Along with this trend is a plethora of new magazines devoted to helping women remain glamorous and chic while knee deep in manure. As a former reader of Vogue and Elle in my city days, I admit I’ve been mesmerized by these magazines; gorgeous pictures of beautiful women, with perfect hair and makeup in white outfits without a speck of dirt collecting pristine eggs from cobweb free coops and then returning to homes full of dust free knickknacks where they prepare gorgeous 4 course meals from scratch. Whew, I got tired just typing that but then again maybe I could do it? I’m promised untold rewards (happier animals, amorous husbands, better self esteem) if I indulge in glam farming.

I start the next morning. I scrape the dust from the mirror and peer at my reflection. What’s that? Fuzz on my lip? EEEK. That won’t do. I search discarded jars until I find some hardened old hair remover wax. I put it on while I head to the end of my closet, the part that hasn’t been touched in years. Blowing dust as I make my way into the closet depths and hoping I don’t run into a mouse, I search for suitable glam garb. Now it is winter and 15 below. I decide on ski bunny wear; skin tight white lycra pants and a puffy pink jacket with even more awesome fake pink fur. Glam thy name is Mountain Woman. That should do it.

I start pulling on the pants. Oh, no. They don’t budge over my hips. Hips come in handy when you’re a farmer. You can perch hay on them, carry water buckets on them, tote saddles on them. I can tell you 101 uses for hips. I love my hips but my ski bunny pants don’t. Hmm, I think I have some of that slimming underwear in here from the days when I cared that my body didn’t jiggle. There they are. I pull them on and wow, it’s uncomfortable. But I’m determined to be chic. I want to be part of this new trend.

The pants might be on but I’m having trouble walking. I adopt a shorter stride so the rear won’t split. I head to the mirror, take off the old wax and my lip hair is gone but then so is my skin and I’m left with a burning red patch where my downy fuzz used to live. I think I have an old bottle of concealer somewhere. Next, foundation, eye shadow, mascara. I just hope I don’t get a skin infection from putting all this old stuff on my face. Oh, well. Beauty has a price.

What to do about the hair? Not having long, flowing tresses, I decide to put mousse into my grey, short hair. Now I have puffy hair and I kind of match my puffy pink jacket. Wow, I think I’m ready for the cover shot of Glam Farm Gals Gazette.

But wait, what will happen when Mountain Man sees me? What if my new look makes him amorous? How long will it take before I can get out to take care of the animals? Hmm, I can see there’s more to this chic farm chick stuff than I ever imagined. Maybe there’s an article on how to cope with the farm men in your life? Oh, well, here goes.

I open the door, walk out into the bedroom where Mountain Man says,

“WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU DONE TO YOURSELF?” Not in a good way either ladies. He burst out laughing.

“I’m just trying to look more attractive while I do my chores. It’s the glam girl farmer look. Don’t you love it?” He shakes his head in that way he does when he can’t believe how he manages to live with such a crazy person and heads out the door.

The dogs come over, take a sniff and leave quickly, except for Toby, our newfie, who promptly covers my sparkling white pants with newfie slobber. EEEW!

I head out daintily. Brr, it’s cold and all I want to do is get to the warmth of the barn but I can’t walk any faster in these pants. Who am I kidding? I can’t even breathe. I reach the barn after what seems like an eternity. There’s the hay pile. Time to gather some bales. I bend over. RIIIPPPPP. My white pants exist no more. No matter for I am farm chic and a little thing like having my underwear showing won’t phase me for I am glamorous.

I start to gather eggs. Why don’t they look as clean as they do in the pictures? There’s always little specks on them no matter how often I clean the nest boxes. “Hens,” I say, “Get with the program. We are glamorous and we don’t lay eggs with specks.” I swear I hear the chickens cackle.

Brrr, I’m getting cold from having my derriere exposed. I head back to the house. Oh, no. Glam farm chicks don’t wear ice cleats so I didn’t wear mine. Thud, I go down on the ice and now I hear my spandex underwear rip. Ouch. My bare butt is stuck to the ice. I have to get out of here before Mountain Man sees this. The geese toddle over and start honking at me. I swear they are laughing too.

I manage to crawl back to the house. It’s only 9:00 a.m.

Will Mountain Woman get the hang of this glam farming? Or has popular culture found another way to torture hardworking farm women who love their overalls and big hips?

Stay tuned.

Pricilla

Please contact me for your prize at redpinemountain at gmail.com

Thank you again to those who entered and I’ll have more giveaways in the future.

At the moment, we are being buffeted by cold weather and winds; typical Northeast Kingdom winter weather. Mountain Man is busy designing my new barn for the Ozarks and I’ll have more on that later but today is time for a commercial break and a mystery giveaway.

After using and loving their products, I decided to become a consultant for Scentsy which makes beautiful warmers for delightfully scented fragrance bars. You can visit my site by clicking HERE.

