Timberrrr!

Tree Guy and Son came about noon yesterday.  They decided they'd rather work with the goats out of the barn, just in case.  The goats preferred that, too, especially since there was newly fallen browse to munch and chain saws and oil cans to inspect and gloves to pull out of pockets and shirts to tug.  Later, there were mountains of cut rounds to climb and on which to play Queen of the Hill.  The gentlemen had estimated they could finish in a day.  Not.  In their defense, it really is a tough job, complicated by not being able to get their truck into the pen, not wanting to squoosh the barn, and having to work around all of the four-legged inspectors.  I, wise woman that I am, stayed outside the pen, allowing the men to exercise their vocabulary at will, and giving them one less thing to worry about.  These photos were taken early on during the job.  I was shooting blind due to the bright sun, so am pretty pleased that I caught the falling limb.  Limb is a misnomer, as it is as big around as a regular trunk.

Tree Guy had to make a run to get more gasoline (can we say, "Plan ahead"?).  On his return, the Mafia Boys were cruising the driveway, and Tree Guy was very excited.  "Oh, man!  And me without my shotgun!"  He went on to tell me how excellent the breast meat was (the legs being not worth eating), and how some other lady had actually asked him to shoot the turkeys on her land because they were eating her bird food.  Hint, hint.  Sorry, Charlie...that ain't happenin' here.  I did tell him that this particular flock were like pets now and that I'd really miss even one of the Boys.

I didn't get pictures at the end of the day, but there are huge piles of the twiggy stuff and mountains of cut rounds.  Two more of the "branches" to the left have been taken down, and a good portion of those remaining have been limbed.  TG and Son have formulated a plan to take down the rest that involves ropes and come-alongs and wedges and mauls.  Son No. Two is due to come today to pile up and burn all the twiggy stuff.  Since the girls will be out again, we'll have to be careful to avoid a barbecue.  I don't know when TG and No. One Son will be back; they didn't say. 

The forecast is for rain Friday night into Saturday, and then snow coming in on Sunday and Monday, possibly down to two-thousand feet.  That may put a hitch in the git-along.  But what do I know?

Tree Guy

Tree Guy showed up unexpectedly yesterday.  It seems he'd gone elk hunting over in Montana and that's why I've seen neither hide nor hair of him.  We all have our priorities.  (If I'd had one more intervening monetary crisis, there wouldn't be enough left for him in the piggy bank.)  He and son are coming today to take down the barn oak.  It's going to be a day of logistical problems.  I've got to get the girls fed, milked, and watered...and then back into the barn when Tree Guy shows up so they aren't underfoot and under falling branches, or out the open gate.  TG assures me it isn't going to take all that long.  I've seen arborists work before; focused, sure, and fast.  That old, old oak has been a part of my landscape for so long, it's going to seem very strange when it's missing. 

The Silkies have denuded their expanded pen of every green blade of grass and every seed in the new area, and they're scratching for more.  They seem very content in the Taj, and all three laid eggs yesterday.  We are still working on the bedtime routine, as they appear to prefer to be picked up rather than go in by themselves.  I truly don't mind, as it gives me the opportunity to snuggle their soft, fluffy, warm little bodies before tucking them in for the night.  I like to think they enjoy the cuddling, too. 

As for the big little girls, my morning routine is this:  go in the pen, throw down their breakfast scratch, open their little ramp door and they come tumbling out, open the people door and go in and check their pellets and water, see if anyone needs to go to sick call, come out and go about the rest of the chores for the day.  Yesterday when I came back out of the hen house, there amongst the chickens were two tom turkeys helping themselves before I'd even left the pen.  I'd already thrown down the bird seed for them under their oak.  I guess I'd want a change, too, if I had oatmeal every morning.  These ruffians were not afraid of me, and tried intimidation warnings to get the hens to give way.  It was pretty funny to see a little chicken fluff up and charge a turkey three or four times her size and stand her ground.  You go, girl!

Tradition

Candle flames of red and gold...the pistache trees are in their full fall blazing glory along the road into town.  Rounding a corner and seeing one of these spectacular trees almost takes your breath away.  After wearing the dull, drab browns of summer, Nature seems to be putting on her finery in preparation for the holidays...russets, gold and topaz, green velvet on the ground.  The frost and snow diamonds won't be brought out until closer to Christmas. 

It's almost a joke...the menu never changes for Thanksgiving dinner in our house (although we move the date around at will).  My Kids are traditionalists, down to the last detail.  The bread for stuffing has to be torn by hand into pieces "just this big."  (I make a lot of stuffing...six or eight loaves' worth.)  One year time was short and Steve suggested cutting the bread into cubes...a lot faster.  I told him the Kids wouldn't like that, and his reply was, "They'll never notice."  As the bowl was passed around the table, one said, "You didn't tear this bread, did you?  You cut this bread!"  I just looked at Steve.  That was the same year I served a frozen pumpkin pie instead of making it from scratch.  That also got a less than favorable response.  There are always three kinds of cranberry sauce, potatoes and a couple of gallons of gravy.  A fruit and nut laden Jello salad that my mother always served and called Christmas salad...always served at Thanksgiving and never at Christmas (?).  New Orleans Bourbon yams, and the omnipresent green bean casserole.  I see no sense in cooking a little turkey, and it took some effort for the counterman to find a twenty-three-and-a-half pound turkey for me yesterday.  This is one meal from which I want lots of leftovers!  Hearkening back to the days of little money and even less experience, the bread rolls are the brown-and-serve variety.  One year I made fresh rolls, and got asked, "But where are our Thanksgiving rolls?"  I was discussing this with one of my sons recently and he said, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."  As Tevye in Fiddler On The Roof says, "Tradition!"

