I’d like to give a shout out to 8 year old Alison today.  I love you baby girl!  I owe you more than you know.  There have been times I sat and cried over your dream to own farm.  I’ve held heads and paws and said so many goodbye’s that broke my heart, I sometimes wonder if I have a heart left.  Equipment breaks, trees fall and horses get injured, and those times make surviving your choices and staying happy so difficult.  You want a sanity check, lock a horse in a stall for a year of rehab.  That never came up when we were 8. 

I sometimes wonder what we were thinking.  But amidst this new world and the stay at home order issued for 8pm last night, I can’t help but feel like we are living our best possible adult life, despite the crap we deal with daily to keep it all nicely afloat. 

We can still walk the dogs, we have ten acres.

We can still ride our horses, we have ten acres. 

We can still start our summer garden and enjoy summer veggies, we have ten acres.

There are endless farm projects and spring chores to keep us busy in our down time, we have ten acres.

I never thought we would accomplish our dream, and I have doubted so many steps along the way.  I certainly never thought we would live in a time when a poorly planned trip to the grocery store could lay waste to our family.   

I’m more proud of where we are than you could ever imagine.  All the hard work, all the tears, all the times we felt so beaten down we should probably stay there, they were all worth it.  Our life hasn’t changed as much as many, because we have ten acres. 

It all started with an 8 year old girl who thought horses were cool and steered her banana seat bicycle with homemade reins tied to her handle bars.  Yeah, mom and dad were probably a little worried when we would give the bike a break and a bucket of water, but they are crazy too or we wouldn’t be here on ten acres.

We need to thank them too, because picking up all those fire place rocks when we were 12 taught us both the satisfaction of a job well done and the pleasure of waking up and appreciating the hard work it took every day.  A requirement on ten acres.

In a time when we play plague or pollen at the sound of sneeze and the urge to throat punch a total stranger for coughing in our general direction is palpable, I’m so fucking glad we have ten acres. 

I raise my farm fresh peach daiquiri to you kid!   And hey, you didn’t think we ever would, but we found a weirdo just like us, and he knows how to can fresh peaches, so our daiquiri’s are legit!!!

Runs with Scissors….all grown up and day drinking on her days off…

ON. TEN. ACRES.   

It’s probably been a year since I posted anything.  Looking back at my some of my notes, I had at least two more Dating Files posts in the works.  One should and could be revamped into a post on farm life and I’ll probably do that.  The other would’ve been the last in a long line of whiny ass, I hate online dating and need to shame another asshole posts you’ve all grown to know and love. 

I can’t believe I’m about to tell you all that bullshit was worth it, but here we go. 

I met the right guy.  There are a few things I want all the ‘still singles’ out in the land of virtual suck and blow to know. 

First, the whole beginning was easy.  The conversation, the dates, the in between, all of it was easy.  I don’t mean two dollar whore easy; I mean cool summer evening in the hammock with your favorite book easy.  There was no wondering, no stress and no anxiety from one date to the next.  We both seemed to know where we were at and what we wanted from dating.  We communicated those things with little effort and the process was enjoyable.  Stop making excuses and sticking with anything that isn’t.   Early difficulty is a true and plain sign a situation is not meant for you.  I had a hard time with this. 

Second, he left his profile up a month or two longer than I did.  I hid mine after about a month of exclusive dating.  He was still sometimes online, but he never went on dates with anyone else after we met.   Let’s face it ladies, most of us are amateur hackers and most of check up on anyone we’ve met online, because DUH.  Most of us have been played a time or three if we are dating online, so it’s easy to view a continued online presence as a play and bolt like a horse on a ground bee nest.  If the beginning hadn’t flowed so easily, and I hadn’t known what he was thinking, I would have disappeared faster than cake in front of a fat kid when his profile didn’t come down within a week or two of mine.  I can’t be the only one that feels this way, but in this instance, I would’ve missed out on a great thing if I had been punchy about the red flag of WTF are you still doing with a profile…

Third, there were things about our situation that scared me.  I couldn’t tick off all the items on my mental list of the perfect partner.  I bet he couldn’t either.  The take away here is simple.  Ditch the list.  Don’t walk around smashing everyone you meet into the mold you’ve imagined your ideal partner should fit in.  You never know what awesome experiences you might miss while you are busy checking things off your list.

