500 Acres and No Place to Hide

by Susan McCorkindale

  6 Bush Hog is farm speak for “cut the grass,” “mow the lawn,” and my personal favorite, “spend all day deaf to the cries of your family.”

  7 One of Middleburg’s best boutiques. I actually worked there way back when. I never brought home a paycheck, but my collection of Tribal pants and Free People tops is priceless.

  8 Actually I’m imprisoned behind my front door, peeking out the window, and wondering, once again, how the hell I pulled pullet duty.

  9 Hef and Kellogg, may they rest in peace. Make that pieces. Neither died a pretty death.

  10 At this writing, I’m wearing my hair a whole lot shorter. It hits right below the jaw and is angled toward my chin. Very Gwyneth Paltrow. Hemingway hates it. He says women cut their hair only when they’ve given up on themselves. It must be true. Just look at how poor Gwynnie’s gone to pot.

  11 You know, like Noriega. They blasted him with AC/DC. But they wouldn’t have had to if they’d had Cluckster.

  12 Hemingway’s name for a Slurpee-size glass of crushed ice smothered in Jack Daniel’s.

  13 Please tell me other people have it out with hens.

  14 From the bottom of my heart, I swear I didn’t mean to kill that hen. And according to one of our particularly experienced farmer friends, I probably didn’t. It’s more likely Cluckster was unwell (as evidenced by her aggression and ceaseless clucking), and being hit with the pansy put her over the top.

  15 Grief, on the other hand, you can get by the gallon.

  16 I got the world’s smallest, hollowest chocolate bunny. Two bites and Mr. Rabbit was gone, but Charlie’s here for the next year. By then he’ll be about twenty-five hundred pounds of prime beef. Which makes Nate’s Place the place for Easter dinner. So put it on your calendar and come on down. Bring the whole gang and maybe your set of Ginsu steak knives. But please, no Peeps, and no A.1. This guy’s gonna be good right off the grill. (FYI: Nate’s Place is our name for the farm, specifically our house, which looks like the birthplace of Nathaniel Hawthorne. At least, it does to us. But what do we know? Neither Hem nor I has ever been to Nate’s real place.)

  17 Whom Cuy named after himself.

  18 In honor of our man Manning.

  19 Whom Hem named because Cuy’s pick, Polamalu, was just a little too long. Sorry, sweetheart.

  20 Now, that’s a miracle. Not even FedEx delivers to the way-back on the weekend.

  21 They actually get something called milk replacer. It’s basically baby formula for cows.

  22 Who I’ve decided should ditch farming for large-animal vet school, as he’s demonstrated a true talent for saving the lives of livestock.

  23 I’m sure Eli, Fido, and Charlie will make good mates. But I’m equally sure any bull named after my boy will be better!

  24 Banding turns a bull to a steer by cutting off blood flow to his you-know-whats. They shrivel, die, and disappear. Similar to the reaction some men have to wedding bands . . .

  25 Or a mom in her mid-forties.

  26 Ativan is an antianxiety medication used to treat panic attacks. Works almost as well as wine, and is a lot more socially acceptable. Particularly before ten a.m.

  27 Only I could ask for hogs and get ham. It’s okay. I know you meant well, Mom!

  28 Aka my mom.

  29 My son and I share a fondness for the fluffy golden retriever pups flopped all over the pet beds in the L.L. Bean catalog. When Cuy was little, he thought we could order one right out of its pages. Don’t laugh. I thought so, too.

  30 Apple scented, for what it’s worth; smells great in the bottle, so-so on the beast.

  31 Found or exhumed? You make the call.

  32 I kid you not. BARF, aka the bones and raw food diet, was popularized byAustralian veterinarian Ian Billinghurst. And now you know what they really do “down under.”

