Recollections of a Farm Woman for 1-28-09

In Memoriam -- Diane Orr 1947-2008
Diane Sue Matheney was born April 13, 1947 to Harry and Juanita Matheney in Zanesville, OH. She had two sisters and a brother, two daughters and a stepdaughter, and seven grandchildren. Diane passed away November 24, 2008 in Tempe, AZ after a valiant fight with cancer.

Diane and her husband Bill were frequent visitors for several years to our area and made a host of friends in Worth and adjoining counties during the summer time of their visits. When fall was around the corner, they would reluctantly take leave of us but always vowed to return the following year.

When it was evident they couldn't make another trip this way, I took pictures of family, friends, and landmarks and sent them to her. This way, she could make a roadtrip to the Sheridan area any time she wanted.

All the cards that were sent to her on her birthday and other occasions were probably dogeared by the time of her passing as they were reread many times when she was having a bad day and needed a boost; she said they always helped.

Her husband was her rock as she referred to him to the end and was always quick to praise his efforts on her behalf every chance she got.

Diane was a sports fan. One friend especially who was a diehard Chiefs fan had an ongoing wager as she was the same where the Arizona Cardinals were concerned. At the end of the season, whoever's team had the worst season had to pay up. Her illness curtailed the wagers this past year. As you can see, she would have cleaned house.

It has been 45 years since this team has been in a Super Bowl -- Diane laughingly made another wager a couple of years ago. This was before any hint of her impending illness. "I will be dead and gone before they ever make it to the Super Bowl." Sadly, this came to pass.

Bill and Diane moved to Tempe, AZ in the fall of 1984 and were married January 26, 1985. After they retired, they started to make their trips to Missouri as her daughter Tammy Wilson lives east of Sheridan, and would also make side trips to Ohio while they were here. There is one less bright spot in this world now that she is no longer with us.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for August 13th, 2008

Horse high and bull tight, that used to be a saying for an extra good fence. We had some bulls once, they were normally gentile, but could they ever write a fence down. They might have stood taller than a horse, but we didn’t have a horse at the time to compare them to.
Our fencing skills have been put to the test since the goats have come to live here. The first fence was a barbed wire, then a woven wire on top of than, then followed by a couple more strands of barbed wire. An electric fence was also added so they wouldn’t poke their heads through the woven wire and get their heads caught.
Recently, I have been greeted on several occasions by a yard-full of goats when I arrived home. A check of the fence over the hill from the pond and out of sight from view, was trees over the fence from the ice and wind. They had been venturing through and eating the underbrush on the other side.
They didn’t appreciate our efforts to fix the fence. We had to keep shooing them away. Six barbs wouldn’t hold them when we thought we were finished, an electric fence had to be added because they thought they belonged to the other side. But I guess what keeps them in will also, with Lenny’s help, keep the varmints out.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for July 23rd, 2008

Country roads, take me home, to the place where I belong -- so the song goes. Life lesson 578 -- never go to the hayfield to check on your son and grandson in a pair of shoes you can’t walk a mile and a half in. Especially if you get the pickup stuck and your family isn’t in the hayfield yet.
I glanced towards the machine shed upon arriving home after being gone for the day. I could have sworn the tractor and bailer were missing, so after an hour or so, I decided to go to the field to see how things were going.
By the time I had hot-footed it to the highway, my feet were barking and I had to walk on my tippy-toes in the shoes until I made it to my ‘ole dirt road, and was I ever glad it was dirt. I took off my shoes and went barefoot. I was lucky to find a strip on the road that had sugar sand like dirt on it.
It wasn’t a total loss on my walk. I picked up several pieces of wire and barbed wire lying in wait for some hapless truck, tractor, or car tire to come along. My feet were none the worse for wear when I got home and had a good soak.
Ten years ago, my feet didn’t fare so well. I was trying to attend two high school graduations in different towns and counties. Halfway in between, my car quit on me as it was at the bast of my dirt road.
My dress shoes were not made to run up a road, so I took them off and left my hose on as I was in a big rush. I thought I could hurry a mile, get another vehicle, and continue on. No such luck; by the time I got home, I couldn’t have made the graduation in time, plus I had blisters on both my feet.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for July 9th, 2008

