As The Butter Churns

February 23rd The Tail End

 (Christina - the Obberhasli takes a nibble)

 (Carl- the rooster formerly known as Cluck-Cluck)
 
 

Lindsey was determined to take a picture of every animal before she went home. Most of the morning she was busy snapping pictures. She loved Frank. Probably because Lindsey, a born chatterbox, likes to talk and although all the animals patiently listen, Frank talks back. So Lindsey would scream and Franklin would gobble, and Lindsey would scream and Frank would gobble, Lindsey would scream and Frank would gobble and so on and so on and so on.

 (Lindsey and Franklin - chat)

While bustling around the farm, we were surprised to find that despite the chaos, Sir Edward settled down for an afternoon nap. He and Miracle have taken to spending their chilly winter evenings underneath the overgrown apple trees, but I guess with predators prowling about looking for a late night snack, they don’t sleep too soundly. So there they were equine in the sunshine.

  (Edward under the Kubota barn- soaking in the sun)

 (Miracle is sound asleep)

    Edward relaxed and fell into a deep sleep completely ignoring the other animals as they enjoyed their noon meal. Lindsey and I crept around watching him. We giggled as he wiggled and wriggled.

  (Edward is sound asleep in the middle of lunch)

 

    “What do you think horses dream about when they take a little horsie snooze? Look Linds, he’s dreaming of his glory days on the track” And Edward started to kick his legs like he was taking off at Del Mar. Lindsey ran too for her camera. When she got back she caught what must have been the finish line.

 

“Oh, at least I got some of it,” she smiled. "He was so cute, I’ve never seen a horse do that,”

“Neither have I,” I whispered.

 (a groggy Edward is disturbed from his nap)

 (Sir Edward and Carl -the rooster formerly known as Cluck-Cluck)

 (Edward lunching)
 
 
 

November 29th Forever In Our Hearts

 (Richard and Franklin - real Poofftas)
 

Thanksgiving took on a myriad of permutations this year. At first, Awesomez thought she might come up to join Nick, and Mike and Donna had considered joining us. Of course we expected Mike and then there was rumor The Gibb’s – Diane, John, Lauren and Jordan might attend in addition to all of us – Chris, Lisa, Quinn, Annie, Henry and me. We’d also invited Kim and Vivian to join us, but Kim wasn’t feeling particularly well so they planned to stay home. Nevertheless we were going to need additional tables and a couple of turkeys. Franklin and Richard seemed unaware of the potential hazards in front of them.

 (Silence wisely tucked in the back of the boys)

The best laid plans and all of that. Grandpa Awesomez wanted all the Gomez clan with him at his house in Palm Springs so that took out Nick and Lisa. Mike and Donna suddenly were hosting Mike’s daughter and their three grandchildren. Just days before Thanksgiving, we tragically lost dear quirky “Kim” aka Quentin  – Chris’ uncle, Annie’s brother to an aggressive form of Prostate Cancer.He had been valiantly been battling it for more than a year. His loss left us all grieving and a bit quieter in spirit. Annie went to be with Kim’s wife, Vivian for Thanksgiving in Stanwood. The gregarious Gibb clan did drive up to Lisa's from Eugene for the weekend and Mike drove up from Tacoma with his faithful feline, Monica.

 (Chris & Mike enjoy a glass)

 (Henry and Lauren play a game)

(Quinn quietly on the left with Henry and Lauren)

 (Henry and Lauren goof)
 

 (Diane thickens the gravy)

 (Lisa looking ready for the holiday in her chic scarf - I gave her)

 

 (best friends Jordan and Phoebe tilt a glass)

(Quinn not at all thrilled with my camera)

Brutally aware most Americans consume over 5000 calories in this one meal, I tried to be restrained after all I have to weigh-in eventually. I happily chose the two point glasses of wine over the nine point pumpkin pie. We laughed and chatted about how the Gibb’s were adjusting to Eugene, soccer, schools and Mike ranted about how to revamp the entire educational system, as we know it.

 (yummy food cooking in the oven)
 

 (Mike rants)

 (John and Chris listen to Mike rant educational policies and condemn social promotion)
 

 (and don't use Montessori in the same sentence as Mike's ideas - them's fightin' words_
 

 (Diane's pies and Lisa's tarts)

(Diane prefers Cool Whip™ but she's from the South) 
 

While the pies were being prepped with whipped cream, Diane told of her idyllic new neighborhood and how a group of families share dinner twice a week. Which means Diane eats Tuesdays and Wednesdays at one of her neighbors and cooks for twenty once every two weeks. In fact, their new neighborhood is so neighborly that their neighbors hung their Christmas lights while they were gone.

“I felt terrible, they sent their teenage son over and he was going to do it for free, but it’s not like John is an invalid,” Diane said.

“Oh my gosh! Your neighbors put up your lights? I could see if you were a woman alone,” Lisa was impressed.

As I listened, I turned and whispered to Phoebe who was sitting next to me. “It’s funny, they both assume a man is going to do it. No one but me has ever put up my Christmas lights. Or taken them down. It’s not that hard, I guess it’s tradition.”

            Phoebe smiled wide and nodded to me. She and I had a do-it-yourself kinship. This was the 3-year-old who poured cement with me. The eight-year-old who planted the corn field, the nine-year-old who screwed the fence together. One day, we’d put up her Christmas lights together.

            “Are you sure this place isn’t the next Stepford?” Chris cajoled.

            “It’s OK if it is,” John laughed.

The next day brought winter preparations. Mike and I tried again to get the generator going. I called a repairman who explained my financial options. “If you can get it to me, it would save you a lot of money.”

“I can’t. I just can’t lift it into a truck bed, even with a ramp. I’m simply not strong enough and I just don’t have enough help.” I explained a bit downtrodden.

Mike and I moved on to other matters like insulating the pump house.

“I’d like to say I’m surprised at what a poor job they did on this, but honestly everything they did is just like this.” Mike thundered. We used an entire roll of insulation, changed the light bulb, turned up the heat and screwed the door shut hopping for the best.

Next we began the traditional hanging of the Christmas lights. I wanted to get them up before Awesomez brought Nick back on Monday. So Mike unraveled and held the ladder, I strung and Silence, my faithful turk-a-lurk, supervised us closely. The work I’d put into screwing in hooks along the eaves last year paid off and the lights went up lickety-split. The ones that completely lit anyway. It seems there is some insidious plot devised by the Christmas light industry. They have perfected a solution to the revolutionary parallel circuit. Somehow they have managed to get a foot or two span of lights in the middle of a string to simply go out making it mandatory to purchase another set of lights to replace it. This sent Mike and me to Lowes for more lights. Twice. Thankfully they were on sale.

 (Mike works diligently)

 (Christina actually turned into a storybook goat and started chomping lights)

 (Mike and Christina)
   

 

 (Max returns to the farm)

 (Yours truly- getting the lights up)

 (Silence working hard)

 (Seriously, does anyone think they're going to have a pet turkey? Silence is so curious and interested in everything - a lot like Lloyd)

 (Silence lets me know who's boss)

 (Silence is one big ass bird)

 (Henry and I keep working)

 

 (Luther and Bruno assist)
 

(Emmett escapes)
 

All and all we did pretty well, but more afraid of heights then ever I had a hard time with the upper peaks. At one point Amy tied an extension cord around my waist and anchored me from the attic window while I dangled over the edge. My heart beating so hard I could feel it all over my body. Henry couldn’t watch so he went downstairs and turned on mindless TV. Some help he was.

That night, Mike and I sat up drinking tea and making lists of things we could accomplish in the morning. Mike had an appointment to take Monica to the cat clinic to see Lisa. She’d been acting a little funny lately and he’d been concerned. Lisa told him she could squeeze him around nine, so that was the first thing on the agenda. When he got back we’d continue with our chores, as I was eager to get as much done with my faithful assistant as possible. The adult company was invigorating.

 At about midnight we head upstairs. Mike went to Nick’s room – the room formerly known as “Maryruth’s room” and I went in my bathroom and flipped on the portable heater before changing into my flannels. I thought I heard knocking at my door, but wasn’t sure over the hum of the heater.

“I think she’s dying!” I heard Mike frantically yelling in the hall.

“What?” I screamed as I ran toward the door. When I opened it I could see Mike in his boxers and undershirt hurrying toward his room and Henry almost flying up the stairs. By the time I joined them I saw Henry had had the presence of mind to rush to the kitchen and grab a turkey baster from the kitchen drawer and shoved it down Monica’s throat and was now pumping air into her body. She responded, convulsing with each breath. I ran to my room got my makeup mirror and dialed my sister. Accustomed to emergencies she woke up quickly and started advising us. We held the mirror in front of Monica to see if she had any breath on her own. She did not. Henry heroically resumed emergency ventilation, but sadly to no avail. Monica passed away.

“Henry, I can’t believe how amazing you were. You were calm and really performed in a crisis.” I said completely impressed.

“Really. Henry, I can’t thank you enough for what you did. If anything was going to help that was. Lisa said it was probably a blood clot.” Mike relayed.

“But it didn’t save her.” Henry said quietly.

“But it made me feel as though we did everything we could.” Mike said putting a hand on Henry’s shoulder. Tearfully, Mike picked up his corpulent companion he tenderly called “Monica Morning Cat” and gently placed her in her blue cat carrier.

The next day, Henry dug a grave for Monica while Mike and I worked on the lights. Amy came home from Texas with Max and Andrew to find one of her glidies (sugar gliders) had died. One of the twins. Henry and I hadn’t known because they’d still been in their pouch when we fed them.  They don’t get up until about 9:00 PM. So we said goodbye to two friends and had two burials in our growing pet cemetery. Amy came by afterward explaining the horror of the death. It seems gliders can become cannibalistic and had skinned the poor thing. Amy was heavy-hearted having lost her third pet since living here.

 (Henry doesn't want Mike to have to dig Monica's grave)

 

 (Monica the cat was buried with her favorite towel - Mike got Monica about 8 years ago through my sister - her owner had died and she needed a home)

 

Hard work being the best medicine we all cleaned the barn thankful to sweep our troubles away laughing about the good times and funny stories.

 

September 13 Nothing Much

 (Ron Johnson's own farmville)

I’d been letting the cows out into the open pasture where there has been plenty to eat all summer, but I’m nervous about Gnatalie roaming around and fall approaching the enclosed pasture is getting thin. The hay for the winter is on order, but Ron Johnson, my supplier has dedicated his trucks to delivering corn for the next couple of weeks. He said if I needed a bale before then I could certainly come down to Clear Lake and get one. One round bale should last at least two weeks, so Amy and I went to retrieve one in her truck. It’s a truck, but just barely. It’s what you might call a girl truck, but “Gunner Obama Carnahan” stood up to the test quite admirably. He’s been getting quite a workout lately what with swerving off the road to avoid deer and smashing through gates.

(Loading up)

(Amy and Gunner proudly haul the hay)

When we got back home the boys were awake. They got the tractor and together we unloaded the 500lb green marshmallow, killed poisonous arachnid hitchhikers and unwrapped our bundle. All the while Abe and Andy mooed relentlessly at the sight of lunch.  Gnatalie was a bit confused by the events, but stood by curious as ever wondering where she fit in. The moment the hay was in place and exposed the big boys went at it. Sadly, each time Gnatalie went up to eat they pushed her away. I know she’ll get her fill because they can’t stand there and guard the food, but we all felt terrible she’s been ostracized. We thought they’d embrace her not just begrudgingly tolerate her.

 (We unload)

 (Andy happily eats -Rachel- momentarily considers a snack)

“She has no friends,” Nick lamented. “She needs a friend, the goats don’t let her hang out with them, the sheep run from her and the boys push her away. Miracle chases her and Edward could care less.” He said commiserating with her as he scratched her forehead and kissed her.

“Yeah Mama, I think she needs a friend.” Henry chimed in. They were preaching to the choir, but I said nothing.

“Of course she needs a friend.” Amy agreed not being at all helpful.

(Gnatalie sniffs)

That task complete we started cleaning the barn. No wonder farmers had so many kids I thought wistfully, until I considered the farm mom position and the exponential amount of laundry required. I picked up a pitchfork and didn’t complain. Cleaning the barn is really fun. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You never want to start, but once you do, there are wonderful talks, laughs and songs. Everyone has his or her task, a shovel, a pitchfork or a tractor. This time, Amy made fun of Nicky-new-guy-on-the-block, taunting him for being “afraid of a little poop.”

 (Nick and Henry working hard)

 (Nick and Gnatalie take a walk)

 (Nick taking a tractor break)

(Mildred, Angus, Sheryl and Apache's hind end)

 (Curious turkeys - Franklin, Silence DoGood and Richard - all alias' for Benjamin)

(My Llloyd loves me again -preening)

 (Just before Gnatalie pinned Luther- poor Lu he just can't get a break)

 (Harpo aka Quackless, Lucille & Benny - the Cayugas)  

 (Bruno pounces through the wood shavings which are used as the bedding for all the barn animals)

We did more than half and broke for lunch. It was another hot day, but we sat in the cool shade of a tree on the lawn and enjoyed our sodas before putting the rest of the wood shavings in the goat section.

Our chores mostly finished, we decided it was time to sex the chickens they’re over two months old now. According to the books a two-month-old male is a broiler then a fryer and frankly a rooster is a male chicken over five-months-old. Roosters can be a vicious lot and we didn’t want another gory chicken attack. Losing Michael was enough. The farm rule of thumb appears to be one rooster to approximately eight hens.

Determining hens from roosters seemed like a simple task on the outset. After all every kindergartner knows what a rooster looks like but then again they’re taught sheep say “baaa” and that’s clearly wrong.

Cluck-Cluck crows and carries on as expected. He is clearly a rooster.  However, there are others that don’t at least not yet. Hens should be the plump ones without the combs and the waddle handing down. Or so we thought. It seems some breeds have a waddle and some breeds don’t get a comb at all. Sometimes females have both combs and waddles.

We began by putting all the chickens in the outside chicken run. Then one by one we assessed, scrutinized, photographed and determined rooster or hen. The boys went inside to boy’s town, not the place you want to end up.

