So it’s apparently been about two years since I’ve written a blog! How crazy is that? The very thing that got me thinking about a YouTube channel, writing, has somehow taken a backseat to my job!

I popped on here the other day and pawed through a few old posts, had a few giggles and realized how much I miss writing. I really shouldn’t be on here right now- I’ve got a hundred things to get done in the next hour. There’s a rainstorm suppossed to hit and last the next 3 days off and on, and the stuff I need to do requires FULL dryness. My daughter has a dentist appointment late this morning, and I’ll be gone at least 2 hours. The sun is shining, and the breezing picking up over the fields carries the delicious aroma of springtime.

I need to get outside and work.

But just like I need to touch base with my inner nature lover once in a while, I also need to do the same with my inner writer. Farm Wife Meredith is a writer. She writes blogs and articles for agricultural magazines. But for me, writing blogs is only putting a band-aid on the real issue. I thrive on writing stories. On exploring the enigmas of the human brain, people relating to each other, working out solutions to their issues or struggling through them blindly.

Many people are born and enter life as adults not knowing what they were born to do. I always knew I was born to write. Specifically, fiction.

You might think writing a story and telling a tale is simple. Easier than say, writing a blog from your heart.

You would be correct.

However, those rare, enticing morsels of fiction, the ones that grab and hold even the strictest non-reader, those are the ones that dive deep into the psyche of what it means to be human. To really break-open the sub-conscience of how the mind works. The type of story your heart begs you to put down and bury forever, but your brain marches forward, determined to find resolution in the story as it correlates so closely to one in your own life.

It’s not a story. It’s virtual reality in word form, and you are right there in the middle of it, experiencing and responding just as the characters in the book do.

Unfortunately there is one key ingredient writing like that requires and I DON’T have: time.

I don’t have time. I barely have time to get my memoir completed and shipped out. However, I understand that God has a time and place for everything, and everything in my life has only increased my awareness of the human heart, how the mind works, and the tragedy they can bring.

Life is but a beautiful tragedy. Full of failed goals, missed opportunities, death, and lost love. But despite this, the beauty of it all remains: failed goals lead to greater determination, missed opportunities lead to better ones and love that seemed lost is suddenly found.

Life is, only what you see it to be in each day, in each moment.

At this moment I better get my butt back to work!

One of my favorite farm activities to do, is collect free food — aka, forage.

Sure you’ve got your typical wild raspberries, blackberries and black raspberries, along with the wild apple trees. But this year, I discovered something new: ground cherries!

Curiously enough, I had bought a packet of ground cherry seeds along with all my veggie seeds this year. They sounded like a great way to get berries NOW in your garden and not have to wait a few years.

However, after doing some research on them, I discovered that I had them growing wild on the property. So this year, I set out to find the wild ones and try them out!

I’d like to point out now, that ground cherries are a very persistent weed, and grow ANYWHERE, but especially sandy soil. Since they use an underground running root system, they can pop-up anywhere you DON’T want them! After a bit of exploring, I found several dozen plants growing in my sand pit.

Now ground cherries grow their “cherry” in a papery husk (like a tomatillo), which makes them a cinch to identify (along with their hailing yellow flower with purple center). When I found these plants, I excitedly dug a few up to plant in my garden, then went back a week later to check for fruit.

I didn’t know much about them, so when I found several husks dangling from under their leaves, I excitedly plucked one and pulled off the paper.

The “cherry” was green. From what I’d remembered reading, some species have yellow fruits, some green, and some orange.

I split the small cherry in half. The insides were filled with tiny seeds and lots of dry pulp. It didn’t look very tasty, but I figured I’d give it a go. So I took a nibble off one side . . .

And promptly spit it out!

It tasted like . . . . a weed!

Bleh, that was NOT what I was expecting! This wasn’t right.

Wait . . . I suddenly remembered somethign ELSE I’d read about the plant . . . it was a relative of the deadly Nightshade Plant!

Oh man, maybe I’d eaten Nightshade instead!

I quickly looked the plant up online. Nope, not the same plant.

But . . . it WAS still poisonous!

