As The Butter Churns

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)

November 6th As Luck Would Have It

  (The house from a cougar's perspective) 

    This morning started out very dramatically. Henry yelled that Emmet had killed one mouse and had another mouse in his mouth. “It’s not dead!” Great. I couldn’t think about that now, we had to get to school. With a firm grip on his green collar, I walked Irish past the dining room table where Emmet was torturing his most recent victim. Lord, have I changed.

    “Mama, the mouse got away when you took Irish to the bathroom. Now he’s behind the dining room chair in the corner. Emmet doesn’t know where he is.” I glanced over, figuring the poor thing was terminally injured, but no. There he sat looking up at me as cute as anything. Whiskers twitching. He wasn’t going to last long, but late or not, I couldn’t leave the poor thing to be hunted down. After all, he wasn’t a rat. If he had been a rat, there would have been no reprieve. I’d have walked out the door without looking back.

    A mom on a mission, I didn’t have time for squeamish. I put Emmet in the laundry room and the little rat dog as well as all the other dogs in my room, except for Luther. What’s Luther going to do, but make friends with it? I instructed Henry to go get a bucket. He came back with an old kitty litter bucket. We blocked the little guy with the screen Scarlett had popped off the window. He ran into the bucket. I yelled for Henry to lift the handle and voila! Our makeshift mousetrap worked pretty well.

   “You are one lucky mouse,” I told him. Henry took him outside and he scurried away as we sped off to school, hoping not to be late for the before-school band percussion practice.

    When I got home, I divided my time between looking for jobs and cleaning the house, adroitly avoiding the pile of laundry. The house was so quiet, the only sounds I was aware of were Luther’s snores and my shoes on the wooden floor. The entire menagerie was all snug in bed.
(Bruno yawns as Vivian snuggles)

    I was excited when the phone rang because Wayne had just given me a headset to wear around the house like an operator. I always laughed at my old neighbor Steven DiMarco who wore one. Now, I was thrilled to be wearing one.

    “Hello?”

    “Hi, it’s Tob,” The tone of Toby’s voice sent off alarm bells. It was harried and secretive.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Well, just about everything. Starting with six policemen who were just searching the house.”

    “What? Who are these people? Is it the drunk?” Toby’s been staying with a woman, Fran, who is really very nice. Although she is an enabler. She divorced her drug-addicted abusive husband, but now allows him to live with her because he’s no longer using drugs. He’s just a falling-down sloppy drunk.

    “No. That’s what I thought. I thought Ricky had finally killed himself or someone else. But no, it’s the daughter. She moved in recently with her boyfriend. And, actually she’s really nice and sweet. Always doing thoughtful things like helping Dean or buying flowers. She’s been looking on craigslist and tipping me off when she sees some job I might be right for.”

    “So what was it for? Drugs?” I was fairly sure.

    “Well, yes, and, apparently, fraud. You know how I told you she’s been on craigslist? It turns out she and her boyfriend have been conning people into believing they have a rental. She asks them for a $2,500.00 deposit and they give everyone a different move in date.”

    “Toby! That’s so evil. How can anyone knowingly prey on innocent people looking for a place to live and clean them out? It's never right, but I can understand some crimes.”

    “I know. You can get the ones where the crime is a nameless, faceless corporation and they don't connect a person with it. And she’s so nice, friendly, and cute doing all these nice things, but remember when Fran stayed with me for that year a while back? Well, I don’t know if you remember, but it was because her daughter caused so many financial problems and drained her grandmother’s bank account, causing the grandmother to have to move out of the home she was living in.”

    “She’s just this side of Ted Bundy if you want my opinion. OK. I know she didn't kill anybody, but you know what I mean.” These were real vermin - rats, not mice.

    “Fran tried to do what was best and bailed her daughter out. But she just kept bailing her out and so she never learned consequences. Recently, they moved in here because they got busted for a check cashing scheme.”

    “What does Fran think now?” I asked, while I mopped the game room. I was riveted, like I was watching TruTV.