And last, my best experience was born from the most brutally honest version of my profile I could muster.  I went through so many iterations, from serious, to light, to mean and somewhere in there I finally found my realest version of myself.  When I threw her out there, great things happened.  I didn’t need professional pics and I didn’t need to be perfect.  I’ve worn makeup twice since we met and he still thinks I’m beautiful all the days I don’t.  I am 100% myself in this relationship, the good, the bad, the sarcastic and the unkempt.  And so is he.

My big take aways from my experiences are:

If it’s too hard in the wrong ways, it’s not for you.  No matter how good it looks on paper or in your head, somewhere else there is something that will be hard in all the right ways.  Boom. 

If it’s not too hard in the wrong ways and the communication is open, give it a chance.  Some ‘red flags’ deserve your immediate attention, others deserve your patience. 

Lists are for the grocery store, not your love life.  Stop imagining what he should be and find out what he is.  You might be surprised.  But find out safely, so you don’t accidentally get serial killed. 

Be the truest version of yourself you can be when you build a profile and never ever settle for someone who doesn’t love you just as you are.  You will never look airbrushed in real life. 

Runs with Scissors

I’ve been fighting a wicked downdraft for a week, the worst I’ve ever had. Usually, I can light a fire starter, shut down the dampers, open the flu and get the chamber hot enough to develop an updraft or so I thought. I inevitably crack a window to let out any smoke that seeps around the dampers, and I never realized that was the important part of solving the problem.

For the last week, I’ve tried a few times to get a fire going and each time I’ve been driven out by smoke accumulation. At first I thought the chimney was blocked, but airflow and the icy basement temperature swear that is not the case. I’ve been sick, so I’ve not been in the mood to give it my best effort until today. I leaned down to tie my boots this morning and could see and feel the draft from around the stove blowing my hair back. I knew it was colder than usual downstairs, but winter was pouring in like shots on Super Bowl Sunday. Just like that, the appliance I look to for extra warmth was transformed into the creepy uncle of household appliances.

I just had new insulated siding installed. I can’t possibly enjoy the benefits while winter seeps in around the edges of my cold woodstove. It’s raining and freezing right now, so the last thing I want to do is keep a fire going. My Sunday laziness won out briefly, but much to my dismay, stuffing the gaps of the stove frame with barn towels didn’t do the trick. I wondered aloud if I should seal around the stove with something each year after cleaning. Have I been remiss with my maintenance routine? My dog didn’t think so, and neither did I.

Back in my desk chair, beloved Google at my fingertips, I researched downdrafts and cold woodstoves. After sorting through a shit pile of sketchy, ‘you might be a redneck if’ advice, I stumbled across a thread where a firefighter had chimed in. Here is a guy who probably understands fire and air.

As I mentioned above, I always end up opening a window to get the smoke out of the house while I try to warm the air in the stove. I firmly believed heating the air was correcting the problem, opening the window was just treating a symptom. What I never understood is opening a window is what releases the pressure drawing the downdraft and an open window will reverse the air flow whether the stove is warm or cold.  It’s true that warming the air will eventually create a sustainable updraft, but what do you do when you have old man winter blowing down your cold chimney like Santa on Taco Tuesday?  The MacGyver of woodstove advice advised opening a window and allowing the air to reverse direction before starting a fire to avoid any smoke in the house. As long as the window stays open, you will achieve an updraft in the stove while it’s cold. Once the stove is hot, you can close the window and the heat from the stove will maintain the updraft.

I’ve smoked myself out of the house three times this week trying to get the woodstove going. Sure enough, I left the window and cold woodstove open downstairs for ten minutes prior to trying to start a fire today. I could feel the air flow reversing. When I had good updraft, I lit the starters and took on no smoke. I closed the window before the stove was hot enough and the downdraft immediately returned. Opening the window immediately corrected the issue and the fire has been going for a few hours with the house closed up tight now.

It seems counterintuitive to open a window in a cold basement so you can start fire to keep it warm, but there you go.

*slow clap* for the girl catching up.

The Management,
Drafty Ass Acres

A year of change
Life once again rearranged
Not all good nor all bad
With just a touch of sad

The shortness is gone
For a more permanent lawn
Perhaps his eyes see once again
We miss our short, old saucy friend

Poociferous Nah Nah, Lucifer to most
Also gone to meet the holy ghost
How on Earth does a sober cat
Manage to trash his liver like that?

