I showed up at my parents house last night for supper, battered, bruised, and on the verge of tears. They, as always, ushered me in, handed me a cold beer, entertained my children, and allowed me to vent.
You see, sometimes homegirl needs to just some things off her chest. Sometimes, it's gotta get out of my insides so that I can be filled one again with goodness instead of rage and frustration.
Yes. I'll admit. I was full of rage and frustration.
You see, last weekend it was beautiful. We joyfully pulled the remainder of the tomato plants from the garden and sprinkled on winter rye seed to put it to bed. The sheep were sunning themselves on the bare hillside. Sally, newly pregnant, seemed quite pleased with herself as she warmed herself against the side of the metal shop.
All was well.
And then… and THEN… all hell broke loose.
Because overnight, temperatures plummeted into the teens and remained that way for the next six days.
And so we found ourselves in a situation we could have prevented, had we just taken the time to check the weather report. Note to self: always check the weather report. There's a reason old men sit and talk about the weather. Because in the life of a farmer, IT'S IMPORTANT.
Hoses everywhere were frozen solid. Pipes remained needing to be drained. The chicken water was an ice block. It was far too cold to move our meat birds out into their outside home, as we had originally planned. The sheep stood at the fence, letting their discomfort be known to the world.
Needless to say, we were ill prepared.
We shouldn't have been. We should've known better. We should've known that winter hits with a fury here at times. We should've been ready for it. But alas, we were not. Which brings me back to the beginning of our story.
Four hours before showing up at my parents house, after lugging buckets and buckets of water from the kitchen sink to the chicken coop… chicken tractor… cow pen… and sheep corral, I knew I needed to capitalize on the kiddo's nap time and get some of this winterizing taken care of. I had run to our supply store earlier in the day and picked up a few extra water heaters (we like these kind), heat lamps (for the milking parlor and the meat chicken coop), a hose winder (to help drain the water out of the 225 hose we have to run down to Sal's pen), vegetable shortening and sugar to make up some grease patties for the bee hives, and even a nice, plush blanket for Toby to lay on as he warms up inside. I was sittin' pretty.
Until I tried to do everything. At which point the world imploded.
Despite my best defrosting techniques, the hoses remained frozen solid. So solid, in fact, that it took me over forty five minutes just to disconnect the hose from the pipe (as you can imagine, I totally kept my cool and patience during this time… especially since I was laying on my stomach on rocks, underneath the house, with my arms stretched out trying to disconnect it at an impossibly difficult angle… yep, totally kept my cool).
After a few choice words with the hose and enough stubbornness to shame a mule, I was finally able to disconnect the hose.
The sheep continued to shout at me. Yeah, yeah, I know jerks… I know you're thirsty… I'm trying. Quit badgering me\. I'm doing my best!
My only choice to defrost the hose at this point was it to take all 225 dirty feet of it through my laundry room and into my bathtub. Which, as life would have it, had just been completely scrubbed clean less than 12 hours before.
But of course.
30 minutes of warm water later, the hose was at least beginning to resemble a hose again – and less like a gigantic, stiff pencil.
While the hose continued to defrost in my now-disgustingly-dirty bathtub, I threw on my bee suit to stick the grease patties into the hives, remove the top deep of honey, and put on an empty box with a rag inside to catch any condensation (more on winterizing bees later…). In doing so, and in my tizzy, I forgot to zip my hood up all the way. I continued on with my bee business, attempting to remove the 80 pound deeps of honey from top of the hives. Literally. They weigh 80 pounds.
I tried to lug them up the super steep hill that faces the hives but found myself exasperated and exhausted. Plus. Ya know. There were bees everywhere.
Who, by the way, quickly discovered the open gap in my hood. Because before I knew it, my suit was filled with bees, buzzing around my face. Like a freak, I began to run down the driveway, spastically peeling my clothing layers off one by one.
My bee hood went flying. Then my gloves.
… I kept running and threw off my sweatshirt. Frantically, I swatted at my head which was still swarming with bees.
Before I knew it, I was practically undressed. Running around in circles in my neighbors driveway. SCREAMING. Waving a wad of hay around my head like a maniac (in my fight-or-flight distress, I obviously thought that a handful of hay would give me something to swat at the bees with to get them out of my hair, when in fact, it agitated them even more and turned me into a scarecrow).
