Happy Birthday To An Oklahoma Country Girl

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The grandson Einstein and Daughter-In-Law #3 doing one of the things she does best–her mama thing

I wouldn’t change a thing about you, #3, from your beautiful smile to your willingness to dive in to help anybody who needs it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become and thankful you’re one of my girls. At first, I loved you because my son did. Now, I just love you.

God bless you on your birthday and always, dear #3, and enjoy this Rascal Flatts song that says it way better than I can.

[youtube.com/watch?v=Vyjq5SCbjQk]

Eh? What’s That You Say? Oh, Thank Goodness…Just Happy Birthday

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Danni and Sis

Today on my youngest sister’s birthday, we mark–my sister and me–another milestone in our whirlwind descent into hopeless middle-age and senility. How do I know? Because we increasingly have conversations like the one below.

(Bear in mind, both of us are old farm girls, so we have farm and livestock related injuries possibly too numerous to mention in the limited space of the world-wide-web. For the sake of brevity, I will keep the sample injury inquiries in the following conversation to horse-wreck related.)

I call my sister on the phone. We both say hola (spanish for hello) in an amusing fashion. With that out of the way, we proceed.

Danni: Well, how’s the ol’ bohonkus today?

Sis: Not too bad. How’s your ol’ shoulder?

Danni: Tolerable. Gramps ain’t breathing real good today, though. (He was having allergy trouble.)

Sis: Really? What’s wrong with his breeding?

Danni: (stops in her tracks. Her blood turns to ice water while she stares in speechless speechlessness–as two ultra-conservative Christian women, that has never been a topic of conversation between her and Sis and she can’t understand why all of a sudden it should be.) Um…maybe we’ll not discuss that.

Sis: Why not? Where’s he bleeding from?

Danni: (jumps as though stung on the bohonkus) Oh! Oh…! Bleeding! I thought you said breeding!

Sis: Ack! No! Eeww!

So, Hermana, Happy Birthday. Let’s make a date to go to a town with a store. We will shop for matching nautical themed outfits. I call the sweatshirt with starfish and ship’s wheels. You can have the complimenting slacks decorated with lighthouses. Be sure to wear your old-lady shoes with the buckles.

I’m actually kinda thankful for you, but you know how we are about such stuff. So, here, have a blog post.

God bless, and enjoy The Lewis Family tearin’ up So Many Years, So Many Blessin’s.

[youtube.com/watch?v=aBtDl7DMH-A]

*These artists don’t necessarily endorse the blog, I just like ’em.

Happy Birthday To A New Farm Girl In Southwest Oklahoma

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Daughter-In-Law #2 preparing to open her first box of baby chicks fresh from the hatchery with grandson, Git’R’Done

I couldn’t be more proud of you than if I’d hatched you myself, dear girl. You bless my life. The day you were born was a good, good day. God bless you always and please listen to The Canadian Tenors singing my thoughts much better than I can write them.

Forever Young

*These artists don’t necessarily endorse my blog, I just like love them.

Happy Birthday To An Old Farm Kid

Son #3 making butter in a jar

Son #3 making butter in a jar. Photo courtesy of Granny McGriffith

For your 27th birthday, Son #3, I’m sharing this good old picture of a familiar scene from your childhood–churning butter in a jar while rocking out to cool tunes.

For those who might have missed that important part of childhood, I’ll fill you in on the butter making process of the family who keeps a milk cow.

1. The kid milks the family cow–preferably a Jersey–by hand.

2.The kid brings in the bucket of milk. Mom strains it into a gallon jar and refrigerates it.

3. Next morning, mom skims off the cream that rose to the top of the milk overnight. Kids drink the milk and eat it on their cereal.

4. Mom lets the cream sour at room temperature for a day or two.

5. Mom hands a jar half full of cream to a kid, who shakes it vigorously until butter forms and separates from the buttermilk.

6. Mom drains the buttermilk away then rinses the ball of butter until no buttermilk remains, salts it, then the family eats it. Yummy!

I credit your present occupation–providing organic food choices to the health nuts, hippies, and Mennonites of north central Oklahoma–with your growing up years on the farm where you helped produce food from the hoof to the plate and everywhere in between.

 

I’ve sent daughter-in-law #3 home to you with a cash gift. Don’t spend it all in one place. Have an awesome birthday. God bless you and enjoy Doyle Lawson doing one of your old favorites, When the Sun of My Life Goes Down.

(Sorry about the kid fussing in the background, but I guess you’re used to that.)

Love, Mom