Farmwife Confession: The Weather

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

I’ve never been the type of person to pay attention to the weather. I have a basic understanding of the seasons and dress accordingly. Summer in Texas is hot. Winter in DC is cold. I’ve never known when it was going to rain. Or when the wind was going to blow like a hurricane. But, I’ve mostly been okay with that.

But, now, people want to have conversations about the weather. Not in the small talk kind of way that most of the world talks about the weather. But serious, in-depth, long conversations about the weather.

In DC, conversation followed a pattern: a little small talk, often about the latest blizzard or the unbearable swamp-like humidity in the summer, and that quickly turned into never-ending discussions about politics.

Here, where weather determines your livelihood and not just your comfort, weather takes a dominant role in conversation. For example, last night, I went to a house party and conversation went something like this:

“Did you hear about the GOP debates a few nights ago?”

“Yeah…. Can you believe school starts in a week?”

“No….. But more importantly, did you see that there is a cloud 100 miles away that might build into a rain storm?”

And then everyone pulls out their phone with radar on it to compare different weather projections.

It turns out, that cloud 100 miles away did turn into a rain storm. As the rains came down on the party, everyone cheered and rejoiced while taking cover in the garage. And then the cheering turned into chanting for people to do keg stands. Which was funny …. until they started chanting “Russell! Russell! Russell!”

Farmwife Confession: Baking a Cake

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

I don’t know that this is actually a farmwife confession, as it’s not about farming. But, it is a confession. And I’m making this confession because Russell and I decided to move here to farm. So, in that sense, I suppose it is a farmwife confession.

Here it is: I cannot for the life of me properly bake a cake here.

It started in February when I tried to make a cake for Russell’s birthday and a Super Bowl party that his brother and his family were hosting. I decided to make him my grandma’s lemon pound cake – a tried and true family recipe, one that I have made literally hundreds of times over my life. And what a disaster it was.

First, I misread the recipe and added WAY more baking powder than I was supposed to. That, coupled with the high altitude, meant my cake rose and rose and rose and exploded all over the oven.

After cleaning it up, I tried again, using the correct amount of baking powder and trying to adapt the recipe for high altitude. A little less flour. Not too much mixing. Adjusted baking time and temperature. The cake rose properly and looked pretty while it was cooking – but when I took it out of the oven, it was as dry as a bone and half of it was still stuck to the pan.

I ended up salvaging the first cake for the party. And it tasted okay, but I knew that it wasn’t right. As a lifelong baker – and as someone who once won a competition with this cake recipe! – I was mortified that I couldn’t bake this cake properly.

So, last week, I tried again. For the first time, I followed the recipe exactly. And it still rose too quickly, dripped over the edges of the pan, and collapsed in the middle. It seemed to be another disaster. But, Russell made me fight my urges to take it out and throw it in the trash, and instead, I let it cook completely.

The bottom was an ugly, deformed mess and there were burnt pieces of cake all over the bottom of the oven. But once the cake was flipped, it started looking like the cake I grew up baking.

And when I took the first bite, I knew it truly was the cake I grew up eating. It might not be perfect – but, as I devoured the first piece, I had to call it a success.

And it was delicious to the very last bite.

As I took that last bite, I wondered how many things in my life I abandon half way through because it’s not going perfectly, when, with a little perseverance and faith, it would turn out to be a success. Just how often is perfect the enemy of good enough?

Farmwife Confession: Checking Sprinklers

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

Last night, I was making a batch of cookies, when Russell told me he had to go check sprinklers. I thought that sounded like fun, so I decided to put the cookie dough in the refrigerator, grab my camera, and go farm with him.

Turns out, checking sprinklers isn’t as exciting as it sounds. This is what it entails:

Russell drives around in his big red truck.

He stops when he’s by a sprinkler.

And he looks at it.

If everything is okay, he drives over to the pump.

And this is where I got to help him farm. I rolled down the window. Listened to see if the pump was running. And then rolled up the window.

And then we drove home.

And I learned my lesson that baking cookies is way better than farming.

Farmwife Confession: Entertaining Guests

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

When Russell and I lived in DC, we got a fairly steady stream of visitors who were passing through the city and wanted to see everything in a day or two. With so many world class museums, all of the monuments, great day trips, fabulous restaurants and bars, and lots of cultural activities, it was impossible to tell our visitors how to see everything in just two days.

Well, we just had our first visitors to West Texas. It was a slightly different experience.

My dear friend Nicole and her husband came to visit while making the drive from Florida to California. In the week leading up to their visit, I racked my brain for things to do with them. And this is what I came up with:

Tractor rides.

