Archive for September, 2018

Puddle Cousins

Thank goodness for Pro D days at school.  An opportunity for the three dudes to visit the farm again…this time with the leader of the pack.

It all started with games on the leader’s tablet.


It was wet and rainy but they wanted to go out, so I sent them out to the hay barn. I knew they  would stay dry there.


That was my theory anyway.  The next time I looked out the window to check on them, what did I see???


All four of them out in the rain jumping in puddles.  So much for keeping them dry.

Call them back inside for story time with Uncle Tom/Grandpa.


The story seemed to keep changing but the cousins didn’t seem to mind.

They worked up an appetite laughing.


The rain had stopped, and the bellies were full.  It was time for a walk.


What is it with the puddles???


They had to hit every one we came across.


Then we found the best puddle of all…the lake.


The mud around the lake was just like quicksand.  One of the dudes got stuck and wasn’t able to move.


The face said it all, “Help me!”

Good thing the cousins were there to answer his call.


They pulled, and pulled to no avail.  Those boots were not budging.  I had to put the camera down and help.

Time to leave that puddle and continue the walk,


making our way home.


Tired cousins and tired dogs,

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A perfect end to a perfect day.



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A Plan or a Pipe Dream

I don’t like flying, so travelling by air always entails quite a lot of angst and second thoughts, but road trips have always appealed to me.

Maybe I come by it naturally. We had a couple of uncles who were well-known for hitting the road and heading off by themselves, camping along the way.

Although I am not really much of a traveller, there are places I would like to see.  Cypress Hills in Saskatchewan, Waterton Lakes National Park, Hay River and Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories, and the Dempster Highway to Inuvik, just to name a few.

A road trip seems the best way to get there, and the idea of camping along the way appeals.

I have a truck and a canopy, but the canopy leaks and isn’t very secure.  A camper is just too big and cumbersome.  The perfect solution seemed like a camperette, so I have been keeping my eye out for one.

Well the other day the perfect one turned up.  Just what I wanted and within my price range.

So I bought it, and brought it home.


It fits quite nicely on the back of my truck, and isn’t too much bigger than my canopy.  It even came with this handy foot stool.

A nice size bed that makes up in to a table.


A little furnace for those cool times, lights, a fan and a few cupboards,


and even a little ice box fridge.


So there it is…if I really want to take a camping road trip, I can.

I have the winter to think about it.  To see if I have the courage to actually make a plan and head out on the road like my uncles.

Or maybe it’s just a pipe dream, and there will be a nice little camperette coming for sale next spring.

Only time will tell…


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“Compulsive hoarding, also known as hoarding disorder, is a pattern of behaviour that is characterized by excessive acquisition and an inability or unwillingness to discard large quantities of objects that cover the living areas of the home and cause significant distress or impairment.” (Definition provided by Wikipedia)

I have never thought of myself as a hoarder. I have no problem getting rid of things I don’t need.  Sometimes I am too quick to dispose of something, and later find myself wishing I had kept it.

There is one area of my life though, I am beginning to suspect, might fit the definition of hoarding.

It all began when I moved to Morris Brook Farm, and the fateful day I brought my first sheep home.


That wonderful woolly creature. No, I am not hoarding sheep.  I have no problem getting rid of the lambs as they grow, or even the ewes if they aren’t working out.

It is the wool.

I love the wool.  I love everything about it.

I love it when it is growing on their backs out in the summer fields.


I love to see it coming off in huge fleeces when the shearer is here.


I love spreading the fleeces out in the spring sunshine and picking all the burrs, weeds and nasty bits out.


This year I even drove it out to the Custom Woolen Mill in Alberta to have it washed, carded and made into rovings and batts.

The smell of the steamy wet wool as I toured the mill brought tears of joy to my eyes.


The other day I received the call from the bus station.  There was a parcel for me.

It was like Christmas morning, even though I knew exactly what I would find in that big package.


Wool.  Lots and lots of wool.


More wool…exactly like all the rest of the wool stored in my house.

The loft storage space is full,


and the living room is collecting its share too.


Bags and bags of wonderful wool!  I just can’t seem to bring myself to say “enough”.  I have sufficient rovings to keep me spinning and knitting and felting for years.  I have sufficient batts for numerous pillows and quilts.

Yet every year when the sheep are sheared, I send the wool away to be processed so I can add it to my collection.

So am I becoming a wool hoarder?  Or is it too late, and I am already there.

I fit the “excessive acquisition and an inability or unwillingness to discard large quantities of objects that cover the living areas of the home” part of the definition, but it does not yet “cause significant distress or impairment”.

So for now I will carry on, enjoying the sheep and all their wool until my home begins to look like…


the storage room at the Custom Woolen Mill.

Then I might have to seriously consider the question again.



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