After all was said and done we thought or think we have eleven roosters, but we’re just not sure. We’d like to keep three males, one of each breed so we could have chicks one day. The rest have to be terminated I guess. There isn’t much room in anyone’s barnyard for troublemakers. I’ll never order a straight run again. I’ll only go to the hatcheries that offer a pre-sexed selection, because this whole process is nasty. I wish I didn’t care, but I don’t want to ring their necks, and Tom has informed me he won’t. So now I have to do something to cull the flock. “I know I’ll put them on Craigslist under free stuff. Maybe someone will want them. I’m sure they’re good eatinin,” I said ruefully.

Now who to keep? After much discussion we think we’re getting rid of Cluck-Cluck because he’s so aggressive and keeping Julius Caesar over the other nameless Red Dorking, we’re going to have to see how their combs develop. In the Russian Orloff category we’re thinking of keeping Chestnut over Boris Orloff. In the Golden Hamburg slot we’re pretty clear we want to keep Armstrong over Speedy. We’ll see we want prime specimens and calm gentle birds.

 (Red Dorkings - Julius and No-name)

 (Girl? or Boy?)

 (Amy and some unidentified Golden Hamburgs)

 (Mrs. Cluck-Cluck)

 (Nick and Boris - who is -going to be someone's dinner - gentle with people, but aggressive toward other males)

(they're everywhere)

(Nick, Henry and Chestnut)

The warm sunny day begged for a trip to the pond and another visit with Gnatalie, plus a little chat with Sir Edward and Miracle who were grazing down by the dry creek bed. While we made our way over we realized we were being followed. Some people have a dog who tags a long behind them and some people have four dogs and a nosy-body goat like Rachel. Funny, she never used to leave the goatherd, but I think her daughter, Christina, has usurped her crown. Now the Queen Mum Rachel wanders around a bit by herself.

Suddenly a rock tossing-tossing challenge was issued. The goal was to toss rocks into Poncho and Lefty’s old practice tire the they used to haul around behind them when they were doing oxen stuff. Now it just sits in the pasture as impromptu seating and a mosquito larvae breeding ground. As I hadn’t received my softball throwing lessons from Awesomez yet I bowed out of the competition. Amy, though determined, didn’t have a chance. Henry won easily over Nick. A lazy kind of day, we made our way to the pond and looked at muddy animal tracks.

(Amy and Miracle kiss)

 

(Miracle wants to give a little smooch)

(Miracle mugs for the camera)

 (Amy tossses)

 (Nick tosses)

 (Nick and Henry checking out all the new life in the pond)

 (Henry messing around)

(Swimmy)

(Nick and a froglet)

(Nick takes a stick and tickles Rachel's tail - he's found a way to make her wiggle it.)

 (bear scat?)

 (closer examination of contents)

(Rachel follows)

On the way back, Nick found scat on the rocky path.  Fascinated, we took a good close look trying to determine what animal was traipsing around at night so close to the house.  Primarily made up of apple remnants we’re pretty sure it was a black bear who’d been raiding our trees.

This prompted the idea of picking apples and pressing cider. The cider press was wheeled out of the family room and put into position next to the wine rack in the kitchen. The boys went out and excitedly began gathering baskets full of apples. Henry cut while Nick turned the crank. Then Nick cut while Henry turned the crank. Apple chunks sunk out of sight.  The press was tightened with both boys using a 2 x4 for leverage. As the cloudy golden liquid with the sweet tangy taste filled the bucket, both boys gulped it down until they couldn’t drink another drop.

 (Henry chops apples)

 (Nick pressing cider)

 (Vivian watches)

After that, we did some laundry, the boys shot paintball guns for awhile, we put the animals away and Amy came over for our Sunday night family dinner.

We all sat down for dinner at the dining room table. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said, as I portioned out a Weight Watcher serving of spicy meatloaf for myself while “Deli is a real problem. Sure she’s sweet and lovable when she’s in the house, but she lures the other dogs off on her jaunts and then I have to hear her killing things in the middle of the night. The other night, she opened the door, let herself out and went out on a run. She was slaughtering some poor animal in the hills behind the barn. She’s like a serial killer, she doesn’t kill to eat, she just kills and kills and kills. Even a cougar will pass when it’s not hungry, but not Deli. When I heard the commotion I went outside and got in the van to see if I could stop it, the screams of the dying animal were horrible, but I didn’t have any effect. I can’t let the turkeys out if she’s on the loose or the ducks. I can’t contain her and I’m at my wits end. I am ready again to give her away.”

“Umm, I promised Andrew I wouldn’t get anymore animals,” Amy said softly, “but how about if I foster her?” Amy unexpectedly suggested. She can’t get out of the dog run by my apartment, and she loves coming over there. I think she still thinks it’s her house. I can take her on walks and.. .”

“Sounds great! What a fabulous idea!” I said cutting her off. I was so happy I couldn’t believe it.  She’d more than redeemed herself from the Gnatalie comment. “I can give you her dog bed, and supply the food. She can leave tonight. She’ll be excellent company and protection for you. It would be such a load off my mind you have no idea.”

I packed up a little package and a wiggly Deli walked over to Amy’s on a leash. Deli though a hound really prefers being an only dog. She’s shy and won’t ask for attention like the other pooches. Irish assaults you with his paw when he feels left out. Vivian bowls you over, Bruno races around leaping in the air and Luther bays, cries, whines or sits on your feet, but Deli sits in the distance patiently waiting. I watched them walk over and thought my father would be pleased.

The boys and I ended our weekend by settling into watch “Desperate Crossing The Untold Story of the Mayflower”.  Nick has American History this year and I’m going to pack in the learning one way or another. We’d just seen a whole segment on European prisons in the 1600s when the phone rang. It was for Nick. I could hear him giving the requisite teenage answers to questions about how he was.

“Fine…Yeah…It’s better…No…This weekend? Uhhh, nothing much,” he said absently.

“Nothing much? Nothing much?” I beat him with a pillow.

 (Emmet disagrees with Nick)

July 1st The Care Package

(Pumpkin bread wrapped and ready to go)

My Dearest little Hankie Pankie,   

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

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

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

(Irish after he chewed off his cross)

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

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

(Alexis surveying the bridge progress)

(getting the bridge ready to work on)

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

(Cuddles)

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

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

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

(The geese helping with the garage)

(garage a bit tidier)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    love,

        Mama

p.s. I don’t miss your stinky feet.

June 6th After Midnight

(Deli subscribes to the philosophy: treat your family like company)

    Sensing something as I lay warm in bed I opened my eyes to see Henry’s smiling upside down face about three inches away. “It’s My Birthday!” He sang.

    “So it is" I said groggily noting it was only 4:30 in the morning. Tom rolled over.

“Happy Birthday now go back to bed. Take Alvin and Bruno and go back to sleep before we throw your presents in the trash and cancel your barbecue.” Wisely Henry showed new maturity and did as instructed.

    After the presentation of a few gifts, and while preparing the coffee, Tom turned to me and bemoaned, “With all we have to do to get ready for this afternoon, what really need is Phoebe’s help. She’s the only one of the three who has the stick-to-it-ness to get things done.”

    “Maybe Henry will now that he’s older?” I said unconvincingly. Tom peered at me raising an eyebrow.
“You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. But I do have to say I’m not being completely fair. He did a great job helping me this week. I was surprised. He stayed with me most of the time and didn’t squirrel around the way he used to.”

    Once Tom and I had infused ourselves with the requisite caffeine we got on with the birthday barbecue preparations. I cleaned the house, while Tom finished hanging his new barn doors. Then he and Henry tidied up the yard and started to prepare the pavilion for the festivities. During the chaos, Nancy Campbell and her husband arrived to pick up Alfred, Matilda and one of Clara's babies. We quickly caught them, put them in the carriers Nancy brought and barely said good-bye because of everything else going on. I felt terrible, like I was selling part of myself. I knew I'd made up my mind to do it, it was the right thing for all of us and I knew Nancy was a wonderful bird owner. She has heritage turkeys, chickens and ducks, so these three were a natural. I'd planned to give her Alfred as he is genetically a beautiful gander, I wanted Matilda, his mate to go for company, but she's not a breeder with her angel wing condition so I sent one of the babies. Telling myself it was the right thing over and over didn't make me feel any better and I was glad we were busy getting ready for the party.

    Lisa arrived early with Phoebe in tow to help. Immediately I sent Phoebe to the pond with Henry and Tom.

    “Pheeb, they need help. Make it kinda girly. Put the tablecloths on and fix it like we’re having a party you know.” She nodded.

    “I get it. You don’t want the chips served in a ripped bag.” She did get it. I love her.

    While Phoebe went off to supervise Henry and Tom, Lisa did everything else, from preparing ears of corn for the grill to making my sangria recipe and cleaning the guest bathroom while I showered. Once all was ready, we waited. And waited and waited.

    The guests were supposed to arrive at 4:00PM and at 5:30 PM we started to worry. I hoped this wasn’t going to be a disaster. We only had one kid so far, if no one else came that would be enough I hoped. Then thankfully, three carloads pulled in almost at once.

    Concerned we hadn’t taken care of the bee hive before the rest of the guests arrived I told the kids they might want to go to the pond while Henry took care of some bee business. The kids and their parents had other plans. They all were fascinated by the bees and wanted to every moment. As it turned out Mike’s search for Regina, the renegade queen became the evening’s entertainment. The search went on for sometime, then Beekeeper Mike discovered an irregular egg-laying pattern on one of the trays, “She’s been laying way too drones. The hive knows this means she’s leaving and that the hive will die so the bees might have killed her or she left.”

(Beekeeper Mike lifts the lid of the hive without any attacks - pictured with his dog, Ginger, while giving Henry a taste of Sweet Ass Honey)

(Henry (in his birthday suit from Grandpa Horn) -and Beekeeper Mike  hunt the evil queen, Regina - while Tom looks on at a safe distance)

    “Long live the queen!” Was heard from one of the parents as Henry handed the kids a drone.
“It’s OK drones don’t have stingers.” Henry reassured the leery but curious boys. Soon the drone was named Moo-hammed and was the best loved bee that’s ever been. Moo-hammed was walking from hand to hand enjoying his newfound status.

    Meanwhile back at the hive, Glinda, the new queen Mike and Donna had brought, was inserted into the hive still inside her queen-cage with a marshmallow cork for the drones to eat through, just like when we inserted Regina. “In a day or two, Henry will come out here again and make sure she’s free. By that time her pheromones will be throughout the hive and they will accept her as their queen.” Mike informed the wide-eyed crowd while Henry collected Moo-hammed and returned him unharmed to the hive.
(Warren, Phoebe, Henry, Teddy and Parker are shown Glinda, the new queen, by Donna)

    At the barbecue, I served sangria and Tom grilled hamburgers, while Warren, an orthopedic doctor and father to Noah, utilized his surgical skills on the onions. The adults dipped into the guacamole while kids played basketball, did yo-yo tricks and discovered the warm water of the pond.

(a little jungle ball)

    “Denise you know you don’t have to plant flowers, you have enough forage on your property with the blackberries, maples and salmon berries there’s enough in fact, for a bee farm.” Beekeeper Mike remarked. “Would you like to put more hives up here?”

    “I’d love it, but right now, we just don’t have the money.” I stated pretty matter-of-factly.

    “Oh no you don’t understand. I have ten hives I’d like to bring up here and I’ll split the honey with you. Then there’ll be more of Henry’s Sweet Ass Honey,” he said with a grin.”

    “That sounds wonderful! We’d love it! Pea! We’re getting ten more hives!” I exclaimed.

    “More hives? That sounds great,” Tom said looking up from the burgers, “but we can’t afford more hives.” Tom remarked ruefully. Beekeeper Mike explained the arrangement and got Tom on board with the program. “Hey, you never know. Maybe the bees are going to save us”. Tom said thoughtfully as he went back to the grill. Henry started doing his business projections.

(Tom working the grill)

(Tom gets the full explanation from Beekeeper Mike)

(Henry and Parker - do their Lord of the Flies imitation)

(Noah, Parker, Justin & Henry)

    “How many pounds of honey per hive Mike?” Henry queried. “And we get half? Nice!” Henry affirmed.

    By now, it was late and we hadn’t even served the ice cream cake yet. Phoebe and I hopped in the van and zoomed back to the house. When we saw the sheep out in the pasture, the donkey on the hill and the goats in my garden we were momentarily confused. Realizing someone had forgotten to close the gate we jumped out and started wrangling the menagerie back to their proper places. “Denise I don’t know how to tell you this,” Phoebe said, but the cows are the ones who knocked your garden fence down that’s why the goats got in.”

    “You’re kidding.”

    “No. Henry told me. He said they were tromping in the garden and he and Tom had to get them out,” Phoebe elaborated as Rachel nibbled on my prize blueberry bush hopes of summer cobbler disappearing as Christina gorged on a plant next to her mother.

    "Really?"

    "Henry said he found a big frickin' cow print in the middle of the carrot row." She confided.

    “Get out of my garden you mangy goats!” I screamed a blood curdling scream as I ran pelmel toward them waving my arms with maniacal fury. I can barely grow a weed in this garden and here they were eating what little I had.  You could practically hear the circus music as Phoebe and I ran around trying to outwit the wily goats who had tasted Nirvana and had no intentions of giving up without a fight. We circled and chased, dove and grabbed and finally with teamwork and some luck, Phoebe and I emerged triumphant. However, this was just one skirmish, I knew there would be many more battles in the blueberry wars.

    Hearts pumping, cake in hand we returned to sing Happy Birthday and finish the barbecue; the last of our guests bidding us good night at about 10:30P.M.

(Henry opening a present)
(Chris got Henry "throwing knives" so he won't steal my steak knives anymore)

(Phoebe with hamburger ice cream cake)

    As I was recounting the day’s events with Tom and putting away the dishes, Henry padded in the kitchen.“Mama, that was the best birthday I could have asked for” he said with gratitude. “I think my friends really liked it here. Who would have ever thought a drone could provide so much entertainment? And now we’re getting more hives. Hey, maybe, maybe just maybe we’ll get some Midnights! Remember those are supposed to be the gentlest bees ever! Wouldn’t that be cool? .” Henry said way over-the-top excited as his yo-yo went up and down mindlessly. I looked over at Tom who was smiling.

    “You know you’re a bee geek right?” I said happily shooing him out of the kitchen as his yo-yo went flying.

May 10th Are You My Mama?

