Bye Bye Birdy

The day began and ended on a bird note.  It isn't unusual to see a small group of intrepid sparrows or blackbirds drive off a thieving crow in the sky, the crow yelling, "It wasn't me!  I didn't do it!"  That's what I thought I was seeing at first as I glanced up while walking out of the goat pen yesterday.  One sparrow, one crow - and a hawk.  There was no fighting going on.  All three birds were on aerial maneuvers, seemingly for the fun of it.  Soaring and swirling on the thermals, taking turns making occasional dives at one another like fighter planes, practicing for the real thing.  The sparrow didn't have the stamina of the others or perhaps had more pressing business, as it finally broke ranks and went home.  The juvenile red tail hawk (pale tail) and the crow continued the game, rising at times so high they looked like specks in the sky, then dropping to tree-top level.  I lost track of time as I stood and watched these avian acrobats.

In the afternoon, I heard a rustling in the leaves on the deck just outside the open door.  I went to get the camera to catch whatever might be so brave as to come so close.  Caught in the act, this turkey hen made a dash for a quick getaway.  Once again proving that turkeys are not the brightest bulbs in the carton, she turned left instead of right and tried repeatedly to force her way through the uprights on the rail.  Finally having one of those Aha! moments, she backed up, made a leap, and flew off over the top.  Bye bye, birdy.

Happy Days

The goats were still a little squirrely in the morning.  As a herd, they went to stare again through the fence to where they thought they'd heard a snake.  The milking pattern got a little out of whack and the girls took some coaxing to come into the room.  As time went on, they forgot about it and by evening everyone was calm and cooperative.  Note to self:  do not use a spray can anywhere near goats.

A twenty-degree drop in temperature prompted me to wear a long-sleeved shirt down to the barn.  Heavenly!  My ambition rises as the temp drops and I got a lot of "stuff" cleaned off the deck, either moved out to the barn (a major project for another day) or ready to take to the big road on Tuesday.

Ohmigosh.  It's just light enough to see outside and we either had some light rain during the night or there is heavy dew this morning.  It's been dry so long, I can't remember what dew looks like.  I know the last couple of nights have been chilly because Frank has spent the entire night on my feet.  We've all gotten used to the new blanket and it's warm enough, but that little space heater Frank is still appreciated.

Two steps out the door last evening and I went back in for the camera.  The sunset took my breath away.

It was a good day.

False Alarms

Robert, my neighbor to the south, called me over to the fence as I was closing up the barn after milking yesterday.  The goats and I walked over (we go as a troop whenever I'm in the pen).  Robert is in the middle of the grape crush and he asked if it would be okay to toss some of the stems over to the girls.  They are crushing the zinfandels now, and stems have a high sugar content that the girls love.  I appreciate his asking, because too many at one time or if they'd gone mouldy would make the girls sick.  We stood talking under the oak where Tree Guy and Sons have been working and there were stumps and chips all over.  Robert looked down by my feet and said, "Is that just a snakeskin or is it the whole snake?"  Standing stock still, I peeked over the nearby log to see twelve inches or so of what certainly looked like a dark, striped snake.  I could tell it wasn't a rattler, but could see neither head nor tail.  Gingerly poking it with one finger, the thing didn't move so I picked it up.  Robert and I laughed when we found it was a length of heavy wiring from some type of vehicle, covered in a type of insulation I've never seen before.

I should have known it was a false alarm because I know how goats react to snakes.  On my way back to the house the day before, I'd noted the opening to a nest of ground wasps right by my path.  Being swarmed by these evil little insects as a child had made Steve absolutely phobic for the rest of his life.  Loaded with milk buckets as I was then, the decision was to take care of it yesterday.  I made a tactical error.  The wasps weren't active as I went to the barn and I wasn't sure which was the right opening.  Running late, I milked first and then stopped on the way back.  There they were, and there I was, spray can in hand.  I'd forgotten that the girls had followed me to the fence, curious about everything I do.  I sprayed the nest heavily and sent the goats into a panic.  I should have known better than to spray anything in their vicinity.  It's the hissing.  No amount of reassurance will convince them that they aren't in snake danger.  Clustered together, they snorted and stared at the place from where the hissing had come.  I had to go on with my chores and had to leave them to get over it.  Talk about ruining someone's day.  Going down at bedtime, I found the herd still in a clump, still staring at the ground outside the pen.  Getting them into their rooms was a battle.  I hope they'll have forgotten about it by this morning.  They take snakes very seriously, even when it's a false alarm.

Those Moments

Everyone has those "Aha!" moments, those "Eureka, I have found it!" times of revelation and enlightenment.  More common for me are the "Haha!" experiences that leave me laughing (but still in the dark).  Once again the excavators undermined the front legs of the milking stand and I had no more started milking Cindy than she went nose down and I went feet up.  I'm sure it was my imagination, but I thought I heard snickering squirrels (they sounded a lot like Alvin the Chipmunk).

