As The Butter Churns

November 8th Shadow Of A Doubt

(The Red Baron - Irish wearing protective eyewear)

    I woke up to a wet nose being shoved into my eye socket. Sleepily, I reached my hand out to snuggle the baby giant. This would be Irish’s one and only attempt to wake me before he peed a puddle the size of one of the Great Lakes - infamously known in our house as ”Lake Irie”. Despite the dark morning, this is motivation, as I go through Costco packs of paper towels like other people use milk. I opened one eye and peered at the clock - 5:30AM. Reluctantly, I threw back the covers, slipped my feet into my fuzzy slippers, threw on Pea’s tattered, but warm red robe and shuffled down the stairs. Opened the front door and put Irish on the porch before going back to bed for another hour of sleep.

    Still dark at 7:00AM in the Pacific Northwest. I finally got out of bed and forced myself to go outside and feed the barn animals before taking the time to brew my coffee. I felt selfless, virtuous and proud of myself. As I was about to open the barn door I saw a humongous print.

(paw print by barn)

    I wondered what animal had been so close to the barn. I opened the barn doors and released the geese. Honking and flapping, they made their way outside, only to turn around - as they often do - wondering what’s taking me so long. They all came back inside to watch me let the goats, sheep and Miracle out of their pens, but they lost interest as I went about separating flakes and feeding the four-footed animals.

    I was dutifully filling up the goats' water when I heard the geese begin shrieking. Dropping the hose, I ran across the rocky driveway, struggling to keep my slippers on by curling my toes and holding the red robe up so I wouldn’t trip as I awkwardly tromped.

    Irish was off the porch and chasing the geese. I began calling for help. Screaming over and over, “Henry! Help! Irish! NO! Henry! Help! Irish! NO!” Poor Mabel had been singled out and was flapping and running for her life. I caught up to them as Irish had his mouth around her neck. I don’t think he meant to harm her. I threw my robe over Mabel. It worked, and Irish bounded off in another direction. He cornered the rest of the gaggle as I continued screaming for help, my throat hoarse. I couldn’t keep him away from every goose. He’s unbelievably agile and incredibly fast. I felt very alone and desperate as I screamed for help. Bruno momentarily distracted Irish, so I seized the opportunity and ran up to the door pounding and screaming. No one came. I ran back toward the geese, toes curled, to usher the gaggle to safety in the dog run. Once they were inside, Irish ran around happy as you please with the rat-bat dog, Bruno. Bruno probably couldn’t outrun Irish on a straightaway, but then again, he’s not dumb enough to try. Rather, he darts around like a bullet, making quick turns Irish can’t keep up with. Truly a big baby, Irish just wanted someone to chase and to chase him. Mabel was not as forgiving. 

    About this time, Henry came out and I yelled hoarsely for him to turn off the hose in the barn. I figured it was flooding all over the place. I realized that when I had let Irish out this morning the gate must not have been closed. Wayne had come in late and probably left it open, so all this time Irish had been wandering around enjoying his freedom. It was his footprint by the barn. Obviously, my brush with the cougars had left me paranoid. We did not have large predators coming this close to the house. I went inside and brewed my coffee. I had really earned this pot.

    After that, the day went on quite nicely. I haven’t mentioned it but, sadly, Kristie moved out of my dad’s apartment above the shop and in with her friend, Jena on November 1st. I was very sorry to see her go. We didn’t do all that much together, but the occasional glass of wine and knowing there was another woman around was comforting. However, today my new tenant, Alexis, moved in. He’s a great guy who moved here from just south of San Francisco.

(Alexis bearing gifts of coffee, cookies, pinot grigio and dog biscuits from Trader Joes™)

    Alexis is the kind of guy who jumps right in. His first real day here and he offered to help Henry in the barn while I finally took down the now out-of-place and goose-ravaged graveyard. The moment Alexis produced an impressive Butterfly knife Henry was an immediate Alexis fan. After what seemed to Henry a socially acceptable amount of time, he asked Alexis where he got his unusual name. “After all, it is kinda odd for a boy.” The answer seems to be his mother was French and his father was Greek so they chose a name that would suit both cultures. There’s another version according to his cousin in North Carolina that has to do with a czar, but we’ll leave that for another time.

    It was past time for me to grain the cows, which made me a little nervous. Gallantly, Alexis offered to join me. We walked down and I showed him where I’d been standing when I’d seen the cougar and where the cougar had been. Not wanting to freak him out, I said that many people had lived on Mosquito Lake Road for twenty years and had never seen a cougar. “In fact, Wayne says I’ll probably never see another one, which is OK by me."

    The evening brought Wayne, Henry, Alexis and me together for a celebration of his first real night on the farm. Naturally, our fare included chili, chocolate-butterscotch cookies and “Journey to The Center of the Earth”. Poor Alexis had every single animal on his lap for a time. A good sport, he hugged, snuggled, petted and accepted kisses from Bruno, Abbey, Luther, Irish, Emmet, Vivian and love-starved Deli – who inexplicably lights up when Alexis walks in the room.

