The Best Days

Many, many nights before I close my eyes, I look back and think, "This was a good day."  Any days spent in the company of one or all of my Kids are the best of all, and yesterday was one of those.  Deb and Craig timed it perfectly and arrived shortly after I'd finished in the barn.  I'd come into a windfall of avocados and mushrooms, so we spent time in the kitchen while I made a huge bowl of guacamole (there's never enough guacamole!) and my helpers sliced a ton of crimini mushrooms to dehydrate.  There's something about the kitchen, any kitchen, that stimulates conversation, not that we needed any help in that direction; there was a lot to catch up on.

After a late lunch-early dinner (what Judy calls "linner"), we went out into a perfect afternoon to check on the animals and fowl and walk around to enjoy the fall day since we're due to go back up into the 90s again next week.  Deb and Craig had brought a gift of bulbs, two hundred bulbs to be exact.  Ground squirrels and voles have eaten their fill of every bulb but daffodils I've ever planted in the ground, so we worked our way around the deck, filling pot after pot with white, pink, lavender, and purple scilla and anemone bulbs.  There are no greater optimists than gardeners.  We stick little dried knobs and seeds in the dirt and envision banks of flowers and baskets of vegetables.  What would have been a daunting task alone went quickly and pleasantly in company.  Many of the pots were in the vicinity of the feeders, and we were constantly buzzed and dive-bombed by the hummers who resented the invasion of their territory.

Inevitably, sundown came, delay it as I would.  Tail lights down the drive, "Love you!" in the air.  It was a perfect day.

Playing Chicken

I would have given my right arm for another pair of hands yesterday (well, that would have been counterproductive).  Running a tad late from the start, I was tending the chickens, letting the Silkies and then the bigger "little" girls out of their houses, checking water bowls and putting down breakfast.  The roosters get a burst of testosterone in the morning and won't take no for an answer.  Just as I opened the gate to leave the big pen, Mad King George raced after a reluctant red hen and before I could step out, she managed to squeak past me to freedom.  Oh crum.  Bessie offered to help, but I'd spent so long teaching her not to chase chickens, I didn't want her to start again so put her into the feed shed.  Sure this would be the day the dogs would show up (they've been good lately) or a hawk would swoop down, I couldn't leave the unnamed hen out on her own.  I couldn't leave the gate open because the entire flock would have escaped.  There are no inside corners where I could trap Chicken, so around and around the pen we went, sometimes slowly, sometimes so fast her legs were a blur.  I'll bet we made thirty laps, going one way and then the other.  Chicken would stop to scratch away leaves and peck a few bugs or seeds.  I would move up stealthily, get close to grabbing range, and off she'd go.  If I'd had a pair of helping hands, they could have opened the gate as we made a pass and I could have herded her in, but none were available.  Near tears and out of breath and cuss words, after an hour I had to leave her to her fate, let Bess out of isolation, and get down to the by-then crazy goats.

The disruption in their schedule had made the big girls cranky and squabbling and no one wanted to follow the rules.  Poppy plodded on in her placid way and ignored the chaos around her.  I wanted to hug Poppy.

Chicken and I made a few more laps after I came back up from the barn, to no avail.  Later in the day, I enlisted the help of a milk customer (who undoubtedly had better things to do) to chase Chicken with me.  Unfortunately, during the misty day Chicken had discovered sanctuary under the feed barn; just enough head space for a chicken but not a human.  Down on our bellies in the dirt, Chicken stayed frustratingly just out of reach.  That mission failed.

Nightfall.  Bedtime.  Tucking the Silkies in, I headed to the big pen.  As I opened the gate, I heard tiny footsteps behind me.  As if it had been her plan all along, Chicken followed me into the pen, jumped up the step to the coop, and went in to get her snack, undoubtedly telling the others of her adventures and getting a laugh at my expense.  I shut the doors and went to the house.  Good night, Chicken.

Settling Down

I needed to let the dust settle.  After a flurry of activity and company that required nearly daily dusting, I feared my reputation would be ruined.  A chill wind blew all morning and I went around closing windows and wore a jacket all day (no complaints there!).  I'd thought to hang the washing on the line, but it never would have dried so fell back on Plan B, the dryer.  Folding clothes was the most ambitious project of the day.  Other items on the To-Do List got moved way down in priority and I caught up on DVRd series episodes.  In the evening, Camille brought a pizza to munch while we watched the latest debate.  (I wish she had not pointed out the vice-presidential candidate's unfortunate resemblance to Eddie Munster; that sticks in my mind.)

The dust rag and I enjoyed our day of rest.  Tomorrow, as Scarlett said, is another day.

I Met A WWOOFer

Who knew?  I had heard the word (thought it was "woof") but it had no meaning for me until I met Jule yesterday.  I had the pronunciation of her name right but the spelling wrong.  It seems that WWOOF, World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farming, is an organization that connects volunteers and host farms and assists with travel arrangements, etc., to promote organic farming.  Jule is taking advantage of a break before her third year of college to travel inexpensively and learn.  In her case, the goal is to speak better English and see the United States.  She lives in Berlin, Germany, and working on farms provides the secondary gain of exercise and a far different lifestyle that that of her city life at home.  From Tim's goat ranch, she will be going to a vineyard in a small town on the coast above San Francisco and then to a lettuce farm on the island of Hawaii.  What a wealth of experience this young woman is acquiring.