Trundling the alfalfa cart down to the pen yesterday, I found those goofy turkeys grazing on the green grass where the water trough overflows.  One is already running the fence line, looking for a way out.  I was halfway through milking Cindy (feet still in the air) before they all figured out how to escape.

Camille and Honey came over to watch television last night (she doesn't have a TV by choice).  Honey went about her business of rooting through Bessie's toy basket, choosing this one, discarding that.  Bessie seems to accept "the kid."  The only possessiveness she shows is when she thinks Honey is getting too much of my attention.  Then she pushes against my leg to remind me, "I'm your girl, Mom.  I'm your girl."  Honey had settled down (on Bess's bed) when Frank wanted to come in.  As I opened the door, I explained to him that this might not be a good idea.  Frank approached cautiously, but took charge of the situation.  Honey raised her head and Frank raised a paw and hissed.  She decided this was a cat with "stickers" and put her head back down.  Just to prove his point, Frank paraded back and forth in front of the German shepherd, but she'd gotten the message.

I just had to laugh.

Where's the Fire?

"Where's the fire?," were the first words out of Camille's mouth as she rushed up to my door about noon yesterday.  I'd heard a couple of small planes pass over, but just the once so I hadn't been too concerned and had not gone out to look.  She'd seen smoke, but living down in the cut as she does, couldn't find the source and had come up for a better vantage point.  Out on the deck, we saw plumes rising in the northwest not too far distant.  Not in immediate danger, I turned to a channel that was just breaking news of a wildfire in Somerset on Sand Ridge Road south of Bucks Bar, only six to ten miles away.  Kellan and William live on Sand Ridge and I quickly called to see if they needed help in any way.  They were downwind south of the fire and were all right.  The fire crews were able to contain the fire to about fifteen acres, but it had jumped Mt. Aukum Road at one point and that could have put us in harm's way.  No homes had burned, according to this morning's news, and the fire is under control.

The long, hot, dry summer has left this area a tinderbox of dry brush and the thought of fire is never far from mind.  We've been very lucky the past few years locally (Oakstone notwithstanding).  I think everyone has a contingency plan for evacuation.  I am so grateful that Joel disks the south pasture before the weeds get tall and dry.  I have some stubborn star thistle in a pathway that I will not mow down now for fear of hitting a rock and throwing a spark.  Thistles are an inconvenience; fire would be a tragedy.

Front Row Center

I've got the best seat in the house for the greatest show in town with performances morning, noon and night.  It's a theater in the round, so it doesn't matter where I sit.  Yesterday the play was a comedy.  While milking, I watched a fox taking a shortcut come bouncing across the front yard, obviously upwind of Bessie Anne who was dozing in the shade.  The fox had not been anywhere near the chickens because at the first sight of a predator they will set up a ruckus that would raise Lazarus.  Bess lifted her head and it was an "Oh, crum!" moment for both fox and dog.  (The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.)  Stock still for a minute (I wish I could have seen their faces), the fox turned and ran, with Bessie on its tail.  For once, Bessie Anne showed good sense and didn't pursue far.  She couldn't have caught it anyhow, and it was way too hot to be running around.

No Sharp Pencils In The Box

Present a turkey with a challenge and it is thrown for a loop.  Tribes are drifting through in larger numbers throughout the day as fall approaches.  Most of the time they seem to follow a regular pattern of travel.  There are mornings when they get diverted, however, possibly lured by the hanging grapes next door.  Usually seen as pedestrians, it is easy to forget that turkeys are excellent fliers.  They have to get over a six-to-eight-foot deer fence to get to those grapes and have no trouble.  Getting back on their beaten path, they fly over it again and land in the goat pen.  So far, so good.  I watch from my seat while milking as eight or ten turkeys mosey through the goat herd and cross to the far fence, only about four and a half feet high on this side.  And that's where the problem starts.  Short-term memory loss?  How is it possible that in the time it took to cross the pen that they forget how they got there in the first place?  "Oh, no!  We're trapped!"  They run dithering back and forth along the fence line.  Finally a dim light flickers and one will fly over to freedom.  Ta DA!  Unfortunately, the others seem incapable of learning by example and continue to look for an escape route.  One at a time, they figure it out until there's only one left in the pen, and that pitiful dimwit cries and calls, "Don't leave me!  Wait for me!  Come back!"  The flock offers no encouragement and slowly starts off in the direction of breakfast under the oak.  At last the lone bird looks up, flies over and runs to join her companions, acting as if nothing had happened.  Who needs television?