e-i-e-i-omg!

My Sweet/Tart Lemon Tree

2012-03-09T14:01:00.000-05:00

I think I have been putting off featuring my amazing, beautiful, proficient Meyer Lemon tree on the off chance I jinx myself. I was going to say that I'm not superstitious, but I iz. So, with fingers, toes and eyes crossed, white pins in the Voodoo doll, and whistling in the dark, I present....

Lemonie.

Lots of new leaves, buds, flowers, and little lemons!

There is nothing like the fragrance of lemon blossoms.

Notice the high-tech support system - baling twine.

When I first hefted her into the house at the end of summer, she lost a lot of leaves. This always happens and always sends me into complete panic. Then there is a dormant period which I refer to as the "semi-bald" period. Then, all of a sudden (it seems), buds start to form, and lots of new green leaves shoot up. I used to go around like a bumble bee and pollinate the flowers with my little bee brush. But I didn't do it this year and there are lots of lemons forming. If it is as good a crop as last year, there will be close to 30 full-size lemons on this one small tree.

Since I have, up to this point, pretty much killed every potted plant I owned, I have lavished an amazing amount of attention, love, care, and mystical incantations over this plant. It has it's own light. I fertilize it with a special (read: $$$) organic fertilizer and use a moisture meter to be sure I don't over-water. I have sufficiently threatened the cats so that they don't get any ideas, vis-a-vis the potting soil. So far, so good.

Excuse me while I go find the salt shaker and toss about a pound over my shoulder. Just in case.

Whoa, Nelly! Was that just Spring?

2012-03-08T13:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday it was downright balmy. I wandered around in the muck feeling very, oh, let's call it 'fluffy'. I heard my first red-winged blackbird, my personal heralder of Spring. All the birds are in Spring mode and the trees are filled with little trills and burbles. I caught Apria stretching and yawning in the sunshine. The chipmunks are rampant.

Looking off the deck towards the sheep paddock.

Then, today, the wind started. I tell you, it could blow the curl right out of your hair! A cold front approacheth. It seems that, this year, the changes are all sudden and violent. Balmy day, followed by fierce winds and dropping temperatures, followed by fierce winds and rising temperatures. Geezloueez. I took my 'spring/summer' footwear out of the closet (ankle high Muck boots, as opposed to the mid-calf winter style) but, before I could slip them on, the melting snow was flash frozen into ice. Again. I donned my down vest, relishing the freedom of (at least) my arms, slipped on light work gloves, and was driven back into the house less than an hour later with ice cubes on my elbows and frozen fingers. I appear to be a little over-anxious for Spring.

Ground!

My Meyer Lemon tree is busting out all over with an abundance of new leaves, fragrant blossoms and little green lemons. It is my symbol of hope.

Tick. Tock.

2012-03-07T12:28:00.000-05:00

In my recent closet purge, I emptied everything out of my grandmother's old jewelry box that I had inherited. Why I should have inherited it is beyond me. I am not a jewelry wearer. I am about as "un" frou-frou as you can get. My daily adornment consists of earrings (the same ones - I never take them out) because I have pierced ears (one each side, thank you) and a watch, Monday-Friday. This is where it gets interesting. Okay, maybe interesting to ME. Suffer along with me if you will....

I own no less than 9 watches. I wear one. The other eight do not have functioning batteries, are missing straps, or are in some other state of unworkability. I have three dress watches (one with a diamond, oooooh la la), one that clips to your belt (although you'd have to be able to read upside down to tell the time - or stand on your head), an official Vespa watch, a couple of Swatch watches, and my favorite, a wind-up watch sans strap that I found in a box of buttons that I got at a garage sale. The one I wear requires no battery, nor does it have a wind-up stem. It gets its "juice" from movement*.

I realized, yesterday, that I had put this watch on without even glancing at it. I wore it all day, never looked at it. As a matter of fact, I never look at my watch. When I finally did glance at it, right before I took it off, I realized that it was at least 12 hours behind. Fercryinoutloud. So why do I wear one? I think I am more interested in the idea of watches. I tend to like great big ones (just in case I am going to look at it, I want to be able to read it). It has more to do with my fascination with how things work - all the bits and bobs, pieces and parts. When I was young, I took everything and anything that I could get my grubby little hands on apart. This caused my father to hide his grandfather's pocket watch from me - apparently there was a glint in my eye every time I walked by it. Everything else was fair game. This went on fairly unchecked until the day I decided I HAD to find out how a golf ball was put together. We were visiting my aunt and uncle's house at the time. My uncle was quite the golfer. When I casually asked if I could have an old golf ball, he obliged and off I went, secreted pocket knife and all. (I wasn't allowed to own a pocket knife, but I had three - another obsession.) After I had successfully sawed off the white covering, I was presented with a tight ball of rubber bands. I started to peel them off and quickly lost patience. So I took my trusty knife and carved through to the middle - which contained a pressurized liquid center. Which exploded in my face and into my astonished open eyes! I was temporarily blinded and had all the adults in an uproar. But worst? My pocket knife was taken from me.

Once I had recovered, I was grounded. I swear I spent most of my formative years grounded. It also cured some of my drive for taking things apart. A little bit of it. A very little bit. I am a slow learner.

*May I just say that after I saved up to get this watch (Orient), I was totally dismayed to receive a shoe-box sized package that contains all kinds of....packaging! It comes with a manual, a tool kit, a fancy box. I'm surprised it didn't come with an au pair to help it get through daily life! Geez.

Monday Musings.

2012-03-05T07:00:00.001-05:00

I was getting ready to don my favorite shirt, when I took a good, long look at it. I have had this particular white terry-cloth pullover for years. I'm going to say at least 15. I realized that it has changed quite a bit from the day I first bought it. It has evolved from just a casual pullover that I could bleach when it got dirty, to, well, shabby-chic. Then I thought, isn't that just like us growing older? Honestly, I could not be called "chic". I could, however, be called shabby on weekends. But who in their right mind dons clean, ironed, stain-free clothes to muck out a barn? (And don't say Martha Stewart, because she doesn't muck anything! She has minions for that.) And who wants to change their clothes three/four times a day? That means more laundry, which means more water used, more electricity used, laundry detergent, time, etc. And we are all too frugal for that, aren't we??

But back to my original thought. I am very happy about how this shirt has turned out. Those "ruffles" were not ruffles from the beginning. It has evolved over years of wearing, washing and drying. Those plain, boring trim pieces have softened and curled. I like to think that we all soften and curl as we age - and that's a good thing. Plain becomes artful. Age brings beauty. It's all very nice.

It's obvious I need another cup of coffee.

Snow Daze.

2012-03-01T15:00:00.000-05:00

There is nothing like a snow day to inspire you to DO things. Winter decided to arrive, finally, and it's been snowing, sleeting, raining for a day and a half. The roads are lousy, so our office decided to close - Yay!

Do you remember that closet I was going to clean out, oh, months and months ago? I finished it!

Before:

After:

Before:

After:

It's not as "airy" as I'd like, but this closet holds my entire wardrobe and I'm not quite down to the Steve Jobs' look yet. But I can now walk into it without breaking into hives. It's a nice feeling. So, while I was on a roll...I also cleaned out, rearranged and sorted through my gawd-awful linen closet. I don't have a before, because I didn't want to frighten any small children that might be reading this blog. Then I moved to the top of my dresser and organized and cleaned that. I am about to refill my tea cup and head in for more. Of course, I would love to have done the utility/laundry/tool/feed/gardening/dehydrating room, but I think I might need a permit for that. And a Hazmat suit.

Oh-ee.

2012-02-29T05:20:00.002-05:00

Recently, a friend noted that every dog toy Scrappy owns has a name. A name ending in the "ee" sound. Ropey. Cowie. Squirrely (it's actually "Coonie", but it replaced the original "Squirrely"). Foxie. Even the 'kids' have names ending in "ee". Bernie. Scrappy. Cookie. (Once)Slimmie. Kramer. Okay, almost all of them. Krameree doesn't exactly roll smoothly off the tongue. Even my humidifier is part of the theme - Reggie. I refer to the homestead sparrow hoard as the Joneseys. Should I be on speed dial to Dr. Freud?

Which reminds me of one of the many reasons I detested high school. As a freshman, we were required to take Speech Class. As far as I was concerned, it could have been Let's-Have-A-Root-Canal Class. I was terribly shy and self-conscious in school - actually, almost right up to present-day. An arty outsider who spent her weekends going to art museums and Gilbert & Sullivan operettas (cue in the violins...) Our teacher was a sadistic bugger by the name of Mr. Higgie. I suppose, given that name, he was hard-pressed to grow up any other way. For our final exam, we were to choose a subject and give a 15 minute speech glorifying, edifying or not, our subject. I chose Sigmund Freud. Don't have a clue as to why I did. The trouble was, I had never heard his name spoken. It's an enigma to this day. I hunched my way up to the podium and bravely soldiered on. Pronouncing it "Free-ood". In addition to Mr. Higgie, there was only one other person who was aware of my faux pas. She was what passed as my only friend. I had stammered my way through about 10 minutes of my speech, when she burst into fits of hilarious laughter, followed closely by Mr. Higgie. Mr. H then pronounced, in his high, nasally voice, "Miss Wormersley, it is Froid. Not Free-ood. One would think you would know the difference if you have chosen this as your speech topic." Needless to say, it was not my best moment or memory. I did have the presence of mind to correct his pronunciation of my last name. Which landed me a C- (I did have a thoroughly researched speech - complete with footnotes.)

My question is this -- am I the only one who does this? Should I be looking for help-ee?

Time Warp.

2012-02-28T06:34:00.001-05:00

Is it just me, or does weekend time seem to gain momentum and whiz by at the speed of light?! I feel as though I drop blissfully into bed on Friday night, visions of all the items on my to-do list with a check mark next to them - then WHAM! It's Sunday night and I am exhausted and planning my lunches for work.

I am sure you have noticed that my weekend blogging is, well, let's say 'lacking'. In my own defense, most all of the larger chores have to get crammed into two days. Ideally, the weather cooperates and a lot gets done. Ideally. This weekend, I was only able to work outside on Sunday. And, while lots DID get done, I feel cheated. I did get the goats' stall pretty much cleaned out (it was still frozen near the ground) and all the raked out goodness wheelbarrowed to the new compost pile. And I did get started on cleaning up the spent hay and manure in the sheep/llama pen. That is, until the local "Days of our Lives" drama unfolded on the road in front of me. In a nutshell, husband was walking down road with little toolbox. Red car carrying wife came zooming up beside him. Screech-fest ensued at very high volume and pitch, including lots of four-letter words, squealing of tires, physical combat, throwing of tools, and heartbreaking pleas from child in car. Police were called on wife by husband and then there were two cop cars across from the house for a half hour. Poor Apria was quite alarmed by all the screeching and hummed like mad. The sheep clumped in a little group as far away from the drama as possible. I continued to shovel shineola. There sure are some miserable people out in the world.

Because of all the hubub and my not wanting to be pulled into the drama, I didn't get as much hay/manure moved as I had hoped. This coming weekend will be the polar opposite - my parents are coming to visit, so very little work will get done. I have a couple of things I can squeeze in during the mornings before work, but I will have to just relax and look a few weekends ahead.

Monday Musings.

2012-02-27T11:48:00.000-05:00

So many times, I start out with a small, innocuous thought and, before I know it, it's got my brain in a full Nelson. It's sort of like the Onion Conundrum - all those layers. But an onion has nice, simple layers. These small, gnarly thought beginnings remind me of a big wad of poultry netting - that plastic kind. I say, if you want some villain to confess his sins, wrap him tightly in hundreds of layers of poultry netting and leave him to his own devices. He'll be singing like a lark in no time.

The latest rendition started thusly - I was dropping off paperwork for the formation of a LLC at the Secretary of State's office. I was the only person at the desk and there were - within eye-shot - easily 15 people shlubbing around, dressed in jeans and t-shirts. After about 5 minutes, the woman closest to me must have felt the laser beams of my eyes and finally, sighing heavily, came to help me. They take the forms, hand them off to someone else, who then comes back and either passes or fails your paperwork. If you pass, they take your money and off you go. I passed. Riding down in the elevator, I wondered why it is that there are SO many employees in this one department when there is so little for them to do. What if they condensed the workforce to half? But, then, that would be another half on unemployment. How did the department get so over-peopled in the first place? And would it ever stop? But it won't stop if there continue to be millions of new people in the world every year, people who will need jobs. Is there a finite amount of money in the world? I know there is a finite and shrinking amount of water in the world. And so it goes. It's like trying to envision the Universe. It makes my head hurt and there are no perfect answers.

This past Monday evening, I had the opportunity to have dinner with a Swedish atheist and a well-read Methodist. It was a very rousing dinner - what with the three tiny meatballs and a small salad, washed down with almost three bottles of a very nice white wine. The topic was religion. Now this is a subject that I avoid discussing at all costs because I have no intention of offending anyone. But this was one of those rare occasions where the participants were more interested in the reasoning behind the emotions. They were not offended. They were interested. It was fun! It was also a little fuzzy in the morning.

Meet Reggie, my Humidifer.

2012-02-23T06:00:00.001-05:00

My office building was built in the 70s and the internal workings are abysmal. Once the heat goes on, it stays on - no matter that we are having no winter this year. It's hot and dry. When I come out of the building at night, I feel like a goldfish that's been oxygen deprived.

I considered buying a humidifier to make my little space bearable and, instead, got Reggie. I look at it the same way as I view my lawn. I can't abide waste. I am covering my lawn with raised beds, and my humidifier is a Betta.

Other than my guppies when I was a kid, I have had no fish experience. I did have a hermit crab, but the only thing he had in common with fish was his aquarium. I have spent the past week and a half getting ready for him - tiny Betta tank (check); gravel (check); pump/filter (check); thermometer (check); heater (check); plants (check); fish net (check); water conditioner (check); food (check); fish (check). It rather took on a life of its own. I even bought him a little resting leaf, so he can lounge just beneath the surface of the water and take little sips of air. Cute! How many humidifiers offer a little Zen with their moisture?

Assembly Required.

2012-02-22T11:07:00.001-05:00

After waiting weeks for my Forgotten Ways Farm handmade, beautiful drying rack (a birthday present from me to me), it finally arrived. In an alarmingly small box. I dragged it inside and then ignored it for a few days out of sheer terror. I went back to their website and, sure enough, it said "Assembly required". A truer description would have been: "Complete assembly required - we'll send you the plans, you cut out your own pieces and it will be just as 'easy', but cheaper and faster!" I had to clear out my dining area for enough space to put it together. (The rare sunny day made picture quality a bit dicey.)

It was not as bad as all of that, but it was difficult to assemble because the holes were not of a consistent diameter. So some dowels fit well, while most did not. As an aside, there is a note that, besides a drill and screwdriver, you might need a hammer and a white candle for 'tight' dowels. Tight is not the word. And, yes, that is blood. Let's never accuse me of not putting everything I have - blood included - into my efforts.

Almost done.

I am not totally mechanically-challenged, so I knew that to pound a dowel with a hammer into a very tight hole would cause one to run the risk of splitting something. That's why I used a rubber mallet (I have many tools) and used restraint. Even so, I ended up with a split end. And we are not talking bad hair days here.

Branded!

The end product was a very sturdy, large drying rack. They were very responsive to my emails and are sending a replacement leg for the one that split. They have handed off the production to another homesteading family so that they can follow their new dream (which, I believe, involves film-making) and said that the new family was assembling a video on YouTube. That will be helpful, since the directions sent with my rack included only black and white photos seemingly taken from high above. They were very difficult to follow.

All done but screwing
on the chains.

Pros: High quality materials; included drill bit of the size required; nicely packaged; good design; responsive customer service; purchase supports off-grid, homesteading family.

Cons: Took six weeks to arrive; complete assembly needed; need many tools; takes quite a while to assemble and involves lining up, pounding, drilling and screwing; instructions unclear (photographs); risk of wood splitting.

Of course, two weeks after I ordered it, I found a beautiful, old, handmade large drying rack in an estate sale for just under what I paid for the new one. And it would not have required blood, sweat and tears...

Monday Musings.

2012-02-20T05:47:00.000-05:00

Over the six years I've lived in my house and made the Great Trek West by Southwest every morning, Monday through Friday, I have done all kinds of things to make the commute less mind-numbing. With varying results. I have listened to the radio. But, I can't abide commercial radio, as I have developed an instant hive-breakout as soon as I hear a political or car ad. So, that leaves our two Public stations. One is classical and it is very nice - soothing, uplifting, mind-numbing. The other is...GAWD AWFUL. I would love to go on about it, but my blood pressure soars. Let's just say that it is ruled-over by a nasal-ly, pompous little jerk with visions of grandeur and limited vision of any other kind.

Breathe, breathe.

I have listened to books on CD - most of which were thoroughly enjoyable. Some of which were horrid. What, may I ask the producers of such entertainment, were you thinking when you had the male voice go into a falsetto for the woman's part???? So I spend most of my journey either talking to myself (on the over-the-mountain part where no one can see me) or listening to music CDs. If there is no music to distract me, I think about the beautiful landscape through which I am driving (unless it's foggy snow, then I am clutching the wheel and hoping I make it down the mountain alive); I wonder what's become of the elderly lady with the pitch-black dyed beehive hairdo that lives in the neat little trailer with the white deer sculptures. I had almost convinced myself that I should stop and introduce myself (and check on her, nosy Nellie that I am) when I passed one day and there were people cutting the grass and neatening things up - people that looked like relative-types. I felt better. And I spend a lot of time wondering why people throw trash out of their car windows. It has never, ever crossed my mind to toss out anything (other than the occasional apple core - I think of myself as Sweezie Appleseed) out of my car window.

Then there's the music. Along with names, smells and electric shocks, music stirs up deep memories. (Just kidding about the electric shocks....but I am sure it would stir me up greatly) Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne" takes me straight back to South Dakota in the summer of 1969. Jimi Hendrix' "Purple Haze" finds me sitting in my dorm room in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan. Any of the early Beatles' songs has me prone in our living room, giant headphones on my head, tethered silently to the hifi set. Classical music tends to make me wistful for Blossom Music Center in Cleveland. Bagpipes make me cry - instantly - and stir up all kinds of genetic stuff.

What sets off your metronome?

2.17.2012.4.30.35

2012-02-17T05:45:00.000-05:00

Yes, that's right. On February 17th of 2012, at 4:30 in the morning, it is 35 degrees. And raining. Once more, I will have to haul my rain gear out of the closet, instead of snow gear. It's downright weird and unnatural, I tell you.

One would think that, after six years of living on my side of the mountain, I would remember that rain on the west side/work side doesn't mean rain on the homestead side. But noooooooo. Another white knuckle ride over and down the mountain last night, as rain quickly turned to snow and fog. By the time I pried my fingers off the steering wheel, I was in for the night. Except for all the feeding, of course.

We got an entire inch of snow - which is now disappearing fast as the temperatures rise and the rain falls. To all the snow enthusiasts out there, I apologize on behalf of The Snow Wolf and myself. I know it's all our fault.

Someone to watch over me.

2012-02-16T06:37:00.000-05:00

Kramer has taken advantage of the fact that I cleared the mantle. He is up there with "Green Nana", a wonderful glazed ceramic sculpture that I bought at an art exhibit when I first moved up here from The City. Kramer does NOT watch over me. He is on Mouse Watch. Watching over me is Scrappy's job and he takes it very seriously. He follows me from room to room (other than the few "no-pet zones") and from window to window. Sometimes, just for the heck of it, I will sneak to the front of the house and burst in the front door to surprise them. It's becoming obvious that I need a little more of a social life....

Now, THIS is a Junk Drawer!

2012-02-15T06:04:00.000-05:00

I cannot believe I am actually proud of it. Well, I am not actually proud of it -- it's more that I am so totally amazed at the pure Junkiness of it that it causes great wonder in me. Wonder, as in, "I wonder why I allowed this drawer to develop into the total nightmare that it is." (Now is a good time to leave the room, Sylvia...)

Ta-dah!

I double-dog-dare you to biggify!

Of course, I couldn't leave it that way. After four cups of tea...

Note the two tubes of dog/cat toothpaste. As if.

I still need to add some dividers so that it doesn't go all in a jumble again. But that means that I have to sort through my craft closet. That will take more than tea.

How Valentine's Day Didn't Happen.

2012-02-14T14:43:00.000-05:00

After giving the dogs and cats a major pep talk last night about how nice it would be if they considered celebrating VDay by serving me breakfast in bed, I tottled off to bed.

Then I woke up in a cold sweat at 3 AM thinking....OMG, what if they DO try to serve me breakfast in bed?!? (Visions of mouse parts danced in my head.) So I got up extra early and served THEM breakfast in bed. Out of self-defense.

The end.

Monday Musings.

2012-02-13T11:02:00.000-05:00

My, my, my. What a long and winding road my life has taken! This week I have been doing a lot of rather heavy-duty musing. This always happens when my environment gets quiet. As quiet as it can get with two dogs and three cats. And dump trucks. And cows next door. I was sitting at the dining room table watching the Joneses vacuum up the bird feeder, and started thinking about how this all began. This Homesteading Thing.

