Coping Isn’t Coping

Situational depression. Or at least that’s what my therapist called it. One situation in my life sucked and another was really crappy. A + B = D for depressed. Ideally, once circumstances changed, I’d be happier.

Things did change and eventually I did feel better. I also attended therapy and took medication. I had a couple different support groups and was involved in my church. I was happy, or at least as close to happy as possible.

Biologically speaking, depression is always there. For some people, it’s a lingering presence and daily burden. For others it ebbs and flows like the tide. Today is OK but tomorrow never knows. Those with SAD (or seasonal affective disorder) fall into this latter category, their mental health dependent on the weather. My situational depression makes me a candidate for the occasionally depressed. Since it’s a chemical imbalance, there isn’t a cure, only treatment through prescriptions and counseling can reduce the symptoms. Your brain is what it is. It can be rewired but not replaced.

So this is who I am. Some days my depression is an echo in the basement of my psyche. Other days it’s the annoying neighbor throwing an all night kegger when I have to work at 5am the next morning. Some days, it’s mellow enough to be forgotten and other days it’s so loud and crippling it can’t be ignored. Some days, it is a circus clown waving in the distance, other days it’s a masked killer from a slasher flick chasing me up a flight of stairs because why wouldn’t I be foolish enough to ascend the stairs where there’s no means for me to escape - that’s what people do in horror movies.

image courtesy of Dark Sky Films

I didn’t learn about my depression and anxiety until I was in my mid-30s. My oblivious perspective didn’t mean I was not depressed prior to my diagnosis. I didn’t suddenly develop symptoms the moment my therapist gave me a label.


My journey through depression and anxiety mirrors my story of autism. I didn’t know I was on the spectrum until I was 40, but I’ve been autistic my whole life. In the same way, I didn’t know I was depressed until I was an adult. Looking back I can see I’ve struggled with depression since adolescence.

These are challenges no one should face alone. Life doesn’t come with a user guide; the closest thing we have to cheat codes are therapists. So I got one. She prescribed some drugs. So I took them. And it helped.

Mental health doesn’t have easy fixes. Therapeutic and pharmaceutical solutions are not cures, they’re temporary salves. Wonderful and helpful yet not enough to heal the deepest wounds. To cope with the stresses of life, changes in weather, and negative self talk, people plagued with depression and anxiety need to develop useful coping mechanisms.

Neurotypical people cope naturally. They do it without thinking. Bad things happen, they adjust and keep moving. They’re upset about something, they process the emotion and continue to function. It’s the natural order. However, not all brains are able to self-regulate on autopilot. That’s why good therapists teach coping mechanisms.

Some people count or take deep breaths, meditate or punch a pillow, read or play video games. I have a big challenge though: coping strategies don’t last. For example, I tap my fingers when I’m anxious and it helps me feel calm. Yet the anxiety returns the moment I stop tapping unless I’ve resolved the cause of my worried stress. However, finger tapping isn’t the only coping mechanism I’ve tried.

Doing something nice for someone else is a great anti-depressant. I’ve volunteered for various community programs, served homeless people, opened doors for strangers, participated in charity events, and donated to non-profit organizations. All of it feels great in the moment. I never feel depressed when engaging in acts of kindness. Unfortunately, I’m not able to do these happy acts all day every day. I have a regular job, kids to feed, and a farm to run. I can have the serotonin high of helping someone, only to come home confronted with the reality of laundry that never ends and fences perpetually in need of repair.

I’ve been told nature walks and spending time with animals are good for mental health. I agree. That’s why I tend to linger outside longer than necessary after doing evening barn chores. Giving ear scratches to our donkey, playing with the goats, or staring at the stars. It’s a peaceful end to an often hectic day. As refreshing as this time is, I can’t stay outside forever. The next day is coming with a new set of stressors.

I feel great at my DJ gigs; music is therapeutic. But my gigs have end times when the speakers are turned off and I must tear down my equipment. There are times throughout my day where music cannot be played in the background, whether due to business calls or a lack of accessibility. Songs, regardless of genre, calm me, but the benefit vanishes as soon as the music stops.

There are more coping methods. I could go on ad nauseam. Hopefully, you get the point. Coping is great until it isn’t. Coping doesn’t last. Coping isn’t coping. I still have to function.

Neurotypical people are able to cope without coping mechanisms. Either due to depression, anxiety, or autism, I do not posses that skill. How do I do it? I don’t know. What I do know is I wake up every day and do what must be done because there are people (and animals) who depend on me.

I’m OK, and even when I’m not, it’s OK. If you see me tapping my fingers, at least you know why.

Sedona

Two years and a half ago, we got Sedona intending her to become Chloe’s new barrel racing horse. Our daughter needed a step up horse, a steed who could help Chloe reach her full potential as a rider and a competitor.

Chloe rode Sedona bareback the first day we had her. It’s one of the happiest moments I have ever witnessed. The two made a quick bond and practiced together any chance Chloe could find. Sedona was a little overweight so we placed her on a strict diet and had her exercising in the round pen daily. We took her out for walks and runs on trails and roads. Sedona worked her muscles walking up and down a hill we affectionately refer to as “the butt kicker hill.”

photo courtesy of Susan Shouse Photography

Sedona competed with Chloe through most of the 2019 rodeo season and we watched as both the girl and her horse made improvements in their skill. After the Covid pandemic ended everyone’s rodeo season for 2020, Chloe continued to ride and work with Sedona. She had her eyes on the future. She knew that one canceled season was not the end of anyone’s rodeo career. If she was going to compete again, Sedona would need to stay in shape.

Chloe hustled. Sometimes she begged to do it and other times we bribed her. With the 2021 season approaching, we hired a trainer to work with Chloe and it looked like Sedona was going to be the perfect partner.

Then April 22 happened.

Like many other days preceding it, Chloe and Sedona were in the round pen working. My daughter stood in the middle directing the speed and direction for her horse to run. Some occurrences come out of nowhere, freak accidents you are unable to explain even as you watch it happen. One moment, Sedona was running like a race horse, the next she was spooked and tried to jump the gate. Sedona is not a jumping horse and she was too short to clear the gate. Instead of landing on the other side, Sedona’s front right leg slipped into the smallest space possible: directly between the wood post, the end of the metal gate, and the chain looped to keep the gate closed. Sedona’s sudden predicament scared her even more and she started thrashing around, aggravating any potential injury caused by her dreams of flight.

Chloe, Christian, and I made quick efforts to free Sedona while JJ ran in the house to get Annie. The next few hours were spent trying to calm the horse and clean her wounds. Phone calls were made to the emergency overnight veterinarian who gave us practical advice and we arranged to bring her in the next morning. We feared she would need to be put down. Chloe feared losing the bond she spent two years building with Sedona. We worried about the potential costs about the veterinary care Sedona would need.