    “She just sat in a chair asking what she was doing wrong while the police searched the house, seizing evidence. She was going to try and bail her out again, but the bail is set pretty high. She can’t afford it. Ricky was drunk by 10:00AM and he keeps moaning about bailing out his little girl. Miller, I have to tell you I can barely stand it. But I don’t have the money to leave right now. I was asked by the police over and over what my relationship was to them. They think I’m one of them. Dean just watched TV and talked to the police about his show. He hasn’t asked me any other questions yet.”

    “Wow. Well, now what? You don’t really have any choice right now. You have to stay.”

    “I know. I did get work for this weekend in Big Bear, so Dean and I are going to get away and have some time away from here. Ricky is just a nightmare stumbling around. I keep my door locked. He went to a detox place for a couple of days and had the shakes, vomiting - the whole bit - but he just left there and went to a bar. I memorized his license plate so I can call the police.”

    “How does Fran deal with that?”

    “She says the bar is only two blocks away and he drives really, really slowly,” Toby laughed nervously. “As if that helps. You know we’re surrounded by three schools.”

    “She’s obviously never lost anyone to a drunk driver. I have and she is going to be as responsible as he is when he kills someone. You’re living in a snake pit surrounded by felons. Honestly, I don’t know anyone like that. The daughter is horrible, preying on people. And you're living with them. You know, right now, if it weren't for bad luck you'd have no luck at all.”

    “You're telling me. She obviously has no moral compass. It drives me crazy. They worked so hard devising this scheme. If they'd put that energy toward getting a job, they wouldn't have to do this. She’s so charming. Dean adores her.”

    “That’s scary, but I guess con artists have to be charming. It’s a job requirement. I’m worried. You don’t want Dean thinking bad people are nice. That could be very confusing for Dean,” I worried as I swept up mounds of dog hair.

    “I know. He just doesn’t have the ability to understand this. He thinks bad guys are just bad guys. And he can so easily be led down the wrong path. I told him the police were just doing a check in the neighborhood, because they thought there were bad guys around.”

    “Well, that’s good,”  I sighed as I pushed dog hair into the dustpan.

    “On the upside, the daughter and the boyfriend are going down for sure. And will probably be gone for about six months or more. So there are two less people in the house.” More nervous laughter.

    “That is definitely a benefit.”

    “Well, I’ve got to go. I’ll let ya know if anything else happens.”
(From the driveway)

    I was drained after that. I couldn’t imagine Toby living there with Dean, getting him ready for school every morning and trying to pretend Ricky was just another nice man. Meanwhile, these scheming con artists were bilking people out of money and Fran tolerated all of it. I couldn’t manage to feel sorry for her. She just let it all happen. In fact, she’s responsible. Without her, they couldn’t commit their crimes. No, I didn’t feel sorry for her. I was reminded of the old saying, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
(The pond switching from fall to winter)
    Wayne came home and we took a walk to the pond, enjoying the crisp day. We didn’t take any of the dogs with us, just in case we got a glimpse of Wally, the beaver. We didn’t see him, but we inspected his lodge and tunnels.

(Wally's entrance) (Wayne works on Wally's masterpiece)
(A breakthrough)

We tore down his dam because we’re expecting rain. The forecast says four to eight inches tomorrow. Seeing the pond always lifts my spirits. I felt lucky to be here in this special place. All my troubles and Toby’s troubles drifted away. The beauty of the hills relaxed me.
(some of the last leaves of fire) (water droplets)

    On the way back, we looked at deer trails, inspected cougar paths. It was so quiet we could hear the “whoop, whoop, whoop” as a hawk’s wings pushed the air and a field mouse skittered away through some branches. I wondered if that was our lucky mouse being lucky again.

July 27th Abbey Road

The weekend flew by.

