Tuesday, August 13
So we spent most of the last two days tracking down our dumped tame fawn. I still can't believe that - taming wildlife is *not* cute, it is tacky and cruel, and getting bored with them and dumping them on other people afterwards doubly so. To his credit, it was *not* our ex-employee who tamed the poor thing, but a friend of his who dumped it on *him*, but the end result is the same: we have a deer, two months from deer season, who comes up and rubs her head on peoples' legs.
I'm not even sure we're doing the right thing. We've found some folks who'll take her for a petting zoo, but... it might be kinder just to shoot her. We may just be cowardly. I'm thinking that more today because it was me that caught her in the end. She trusted me. But from the way she kicked and fought and moaned when we had her caught, I'm not so sure she'll like being penned for the rest of her life... on the other hand, she's in the feed bin just now, and she seems calm enough. Maybe it'll be all right. I don't know.
Went to see Signs last night. It was all right; definately medeocre, but not a *complete* waste of my money. It wasn't scary (which is good, as I hate scary movies), it wasn't funny, it wasn't meaningful. It just sort of *was*. Okay, it was a little scary, and a little funny; the two guys with me kept breaking out into inappropriate laughter. But overall a very bland movie.
We did have a lost cow who didn't show up for two milkings, but we found her. This begs the question: how does one *loose* eight hundred pounds of bovine? (And further begs the question, how does eight hundred pounds of bovine manage to loose *herself* in a few square acres of brush and run around without food or water for nearly a day without managing to find either her herdmates or the young stock - but only she can answer that question. The idiot.)
I'm not even sure we're doing the right thing. We've found some folks who'll take her for a petting zoo, but... it might be kinder just to shoot her. We may just be cowardly. I'm thinking that more today because it was me that caught her in the end. She trusted me. But from the way she kicked and fought and moaned when we had her caught, I'm not so sure she'll like being penned for the rest of her life... on the other hand, she's in the feed bin just now, and she seems calm enough. Maybe it'll be all right. I don't know.
Went to see Signs last night. It was all right; definately medeocre, but not a *complete* waste of my money. It wasn't scary (which is good, as I hate scary movies), it wasn't funny, it wasn't meaningful. It just sort of *was*. Okay, it was a little scary, and a little funny; the two guys with me kept breaking out into inappropriate laughter. But overall a very bland movie.
We did have a lost cow who didn't show up for two milkings, but we found her. This begs the question: how does one *loose* eight hundred pounds of bovine? (And further begs the question, how does eight hundred pounds of bovine manage to loose *herself* in a few square acres of brush and run around without food or water for nearly a day without managing to find either her herdmates or the young stock - but only she can answer that question. The idiot.)
Saturday, August 10
Definately an up and down day.
The day *started* badly, with me failing to set my alarm and getting up late and then having to piddle with the toilet (fill-bucket-of-water, lug-bucket-of-water, dump-in-toilet, flush - *damn*, but I want the plumbing fixed) and nearly dropped my contact down the bathroom sink, probably because I was in such a hurry. These things go like this. Then I had to race through my chores. On the up side, we had a previous intern of ours and his girlfriend visiting for Fiddlers' and we talked for quite a while over breakfast. I'd been in New Zealand when this particular intern was here and didn't know him well. A very nice guy, currently majoring in PolSci and had done an internship in DC as well as visiting Nicuragua and other neat things. His girlfriend was also quite cool.
We had relatives, as well, which was less cool. Because of the plumbing they did not stay with us, but with our grandparents a mile or so away, and overall they're very cool relatives, so I shouldn't complain. My uncle (the brainsurgeon) his girlfriend, his daughter, and *her* son, a very cute little 3-year old. And, like I said, they're nice folks. The baby is very cute, but shy: his mother is a little overprotective to my mind, and it's made him scared of a lot of things. I prefer the fearless, danger? what danger? kids, but still, he's awfully sweet.
Anyway, the minute the relatives showed up the customers started descending. My mother has developed a distinct attitude towards customers, a somewhat "how dare you show up here and want to spend your money" distaste, which I suppose isn't very fair. On the other hand, from our point of view, it's not very fair of *them* to show up unnannounced, usually when we're busiest, often when we're *closed*, and take up half an hour or more of our time and then cart off $10 worth of cheese. Luckily Mom's attitude is only towards customers in general. Customers, specific, she quite likes usually, and doesn't mind spending time on. It doesn't make sense, but my mother has red hair. Sense is optional.
