Like Eve, I am finding myself drowning in the chore of removing all the many many weeds presented before me to inflict and torment man. But Mrs. Olsen is fighting back proud. Yes! My yard sucks right now! But it's early summer and my garden is well-nigh into growing and deliciousness is but a few weeks away.....



Okay ready? Besides spuds we're growing: peas, beans, lettuce, tomatoes, squash, & corn. The miracle of corn is waiting for us yet again. Is it waiting for you too?



There's something to be said about letting your kids "work". Like the time I gave Vanilla Wafer the job of planting a row of corn while I weeded the other rows. I ended spending twice the amount of time just pulling extra seeds out of the dirt. Aaaah.



Zeolite! The Mister of the House bought a ton of this, and half of it is still sitting in my driveway. So please, if you want to buy some, I'm selling the extras.

Why should you love this stuff? Well, remember all that big wheelbarrow full of shittake mushrooms from my chickens? We mixed zeolite in with it, which binds with the ammonium and makes it so you can fertilize your garden with it. Otherwise, chicken shnicks are too "hot" and burn plant life. Zeolite also reduces watering needs and makes the best cat litter on the market.

Nearly two weeks have passed since this wee blog was updated. And I tell you what, day after day I've been thinking and runnin' around and doing other things and all the while in the back of my head rests this thought: I'm killin' the blog. I'm killin' the blog.

Oooh, news just in. Mrs. Olsen has been killing more than her blog lately.


As the elders quorum were unloading the moving van...







it's nearly enough to make one an armchair environmentalist...

i do declare: give me a Saturday without rain, a Mister of the House, and my rototiller and I shall make you proud.


but alas, there is hope for the overgrown garden....somewhere on the edge of Grandma and Grandpa's yard in the great state of I-dee-ho.


mi beating heart *adores* Rainbow Girl's upright posture with hands in the lap, Buddha Baby in 5th position, and Vanilla Wafer just being the stud in the suit with spider-fine shoes.

These things are growing like weeds, & I dare not pluck them.

Here in my neck of the woods I am pretending to be a bit of a farmgirl. But I don't really know what I'm doing. Plus animal poop triggers my gagging reflex. Across the valley there is a Living Historical Farm, where people really do know how to farm...without machines...in petticoats.

Volunteers plow the fields with a horse-drawn spade, and long-skirted women bake stew and bread in the wood stove at the homestead. They put my bread making debacle to shame. A little while ago Rainbow Girl got to sing some Christmas songs at The Farm's Opera House.

When we went inside the Opera House, some old time singers were harmonizing the old Christmas tunes that I couldn't name. There was a gee-tar, violin, and four-part harmony all cozied up with western pine floors and victorian red walls.

This was the queen matron of the group, and she was feelin' it. So was I.

Back then...was life simpler? Sweeter? When you have to work 2 hours for a loaf of bread, do you pull up your petticoats and run whenever there's a gathering at the Opera House, or a barn dance? Did the women bring fresh pies for refreshment? Did pioneer boys try to steal kisses behind the curtain? Did the men still smell like "fertilizer"? Did the women blush when asked to dance?

Hey buddy! What's with the levis? You just ruined my memories of the long-forgotten past. Levis are 20th century. Get back in your homespun!

Oh well, in comes the crop from the 21st century...featuring Rainbow Girl.

If only Justin Hackworth had been there with his camera. Can you guess which shoes belong to Rainbow Girl?

Being a 21st century girl is worth it, but only if you have purple clogs. Thank you Grandma Cozy.

If they had waited just a couple of days, these horses would have been pulling a wagon with sleigh-runners...not old-fashioned handcrafted wooden spokes made by the carpenter named...

Heeey, wait a second. What's with the rubber wheels?

Oh well, back to the good life. Come on Rainbow Girl, let's hurry home to some hot cocoa bubbling in under 60 seconds, cooled off with a scoop of frozen cream. From a cow I didn't milk. In a freezer that doesn't need ice. Who would have imagined such things back on the farm!

Merry Christmas

Being married to an entrepreneur who has started multiple businesses has permanently damaged my brain. I am in constant wonder of product development and consumer education. Having operated a retail operation for five years, hauling around Rainbow Girl all over town to buy supplies, make home-made signs, research the competition, improve your product and then wonder how you can educate the public on your amazing wares with an advertising budget of twenty dollars...it's enough to make you cross-eyed, or at least make your house dirty.

I am one of the rare few that reads all the billboards while driving down the interstate.

