Hold the Utah State Fruit, Please

Today is the second day of 2013 and, undoubtedly, the beginning of many a New Year’s resolution to lose some holiday pounds. I’m off to a good start, not because of great resolve or discipline but rather a virus that’s spoiled my appetite. But for those fortunate readers who aren't sick, I offer this advice from that clever cartoon cat, Garfield: "Try to cut back. Leave the cherry off your Hot Fudge Sundae."

Speaking of hot fudge sundaes: I hope that a mug of this crazy-faced heifer, Sundae, will bring some calorie-free pleasure today!

 



“…He who is of a merry heart has a continual feast.” –PROVERBS 15:15

Zigs and Zags

I fear that I may have given the wrong impression in last week’s Swish-Happy post. Yes, I love to cross-country ski, but I’m not a ski bunny.

Cross-country is a horizontal sport that requires a certain level of fitness but only the barest minimum of athleticism, courage, and fashion sense. Ski bunnies, on the other hand, are young, agile, daring, and, above all, stylish. Ski bunnies, unlike yours truly, don’t have panic attacks on chairlifts or ski over small children who fall down in front of them. Unlike me, ski bunnies haven’t snowplowed since kindergarten, and they zigzag effortlessly but rapidly down the slopes without even breaking a sweat in their chic, color-coordinated attire.

Two winters ago, I was on crutches with my knee heavily braced. While crutching around town, I was asked, on more than one occasion, if I’d hurt myself skiing. It seems that irrigation pipe lifting and cattle feeding mishaps are decidedly less glamorous than skiing accidents! Of all the witticisms I received, my favorite came from the butcher at our grocery store: “Looks like you zigged when you should have zagged!”

Nevertheless, our place is not without its snow beauties. Ziggy doesn’t carve zigzags down any Black Diamond slopes, but she is black with a cute zigzag down her nose.



“I do not participate in any sport with ambulances at the bottom of the hill.” ~Erma Bombeck

The Hayseed Bowl

“When is there going to be a Hayseed Bowl?” I asked Hubby yesterday. He’s been watching a lot of bowl games. He agreed that, once we’re zillionaires, we will indeed sponsor the Hayseed Bowl.

I’ve already jotted down a few ideas.

Naturally, the parade will feature a lot of horses and horse-drawn vehicles, vintage tractors and trucks, blue heelers and Border collies, rodeo clowns, and floats showcasing all aspects of agriculture: food crop, livestock, lumber, and biofuel production—even goat herding. Pam Minic and Orion Samuelson will host.

Baxter Black will entertain during the pre-game show, and Jimmy Fortune will sing The Star Spangled Banner. Justin McKee will join the play callers in the announcer’s booth. At halftime, the crowd will be awed by cowdog and sheepdog demonstrations, and then Joey and Rory will perform while the field is cleaned up.

All 4-H leaders, FFA sponsors, clergy, and military personnel will get free tickets to the big game.

Instead of beer, car, and insurance commercials, television audiences will view brief profiles of unsung Hayseed Heroes such as tree planters, no-till farmers, cow and sheep midwives, therapeutic riding volunteers, composters, veterinarians, drought battlers, wildfire fighters, range managers, horse rescuers, landowner association founders, Invest An Acre donors, and, last but not least, tractor-implement repairmen.

The coveted silver trophy won’t actually be a bowl but a bucket.

 

“If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand.” –MATTHEW 5:15

 

All in the Family

It was only meant to be an amusing read: T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, which son Zach gave us for Christmas. But serendipity must have guided Zach to this little collection of poems that day. It seems that the Nobel prize-winning Eliot was personally acquainted with several of our own cat’s ancestors! There can be no other explanation.

If the area window was found ajar

And the basement looked like a field of war,

If a tile or two came loose on the roof,

Which presently ceased to be waterproof,

If the drawers were pulled out from the bedroom chests,

And you couldn’t find one of your winter vests,

Or after supper one of the girls

Suddenly missed her Woolworth pearls:

Then the family would say, ‘It’s that horrible cat!’ 