Apparently the fruit was not “ripe” yet, the green fruit always turns yellowish when ripe, and ONLY ripens on the plant. And . . . the green ones ARE POISONOUS!

I’m not sure how bad, but I’m glad I spit it out.

The whole way home I was convinced my throat was closing-over though!

I have yet to taste these supposedly amazing treats, but I’m hoping they are everything people claim!

Yes.

While many things no doubt run through your head about what WTF means, and it does mean all of those things, the real name is “What The Farm Girl”. Or, better transitioned to “WTFarm Girl”.

Simply put, because the name “Farm Girl” was already taken by ex-playboy model “Banshee Moon”. While not really a “farm girl”, she does live on a farm, and at the age of 50 looks damn good (don’t most Playboy Models?).

“WTFarm Girl” is my new video blog YouTube channel, or rather, “vlog” as they are called. And, unlike Banshee Moon, I actually do work! Everything, as you already know.

Based on comments and stalkers on Facebook, I realized a lot of people (especially other women) really admire what I do and look forward to hearing about my many adventures (and super fails).

90% of everything I do out here is a learned trait that I had to acquire “on the spot”. I see many women moaning about not having someone to “help” them with something, instead of trying to do it themself, and it got me thinking that they just need some inspiration.

Hence the channel.

To inspire other women/people to “try something new”, to get dirty, and to learn something. Oh, and lets not forget the entertainment factor!

So far I’ve only got 2 videos up. On average it takes me about a week to complete a video. Many, many hours with plenty of interruptions!

So, spread the word, subscribe to my channel and lets get this thing rocking!

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQuEO01jp9V9fqIRHilwc9A

With all of the work to be done around here, and way too much serious business to attend to, I’ve found one of the best stress relievers is scaring people.

I don’t know, there’s something calming about hiding silently in a dark closet, breathing slowly, waiting, listening, picking the right tactic and making a slight rustling sound. Then another. Then a bit louder as you peek through the crack of the door and watch them cautiously glance over at the closet, that look of trepidation on their face hoping the sound goes away so they don’t have to check it out. You wait a few more minutes, then rustle again, quieter. Their head shoots rights up out of their phone, eyes wide, and they slowly crawl across the floor as you poise yourself for your next move.

The closet door s flung open, and you manage to fall out on top of them, uttering the most horrific of sounds. They release a flood of sounds just as horrible, and then screams of anger when they finally come to their senses and realize the trick you had played.

It just gets the endorphins going!

And so, I’ve been banned from hiding and scaring people.

My argument is that it’s educational. You don’t want someone worse sneaking-up and grabbing you, or beating you over the head. You need to constantly be aware of your surroundings and plan accordingly.

When we first moved onto the property, there was a lot of discussion about bears, and wolves, and coyotes and cougars. And Big Foot.

One day I had a thought. We had game cams all over the property and the kids always get excited to see what’s on them. Why not dress up in a Big Foot costume, and slowly creep across the camera area? Maybe dragging a deer carcass or some other unfortunate object.

As the kids watch the video, and get freaked out, you then place “Big Foot tracks” all around the house the next day. . .

Another idea was the garden patrol creature. This nifty invention is a motion-activated fan-dancer waving guy. Used in gardens to scare away animals, it inflates instantly when the laser line of sight is crossed. We had thought about putting it out by the bus stop in the early morning hours. As soon as the kids hit the line of sight and go running to get on the bus, the waving guy inflates instantly to tower 20 feet above them.

More realistically, I’ll probably just settle for the coyote call. I got a pretty nifty remote controlled coyote call for Christmas and the sounds are amazing. I could easily set it up by the road, place a few questionable foot prints around there, and sit behind a tree and control the sounds. Single coyote nearby? Check. Sounds of animal being tortured? check! Sounds of unknown origin? You bet!

The only reason I haven’t is I want to video it. It will be worth the wait.

Nothing fails to infuriate me more than people who assume I do nothing all day. Now this might stand to reason considering my house is trashed and much of the time so is my yard. However, 9 times out of 10 I am covered in either poop, dirt, grease, maple syrup (that was a few days ago), water or diesel fuel.

