Mom: Hey John, How are you John?
John: Hi Gladys, Fair to middlin’
Mom: Me too, John, I’m fair to middlin’
Mom ( to me ): He’s always fair to middin’. I am too. I Don’t know what that means.
I asked the ladies who helped my mom what “fair to middlin'” meant … they didn’t know. John is an old boy, so I assumed this must be a phrase along with “bee’s knees” and “when hector was a pup.” Fair to middling means ” ok. average. meh.” My brief googlpedia research rounded up a lovely piece on livestock or crop grade that goes in this order: fine, through good, fair, middling, ordinary and least good. So John and my mom were doing O.K. Affirmed each day along with others at the residence at meal times. A new expression for me while I visited my mom in America.
When I walked into my mom’s room for the first time, I was taken with all the photos and art she brought with her. Most specifically the painting of some daisies in a pot. When that painting was purchased, I was a teen off haggling with the vendors of Tijuana trying to knock off a few pesos for some huaraches. My mom and dad were after something for our home. We split up shopping in the Tijuana shopping maze. My mom told my dad that she found something she loved. My dad told my mom that he also found something perfect. I can’t remember who went first, but when the first led the other to the painting they loved, they both smiled because it was the same painting. A bunch of daisies in a pot. So they bought it and it was in our home. And there it was in my mom’s room. I took a photo of it, but it came out a bit crooked. Well, fair to middlin’.
“What a great year!” says the grass farmer raising cattle. “When will summer begin?!” says the lovely residents of Country France. Wow. We’ve been here over five years on the farm and I’ve not seen this combination of sun/rain/sun/rain/no freeze deal.
The grass is so tall ( how tall is it? ) so tall that a photo at tit level, you can’t see the top of the seed heads. … and I am a tall lady.
The chickens seem to be establishing camp well. Though, for the next lot, we’ll mow it down. Every good chicken loves freshly mowed grass.
And I cooked up the last sample from our BBQ box. We’re trying out another type of steak box to see how it scores on flavor and tenderness. We have tried every piece of meat that we raise. Scrutinising it. Adjusting our farming methods. Then, sampling again. It’s a slow process.
Each day, I roll through this. … and I love every minute of it.
Preemptive shots of my dragon. She’s melting down because I took a photo of her on Daddy’s tractor. I saw her having fun, thought I’d grab a moment. and this is what I got.
Sure, she looks cute here and there, but the absolute howl at those horrible parents , okay mamaparazzi … ferget about it. I say, ” look, lady you go be cute and we’ll have nothing to do with it.”
peer review of this blog post:
z: uuuuuh. don’t put a photo when I’m angry … put a photo when I’m happy
Grass is crazy. We, I, have worries of cows not seeing the fence because the grass is too long. So far, so good. Calves loving drinking water, eating pasture and milking mom … a perfect selection of kids old enough to get a job and young enough to still live at home as though getting a job is something you do after college.
Iced latte season. Man, I love the iced latte. It sounds so pretentious at first. Give me a hot afternoon, some ice cubes and a fancy espresso machine … your resistance becomes blissful.
The hay is going along quite well until it rained. Swooped in quicker than a surprise Kanye concert. Leaving our hay wet, but not lost.
A post from Cecilia at The Kitchen’s Garden Project reminded me of the ways we refer to those simple shoes held on by your toe. Flip-flops … sure. Thongs … okay. But other countries have their own words. Jandals is one of my favs. New Zealand gave us that. Brilliant. As a Southern Californian, we had Tojos ( say that, “toe hoes” ). This was a lesser product from Flojos ( say “flow hoes” ) a common beach shoe made from rubber, easy to slop on and off when you’re surfing the waves battling sand and the ladies. I think most of us called them flip-flops. After an extensive five minute search on the internet, I can’t find a thing on Tojos. Or is it Toehos? I think Flojos canned the name due to potential “other” toe push back.
But, the best name I’ve ever heard naming the flip-flop came from my mom. “Go-Aheads” … I’ll let that sink in. What? Go-Aheads? Really? I have no idea where that came from. She grew up on the east coast and then around. I can only imagine a child asking her mom,
Child: Mom? Mom! Can I wear these to school?
Mom: uh, go ahead.
It’s just easy. Kid slips go-aheads on … no socks to locate … we’re done here.
I’m sure I’ve missed other names for these summer Jandals😉 … anyone have any others?
Brent and Otto moved the chooks for the second time today. The chickens are young, so they are still working out how to work the pasture. They are always on fresh grass for them to pull out the bugs and worms and nibble the alfalfa leaves.
Lovely day today, not too hot. Otto refreshes their water.
He likes to see how high he can raise the hose while still making it in the tank. I know I’ve set myself up for “boy jokes,” but he is very specific about his work.
The herd are fat fat. So much grass. They got so bored today, they did a little jog then hung out by the water cooler. I’m not a fan of a herd jog, but they settled in. It’s nice to see them work a paddock.