Way back then, when we were an “nice” adults-and-kids type family (unlike the noisy-often-irreverent-collection-of-individuals we are today), I mentioned to the soccer mum standing next to me on the sideline my loathing of “family outings”. I remember, as the words left my mouth, being utterly horrified at my slip; even in the days before facebook, instagram, and pinterest, admitting you didn’t live for picnics in the park or road trip treasure hunts (are we the only family for whom those always ended with us screeching to a halt to pull the kids apart because they both claimed they’d had been the first to see the trig point?) was akin to showing your membership card to the local witches coven. You know: just not lovely.
Turns out, I had chosen to confess to the right person. Mrs Smith (real name) not only shared my dislike of outings likely to spawn what we used to call Kodak moments, her family had taken it a step further, bestowing these outings with their own appellation: Forced Family Fun or FFF for short.
From that day it has been part of Homestead venacular and today we undertook some FFF of our own.
You see by now, on that list we compiled in preparation for our move to the country, we were meant to have procured both the set of harrows and the ATV to pull them. They came just under 1. ride-on mower and 2. pig pen fencing. Harrows spread the animal manure, helping the pasture grow evenly and limiting the paddock’s parasite load; oh yes, we did our prep! Suffice to say, the list now only exists in our memory – proof positive of our naivity – but we keep telling each other that, one day we’ll get there (wherever that is).
But (this next bit must be said in a Yorkshire accent) the muck won’t spread itself, and as none of us felt enthused enough to attempt the harrows-from-a-pallet plan we found on Pinterest capable of being towed behind the ute, we instead got ourselves out into the sunshine.
It was quickly ruled that, whilst Homesteaders were free to adopt their own technique,
a unified direction must be adherred to.
Turns out this FFF was actually fun,
and noisy enough to haul yourself up onto the goat paddock grandstand and check out just what it was we were kicking up a stink about.
Hope you’re all finding lockdown-appropriate, belly-laugh-inducing ways of passing your time, too.