Musettes

Musettes (noun:  very small musings due to non-focus of gray matter or limited time...)




Isn't it interesting how your eyes can play tricks on you?  I came home from work and was getting changed for barn chores while I looked out the bedroom window and into the poultry yard.  I froze.  Was that a dead bird that the chickens were pecking away at?!?  OMG!  I raced out the door, shot across the deck and down the stairs to find....the remains of a particularly large red cabbage that my neighbor had tossed in for the hens.  This reminded me of being a freshman in college in Michigan, slogging through the snow in December towards class.  I was a typical over-sensitive, over-wrought artistic type who had gotten as far away from home as my grades and my budget would allow.  I was an art and English major, writing poetry and drawing well into the night.  Very over-dramatic.  As I slogged along, I spotted a dead rabbit in the snow near a stream bank.  Weeping copious tears, I staggered towards the wee dead thing, to see if there was anything I could do.  It was a brown paper bag.

*****

I dream of the day when there is a way to deliver a virtual slap to a head.  I want to apply it to all the nimrods who meander along the road in front of you and turn - finally - only putting their turn indicator on when they are almost finished with the turn.  WHY BOTHER!

*****



As I was standing in the laundry room, waiting to remember why I was there, I wondered what the soundtrack to my typical day would be.  I could imagine the Cha-Cha; especially if you could do the steps like so:  one step forward, three steps back - cha, cha, cha!

*****

When someone wishes me "A Good One" - what does it mean?  A good day?  A good life?  A good session with my shrink?  An excellent cup of coffee?  A good stretch?  What?  I know it shouldn't drive me mad, but - let's be honest here - I am listing toward cranky old lady and it just seems to me to be another example of lazy talk.  I even prefer "Have a Nice Day!"  At least that has a tad more focus.  Pretty soon it will be "Have A Nice".  Then "Have".  Then we will be down to grunts. 

*****

There seems to be a preponderance of dead skunks on, by, near the road over this past week.  I have a healthy respect for them (as should everyone....) and they do occupy a rather soft spot in my heart.  Way back - as in WAAAAY back - I had a pet skunk.  These were the days when I was an apartment dweller and no dogs were allowed.  Or cats, in most places.  But nowhere to be found in the multi-paged leases was reference to skunks.  Or hermit crabs.  Or button quail.  All of which were under my care for a time.  Not at the same time, of course.  "Pooh" was a cuddly little fellow who went on walks with me in his harness and leash ensemble.  There was always a faint whiff of Eau-de-Poo around him, but he had been de-scented.  I was forever haunting pet stores and trying to save whatever I could.  It's been a lifelong goal.  Anyhoo, Pooh and I were quite the team, walking down our neighborhood sidewalks.  The only drawback was that, when he got excited or nervous (which was any time there was another person or living thing besides me in range) he would bite me.  While I wanted to give him exercise and fresh air as often as possible, we were limited to very early mornings or evenings, out of self-defense.  I finally had had enough of serving as a pin cushion and went through a lengthy process of finding him a new home.  Which I did, I am happy to say, and he lived a good, long and happy life with a friend in the sticks.

*****

Hermit crabs were not the ideal companion for me, as I crave a more cuddly nature.  The only time they provided much excitement was when they 'moved house'.  I would keep my eye on them and watch for any sign that they had outgrown their present motorhome.  Then I would put in an assortment of larger shells and watch.  It was fascinating, watching them line up, straddle the new digs with both claws, then hoist their odd, shriveled hineys into the new shell to try it on.  But, in the end, it wasn't enough to form a lasting bond.

*****

A note to the no-show winners of the cookbook and chicken saddles - If I am not contacted by the end of Friday, I will re-draw (or, in the case of the saddles - reshelve) a new winner.

Little Rays of Sunshine.

Life has been brightened immeasurably by a whole series of little rays of sunshine.  Peanut has proved to be the balm for my soul, still scarred by the loss of Kramer and Pepper.  He is an adorable bundle of love and energy.  Even Lovey has perked up.  Slimbo is thawing, although he is never sure if he will be ignored, sniffed, kissed, or chased by the newest resident.

With his "Cupcake".

Too tired to even wrap up
in his blanket.  Playing is hard
work!

I got to celebrate my mother's 94th birthday - with her! 


I get texts and emails filled with encouragement and love from bloggy pals, sisters and friends.


Jasmine still acknowledges me when I call her name.

Sweet old girl.

The biggest ray of sunshine? 

I couldn't believe my eyes!

Glorious!

Dear, sweet, utterly thoughtful Michelle of Boulderneigh, went out to her prune plum tree and picked a HUGE pile for me, put them in a box and MAILED THEM.  Can you believe it?  I was truly and completely gobsmacked.  The second most amazing thing is that, all the way from Oregon, only two of the many delicious, beautiful plums were damaged.  I had to eat those right away...  It's given me a new respect for the USPS.  The rest are destined for my favorite GF recipe - The Plum Crumble of My Dreams.  It truly IS a dreamy and GF crumble.  And I'm not sharing it.  I will start my diet next week...


