Me The Hypocrite ?

You all, I mean Y'all, know that my life's goal is to live as close as I can in the Ingall's fashion.  The simplicity, the hard work, the faith and love that comes across the Hallmark channel every day from 4 pm to 6 pm.  Yes, the tear-jerking television show that has much of my generation thrown into nostalgia nausea, whether it is just memories of our childhood innocence when we begrudgingly watched it with mom and dad Wednesday nights, beginning on 9/11...1974 or the longing for the simple life without smart phones and the treadmill of surmounting stuff we try to attain for convenience sake.

As I was out feeding the ducks in the misting rain that had been falling for a few days (thankfully), it hit me that my homestead was not as "working" as I would like it to be.  In fact, a loved one has coined it as more of a "petting" farm.  And it's true- for the most part.  Mad Max, our Nigerian dwarf buck, is not my favorite to pet, but he is a necessary part of the farm regardless.  Every animal on the place has a name, except one gray rabbit that is less friendly than the others, but still waits by the feed shed every morning.  When I open the back door, the animals begin walking, hopping or waddling to the shed.  Some wait for me impatiently at the door.  Others will patiently wait for me to go ahead, just to make sure I don't back out of feeding them, I suppose.  Others still walk beside me waiting for me to ask them how they are. And I do.  The older rabbits that we let loose late this summer to live the last bit of their lives freely are the first to stand on my boots and try to stretch up to the shed floor, making it very difficult to maneuver from bin to bin and bag to bag.  But we manage.  Some of the young hens fly out of the coop and come running to hop into the shed.  A few just strain their necks up as far as possible to see if anything has dropped on the floor.  Poor Shirley got her head squished by the door when Hubby wasn't paying attention.  It took her a couple of minutes to recompose herself-poor thing.  I feed the goats first, and hopefully Max, being the bully that he is, will push out of the gate so that I can then lock him out until the girls have had sufficient amount of grain.  Then he can come back in for his share.  (Yes, I am saving money for a fence so he can be separated; life will be better for all caprine when this occurs).  I also check the chicken tube feeders to see if they need refilled while I am in there.  Then I give the rabbits just a dash of rabbit chow on the barrel lid in the back yard.  Black, white, gray bodies circle the lid like a not-so colorful daisy.  (Rabbit chow has gone up in price so much, I am really reconsidering how much food to buy when we invest in new stock to be caged next spring! and how to make rabbit runs for most of their dietary needs.)
Speaking of Daisy, and her boys, the ducks noisily follow me back to their area by the garden where I feed them and refill their pool.  Then of course when I let the goats out for fresh grass, weeds and saplings, where do they go?

Knock, knock, knock

"Anybody home?"

"I see you in there."

"Don't you love me anymore?"

I began thinking about how this person was right.  This is probably not the right way to homestead. I probably will not be eating any of the Duke ducks.  I am letting the rabbits grow old without worry of being fodder for the freezer; the coyotes are a different story. The hens that we have had over three years?  Am I going to stew them up before they die of natural causes just because their laying is dramatically slowed?  I am not sure.  Isn't the point of the lifestyle I am choosing to eat what you grow instead of buying it at Sam's Club?  We have enjoyed several roosters and of course the egg-eating hen for Sunday dinners, but with all the time and money invested in these meat animals shouldn't we be spending more time at the "cone?"  Shouldn't our dinner plates have a different look than the rest of the modern world?

I am starting to think that I may have to make some adjustments in my actions to sync up to what I believe in and am striving for.  Yes, hypocritical...

The time that I spend in the kitchen is already huge, particularly on the weekends when lunch is a must; breakfast ready at 5:30 for everyone who is going out the door to work and of course lunches packed, or lunch as soon as the buns are done cooking for hamburgers, and moving straight to supper that has to cook in the oven for three hours, cleaning up as I go (dawn to dusk)...how much later is supper going to be if I have to butcher the chicken that day or skin the rabbit?  But, isn't that the reason that I am here, at home, so that I can have the time to do it. 

I guess painting my nails will have to wait...