(Last week’s items)
The road or country lane I grew up on was a roadside garden of sorts. Before the county came along and cleared the road banks, the trees almost touched from side to side, pretty but it wouldn’t dry out very fast after a rain and it was almost impassable at times.
There were gooseberries, dew berries, raspberries, chokecherry trees, mulberry and plum, wild onions, and grapes. Also nearby was a small meadow where an older lady had shown my mother how to pick an assortment of greens. I am too chicken to try it myself now. I only know the lowly dandelion to be safe.
There was a huge gooseberry bush at one corner of our hay field, and also blackberry fields nearby. I made some spending money one summer picking gooseberries for some old folks in town. They wanted five gallons; it took a while, and the charge was 50 cents a gallon. To this day, I hate to see these wild treasures go to waste.
One has to be a little cautious along the roads now a days because of all the sprays we have. Know your area before you strike out on your search. I have friends in town and country that I share my booty with. As Betty Crocker said, "Nothing says loving like something from the oven," and I will add the stove and berry patch. I gave one friend a black raspberry pie for her birthday. She never shared with anyone and in a couple of days, it was gone. A pie also beats a get well card; just ask another friend that.
So, if you see me with scratches and scrapes at this time of year, you can bet I have been battling the thorns and bushes, weeds, and vines. Fresh always beats frozen, canned, or dried.
My grandson marveled recently at a pie I served him that the berries had been on the tree just the day before. In this fast-paced world, something fresh and not prepared is a treat.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for June 25th, 2008

Dusty, my barn cat, made his first appearance in the barn one winter morning when I entered to chore. He was scared at first and was quite hungry, so food soon brought him around. By and by, he let me touch him. I call him Dusty because he has a faded orange tiger color; he looks dusty.
I used to have a couple of rabbits who played around the barn lot, but no more, as he soon took care of that. They were the same size as him, so he must be quite a hunter. He comes to the house now for his feedings. I guess he got used to it when he followed Sassy the goat.
My back porch door is in need of some repairs, so every once in a while, a mouse gets in and every once in a while, Dusty leaves the evidence they had been there. So, he does earn his keep now and again.
Dusty is friendly and loving with me, lets me pick him up once in a while, but soon gets nervous and wants down.
My house cat Popcorn, as my niece calls her, is a talker. You talk to her and she meows back. The first time she saw her, she talked to her and Popcorn meowed back. She then said she’s a talker. My niece is also a cat lover. Anyway, once in a while, I will talk to Popcorn in Cat. I will meow to her, she just looks at me and does nothing. But if you meow at Dusty, he just gets nervous and wants out.
He is also a one-person cat; I found this out when my older son and grandchildren showed up early one Saturday morning while Dusty was still eating his breakfast on the back porch. He immediately started running around helter skelter and hitting the windows like a wild bird that had gotten in by mistake. As soon as they got inside the kitchen, I went out and halfway calmed him down where I could get the door open and let him zip out. He keeps a low profile when friends and relatives are around. But when they disappear, he reappears.
In case you have wondered who does my proofreading -- I mess up every now and again and Jesse does it. My proof readers is Popcorn, because most of the time, she is sitting on my lap when I am typing up my stories.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for June 18th, 2008

