Everyone has an opinion, ya know? Recently, our third son Atticus (pictured above), critiqued our Instagram content. “It’s getting stale,” he said in that blithe manner typical of an apartment dweller with three houseplants. “No interesting stories,” he said, “and you posted four photos of Heather in a row.”
Read morePing: How a Chicken Was Named for a Duck
Good grief, twenty teenagers? Yes, our chickens have reached that pubescent stage where their feet are growing faster than their bodies, their voices are cracking, and in accordance with their hairy Persian and Colombian owners, they’ve sprouted unattractive facial feathers. They’re now old enough to venture outdoors into a little fenced area where they’re learning to hunt and peck in the grass. We’ve propped a couple ramps leading through a trap door. Making their way down the plank in the morning, they’re out of control and gangly, like thirteen-year-olds on a dance floor.
Read moreKeeping It Clean at the Farm
Look at this pretty man bathing in the nice water. Can you smell the soap? Can you hear him singing the Three Dog Night song? “Wash away my troubles, wash away my pain, wash away my sorrow, wash away my shame.”
We’ve installed a new outdoor shower here at Little Laurentide. It is beyond description to stand on the flagstone in bare feet after slaving in the garden.
Read moreReflection in the Mirror
A few years ago, a police officer knocked at our door on a very rainy night, and I learned that one of my sons had been in a terrible car accident. This is not a story about the police officer, nor about that accident. This is about something small that happened the next day.
Read moreMy Babies Are Back in Their Coop
I first hatched the idea of finger puppet children four years ago. We’d been up north with the kids for a vacation, and on the last day, during a family photo, we had a big fat ugly argument. When we returned home, I saw a friend post a pic of a finger puppet she had knitted for her grandchild and I thought, “Wouldn’t it be fun to get some new kids.”
Read moreIf You Give a Mouse a Cookie
Have you heard of Fika? It is a Swedish tradition, taught to me by my daughter-in-law, where you take a break from work to enjoy a cup of tea or coffee, a little tidbit, and conversation. I love this observance, especially because my former favorite ritual of a glass of wine in the evening is forbidden. (You can read about my sober life here.)
Anyway, I was out at the farm one sunny afternoon in July, getting my Fika on with a cup of darjeeling and a cookie, watching a hen out the window.
Read moreGarden Furniture Passed Down or Stolen
This week’s post is a little sloppy because the weather is fine so I am required to report for weed duty. They are unstoppable, the bindweed, the lamb’s quarter, the farter’s button, overrunning every inch of our idyllic little farm like the oligarch tourists swarming over Lake Como.
Read moreA Handy Man to Have Around
English is not his mother tongue but that doesn’t stop my dad from going through the fine print on contracts. “Part and labor for one year,” he reads aloud to me.
I correct him. “Parts,” I say.
“Do parts include silly putty?” he asks me.
“What are you talking about?”
He had noticed a leak coming from the new air conditioner. The front panel is attached via round bolts threaded through oval holes. Which explains the minute threads of cooled air escaping past his outstretched hand. He calls the HVAC guy and tells him to bring his silly putty.
Read moreOur Plans for the Farm: A Short List
I’m going to share a bunch of ideas we’ve discussed for this farm. In case you’re new here, we purchased a farm that is currently a perennial plant nursery and a gift shop. We did not purchased the actual business, though, so we have been considering all manner of proposals. This has been fun, especially for someone like me who is a squirrel and scampers after anything shiny.
Read moreWe Bought a Farm: Part Two
Shortly after moving to Wisconsin over twenty years ago, my husband and I took a Saturday drive with our friend Stacey out to a very special farm and garden center called Monches Farm. We climbed out of the car and fell instantly in love with the overwhelming beauty of the place: deep rolling furrows of field-grown perennials, stone and timber outbuildings, a big red barn with antiques and gifts, pergolas and statuary, a glass house with teetering stacks of pottery, a vast inventory of day lilies, and dozens of exotic chickens freely pecking hither and non.
Read moreWhat Exactly Is Behind Helicopter Parenting?
My husband is an ethics officer of a large Fortune 500 company. He regularly conducts investigations of ethical misconduct, and while he isn’t shocked by the college admissions scandal, he finds it fascinating.
Most of my husband’s cases involve smart people doing stupid things for a little extra edge or a little extra money. They risk their career, their personal relationships, their reputation for a few thousand bucks, or a roll in the hay with a subordinate. Why?
Read moreA Little Breathing Space
When I was six, I ran away from home. I packed my favorite doll, Betsy, into my red vinyl purse and hit the road.
