My Dad was a Farm Boy

My mother has been cleaning out her home and passing on many of her treasures.  Some of those treasures were my dad's.  My dad grew up on a farm and he learned at a young age, 5, to milk cows.  It was a part of his chores everyday to milk the cows.  He would tell a story about how he would squirt the milk at the barn cats and they use there paws to wave the milk into their mouth.  I am still a little skeptical of that story, but who knows it might not be one of his tall tales.



My Dad at 5 getting ready to milk a cow.

One of the things my mom gave me was the kerosene lantern my dad would take with him to the barn every morning. I remember when I was a kid that the lantern would come out when our electricity would go out.  My dad would use the occasion to lecture us on lantern safety and tell us about the time his jacket caught on fire.  He said one of his older brothers saw my dad on fire and threw him on the ground to smother the fire out.  My dad warned us, if we ever caught on fire not to run, but throw yourself down and roll on the fire like his brother had done to him.  He always said his brother saved his life that day because my dad was getting ready to run in panic.

Dietz Kerosene Lantern

That was how my dad was. He was always telling you some story to teach you something or sometimes to pull your leg.  You weren't always sure which one it was.  Regardless, I treasure all those stories now and wish he had told me more.  Miss you Dad.

Sheepy Thoughts or Why I Will Never be a Shepherdess

Lamenting the annoyance of having to work all day when I would rather be knitting, a co-worker suggested I buy a farm and some sheep, live off the land, spin my own yarn, and sell sheepy goods out of the back of my truck at the local farmers' market. For half a second that sounded like a dream and then I thought, "Oh yeah I would have to move to the country." I moved on and really did not give that plan another thought until last weekend. In the company of other fiber-minded friends I went the Bethel Sheep Festival in northeastern Missouri. I have been to the festival before, and enjoyed the event long before I ever started knitting. Going now is extra special because the booths of yarn and knitting accessories actually capture my attention and spark my imagination. The yarns are also exceptionally intriguing, because of course they make me want to knit amazing garments, blankets, and scarves all day instead of going to work. Do you see the cycle here?

Looking around at all the farmers and crafters with their handmade items and beautiful displays, I thought, well maybe... My cats and I could take off to some rural route, I could get angora goats. The goats would give me fiber and milk . I could learn to spin, dye, and even weave cloth. I could become an earth mother spreading wisdom and handcrafted cheese wherever I went.

As my mind reeled with thoughts of my getting back to nature, I wandered over to the livestock area and remembered why I live in the city and eschew my country roots. It was the smell, that overwhelming scent of manure was more than I could handle. My nose scrunched up and I remembered growing up next to a pig farm. Yuck! Give me a ripe dumpster anytime over that stench. Yep, I am Lisa Douglas after all. As an aside, the festival was nice, I spent money. Bought some Christmas presents, had an awesome carmel apple, watched some amazing border collies do their job, and saw some beautiful hand crafted items. Even my friend with Dyeabolical Yarns (http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5101528) was represented with some of her roving beautifully spun up into yarn. See above photograph of said yarn. The festival was great, but you won't find me there anytime soon hawking my own hand spun, organically dyed angora yarn.