I am doing SOMETHING 18 hours of the day. The remaining 6 I am sleeping.

There is no “end of the workday”, there are no weekends. Heck, I don’t even get Mother’s Day, Christmas OR my birthday off!

So when my daughter made a snarky comment about how I don’t do anything all day, I lit it up.

No, I didn’t yell. I simply explained that there are so many chores to get done that it would take 3 or 4 people to keep up on all them, so pretty much nothing is ever fully done (except for cleaning the animals out).

As the conversation progressed, it became quite clear to me that my child had fallen into the tight grip of social media and TV and lost track of reality. Being a city-kid and all, life on the farm has been a bit hard for her to enjoy.

Now, you may be wondering why on earth we’d have so many kids, and NONE of them with any chores?

Well, the answer to that one is long and arduous so I’ll save that for another time.

But I’d had enough, and if my own child is questioning WHY one thing or another that “should be so simple” isn’t done, then guess what? She just earned herself an apprenticeship!

As parents it’s our job to raise our kids the best we can, and I’ve certainly been guilty of being so overly busy with “work” that I haven’t paused to ensure my own child understands the importance of work.

I fully expect her to hate me by the first week of summer vacation, and probably not speak to me the remainder of it. But if she can at least grasp a small amount of what it takes to keep things running around here, well, then it just might be worth it.

It’s spring in Michigan, and like many people we have been out looking for spring mushrooms. Most notably, the morel.

We have NEVER found a morel on our property.

Oh sure, we’ve spent hours upon hours searching. But wouldn’t you know, every time I’m certain I’m going to find one, I find something else instead . . . fresh deer poop and deer footprints.

For two years now, the areas that SHOULD be holding morels, have come up empty, except for the deer signs. I read online about how people will swear up and down that deer won’t eat morels. I guess our deer didn’t get the memo.

Two years ago, we heard from word of mouth that our neighbor had collected piles of them from her tree area.

Unless she’s making up stories, we should have some as well.

Spring is not a total bust here though, there are other edibles popping up for dinner!

RAMPS

A relative of garlic, ramps (seen far left) are ONLY found in spring. Once the weather warms, the leaves shrivel and die, hiding the tasty bulbs until next year.

Ramps are easy to find. They have twin leaves that come together at a short, pinkish stalk. They look NEARLY IDENTICAL to Lily of the Valley, except for the reddish stem. If you pluck them, they will smell like onions or fresh garlic. If you dig down a few inches, you’ll find an oblong bulb. Pull-up the entire plant to harvest, or just pluck the leaves.

RAMPS CAN BE TRANSPLANTED. If you’re out hiking, you can dig them up and re-plant at home.

Ramps like wet soil. Any area next to water makes them happy. Pretty much any area skunk cabbage will grow.

RAMPS ARE UNCOMMON.

If you find a large area of them, be very excited. They are fairly rare. We have NO NATVE RAMPS anywhere on our swampy property. I DID however, transplant our bunch from our previous house, which were transplanted from my Dad’s house.

RAMPS GROW SLOWLY!

Don’t pick them all! Only pick 1/3 of them or less. They multiply VERY slowly. I planted maybe 10 plants 4 years ago. I have maybe 15 this year. It’s the same at my Dad’s house. They just don’t multiply very fast unless you have lots!

HOW TO EAT:

Slice thinly, and saute in butter over medium heat with meats, veggies or mushrooms. Goes great with venison!

PHEASANT BACK MUSHROOMS

No luck with morels? Try pheasant backs! (Seen middle of photo) These tasty treats grow off the side of dead or dying Elm trees. Wait, what? Yes, you often find them in morel areas. They LOVE wet swamps, and truthfully ALL our pheasant backs have been found in swampy areas.

Easily identified by their pattern of “feathers” on their tops, they are the only mushroom growing on the side of a tree in springtime (unless you get some early/late oysters).

Pheasant backs come in all sizes.

I’ve seen pheasant backs grow to 2 feet wide . . . in the middle of winter!