    After the movie, Wayne sleepily climbed the stairs to his attic world while I walked Alexis out to the front porch. We stood there in the bright moonlight talking about the beauty of the place, the pros and cons of living here and whatever else entered our minds. As I was talking to Alexis I noticed a movement behind him in the shadows. Ever paranoid, I doubted myself. Wondering if my eyes or the shadows were playing tricks on me, I asked Alexis to turn and tell me if he saw it too. He looked and, after a moment, said slowly, “Yes, I do. There’s something light-colored there. I can see it moving. I wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

    “It’s a cougar, isn’t it?”

(taken the next day from the porch - the cougar was on the other side of the driveway between the pine tree on the left and the post on the right)

    “Yes, it is. It’s definitely a cougar. Look at how it moves,” he answered almost inaudibly. As we watched a giant version of Emmett slink casually down the path between the apple trees and along the pasture fence line, I ran inside to get a flashlight. The big one Tom bought me didn’t work. Again. So I grabbed a little one and ran outside, yelling to Henry we had a cougar in the front yard. We held up the flashlight and, sure enough, two green eyes blinked back at us. The cougar had been about eighty feet away from the house.

     “Hey, do you want to hop in my jeep and go see if we can get a closer look?” Cool. A new playmate.

    “Is it a hard top?” I queried hesitantly. Small chuckle.

     “Good question. Yes, it is a hardtop.”

    “Heck Yeah. Let’s go. I’ll grab my camera.” I ran inside and asked Henry if he wanted to go.

    “Uh. NO! I do not. Mom, I don’t think you should go out looking for cougars either. Moms don’t do that when they have children.”

    “This one does. I want to see one, just not standing next to me.”

    As we hoisted ourselves into the jeep, I glanced up to Wayne’s room because I knew he’d want to go too, but it was dark and I didn’t want to wake him to go on what would probably be a wild goose chase (my second today).

    Scanning the pasture, trees and surrounding brush for eyes, we saw raccoon eyes, and a lone doe, but no cat so we returned home from our safari planning our next adventure. We thought we’d do a beaver pond stakeout. We’d need blankets and hot beverages, flashlights.

October 7th Braveheart

(fall leaves)

    Mike came up from Tacoma today to visit and help me do some bookkeeping. We chatted a bit catching up before we hunkered down with matching coffee cups in the dining room and spread everything out on the table.

    Hours rolled by as we sorted, piled, noted, filed and recorded all sorts of information. We looked up and it was suddenly 2:00PM and we were starving. I knew Mike would never actually cook anything and I did owe him for diligently helping with this tedious job. I began grilling turkey melts when I heard a noise and Deli started barking fiercely. Not taking any chances I turned off the stove and went to investigate. Looking outside I saw Irish who is normally confined to the porch during his convalescence standing on the driveway wagging his tail looking down toward the creek.
 (career criminal)
    “Irish is out!” I cried frantically for many reasons. First, Irish might run in the road if a motorcycle came by. Second, he might re-injure his leg with too much activity and third, I remembered. “The geese are out! Where are the geese? Irish hasn’t been with the geese unsupervised. EVER. I don’t know if he’ll hurt them.” Mike came dashing out, as much as a man with bad knees can dash. Just as he was about to come down the steps, I called to him to get one of the air horns from the kitchen just in case. He disappeared into the house. I figured, the noise would shock Irish if he grabbed one of the geese. “He’s got them in the brush below the hill!” I was scared. I didn’t know how long he had been out. He’s not a mean dog, but he’s just so big and rambunctious. I raced down and started calling him toward me. He loped over to me tail wagging as bouncy as you please and at the last moment darted out of my grasp. If he could have laughed he would have. Happily he toyed with me enjoying his freedom. Dashing from me to the geese in the tall grass as if he'd read the Notre Dame playbook. I could hear honking, but I didn’t know if any of them were injured. And then just because Irish is truly still a puppy, he walked up on the porch and gave up. Game over. 

    Mike immediately locked him in the house while I went to see how the geese were. To my shock and dismay I only found one. You never find just one alone. I called. “Hey, hey, hey little geese, hey hey hey” and waited. I trounced down into the tall grass calling them over and over. Nothing. Just Quackmire came flapping up to the top of the hill walking around aimlessly looking for his flock. I scooped him up in my arms snuggling him. He stuck his bill in the crook of my neck. He seemed to be shaking a little. I whispered to him telling him he was ok now. Then I called to Mike, “I only can find one goose!”

     “Just one?” (Quackmire)

    “Yes!” Fearing broken necks, feathers and white fluffy bodies stained with blood strewn about the yard. I held onto Quackmire not budging. I’d have started looking if I had to, but Mike was there and I could see he was already searching the property. Had there been a massacre while we were sitting just inside working? Had I let them down?

     “Denise! I can’t find them. I don’t hear them” The latter being even stranger if you know anything about geese.

    “Do you see feathers?”

