Poisonous Watermelon Vines?

 Almost thirty years ago, I came down with the most horrible case of poison ivy.  I got it from helping cut and load firewood that unbeknownst to us was full of the stinkin' vines in the summer, but since it was winter we didn't notice it.  One would think that since they were dead they wouldn't be potent, but since we were cutting into them -  they were!  There was not an inch on my upper body that was not covered with it!  The doctor had me come into his office every night for a shot and to see how I was doing.  The only reason he didn't admit me in the hospital was because I was exclusively nursing a four month old baby, which wasn't easy in the condition I was in!  My mother stayed with us and took care of both me and the kids.  Once I finally recovered though, there was a silver lining, I learned what every single poisonous plant in our area looks like and I stay a mile away from anything that even remotely resembles one.  So the dreaded, torturous rash was just a bad memory from the past.

Until a couple weeks ago.  And the worst part is, I have no idea where I got it!  I have been nowhere other than my own yard and garden.  Thankfully, it never went anywhere but my lower legs, but that just adds to the puzzle.  If Mark had gotten into it and I got it off his clothes, I would have had it on my arms.  That morning, I had waded through our watermelon and cantalope vines looking for melons and they came up about knee high, but who has ever heard of poisionous melon vines?!?  I tried to stay sensible about it, telling myself there has to be an explanation, but I would go out to the garden and feel a blade of grass, a leaf, or a weed touch my leg and literally run back to the house in a panic.

I took it for a week, treating myself with all the home remedies that I knew of, but it kept getting worse and spreading.  I looked on the internet for other home remedies.  One said to scrape all the blisters open, wipe it down with bleach and then rub salt in the wounds!  I thought, Yeah, Right!  I could also pour gunpowder on my legs and set them on fire but I don't think I'm quite that desperate yet!  Finally after much prodding from kids and hubby I went to the doctor.  After being put on Prednisone I started seeing improvement right away.   Why do we resist the doctor so?  (Could it be the $2500 deductible?)  Even though I don't like the way the Prednisone makes me feel, all jittery inside, at least I am not having suicidal thoughts from the insane itch anymore!  Now, if I can just conquer my new-found fear of watermelon vines!

Right Tune, Wrong Song

There's a new song playing on the radio now by Billy Currington that has the most catchy tune, one that stays in your mind long after it stop's playing.  When you hear it's first notes you can't help but feel a little more peppy and start to sing along.  The only thing is - I hate the words!  It's about a couple who don't love each other anymore and how they should just face the inevitable and call it quits.  The song says, it's no ones fault, but the bells have stopped ringing, the music won't play and that "crazy little feeling" has faded away, it's just Love Done Gone!  I'm always annoyed when it comes on.   A song with these words should not have a catchy, happy tune:

"Like snowflakes when the weather warms up,
Like leaves on the trees when the autumn comes,
Like the dogwood blossoms in the late spring rains,
Like a red kite lost in the big blue sky
It's just love done gone"

But you know as I look at all the above analogies, I see something completely different.  Do you remember late spring snows when the flakes were so big and fluffy you couldn't help but comment on how pretty they were, and then how fast the snow melted leaving needed moisture behind?  And who on earth would not say the leaves on the trees are at their most beautiful in the fall even though you know before long they will fall off?  And yes, the spring storms may knock all the pretty blossoms off the trees and bushes, but in our neck of the woods this year, we found out what a summer without those spring storms was like - brown grass, dried up ponds, rivers, and a temperature so hot most of our gardens wouldn't produce anything!  And I remember flying  kites with the kids and our theory was the more string and the higher we got it to go the better!  It was extremely hard to keep track of that small red dot in the sky, but Oh, how excited the kids would be when one of them spotted it screaming "There it is!" and pointing it out to the rest of us.

