The Circle of Life and Hard Life Lessons

Growing up in suburbia, most families probably feel it is best to shield their children from any sadness, as my parents did.  Farm kids grow up learning the circle of life first hand, no matter how young or how traumatizing it may be.  I was fortunate to have what I consider a healthy mix of both.

To make a (really) long story (semi) short, Coco and Midnight, my first pets, actually became the first to show teach me many lessons.  They started out as class pets (gerbils) in my 2nd grade classroom.  At the end of the year, every child who could, was to bring a note from their parents saying they could have them.  These would be placed in a raffle with one winner.  I remember a knock down drag out argument between the Brownstein Family's 2 most stubborn members- me and Dad.  He put his foot down and said no.  Unfortunately for him, I learned to use a trick the next morning that served me well over the next decade.  No, I did not forge a signature, I was much more manipulative than that.  I waited until he left super early for work then I went to work on Mom. Side note, this is also how I got my first horse. 

I think I have mentioned before that I was a, um, well, difficult child (especially in the mornings) and  my mother give in rather quickly to my tantrum that particular morning, writing the note to shut me up and saying " Oh what are the odds of you actually winning? Alan will never know!"  Let's just say nobody ever challenges the odds anymore when it comes to me.  That is how the "sisters" Coco and Midnight came to live in my room.  

Early one morning, my mother awoke to my asking her what C and M were doing. Were the fighting? Wrestling? There we had my first lesson... In fact, it turned out that Coco, was indeed not Midnight's sister, but male.  6 weeks later, I woke up to little squeals, and then a really loud squeal...I learned lessons 2 &3 quickly.  Mating- Weird but ok. Birth- not pretty, but cool. Death by one's own parents- traumatizing. I can still see that image clearly in my mind's eye to this day.  Much to all the parents dismay, C & M managed to fill my friends homes with their offspring for years to come!  When Coco passed, i buried her in the yard.  When Midnight passed days later, I learned that you should mark graves clearly, as I dug up the first one while burying the second...and the next day I learned that you should dig graves deeper than 6 inches, or the neighbor's cat will dig them up and leave them for you.

My next memory was in high school, when one of the hens at the farm I rode at had passed away.  I called up to the owners and asked what I should do.  I was told in a very matter of fact tone  "Well, pick it up and put it in the manure pile!"  I tried to hide my horror at this suggestion.  I had brought a friend with me to the barn that day.  She always knew the right thing to say, and announced "May we have a moment of silence for the chicken?"  We could not contain our laughter.  It was at that moment I learned perhaps the most important life lesson so far.  You have to be able to laugh at some things, otherwise they are too hard to bear.  This lesson has served me well in all areas.

 On the advice of my farm family, I decided to become a vet tech and was entered into an entirely different world.  Thanks to this farm family (who are still my close friends,) I was more prepared than most to enter the veterinary field.  I will never forget my first day.  A vet, who later became a close friend, asked me to hold this old sickly looking cat.  I thought she was just giving it an injection.  She thought that I had heard the conversation preceding this action.  I held her gently and pet her head, as the vet humanely and quietly ended this cat's misery from some disease she had been suffering with a long time.  As I felt her go limp, I looked up in shock and asked if she had meant to kill her.  More lessons learned for all of us in the room...

Over the next 16+ years I have become the holder of hands and an impromptu therapist for those losing their loved ones, and occasionally, I am the deliverer of the peace for these animals.  I have never enjoyed the process, but take comfort that I have helped to end one's suffering as peacefully as possible.  

I have also participated in hunting, although never the one to shoot, witnessed a slaughter house in a third world country, as well as responded to national disasters in a veterinary capacity. I have sat by a gravely injured deer until someone arrived to end her suffering. I have seen enough death to last me several lifetimes.  I have seen the great lengths some people go to save strangers from one millisecond of pain, and others who wouldn't so much as slow their car to avoid a squirrel.  I have learned to compartmentalize and handle these situations which makes me excellent at my job, but sometimes I wonder if it makes me slightly less human.  Then a situation always strikes home to remind me.

Aldie Mountain

Gusman

I had one year that was especially difficult, and there is no way for me to joke about it (sorry.)  I lost my horse, Aldie Mountain, to complications from old age.  This was terribly sad, but not tragic as she and I had been through a lot and she was quite old at that stage.  That was January.  In March, my first dog, and the best friend I could have asked for, showed some strange signs, and tests revealed he had an aggressive brain tumor.  He was gone 4 days after his first symptom.  Always trying to look for the lesson, I learned that no matter how difficult it is to lose someone so close to you so suddenly, it                                                  really is so much easier knowing that Gus did not suffer long.  

