House Make-Over (or: "What Herself wants, Herself gets...)

So, on July 23, 2013, our roof, siding, and several windows got totaled from the hail storm.  We received a pretty decent settlement check for the damages, and Herself says "It seems like it would be a lot more fun to watch you roof a really steep house rather than this not steep one; why don't you just make this house a lot steeper? And while you are at it, I always like houses with big overhangs and soffits."  Well, as most of you all know, what Herself wants, Herself pretty much gets.  So we went from a 3/12 pitch to a 7/12 pitch, and from a 12" soffit to a 36" soffit.  Well, it maybe wasn't exactly like that, but she's the idea person; I'm just the laborer.  But as I think you will see, since it needed re-done anyway, we upgraded some of it.  And I hope my jibing my wife is recognized as good natured fun...

This picture was taken in July of 2014

January of 2015; new windows already in.

February of 2015

March 2015

Masonry completed! Yay!

I thought it would be easier to build dormers on the ground, inside than on the roof.  So I decided to build them in the shed, then install them later.

Sided, painted, wrapped, and ready to go!

The hand-off!  Tricky, when your doing by yourself.

...No dormers...

...One dormer...

...Two dormers...

...Two dormers, completed with roof.

Finally, very near completion.  Gable sided, gutters on, (not quite completed) and I'm building the shutters and hinges this weekend.

...and continuing around the corner...

The new back porch!

So for 10 years now, all we have had on our back sliding door is one of those wobbly trailer house step things to get you from house to ground.  It's always been "one of those projects" I've been going to get to that Herself graciously brings up very occasionally as I squander my time doing ridiculous stuff like building barns and messing with livestock.  I am pleased to say that we now have a back porch!  A real, live, back porch.  It's

kinda dangerous right now, because there is a 7 foot drop off the back because there is no railing of any kind, but we have a back porch! Eventually, it will be covered and screened in as well.

Here is the "Before" shot.

This is the "During" shot.

And the "After" shot.  Enjoying an unusually cool August birthday party.

First Hog Farrowing at the Thistle and Lily Farm

So, last month, we had Piglets!  Our first time ever; we wound up with 6 live pigs, not astounding by any means, but hey, that's 6 more than we had.  I was hoping to have enough to sell some, but with only six, I'm a little afraid to sell any in case something happens to any of them.  Being my first time, I did a little research to see what I need to do; there is some iron shots that they are supposed to have, but the biggest chore was cutting the three males.  They aren't very big, but the sure make a big noise!  My oldest boy helped hold them, and it was pretty darn traumatic for all 5 of us, even though 2 of us walked away intact!  Cutting hogs is unlike anything I've ever done.  Cattle, sheep, etc is a simple rubber-band or simple cut; but castrating hogs is more like surgery.  Unpleasant! Tough job, but we got 'er done...  

We say that baby pigs are the cutest ugly things you've ever seen.  These are Hampshire/Duroc crosses.  Everyone kept telling me that I needed a farrowing crate to prevent her from laying upon and killing the piglets, and I really resisted that, because I didn't want to keep her restrained so long where she can't get up and move around.  Seems really unpleasant to me, anyway, even though it is the accepted norm in hog production.  So, instead, I just built an 8' X 8' pen and kept lots of straw in it.  I was pretty worried about her crushing them, but it didn't take me very long to realize that they had a very effective tool for letting Mama know she was laying down on them.  As I mentioned above, baby pigs are LOUD!!!!  She was very careful to lay down really slowly and if she heard that squeal, she popped back up. It was pretty neat watching her.

Big old Mamma hog is a really good mama.

Family Crest

This is an idea that has been rattling around in my head for a while: a family crest, and a name for the Foster Farmlet.  I put the idea together, Herself drew it, then I found a freelance artist to clean it up just a little and really round it out.  Here is a run down on the symbolism:

Ivy: Symbolic of eternal life

Thistle: Symbolic of my Scottish heritage 

Fleur-de-lis: Symbolic of Herself's French heritage  
Ram: front and center, the lamb of God

Herself has recently commented that it seems that we shouldn't really feel that we have to refer to our place as a "farmlet" anymore, now that we've successfully had hundreds of pounds of live-weight newborn animals of nearly every imaginable edible species produced, albeit, in small quantities. So,
I am particularly proud of the new name of our farm, The Thistle and Lily, as I always enjoy a good double meaning.  The Thistle, while being symbolic of my family's ancestry, also seems rather appropriate in describing myself, since I have been described as "a little Prickly".  And while the Fleur-de-lis (which translates as "Flower of the Lily") is emblematic of Herself's ancestry, does "Lily" not do an excellent job of describing her?  Is she not quite the alluring, natural attraction? So you have the name of the farm describing the two families coming together, and yet at the same time describing specifically Herself and I.