Size does NOT equal tastiness. It’s actually nighttime temps that SEEM to determine texture on these mushrooms. I’ve had tough small ones, and tender large ones, and vice versa.

THIS IS ONE OF THE TRICKIEST MUSHROOMS TO HARVEST.

No lie. My Aunt has harvested and eaten MANY types of mushrooms, but never had luck with Pheasant Backs. I’ve cooked several tasty ones.

They smell/taste lightly of lemon and cucumber. A light, refreshing taste in stark contrast to many other mushroom varieties.

RULE OF THUMB

If you can easily snap-off an edge of the mushroom with your fingers, it’s good for eating. If you have to twist/tear an edge off, it’s too tough to bother with.

**I’m not sure if a mushroom that’s tough one day will be soft on another day, but they do seem to keep growing if you let them stay on the tree.

DANDALION GREENS

Considered a weed by most, dandelions are actually extremely healthy for you, and help cleanse your liver and kidneys. Make sure any leaves you harvest have not been sprayed with weed killer.

Leaves can be eaten raw as a garnish or in a salad, or sauteed with other spring treats. They have a lightly bitter flavor to them.

BOTTOM LINE:

While morels might be choice, other spring treats are waiting to be found as well!

Last week we were once again without power for over 24 hours, and it got me thinking about when we began to lose power in the camper.

People ask me all the time “Wait, don’t you still have a generator?”

The answer is “no, we don’t. It died that winter, almost taking us with it!”

Late but here it is:

Excerpt from Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper

****Our doublewide had just been delivered*****

The kids had come back from school and since all of them were with us Erik decided to give them the tour. I went into the camper with Earen to prep dinner. It was a brats and hotdogs night. My options were a bit limited since I could only use the grill. Erik came back a few minutes later.

“The kids are busy fighting over sleeping arrangements.” Erik said as he walked back into the camper grinning mischievously.

“Oh yeah? Why am I not surprised!” I walked outside to light the grill. It took me a few tries then I came back. “Man that grill is a pain in the butt to light when it’s windy!”

Erik paid my comments no attention. “I called the guys earlier today for the plumbing and electric hook-ups and they will be out Monday. Monday morning I’ll call the township to come out and get approval for the work so I can get Consumer’s Energy to connect to the pole.”

“I thought you only needed a cement slab and septic?” I was confused.

“Yeah you do, but the township still has to approve your pole before you can let Consumer’s connect to it. We could begin moving into our house as early as Tuesday!” Erik’s grin widened into a full toothy smile, then he tackled me to the floor and wrestled me for a few minutes while I protested about needing to make dinner.

I wasn’t going to get my hopes up about the house.

I finally managed to get back outside with my plate of brats and dogs along with a winter jacket. It was starting to blow pretty good now, and I could see faint wisps of snow dancing across the cold-packed snow ground, swirling and leaping. I was quite sure the driveway would be drifted-over by tomorrow. I opened the grill and laid the food out evenly cross it. Then I stopped.

The fire was out.

That was strange. It was a new propane tank. I turned the nobs off and waited a few minutes to clear any gas, then turned them back on and tried to light them again. The lighter wouldn’t light. It would flame-up, then puff-out instantly. I looked at the side gauge, it was definitely full. I grumbled to myself and left the food while I went in for some matches. Good thing we had a huge box of them thanks to Randy!

I happily trotted back out with my box, pulled the grates off to one side, turned the nobs back on and struck the match.

It blew out instantly.

I frowned. I turned my back tighter to the wind and struck another match. This one flared to life, then blew out as well as soon as it got close to the grill.

So did the third and fourth and fifth.

I got smarter on my sixth. The fire pit behind me was filled with fresh newspaper from Erik’s tractor hunting. I grabbed a few sheets and twisted them into torches then lit them. They flamed to life eagerly, and I lit the gas burners on the grill. They roared into an eager line, but by the time I got to the next burner, the wind had blown the lit one out. I tried for 10 minutes, my eyes welling up with tears.