First, they went up the field:

And then they came back:

And then we toured the White House and ate at a really trendy Indian food restaurant. I mean, we toured a dairy and went to the local diner for steak fingers. That’s almost the same right?

Farmwife Confession: Learning to trust

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

One of the questions I get asked the most since moving to Texas is about what I do all day. Well, today was a fairly typical day: I worked my six hour work day, caught up on The Real Housewives of Orange County and Bethenny Ever After, played with my sweet dogs, enjoyed a beautiful day, worked on my cookbook, blogged, and just came home from a Williams family dinner to celebrate Russell’s grandfather’s birthday.

In so many ways, this is exactly the life I expected when Russell and I decided to move back to Texas. My life is considerably less stressful, slower paced, and more fun. Yet, there are so many aspects of this life that I just couldn’t have predicted or prepared myself for.

Adjusting to this new life is – I hope – helping me grow and I’m learning what it means to truly trust my husband. Previously, I had only thought of trust as it relates to monogamy, but I now understand that it means so much more than that. It’s trusting your mate to make good decisions in every walk of life, knowing that he’s fully capable and responsible.

When we got legally married last July, I had one request for the preacher, that he not tell me to submit to my husband. He technically followed my wishes, not mentioning that specific scripture. But, he did talk about trusting my new husband and following his lead. In the vows that he created for us, he had me promise to join with Russell to seek after OUR happiness.

Since I still don’t understand so much about farming and the farmer’s life, I’ve had to let go, adjust expectations, and learn to trust my husband to do what’s best for us and our future. This may not seem like much of a milestone – but for me, it certainly is. My parents raised me to be very independent – to be educated, to be able to make a good living, to be responsible for myself and my choices. Even in my relationship with Russell over the last 4.5 years, as our lives mixed and mingled, I still retained much of my independence. I still had my own friends, my own job, my own money, my own closet, my own everything. In fact, to this day, I still haven’t changed my name because I feel like it’s giving up too much of ME.

Now, we share almost everything, from finances to a closet. Shifting from ME to US, has been challenging at times, but I’m thankful that I have such a wonderful man to be my other half. It makes learning to trust that much easier. And maybe sometime soon, we’ll even share a last name.

Farmwife Confession: The Puddles is Froze Over

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

On our long drive from DC to Texas, Russell decided he was going to school me in country talk.

He started off by trying to teach me a sentence about how farm equipment works. I looked at him like he had two heads and asked why I would ever need to tell anyone about how farm equipment works.

So he moved on. Next lesson. “You have to say things like ‘Look at that here cow.’ or ‘I’m going to go to this there store.’”

It gave me great pleasure to correct his country talk, telling him that it is “that there” and “this here.” You see, I might be new to a farm, but I’m not new to the country. And it just so happens that I’m well-versed in country talk.

So, a few lessons for you:

The puddles is froze over.

My sweet grandpa used to tell us that the puddles is froze over. Or sometimes they was froze. Turns out, these are great pieces of information. You see, if the puddles is froze over, that means it’s cold enough to freeze the top of the puddle, but not the whole thing. If the puddles is froze, then it’s so cold the whole puddle is frozen. That’s way more information than Al Roker gives us.

They’s sweet and they’s unsweet.

At Andrus family reunions, someone always makes an announcement that, “They’s sweet and they’s unsweet,” referring to the iced tea. Us Southerners are picky about the amount of sugar in our iced tea.

Fixin’ to…

As in, I’m fixin’ to go to The Wal-Mart. When I was younger, I asked my mom what are some words, besides y’all, that Texans say. She replied “Fixin’ to.” “Oh, you mean leaving the g off the end of words?” “No, ‘fixin’ to’ isn’t a proper thing to say.” “Ooooh.”

Grab a holt of it.

One time, when my parents were traveling, my dad told a guy on a boat that he would help him by grabbing a holt of the rope. The guy did not know what he was saying.

‘Dem ol’ hiccups

When I was a baby, I had ‘dem ol’ hiccups a lot.

So, you see, I might not be able to talk about how that there cotton stripper works, but I know how to talk like a real Texan. Or, at least, a real Andrus.

Farmwife Confession: Frozen Cows

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

The wind is howling, the temperatures are dropping, and the sky is spitting out snowflakes. Another winter storm is headed our way.

Last week, when the first storm hit West Texas, Russell had to get up every day to go tend to cows. And I was forced to tell everyone an embarrassing story. And now I’m telling you.

Before moving here, I used to ask Russell what work there was to do on the farm in the winter. He always replied, “Look after the cows.”

Well, what exactly do you have to do, I would ask. And he would always reply, “Oooh, you know, break ice.” He’s a wealth of information.

