As The Butter Churns

September 28th Americans Made Here

 (Norton meanders about)

    Everyone gets lost in worries. The IRS sends you a letter making your heart skip a beat; a friend has a terrifying surgery so you can’t sleep, your refrigerator starts to sound like a Amelia Earhart’s airplane and your turkey who has a Napoleon complex gets in a fight with your emotionally unstable donkey, it happens to all of us. Then something shifts and like a kaleidoscope the whole world looks different.

    For me it was Phoebe’s 10th birthday. My sister called and said Pheebzilla wanted to have her friends out to the farm for her birthday. I was honored and immediately the hamster in my brain jumped on it’s wheel and started spinning. I called Phoebe.

    “How about we make your party a colonial party? We could press cider and stuff like that,” I suggested excitedly.

    “Yeah! That sounds great! Can we churn butter Tante (aunt)?” Phoebe begged.

    “Of course,” I said as I started jotting down ideas and supplies we’d need: cider pressing, candle making, quill and ink, caramel apple dipping, and hay rides.

    I called Tom. “Um, what are you doing the weekend of the 25th?”

    “Why?” He asked suspiciously. “I’m out of vacation days.”

    “Oh, forget about it then. It’s no big deal. Phoebe just wants to have a colonial farm party for her birthday,” I dangled slyly. “I thought you might want to be here that’s all.” 

    “Hmm. I can fly up after work and be there by midnight on Friday and then fly home at 5:00AM on Monday. All my stuff is there.” I knew it. He’s worse than a Weight Watcher in a doughnut shop.

    Franklin supplied the quills and we had plenty of ink and parchment from numerous projects, Hay wasn’t a problem, but I didn’t feel ready to hook up Abe and Andy with 10 year-old girls so we opted for the ye ole tractor. I wished I had the money to get the rest of the cannon parts here so we could shoot them off. I imagined the girls marching around and Henry lighting up the cannons but alas we’d have to make do without them.

    Lately I’d been stressed over bills, drama, family emergencies and the honey business. So I decided to make Phoebe’s birthday cake and bake my way to mental health. There is nothing so therapeutic as immersing yourself in lemon icing and preparing for a party. In times of deep emotional duress while other people might go shopping I turn to fondant.

    I needed to focus. So after Phoebe's real birthday, where we witnessed the ear-piercing-rite of passage into womanhood I left Henry at my sister’s for a couple of days coinciding with Awesomez and Lindsey’s departure for Tahoe. They were going to a family wedding leaving me all alone to find my inner Abigail Adams. Thursday I cleaned the house, did about 16 loads of laundry and baked three layers of cake, lemon per Phoebe’s request. 

 (Phoebe's factory made production-line ear)

 (Henry and Phoebe - hold hands)
 
 

 (Phoebe's newly pierced ears - Saphire the September birthstone)

   (Phoebe blows out the candles)

    Thursday night, I chatted on the phone with Toby as I nervously began the icing portion of the project.  Before going to bed I locked the cake up tighter than Jack Benny’s vault.

    Friday, I began getting ready for the idea that the party might have to be moved indoors indoors. Rain is always a possibility. I found my purple dress, a pitcher for the heavy cream, made more fondant for the cake and washed Franklin’s feathers to make quills. I knew colonial cakes were usually heavily spiced treats with alcohol and currants usually iced with a bunch of feathers, but I wasn’t going authentic with the tractor so I didn’t feel particularly guilty about using my new Wilton ribbon embossing tool.

    After picking Henry up from school I scrambled to get everything finished before I had to run to the airport and get Tom. Henry lounged in the family room surrounded by dogs and cats watching a rerun of “Bones” coming in at commercials to both praise and critique my culinary efforts. After squinting at the mound of sugar for some time Henry decided he thought the cake looked a little too serious. “It looks kinda like a wedding cake,” he said with admiration, “but Phoebe’s only 10,” he reminded me gently. Suggesting I add yellow food coloring to the daisies and “paint” the embossed ribbon alternating colors. “That’ll jazz it up as Grandpa Horn would say,” he said taking a spoonful of icing back to the family room as the “Bones” theme song blared rhythmically signaling the end of Henry’s interest in my cake for another 12 minutes.

 (lemon cakes being leveled for assembly)

 (lemon icing between the layers)

 (two on - one to go)

 (a layer of icing around the cake to rest - or "glue" the fondant on)

 (fondant ready to be tinted blue with a toothpick)

 (turning blue)

 (ready to roll)

 (according to my calculations this is ready to go)

 (whoo hoo more than enough!)

 (a little trim and a lot of smoothing and I'm ready to move on to the bow)
 

 (using my embossing ribbon tool I cut and assembled the ribbon - the curls I wrapped around a pencil)

 (daisy cut outs)

 (I decided to scatter different sized daisy all over the cake like garden wrapping paper)
 
 
Alone in the kitchen I stared at the cake. It was my best work. And I knew, I had intended to make the centers of the daisies yellow, but now I was a little scared to wreck everything I’d done. “No Guts No Glory” my philosophy for life, gained from a Boynton coffee mug illustrating a giant smiling dragon and a teeny tiny knight flashed in my head, I took a deep breath and dipped my paintbrush. 

 (I learned you don't use water to thin the food coloring as it sits on top of the buttercream - you need to thin with vanilla or in this case lemon extract )

 (voila)

    Saturday morning, we woke up to a 6:30 AM alarm and found a spectacularly warm sunny day on the way. Henry, Tom and I sprang into action. Henry scrubbed the cider press with a water and bleach combination, hosed off the porch and began dipping wicks to form the core for the candles while Tom hooked up the trailer hitch to the tractor so he could give hay rides. I busied myself with how to keep the caramel warm, sticks for the apples, tablecloths, chairs and our costumes.

    Unfortunately, Henry had outgrown all his clothes, so we had to make do with a pair of wool Union issue infantry pants a hand-me-down shirt and a extra Confederate jacket we had laying around. His scruffy hair worked perfectly with Tom’s tri-corn hat and we were in business. I donned my dress and decided colonial although my passion is not in fact my best look. I closely resembled an overripe plum. Tom only had colonial dress shoes so he opted for inauthentic farm boots instead.

    I was a little nervous, that the kids might thing all of this was a bunch of corny hooey. I hoped we could pull it off. Creating Fort Flashback had been our dream and I hoped this opportunity to share even a little bit of it with some 5th graders would go well. 

    I needn’t have worried. The girls had a great time, they were enchanted with all the farm animals especially Norton and Midge, they couldn’t get enough of the hay rides, wrote their names endlessly with quills, dipped enormous candles and listened intently as Tom or I told them about the historical significance of some of the things there were doing. Party or not we had snuck some learning in and they didn’t seem to mind a bit. They were fascinated by what life was like in the past, they enthusiastically pressed cider and gobbled up their caramel apples. In a twist I didn’t expect the girls started doing butter churning chants. I suppose a little like girls do jump roping chants today. I’d never thought about it, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if colonial girls passed the time in just that way.

 (Tom working the quill and ink station)

 (13 colonies and the Don't Tread On Me)

 (Henry takes a turn pulling the hay ride)
 

 (Bradford being rescued by Tom and me - I look like I'm in some sort of stage play)
 

 (some beefy candles)

 (so big these guys needed to hang on the garden gate-)

 (ready for a thick layer of caramel)

 (Henry and Chris - looking a little sketchy)

 (Phoebe on left butter churning)

 (THE butter cube - we all made)

 (the antics of Irish and Bruno)
 
 

 (birthday party girls and Henry)

 (Lauren enjoys a spoonful of caramel)

   (the goats enjoy the hayride too)

 
 

    After all the guests had left Tom and I made our way to the living room and sank back in the deep red leather chairs which had once decorated my grandfather’s psychiatric office. Happy and exhausted we reflected on all the day’s events. Pleased with everything, Tom remarked, “I really wouldn’t have changed anything except I would have loved to have fired off those cannons. It was so great to dust off the old stuff after so long. I think the kids learned a lot and didn’t even know it, but when their teacher starts telling them stuff about the colonies they’ll remember and start to make the connections. It makes me remember how good an idea this is and if we ever can get it off the ground it would be successful”. 

 

A couple of days later, it was Back-to-school night and I sat crammed in a library full of 8th grade parents. I listened carefully as the social studies instructor went on about the year’s activities planned for teacher American History. “Well, we’re racing through the 13 colonies hoping we can instill in the kids what makes us Americans. We will skip to the Boston Massacre and do a mock trial and then we plan at the end of the year to go out to Hovander Park where those crazy people from the county will get into costume and get out their Civil War cannons. They love to blow things up. They’re nuts out there, I don’t know where those people go the rest of the year but they sure can teach history.” Knowing laughter filled the room as the people around me agreed with him. My hair straight and sleek, dressed in black almost entirely lint free I felt like I was undercover. No one around me realized I was one of those crazy people from the county. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. As I watched and listened to the cookie cutter parents around me talk about their worries I decided I liked being a crazy from the county who could teach history. I just wished the people were coming to our place, Phoebe’s party had reminded Tom and I just how much our dream of Fort Flashback means to us. Giving kids and adults the opportunity to see what life was like during our early history and why people did the things they did. Seeing the past helps us know who we are as a country. Learning about our founders and their imperfections and their lives gives us understanding of real leaders that overcame real obstacles. Our founders were not comic book heroes they were men and women who simply did not shirk from the challenges in front of them. They valued hard work, education, responsibility, honesty and community. By teaching American History we teach children to stay in touch with the things we value most to be good citizens. Freedom is every American’s responsibility. It’s something you fight for everyday whether it’s a playground bully or an unjust law.

 

Now if only we had the money to get the wheels for those cannons so we could blow things up.

November 13th Turn, Turn, Turn

(Goat lips)

    Just about the time the sun came up, I heard Mike’s car roll over the rocks as he drove into the driveway. I handed him his coffee as he walked in the door and told him to keep his jacket on as he was just in time to help me feed the animals.

(Riley wating for breakfast)
He was glad to greet his friends, the Oberhaslis. I was amused to see Mike extend his big paws full of alfalfa pellets as the goats voraciously nibbled with their tickly goat lips. I suspect he favors Rachel as she seemed to get just a little more than the rest. Mike helped me toss in the hay as we opened up the doors and released the geese to mow the lawn. I was a little embarrassed at the state of the barn as I called to mind the barns at the fairgrounds. Hordes of children kept the place spotless; child labor in moderation is a very good thing.
(Bruno says "Good Morning")

I’m well-intentioned, but with trying to build a fence, attempting to find work, keeping the house from being a complete disaster and occasionally feeding Henry – regular barn maintenance seems to get left by the wayside. I keep meaning to clean more than the stalls, but it isn’t my highest priority. And, after all, it is a barn. We filled the water buckets, gave Miracle her morning hugs and returned to the house.

(Miracle saying howdy-do)

Mike and I had set aside the day to work on some of my stuff for Fort Flashback. I’ve learned over time that the business plan is a document that is constantly evolving and, thus, is ever in need of attention. Certainly, there are those who say at this point I should just give up trying to open an American History Camp for kids, especially in this economic climate. Honestly, this is when I think we need it the most. It would be an inexpensive escape for many people but, of course, I’m biased. Anyway, with coffee cups in hand we settled into our regular roles. When we work, we usually argue. Vehemently. We truly couldn’t be more different in many ways but, much like Irish and Bruno, we’ve figured out a way to be friends in spite of our differences, and I appreciate Mike’s willingness to drive two hours to come up here to argue with me. Then again, he went to law school and that sort of thing comes with the territory.

    We worked: I wrote and Mike ranted, edited and noodled my prose as we laughed at each other’s predictability. We were cloistered in the house all day until it was time to pick up Henry from school and begin my shuttle service triangle - home to school to gymnastics and back home again, home again jiggity jig. On a good day, I drive 120 miles and on a bad day – like today, I drive 150. 

    Knowing I wouldn’t be home until quite late in the evening and having intimate knowledge of cougars lurking nearby, we went out to the barn to feed and put the geese, goats, lambs and Miracle away. I figured Abe, Andy and Anna could go without grain for a day, as it’s unseasonably balmy. The Pineapple Express is blowing through here, heating things up.

    As Mike and I walked out to the barn I noticed something was different. The wheelbarrow wasn’t where I'd left it. Who’d been here? Was there an intruder? I walked cautiously into the barn filled with dread. Shock at what I saw washed over me like a wave. It took me a while to process what I was seeing. I glanced around. Every rake was hung up. The buckets were turned upside down and neatly lined up on a shelf.
  (neat and tidy- rats and mice can't get stuck inside) (All hung up)
(everything it its place)
The fly sprays and medicines were sorted and put away. The excess hay was swept up off the floor. The empty grain bags were thrown away, The hose was rerouted and strapped to the ceiling so it could fill the goats' water bucket without any problems. The whole barn was organized and immaculate. It felt like Barbara Eden had been there. Was this some new game show? No one was around, but I knew it was Alexis. My eyes filled with tears at the genuine kindness. He’d seen something and just handled it. (Ready to be used)

    “I can’t believe it. This is amazing.” I stood there in disbelief. “It’s like the maid came when you weren’t expecting it.” 

    “What?” Mike said, standing next to me.

    “The barn? It’s completely cleaned. Everything is put away, organized and swept up. You don’t see that?” I asked incredulously.

    “Oh, yeah. Now that you mention it, it does look a bit different than this morning,” Mike said, looking around.

    “You’re kidding, right?” But I knew he wasn’t. He didn’t notice until I said something. I could bleach my hair platinum and he just might notice. Just then Alexis walked up. I didn’t know what to say. I stumbled for something profound to express my gratitude, but all I could manage was a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
(Alexis being transformed into a farmhand)

    He smiled and said, “You looked like you could use a little help. I thought I’d pitch in. If you want, I could mend some of the fences. Or you could make a list.”   

    A list? I must be dreaming. Tears filled my eyes at this unexpected kindness.

    As I drove to get Henry and take him to gymnastics Mike and Alexis were still talking in the driveway.  I thought of my mother as I peered in my rear view mirror at them. She used to say, "As you get in your forties life gets easier. Younger people get so depressed because they’re not old enough to realize things never stay the same for long. Life is always going to change in some unexpected way.”

   I guess the Kaleidoscope just turned again.

November 9th Nothing Beats A Full House

(Little Sam Horner, 5, and Irish)

    Laughter and shrieking filled the house as Team Donaldson arrived with old neighbors: Liza (6th grade), Audrey (3rd grade) and Sam Horner (kindergarten). Over the years our families have spent a lot of time together for birthday parties, sleepovers, Thanksgivings, Christmases and many Easter egg hunts. Of course, there were hugs and kisses all around. Audrey got a little more than she bargained for when Vivian Irene Rottweiler planted a big wet one right on her cheek. A moment later Irish rushed past Sam, knocking him flat on the wood floor as he went by. Sam went down like one of those plastic clowns you punch, which hits the ground and immediately bounces back up.

    “Are you ok?” Lisa asked.

    “Yeah,” Sam replied, non-plussed, as he got up and resumed looking at the jukebox.

    Despite the rain, it wasn’t long before children were darting everywhere. To the barn to meet the goats! To the side yard to see the geese! To the pasture to feed the cows! Then to the pond on the tractor! Nervous about predators, I wanted them to take an air horn with them to make noise, but I laughed as they reached the pond and I could still hear every word they yelled to each other. They were safe.
(Quinn, Sam, Phoebe and Liza in the bucket. Henry is driving and Audrey is screaming)

    While they were gone, we went about our plan to set up the Cider Press. We'd gotten it for Fort Flashback. It was a common colonial item and we thought kids would enjoy seeing how cider was made. Cider is produced by crushing apples. It is 90% apple - if it contains more water than that it is called apple juice.

    So Lisa, Alexis, Chris and I picked apples and began wiping down the Cider Press. Lisa and Alexis chopped the apples, making sure they were worm-free. (Lisa and Alexis -  chopping machines)

    When all the kids returned, they shoved handfuls of apple chunks into the grinder until the bucket was full. Audrey was in charge of making sure the apples were firmly packed down. After all, we wanted as much cider as possible. Wayne wandered in from watching football and sat down. Contentedly, I looked around. It was if everything was in slow motion, girls giggling, men talking, boys shoving, dogs barking, football blaring. Lisa was chopping, and it was perfect. It’s moments like these that are magical. Ordinary moments.

     It was then that my father entered the room. No, he isn’t back from Paris, but he was channeling across the continents through his grandson. It seems Sam asked Henry whose cool horn was by the music stand - and chaos ensued. Henry walked into the room and began practicing a barely recognizable version of “Jingle Bells” he’s quite proud of. I thought Lisa was going to have a breakdown.
(Wayne & Chris look on as Henry carries on a family tradition and Sam cuts up)

    “Make him stop. He’s just like his grandfather, playing that thing in the middle of enough noise. I just can’t take the playing.”
(Quinn watching Henry add to the chaos. Phoebe working hard)

   “And he’s not as good as his grandfather,” Wayne interjected.

   “That’s not it,” Lisa said. “It’s not how he’s playing; it’s that he’s playing.”

   “Don’t discourage him from playing. Ever,” Chris shushed her. 

   "Ever?"

   "Ever," Chris repeated.

" (Liza, Phoebe and Audrey cider pressing)
  (Henry crushes some apples and Sam watches, with Chris's assistance, as Liza fills the grinder)
(Sam gives it a try)
(Liza working for the cider) (Cider at last!)

   When the pressing began, everyone took turns but, as the press squeezed downward, the turning got increasingly difficult until only The Amazing Chris Donaldson remained.

   When everyone had their fill of freshly pressed cider, the games continued. Jedi Knights dueled in the yard and climbed ropes to show their strength
. (Jedi Knights - Henry and Sam)

   “Sam, if you can climb this rope then you can be a Jedi Knight.”

   “It’s too hard,” Sam complained.
(Sam struggles)

    “If it were easy, everyone would be a Jedi,” Henry explained reasonably. Sam looked around and found a step stool. Stood on it. Jumped up. And grabbed the rope. Gleeful at having bested the master.
(Sam and his step stool)
   “That’s cheating,” Henry accused.

   “That’s right,” Sam said.

   Meanwhile, back in the kitchen Quinn struggled to interpret the Rice Crispy Treat recipe as the other girls hounded her to hurry up. After spaghetti and meatballs the girls settled in for the movie “Harry and the Hendersons” or, as it is commonly known in our home, “Life with Irish”. (Audrey, Phoebe, Liza, Quinn and Irish, who thinks he's a lap dog)
(Liza makes peace with the fact that Irish isn't going anywhere)
   Kindred spirits Henry and Sam excused themselves to play computer games upstairs.  (Sam and Bruno go upstairs)
(Two of a kind, computer boys Sam and Henry)

   Much too soon our time ended and everyone packed up their wet tennis shoes and pond-soaked socks.
(Brotherly love)

   “Henry, you’re lucky,” Sam said as he hugged Henry good-bye.

   “Why?” Henry asked.

   “Because you get to live here,” Sam said plainly.

   “Well, you can come visit any time Germaine and Kevin let you. You can come this summer or sometimes you could fly up with my dad.”

   “Really!?”

   “Really. Right, Mom?” Henry asked, wanting backup.

    “Anytime, Samma.”
    (Henry lifting a giggling Sam)

   After they left, Henry turned to me and said, "Mama, that Sam's a handful. I don't know if Daddy can handle him. Well, he is MY Daddy. I guess he's used to it, huh?"

   "Does Henry the Handful sound familiar in any way?"

