Skip to main content

You've Heard of Freecycle?

If you have a local Freecycle or Potlatch chapter, you'll know that it's a list-serve for people who ascribe to the "one man's trash is another man's treasure" doctrine. FarmWife manages to pick up useful items from time to time—just recently, she was given a lovely cast-iron skillet, and not too long ago she found a home for some outgrown baby items. 


This is a tangent, really, from my original purpose which was to tell you about FarmWife's money-making scheme. You see, she's always loved writing verse —silly, sweet, spoken, or sung. She never really gave herself permission to call it poetry until she saw what I could get away with. It turns out that rhymed meter IS still enjoyed in this day and age, and poems don't have to be disjointed visions of existential angst in order to be appreciated.  


Here, to bring us back to Freecycle, is a poem FarmWife once emailed to the list-serve:


I once had two blenders so fair. 
Neither can now be repaired. 
The glass one, it shattered,
The stick blender's battered
It's blade has emerged, loose and bare.

My food is now gloppy and lumpy.
I can't make it smooth, so it's bumpy.
No more blending or mixing.
I feel something's missing.
It's making me feel worn and frumpy! 

My friends came to visit one day.
We thought we would cook, oh hooray!
My blender, it slipped
When I stumbled and tripped.
The OTHER one then save the day.

The stick blender came from the drawer
But rather than whirring, it ROARED!
The blade it flew out
I let out a shout
My friends and I now blend no more. 

Our recipe suffered that day.
To you on this list I now pray:
A blender to spare
Is a wonder to share, and
To blend would make this lady's day!  



FarmWife has a blender now, as it happens, but her urge to rhyme is still pressing. Because of the lovely time she had helping me with the "x-rays for Fenway" poetry fund drive, FarmWife had concieved that she might make a career of writing memorial and tribute poems to the great animals and people of the world, living or remembered. In pursuit of this dream, she has established www.commissionedpoetry.com


If you know of a vet clinic, boarding stable, tack store, pet supply store, groomers, or other facility at which a flyer might be noticed, please consider posting one on our behalf. FarmWife has shared a printable PDF flyer at the above website, and your participation in our advertising blitz would be most gratefully appreciated. After all, every poem's worth a bale of hay! 


Ears to you,
Fenway Bartholomule


p.s. Update on yesterday's post—cloud dog is splinted, medicated, and resting. We should know in a few days how extensive the damage to his foreleg is; in the meantime, he's feeling much better. Thank you for your support. 

Comments

  1. We LOVE freecycle here in Pahrump. Mom has gotten a gas BBQ, a bird bath and other good stuff and she has given away lot of stuff too. There is never any horsie stuff to be had though - hmmmmmmm.

    Glad to hear Paisley is feeling better.

    Your fren,

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hey Fenway!! I belong to a networking / trail riding group of over 150 women in Oklahoma and I posted your wonderful poem about Chisholm's Thundercloud and how to get Farmwife to write poems for their horses or other "furkids". I hope you get some poetry commissions out of my group the Tral Riding Gals of Oklahoma aka TRGs.
    Sincerely,
    Ginger Jackson and Chisholm !

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ginger, thanks for the advertising! I would love to wax poetic for your Oklahoma trail riders. I appreciate your support!


    Buddy, do you often get a pat on the rump—your Pahrump rump?

    FB

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thanks in Advance for Your Mulish Opinion!

Popular Posts

Here are the Cloud Dog's X-Rays

Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery.   Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance.  Ears to you,  Fenway

Vegan Spring Rolls

I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a vegan: of course I only eat plants, not people! My human is too, so I'm sharing my blog with her today so that she can participate in the 2014 Virtual Vegan Potluck ! When you're done perusing the recipe for these delicious spring rolls, click "back" or "forward" for the entire potluck experience! Virtual Vegan Potluck: Spring Roll Appetizers Beautiful? Check. Healthy? Check. Delicious? Check. Easy? Check. Fancy? Check. Quick to clean up after? Check. Vegan? OF COURSE! If you're looking for something portable, colorful, and crowd-pleasing for your next potluck, look no further than these simple vegan spring rolls! The best part? You can substitute ANYTHING. I never make these the same way twice, so play around with cilantro, kale, cabbage, scallions, or whatever you think sounds good! Ingredients Veggie mix: 2 carrots (grated) 4 oz mung bean sprouts 1/3 cup chopped peanuts (raw, or roasted and salted) or ...

Catastrophy

This is the emergency broadcast system. This is not a test. I was going to entertain you with more haiku today, but something terrible has happened. I need your support. Today was supposed to be a regular spa day—a nice little hoofie trim, a fresh mane roach, an ear massage, and a handful of sunflower seeds (for shine). Instead of merely taking care of my beauty routine, however, FarmWife spent a full hour in contemplation of and attention to my overall physique. The upshot? A revision of my condition from Plump to Obese. (Her actual words, upon removing my blanket for the first time in a few days, were "Oh my God! You've ballooned!") She has decided that my fatness has become a health risk, and has resolved to exercise me as often as possible. It gets dark at 4:30. Her husband gets home at 5:30. She has small children and no sitter. This, my friends, means that I will end up being longed. Longed at the end of a stupid, smelly old rope. Forced to walk and trot...

Mowers and raccoons and steers, oh my!

In my informal Facebook survey I learned that the majority of Friends of the Muleness want more stories—All the Stories!—and that the story they want most of all is the story of the raccoon.  Farmwife says it's hardly a story at all, and that it would be something to talk about had the raccoon been in my barn, or touching my body, or gesticulating at me with it's bizarrely human little fingers to indicate that it would like a little snack or help with its homework. Alas, this is not that kind of story.  Before I tell you about the raccoon I have to go backwards and tell you that I am feeling very good in my body these days. My track through the forest has been expanded, my laminitis is at bay, and my health has been very largely excellent since I came here to the Atomic Ranch in December. I am feeling so good, in fact, that I have been cleared for long walks around the neighborhood! Puck, Farmwife, and I sometimes make the long loop up Saratoga and back around Fox Spit, which ...