Help Me Obi-wan Kanobe

The three lead protagonists of Star Wars, from...

Han Solo and Chewbacca

Like Han Solo and Chewbaca racing to Alderon, Mike’s two Chicago partners, at this moment, are zipping lightspeed  to the farm with an unspecified plan of attack. I can tell Mike is getting excited that the  friend force will soon be with him. He nearly chattered about their arrival last night the entire time I watched how many times Randy Jackson called a woman “Dude,” and what kind of lecherous statement  Steven Tyler let drop out of his mouth. (Yes, I’m digressing again.) In any case, Mike hardly controls his  excited expectation and if I wasn’t sick (again) I might feel a bit like Yoda admonishing him, “Size matters not.”

Oh wait, that is for a Princess-Leia kind of excitement at some other time.

(Hey, I don’t know what I’m thinking…I’m feverish-ish.) Meanwhile, Mike Skywalker is out waiting for the dirt man to arrive with a load to fill in holes in the yard of one of the partners. I guess the last time the Emperor arrived the storm troopers had a little too much fun blasting the gophers or something. Good they will all have fun, though I question some priorities, since there are still a ton of necessary chores awaiting. Who am I to question it. Live here I do; a partner, I am not.

When the dirt is delivered, my big ole Jedi Knight will be out taking care of the cows and will have hopefully sheathed his ever-powerful light sabre  until the guys arrive. Once here the two will verbally joust with him almost constantly as dissing becomes the play of the day. There will be conversations about the University of Kentucky’s big championship win and which of the trio did his brackets the worst. They will spar over manly things like who is a wimp or not, who is stronger or not, who can perform better or not at farming activities. There will be jokes about Chewbaca’s receding hairline, and there will be the running jokes about other types of light sabers and cows and size comparisons that have nothing to do with either farming or Star Wars.

I love it when the guys come down– for the most part. There is a lot of laughter and you can see the brotherhood of this friendly force. Since I was the only girl in my family, there is a comfort in being included as “one of the guys” and I sometimes forget that I am but a mere female in terms of stamina, strength, and yarn-weaving abilities. My measuring tape, for example, is accurate and does not measure things in “light sabre inches,” an exaggerated size comparison. A two inch fish is still a two inch fish, not a keeper, no matter how well a story is told.

Which leaves me wondering. Caddyshack (Chewbaca in this analogy) emailed to say he was bringing a nine pound leg of lamb with him. NINE POUNDS! I’m thinking, he is already measuring in those light sabre inches or he thought he got lamb, but paid for mutton. See it, we shall. He is also bringing corned beef for the smoker for all of us to share. Unfortunately, I still have my bug and have not been to the grocery store.  I hope they like the aspargus Mike gathered while walking the four legged sand people this week before the storm and hard freezes hit. I think there might be a couple of pounds of potatoes left too…if the Jedi don’t decide to build another hair spray powered potato gun. (Last time they did, they discovered that walnuts still in their rinds shoot better than potatoes, in case you are interested. I hoped the walnuts would grow wherever they landed.)

By nightfall, regardless of side dishes, the house will feel like the Star Wars Cantina. Music, a movie, or Guitar Hero will loudly form the background noise for increasing conversation decibels and the men will recount their day, the old days, or the very old college days while tossing back the beers. Some will click the can to tap out the very last drop, others will leave half an inch in the bottom ‘because it got warm.’ I am amazed at their prowess. Two drinks of any kind gets me drunk, sick, or sleepy and beer is…well…awful. I am usually the most sober one in the room and it feels a bit like partying with your brothers, I suspect.  Fortunately, the Wookie and the Jedis leave their blasters elsewhere while they get blasted. George Lucas would be proud.

So while the Jedi have left their Princess Leias at home to seek out the counsel of Yoda and have a weekend of high adventure, join them or not, I will. It all depends on the force within me…the stomach flu.

I would say, “May the force be with you,” but I wouldn’t wish this one on anyone!

**Addendum: I came across this article that might interest you as it did me. I have mixed emotions about it. On the one hand, training for farming is needed. Should the state compete with small farmers like us, though? You decide.

About cattlebaroness

I am a graduate of the University of Kentucky with a BA in History, nearing completion of a Master of Arts in American history. Born and raised first on military bases around the world, then in Orange County, CA, I moved to Kentucky when my children were small. I now live on a small family farm and am learning about farm life, planting and our newest addition to the landscape--cattle. Until a month or two ago, all I knew about 'cows' were that they came in brown, black and white and that some are raised for milk and others for meat. I am a quick study out of necessity.
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