   Since Kristi moved in to Grandpa Horn's old apartment, she hasn't had a good night's sleep. It appears there were a few squatters already in the apartment. Kristi really didn't want to use traps or poison. This left ferret pee as the only option from what she told me. I was a little taken aback you could actually purchase ferret pee. Exactly how do they collect that? I'm thinking it's not good for the ferret. Looking for a way to make some spare change I told her I'd sell her some of Henry's. In lieu of this, I suggested we enlist the services of Emmett.

    Emmett is fierce, he runs the house and he is the only thing Irish has the good sense to be truly afraid of.

(Irish and Emmett meet in the kitchen)
  (Emmett asks that Irish bow to the king)
(Emmett begins to turn his back in disdain)
(Irish realizes he is supposed to do the full body bow which seems to satisfy Emmett- for now)

Henry packed a cat carrier poured some litter in and sent the assassin over for the night. By morning, he had presented Kristi with his prize on the kitchen counter. I would have been grossed out, but Kristi praised him as a hero and now she and Olie are sleeping just fine.

The assasin demonstrates his prowess)

   

On Saturday, Toby arrived with Dean and two bleary-eyed stowaways, Sam and his sister Kimona. Sam and Henry were like peas and carrots when they both went to Woodland Hills Elementary. So Henry begged me to beg his mother, Julie, to let him come up and stay for a few days or a few weeks or a few months or forever. We threw the lovely Kimona in for good measure and it’s a good thing; Kimona was the only one who helped me feed the animals in the morning while the two boys stood around grinning and punching each other.

(Evil Evelyn has a party out in the pasture with a couple of deer - Abe and Andy join in - my neighbors wave to her, but the deer are unimpressed)

   Toby and Dean only spent the night on the way back to Canada after working on a few episodes of “Monk”.  They took off just after breakfast. She was heading to Trader Joes™ to stock up on some goodies before crossing the border and catching the ferry back to Vancouver Island. She called after crossing the border and you know my feelings about he border. It had taken her over an hour and forty-five minutes. I thought she was calling to complain about the international red tape. To my complete surprise, she was calling me to tell Canada had given her two weeks to pack up her house and leave the country. The whole thing is very complicated, but the long and the short of it is – she and her husband were on work permits. Their farm isn’t doing well financially, so she left the country to “work”, however she’s not allowed to get another job. It gets complicated, but Canada feels that despite the fact their not really earning money they are “working” on the farm and that permit has expired – anyway there are other factors, but in the end, none of it matters. I think we were both in shock.
(child labor- Kimona, Sam and Henry)

    Back here, we all walked around in a daze reeling from Toby’s news and wondering where they’ll go and what they'll do. They won’t have time to sell their house or anything. We’d have to think about that later, we had to get a round bale down the cows. We all thought it would be a little tricky because it was unwrapped, but we wound chicken wire around the bale and the four of us, Sam, Kimona, Henry and I pushed the bale over and got it loaded.

(taking a break-) (Henry and Sam hitch a ride with Lu)

(Kimona gets to know Abe, Andy & Anna)

(Sam learns the meaning of "dialing" a number- shocked and confused, he asks for help)

    The rest of the day was clearing out the attic, feeding the cows’ cookies, and laughing at the geese. The kids went fishing with dogs while our friend Wayne worked hard all day clearing brush away so no pesky predators could get too close to our unsuspecting cougar snacks Henry, Sam, Kimona and Quinn.

June 3rd Talkin' Turkey

    How many  nickie-new-guy-farm-folk does it take to unhook a tractor? My dad and I felt like numskulls trying to pry the stupid thing apart. I’d put the mower on twice, but I’d never had to take it off. I got the drive shaft off all right, but the two sides that swing on one arm - each on a pin - were ridiculous. And I did not want to call Duane again for more instructions. I’m sure I’m already discussed around the coffee pot in Lynden with chuckles and snickers. So we continued to pound with the sledgehammer. driving the tractor back and forth, trying any way we could think of to loosen the darn thing -  while all the time my dad kept repeating, “This can not be the way you’re supposed to do it. This is insane.” Eventually we did get it off.  I don’t know what he was complaining about. My entire life he’s “fixed” things by hitting them with a hammer – not always with positive results, but in this case it worked.