In the end, all our fears were relieved. Miraculously, Sedona did not break any bones. Her official diagnosis was a complete degloving. This is a severe injury where she did more than tear away her fur – she also ripped off the outer layers of her skin and connective tissue. She managed to deglove a solid ring around the lower part of her leg, requiring multiple stitches and isolation while she healed.

This picture is her wound several weeks after the initial injury. The first photos we sent to the veterinarian are too gory to share.

Results were better than we imagined possible. However, Sedona still had a long road ahead of her. The next few days were chaotic and filled with sleep deprivation for both horse and humans. She would need regular bandage changes for several weeks, requiring sedation for her to allow us to wrap fresh bandages around her leg. The vet prescribed antibiotics and pain medications, both of which Sedona hated consuming. Finally, she would need to miss out on the 2021 rodeo season.

Instead of forfeiting the season Chloe chose to train Renegade; the result of her decision is a beautiful and victorious story deserving a blog post of its own. Sedona slowly recovered, eventually rejoined the heard, stopped exercising, and ate a bunch of hay. She regained a bunch of weight but she would live, nay … thrive.

Sedona’s injury did more than complicate Chloe’s rodeo season, it threw a wrench into our wedding plans. Annie and I had arranged two horses to go with us to the wedding: Sedona and Roxy. After exchanging vows on the beach, we hoped to ride off into the sunset together. With Sedona’s injury, that possibility was cast into doubt. Renegade has a habit of bucking and throwing riders and we only have one other ridable horse – the mare Annie planned on using.

We kept Sedona healthy and fed. We let her walk the pasture at her own leisurely pace. Gradually, she built up her strength. Her wounds were scabbing over. It was clear I would need to begin working with her soon, shed some of the belly weight she added while in recovery, and build a bond with her so she trusts me when there are ocean waves crashing next to us.

Sedona’s most common recent interactions with me were through the ritual of medicating, sedating, and changing bandages. None of those activities were experiences she enjoyed; she actively attempted to avoid it as much as she could. She wanted nothing to do with me but she didn’t keep that attitude. First she let me approach her while she was munching on hay. Next she allowed me to scratch her neck and ears. Then she started lining up with the other horses when she saw me walking from the house to the barn to feed them. She would follow me as I dragged a bale into the pasture and stood patiently while I broke open the twine. As soon as I threw a flake of alfalfa, she’d turn away from me to go eat. Finally, on a Monday night a few weeks ago, I took a bale out to the horses while all the horses were grazing in the back half of the pasture. I looked up and saw this running at me.

Instead of waiting for me to toss some food in her general direction, she walked up to me and invaded my personal space. I spread out several flakes; the other horses found their own personal pile and started to dine. Not Sedona. She stayed with me. I picked up her feet to check her hooves, rubbed her back to see if she had any sore spots, and patted her neck to let her know she’s a good girl. As I was running my fingers through her mane, she rested her jaw on my shoulder and turned her neck to place her head behind mine – the closest imitation of a hug a horse can give.

I knew then it was time. It was time for me to start working with Sedona in the round pen. I knew it was time for her to have a rider. I knew it was time for me to (figuratively and literally) get back on the horse.

Last Saturday, we did a thing. While the family completed morning barn chores, I got Sedona into the round pen and strapped a saddle to her back. We walked around in circles in the round pen for a while, both of us reacquainting the experience of riding (me) or being ridden (Sedona). Feeling brave, I followed Chloe out to the back half of our property. It’s the first time in a couple years we’ve rode horses together. We did some practicing in our arena and I had Sedona walking through a pole bending pattern. I even got her into a trot.

Three weeks from now, Sedona will be introduced to a new environment: road trips and beaches. A couple weeks ago, I was feeling nervous about how she would handle my weight or how I would manage to control her in the sand. Now I feel much more confident and prepared. I think Sedona and I are going to enjoy our time together.

Not your typical Easter post

Elvis died a couple weeks ago. Not the Blue Suede Shoes Elvis, he left the building a long time ago. Elvis was a fluffy black feathered bird, a silkie with a pompadour, the first rooster to live at Heartsong Meadow. He was everyone’s favorite chicken, practically our farm’s mascot. The girls loved him most and together we grieved. Then the next day, one of our mama goats gave birth to quadruplets. From mourning fatality one day to celebrating life the next. It’s like we were living God’s promise to make all things new.

Inspired by events on our farm, I posted the following on facebook.

Seemed fitting as we entered the Easter season to experience death and birth in quick succession, as if we could explain the crucifixion and resurrection through barnyard animals.

I had a plan, much like I do around major holidays, to compose a blog post in honor of Easter. I had great ideas to speak of the jaded cynicism living in a world where everyone is quick to shout “crucify him” at the littlest provocation, while confronted with the relentless optimism of Palm Sunday. I thought about the devastation of Good Friday and the hope of resurrection and how I could tie it all together through the cycle of human emotions we all experience. Joy, sorrow, expectation, disappointment, surprise, and relief.

To be honest though, I just don’t have it in me this year. Instead, you’re getting an unedited, first draft, random stream of consciousness, screaming into the universe at 4am jumble of raw emotional pain spewed out in the form of words on a screen.

Of the four baby goats, the kids found one cold and motionless but barely hanging on to life. We spent a week tube and bottle feeding the kid, trying to nurse her back to health. Unfortunately, she failed to thrive. At the same time, we had to grieve the loss of one of Annie’s childhood friends and two extended family members. Then yesterday, we had to put down our buck (and my second favorite goat) after he was attacked by an animal, and my parents left for a two day drive to Oklahoma City to visit my Grandma who was rushed to the hospital on Thursday. Barring any miracles, this will probably be the last time my dad will get to see and talk to his mom.

Sure, I could try to be eloquent and compose something inspiring. Just not today. Not tomorrow either. While Christians will be filling church pews tomorrow (or watching online because COVID), I’ll join them. We’ll partake in the traditions and rituals of Easter – the holiday to remember the death and resurrection of Jesus. Over the past few weeks, my family has seen enough death. It’s too much. We need a little more life, resurrection, hope, and second chances.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Almost a month into 2021. Are we ready to remember last year? I know it sucked for almost everyone on earth but it can’t be all bad. While I pity the future history teachers who will have to explain the events of 2020 to kids not yet born, we need to remember the treasures in what was demonstrably a dumpster fire of the year. To do so, my first post of the new year is looking back at what I believe to be the best of the worst year I’ve ever experienced.

found on Reddit

Starting with my Top 10 movies from 2020. Since moving to the farm, I haven’t been able to get to the theaters as much as I used to. In 2020, theaters closed and everyone felt the same unrequited yearning for the true movie experience. However, being home all the time gave me more time to watch one of my favorite mediums. There’s a lot of 2020 movies I’ve not yet had the chance to see, but these were (in no particular order) my favorite films from the year.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga
Hamilton
Enola Holmes
Guns Akimbo
Soul
My Spy
The Platform
Onward
Project Power
Coffee & Kareem

Not a lot of new music came out last year. Or at least, not a lot wowed me in any way. Some big name artists even pushed back planned releases because of Covid. However, even in the dearth of musical debuts and massive singles, there were songs that still worked their way into my consciousness and remained there. These are my five favorite songs of 2020, also in no particular order.

