Problem Solving with Lauren

I had great plans for Friday. I was going to mow grass and move hay in addition to capturing the horses for farrier day (equine pedicure) Saturday. There was a wrench in those plans though. First my grandma was in a minor car accident and I had to sit in the emergency room while the doctor told her she had whiplash. Then when I finally got home to mow I found a flat on the lawn mower. Initially I aired it up and had about fifteen or twenty minutes of mowing without problem. Then it went flat. Then it wouldn’t air up when I drove the compressor down to it on the four wheeler. Then the four wheeler wouldn’t start. This brings me to today’s blog, Problem Solving with Lauren.

1.      Discover problem

2.      Stare at it ineffectually

3.      Cry

4.      Curse

5.      Wander seemingly aimlessly around the farm while actually being on a quest for a certain tool that you know you own, but actually cannot find. Anywhere. In this case, a M***** F****** Jack. (Step five actually includes repeating steps three and four)

6.      Get pissed

7.      Turn into Farm MacGuyver and make a jack out of a stick and an overturned wheelbarrow

8.      Apply physics

9.      Shout, “Yeah, take that B****” at the inanimate object of your choosing

10.  Air up tire and go about your merry, feeling on top of the world until the next piece of equipment breaks

With a long enough lever man can move the world. Or a lawn mower. Take that Murphy. You know where you can shove your stupid law!

Baby pictures

Houston, we have squashes!

Aren't they adorable?

Grow, grow into a delicious dinner baby squash!

Seriously, they are so precious I don't know how I am going to eat them. Oh wait, with butter. Mmm mm. Garden fresh goodness!

You don't have to be lonely...

It has taken me awhile to admit this...

W and I broke things off a few months ago. It broke my heart, and even though I know better I felt as though I would never heal. But after a great deal of crying, self pity, and internal debate I did it. I tried online dating a few weeks ago.

FarmersOnly.com is actually a thing. Believe it. Chintzy ads aside, it is pretty fantastic. Imagine if you will that you are fishing, and you know you want to catch a catfish. Do you go hang around fishing holes known for bluegill? No. You go down to the river and throw in your hook where you know there is a passel of channel cat. Dating is similar. I know that a lot of what I am looking for in forever has to do with a rural lifestyle, so why look somewhere else? Laugh, tease, and kid all you like, but for me FarmersOnly was like the Sears and Roebuck catalog of guys (who ALL LOVED and WANTED A RURAL LIFE). Score.

Now, there are some drawbacks to meeting “farmers, ranchers, and good ol’ country folk.” Namely different approached to grammar and in general an intense affection for hunting and beer. I am a self proclaimed grammar Nazi, so that was a bit of a hurdle. Though there aren’t so many guys there that mix up their, they’re, and there as there are in my Facebook newsfeed; so it wasn’t as bad as I had feared. I’m okay with hunting and beer as long as I don’t have to be outside in the early and cold, and as long as it is decent beer. Also, I’m not that picky as to what “decent” is either.

I met a few gentlemen friends on this site, and went on a few dates with mixed results. One guy in particular has stood out in the last two weeks. I have nicknamed him Captain America, and he didn't run screaming away when I called him it to his face. Or when I sang him his theme song. Or when I talked about random dead things on our first date. Bonus. Anyway, there was one other “drawback” that I hadn’t anticipated. Let me give you the back story:

I sent off for my  renewed Firearm Owners Identification Card in December. I didn’t receive it until this week, so I have been unable to previously purchase a firearm to protect myself from varmints or intruders. A few weeks ago my friend’s house was burglarized and I mentioned all of it in a text to the Captain. His response was a resounding encouragement to have a weapon in my house because the results of NOT having one and needing it would be much worse than having one and using it before my card came in. I agreed with him offhandedly and thought nothing of it as I went along my merry (continually texting him images of freakishly large snake sheds and angry bulls).

That is, I thought nothing of it until this week when upon telling him that my card came in; the boy brought a very nice revolver into my house, informed me that it was his snake killing gun and that it wouldn’t matter that I am a horrible shot, and asked me if I would like to keep it until we could go purchase one of my own. **Update: done and done!

To be fair, blithely telling him I was unprotected and then sending him a bunch of stories and pictures of things that could potentially kill me was probably a bad idea. Lookie! I am innocent, and helpless! Gah. What can I say? I am an awkward dater.

But here is the tricky part: we have been on several dates, he has cooked for me and I for him, I have met his horses and he mine, we have worked on his farm equipment a couple of times, and he offered to leave me a gun. Are we friends? Are we seeing each other? Are we dating? Is it exclusive? By accepting possession of this revolver would I somehow perform some part ancient redneck marriage ritual leaving me betrothed, or more? Seriously, it is a NICE gun. The thing could be a bride price, but wouldn’t that go to my dad? It is like Carrie with the shoes in the Sex in the City movie, only a revolver? What is proper etiquette when a guy tries to leave you a gun? Should I clean it? Oil it? Practice shooting so that I can hit the broad side of a barn? Is it like in the Princess Diaries where I am going to have to shoot a target through a flaming hoop to signify something? Because if I have to hit a target at 50 yards I am going to need a lot of practice. 

Also, when he asks me to come over to “help unload his baler” is that code, or did he just buy two balers? Why do you even need two balers? Oh yeah, spare parts, but still. Is it a euphemism? Do good ol' country folk even have euphemisms? Are they like the pick up lines in my last post? What do these things mean!?!? Is it intensely manly and attractive to kill snakes and make boots out of them, or is it creepy? Agh!

Geez, the things I never had to consider when I met a guy at a bar!

Awkward

I am a socially awkward dater.

