As The Butter Churns

September 4th What A Difference A Day Makes

   (In this picture - chickens on the inside of the coup - turkeys on the outside - at right and white fluff on the left - are sheep - something wrong with the camera setting - sorry)

    Since Michael's attack, we've kept the turkeys in the outside chicken run. This means the chickens have had to stay inside all day. So this morning, I decided to take a bold move and let the turkeys out in the barnyard. They are after all almost as big as the geese at this point and they can fly.

    Oddly, the sheep were drawn to them. All four: Apache, Angus, Mildred and Sheryl, came up sniffing them and then sat down surrounding the chicken coup watching the chickens and allowing the turkeys to climb on their backs. It was so unexpected I couldn't help but laugh. I felt good leaving knowing the turkeys could roam about the property and be near the chickens, but no one would be injured today.

 (couldn't get the turkeys on the sheep, but here they all are milling around - still something wrong with the camera)

    Given that, off we went to the Department of Licensing. Nick being fifteen and eight months is more than eager to get his learner’s permit. So for the second time in a week we all walked into the Department of Licensing and took a number. Awesomez and her son sat down, while I went outside to enjoy the sunshine. Henry walked to the DQ for a chili-cheese dog. Thoughts of Michael preyed on my mind. I dialed Kulshan Animal Hospital and spoke to a doctor about his condition.

            “Well, without seeing him, I can’t really recommend anything over the counter. The problem with his injuries is, it depends how deep they are. I could give him a shot of antibiotics and something to make him more comfortable.” She said.

            “Is it more money to come in on Saturday?”

            “No it isn’t.”

            “It’s just that money’s tight. If I can treat him myself I’d like to, but I don’t want to be negligent. “

            “I understand. You’re doing what you can. The electrolytes you got at the farm store are a good idea.”

            “I know he’s just a chicken, but we love him.” I said deciding I had to take him in. I couldn’t live with myself. “Is there something early in the morning? I have to work at 10:00 at the Everybody Store on the 9.” I asked and was transferred to the front desk where I made an appointment for Michael at 8:45AM. I felt better. Money, pigs can’t eat it. Why else was I working if not to take care of my family?

        I walked back in to find a frustrated Awesomez and a disappointed Nick. Unfortunately, she’d grabbed the wrong birth certificate and accidently brought Lindsey’s instead of Nick's. They couldn’t get the permit without it or without her, so he’d have to wait until her eventual return.

        “What happened to you?” She asked.

        “I made an appointment for Michael in the morning.”

        “Let me get this straight. You won’t buy a sandwich for yourself because you don’t want to spend the money, but you’ll take your chicken to the vet?” She marveled.

        I looked into her big brown eyes trying to find the words to make her understand but I couldn’t. “That’s right,” was all I could think to say.

        “Mil!” she said with an eye roll.

    Just then Nick dropped his water bottle on the sidewalk, "Nick you're water broke." Henry said with a raise of his eyebrow. 

    "Henry!" Awesomez laughed her bawdy infectious laugh.

        After that we stopped at the Whistle Work. I’d gotten a call that my fall wardrobe had arrived. I’d ordered two ensembles for my birthday – Special order because I had to order my coveralls in “short”. Naturally, I got the traditional slimming navy and a lovely shade of olive to set off my eyes – they’ll both go beautifully with my chocolate work boots. I was now set for the season.

    “Maybe you should sell designer coveralls with paint splatters already on them” Awesomez said cracking herself up.

    From there we went to the notary and met my sister. I’d written up a temporary guardianship document so we would have some sort of official paper acknowledging Nick. Unbeknownst to me, Awesomez was now starving and so without realizing it, I callously headed off to gymnastics without getting her any food.

    This is where the day went south. You see, once again, I forgotten to feed the Awesomez her noon feeding. A Gremlin by nature, Awesomez my little Gizmo went berserk. Ok, not berserk exactly, but she wasn’t happy, in fact downright cranky. Fearing the wrath or cold shoulder of Awesomez, I dropped her, and Nick, off at a little place near gymnastics called the Common Ground. I have to admit I was afraid to return until I felt she’d been served so I stalled for a teensy bit.

    A fed Gizmo is a happy Gizmo. We ran errands trolled thrift shops looking for bargains. Awesomez bought me all sorts of things from a backrest to pizza plates she wanted to make sure we’d all be ok in her absence.

    “Ahh, a Crockpot™ from a Crackpot” I said thanking her for everything.

    That night, we stopped at Burger King on the way and finally arrived home to a dark barnyard. As my headlights illuminated the way I saw Deli standing motionless near the garden. Strange I thought, she looked odd, but I dismissed it.

    Tired, I pulled the car over to the barn and left the van lights on so we could see. The boys ran over to Amy’s to feed the gliders, pigeons and bunnies because she’d taken a trip up to Canada with her friend, Sarah.

    “Will it be hard to collect the turkeys?” Awesomez asked.

    "I don’t know, I’ve never left them out before, but the geese know safety is in the barn, so I imagine they will too. We’ll see. They might be more like the ducks, but I hope not.”

    The lights from the van cast eerie shadows as we walked up to the coup, and sure enough two of the turkeys were sitting next to the door waiting for to be let in. I could see the outline of another one walking around just a few feet away.

    “We’re missing a turkey!” I called to Awesomez who was filling up a water bucket.

    “Really? Keep looking.” She instructed.

    “Oh my gosh! It’s dead!” I screamed.

    “What?”

    “The turkey! It’s dead! I can see the outline of its feathers from the lights. It's toward the compost”

    “How do you know it's dead?”

    “Come here. I can see a wing sticking up in the air. Look!” And Awesomez dutifully came to see the twisted carcass.

    “I’ll pull the car up so we can shine some light over there.”

    I kept working, giving Michael water, feeding the chickens, giving hay to the goats, when I heard the ducks quacking. “Quack! Quack! Quack, quack, quack.” I figured Awesomez was trying to wrangle them up on her own, a difficult task for one person.

