This is Foster and Kalyssa with my Peanut. They belong to my sister-in-law, Tanna. Tanna milked for us Sunday evening and Peanut had the pleasure of getting to spend some time with them. She adores them. I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

However, the point of this post is to show you what we do with children when they come to the farm.

It get a little inconvenient when they start yelling for help.

But, it’s nice because only an adult can let them out.

And this leads me into a story I’ve heard many times over the years. When the farmer and Tanna were little kids, they used to play cows. And from what I understand, one day Tanna was the cow. The farmer led her into the chute, securely locked her head in the headgate, and proceeded to walk away. He might have gotten into some trouble over that one. I don’t know how long she was left there.

But, I’m pretty sure this is the same conspiratorial grin a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little boy wore that day.

And from looking at the previous pictures, he didn’t really learn anything. It all just came full-circle.

Using squeeze chutes efficiently,

The Dairymaid

He’s Peanut’s new puppy and, as we’ve been told many times, ONLY hers.

The farmer got him because sometimes it would be really handy to have a cattle dog around the farm. We don’t need horses because dairy cows are pretty docile, but sometimes you get stubborn ones. Banjo has shown himself to be a very willing student. I’ve been amazed at how easy he’s been to train. He’s still got a lot to learn, but I have faith. We’d like to send him to a professional so he can really be a productive part of the farm. So far, though, he’s been learning manners. Like “sit” “shake” “lay down” “stay”. We’re currently working on him not being a spaz any time we have visitors. That’s the only one he has some trouble with.

This is Ace.

I was ok with a cattle dog because I grew to really like my dad’s Blue Heeler while we were building our house. I watched him snap snakes in half. I was sold. And sometimes, I’d get home from town on a cool day and Peanut would be asleep in her car seat. To get her out would have awakened her, so I’d leave her out there. Ace would always let me know she was awake by barking or acting panicky around the car. Peanut loved him, so it only seemed natural.

My canine nanny

With Banjo, it’s just the same. She can’t wait to go out there to see him every morning. Here lately, though, she’s found an affinity for tying things up. She even pretends she’s a horse and ties herself up. She’d tie me up if I’d let her.

You can imagine my alarm  when I walked into the living room the other day and saw this.

Doesn’t look like this puppy fared too well. His tongue’s all hangin’ out and rigor mortis has set in.

We may need security detail for Banjo.

Have a happy Monday,

The Dairymaid

My baby's growing up. She just turned 3, but she's already going on about 15. I know this because of the amount of sass I get every day. She already knows better than I do and don't try to tell her otherwise. The only times she becomes very agreeable are when a Kit-Kat, shopping, or 4 wheeler rides are involved.

But, no, really. 3 is a fun age. Her observations about things she doesn't quite understand are hilarious. Her creativity is through the roof. She asks a million questions about everything and never forgets what you told her first. Needless to say, we have to be very consistent with our answers.

However, one thing hasn't changed. She's happiest when she's following Daddy around.

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She asks questions.

She gets answers.

And she's an excellent diesel-jug-holder.

Calves need feeding?

She’s got it covered.

Being a shortie makes that a lil’ hard sometimes!

Manure needs jumped in?

Um… manure never needs jumped in. To Peanut, though, this is one of life’s greatest pleasures.

And this is the face of a guilty person.

Chained to the washer and dryer,

The Dairymaid

P.S. There’s a “less-than” symbol in this post. I’ve spent the last 30 minutes trying to get out of there. I’ve pulled every last hair on my head out and it still remains. I quit. I hate math.

2/5/2013

When Peanut got me up this morning, I thought it was going to be a very bad day. For one, it was way too early. For two, the farmer has changed his milking schedule around so he can spend more time with us in the evenings. (I was really missing the evening walks and just plain ol’ quality time that we used to have at night when we lived in the city. We’d work in the yard, watch our favorite tv shows, etc. There wasn’t anything pressing to do after we got home at night. I thrive on that sense of order and want to keep it intact for Peanut, as well.) So, the farmer is milking at 2 a.m. and 2 p.m. because he’s just a flat-out wonderful husband. As long as he gets to catch a little sleep when he comes back in, we both like this new schedule really well. However, when he goes out at 2 a.m., he has to drink coffee in order to function. When he crawls back into bed between 4 and 4:30, he’s awake. Flopping around. Trying to get comfortable. Needless to say, I’m awake at this point as well. 30 minutes later, Peanut is standing over me, whispering ever so sweetly in my ear, “You will make me a peanut butter sammy and you will do it right now.” That’s how she rolls. At 5:19, I’m in the kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich for my almost 3- year- old and waiting for my coffee to brew. This is our morning routine.