    “I see some, but not enough to indicate anything, I’ll keep looking.” I waited with Quackmire on the grass his breast feathers soft against my cheek. Would he be alone now? I thought of Dr. Coffee who wants to get goslings from me in the spring. We just sat Quackmire and I.

    “Denise! Denise!” Mike called frantically.

    “Are they alive?”

    " They’re in the barn!”

     “All of them?” (everything's ok)

    “I counted seven.”  I breathed a sigh of relief. As I walked over to the barn I realized that Quackmire is their leader and he probably lured Irish away from the flock. Knowing the barn is their haven they went inside. I looked at cranky Quackmire with a whole new respect. He had sacrificed himself for his family. He was no chicken, he was one brave goose. I mean gander.

October 2nd Goosed

   

    A foggy morning turned into a rainy day. I stayed inside drinking coffee and applying online for jobs. Fred Meyer™ is one of our local markets and while I was there one of the checkers heard me lamenting to Toby the other day about all the places I’d applied.

    “You’re over-qualified, aren’t you?”
    “I suppose,” I said drably.

    “You should apply here. I’m over-qualified. I have a Ph.D., but they hired me when no one else would. I needed a job just to pay for our propane.”

    

Resolving to fill out yet another online application I brewed a pot of coffee and started to work. I called Mike and to verify some our employment dates and grumbled about the twenty pages of psychological questions. Not twenty questions, twenty pages. Two hours and several cups of coffee later I finished and went outside for some fresh air.

    I couldn’t believe my eyes. It looked like snow on the ground, but I knew it wasn’t snow. It was crumbles of foam core. (nibbled tombstones)

The geese had eaten the tombstones. I ran from the porch and found the gluttons asleep in the graveyard. They showed no appearance of remorse.
(Quackmire!)
They dared me to come after them. I took that dare. Rounded them up and put them in the dog run. They honked and carried on, but there was no way they were getting out of jail now. So there they sat, incarcerated.

    The rain was coming down in sheets now, but I was not to be deterred. We’d finally gotten these decorations up and they were going to stay up. I remembered the plastic net Mike and I had attempted to use for the garden and retrieved it from the chicken coop. I knew it wouldn’t keep much out, but I figured it would be fairly invisible from the road and hopefully goose-proof. I considered Wikihow and wondered if they might have something on keeping geese out. I decided to try my idea first. I went to the garden and found a few measly tomatoes still hanging on the tomato trellises but pulled them anyway. I used the light and easy-to-manipulate trellises as stakes to support my makeshift net fence. (goose barrier from the road)

    When I finished constructing it my goose barrier looked pretty pathetic. It was floppy and frankly sloppy.  But if Alfred is any indication, it worked. He didn’t see it at first and ran right into the thing. Baam! Completely confused, he started flapping and honking and charged forward once again. He bounced back and gave up. I love it when a plan comes together. Especially on the first try. So what if I'm not smarter than a goat, I can still outwit a goose
. (goose fence up close)

    As for the tombstones, Tom always thought they looked too pristine. He thought old tombstones should be crumbly and have chunks out of them. It seems our goose faux aging process was fortuitous. A little stone spray paint and they’ll be better than new.

September 28th I Want My Mummy

   

(Halloween has arrived early)

    I’ve had a dream. It’s not a big dream like world peace or even a lofty dream like financial independence.  I simply want to park in my garage. It’s not something I thought would happen, after Wayne moved all his bikes and and tools and stuff in, but I clung to it nonetheless.

    Just after lunchtime while I was painting - what else but trim,  Wayne came to tell me there was something big in the garage and he didn’t know what to do with it. He and Tom were putting together some shelves and they needed to know where to put this. I was stunned to see my “mobile barn” transformed into a normal suburban vehicle sitting in a ship shape garage with shelves. A newly painted garage I might add. (Wayne makes my dreams come true)

    Like the garage, I know little by little things are improving around here. Last year we were so overwhelmed we were completely holiday free. No Christmas tree, no stockings, no Easter eggs and certainly no Halloween decorations were ever so much as lifted out of their storage boxes. And we have decorations. A plethora of skulls, Marcus the Carcass various mummies, black cat silhouettes a giant witch for the top of the house and best of all our graveyard perfect to complete the haunted house feel.
(Henry and Pea get going)
    Tom announced since he could now access the Halloween decorations out of the garage he was getting out all the tombstones. A few years ago we made tombstones for the front yard. Tom constructed them out of foam core, I did the research – as they’re all actual tombstones – Henry and I burned the letters and did some of the “stone” painting, but as you might have guessed, Pea did the construction and little flourishes. During the move and subsequent storage they’d incurred some damage and needed repair.  So as I went back to my new career – painting the trim on the house, they set to starting Halloween.
  (Miracle helps Tom)
    There was much discussion as to what to put where. We all walked up and down the road to find the best position for the graveyard. Should it be facing the road or the pasture. Should the witch be put on the house or the apartment? Toby, Bruno, Henry Pea and I stood there staring. Envisioning. Dean thought the whole thing a waste of time because who would ever drive down Mosquito Lake Road and see it? He had a point, but we ignored it as he was spoiling our fun. We came to a group consensus and were walking back when we saw fresh bear scat.
(Henry,Pea & friends make repairs)
    “Well, now we know what the dogs were barking at last night.” Tom laughed at the thought of Laurie running into a black bear on the way to the car. We looked around and found a well-worn path from the road to the apple trees. (Dean relaxes by Zeke) (one of the tombstones) (another tombstone)
(and another) (Pea give Alexander a hand)