(leader of the band)     

    At 5:30 A.M.I heard a deafening racket outside my window. It was as if some gang of marauding teenagers had pulled up and cranked their stereo. It was the crooning of every flipping ding-dang songbird in the forest greeting the dawn. I pried my eyes open realizing sleep would not return with battle of the bands outside my window. I perked up as I remembered Alexis’ Mother’s Day gift. The bag of Deadman’s Reach was downstairs waiting to be ground into an aromatic elixir sure to revive me. As I poured my first medicinal cup Henry bestowed on me a compass drawing he did in school and then I received a pastel pink and yellow heart on printer paper only slightly crumpled on one side like it had been stuffed in a sixth-grade's notebook. I gazed upon the drawing "Happy Mother's Day, I love you" was scrolled in tidy penmanship. It was full of emotion and care save the crumpled part. But then out came the piece de resistance a card with a fold and a saying. It wasn’t full of scribbles or too much erasing. It didn't have creases, rips or tears. I welled up. He’d listened. My son, a husband in training.

(My card- lettering learned from Miss Elberfeld (4th grade) - yellow is my favorite color)

(sweet)

    Dressed and ready for the day I met Alexis outside. He’d already fired up the tractor and true to his word was scraping the mat of weeds off with the sharp edge of the bucket. It was a bright sunshiny day and now that the fence was finished my four-legged lawnmowers, the goats, sheep and Miracle were out chomping the lawn. This is the way I dreamed it would be:  goats meandering by like they stepped out of “Heidi” taking nibbles of pine while the sheep drifted by the purple Agapanthus like strange clouds, the geese chatted by the barn while Miracle kept watchful eye on everyone as I sipped my coffee.

(Alexis clearing the land)

    After Alexis went off to work, my sister called and said she, Chris and the kids were going to head out for the afternoon. All the better to garden I thought.

    Before Team Donaldson arrived, Henry and I started to work. “Mama. I just want to let you know, I almost put you were more special than Awesomez on the card, but I erased it. I just couldn’t say it. I mean I love you and you’re my Mama, but well you understand, she is Awesomez.” Henry explained tap dancing as fast as he could.

    “I understand, I love her too.” I assured him."Now hush up and pull the Rhododendron the whole plant is poisonous to the goats."

    I’d let the cows out of the pasture again. This time I felt confident because we’d installed two gates. One gate blocks the barn animals from going into the road and the other gate keeps them from going down toward the pond. This in turn will keep Abe, Anna and Andy down munching on grass in what was our old cornfield. Or so I thought, until I looked up and saw Andy giving me the eye as we worked in the garden and before I knew it he'd found the one weak spot in the fence and charged through it. He wasn’t exactly a raging bull, but he got the job done. Suddenly Abe and Anna were in hot pursuit. Miracle was stunned at the sight of these new ruminants. I worried she might be like Quinn who does not like to be in the company of someone older and taller than her. “A person can be older or taller, but not both. Actually, I like to be older and taller if possible,” Quinn says whenever anyone will listen. If Miracle was like Quinn we might have a barnyard brawl. Would she attack or would the cows chase the goats like true “bullies”? I stood ready to react, but it was as calm as a nativity.

(Deciding the best place to be is on the other side of any fence)

(mowing my lawn)

(everybody eats)

(happy cows)

    We set back to work hoeing and taking tractor loads of debris away. We were hard at work when the Donaldsons pulled up. After some quick hugs and hellos we decided to break for lunch. In the kitchen Quinn asked “So what did Henry give you for Mother’s Day?”

    “He cleaned my room.” I said proudly.

    “Girl clean? Or boy clean?” Phoebe inquired.

    “Girl clean.” I assured her. “He vacuumed, put stuff away and I got a card too, plus a neck warmer-thingy.”

    “Girl clean? That’s good Henry.” Phoebe praised.

(Phoebe and Henry climb trees for entertainment)

(monkey-boy)

(Lunch is served in the tree as requested)

(Miracle with her fly mask on relaxing)

(working girls)

    After sandwiches we jumped back on the project. Phoebe and I manned the tractor bringing in loads from the compost pile.

    “This is some goooood shit.” I exclaimed as I savored the aroma, digging out a nice big load.

    “Really” she confirmed as we examined the sample teeming with earthworms.Lisa and Chris were hard at work mixing up the amendments and leveling the ground while Henry insisted on throwing knives at a tree and Quinn read a book.

    “Do we have to keep the garden gate closed all the time?” Lisa yelled over the tractor.

    “Actually yes, it seems the sheep like blueberries.” I yelled back.

    “Hey! Stop!” Lisa giggled. I turned back to see what she was talking about. “It’s nothing," she waved, "I just never had a sheep nibble my ankle before.” Apache was giving her kisses.

    Phoebe, Lisa, Chris and I got the garden to a point where we were ready to put in rows when we noticed there were no bells.

    “No bells that can only mean one thing.” I said wondering how they could have gotten out. “Do you think they knocked down the fence?” I asked. “I mean I know that’s not what you’d expect from a cow, but how else?” I asked half to myself as we began to walk the fence line with Anna who was also wondering where those good for nothing steers went off to leaving her behind.

    “I hear them.” I said listening to the faint clinking of cowbells. Turning my head toward the sound. I saw them in my only neighbor’s yard they’d hopped the fence.

    “Who wants a cookie?” Lisa yelled in a high-pitched voice. "Who wants a cookie?" She repeated. In only a couple of times, the boys were running not walking back, and over the fence they went.

    “It surprises me every time how nimble they are.” I reflected.  “But you know “ I said imitating my father, “there was that one f----- who went over the moon.” Lisa laughed. It was still funny.

    We came back to find Quinn in the garden. She’d finished her book and was wondering if they could still make it to the bookstore tonight. As she stood around not helping she began standing on one of the garden stakes. Balancing on one foot she said, “If this was a little wider this would be like Survivor.” 

    “Hey let me try.” Chris said as he climbed up on the stick. “One-one-thousand-two-one-thousand. . .” the girls chanted in unison until Chris dramatically fell off.

(Chris doesn't survive)

    “You two are the slowest counters I’ve ever heard.” He complained.

    “I did it longer.” Quinn said all smiles.

    “Let me try.” Phoebe insisted and then naturally, Lisa and I had to have a turn. We were now counting and competing for the best time.

    “This is fun.” Phoebe laughed, “Farm fun.”

    “Hey Quinn, you could do this at your birthday party.” Lisa laughed. "You young'ens would have a lot of fun." she hillbillied.

    “Great. My friends will say, gosh that party was fun. Quinn had us stand on a stick. No. They wouldn’t get it, but just so you know I think I've won with the best time.”

    “No. I did.” I corrected.

    “No. I did.” She said incorrectly. Being younger, I let her believe she was right poor thing, but as the winner I knew. I knew I had the better time she just couldn’t handle it.

    With all our falderal we got the stakes up and the string, but it was time to call it quits. Henry and Phoebe wanted one last knife throwing demonstration over by their tree. Most of us went to watch, but Quinn disappeared until she came out the front door. “Denise? Who’s this?” Quinn asked holding up a gosling. I gasped.

    “I don’t know! We’ve never met!” I was stunned. “Quinn where did you get that?” I asked completely confused. That was not one of Clara’s it was yellow and downy. I looked at it again. Its bill was black just like it’s feet. Clearly this was a Canada gosling. 

(in search of a Mother)

    “I found it walking across the lawn. I heard it peep and looked up and there it was, so I picked it up before the dogs saw it. Then Bruno took off like a shot for the fence down by the pasture. Maybe there are more.” So Quinn holding on to her charge showed us where Bruno had gone and we formed a search party. Looking and listening for peeping. I went and got Mabel to see if her honks would flesh anyone out of the tall grass. Just as we were all about to give up, Quinn found another one in a most remote area. We looked for the mother. The two goslings had been quite a distance away, and no one could locate a possible nest. I’d seen Canada geese in the pasture, but not hanging around the creek nor did I have any idea where the nest could be.

    “This is so weird, they need to find a mother on Mother’s Day.” Henry remarked. “Hey Quinn does this make them your babies? You’re the goose girl.” Quinn smiled wryly as she wiped goose poop out of the nest in her sweatshirt.

(twice the fun on Mother's Day)

    “It’s OK they’re just babies.” She replied cheerfully as we went to the barn and decided to try Mabel with the goslings.

    “She sat on her eggs for a good long time, maybe she’ll think they’d hatched while she was out. “ I suggested.

    “That’s some while you were out.” Phoebe laughed. Lisa took the goslings and rubbed her scent on them while she wasn’t looking. Mabel wanted nothing to do with them, so we tried Ruthie. She wouldn’t take them under her wing either. Next, we tried Clara, the proven mother, but she was too consumed with worry over her goslings that she didn’t relax.

    So we tried another tactic. We got Quackmire involved, after all, he’d been an excellent guardian to Clara’s hatch. Then we tried Ruthie again. No good, she just acted like she wanted to get away from Quackie. So we brought Mabel back in. Perhaps they’d be OK if the two of them were in there like Lloyd and Clara. I put the incubation light a safe distance away from the straw. We didn’t really need the adults to care for them as long as they protected them from any nocturnal predators like barn rats.

(Foster Family)

    “What do you want to name them?” Henry asked about 43 times.

    “I don’t know, some kind of outcast name like the elf who wants to be a dentist. What was his name?” Quinn mused.

    “I don’t remember.” Henry answered. “How about Romulus and Remus? Or Oenone, the wood-nymph?”

    “Uhhh no.” Quinn responded authoritatively.

    “Look we can’t keep them. They’re migratory birds they need to learn to fly.” Lisa said.

    “They do? Won’t they just know?” Quinn was confused.

    “Didn’t you watch ‘Fly Away Home about 35 times?” Lisa asked incredulously

    “Henry, the guy who shot ‘Fly Away Home’ Caleb, is the dad of Zooey Deschanel the girl in ‘Yes Man’. Anyway, I think the goslings are ok for the night. I’ll keep checking on them, but in the morning I’m calling the Wildlife Refuge.” I announced as we shut the barn door.

    “Mama, you relax, I’ll make dinner.” Henry said losing interest in the idea before he got to the kitchen. The phone rang as I got out the steamer. It was Awesomez’ daughter, little Lindsey, “Rizzo,I want to make my mom dinner, but I don’t know what to make. I need help.” she bleated.

    “Whatdya got?” I said pulling out my ingredients.

  (Henry and his buddy, Irish, have forgotten about making dinner)

February 21st Sixth Sense

   

(forest for the trees)

    Just as I was about to walk out the door, the phone rang. I didn’t want to answer it as I had just enough time to get to school to pick up Henry, but as I glanced at the caller id I saw it was the school.

    “Hello?”

    “Hey Mama, do I have to go to gymnastics today?” He asked full of hope. My mind quickly processed the situation. He was going to miss more than half the workout today anyway because I’d let him stay until the end of wrestling and gymnastics started early. He obviously wanted to do something which meant a possible friend.

    “Sure you can miss gymnastics. Why?”

    “Well, my friend Robby wants me to come over and maybe go to the movies.”

    “OK, but call me when you get there and call me before you go to the movies and then I’ll come and pick you up”

    “OK, Mama, thanks!”

    “Have fun!” I called as the phone hung up. I stood there wanting to be happy. It seemed great. He had someone who wanted him to come over. A friend. That’s what I’d hoped for when he started wrestling and yet, I stood in the kitchen filled with uncertainty. I tried to shake the strange, but all too familiar feeling. I hoped it was just an overprotective mother mode kicking in, but I feared it was more of an intuitive feeling.

    Over the years, I’ve learned to trust the nagging little voice tugging at my heart. Very bad things happen when I don’t. One moment lives in infamy.

    I stood looking at the big beautiful home on Orange Grove just off Sunset. My soon to be roommate Dixon looked at me and said, “What are you thinking?”

 “I think this house is going to change our lives” was my response. She said later she had been struck the enormity by my statement. She’d expected me to say something fun or positive and was puzzled by ominous remark. But the truth is I didn’t want to move in to the house, yet I couldn’t come up with one logical reason not to. It was very cheap, my ex-boyfriend, Franz owned the place and was giving us a screaming deal. It was in the area, Dixon and my sister had wanted to live and we’d looked at so many dumps, this was a real opportunity. Still, I knew in my heart it was wrong. Suffice to say we lived there two weeks. And those two weeks changed our lives forever. We were stalked, held at gunpoint and I was raped. Despite the terrible events I learned a lot about myself and have been able to help other women along the way.

    When I moved to Minneapolis, I didn’t have a job. And I didn’t have a place to live so when I was offered a job at an advertising agency, I felt I had to take it. Yet, I hesitated. I didn’t like the feel of the place; I didn’t like anything about it, their clients, the décor anything. It felt sterile and unhappy. But I really needed the money and I knew I should take it. Little did I know the owner of the agency was a convicted sex offender who was only allowed to be on the premises a certain amount of time a month. I’d taken a job working for the devil. Once again, I paid. The details of which I cannot elaborate upon due to a non-disclosure statement, but it did help me learn how to really stand up for myself.

    Conversely, when I “foolishly” defied logic and purchased a little fixer-upper in foreclosure, it turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life, I made money and was deliriously happy with being a homeowner, painting my living room bright yellow with an orange ceiling to go with my purple sofa.

    It’s a funny thing about following your instincts. You don’t get handy dandy print out of all the bad things that could have happened. 1. Didn’t fall victim to freakish street magician by attending party in tawdry neighborhood 2. Didn’t hire bad-tempered untalented, insecure girl who would later cause all sorts of havoc with sundry threats and lawsuits. If we did get these reinforcements of what might have been perhaps we wouldn’t let our guard down. Ever. But alas, we don’t get those validations and so once again the universe must teach us a lesson.

    I waited uneasily for Henry’s call. And as promised he called, but this time he pushed me farther asking me to spend the night. There was a tone in his voice I found unsettling, but he said all the right words and I wanted him to have fun and not to miss out.

    When the mother got on the phone, a tingling went through my body. Every alarm bell I had was ringing loud and clear. Yet, she said all the right things and I didn’t have any reason to say no.

    “Well, I’d like to pick him up around 10:00 so I’ll give you a call in the morning. I hope he’ll behave and be polite for you.” I said, knowing he would.

    “Well, if he isn’t Robby’s big brother will take care of him.” She said laughing. “No. I’m just kidding.” She recanted.