  33 Newsflash, kids: I’m blond, not blind. And you’re not squirrels.

  34 In exchange for my headphones and the cord to my iHome, I’m sure.

  35 If I lived there, I’d have a sign that said that. After what happened with Cluckster, can you blame me?

  36 You keep it in your purse, pour it in a rocks glass when no one’s looking, and everyone thinks you’re drinking a White Russian. You won’t get buzzed, but it sure beats bloating in your skinny silk chiffon.

  37 Or so Hem claims.

  38 Why, thanks, guys. Who knew a maggot-ridden femur could so beautifully complement my Louboutins?

  39 Lest the McMen run out and resort to using tissues—which are great on noses but piss-poor on plumbing—again.

  40 I think it was the half-eaten, congealed, dead-stinkbug-filled containers of Velveeta microwavable Shells & Cheese beneath the beds that got them.

  41 Just so you know, the whole business about pigs loving shit is a myth. It’s mud they have a thing for. They can’t sweat, so they lie in it to cool off. Unfortunately, their favorite place to seek relief is also their favorite place to relieve themselves, so their reputation as shit fans is their own damn fault. I know this because around the time we got Tug, I was campaigning hard for hogs, specifically Hampshires. They have black bodies with white “belts” around their shoulders. Pretty snazzy for swine, no? I did all the research, prepped the hog pen, and picked names. And then I shared my plan with my man. His exact response? “Suz, that pup is pig enough.” Who knew he wouldn’t be on board with my raising boars?

  42 And my MasterCard. Lis lets me borrow everything. The least I can do is buy dinner!

  43 My guess is they’d probably call the police and the papers and, while I believe there’s no such thing as bad publicity, even for me this would be pushing it.

  44 My heart belongs to the Boss.

  45 A large plastic storage container for red wigglers (aka worms). Frequently upgraded to worm condo and kept under the kitchen sink. You feed the worms food scraps and use their poop to enhance your produce. Oh, for God’s sake, some of this farm stuff’s starting to stick.

  46 Short for Mr. Costantino. He was Mr. C. and I was “Little C.” And yes, that’s my picture in the dictionary next to “daddy’s girl.”

  47 Romo and Simpson. But you knew that, ’cause you follow all that Hollywood garbage, too, right? Right?

  48 And now you know more about my high school experience, not to mention my gynecological health, than my mom.

  49 And his lips were so soft, too. Or maybe that was just the really expensive fabric I got my lip gloss all over. Sorry, Mrs. G.!

  50 The only thing I hated was having to play Shirley. Deb got the coveted Susan Dey part. I mean, it was her house.

  51 Actually, I kind of like that idea. I’d like a toasted, no-butter, cinnamon-raisin bagel and a spa pedicure, please!

  52 Preferably in a radiation decontamination tank.

  53 And I was certainly doing a number on myself.

  54 A guy who’s living proof you don’t need hair to be hot.

  55 Page seven of Confessions of a Counterfeit Farm Girl. For best results, place tongue in cheek before reading. After all, that’s how I wrote it.

  56 The Garden State’s best salon.

  57 Shhhhh. My mom steamed the Calvin Klein sheath.

  58 Sometimes it’s even food!

  59 Hey, he has no palate and I can’t cook; we’re a match made in the frozen-food section.

  60 My name for her. I’m unsure what my neighbors call her, but dinner comes to mind.

  61 If I’ve got to corral cattle I’ve got to take pictures of it, too. Plus I need them for proof; Hem thinks I make this stuff up. But I don’t. At least, not all of it.

  62 I do so love filet mignon. And hanger steak’s heaven, too.

  63 We introduced ourselves midwrangle.

  64 We both had chicken. We were afraid if we ordered any kind of meat they’d make us catch it first.

  65 Just one of the twenty-two terrific schools in Fauquier County. And as long as you can pronounce Fauquier (faw-keer), we’ll let you attend them!

  66 Which, to my way of t
hinking, is simply testament to their impressive intelligence.

  67 And I mean big enough for the New York Giants to host the Washington Redskins for dinner. You know, to thank them for being good for two wins a season.

