>> Monday, July 9, 2012
If only she lived closer!
My writing buddy, Diane Reed Loew is a quick-witted, dry sense-of-humored gal that lives a few hours from me. I love her writing and live vicariously through her fun-filled life.
From Diane: Thank you, Kim, for trusting me with your audience.
Kim and I met a few years ago at a FaithWriters Conference and she has been a blessing—longer distance than I prefer, but blessings all the way.
I am a wife, mother, and grandmother from the west side of Michigan. We own a dairy farm and life is usually a bit stinky, messy, and never boring here. I hope you enjoy an event from my view of the world.
We are finally going to have family pictures taken. We have not had a professional family picture, other than at weddings for over 20 years.
In preparation of this momentous occasion, on Monday evening around 7:00 PM I decided I was going to color my hair. When you get to this stage in life you have to use every tool available to help. I had just finished touching up the roots and set the timer for 20 minutes when Farmer/husband got the dreaded call - "The cows are out!" He jumped into the truck and headed to the barn.
Feeling exempt due to the hair coloring I went out on the back porch, sat down in my comfy swing and looked across the road at the farm. The BEBs (brown-eyed bossies) had escaped from the barn closest to our house and I could see a couple running around. I saw Son #2, daughter-in-law #2, Wigglie #2 (grandkid) and then, Farmer joined in the rodeo. I thought, "This will be fun to watch."
Well, then I saw another cow, then two more then another and then "crap" I thought. Being the responsible Farmer's wife that I am I pulled on my jeans and headed over.
So, with my hair all askew, looking like red chicken feathers sticking up all over and with my special hair coloring T-shirt on, I entered the fray. My hair coloring T-shirt is oversized, with a cow print on the front that is splattered with color from over the years of using it while coloring my hair.
Wigglie looked at me a little funny, but was soon distracted by an 800 pound BEB coming at him.
My long, lean and lanky daughter-in-law was running around along with Wigglie #2 and Son #2. I cannot understand how she can be all dirty, sweaty with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup and still look beautiful. It is just so unfair!
I joined the BEBs roundup. The cattle were in the middle of the feed alley and had to be herded down and out the end of the barn, turned immediately to their left and back into the adjoining pens. Son #2 was bringing up the rear and the rest of us were in front and made a human fence to guide the boisterous bovine back into the pens.
As big as these BEBs are, they are pretty gentle. They can run towards you and all you need to do is just wave your arms and they will turn the other way - most of the time.
There were a couple that weren't as excited about going into the pen or just wanted to get a closer look at the lady with the rooster on her head. I had to shove them back in the right direction. I think they were snickering as they went back into the pen, "Oh yeah, that's the Farmer's wife, she's the weird one."
I wondered, what is all this wind, dust and surely there must be some flying pooh in the air, going to do to my hair? Will there be any weird chemical reaction if poop and hair dye mix? And, how long have I been here, will my hair turn green and fall out all because someone (who would pay dearly if they were found) didn't chain the gate?!
We got them back in and Wigglie says "Grammy, is that your hair coloring shirt? I can tell 'cause it looks like you spilled some on it before." He was all sweaty with dirt rivers running down his face and this big ol' smile. He is so precious.
“You got it, buddy!” I replied as I wiped sweat diluted dye from my forehead.
I jumped back in the car, rushed home, and checked the timer. I had twenty seconds to spare. No sweat. Well, yes, there was some, but you know...
If you’d like to follow the randomness of my ramblings, join me at Random Ramblings Of...
Just make sure you don’t wear your good shoes—wouldn’t want you to step in any pooh!