    “People who are kidding don’t need to say they’re just kidding.” I told Tom later.

    Since I had no logic to support me and there was nothing I could do about it I tried to enjoy the evening. I poured a glass of wine and sat on the sofa in front of a roaring fire chatting on the phone intending to watch a documentary on Lincoln’s body but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to work the darn thing without Henry. I just kept getting a blue screen with the DirecTV logo bouncing around like a game of pong.

    In the morning I called the sleepover three times before my first cup of coffee. No answer. No answer? You have eight boys over for a sleepover and you don't answer the phone? I left messages and my phone number. I didn’t leave the house even to feed the animals because I’ve been having trouble with my call forwarding. Finally, I put on my navy coveralls at 10:30 asked Wayne to answer the phone and went to clean the barn with Alexis.

(me with Apache as I scrape the junk out)

     Surrounded by the animals, I tried to relax. Cleaning the barn is one of the things I dread, but love once I get started. It’s physically exhausting and yet rewarding. I love the smell of the barn and talking to the animals. It’s like going to the gym but better. The cold air in my face and the pitchfork in my hand I let my mind wander. I thought dark thoughts of Henry’s friend Harry going over to the neighbors and dying just afterward. Murder was never proven, but as the police said things don’t work like CSI. Just because someone is your neighbor doesn’t mean they’re a person to be trusted, “some one lived next door to Jeffrey Dahmer”.  Time moved slowly. I didn’t think Henry was going to die, but something wasn’t right. I knew it or at least I was letting my imagination get the better of me. He’d probably call having had a wonderful time and I’d have stewed for nothing.

(Ruthie laid an egg and built an uber nest - while Mabel looks on)

(a pile of poop and urine soaked straw)
  (If only I could whistle while I worked)

  (Alexander on another poop pile)

(A nice cozy clean barn)

(Miracle peeks)

  (Miracle refuses to come in for the night unless she gets a packer pellet)

(Clara sitting pretty)

    I went in the house to check and sure enough there was a message from The Boy. “Hey Mama, heard you called. Call me back.” He sounded fine.

    So I called and got the address. I knew I couldn’t get there for about an hour and it was already noon. I called Lisa. “I’ll get him within ten minutes.” She said reassuringly.

    I finished phase one of the barn with Alexis and headed out to town covered in gunk. When I came into cell range, I called and spoke to Henry.

    “Hey Sweetie! Did you have a great time?” I asked as upbeat as I could muster.

    “No.” He said sullenly. “I’ll tell you later. I’m hanging out with Chris. We’re male bonding. Lisa went to the hospital cause Lauren broke her arm playing soccer.”

    “I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.” I was stunned. I had been right. I wondered what could have happened, but no matter he was safe now.

    On the way home Henry said “Robby just acted completely different when we were at his house. He was mean. He screamed at his mom calling her a crack-head and a pothead. His older brother does drugs and beats their mother. She had to have surgery on her back. She told me she had Robby taken away from her and she worked hard to get him back and then he’s like that to her. There was no respect. I was appalled.”

    “Why didn’t you call me? I would have picked you up.”

    “I don’t know. I should have. They watched horror movies and I knew I just couldn’t do that so I went in another room.”

    “Well, I’m glad you knew how to take care of yourself. You know I had a bad feeling about the place, but I thought you’d have been broken-hearted if I’d have said you couldn’t stay. Next time I feel that way I’m going to follow my instincts.”

    “Sounds good to me. The place smelled funny – and I was scared. His mother told me I shouldn’t upset his brother. It worried me. His brother said he wished his mother would be raped and murdered and that he'd pee and poop on her grave. I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know why I can’t find normal friends like I used to have like Kyle, Sam, Brady and Nick Melvin.”

    “His brother is disgusting. The whole thing sounds like a nightmare. I have to admit, this is harder than I ever thought it would be. Quinn has nice friends like Marnie and Lauren. At least you're in middle school and not elementary.”

    "I'd go back to elementary if I could go Woodland Hills and be with my friends - even if Mrs. Feig was principal again." That was saying something.

    Later Lisa called to see how Henry was, "He's fine. He's having teriyaki chicken on a bed of angel hair with a side of edamame and brownies for desert."

    "Did Wayne cook?" She laughed.

    "Shut-up." She laughed at me.

     We ate in front of the TV snuggled up under a blanket with the dogs catching up on  "Grey's Anatomy". 

    “Henry I’m so tired I’ve got to go to sleep.” I said with my eyes closed on the sofa.

    “OK. Mama, I’m just  going to clear the dishes.”  I lay there for a few more minutes as I heard clanking. I got up and walked into the kitchen where I was surprised to see my boy unloading the dishwasher.

    “What are you doing?”

    “I thought I’d unload and load the dishes so you won't have to do it in the morning”

    “Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

    “Well, I guess that sleepover made an impression on me. Maybe it was good I went. I thought about how Robby treated his mother and while I would never talk to you that way, I thought about how I do treat you and I realize I don’t do very much around here except for myself or if you ask me. I’m going to help out around here more. You do everything for me and I don’t do very much for you.”

    I guess everything happens for a reason.

December 15th Clothes Horse?

(our first snowfall this winter - the house in need of the black plank shutters Tom is going to make when he "has time")

    I woke up this morning to find that, due to extreme cold, all Bellingham Schools had been delayed two hours. I looked at the temperature: 7 degrees, much colder than we ever got last year. I began to worry about the animals. Really worry. If it’s 7 degrees now, how cold was it last night? Would they all be alive this morning? I know they’re animals and, except for the geese, none of them go south for the winter, but this was an extreme drop in temperature. I thought of the geese huddled together. Were they like penguins, taking turns being on the outside of the huddle?

    Riley is over a year old now, but would the goats be able to withstand such a drop? They weren’t dressed in wool like the lambs. I wasn’t too worried about the lambs, as their wool has come in nicely since the shearing. And what of Miracle? None of the other animals snuggle with her. True, she has more body mass, but 7 degrees?

    I went to make some coffee and call Lisa. Certainly, she’d have some thoughts on the subject. She’d tell me not to worry – I thought. I turned on the faucet and, after a stutter and hiccup, a tiny trickle came out and then stopped. Our pipes had frozen. My mind reeled. This had so many ramifications. I couldn’t make coffee. No coffee and no shower, when I more than desperately needed a shower yesterday. It’s not often I do my hair for the cows, but I do try to stay within social norms. Good thing it’s hat weather. Frozen pipes? No coffee? We’d turned on the light and even added a heater to the pump house. No coffee? The pipes must be frozen somewhere else. I worried again about who would be alive in the barn when I got there. I didn’t want to go. I stalled, went upstairs and woke Henry, preparing him for what I might find in the barn.
(not much snow, but blue skies and cold, cold, cold)

    Lisa had cautioned me about the importance of the animals'  water. She warned me that the temperature has to be brought up somewhat or they won’t drink enough, even if they can. “After all, who likes to drink ice water when they’re freezing?” she said practically. I’d brought a bucket in last night to heat up some water and take it to the barn to warm up their water. Seeing as the faucets weren’t working, I went to the toilet tank. I took off the lid and started bailing out water with a mason jar. I heated the water on the stove in my cast iron pot, while I rooted around the house until I found a discarded cup of coffee from yesterday. Tossing it in the microwave, I threw on Pea’s red robe with the tattered tie, slipped into my blue duck boots, put on my brown leather rain hat with the chin strap (the one Wayne calls my “Indiana Jones” hat), and made my way out to the barn with my stale, but steaming, cup of coffee in one hand and my bucket of boiling water in the other. I was trudging along just about at the chicken coop when I heard the glorious sound of Miracle braying “Good Morning”. She was alive! Relief went through me and I walked a little quicker.
(Angus, Sheryl and Mildred getting their fleece back)

(Apache wants attention)

    Once inside, I began counting animals and was relieved to find everyone alive, though sluggish from the cold. Their water buckets had more than an inch of ice. I couldn’t imagine how cold it must have been. The geese’s metal water dispenser was a solid ice cube. I shuddered at the night they must have had. Animals might be able to survive like this, but these are my babies, my responsibility. I couldn’t stand it. Money or no money, they weren’t going to spend another night like this.

     Chipping away at the ice layer until it was clear, I poured the boiling water into the water bucket. Then I fed everyone and went down to the pasture to give Abe, Andy and Anna an extra serving of grain. Before we left for school I wrote Alexis a short note explaining the water situation. We were going to have to do something because the animals needed more water and I draw the line for their well-being at Evian. A bucket brigade from the pond was the most obvious solution

(loafing shed for cattle)

    After I dropped Henry off, I met up with Lisa and we headed to the feed store. We were lucky enough to find a water heater for the cows' 200-gallon tank and a smaller one for the barn animals, but I’d have to change their water bucket. We realized I still had the big black tub the goslings used when they lived in Henry’s room. While I was at the register, Lisa started looking for dog collars and I struck up a conversation with the gum-chewing, blue eye-shadowed girl who was ringing me up. I told her how worried I was about the goats, despite what everyone said. She looked up sheepishly, and said, “I just bought my Nubian a coat.”

    “You did!? Where did you get it? I wanted to get coats for my goats last winter, but everyone laughed at me.”

    “Me, too, but I feel better. Mine are pets. I got it here. A lady came in and said she’d bought a dog coat and it fit her goat. So I bought mine and it fit even my Boer. What do you have?”

    “Oberhasli. Nubians are kind of small. My son, Henry, wanted a Nubian. He thought they were dolls.”

    “They are,” she agreed authoritatively.

    “But Boers are big. Which aisle?” I queried. She pointed me in the correct direction and, after her next customer, came over and helped Lisa and me sort through the coats. Once we’d determined the appropriate sizes, there was the matter of color. I simply couldn’t put Alexander in pink; he’s already a wether and I don’t think his ego could take it.

    After purchasing my wares, Lisa and I parted company as she headed off to Costco and I hit two more feed stores looking for a coat for Miracle and something to give the geese water. After finding both items lickety-split at Laurel Feed Supply, I shoehorned in a conversation at the register about possibly piggy-backing an order of Silver Dorking and Black Java chicks and maybe a couple of turkey poults with theirs. The woman said she’d look into it and took my number. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
(Alexis - heaven sent - on water patrol)

    I raced home with my packages, eager to get everything set up. When I got there, Alexis was already bringing pond water to the barn in 5-gallon buckets in his trusty Jeep™. He filled up the new water container for the goats, sheep and Miracle, while I unloaded the feed, set up the water heaters and screwed the hook in place to position the geese’s new, heated bucket snugly between two studs. (the water heater assembled. Gray protective coating around wiring - cage around heating element - so plastic buckets won't melt)

(the transferring of water)
(cows' water trough with new heater)

(cord heats up entire bucket)

    Finally, it was time to dress the goats. I started with Rachel; she’s the queen and, if she does it, the rest are more likely to follow along. Her coat fit pretty well, if a tad tight around the girth. Other than that, she didn’t seem to mind it at all. Next came Christina, then Alexander and finally Riley. Alexander bucked a couple of times, but a few packer pellets calmed him right down.

(Riley in his orange coat to match his collar)

(three goats in coats - Rachel pink, Riley orange and Alexander red)
(Alexander)

(the sheep - Apache, Angus, Mildred and Sheryl - and the geese opt for natural fibers to keep warm)

    Imagine, if you will, trying to get a spooked, stubborn little girl to try on something she doesn’t want to. Now, imagine she can beat you up. At first, Miracle ran from the coat. I put it down on the snow and walked away as if she weren’t there. She came up and sniffed it. I came back. It was a few times around the pen before she let me slide it over her back. Hooking it was going to be another matter entirely. I was nervous. I didn’t want her to launch one of her missiles in my direction. So, I stood there talking to her. “Shhh, Miracle, it’s ok. I’m just going to hook this around your tummy. It’s not going to hurt. It’s going to keep you warm. I’m just going to tighten up your belt so it hangs properly. Purple actually looks very nice on you. You must be a winter because you look stunning in true red. You look lovely. No, it doesn’t make you look fat at all. Don’t be an ass.” I got all the hooks done except the last one. I was supposed to hook it under her tail. Seriously. Under her tail. This is a little like “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”.  Well, if she was longer it would go under her bell, but she isn't, so I slowly and gently pulled her tail up as if I were dealing with nitroglycerin. I moved delicately. All the while, Miracle was holding her hoof ready to kick out if things didn’t feel right. Luckily, she looks swanky in her royal purple blanket and I don’t have any bruises to show for it. (Miracle prancing around with her price tag on like she's Minnie Pearl)

(the challenge)

(Miracle - wondering if she looks like an ass?)

(I 'm alive; I win!)

    When everyone had their jammies on, I went to get Henry to shuttle him to gymnastics and buy 17 gallons of water. My phone rang. It was Mike.

    "Did you get the water taken care of?" he asked, concerned.

    "Yes, and I got the goats some coats and fed the cows some oats," I unwittingly rhymed.

    "What?"

    "I said, I got the goats some coats," I repeated.

    "That's what I thought you said. I couldn't believe my ears. I never imagined you got the goats coats. I thought It sounded like you were reciting a Dr. Seuss." We both laughed. I guess it did.

    When we got home, I microwaved some of the water to wash my face and poured the rest over my head in the sink to wash my hair. I had forgotten that the water had sat for three hours in cold storage in my car. Ruing I hadn’t microwaved more water, I stood in the bathroom wondering how long this was going to last. I eyed the bathtub. We could heat up the kettle and fill the bathtub. The colonists stank up all thirteen colonies since they rarely bathed. Perhaps I'm being historical.

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.

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 3rd The Eyes Have It

(Wayne working in the attic)

    This morning I woke up and realized I was out of coffee. OUT OF COFFEE. How could something like this happen? I scrounged around and found half a cup left over in the thermos™ from yesterday. I zapped it and went and fed the animals. Everyone was still snug as a bug. Miracle was peering into the sheep pen and gave me a loud bray of good morning. I spent some time trying to get the sheep to eat out of my hand and fed Miracle some extra treats.

    Luckily, Wayne was arriving when I returned. He remembered I was low on coffee and showed up to work on the attic bearing coffee beans and a grinder – just in case. Bless his heart. While I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, I spoke to Phoebe who told me NO NAME PUPPY was now officially, Charlie Donaldson. Full cup of coffee in hand I went about the day.