I grew up with cows on our family land – but we didn’t have ice and snow. The only thing I could picture were muskox (muskoxes?) in the tundra, struggling against the harsh wind, covered in ice and snow, like I had seen on Planet Earth. And, so, it followed in my head, that Russell would be breaking ice off the cows.

See the cows in the background in all the snow?? Surely they have ice hanging off of them…

When Russell heard this, he started laughing at me, while trying to politely inform me that the cows are not frozen together, and instead, he’s breaking ice that formed on their troughs and tanks.

Oh. Oops.

More reason to let him go out in -6 degree weather while I stay in the warm cozy house with my morning coffee!

Farmwife Confession: I Shop at the Wal-Mart

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

You read that right: I shop at the Wal-Mart. Not just Wal-Mart. The Wal-Mart.

I know that millions of Americans shop at Wal-Marts across the country so this confession might not seem like a big deal. But I never shop at Wal-Mart. Scratch that. I used to never shop at Wal-Mart.

Long before I heard of the environmental and social complaints that so many have about Wal-Mart, I refused to shop at Wal-Mart when I was growing up. It was just plain dirty. And Target was across the street, so why would I ever go to Wal-Mart?

I carried over that prejudice all through college. And imagine my relief when there were no Wal-Marts in DC.

And now, I shop there on a weekly basis. And it’s kinda awesome.

I wrote last week about the limited veggie supply at the local grocery store. But, The Wal-Mart has great veggies.

And look how handsome Farmer Russell looks picking out his cereal at The Wal-Mart.

And when we’re done picking out our broccoli and mini wheats, we can go look at TVs at The Wal-Mart.

All for a fraction of what we paid in DC.

So, hate all you want, but I’ll be at The Wal-Mart.

Farmwife Confession: I’m the Off Girl

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

My grandma, from West Virginia, met, fell in love, and married my grandpa (from central Texas) during WWII. They had dates at the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Eiffel Tower. They married when they returned to New York, and then went to Texas to make their lives.

To those in my grandpa’s hometown, my grandma was a Yankee outsider – an “Off Girl.”

Since moving to Farwell, everyone has been so nice and welcoming. It has helped Russell and I settle in and get on with our lives.

But, on Friday, I felt like an off girl.

I went to the local grocery store to get milk, tortillas, and a bell pepper (life’s necessities). It was my first time to go into the store and my first time to drive there solo.

I went the only way I knew to get to town, even though it wasn’t the fastest way to get there, and luckily found the store without having to ask anyone.

I go in and gather my items. The vegetable selection was lacking and there was no skim milk:

But, the meat and soda selection is top notch. Such is life in West Texas.

As I go to check out, the cashier asks me if I found everything okay. I reply, “Um… yeah, I did. Thanks.” And then this exchanged happened with the bagger, who was about 6’3, with a grizzly beard, and I think some missing teeth.

Bagger: “Whut, arre ya? Cun-try?”

Me: “Excuse me? Am I a country?”

Bagger: “Yeah, ya said, ‘Um yeah.’ Whut arre ya, a hick?” (I guess hick and valley girl accents sound the same to some.)

Me, with a puzzled look: “Obviously…”

And then he insisted on carrying my three items to my car, even though I insisted that I could handle the nine pounds worth of groceries on my own.

As I left the parking lot, I was flustered. I entered the house address into the GPS so I could learn the other way to get home, and pulled onto the highway when the GPS lady told me to “please proceed to the indicated route.” But, I forgot to pay attention and drove off the curb.

So there I was, a hick valley girl, having to GPS which dirt road to take to get home, driving off curbs in my car with DC plates. And that’s when it was official: I’m the off girl.

Farmwife Confession: I Drive Everywhere

Until December 23, 2010, I was a city girl. I had daily lattes, shopped a little too often, relied on public transportation, and rejected the thought of ever living in the country. When my husband and I decided to leave it all for West Texas to farm, life changed completely. Read my “Farmwife Confessions” to learn about the transition.

In DC, Russell and I walked or took public transportation on a regular basis. Well, Russell didn’t take public transportation – he thinks people on the metro smell – but he did make me walk anywhere that was within a mile of our house. I would BEG him to drive to restaurants that were six blocks away when it was below freezing outside. And, he refused every time.

And then we moved to Texas. And now we drive everywhere – even across the street. When it’s 70 degrees outside. Seriously.

See this pretty house across the street next to this pretty sunset.

Ru’s bro lives there, so we go fairly often. And when we do, we load up in our SUV or big red truck and drive there. And it’s really as close as it looks – no photoshop involved!

Case in point: I went outside to take pictures of how close the house is and got distracted by the sunset. So, Russell drove me across the street to get a clearer view of the sunset.

Hold on, the phone is ringing. I think it’s Al Gore again.