Organized Chaos

Mrs. Captain is the most organized housekeeper I know...said no one EVER!  

You moved Mrs. Captain's pen holder two inches to the left...oooh, honey, are you in for it...has been said a time or two by coworkers.  

Apparently I use up all my organizational skills for activities that pay me.  That’s how I roll.  

To prove this point, here is some photo documentation of the difference between the two.

Dining room table used as a closet, laundry basket, and art table...

Kitchen sink buried in dirty dishes…

Entryway that is hard to enter due to clutter…

Office closet that needs a sign that says “Open at your own risk”...

Captain’s desk...

My office desk…

Captain is going to be mortified that these pictures are now in cyberspace for all posterity. He likes to think that we are the only ones who have messy messes in our houses. Can we say cuh-RAY-zee? I'm pretty sure that every single person reading this has at one time or another had a mess. If you haven't, you're no friend of mine!

I wouldn’t have thrown Captain’s desk in there for comparison because it’s mostly his domain, and I am big on letting people maintain their personal space however they are comfortable with it.

That said, however, I have to use Captain’s desk to do the farm books, and it’s a conundrum because, I’m sorry, I cannot function in that kind of awful chaos.  

Math loathing notwithstanding, mostly my approach to this problem is that I clean the desk before starting book work.  Then we have a secondary conundrum because when Captain wants something that was on the desk, he can’t find it because I “messed everything up.”  Excuse me?!

My fall-back approach is to just avoid that desk until about this time of year when the book work is becoming critical.  Also a conundrum because now I can’t remember why we wrote a five-digit check in February, but it had to be important to have that many zeroes in it.

I think I might have the answer to this dilemma.  I need to load the farm accounting software onto my laptop which resides on my clean, organized, uncluttered desk.  

Now if I could just find the installation driver disk for the software...

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Done With Calf Country

At last….I can pass back the reins for Calf Country to Captain.  Last night was the end of my duty until spring.

Being in charge of Calf Country is my contribution to spring and fall field work.  I only have to feed them at night, so it isn’t a huge time commitment or burden.

I had a few adventures, though. I feed the calves four at a time because that's how many small pails I can carry at one time. Unlike Captain, who mixes all the milk in 5-gallon pails and distributes to smaller pails right in Calf Country, I mix the individual pails and carry those from the milk house to Calf Country.

Anyway, one night I made my first trip to feed four calves, and there was a calf running loose.  

Let me back up and explain our set up.  Baby calves that get fed milk are in individual houses, called hutches, with collars and 6-foot chains, which gives them room to go in and out of their houses, explore their immediate environment, and visit with their neighbors.

Once the babies are ready to be off of milk and on a grain diet, they get moved to a group pen.  As they grow, they get moved from there to a larger group pen, then to a fenced yard, and finally to a larger fenced yard.

So there was a loose calf tearing around the hutches when I went to feed the first four calves.  He didn’t have a collar and was noticeably bigger than the baby calves.  

Logic told me this calf was from the first group pen and must have wiggled out under the gate.  From past experience, I knew that (1) I would never, ever get him back in the pen by myself and (2) he wouldn’t go further than the hutches, so I didn’t pay him much mind.

One my second trip out to Calf Country, the loose calf had a buddy, so now there were two loose calves.  Hmmmm….

On my third and final trip, there were four loose calves out and about, including Louie the Little.  Lovely.

Finished feeding the babies, got the pails washed up and put away, and then called Captain.  By the time I called him, the four loose calves were all laying down in a grassy area near the group pen.  He said to just make sure the chain on the gate of the group pen was actually latched, and he would get them back into the pen when he got home.  

So that wasn’t too bad of an ordeal.  

The second adventure went a little more sideways.  Captain brought home two new babies one morning then went on his way to the field.  I fed calves that night, no problems.  The next night I was feeding before Molly, Mama Bear, Cubby, and Diane came over for ladies night.  Molly showed up while I was feeding the first four calves, so she walked with me. I told her I just had to make one more trip with four pails to finish feeding the eight calves.   