October 22nd Tippecanoe and Tyler Too

  

(A replica Tom made of the actual voting tally board that hung in Carpenter's Hall during the Second Continental Congress - used by the delegates of the 13 colonies in the vote for Independence)

      I received my ballot and voter pamphlet in the mail a couple of days ago. Washington is very different than I’m used to -- in Washington, except for two counties, there aren’t any voting booths left. All voting is by mail. This seems strange to me. I’m used to going out, standing in line, having one of my neighbors (usually John from next door), cross my name off a list and give me my ballot, which I would then take over and  insert in a little contraption to punch out my choices. Afterward, I would hand it back in my secret envelope, deposit it in a box and a nice volunteer would give me an “I voted” flag sticker and a smile.

    In Minnesota, I would trek out in the snow to a modest church where I’d wait in my galoshes to go into the secret booth to cast my vote. There was a bit of sacrifice, a little romance, a communal feeling as I stood there on a November day shivering with my fellows as I thought of Valley Forge and all the people  who had given their lives to create this country. Knowing people like me all over this country also waited to say who each of us felt was the best man for the job.  Hmm. I’m still a little bitter about Hilary. 

    Anyway, aside from voting in October in my kitchen, my ballot looked strange to me, too. Instead of a punch I was to connect two lines that would, if you were voting for that candidate, form an arrow. As I was looking things over, considering the measures, reading over the literature, Henry walked into the kitchen  and grabbed my voting pamphlet and read the cover. (Washington Voter Pamphlet)

    “That’s ridiculous. One vote doesn’t really matter. What difference is one vote going to make with so many people?” Seriously, the child is lucky I wasn’t armed with a frying pan. I was amazed at how quickly my blood began to boil. Communist, Fascist, or had he simply spent too much time in Canada? I couldn’t decide which. Indignant, I answered him.

    “My vote certainly does matter. This year is especially important -- there are going to be big changes. Either we'll have a woman vice president or a black man will be president for the first time in our history. And, frankly, I believe if you don't vote, you shouldn't have the right to say anything for the next four years. After all, even a landslide victory starts with one vote."

     "True, but how do you know whose?"

    "You don't. It is what makes this country worth living in. My vote is my right and my privilege. I have to admit though, George Washington and John Adams and even Ben Franklin would have a breakdown if they thought every average Joe had the chance to vote. Or especially me. Well, Adams might have been ok with it -- Abigail took care of that. They said equality, but they really meant for elite white men.” (Lincoln, George & Franklin)

    “Hmm. Well, I guess, but one vote among so many, you really aren’t going to change anything.” Wow. I was surprised at his feeling of insignificance. I was about to go on a tirade; I could just feel it.

    “Why are you so cynical? You’re only eleven. Honey, casting my vote to me means I hope. It means I believe this country can change at any time. And while you’re right, if I feel differently than the rest of the country, my vote won’t matter, and that’s ok if I don’t agree with everyone else. But there have been people who’ve endured beatings to cast a vote; there have been people who have died to cast their vote; it took an amendment to the Constitution to allow women to vote. So, if everyone felt the way you do, then we as a people would never make our feelings known. You know they offered George Washington the chance to be King. How many men do you think would turn down King? Think about how amazing a person he was to put this new country before himself. How about Jefferson? He was a terrible president. In fact, he felt so little pride in his presidency he didn't even put it on his tombstone. Then there's Lincoln, the politician's politician. He gave speeches pro and against slavery to crowds only seven miles apart -- of course, you couldn't do that today. And after the Civil War we had a bunch of presidents in a row from Ohio because it was considered North and South and no one else could get elected. This country isn't all good and it isn't all bad, it's just people.  Henry, do you remember watching "Roots"? How Kunte felt different, special and filled with pride?”
("Roots")

    "Mom!"

    "Yes. It's because he had his heritage. He knew who he was. He knew that his connection with the past was important. It isn't just capitalism that we stand for -- which is what a large part of the world thinks. It's sacrifice and ideals."

    "Mom! I think I'd feel better if there were fewer people."

    "Then move to North Dakota - there are about three."

    "Really?"

    "I'm exaggerating -- just a little. But if they made it a National Park I think their numbers would increase."

    “Has there ever been a president who won by the people, but still lost the election?”

    “Yes.”

    “That’s just wrong.”

    “Well, it’s more complicated than just wrong. We’ll have to sit down and I can explain the reasons behind the Electoral College. Some people believe we should get rid of it, but we are a Republic.”

    “Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve gone over this and over this.” Great, I’ve jaded my own son on his personal freedoms. “Mom? Can I fill in the ballot for you?”

    “Absolutely not.” He looked at me quizzically.

    “Why not? You can tell me what to do. I’ll just fill in that line that makes the arrow.”

    “Sure you can, when you’re eighteen. This is my ballot, my vote and I’ll fill it in, thank you. Besides, I thought you said it wasn’t worth doing.”

    “Well, you make it seem pretty special so I want to do it, too.” That’s a bit better.

    The next day, I waited until I was alone with my coffee and filled out my ballot. No sacrifice involved.  I signed it. Sealed it up and drove to City Hall after I picked Henry up at school. I parked my car, told Henry to wait and ceremoniously walked over to the voting box and dropped it in.  I waited there a moment feeling the crisp air, looking at the flag flying, feeling like an American. Several other people walked up to drop in their ballots. We nodded to each other, smiling. We’d voted, securing our right to complain.

October 14th The Trickle Down Theory

(A big 'un)

    Henry and I leashed up Irish and Deli and took all the dogs for a walk to the pond to get a little fresh air. Henry’s been sick and I’ve been sick with worry. Worried about money, worried about our future, worried about what’s going to happen. Worried about whether or not the 750 billion dollar bailout will ever reach the people who need it. So, should we give up on Fort Flashback? Sadly, I think the answer is yes. We, like most people, have got to concentrate on the basics, paying the mortgage, gas and food.
(Deli and Henry in their fall coats)

    In the beginning, I talked to banks until I was blue in the face. Although encouraging, the bankers were mainly helpful only in passing me on to the next banker, who could not loan us the money either. At the time I didn’t know the economy was on the verge of collapsing. Back then I spoke endlessly to venture capitalists who were interested -- if they could have a quick exit strategy. There really isn’t a quick buck to be made in a colonial living-history facility. I was told to try and get grants because my cause was altruistic, but I’m no grant writer and, frankly, the ins and outs of nonprofits elude me. I’d need help. I’ve spoken to potential investors who say the plan is viable, but time marches on and nothing happens. Financial consultants want me to become a Bed & Breakfast. Which I suppose is still a possibility but, honestly, I hate doing my own laundry, never mind other people’s.

    I know I’m not alone. My friend, Doug, told me of a man in Porter Ranch so despondent he killed his whole family because of his financial situation. And the other day I sat next to a teary-eyed woman at gymnastics who was speaking on the phone to a friend about walking away from her house and starting  over completely. It seems they were going to have a big family reunion in Italy this summer, but now no one can make it. She was going to try and sell their computer to buy food. Strange that we’ve come to a place where this doesn’t shock me. Is this peek through time? Is this how it felt in the '30's?
(Henry swings -)

Will we look back and call this the second Depression? As we walk along, I push back my tears. The dogs racing around with tails wagging, the cool crisp air on my face, and Henry’s laughter seem to melt my worries away. 

(Henry swings)
(Vivian dares Henry to play)
(Vivian makes sure Henry knows she's still fast)
(Vivian wins)
(Vivian dives in for kisses)

(Bruno - the rat bat dog)
(Luther being pursued by the rat thing)

     Bruno races around the other dogs like a bat out of hell. He seems to have springs in his legs as he jumps over Luther, dashes around corners and squeezes himself under just about anything. Irish is fascinated with him, watching Bruno’s every move. Anticipating where he’ll be, Irish tries to block him. He loves playing with Bruno, but Irish is still recovering from his July motorcycle injury and must remain leashed until he gets the pins out of his leg. (Bruno leaps) (Irish still recovering)

Deli, on the other hand, is always leashed or she’s gone, gone, gone after some enticing scent. Luther and Vivian are very easy, taking turns racing, rolling and investigating. They come running at just the mention of their names and are never far from sight.
(Vivian and Luther enjoy the day)

    The pond was not as we expected. Wally (the beaver) has completely dammed the pond. Again. This time he has done an unbelievable job. There isn’t even a trickle flowing past his dam. The pond level is high and the water is stagnant. Wally's taken down more trees around the bank, stripped the bark off others and cut some trunks into manageable pieces to move. We inspected his work, amazed at his craftsmanship and diligence. I really need to set up a beaver-cam with night vision.
(Wally's work is never done)

(Always a new project) (Some of Wally's trees, the pavilion & Lu)

    Not quite ready to go home, we circled around the pavilion and walked on. At the end of the path we were surprised again. The barbed wire fence marking our property line was gone. The creek just beyond it had been filled in, with just a tiny stream running through a buried tube. Where trees used to be someone had bulldozed a gash in the forest. Pushed-down trees were strewn about like giant pick-up  sticks. (trees on the sides pushed almost, but not quite, over)

Stunned, we walked on. The path kept going and going until finally we came upon the instrument of destruction. Obviously, this was the noise I’d heard at times in the mornings. I’d thought it was loggers taking down cedar, as we’d been asked if they could selectively log some of our trees.

    “Mom, they annihilated the creek.”

    “ I know. I can’t believe it’s just gone. I can’t believe they had permits to do this. That was a wetland.”

    “You mean they’re sneaking?”

    “That’s exactly what I mean. This place looks like “Over the Hedge” where the men come in and recklessly chop down the forest and fill in the water source without a thought. I really can’t believe it.”

    “Should we tell someone?’

    “Well, it’s a little late.”

    “Yeah, they can’t ever put it back.”

    “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.”

    “Is that what people think?”

    “Sometimes. You know, I don’t know for sure they didn’t have permits to do this, but it just doesn’t seem right. I am not allowed to have our cows come within a hundred feet of the creek that runs along our property.”

    “You mean the one Wally dammed up?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Are you going to call someone, Mama?”

    "I think I am. I don’t really like tattling, but this just isn’t right and if I don’t say anything, then I’m part of the problem, too. I don’t think anyone can build here because of the wetlands. I think this will just be for hunters.”

    “Just great! More gunshots. Who are you going to call?”

    “The County.” We started walking back, surveying the damage. Deli was on high alert. I wondered what animals were displaced. “Henry, we’ve got to come back with a shovel and open up that stream Wally blocked.”

    “OK, but what’s the big deal?”

    “Well, there isn’t even a trickle getting through.”

    “I know, but he likes it that way; he lives there and he keeps doing it. Why don’t we just let him?”

    “Well, what about all the animals that depend on that stream as it winds to the river? That’s their drinking water. Toads, frogs, raccoons, bear, deer and who knows what else.”

    “Well, they can come to the pond.”

    “Henry, we don’t know how far into the forest it goes before it meets the river. They can’t all come across the road to our pond. Wally has shut down that stream just like the bulldozer.”

    “Why that ..., he didn’t have a permit. Call the County on his beaver butt.”
(Wally's dam)

September 27th When You Get To The Fork In The Road

    (from our apple trees)

    While the morning coffee was brewing, Toby hopped in her van still in her fuzzy socks and pajamas. She made a quick run to the lady down the road who sells Aracuana eggs so Pea could have a big farm breakfast. Toby's a good wife. She does my laundry she makes breakfast, I don't think she should ever leave.

    After all tummies were full, we dispersed. Everyone had work to do. Dean, Henry and Tom began the morning with the barn. They worked tirelessly to clean the barn. Every mat was scraped, every piece of donkey dung removed every goat gooberlet taken to the compost and replaced with warm clean straw. The boys tried to cut corners, but were inspected by the “Do it right” man at every turn. Dean complained Henry wasn’t working hard enough when Henry went in the house to get a snack. Naturally, the moment he got back Dean left leaving Henry to sing the same sad song. Tom continued to crack the whip. The barn has never been cleaner.

    Tom and Henry moved on to another project. Dean completely lost interest and went inside to see if he could help Toby with the pies she was making from the apples she’d picked off our badly tended to trees. I promise to get to them this year.

\ (apple pie in the making)

    While they were tending to my regular chores, I scraped the third floor windows free of paint. Renewing my trapeze career by doing a backbend out the third story window so I could do the black trim. I wanted things to be as nice as possible today as my friend, Laurie was visiting from California. She was my mentor teacher, Realtor and friend. Coincidentaly, she was visiting friends up here and was going to stop by for the full tour, chili and of course margaritas.

    I spoke to Laurie about 2:00PM. She said they would be here around 4:00PM as they were leaving Bellingham around 3:30PM. I told Tom and Toby we’d be lucky to see them by 5 o’clock. I know people around here and they don’t believe anyone lives farther out than six or seven miles. Sure enough about 4:30PM I got a call. That she was in cell range meant I still had time to run the vacuum. Once again, I gave the directions:

“Yes, pass the casino, keep going about three miles. When you think you’ve gone too far, keep going. Like I told you when you get to the. . ”

“OK. I remember.” Came the shaky reply.

    Now Laurie is the manicured sort who wears skirts and high-heeled sandals everywhere. I felt it prudent to warn her about the potential for snakes and mud between her toes. Over and over I stressed sturdy footwear.

(Little Chris Donaldson delivers round bales and goes riding with his friend)

When it was just about 5 o’clock the phone rang again.

    “We can’t find you.”

    “If you’re in cell range you haven’t gone far enough.”
“We’re not in cell range. I’m at somebody’s house.”

“What?”

“We stopped and knocked on someone’s door. There’s a big barking dog.”

“OK, have you gone over the one lane bridge?”

“Yes. That was a little scary.”

“Scary? I think it’s charming. Whatever, turn around and look for the GIANT wooden entrance and the BIG WHITE HOUSE.” Seriously, I don’t know how they missed it and personally, I wouldn’t knock on anyone’s house here. This is the county, they are all armed and they’re fine until you step on their property. Two miles away we call it – The “Deliverance” Compound.

“Can you walk down to the end of the driveway and wave us in?”

“Sure.”

    A few minutes later they arrived safely. I quickly glanced at her feet. They were fashion boots with a chunky heel, but they’d do. We laughed, hugged and giggled through a tour of the place, cornbread, chili, the apple pie Toby made and a few pitchers of margaritas. It felt like a real home. Here I was with my friend from high school, Tom, and Laurie. Henry of course, chimed in and Laurie, a Henry fan, egged him on. Henry not needing much encouragement launched pell-mell into his stand-up routine and one-liners about our old principal and various other topics. Laurie has an infectious laugh and howled at his antics with abandon. (feeding the cows some cookies)

Laurie’s friend, not particularly an animal person was being fairly tolerant of having his crotch sniffed on numerous occasions. He was interested in Fort Flashback and the principles behind it. He looked at the business plan, the coffee house proposal, and excited to hear about Tom portraying William Bradford in schools as he is on the school board in Bellingham. (Bruno in the round bale feeder)

(Laurie & Abe)

“This is a terrific idea, why doesn’t it get done?”  He asked as so many have before.

Our new benefactor said he was going to speak to some principals about getting Tom into to some more of the local schools. He was hopeful that this might generate some local support. He suggested starting small and just doing farm tours. The problem I explained is - free or not, you must have a certain amount of bathrooms per child and appropriate hand-washing facilities, parking, as well as handicap parking. You must have permits and liability insurance to cover any problems. These things aren’t negotiable when it comes to servicing children. And these things cost money. Money we don’t any longer have due to the funds we’ve spent on engineering, architectural plans, septic, geological studies, septic permits, wetlands delineations, land surveys enhancements, well water etc. (a few fall leaves on the pond)

    Just as they were about to leave, Irish, Deli, Luther, Vivian, Bruno and Luther came unglued. Racing to the windows they barked with a ferocious intensity I hadn’t seem the use in quite some time. Tom and I went outside with our super duper light up the world flashlight, my friend Teresa had insisted we purchase. But we saw nothing. The barking abated. And the two city dwellers walked nervously to their car.

August 5th An "Oink Oink" Here?

   

I woke up to a quiet house. Every one of the dogs, cats and kids were asleep so I stealthily brewed a pot of coffee and lounged around sipping my elixir in my green flannels on the porch watching the mist rise off the valley as the God rays streamed over the hills. The grass was laden with heavy dew; the cows lay in the pasture chewing their cud. The only movements were the robins hopping around looking for worms.

    I wasn’t alone long. Miss Phoebe came creeping out wearing her flannel nightgown backward. It looked familiar the pocket draped over her left shoulder, and then I realized it was my mother’s. My mother would be pleased to know she has created generations of women wearing flannels with tennis shoes or work boots well into the day.

    Phoebe and I began to discuss our latest acquisitions and mergers. How did we feel about the sheep now that they arrived? Was Bruno fitting in? Do the goats have enough space? What did she think of my new compound idea? We thoughtfully discussed these topics and my eventual plans for chickens and turkeys to really round out the barnyard.

    “Why don’t you get a pig?” Phoebe asked with her big blue eyes blinking at me. "Farms are supposed to have pigs."

    “Well, I really don’t want a pig. Maryruth has told me horror stories about pigs and how vicious they can be. And Phoebe, you know how big they get. Really I don’t think a pig is for me.”

    “Have you looked at Heritage pigs?” She ingeniously asked. “I mean didn’t farmers have lots of pigs back then? Maybe there’s a nice little piggy that doesn’t get too big. After all Tante (German for aunt) you have a pig pen in the barn all ready.” So much for the whole dumb blonde thing I’ve reflexively subscribed to being brunette. This little cherub is shrewd.

    The next thing you know we’re snuggled up in front of the computer on the American Breeds Livestock Conservancy website checking out rare, heritage, and colonial pigs. Sure enough we find one Thomas Jefferson documented as a breed  by 1804. They existed prior to that, but 1804 is when they were recognized as The American Guinea Hog. – I guess they couldn’t call them Guinea Pigs. They’re black, stand about 30” tall and get between 100 and 300 pounds. They’re known for their ability to forage and their gentle nature. It seems they ran wild in the forests and swamps until farmers would simply catch them and use them for bacon, ham, sausage and pork chops  of course, but every part of the pig would be used including the hair to make brushes etc.

    The next thing you know, she’s dialing the number to cascademeadowsfarm.com in Oregon. They have rare, heritage breeds, but not necessarily dating as far back as ours. They have Dexter cattle, Pilgrim Geese, Alpine goats, Icelandic sheep and Guinea Hogs. Clearly a gaping hole in our farm is the absence of swine.
(American Guinea Hog Piglet)
    I called Pea and informed him of my new pig discovery.

    “Well, don’t go get one today.”

    “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not getting a pig now, I’m simply researching animals for Fort Flashback in a responsible way.”

    'Did you say my thinking you might get a pig today was being ridiculous? Me thinking you might run out with the kids in your mobile Honda barn and come home with a piglet or two is ridiculous?”

    “OK, you’re right. It’s not ridiculous.” I conceded. “My sister thinks I need a Shick Program.”

    “A Shit program?”

    “Well, maybe that’s how it might work. No. She said Shick animal program.”

    “Oh.”

    

(Phoebe directs traffic)
(the kids "encourage" the goslings to try the pond)
(They don't want to stay in - at first)
(Mabel, Alfred, Clara, Lloyd, Ruthie, Matilda, Cleveland and Quackmire all start to like the pond)
(But only for a short time) (Then they need to go home and rinse off all that nature in the baby swimming pool)

    The rest of the day was filled with scooping donkey poop, picking flowers, mixing cement, plotting fences shooting arrows and vacuuming the house, ambushing the girls with water balloons, (The boys see payback- the water balloon war begins) (Henry has great aim Phoebe gets it) (Quinn gets it) (Sam pelts Kimona)
 teaching the geese to swim in the pond, snuggling Bruno, reassuring Luther he's still loved and making homemade pumpkin pie ice cream with hot caramel sauce.