This brings me to my adult adventure into independent farming.  Growing up, I had a strong dislike of birds of all kinds.  From being chased by an angry goose, to pecked at by broody hens, I just did not understand or care for them.  I could not predict their actions by their body language like I could for a horse or a dog.  There is another long story as to how it came to be that I am now a chicken herder, but that is for another day-all you need to know for this is that I have a flock and I adore them.  I thought chickens would be easy, build a little home for them, and get some eggs.  Turns out, they really are easy, but they really need a secure coop.  Given my lack of carpentry skills, I have learned this the hard way. 

Pre-pancaking chicken

The first flock

The first hen I lost was not to the usual predators we see around here, but rather by Quinn the Destroyer (see previous post.)  I had the coop in the middle of a field where Quinn was.  Quinn clearly smelled the chicken feed (everything is Quinn feed to him) and he broke down a wall to get in.  I got home and went to lift the wall and found my first fatality.  One chicken pancake.  I cried.  

Not long after, a raccoon broke in and just mutilated and killed everyone.  I called my boyfriend at the time, crying.  His response was that I should not have farm animals if I was going to cry every time one died.  I should have known the relationship was doomed then.  I also did not want to hunt the raccoon, because what it she had babies? Circle of life is tough for me.  Although I cry, I have learned to clean up the parts and pieces and move on.  Even though I am not much of a crier normally, it is totally ok and normal to cry when something sad happens!

Stan the Duck

After several shanty-town enclosures, and after losing several flocks of hens (only after I had had them long enough to really get attached) and a brief stint in ducks... I finally have a coop in place that so far (knock on wood) has been a secure lodging for the ladies.  Of course, then I let them free range and a visiting dog killed five.  That same day, I was out with the dog, and he caught a groundhog and killed it in front of me.  Some days I feel like I should just not have gotten out of bed, but we grieve for the lost and do for the living, so I rebuilt.  Again.  

Ursula the Spider

Now I am living on an amazing farm, but have to deal with more of this circle of life stuff everyday.  This week alone, I have stressed over several things.  First, I have this giant yellow spider that I have been watching for a month above my box garden on the deck.  Now I read that she will soon lay her egg pouch and then die.  All of my "Charolette's Web" memories come flooding back.  Great, now I have to look over this egg pouch all winter and have avoided picking my peppers for weeks.  I am agonizing over having to kill the mice are were threatening to take over the apartment and not pay their share of the rent.  I finally started doing it, and the snap traps worked as they should, killing them quickly.  Sad but I could deal. I have had one (I hope) mouse that continued to eat the bait, set off the trap but not get caught.  I assume this is the mouse that ate my vitamins, making him a teenage mutant ninja magical mouse. Until this morning.

Try to picture this whole scene without crying from laughing.  I undressed, getting ready to shower.  I look over and realize a mouse was caught.  Thinking it was dead, I grabbed a plastic bag and went to scoop it up...only, it looked right at me and began to struggle.  Quick! Think!  Help this poor thing!  I knew it could not be saved, but wanted to end things as quickly as possible.  I was in an almost panic state to make this happen fast.  I ran out onto my deck (yup, still naked...good thing no neighbors) and found the closest heavy item and ended Fievel's existence.  I feel like a horrible brute, but it had to happen.  I imagine I will have nightmares for weeks.  Meanwhile, mice have literally run over my dog's paw and he couldn't care less.  Perhaps it is time for a kitty.

Oh and if you want something else to have nightmares about, look up parasitic wasp eggs on a hornworm.  My garden has been so fun.  Insert eye roll here. 

Have I mentioned I struggle with the circle of life?

On (or under) a roll

This past winter, I ended up as the sole boarder at a lovely self-care barn in beautiful Loudoun County.  The independence and control I had being alone was great, but the workload was intense, especially since I had taken on 2 foster mules that were essentially untouchable.  One of the more tedious tasks involved picking up and unloading a 1,000lb round bale of hay every week for my hungry hippos.

Thelma and Louise

Now, the previous boarders had built this covered platform that I assume was created for hay storage.  This clever area kept the hay off of the ground and dry, therefore wasting very little.  In theory this was fantastic.  In practice, however, it did not always work out the way it should have.  It was built on a bit on an angle, and basically you could only unload rolling downhill.  Depending on how I angled things, how the wind was blowing, and if I stuck my tongue out to just the right degree, things could go perfectly, or horribly.  More than once, I heaved too hard and the entire bale unrolled and it would go soaring down the hill.  A complete waste of money, time, and effort.  Needless to say, I needed to come up with a better plan.  Enter, Jake.

