Country Life – Page 9 – Angel Wheeler

Got No Power Windows

Let me tell you about my yesterday.

We had to do some work on the chicken coop, so I needed my new, old truck to help haul some old wood for me. We tore down one side of the chicken coop that was just crappy old particle board hammered together.

We’re replacing it with some rustic looking wide planks that are in a pile of rubble from a torn down structure.

So me and my niece Ash loaded up in the truck to gather the planks and drive them to the coop. This was her first time to see this old heap of metal and as soon as she climbed in, one of the first things she exclaimed was how she loved those kind of windows. You know the kind. The crank handle kind.

It took some work to get the truck running. But once it did, it only died 3 times. But then it got warmed up, and it was ready to go. If only I could get it to go, that is.

Now I’ve driven a stick shift in my time, and once I re-introduce myself to the gears I can normally do just fine. So I put this truck in first, it jerked forward a couple times, and then died. My second attempt in first gear was a repeat of the previous failure. I then attempted to start off in second gear, and it jerked and died. I eased off the clutch more carefully, it still died. I tried and tried and could not for the life of me figure out why I couldn’t get this truck to go without dying. I studied the gear shift again.

I wasn’t really sure what L stood for, I don’t recall ever seeing it on a gear shift before. Ash assured me that it probably stood for Launch, so I slammed it into L, and sure enough that must be what it stands for ’cause away we went.

We gathered the boards up.

Then pulled all the nails out.

Then we took a drive in the truck. We rolled, and I do mean literally rolled, our windows down. We even pushed open that little triangle window that is next to the big window and let the wind blow through out hair as we chugged down the dusty country lane.

My old truck reminds me of a song that my daddy likes. It’s called Power Windows.

Louis drives a beat up ’69 Dart.
Swears it’s the statue of Mary that keeps the car from falling apart.
With Gracie right beside him sittin’ closer than a smile.
She’s got her head on his shoulder.
He loves to drive and hold her.

He got no power windows. Got no power brakes.
He ain’t got no power nothin’ but he got what it takes.
He’s got Gracie’s arm around him and a smile on his face.
He’s got the power of love.

That night, as I was saying good night to Ash, she remarked that it was the most awesome day ever. The most awesome day ever? How strange. We didn’t do anything but work. So I asked her what made it so awesome.

Her response made me smile. She said just being out at the place, tearing down the chicken coop, driving the truck, and having family fun.

It made me realize that we didn’t spend any money.

We didn’t see anything fancy.

We didn’t have the newest, high-tech $300 gadget to entertain us.

We got no power windows even.

Just the two of us, hanging out, enjoying the sunshine, laying on an old wagon gazing at the clouds, telling stories, singing songs, and enjoying each other.

Which reminds me of another song. This one my mama used to sing me when I was just a wee one.

Oh, we ain’t got a barrel of money,
Maybe we’re ragged and funny
But we’ll travel along
Singing a song
Side by side.

Don’t know what’s comin’ tomorrow
Maybe it’s trouble and sorrow
But we’ll travel the road
Sharing our load
Side by side.

Travel the road in our old blue truck with no power windows,

Side by side.

Before and After #2

We’ve been diligently working away on our little trailer house on the prairie. Several months ago, I showed you our first before and after, and now, several months later, I have another. It’s a slow process.

Although the place we bought and are working on is a D-U-M-P, it does have some good qualities.

Like the wonderful fruitless mulberry that I am going to transform into my whimsy tree. A whimsy tree is a made-up word from my sister Jolea who first created a tree of whimsy in her backyard. It is simply a tree that is adorned with whirligigs and doodads and thingamiggers and whatchamacalits of all shapes and sizes. Jolea then began sending me whimsical ornaments to hang in my trees to create a whimsy tree. I have plenty of trees here where I live now, but none of them are whimsy trees. They’re either too straight, their trunk is too tall to reach the limbs, or they’re dead. It takes a special tree to be whimsy tree. And none of them fit the bill.

But I have one at our Little Trailer House on the Prairie.

A whimsy tree needs adornments hanging from it lovely branches, but I decided to add something to the base of my tree as well.

