I’m not a youngster any more; injuries happen

Ouch!

Ouch!

Chubby!

Chubby!

I’m not one to dish out life lessons in a matter-for-fact statement.

Because Steve and I are the parents of two adult sons, I would say something like, “Not wearing a helmet is a bit selfish. Think of the people who love you.”

Then, I let the adult children make their own decision.

Today, I am going to digress from my usual life-lessons strategy and get directly to the point.

Do not ever try to spin cookies on a large four wheeler, if you are not a professional.

I thought I was at least a semi-pro rider, but after the events of the other evening (at this point, I am not sure what day it is) I no longer consider myself a seasoned ATV driver. Yes, I’m seasoned when it comes to my age.

I have driven four wheelers for many, many years. I have done jumping, drifting and spun cookies (I call them donuts.) for as long as I can remember.

I think I forgot that I am 46-years-old.

(Oh, it’s Thursday today.)

Here’s my advice to all kids-at-heart that drive four wheelers. 

Do not spin cookies!

Here’s my story.

So Tuesday evening I was driving four wheeler to give my dog exercise. He loves to run full sp

Upon our return home, I drove to the middle of our gravel yard and started to spin a donut. I was going a bit too fast and before I knew it, my right side was slamming into the ground and the four wheeler was laying on the lower portion of my right leg.

It hurt like a son-of-bitch.

I could walk on my leg and take deep breathes. I figured I would be sore, but I knew I could manage. It takes a lot of pain to keep this chick down.

I managed to make it into the house with out even a whimper of pain. I started concocting supper of ringwurst and fried morel mushrooms. A meal for champions and I figure that’s why I  figure I COULDN’T finish it.

I’m no champion.

In a matter of minutes, my leg hurt so bad I had to sit down and call my mommy. She assured me that I should get it checked at the emergency room. Steve took forever to get ready to haul me to town. I was ready to poke his eyes out but I managed to maintain my composure.

The big “incident” happened around 5 p.m.

By 7 p.m., I was in the emergency room having my leg x-rayed.

Thankfully, there are no broken bones, but the bruising is horrendous. We were back home before 9 p.m.

I didn’t sleep a wink. The pain was worse than childbirth, as far as I was concerned. For those of you that haven’t experienced childbirth…the pain was worse than smashing the tip of your finger.

Finding no bones in need of repair, I was sent home.

By 4:30 in the morning, I was in tears and ready to return to the emergency room. Joe and Russell carried me to the car, while Steve wandered around the house looking for just-the-right outfit. (It sure would help if our boys were about six inches shorter.)

The visit at the hospital was quite entertaining for bystanders.

Between the screaming in pain (Yes, I did yell out at one point.) poking and prodding and four-inch needle being shoved into my leg, it was decided I had to stay in the hospital for observation. I think beating on the bed rail at one point convinced the docs that it REALLY HURT!

(There was concern over the immense amount of swelling and the damage it could cause to my foot. I was losing feeling in portions surrounding my ankle.)

A decision was made to ship me to the second floor med/surg area for observation.

Many people complain about care they receive in hospitals, but I can honestly say, “The care I received yesterday was phenomenal!”

Warm blankets. Diet Coke. A pitcher of water that did make “everyone jealous,” just like Nurse Jen said it would. Great food.

Smiles.

Smiles are good when things hurt.

So, I’m now back home. I have a brand new pair of crutches and one really sore rump from sitting all day. The pain medicines do an amazing job of negating my leg pain.

I still have to make sure I don’t lose feeling in any part of my foot and try to take it easy.

That’s hard for me to do, but I will manage. Steve cleaned the kitchen AND folded laundry for me. He’s a GREAT man.

Before long, I will be back on the ATV taking my dog for a run. I promise I WONT think myself an expert and try to spin cookies. I’ll save that trick for when I’m in my Jeep.

Mastering attitudes and lawn mowers

mastering the mower

If there is one thing I learned today, it’s to appreciate the positives in little things.

Earlier today, Steve mentioned that our cell count was 170,000, which is amazing. (We still haven’t gotten a good grasp on what is causing our high cell count.)