At the time of this incident, Jake and I barely knew each other. Just from asking for help with the occasional feedings and making small talk at the barn etc. I am fairly certain I had hidden how much of a mess I really was up to this point (he may tell you otherwise.) Jake was kind enough to meet me at the barn one very muddy morning to help me unload the bale.  The thought was that if someone pushed back on the bale as it was coming down from the truck bed, it wouldn't break through the boards and roll down the hill.  I had been successful in this maneuver previously.

So, I woke up super early to pick up the bale so that I could be on a conference call for work at 8am.  In my rush, I did not line up the truck perfectly, nor had I learned to remove my tailgate completely at this point (again, lesson learned the hard way) so that the tailgate was not flush with the boards but rather propped up on them creating a bit of an incline for me to push the bale over.  Rather than correcting my position, I thought I could just push the bale over the hump and Jake would be able to catch on the other side.

I begin to push and realize there is just no way.  I am not tall enough for my feet to push on the cab of the truck to give a real good heave ho, so I decided to swap places with Jake.

Jake began to push the half ton roll of dead grass towards me, and I began to slip...one foot, then the other.  Both feet just went out and I was flat on my back in the mud in an instant.  My train of  thought went something like this: "oh sh*&!, I am falling, oh no, its falling too...oh my god I think it is going to crush me, oh crap, I am rolling in sh%, oh my god I am alive!" As Jake would later tell me, I was not merely thinking these thoughts, I was screaming them.

Quinn did not mind his hay being spread out for him

As one thousand pounds rolled over me, and down the hill, there was silence.  Anyone who knows me knows that I laugh immediately in awful situations, but this time, I just did not know how Jake would react and I was immediately embarrassed.  His face was priceless.  Clearly, he also did not know how to react in this situation.   He finally managed to ask if I was ok...we both just burst out laughing.  I just could not believe that not only had I survived (mostly in tact...bruised back and twisted knee were minor considering) but the ridiculousness of the situation was beginning to sink in.  I then realized I was soaking wet and freezing cold and needed to get on my call.  As always, I am up for making people laugh, so I made Jake take a picture before I sent him on his way with a great story to tell his coworkers that day.

The photo does not do it justice, as my shirt had gone up and pants down in this debacle, but I thought I should keep the pic G-rated...you can imagine what was happening underneath was way worse than what was on my clothes....also, it was about 35 degrees out...which is fortunate.  If it was frozen, I may have truly been smashed rather than pushed into mud.

Survived!

I was pretty convinced that Jake was never going to want to spend any time with me again after that spectacle, but being the awesome guy that he is, he apparently also saw the humor in it and we have become great friends since then.  It helps that now he has allowed me to see some of his classic goofs as well...sometimes it is just nice to know you are not the only mess out there...hilarity loves company!  I still think he has a long way to go before he can call himself as much of a mess as I am, but I encourage him to continue trying!

I made my phone call on time, and managed to send this pic to my bosses asking them to guess how I spent my morning....oh and did I mention I had our fancy work party to get ready for that night?

What? I can't maintain classy for long...

Cleaned up, and only slightly broken...but in true Andrea Fashion, had to ditch the heels for fuzzy boots by the end of the night

Quinn the Destroyer, an Introduction.

Love at First Sight

Quinn plays a very large (figuratively and literally) role in many of my adventures so it would be impossible to encompass the entirety of our relationship in just one post.  In fact, I could probably fill an entire book with just stories of him.  This is just a (not so) brief introduction to QTD (Quinn the Destroyer) also known as QTTS (Quinn the Turtle Slayer-that will be another story all together) and the most fitting, Quinnycakes.

When I was beginning to think about having another horse, I had some hesitations.  I'd had heartbreak with my previous horse, and had taken a couple of years off of riding.

My childhood trainer and lifelong friend Lindsay, had suggested I take a road trip to look at some horses in central Virginia. She knew my requirements.  Quiet, self sufficient if I was too busy with work to ride often, and large enough to always make me feel small and have potential to be what we in the biz call a "husband horse."  I was still unsure if I was ready but began to check out the website.  I soon came across a horse at that farm named Tacoma. Less than a week later, on a cold day in early 2007, I met my soulmate of a horse. He was a year and a half old.  It was love at first nuzzle.