Pigeon John - The Greatest
Twenty One Pilots - Level of Concern
Blue October - Oh My My
Eels - Are We Alright Again
LANY - If This is the Last Time

Being home all the time gave me more time to watch movies. But it also gave me more time to read. However, much of what I read were older books. So here are my top four books from 2020 plus one from 2019 that I read this last year. Two fiction, three non-fiction.

Mike McHargue - You’re a Miracle and a Pain in the Ass
Carlos Whitaker - Enter Wild
Max Brooks - Devolution
Stephen King - If It Bleeds
Ibram X. Kendi - How to Be Antiracist

Enough about what kept me entertained. What about what kept you entertained. Here are my five most frequently read blog posts of 2020, and these are in order with the most popular first.

Bragging Rights 
Tortured 
Pay Up 
The Spring of Babies 
Tour de Bux 

However, not all of my favorite posts are particularly popular. Sometimes, I write things I’m eager to share then no one seems to notice when I do. Regardless of total views, I am most proud of these five posts.

Protect Ya Neck: Sanity in the Age of Social Media 
Geeks Will Save the World 
Rise of the Sidekicks 
All Other Ground 
What Does Love Require 

Our farm’s population is always in flux. The population of our chickens and duck ebb and flow with hatchlings and death. Geese and turkeys come and go. We breed the goats in the fall and sell their kids in the spring. We find stray kittens in the barn and re-home them after getting them spayed or neutered. We are ground zero for the circle of life. We also bring in animals who become permanent residents of our circus. Three of them have become my favorite animals on our property. A with apologies to all our our pre-existing furry and feathered friends, these are the three best additions to our farm.

Edgar the Mastiff

Wasabi the Emu

Hank the Donkey

Now for the absolute best thing about 2020? We had one more addition to the family in 2020. She was a surprise we didn’t think was possible. Violet has made our world even brighter than it was before and she seems to bring out the best in her older siblings.

Annie and I inadvertently scheduled our annual camping trip for the same weekend we originally planned on getting married. Our venue canceled because of insurance issues. Then we found out Annie was pregnant. Then Covid happened and the world got put on hold. Wedding plans got delayed until further notice. Instead of getting married on the beach, we went hiking on the beach. Instead of a bed-and-breakfast, we slept in a tent. It was the best option we could come up with for a socially distanced family vacation. Instead of a destination wedding with about 50 friends and family members, we Took our family of seven camping 50 miles north of our previous plans. While there, we went hiking in the Hoh Rain Forest. This is where I experienced my most surreal moment of 2020. Along the Hall of Mosses Trail, I took some snapshots of the kids. Looking at those pictures now, I am confronted with the reality of 2020 and the weirdness of being surrounded by unparalleled natural beauty in the midst of a pandemic. Our existence on earth is a clash between the ancient and the modern, a truth most evident in photos like these.

Finally, a few of your favorite things. On New Years Eve, I asked my Facebook friends to share their favorite part of 2020. Here is a summary of the most inspiring responses.

While Annie and I (along with countless other couples) canceled their 2020 nuptials, love endured and some people found a way to get married in the midst of a pandemic. I know because my friend Syafiq DJ’d for a couple fun receptions. My friend Nate officiated what he called a beautiful wedding. And my friend Heather married the love of her life.
My cousin Allen reconnected with his dad (who travels a lot) in Miami to watch the Super Bowl. He grew up in Kansas City so the Chiefs are his favorite team. Spending time with his dad and watching his favorite team is a memory worth holding dear.
And he wasn’t the only one to reconnect with family. My Aunt Kim made a trip to Portland to spend time with her kids, my friend Julie’s son came home, and a distant cousin of mine reached out to her extended family (which included me).
Other friends focused on their home, like Natasha who remodeled her kitchen and Tiffany and her husband who put a down payment on their first home.
My best friend from high school graduated with her BSW, an old family friend watched her granddaughter graduate high school, and my cousins decided to permanently home school their kids.
Then there is my friend Jennifer who got her first tattoo. The story behind it is beautiful but it’s her story to tell, not mine.

courtesy Jennifer Nixon

The official Heartsong ornaments 2020

Every December when I was younger, my mom created handmade Christmas ornaments for my brother and me. Her plan was to provide us with ornaments of our own to use when we were older. She had a theory: when we moved out of her house to start life on our own we would have at least 18 Christmas ornaments to decorate the Christmas tree we get four ourseves. It wasn’t just Aaron and me either. She made these ornaments for all of the Budd family cousins too.

Annie also indulges in this crafting tradition. She started making ornaments with Joylyn when it was only the two of them together. Now, with our families blended together, the holiday crafts continue.

There is a difference though. When I was a kid, Aaron and I just let mom do her thing. These days, the ornaments are a family affair. The kids help brainstorm ideas and often handle sharpies and hot glue guns to assemble and decorate the family ornaments we give as gifts to our closest friends and family.

It was tempting to aim for funny this year. The thematic possibilities for 2020 were endless. We even googled in search of toilet paper roll and murder bee shaped confetti. We looked for miniature medical masks to place inside a plastic globe. We pondered the viability of using dollar store sized bottles of hand sanitizer.

After much contemplation, a decision was made to avoid the year in review approach to ornament making. No references to the pandemic, social distancing, the election, Netflix binging, conference calls, extreme weather, or apocalyptic animals.

We realize 2020 has been a weird year. This was the year that real life imitated something halfway in between Maury Povich and the twilight zone. It started with a tiger king refusing to accept reality and is ending with an American president who refuses to accept reality. In between those two cultural mileposts, we’ve seen mask orders and anti-mask rallies. We got professional sports played in empty arenas and super-spreader parties held in NYC, DC, and LA. New generations of video game consoles were released with near life-like graphics yet the most popuar game in America is a cartoony contest about armless spacesuit wearing little people trying to catch a murderous imposter while fixing their spaceship. Graduations were observed on zoom, vacations were cancelled, theaters were closed, and everyone had to figure out how to live life six feet apart.

This world has enough crazy, we didn’t need to add to it. We ached for something normal. Nothing could be more normal for us than this.

Inside a plastic mason jar, you’ll find feathers and snow. Well, artificial snow but the feathers are real - mostly from our chickens and ducks with a few from our turkey, Uno.

While we love our horses, the birds are the heartbeat of Heartsong Meadow. Annie had a pair of Chinese geese when she moved to the farm. Elvis, a black silkie, was one of the first three chickens we got and is the OG of our farm animals. Ruby and Stanley are long time fowl residents. Wasabi the emu is one of our newest feathered friends and he’s quickly become a favorite part of our world. This farm wouldn’t be what it is without the birds.