(Abbey with Vivian's toy)

    The kids and I were going to work on the sheep pen today, but Andrea had shown me how to clip the lamb’s feet yesterday afternoon and I began to worry about my goats. So Kimona, Henry and Sam helped me get Rachel up on the milking station. Sam held her head and fed her treats while Henry and I tried to clip her feet. I was a nervous wreck. I worried about wear to clip and how much to clip. I didn’t want to hurt her, and I yet I knew it had to be done. Frantic, I called Marcia at St. Johns Creamery. I was embarrassed, but I was more concerned about the goat so I swallowed hard and asked if I should take them to a vet, but she just laughed. Marcia explained what to do and said if I wanted to come up for a lesson next week she'd show me on a few of her goats. I thanked her and went back to the barn to try again. One by one we went through the goats, but Henry and I both knew I’d done a poor job.

    I suggested to Henry we should just take the goats to Marcia. He didn’t want to because he was afraid she’d take them away because we were bad goat owners. I told her this when I spoke to her and she said “Throw them in the van and bring them here. We’ll get them fixed up.” She reminded me she killed two of her first four.

(St. John Creamery)

(Marcia has a heard of 125)

    An hour later, the four of us and the four goats were arriving in Everett in my mobile barn. I knew Marcia had heritage chickens, Dominiques- so in the back of my mind, I thought we might end up with another passenger on the way home.

     When we arrived, I remembered how much I envied Marcia’s compound. She has a gate and a fence that surround her property so goats and chickens simply wander about. There are pens as she has different groups of goats, but others roam at will. – Mental note mention to Pea we need a gate at the entrance. As we stood there waiting for Marcia we met a nasty billy goat named Hans that drank our goats urine. So gross. He walked around with his lewd tongue hanging out and curling his lips back. Kimona was traumatized.

(Hans- the billy goat- complete with full beard)
(Christina getting her medication)
(Irish's sister by another mister)

    (Rachel, Christina, Riley and Alexander waiting to go)

I sent Henry to look for Marcia. The moment she came in to view I felt better. She wormed them, gave them their minerals and finished their feet. I felt as though I’d done my taxes. All was well. And then, Henry came up holding one of Marcia’s dogs, a rat terrier. He was three months old. Henry cried and Henry begged and I stood there feeling nothing. I did not want another dog. There was no way in this world I was going to give in and get yet another animal. And then we started talking about our mouse problem in the barn and the constant problem Kristi is facing in the shop and my resolve started waning. (Henry and Bruno)
  (Kimona, Henry, Sam and Bruno pour on the pressure)

Tom had talked of barn cats, but I’m terrified of feral cats and I really don’t want any animal that isn’t socialized. I called Tom, he was indifferent – he said it was up to me, he’s not by any means a small dog person, but he agreed the mouse and rat problem needed a solution. I took a long deep look into Bruno's eyes and then into Henry's and thoughts of Wilma, the puppy my mom bought and returned came flooding back to me - moments later; the chicken with her head cut off was driving away with a Rat Terrier.
(The backseat boys)

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 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 2nd Disney Endings

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

(old kitchen with my stove

)

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

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

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

    (note: Enchanted Tiki Room)

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

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

(The kids pictures done @ Disneyland)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “What?”

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

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

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

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

    “Happy Anniversary.”

    “You too.”

June 28th For The Love Of Lu

(Barbara & Kaylee)

    For the last several days I’ve been painting Maryruth’s room, trying to spruce it up, because my friend, Barbara and her ten-year-old daughter Kaylee arrive today from Santa Clarita, California. Barbara and I have known each other since college, I pledged AOII and she pledged TriDelt, which means she’s much sweeter than I am. I like her anyway. She is the only person I buy Diet Pepsi™ for- she drinks about 12 a day, probably her only vice.

    I’ve been cleaning like a whirling dervish, teaching Henry the virtues of being German. We’ve cleaned the shower crevices with Q-tips™, stacked papers neatly and threw away things we couldn’t figure out where to put them. I even found my cookbook holder packed away in a box I’d never considered looking in. We swept, vacuumed and mopped dog hair – they don’t have a pet let a lone four dogs and four cats. They wear black. I didn’t want them to be disappointed with their choice of vacations when they arrived at some doggy-smelling-house. Nasty.

    (Vivian in her usual position all snuggled up)

(Scarlett in the Game Room)

    Lisa and Chris planned a surprise barbecue for Barb with smoked salmon appetizers. Unfortunately, Barbara and Kaylee missed their connection because the Alaska flight left early. I didn’t know planes did that, but they did twice. So went to Lisa’s for dinner while Barb dined at SeaTac.

    My cleaning mission re-injured my back, so I self medicated with a glass of cabernet and sank into a chair while we all watched “National Treasure 2”. It reminded me how obsessed my class got with the Lincoln Assassination - Mary Surratt – the first woman executed by the United States and her son Johnny who escaped hanging. I was so relaxed I couldn’t believe it, when I looked down and realized Barbara would be landing in about fifteen minutes. Henry and I flew out of the house and headed for the airport it was around 11:45PM. We thought we’d make it just in time after all Bellingham International isn’t that far. The phone rang. It was Lisa, she’d checked Barbara’s flight and sure enough the flight had left and landed early. I guess they’re trying to improve their on time record.

    We eventually collected them at the airport. Smiling and waving there were hugs and very heavy luggage. Barbara apparently did not realize there is not a lot of fashion that happens on the farm. We drove home chatting all the way.

    Once home, we ate Henry’s too thin rock hard brownies he’d prepared in their honor and introduced Kaylee to Zoo Tycoon™. Fast friends they were busy as we were catching up until at least 2:30AM.

    The next morning was filled with coffee and laughter. I could tell there was a cute girl in the house because Henry brushed his teeth without being asked. Barbara emerged as she did every morning shampooed, blown-dry, immaculate and in full make-up smelling of perfume. (a serious mosquito attractant).

     Henry introduced Kaylee to all the animals and she took a zillion pictures with her new camera. They went to the pond and played while incapable of sitting down Barbara did my dishes and cleaned my kitchen while we discussed life’s ups and downs as well as people we heard about or ran into over years – past boyfriends, louses, spouses and why her friend Sylvia chose TriDelt over AOII when I "prefed” her. I’m still bitter.
(Henry & Abe) (Quinnderella (12) , Stinkerbell (7), Kaylee(10), Irish (11 months) & Henry(11)

    The girls came over and the imaginary games began. Henry spearheaded a trip to my father’s vacant apartment armed with loads of his almost forgotten stuffed animals ranging from sting rays to platypus’ and began playing “Zoo”. They positioned them on the sofa in the bathtub over a lamp and Kaylee took pictures. The dogs were then recruited against their will.  In the first round Deli was relegated to an alligator, Luther was an African Bumblebee and Vivian was somehow transformed into a snow leopard. In the second round Deli was a seal, Luther a duck and Vivian a hippopotamus.  Irish eats stuffed animals so he wasn’t invited to play. Barbara and I took off on a walk and as we walked away, the last we heard was “Henry it’s your turn to be the mother.”

“I don’t’ want to be the mother why do I have to be the mother?”

“No one wants to be the mother.”
(Phoeb & Kaylee wash Rachel) (Denise sneaks a bath for Miracle)

(Kaylee pulls Phoebe down Coyote Hill) (Phoebe & Kaylee scatter the goats as they sled down Coyote Hill)

The next few days were filled with the same, washing of goats, watering the garden, tractor rides, more brownies, air rifle target practice, lunch at the beer shrine, (Phoebe orders a little piece of pizza)

(Snow at Mount Baker)

(Nooksack River)

(Cougar Print by the Nooksack River)
  (Barbara up in Glacier taking a picture of the ski fence)

a drive to the snow at Mount Baker, ice cream, movies, wild flower bouquets and long talks. We didn’t really “do” anything no projects no “activities” but we still didn’t seem to be able to get ourselves to go to bed before 1:00or 2:00 AM. We ate a lot – Barbara says it’s the all the stars and fresh air. I’m going to have to tell my Jenny Craig™ counselor friend Kristy that one. I rested my back as we talked about times past, love and loss, money, divorce, happiness, change, my mother, her mother, our fathers, and wrinkle cream.
  (Luther watches the goats)

  (Luther gets a turn) (Irish cools off under the dock)
    In honor of my mother we analyzed everyone's sun sign, moon and opened Linda Goodman's "Love Signs" to determine everyone's perfect match. Lucky for Tom - she says we're compatible.

    When at last our time was about up, Kaylee was blue. She started her goodbye tour of the animals the night before, but when she was about to leave her eyes were filled with tears, not because of me or Henry the girls or even farm life. It was Lu; he’d captured her heart. He's a cad that way, Henry and I are sure there would be world peace if everyone had a basset hound so we introduced them to www.daphneyland.com in Acton they showed some interest in Buford.

    Naturally Luther went with us to the airport to say goodbye or we’d have heard Luther's agonizing  “death howl” and frankly Kaylee couldn’t have taken that kind basset manipulation. Snuggled up next to Kaylee on the seat with his ears flopped over her legs his head hanging down in a truly un-natural position (just the way he likes it) he wooed her in his own Luther way. Everyone got out and hugged good-bye –except Henry and Kaylee who said that hugging each other was just too weird.

    As I watched our first visitors from home disappear into the airport terminal I noticed they were covered in dog hair.

     

May 17th Phoebe Dolittle

         

   

  I woke up to “bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, Bang! It sounded like construction, but we're so far from anyone that didn't really make sense. I heard it again, so this time I got up. Now awake, I had a pretty good idea who was causing all this racket, so I tiptoed down the stairs and crept out the back door past Irish, the sleeping giant. Bang, Bang, Bang. I went around the side of the garage, looked around and there he was, one of my noisy neighbors - the woodpecker hammering on the metal roof of the tractor barn. An industrious if misguided little fella, on par with Wally as far as work ethic. He sounded like a jackhammer as his head bobbed up and down. I have seen a lot of woodpeckers in my time, but I can't quite decide which kind he is. I thought at first he was a Pilated Woodpecker, but he doesn't quite match. Then I thought he was a Red-headed woodpecker, but again he doesn't quite match that description either.

(now positioned on a tree)

    I'd just gone in for coffee when Phoebe came trotting down the stairs, still groggy from sleep. She’d konked out during the movie last night and was up much earlier than I’d planned.

    “When are we going to see the geese?” she inquired with some amount of urgency.

    “Good morning to you too. Well, why don’t you get dressed or at least put some shoes on and I’ll drink my coffee.” Reluctantly, she went upstairs as I sipped. Grateful I’d kept her at bay for a few minutes. Before I’d finished my cup she was back downstairs, wide-eyed and ready to go.

    “Did you brush your teeth?” I asked, hoping to buy a few more minutes of quiet.

    “Yes, I brushed my teeth,” she answered with all the seven-year-old attitude she could muster.

    “Are you lying?”

    “Noooo I'm not lying. I brushed my teeth. Get up. Let’s go. C’mon I want to see the geese and the goats and walk to the pond and give the cows some cookies. You can bring your coffee” I’ve learned in these situations to just pour another cup of coffee and get with the program or you’re fighting a force of enthusiasm that will eventually overcome you.

(Phoebe waiting for me to finish my coffee) ( Emmet climbs on)

(Phoebe & Mabel) (Phoebe after being goosed)     (Phoebe & the barn animals) (Phoebe & Christina)

    

    After our morning escapade, Phoebe followed the recipe for Krusteaz™ Belgian waffles, deciding not to add nutmeg and hint of cinnamon like Henry. She’s a purist.

    Henry finally stumbled downstairs  a couple of hours later and smelled the waffles.

    “She didn’t add the nutmeg and cinnamon, did she?” Henry has loved his waffles this way ever since he saw Billy Ray Cyrus put cinnamon and a hint of nutmeg in his waffles on "Hannah Montana". He corrected the problem before pouring the batter into the waffle iron. By this time, Mike had finally gotten up. Despite his belief that sleeping late is some kind of mortal sin, he manages not to come downstairs on the weekends until almost 11:30AM or sometimes even as late as 1:00PM. He rationalizes this by explaining he was awake in his room. How this differs I’m not at all sure, but it makes him feel better. I, on the other hand, have no problem with lolling about. I just can’t seem to relax when I see so many darn unfinished projects, but I’m the kind of person who has a hard time staying home sick when the house is a mess. I don't necessarily clean up them mess, rather I go to work sick. I feel as though I’ve got to clean it up and, if I don’t I’m out of sorts. Given this, you’d think my house was immaculate. It isn’t. At the moment it’s what I like to call in flux. The spice cabinet is just this side of alphabetical, but there are still boxes and papers in the office that need to be filed. The missing drywall doesn’t help. My room has a pile of clothes that rivals the pyramids needing to be given away and I don’t make my bed as often as I should. Although I know I’d be happier if I did.

    Once everyone was fed, the syrup wiped up, the dishes loaded and another pot of coffee was brewing, we all went out to tackle the flower garden fence. Much to my surprise, the cement we’d poured a week ago had not truly hardened. Reportedly, it had poured for two days straight while Henry and I were at Mountain School. As a result some of the posts had sat in wet cement for so long they’d sunk down an inch or so. My dad, Mike, the kids and I tried to fix the fence, but after a while it was evident we’d have to pull out some of the posts and start over. “If you don’t do it right it’s not worth doing” rings in my head every time I want to take a short cut. That man haunts me through any sort of construction project.

    “You’re going to pull the post out? #@#$%! Deal me out,” my father predictably grumbled, lowering his head. His opinion is negated by the fact that he thinks everything is good enough and anything can be fixed if you pound it hard enough with a hammer.

    “Yes, because I’m not going to look at this fence for the next ten years and hate it. And I don’t want Tom to come home and be disappointed.”

    “Let Tom fix it then,” he growled. Mike laughed nervously in some sort of complicit agreement. I started pulling out the post without any further discussion. It slipped out of the ground with frightening ease. The cement did not even adhere to the post. I continued taking out the incorrect posts and after some coaxing and cajoling my dad, Mike and the kids all helped get the fence done right. We couldn’t do everything, because we had to wait for the posts to at least harden a little.

