I Married Mr. Green Jeans

Farmer Ron comes home tomorrow.  Yippee Aye A!  I’m not dissing the bonding time Chocolate the Goat and I have had during our morning and evening milking times, but Obe Won and I are anxious to be demoted from full-time to part-time farmhands.


Besides, my left hand is numb and there is still a tingling sensation going from my index finger to my elbow.  That would be from the wet rubber hose I was trying to get over the wooden fence that was also touching the electric fence unbeknownst to me.  Ouch.


Kind of reminds me of that boy peeing on the fence in that Gary Paulson book.   The book those 8th grade Amish boys said was appropriate to read out loud in our Reading Discovery Class. (Not).


I married a farmer.  Some men are meticulous about their garage space or basement workshop.  My hubby is meticulous about his barn and garden, and how they are cared for.  We try hard to keep things up and running just so while he’s gone.  Except when the 4-H goat mysteriously appears in the calf pen then sucks on your leg as you are trying to get her into her pen.  Dumb goat.  Houdini would scratch his head in figuring out how this creature escaped.  Two trips later with scissors in hand and manure all over my Crocs, I’ve gerryrigged a contraption that would make the best security guards marvel.  That goat won’t escape tonight.  

I married a farmer and he married a townie.  After 23 years of marriage, there isn’t much both of us won’t do if there’s work needing to be done.  When he’s gone, I milk the goat, and when I’m gone, he cans beans.  But he won’t clean toilets and I won’t dispose of dead animals, like the dead goatlings and woodchucks recently drug into our yard by our pig/dog Yoda.  



I’m thankful for equal opportunities. Opportunities to succeed or fail, to be creative or innovative, to be stretched when you don’t feel like it.  When I got married, I didn’t know you could plant potatoes in a garden because we always got them from a store.  My husband had never been to a wedding where there was dancing.   We’ve come a long way, baby.


Marriage is a journey.  Hills and valleys, rain and shine, blessings and curses.  I almost cursed the goat today as it sucked on my shorts and I had a pile of crap on my shoes.  But I didn’t.  I called Mr. Green Jeans and said, “When are you coming home?”  Two more milking away.  Good deal.


So, that was our day today beyond the picket fence.  My arm in getting more numb, so I’m done typing. I haven’t learned how to remedy electrocution yet.

Happy Summer from our house to yours.



Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work.  Ecc 4:9


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One thought on “I Married Mr. Green Jeans

  1. Janette@Janette's Sage

    This is great…oh my husband is like Tim on Home Improvements and it might be dangerous for the animals and plants if he farmed! I imagine it in my head, but I am more the hands on…leave the piano playing to the hubby.Fun, post and yes, it does go with mine, but you are living it!!

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