Tuesday, November 10, 2009

I started this post with nothing but a title and a dream.

It might surprise you to know that I painted the cow used for my blog background before I'd even met my boyfriend. Actually, it probably wouldn't surprise you at all. I haven't actually mentioned that I'm dating a farmer yet, have I?

Right. Linear, ordered thinking. Got it.

I'm dating a farmer.

I'm from the city. My working definition of what a farm is had always been "place where young folk with big dreams and a lot of gumption escape from".

I've been informed that this is a very biased perspective. My perspective has changed, though. Well, expanded anyway. At least to "place where young folk with big dreams and a lot of gumption escape from, but not before changing their shoes".

I don't know why the man calls himself a farmer. All he has are cows. I'd always thought farmers who only had cows were, y'know, cowboys, but now I'm thinking maybe it has more to do with the kind of footwear a person favours than with the kind of food they raise.

My boyfriend does not wear cowboy boots. He wears rubber boots. Any rational person who's seen the price of cowboy boots, and who has seen cattle pasture, would do likewise. The main criteria for fashion in the pasture is hose-off-ability. Things with texture and decorative stitching hose off not worth a damn. Rubber, baby - there's your bovine friendly couture.

We were at Farm Fair this weekend. Got up early on Sunday to make sure we had enough time to see everything.

Let me restate that. I got up early on a Sunday morning, a day when I don't have to get up early, and I went to Farm Fair. It's a fair, where they feature all things farm related.

Yes, I like him that much.

There were a lot of people running around in cowboy hats. I've always questioned the practicality of something that looks capable of catching and riding a swift breeze all the way up to the jet stream, and am convinced that cowboy hats must fall from the sky at random intervals in remote areas of Africa and Asia. I do have to say, though, that those cowboys weren't squinting in the sun or having to constantly wipe rain off their faces. Those hats did offer full protection from the elements.

Did I mention that this was all indoors? Apparently cowboys are highly vulnerable to the effects of fluorescent lighting, because none of those guys were taking any chances with it.

We started our mosey (yes, I know how ridiculous I sound trying to talk cowboy. I couldn't even type that with a straight face) at the Dodge City Trade Show. Many cowboy boots and hats were for sale there. We also browsed a lot of practical items essential for living out on the range like livestock trailers, water filtration systems, and the Slap Chop. Then we made the mistake of lingering that half a moment too long that it took for an Emu Oil salesperson to latch on to us.

Yes, Emu. Yes, like the bird. Directly from the bird, actually, although whether it is secreted by the bird or forcibly squished out of a cold pressed Emu I didn't ask. I was too busy trying to fend off the free sample.

I failed. I smelled like Emu for the rest of the day. I can't quite describe the smell of Emu, but I can tell you that when you smell like Emu you don't feel the least bit sexy. I'm thinking zoo breeding programs must need a special budget allotment just for scented candles.

I'll bet you didn't even know that Emu oil is less greasy than Ostrich oil, did you? Well aren't you glad you stopped by my blog now!

Thoroughly lubricated and cradling a literal arm load of mini donuts so fresh I probably have concentric pucker marks seared into my windbreaker, we left for the main auditorium where we could blot out the smell of emu oil with horse droppings and enjoy our snacks. There was a draft team pull competition on. The cowboys competed to see whose horses could drag the most weight behind them, and the horses competed to see who could knock their cowboy's hat flying the furthest. I'm not too clear on the rules, but it's possible that bonus points were awarded for every hat to land in poo.

It was fun, though. Well, it was fun once I had been thoroughly reassured that the horses were doing nothing that could result in any kind of injury that would result in their needing to be shot. I might have been lied to, but that's okay. It was convincing. That's all I ask.

From there we examined the Alpacas, and made a damn fine show of looking like we knew what we should be examining them for, too. Why at one point we almost managed to appraise a specimen.

"That one's cute."

"Yes, but the darker wool might be harder to dye, so you might not get as much for it."

"Then maybe the darker ones are less expensive?"

"Ah yes, good appraisal."

Mostly, though, we just wandered around until someone nice took pity on us and let us pet one, and then went home satisfied. Well, mostly satisfied. A certain member of our two person party was very noticeably disappointed by the lack of cow related activities.

So sue me. I like cows.


Fire Byrd said...

