As The Butter Churns

December 21st Three's A Crowd

 (Baby Huey?- chicken eggs and one - egg we found in the turkey pen - not sure if it's a turkey egg or a goose egg)

It was a mild mannered day at the Everybody’s store. Alexis and I were selling all sorts of exotic holiday cheeses like Wynsleydale, Nokkelost and Geitost until a striking woman came in and leaned over the counter looking me straight in the eye.

“I’m Bellingham P.D. and we have a situation.” I stood silently waiting for an explanation. “We’re going to need your parking lot as a staging area. There’s a problem up the road.”

“Thank you for telling me.” I said wondering what the situation could be.

“We didn’t want you to think it had anything to do with the store.” She said as she strode out of the door without any further information. I relayed what I knew to Alexis who was sweeping up something in the back.

“Crack house?” He suggested.

“Probably.” I agreed and we went back to selling cheese and last minute stocking stuffers like jaw breakers, ceramic kissing Santa Claus and Mrs. Santa Claus salt and pepper shakers, spices for mulled wine and magnetic bracelets for improving arthritis. We saw more than twenty police cars and an armored vehicle scream by. Some cars with just their lights on and others with sirens full blast.

 (some of our cheeses)

 (our 100-year-old cheese slicer we use for everything)

 (some more cheeses including the Huntsman far left - yum- double gloucester layered with stilton)

 (jawbreakers - we carry three sizes)

Not being able to take the suspense any longer and knowing Acme General Store has a police scanner I dialed their number. “Hey, this is Denise at Everybody’s, do you guys know what’s going on?”

“You guys must have a heck of a lot of police cars over there,” the voice said laughingly.

“We sure do. Why?”

“Well, a guy shot some kid in Bellingham earlier this morning and a police helicopter tracked his car to Wild Rose Lane. But he’s ditched it. They’re going house to house, but think maybe he’s trying to go over the dike to Mosquito Lake Road.”

“Really.” I said not too worried, after all Mosquito Lake Road is fourteen miles long. I relayed the information again to Alexis and we went back to counting cop cars and selling cheese.  As customers streamed in we got dribs and drabs about what was going on. Until Joyce, a fairly close neighbor of mine, only about three miles away said she’d heard there had been trouble on Mosquito Lake Road.

“You know you can see your house from the top of the Van Zandt Dike,” Alexis mentioned.

“You can?” I guess I didn’t realize we were so close as the crow flies. My phone vibrated. I had a message:

“Mama? The police just called and told me there is an armed gunman in the area of our house and to stay inside and lock the doors. I have to say this is making me a little bit nervous.”

“Alexis? I’ve got to go. Henry got a call from the police to stay inside. Nick went back to Mammoth for Christmas this morning so Henry'’s home by himself.”

“Go. Go. We’re fine here.” Grabbing my purse, out the door I fled. I saw a policeman sitting in his car in the parking lot, so I stopped to ask him how much validity there was and to find out how nervous I should be, but just as I was asking him another police car pulled up requesting back-up and they both went speeding off in the direction of my house.

I called Henry. “Just lock yourself in the house with the dogs, Honey.”

“I’m in your room with all the doors locked and I have all the dogs in here with me. Can you honk three times when you get home so I know it’s you and you’re ok.”

“Sure,” I told him as I drove closer. I called Tom and apprised him of the situation.

“Can you call Henry while I drive home. He’s nervous.”

As I drove I wondered what good I really was going to be to Henry other than sacrificing myself for him. I mean I don’t have a gun so what would I do? My friend, Franz, and just about everybody else has been after me to get something to protect myself and I really want to, but I’ve had so many nightmares where Henry gets killed with it that I have a hard time making that purchase. I passed the “situation”. I counted 30 police cars, a bunch of undercover vehicles; two helicopters a few armored vans, dogs and SWAT teams waiting. As I turned onto Mosquito Lake Road there was no doubt there was big trouble brewing. At every logging road was an armed policeman who looked intently at me holding an assault rifle. It was eerie. I kept driving.  Wondering what I’d do if I was this fugitive. He was from the area and fairly young so he probably knew the family with 15 kids that used to live in our house. Which meant he knew we had out buildings. If he was a farm boy he knew that a barn probably had water and heat lamps this time of year. A woman alone and a barn was a pretty good hideout if you asked me. I kept driving, when I got to the gate I honked three times and let myself in. As I parked the car I wondered how the gunman would get himself out of here. And it occurred to me that hiding in my van holding my son at gunpoint would work fairly well. He could hide in the back where I put the hay and have a tarp. I rang the doorbell and Henry opened the upstairs window.

“You didn’t honk three times.” He accused.

“I did too at the gate.”

“Oh. I didn’t hear you over the TV and the dogs.”

“Can you let me in?”

“Are you alone?” He said scanning the area.

“Yes! Now get down here and let me in.” He came to the door with a large LED Maglite, and an air horn strapped to him as well as a large kitchen knife.

“It’s a good thing you’re here mom. If he came in I was ready to go all Home Alone on him.” I laughed thinking the gunman would regret having to deal with Henry.

 (Henry ready for action)

 (flashlight)
 
 

I called Amy warning her to get her rear-end over here when she got home “and don’t pick-up any hitchhikers either. You got that?”

“Yeah, I know right. I’ll be over Mother Hen.” Amy laughed without the proper concern. The laugh of a twenty-year-old who doesn’t believe anything bad can really happen.

“You’d better. You don’t have a weapon, a phone or anything. You’re the perfect place to hideout.”

“I’ll be fine, but oh all right.”

Before she arrived, I wondered what I would do if our fugitive would show up. I decided I could stash Henry in the large pile of dirty clothes in the laundry room like they did in “Zorro”. This dragging my feet on the laundry thing was now working out for me. Mental note: Always keep a pile of laundry handy in case of an armed fugitive. I felt vindicated.

Since Irish had been useless against the cougar, Henry and I took Vivian, the ferocious, but snuggly Rottweiler, to the barn with us to feed the animals before dark. Henry was armed with his Maglite and I had the air horn. 

 (Vivian looking powerful)

 

When we walked outside we were shocked to find Poor Richard and Franklin surrounded by the other animals. When we got closer we found they were covered in blood. Fighting over Silence who was standing coyly nearby.

Franklin had blood spewing out of his mouth and Richard was bleeding all over his head. It was ugly.  Ferocious. We put Franklin in the turkey pen and Richard in the goose pen and ran back in the house to get some water to clean them up. When we got back with some rags we found Richard had flown the coop as it were and was fighting to the death with Franklin through the gate of the turkey pen. My two boys who’d been friends just that morning were about to kill themselves over a girl. Confirming my long held belief that testosterone is a mind-numbing drug.

 (Barnyard brawl -Franklin and Richard twisted together in the center)

 (Silence and the fighting intertwined Toms - Richard and Franklin)

 (Franklin covered in blood)

 (Henry ready to check the hay room for intruders)

“Don’t be a Dick.” Henry said as he pulled Richard unwrapping his neck from around Franklin putting him in the small refrigerator room. Sadly, we realized we were going to have to get rid of one of them.

When things calmed down, we listened but heard nothing unusual. It was a warm evening for a winter night and so a kid who knew these mountains could find shelter and drink out of a stream without much of a problem.

When Amy arrived I sat everyone down and decided to come up with a plan.

“He’s not going to come here,” Amy insisted.

“Well, if we have a plan he won’t but if we don’t have a plan he’ll be on our doorstep."

"Um why would he come here?" Amy questioned.

"Because we've got out buildings and he might be familiar with the property if he knew any of the kids who used to live here. I was a Girl Scout, I read 52 Nancy Drew books and I’m a victim of a violent crime - having been held at gunpoint for a few hours. I like to be prepared,” I said, ending that discussion.

 First we agreed that “Deli” was our red alert code. If anyone mentioned Deli or having anything to do with Deli, that meant there was trouble. Secondly, we decided if the guy showed up we’d offer him a bowl of Weight Watchers soy chili and act as though we had no idea he was wanted. Thirdly, I called Tom and my sister and told them the Deli code.

 (Luther shares Amy's relaxed attitude)
 

“But what if the kid doesn’t know he didn’t actually kill the other kid?” My sister asked rationally. “He might think he’s wanted for murder and has nothing to lose.”

“You have a point. I’ll have to see I guess. Hopefully, he’s been caught.” I said.

But he was not caught that night. I called the Everybody’s Store in the morning to see if they had any news. Jeff answered, “Oh yeah, that’s Dave Wilhelm’s boy. His mother’s a professor and his father’s an artist. He paints and makes things out of wood like kayaks. He makes beautiful things. You never know what your kids are going to do,” he said wistfully in his deep booming voice.

Later I ran into Fred, the high school senior who works at the Everybody’s store and who is helping me edit 13 hours of video. “Hey Denise. I know I should be home working on your project.”

 (Fred working)
 

“Yes, you should,” I laughed. “Have you heard anything about this fugitive, Noah?”

“Yeah, I’m friends with his brother. And I know the guy he shot.”

“Is he ok? What happened? Was it drugs? What?”

“Yeah he’s awake now. No, they’d been friends. It was over Noah’s ex-girlfriend.”

What a bunch of turkeys.

 

 

 

August 27th E-i-E-i-O

(barn swallow babies - leaving the nest, but not the barn)

A couple of weeks ago the phone rang, it was Awesomez.

    “You’re never going to guess what Nick said today.” 

    I took the bait. “What?”

    “He said he wants to live on the farm and go to school in Washington. He hates the school here and says he needs a change.”

    “Really? Is he sure? I mean do you really think he’ll go through with it?”

    “I asked him that and he seems sure. Let’s give it a couple of days and see, but I think he’s serious,” she said with a heavy heart. “Mammoth hasn’t been a happy place for him in a long time and I told you I saw a different kid when he was on the farm. I think he really likes the animals, especially Luther and Henry.”

    I told Henry, Nick was a possibility, but I also told him what a huge decision this was and that Nick could back out at the last minute. Henry said he understood, but he was joyful. I was worried he’d get his hopes up and be really disappointed when Nick changed his mind.

    The funny thing is, Nick didn’t change his mind. He arrived today anxious to start school. Awesomez came with him to get him registered and settled in. 

On the way to the airport Henry turned to me a bit teary and said “Mama, Nick coming here is a dream come true for me. I’ve always wanted to have a brother.”

“You have Craig and  Laura, but I know it’s different, they’re older and don’t live with you right?”

“Exactly, I love them, but they’re not kids.”

“It’s not going to be all easy you know”

    “I know. Nothing worthwhile is easy. Isn’t that what you always say?” He said with a grin. I really hate it when he quotes me.

(Nick and Henry make their way to the van)

    Their flight arrived at bustling Bellingham International about 2:00PM.  We stopped by the feed store to get some more food for the geese, chickens and turkeys. As I walked in I saw the “For Sale” board on the wall. Anyone can write an ad about something they want to sell on the white board as long as they date their ad, so I made a snap decision and picked up the green pen. “For sale rare, heritage..."

    “Mom! What are you selling? Rare, heritage what?”

    “…Cotton Patch Geese”

    “Who?” Henry demanded. “Not Lloyd, you wouldn’t.”

    “No. Quackmire, he’s charged Phoebe for the last time.”

    “Look Mama, look at the ad above yours, they’re selling Cayugas. You’ve always wanted a Cayuga! And they’re only $5.00!”

    Henry was right I had wanted a Cayuga. I’d researched Cayugas and just hadn’t pulled the trigger, but here they were right in front of me.

    “Come on Mom, Cayugas.” Before I knew what I was doing my fingers were dialing the number and a woman answered the phone.

    “Hello, I’m calling about your ad, do you still have the Cayugas?”

    “Yes, we do, they’re three left,” a woman said on the other end of the phone. “How many would you want?”

    “Well, I’m just listing a couple of my geese now. I wasn’t actually thinking about getting Cayugas today, but my son noticed your ad. How old are they?”

    “They’re two months old now,” she said slowly as though she was calculating their age.
    “So they’re about full grown then?” I asked.

    “Yes they are. Uh, what kind of geese do you have?”

    “Cotton Patch, they’re a rare heritage breed too,” I told her.

    “Really, well I really miss having geese,” she said wistfully.

    “Perhaps we could work a trade?” I suggested.

    “We might just be able to do that. Let me speak to my husband and I’ll call you back.”

    “Looking forward to hearing from you,” I said as I hung up. We bought two bags of Flockraiser™, stopped at the market and went home.

    We’d been home about ten minutes when the phone rang. “Hello?”