    “Deli! GETOUTOFTHERE!! STOP!” I heard Awesomez bellowing. Dropping the hay, realizing it was Deli causing the ducks to quack. I knew she was attacking them. By the time I got to the garden where they were, Awesomez had already gotten Deli off of them.

    “She killed the turkey.” I said.

    “You think so?”

    “Absolutely. I saw her when we drove up and I wondered what was wrong.”  Awesomez held Deli at bay while I collected the ducks. The boys arrived on the scene just in time to form a sort of duck bucket brigade. I caught one handed it off to Henry who gave them in turn to Nick. When every goat, sheep, equine, goose, duck and chicken was fed and accounted for we walked over to the mangled turkey.

    “I think it’s breathing!” I yelped.

    “I thought so too,” Awesomez said quietly.

    “Do we kill it? I guess we should kill it.”

    “How?”

    “With a shovel? Or I could drive over it?” I suggested.

    “I’ll do it.” She generously offered. "You love it. I'll do it." 

    How do you thank someone for offering to kill your turkey with a shovel? I don't think Hallmark has a card for that. I knew she was again trying to take care of me. I so often push those attempts aside, but as I considered how horrible it would be to kill the eight-week old turkey I shuddered. I might just let her do it.

    Just then, the turkey lifted its head and looked me straight in the eye. “Oh my God! We can’t kill it! I can’t kill something that’s looking at me. Poor thing.”

    Henry rushed over to the turkey to comfort it. “This is worse than a soap opera.” He exclaimed.

    “What in heaven’s name do you mean very strange child?” I asked.

    “Well, yesterday I hated the turkeys and was ready to eat them. Now, I feel terrible for the little guy. It’s worse than All My Children. On that, they manipulate how you feel about a character one minute you hate them and and then the next you feel sorry for them.”

    “Huh. I see what you mean."

    "It's like Annie Lavery. They make her evil and then you feel sorry for her. I hated this turkey a couple of days ago and now I feel terrible. Poor thing is laying here barely alive," Henry whimpered wiping his eyes.

    "I’ll get the dog carrier out of the coup I've been using it for their shelter, let’s see if we can get him in and put him in my van. He’ll be safe in there for the night. It’s not cold and conveniently I just happen to have an appointment with the vet in the morning.”

    The boys bravely and carefully lifted the turkey into the carrier. We took the top half off, as he wasn’t going anywhere. “He has a broken leg,” Nick said. “It’s just dangling. Do you think it's Bucket?"

    "I can't tell with him lying down." I said.

    "You know which one Bucket is still?" Awesomez asked.

    "He's so much bigger than the others, I do when they're together." 

    “His wing is broken,” Henry said tearfully. “Do you think he’ll live?”

    “Well, I have no idea what his other injuries are. He might have ones we can’t see. There’s not much more I can do for him tonight. He might be dead by morning. You have to prepare yourself.”

    “Do you think he’s the turkey that attacked Michael?” Henry suggested.

    “I wondered the same thing.” Awesomez said.

    "Me too." Nick said.

    “I did too. It reminds me of my father. He was hit by a drunk driver on the freeway coming home from a gig in Santa Barbara, one the fourth of July. It was a horrible hit and run, his car was spun around and flipped. I was with him in the emergency room when they brought the drunk in and put him in the bed next to my father.”

    “Weird.” Nick said shaking his head.

    “Stupid Deli. I hate her!” Henry said as we all went in for the night. I know I should have said Deli was just being Deli, but Henry knew that and honestly I felt the same way. I couldn't defend her. I thought of all the animals she's probably attacking and leaving for dead on the mountain. 

    I fixed myself a cup of tea in the still of the house after I’d called, Tom and my sister. I’d gotten into bed when I realized it was getting really chilly. Fall was definitely on the way. So I got up went to the linen closet, found some old hair-dying towels and traipsed out to the van to keep my new patient warm.  I wondered if he’d be dead. I doubted he’d last until morning, but when I got there he looked up at me with his big turkey eyes. He seemed grateful.

    I went back inside and made another cup of Bengal Spice. Sleep would not come easily tonight. Awesomez was still awake. “You know, I was going to kill it.” She said walking in the kitchen as I was pouring a dollop of milk in my piping hot tea. “I thought about how I’d do it. I was going to take a shovel and close my eyes. I wondered how it would feel. And wondered how I’d feel afterward, but I didn’t want you to have to live with it.”

    “My sister said to be merciful we should take an axe and chop its head off tonight.” I informed her.

    “Easy to say until he's looking at you.” She said sleepily.

    "And what if it didn't die? Often times guillotines took several times. Henry was right, I could have served him up for Thanksgiving the other day when Michael was attacked, but tonight I'm doing all I can to keep him alive and I'm ready to get rid of Deli."

    "Tune in tomorrow," she said ironically shutting off the lights.

 (canine non grata)    

September 2nd Chicken Little

   (Luther relaxes in the shade of the hot summer sun)

     I am a Virgo. This might not mean much to you if you are not a Virgo, but if you are then you know what it means. It means I prepare for months so I know that when my birthday comes I can be at peace. I clean closets over the summer and organize the garage. I try to get all these things done so that my house will be in order when I inevitably age another year. This year I did not succeed in completing all these tasks. My closet was started, but never finished. The garage although cleaned has been ravaged by multiple children looking for a variety of books, colored pencils and junk drawer organizers. Although the railing and the eves were painted, the porch never got sanded nor stained. My bathroom drawers were completed, but the files and the guest room were not. This is how I tally my life. I think given half a chance, I could have been a type-A , if it weren’t for the animals. In fact, I used to have nightmares about heel marks made by my roommate Shannon’s shoes. The animals and the kids made my life messy enough to enjoy. But here the day before my birthday with dishes in the sink and the laundry undone, I realized that if I couldn’t finish the house then I needed to concentrate on cleaning up me, and I truth be known needed to be completely detailed. I must dye my greying hair, and get a pedicure.

