The View

There's lots of talk about Rosie and the View, but that's not the view I'm talking about today. No, Vicki over at Catching Light has requested a view from the front door. And, just because she's nosy, from the back door as well. It is obviously not enough for Vicki to see breathtaking photos of slug weddings, dogs eating horse poop and super creepy things from Brigget's barn loft. She wants to know what's outside my doors.

Well, be prepared to be shocked...

...because everything here is normal. Peaceful. Tranquil. A place where one may come to relax and enjoy all of God's creation. It's spring, maple trees are full of new leaf, the apple trees heavy with blossoms. Fragrant spring bulbs have worked their way up (finally) after a long, winter's slumber.

Apple blossoms have a light, sweet fragrance.

Open the front door, and this is what you see. The porch, a small red maple, and my driveway.

Step out onto the porch and peek around the railing. There are my daylilies, not quite ready to bloom. City Boy has just mown the yard; doesn't it look good? Off in the distance is the pasture, and across the road one of the many small foot hills that separate us from Mount Baker.

Uh...this is Darling, wearing her pink poodle pajama bottoms and her mother's sweatshirt. Yes, the little shoe thief has taken to stealing my clothes these days. She also seems to think it funny to jump out in front of the camera lens unexpectedly. I shall count this as my cardio-vascular exercise for the day.

Let's step out back, shall we? My father built Little Hitler and I the loveliest arbors! Originally we'd hoped to have a small stream trickling underneath it, but that hasn't happened. I'd like to plant a climbing rose over it, but City Boy isn't fond of the thought of getting scratched up while mowing.

Carpenter Creek is just beyond those trees, and it is this direction that our Homeland Security team spends most of it's time patrolling. It's coyote season right now, so the dogs are constantly on guard.

Chief of Security, Rufus, sits on the patio. Like the rest of his team, he's always on guard. Beyond the patio, to the north, sits my pick up. You can see just a hint of the barn and paddock.

Er...speaking of Homeland Security...seems Tait has found a predator in the bottom of a plastic bag. No wonder Rufus appears so disgusted in the above photo!

Yes, things are pretty peaceful here at Carpenter Creek, as long as you don't mind the 2 am rooster crow...

Or The Screamer insisting that it's feeding time as soon as she sees you walk out of the house (I do believe she picked up the tax cries from the sheep!)...

Yes, tranquil, peaceful, relaxing...nothing odd or out of place around here. Nothing creepy...nothing weird. Bet you didn't expect that, did you?

What's that?

Oh, sure! Bring that up, why don't you! Yeah, yeah...there's a skull hanging outside my back door. But, hey, it's a good fifteen feet from the house. And you can only see it from the sliding door in the rec room. Vicki never said which back door the view had to be from...

Pig Latin

City Boy and I often have a discussion as to whether or not this is a farm. He says no, as he clearly does not want to be a farmer. I say yes, as I do want to be a farmer. To help us settle this debate, I have looked up the definition of 'farm'; these are a few of the definitions that were given:


1. a tract of land, usually with a house, barn, silo, etc., on which crops and often livestock are raised for livelihood.
2. land or water devoted to the raising of animals, fish, plants, etc.: a pig farm; an oyster farm; a tree farm.
3. a similar, usually commercial, site where a product is manufactured or cultivated: a cheese farm; a honey farm.
4. to cultivate (land).

With these four meanings, I can be pretty sure that I live on a farm (minus the silo.) I may not make my sole living from it, however, I do raise livestock and have provided a bit of vegetables over the years. The land has been cultivated, even if just minimally. And I produce sheep milk soaps, thanks to the sheep out there in the pasture.

Hence, I can consider myself a farmer.

Why is it, then, that I still have farm envy? Is it because I've so many friends with bigger farms?

Today I went to visit some farming friends of mine. They've got a large tract of land where they raise calves, and most definitely make their living from it. The calves come to them as day olds, they live in these cozy little hutches which I call Calf Loos (kinda like the dogloos, you know? Only for calves. Unless they happen to have one of those buffalo-calf crosses there, in which case I call them calfabufaloos...) In the summer, when it gets a bit too cozy (also known as bloody hot), there is a shade screen stretched above the hutches to help keep the calves cool..
The hutches are lined up in rows; there's a vent at the top of the dome to help control the temperature and of course the door in the front for those most adorably little calfie faces to hang out!

The hutches actually have plenty of room for these babies to move about it; no need for you to worry and think about those poor little veal calves who have no space. I've even seen them kick up their heels a bit! The hutch keeps them safe from predators as well as isolating them should there be any form of illness. Once they grow up a bit, they get to go into the big barn (pictured at the top of the page.)

The calves get fed a special formula; the bottles get pulled along in this cart and dropped into the opening in the hutch. The calves know the routine, let me tell you! By the time the last calf has it's milk bottle, the first ones have already emptied theirs and they need to be picked up.

While we were there, H (I've debated...do I use real names? Or just initials?) asked me if I'd liked the snow this winter. Um...no...not really. I told him snow was a four letter word. He said yeah, kinda like Tracey. I looked at him with a puzzled look. Um, no, couldn't he count? Tracey had six letters...unless...hey! Watch what you're saying there, buddy! Call me a four letter word... Why are you laughing like that, H?

Darling and I had really come over to see the more recent addition to the farm, though; piglets! Now I ask you, is there anything cuter than a baby pig? I mean, really? They're so cute and smiley and pink...and cute!

Okay, not that one. He was big and ugly, and had freaky blue eyes....

Oh, yeah! Now that's what I'm talking about!
Major cuteness going on here!

Take me home with you...I can do tricks!

Who needs a dog? I'd make the perfect house pet!

I don't eat much...

Such a good mamma, letting Junior play piggie back.

Do you speak Pig Latin?

Wait a minute...what have we here? Ahhh...there's H, trying to hide from the camera! Silly H...

You'll need to do better than that...

Okay, I admit it. I left there a bit envious. My friend D tells me I ought not be. "Yeah," I said, "it's a sin. I'll ask forgiveness later, but for now I'll be envious." I promise, D, I'm over my farm envy for tonight. I'm going to head off to bed with visions of pink piggies dancing in my head! (I wonder if City Boy will let us get one?)