    Fresh from our success we headed down to the pond. My father drove and I walked to get some steps in, as I’d had to stuff myself into my jeans these last few mornings. I guess the elastic waist on my coveralls hasn’t been doing me any favors, so I’ve been trying to wear my jeans. It seems I’ve been rewarding myself a little too well for a hard day’s work. Unfair that I have to work like a farmhand and still eat like a city girl.
 

    The job started out much easier than I anticipated. Together we lifted one of Wally’s trees, hooked the cable around it in two places and off we went. My dad drove, and I walked back to the pasture to deposit our first load. Simple. My dad was smiling. “This is working better than I ever expected.” We went back for Tom’s next tree we were about to steal from our resident logger. I wondered what Wally would think when he woke up to find his trees missing. Would he go into a beaver rage? Would he be confused? Or was he watching us and plotting his revenge?
   
(Irish assists)

    The second log we got from the woodpile. It required a bit more effort, but not too much, and, again with Irish’s help, we put it next to the first. Another log, another thousand steps for me. Was it my imagination or were my jeans fitting better already? The third log was where we hit a snag. Wally hadn’t severed the tree from the stump completely. Shoddy workmanship. So we’d have to use the chainsaw before we could get it. Seems simple enough.

(Anna in the pasture with flowers)

    We got the chainsaw out and looked at it. Neither one of us had used this one before. We bought it last summer and either Tom or a workman used it. After much fidgeting and wiggling we figured out how to get the gas cap off. I looked in my file where I keep all the manuals, but it wasn’t there. We tried again. We pulled and pushed and toggled the switches, but not even a sputter. We downloaded a manual; we stared at it and finally we decided – like it or not, we were beat. My dad would take it back to Al’s where we bought it, and have them show him how to work the “farm boss”.

    Not wanting to quit for the day since it was only 7:30PM and there were at least two more hours of light left, I threw my coveralls on over my jeans and drove to town in the truck. I love driving Daisy the farm truck. She's got a springy bench seat and windshield wipers that have their own personality. As I'm bouncing along I suddenly start talking like I'm on Hee Haw. I sing truck songs to myself.

    I saw my neighbor Renata walking along, so I stopped. She told me there was a big community meeting tonight about releasing wild turkeys in the area. She thought that would go with our camp there perfectly. I told her it was something Tom had wanted and I drove on. No one had told me about the meeting. I guess I wasn't one of "them" yet.

    I got to Lowes™ and started loading 4X4X8 treated posts onto a big cart. I needed more than I could probably fit in the back of the truck, but I'd get enough to get Tom started on the fence for the dogs. I was feeling mighty proud of myself when I dropped a post on my fingernail. Intense pain swept over my body and I had to think to breathe. Luckily, I'd gotten a "Beef Master" tomato plant that had cool moist soil from their garden center and I used it as my makeshift "ice".

    After that, I let the nice eager guy with the gloves load the wood while I stood by chatting up another fella.  "You building a fence?" he asked.

    "Yep," I replied in truck talk. I glanced over. He had a white truck, too.

    "I built a fence just a little while ago. Real beauty."

    "Gets expensive. Lot of trips." The idea is you don't want to talk too much - no extra chitchat.

    "Yep. Never can get everything the first time." Long pause. "You grow up in Deming?" Whooo hoo.

      As I drove home, I called Tom. "I've got wood and cement in the back of my truck as I'm driving along Mt. Baker Highway."

    "Oooh. Are you wearing your coveralls?"

    "Yep."

May 29th The Challenge

 
    Tom will be here in less than a week and there is so much to be done, not because I have to get the house tidy for him, although hopefully I will, but because I have to get all the supplies for his “honey-do” list. He’ll be working non-stop while he’s here, but for that to happen effectively I have to get all the supplies he’s going to need, as trips to Home Depot™ take half the day.