    In the morning, I did get my hair handled and thought I was off to a good start. We thought we’d let Irish out so he could come with us to the pond, well the hole in the ground formerly known as the pond. No sooner did the over-amped extra-large pup start romping around than he decided he’d chase petite Gnatalie. I wasn’t worried at first, she’s a pretty tough cookie, but she got scared and took off. And that was the beginning of the day I wish had never started.

    Gnatalie ran half out of her mind doing laps around the apple trees and then in blind fear she blast through the wire fence ripping her lip open. Irish followed with glee having no idea he was terrorizing the poor bovine. Luckily, at this point Gnatalie found refuge with Abe and Andy through the open pasture gate where she settled down. Irish was quickly rounded up and Gnatalie taken up to the barn for treatment. We cleaned her up a bit and put a little Neosporin™ on her wound.

    As I looked the fence over it became clear, that even though I'd just put it up with Alexis, I was going to have to put up a whole new one. Fixing this one with the same kind would be just throwing good money after bad. A wood fence was needed.

(Gnatalie's injury)

(Henry gets Gnatalie cleaned up)

    Eventually we got to the pond minus Irish, and were happy to see at least some water remained. Things seemed to be looking up when Henry dug a little at an underground spring and increased the flow noticeably.

(Nick, Bruno and Vivian check out the "pond")

(Vivian wades in)

(entrance to Wally's old beaver lodge - usually underwater)

(Bruno - the ratbat - in the air)

(Henry marvels at erosion)

(Henry tries to get another source going)

(Henry and Nick dig for water)

    Afterward Awesomez, Nick, Henry and I drove to Burlington for gymnastics. Nick stayed to watch while Awesomez and I went to go get a pedicure. This is not to imply that Awesomez, who neither believes in the ritual of moisturizer, nor the idea of base make-up, and is allergic to perfume was even entertaining the idea of a pedicure but she had conceded on accompanying me. Unfortunately, getting Quinn from soccer practice was putting a kink in my plan. I’d agreed to go to a new and untested nail salon near her soccer practice so I could pick her up and had even driven up to said salon when I panicked. This was my birthday pedicure; a cherished ritual. I sat there in the car thinking about the last time I’d gone for a pedicure.  I’d given in and had a less than perfect nail experience. The last time was in California during my sorority reunion and I was going to indulge a $12.00 desire when I was pressured out if it, I still had regrets. Here in Washington prices are $25.00 for a pedi (no mani) so I wasn’t about to squander my money and compromise. Disappointed, I pulled away with unsightly toes.

    In an effort to get some birthdayness going, Awesomez bought me a brand spanking new waffle maker just like I had before. This because Quinn broke my pride and joy, the Warring™ Pro Plus, a couple months ago while she was trying to clean it. It’s clear she didn’t pay enough attention in Miss Noelle Ikanda’s fourth grade class when circuits were being explained or she would have known, you don’t submerge electrical appliances, she must have been talking to Kaitlin Maroney or Hannah Dorman or Mackie Miller or someone. I am grateful she at least seemed to retain the part about not having it plugged in when running it under water.

(a good thing)

    The waffle maker it turns out was the one bright spot in an otherwise bleak day. It seems, Awesomez is a little like a Gremlin. If you don’t feed her with in the given parameters she gets a little cranky. A cranky Awesomez is a frightening experience. I didn’t realize this until it was too late. I missed the “I’d like a coffee” as a request for food. It’s one of those moments you wish you could go back and have a do-over, but you can’t. Well without going over all the gory details she questioned my choice of macaroni and cheese as a snack food – apparently she believed Nick wouldn’t eat cold pasta, and I felt in my pre-birthday-over-sensitiveness, my maternal instincts were being indicted, so I stomped off. From there voices were raised, feelings were hurt, the car got silent, and my tires squealed down the boulevard into the gymnastics parking lot perhaps a bit dramatically, I am my mother’s daughter after all and she did teach me how to peel out when I turned sixteen.

    “Is this really something two friends should be fighting over?” Nick questioned all too reasonably.

    “Mom can’t you just say your sorry” Henry wondered as the long uncomfortable drive home labored on me in the way back seat while I sang “Happy birthday to me” softly into Henry’s ear while, Nick was in the front with a sullen Awesomez and Quinn sat somewhere in no-man’s-land. To tell the truth, I don’t know how long this tawdry little fight would have continued if the cell phone hadn’t rung from my home number.
“I’ve got some bad news,” Amy said solemnly. My mind raced was it Luther, Vivian, Emmett, Irish?

    “What? Tell me.” I demanded.

    “It’s one of the chickens.  The turkeys, well, I think it was the turkeys because I saw one over him when I walked in. The turkeys pecked him. It’s bad. I don’t think he’s going to make it. There’s a lot of blood and I think at least one of his eyes are gone,” Amy said methodically, her EMT training evident as she gave the status report.

    “Oh my gosh, ” I yelped.

    “What? What?” Henry and Quinn asked worriedly.

    “Shhh, not now,” I hushed them trying to hear Amy. “Should we kill it? Where is he now?”

    “I’ve isolated him in a box with a heat lamp and I was just wondering if you were coming home,” she said sadly, “he has an orange band on his leg.”

    “That’s Michael alright. Can you call my sister? She might have some suggestions.” Henry’s favorite, my favorite, everyone’s favorite “We’ll be there soon, we’re on our way.” I said not looking forward to explaining to everyone.

    When we got home, I went straight to the coop to assess the injuries while Lisa went inside with the kids. Amy was vigilantly sitting with Michael who was about as bad as you can imagine, yet he was alive.

    Henry walked in tears filled his eyes at the sight of his baby. “Michael my little Michael come here,” Henry cooed. Michael responded to Henry’s voice and tried to stand up and despite Michael’s horrific appearance Henry leaned over and picked up his friend holding him close. My heart ached. “Why Michael? Why? Is it because he's the runt?” Henry kept asking over and over.

    “Maybe. Maybe it's because he’s so sweet and he didn't want to fight. Poultry can be vicious. it's why they keep them in little cages on chicken farms. Honestly, right now I don't blame them. There really is a pecking order and maybe he was just too much of a sweetie,” I said.     Michael was the first chicken to be named, he was named because he did a moonwalk and hence was dubbed Michael for Michael Jackson, but we were never sure if he was going to end up being named for Michael Jackson or if maybe he might be Michael for Michael Learned.