I actually agree with the verses, I just come to a different conclusion.  I remember the days in our earlier married days when things were more difficult, disagreements came more often, and ugly words were said.  The storms could come on suddenly, without warning, and leave devastation in their wake.  Sometimes the loving feelings could be awfully hard to find, but when we found them again, the days without were quickly forgotten and we discovered that the  rainy days had watered and nurtured the future, making it that much easier and sweeter.  I try to tell young woman that I am around, that if they lovingly and prayerfully work through the tough times when they are young, struggling to make a living and raise a family, doing their best to put each other first, they will be rewarded with a second honeymoon when they get older and the nest empties.  I think God intended for marriage to get better and better as we get older and I think the troubles he guides us through earlier is all part of the process. We grow and learn from them to make the later years even better.

So now I don't have to cringe when I hear the song come on, I can sing along with Billy with one exception, when he comes to the end of each chorus and sings "It's just Love Done Gone", I belt out louder than him that "IT'S JUST LOVE GOIN' STRONG!"

Yes, I Flirt With Turkeys!

 There are dog people and there are cat people, me, I'm a poultry person!  For the past several years, I have had a little flock of chickens who have provided me with wonderful fresh eggs and meat.  Yes, I love my chickens, but when I got them, I knew I had to keep things in prospective, so I call them "pets with a purpose". I did learn the hard way not to name them though, so now I just call them "Ladies". Except for the rooster, who being the "cock of the walk", so to speak, I thought  needed a name, and that name is Gilbert.  He is a Buff Orpington, a breed that is very calm and not aggressive, so he should live a very long and happy life.  Unknowingly, the first rooster I got, named Willie, was a  Rhode Island Red.  Too late, I read that they are a very aggressive breed and he loved to attack me whenever I had my back turned.  On more than one occasion I chased Willie around the chicken yard with a board screaming that I was going to kill you little sob  and that he wasn't near so tough when I had a weapon was he!?!?  (Yes, he would make me so mad I would bring out the cuss words)  Once, I looked up for an instant, and saw a couple dozen golfers across the highway, shading the sun from their eyes with their hands and looking my way.  I realized that the chicken yard's fence was full of weeds, therefore they had no idea I was chasing a rooster, for all they knew I was just running around my yard with a board cussing and screaming that I was going to kill someone or something.  I should have been beyond embarrassed, but instead I got a good laugh out of it.  Willie attacked me one time too many and he ended up flavoring a big pot of homemade noodles.

Once you have tasted eggs that are fresh from the nest of hens who get to run around, bask in the sun, scratch in the dirt eating grass and other natural foods, you will never go back to a store bought egg again.  I know, before I got them I thought an egg is an egg, but now I know different.  The guy's out in the shop like to tease me about my "happy chickens".  But when they are lucky enough to receive my surplus eggs they say my "happy eggs" taste awfully good!  Mark, bless his heart, not only puts up with my poultry hobby, he does everything he can to make it easy for me to take care of them.  He has made me a bin so I can have my feed right there and it only takes a few seconds to fill their feeder, and he even put a water hydrant inside their pen to make it easy to water them.  What a guy!  Is it any wonder I love him so much?!?

This year we tried something new.  We raised turkey's.  This picture was taken on May 1st, the day I brought them home.  The above picture, taken this morning, is of one of the Tom's, at four months old.  We ended up with six Tom's and one hen.  Since we were raising them for meat, I guess that is a good thing!   We have got such a kick out of  them!  We can't BELIEVE how much they eat!  We learned they like to eat weeds so every morning we pull weeds out of our garden and take them a couple big handfuls.  It makes pulling weeds so much more enjoyable when you are pulling them for a reason!  Once they see us coming, we hear them gobbling for us to hurry up!   We had heard they could get mean, especially the Tom's, but they are so gentle and tame. When I am feeding them they come and stand about a foot from me and watch what I am doing.  I have even got in a pet or two, but I can't say they enjoyed it, they tolerated it if they couldn't get away from me.  As the Tom's get closer to maturity, whenever I go out to take care of them, they puff themselves out and spread their tail feathers, turning this way and that way to show off the whole time I'm out there.  I go on and on telling them how handsome they are, and I swear,  they eat it up and try to puff themselves up even bigger!

