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Hi Everyone,

               The year 2025 is almost gone, and 2026 is almost here. Are you ready for the New Year? I am not ready for the cold days that it will bring, but as we all know time flies by very fast so it will be spring before we know it.

               I am sure that you have heard of the book “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens—well today I am going to write “A Tale of Two Days”. If I was to write about all of last week it would take until next year—for I am sure that the one day alone shall fill up quite a few pages by itself!

               It was a crisp Monday morning on the farm and the day started out with a breakfast of hot oatmeal coated with cinnamon and honey, dotted with butter and raisins and surrounded by milk. Alongside the bowl of oatmeal was a plate of scrambled eggs fresh from the farm and a slice of jellied toast. As soon as breakfast was over Mama and I started on the dishes while Papa headed outside to feed the milk cows some alfalfa hay before he and Micah headed up on the hill to collect a steer that was scheduled to be at the butcher by 10:00 that morning. That is when the “perfect day” came to an end! When Papa brought in the cows he saw that we had a down cow—Analee did not get up to come in to be milked, and no prodding could get her up. With the milk supply so low, we needed the milk from all the cows we had, and with Analee down I knew that we wouldn’t be getting any more milk form her for a while. Analee is an older cow, and the drought, early cold, and unsatisfactory alfalfa brands were taking their toll on her. I just knew that she would be a dead cow—if not that day, then the next or the next. (Since I am only telling about two days, I had better tell you the rest of the story about Analee. On Monday night she got up to eat the alfalfa hay, but when she laid down again she was down until the next day. Tuesday she got up again, but only for a short time. Then come Wednesday morning she joined the herd and came into the milking parlor to eat. She went a whole week without being milked—(so she is a dry cow now, but the good thing is she is still alive!)

               Once the cows were enjoying their alfalfa hay Papa and Micah headed to the far end of the property to bring down the beef herd so that they could separate out one big fat steer to go to the butcher. All went well until they reached the gate of the panel pens. The herd went in but “Tubby” went over the fence in the opposite direction. Papa managed to shoo Tubby back over the wire toward the gate—but he bolted down the lane instead. At this moment I had gone into my room to get a pair of socks so that I could head outside to milk the cows and I looked out my window and saw the trouble Papa was having with the cows and I saw to my horror that the sheep had escaped the pond field (the gate had to be opened in order to bring the cows down) and they were eating our freshly sprouted winter grasses! When the steer bolted down the lane, Papa happened to turn around and see all the sheep eating the baby green grass, and he did the only thing he could do—he yelled at the top of his lungs, “TIARE!!!” Yep, I heard him and kicked it in high gear. I pulled my socks on, grabbed my coat, flew out the door, grabbed the crook, and took off running for the panel pens. The quickest way was through the back yard, across the septic area and over the panels—you know like over the river and through the woods to Papa’s help I ran (although there was no river or woods). It was about 9:15 in the morning—I was supposed to be milking the cows, and Papa was supposed to have already caught two cows (a steer and a bull) and be on his way to the butcher. Honestly, we should have done this the night before—but I forgot all about it until I woke up at 4:30 Monday morning with a great fright because I had no idea how we would catch two cows and get them delivered in just two hours (8:00 to 10:00). It was looking pretty hopeless at that moment with tubby running all over the place and the bull not rounded up yet either.