Soon after the screen door slammed behind me, I encountered a problem I hadn’t anticipated. My parents forbade me crossing the street alone. What to do?
I asked Betsy. Maybe now is the time to mention that Betsy was a “Flatsy,” one of those popular dolls of the 1960s with the disconcerting combination of luscious, shiny, three-dimensional hair attached to a flattened head and body. Betsy looked like she’d been run over by a steam roller. She did not encourage me to cross the street.
Read moreA Bathroom for ManBearPigs Plus Jane
Technically, this post is about the rehab of our hall bathroom. In actuality, I’m excited to delve into some of the grittier aspects of bathrooms and boys. You have been warned.
For twenty years, our four sons, aka our ManBearPigs, shared a small bathroom that measured 8 x 8. Thinking back on those days, it was quite manageable. When they were little, they loved communal bath time so much that the promise of bubbles in the tub was strong incentive for good behavior. And while I was forever straining to clean that weird spot on the base of the toilet with my stubby T-Rex arms, I don’t recall things getting rough until the middle school years.
Read moreThe Tureen Is Dead. Long Live the Tureen.
Why are tureens obsolete? When did that happen? Was it before I was born? I mean, I’ve been around the block a few times. I know how to use a payphone and I’ve eaten at a Ground Round (Homecoming ‘79). Yet I have no recollection of seeing a host or hostess use a tureen. EVER. That includes my friend Wendy who is a Daughter of the American Revolution and owns finger bowls.
Last month at a small dinner, my friend Susan set her table with her mother’s china and sterling silver, and then ladled her delicious vichyssoise out of a Tupperware from the fridge. So burping plastic survived the leap to Y2K but not the elegant and functional tureen?
Read moreA Christmas Story
My dad grew up in Hamadan, Iran, one of the oldest cities in the world. Situated in the shadow of the Zagros Mountains, Hamadan has one of the harshest climates in Iran. My dad remembers winters so frigid, the dead could not be buried.
So when he moved to Chicago for medical school, the weather didn’t completely shock him, though he did question the fear of a tornado - it's just wind! - until the day
Read moreWe Bought a Farm!
Yes! My husband’s lifelong dream of farming has become a reality. My lifelong dream of writing high humor about chickens is on the verge of happening. We just purchased the prettiest farm you can imagine!
The excitement has nearly killed us. We can’t sleep for our anticipation. We wake up every day, look at each other and giggle, like we are seven and it’s Christmas morning. The last time I felt this way was when we first met. So I guess I’ve fallen in love!
Read moreHow to Survive the Family Road Trip? Podcasts!
In the snapshot above, circa 1976, my family is packed in our Chevy Impala, ready to make the return drive from a dude ranch in Colorado back home to Illinois. You can't really tell from the darkened photo but the three of us in the backseat are completely miserable and the key is not yet in the ignition. Oh the agony of 1001 miles in a car with undependable air conditioning, shocks that didn't absorb, and a radio that my father refused to switch on. Time slowed to the point that my Barbie dolls married and divorced several times on the journey.
Read moreA Portrait of a Mom
My son Nicholas is an artist. That is a self-portrait of him sitting on my dining room buffet. That is a portrait of his wife on the wall next to the buffet.
I remember that as a toddler, Nicholas didn't scribble. He simply began drawing faces. His favorite subjects were his grandfather who got a squiggly mustache and his father whom he always drew with a swooping necktie.
Read moreHappy Persian New Year via Instagram
This Tuesday, the northern hemisphere began its tilt back towards the sun, and Iranians around the world celebrated the Persian New Year, also known as Norooz. (It can also be spelled Norouz or Nowruz, as it is a phonetic approximation of the word as written in Farsi, the language of Iran. This inexactitude drives me a little crazy, tbh.)
In Iran, Norooz is an ecumenical holiday, meaning no matter your faith, you take part in the celebration. I liken it to the American Thanksgiving because as a holiday, it boils down to sitting around a table with your family for hours. On Thanksgiving, we express gratitude for the blessings we have enjoyed in the past. On Norooz, we express hope and joy for the future.
Read moreA Teeny Halloweeny
Okay, maybe the finger puppet thing has gotten out of hand, so to speak. Perhaps I’ve come unraveled, as it were. Confusing fantasy and reality.
For those new to this blog, my finger puppet family was born a couple of years ago when my own kids gave me grief about posing for a family photo. You can read the original post here. Since then, my finger puppets have traveled the globe, documenting their adventures on Instagram under the hashtag #knittedtogetherforever.
If I'm posing with my finger puppet at a tennis tournament, or atop a mountain in Yosemite, I don't think it's much of a leap to make Halloween costumes for my finger puppet kids.
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