August 2nd And Along Came Sheryl

    

(Apache, Angus, Mildred & Sheryl hiding in back)

   

    I got up early, fed the animals packed a lunch and the requisite thermos™ of coffee, woke the sleeping dead and threw them in the back of the van. Grabbed a tarp, programmed my “navi” for the Flying J truck stop in Ellensburg – three and a half hours away and we were off.

    The kids watched “Get Smart” episodes all the way there while I listened to Max and 99 declare their love for the first time before they realized they could escape certain death by trying the “old double door trick”. The time flew by until we were suddenly at the Flying J. Andrea; our sheep breeder was only minutes behind us. She pulled up and quickly transformed the back of my van into a mobile barn. Andrea meets us at the Flying J in Ellensburg)

(transform Honda to barn)
  (lambs about to move from truck to van)

     I pulled my sliding door up to the back of her truck and the two of us hoisted the lambs through the passageway. First we got one full Navajo-Churro, Apache – he’s latte colored. He was a bottle-fed baby and is easily handled. Second went the one full Leicester Longwool wether, Angus. Next hopped the full bred Leicester Longwool ewe, Mildred and a finally the scardy cat or timid one, Sheryl, a 3/4 Leicester/Churro cross. She’s a little nervous about traveling, but she made it. (Apache looking at Henry & Sam) (Apache & Angus watch the boys carefully)

    The ride home was full of discovery. We learned that for hundreds of years, children everywhere have been deceived by a certain nursery rhyme. Sheep do not say, “Baa baa”. Clearly whoever wrote that had a problem with their phonemic awareness. Sheep or in this case lambs say, “Maaa maaa” After three hours we are all completely sure. We talked about our collection of animals. I believe Fort Flashback now has one of the most unique collections of colonial animals this side of Williamsburg. We have the Milking Devon, Oberhasli goats, Cotton Patch geese, Leicester Logwools, a Churro and your basic drama queen donkey. Now all we need are some Silver Dorking chickens and a turkey. OK , Tom's daughter, Laura wants some ducks so we'll have to consider a couple. Twist my arm.

    "You mean they had donkeys in colonial times?" Henry asked.

    "Yes. Donkeys have been around a long time."

    "So I can say kiss my colonial ass?" Henry grinned as Sam howled. Proving once again, the ass jokes never get old.

    Upon arriving home, I backed the van up to the barn doors so the lambs couldn’t go anywhere but in the barn. The kids took unpainted fence boards and created a shoot so the lambs couldn’t go out into the goat/donkey area. Angus hopped out and one by one the others followed until even Sheryl decided she’d rather brave the barn than be alone. You’ve got to love the herd instinct. (Abbey checks out the lambs and lambs check out Abbey)

(Thinking about getting out)

(sheep going into their new digs)

    Just as the lambs were skittering into their part of the barn, Miracle came completely unglued. She started screaming and braying as if I brought four fuzzy coyotes into the barn. She screamed and danced around until I shut their door. I was shocked at her reaction, but I guess she thought this was just about the last straw. First she had to coexist with the pushy pellet-grabbing-goats, next, the noisy neighbors’ honk and carry on all night and now these unidentified fuzzy critters prance in. She turned her back and wouldn’t even look at them after that. Everyone else couldn’t get enough of them. Vivian was riveted, the goats were fascinated and even the geese came to take a gander.
 

(Vivian peeks through the bars)
(Rachel and Christina and Riley our peeping goats)
(Sam works at cleaning up the barn) (Miracle ignores the lambs)

    The kids worked at cleaning up the barn, while I made dinner and called TLC Sheep Shearing. I'd seen them on Craigslist and Andrea told me to not waste time making an appointment to have them sheared. She said spinners will be lining up for their wool. I did as I was told.

    I was called to the barn to check their work and although they did a good job there is certainly more to do tomorrow.

July 27th Abbey Road

The weekend flew by.

   Since Kristi moved in to Grandpa Horn's old apartment, she hasn't had a good night's sleep. It appears there were a few squatters already in the apartment. Kristi really didn't want to use traps or poison. This left ferret pee as the only option from what she told me. I was a little taken aback you could actually purchase ferret pee. Exactly how do they collect that? I'm thinking it's not good for the ferret. Looking for a way to make some spare change I told her I'd sell her some of Henry's. In lieu of this, I suggested we enlist the services of Emmett.

    Emmett is fierce, he runs the house and he is the only thing Irish has the good sense to be truly afraid of.

(Irish and Emmett meet in the kitchen)
  (Emmett asks that Irish bow to the king)
(Emmett begins to turn his back in disdain)
(Irish realizes he is supposed to do the full body bow which seems to satisfy Emmett- for now)

Henry packed a cat carrier poured some litter in and sent the assassin over for the night. By morning, he had presented Kristi with his prize on the kitchen counter. I would have been grossed out, but Kristi praised him as a hero and now she and Olie are sleeping just fine.

The assasin demonstrates his prowess)

   

On Saturday, Toby arrived with Dean and two bleary-eyed stowaways, Sam and his sister Kimona. Sam and Henry were like peas and carrots when they both went to Woodland Hills Elementary. So Henry begged me to beg his mother, Julie, to let him come up and stay for a few days or a few weeks or a few months or forever. We threw the lovely Kimona in for good measure and it’s a good thing; Kimona was the only one who helped me feed the animals in the morning while the two boys stood around grinning and punching each other.

(Evil Evelyn has a party out in the pasture with a couple of deer - Abe and Andy join in - my neighbors wave to her, but the deer are unimpressed)

   Toby and Dean only spent the night on the way back to Canada after working on a few episodes of “Monk”.  They took off just after breakfast. She was heading to Trader Joes™ to stock up on some goodies before crossing the border and catching the ferry back to Vancouver Island. She called after crossing the border and you know my feelings about he border. It had taken her over an hour and forty-five minutes. I thought she was calling to complain about the international red tape. To my complete surprise, she was calling me to tell Canada had given her two weeks to pack up her house and leave the country. The whole thing is very complicated, but the long and the short of it is – she and her husband were on work permits. Their farm isn’t doing well financially, so she left the country to “work”, however she’s not allowed to get another job. It gets complicated, but Canada feels that despite the fact their not really earning money they are “working” on the farm and that permit has expired – anyway there are other factors, but in the end, none of it matters. I think we were both in shock.
(child labor- Kimona, Sam and Henry)

    Back here, we all walked around in a daze reeling from Toby’s news and wondering where they’ll go and what they'll do. They won’t have time to sell their house or anything. We’d have to think about that later, we had to get a round bale down the cows. We all thought it would be a little tricky because it was unwrapped, but we wound chicken wire around the bale and the four of us, Sam, Kimona, Henry and I pushed the bale over and got it loaded.

(taking a break-) (Henry and Sam hitch a ride with Lu)

(Kimona gets to know Abe, Andy & Anna)

(Sam learns the meaning of "dialing" a number- shocked and confused, he asks for help)

    The rest of the day was clearing out the attic, feeding the cows’ cookies, and laughing at the geese. The kids went fishing with dogs while our friend Wayne worked hard all day clearing brush away so no pesky predators could get too close to our unsuspecting cougar snacks Henry, Sam, Kimona and Quinn.

July 23rd Almost Famous

    The other day I received an invitation to be on “PM Bellingham” with Jacqueline Cartier, a local radio show on KGMI, Jacqueline had heard about my antics out on Mosquito Lake Road and thought it would be fun to have me in the studio. Of course, I didn’t hesitate. I’ve never been interviewed. Tom’s been interviewed about some of his breakthrough-creative on Honda and Henry’s been on KLOS with Mark & Brian, but Mama has never hit the big time. I was worried I’d mess up. I thought it would be a Miracle if I didn’t sound like an ass. What if I didn’t know what to say and stammered like a fool?

    As the time grew near I started worrying about my hair. My hair. Is that insane? It’s radio. I didn’t have ten minutes to do it in the morning before I fed the geese, the dogs and the cats because I had to get Henry to gymnastics. I’d bought this new product. It’s a mousse with wax. I put a glob on my wet hair and began drying. My hair was a disaster it felt greasy and dirty as if I hadn’t washed it in a week. I’d obviously put too much in and now we had to leave. I’d broken the golden rule “never try a new product on a big day – ever” and I was paying the price. Henry thought it looked “pretty normal” so I let it go and off we went.
(The KGMI Lobby)

(Where we waited to go on)

    When we got to the station and I was waiting to go on the air, Henry turned to me and gave me his last minute words of advice. “Just don’t burp. It will sound awful and it doesn’t smell good.”

“I’ll try not to.” I assured him.

(Henry and Jacqueline before we went on air)

CILCK HERE TO HEAR
my interview with Jacqueline

(In the studio with Jacqueline)

July 4th Freedom Can Be Frustrating

   

(fireworks provided again this year by the Donaldsons)

   

Freedom of speech is obvious in theory. I’ve always explained to my students that in order to have freedom of speech we have to endure things that we ourselves might find repugnant Nazi rhetoric etc. A tough lesson to learn.
(Some of my former students re-creating the Second Continental Congress)

    Recently, I had to learn the lesson again myself. The other day I encountered a situation where I found what some people were saying completely distasteful to me. They thought their words were irreverent and funny. I didn't. The entire exchange really got under my skin and I said something I shouldn't have

    Although, I realize, I certainly had/have the right to express my feelings, just as much as anyone, I also realize just because you can do something doesn't mean you should.

    I later explained to Henry. I am not anyone else’s mother but his. And really I am not going to convince anyone who thinks and talks so differently than I do - of anything. So in retrospect I should have listened to my mother  instead of my indignation : “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” A good reminder for me today when Independence, hot dogs, pie, Civil Rights, corn on the cob. watermelon, Freedom of Speech, and gingham tablecloths blend together to create such a wonderful holiday.

(The kids took turns setting them off - you've got to love being out in the middle of no where) (Everyone joins in - Lisa, Phoebe, Chris, Quinn, "Pops" - Chris' dad, Rory & Henry)

(things heat up)

(red glare) (bursting in air)

(Quinn a sparkler expert)

July 2nd Disney Endings

(July 2007)(July 2008- still needs shutters and paint)

(old kitchen with my stove

)

(kitchen as it was- can't really see mismatch of cabinets- gunk etc))

I woke up to the blazing hot mountain sun shining in my window. As I lay there I took a moment, today marked a year. I was a real Washingtonian. I’d paid taxes, gotten a speeding ticket, fought with city hall, made it through a winter and lived here when “Annie” (who lived in her truck) was relocated to highway 9 for feeding a bear and running tourists away. It was only 7:30 AM and my room was already feeling warm despite the fan churning over my bed. I peeked in Maryruth’s room. The bed was made. I went downstairs. Dean, who’s always been an early riser, was sitting in the kitchen. He said he was trying to be quiet so he wasn’t watching TV.

(kitchen with  new cabinets etc) As I brewed a pot of coffee, he chatted about his mom and how she wanted to take him to Disneyland™. I found this interesting, because Toby and I have never agreed on Disneyland™. She was always full of disdain when she spoke of The Magic Kingdom™. She had undoubtedly seen the error of her ways. Living in Canada had helped obviously improved her perspective. I was happy she’d come around when Dean announced he didn’t want to go. He felt at twelve he was well past Disneyland™. Stunned, I felt this kind this was bordering on child abuse. How could she? How did she transfer her petty Disneyland™ feelings to a child? It couldn’t be genetic as he is adopted. I would speak to her about this. Almost feeling personally insulted I poured a cup of coffee, sat down and calmly explained “Dean, Disneyland™ is for children of all ages. You are not too old.” Just then, as if on cue my brainwashed child walked in the room and said, “Yeah, have you ever been on Space Mountain™ or Indiana Jones™ huh?” Dean didn’t respond. He sat there blinking at us. He knew he was beat. This is a Disneyland™ home. We’ve got a framed “E” ticket on the wall – just like the Donaldsons (of course, Chris had theirs hanging by the toilet for a while, but that’s been remedied) and I have an Enchanted Tiki Room™ ride replica in the game room. I have this because Pea absolutely hates and despises the Tiki Room™, but he goes to demonstrate the depth of his love. He does not do this silently, he mimics the birds and the clacking of their beaks, but he does do it. I’ve not gone four-four times, but not far from it. We try to go every year – until now.

    (note: Enchanted Tiki Room)

I worked for the mouse for a while, I was in charge of the Princesses, you know Cinderella™ Pocahontas™, Snow White™ and Ariel™ and it wasn’t always an easy place to work. There are all sorts of nicknames for it like Mouseshvitz and Duckhow and The Tragic Kingdom- but that’s different.

Disneyland™ to me is a place where the details are thought of. In each of the different lands everything works together. The flowers, the railings, the costumes, the buildings, the names and the appearance of the restaurants and even the trashcans are themed. There are people who pick up trash in very small areas all day long to keep the place immaculate. I appreciate this. While working on Fort Flashback, I learned from one of the men who agreed to be a history consultant for us that several years back, Disney was attempting a similar venture. I think it was going to be named “Disney’s America”, a history-themed park where they would re-create the Boston Tea Party every hour on the hour kind of thing. Their misstep as I saw it, was trying to do it on the East coast on historic land. Why would you go to the Disney version when you could go to the real thing I wondered? I felt great knowing they’d thought so much of an idea and pursued it so far that we were truly on the right track. I sipped my coffee as Henry rattled off all the reasons I should take HIM to Disneyland™.

(The kids pictures done @ Disneyland)

    Mike arrived, had a cup of coffee, gave the geese fresh water and poked through all the trash, and old books he left behind. I guess I’m supposed to get rid of it all. I packed Dean a lunch for the road and Mike graciously took Dean to SeaTac for me. It made the books and trash a little easier but not much.

I poured another cup of coffee and looked out the window. It was dry as Lusk, Wyoming. Evil Evelyn stood in the middle of my dustbowl with her pink bandana flapping.

I stayed in my pink pajamas all day puttering about the house tidying things up and putting things away. There were a million projects to do and things to take care of, but I’d think about that tomorrow. Instead, I spent the day chatting on the phone with Barbara as I cleaned the kitchen. This was a day of rest and reflection. We arrived a year ago – today. So many things didn’t happen this year I thought would happen. But so many others I didn’t expect did. I guess that’s life in a nutshell. The house isn’t done, but it’s come a long way. Henry doesn’t want to go back to Los Angeles unless it’s to Disneyland™. He’s excited about school.

    My father has come and gone and now is living in France. Naturally, he’s landed on his feet and is residing in an entire third floor apartment in a house in Paris with friends. He’s been invited to play with a “hot-hot reed player” at Le Petit Journal St. Michel and seems Notre-Dame-stomping-S.C.-kind-of-happy.

    Mike got a call today after Dean took off. He has a great job opportunity and he’s only lived his new place two days, so he’s excited about the prospects and feels the move was exactly right for him. Maybe he’ll meet a nice woman in Tacoma; there are a lot of women in his apartment complex he can dazzle with all his Jeopardy knowledge. Hmm.

    My mother’s friend, Marie called wanting to know, now that’s been a year did I regret anything. “Are you sorry you moved?” She queried. Still in my pajamas, I sat in the sunroom looking out the window while we talked. I mulled it over. Did I regret anything? Yes. I regretted a few decisions early on, people I hired, people I trusted. Money I might have spent differently-things like that, but did I regret the move? No. Absolutely not. I love the farm, the animals and the work. Do I regret pursuing a dream? No.  My mother used to say physically she wasn’t strong enough she’d never made it as a pioneer – they’d have left her on the side of the Oregon Trail, but it occurs to me now that she assumed she’d go. I guess that’s how I’m wired, I have to try. If things don’t work out that’s OK. But I have to try.

   
(game room then) (game room now To celebrate our anniversary Henry and I decided to watch “The Golden Compass” as we’d finished listening to it a year-ago as we were driving up Mosquito Lake Road. Before we could watch a movie, the animals needed to be taken care of. Henry went out looking for the geese. “Mom! I can’t find them!” he yelled almost frightened. I ran outside as I had a hunch my apron-string geese hadn’t gone too far. Sure enough they were in the shop looking for someone anyone to supervise or talk to. They get a little clingy. We herded them in to their cozy enclosure. As always Quackmire was the last one in. We were just clipping the pen shut when we heard a crash in the barn. “The goats!” We both yelled. We ran to the barn. Pea’s big barn doors he’d made had been left closed all day to keep the heat out and provide a nice cool respite from the sun. Luckily, as I guess I didn’t close one of their gates all the way. We walked in and it was goat pandemonium. Riley was king of the hill on top of the round bale. Goat poop everywhere – Henry noticed this immediately as he was barefoot. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Miracle was braying her head off as if she’d been trying to tell someone all day about these hooligans. She wanted extra pellets for the day she’d had. No harm done as the packer pellet bin was still secure and all they’d done was eat hay.
  

    “Riley, you come down from there this instant.” I commanded in my teacher voice. Riley looked at me with his big brown eyes. Bleated a time or two and jumped down. I opened the gate and told them to get back in their pen. Sheepishly, they complied. They were full and ready for bed.

    “Well, I guess we don’t have to really feed them much.” Henry said looking on the bright side.

    The goats and Miracle closed up for the night, the geese nestled in the garage, Irish asleep on the porch, Emmett snoozing on the back of his chair, Vivian at my feet, Deli lounging in the sunroom, Alvin & Scarlet curled up in the cat tree, the cow bells clanging in the field and Luther snoring at my side, Henry sipping his cookie dough milkshake we were just about to pop the movie in when the phone rang. It was Lisa. “I’m just leaving work and I smelled a smell I haven’t smelled in a year!” She said excitedly.

    “What?”

    “You know that smell, the smell of rain coming down on dry, parched earth.”

    I went out onto the porch. “I smell it too.” Moments later, the sky lit up with lightening, thunder cracked “We have lightening.” Rain began to pour down. “It’s raining!”

    “Maybe your corn will make it after all. Don’t put a way those pumpkin seeds just yet. Maybe there’s still time.”

    “Maybe.” Maybe my friend, Gary did that rain dance I asked for.

    “Happy Anniversary.”

    “You too.”

June 8th Leap of Faith

    

Scout Finch goes Audrey Hepburn. That’s what I thought as little Phoebe appeared in the doorway of Sacred Heart Catholic Church. My feisty niece was not only dressed up, she was transformed. Her face serene, through the Mass I watched her studying the priest reverently. She was devout and serious; content she’d accomplished her goal – receiving her First Holy Communion.
(Chris & Phoebe) (Grandpa Horn & Phoebe)

    As I sat there I thought of my own Communion. Lisa and I became Catholics in our twenties. Our parents had both been Catholic, married in the church, but had both become disillusioned bitter ex-Catholics in the sixties. My mother and father sat there stunned and confused when Lisa and I chose to go through RCIA as adults and receive First Holy Communion and Confirmation. Over the years, I too, have had my struggles with the church. The un-reconciled pedophilia as well as the resulting felonious cover-up doesn’t sit well with me. Yet, as I sat there watching Phoebe watching the priest, I felt no resentment toward my religion. Those men who committed those evil crimes will have to face the consequences sooner or later. At that moment, all I felt was my faith washing over me. The reasons I became Catholic swept through me and tears filled my eyes as I hoped Phoebe would receive as much solace and joy from her faith as I’ve received from mine.

(Phoebe receiving Communion)

("Jem Finch" played by Henry and "Scout Finch played by Phoebe)

(Grandpa Horn, Quinn & Annie "Nana")
(Proud Lisa & Chris)

(Lauren, Jordan & Diane)

   

    Lisa, Chris, Quinn, Grandpa Horn,  Annie, Mike, Diane and her daughters Lauren and Jordanas well as Henry, Tom and I all sang, listened and laughed with the priest who told us how he thought monks looked really Holy so he borrowed one of their robes and dressed up in the rectory as he listened to chants on CD. He said he did indeed feel extra holy. This was a priest for a new era. I heard things like “Check out our website to find out about this week’s activities” and “Shoot me an email if you want to be included in the list for the graduation Blessing”.