“I hate the turkeys. They’re like a gang. Where are they? “ Henry asked finally cognizant they weren’t in the coop.

    “They’re out in the chicken run, they’re just going to stay outside tonight, it's not that cold. Unfortunately, I was going to separate them earlier, that’s why your dad and I worked on the turkey enclosure, but then we got the ducks and we were trying out different animals in different living quarters and frankly, I didn’t notice the turkeys getting soooo much bigger recently. And of course they are, they’re ginormous. Uh, do you think you could eat one?" I asked.

    “Yep.” Henry said with a resounding tone, “no question.”

    “Absolutely.” Amy agreed.

    Amy and I put together a little intensive care unit. We found the Lucite box the chicks had used when they first came. We’d searched the shop, the garage, the laundry room and the barn when I realized we’d moved it to the side of the chicken coop in an effort to “clean-up” when Gnatalie arrived. We also got a screen to put over the box to prevent Michael from getting maggots. Next the kids got some old towels, and the small gate we’d had over the box when the chicks first arrived. Amy and I considered having him come in the house, but we feared the sounds of cats and dogs would be too taxing on his little system and even though the turkeys and maybe some of the chickens had turned on him, the sound of the chickens cooing would be comforting. Socrates sat next to the Lucite box for as long as I was there.

    After we got the intensive care unit outfitted, we tried getting him some water. Quinn and Nick went and found an eyedropper and some luke warmwater. We started with a healthy chicken for practice. My sister had given us some direction – we were not to get water under the tongue, as chicken anatomy is very different from humans. The eyedropper proved to be upsetting so we moved to dipping his beak in water. He took some, but not much. I washed his wounds out with medical eye wash and put triple anti-biotic on to keep him from getting an infection. He stood up which was encouraging.

(I'm giving a very injured Michael some water)

    “Well, he’s still alive” Amy pointed out.

    “But will he make it to morning?” I asked.

    “I don’t know, but I didn’t think he’d make it this long. I didn’t think he’d make it until you got home.”

    “He’s such a sweet guy. I never thought I’d like a chicken so much. We’ll have to say a little prayer. “

    “Happy Birthday,” Amy said quietly “some start huh?”  How my focus had changed. The day had gone from bad to worse, but I no longer cared about my toes, or the macaroni, or even the extra weight I’m carrying, I just wanted to help the little life I’d taken responsibility for. I just wanted Michael to live.

(Michael and Henry in happier days)

WARNING - Graphic Pictures of Michael Below

(Disfigured Michael)

January 26th Back To Basics

(Henry took this picture -prior to eyebrow pencil and flat iron, I am  in obvious need of all kinds of make-up- on left of course Tom - loving me anyway - bless his heart)

    With no cows to feed, the meet over and all of our obligations behind us, Tom, Henry and I just spent time together. Henry went swimming in the hotel pool lamenting bygone days of leisurely swims in our backyard. Tom and I sipped chardonnay poolside enjoying the clear evening air. We all stayed up late watching silly movies and shamelessly slept in.

    The boys indulged me in a trip to Nordstrom’s. I’d received a generous gift certificate from Mrs. Claus (also known as Annie) for Christmas. I was going to spend it on some essentials in an effort to reverse my deferred maintenance. Make-up.

Henry and Tom parked and were working on where to go to lunch while I marched straight and tall to the Estee Lauder counter. I know make-up like Tom knows tools. When I taught 5th grade the girls left knowing “It’s all in the reapply.”

    Confidently striding across the polished floor, I’d dressed for the occasion wearing a sheer orange blouse with ruffles tied in front. It was a gift from Laura. I wore it over a white long sleeve top. Feeling flirty I’d flat ironed my hair and filled in my eyebrows with pencil so I wouldn’t feel like an old fixer upper. Many young girls think mascara is the most essential product, but it is the eyebrow pencil as they frame the face.
(my gift from Laura)

    The counter was just as I anticipated. Big fluffy brushes sat in clear plastic wrappers next to stiff angled ones for shading. Countless petal pinks, raisins, tangerines, oranges, umbers and dusty rose lipsticks sang from their stands. Standing appreciating the glossy packaging looking at the various eye repairs and lash primers, indulgences way out of my reach now. I needed basics. I didn’t want to hurry my selection rather I wanted to languish in this long forgotten ritual, a part of my past when I acquired bra and panty sets. Back when I used Woolite™ and lingerie bags, a lifetime away from winches and tractor tune-ups. I walked around searching for the Knowing™ tester certain it was nearby.

    When I planed this event, I’d wanted to share it with Laura. Seeking advice on lip color and discussing the importance of the appropriate eye shadow contour, but alas it was not to be we’d spent too much time on other things.  I’d have to go it in alone relying on old instincts.

    As I was surveying the different base make-ups and new packaging Henry walked up behind me.

    “I’m scared.” He declared looking at the array of colors.

    “Don’t be frightened.” The woman behind the counter cooed.

    “It’s just like being in a candy shop.” I exclaimed blush colors dancing in my head. The woman behind the counter nodded in agreement. We spoke the same language she and I. I asked for Lucidity. She nodded acknowledging my base makeup prowess. I was relieved I hadn’t happened on some floater over from the Prescriptives™ counter.

    “Good choice. All purpose, it’s what I recommend despite the new inventory. What color?”

    “Ivory Beige.” She went about hunting for my selection only to report she was all out.

    “I think you might like Pebble,” she suggested. I was disappointed and not willing to concede, but we don’t have a Nordstrom in Bellingham so it wasn’t as though I could come back next week. “Pebble will give you just a hint of color. I really think you’ll like it.” She encouraged. Automatically, I reached forward extending my hand and rotating my wrist upward. Immediately she dabbed a bit of Lucidity™ Pebble on with the requisite sterile Q-tip™. Henry stood there dazed watching this foreign process.