 The kids have asked why we have them, isn't it cheaper to just go buy one at the grocery store and a whole lot easier?  The answer is YES and YES!  I do think it will be nice knowing the turkey I am eating this winter will have been fed no antibiotics or anything else unnatural, and that they spent their life in an uncrowded area, and like the chickens, out in the sunshine and fresh air, scratching in the dirt and eating greens and other natural things.  But the way they have eaten in the past and the way I am sure they will eat in the next month or so, they will cost about double what one would cost in the grocery store!  But who can put a price on the fun we've had raising them!

Although I do keep things in perspective, reminding myself they are "pets with a purpose",  I don't at all look forward to the dirty deed that comes before you clean them.  I don't mind the butchering process once the deed is done, but thankfully, hubby dear knows the first part is hard on me and he is willing to do it for me.  But as the turkeys get bigger, and we know the day is coming closer, both of us are beginning to realize getting one of these forty to fifty pound birds to the table is not going to be quite as easy as it is with a chicken.  But I imagine with the help on an old homesteading book we will get it figured out, and if that fails, there is always the internet.  Come Thanksgiving, when I host my extended family for dinner, I'll feel that much more like a pilgrim/pioneer, knowing my Turkey, Potatoes, Sweet potatoes, Green Beans, Apple's for pie, Broccoli, and Corn will have all came from our own back yard and were grown with no pesticides, no herbicides, no hormones, and no chemical fertilizers, just lots and lots of love!

An Empty Chair

There is a special corner in my husband's shop that will long be remembered by the people who know him.  It is the area with the coffee pot, and the refrigerator full of water, pop, beer, gatorade, and popscicles.  There is a table which you can barely see the top for all the shop manuals on it, but you can always find a big container of unshelled peanuts or pretzels.  There are several chairs, mostly tall bar stools that we have picked up at garage sales.  All of this sits beside an old wood stove and in the winter there is a huge pile of wood that keeps this little area warm and inviting, as long as we don't forget to throw a log in it every now and then.  At least a couple times in the winter, I will take some straightened wire hangers and a bunch of hot dogs out to the shop so Mark, me, and the customers out there at that time, can eat roasted hot dogs for lunch.  When I go out for any reason, because Mark needs me to help him just a minute, or I've returned with a part for him, or I need to ask him something, I usually get an invitation to sit down for a minute.  We visit, have a cup of coffee and play with the dog, throwing pretzels in the air for him to catch.

  With him being the owner as well as the worker, there is no such thing as a closing time.  "Quitting" time comes when he is tired and he says "I've had enough!"  That time is somewhere around six in the winter and seven in the summer.  When I go out to the shop around that time, there is always a group of five or six men sitting around the wood stove with Mark, eating pretzels, peanuts, or popscicles, drinking a pop or a beer and shootin' the breeze.  I have sometimes been amazed at the conversations that I have come upon.  Of course the local gossip is told as well as discussions about how to fix things that are broken down. Young guys get teased and razzed about girlfriends or other things going on in their lives.  Jokes are told, ideas are shared.  But there are also deep conversations about faith, life, death, what the future holds, how important family is to each other and so on. On more than one occasion, the older men have talked about mistakes they have made in their past and what they had learned from them.  I think there is more than one young man who has benefited from the things they told, and possibly even been stopped from making a bad decision.

Yesterday, we attended the funeral of one of the "good old boys" who frequented this little corner of our shop.  He had fought the cancer living in his body for years and fought it valiantly, but it finally won.  Mike was a guy who didn't know a stranger.  He had such a unique personality, you never spoke to him without laughing and leaving the conversation feeling more joyful than you came.  His funeral was touching in so many ways.  Hearing how the minister came to love and be inspired by him even though he had only known him for a few short weeks.  Hearing him tell how Mike knew he was going home to be with Jesus and the peace it brought to him and his family.  Seeing his plain, pine wood, casket be brought to the burial spot on his ranch, in a wagon pulled by a team of horses.  Mike had been a volunteer firefighter for twenty four years and at the end of the short graveside service, we heard one of the other firefighters radio squawk and the dispatcher called for him.  She did it three times and then another voice came over the radio advising the dispatcher that Mike had taken his final call.  The dispatcher than told all other units that Mike would no longer be taking any calls, and she ended by saying "Good bye and God Bless".  There was not a dry eye in the place.  A fitting tribute to a life well lived and a man who will be missed by many.