So you could be the one to wear the cowboy/girl boots along with a lasso at your side for reining in recalcitrant steer at a moments notice surely?

tattytiara said...

I'd probably be more successful luring the moo cow with a mini donut.

Tamara said...

hehehe... this post made me giggle. I'm a city gal that married the farm boy (except his family farms sheep, not cows).

I'll let you know if a cowboy hat ever falls from the sky near me here in South Africa.

Kate said...

Oh I like cowboy boots! Cool post though I am a Londoner through and through

blognut said...

I love cowboys. It's the jeans. No, it's the hat. Wait! It's the boots.


I need all three. And the cowboy. I need the cowboy, too.

Brndoutw8ress said...

Great post!
Hey I left you a little something special over at my place, check it out!

Eva Gallant said...

Thanks for visiting my blog, 'cause then I found yours! I love your sense of humor!! Now I'm going to have to follow/stalk you!

Brian Miller said...

ha. i love it. we stayed on a farm this weekend, at my friends house. the boys loved it, though there was a distinct lack of cows. : ( i would be afraid to wear emu oil...what if it attracted one and those things are rather big and...yeah, bad thought. it did make me smile though...best wishes for you and your cowboy.

f1trey said...

nice post! as always......Please dont let the local women here know there is such a thing as emu oil...... if it smells bad and makes girls feel unsexy they would take it up immediately....

Quasi Serendipita said...

Great post! Don't envy you the emu oil though! Visiting from SITS :)

injaynesworld said...

I always thought a farmer was someone who grew stuff and a rancher was someone who had cattle. Where I live there are farmers and ranchers and a lot of wanna-be cowboys. I think there should be a rule. If you want to call yourself a cowboy, you have to actually own a cow. Is that you with the bird trying to eat your face? Good post.

Ron said...

You are too funny!

mini donuts so fresh I probably have concentric pucker marks seared into my windbreaker.


I too am a city person, but there's a big part of me that feels totally comfortable in the country life. I often wonder if I could actually live in the country.

And hey...I LOVE cows too!



i am a midwest farmer's daughter so i can relate but i am now a city gal

growing up alone with cows does something to you


I Wonder Wye said...

LOL, Totally an event Excy and I would wander around at saying the same type of things.....I love to watch those draft horses pull. They don't play! Everything about cows rock.

Thanks for your sweet comments on my blog this week. It has been so difficult to write about. Readers like you mean so much to me. It has changed my blog from funny and light hearted to somber this week and I didn't know if I'd scare people off, too...

Oh My Goddess said...

Where can I get me a cowboy, I mean farmer?
How early is early on Sunday morning for a farmer's girlfriend?

bernthis said...

no, you don't like cows, like you said, you really like this guy

mouse (aka kimy) said...

well this was a thoroughly entertaining and unexpected read!!

so does your man raise dairy cows or meat cows....if the former I'd say farmer seems the appropriate term as in "dairy farmer"

but folks that raise cows for their meat I consider "ranchers" (who often hire cowboys to help them when those cows need wrangling)

but then what do I know, I'm just a poor city mouse!

thanks for leaving a comment on mm, which led me over here.... look forward to more farmland adventures....among other things....

phd in yogurtry said...

I know a little something about the pull of all things cowboy. Or to be more accurate, the appearance of cowboy. I don't usually, or hardly ever, plug my own posts the first time I visit a site, but I think you'll forgive me as I mention the importance of cowboy boots.


phd in yogurtry said...

goddess sent me, by the way : )

Pseudonymous High School Teacher said...

I think I might be a dormant farm dork. I loved this post and felt like I was right there with you.

You've come recommended twice, so here I am. Great blog, love your cows in the side bar.

cabin + cub said...

Mmmm.... any trip where you get mini donuts is totally worth it, even if you had to endure the emu smell. Sounds like you had a good mosey! ;)

M.M.E. said...

Haha. I'm a small city girl dating another small city boy and there are no cows involved. :( But we have fish!

Derrick said...


Just popped over from OMG to congratulate you on the award and say how worthy your post is! Great fun - and thanks for the tip about ostrich versus emu oil!

Theresa said...

Well clearly I need to think about the art I create, and use for a background to make sure I get the right kinda man :)

You sound happy and I like that!


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