Monday Morning From Hell

Holding Eddie's bowl at just the right angle so she can eat comfortably and stay covered up

Well, dear reader, it has been a Monday to top all Mondays! At seven o'clock this morning, The Bibbed Wonder stuck his head in the door and yelled, "Hey-yo! I need help!" That never bodes well…ever. Eric's now elderly pig, Eddie, short for Edwina, was injured in a nasty fight with Cleetus, the boar. Her back leg appears to be stoved up and sore. Eddie has had enough of Cletus and his picking, antagonizing, and tormenting. Earlier in the week, she moved outside to sleep in the hay bales to escape Cletus. I get that; I do. Cletus is not happy unless he has everyone stirred up and fussing. He is the source of all the barn drama.

In Eddie's attempt to escape the annoying Cletus, she moves outside only to be followed and tormented by Cletus. Eddie ended up in the middle of the field in a mud waddle. We believe that she could not maneuver out of the mud waddle with her injured leg and got stuck. Eric needed me to help him get Big Ed out of the mud. I wore my rubber muck boots out into the field. As I carefully tried to get on the other side of Eddie to help her stand, my boot got stuck in the mud. When I say stuck, I mean I was S-T-U-C-K! Eric had to get off the tractor to help me "unstuck" myself. I could break the suction from my left foot and plant it on the bank of the waddle. I balanced on one foot with The Bibbed Wonder's help, pulled my foot out of the boot, and had him free the boot from the vacuum the muck and water created. My boot came loose with a satisfying slurp. Much to my annoyance, pulling myself from the suction of the mud made me pee a little…. I announced loudly, "Dammit, I peed!" Once out of the mud, I slid my foot back inside the boot and tried to avoid going back into the mud. I'm sure The Bibbed Wonder had all kinds of unpleasant thoughts about me as I got stuck in the mud. Sigh…

There was simply no way we would get Big Ed out of the mud without the aid of large equipment. We created a sling of sorts with two tow ropes. One rope was around Eddie's waist, and the other was just behind her front legs. Trying to get Eddie to stand long enough to get the tow ropes around her was a feat in itself. Once the tow ropes were in place, Eric attached them to the tractor's bucket. He then lifted her as gently as he could from the mud. I stood off to the side, spotting her as he slowly lifted her from the sucking mud puddle. If she had just been still, all would have been well. However, pigs are not known for their cooperation or calmness.

The noises Eddie made were nothing short of frightening. Angry pigs, injured pigs, annoyed pigs, playful pigs, horny pigs, and hungry pigs sound like monsters. Their voices are so low, so loud, and quite frightening. I'm sure our neighbors were wondering what was going on. The noise was so unnerving that I dribbled in my drawers just a bit…again…sigh. Poor Eddie dangled in midair, squealing like, well, a stuck hog…stuck like couldn't move, not stabbed. The other girls and Cletus were roused from their slumber and came sauntering across the field to investigate.

Pigs protect their own. They are fierce in their protection of each other. Once they saw poor Eddie hanging just above the ground, fighting furiously to free herself, they came charging across the field. As they got closer, The Bibbed Wonder yelled, "Get in the tractor! Hurry up!" I did not waste a second. As I stood precariously hanging onto the side of the tractor, Eric yelled, "Get down! Get down! Get down!" I then jumped down from the tractor footrest; he threw the tractor in the park and jumped down to literally beat the pigs away from Eddie.

Pigs are jerks. They are like older siblings in that they can beat up and torment each other, but no one else better mess with them. If one shows weakness, they will be knocked about and bullied until they are injured or even die. Cletus knocked Eddie about from the back while one of the Large Black Hogs picked at her from the side. Eric had to kick them both in the snout to chase them off. Charlotte, who is the least trustworthy in temperament, charged at Eric. She, too, was met with a swift kick to the snout. Eric does not make it practice to knock about any of the animals. Like people, all animals respond well to kindness, gentleness, and patience. However, in this precarious situation, extreme measures were needed. The pigs looked insulant and slightly put out, but they cleared the way and left Eddie and Eric alone.