Was it the Easter chick, Peeper? Was it the lure of the pearl-capped snaps on my Western cowgirl shirt? My first riding lesson? I think, all these things. My formative years were spent in a housing development that had been carved out of a grid that had been carved out of farm land. One long road with many perpendicular streets jutting out of its western side. All of the streets dead-ended into a wooded area. To the north was Lake Erie, and to the south was a large expanse of farmland, bisected by a railroad track. There was an elderly couple who were clinging onto their little patch of farm - I was drawn to them like a moth to flames. It was to Mrs. Youngblood that I brought my exiled Easter pullet. She joined the Youngblood's flock and I was introduced to chickens and the magic of a freshly laid egg (that you had to hunt for!) She had a huge flower garden, as well as a large vegetable garden. Mr. Youngblood plowed with an ancient horse named Old Tom, who was a big old draft horse. Every once in a while he would let me sit on top of Old Tom while he plowed. It was the only time in my life I could do the Chinese splits naturally. Mrs. Youngblood would make homemade donuts and we would sit on the porch steps and she would name all the birds that flitted about her flowers. I wanted to live there. Unfortunately, as will happen, they got older and older, their barn caught fire and Mr. Youngblood was almost trapped in it. Their children intervened, carted them off to a retirement home, sold all the antiques and then the house and land. I remember hiding behind the chicken coop watching as their belongings were packed up. I threw rocks at their son. I was a terrible aim and had skinny arms, so no damage was done. I was just that mad.

What NOT to wear on a cattle drive.

2012-02-11T14:36:00.000-05:00

Notice the "correct" footwear behind them.

Okay, "cattle drive" may be a little over the top for what I did yesterday. I met Marianne's new Scottish Highland cows (mother and heifer calf). The calf had managed to get through the electric fence and was outside, while Mama remained inside, so we decided to try and move the calf down the hill and through the gate to join her mother. Since I had not intended to do herding, I was sporting my favorite Dansko clogs. It was a little wobbly down that hill, I'll tell you - not to mention trying to keep them on my feet in the deep muck at the bottom. But, we managed to scoot her in and all is well. The next time I visit, I will be bringing boots and camera.

R.A.O.K.

2012-02-09T15:00:00.002-05:00

It just goes to show you - no good deed goes unpunished... For my first foray into R.A.O.K.s, last night on my way home, I stopped to let someone pull out in front of me during a looooong line of endless traffic. I was rewarded by the person behind me flashing their brights on and off and laying on the horn. The line in front of me was JUST beginning to move, the car I was letting out was not going in my direction (as in, in front of me and Mr.Undiesinatwist behind me), but in the opposite direction. I flashed the guy behind me .... the peace sign (that's what you thought I was going to say, right?) and went on my merry way.

Today, I went out of my office building armed with quarters destined for a soon-to-be-lapsed parking meter or two. Great idea, right? Except I was unaware that the city had just started changing over the old meters into ones where you pay at a central point, get a slip of paper and put it inside your car, displayed on your dash. Hmm. Do I do a little BandE (breaking and entering)? I think...no. So I ended up walking four blocks trying to find regular parking meters. I found one that was close to expiring, so I put in my quarters and high-tailed it back to the office before they docked me! Time for Plan B in my continuing battle to inflict kindness on others. Whatever that may be.

I am consoling myself with my latest chopped salad - chopped raw kale, spicy sprouts (my winter crop), dried cranberries and chopped peanuts. Yum!

Cats.

2012-02-08T06:00:00.018-05:00

I have had one or more cats for years. (I once had seven cats. Inside. It was insane ... and so was I.) While what I really wanted was a dog -- don't tell the cats-- I lived in apartments most of my life and a cat was all I was allowed. I have never regretted sharing my life (and furniture) with cats. Although, truth be told, I did rather resent some of their attentions to my personal property. I have grown to love their complex personalities; their ability to live without the faintest whiff of guilt. I like to think my cats and I co-exist on equal terms. But I would be lying. I am their slave.

(Once)Slim (l) and Cookie the Fang-less (r)

I was surprised when I looked at this picture that it was difficult to tell (Once)Slim and Cookie apart. Cookie will be 12 this year (born on March 31, 2000) and (Once)Slimmie is approaching 2 (DOB not quite as pinpointed). I was also surprised to realize that all three of my cats are a) male and b) black and white. I have been trying to get a close-up of camera-shy-Kramer's face. He resembles a small, daffy, adorable vampire cat. If you stare at him long enough, he slowly opens his mouth, baring his fangs, and squeaks. And if you hug him tightly, he resembles a squeaky toy. Ask me how I know...

I pinched this from somewhere - I get hysterical every time I look at it.

Well, I'll be!

2012-02-07T05:15:00.001-05:00

Ghosts of Grannies Past....

Raffle prize.

The passion for aprons lives on! After all the hoo-ha about the apron giveaway, my apron collection, and the infamous Duct Tape Apron (a 'heads up' for those of you contemplating such a project -- no??? -- air temperature affects the elasticity of electrical tape trim. It shrinks up something fierce when it's cold!), Sylvie decided it would be a perfect winter event at our little local library. So we spent a couple of hours stringing clothes line in our pretty library and pinning up the aprons. Sylvie had the brainstorm to pick up a dressmaker's model (as a decorating piece), on which we tied an apron to be raffled off (model and all) as part of the exhibit. A separate line is available for people to bring and show off their own aprons. There is also a journal for apron memories, the Home Economics (I'm sure it's a different title now - Life Sciences?) teacher from the local high school will be giving an apron-making class, and the event will end with a taste-off of favorite desserts. Anyone can come, taste and vote for their favorite. That should perk up February!

In a small community with limited resources, the library serves as so much more than a lender of books. Along with the local post office, it should be a place where the community gathers. We all know how important it is to find out the REAL story behind the story. Our library is a lovely building and has a lot of untapped potential. Hopefully, this event will be the beginning of many more like it.

Monday Musings.

2012-02-06T05:33:00.000-05:00

There is nothing that takes the steam out of your girdle faster than a friendly, professional customer service representative. I recently had a persistent problem online with a major banking company and called the dreaded 800 number. This led me through a maze of indecipherable, frustrating loops, until I just kept punching "0" until an actual person answered - after about 7 minutes of Muzak. She, of course, couldn't help me but transferred me before I could holler "Stop!" and I was on another 7 minutes of aitchdoublehockeysticks until Lateesha answered the phone. She was funny, sympathetic, spoke English, solved the problem without putting me on hold. I could have hugged her. Instead I sent a glowing comment into their Customer Comment ethersphere and hoped someone would receive it and give her a raise. I should have asked for her extension number...

Why are random acts of kindness never in the news? Has good news become such a boring subject? Or is it that there is so little news that is good? I know I have gone on at length about how wonderful the blogosphere is - how I have made virtual friends who, even though the distance is great, are there for me when I need them; sometime just sensing that I need support or a friendly, open ear and heart. I was recently the recipient of a random pay-it-forward gift and its timing was so perfect, that I look upon it as a random act of kindness. A thoughtful gift, something small, sent to brighten my day.

I am therefore declaring Thursdays as my Random Act of Kindness Day. I believe that, once a week, I can do something kind - even if it kills me (KIDDING). Really - it's easy. Just let someone in front of you in traffic. Carry a package. Write a note. Shovel a walk. Open a door. Knit a headband. This is going to be fun.

Keeping Frugal.

2012-02-02T08:10:00.000-05:00

I work off the farm five days a week. My job entails a long commute, so I have worked out a seven-hour workday with no break for lunch, as I don't want to leave the dogs for longer than 9 hours. This has worked out well over the years - I start at 10:30 and leave at 5:30. I miss all of the morning rush hour and most of the evening's rush hour. But this also means that I have to bring my lunch every day. From many aspects, this is not a burden - it's inexpensive and way more healthy than what I have access to in the nearby eateries. This may be New York, but it's not New York, if you catch my drift. The only vegetarian/health food restaurant closed years ago. I almost cried - it was the best food EVER. The service tended to be a little loosely moored to the ground, but the food - it was wonderful.

My favorite lunch combination is a cup of soup and a salad. I have been known to put everything but the kitchen sink in my salads - I haven't met an ingredient that doesn't get along with lettuce! Lately, I've taken to making a large container of chopped salad, which I portion out over the week. I keep homemade salad dressing in the office refrigerator so, with a piece of fruit, I have a well-balanced and filling meal.

Notice the reused, recycled 'til it falls apart container? It's got a great snap-on lid.

My current salad consists of: chopped Romaine lettuce, chopped carrots, chopped raw broccoli, and failed chickpea burger. The recipe sounded fabulous, but the end result was less than spectacular. It tasted great, but dissolved into a pile of crumbles. Which were perfect for my salad! My favorite salad dressing is from my friend, Sylvia: 1/3 cup seasoned rice vinegar, clove of minced garlic, dry mustard to taste, 1 cup canola oil. That's it - easy-peasy. I keep it in old peanut butter jars - one at home, one in the office. Another plus for chopped salads? They are easier to eat = no splotches on my work clothes! Usually.

We occasionally celebrate Friday and order Asian food - although I am not a big fan of Americanized Chinese/Japanese food. It tends to be huge amounts of bland stuff. The huge amounts can add up in my favor, though. No one in the office finishes their meal and - after 6 years of training them right - they hand over their leftovers for the chickens!

P.S. The winner of Book 5 did not contact me, so I will be re-drawing a winner.

By Popular Demand...

2012-02-01T12:56:00.000-05:00

Apria

She's a LOT taller than Hoosier~

Ooooh, look at that face!

Although her fleece is a mess right now, it's some beautiful stuff.

One of my favorite faces - Granny Flora.

Chickie L.O.V.E.S. his pine boughs.

I am ALWAYS under surveillance.

New Things.

2012-01-31T06:30:00.000-05:00

I needed a changer - ergo, the new "look" for the blog. I love the description: Ethereal. That is so NOT me, but I am very fond of hummingbirds.

And the new kid in town: Miss Apria.

She is still pretty leery of me, the sheep and just about everything, but I am plying her with love and shepherd's mix. It was quite an uproarious day on Sunday - E and her husband arrived in their minivan (!!!) and unloaded Apria. Then we went inside to do the necessary paperwork - all the transferring of papers/ownership/etc. nonsense that drives me wild. Then we went outside where I had everything all worked out. Would it be any surprise at all to find out that nothing - and I mean NOTHING - worked out as planned? The only transfer that went smoothly was Hoosier. He was not at all happy about being faced with a minivan, but eventually he got in. I then sauntered down, feed bucket in hand, and led the sheep into the run-in shed. Every last one of them except Cocoa the Crazy and her little loony lamb. We must have chased her for 15 minutes, until we finally got her cornered behind the shed. After rassling for another five minutes, E's husband gave up and hefted her up in the air and staggered up the hill. We managed to get her in the van and went for Freyda. Who managed to slip out of her halter and took us on the same wild ride as Cocoa. Poor E's husband - he sure got his cardio workout yesterday. And they had an hour and a half drive back to the farm.

We led Apria into the sheep paddock and let the remaining bonzo sheep out. They came running and then slammed on the brakes as a unit and stared at Apria as though a Martian had landed in their midst. It's been a little bumpy, but I think they will all be settled in soon. Apria is much larger than Hoosier, who was sort of a squirt. E said that he seems to be enjoying his new accommodations - I am sure that having Cocoa/nut and Freyda there with him will help the transition go smoothly. Poor Apria has no landmarks - nothing familiar. She keeps sniffing the sheep and looking puzzled. I will get some close-up shots of her once we are better acquainted.

Oh, yes. According to E, Apria was "exposed" to a spotted male llama this past fall. She will very likely have a cria this fall. Mmmm. Hmmm.

Monday Musings

2012-01-30T06:00:00.003-05:00

I am musing, today, about the Three Rs - Reading Riting & Rassling. Those are my three Rs, not the other ones. My Rs have nothing to do with Rithmatic. And not to be a stickler, tho' I tend to be about some things, what is with the "R"s? Reading - fine. (w)Riting? Non. (a)Rithmatic? Non, non, non.

As you have all read (ad nauseum), I am reading books! This makes me so deliriously happy. How easy it is to be too tired, too busy, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera (as the King of Siam would say) to take time out to explore new worlds. While I wouldn't trade adulthood for childhood for my Aunt Nettie, I do miss being naive enough to think that I had tons of time - the world was my oyster and I was going to take my good sweet time and enjoy it. Now, while I still may think that the world is my oyster - I am aware of the shelf-life of fresh oysters and I am in a hurry!

I have many favorite books: Alice in Wonderland, Through a Distant Mirror, Confederacy of Dunces, The Beak of the Finch, anything by Dickens, to name just a few. I think I grew up in a magic time - before television became as much a part of life as two-ply toilet paper - before computers, video games, and parental guilt. My mother saw nothing wrong with plopping me in a playpen to amuse myself. She was pretty adept at turning a deaf ear to my screeching Very shortly, after receiving no attention for my bad behavior, I would busy myself with my toys. I learned to enjoy alone time. She got things done, I was amused, it all worked out. Besides, as soon as I was able to toddle, I was off, so I am sure it was safer to keep me penned up! Hmm. I wonder if that harness thing started my lifelong love affair with dogs?

We would go to the little local library once a week and get a stack of books. One book that we took out almost every other week, was entitled "The Sweet Patootie Doll". Lawdamity, did I love that story! I have absolutely no recollection as to why I did. It was about a little girl who found a sweet potato that looked like it had a face. So she dressed it up and hauled it around. It had the usual dramatic bit where the little girl puts it down and it's temporarily lost, then found. My mother loved to read it, and that might have had something to do with it. So, for her birthday one year, I went on a quest to find it. After 6 months, I think I found the last surviving copy. For $125. I bought it and I don't want to discuss it.

Riting. I love to write. I love to write with a pen, rather than a pencil. I never cottoned to pencils. I do my crossword puzzles in pen. Now, don't get all het up thinking I'm bragging - you've never seen a crossword puzzle of mine. Sometimes I've changed a word so many times it looks like another black square! My third grade teacher, Mrs. Puca, was a real taskmaster when it came to learning proper cursive. I found that I had a real talent for it and that suited my smug little brown-nosed self just fine. But, besides that, I really LIKED to write. And I still do, although my hands are showing signs of their hard use, and the cursive is a little shakier than it used to be. I used to sashay up to the blackboard and write out the lesson in perfect chalky cursive. Mrs. P. would go on and on about my lovely form, while my classmates stewed. Not surprisingly, after school I learned the fine art of...

Rassling. I was a tough kid. I grew early and was able to hold my own right up until fourth grade. Then I stopped growing and everyone else shot up. Fourth grade was tough. Little did I know, back in the old neighborhood, that I was in training for my true calling: sheep rassling. What I did yesterday went beyond rassling. It was a knock-down-drag-em-through-hell-hath-no-fury-body-slamming event. Hoosier, Cocoa and Freyda went to their new home and we were introduced to the lovely Apria. I will admit that I had a fleeting desire to drop kick Coca into the van. But I didn't. We were too busy staggering under the burden of having to carry the loony tune. Things have calmed down and the remaining sheep are not quite as leery of Apria as they were. She's a beautiful, big girl with a heavy fleece. Which is in need of a trim - this spring. I had all kinds of visions of bonding with her, comforting Banyan after losing his crazy mother and his Uncle Hoosier, scritching ears, all that lovely stuff. Instead, I threw hay at them and went inside and had a glass of wine to help me forget all the bumps and bruises. Amen.

Winter Pleasures

2012-01-27T06:00:00.001-05:00

Oh, how I have missed reading! The kind where you can nestle in your chair with a good reading light, a nice hot cup of tea within reach. No dogs or cats barfing. Just the quiet tick-tock of the clock. Of course, this peace lasts in my house for about a nanosecond. The Boyz come flying through the air, Cookie wants to sit on my lap (all 20 pounds of him), Scrappy is making snorting noises as the Boyz come too close to his beloved toys/chewies/whatever. Then Bernie can't take the chaos and needs to squeeze in next to me on the couch, with her poky hard head. But, amidst all this kerfuffle, I am reading a wonderful book. If you can savor a book, I'm savoring this one. I am stirring my oatmeal at the kitchen stove, savoring this book. I am sitting at the dining room table, savoring this book. I am reading it in bed. I will be sad when I've finished it. But I will read it again. Now that I've led you along the primrose path, I bet you would like to know when I'm going to get around to telling you what book I'm reading! The Education of Little Tree, by Forrest Carter. I don't know that you could call it a children's book (there are a few references to um, the word (in its biblical form) that means what men and women do when there's no love involved...), but it is a book so full of love, wisdom and humor that it SHOULD be a children's book. Just be prepared to explain (or not) 'the word'. Although there has been a lot of controversy about the book's author, I prefer to accept it as it appears to me: a charming and compelling work of fiction that takes me into the hills and hollows, and into the hearts of people who I wish had been my grandparents.

Next on the stack is Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. That will be followed by something from my all-time favorite author, Chaz Dickens (when you're as familiar with him as am I, you can call him Chaz.) I've also got some interesting teas lined up to go with my reading (thanks to Carolyn Renee!), and a myriad of UFOs staring - if I may say so - rather impertinently at me. So, I am ready for whatever the winter throws at me. Mostly. I hope.

Since I mentioned him again, here's Cookie. He's a large and handsome boy with two less teeth, which has not marred his lovely, symmetrical face:

Pass it forward! Pass it on! Don't Pass it up!!

2012-01-26T19:00:00.005-05:00

Kaye over at GigglesandRaspberries is onto something! Now I've caught it and I hope I can {infect} the rest of you -- figuratively speaking, of course.

As part of the Hand Made Pay It Forward 2012, I hereby pledge to send something hand made (by moi) to the first five people who leave comments. But wait! Before you hit that publish button, there's a catch! YOU first-five-commenters have to pledge to do the same! It doesn't matter what you make, how complicated, or simple, it is. And you have to pledge to send them out by the end of 2012. So, there is no deadline looming over your shoulder, breathing guilt fumes down your collar. You have the whole year.

And, if you happen to procrastinate until December of 2012 (note to self) it's your own darn fault. I hope that there are five ~~victims~~ dear readers out there who are game. You will be subjecting yourself to my creative whims. Scary thought, no?

Comment if you dare....bwwahahaha.

xxx

The Results are In!

2012-01-26T06:23:00.000-05:00

After a highly scientific random selection, the winners of the Book Giveaway Extravaganda are:

#1 ERIN!

#2 TOOELE TWINS!

#3 JENNY!

#4 SMALL FARM GIRL!

#5 PATTY!

#6 SPIDERJOHN!

Congrats to the winners! Please email your mailing particulars to me at swomersley at gmail dot com. Those who didn't win this round -- take heart! There are three bookcases to go!

Do they make Quack-Traks?

2012-01-25T06:00:00.003-05:00

I am so glad that there is no such thing as Global Warming or Climate Change. I just can't tell you how the knowledge that everything is hunky-dory on the Earth front is helping me get a good night's sleep. Drip. Drip. (Sound of sarcasm dripping).

This was the Chicken/Duck Yard on Sunday:

Looking from Coop to Deck.

This is the Chicken/Duck Yard Tuesday morning:

Looking from Deck to Coop.

Notice anything different? Every surface is covered with ice. And very dangerous ice - the kind that has pools of water on top. I was watching the poor ducks try to maneuver across the yard and they just gave up and slid on their bellies. Banyan, usually bouncing and leaping with joy at the arrival of his morning grain ration, ended up doing controlled little hops, slipping and sliding toward the grain feeders. We won't go into my tiny shuffling steps. Sunday morning: 1 degree. Monday morning: 30 degrees. Tuesday morning: 41 degrees. Will it be 70 degrees by Saturday? I am just hoping that this warming trend will completely melt all the ice so that we can start off fresh this weekend with NEW ice. (drip. drip.)

Reprieve.

2012-01-24T06:00:00.008-05:00

Apparently, severe head colds are going around -- the woman and her husband who were taking part in the Great Llama Swap this past weekend, were both felled by it. This did not bother me one little tiny bit. It gives me another week to enjoy His Fuzziness. I did manage to get him wormed which was like a mini rodeo. Hey! Another Olympic Farm Sport - llama rasslin. Thank goodness I had the presence of forethought to keep his halter on. He forgave me after a couple graham crackers.

Cookie continues to heal and is almost totally back to his large, sweet, normal self. He is still bewildered that the kibble dishes aren't magically filled and persistently remain empty. I have found that his being hungry is the best way to insure that he eats his twice-a-day canned food so fast he doesn't notice the crushed amoxicillin mixed in it. Ditto with Bernie's twice a day, hidden-in-the-(insert here) pills. We've gone through the cooked ground venison and just finished the cooked organic chicken livers. Next is the free ranged cooked chicken. Heaven knows how I'll top that -- she gets dosed until February 10! Maybe I should hard boil some of Melanie's quail eggs and hide the pills in that...or a little pate de fois gras? Shingles on toast?

Sunday morning brought a temperature of 1 degree. Thank goodness the sun came out and raised the temps to the low 20s by afternoon. This morning - same time - the temperature was 30 degrees. Is it my imagination, or is this one wild winter? Rain is forecast by the time I get to drive home. Sigh. I am hoping it doesn't start freezing. If it does, I may just hang up my Muck boots and get out my skates. I'll give that Apolo guy a run for his money!

Since none of my planned activity happened on Sunday, I took advantage of the free time and finished up my seed order. I am expanding my raised bed garden again this spring - one more long bed that will run perpendicular to the five existing beds. This one will be about 10-12' long, depending on how long the boards are that I have amassed in my 'wood pile'. I am going to use this bed for squash planting. Thanks to Hoosier and the sheep, their old paddock is about 6" deep with a glorious mixture of old hay and manure. Black gold. All I have to do is shovel it up and cart it out of there. Yeah, right, that's all. I think I might start looking for a hardworking, non-whiny high school kid that doesn't feel entitled to $30/hour.

