4th at the Farm!

On the 4th of July, Joshua and I hosted a BBQ with some fireworks for family and friends. We had a wonderful time and hope to make it an annual event. For the sake of brevity, I will share only the pictures! Hope to do it again next year!

Emily and Lindsay....roomies and farm girl wannabes.

The family getting a tour of the barn. I just love Joshua's Grandad Jim in this picture...hands on his hips, so very Grandad Jim.

Emily and our family friend, Big Al, petting Sophie...

Big Al trying to sweet talk one of the girls....

Our friend, Cheri, enjoying a hamburger in an oh-so-ladylike fashion....

Meme and Papa chatting with Emily and Lindsay....

The Hulls! I love that Alvin found a friend immediately in Joshua's cousin, Clara.

(From left), Joshua's Aunt Diane, his Grandma Sue, and his Grammy Evelyn...

Joshua's aunt Diane and cousin, Olivia---Notice that her little brother, Ian, had to figure out a way to get in the picture!

Mom and our friend, Cheri, enjoying the 4th! I love this picture!

Lindsay, throwing like a total girl....

Dad playing ball with Joshua's cousin, Forrest...

Dad, Emily, and Lindsay smiling (and sweating) in the front yard. Classy lawn chairs, ladies!

A belated cows entry

Just before the 4th of July, our family set out for the sale barn in the hopes of finding the first heifers (female cows that have yet to calf) for our herd. As many of you know, we have been looking for these ladies for some time, trying to make the right decision that will not result in some swollen cow floating in the pond three weeks from now. Before we visited the sale barn, we tried to run down multiple private sellers, seeking 6-10 Angus/Brangus Heifer Yearlings, but perhaps because of the season (and the availability of grass to fatten the heifers through the summer), we could not find any commercial stock within our age and price parameters. So, at 7:00 AM on a Saturday morning, we arrived for a country breakfast followed by the cattle auction. Let me treat you to the highlights before proudly introducing you to our lovely ladies:

Pep Talk: Before we left for the auction, we were very excited. I mean, we were “jumping around in the driveway” excited. Dad tried to temper our excitement, giving us a classic pep talk. He warned us that when we purchased our first heifers at the auction, we should “Act like you’ve been to the endzone before.” No dancing, no celebrations, no squealing. Apparently, legitimate cattlemen do not squeal when they successfully bid on an animal at auction.

Friends with Bovine: Our family is so blessed to have a wonderful friend named Odell who helped us through the entire heifer selection and delivery. He warned us not to get first heifers too small (300-400 lbs) or bloated with water (to make them look heavier for auction). He recommended that we purchase black heifers (Angus, Brangus) and consider what he called “Black Baldies,” black angus bred with Hereford which shows as a black-bodied heifer with a white face. The “Black Baldies” offer what Joshua described as “Hybrid Vigor,” meaning that mixed breed heifer possesses the ideal traits of both Angus and Hereford. After we purchased our lovely ladies, Odell delivered the ladies to the Farm and told the boys he was proud of them for making nice selections. Both of the boys seemed particularly pleased that Odell approved of the purchases!

Heifers, Bulls, & Steers: Mom and I decided that we could easily identify a heifer from a bull from a steer simply upon entry into the auction arena without needing to peer awkwardly between the animal’s back legs: A heifer strolls in casually with her girlfriends almost as if she is glancing through the sale rack at White House-Black Market on a Saturday when she has nothing better to do. A bull charges in, puffed up, maybe a little sweaty, with a wild look in his eye, head-butting the auction employee and trying to avoid the paddle and find the heifers at the same time. Lastly, a steer enters the arena like a man who just got off at the wrong bus stop-He is confused, lost, and minus a pair of essentials.