Anyway, the customers started with an inconvenient but deceptively mild bout of two cars full of older people, which Mom dispatched with little trouble, and a brief interim visit by a minivan with a son sent to pick up stuff for his mother. Mom was able to escape and visit the relatives for a bit, although she knew (because, for a miracle, they'd called ahead) that there was another batch coming.
This was the calm. The other batch, though nice people who called first, had neglected to mention that they were bringing along ten other people, all of whom crowded into the shop and tasted all the cheese at once. Now, our shop is *small*. It's really my Mom's office with a nicish cooler and a cash register. Ten is *definately* over capacity. The two people who had arrived on a motorcycle, of all things, and were *not* a part of the group, were crowded out and had to go sit on the step.
After the horde had rampaged off the motorcycle folks came and visited, and they were very nice. It transpired that they were from a motorcycle rally nearby. This was a BMW motorcyle rally, by the way, so forget the Hell's Angels. There was black leather, but it was the sort that says "I just spent several hundred dollars on something to cover my ass."
They left, without mentioning that they'd actually been leading a group of ten or so motorcycle people but had gotten bored with them and left. *They* showed up a half-hour later. General craziness. Dogs barked. Dust flew. My father, who owned a Harley-Davidson back before the marriage and children bit, came out and sort of drooled quietly.
Once we got rid of *them*, it was time to deal with the relatives again, but there was food involved this time. I had to leave early to get started milking, as it's my weekend on.
Then I somehow managed to get the little truck jammed while trying to turn it around and Dad had to cut the fence and bring the tractor up to haul it out. I really don't want to talk about that. That was a definate "down" bit.
After milking it was straight into the shower and into town for the last night of Fiddlers', which was what the relatives were here for. I've missed Fiddlers'. It was the same as ever - a ten-thousand person camp city filled with PortaPotties, instrument stalls, dust, chalk drawings, Christmas lights, people in very big hats, extremely bad food, and music. Wonderful music. I'd been in on Tuesday as well, but it was pretty dull then. It was certainly hopping tonight. I danced until the relatives got bored with watching (was unable to convince the three-year old to dance with me - he was scared of it, apparently) and generally had a grand time. Indescribable place, and everyone else seems to find it somewhat boring anyway, so I suppose I'm just strange.
Note to self: Even if you *have* had a drink, drive yourself home. It is far safer than letting the brother drive. I only actually *yelped* once, the first time the tires squealed, but it was an act of will. Bro has views on backseat driving, and besides, I didn't want to distract him in *any* way from the road.
The day *started* badly, with me failing to set my alarm and getting up late and then having to piddle with the toilet (fill-bucket-of-water, lug-bucket-of-water, dump-in-toilet, flush - *damn*, but I want the plumbing fixed) and nearly dropped my contact down the bathroom sink, probably because I was in such a hurry. These things go like this. Then I had to race through my chores. On the up side, we had a previous intern of ours and his girlfriend visiting for Fiddlers' and we talked for quite a while over breakfast. I'd been in New Zealand when this particular intern was here and didn't know him well. A very nice guy, currently majoring in PolSci and had done an internship in DC as well as visiting Nicuragua and other neat things. His girlfriend was also quite cool.
We had relatives, as well, which was less cool. Because of the plumbing they did not stay with us, but with our grandparents a mile or so away, and overall they're very cool relatives, so I shouldn't complain. My uncle (the brainsurgeon) his girlfriend, his daughter, and *her* son, a very cute little 3-year old. And, like I said, they're nice folks. The baby is very cute, but shy: his mother is a little overprotective to my mind, and it's made him scared of a lot of things. I prefer the fearless, danger? what danger? kids, but still, he's awfully sweet.
Anyway, the minute the relatives showed up the customers started descending. My mother has developed a distinct attitude towards customers, a somewhat "how dare you show up here and want to spend your money" distaste, which I suppose isn't very fair. On the other hand, from our point of view, it's not very fair of *them* to show up unnannounced, usually when we're busiest, often when we're *closed*, and take up half an hour or more of our time and then cart off $10 worth of cheese. Luckily Mom's attitude is only towards customers in general. Customers, specific, she quite likes usually, and doesn't mind spending time on. It doesn't make sense, but my mother has red hair. Sense is optional.
