BonBons and Babies

There seems to be this overwhelming impression that all modern women do is sit around with their feet propped up eating bonbons, watching reality TV.  Funny, I really don’t know what a bonbon is.  I think it involves little balls of ice cream dipped in chocolate.  If you happen to know, please enlighten me.  Until then, I will create new delicious flavors in my mind, where there are no calories or blood sugar peaks and crashes.

So in the reality show known as my life, I work, manage the farm and family business, raise children, drive the kids to school (35 miles from home) and handle homework, extracurricular activities and whatever life throws at me. This week, Charlie left early Monday for a last minute trip to fix an airplane (or to try to fix it) that was stuck in Louisiana. Monday night, we dropped into a hard freeze. Having prepped as best we could, the kids and I went to bed, leaving baby goats snuggled into straw with their mama, and a tiny drip from a hose run in a direction away from the pens.


As you can guess from the foreshadowing, we woke to a geyser from a burst pipe and shivering babies (separate area) at 5am. Bailey ran the babies in to stuff into my jacket while I prepped for the day, and the kids got busy breaking icy waters and tending to the other animals. As I started loading the car just at first light, I found the noise I had been chasing- the water junction on the outside that had burst. I called Charlie, trying to isolate the right shut off without making us late.

In the end, we were still late for the meeting time at the carpool, and we arrived with baby goats in the car. The babies were still shivering in the house after an hour, and it was still only 26 degrees, so I had to take them along and run them back home before going to work.

So the baby goats got to go to school for a few minutes, which the students in Wyatt’s class, and some of Bailey’s friends, appreciated. And when I got home to drop them off, it was up to 35 degrees and the babies were finally warm, playing in the car on their little blanket. There were still icicles from the consistent drip of the leaking pipe fittings, so I decided to take a photo of that too.

All this had sidetracked my visit with my Aunt, my morning workout and my pre-class grading and prep time, but my students seemed to like the class anyway. Then on to the weight room for more teaching, and a fast break to pick the kids- Wyatt had a paper due and Bailey had forgotten the proper shoes for basketball in the melee, so they were all quite ready by the time I reached the school.

After reaching home and tending to all of the animals, homework ran until 11, and we decided to keep the baby goats inside as we were facing similar temperatures. They kept Bailey up most of the night demanding to be cuddled from the playpen.

Mmmm… caramel coconut pecan bonbons…

The business counselor tells me the purpose of blogging is that the outside world will understand the worth of the lifestyle we live, and the locally handmade arts and crafts and organic farming. But the truth is- it is hard work, a labor of love. It is exhaustion and long hours, guilt over the drive needed to get the children to a good school, running through lightning to save animals when the barn roof has partly sheared off leaving does cornered, pulling my wedding dress from the broken glass and retrieving Charlie’s football memorabilia after a tornado sends the storage shed flying.

Chris Ledoux (my ultimate favorite singer) sang a song about how everyone should come move out to the country where life is good. Part way through the song he realizes that then the country won’t be country anymore. The he tells the listener to go themselves a city park, where they won’t have to work about the dust and snow and heat and cold and rattlesnakes or any of that.

The business counselor tells me the purpose of blogging is that the outside world will understand the worth of the lifestyle we live, and the locally handmade arts and crafts and organic farming. But the truth is- it is hard work, a labor of love. It is exhaustion and long hours, guilt over the drive needed to get the children to a good school, running through lightning to save animals when the barn roof has partly sheared off leaving does cornered, pulling my wedding dress from the broken glass and retrieving Charlie’s football memorabilia after a tornado sends the storage shed flying.

Chris Ledoux (my ultimate favorite singer) sang a song about how everyone should come move out to the country where life is good. Part way through the song he realizes that then the country won’t be country anymore. The he tells the listener to go themselves a city park, where they won’t have to work about the dust and snow and heat and cold and rattlesnakes or any of that.

In fact, I invite everyone to come visit Patriot’s Dream. Call first, so we can make sure to be there, and give me a chance to run a broom through the house, and don’t be disturbed by the crazy, though. I would love for everyone to understand where the love of this life comes from. And I would love them to leave the expanse of land untamed, so I can still have the amazing stars, and share them with you when you visit. Come do yoga, sink your hands in the soil, hold babies and help collect eggs. Participate in fitness and nutrition. Bask in the beauty of our sunsets.


But this life can be hard, devastating, exhilarating and exhausting all at the same time. My husband came home the other night. He will be with us for a few weeks before the next trip. I am going to remind myself that we are lucky he is stateside this time of year, unlike so many of our brothers and sisters in our extended military family. So I am hoping to be working in the greenhouse over Christmas, while we watch for more baby goats to arrive. Doing extra workouts with Bailey, and trying to catch up on chores and repairs.

I don’t expect to prop me feet up much more than for a few hours of sleep here and there. But I am thinking up new bonbons. Praline Almond, anyone?