Probably the worst thing I did to my husband of not quite two years, was to not fully disclose two things before he married me. First, I am, quite possibly, the strangest and most unconventional person he has ever known, and mind you, he has been acquainted with some real characters in his sixty years. Second, I am what is known as a crap magnet. If anything unusual, weird, or out of the ordinary, can possibly happen, it will happen to me and anyone associated with me. The first summer we were together we had quite a series of unfortunate events. The second summer was pretty uneventful, that is, if you can call four major surgeries between us in less than a year uneventful, but it did keep us out of some trouble. In my defense, however, it isn't all my fault. My husband is a project monger. He must have several projects going all at once, which complicates things tremendously. To add to the mix, we have three dogs, a cat, and 4 mature laying hens that are part of the family permanently. This is also not something he had planned on. When we met, I had four dogs, a cat, and five laying hens. He, not being a real animal person himself...so he thought....had some issues with my menagerie. We reached a compromise. The cat and one of the small dogs came to live with us. The big dog, who was like one of my children, would live with his daughter, and the chickens would stay in Idaho for my son to care for. Oh, and I forgot the two parakeets that also remained in Idaho. The other two small dogs were given to loving friends to have as companions. As time passed, the parakeets died. I say of loneliness. The laying hens came to Wyoming to be added to the collection that my husband had now decided was a good idea. After convincing him how much my big dog meant to me, and after taking on the care of his father's birthday dog, Buddy, Tater, my 11 year old chocolate lab came to live with us as well. Now, as if this was not enough, my husband, now fully convinced we lived on a farm and his farm boy instincts in full bloom, decided we needed bees and promptly ordered two hives consisting of 60,000 bees per hive. Yes, you did the math correctly, that's 120,000 bees to be delivered in the spring. I'm not sure what possessed him after the bee decision to believe we needed meat chickens, but I was soon informed that there were 26 meat chicks on their way. In the process of preparing for bees and building his own beehives and building a coop to hold 26 meat chickens for the 8 weeks until butchering, he was also trying to finish up the shop he started constructing in the fall so he would have a place to work on all these projects. My only response was to shake my head and proclaim that he was infected with a serious case of project ADD. Soon the meat chicks arrived, in the early morning, at the post office, in the cold. Sadly we watched as 21 of the 26 chicks died because they had gotten too chilled in transport. We warmed them as best we could, holding their tiny downy bodies in our hands as we held the blow dryer on them. We dripped water down their little beaks and tried to feed them a mash of food. Yes, I was struck with the irony that in eight weeks we planned to chop off their heads and eat them, but these were little, yellow, helpless, peeping chicks and it seemed wrong to not to try to save them. Alas, they died. The hatchery apologized and promptly shipped us 21 more chicks. Meanwhile, we set the remaining 5 chicks up in their pen, with their warming lights, food and water and watched them grow hideously like some kind of science experiment for the next two weeks until the new chicks arrived. When we combined them in the pen it was like we were dropping food in for the children of Godzilla. The two week old chicks were humongous! They were losing their down and getting feathers and they looked like pathetic little monsters with their sparse feathers covering patches of pink skin and croaking out an eerie sound that was somewhere between a peep and a cluck. And so, all the new little chicks except one survived. This chick appeared dead upon arrival and was set aside while the thriving chicks were placed in the pen, warmed, and fed. When my husband retrieved the dead chick for disposal, it moved slightly and his instinct to save it kicked in. Out came the blow dryer, the water dropper, and his special mash of food. He so carefully worked on it and like a miracle, it perked up, starting walking around and seemed to be thriving. He was as thrilled as if he had just raised Lazarus. It was amazing...until the next day when his miraculous rally failed and he died. (I should clarify, "he" being the chick, not my husband.) It seemed for a time that all was well in paradise. A week later we added six more laying chicks. Once again, they seemed as ants in comparison to the gargantuan freaks that already inhabited the chicken pen. But, for now, all was well on the farm. Of course, that couldn't last. I suddenly realized that we had planned to go on vacation the first week of April. I'm looking at the barnyard and attempting to formulate a plan. First things first though. Our vacation involved taking our new travel trailer to the Oregon coast. Looking at our collection of vehicles, we realized that one car was too small to pull it, another truck was too big and used too much gasoline, so we decided to buy a vehicle that would be just right. (sounds a little like the three bears). We found a nice used Jeep Grand Cherokee for an excellent price. The body and interior was in great shape, although in need of a serious cleaning, but it appeared to be a good deal. Appeared, being the operative word here. We found it in Idaho and so I left it there for a week and had it professionally detailed so that it was new car clean. A road trip with my sister to pick it up, and I brought it back to Wyoming....just in time to find out that the engine was completely