I'm finally starting to get into the swing of winter - I'm reading (!) at night, there's knitting on the needles, and my garden is getting organized (on paper). There would have been fires in the fireplace, too, but with temperatures plummeting overnight, I cannot bring myself to allow all that heat to go up the chimney while I'm waiting for the embers to cool.

Monday Musings.

2012-01-23T05:15:00.000-05:00

Recently, I've been musing about trust. I am trying to decide whether I am naturally distrustful, or only incapable of delegating. Are the two any different, really? Since we are told by the Nobs that all of our fears, weaknesses and strengths, too, are learned from birth-on, I've also been trying to find a reason for it. This has brought up some interesting memories. Yes -- here we go, back to childhood! Which, alarmingly, is causing me to have to travel further and further back!

While most of my friends went to various camps during the summer, I went to northern Ontario, Canada, for my two weeks of Childhood Heaven. Except for one year. I don't remember the circumstances, and I may have gone to camp AND Heaven in the same year, but I went to an overnight camp for one week the summer I was 12 . It was a very big deal. I packed carefully, making sure to include my precious collection of plastic molded horses. This collection was my prized possession - especially the rearing Palomino. Those were the beginnings of my Cowgirl Days. If I had to describe myself as a child, I would say that I was melodramatic, overly sensitive, stubborn, shy, and romantic, in a very child-like way. I was also bossy, and prone to tantrums. Geez, what a mess - no wonder my mother warned me about children like me. If that makes any sense.

Back to camp. So, there I was in my cabin with my camp-mates, of whom I remember almost nothing. I remember weaving the obligatory bracelet, the emotionally-charged atmosphere of a cabin full of 12 year-old girls, playing by myself with my horses outside the cabin, but I especially remember the counselors. Our cabin's counselor was named Amy. I adored her. I worshipped her. She would have been in her early twenties. She was tall, blond, tanned, and part of some wacky group within the counselors that believed they would be contacted by aliens and beamed up to a better life on a certain night due to fall on the night before the last day of camp. Can I pick them? Whether this was true or just a large hoax played on a bunch of het-up little girls, I don't know. All I can tell you is that most of my camp experience was wrought with anxiety that my favorite counselor would be beamed up by a bunch of bug-eyed, green-skinned aliens and whisked away forever. On that specified night they did all disappear. But they were back in the morning. My read today? They were whisked away over the lake to the boys' camp counselors for a night of non-alien romping. But it jarred me completely. My worry for her had been so real - so purple-prosey-sopped in anxiety. And then there she was, the morning after B(eam) U(p) Day -- over it, moving ahead, on her way to better things than soppy little girls. Ouch.

I am starting to hyperventilate just thinking about it. Darn counselor girl. As Monty Python so aptly put it (and as I probably paraphrase), "And now for something totally different". Let's talk about the necessity of "CUTE ALERTS". Or "Cute Ratings". I have had the occasional start, when opening a post or an email, there, without warning, was something so cute it made my eyes pucker. But this is so painfully cute that it almost hurts to look at. It should be illegal. Don't say you weren't warned:

Baby Mini Pig

I want 20 of them. I would give this tiny, fuzzy, morsel of cuteness a 25 on the Cuteness Rating Scale of 1 to 10. Wouldn't you?

Sorta Kinda Likea Mass Giveaway. Ish.

2012-01-21T15:31:00.000-05:00

In a burst of energy (albeit a minuscule one), I went through bookcase number one and gleaned some interesting castoffs. Here's what we're going to do. I am going to list them (with pictures). You are going to peruse (or not) and leave a comment (or not) with the number of the book you'd like. I will formulate some sort of magical ~~voodoo~~ scientific method of randomly choosing multiple winners. This should be fun for the math-challenged me. Cut-off date is Tuesday. Winners will be announced on Thursday.

1. Slim hardback books from 1954 - Gourmet Cookery and Casseroles

2. A Must-Have for Bird Lovers!

3. Not just Biscuits! Charming hardcover with basket making 'recipes' too.

4. Basic but still a good resource - pass it on to a newbie canner!

5. "Serve up a piece of the past as you savor the flavors of farm country cooking".

6. Small farmers and localvores, take heart!

So, there you go. Have fun and have a great weekend!

Winter Olympics - Homestead-Style!

2012-01-20T14:15:00.001-05:00

I tell you, those athletes could learn a few things from Homesteaders! I found myself participating in quite a few winter Olympic-style sports this week:

The Giant Slalom - gracefully and flexibly (oh, so NOT), I schussed myself in my big mucka boots around hillocks of ice and snow to get down the driveway to the mailbox and back without planting myself.

The Luge - this was a particularly complicated sport - it involved using both my plastic hay luge and my fanny luge. It was made even more exciting by using both at once! I always yell, "Bonzai!" just to entertain the sheep - and alert them to move back from the fence - Momma's comin' and she can't stop!

Speed Skating - without skates! On the homestead, one doesn't need skates for this sport - not this winter. Every surface, flat, sloping or otherwise is a sheet of multi-layered ice, glazed and wind-blasted to a deadly sheen. I dare Apolo Ohno to deliver hay AND feed down the hill to my sheep without losing it. I Double Dog Dare him!!

So far, this has been the iciest winter I can remember in a while. It's all this yoyo-ing back and forth between 40s and rain and subzero and wind, with some snow sprinkled around. No sissies need apply for Northern Homesteading, that's for sure!

A sport that is not part of the Winter Olympics but should be? Night Sheet Ice Walking without the Benefit of Light. However, I am sure that I do not exactly cut a lissome figure as I juggle mail, bags and purse from my driveway to my front door these nights. I wonder if Spandex would help....ACK!

Trusting the Universe.

2012-01-19T06:53:00.000-05:00

The Universe came through and saved my bacon. I found a new vet - a wonderful, country vet, who has an equine and small animal practice that he runs singlehandedly (with help from a vet tech when needed). I transported Cookie to the clinic yesterday, full of trepidation. I had only spoken to the vet on the phone - had never met him. I had never been in the clinic. Was I putting Cookie at risk for the sake of mere money? What I found was a small, two room cabin located next to the vet's house. Inside, it was clean and spartan. Two rooms - one reception/waiting and the other examination/surgery. He was gentle with the terrified Cookie, answered all my questions, and off I went. Later that afternoon, the vet tech called (a woman around my age named Sue - what's not to like?) and said that Cookie had come through beautifully and was recovering in front of the wood stove. When I went to pick him up, I was greeted by the vet's lovely dog and cookie was in his crate very ready to go home. I took a deep breath and asked for the total. $197. This included a full dental cleaning, the extraction of two canines, and his meds. This was, as you might recall, over $900 less than the estimate I had received from my original vet. I asked if I needed to bring him back and she said no - not unless there was any problem. Needless to say, he has all my business.

My head cold is abating. I took some duct tape and fixed my gate - just before the subzero weather. I doubled the grain rations, and everyone seems to be perking up. Bernie is taking her meds gladly in a combination of ground venison and cooked chicken. My Lymes test came back negative. I bought a replacement bulb and now can see while I cook. I will be feeding two less bossy/hungry sheep after Sunday. I still have my job.

So, this brings me to the question - why can't I trust the Universe? I would love to be fully, totally trusting as is my friend, Rosie. She has the bravery to open her arms, mind and heart and put her cares and worries and needs out to the Universe. I used to scoff at this - that it was somehow a sign of weakness that you wouldn't take full charge of your own problems - stiff upper lip and all that. But I can see (and envy) a real peacefulness that she has - that I don't. I'm going to work on it, but, at this age, I make no promises.

Dear Blogger.

2012-01-18T06:14:00.000-05:00

Why is it that I cannot comment on my own blog? Why do you shut me out? Why do you hate me? Just to let you all know that I am reading your comments and have been left with only telepathy as a means to reply. So I am beaming love your way -- until Blogger releases its evil hold.

Weird weather. Tough decisions.

2012-01-17T15:19:00.000-05:00

So far, this winter has been totally unpredictable. It seems that every phase comes in violently - with high winds and drastic changes. Yesterday, when I awoke at 5:00 AM (yes, I slept in - sloth that I am) it was -6 degrees. The dogs made fast work of their constitutional that morning. This morning when I awoke at 4:30 AM (back to almost-normal), it was snowing and 28 degrees. Right now, it is very windy and raining. Wheehaw, Granny - get out the suede chaps! We're in for a wild ride!
I stand on the deck every morning thinking, "Shovel or not shovel? Sand or not sand?" I am glad everyone on the LLF has a snug dry place to hang out.

And, speaking of the LLF, there will be some changes made this weekend. They are tough ones for me because I am a sentimental sappy dame. I know that most of you can relate to the ever-rising costs of food, feed, taxes, gas, everything. Except, of course, our incomes. I had decided to put two of my Icelandic ewes on the market, as caring for and feeding seven sheep and a llama, and two goats and a flock of mixed poultry, was weighing heavily on my time and pocketbook. I found myself doing nothing but feeding, cleaning up, and trying to balance out everyone's health issues. There has been no quality time spent with my woolly charges - and that's not why I started up all this business. Why I started up all this business falls under the category of temporary insanity, but I am SURE I had hoped for head-scratching-treat-feeding-looking-dreamily-into-ovine-eyes time.

As my life has gone recently, I had someone who was interested in two of the sheep, but they were not able to commit and I finally had to pass on them. I then decided to put an ad in craigslist for Freyda and ended up on a rapid-fire email conversation over two weeks wherein a swap was formed. What I hadn't planned was that Hoosier would be part of the swap. I am very attached to him. I l.o.v.e. his buck teeth and funny ways. And his amazing markings. I was not as crazy about the fact that he is intact and that can be problematic with sheep. And, when there are no lambs, he tends to forget he is "protection" and runs the sheep over getting to the food. Soooooo. He, Freyda and Cocoa will be going to a llama/Icelandic/Nigerian farm in Massachusetts and Apria, a female grand champion llama and great guard animal will be coming here, along with a future breeding for Sage to one of her Nigerian bucks and the first female offspring of Hoosier - who I will keep and send Apria back. Insert large sigh. The good news is, Hoosier will get to feel his oats and have a much larger area in which to frolic. I predict beautiful babies. Cocoa and Freyda will also have larger digs and other ovine companionship. They will also have each other. It will be hard on Banyan and Linden, the mammas' boys. But I am sure everyone, including myself, will survive the kerfuffle. And I will be down to one llama and five sheep, three of them lambs. I predict I will need lots of head and ear scratching after this weekend.

Monday Musings.

2012-01-16T06:00:00.001-05:00

Why is it, when we are hit with a (minor) illness, we revert to our child-like selves? Personally speaking, of course. I am usually as healthy as a horse and I can't remember the last time I got a big, soggy, miserable head cold. Oh, wait! It was yesterday! You know those mornings when your head leaves the pillow a half hour after you've risen? Where you just want to hang a bucket off your head to deal with all the "leaks"? I am a horrible patient. Antsy, frustrated, whiney. And really, all I need is my mother. Or a husband, partner, roommate, indentured servant to do my chores. I wander about in my cold clothes, trailing damp hankies. And I am darn glad I have a collection of hankies, as I do NOT use tissues. I am too forgetful (and cheap). There have been too many instances of the errant tissue left in a pocket - I do not have to describe the resulting laundry issues.

Of course, if I'm feeling lousy and sorry for myself, almost the last person I'd want to see is my mother. She did not tolerate sickness well. We got one day - one - to lie in bed and ring our little bell. Then, if it was not some terrible malady, it was time to "get up" and do. If I tried to squeeze out a little more sympathy (by now you all know how melodramatic I am was), she would rustle me up a dish of milk toast. I tell you, that would put the roses in my cheeks - as I bolted out of bed just to get away from it! How anyone in their right mind could think a combination of soggy toast sprinkled with sugar in warm milk would cure what ailed you is beyond me. Hey! Stop the presses! It DID cure me! However, my mother made the most wonderful custard. That, my dears, is a warm, loving hug in a cup.

Having a head cold, while living in the Northeast in the winter, and dealing with animals, is not for sissies. By the time I get all the sub-zero outdoor gear on, I am down to shuffling. And everyone is hungry except me. The only upside of all this is that I get to live in my fleece skirt, long underwear and hand-me-down cashmere sweater (only handed down because it has a paint stain - which doesn't bother me at all!) I don't have to answer the phone. My dogs are warm. And I've discovered the Hot Brick Toddy!

Tina! C'mon Down!

2012-01-15T16:58:00.000-05:00

Using a highly scientific method of random choice, I dipped into the hat and came up with Tina from Our Rustic Roots! Congratulations, Tina! I will post the book to you this week. Please email your mailing info to me at my email address (in previous post). Thanks everyone for encouraging me towards the path of Feng Shui!

A little extra time.

2012-01-12T14:47:00.001-05:00

Since Blogger seems to be misbehaving, I've gotten a couple of emails from people who cannot leave a comment on the give-away post. In the nonce, the give-away is open for comment until Saturday, with the winner being drawn by some non-scientific method on Sunday. So let's hope they can fix whatever is wrong soon!

p.s. If you still have trouble leaving a comment, send me an email at swomersley at gmail dot com.

Enough, already! How about a Give-Away?

2012-01-11T11:40:00.000-05:00

Time to move along. In my quest to reach an acceptable level of Feng Shui in my house, I am going through my books - especially my LARGE and diverse reference and research library. I am a self-proclaimed book junkie impulse book buyer. Baaaaaad combination. Bad for me = Good for you!

This is a great book for sewers of all levels. It has wonderful gift ideas and is a lovely, hardbound book with lots of photographs and a wide variety of projects. It is also very similar to at least two others I have. Sigh.

To be tossed in the fray for this book, just leave a comment of any kind below. It doesn't have to deal with sewing - it can deal with sunrises, sunsets, guinea hens, or horseback riding. Anything you feel like. The deadline is Thursday, and I will be drawing and announcing the winner on Friday.

Anatomy of an Estimate

2012-01-10T17:47:00.000-05:00

Just because I find this all so perversely humorous, let's examine the "estimate" given to me by the vet (ahem, Veterinary Hospital, thank you very much). Then I will get it out of my system and call them to negotiate.

Every aspect of this estimate gets a Low Amount and a High Amount. But it could go higher. It won't go lower.

Oral Treatment Level 1
$344.50 (can you imagine a Level 3?)
This includes: examination, hospitalization, pre-anesthetic blood work to assure organ health, sedation and in-hospital pain control, intravenous catheter placement and fluid therapy, anesthesia and anesthesia monitoring, whole mouth digital x-rays to look for invisible disease under the gum line, digital photography, complete oral exam under general anesthesia which includes removal of plaque and tartar, ultrasonic scaling, sub-gingival scraping (root planing), polishing and application of Oravet, nursing care, charting and record keeping, recheck appointment 10-14 days after procedure to discuss follow-up home care. Pain medication, antibiotics gift-wrapping and sealants to go home are additional.

There are plenty of disclaimers, which lead me to believe there will definitely be a High Amount.

Dental Nerve Block
$25.25 (both Low and High) is that per nerve?

Gas Anesthesia
Low $225
High $337.50 high is right!

Oral Surgery (per minute) per MINUTE?
Low (60 mins) $240
High (90 mins) $360
Note: These are canines, notorious for long, difficult roots. Let's just say "Ultra High" at 2 hours

Small Animal Medication
Low $25
High $50

Then there is the disclaimer, and the promise to pay the full amount at discharge. Or else, what? They keep your cat? Claim your firstborn? Have you thrown in jail? I used to love this veterinary practice and have been going for years. It's not close and it's not convenient. But they have grown into an institution and I am no longer feeling the love. They make you feel incredibly guilty because YOU have caused this problem through your utter neglect. Never mind that this particular cat, although sweet-natured, is close to 20 pounds of muscle and nerve. He hates to be confined, held too long, fiddled with, examined, captured, caged, driven, poked, and prodded. If they think I will rassle him to the ground every other day to examine his teeth, they are sorely mistaken. I do the best I can. I am cursed with cats with bad dental health.

My approach is going to be: How much is it for you to extract his two canines? I want no polishing, scraping, planing, bows, glitter or whatever. Then, after a reasonable amount of time - when he's had the space to forget the horrors of the Veterinary Hospital and I've had the time to regroup (again) my finances - we will have the Oral Treatment Level 1.

I'll probably have to sign something that states that I am a neglectful and evil cat mother. Sigh.

January - Get thee behind me!

2012-01-09T17:09:00.000-05:00

Waaaay behind me. So far this month: Bernie was diagnosed with Lyme's; same Bernie 'ate' part of an old sleeping couch, which had me running for the Hydrogen Peroxide and milk; my new goat gate broke; Flora, perfectly fine one day, was not the next; my frost-free outdoor faucet (#3 since I've moved here) broke, prompting a call to the plumber; who arrived as I came back from the vet, who told me that Cookie needs $1100 in medical care. And most of that was over the past two days!

Time to do some hard and creative thinking (and financial waggling). I'm trying to convince myself that ALL the bad stuff for 2012 is getting fit into one month. How does that sound to you, Universe?

It's a good thing I availed myself of some comfort food yesterday (along with the comforting presence of a good friend). I rediscovered my Moosewood cookbook collection and made a rendition of Spinach Polenta with Fresh Tomatoes. For those of you in need of comfort, here it is:

Spinach Polenta Topped with Tomatoes (adapted from Moosewood Restaurant Simple Suppers)
(I don't have the recipe here - but this is close enough)

2 cups water
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup corn grits (polenta)
1 cup grated Parmesan
8 oz. baby spinach (I only had a 5 oz. package and it was fine)

Fresh tomatoes (regular or Roma - approx. 4 reg. or 8 Roma) *I didn't have fresh so used about a pint of my own canned oven roasted Romas
2 garlic cloves pressed or minced
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dried Oregano
2 Tablespoons Balsamic vinegar

Put the water, milk and salt in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Pour the grits in a slow, steady stream into the liquid while stirring constantly. Continue stirring until it thickens.

Heat the oil in another saucepan and add the garlic. Cook until golden, then add the tomatoes, salt and oregano. Stir until heated through and the tomatoes just start to soften. When they are softened, take off the heat and stir in vinegar.

Back to the polenta! Stir in the cheese, then add the spinach a handful at a time, stirring until it wilts. When all the spinach has been added, make sure it's heated through, then spoon onto each dish and top with tomato mixture. You can sprinkle with additional grated Parmesan if you wish. It is easy and delish!

Bring on the comfort! And a lottery win would help a lot....

Monday Musings

2012-01-09T05:44:00.000-05:00

I just finished listening to the most wonderful book - and a children's book, to boot. Any book (or any thing, come to think about it) that Julie at World of Julie raves about always causes me to head in it's direction. I decided to get the book on CDs, to help medicate me during my endless commute. Honestly, it was so riveting that I ended up on a few occasions bringing it inside to play on my home CD player!

Part of the cast of characters is an "unkindness" of ravens. That stopped me in my tracks. And it had me heading for the encyclopedia. Some group names were mind-boggling: a "clowder" of kittens? Maybe in China, but shouldn't that be a "cuddle" of kittens? A "gulp" of cormorants? Maybe that's what you'd do if a whole "cloud" of them (think "The Birds") flew at you... And some were so darn appropriate: a "busyness" of ferrets. I also found that, apparently, some poor creatures hadn't even been considered in a group. That is just WRONG. So, in the name of all things equal, I give you:

A Hill of Anteaters
A Bundle of Aardvarks
A Fleet of Armadillos
A Flush of Falcons
A Mao-tain of Giant Pandas
A Gargle of Guanacos
An Ick of Iguanas
A Lotto Lobsters (sorry, couldn't help myself!)
A Kerfuffle of Newts
A Train of Rails

Our family loved words. We played word games on our endless car trips - the usual "I Spy" games with odd spins. "I spy something that should go on a sammich"; or "I spy the stinky feet of someone with a name starting with C". On one unfortunate occasion, my youngest sister, who was quite smitten with pigs, was sitting next to my paternal grandmother who, good-naturedly, decided to get in on the fun. "Oh, look," she said. "I spy pigs!" She was getting a little dotty by that time and, actually, there were no pigs. C punched her in the arm and was inconsolable. Would that have been a Phantasm of Pigs???

Out and about on the LLF.

2012-01-06T11:03:00.000-05:00

Things are pretty well wrapped up for winter on the Little Lucky. The run-in is rough but pretty wind-water-tight. Hoosier thinks it's the bees' knees. I have only to install the cross-braces perpendicular to the rafters (doesn't that sound builder-ish? I owe it all to my Makita), and install the outside hay racks and inside corner hay rack. Since the sheep go into a solid mob around the erstwhile feeder, I want to make sure that Hoosier gets his fair share of hay. And I also want to keep him from spritzing the sheep with stinky spit.

Snug enough for winter

Cattle panel gate ready to install

The goaties have a light on a timer, a heated water bucket and a nice, thick layer of straw in their Igloo. Sage has managed to poise herself daintily on all fours at the top of the dome of the Igloo. I thought this was just soooo cute, until she started launching off the top and going over my pallet fence into the hay area. Stinker. I'll have to come up with a more permanent solution - such as another pallet atop the first - but for now I've Jerry-rigged a series of barriers that have flummoxed her so far.

The Goat Igloo

Chickie availing himself of the hay bar.

You should give me those treats because I'm adorable!

My poultry water heater seems to have bit the dust, just in time for single digit temps! It's given me a good 5 years, so I can't complain. I put a light in the coop that I now leave on when the night temperatures dip too low. Two of the walls are insulated, and one is buffered by the shed. that just leaves the front, which is fairly tight. As those with chickens know, you don't want to cut off ALL the ventilation. It can be worse than the cold.

