The sunshine has come to my beautiful slice of Montana. Who knows how long it is here for but it has made me giddy and full of energy. It is the first day I have had my husband home in about a week, and there were fences to be repaired. I know this because too many times this week my Facebook status reflected the numerous times pigs showed up at the back door, and the frustration I expressed at my yard being tilled up by Miss Olivia. However exasperating all of these problems this week, I was not about to let it rain on my sunshine day parade. Little did I know the excitement I was in for!

Upon consuming my morning smoothie I heard the tell tale signs of pigs at the back door. I think we could set our clocks by them, as when they escape it seems to be the same time of day. I wonder if ten am is "let's get frisky" time or what? Before we could make our way to the barn my husband wanted to make sure I was bundled warmly and there was no chance I would get muddy or cold. I wasn't too keen on the coveralls and really do not understand why they can't come in red or hot pink but beggars can't be choosy! So, outfitted in coveralls 3 sizes too large and mud boots, we made our way out to capture 6 little pigs and their mama. 

Thinking mama Olivia would just follow the slop bucket was an error in judgement. My oldest son Kenneth to the rescue. "Watch how I get 'er done" and we did but our sides were aching and we were out of breath by the end of the pig circus. Kenneth stalked closely on hands and knees to mama and babies who were scraping a bit of chicken food off the ground, his sites set on a particular piglet, which I have now come to learn squeals the loudest and causes mama and babies to chase him all the way to the barn. He grab the little tike, it set off to screaming wee wee wee all the while my son ran as fast as his legs could carry him back to the pig pen!  Who knew a sow could run so fast. It was all I could do to get a couple of snap shots in of  Kenneth being chased by mama and babies as they ran past!

Once all the little Houdinis were squarely back in their pen, we set out to find where the damage to the fences in order to keep them safely where they belong and out of my back yard! I am amazed at the amount of damage a few curious pigs can do! While there is not much we can do to keep the little pigs in their pens short of concrete walls, we were able to shore up mama Olivia's pen, for now. The little tikes should stay pretty close to her and as long as we can keep her confined...they should not be a problem. 

Much to my dismay the next item on the piggy to do list was to check out my husband's bore. Apparently he has an injury to an unmentionable spot...yikes. My job? Scratch his belly, which apparently he loves, so my husband can check out the seriousness of the injury and then "doctor" it up if need be. I haven't scratched the underside of a bore before and you can imagine the conversation which ensued. We have lots of  "conversations" around here. I never know if my sweetheart is just getting a good laugh or if the task is really a necessity. The farm boys sure do get a kick out of seeing what they can get a city girl to do. 

Luckily Mr. Maxmillian Boaris' injuries were not too serious and only required a little soap and water. If only that could do the trick for his pen! I have heard tales that boars are not to friendly. While Mr. Boaris is pretty friendly with us, he has not been too friendly with his lodgings! I can honestly say teenage boys and pigs do have a lot in common but must confess they are not this damaging to their environment. The pen has had all the fencing boards removed and he had demolished the shed he had for shelter. I don't know what he did with all the parts but the only thing remaining was a few pieces of plywood and some boards. 

This caring for animals is serious business and spring brings with it a lot of tasks to be accomplished. I look around at all we need to get done in the coming months and it can seem an all consuming and over whelming to-do list. However, if I close my eyes and turn my face toward the sun I can be thankful for all we have and how far we have come.  We have made it through a long hard winter and the spring is much wanted and so far...it is so perfect...pigs and all!

There are many strange and humorous events a born and raised city girl finds herself compelled to participate in while living on a farm. Yes, I admit, I live on a farm...I understand this fact. I understand that there are all sorts of  "farmy"  things one must do while playing the role of a country girl.  Perhaps God himself could find the antics of  this proverbial fish out of water quite amusing, and tonight would have been no exception.

Many Montanans find they have to be diverse in their means of income, and my family is no exception. By nature, these are a tough, rugged, and strong  people, just like the landscape that surrounds them. You have to be flexible or the winds of this existence can break even the most resilient of individuals. I am a southern girl, and while we possess a steel of our own, I am learning that the nature of this life is a "horse of a different color"!

My husband, Seth,  fancies himself a part time pig farmer. He raises a small herd of them. As I write this, I am not even sure if swine are even in herds or if there is some other name by which a group of them are called. So, if you are a swine aficionado, please forgive these blunderings, as I do not find myself well versed in swine speak.  Seth has been wearing the hat of painter, and dry-waller this week on an out of town job. As usual, the nightly call came to remind us of tasks normally his job to perform here on the farm. I find I will do many things, when he is out of town, that are outside my comfort zone (and believe me there are a lot of things about this life that are outside of that zone), but tonight THE line was drawn when asked to trudge up to the barn. The task to be completed not only had me gasping in horror but indignant with embarrassment.

I took a moment to picture myself...with my new stylish red hair-do, bundled like the boy from "The Christmas Story"...my feet swimming in my husband's rubber boots,  which are way too big (one cannot wear stilettos or even normal shoes in the pig pen) to accomplish the desired task of checking to see if Miss Olivia is lactating. Yes...you read that correctly. Apparently one checks these things out when a sow is facing the impending delivery of sweet little piglets. Who knew?

I immediately and adamantly refused.  Seth went on to explain to me the importance of this task, the seriousness and gravity of her situation. Miss Olivia could go into labor within 12 hours of milk being present. I could only laugh hysterically as he described in detail how one would check for lactation in a pig.  Again, with this vivid imagination of mine (yes, it is my understanding that I was a precocious child), I pictured myself climbing under a three hundred pound piggy in mud and other unfriendly stuff, grasping a hold of....well you get the picture! Not happening...NO WAY ...No how! In all seriousness, I did not want the paper to read that my death came under a sow! My last breaths were not going to be checking for lactation of a pig and being crushed in the cold mud in the process. No matter how friendly Miss Olivia was reported to be, I would never risk that sort of humiliation; knowing my luck I wouldn't die but have some part of me broken or permanently maimed and have the story repeated of how it came to pass. Though amused with my resistance and excuses, Seth persisted in his insistence.

My first question, once I dried my tears of shock and hysteria, was to inquire as to why he had not called his mother first, only to discover that EVEN she had declined! This very capable woman, who the very first time he took me home as his girlfriend,  I might add, was hiking up the hill with a gun strapped to her side in order  to put some poor sick animal out of its misery ( I remember my thought being "I hope I never get sick here"), EVEN she had refused the task of checking for lactation. My husband then had the audacity to tell me it was just like milking a cow or a goat...whoa... like that was sure to change my mind given my vast milking experience of zero!

So, I did what all good women do...I delegated the chore to our seventeen year old son (knowing that he can move much quicker than I if he needed to avoid any potential maiming...although Seth assured me it was not a danger), and laughed even more hysterically as the task was repeated to him and watched as incredulous expressions crossed his face. All is well on the farm tonight. No pigs are lactating (God must be smiling on me), Miss Olivia is safely incubating her babies,  but the events have driven me here...to write...to share...and to hopefully add a little humor to your world.