We got Eddie carried to the goat side of the pasture field, the gate shut and locked, without any other pigs making it over. Once away from the other pigs, Eric lowered Eddie to the ground, hoping she would walk to the barn on her own accord. Unfortunately, this is not the way things went. Big Ed was able to walk maybe twenty feet on her own. Exhausted, cold, and injured, she lay down and refused to get up. We allowed her to rest for ten minutes and then tried to help her to her feet. Again, she growled, squealed, and bellered, stirring up the other pigs safely on the other side of the gate. After much encouragement, explanation, and gentle pats, we understood that getting her to the barn with her abilities was impossible.

Again, we created a sling out of the tow ropes and gently lifted Eddie just off the ground. Eric slowly made his way to the barn while I spotted Eddie, ensuring the ropes did not slide, or her feet dragged on the ground. It felt like it took us forever to get her just a few yards. The Bibbed Wonder would gently lower her to the ground every few yards to give her a bit of a rest. It took us forty minutes to make it halfway across the pasture field. I ran ahead to open the barn doors, let the goats out, and shoo them away from the barn doors so we could get Eddie inside the barn.

Once Eddie was within just a few feet of the barn door, she began to struggle. Eric gently lowered her to the ground. We quickly removed the ropes, and Eddie clumsily made her way inside the barn to the back, where a large pile of hay awaited her. Once she settled in, we covered her with a blanket of hay, shooed the goats back outside, closed the barn doors, and gave Big Ed a large bowl of feed mixed with warm goat's milk and marshmallows. Eddie ate until she was satiated, then began making a nest in the hay and settling in comfortably.

Besides a few brush burns from the tow rope, Eddie appears unscathed. She has a small gash on her left hip, probably from being bitten by one of her bunkmates. It appears to be scabbed over and merely superficial. It is her hip that seems to be giving her the most trouble. Pigs are not known for their gentleness or empathy. I'm sure once Eddie showed weakness, she had a target on her. Now, safely removed from the other pigs, she can rest, relax, and heal peacefully. The goats give all the pigs a relatively wide berth but avoid Eddie in particular. She is not the most pleasant creature on the farm on a good day.

Once she settled into her new quarters, she was content to make a nest, bury herself in the hay, and commence sleeping. It was a very stressful morning. If I had had my wits about me, I would have snapped a picture of poor Eddie hanging precariously in midair. However, there was too much going on and too many angry pigs to deal with to take the time for a photo op. I also don't believe Eddie would like to be photographed in such an undignified pose—our poor Eddie.  

After getting Eddie settled, I took my Heavy-B for a walk. I knew two people we allow to hunt on the property had gotten deer over the weekend. Two successful hunts mean two large gut piles. Bus, of course, sniffed out the gut piles and gorged himself on them. I love my boy, but he is disgusting. Just as I sat down to begin writing my blog, I heard the horrible sound of Buster getting sick in the living room. I jumped up to try to get him outside, but alas, I was too late. I walked into the living room to find the most enormous pile of vomit I have ever seen. Since I am recovering from a three-day bout of stomach flu, this did not sit well with me. I can't think of anything else to polish off such a glorious morning…sigh.

After I share my tale of woe with you, I look forward to a long hot shower with some fresh-smelling goat's milk soap. My scent of preference is Comfort and Joy. Anything will smell better than a pig or dog vomit. After a morning such as this, I honestly think I could sell everything and move to a condo on a tropical beach. However, think of how boring life would be. Who would entertain you with tails of pigs hanging off the tractor like a pinata, gross dogs doing gross dog things, and, of course, goat's milk soap? It is a heavy burden I bear to entertain you, dear reader. On this chilly December day, stay safe, be smart, help even grumpy old piggies if needed, keep your dog leashed during and after hunting season, and wash your hands for the love of all that's holy. After all, there is a nasty stomach bug going around.  