Speaking of chickens, led by Freddy the Bearded Lady, they are slowly starting to lay again. And what an array!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

2012-01-05T06:24:00.001-05:00

It is officially winter, here on the Little Lucky Farm. (What do you think? I have decided to name this chaos that consumes most of my waking hours.) How do I know? Is it the scrim of snow covering my frozen raised beds? The battle of the species played out at my bird feeders? The tentacles of extension cords extended from either end of the house?

No - it's because THE JACKET has emerged from it's summer storage. I have had this jacket/parka for years. Can you tell??? I bought it at a deep discount from Lands End because no one, apparently, cared for a reversible bright orange down parka. Oh, silly them! I figured that, should I keel over in the deep snow, there was more than a 50/50 chance that someone would spot me before spring. Plus, it has four pockets, zips from chin to knee, has a hood that Velcros across your chin, and seems to be (please God) impervious to abuse. I l.o.v.e. TJ and all it's tears, stains, pulls, and tatters.

Why, it's like a work of art:

Fine art.

Real art.

Oh, Kermit! You were so right!

2012-01-04T06:38:00.000-05:00

It's not easy being green. Ever since that First Earth Day, I have been an ardent advocate for Terra Madre, my own Mother Earth. I thought it was very clear that, if we kept on the same path on which we were heading, some terrible, irreversible damage would be done to dear old Ma. So I have been recycling, reusing, remaking. Going along thinking that it would get easier because everyone (read: government) would be on the same bandwagon, streamlining the process. Oh, call me Pollyanna. Or other names spring to mind.

Well, what?, forty-some years later, it's still difficult. One cannot just prance, clad in their poufy dress (you have to read this post) into any store and buy a product that is thoughtfully, carefully and sustainably packaged. One cannot (in this town) put just any plastic in the recycling bin. One cannot be green easily. I will admit that I am a nut about recycling. I can actually envision landfills - and, in my heatedly fermented imagination, they are awful places reminiscent of the worst sci-fi nightmares. So I stand over my kitchen trash can holding the remnants of some over-packaged product that I spent five hours and three times that many miles searching for that didn't come from our Chinese neighbors, and I worry.

Is it a 1 or a 2? Why didn't I think to look at the store!?! In order to find out if I can pop this baby into the plastic recycling bin, I need to read the little stamped number that is so incredibly tiny that it cannot be seen by the human eye. I put on my reading glasses and go in search of a magnifying glass. Packagers are ageists! And woe is to me if the number that I can finally decipher is NOT a 1 or a 2. Then I have to rummage around in that same fomented mind to come up with another use for it. If I cannot, I am forced to drop it in the - gulp - trash. And I am wracked with guilt in imagining it sitting atop a mountain of disposable diapers off the coast of Long Island for a nuclear age.

It should not be a surprise that I take personally the fact that Styrofoam was introduced on the year that I was born.

Monday Musings

2012-01-02T06:35:00.000-05:00

The very first Monday of the new year! This time of year, I muse backward and forward. In other words, I muse a lot. There is nothing like musing backwards, when one is wearing the clear lens of hindsight. I will have to say that I have very few regrets. To me, regrets remind me of Marley's chains and shackles, long, clanking weights that drag you down and keep you from moving forward. Since there is seldom a way to un-do what has been done, I try to find some nugget of good from whatever sticky mess I've wrested myself and put it in my pocket for future contemplation.

Having a birthday on New Year's Day is a double-edged sword. People tend to remember my birthday (good and bad, depending on how hard I am trying to forget it!) and I get my birthday off from work (saving myself from the dreadful "office celebration"). That's the good part. Ish. Ever since I have hit middle age, I have tended to try to ignore birthdays with a vengeance. This is difficult in a family where birthdays are celebrated no matter what and especially if it's on New Year's Day. Part of our celebration as kids was to be able to choose our own birthday meal. If I had been born on any other day, I would have chosen my mom's macaroni and cheese, with carrot and raisin salad and a Hough Bakery white cake with white frosting and pink and green roses. Instead, I got roast duck, mashed potatoes, baked tangerines, and a plum pudding. While this might sound just grand, imagine the horror a roast duck presented to an 8-year-old who held Twinkies in a reverential light. This was only, however, because we were never given a Twinkie! Put the taboo on anything, and I NEEDED it! (Unfortunately, this still holds true today.) But, since we were good, compliant children, I suffered through this yearly meal, harboring a deep resentment towards everything but the mashed potatoes.

This year is a rather monumental year for me. I have hit a milestone that I could never even contemplate even five years ago. Call me Cleo, Queen of DeNile. But I am taking a different tack this year. I am embracing it! I am rolling in it, glorying in it, giving it a big warm hug! I am LYING! I really just got worn down with everyone wanting to know what I was going to do to celebrate - offering me all kinds of advice, and not even letting me contemplate what I had originally wanted to do. Which was nothing. Nada. Zip. So who started all this birthday celebration nonsense anyway? Hallmark? Sara Lee? Duncan Hines? I'd like to have a little tete-a-tete with the guilty party.

Quite frankly, I am my most stressed on New Year's Eve. For some reason, every year on that day, I want to slam on the brakes and go backwards. I panic about the year being forever lost. Then I get over it because I can't stop it, wacky doodle that I am. Another big plus, in my book, is that I can finally relax and enjoy winter (remind me I said that when I'm up to my knees in snow and ice) and the respite it brings. I could never contemplate NOT having this break - even for all the cold and snow and ice. Thanks to the generous nature of my friends and neighbors, I am pretty much ready for it this year. I have lots of things to do inside - and some of them are actually fun! Can I stand it? You betcha.

Putting my money where my mind is.

2011-12-29T13:38:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday to Me! Happy Birthday to Me! Every year I buy myself a birthday present. What this actually means is that I purchase something that I cannot justify spending money on under ordinary circumstances under the guise of a birthday present. It is usually something modest - like pre-owned DVDs of a Murder She Wrote season that I don't yet have. This year was a little different. I received some birthday money and decided not to spend all of it on hay. Yes, I know - e-i-e-i-OMG she's such a narcissist!

I have been contemplating what to get for a couple of months. And I have finally chosen it. And I know you are all waiting with bated breath to know what it is.

It is the Pioneer Clothes Drying Rack, handmade by the folks at Forgotten Way Farms! This is a family for whom I have nothing but admiration. They have chosen to live completely off-grid, are raising a lovely, hardworking family, and are making their living by their own hands. I have been lusting mightily after these drying racks ever since I ran across their website here. I have been wrestling with my cheap, flimsy rack for years, and have never been able to quite afford the Amish made models I've come across. But these racks are amazing AND affordable - plus I happened to buy one when they were on sale! How fortuitous! I can hardly wait until it arrives -- no more wet laundry draped over pillar and post!

I am so happy to be able to spend my money on a useful, American-made product, handmade by people who are living a sustainable life, and hand-crafted with a great deal of care, talent and forethought. For what more could I ask? Happy birthday to me!

Monday Musings.

2011-12-26T04:47:00.000-05:00

Happy Boxing Day! When I first heard of this day, I thought it was a day where all the British servant class would get the Peers in a ring and give them what-for. Serving class revenge! I was rather disappointed to find that it had more to do with giving the servants the day off, since they had to work on the holiday. I like my idea better.

Boxes. I've moved around quite a bit in my life. I think, at one point, my mother said that she had to start a new address book just for me, as she already had sixteen different addresses under my name. I mostly moved myself - being the starving artist that I was for several years, I didn't have a lot of possessions. Everything was boxed up in boxes gleaned from the back of stores and groceries. I would pack things willy-nilly and label boxes in a cryptic way: "Stuff - Old LR". I inevitably lost a box during transition. I came to think of it as one does about socks in the laundry - a veritable Box Black Hole. When I moved to the Netherlands, one of my boxes never made it back into the shipping crate at Customs. Unfortunately, it contained all my dinner-sized plates. The first Dutch word I learned was inappropriate for family viewing.

When I was a kid, I had a cigar box in which I kept all my "important" stuff. There were rocks, little Robin's eggs, some sea glass, a snake skin. I was constantly spotting something amazing and pocketing it until I could safely stash it in my box. Which was then hidden through an elaborate series of coverings, veilings, and subterfuge. Heaven forbid someone would find my treasure! I still pick up odds and ends. Sort of like a magpie - shiny objects are always catching my eye.

One of my (countless) New Year's Resolutions is to sort through some of these boxes that have been toted around from pillar to post. They are still unpacked and still unused. So, I am assuming, they are unneeded. I have found that the best motivation for giving all these "collections" the heave-ho is imagining the conversation that will take place between my unfortunate family members burdened with the task of cleaning out my house after I'm gone.

"Um, didn't we just open a box of string bits and hour ago?"
"I'm afraid to open this box - YOU open it."
"Did you realize she had a 'problem'?"

Pardon me while I pull out my sorting bins (thank you Sylvie) and toss some flotsam!

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T06:54:00.000-05:00

'Twas the day of Christmas and all through the farm
the furred and the feathered were keeping quite warm.
The run-in was topped with a nice vinyl cap
While tiny, sweet goaties climbed up in my lap.

The nesting boxes were filled with nice shavings
to welcome eggs that the hens had been saving
The ducks took turns in their nice soaking bath
While chickens kept hunting for bugs in their path

Scrappy was bouncing by the closed pantry door
If one treat came out of there, there must be much more.
Bernie was curled up on her freshly washed bed
With visions of pigs ears dancing around in her head

The Boyz dash about over tables and chairs
Giving their 'mother' a zillion new gray hairs
This mother of many both feathered and furred
(while her posting of late has been quite deferred)

wishes all of you a very Merry Christmas!

An Ode to Tattlers

2011-12-20T15:28:00.001-05:00

I wax poetic about my wished-for lids - and you can all blame dr momi!

I dream of Tattlers with their endless seal
I dream of them with every apple peel.
I long to end the flats I'm tossing
(and the money I am lossing)

So, Santa, hear my request
As a Good Girl, I am the best...
My Stocking (a large one) will be hung by the fire
Please fill it with Tattlers, the lids I desire.

(Blatant, but effective? Time will tell...)

Move over Bob the Builder!

2011-12-20T06:00:00.002-05:00

There's a new game (dame?) in town -- Sue the (con)Structor! Yet another surprise met me at the door last week. (All these surprises being delivered to my door is wreaking havoc on the interior of my house - the dog alarms take umbrage with anyone approaching the door!) I was calm enough, letting the dogs out, changing into barn clothes - all the while keeping the box just inside my range of sight. After everyone was fed, watered and locked up tight for the night, I rushed inside and opened it.

Meet Sue the (con)Structor's sidekick, Drillie:

OMG! Yes, I am not ashamed to say that I managed to drop the hint that I would really like an 18V Makita driver/drill about a million times. It really works, when you add a lot of sighing and draping tragically across each page of your posts regarding building. You know, if I hadn't gone into amateur homesteading, I could have been a silent film star. It is difficult not to put an exclamation point (!) after every mention of this amazing driver/drill (!) It weighs only a little bit over 3 lbs. It fits my hand like a glove. It came with two batteries. The charger charged the battery that was totally drained in under 15 minutes. (!!!!!) If it hadn't been raining the morning after I got it, I would have been out there driving home all the 4" screws that my wimpy driver/drill couldn't manage. Poor thing, old drillie. I have had ample opportunity over the weekend to put new Drillie to the test - it's almost scary how fast the screws go in!

Maybe I should start to wax poetic about Tattler canning lids?

(My apologies to anyone who wants to leave a comment. Thanks to a great deal of nasty spamming, I will have to moderate comments before I post them. Bear with me.....xoxo)

Monday Musings.

2011-12-19T06:02:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things about winter is that I get the opportunity (between rounds with my Snow Wolf) to dig into the large stack of books I have been putting aside. I love to read. I have always loved to read. My mother would take us to our little local library every week, where we each could pick out a book of our own, and my mother would pick out one to read to all of us. I can remember very clearly the children's section of that library. I remember how it smelled. I would stand and look at all those shelves of books and get giddy. BH (Before Homestead), I read an average of a book a week. Now, I am lucky if I can keep up with the few periodicals I get. But winter. Winter forces me inside and, since I can avoid dusting with the best of them, I am given the gift of time.

My favorite book of all time is Alice in Wonderland. I can quote the Jabberwocky verbatim. Not that I have had much occasion to pull it out. But I could, if the occasion arose. I have read that book, cover to cover, at least 20 times. The volume we had at home had wonderful pen and ink illustrations. As I read, I could just see everything playing out in my mind. I wanted to go through that looking glass, down that rabbit hole. Of course, there were a few times in my wayward youth where I probably did do those things. Sort of, in a way. But that's a whole nuther can of wax, to mix metaphors.

I had a very vivid imagination as a child. I still do, but it lacks that brilliance of innocence. When we were children, our family would spend two weeks every summer on a small lake in northern Ontario. My mother came from a long line of hearty, headstrong pioneering people. They used to throw a picnic and the babies in an old crank car and head off to the unknown at the drop of a hat. My great-great grandfather bought a piece of property on this lake and, in the winter, they would snowshoe across the ice to where they had cut logs and pull them over to the homesite. They built a log cabin, chinked it and put in a woodstove. There was no plumbing (we used the "Mansion" up a path in the woods) and no electricity. It was absolute heaven. Many hours were spent along the shoreline playing house, pretending we were wood fairies. Watching the loons and making up scary stories about Ghost Island.

I feel pretty wistful for the kids today. If they were plunked on our shoreline with nothing more than what was at hand, would they be able to come up with the fantastic adventures that we conjured out of nothing but our over-active imaginations? Doubtful. They would be looking for the nearest electrical outlet. I assume that I will fixate on that period when I am in my dotage and repeat the sames stories to whatever unfortunate audience I have held captive. It is a very pleasant place to revisit.

Christmas came a-knockin'!

2011-12-14T11:25:00.000-05:00

It must be the season. I am sooo slow in the morning getting to my chores; deaf to the penetrating bleats of Acacia; refusing to make eye contact with Scrappy. I am *gasp * dawdling. Yesterday morning I was wandering about after going more than a few rounds with my crossword puzzle - heading in the vague direction of the barn, when the dog alarm went off. Someone was driving up my driveway. Was it Santa in his sleigh?

No! Even better - it was my favorite Christmas Elf, Kay, in her Honda! She had decided that what I needed for Christmas was a practical gift. Oh, how right she was/is! Here is what she bestowed upon me yesterday morning:

A gluten-free girl's dream come true!

I happily abandoned the sheep pre-breakfast (with loud protests from Acacia and gang, and worried noises from Hoosier), to invite her in for a cup of coffee. We managed a nice, but short, visit before I had to race around and make up for lost time before heading off to work.

Christmas also arrived at my door via the postman in a mysterious, flat, rectangular package:

I call it my "Christmas Snowman Hearth Shovel" decoration!

Is this not the cutest thing ever?

Tom - the very talented vermiculturist (aka Worm Farmer) over at worms-a-crawling farm had made it and sent it as a thank-you for some books on rabbits that I had mailed. He did the woodworking and his neighbor did the painting. It is adorable!

I am still feeling all warm and fuzzy.

Learning. Ouch.

2011-12-13T06:00:00.002-05:00

If I had a nickel for every time I didn't listen to that little ~~whiny~~ nagging voice in my head, I could retire. Or at least I could have afforded my car repair bill on Saturday.

A very hectic work week ended with a much-too-exciting trip down my mountain with my brakes feeling like twin Twinkies. Spongy. I was very relieved to pull into my driveway in one piece. Figuring it was just an adjustment needed from my front brake replacement job of last weekend, I did my rounds and had a glass of wine and a tin of kippers for dinner. (I tell you, there are upsides of singlehood. No pans, no one expecting more than a dish of kibble. No one to say, "What in the world??!! Kippers?" - no, wait, YOU are saying it, aren't you? Well, I can't hear you - lalalalalalala.)

Saturday's errand list was two pages, so I figured I would stop at the garage first, then zip around and check things off the list and be home in time to zip over to the feed store, shower and go out to dinner with my neighbor. There tends to be a lot of "zippiness" in my thoughts on weekends. This is what actually happened: I spent five hours and mucho dinero at the Bennington Midas. Having my rear brakes replaced. I did NOT get to the feed store. I did NOT go out to dinner. I did NOT drop off my Goodwill stuff. Luckily, my dear sister was at our parents' this weekend and was able to come and rescue me once they informed me it would be hours longer. I was able to shop for our office adopt-a-family (which I love, because it's the only time I get to shop for little ones!) and I did manage to do a Tractor Supply run for scratch feed and bird seed after the brakes were replaced. And before I was all spongy-braked again. Back to Midas where they bled the air out of the brake lines. And, worst of all, I DID NOT BRING MY KNITTING. That was the cruelest blow. I had left the house at 9a thinking, "I should bring my knitting - nah, I won't be waiting long enough to make any headway." Cha-CHING! Another nickel! I got home at 3:45p. I was unhappy.

Sunday wasn't much better, as cheating on my non-gluten diet during the week finally caught up with me - oh, fickle, delusional me. But I did manage to piece together some board siding on the run-in and put the two upright boards on my cover-my-fuel-oil-tank project. The rest of the day was low-key, fiddling around with my rearranging projects and doing laundry. If all goes well (hahahahahahahahaha) I hope to have the run-in shed in finished-enough shape to hold us through winter and have the framework finished on the tank enclosure.

On an upside note, I think that I have found a great home for Acacia and Coco. That will leave me with five sheep, which is much less of a feeding expense and will give everyone more pasture next year. It will also mean that A and C will be getting a lot of individual attention - something that A craves and C needs. Fingers and hooves are crossed.

Monday Musings

2011-12-12T06:00:00.001-05:00

When they (there they are again) say, "boy, she really packed on the weight" - how come mine is in jiggly plastic carry-ons, and not in hard-sided American Tourister luggage? Do they even make hard-sided American Tourister luggage anymore? Is it even cool to be seen with an actual suitcase? Do the airlines charge you triple for actual suitcases? You can tell it's been a while since I've traveled.

I used to love to travel by air. It was an event - E.V.E.N.T. Everyone spiffed up, all spit-shined clean and coiffed for a trip on an airplane. No jeans, no pants-down-to-your-knees...

Segue - how on God's Green Earth can those homeboys keep their pants from pooling around their giant sneakers with every other step? What if they have to hurry along? And, do we want to see their undies? I think, generally, NOT.

I'm back. You could sit comfortably in your seat in those days. Your knees were not up to your chin. There were no yowling babies - it was too expensive to bring the whole family. Plus, I do believe that people weren't in the habit of hauling mere infants all over the place just days after birth. You got a free: blanket, pillow, meal, beverage. It was just lovely. The last time I flew, I flew overseas to attend the wedding of a very dear friend to the love of her life. Given that the last time I flew was after the world was turned on its ear, the security was amazing. Bags were thoroughly searched, as was I. We were shuffled through long lines, herded onto a plane that had been reduced to a narrow aisle lined on both sides with hundreds of tiny seats. I half expected to see Temple Grandin waiting for us as we boarded. We were "served" by an overworked, unhappy, cranky bunch of flight attendants, and my headphones didn't work. Ack. The best part was landing in Amsterdam and getting on the train to Eindhoven and seeing Els when I alit. The return was just as grim, plus there was the added bonus of a drooling, snoring drunken seat-mate to contend with.

Enough of that. Let's do a little tip-toeing through my childhood memories, okeydokey? We did not fly anywhere. We drove. My parents were of the thought that all car trips should begin before daylight. This added to the excitement - the car had been packed the night before. We were awakened in the dark and bundled off into the car in our pajamas. The car was almost always a Dodge. With spectacular tail fins. It was BIG. We slept through the first hours of our trips - and that was probably the only peace and quiet my parents got on the trip. The rest of the time was non-stop jabbering (by yourstruly), punctuated with pleas to stop (we learned to hold our water - my father didn't believe in stopping for anything but gas), and rousing games of License Plates, I Spy, and 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall (which we thought was a daring, wicked song because it was about....beer).

I still sing in the car. An while vacuuming. And to the dogs, cats, chickens, sheep, and goats. The dogs and goats are particularly moved by my vocalizing, although it worries Bernie if I get too wound up in a rendition of an Aretha Franklin song. Are you a closet singer?

The Snow Wolf. A Review.

2011-12-08T11:26:00.001-05:00

First, let me say that I am pretty adept at putting things together. When I first saw the box containing my Snow Wolf, I thought, "Gee, this seems like a pretty small box." That was because the Snow Wolf was in about a thousand pieces. Holy Crap, as Kay would say. Last night I took everything out, laid it out and looked at the directions. Or, what I will refer to as the so-called directions. Vague would be an understatement. Luckily, I had all the recommended tools - and a DVD. Saved! Not. Even the DVD was vague. I started at 7:30p and finally had the wheel together, with tread firmly (I hope) installed by 9p. By 10:30 I had the main pieces put together but not attached to the wheel. I opted for bed. After rising at 3:30a and beholding the overnight efforts of Mother Nature, I made some high octane coffee and finished the job. Ease of assembly: D- (With a degree in Mechanical Engineering? A+)

The Snow Wolf - In all its Glory at 5:00 AM

This was a perfect day to road test the S-W. Here is what I beheld as the sun rose (somewhere):

Line of trees between front yard and barn.