    The kids spent the afternoon walking back and forth to the pond several times and splashing in the water. They came back with their boots soaked. But they were all smiles talking very fast of their adventures. They went inside and made a pitcher of lemonade before they took the goats out for a walk. Only Rachel and Christina were on lead ropes. Riley and Alexander just tagged along due to their herding instinct. Rachel is the herd queen so they’ll all eventually go wherever she goes. Riley and Alexander scampered about racing up and down the hill nibbling on bushes and butting heads.

(Phoebe the goat girl) Although the pine trees did distract the boys, they stayed together beautifully. I hope pine isn’t harmful to them because they seemed to love the needles. Unfortunately, they also had a penchant for my blueberry bushes. So I ran over shooing everyone away as I have visions of blueberry crumble dancing in my head.

    Watching them I felt like I should hear yodeling. Henry actually yelled “Riiiicoooolaaaa” at one point.

    After that, they moved on to calling the geese and intermittently helping build the fence. I gave a couple of lessons in power tools and everyone worked with the level. Phoebe loved the cement mixer just as much as Henry. (Phoebe goes solo)

(Henry shows how it's done)

    “Are we ready for cement?” she asked hopefully every few minutes. She got the same boring we-have-to-do-this-and-that-first-before-we-pour answers.

    Late in the afternoon, Lisa and “Nana”, Chris’ mother Anne came out to fetch the Pheeb. Anne hadn’t been here before so we took a tour of the property and discovered the snakes have come out from hibernation. I jumped a mile every single time we saw one. Lisa kept saying things like “Isn’t he dashing.” “This guy is really quite handsome, look at his yellow stripe.” She suggested that if she caught one and I held one I might feel better. Now, I know they can’t hurt me, they’re small and there isn’t a poisonous snake in Western Washington, so it’s not like they’re rattlers, or Water Moccasins, (which is why no one in their right mind should live in Florida) but let’s just say I’m not wearing sandals anytime soon. I’ve got to figure out how to keep the grass lower because I’m afraid of my own yard. Lisa suggested the next logical step was a heritage mongoose. On our walk we found a bird’s nest with a broken egg, five snakes, a small field mouse in the last throes of life as well as countless frogs and toads. Taking a walk to the pond is like a mini-camping trip. I don’t think we saw this much wildlife except the deer in the North Cascades.

    When we got back to the house, Lisa went in and had a heart-to-heart talk with Henry. He’s had some trouble lately following directions and is making quite a few bad choices. He is ten after all, but I don’t like to chalk things up to “he’s a boy”. I’ve seen that go wrong too many times. So Lisa talked to him. She has a way of making you spill your guts. The two of them have a great rapport and he told her things he’s been afraid to tell me for fear of disappointing me. Crying he told me he needed to tell me a few things. A kind of cleansing of the soul which is why we have confession. I'm grateful Henry has Lisa to talk to. It's hard on all of us with Tom so far away, but with fathers in Iraq he isn't the only one who doesn't see his daddy every day.

    (Grandpa Horn & Phoebe give the geese a much appreciated shower)

     After Phoebe lost the battle of “Can I spend another night at Tante’s?” (German for aunt) Lisa, Anne and Phoebe went to her van to leave. They had to get back in time to take Quinn to her next party. She has a very full social calender. Leaving less than a minute and a half to spare - verging on late (as usual),  Lisa gathered her things and her child and finally got to the van only to discover somehow her keys had been locked inside. Why did she lock her car? No one knows.

    “Mom, we can call the dealer.They'll come.”

    “Honey, that will take a long time and it’s not the dealer it’s Triple A.”

    Reluctantly, I offered my Odyssey. Not that I mind Lisa taking my van, but I was completely embarrassed at the state of it. I had papers and PopTarts™ littering the floor. Coffee cups were strewn about. My initial resolve to keep it clean had waned. I handed handfuls of shirts and envelopes to Henry and gave the keys to Lisa shamefaced. As they were driving off, Anne offered to come out and help me clean. I should have said, “No, you don’t need to do that,” but I didn’t. She’s a great cleaner and I’m in no position to deny needing help.

    Mike, Henry and I cleaned up our construction mess, put away Tom's tools, herded the geese who’d been mowing the lawn all day back in the garage and settled in for the night. My father had already gone into Bellingham. It was, after all, Saturday night.

    We decided to watch “Sleepless in Seattle”. Of course, I’ve seen it many times, but it was like watching it for the first time, watching it from Washington. We laughed like only people in the Pacific Northwest do when we saw Tom Hanks carrying an umbrella. No one carries an umbrella. Only dorky tourists from California carry "dumbrellas" (as Tom calls them). And then there were several scenes where it wasn’t raining at all and some were actually sunny – in the winter. We weren’t even sure it was actually filmed in the Northwest at this point. Exhausted, I was moisturizing in my blue strawberry PJs and fuzzy socks. and just about in bed at 11:45PM when the phone rang. It was my father’s cell; when I answered I could hear music and a lot of laughing.

    “Hey, I just thought I’d let you know, we finished and I’ve been invited to a party, so I’ll be home late. Hey, I met a nice young shy girl who's name means harmony and beauty in Vietnamese.”  What? Honestly, This must be what it’s like to have a teenager. All I can say is at seventy-one, the man has a joie de vive.

If you enjoyed this, please click on subscribe so you'll never miss another post.

May 9th A Little Bit of This & That

(Luther taking a sunbath)

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

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

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

   

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

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

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

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

(Alfred Sitting Down)

   

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

   

April 23 Things Heat Up

     

    As scheduled, my dad took Henry to school so Mike and I could get an early start on the barn. Armed with our cups of coffee and a thermos® we dug in. At first, we didn't know exactly how we were going to manage the logistics of the barn cleaning situation. Currently, there isn't a working light in the area Pancho and Lefty are in, which in general isn't a problem, because there are doors open to the outside and there's a light in the main part of the barn.  Initially, Mike thought we should close the doors to keep Pancho and Lefty out of the way. We tried this, but it was simply too dark. One might think we should just change the light, but if it was that simple we'd have done it long ago. Several people have tried to change the light, but so far to no avail and I'll be darned if I'm going to hire an electrician to come out here for a light bulb.

    Hiring people out here isn't like what I was used to in Los Angeles. I would simply call my friend and contractor, Doug and he would tell me who to call. Then I would schedule an appointment and they either would show up or not, because workmen, especially in LA, can be rather unreliable. Once they did arrive the meter, so to speak, would start running.  Here, you first have to ask, “We live in the county, will you come out to the county?” Now you'd think this place was the end of the earth, but in reality it’s 20 some odd miles – without traffic. Most people in large cities are used to driving, it’s just part of life.

    Anyway, the meter starts running from their shop. So I pay about $60.00 before they arrive and, even then, when I have bitten the bullet and paid for a plumber to drive out here only to hear him say. "I don't know how to fix that. . ." (leak in the barn wall.)

    "So it's ok then?"

    "No. It's got to be fixed I just don't know how. You'll have to get someone else out here." (And I paid him to drive here and back for that kind of answer?)

    Back to the task at hand. We opened the stall doors. We determined our procedure: Mike would use the pitchfork and scrape the gunk while I drove the tractor. This meant I had to get off and on to open and close the gate so our two convicts wouldn't take a stroll down the road again.

    I figured I got off easy. Driving the tractor is fun. I offered half-heartedly to switch jobs once or twice, but Mike doesn't even like driving my van, let alone the tractor. Each time I went back to the barn for another load, I would jump off the tractor, open the door to the corral, race back to my seat and gun it because one or the other of those sly oxen would be casually "eating" right near the gate. I knew their dastardly plan. Now, I’ve bad-mouthed them and called each a “dumb ox” before, but really they're pretty darn smart. Once in, I jumped off again and closed the door, then I’d pull right up to the stall door where Mike was working steadily. I’d turn off the motor because otherwise I couldn’t hear a thing Mike said.

The boys loved the company. They would rub on the tractor and keep bumping into me so I’d scratch their heads.  I was surprised at how social they were. At first, Mike was annoyed, because Pancho kept getting in the way. Once he realized Pancho followed him wherever he went, he kind of liked the company. After a while, when I pulled up and turned off the motor I could hear Mike singing, "Home on the Range" to Pancho, explaining his relocation and the reasons behind it. He assured Pancho that he and Lefty would be happy in their new home with the Mellotts.

    While I drove the tractor back and forth, back and forth dropping off a mixture of cow dung and straw in the compost pile and then picking up fresh wood shavings from the adjoining bin, I had a lot of time to think. I realized this first year of living on the farm is a lot like my first year of teaching. The year I had my very first fifth grade class all the procedures seemed confusing. I think Donna and Margie in the office should be canonized for their patience. They didn’t even yell at me when I used blue ink on my register (the legal document you fill in to report attendance – It MUST be in black ink – why? Because Margie said so that’s why – past that I don’t care. Well at least I wasn’t as bad the teacher who used green ink.)

    Anyway, after going back and forth I realized that we had created a lot of this work for ourselves. Now I know you put hay and grain into the cow and out comes a big green pie, but that isn’t the hard part to clean up. The worst part of cleaning the stall was the leftover wet heavy hay. It gets tangled in a mat and is really difficult to lift. As I drove, I realized we needed to feed the animals in the covered area outside. It only took nine months or so to figure that out -  nothing gets by braniac me. What I really need is a farming mentor, When I was teaching I had a mentor, Anice, who teaches second grade, but I would go to her with questions like  “How do you grade the tests, look at the homework, enter the grades, help the kids, teach the class, fill out the paperwork, attend the meeting, talk to the parents and replace the napkins in the lunchroom so the kindergarten teachers won’t get mad as well as what’s a good gift for kids to make for the holidays and keep your sanity?" She then would tell me procedures to make life easier. The answers seemed simple once you heard them, but when you’re in the thick of things you don’t see the nose on your face.

   In the warm sunshine, I kept thinking as I passed the goats and Miracle on the way to the compost heap, that’s starting to look a little like Whistler, and realized what we needed was a bench in the goat pasture so we can sit down there and sip a soda while socializing with Rachel, Christina, Alexander, Riley and, of course, Miracle – The Wonder Donkey. We’re not spending enough fun time with them; we need to work smarter and enjoy them more. They love the attention and don’t just want their basic needs met.

    As I passed the pen, Miracle turned her back to me every time I drove by. She was jealous and sulking because we were in the stall with the big boys. She needs to feel like number one all the time. She’s a very high-maintenance donkey. Lately, she's turned up her nose at her treat bowl, she wants to be hand-fed.

    After five hours of steady work we were hot and tired, but Mike warned me if he took a break he'd never get going again so we didn’t stop until we finished.

    After we were done, I started getting melancholy about the boys' departure and sat with them until the vet from Kulshan came for their examination. He was amazed, and I was proud. He couldn’t believe Pancho came when I called his name and that I could use Lefty's horn as a handrail. The vet was nervous trying to read the number on their silver ear tags, but I just yanked at each of their ears and read it to him.

    As Paul was writing up their health certificates, we started chatting about the large pile of junk I had from the construction and, before he realized it, he was leaving with a lovely parting gift. One of my windows will now brighten his workshop. One less thing for me to throw away.

After he left, I got to thinking about the compost pile. In Los Angeles I’d gone to Griffith Park, where you can get these black plastic composters for your yard. In it you put table scraps, coffee grounds etc. you turn it and you're done. But this is a whole different story. My compost pile was over eight feet high. It was too high. And it is supposed to be turned regularly to be most effective. Toby said she uses a tool designed much like a molly bolt. You stick it in the pile of crud and, once at the bottom, it springs open.  Then you pull it up and it churns the mixture. – But it can only be a few feet high.

    Since I don’t have one of those and she’s already told me my pile is too deep, I decided to go John Adams. If one of our founding fathers could churn his compost heap by hand, well, then who was I? I got Henry suited up after school and we dug in.

    We began with pitchforks, taking the top of the mound and pushing it down to the empty space in the three-sided wooden compost area. By doing this we were taking the mountain and spreading it out more equally. I told Henry it was the same idea as chocolate chip cookies -  we had to fold the mixture so it could cook more evenly. All was going well; Henry complained a bit about the smell, but he took it in stride.

    What we didn’t know was how interesting this whole thing was about to become. Sure I was yammering on in review of the fourth grade science standards regarding decomposers, reminding Henry of the unit Ms. Elberfeld had taught him last year. Teaching is re-teaching. All the while we’re getting deeper into the pile. I knew things like worms lived there, but I had no idea toads aplenty would be leaping out as we scooped. We were both amazed at our giant science project. Another scoop and something brown and fuzzy scurried by. I thought it was a mouse and screamed. A mouse in a compost pile didn't really make any sense, then I thought it might be a teeny mole. Mike came over and suggested it could be a shrew, Henry thinks it's a vole.

    Now I knew the compost would be warm, as the energy created is what the whole process is based on, but I was unprepared for the intensity. The heat emitted was astonishing. I don’t mean warm, I mean hot, hot, hot steaming hot. In fact, when we were churning much of the hay that had been deep within the pile it was ashen – really appearing as if it had been in a fire. Would I just be insane to buy a thermometer for my compost heap? I never expected to be so happy shoveling shit. But I made the mistake of having a DietCoke™ and taking a rest. So  reluctantly Henry agreed to finish the project this weekend.

    We still had the bonfire Henry lit earlier to watch. Unlike the city, out here in the “boonies” (as the vet said when I heard him on the phone) we are allowed to burn our scraps. It’s strange just lighting a fire in your yard, but if you keep it with in the guidelines all you have to do is call a number and listen to the recording. You get what is considered an implied verbal permit which is free. I didn’t know this at the beginning and had the fire marshal come out and I got stuck for $50.00 bucks for his time.

    The fire burned for several hours and we didn’t want to leave it unattended so we ate dinner outside enjoying the warm glow.

    With everyone fed and put away I sat down to read a note from Maryruth. It seems she’s just purchased 75 Arcaucana chicks and they're living in her bedroom at home. (And my sister thinks I’m nuts.) She mentioned she isn’t doing much sleeping. And then she told me she's just started a worm farm because they’re easy. I wondered, are there heritage worms?

April 15th Kiss His Ass Good-Bye

    Today none of us wanted to get up and face the day but like or not, the sun rose. First thing this morning, Tom slipped out to the barn to have coffee with his best girl. He brushed her and fed her treats whispering in her ear he’d be back.