Scentsy has strict rules about what consultants are allowed to do on their blogs so make sure you sign up for my newsletter by clicking HERE. I can do online fundraisers for your organizations, online parties or fill individual orders. I hope you’ll consider shopping with me or perhaps you’d be interesting in joining my team.

I’m hosting a mystery blog giveaway so if you’d like to be entered, just leave a note in the comment sections. The mystery giveaway will close on January 21st at which time the winner announced.

Thanks again for dropping by Red Pine Mountain and have a fabulous weekend.

I start dragging on layer after layer of clothing. No time to look in the mirror. If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d find a fabulous outfit and spend an hour or so putting on makeup and creating perfect hair. But alas every day here is a bad hair day. There’s just no time.

I open the door. Oh, it is cold. If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d grab a latte and head to the fireplace to read the morning paper. But I can hear my roosters crowing, my geese honking. “Hurry up!” they say.

I did it. Made myself go out into the bitter cold. Vermont winter. If you haven’t experienced it, you don’t know what you’re missing. The cold is so intense the mountains actually shimmer.

If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d call some friends, suggest brunch and a visit to the museum but there are stalls to muck, coops to clean, eggs to gather.

If I didn’t live on a farm, last week I would have been busy at work, stuck in an office, gazing out the window from time to time. But I live on a farm and my windows are made of pine trees framing mountain vistas.

If I didn’t live on a farm, my back porch step would have a flower pot or two and a wonderful, clean welcome mat. But instead I have assorted poultry and geese who consider flowers a delicacy and welcome mats just something to shred

If I didn’t live on a farm, I would be at the gym every day where the din from the after work crowd and all the machines humming would drown out my thoughts. Instead I hike through snow covered fields to the top of our pasture where I reach out and touch the clouds and embrace silence.

If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d hang out with my girlfriends. We’d go shopping, share secrets, have a good laugh and disdain anyone who wears fur. Now that I live on a farm, I still have girlfriends. We still share secrets. Only difference is they all wear fur.

If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d have that one best friend in my life who always has an opinion about everything. But I live on a farm and I’ve learned 4 legged creatures can have strong opinions as well.

If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d be walking down city streets, intent upon the goal ahead, never stopping to look back and see who might be following.

If I didn’t live on a farm, I would still think donkeys are stubborn creatures. But I live on a farm and I’ve learned to respect the unique intelligence and loyalty to each other they possess.

If I didn’t live on a farm, I’d still be happy. But I live on a farm and my life is complete.

Thank you for visiting us on Red Pine Mountain.

My brother stumbled upon a basket full of slides my Father had made of me as a young girl. Now, I’ve always remembered how much I loved horses (and how much I still do) but the photos helped to crystallize in my mind just how much horses meant to me growing up. I left the photos untouched. Sometimes it’s better to leave life as it is; as it was. But there is some distortion in the color on photos over 40 years old.

As a toddler, I already had horses on my mind. My first word was not “Momma” or “Dadda” but “horsie.” And although I wasn’t yet able to ride, I can tell by the smile on my face, I was thinking about the day I’d be old enough to sit on a horse.

I was born into a decidedly non-horsey family. My Mother hoped I’d be a concert violinist. Unfortunately for her, I was tone deaf.

While my Father hoped I’d follow in his corporate footsteps.

And perhaps if I had applied myself, I would have given The Donald a run for his money but from my earliest days, all I wanted to do was hang out with horses. At first, pretend ones had to do but I mastered the art of riding with determination.

Until at the age of 3, I was allowed to graduate to the real thing.

Now there was no stopping me. I had found my passion and if I could have spent every hour of the day on a horse, I would have.

It didn’t matter if they were real. I’d practice driving models of horses that sat outside country stores.

I’d run into paddocks, grab a horse and try to convince my parents I really, really needed a horse. But alas, that never happened.

But I did have riding lessons. Soon I was winning ribbons and trophies.

And even when I didn’t come in first, I was still thrilled.

But nothing matched the joy of riding, of being a little girl on a big horse.

Of being able to ride over jumps at a young age and never feel any fear.

Whether it was leading a horse,

Or headed out on a round of cross country jumping,

The joy I felt when I was with a horse was something I can’t begin to describe.

And when I look back at my past from so far away

And I see the young girl that I was so in love with riding; so in love with horses.

I am thankful I now have the opportunity to come full circle, to have these magnificent animals in my life again. Thankful to Mountain Man who puts up with my horse addiction even though he thinks they are hay burners. Thankful to have had such a wonderful life.

Oh, and just in case you’re wondering, I was a pink person even back then.

And although I have a million more photographs to share, I think I’ll call it a day before you run away. Thanks for visiting us on Red Pine Mountain. May all your life long dreams come true.

We’re going to try living in the Ozarks for a few months in the warmer weather to see if I can survive the bugs; namely the chiggers. Don’t know what chiggers are? Then consider yourself lucky. Last time we were in the Ozarks, I had an unfortunate encounter with chiggers residing in a flake of hay.