Jule took to goat milking like a pro, and helped with cleaning the barn.  She had to see one before she would believe that some of my chickens (the Araucanas) lay green eggs.  We had started the process of making feta cheese before leaving the house so the curd would be set when we were done with the animals.  We finished the second part and put the solid curd to hang and drain the whey while we had lunch, then cut and salted the feta.  It will need a few days to cure and mellow the raw salt flavor, so I sent a packet with Jule to enjoy later.

I had thought to teach Jule how to spin yarn on a drop spindle to enlarge on her farm experience, but we became so engrossed in conversation that the opportunity passed.  It was so enlightening to get a perspective on America from another country's viewpoint.  We share an admiration for the great chefs of the world, and one of her life highlights was dining at Jamie Oliver's restaurant Fifteen in London.  I have a strong German heritage on my mother's side and Jule translated my grandparents' wedding certificate which, although they were married in Illinois, was printed in German.  It was too nice a day to stay inside, and we were still chattering out on the deck when Tim arrived to pick her up.  I was so pleased to be invited to early dinner on Sunday when Jule is going to cook ethnic dishes like spaetzle as a thank-you for her host family before going on to her next adventure.

The day, which had been so beautiful and sunny, turned dark in a matter of moments and the cloud cover thickened.  Camille arrived shortly after Jule left and had driven her truck instead of riding up on the quad, a good thing because there was a smattering of rain before I went out to the barn, and more while we had dinner.

It was a good day.

Hard Times

This is a difficult season for the wild things.  Nothing is growing, very little is green.  There's not much for them to eat.  In the early afternoon, a doe was in amongst the turkeys, lapping up birdseed.  From the deck, I could see her ribs were showing.  The deer are eating leaves from the lilac bushes from the ground to as high as they can reach.  I call it pruning.  Turkeys, not sated with the seed under the oak, are getting in with the chickens to share their breakfast.  As soon as the rains come, the earth will green again, but in the meantime, these are hard times.

I took TG down to meet Camille, who also needs some help with the trees on her place and a few renovations to her house.  While they talked business, I stepped outside to play with Honey and Shadow.  The dog didn't lick me and the donkey did.  I don't know why that cracks me up so, but it surely does.

This going to be a busy day.  Tim is bringing another apprentice over for goat milking and cheese making.  Ula is a young woman who has come over from Germany to learn the goat trade.  I guess Tim, who raises meat animals, feels a day with dairy goats would complete the experience for his trainees.  I've started a pot of soup for our lunch, but I'd better flick the dust cloth around a bit before they get here.

The New Fall Line

Nighttime temps in the forties have prompted the chickens to finally get dressed.  They've been running around in bikinis for months, barely enough feathers for decency.  Unfortunately, the fall styles are a work in progress.  Tzar Nicholas has grown a ruff of beautiful, long, golden feathers, but his neck is still bare underneath and it looks like a bad comb-over.  Both Nicholas and Mad King George have covered their bums with fluff, nowhere close to the proud rooster tail feathers of last year, but certainly better than the naked look they've been sporting.  The girls look like a flock of two-legged porcupines, studded with pin feathers; definitely the "spike" style of punk rockers.

Fall takes on different meanings.  Going down the driveway on a short run to town yesterday, I thought something looked different in the landscape.  Oh crum.  A huge branch had fallen from the tallest oak in the woods down by the road.  That branch would make a good-sized tree by itself.  Of course it fell across the barbed wire fence by the front pasture.  That won't make Tree Guy's job any easier.  He must think of this place as job security.

Mi Casa Es Su Casa

The word must have gotten around to all creatures great and small in this area because I end up playing host to a variety of two- and four-legged visitors.  I had to usher out another one of those tiny peeper frogs from the living room.  It might have wanted to watch a little TV, but Frank thought it might be a squeaker toy and discretion seemed the better part of valor.

Stepping out on the deck with a pitcher of juice for the hummers (established guests), I saw this little fawn on the slope.  Not hard to see why the black-tail are also called mule deer with those huge ears.  This photo hog waited until I came back with the camera, took a couple of shots, and then chatted with him/her for a bit.  "Why are you out here all alone, little kid?  Where's your mama?"  Then off to the right, heading into the trees, I caught sight of the doe and another twin.  Neither my movement nor voice had scared the curious fawn, but I'll bet his mother gave him what-for when he caught up.

Not long after this encounter, I passed by the open front door and there was one of the turkey flocks in the herb garden, scratching in the leaves and doing a little weeding in the process.  What made this group unusual was that a couple of the hens had bedded down right up against the front porch, settling in and making themselves comfortable.  Bessie Anne lies in the doorway to keep watch on the property, and the hens paid her no mind.  I think this "my house is your house" business is getting out of hand.