A moment of silence.

“Mom, there are nine calves here.”  Well crap, that means I didn’t feed one of the new ones last night!!  It turned out okay, and the calf I missed didn’t get sick or die...WHEW!

The third adventure was just as sideways.  Captain, again, brought home two new calves, made sure he showed me where there were so I didn’t miss feeding anybody, and went on his way.  

I went out to feed that night, and one of the new ones had slipped out of his collar and was running loose.  I tried to coax him back to his hutch with a pail of milk, but he was having nothing to do with it and kept bounding away as soon as I got close.  Fine.

I left his pail of milk in front of the hutch hoping he would at least get back in his house.  Called Captain to tell him about the rogue calf, and he said he would catch him when he got home.

Problem was, when Captain got home, it was full dark and the calf couldn’t be found.  We hunted around some, and gave up.  Since cattle are herd animals and need their peeps, we knew he wasn’t far away.

Sure enough, the next morning, he was in one of the other hutches with his buddy.  Captain got him back in his own hutch and tightened the collar so he wouldn’t slip out again.

The biggest issue I ran into is that my system is not the same as Captain’s system.  Not that I think either of us is wrong, just different.

In Captain’s world, there is his way...and the wrong way.  Since he generally isn’t around when I am in charge of the calves, this doesn’t typically create any conflict.  However…

One night he was around when I was in the middle of feeding calves and in trying to help me do it his way, we smacked face-first into conflict.  Yes, I know he was trying to be helpful, but he wouldn't listen when I told him repeatedly his way doesn't work for me. I proved myself right, and therein lay the conflict.  

Luckily, neither one of us had the time or inclination to have a knock-down drag-out fight about it.  It was more along the lines of exaggerated eye rolls and harsh muttering under the breath.  

Regardless, my time in Calf Country is over until spring now.  It’s time to settle into hibernation mode for the winter where the most strenuous thing I do is crochet!

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The Eleventh Hour

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918.  That’s when the peace treaty that ended The Great War was put into effect.

It sounds very dramatic, doesn’t it?  And why shouldn’t it have been?  World War 1--because there was an even greater war to follow--was the worst fighting that had been seen, and to reach the end was the most momentous event in the then-modern world.

This is why we celebrate Veteran’s Day on November 11.  Remember, veteran’s day is to honor the living who have served or are serving in our nation’s military.  Memorial Day is when we honor those who have passed.  

We owe so much to our soldiers, and it only takes two or three seconds when you see a veteran to look them in the eye, shake their hand, and say a simple “Thank you for your service.”  That’s it.   

Nothing dramatic there.  At least not to us who give the thanks.  I think, however, that there is immense drama to the soldier receiving the thanks.  

These are our men and women who were and are willing to risk the ultimate sacrifice to protect our country, our citizens, and our freedoms.  Saying thank you seems like so little for such a significant risk, but truly it is deeply meaningful to them.

Military service is a long and proud tradition in our family on both sides.  Captain’s Grandpa Brogan served at the Aleutian Islands in Alaska during World War II.  He came back with PTSD, although no one knew what that was back then.  Still, he went on to raise a family of five and build a successful farming operation.

Captain’s mom has a sister-in-law who served her career in the Air Force all over the globe from Texas to Korea.

My dad, three uncles, and Big Brother all served, all during peace times but served nonetheless.  A nephew is currently a lieutenant in the Army.  

Big Brother served in the Army in Germany while I was in high school in the 1980s.  He was honorably discharged the year Captain and I got married.  

Three years later when the Persian Gulf war started, I remember being absolutely terrified that he would be called back to active duty...which doesn't sound very patriotic now that I say it.  Thankfully, he was not, but he would have answered the call if he had been.

Today as the sun shines, the breeze blows, and the birds sing...do not miss the opportunity to thank our veterans.  Without them, their service, and the sacrifices of them and their families we wouldn’t be able to say we live in the greatest nation in the world.

And we do.  

