As The Butter Churns

July 2nd You Don't Always Get What You Want

(Deming Post Office)

    I think I got about two hours sleep before I gave up and got up. I checked the clock every few minutes waiting for the call. I felt once again like an expectant mother. The scene in I Love Lucy where Lucy, Ethel, Fred and Ricky practice going to the hospital when Lucy’s about to deliver Little Ricky came to mind. The practice was perfect, but when the moment arrived everyone came unglued.
I addressed Henry’s care package for camp and sipped my coffee. The phone rang promptly at 6:00AM.

    “Denise? Seems we got some live birds here for you,” a friendly man said.

    “Great! I’ll be right there,” I said hanging up.

    Pulling open the door of the tiny Deming Post Office I could hear the peep. Peep, peeping. The box was tiny, much smaller than I’d expected. I signed for it, picked it up and put it in the back seat. Peep, peep, peeping filled the car.

(Deming Post Master)

Smiling, I called Tom. The voicemail picked up.

      “Octo-mom has nothing on me. I’m here with my new brood,” I chirped as I held the phone up to the box. Bubbling with excitement, I called Awesomez and my sister to let them know the babies had arrived.

    On the way home I noticed how brightly the sun was shining again. We’re truly getting a hot summer. The inner tubes were swaying in the breeze as I passed the Everybody’s Store. It was still pleasant, but the thermometer is supposed to go over 94 again. I thought about how I hadn't wanted these poults last night and although I still was disappointed about the switch, I had begun to make peace with my new charges. I'd done some research and the Orloffs are supposed to be amazingly friendly. Several places spoke of them wanting to sit in your lap and be held. Friendly chickens might just be the chickens for me.

(Bruno delivers)

    I got home and started fixing the nursery formerly known as the laundry room. I took a plastic Christmas ornament box and lay newspaper across the bottom. The woman at Sand Hill Preservation Center had impressed upon me how important this was. At first, I naively thought this was so the cage would be easy to clean, but not so. It seems that poults (baby fowl) are such fragile creatures that if they slip their tiny legs will come out of their leg sockets.

    Next, I put in the water container and the feeder full of food. Then as I put the box-o-birds in the container I suddenly worried there were dead ones inside. I thought of having to remove them. Yuck. Well, waiting wasn’t going to help so I ripped open the end and began tipping the birds gently out onto the non-skid surface. The volume of the peep, peep, peeping increased. Thankfully, they were all alive.

I took them one by one and dipped their beaks in the water to get them to drink. They started scratching the paper and looking for food, but couldn’t quite understand the feeder I’d put in. Quickly I went to the kitchen and got plastic lids, turned them upside down and poured their feed on top.

(the box is open)

(25 piece box of chicken- no their's turkey legs too)

(Whishard- strain Bronze Turkey poult)

(note the one with the chipmunk markings - I think this is a Red Dorking - the yellowish one to the left I think is a Gold Spangled Hamburg)

(more baby pictures)

(Turkey and un-identified poult with yellow head and dark body)

     Sadly, I saw a turkey and a chick lay down and die. Their heads flopped over and their bodies just slowed down. I wasn’t completely surprised. The trip here had to be terribly stressful. A big fat turkey poult strutted by and stepped on one of the lifeless bodies. When Lazarus got up! The poult wasn’t dead; he was asleep. They both were. These birds were going to drive me crazy with worry. I sat there watching them sprawl out like they were sunbathing under the light. Hmm. I remembered Toby telling me this was not good, they’d cook. I fiddled with the light for a bit and realized I couldn’t clip it anywhere else on the plastic tub. Trying to figure out an alternative, I looked around assessing the surrounding area when I heard a creak. My head turned in time to see the first predator; Emmett had come to investigate.

(The assasin)

    I latched the nursery door and ran to the barn, picked up one of the small gates we’d used in the goat pen on occasion and headed back. I could hear Wacktilda haunting the hills. It was then I realized the date, July 2nd.  I’d arrived two years ago today.

    I put the gate over the top of the container, set the heat lamp on top and, although the delicate birds seemed to collapse every few moments in front of me, after a while I realized this was just what they did. They simply stop and sleep for a few moments and then get up and move around again.