Anyway, the customers started with an inconvenient but deceptively mild bout of two cars full of older people, which Mom dispatched with little trouble, and a brief interim visit by a minivan with a son sent to pick up stuff for his mother. Mom was able to escape and visit the relatives for a bit, although she knew (because, for a miracle, they'd called ahead) that there was another batch coming.
This was the calm. The other batch, though nice people who called first, had neglected to mention that they were bringing along ten other people, all of whom crowded into the shop and tasted all the cheese at once. Now, our shop is *small*. It's really my Mom's office with a nicish cooler and a cash register. Ten is *definately* over capacity. The two people who had arrived on a motorcycle, of all things, and were *not* a part of the group, were crowded out and had to go sit on the step.
After the horde had rampaged off the motorcycle folks came and visited, and they were very nice. It transpired that they were from a motorcycle rally nearby. This was a BMW motorcyle rally, by the way, so forget the Hell's Angels. There was black leather, but it was the sort that says "I just spent several hundred dollars on something to cover my ass."
They left, without mentioning that they'd actually been leading a group of ten or so motorcycle people but had gotten bored with them and left. *They* showed up a half-hour later. General craziness. Dogs barked. Dust flew. My father, who owned a Harley-Davidson back before the marriage and children bit, came out and sort of drooled quietly.
Once we got rid of *them*, it was time to deal with the relatives again, but there was food involved this time. I had to leave early to get started milking, as it's my weekend on.
Then I somehow managed to get the little truck jammed while trying to turn it around and Dad had to cut the fence and bring the tractor up to haul it out. I really don't want to talk about that. That was a definate "down" bit.
After milking it was straight into the shower and into town for the last night of Fiddlers', which was what the relatives were here for. I've missed Fiddlers'. It was the same as ever - a ten-thousand person camp city filled with PortaPotties, instrument stalls, dust, chalk drawings, Christmas lights, people in very big hats, extremely bad food, and music. Wonderful music. I'd been in on Tuesday as well, but it was pretty dull then. It was certainly hopping tonight. I danced until the relatives got bored with watching (was unable to convince the three-year old to dance with me - he was scared of it, apparently) and generally had a grand time. Indescribable place, and everyone else seems to find it somewhat boring anyway, so I suppose I'm just strange.
Note to self: Even if you *have* had a drink, drive yourself home. It is far safer than letting the brother drive. I only actually *yelped* once, the first time the tires squealed, but it was an act of will. Bro has views on backseat driving, and besides, I didn't want to distract him in *any* way from the road.
Tuesday, August 06
The times are still Brit times, I note. Must fix that.
Mom was apparently badly confused this morning because the microwave - which had been disconnected the night before - had disappeared, leaving her to wander around with a mug of cold tea wondering how in the world she could have misplaced a microwave. Little did she know that my father, who had arisen earlier and experienced the selfsame scenario with a cup of cold coffee, had carted the microwave off to the barn with him. Mom was very testy about it. She says the last thing she needs in her life is to experience that level of confusion first thing in the morning.
The worker is most definately gone - he came to formally quit late yesterday afternoon, although we'd pretty well caught on by then. He claimed he had to go back to Mexico for two months, but this was a fairly transparent excuse. We're not worried. Everyone is calling dibs on the trailer, though, seeing as it has actual running water.
We had to work this year's calves (The Junior Huns) today, and our oldest dog, Shep, pulled a muscle trying to work them and had to be carted back to the house in humiliation, which meant the youngest dog, Jill, had to be used. This was interesting because Jill has never been seriously worked before. She's quite young and, although she's keen, her focus definately suffered. She kept trying to leave when she got bored, she tended to lie down and ignore everybody when things were going wrong or when the whole thing became a bit too much trouble, and she tended to trot through the middle of the calves to get to wherever she was going, effectively scattering them. We had a lot of trouble with her once we got near the creek, too - calves were *nothing* so amusing as going swimming, it seemed. But overall she did very well. She's bright and understands the commands, and she'll be very good if she ever buckles down and really *works*. Like many college students I know, in fact. Um. Rather like *me*.