Smooches

Quinn was  PMU throw away foal.  (I recommend searching that term if you are not familiar with it, as I am sticking with the lighthearted theme with my blog). He fit the bill in every way.  (side note, I now have the husband horse 10 years later and no husband...but that would be an entirely different novel). Plus he had the added bonus of tolerating nose smooches and cuddling. It didn't hurt that he was and is the most adorable horse I have ever laid eyes on.  Do not begin argue this point with me, I am a mother, he will always be the best in my eyes.


My dear friends, the Martins, were kind enough to allow me to board The Mighty Quinn (as he was now known) at their home.  I believe they regretted that decision almost immediately.  Quinn was as advertised, quiet and sweet.  However, he also possessed some qualities we were not prepared for.  The ability to eat anything that fit in his mouth, the strength of a freight train, in addition to the mischievousness of a kitten, toddler, and naughty pony all rolled into one to name a few of his bonus qualities.  Picture a 1200 lb kitten set loose in your yard.

There were many mornings that I received calls about Quinn standing in the water trough..again...or that Quinn had broken the fence...again...basically, the Martins were saints for putting up with us.  I helped as much as possible ( I was working overnights in a veterinary ER) around the barn to try to balance it out, but not sure that I could ever repay their kindness.  On the plus side, Mr. Martin seemed to thoroughly enjoy QTD's (now the nickname came into play) playful nature and helped to train him to have his hooves picked up and be handled regularly.   One of the funniest stories from that barn was when we decided that maybe an electric fence would hold the big man.  I missed it, but apparently QTD walked right up to the electric and promptly tried to take a bite.  Who knew a draft horse could jump three feet straight in the air?  I am only sorry nobody caught a video of that.  Good news is, he learned to respect electricity!

Once we eventually relieved the Martin family of the Quinn burden in the winter of 2008, we began to share various barns with dear friend Marilynn all over beautiful hunt country Virginia.  This is where the legend of QTD really began.

Now, QTD has been responsible for many a tack room break-ins, but these two in particular stand out.  One day, I was dealing with saying goodbye to my elderly mare (and first horse) Aldie Mountain, so Marilynn was keeping tabs on the big man for me.  I received a call that she had become concerned because she did not see Quinn in the field.  As Marilynn looked around the field, she noticed some buckets outside that had previously been in the tack room. The tack room door was closed tight. This particular tack room had an extremely heavy door that was not easy for us to open.  It also had a plywood floor.  It was also about a quarter of the size of a stall with no windows.  When the door was shut, it was pitch black.

Marilynn eventually opened the door to put the buckets away, and was shocked to be greeted by the business end of one large black and white horse.  To this day, I have no idea how he managed to open the door, but remain in awe of the fact that once the door blew shut, he clearly was unfazed.  He was calmly munching on a bar of glycerine soap when he was interrupted.  I am not entirely sure how Marilynn managed to get him out, as his, um, plus sized rear was blocking the entryway, but she did. By the time I arrived, Marilynn had begun cleanup but it looked like a tornado had come through.  Saddles pulled off the racks and chewed on, bridles, martingales and other various tack strewn about, grooming tools everywhere and all covered in a thick layer of fresh steaming manure.

Somehow the floor held him and other than hours of clean up, no permanent damage was done.  I was, however, disturbed by the base of a broken lightbulb I found. No glass.  I wanted to hang a sign on his stall that said "Hi my name is Quinn and I eat lightbulbs."  Somehow, Marilynn did not kick us out and we began to develop the Quinn-proofing techniques that I still use today.

Gracie, momma dog (now owned by a dear friend, Shawn)

Fast forward to Snowmaggedon 2009.  By this time, we had moved to another barn and Marilynn was living close by.  I was concerned leaving her to care for the horses alone is what was supposed to be a massive snow storm.  I had been fostering a momma dog and her 2 puppies, limiting my ability to be at the barn for long hours. As luck would have it, the rescue had found a new foster for mom and homes for the pups and I was able to hand them off just as the snow began to fall.

foster puppies!

 I somehow made the hour drive through pretty rough road conditions safely, but in my excitement to be there, I misjudged the driveway border hidden under the snow, and managed to park over a stone wall and destroyed something expensive under my Tahoe ( I cannot remember what now, just that it cost me a paycheck to repair.)  QTD and I are soul mates, remember?

Marilynn, her wonderful husband Adam and I entertained ourselves in the snow and prepared the barn for the impending storm.  We thought.