(The crib now has safety bars)

    My sleepless night was beginning to catch up with me so I poured a hot cup of coffee and went out to the porch where Irish was surveying the land.  Sitting back on the bench next to Irish I looked around. I remembered driving up the dirt driveway to the dilapidated cedar shingled house. I'd had so many plans , timetables, projections and goals. A lot has happened in the last two years. I didn't get the camp off the ground and Tom still isn't here. Yet. Sipping my coffee, I realized I'm happy. Not the kind of joyous happy you feel when you accomplish something, but the sort of deep down kind of happy that makes you want to get up in the morning. Sure, I still have a river of laundry in the now nursery. And I’m as poor as a church mouse. I always have a project and it never feels like I get anything finished, but I don’t really care. I love this land, the green hills, the goats and sheep mowing the lawn. The donkey and geese alerting me to any unusual situations, the cows making music with their bells in the pasture and the cool pond waiting for me to take a ten minute vacation on the dock. I love the antics and the chaos and the unpredictability. True there have been many set backs, redirects and countless frustrations, but poor and tired, sore and sweaty, I am happy just being here.

    I wonder what will happen next.

(our yard)

July 1st The Care Package

(Pumpkin bread wrapped and ready to go)

My Dearest little Hankie Pankie,   

    It’s about 11:30PM and I am sitting in the kitchen still in my coveralls. My eyes are heavy and I’m grimy from working all day. I can hear Irish tearing apart and unstuffing his porch cushion. He’s wound up and bored, because you’re not here. Emmett is watching Irish’s antics from a safe distance on the stairs. Rat-Bat and Vivi have gone to bed while Luther and Deli are snoring nearby. Gosh by the time you get this, you’ll have been gone almost two and a half weeks.

    I hope this package arrives safely. I’ve been keeping an eye on all the dogs all night so they wouldn’t get the pumpkin bread I baked for you. Irish kept sniffing the box, but I won’t continue to be outsmarted by a pack of dogs. Learning from the recent Father's Day Landjaeger debacle, I put it up in the cupboard where we keep the crackers.

    – I don’t remember if I told you, but you remember the wooden rosary you put around Irish's neck because he’s a sinner? Well, he ate the cross. So much for being named after Notre Dame.

(Irish after he chewed off his cross)

    Hmm, what else is happening around these parts? Well, Quinn’s been sick since she got back from California. Lisa said she’s just lying around all day whimpering. Her ffever before Advil™ was a 104.

    As you know, Alexis moved out. All seems well with him and I know you will see him often as as he isn’t moving far away. He’s actually going to be very near the Everybody’s Store on a piece of land called “River Run Farm”. It’s a kind of a commune without the religion. It seems there’s a 100-year land trust and a bunch of people share 80 acres, but don’t own it. They have a community garden, which requires a daily commitment from all the community members. If you move there, you can build a house, and you own your own house, but you don’t own the land it sits on. In order to move there Alexis had to talk to all the people and be voted in. I think it’ll be an interesting experience.

(Alexis surveying the bridge progress)

(getting the bridge ready to work on)

    Amy went up to see her boyfriend, Andrew and his son, Max, in Vancouver for Canada Day. She took Max a couple of new pets she found in the yard., Spot and Cuddles, seven-inch Banana slugs. Seriously, Amy is a whacked as we are. She feeds Cuddles and Spot the glidies leftovers. Amy wanted to stay a couple of nights at Andrew’s so I’m feeding the bunnies and the glidies. I don’t mind cutting up their pears, apples or sweet potatoes, but I really don’t like feeding live prey. They’re only crickets, but I feel badly for them as I shake them out of the little cricket tube. It’s not quite as bad as feeding the mealworms to your old turtle, Leo, but it’s close.

(Cuddles)

    Of course, with you gone, I’ve been working a lot selling cheese, pumping gas, filling propane tanks, making sandwiches and weeding the strawberries at the store. A lot of unique people work there, take Ben for instance. He’s worked picking grapes at the Mount Baker Vineyard; he’s made mohair socks straight from the wool he sheered from his goats. He raises calves and butchers them to sell the meat. And as if that wasn’t enough he makes cheese, has over 300 blueberry bushes and plays the banjo. Ben just played at the Strawberry Social. He’s funny really. He told me he’s “pissed off all the time. Everything pisses me off. So I got one of those goat bells and I put in my barn. It’s just the right height so when I go in and out of the barn in the morning when I milk the goats I hit it with my shoulder. And it reminds me ‘Ben settle down” He makes me laugh.

(Ben - with a weird light on him - sorry)

    I’ve been so tired, I’ve barely gotten anything done around here. I had so many lofty goals when you left, and I’m afraid I’m falling short. Today, I worked on cleaning the garage. I found, the marbles Daddy got you at Williamsburg, some books on tape I thought we’d lost forever (we can listen to them when school starts) and a bunch of your naked baby pictures. It was a three ring circus what with the geese curious about what I was doing, Christina and Rachel trying to eat the Christmas garland and having to battle Miracle for my Diet Coke. You know, ever since she had those Doritos she’s been completely out of hand.