They greet us every morning. We’ve hatched several, both naturally and artificially, raising some ducks and chickens from tiny lil ducklings and chicks. Joylyn collects eggs and sells them. Chloe has trained a few chickens to jump on her and perch on her shoulder. Annie and I even rescued a dozen abused birds while on the way to a Valentine’s Day date. Now everyone wants to pet and hug the emu.

When it came time to design this year’s ornaments, it made sense to do something with the feathers. In a year as weird and wild as 2020, the birds kept us grounded.

We all took turns collecting feathers, searching for the cleanest and most intact plumage we could find. The birds blow feathers frequently enough that we could have made 100 ornaments. However, we only made 19.

If you receive one of the Heartsong ornaments, we are sharing with you a piece of our hearts. The fake snow has been added because we’re always dreaming of a white Christmas.

Maybe next year we’ll do something funny.

The Spring of Babies

You would think with stay at home orders in place, we’d have an abundance of time. This may be true of many people but life at our house abides by a different set of rules where conventional logic does not apply. Despite working from home, I’ve found myself busier than normal, some of it planned and the rest beyond my control. So, what’s keeping me tied up?

1. Health issues. This is the biggest deviation from the norm. I’ve had two major hospitalizations in the last couple months, one non-invasive surgery and one major operation. I was immobile for most of a week during the second trip to the hospital and I’ve been in recovery since. I’m moving more and getting better but still have another big surgery coming up in the near future. Consider this an unexpected detour.

2. Bunnies. We got some angora rabbits to make wool. Those two angoras made more angoras. They gave us kits and now we have a fluffle of fluffy fluffers that will melt your heart. Warning, they have claws. Seriously though, these little balls of fur have been the kids' favorite part of farming this spring.

3. Baby goats. We have four does and two bucks. We let them mingle for a few weeks last October. Come winter it was obvious we had four pregnant goats. After five months, the four moms birthed a total of eight kids. Eight tiny, bouncing, and adorable lil goats. Extra hay and extra grain during barn chores and milking the moms as their babies eat less from them.

4. Chicks. We’ve had three rounds of baby chicks, two purchased one the final one hatched in our incubator. It takes a surprising amount of attention and effort to keep those little feather nuggets alive.

5. Puppies. At 10:30 on the night I got home from the hospital, our very pregnant mastiff went into labor. Baby number two was born at 1:30 the next morning. Nine hours later, her last baby arrived. We have six mastiff puppies nursing with their mom. Six loud eaters. Six miniature giants whining as they begin teething. Six future Armageddon dogs. They’re lucky they’re cute because without the cute factor, the combination of sleep deprivation and noise could drive one to desperate measures.

6. Violet. It’s not just baby animals keeping life at the farm interesting. We also have a child of our own on the way. A baby girl, the fifth (and final) addition to the McCasey family. You know what that means? Shopping. Lots of shopping. Doctor appointments too. Also, shopping. It’s a challenge considering how many stores are closed due to the pandemic. But shop we must because come September, baby Violet is going to need some clothes and a place to sleep. And diapers. So many diapers.

I hope that covers it. It’s a chaotic season full of life and excitement. There’s also an abundance of babies at Heartsong Meadow. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep them all straight. So many new names to remember. And if you're interested in acquiring your own baby (of the four legged variety) let me know.

Mojo

Prior to the beginning of the 2018 rodeo season, Joylyn fell off of our Arabian, Roxy. Roxy is the same horse she rode the year prior and we were looking forward to another summer of equestrian competition where Joylyn would learn to ride without someone holding a lead rope walking ahead of her. One day, her foot slipped out of the stirrup; she leaned too far forward and plummeted to the ground. While she was tough enough to get back on the horse, she felt extraordinary pain. A trip to the doctor revealed the reason: Joylyn had a broken arm.

We gave Joylyn time to recuperate, for her limb to heal. When she started riding again, something had changed. The brave girl who once wanted to run with her steed as fast as the wind was suddenly terrified of anything quicker than a leisurely walk. She struggled to hang onto hear reins and grew discouraged every time Roxy bent her head down to nibble on grass. The fun of horse riding was ebbing, replaced by tears and frustration. Joylyn lost her mojo. Something needed to change.

Enter the Shetland pony, a sweet little boy who was just the right size for Joylyn. The first time she saw the new pony, she told us it was exactly what she wanted. She was still a little timid getting back in the saddle, even with a smaller horse. Still, she mounted up, over and over again, growing more confident with each subsequent ride. Joylyn began the rodeo season on a lead rope, taking more control as the summer progressed. By autumn, the lead rope was no longer used and Joylyn was riding on her own.

Sad news came as winter snows melted and spring arrived. Mojo was diagnosed with Cushing’s disease. He was given a prescription and we hoped for the best. Unfortunately, Mojo did not respond to medication. We took him to one final rodeo event where Joylyn took second place. After that, we did all we could to help him live as comfortably as possible.

As this last summer came to an end, it was clear Mojo’s health was deteriorating. It would be cruel to make him endure another winter. We made end of life arrangements and let him out of the pasture to freely graze on fresh grass. On Halloween, we said our final goodbyes and loaded him into the trailer. Annie drove him to a facility to be humanely euthanized.

There is a Shetland sized hole on our farm. Mojo helped Joylyn get her mojo back and now he’s gone. He wasn’t her first horse, but he will always be her favorite. She will ride bigger and faster horses as she gets older, yet Mojo will always have a special place in Joylyn’s heart.

Where Did the Summer Go? (Summer Vibes)

It’s been a wonderful, terrible, and weird summer. After my last blog post, we went camping for the Fourth of July – it’s our annual summer getaway weekend. A minute, we’re doing back to school shopping and getting the kids ready for another year of teachers, bell schedules, and homework. It’s like I went to bed after the holiday and woke up halfway through August.

I didn’t sleep for a month and a half, yet it almost feels like it. These last few weeks have been a blur, nonstop activity and heartbreak and controlled chaos. Between my day job, farm work, and weekends doing rodeo with the kids, I’ve barely had a moment to slow down and just be.

We’ve also had a rough couple months. Grieving from recent deaths in the family, enduring professional rejection, and helping horses recover from injury while rearranging the budget to accommodate veterinary bills.

Between the flurry of loss and the frenetic pace of maintaining the farm and family, I’ve been in an odd funk. It’s a sensation similar to anxiety but not quite the same thing. I feel precariously balanced between hope and dread. It’s an emotion I can’t define and can barley explain. The closest word I can find to define my emotional state is melancholy, and even that seems underwhelming for the full spectrum of where my heart and mind lingers.

At the same time, I feel this vibe. Like I can’t be broken even when I am broken. Like everything is going to be OK even when it’s not OK. Like the sun still shines bright on the rainiest day.

