First Step

They say that admitting there is a problem is the first step to recovery.  I am told I have a problem, but I'm not sure I believe that and I'm not sure I am looking for salvation.  I'm not a hoarder but will admit to a certain reluctance to throw things away.

My barn shoes had sprung any number of leaks.  With the rainy season finally here and the yards full of mud (and a lot of et cetera), I broke down and bought a new pair on my last trip to town.  The new shoes look just like the old pair, but are warm and keep my feet dry.  And there sat the sad old, broken shoes, covered in barnyard et cetera.  It seemed so cold hearted to dump them in the trash bin.  They'd worked hard and done their job well.  I tend to bond with my shoes.  On a shelf high up in the back of the closet, there is a box full of beautiful high heels that I will never wear again but cannot bear to part with.  I go through barn shoes at an alarming rate and could easily accumulate a mountain of these used-up shoes and so, reluctantly, I let the old pair go.

In the kitchen, I use those sponges with a scratchy pad on one side to wash dishes.  I keep a supply under the sink.  I use a sponge until there is no more scratch and the sponge hangs in shreds; it still washes the dishes.  Like that line in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, "I'm not dead yet!"  This drives my daughter batty.  I can always tell when she's been at the sink, as the next day I find a new sponge on the counter and no sign of the old ratty but perfectly good one.  I think she hides the remains in her purse to take away.  I hope she gives it a decent burial.

California recently passed a ban on plastic bags from the grocery store.  Not to worry.  I will not go without.  I have a lifetime supply in a barrel-size (plastic) bag.  I will have the corner on the black-market for those who need a plastic-bag fix.  I don't throw them willy-nilly out there to destroy the environment, but there are those things for which nothing but a plastic bag will do; used cat litter being one, and I'm sure Trash Guy would agree.

Years ago I cancelled all my magazine subscriptions.  I had to.  I'd run out of space to keep the ever-growing collection of every issue of every magazine I had.  I'd give a new addition a quick once-over when it arrived, then set it aside for some future day when I'd have time to read the articles and cut out recipes and/or projects.  There are shelves and drawers everywhere in the house stacked with magazines still awaiting my attention.  I could fill a landfill with unread magazines.

I will not address the issue of books.  Books, to me, are like children and animals:  once you have them, they are yours for the duration.

Again, while I'm not yet ready to say I have a problem, when I am ready to take that first step, I'll take it in a new pair of shoes.

Wings In the Wings

All morning chores begin with throwing down bird seed for the wild things.  Meant originally for the doves and sparrows, squirrels, turkeys, gophers, and even deer know where to get a free meal.  The doves and sparrows have to elbow their way to get a bite.  It's a bit intimidating when thirty-plus turkeys come running at you as you step off the porch.  After feeding the feathered hordes, the next job is to open the chicken coops and let the little kids out.  They get scratch (cracked corn and other grains) thrown down and then I fill the waterers.  I'd not even gotten started when I turned and there were turkeys waiting impatiently on the fence rail to join the hens.  I'm really glad there are no elephants cruising the hills.  They'd probably wait in the wings for the goats' alfalfa.

On any trip to town, I cross two loops of the middle fork of the Cosumnes River (unless I go via Pleasant Valley and then also cross the north fork).  For months, the water level has been so low one could wade across the river.  After our recent rains, it was wonderful to see torrents of water rushing downstream again yesterday.  I'd waited to make the trip for a day or two because of road conditions.  The wind and rain had brought tons of leaves and pine needles down, making the roads as slick as ice.  The leaves had blown away, but pine needles were rolled into small logs, nature's speed bumps.  It was a quick trip and I didn't waste any time getting home.

It seems to be the vogue on FB to post selfies taken over a year; how's that for ego?  I could probably make a calendar of 365 photos of the sky, morning, noon, and night.  I never cease to be enthralled by the beauty.  I love having a camera at my fingertips and, by virtue of technology, not having to wait for film to be developed.  This was taken after another good day.

