Every so often, someone will casually ask, “Hey, why is the tractor still broken?” Or, “Wasn’t that tree on the power line… like, four years ago?” Or my personal favorite, “Why is your yard light still out?”
Listen, Linda. I would love nothing more than to check off my never-ending homestead to-do list. But here’s the thing—I am the ringmaster of a three-ring circus where the lions are children, the monkeys are barn cats, and the clowns are my own damn farm chores.
Let’s walk through a typical day, shall we?
I try to wake up early for some quiet time. If the gods smile upon me, I might get a solid five minutes of peace before chaos knocks on the door like it pays rent.
Kids wake up—loudly. Breakfast happens. So do dishes. Then it’s off to feed every living being within a 200-foot radius who now relies on me for survival. Chickens. Dogs. Cats. More chickens. Possibly a rogue raccoon. Who knows.
Then it’s homeschool time, where I attempt to teach phonics while simultaneously stopping a toddler from feeding the kitten crayons. Suddenly, it’s lunch again because apparently these small people insist on eating multiple times a day.
And just when I think maybe, just maybe, I can fix the yard light or drag a tree branch off a power line…
Someone screams. The kitten peed on the kid. Now they both need baths. Mid-bath, the cat saunters into the road. I sprint after it like an Olympic track star in barn boots. Return to find chicken shit everywhere, including the living room carpet—thanks to someone who forgot to take off their shoes. As I’m shampooing the rug, the damn kitten pees on another one. Snack demands commence. Dinner prep begins. Neighbor stops by for “a quick chat” that lasts longer than my will to live. Dog tries to eat a cat. Chickens resume pooping on the porch like it’s a public restroom. Cat pees on a blanket.
Forget the coffee I made this morning. That ship sailed before the rooster even crowed. At this point, I need tequila served with a side of “no one speak to me for 30 minutes.”
So… Why Isn’t Anything Done?
Because I’m out here putting out 972 metaphorical fires a day with a teaspoon of sanity and an empty wine bottle. That’s why.
So if you see the same broken tractor, the same fallen tree, or the same flickering yard light, just know—it’s not laziness. It’s life. Loud, unpredictable, piss-soaked life. And one day I will get to it… probably right after I bleach the rugs, feed everyone again, and rehome the kitten.
Until then—mind the chicken poop and pour me another.
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