And even though my mechanic rained on my parade, I am sticking to the sunny side of the street.  I am one blessed, lucky gurl.

Peanut Butter - Hold the Jelly.

The one good thing about being wide awake at 3AM, is that you can take advantage of an alert mind (more or less, leaning heavily on the less) to plan out your day to its utmost usefulness.  Then, once you are awake and up and functioning, you can watch it all crumble into dust.


Since I am now in my seasonal up-real-early-for-no-apparent-reason state, I do some of my best thinking before I venture out of bed.  Lovey is very relieved to know that she does NOT have to get up, too, and burrows blissfully under her fleece blanket for another two hours.  I, meantime, have a giant cup of coffee, check my email - just in case something really important has happened in the wee, dark hours - and knit.  I like my morning routine, especially on the weekends.


Saturday morning, after plotting out my day from sun-up to sun-set, I made my coffee and tottered to my chair, where I wedged in besides Slimbo and opened my email.  It was then that my plans disappeared into the ether.  I had been sending out feelers to volunteer as a foster home for any dogs that met our criteria (older, male - preferably, although we may be open on that item - non-aggressive, good with cats and all things living).  With such a huge influx of dogs and cats coming into our area from Houston and Florida, we wanted to help.  Due to the limits of both space and layout, my house cannot safely quarantine a dog, so mostly, we were not suitable.  Then, this.  Meet Peanut Butter.

I see impending foster failure, don't you?

What?!  What kind of name is that?  Send it back!

PB, also know as Nutter Butter, Bullet, and Whiz, was in foster because of a neglect case north of me.  His owner had been keeping him and his dog brother - a border collie - confined in crates ALL THE TIME, and they were seized, both covered in urine and feces, PB with skin infections, most of his hair gone.  He is through all of his medications and most of his hair is back, although his ears are a little bald.  He is three and suffers from insecurity - and is one of the cuddliest dogs I've ever known.  The rescue needed a new foster because the family who had him wanted to take on more dogs - large house, good set-up for quarantine and very loving people.  The rescue wanted to know if I was interested.  Well, yes, I was.  Lovey and I dumped all other plans and headed towards the city to meet him.  It went well, so the three of us and PB's giant bag of possessions were headed home.  The first three hours were filled with a mostly-haired, reddish brown ricochet ball, zooming around the house, careening off the furniture.  I got them outside in the fenced area and Lovey discovered - to her pleasure - that he was playful!  They never looked back.  Slimbo is withholding approval until PB stops barking at him.  Later that afternoon, I was able to get things done because...

Foster brothers are exhausting.

I better still be in Heaven when
I wake up - with my bone.

While they were sleeping, I snuck off to Marianne's to deliver her weekly eggs and get my swag in return.

Zucchini, cukes, mushrooms, tomatoes,
kohlrabi and apples (not pictured)

They don't call it an Oxheart tomato
for nothing!

I then came home and made a new vege casserole, which I will definitely make again - sorry, no photos.  Foster brothers ARE exhausting!


Sunday was cleaning and I decided to tackle two crafty-type things that I have been skirting for months - decorating a little footstool and framing these:

Way back, long, long (looooooong) ago, when I was little, my Uncle Jimmy was in the Army, in South Korea.  When he came back, he brought three little Korean outfits for his three little nieces.  Believe it or not, I still have mine.  I had always wanted to mount and display the outfit - shoes and all - in a box frame.  This never happened, as I would have to have it custom-made and it would cost a fortune.  But I did find a small box frame and intended to at least frame the shoes.  They sort of look like something you'd find in an ancient tomb don't they?  Unfortunately, the frame is not deep enough and I don't want to apply pressure to the shoes, as they will disintegrate.  I am on to Plan B, whatever that may be.  Also, frustratingly, my intention of completing my little step-stool project was also flummoxed when I could not find my paint pen!  Curses.  Not to worry, I have at least seven other projects in the works...

*****

Giveaway results:




Claire's Corner - KYMBER!


Chicken Saddles - KAY SAYLOR!


Raw Energy - AMBER RAVIS!


Thank you, all those who entered.  Winners please email your mailing info to swomersley at gmail dot com.

All Rainbows Lead Home.

Last night, on my mountain
road home.

How about something different?

I needed to get my mind off my so-called garden and other, equally distressing topics today.  How about a good, old-fashioned give-away?


My new 'rule' is to confine my cookbooks to a small bookshelf in the kitchen.  If I get a new one, one has to go - besides, there wasn't room to squeeze them in!  Here's what is in offer:

Also up for grabs are three lovely - and sturdy - chicken saddles.  I had had a particularly hard time keeping one of my hens in back feathers when I had the two lunatic roosters in the chicken yard.  The saddles came in a pack of five and, at the most, I only needed two.  So there are three available.  They are brand-spankin new:

Leave a comment as to which item you would like and I will choose the winners Sunday and announce them Monday.  The give-away is open to the U.S. and Canada.