So thank you, veterans everywhere, and God be with you in all your days.  

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Time Travel

The other night I was watching a Bones re-run on Netflix and it was about time travel.  Each character, at various points throughout the episode, said which moment they would revisit in their past.  

It got me to thinking because we all have moments that were so momentous and so awesome that a re-do would be a gift.

And we all have moments that, with the asset of hindsight, we would like to erase or do differently.

It got me to thinking about which moment in time I would go back to.

I might choose to go back to the day my children were born.  They were days of such extreme joy and...potential.  If I could look at them then knowing what wonderful people they would turn out to be, it would increase that joy a hundredfold.

Or I would go back to the day I realized that Captain was THE ONE so I could hold all that hope and anticipation close for one more day.

Or hey, I’d go back to the day I took my driver’s test the first time and not make the bonehead mistake that failed me.  Then maybe I wouldn’t have had to try three more times to get a license.  No snickering from the peanut gallery, please.

Any of those things would be pure joy to relive, but there are less pleasant days I might choose to do over.

I could go back to the day I started smoking and NOT do that.  I could save myself tens of thousands of dollars and untold lost minutes of time.  

I might go back to the day I hooked work and, instead, actually show up for my shift instead of goofing off with friends.  Then I could have told my children I never got grounded in my life.

But after I thought about it some more, I realized I knew exactly where--or when, to be precise--I would go.  I knew the one second that, if I had the chance, I would do differently.

I would go back to that moment of time on my wedding day just after the priest asked “Who gives this woman to this man?” and my daddy said, “Her mother and I do.”  

I would give just about anything to go back to that very second when he let go of my arm and turned to sit in the pew with my mom, and I would make sure I took the time, the one or two seconds, to give him a hard hug and say, “I love you, Daddy.”

I would make sure, by saying that, that I knew he was proud that I had chosen someone worthy to take Daddy’s place as the most important man in my life.  

I don’t think I hurt Daddy’s feelings that day when I didn’t say those words.  I didn't cheat him out of anything because I said them to him before and after that day many times.  But as the years passed, I realized I had cheated myself.

We all have regrets because you just can't get through life without them. I've tried hard to accept my regrets and use them as a guide to living a better future. For the most part, I've been successful in leaving the past in the past, but that missed opportunity on my wedding day is the one regret that keeps coming back to haunt me.

I have learned to offset that regret by trying to not miss another opportunity to tell someone I love them.  Besides, I know I’ll get the chance someday to find Daddy in heaven and tell him then.

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Pity Party

Earlier this week, I had a what-if situation send me into a complete tailspin.  Yeah, stupid, I know.  But there it is.

I decided I would just have me a nice little Pity Party.  I had an agenda (bitch, whine, moan, complain) and refreshments (sea salt caramel chocolate bar, mint chocolate chip ice cream, and hot chocolate [since I couldn’t have the Dirty Girl Scout I really wanted due to being at work]).

In the course of my day, I noticed a coworker having a real-time situation crappy day, not just the maybe-situation kind of crappy day I had in my head.

My coworker’s dilemma made me realize how stupid the What-If Pity Party I had going on really was.

 

I reached out to my coworker, trying to ease his burden, and in doing so I got enough positive energy back that the Pity Party was canceled.

Mark Twain, a man much wiser than I am, was quoted as saying “The best way to cheer yourself up is to try and cheer someone else up.”  I am here to testify that he is 100% correct.  

It’s easy to get so wound up in our own problems--real or perceived--that we forget or don’t realize that there are others who are also struggling.  

I’m sorry that my friend was having a bad day, but I’m glad that by encouraging him, I was able to shed my own bad mood.  

I guess it all comes back to the core of the golden rule:  be kind to one another.  

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The Power Of The Jinx

I knew it!  I just freaking knew it!

As soon as I said I hadn’t had to run for parts, I’ve done almost nothing BUT run for parts.  

And has it gone smoothly?  No, of course not.  