Hawk, you found a stellar farm
They love your pushy, show boy charm
A herd of oddities, all love you
And I have so much less to do

Dying ash trees once a concern
Await the wood stoves winter burn
2017 finds the acres a little better off
The horses no longer get shocked at the trough

The herds all together now, asses and paints
One trough for all and no complaints
They prefer to be out, even when it’s bitter cold
Not mucking stalls will never get old

I’ve had mono and a swollen face
To put me back in my place
A minor medical shit magnet, I can’t deny
That over forty bullshit was no lie

From now on, to some degree
I’ll channel my inner lotion making hippie
I’ll reek of shea butter and I won’t care
I will continue to not die my grey hair

I’ve grown a bit less tolerant
When I see unkindness spent
I crave so much a grown up world
Where inner children kindly unfold

Relax more and worry less
Be more forgiving, let go of stress
Resolutions should be achievable
Their result should be relievable

Like most of my years past
This one has proved nothing lasts
It brought me joy and it brought me tears
And a clear path to an easier next forty years…

Hopefully, I get that many.

No matter what this life delivers,
I’m going to keep running with scissors.

Happy New Year!!!!

The Management, Sweet Ass Acres.

I have used sinking water trough deicers for thirteen years with no issues. I had them setup with miles of extension cords (despite a clear warning not to use extension cords), hooked under the barn door (wrapped with duct tape so they don’t fray) and plugged in to outlets in awkward places in a barn full of hay. A couple years ago and right after setting up the heater for the winter, I noticed my horses were standing at the trough, pawing and scraping the sides with their teeth. I went out, stuck my hand in and felt nothing. I watched them a bit longer and for sure knew they were getting shocked. I stick my hand in again and grab the fence and sure enough, shocky water. Not kill you shocky, but enough I could feel a tingle in my fingers. I dragged everything around to the back of the barn and plugged the heater into a different outlet, no shock. On checking the electric, one of two lines feeding the barn was going bad. I couldn’t afford to fix it right away, so the last couple of winters have found the water trough out back. I assumed the two issues, shocky water and dying electric line were related.

Fast forward to this year, and I can finally afford to replace the lines to the barn. I allowed for outlets on the fence posts, so I don’t have to run 150ft of extension cords for the trough heaters. When it was all installed, I plugged in the heater straight away…and my horses were still getting shocked. Luckily enough, the electrician had to come back, but you know I couldn’t wait for that…

I bought a brand new heater, in case last year’s heater was bad and the water still carried a charge.  Enter google, and a programmers curiosity for a good problem; I read a few horse forum threads and find a boatload of how to videos, all somewhere on the redneck spectrum. I learn stray electric is causing the problem. Apparently, electricity is like feral cats and it can prowl anywhere if all lines are not properly connected. I figured an existing outlet or light must be bad. All the videos say I should ground the water, two out of three use the proper 8ft copper ground rod and copper wire, the third uses a metal fence post and fence wire. Want to guess which set of materials I had on hand? And now I’m sinking a metal fence post where I don’t want one and I’ve created the most trailer trash ground line setup in the history of trailer trash ground line setups. It doesn’t work, shocker, right? I try to get the post out and pull my back. Now I have a bad back and shocky water. A friend came over and grounded the water using the right materials and…that didn’t work either. I have a new GFI outlet and a new GFI breaker independently grounded, and brand new lines from the house to the barn on a dedicated breaker in the house. I still can’t use the trough heater without shocking my horses. It’s going to get cold by Wednesday…I’m sore and filled with sadness. I spoke with the electrician and he wasn’t sure what the problem could be…

The electrician came out a couple days later to correct the position of the breaker box and had been thinking on the issue of shocky water at my brand spanking new fence post outlet. Turns out, it’s modern practice now to run a ground line from the house with the neutral and hot wires. In the house, the ground wire touches the neutral wire were it connects to the breaker while the neutral and ground lines connect to separate bars in the barn. Stray electric from the house was being picked up by the ground line from the neutral wire and ending up in the ground around the barn. Disconnecting and capping the ground line from the house to the barn solved the problem. And now I have an issue in the house I need to track down, because HOME OWNERSHIP!  But…none of this caused the issue when the original electric went bad, because no ground line from the house in that setup. So, two different issues causing the same problem at different times.