“Whoop, whoop,” I said. “Tomorrow it will be 280,000.”

“You should just appreciate that it’s down today,” Steve commented.

So, as I spent the afternoon with him, I couldn’t help but remember how I need to relish the accomplishments of the day.

The one accomplishment I really, really relished today was my lawn mower. I pretty much take care of the lawn mower around here. It’s the least I could do. Steve checks the oil once in a while and helps change the blades, but it’s up to me to keep it clean and figure out what is causing hiccups when they do happen.

For the past two mowing seasons, this lawn mower has been nothing but a long blade of grass in my side.

One minute the mower would have immense power and could cut the grass as fast as a Ninja mixer makes a cleansing smoothie.

The next minute the mower would have as much power as Steve’s electric razor on it’s last spark of energy.

I had the local dealer of green and yellow take a look at it in the 2014 lawn-mowing season.

“Uh, I can’t find nuttin wrong with it,” he said.

I felt like reaching through the phone and poking his eye out. I felt like he wasn’t believing me when I was explaining my lawn mower’s affliction.

Well, this year it was the same thing – mow like crazy, putz like mad, mow like crazy, putz like mad!

I had experienced enough and chose to do an internet search in an effort to find others that had the same sort of troubles with their similar lawn mowers.

Jack pot! A man had the same problem and he fixed it by replacing the coils. The internet is such an amazing thing! A man had the exact same mower and the exact same problems. After replacing his spark plugs and checking his gas cap, some other soul suggested changing the coils.

That fixed the problem for him.

Cool! I could hardly wait to call the dealer and request they order two coils for me. Actually, I only ordered one, but was told, “You actually need two.”

Mr. Fix It was a bit reluctant to order the infamous coils for me. He gave me several suggestions of other options when I made the phone call to the shop.

Yes, the gas cap was on.

Yes, the spark plug has been checked.

Yes, I took the gas cap off and covered it with a sock and then when the machine farted again, I put the gas cap back on.

I explained to him that I believed it was the coils and I wanted to replace them. Mr. Technician tried to talk me out of it. “There are so many other things it could be,” I was told.

“Yes, I know that and I know I also tried fixing all those other things last year,” I said. “I want the coils! Order the coils for me. I will replace them myself!”

Under his unbelieving breath, he ordered the coils. Then he said it would be Tuesday before he received them. I could live with that.

Now, I had no idea what a coil was or how hard it was going to be to replace – oh, I mean coils that where going to be hard to replace. Plural coils; not singular.

According to the online discussion, if I was the owner of rather large hands, I could expect skinned knuckles. Well, I have large hands for a woman, but are they then considered small when compared to a man’s hands.

I’m going to go with medium.

On the day of the arrival of said coils, I couldn’t stand the challenge of fixing my lawn mower, on my own, one second more. I drove to the dealer and picked up my coils. I opened the boxes before I even walked out the glass exit door. I had to see what I had gotten myself into.

I recognized the rubber piece on the coil. It was the end that fits on the end of a spark plug.

I felt somewhat confident. I knew I could find the spark plugs and follow the wiring to a coil.

As soon as I returned home and before I even was out of my good clothes, I started ripping the lawn mower apart. There I was in my bedazzled shirt, light blue denim jeans and Sperry shoes, working with wrenches, sockets and torque bits.

At one point, I did ask for help from Steve, but he started to take over the project, so I sent him away with harsh words. I wanted to do this on my own. I had never asked for 100 percent effort from him.

In just about an hour, I had the new coils in place and all the parts back on the engine of the mower. Hey guys…I didn’t even have any left over screws or bolts!

I immediately started mowing my rather thick lawn. For more than an hour and a half, my lawn mower cut that grass without so much as a burp or any other loss of gas power!

I was so proud of myself.

Now, I am not saying I have permanently fixed said problem with the lawn mower that I both loathe and love.

But like Steve said earlier today, I am going to enjoy the positive in this moment.

Sparkling clean!