It pleases me.  I don't know why; but it pleases me.

You might ask, "How does this change your life on a daily basis? Or does it change your life at all?"

It doesn't, not at all.  But it pleases me...

The Master Blacksmith

James 1:2-3 states: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." This is tough to live out, I find.  An analogy that helps me is one that compares ourselves to rusty chunks of scrap iron, pulled from a junk pile, useless to anybody, and the best thing we can hope for is that we will be on the top of the junk pile, instead of the bottom.

Then along comes the Blacksmith, and for whatever reason, sees potential in you and picks you up out of the pile. This is where the inevitable break down of the analogy happens; it's hard to come up with how the Blacksmith dies on behalf of the scrap iron. But anyway, you feel good about this, being chosen, being separated from the junk pile, but often as not, at the same time, He is just lighting the forge-fire, and putting his tools in order.  Then, abruptly, you are thrust into the forge of trials for what feels like an impossible length of time, and next, much to your relief you are pulled out right before your melting point, but instantly after that, you are plopped on the anvil and He commences to pounding you lustily with large hammer, molding you, shaping you into whatever He is wanting.  Mostly, during this process of transmogrification, you feel horribly persecuted, to say the least, more than just bruised or battered, you are literally shedding flaky scales of your crusty, metallic flesh, you are losing your very nature of who you are; he is not merely re-shaping you into a different shaped piece of junk, but has a plan for you, to morph you into a incredibly beautiful, ornate, but ingenious tool of divine purpose, that is designed to bring glory to himself, by which time that happens, you have found that it is only in doing this thing that you were made for that brings the most amount of salve to your scorched soul. And as improbable as it seems, sometimes as you can catch the occasional glimpse of yourself and see what he is working toward, you can tell of what shape you will someday take, you welcome it.

But, sometimes you feel it isn't worth it, the pounding or the trials.  Then you go to Sonic with your children and you sit in your car waiting on your shakes or sundaes to be brought to your car window when you notice the young woman, though it is hard to tell how young; the years have NOT been kind to her, sitting at the table directly in front of you, facing you, yelling for water into the microphone, head lolling around, her eyes rolling back into her head when they are open, and the jerky, involuntary, repetitive hand motions and twitching legs.  She is obviously so spun out of her mind that she has no idea where she is, much less what she is doing.  As painful as this is to watch, and even as your heart breaks and cries out for this sad creation that God himself died for, just the same as he died for you, but because you so easily recognize this, you are, in some small way, glad that you have a real life, panoramic view of this vignette playing out for you to illustrate and warn your kids about the dangers of drugs, yes, but more than that, this was directly caused by the result of living in this world solely for your own pleasure as chronicled so well in the bible. You and your family watch this appallingly dramatic Drive-In Theater, featuring The Tragedy of Self-Destruction Via Unchecked Delectation unfolding 20 feet in front of your car, as you can't help but be witness to her as she spills, spits, and vomits all over.  Finally when the cops, firemen and EMT's swarm up, she is near comatose, head slumped down, just sitting.  They try to get her to speak, but she is reduced to quiet mumbles and still the repetitive hand motions, so they carefully haul her away, and clean up after her.

And after the ice cream is eaten, after the sermon is preached, in the quiet car on the ride home you are flooded, overwhelmed, even devastated by the realization of how grateful you are that you have a Blacksmith that loves you enough to keep pounding you into something better. And it makes you beg for more.

Because:
We love not the forge;
nor the anvil;
But we love He who wields the hammer.

On Independence and Gratitude

I don't think I am boasting or exaggerating if I call myself an Independent Person, by design (on my own efforts), and by nature (without trying). I was purposefully taught to be independent by my parents, but I think the older I get, the more it has been woven into the very fiber and fabric that makes up Daniel Foster.  This isn't just some fantasy on my part, I'm fairly certain if you asked those closest to me, like Herself, she would affirm my bold statement.  I'm going to expound upon this, but it is for a reason, that you may know where I am coming from, so bear with me a little while.

