A snowy walk through memory lane...

So last Thursday my family packed up the Tahoe and headed south for warmer weather, to Disneyland that is. (To the Wallentines reading- you'll have to be sure and give Clark a hard time because it was initially his idea to vacation in the tourist trap) You see, my younger, bigger, and surprisingly muscular brother is getting set to leave us all for his mission. So my Dad, with much assistance from my travel savvy uncle, decided a final family trip was in order and Mickey land was the place. Now why didn't Nate and I get to join the trek to the happiest place on earth? Because after all, I am a Disney child at heart. (Disney World was my request for our honeymoon)
Well, last summer Nate's security sales offered a deal - anyone who could sell more the second half of the summer compared to the first, would be rewarded with a cruise. Nate did very well, and tomorrow we leave for the cruise. So you see, of all the weekends in the year my family decides to head to California, it is the only week Nate and I can't go because of our cruise. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining that we are spending a WARM week in the western Carribean, but I was sad to be left out of the family party.

Anyways, the point of my very long post was to tell about reliving my childhood experience. You see, since the family is gone, Nate and I were called upon to take care of the barnyard chores. (Yes, real farm chores) Allie, my sister, left us a list of all the animals that needed taking care of. Steers to be fed, sheep and goats to be attended to, eggs to be gathered, and then I saw it- the calf to be fed by bottle. My stomach slightly lurched. When I was younger the chore I despised the most was bottle feeding the "spare" (long story) calf. I had to scoop the milk powder and dump it in the bottle while it's stench made me gag, then fill it with water and shake it until the powder clumps were mixed. (Which was a hard task in itself to not spill the bottle) And then feed the slightly stupid calf.

Well now that this job was assigned to me again, I had a little fear creep up. However, Nate was there, so I had to prove I could still feed the little calf. Therefore, I opened the big powder barrel prepared for the stench, but much to my surprise it was not near as bad as my memory made it out to be. After scooping and filling the bottle with water, I was ready for the next bad part - the mixing. After 12 years my hand is bigger, thus easier to cover the bottle's hole, and I discovered the mixing was not half bad. Still a little messy - but alright. Then came the feeding. I recall many snowy nights trudging out through the snow, with frozen tears forming on my cheeks, to feed the calf who would jerk and thrust the bottle while my little hands struggled to hang on.

It sounds simple enough now, but for one reason or another, it was traumatizing then. Maybe it had something to do with the never ending teasing I received from my Dad. When Nate and I reached the calf shed, I was ready to show him that this was in fact annoying. However the calf latched to the bottle the first try, he drank somewhat slowly with few jerks, and in a matter of a minute, he was finished. Nate just smiled, "Not so bad huh?" And I proceeded with reasons why that particular instance wasn't bad at all. In the end, I have to admit it wasn't that bad. I do however, look back and laugh at all the times I did questionable things to get out of feeding the calf, (enter: the brussell sprouts story. Shron? Crystal?) :) I am grateful my Dad has taught all of us, the siblings and myself, how to work. Sometimes I wonder if that was the only reason he had animals, to make sure we had chores. Granted I shyed away from the farm life a lot sooner than Cade or Bekka has. But I still appreciate the things I learned from it, and in turn all the one-on-one time I got to spend with my Dad.