No Man's Land

Hamlet told Ophelia, "Get thee to a nunnery."  I'm beginning to feel that's what I'm running here; with Frank gone, this is a female world.  (Apologies to the roosters, but they're cocky enough to survive the slight.)  Neutered though he was, I used to tell Frank he was the man of the house and should behave accordingly.  Now there "ain't nobody here but us chickens."  (That's from an old 1946 song.)  Having gone to an all-girl school, I'm familiar with the situation and it's amazing how one can learn to cope.  We're coping, the girls and I.  Mother, yes; Mother Superior, not s'much.

The Rim fire continues to burn and on some days the smoke hangs heavy over the hills; those are the days we miss the delta breezes.

It seems fall is coming a little early this year.  Leaves already cover the deck and the walkways; we're barely into September.  The hens have all but stopped laying.  There are heirloom tomatoes on the vines, but not one has turned red.  I need to wrap the water pipes with new insulation and clean the gutters before winter comes.  Days are rapidly getting shorter; six o'clock and no sign of daylight, and I've got to get the girls tucked in earlier each night.  We have occasional bursts of heat, but they are short lived and not intense.  I'm not yet ready to start singing "Jingle Bells," but that time is just over the horizon.

Yesterday was a hard day.  In the barn, I kept expecting to see Frank come strutting his macho self down to intimidate the goats with his impersonation of a lion.  In the house, every shadow passing the open door could have been him.  It could be my imagination or maybe wishful thinking, but Pearl seems to stay closer to me and even came up on my lap, briefly, for a pet and a stroke.  She's a very busy, independent girl with things to do and places to go.  Well, this is no man's land now and we girls have to stick together.