I have trust issues.  I feel I can do nearly anything; and I feel that if I do it, it will be done better.  Take meat or food for example: I don't really trust the food I buy.  True, the meat you buy at the store is probably safe, but if I raise the animal myself, butcher it myself, process it myself, package it myself, and store it myself, I know it is safe.  And why would I pay someone else that doesn't know or care about me to do that?  I can do it myself...

I have "prepper" tendencies.  I hate the idea of having to rely on anyone else for basic necessities.  And, God forbid, be forced to hope that the federal government will come through for us if some natural disaster should happen and we can't make it to Walmart for an entire week.  Or if Walmart's trucks can't make to the store for a whole week.  This is why I buy toilet paper by the case, can (like pressure cook in jars) some extra food when we butcher or have extra produce from the garden, etc.  Nothing extravagant, just stuff you would use anyway.  (I might add: I get poked fun of some and called a prepper, but 100-150 years ago, we weren't called preppers, we were called "survivors" and we emerged from the Depression with our lives intact.)  I also approve of the best meat preservation method of all: having it walking around on the hoof, reproducing.

I can be cheap:  Why would I want to pay someone else to do something that I can do for myself?  I hate paying someone else to do any kind of remodeling on my house. Again, if I do it myself, I know its right, and if its not, I only have myself to blame.  I remember several times as a youth, my Dad saying "Man, I'm glad I messed that up, that way I don't have to be mad at anybody else."  I can totally relate.

I don't want to be "needy." It makes me uncomfortable to have someone else do something for me or give me something.  I am fine helping someone else out, and I like to be generous to others in real need, but it is distasteful to me to take something from someone else when I don't need it.  I feel undeserving, and like I am depriving someone of something valuable that they don't need to give up on my own.  I realize there is some slight neurosis regarding this, and a double standard perhaps, but hey; that's just the way it is. I can do it myself...

I am instinctively aggressive and bull headed.  More than once, I have risked my life and well-being by attempting (or succeeding, I should say; barely) to do something that would be easily accomplished with two people. but it doesn't even occur to me usually or I just think: "I can do this." I've had a few pretty serious close calls doing this, even though I had a very willing helper inside the house. I can do it myself...

But you have you ever really needed help? I mean really needed help? Herself and I watched part of a TV show last Saturday night with a young man somehow getting caught in a huge bin of corn. He was buried in millions of  pounds of corn in a standing position with his arm up reached towards the roof of the bin, literally 100 percent immobile, unable to move any part of his body in any direction. He was wearing a mask of some sort that kept the corn from lodging his mouth and nose shut. When the rescuers began to empty the grain bin and carefully shovel him out, what didn't happen was "No thanks, I don't need any help, I got this one." Or once they were most of the way done taking him out, he didn't say, "you know I've got this from here." It was an hours long process to get him unearthed, or in this particular case, uncorned. 

This is the same position we find ourselves in without Christ. We were trapped by the weight and pressure of our own sins, with the slight distinction that most of us were not trapped reaching upward. But God saves us, and he does it without our help, and he does it right in front of us, while we watch, incredulously.   He unearths (or un-sins) our feeble, trapped corpse from out from under the sin that we have stacked up around and above ourselves with reckless abandon. We come out, not just a salvaged old being, but transformed into an entire new one; we emerge from the corn as the butterfly must, amazed and bewildered.

And God is not reluctant to deal gently with our lack of faith and show us how he saved us.  He doesn't rebuke us, he just takes our hands and says "Put your finger here, see my hands... Reach out your hand and put it into my side..."  What else is there for us to do? There is nothing else to do but say "thank you" and follow. I cannot do it myself...

Or you could just utter my favorite 5 words in the bible; the most eloquent and powerful short sentence ever strung together by awestruck, completely honest human, acknowledging that Jesus was both his Savior and his Creator. "My lord, and my God!" 

Buttercup and Miss Petunia Sparkles

We've had a pretty busy spring/early summer.  I guess it mostly still feels like spring because it has been so unseasonably cool.  We were so dry for so long that now that it won't stop raining, I feel dirty for wishing it would dry out a little, but we are soaked through and through.  It has rained almost every day or every other day for nearly 2 weeks with rain in the forecast nearly every day of the next 7 days.  Anyway, here is some of the momentous things that have happened.

