In Which I prove I am Not Fit For Farm Living

This past weekend was the annual Farm Tour around these here parts.

One thing I love about living in this area is that you go from heavy politics to suburban living to farm life to the deep south in a span of about 20 minutes in any direction.  Apparently, we’re in the South now (excuse me, the “Saaaaauuuuth”) but a mere fifteen minutes gets me to civilization pretty quick, so while I might feel a bit like a fish out of water, this Yankee transplant doesn’t have to feel like a fish gasping for breath on the floor of a fishing boat as it makes its way ashore.

But!  The Farm Tour!  This thing is awesome.  This is where you can get up and personal with some of the craziest animals in the area and still have time to finish your weekly grocery shopping complete with wine and cheese tasting in produce.

I love this area.

S0, my friend and I decided to take our crew out and meet some animals, starting with a horse farm.

Before we started, we got “The Safety Talk” from one of the owners, who greeted everyone in the parking lot.  In short, horses get to know you by smelling your breath, can’t tell the difference between a human hand and a carrot until they taste blood, and think babies are swell, so have a great time!

Um, …. OKAY!

Seriously, it was great.  We met Danny, who is quite the people horse.  The kids were so good about not making any sudden movements and letting him sniff them, resulting in scenes like this:


And true to the safety talk, he was all about the bebe, and would swing his gigantic head towards Tommy and sniff him up something fierce:


(That would be a horse head all up in my Ergo there….)

Its actually a slight bit disconcerting having a horse head the size of a side table swing itself in your baby’s direction and sniff him so much that not only are his nostrils flaring, but he seems to be moving his mouth in a “mmmm mmm mmmmmmm……” fashion.

Yes, I know my little guy is delicious, but he’s not horse food.

So we moved on to the goats and the chickens.

It was pretty straightforward.  The rooster was noisy, the hens were running around like, well…. chickens…. and the goats feasted on cheerios straight from our hands.


And so did Lilly.  We’d give her cheerios to feed the goats and after dropping them juuuust before they could lick them off her hand, she finally decided this was for the birds and ate a helping herself.

If she was my first I’d be convinced she’d catch mad goat disease.  Or something.

After enjoying a free lunch provided by a local Baptist church, we set off to visit the alpacas.

Folks.  I love alpacas.

You want proof that God has a sense of humor?  Visit an alpaca farm.


These things are a panic.  They sneer at you, walk very slowly in groups, and make this, “eeeeehhhh” sound, like they’re whining.  Or zombies.

It was here that someone asked us if we were a homeschool group.   Nope.  Just two women and only twelve of their collective children, because two were elsewhere at the time.  We should have brought along a third friend and brought our number up to 20 or so.

Sometimes, I really feel for the Duggars.

So, its  Monday morning and I’ve got bunches to do today to finish up odds and ends from the old house to we can close on this thing, so I’m going to run before my minions are awake.  And by run I mean finish my coffee and shower.

You didn’t really think I mean “run” as in “Run” did you?

You did?  That was so sweet of you.

But no.

If you see me running, you should, too, because something is coming after me.

Like a baby eating horse.


Have you met any interesting animals lately?


About Anne McD @ourlittlenthouse

Hey! I'm a stay at home, Catholic mom of 7, former homeschooler, now public schooler. Welcome to our crazy. Please excuse the noise.
This entry was posted in Baby, funny, kids, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to In Which I prove I am Not Fit For Farm Living

  1. Now come on, A! What about that trip turns you off of farming?? 😉

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s