The Last Man Blog of 2023

It is that time of the month again, time for the first of the month man blog. I have absolutely no idea how Miss Tina is able to find the ideas, much less the time to write as much as she does. Come to think of it; I have no idea how the hell women are able to do a lot of what they do with grace. Here it is on a Friday, and I very well should be writing about food. I can't help but think; I explained that the burger is my best. If you want something that isn't a burger, I'm not your guy. But all week long, Tina always thinks, trying different recipes or remembering old ones for Friday. I could suggest a different topping for the burger when it was my Foodie Friday. Then I realized I mentioned bacon and a fried egg. Again, I have nothing of value to add after that.

In general, men are minimalists. I genuinely only want to go to the Smithsonian to see Theodore Kaczynski's shack and take notes on the shack itself. I mean, for crying out loud, he was self-contained in a 10'X10' box in Montana and made it work. The plan of the shack in our place would start as 10' X 20' because, after all, there are two of us. Already, the size has doubled in the short-lived life of simplicity. The question is, where are we going to do laundry? Where does the dryer go? Are you planning an outhouse? This turns the hut with a ringer washer, clothesline, and outhouse into a quadruplet-sized cabin that now requires electricity, gas, and septic. Since we would then have electricity, we would have to decorate our cabin in the woods that three people would see throughout the year. Of course, we would have to plan some more room built in for storage for all of the decorations. Just like that, the hopes of a basic shack are gone.

I would not want to ever live with a man. There is only one-way pee gets on the toilet seat. I mean, every damn time I deny what I did and try to explain that it very well could have been one of the two females I live with; it's a miracle she doesn't throat-punch me. Significant parts of my body have been threatened with violence, and removal by sharp objects has been made for repeat offenses. I'm told that if I can't control "that thing," I need to sit down to pee. However, I stick to the original game plan that has worked since I was 5. Make the face like you have just been confused out of your gourd by the question. Daze off to the right like you are repeating the question in your head because it seems so far out of the reach of possibilities. Repeat exactly what she asked you, only in a more questioning tone. Did I pee on the toilet? Emphasis on I. Make the outraged; I can't believe you are asking me this face. Look her square in the forehead until she stomps off. Avoid her for the rest of the day. Casually bring up the possibility that it could have been her right before bed. Mutter, something about toilets in Australia flushing backward and go to sleep.

Flatulence. An entire research department should try to figure out the sexism in that. For God's sake, I could walk into a room full of my wife's friends with my arms spread out like an airplane, yelling, "Cropduster!" while cutting loose, for half the women in the room to laugh about it. Leading to all of them telling their husband how very cool I really am. At least, that is how it plays out in my head.

Meanwhile, if there ever existed a wife that squeaked one out in front of anyone, it would remain unspoken, like a terrible family secret. It is not just a typical "please don't let people find out we are related" kind of family secret. Farting in front of anyone for a woman is more of an "immediate family member was on Springer or the local news saying they saw a Bigfoot" kind of secret. The only time the squeaker would be referenced is if there was a divorce 20 years later. Even at that, it would not be mentioned directly, just ever so discreetly; I don't know how he stayed married to her. Meanwhile, a man could fart in the shower terrible enough to make his wife vomit, and the reference to it later on would be he always tried so hard to make her laugh. This may or may not have actually happened.