Our oldest daughter graduated 8th grade.  Yup, this is her entire class.  She's the short one, of course.  She won some faculty voted citizen award thingy.  I don't remember what it was, but I remember being very proud... 

This may not qualify as momentous, but I finally figured out how to grow asparagus. We have it in SPADES! Herself made a Cheesy Asparagus Tart.  It was amazing!  If that sounds weird to you, I get that; it sounded weird to me as well, but it was really good.  So cheesy, creamy, savory. She never ceases to amaze me with a wildly diverse and yet healthy menu... Who would think of such a thing?

This was truly momentous; Buttercup had her (and our) first calf!  She was born on 5-15-15 without any problems.  We voted on her name and came up with Miss Petunia Sparkles.

Miss Petunia Sparkles is typical in that, as a bottle calf, she is very friendly and endearing.  This is a shot of our second daughter brushing her.  Miss Petunia Sparkles doesn't give a toot about being brushed, she only thinks about getting fed.

Milking Buttercup has really proven to be a challenge for us.  In some ways, it seems a lot easier than I expected, and in other ways harder.  She has problems with one teat not producing that we haven't figured out, and are pretty worried about it.  But after growing up with beef cattle, her patience with me is just amazing!  She just lets me do my thing back there, and mostly waits compliantly until I am completely done before trying to move on.  She has been producing about 3.5 gallons, twice a day, and just out of 3 teats!  Herself has been experimenting with yogurt, cottage cheese, and pretty soon cheese. 

Is she not the cutest thing ever?  I was a little disappointed that she was a heifer, because now I'm tempted to keep her; if it was a steer, we would have butchered it once it got "of age."

Buttercup in the cover crop; I thought it was just too picturesque.

Sometimes we aren't able to drink the milk for various reasons, like if it gets contaminated with manure, etc, or we just can't drink it or use it fast enough.  We just turn it into bacon; the hogs don't mind if its a little "off", they go nuts!

Our second oldest is our farm-girl!  She loves this stuff, and she loves Miss Petunia Sparkles!  She feeds her almost exclusively, and I have even got scolded once for doing the morning milking without waking her up.

Sometimes farming is pretty dirty work, though.  Here is Oldest and I after Buttercup majorly  splattered us cow poo.  When that happens, you just got to grin and wear it!

On Halter-breaking Buttercup

Donkey vs. Cow: Donkey wins!

Buttercup is our Soon-To-Be milk cow.  She is kind of a "spaz".  She is really nice, and mostly gentle, but as is often the case in animals 10 times the size and weight of me, she goes where she wants to, when she wants to.  The solution? Tie her to something more determined than her, and even if the animal (a Donkey, in this case) weighs roughly half of Buttercup, apparently determination counts for more than weight does, because they go wherever that donkey decides to go! When the donkey is hungry, they go eat.  When the donkey is thirsty, they go drink.

I left them tied together for a week and I'll be darned if old Buttercup wasn't the most halter-broke cow ever after that.  Now the kids can lead her around!

I've decided that having large animal livestock is right up my alley.  "Breaking" an animal large enough to eat me (if they were inclined) or stomp me to death gives me just enough challenge to make it fun, and really rubs that itch inside of me to be a bully.  Its okay to be "mean" to a cow if you are halter breaking her; its just never okay to tie one of your kids or someone you dislike to a 800 lb donkey.  Or, recently I wanted to get so I could approach the Jack Donkey, so I tied him to a hedge tree (the only thing more stubborn than a donkey) for a week so that he could get used to me getting close to him.  Then I tied an concrete block to his halter and turned him loose.  It was just heavy enough to slow him down because he didn't like dragging around that thing.  I didn't keep it on too long, because it was really rubbing him across his nose, and my Inner Bully is not that strong...  Anyway, my thinking is, if I have these animals to be mean to, maybe my kids, my hired help, and Herself will be able to catch a break.

on Parenting

Sometimes, I feel its impossible to keep up around here.  Not with the animals, projects, and chores; but with 4 kids!  In our world, four kids is not very many at all; I think the family average between my siblings, even just with my four is Seven kids.  I really brought the average down, in fact, my brother and sister have so many kids that nobody is really sure how many there are any more.  But in my house, 4 seems like a lot when they are little Dynamos of Destruction.

