Welcome! Here you’ll find the chronicles of my adventures in cooking, making over our new home, traveling, being a farmer’s wife, and all the absurdity that seems to follow me around.
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It’s Friday and there’s a major winter storm approaching the East Coast and it’s looking like it’s going to be a heartbreaker. Two feet of snow is (do you say “is” or “are” here? my grammar skills are failing me here) forecasted for parts of the region, and we are forecasted to get a dusting. To be clear, I LOVE a significant weather event, particularly a blizzard, so to think we’re going to get bypassed is, in fact, heartbreaking to me. However, I am holding out a glimmer of hope. Hudson Valley Weather said the short range models are conflicting with all the long range models and calling for a significant weather event for our region. They should know more by mid-morning … I may or may not be refreshing their site every 10 minutes. Stay tuned. And fingers crossed!
Anywho, for today’s Friday Favorites, I thought I’d reflect on how I’m starting to feel like my life is a country song. Not the whiskey drinking (I prefer tequila) or cutoff shorts with bare feet on the dashboard (although maybe someday I’ll be able to pull off cutoffs #notlikely) or heartbreak (actually, we just covered how this storm is breaking my heart) or I Love ‘Merica kind of country song. The really redneck kind of country song.
This conversation happened this week:
TimTheFarmer: “Hey Katie.”
T: “You should come do your admissions interviews at the office.”
Me: “Huh? What office?”
T: “The one at the farm.”
Me: “Mmm. Why?” (that office is really really cold)
T: “Then, you can watch me ride the tractor around.”
Yes. He actually said that.
Well, it’s not me who’s sitting on the front porch. Partially because it’s not big enough. Partially because it’s January. And partially because there’s chicken poop on it. I know, you want to come visit, now right? #keepitclassy
At our old house, our chickens were 2 acres away from us. I do realize acres aren’t units of distance, buuut that’s how I think about it. Here, they’re about 50 feet from our house. We have electric fencing up, but these chickens don’t realize it’s there for their protection and they fly out the minute you open the coop door. They’re taking free range seriously. It is kind of cool to see the chickens wandering around in the yard #frontyardchickens, but what’s not cool is that they really like to come up our front porch steps. And I must say, chicken manners are ghastly. What I’m trying to say is they poop on the porch. The nerve! We’ve had to put a baby gate up on the porch until we figure out the permanent solution. We’re really trying to drive home the redneck point.
I’m not exactly sure when or how it happened, but TimTheFarmer has amassed a serious collection of camouflage. He didn’t have any when I married him and now he has more pieces than I would care to admit. #didntsignupforthis AND, he wears it whenever he feels like it, not just for hunting. The Birkenstocks really take it to another level. #highfashion
We have a serious tick problem here in the Hudson Valley and live at the epicenter of the lyme disease epidemic. Because we had such a dry summer and warm fall/early winter, the ticks were out well into December. We’re always checking the pets and ourselves for ticks, which Brad Paisley would appreciate.
Someone left my car on empty and I didn’t realize it when I turned it on and let it run to warm it up. And because gas stations are hard to come by out here in “the country,” I had to fill it up with our gas can, which has a no-spill feature, which translates into a no-pour feature, which translates into me dumping gas all over my work clothes. After cleaning off the gas with baby oil (things you learn when married to a farmer) and making my way to the gas station, I got sprayed again with gas when the filler-upper-thing didn’t automatically stop. To say I was unhappy was an understatement. I had to sit through a staff meeting reeking of gas.
The new farm where TimTheFarmer works has this amazing road leading into the orchard. Even though we’re only 100 miles from NYC, these dirt roads remind me of home and I love how remote it feels.