The Huns themselves did minimal damage, aside from causing me to stab myself with the needle four or five times, applying unneccesary force to the bro's kneecap, and Kalessin, our trouble child, discovering that applying her spiked nosering to a human knee was *extraordinarily* effective. Poor Shep got locked in the dairy throughout, for his own good; he's sulking downstairs now. Mom came in earlier while we were resting up and yelled at the bro and me to stop lazing around and do some work, and then at Shep to stop trying to get outside and work and go lay down and sleep. We all three felt there was a fundimental unfairness in this.
Mom was apparently badly confused this morning because the microwave - which had been disconnected the night before - had disappeared, leaving her to wander around with a mug of cold tea wondering how in the world she could have misplaced a microwave. Little did she know that my father, who had arisen earlier and experienced the selfsame scenario with a cup of cold coffee, had carted the microwave off to the barn with him. Mom was very testy about it. She says the last thing she needs in her life is to experience that level of confusion first thing in the morning.
The worker is most definately gone - he came to formally quit late yesterday afternoon, although we'd pretty well caught on by then. He claimed he had to go back to Mexico for two months, but this was a fairly transparent excuse. We're not worried. Everyone is calling dibs on the trailer, though, seeing as it has actual running water.
We had to work this year's calves (The Junior Huns) today, and our oldest dog, Shep, pulled a muscle trying to work them and had to be carted back to the house in humiliation, which meant the youngest dog, Jill, had to be used. This was interesting because Jill has never been seriously worked before. She's quite young and, although she's keen, her focus definately suffered. She kept trying to leave when she got bored, she tended to lie down and ignore everybody when things were going wrong or when the whole thing became a bit too much trouble, and she tended to trot through the middle of the calves to get to wherever she was going, effectively scattering them. We had a lot of trouble with her once we got near the creek, too - calves were *nothing* so amusing as going swimming, it seemed. But overall she did very well. She's bright and understands the commands, and she'll be very good if she ever buckles down and really *works*. Like many college students I know, in fact. Um. Rather like *me*.
The Huns themselves did minimal damage, aside from causing me to stab myself with the needle four or five times, applying unneccesary force to the bro's kneecap, and Kalessin, our trouble child, discovering that applying her spiked nosering to a human knee was *extraordinarily* effective. Poor Shep got locked in the dairy throughout, for his own good; he's sulking downstairs now. Mom came in earlier while we were resting up and yelled at the bro and me to stop lazing around and do some work, and then at Shep to stop trying to get outside and work and go lay down and sleep. We all three felt there was a fundimental unfairness in this.
Hah! I figured out the browser problem. Opera lets me identify it to other websites as Internet Explorer, because of the entire Microsoft "Ohh, we're going to say your browser is non-compliant because it's got the wrong name, so guess what, you can't view this site" thing. (And guess what? If your browser changes its name to Microsoft Internet Explorer, it works perfectly.) But Blogger actually has a setup for Opera, so it was getting confused. Thus, the bad, bad setup.
Well, it's been a while since I updated this. A strange month, overall; I'm only just starting to feel stable again. Odd. In summary:
Mom is continuing the drive to move everything out of the house. This is for the very good reason that there's no longer any plumbing under the house since the pipes desentergrated late last January when I left. We have one faucet with cold water in the kitchen and that's it. To flush the toilet you have to cart a five-gallon bucket into the kitchen, fill it with water, cart it back into the bathroom, yank the top off the back, fill the toilet reservoir, and flush. And hope. And don't do anything too enthusiastic in there.
There is, of course, a working bathroom and shower and hot water over at the dairy, which is great, except that it's somewhat inconvinient for those sudden urges and even more inconvenient for the dishes. The kitchen table, you see, is over here. The sink is over there. The stove is over here. The grill - where we cook everything we possibly can - is over there. The fridge is over here. The washing machine is over there. Our bare naked bums are over here. The... well, you get the picture. My bro wants to install a zip line. We've been hauling dishes back and forth in milk crates, but that doesn't really work well; I finally buckled down and did the four milk crates' worth of dishes that had been languishing for two weeks yesterday, and my fingers are only just recovering their natural size and texture.
So what Mom wants to do is move all the stuff that's over *here* over *there*, so that we can rip up the kitchen and get everything fixed (we have to do it ourselves, because we're over 35,000 dollars in debt, and not making any money because of the bad milk prices - did I mention milk prices are at an all-time low?) But that takes time, and Dad, and Dad is short on time. So.