    Almost out of hay, we let the goats, sheep and Miracle graze in the yard as the graveyard progressed all afternoon. First repairs, then lighting, then the timer ad to be rigged. The skeleton was strung over the entry and the mummy put into place.
 (graveyard)

(skeleton hanging from the entry)

 (Our Halloween House)
(Ahh finally my Mummy)
    The final touch? The doorbell was changed from the cougar scream which was set to torment me after my near death experience in July to a more appropriate ghoulish ghost moan. Our nightmare before Christmas was now complete.

September 14th Uplifting Experience

(my trusty helpers)

     After dropping Henry off at school, I nervously rented the paint sprayer at Hardware Sales rental department. I say nervously because I was very worried about painting with a paint sprayer. I didn’t think it was brain surgery, but I figured it might be hard not to create drips that will run down the side of the house. I didn’t want to spend an enormous amount of time, energy and money to do a poor job.

    Mac, the girl at the counter, assured me it was pretty easy once you got the hang of it. Indulging my fears she recommended I get their “Z” boom so I’d feel safe while trying to paint the upper portion of the house. It looked great, sounded great and was only $200.00. I thought my life still worth this much so I rented it for the day –and as a Lucky Strike Extra - it was Friday, which meant I could keep it all weekend.
(Craig delivers the "Z" Boom)

    Craig, the delivery guy arrived by 2:00PM and instructed me on the use of the machine. It looked fun. The only problem I found out is the hill on the most dangerous side of the house is too sloped for the machine. Consequently, a piercing warning bell sounds off in a relentless rhythmic pattern– signaling the machine is positioned in such a way as to “cause serious injury or death”. Suddenly, I didn’t feel any better.
(Up on the scary side for a test drive)

    As it turns out, the “Z” boom wasn’t fun at all. In fact, it was absolutely terrifying. I felt as though I was standing on top of a Ferris wheel the entire time. Of course, I took all the necessary precautions; I wore a harness and secured it to the machine. Donned ear protection to drown out all the warning bells despite common sense. Got a respirator for the fumes and goggles to protect my eyes from over-spray. To keep my hair from turning Colonial White, I wrapped up my hair up in red bandanas giving me a sort of Aunt Jemima look. (The not so scary side)

    Using the simple picture controls and joystick I stretched the boom to its full height. I stood there frozen. The machine looked and felt wiggly as it tilted down the hill. As directed, I turned it off so the bells wouldn’t sound and began spraying my primer coat. When I finished, I couldn’t turn the machine back on. Now in full panic, I could feel my spine tense up. “What would I do?” I started screaming for help. I called Toby, Henry, Dean, but they’d all gone inside for some reason or another and couldn’t hear me. I was alone. Like a squirrel caught in the middle of the Champs Elysee, I stood motionless trying to breathe gripping the safety bars. Terror stricken I just stood there and stood there afraid to move my feet. Wondering if I would have to climb down. I didn’t want to climb down. I would slip I would fall. I considered my funeral. Lisa new what to serve, Tom could make margaritas. I’d planned the whole thing – I’d go Mexican. Henry would need a new suit, the one he has is too small. It was after all my last party. I didn’t want it messed up. As I stood there I had more time to think. I worried about all the unopened mail Lisa’d find. She’d find all the stuff I hadn’t filed yet. My office was a mess. I had to get down from here. I had dirty laundry. Slowly, I turned and tried the engine. Miraculously it started. I felt guilty for every single time I had made fun of my mother’s fear of heights. I’m becoming a little old lady; soon I’ll be nervous looking down from the edge of a steep sidewalk.
(Out of the box) (while I'm up there I might as well get some trim done)

    Despite my fear, I went up and down in that thing all weekend. I never really made friends with it, but I did my best. My best did not include taping off the top windows - I refused to lean out that far. Tom could scrape them later. My best did not include getting a third coat on the cedar shingles at the top, because the wheels of the boom began slipping and spinning and my best did not include keeping the upper roofs free of over-spray. At the end of the weekend, I felt as though I’d been on one of those Oprah episodes where she and Gail jump off poles of ridiculous heights to face their ultimate fears and build character. I have to admit I felt proud of myself for doing it, and I did become used to it in a way, but as Craig drove Big Blue away. I was happy.
(with my beloved safety harness)

August 20th Dancing Queen

(Emmett surveys his home)

    Our sunny streak ended and it rained hard most of the day Tuesday. Henry and I put buckets in the barn to catch drips near the hay and in several places inside the goose pen. The drips rhythmic symphony was annoying and stirred up my feathered-friends. I’d have to patch the roof when the sun emerged. Henry tended to the feeding while wired the last sections of fence water dripping in my eyes. Bruno darted in and out while we were working.