    “Hello, Denise, this is Laura and I spoke to my husband and we’d like to work out the trade. We’d like the geese,” she said.

    “Great, do you mind if I give you three? You see, I have a perfect male, Quackmire and he is attached to Ruthie, but she has a condition called Angel Wing and so she’s not really good for breeding so I’d be happy to give you LuAnn as well,” I babbled.

    “You know, I’d rather just have two, we’re really trying to downsize, but I don’t mind having Ruthie and her Angel Wing. We’ve taken rescue geese before so that’s just fine,” Laura said. “Can we do it now? This would be a good time to catch them and we’re so busy the next few days I don’t know when we’ll be able to do it.”

    Awesomez was less than thrilled and truth be known I didn’t blame her. She’d driven from Mammoth to Palm Springs so her father could see Nick before he left then caught a plane from Palm Springs to Bellingham, gone to the feed store, the market and was finally home when I informed her we were going to catch geese and go get a few Cayugas – almost all the way jn Bellingham, a mere thirty minutes or so – forty-five if Tom or Awesomez are driving.

    “Ducks? Really? Tonight? Do we have to?” She nearly whined.

    “They’re not just ducks, they’re Cayugas, rare, heritage black ducks with a beetle green sheen and she wants Quackmire. I’ll go by myself,” I said.

    “No, I’m coming, we’re all coming” she acquiesced. “I don’t want to be a downer I know you want them, I’m just tired.”

    “Heck ya” Nick chimed in.

    “Besides, Old McDonald had ducks” I reasoned.

    "Mama,first we got a horse, then another cow, today a kid and ducks," Henry pointed out.

    So we caught our feathered friends, put them in a dog carrier and headed off for Squalicum Lake Road. It was a nice street I’d not ventured down before. Large pieces of land all for sale it seemed. We quickly located the house and Laura let us in. They had a rabbit, ducks, chickens of all kinds and a peacock.

(Quackmire and Ruthie are in the carrier)

    The boys quickly disappeared into a tree followed by some dogs while Lisa and I chatted with Laura and her husband. They showed us around their coup and told me tips on the chickens for the winter. We met the ducks and saw Quackmire and Ruthie’s new pond. It was tough to leave Quackie but I was happy to see where he’d be living and know he was in such a nice place. I thought of Lisa and saw her looking at Nick who was laughing and running around. It was taking a lot of love to do what she was doing, helping her child find his place, and I didn't know if I would have it in me if the situations were reversed. I hope I would.

(due to the extreme heat they're pond has gone way down - in this picture you can only see a small portion, the other part is obscured on the left where it wraps around)

(Quackmire in his new coup)

(Quackmire peeks)

(Henry and Nick explore)

(Henry and Nick hold the new Cayuga ducklings)

(Henry likes the new ducks)

 

    Laura explained her last pair of geese had charged one of her kids knocked the child down, mounted the kid on the back and pinned her. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Quackmire’s never done anything like that.” I assured her.

    Laura continued and told us her grandson who is thirteen comes over and has no one to hang out with, so she wondered if Nick and Henry might like to come back sometime and meet him. Henry and Nick took one look at the tree house, trampoline and bonfire pit and agreed readily. 

    We were just about to go when Nick and Henry went in the chicken coup to look at the Frizzle and the peacock. Lisa and I were chatting with Laura and saying good-bye to Quackmire when we heard the screams followed by two boys charging out of the chicken coup. It seems the peacock had taken exception to being held and flown over Nick’s head scaring the living horse manure out of them.

(Henry and Nick try to take home a stow-away)

    On the way home we couldn’t stop laughing about the looks on their faces. 

    “Do you think she’s going to like Quackmire? He’s difficult compared to her ducks.” Henry asked.

    “Oh my gosh, didn’t you guys hear about Laura’s other geese?” Awesomez asked laughing.

    “No what?” Henry asked. “We were playing in the tree.”

    “Her geese attacked her kid and mounted her!! You guys are weak. Quackmire never committed assault and battery. You can’t even take a little goosing” Awesomez taunted.

“True in the goose world, that’s a felony, Quackmire’s only gone as far as a misdemeanor.”
    

(On the way home)

   

August 19th Cow Girls

  (enjoying the chicken show and the shade - Alex, Riley and Christina)

     We worked a deal reminiscent of a baseball trade, Beckie (on Lopez Island) was buying a couple of Milking Devons from Ruth who was buying Anna from me by paying Susie for Gnatalie, while Amber did the vet checks and Hannah all the hauling from Missouri and back.

    At about 10:30AM Hannah called and in a chirpy voice and told me she and Gnatalie were only twenty minutes away. Shocked as I was moving kind of slow, still shuffling around in my pajamas and slippers with hay sticking out of my hair. I sprang into action jumping into my coveralls like a crime-fighter donning a cape. I still had a few things to get things ready for Gnatalie’s arrival, but first I had to get Anna, Abe and Andy up from the pasture.

    Getting those chowhounds was actually the easy part as they’ll go anywhere for a bucket of grain. I was more worried though about loading Anna into the trailer. I though I could use a couple of pipe corral gates to form a chute. Henry and I were just gathering one of the gates from the pasture when Hannah happened up.

    Cheerful and confident Hannah with her French manicure, pink tank top and sunglasses, was quite a cowhand. Actually a barrel racer in a hurry to get back to Missouri for a rodeo, she was undaunted by my concerns over loading Anna. Too bad Little Chris wasn’t around I think he would have been smitten.

(Barrel Racing Hannah from Missouri)

“Oh it’ll be no problem,” she said as she whipped the twenty-four foot trailer around as though she were backing up my van. “We’ll just try and load all three then let the boys out. People have the most trouble when they get the cows worked up. If they just let the cows be cows they’ll be fine” she said with experience. “But first we’ve got to get your new little heifer out of here”.

    “I’ll take her!” Henry piped up.

    “Great, you can put her halter on and just walk her around” Hannah suggested.

Hannah opened up the divider and out popped fuzzy little Gnatalie. She trotted down out of the trailer sweet as anything. Confused and nervous she looked around. Henry called her name, hugged her then slipped her halter over her head and gave her a few berry treats. Gnatalie thought that was a fine How-do-you-do.

(Our first peek)

(Here come Gnatalie!)

(Henry and Gnat get acquainted in the Evergreen state?)

Now for Anna, the plan was for Hannah and I to go in with the three cows and move them toward the trailer. Tom was manning the gate. I went over the plan with him one more time to be sure we were on the same page. He rolled his eyes at me.

    “I know, I know” he said, “I get it”.

    “OK, I didn’t mean to offend you, but I figured I’d better be clear before something went wrong and had her horns in my face” I said.

    All three cows headed for the end of the trailer and were eyeing it cautiously. Hannah put grain just inside the entrance and for no particular reason Anna hopped in. Tom and I looked at each other in disbelief. Lickity-split Hannah closed the trailer partition and Tom closed the gate. Abe and Andy stood there wondering what kind of Cris Angel trick this was. 

    Gnatalie does not act much like you expect a cow to act. She’s my third breed and I’ve never seen a cow so brazenly curious, independent and brave. Irish, Vivian, Rat-Bat and Luther can run most cows around because they run. Gnatalie meets the world head on. Which is a little intimidating to a goat, a sheep and five dogs.

(Irish gets a taste of his own medicine)

(Gnatalie goes all Deli and tries to find a way out of the paddock)

(Gnatalie takes over where Edward left off  finishing off the goose pool - it no longer holds water)

(Gnatalie meets Christina)

(Bruno is amazed - little cow, little cow cupcake)

(Gnatalie is shorter than my pickets - a long way from Pancho and Lefty)

(Me and Gnat)

(Gnatalie's favorite snack)

(Henry feeds Gnatalie over her head to keep dominance - like reaching up for an udder)

(Henry and Gnat enjoy some quiet time)

    We absolutely adore her, scratch her and hug her. Henry goes in her stall where the two of them are snug as a bug, and Tom and I can’t get enough of her but Gnat wants more companionship than us. Her cries sound like an elk bugle.

    So far, no one really wants to be her friend. The goats think she’s too pushy. The sheep are sure she’s too pushy. The boys won’t let her sit with them, and the equine think she should learn her place. You see naïve Gnatalie simply did not understand a donkey’s need for personal space. As a result, Miracle bit her square on the nose and Gnatalie cried more hurt than wounded. Like any girl, she just wants to be herd.

August 17th How Now Brown Cow

    (Andy, Anna with downward horns and Abe in front - hear my calls and come running out of the forest)

     I’d brought Anna and the boys up to the barn with the assistance of my trusty bucket of grain. They came willingly and eagerly in fact, it would have been a one shot deal into the paddock if Fast Eddie hadn’t decided to play a little game of horse-around-with-the-cattle. I gave Quinn a lead rope and she held the prankster around the corner out-of-sight. And without another mishap in they went.

    A couple of sips of ice water later Amber drove up in her vet truck to examine Anna for the Health Certificate and Tuberculosis check required by Missouri. Amber and I quickly released Abe and Andy, rigged two pipe fence gates together with lead ropes and built a “clamp” type area. Shooing Anna in and rewarding her with another bowl grain. In no time flat Amber had the blood she needed from Anna’s bum and the Lucky Strike Extra, we got the halter on her. Little Chris Donaldson had failed miserably in his attempt to get Anna’s halter on after roping her ‘til she was overheated and breathless. We got it done in minutes without anyone getting too stressed out. Of course there was an eensie bit of bucking, and horn tossing, but truly it was minimal. I felt so Helen Reddy.

(Doctor Amber Itle and Anna in our makeshift clamp)

(Anna sporting her halter)

(Anna is pretty in her new ensemble)

    The results came back fine and Anna was issued her certificate and could now legally cross state lines on her way to Ruth. Every time I looked at her and the boys I felt like a home wrecker. They’d been together since they were born, hence all the ‘A’ names.

        I called Ruth. “I know this is silly, and you probably think I’m a real city-girl with out a lick of cow sense, but do you think they’ll be traumatized when Anna leaves?” I inquired knowing I was revealing my over-emotional soft under-belly.

    “Well,” first she is a real Devon" she started softly. I could tell by her tone she was trying not to be insulting or condescending. “You see, uh have you ever read “Animals in Translation” by Temple Grandin?”

    “No I haven’t”

    “She’s an animal scientist and autistic. She’s been responsible for many changes in our food system to make things more humane. You can really learn about animal body language from her”.

    “I’ll get it” I assured her.

    “You really don’t have to worry about Anna, cows settle down in the trailer and just relax after awhile. Once she gets here she’ll be in a herd of thirty. Cattle of all ages”.

    “Thirty! You have 5% of the world’s population of Milking Devon’s” I realized aloud.

    “Including her grandmother. And remember Anna's going to be a mother soon”.

    “Really, that’s why I’m doing this. I know she should be with so few Milking Devons around. And honestly, she’s just not the cow for me. She’ll eat out of my hand, but she’ll never let me scratch her. I want a pet cow.”

    “Uh huh. Speaking of that, this is how I see the exchange happening. I won’t be able to come due to work so I’m sending Hannah with the rig and the cattle for Dave and Becky first to Lopez Island, then she’ll go pick up your new Dexter heifer and then come to you”.

    “Oh, I’m confused, I thought you were sending one of your Irish Dexter’s”.

    “No. I only have Milking Devon’s" It sounded so elitest when she said it, "so I made an arrangement with a woman out there. Your new heifer is a bit older than we first discussed. She’s a year old, but she’s halter broke and used to being pet”.

    “I see,” I said, but my heart was sinking. I’d wanted a calf. The kids were all excited about a young thing they could snuggle and raise like Norman in ‘City Slickers’. “Is she black? I really want one of those deep black ones, I know they also come in a brown.”

    “She’s black. I’ll send you a picture,” she promised and I went back to work.

    I had to break the news to the kids that our new cow wasn’t going to be what we’d expected, but that perhaps it was better this way. I sold it. Or at least I tried.

    “Mammmmma, I really wanted a baby,” Henry complained, sounding so Angelina Jolie.

    “Well, maybe it’s better this way, what if we didn’t handle the baby right and she wasn’t snuggly. This way, she already is” I rationalized.

    Then I got the picture. The little heifer was adorable and I was surprised she was so close by. I was feeling pretty good about things until I read:

    Ruth,

 I have enjoyed talking with you. Here is the picture I got of the heifer this evening. She has been registered with the Purebred Dexter Cattle Association (PDCA), and her official name is Pixie Forest Ms Hannah. She was born on April 7, 2008. Her sire is Pixie Forest Montana and dam is N'ewe Life Anna. She has been haltered and trained to lead, although as I mentioned it has been some time since that was enforced. She has not yet been bred, but many Dexter breeders wait until the heifers are 2 years old to do, so she still has some time yet to take care of that. Feel free to give my contact info to the  other party along with the note that I now have other yearling heifers for sale, and will have some weanlings available around November.

