Category: Jessie Raymond
Over the past few years, our little homestead has started to look like a real old-fashioned farm, complete with all the standard barnyard animals. But if you’re thinking things are all E-I-E-I-O around here, think again.
Nowhere in that classic children’s farm song do I recall a verse in which Old McDonald had some rats.
Yes, rats.
It started about a month ago. Early one morning while opening up the turkey house, I spied a shadow slipping away from the feeder.
“Perhaps it’s a little Beatrix Potter field mouse,” I said. “I’ll call him Cuddly Wumpkins.”
People tend to assume I’m mild-mannered just because I drive the speed limit, avoid trans fats and consider it a wild Friday night if I stay up until 10 knitting socks. But I’m a thrill-seeker, all right.
I get my kicks on eBay.
For the uninformed, eBay is a website where people can buy and sell items in an auction format. Find something you like, enter the highest (non-disclosed) amount you’re willing to spend, and click on Place Bid. Your bid will automatically be raised against competing bids until your limit is reached.
So far this summer, I’ve honored my vow not to unload any zucchini on friends and coworkers, especially those who have never done me wrong.
But it’s not easy.
I’ve never grown zucchini before and I’m not entirely sure why I did it this year. I know only too well — as the grudging recipient of several hundred pounds of zucchini each summer — that the number of zucchini eaten annually by the average American family is three, yet the yield of a single zucchini plant is 30 times that. So far. The season’s not over.
Last weekend, we threw a huge party at our house so we could celebrate my stepson’s recent wedding in Oklahoma with our friends and family in Vermont. It was a great time, or so they tell me; I was so busy being a good hostess I didn’t speak to any of the guests.
I found out that putting together such an event is not easy. So I’ve compiled a brief list of dos and don’ts for anyone who might someday decide to hold a party where the number of guests exceeds the population of the average Vermont town. Here goes:
Congratulations, everyone, we did it: We survived the heat wave.
Before, most of us didn’t know much about dealing with prolonged high temperatures. But last week gave us a crash course in climate control. While the rest of the world was talking about the World Cup and LeBron James, we were talking about dew points and home-cooling solutions.
Much to the dismay of my family, I’m one of those people who not only remember the most obscure details of their dreams almost every night, but who also feel compelled to share those details, at length, with everyone at the breakfast table.
People at my house often skip breakfast.
Each morning, I lead off with something like, “I had the weirdest dream last night: We were in a bowling alley, and Mick Jagger was there with a cockatiel …”
My husband Mark invariably jumps up, saying, “Look at the time. I’m late for work,” and the kids scatter like cockroaches.
On a recent family trip to Oklahoma, I developed a whole new admiration for, and horror of, the airline industry. No other business I know of can provide so little for so much and still be in such high demand. (As a cell phone owner, I don’t say this lightly.)
Airline travel has become increasingly expensive, inconvenient and exhausting. It offers little incentive to keep customers coming back. Yet the airports are packed.
When you spend enough time with animals, you start to truly understand them. Maybe it’s the barn fumes, but lately I feel like I can even hear what they’re saying.
Take our pet goats, for instance. As soon as the three of them see my husband and me preparing to move their fence to new pasture, they come bounding up to us with eager smiles, saying, “That looks interesting. Here, we’ll help.” The next thing you know, they’re weaving in and out between us, nibbling on the fiberglass posts, stepping on our feet and generally being more problem than solution.