Auction Highlights: When you attend the auction every Saturday, the rules regarding registration no longer apply to you. This good old boy in the row behind us purchased cattle all morning long, and every time the auctioneer would ask for his number, the man would confirm he, in fact, had not registered and been assigned a number. The auctioneer would look exasperated and merely reply: “Lot 74, Sold to Pappy.” Perhaps one day our family will be identified by such an affectionate nickname….no number required! Lastly, as we were loading up to bring our girls home to the Farm, we passed a cattle trailer literally covered in shit. I realize this is a family blog, and my grandmother likely will not approve of my language. Frankly, there is simply no other term that can quite so accurately describe the amount of animal feces on this trailer. It looked like a mobile cow poop dirt-dobber’s nest. I could not tell you the color of the trailer….well, that’s not true. It was brown.

Without further adieu, please welcome six lovely ladies to our herd…


This is Gertie, standing in the weeds....

My favorite, our Black Baldie, named Sophie. She is very tame and enjoys getting a pet from her people.

Little Cecilia stepping off the trailer...

Miss Sophie making her grand entrance....

The boys getting ready to unload the girls..

For your amusement...

Certain elements are absolutely essential for any successful visit to an amusement park. No amusement park visit is complete unless the temperature is at least ninety degrees Fahrenheit with one hundred percent humidity. You must feel sweat in body crevices you did not know you had such that you are willing to literally dip yourself in the brown, foamy water on the graffiti-splattered log ride to cool off and wait in an incredible line for the opportunity to do so. Once you feel the sweat begin to bead under your eyeballs and start to trickle down your cheeks, you know you are ready to pack yourself into back-and-forth rows of humanity for the exciting privilege to be jerked around in a loop for thirty seconds or so. A little wobbly, you step off the ride only to observe a mass of sweaty humanity (and their thirteen illegitimate children) stuffing their respective faces with fried food and multi-colored drinks composed mostly of high fructose corn syrup. During any solid amusement park visit, this will certainly not be the last time you observe these dietary delights.

Fully aware of all these clichés, Joshua, Hannah, and I set out for Frontier City this past Saturday. I wanted to share with the blog universe a little about our adventure. After our visit, I have reached certain conclusions:

• I am a Big Chicken: Since I was a little girl, I have been terrified of amusement park rides. I remember crying on a bench at Disney World when I was maybe twelve because I was simply too scared to board the runaway mine train. I did not ride a roller coaster until I was at least fourteen when I was too embarrassed to admit my phobia to my school friends. As the Zingo chugged slowly up the first hill, I remember thinking that if I survived this ride, I would never ride another roller coaster. Frankly, every amusement park experience since then has been some twisted variation of that fateful day. When Joshua and I went to Six Flags before we married, I was too embarrassed to admit to this boy I liked that I was trying not to throw up as they fastened the shoulder straps over me, my feet dangling in the air. On another visit, he tried to get me to ride the Titan. I stepped into the car, looked up to see how high the ride went, and stepped directly out on the other side. My sister and sisters-in-law have always ridiculed me about this phobia, and I secretly think my husband arranges these amusement park encounters because it is one of the rare times he gets to really see me squirm. This weekend, before we tackled any big roller coasters, we rode this little ride that spins one way in a circle and goes up and down. For you readers familiar with our beloved Bell’s Amusement Park, it was probably somewhere between the Himalaya and the Scrambler. Two cars behind us, a little girl clenched the bar and screamed bloody murder throughout the entire ride, the veins literally popping and pulsing around her eyeballs. I thought to myself: Girl, I’ve been there. Later, my charming sister-in-law, Hannah, allowed me to get strapped in for the upside-down and backwards roller coaster before turning to me and saying something like, “It will be over before you know it, but, of course, Leah wet her pants on this ride.