    “Why did she put it on the bottom of your wrist?” He asked. I explained color and skin tones as he listened with glazed eyes. I might as well have been telling him how to wire a nuclear bomb.

    I submitted to her expertise and agreed to the Pebble. She totaled up my gift certificate and informed me of my balance.

    “I think I should get some powder, I can live with cheap mascara, I still have some old lash primer.” I reassured her.

(pressed powder compact)

    “Loose or pressed?” We discussed the virtues and deficits of both. I leaned toward loose from the start, but remained open-minded, as I was in the presence of a true consultant. In the end, we concurred loose was my money better spent.

    “A little more expensive, but it will last you forever.”

    “I know, my last one I had for years.”

    “You still have a bit left. Anything else you need?”

    “I need everything, but I’ll take a lipstick. I’ve tried a lot of cheap ones, but they’re either too dry or just not right.”

    “It’s true there’s nothing like a good lipstick.”

    “Mama, I thought you liked your cranberry lipstick you got – don’t you?” Henry asked in a whisper.

    “Shhh. It’s too dry and it smears. I look like the Joker after twenty minutes” I said over my shoulder as I tried to pay attention.

    “What colors do you wear?” She asked.

    “Well, I’m open to suggestions, but I like the Spiced Cider.”

    “You know, I see you as a Maple Sugar.” She smiled.

    “You’re good.” I said impressed. “I used to live in Maple Sugar. It’s great, you can wear it with anything.”

    “Exactly, it’s a color for dressy and for casual.” I silently was wondering if the cows would like it. Actually, when I thought about it, Maple Sugar would set off my navy coveralls nicely. She collected my three things and totaled me up. I’d gone a bit over so I paid the couple dollars difference.

    “Wait here. I’m going to get you some samples.” She returned eyes were shining. “Have a good day.” She said. I peeked in the familiar silver bag with braided cord handle.

    “It’s like Christmas!” I exclaimed.

    “Yes it is.” She confirmed with a wink as we waved good-bye.

(sample)

    Once in the truck, Henry began rifling through the bag naming all the products she’d included. There were lipsticks, lip glosses, eye shadows and mascaras, lash primers moisturizers, scrubs, removers and even a large pressed powder compact in just my color.

    “Mama, I think it was that candy shop comment. She knew you really appreciated all this stuff.”

    She was right. We went to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory on University Avenue. Afterward we walked along the sun-drenched street in Palo Alto window-shopping as my orange ruffles danced in the breeze. Crossing "Florence" the sun warming my back, I made a mental note: Florence excellent name for a turkey. Happily, I reapplied my Maple Sugar.

(more and more samples)

December 25th A Sinking Feeling

 (Lloyd and Clara all dressed for Christmas dinner?)

(our Christmas geese: Lloyd, Clara, Mabel, Ruthie, Alfred, Quackmire, Matilda and Cleveland)

Preparation for our “Walton Family Christmas” demanded more of me than shopping. It required putting into action “it’s the thought that counts”. To this end, I did several photo shoots of the kids to give as gifts to most of the people in my life. The project was so rife with problems I thought we’d never pull it off. The first weekend the girls came over we didn’t get snow. Then there was the Quinn problem. At twelve years of age, she is very self-conscious and silly. I must have taken two hundred photographs and Quinn ruined one hundred ninety-nine of them. She was too cold – primarily because she only wore a tank top under her turtleneck. Why anyone would do this when they knew they were going to lie in the snow remains a deep-seated middle school mystery. She felt weird smiling because of her braces; she hunched her shoulders because she felt too tall; her hair poofed up behind her head because she wiggled nervously; she leaned the wrong way; etc. I finally got the shot, but when Costco™ printed it they cut off Quinn’s face, so I had to reprint it. I then uploaded it again and re-ordered. I drove back to Costco™  - still only half of Quinn. So I repeated the process again and yet again until, at last, on Christmas Eve the photo came out right.
(Scarves on sale at Ross.  Shot to hang this way at the Donaldsons' - upside down at Tom's - and Quinn at the top for the grandparents)

    Henry is getting one real gift from Tom and me, an orange iPod™ Nano™. I thought that, given our finances, it was too big a gift, but try telling that to a father who only sees his son once a month or so. Tom got a real deal on it through work and ordered it engraved before I had a thing to say about it. It is the one thing Henry has been pining for. One present for each of us makes a pretty barren presentation beneath the tree and, so it wouldn’t look so sparse, I dove into a box of hand-me-down games my friend Kathy gave me. Her grandkids had never played with these games and I don’t know if Henry will either, but they were free and when wrapped up they would be something to rip open on Christmas morning.

    Christmas Eve we trekked down to Burlington to get the pictures and made another trip to Michaels™ for one more clearance frame. Then on to Mass and dinner at the Donaldsons for Tom’s favorite, Lisa's beef stew. We stayed way too late laughing and chatting, considering the wrapping I had ahead of me. And we all showered before we left since we were going on day 10 without water due to the still-frozen pipes.
(very merry with fondue)

(Chris and Tom wrapped up a little something for Henry to open Christmas Eve - a lemon. As a result Tom got an onion in his stocking and a warning from Santa not to cry about it.)

(Henry and Phoebe messing around - with the lemon?)

    When we got home, Tom looked bleary-eyed. He tried staying awake to help me, but his endless hours of driving to make it by Christmas Eve had caught up with him and he checked out. I dialed up Mike about 1:30 AM, knowing he’s almost always up for a late night chat and, wearing my hands-free headset, I wrapped pictures, cleaned the house and wrote the clues for Henry’s annual Christmas Treasure Hunt while we discussed everything from soup to nuts. 

    One clue is wrapped up or hidden on the tree. Once it is found, there are about five or six more clues leading to the big gift. Clue Number 1: "Let's face it, it's time to look for your present".



("You're almost there, you're steaming hot." leading to the tea kettle)

      Mike and I finally said good-bye and I went to bed around 6:00 AM, only to get back up and make my special occasion Chai French toast and bacon around 9:00 AM. After the stockings, the hunt and the trash pick-up we began preparing for our big waterless Christmas Dinner.

