With a moo, moo here and a moo, moo there...

Because I work for a nonprofit, I have the awesome opportunity to be a jack of all trades. I'm of course responsible for all of the media things, including 3 weekly articles The Daily Herald posts for us. We have to send in a picture with one of the articles, and so I have become the resident photographer. The other morning was one of the days I had to go take a photo.

I arrived at the lady's home, which was a super cute, little farmhouse that is over 100 years old. It is actually a 3-acre farm in the middle of Provo. She is a certified Master Gardener and volunteers by helping people with their own gardens. I suggested we get some "action" shots of her in the garden. She agreed and took me out back. She said we had to walk out to the garden and asked if that was ok. Since I have always enjoyed walks, and it was actually a nice, warm day, I told her that wasn't a problem, and we went on our way.


Well 10 minutes later, we were still walking. The garden was apparently on the other side of the farm. As mentioned before, I'm not opposed to walking, but I was dressed in my work clothes and a pair of new, open-toed high heel shoes, and the terrain was not exactly paved. During parts of it, I felt as though I was hiking Mt. Timpanogas or something. The very last leg of our journey was walking to a ridiculously steep hill. I felt pretty stupid, but because of my shoes, I had to hold onto the lady to avoid sliding down on my behind.

We finally made it to the gardens, and I started taking pictures as her animals took turns rubbing all over my pants and legs. Now most of you probably know, I don't dislike animals, but only as long as they leave me be. I absolutely HATE touching animals and HATE having them touch me.

After a few more pictures with the garden, her sheep angus, some of the horses and of course the goat and llama, I thanked her and trecked back to my car. My once brown slacks were no longer so because of all the hair, dust and dirt. My poor feet were COVERED in dirt and dust. And my cute little shoes had inches of dirts on the inside and outside.

When I reached my car, I tried my best to empty my shoes and brush off my feet, but it did little good. Well, I had another meeting that I had to attend but knew I was no where near looking presentable. My best friend from when we were about 10 years old's family lived a few blocks from the farmhouse, so I sheepishly walked up to their door with my shoes in hand to see if they would let me use their tub to wash my feet.

I knocked and the door was opened by a very surprised looking my friend's father. I don't think I have seen him for multiple years, and there I was, standing on his porch, dress shoes in hand, and filthy business attire. After exchanging pleasantries, I started to explain, "Well, this is really weird, but for my job, I had to go and take a picture of a lady who lives on a farm just down the road, and I wasn't planning on having to hike across dirt fields and my feet and pants got super dirty, and now I have to go to another appointment, and well, do you mind if I just wash my feet and shoes off in your tub?"

His face got more and more confused as he tried to understand what I had just explained to him. He very generously told me to help myself to the bathroom, sink or whatever else I needed. I was so glad he let me in, despite the fact that I was talking like a crazy person, and I'm pretty sure he had no idea what I had just told him. I cleaned myself up the best I could and went on my way. One of my favorite parts of the adventure was when the dad called out as I was leaving, "Well, feel free to stop by anytime you have a shoe.... shoe problem..." I again thanked him, and ran back out to my unfortunately farm-smelling car. At least now, a few days later, and lots of rolled down windows and open moonroofs, I can happily report my car smells normal again.

Gotta love my job!