By 9 a.m., it might as well be 10 p.m. for me. So, I take some advice from a friend and make myself a drink.

 A pre-workout drink. (Come on, guys. )

 Muscletech Pre-Workout Amplifier (Not an advertisement. It’s just what I did.) I didn’t have plans to work out today because I did that yesterday and I can barely move. Yesterday, I drank 8 oz. of water and two scoops of that stuff. They tell you to drink it about 30 minutes before you work out. So, I downed it and sat down in my bedroom to read a book. Fast forward 15 minutes and I can barely focus on my book and I.Am. Itching. “Itching to work-out?” you ask. “No, literally itching.” Have you seen the SNL sketch where Kristen Wiig’s character  is “sooo excited?” Yeah, that was me yesterday. Fast forward 10 more minutes and I can’t even sit down. I threw the book down, put some work- out clothes on, put P90 in, did dumbbell curls while trying to clean house, and made it through the cardio workout without much trouble at all. I’m pretty sure I could have run through a wall without being phased. The itching stopped once I started exercising. So, today I thought, “Why not?” Increased productivity greatly outweighs excessive itching. Fast forward 5 minutes, and here we go again. I’m outside. I’m picking up trash. I’m moving metal. I’m out in the fields picking rocks. Tomorrow, I’m not even going to be able to get out of bed. I hadn’t done the cardio segment of P90 in almost a year. I was already sore this morning and I proceeded to further shred my (non-existent) muscles. Tomorrow, I have some marathon shopping planned, so I’m pretty sure I’ll die, but at least I’ll die happy. Doing one of the things I do best.

This afternoon, after eating a healthy lunch, mind you, I made molasses cookies. I wanted to see if this recipe was as good as the molasses cookies I remember my Aunt Sandy making when I was a kid. They weren’t. But, I still ate 7. And I remembered why I don’t bake cookies. Because I don’t have any self-restraint.

But, 7 is a holy number. So, I felt biblically justified.

The farmer said we’d continue working after he got done milking, which should be any minute now, so naturally, I’m going to go out, put a chain around my waist, and move tractors by myself.

Compulsive and keyed up,

The Dairymaid

Anyway, Virgo is now our youngest milk cow. In October, she gave birth to another little heifer. We gave Peanut the privilege of naming her because, naturally, she owns her.

Now, most 2 year olds would have named her “Brownie” or “Goldie.” Or some Disney name. But, no, our precocious little daughter named her Milka.

So, Milka it is.

The second character in this riveting story is She-Devil. She-Devil comes from a long line of feral cats that we once had around the place. The only 2 left now are her and her brother, Stormy. She-Devil lives up to her name in every way. I’m pretty sure she just might BE the devil.

Beautiful, but Deadly

But, not when it comes to Milka.

She-Devil is putty in Milka’s hands (hoofs?).

Baby calves will try to eat/suck on anything you put in their pen. Including She-Devil’s ears. Let me tell ya, to this cat, there is nothing better. (If you’ll notice in the first picture, the top of She-Devil’s head is soaked.)

“Stop that!!”

I don’t know how many times I have caught this cat just taking a bath anywhere she pleases! This is a family-friendly farm! See what I mean… She’s a good mouser, but her professionalism could really use some work…

You all have a wonderful Thursday!

The Dairymaid

Copyright. Breauna Krider. 12/20/12.

The farmer looks great other than the fact that the sun is bleaching out the whole right side of his face. Peanut’s playful pout makes me smile.

I don’t know what this face was for.

I title this photo “It Takes A Village.” Mommy fixes her hair for the 840th time while Daddy gives her a pep-talk/lecture on how to sit still and smile pretty for pictures.

This one’s nice other than the fact that I’m at a 45 -degree angle.

Ok, here she’s taking the smiling pretty a little too seriously.

Finally!! Oh, wait, no, I’m trying to become one with the rock and my shirt is doing something really weird in the front.