Bon chance!

Fencing Do-si-do, What I Won't Do for My Sister, (Not Good) Surprises.

As summer ends with a thud and a whimper, I find myself really hustling during my few available daylight hours.  Having a long weekend is a godsend - even if a third of it gets rained out.  In my never-ending quest to get some big things checked off The List, I have now resorted to blocking areas by the days available.  Ergo:  Saturday = garden, cooking.  Sunday = housecleaning, cooking, preserving.  Monday = last of the house-washing, refencing rhubarb, unfencing duck yard.  Yeehah!  That was the plan - in theory.  In reality?  Actually, I was pretty close!


Saturday garden work was put aside because I got fixated on the fencing.  Focus like a fruit-fly, I tell you.

Before fence removal and invasion
of the flock(s)

Old, rusty, cobbled-together fencing
down - invasion in full swing.

Invasion aftermath with new fencing
and a gate in place.

As an aside here, you will notice the complete lack of grass in the poultry yard.  This has never happened before but - in the early spring, as the little blades started poking up, above the dirt, we got about two weeks of solid rain, followed by hot weather and no rain for two weeks.  It, in essence, created a hard crust that the grass never was able to penetrate.  I am hoping that it will come back next year.  Either that, or I will have to come up with some convoluted reseeding plan.

Dotty, the Speckled Sussex, is my
constant companion and award-winning
snoopervisor.

Checking the pussy willow for bugs.

I also took down most of the duck compound fencing and reconfigured it for winter.  I do not let them have full run during most of the winter because they create havoc with the heated chicken waterer.  I have also decided to rehome the small coop, as I am not going to be raising meat chickens again and, if I do need to resupply the egg-laying flock, I am going to have them raise their own.  This will come as welcome news to two of the hens - who go broody at the drop of a hat.

Betty Rubble in the foreground, Crazy
Mary behind her, Freddie the Bearded
Lady to the left, Gertie, then two
unnamed girls.

Gossip around the water pool.

After I got the old fencing taken down and packaged for recycling, I had just enough time to rush inside, spiffy up and head out to meet my sister at the (dreaded) Garlic Festival.  It was a beautiful day for it.

Nice day for cleaning water
buckets

I will interject here that I would rather have dental surgery than go to this festival.  In it's beginning, quite a few years ago, it was a small, quaint, mostly organic garlic festival that was all about garlic. 

Standing by the honey vendor, looking
at the syrup vendor.

It has morphed into a huge monster - crammed with booths that have little, if anything, to do with garlic.  This year, because of the weather forecast (Sunday was rain all day), it was PACKED.  I spent a half hour inching along the main route to reach the parking area.  Then you shuffled along with a mass of humanity (my least favorite thing ever) toward the entrance.  Then you were shoved along with the stream.  If it wasn't for the fact that my sister is a dear heart and I would do anything at all for her, I would have run in, grabbed my garlic and then headed in a straight line for the exit.  BUT.  I did managed to get half of my garlic seed and we did stumble upon a Vermont winery that had the most excellent ginger liqueur...  And there was one reason it was (almost) worth the agony - apart from being able to spend time with my sister...

Fig tree!  Blonde du Blonde.

That's right.  I bought a fig tree.  This will replace my poor figgy, which died at my hands this year.  I was very happy to also find that the fellow who grows these is gladly on hand (via the internet) to answer questions and help one along. 


After another 20 minutes trying to get out of the parking lot, I did an errand or two and then headed home.  I stopped at my friend, Marianne's, to drop off eggs and got a 5 lb bag of organic apples, 10 lbs of RIPE tomatoes, three cucumbers, two zucchinis, and a bag of oyster mushrooms.  I may not even bother with a garden next year.  Honestly.

Four kinds of delicious, beautiful,
organic heirloom apples!

Zucs and cukes!

Sunday dawned with rain, which continued the entire day.  We got over an inch - and I'm not complaining, as it is a drop in the bucket, compared to other parts of the country.  Lovey and squished out during the lulls to do some fast weeding and pick whatever little was ripe.

Rain dripping off my solar pergola lights.

Two vege dishes were made - Sweet Corn and Zucchini Pie, a homestead favorite, and Tomato and Cheddar Pie - as well as a non-GF apple cake for the barn and the yard guy.  I did some adapting with the tomato pie, as I thought the amount of mayo was a little over the top for me.  Some housecleaning actually got done! 

Some of M's beautiful tomatoes, sliced and draining
before becoming pie.

As far as the Not-Good surprise, I have been working diligently on wrenching up the disintegrating top rail on my deck.  Apparently, the original owners did not choose to use pressure-treated wood when building the deck.  What I thought would be a fairly easy fix, is now turning out to be much more involved.  So far, the support 2x4 under the rail top on one portion will need to be replaced, along with at least one 4x4 post.  Poop.

Sigh.

More sighing.

What's wrong with this picture?