Morning and Night

After milking and/or feeding the goats, the next chore is to clean stalls.  The barn being built as it is, I have to rake up the poo pellets, shovel them into a two-gallon bucket that hangs on the wall, haul the bucket out and empty it over the fence (always checking first to see which way the wind is blowing).  Going about the business of the day, when I took the bucket off the nail, I found this little creature at the bottom, nearly dead.  What to do?  Well, I just happened to have some warm milk at hand that wasn't needed, dipped in a finger and let the little kid lap at a few drops.  It took a few tries before he stopped blowing bubbles and actually took in a couple of sips.  Cold he was, so I held him close in my palm and blew warm breath over him.  Gradually, Larry (named after one of my kind-hearted, animal-loving Kids) began to stir and it gave me hope.

However, now I was in a quandary of another sort.  I could imagine the gleam of joy in the cats' eyes if I were to bring Larry into the house, but I wasn't sure he could make it if I were to leave him.  Time was slipping by and I still had stalls to clean.  I had to make a decision.  Warmed, he was moving better and so I put him down close to a mouse hole, hoping that if it weren't the right one, another mouse would give him directions home.  Not sure if I'd find his keeled-over body or him gone when I got done in the back of the barn, I was delighted to find that Larry had made his way over to the breakfast bar, stuffing his face.  A little wobbly, yes, but sitting up and taking nourishment!  I love happy endings.

It was hard to decide whether to call today's entry "Morning and Night" or "East and West."  Another spectacular sunset in the west, definitely, but then I turned back toward the house and saw the full moon rising in the east.  How to choose which view?  Like a double-dip ice cream cone when there are two favorite flavors, I opted for both.

Sun lighting the bottom of the clouds and moon shining down from above.

It was a good day.

Inside and Out

Feast or famine.  Drought or deluge.  Holy cow!  This storm has been a doozy.  The goat barn has sprung a thousand leaks from where nails have worked loose and, worse, one of the plexiglass panels has a chunk broken out.  Fortunately, it's not over a stall, so it's not an emergency situation.  So far, so good with the trees; only small branches have fallen.  There were times yesterday when it felt like the house was being hit by a battering ram, the wind was that fierce.  I understand over an inch of rain fell in under an hour, and the rain continued most of the day.  With no time for the ground to absorb anything, there were flash floods and standing water everywhere.  Everywhere but here on top of the hill.  The barn, of course, is down at the bottom.

Ralph had the right idea.  He spent most of the afternoon in front of the wood stove.  I spent most of the afternoon stoking the wood stove for Ralph.  Celeste made herself a nest of blankets on the bed instead of taking up residence on my lap, which, for a change, was a good thing.  Perhaps out of boredom after days of indoor confinement, Bessie Anne could not settle anywhere.  "Help me up into my chair, Mom."  "Boost me up onto the couch, Mom."  "I changed my mind.  Mom, I'd rather lie on this couch, please."  "Put the footrest up on the recliner, Mom, I want to be with you."  "Let me out the door, Mom.  No, this door!"  I was up and down like a pogo stick.  (I'm going to change my name to Gertrude.)

I was happy for a break in the rain at sundown, and then I stepped outside.  Gusts of wind nearly took me off my feet.  The bare ground down by the barn was a quagmire and made for treacherous walking even without the wind.  Poppy brushed against me as she pushed her way past to get to her room.  It was like getting slapped with a wet sponge and my pant legs were soaked.  Holding on with one hand to anything I could find, I slipped and slid around the hen house to shut both doors, and accomplished the deed without going down.

It rained throughout the night.  The gutters cannot hold all the water and I could hear the waterfall from the overflow outside the bedroom windows.  It's raining this morning.  It's hard to complain when we need the water so badly, but, if it's not too much to ask, we don't need it all at once.

...But A Memory

The morning sunshine of December 1st is a thing of the past, a memory.  A storm rolled in that night and rages still.  Here on the hilltop a fierce wind blows and rain beats against the house.  Trees are my biggest worry in weather like this; trunks split and branches fall.  Some locals have started a FB page with news from the surrounding areas.  It was a lifeline during the wildfires.  There were reports yesterday of trees down on Bucks Bar Road, blocking traffic.  People with police scanners put out the word on accidents, etc.  I'd planned to get a leg up on holiday baking (using leftover sour cream), but the threat of a power outage and an electric oven put the kibosh on that.  It was a day to keep the dishes and the laundry done in case we have no water.

