Nostalgia on My Mind

This morning I’ve got nostalgia on my mind; not Georgia, nostalgia. I’m beginning to think that nostalgia is an affliction from which some of us suffer and others don’t. I used to think of it as a rose-colored-glasses kind of thing. Something I choose to feel as part of my optimistic tending personality. For instance, I choose to fondly remember my childhood on the farm and remain blithely unaware of the hard work and brutal nature of farm existence.  I’m now thinking it’s more chronic than that; it comes and goes but never completely leaves me.  Allow me to illustrate, when considering whether we should have dairy animals on the farm again we (my mother and I who suffer most greatly from this affliction when it comes to the farm animals and work) excitedly scoured the local ads and found a beautiful pair of Saanen goats and East Friesian sheep to bring home. Last fall we blissfully reveled at our fantastic finds and got just enough milk to make some soap and fabulous fresh chevre. “This is going to be so wonderful to have animals back on the farm again,” we thought. We were dreamy-eyed about the cheese, milk and soap bounty we would have the following year with three nannies and one ewe in milk.  Now fast forward to the present, we are in the middle of lambing/kidding season with one of the worst winters since I was a child on the farm. While we are still enjoying it and excitedly await every new arrival, you are more likely to hear us mutter, “What the hell were we thinking?!” Gone is that lovely pastoral image in our heads; in our face is the blowing snow and under our feet is the crunching ice from the last storm. Don’t get me wrong I’m not complaining about winter or having these animals to tend.  I love winter, particularly the snow which is blowing about this morning. I’m just slightly less nostalgic this morning as I stumble out the door into the biting wind to hay the animals, make sure everyone survived the night and break the ice from their water for the third time in the last twelve hours. 

Lamb Naming Contest

Help Riverbluff Farm name our new baby girls. If we choose the name you suggest, we will send you complimentary goat/sheep milk soap and bath salt goodies. You have until February 23rd (the lambs' one month birthday) to comment with your suggestion. Winners and the official birth announcement will be posted on March 1.

Wake Up Call

Sometimes, I truly can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse to have such an industrious child.  Then I think, maybe it's just the hour at which all this industriousness strikes her. You see I've always been a night owl, doing my best thinking, creating and such around midnight to 2 am. Also, when I wake up (I should say when I finally pry my eyelids open and roll out of bed and stumble to the coffee pot) I need a few hours and a few cups of coffee to get going. My ideal breakfast time is 10am.
Not Ella.
She springs forth from the covers eyes bright, thoughts and ideas already churning so fast she's mid sentence before her feet ever hit the floor. One of the first things to come out of her mouth is "I'm hungry, Mama."  I know everyone's thinking "big deal, pour the kid a bowl of cold cereal, sit at the table and drink your coffee while she eats. That's what moms do, they adjust."
Not Ella.
She has to make her breakfast, and when I say make, I mean bake something from scratch. Usually she asks for cupcakes, we actually make whole grain fruit and nut muffins, which works great until someone tells her the difference. This morning we made cranberry raisin scones with orange-yogurt glaze.
I have to say, I think my body is adjusting after nearly 3 years of this routine. Today is a day of change; she begins her first day of preschool. I know she is looking forward to it much more than I am. Suddenly all that free time I was planning to have is not nearly as precious as all of my Ella time. So, today I am grateful for our routine even when it does come at 5am.