Why did everything crappy have to happen to me? Here I am, freezing my butt-off in single-digit temperatures trying to feed my family and I still get crap! It wasn’t fair! I was trying super hard to do this! My fingers were so numb I couldn’t hold a match anymore and even with two pairs of pants on, the wind was slicing right through them.

I gave-up and scooped the dogs and brats back onto my plate and slowly slunk back into the camper.

“I gotta cook this on the stove.” I announced woefully.

“No, you can’t, remember? You said you could cook stuff on the grill.” Erik didn’t look up from his Craigslist hunting.

“The fire keeps going-out. The lighter won’t work because it’s too cold, and the flames won’t stay lit on the grill. They keep blowing-out too!” I grabbed some toilet paper out of the bathroom and blew my nose.

“Aww, are woo cwying? Erik asked laughing and poking me in the ribs.

I glared at him, “My fingers are nearly frostbit! I’ve been outside with no gloves trying to get the fire lit!” I looked at the temperature gauge in the bedroom. “And it’s only five degrees out!”

Erik rolled his eyes, “oh, ok baby. I guess you can cook them in the microwave then.”

“What? You can’t cook brats in there.”

“Why not? You can cook hotdogs . . .”

“I don’t know, brats are different. They are raw meat. They will get tough and rubbery in there!”

“Well then I guess you’d better cook them carefully!”

The kids all ran back inside excitedly and out of breath.

“Eian pooped in the toilet!” Abby announced.

“Shut-up Abby! I did not! I found the poop!” Eian shoved her as they both struggled to rip their boots-off quickly.

Earen blinked rapidly in surprise as cold gusts of air blasted him from the slider as he sat on the ground with his toys. In his feverish attempt to run in to tell his story Eian nearly trampled baby Earen.

“Can’t you move him somewhere else?! He’s in my way!” Eian spat as he scowled at his baby brother sitting in front of the sofa.

He plopped down onto the sofa and draped his feet in Earen’s face. Earen began screaming and crying.

“Well then MOVE! I want to sit down! You don’t have to hog everything!” Eian began nudging him to the side with his foot which produced even louder howls from baby Earen.

“Eian! Knock it off dude! You don’t have to be so rude! Get your feet out of his face, he’s just a baby!” Abby yelled at him.

I was standing in the kitchen trying NOT to overcook the brats. I could feel the anger ticking at the back of my head hoping Abby would resolve the situation. I didn’t know if it was an older brother thing, or an Eian thing, but he had NO regard towards his brother at ALL. I decided it was best to keep my mouth shut and not say anything mean.

“What am I supposed to do Abby?! Crunch my legs up like this?” Eian tucked his knees up to his chin and raised his eyebrows at Abby. “Besides if I sit like this Dad will probably fart on me!”

Abby shook her head in wonder. “What? Why would Dad fart on you if you sat like that?”

At that exact moment, having been listening to the conversation and sitting beside Eain on the sofa, Erik farted and began laughing hysterically as both kids screamed and ran to their back bedrooms.

Nuriel and Brea walked inside, and the gust of single digit air knocked the scent of fart further back towards the kids’ room and more screams rippled out of the kids. Erik began laughing so hard he was snorting. Brea and Nuriel exchanged glances and gave me a quizzical look. I simply shrugged and shook my head.

“Did the kids tell you?” Brea asked as she kicked off her last boot.

“Something about poop was all I heard before the screaming began.” I replied, stopping the microwave to flip the brats over.

“Yeah! I guess Eian and Abby were looking around and Eian opened the toilet and there was a huge turd in there!”

“What?!” Erik sprang up suddenly. “Not uh! You guys are such liars! You know how I know? Because the moving people have to flush all the lines with winterizing liquid to keep the pipes from freezing!”

“No, Dad, I SAW it! It was so gross!”

“It was Eian’s!” Abby shrieked from the back bedroom and Eian tackled her down again.

“Was NOT!” He yelled back.

“Did it have chunks of corn in it Brea?” Erik asked gleefully.

“What? Eww! I don’t know! I didn’t stop to poke it! Dad you’re so gross – why couldn’t I have gotten a normal Dad?!” Brea wailed.