Lying in bed last night, I pulled out a book called "Last Flight, Lone Survivor".  It's about a man who was the only person to survive a plane crash, who was in a coma for three days with injuries no doctor thought were survivable.  He then relates the things he experienced during those three days, knowing without a doubt that he visited heaven during that time.  I read the things he wrote about, seeing himself leave his body, go rushing through the darkness toward a light, accompanied by two angels, coming to a beautiful city of gold, with vivid colors he had never seen, with beautiful sounds and a fragrance so beautiful he could not even begin to describe them in words.  Feeling a love that we don't even know here on earth, being drawn to the center of this city and knowing that he was about to meet Jesus before he was suddenly dropped back to earth.  I envisioned Mike experiencing all of this, being amazed with all he was seeing, being free from the pain and worries of this life, and I smiled.  I just wish God would let him come back one more time, to sit in one of our bar stools and tell us all about it.  I have a feeling all other conversation would cease as Mike would tell us that nothing else matters, that all worries of this life are not worth worrying about, that our lives are such a small little speck of time in the spectrum of eternity.  He would tell us to stop sweating the small stuff, to stop worrying about "things," how to get them, and how to keep them, to just concentrate on loving one another the best we can until we get to join him in that golden city above, where there are no problems, no tears, no worries, and the warmth never leaves, even if someone forgets to throw another log on the fire!

Uncle Benny

How many people can say they know someone who was attacked by a bull?  How many people can say they know an eighty three year old man who had his pelvis crushed when attacked by that bull, who not only lived to tell about it, but who six months later is walking like nothing ever happened?  I would guess that puts the people in my area in a relatively small group of people.  And Mark just happens to be related to him, it is his Uncle Benny.

It all started last January when we had record breaking cold temperatures in this area.  Benny still loved helping his son on their dairy farm and nothing could have kept him from being out there even though the temperature was 17 degrees below zero and who knows what the wind chill was!  While his son was finishing up in the dairy barn, Benny drove the pickup out to a water hydrant that they used to keep the cows watered.   The hydrant had frozen up overnight so he brought a couple buckets full of hot water with him.  He says he remembers pouring the water and then all of the sudden he was flying through the air.  The more than 2000 pound bull was relentless as it kept coming after him again and again.  He remembers trying to climb back into the pickup to get away from him but not being able to.  That is about the last thing he remembers.  When his son realized that his Dad should have returned he went out to see what the problem was, and that is when he found him underneath the pickup.  The first person to respond to the 911 call was a neighbor who is a volunteer fire fighter and heard the call come over his radio.  He later told Mark that when he first saw Benny he thought it was already too late.  When they got him to the emergency room, the people there thought the same thing.  He was air lifted to a larger hospital and the family was told to expect the worse.  He was given twenty units of blood just to keep him alive.  I can only imagine what his family went through those first few days.  I know every day we expected to hear bad news.

But Benny had other plans.  It seemed like each day we heard more encouraging reports.  First of all, when he was stabilized, they were able to take him into surgery, and although he had a shattered pelvis that had to be put back together with plates, screws and who knows what other hardware, he had no injury to any internal organs.   Then we heard that he was awake and eating.  It was hard to believe he was really doing as good as they said, but before we knew it, he was back in the local hospital and we were able to see it for ourselves.  Whenever we went to visit him, he was always in such a good mood and had such a positive attitude.  He was able to sit in a wheel chair but could put absolutely no weight on his feet for three months. That was his only complaint, he was sure if they would only let him stand up he could walk out of there!