• I am a Germ-o-Phobe: My mother always told me that as a small child, I would always avoid filthy bathrooms. One time, Mom and Dad convinced me the circus was over at intermission because I refused to use the toilet. I have to admit that I still experience that apprehension, particularly in amusement park bathrooms. I think that Frontier City literally had one public bathroom in the entire park, and on the day of our trip, half of the stalls were closed with signs indicating they were not in working order. Despite these signs, park visitors remained skeptical. Why is that? You could put up a sign that says, “Some creep loaded the toilet with paper towels and smeared feces on the walls of this stall. Out of Order” and people would still peak inside just to be sure. At amusement parks, the floors of the bathroom are always wet, and the origin of the water is always unknown. Filthy children with face paint peer beneath stalls. Employees leave the restroom without washing their hands (Although frankly, I am not convinced they are any dirtier than those of us that elected to wash our hands in the amusement park restroom). You wait in line to use the facilities, and inevitably, the longer that you wait, the more concerned you become about what your predecessor is doing the stall you are soon to occupy.
  Needless to say, I psyched myself out and immediately left the line for the restroom. Later, I would get desperate with only a Port-a-Potty in sight. I approached the potty booth with another lady, each of us tentatively tugging at the door handles on blue row. I finally found an unoccupied unit and left my new friend to fend for herself. Holding my nose, I immediately began to recite the most important rule of Port-a-Potty etiquette: No matter what you do, do NOT, I repeat, do not, look in the toilet. I closed my eyes and assumed the position just as my new friend wrenched open the door to the unit she HAD to have seen me just enter. During this brief moment of panic, I managed to make awkward eye contact with several other friends waiting to use the plastic facilities.

• I am a Snob: Since I officially became an adult, I don’t know that I have ever visited an amusement park that I am not a little embarrassed to be there. Amusement park attendees are always colorful: Gigantic women in wet tube tops with Tinkerbell tattooed on their right shoulders eating a turkey leg followed by a line of barefoot and crying children wearing the remnants of an oversized lollypop on their faces, the “Pat”-like visitor that, despite your best efforts, you cannot tell whether he/she is a man or a woman, families dressed with matching, tucked-in polos armed with professional cameras snapping pictures of some absolutely indistinguishable concrete monument erected in front of the saloon façade, teenage brace-faces covered in pimples getting hot and heavy against a tree covered in about a thousand hardened gum wads, each a different fluorescent color. Frankly, the amusement park crowd operates like social birth control-It is a warning to our society about the all-too-real results of hasty couplings. Despite these thoughts, I visited the amusement park. We were literally among the masses. The odds some visitor looked at me like I was some weirdo have to be pretty high.

• I am a Picky Eater: Before we left the park for the day, we decided to cap off our visit with a funnel cake. After waiting in line for several minutes, we placed our order with an uninspired summer employee covered in powdered sugar. While we waited for our funnel cake to be prepared by some invisible employee in the back, the girls that took our order threw curd and powdered sugar at one another, dipping their hands in the powdered sugar after wiping the counter with cleaner and licking their finger tips before repeating the process. When our funnel cake was ready, one of the girls held the funnel cake at the window and looked at us in silence. Perhaps she wanted to use telepathy to inform us our order was ready. Had we not just paid ten dollars for the funnel cake and if we were not somewhat afraid of the funnel cake girl, we might have given her a stern lecture about professionalism and demanded a refund. We opted to take the funnel cake, complain to her boss, and leave the park immediately. Our passive-aggressive campaign for revenge against the funnel cake girls continues with this blog entry.
  

We returned to the farm about 10 PM, having only spent about five hours at Frontier City. We are certainly not as young as we once were. Our amusement park experience left us so very disgusted, we just may not go back….till next year.

Old Love

On June 7, 2008, John Robert Chubbuck, my cousin, married his college sweetheart, Stacey Sheely. Our entire family traveled to Oklahoma City to celebrate their union. Although the rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception all remain worthy of my mention, one episode has lingered in my mind, particularly today. After the ceremony, Dad told our family about how he witnessed John Robert’s grandmother being escorted to her seat before the wedding. As the usher guided her to her seat, her husband of many years, already seated and gripping his oxygen tank, recognized her approach, and his expression immediately changed. He smiled and unabashedly admired her, letting a little “ooohhh” escape his lips as if they two remained the only people in the room. Even though he may not have recalled the names and faces of old friends he would see at the reception later, he undoubtedly knew her as his own, the wife of his youth.

