Frazzled!

Having spent twenty minutes showing our guests around the farm, we paused by the goats' pasture, where all two-hundred-and-forty of our milking does grazed in the warm sunshine.

"So," the woman standing beside me said. "You don't have a job, then. You just stay here on the farm."Excuse me? my brain interjected, while my lips threatened to break out in hysterical laughter.

"No, I don't," I stammered. "I milk the goats."I milk the goats? What kind of a lame answer is that? my brain roared.

Shrugging her shoulders, our visitor climbed into her car. "Must be nice," she added.

Watching them drive away, I glanced at my grinning husband."She didn't mean it that way," he said, standing at a safe distance."Yes she did!" Yes she did! my brain and I shouted.

You had to hear the words spoken. The tone of voice, the inferring smirk. Perhaps she is right. All I do each day is crawl out of bed at six in the morning and head to the barn to set up for morning milking. I'm in the door again by, oh, about eleven to grab some breakfast, now that kidding season is over.

During kidding season, I ate my meals in the barn, where I belonged. A mere five hours of being outside enjoying life on the farm, while I milk all two-hundred-and-forty milking goats, and then feed, water and care for the one-hundred-and-fifty baby goats, twenty horses and one-hundred chickens, ducks and turkeys, give or take a rooster or two, that also live on our farm.

My husband is a self-employed electrician and contractor. I'm his secretary, book-keeper and general go-fer. In other words I 'go-fer' this and I 'go-fer' that. The sales people at Menards, Lowes and FarmTek know me by name. This task usually involves driving long distances and subsequently delivering electrical or plumbing parts to whatever job site he is working at on a given day.

But not every day. So that isn't work. Work is something you do every day. I should be ashamed of myself, really, not having a job. Five people live in this house and only three of those are children or teenagers. This week, one of those children is in swimming lessons, and one is in driver's education, both of which mean a trip to town. That is the least I can do, seeing as I don't have a job.

By mid afternoon, after squeezing in a few hours as a housewife doing laundry and dishes, I find myself back outside enjoying that country air. Waterers need filling, animals need checking, and the possibility always exists that the sneaky fence-defying pony is out in the corn field again. Gosh, look at the clock! It's almost six in the evening and time to start the evening chores.

Chores? Did I say chores? Excuse me, I meant the evening leisure time, where I get to go out and spend three to four hours milking the goats again, feeding and watering everyone and gazing at the moon as I trudge back to the house around nine or ten.I almost forgot. I'm looking after our neighbor's ninety-year-old grandma this week and have to dash down there and help her get ready for bed. It's only a five-minute drive each way. She is a wonderful lady. I hope I'm as agile as she is, if I live to be ninety. Visiting with her is the highlight of my day -- no kidding!

When I get back, I will don rubber boots once more, so I can go outside and play farmer some more.It's ridiculous. This nine to ten hours a day of lazing around the farm has to stop! I'm going to start searching the classifieds for gainful employment.

Tomorrow.

In all my spare time, yawn. . . . Zzzz.