Organic farming is not new; a lot of people were practicing it years ago. I was born and raised on a farm, and as I got older, it was my job spring and fall to clean out the chicken house and put all my findings on the garden spot.
Most of the time, this job was uneventful, but one time, an opossum appeared and I was at a panic level; if it got into the chicken house, it could raise havoc. I whacked it with my hoe; it immediately played dead. I hollered for my father. It came to again; I whacked it, it fainted again, and again I called for my father. My father arrived on the scene and came to my rescue and removed the unwelcome intruder.
Last spring, I heard that my new resident llama might be able to help me with my tomatoes. It wasn’t difficult to acquire llama leavings. He likes to make his deposit in the same spot, a tidy fellow.
I observed him do this one evening. He checked out the spot, turned around, backed up, and done his duty. I prepared the tomato bed and planted them. In no time, I could tell when they got their toes in Lenny’s tidy deposit. I was afraid I had been too generous as they got quite large and stately and maybe wouldn’t set on tomatoes. That’s what happens to you when you overfertilize, but I had worried for nought as they were loaded with tomatoes.
Goat berries, as they are referred to, are also good and you can side dress with them as they won’t burn your vegetables. You might have to work a little harder to collect them, though.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for June 11th, 2008

Sassy
This was the perfect name for my first success at raising a baby goat on the bottle. A friend named her and it so fit. She was feisty from day one. Until she outgrew crawling through the gate panel, she never stayed in her pen. She always greeted me at the barn door for her bottle.
Dusty, my barn cat, a faded orange tiger, and Sassy became fast friends and companions. Many a time when I went to the barn early, there they were cuddled together.
For a while, I tried to keep her penned; that soon went by the wayside and she had the run of the yard. I worried for a while about her getting run over when she ventured into the road, but the sound of the vehicles sent her scurrying towards the barn.
It was nothing to see her and Dusty playing tag early of a morning down by the barn. That was a comical sight. As time went by, it was nothing to see the two of them peeking through the storm door on the back porch early of a morning eagerly awaiting their breakfasts.
The lowboy parked near the barn was a favorite place for her afternoon nap. She hopped on it and played on it frequently.
There were no other goats her age to play and relate to, so she was a loner and I guess didn’t really feel like one of them. The other goats have never really accepted her into the group. Maybe they suspect how spoiled and privileged she is.
My granddaughters played with her when she was small, made her necklaces out of clover and pony beads, and she napped on their laps. When they left in the evening one time, she wanted to go with them. She didn’t understand why they had left her.
Her reign of the yard ended last fall when she started hopping and playing on the cars and my oldest son caught the action. He promptly fixed her a pen, she was in it a couple of hours, and then she was out.
It took me quite a while to figure out how she was escaping; until I caught her coming over a wood palette, it was like a ladder.
When she was finally put in with the herd, they didn’t much want to share the barn with her. She was on the outside of the barn hollering one evening, I called to her, she sneaked around them, and I let her into another part of the barn. I fed her there, she spent the night, and after she had been fed in the morning, I let her out.
Recently, I noticed she was going to have a baby by and by, so she was getting extra TLC. A week or so ago, I hadn’t let her in for a few days, because it hadn’t been handy to let her into the barn. One morning, I saw her by herself by a gate, and she called to me. I let her out into the outside barnyard and into the barn and fed her. I had to leave for a while and knew she wouldn’t run off. When I came back two hours later, she had a baby boy waiting for me. I put her in the pen and she stayed four days.
I came home one afternoon, she was outside, and called to me to let her back with her baby. I have since put them where she has lots of room and two other goats have babies, so at least hers won’t be a loner. When I scratch her back, she wags her tail. She knows which side her bread is buttered on. She’s my Sassy.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for May 21st, 2008