Childbirth. If the role was reversed and men had to endure that much pain, the world population would be cut in half within a generation. Looking back, I feel that my woman's senses were heightened when Jordan first came to us. Out of a dead sleep, Tina could hear an unusual burble. I could have slept through the smoke detector. I can lift more than my wife for a short amount of time. Give a woman a 20 lb. child to carry, and I am amazed by the strength and endurance women are built with. You get a baby adjusted for crying out loud, and they wiggle. I used to think my time to shine would be as the protective parent who could do 20 years on his head when the boys started showing up. I had the entire routine planned out, complete with knife sharpening and eyeballing. But then Miss Tina's newest superpower, eye daggers, came out of nowhere. Seriously, when it comes to our daughter and her safety and well-being, my wife is the truly scary one. Women are capable of switching gears from overly alert ninja cats to someone who could dismember a body and then eat a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Competency and Independence. It always breaks my heart when an elderly couple is one day no longer a couple. They have lived their lives together, and now one of them is alone. It is not uncommon, and it is suitable for anyone alone not to be so if that brings them happiness. But the men always seem to be the most unable to be alone. I would love to be able to quote scripture here and reference the creation of Lilith and Eve because men were destined to have a mate. The fact of the matter is that men get stupid. The poor elderly gentleman had his wife dressing him for years and had to get his clothes picked out for her funeral. Within a week, he doesn't understand why he is missing socks or how to grocery shop. At the same time, women can roll with change. They can take over any duties that a man has assumed with grace. I wouldn't be afraid to bet they are in no hurry to replace the "Kansas State Champion Crop Duster" any time soon.

The differences between men and women should be researched extensively. However, it would never do for the patriarchal-driven society to admit that women are the stronger, more capable, and more intelligent of the two sexes. I mean, seriously, if women were in charge, "crop dusting" would be punishable by death or castration, and dribbling a little pee-pee on the toilet seat is cause to be drawn and quartered. Once the punishment was complete, the female henchperson would then sit down and eat a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, stink eye all other men in the room, and ask in a dangerously quiet voice, "Who wants to be next?" Yeah, women are scary and capable.

On a serious note, this time of the year can be a rough one for many folks. The burden of the holidays and family can be too much. I have been blessed with my herd of folks that always make me feel loved. If you aren't lucky enough to think that, I guarantee you have people. Whether you have found them yet or not, they are out there. We have all lost some mighty fine folks because they didn't know how very loved they were. Don't be the reason a grown-ass man in bibs is tearing up typing a blog. Get Help. The Suicide Prevention Hotline is 988. If you are worried about someone, give that person a call. The worst that could happen is you talk to a friend.

That's it from me for 2023. Thanks for making this year a good one. We appreciate you. Wash on, folks!

One Last Hoorah

Today, dear reader, we are preparing for our final in-person event of the year. One last hoorah, if you will. I say our final event because it is the last one, The Bibbed Wonder, and I will attend. Our dear friend Jenna will be at one or two more. This Saturday, Eric and I will attend the Lone Oak Farms porch vendor event. We will join some of our absolute favorite people to peddle our wares for a few hours on Saturday morning. Although live events are always a bit stressful for me, I am genuinely excited to see my vendor friends one last time before we begin our winter hibernation.

If you are local, I gently encourage you to come out to support this beautiful family and their wonderful farm-based business. There is so much to love about the Simpson kids. I’ve told you all before how much I love and respect what they are doing to keep the small family farm relevant in this ever-changing world. They work together, utilizing their individual strengths to create a successful and diverse family business in the place they love with the people they love. All very cool, in my opinion.

Not only do they work to make their business successful, but they also support dozens of local small businesses. Their year-round store is a representation of local talent, small family farms, and family run businesses. Honestly, it’s like having an indoor option to my favorite Ligonier Farmer’s Market. I can’t say enough good things about the Simpsons, their business, and their support of the community.

Come join us on the porch at Lone Oak Farm on Saturday, December 2, from 10-1. A fresh group of vendors will be set up on the porch from 4-7. This holiday event will run on December 2 and 9. If you can’t make it to 1606 Georgeville Road, Marion Center, PA 15759, you can see one of our favorite people, Jenna Strittmatter, aka Jenna the Elf, at KCAC for an all-day event. Between Jenna’s love of dressing up, her contagious laugh, and her sparkling personality, she is hard not to adore. Get your picture taken with Jenna the Elf; she loves a photo op and Nerds Gummies…insert a wink…and get your soap fix for the year.

On this sunny November day, stay safe, be smart, get out, and support local this weekend; Jenna the Elf will do just about anything for Nerds Gummies, and keep washing your hands.