    If you have an idea of when the driver will be in my area that will help me fine-tune my schedule. Thanks  for your business.

    Susie Hensrude

    Pixie Forest Farm

(the heifer)

    Of course, I thought she was adorable, but now she was a year and a half old and she wasn’t exactly sounding snuggly.

    “She keeps getting older and older. First she was six months then she was seven months then a year and now a year and a half? Is she done aging?” Tom said skeptically.

    “I know, that’s why I put a call into the lady at Pixie Forest Farm and we’re going down there this afternoon to meet “Hannah” and a little three month heifer. I told her we didn’t have to get her now we just wanted to get the right one. She told me her Dexters are like puppies and she wants them all to go to the right home, before we drive north to Lynden for the fair we’re going  south to Pixie Forest Farm” Tom stood there and for a moment I wasn’t sure what was going on in his little pea brain from the look on his face. I considered he might be annoyed at me for cramming so much into one day – again. He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

    “Come on Henry you’ve got to get going, we’ve got a big day ahead of us” Tom called up the stairs.

    “We’ve always got a big day, what’s new?” Henry called back and Tom shrugged.

    “Do you think we’ll like the older one or the younger one?” I asked Tom as we made our way down the I5 to Lake Stevens.

    “The younger one. I’m sure the little girl will tug at my heart” Tom said.

    “What about how the older one will feel?” I worried about her not getting picked. The truth is I wanted the younger one too.

    When we drove up, Susie showed us into the first pasture of yearlings. I couldn’t believe how little they were. “From Pancho and Lefty to this?” Tom said.

I turned to Susie, “Our first cattle were oxen, Milking Shorthorns as tall as my van”.

(Tom in the pixie forest)

   

(Our Pancho, the sweetest Milking Shorthorn oxen next to Lefty there ever was)

    There she was the one in the picture Ruth had sent, but it quickly became apparent Hannah whose father was named Montana wasn’t to be our cow.

    “She’s not very friendly” Henry noted. He was right; she was friendly, but not as much as I wanted to like her she just wasn’t what we’d imagined. “Who’s this?” Henry asked Susie about a heifer who kept rubbing her head against us to be scratched. She wasn’t really a contender because she was brown.

    “Oh that’s Natalie. Her name is spelled with a “G” because she’s so small. She’s Gnatalie like a gnat. She was one of the hardest heifer’s to win over, but now she’s really a people cow” And she was, she kept coming up and putting her head under my arm. It made me giggle, but honestly I didn’t want her she was not only too old, but brown. I wanted something else - I wanted a black one.

(Susie, Hannah and Henry)

(Susie, Gnatalie and Henry)

    “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I asked Susie.

    “No not at all, Lu will show you where it is” Susie said. I followed her niece, Lu, out of the pasture. As I walked toward the house I heard a high-pitched sound sort of like an elk bugle. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

    “She misses you and doesn’t want you to leave” Tom laughed. I smiled. “You love her” he taunted me.

    I didn’t want to love her.

    When I came back Tom and Henry were ready to go meet the babies, Marie and Veronica. Tom instantly fell for Veronica. She was jet black and full of vinegar. Brave and daring she came up to us to investigate. Henry destined to deal with difficult women all of his life wanted to win over the more guarded and cautious Marie. They were adorable and so were their mothers, Sprite and Shannon.

(Henry woos Marie- how else? ignoring her - typical girl)

(Henry afraid to move a muscle or even smile in fear of scaring little Marie away)

    I knew what I was thinking but I thought I should ask Tom his thoughts.

    “What do I think? Who should we get, Hannah, Veronica, Marie or Gnatalie?”

    “Um, Do you want me to tell you what I really think? I think we should get two”.

    “Did you read my mind?” I snickered. Relieved I didn’t say it. Tom laughed.

    “We’re rarely not on the same page.” He noted.

    “We can’t get two though, so which one is it?”

    “Gnatalie, she’s already what we want. Marie or Veronica are great, but if they didn’t turn out like her, we’d be really bummed. She’s just what we want”.

    “I do love her, but She’s not just what I want, I wanted a younger black one” I said having a hard time letting go of my dream.

    “I really like the black too they’re beautiful, but it’s the Stewart-syndrome all over again” Tom stated authoritatively.

    “What do you mean, Dad? Stewart, Mom’s old cat?” Henry asked.

    “Yes, your mom went to get a cat,”

    “At Actors and Other’s For Animals” I interjected.

    “She wanted a dark, older female with long hair,” Tom continued.

    “And they had one, only she was mean and rotten, spitting and hissing and still I almost got her, because she’s what I thought I wanted. But my friend, Dixon was with me and she said I was nuts, because there in the next cage trying to get my attention in complete Disney fashion, purring at me reaching through the cage was Stewart. He was a kitten with short white hair. A boy. Everything I didn’t want, but exactly what I needed”.

    “Sooooo we’re getting Gnatalie?” Henry said brimming over with excitement.

    “Yep” Tom and I said in unison.

    From there we drove to the fair. We searched the barns for Irish Dexters, but alas, there were none this year. We did see the tail end of a calf being born and saw him stand for the first time as his mother licked him. We scanned the poultry barn for any of our breeds, but there weren’t any except a bronze turkey. There were one or two Oberhasli goats, no Leicester long wools in the sheep barn. We looked for our pick, the American Guinea Hog in the swine area, but none of those either.

    Henry had a “Moowich”, a homemade chocolate chip cookie with ice cream in the middle at the Dairy barn to support the League of Dairy Women. We walked around saw some incredible tap dancing brothers, but missed the performing pigs.

    On our way out, we decided to swing by the Dairy barn again and see the new little bull-calf one more time. To our surprise, the cow in the next paddock was in full heaving labor. So we stayed and watched the miracle of birth.

(just after)

(the new baby gets tended to by the mama)

(still bloody)

(Henry and I had a front row seat )

    Walking back to the car at almost midnight, Henry said, “Do you want to watch a movie when we get home?”

    “Henry!” Tom almost shouted. “We need so me sleep, tomorrow’s a big day” Tom said unwittingly.

    “I know, and the day after that?”  Henry taunted.

    “Well, that’s the day Anna leaves and Gnatalie arrives”.

    “And the day after that?”

    “We’ve got an appointment to see the kitchen we might use to process Henry’s Sweet Ass Honey”

    “My point exactly. So do you want to watch a movie?”

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

(Deming Post Office)

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

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

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

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

(Deming Post Master)

Smiling, I called Tom. The voicemail picked up.

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

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

(Bruno delivers)

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

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

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

(the box is open)

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

(Whishard- strain Bronze Turkey poult)

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

(more baby pictures)

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

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

(The assasin)

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

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

(The crib now has safety bars)

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

    I wonder what will happen next.

(our yard)

May 18th Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

  

  (Leaves in the sun)

    Yesterday, Henry had a bad day.  He fell asleep with his glasses on watching TV and woke to find they were missing. At first we thought Henry might have pulled them off in his sleep. Several possibilities were considered but we finally figured out what had happened. It seems sometime in the night the suspect, a repeat offender, one mischievous Irish, saw the shiny plastic toy on Henry’s face and figuring Henry wasn’t playing with it, decided he could make better use of the play-thing. Somehow Irish then tugged them off Henry’s face with his teeth. Now obviously this couldn’t have happened to too many people, but my boy who once fell off the top bunk only to keep on snoring after landing, sleeps the sleep of the dead. Naturally, we couldn’t get too upset with the playful puppy who had no idea they are currently beyond our budget to replace. Luckily Henry has his contacts.

(The sleeping bandit)

    Fresh from this set back Henry was not happy to realize we’d run out of milk for his Cheerios™ so he decided he was going to have a Cup of Noodles™ – Chicken Flavor for breakfast. He was pouring the boiling water when some of it diverted onto the foil lid and cascade down onto his hand holding the cup. Though the pain was immense it has now subsided leaving second and third degree burns.

(Henry's hand continues to blister and weep)

    The docotr instructed him on how to dress the wound and he’s been very diligent.  So careful he pointed out that no matter how much he’d like to clean the cat box it would be far too dangerous when you factor in the risk of infection and all. Considering the bulky bandage he was a little nervous to don gloves to feed the bees their sugar water, but he skillfully slid the glove over his hand as if he was MacGyver diffusing a bomb.

    Henry’s bees have sent me spinning off in a new direction causing me to consider taking a path I couldn’t have guessed even a short time ago. Funny how life is, if we hadn’t met Dan on the plane we wouldn’t have discussed bees and Henry wouldn’t have a hive. If Henry didn’t have a hive he wouldn’t be starting his honey business, if he weren’t starting his honey business we wouldn’t have started talking about the idea of the animals providing for us. We have since discussed the sheep and their wool and talked at length about whether or not we could emotionally handle becoming more “self-sustaining” and all that implies.

(A Golden Spangled Hamburg)

    I can barely handle the idea of the food chain and so what business I have thinking about getting food animals I’ll never know. When watching a documentary about a field mouse I get weepy when a coyote eats one of them, but then again I get just as weepy watching a documentary about a coyote trying to feed her litter and am exhilarated when she captures a field mouse keeping her pups from starving. So what does that tell you other than “Sybil” is not just a movie.

  (Naragansatt Turkey)

 

(Dominique Chickens)

    I have wrestled many times with Tom’s childhood story about the bunnies who hopped and played with him. Only for him to come home from school one day and find his snuggly friends packaged in the freezer ready to serve. Tom’s pain always makes me recall my friend, Betsy and her, similar experience. Tom’s bunnies were nameless innocents while Betsy was required to eat her longtime pet rabbit. The obvious scars those events left on people I care about are not something I want to do to my extremely emotional son or nieces. After all when Abe, Anna and Andy showed up in our pasture Quinn became a vegetarian.
 Frankly, the more I find out about our food supply system, how animals are raised, treated and butchered the more I begin to see why Maryruth believes in eating only “happy meat”. With this in mind I began to revisit the idea of Heritage poultry.  By definition a heritage breed must have the ability to reproduce. A simple feat one would think, but not so these days. Anyway, I’ve been very against chickens. While it is true Lisa and I had a pair of Rhode Island Reds when we were little – Max and Maxine who met an untimely demise due to a couple of over zealous canines, I haven’t really ever seen the allure of chickens like Toby has. To me they seem fidgety, brainless, and delicate – the Paris Hilton’s of the farm set but perhaps I’m not giving the chickens a fair shake. They do give a farm a certain farm quality They provide the sound effects one takes for granted and they do eat mosquitoes. A definite plus.

(Red Dorkings)

    “Henry? Do you think if we got some chickens and turkeys you’d be OK with eating a few of the boys?”

    “How many would we get?” Henry countered not ready to commit.

    “Well, we’d have to get a total of twenty-five, but in a poultry order from Sand Hill Preservation a turkey is worth two chickens and I thought we’d get four turkeys in hopes of getting at least one hen and one tom.” I explained.

    “Twenty-five then we won’t really be naming.” Henry reasoned.

    “No. You can’t tell the boys from the girls for a while anyway and we just don’t need more than a couple of roosters. They’ll fight and cause all sorts of problems.”

    “If we like a few of them then can we name them?” Henry implored.

    “I guess that’s what’ll happen.” I conceded.

    “And the turkeys?”

    “Well, I don’t know I want a pair, but I don’t think I want to eat one of them. I know what’ll happen in that case.”

    “What” Henry demanded?

    “Oh the one we’d plan on eating will get some kind of Thanksgiving pardon from Quinn.”  I said, “We have to be realistic. I know I can’t butcher them myself.  You know your father helped his dad do it.”

    “He did? Really?” Henry said somewhat in shock.

    “Yes.  He knows first hand why they say running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

    “I heard one chicken lived eight months like that. Hey you know you said we’d never get chickens you even had uncle Chris tear down the coop.”

    “I said I’d never be a teacher too. Never say never I guess.”

    “Well, I do like a good chicken burrito, so yeah I could eat ‘em not a problem.”  Henry said callously.

  

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)

April 26th To Bee Or Not To Bee

   (Saying another good-bye at Burbank Airport)

(Henry and Awesomez bid farewell)

    While we were at the airport waiting for our flight Henry suddenly remembered he had a cap gun in his suitcase. Thankfully, this thought came to his brain in the restaurant while we were killing time before our flight with Awesomez.