    Bruno is no purse dog. He is pure farm dog through and through. Zooming by, darting here and there. You could almost hear the “Mission Impossible” theme song as he squeezed through the gate into the goat pen grabbed some highly coveted goat poop and trotted quickly out before downing it. It's almost impossible to fence him in. He can squeeze through the pickets in the garden. He goes between the gate and the post - I might have to get him a shock collar for some of these places.
(Bruno in the grass)
(Bruno on the run- but not frightened) (Bruno getting to know Miracle - I am worried about him getting in with her- he doesn't get how lethal she is)

    In the morning, I opened all the doors in the barn so all the animals could all enjoy the fresh green grass. Miracle quickly came out to investigate. She began trotting around and nibbling at the grass contentedly, but as soon as any of the others came out she pinned her ears back and ran them out of the area. I watched for a while as they slowly they all tried again. She tolerated them briefly and ran them out again.
(Tolerant Miracle welcoming guests)
(The queen is not receiving visitors)

They continued this dance until we left for football camp. As we drove away Miracle gave us a bray farewell. She’d watched us intently the last couple of days and I guess she thought Tom had built this area just for her.  I think she's right.
(I guess they can all kiss her. . .)

August 10th When It Rains

(Henry goes William Tell on a rotten round bale)

    We had many plans, we didn’t do this weekend. We were going to go to a
Civil war re-enactment at Hovander Park and to a Blues jamboree at the Deming Logging Show grounds, but it rained. Every time I mentioned going somewhere, the kids looked at me incredulously from the sofa wrapped in blankets still in their pajamas as the Olympics blared non-stop from the television. Rain doesn’t generally stop us, but it rained as hard as I’ve ever seen. Loud pounding rain that punished my metal barn roof seams creating drips and drabs all over my hay, which causes all sorts of rot.

(Irish makes sure Bruno doesn't steel his thunder)

   So the kids and I spent most of our time indoors playing Clue™ and Pictionary™ while we made Brown Sugar Peach ice cream (no one liked the chunks of peach) and tried our hand at Banana(Kimona learned pureeing doesn't mean squishing with your hands). None of us liked either as much as the Pumpkin Pie ice cream. Kimona is determined to try the Banana Maple recipe she saw in Hobby Farm™ magazine and she keeps muttering things like “Do you have a vanilla bean? Is heavy cream the same as whipping cream?”
(Sam after target practice)
    We did do a couple of things that marked the weekend. I spoke to my friend Russ who grew up on a farm in Ohio and he gave me tips on sheep and pigs (just in case).

    We mixed the goats, sheep and Miracle together. The goats it turns out are bullies. Rachel was constantly rearing up trying to establish her royalty and the goats, like the children stare blankly back wondering if she realizes they’re sheep. Miracle chased them around, but stopped every time I caught her. I’d yell “What do you think you’re doing?” and she’d come to an abrupt halt, put her head down and peer over at me. Guilty. I know this look. This is the same look I get from Henry when I ask him if he’s cleaned the cat box.
(Kimona covered more in cement than the walkway)

    Wayne came over and worked on the attic, taping seams, mudding and sanding. Kimona and I did some cement in the momentsbetween deluges while Sam practiced shooting and Henry honed his archery skills. We even did some laundry.
(Lloyd once again tries a taste of the cement - I have to once again rinse his mouth out in the baby pool before it hardens)

 

    As I was going to sleep, I noticed I hadn’t seen Alvin and Scarlett in some time. I put food in their dishes and waited. Only Emmett arrived on the scene. I went looking for them, but didn’t see them anywhere. I listened and heard the tiniest faintest mew. I followed the sound up into the attic. I looked around but neither cat was in view. I called their names and stood there listening, wondering where they could be. I heard the mew again. It was coming behind a small attic door that Wayne had screwed shut. They were entombed Indiana Jones style. I went and found a screw gun and opened the door. The noise must have freaked them out because they were nowhere to be seen. I propped the door open and went back to bed. Waiting. Suddenly, there they were on top of my dresser eating hungrily. Safe.
(kitty tomb)

    I tried impossibly to find a place to put my foot, to get comfortable, but it was no use. Henry is sleeping in my bed as Sam is in his. We also have to make room for a disgruntled Vivian a shivering Luther an angry Emmett (seriously annoyed at the arrival of Bruno, the rat-sized dog) and a snuggly Bruno under the covers. Deli is sleeping with Kimona and Irish is the only one currently acting like a dog sleeping on a dog bed. I lay in bed positioned like a pretzel listening to the rain as I thought about the men’s Olympic relay team beating the French. I wondered how that was going over in Paris. "Smash the Americans" huh? Au contraire mon ami.

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.