Dogs helping or hurting Marilynn?

We woke early to go check on the barn.  The walk proved to be quite the workout itself!  Once we managed to make it through the winter wonderland and to the barn, we quickly noticed that Quinn did not greet us as he normally would.  Then we saw that the barn doors had been opened somehow.  ( I cannot imagine who would ever do that...)

Gerry and Bax helping with clean up

The scene we came upon in the feed and adjoining tack room was reminiscent of the disaster zones I have worked in. I could have easily been convinced that a bomb had been detonated.  Doors were off their hinges, empty feed and supplement bags had been shredded and strewn about as if put in a giant blender with the lid off. Neatly coiled hoses had been unraveled, blankets were sprawled out everywhere, and, as usual, everything was covered in a nice stinking layer of watery manure (a result of eating half a bag of feed and an entire bag of flax meal).

Marilynn surveying the damage

Trapped

As my brain was trying to interpret what my eyes were seeing, I finally noticed that the perpetrator was caught in the act.  Literally.  You know who had knocked down a ladder and gotten his giant tree trunk of a leg stuck in the rungs.  I, being the ever caring mother, decided to take a photo before releasing                                                           him from his self imposed restraints.  I suppose he did not want me to be bored during the snow storm.  He is so thoughtful. Nothing quite like scrubbing floors in below freezing weather.  Unconditional love...sometimes it is a one way street...

The Hard Way

If I were to write an autobiography, I believe I would call it "The Hard Way."  Ever since I was a little girl, my father has expressed his frustrations and amusement with many of my actions by saying "You do everything the hard way!"  He was not wrong.  He continues to not be wrong- at least in this particular area.  What can I say? This is how I learn!  Try first, read directions when your first (or second or third) try does not work.

Before I begin the farm stories, I wanted to share a little background for those who do not know me well.  I was fortunate to be raised by two loving parents in a wonderful neighborhood with my big sister Stacy.  I had a rather charmed childhood, although, like most children, I never appreciated it at the time.

Although I give them a hard time, my parents both always support me, even when they disagree with my choices. My dad, who has a strong dislike of horses and my riding, has always made sure he is at every event to cheer me on.  My mother who worries constantly about me being alone is always still pushing me to enjoy life and not take anything for granted.  My sister has grown to appreciate my farm life as she thoroughly enjoys a farm fresh egg every morning!

Us- (im the one making the first of many awkward faces.) plus a friend of the family.

As easy as it was for me, I am afraid my childhood was not easy on my parents. My father's hair went gray prematurely, and nobody had any doubts as to who caused that.  I inherited my mother's big heart, independence, sense of adventure, in addition to her daydreaming. I also inherited my father's infamous stubbornness and laser focus on getting what he wants. I look at my friends and their kids now, and find it so entertaining to watch them argue with mini versions of themselves, and wonder if that is how my parent's friends saw us.

I've always had my own way of doing everything.  I threw tantrums.  I never wanted to go to school. Not because of anything specific that I can recall, it was just because I was told I had to.  My sister was always the perfectionist. She listened and took advice before trying anything. She was responsible with her money, dressed nicely, did well in school and in sports.  She was social and had many friends.  I preferred to wear whatever was around (usually riding pants and a hoodie,) having 1-2 close friends, participating in non team sports (riding) and working hard to earn money just to spend it.  Often times that money was donated to an animal rescue or on horse things.

I'm the bald one

All of the above still holds true for both my sister and me.  As soon as I began to dig myself out of debt, I immediately began to foster horses and donate to local rescues rather than save for the future.  I no longer buy expensive riding clothes, just shoes for the horse and acupuncture for the dog.  Do not ask when the last time I purchased new shoes for my feet or went to the doctor for myself.  Some things never change.

Trouble

Rather than being satisfied with allowance for doing my chores, I took on cleaning stalls and working at the farm to earn my riding lessons and to have as much financial independence as a 12 year old could.  I have never wanted to feel like I owed anyone, or that something could be taken from me...if I earned it, it was mine.  (That being said, I frequently had barn time taken away when I did not keep my grades up etc. which caused even more tantrums to be thrown.)  My parents would have rather given me everything I needed and have me focus on school, but that seemed easy, why would I want to do that?

