a day in the life of miss c, without pictures

Yesterday.

It was that kind of day. But with no photographic evidence.

Let me tell you about it. I awoke at 4.30 am as usual and listened to the wind for a wee minute. It still sounded like winter. Why I think I am going to wake up one morning and it will sound like spring I do not know.  I had my first coffee at 5am  and wrote my mornings post. Just like I am now.

The kittens run meowing from the barn when they hear the kitchen door open and escort me to their feed table just in case I get lost.  One by one they take turns on the big rock them jump to the table and eat as fast as they can knowing that Son Of Neanderthol Man is coming. And if Kupa finds them still eating when he gets up he will peck at their heads to get them to shift over.

We milked the cow at 6.45. She milked her usual 20 pounds, then turned around and left, then I fed the sheep and watched them for any signs of unusual behaviour, none, though Mia is suddenly looking very wide and very surprised.  Mama is still on her feet and eating like the proverbial horse. Minty jumped out of the pen to see what the pigs were having then jumped back in to eat her own breakfast.

After giving Bobby his milk, I fed the Shush Sisters their milk, eggs and the vegetables that the Kiwi Builder brings every day. Charlotte trotted happily into the trailer to eat, in fact she even opened the gate herself after barking for me to unlatch it. Yes, she is the Pig Who Barks, Sheila waited for her breakfast to be served in her own area. Trailers are only for that kind of girl evidently.

I fed  Queenie, Bobby and Hairy then changed their bedding. Queenie ate her hay then ate the bedding. It is wheat straw and tastes good evidently. The pigs have always eaten their bedding so maybe they taught Queenie.  Hairy MacLairy eats his hay with molasses sprinkled on top because he is special. The chickens are fed and the first half dozen eggs are gathered.

I throw down another bale of hay worrying about running out. I haul in a load of wood, knowing that soon we are going to run out. Early spring anyone?

I came inside for my fried eggs and what? No gas. Checked and yes the big tank in the garden was empty. So, no hot breakfast. No hot shower.  Poo. Washed in cold water. Strained the milk, and drank my tiny cup of kefir thinking about running out of gas while I loaded todays batch of kefir.

After calling the gas man, I raced through the  unmentionably tedious household things at great speed and after that I roared in my little cooking oil car to the other side of the county to buy the feed for the week. They have very nice clean fresh feeds and guarantee that there are no animal products or chemicals  in anything. But it is a 30 minute drive down country roads, to nowhere. TonTon growled at the shop owners dogs from the safety of his own car while we loaded,  and then we drove thirty minutes driving back through nowhere to get to somewhere again.

Once home all the feed is mixed into the appropriate bins. Lifting carefully. Tipping carefully. My feet lost in a gaggle of assorted poultry pouncing on spills. Then I can’t help myself and I give all the big animals a wee helping of oats and barley. Mama made me do it. Minty helped me do it taking a tax from each bucket as she went.

I clean myself up with cold water and change and put on some lipstick and jump back into the car and drive for  45 minutes in the opposite direction to the hair dresser on Route 66.  I was getting tired of looking like my mother, you know how that is. I mean I loved my mother but seeing her in the mirror every morning is just getting odd. The fact that she died over thirty years ago five years younger than I am now only makes that weirder.

Hours later, after forcing myself through a supermarket,  I get back with my gorgeous hair, I am pulling my clown pants over my street clothes in a hurry to get to the chores, I am late, and the teenager comes in and says what happened to your hair, without a trace of humour, so I adjusted my fringe with my middle finger but he was gone already. Teenagers are like ground squirrels – they pop their heads out of their holes, grimace, suddenly notice everyone is working and then disappear back underground again.

So I fed everyone all over again but backwards adding eight buckets of water-carrying. Gathered 21 eggs. Milked 15 pounds of milk. In the trailer out of the trailer, jump the fence, jump back in, open gates, close gates, milk in buckets, milk out of buckets, cats up, cats down, pump in, buckets out, heads scratched, backs rubbed, lights out, doors shut, boots off.  Breathe.

In the house. Hang the salted wicks to dry. Put a pot of beeswax on the woodstove to render down, hang the yoghurt up to drip overnight, stir the kefir, rinse the sprouts, make the dinner, (gas was delivered, thank goodness), panfried chicken in honey with vegetables in a creamy tomato dill sauce. Eat. Chat. Clear table. Wash up. Think about putting another load of laundry on. Don’t. Pour a glass of wine into a tea cup because all the glasses have disappeared then retire to the couch in front of the fire to read your messages of the day and think about tomorrow while the hot bath runs.

Breathe.

Good morning. So that was a day. No pictures.  Ah well.

Today I shall find camera house and take him to the Swineherds place this afternoon.  But it is not windy this morning. Nor is it spring. Ah well.

celi