Getting Better

Far from cool, the temperatures did drop enough to notice yesterday; however, the humidity continued.  Being covered in a sheen of sweat is not my idea of fun, but as my neighbor says, "What're ya gonna do?"  It was a day to take care of piddly household chores and do a lot of watering.  Between the heat and then the loss of water, the poor plants had been sorely neglected.  I don't know if plants accept apologies, but I made a lot of them as I made my way along the deck.

September already.  Even though this summer seems to stretch on forever, we're in September and the year is slipping by.  The stores are putting out Halloween candy and decorations and the pumpkin patches down in the valley are advertising already.  (When did Hallowe'en lose its apostrophe, I wonder?)  There is a difference of opinion as to why the oaks are losing so many leaves now:  it could be because of the stress of the excessive heat or perhaps it is a premature fall.  I know for sure that I've got to blow the leaves off the deck soon if I have any hope of not being buried beyond hope.  Walking outside sounds like stepping on potato chips.

I wish there was a switch or button to turn off the goats' heat cycles when they're too old to breed.  In frustration, they get so cranky with each other.  Sheila gave poor Inga such a bash last night that it hurt me just to hear.  It's like PMS on steroids.  The one good thing is that it doesn't last too long.

I'm looking forward to the drop in temperature and the delta breeze that are promised for today.  Maybe I'll get something more than cleaning the litter box accomplished.  Or not.

Stump, etc.

Blue sky at dawn was the first I'd seen in days, but the smoke coming up from around Yosemite was lurking there behind the hills and the blue didn't last long.

Nature pulled a fast one.  The temperature dropped as promised, but the old gal upped the humidity to over 70% so yesterday wasn't any more comfortable.

Rats minus one in the morning.  They are such clever little beasties, I'm surprised they don't use bubble-wrap in the shed to make floaties when they go for a swim.  How lovely it was to have fresh water to wash out the pot.

Braveheart put in a very brief appearance yesterday, but even a glimpse was welcome.  I'll admit it, I am prejudiced in favor of mice.  Not in my house, of course.

At first, I didn't see Stump.  She wasn't at her regular post, but then I found her up in the shade.  She's no dummy.  Rhonda and Raymond were playing close by, but then, when Stump turned her back, that rascal Raymond made a dash to get a snack.  Stump called him to her, chastised him severely, and sent him to his room for a time-out.  Rhonda snickered like a goody-two-shoes.  Raymond was underground, so I couldn't hear his response to that.

The humidity was such that there were even a few raindrops on the windshield on my way to and from town, only enough to put polka-dots in the dust on the glass and only served to raise the humidity.

 I had to wait until Ralph was asleep in another room so I could change the sheets.  He has had such fun chasing wrinkles that he's put dozens of tiny rips in the top sheet.  I'm all for letting him have fun, but there are limits. 

My neighbor came by in the afternoon, wanting to borrow my cement mixer.  I told him he certainly could as I have no plans to use it, but it hasn't been run in many years.  I guess he took a look and decided against it, as it's just visible in the open shed.  Sigh.

There was still a touch of blue, as well as the haze, at sundown.

Saved!

What a relief it was to see Go-To's truck drive up shortly after I'd come back from the barn yesterday.  I had to almost physically turn off the whirling thoughts in my head the night before, thinking of all the possible high-dollar things that could have caused the loss of water; that way lies madness.  It took Go-To just a few minutes to assess the problem.  The dadratted, fershluggen ground squirrels had chewed through the wires from the pump to the tank.  He was surprised there weren't electrocuted bodies lying about (and I almost wished there were).  Go-To said it would be an "easy fix," so Mrs. GT and I went in the house to chat and let the man go about his work.

We'd been promised a few degrees cooler, but I couldn't tell any difference and the exposed wires were in direct sun.  Poor GT.  It took him close to an hour to repair and then enclose the wires in a metal conduit (take that, you blasted squirrels!).  The small furry beasts had chewed and enlarged the hole in the wall and had been wreaking havoc in the shed.  I'd swept out a ton of acorns (again) and picked up a bagful of insulation before GT got there.  He molded and stuffed chicken wire into and around the hole to stop the little buggers from getting in again.  After we'd concluded our business and I was walking them out to the truck, there was a loud yell from where he'd been working.  You didn't have to know the language to know that those were cuss words from one irate squirrel who had been denied access.  Hahaha!