For example, my eldest requested a basketball.  No problem, get online and order a basketball; 6.99 from Walmart.com, wait until you have 50.00 dollars worth of dog food, peanut butter, etc in order to get free shipping, and four days later, Viola! Basketball!  Just one problem, it comes deflated, and we don't have a pump. No problem, 4.99 from Walmart.com, wait until you have 50.00 dollars worth of dog food, peanut butter, etc in order to get free shipping, and Seven days later, Viola! Basket ball pump!  Only problem, I didn't air it up RIGHT THEN AND THERE, so my oldest gets impatient (if it would have turned out better, I would call this "self-motivated") and tries to pump it up herself.  Most 14 year old kids know how to air up a basketball, but farm life has never really pushed me in the direction of any. sport. ever.  So she didn't know about switching out the balloon-blower-cone end out for the needle, and CRAMMED it into the brand new basketball, thereby forcing the little black rubber thing completely into the deflated ball, ruining said new ball.

To top it all off, we learn of this by getting a text while on a date, complete with video of her doing it, all the while complaining about (albeit politely) how dumb her parents are because we don't know how to buy decent sports equipment.  Grrrr.

So, I order another basketball, 6.99 from Walmart.com, wait until you have 50.00 dollars worth of dog food, peanut butter, etc in order to get free shipping, and ? days later, Viola! Basketball!  Just one problem; in the meantime the Captains of Chaos have figured out how to install the needle onto the pump and installed it.  In the process of waiting for the new ball to show up, the youngest decides that the pump looks just like a little crutch, and begins stumping around on it.  You got it; SNAP goes the needle, about the same time the new, deflated ball arrives.  At this point, it occurs to me that my brother and sister have, in order, either 2 times the amount, or 3 times the amount of kids as I do.

How do they ever get their basketballs inflated?

Another new addition to the Farmlet

I would like to welcome our newest member of our porcine family; our first full grown (almost; he's only about 6 months old) boar. (above in the red)  In the above picture he is already introducing himself to one of my gilts. I bought him and one more open gilt yesterday.  He and the new gilt are Red Durocs.

Lamb Roast

This year I decided to host a "Lamb Roast" by butchering and Rotisserie-ing a large lamb.  I invited nearly everyone I thought would be available and interested in doing something a little experimental. It turned out "Okay", but I did learn some things, some of which I will recount here so that I can remember them.  Here are a few photos:

Here are my helpers.  It went so well, we just impulsively decided to do another one that same morning.

Stitching up onions, garlic and lemons inside the cavity

Setting lamb over grill.

Basting every half hour. 

Finally getting done! 

So, the long and short of it is this; It took a lot longer than I expected.  I am sooooo glad we butchered the second lamb and just tossed him into the smoker, or we would have had a lot of angry, hungry people driving to Burger King.  I sure could have lowered it down on the stands earlier for one thing, and another is I guess I needed more fire in general.  I would say next time I would allow at least 8 hours of cook time for a 120 # live weight animal, and certainly start it out lower.  Even when done, it wasn't very tender, so it could have used a few more hours still.

Pepperoni

I know, you're thinking: "Really? More pictures of meat?  Really?" But this was just too much fun and too new (to me) to not blog about, even if just briefly.  Above is what 10 #'s of home grown, butchered, ground, processed, mixed, stuffed, smoked, dried and sliced pepperoni looks like.  Really, really fun. And yummy!  I think it turned out great; it isn't that weird gummy slimy stuff like what you buy at the store.  It tastes like sausage, just pepperoni flavored.

And, just FYI, if anyone ever wonders why I do this stuff; it's because its fun.  I know the labor I've got invested is off-the-charts high...  I don't even want to know how many hours I've got in this pepperoni alone.

Sleepy girls and lazy parenting

So we have this elaborate system of "self balancing" bed-times and wake-up times in our house that are supposed to encourage morning responsibility in our children.  Herself and I are not micro managers, so essentially it is like this: we have a few absolutes vis: 1: Children must have a certain amount of sleep time available to them, 2: Chores must get done.  3: Children must be ready for school by 6:20 (breakfast time) Everything else is variable.