(Phoebe, Lisa & Chris walk out)

(joyful)

    After the Mass, we went to Lisa & Chris’ for lunch while Phoebe opened her gifts. She was back to normal, making faces and bugging her sister. When she opened up her new Children’s Bible, she and Henry both thought it “creepy” that she opened it to the page about the Arc of the Covenant – both having just seen Indiana Jones. As it turned out everyone in the room had just watched Indiana Jones 1 and 2. Tom, Henry and I were ahead only by a day or so having completed the 4th.

    I wonder how many families are watching the movies all over again and how many are being introduced to Dr. Jones for the first time? After all, it has been nearly 20 years since the last one. Think of the residuals.

     Ahh, if we could only channel some of that Spielberg magic to Fort Flashback. Do you suppose he'd consider financing Independence Hall?  - We could call it the "Hall of Truth" where they wrote "Documents that Brought Down an Empire".

May 27th Paul Revere Rides Again

(Henry as the silversmith fraternizing with a British Regular - after the class play)

    Lately, my life seems to revolve around getting to things like school plays, middle school orientations and job interviews. All I can say is that I get there.

    I got to Henry's school history play. It was hard for me to watch. Oh it  was cute and they did a nice job, but I wanted to be up there rehearsing them and explaining why a certain line was so important. It's the details. It's all in the details. I wanted them to get excited about what they were performing not just because it was a play but because it was real. and it changed all our lives. Maybe they understood all that and I just didn't feel it.

    When my son rode in yelling, "The British are coming! The British are coming!" It killed me.

     Paul Revere never said that. Everyone was British. He said, "The regulars are coming." And in my mind Billy Dawes was more of the story, but then no one asked me.

    You see, I'm bitter because I'd offered to do a movie on location at Fort Flashback and teach the history lessons to coincide, but they chose this instead, so I have my nose way out of joint.

After the play, I asked Henry about the line.

    "Henry, you know when you said "The British. . .

    "Are coming? Mom! I know. Paul Revere never said that."

     "Did I tell you that? Or did you learn it in school?"

    "Oh MY GOSH MOM! I remember it from when you took me to Boston and saw Billy Dawes grave and I read it when you had me read "Johnny Tremain" and you've told me only one hundred million times."

    "Oh, I didn't know you were listening."

    "Mom. They wanted me to say it even though it was wrong."

    "Why?"

    "I have no idea. They said just say it that way."

    "OK. Well, nice job honey."


    After that, I went to the middle school orientation. fashionista Quinn, bless her heart had called and left me a message that this would probably be a sort of "dress-up event" so I shouldn't come in my coveralls. She didn't want me to arrive and be embarrassed. I greatly appreciate her looking out for me, but I was under no circumstances going to show up looking like I had just mucked a stall. I was in fact dressed as though I could have worked at a bank. My toes had a fresh top coat and I carried a matching bag to my sandals.

    I couldn't help be reminded of a conversation I had with my aunt Sabina (my mother's sister) when I was in high school. Sabina was a Mexican serape and clog wearing kind of aunt. She had a motorcycle for a time and laughed a lot. She told me she wore nothing but heels and suits for a long time. Fingering the clothes in my closet the way experienced shoppers do, she turned to me. "Little Denise, you won't believe this now, but there will be a day when you'll leave the house without make-up in your sweats and you won't care." I laughed mentally vowing this would not be so. I would not turn into Sabina. I would care. Always. Oh how the mighty have fallen. My thoughtful niece was gently telling me not to show up to a school event covered in cow manure. Was Sabina a gifted seer or just a woman over forty?

    Giggly, smiley Quinn was a 6th grade parent tour guide during our introduction to middle school. Relief was written all over her face when she saw me. I looked OK. She came up and crumpled her 5'7" body over me while she quietly warned me there was only one kid I wasn’t to get as my tour guide because he is a big jerk. Of course, she jinxed me and I got him. I thought he and his tour guide assistant were both cute as buttons. Naturally, I was probably getting the Eddie Haskell treatment, but I don’t care.

    In general, I was quite pleased with a lot of what I saw. But raw from the afternoon’s play I was ready to pounce on the history social studies instruction. Or lack of it - once again, social studies and history seemed to be the poor stepchildren of the academic curriculum. When we got to what the teachers taught - I found they each specialized in either language arts, science or math, but they all taught history. I guess that's the easy one after all everyone knows about the "Midnight Ride of Paul Revere".


  

May 14th Knotty & Gneiss

    Our journey began at school on the bus. We took what for me was a relaxing and sleepy two-hour bus ride to The North Cascades Institute. Tucked into the mountainside near Ross Dam (built circa 1927) , it is an amazing facility. The compound includes a library and a lab, a dining facility, classrooms, an amphitheatre, staff housing, student lodges and a remarkable composting system (and I can really appreciate a good composting system) The architecture is incredible and the modern facility is complete sensors so kids won’t have to ever be in the darkness.

    For the three days we were divided into day “learning groups” as well as evening “lodge groups”. The kids did skits and songs, kp, and went to the lab and examined bugs. We learned about animal tracks from latex molds and actual bear scratches on trees.

(note climbing scratches)

We saw a lot of deer, squirrels, alpine flowers and a multitude of cascades.   We went on night hikes by the light of the moon, learned about echolocation and the chemical rodobson which allows you night vision -we learned that pirates wore patches to create night vision in one eye - they simply lifted their patch when they entered darkness - better for pillaging cabins. We saw Wint-o-Green Lifesavers™ lighting up the darkness in each other’s mouths and heard stories of of how hummingbird created the night sky and why bear and salmon are no longer friends by the moonlight.

    Most of the kids can now identify Trillium, tell you about Huckleberry and its square branches as well as the Oregon Grape and its leaves that mysteriously turn red - seemingly at random. Scientists still don’t know why.

    They learned about seismic activity and sedimentary rock turning into the metamorphic rock, gneiss, which is the most prevalent throughout the Cascades.

     I learned a tremendous amount about the running of the facility and how its programs function.  The  staff was  encouraging about Fort Flashback and let me take a peek behind the scenes to see  how they operate. We talked about staffing, programs and recruitment as well as evaluations and feedback. I got a great deal out of my time there in  a myriad of ways.

 

(the unselfish wish)

    The most exciting part for me, however, was the knot tying and shelter building classes. Tom can always tie a great knot and I am forever trying to undo them. Our electrical cords are all in what I now know are daisy chains. With the patient instruction of Corey, the director of the camp, I’ve now mastered the bowline, the trucker’s hitch and the clove hitch. I can tie both a proper square and a granny knot. And I’ve learned the true importance of the under-appreciated slipknot. I can compress a knot and decompress a knot. I, too, can make a daisy chain and now know how to clean my line, reef my highline and devise a shelter using a tarp, rocks and a rope.  Which all means I won’t screw up the electrical cords in the shop or leave rope lying around getting tangled, which means I won’t get in trouble, which means Tom won’t kick things, which means this could quite possibly save my marriage. Or go on Survivor.

May 9th A Little Bit of This & That

(Luther taking a sunbath)

    I was drunk with sunshine from the moment I opened my eyes. On the radio they report a condition called "sun shock". I understand it's when you're driving along and you see sun. I guess there are increased accidents because people can't see the road.

     I’ve gotten a little behind this week, my friend, Kathy wouldn’t be surprised to know I’ve got laundry piling up. The floor needs mopping and I haven’t gotten much at the grocery store so we’re playing a little game my mother used to play called “What can we make for dinner out of what we have in the cupboard.” But I don't mind because I am trying hard this week to move things forward. You know, the bigger projects that need your full attention. Instead of the everyday things that will still be there on Monday morning. For me, it’s all about fences. Of course, there’s the fence for the dogs. Its design is becoming an engineering marvel and then I’m trying to get a flower garden fence in as well as a vegetable garden fence. After all we live on a farm; a vegetable garden is almost mandatory, isn’t it? Plus, we need really need a second pasture fence for the goats and Miracle. They just don’t have enough room where they are. That enclosure was always meant as temporary. Tom’s planning to build some sort of goat “tree”; it’s the same concept as a cat tree but for goats. I don’t know what it’s going to look like yet, but he thinks they don’t have enough playground equipment so he’s planning on using some old tree stumps and whatever else we have lying around.

It’s funny how fences work. They’re to keep some animals in as well as others out. And somehow they always make a space look bigger. I don’t know why that is, but it seems true. I marked out where I want my flower garden and somehow the amount of weeds seemed to double.

   

I wanted to go to get the materials I needed for the fence in the farm truck, but it wouldn't start. Dead Battery. We haven’t used it all winter because there really hasn’t been a need so it’s been sitting around with branches in it since November. The branches came from a cottonwood tree that was chopped down in September. September -  and this is May. My dad got the jumper cables I pulled up my trusty Odyssey and we got Daisy the Farm Truck humming again. When we went to the back of the truck to clear it out we were shocked to see that the branches were blooming. They had been absorbing so much water since they were cut down that they are still alive. And blooming.

    "Well there's so much of this crap it's no wonder," my glass-is-half-empty father said alluding to the constant drizzle.
(close up)

    Vicky Jackson, my wetlands consultant, and her assistant Clover came out this afternoon to do a wet season wetlands check while I was moving the goslings out to their new home in the garage. As I’ve mentioned before Washington State takes its wetlands buffers very seriously so everything is checked and double-checked. This means Vicky and Clover go down by the stream and check for signs of soggy ground and wetlands grass etc. Interestingly, dandelions don’t go to wetlands until much later in the season. Anyway, the good news is Vicky seems to think all is as it should be so we can proceed with the country permits as far as that goes. And we are due for the annual Cascade Toad migration that moves through our property. So stay tuned.

    The goslings spent a lovely afternoon eating weeds and sunning themselves in the grass and are now safely tucked into their new digs with a five-gallon water jug that should last them at least a couple of hours. Those geese drink a lot of water. I bought them a new heat lamp and replaced the one that burned out because the garage gets cold at night. We still get in the thirties in the evenings but with the lamps they should be fine. I put them on either side so no one will be left out in the cold like in that horribly depressing “March of the Penguins”.

(Alfred Sitting Down)

   

Alfred is doing better hobbling around. He went to the vet this week and had an x-ray of his leg. The doctor said he would probably do fine because he is a heritage breed. And when his feathers finish coming in his balance will improve. She said compared to so many modern geese that get too fat heritage breeds are proportioned better and, so, much better equipped to cope. She told me some of her clients have gotten regular turkeys as pets and these turkeys are bred just to gain weight and land on someone’s table so they have heart attacks and other problems that lead to early death. The birds are simply not designed to live. I guess this is becoming a common phenomenon today. Take the Kentucky Derby, for instance. They said many breeders are breeding horses with lighter bone structures which leads to more fractures and early death because they’re just being bred to run until they’re three or so. They’re not bred to live either. Sad.

   

April 13th Wild & Wooly Weekend

   

Henry & "Tiny Tim"

    This has been a road warrior weekend full of activity. Tom, Henry and I left the baby goslings and six heads of lettuce in Mike’s capable hands while we drove down to Portland for the Region 2 gymnastics championships. Simultaneously, Chris, Quinn and Phoebe went to Whidbey Island to cheer Lisa on as she ran her first half marathon.

    Henry had a couple of small blunders during the meet, but was able to pull off three personal bests on floor, pommel and vault. Wonderfully, Henry took 10th place all around and will now be moving on to level 6. Whew. Another season in the sports bag.

    On the way back we took a six hundred mile detour to see some Leicester Longwool sheep, a rare heritage breed we’re considering adding to our farm. The breed was developed in the 1700s by Robert Bakewell, one of the first people to use modern breeding techniques in development of livestock. And whose work influenced Charles Darwin and Gregor Mendel. As a result, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson both acquired large flocks of Leicesters (pronounced “Lester”). Today they’re critically endangered.

    We’d been in contact with the breeder, Andrea and she invited us by to see the month-old little lambs. It was really important to me to see how they’re kept and really know if another species is something I’m capable of handling right now.

    From the moment we pulled up, Tom and Henry fell in love with the other breed Andrea keeps. The Navajo-Churro sheep. I hadn’t even considered this breed. I don’t know why. Maryruth has Churros and they are a very rare heritage breed, brought to America in the 1500s by the Spanish - feeding explorers and missionaries. That's a bit of a departure, but not out of our realm.

    There we stood as Henry and Tom both told me how adorable the Churros were. The last time that happened we went home with two kittens, Scarlett and Alvin. I braced myself. Feeling some relief knowing the lambs weren’t yet weaned and absolutely couldn’t leave even if Henry and Tom tried to stow one in the back of the van.

    And then we met him - the Tiny Tim of Navajo-Churro Sheep. He was born with a mineral deficiency because his mother simply avoided eating the supplements she was given. No one knows why. She had a mineral salt lick and as well as loose minerals while she was pregnant, but she just didn’t acquire enough. Andrea got her from a rescue flock and perhaps she wasn’t completely healthy, but whatever the reason Little Tiny Tim (that’s what we named him) needed to be bottle-fed and couldn’t walk like the others. He also had problems with his eye lids. Andrea didn’t think we shouldn’t take him because she didn’t know how he was going to develop. She didn’t want us, especially Henry and the girls, to be in for heartbreak. This seemed completely sensible. Naturally, Henry piped up and informed her that his Tante (aunt) Lisa was a vet and could take care of all Tiny Tim’s medical needs.

    Tom, Henry and I met both breeds of sheep, Henry was enthralled with the rams, Buckley, Baxter, Harley and Rambo. Apparently, according to Lisa, in the sheep world size does matter.

    Anyway, the lambs were adorable prancing about playing tag and "king of the hill". Andrea was able to easily herd the forty-five sheep with the promise of treats. Ahh, a technique I am very familiar with, Pancho can be led with a simple cow cookie, Henry can be controlled with less than chocolate bar and Tom can be easily had for a bottle of Becks™. While Andrea was herding her flock, we were amazed to see a ewe jump over five feet in the air. Five Feet! Boing! We stood open mouthed. And then with a lightning bolt I started seeing sheep jumping over a fence. In every dream sequence they jump in every cartoon they jump, in every Serta™ ad they jump, why hadn’t we thought they could jump? I guess we always see them calmly chewing on grass never running and leaping. Andrea said they only did it when they got really excited and not as an escape tactic. So she says.

     I interrogated Tom and Henry about the sheep, I wanted to make sure we weren't getting a breed only I liked. They both they said they looked like big teddy bears, but they also liked the markings of the Churros. Andrea explained that the dramatic lamb markings of the Churros would fade as they got older. Something to consider.

    On the way home, I kept thinking of Tiny Tim and mint jelly. I’m worried. Maybe Henry’s right. Maybe we should talk to Lisa - after she's rested up a bit.

   

April 12th American Idols

     Snuggled up on these dreary nights with fuzzy blankets and the fireplace blazing we’ve been glued to “John Adams” on HBO™ like everyone else. The show stirs up mixed emotions for me. Of course, the production values are outstanding and the story is timeless, but I can’t help but be reminded of how amazing it would be for kids of all ages to meet John Adams over a mug of cider. I can’t help but think they’d enjoy hearing Ben Franklin expound his wisdom by candlelight while they dined in his company. I fantasize about people laughing and learning the quadrille in our Independence Hall. We recall how much we enjoyed this at Riley’s Farm in California and want to bring that same merriment to life here at Fort Flashback.

    When people actually have the chance to experience the founding fathers as real people - warts and all they learn so much more. It’s so much more interesting than being taught the glorified one-dimensional versions of their characters. Ben Franklin was wise, but we don’t talk about women of forty years his younger throwing themselves at him. I guess women have always loved a man who can make them laugh. My favorite story of Ben Franklin was when he responded to a French woman who was romantic pursuit and even he thought it was outrageous. Dr. Franklin put her off by telling her he wanted to wait until winter when the nights were longer and they could have more time together. Smooth.

    Thomas Jefferson was learned, we don’t hear about him as a micro-manager, counting every nail produced on his plantation and keeping meticulous records of every dime spent. George Washington was a general. Period. No one talks about the George Washington who named his dog, Sugar Lips, loved to dance and adored soft strawberry ice cream. They don’t mention how he told Henry Knox to “move his fat ass to the middle of the boat” when crossing the Delaware on Christmas night. Sadly, in our educational system, we tend to learn battles and dates rather than who and why this country was founded. We learn a poem, albeit a nice poem, about Paul Revere but we never hear about young Billy Dawes who pretended to be drunk in order to get past the “Regulars” (they didn’t really say British) and succeeded.

    All this makes me feel somewhat ineffective at convincing people the colonial period is fascinating and what an educational as well as cultural benefit a Living American History camp would be to our region. I realize I don’t have the clout of HBO™ or Tom Hanks, but it’s amazing how popular this series is with viewers and yet I’ve failed so miserably. American History books are flying off bookshelves, yet I can’t get anyone to talk to me. I knew there would unexpected roadblocks along the way, but with over 57 school districts between here and Seattle I thought there would be more support in general.

     On the positive side however, we are hoping “John Adams” will spark a renewed interest in the period and people, bankers, corporations, investors, historians, kindhearted angels will be excited about what we are trying to make happen. Despite the frustration, we haven’t given up on our dream and think about it every time we research new farm animals. We want to create the complete ambiance from buildings and clothing to the farm animals that would be present in any town. It is for this reason we really won’t  consider any animals that are not heritage breeds. It’s become incredibly important to us to preserve these breeds so kids can see what the animals looked like. Cows with horns are extremely unusual now. Since colonial times, so many animals have been crossbred for certain specific traits to the point that very few of the original breeds exist and some pure bred strains are just about extinct. This has happened to turkeys, cattle, chickens and pigs. It’s silly to me that Americans who are so picky about so many things and always wanting a variety of choices, will settle for the socialist version of turkey. Almost all of us eat one type of turkey and it’s about the same for chickens. My friend Maryruth raises her own cattle and then eats them. This is a little extreme for me, but she says she knows she’s eating “happy beef”. “I feed them for two years and they feed me for two. It’s fair.” That’s Maryruth. 

    Our cattle, Abe, Andy and Anna are Milking Devons, a breed that came over to Plimoth Colony. This was an all-purpose hearty breed used for plowing fields, pulling carts, milking and eventually it would feed the family. Today, there are only 600 registered in the world.

    Java chickens known for the gentle  dispositions were one of the first breeds of chickens in the United States and once again a dual purpose breed, good layers, and tasty. They were hearty foragers requiring little care, yet today there are only about twenty flocks in existence and they’re not doing well. I know because I can’t seem to get any and I’ve called everywhere from Garfield Farm in Illinois to every member of the now defunct Java Breeders Association. As I’ve been looking into chickens, I was shocked to find most chickens do not reproduce on their own anymore. Farmers need to get them from hatcheries because chickens have been bred so specifically for meat production they don’t, in some cases, possess all their sex organs. One of the factors of a heritage breed is it can reproduce without assistance.

    Cotton Patch geese like Mabel, Alfred, Lloyd, Ruthie, Matilda, Clara, Quackmire and Cleveland according to Dr. Tom Walker “were brought over by the English in the 1600s. This was the bird of early America. People picked the feathers and down off live geese to make pillows, mattresses and comforters. The geese required no special food other than grass and no shelter, and they suffered from no known poultry disease. They also provided eggs, meat and grease. This became the all-American bird.” Today they’re one of the only domestic geese that still has any ability to fly and they too are almost non-existent.

    Watching this series also reminds us of when we were in Williamsburg last year doing research for our camp. They were filming some of the scenes there and we were lucky enough to be able to see the sets. It was great to see the tents with snow and frost. We scrutinized things quite closely to learn how to duplicate the effects for our own movies historical movies with the children. One day.

