5 Projects that Aren't Happening

An example of a restored Herschell trojan jumper

FarmWife's Herschell trojan jumper

FarmWife has a handy little mental list of impending projects. Seeing as she can't even find time to ride her dear Fenway Bartholomule more than once per month, however, I think most of them fall more into the category of "dream" than "plan." Because dreams, however, are fun, and because you're a fun group to dream with, here are a few of her deferred projects* in no particular order:

1) Restore her carousel horse. The horse, a c. 1916 Allen Herschell outside row trojan jumper, is glorious in all his weathered beauty, but would look rather fine with new, repaired wood joinery, a nice seal brown paint job, and a smooth, shiny finish. Maybe someday! In the meantime, I am shiny enough for the both of us.

2) Pull stumps in the pasture. I am good at safely navigating the stumpish area, and I would rather live with stumps than be harnessed and forced to labor for their removal. I say they should stay.

3) Tend the maples. Is it a maple thing? All this dead wood? They look healthy enough, but for every living branch it seems there is another, dead one! We try not to stand under them too often. FarmWife would like to saw them down, but she is afraid of ladders and chainsaws, and especially the combination of ladders and chainsaws. That's something to work on.

4) De-rust the trailer. A paintjob would do my old Brawley good, but at the very least FarmWife should apply some of that handy rust-converter stuff. The trailer is soundly built and has a lovely new floor, but the rust on the roof is going to turn into a new skylight if we're not careful! I neither want nor need a skylight.

5) Clean the habitat. Someday.

In the meantime, FarmWife mucks my paddock daily. She feeds me morning and evening, and pops in with a carrot or an apple slice each afternoon. She updates my blog daily, manages to feed her children, and keeps the bunny litter fresh. I won't accuse her of being lazy if she doesn't master the arts of arboriculture and carousel carving in 2011, but she'd better not let my trailer rust through.

Ears to you,
FenBar

*I am excluding from this list those projects that are either dependent on large influxes of cash (barn building, paddock graveling, house painting, arena making) or on FarmHusband's skill (cathedral making, window reframing, roof replacing). Those are posts for another day.

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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

Continued . . .

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 ...

Continued . . .

2025 State of the Farmlet Address

A red stag photographed by Farmwife in Scotland, from whence the family descends and to where they voyaged in September 2024. Dear Mules and Countrywomen, It is my pleasure to report to you today, from my forested vantage point, that the Farmlet is well. It has been eight years since my family had a Farmlet to report upon, and this one is among the best. It is 25 minutes south of Casa de Bartholomule-Teaspoon, where you may remember the family lived for a time, and situated on the same verdant island. It is 120 minutes south of Bent Barrow Farm, where the ancient rhododendron still blooms and where FenBar's old barn of many colors still stands and shelters farm machinery. This place has rhododendrons, too, encircling a lawn which slopes down to my barn and paddock. We call the barn Hoofhouse, and it is going to be painted black in the spring to match the house and my companion, Puck. My paddock, by design, does not overlap the lawn but instead winds through a mix...

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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...

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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