Back fenced area with hoophouses and hay feeder (after SnowWolfing)

As with anything new, it takes some getting used to. This system is so different and "engineered" that it does take a while for us mere mortals to get the hang of it. Also, to be fair, not once in the riveting DVD action did one of the nicely dressed, perky S-W operators shovel anything but a nice, flat driveway. It was way easier to use than a regular shovel, but you can really only do large, wide swaths. I still had to hand shovel the decks and steps. This thing is BIG! It also seems to put some strain on one's arms, but that could be because this "one" hasn't learned how to use it correctly yet. Ease of Use: B+

Here are some more snowy pics for your entertainment - all of you sitting nice and snug by your wood stoves.

See stark contrast from previous post.

Yes, those dark blobs are sheep!

Chickie and Sage don't seem to mind the snow

Winter camo.

The Evidence

2011-12-08T06:40:00.000-05:00

Boy, nothing like pictures to show you everything that wasn't done, still has to be done, ought to be done. But we have a good start and I am now inspired to simplify my space to where I feel blissful.

Looking across LR - the bookcase had been to far left, with long table (holding TV/DVD) to right.
Front door is to the right. You will notice a cat on every piece of furniture

Table now behind sofa (upon which I need to do some adjusting of covers...)
This pic was taken from the hallway.

LR "area", complete with two cats. Still needs work (as in de-cluttering)
but I am making progress!

Half-wall in dining area leading to kitchen on right. Sans Pie Safe.

I will take more once I get more natural light. I was up until 11p trying to put the goldarn Snow Wolf together. That experience deserves a separate post.

Since I was running around with my camera - here's more evidence...

The New and Improved Goat Gate (with triple bungee closing, thanks
to Chickie's discovery that he can push it open with one bungee)

Run In Shed - partially sided. The facing boards need to be trimmed.

So there you are. The evidence. I now have to pull on my Carharts and muster the courage to tackle the 6 plus inches of snow that was predicted as a "light covering". It's Woman and Snow Wolf against the elements!

Glory Be! Halleluiah! Woot!

2011-12-06T13:32:00.002-05:00

What a surprise that I did NOT take a "before" picture, nor do I have an "after" photo with this blog post. It sort of takes the wind out of one's bag as far as comparisons go. After successfully luring Sylvia to my house for dinner with the bait of having her rearrange my living room (no, I will not give you her phone number), she stood in the cluttered space and looked around. I stood helplessly by and offered amazingly helpful comments like, "Oh, I don't know" and "I don't know, what do YOU think?" I also offered her a glass of wine, so I wasn't, like, totally, like, lame.

With tape measure in hand and a gleam in her eye, in less than 15 minutes she had completely transformed my living room space. It really was amazing. And, contrary to all my fears, only one slightly dessicated mouse was uncovered while moving furniture. And a pen. And a raccoon-sized fur ball.

There is still work to be done. Artwork has to be hung. A lamp must be purchased. My crock collection must be artfully displayed. The mantle needs to be de-cluttered. Have I mentioned that I L.O.V.E. it? I will have to see if I have prior pics to show the difference. Basically, she pulled things out from the wall, which opened the room up tremendously. I realized that I had everything clinging to the walls for dear life! What am I afraid of??? Within all this opening-up, she also created a snug, cozy area in the living room, where - gasp - I can actually see movies played on the DVD! I am embarrassed to say that, for four years, I have had my tiny TV screen about 40 feet from my chair. And left it that way. For four years. Sigh. I did a little more decorating this morning (along with putting up two more siding boards on the front of the run-in) and will hang a few things on the wall tonight. I'll post pictures tomorrow so you can at least see the "after".

I also started on the dining area by moving my pie safe around the corner and into the kitchen. I removed the wooden record album cabinet that I used as a wine cellar (how grand, non?). The top of the pie safe is large enough that I was able to fit my Berkey water filter and a small wine rack on top. I removed the chandelier from the ceiling in the dining room -- here's a question for you: Why, pray tell, would they have hung the chandelier in a place that would force you to put your dining room table slam/bam against the sliding glass doors in order to have it hanging over your eating space? Hmmm? -- Once I find a cap that fits, I will cover the old opening. All that's left is to hang my lovely wrought-iron candelabra that was an early birthday present from a certain someone. While I doubt very much that it will be as lovely as hers, it will be lovely enough in its humble surroundings.

p.s. I just found out that Sylvia is doing an amazing giveaway on her blog! Go! Comment! Everyone is a winner!

Monday Mewsings

2011-12-05T06:00:00.002-05:00

I have, over the years, been 'host' to a variety of cats and kittens. They were the allowed (or not) pet in most of the apartments in which I've lived. When I first moved to the country, in my previous life, I brought my two cats with me -- Tippet and Woody. Both were Brooklyn City Cats. Of course, they were glued to the windows and doors and wanted OUT. I resisted. Then, under duress, I let Tippet out one day. She immediately headed down the driveway and took a right turn into the middle of the road! Luckily for us both, the next car that came around the bend was driven by a kind-hearted person - who slowed to a crawl behind Miss Puffy Pants. I shouted at the driver to honk her horn, and Tippet shot up the hill (thankfully, in the right direction) where I soon corralled her. We tried one more time with a figure-8 harness and leash. I put her on the deck and she took one step...and dropped to her side like she'd been shot. She wouldn't budge. It was obvious to her that these leather objects were objects of torture. Tippet chafed at any of my efforts to control her.

People often dropped off stray cats there. Apparently, they thought they'd be releasing them into the wild - as if that was a good, natural thing to do. Oh, don't get me started! Over the years, I have had more than 18 cats spayed and neutered!

We never had cats growing up. My mother didn't and doesn't like them. I was desperate for a pet. She allowed fish, so I had a tank of guppies that I loved - until the females had babies and they were eaten by their parents. I didn't sleep for days from the trauma of it and still carry the psychological scars. I also had a field mouse in a shoe box under my bed for a while. This would be the period where I kept my room spotless, so that my mother wouldn't feel inclined to clean it for me and discover the contraband pet. I was so delighted when I opened the box one day and found a whole row of tiny pink babies! Some days later, I was not so delighted when I pulled it out from under the bed and found...nothing. I was on edge for weeks - seeing mice out of the corner of my eye at every turn! Then I had Peeper, my chick. But she had to go live on a farm after she acquired pin feathers.

When I was around 8 I rescued a wild bunny - I had found it lying in the snow with a big gash on it's hind leg. After running into the house and grabbing one of the good guest towels, I ran out and wrapped it up and brought it inside. I wore my parents down with my weeping and moaning, so my uncle (the Vet) was called. He came with his black bag, cleaned around the wound and then put iodine on it. The last we saw of that rabbit was his little white cottontail madly zigzagging around the house, with adults and children in flat-out pursuit. My dad finally opened the door and out it went. I was inconsolable. Falling to the floor, weeping copious tears. Appealing to whatever forces there were out there to help a poor, pet-less little girl, to just end my misery. Have I mentioned that I was very melodramatic as a child?

A dachshund puppy entered soon afterward. We were so thrilled! Dachshunds are infamous for being difficult, but this particular wienie dog met her match with my mother. (Probably because they were both from German backgrounds.) However, she had the rest of us wrapped around her little paw for years.

My mother always told me (in her most exasperated tone - using ALL of my proper name) that some day I would have a child just like me and it would serve me right. What a scary thought!

Weekend Doings.

2011-12-02T16:14:00.000-05:00

Another fun-packed weekend is in store! There are new front brakes for the trusty (and rusty) Ford Focus Wagon -- which just passed a milestone: 187,000 miles! You go, girl! (please, please, please) I will continue siding the run-in shed; the water heater for the poultry needs to be scrubbed up and installed; firewood has to be shuttled; and, if it's warm enough, I will tackle washing the front of the house. I also need to build a frame to enclose my fuel oil tank and move manure to raised beds and rhubarb bed.

On the fun side, there is a holiday party at the local library on Saturday, to which I've procured an invitation. On Sunday, I have invited Sylvie to dinner -- luring her with the prospect of re-working my living room! It needs help. I am clueless. She has talent in abundance and she is so good at it! I will try to take before/after pictures. I am also going to rearrange my dining area -- this is what I do in the wee hours of the morning when I'm trying to go back to sleep. It's better than counting sheep. When I count sheep, I end up worrying if they need to be wormed again, if their hooves need trimming, if they're fat, if I'm a good sheep mother.

I also have to find my cell phone. It has gone missing. This is very out-of-the-ordinary for me, as I don't lose things. I think it might be in my car someplace, as I dialed it up to no avail in the house. Of course, I have a ridiculous ringtone -- guilty of detesting most ringtones (and cellphones in general), I chose the little tweety bird ring tone. Unfortunately, it is so unlike a ringtone, that I miss most of my calls - I am standing with my head cocked, wondering what bird it is that I hear faintly in the distance. Yes, it's the Dodo.

I hope everyone has a marvelous weekend!

Creature Comforts

2011-12-01T06:41:00.001-05:00

As part of my nurturing nature, I make sure that every being in my care is as comfortable as is humanly possible. This means that the chickens and ducks have heated water in the winter, shelter from wind and rain, fresh shavings in their nesting boxes (hint, hint, hint), popcorn for special occasions, and, if I am really feeling motherly, I will cook their scratch grains in the slow cooker overnight until it's like hot breakfast cereal. The goats have their Dogloo house in the barn, with a nice thick layer of straw for cuddling up. They have a light on a timer, fresh water in a heated bucket, minerals, baking soda, a portion of grain twice a day and hay. The sheep will soon have a nice, big run-in shed with a thick layer of straw for bedding and, budget-willing, an inside hay rack and an outside hay rack. They also have a large heated water bucket.

Inside - well, let's just say that some of us are more comfortable than others. Kramer is the Poster Boy of Comfort. He knows a warm place when he finds it.

He only enjoys classical music for its soothing warmth.

Scrappy has his blankie, which he loves in the evening. I wrap him up like an enchilada and he is snoring softly in minutes. As soon as his gentle snorts are wafting about the room, Kramer moves in.

The cats have their own room, complete with a padded comfy chair and scratching posts, two large litter pans (cleaned daily) and cat-sized furniture. They also have the rest of the house which they use liberally.

I am still trying to find the comfort zone for Bernie. She has been so deeply scarred from whatever hell her previous life put her through, that I don't think she will ever be truly comfortable. So we have to just take advantage of the moments she NOT on guard and poised to flee. She does like the new couch and, in the morning when I'm in my rocker knitting my cabled things, she will tentatively inch toward the couch next to me. Looking worried all the way. Once she is absolutely sure it is allowed, she will hop up and curl into a ball with her head on the pillow and gets all squinty.

Every morning, the dogs get their kibble with warm broth. (Don't tell the cats! They'll think I love the dogs more. Which I don't. Mostly.) There are bright orange fleecy vests to wear during hunting season and lots of crunchy treats for any reason.

If it were possible, I would love to be one of my dogs. But I would have to figure out how to be in two bodies at one time, and that would involve time travel and Buddhism or something very complicated - like quantum physics squared by pi. Not likely.

We've Got Us'ns a Winner!

2011-11-30T11:23:00.000-05:00

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

6

Timestamp: 2011-11-30 16:09:27 UTC

Mama Pea wins the pattern! I will be putting it in the mail today. Of course, we expect BIG things and free aprons! (Kidding)

Thanks, everyone, for joining in.

How my DISorganization Works in Your Favor and I Heart Cables!

2011-11-29T06:00:00.002-05:00

While trying to decide what apron to make from my (many) patterns for the Geat Apron Challenge Eggstravaganza, I discovered that I had not one, but TWO patterns of an Edwardian apron. I still have visions of making this and trotting around the homestead like a modern version of Emma (in gum boots) - but it's not on the near-future-list. I have purchased other patterns from Candle on the Hill - they are very nice to deal with and have a wide variety of styles and patterns.

Here is the link to this pattern - Edwardian Apron

If this looks like something you have wanted to make since Bo Didley was a baby, leave me a comment below. I will choose a winner tomorrow (Wednesday) and will put it in the mail this week.

Over the holiday weekend, in between driving, cooking and construction, I learned how to knit cables! (Yes, Melanie, you were right - again - it is incredibly easy) As I rummaged through my pattern box, I had come across patterns for two headbands I have longed to knit. Spurred on by having some down time and watching a how-to video on YouTube, I sprang into action. Needless to say (hey - if I move a few letters around, it's "Needles(s)" to say) I managed to knit both headbands by Sunday. I am a cabling-fool! Next on the handwork agenda is learning how to crochet. I have visions of Granny Squares dancing in my head.

Whatta Weekend.

2011-11-28T12:39:00.000-05:00

I am very remiss in posting but...I was busy and my nephew had commandeered my computer. Sounds much more feasible than "the dog ate my power cord". Even though that could happen - they seemed to be even more focused on food than normal.

After a lot LOT of driving and cooking and braving Black Friday, this morning found me with a refrigerator full of leftovers, a new gate on the goat paddock, my hooped raised bed fortified for winter, and a roof on my run-in shed! We won't even discuss the fat, spoiled dogs, although I swear Scrappy shed a tear when my nephew walked out the door to head for the train station.

All I have left to show of my 20 lb. turkey is a container of leftovers and two gallons of turkey stock. The pumpkin cheesecake was great - but I wouldn't recommend using gluten-free gingersnaps. It was more like ginger-y sand. It tasted fine, but ... icky. I brined the turkey this year in apple juice, water, kosher salt and garlic. It was amazing! I liked the idea of using apple juice/cider rather than brown sugar.

Friday, Austin and I braved the Black Friday crowds to buy him an early birthday/Christmas/birthday/Christmas present - work boots. To say he packs light is the understatement of the year - he brought the clothes he wore, a sweatshirt, a sweater, a toothbrush, and a razor. I decided that I owed his mother to try and keep him from breaking bones and spraining things - my ground here has no level points. We picked up all of our materials on Friday, along with said boots, and then he got to visit his best friend - which was a real bonus. They happened to be spending Thanksgiving only 20 minutes apart! This was a nice break for both of us - it gave me time to work on ridding my vocabulary of "like".

Saturday, I dragged him out of bed early (for him) and we started. We worked until it got dark, with a short break for lunch, and got so much accomplished. I can never thank him enough. And he's a joy to work with - always in a good mood, helpful, and holds up to my weird sense of humor. It helps that we have known each other since he was a sprout. We have years of history and some very good memories. He's far from a sprout now -- he's now well over six feet tall!

The results of our labors:

After working hard for hours, he went inside and made dinner! He loves to cook and doesn't use recipes. He decided to make stuffed peppers and sauteed potatoes with greens. It was wonderful! I briefly thought of locking him in the guest room and making him stay. Luckily for him, there is no lock on the guest room door.

It wasn't all work, though. He did manage to get in some quality time with the goats.

He also got to enjoy the peace and quiet and made quite a bit of headway on a creative project he's been working on. I think, like, he had, like a good time. And he, like, said that, like, he'd love to, like, come back. Ack!

Monday Musings

2011-11-28T05:29:00.000-05:00

Don't you just wonder how some people's nicknames came about? I used to know a boy in grade school called "Pinky". He was neither pink, nor any shade of red. He had blue eyes and black hair. I was flummoxed and he wouldn't tell - no matter how many times I pinched him. (I was an awful child.)

We grew up in a grid-development with two styles of houses. When we moved in, it was brand-spanking new. The roads hadn't even been paved yet and there was mud galore. (It was heavenly to a 5 y/o.) My first memory of this new house was being outside playing with the kids on the street. When it became time to go in, one by one, they all disappeared into their houses. I didn't know which house was mine. My father wasn't home from work, yet, so there was no car for reference. Easily solved - I just stood in the middle of the street and bawled my head off. An adult (someones mother - they were all SAH in those days) stuck her head out of the door and assessed the problem. She finally got my attention and pointed. It was the yellow one right in front of me! Saved!

There were three girls in my family and the house next door housed three boys - we were all about the same age. Mr. F. would line his boys up on kitchen stools every month and give them all the same haircut. My mother, being the frugal German that she was, sent me over on haircut day and I got a stool and a bowl cut as well. Mr. F. was a big one for nicknames. (I bet you thought I had lost my train of thought!) and, while my sisters were easy - Con, Cynth - he seemed to have a problem with shortening my name to something he liked. I ended up as "Sweeze". That has stuck with me for years. I am either Sue, Susan, Susie (my parents' call me Susie), Sweeze, or Sweezie. A person could get confused!

Where did the name, Bubba, come from? Or Boo? Boo Who? (Sorry.) I can see "Chip", as in "Chip off the old block". But, Bubba? Pinky? My father's father detested nicknames. That's why he named my father "George". Can't do much with that. He also refused to give him a middle name. I don't remember my paternal grandfather, although he was living when I was born. I bet he was a stinker. Stinky? My mother's name is easily given over to many different nicknames: Kathryn. Kat, Kathy, Kath. She goes by Kit. Then there's Charles. Or Charlie, Chas, Chuck. That reminds me of the song, "The Name Game". (Fogy-ism) I used to love that song and tried it out on everyone and everything I came across, until I drove everyone crazy. It still pops into my head every now and then. If I had been allowed to choose my own name, I would have chosen "Imogene". The clouds part, birds sing and I can hear guitars strumming in the distance when I say that name.

Thankful.

2011-11-24T06:00:00.015-05:00

I have, lately, just before going to sleep, listed all the things for which I am thankful. Some people may just think them, but I have to list them. Lists = me. It's a very long list. And it's a very wonderful list. At the top of the list is the fact that I am very thankful that I have the opportunity to share another Thanksgiving with my parents.

I hope you all are surrounded by the people you love (and all the furry ones, too) on this special day. We will be a small group of four (and two dogs) with our 20# turkey, but, luckily, I am almost more fond of leftovers than the main event. We will be reminiscing about Thanksgivings that came before, missing sisters, a brother-in-law, a niece and nephew who cannot be with us, and we will not move out of the kitchen - no matter how hard my mother tries to shoo us into the living room - because, you know, no matter how much other space there is in a house, the kitchen is the heart of the home.

I am very thankful, too, for all the friends I have made though this blog; some of the funniest, kindest, nicest women (and men) ever put on this Earth.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

The Wolf was at the Door!

2011-11-22T11:43:00.001-05:00

And I let it in! What excitement there was in the Susan house last night! There were also many signs of excited-ness inflicted on furniture and dog beds - a sure sign the UPS guy had been on the front deck. My birthday present came early! We all did our version of the Happy Dance.

I can.not.wait to use it! Okay, I can wait -- I would rather not have snowfall that would warrant the use of my new power-tool. Given the many miles I shoveled last winter, I am so looking forward to the non-back-breaking ease of this gadget. I LOVE MY FAMILY!!

So, other than making headway on my run-in shed (even after falling off my ladder and NOT killing myself), getting the water set up for winter in the sheep run, introducing the non-laying chickens to their new waterer (always good for a few histrionics) and spending a very long day toting octo/nono-generians to brunch, not much has been going on. Tomorrow I have to drive an hour and a half each way to fetch my nephew from the train. And, of course, the forecast is for rain, sleet and snow during the time I'm on the road with the rest of the lunatics driving hither and yon for the holiday. I picked up new windshield winter blades, just in case. My snow tires are on. I'll do chores before I leave, just in case we're delayed. I'm prepping dinner prior to take-off, too.

Tonight I have to finish my gate and bake a pie for the local library fund raiser. I think the 20# turkey is thawed, but I have one more day to be sure - then in he goes for an overnight brining tomorrow. I am providing the turkey, dessert and appetizer for Thanksgiving. It's a good thing I am up before the rooster in the morning. And, no, I am not wearing my Tin-Man apron for Thanksgiving. I may frame it, though.

More Wonderfulness.

2011-11-21T14:52:00.000-05:00

Honestly, has there ever been a greater group of sewers/ironers/grommeters? Here are some more amazing aprons!

dr momi - Oh, good gracious! The tassels!!!! I mean, who'da thought you could have so much fun with tassels!

Hoosier Girl - I am thankful that she made this wonderful apron! And it's her first ever! I also like her photographic approach - I will have to copy it from here on in.

Patty - It's almost impossible to think that this is the first 'pattern' that Patty followed! And, is that a reversible apron?? It is completely wonderful! And I can't even begin to imagine making a pattern for something as lovely as her daughter's shirt (also modeled on the link). What a great, attractive, talented group!

The Suspense is Killing Me!

2011-11-21T11:15:00.000-05:00

Since I know that none of you have had anything to do (oh, wait, there's that niggling preparation for Thanksgiving, remodeling projects, homestead chores) other than waiting for the end of this apron competition to finally arrive -- well, the wait is over! What you see below is proof that - yes, Virginia, you CAN create an apron out of duct tape. Complete with electrical tape trim. There's nothing I love more than a challenge. The more ridiculous, the odder, the better. And especially one that I made myself and couldn't weasel out of.

Sylvie and I had a good laugh when I put this baby on. It is rather a combination of Tin Man Meets June Cleaver. You could deflect gamma rays with this apron. It was a lot of fun to make - especially the ruffles (oh, right, hahahahaha). And we all know we need to Respect the Ruffles. Believe me, after wrestling with duct tape ruffles, I have a new respect for them, all right. I would refer to this as a form-fitting apron if one was a silo. (No cracks, please.)

Please join me in a warm and enthusiastic round of applause for all of the good-natured, highly talented entrants in this challenge! A little whistling and foot-stamping would be appreciated by all, if you're so inclined.

Jenyfer - who shows that creative+vintage= marvelous!

Mama Pea - not only does creative talent abound in the "Pea" family - but she sure is photogenic!