March 21st Pass The Mustard

    The phone rang at 6:30AM per usual. Tom calls me to make sure I’m up as I can barely open my eyes on dark morning. This morning there was a modicum of light in the sky. A hopeful sign. I quickly got a cup of coffee, started to make Henry a ham and cheese sandwich, remembered that today was Good Friday, and put the ham back. Now, I went through the morning “C’mon Henry it’s time to get up!” He stumbled to the shower and soon we were on our way, dog, goats and donkey fed. Henry and I had a PopTart™ and a bowl of oatmeal on the way, respectively.

    The ride to school was breathtaking. There had been snow overnight in the hills above our house and the trees were covered with a fresh dusting. Henry talked non-stop. I heard story synopsis' on The BFG and The Fantastic Mr. Fox, both Roald Dahl books. Just before we arrived at the bottom of the playground, Henry started wincing. I asked him what was wrong, but he said he was ok, he thought he had a little whizpopping going on - a Roald Dahl term.

    

I rushed off to take care of some stuff at the bank and then I was going to try and meet Lisa and her friend to get some things for the kids Easter baskets. I’d just finished at the bank a complimentary coffee in hand when the school called.

   

“Is he hurt?”

   

“No. He’s not hurt, he’s had a little accident and he needs some different pants.” I instinctively looked in the far reaches of my van/laundry hamper and spied a pair of jeans tossed aside on the way to gymnastics.

   “I’ve got some clothes with me, I’ll be right there.”

     “Umm, OK.” She said and then hung up. All the way there I wondered, why she’d said that, had that hesitation. I parked and went in. I walked in the office and both women tilted their heads toward a closed door.

   

“He’s in there.” They said in unison. I opened the door and was hit by a wall of pungent stench. My boy stood in front of me covered in crap. He didn’t have an accident; he was living some kind of Stephen King elementary school nightmare. He had feces all over his body, on the inside of his pants, in his socks, on his arms, under his fingernails he needed to be sterilized. This was something Mike Rowe might run from. Mother’s don’t have that choice, I found some baby wipes, and we borrowed some school pants and got out of there. So much for Easter baskets, perhaps we wouldn’t be going to Easter brunch at all if I had diarrhea boy.

   

The way home was fraught with bathroom humor. We discussed the “Saturday Night Live” commercial for adult diapers, “Ooops I Crapped My Pants”. I told him I’d always suspected he was full of shit. And so it went as we made our way home to Jell-O™ and rice. If he were really lucky he’d be eating the old B.R.A.T. diet. Lisa said not to worry she’d get everything for his Easter basket.

   

I made him some raspberry tea my father suggested and called some Java chicken breeders in an attempt to find someone who’s sell me these reportedly “gentle and calm” birds. After a call to Monty in Kansas, I realized I was hungry, remembering Henry’s cheese sandwich I’d made earlier I went out to the car to get it. When I opened the door, I saw them. They were standing near the newly budding tulips.

    

“Not again.” This isn’t funny. I went back inside and called my dad. “

   

“Yeah”

    “I hope UCLÅ isn’t playing because Pancho and Lefty are out again and they’ve broken down the fence.”
I told Henry to get his shoes and coat on and we went outside to round ‘em up. I was sure Tom was sitting in some meeting. Clean.

    When we got outside our cattle were well on their way to the pond. We followed. Once there we saw that Wally had run muck. Having been left to his own devices for a few days he’d built a damn rivaling the Hoover. The problem with his dams is that they choke the pond. The island where the Canada geese made their nest last year was flooded. Henry and I spent a few minutes clearing out his work so the flow of the stream would return to normal and hopefully allow the geese to nest.

    When we walked back my dad was finishing the repairs on the fence. Pancho and Lefty were in my yard. And leaving the largest cow pies you can imagine. More crap. I had savory thoughts of them as prime rib covered in mustard.

    We got them in again, filled their water and went in the house. I checked to see if anyone had any interest in purchasing them. I’m ready to give them away. Free shipping. I went back out and fed the goats, Miracle and Anna. She came at me giving me the head down and horn shake thing. I was having none of it. I started yelling and screaming something about McDonalds®. I don’t want any cows at the moment. I love Andy and Abe is a close second, but I started thinking how happy Miracle and the goats would be down in the pasture. What was I going to do with these stupid cows anyway? No one wants a history camp around here. No one cares about having a Plimoth Colony who am I kidding?

    Henry, Mike and I played the game of Life™. Big surprise, I lost. Tired and very cranky I went up to bed. Of course, the cat box needs changing. Perfect.

March 12th Chicken George

    Every year in fifth grade I would show movies I thought were able to teach valuable lessons that were beyond instruction in the traditional sense. “Roots” was one of those powerful movies. Of course, I taught fifth grade in the public schools, which meant all the kids had permission slips, but in addition, I would hold a yellow blanket over the screen and fast-forward through any inappropriate parts including bad language. But being made in a different era it truly isn’t as physically violent as you might imagine. The violence is mostly implied other than a few whippings. Tame by today’s standards.

    This year, I told Henry he was old enough to watch it. He was a little nervous, and thought he might not like it. He had heard stories about Kunte Kinte from my students over the years and thought it was going to be all bad stuff - instead I knew he’d learn that despite the circumstances it was also about the triumph of the human spirit.

    Reluctantly he put in the tape. (I don’t have it on DVD as I’ve had it for so many years) He was immediately transfixed. Gripping me as he cried with outrage. He was horrified human beings could treat each other this way. He said he had no idea. Which is what I find year after year. Most kids think slavery was a “unpaid housekeeper”. They can’t imagine the inhumanity. –  both good and bad I suppose.

    The minute the episode ended he begged for the next. I complied. Now, I know this movie about as well as any one of the Haleys. I can recite the dialogue for goodness sake. While I was watching this year I noticed something different. I started noticing the breeds of goats, turkeys, geese and sheep. I mean I’ve gone over the edge. I’m sitting there thinking. I know they don’t have Boers in Africa. What is wrong with me? I’ve gone insane. I forced myself back to the real purpose of our viewing. We’ve been watching two a night Henry loves it so much.

    Henry loves “Chicken George” as I knew he would. So I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we can ever get these  elusive “docile” Black Java chickens that there will be a George among them.

February 16th RSVP

    We left for Seattle about 6:30AM to be at the meet at Henry’s gymnastic meet promptly at 8:30AM like the paper told us. Unfortunately, the coach didn’t even arrive until 9:30AM. And the meet didn’t start until well after 10:00AM. Needless to say that’s a lot of waiting for the parents and the boys. Henry didn’t’ have a great meet. Not his worst, but not nearly his best. You can’t really blame him too much after a concussion the week before a meet resulting in missing your practices isn’t going to do you any favors. Nor did the ripped and bleeding blister on the palm of his hand.

    On the way home, we stopped at Lisa’s to let out the Griffin and Winnie out. And Henry really wanted to play the Wii without having to wait his turn. Lisa is away for the weekend in Los Angeles with Chris and the girls.

    Mike and I talked about the meet and decided since we were in town of Saturday night, we should go to dinner and a movie. Henry thought that was one our better ideas. We chose “National Treasure II – The Book of Secrets” It was great fun. I loved showing “National Treasure” to the entire fifth grade every year before their big East Coast field trip. So many people beat the excitement out of history it’s wonderful to see a movie put it back in. The kids would get so excited about knowing the clues in the movie, because we’d learned that stuff.

    I wish someone from that film would consider helping us fund the camp. But trying cold calls is disheartening. I did it for a student I’ll call “Bobbys” who came from a horrific family. They didn’t send him to school he failed 2nd and 4th grade just from absences. His mother was in prison, and wanted him to come live with her there. The rest of the other six children were adopted out. The list goes on, but the point was, “Bobby” was bright, personable and very funny. He had a chance, so I wrote to anyone I could think of from Jodi Foster to Dolly Parton to Oprah to Bruce Willis to Dr. Phil, etc about just helping this one kid into a boarding school. Only one person even responded, Bruce Willis. I got a polite letter saying his funds were otherwise allocated. I know there are a lot of “Bobbys” out there. But that was an important moment and I couldn’t get that to happen for him, I don’t know that a history camp is going to make a bigger impression with a cold call or letter.

February 12th One Adam Twelve

    My van has hauled hay, dogs, doors, plywood and goats. It’s had milk, juice and coffee spilled its been thrown up on and it’s been through the dirt, the mud, the snow and it is by anyone’s standards filthy. But it doesn’t have any deep stains, and I did have it detailed a year a go because I like to keep cars a long, long time. Poor thing it’s been my farm truck. Now that we’re going to get things cleaned up and try to live a more organized life it’s time to clean it up.

    This morning I took it to the 9:30AM appointment I’d made at Northwest Honda and handed them the coupon for the cleaning detail I purchased at the Humane Society Gala. The men smiled at me and assured me that they’ve cleaned dirty cars before. I felt better. They knew I needed it at about 3:00PM so I could pick up Henry from school. Fine they said, until they went out and looked at it. The next thing I knew he told me they were going to have to send it out, because and I quote, “If we sent it to the guys in our detailing department, they’d cry like little girls.” Now don’t you think that’s rude? Lord.

    Anyway they said they were sending it to their industrial used car detailer. Ok, whatever, just so it’s clean. They asked me how long it had been since I’d cleaned it. I said six months. “What? You got it THAT dirty in a year?” – I didn’t like his tone. Yes, I told them I’d been here only since July and prior to that I just drove to gymnastics and back. I came clean about transporting the goats. The guy almost fell down. He kept calling people and telling them – “This lady hauled goats – IN HER ODYESSY- GOATS” Really, he was making a scene. One of the other men suggested I think about a Ridgeline™. I nodded politely and went out to wait for Lisa. An hour later my cell phone rang and I was informed they’d need at least two days to get my van clean. Fine, fine, FINE. Lisa just laughed. Oddly, Tom called and told me he was at the dealership in Thousand Oaks and what did I think of him getting a Ridgeline™.

    After school, Lisa and I met with Henry’s teacher. She’d like to make a historic movie with the class and so we started ironing out the details. We’ve been emailing for weeks about what’s involved and she’s a bit overwhelmed with all that goes into the production, which is why I brought Lisa along– She used to work as a production assistant, second camera, coordinator, craft service etc. (Chris was Art Department, Toby, script supervisor, Eric a gaffer etc.) And between the two of us we’ve had a lot of experience.

   

It was suggested by the class that they do a movie of Longfellow’s poem “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere”. It’s great, because it’s a good length and all the kids can read a part, but there is historical inaccuracy that concerns me, but we’ll come up with a way to deal with that. We set a tentative shoot date of May 3rd and set our next pre-production meeting for next week.

    Since, I have no vehicle, Mike came and retrieved us from Lisa’s. When we got home we carried in the bags of dog food and that’s when it happened. Irish, the dog from Jurassic Bark got into it with Luther, the food guardian. It didn’t last long, but Irish’s tooth scraped Luther’s ear and there was blood everywhere. I applied pressure to the ear, Mike dialed Lisa and Henry got the first aid kit. It was a superficial wound like a long paper cut, but once Luther was bandaged up he looked like the Flying Nun. The lessons learned were, we need more first aid supplies in case we have a true emergency and it's time Irish was neutered.

(Culprit - Seven-Months-Old)

   (Victim - Sleeping Comfortably?)

    After everyone was neatly tucked in the barn and the boys in the pasture had their grain, Henry was painting his valentine box while Mike read aloud, I decided a little shortbread cookie with a cup of Earl Grey was in order as I chatted with Toby about the casting of Anna Paquin as Sookie Stackhouse a character from Charlaine Harris’ Southern vampire series. Good chewing gum for the eyeballs as my aunt, Lana, used to say.

February 11th Just Right

    The long-awaited cannons finally arrived today. The delivery guy pulled up in a big truck opened up the back to reveal two cannons and absolutely nothing else. Judd, the delivery guy, was from the glorious South. This was not a surprise to anyone who heard him speak. His accent was so thick you could cut it with a knife. A war vet Judd served six tours of duty. He went on to tell us he was in the army all told for thirty-one years, got shot once in the chest, had eight kids the youngest of which is eighteen and he was delivering cannons now that he was retired. A real salt of the earth kind of fellow.

    When Farm Boy, Little Chris Donaldson brought the Kubota™ up, Judd from South Carolina rolled them in the tractor bucket. Chris had to go back to work, so I backed the tractor and my new cannons up the driveway to the barn where we’re going to store them until the wheel carriages arrive. They were much smaller than I expected, but extremely heavy, 500lbs according to Judd.

    I went in the house pulled up the pictures of actual cannons and saw that they were about right. It’s just they look more grand when they’re seated on the carriages.

February 1st All The Better To See You With

    I woke up this morning and my jeans were tight. I took Henry to school and when I got home, I started my daily chores, bills, writing and trying to figure out how to get someone to understand the brilliance of Fort Flashback. Heck, recently I heard Disney had a similar idea about twenty years ago, but they were going to do it try creating a history theme park on historic ground. This didn’t go over too well. I’m not surprised, after all why would you go to Disney’s Gettysburg ride, when you can go to Gettysburg? Here, in Washington we’re about as far away from those places as you can be and still live in the United States.
    
    Ken, my handy, dandy realtor called and invited me to a symphony breakfast in April. He thought it might be good networking for me. Ken was a conductor in Hollywood. He did theme songs for TV shows like “Dallas”, ”Dynasty”, “MacGyver”, “Hart to Hart”, “Melrose Place” etc and is still quite involved.

    My cannons are supposed to arrive today, so I keep looking out the window to see if there are any trucks pulling up. I don’t see any, but I can see “Farm-Boy”, Little Chris Donaldson taking a sledding break. I think I’ll join him. After all I could use the exercise and usually, the kids hog the sleds.

    After school, we went by Lisa’s to see how Quinn did with the nerd glasses. We were not disappointed. She put them on just as she entered the sixth grade area and heard her friend Marny screaming “UGLY! UGLY! UGLY!” from across the hall. Quinn remained calm. When Marny approached and was saying, “Take them off! Take them off! Take them off right now”

    Quinn looked up in her most forlorn look and said, ”I went to the doctor yesterday and he said I have to wear them”. Marny said soothingly, “You know what? They look ok. You know, you kind of look pretty. Yes, Quinn you really do you look pretty.”   

 

    I can’t believe Quinn pulled it off and I now really like that Marny. She must be a very nice girl, because those glasses look horrific. Quinn has turned into a little Carol Burnett-type. Nice.

January 20th Ready! Aim! Fire!!!!

        As an adult living in the material world, you often have to go to a notary public for various taking care of business reasons. It’s not an everyday thing, but it’s certainly not unusual. Like many people I’ve gone for all sorts of daily things like my will, escrow papers, starting a business, etc. but this morning I went to the local Mail Boxes Etc™ for this. It seems whenever you purchase weapons of mass destruction you have to have the transaction notarized, it makes sense.  Who knew? I guess this is in case I’m a malcontent and am going to aim my civil war cannon at my neighbors or something.

    I do know the notary thought the transaction strange and said she’d actually never notarized the purchase of an actual cannon before and asked what one might do these days with a cannon. Naturally, I launched into my Fort Flashback explanation. She got everyone in the shop and was telling them about how exciting Fort Flashback sounded. Of course, they don’t have any money to invest, but at least the excitement continues whenever I do discuss it.

    I went home and called the gentleman in Idaho where I’m supposed to mail the paper confirmed the shipping address and asked him about why I’d have to have a notarized paper for cannons that don’t fire. He said, that it was standard procedure and then he said, that if I wanted the cannons that fire, that would only be a little bit more. Really? I queried. Because as excited as every one is about the cannons coming, the first question I hear is “Do they fire?” I respond no and they are then crestfallen all the wind right out of there excitement. I’ve gotten a bit defensive.

    He said, he could sell me barrels that fire no problem and for not much more. I told him I’d heard they were a great deal more. He said, not from me they aren’t. He talked resale – that cannons that don’t fire are pretty much lawn ornaments, but firing cannons have a market with re-enactors, black powder clubs, universities and even high schools for football games and events of that nature. I upgraded and called Tom.

January 18th Ships Ahoy!

    Mike isn’t working at Mt. Baker High School today, so we’ve decided to go on a search and destroy mission. I’ve lost one of the presents Henry gave me for Christmas: A “Nuns Having Fun” 2008 wall calendar. I figure it’s buried in some pile somewhere, but I can’t stand not having a calendar anymore until I find it. We know he bought it at a kiosk the mall. One day before Christmas I gave him the money he’d earned and saved and let him spend an hour walking around the mall budgeting his money for different gifts. He bought Quinn a book and Phoebe art supplies and Tom some molding clay. It was almost three weeks into the New Year; I was worried they might be sold out.

    The kiosk was gone. Undaunted, we started at Target™ and made our way around the mall. This was not as time consuming as you might think; this is not Mall of America, or a Westfield Shoppingtown property. There was a bookstore that looked promising. We walked in and asked if they had any calendars. She pointed to a row of boxes on the floor stuffed with them.

    “All we have are right there, they’re from the kiosk.” The sign on the side said, “All calendars a $1.00” Perfect. Mike has bad knees so he chatted with the saleswoman as I rifled through box after box. By the sixth box I was losing steam. But perseverance pays off and I found one.

    Our next, mission was to locate some miniature 18th century ships for Henry's class movie we are going to shoot. I'm really excited we're going to get a chance to work with a class in Washington and of course , am ever hopeful this will bring us closer to opening Fort Flashback.

    Henry had an idea that we could do the Boston Tea Party in miniature and or the Royal Navy descending on Lexington. This seemed like the harder project, but you never know about these things. With in minutes we located two different ships at the Dollar Store and out the door we went feeling very accomplished indeed.

January 4th Ring! Ring! Ring! Somebody Get That!

Tom and Little Chris Donaldson started on the round bale feeder just as Henry and I were leaving for school. The feeder is to be built directly into the fence so I won'thave to go in the pasture to load the hay. t

After dropping off Henry I went around town running errands, picking up things Tom needs to finish his various projects. I called to see if Tom needed anything else. No answer.

I ran out to Lynden to see about the spear. No one told me there are about five different kinds of spears. You can strap them and you can bolt them and I don’t know what else the difference is, but I wasn’t going to make this decision by myself I tried calling home. No answer. No answer. No answer. They were probably working outside on the feeder. I know they’ll never in a million trillion years check the messages so I don’t bother. Anyway the sales guy told me no matter which one I chose he didn’t have it in stock. I wondered if I could find one on ebay or craisgslist.

After I finished my mad dash around Whatcom County, I picked up Henry and headed for gymnastics. To be time efficient, I strategically didn’t run my errands to Home Depot™, Costco™ and Lowes™ because they have them in Burlington too. My rural living is showing. I tried calling, but no answer.

It’s Friday, so Henry only does three hours. Seven o’clock rolled by and we were heading home. I still hadn’t heard from Tom, which was strange. As we got closer, I tried calling again. Nothing. I figured they were really working.

When we arrived, we saw Tom drinking a Becks™ and Little Chris was downing a can of A&W™. They seemed in a good mood. This irritated me a bit. Why couldn’t he just pick up the phone? I asked this in what I considered a calm tone. He might have a different viewpoint.

“I didn’t call because Anna some how got out of her pen.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” I looked over at the pasture and sure enough she was in with the boys. Nervous, I checked to see if any of them were making any of their amorous gestures. All was quiet. “How did she get out?”

“We don’t know. Chris checked and the chain on her gate was off.”

“Well, how did you get her in?"

“That’s the part you’re not going to believe.”

“Try me.”

“We were working away on your round bale feeder and I heard a clatter.”