Rainy days put a hitch in the git-along down in the barn.  The whole system goes to pot.  Inga, first up, didn't want to leave her stall.  With urging, she finally dashed out and around the corner into the milking room.  Standard procedure is to next let Cindy out and then to the big room for Esther and Tessie.  Cindy got as far as the covered play yard and balked.  I shut the door to the back stalls and left her where she was.  It was useless to even try to get Esther and Tess out so I let them be.  Inga milked, nothing for it but to push her out into the rain.  Sheila is always led out on a rope, so she didn't have a choice.  Poppy, good old Poppy, is so routine oriented that she came out on her own.  Her thick wool seems to make her impervious to rain.  Needless to say, I didn't have to call Cindy to get her in for breakfast; she barreled into the room as soon as Sheila went out.  There is a connecting door between the big room and the milking room, so Esther and Tessie were let in one at a time for their turn on the stand.  I'd left the gate to the play yard open and the girls congregated in there, milling around and crying.  I had to push my way through to clean the stalls, haul out the buckets of poo, and refill the feed bucket for the next day.  Without a doubt, today will be a rerun.  The girls will not be happy.

I answered a phone call laughing last night.  When the phone rang I'd had a moment of panic, wondering why someone would call so late.  All the Kids know that if they call after 8 p.m. they'd better be bleeding.  The skies had been dark all day, so I might be forgiven for thinking it was late.  As I picked up the phone, I glanced at the clock.  Six o'clock.  And I laughed.

Time to fire up the wood stove to warm the house before I go down to the barn.  It's going to be another one of those days.

Something Different

Morning walkabouts are some of my favorites (I spend as much time as I can outdoors).   Sunlight was gilding the fall colors yesterday after a day of gloom.  As I was telling a friend, I wish I had the vocabulary to accurately describe the scent and feel of the air after a rain.  "Fresh" doesn't do it justice.

Just after taking this view to the northeast, Bess informed me with a low growl that there was something in the front pasture.  At first, I couldn't see what she saw and then I got down to her level.  Just beyond the fence was a doe lying still, not even an ear twitched.  She was looking at us looking at her.  It's not common for the local deer to lie out in the open when so much cover is available, but it's possible this lady was also enjoying the sunshine and the view.  I'd like to think so.

After days of turkey, turkey sandwiches, and dressing and gravy (all of which I love), I craved something spicy last night.  There are many recipes for the main Thanksgiving leftovers, but then there are those bits and bobs in the refrigerator; what to do about them?  Spanish rolls!  Amounts for this recipe depend totally on what is on hand and to taste, so no specifics are given.  Filling:  (with what was in my fridge) grated cheddar cheese, finely chopped hard-boiled eggs and olives with a clove of garlic (I used the food processor), enough bottled salsa to moisten (supplemented with a dash of sriracha), sliced scallions, a splash of olive oil, salt and pepper.  My handful of olives happened to have rosemary and thyme included, but any herbs, or none, would do.  Mix well and stuff into leftover dinner rolls (I had ten).  For dinner, I wrapped two in foil and heated in a 350-degree oven for 20 minutes until the cheese was melted.  The rest I bagged in plastic to go in the freezer.  Hot, spicy, satisfying, and a lot of space cleared in the fridge.

It was a good day.

The Only Child

In every group of multiples, there are times when a member wishes to be an "only child."  I snapped this "aww" moment last night and was thinking how cute it was that Celeste was hugging me.  Then I noted the smirk of satisfaction and realized she'd spread out so there was no room on my lap for Ralph or Bess.

Bessie hasn't been feeling so well lately, her normal routine abandoned and her food bowl untouched.  For the first time in days she asked for her early morning milk bone today and I was happy to give it.  She wanted the routine, but didn't really want the treat.  What to do?  If she just put it down, the cats might get it.  Bess wandered through the dark house, poking the treat in one crevice or another, then taking it back.  I caught her hiding it under the stuffed animals in her toy box, but she remembered that Ralph sometimes pulls out a toy to drag around.  Not safe there.  I keep my socks loose and handy in a basket by my desk.  Evidently Bessie Anne feels I am to be trusted because she brought the milk bone into the bedroom and buried it under my socks.  Another example of the Only Child Syndrome.