    “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “You have a gun in your suitcase? What were you thinking?”

    “Well, I thought it would be fun to keep it after playing with Parker, but last time we checked my bag so I didn’t think it was a big deal. I forgot you brought the extra suitcase inside yours for the hand-me-downs from Awesomez.”
I didn’t know what the heck to do with it so we left it on the table. As we walked out our server chased us out.

    “Uhhh you left something on the table!” She said wild-eyed.

    “It’s trash. Just throw it away.” Awesomez calmly replied with a wave of her hand.

    “Let me get this straight. She was going to give us the gun back? What if we were terrorists? Oh here, you forgot your weapon” I said sarcastically.

    As we were saying good-bye to Awesomez with hugs, tears and promises to visit I could see a group of servers gathering at the entrance to the restaurant eyeing us. I felt nervous. Guilty of a federal crime. It was time to board the plane and we still had to go through security, I didn’t need to be pulled aside and questioned.

    “The way they’re looking us you’d think we had a bomb.” Oh my God! I didn’t just say BOMB in an airport in Los Angeles? Had I lost my mind? “We’d better go before they decide we need to be detained.” And with one last hug, off we went.

    Of course, when you’re in a hurry everything goes wrong. Henry accidently left a tube of toothpaste in his bag.  His bag was searched.

    “Henry!”

    “I thought I was checking my bag!” He said desperately.

    “Do you want us to have this put in your checked luggage?” the woman asked.

    “No. I prefer you throw it out and we make our plane. I’d hate to miss it over a tube of citrus toothpaste he barely uses anyway.” I glared at the criminal putting his tennis shoes on.

    As we trotted through the airport toward the gate we heard our names called for final boarding. We went into a dead run, business cards flying out of my camera bag.

    “Should I get those?” Henry called.

    “NOOOOOO just keep moving.” 

    Everyone clapped and smiled as we boarded the plane and took our seats. Each of them glad they weren’t us disheveled, breathing hard, gripping our carry-on.

    Once seated, Henry and I promptly closed our eyes.  With only ten hours of sleep in the last few days I thought I would go right out, but my mind was racing. I was anxious to get back to the farm and start back on the fence. My mind buzzed with ideas about what needed to get done. I could no longer avoid the paper disaster in Mike’s old room with guests coming this summer. I would need two guest rooms. I could procrastinate no longer.

    Eventually, Henry woke up and we both needed to go to the restroom which meant we’d have to wake up the guy in the aisle seat. Henry gently nudged him apologizing. Henry being a boy, and all that that implies, was already back in his seat entrenched in conversation when I arrived.

    “Mama? Do you have a business card? I need one.” Henry asked matter-of-factly.

    “What?”

    “He’s a bee farmer?” Henry informed me. “Did you know bees are disappearing exponentially? And that if bees disappear man won’t be far behind because there will be no bees to pollinate the food?” Mama, this is Dan. Dan this is my mother.”

(Henry and Dan)

    “I’m Denise,” I said shaking his hand.
We talked about farming, and laughed about work coveralls versus going to town coveralls. How distant most of society was from an agrarian lifestyle in less than a hundred years and we talked about the severity of the bee situation. This led to a lengthy discussion between Dan and Henry.

    “So you get how many pounds of honey from one hive?” Henry asked thoughtfully.

    “About seventy.” Dan replied

    “And you sell that at $6.00 a pound?”

    “Right.”

    “What are your costs?” Henry inquired and kept inquiring about combs, wax and bee rentals to farmers. “So they pay you to bring your hive to their fields and you get to keep the honey?”

    “Right.” Dan responded.

    “Mama, I think you need to get some bees.” Henry said seriously. “It would help the Earth and you could make some money.”

    I’d been listening silently as my little entrepreneur asked some surprisingly insightful questions, and had already come to the same conclusion. I was excited about the bees. The idea of them had brought me renewed hope. Maybe the bees would be our “applesauce” like in “Babyboom”. Colonists certainly needed bees, heck otherwise they wouldn’t have had mead to drink or honey to sweeten things. George Washington and every other farmer knew how important the bee was to life. I’d been interested in bees for a while, but hadn’t been ready to dive in not knowing much about them, but after talking to Dan I was convinced we could do it.

     “Actually, I think it sounds like this should be your business Honey.”

    “Mama Really?”

    “Well, you’re birthday’s coming up. I’ll talk to your dad. It isn’t that big an investment, a hundred dollars or so and maybe he can charge it.”

    “Frankly, I think this guy could sell a ketchup pop sicle to a girl in a white dress.” Dan remarked.

    “Hey, you know that hot dog is lookin’ mighty dry.” Henry volleyed getting the appropriate laughter from the surrounding passengers.
(Dan teaching us about the plight of the bee and how to care for them)

    “Give Cedar Glen Bee Farm a call in Stanwood. The bees should be there by Wednesday, they’re bringing them up this week. Otherwise, you’ll miss the Spring and have to wait for next year.”
As we deplaned in Seattle and said good-bye Henry turned to me. “Mama, I’ve got the name.”

    “What is it?”

    “Henry’s Sweet Ass Honey.” He smiled proudly. “I think the label should have Miracle in a bee suit. I’m going to talk to the Acme General store and see if they’ll carry it.”

    “Sweet.” I said with a smile.

     “Mommmmm.” He laughed.

April 6th Family Affair

(Alexis' charge)

    After 24 hours of driving in three days, we slept like the dead, surrounded by our menagerie. I woke up and started the coffee. Tom was close behind followed by Henry. Anxious to see the babies we chatted excitedly about going out to the barn, when suddenly Alexis appeared in the kitchen with a gosling wrapped in a towel.It seems the poor thing had gotten lodged between the nest and the wall.

    “I’m not sure how long she was there before I got her out. She couldn’t hold her head up. It would just flop over and she wasn’t strong enough to move so I brought her in and we’ve been together ever since. I’ve been feeding her colostrum with an eyedropper. It’s after all a cure all for almost everything. I named her Anne because she’s a survivor like Anne Frank.” Alexis explained.

    My first thought was a slight twinge of jealousy. Alexis was caring for the baby and I wasn’t. I should have been here. In a flash my feelings turned to overwhelming gratitude. I was so fortunate he’d been here to save the little one and lucky he’d taken the initiative to care for the hatchling. I wondered about the name. Anne Frank didn’t really survive did she? And I’m not sure, but think it’s a boy. The bill was sort of dark so it was ambiguous. Finally, I wasn’t sure feeding colostrum was a good idea, as birds didn’t produce it, only mammals.

    “Well, my sister and the girls are coming out today to see the goslings so she can take a look at the little fella.” I said more to myself than anyone.

    After taking a good look at Alexis’ new charge. We bolted outside to see our babies’ babies. It was so exciting to see Lloyd and Clara out in the yard using the crevice from the tractor as a tiny swimming hole for their brood. Lloyd came up and greeted us while Clara sat demurely with her peeps as they peep, peep, peeped. I didn’t like the idea of the tractor track water possibly from the compost as their bath so we moved the family over closer to the barn.
(meeting the family)

(Mama and babies)

    Sitting in the sun sipping coffee as Henry lay on the ground as close as he could to the goslings we were riveted by the new family. The excitement at seeing the babies with Lloyd and Clara is almost indescribable. It was amazing what a good mother and father Lloyd and Clara were protecting and counting their babies completely by instinct as they were here on their second day of life without ever being with a parent. Just then, Lisa and the girls rolled up.

    The doors opened and the girls raced across the driveway shrieking as everyone met the new babies. And once again Alexis appeared cradling his towel wrapped charge. I explained to Lisa what was going on ending with “…Anne Frank, because she was a survivor.”

(farm camo-Romaine lettuce)

(About to take a dip)

(Clara and her babies after a swim)

(struggle for snuggle)

(Alexis and Lisa chat about bird health)

    “But uhh, she didn’t ultimately make it.” Lisa said trying to be gentle. We were on the same page. “And I don’t know about the colostrum.” She worried. “It might be a negative in a bird.”

    “It looks like a boy.” Phoebe insisted and we all agreed. “There are two boys and three girls. See look at their bills. With Cotton Patch you can tell right away.” Farm-girl Phoebe explained.

    “Maybe you could call him Frank?” Lisa suggested.

    Suddenly, as we we’re standing in the warm sun watching the new family eat Vivian came creeping out of the barn. Turning I saw she had an egg in her mouth! She came running out and scurried off into some tall grass where she put the egg down and sat near it.

(Vivian carries the egg)

    “Alexis! Remember that egg I found on the lawn the other day? Maybe it wasn’t new. Maybe Vivian put it there.” I surmised just as she went into the barn and got another egg laying it in another location.

    “She’s being gentle. Does she want to eat it? Or hatch it?” Quinn asked amongst the laughter. The day was filled with sunshine and rebirth. Vivian and her antics seemed to add to the carnival atmosphere. Anything seemed possible even a rottweiler hatching an egg. Although we all agreed Luther was better suited.

(Vivian with "her" egg)

    I suspected however, she was not acting with maternal intent rather I thought she was more Templeton the rat. Especially, once we confirmed these were Clara’s abandoned eggs. The ones she stopped sitting on when the others were hatched. It didn’t take long to verify this when one of the eggs cracked open and a smell beyond compare wafted through the air amid screams of disgust. Vivian tried to roll in it while Tom gathered the rotten goose eggs and disposed of them.

    With an egg stealer on the loose, and three crazy ganders we decided to enclose Lloyd and his family in the vegetable garden where they would be safe. I worried about the other ganders they were acting wild. We decided they needed to be incarcerated. So I picked up Quackmire to put him in the flower garden and he bit me. Not a love bite, a hard bite on my tricep. The pain took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes partially because it was excruciating and partially because he’d hurt my feelings. Quackmire bit me? Really? Really? Are you kidding’ me?

(Quackmire's handy work)

    “What are we going to do Mama? Are we going to get rid of Quackmire too?” Henry asked.

    “I don’t know. My mother always said: When you don’t know what to do, don’t do anything. Right now, the only thing I can promise is we’re keeping Lloyd and Clara. I’m not promising anything else. We only have one healthy boy gosling at the moment so I don’t know if I can even sell a breeding pair yet. We have to see if any of Mabel’s eggs hatch.”
(Tom drills the ends of the eggs)

(Henry blows the yolk)

(Tom blows his egg)

    Once Quackmire, Cleveland and Alfred were enclosed we went inside to blow the unfertilized goose eggs for Easter. Tom got his drill while Henry and Alexis with Phoebe’s help decided to use the high falutin’ Veeta-Vita-Vegi-Mix Tom won and create a lettuce smoothie for the little guy, “Frank?” They didn’t make it too thick or too thin, but just right so the little boy could gain some strength and go back out with his brother and sisters. He was definitely improving.

(Henry pours Romaine Smoothie, while Phoebe and Alexis care for the gosling)

(Happy Phoebe)

(Eyedropper feeding session)

    During the eyedropper feeding session in between prying the gosling’s bill open Henry told Alexis the story of John Colter and before long the struggling little boy was being called Colt while his healthy brother had been named Clyde for Bonnie and Clyde.

(Clara with a little girl - dark bill- and healthy boy - Clyde with the lighter bill on right)

     That didn't end well either I thought as I worried about all this naming. I know I don’t want to become the crazy goose lady of Mosquito Lake Road some of them are definitely leaving.

March 29th Pig Tales

    (Arriving at Cascade Meadows Farm)

     “Pigs!” Screamed Quinn, Henry and Phoebe at a pitch only children can reach. The pigs in the field looked up. “Piggies!” Quinn screamed again, and suddenly adorable black pigs were running toward us their floppy ears bouncing up and down. The black pigs against the green carpet of grass were quite a sight. We were all instantly enthralled. I pulled over and parked. The Lisas were certain this wasn’t the right house, but I wasn’t. I walked up to the door and knocked. A Reubenesque woman came to the door.

    “I’m looking for Cascade Meadows?” I said as she peeked out the well-worn farmhouse door.

    “Next door.” She said and pulled her head back in out of the freezing rain. I got the told-you-so look from the Lisas. Drat. The Lisas were right again. They went back to move the car while the kids ran giggling and skipping over as I walked the distance to the pale green house.

(Cascade Meadows Farm)

    Soon Kirk was outside dressed for the weather. “If you guys were real farmers, you’d have boots on.” He laughed. I had boots in the car I thought silently but since no one else did I remained quiet. I was not the kid in the class who raised their hand and reminded the teacher no homework had been assigned.
Kirk picked up a 50lb. bag of grain and began calling “Here little piggies! Here little piggies!” as he walked out into a field. Big pigs, little pigs and pigs with enormous teats came from all directions to snack on the grain.

