And it was something so small, so insignificant, that I'm both very upset that it took so long to find the problem and very relieved that my new blog is finally working. I moved it a little, though. You'll have to click over to cooperfamilyfarm.com/fbp. Thanks. See you there?
It should work in your feeds now, too. :-)
Sorry 'bout that.
And it was something so small, so insignificant, that I'm both very upset that it took so long to find the problem and very relieved that my new blog is finally working. I moved it a little, though. You'll have to click over to cooperfamilyfarm.com/fbp. Thanks. See you there?
It should work in your feeds now, too. :-)
Sorry 'bout that.
If I wait till it's perfect, I'll never blog again, so here goes!
It took two days to move this blog, but its finally up.
Introducing the new and improved (or maybe just moved) Far Beyond Pearls!
Go over there for the rest of this post. And update your feed readers, bookmarks and blog rolls!
This little boy of mine caught his biggest fish yet. Big enough to eat. Well, almost. I called his daddy at work to report on the catch. "Is it bigger than a dollar bill?" he asked. It wasn't quite, but we saved it till he got home, anyway, and he made the call to cook it. Jonny wasn't so pleased when David cut off its head and sliced it open. There were tears welling up in his eyes, though he didn't let them spill over. It's a hard lesson to learn, that animals are food, that this farm is a place of life and death, that sometimes something else has to die so that we can live. I hugged him and praised him for providing good food for his family. David seasoned the fish, wrapped it in foil, and threw it on the grill. Then we all went inside and enjoyed one bite of fish each. It's a good thing we had pork chops, too.
Question: I noticed from by all that subtle linking that you just finished up a Brave Writer course with your kids. Which course did you take? What did you use? It looks so overwhelming!
Answer: I have had the manual, called The Writer's Jungle, by Julie Bogart, for an embarrassingly long time. The whole philosophy, with it's decidedly Charlotte Mason 
It was so liberating for me to sit my kids down to write and be able to tell them -and really mean it- that spelling didn't matter, that punctuation didn't matter, that it's all about their ideas. Every time I said that, they beamed. And every time I read their work with that thought in mind, it was like I was reclaiming my status as their adoring mother and stuffing that annoying teacher lady in a closet somewhere. I could just be happy with what was really some pretty good writing, even if it was raw and unreadable by anyone except the writer. :-)
Everything we learned in that course can be transferred over to any other writing assignment we ever do. Sometimes, we'll write just to write, with no expectations, but when we need to or want to, we know how to turn out a finished piece with no tears and no stress for any of us. That's a priceless gift, if you ask me.
The course we took is called Kids Write Basic and it's their foundational course. They offer others, but I'd say this one is a must if you are having trouble teaching your children to write. It's fairly expensive at $175 for the first child plus $50 for each additional, but if you compare that with the amount of money you've spent on courses that aren't working for you or your kids, you'll probably come out ahead here. :-) The course brings to life the information in the book. I like having the book to refer to when I need to refresh my memory, but you don't need it to take the class.
And if you sign up for one of her courses, tell Julie I sent you. Maybe she'll give me a discount on that Help for High School book. We're coming up on that a little too fast for my tastes!
Nine year old Megan's piece can be read here.
Eleven year old Delaney's piece is here.
And last, but not least, is thirteen year old Brenna's, here.
Next up in this brand spanking new Q & A series: The bare bones cloth diapering kit! Because my sister asked. :-)
Got a question? Send me an email: armyofeight at gmail dot com.
Today is a good day. Yesterday, not so much. Yesterday was about saving the lives of seventy six chickens. Today is about a boys' room and a girls' room and reading lessons and I think even a little visit to the church to sit with Jesus. I'd better feed the wee ones first, though!
My chickens are sick. And nobody sells chicken medicine. I already lost one and I'm hoping the medicated food will do the trick, along with some cider vinegar in the water.
They don't act sick, so hopefully, I'm over-reacting.
Hopefully.
I wasn't on empty, but the tank was low and gas stations aren't necessarily conveniently located out here. So, when I saw a BP, knowing it was the last station between me and home, I pulled in.
I inserted my debit card and then removed it quickly. While the machine waited for authorization, I passed the time by unscrewing the gas cap. Finally approved, I removed the nozzle and selected my preferred octane. I pushed the hose into the tank and squeezed the trigger and set the latch to hold it open. Then I waited.