    With the geese, cattle, goats, dogs, cats and Henry fed we got in the car headed for school. It was quiet at first no one spoke. We drove knowing Tom would be leaving for quite a while maybe six weeks. Money’s tight and he’s got to earn a living - who knows I may be serving coffee at Starbucks™ or bagging groceries at Trader Joes™ if we can’t get anything else going. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.

    So with a heavy heart I drove to town armed with my coffee for comfort while Tom read a loud from James Herriot’s “All Creatures Great & Small”. Henry loves the stories and I have to admit, they’re very real to me now. I’ve had a lot of James Herriot moments over the last eight months or so. We dropped Henry at school first. Tom kissed him good-bye barely choking back the tears as Henry happily climbed the hill to his class with a child’s understanding of the upcoming separation. Tom on the other hand got back in the car with a somber silence.

Next we drove to meet Lisa for a farewell breakfast chatting about the run Lisa had just done bantering back and forth verbal darts flying. Many aimed at the hay still clinging to my hair. “How can you let her go out like this? She looks like she just rolled in the hay.”

    “You get used to it. She used to be so clean. I remember a yellow feather dress.. .”

    “Has she showered lately?”

    “The cows don’t mind.”

    Finally, I dropped Tom at Bellingham International Airport (I think they may have one puddle-jumper that goes to Canada) The good-bye was quick and almost emotionless as though we’d see each other later this evening. That’s the only way we could do it

    Now then, with Tom gone there was work to be done. The goats needed a new salt lick in their pen and more baking soda. And I’m a little worried, they didn’t eat their timothy hay from last night and if there’s one thing for certain, goats eat. I’ll have to call Marcia.

    Tom called, he’d arranged for someone from Scholten’s to make a tractor house call. He thought it should be serviced and he didn’t want me to have to find a way to take it in to the shop in Lynden.

    This was way better than flowers.

    One of the service guys at Scholtens’s lives on the 9 near the Everybody Store so they’d agreed to send Wayne out. He came out and got the tractor all taken care of. We had an interesting discussion on Bio-diesel. I told him I’d tried to be green and used it but it became sludge in the winter. I expected to be chided and brushed off as a girl from the city, but instead he laughed and told me that although he uses it in his little tractor, Kubota™ put out a warning because a lot of it smells like French fries, popcorn or peanuts and mice love those things. The hoses are just rubber and so sometimes they go to town on people’s tractors.

    Miracle, Christina, Rachel, Alexander and Riley were fascinated with Wayne as he worked. Pancho and Lefty had eating to do.

    As I passed the dozen spectacular roosters roaming around Ann Storm’s place on the way to pick up Henry from school I realized I just have to give up on the Java chickens if I ever want to get chickens. There just aren’t any Javas available. Williamsburg has Dorkings and if they’re good enough for Williamsburg, I guess I’ll go with the Silver Dorking they’re noted as a very hearty and gentle breed. Now how many should I get? I called Tom.

February 17th Wish You Were Here

    Anyone who has ever lived with a basset hound knows that basset hounds are silver-tongued master communicators, rivaling Reagan, when a basset hound starts aroo-roo-rooing, he will not be ignored. He is relentless; you might as well just give in and do what he says. They might be telling you a variety of things, from “I’m hungry”, “I need love”, “I want to ride in the car” to “I would make a good blanket if you’d hold still” to “You don’t really love me, if you really loved me I’d be sleeping on your bed”.

    I woke up to Luther moaning about needing to go out for his morning constitutional. For some reason, I popped up. Maybe because there was light in the sky and usually that means it’s 10:00AM, but I glanced at the clock and it was just quarter of eight. I laced up my boots, rolled up my green flannels with the pink on them and zipped up my new black down jacket with the fur-trimmed hood that I got for 70% off. Zapped a cup of coffee and was about to take Luther outside when I noticed the little boys, the Devons, were laying in the field. One looked odd and I thought something might be wrong so I headed for the barn to get some grain. If he didn’t get up for grain, I’d know there was a problem. I stepped outside and was amazed. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. And the sun promised to come up from behind the hill. With a song in my heart, I walked to the barn. While I was there I fed Rachel, Christina, Alexander and Riley, as well as, Anna and our girl Miracle, who is kind of sulky these days since I haven’t gotten her packer pellets. I filled a bucket of grain. I started thinking of my mom. It’s her birthday. She passed a way a while ago, but she is still so present in my life, that I always want to celebrate her day. The dogs came with me as I grained the boys. They were all fine. As I was about to turn and go back to the house, I thought of my mom again and I just knew she would want to go on her birthday and have coffee by the beaver pond and just enjoy the beautiful morning. I turned back and started for the pond. When I arrived I couldn’t believe my eyes. There swimming in the pond were Canada geese. I counted them and as I got to eight I realized these were the eight goslings from last year when we first looked at the property. At least I think they are. Geese come back to the site of their birth so; I hope it’s them. The dogs were fascinated but never seemed aggressive. We all watched each other for a while and then headed back, drunk on sunshine.

   

When I got back, Henry was awake and watching “Myth Busters”. I made a fresh pot of coffee, went out on the porch in the sun and chatted with Tom for a bit. While I wasn’t looking Irish came up next to me and took a big gulp of coffee out of my cup. Unbelievable. Next, I called Dan Cramer about that hay. I’ve decided against it, money’s really tight and we have enough round bales to make it until the end of April even if we use two for the barn animals. Dan understood and told me he’d loan me a cart for the fifth grade movie we’re shooting in May. He proposed marketing a two-day wagon train excursion between his place and here. He told me his son was going to do a workshop on driving horses Tom and I should attend, he mentioned he still has 30lbs of hamburger for sale and finally he asked me if I knew anything about receiving grants. I told him I knew you had to be a non-profit and smart guy replied, “Well, from where I sit Denise, you’re about as non-profit as you can get.” Oh he laughed a belly laugh then pleased with himself. I had to admit, it was funny. I consoled myself with my clean car. I’m a Virgo.

   

Then Mike, Henry and I headed outside to clean the barn, brush the goats and enjoy being outdoors. I took Tom’s camera and snapped some shots.

(Henry enjoying the sun while he waits for us to fill the tractor)

    We walked to the pond to get some pictures of the geese, but to everyone’s disappointment they weren’t about. I’ll try again tomorrow morning. Henry skipped some stones and we walked along the edge of the pond.

You could see the pristine bottom which was wonderful, because we’ve been worrying about what discarded old junk might be lurking down there that might hurt the kids if they stepped on it, but not a thing except the rocks Henry’s been skipping. And some beaver poop. It’s not often you see beaver poop, because it’s almost always in the water. The poop is very light because it’s the color of wood shavings after all it’s just little compressed wood pellet. So we all just stood there on the dock looking at the beaver poop awhile wondering if we could poke it with a stick. This made me think of my mom again. I suspect beaver excrement is not something that reminds most people of their deceased mothers on their birthday. However, my mother was the best of “Auntie Mame”, when she went to Africa on safari, she took pictures of animals pooping. In fact, she really quite proud of an action shot she got of a cheetah doing her business.

My mother said this one of the things nature shows always left out and kids should see. She taught second grade. Yes, my mother would have loved the beaver poop examination.

If you enjoyed this post, please go to the top right and click on subscribe to receive my RSS feed.

February 12th One Adam Twelve

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

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

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

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

   

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

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

(Culprit - Seven-Months-Old)

   (Victim - Sleeping Comfortably?)

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

February 7th Animal Farm

This morning as I was greeting the residents in the barn. I was welcomed with the usual Brenda-Vicarro-type-brays from Miracle and eager bleats from Riley. Donkeys it seems love to be snuggled, so if I don’t want a sulky donkey I have to take the time to hug Miracle and let her rest her nose over my shoulder. I am then expected to scratch behind her ears, under her halter and in general bestow love. This is not a sacrifice, I consider it an honor, and I comply readily. I was raised around horses and given that donkeys are equine I thought they’d be like horses or ponies. NO, they are not. They do all like to be brushed and pet, snuggled and loved, but donkeys are their own deal.

    The light in Anna’s area, I’d say stall, but it’s much bigger probably three times a regular stall, has burned out and so as she sticks her wet nose through the slats mooing at me she just seems like the monster in the dark. I’m not too fond of her, as you probably have surmised over time. I had such high hopes for owning a cow, but she is not a real chummy cow. She’s beautiful true. But she’s suspicious, nervous and cranky.

    I went through my morning routine, the very pushy goats get their alfalfa pellets in their trough first, or they steal everything from Miracle. She’s much more shy and demure, unlikely qualities in a donkey but she’s really the only donkey I know. They are a clash of cultures. Watching them respond to each other is like taking a sociology class – Not animal behavior. The goats have no personal boundaries they cling and hang together. They don’t care where one goat ends and one begins. My donkey is much more standoffish. She backs up if someone wants to get by. If the goats rushed in and took her treats she walked away. As time has gone on, Miracle has found passive ways of fighting back. She waits until the goats get their pellets, then she positions herself between them and the rest of the area- blocking them in with her body. This way they have to go try and slip between her lethal hind legs and the wall if they want to steal some of her treats. Very crafty. If one slips by and tries to snag a treat she pretends to try and bite them, but they know an empty threat when they see one. Goats are not stupid.

    Which brings me back Anna. She was mooing up a storm, like a baby who wants a bottle. Although she really isn’t supposed to get cow cookies in the morning- the boys don’t but they’re down in the pasture- she doesn’t think it’s fair that everybody else in the barn is getting treats.  I don’t blame her, so I give her some cookies in a black flat bottom bowl from the feed store. (Miracle prefers a white plastic mixing bowl she won’t eat out of the feed store bowls) I leaned in to give her the treats she so desperately wanted and what does she do? She starts thrashing her head back and forth hitting the bowl with her horns dumping the cookies on the ground in her water and all over the place. It is at this moment I start to yell “You stupid COw” I stopped. Hmm. That’s where that came from. Thousands of colonial farmers probably yelled those very words countless times for it to become part of our colloquial language. American history. I didn’t want to follow up with dumb ass, because you know how sensitive Miracle can be.

January 31st Live Long And Prosper

    Today is Mike’s birthday.

We spent the day at home doing chores in the barn for the most part, but we decided to meet Lisa and the girls for dinner at Stannellos. None of us had ever been there and so we thought we’d give it a try. Everybody readily found something, but Quinn. She is a vegetarian, making her choices sometimes a bit more challenging, but they clearly had options for her. She said she was going to eat when she got home. It seemed odd. Lisa took her to the Ladies room and when they came back Quinn ordered.
It was great food. The ambiance isn’t stellar, but it’s fine. The view on a clear day would be amazing, you’d be able to see the islands, but this was not a clear day.

    We ordered a bottle of Chianti among the three of us and Mike began opening packages. Henry gave him a pair of gag “nerd” glasses with a full-scale nerd test on the back. There were more than a couple questions he had to answer - yes , but we were all relieved to find he had never owned a "Star Trek" uniform. Although he did admit he’d been to a convention – just to see what it was like. (Funny, because he isn’t really a fan)Anyway Mike's a great sport and we made many jokes at his expense. He laughed the hardest of all.

    The nerd glasses were a big hit, everyone tried them on. Quinn loved them and with Mike and Henry’s permission she planned to wear them to school the next day with a promise to relay her experiences. She did put in the caveat she was not going to wear them in the 8th grade section she would don them she got to the 6th grade area. She said she didn’t need that kind of attention.
Everyone settled into cheesecake.

January 3rd Round And Round We Go

    This is the first day of the rest of my life. Today, this morning, I have this guy, Frank, coming out here with seventeen round bales of hay. Why is getting s a bunch of hay a big deal? Let me expound the mysteries thereof, round bales I’ve learned are bigger than regular bales. One round bale will feed my cattle for about a week. A week! This means no heaving, no hauling. This means I simply go down, check the water and give them some grain. As if a gift from Heaven, they’re cheaper. Yes, cheaper. Why? I don’t know why. It doesn’t seem reasonable that something that makes my life easier and lasts longer is cheaper, but it is. Maybe it’s like buying chocolate chips in bulk.

    The unloading didn’t go as smoothly as any of us had hoped. The guy and his son upped the price a little, because it was so arduous. Their truck wouldn’t come all the way up our drive way and our tractor didn’t have a spear. I didn’t even know there was such a thing until today. You strap the spear to the front bucket of the tractor, poke the round bale and take it to the feeder. They let us use their spear, but as this was happening, the guy got frustrated because Tom wasn’t moving the tractor fast enough. Well, calm down buddy this was our first experience moving round bales and we’re figuring things out. He asked Tom if he minded if he drove the tractor. Tom was all for it. It didn’t go too much smoother when he did it. The round bales are so heavy that when he picked one up, our tractor tipped. I could hardly breathe. I thought the guy was going to get crushed.

    Everything stopped at that point. We hooked the backhoe on as counter weight and kept going. At one point we weren’t sure all of them would fit, but they did.

Now we just have to build a round bale feeder and get a spear.

December 1st Winter White

   

    It seems so cliché waking up to a winter wonderland on December 1st, but that’s exactly what happened. During the night we received a beautiful blanket of white. The barren trees are glistening with ice.

    After my morning coffee, I went out to feed the goats and Miracle the Wonder Donkey with my coffee in my pajamas, slippers and robe. When I opened the door to reveal what had happened during the night they were all cautious. The goats and Miracle stood at the edge of the door assessing the situation. I realized that even though Miracle came from only a short distance away it was almost right on the water so they didn’t get much snow. I guess only fools rush in where wise Asses fear to tread. Miracle took her hoof and gently pressed down on the snow. She kept putting more and more weight on it to see if it would hold her. The goats watched. I watched. After she felt sure that this stuff was solid, she went out and kicked up her heels. She raced around playing in the snow. The goats followed careful to stay out of her way. I have to say, as I sat there with my coffee, I thoroughly enjoyed the morning.