(Kirk opening the grain with both Mamas)

(Standing in the freezing rain: Lisa, Quinn, Phoebe/Henry & L. Awesomez)

(Henry, Me, the pigs and the Spotted Sussex in the hail)
 
    “Ahhhhs” came from everyone as the pigs gathered in the field around Kirk.
“Look Mama! We have that grain for the cows. We already have the kind of food they like.” Henry said, starting his sales campaign.

    “They’re certainly not as big as the pigs at the fair.” My sister said approvingly. “And so engaging.”

(piglet and Mama)

    “No.” Kirk said. “And some of these are four-years-old, so you know they are full grown.”

     “Can you tell which are boys or girls when they’re young?” Quinn asked.

    “Sure, it’s easy.” Kirk said squatting down to teach Quinn how to sex a piglet. Attentive, she was soon sexing all the pigs in effort to narrow down which ones we should take home with us. It seems this was her part in the multi-tiered campaign. Quinn who had expressed some concern about me taking on another animal had folded like a tent.

(Farm girl Quinn learning how to sex a pig from Kirk)

    Kirk was very informative about his pigs. We discussed needing a health certificate to cross state lines and the sensibility of eating your own pig. We talked about the varying hair length their cold tolerance and breed standards.

    “I just don’t think I could butcher my pig.” I said, although I am getting closer to understanding that if people don’t eat these breeds they will become extinct.

    “Buying pork at the market is the same as plunging a knife into the side of this pig.” He said with hand gestures and drama. “I can kill my best friend on the farm. Sure I shed a tear while I’m doing it, but I know the animal had a completely happy life and until the moment I put a bullet in it’s head it has lived a good day. There is no trauma, no fear. It’s just been doing piggy things like eating and being with family until the end. I feel honored to eat it and have it become a part of me.” I glanced over at Awesomez. I could see by the look on her face, this logic was not sitting well with her. The kids while listening to this were distracted to a degree happily scratching pigs right and left. Smiles never leaving their faces they cooed to their new friends.
(Quinn giving a good scratch)

    “Now, I’ve heard horror stories about pigs attacking dogs and kids, but I know you have a young daughter. Do you worry?” I asked thinking of Alfred the Awful and Maryruth’s stern warnings regarding swine purchases.

    “I really don’t. Certainly you want to handle any animal with respect, but these pigs don’t eat the chickens. Many breeds would kill them, but these don’t. They’re pretty gentle it’s been bred out of them. They eat whatever, but they only eat dead things. I’ve never seen any of my pigs kill anything. They forage for most of their food. Just need some shelter from the weather some grain if they’re nursing.

(Guinea Hog and Spotted Sussex)

    “They’re easy keepers.” My sister said.

    “Exactly! They’re easy keepers.” Kirk agreed readily.

    “I’m an easy keeper.” My sister said shrugging her shoulders as Kirk fell victim to my sister’s wit.

    “I’m an easy keeper too.” Kirk agreed.

    They yammered on about frequency of breeding seasons as I meandered over to where Henry was petting Abbey. She’d rolled over on her side so he could really pet her. She was engorged her teats enormous. I wondered if he was just feeling her up in some prepubescent way. As I got closer I could see he was shaking her while singing, “My milkshake brings all the hogs to the yard…” I walked on. Boys.

(Henry does a milk shake on Abbey)

(Henry gives a pig hug)

    “Denise did you hear what Henry is singing?” Quinn demanded. I nodded as I turned toward Lisa. She stood silently in what was alternating between frozen rain and hail doing her best drown rat impression. Cheerily enduring the muddy farm. Truly a good sport I thought as I don’t think there is a drop of farm girl in her. It was more than obvious she didn’t want to cuddle the wet hairy pigs, but she earned my eternal devotion when she succumbed to the kids begging and pleading. The mother of three couldn’t say no. She walked over slowly, as I watched giggling to myself knowing a week ago Lisa, now Awesomez, never thought she’d be standing in mud on a pig farm petting a Guinea Hog, rare or not. I am convinced this visit marks more than one experience as a first. Dare I say she liked them all? Her beaming smile seemed to indicate she was having a good time despite her hesitancy.

(Lisa aka L. Awesomez, Phoebe, Quinn and Henry with Abbey the Guinea Hog)
(Lisa making the best of wet pig hair)

(Nubian - gymnasts of the farm set)

    It was just about this time Nubians showed up to see what was going on. Each goat followed the next sneaking under a gap in the fence determined to get some of the leftover grain. The pigs, on the other hand, having licked the bowls fairly clean, decided enough was enough. Grain or no grain they were going to seek shelter. So off they trotted with the girls skipping along behind them. Henry by now had a favorite pig. A little boy he kept picking up. I know he kept picking him up because each time he did, the baby boy pig would initially squeal. Lisa said the first thing you learn about treating pigs is the essential equipment: earplugs.

(Henry cuddles the baby)

(Henry and baby boy pig)

(Henry, Quinn and Phoebe devise their evil plot to sway me)

    Soon, the baby pig was getting used to Henry and letting himself be handled and snuggled and cuddled and kissed while the mamas, Abbey and I, kept a close eye on the action.
The begging began to intensify as the three experienced lobbyists sat in the mud with the piglets. I held the line. It just wasn’t the time to get a pig I kept repeating in my mind trying to resist them and their charms. I had to concentrate on the reasons I wasn’t here to get a pig today. There are so many considerations like constructing the fence and gate, readying the barn, which I admit, is a small factor. Then there’s the money issue and the fact we’re leaving for Montana very soon, the goslings are coming and I need to figure out what to do with the pterodactyls, Cleveland and Alfred, Ruthie and Matilda so I held the line. Oh, I wavered as anyone who knows me knows. But much to everyone’s surprise I held firm, even when Lord Awesomez generously offered to sponsor the pig and its grain. I couldn’t wait to get in the car; I was ready to buckle at any moment.
(Phoebe pulls herself out of the depths of despair for the camera)

(The piglets)

    The once happy faces of the three little cherubs were now full of loss and despair as they walked the last steps to the car their hopes dashed. Henry clutched baby boy pig almost in tears. “But Mama, he’ll be gone and taken to some butcher.” Henry said in a low tone the pig snuggled up in his arms as he spoke.

    “And just before they cut his throat he’ll think of the Millers.” Quinn interjected. Great she’s a bundle of fun that one.

    “Deniiiiiise why did you bring us?” Phoebe moped. “You should have bonded more with the pigs,” she lamented.

(Sad Henry and piggy)

    “Kids, I didn’t mean to upset you I thought you’d love this, I wanted us to have fun. I told you we weren’t getting a pig today. Maybe we shouldn’t have come. I just wanted to make sure we really wanted a pig at all and if we did if this was the right breed for us. I think it definitely is and so do your mom and Lisa, but I just can’t get the pigs right now. I want to be ready.” I explained logically knowing I could snap in a moment. I had to get out of there fast. I was starting to have thoughts of going to PetCo™ to get a carrier. “Kirk said they were going to have another litter this summer and we could get an even younger pig. We’ll have everything ready and it’ll be right.” I said with conviction.

    “But he was my soul pig” Henry mourned. His soul pig? Stop. The Lisas looked at me. Three mothers knew there was only one thing to do. “Will I find another soul pig”? Henry continued moaning. We drove off and headed right for “Basketball Robins” (Baskin Robins™) where a scoop of chocolate ice cream or rainbow sherbet (if you’ve given up chocolate for Lent) in a waffle cone can still right the world once again.

   

 

    

March 28th Taking The Cake

  

  (Vivian and Bruno inside for a sleepy day)

    I love to make rules. My most quoted rule is “No eating the popcorn before the credits.” I established this rule so I wouldn’t spend half the movie popcornless. However, in recent times due to endless previews and the advent of commercials in the theatre I have had to abandon this mandate.

    Today, I had to follow the rules: Lisa’s rules. Lisa’s rule number 1. No work today. Lisa’s rule number 2. No getting out of pajamas. Lisa’s rule number 3. Happy Hour begins on Greenwich time. Lisa’s rule number 4. Henry gets to pick one of the movies.

    Once absolutely everyone had had breakfast and I had a full pot of coffee brewing we sat down to our first movie. “Twilight”. Lisa had a new found appreciation for the idea vampires could actually roam about in Washington’s weather. Next up was “Benchwarmers”. Lisa tried to protect me, but she truly didn’t make it clear what she thought we were in for. As it turns out, she found my distaste for the movie about as entertaining as the movie. I would not call “Benchwarmers” entertaining. Disgusting is more accurate, but I’m not an eleven-year-old boy or the Awesomez, who laughed far too much for my liking as the once co-founder of CABF (Co-eds Against Bodily Functions) After that we saw “Bugsy Malone” and then moved to Absolut™ Peach, lemonade and Reese Witherspoon’s debut movie “The Man In The Moon”.

(Lisa - Awesomez-, Luther and Henry warm and toasty)

(Henry's own recipe for his special Awesomez cake with Chai icing drizzle- there was a slight problem with the sunflower bundt removal, but it tasted fabulous nonetheless)

    The next morning we were up before the cows. Meeting Lisa, Quinn and Phoebe in Burlington by 5:30AM for a five and a half hour ride to the little town of Sandy, Oregon to see some rare heritage American Guinea Hog piglets at Cascade Meadows Farm. Kirk, the owner, had suggested I bring a dog carrier in case, I wanted to take a breeding pair with me. I did indeed eye one of my larger carriers before we left, but decided to leave it home. This was purely an informational trip. We were going to see another farm with heritage animals. Kirk and his partner have very similar breeds and I was extremely interested to see how they were kept. I was hoping to learn something I could incorporate. And of course, I wanted to see the piggies

    I love a road trip. You get to just be together, chat, hang out and eat. We brought along plenty of snacks for the kids and a huge portion of Henry's chocolate creation he'd made the night before. Quinn complained as she gave up chocolate for Lent, but was soothed by tastes of the Chai icing. Lisa was unhappy as she unwisely gave up all sweets.

    The seating arrangements are always worrisome, but they seemed to work out easily. Henry and Phoebe were compatible in the way back. Lisa and Quinn snuggled in the middle and I had the Awesomez in the front directing me, just in case.

(On our way down I-5)

(Henry and Phoebe in the van)

(Henry and Phoebe watching a movie on Awesomez's dvd player)

(Phoeb)

(Quinn avoiding the camera)

    “Keep an eye on her Lisa,” my sister instructed, “ She tailgates.” I was instantly annoyed. I tailgate. OK I tailgated in college. That’s just like me getting warned at every family cooking or baking event not to put the wooden spoon in the mixer – like I did when I was eight-years-old. Do you never get a fresh start?  I drove on.

    We’d almost arrived at our destination and were going through town looking for somewhere to feed and water the kids. Just as I was about to go through an intersection, "Stop!!" my sideseat driver yelled scaring me out of my wits. It seems she thought I was going too fast and was about to plow into the car ahead of us. Maybe I was going a bit faster than optimum speed, but I was not about to plow into any car. It took me several minutes to resume my previous heartrate as we drove kept looking for a place to start. I wondered if this was why she had done all the driving while she was here. Whatever.

    “Hungry kids are cranky and want to leave.” Awesomez interjected wisely. She’s right, but I think in my excitement I would have just charged forward neglecting bathroom breaks. No matter, I fell in line with the Lisas.

(Henry and Quinn clown around)

    Loretta, my navi, had a full breakdown when we got close to the farm. She had absolutely no data on this area and was close to hysterical. All we were provided was a dotted line. It was kind of like being in a video game. I took a left, as it looked like I should but the arrow turned away from the dots. We didn’t need a sense of direction what we needed was a gamer. We knew were getting close as the arrow consumed the dots on the screen. Henry provided the sound track. “Booop. Booop. Booop.” When we reached the right street we knew we’d made it to the next level.

    “Pigs!” I yelled as they came into view…
 Guinea Hog at Cascade Meadows Farm)

March 19th A Breed Apart

(Lloyd on left and Quackmire - on patrol)

    It’s one thing if my house is a bit messy and I’ve ignored my laundry, it’s another if my barn is dirty. And my barn is dirty. The last time it was cleaned, we put straw down instead of wood shavings; because it was so cold the pile of wood shavings had frozen into a huge wooden lump. Straw is ok in the short term. The animals snack on the bedding when you first put it in and it looks fluffy. However, it isn’t very absorbent and once the little critters start making a mess, you quickly have a thick urine soaked carpet you have to pry apart with a pitchfork. It’s not easy work, but it is relaxing and excellent exercise if you’re on Weight Watchers™. With every heave and ho you feel you're core tightening and your triceps readying themselves for tank tops. I was pleasantly surprised when I came in for a coffee break and the phone rang.

