Today has been the perfect close to 2015. 
Coastal weather has been incredibly clear, crisp, and cold with bright sunny mornings highlighting ice crystals and frosted pastures.  Christmas hullabaloo has died down and as I watched Hubby Dearest cough a throat losenge into the bedroom wall last night I couldn’t help but think that apparently germs were spread right along with the holiday cheer this year.
The sun rose right on schedule this  morning, completely oblivious to my pleads for it to stay dark a little longer after my busy night of tending my mucus – filled family.  I went through my morning wide awake but barely coherent and after unloading the hay out of the back of my car to feed the cows I noticed my cat Frank.  Frank was sitting on my roof poofed up like an orange and white pompom after having roof – surfed for 100 yards down the county road to the field gate!

Wrangling a spooked cat isn’t as easy as one might think.. there is  reason “herding cats” is such a good saying. But after determining I didn’t want him running around on the road as he freaked out I wrestled him into the car and took the yowling puff-cat back to the house. Q of course thought it was hilarious and proceeded to do Frank impressions the rest of the day.

(Frank wrangled into the vehicle)

Now as Q wrestles Franky and continues to impersonate his yowling I’m thinking how today truly was perfect. The close of 2015 is the end of many things: my first year of blogging, my first year as  small business owner, and the end of being a mother of an infant.  Of course 2016 brings so many beginnings: a year of toddler-hood, new adventures as a farm owner/Operator, and so many changes, developments and journeys that I can’t even imagine yet.
So whether you head to bed at 8:30pm like yours truly or anxiously await fireworks and a smooch as the ball drops down I wish you a Happy New Year!!
Happy New Year from Melville Farms!!!

Summer has been a blur of bright colors, high temperatures, and blinding sun.  Coastal natives are starting to resemble dehydrated fruits while unrelenting solar rays have dried our pastures, freckled our skin, and created a seemingly never-ending line of visitors to the Oregon Coast.  It’s a testament to my typical luck that the day I had scheduled for Sweet Baby Q’s outdoor 1st Birthday Party, it was forecasted to rain. 
Fortunately for our birthday shindig, there was only a light morning mist before the heavens parted to allow the sun to warm the afternoon. A chorus of chirping birds and buzzing bees was the music for Q’s party until five minutes after the party started the bee’s decided to attack a few of the guests.  Then screaming joined the chorus – which was significantly less serene.  Luckily everyone was able to rally and celebrate Miss Q in style.

As a self-proclaimed birthday enthusiast I might have insisted on celebrating Q’s birthday for an entire week.  She may not have understood why we were singing to her for every meal, but with huge toothy grins she danced along.  Then, on the day of her birth I turned into a mother of a toddler as she took her first steps.  I could only smile and laugh through my tears as she collapsed into a fit of giggles and clapped for herself.
It was during one of these sweet moments and family celebrations that Hubby Dearest became a hero.  Our faithful dog Ted was proudly swimming back to the lake-shore with a tennis ball in his mouth when another dog started pushing Ted under the water. Too far away I watched in horror as the scene unfolded in slow motion before my eyes. Seeing the struggle, Hubby Dearest dove into the lake and separated the dogs, which allowed Ted to breath and return to dry land.  A simple act that defined Hubby as heroic, selfless, and brave, I looked at that husband of mine with renewed respect and awe.
I watched my family love and laugh with eachother as Hubby wrangled out of his soggy clothes. My stresses of unfinished chores and unanswered work messages seemed to drain away with the drips falling off Ted and Hubby as they ran around the grassy embankment.  Observing the joyful scene before me I could forget about the meeting I wasn’t prepared for at work the next day, how the farm bank account balance couldn’t afford the increased cost of feed due to pasture decline, move past the insignificant bickering session that darling spouse and I had on the car ride over, and shrug off that I hadn’t done laundry in over a week. With a bursting heart and a fresh perspective I was able to appreciate the glowing sun as it dipped into the lake and celebrate my Sweet Baby Q turn one.

This weekend Hubby Dearest flew off to a conference for work and I along with sweet baby Q were left to our own devices. The first morning after his departure we woke up to farm animals yelling for attention, fog horns drifting in along with the morning mists, and chicken sh*t getting dragged into the house on Ted’s paws.  As a mother of a blossoming baby who’s goal in life is to put everything in her mouth, the chicken poop had to stop NOW.
After completing the circus of bringing Q into my office for a morning of emails and paper shuffling we continued our journey of errands. I’m not sure I will ever be able to replicate the packing of t-posts, fencing, pig food, groceries, and day – job paraphernalia into my little SUV cross over. Baby Q was thrilled with all the new “toys” shoved around her carseat and giggled as she poked at melting ice cream on the way home.
We arrived on the homestead to find the warm coastal sun cooking the chicken doo onto my front porch. I attempted to dodge and weave the land mines and pooping chickens as I unloaded the car – strengthening my resolve to eliminate the poop on my porch for good.

Thus, I strapped sweet baby Q into the back pack and began fence construction.  I pounded t-posts, I put up fencing, I cleaned the coop, washed the baked butt juices off my porch and wrangled chickens all the while my sweet little babe slept peacefully. 

Needless to say when my chicken run was complete I felt pretty bad ass.  A temporary solution until we move the coop across the creek, but well worth the few hours of labor to keep my baby from ingesting chicken sh*t as a snack.

A special happy birthday to Frank with all his grace and dignity.