  68 Because back then I was the carb queen.

  69 And now you know why you never want to get stuck in traffic with my sons.

  70 As of this writing, we’re still out of the delivery area for both local pizza places. Rumor has it that’s about to change, but I’ll believe it when I catch the cows sharing a cheese pie and a couple of chicken Parm subs.

  71 I still bear the scars from a disastrous bid to master the Manwich in ’92.

  72 And ever since Jenn failed to teach me to knit, through no fault of her own, I assure you, she’s been committed to teaching me to can. When I nix that—and as you’ll see, I do—she’s going to help me make skin-care products “from stuff in the crisper drawer!” Who knew mold worked as a moisturizer?

  73 Yes, I do that now. Mr. Perdue, it’s been a pleasure.

  74 And it’s all over my kitchen counters. Thanks, Cuy.

  75 Back in the days of bunny-fur jackets and crushed-velvet hip huggers, I grabbed a ream of paper, a new ribbon, and a whole lot of Wite-Out, and went to an IBM Selectric typewriter. The writing implement of choice of all Cro-Magnon coeds, the Selectric was better than scratching words on a cave wall with a sharp stick, but not by much.

  76 I’m happy to report I’ve found renters for all three tenant houses. Hem was so proud of me, he bought me a new set of butter knives.

  77 Supplied by Martin’s Angus Beef, of course.

  78 The little guy still can’t make his bed because I insist on sniffing his sweet pillow and smoothing the covers “mommy style” so he’ll be comfy at night, and my older son still can’t do his own laundry because I can’t risk his fouling up the fabric softener and hurting his sensitive skin. And no, I don’t care that I’m ruining them for their future wives. My mother-in-law certainly didn’t care about me. (Oh, hi, Hem! What’s that? You’d like your roast beef warmed up before I put it on untoasted rye with just a hint of mayo and a very thin slice of tomato? You got it. And is today’s preference crushed ice or cubed for your Coke? Crushed? Of course. No, no, don’t strain yourself. You know the Giants can’t win if you’re not watching!)

  79 And a three-month-old manicure, I’m sure.

  80 Three rental houses set pretty darn far from ours do not a neighborhood make.

  81 Winner of the “Most Modest Farmer, Football Coach, and Father of the Year” award and the man voted Most Likely to Shower in a Bathing Suit Lest He Make His Body Wash Blush. Because that’s just the kind of nudie he is.

  82 By my junior year of college I’d done so much shopping and so little working that several of my friends took to calling me Dances with Debt Collectors. I think they were just jealous. I mean, some of those guys could really cut a rug.

  83 And the fact that I always forget it’s there.

  84 But just the shower. The water in the sink’s fine. Go figure.

  85 And I mean very little and very light. I spit on a piece of toilet paper and wiped some bug blood off the windowsill. At least, I think it was from a bug.

  86 Closer to my shoulder blades than my butt, which, as far as I’m concerned, is where those things really belong. I know I sound like an old fogy, but is anybody else as tired as I am of plumber’s crack complemented by ass antlers? Buy a belt, dammit. Or maybe a pair of pants that actually fit.

  87 Short for Jeremiah Tom. Maybe it’s weird to name animals I’ve just met and that aren’t pets (remember Henrietta?), but that’s what happens when you grow up with a duck named Duck and a female dog named Good Girl. Accurate? For the most part. Creative? Not so much.

  88 Symptoms include the inability to stop yourself from saying whatever you’re thinking, and a terrible taste in your mouth, most likely from your feet.

  89 Yeah, scaly leg. Just one of the many jaw-dropping avian diseases that’ll leave you relishing your adult acne, age spots, mild rosacea, eczema, facial moles, and other much less leperlike medical conditions.

  90 I still do this. Even to this day. Nothing embarrasses Case and Cuy more than when I bust a move in public.

  91 Sheila Johnson is the cofounder of Black Entertainment Television and the country’s first female African-American billionaire. The fashion show was held in her spectacular stable/indoor riding ring. And all I kept thinking was, Wow, I wish I were her horse.