    His first assignment for me was to get some straight long poles to use as supports for the goat enclosure.

    Funds being tight, I asked if we could use some of the wood we had in the back by the barn. He said, “If you can find any straight ones then, yes. They’ll need to be buried in the ground at least four feet.”

    Armed with my tape measure , a cup of coffee and my trusty sidekick, Mike. Accompanied by Irish, Luther and Vivian we started for the woodpile. We found a few passable logs, but thought we should charge down to the pavilion by the pond as I remembered we had another pile of miscellaneous telephone poles and other wood down there. I stopped in to refill my cup and off we went.
  (Irish & Vivian lolling in the shade waiting for me to finish) -

As we approached I thought of Wally. Our logger extraordinaire, perhaps he had something we could use. Freshly mowed by my dad into a park-like setting I walked without fear of stepping on a snake over to Wally’s most recent downed tree. It was perfect. In fact, he’d cut it in two. We measured it and found one length alone was 35 feet and the other was at least 15’.  We walked on to a few more he’d taken. These he’d even removed the bark. They were all straight as an arrow ready to use poles. No decay as they hadn’t fallen they were logged. If I don’t watch Wally he’s going to clear-cut the woods. On the bright side he’s creating a nice open space full of light. (Wally's handiwork)



Well, now that we’d found our logs we were pretty proud of ourselves. This would save a lot of money. Using wood off the land, even better. It will look so rural and then I wondered -How the heck, are we going to get these really long heavy trees to the pasture? We can’t get the tractor back on this side of the pond.

Mike suggested we roll the logs into the water, get in the blow-up raft and push them across the pond, past the island, where the tractor would be waiting with a chain and then pull them onto the bank to the pasture. He added that because my father cut the grass they would pull nicely. It sounded like an immunity challenge on Survivor but I had to say the plan definitely had merit. I’d have to think this through and improve on the plan. 

Tom suggested rope and my newly acquired knot tying ability should be incorporated into the plan. Maybe I could tie the rope around the log. Henry could get in the raft and take the end across the pond where my dad could be waiting on the tractor to pull it into the water. It could be fun or I suspect at least calorie burning.

January 24th DuhDa DuhDa

    For weeks now, Henry has worked on his Science Fair project. There is no grade or judging it is completely voluntary, just a learning experience.

Henry submitted his question for approval the first day back from winter vacation. He pondered the question for a while; he wanted it to be something special to him. “Not just a random volcano”, he said. In truth, I wanted something easy. The directions said, parents should help do specific things like pulling together the board presentation etc. but the kid’s had to do the research and write the paper.

    

When Henry was in Ms. Peters’ second grade class, he read a book aloud to me called Animal Teeth. It was his first real chapter book. We both actually learned from that book, it covered a variety of obscure animals including walrus etc. It was from this experience that his question sprang. “Do the shape of an animal’s teeth effect its diet?”

    To make his exhibit exciting we decided he should make models of jaws. I told him we thought he should do animals from around here rather than a lion or a kangaroo. He agreed this made sense. Mother’s aren’t always as dumb as kids think. After some debate he decided on the cat a good everyday carnivore, the beaver, an herbivore and the raccoon an omnivore we see a lot. We went to Michaels™ to get the clay, but while we were there we spotted Rigid Wrap™ like Grant Imahara uses on “Myth Busters”. This stuff turned out to be great. Henry used pictures from the Internet to copy the shapes and molded the teeth out of clay. Mike critiqued them loudly and vigorously. I hot glued them on, but they fell off and we had to use a different kind of glue. After everything was put together he painted them their appropriate colors. Who knew a beaver’s teeth are orange because they contain iron? Not me. I learned from Henry that every species has a dental formula. A lion has the same teeth in the same place as Emmett.

    

He did the research using books and the Internet, our cat Emmett and our neighbor, Wally. I taught him how to do a bibliography.

