This Place is Hard Work

I didn't expect to have a difficult time taking care of the barn chores while Brett was recovering from his knee replacement surgery.  After all, we've done this before -- five years ago when he had the other knee replaced.

Five buckets of supplements for the horses; filled and toted out to the their pastures.

Of course, at that time we lived on 2+ acres; now we have eight.  The animal count was similar although we've added a couple more horses to the mix; they get older; they retire; it happens.  So now there are five horses instead of three.  But, still two miniature donkeys and four goats, chickens and a dog.

The goats need hay and water.

The days are hot; the goats seek the shade and it takes three trips with a bucket to refill their water every evening.

Another difference is the division of labor.  Down in SoCal I telecommuted two to three days per week.  The days that I was home, we shared the feeding and mucking chores.  Even on the days I went into the office, I was able to shift my hours to avoid traffic -- and allow for chore time.  My new job does not involve telecommuting.  I am in the office Mon-Fri from 8-5.  There are occasions when I work from home -- such as when it snows -- but I am normally at the office; a 50 min commute from home.  So, I'm typically gone from 7am until 6pm.  And, typically, Brett does all the chores during the week.  I help on the weekends, of course, but my mucking muscles were not very well developed and hay slinging skills were non-existent.

Hay; they all want hay; horses, donkeys and goats.  

I took on the job of total ranch care on Monday when Brett had his surgery.  Monday and Tuesday, I took vacation days.  The rest of the week, I worked from home so I could assist Brett.  By Wednesday evening, I thought I was going to die from fatigue.  But Thursday, I started hitting my stride; feeling stronger as I slung manure into the cart and pushed it up the compost pile to dump.  For all three pastures.  The smallest pasture is twice the size of the one we had all the horses and donkeys in down south.  It's a lot of ground to cover.  And in the late afternoon/early evening when the temperatures are in the 90s... its pure misery.

 

The mare's pasture gets a lot of sun; the worst one to muck in the afternoons and evenings.

The donkey pasture; fortunately this one is pretty shady in the afternoon.

The boy's pasture; nice and shady with many oaks and pines but, oh, so dusty.

Friday, Brett was getting around well enough that I was able to go directly outside and start working instead of first getting him settled on the couch with the ice machine.  I even had time to ride!  It was short; just 20 minutes, but it felt great.  And I did all the barn chores afterwards with no trouble.  Next week, its back to regular office hours although I will getting in closer to 9am to give me time to do the chores.  I timed myself on Friday and I think I can do it.  All of it.  I'm feeling very studly and proud of myself.

And don't forget the chickens.  They need to be let out into their run and given any scraps

from last night's dinner.

Even Kersey gets exercise.  I make her leave her comfy crate and come with me.  She dragged herself around the first few days but she's getting more energetic now; sticking her nose down squirrel holes and sniffing along the fence while I work.

Quilts, Africa and Mom

Yes, they are all linked.  I will explain.

When I was young, seven years old, we lived in Tanzania for two years.  My dad was working there, helping the newly independent country set up its university.  My mom was a bit apprehensive about taking three small children (my brother was three, my sister six) but once there fell in love with the country.  Those two years were magical for me; I was fortunate to be old enough to understand and remember our time there.  My mother always sewed our clothes and that did not change while we were overseas.  She bought local fabrics and made dresses for herself and shirts for my dad.

When my mother died, my sister found some of the fabric buried in my mom's closet where she kept her yarn for knitting and her fabric for sewing.  Marie may have mentioned the fabric to me; I vaguely remember a conversation with her.  She wasn't sure what to do with the fabric but she wanted to do something special.  I forgot all about it.

When we were up at Shaver Lake last month she brought out a big gift bag while we were sitting around the kitchen table.  "It's an early Christmas!" she announced.  Then she presented me, my brother and my dad with quilts made from the fabric.  I cried.  Of course.  They are perfect.

I hung mine from the upstairs landing so it is visible as soon as you come in the front door.  My dad has his on his bed.  I'm not sure where my brother put his but I know that he treasures it.

The quilts are all a bit different in color and the backing fabric was picked, by Marie, to match our personalities and the primary color.  The backing on mine is a blue print and the quilting pattern resembles a wave -- perfect.  My dad has a green quilt with a leopard print backing.  We all got a laugh out of that -- and it is perfect.

A short update on Brett: he continues to do well.  He took a walk this morning out to the chicken pen and back by himself and then again with the physical therapist.  I think he'll be on the couch for the rest of the afternoon.