New York City

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Early Wednesday morning I jumped on a train to New York City. I went for a BabyCenter conference and to do a little work face-to-face with my editors in their offices there. Whether it's three days or three weeks, leaving home requires all sorts of juggling, scheduling and planning. 

In one sense, I love the occasional push to get out of the house, out of my routine, being forced to give myself a little attention--yeah, those ratty sneakers you wear every day probably need to be replaced with something a little cuter, and you might need a little something splashier than those pearl earrings, and woah, you really need a haircut. 

For the very few times a year when I do travel, Dan holds down the fort. But this trip happened to hit in the middle of his busy season, on the exact week that almost every farmer in the area begins spring planting. That means taking three days off is pretty much out of the question. So, I juggled care for the girls during the day. It took some finagling, but thank goodness for family and a wonderful nanny that helped me out. 


Before I left, I taped schedules and reminders and food lists on the fridge--who does which chores, who needs to be reminded to give water to animals, who needs to clean out the baby chicks' pen in the boot room, who should feed the finches. And of course, my traditional daily checklist of kisses and hugs for the girls to cross out each day. 

Just two hours into my trip and I already had a text--someone busted their lip, someone had a tick stuck to their leg. But everyone was still alive. 

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Today I said yes.

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Summer-like temperatures have my kids raiding the attic for last year's too-small, too-short summer dresses and tank tops. They wilt in the heat they've been wanting-for all winter. They come in the kitchen melting with "hotness".I remind them that maybe they're sweaty and red-faced because they've been racing bikes up and down the dusty lane.

For the past two days I've been turning down their pleas to go down to the stream. I've got to-do lists a mile long, boxes to unpack, laundry to put away, monogrammed towels to sort, there's no time for wading in streams.

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Scottish Saturday

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A post from Mary...

It is a rare thing for our family to take a day and just do something. Together. No laboring, no laundry, no cleaning. A trip out of town. A favorite parade that celebrates our family's heritage, and is loaded with pipes, kilts and dogs. Lunch and knock-out basketball with cousins. On the way home, a pit stop at Daddy's office and an evening stroll along the creek through the urban park to a favorite burger joint for dinner. As the craziness of the season begins to creep in, I love having days like this together. It is a gift, all its own.


Scottish Walk from Mary McDougal on Vimeo.

 

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A Steamy Kind of Weekend

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This is a post from my sister, Mary, who joins me here on the blog a few times a month!

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This past weekend was a fall favorite in our little town here in the shadow of the Allegheny Mountains. It is one of those annual events that you just don't miss. The kind that stirs up all kinds of gratitude for the sweet little all-American town that you live in. Known as the Steam and Craft show, it is in its 38th year of existence. Don't let the "steam" or the "craft" really throw you. It is mostly about tractors. Tractors and more tractors. Of all ages, types, and conditions. And the people that love them, young and old.

Now there are a few of the big, ancient steam tractors, with the ear piercing whistles and their slow, steady crawl.

There are the expertly refurbished models. With a gleam and shine that indicate they will never see the field again.

And then there are the ones waiting to be refurbished. But appreciated all the same.


There are ones with faces and names.


But the "craft" portion translates into a shopping experience that can't be duplicated. As a kid, I remember saving my money to buy a baseball tshirt with a glittery Apaloosa horse decal on the front. It is a mixed bag. Pillows and purses alongside fuel filters and pitchforks. The choices of snaps and hooks was a bit overwhelming, to say the least.

Oh, and dental picks! Hemastats! At great prices!

It is a time to walk among the tractors, to study and appreciate them, to be grateful for the years of service they have given, to reminisce about the ones that used to be on the family farm. An entire weekend to talk tractor.

While the lower field is full of tractors, more activity awaits at the top of the field. Pies are being sold, apple butter is churning. The secret recipe, a local stew, is being served piping hot from a large black kettle. Homemade potato chips, kettle corn. Greasy grub off the grill being served up by the school's athletes and their families.

The culmination of the first day is the parade. It really is my favorite part. Led by the middle and high school bands and the mayor, the tractors all fire up and are driven by their owners right down Main Street. It is a chance to see them with their owners, and families. In all their glory. If the original owner is too frail to drive, they may be pulled behind on a wagon, comfortably seated on a lawn chair or even a sofa. Or if the owner is too young to drive her pink tractor, her Dad will help out, and will be manly enough to drive a pink tractor through town.

While my education and life experiences have taken me far away from my little hometown in the past, it is times like this that I am especially glad I am here. I feel like I stop and realize, just for a second, that this is my town right now. My people. And I am proud of it all.

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getting the girls married

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chores. this morning

The girl sheep, that is.

Wednesday night, I kind of felt like I needed to throw a bachelorette party. After a few months of searching, and through the help of a 4-H friend we finally found suitable husband material for the sheep. Being the old-fashioned girl that I am, I've been referring to this little rendevous as taking the sheep to get married. 

Photo
Thursday morning, bright and early (and with a vomitting child to boot!) one of Dan's wonderful customers and farmer-friends showed up with his trailer and helped us load up the sheep to take them off to a breeder a few counties away. 

they're growing up

Danielle, who owns the ram, and I have talked on the phone several times to figure out plans for this day and for her to field a lot of my questions. Do they need to bring anything with them? An overnight bag? Toiletries? Just the sheep, she assured me. 

they're growing up

For the next two months, the sheep will live with their new ram friend at Danielle's farm where they will ahem, get married and (fingers crossed), pregnant. Sheep have a gestation period of about 145 days, so if all goes well, there will be new little lambs in early spring. 

they're growing up

Meanwhile, things seems strange around here without the girls. There were some tears at bedtime last night--worries about them in their new home. How much they are already missed. Requests to visit them next week. I have to admit, I really miss them, too. I keep looking up at the clock when it strikes five and wondering if Emma has fed them yet. And should I haul over a bucket of water? And did they romp around before you let them back into their pen? 

After dinner last night I told Dan, next year, I think we should host the wedding.

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