It’s a beautiful August morning. The sky is overcast, the wind is blowing, and it is raining. I couldn’t be more excited about the weather.
Since being overcome by my hair-brained idea to raise bum lambs and calves, my time is no longer my own. This spring when I excitedly took on two bum calves and a handful of bum lambs, I was optimistic that I could have my own little ranching project and contribute in some manner. My mothering instinct kicked in and I was going to raise the best bum calves ever. They were going to be great mothers someday.
Five months and a couple thousand dollars later (add in 14 goats to the picture as well), I am scanning ag newspapers for sale dates for my four-legged wards. My life is no longer my own. Every morning and every evening, I put on my chore clothes, mix up milk replacer and fight through the little turds to hang their milk jug, throw them grain and hay. They have moved past the cute, doey-eyed babies to an obnoxious hungry teenager-acting stage. They step on me, demand more, and vocally remind me if I am late.
I used to go out for a refreshing morning run at dawn before work in the summers. Now I rush to feed and wash buckets before I go to work. I have scratched a bald spot in the top of my head wondering where the money is coming from to feed the tail swinging bellering mouths in the corrals at the top of the hill.
My desk is overloaded with receipts I need to track, check books to balance, stories to write. There is an layer of dust on the words “dust me” on the TV stand in the living room. The dishes are only done because I need the sink to wash the milk bucket. My garden has a healthy crop of kosha weeds that are nearly as tall as the sunflowers. The barn cats get lost in the tall grass on the lawn. It’s overwhelming. And I will make a to-do list to tackle it shortly after my nap, which is where I am heading now.
Like I said, it’s a beautiful morning.