     Tom spent all day in the kitchen. He boiled at least thirty-two pitchers of snow as he washed days of dishes, while I tidied, made centerpieces, mopped and placed candles around the house. Henry did his share by changing the litter boxes, cleaning his room and vacuuming. Wayne gathered enough pond water so we could flush with abandon when the guests arrived
(my Target™ 40%-off runner, $ 2.00 hurricane lamps, logs from the woodpile, glitter from my teacher art box and pine cones from the yard)

(rose hips and a bow)

(ready for dinner)

    The actual dinner was a snap, really. I bought paper plates, cups, bowls and napkins. I even sprang for the fancy, shmancy plastic chrome-colored silverware. Annie bought the turkey ahead of time, washing and salting it before giving it to me. I made stuffing and popped the turkey in the oven. The salad came in a bag. The green beans were from Trader Joes™ as were the five boxes of frozen scalloped potatoes I put in a lasagna pan. The hors d’oeuvres and dessert were from Costco™. Not my culinary achievement, but delicious, nonetheless. We sat down in candlelight, thankful for all our blessings, our friends and our family. Yet the toasts ran to indoor plumbing, running water and flushing toilets. Cleanup was as easy as 1-2-3, at least until the sink unexpectedly separated from the counter top.
(disaster strikes)

    How that was possible after less than a year’s worth of use stunned me, but I’d have to think about it tomorrow.  We poured more sparkling cider, eggnog, rum, and wine, and played games by the funky Christmas tree. Little-bit-of-a-snippet, Phoebe, triumphed over all of us, but we gave her a run for her money.

     It wasn’t a grand Christmas, but I’ll wager it was one we’ll all cherish. Good Night and Merry Christmas, John-Boy.
(Exhausted from the Christmas festivities - Irish, Bruno and Luther settle in for a long winter's nap)

December 10th Blue Light Special

(Part of Mt. Baker Hwy during the daytime)

    At night, as Sunset Drive turns into Mt. Baker Highway the shop lights and streetlights disappear. The houses get farther apart and dark pastures line the road. Once you pass the Nooksack Casino the pastures give way to towering trees of black. The only illumination is from reflective signs along the road, oncoming cars or an occasional barn light. It is in this tunnel of black that  it suddenly appears. Rising above the lonely road 120 feet in the air is the top of a giant fir cloaked in blue lights.  Eerie and beautiful, it sparkles in the night. It is the Blue Tree.

(the Blue Tree)

    I first spotted it just before Thanksgiving last year. It wouldn’t happen every night, only sporadically. Then it would disappear completely for weeks at a time, only to reappear mysteriously before Christmas. Why is it there? Who did it? Why does it glow some nights and not others? Is it for Christmas? Is it just because? Does it have some other meaning?

    It touches everyone who sees it. Mike came home last year excitedly asking me if I’d seen it. “Someone has either done an amazing job stringing lights or this is on the level of the aurora borealis,”  he joked. Science humor. “It’s something about that blue glow. It’s ethereal.”

    Last year, Tom was mesmerized by it. MaryRuth loved it. The girls were awed by it. Henry waited for it, excitedly hoping every time we drove home it would be there.

    This year, I got calls asking, “Have you seen the Blue Tree? Is it there? Has it appeared?”

    Mike asked Lisa and Chris, “Has Denise seen it? Is the Blue Tree back this year?” They didn’t know. They had no idea what he was blabbering about. They’re city, not county. All were relieved when I made the calls telling everyone from MaryRuth to Mike – It was back!

(The Blue Tree - with other colors)

    This year it did it again, appearing and then disappearing. Now there are other colors, too. They’re not on all the time and sometimes the blue is off entirely. You never know what you’re going to get.

    Some brave and daring soul has selflessly scaled a giant evergreen and spent hours winding endless strands of blue lights into the very top. I don’t know what it is about the tree, but it just makes you happy as it stands there glowing up in the inky sky.

(It is hard to capture the height and drama of the tree as it rises out of the darkness)

November 17th So Peaceful Here

(Doe a deer - a female deer)

    I got a note the other day from an old friend that said, “Denise, I heard you and your family are living on a farm, how nice– that must be so calm.” I chuckled when I read her words. Calm? I don’t think anyone who’s spent time on a farm thinks of it as calm. Peaceful? Yes. Calm? Not so much.

    I thought of her words again as I spoke to the game warden, Dave Jones. He told me the cat we saw the other night sounded, from my description, like an adult. Which he felt was a blessing, as that would mean it was smart enough to stay away from people. I told him I was new at guessing the size and weight of a cougar and he'd have to figure in a pretty large margin for error and allow for the darkness and, of course, the adrenaline. He said he completely understood, but felt sure by its manner that it was an adult. We discussed cats in general - their habits, the differences and similarities between lions and cougars generally and in their hunting practices.

    “They’ll just walk their trap line, which could be anywhere from five to fifty miles depending on the deer population.With your 40 acres, the state ten you surround, the empty 40 acres adjacent to yours and the wilderness behind you, you're in the middle of their territory,” Dave informed me
(We have seen a tremendous increase in the deer population coming through the property - perhaps it's Irish being confined)

    “Last year I never saw any cougar prints, but we did have a lot of coyotes. I haven’t seen the coyotes since last winter. Would they leave if a top predator moved into the area?”

    “Absolutely. The absence of coyotes suggests the cougar. And, you know, I wouldn’t say you’re infested with cats in your area but, let’s face it, you back up to wilderness.
(plenty of habitat)

    I'd  say you have a very healthy cougar population. We did have a problem with one going into a carport on Mosquito Lake Road the other day and had to shoot it. It was sick though – feline leukemia.”

    “I’m nervous just walking out to my car at night now. I don’t want to lose any of my animals. Should I do anything in addition to my current precautions?”

    “No, you’re getting them in at dusk,” Dave said. “The bells are good. You have the air horns. You could get pepper spray.”

    “By the time pepper spray would be useful, I’d have already had a heart attack.”

    “I can understand that.”