blown. We had been duped by the seller, there's a shock, because that never happens. I'm lucky I made it home with it. So we debated what to do and decided that we needed a different vehicle to pull the trailer and we already had some capital invested in this one. We decided to have a new engine put in it. Of course, when the mechanic got in to it, he found other "small" things that could use some repair. At this point my husband determined that we might as well rebuild it top to bottom and have a basically brand new vehicle. Two weeks and a substantial sum of money later, we took it home. We carefully over the next two weeks, put it through the proper new engine break in procedures, then decided that it would be a good idea to make a test run. We planned a short overnight trip to Lava Hot Springs. We unwinterized our little RV, packed it up, hooked up to the Jeep and headed out. It pulled it so smoothly. We were so tickled, until, 21 miles from our destination there was a terrible exploding sound and smoke poured from the engine. We managed to get off the main road and found a place to park it before it was done. The brand new engine had thrown a rod. We called the mechanic, the engine was under warranty, they would come and tow the car and the RV back to Wyoming....in the morning. Oh well, we did have the trailer. There was heat, food, a bed, a toilet, a shower, and a great view. So, we settled in for the night. Now, there was much to discuss. There was no way they could get a new engine in and have time to break it in before our planned vacation. Besides, I was pretty nervous at this point to take an untried vehicle that far away from home. What should we do? We could postpone the vacation except that two weeks after we were to come back, the bees were to arrive. Then, about two weeks after that it would be chicken butchering time. Then it would be full on spring and time to clean up the yards and plant the gardens at two homes. With spring and summer, both of our work loads at our jobs would pick up and taking time off would be more difficult. I had a training to attend in May. This really was the only time we would be able to go. What to do. We both took on the Scarlet O'Hara mentality and decided we would think about it tomorrow...at Tara. Ok, at Green River, but you get it. The mechanic showed up early the next morning as promised. He said he had no trouble finding our location as he followed the giant oil trail we left on the road where the engine exploded and spewed it's oil supply liberally like a trail of bread crumbs to our final destination. At this point I was really feeling like the ultimate crap magnet. I finally confessed this flaw to my husband, who laughed and told me I was absurd. Feeling frustrated, worried about how he was going to get everything done that he needed to, what we were going to do about the stupid car (yes, it's now a stupid car which I have named, "the Money Pit"), and like I might just explode, I did the logical thing...I abandoned him for the weekend and ran away to our vacation home for three days. There I did all the carefree things that cleared my mind. I stayed up late and watched movies with my daughter. I visited with my grandchildren. I took my kids to lunch. I visited with my ailing brother. For a time, I put all the "stuff" out of my head. Then with my wits gathered and in their proper place, I returned to the reality of our crazy life. Not that all was perfect in Idaho. There was that one moment where I thought I had lost my friend's dog. Yes, I have one friend in Green River and I was taking care of her dog and he made the trip to Idaho with me. He came up missing Saturday morning and I was in a panic. There was no way he could have gotten outside the fence, but he was like a ninja and he would follow you around silently so you didn't know he was there. Maybe in his awesome ninjaness he somehow slipped out the door. I searched and searched and finally found him shut in the guest room. Yes, he had employed that stealthy ninja trait and followed me silently in the room and I had unknowingly shut the door behind me, trapping him in. I was relieved to know that on top of everything else, I wasn't going to have to tell my only friend that I lost her dog. The weekend escape profited one other thing. I told another good friend of our vacation dilemma and he graciously offered, and in fact quite insisted, that we use his pickup to take our vacation. I hesitated to take advantage of such an offer and said I would have to discuss it with my husband. Now back at home, I approached him with the offer. He considered it and all things involved and decided it was an extremely generous offer and we would take him up on it. So, here we are, buried in a three day snow storm, planning a 10 day vacation to the Oregon coast in our travel trailer, using a borrowed vehicle. Tomorrow, barring any more mishaps (knock on wood....everyone....please) we will take our beast of a truck that gets 6 miles per gallon and hook up our trailer, load up three dogs, and 32 chickens in various stages of growth, ask the next door neighbor to keep an eye on the four mature layers we are leaving behind, and the cat, and we will drive to Idaho. There, we will leave the chickens and the dogs for my sweet granddaughter to care for. Luckily my husband repaired my chicken coop there on our last trip together to Idaho. We will park General Patton (as I refer to our truck) and hook up to our friend's pickup. Saturday morning we will begin our latest adventure. I would like to believe there will be no "series of unfortunate events" to report upon our return, but I suppose that would be folly. Hopefully they will all be exciting, fun, and new and without calamity. But, as those who know me well are aware, there is a reason they call me "Calamity Jane". Wish us luck!
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