“Because I’m a cool Dad, not some boring fuddy-duddy!” Erik replied as he jumped up and began giving her a noogie.

“Wait!” I interrupted. “Those pipes have antifreeze stuff in them! Whoever pooped in the toilet could have damaged the pipes if they tried to flush the toilet! It’s not like a regular house!”

Erik stopped his assault on Brea. “Do you really think the movers took a crap in our toilet?”

I shrugged and opened a can of baked beans.

“Well it couldn’t have been Eian,” Erik continued. “He was with me the entire time I was over there, and when I left all the kids were arguing over bedrooms. He needs total privacy to poop . . .”

“And strip his clothes off!” Abby yelled and giggled from the bedroom.

“Shut-up Abby!” Eian shoved her and walked out of the bedroom and sat at the table. “When will dinner be ready? I’m starving!”

“In just about one minute,” I said, looking at the time on the microwave.

Everything went black.

“Daaad!” Shrieked Brea who was now in the back bedroom when the power went out.

The camper was black as night.

“What’s that beeping sound?” Abby asked, an edge of nervousness to her voice.

“Smoke detector,” I replied, expecting Erik to get up and go fix the generator since I was making dinner.

Erik didn’t budge.

“Dad! Aren’t you going to go fix the generator?!” Brea wailed from somewhere in the camper.

“Nope. I’ve been on my feet working all day, not sitting at home doing nothing like SOME people.” He replied off-handily.

“Well I have not been doing NOTHING all day, but I guess I’ll go fix the generator instead of making dinner . . .” I grumbled as I pulled-on my boots quick. I didn’t bother grabbing my coat since I knew I’d be back inside in a minute.

Typically when the generator blows, you flip the reset switch and start the girl back up again. I was pretty certain it wasn’t the gas. I double-checked it anyway though. Low, but not out. I added more to it to last us through the night and set the reset switch.

Nothing.

The single digit weather felt even colder. Maybe it was finally down into the negatives? I hadn’t checked before leaving but wished now that I had! My fingers were quickly going numb and I was shaking quite violently. I don’t mind the cold as long as I can dress for it, and in my haste I had not put on a jacket!

I tried restarting the generator again. It struggled and coughed and choked and died out again. I tried repeatedly to get it going, but it wasn’t. I knew if I went in to ask Erik for help he’d point out some dumb thing I had forgotten to do and I’d feel like an even bigger idiot for not remembering or thinking of that.

However, I was out of options, so I had to drag him out to help me.

“Move over and let a man get the job done,” Erik gave me a light push as he stooped down to look at the generator.

He tried again and again to restart it, but it coughed and choked and died each time. Finally, he pulled a plug out of the back. It looked like a tiny dipstick on a car.

“Did you check the oil?” He inquired, his question tinted with an edge of smart ass.

“Oil?!”

“Yeah, it takes oil. Just like a car. So I guess you haven’t been keeping an eye on it, have you? If you’re going to be running a machine, it’s your job to keep up on its maintenance.”

I gave him a furious look. “What?! You never said anything about the oil! How am I supposed to know about these things?!”

Erik shrugged smugly. “Maybe do your research online at the library. You don’t have anything to do all day anyway. Might as well spend it trying to learn about the machines you are using . . .”

I was too furious and dumbfounded by his comments to say anything except give him a soul-piercing glare with my eyes. Unfortunately it was too dark for him to see my stare.

“Go get me the yellow oil pan.”

“What? Where is it?”

“I don’t know where you put it! I need it though because this oil needs to be changed!” Erik thrust the dipstick in my face.

“Can’t we do it tomorrow when it’s daylight?” I asked hopefully.

“No! Not unless you want to freeze tonight! This won’t run in cold weather with thick oil. I think I’ve got some extra oil in Randy’s covered trailer. I’ll go look and grab a wrench, you get my oil pan.”

“Um, ok . . .” I still had no idea what this oil pan was, but I kinda had a picture in my head of something like he described. I had never changed the oil on anything, so how was I to know?