Music has always provided therapeutic relief for me. The lyrics and melodies and rhythms giving a voice to emotions I'm inadequately prepared to speak for myself. For this season of my life, I’ve compiled a soundtrack to carry me through. These songs are my summer vibe.

123456 by Fitz and The Tantrums


Burn the House Down by AJR


Here With Me by Marshmello and CHVRCHES


Tongues by Joywave and KOPPS


Sticks and Stones by Kings Kaleidoscope


These songs are eager. Determined. Gleeful. Energetic. All traits I don’t possess myself. Or at least without considerable effort. They also radiate an attitude I’m pursuing. A relentless and defiant optimism against discouraging odds. An outlook that breathes deep during moments of failure, tragedy, and misfortune. A drive to persevere when all conventional logic says quit. A head held high even when burdened by an unbearable weight.

Maybe it’s a middle finger to the world. Maybe it’s a belief in love even after being burned by love lost. Maybe it’s the whimsical blend of EDM, pop, and indie/alternative that inspires a wistful smile in the depths of my soul. Whatever it is, these songs lift my spirits whether I’m in tears of joy or tears of grief. You’ll have to excuse me if I indulge when I hear them. If these tunes come on the radio or show up in a Spotify playlist, I’m cranking up the volume and singing along.

A Presidential Goat

This is Trumpet. He’s a goat. And he has some fantastic hair.

A few days ago, while doing barn chores, Annie had a revelation about Trumpet’s hair: it’s a combover. His hair has a certain presidential quality to it. Maybe not presidential in a traditional sense, more like it reminds us a little of the man currently serving as president. Then we got thinking and the more we realized our goat and our president have a lot in common. And it’s more than just the floppy coif on the tops of their head. Consider the following.

They can’t stay faithful. Donald Trump initially gained fame and notoriety through tabloid headlines highlighting his marriages, mistresses, divorces, and remarriages. He has five different kids with three different women. He’s cheated on every woman who married him. Trumpet is just as much of a philanderer. A couple weeks ago, Viola gave birth to twins. Trumpet is their dad. Meanwhile, he also got Didgeridoo pregnant and she’ll be going into labor soon. If you think two baby mamas are enough, you’d be wrong because he’s also been getting frisky with two of our other lady goats: Ukelele and Kazoo. We’re going to have a farm full of goats and he’ll the daddy of all of those kids.

Trump has a weird and creepy obsession with his daughter. I’ve lost count of how many cringe inducing and inappropriate things he has said about Ivanka. Like when Trump said he’d date her if she wasn’t his daughter. Or when he asked a writer if it was wrong to be more attracted to your daughter than your wife. Or when he gave Howard Stern permission to call her “a piece of ass.” Or when he awkwardly groped her hips at the RNC convention. Trumpet also has an incestuous fascination with his kin. Let’s just say we try to keep him separated from his sister.

For Trump and Trumpet, rules don’t matter because they do whatever they desire. You want to try and contain Donald Trump? Good luck. I’m guessing his unpredictability and subversion has contributed to the unusually high turnover in the Trump administration. Likewise, Trumpet shows little interest in what you want from or expect of him. He goes where he wants. If you try to contain him, he will jump over gates and fences to do what he should not be doing.

We all know that President Trump is a raging narcissist. His sociopathic behavior is mirrored in Trumpet the goat. As far as Trumpet is concerned, everything that happens around our farm is about him. When we go out to the barn, he jumps to greet us as if we only made the trek to see him. Then he circles around us until we acknowledge him. Should any smaller creatures stand between him and his destination, he will trample straight over the top of them. If Heartsong Meadow had a daily newspaper, he would demand constant front page mentions. He poses for our trail camera. He smiles when we catch him acting naughty. And don’t ever call Trumpet a goat – he might get confused and think you’re calling him the greatest of all time.

When we feed the chickens, Trumpet thinks we’re feeding him. When we feed the horses, Trumpet thinks we’re feeding him. It doesn’t matter what animal is being fed. Trumpet assumes all food is for him. He loves to eat, much like President Trump. What would Trump be without a bucket of KFC, his extra scoop of ice cream, or a taco bowl on Cinco de Mayo? Trump and Trumpet share an insatiable appetite. Neither of them, man or goat possess the will power to resist a Big Mac.

They have so much in common: megalomaniacs, obnoxious, loud, and constantly in search of a meal. At least in the goat’s case, the hair is real.

A Fowl Tale of Horror and Survival

The attack happened in darkness. The morning sun revealed carnage none of us were expecting.

Nemo and Dory were the original residents of our barn – a pair of Chinese geese who first lived in the yard behind Annie’s old house. We stuffed them into a carrier and they rode in my car for a noisy transport to the new property. At first, they didn’t care much for the farm life; they made frequent attempts to run away. Within weeks at our new residence, Annie had lost them only to find them at the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor. The poor lady was scared to go out her back door because our geese camped out there, honking at her and refusing to vacate the premises. Last spring, they hatched a few eggs; we sold two of their chicks with the intention of doing the same for the third. Instead, it lingered with us where she became fond of our kids. All of our water fowl are named after Disney characters, but we never picked one for the little goose – our friend Pam lovingly called her Peepers.

We also had a collection of ducks. Rouens, pekins, khaki campbells. They were a mixed bunch – two drakes and four hens who stuck close to each other. If you ever saw one, the others were close behind, all squawking and quacking and waddling between the house and barn like the happiest flock you’d ever meet.

Between the geese and ducks, our farm was constantly noisy. The geese would honk anytime another creature approached. The ducks quacked as they walked; the only time they ever shut up is when they were sitting still. Our environment was exuberant and dominated by our birds.

It was over in one night. When the boys and I headed out to the barn for morning chores the air was silent – an unnatural absence of sound. JJ noticed something out of the ordinary before any of the rest of us, pointing toward the fence and asking what was over there. I dismissed it at first, but then I looked closer: two motionless white lumps in the grass didn’t belong there. On closer inspection, it was Nemo and Dory, slain and left side by side. Closer to the barn we discovered Peepers. The ducks were also quiet. I opened the barn door, fearing the worst. Inside, two ducks started quacking at the site of us humans and they scurried into a side room. But there were only two, the other six were gone.

We suspect the predator was a cougar. It killed indiscriminately, stole away what it could carry, and left behind the extras as if it planned to return to collect the rest at a later time.

Heartsong Meadow has been a great learning experience for the kids. They’ve learned how to care for animals and manage the land, how to be good stewards, how to enjoy and appreciate the natural world. Along with the good, there is tragedy. We live in bear country. And cougar territory. And near coyote habitats. Possibly in the midst of wolves. Falcons, hawks, and owls patrol our air space. Raising farm animals in lands inhabited by nature’s savage killers, it’s only a matter of time before one of our beloved creatures fall victim to a predator. Our time ran out. The ducks were gone and the geese remained to be buried. Christian and I dug their graves and laid them to rest. Our plans for the day were sidelined as the kids figured out how to grieve.