I am one of the cursed few that sits around and thinks of product concepts that could be successful if I had money for product development, focus groups, and the single vertical billboard on the way to Interstate 15.

And it's not just retail that gets me obsessing over product development. Take my older sister, Monica.

This is Monica now. You wouldn't believe she has produced 5 offspring. And NO she was not a teen mother.

Remember this picture? This was Monica back in 1982, and even then she was a wonder in time management and product development. By this time she was already filing away her underwear by color neatly into her dresser. She also was helping my mom pack all of our school lunches. I'm pretty sure she still has these jeans. They're worn out now so she only wears them when doing major home renovations, so only every other day or so (at least I can find consolation in the fact that she's wearing a matching fanny pack *sigh* at least I have that).

So when I use up an afternoon thinking of how I could market family vacation photos and felt fabric, well, that's the same amount of time that Monica opens up three gallons of paint and does this:

And this! (hello little niece)

And this!

It's amazing what she can paint, finish, or bake with whatever she's got lying around. Which reminded me of someone else who's pretty good at taking rough wares and producing the most amazing results ever.

Exhibit A: One single, shriveled little corn kernel. A.K.A. garden seed. And yes that front appendage is a thumb, where does it end? It must be a foot long. If I had ever been a hitchhiker, I would have gone far I'm sure.

So this seed, right! Throw some dirt over this humiliated shriveled-up little lady, add water and sunshine and before you know it you have this monstrosity taking its place.

I'm sorry but what in the Sam Hill? How did this happen? This isn't even the product! This is just advertising! Look at me. I'm taller than you. I took worm poo, water and sunshine and made dinner for six!

Thankfully, I wasn't in charge of this product development. I probably would have boiled the seeds, spray painted them black, compared them to river stones from Valley of Elah, packaged them into an over-sized plastic Goliath, called them !Philistine Filibusters! and tried to sell them to Congressional Seats from the Southern States. I would have never seen their true potential. Their simple, delicious, over-abundant potential.

Exhibit B: Final product produced from one stalk of corn. Six delicious ears of corn. This pattern is going to look familiar. Every time you see it, please say to yourself : one shriveled seed produced this.

(Okay, so we've been eating corn on the cob for 3 weeks, just filled a bag for my cousin and invited my neighbor to feed a big Sunday crowd with my corn. So yes, I threw 2 extra cobs in, but I 85% guarantee that this is still a conservative estimate and I should have thrown in three more on top of this)

Exhibit C: Offspring Numero Three. We'll call him Buddha Baby. When you and The Mister of the House are debating whether your baby production days are over, let's just say that every sprouting seed in the garden rises singing the Halleluja! Chorus. Halleluja! God is Life! Fertility is the order of the Universe! Every living thing bears seed and testifies of continuation of life! Of love! God is life and love! Fertility becomes you! You have a million eggs in your ovaries! Plant and live! Grow and love! Babies! Babies! Babies!

If I didn't have Buddha Baby eating up our disgusting sandbox while trying to work in the garden, then this glorious chorus just might bore a hole in my head. Don't you know there are cats in the neighborhood?! Bad Baby!

Look familiar? One shriveled seed produced this.




Let's get undressed, shall we? Oh, and don't forget! One shriveled seed produced this.

There she is! Right there in the middle. What a humble little darling. Are you sure she did it?

Yep.

One shriveled seed produced this.

Now let's get those bulky cobs out of the way. Let's just take this down to the basics. Here we have cut all the delicious kernels from the cob.

Repeat after me: One shriveled seed produced this.



One shriveled seed produced this? Yes!

It kindof reminds me of my uterus. Isn't it beautiful?

If only I could educate consumers about this amazing product! I'd make millions I'm sure. It's almost like magic isn't it? Even Monica would be impressed with the market potential I've discovered.

When what to my wondering eyes? Some left over seeds that didn't find a home in the dirt!?

Just look at that market potential! Multiply each of those kernels by the hundreds of morsels dancing around their long straight cobs...I could feed a hundred people! I have a market! I'll make millions! Come sister, let us package this stuff with colorful stripes and sell them in a high-end boutique!

*Cough* Excuse me? A measly buck n' ten? People pay $1.10 for these magic beans? That's it?!

Who makes this stuff anyway? They're obviously not in it for the money.

Sing with me now:

HaaaAAaaa-le-luja! HaaaAAaaa-le-luja!

Ssshh! I found out the source of our magic beans. In my neighborhood we call Him Heavenly Father and He has produced many amazing products, including the one pictured above. I love Him.

p.s. thank you Heavenly Father for my lessons in the garden. I know you can read my blog and I love you.