Aaaannnndddd…she’s done.

I give up.

Whew! This post was even exhausting.

Have a wonderful day,

The Dairymaid

I use the term “our” very lightly. The farmer and Peanut usually do this. I spend this time cleaning and scrubbing the house.

I use the terms “cleaning” and “scrubbing” very lightly. The definition of those words to me, lately, is burying my nose in a book called Fall of Giants. Hee hee.

Today, however, the farmer and Peanut had the privilege of my presence on the feed run. We started at one of the pastures where we keep 8 heifers. We’ll take a little jaunt back to middle school and call them the C team. These girls aren’t bred, so they’ve got a ways to go before they’re on the line.

Um, ladies…??

(Cue the music)

dum-duh-dum, dum-duh-dum, dum-duh-da-da-dum,

dum-duh-dum, dum-duh-dum, dum-duh-da-da-dum…

Texas just can’t help but lick her lips in anticipation! Corn chops, molasses, distiller’s grain, blender pellets…If that doesn’t make your mouth water, I don’t know what will!

Uh…ya got a little somethin’ on your nose, there?

We passed by the A team on our way.

The farmer’s uncle has some beef cattle we keep any eye on. My husband is usually extremely observant, so it didn’t shock me at all to hear him say, “I’m thinking we’ve got a baby. That gray cow is hiding in the trees.” I had to look for a whole minute before I even saw her. She was gray, OK??

I really wanted to show you this Brangus because I get such a kick out of how cute they are. Pointy heads and big ol’ floppy ears. I don’t have a full Brangus calf to show you, but if I did, you would see a bovine rabbit. That’s what they look like to me, anyway.

If you got between her and any calf, she would cease to be cute very quickly. I’m pretty sure this breed takes pleasure in mowing humans to the ground. They’re great mommas because they’re fiercely protective.

I’m a little concerned about this pairing. I’m thinking someone got switched at birth.

Finally, we drove over to check on the cow trying to hide and saw a little gray blob on the ground. The farmer and I were worried. It got down into the teens the night before. That’s awfully cold for a little one to come into the world.

But not for this little toughie!

He just might be one of the cutest calves I’ve ever seen.

So glad I went along for the ride today.

I see this hill.

Behind a beautiful pasture,

My soul it stills.

I see it now,

Amid the rain and thunder.

For a life elsewhere,

I do not hunger.

The fog rolls in,

And blankets the trees.

I hear it speak

Through the falling leaves.

“The storms always pass,

The sun shines through,

This is where

I’ll bid you adieu.”

Copyright. Breauna Krider. 10-18-2012.

I used to like October because it just so happens to be my birth month. These days, I don’t really want any reminders that I’m on the downhill slide of my 20’s. On the 24^th, I’ll be 27. Egads! I’m not really welcoming my 30’s.

I’ve been working part-time for my mom in the city. She opened a salon and spa downtown. I go there so I can feel all big-city and swanky. I think it lends a good balance to the country bumpkin that is slowly coming out in me. I called my bank the other day and as I was ending the conversation, I told my banker, “Sounds good!” But, my husband started giggling after I said it because it came out like this, “Sooow (like the pig) nds gud!” I totally made it two syllables, if not three.

I don’t even care.

A couple of days ago, the farmer came in from getting all his morning work done. Our routine usually goes like this. We eat breakfast and then I ask him, “So, what are we going to do today?” Usually, his answer is, “Well, I thought we’d work in the yard” or “I need to chop some wood” or “I need to fix some fence.” So you can imagine my surprise when he stated, “We’re going for a hike.”

Say what?

There’s a hill on a neighboring farm that he’s been wanting to take me to for a while. I enjoy being outside if it’s not blazing hot or frigidly cold, so I was game to go. Plus, there’s no better time for beautiful views than Fall. Especially in the Ozarks with our mini-mountains.

So, we get to the bottom of the hill and we start climbing. Climbing. Climbing. The farmer is carrying Peanut and trying to clear a path through thick brush and small trees.

I was outside of myself watching, as if in a movie, the branches he was moving springing back only to slap me upside the face or get stuck in the top-knot on my head. Underbrush snagging on my black yoga pants.

Only real hikers wear a hoodie, yoga pants, and Puma tennis shoes.

