Porno Lips By Day, Farm Girl By Night

Can you guys keep a secret? I'm not actually at home. SSSHHHHHH!!!!

My dad lives in the Pacific Northwest (aka B.F.E.) and had one of his knees replaced this week. So I sent my daughters to school, stocked the fridge for them and the hubs and then my 2 year old boy and I hopped on a plane from Atlanta. A FIVE hour flight. We sat next to some poor girl who will probably keep taking birth control pills until she's 90 after her experiences with us.

But, we made it, the operation went great and Pops is coming home in the morning. As for me, I have been caring for actual livestock. As in a boy PLUS hens and roosters, thank you very much. I've been checking the crops (blueberries, yes; tomatoes, not quite yet) and making sure that the cat gets her food in the morning.

There are a couple dozen baby chickens running around and I have to make sure that they get enough to eat because the lardo hens bulldoze them over to get what looks like cat litter that I throw in their general direction. Every time I see it I think, "Jeez. Where's the fucking LOVE??? I'm guessing that some of you old bags gave birth to these chicks...show some compassion!" But it's obvious that they don't give a shit.

I don't have any dungarees or other farming accouterments so I wear my city clothes and my dads black boots that come up to my knees when checking the crops and animals. It's very sexy.

Today I picked blueberries as the sun was rising in my jeans skirt, blue sweater and dads' black boots. My freshly cleaned hair was blowing in the breeze. I started to get an identity crisis. Who AM I? Why am I humming old slave songs while I pick berries off of a frigging vine instead of listening to Nine Inch Nails while I blog for hours on end??? So I quickly applied my MAC lip gloss and all felt a little better with the world again.

I'm supposed to come home on Friday but I know that when I leave I'll pass a longing glance at the boots that have a clod of chicken shit with feathers in it stuck on the heel. Plus I'll never dispassionately glance at a pint of blueberries again. Do you guys have any idea what a pain in the ass it is to pick them?!

OK, It's 9:30PM here and time for a farm girl to go to bed. 'Night, John-Boy....

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Comments

Chat Blanc said…
I so completely understand that identity crisis!! My dad still has his farm and unfortunately I know way more about corn, beans and cattle than any civilized, high heel wearing, purse loving girl should! Kick a rooster for me!! :-)
Bex said…
Ah Sandy, my Sister. Unfortunately there are no fornicating rhinos here. THAT would be a farm worth working on. Well, I'd love to stay and chat but those goddamn berries aren't gonna pick themselves. Like your anime chick!
So does this mean you'll never see blueberries the same again? I mean will you buy them at the grocery store or get all, "Well, my Daddy grows these himself and you just can't get any closer to heaven than growing them yourself. C'mon Junior, we're off to the seed aisle."
blewknight said…
I picked blueberries once.....once! Now I buy em! You want some FUN.....try picking blackberries. I use a rake (to move the branches) and leather gloves.
Sully Sullivan said…
Actually I do have an idea of how much a pain in the ass picking blueberries is.

When I was younger, my grandmother took me up north to where she grew up and most of her family lives. She pumped me up about going "berry picking". I was too young to catch on that she cleverly said "berry picking" without distinguishing which berries we would be picking. Yep, you guess it...blueberries. Man that was a day. I got all pissed and frustrated and my great uncle had a mild heart attack. No joke.

I don't take blue berries for granted. They are very serious business.
Meg said…
Sounds like you need a iPod in your ear while you're working in the fields. But the Mac lipstick was a good call.
I grew up in Indiana.....we detasseled growing up!!
Pulled the tops of corn stalks,usally starting at five in the morning!!!
I don't know why we had to start so early in the morning....like there was some kind of child labor laws that went into effect after 2.
kcar said…
No Nine Inch Nails! Head like a hole, chicken got your soul... Come back Bex, we miss you!
Chris Wood said…
Who are you? You're a lady who does farming chores in a smart suit, doesn't listen to "Head Like A Hole" while picking berries and who is very entertaining.

That's a pretty good start, surely?
Jormengrund said…
All that, and you didn't get the glory of slaughtering a chicken or two??

What kind of farmer stand-in are you??

I'm a little put off by this, but knowing that you'll more than make up for it later, I'll let it pass..

Everyone knows that the best part about being stuck in a farm that time forgot is the chance to kill stuff!

Heck, each summer I'd have to fly from Portland to Minnesota and help my uncle tend his farm.

Haying, storing corn in the crib and feeding the cattle, feeding chickens, then lining them up and slaughtering them and the hogs, slopping hogs, slaughtering cattle to dress and ship off to market, the works!!

Now, I just sit back and reminisce at the "fun" that could be had while doing back-breaking work in ungodly heat while you were too young to notice how overworked and underpaid you really were...

Such are the days and times..

I'm out :P
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