 By 16, I was working at the local saddlery, pet sitting, and working at several barns in addition to my riding and taking care of my mother and helping my trainer as they both went through chemotherapy. This is not one of those stories where a kid overcomes all of these first world struggles and goes on to be a Nobel Prize winner. That is not me. That would have been easy with all of my resources. Nope. I wanted to party with friends and skip classes and be a normal teenager.  I did manage to pass my classes and never got into too much trouble (or at least I never got caught.)   By 18, I was living alone on a farm, working full time and attending college.  Again, my parents would have preferred me to stay at home and not work, just focus on school...but I wanted pets and independence, so off I went!

I never wanted be told what to do or how to do it.  In fact, I always took it as a challenge when someone would tell me how I should be doing something.  I aimed to get the same results but in my own way.  As an adult, this has continued.  I will accept my GPS' directions (usually,) but when they say arrival time in 17 minutes?  Pshhh, I can easily make it in 13.  Challenge accepted!  Live in an apartment in a city close to work and have no physical work to do or move to the country and constantly have projects and things to do and drive super far for work?  Sign me up!

My loving family has finally come to terms with my choice of lifestyle, although I can always manage to get an eye roll when I tell them how I meet people in empty parking lots to hand off eggs, and how sometimes I cannot talk because I am chasing a rogue hen back into her pen at bedtime.  Explaining how the horse needs his teeth floated and his hooves trimmed and shod and his coat clipped and cared for always brings on a barrage of questions. I am always just as curious about how they sit in traffic all the time and deal with meetings and big contracts. We may speak different languages but we never run out of things to discuss in our family!

Welcome to my crazy life!

Where do I begin?  At the beginning I suppose!  Why am I doing this? What is this? Where will it go?

I am beginning this blog for a couple of reasons.  The first reason is by request.  Weird, exciting, terrifying, and hilarious things seem to happen to me, near me, or because of me...and my relaying the details of my life's adventures seems to bring others joy.  I am certain the same things happen to many people and it is just my perception of these events that makes them entertaining.  As many of my coworkers, friends, and family members will attest to, I am always happy to recall any story no matter how embarrassing if I think it will make someone smile.  I long ago made it my mission to make at least one person laugh so hard that they snort or pee a little every day.  Some people are easier targets than others...you know who you are.

The second reason is as a therapeutic outlet for my brain.  As many of you know, my career has taken a sharp turn (which I am excited about) but I no longer have my normal daily interactions with those I would normally share my insanity with. Baxter just snores through my stories which is not good for my self esteem.  As much as I cherish my alone time, I have recently discovered that keeping all of my crazy to myself may not be the best thing, and lets be honest, I am depriving the world of so much laughter.  I simply cannot be that selfish.

What is this blog?  I am still sorting through that myself. I guess it is best to start with what this is not.  I am not a professional writer, so this is not a perfect collection of essays.  There will be typos and grammatical errors.  Until someone volunteers to be my editor, it shall remain as such.
This is not a place where you will find me venting about the things most people complain about such as work, family, and friends.  I will most likely have moments of lamenting about situations I have put myself in, but there is no whining on this page.  I hope.  Again, I guess I shall see where it takes me.  This collection of stories will never include politics or religion.  I am a firm believer in individual's rights to think and believe in whatever they want and will not tolerate any type of hatred or negativity on this page or anywhere in my life quite frankly. Lastly, this will most likely not be chronological.  I have 33 years of stories built up, and will share them as I recall them or as they are requested. Everyone seems to have a favorite "Andrea" story.  Usually they involve falling down or manure of some kind, the best stories involve both.  The old will be mixed in with the new adventures.

I have covered what this isn't, so what is it?  This is a place where I will share my experiences being a single girl raised in the suburbs who has followed her heart through many trials and tribulations to be a part time farmer and maintain my full time mess status.  This is a place where readers are encouraged to laugh both with and at me.  I hope people are able to roll their eyes, groan, laugh, and cry along with me.  This is a collection of honesty.  Farm life is often not pretty, has some interesting smells, and well, there is the circle of life thing going on.  I will share my losses along with my rewards to give you the full view into this part of my life.  I promise to keep the bad things vague, as I have been told I have a habit of being too forthcoming with details.  I am a vet tech and a horse person, I cannot help it!  I will try to keep this kid friendly, although, sometimes farm life requires a colorful four letter word here and there so that will probably happen.

Where will this go?  Maybe nowhere.  Maybe I write this for a month and nobody finds it interesting or funny.  Maybe I will not find it as therapeutic as I thought I would.  In that case, I will stop.  However, if I receive feedback that it makes one person smile, I will continue.  I will continue as long as I have stories to tell!

Thank you for reading this far!  Glove up, here we go!