However, the final count of the deceased was not as bad as we originally thought. Later the same morning, I found Tadashi in front of the house. He was disoriented and having trouble walking; he found his way into the garage where I caught him and held him for a while. There were no signs of injury but he demonstrated the effects of trauma.

As evening approached, we found another reprieve from our loss. It started with a light quacking in the distance, coming from the far side of the horse pasture. It came closer and closer, the squawk of distress growing louder until we could determine its identity. The larger of our two pekins: Merida. The cougar must have carried her to the gully at the back of our farm. Attempted murder yet Merida survived. When she reached the barn, we picked her up for inspection. She had puncture wounds in her neck, blood streaked through her white feathers, dirty and disheveled but otherwise unharmed. We brought her to the house where we had a makeshift hutch built in the garage. Merida and Tadashi stayed there for a few days while we nursed them back to health.

Unfortunately for Merida, the battle with a cougar had lasting consequences. The bite in her neck damaged a nerve. Within weeks, it was apparent she had lost most of her vision. Before long, she was completely blind.

Merida is still with us. We added new ducks to our flock and she enjoys the extra company. She waddles around the farm sightless; she listens for the quacks of her duck pack and follows where ever their sounds lead. She finds food and water by smell. Sometimes, she walks into solid objects, bumps into other birds, or trips over obstacles. Other times, the main flock walks out of the barn and turns right but Merida will turn right before leaving the barn – ending up lonely in the corner unsure of how to join her companions.

There she is, the one in white, walking into Mulan.

She’s alive and she’s the sweetest thing. Christian has adopted her has his own – his duck. Any time he picks her up, she snuggles into him in a way she doesn’t do with any other person.

She’s also my favorite duck. Then again, I have always had a thing for the broken ones, the odd ducks, the weirdoes, the outcasts, the ones who aren’t normal. I root for the underdog. Always. Merida is all of that. She’s also a fighter and a survivor. There’s no reason she should still be living, but there she is, every morning when I throw out seed. Every time I go into the barn to check on our pregnant goat. In the evening when I feed hay to the horses. She follows the other ducks’ quacks in a search for food, often stumbling over my feet while impatiently waiting for grain. Merida is determined to thrive against all odds. Or, Jeff Goldblum as Dr Ian Malcolm said: “Life, uh, finds a way.”

Truck Yeah

A couple weeks ago, a coworker caught me on my way out the office door. "Headed home?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered. "Well, actually to the store first to get pig food, then home." He looked at me funny and asked why I'm getting pig food. "For a pig. I have pigs." He looked even more confused so I added more. I live on a farm. We have pigs, horses, goats, chickens, ducks, and turkeys.

He started laughing. "For real?" I nodded. He said, "So you're telling me our super geeky system access administrator lives on a farm. That might be the most North Idaho thing I've ever heard." Our farm might not be in Idaho but it's close enough and his point is legitimate. This region is where nerds get a little dirt under their fingernails.

If you've been following along over the past year and a half, you'll know this has been a season of change. I left the apartment and relocated into the country. My family lives on acreage and we're raising an assortment of furry and feathered friends. I got a horse of my own and frequently wear my cowboy boots to work. While I'm still a giant nerd, I'm now a rural nerd. I am becoming equal parts giddy up and all your base are belong to us.

Last weekend, I did something I never imagined doing. As a result, my farmer transformation is almost complete. I traded in the sedan and got myself a truck. But not just any truck, I bought one with a lift kit.

There's some grief and loss here. I miss the Honda's gas mileage, heated seats, sunroof, defroster that doesn't take 20 minutes to warm up, remote keyfob for keyless locks, soundsystem with a decent subwoofer, and windshield I can easily reach when it's frosty outside. But we needed a truck. We need something to tow the horses during rodeo season and a way to haul hay for the animals so we can avoid paying extra to get it delivered. And it'll be nice to drive it out behind the back pastures on a warm summer night, park it, climb into the bed, lay down, and appreciate the beautiful and vast expanse of galaxies stretched above us.

Don't worry though, I'm not going to become a complete redneck. Everybody knows you never go full redneck.

As we drove home from the dealership, Annie asked me if I'd be her geeky farmer. I think I can handle that. Country living is alluring with this strange and inexplicable romantic feeling. I am being assimilated. Resistance is futile.

The names that almost were

This is Jemma. She's the newest resident at Heartsong Meadow. And she is one of the reasons I've been a bit busy this past month. That's because she is my horse.

She's an older quarter horse, mellow, just my speed. However, horse ownership includes some extra responsibilities beyond the typical feeding and grooming. I have to spend time working her and bonding with her. As of this last weekend, I also started riding lessons; if we're honest, she's better trained than I am.

When we brought her home, she needed a new name. Blinded by Rainbow just wasn't gonna work around here. Her name needed to be strong and (because it's me) completely geeky. In one of my private groups, several guys suggested the name Epona for reasons.

There are four other names we almost gave her. Nebula - an interstellar dust cloud and the adopted sister of Gamora in Guardians of the Galaxy. Gallifrey - The Doctor's home planet in Doctor Who. Valkyrie - the keepers of life and death in battle from Norse mythology and one of the female warriors in Marvel's Thor comics. Aurora - the technical name for the northern lights and a member of Alpha Flight in Marvel comics. None of these names felt right though.

We eventually decided on Jemma, named after Dr Jemma Simmons from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - the genius biochemist and a researcher for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s science division. Jemma is one of the smartest characters in the TV show and now Jemma is one of the smartest animals on our farm. Which is good, because I need a brilliant horse. According to our trainer, I ride like a sack of potatoes.

Wait, what? (a Thanksgiving post)

As I sat down today, the eve of Thanksgiving, I realized something. I haven't posted anything since the end of October. Wait, what? This month has flown by and we've been a little busy. Pictured below is a clear example of me not being busy.

All joking aside, the last few weeks have been an onslaught of activity. Changes at my day job have ensured I never lack a task in need of doing. New animals on the farm equal extra work at home. And we're doing a remodel project. Wait, what? This geek has been learning construction methods as we add two bedrooms so the kids can all have their own space.

What does that mean for The Faithful Geek? Well, not much other than the crickets chirping in cyberspace. It means I've been hustling from the moment my morning alarm blares until I crawl back into bed. It means I haven't had as much time for reading or writing - and what I have written hasn't been published. It's coming though. My hiatus isn't permanent and I have something fun planned, a return to my nerdy calling. Until then, enjoy your Turkey Day.

Wait, what? Don't worry, that's Uno and she is not Thanksgiving dinner. She's still running around Heartsong Meadow like she owns the place. Besides, I prefer eating ham.

For the XP

Garage sales and yard sales are curious attractions. You walk several miles within a small and contained plot of land. The items you think will sell don't while other items you doubt anyone would ever buy are the first to go. And people show up with odd requests, looking for items completely unrelated to anything visibly available for purchase as if there’s a secret stash somewhere.

