I feel our horizons have broadened since we’ve lived on the farm. Some of you may romantize the farm life. Perhaps your dream is to live in a farm of your own someday. You dream of scrambling up eggs you just collected, and enjoying some ice cream made from the milk of your own goat. You can’t wait to never buy produce from the store again, since you’ll have so much canned from your own garden to get you through the dry seasons.
I was like you once.
While many of these things have happened here, they come with reality checks and lots of hard work. We certainly love our life here, but I thought I’d share some of the more bizarre, funny, and strange things that no book can prepare you for. It’s not just our chores that have changed here either, it’s the way we think too.
One of Desmond’s first phases was, “Hey goats.” Not the usual you’ve experienced, huh? It’s even possible that most people have never said this in their whole lives.
Olivia our little princess stated one night at dinner, “Is this our pig? It’s so delicious!” How many our your princesses would be fine with fresh pork?
Just a few days ago I heard light knocking at the door. I wondered who it was. Nope. Chicken pecking it.
Our children aren’t afraid of the boogie man or people/monsters under the beds and in closets, they’re afraid of coyotes and rattlesnakes. We have seen and heard plenty of both here.
I can’t be sure how many times I’ve hollered, “Stop throwing goat poop at people!” To a certain couple of boys.
We’ve all become aware that chickens poop everywhere. Watch where you step. Now on the list if weekly chores is scrubbing poo off the porch.
Crying over spilled milk had happened, more than once. It was me. After spending much time and energy on milking two does, only to have the last goat kick it over in the last few squirts, I disagree that there’s no use crying about it.
Cats that come with toys are of no use here. Mousers only, please.
Cleaning out the frig is a chicken’s favorite day. Nothing goes to waste here. Now, if you walk out of the house with anything in your hand at all, you’ll be followed by twenty-three hens, one rooster, and three turkeys. I feel like Snow White in the forest. Except I can’t sing, the animal don’t help me dust, and we live n the desert.
“Screaming like a stuck pig,” this is for reals. I haven’t ever heard one actually being hurt, but if it’s anything like the sound they make when you’re trying to shove them back into their pen for the fiftieth time, it’s deafening.
Goat birthing is so exciting and miraculous. It’s also a gooey mess. All children process this differently. Desmond still remembers with excitement the day he saw the baby goats “come out of her butt”.
Isn’t is all so romantic? Ahh. I am glad our children have had all these experiences, even if it means that we have to answer the, “Is this our animal?” question at every meal.
If you’re a city person, this may all simply horrify you. This is our life. Some can relate, some can’t.