My teeth were chattering so violently by this time that I feared I’d break them off. I ran to the slider and begged the girls to throw me my coat and gloves in the bathroom closet. They grabbed them along with a hat (thanks!) and I threw everything on and began to feel a bit better.

I pawed around the round top with a flashlight trying to find this oil pan thing. A flash of yellow in the far part of the wall caught my eye. Oil pan! I think. . . I dragged it back to the generator. Erik followed behind me with a new container of oil and his ratchet set.

He had me hold the oil pan under it and set to work testing ratchet sizes. I glanced at the nut and told him it was a 7/16 size. He ignored me and continued testing all the sizes. I wasn’t skilled with tools, but I could see the size was a common one I had used over the years. I had been right, 7/16 was the only size that fit. He ratcheted the nut off and instantly thick, black goo came oozing out. It was hot and steam poured-up out of the oil pan. Erik began tipping the generator to facilitate faster movement. In 10 minutes we had it drained and re-filled. Erik made me restart it, and it roared to life. The lights flew back on in the camper and the kids all shrieked with delight.

I was thoroughly exhausted now. Earen was still only sleeping every 30 minutes at night lately, and 8:00pm was whooping my butt. The snow looked so fluffy and comfy. Maybe just a quick nap here. I could roll around and pad up a small area and tuck myself in. I was warm and toasty. Just a quick little nap in the soft, cozy snow . . .

Earen’s crying broke my thoughts, and I wearily trudged back to the camper to finish making dinner.

The brats came out tough and rubbery.

Excerpt from book “Six Kids, Four Months and One Camper”:

Erik somehow convinced me to go out hunting opening morning. Nuriel would watch Earen when he woke-up until I came back in. Erik had set-up a small pop-up blind on the edge of the woods behind the house for me. That way, I wouldn’t have to waste precious time walking far into the property. He would hunt in the back part of the property  . . . with the cougar. We had set-up a new blind way back on the back 40 acres. It was on the edge of our property next to a field of corn — the perfect place to catch hungry deer. Seeing all the tracks, Erik was certain he’d catch at least one back there!

We both woke-up at 4:30am and donned our camo as quietly as possible so as not to wake the baby. Then by 4:45am we kissed and parted ways – Erik traveling down the two track road towards the hayfield and back 40, myself walking directly behind the house.

Now I had a choice of course. I could go around the first finger of woods and come around the back of it to my blind, or I could walk straight through it to my blind. I didn’t have a flashlight, but the soft glow of my slide phone helped a bit to watch for sticks that might trip me. It did not, however, help me see my way!

I was much too excited to take the extra few minutes to walk around the woods, so I just went right through them. I was so convinced that today would be my lucky day. I was going to shoot a deer! The blind was on several intersecting deer paths, so SOMETHING should walk past me.

I crept through the woods slowly and carefully. Holding my breath, trying my best to balance precariously on small logs as I came to water holes, unsure of how deep they might be despite my rubber muck boots. I thought I had finally found a pathway through the woods when I began to shiver violently.

Ear-piercing howls erupted just 50 feet away from me. My heart stopped beating and the blood drained out of my body. More eerie howls erupted on the other side of me.

Now I began to pick my way through the woods faster. The howls seemed to grow closer. They seemed to be following me. Would a coyote eat me? Sure I was bigger, but so were deer and they ate deer. I was more defenseless than a deer!

I pulled an arrow out of my quiver and held it in my hand ready to stab anything that might come close. I was almost out of the woods. I began to run! I tripped over a branch on the path and stumbled, catching myself before I could fall. I had to find my blind and fast! Maybe they wouldn’t eat me, at least not right off. Maybe they’d just attack me, wound me . . . then decide to eat me!

I finally cleared the woods and was out in the open field. But somehow I felt less safe, more exposed. I heard a growl in front of me and several loud “yips” and “yelps”. The blind, it must be here somewhere! I swung my pathetically glowing phone around trying to locate it. The problem was, it was camo. It blended right in!