“A clatter? Like I heard such a clatter?”

“Exactly, I heard a clatter so I looked up. And I couldn’t believe it, but Anna was hoofing it down Mosquito Lake Road.”

“She was running down the road?”

“Yep, toward Acme.”

“Well how’d you get her back?” I asked, relieved I knew there was a good ending to this story.

“She just came back. We think she wanted to rejoin the herd and she was trying to get in the pasture so she walked down the driveway but couldn’t get in. When she was running down the road she looked over and saw the boys, turned around and ran back. The next thing we knew she was over where we were working on building the feeder into the fence and she walked in as nice as you please.”

“Wow. I’m glad I wasn’t here. But you still could have called.”

December 15th Chicks & Ducks & Geese Better Scurry

   

(Web frozen into the pond)

   

Henry is a voracious reader, but during these long dark winter days he's become obsessed. He’s been reading and reading every book on the Sasquatch Reading List. In one of the stories there is a prominent character that is a duck. This started me thinking, which is as Tom is abundantly aware, dangerous. Ducks were a huge part of farm life as were geese, lambs and the dreaded chicken. I know everyone loves chickens but me.

    I think they’re unpredictable flighty things that peck you. We had two when Lisa and I were growing up in Hidden Hills, a little community near Calabasas Park in the Valley (San Fernando Valley). We had a couple of acres and horses, and we thought my mother thought we’d try chickens. We got our Rhode Island Reds from my friend, Leah Paulson. They’re names were, Max and Maxine. They didn’t live long because our German shepherds ate them. We were told to tie the dead birds’ remains around the dogs’ necks to teach them a lesson. Can you just imagine rotting chicken carcass around your dogs’ neck?

    Anyway back to Henry. I started thinking that it would be adorable to get some ducks for Easter. We could really bring in spring since we’ve just walked away from the winter holidays. I started researching ducks and found Cayuga ducks are one of the oldest breeds in America. They’re interesting looking, black with a green sheen. Ducks eat slugs and best of all mosquitoes. We went to youtube and watched some adorable footage of some baby Cayuga. The problem with ducks is that they are, as the term would have it, “sitting ducks”. The quintessential victims, and I don’t know if I want to get attached to the ultimate prey.

    While in this mode, I started looking into geese, either as an option or in addition. Geese have the advantage of being bigger, louder and can be used as sentries. They honk if someone comes up your driveway and they honk if there’s a coyote. I found after some extensive research I found that Cotton Patch geese were here in America during colonial times and weeded cotton fields in the South up until the 1950s. They’re a medium weight bird and can actually still fly unlike most domestic geese. On the minus side, geese are herbivores. They don’t eat slugs or mosquitoes which we have a plenty. Drat.

    As I kept looking, the trouble with these rare heritage breeds is finding someone you can get them from. My best resource so fare is slowfoods.com where they list breeders. Of course, I don’t want to eat them, but what the heck.

    Now if you think about for a moment, it’s lambs that really symbolize springtime don’t you think?

December 12th One Step Closer

    My preliminary meeting for my County permits has finally arrived. The time was set for 10:30AM. I didn’t have time to go home after dropping Henry at school so I went to Lisa’s for a quick cup of Joe. We caught up on what’s been going on and discussed what she needs me to do to prepare for her upcoming annual cookie decorating party. I left in plenty of time to make the meeting, but I made one fatal error. I punched in a previous address and went to the wrong place. Yikes. Now I was under the gun racing to the meeting. I hate being late. My architect called me to see if I’d forgotten just as I was pulling into the parking lot. No I had not forgotten. I was just late. This must be how Tom and Lisa feel all the time.

    Mortified, I walked in. It wasn’t too bad, people were still milling about getting coffee and settling into their seats. I had realized we would be in front of a panel comprised of so many people. On their side there were seven and one guy was missing. On my side of the table there was my architect, Todd, my engineer, Theresa and me.

    The meeting lasted over two hours. I won’t bore you with every detail; suffice to say it was just as up and down as the County experience had been in regard to my shop. Some of the panelists hadn’t read our 50-page proposal, some quoted it. There were suggestions like “perhaps if you put sprinklers in the tents that would make camper safer” Sprinklers in tents? Really? There was a note to further investigate the wetlands issue as a “concerned neighbor” had called. Stinky Britches no doubt. On the plus side, the gentleman who led the meeting said that the shop/apartment situation would be grandfathered in as part of the permit process and not to worry. The next step would be to wait for the County to forward us their official notes from the meeting and then we could address the issues they had concerns with and move forward.

    I felt a mix of feelings when I left the room. Theresa and Todd both felt that the County seemed very supportive of the project. I couldn’t tell, as the entire process is new to me. I was glad they perceived that, but I was saddened that as close as we’re coming I can’t get anyone to loan us the money to build.

    My small business advisor, Kevin, said if I could get some local investors involved, doors would start to open. Perhaps. Bill says with County permits and architectural drawings, septic designs, permits, logos etc. people will start to listen because it’s way past the dream stage and presents itself as a viable business plan. Hopefully.

It seems a case of so close, yet so far .

December 2nd Snow Place Like Home

   

    Christmas is here. Henry and I have started our seasonal marathon of Christmas celebrations. And although we’re not going to have a tree or decorations, we have decided to send out Christmas cards. We figure, we need to let our friends and relatives know we’re alive and that we’re still trying to make a go of things.

    What to put on the card that is the question. In past years, I’ve dressed Henry and my rottweilers, Josephine and Gladys as the three Wise men. “Gold Frankincense and Grrr”. One year they were Santa and reindeer. We considered using Miracle some how, but I didn’t think my friend Sister Sally would think a picture of our donkey wearing a wreath and “Our Christmas Miracle” was a good idea. We thought of doing a nativity inthe barn with Luther as the baby Jesus, but that seemed too irreverent. We kept thinking. I got a bee in my bonnet and decided to put halos on some of the cattle. A holy cow thing.
     I went to Fred Meyer™ and found some silver garland, got some of the leftover wire we used on the fence and fashioned a kind of halo. I wanted it to stand up more, but given that I was fastening it on an ox, I thought I did pretty well.

    Yet, after looking at the pictures, they just didn’t say what I wanted to say. I decided to try again and this afternoon just as it was getting dark 3:00PMish I took Henry dressed in his colonial garb out to the pond with Luther. At the last minute, I grabbed one of the paraffin lanterns I bought at Fred Meyer™ in anticipation of the power outages. The pond, the snow, the moon and two of my favorite fellows, it just felt more like a Christmas card should.

  I came in, downloaded the pictures and emailed them to Tom. He agreed.

November 29th Coincidence?

   
(Little Chris & Roxy- my computer in the background)

    I spent most of the day seated at my computer in the sunroom trying to find people who might support the idea of a history camp. (while Little Chris & Worker Mike - are taking out the windows) I spoke to a woman at the museum supported by the Daughters of the American Revolution and she suggested I email my local chapters. I did that. I called the different camp business affiliations and asked them which banks did launch camps. Their answer was depressing. None. They had no financial affiliations; almost all existing camps were inherited or have been purchased by large corporations. Terrific. I researched Lincoln Logs™ to see if perhaps there might be a viable tie in with our fence etc. Except for cold calling again. Nothing. I kept going despite my growing need for complex carbohydrates. I spoke to Jim Riley at Riley’s Farm and tossed around the idea of becoming an affiliate of Riley’s Farm – thereby we would be part of an established business. Hope. I talked to my friend, Vince, a producer about anyone in Hollywood who might be interested. My best thought is Mel Gibson. I wrote a commercial that airs at the beginning of one of his movies. And Vince’s partner Caleb shot “The Passion”. I think Mel Gibson, because he’s demonstrated an interest in American History and he could use the P.R. quite frankly. Vince didn’t think Caleb would want to present it to Mel, so I pursued other avenues.

  (Little Chris & Mike - The Worker) 

    Everyone suggests Bill Gates, but I’ve been on the foundation website and they are already just about bankrolling public education in Washington and we just don’t fit into any of their categories.

    While I’m battling with myself I notice a figure walking down the road obviously trying to see things on the property. Angry about the incident with the County the other day, I grab my coat and charge out the door. As I stride toward the figure, I could see it was a woman. I suspected from this distance that it might be Mrs. Stinky Britches. I said briskly, “Can I help you?” The woman smiled and replied in the sweetest voice.

    "Hello I'm Laura and I was just hoping to meet you, and welcome you to the community.” I almost fell down. I had prepared for war and I got kindness. I was momentarily confused. She turned out to be a neighbor from down the road, a puppeteer by trade. She really didn’t have to tell me this, as the cadence and expression in her voice illustrated this perfectly. It seems she and her husband live in a cabin they built themselves for $500.00. We’re talking hardcore; they made their own bricks and have one propane light. No phone, no Internet, no trash pick-up, no nothing. I found this fascinating. I know I was staring at her, because until now, I’d only seen someone like this in a documentary. I wondered how this lovely and very animated woman got through some of the cold nights, but she just laughed and spoke to me like I was a child and she was a puppet. As the conversation went on I realized that she spoke of the puppets as if they were alive. Now, some might find this out of the box strange, but I worked on Barbie™ and at Mattel™ Barbie™ is alive. She even has a ‘good side” – her left. So in comparison, puppets – excuse me marionettes that have shared your home for 19 years, could possibly be considered worthy of conversation. After all, Mike reads aloud to his cat.

     I went back in the house changed. She was so sweet and so different. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I warmed up some old coffee from this morning and sat there looking out at the pasture contemplating her life. She said her son had lived there for years with them, but now he lives in a house with electricity. I decided I’d better get ready for my big night out. I showered and put my going-to-town-pants on – reminding me how far I’ve come from formal yellow feather dresses and black tie award banquets.

    Lisa and I have been invited to a jewelry ‘trunk sale” for the Rape Crisis center at St. Joseph’s Hospital. This is an issue near to our hearts. We were assaulted years ago when we were living on Orange Grove off Sunset Blvd. I was raped. It’s one of those things you really never recover from. Oh, it’s not like I grieve it everyday or think about it really. It’s just that I am different. I don’t do things I used to do. I don’t ever go in an elevator with a man alone. I always own an attack dog – not a just a guard dog. Once you’ve seen evil, you can’t pretend you haven’t seen it. Period.

    We arranged with Mike to stay with the kids at Lisa’s. They’re probably ok alone as we’ll only be a block away, but he was available. Phoebe and Henry wanted a chance to beat him in chess.

    We drove up to a gorgeous house all lit up with white lights. Cars were stacked up three deep everywhere we looked. Finally, we managed a space and went in. The only way to describe the house is, it was very South Pasadena cluttered with art. A very groomed woman greeted us at the door and took our coats. We were shown the various tables of jewelry and given a drink. The servers swarmed us with various delicacies. I was having a good time. I couldn’t afford anything, but no matter it was fun just to be out with my sister. We ate and chatted and looked around. I spotted a piece I thought was really interesting and Lisa came up with the idea that we go in on it together and give it as a Christmas present to my mom’s friend, Marie. She’s our friend too, but she went to college with our mother and since our mother’s death has really taken us under her wing. She honor’s my mother’s belief that we should always go out and DO something at the holidays instead of just giving presents that will be forgotten. For this reason, Marie has taken us year after year to the Santa Breakfast at the Beverly Hill Hotel on Christmas Eve morning.

(Pictures from The Beverly Hills Hotel Santa Breakfast)

(Henry & Marie at Santa Breakfast)

    This year, because we moved, Marie will be coming up here to Bellingham. Her sister lives close by in Vancouver, Canada. We took the financial plunge and bought the necklace entitled "Travel & Seek" perfect for the world-traveler, Marie. Lisa discussed with the girl who made the jewelry adding some length to make it more flattering. Marie is quite tall.

    While I’m waiting for Lisa to hammer out the details and give the go ahead to gift-wrap, I notice a striking sunflower painting amongst the art filling the walls. Tom always paints me sunflowers, so I go over to look at it more closely. It was signed Vincent. It was real.  I couldn’t help but think of the difference in my puppeteer neighbor and this place. Interesting. The country mouse and the city mouse.

    On the way out, my phone rang, but I missed it. As I listened to the message I couldn’t believe my ears. It was Marie. She’d returned from a trip and her home had been burglarized. All of her jewelry had been taken, but she said she was just grateful that she’d not been there and paid a higher price as we had so many years ago. How very odd.

November 14th What A Turkey

    On the way to school, Tom worried about the prospect of facing a class of kids that might not know enough to about the pilgrims to ask any questions. He performed William Bradford for my class last year, but I was able to make sure they were completely prepared.

We know Henry's teacher has a lot of things she has to accomplish during her day and we just didn't want the program to flop. In an attempt to avoid this, he planned out a few questions for Henry to ask.

    When we arrived, Henry ran in so no one would know Tom was his dad. We sat in the car fastening his cloak and straightening his collar. He donned his period glasses and started talking like Governor Bradford. His entire posture changes and suddenly Tom is transformed.

    As we walked into school, Governor Bradford greeted the “scholars and of course, the “madams”. Once in the class, Governor Bradford began the story of his life. He began with his boyhood and went all the way to the first Thanksgiving. He clarified misconceptions and discussed the Mayflower Compact. He talked about drinking beer and the influence of the Bible. The Governor explained his clothing, the bright colors and the role of the textile industry in his life. He talked of vomit, and feces and fighting and friendship. He spoke of the miracle of a man going overboard and surviving. He even talked about “borrowing without permission” some Indian’s cache of corn.

    After he finished, quite a few kids asked questions. Tom answered and again hands would go up. Finally, after about twenty minutes when there was a lull, Henry did as he’d been instructed and asked his questions: “What exactly happened to your wife? How did she go overboard in the harbor?” Tom froze. He glared at Henry. He began to tear up and was visibly distraught. Henry sat there with a look on his face like “You told me to ask you that – did I make a mistake?”  Tom wanted to break out laughing at Henry’s confusion but instead; Governor Bradford spoke softly about unjust experience of his wife. He questioned God and why this happened. –

You see, his wife drown in the harbor and it is believed she committed suicide.
When it was all over, some of the kids told him how sorry they were to hear about his wife and they hoped he would be ok.

    We’re hoping to have a lot of this sort of thing at the camp. Kids and adults alike learn so much more by experiencing history rather than reading a chapter in a history book. Kids see them as boring people who didn’t have feelings. They think they were without fault like a cartoon character rather than passionate people trying their best to survive in difficult circumstances. I’d love to do Abigail Adams. She was such a feminist, but a brilliant woman, but her family tells of a raving bitch. She had to be difficult to be married to John, who nobody liked. He was after all annoying. So many “great” people aren’t able to master their own lives.

November 13th Gone But Not Forgotten

    Maryruth left this morning on the 10:00 AM shuttle to SeaTac. I dropped her at the Val-U Inn shuttle stop before I took Henry to school. In such a short time, I made a friend that I know I’ll have for years to come. What a treasure. She just popped into our lives and brought sunshine. We promised to stay in touch. Hugging and teary Henry and Maryruth discussed their scrabble strategies and their latest literary picks one last time. And then like Mary Poppins, she was gone.

    The rest of the day was spent as it is many times when Tom’s in town. I run around gathering supplies so he can do a project. This sounds like a complaint and I guess it is in a way, but I can’t do what Tom can do, so I’m relegated to errand girl, sandwich girl and “2X4” – which means I hold things in place for him while he’s doing something. Today, he’s working on making some lovely new barn doors. They really are turning out to be beautiful. Although, Gimpy has to go a bit slower than he’d like. In between my errands I get to take Henry to gymnastics etc. This means, that when my beloved is here, I get absolutely nothing done.

    Since it got too dark and cold to work in the barn, Tom has nervously been preparing for his “William Bradford” presentation to Henry’s class in the morning. I don’t think there are many people who know much more about the life and times of William Bradford than Tom. He became inspired to learn and portray William Bradford after he saw Jim Riley do “Patrick Henry” at Riley’s Farm. He’s researched and written numerous scripts he’s memorized, but where he really shines are in the spontaneous questions the kids ask.

    He’s been searching through boxes looking for his purple pilgrim socks and fastidiously cleaning his hat. He’s brushed the lint and rewound the decorative tie he made – twice. He’s been ripping up rags to hide the pins in his hand. I’ve heard at least three proposed versions of what happened to his hand – the 17th century version that is. He’s drawn maps on parchment paper and has special period glasses. I have absolutely no part in this portrayal, so I’m just enjoying the show.

    Maryruth just called to let me know she arrived safely at her sister’s place. She’s going to stay there and go shopping for a day before heading all the way home.

November 10th Beasts Of Burden

    Team Donaldson (Lisa, Chris, Quinn, Phoebe –  with Winifred and Griffin arrived to see the oxen exhibition and with the requisite supplies or master cheese maker, Maryruth, needed for her demonstration/lesson later in the afternoon.   

    We went out and hitched up those big boys and off we went. I had a blast. There is something exhilarating about having that much muscle do what I say. I felt like “I am Woman”. This time they responded beautifully. We even hitched an upside down hood of a truck to the back of them and drove the boys while the kids rode around the pasture. I got going a little faster than I felt comfortable with and those horns on the top of their heads are  daunting, but they're a lot more nimble than you would think. Lefty poked me a couple of times and I certainly paid attention, but it wasn’t deliberate.
The picture Tom didn’t get was Luther, riding on the upside down hood with Henry. Luther continues to have visions of grandeur. He believes the oxen obey his commands.

    While I was driving the boys, an unexpected thing happened. Andy started to follow behind. It was as if he was looking up to them. I gave the boys the command to go and Andy would follow. The boys stopped and so did Andy. None of could believe it. He was prancing around having fun carrying his tail in the air ever so pleased with himself.

    Maryruth helped me get the little boys hooked up and so began their training. I didn’t know how hard it would be to teach them, but I have to admit I was surprised at how quickly they caught on. At first they struggled at the idea of being hooked together. They seemed uncomfortable to Maryruth so we switched their sides. Then everything got a lot easier. They learned fast. I guess it’s genetic, but it’s like they’d done it many times before. They seemed to sense what to do and were able to gauge from my body language what I wanted from them. It’s funny I felt differently after that, we’d worked together and somehow our relationship had changed. They weren’t just cattle in the field. They were oxen with an education.

Little Chris Donaldson and his girlfriend Stephanie came out today and took Henry to the pond fishing. The girls went to, it fishing didn’t seem to hold their interest. They decided they’d rather come in for pizza and cheese making.

    Phoebe was the most diligent, following all Maryruth’s commands. This is not unusual, as Phoebe has always been the hardest working of all the kids. Phoebe stirred and strained and squeezed lemon without stopping. Then we all sat down and devoured warm hunks of cheese with a hint of lemon and crunchy bread.

   

We talked about the camp and all Maryruth’s ideas on how we could use the property to make money. Everyone marveled at the fact that the bankers can’t see their way to financing the endeavor. It seemed like a slam-dunk. Parents everywhere lament about their children not appreciating the outdoors. Kids find it exciting because they never do things like throw tomahawks and churn butter. They love to feed animals and do things like plow fields etc. I meet “colonial junkies” in the strangest places even gymnastic competitions. People say, a “Williamsburg-type place out here? We’d love it. We don’t have anything like that, it would be fantastic!” but yet, I can’t get it to happen.

     I feel like a failure. It's hard to explain the responsibility I feel. I suppose because I believe so completely in the benefits for children. I don't just feel like I've failed in a business, but in a teaching opportunity.I sat outside alone for a while during the afternoon sitting by the pasture thinking. Watching my oxen I was reminded of a passage.

"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light?"

Mathew 11

    Sure it's my responsibility to get people interested in the camp,  and I have failed but no one is sick. I have to keep things in perspective. It's only money. I can find a way to teach.