--from MUNGOJERRIE AND RUMPELTEAZER

A picture on the wall is askew. A shower curtain liner is in tatters. Sun shines through claw-holes in the bedroom drapes. The bottom third of the Christmas tree ornaments are cockeyed or backwards. Yesterday morning, my glasses were missing from the chest beside the bed. After a frantic search, I found them tangled in some torn fibers of the box spring cover, some distance under the bed. “It’s that Terrible Tiger!”

Growltiger was a Bravo cat, who travelled on a barge

In fact, he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.

From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,

Rejoicing in his title of ‘The Terror of the Thames’….

Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;

Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger’s rage;

Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,

And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!

--from GROWLTIGER’S LAST STAND

Growltiger’s descendant, the Terrible Tiger, not only terrorizes birds and rodents but also goats, dogs, humans, and even other cats. I’d love to adopt one of the poor, homeless strays that happen by our place, but the Terrible Tiger, who possesses no social graces, always drives them away.

In the interest of the disinterest of cat-haters, I refrain from further discussion of the Terrible Tiger and his forebears, but I heartily recommend the book to fans of both cats and comedy.

 

“Also, since you are Christ's family, then you are Abraham's famous "descendant," heirs according to the covenant promises.” –GALATIONS 3:29

 

Swish-Happy

We’ve got four or five inches of snow on the ground—dense, icy stuff that’s  a bane for drivers but a gift from heaven for us glide-happy cross-country skiers. We never got enough snow for skiing last winter, and the winter before that my knee was in bad shape, so I was thrilled to finally be swishing down the canal road this morning.

Thankfully, the gliding didn’t aggravate my knee, although I did manage to overexert some leg muscles which walking and jogging apparently don’t work very hard. My calf muscles, in particular, feel as stiff as two-by-fours. Perhaps another skiing jaunt later this afternoon will loosen them up!

 



“Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He will give you the desires and secret petitions of your heart.”          --PSALM 37:4

 

Facts and Figures

We woke up to a whitish Christmas—maybe an inch-and-a-half of snow—some of which the cows were wearing this morning. Even though it was only 5°, they were kept warm by their dense, fluffy coats; insulating layers of fat; and internal- heating rumen.

University researchers advise cattlemen that for every degree below 20°, cows require a 1% increase in energy intake, aka food, just to maintain their body condition. Wind chill is factored into the equation as well. As I write, the thermometer reads -4°, sans wind chill, which means that each cow must eat 24% more than she usually does. I’d say that if she's pregnant, she needs even more. A cow doesn’t have to be told to eat that much more; the more inclement the weather, the hungrier she is. (Thankfully, we have more pasture than cows and plenty of hay in reserve, just in case it’s a really tough winter.)

Maybe people aren’t all that different than cows. When Hubby, Zach, and I ate our Christmas dinner this afternoon, we ate approximately 24% more than usual!

 

Princess

“For He satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with goodness.”     –PSALM 107:9

 

 

Behind the Scenes

Wintertime on a farm or ranch could very well be called “waiting-time”. The dynamic, nearly frantic hustle-and-bustle of growth, production, and harvest has given way to a much slower-pace of rest, maintenance, and waiting. The winter nights are awfully long and the mornings are exceptionally cold. Nature’s rhythms have slowed so much that they almost seemed to have stopped. Nearly everything that was vibrantly green and growing is now brownish-gray and shriveling as if on death’s doorstep.

The seed catalogs have not yet begun to arrive in our mailbox, but we have an even surer promise of spring’s return: the growing waistlines of the pregnant heifers and cows! If winter seems endless and spring far away—or if circumstances seem dark and spirits feel gray and shriveling—I submit this evidence (courtesy of Clarabelle) that God is working, albeit behind the scenes. Just like spring and baby calves, better times are slowly but surely on their way!



“I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.” –PSALM 27:13