As Dad recounted the story for our family, his eyes filled with tears as he looked to my mother. Today, a client visited my office, seeking help for her husband of sixty-four years who suffers from dementia. He sits at the Rainbow Nursing Center in Bristow, eats pudding, and speaks absently about cows and horses he has not owned in years. I noticed the same look in her eyes as she described her brilliant husband: It was an expression of passion. Thinking back on the wedding, I remembered the Pastor spoke of a bond that continues until a husband and wife are separated by death-A wedding is only the beginning of the story, a moving tribute to young love over in a matter of hours. Although our society is seemingly transfixed by sex, intimacy, although related, is an emotional bond that grows beyond that fateful wedding night. It is achieved at the moment we begin to rejoice in the familiar in our spouse, and it is compounded by the shared history of a life spent together. It is the comfortable way our hands link together without intention. It is the strange warmth in the pit of my stomach at the sound of his laugh. It is the way I hardly sleep without the sound of my best friend sleeping beside me.

One day, when our bodies and minds begin to fail, it is the connection that will always bring me back to that moment where our story began and remind me of the skinny handsome boy nervously standing directly to my right. Oh, young love is so very sweet, but I think I am beginning to understand that old love is just as sweet. Cheers to the Bride and Groom….May the entirety of your story be as sweet as its beginning….

Can you identify this pond scum?

We currently have some well, crud, covering certain areas of our pond, and we need to get rid of it. Joshua and I have been joking that we need to get some asexual carp to eat this crud. Dad is going to take the pictures to the OSU-Extension office. Preston's dad suggested throwing some sheet rock into the pond. Apparently, the lime helps kill the crud. We are open to any suggestions. Frankly, I blame the turtles.

It did not really gross me out before, but the little things poking up out of the water look like slimy fingers. And with that, I am officially grossed out.

Turtle Sniper

As the weather warms in Bristow, the highways have become littered with adventurous turtles, braving the warm asphalt in the hopes of exploring what can only be the surreal just on the other side. It is almost like an obstacle course, weaving through the turtles and inwardly rooting for the awkward animals to survive without being squished by some 18-wheeler. I am, however, not so romantic about the snapping turtles living in the pond, eating our catfish and literally peaking above the surface of the water to locate our bobber so they can grab onto our hooks. Removing the turtle from the hook is just the cherry on top after you discover that it was not a large-mouth bass you ensnared, but rather, an obnoxious turtle. I remember once my cousin, Travis, covertly left his baited pole in the water at the catfish pond, and we returned to find a turtle on the line the next morning. Grandad was little upset, but I remember all of the cousins watching in sick fascination as he immediately beheaded the turtle with his pocket knife.

After our fishing trip, Joshua conducted a little campaign of turtle and snake population control with his 30-30. I was officially the spotter, and part of me felt a little compelled to yell “Pull!” every time I spotted a little head peak above the surface (undoubtedly looking for an orange bobber). Here is the death toll:

Turtles Sniped: 6

Turtles Escaped (Possibly injured): 1

Cottonmouths Obliterated: 1

This is not an actual shot of the Cottonmouth he killed although it is very similar. I mainly just posted this to creep Joshua out.

He seems a little exasperated that I am taking his picture for his blog before his big hunt. Obviously, I am unnecessarily delaying the inevitable onslaught for such womanly pursuits as picture-taking and blog-writing. The previous picture is penance for picture-taking grumpiness.

Perch, Perch, Perch, Another Perch, Perch, Perch....