Yes, 100 is less than 104, but it was still 90 in the house, another day to sit and read and I finished another book.  In addition to the heat, smoke from fires all over California made a thick haze in the sky, hard to see the hills to the south and hard to breathe.  Another reason to do nothing and I'm getting really good at that.

It was grand to turn a tap and have gushing water and be able to flush the toilet!  Go-To saved the day.

Clay Day

Clay was coming up!  As I do whenever company comes, I start thinking about what I can serve.  Especially if there's no time to go to the store, I have to consider what I have on hand.  Hmmm.  Chicken in one freezer, okay.  Marinara sauce in the other, that'll work.  I took those items out to thaw and put cans of green beans and sliced beets in the fridge to chill.  A menu was taking form.

My son from another mother, or my plus-one kid, rode up on a motorcycle I hadn't seen before, a Buell.  These boys and their toys.  Clay and I never seem to run out of things to talk about, and yesterday was no exception.  NASCAR didn't start until 3, so we watched an old, B-grade Bruce Lee movie with terrible dubbing.  Clay had been a big Bruce Lee fan as a kid and then had been more interested in the martial arts than film quality, but he had to laugh along with me at this one.

Before the race at Darlington started, I was able to introduce Clay to Stump.  Evidently things were quiet in the woods because she was back, immobile as usual.  My driver, Clint Bowyer, had bad luck and his engine blew at lap 21, so I had no trouble going to the kitchen to fix dinner.  I pounded the chicken breasts flat, then breaded them with well-seasoned flour and egg wash and browned them well.  They went into a baking dish to be topped with Parmesan cheese and the marinara and put into the oven to finish.  Beets and beans were drained and mixed together with tarragon, basil, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar for a cold salad of sorts.  I was happy when Clay gave the meal a thumb up.  I think it made up for not having a/c.

The race finished about sundown, so Clay went down with me to put the girls to bed.  All was well until I stopped to top off the water trough.  What had been a perfect day came to a terrible finish when I realized there was no more water coming from the hose.  I mean, not one drop.  Aarrgh!  It's bad when the power goes out, but there is nothing worse than not having water.  Clay and I said our goodbyes and I went in to make a call to Go-To Guy.  It was after hours on a Sunday on a long, hot holiday weekend, but I left a message anyway and hoped for the best.  Bless his heart, GT and his wife called back in a few minutes and arranged to come out this morning.

I always keep bottled water on hand and so was able to make coffee today to put in the new mug Clay brought me from the race at Pocono.  Fingers crossed for the day.

Farview Mysteries

Braveheart, the single mouse in the milking room, plucked up his courage and made a fast dash across the wide open space.  I mentally cheered as if the quarterback had made a touchdown.  The question is, to where and why did the tribes leave?  They were there...and then they weren't.  Why just this one mouse now?  Is he a leftover from the big colonies, or is he a scout for a new bunch?  I wonder about these things.

Ninety-six in the house and little to no breeze outside, but we went out on the deck anyway.  I can sweat in one place as well as another and I wanted to soak Bessie down.  She suffers from the heat, too.  Stump was at her post, stationary as usual, and then her attitude changed.  Her head went forward and she stared intently down toward one spot in the woods.  Suddenly she began a frantic chittering, certainly not the monotonous, continuous yip warning that Shaddup gives.  Stump was in a panic.  She made a quick run toward the fence line, stopped, gave that chittering cry again, dashed back toward her post, continuing to sound the alarm and looking in the same direction.  What in the world did she see?  I could find no motion in the weeds or under the trees, but her instincts and eyesight are better than mine.  I continued to look, but saw nothing but a few turkeys under the oak and they didn't seem to be afraid.  Stump had run a short way away, but then came back and ducked down to join Rhonda and Raymond.  Another of the Farview mysteries.