Base of Whimsy Tree Before:

Base of Whimsy Tree After:

I love my flamingoes!! A lady from my church named Susan paints these little boogers. I bought one for myself at a craft show. I figured if I’m going to be trailer trash, I might as well do it up right.

Nothing says trailer trash, like flamingoes in the front yard.

I giggled with delight when my sweet friend Suzanne gave me the other one for Christmas.

They’re perfect.

And whimsical.

And they make me smile.

My New Old Truck

I’ve been on the hunt for an old truck.

It’s on my list .

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#6 says “Drive a restored classic pick-up.

I had an idea for something like this.

Or even this:

But instead, I got this:

when my husband came in the other day and said, “Hey babe, I got good news for you.”

Of course my interest was piqued right then and there.

“My buddy, Ol’ Earl is going to give you a pick-up.”

Give is the operative word here. At this point, I should have come to my vehicular senses and realized that a truck that is going to be given away probably didn’t win first prize at the Car Show last weekend.

J-Dub says it’s nice, as he draw the word out for emphasis. There isn’t a tear in the seat, it’s clean. It’s niiiiiiiiiiiice.

We go to pick it up. Rather, we attempt to pick it up. J-Dub grabs a can of starter fluid ’cause Ol’ Earl says it’s a cold natured bleepity bleep.

I crawl behind the wheel.

The problem with these old trucks and me is even with the seat pushed all the way forward, I can barely get the clutch all the way to the floorboard. I’m going to have to put a pillow behind my back or something.

J-Dub gives it a squirt of starter fluid. I pump the gas and turn the crank.

It rr-rrrr-rrr-r–rrrrr-r-r–rrrrrr-‘s for a while.

But nothing.

So J-Dub gives it some more squirts. I pump the foot feed some more and crank it over.

Rrrrrr–rrrrr-rrrrr-r-r-rrrr-rr-rr–r-r–r-r-r.

But nothing.

So J-Dub gives it some more squirts. I pump the gas and turn the key, and pump the gas some more.

And then we catch it on fire.

I mean literally.

Not that it fired up, but now I think I know how that term originated, but it caught on fire.

We (I mean Jason) put out the fire with a couple bleepity bleeps as I rushed for my camera.

We don’t give up easy however. A measly old fire isn’t going to deter the two of us. We tried some more, with no success, and then gave up.

Within the next few days, Ol’ Earl changed the fuel filter. He’s niiiiiiiiiice. So tonight we went out for Picking up the Truck: Take Two.

It had been sitting on a battery charger, so my hopes were high.

After hunting for the key for a good 10 minutes, and a few more bleepity bleeps out of Jason, a few more pumps on the gas, a few more turns of the key, a few more rrrrrrr—r-rrrrrrr–r-r-rrrrrrrrrrr–r-rrrrrrrrrr’s and it fired right up.

Then died.

Then a few more pumps of the foot feed, a few more turns of the key, a few more rrrrr-r-rrrr-r-r-r-rrr-r-r–r’s and it fired up again.

And died.

Third time is always the charm.

So now I’ve got a truck.

It’s not restored.

It’s not classic.

Heck, it’s not even legal.

But check out the stereo system in this thing.

Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Cattle Prattle

My husband thinks after 6 years of marriage, I should know all things cow related. Here’s our conversation today (in a nutshell).

Me: I think I’ll get a mule.

Him: Why?

Me: Why not?

(pause)

Him: I rode a mule once, it was a good sonab****

Me: Isn’t a mule a cross between a horse and a donkey?

Him: Yes

Me:  What are boy and girl mules called?

Him: I think they’re called Johns and Mollies.

Me: I thought they were jacks and jennys.

Him: Those are donkeys. There are chickens and  roosters and hens.

Me: (greatly confusticated, which is just my made up word, so don’t try to look for it in the dictionary. You won’t find it.) What’s the difference between a chicken and a hen?

chicken and hen----no difference

Him: Nothing. That’s what I’m trying to say. (He begins to use his hands, as I’m a visual learner. He puts his hands together in a group) There’s chickens. (He checks in to make sure I’m following him) And then there are roosters (hands to the left) and hens (hands to the right). Like there are people. (hands in a group) And there are men (hands to the left) and women (hands to the right).