    “Hey, I’m coming out early.” My sister, announced from her cell phone.

    “Uh oh.” I uttered.

    “What? Isn’t today the day you wanted me to help with Anna?” She asked.

    “Yes. But my barn is filthy and I wanted it clean before you got here.” I replied meekly.
(Denise mucks)

    “Don’t be ridiculous, that’s why I’m coming early to help you muck the barn. I have my boots on, Charlie’s with me to play with Irish and I brought chicken patties for lunch, so we can make my version of the Jenny Craig™ chicken sandwich. I just wanted to know since you gave up dairy for Lent if you have any milk for coffee. I’m passing Dodson’s and I’ll stop and get some.” She explained enthusiastically. For being the younger sister, she certainly tries to take care of me since our mother died. She chides me at times and  pushes me into doing things like candling, but honestly without her I'd be lost.

    “I have milk, Henry needs it for cereal, he didn’t give up dairy for Lent. He gave up being a jerk remember?”

    “OK. See you soon.” She hung up and I went back to forking the straw out, trying to get as much done as possible before she arrived.

    On her way out to the barn, she had to navigate the band of bachelor geese and Matilda. Goosed twice by Cleveland, we decided he and Alfred needed to be incarcerated or we’d never get anything done.

    We tried talking over the din of honking flustered geese, but gave up unless we were right next to each other. I felt sorry for Miracle, the goats and my lambs. They are quiet gentle creatures and I couldn’t help but think these maniac geese were probably driving them crazy. Tom would have to help me build an annex for them so his girl, Miracle, could have some peace and quiet. Maybe in the chicken coop or where I planned to put the pig I dreamed of getting.

(Charlie & Winnifred - Lisa's dogs visit the farm)

    The morning flew; the sandwiches were delicious and just as we were about to go back to the barn after our coffee break to join Alexis who’d come by to lend a hand, Becky and Dave Heinlein drove up.

(Alexis takes over while we greet the Heinleins)

(Lloyd and Quackmire help)

    Becky and Dave had contacted me last month about possibly purchasing Anna. They live on Lopez Island in the San Juans and have a self-sustaining farm, growing all their own vegetables, raising chickens for meat and eggs and Romney sheep for fleece and meat. Their missing link is milk, which they hope to satisfy with a Milking Devon.

    I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to sell Anna, but I was open to the possibility. I had a deal in mind. Anna is a bit temperamental. Oh, she’s a great heifer and all, but she isn’t snuggly. Dave and Becky don’t want snuggly. They want a milk cow. So if they like her, they’d need to breed her so she’d come into milk and further, they’d have to breed her every year to keep her in milk. I’d want a calf. I dream of raising a calf like Norman, in “City Slickers”. A real pet. So if the day came when we had a camp, she’d enjoy being pet and touched by kids.

    All of this was racing through my mind as Dave got out of the car. I was amused to see him get out of his truck without a word and change from his good boots to his farm boots. This reminded me of the way Minnesotans live on one lake, but vacation on another. I smiled to myself, these were real farmers a different breed.

(The great boot switch)

    Lisa and I walked up coffee in hand and introduced ourselves.
“I love your hat.” Lisa said as she shook Beckie’s hand, “Did you sheer the wool, dye it, spin it and knit it yourself?”

    “I didn’t spin it.” She answered smiling. And with that we all walked down to the pasture to look at the Devons.
(Beckie & Dave)

    Anna, Abe and Andy saw us and came trotting their bells jingle, jangle jingling as they made their way over from the far end of the pasture. They knew I’d have cookies.
    I explained “I really wanted to give them more attention and train the boys sooner, I just got so busy when I moved here and had so many things to do, that kind of got pushed to the end of the list. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.” I admitted.

    “Who hasn’t? That makes you a farmer.” Beckie assured me. Dave and I climbed into the pasture to handle Anna while Lisa and Beckie chatted by the fence. Anna was on her guard immediately. She knew this fellow with the hat was looking at her a little too intensely and became skittish and flighty.

 (muddy Anna looking wary)

    “This is not a McDonalds moment Anna. Settle down girl.” Lisa explained to her. “I think she’s nervous she’s going to be served with fries.” She laughed as Dave nodded backing up and giving Anna room.

    “Well, she’s got a good top line and her eyes aren’t wild. She likes those cookies.” He said.

    “We just didn’t want pasture cows.” Beckie explained. I knew what she meant - cows that run to the far end of the field when they see you coming. These three weren’t that, rather they’re always curious and under foot.

(Anna a bit more relaxed chewing a cookie)

    “We love the breed and want to help preserve it. But we have to be honest with you, we eat the boys.” Beckie admitted.

    “I think Denise is OK with that, aren’t you?” Lisa said looking to me.

    “Yes, I am. Strangely, since I’ve had the livestock I’ve become more understanding about eating them. I personally, couldn’t eat mine, but it’s the sale and consumption of the animals that sustains the breed. Slow Foods is truly helping keep the rare breeds alive.”

    “It’s true. We just don’t want breeds that take special care, ones that can’t reproduce on their own, can’t forage. That’s why we’re getting Dorkings.” She said. My ears perked up.

    “You’ve found Dorkings? Silver?” I asked excitedly. “I’ve been looking for Silver, but haven’t been able to get any. Where?” I asked and she answered giving me all the chicken particulars.

    “Well,” Dave interjected, “I think this might work. There’s some semen I’m interested in from a bull who broke his leg and just got put down back in Vermont, Cosmo, he produced some fine heifers. If we can work the A.I. (artificial insemination) situation then we’re in business.”

(Andy having a snack)

    “Kulshan Veterinary Clinic is nearby, and I’m certain I can handle that end of things.” Lisa confirmed.

     “If I can just get a copy of her registration papers. We can see how we’ll proceed.” Dave said seemingly making a decision.

    “OK. I can go get them, just a moment.” I offered.

    “You can put your hands on her papers that quickly?” Lisa said with obvious surprise as she knew me too well.

    “Yes. I can.” I said feeling proud of myself as my filing system is certainly not up to snuff, but I do know where the important things are.

    “Great, If we can the A.I. situation handled I’d do it’ I’d like to breed her about June or July so she’d have her calf about this time next year and she’d have some nice grass to raise her calf on, we don’t want her dropping in winter.” He said looking at his watch.

    “I know you’re in a hurry to make the ferry, so if you want to get going I can send the paperwork tomorrow.”

    “That’d be best, thanks for everything.” They said in unison and walked off to put their good boots back on.

(Dave and his boots)

February 24th Night Moves

(bright light disappearing into the mountain)

    In the evening after Henry went to sleep, I pulled out my pink hula-hoop and started hooping. I figure I can’t do much exercise with an injured leg, but perhaps I can do a little something to tighten my tummy. I’ve always been a good hula hooper. The house was silent save my hula-hoop making the rhythmic swishing noise from the doodads inside it. It was relaxing really hearing the beads or whatever they are whoosh around. Whoosh, Whoosh, Whoosh then swish, swish, swish as I fought to keep it up on my hips. It gave me time to think. Think about the call I got regarding selling Anna to a couple on the San Juan Islands looking for a Milking Devon.

  (Abe, Andy and Anna)

I’d thought about selling Anna a million times, as she isn’t as cuddly as I’d like her to be. I’d proposed perhaps artificially inseminating her and making a deal to get her first heifer calf so we could hand raise it. They could keep any bull she produced. We’ll see. I thought about Nancy, the homesteader, who wants Cotton Patch Geese and interestingly might just have a few rare, heritage Black Java and Dominique chicks to trade. I thought about how Matilda is finally sitting on her nest full time and how and how Ruthie has now laid three eggs of her own. I was pondering Wayne moving out this weekend and considering how Henry was much like my mother complaining about low thread count sheets without even knowing they were low thread count ‘they just seem itchy and weird” I mulled over the idea of margaritas without salt. I was happily lost in thought when Irish started barking out on the front porch. He’d been banished there for snorting around and taking my spatula out of the dishwasher then using it as his chew toy. His barks were not loud frantic barks, but low rumbling growls. I let my pink light-up hula-hoop fall to the floor and decided to go out and investigate.

(Irish with chewed spatula)
(a swirling circle of pink light)

    Excitedly I turned the knob and stepped out on the porch. As I closed the door shutting out the light I suddenly felt like prey. I stood on the porch with my hand on Irish’s back feeling his body ripple with each growl. I felt vulnerable peering out into the blackness. Facts like “A cougar can leap 30 feet in one bound” came to mind. Yet, I was excited and felt safe next to the big guy. The barn light shining so bright made everything else seem inky. I followed Irish’s gaze. He was transfixed on one spot. Letting my eyes relax I tried to allow them to simply detect motion, I was going to be the predator, but I saw nothing. Half of me wanted to see Karen, the cougar come striding out from behind a bush while the other half hoped she would have the good taste to stay tucked behind some brush.

(Tom's non-functional flashlight)

    Frustrated, I backed up and leaned inside the door grabbing Tom’s super-duper-light-up-the-entire-world-flashlight. I hurried back to Irish’s side and flipped the switch. It was dead. Dead? How in the world was it dead? I’d charged it and put it by the front door for just such an occasion. Whatever, it was dead. I went in and grabbed the Home Depot flashlight. It was dead. Now I was getting annoyed. I went in and grabbed the smaller yellow one and flicking it on before I walked a step. The same – they were all dead. Without hesitating I ran to the laundry room and grabbed the smaller black flashlight everyone always makes fun of for it’s thready, spindly beam that’s just one step above a flickering candle. It worked. I hurried out to Irish who was still transfixed. My eyes needing to adjust again, I started sweeping the area for eyes. The beam dissipating into nothing as it reached out into the night. Back and forth I went with the light emphasizing the area to the right of the vegetable garden. I hadn’t thought of it then, but that is the start of cougar hill. It was just a flash, but I saw them, iridescent green flickers caught by the tiny glow of my flashlight. I tried to go back and pick them up again, but to no avail. They’d been right behind the garden. Was it Karen? Was it a coyote? Was it a raccoon? I have no idea. I tried for a while to search for more but when Irish lost interest so I figured whatever it was had gone and I gave up.

(Irish with the chip clip just before it was recovered)

(my little weight)

    We went inside and as Irish started gnawing on a dark blue plastic chip clip I picked up my three-pound neoprene weights and remembering the night vision monocular Tom had gotten me. He'd scared me, telling me I needed complete darkness and with the bright glow of the barn light I didn't want to whip it out with out reading the instruction manual. Now if only my reading comprehension level was just a bit better on Japanese electronics I'd be in business. No matter I'm sure I can watch some tutorial on youtube My thoughts began to twist and turn around as I anticipated the thrilling nighttime adventures in store.

September 7th Yes Sir, 4 Bags Full

(Spider web amongst the fall leaves)

   

At the last minute we decided to make our sheep shearing a family event. Lisa, Chris and the girls came out to the farm, as did Annie and Kim (Annie’s brother) and his wife Vivian. Kim and Vivian brought decadently ripe figs from their tree, which we devoured throughout the day.

    Our sheep shearing team arrived at 10:00AM. I don’t know what I expected, but I found the experience a bit traumatic. I’d seen sheep shearing before at fairs, but of course, those were just sheep they weren’t my babies. (Henry and Apache just before the big event)

    Apache went first. Not our best idea as Navajo Churro fleece is thick and tough to sheer. He was accidentally cut a few times. Henry and Quinn had to leave. Phoebe hung in there with Lisa and me. A few sheep and a cut or two later, we lost Lisa for a while. Everybody else was in and out. (Apache with a cut) (Phoebe & Lisa gathering wool)

(Apache with his new "do")

    The process was interesting. The shearers didn’t want any assistance. It seems the shearer must do the entire holding him or herself. They put the sheep on their bottoms, which puts them in this Zen-like trance. Immediately, they are rendered motionless – that is if they stay in that spot – which Mildred did not. She’s a kicker. (Angus in the position) (Apache, Cheryl and Angus)
(Mildred, Angus and Apache)

    I decided to keep a little on the top so they’d each have a bit of a hairdo. Nakedy, they all look like babies again. Now it’s easier to tell these little lambs apart. Angus has a small black spot on his neck and Mildred has a tiny ponytail down the back.