Originally posted on Getting Kerry'd Away:

1426770389966-1190329860The inspector that inspects our milk coop, (AMPI) stopped at our farm yesterday. He was checking on the places where AMPI purchases their milk, to make sure it’s amazing milk and that it is produced in a clean and friendly environment.

According to Steve, the inspector  said, “The milking parlor looks amazing!”

Who pressure washes the parlor?

This chick!

Who nags on  fellow employees to always do a super-dee-duper wash job after milking?

This chick!

In the end, it’s all worth it!

To have an inspector compliment us on a clean parlor, makes me give all of our employees a pat on the back.

View original

Joe turns 21!

Sometimes on a Sunday, after a morning of milking, we have a bit of free time to play!

This past Sunday, Jpe, Steve and I went down to the river. Joe and I found a “natural” swing.

It was a grand, beautiful and fun time!

I love him with my whole heart, body and soul.

He turns 21-years-old April 15.

I could have begged my higher power for the World’s Greatest Son, but I didn’t. At the time, I only asked for healthy.

OK, I may have made a request that he be tall, dark and handsome. Hey, two out of three isn’t bad. He’s a bit on the pearly-white side.

But, by golly, my Higher Power went over and above when he chose to give me Joey as my first born.

Joe has made my world a better place. 20150412_09293620150412_092640

He’s in college now, studying hard and regularly attending classes. He’s responsible like that. When I sent him off to college, I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about him binge drinking or using drugs of any other nature.

Joe may be my child, but he has taught me so much.

First…be who you are. Joe has never, ever let anyone influence his choices in life. A lot of people may think Joe is a bit off, but they don’t know Joe, like his Momma knows him.

He has a killer sense of humor! I don’t know how many times I have been in the dumpers and Joe will say something that will have me laughing until I snort.

Joe watches what happens in the world around him and then makes choices on how to react. I certainly never taught him that trick. I am more of a reactive person. Once Joe makes up his mind he sticks to his guns.

My favorite story about Joe happened when he was but a lad of 6-years-old. At that point in his life, his allowed his little brother to sleep in the same bed. It was a large bed, and even with two peas in the pod it looked humongous.

Joey looked as his 4-year-old brother and said, “Russell, you are such a f@#* up.”

I chucked and asked him to repeat his sentiments.

“Russell’s a f@#* up,” he said.

I then explained that that is not a nice word. We don’t use that word in our house.

“I thought it was a nice word and it meant I loved him,” he said through tears. “So what does a-s-s spell?”

“Well, that spells ass, and we don’t use that word either,” I said.

Children learn the darndest things on the school bus.

So happy birthday to my oldest son.

You are an amazing soul. You make your dad and I so very proud of you. I wish every parent in the world had a son as great as you are.

You make me smile and my eyes well up with tears when I think of what you have done for me!

Hugs and kisses, all the way to Uranus and back!

Stalkers!

20150331_074210 20150331_074156Dr. Phil always say, “Follow your gut feeling.”

Today I felt like I was being stalked and look what I found.

The brown one is Amberbosa. (Yes, Amberbosa) I don’t know who the other one is, but I know she’s going to have TWINS! That’s why she has a red ear tag.

Sparkling clean!

1426770389966-1190329860The inspector that inspects our milk coop, (AMPI) stopped at our farm yesterday. He was checking on the places where AMPI purchases their milk, to make sure it’s amazing milk and that it is produced in a clean and friendly environment.

According to Steve, the inspector  said, “The milking parlor looks amazing!”

Who pressure washes the parlor?

This chick!

Who nags on  fellow employees to always do a super-dee-duper wash job after milking?

This chick!

In the end, it’s all worth it!

To have an inspector compliment us on a clean parlor, makes me give all of our employees a pat on the back.

 

Testing for pathogens

mastitis samplingWe are still working on getting our somatic cell count lower.

Somatic cells are indicators of an infection in the udder.

 Each time a cow contracts mastitis, I take a sample of her milk and put it in the incubator.

If I did it correctly, I will get a result in 12 – 24 hours.

Then I know which medication to use for treatment.

I will post my results later.

Just call me Scientist Kerry!