Full Freezer - Judy may have hated the process, but you could never tell by the end product - beautiful apron!

Hard Work Homestead - Well, could we expect anything less from Jane? She never ceases to amaze me.

Garden Now - Think Later - Erin once again whips out perfection - while proclaiming she is an amateur. Are we buying that? No way! I love the fabric!!!

Candy - I will have to say that another abundance of talent resides at the Lazy J Bar C Ranch! Have you ever seen such an amazing color/fabric/pattern combination? It's wonderful!

Krazo Acres - Hello? Could someone clue me in about what on Earth Carolyn Renee is complaining? Not only did she make her apron (with RUFFLES, for Heaven's sake), but she made a SECOND apron for her daughter! And does she even realize how becoming her apron is compared to MINE? I mean, mine is guaranteed to make it's wearer bear a strong resemblance to an air-to-ground missile. With as many curves. You did an amazing job, CR - and you are as cute as a bug, too. Just as I suspected!

As more entrants make themselves known, I will post updates. Thank you all for making it so much fun! We should now be "covered" for Thanksgiving!

Mondy Musings

2011-11-21T06:00:00.003-05:00

I seem to be wrapped up in knitting musings recently - such as, why is it that I think that the Broken Rib Pattern is knitting one should do while convalescing? Couldn't they just as easily have called it - Non-Conformist's Rib or Slightly Off Rib? And how telling it is to go through my (frighteningly large) stash of yarn! You think platform shoes were something? How about that period where everyone and their Aunt Nettie were knitting those long, loose scarves, using ribbon, mohair, cat hair, sparkles - anything that would wind around needles the size of tail pipes? When every vertical space in every craft fair across the country was festooned with these wild accent pieces? I was as guilty as the rest - whipping those babies out on an average of one a day. I inflicted them upon every friend and family member at least once. Geez.

It's funny when you make a slip of the tongue - and this falls into the "out of the mouths of babes" department. I used to date a fellow way back in the dark ages who had a young son. He was the first single father I had ever met. His son, K, used to refer to woodchucks as "ground chucks". It was very cute. Now that I have a garden, I think he was spot-on. Ground chuck indeed. He also used to belt me in the shoulder every time he spied a VW Beetle. And, unfortunately, they were a hot item back then. Not so cute.

Why is it a "pair of pants"? I mean, it is one garment. But it sounds odd when you try to make it single. I just put on my pant. Makes you think of a hot dog in summer. And using another term doesn't make it sound any better - I am wearing my "slack". Unfortunately, I always wear my slack. Gravity has struck! Could it be changed to: "I am wearing my panting"? "My slacking"? How about a description based on closures: I am wearing my elastics. I am wearing my snap-fronts. I will just pull on my zip-ups. Hey - I am making it plural again! It's hard to change something that's been set in stone. I guess I will continue to pull on my zip-up pants in the summer, and slip into my elastic slacks in the winter.

Speaking of platform shoes (hold onto your horses, kids - it's Fogey Time), my absolute favorite shoes of all time - and that's saying something, although I hold boots in esteem in their own category - were a pair of platform shoes right out of Disco-rama, before Disco-rama. And I don't want to hear from any of you young whippersnappers asking what Disco was. They had almost fluorescent pink rubber platforms and heels with silver sparkly things mixed in. They had to be a good 2-2.5 inches high. The body of the shoe was in a Mary Jane style, in a stiff linen-like fabric with a wild floral design. Oh, baby, these were smokin' shoes! And I used to wear them with hot pants. Oh, yeah. Of course, the idea, now, of me in hot pants would make me run for the Pepto-Bismol. The real question here is, though, would I pull on my zip-up hot pants? It wouldn't do to slip into my elastic hot slacks, would it? Come to think of it, that would be rather nice in the winter.

Guilty.

2011-11-17T11:14:00.000-05:00

Yes, I am guilt-ridden. I owe you pictures of my earrings AND of my apron progress. I will now do my best to wheedle out of both....

The dog ate my camera.

I have not taken pictures of anything other than some Etsy items because I have been so busy working on MY APRON. I feel like the grasshopper amongst ants here. Fiddling away while y'all have been whipping up the most amazing aprons ever! Honestly, I am working on mine. I have felt a great amount of pressure (strictly self-inflicted) to create an apron that would stand up to its bloggy competition. That meant that I had to create my own pattern - a real challenge, as I have a difficult enough time following other people's patterns. But I did it, and I am inching along towards finish-dom.

The cats hid my straight pins.

With any luck, I will unveil my apron on Monday. Complete with myself as model (Sylvie - practice taking pictures through silk stockings, with mood lighting) as I will have someone available to take it on Sunday. And I will wear my new earrings, too!

The sheep broke my Singer.

On Monday, I will link to all of you who have completed your aprons - so post pictures on your blogs. Those who beat us all out (you know who you are, you over-achievers) will be linked as well. Anyone needing more time - leave me a comment and I will check during the week and will link to you as we go along. I will have to say that I have seen some beautiful aprons out there -- and I apologize for all the angst this challenge has wrought upon you! But heck-golly, it's fun!

Progress!

2011-11-15T06:00:00.002-05:00

A windy, fast weekend! Saturday was especially productive - I drove to the feed mill, drove north to VT, dropped feed off with M, drove home. Then I finished deconstructing the lattice house (it got a little dicey there, with all that wind any my teeter-y ladder). M and her husband drove down to drop off some lumber they are donating to my building project and gave me a hand moving the two long walls to the building site. Out came the level, measuring tape and cordless drill/screwdriver and a half-hour later I had this:

The sun was not in the greatest position when I took this, but I was there, it was light, I had my camera. When finished, it will measure 8x10 feet, have a shed roof and a half-wall in front for more protection. I plan on building a half-door so I can ~~trap them in there~~ keep them secure and have an easier go of it when I need to check them over, administer shots, etc. That is Freyda, Flora's 2y/o in the forefront. She is a bossy-pants, but has her mother's amazing fleece. I have decided to sell Cocoa - even though she also has amazing fleece, she is a pain in my side and turns every worming/health check event into a rodeo. This is not helpful when you're working alone. I don't think I should have a problem finding a buyer - she is a beautiful moorit and is a registered Icelandic.

On an alarming note, my friend and neighbor, Kay, took quite a spill on Saturday and ended up fracturing her thumb and opening a gash that took a number of stitches to close. This is not a good injury for anyone, but especially someone who is a knitter, spinner, livestock owner. While they were in the Emergency Room, I zipped over to throw hay at her bunch and let the geese and goat does out. There, to my horror, was one of her bucks - on the WRONG side of the fence. He wouldn't let me anywhere near him and then discovered that the does were out in their pasture. I figured he wouldn't roam far, as he was glued to the fence making ridiculous faces when I left. By the time Kay got home, he had managed to get back in. Goats!

Our little craft fair on Sunday was successful. There were only six tables and Sylvia practically sold out, I sold a lot, and a woman who is a highly talented jewelry maker/designer had a very good afternoon. Her jewelry is silver-based and beautifully designed. It was also very fairly priced. Want to see my new earrings?? Even after the earring purchase, I cleared a nice sum. And I finished knitting a pair of soakers for a neighbor's new baby while I was there.

I got my laundry done - it was still plenty windy yesterday - although my sheets now carry an ever-so-slight whiff of eau d' manure. My property is bordered by a leased field and they chose this weekend to spray the field with liquid manure. That stuff is potent! I was so unhappy Sunday morning to walk out at 8:30a to one truck after another, that I called the farm an left a message asking for the favor of no trucks on Sunday. I mean, I have to endure endless dump trucks M-F, with a fair number on Saturday. I need one day of peace. I was careful to be polite and reasonable, because I don't mind having farmers for neighbors one little bit. It's just the Sunday/truck thing. Then I escaped to the craft fair. Imagine my surprise when I got home to find a message from the farmer apologizing and saying that he was pulling the trucks right then! Geez. I called this morning to thank them. It's been a terrible year for farming - we've recorded 13" of rain over the norm! - so I know they were just trying to catch up. I sure appreciate their thoughtfulness.

p.s. Sylvia has started a blog! After years of her very popular Gray Zone newsletter, we have convinced her to take it up a step. Stop over, enjoy her style and say hello! www.sylvia-thegrayzone.blogspot.com

Monday Musings (I am just full of musing this Monday!)

2011-11-14T06:00:00.000-05:00

Murphy's Lawisms:

1. If you are going to get a good gash on a finger, it will be your right index finger. Because you are right-handed and use it constantly.

2. The driver's side wiper blade bites the dust first. The passenger side will last for a millenia.

3. Just when one thinks the insane red bird has moved along - one comes out to find a layer of bird poop on one's car, right where the MANGO! red bird has been re-attacking his imaginary rival in your rear view mirrors.

4. To be safe, never pick up your phone to answer it. You will be sure to launch into a coughing fit. And the person on the other end of the line will insist, by asking you twenty times in a row, that you answer yes or no as to whether you are okay. I mean....really.

5. If you think you're the biggest, punkiest kid in your grade school class, be careful not to abuse the power. Everyone you push around will have a growth spurt after you have stopped growing and out-weigh you by 50 lbs. Payback is a BIODIESEL!

It's a given that, living alone, I would succumb to talking to myself. Or my dogs. Or my cat. Or my car. Once, when I was in my 20s (this should give you an idea of how long I have been, "musing") I went four days without speaking. It wasn't easy. But, when I finally said something on the fifth day, my voice sounded strange - sort of loud and recorded. It was an interesting experiment, but I prefer to talk non-stop to my dogs. Sometimes in Caninese - blah, blah, blah, blah, FOOD, blah, blah, blah, blah, SQUIRREL. There are many of us who do this, if you are totally honest with yourself. I believe that Felinese is totally different: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. That's because they do not listen to us at all. They don't care what we say, how we say it, or what we mean. We are there to proffer food and clean litter pans. Don't get any uppity ideas with cats.

Spending most of my prior adult life as an apartment dweller, I was always desperate for livestock. So, whenever possible, I would house the most exotic thing I could find (that was non-six-legged, non-slithery, and non-furry in a creepy way) in my living room. Besides a delightful array of cats, I had fish, hermit crabs, turtles, Chinese button quail, and a skunk. This was usually without the knowledge of my landlord, which was not often a problem since, being an art student, my apartments were not the type that were often visited by the landlord. I would rate the early ones as just a half-step up from a tenement. I did love that skunk, though, even if he carried with him the slight aura of eau d'peuuw. But he was not fond of strangers and would bite me if he got alarmed. Which was often -- and painful. I finally had to take him back out of a sense of self-preservation.

Segue into my last semi-tenement apartment in Cleveland Heights. I was in my third year of art school (and unknowingly my last, as the school suddenly went bankrupt and closed), living in a one-bedroom apartment that would have given a NYC studio flat a run for it's money, size-wise. It came furnished. There was a chair upholstered in avocado green plastic, with a matching sofa. This sofa was the most unusual piece of furniture -- when you sat in it and leaned against the back, you were left looking up towards the ceiling. And it was designed that way! I also had a linoleum covered table, two chairs, and a platform bed without the platform. I think I paid $150/month rent. There were a lot of classmates in that building and, since none of us had two nickels to rub together, we would pool our money for meals and I would go out and buy the food and cook it. Invariably, we ate spaghetti and red sauce. And drank from gallon jugs of Gallo wine. We never got schnockered because we could only afford one bottle a week and there were a lot of us. As I cooked the pasta for these almost-daily meals, I would throw a noodle against the wall to see if it would stick. If it stuck, it was al dente. Long story not short enough, after about a year and a half, the landlord decided to go upscale and we were all thrown out. Our parting gift was to frame the spaghetti painting on the wall and all sign it. It's probably worth millions now.

Are we there yet?

2011-11-11T10:43:00.000-05:00

Waiting impatiently for the weekend. Boy, I used to drive my parents crazy with that question. Back in the day, we drove everywhere for vacations. No way we could afford to fly. I loved to be in the car - because I suffer from motion sickness, I got to ride in the front with my parents until they couldn't stand my chatterbox self and put me back with my sisters to suffer. I didn't suffer that badly, as it only affects me if I have to read. But I squeezed every melodramatic bit out of it I could muster. Since those were the days before computers, DVDs, smart phones - heck, even touch-tone was in the future - we had to amuse ourselves with "I Spy" games and seeing who could find the most license plates from "foreign" states. (Fogey moment) Not surprisingly, my favorite traveling toy was a red plastic barn that held white rubber farm animals. It was my constant companion - I even remember the names of my two rubber chickens: Mudder and Feather.

Sorry -- got off on a musing there. The weather forecast does not call for rain this weekend, so I am hoping to squeeze every last bit of daylight out of the day tomorrow. I've invited a neighbor over for dinner - it's the only way I can pay some of them back for all of their invaluable help - so I won't be working outside until dark. Pot roast is on the menu! It's going to be a typical fall day - breezy, chilly, partly sunny - a perfect day for pot roast. Work must progress on the run-in shed and that's really my priority. Sunday I will be (wo)manning a table with Sylvia at our local craft fair. If I am organized enough, I will remember to bring my camera and take pictures. Since the wine store is next to our space, maybe we can talk her into having a wine tasting!

Above is a picture of my Meyer Lemon tree. I have had a bumper crop of lemons off this little tree - 29!! And there are new blossoms and new lemons coming in. I'm glad I got a lot of SOME crop this year - besides my mega-zucchinis, that is. You all have a great weekend and keep at those aprons! I will post a picture of my (hopeful) progress next week.

Sitting and more sitting.

2011-11-09T11:57:00.000-05:00

I tell you, it is very frustrating when you rise in the morning to a warmer-than-usual-sunshine-filled day and realize you will be spending it NOT on cleaning your garden, mucking out hoop houses or building your run-in. No. You will be spending it driving north for 40 minutes, switching cars, driving an hour and a half, sitting in a waiting room for an hour and a half, then reversing the process. BANANA!

I drove my parents into the city for my mom's annual eye exam with her specialist. It is a good test of my patience and concentration (both of which are in short supply). When I asked my mother for the address/location of her doctor's office, she informed me that "your dad knows where it is." Somehow, that did not instill a lot of confidence in me. Driving with my parents entails a great deal of input on their part on a) the speed at which we are traveling; b) the speed at which others are traveling; c) the number of cars on the road; d) the placement of our car vs. the car in front and behind us; e) the condition of the road; f) housing styles - which they want me to look at while I'm driving, but without taking my eyes off the road. We did, however, end up in the right place with only two or three mis-steps. I brought my knitting and Dad regaled me with stories from his stint in the Navy during The War. As many times as I have heard these stories (thousands), I always hear something new and he loves to remember that period of his life. The appointment went smoothly, we enjoyed a great Chinese lunch, and I almost made it home before dark.

I did take advantage of the fact that I had an extra hour in the morning, and cleared a path next to the goat fence, under the pines, so that I will have a more sheltered way to move hay from the front of the barn back to the sheep. Sheep who are still baaing STRAWBERRIES! at me for putting them on a diet. However, I cut up apples for them every morning and will continue to do so until the three bushels their Aunt Melanie sent over are gone. Pfft!

Below you see the end result of lots of sitting and waiting: my finished tea cosy on my lovely new teapot!

Somehow, I have found myself volunteered to drive my parents and two of their friends (both in their early 90s) to brunch a week from Sunday. I did, feebly, try to weasel out since it was supposed to be this coming Sunday, and I have a commitment. My mother who, though she may be in her late 80s, can run circles around me when it comes to getting what she wants, said very smoothly and without missing a beat, that they had ALSO discussed the following Sunday, so she would just change it. Sigh. I will be surprised if my run-in shed is finished before the snow flies.

Weekend? Wha' weekend?

2011-11-08T06:00:00.001-05:00

Nothing like having house guests from Friday night to Monday morning to make the weekend vanish into thin air! I, of course, had forgotten that the fiber fest they were part of was a two-day affair. Sigh. At least I got to try out some new recipes and all were big hits. Friday night, I made my favorite pulled pork recipe - from Sylvia - that is so completely idiot-proof that it's impossible to get it wrong. All you need is: a crockpot; a large onion chopped; a boneless pork roast or tenderloin (mine was about 3.5 lbs), one bottle of beer, one bottle of your favorite BBQ sauce, two minced garlic cloves, and salt and pepper. Put all ingredients in your crockpot, turn it on low and let it go for 10 hours. Voila! Haul out the pork, pull it apart with two forks and put it back in to heat through. I served it with homemade coleslaw and pumpkin cornbread. Everyone had seconds of everything - 'though I had to abstain from the cornbread.

Saturday was dealing with another long list at the folks', a trimmed-down version of my Saturday chores, then home to make dinner number two - roast chicken with pomegranate molasses, mashed cauliflower with cheddar cheese, oven roasted Brussels sprouts and chunky apple cake for dessert. I did put on my big girl pants and have a small piece of the cake (how could I NOT????) Those pants were awfully uncomfortable later, but it was worth it, I tell you.

Sunday I was less adventurous -- I did have to get some things done around the homestead -- and made a big pot of soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, and leftover cake for them with vanilla ice cream - for me - for dessert. I sent the rest of the cake home with them out of self-defense. I forgot to send the pumpkin cornbread with them, so the chickens will be happy with their treat tomorrow, ungrateful beasts. Some heartening news, in a back-handed way: their chickens are not laying a single egg, either. First time it has happened to them, too. Misery loves company.

It was so much fun to be able to have rousing conversations into the night! Sheep! Dogs! Fiber! Heaven! I spend so much of my time at home alone, that I was almost sad to see their visit end. Almost. I am very much looking forward to coming home tonight and NOT having to make dinner. Scrappy, in particular, will be very disappointed when Frances and Suzy do not show up tonight. They spoiled him rotten. They cooed over him, petted him, fed him from the table. Bernie is shyer, so only managed to get half of the loot that he did. Scrappy is anything but shy. He is Velcro Dog; Bert Lahr in a Dog Suit; he is ON FIRE!

I was able to check a few things off my list(s), got my laundry done - we all laughed at my frozen jeans on the line Sunday morning - and Flora seems to be coming along. Of course, I was told that my sheep are fat. Geez, it's like being called a bad mother. So, now, they are all on a diet - including the portly little goats. And my name is Mud as far as the livestock are concerned. Work on the run-in shed is inching along. I spent a good two hours trying to get the ding-dang lattice house apart - I had forgotten that Melanie and I had reinforced the thing to within an inch of its life. As I have been trying to watch my language - as 'empowering' as it may feel, swearing shows a lack of vocabulary (or so I tell myself) - so loud exclamations of: "CATERPILLAR!!" and "MOLASSES!!" and "DARN RUDBECKIA!!" were heard up and down the road. I'm sure my few neighbors think I have finally gone over the edge. The upside of my new colorful language is that it is so absurd even to me, that I end up laughing and that always puts me in a better mood and makes the job easier. End result of 2 hours of wrestling with the lattice house? Me: 1 LH: 15. But I'm gaining on it~by cracky.

Monday Musings

2011-11-07T06:00:00.000-05:00

Listening to Sylvie's four-year-old, Zuzu, chat on (and on - that girl can talk!), made me realize how similar her speech was to, say, my 22 y/o nephew. And most young people I run into today. Somewhere, within the long, rapid, stream-of-conscious mumbling, are words that I can understand. With Z, it was the names of her three BFFs: Kimberly, Hope and Ramona (her little sister). With my nephew and other 20-somethings, I can clearly pick up many "likes", "ums", "actuallys", and, in his case, an occasional "Aunt Sue". The rest is a glutenous mass of rapid jumbled consonants. It causes me to turn into a fogey - "What?" "What was that?" "Can you speak more slowly?" Could it be a global plot to instill unease and unrest in baby boomers? Will we be drooling into our Cream of Wheat within a decade? Mumbling ourselves?

The thrill caused by that extra hour of daylight we are getting, thanks to setting the clock back yesterday, sure fizzles out quickly. I can hustle my bustle a little longer for what -- a week? -- before the day gets even shorter and it doesn't make one whit of a difference. And it is totally dark by the time I get home, giving me nothing extra there. So why, pray tell, do we keep going back and forth? Just let Mother Nature take her course, I say!

Our family has finally stepped into the Age of Enlightenment. We are celebrating our first No-Gift Christmas. While I am sure that a lot of my reluctance to 'gift' everyone on the 25th of December, year in, year out, has to do a bit with my childlessness, I think it's more that I have come to a time and place in my life where I have too much stuff, don't want any more stuff (except, however, a SNOW WOLF), and would just like to spend a pleasant day with my family, listening to music, playing board games and enjoying a wonderful meal. Bliss, I tell you. So far, we are all on the NGC wagon - with the exception of my middle sis, from whom we have not heard on this subject. She is uber-generous and it will be difficult for her. But I know she can do it.

I have always had a very rich imagination. When I was small, I had a very active imaginary life. As I grew up, I could imagine myself in great adventures - doing amazing things. Imagine how surprised I was when I failed miserably upon actually doing it! Case in point: I loved to watch skiers. I KNEW I would be an amazing skier. My first foray into skiing was in college. I had gone from Ohio (f.l.a.t.) to Michigan, where, when the first snowflake hits the ground, skis come out, parkas are zipped up and everyone heads to the slopes. Not one to be left behind, off I went. I rented skis and poles and shunned lessons. For crying out loud - the baby slope? Not for Susan aka Suzy Chaffee! I will give you the quick version of my day on the slopes: wobble, fall, wobble, fall, wobble really fast, spectacular fall, hobble to chalet for hot toddy. I hate to admit it, but I am still delusional. I am just less inclined to break something, as it heals ever so slowly now.