Eventually of course, the long months in the hospital were over and he got to go home.  His wife Betty and their children, expecting many months, if not years of rehabilitation went to work on their home making the rooms wheelchair accessible, and had a lift put in.  Tonight we went and visited them and they showed us all of the changes they had made to their home.  The wonderful thing was though, Benny walked around showing us all of these things, without a cane or any other kind of support, even walking up and down the stairs!  They laughed as they told us they really never needed all of this.  But we all agreed that it is still a good thing.  Maybe in twenty years, when they are old (like over one hundred), they might need it then and they will already have it in place.  But, I wouldn't bet on it,  I have a feeling Mark and I might need those things before they do!  

I know that his experience amazes me!  Who would have ever thought an eighty three year old man could survive such trauma, let alone completely recover in such a short time frame?  There is a lesson to be learned here, it is a testimony to prayer, to a body kept strong and healthy by good old fashioned work, a positive attitude, and the love of a family.  I know that if someday, I have to face a "bull" of my own, those are four things I want in my arsenal.

The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round.....

One evening about a year and a half ago Mark was killing time looking through internet auction sights when he saw a city bus for sale.  He hollered at me to come take a look and said we ought to buy this for our family.  I wholeheartedly agreed so our bid was placed.  All of our kids were so excited hearing of this and I think every one of them was glued to the computer when the auction time ended.  I was at work delivering mail watching the clock myself, eagerly anticipating the call saying if we won it or not.  The phone rang about four times in a row letting me know that WE NOW OWN A BUS!!!  I think all my co-workers thought we were nuts, but they thought we were nuts anyway because of the size of our family so this just gave them a little more proof!  When I got off work, my son and hubby were waiting and we headed out on the road to pick "her" up.  Filling it up with gas for the drive home was a bit of a reality check, but heck, how can you put a price on fun and family togetherness!  We went home through the town most of the kids live in, picked them all up and cruised for about thirty minutes and thought we were having the time of our lives!  We chatted happily about what all  we were going to do with it.  We tried to come up with a good name for it, but having never settled on one, it is affectionately just known as "the bus".

Every trip when I sit down in the drivers seat or one of the passenger seats I get a very pumped feeling!  It just adds an element of fun when we all ride together.  Makes it feel like that much more of an adventure.  Many of the trips we've gone on, us women and children end up singing at the top of our lungs. Sometimes Christmas Carol's, sometimes other songs we all know.  We always have to break out "The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round!"  They have never said so, but I imagine all the men are very thankful when we come to the end of our songs!

So far the bus has been on local geo-caching trips and took a load of us to Kyle and Dani's college graduation reception.  It has taken all of us girls to Amanda's bridal shower, taken us on two or three picnic outings to Great Grandma's house.  Has taken Granny and her brother and his wife and several of us out to eat at a well known bar and grill situated way out in the boonies.  It has surprised many grandkids when it pulled up to their house all decked out with lights, balloons and banners, full of family and friends ready to celebrate their birthday at a surprise location.  We filled it to the brim with kids, orange lights, balloons and battery powered jack-o-lanterns to go trick or treating last year.  The mommy's said it made the night much MUCH easier and funner for them!  Then when December came we decked it out in red, green, and white balloons and lights to go Christmas Caroling and light seeing.  Shortly thereafter it helped make our oldest grandaughter's "coming of age" party more festive as we took her out for a special night.  This spring it took the family on a trip to the zoo.

Our latest adventure with the bus was to take the entire family to a lake camp about two and half hours away.  You would not believe how fast the miles go by when you have all the people you love laughing and talking in the same vehicle.  Knowing that so many of the ones you love are in the same vehicle is a little concerning, so when we first start out we all pray for safety and thank God profusely when we get home.  I especially like to think about the memories we are making for all the little ones who are going to grow up thinking everyone has a family bus and fills it up with cousin's, aunt's, uncle's and grandparents.  I can honestly say it is the best thing we've ever purchased and when, hopefully in the distant future, it breathes it's last, I can guarantee that we will be online looking for another one.  But we already know that next time we'll have to look for a bigger one.  We are already too big for this one.  Twenty three of us went to the lake and we had to bring a pickup along to not only help hold the luggage, ice chests and other equipment, but also the people who wouldn't fit.

