As The Butter Churns

September 29th A Frightening Note

 (the fall pasture)

    Dry hot sun and crackling crunchy leaves. What better time to patch the barn roof? Ready or not the rain will come again. Tom got out the caulking gun and snipped the end of the epoxy. Just as he was about to climb on the metal roof he realized it might not be sturdy enough. Henry and I were called in to finish the job.
  (while we're working, Tom and his girlfriend are fooling around) (more shenanagans)

(Miracle can't resist Tom's beard)

    The roof was wobbly and very slippery so we took off our boots and socks to get a better grip. Tired of the buckets and drips every time it rains we moved seam by seam across the sides of the roof meticulously sealing every one.
( a little of my waning gecko tatto) (farm-boy Henry patching the barn rooff)

    Afterward, Tom and Henry went in the house to clean up as they both had things to do for work and school.  The unemployed freeloader in the family, I stayed to put the animals up for the night. While I was doling out hay, I heard a terrible cry. It sounded like one of the cows was in distress. I rushed outside to see if I could identify which one. I heard it again. It sounded painful. I ran farther worried I was going to see a cow on the ground covered in cougar. As I got to the top of the hill that overlooks the pasture I heard the cry again. This time I could tell it was coming from the house not the field. I stood there shaking with laughter as I realized it was Henry practicing the cornet. (not your grandfather's cornet)

August 24th What Big Ears You Have

   

(Bruno enjoying the sun)

    

I was standing on the porch when I heard the screams. I looked over and realized the shrill sounds of panic were coming from a terrified Bruno. Miracle! Bruno had squeezed into the new part of the pen and Miracle was chasing him down. I could see her stomping with her front feet as I took off screaming. Pleading “Miracle Stop! Miracle Stop! Miracle NO!” I ran, but as I did the screaming and the stomping stopped. I saw her standing still, head down next to a limp and motionless Bruno. I was horrified. I moved closer. Miracle twitched her ear and looked up at me. I realized she had Bruno pinned with her nose against the fence. When I got to the fence, she let him up and he ran to me under the gate. She’d let him live. Diet-shmiet, she got extra packer pellets for being such a good listener.

August 20th Dancing Queen

(Emmett surveys his home)

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

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

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

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

August 10th When It Rains

(Henry goes William Tell on a rotten round bale)

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

August 3rd The Eyes Have It

(Wayne working in the attic)

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

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

(Abbey with Vivian's toy)

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

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

(St. John Creamery)

(Marcia has a heard of 125)

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 2nd And Along Came Sheryl

    

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

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Thinking about getting out)

(sheep going into their new digs)

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

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

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

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

July 25th It's Not Easy Being Green

   

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

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

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

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

July 19th Getting It Together

(Craig is a one man jungle gym)

Saturday started slowly and out of sorts. Everyone crawled out of bed and padded around the house in different directions with heavy blinks and loud yawns. Coffee wafted through the house and cups followed us around most of the day.

(Deli inspecting her new place of encarceration)

Tom led the way and we all set to work. Gates were built, fence posts painted and wire rolled. The screw gun battery was changed and charged hourly. (Tom and his- rather my new gate)  (other people worked too - except Lu)

    Our friend new friend, Wayne came out with his tool belt and happily joined in. Like the answer to a prayer he spearheaded the drywall in the bathroom, knocking down the header over the bathtub we all agreed looked ridiculous and served no purpose.

We took Miracle out and let her loll around eating grass, flirting with Tom, when suddenly she went berzerk. She started carrying on and running away. It was a doe and buck. She suddenly was at war. She came running back stomping the ground like a flamenco dancer and braying like a bandit. She looked fierce and regal with her fly mask on – a like a Thoroughbred in a jousting match.

About 8:00PM the whistle blew and Wayne took over the grill as he barbecued steaks and salmon loaded with garlic. Many beers and games of darts later Wayne and his trusty companion, Abbey (the golden lab) went home and, most of us went to bed. However, amped on root beer, daddy adrenaline and jonesing for a bit of bro Henry was still wide awake at 4:30AM when he came dancing in our room asking if he could have some more chocolate cake he’d made and use the computer.

“GO TO BED!” we cried in unison.

July 2nd Disney Endings

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

(old kitchen with my stove)

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

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

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

    (note: Enchanted Tiki Room)

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

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

(The kids pictures done @ Disneyland)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “What?”

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

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

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

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

    “Happy Anniversary.”

    “You too.”

