As The Butter Churns

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