Determined to overcome our previous miserable fishing failure, we returned to Aunt June and Uncle Gary’s pond equipped night-crawlers, ready to apparently feed every tiny perch in the pond. Fishing in this pond is absolutely never boring: I remember fishing this pond with Emily and our cousins, John Robert and Travis, and there were times where Grandad literally did not do anything but throw back our catch and re-bait our hooks. You always catch fish at this pond! Perhaps that is why last week’s no-catch episode seemed so insulting. We tossed in our lines and proceeded to reel in literally perch after perch. It seemed the longer we fished, the smaller the perches became! If only we could catch one of those big bass! Joshua had one on the line, pulled it out of the water, and watched as it wiggled off the hook and splashed loudly back into the water. After about ten perch between us, Joshua finally caught his bass, and well, you will simply have to look at the picture...

We think it must have hatched last week.

Family Mow Down

This past weekend, the family, armed with our fancy new brush hog for the new MF, set out to mow down the Farm. With Dad and Joshua managing the MF, Mom, Emily, and I waged war with the riding lawn mower, the gas-powered and electric weed eater, the edger, and the blower (Joshua calls it the “Yuppy Broom”). With five helping hands, our beautiful yard revealed itself in very little time. If our other respective professions fizzle out, I believe I can confidently say we may have found a family calling in landscaping.

We finished the day with a little trespassing. We fished in Aunt June and Uncle Gary’s pond, albeit with fake worms, and discovered that the Farm fish are apparently a little snobby. The girls picked wild flowers and made a pretty floral centerpiece for the dinner table. While Joshua grilled hamburgers, Mom and Emily kicked up their feet in the front yard while Dad and I worked on our jump shots. As simple as it sounds, these family farm days warm my heart and refresh my spirit for the week of work. This fellowship improves my outlook about my job and the thousands of trivial things that clutter my calendar. At the end of the day, I always feel the absence, standing under the stars in the driveway in my socks and watching the tail lights disappear down the hill in front of our house.

Hamburgers!

Look at the pretty flowers we pilfered from Aunt June's property....Come on, Aunt June, don't they make you want to come back to Oklahoma?!?

Notice the covered parking now available for Dad's new Ford Taurus...We are still taking applications for a name for his new car. In honor of one of my favorite TV shows, I think we should call it "Dwight."

Notice Mom's John Deere T-Shirt. The guy at the Massey-Ferguson dealership told us he could get us some red t-shirts with "MF" on them. I am somewhat uneasy about this....MF? Really? It just seems moderately profane.

Emily posed for this action shot because, clearly, we did not catch any fish on plastic worms. Even if we had used live bait, Emily spent more time casting than actually fishing.

This was Mom's view from the pond while we were fishing....

My boys...in their straw hats and work boots.

Emliy and Joshua grin for the camera. My cue was "Act Like You Like Each Other." So natural.

Emily took this picture because I think she was afraid to pick up the turtle. Very National Geographic.

We found several budding fruit trees and vines on the property after we cut the grass around them. We think this one is a plum tree, and it has some fruit on it. Next year, we will need to do some spraying and fertilizing to ensure a better crop!

Our peach tree!

Our apple tree!

We trimmed back the vines, and we already have grapes growing. We plan on making some delicious grape jelly.

The girls pull off dead grape vines from the fence.

Dad using his gas-powered weed eater. Notice the grape vines along the fence. Many of the vines around the corner are coming back with full leaves and baby grapes...

Joshua doing his very favorite Farm thing....

Our First Farm Toy!

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce you to the latest addition to our Farm family? A Massey-Ferguson 2615! For the past few warm weeks, the grass around our house grew so significantly we started to joke that it looked as if a certain and quite unsavory former occupant still lived here. Armed with just a riding lawn mower, there was simply no way we were going to be able to tackle this farm task. Joshua and I hired a friend to mow things right around the house, but with so much grass around our farm house and in the pastures, it became immediately apparent that it would cost a few hundred dollars every couple of weeks simply to manage this growing fire hazard. We started pricing tractors, thinking that we might find a junker to cover the season, but we soon learned that tractors hold their value far better than automobiles. In the tractor business, even old junkers do not come cheaply, and if they do, you always have to wonder about the safety issue, particularly when Dad and Joshua may be way off in the pasture working by themselves while the girls are off on their adventures.