We held a yard sale this weekend. Unloaded stuff that had been cluttering the garage for months. Made some money that will help fund a home construction project. We still need to take the unsold items to Goodwill for donations. Our best profits came from the coffee stand the kids staffed. Chickens visited. And Frosty decided to graze his way through the merchandise.

Less stuff and extra money are nice benefits, but even if we didn't sell a single item, we were visited by a party that made the whole yard sale worth having. Early on Saturday afternoon, an SUV pulled into our driveway. An older man, roughly my dad's age, stepped out of the driver's seat and explained their situation.

His elderly mother was sitting in the front passenger seat. He and his wife took her out for a drive, showing her the area. They planned on cruising around Newman Lake before heading up to Greenbluff. They had no intention of stopping at any yard sales, but as they drove by our house they saw the animals and knew they had to stop. The two geese and all five goats were hanging out by the garage, chickens were scattered all over the yard, and Zu was riding one of our horses in the back pasture. The old man explained his mom grew up on a farm. It had been several years since she was near a bunch of barnyard creatures and he wanted to reconnect her with memories of her youth.

I invited them out to walk around, but the man said his mom wasn't very mobile any more. So instead, I picked up Kazoo, one of our goats, and carried her to their car where the mom could see Kazoo up close. We discussed the animals for a while, and I provided driving directions to their remaining destinations. As we talked, it became clear the man's mom was in the twilight of her life; her health was failing and she was non-verbal - communicated through nodding or shaking her head. By the time her son climbed back into the driver's seat, tears began to well in the corners of her eyes and a faint smile lit up her face.

Their visit reminded me of my dad and his mom. Grandma Casey is in a similar stage in her life. These strangers helping their mom navigate old age is like the traveling my dad has done to spend as much time with his mom as he possibly can. I recalled phone conversations with my grandma, each time I wonder if it will be the last time I hear her voice. They reinforced lessons of wisdom older generations have given me since I was a kid: at the end of your life, you will value your memories more than your money. Your experiences will always be of greater worth than the stuff you accumulate.

In video games, you are rewarded with XP or experience points for completing missions, defeating opponents, and performing specific tasks. Gaining more XP increases your character's health, strength, and abilities. Life is much the same. Our experiences affect our health. They can improve our strength and knowledge. They give us wisdom. The things we do and the relationships we build propel us through this world, it is the foundation for the memories we treasure when our lives come to an end.

This summer, Annie and I came to a realization. We have a small house for a family of seven. Storage space is minimal. It's obvious we don't need more stuff, so we decided we're not giving the kids big gifts for birthdays and Christmas. Instead, we're giving them adventures. No more toys and gadgets that will sit unused after the kids play with it once. We're going to take them out for a fun activity, something that will build memories to last a lifetime. It's real world XP. Giving them something that will build better bonds between them as siblings and with us as parents. Giving them a wonderous and exciting life. Giving them stories to tell their friends. Giving them a foundation to build upon as they grow up. Letting them know our time with them is the most important thing in the world.

Our first attempt at the adventure birthday gift was a success. We took the boys to Silverwood and filled the day with thrills and laughter. My oldest son will always remember being braver than Dad after riding Aftershock, the roller coaster that I refused to board. My youngest son will always remember sitting next to me for his first three roller coasters and how I helped him overcome his fear. The expressions on their faces as they watched Nick Norton's magic show are images I will carry with me through the rest of my days. Hearing Christian announce over and over how the trip was the best gift anyone ever got him made every penny worth spending. They both gained XP and leveled up.

As caretakers, whether as parents raising children, or grown adults caring for the parents who raised us, creating these memorable moments are our most important tasks. It could be as elaborate as a day at a theme park or as simple as visiting a farm. The XP we gain in life will become the memories we cherish for years to come. The old lady's smile and tears were enough to convince me: Annie and I made the right choice.

Gone Awhat?

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. This variation of a line from a Scottish poem is one we've proven true at our farm. Plans to build fences, gone awry. Stacking hay, gone awry. Purchasing a riding lawn mower, gone awry. Veterinarian bills, a broke down truck, and a never-ending list of building projects. This is our life, we make the best of plans. Where do they go from there?

“But Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be in vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!”

We get it. We make plans which don't always work out. We toil, we struggle, we sweat, we ache. Eventually, we get there. It's never easy but it's always worth it. As Annie and I frequently say, it's not perfect but it's ours.

Our best plans for this last weekend were to fix a leaking yard hydrant and get our recently repaired hot tub dropped back into our deck to be ready for use. After a full day of monkey wrenches and quick trips to North 40, Saturday ended with the old pump reinstalled including the old extension rod. We added a new plunger and gasket, but it still leaked and sprayed everywhere.

The hot tub was set in place Saturday evening, filled with water on Sunday, and powered up on Monday. However, the heating element appeared to be caput. From 8:30 Monday morning to 4:30 in the afternoon, the temperature only rose five degrees and was still far too cold to be used.

Our plans went awry. We had a strategy with our handyman to try fixing the hydrant next weekend, and a friend of mine walked me through how to replace the hot tub’s heating element. Our plans would be completed eventually, just not within the timeframe we had hoped. These are the most discouraging moments of the farm life. It can be frustrating for anyone when goals aren’t met, but when you’re hoping to have a pump that won't be a geyser come winter, these lingering failures can be disappointing.

However, I've only told half of the story. Saturday ended with the broken pump reinstalled and still gushing water every time we turned in on. When I went out for the morning chores on Sunday, there was plenty water in the horse troughs and duck pools. Refills weren’t needed so I didn't turn on the hydrant. With it leaking, I didn't want to use it unless necessary. Later in the afternoon, the trough in the main pasture was low so I reconnected the hose to the hydrant and lifted the handle. To my surprise, no spray. I filled up the big trough and still no squirting. So I filled up the other trough and all three kiddie pools we use for the birds and goats. We used it a few times on Monday and still no spray. It leaked on Saturday night, and the next day it was magically fixed. We did nothing. Whatever was wrong corrected itself over night with no human intervention. We now have a fully functional yard hydrant.

Monday evening, I hung up the phone call with my friend feeling defeated. Annie and I were really looking forward to soaking in the hot tub. Even though the fix seemed simple, I knew it would be another week or two before we could get it resolved. I thanked him for his help and went on with the rest of the day. We left the farm to run some errands and go grocery shopping. We were gone for a couple hours. When we returned, I went inside to put groceries away and Annie headed out to feed the horses. When she came back in she had an unexpected update.

"Our hot tub is 85°." I thought she was kidding. She wasn’t.

An hour later, the water temperature was up to 95° and it was at 99° by the end of the evening. It took seven hours to go from 54° to 59°, then it jumped up another 40 degrees in the next few hours. I don't know how it happened. There is no logical explanation. We didn't touch any of the controls or mechanical parts. We only looked at it with our phone-a-friend lifeline. He must have Doctor Stranged it because it magically started working after we disconnected the call. We now have a working hot tub.