June 28th For The Love Of Lu

(Barbara & Kaylee)

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

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

    (Vivian in her usual position all snuggled up)

(Scarlett in the Game Room)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Snow at Mount Baker)

(Nooksack River)

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

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

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

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

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

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

     

June 14th One Man's Treasure

 

(in honor of flag day)

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

(Henry works hard)

  (Henry keeps going)

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

(Clara stretching her wings)

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

    Being Tom’s last night, we drank leftover sangria and watched a movie. Watching a movie with Tom is a little like being by yourself. Within a few minutes he’s asleep. This comforts me on lonely nights when I pretend he’s there with me. Henry kept an eye on him and woke him up every few minutes. We were watching “Mad Money” with Diane Keaton. I mention this because I kept thinking of trying to get a job. I’ve been unsuccessful at every turn. After two sessions of role-playing, Home Depot™ hasn’t called me back. I thought I did really well when the big question was “What do you do when a disgruntled customer comes in and she’s throwing a party that night and…” I thought I’m in like Flynn. That question was right in my wheelhouse. But no. It’s been two weeks and not a word.

I thought of this when I was watching the movie. The premise is Diane Keaton is a Palisades kind of non-working educated woman who hits hard times and is overqualified, but gets a job as a janitor. As a result she devises a brilliant plan to rip off the Federal Reserve. I kept wondering if this was why I wasn’t getting hired.

After the educational film, Henry begged to sleep with his daddy so I retired to Henry’s room. No dogs, no cats, no snoring, a perfect night sleep for my weary bones.

May 19th Farmer In The Dell

    When Chris came over yesterday, I talked to him about my vegetable garden; telling him about my plans to roto-till the area near the barn.

    “Denise, if you’re not six-feet and two-hundred pounds, you’re going to have a hard time. If you are, its kind of fun.”

    “Really.” I said in my most insightful way.

    “You need to rent something for the tractor.” He said authoritatively. Authoritative is something Chris does well. And in this case he seemed perfectly justified. “Absolutely. There’s no other way.” he added, in case I was at all in doubt.

    Knowing I’ve gotten in over my head countless times, I called Scholten’s in Lynden where I got my tractor. I spoke to a very friendly woman on the phone who told me exactly what I needed. She understood I didn’t know the model number of my tractor off the top of my head. I asked if I could fit the tiller in my truck. She said yes and that she’d reserve it for me if I wanted to come get it this afternoon.

  I took Henry to school in my newly clean car, and my dad to The Woods, a fabulous coffee shop in Boulevard Park, where he had chosen to read a book and wait the morning while his car was being serviced. The Woods is kind of modern looking with huge windows directly over-looking the bay. You can sit up stairs and read or downstairs by the duel fireplace – or even on the other side of the fireplace out on the patio. The only place other that close to the water I can remember was Alice’s Restaurant in Malibu. Oh, how I loved to go there for the view, a bloody, and eggs "benny". Memories. Why, at a time when I’m trying to reduce my food intake (a little too much winter insulation) do I continuously associate food with fun? Not a good sign.

    Anyway, I did some errands, dashed home and got the farm truck, Daisy. Heading back to town, I got stopped at the one-lane bridge. They were doing some safety work and I had no choice but to wait. Seconds later, my trucker friend, Todd, came up behind me. The guy with the “Stop” sign, Todd and I waited in the drizzle as we watched the giant machine check all the supports. We discussed bridges in a global manner, the future of this bridge in particular and how many more loads Todd would have to do today. It was very neighborly.

    I dashed back to town, grabbed Henry, as it was a half-day, and swung by to pick up my father. He told me to scoot over, he’d drive. From the moment he gets in the car, the classical radio station turns on. Henry gave me a sideways glance. It isn’t so much the classical music as it is music. I know this isn’t compliant with most social moray’s, but I don’t’ listen to the radio all that much. Henry and I like to talk without background “noise”. Maybe it’s because we’re musically inept. My friend, Laurie, thinks this is a dark view into my personality. She’s all about music. She won’t date anyone who has my musical deficit. It’s not that I don’t like music. I like everything from Bing Crosby to Ozomatli and many things in between. I have a full jukebox. I just don’t play music in the background all the time like so many, including my sister and Chris, who also think there is something wrong with me. They site many more unrelated examples, however.

    The drive to Lynden was picturesque. The landscape was littered with huge dairies, modest farms, cute little houses and empty fields just waiting for crops to be planted. Screaming red rhododendrons, shy colts and curious calves were everywhere. I could tell my viewpoint was changing as I passed the farms and started examining how straight their crop rows were. I appreciated the dark rich soil free from weeds. It looked beautiful to me, suddenly. I think I’ve gone over the edge into some sort parallel farmer universe.

    We drove through a coffee kiosk on our way, my father grousing about the turning radius of this %#@!$ truck to the smiling woman at the window.

    We finally arrived at the tractor place and I immediately felt as if I was in the shoe department of Nordstrom’s. I wanted everything. I couldn’t believe my intense case of tractor envy. There were all sorts of implements I didn’t even have an idea what they did, but I was sure I could put them to use. Toby and I learned early on, as we struggled through so many home improvement projects, that there is a tool for absolutely everything. There are strange little gadgets that twist and lift and pull and, Lord knows, what else. The trick is you have to know what it is, which at times can be impossible for the nubie, and once you’ve identified what tool it is, you then have to find it.