It was a slow pump, and I have a big tank, so I had plenty of time to read the various literature posted: operating instructions, credit card offers, inspection notices, ads for soda... I got bored for a moment, and my mind drifted to a place far, far away. It must have been a wonderful place; I heard the lovely sound of a waterfall. A waterfall? I turned dreamily toward the source of the sound, only to see the gasoline flowing out of my tank and all over the pavement!
I hurriedly released the latch and stowed the nozzle. Not too much had spilled, thankfully, but I thought someone should know about this malfunction. It was an inconvenience, but I headed inside to tell the clerk.
I don't like leaving the kids alone, so I was a little impatient as I waited for another customer to pay. I was still cheerful, though, when I told the girl at the counter, "I just wanted to tell you, pump number five doesn't shut off when it's full."
"I know," she replied crossly. "None of them do. You're supposed to stand by your car while it's filling up."
The sheer ridiculousness of what she'd just said stunned me. "I was standing by my car. Every gas pump in the world shuts off automatically when it's full. How am I supposed to know that yours don't? Maybe you should post a sign."
I don't think she liked me. "There is a sign," she said curtly.
I'd just spent fifteen minutes reading every word on and about that pump, but maybe I'd missed it. "Look," I said, exasperated, "a little gas spilled out. Is that a problem?" She shook her head, and I left. I went back out and checked again for a sign, just in case. There wasn't one, of course.
I drove away, baffled. That was yesterday. Today, David drove the van down to Elizabethtown, a quarter-tank trip. "We're getting great mileage," he reported when he got back home. "It's still on full!"
We just now, today, right this minute, finished up our Brave Writer writing class and we're just so darned proud of the good work we've done that we wanted to share it. If you have a minute to read the girls work and leave them a little note, we'd appreciate it!
For the mama's out there: Don't worry, they don't really spell or punctuate this well. I helped a little with the final edit in order to make it readable for you, but the words and the thoughts, and as much of the good spelling and punctuating as they were capable of, are all theirs. :-)
by Megan
Anacondas are a kind of snake that live in swampy areas in the rain forest. The anaconda's colors are usually black or gray with yellow and with polkadots, but sometimes they have black and red dots. An anaconda is usually 17 feet long
When an anaconda female is ready to mate, it will go to a swampy spot and let out an odd scent that makes all the male anacondas in the area come and wrap themselves around her. This is called a mating ball. In the mating ball, the female lays straight while the males wrap themselves around her. If you look closely you can see little spots of the female anaconda.
The anaconda males will fight for the female and after a while all of the males will leave except one. The one male will slither into the female’s body, with only its tail sticking out. They will stay like this for about a week.
After that, the male will slither out again. The male and female find a clear opening to give birth. It might take a few weeks to find a clear opening. Then the male anaconda will go out and hunt for food and the female will curl up and give birth to 50 live babies! Of course, there is danger for such young ones, so the female gives birth in tall grass.
By Delaney (11)
Blackbeard was having a bad morning. First, he got out of bed too late, so all the food was eaten. Later on, a French ship came and fired its cannons at Blackbeard, taking out some of the side of his boat. They tried to escape, but they were left without a choice. “Board!” cried Blackbeard. The men started swinging their boarding hooks and climbed up the enemies’ boat. Immediately, the battle started. Even Blackbeard abandoned his ship, the Queen Ann’s Revenge. He ran to the enemy captain, named Mayard, ignoring the enemy crew. They stabbed and sliced him until he confronted Captain Mayard. Captain Mayard beat Blackbeard some more, until he had twenty-five wounds. Bleeding heavily, Blackbeard took his last pistol and shot with all that was left in him. Too lightheaded to aim, he missed his enemy, hitting his sword instead. He fell to the ground, dead. Captain Mayard’s men rejoiced and cut Blackbeard head off and hung it off the bow of their ship. Blackbeard was a pirate for one year, from 1717-1718. The legend was dead.
Blackbeard was a Caribbean pirate, but there were Muslim and Chinese pirates, too. Chinese pirates mostly braided their hair and were found with two slightly bent swords. Their shoes were cloth wrapped around up to their knees and held together with strings. Behind their boat, called a junk, there was a sampan, a little house boat that worked as a life raft. Muslim pirates were usually dressed for the hot weather in long loose gowns and turbans. They also had two swords that were only used for close battle. They favored the rifle.
My favorites are Caribbean pirates, which were, of course, the ones with pistols and swords. Which they liked more depended on what they were doing. If out of sword reach, they would use pistols. A flask of pistols was a piece of fabric wrapped around the shoulder to the side. It had slots for a few (usually two or three) pistols because they could only use them once. They only held one bullet at a time and it was too hard to reload them during battle.