I just wish I knew why I'm so ineffective. What am I’m doing wrong? Fort Flashback is a good idea.

    Now, we have to consider other options I guess. I really don’t know if I’m ready for a Bed & Breakfast in my own home. It would be one thing if we could afford to build or provide some kind of sleeping quarters out in the pasture, but it seems difficult to be catering to people in your own home. But maybe I just have to get used to the idea.

November 9th Treat Your Company Like Family

      Tom arrived today with his injured hand wrapped up like a club. He was just as smitten as everyone else has been with Maryruth. Unfortunately, as much as we wanted to work the boys today, Maryruth thought they were too sore. We'll try again tomorrow.

Instead, we took a walk to the pond and around the property. Maryruth decided this climate was too cold and damp for her. She'd have to come back in the summer.

There was laughing and a fire as we adopted Maryruth Monahan into our family this evening. Tom and Maryruth and Mike all took turns dazzling each other with their knowledge of history. It was the kind of relaxed evening you have with people you’ve known for years. Maryruth told us different ideas we might try if we can’t do the history camp. She suggested a bed & breakfast or a facility for campers. She has a million ideas on how to make the most out of what you have.

    After everyone else had gone to bed, Tom laughed at me over a glass of wine. He chided me for my fears of the first night. Now, we wonder how we’re going to let Maryruth leave. She seems to have added so much to our family especially when it comes to Henry. He’s never really had a grandmother. Well, that’s not exactly true, Chris’ mom, has been wonderful, adopting Henry as one of her grandchildren since my mother died. But she’s lived in Colorado for a long time and now that we've moved ironically she lives in California. She sends presents and calls and is very thoughtful, but not able to be an everyday grandma. She’s never stayed at our house because she’s allergic to our cats. Tom’s mother sends cards, and has taught us to make tamales which was great fun especially for Henry who is fascinated by the Food Network. - But she has a lot of other obligations.  Most constant is my mother's friend, Marie who is there for holidays with cards and gifts. She takes us places and in a way helps keep my mother alive.  Nonetheless, Henry is always chomping at the bit for more grandmother love. He hit the jackpot with Maryruth; they’re thick as thieves. She’s going to be sorely missed.

November 7th These Are The Yokes Son

    This morning, I woke up to a smiling Maryruth sipping a cup piping hot coffee curled up on the sofa surrounded by dogs and wrapped in a green blanket. All my fears of the previous evening seemed silly and far away.

    We took Henry to school and rode in to town to pick up a few things. Our first stop was Trader Joes™ because after all everyone needs something at Trader Joes™. Then we stopped at the serious hardware store not my usual haunt Home Depot™ or Lowes™, but Hardware Sales™, the one that makes Tom’ mouth water. We picked up a variety of things like heavy chain and “s” links so that we could hook the boys up today.

    When we got everything going, the boys hooked up and ready. Maryruth ran them through their paces yelling things like “Hey Boss” “Gee” and “Haw”. In case, you haven’t read Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder, “Gee” means right and “Haw” is left. They were a little resistant at first, like fifth graders after winter break, but in a short time they were geeing and hawing around like champs.

    Then it was my turn. I was nervous, but I got out there. IMaryruth hooked a rope around them, so I had more control. I asked them to go. They looked at me like they were confused. Maryruth scolded me and told me to use my teacher voice. That got them going. I started bellowing like I was yelling at Michael Ungar and they went, yes siree they went where I told them - just like Michael come to think of it.

   

My turn didn’t last long as I would have liked. Maryruth thought they’d had enough for one day. So we unhooked them and brushed them down, gave them treats and let them go. As soon as we turned them loose they charged around the field kicking up their heels like school had been dismissed. Oxen frolicking are a seldom seen but hilarious sight.

November 6th Maryruth Arrives

 

  I have looked forward to Maryruth Monahan’s arrival with mixed feelings. Until today I have never met her. She is the drover from whom I acquired Lefty and Poncho. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve slipped and said Panchy and Lefto) When I arranged their purchase she threw in their yoke, their Civil War Cart and with the additional purchase of a plane ticket, ox-driving lessons! 
I was more than a bit nervous how it might be for a whole week with a woman I know nothing about living in my house with nothing more to do other than spend time with me. She won’t even have a car while she’s here and to make matters just a little more complicated Tom arrives tomorrow and I’m having the floors refinished. This means we are all tiptoeing around the house in socks trapped in the dry sections of the house. Some rooms are cleared of everything waiting to be sanded while others are wet with stain and the rest of the house has huge piles of things from shoes and lamps to Tupperware™ and the Kitchenaid™ filling every corner.  To prepare for her arrival I went to the Haggen™ and purchased some ready-to-eat stuff like fettuccini and quiche so we would have something in the house. The oven is non-functional and the sink sits disconnected in the eventual dining room. We are eating off paper plates and plastic flatware. (Henry buys school lunch every day because even making a sandwich in this place is unfathomable)
In my mind, I imagined an ox-driver that had spent time in third world countries would be fairly easy going, but I didn’t know exactly what to expect. Would she be uptight like re-enactors tend to be? Hardcore Birkenstock? Serious? I had some serious second thoughts, as I knew the person I arranged to pick her up from the airport was on the way here.

    Whatever I did expect, I did not expect Maryruth. Maryruth wears plaid with her hair in a long grey braid. She refers to herself as an old woman and a grandma, but I don’t many people would think of Maryruth as the grandma type. She is a gentle soul with a wicked sense of humor. You can’t help but love her immediately. In about fifteen minutes we were cackling like hens. She and I were alone, as Mike volunteered to pick Henry up from gymnastics, so we decided to go out to dinner at the North Fork Beer Shrine and Wedding Chapel. The Beer Shrine is owned and operated by a free-spirited couple originally from San Francisco – I think that sums it up. It’s a small rustic place where they brew beer, ordain weddings, serve a myriad of delights such a crab cakes, hand-tossed pizza, wild smoked-salmon salad and crème brulee. I have to say that although there isn’t much around here, at least what there is, is civilized.

    We tromped in knocked off most of the mud and settled into a cozy booth in the back. We both ordered pots of steaming Earl Grey perfect for a chilly fall evening. Dinner was large bowls of French onion soup and fat garlicy breadsticks. Absolutely, nothing brings women together faster than the prospect of warm bread except perhaps cheesecake but I digress.

     We sat there for hours chatting. Maryruth has the best stories you’ll ever hear. To begin, she has outlived four husbands. Four and she is only in her mid-fifties. She married a farm boy, an athlete, a Creole and a drunk. She has tattoos scattered about her body, which is why she wears long sleeves. She says she makes a great effort to cover up, as she acquired them at a different time in her life. She has a bum knee and suffers from Agent Orange due to her time in the Armed Forces. She’s traveled everywhere and has done almost as much as my father. She has a milk cow named Mabel. She’s helped families learn to use oxen to plow their fields so they can have food to eat. Maryruth has slept on hammocks with pesky howler monkeys that pee on her for kicks. She plays Scrabble competitively. She’s had a curse put on her by her bayou dwelling mother-in-law and is close friends with some nudists that have full body tattoos. She makes soap. And she actually is a grandma.

    After dinner we came home followed closely by Henry and Mike. Mike and Maryruth hit it off just fine, but it was Henry that surprised me. He was head-over-heels for Maryruth in less than five seconds. It appears they are both “Myth Buster” fans and have about seventeen other things in common. I could only get him to bed with the promise that Maryruth would spend time with him in the morning.

    As I was going to bed though, I began thinking. How do I know Maryruth is telling the truth? How do I know she isn’t a compulsive liar? What was I thinking inviting someone in my house with my child out here in the middle of nowhere that I met on the Internet? This was a topic I lectured every kid that ever was a student in my class. Never invite someone off the Internet into your life or home. Was I insane? I’ve read In Cold Blood. I’ve been assaulted, held at gunpoint even. I began to get agitated, and then I thought about, Vivian, my trusty rottweiler. I’ve had rottweilers for peace of mind ever since my attack. Vivian is an excellent judge of character and she seemed ok with Maryruth; although she usually likes women so she might be off her game. I got out of bed and crawled in with Henry – just in case.

November 5th Anticipation

 

  This has been a frosty run-around-and-do-errands kind of day. I went to the feed store and got cow cookies also known as packer pellets, alfalfa pellets, grain and a pair of pink overalls for Phoebe. I couldn’t resist them -so cute for the fashionable yet serious farm girl.

    I eyed Farmopoly™ for Henry because he and Tom simply love Monopoly™. Personally, I can’t stand it. Not that there is anything wrong with the game, but as a kid, my mother was a ruthless, unfeeling chortler. She would revel in my financial demise, and I have never enjoyed it.  My mother would laugh at me tell me perhaps I needed therapy – both my grandmother and my grandfather were psychiatrists. I decided against the game. Next, I went to the tractor supply store and got hydraulic fluid. This is a store not used to women. Everything comes in giant drums and there are a lot of men in overalls and sweaty farm hats calling me “darlin”

    Suddenly, as I whiz through Big Foot Java acquiring my grande drip I realize I’m going to be having my first real house guest tomorrow and I’m not prepared. Maryruth is finally coming to give me my oxen lessons. I had completely spaced. I knew she was arriving, but I'd been so caught up in the daily chores etc. I hadn't considered preparing for her. What was I thinking? I can’t ask a woman I’ve never met to sleep in that room without a few niceties. I realized there weren’t sheets for the guest bedroom or a comforter cover so I made a quick stop at Target™. And picked up some nice but inexpensive things.I still needed  a little rug for her feet when she gets out of bed, got that handled at Ross™

    When I got home, I scrounged up one of the bedside tables stuffed in the garage and I found a reading lamp that hadn’t found a home yet in the shop.

    The room is still strange with gaping holes in the drywall that lead downstairs to the furnace room. Creepy. I put a piece of wood there as a blockade. Around the top of the room is a wallpaper border of teddy bears. Henry and Phoebe think they’re evil. Always staring at them from beneath their sunbonnets with their little dresses and tiny little bow ties. Unfortunately, it’ll have to do for now. At least it’s relatively clean and private.

October 31st Scary Business

    Today I met with Kevin Houlp, a Small Business Advisor; Patty, a banker, referred me to. I met Patty because of Nina, a woman with a great coat in a coffee place. Nina is new in town too and she thought the history camp sounded wonderful and told me she’s part of a group that helps each other get a head in their business. It’s not a formal group, but nonetheless she sent me to Patty. Patty was very hopeful and listened attentively. I felt as if she truly wanted to help us, but unfortunately she is now just another banker that turned me down for a loan. Patty has the distinction of being the first woman to turn me down. She like many of the other bankers told me not to give up. She told me she was not only a banker but a mom with kids in Bellingham schools and that she did not want me to give up because she wanted her kids to be able to go to a history camp or at least go to my facility on a field trip, but her boss didn’t “get it”.  So she gave me several people to call and Kevin is one of them.

    The meeting was scary. Kevin was great, but brutal. He told me I was never going to get a loan as a history camp. He told me banks would not understand the business model. He told me I’d have to find some investors that believed in education to get behind me or it wouldn’t happen. Wow. Depressing. I have to think this through. He told me to consider becoming something else and evolving into the camp, like a bed & breakfast or a farm retreat. Hmm. I don’t know. This requires a great deal of thought.

     After my dismal-hope-dashing-meeting, the idea of picking up Henry and going trick or treating was not high on my list. But as every mother knows, mothering is not always about what you want. It’s Halloween today not tomorrow and I had to just get over myself. I went to “I Wanamoka” and got a grande drip. I figured I’d have plenty of time to think about what Kevin said tomorrow. I took a big gulp and swung by the school picked Henry up from school and sipped my coffee while I helped him change into the Jack Sparrow costume we put together with belts from ladies discount department stores etc. Henry has decided  he should walk around simulating a drunken stupor to enhance his costume.

We’re a family that takes Halloween very seriously. Things are a lacking this year due to trying to start the business and fix the house, but under normal circumstances we have a full graveyard etc. Over the years, Henry has gone as Abe Lincoln complete with beard, Hankenstein,Tutankhamen and Harpo Marx. One year when he was little we made a papier mache Humpty Dumpty egg. Just as he was going to wear it he became frightened of getting in his costume - To our shame he went as the Blue Power Ranger.

    We usually have silhouette of a larger than life witch on top of our house etc. Lisa too sews costumes like Cruella Deville. Therefore, I was feeling like quite the party pooper when I spied Chris doing his Thomas Jefferson imitation on the corner of Harris and 14th Streets while I was dressed in meeting-type clothes.

We went trick or treating in Fairhaven with Lisa, Chris & Phoebe –Quinn met up with us, but she is in middle school now which means she needed some not with the “little kids” time.      

    Fairhaven is a quaint historic section of Bellingham where the businesses give out treats and everyone walks around with either a bag of candy or a coffee depending on your age.

    We did the business district and while the costumed ones were in line to have their picture taken at the pharmacy, Quinn dressed as a pumpkin (again) joined us.

    We all went to dinner and then out into an adorable little neighborhood overlooking the bay. The houses were all decked out. The leaves were falling the jack-o-lanterns were aglow. It looked the art department came in and dressed it for an early  Jaimie Lee Curtis flick. Quinn said "It looks like this in the movies with kids laughing just before someone gets butchered." She’s right. Lisa and I used to rent a house on Orange Grove just off Sunset Blvd in Hollywood, and we lived right across the street from THE HALLOWEEN house of movie fame.

   

(Trevor as Groucho &Henry as Harpo)

For the most part we all had a great time. The kids had a tremendous haul and the adults enjoyed walking up and down the streets knocking on doors and peeking inside people’s houses to see how they’ve decorated. Love it.

    One word of caution, never answer the door and ask a small child “And what are you supposed to be honey?” This was what Phoebe, the witch, was asked over and over, because she lost her pointed hat at dinner. Not a happy question for a child. There were tears.

October 25th Waste Not

    I met with my posse today. My contractor, Bill, my engineer, Teresa -who thinks my dilapidated house is “beyond creepy”, and my architect,Todd. I have people. We met to discuss moving the project forward and applying for county permits. This process has become long, arduous and expensive. We’re just about ready to go to the county for the preliminary meeting. Not the meeting that decides anything, but the meeting where you meet to decide what the meeting will be about. It’s all very official. As my engineer put it, you have to have almost everything in your plan down to a “gnat’s eyebrow”.

    Strangely, the most difficult part of the preparation process so far has been the septic designer.  That’s right the septic designer. Now who would have thought this would be a profession fraught with attitude? I must have spoken to four septic designers before I finally found a shit consultant I could work with.

    Planning a septic system is a fairly exhaustive process. There are all these things you have to consider. What exactly are you going to be serving? Anyone who's eaten can understand this as a concern. But what you might not know is there is a product on the market used in septic systems called the Nibbler™ that breaks down the "food", waste, poop. That's right it's called the Nibbler™. You have to worry about how long will people be be at your facility? There is a formula for everything down to how many times the average person uses the facilities per half hour.  Is your soil permeable? Is it semi-permeable Or if you're a lottery ticket winner you just might have infiltrating soil. Because if you don't you have to create a hugely expensive underground concrete water vault for all the displaced water. Or create a fifty thousand dollar “water feature” with native plants to keep the water runoff from ruining the native streams and poisoning the salmon. To determine this they come and dig giant gopher holes. Then a county inspector comes every few weeks to check and see how the drainage is during the "wet" season.

October 20th An Evening Out

    Tonight was the Humane Society’s Masquerade Gala. Lisa, Chris and I went so we could begin to participate in our new community. And it sounded like fun. We all dressed up in our period clothing. I spent some time during the day in Lisa's sauna in hopes the swelling in my face would go down and I would be presentable. I looked human so I dressed in  my new Civil War gown - unfortunately I'd completely forgotten the woman had told me that it needed to be slightly altered and so she had it only pinned together in places. Lisa and Quinn pinned me in, I put a thin layer of Preparation H™ under my make up and voila.   Lisa and Chris dressed colonial for the evening's event.  I don't know what was going on with Chris' wig. It looked a little disheveled as if the good sir had a bit too much ale at some tavern along the way. Lisa was happy cloaks were part of a lady's ensemble because it was frosty out.

    We arrived and to our disappointment, there weren’t too many people in costume.  No matter, we're hams. We walked around looking at the silent auctions and put in our bids. I won a car detailing. Lisa and Chris thought considering the state of my car, I got it for an amazing price. I almost got the “Queen for a day”, this is when a staff comes to your house and while they clean your home and tend to your yard someone gives you a massage. Lisa almost wet herself laughing at the idea of these poor people arriving at my house. She’s got a real mean streak.

    After the auction we ate dinner. I suppose if I’d thought about it, but I didn’t I would have been able to guess that the humane society would serve a vegan meal. It was ok, a bit dry no reflection on the vegan aspect it just wasn't  great and there wasn't much of it. We sat at a table with a nice group people that included a veterinarian, Kris, who had just adopted a basset hound named George.  Some of Lisa and Chris’ neighbors were there, Rosina an author and her husband, the people Lisa and Chris bought their house from, Bob and Sheila who own a miniature donkey named Jacqueline.

    All in all it was a nice evening out. At the end, we introduced ourselves to Frank & Mary King. Their cats were the featured animals on the invitation and they are big supporters of the Humane Society as well as  great many other philanthropic things in Bellingham. I’m sure we were a sight  the three of us walking up in costume. Chris after all stands above the crowd you ad the tricorn hat and wacky wig he was something. Mr. King and Chris had gotten acquainted somehow earlier in the evening and so launched into some discussion while I told Mary King about life on the farm and our dreams of a history camp.  Mary said she’d like to bring her grandchildren out to the farm. It would be fabulous if someone so active in the community would be supportive. I’ll cross my fingers .

September 26th Objects are Larger Than They Appear

    I’ve bought a lot of things off the Internet, and to be honest I’ve almost always felt I’ve gotten what I paid for. I’ve bought array of things from the mundane to the slightly unusual. For example: I’ve purchased books on tape, church pews for my breakfast nook in my other house, DVDs, I’ve bought curtains, an art deco medicine cabinet, stilts, plates, my treasured Mosquito Magnets™, a butter churn, a cider press and even three Devons (cattle) but now I’d bought Paul Bunyan’s ox team.

    When the trailer pulled up and this two foot-head popped out and mooed at me. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. You know when you get something that says not actual size, but you know that means it’s always smaller. All I could think of was “What did you do now Lucy?”

   

They’re huge. HUGE. As Tom and I stood there stunned, I realized that there never was anything else in the picture for any sort of size comparison. Big Ben the 6’2” steer we saw at the Northwest Washington Fair came to mind. Yikes. They lumbered out of the trailer with their cowbells a jingle jangle jingling, as they swung back and forth from their leather collars, as nice as you please. They truly are gentle giants. I’d thought the Devons looked small when they arrived, but now next to Lefty and Pancho they look like miniature schnauzers. I keep asking myself “What have I done?” Maryruth says I can do this, so I’m going to believe her. What choice do I have, they’re here. Right?

September 14th The Meeting

    I had a meeting with our architect today. He has spent time designing a scale replica of Independence Hall.





    Of course, it has some drastic changes from the original, as it will eventually be used as a dining hall and meeting area for the camp and has to meet current codes for housing children. The interior would be as close as possible to the original, but using MDF instead of expensive wood molding.

    We’d like to use it for balls and a myriad of other activities. The architect and I discussed height restrictions and county ordinances, as well as materials that can be used to minimize cost, sprinklers that will be necessary per the fire marshal etc.

    We also discussed the look and feel of the other buildings we’d like to have in the different phases of the plans. One the first buildings we’ve discussed building is the craftsman barn, which will house the blacksmith, cooper and printer for hands-on demonstrations.