    Cheryl who is usually the shyest of the bunch has surprised everyone by suddenly eating out of my hand. Food seems to have overcome her fears.
(Cheryl looking pretty cute)

    The nice thing about a farm is you really don’t have to entertain anyone. While Phoebe and I tended to the sheering everyone else was busy with various things. Kim and Lisa took a walk and visited the cows. Vivian and Annie dove headfirst into the garden trying to free my iceberg rose from the clutches of some unidentified weed. Chris went for a bike ride and Wayne changed his oil, checking in on the Seahawks every little bit.

    With the sheering behind us we all ate a hearty lunch of lemonade, chili and hot cornbread with butter. Soon after with hugs and promises to see them at the farm festival we said good bye to Kim and Vivan. Then it was off to the river for one last summer tubing escapade. It was beautiful and warm for most of the time, but as the sun began to slip behind the mountains, you could feel autumn in the air.

August 5th An "Oink Oink" Here?

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Well, don’t go get one today.”

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

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

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

    “A Shit program?”

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

    “Oh.”

    

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

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

August 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.

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 29th On A Clear Day You Can See Forever

   (Alfred and the rest of the flock)

    Not completely confident in Alfred's last diagnosis, my sister put me in touch with another doctor friend of hers who has been checking into Alfred's condition. As doctor's do she asked many questions regarding Alfred's legs, his ability and of course his living conditions. The doctor asked me if Alfred has been getting enough sunlight.

    "No." I replied, "Alfred, lives in the Pacific Northwest, there is no sunlight. We've had rain and snow almost since he arrived. Even the tulips haven't had enough sunlight."

    Well, after that I went and got Alfred a full -spectrum light bulb which is what many people use here and in the mid-west to ward off  S.A.D. - Seasonal Affect Disorder-.

    (Henry covered in gosling poop with his flock)
    Today however, is a screaming sunny day. And so all of the goslings: Mabel, Ruthie, Clara, Matilda, Lloyd, Quackmire, Alfred and Cleveland are all venturing outside for a little sunshine therapy.

(Henry & Mabel - after  Henry changed his shirt- Wimp)

(Henry getting love from the girls)

(Ruthie loves Henry)

(Snuggled up)

"Hey, Hey, Hey Everybody!!"

April 24th If It's Not One Thing

   

   

    I woke up with a start this morning feeling as though I’d overslept. I checked the clock and I was up strangely early. Sore and creaky from all the hard labor, I dragged myself downstairs looking like a truck hit me. I’d taken a hot shower before going to bed and too exhausted to dry my hair I went to bed. The result is not pretty. I had a little extra time so I chatted a bit longer with Tom over coffee than usual and leisurely made Henry’s lunch. Just as I was inserting the Flavor Blasted Goldfish™ I remembered.

    “Don’t forget Mama my all my paperwork and permission slips are due tomorrow for Mountain School. It’s the last day to turn them in.” Henry said sleepily before he went to sleep last night. Drat. I had forgotten totally I hadn’t even taken them out of the pack. Now, we had to leave in thirty minutes and I wasn’t even dressed. My dad walked in. I’d forgotten, he needed a ride to his car before school – at least it was on the way.

    I set new land speed records getting out of the house. Henry fed the dogs while I did the barn. As I fed Pancho and Lefty hay showered on me and I momentarily thought of my sister the chimpanzee. I’d have to avoid her at all costs. I now truly looked like road kill, but I would stay in the car and with any luck no one would notice me.

    We dropped off my dad and his book at Mt. Baker Automotive and Henry hopped in the front seat.

    “Mama, don’t feel bad about forgetting about me. I forget about you all the time.”

    “Is that somehow supposed to make me feel better?” I gave him the eyebrow lift. “ Anyway, I feel like loser mother of the year, and I truly am sorry. You brought home the papers and you told me to do them and you even reminded me last night. I’m not angry at you, but I know how teachers get when parents don’t turning their slips on time especially since I’m a chaperone.”

    “How about you tell me what to write and I fill in the answers while you’re driving.”

    “That’s a great idea.” So he did all the paperwork including his insurance information and the requisite check. All I had to do when we arrived was sign my name where he’d marked.

    “The only thing missing Honey, are the dates we’re going. Do you remember?”

    “No. I’ll just ask my teacher and fill them in when I get to class.”

    I turned to head home, because after all where else could I go in my condition? And just in front of me was a dark gray Honda Odyssey. Lisa. The phone rang and sure enough she’d seen my car. Luckily, she was on her way to an appointment and didn’t have time to stop. Whew. I continued on my way so far so good. The phone rang again, this time it was my father it seems his car was not ready and he needed me to pick him up. Fifteen minutes later when I pulled into the parking lot I realized he might not see me and I wasn’t going in. I’d call if I had to, but my luck continued and he walked out. They’d have the part for his car a little later so he just wanted a ride to the Extreme Bean and they’d call him there.
No problem as long as I don’t have to get out of the car. The Extreme Bean is also a drive thru and for a moment I considered a hot cup of coffee for the ride home, but vanity got the best of me. I’d go without.

    When I pulled into the driveway I felt elated. I’d made it. I went directly upstairs used the Trader Joes™ Tangerine Sugar Scrub and did my hair. While I was getting ready I started thinking about those Silver Dorkings again. What could I do with twenty-two roosters? I supposed I could give one to each of the kids in Henry’s class. That would make me popular with the PTA.

    I called Dan Cramer and he found some round bales for me and promised to deliver them tomorrow. “Now Denise, are you sure you don’t need anything nothing else? My son’s doing a great workshop on how to harness a team and drive them. It’s all day clinic and people are coming from three states, he serves a beautiful lunch.”

    “Dan I need a lot of things, and I’d really love to go to the clinic but right now we’re not spending any extra money.”

    “OK then. I understand. Oh and I was going to help you get a job wasn’t I? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

    I went upstairs to check on the goslings and found their 100-gallon tub is no longer big enough. They are suffering from overcrowding. They can move around enough and it’s too cold to move them outside still, but I had to do something because they keep knocking over their water dish and food because of these urban conditions. I called Lisa about the pen and because Alfred is injured and I’m really worried about him. I think the others stepped on his leg accidentally when I was transporting them outside. And he won’t stand up for very long. At first, I thought maybe he should just rest, but it’s been a few days now and he isn’t any better. I asked Lisa what to look for and she told me to inspect his joints. She also suggested a tarp and Irish’s puppy pen for their new living quarters. I was just about to set them up in their new digs when Tom called. Sipping my coffee while talking I glanced down into the meadow. I gasped.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s him again.”

“Who him?”

“Pancho.”

I couldn’t believe it. Pancho, or should I call him Houdini was out again and this time he was trying to break back into the pasture. I ignored him and tended to the geese. I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d walk around and eat grass mooing at Anna. He’d used up his dime.

    After the goslings were taken care of I called Kulshan Veterinary as their ad says they do cats to cows. I asked if they did geese. The receptionist said yes they had a poultry doctor. And I could bring the gosling in at 3:45 tomorrow.

    (Alfred is the only one sitting down)

   

“How old is he?”
    “He’s three weeks. Is it ok if I bring another one with me, because I think he’ll flip out if he’s isolated.”

    “Sure that’s no problem. What color is he?”

    “That’s a hard question. He’s molting.”

    “He’s molting? What color is he? He’s molting? That’s a riot.” She laughed so hard I couldn’t believe it. “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow.”  I hadn’t really thought that was Saturday Night Live™ funny, but it’s always good to get a laugh.

With Alfred handled, I went to the barn got a scoop of grain, walked to where Pancho could see me and called his name. I shook the scoop. Pancho came trotting toward me and followed me in the gate. I studied the corral. It didn’t have any breaks and it took me a few minutes to figure out how he’d gotten out, because Lefty was still there. Good old Left.

Well, he’d didn’t go over it. He didn’t go around it. Noooooo. He went UNDER it. That’s correct, he lifted up poorly constructed the green pipe corral fence up with his horns and scooched himself under it. We’d hired some guy to put it together and he apparently had no pride in his work. I’d never really studied it before, but the fence on one side was only tied at the top with red twine.  I tied the bottom with a rope to a fence post. I’d have to have Tom do it right, but for now it should hold. I hope.

    When Mike and Henry arrived home, we set to picking up junk. It seems in rural communities that people section off parts of their properties and just use them as a dumpsite. Living on this land is like going on an Easter egg hunt for old broken down farm equipment. I’ve found all sorts of bizarre things including a car that I can’t for the life of me figure how it got where it is. I have refrigerators and dishwashers and freezers with gunshot holes. Manure spreaders, forgotten tractors from almost every era, tires, stoves, and tables with benches attached that look like belong in a fast-food restaurant. Anyway, I can’t stand the stuff. I have to get it out of here. Now I have already filled up more than five industrial sized roll-offs with sundry construction junk.  The very biggest bins they make, but the minute the bin is gone, things seem to sprout from the ground. Tomorrow we’re having a guy come and take everything away including the appliances because they’re almost impossible to get rid of.

    When we came in Henry handed me a paper with the dates for the chaperone meeting. I was impressed. He was becoming a bit more responsible. I glanced down at the date and marked it on my calendar. I looked for the dates of the actual trip so I could jot them down too. I couldn’t believe it. The dates were May 12-14th. And I had been planning for months and months and months to drive to Seattle on May 13th to go to Charlaine Harris’ book signing. I know it seems piddily, but I’ve read seven of her Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire novels and I love them. They make me happy. As my aunt, Lana used to say, “They’re good chewing gum for the eyeballs.” She’s only coming to Seattle for the day and won’t be back for the rest of the year. How perfect it would have been I thought I could have driven to Seattle and Henry would be gone so I wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him at all and just to add salt in the wound I wouldn’t have had to take him to school the next morning either. The perfect alone time treat. I mourned my opportunity.

I wasn’t done yet, because I’m a terrible mother. I called Toby.

“Maybe you can just leave the field trip for the one night.”

“Are you kidding? Leave? They shoot chaperones at dawn for that. No. I have to either replace myself or go, but I can not leave.”

I cautiously started asking Henry “Maybe you would feel more grown-up if I didn’t go Henry. I know Zach’s mother would like to go. You know some kids don’t like having their parents there they feel more independent.”

    “Well, if you have something more important to do Mama, that’s OK.”

    Sister Sally, you can tell the boy is Catholic. My mother often said, “When it comes to guilt, the Jews may have invented it, but the Catholics perfected it.”

April 19th Yakitty Yak

   

   The phone rang yesterday morning and it was decided that the Mellotts, a lovely family in Wyoming - complete with a basset hound named Elvis - is going to give Pancho and Lefty a new home. It seems Pancho and Lefty are  going into show business and will be participating in a wild west show. I'm thrilled because when I asked Mrs. Mellott if they were sure, she replied. "Yes, I think they've been put in the will above the children." Maryruth should be pleased.

        Mr. Mellott will be fetching them week after spending a night in Idaho with his brother,  which means I need to provide appropriate health documentation when transporting livestock across state lines. I didn't want to do it before I knew when and where Pancho and Lefty were going because different states have different requirements and health certificates are valid for only two-weeks in come cases and a month at the outside. In order to get all the necessary paperwork I called the Wyoming Livestock governing board to inquire what might be needed. Remember Wyoming is a large state known for its cattle, at least that’s how I view it. So I would think especially the guy in charge of livestock would be extremely knowledgeable in this category. I was wrong.

    “Hello, I’m calling from Western Washington and I’ve just sold a pair of oxen to a gentleman in Wyoming and I need to know what if any vaccines you require for them to enter the state.”

    “Oxen? Is that a yak?” he asked perplexed.

    “A yak? They live in Tibet. No. They're oxen you know,cattle. I guess they look a little like a yak with a crew cut.” I replied a bit surprised. Wondering if I had the right number.

    “Are they bulls?” he asked.

    “Ah, no. they’re oxen. You know a steer but older and with an education.” I replied slowly completely off guard. I’m the city girl.

    “So what are they exactly?” he asked me again still confused.

    “They’re cattle, they’re Milking Shorthorns.”

    “What they’re from a dairy? That changes everything. How many cows are you talking about? These are milkers then.” He seemed somewhat authoritative now.

    “No. If you tried to milk these two you’d very sorry. Their breed is the Milking Shorthorn. The breed that settled the entire western United States. They are males. An ox is merely a four-year-old or older steer. A castrated male. They are usually trained to pull a cart or a plow a field.”

    “Really? I didn’t know that.”  Obviously. This guy is in charge?  “In that case they don’t need anything special only a health cert. and a permit number. The vet you have check them out can call us for that.”

