The Gifford's Farm - April 2011

Dear Mom and Dad,
Tonight I asked my boys to run over to the Jensens and borrow some garlic. They both complained and whined and said why do I have to go and how come you always ask me to do everything. I thought, that’s it. I’ve had it up to here with your complaints. You think that’s hard? I’ll show you what’s hard. I’m going to send you to the Gifford's farm. 

I knew if they spent time there it would be hard, because of all the times I heard about it growing up. Whenever I would complain about having to set the table or take out the garbage, I’d hear how if I complained on more time, I’d have to go live on the Gifford’s farm for two weeks. Then I’d know what hard work was. Because at the Gifford’s farm, you had to get up at 4am every morning to milk the cows. And that was just the beginning. Then you had to go put a new roof on the barn and by the time you did that, the cows needed milking again. Then you had to slaughter one of the beef cows and deliver the meat by horseback to the outlying neighborhoods, but hurry and get back because you had to milk the cows one more time before you headed off to school. 

That’s just the sort of hard work I needed my boys to learn, I realized. So I called up Lee Gifford to let them know my boys would be coming to work. Get ready for some light-weights, I said. But I want you to toughen them up. In fact, I only want them to eat nails and hot sauce while they are at your farm. Lee said, “Hold it! Now just hold it right there. I think you have the wrong idea about this place.” I said, I don’t think so. This is the Gifford’s farm, right. He said yes. I said, You’ve got all those cows to milk, right. He said, well, we do have some cows, but we have a bunch of Mexicans that milk the cows, now. We don’t so much have the dairy farm the way we did when you kids were little. Once we realized we could get somebody else to milk those cows, we figured we’d make our farm an amusement park.

I started to get light-headed. Where would my kids learn to work? I said, let me get this straight. Your farm is an amusement park? He said, Oh, you’d love it. We have a Ferris wheel, pony rides, cotton candy up the ying-yang, dunking booth, carousel, snow cones, shooting gallery, I’m telling you what, I’ve never had so much fun in my whole life. I said, Fun? You can’t have fun there. You’re the Gifford’s farm? What am I supposed to do with these boys of mine that think their arm will fall off if they have to go borrow eggs? He said, bring ‘em by. Next week we’re having a two for the price of one discount!
Justin

Thanks for the Gifford Farm essay.  It's great to have you doing some writing
Allen

This totally made me laugh out loud.  You are so very very gifted at writing Justin. Loved it and apologize that I was such a mean mom with all those threats. Love mom

Don't worry Loni- I'm *meaner*. I tell the kids that I'll "sell 'em to the gypsies". Too bad for them that I just went to Europe and found a whole slew of gypsies....none of whom seemed open to my suggestions (in high school french), that they might consider a few extra mouths to feed....They're stuck with me for now, I guess....

xo

Janna

PS. Where's Gifford's Farm? :D

it's true she does threaten us with the gypsies.

Oliver

Gypsies wouldn't be a bad gig. Get to travel, see the world, wear big rings. 

Justin this essay was hilarious. And take heart... There would still be work for your boys at the amusement park... Someone has to say "keep your hands and arms in at all times". Miles would say that with such oommph and pizazz.
jenni