For instance, if the chores do not get done one morning, then obviously they did not have enough time to complete them, so they must be responsible for waking up 15 minutes earlier the next morning.  But since they must have a certain amount of sleep time available to them, that usually means that they need to go to bed 15 minutes earlier the night before.  In this fashion, they are actually making decisions each morning (how hard they are working) that directly affect their bed time later that night and what time they are getting up the next morning. It really is about 2 parts Intentional Parenting and about 98 parts Lazy Parenting.  I see the advantages of children who realize the direct consequences of their actions, but mostly I just hate nagging them to do their chores.

At various times we have had one child that was getting up at 4:something in the morning, and going to bed at 6:30 (ish? I'm not good with details) which means she had to scramble to get supper eaten and cleaned up (Herself and I also don't really do dishes anymore- again: Lazy Parenting).  I told this child at one point that if she continued to fail at chore completion, and if I needed to, I would come to school and pick her up and take her home early in order for her to get to bed early enough... How embarrassing for a Jr. higher!  It didn't come to that, though.

This posting wasn't really meant to be a parenting lecture; I was just trying to give a little background for my funny story.  But anyway, we ran into a little snag on our elaborate Lazy Parenting Scheme: sometimes the girls just lay in bed with their alarms going off for 10 minutes, sleeping through it while others in the household who have earned the privilege of sleeping in are woken up.  Herself came up with a Win/Win solution for this: Daddy likes to wake girls by squirting them in the face with a squirt bottle/ Girls getting woken up by getting squirted in the face with a squirt bottle wakes them up and discourages them sleeping through alarms!  Genius!!  You see why I married this woman???  We set up a 2 minute rule; if the alarm gets shut off within 2 minutes, no facial squirting.   It fit in really nicely with our Lazy Parenting Style, since regardless of when the girls are supposed to get up, I am almost always up anyway.

Okay, on the first morning we implemented this new idea, I'm sitting in my chair in the wee hours of the morning reading my book with my squirt bottle filled and ready, listening for alarms.  Hark! At 5:00, I hear that musical BEEP, BEEP, BEEP- silence.  Oh, drat! She shut it off! So I am left, alone and disappointed.  But about 10 minutes later, I get up to get a cup of coffee and glance back to her bedroom and notice there is no light on!  I instantly assume that she shut off her alarm, but crawled back into bed and went to sleep!  Oh joy! Here is righteous opportunity to squirt a girl awake with my squirt bottle!!! I grab my bottle, tear down the hall, rip the door open, flip the light on, and begin hosing down Second Oldest Daughter in the face, and proceed to rip off bed covers and squirt any and all available skin showing; feet, legs, neck, etc.with cold blasts of water.

I don't know if those of you who actually know Second Oldest Daughter realize this about her, but she is what is commonly referred to as a "SPAZ."  By this I mean that when she gets startled or suddenly realized something, it is always followed by wild gesticulation, usually hand/arm tossing, leg pump (whether she is sitting or standing) and her whole body moving.  This was the case that cheery morning as I was spraying her down in bed.  It looked like she was doing horizontal calisthenics while in bed.  And as I'm spraying her, she begins to shout nonsense stuff that makes no sense at all to me at first, but slowly my brain finally puts together that she is saying that it wasn't her alarm going off at all, but her sister's, downstairs.

"Oh... sorry... I'm gonna... go outside... your room now... Have a good morning"

Awkward!
I went out in the hallway, and looked downstairs and saw the light on of Oldest Daughter, and could hear industrious sounds coming out of her room.  Hmmm.  I went back to Second Oldest Daughter bedroom and stood outside her door for a moment.  Then I knocked, came in and said "So, I'm going to squirt you one more time, just for fun, I think."  She said "Okay" and so I did.  Then left.  End of story.

On My Magnum Opus

I went to a funeral a while back and after listening to people go on about some of the great things that this person did, it made me re-evaluate my own life.  What would I want people to say about me at my funeral?  This is what I would people to know about me:

Last summer, we re-paved our parking lot.  The 60-something obese gangsta-looking guy (complete with gold bling on his teeth that matched his gold rings on nearly every finger) that was doing the paving, suggested that we include a Handicapped parking stall when he striped in the yellow lines after re-paving.  I agreed, and thought it would be funny to have him paint the Handicap sign on the stall where Tim Dawson always parks, in front of Janitorial Supply.  I was right; it was funny.  It kind of bothered him to park in his favorite spot, he felt pretty dirty parking over a Handicap sign right in front of the building.  We gave him the usual razzing about parking where the old ladies should be able to, etc, but he still held dearly to his favorite spot.