Speaking of mysteries, I spent the day reading one by Nelson DeMille, "Plum Island."  I've read and enjoyed a number of his books, but not for quite awhile.  There was a line in "Plum Island" that I particularly liked; it is so apropos to my life.  I may not have it quite right, but it goes something like "The trouble with doing nothing is not knowing when it's finished."  (Made me laugh!)  So I get up and do it all over again.

The excessive heat and poor air quality continue to be oppressive.  We're promised a break, maybe tomorrow, but not today.  Today I'll do nothing again, but I won't be doing it alone.  Clay is coming up!  He said we can watch NASCAR and sweat together.  The man is a glutton for punishment.

Revision

If Noel Coward had lived here, he would have revised the line in his song to read, "Mad dogs, Englishmen, and baby squirrels go out in the midday sun."  Okay, it wasn't quite midday, but it was 100 degrees, and it was in the shade of the oak, not out in the sun, but baby squirrels were rampant.  There was enough of a breeze to make the deck more appealing than the living room after barn chores so Bess and I took our accustomed places outside.  It must have been recess for the ground squirrel kindergartners as they were out in numbers.  Stump was the only grownup in sight.  I don't know whether she was the teacher, the nanny, or simply the only responsible adult in the tribe, but she takes her job seriously.  Regardless of the heat, the kidlets chased each other up and down the tree, stopped to grab a snack, then played a rousing game of tag.  It made me tired just to watch.

Down in the barn earlier, I saw the first mouse I've seen in ages.  He poked his nose out of one hole, then another, but wasn't brave enough to come all the way out.  I know how it sounds, but it made me happy and not quite so lonesome.

Tired of binge-watching reruns of cop shows, I reverted to an old friend, a book.  Camille had loaned me a book she'd enjoyed, but I didn't want to start it until I finished one I'd begun some time back and set aside.  Stephen King sucked me in for the rest of the day (and well into the evening) with his book of short stories, "A Bazaar Of Bad Dreams."  At one point during the day it was 104 outside and 95 in the house, and reading was all I could manage.  When King is good, he is very, very good, and he can scare the socks off ya.

Late in the afternoon, we went outside again.  All the little ones were, I suppose, napping, but Stump was once again on guard duty.  She is such a good mama.

The sun tried hard, but could only glow through the pall of smoke from numerous wildfires in the valley when I went out to put the girls to bed.  It never cooled off all night.

Something Different

We must have been the first delivery of the day for Patrick.  He'd come and gone by the time I was ready to go to work.  It's always nice to see the cupboard stocked with supplies and know the girls won't go hungry.

Either the rats have been taking swimming lessons or perhaps they've put a lifeguard on duty because I haven't found another floater for some time (just as well).

Squadrons of dragonflies hovered over the goat pen like tiny drones.  Among the many pesky bugs there are, dragonflies seem a friendly kind of insect.

I generally use two wipes each to clean the girls' udder before milking.  While wiping with one, I keep the other wadded up in my other hand; in winter this is to try to warm it up so as not to shock the girl, and in summer it's to keep it from drying out before it's used.  It pays to work fast.

Sitting out on the deck during my after-milking break, I was watching the wildlife under the oak.  Several large tom turkeys were having a late breakfast when I noticed they weren't just scratching for feed.  Stump, Rhonda and Raymond were also at the buffet and the turkeys were kicking them out of the way!  That's not a sight one sees every day.

Just for something different to do, I met Camille at the Senior Center just down the road for lunch.  One, salmon was on the menu and (2) the hall was air conditioned.  Camille goes quite often, and we sat with four gentlemen who were obviously regulars, two of whom barely spoke and two who were more than happy to have a new audience for their comedy routine.  I laughed all  the way through the meal (which was very good).

Cam went off to do errands, but came by afterwards.  We took our regulation places on the deck, hoping for a breeze that never came.  Stump was on sentinel duty, sitting upright like a statue.  Rhonda and Raymond must have been napping, and Stump had a watchful eye for predators.

It was a good day.