in stinky limbo for another day or two.

We were able to call the boys and let them know that we finished successfully and had an amazing ride. Our oldest son (15) was excited to tell us about his air soft rifle fight and said the words no mother wants to hear, “It didn’t hurt much at all except for the two times I got hit in the face.” WHAT?!?! Of course I asked what type of full armor he was wearing and he answered, “Plenty, I had those safety shooting glasses on so I wouldn’t get my eye shot out.” Oh my, what did I let my baby boy do… yes I may be having issues with letting them grow up. Anyways, he loved it and would like to do it again some time (sounds like great father son time… this mama has no intention of being shot at by anything, especially for sport). Our youngest son (10) didn’t have any desire to participate that day but has since shown interest, oh great.

Aunt Marcia would take us to the airport early so we all got to bed at a decent time. I slept snuggled extra close to my husband… I wouldn’t be sleeping next to him again for several weeks 🙁 How would I feel when I woke up and din’t climb into te bik saddle? How about the flight… would I ever get to Chicago and would I FIND THE VAN?