    “Great, thank you.”

    So I called the large animal vet's office and made an appointment for Tuesday. They asked if I was sure of the health requirements for Wyoming, I told them I was and that I’d just gotten off the phone with the livestock board of health.

    Next, I cleaned out the gosling’s container and settled down to order some chickens. I’ve completely given up on Black Javas they’re great but at this point they are so rare I can’t even acquire any. So I went back to the Williamsburg breeds page on their website and decided on Silver Dorkings. I did a search and found they are available at the Murray McMurray Hatchery. Fabulous. I went to order them, but stopped short of check out and called my feathered friend, Toby. And told her I had to order 25 chicks in order to get an order and I really didn’t want or need twenty five of anything. She agreed to meet me in Horse Shoe Bay and take the extra chicks. She sells eggs at the farmer’s market and says she never has enough eggs. We did the math and calculated the shipping costs etc. She decided she’d like to get more Araucanas, commonly known as the Easter egg chicken because it lays colored eggs and everyone loves them. In fact, Henry took green eggs from Toby’s chickens to school on Dr. Seuss Day in kindergarten. They were a huge hit with the kids and the kindergarten teacher, Nell, was more than a little taken aback that there really were green eggs to go with ham.

    So I excitedly picked up the phone and called the Murray McMurray Hatchery to order my chickens. I didn’t want to leave it to the Internet because I had too many questions. I went through the discussion about taking chickens across an international boundary and was assured that with their health certificate and the appropriate vaccinations the hatchery provides I would have no problem. Sure it might sound easy from where she sat, but had she actually done it? Taking poultry to Canada seemed daunting to me, yet I wanted my chickens so I was up for the challenge. I’d make Henry go with me he’d distract them. Great mother I am. I'm willing to use my child as bait to distract international agents. Whatever works.

     I was ready to pull the trigger and give my debit card number. Then the woman’s tone changed.

    "Oh, I didn’t realize you wanted the Silver Dorkings. We don’t have any.”

    “Really?  You’re sure. I don’t need many. Ideally I’m only looking for five pullets and one cockerel.” I said dazzling her with my newly acquired insider chicken lingo.

    “Sorry, chicken season is almost over so we wouldn’t be able to get you your order until June and even then we don’t’ have any Dorkings.”

    “ There’s a chicken season? Don’t they lay eggs all the time?” I said revealing my novice knowledge of poultry.

    “There’s a short time when we have chicks so we’re almost over and you won’t be able to get any until next spring. You can put your pre-order in next January.”

    “I had no idea. You’re sure you don’t have any.”

       “Well, let me see” she said as the tapping of her computer clicked over the phone. “ We do have three from a canceled order available the week of May 12th.”

    “Great! I’ll take them.”

    “No you can’t. Because we don’t have anything else available that week. And we can’t ship less than twenty-five.”

    “There isn’t anything, nothing else?” I figured I could at least sell something else on Craigslist.

    “There are plenty of cockerels.”

    “Roosters? I would have to buy twenty-two roosters?” I thought of my neighbor, “stinky britches” wouldn’t he just love it if I got twenty-two roosters. My evil side began to emerge.

    “Exactly.”

    “What would I do with twenty-two roosters? Do you think I could sell them?” I knew I really couldn’t keep twenty-two roosters and stay on speaking terms with Mike.

    “Well, not a lot of people want them that’s why we have so many, but you could eat them.”

    “I don’t think so. We really couldn’t.”  Although Tom’s mother can twist the head off a chicken with one hand. But unless she intends to come up here and handle it while I take a cruise somewhere I don’t think that’s going to work out. “Can we buy wild turkeys?” Tom has this dream of having wild turkeys roaming the area. Unlike modern domestic turkeys that can barely move because they've been bred so top heavy, a wild turkey can run up to 25mph and fly up to 55 mph and are very adaptable to almost any environment in the U.S. “Or, the Standard Bronze? I just want a tom and a hen.”

    “Sorry. We can’t ship turkeys with chicks. We get them from two different locations.”

    “Hmm, then I guess I don’t really have any other options do I?”

    Well, then sorry.” Click.

        I wasn’t ready to accept defeat quite yet, but I needed to take the goslings out for a little waddle. Luther thoroughly enjoyed the outing racing back and for the with them in the twenty minutes of our allotted sunlight.

    While I stewed over the chicken dilemma, the phone rang again it was the veterinarian’s office. They had some questions about the health check on Tuesday. It seems they were unclear what exactly oxen were. and again I went through the exact same bovine discussion I’d had with the man from Wyoming all over again. Can we be a society so removed from the past that even people working with livestock don’t know an ox from a cow? To be clear. A heifer is a young bovine that has not had a calf. A cow is a female bovine. A steer is a castrated male. A bull is an intact male bovine of any age. An ox is a castrated male over the age of four. The age distinction is made because steers are usually covered in A1™ on your dinner table long before the age of four.

    Tom called and had a chicken idea. He suggested I call the co-op, Laurel Farm Supply or Dell's and see if they’d take roosters. Great idea. Although he apparently doesn’t know the term cockerel yet – complete nubie.

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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.

April 13th Wild & Wooly Weekend

   

Henry & "Tiny Tim"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

April 12th American Idols

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 12th Chicken George

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

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

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

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

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

February 19th Hope

    Mike and I drove to Anacortes this morning so I can get a valid teaching credential in Washington. I need to earn some money and this seems the best place to start. I’m not giving up on Fort Flashback; I’m just trying to be realistic. I’m not proud; I’ll bag groceries, or whatever it takes to provide for my family.
It’s a lovely drive to Anacortes and on the way I got a call from the Cotton Patch goose breeder, Tom. He explains that he’ll send me ten geese for a hundred dollars. Plus shipping. He overnights them as day-olds. They mail quite nicely because baby birds live exclusively on the yolk sack for the first few days. They absorb it just before they hatch. I don’t really need ten, but he won’t ship fewer, because they need the numbers for the warmth. We should expect them at the beginning of April.

    Just as we finish and are almost to Bellingham, I get a call from Lisa. She’s agitated. It seems there is some reason to believe that Griffin has gotten into some rat poison. She’s missed the courier that would have taken it to Everett. She doesn’t know what to do, so I volunteer. It’s about an hour’s drive. Mike and I pick up the blood sample, a couple of coffees and head out for the lab.

    I asked Lisa how it would be possible for him to get into rat poison. She said he got out for a little while about five days ago and she’s not sure what the neighbors have around their yards. I said, “I hope it’s negative.”

    “No. I hope it’s positive. If it’s rat poison, I’ve already started treating him, but if it isn’t it’s probably some kind of cancer.”
    Mike and I make the delivery, I give the woman at the desk Lisa’s cell number and she says they’ll have results in an hour or so.”

    I call Lisa and report in. She tells me “Dad’s picking up Henry, you can meet them at the Gelato shop.”
While we’re there, we get the news. It’s not rat poison.

December 15th Chicks & Ducks & Geese Better Scurry

   

(Web frozen into the pond)

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 4th The Eagle Has Landed

     In Woodland Hills, our drives in the morning to school consisted of mini malls, 7-Eleven™, and Mark & Brian on KLOS. We traded that for absolute silence, as we really get crummy radio reception and gorgeous scenery. As the seasons have changed, the fog comes and goes hanging in the valley or over the river as we wind our way through. Over the months, the leaves turned ochre, burnt orange and crimson and eventually fell off. In an Ansell Adams kind of way they have they’re own barren beauty especially when covered with ice. When we’re not plagued with the infernal darkness of the north, we’re treated to a daily display of natural beauty. Sometimes we see deer, raccoons, opossum and coyotes. There of course is almost always some lazy-ass black farm dog that likes to sleep on the yellow line, making you stop and honk while he looks up as if he owns the place. When we pass these animals we always say “Another deer we didn’t hit.” Because we figure, the odds are eventually; we will one day have no choice but to hit an animal to save our lives.

    Today was the most amazing day yet. When we got to the North Fork Bridge, we saw not one not two, but seven eagles.  We stopped and watched them for a while. One was trying to steal a salmon from a sea gull.

   
When I was young, I thought they were extinct. I looked on the Internet when I got home and they have just this summer been taken off the endangered species list in the Lower 48. It seems that the bridge we saw them by is a local photo op. On the way back I saw men with cameras waiting patiently by trees with huge lenses. I can’t believe we live this close to this kind of beauty on the way to school.

November 17th Gobble? Gobble? Gobble?

   

    A couple of days ago I started thinking about Thanksgiving. I realized I have to do something about the turkey and I began thinking perhaps we should order a heritage bird. Everyone says they are so delicious, like no other you’ve ever had. So I went on line looking for heritage turkeys. I must say I have learned an amazing amount about turkeys in a short amount of time. It seems that more than 90% of us eat one kind of turkey. While there are many to choose from like the Chocolate, the Bourbon Red, the Royal Palm, Lilac, Narragansett, Standard Bronze, Slate and the Midget White.

    I went on slowfoods.com and looked into what they recommended and where they recommend. I went on countless turkey sites in Washington and Oregon, and oddly in the end, the supplier in Oregon where I was trying to get a bird from would not sell to the general public anymore. You had to purchase it from one of their distributors and as it happened after two days of research – their distributor is the Haggen™market where I shop. Whatever.

November 10th Beasts Of Burden

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

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

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

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

Mathew 11

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

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

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

November 7th These Are The Yokes Son

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

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

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

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

   

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

November 5th Anticipation

 

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

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

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

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

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

September 1st Surprise!

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

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

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




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



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

August 19th A Cute Little Ass

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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







I always knew he was a real ass.

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

August 18th I Got Your Goat

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

    We unloaded Rachel, at three the oldest (yellow)

and the mother of Christina (purple).

How can you separate the two?

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

and the baby Riley(orange),

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



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

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

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

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

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 3rd Cows Anyone?

 I’m not giving up on cattle. I’ve been researching places to get Milking Devons online, but apparently not only are they rare, they’re non-existent in Washington, Idaho, Oregon, Arizona and California. One very interesting thing that I’ve found out is cattle used to be multi-purpose. A family who owned a cow would use it for milking and plowing and, eventually, eat the beef. Now cattle, like so many aspects of modern life, have become specialized for either beef or dairy.

    Using 21st century technology to locate a 17th century cow, I finally located a Milking Devon at Three Eagles Ranch in Colorado on ruralheritage.com. Paula Johnson, had listed Abe, a seven-month-old Milking Devon steer that has started training for the yoke. As we chatted I found she also had a COW, Anna! I’ve always wanted a cow and I thought perhaps they could be a team. After all, why did they have to be two males? Still later in the conversation I found out that Paula did have another steer about Abe’s size but she called this one “hamburger” because he is difficult and, therefore, destined to be butchered. When our phone call ended, my head started spinning. I could get a cow and then have a calf down the road. Milk-babies I liked these ideas. Anna could be the match to Abe, couldn’t she?

    Next, I called a ranch in Arizona about a pair of Milking Shorthorns another heritage breed. These two, Lefty and Pancho (their owner must be a Willie Nelson fan) are a fully trained team of oxen. Although not in this country as long as the Devons, who arrived on the Fortune, the ship that followed the Mayflower, the Shorthorns are historically correct-and rare.

    I spoke to their owner, the very friendly Maryruth Monahan. She’s an experienced drover and said she’d come out to my place after “the boys” got settled, and help me if I decided to take them. She also threw in their yoke and their Civil War-era cart. Well, you can’t ask for more than that. Now what? Should I take the experienced team with the teacher /trainer and all the gear or the Milking Devons, the breed at Colonial Williamsburg and George Washington's home, Mt. Vernon, young ones without training, but one of them a heifer? Logic says take the experienced team, I think. But my heart says that Milking Devons are the way to go. Hmm. I’m going to have to think about it and get some opinions.

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.

July 27th Colonial Cows

   
    Lisa, and I stopped at Dodson’s IGA, the only real market out in the county. While we were there she got me, my first issue of Hobby Farm™ magazine. It changed my life. This magazine was written as if just for me. Everything else I’d seen before this, is written for someone whose family has lived on a farm for at least three generations.

    I can’t believe it, I’m curled up on my air mattress with a cup of Earl Grey in my Nick & Nora™’s contemplating cattle. Dexters are the smallest cows, but I found that the Milking Devons came over to Plimoth Colony. We saw them at Mt. Vernon and Henry even has a stuffed Milking Devon, but I never thought about it – until now. I think I have to go with colonial. This is a long way from the days when I’d forget my troubles by the pool with a Diet Coke™ and Glamour™. Actually, it’s a lot more fun.