a day in pictures

Marauding pigs. Obnoxious chickens. Haunted attics. Scary basements. This is what I deal with on a daily basis at the farm. Sometimes I'm at a loss for words to explain it, so I figured a picture was worth a few hundred words...right?  ​

The scary barn at the haunted farm...​

From adorable little piglets...​

Ginormous pigs will grow!​

I see you!​

I'm still watching you!

From little chicks...a mother hen will grow.​

From little puppies...​

Giant ponies grow...

From a barren pasture...a fertile farm will grow.

Ok, so I might have cheated today. Not much to say, but I was asked to share more pictures, so here you go! I hope you enjoyed it. ​

Until the next time...I'll be back to writing!​

the lizard in the wintertime

So, my circuits are still out. I have lights...in most rooms anyway...but very few outlets that work, and still no heat pump. Thank goodness for my husband's zombie preparedness or we wouldn't have the kerosine heaters to keep me from freezing to death. And blankets...lots and lots of blankets.

Which is why I was in the basement...in the dark, because apparently my life is a scary movie wherein I would need to go into the basement with the lights out after dark. Don't look at me like that...I need blankets. And socks. And damn it, clean underwear.

So, I grabbed my husband's head light. You know the ones you strap on your head with an elastic band so you look like a damn miner heading into the coal mines? And I grab the Maglight for good measure, because when you're going in to a dark scary basement, you can't take any chances.

Even though I do have stairs that lead to the basement from inside the house, I've been forbidden to use them. Yes, forbidden. If you know my track record for accidents, and you've seen the horror movie worthy staircase leading to my basement, you would completely understand what I mean when I say FORBIDDEN. My husband doesn't want to come home and find me dead at the bottom of the stairs, laundry basket over my head and clothes scattered in my wake. So yeah, I'm taking the stairs that run on the outside of the house.

And did I mention my lights are out? And it's been cold...and raining...and all the other ingredients for a slasher movie are present and accounted for as I pull on my boots and my head light (making everything look like I'm wandering through the Blair Witch Project) with my overflowing laundry basket. And since my hands were occupied with the wicker basket, I tossed the Maglight inside and the eerie glow coming out of the sheets just added to the creepy ambiance of scary shadows. 

The stairwell was filled with wet leaves making my heavy footfall sound like I was walking over potato chips, but I knew it was likely slippery and therefore precarious...for me.

When I reached the bottom and struggled with the key to open the ancient door, I noticed something moving by my feet, and screamed. Apparently, not only do I have ghosts, mice, and no electricity, but I also have Godzilla in my basement. The size of the lizard looking up at me from the doorway was startling. His long blackish green body (with bright yellow spots) looked almost artificial in the eerie glow of my head lamp but when I touched him with my toe, he moved.  I immediately looked for feet because for some reason, a lizard (still scary) is much less heart attack inducing than a snake. Don't ask me why. And what the hell is a lizard doing in my basement in the wintertime? Don't they hibernate?

Anyway...

When I finished my laundry and was safely back inside the empty house, I decided to take a shower. Because, yeah...scary basement, sticky webs, lizards...but when I opened my shower curtain, a giant black spider looked back at me.

This set me over the edge, because when it comes right down to it, giant lizards, possibly rabid mice, dark scary basements and ghosts in the attic have absolutely nothing on the big black spider in my shower.

Screaming through the house on a wicked tear, cursing my husband for not being home to kill it. Cursing the cold, and the old, and the damp...I'm sure my neighbors were certain the cast of the Jersey Shore had moved in, with the language I was spouting. I put a randy band of pirates, drunk on rum and women, to shame with that language.  And hey, I just can't find it in me to be ashamed. I had a rough day. And I haven't had much sleep. And you just didn't see the size of that spider.

Until the next time...I'll be calling the exterminator...the electrician...and the ghostbusters.

downpours, dead mice and demented ducks

I have come to the undeniable conclusion that I have a very odd existance. Not odd in a bad way…like, “Gee, did you eat a lot of paint chips as a child?” Or, “Wow, I don’t know what you’re on, but I’d like some of that.” No, odd in a different way. A sort of fun way, once I have a bit of distance from the day to look back on it. Like today. What a freaking weird day today turned out to be.

It started out normal…mundane really. My daughter was feeling sick, so after everyone else in the house had gone to work, she came storming into my room, fuzzy blanket in tow, and announced that she was sick, and bored, and would be watching TV in my room. This required a trip to the living room to swap out the only good batteries from the other Dish remote so we could actually watch TV in my room. Then, instead of getting a few hours of much needed sleep, I found myself watching Hairspray with my sick daughter…and the dog. Because the dog can’t have anyone in my bed unless he’s stretched out between us, making sure I’m completely safe from any sort of accidental arm brushing or nudging. So he slept on his back, head nestled in the pillow, snoring so loudly we had to crank up the sound to hear the musical. Right…this was the normal, mundane part of my day, remember?

