Life at Homeland Farm

    Hello and I know, I know. It has been 3 months since I last wrote a blog. I am a poor excuse for a blogger, I have to say. My heroine blogger, Ree Drummond of "Pioneer Woman" does a great job. She does at least one a day, usually including a few pictures each time. Of course, in my defense, she is making a bajillion dollars doing hers, and has awesome new computers and cameras as well, I am fairly certain.      I on the other hand, have one computer that has been giving me fits lately, and is reluctant to cooperate on most days. I also only have a cracked screen iPhone for photos, and it seems it is always at the other end of the house from where I am when the "action" breaks out. Oh, and not only is the 4 wheeler broken down, which is my main mode of transport OUTSIDE the house, my go buggy is also broken down INSIDE the house. So I am reduced to calculating exactly HOW impressive the photo or blog would be and if it is worth the 29 steps into th...

   It is that time of year again. The season that brings horse owners and farm folk to tears. It is known as .......MUD SEASON. It is a mess out here every year, but oh Lordie...it is a disaster of biblical proportions this year. Ruts, yep. Pools of mucky water, yep. A slippery, slimey mess, yep. We got it all. So, I did what all "tired of winter, but not loving mud season" Mainers do..I penned a quick song, called MUD SEASON, OH HOW I HATE YOU.                                  MUD SEASON, OH HOW I HATE YOU...(ahem)                                  Sung to the tune of Amazing Grace.        Crazy mud,        how sad the sound,        of boots being sucked        right off...        I once liked spr...

     Well, it was probably inevitable. You know, that I would write a country song. I mean, who else is more country then this old farm gal. Of course, it would certainly be much easier to do this if I could play a note on some sort of instrument..piano..guitar...heck, banjo. But alas, all those years of clarinet never paid off for me. All I can do is write it and find someone to set 'er to music. I am pretty sure that this type of thing happens in Nashville all the time, in a land flush with young talent and pretty people. I am just not sure how often it happens in Bridgton, Maine. But get ready folks, because it is about to...                                                                                                   ...

     Dogs here,      dogs there,      and not any room for us.      If I don't get my      eight hours sleep,      it makes me want to cuss. Yes...that is my spot.      Well, not really, but it does make me tired. Tonight is a perfect example as to why I have big old dark circles under my eyes.       I went to bed early, as I had a Monday dialysis treatment, which is always the most grueling of the week. I usually have the most fluid to try and remove from my body on Monday, since I just had my dialysis free weekend.        For the first part of the night, I always sleep well, since Cliffy baby doesn't usually come in for a couple hours after I have gone to bed. He seems to have the ability to stay up past, oh I dont know....7 pm. I can sprawl all out and get nice and comfy, and even when the dogs come in, I still have room.   ...

        Small dog breed pup Sleep. I used to be able to sleep all night, with no interruptions. To quote the 1970's ish song - "Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end..." But, end they have. And it isn't pretty. Last night was a perfect example of why I have bags large enough to carry a couch under my eyes. This is how it went...        1 Am... Sleeping soundly, which after a dialysis session, feels especially wonderful.        1:15 Am...I am jolted from sleep by the high pitched cry of a dog at the end of the bed. Adrenalin running, I bolt upright..saying What? What? Who was that? Annalee, our 100 pound, "small breed" dog leaps over my body, stepping on my bad ankle on her way off the bed in terror. I see Cliffy making his way around the end of the bed in the low light from the Christmas tree in the living room. "That was Biloxi..I stepped on her foot by accident...

  Snowy day at Homeland Farm Well, it doesn't happen often, but today is one of those rare days where I have nothing to do. Nothing at all, and I am going to enjoy it. I am usually pretty busy around the house, and it is rare that I have everything caught up, but as it happens, this is one of those occasions.     Now, let me see..what can I do with all my relaxation time. I think I will maybe take a nap, and...ohh, wait.  I have to go wash up the dishes from last night. Be right back.     Ok, I am back. I just had to wash up the pots and pans from supper last night. SO..now what to do with all my free time. I could practice my crocheting, that Helen has been so kind to try and teach me. That sounds like a good "free time" activity. I have managed to learn how to....oh, hang on a minute. I have to go feed the pig his breakfast.      Ok, I am back. Robin Williams is a pot bellied pig living outside my kitchen door. I co...

An early letter to Santa...         Dear Santy...                Well, it is a bit early for a letter I know, but I have had a little "incident", and it made it very clear what I should ask for this Christmas. As you are probably aware, I have bad knees, and while it would be really cool if you could give me two good knee joints, I know that isn't an option. Since the last three days have been pretty darn busy with Thanksgiving and all it's work, followed by a rousing dialysis session in which they tried desperately to suck off 2 bottles of champagne, I have been pretty much riding on my Rascal scooter all afternoon. That is how "the incident" occurred.               After my post dialysis nap, I hopped onto my scooter and cruised to the kitchen, granny nightie and all, trying to figure out a simple supper that did...