My ongoing series of smart phone enabled posts. Nobody knows how to make the most of a beautiful fall day like farm kids. Here Justin and Morgan enjoy the swings after Justin got back from a trip to the grain elevator with GrandDad.
Earlier today, Husband fielded a call from a telemarketer wanting to survey us on our grocery shopping habits. Fortunately, I didn't answer, considering my strong feelings about my food shopping experience. Husband flummoxed the telemarketer with his response, which I found interesting too. He said, we live on a farm with livestock and have a garden, so we live off the land and don't need grocery stores. HA! That's not really true but it could be for us much more so than it could be for most people. Today is Blog Action Day and since this year's theme is FOOD, I thought I would chime in with some thoughts about farm to fork. There are blogs out there that will be happy to kill you with statistics about GMO and factory farms. Information fed to earnest young people by organizations who only vaguely hide their vegan agendas. I don't have a lot of numbers. I only have a husband who has hand-delivered more babies than the average OB, children who turned thei
This week two separate Facebook snafus RUINED the lives of many residents of greater Dayton. Actually, the two separate Facebook snafus were no big deal; they just seemed to be magnets for those annoying people who are both incapable of perspective and have too much time on their hands. On Tuesday, the WHIO-TV Facebook page temporarily posted, a bomb will go off at 9:30. This left people in the area panicked for several whole seconds that a.) someone had hacked the WHIO-TV Facebook account or b.) We had like ten hours to figure out where there was going to be a bomb. In the moments before WHIO deleted the post and offered an apology, the post earned 54 comments consisting largely of WTF and, oddly, two likes. But even after repeated apologies and explanations that they accidentally hit return while writing a post about a bomb scare at a local school, WHIO continued to get posts on their wall by people complaining about the misstep. WHIO Facebook followers were incensed that th
Nearly 30 days ago we finished the county fair and I have YET to thrill you with the full report. But before I delve into that ancient history, I thought it would be fun to see a few photos of ANCIENT history. No, I'm not talking about Husband's 80s hair again. This time the short shorts and bad hairdo is on me. I didn't grow up on a farm but I did live in the country, witness all the wide open space beyond our circa 1983 back yard. My first year in 4-H, I showed two sheep, Buckwheat and Alfalfa, named for the stars of the Little Rascals TV show popular in the 1950s (yikes). My father built a sheep pen out of old pieces of mismatched fencing he dug up at my grandfather's farm and built a shelter out of some old garage doors. Image an igloo made out of garage door with tar paper nailed around to cover the hinge gaps. It was classy. We thought it was wonderful. Much like my kids today, I was an eager little 4-H member. Here I am at the fair with our 4-H booth. App
I recently purchased a new Maytag dishwasher from the best furniture and appliances store that I am distantly related to, Schenck Furniture in Germantown. So yes, for the record I am 1/8 Schenck. While you finish snickering about that I want to tell you about the super invasive and scary warranty card that came with my Maytag model MDB6709AWW2. The first thing you notice is that it is dual-language in French. This is interesting, I realized later, because I thought both Europeans and Canadians were crazy about corporations invading personal privacy. After asking normal warranty-card-appropriate things like name, address, store, date of purchase, the Maytag card moves on to asking everything but my cholesterol level. Apparently, in order to let me know of any recalls or issues with my dishwasher, Maytag needs to know: Our occupations Household income Level of education The names of credit cards I use regularly Whether I own or rent my home If I am a stamp collector Do I read t