When I arrived at the panel pens Papa was heading down the lane to try to turn Tubby back around. Micah was guarding the opening in hopes to keep the other cows that were already caught from escaping. I jumped in the golf-cart and headed down the lane to see how to best help Papa. The goal was to turn Tubby around—and not let him get into the pond field or the chestnut orchard where he could easily get back to square one (their winter pasture). Papa managed to turn Tubby right before the entrance into the pond field—but Tubby jumped the wires on the side and headed up the hill toward the chestnuts. I jumped out of the golf-cart and opened the wires to the field I was nearest and put the pedal to the metal and flew up the hill to the back lane—where I had to stop and open more wires, before I could then fly down the lane—and slow up a little as I went over a BIG dip in the lane and then sped on until I hit another set of wires. This time I jumped off the golf-cart, quickly climbed through the two wires and took off for the gate (wires) to the chestnut orchard where Tubby was quickly gaining. Tubby reached the wires first, but somehow I managed to scare him back the other way. He was now heading back down the hill toward the lane—and the opening to the pond field. Papa was on foot this whole time--while I was wildly driving the golf-cart from area to area, Papa was running and walking behind Tubby every step of the way! I ran back to the golf-cart, opened the wires and put the pedal to the metal again as I headed for the lane so that I could close the netting that blocks off the pond field. The whole way I was doing my best to focus on the ground in front of me praying the whole time that I would not hit any chicken or dog holes. I will say that a few times there were little dips or bumps along the way that I am sure sent the golf-cart airborne—you know like all four wheels off the ground at the same time. Mama wasn’t happy when I told her that part. At one point I hit a bump so hard that all the objects in the front basket of the golf-cart flew up in the air—most came back down into the basket, but I know that some landed on the ground. (Oops, and I keep forgetting to go looking for them.) I got to the bottom of the hill, jumped the fence (hot-wires) and got the netting closed just in time. Tubby did challenge me, but I made myself as big as an elephant (well, let’s just say I made him think I was big and bad) and he ran the other way—but not up the lane toward the panels. Instead he jumped the wires into another field. I ran in after him and he ran back out. Papa got him into the lane and they were heading up towards the panels. I sat back and watched—until Tubby jumped another set of wires. Then I jumped into the golf-cart and headed back up the field so that I could come down the other side of the field that Tubby was in and turn him around before he reached the back lane. About this time Micah’s charges started rebelling against him and escaping. We managed to get all but one heifer back into the panel pens, and we were hoping that two (Tubby and the heifer) would be easier to navigate than just one, Tubby. That was not the case. They both went up and down the fields until she managed to go on the wrong side of the panels and she just stood there while we continued the chase on Tubby. He jumped fence after fence breaking hotwires and the handles that the wire connects too. There were wires down everywhere, and busted handles here and there. A few times Papa wanted to quit, telling me that it was too late to take him in—but I was determined to catch him while he was out with the hopes of being able to take him in the next day for I knew that we had flushed his meat with a lot of stress hormones and that it would not be good to process him that day—and it was getting late. After a while Tubby jumped the fence into the field that bordered the bulls, and I asked Papa if he thought that it would be easier to catch Tubby if we had the bull with him. So I held the wires open while Papa tried to separate the bull—but that was easier said than done. While we were trying to separate the bull I saw Mama jump into the Gravely and zoom off to the back field. She stopped to shut the back gate and then zoomed on toward the garden. The sheep had tired of fresh green grass and were heading for the Cottage Gardens which no longer have a fence around them. Micah had also seen the sheep heading for the garden and had left his post to go round up the sheep—but Mama beat him to them and so he came and joined up with Papa in order to help separate the bull. We got the bull out—but Tubby started jumping fences again. I peeled off after him in the golf-cart but he had a head start and I had to stop and open wires where he just jumped them. Down the lane he ran, and I was hot on his tail—but I was too late for he jumped the netting. He managed to knock the netting down just enough for me to drive over it and continue on up the hill in hopes to get around him before he hit the lane that lead to the back field where we winter the beef cows. I got to the lane first and closed the gate. Then I headed back toward Tubby. He was in the lane heading my way, but I was so determined to drive him back toward the panel pens that I got a little careless. I figured that if I could stay right on his heels I could direct him—if he moved to the right I did too, and if he moved to the left I did too. I got him turned around and we were heading down the lane at a pretty fast pace when all of a sudden BAM Tubby slowed up and turned to the left and I ran right smack into his rump throwing him into the fence which acted like an elastic sheet that caught him and threw him back up on his feet. I came to a stop pretty fast myself, and realized that we were not going to catch Tubby that day and that I had probably bruised him. If ever there was a cow that needed to be butchered on sight—Tubby is the one. I have had a few people tell me that they know people who could lasso Tubby into the trailer, and that just might be an option in a month or so when we try again.