I can officially use the new electric in the barn without shocking my horses.

I learned the following:

If you own a farm, you should own a good multi-meter electrical tester. Check your water for charge while the heater is on if you see any hesitation from your animals when they head to the trough. Horses can feel and be turned off attempting to drink water with as little as .5 volts of charge.

You can ground water, but it’s just a patch and might not eliminate all the charge. Find the source of the stray electric and get it fixed.

It’s not uncommon in new barns to put troughs on concrete pads with grid grounding. It’s basically a rebar grid in concrete grounded to the barn panel.  Apparently, many concrete dairy barn floors are grid grounded to eliminate shock from milking machines, though that is hearsay and was not independently researched by me, seems reasonable after my experience.

Even with properly grounded GFI outlets, you can still have an issue if anything nearby is not properly grounded.

If you live near power lines, you can experience stray electric from compromised towers. If you have an issue you can’t resolve with a licensed electrician, contact the power company to inspect towers in near proximity to your farm for issues.  It’s my understanding towers are regularly inspected every three years.

Happy farming, but don’t expect to get it right the first time.

The Management, Charged Ass Acres.

My favorite riding season is here and the holiday’s are around the corner, so it’s time to bid fair well to the mythical land of online potential togetherness.  As a parting gift, the latest batch of questionable screen names.

Get some cereal, or serial…your choice.

SuperTongue – Some red hot nopilingous right here!!!!

Jimloveslips – Subtlety lives in the Land of Nope.

Big O – OOOO say can you see, by the Land of Nopes’ early light…the count is off, but I had to do it.  Make it work in your head.

Mr Speed – Let’s be clear, exactly none of us are looking for you.  Hi, my name is Jack…Jack Hammer.

GoHerd71 – go herd what? Can I assume this is a working date? Do I need steel toe shoes?

Movin On Up – to the east siiiiiideeee. Anyone not do this? Anyone?

Super Active – dude looks 90 and has resting nope face, the antithesis of super active…

RustySpider – sorry but there is nothing appealing about rust or spiders. But now I’m looking around for spiders.

Wiper – wiper of what? Other people’s bottoms? I’m covered.

Badman – well, ok. And we are back in the Land of Nope.

Niceguyfrthemostpart – yeah, it’s that nope part we are worried about.

2real4most – translation: 2clingy4me, make like a dryer sheet and Bounce ya ass on outta here….

MerrilyClassy – merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is filled with nope.

Basicconfusion – describes my last 12 years…

ChivalrylivesinNJ – oh, come on. I’ve driven behind a few you…you fuckers don’t think about anyone else.

Stevestif – really? Steve is probably going to stay that way…it’s a nope job for Steve!

Ramz1211 – all this guy’s pictures have girls in them with just their eyes blacked out. Just in time for Nopaween.

Soullesswolf – intriguing. Nope, just kidding, you sound howllow!

TombeingTom – I’ve been waiting all this time for someone to be Steven Tyler, could you be him for a bit?

Bakerman – and now patty cake is stuck in my head…and I want chocolate cake.  Fuck cereal.

SecretlyHandsome – No picture. Points for creativity, but we aren’t buying it.

 

And a high five to this guy:

ExSpyRisksCapture – all his pictures are partial profile…and now I’m listening to the theme song from Mission Impossible. And I still want chocolate cake.

 

Runs With Scissors

 

Ideal Match: An independent girl with her own likes and interests.

I see some derivative of this in at least 60% of online profiles I view and I bet they mean it, until they meet one of us. Just because we are independent doesn’t mean we aren’t serious about what and who we do. It means we are twice as serious as everyone else. We have to be two people, so doubling our investment in how we spend our time is crucial to our success. We are responsibility junkies and we have our shit handled, thank you. We can probably help you with yours too.

Because independence comes at a cost, we will fight every step to keep it.