This went on for a few weeks, until one day I was walking into the building, when I had a flash of inspiration.  Tim needs a parking ticket! I asked Haley if she could manufacture a City of Hutchinson parking ticket.  In less than an hour, she had printed off a prototype of a parking ticket, complete with bar code and the flashy City of Hutchinson logo.  The only thing I changed was I had her increase the violation cost from $75.00 to $250.00. She then printed it onto yellowish card stock, trimmed it, then I filled it out in ink.  When I went to sign it, I just glanced around my desk, and my eyes fell upon a work order for a patio cover with the customer name being, Kay Washington (name changed), so I signed it as Officer "K. Washington" and put it in my desk drawer.

I should take this time to describe Tim to you if you don't know him.  If you do know him, you know him to be a genuine person, eager to help, and really decent guy.  But... he is a little... um, lets say: volatile.  Yeah, that is the word; volatile!  The dictionary describes it as: "liable to change rapidly and unpredictably, especially for the worse."  Look it up, you'll see what he looks like too.  Easy to provoke, or get wound up; it provides us with no end of fun at the office...

So, later that week, on Friday, I enlisted Debbie from Janitorial Supply to help by sticking the ticket under the wiper blade while I took Tim to lunch.  While eating, Gary and I had whipped Tim up into a "frenzied lather" by giving him a perpetually hard time, about everything he was doing wrong, and just giving him grief in a big way.  He was really ready to be done with lunch by the time I brought him back to the office.  As we pulled into the parking lot, I saw one of my customers waiting there for someone at the other end of the building, as Haley was on her lunch break.  I was so frustrated that I had to take care of her because it meant missing Tim's reaction when he got the ticket!  Turns out she just needed a couple of parts, so I sprinted back to the shop, grabbed the parts, and bagged them for her, and told her there was no charge so I could get her out of the door faster; then rushed down the hall to the front desk of Janitorial Supply, where Tim would be, and casually opened the door to find Tim.  It had been about 10 minutes since I dropped him off.

There was Tim, sitting down, arms over his head, frowning, with his face the same shade as the Safety Cones on the road during maintenance and repair.  I will recount the conversation as dialogue thusly:

Me: Hows it going?

Tim: I GOT SET UP!

Me:  What?

Tim:  I'M TELLING YOU, I GOT SET UP!

Me: What are you talking about?

Tim: I'm telling you;  I GOT SET UP! That's the only way they could have know I was parking there!

Me: Dude, a little help here; what are you talking about?

Tim: I got a parking ticket for parking in a handicapped zone!

Me: So? You always park in that handicapped zone, don't you?  What did you expect?

Tim:  There ain't no way in the world there was a cop driving by on 4th Ave that could tell I was parked over a handicapped sign, and pulled in here to give me a ticket!  The only way he could have known, is if someone turned me in!!

Me:  Oh, come on!  Who would do that?

Tim: I don't know, but I'm going to figure it out!!!

Me: It was probably some little old lady that was tired of you hogging the closest parking spot!

Tim: (looking at ticket again) TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS???!! Oh, My ---!!!  Blankety, blank, blank blanking cops, blankty, blank, blankin' blanks blankety blank! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!

Me: Seems like a lot...

Tim: I'm gonna figure out who did this...

Me:  Yeah, terrible.

Tim: I'm going down there to the Police Station to give that dirty blankety blank blank Keith a piece of my mind!

Me:  (Confused) Keith? Who is Keith?

Tim: Yeah, Keith Washington, the cop!  I whipped his tail at golf last year, and I bet he just laughed and laughed when he wrote up that ticket!  blankty, blank, blankin' blanks blankety blank! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! (loudly, and with gusto)

(Remember I wrote K. Washington as the signature?)

Me: (A little nervous) Um, just promise me you will let me know if you decide to go down there, ok?
Tim: TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS???!!!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!!

Me: He's just doing his job, man!

Tim: Yeah, but in this case he was probably loving life, just laughing as he was writing out that ticket!

Me: Come on, man, how would you feel if someone hated your guts just because you sell toilet paper?  He's just doing his job.

Tim: TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS!!! blankty, blank, blankin' blanks blankety blank! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!

Me: Yeah, seems high.

This goes on and on for about 10 more minutes...

Me: Well I've got stuff to do, let me know if you do decide to go down there; I'll go with you.