   Usually, we put up our Christmas lights Thanksgiving weekend and normally, this would be the weekend we’d decorate our Christmas tree. In numerous phone calls, Tom has suggested we go out on the property and cut one down. We’ve thought about it, but without him here all I can think of is hauling the thing back to the house by myself – or with Henry. We’ve seen plenty of tree lots around as well as the “chop-it-yourself “places scattered everywhere we go on a normal day. But, Henry and I keep resisting. We’ve talked about it and today we’ve decided to skip Christmas. Not the holiday, just the decorations. We told Mike our decision and he thinks it makes sense. To anyone not here all the time this is the unthinkable, after all, I have a collection of Santas numbering over a hundred. How can I skip Christmas? Easy, if you could see the mess we’re living in on a daily basis. The very idea of trying to find the various boxes hiding the Christmas decorations amongst the pile of boxes in the garage and then the idea of bringing one more thing in this house that doesn’t need to be here and then having to pack it up again and after all that work we will not be one bit closer to a cleaner more organized house seems more than any of us can bear. Besides, we’re going to spend the night at the Donaldson’s and they will have a tree.

The Christmas gift we’re going to give each other is a better home to live in.

(our tree)

October 27th Feeding Time

    I’m trying to make the feeding of the animals more efficient. Currently, it’s tough. The barn animals, like the goats and donkey are actually fairly easy. Alfalfa pellets, two scoops morning and night for the goats. Miracle gets one scoop of Packer Pellets™ both morning and night – to be served in her Tupperware™. She is a picky ass and won’t eat out of just any old cow dish. She has to be locked outside while she eats hers or Rachel and Christina will eat them right out of her mouth. They are like a clash of cultures. Miracle is very Nordic in behavior while the goats tend to act a bit more Middle Eastern. Finally, I fill their water and make sure all the doors are secured so that I don’t have to lose sleep over coyote attacks.

    The cows are tougher. As I’ve said before I have to throw two hay bales down from the hayloft, get the tractor and load them up. Drive the tractor down to the pasture get off and drive over to the feeding stations. Then I have to take the bales and lift them above my head into the mangers. Finally, if I haven’t forgotten the scissors I cut the strings that bind the bales. This happens twice a day. I have to say there has to be a more efficient way to do it, but I don’t know what it is.

   

Don’t get me wrong; some days my dad helps me and other times Mike pitches in. Even Henry helps lift the bales, but it’s tiresome. I take that back. Actually, once you’re doing it, it isn’t too bad, but as the wind howls and the nights get longer you just don’t really want to put your boots on and head out the door to do it. I find doing the barn animals kind of relaxing and once you’ve finished doing it all you truly feel as if you’ve done something meaningful. I can imagine the kinds of dinner’s farmers must eat. This is work worthy of hearty eating.

     Once, the feeding is done, we’re still having to go out and medicate Rachel. It’s almost over and no one is more relieved than Rachel (and me). She seems to be doing a lot better and apparently she isn’t contagious so she’ll be returning to her stall with her daughter, Christina and the others soon.

October 24th Make It Stop

    I’m dreading going out and medicating Rachel. I know each time I do it, that it just gets harder. She hates it. I hate it and Mike hates it. Henry won’t even go out because it’s so awful. I know compared to a lot of other things it’s nothing, but she’s so strong and it seems to hurt. She sees me coming and starts this frantic pathetic bleating. I don’t even have the confidence that I’m doing it right. Tonight, we’re going to try a different size needle and see if we have any better luck. I know it has to be done and there’s no one else to do it.

October 23rd Duty Calls

    Rachel doesn’t like get poked with a needle. She doesn’t like it at all. Mike and I look like rodeo clowns trying to wrangle her into a corner. We start with pellets to keep her in one place, but she’s a goat.
Her skin is tough and it’s hard to push the medication through the needle into her, and it seems as if it hurts. Lisa says it shouldn't but it sure seems as though it does. I feel terrible. I feel like I’m torturing her, but I know I have to do it. I know it, because I called Lisa and demanded to know how long must this go on. She informed me a full week. I suppose I should take solace that I’m helping her, but I just feel cruel. Did I mention I have to do warm compresses? If you think a goat stands still for this, you haven’t met a goat. First, she wants to eat the compress. She's fairly certain this might taste better than anything else she's ever had. Once she figures out it's not a food item, then she wants to wiggle and wriggle and do anything and everything she can to get you to stop. This is fairly effective. But I am tenacious and I know that I’m supposed to do this or my sister will not be happy. If she tells me to follow procedure she expects me to follow procedure and she doesn’t want excuses. However, she usually has helpful tips so I’ll call her in the morning and see what I can do to get better at this.

October 22nd Packer Pellets Anyone?

(Alfalfa)

   

(Packer Pellets)

Lisa gave me the medication I have to give Rachel every day for a week. When I say give, I mean inject. Some might be squeamish about this, but I had to take care of my mother while she underwent years of chemotherapy and have long since gotten past the “I will not give a shot under any circumstances position”.

    Lisa said it's prudent to keep Rachel isolated in her single stall just in case what she has is contagious. Rachel's not very happy about this, but she can see Christina and the others and she’s getting a good deal of “Packer pellets”.  The packer pellets are our "cow cookies" and Miracle loves them. They’re just alfalfa big fat alfalfa pellets about two inches long and about as big around as a hot dog. They're called packer pellets because people who pack into the mountains aren't supposed to leave any food stuff behind. And it's not very practical to load a bale of hay on the back of your horse. Truth be known, we call them goat heroin because the goats completely lose their minds for these things. They're personalites change. They get kind of wild and frantic, they rush at you wild-eyed ears twitching. So we don’t give them much.  I've suggested to Tom, we just cut them off. You can't give in to addicts and Idon't want to be a goat enabler. Sometimes though I soften and scatter a little of the dust you find at the bottom of the bag on their hay. Anyway, today I thought Rachel deserved a little extra, so she’s not too, too unhappy. Snacks as comfort this explains how I ended up on Jenny Craig™.

October 21st Lumpy Isn't Good

    I’m finally home from my stay at Lisa’s and what do I find upon my return? A lumpy goat. Rachel has a bump on her I’m concerned about and I really don’t know how long it’s been there. I called Marcia St. John since she knows just about all there is to know about these goats and then I called my sister. It’s good to have a doctor-type in the family. She and Marcia came to the conclusion that we have to “open it up”. The first order of business is shaving the area. And I don’t have clippers. And I’m forty minutes to town. And I don't where you get goat clippers. And it's a Sunday.

    Suddenly, and unusually, I had a brilliant idea. I reached for the list of names and numbers of neighbors who came to our Fourth of July party and call Lynette. I knew she had Curly horses and therefore must have a pair of clippers. This is the rural “Can I borrow a cup of sugar”. Lynette was home and said to ‘come on by and get ‘em”. We did and by then Dr. Lisa had arrived on the scene. We separated Rachie in another stall full of nice cozy shavings. I’ve assisted Lisa many times, but admittedly we’re usually tending a dog or a cat. I got a hold of Rachel and I truly believed I had a good grip, but dang if goats aren’t strong. She lifted me right up, and I might  add I am not my goal weight. Now Lisa’s yelling at me and the goat is bleating like a mad woman. I’m trying to hold her and it’s just about this time I realize my jacket is covered in goat blood. Goat's blood? Good Lord, that sounds so Biblical. Prior to this the only connection I had to goat’s blood was the story of Passover. No. I'm wrong that’s lamb’s blood. Never mind.

September 21st A Good Thing

 

  Baking Soda. Baking soda is the answer to my laundry woes and it’s necessary for the goats to have it to keep all their stomachs functioning properly. We leave a bowl of it in their pen and they nibble on it at will. Not exactly my idea of a snack but they seem to really like it. And as if that weren’t enough of a reason to keep it on hand, if you mix it with water and make a paste, it relieves the pain of “stinging nettles”.

    For these reasons, I already buy baking soda in bulk. As I was pouring some out for the goats this morning I remembered putting a box in the refrigerator when I was growing up and thought of the odor issue. I found my dime store reading glasses because being part of the over-forty-crowd I can no longer just look down and read. Sure enough, just as Mama used to say, baking soda is the odor eliminator. I buy it in very large quantities at Home Depot™ or Costco™. It’s cheap too.

August 28th Peace Be With You

 Taking Henry to the airport in Vancouver, BC, seemed like an easy enough thing to do. I just needed our passports and directions. I had Marie’s cell phone, so we’d call her when we got close. No problem. I guess I was nervous because we got there very early. I got a Starbucks™ and changed some money. Then we went to the underground parking and watched a few "MacGyver" episodes in the car before we went to the gate. We met up with Marie and then off they went through security. They just walked through, Henry carrying his orange suitcase wearing his orange socks.  Download tangerine_socks2.doc . They were talking and laughing as they disappeared beyond security.  I just stood there. Tears welled up in my eyes. I knew he’d be fine, but suddenly he was gone and I felt so alone. I made my way back to the car trying to keep my head down so no one would see the tears streaming down my face. I felt ridiculous, but so sad. In the car it was even worse - I didn’t have to remind him not to kick my seat or to buckle up.
   
    Now, I just had to cross the border. The line was awful; they’re doing work on the Peace Arch crossing to prepare for the Olympics in 2010






and so everything is backed up. Henry called me from Marie’s cell phone and I felt better. I sat in line for almost an hour before it was my turn. I pulled up and the humorless man started asking me why I’d gone to Vancouver etc. I answered all the questions until he asked me “…and how many horses do you have?” Huh? I told him I didn’t own any horses. He told me I was lying. What? Lying to a border agent, are you kidding me? He said I had horses. I said I didn’t. I couldn’t figure out why he was so insistent. He told me to pull to the side and agents searched my car. I could feel my cheeks getting hot. What had I done? He finally asked me again how many horses I had. I said again I didn’t have any horses. He asked me to explain why I had hay in my car. I felt triumphant. “Because I have goats,” I said hotly. He waved me on. Once I was out of sight, I sped away with the reckless abandon of Kasey Kahne. I was really going to enjoy Henry's vacation . 

August 20th Goldilocks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 18th I Got Your Goat

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

    We unloaded Rachel, at three the oldest (yellow)

and the mother of Christina (purple).

How can you separate the two?

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

and the baby Riley(orange),

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



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

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

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

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

August 5th My Dad - Grandpa Horn

My dad is arriving today and Lisa has arranged it so that, instead of meeting us here at home, he will rendezvous with all of us at in Everett at St. John's Creamery,The Coyote Conservancy. I’m going to take a peek at the goats and we’re going to see the Anatolian Shepherds.
   
Everyone thinks my dad is cool. This is not how I would describe him, but he’s my father. He’s worn Converse™ so long they’re cool again. He’s from Medford, a small town in Wisconsin. He took a football scholarship to Notre Dame, but could have had scholarships in basketball or baseball. My dad skis, rides horses, bowls, plays pool, throws darts etc. (However, he can’t beat Tom at darts and this annoys him.) He’s a true jock. While I was growing up, my dad was making documentaries overseas for the United States Information Agency. We lived in Tunisia and Libya. We were in Libya during the 67 war. Kids would come over and say, “Who’s that military man with your father” I’d answer, “That’s the Emperor Haile Selassie “ (of Ethiopia). I was the only first grader who screened documentaries for show and tell.
    Sometimes it seems as if my dad’s done everything. I say this, because as I’ve grown up there’s always some new surprise he’s never mentioned. For instance, I was working on the Taylor Made™ golf account. We’d been coming up with concepts and I asked my dad if he’d ever heard of Augusta. I was in my early twenties and didn’t play golf- except for one ill-fated P.E. class in college. My dad’s response? “Of course, honey, I went there on Air Force One with President Eisenhower when I worked in the White House.” Ok. You’d think someone would mention that type of thing. Similarly, when we were at California Adventure, Henry was fascinated with the airplanes while we were in line for “Soarin’ Over California” and said, “Grandpa Horn, wouldn’t it be great to fly a plane?” My dad replied matter-of-factly, “Grandpa Horn has a pilot’s license. I’ve flown lots of planes.”
My dad plays coronet and flugelhorn. He only plays traditional jazz and will barely acknowledge music composed after 1914. (Which is why he is called “Grandpa Horn”) When I was in college my father sold almost everything and went to play the streets of Paris for two years.




    Some people read books; my dad reads shelves of books. He loves single malt scotch, writing, big dogs, jazz, Notre Dame Football, UCLA basketball, emailing his friends, and pretty girls of all ages. Not necessarily in that order. My dad likes something or he doesn’t. He is grumpy on the outside but is sentimental and will tear up at any Horatio Alger-type story.
    My dad has traveled the world, but has never set foot in Washington until today.

August 2nd Multiple Stomachs

 Since livestock were such a critical component of colonial life, I feel it is essential that we include them in our camp and, of course, kids love animals. Ok I admit it I love the idea of having animals. I’ve always wanted a cow, but Tom wouldn’t let me have one in California because he said she’d step on the sprinklers.

    Tom and I have discussed it and, after voraciously reading Hobby Farm™

    I didn’t know much about goats until recently, so Henry and I have been traveling around visiting goats we found for sale on craigslist.

    I had no idea goats had so much personality. After doing further research, I’ve decided we should go with rare, heritage breeds so that even our animals are authentic to the time period, though Henry would give his left arm for a Nubian. They’re the floppy-eared clowns of the goat set, but we’re going with the statelier Oberhaslis. I think they’re stunning and they look like deer. I emailed my dad, who will be coming up soon that I was interested in Oberhasli goats. He replied that it was coincidence, because he’s getting an Anatolian Shepherd puppy from Marcia St. John who lives in Everett, Washington and also happens to raise Oberhasli goats at her place Coyote Canyon Conservancy. Besides raising the animals she also operates a goat dairy, St. John Creamery.

She knows a great deal and is willing to help me out in all things goats. She’s an amazing find. Together we decided I’d come in a couple of weeks with my entire crew, including Tom (he’ll be back by then), Henry, Lisa, Quinn and Phoebe, to pick out two goats. We think we’re thinking of starting with just two Oberhasli and then get another breed. Tom likes the Alpine.

Everything about our adventure seems intertwined. My dad is getting the Anatolian Shepherd puppy because Josh, a boy in my class, had two of them and my dad was smitten. He had wanted a little Rottie, but I was worried about the perception of Rottweilers. Even though my sweetie, Vivian,




is just a big snuggler, it didn’t seem wise to get another one when we’re trying to open up a kids’ camp. So when Josh’s mom brought his dogs to school one day, they caught my attention. As it happens, they’re livestock magazine, we’ve decided to start with goats. Not as big and daunting as a cow and, as an added bonus, my sister the veterinarian was in the ruminant club in vet school at Colorado State. It seemed a little weird to me at the time, but it’s coming in quite handy now.   guardians, which seems perfect.