My adrenaline was pumping. And I couldn't shake the bees. Nor could I run very fast in my winter boots (ya, that's it, I'll blame my poor conditioning on my winter boots).
“Forget it,” I thought. “I'll stop fighting, let them sting me, and then just give up and die. Right here. Practically naked. In my neighbor's driveway.”
My hell-of-a-day continued. As I ran up our steep driveway away from the bees, I tripped. Ah yes. Yes, I did.
I came back up to the house, after somehow managing to escape the bees, leaving a trail of honey boxes, bee equipment, and clothing down the path to the hives. I opened the door to find three screaming children. Ah yes. Yes, I did.
I'd like to say my battle ended there, but in truth, it didn't. There was a variety of experiences after that that solidified it as the day I Officially Wanted To Quit Farming. And this isn't even taking into account the completely flat tire I'd experienced while driving into town earlier in the day. But let's just fu-get-about-that (and the fact that my van is still parked at my sister's house with no way to move it). But, through sweat (literally), blood (literally), tears (literally), and a few shouts of frustration aimed towards the heavens (literally), I eventually got the hose to run, the water heaters installed, the cow milked, and the animals fed.
As you can imagine, when I showed up at my parents, I was finished. Stick a fork in me. I'm done.
I slowly sipped my beer, observing the chaos of children around my feet and questioning what I'd chosen to do with my life. Part of me felt weepy. Part of me still wanted to punch something. And the other part was so physically tired, it hurt to care too much about what had just happened.
…but as all things do, the feeling passed. After a delicious meal, another beer, a warm mineral salt and essential oil bath, a hot cup of Mother's Milk tea with raw honey, a warm blanket, and a few hours with a new beekeeping book, I was feeling better. Not great. But better.
I woke up this morning to animals bellowing, letting me know they were ready for breakfast. It was 15 degrees outside. And yet, duty called.
This is life on the farm. This is the reality of this lifestyle.
There are good days, horrible days, and incredible days. And despite my frustration at the moment, I know that the good days will continue.
Katie
Oh, I hope you can feel the hug I’m extending through cyber space. I thought I had a bad week with the sudden onslaught of winter, but that amazing, incredible, excruciating story just made me reassess. 🙂 It sounds like you are able, in hindsight, to have a positive and enlightening view on the situation….and I’m sure that beer helped too. 🙂
PS – That reminds me to go haul another round of water to our goats, chickens and ducks….
– Katie
Chris
Oh, my, that was one horrible, no good, very bad day. I’m glad those aren’t the norm. I’m so sorry you had such a terrible time. All I can think of saying, is “Big hug”. It sounds like you need a few. Brave of you to write it out for everyone.
Nicole @Little Blog on the Homestead
The good days are very very good and the bad are very very bad! So nice to have your family close by though to help you through the bad. Nothing beats the reminder that no matter how old we are our parents are still there to take care of us.
Bobbie
My husband was just out of town for two weeks. In that time the steers broke their fence– twice, and got into the grain room– twice. My bull became deathly ill from acidosis. The surge milker stopped working correctly every time my daughter and I turned around. The sow in heat CLIMBED out of her pen 4 times in one day until we finally decided to take her to her boyfriend’s house a cycle earlier than planned. Just when we were almost overcome by mud… it started snowing and didn’t stop until 5 days and 50 (yes 50) inches later. And, no, our water heaters and extension cords had not yet been put in place either.
I quit a thousand times in my heart over these two weeks. But I couldn’t even complain to God because He was so gracious to keep my bull alive and my other animals healthy, despite my inadequacies at keeping them safe; as well as to provide me with friends to help move animals and snow. And somehow (with lots of help) we made it through and now my dear heart is home again.
So, girl, I know just how it can feel.
Quinn
Thank God for parents! I’m so glad you were able to go to them for earthly comfort at the end of such a day. Hugs & prayers my friend.
Rhonda W.
Well … I must say I had to share your tale with my hubby and at your expense, we had a few laughs. He said he would liked to have seen it when you were running in circles in your neighbors drive. He would have helped had he been there and after finishing your tale, relaxing with a brewskie at your folk’s, in true beekeeper fashion he asked, “Did she seal her bees up or did she say? Why don’t you ask her that.” So, I’m asking,”Did you get the bees covered back up and also, is there a reason why you waited so long to harvest the honey?”