I go into my office and work for about 20 minutes...Then return to Janitorial Supply to talk to Tim.  He is much calmed down, but still quite agitated.  I was originally going to let him twist all weekend, but decided that he couldn't take it for so long.

Me: I've been thinking about that ticket, and it makes ME mad!

Tim: Me too!

Me:  I don't like the idea of them cops coming onto my property and passing out tickets in front of my building.  He had no idea that you weren't a customer!  That's bad for business!  That could have been our best customer, and he be mad at us for getting a ticket.  Is that even legal?

Tim: That's what I'm saying!!!

Me: (getting all grim) I ought to go down there and talk to that jerk.

Tim: (getting nervous) Now wait a minute, Dan, I'm kinda over it.

Me: I'm hacked!  What right do they have to do that?  That could drive customers away if they felt they could be targeted!  It was just a stupid joke, painting that sign there anyway.

Tim: Its alright, I'll pay it, I'll own, it; I parked there.

Me: No! Its not alright!  I'll pay it, but first I'll give those guys a piece of my mind; lemme have that ticket!

Tim: Really, man, its OKAY!  I'll just pay it!

Now at this point, I should explain, and I've no idea of the validity of this, but Tim at least, was under the impression that if you tear up a ticket, you could and would be thrown in jail.  I have never heard of this...

Me: (taking ticket) I'm going down there to shove this thing where the sun don't shine! (I rip ticket in half)

Tim: Hey, you can't do that, they'll throw me in Jail!!

Me: oh, yeah, well screw them! They got no right to come on my property and enforce stupid traffic violations!  (and seeing Tim's shocked expression,  I ripped it into about 10 more pieces and threw them in the air.)

Tim: (to Debbie) Oh Mah Gahd!!! THEY GONNA THROW ME IN JAY-EL!!!!

(I go stomping out doors)

So then I turn around and go back in the store and see him scrambling on the floor picking up pieces of tickets.

I told him, "Hey, um, Tim, it was all just a prank;  I had Haley make the ticket."
He stands up, looks at me open mouthed.  "Huh?" he says.  "Yeah, and Debbie put it under your wiper blade while we were at lunch".  He just stares at me for 30 seconds, the color going back into his face, returning to safety cone orange.  "A Joke?" he says.  "Yeah,"  I reply, "just a joke."  At this point I'm literally backing up, because he starts looking like he might take a swing, and I don't want to have to defend myself against someone that was my friend just 5 minutes ago.  "A prank, huh?" he asks again.  "Yeah, just a joke; I've been planning it all week."

So he abruptly leaves the office.  He comes back in about an hour, in a better mood, and admits that was the best prank ever played.

I can die happy now...

Catching up

Typically, when I haven't posted for a while, it's not because I haven't been doing anything; it's because I've been busy enough that I haven't been able to write anything.  I think that has been the case here these last few months.  Here is something of a pictorial review of some the activities of 2015 thus far:

Butchered another hog.

Stuffed 100 pounds of rope sausage, including Kielbasa, pepperoni, and German sausage. 

Processing bacon.

Smoked bacon.

I've done a lot of cooking, actually.  Here are three Pork tenderloins that turned out great.

Made a rabbit pie, the hard way.  (shooting the rabbit and making the crust yourself, with your own lard you rendered)
And Yes, I made the Pie, and the crust myself, NOT my wife.

Rabbit pie ingredients (minus the radishes) 

I purchased 4 new sheep.  These are called "Dorpers".  They are a hair sheep, and are a heavy framed meat sheep, specifically bred for meat production.  (As they should be, at my house)  Don't they just look yummy?

Diligently worked on growing facial hair that stuck out further than my nose.

Built most of a milking stanchion.

Grew still more facial hair...

Tore the roof and all the siding off of my house, and replaced all the windows.

Herself and I went to the Pacific side of Mexico; Puerto Vallarta, to celebrate 15 years of marriage.

Selfie in Mexico

On the Pacific ocean boardwalk.

Herself, in Mexico...

Started a Donkey farm. (not really; they are just "Loaner-Donkeys.")

Nearly got my Grandad's '49 KB-5 IH truck restored.

Had new baby twin lambs!!! Yay! Just 2 days ago.

Not pictured here are two more heifers that I bought... maybe pictures later.  Did I mention that Herself thinks I'm a little "over the top" on some of my hobbies?