July 28th Ready Or Not

  (view as we drove home from gymnastics in the afternoon)

    A spectacular day with bright sunshine and cool shadows, a day to play outside a day for running, screaming, giggling, plotting and planning: Hide & Seek tag was on!

    Quinn and Kimona, the masterminds of the game, certainly had an unfair advantage: they’re a year older and – well, they’re girls. The boys however, aren’t stupid so don’t feel too sorry for them. The rules were simple

1. Each team of two must stay together.

2. Each team must have a noisemaker of some kind. A cowbell or air horn – to give up or in case of trouble.

3. No hiding in the bushes or grass so that you look like easy prey.

4. No large farm equipment such as the tractor may be used.

Team Girl: Quinn (12) and Kimona (13) were the first to seek. They had to wait ten minutes in the house with me while I was getting my lasagna going while Team Boy: Sam (12) and Henry (11) went to hide.

    While the girls were waiting, it became clear that the game had already started. It seems the two of them had been lurking in corners eavesdropping while the boys were looking for a pair of walkie-talkies.  They felt certain the boys were headed to the pond and it would be a snap to get them. But just in case they devised a fake list in a notebook they were going to leave on the counter of pretend places they might hide. This way when the boys went looking for them, they’d be safely tucked away somewhere else.
  (OK - they can't spell - but that's not everything.)

    Well, it seemed like a good plan as I listened, nodded and grated the mozzarella. After searching high and low for my good Portmeirion™ lasagna, pan I vaguely remembered my father had accidentally broken it when he used it as a makeshift dog dish. Time was up and I sent them on their way.  I put the sundried tomatoes on top covered the pan with foil and shoved it in the oven, and went outside to find Wayne in the shop with Kristi.
  (Cleveland, Mabel, Clara, Lloyd, Mathilda, Ruthie, Alfred & Quackmire assess Wayne and Kristi's progress)

Wayne has decided he likes the cut of our cloth. Which means he asked if he fix up our attic and move in for a while as he gets back on his feet – he’s getting divorced. Hmm. Let’s see. He cooks, cleans, organizes, drywalls, knows how to do electrical work, paints houses, builds things, dabbles in plumbing is a nice guy, can shoot a gun, brings us fresh crab and spontaneously does things like clears out the brush by the pond so the kids won’t be cougar cookies. Well, ok. Maybe I can suffer through it.

Anyway, Kristi and Wayne were clearing out the shop, so Wayne can build a wood rack and fit his table saw in Tom’s shop. Just then we were approached by two very smug boys.

“We lost them.”

“What?” Kristi inquired.

“The girls. We hid in the boat in the middle of the pond and they couldn’t get us. They even tried to trick us by leaving and changing their clothes so they could come in after us. But it didn’t work. We got away.”

Just as I was introducing Sam to Kristi, two screaming girls came rounding the bend.

“There they are!! Get ‘em!” Bellowed Quinn as both she and Kimona began almost yipping. The boys took a horrified look over their shoulders and raced away with girls in hot pursuit.

    The shop continued to be organized and the lasagna baked. Until a somber group came in the door a long time later. It was Quinn who started talking.

“OK, let me tell you what happened.”

“Is everyone OK. Tell me that first.”

“Yes. Everyone is all right now."

“OK. What happened?”

“Well, we thought the boys were pretty smart using the boat in the pond, so we did the same thing. Only. Henry pretended Sam had ditched him and he went on how the game was over and we started to feel sorry for him.” Quinn rattled off very quickly as only a radio announcer and a middle school girl can.

“Henry’s a pretty good actor, so we believed him.” Interjected Kimona.

At this point, I started wondering what the problem was, were they going to complain about Henry’s playing the game in a “Survivor-like-way"? And where was Henry? He hadn’t come in yet.

“Well, we saw Sam hiding in the bushes and Henry gave us a long explanation how Sam had betrayed him and they weren’t working together anymore and we believed him again.” (Gullible) “Then Henry started swimming out to get us and suddenly he seemed to be having trouble and couldn’t keep his head above the water.”

“What? Where is he?” 

Just then Sam and Henry walked in the door. Henry was in some of Quinn's dry clothes but very shaken up. Quinn continued, “Well we thought he was faking again and he started asking for help. When we realized, he was serious we yelled for Sam, but Sam had already figured it out and was diving in the water. Sam pushed Henry to the dock and rescued him.”

“Mom, I got so cold in the water, I couldn’t move my arms or legs very well.”

“And you’re a terrible swimmer Honey. We’ve got to get you some more lessons. You never want to take swimming seriously, but it’s really important.”

“Sam saved me.”

“Thanks Sam." I said with my whole heart. "I’d really miss him if he were gone. I’ve grown used to this little punk. It’s forty minutes to the hospital, my lasagna would have been ruined.”

“MOMMMM! I was really, really, really scared.” Henry whined almost crying as he wrapped his arms around me. I could feel his cold skin and see the fear in his eyes.