Why are there so many sayings that involve poultry? Something to crow about. Pecking order. Madder than a wet hen. Talk turkey. Nest egg. Coming home to roost. Chicken-livered. Feather your nest. Chicken scratch. Comb your hair (I made that up....) Okay - I know there are a lot more - anyone like to join in? Let's see how many we can come up with.

Forging ahead - and falling back.

2011-11-04T10:29:00.000-04:00

This week has fallen under the heading "Never A Dull Moment". Besides the monster snow (any snowfall, in my humble opinion, over two inches BEFORE November is a monster), there was Flora's seasonal wheezy, raspy, snotty nosed self; Bernie decided - overnight, mind you, that she no longer cared for the kind of dog food she was being served; I discovered SEVEN pullet eggs laid next to the house, behind a fence, in amongst the depleted rhubarb; there are three flat tires on my garden cart.

So...I gave Flora her second dose of wormer (and extra apples), a big handful of comfrey and tomorrow I will give her some Vitamin E/Selenium. Hope that boosts her immune system, as I don't want her to develop pneumonia, which then involves daily injections of penicillin. She is getting up there (10 y/o) and has had respiratory problems since she arrived at the farm. But she's a sweet old gal and I'd do anything for her.

Luckily for Bernie, I had been planning on transitioning to a different food (read: less expensive), and just happened to have gotten a small bag to have on hand. She inhaled it. I swear my animals would rather eat at McD's than Sardi's. Scrappy, however, would happily eat anything, anywhere, at all times.

Since I now get home in the dark, and my mornings are so much shorter, I have not done perimeter checks of the chicken yard and totally missed this pile 'o eggs. It looks as though two pullets are involved, so that is hopeful. Now, to get them to lay in the nesting boxes. Too bad they don't have any older hens to show them the ropes (dripping sarcasm).

Air in the tires is on my list for the weekend. I will spare you the gory details of my weekend list - you all know the drill by now - more hopeful than do-able. But, "hope springs eternal", as they - whoever "they" are - say.

Can't wait to "Fall Back" Sunday morning. That should throw me off for at least a week! Hope you all have a wonderful weekend - forging ahead, falling back, or just standing still!

Oh, the indignity of it all!

2011-11-03T10:53:00.000-04:00

Poor Scrappy! There he was, curled up on the sofa, swaddled in his favorite fleece blankie, when Kramer decided he would make a nice mattress and climbed on top of him! Scrappy was not happy at all with this, but he was soooo warm and comfortable, he decided not to move. He has a very expressive face and managed to convey how indignant he was using only his eyes and eyebrows. What a hoot! It didn't impress Kramer at all and he fell sound asleep. They maintained that pose for over an hour - until I made some noise in the kitchen and Scrappy rocketed off the couch to see if it meant FOOD.

You say Ketchup

2011-11-02T11:25:00.001-04:00

and I say catch-up! I have a lot of that to do. Thanks to my lovely sister holding down the farm and cleaning my house, I do have a leg-up on my next round of visitors. I'm expecting one of the women who started me on my path to Icelandic-dom on Friday. She and a friend will be staying with me and commuting to the Big E for the Fiber Festival of New England over the weekend. Their farm is called Hearts Ease Farm and they raise lovely sheep. It is so nice to be able to spend time with both or either of them! (Their farm sitter was thrown from her horse and isn't up to the job yet, so only one will be coming.) I have to pull out all the recipes I have been wanting to try out. You stay at Chez Susan, you are a guinea pig! Cripe, that sounds rather bad, doesn't it?

Given the early warning system snow we had, I also have to step up winter preparations. I have two gates to build, one building to erect, hoses to drain, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. (I always think of Yul Brynner in the King and I when I hear that...) I also have to finish some crafty-type things for the craft fair in town a week from Sunday. Luckily, I am a little ahead in that venture.

Yesterday, when I went in to check the water and feed for the so-called chickens, I found...are you ready?...a pullet egg! I am sure it's Dotty's, the little cutie. That is one tiny egg in 12 days. The worst record ever. I am afraid it's time to think about downsizing. With the price of feed going up almost monthly, I cannot afford that many pet chickens. I'd like to get down to about 18 chickens or less. And get out of the egg business. I need eggs for trade, as they are as good as cash, but I don't want the pressure of having to deliver X-dozen every week.

Another exciting event - a call from the fiber mill telling me my yarn is done! Woot! They will be at the Fiber Fest this weekend, so I may ask my house guests to pick up my yarn when they're there - or press Kay into service, since she's planning on attending.

I am still trying to catch-up on my blog reading and answering. And trying to decide among three apron patterns. It's a tough choice. I may have to make two. Hahhahahahahahahaha.

C'est Manifiques! Wunderbar! Now it's over.

2011-11-01T13:07:00.000-04:00

The Wyeth exhibit building.

Lovely garden behind the Farnsworth Museum.

Three short sentences to describe my long weekend vacation! I was immersed in cul-cha: the Farnsworth Museum on Saturday, soaking up the beautiful paintings and sketches of Andrew Wyeth, with a pinch of Nevelson thrown in. Then, on Sunday, the Portland Art Museum, for a lovely exhibit of Shaker furniture (most pieces came from the Hancock Shaker Village, right down the road from me!), a wonderful photography exhibit of shots of a Brittany farm (circa 1980), a movie (OMG, Sylvia and I were trying to remember the last time we had been in an actual movie theater) - in French, ahem, Mozart's Sister. I was almost cultured-out. Nah.

Taken through glass at the PAM - wish it was more clear. The figure is formed with
thick metal wires, filled with rocks and stones.

There were the divine crab cakes at the Brass Compass in Rockport, TWO trips to Trader Joe's (be still my heart), tip-toeing through the colorful chaos of Mexicali Blues, not to mention, dinner with her daughter, husband and four wunderkinds. I also discovered Reny's, which almost defies description - picture this: within 20 feet of entering the store, you can buy snowshoes, gardening supplies, canned goods, clothing, shoes, cleaning supplies, home decorating items, and sleds. Need I say more? Should we ALL have a Reny's nearby? Oui. And the prices were L.O.W. And there was Goodwill. And lots of great, cheap red wine, wonderful conversation and another opportunity to discover the glories of Portland and South Portland. The area has everything one could want - not too big, friendly people, lots to do - with most of it free, dogs galore (you just have to love a city that has that many dogs!), great architecture.

Henry, as always, with his nose in a book.

Hey, what's Henry reading? Zuzu and Eli.

Oh, oh. It's that scary woman!

The only dip in the bliss was the freak snow storm that came through. Of course, I was way more stressed than my sister back on the farm - she just didn't want the power to go out. We were very lucky at home - a foot of snow, but no power outages. What would I do without her? Portland got high winds, sleet, rain, and a little snow. I did not get much sleep on Saturday, but made up for it on Sunday night - 10 hours. Yes, you read that right. TEN HOURS.

We saw a lot of tree destruction on our way home and heard the reports of so much damage done just south and east of us. After going through the storm at the farm, my sister had to drive home to no power. She should have stayed!!! And that has nothing to do with the fact that she cleaned my house. Really. Nothing at all.

Now, that's more like it! Mony loves her grandmother.

Monday Musings.

2011-10-31T07:00:00.025-04:00

While I think I have tried the subtle approach to getting what I want, say, for my birthday - there are times when subtlety gets you what someone else thinks you want. This, then, puts you in a position where you are now the proud owner of something you absolutely detest and will never use, and you have to be gracious and all gushy about it to the gift-giver. This year, I am taking no chances. I have emailed a link to both sisters and declared it ALL I want for my birthday this year to my entire family. I got all giddy and goosebumpy when I saw it. Some girls want jewelry. I want the...SNOW WOLF! Go ahead - you know you want it, too.

It is a rather sad state of affairs when I am HAPPY that a tick chose my shoulder in which to burrow! At least I can see it and reach it. Another of the joys of singlehood - tick checks and itches in awkward places. Thank goodness for those little bamboo scratchers - China be damned. TMI? I'll say...
The coyotes are back. All 100 of them. Since my go-around the last time, I realized that the little sissy-pants "pop" of my .22 does nothing but earn their scorn. I've since discovered that my 1.5 qt., heavy-bottomed saucepan, delivered with some force, flat-bottomed to the top of the deck railing, has an amazingly gun-shot-like sound that really gets everyone's attention - and it carries! I wonder if it comes with a holster? Of course, this will now segue into a childhood memory.

We left off with my casting aside my black patent leather MaryJanes for a terminal case of horse love. I had horse models - my favorite was a rearing Palomino with "flowing" plastic mane. OMG, did I love my horse models. There were three girls in our family, of which I am the eldest. And the bossy-est. Just ask them. Our family was typical of the day - father worked, mother worked in the home, kids toed the line. We did not have a lot of extra money floating around, so we had to take turns when it came to extracurricular activities. I took tap dance classes, then my middle sister took ballet (she WAS graceful), etc. Luckily, my youngest sister was too small to take any classes, so my MS and I were able to double-up for a while. After an endless stream of histrionics, melodrama, moping, and whining, my parents signed me up for horseback riding lessons. Oh Heavenly Day! My father took me to get fitted out with riding gear. I had no interest in English riding, oh, no. I was going to be a cowboy. I came home with powder blue jeans, a matching Western shirt in powder blue and peach plaid, resplendent with pearl-covered snaps, a gen-u-ine cowboy belt with a BIG buckle, and boots. If I had been allowed, I would have had that outfit sewn onto my body and would have worn it until it fell off in tattered shreds. I had even managed to talk my father into the piece d' resistance - a bolo string tie with fake turquoise decoration. I was so amazing I couldn't even stand myself!

Fast forward to now. I was standing in line at the hardware store recently, fishing around in my pockets for change. I came up with: a sticky nickel, a pile of goat treat crumbles, a Christmas hanky, a sticky piece of baling twine, and a balled up receipt for something - too sticky to tell. All that stickiness had to come from something - I cannot, for the life of me, remember what sticky thing had been in my pocket. While I was rifling my pockets, I happened to focus on the front of my zip-up sweatshirt. Mistake #1. That led to looking down at my feet. Mistake #2. Which sent a chill through me, as I realized I had not looked in the mirror since 4 a.m. that morning. And it was a glancing look in the dark - which, of course, doesn't count. I realized that I had left the house and gone *gasp* out in public wearing manure covered muck boots, jeans that had been dragging through the wet muddiness of the farm and had wicked up same clear to my knees, a sweatshirt that had been in almost continual use for half a week, and my sun-bleached, sweat-stained, battered Vermont ball cap. Oh, how charming. And I wonder why I'm single?

Calloo! Callay!

2011-10-29T07:22:00.000-04:00

Just a quick post to report that prayers and requests to the Universe worked! Grayling was found and is awaiting our return from Maine. She apparently went into an open barn (being the Nosy Nellie that she is), wasn't seen, got locked in and remained there until the barn was opened yesterday. Poor dear - she bolted out the door and raced home. She is a bit thin, a bit dehydrated, very hungry but in good shape otherwise. Oddly enough, Sylvia checked the barn, but it was locked, and has been walking by it all week, calling Grayling. Who never barked. And then, there's the question of Grayling's BFF, Poochie. Who, we believe, is NOT her BFF. She never indicated Grayling was there. Hoping, maybe, that Sylvia would adopt her. We'll never know - her lips are sealed.

On a not so 'bright' note, my poor sister is at the farm bracing for over 6" of snow - which will surely mean power outages region-wide. I guess this will cure her yearning for farm life. It makes for an uneasy vacation, I'll tell you.

I'll be missing you....

2011-10-27T12:37:00.001-04:00

over the next few days. Yes, that's right. I am on V.A.C.A.T.I.O.N. My middle sis has bravely volunteered to (wo)man the farm from Friday afternoon until Monday afternoon. When I sat down to compose the daily to-do list, I ended up calling it "The War and Peace of To-Dos on Susan's Farm". An apt title, as it ran to three pages, single spaced, with lots of afterthoughts written in pen all over the borders and blank spaces. Luckily for me - and not so, for her - we will be like ships passing in the night on Friday. I leave in the morning and she arrives in the afternoon. I will not be there to see the horror on her face as she spies the stack of paper that is the to-do list. She is such a brick, though, and loves the animals. I can leave with a clear conscience - I usually only have a twinge that first evening. Then, of course, after three days, I can't wait to get back to the chaos. I guess I must thrive on it, but I sure am looking forward to sleep - beautiful, lovely, elusive sleep - not to mention immersing myself in culture for a whole weekend.

I have alerted the dogs that their Aunt C is coming - they were excited, but that means nothing. For all they know I was saying, "blah, blah, blah, blah, FOOD, blah blah." She takes them on multiple walks and lets them lick the plates clean. It takes me a week to get them back to their disappointed normal. Thank goodness they have the memory of a fruit fly and don't hold it against me!

If all goes as planned, and I remember my camera, and it doesn't rain continually, I will post all the details when I return. In the meantime, you all behave yourselves! And get those sewing machines out.

The Package.

2011-10-26T10:54:00.001-04:00

When I got home on Monday, there was a big box in front of my door. I could tell by the hand lettered address and return, plus the gazillion stamps of "Fragile" all over it, that my Krazo Acres winnings had arrived!

Carolyn Renee had sent us kitty litter! Did Black Susan have something
up her furry sleeve?

No -- she sent eggs! How sweet - I'm still at "0".

NO! She sent a beautiful teapot and a plethora of tea bags!!!

I had to make sure it was okay for me to post the complete details -- but I tell you, Carolyn Renee is a woman after my own heart! That box was packed so well - and so "greenly" - that an elephant could have used it as a cushion and the teapot would have survived! Recycling, reusing and using up is my motto. I have returned items that have been over packaged with non-recyclable materials before. But this was perfect! I have a feeling that Mooberry Farmwife will be seeing a very similar package!

Thank you Carolyn Renee! The teapot is beautiful (I LOVE the color) and those are all of my favorite teas -- plus some that will become favorites, I'm sure.

p.s. The outer wrapping was a brown grocery bag - which I have already re-purposed as a pattern for yet another craft project! Yay!

Let's Have an Apron Sew-Off!

2011-10-25T11:02:00.000-04:00

Sounds funny, put that way, doesn't it? Mama Pea had a great idea. Great, I expect, if you are a sewer. If you are not, please bear with us. This is what I'm a'thinkin - the Kick-Off will be Monday, October 31 and we will aim for the week before Thanksgiving, say November 21. What better impetus than having a bright, shiny new apron to show off during Thanksgiving Dinner!

Do they have to be sewn? Nope. They can be sewn, knitted, crocheted, or duct-taped together - or feel free to take a ready-made apron and customize it. The sky's the limit! On November 21, we will all post pictures of our aprons and link to each other. Sound good? Any takers?

Monday Musings.

2011-10-24T14:37:00.000-04:00

Double rainbow last Thursday evening.

There are some people who really, really pique my curiosity. There are three such persons that I see almost daily. The first is a woman of a certain age - 'tho it's impossible to tell what age - who I call Walking Woman. She has long grey hair, parted in the middle, a deeply lined face, and always wears flip flops, a skirt and a plain overblouse. She walks along the side of the road at quite a clip and very purposefully. Walks and walks and walks, and walks some more. She is always walking in the same area on my drive home. Except for once - I was working out in my yard early this spring and who should walk by on my country road? The Walking Woman!!! I was so stunned, I didn't ask her the five million questions that have been forming in my head over the past 4 years. Apparently, she is related to one of my neighbors in some tenuous way. We had a short but pleasant conversation about the abundance of wild fruit that is along our roads - then, suddenly, she was walking away.

The other two are also what I would classify as out-of-the-ordinary characters. Two women, one young, one older, both always (even in summer) clad in full length black coats. They are tall and gaunt. The older one always has her head covered - either by a kerchief or a hat. And they are always in the same place on my way home, walking their dog by a small lake. As my car comes along, they all freeze and look away. Except for the dog, who looks quite animated. They remind me of characters out of an Edward Gorey book.

Who are these people? Where to they come from and, more importantly, why do they go where they go every day?

Today's scientific question: Why can't we tickle ourselves? I am extremely ticklish; if I even think someone might be thinking about tickling me, I fall apart. Yet, if I try to tickle myself - nothing. nada. It's sort of like the difference between washing my hair myself, or going to the hairdresser (or, should it be "stylist"? I'll have to ask Mary which she prefers) and having her wash it. It feels so different. Many years ago, on a faraway island (not far away enough, though) in another life, I used to get my hair cut in Chinatown. Of course, you know by now that I have always been, um, frugal. On that island of $100+ haircuts, I got mine cut for $17, PLUS a shiatsu scalp massage. Holey moley. It was heaven. I am sure I was snoring and drooling at the end of the wash, but I didn't care. And it was a great haircut to boot.

Why does the wind bother me so much? At any sign of a good gusting, I start to get anxious. Wind at night will keep me from sleeping. It kicks in my worry gene big-time. I start to think of the pioneer women who were out on those lonely, windblown prairies, stuck alone in their sod houses in the inky dark with their children, while their husbands were off. The ones that survived were certainly made of sterner stuff than I; I would have folded like a sheet. I used to work in a high rise on the same island as referenced above, on the 38th floor. When the wind blew, you could feel the building move. This was years before 9/11. Now, I work on the 7th floor and I ain't goin any higher. I can handle the stairs.

My favorite cartoon character was and has always been Bugs Bunny. He was a smarty-pants and it gave me a little thrill as a child to see how he always managed to out-maneuver Elmer and everyone else. Years later, it seemed like he was created for adults, not children. Every so often, my dad and Uncle Jim (on my mom's side - we used to call him Uncle Mimmy) would drive us to the Saturday matinee - I won't tell you how much it cost (for the day) since then you will think I am a fogey. Once in a while, they would stay for the show. If there was a Bugs Bunny cartoon between features (it was a double-header), the two of them would sit and roar with laughter. It was completely embarrassing for us - we usually managed to edge down the row a few seats, trying to look like we weren't with them. This was an old movie theater, with a stage and a piano to one side of the audience. When I was very young, I took tap dancing lessons there, from an old Vaudeville dancer. His wife played the piano. After having been turned down by the ballet teacher (as "too clumsy" for the delicate art of ballet), I got my revenge by tap-dancing my way to a solo performance. I even remember what I wore: black patent leather MaryJanes, white ankle socks with lace trim, a short, red cotton skirt with bloomer pants (modesty was the name of the game) with matching suspenders, and a white short puffed sleeve blouse. Not a sequin in sight. But, I was the cat's meow - the bee's knees - I was going to the TOP! Look out, Fred Astaire! Then I discovered horses. The end.

I Interrupt my usual ramblings for this important request...

2011-10-24T11:52:00.000-04:00

This weekend, on Saturday late morning, to be exact, my friend Sylvie's sweet Golden Retriever went missing. Grayling is so true to her breed, she should be the poster child for GRs. She NEVER wanders off and Sylvie lives in a heavily wooded, mountained area, so tracking her is very difficult.

It would be greatly appreciated by me, Sylvie and Grayling, if you would all send a prayer, good thought, or message to the Universe for her safe return. Sylvie is - as is no surprise to those with beloved pets - missing her something terrible. As are all of us who love Grayling.

Thanks so much.

Drum roll please!

2011-10-23T19:58:00.001-04:00

After a secret, highly scientific and completely random selection, I am pleased to announce the winner of my #300 Giveaway! (Sorry! I jumped the gun -- hit Publish instead of Save!)

Congratulations,

Mooberry Farmwife has won the whole enchilada! Please send your mailing address to me at swomersley at gmail dot com. Hooray! You will have to post pictures on your blog! Thank you to everyone who entered and put their apron stories up. You are the greatest!

A Random Act of Kindness.

2011-10-23T10:10:00.002-04:00

When I got home from work on Thursday to quickly do my chores and head to the rabies clinic, I found a surprise package in the mailbox! I think we all get a little shiver of excitement and pleasure when there is something in our mailbox that a) is not a bill, ad, catalogue or other junk and b) has a REAL stamp on it!

Here's what was inside:

I tell you, it almost killed me to leave that package and go to the clinic. THEN I had to wait until the light was better so I could photograph it ... agony... then I opened it!

Just who do we know who is so talented and thoughtful? Hmmm? Yes, ma'ams -- Mama Pea! These photographs don't do justice to either her beautiful and clever packaging or the potholders themselves. I have considered putting them between glass and framing them. A very thoughtful, lovely and much appreciated gift. xoxoxo

Community Service can be Loud!

2011-10-21T15:54:00.001-04:00

Twice a year, our town offers a rabies clinic with $10 rabies and distemper shots for both cats and dogs. The service is open to anyone and we often get pet owners from other counties and sometimes from other states. It's organized by our town dog warden (aka, my dairy farmer friend) and the vet volunteers her services and the serum (aka, my sheep vet). It is held in the Highway Department garage. And it almost always rains.

And, twice a year, I volunteer to help process the cats and dogs that come through -- and my friend, Kay, volunteers to work with the vet, scruffing, holding, soothing, or whatever else needs to be done to the highly excited/anxious felines and canines (and their people). It's a great community service, we've all gotten to be a chatty group over the years, and it's a good way for people to license their dogs as well - the Town Clerk is always a volunteer.

We divide the night into first hour: cats and second hour: dogs. This doesn't always work seamlessly - there are stragglers, people seldom pay any attention to the hours posted, and occasionally a cat makes it's escape and there's a general melee as we try to get hold of it. Usually someone has to volunteer their jacket as a net.

