Farm Life’s A Hard Life


I am a farming vegetarian. There, it’s out. Before you give me a hard time, stop and imagine what it’s like for me. I’m basically a poop scooping, piglet delivering, egg collecting hypocrite. And that only begins the long list of ways you’ll find me lacking. I suck at a myriad of activities that other women find as simple as breathing. A comprehensive list of said sucking is as follows. Let us begin:

As a farm wife, my culinary pallet is cultured to the extreme. I take great pride in the fact that I have mastered the art of boiling the tenderest, juiciest and most succulent hot dogs west of the rockies. However, don’t envy me too much as I’m more of a master manipulator than 5 star chef. Should you find yourself in a bind when company arrives unexpectedly,take a page from my book with this brilliant cooking scheme, and watch the looks of awe and wonder on your guests faces. Go to the freezer and take a huge amount of time rummaging around in there. Mutter something under your breath like ” well, where is it? I know I saw it in here this morning! ” You may have to use an unnaturally loud voice for that part so your husband (who CAN cook) can hear you over the general conversation. Keep in mind that you’re only trying to create the illusion that you know what you’re doing and have a large stock of deodorant on hand for the awkward moments. I don’t know about you, but I sweat when I’m nervous. Anyway, if he was worth marrying at all he’ll catch the subtle look of wild desperation you throw at him eventually although your company may wonder where you picked up that strange facial tick. When he finally comes to your aid, position the freezer door in such a way so you’re not overheard. I will remind you that while your guests can’t see your face or hear what you’re saying, they CAN observe any foot stomping on your part, that in my opinion, is a must use tool in the kitchen. Shortly after you persuade your husband to save you (never be above bribery. This is a key point people! ) you remove yourself from behind the freezer door and make a HUGE show of pouring the wine. People tend to forget everything if you get them drunk enough.

I’m always flabbergasted when I walk into other people’s homes. Do their floors ALWAYS shine like that? And is that really the faint aroma of apple blossom burst wafting from the bathroom? My bathroom smells like something burst in there too, you know, so there! Why is it that the day you decide to bring your poopy bottomed chicken into the house for a bath is the same day your in laws drop by for a visit? It’s also the same day your dog vomited on the floor, someone spilled milk down the cabinet and the weekend’s dishes are piled to the ceiling. Oh yeah, that’s everyday. Enough said.

Yep. In a nutshell. I am the farthest thing from society’s view of housewife that ever was. Guilty as charged. But here’s the thing: I don’t care! My soufflĂ© may flop, and my house probably smells bad (I’m not sure of this as I think I’m just used to the stench) but I can do lot’s of other stuff. I can throw 20 tons of hay just as well as any man, I can make it through a difficult farrowing singlehandedly, and I’ve taught my boys to believe in themselves no matter what society has to say. I work hard, love hard and play hard. While I’m certainly not the epitome of the word “farmwife,” I think I’m doing alright. And that’s all that matters.

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