Pirates in general favored the sloop for its speed. While being the fastest ship out there, it could also go into shallow water, which was handy at times – but mind you don’t crash on the rocks! On the boat, a cannon was used. Several people manned the cannons: a lighter, a powder monkey to do annoying jobs, and a loader. A boarding axe could be useful when they jumped off the side of the boat and swam to another. They would hit it with the ax until they got a grasp and keep going until they reached the top. They also used boarding hooks. Boarding hooks were ropes with three hooks at the end. Pirates threw them at the enemy boat to board the boat to attack.
by Brenna (13)
When I wake up in the morning my servants and slaves are already there, waiting to help me dress. I stand up from my couch and nod to them. In a moment, I am dressed in a long loose gown with sleeves. (Though you might think I'm hot, I'm not because the fabric is so thin.) Of course it’s not as simple as a servant's dress, so I wear a few bracelets on my left wrist and on my right, I wear a strange charm called an amulet. I wear it to postpone my death, for I was born on the 23 of March, a cursed date, meaning my death shall be by the crocodile’s mouth. I wear the image of the city's god on a necklace around my neck. On my head is a black wig and around my eyes is a ring of black liner. (This helps me seem very handsome.) About my waist is a golden belt I wear to seem important at the Pharaoh’s court. One slave tries to hand me my earrings for parties. (Every Egyptian loves parties!) Since I'm not going to a party, this is ridiculous! This slave is a young boy, a new one I just bought yesterday, and already my paid servant must beat the living daylights out of him. Soon I’m sitting at the table waiting for breakfast. My servant barks to the slaves, "MY MASTER SHOULD NOT HAVE TO WAIT FOR BREAKFAST!" Slaves run here and there trying to set the table before I try using the whip. At last breakfast is ready: fried duck, assorted pastries, dates, figs, and my best wine.
"Your litter awaits." says one of my burly litter carriers after breakfast. I look out the window at my beautiful litter. It is a small platform with short legs to keep it off the dirty street when I get off. A woman's litter would be a type of bed, but I am something of a man, so mine has a chair attached to the floor. It is abounding with pillows and cushions and is most comfortable. It has a light canopy over it to keep the sun out of my face and curtains around it in case I'm not showing off and don't want people to stare (which is rare). As I look past the litter I see a group of young ladies. "Bring me my chariot!" I roar. I want to show off to the ladies. (After all, I am a bachelor.) "Yes, sir." In a few minutes my outlandish war chariot shows up. Its looks like a giant half-cup pulled by wild mares. Some chariots are made of wood. Mine is solid gold. On the front is a jeweled eagle, a sign of strength. I climb on and hold on tight while my driver takes off down the street. I wave to the people to stand aside as we go.
It doesn’t take long to get to the palace with those horses! In a flash, I’m through the gate. I hand my chariot over to the stable master and walk through the courtyard. “The Pharaoh is already here,” warns one of the guards as I stroll through the door. I am careful not to look at the Pharaoh’s sacred eyes, for if I do his holy power might burn me to the point of death. (To my people, he’s a god.) I walk over to my seat on the Pharaoh’s left with the other six noblemen over there, and on the Pharaoh’s right there are eight more. There are fifteen of us all together. (The Pharaoh could have more if he wanted them.) It’s our job to judge with the Pharaoh and to council him. First, a young man is put forth for his judgement. “Crime?” a booming voice asks. The voice belongs to Herald, the eldest of us all, and probably the most just. “Tomb robbing,” states the accuser. A gasp arises from the assembly. Tomb robbing is the gravest offense in all of Egypt, for if you rob the dead, the dead will haunt you. This young man shall be hung, by law, on the palace walls for all to see. The young man starts shouting in some foreign language as the guard pulls him away. Next, a woman is placed in front of us. “Crime?” booms Herald. “Blasphemy to the gods.” cries the accuser, who happens to be the high priest. This will go on all day. Accusation, judgement. Accusation, judgement. For me, it’s very tiring.
At the end of an exhausting day, I head back home for dinner. Sometimes, when there is a party, I do not have to go home. (I'd get too drunk anyway.) As I get there, all the lights are on, though I am very late. I eat a quick meal: goose, pastries and vegetables with wine. My slaves once again help me undress and I lie down on my couch. My pillow is a curved board on a stand. My day is over. Good night.
(Note from Mama: Spell checker keeps complaining about "judgement". Research indicates that this is correct spelling if I'm British, but Americans leave out the first 'e'. I think it looks just all wrong without the 'e', so... we're British today. :-) )