I realized sometime after lunch that I hadn’t heard a peep (or a crow) out of our resident fugitive, the cocky rooster, Clooney, and I was worried my husband had secretly taken him out back and done away with him. He didn’t, but this is something I prepare myself for each day, even though I secretly think he’s starting to like him now that he’s getting so much attention on the web. So, yeah, keep up the pleas for Clooney, it might actually be sinking in.

So, once I discovered the chickens were in hiding and not the freezer, I set off on the rest of my exceedingly boring day. I read. I swept the dog hair and teddy bear fluff from the floors. And I ordered pizza because I hate to cook. Boring.

Then the storm hit.

It was practically a typhoon. I don’t know where it came from, but suddenly I was watching out the window for a witch on a broom, or something. I know…wrong storm, but it was seriously whipping up debris out there. My husband came bounding through the backdoor as if he was shot out of a cannon…a water cannon…and we proceeded to watch things blow around the backyard by the light of the intermittent lightning flashes.

I was worried about the flock. The last thing I wanted to see was my stupid rooster…the one I’ve been trying to save for days, or even weeks…suddenly splat into the window like a bug on a windshield. I was worried the ducks would drown. I’d heard about turkeys drowning in the rain, but are ducks as stupid as turkeys? I had no idea. It was pitch black outside, and the sound of the rain hammering the house would surely drown out a duck’s plea for help, so I was frantic. Well…mildly concerned maybe.

Then I saw them.

The crazy juvenile ducks, all clearly suffering from some form of avian ADHD, were dancing around the baby pool as it was pounded by rain. I could only see them as the sky lit up from above, but it was like watching some sort of freakish cult, dancing circles around the baby pool as if they were planning to sacrifice a virgin or something.

Once I could tear my eyes away from the spectacle outside, I heard one of the girls yelling that the cat had snagged another mouse in the back hallway. I was secretly hoping they were dragging them in from the yard, as cats often do. I didn’t want to think they were doing their jobs and hunting mice inside the house, but there it was.

Proof.

I have freaking mice on top of everything else this house has to offer. The ghosts, the flies, the spiders, the horrible plumbing, the scary basement…not enough. No, I had to have mice too. Well, at least I have cats, right? And damn fine hunters too. They’ve bagged three of those suckers in the past week alone, and it’s only Wednesday. My third least favorite day of the week, by the way. And after the day I’ve had, I might have to upgrade it a few notches. At least temporarily.

Until the next time…I’ll be buying special treats for my kitties!

a ghost in the machine

I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again. My house is haunted. But I’d like to think it’s haunted by nice spirits, not nasty ones. Then again, after the conversation I had with the kids this evening, I’m stocking up on holy water and rosary beads (can you get those at the local pharmacy?)

Apparently, we’ve had quite a few ghost sightings around here lately. The neighbor kids (the Goonies) mentioned seeing a little girl in the window of one of the upstairs bedrooms long before anyone moved in the vacant farm house. My husband and I have heard noises coming from the basement late at night. And the dogs have heard footsteps on the upper floor when no one else was home to be upstairs. I had finally accepted these as normal. No need for an exorcist, right? But then my daughter’s boyfriend saw four figures standing on the front lawn in the middle of the night, staring up at the house. This after a nightmare in which the earth came to an end. So ok, that might have freaked me out just a little.

But, hey…I’m still here. (Stocking up on holy water and rosary beads, remember?)

The good news is, I’m not such a Debbie Downer today after the wonderful words of support from everyone yesterday. Thanks all! Sometimes you just need a reminder of what’s important, I guess. That and a good scare to knock some sense into you.

Not to mention a handsome (and quite flirty) young rooster. I think he’s decided my coop is his coop. I can’t open the doors without him flying right inside to perch on the nearest piece of furniture, followed by the entire flock. Silly bird. I’m starting to feel like the crazy pigeon lady of Central Park. All I need is a big floppy hat with a pink carnation. Yeah, don’t get any ideas.

Until the next time…I need to get the flock out of here. I need some sleep.

damn bugs

A word to the wise…never leave the windows open after dark. Not when you live in on a farm. Especially a farm in the mountains. I learned this the hard way.

I can go up against an army of flies all day long, but bring in a few rust-colored wood roaches and I find myself standing on the coffee table, shrieking like a little girl, urging my husband to commit mass murder of the insect variety.

I still haven’t recovered.

I’ll probably have nightmares…visions of Will Smith battling the intergallactic cockroach in Men in Black. I think I might have to sleep with the lights on. I’m considering freeing my chickens to roam the house in search of bugs. But that might just cross some sort of line.

Remember how excited I was to be moving into the historic farmhouse? How thrilled I was to explore the history…to recapture the former grandeur? Yeah, not so thrilled anymore. I had no idea the recapturing I would be doing would involve bug nets. Can we get those flies back instead? Maybe the frogs? If I remember correctly, frogs eat bugs…that might not be such an awful plague, right?

I’m coating my skin in Off! That should do the trick. Yep, I’ll be sleeping alone tonight for sure. Hey, not to worry…I’m getting used to it.

Until the next time…I’ll be calling in an exterminator.