When Your Parents Are Listening And You Don’t Realize

young doop and otto

We’ve been on the farm for quite a few years at this point.  It’s hard to believe how big the kids have grown.  As we grow as parents, we ( okay, I ) are comfortable letting the kids walk the farm alone. …. far from the house.  At their age now, no big deal.  When they were young, they carried a walkie talkie ( “talkie walkie” in French ).  Today, I giggled on a memory of Lucy and Otto exploring the farm as young single-digit kids.  They both had walkie talkies.  I also had one at the house in case they got lost or needed something.

We heard their conversation on the walkie talkie as they commented on what they saw.  They also separated at one point and kept the dialog going.  I don’t remember when their argument began, but things were going down. Otto grumbled something at Lucy.   They were new with the walkie talkies, so it was hard to hear what they were saying.  Lucy screeched something back.  Otto made another grump at Lucy.  Shit got real.  Then, there was silence.

Brent and I waited to hear what would happen next.  Then, clear as day, Otto pushed the speak button and said, “FUCK YOU.”


Brats Like Me


I have fond memories of going to the Oktoberfest somewhere in Southern California with my family.  My dad really loved the Bratwurst … and the beer to go with it.  I loved it just as much.  I haven’t seen Bratwurst for YEARS.  Today, buy two get one free, right there at the ol’ Carrefour market.  Mine for the buying.

I looked up a few recipes on how to cook it.  It’s all about getting the internal temperature safe and then browning the outside.  Many ways to do this, mainly involve some sort of par-boil followed by a brown.  In France, we cook raw sausage all the time.  We do this method.  BUT, as I was talking with Brent about it, it dawned on me that we house this very special machine a dear friend of ours bought to do exactly that.  A sous vide wand that gets your middle up to temp and ready for browning.  The brats are up-temping now and I can’t wait to brown my “saucisse irrésistible.” …. everything ( except ten words ) sound better in French.

We have some new web-footed friends joining team Grasspunk.  They are runner ducks.  I don’t know much about them, but I can tell you this, they like to cuddle.  I’m sure we’ll soon know why they are called “runner” ducks.


Last week was a four day weekend and Minty hosted a Movie night.  “Movie Night” is code for junk food and television to avoid any school-end test studies.  The kids have a toolbox and they aren’t afraid to use it.  Works every time.


(above children are not studying )

Minty takes photos of these two characters every day.  The gray one is a stuffed animal with the amazing talent of breath and a beating heart.  The beige one is a killer.

Just a reminder, it’s tick season.  If you have a nap in the grass with a shaggy dog, be sure to give yourself a quick once over.  I hate ticks.  Useless buggers.

Have a great weekend! Hug a duck! I’m going to go brown my irresistible sausage.

Parental Paparazzi


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




Be Patient, The Tomatoes Are Coming


( photo by Lucy )

So cute and full of energy and absolutely no idea what is going on in the world other than, “WHAT’S FOR LUNCH!!!” or “CAN I HAVE A COOKIE?!?!” Those kids of ours.  I’ve always been a mother of young children, but I’m starting to feel like the lady who doesn’t worry about sleeping through the night.  Or, the lady who isn’t constantly following a waddler.  I’m not sure what to do with myself.  Well, I do actually, but it’s such a long list of hard work.  … trying to …

but they are growing old enough to run part of the fambly.  They cook.  They ( don’t ) clean.  They entertain themselves.  They tell jokes like their father.

A friend of ours visited us when we first started this farm.  She took one look and said, “oh!  I remember that.  Glad I’m not there.heh. heh.”  She said it with joy.  Her kids are all grown up and moved on and part of society.  She meant, it was great, but wouldn’t want to do it all again right now.  Hard work.   It is.  It’s hard work.  It’s rewarding work.  Always challenging.  Never bored.

So, Spring soon,  the tomatoes are coming.  Can’t wait!



but enough about me …


It’s about Z.  She’s five.


For me, this youngest-child-turns-five marks the transition from young fam to older fam.


We still can’t get down the driveway without someone screaming, but our kids are almost helpful.


I’m sad that there are no more to join our crew, but our crew are never dull.


She’s so independant.


She could probably start a side business on the farm.


It’s not about me anymore.  It’s brats like me.


Sweet Farm Symphony


It’s very quiet on the farm.  Usually.  The cows are in the pasture and the chooks are in the back of the farm.  Though, in the morning you can hear the cockerel crow.  He doesn’t know about daylight saving time.  He has a high pitch.


The cows are mostly quiet.  Except when they munch.  They moo when they move.  If you put your phone on vibrate and lay it on a plastic table, when it rings, that is the sound of a cow in the distance.

So many noises, yet so quiet and peaceful.


It wasn’t until the pigs arrived that I realized that we were missing that bass.  These pigs have a low snort sound.  They run to see you snorting this low sound.  They squeal high when challenged or picked up, but generally, their sound is low.


With the alto cows, the soprano cockerel, the piggy bass and the child percussion, there is music to be made.

Sheep you say?  Highly unlikely.  We’ll bring in the retrievers dressed as lamb.