Up until that moment, I thought hay was hay so I grabbed it and heaved it right up to my chest as is my custom. Big mistake. Although I do shower everyday, I don’t always change every item of clothing and I learned the hard way that when dealing with chiggers, changing all your clothes also includes anything from Victoria’s Secret.

Much to the amusement of Mountain Man, I came down with a bad case of chigger chest. And I vowed never ever to return to the Ozarks.

But I’ve learned never say never.

Mountain Man has planned our move down to the last detail including all the new buildings we need.

Here’s his list:

A new barn for my horses and donkeys.
A new run in shed
A new Poultry Palace
A goose residence

And last but certainly not least, a new house. Yes, a new house. Why you might ask? It’s because he so lovingly restored the old house and it has such beautiful woodwork throughout including all the hardwood flooring, he knows our dogs will have it messed up in no time at all and we’re still hoping to sell it when the economy recovers. If we had to pay to build a new house, there’d be no way we could afford it but Mountain Man is doing all the work himself.

He’s been busy logging and sawing timbers.

This is the pile he’s amassed so far which includes framing lumber for my barn and rafter beams for our new house.

And while the ever industrious Mountain Man labors nonstop, I, Mountain Woman, have been involved in typical Mountain Woman pursuits; taking chickens for walks on my boots.

Watching my newest tom strut his stuff. He’s the biggest tom I’ve ever seen and I do believe he’s a Narragansett/wild turkey cross. Now I know what his Mom was doing when she’d sneak off into the woods.

And then it’s time to head off to the barn for some fun and Photoshopping!

And after an exhausting day, I lay my head down upon my pillows and I start formicating thinking about those darn chiggers.

First person who knows what formicating means gets a small (emphasis on small) prize.

Thanks for visiting Red Pine Mountain. May your days be chigger bite free!

Kathy Miller

Susan Sonstegard

Maureen

Karen Zemek

Please send me an email at redpinemountainatgmail.com. Thanks for entering!

That’s it folks. Stay well and flu free!

Red Pine Mountain; A Pictorial

Your kindness and support have made this an incredibly special year.

Mountain Woman, Mountain Man and The Red Pine Mountain Zoo

And unfortunately, my Polish rooster has decided I must go.

Now this would be a problem any time but unfortunately its been unseasonably warm and wet here and we have entered into a mini-mud season.

Rooster charge + mud + panicked Mountain Woman running from angry rooster = Mountain Woman slip sliding on mud and landing splat. At least it’s a soft landing when my bulk hits the ground and as an added plus, it always scares Mr. Mean Rooster.

But just for the moment. He comes at me again as soon as I’m on my feet.

Mountain Man sees me and calls out “Don’t just stand there, run at him, let him know you mean business.” I take two steps towards him but become reluctant to close the gap when he starts dragging his wing and dancing his mean ole rooster dance. I freeze. I’ve read those stories about rooster spurs and visits to the hospital for stitches. Don’t want any part of that. I’m scared of hospitals. Not to mention roosters.

Mountain Man sees my distress, comes to my rescue and chases the rooster. “There, like that.” he says. Why does he always make things seem so easy?

Next day Mountain Man is no where around but the rooster is. There are drawbacks to having free ranging birds who show up on your door step.

He’s waiting for me as I walk out the door.

I run back in the house but I’ve got things to do and I ain’t no chicken. I take a deep breath and head out to meet my nemesis.

And I decide to crow. Talk to him in his own language. “COCK A DOODLE DOO.” I repeat over and over at the top of my lungs. The rooster seems puzzled. He begins to crow back at me so I raise my voice even louder “COCK A DOODLE DOO.” And as I keep crowing, I become more courageous and I start walking forward. (Okay, to be honest it’s just one step forward but at least I’m not running away.)

Mr. Mean Rooster takes a step forward. The moment has come. Showdown. Place your bets.

I decide to take Mountain Man’s advice. I start flapping my arms, keep on crowing and run towards the rooster and lo and behold, the rooster skeedaddles.

“There you go rooster. Now you know what it feels like.”

Each day as I head to the barn, I have my rooster theme song I sing from “She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain;” namely “we’ll kill the old red rooster.” (Shh, don’t tell him I don’t mean it).

And just in time too because all our mud has turned to ice and there’s nothing worse than running away from a rooster and landing on the ice.

And while I’m fighting roosters, life goes on in other ways. Mountain Man is busy with a multitude of projects. He’s put up another 8 cords of wood using the new system he developed.

And he’s building a new place to store his trailer.

He redid my shavings shed.

And accomplished about a million other things.

And when I’m not busy fighting with roosters, I manage to slip away to the barn to see Midnight.

I tell him about mean ole roosters and he understands.

And my wish for you is that you never, ever have to understand what it means to be attacked by a rooster.

Thanks for visiting us. We appreciate the time you spend on Red Pine Mountain!