I’m catching on ever so slowly. My glazed-over look is beginning to diminish with just a glimmer of spark returning to my eyes. Then he continues:

cattle and cow----no difference

Him: There’s cattle. And then there are bulls and cows.

Me: Don’t forget heifers and steers!

Him: (closing his eyes and shaking his head) That’s different.

Me: I’m confused.

Him: I don’t understand why you don’t get this.

Two hours later and I’m still scratching my head.

Never doubt there are awfully important conversations occurring in this household.

World-changing conversations.

Just a few minutes he called to irately inform me that he cannot buy a 12 ounce aluminum can of Dr. Pepper at the Allsup’s convenience store. They sell bottles in all sizes, and a six-pack of cans with a sign that reads “Do not break the 6=pack”, but not a single serving can of Dr. Pepper is to be purchased. So he went to a Taylor Mart convenience store and the same situation presented itself. What is this world coming to?

I think we’re heading to Washington to protest on the White House steps or march on the Pentagon.

Four Things

I have few things I want to share with you today.

First Thing:

We’re studying the water cycle in science up at the elementary school. You remember your second grade science class don’t you? Or has it been many moons? For a quick review, here’s a song about the water cycle sung to the tune of If You’re Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands.

Ready?

A one, a two, A one, two, three, four…..

Water travels in a circle, yes it does (clap, clap)

It goes up as evaporation, forms a cloud as condensation, fall to the ground as precipitation, yes it does! (clap, clap)

I was reading the Bible this morning, I am still in the book of Job. At this point a young man named Elihu is ripping into Job, tearing him a new one, putting him into his place. He’s telling him about how awesome God is, and then he says these words:

Take a long, hard look. See how great he is—-inifinite, greater than anything you could ever imagine or figure out! He pulls water up out of the sea, distills it, and fills up his rain-cloud cisterns. Then the skies open up and pour out soaking showers on everyone. Does anyone have the slightest idea how this happens?

I read that and was bamboozled. It’s the water cycle, right there…..evaporation, condensation, precipitation. I don’t know why I was so surprised to find this in the Bible. I mean, God is the creator of everything after all. What took scientists until the 16th century to learn and label with big, scientific sounding words, Elihu knew 2000-1800 years B.C. Awesome, isn’t it?

Second Thing:

I’ve never been a magazine subscriber until recently. I spent a good $50 on magazine subscriptions when we bought our Little Trailer House on the Prairie.

These magazines will teach you how to garden, can food, cook chickens, milk cows, build solar panels, bake bread, make hammocks, and asundry other very informational things. Someday I fear us younger generations are going to wish we knew how not to depend on commercialism.

Some great magazines to read if you’re wanting to learn how to live off the land and become more self-sufficient are the following:

GRIT

Mother Earth News

Hobby Farms

Mary Jane’s Farm

Today I received this new GRIT magazine in the mail from my grandmother-in-law.

We call her M.O. It’s all about turkeys.

She also sent this book home with Jason recently.

It teaches how to make home-made beer. Among other important things.

But the item that I received in the mail yesterday that made my heart go pitter-pat, was new sticky return address labels.

With my name and address of course.

But these aren’t just any old kind of return address labels.

They have pictures on them.

And not of flags either.

But farm animals.

A chicken, a cow, and a rooster.

And look at this. Doesn’t she make you want to just snuggle up with her?

I’ve never wanted a pig. Never ever.

Until now.

I can’t resist him any longer.

Help me, help me, help me.

Third Thing:

I’ve been unsubscribing to a lot of my emails lately. I click unsubscribe and a box pops up that says something like, “Thank you. You won’t be receiving any more emails from us” But then suddenly, an alert of a new email message pops up from the exact same company who just lied to me telling me I won’t be receiving any more emails from them that says, “We’re sad to see you go, would you please fill out a short survey letting us know what’s wrong.” Or “Oops, did you mean to unsubscibe from us? If it’s a mistake, please click here.” That’s a little bit annoying to me. Just needed to vent.