    Lickety-split, they got the tiller in the truck and we were crawling down the 9 on the way home. The tiller is incredibly heavy and because there are so many curves we didn’t want it to shift our weight too much. We dropped my dad off at Mount Baker Automotive. He gave us a wave that all was well. We turned off the radio and headed for home.

    “Mom, do you think Miracle is lonely?”

    “Maybe. I’m not happy with her enclosure. Your daddy and I want to move her and the goats down with the cows. I think she might like them. She knows Anna from being in the barn.”

    “Maybe we should get another donkey.” Henry suggested thoughtfully.

    “Well, Daddy thought maybe she should have a baby.”

    “How long does it take for donkey’s to have a baby?”

    “I have no idea. Maybe you could do some research on it when we get home.”

    “OK. I can do that.” Good I thought. He can turn his evil ways into something positive. I know he needs to practice researching and this seemed like a great way to start. Practical. I was more than a bit surprised to learn that the answer was 11-14 months. We’d have to get her pregnant now for next summer. Talk about your planned pregnancy.

    When my dad got home a few minutes behind us, he promised to help me get the tiller hooked up when it stopped raining. I think he’s the only person in Washington who waits for the rain to stop. Knowing it wasn’t going to stop, I got changed and braced myself for the “Could it rain any harder.” “Jeez this is comfortable.” “What a great day this turned out to be.” “The sun is shining somewhere.” Barrage.

    First, we tried to shove the tiller out the back. It wouldn’t budge. Next, we got the tractor and tried to pull it out the back. We broke the tailgate on the truck. Wonderful. This project was getting more expensive by the minute. At this point, my dad wanted to hook a cable to the bucket and try to lift it out, but I was terrified of breaking the tractor. The thing is not cheap and he’s not going to pay to fix it if it breaks. He’s been my father a long time. I called the tractor place and, this time knowing my model number, I asked them if it had the capability to lift the thing. They said my dad was right and the tractor could indeed lift it with a cable. We parked the truck downhill of the tractor to give the tractor some extra height. We hooked it up and realized the tractor still wouldn’t be able to lift it high enough, so at his sign, I drove the truck out from underneath the tiller while my dad lifted it with the bucket and the cable.

    Once out, we tried to hook the thing together. I thought I could do it. After all, I’d done the backhoe plenty of times. Not so easy. It didn’t make sense. Something was wrong it looked like a physical impossibility. We looked and looked and studied the thing, but couldn’t figure it out. I called Scholten’s again. They were now closed, but magically a man answered. I told the guy the model number and explained the problem. I felt like girls do when a mechanic is speaking to them like an idiot. “Yes, I did that, yes, I know that’s what is supposed to happen, but we can’t get it close enough to hook it up.” Knowing, men like to talk to men, I put my father on the phone. My father will be the first to admit he’s about as mechanical as a jackrabbit, but men like to talk to men. After chatting up the guy, he handed me the phone.

    “Listen, I’m going to send a guy out there if I can get a hold of him.”

    “Really? It’s 6:00PM.”

    “He lives out that way off the 9. He won’t mind.” I want you to be able to use the thing.

    I hung-up.  “A guy’s coming out here to help us.”

    “You are kidding? Tonight?” My dad said wide-eyed and incredulous. “Well, that’s what we need or this isn’t going to happen.”

    The phone rang again. “Yep, he’s comin’ out just as soon as he finishes supper.” Duane said.

    And he did. It was the same guy who serviced the tractor last month, Wayne. He took one look at it and said there were missing pieces. “Lots of missing pieces.” He looked around, went to the barn where I keep the tractor and took the pieces off the mowing implement. He said, when the tractor came they weren’t on and you don’t use them for the backhoe, so I wouldn’t even know they exist. He walked back to the tractor, flipped the seat up to reveal a secret storage compartment full of little rings and things to keep implements in place. In a few minutes, he had it all put together.

    He turned to me and said with pride “ I’ve got to brag a little. My corn is already coming out of the ground. First time in twenty years I’m ahead of everybody else. I’m no farmer. I planted my garden where my donkeys used to poop. You know they always poop in the same place.” I nodded. I did know that.

    “Did you know it takes more than a year for a donkey to have a baby?” I thought I’d dazzle him with my bit of newly acquired knowledge.

    “Yep. My jennet had a baby once. Cutest thing I ever saw. She wouldn’t have anything to do with the baby after a couple of days.”

    “What did you do? Bottle feed?”

    “Nope. Called the vet, he came out and spent the day with her. Trained her on being a mom. She was perfect after that.” Housecalls are not something I’m used to.

    After he drove away, I started thinking. I looked out into the field. Now that I have the tiller hooked up, I can plow anything, even the big field in the pasture. I can plant corn. I can plant a big giant corn maze. Maybe some heirloom pumpkins and sunflowers and do a whole fall-apple-cider-thing if I get my permits. What’s the worst that can happen? I plant some seeds, after all, that’s what farmers do.