So, we get to the point where there’s some very large boulders and the underbrush has thinned out a little bit when I hear a growl. One of those low, guttural growls given as a warning that someone’s a little territorial. I stopped, but the farmer just kept on going so I convinced myself that I had made it all up in my mind. Until I heard it again and the farmer stopped short.

“Did you hear that?” he said.

“Um, yeah.”

I thought one of two things:

1. We had happened upon some bear cubs and Momma was NOT happy.

2. We were being stalked by a mountain lion. (A black one has been spotted a few times in these parts. I so badly want to see it, but I didn’t really want to see it that day.)

I turned to the farmer and said, “Great. Just great. And we brought nothing to protect ourselves with.”

At this point, he smirks and pulls out a large, folding utility knife. This is when I very sarcastically said, “Good plan, Krider.”

Meanwhile, I’m looking for a tree to climb up, all the while telling myself that doing this would be totally useless because both species in my little scenario are very adept at climbing. We continue to hear the growling and I say, “Maybe we should just keep moving.” He agreed. The rest of the hike was like a nice little stroll in the park for me because I was running on pure adrenaline.

The further we got from the “spot,” the calmer I grew. We finally reached our destination and this is what I saw.

Even the wrapped hay is pretty to me amidst the colorful backdrop. (Just another sign that the country life is starting to influence me.)

As well as the camera can capture it, it still pales in comparison to what it really looked like. A much better photographer that does panoramic views could have done it justice. You can see our house and the dairy barn in the distance.

We stayed up there for a little bit and decided to head back down. Hesitantly on my part, I might add. We never heard the growling again. The farmer convinced himself it was someone’s truck down in the hollow. I’m not so sure.

King of the Mountain

The scenery, however, was totally worth the hike.

Just not sure the possibility of being eaten was.

I wanted painted cabinets in an off-white, creamier color. Eugene from Whetstone Woodworks took the picture I gave him of what I was wanting and created his own color because my picture showed cabinets that were just a little bit more gray than any of the paint samples he had. He said the closest thing to it was called Biscuit. So, that’s what color I call them. Biscuit. (Why are all the paint colors in my house food names? Biscuit. Bagel. My carb-loading sub-conscious is apparently always hungry.)

The countertops are laminate, but I went with a custom edge to fancy ‘em up a little bit. More of a solid surface look without the fancy expense. It’s also very textured, which I didn’t know if I would like for cleaning purposes, but so far it’s been no problem at all. (My camera’s interpretation of the wall color is a little bit off. They’re beige, I promise. Not the ombre look of beige to orange.)

My vision for the kitchen was cabinets all the way to the ceiling and glass, paned doors. The farmer wanted them staggered. I acquiesced and we went with staggered. I’m no cabinet expert, but we went with staggered for a reason. I have no idea what it was because I stopped listening and pouted when I couldn’t have them all all the way to the ceiling. But ya know what? I’m glad the farmer reined me in because I had a spot to put a nifty little Bistro sign. The other space is going to be home to a big, wooden dairy cow I found at Hobby Lobby. I’m pretty excited about it.

There are so many things I’m glad I went with in this kitchen, but the best thing I did was put glass in the cabinet doors. Not only is it gorgeous, but it gives the illusion of space and openness. Next Saturday, all the electrical things will be finished up. There’s undermount lighting on the cabinets that’s not ready yet. I can’t wait to see it.

I also have two middle and lower big, deep drawers between the oven and fridge. Didn’t know how I would feel about using those for pots and pans rather than cabinets, but I absolutely love them. I also made sure my oven had a cookie sheet drawer underneath. (There was a lot of planning that went into this. I have a lot of stuff.) The cabinet doors on the back of the bar are all fake but one. It opens up to a hidden cabinet, per se, where I also have some space for various cookery.

Is that a word? I don’t know, but I like it!

Finally, a picture of the tile. The farmer did this. He’s really good and I’m not just bragging. He has mastered tiling. But, I have kind of a funny story. He thought laying it like this would be ugly. I said, “Just trust me. I saw it done. It’s not ugly.” One of our neighbors walked in when he was about half-way done with it and said, “Oh, I really like how that looks! I wish our tile guy had laid ours like that!”

“HA HA!!!” I said. I love it when that happens.

The Dairymaid