The first run was Saturday morning after I picked Cubby up to watch her for the day.  I was supposed to just pick up one thing that Captain had ordered the day before.  A plain old belt.  Easy enough, right?  

Sure. I don't know which one of these belts it was, but they had it, and Captain knew what to do with it.

Then he calls me and adds a couple of things to the list.  So I write it down on my hand because I didn’t have any paper handy.  Now I need a belt, an auger cover, and guard bolts.  No nuts, thanks...he says he has plenty of guard nuts.  Fine.

Cubby and I made it to the dealer where the belt was waiting, and I added the two new things to the list.  They loaded me up and sent me on my way.  

We get home, with Cubby chanting “Yampa, ombine...yampa, ombine” (translated Grampa, combine) all the way home.  

Wouldn’t you know it...wouldn’t you just know it?!?!  Now he decided he really did need the guard nuts.  Except it isn’t a simple run to Hardware Hank to get them.  These nuts have to fit a 15-mm wrench.  Color me stupid, but wouldn’t that just be a 15-mm nut?

Nope.  I found this out when I made my second parts run in one day to Bishop’s in Kasson for a seal kit for the ripper.  Nuts are nuts, right?  Green or red machines...shouldn't matter.

That might be true, but apparently metric nuts come in even sizes like 6, 8, 10, and 12...none of which fit a 15-mm wrench.  I’m no mechanic but shouldn’t metric nuts fit metric wrenches?  Guess not.  

On top of all that, the stupid auger cover was the wrong size.  I was quite specific about it being for a John Deere 925 bean head, mainly because that’s one of the implement numbers that I remember.  

The belt worked, though, so that was a plus, I guess.  

Captain cobbled everything back together and hit the last 40 acres of soybeans here at home.  Whew...finally some progress.

Then I get a phone call:  “Go out and hook up the hose, I’m coming in hot...and I mean I have a fire to put out.”

What the fudge?!  Should you call the fire department?!

Oh no, it’s just a little smoldering fire under the motor.  Doused it with water (and can we say STINKY), called it good, and headed back to the field.  

Cubby and I decided this would be a good time to retreat back to her house, so off we went.  

When we arrived back at Chez Cubby, nothing would do but she take a few trips down her Little Tykes slide.  Since it was a nice afternoon, I had no problem with this.  

There isn’t a ladder on this, and she can’t quite handle the faux rock wall to get to the slide platform, so I have to lift her up.  I stood beside the slide prepared to help her sit down and then give her a little nudge down the slide.

Nothing doing.  One of her new words is “Stay” complete with the hand up, palm facing outward.  She meant she wanted me to stand back and let her do it herself.  Oh boy.

Luckily she did just fine, so we did another half dozen trips down the slide before she was tired of that.  

Tired altogether, really, so I put her down for a nap that really didn’t work so well, but she was quite for an hour or so, so at least she rested.  

Mama Bear got home to a little girl thrilled to see her mommy.  I left them to some bonding time and headed home.

Captain called me about halfway home to tell me he’d had another fire in the combine, but this one was full flames.  Thank goodness he, once again, got it out...even though he had to use the fire extinguisher for this one PLUS douse it with water.  

Do you know how unsettling it is to go to bed wondering if the dang machine is going to spontaneously combust overnight?!  Some of you do, I know.

Thankfully, nothing untoward happened overnight, and Captain was able to get the last acre of beans picked here.  During that process, he calls me and says I have to make a third parts run, back to John Deere.  

This time it’s for something for the sickle.  That’s the part that cuts the bean stalks before pulling it all into the machine to separate the vines and pods from the beans.  John Deere knows I’m coming and has the part I need waiting for me.

“Oh, and pick up half a dozen of those guard nuts while you’re there, too.”  Dude, I’d have done that yesterday if you hadn’t specifically said you didn’t need them, but whatever.  

Parts got picked up and delivered back here so he could fix that before heading to the very last stinking bean field for this year.  

I am pretty sure we’ll both be glad to transition back to corn harvest.  More than that, we’ll just keep crossing our fingers that the old combine holds together one more year!

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