“I’m sure you were Honey. I’m scared just hearing about it. I can’t think about you being seriously hurt. Do you remember the 4th of July four years ago? I can’t think those thoughts. We’re going to have to leave life preservers and some other equipment by the pond if you guys are going to be playing there. But we’re all clear – NO ONE pretends to be hurt or injured."  I could kick myself. I just had all the kids trying on lifejackets for tubing - earlier today in Fred Meyer™. I should have bought them instead of waiting to see if I could get them cheaper somewhere else.

“We just thought he was the-little-boy-who-cried-wolf. When we finally figured out it was real, we yelled to Sam.”

“This isn’t Sam’s first rescue. Remember Mom, he dove in and saved his little sister too.”

“ I remember, that was about two years ago right?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey Sam, I’m a horrible swimmer. Thanks for saving my life. Want a marshmallow? Oh and Quinn, winner picks the movie. And we won.”

(Wearing Pea's t-shirts, the girls plot)
There was some arguing, but the girls conceded almost too easily. As they walked out with Wayne, Abbey and me to close up the barn animals, I heard them whispering about short sheeting bed, putting nail polish and sparkle blush on the boys while they sleep.

“How about if we put the little alfalfa goat pellets in their cereal in the morning?” Kimona wondered.
(Kimona and Abbey herd geese while Wayne watches)

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 25th It's Not Easy Being Green

   

There’s a tree frog in my refridgerator. He’s new here. Well, he’s not in the house, he’s in the barn and he’s not “inside” he’s “in” between the doors. But I think he’s the smartest fella around. I call him the Fridge Fro.. He comes and goes suction cupping up and down to his Hot Point™ hideaway. It’s cool, near the sink we use to water everyone in the barn. It’s up high and predator free. He's really got himself a sweet deal. I’d say he has about as much room as people in Manhattan apartments, maybe more. My friend, Jenny bought a place for more than a quarter of a million dollars that was only little more than 500 square feet. Who’s smarter?
 
(note dark space  - to the side on the left)

    We first met, just the other day. I was at the sink, filling a bucket of water to give to the goats and Miracle when I felt his presence. I turned around slowly not knowing what kind of varmint to expect this time and about jumped out of my skin when I saw him perched on the edge of the door facing me. In fact, he was looking back at me eye-to-eye. After the initial shock, I began scrutinizing him. Was he alive? Could he get out? Was he stuck? Henry reminded me in an undeniably sixth-grade tone he was indeed a “Tree Frog’, and their pretty good climbers. He’s completely fine.” The kid needs to dumb down sometimes. So anyway, I splattered some water on him – just in case?– turned the lights out for the evening and left him there. To my relief, he was gone the next day. But that evening when I went back to feed Miracle and the goats, he was back home.
(Miracle's hungry for an alfalfa "cookie")

  (Riley looks like he has "alien eyes" - he too would like an alfalfa "cookie")

He’s not the only new resident, the geese have moved into the barn and are spending their first night out with Miracle, the goats, about 6 dozen barn swallows and Freddy the Freeloader Fridge Frog.
(Homecoming Parade)

July 13th There's Always One

(Henry is sick to death of this project)
Saturday evening, the girls decided to brave it and come out. Well, they didn’t really decide, Henry promised to bake them cookies and guilted them into it. He called from the car while we were at Home Depot™ picking up supplies for our next project. He played Quinnlike a fiddle until she couldn’t stand it anymore and was packing her bag. She said “I can stand up to a lot of people, but not when my cousin starts with the lovey-dovey stuff.” Honestly, I’m not sure if he missed Quinn and Phoebe or was sick of being out here with alone with boring old me.

The evening was filled with flour, shortening and Tom Hanks, but in the morning it was back to work, painting fence posts in anticipation of Tom and Craig’s arrival. Of course, the geese felt they could and should contribute their two cents. Naturally, there was lemonade and lots of resting in the shade as Luther is the foreman. (Luther and Quackmire inspect the work)

In the thick of it is Quackmire. It’s always Quackmire going after Luther’s tail, climbing on top of things, or the last to go back in the pen. (bill full of paint, Quackmire tells Phoebe to get back to work) (Phoebe gets Quackmire with a kiss)
(Quackmire is always in the middle of everything) (Lu's had enough & gets Quackmire to lift off)

(Quackmire goes too far)

July 12th Alive!

(just in case the bears feel left out)
    The emotional exhaustion of the cougar encounter is not to be explained. I know we were all extremely lucky, and I should simply be grateful no person nor animal was injured and call it a day. But as a mother I can't help but wonder: what if Mike wasn’t there and Henry had been helping me? What if he’d run up the hill to get the drill? He would have been the human equivalent of a mouse. I would have stood there helpless.

    The funny thing about a life and death moment is the clarity of your mind. If you haven’t faced a cougar or had a semi-automatic weapon pointed at your head then you might not know what I mean. It’s as if your mind has filed away every small tidbit of information that might help you in an emergency and pulls it up faster than you might think is humanly possible. Flashes of information like, look bigger, flash a light in their eyes, don’t look directly at them, back a way, don’t run and evoke a prey response, etc. all come crashing through your head. I did not think I would live, it’s as simple as that. I thought as I stood there that this was how it would end for me. I would die on my farm on a Thursday. I wondered if Henry would come outside if he heard me scream. I would have to die quietly. I'd never finish the walkway. Your mind races.

