The Quest for Order….and Underwear

Something wonderful happened on the farm last week.

The farmer and farmher both got new underwear.

I KNOW! Isn’t it exciting!

Truth of the matter is, we’ve been going like mad people since we hit the ground running in September. And while we’re still running, the chill on the breeze has pushed me more inwards. Inside the house. Huddled in the warm kitchen with some sort of warm and comforting concoction brewing. Bread rising in the oven. Hot cocoa swirling on the stove, just waiting to be topped with a touch of whipped cream.

And if I hadn’t dried my goats off so early, I wouldn’t have to buy the whipped cream. In an attempt to free up just an inch of time, I dried off my two main milkers. My main girls. My main squeeze.

……hahahaha! Get it! Main squeeze?



But as I was saying, I have come to regret my decision. Because I need to mentally prepare myself for buying dairy products. Store bought yogurt? What is that? What do you mean I have to buy ricotta cheese for my lasagna? But homemade ricotta…..fresh whey for bread….but…but.

Ya, I didn’t prepare myself, y’all. And now I’m paying for it.

I ran out of milk for my coffee this morning. In a gallant move, which was literally swoon worthy, my darling homestud let me have the last of the milk for my coffee. But there was only enough for one cup of coffee and girlfriend is onto two cups in the morning…..ok maybe three. Sometimes even four.


Hey, it doesn’t get light outside until 8 am! I need help rising before the sun!

But alas, there was only enough milk for one cup. Usually that’s no big deal, because there is always milk on the way. Always an udder that needs emptying. Always rows of mason jars filled with white gold, begging me to use it up before it turns sour and becomes pancakes. Always, always. Until there isn’t. I wasn’t ready.

Sometimes in life, when we try to save ourselves some time, we end up hurting ourselves in the end.

But, as I pull inwards, I’ve noticed other things that have been neglected. Like my spare room that is a mess right now. Because I needed somewhere to be a drop zone when we first moved in. So that room was it. And I haven’t ventured in again since. Can we just close the door and burn it down? Anyone, anyone?

And there’s the dirt on the walls. Seriously, how did this much dirt collect already? Oh right. I have three dogs. Three dogs that roll around in the dirt and then come inside and for some reason that only makes sense to dogs, they must rub against the wall as they walk down the hallway. We couldn’t possibly walk down the hall in the centre and thus save me from one more cleaning job. Oh no.


And after I scrub the dirt off the walls, I mop, and everyone piles in the back door with their wet feet, Dan included, and mill down the hall into the kitchen. Wet foot prints everywhere. So I mop again. And before it even gets a chance to dry everyone mills back down the hallway to go back out the back door, leaving tracks in their wake. So I mop AGAIN. I feel like one of those cartoon characters that keeps getting trampled by a mad rush going one way then going back the other and I’m just standing there with swirly lines above my head and messed up hair, looking all haggard and plum worn out.  And yes the cycle repeats again. By that point I fling the Swiffer and announce that my floors will not be shiny with no foot prints and I go and pour myself a glass of wine.

And, as I ignore my messy spare room, mop the hallway endless times, I also run back and forth from the washer and the dryer to the closest with basket after basket of laundry. HOW IS THERE SO MUCH LAUNDRY IN THIS HOUSE? I have not an answer. Only a never-ending pile. And you know what, I get so fed up with it that I leave it in the basket. I know. It’s terrible. Shameful even. But if I have to fold and put away one more basket I’m going to throw myself down the old well at the back of the property. Pleeeease don’t make me fold one more basket of laundry. Please!

But then, the next day comes…..ahem, or the next week. And there’s the laundry begging to be put away. Which it really needs because I’m digging through all my draws trying to find socks, or my good bra – you know the one where the straps don’t fall down. And that’s when I realize it. We don’t have any underwear. Because in the mess of life things get forgotten. There’s no milk, mess everywhere, and hole-y panties under my jeans.

My friends, I cannot go on like this!

So, thanks to Amazon, since there are no box stores within an hour from here, one thing is made right. And it was a happy day on the farm.

Send help. Or wine.



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Back to top