It’s that time again. The time between Spring rains winding up and summer heat beginning, when it’s perfect weather for joyridin’.
I’m sure The Peanut Gallery (a.k.a. Hubby) envisions a quiet drive in the country just lookin’ – but that’s not what he’s getting. Oh sure, it’s a drive in the country – but ‘just lookin’ in my book falls somewhere between ennui and death. Lookin’ and plannin’ go hand in hand – and then there’s the delightful ‘talkin’ about possibilities’ piece (…a piece The Peanut Gallery evidently finds ‘threatening’ and I find ‘enlightening’…)
A recent joyride, for example:
- Lamb. Now, The Peanut Gallery has a decided opinion on lamb. He likes it ‘on the hoof’ and hates it ‘on the plate’. Whereas I, being more liberal, like both. It’s lambing season, which of course results in stop requests from moi every few farms to observe the youngins at play. I found it was far better to keep some of my musings to myself. Such as an algebraic calculation of just how many lambs could actually FIT on 2 acres of land. Gallivanting antics included. Apparently my conclusion of ‘200’ was not only INCORRECT – it was (to some) too frightening a possibility to calculate.
LpA1 = A + G
Where LpA1 – Lambs per Acre, A = Age and G = Gallivanting
Let’s drive on:
- Calves. See #1 on Keep Thy Calculating to Thyself. Somewhere along the line I realized that the exponential attractor of Baby Animals would change immensely once adulthood was reached – oh, somewhere in the period of 2 months. So I decided being a Foster Farm for Baby Animals was a much better goal. I hadn’t quite reached the part of “and what do you do when the age limit is reached” when “let’s drive on” was once again posited by the (unappreciative) Peanut Gallery.
CpA1 = A + W
Where CpA1 = Calves per Acre, A = Age and W = Weight
So, let’s drive on:
- Chickens. Now, I like eggs. Milkshakes comes quickly to mind, but I’m not above a little booze-less Nog at the holiday season. And then there’s quiches, custards…the culinary possibilities are endless. The Peanut Gallery endures eggs at best – and apparently their source, too. (Was it MY fault the city slicker next door spent 4 years acquiring 100 roosters because she (a) wanted farm-fresh eggs upon her move to the country and (b) liked their pretty combs and (c) didn’t quite get the whole hens-lay-eggs source material component? And if you want all-nite wake-up calls, get 100 roosters and no hens in a coop for 24/7 crowing competitions…luckily S. was deaf – a condition we unwittingly wished upon our own selves nightly for all 4 years…). So openly admiring the Cock of the Walk on a nearby farm evoked Peanut Gallery hostility akin to North Korea’s saber-rattling.
CpSQ = NxS
Where CpSq = Chickens per Square Foot and NxS= Noise Per Sex
- Llamas. Did you know llamas SPIT? I didn’t. Well, I didn’t before. The Peanut Gallery discovered this fact also, as he was charging up to rescue SOMEBODY who had Llama Spit all over her camera and self. Wow. I always thought as a cameloid, the lama likely stored a LOT of liquid somewhere – but nobody told me this model held it in its mouth, AT READY for military precision firing….There goes my Baby Cameloid Farm idea. Baby or not, these suckers have RELENTLESS AIM – and aren’t as mellow as they initially appear.
L = 0
At the end of the day, it’s all about food. And nothing says ‘food’ as much as a farm stand offering fresh veggies and baby pigs…
- AWWWW. Suckling pig on a baby bottle: is that PICTURE PERFECT or what? We could even keep it in the house as pigs are smart and are housebroken easily. (The Peanut Gallery pointed out that this event was evidently limited to the more diminutive Pot Belly variety. And that THESE babies are ‘regular pigs’ who get to be like 600 pounds.) But I hold firm in my contention that a HOUSEPIG would make the perfect pet. Affectionate, smart, they eat ANYTHING – and when you get tired of them, there’s unlimited bacon, pork chops, and roasts. Not that Hubert (yes, I had already named our forthcoming acquisition) could be EATEN after years of piggy affection…but returning to the Baby Animal Farm concept, who was sayin’ that when Hubert got to be anywhere close to 600 pounds, he’d still be in residence, anyway?
BP x 6 = HP
Where BP = Baby Pig, x6 = 6 months and HP = HUGE Pig
Returning home from our country joyride and algebraic calculations, it was to determine that a fierce hunger had set in from our journeys.
A hunger for: lambchops, burgers, chicken strips, and pork chops.
And, on my part, participation in Diane’s Baby Animal Foster Farm.