This is the way our lives function. Things don't work until they do. Sometimes, we mess up the first try then our second attempt gets the job done. Often, nothing goes the way we planned. Sometimes we figure it out on our own and other times we get by with a little help from our friends. We know when plans go awry, they won't stay derailed forever.

We live a charmed life. It is impossible to deny this fact. I hope you can see it in every word I write, in every picture I post. Annie and I have brilliant, vibrant, and talented kids who constantly challenge and inspire us. We have a farm that isn't perfect but it's ours. And we now have a working hot tub. As I count our blessings, I also know we couldn't do everything we do without a supportive cast of characters - those friends and family members who encourage us, advise us, and cheer us on. And occasionally, all we need is a little magic.

Gone Awry

I often talk of the adventure Annie and I have as first-time farmers. This work is new to both of us. We are learning through trial and error, our mistakes often providing greater lessons and showing us which projects are most urgent on our to-do list.

You might see happy pictures of our affectionate and spirited goats; the flock of chickens, ducks, and geese who follow us around every morning until we feed them; horses and our days at the rodeo; kids playing in the yard or helping us with barn chores; the progress we make building pastures, hutches, pens and other homes for our creatures; the view from our back porch and the beautiful sunsets we enjoy night after night.

These are the happy moments. Glimpses into our lives - especially the parts that make us smile and laugh, fill our hearts with joy, or overwhelm us with gratitude. I am amazed at all Annie and I have accomplished and look forward to where our lives are headed. The times she and I have spent dreaming, scheming, and planning have been my favorite moments. These conversations have helped me envision a day in the future where I can leave the corporate world behind.

We live a charmed life. It is impossible to deny this fact. However, not everything goes according to our best laid plans. For example, the first fence we built was a mess, adequate enough to bring our horses home. Since then, we've had to replace corner posts, remove sections the horses destroyed, and added electric wire. We've abandoned field fencing completely and now use hotwire for all our new pasture fences. We came to peace with the trend of our first attempts at anything being a struggle; we'll figure it out the next time around. This labor has given us a mantra, a statement Annie and I often tell each other: it's not perfect but it's ours.

There are two broken objects we wanted to get fixed this last weekend: our yard hydrant and the hot tub. The latter should be easy. A repair man came out Thursday night to install a new manifold and we scheduled an installer to drop it back into our deck on Saturday at noon. If all went according to plan, we should have been able to use it Saturday night. The hydrant was a different issue.

A frost-free yard hydrant is the water access near the barn, a piece of equipment that supplies all the water for the animals. This is essential equipment for farms because the source is deep enough underground to prevent freezing during winter and water is fed to the surface through insulated pipes. When we moved in, the pump apparatus leaked a bit. When in the ON position, water flowed out the nozzle, but it also sprayed from the pump handle into the air. Through the summer, the spray grew higher and covered a larger ground area. We hired a farm hand with some plumbing experience; together we shut off the water supply, disassembled the pump and attempted to use a repair kit purchased to fix the leak. We started at 9am with the assumption we'd be done in an hour or two.

Only one part from the repair kit worked: the plunger for the bottom of the long pipe to the water supply. Nothing else fit the existing pump. We moved to plan B. Our farm hand replaced the old gaskets with new ones from the repair kit, re-installed the old hydrant and we turned on the water supply. When we tested the hydrant, it still sprayed everywhere. The new gaskets didn't form a good fit with the old extension rod. It had pockmarks and scarring from years of use; those gashes probably contributed to the ineffective seal.

Time for plan C. I returned to North 40, bought an extension rod and a new hydrant. The idea was to either install the new hydrant (should be easy) or use the new extension rod with the old hydrant which would be cheaper but more difficult. After returning to the farm, we began working again and quickly discovered the new hydrant wouldn't work. The internal guts were built differently and required a dissimilar style of extension rod, which was too small to fit the pipe connecting to the underground plunger. Our only available option was to use the new extension rod with the old hydrant and hope for the best. We got everything installed, turned on the water, and returned to the barn. We didn't need to test the hydrant to know the new rod failed: water was gushing from the nozzle while the pump handle was in the OFF position. With a couple adjustments to the extension rod, we were able to stop the water flow, but the screw securing the handle to the rod didn't catch; moving the handle would not turn the water on or off. The new extension rod was too short.

Plan D: we needed a longer extension rod. The one I purchased at North 40 was the longest they had in stock. Our hired help couldn't find the right length when he went to a hardware store. We reinstalled the old hydrant with the old rod and new gasket so we could restore water to the house and have water for the animals when it was time to do our night chores. Sure, the hydrant still sprayed water into the air but we'd be able to refill all the buckets and troughs until the correct part could be acquired. We created plan E to get the longer extension rod or a coupling nut to make the old piping compatible with the new hydrant, then we would reconvene next weekend to finally repair the leaky hydrant. It was nearly 4:30pm by the time we finished and we hadn't accomplished anything.

As for the hot tub, the installers were running late. They sent me a text mid-morning to let me know they'd be there closer to 1pm. At 12:59, he texted me again: "We're running behind could we come out tomorrow?" I let him know we had plans for the weekend and needed it done that day. It would be fine if he was out there closer to 2pm or even 3pm. At 2:47, I asked for an ETA and he said they were on their way. By 3:30 they still had not arrived. We were planning on attending a baseball game and needed to leave at 5pm so their absence was getting worrisome. They rolled in at the last minute, dropped the tub into the deck, and left - just in time for us to depart for the game.

We filled the tub on Sunday, excited to finally be able to use what hasn't worked since we moved in. Annie plugged it in and .... nothing happened. No power. I contacted a buddy of mine who sells hot tubs, asked him if he had any ideas what we were doing wrong, and set a plan to call him on Monday. I promised the kids we'd have a movie night so we abandoned the hot tub.

Monday morning, Annie urged me out side. The hot tub's lights were on and jets were running. She figured out what was wrong with the power supply and corrected it. The water temperature was 54° but an hour later, the temp had only gone up by one degree. My friend informed me normal tubs heat up at a rate of seven or eight degrees an hour. We didn't have time to worry about it then though because our oldest daughter had a 9:30am hair dye appointment. After a couple hours at the salon, we got lunch and drove up to Blanchard to pick up some new goats.

Our hopes for a warmer tub were spoiled when we returned home. By 4pm yesterday, the temperature had only risen to 59°. More texts with my friend, sending pictures of the power supply, display, and internal equipment. Over the phone, we concluded the heating element was damaged. The part should be an easy fix, one Annie and I could do on our own. By 4:30, we were resigned to delaying the hot tub repair just a little bit longer.

Farm life can be rewarding and discouraging. Our best laid plans often go awry. Not everything works the first time. Our lives are blessed, but we're not immune to error and folly. When you see picture of us enjoying our home, you should know we worked hard for those moments of joy.