The spring wild turkey hunting season is over, the big birds are safe from the two-legged hunters until fall.
Mother Nature tried her darndest to help them all she could. She made the weather on several occasions as miserable as she could. She ruined it in my neck of the woods for the youth season. I had three great nephews who were rearing to go, but she talked them out of it.
My house cat "Popcorn" was waiting on baited breath for the smell and taste of the wild turkey scraps. Two years ago, when the nephews’ father was here, he bagged his first turkey, he had it laying in the front yard, and was phoning friends and family. Popcorn was pacing back and forth in front of the door wanting out. I opened the door and it wasn’t long before I discovered what her anxiety was all about. She was stalking a big bird. We picked her up and took her over to where she could get a closer look, and then she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to tackle it or not. Popcorn wasn’t afraid of the scraps later on.
This farm has provided plenty of food for the birds since they were introduced in this area several years ago.
A friend was deer-hunting one fall near a field of soybeans. As he sat there waiting for a deer, it was near dusk, several turkeys strutted out from the underbrush and started down the row of beans. As he watched, they fanned out their wings and rattled out several of the soybeans and proceeded to have supper.
My turkey hunters have had several moments. I wish they could have been caught on video camera. My brother in law set out some decoys one fall and was making his calls, when up over the hill came a young tom turkey on the run. He thought there was a lay hen nearby. He took one look at the tom turkey decoy and made a hasty retreat. It seems he had tangled with one earlier in the day and he wanted no part of him.
This spring, my niece’s husband had his decoys out and was secluded in the brush nearby when a wily coyote appeared on the scene and and pounced on the decoy. It made a crackling noise when he hit it; it startled him so that he leaped in the air and made a hasty retreat. We shall see what adventures are in store for the hunters this fall.

Recollections of a Farm Woman for April 16th, 2008

I had never really had any experience with goats until one evening in February, a couple of years ago. I was nestled in my easy chair when I received a phone call from my oldest son; it was about 9 in the evening. Don’t go to bet yet, he says; we are on our way from the sale barn in Mount Ayr with some goats. They had just decided to go up and just look things over and a friend was also there that had a trailer; and the next thing you know, he had bought some goats. Down to the barn I went to prepare a place for them. There hadn’t been any domesticated animals in there for a spell, I had to shimmy up a fence in the barn and replace an old lightbulb; and lo and behold, I had light. I picked up hopefully all the foreign objects that would harm them and found some hay and straw to bed them down with, so when they arrived, all the guys had to do was unload them and secure the doors until the morning light.
At 8 in the morning, I was out in the road in front of the house cleaning up some shelled corn, dumped by the renter when he had moved some cows. They could make do until the feed arrived later that day.
They were confined to the barn lot for quite a spell until some fences could be repaired or prepared for them. A fence has to be the same as hog tight to hold the little Houdinis. A llama I named Lenny arrived with the first group. He is their protector like a sheepdog is for sheep.
A while later, another group of nannies arrived; this time, a billy goat was among them. I named him Billy Bob, but he soon became known as Wild Thing, and he didn’t make our hearts sing as the popular song goes. After the nannies had their kids, we decided to confine Billy Bob so some new kids wouldn’t arrive at an untimely time. A pen was built eight feet tall and had 2x12’s at the top.On the day my son decided he had been in the pen long enough and was going to do him a favor and was going to stake him out by the barnyard so he could have some fresh greens. Wild Thing didn’t know what was going on when he entered the pen to put the halter on him. The goat made a leap and actually loosened the 2x12. Finally, the halter and chain were in place and he was dragged out of the pen; in an instant, the dragger was the draggee as Billy Bob was on the move to freedom. Before the rodeo had started, they had driven a post in the ground that was to be his stake and Billy headed south on a dead run; when he got to the end of the chain, it held. Everything was fine until the next time, when he headed north on a dead run, the chain did a loop to loop, and camp off the stake slicker than a whistle and down the road the wild thing went heading east. But what we had going for us was that he was a group animal. They don’t like to be by themselves, so he came back through two fences and was in the machine shed and hung up via the chain between the bailer and an old picnic table; he soon made mincemeat of it and put a couple of dents in the bailer. My son got him loose by hook and crook and he was off again through two more fences and in with the nannies. He wore that chain until they sold him that fall.
The fateful day arrived to take him to the sale. My son and his cousin got him in the barn and into the awaiting trailer. The chain had to be removed and the tussle was on. My son snubbed him down between the divider door and the trailer. A conversation similar to this followed: Cousin: "You’re going to kill him!" Son: "You can’t kill him." In the tussle, Wild Thing’s horn got caught in the divider gate and he passed out. Cousin: "You killed him!" My son removed the chain post hastily as he hit the floor; a split second later, the goat was on his feet. Son: "See, I told you, you couldn’t kill him."