    “What about my geese? I hate to keep them penned in all day.”

    “To be honest, cougar don’t really eat geese. Coyotes do, maybe an owl, but not cougar. It’s not worth it. They don’t know your geese don’t fly too much. They’d rather take down two deer a week.”

    “So I should be grateful to Karen – she’s protecting the geese.”

    “Karen? That’s what my son named her.”

    “It seems you guys are fine up there if you’re naming them. Let me know when you see her again.”

    “It’s pretty breathtaking to see. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather see her from the inside of my van, but it’s amazing.”

    “I get that. I love ‘em, too.”

    Coincidentally, I got a call a few minutes later from my neighbor, Kristie. She was just checking to see how we were doing, when Tom was coming up and life in general. And, oh yeah, she wanted to let me know her neighbors saw a brown bear with her three cubs - and, as if that wasn’t enough, Stan saw some black bears in their yard.

    “Wow! Brown bear? Grizzly? Really? I had heard there was a release program, but I never thought they'd come down out of the Cascades.”

    “Darlin’, you’re in the Cascades. And it’s the cool summer we had. It was nice down here, but the berries didn’t ripen in the upper elevations and so they came down here for food. They're headin’ back up now as it gets colder.”

    Bear. I’d love to see a bear, but I’d hate to meet a Grizzly. I’m not sure which is more terrifying - the cougar or the Grizzly.

    On the way home from school today, Henry and I stopped by the North Fork of the Nooksack River. We looked around and were enjoying the view when we saw them. They’re back. The eagles have landed. It was amazing looking at them look at us. They truly are majestic. We joked about seeing these thieves stealing salmon from a seagull next week. They’re such terrible hunters. A top predator I’m not frightened of, but we’d better keep a close eye on Bruno. (Hmm. let's see, it's a dove, it's a turkey, it's a scavanger -)

   We chatted on the way home about our upcoming stakeout and the dead bear we saw on the side of the highway, which reinforced Kristie’s sightings. Both Henry and I wished we could get some sort of night vision camera or monocular. We’d at least need another flashlight. (Wally's current project)

    It had gotten dark quickly and, once we pulled in, I told Henry to take in the groceries and practice his scales while I fed the animals. As I headed for the barn, my radar went up. I felt as though I were being watched. I looked and was sure I saw an animal. I stood there looking at it. And it stood there looking back. I knew for sure it wasn't big enough to be a brown bear, but could it be a bear? Was it a cougar? Or just a deer? I thought, "It's probably just a deer," but I wondered why it wasn't running away. I realized I had my camera and flashed a shot, thinking either it would be frightened or I’d get a better look at it.
(looks like a deer now - from the comfort of my kitchen)
Neither occurred. So I stood there as darkness fell, not knowing which way to turn – to the barn or back toward the house? Just then, Irish barked fiercely. I turned my head in his direction and then back toward my companion. Whatever it was – was gone. For now.

    I walked calmly to the barn.

September 21st A Good Thing

 

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

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

September 18th Skeeters

   

    Dan Quayle is not the only one who can’t spell. Mosquito closely related to the word potato in structure is apparently equally difficult to spell. In the short time that I have lived on Mosquito Lake Rd, I have seen and heard mosquito spelled at least twenty-two different ways. The most common seems to be “misqeeto” followed by “maskieto”. I’ve also seen “miskito” as well as “mysceto” and the less used “muskeatoe”. Some people are just completely lost without spell check I guess. What’s more, they don’t necessarily ask you if they’ve spelled it correctly. Can they feel so certain they know what they’re doing when they write something so incorrectly? As I often stand there peering over the counter, I can plainly see they’ve written it wrong, but unless there’s a delivery involved, I don’t bother to correct them. I figure I don’t need to single handedly teach the world about their inability to name a small insect. After this, I feel the world was a little unfair with their ridicule of Mr. Quail. He simply had an additional “e” while society at large isn’t even in the ballpark. It seems clear to me, the word mosquito should be on every national spelling bee.

Mosquito Magnet™

August 16th In The Navy

 I bought a new outfit last week and it’s become my uniform - navy coveralls. Monochromatic has always been a good look for me; I’m only 5’2”.  In fact, it’s very slimming and it takes all the decision out of what to wear to do chores around the place.  I don’t have to do endless loads of muddy laundry. Everyone around here is laughing at me, but I love it. Lisa says all I need is a bandanna to look like Rosie the Riveter.

    I think I’ll even wear it to pick Tom up from the airport along with my new, but nicely muddied work boots that complete my ensemble. Remember when you were a kid and you’d get brand-new white tennis shoes that you had to step on so they didn’t look too new? It’s the same thing with work boots. You just look like a rookie so you definitely have to get them dirty right away. Besides, if they weren’t dirty, Tom would notice right away. He notices everything, except when I get my haircut. Go figure.

    Tom - I call him Pea. It’s because he has professed he has a brain the size of a pea. Actually, he’s quite the opposite, but sometimes he forgets to think due to testosterone poisoning, a condition there seems to be no cure.



    Tom knows me better than anyone else (perhaps even my sister) and he still likes me. Something I find amazing and scary at the same time. We agree on just about everything from what to eat for dinner to where we want to live. We find the same things funny and ridicule each other about our differences. We laugh a lot. He frustrates me, I bug him, and it works wonderfully.
When I give some long-winded, convoluted explanation about why we have to paint the dining room purple he understands, or just says, “I like what you like.” (My sister always wanted to marry a man who cared about their china pattern. Bad decision. He still wants to decorate and keeps buying her pottery HE likes.) Tom is thoughtful, a perfectionist, an amazing artist, a tremendous cook and the funniest person I know aside from my sister. He's tweaked in a farm-kind-of-way he’ll even find the navy coveralls sexy.  

August 14th Dream House?

 Bill, my wisecracking contractor, came today to look things over and see what needed to be done and in what order we should do it. This experience is a little like selling your house.  Realtors and contractors see your house through some sort of magnifying glass. Things you can live with like a broken brick on your fireplace or a damaged piece of molding suddenly are completely unacceptable. With this in mind, you can only begin to understand the emotional and financial trauma I felt as Bill and his clipboard moved through my new house.       