The light from my phone caught an orange reflective glow. An eye! It was a coyote eye! I stopped dead in my tracks and held perfectly still. It was straight ahead. It must have been waiting for me near my blind, it must –

Oh. It was the orange reflective sticker on my deer blind. Some smart person had already had the same problem as me and thought to add a reflective sticker to the top to make the dumb thing easier to find! By this point I was no longer concerned with hunting deer, just more concerned about NOT being hunted by coyotes. I ripped the zipper open, dove into my blind and yanked it back shut again. Then I sat listening to grassy steps whispering around my blind. Or was that the wind? I couldn’t tell anymore. I sat huddled on my chair, perfectly still. So much for opening day. I was NOT about to open my blind’s windows in preparation for dawn so I could shoot a deer walking by.

I didn’t exactly know why I felt safer in the blind. Sure they couldn’t see me, but they could definitely still smell me! It would only take them 2 minutes to tear through the thin material and drag me out for breakfast.

After not hearing anything for 30 minutes, I was finally beginning to calm down. Birds began chirping and frogs croaking to life. Sure signs that dawn was on it’s way. Time to get ready for my deer! I carefully and quietly slid open 3 of the 4 zippered windows – enough to see and shoot from.

Suddenly I could hear branches breaking behind me and a loud snort. There was a deer in the woods behind me, but it was still too dark to see! I desperately prayed that it would hang out around me and wait for dawn. I knew it wouldn’t. By the time dawn began to slowly roll-in, I no longer heard the deer. By 7am it had been light for 30 minutes. I got a text from Erik “Bring the tractor, I shot a deer.”

I sighed. I probably wouldn’t get to shoot a deer. Ever.

When I first met Erik and all of his kids, I was in a real shock as to how picky they all were with food. Some worse than others.

I was used to cooking healthy, fresh dinners with lots of fruit, veggies and fresh herbs, and Erik wouldn’t even eat salad!

It’s taken a few years, but now I can get them to eat more foods (and Erik loves spinach salad).

Now that we’re living the country life, there are many more foods for the kids to refuse to try to eat. The first one was venison (deer meat). They swore up and down that they’d never eat it, so I only let them eat the hamburger the first year, then served them up steaks the next year.

When they began exclaiming how tender and delicious it was, that’s when we told them what hey were REALLY eating, a year later.

Then there were the rabbits. I had always wanted to try them, so Erik and Eian went out with the shotgun and killed a few wild ones. I excitedly brought them into the house and tossed them onto the counter, then went to dress them, only to realize in horror that they were covered in fleas!

I threw them outside and covered them in snow for 20 minutes.

I cut them up like a chicken and put them into a stew with veggies to cook. They were pretty tasty, and the kids more or less ate their plates.

The Guennia hens were another story.

NO ONE wanted to eat them. Erik had bought them for insect control and to guard the chickens. But after dogs ran through the yard and killed 8 chickens and one guennia  hen, we realized it was time to shoot the other two and turn them into dinner (they were extremely loud and obnoxious).

I roasted it like chicken and it came out terribly tough. I cooked it for someone’s birthday over at Randy’s house (Erik’s Dad). Since no one wanted to eat it, I didn’t tell them it was a guennia hen! I still have one in the freezer I need to think of how/when to cook!

MUSHROOMS ARE FUN.

Mushrooms are our latest adventure. The easiest of course is the Giant Puffball. We had found several out in the yard last fall, and I decided to cook it up like eggplant. I dredged it in eggs and covered it in breadcrumbs and fried them. Then I doused them with a seasoned tomato sauce, mozzarella, diced tomatoes and fresh basil then threw them under the broiler.

They tasted JUST LIKE EGGPLANT!

So the next night . . .

I was making chicken burgers, and Erik told me to secretly cook-up another puffball mushroom patty and give it to Eian.

So I did, and told him it was a fish patty. He wolfed it down eagerly and was just finishing his plate when I asked him about it:

(Video will be uploaded later, sorry!)

He denies liking it. He insists it tasted terrible but he ate it anyway. Eian NEVER eats things he doesn’t like.

I still chop-up mushrooms into tiny pieces and stuff them into dinner. The kids never know it.

Someday they’ll realize they like them . . . .

Until then, it’s back to making dinner and not telling them what’s in it!