After looking around at tractors of all shapes, sizes, and colors (John Deere, New Holland, Kubota, and Massey Ferguson), we found a wonderful deal at our brand new local Massey-Ferguson dealer. The dealership is located at the corner of Highway 48 and Highway 33, making it only four miles or so from the Farm. They handle all service repairs and stock all parts for the tractor, and with the cost of gasoline, the proximity means that pick-up and delivery for parts, warranty work, and repairs will not be any added expense. Equipped with a front-end loader, our tractor is a fifty horsepower (enough power to hold a hay bale on the front and back), two-wheel drive red beauty. Enjoy our pictures!

Even the girls have to learn to drive!

Dad mastering the front-end loader...

Fueling up before our first ride...

We are legitimate farmers now!

Emily's Graduation

On the weekend of May 10, 2008, my little sister, Emily Kristen Lester, graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a degree in Social Work. Joshua and I loaded up the green pick-up truck, now affectionately labeled “Wyatt” as in Earp, and headed for Norman, Oklahoma. Since every hotel room in Norman has been booked for likely the past four years of her college education, we stayed at the United States Postal Training Center. The training center is actually a Marriott creation but everything is somewhat more “government-issued” than say, Courtyard by Marriott. Albeit a little small, the room was comfortable and served its purpose; Joshua and I, however, are still puzzled by a bizarre substance we found smeared on the wall in our room. After we came home, we saw one those “scan your hotel room with a black light” segments on the local news. Feeling the bile rise, we both fondly remembered our christened room at the Postal Training Center. Forgive me, I digress….

On Friday night, the entire crew went to the University of Oklahoma Commencement Ceremony. Packed in like sardines, we were so thankful for the cool weather and light breeze. After a hardly abbreviated ceremony during which Joshua, Mom, and I enjoyed seeing Sooners like Won Hung Low earn his doctorate in sociology, we enjoyed a rousing rendition of Oklahoma during the crimson and cream fireworks. I think I can confidently say, even as a proud graduate of the University of Tulsa, that more than any other school in this state, the University of Oklahoma knows how to properly celebrate its tradition and alumni! The next day, we attended the College of Arts and Sciences Convocation and watched as the announcer officially proclaimed Emily K. Lester a proud graduate of the University of Oklahoma. All silliness aside, we are so proud of Emily’s accomplishments, and we look forward to celebrating again with her in another year as she earns her Masters in Social Work from the University of Oklahoma. So, as an adopted Sooner, I suppose I should end this entry only one way: Boomer!

Beautiful Sooner girls...

Joshua and I with the new college grad!

My favorite OU alumni

Our precious Meme and Papa with Emily on Graduation Day!

Farm Fun...with Emily!

On Saturday, our family did a little hunting for farm equipment, watched the Kentucky Derby, and played Wii. Emily joined us for farm fun as she is spending a few days at home before her big graduation from the University of Oklahoma on May 10, 2008! Enjoy a few silly pictures and stay tuned for a major farm announcement coming this week!

Mom playing a little Guitar Hero III....A very intense rendition of Pat Benatar's Hit Me With Your Best Shot on Easy Level. Mom Rocks!

Emily and Joshua searching the Internet for her next laptop. The facial expressions say it all! Emily's top computer priority: "Cuteness." Joshua's top computer priority: "Functionality." Dad's top computer priority: "Cheap." So, once we find the cutest most functional computer at a very low cost, all three should be sufficiently dissatisfied.

Emily doing her Wii Fitness Age. Results: Emily is a highly coordinated 37 year-old.

My family laying on my bed watching the Kentucky Derby in High Defintion on our new TV. Notice Emily's excitement. It was somewhat tempered when one of the horses was euthanized on the track approximately ten minutes after this picture was taken. Seriously! Can you believe that? Emily's significant other was at the Derby and bet on the horse that died which normally would be sort of a bad omen, but the dead horse did come in second. Hope he betted on her to place!

Look how pleasant they look....except my grouchy sister.