Turnstile Farm? Tickets Please!

ImageI am unable to sleep and so find myself lying in bed inventing new and interesting ways to market the farm. One idea I’m pondering is the sale of tickets to our next farrowing. (That’s when mamma pig has piglets.) If you’re not sure this is a great idea let me tell you a very true story…..


Our first batch of piglets was about to be born any second, OK, any day now… sometime this week? Maybe I have the dates wrong. Anyway, you get the picture. We were very impatiently awaiting their arrival and I, in particular, would spend hours in the barn cooing and singing to mamma in that soothing way I have about me. Yes, soothing. Still, no babies. Day after day after day; nothing, nada, zilch. Is she even pregnant? What the heck are two people like us doing this for anyway? How embarrassing. We are terrible farmers. These were a few of the thoughts running a marathon through our brains. 

A few weeks prior my sister gave birth to a beautiful baby boy and the day of the baby shower was fast approaching. I was worried about the so called up-coming farrowing event, however, I had thought it through. Seeing as how we had waited this long, as well as the endless hours we’d spent staring at a pig’s vagina, I thought ( usually a bad move in the first place) that on the day of the shower it would be safe to leave the farm for a couple of hours. After all, I was but a few minutes from home, plus I had the Luck ‘ O ‘ the Irish on my side as it was St. Patrick’s day. I dressed myself in my most festive green dress and decided to go bare legged. Even though it was minus 15 and snowing sideways I felt very spring-ish. My mom picked me up, I kissed the boys goodbye, and off I went.

I did not mean to imbibe. It’s not as if I planned it, but the further into the shower we got the further into my cups was I. I was? Whatever. I believe we were midway through the construction of the human pyramid when the phone rang. My mother screamed ” Brianna, we must get you home! The piglets are coming and the boys are freaking out!” Of course this brought  the pyramid crashing down in a way you’d think would be sobering, but actually had the opposite effect. Off we went in a caravan of drunkenness. I even had a to-go cup for my wine. My mom drove like a demon to get me there on time. Finally the cavalcade arrived at the farm and I only stopped to yank on my gum boots before sprinting to the barn. What I was about to do sobered me up in quite a hurry, and it was eight full hours later, in minus 15, sideways snow, and a green party dress ( complete with gum boots) that our first batch of piglets was suckling sweetly.

Tickets anyone?

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