(The geese helping with the garage)

(garage a bit tidier)

    Oh, the chicks and poults are finally coming tomorrow. The post office guy is supposed to call me when they arrive. We suspect it should be something like 6:00 AM. I’m going to put them in the laundry room for a couple of weeks before moving them out to the coop. I’m a little disappointed. I ordered Narragansett turkeys and Dominique chickens – then the other two breeds were filler to make the minimum 25. Unfortunately, I didn’t get either the Narragansetts or the Dominiques. I’m really disappointed. Is it silly to cry over chickens? I haven’t but I feel like it. I just wanted them for so long and now, I won’t get them. I can’t order another 25 and I can’t afford more if I could. Oh well, I’ll probably love them just like I love Rat-Bat. At least I hope I will.

(finishing stapling the wire on the chicken coop)
(Rachel - such a silly goat)

(Luther sitting pretty- safe from a goose or donkey attack)

    I let Abe, Andy and Anna out to run and play today. They seemed hungry and the grass was low in the pasture so I let them out. For a long time I didn’t hear Andy’s bell and I was worried they’d gone way up the mountain, but then for no known reason they suddenly came running across the pasture –  in the gate and over to their water. They sat down in the barn and didn’t leave the pasture again even though I left the gate open all day. Weird cows.

    Miracle let me actually put my leg over her today and sit on her back. I got a little nervous when she started walking around so I got off, but I think I’ll try again a bit tomorrow and see what she thinks.

    I hope you’re having a wonderful time and learning a lot of gymnastics. Make friends my sweetie, bee good and get some email addresses so you can keep in touch.

    I miss you more than Grandpa Horn loves butter. But don‘t worry, I’m not pining away, but I do miss your silly laugh, your dumb jokes, your smart-alec ways and your snuggly kisses.

    love,

        Mama

p.s. I don’t miss your stinky feet.

June 27th The Road To ...

 

(Grandpa Horn in front of a chateau in the South of France)

Dear Eveyone,

     Our plan was to drive south of Paris for about five hours in Philippe’s VW 10-passenger van to the tiny village of Montbron, about 50 kilometers southeast of nearest large city, which is Limoges where we’d be playing a wedding.

    We are to rendezvous at (I thought I heard) PLACE d’Italie. I set my phone alarm for 7:30 and of course I’m wide-awake at 7:15.

    I’m on the Metro by 8:15. This of course is an extremely early departure time to rendezvous at 10 a.m., but as you well know, I can’t stand rushing and always choose to arrive early, often as much as an hour early, finding it very relaxing to have a coffee and read the current novel I’m reading. Place d’Italie is an easy ride-–it’s at the end of Line 5, which is the line that services our neighborhood in the 19th arondissement.

    Seventeen stops later I emerge from the Place d’Italie exit. Glancing around I see three cafes. I select Café de France, take a table outside in the morning sun, order a petit café creme and freshly-squeezed orange juice and open my T.Jefferson Parker novel, "Where Serpents Lie" [quite a grisly tale where the villian-killer, abused as a child, of course, ends up feeding his alcoholic mother to his pet 20-ft. Anaconda].

    By 9:40 I’m wondering why March Chevaucherie, our outstanding sousaphone player, hasn’t showed up. He’s usually very punctual. I take out my cell and call Philippe. It seems Marc failed to set his alarm clock and has just gotten up! It is then I learn that we’re supposed to be meeting at PORT d’Italie, not PLACE d’Italie, which is reached on Line 7. Luckily, Line 7 also runs through Place d’Italie where I am and Port d’Italie is only three stops away. I can get there in ten minutes.

    Philippe picks Marc and his sousaphone up and they arrive where I’m waiting at 10:25. I’m thinking my old band leader Dolson would be having a heart attack right about now at this lack of precision.

    So, we’re off. Pascal, who usually plays bass for us, will be meeting us at a toll stop near Orleans. He’s going to be playing banjo for the wedding because Alan Kelly had a gig booked far in advance to the wedding. He was quite unhappy about it as the wedding is paying us over twice what his other gig will pay.

    The first hour flys by and soon we see Pascal standing beside his small Renault in a parking lot adjacent to the tollway. Having played a gig in Orleans last night until 1 a.m., Pascal crawls into the back of the van and is asleep within a quarter-mile.