I don't know where our next adventure will take us, but I can relate to the song my granddaughter Wiggy likes to sing when we first pull the bus out on the highway......"On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again!"

Fish Hook!

Do you ever have experiences happen to you that make you think "something like this would only happen to me!"  Seems like I have one of those about once a month or so, but today was a doozy!

It all started with a call from hubby dear, asking me to run into town and get him 20 gallons of hydraulic fluid.  Off I went to our local Co-op, went into the office and told the girl what I needed.  She told me it was located in the hay shed and told me where to go.  She said she would send someone out there as soon as they could to load it for me.  I drove around to the back of the building and even though no one is around, I jumped out and let the tailgate down.  The back of the pickup is full of stuff because this weekend we went to a nearby lake with all the kids and grandkids and I hadn't cleaned it all out yet.  I was in the process of moving stuff around so the jugs of oil would fit when I noticed a not very pleasant smell.  I lifted up the lid of an ice chest and sure enough, some meat was left in there.  Thinking that I need to get that out of there when I get home, I shut the lid and started to step away from the pickup when I felt something sharp go into my forearm.  Much to my horror I look down to see a big fish hook very deep in my arm.  I tug on it a little and that suddenly made me remember what they always say about fish hooks having barbs and that you have to push them the rest of the way through in order to get them out.  At that precise moment I knew without a doubt that what they say is absolutely 100% true!   I take a couple seconds to access the situation.  I have this hook deep in my arm, the hook is on a large pole that has two heavy ice chests on top of it, and I can't move.   I think a little, I cry a lot, I holler "can anybody help me",  but no one is there to hear.  Thankfully I had my cell phone, so I got it out of my pocket and try to decide who to call.  Mark is several miles away and I don't think I want to wait that long so I dial the Co-op's  office number.  It doesn't ring.  I try again and again and again.  I am in the bright sun and can hardly see the screen.  Finally I realized the stupid phone is froze up.  (I am sure anyone who has a Samsung phone knows what I am talking about)  So I wait and wait and wait for what seemed like hours.  Finally it starts working again, I made the call and with a very stressed weepy voice say "This is going to be the weirdest phone call you will ever receive, but I have a fish hook stuck in my arm and I can't move so could you please bring a scissors out and cut me free!"   She must have run like the dickens because she was there in no time flat, she and three guys all show up at the same time. I don't know if the three men just happened to show up to load my oil or if they all thought, "Man, I have got to see this!"  I did think one of them was going to pass out.  The sweet girl cut the fishing line which set me free and asked if I needed them to take me to the doctor.  Even though I couldn't stop crying, I felt fine and I said "No, I'm okay, I'm just mad it happened."  So I headed home, gave Mark his oil, showed him my boo-boo, and when he reached his hand out while looking at it I screamed "NO, don't touch it!"  He said, "Norma, I'm not going to but it's got to come out, let me take you to the hospital!"  I said "No, I'm fine, I'm going."  It took a little bit to convince him that I was alright and could drive myself but I finally did and headed back to town.

Feeling like a real idiot because I can't stop crying, they get me in immediately to the sound of my voice telling them "We have to deaden this, PLEASE tell me you are going to deaden this!!!!!!!!!!"  They told me of course they would deaden it so I felt better but still the tears flowed.  I told them I was sorry I was being such a wuss but they said if they had that in their arm they would be a wuss too.  The deadening shot hurt worse than the hook going in but I'm sure it made the removal a tremendous amount more bearable than it would have been without it.  Once the doctor said it was out I felt like a new person.  The nurse told me I did really good, that most men who come in to have one taken out usually pass out before it is done.  So maybe my endless river of tears wasn't so bad after all.

I guess that's one more thing I can cross off of life experiences - I can now say I have had to have a fish hook removed from my body.  I would like to leave you with a "The moral of this story is..............."  But since the only moral is so stinkin obvious I'm just going to go out and do it!  I'm heading out to finish cleaning out the pickup, get the stinky meat out of the ice chest, clean it and the others, remove the fishing poles, snap them in two, run over them with the truck several times, burn them in a very hot fire, and scatter the ashes into the wind!