I did a Napoleon

I live in Idaho. Idaho is cool. The movie Napoleon Dynamite took place in
Idaho; so it's cool, right? (I'm a little ashamed to admit that I've watched that
movie more times than I can count.) Remember the part where Kip runs over
the tupperware when he is trying to sell it. I love it for some reason.

I dropped one of my rubbermaids last night while unloading my trunk and
couldn't find it. I figured I'd get it in the morning when I could see it.
I forgot. It didn't make it.
Although I'm impressed there isn't more damage from being run over.
I recommend the brand. Found at any local Wal-mart.
(They should pay me.)

I am probably the only one that thinks this is slightly humorous.

The man and I went out to my sister's place over the weekend. She is the
first of my siblings to return back to our roots. I think we are all slightly envious.
There are goats, chickens, a pony, a pit bull, and a
few cows all running around getting along quite well. I just took a few pictures
of my niece that is so stinkin' cute its ridiculous.

Indulge me please.



She's pretty much in love with him, too.
It honestly can't be helped.









She is kind of a little rascal. Extremely hard to take pictures of because
she moves around so much. Zip, zoom. I am loving my new lens though.
If you didn't know, my new toy is the Canon 24-105mm and there is love all
around with this baby. My mister says that all I said in New York was:
"My feet hurt."
and...
"I love this lens!"

Hey sis, I'll be getting you the pictures somehow. Soon.

The COW Story (involving poop)

The sun was setting behind me. The colors blending in with the cloud

of dust from my tires as I speed along the dirt road. I stuck my hand out

of the window making an airplane and letting the wind blow it up and down.
It's harvest time!

All day long there is the sound of machines going in the fields. A fleet of trucks

run along the roads taking wheat, barley, and oats to their rightful places. The

sticky hotness and the itchy cloud of grain dust penetrate the air. It is

definitely miserable. But I love it. I didn't always.

Living on a farm sounds romantic and appeasing. Let me tell you it isn't.

When I was younger I hated the farm with a PASSION. I wanted to live

in a big city full of culture and art. I loved art. However, I was stuck in a town

where the nearest thing that could be called artistic was a cattle brand.

When I applied for college I was required to write an essay addressing

the question of why the college should choose me over other applicants.

I told them a story:

It was a stormy day. Actually, it had been raining for about three days.

Dad hauled my little brother and me out of the house to sort out

some cows that needed to go to auction.

We chased them down the alleyway into the sorting corral.

I grabbed the gate and was using it to push the cows in. All of a sudden I

was on my back as one of the mothering heifers kicked the gate right into my

forehead and sent me flying onto the ground. Let me remind you it

had been raining all week and so, yes, I was covered head (including hair) to

foot in slimy, oozy COW POOP!!!

{image via}

I just laid there stunned; cows running all around me

taking advantage of the open gate. I got slowly up. Waddled over to dad,

holding back my tears asked if I could please go home. "Nope," he said.

" We have to finish the job." So I stayed. Miserable to the bone. Hair

matted to my head with poop. Crusty. Stinky. Wet. And we finished the job.

I told those big college people that I would be that way the rest of my life.

I would stay until the job was done.

And so... in two days I move.

I move to a new town, a new job, and a new life.

I'm starting my student teaching. Starting the beginning of "being cultured."

And you know what I think I'm going to miss the most: home.

I'll be packing now.

Where I Come From It's Cornbread and Chicken

{me with the pigs}

If someone were to ask me what experience has shaped my life and personality the most, I would say, without the slightest pause, growing up on a farm. There is a certain sense of pride that comes from having your dad work with his hands and your mom take care of her family. As far back as I can recall, we've always had cattle and enough land to keep us more than busy.

Lessons learned on the farm were countless. Such things as

• I was born knowing how to drive a truck and a tractor.
• It is important to know how deep and thick something is before you cross it.
• The better you treat an animal the more they are willing to give you.
  
• Everyone feels hot and sticky and miserable in a 2pm sun --you’re problems are not unique.
• There is always going to be another solution. You can't do it one way you can do it another.
• A piece of twine will do some amazing things. (It is similar to duct tape.)
• You can't start it-- push it. You can't push it--pull it. You can't move it--ask your brother.
• The best time to sing at the top of your lungs to Dixie Chicks and Tim McGraw is while driving a tractor. Country music doesn't belong anywhere else.
• It isn't always easy to find "this size bolt" from 6 five-gallon buckets of rusty pieces of metal.
• And it important to always have a lot of duct tape and WD-40 on hand.
• You don't get to take a hour lunch.
• Machines talk. They tell you when they are feeling normal and when something is amiss. STOP if anything sounds bad.
• Go to bed when you have the chance.
• Run everything to the dirt and then some.
• An most importantly, the harder you work at something the better you feel about yourself.
  
  Family and your stories are part of who you are and what you stand for. Dad can fix anything and mom knows how to make everything good. The habits you keep for years are as strong as life itself. We are part of the land we work. Pray a lot because it all depends on Him. However, work like it doesn't.
  
  No other experience in this world can offer the satisfaction I feel when I watch the sunset after a day of sweat and hard work and the realization I've "done some good in the world today."