I worked hard to teach myself I should only rely on the handful of people who genuinely love me to help out when I need it, and to be clear about NEED vs. this is tough, I could use an extra set of hands. I’ve learned how to handle a myriad of home repairs, can finish drywall like a pro, and cut and split most of my own firewood. Hot, right? Maybe not so much…

Independence can find you crying in the back yard, picking yourself up and carrying on, wondering all the while if it’s really worth the trouble. It wasn’t easy to get here, and it’s still difficult some days to remain. Independence is not always pretty and it doesn’t always shave. It definitely eats ice cream right from the tub while wearing old sweat pants.

The worst thing I encounter dating is the guy (seeking an independent woman) who wants to help before he even knows if he wants to care. Insists he will fix this or that, or will offer to buy you a couch after knowing you a week….wtf is this? A couch? Dial it back a notch please. I’ll pick out my own couch, since I’ll probably be sitting on it alone.

Independent girls will decline, counter, and possibly gift away their first born child to avoid relying on your questionable ass. We worked hard to get here and we don’t need your disingenuous support.  When you push that help on us, a little built of our wall crumbles and you get a foot in. Since fixing our shit is akin to the mating dance of the peacock spider, we start to think you might be genuinely interested. If you are one the ‘I really don’t know what I want’ brigade, you leave a hole that we have to repair. We have to hunt down, kill and hang our independence back on the wall, usually after we spend too much of our downtime wondering why we ever let you help in the first place.

A friend of mine last year told me I need to be vulnerable to find the right relationship. I need to admit I need help. This idea creates a juxtaposition I’m ill-equipped to deal with. I do need help, more often than I will admit, but wonder if there is a limit to how many times I can regain my independence?

It’s firmly intact for now, still carelessly running with scissors…

But seriously, quit fucking with us.

Show Hawk with the Mohawk is officially the No Mo Show Hawk.  An injury suspended his show career and I don’t have the time/money/patience to operate/rehab/torture him to try to get him sound.  He is just lame enough he can’t jump any more and he can’t pass a vet.  He’s good for light duty and perfectly sound jogging on a straight line for days.  My wonderful new vet found him a new gig with another client of hers the same day she met him.   I listed all his less appealing qualities, field bully, attention whore, overzealous water slapper, and somehow his list of quirks matched their list of wants to the letter. 

He’s starting his new career as grand poobah , emu herder, llama lover and ass man at a new farm today.  He will be kicking off his first ten days by serving as a groomsmen when his new owners wed, complete with bow tie and professional pictures.  I was promised a copy and you know I will share.  He WILL be STUNNING in formalwear.  He won’t be far the acres, and I can visit whenever I like.

He will be kicking around a new pasture with the likes of Dali Llama and Ferris Mueller.  Nelson Mandellama will eventual meet the scene.  No idea what they call the emu, but I bet it’s great.  And you know this makes me LOVE his new owners already. 

I’m sad and happy today, basically Schrodinger’s Alison.  Don’t look in the box unless you are sure you want to know if it’s killing me or injecting fresh life.  I’m worried he’ll beat up the llama (he’s never seen one) or be beaten up by the emu (another first for him).  I’m worried my horses will miss him and Jaz will be lonely when I camp.  His new home needs a herd leader and I wonder how my paints will adjust without one.  I’m excited I’ll be able to let my paints live outside, because that’s what they prefer.  I’m excited for less work and lower expenses and no more feelings of inadequacy because I can’t keep three living on enough love to properly suit them with my current schedule. 

Since he hit the bench almost two years ago, he’s gotten little attention here.  I’m spread too thin and I will never find time to show again, even if I could get him sound.  I certainly can’t sell him with a known injury. 

My next forty years will be spent on trail, where the stress is low, the drinks are cold, and the ride time costs me only the effort to get there and a per night camping fee. 

As for Hawk, if everything works out and they don’t send him back, he will be living a real life Charlotte’s web existence as leader of a motley group of farm stock, showered with love and attention and doted on far more than I can manage. 

Good luck, my friend.  I am so very grateful for the lessons, the love and the success we shared.  You will be spoken of fondly, remember often and revered for all those times you made me feel like I was winning, even if we didn’t come home with a blue.  We learned so much together.  You were a raging pain in my ass and my greatest Sweet Ass success.  Here’s hoping this change in venue will suit us all in the best possible ways. 

You will be missed, but there is another herd that needs your lead.  And frankly, Karma is sick of your shit. 

Peace out, my Sweet Ass friend.  I’ll visit often and I’ll rest easy, provided you don’t kill the Dali llama.  That’s a shit storm of bad press right there.  Don’t fuck this up. 