Once I admitted defeat I turned around and headed back to open the gate so that we could put the beef herd back in their field. I noticed a newborn beef calf was all curled up alongside the fence in the lane. It had not moved a muscle with all my flying back and forth. After I opened the gate I stopped to see if the calf was a girl or boy (heifer or bull), but as soon as I picked up her leg to see her gender she started to bawl and jumped up to take off running. Beef calves are a totally different breed than Jersey milk calves. They are strong, robust, heavy, crazy, and absolutely wild! The calf was about a hundred feet from the gate into the field where she belonged and where her mama was—but if I let her run wild she would not run toward the gate but toward the wide open pond field. Since the sheep share the field we would not be able to leave the gate open so that her mama could go and find her—therefore, I hung on for dear life. I scrambled to keep a hold of at least one leg at all times while I directed her back toward the gate. I drug her some, I held on while she leaped some, I scrambled after legs as she ran some. She was heavy, she was strong, and she was wild—bawling loudly all the way. My arms had some aching muscles the next day because of hanging on for dear life. Once I got the calf back to her mama inside the gate I headed back down field. Tubby was standing in the middle of the field resting. Papa was at the bottom of the hill opening up the netting. I told him that I had run into Tubby and that we were done for the day—we just needed to put everyone back. It was 11:15! Micah was at the panel pens, and Mama was driving the sheep down the lane. I drove up to the panel pens and we let out the beef herd, then Micah and I took down the panels that cross the lane in order to let the sheep go by. Putting everyone back went very smoothly. Thankfully Micah hadn’t fed the bulls and steers yet, so when he went to feed them he just had to open the wires and the two bulls came right on in to eat their morning treat of alfalfa pellets.

Mama and I then came back up to the house to start milking—after I called the butcher and explained why Papa never showed up with the cows. When I got to the milking parlor Mama, Papa and Micah were cleaning up a mess. Mama had been in the milking parlor feeding the cows that we do not milk when she noticed the sheep heading for the garden. She shooed the cows out—but forgot to close the wires behind them. So Fiesta came back in, along with a few others, and terrorized my parlor area. They got into my feed can; they dumped my milk cans (which were thankfully empty still)—but made one too dirty to use. They also broke off the metal hooks that I hang the leg ropes on. My soapy water bucket was half empty, and my iodine and water teat dip bottles were strewn around. Since Mama only milks four cows right now and I am milking nine, Mama gave me one of her milk tanks to use—we both have two so that we can milk two cows at a time and get done faster. We got everything cleaned up and re-organized and we finally—around 11:30, started milking the cows. It was close to 1:00 when we finished. The good thing was that we got extra milk that morning since we had milked the cows very early Sunday morning and very late Monday morning.

After lunch I had some errands to run in town and Mama and Grandpa went along with me to get Grandpa out of the house—I ran the errands, they just chauffeured me around. One of the things I had to pick up was some winter flowers for two beds around the gazebo in the Cottage Garden. The freezes had killed off the summer flowers, and Micah and I had cleaned the beds out and weeded them. They were now ready for some fresh flowers, and I found some purple violas, some white violas, and some dark purple pansies. Friday afternoon Micah and I managed to get them planted.