Rosalyn
Haha oh you poor kid. It’s posts like these that do make me pause in our plan to swap our urban homestead for an actual one! Sometimes these things happen, in order for you to appreciate the times of Grace even more. And perhaps to give us followers of yours a little giggle (now that we of course know your troubles have passed)
Louise
Thank you so much for putting this into words. Our week has been similar, though on a smaller scale (we have rabbits, chickens & ducks and bees on a 1.25 acre urban ‘microfarm’. It’s our first winter here, and the sudden and abrupt drop in temperatures took us by surprise as well. The water issues, the cost in time and money to heat it all, the frustration of not having all the garden chores done … I sure do hear your pain!! I’m working on a DIY heater for the chicken water, with a string of big old christmas lights stuffed inside a cinder block, and the metal chicken waterer sitting atop it all. So far we’re ice-free!
Pia
What a day!
Part of me wants to pity you and give you a great big hug, the other part of me wants to give you an even bigger hug for being brave, continuing on and most importantly (to me) sharing the good, the bad and the ugly!
I’ve been a reader for a long time and your posts always make me want to follow this road even more, even posts like this one. That is why I wanted to take the time to thank you for sharing every aspect of your life, not just the picture perfect moments.
Melissa
Reading your blog for the last few years and I still love every single post… Maybe even more than I did a few years ago. Thanks for the constant reminders that it’s not in vain. XO
Laura J
Oh man, I’m so sorry. We just mvoed to North Idaho, not so far away from you, so the Monday freeze caught us just as quickly as well. What was awesome was that the stand pipe next to the barn froze, then all water to the house disappeared. Then the guy the owner hired managed to ruin the extension cord going to the automatic waterer for the owner’s horses so that went kaputt and we had to put up the giant water trough and fill it with buckets from the house. And we just discovered today (when we finally have a bit of water) that the faucet on the outside of the house we’ve been using for the buckets has a giant hole in the pipe going to it that’s been leaking all over the walls of the downstairs bathroom. Lovely! Sending you big hugs!
Kari
Poor mama; bless your heart! Sounds likes something from a movie!
Maria
It’s so good to know that there are other farmers/homesteaders struggling with the same things that I am. It’s a hard but good life.
Colleen
Oh, Shaye. It has been a hell of a week for a lot of us. Here in Livingston, MT, we were the 4th coldest IN THE WORLD last week. 22 below when I went out to milk for several days in a row. I stupidly remembered to unhook my hose and then I left it out in the snow! AHHHH!!! So, I drug that dirty thing into the house and also dirtied my tub. Every animal I have was shivering and I can’t keep all the waterers thawed out. I have seriously considered goat coats for my goaties, that is a first. All my eggs are freezing, my horses are pissed and I STILL don’t have my garlic in. But, when I finally get the milk house after trudging through the snow and 40 mph winds, and sit down to milk my girls, I feel their warm udders and see that fresh milk and know that I can do this. One day at a time.
Liza Scarbor
I’m so sorry but I just laugh so hard I cried! You are an inspiration to me and I love reading your blog!
Bless you
Lorie
We have crazy winter weather in the foothills of northern Georgia. We are moving to Wisconsin next year to expand our self-sufficiency endeavors. My goodness, you really have to be on your game up north! I’ve been a Southern Girl my whole life, and your experience have opened my eyes. Sorry about the frustration you felt, but thank you for sharing. You scared me a bit for the winters in the North. Luckily, my hubby grew up in Wisconsin and know how to handle the winter. I am definitely grilling his winter weather experience now! I love your blogs of homesteading and family. It’s comforting to know that I am not the only one venturing on this road with little one’s as well. It can be done! Be brave…. We can do this!!
Liz @ The Lambent Life
Ohhh man. Farming certainly isn’t for the faint of heart. Finding the smallest bit of humor in the situation certainly helps, doesn’t it?
Ashley
Right there with ya’ friend! Stay strong!
Carrie
Besides my daily devotion, this was the best thing I’ve read all week. Thanks.
catie
I cried and laughed with you. I could feel it…and you. Been there, done that. We are so fortunate in this lifestyle and the good days are not appreciated so much…the bad days are, well, terrible. We are blessed that we won’t have the winter weather but the arizona desert can be unforgiving in the summer months….and we only have two seasons here…summer and NOT summer.