    The coffee house will be an intimate gathering place for used for teaching as well as special occasion dinners i.e. "Christmas in the Colony" etc.

    We hope it’ll be a place where people can gently slip into the past by dipping candles or pressing cider as they meet other travelers who are also dining at “The Saucy Gander”. They'll savor a cup of cider served ice cold in a pewter mug or hot and mulled depending on the season. Chat with their companions as they enter the candlelit inn. Enjoy classic 1700’s fare while they listen to music and toast friends and heroes. They’ll be pleased to make the acquaintance of an 18th century lady or gentleman who will catch them up on the current events of the day. Finally, they'll round out their evening as they kick up their heels a little with some after dinner quadrille.

    We’d like it to be a place where we can possibly hold weddings, corporate events, family reunions etc. So we can keep the period feel, the privy will be nearby, but not inside.



    Eventually, (we hope) there will be storefronts with a dress shop or a hat shop and a general store. In the rear of the buildings there will be offices and an editing room. A church will stand at the end of the square. - Tom and I feel a church is important because to truly understand colonial life it is important to understand the role of the church in the society. I know most teachers flinch when it comes to religion, but I don’t want the church to be used to persuade anyone rather it should be used to understand the time period. And if we can book it for weddings all the better. It seems Bellingham and Whatcom County in general has a real shortage of wedding venues. A lot of people use a local funeral home.

    I left with some rough sketches that might help me help bankers visualize our dream. Everyone says what a great idea it is, but no one wants to stand behind it. Yet.

September 1st Surprise!

Today is the day the Devons arrive. Everyone is going to get a little surprise. You see, I’m just a sucker for the “he’s going to the butcher” line. I couldn’t pass up “Andy”. How could I let him become sirloin? I couldn’t. So today, to the shock of many, three Milking Devons will get off the trailer.

    Paula and Rollie called just a little while ago and they’re only about 20 minutes away. They might be hungry since it’s almost lunchtime. Good thing I have my “new” hand-me-down freezer. I can whip up the Weight Watchers™ vegetarian chili recipe I learned from Michelle (the best counselor ever) in Woodland Hills. It’s so good; you can pass it off as regular food. – I didn’t tell Tom it was vegetarian or diet until he loved it. – It’s just: a bag of Morning Star™ Grillers, a can of beans- drained (black, pinto, whatever you like), a large can of crushed tomatoes, some chili powder, pepper, garlic and some cumin- then I add onion, Anaheim chilies and jalapenos to dress it up, but you don’t have to you can add squash or whatever you like. You throw it in a pot and simmer. It couldn’t be easier.

    Everything was ready when they arrived; I let lunch simmer while we unloaded the cattle. I instantly fell in love with Andy the Dandy. I thought I was going to adore Anna, but she was a lot more skittish. Andy just wanted a cookie. He loves cookies and I love him. The Devons are smaller than I expected, but I know they’re only seven months old.




    We all sat down and ate. While everyone was inhaling their chili, Paula and Rollie told me about a dozen things I needed to know and I’m sure I’ll forget. They told me about web sites, halters, feeding, vets and that Abe, Anna and Andy were named after presidents and first ladies. Perfect. In a flash, Paula and Rollie were gone, off to see their son, Andy, a mountain climber who was climbing Mt. Rainier.



    I feel a little like I did on the day I took Henry home from the hospital. A bit like a fraud, I remember, the moment, my mom and her husband Herb, drove a way from my house after Henry was born and I wondered, “Does everyone think I can do this? Do they realize I sometimes forget to feed the dogs until they remind me.”  Now I’ve got cattle.

August 27th Who You Gonna Call?

   

(Entrance Before)

    Jim from True Log Homes is coming by today to put in our grand entrance. After all, every fort even – Fort Flashback - needs a real entrance. The preparation for this has been a paperwork nightmare. First, Jim informed me that the telephone pole near our driveway would interfere with the entrance and I needed to get it moved. Tom chimed in that the telephone pole really conflicted with our whole lack-of-modern-technology concept. Great. Who do you think was going to arrange removal of the big fat telephone pole? It meant endless calls to Verizon™. First, I had to find the department that moves telephone poles. Let me assure you that this is not a question for customer service. Not only do they not know whom to refer you to, but they’re not even sure you can move a telephone pole. I spent a ridiculous amount of time arguing with these numskulls. It’s like arguing with a toddler - you just get sucked in and frustrated. I finally, finally, found a lovely woman who is The engineer I needed to speak to and found out her office is in the same parking lot where Henry takes gymnastics.  Under my nose. Once I paid the estimated amount, they had to send a crew and then the engineers had to get everything squared away. This all took time. Now that its all done we are finally getting our Fort Clatsop/Boonesboro-type entrance.

    (In the picture it still has the braces on because the cement isn't dry)

There was another problem.  A cottonwood tree. I didn't want to cut it down and we absolutely wouldn't have for aesthetics, but Tom and I had been told by three different people that our home was in grave danger. I don't know much about cottonwoods, but I understand they come down all over during the winter. Reluctantly I acquiesced.

    Henry thinks the logs look like giant pencils – he's right, but I think school starting soon is weighing heavy on his mind.

    Life in Washington is wonderful for me, but not so much for Henry. He’s lonely and miserable in our yucky house without any friends and he doesn’t feel included at the gym he’s going to. So, in the morning I’m sending him on the “Love Tour”. He’ll fly to Los Angeles for a week to see his friends Kyle, Sam, Brady and all the Iversons to and get a good dose of what he’s missing. I don’t want him to feel he’s fallen into a black hole. I know things will get better and he’ll make friends, but at ten he doesn’t see that. He just feels crummy. Henry flew with my mom’s friend, Marie, who is here visiting her sister in Canada.  Tom will meet him at the airport for some time with Daddy. After a week of being passed around from friend to friend, he’ll fly back with Chris, who will be in Los Angeles for work.
   

August 24th Shiny? No Shiny.

   

 Unbelievably, there are no nails at all in the fence. But we all agree something must be done to ensure its stability. A lot of ideas were tossed out - some thought we should take a rail and run it diagonally from the top of one post to the bottom of another, others thought we should put rebar in the fence or screw it together, but after some consideration we decided to take two pieces and wire them on either side of each joint as posts. We asked one of the people we were paying to help us around the property to get some wire and she returned with shiny silver wire. I wondered why anyone would think we’d want to put bright shiny wire on a rustic fence and have it stand out after all this effort to make it look historically correct? But then some people just don’t understand the importance of details. Anyway, once we got some charcoal-dull wire and a sturdy pair of wire clippers we were good to go. The wiring was a tiresome and tedious task, but it allows us to easily move and or reshape the fence.

The finishing touch, Tom's gate.

August 22nd You Don't Know Jack

 If we’re going to have animals in the pasture, we’re going to have to put up a fence. We can’t just put up any old fence as many people have suggested. We’ve got to be historically correct.

    Tom and I took Henry back East last spring. While we were there we visited Jamestown Settlement, Colonial Williamsburg, Gettysburg, Mt. Vernon, Monticello, Plimoth Plantation along with the Shirley Plantation, Pamplin ParkMuseum of the Confederacy, Independence Hall, Historic Philidelphia, West Point and the Boston Area. It was fun, exciting and exhausting, but our whirlwind tour was really a research expedition. We took pictures of things like lamps, tables, fences, door handles, shutters, paint colors, window treatments, fabrics and other details that make a place feel authentic. So when, it came to our pasture there wasn’t a doubt in our minds, we were going to put up a “Jack” fence or a “Virginia Snake” fence as it’s also called. The same fence they have at Williamsburg,

(Williamsburg fence)

It’s simple really - it’s like playing with Lincoln Logs™. The tricky part is laying out the fence and keeping it straight while the individual sections zig and zag. This we accomplished with a long tape and twine. We used markers to measure the angles of the fence.

(our finished fence)


    Once all the wood had been delivered, putting up the fence went amazingly fast. We started out by laying out the bottom layer on all the sides. The hardest part was constantly loading and unloading the truck. Luther wants to sit in the truck while all the work is going on, because basset hounds make natural foremen, and no one can deny they look real comfortable and natural in a truck.






   


All morning and afternoon we worked, loading the rails in the truck up by the barn and then driving down to the pasture. We’d get out and everyone each of us would take a rail, then go this way or that layering it into place. Then we’d do it again. Henry worked, we all worked. I thought it was really going take a long time, but it’s going on two days and the fence is almost completely done.  We put bricks under the joints when we were about three and four rails into it to keep wood off the ground so it wouldn’t rot, and we figured this would allow for any further toad migrations through the property.



    After a long day in the blazing sun building the fence, we all decided to take a dip in the pond. The kids and dogs raced ahead. I got there, took off my boots, rolled up my blue coveralls and plopped my feet in the water as I saw Henry sail past me into the ice-cold water. When Henry came up for air he I thought he was going to scream, but he just kept swimming to the little island at the other side of the pond. Once there, I didn’t think he was going to get in the water to come back. Quinn heard his cries of anguish and decided that a pond of melted snow might not be her thing, but after a while she was cajoled into it. Phoebe and I just dangled our toes as we watched Quinn shriek and carry on like she was being chased by a hive of bees.

    Next, the kids tried to get the dogs in the pond. Luther was having none of it. Vivian tippy-toed in a tiny bit, but quickly wriggled out of her collar and down it went. No one could see it - the water was too stirred up and green from plant life. We got into the inflatable raft we bought at Kmart™ and tried to look down through the water, but everything was just too stirred up. We came back later hoping we could see it once things had settled, but without any luck. My dad said he’d go out and get Miss Vivian a new collar in the morning.

 

August 20th Goldilocks

 Now that we have dairy goats we’ve got to milk them. As we’re not yet seasoned farm-types this is exciting but a bit of an ordeal. First, we had to erect a milking station. If you were a seasoned milker you no doubt would have a milking parlor.

    Tom, with some help from Mr. Fix-It, went to work constructing a first-class milking station. You have to watch Tom - he doesn’t understand the concept of “just getting it done.” His philosophy is “If you don’t do it right it’s not worth doing,” and generally I’m grateful that his standards are so high. It means that everything he does is gorgeous. He is an old–school craftsman. However, if I don’t keep a sharp eye on him I might have an exquisite milking station made of hand-planed mahogany with carvings of the Alps etched into the side. Rachel and Christina were full and needed to be milked now.

    When the station was complete, we tried to get Rachel in. This was a little like a Laurel and Hardy movie. First, Rachel didn’t want to climb up. Why? I don’t know. She’s a goat and they’re supposed to climb things, right? We tried pushing and pulling individually and pushing and pulling together. We tried grain, we tried coaxing, but Rachel wasn’t moving. Goats are 100 pounds of sheer will. I was learning fast why we’ve incorporated “stubborn as a goat” into our vernacular.  We gave up on Rachel.

    Next, we tried Christina. Well, she hopped right up there. No problem. We poured some grain in a dish just like Marcia had instructed and began milking. Teeny-tiny streams of milk came out. Seconds later she was done with her grain and trying to get off the station. So we farm geniuses realized we needed some way to strap her head in. We tried again with more grain. Teeny-tiny white streams came out. We all tried. Henry and Phoebe were doing the best with this odd squeeze-the-bag technique that frankly looked to me like it would hurt, but perhaps I was empathizing too much. I was not one for breast-feeding, so I what do I know.

    After the morning milking, we had the problem of Riley. He had a double trauma. He’d just been weaned and “banded”. Yesterday. He was screaming his head off, poor guy. The other goats, Rachel, Christina and Alexander had been together at times, but the way Marcia had things set up the does and the bucks were kept separated, for obvious reasons. Alexander had also been a buck or Billy goat– until yesterday. He and Riley now wear rubber bands around their testicles. I’m told they’ll eventually fall off. I kid you not. Fall off. This is not something I’m looking forward to, but if Laura Ingalls Wilder could do it then I can too,  - Billy goats are nasty. They are unbelievably stinky creatures, “perfuming” themselves with their own urine. They do unbelievable things that most men would do too, if they could, but they can’t (Reminding me of the book The Timetraveler’s Wife from my book club). These beasts will try to mount anyone and anything in sight. I couldn’t see subjecting seven-year-old Phoebe to this kind of behavior.

    Back to the farm- the rest of the herd was ostracizing Riley. He was trying to nurse off Rachel and Christina, but they were not obliging. They kept kicking him in the head. Marcia had given us several nipples so we tried making up a bottle and giving it to Riley. This didn’t go much better than the milking. Most of the milk ran down the side of his neck. The hole was too big. We tried again. Now the hole was too small. I felt like Goldilocks. We just couldn’t seem to get it together. It was terrible.

    Then, as necessity is the mother of invention, we tried holding Rachel’s hind leg after hoisting her up onto the milking station. We gave her a bunch of grain and she stood there on three feet feasting while we let Riley, the best-little-milker in Washington milk her dry. He was fast and he knew what he was doing. Success!

    We still have to learn how to milk more efficiently, but at least we’ve got Riley as a fallback .

August 19th A Cute Little Ass

 This afternoon we’re going to get a donkey.  Lisa says I’m like a hound on a scent when I get going. Admittedly, this quality can be annoying, but it does get things done.

    I looked all over the Internet –searched site after site including craigslist.org ruralheritage.com. I even called to find out about getting one from the Bureau of Land Management, but none of these efforts led anywhere. They had donkeys but they were either too expensive or located in Idaho or somewhere in the South. I had just had a road trip with three dogs and a 10-year-old and really I wasn’t ready for another one with a donkey.

    I was puzzled as to my next step until I remembered Del’s Farm Supply. I called and asked if they had any ideas. The very helpful lady told me that, in fact, there was a sign up right now. It said, “Donkeys in Anacortes for Sale – call Vern”. I called Vern. I told him why I wanted a donkey and that, although I had horses growing up, I knew very little about donkeys. Vern was fabulous. He said he’d wrangle up some starter donkeys. I wasn’t quite sure what a starter donkey was, but since he had thirty donkeys all together, he said I’d have a few to pick from.

    Now, even I didn’t think I could get a donkey in the Odyssey, so I started looking into trailers. I found one in town and the guy I rented it from helped me hook it up.

    Naturally, I called my psychic twin, otherwise known as my sister Lisa. Actually, Lisa is 2 - 1/2 years younger than I, but she tends to act like the older sister. I think it’s a doctor thing. She’s really everything to me. Oh, she bugs me and frustrates me and I yell at her like I wouldn’t yell at another human being on Earth. Yet she buys me a cup of coffee on her birthday and I wouldn’t do anything, including move to Washington or get a donkey without her - and her girls (Quinn & Phoebe).

    Anyway, back to Vern. Vern lives in the house next to the where house he was born, and where his daughter and her family now live. He has a herd of over 30 donkeys, 6 llamas and 5 alpacas- he’s been thinning the herd, he used to have a lot more. At 92, he thought it was time to cut back a little.
There were several donkeys in a small corral in the middle of a very large field bordered by woods at one end. In the field, twenty-four other donkeys were milling about. While we stood there, Vern told us a bit about each donkey. After showing us all the donkeys, he recommended Roseanne.  There was a mother-daughter team he would only sell together, a pair of best friends that needed to go together too, and a mule. I didn’t want two donkeys.  We needed a donkey not a mule, so this narrowed things down. Then there was Roseanne. She was mostly white. At first, I didn’t find Roseanne too cute. Henry didn’t take to her initially either, but after a little while he grew to adore her because she was quite snuggly, if not beautiful. The girls liked her immediately.

    Prior to this I never would have said a donkey was pretty, but when I saw one of the other donkeys in the corral, I couldn’t help it. She was stunning. Henry thought she was cute, too. Nonetheless, we weren’t here for a beautiful donkey, we were here for a good livestock guardian and you know how well I do at first impressions.

    We agreed on a price and Vern led Roseanne toward the trailer. That’s when it happened. My son, in his new-found love for Roseanne, was so smitten he went running after her to be near her. Running is not an action a donkey reacts well to. Roseanne was gone - lead rope and all. For the next two hours Vern, his grandson, Quinn, Phoebe, Lisa, Vern’s daughter and I chased Roseanne. We made a human chain, we snuck up on her and we tried to trick her. Roseanne was having none of it. She ran off into the woods Vern owned and didn’t come back. These donkeys were all sort of wild and I was getting more than a tad bit nervous about what I was getting into. But I had goats to protect. We were now at the point in the evening where we either had to pick another donkey or come back another day. Henry was heartbroken. Roseanne was the only donkey that would do. We took the looker, her name is Miracle.

    Once again, I called Gina as I now towed a donkey behind my Odyssey on the 5. Gina said the book club was never going to believe this.

    One thing I learned tonight, when you own a donkey, you hear ass jokes. I heard a million of them on the ride home. Quinn is the queen of ass jokes. “I always knew Denise had a cute ass.” “We knew Henry would have a big hairy ass one day.”   “It’s hard getting Denise to move her ass”.

    I called ahead, so Tom, my dad and Mike had Miracle’s stall all ready.  Miracle had not been easy to load. It took Vern and his very strong teenage grandson to get her in. Now, we had to get her out. To everyone’s surprise she just came out and went in the barn. Tom took one look at Miracle and fell in love. He went on endlessly about how Miracle could be a show donkey.







I always knew he was a real ass.

    I’ll feel better tonight when I hear the coyotes, howling knowing my watch-donkey is now on duty  .

August 18th I Got Your Goat

 Traveling down Highway 5 for an HOUR with FOUR goats in the back of my Honda Odyssey was not something I could ever have imagined. The noise, the beards, the pee. Three goats taking turns nibbling at my DVD player and looking out the back window, the baby riding snuggled up in Henry’s lap. It required me calling my friend Gina and giving her a firsthand account, because I needed someone other than family to verify the event. She was relieved to hear I put a tarp down, but felt strongly I was going to need more than a car wash; a full detailing was going to be necessary to rid the van of the pungent aroma.

    We unloaded Rachel, at three the oldest (yellow)

and the mother of Christina (purple).

How can you separate the two?

Then there’s Alexander, who was going to be butchered if we didn’t take him (black),

and the baby Riley(orange),

named for Jim Riley of Riley’s Farm in California. After all, you have to get a baby. We went for two and ended up with four, and we’re not even talking about breeding yet.



    Our handyman created a goat pen, but he didn’t have goat pens on his resume. I guess it’s like anything, until you bring the goats home you really can’t imagine what it’s going to be like. Just like baby-proofing the house. Before you have one that crawls you don’t see the coffee table or the fireplace as lethal weapons. It’s the same with goats. I just didn’t see the coyote access until my defenseless little charges were quietly munching on their hay. Tom and I got so nervous after seeing three coyotes we put all the goats in the chicken coop slash tool shed. I hate chickens, I’m afraid of chickens. They leap and flutter, peck and squawk and so I have no desire or plan to ever use that area for anything other than a tool shed, but we’ll have to coyote-proof the barn in the morning. – Strangely Toby loves chickens.

    I’ve now spent the better part of the evening researching how to protect Rachel, Christina, Alexander and Riley from harm. It seems there are three options. The first choice as livestock guardian is the Anatolian Shepherd. Great, but my dad’s puppy is hardly going to help now as it’s only a couple weeks old and he hasn’t even seen the litter yet. Not to mention that my father’s philosophy is “one bite for me and one bite for my dog”. He takes better care of the dogs than his grandchildren, which means his dog isn’t going to be sleeping in the barn.

    The next option is a llama. They are ferocious and extremely efficient at taking care of herds. Not a bad way to go, but not exactly colonial.

    The final and my favorite is a donkey. Donkeys are great guardians, according to all accounts. They have three methods of attack. They stomp at a predator like a flamenco dancer or they run away as if afraid and then launch their hind legs at the predator, and, finally they bite with their tremendous jaws. Perfect. Now where do you get a donkey?