Fourth Thing:

I read a little snippet today that the earth’s rotation is moving in such a way that our zodiacal (if that’s even a word) signs are changing. So guess what? You may no longer be a Leo or a Sagittarius. I was a Pisces, but now I’m an Aquarius.

Don’t let it shatter your world. I think it was just a bunch of drunk on home-made beer farmers that decided it.

Here chicky, chicky, chicky

It’s cold today. The sky is dressed in a blanket of gray clouds. The trees have long been stripped of their flashy wardrobe. They look bleak against the gray of the sky. But there is a sense of beauty in a bare tree. A glimmer of hope for the coming spring. The smell of snow hangs thick in the air. The birds are low today. They are perched in the trees and sitting on the lawns. An old weather lore claims, “when birds fly low, expect rain and a blow.”

Speaking of birds, I want a chicken farm.

I said a chicken farm, not a chicken ranch guys.

After scouring the internet, perusing magazines, and reading old books for information on everything I need to know about chickens, I still have no idea what I am doing. But I’m learning.

So far I’ve learned I’m scared of chickens.

And the snakes their eggs might attract.

And racoons, coyotes, hawks, and owls.

Our new place already has a hand-made, southern-engineered, make-shift chicken coop and some nesting boxes, but it needs some work. My plan is to fix it up, but not buy anything new. I’m going to use all old materials that I can scrounge up.

I have a few pictures of what I have to work with.

This is the front of the coop, which I’m going to leave alone. I like these rugged, half-painted side board planks.

Here are 10 nesting boxes for the little layers. Throw in some straw and make it cozy for them.

This prickly pear needs to be dug up.

The back and the side is made of this old tin, also the roof is tin.

I’m going to leave that alone as well. There is chicken wire surrounding the coop and there is a little chicken run for the flock to get out to get some sunshine. I’m going to secure the wire and make sure predators can’t sneak in, I also plan on covering the top with chicken wire to keep the hawks and owls out. On the days I’m home, I’m going to allow them to free range out on the acreage.

I’m going to add some perches on the inside of the coop and I’m going to add on one side of the coop a little window with a ladder so they can climb in and get in their nesting boxes.

Kind of like this coop. But not at all, really. Isn’t this the most elaborate chicken house you’ve ever seen? It’s nicer than the trailer I’m soon to be living in.

Last night I ordered my chickens. I am giddy with excitement. They are expected to arrive on March 14. I scheduled them to arrive spring break, since I have to be their little chicky mama. They will only be 1 day old when they arrive. They will need a brooding box for several weeks while they grow. I had to get a minimum of 15, which is entirely too many for my little family of 2, but I am preparing myself for some fatalities. Death is a part of living. I made sure that I ordered cold hardy birds, with a docile temperment, who are decent egg layers. All female. I’m not quite ready for a rooster yet.

I got 5 Barred Plymouth Rocks,

5 Buff Orpingtons, they are the color of man’s golden pocketwatch.
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And 5 Black Australorps.

Of course like everything else in my life, this will be a learning experience.

Boy, oh, boy, am I excited. March 14th can’t get here fast enough!!

Home Improvement

Continue reading “Home Improvement”

Finally….

Dear Friends,

You’ll never guess what I’ve finally got my hands on.

I’ve been wanting one of these.

I’m going to hang it in my house.

Yes, I do believe I heard a barely audible shriek from my sister all the way in New York City.

To attain this gem, all I had to say was “I’d like a cow skull to hang up. With horns.”

And waaa-laaa.

J-Dub found one right in the pasture for me.

He even got a free rope out of the deal and everything.

Fortunately the coyotes have already eaten off all the flesh.

And the worms and bugs have cleaned up all the skin and hair.

So now I won’t have to dirty up my stew pot boiling it up.

I’ve got the perfect place for it right on the dining room wall.

Don’t forget I’m available for decorating assistance if you’re going for the edgy cow town/chic trailer trash look for your place as well.

And we hope to see you out to supper real soon.

Love,

J-Dub and Auntie