My brother's laptop got fried in an early round of bad thunderstorms, only, as it turned out, it wasn't his laptop that was fried but his cord and converter (also know as the "yo-yo"). Since he and I have roughly the same model of iBook, we're sharing a power source. Whoopee. I only mention this because I can see my little battery icon dropping as I type.
It's hot as hell, and dryer, but that's not news.
Our employee failed to show up for work today, which we assume means he quits, as his wife did the same thing a few weeks ago and she never came back. Dad's depressed. We were paying him too much for too little work and struggling with a variety of other employee-related problems in the bargain, but still, Dad feels like he did something wrong. Well, that's Dad.
Bro has a girlfriend in New Zealand. If you've ever participated in a long-distance relationship, you may fill in the requisite horrors here. If you haven't, I won't destroy your innocence. Go ahead. Keep thinking it's romantic.
Oh yes, and it's Fiddlers' here - that is, the 69th Annual Galax Old Time and Bluegrass Fiddlers' Convention, largest fiddlers' convention in the world, a week and more of 10,000 plus people camped out in Felts' Park in the middle of my hometown, and music, and competetions, and alcohol, in an endless round. I *like* Fiddlers'. What worries me is the people who show up a week early and camp out in the parking lots in town just to make sure they get in line early and get a good parking space in the campground. Do these people have no *life*?
More on this later. I must go and work calves. Glad to finally get caught up on this thing - I was beginning to feel a bit guilty.
Well, it's been a while since I updated this. A strange month, overall; I'm only just starting to feel stable again. Odd. In summary:
Mom is continuing the drive to move everything out of the house. This is for the very good reason that there's no longer any plumbing under the house since the pipes desentergrated late last January when I left. We have one faucet with cold water in the kitchen and that's it. To flush the toilet you have to cart a five-gallon bucket into the kitchen, fill it with water, cart it back into the bathroom, yank the top off the back, fill the toilet reservoir, and flush. And hope. And don't do anything too enthusiastic in there.
There is, of course, a working bathroom and shower and hot water over at the dairy, which is great, except that it's somewhat inconvinient for those sudden urges and even more inconvenient for the dishes. The kitchen table, you see, is over here. The sink is over there. The stove is over here. The grill - where we cook everything we possibly can - is over there. The fridge is over here. The washing machine is over there. Our bare naked bums are over here. The... well, you get the picture. My bro wants to install a zip line. We've been hauling dishes back and forth in milk crates, but that doesn't really work well; I finally buckled down and did the four milk crates' worth of dishes that had been languishing for two weeks yesterday, and my fingers are only just recovering their natural size and texture.
So what Mom wants to do is move all the stuff that's over *here* over *there*, so that we can rip up the kitchen and get everything fixed (we have to do it ourselves, because we're over 35,000 dollars in debt, and not making any money because of the bad milk prices - did I mention milk prices are at an all-time low?) But that takes time, and Dad, and Dad is short on time. So.
My brother's laptop got fried in an early round of bad thunderstorms, only, as it turned out, it wasn't his laptop that was fried but his cord and converter (also know as the "yo-yo"). Since he and I have roughly the same model of iBook, we're sharing a power source. Whoopee. I only mention this because I can see my little battery icon dropping as I type.
It's hot as hell, and dryer, but that's not news.
Our employee failed to show up for work today, which we assume means he quits, as his wife did the same thing a few weeks ago and she never came back. Dad's depressed. We were paying him too much for too little work and struggling with a variety of other employee-related problems in the bargain, but still, Dad feels like he did something wrong. Well, that's Dad.
Bro has a girlfriend in New Zealand. If you've ever participated in a long-distance relationship, you may fill in the requisite horrors here. If you haven't, I won't destroy your innocence. Go ahead. Keep thinking it's romantic.
Oh yes, and it's Fiddlers' here - that is, the 69th Annual Galax Old Time and Bluegrass Fiddlers' Convention, largest fiddlers' convention in the world, a week and more of 10,000 plus people camped out in Felts' Park in the middle of my hometown, and music, and competetions, and alcohol, in an endless round. I *like* Fiddlers'. What worries me is the people who show up a week early and camp out in the parking lots in town just to make sure they get in line early and get a good parking space in the campground. Do these people have no *life*?
More on this later. I must go and work calves. Glad to finally get caught up on this thing - I was beginning to feel a bit guilty.
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