These numbing cough drops work really well.

What? You don’t care? Not exciting enough for you?

*pout*

Fine.

How about a new van? For free!

Andi, of the recent goat-sheep-hog trading craziness, gave it to us. How freaking cool is that?! It’s an older one, needs a little work, and it’s perfect for us! Our current van only seats seven and there are eight of us, plus it’s recently been falling apart at an alarming rate. The new van seats 364 or something like that and it’s not falling apart. Yay!!!

I, being prone to fits of random violence, decided to decapitate the cabbages before last night’s horribly cold temps.

“Off with their heads!” I shrieked wildly.

I dashed for my dullest knife and my two best plastic WalMart bags.

“I will eat their balls with some fava beans and a nice chianti,” I muttered as I snuck up on my prey.

Boom!

Cody yelled, “FIRE!” in that dramatic way of his but we just look at him like he’s being, well, dramatic again. This time, he was right.

That doesn’t really convey the scale of this thing. We took a moment to let our jaws hit the ground, then Steve hopped in his truck to see what he could do to help, if help was needed. Turns out the neighbors down the valley had an old barn that was falling apart. In what must have been a “here, hold my beer” moment, they apparently doused it with fuel really, really well and lit it. It was freaking scary looking, I’m telling ya, until it burned off that initial fuel.

*deep, calming breath*

Back to the carnage at home:

I planted too late, I guess, since most didn’t have time to size up. Still, I got a couple of bags full in addition to what I’d already harvested here and there. I’ll get back out there and get the remaining outer leaves in a day or two as I like to use them in salads. The critters get the stalks and freeze-damaged leaves. Waste not, want not and all that.

… or a failed bread experiment,

say lots of bad words. Or turn it into bread pudding. Or both.

Why does ugly cinnamon bread look prettier than yummy bread pudding? Life is just not fair. Poor, poor Bread Pudding. I love you anyway. I don’t care what you look like when I wake up in the morning. I will forever hold you close to me (at least until someone develops noninvasive liposuction).

Moral of the story: Don’t tweak bread recipes before caffeine. Trust me.

The flu decided to whammy us this weekend. Nasty, nasty stuff. It seems we’ve all turned the corner today and are pretending to feel halfway human.

I had to pee the other day while we were getting the extra ewe for trading.

– Wait a minute — it all ties in, I promise. No, really. –

The sheep people, Jess & Arlene, don’t have silly things like electricity and indoor plumbing so off I trotted to the outhouse behind the barn.

I had spectators. And a supervisor.

Then I realized, as I was feeling rather strange taking pics of an outhouse, that I should go ahead and copycat Suzanne’s outhouse technique by including a photo of the inside.

Yep. A two-seater beauty. Can of lime and bucket of newspapers, wadded for your comfort, by the door.

So how does the outhouse tie into the flu? We feel like the contents of that outhouse. That’s how. Aren’t you sorry you asked?

Nellie had a plan. And a pink shovel.

So she put Steve to work rebuilding the garden fence — and enlarging it. Looks like a wasteland right now, doesn’t it?

The critters should have it looking pretty good for planting by spring.

But Kong is rather put out by it all. No more sneaking through the crappy fence to eat turnip greens and poop in the pathways. And what in the heck is he supposed to do about all of these new animals that have invaded his territory?! That one that grunts is especially disturbing.

(Editing in a “title” since I spaced it out last night. I’ll blame the flu because we all know that I am perfect and would never forget anything.)