     To spice up his project we named it “Jaws”. It all comes down to advertising. Henry downloaded the type from the “Jaws” movie poster and copied it on his light box, then cut it out of construction paper. For the final touch we gathered beaver “gnawings” from the pond as “free samples”.

   

     While we put the display together, we took pictures and emailed them to Tom so he could give his opinion and keep up to date with the event. Sometimes you just have to love technology.

    Tonight was the big night. We went to dinner before the event with who else but Chris, Lisa and the girls. Henry was a nervous wreck wondering if his project would be ok. On the way to our car, a girl yelled out     “Hey, Henry you going to the science fair?”

    "Yeah, we’re on our way now.” Hmm. My son is now officially a local.

    A complete success, Henry like Quinn was very proud of his effort and was thrilled at how many crowded around his booth for free samples. I walked by and could here him explaining his booth very confidently, and saying “Yes they are really from a beaver, my beaver.”

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September 22nd Day For Night

     The mornings are getting dark here. I hate getting up in the dark, the only time you should have to get up in the dark is go skiing not for daily life. I am not a mole.

    This morning when it eventually got light, my dad went out to the pond and found absolutely everyone in Washington has gone green. Even, Wally, the beaver.  My dad took the dogs on their morning walk and began the daily battle against Wally’s best efforts and found that he recycles. Yep. My dad found Vivian’s red collar weaved into the damn this morning, tag and all. He must have found it on the bottom of the pond and worked it right in there. Absolutely hilarious. I’d love to see this guy, but so far he’s eluded us. I keep wondering if there is a whole clan of beavers out there.  For the amount of work that is done every night I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. I mean this guy puts the busy in beaver. His wok ethic is old school. I’ve been asked if we want him disposed of, but this shocks me. While he does make things inconvenient
    Today is also Phoebe’s 7th birthday party. Usually, Lisa likes to have them at home, but since they just moved in Phoebe is having her party at the ice skating rink. She invited all the girls in her class and of course Quinn and Henry.

    Henry and I are never late to anything, partially because my sister and Tom are ALWAYS late. For years, this drove me nuts, but I’ve been told it’s just that they're optimistic. They always believe they can get one more thing done or they just have enough time to do this. Me, I believe you should arrive with enough time to get a coffee and park. I must be crazy because I even allow enough time to walk in. Anyway, we decided to take a different way to the skating rink. This way wound around a huge lake, Lake Whatcom. We were surprised to see that we ended up even closer than we expected and so went to Fred Meyer™ to get some of those one-size fits all fuzzy gloves in case it was really cold in the rink.

    The party was a success. Phoebe took turns skating with all her friends; she’s turning into a good little hostess. Grandpa Horn took a few turns around the rink, but Henry couldn’t much do it at all. He’s a pretty good on rollerblades so I thought he’d do well, but he didn’t. Every time I turned around he was down. Finally, he gave up. He said "This just isn’t my sport ".

August 22nd You Don't Know Jack

 If we’re going to have animals in the pasture, we’re going to have to put up a fence. We can’t just put up any old fence as many people have suggested. We’ve got to be historically correct.

    Tom and I took Henry back East last spring. While we were there we visited Jamestown Settlement, Colonial Williamsburg, Gettysburg, Mt. Vernon, Monticello, Plimoth Plantation along with the Shirley Plantation, Pamplin ParkMuseum of the Confederacy, Independence Hall, Historic Philidelphia, West Point and the Boston Area. It was fun, exciting and exhausting, but our whirlwind tour was really a research expedition. We took pictures of things like lamps, tables, fences, door handles, shutters, paint colors, window treatments, fabrics and other details that make a place feel authentic. So when, it came to our pasture there wasn’t a doubt in our minds, we were going to put up a “Jack” fence or a “Virginia Snake” fence as it’s also called. The same fence they have at Williamsburg,

(Williamsburg fence)

It’s simple really - it’s like playing with Lincoln Logs™. The tricky part is laying out the fence and keeping it straight while the individual sections zig and zag. This we accomplished with a long tape and twine. We used markers to measure the angles of the fence.