    My sister, my old roommate Dixon and I went through this many years ago when we were assaulted in West Hollywood off Sunset Blvd. We were renting a house across from the “Halloween” movie house on Orange Grove. It’s strange how similar the situations are in some ways. Back then my mind brought up stories I’d heard from rape survivors. How one woman focused on a button and twisted it off to later be used in her assailant’s conviction. I remember I could hear her voice in my head as if she was standing next to me. The survival instincts are still there no matter how urban we have become.

    I spoke to the game warden, Davey Jones and after hearing the events he was more than a little concerned. He was mostly concerned about the length of time they’d observed us prior to revealing themselves. He said what I described was certainly cougar hunting behavior and they had indeed intended to make a meal out of one of us. Because of the time of year and the goofy behavior he believes they were two adolescents kicked out by their mama and learning to fend for themselves. He didn’t think any adult would try something so bold. He tried to assuage my fears by telling me there had only been ten fatal cat attacks in Washington in the last hundred years. This might have calmed someone else down, but I have a hard time with these statistics. I heard from the woman at Poison Control how exciting it was that the only poisonous insect in Western Washington had bitten me. In this particular case I’d like to be part of the crowd not the exception.

    As the game warden wondered why my house, I told him of the virtual lunch buffet of tender grass fed geese, succulent goat and pasture fed tender beef. The game warden gave me some new rules for a while. All animals and people are to be inside after until about 7:00AM and after 6:00PM to avoid peak hunting times. He strongly urged me to get pepper spray for everyone walking around the property and to keep air horns in different locations like the barn and the pavilion at the pond.
(Henry & Quackmire- orange tag)

Mr. Jones felt it would be absolutely bizarre for them to come out during the day, or to attack humans but asked if I wanted a hunter with hounds to come out and take care of the problem. I did not. The cats live here and belong here. I just don’t want to end up cat chow. He felt I was incredibly calm and reasonable.

“Now, there are some people who move up here from another state and well, they just get hysterical. It’s a good thing this happened to someone from around here. You did all the right things.”

He was so proud of my local courage, knowledge of wildlife situations and level head, I just didn’t have the heart to tell him I was from Los Angeles.

June 14th One Man's Treasure

 

(in honor of flag day)

    An honest to goodness work from morning ‘til night Ingalls-type-family-grab-your-own-food-on-the- run-workday, plus Mike. Cement was poured, gates were built, posts painted, forests of plants tamed.
(Henry begins his task)

(Henry works hard)

  (Henry keeps going)

(Not sure if the posts had more paint)
Henry continued his manhood training as father and son worked side by side. Per usual, the geese supervised while my father poked his head out of his apartment every few hours to see if we needed his opinion. Tired and worn down from the biopsy he was like “Uncle Joe, movin’ kinda slow at the junction, Petticoat Junction”.
    (father and son)  (Not my shining moment)
    My dad is at the point where he’s getting a feeling of impending doom. He’s sure he’s got full-blown bladder cancer and will be stuck here with me for the rest of his pitiful life. Strange that my paradise is someone else’s idea of hell.
(Gander with identity crisis - thinks he's a flamingo)

(Clara stretching her wings)

    I took Miracle on a little outing in her to practice walking on a lead. She did very well and even ventured to step on the scary rock driveway she’s been terrified to cross. But when I looked up I realized she could see Tom and was determined to go visit him. She grazed leisurely on grass near the geese that spooked her a bit, but she was ok. This was the first time she was out with the dogs around. I was nervous they might rush her and we’d have a wild kicking donkey on our hands. But Luther and Vivian stayed a respectful distance away. They greeted her and backed off. Irish tried to do the same, but his overwhelming puppiness got the better of him. Despite my pleas and screams he went and sniffed her hindquarters. I had visions of her cracking his head open. I was frantic, but nothing could be done. I had her lead and I wasn’t going to get in the line of fire. Graciously she allowed this invasion of privacy, but when he decided a donkey leg might be taste like chicken and wrapped his teeth around her, she drew the line. Irish received a swift kick. It was a warning kick; she didn’t finish him off or even greatly injure him. Humbled he limped off to go lick his wounds. Ahh, he learned he there is something bigger and tougher than the giant puppy – he was shocked.

    Being Tom’s last night, we drank leftover sangria and watched a movie. Watching a movie with Tom is a little like being by yourself. Within a few minutes he’s asleep. This comforts me on lonely nights when I pretend he’s there with me. Henry kept an eye on him and woke him up every few minutes. We were watching “Mad Money” with Diane Keaton. I mention this because I kept thinking of trying to get a job. I’ve been unsuccessful at every turn. After two sessions of role-playing, Home Depot™ hasn’t called me back. I thought I did really well when the big question was “What do you do when a disgruntled customer comes in and she’s throwing a party that night an