Thursday was Christmas Day—and we do not usually do very much unless someone invites us over to their house for the day. Thirty years ago we quit exchanging gifts at Christmas—which makes the season very stress-free. This year though we had Grandpa with us—and Grandpa is used to celebrating every holiday BIG with lots of family and friends. Mama wanted to at least have some gifts for him to open—so when an order of puzzles arrived she decided to wrap three of them for him to open on Christmas. Christmas Eve I headed out to do chores when Amazon dropped off a few packages. I opened them up and found some things that we had ordered—soap for the milk house, drinking tops for canning jars and a router for the new internet service. All of a sudden I had an idea—why should Grandpa be the only one to open gifts? I also thought that he might think it kind of strange to be the only one opening gifts. So when I was done with the chores I gathered up the lids Mama had ordered, the router Papa had ordered, some shirts that Mama has ordered and that had arrived a few days before—but Mama had never gotten around to opening them yet. I had gifts for Mama, gifts for Papa—but nothing for me. I then saw a bag with a box of golf balls in it. In the Market Gardens I mark the corners of all the rows with rebar because I hate using a tape measure and I hate having to measure the beds every season—so I wanted permanent markers where I just have to string some string and my beds are marked. The problem is that the rebar keeps ripping my dresses. UGH!! So Papa came up with the idea of putting golf balls on the top of each rebar. He had already done 16 of them, but he ran out of time before he could open the next box of golf balls—so I decided to wrap them for me to open. I carried all the packages back to my bedroom in a way that Mama couldn’t see what I had. I told her what I was up to, and she offered to help me wrap—but it is not good manners to peek at your gifts! Thankfully we never remember what we order. Every time a delivery truck pulls up the question is asked—what did you order? The answer is usually—I do not know? It is always like Christmas we say—and this time it really was going to be just that. I wasn’t even sure if we had wrapping paper for our gift giving is pretty pathetic. We either put the gift in a bag—or give it in the box or bag straight off the UPS or Amazon truck. I did manage to find one roll that was enough to wrap a few boxes. Then I found some pretty printed tissue paper and some recycled wrapping paper from a little girl who likes to color me pictures and then her Mama wraps them up for her—I always save the wrapping paper, and this time they came in grand handy. When I was all done wrapping I asked Mama if she could help me carry all the gifts out to the living room. When she saw all the gifts she was very confused. She wanted to know where they had all come from. I told her they were gifts—but she wouldn’t settle for that answer. When I told her that it was all the stuff we had recently ordered she had a good laugh—and best of all, she really couldn’t remember what she had ordered. Earlier that day a box had arrived from my Aunt and Uncle, and in it was a bunch of wrapped presents. We unpacked them and piled them up with our wrapped gifts in front of the woodstove until the next day.

It was a good thing that there were no little children involved in our Christmas this year—because we didn’t get to open those presents until around 11:00 the next morning. We got up at 5:00 in order to milk the cows early so that Steve and Micah could come in at 8:00 and get their chores done quickly and get back home to their family—they were done by 9:30. Then we had to eat breakfast, do the dishes and a few other things before we settled down to open the gifts. Mama had good laughs as she opened hers—for she really didn’t know what she would find in them. Papa knew that the router was in his—for when he came home from deliveries Wednesday night he asked if the router had arrived. I just hemmed and hawed and told him he would have to wait and see. My Aunt and Uncle sent everyone coloring books and puzzles—projects to do with Grandpa to give him something to do.

This was my second Christmas ever to spend with my Grandpa. The first was when I was seven years old. We went to Missouri for Christmas that year—in hopes of a White Christmas, but alas it was warm until the day after we left and then it snowed. I remember my cousin and I helping Grandma decorate the house with our colored pages and crafts out of a Christmas craft book I had. I remember waiting at the end of the road for Grandpa to come home from work, and I remember my Uncle Jerry telling me that he lived a hop, a skip, and a jump away from Grandpa and Grandma—and I counted just how many hops, skips and jumps it took to get to his trailer (but I do not remember the number now). The other thing I remember was waking up before everyone else and sneaking out of my room and finding all my presents under the Christmas tree and taking them back into my room—and opening every one of them. I got a new dress, so I put it on and then I went to wake up my mommy and daddy. They were not happy with me and neither were my Grandparents. Why?—because they missed out on the joy of watching me open them. O what mischief a seven year old can get into—and I promise I got into my fair share.

Well, I hope that you had a very Merry Christmas, and as I said two days would be all that you could handle—so until next year . . .

Serving you with Gladness,

Tiare