Last May we had a particularly awful day. I quit in my head a thousand times…and cried almost that many. After losing farm animals that die to heat and predators, the vet called to tell out our beloved 3 month old aussie shepher Charlie had died. That almost did me in. My husband and partner in crime, Tony was as shaken up as I was but he looked at me and said “Onward.” And now that is the word of encouragement when things go wrong. With love and optimism i say to you ONWARD!
Judy G
Oh my. I’ve had bad days but never anything like that. I’m glad it’s over.
Anne-on-the-lake
Oh My Gosh! One of those days when we figure we should have stayed in bed. My heart goes out to you. As many readers said, “Been there, done that. Bought the t-shirt” I hope you have now recovered, in fact I can see you are since you can laugh about it. A tip I found out about bee stings. I have bad reactions to bee and wasp stings and a year ago I was attacked by a whole colony ( and no, I didn’t do anything except make a detour around their nest). I was stung more than 60 to 70 times on the head, face, neck and upper body, needless to say I was in a panic but I remembered what my doctor had told me. Now I know this is counter-intuitive and doctors will tell you exactly the opposite but this doctor had told me that heat, especially moist heat, neutralizes bee and wasp stings (but not snake, spider or scorpion) , so I ran into the house and jumped into the shower all dressed and turned on the hot water as hot as I could stand it. The relief of that hot water on the stings was magic. I spent 20 minutes in the shower, emptied my hot water tank but when I got out of there I was not swollen nor did I have any disfigurement anywhere, this from a person who a year before was disfigured for 6 weeks from one bee sting on the upper lip. To me this was a miracle. I wonder if anyone else has had a similar experience.
Kate
I love it only because night before your day all hell broke loose, in Salem, at 1AM…i was emptying our hot tub, literally draining it and sucking the water out of the jets. Our goat was bellowing, and I swear every wild animal was watching me. Prior to emptying the tub, I set up all the lamps for the quail, chickens, chicks etc. Only because my husband was out of town and I couldn’t sleep, did I check the weather. I’m sorry but glad your parents are close enough to love on you.
Amy
You have no idea how encouraged I was when I read this! This happened on my little farm too–I knew the winter was coming, but little I could do. My barn does not have electricity, so for a week I was carrying water down my (very) steep hill 3 times a day so my pigs and poultry would stay alive. I soaked my home-mixed grains in the house (because the pig food was frozen) and fed everyone about twice as much as normal to keep the pigs growing and the chickens, ducks and geese from picking on each other. And it is fine–it is farming and I am so grateful to farm that I wouldn’t trade it for anything (except maybe a barn with electricity). But I am glad to hear that, although you too love farming, it was a hard day! Keep it up! Blessings!
Kendra at New Life on a Homestead
Oh girl. I thought I’ve had some rough days, but I believe you’ve got me beat, lol. It’s good that we share the downs with the ups. I think sometimes people get swept away with the romance of homesteading, and don’t realize the truth of just how hard it can be. You’re doing a fantastic job. One day at a time 🙂
wendy snobl
Oh Shaye Honey, I HEAR you girl!!!! Investing your heart and soul in your homestead is not an easy feat, and does require a little blood sweat and tears sometimes! I can totally empathize with you, and also your ‘stubbornness that could shame a mule’ LOL!!!! Love that phrase!!! ….and yes I completely identify with it!!!! Perhaps it is sheer grit that gets us mamas/homesteaders through days like these! oh, yeah, and perhaps a cold beer at the end of it!!! 🙂
Blessings~
Wendy
Peg Graham
Can I just say that I love your writing! I so enjoy reading your blog.
Tracy Harvill
Thank you for keepin’ it real! I just found you and your homestead and am enjoying exploring your writing and experiences. I appreciate the honesty and reality in this post. Because we all have to remember that no matter what we’re doing and how wonderful it can be, there are some days that you just want to throw in the towel! I just purchased your book “Welcome to the Farm” and the introduction brought me to tears reading about your inspiration and desire to live the farm life. It inspired me in return to continue exploring those deeply buried urges and yearnings to live purposefully, caring about where my food comes from, and live responsibly. I’m a city-girl with a country-girl heritage who wants to rediscover her roots. Thank you!