I don’t go on many first dates because when I do I wind up talking about things like animal spines and deer skulls. I don’t know why. First dates turn me into some sort of sociopath. I panic when faced with a new person that I don’t know, and resort to discussing things I do know, like random dead things in the yard and dehydrated opossum carcasses in the barn. Sexy right? God. No wonder I can’t beat them off with a stick. <-sarcasm

I have found that in addition to the regular things that most girls look for in a guy I also have a weird ranking system that most other women do not have.

Normal                                                   Me

Buys flowers                                         Has hand raised baby (raccoon/opossum/cow/deer/etc.)

Respectful                                             Can fix farm equipment (bonus points if with bare hands)

Romantic                                               Finds hay stacking/cow checking/fourwheeling romantic

Good conversationalist                     Can use chainsaw and gun, preferably not at the same time

In good shape                                       How high can he throw hay

Cares about appearance                    Smells like: coal smoke, diesel fuel, hydraulic fluid

Takes me to nice/cool places            Has sexy farm animals/tractors

Etc.                                                          Etc.

 

Needless to say I was devastated when Boyfriend and I broke up a few months ago. I felt a crushing sense of depression. I have so many weird little ticks and idiosyncrasies that I really felt like I would be doomed to be alone forever. The echoing moos across the hills would be my only music. Horse hugs would be the extent of my comfort. In short, since I was so dedicated to my farm lifestyle it was a choice between being alone and doing what I love, or being in love and doing what made me miserable. I chose to stick to my guns with my lifestyle choice, and lead the life of a hermit if need be. I pictured the ends of my days driving a tractor across a barren landscape hopping off to cut bale strings to the agitated bawling of newborn calves, and I was strangely okay with it. After all, I’m tweaked a little differently. I don’t particularly want a life of leisure, and if a guy can’t appreciate my work ethic and lifestyle choices I would probably make him miserable in the long run. I wouldn’t want to do that to someone I cared for.

So what is a girl with horrible dating skills to do? Use redneck pick up lines?

“You can come drive your t-posts at my place anytime.” Suggestive wink…

“You’re right. I don’t need vinyl fence boards. I need wood. Badly.” Come hither look…

“Would you like to follow me home and plow my field?” Hint of a suggestive chin tilt…

Somehow I really don’t see those working out for me. I mean. They’d work on me, but it would take a special someone for me to use them on. But then again, maybe when I find a guy that I can share a glass of wine and swap “things the dogs drug into the yard” stories with maybe he will appreciate those too.

Because I giggle like a moron every time I read them.

Maybe I should just become a nun…

Why May is awesome.

This pretty much sums it up. Have you ever had a homegrown strawberry? Get to a farmer's market and try one out! There is no comparison!

Batwings and Lake Monsters, oh my!

What a weekend! We were surprise attacked with a load of hay Friday night, which is why it was a really good thing that I had decided to have a stall cleaning party while the horses ate.

Ice down the water trough. It's a barn party!

I don't know why none of my Facebook friends took me up on the invite. Seriously. What else could they be doing at nine pm on a Friday? Sheesh. I know where the party is at. We could have thrown down... some hay. Because it was stacked so high on the trailer that the guys bringing it by took out one of the overhead lights. Can't wait to fix that one. Or watch dad fix that one. Tell you what, I either need to get a lot handier, win the lottery and buy a farm hand's service, or get on the whole boyfriend thing. My poor dad has way too much to do.

Which is how he talked me into facing one of my biggest challenges. Spatial reasoning. I royally suck at anything having to do with trailers, spreaders, mowers, you name it. If I can jackknife it, I will. Can I misjudge the width and wipe out fences? Yup. I am all over that. I give a new meaning to the phrase, "Cleaning the fence row."

Duh,duh,duh, na, na batwing!

Despite my poor driving skills and complete lack of spatial reasoning. I successfully learned how to use the batwing mower, and I only hit a gate a little bit! Given the fact that I single handedly ripped all the downspouts off the barn with a manure spreader I am going to count it as a win! I didn't even jack knife it and bust the turney shaft thing (PTO). I am such a good farmer's daughter that I scare myself sometimes. And probably the neighbors too because I wear a bikini to brush hog. Hey, a girl has to get her tan on some how. Don't judge.

It isn't as if I can lay out all day on the lake. Well, I could, but we seem to have a lake monster.

I was innocently taking photos of the horses to show Captain America when I noticed it in the background.



Duh na. Duh na. It looks like we have our own Nessie. Can you hear the jaws music?



Duh na. Duh na. Duh na. Duhna. Duhna. Duhna!

Seriously, who knew cows could swim that fast?

You probably don't want to let your hair down...

Cold wind battered the window frame. It sought out the smallest crack trying to enter the warm room beyond. There, curled beneath quilt and comforter slept a girl of perhaps sixteen. Her long brown hair splayed across the pillow. The icy wind found crack after crack in the old farmhouse’s side and permeated the room, driving the girl to snuggle deeper into the blankets to ward off the chill.

But the girl was not the only one chilled by the sudden wintery weather. Another small body wormed through cracks in the structure seeking warmth. Gently and quietly it wandered until it found the soft pool of brown that was the girl’s hair. Here! A haven! Its little heart soared. The small furred creature curled into the warm nest and snuggled up against the young woman’s head.

Something in that action stirred the sleep of the girl. One arm fought free of the blankets to itch at the disturbance haphazardly. Seeking fingers found a warm furred ball. Two sets of brown eyes flew open in alarm. The girl scratched frantically at her hair as the small furred creature leapt free of its warm nest and ran for its life.

“A chipmunk. I had a chipmunk in my hair. That’s the last time I am ever sleeping with my hair down.” And so it was.

Because once you wake up with a chipmunk tangled in your locks scrambling for freedom against your scalp you never get over it. Never.

I am honestly not sure which one of us was more traumatized.