And 'jacket' is the key here. The garage is comprised of cement and metal. There is almost no heat, the lighting is gruesome and don't even ask me about the acoustics! Fall or Spring, it's cold and damp. Last night was the fall clinic. And, right on cue, it was raining. The cats and their owners straggled in (there were some amazingly cute kittens!) and there was one escape attempt. Other than that, it went smoothly. We can't see outside, but it's pretty evident when the dogs and their people start lining up. Once we've processed all the cats, we all take a deep breath, syringes are filled, pens are poised, the door is opened and the dogs burst in. From then on, it's complete chaos. We yell questions at the owners, the owners yell back the answers. Dogs hoot and holler, yip and yap, boom and squeak. Some years we have a lot of small dogs (that's hardest on your ears) - this year we had a lot of hounds. I don't think I need to elaborate on their particular vocal patterns.

I had to abandon my tablemates before the end, as there was a Zoning Board meeting that conflicted with the clinic. I actually hated to go. It's fun to see the dogs and meet neighbors. When they've all been run through the gauntlet, the silence is deafening and you can sink back in your wildly uncomfortable metal chair in a state of happy exhaustion, then go home and appreciate the relative sanity of your own menagerie.

*******

The weather forecast for the weekend is brisk but mostly sunny. That's my kind of weather! Top-most on the list/s this weekend is starting the run-in shed and rebuild of the greenhouse enclosure. (You can probably hear me laughing all the way out your way!) Don't forget to leave a comment for the Apron/Apron Book giveaway! Winnah announced on Monday!

The trouble with timers.

2011-10-20T11:08:00.000-04:00

My preparations for winter are very involved. Over the years, I have worked to make my life easier during the winter, but it is a long and complicated process, nonetheless. I have come to rely heavily on timers. And extension cords. As a matter of fact, once winter gets a full head of steam, my house resembles an octopus - with extension cord tentacles curling out from both sides.

On one side of the house are the chickens/ducks. I provide them with heated water all winter. This ensures they always have water to drink and it means I don't have to go out every morning and chop through ice. When it gets really, really cold, I add a light for a little bit of heat.

On the other side of the house are the sheep, llama and goats. I also provide a heated water source for the sheep, and now have the goats with their own needs in the barn.

And then there is the problem of light. Or lack thereof. Now, by the time I get home, it is almost dark. My front door is a distance from the driveway and it can get pretty dicey navigating the rough terrain. I have on my wish list a spotlight that will hit the drive and the chicken yard that is set off by a motion detector. But anything involving electrical work is mucho expensive, so on the wish list it will stay for a while. My cheap and colorful answer to lighting my way involves a timer and orange twinkle lights. It works fine, I use LED lights so they are more economical, and I can regulate it with a timer.

I also have a timer in the living room so that the house is illuminated when I get home and the dogs are not left in the dark. I also have a timer for a light in the barn so the goats are not left in the dark and I can see to feed them and get the hay for the sheep when I get home. Two years ago I invested in an outdoor spotlight that I can flip on from the house that illuminates most of the sheep paddock. It also makes a good coyote deterrent. But it was expensive to have installed, and expensive to run. It's only on for about an hour and a half every night. Just long enough for the eating machines to munch their way through their hay.

Goodness! I've rambled on forever without getting to the point of my title! How odd! (not). Yesterday, we had a weather front come through and with it, high winds and rain. This resulted in - not surprisingly - a power outage. Of course, I was snug in my office during all this drama, and didn't have a clue that the lights had gone out at home. By the time I got home, it was still blowing rain sideways and it was dark. I mean, dark EVERYwhere. The house was dark, the barn was dark. I can't tell you how much fun it is to go out with your headlamp on (but without my glasses, of course) to try to fathom how to reset the timer in the barn. The goats were sticking closely to my legs during the whole process. I don't think they cared for the dark, either. I finally got the light on and the timer reset. Then I had to go inside and reset those timers. And the nine million digital clocks. I don't reset the microwave because I don't use it. As a matter of fact, it's on the heave-ho list.

In my Perfect World, I would have power run to all the outbuildings, have it powered by alternative energy sources, and have someone home to take care of it while I commute back from work. Since my Perfect World is a place far, far, far away, I will juggle my timers and enjoy my twinkle lights!

The weekend revisited.

2011-10-18T16:00:00.020-04:00

Savoy cabbage bought at the Farmers Market.
Isn't it beautiful?

Such a chaotic weekend - I was thither and yon both days. So was the weather. Mostly thither, I think. Saturday I had a long list to work through at my parents', then had to race back to get the barn re-reorganized for my 100 bales of hay (oh, yeah!!!) My farmer/neighbor picked me up in his new-to-him 1978 truck with a box body and we clacked, clanged, chugged and alternately screeched, jerked and shimmied up the mountain to get the hay. The engine/exhaust system was so loud we had to yell at each other. But we made it. Thankfully, the rain held off long enough for us to toss the bales into the truck, then shimmy, etc. down the mountain, where we stacked all those lovely bales floor-to-ceiling. I kept opening the door and looking in. I had to pinch myself! There is nothing like a nice stock of hay to make the world seem brighter. And thank goodness I had help stacking. I am good to stack four-high, but the farmer can heft those babies up six-high! Even the little goats were appreciative of the added warmth a barnful of hay bale provides. They have their little Dogloo to sleep in, but the hay helps temper the noise of rain on the metal roof.

While I was waiting to be picked up for the hay ride, I got two raised beds weeded, hoed and raked - ready for garlic planting. I also started on the mat of weeds that had overtaken my tomato/herb bed. I left the parsley plants because they were so healthy, although I might have to cover the bed if the temps drop as they are forecast to do later this week. I squeezed garlic-planting in on Sunday morning - with my high-tech, surefired planting method - broomstick marked at 3". I still have room, so I am on the look-out for more seed garlic. So far, I've planted seed garlic from Marianne (it was so big, it was mistaken for Elephant garlic - llama beans!!!), my saved seed garlic from this year's crop, Keeper from The Garlic Store, and Susanville (how could I NOT plant that?), also from The Garlic Store. Susanville is a softneck variety, while the others are all hardneck. I'd like to plant the rest of the bed and another third of the second, leaving the rest of the second bed for onions. I still have to mulch it and I wanted to plant spinach, but ran out of time, light and opportunity.

On Sunday, I drove up to Melanie's, where she had generously offered to help me fill buckets full of apple drops from their trees for the sheep (and me). She has had an amazing apple crop! I love her sheep. She let them out into the field where we were picking and they rocketed out - leaping and running! It was wonderful to watch. They are beautiful Shetlands. I brought whey for her friendly Tamworth pig, and I always love to watch the amazing array of poultry free ranging around their farm. It's a little piece of heaven. Marianne joined us and we had a nice get-together. I left with the back of the Ford filled with apples and the nice, warm feeling I always have after spending time with the Ms. I stopped on my way home to make two visits, as I am trying not to do nothing but work all weekend. They were short but sweet (the visits, that is), and one visit resulted in my gleaning three large, sweet red peppers! By the time I got home, it started to rain off and on. I let the sheep out into the back fenced area and got a wire enclosure around one of my two apple trees. I would love to let them graze without supervision, but Hoosier is way too fond of my little apple trees. I have one more to protect, then my one surviving cherry. Then they can have a ball.

Faced with a very small amount of flour remaining in my stash, I had a challenge coming up with something to bake for the barn crew on Sunday morning. I ended up with Fudge Drops, from the KAF Bakers Companion - one of my favorites. It only used 3/4C of flour. Which I had. Just. It also calls for 2C of semi-sweet chocolate bits. The mixture is very much like brownie batter - just a little thicker. The cookies bake into crackly molten chocolate disks. They smelled wonderful! The dogs and I dropped them off at the milking parlor on our morning walk. They got a five thumbs up! Now that I am flourless, I am backed to the wall - the next thing I bake MUST be gluten free!

I put on a crock pot full of butternut squash chili, based on the delicious recipe I found over at Thy Hand Hath Provided, for Saturday's dinner and my week of lunches. I didn't have black beans so I used red beans, but used everything else (I also halved the recipe, since I am the only one I'm serving!) Since I was on a winter squash trend, I whipped up a batch of Pumpkin Hummus that was to die for! I brought it along to dinner Sunday at Sylvie's and it was good! I will be making this many times this winter. I got the recipe here. I didn't swirl the honey on top, nor did I garnish it with chickpeas. It is incredibly light. I'm going to try the pumpkin cornbread next, with a non-wheat baking mix I've concocted. Sylvie made a wonderful stew with butternut squash, apples and apple sausage. I am still waiting for the recipe (ahem - tap, tap, tap, tap). Such a healthy, sumptuous weekend! I got two of my UFOs done - both the cotton tab towels. I gave one to my mother and the other....well, the holidays are coming.

My Meyer lemon tree is loaded with lemons and they are finally starting to ripen! I got out her winter grow light and hung it overhead. Nothing is too good for my lemon tree. I also managed to get all of my laundry done and hung out. Of course, it's still drying, thanks to the rain. But it's supposed to be clear today and most of tomorrow, so I'm hoping everything will eventually dry on the line. The weekend was a perfect balance of work and friends.

#300 is the Magic Number!

2011-10-18T05:00:00.002-04:00

Just think. I have been yakking away to all of you nice, patient people 300 times over the past year and a half or so! Something must be done to reward you for your humorous and supportive comments, your zany wit, the generosity of your advice and counsel. How about a giveaway!?

I bet you didn't know that I have a collection of VINTAGE (that's for you, Jane) aprons! I will 'gift' these three wonderful aprons (all cleaned, ironed and starched - all gently used but in great condition - they are vintage, retro antiques, after all) to one lucky winner!

BUT WAIT! That's not all -- our lucky winner will also receive a copy of The Apron Book! It's a great read, full of photographs, remembrances and patterns. Woot! The winner will be chosen by random drawing (eyes closed, hand rummaging in hat among tiny bits of paper with your names on them - all very scientific) on Sunday, with the winner announced Monday. Deadline for entry is midnight Friday.

To enter, just leave a comment below. You may leave an anecdote about an apron-y memory, but it's not required. I'm just inherently nosy! Plus, I love you to pieces.

Monday Musings.

2011-10-17T11:55:00.000-04:00

Who ever came up with "kick yourself"? Have you ever tried? It's nigh on impossible! I suppose, if you were double-jointed it could be done. Otherwise, you'd be left with trying to kick your own ankle. Which is painful. Yes, research was done on this subject with much personal sacrifice by yerstruly.

Watches can be very cruel. Many, many hours can go by in my mind, yet, when I look at my watch, only one real hour has passed. It is a proven fact that weekend time moves at lightspeed rates, as opposed to workweek time, which crawwwwwls along.

More musing on mirrors. Besides being startled most times when I look at my image (mind: 30 vs. mirror: reality), during the week I tend to be busy on home-type things right up until moments before I have to jettison myself out the door for my commute to work. I think it might be helpful to have a glimpse in the mirror BEFORE I walk into the office.

There is a smoking area - of which the borders are very hazy (harharhar) - outside of our office building. Most mornings, two young 'gofers' who work for a large law firm in the building are generally hanging out, smoking, slouching and texting like mad, when I enter the building. This morning, we all went into the elevator at the same time. They were eyeing my red Netflix dvd return envelope and my Dansko clogs. I looked them in the eye(s) and said, "Yes, I don't stream, text, tweet, or smoke. I am SO not cool." Only middle age has given me the moxie to be myself and proud of it.

Winding down and winding uP.

2011-10-14T12:08:00.001-04:00

I get all happy on Friday. I AM TGIF! I get in my little Ford Focus Wagon and say, encouragingly, "Sweetheart! It's Friday! Only one more round of commute for the week and then you get some time off!" Of course we both know that we only get one day off. Saturday is a commute of another nature, with just as many miles logged. Then we drive up the mountain to deliver eggs to our weekly egg customer (this week they had to settle for a half-dozen chicken and a half-dozen duck). I also get to visit their dog (sweet Georgia, who knows I keep treats in the car) and their two Nigerian wethers, Roger and Wilbur. More often than not, I am slightly the worse for wear by the time I get back into my car to head to the office. Good thing there's no wardrobe checker at the door.

Since this weekend is going to be a mixed bag, weather-wise, I will split my time equally between my outdoor lists and my indoor lists. Some day I will have to go back and re-read these Friday posts. I am sure they are good for a laugh. I've tried to get some of my weekend errands done during the week so I can have more usable time on Saturday. Besides cleaning the house (I swept up a groundhog-sized hair ball this morning! - everyone's shedding!), I want to complete some of my UFOs. I mean, really, how long will it take to weave in some ends? I seem to have a real problem with actually finishing these things. But, the holidays are coming up, I am going to 'do' a craft fair with Sylvie in November, and I want/need to get more on my Etsy site. So there. I have such lofty aims, don't I?

Last night I managed to make a Queso Blanco AND make dinner at the same time. I guess those fish oil capsules are paying off! I made the poached salmon with the carrot pilaf and it was great! Of course, it took longer than 20 minutes because I used long grain brown rice. And I didn't put toasted pine nuts in the pilaf, I used some chopped sultanas in their place. Yum! I am also going to try my hand at some gluten-free baking this weekend. So far, I have had very mixed results in finding edible food replacements (read: bread/bread products) that are gluten-free. Glutino's Pretzel Twists are wonderful, but pricey. I wrote them a nice email telling them so and they sent me coupons! Cool beans! But, on the flip side, last weekend, out of sheer desperation, I dropped $6 on a King Arthur Flour Gluten Free Bread Mix. Here is my description of the outcome: ick. I should have heeded the warning bells that were set off when I read the directions on the outside of the package - 3 eggs. I find it almost impossible to describe the texture of this non-bread product. Pudding? Bread? Pudding Bread? Even though I hate-hate-hate waste, and especially hate wasting eggs that are few and far between of late, I could only choke down a third of the so-called loaf and gave the rest to the chickens. THEY loved it. So I am going to try my own gluten-free baking. I believe, however, I first must have a stand-up-and-testify moment and acknowledge that there is NO such thing as gluten-free bread. There. I've said it. But, hope springs eternal in this bread-lovin heart.

Falling for Fall.

2011-10-13T07:06:00.002-04:00

On my daily commute into the city, I drive along a very windy road at the top of a plateau. There a a lot of little dots of lakes along the route, surrounded by summer cabins. This is a particularly pretty spot. As I was driving up the mountain a couple of days ago, it seemed as if the leaves just went neon. The reds, oranges and golds were almost blindingly bright. I managed to find a safe-ish place to pull over and took the snap above. Then I just stood there, and listened. There are no gravel pits up there, very few cars. There was nothing but rustling leaves and bird song. It was totally, completely, beautiful. I love Fall.

Just Plain Wednesday.

2011-10-12T11:53:00.001-04:00

Yes, yes. I am a smarty pants. I'm glad it's Wednesday, though. Hump Day, it's all downhill from here. I was equally pleased to realize that I can eke out a work wardrobe for the rest of the week without ironing! Woot! I really don't mind ironing, but I like to make an event out of it -- you know, candlelight, soft music, dvd in the player. What I end up doing is squeezing the ironing board in my bathroom so I can brush my teeth, put on makeup and heat up the iron at the same time - because I've left it to the last minute and have 5 minutes to do all of this and iron something to wear for work. I am my own worst enemy.

My neighbor is dropping off my riding mower this afternoon. He had it all summer, with the promise of fixing it for me. Which was nice, but then I didn't have it all summer. When I said that it was so wonderful of him to have found time to fix it (not being facetious, I meant it - he's a busy guy), he mumbled something about never minding and he'd tell me about it later. This means that nothing was wrong with it. Sigh.

Acacia (aka Cady) is perking right along. She is the spindliest thing still, but she seems to be getting her old feisty self back. She made me chase her around the goat paddock this morning. That's a good thing! The chickens gave me ZERO eggs yesterday. Thank goodness for the ducks, who have stepped up to the breakfast plate - I'm getting one-to-two a day. Since Friday afternoon, I have gotten six chicken eggs. It's disgustipating. I will say that this is the first year that so many of them are moulting at the same time. But, that is no excuse for the Barnevelders. I'm going to have to have a heart-to-heart with those girls. My sister called me this weekend and she's already gotten two eggs from her four pullets! Egads! Outrage!

In rummaging through my mind (such an interesting journey) this week, trying to come up with dinner ideas, I remembered that I had a great cookbook by Marian Burros, called 20 Minute Menus. The best thing about this cookbook is the variety and healthfulness of the recipes. I made a very tasty curried vegetables with lentils two days ago, and will try a poached salmon with cilantro and Turkish carrots tonight. I don't end up making them within the 20 minute time frame (I used regular lentils instead of red, for instance), but I might see if I can do it tonight. I had a fleeting thought that I would cook my way through the book and blog about it, but it would become boring to me and to anyone who might read it, and I might become whiny - as in Julie and Julia. (Am I the only one who found both the blog and movie irritating?) Besides, it would take focus; this is a trait that is foreign to me.

I sat down last night and took inventory of all the hand work projects that I have in one form of start-up or another. I might need an intervention: knitted linen hand towel - done but ends need weaving in; cotton knitted kitchen towel with button tab - done but ends need weaving in and button chosen and sewn on; another cotton knitted kitchen towel with button tab - on the needles; fingerless mitts, aka texting mitts - one done except for thumb finishing and end weaving, second one on the needles; meditation masks - four new organic cotton covers cut out, need to be sewn, then photographed and put on Etsy; potholder rug - 7 squares done, one on the loom, 15 needed for rug completion; surprise Etsy project - very complicated with lots of hand work needed - about 1/4 done; felted/knit slippers - soles cut, felting cut, need to sew same together and knit tops.

That is one list I probably shouldn't have written down.

Mud wrestling. Without the mud.

2011-10-11T11:32:00.000-04:00

Ten years ago, if someone had said to me that trying to wrestle down a fat little lamb would be just another part of my day, I would have snorted my coffee. The wrong way. Yet, last night, after my hour commute home in the gloaming light, feeding the dogs, finding my measly egg (as in singular - what the heck are the chickens doing all day?), I girded myself with a canister of anti-lice powder, a coffee can of shepherd's mix and a half bale of hay, and sauntered down to the sheep paddock. I swear that sheep are like cats - they can read my body language as easily as I can read a map. Hmm. Maybe that's not a good analogy. As easily as I can down a bag of Cape Cod 40% Less Fat Potato Chips.

These are the times when I am glad there are no witnesses - human, that is. I had the can of feed in one hand and the powder canister shoved in the waistband of my jeans, so that I had a free hand to unlatch my convoluted gate system. The object of my powdering - Banyan, son of Coco(nut) the Crazy - was already giving me the hairy eyeball. He used to be such a sweetie-pie. But, then came the wethering process. I think that pushed him over the edge, into the crazy genetic soup of his likewise wacky mother. I did manage to go through my equally convoluted feeding process without raising his suspicions and, while his head was down, I grabbed his rear leg. What then ensued was a wild, writhing, bucking, wiggling ten minutes until I managed to also get hold of his opposite front leg and pin him to the ground in a full Nelson. Keep in mind that I am four times (or more) as big as he is. In the end, we were both panting and I had gotten as much of an anti-lice dousing on me as I had on him. Maybe more. After we both recovered, I stood him back up on his little sheep legs and off he tottered to tell Maaaaama all about it.

I went inside, made a cup of lemongrass ginger tea and took a shower. The end.

e-i-e-i-omg!

My Sweet/Tart Lemon Tree

Whoa, Nelly! Was that just Spring?

Tick. Tock.

Monday Musings.

Snow Daze.

Oh-ee.

Time Warp.

Monday Musings.

Meet Reggie, my Humidifer.

Assembly Required.

Monday Musings.

2.17.2012.4.30.35

Someone to watch over me.

Now, THIS is a Junk Drawer!

How Valentine's Day Didn't Happen.

Monday Musings.

What NOT to wear on a cattle drive.

R.A.O.K.

Cats.

Well, I'll be!

Monday Musings.

Keeping Frugal.

By Popular Demand...

New Things.

Monday Musings

Winter Pleasures

Pass it forward! Pass it on! Don't Pass it up!!

The Results are In!

Do they make Quack-Traks?

Reprieve.

Monday Musings.

Sorta Kinda Likea Mass Giveaway. Ish.

Winter Olympics - Homestead-Style!

Trusting the Universe.

Dear Blogger.

Weird weather. Tough decisions.

Monday Musings.

Tina! C'mon Down!

A little extra time.

Enough, already! How about a Give-Away?

Anatomy of an Estimate

January - Get thee behind me!

Monday Musings

Out and about on the LLF.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Oh, Kermit! You were so right!

Monday Musings

Putting my money where my mind is.

Monday Musings.

Merry Christmas!

An Ode to Tattlers

Move over Bob the Builder!

Monday Musings.

Christmas came a-knockin'!

Learning. Ouch.

Monday Musings

The Snow Wolf. A Review.

The Evidence

Glory Be! Halleluiah! Woot!

Monday Mewsings

Weekend Doings.

Creature Comforts

We've Got Us'ns a Winner!

How my DISorganization Works in Your Favor and I *Heart* Cables!

Whatta Weekend.

Monday Musings

Thankful.

The Wolf was at the Door!

More Wonderfulness.

The Suspense is Killing Me!

Mondy Musings

Guilty.

Progress!

Monday Musings (I am just full of musing this Monday!)

Are we there yet?

Sitting and more sitting.

Weekend? Wha' weekend?

Monday Musings

Forging ahead - and falling back.

How my DISorganization Works in Your Favor and I Heart Cables!