    On this sunshine day of about 85 degrees the French countryside is gorgeously green from recent rains. While Philippe drives he splits his time between talking with Madeleine beside him and selecting various jazz tunes from his stash of CDs. Behind them Marc works at a book of crossword puzzles while I read about the serial killer who loves and keeps snakes.

    The first demand of the wedding for the band is that we are to be outside the church (the Eglise Saint Maurice de Montbron) at 6 p.m. so we can be ready to play the moment the bride and groom exit the church.

(Eglise Saint Maurice de Montbron)

    As we approach Limoges, the nearest large city to Montbron, about 50 kilometers away, I glance at my watch. It’s 4 o’clock and I’m amazed that it looks like we should be in Montbron with an hour to spare!

    Ah, but wait a minute.  Don't count your French Poodles too soon. Something always comes up with French musicians just as I believe we’re finally going to arrive someplace early.

    As Philippe takes a turn where the sign points to Limoges’ "City Centre" I suddenly learn that Marc left home without his dress clothes! He’s wearing a nice shirt, but his casual pants are yellow. Yellow? So we’ll be stopping in a mall so he can purchase a pair of black dress slacks.

    The pants-buying process blows about 40 minutes and by the time we’re back on the road to Montbron, with Marc working the GPS and calling out directions to Philippe, we of course have lost forever our one-hour cushion.

    Montbron is so small we don’t see signs for it until we’re within 15 kilometers. When I bring up the fact that none of the road signs are showing Montbron, Marc assures me that the GPS is right on and we’ll be in Monbron in 15 minutes.

    Marc proves to be true to his word. We pull into the parking lot in front of our hotel at 5:30. Because I’m the only one dressed the others rush into the hotel to change while I sit on the hotel patio and enjoy a coffee feeling like I’ve been in the middle of some Bob Hope, Bing Crosby movie,

    The benefits of a small town are that nothing is far away. The church is less than five minutes away and miraculously, we are standing with our instruments in hand at 6:03, waiting for the church doors to open which doesn't happen until 6:20.
(In the nick of time)

(Antoine and Julie)

     We play two or three numbers as the bride and groom, Antoine and Chunlian ("Julie") are kept on the church steps by the large crowd. Finally the bride and groom are guided over to the side of the church next to the band, and when we finish the tune we’re playing (it wasn’t "Who’s Sorry Now"), Julie gives each musician a kiss and a hug, explaining we were a complete surprise, that having us for the wedding was a surprise present from Antoine’s mother, who paid us handsomely to drive down from Paris and was also putting us up in the hotel for the night.

    So, with Julie and Antoine beside us, the band leads a parade of guests about 500 yards from the church to an outside area where cocktails would be served before dinner. The parade got interrupted just before we arrived at the reception area because so many people demanded they be allowed to take pictures.

(Grandpa Horn)

(The band had sport coats on when we arrived, but it was about 90 degrees and were immediately shed.)

(Antoine's mom dancing with Madeleine)

 

(Julie's bride's maids and parents)

    Julie couldn’t get over the fact that we had been brought down from Paris for the wedding. She and Antoine had heard us play a number of Sunday mornings on rue Mouffetard, and when Antoine’s mother had come to Paris for a visit on a Sunday, she immediately hired us for the wedding; we just didn’t know that she was going to keep it a complete surprise from Julie and Antoine.

(Antoine's parents)

    That Sunday back in March or April when we were hired I of course gave Antoine’s mother a couple of our CDs. There was no question she had listened to it often and as soon as cocktails were being served she came over, gave me a kiss and said I MUST sing "I’ll Be Your Friend With Pleasure"

    Not counting Lisa’s Toby’s weddings, this was the warmest reception I’ve ever seen a band receive from the host, hostess, bride and groom and guests at a wedding.

    Julie, a knockout herself, was also surrounded by beautiful girlfriends, and all of them made the band feel as if we were rock stars, almost pushing each other out of the way to be able to serve us champagne.

(Julie and her friends)

 

    Our music duties ended when the guests entered the dinner tent around 9:30-–there was a two-man team inside the tent playing CDs for dinner–-and our gracious hostess arranged for a musicians’ table on the grounds outside the tent complete with a bottle of champagne, two bottles of bordeaux and two bottles of rose to wash down the delicious dinner of beef and shrimp.

    When I finished eating I went into the dinner tent. Julie and Antoine were very gracious, saying how complete the entire affair was with us coming down from Paris to play for them. Hearing nice things like that are the extra perks you get playing good music.

  

    Bon Soir,

   G. Horn