    It’s hard to overstate the problems. The house was apparently built in phases by the people who lived here and by members of their church. I don’t think they knew about building codes, or if they did, they didn’t care. Don’t get me wrong; the house has amazing potential. The floors are wide-plank pine and I’m sure they will look great once I get them refinished.



    The house in its current state makes Myrna Loy and Cary Grant’s woes in “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House” seem insignificant. Even the pictures I’m taking don’t really convey the problems. It feels closed in, yet there are so many doors that lead to strange places. There are flies living in the walls, the sunroom’s hardwood floor was painted white and then red duct tape was put down to create a gingham pattern. The electrical panel was; put in upside down; there is no heat upstairs; and then there’s the creepy crib built into the cabinet in the master bedroom;





and it rains in my kitchen whenever someone takes a shower in the upstairs bathroom. There are two-count-them-two dishwashers and neither works. But the most remarkable feature, the one feature every single person makes a comment about is the red light fixture in the kitchen. It should be hanging over the counter in a burger joint. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve already heard, “Do I get fries with that?”

    There are about forty-seven different wallpapers. Now this sounds as if I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. In each room there are no less than three different wallpaper patterns and some have many more. Someone spent a great deal of time and effort to select coordinating and companion papers and painstakingly put them all up. The problem is that this was done instead of finishing the drywall, so now I’m looking at having to redo the walls just to paint.











    My father’s apartment (shown in the picture above and the ones below) is beyond depressing, dark and rundown with extremely narrow stairs that might keep his weight in check and are definitely a fire hazzard .  

Everything in the kitchen is cracking, There is no shower.

The ceilinging is very low.

I think it is especially difficult for him, coming from the bright sunny guesthouse on Califa surrounded by fruit trees and flowers. We’ve decided to brighten it up a bit by adding a few skylights and taking out the wall dividing the room to make it an open studio with a nice wood-burning stove in the center. We put down hardwood for my dad on Califa, but that was a mistake, as he didn’t take care of it at all. Truly we should put down cement with a drain in the middle, but I don’t think that‘s socially acceptable. No matter how practical for my bachelor father and various dogs.

    Back to Bill, who has been writing and tallying as he goes through the house. Bill is a guy’s guy, direct and to the point. He drives a big truck, has a pretty wife and loves to fish. He is practical and so, when he told me he could solve my mosquito problem, I listened. I thought mosquitoes were something you just had to live with. A real downside to moving here, but the price you pay for the lush green of the Northwest. Until Bill told me about the Mosquito Magnet™.

    When Bill left, I went on the Internet and began researching the Mosquito Magnet™ and how it worked. I am now a mosquito aficionado. I know more about the mosquito than one would imagine. I somehow suspected that there are two types of mosquitoes. Having lived in Minnesota, I felt that the mosquitoes here were much smaller with a bite that does not itch nearly as long. Apparently, I’m some sort of a mosquito savant. The mosquitoes in the Midwest and the East are attracted to your skin whereas the mosquitoes in the West are attracted to your CO2 plume. Still with me? Using this knowledge, Mosquito Magnet™ mimics the appropriate attractant, luring the female mosquito, the biter, into a net from which there is no escape. Once there she lingers until the slow death sentence she deserves is carried out. I am not a member of PETA.

    I read the testimonials, checked to see if I was missing something, and desperate as someone can be who lives on Mosquito Lake Road, I ordered three.

August 4th The Big Tidy Up

 Huzzah! All our containers have arrived. The unloading is another thing entirely.

    Team Donaldson came out for a workday. You’ve just got to love family. Chris changed into overalls and work boots he’d bought at Kmart™ and commenced to cleaning up the place. He worked like a field hand. He tore down the dilapidated chicken coop. (I’m afraid of chickens so I have no plans to get any.) Then he tossed out all the junk from the “loafing shed” He took out computers and fishing poles, old shovels and a ton of other random stuff. I call it a loafing shed, because that’s the way the real estate listing described.  Who or what is loafing there a mystery. I’ve searched the Internet and I can’t find a definition anywhere. All I know is that it is the three-sided barn down the hill, in the pasture.



    While Mr. Overalls was outside - all 6’4” of him, Lisa, Mike and I were inside shelf-papering the kitchen. We all agreed there was too much rat pee and greasy sludge in the shelves to ever get them clean enough. But we tried. With safety goggles, rubber gloves and surgical masks we scoured the inside of each cupboard with the grease-cutting-wonder Zep™ from Home Depot™. It was slow going as it must have been years since anyone had cleaned this kitchen. I could describe it in noxious detail but, until you’ve had a mixture of rat scat, pee and gunk of uncertain origin running down your gloved arm while you make that lip-curled-back-just-bit-into-a-lemon face, you really can’t know just how revolting it all was.




Pictures don't even reveal the truth. The shelves are deep and strangely shaped with odd bends and juts so you have to lean way in to get at all the accumulated crud. Of course each piece of shelf paper had to be custom cut. The cupboards were obviously salvaged from different places. When you opened a door you never knew what you would to find. Inside we found varmints, recipes for fruit salad, jars filled with ominous things that looked like the forgotten of one of Mr. Hyde’s evil projects, things that could only be analyzed by forensic labs and one beautiful shiny copper rabbit cookie cutter from Williams Sonoma - perfect for Easter.



    As the evening progressed, Chris came inside complaining of mosquitoes. The kids did not want to go outside either. So everyone came in. I thought we were all done for the day, but Chris whipped out a can of white paint and started attacking the mud-stained laundry room. He was then bent on getting the sofa bed into the family room as the “piece de resistance”. He worked a miracle. I can’t believe how much he did for me today. He said he thought it would help my outlook. It has.
   
    A month without furniture in a broken down dirty house, bankers saying, “NO,” Tom calling to see what I’d accomplished and my 63 itchy mosquito bites had been wearing on my mood. The cavalry had arrived and I am eternally grateful .