(our finished fence)


    Once all the wood had been delivered, putting up the fence went amazingly fast. We started out by laying out the bottom layer on all the sides. The hardest part was constantly loading and unloading the truck. Luther wants to sit in the truck while all the work is going on, because basset hounds make natural foremen, and no one can deny they look real comfortable and natural in a truck.






   


All morning and afternoon we worked, loading the rails in the truck up by the barn and then driving down to the pasture. We’d get out and everyone each of us would take a rail, then go this way or that layering it into place. Then we’d do it again. Henry worked, we all worked. I thought it was really going take a long time, but it’s going on two days and the fence is almost completely done.  We put bricks under the joints when we were about three and four rails into it to keep wood off the ground so it wouldn’t rot, and we figured this would allow for any further toad migrations through the property.



    After a long day in the blazing sun building the fence, we all decided to take a dip in the pond. The kids and dogs raced ahead. I got there, took off my boots, rolled up my blue coveralls and plopped my feet in the water as I saw Henry sail past me into the ice-cold water. When Henry came up for air he I thought he was going to scream, but he just kept swimming to the little island at the other side of the pond. Once there, I didn’t think he was going to get in the water to come back. Quinn heard his cries of anguish and decided that a pond of melted snow might not be her thing, but after a while she was cajoled into it. Phoebe and I just dangled our toes as we watched Quinn shriek and carry on like she was being chased by a hive of bees.

    Next, the kids tried to get the dogs in the pond. Luther was having none of it. Vivian tippy-toed in a tiny bit, but quickly wriggled out of her collar and down it went. No one could see it - the water was too stirred up and green from plant life. We got into the inflatable raft we bought at Kmart™ and tried to look down through the water, but everything was just too stirred up. We came back later hoping we could see it once things had settled, but without any luck. My dad said he’d go out and get Miss Vivian a new collar in the morning.

 

July 7th Lost It

  While I did manage to get the pond flowing again yesterday and all the gunk eventually filtered out, the pond was indeed dammed up again this morning. I didn’t know it, but apparently beavers are nocturnal. This guy had to have been at it all night. I’ve got to admit, he’s good. To add insult to injury I found my Jenny Craig™ Pedometer in the water by the dam. Damn! I must have lost it yesterday, when I charged in the water.

July 6th The Pond

    When we were buying this property Tom flew out and met with a wetlands consultant, Vicky Jackson. She told him that although there were signs of a beaver, it didn’t appear that a beaver lived nearby anymore, so Tom ate the apple I’d made him purchase as a gift for our new neighbor. I’d read beavers like apples. I was disappointed by the news as I thought it would be great to have a beaver in residence so to speak. Until today.

    Today, Tom and I went to our lovely picturesque pond. We thought we’d enjoy a moment sipping a cold drink while we listened to the babbling stream. That’s not quite what we saw when we got there. The entire pond was strangely goopy. It was covered in gloppy scum and mosquito larvae. We stood there stunned not believing this was the same place we’d been to just a couple of days ago. Was this just part of the cycle of the pond in the summer months? What could cause this? And then we realized we didn’t hear the stream. It was extremely quiet, except for the buzzing mosquitoes.

    The non-existent beaver had completely sealed off the pond. I wasn’t going to take this. I charged in there and started a rippin’ and a tearin’ his dam apart. This was war. I took every bit of that dam out. And let me tell you, this beaver doesn’t just put sticks in there. Oh no, he’s an accomplished engineer. He weaves sticks and mud and leaves and anything else he can get his tiny little beaver hands on. But I have thumbs and he would be wise to remember that.

    Now I hold no ill will toward my friend, who clearly lives up to the cliché “busy as a . . .” This guy isn’t kidding around, but while I understand it is his job to build the damn, he must understand that it is my job to undo his work and save the pond from becoming a swamp.