The Management,

BitterSweet Ass Acres

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bag Of Dicks

Spring had sprung

Fun times begun

But now I’m afright

My yard is all white

 

Through it I’ll go

This stupid Spring snow

Horses need care

Buyers beware

 

You’ll get through winter

With nary a hinder

But oh the month of Ides

Will find you back inside

 

One month, but four seasons

I find no good reason

I’ll limp out there and take my licks

The month of March is a big bag of dicks

 

And not the good kind of bag of dicks either…..

 The staff, 

THIS IS BULLSHIT ACRES

I love a good argument.  Not just the Monty Python skit, but the real life argument.  I’m not talking about the heated trading of fuck you’s and accusations, but rather the discussion with two clear sides debated passionately and intelligently with no attempt to change opinions.  I love opposing sides and I’ll often play devil’s advocate.   I don’t want to change your mind; I want to play out the least popular side.  I want to know where all path’s lead.  I’ve been pretty one sided on the topic of online dating, so there is a tiny bit of the other side at the end here.  You will have to read through some of my usual dating sucks crap.  Enjoy.

This is a rebuttal of sorts, although it won’t sound that way early on.  I have several friends, married or happily dating that met online.  I swore I was giving it up after the recap I posted a month ago.  Turns out, I lied.

I ended up re-subscribing and the WTF’s picked up right where they left off.   The cream rising to the top was a guy who flipped out and called me every name in the book while attacking my character without knowing much at all about me.  Fight club, actually, got back in touch, so I asked him what he did for a living.  That’s it.  What do you do for a living?  That’s all I needed to do to start a diatribe; I must be a spoiled rotten horse owning clueless cunt because he doesn’t have a fancy job and I should take my wrinkly, cigarette smoking, ugly ass and move on.  His words, not mine.  That’s right.  Kiss your momma with that mouth?

For obvious reasons, I reported him, blocked him and canceled my subscription.  I sat and wondered for a bit if there is anyone on earth who knows me and doesn’t think I’m too picky or too unreasonable about dating.  On the flip side, do I seem too desperate when I find a nice guy to spend time with because I am a one at a time, try my best kind of girl?  I mean, seriously, I’ve been single for ten years; is it really just me?  Am I subconsciously communicating in a hostile manner?  Is making a reasonable effort to keep in touch and making time to get to know someone a display of desperate behavior?  I wonder if I’ve morphed into the epitome of Seinfeld, haunted by my own man hands and finding fault in everyone I meet, always teetering on the brink of sending my Elaine into the steam room to make sure his dick is real.  Of course, that’s not the fucking case at all.

If you have a friend who has been single a long time and you can’t help but think she/he brings the trouble and loneliness on themselves, reread two paragraphs back.  Maybe you never had experiences like that, or maybe you are willing to tolerate more bullshit than the next girl.  Wanting the right thing for yourself doesn’t mean you are too picky and appreciating it when you find it doesn’t make you too desperate.  Unless you are truly a ‘How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days’ type, in which case you should get some help, high five yourself if you’re holding out and continue to make an effort when you meet someone nice.  Let people judge your emotional craziness as they will, because you have no idea what they are willing to tolerate to avoid being alone.  Get what you want or adopt some cats, but fuck settling for less than you’re worth.

I did promise a bit of a rebuttal, so here goes.  Now she employs brevity, because just get on with it already.

I still had a month paid, so I left my profile active.  I did change it to the most sarcastic, ridiculous description of myself I could think up and ended it with, ‘I’ll know him when I find him, or I’ll just adopt a colony of feral cats’.

I check a couple times a week now, and I still get shitty emails and the like.  I’m also pretty sure Jerry Garcia is still alive and he thinks I’m the shit.  He winked at me.  Boom.

Rebuttal, right.  I actually met someone in person and he did not axe murder me, call me names or push me into oncoming traffic.  He looked like his pictures.  He brought me a rose.  He’s intelligent and nice.  No idea what will happen, but today I start my week feeling a little less jaded and a little bit lighter.  Cheers to the nice guys!  We know you are out there.  We just wish you weren’t buried in a deep, steaming pile of WTF.

All the rest of you can fuck off.

Runs With Scissors