Hope They're Wrong

We've had a stretch of really gorgeous weather...bright, sunny days and crisp, cold nights.  It was a perfect day to install the Taj yesterday and work outdoors.  Craig is waiting until there are more hands this coming weekend to take the little house off its wheels and place it on permanent pier blocks.  "The best laid plans of mice and men oft gang astray," said Robert Burns, and in this case it could be due to the weather.  The prognosticators are predicting rain.  That certainly will not put a crimp in our Thanksgiving festivities, but a whole group using the Silkies' pen as a slip and slide in the rain could result in some smashed fingers and a lot of unexpected showers and laundry. 

There is a certain amount of pressure as the holidays approach and I always find myself running behind schedule, but there is a lovely sense of anticipation:  planning menus, decorations (sometimes I do, sometimes I don't), arranging for those who might stay over (the house can sleep fifteen friendly people).  I even get past my loathing of dusting to get the house ready.  Today is go-to-town-and-shop day for the traditional fare.  I love the smell of those special holiday dishes, and the sound of laughter whenever my family gathers.  A little rain isn't going to dampen that.

The Taj Arrives!

Deb and Craig made an unexpected run up yesterday, bringing...The Taj!  Nearing dark, unloading was left until this morning, so I had the opportunity to enjoy their company last evening.  Everyone was up well before dawn, awaiting the great unveiling.  Craig and Deb had anticipated the logistical problems of getting this really big building from the truck in the drive to the pen behind the feed barn and, other than the thing was heavier than an elephant, the move went without a hitch, thanks to the temporary undercarriage with wheels.  They performed a total remodel of the Silkie pen, doubling the size and covering over the new area with reinforcements and chicken wire to protect against marauding hawks.  A cadre of small, nosy inspectors accompanied their every move, following every foot step.  Each shovelful of dirt was checked, rechecked, and sometimes scratched back where it came from if it didn't meet the free-ranging hens' approval.  For their own safety, the Silkies were kept in their new accommodations while the pen was expanded, and that gave them a chance to check out the privacy cubby for egg laying and "bounce on the bed," as it were...hopping up to their night roost.  From that vantage point they can look out of the shuttered windows, each with a magnet to keep it closed in inclement weather.  The door drops down to create a ramp for easy access.  The solar-powered fan provides fresh air.  Walls, floor and ceiling are double-walled and insulated.  It has a shingled roof, and the walls are painted in complimentary shades of brown and grey.  One would never know this was Craig's first attempt at design and construction; it is nothing short of perfection.  Deb is a terrific collaborator and helpmate.  I saw the photos of this team in action during the building process...the definitive word for this couple is "team."  The shots below show The Grand Opening this morning when Deb and Craig let the little girls out into their new yard for the first time.  I went out to check on them this afternoon.  They asked not to be interrupted as they scratched and pecked in their playground, and just to show how comfortable they are in the new digs, there was an egg in the cubby! 

By the Way

By the way is exactly where I did not want to get left...so when I was told after getting the oil changed in the truck that the battery had tested bad ("Bad battery!  Bad, bad, bad!"), I went immediately to get a replacement.  I've been stuck in out of the way places before...even home is an out of the way place...with a dead battery.  It's not fun, and I was glad of the opportunity to be proactive for a change.  I had thought a two o'clock appointment would get me home well before dark, but everything takes longer than one expects or plans, so I was racing sundown on the way back.  The hens, even the Silkies, had already gone into their coops for the night when I parked and dashed to tuck them in.  They didn't get their nightie-night treat, and I felt like a bad mommy, sending the kids to bed without supper.  I anticipated problems getting the goats to go into a darkened barn.  Nineteen was too busy trying futilely to ride the girls bareback to notice the time, and the girls were whimpering, anxious to get inside (and get away), so it all went much better than I'd thought. 

By the way, I was also told the front brakes were bad...naughty, naughty truck.

Doubletake Times Two

I had to take a second look at that flock of large dark birds gathered at the end of the driveway loop yesterday.  That's where the toms congregate before their stroll up the hill for breakfast, but something wasn't quite right.  It's just not often one sees a group of pedestrian vultures...soaring on the thermals, perched on fenceposts, dining on roadkill...not walking along the drive in the early morning sun.  Were they on an undercover mission, disguised as turkeys?  To what purpose?  I do not want to look past the monitor and see one of those guys staring in the window!

Dawn temperatures are in the low thirties and Joel's tomato plants are showing signs of frostbite.  I was invited over yesterday afternoon to gather some "ruined" tomatoes for the little girls before the garden goes under for the winter.  We got to laughing when I did a doubletake and discovered some tomatillos hiding amongst the tomato vines.  Plant one tomatillo and you will have them for life!  That's not necessarily a bad thing, but should one decide enough is enough, it takes eons to eradicate the plants.  They are dedicated to propagation and throw up volunteers year after year after year.  I think this is the third or fourth season since Joel pulled up the last one he actually planted.  Having gone through this myself, I think it's pretty funny.