  92 With flip-flops. “They’re fine on ice, Mom, I swear!”

  93 A lovely little stone structure built over a spring. Before the birth of the air conditioner, folks used to sit in it to escape the heat.

  94 I’m sorry, sweetheart; what were you saying about shorts being warm enough in forty-seven-degree weather?

  95 Big brother of—big surprise—Cola.

  96 That’ll teach me to leave the top down after dark.

  97 Previous studies include “Kids in the Kitchen: A Look at the Mess that Tries Moms’ Souls and the Meals that Try Their Stomachs”; “Haute Cow-ture: Strut It at Your Local Tractor Supply”; and the afore-referenced “Wine is Not Gatorade: Why Aerobics and Merlot Don’t Mix.”

  98 While I was visiting in New Jersey, my mom taught me to make chicken cutlets and chicken Parmesan. Two more meals and we’ll be able to go a week without doubles!

  99 Buying songs we already own but, “It just can’t be the same Boston, Mom!” Trust me when I tell you, I have “More Than a Feeling” Hem’s going to flip when he gets the MasterCard bill.

  100 Mother to be.

  101 Heck, shoot ’em at the full ones; it’ll do wonders for his waistline. 103. Special note to my pregnant pals: Do yourselves a solid and save that stuff.

  102 But if he keeps it up he could be enjoying both of those fun community-service experiences next summer!

  103 Where he wouldn’t sling burgers as much as burritos, and if he did for some reason actually try to sling a burrito, he’d make a mess, get fired, and we’d end up arguing about acceptable employment opportunities. Again.

  104 Yes, we’re working on a pill for that, too. You take it with a bottle of wine and everything looks better. Or at least different. You know, from the floor.

  105 Now, that’ll teach the kid to cry boredom.

  106 Lather, rinse, reptile!

  107 For me.

  108 And doing his best to communicate with his coworkers, several of whom only speak Spanish. As Case has a tough enough time speaking English, you can only imagine how comical things can get. Not to mention dangerous. Hmm. Maybe McDonald’s was the way to go.

  109 Yesterday’s task? Install what I call a pigeon eviction system in the equipment shed. It’s actually a bird-cry simulator that looks like a cross between a huge Halloween decoration and a disco ball. Hem and Cuy hung it from the ceiling and set it up to shriek every half hour. I only wish they’d told me. Sure, the pigeons hate it. But the couple with the three kids did, too.

  110 I speak French about as well as I speak farm, but after three years of ballet lessons I can tell you this: rond de jambe means “half circle made by the pointed foot.” And spasmodique means “pissing away your parents’ money.”

  111 To be clear, I know only one song by the Fray. Their single “How to Save a Life” is one of my all-time favorites. And to be equally clear? I have no clue how I knew the waiter was a fan. I just did.

  112 Anybody else remember Married to the Mob? Michelle Pfeiffer was so funny and gorgeous, and quite possibly the only person in the world to look hot in big hair.

  113 For ages, I also wanted to be a game-show hostess. While my classmates aspired to being men and women of letters, I wanted to turn them. I’m sure my educator parents were very proud.

  114 A popular French actor and singer with a thing for chorus girls. It’s funny my mom should quote him and the French beauty philosophy. Particularly since Dame Joan, as she’s affectionately known, is generally more Anglophile than F
rancophile. Or even American.

  115 Every class has a class manager who takes attendance, collects membership fees, and harasses people into wearing Santa caps and doing Jazzercise routines down Main Street in twenty-six-degree weather. Of course I participate. Nothing says “Merry Christmas!” like a head cold.

  116 At the time of this writing, it was about a month before my birthday. I wasn’t too happy about it, but then, I never am. My birthday is in the late winter, it’s usually freezing, and I’m usually in bed recovering from the flu. Or something really special, like surgery.