Feeling The Chill

Celeste evidently took "Pig In A Blanket" quite literally.  Instead of a sausage wrapped in dough, she tucked one of the orphan piglets in a towel bath mat to warm it up yesterday.  Living in this house is like opening a surprise package every day; I never know what I'm going to find.

There was an unpleasant surprise in the barn.  As I went to lift down the grain bucket in the morning, a rat!, not a mouse, a humongous rat, the biggest rat I've ever seen, jumped off the lid and ran off along the beams.  I admit to prejudice.  I am very fond of mice, but wild rats are a different ball of wax.  They are creepy and distasteful, and a creature I can do without.  Camille said this one probably came up from her place (she's been plagued with them).  If so, I'm going to counter-attack and send squads of ground squirrels down to her.

Project DIN continues to move ahead, perhaps not at the pace of the day before.  The days have been lovely, but there is a definite chill in the air day and night and I took advantage of having to nurse Stove along to sit down for a bit.  Exertion takes its toll.  While not warm, there was sun enough to dry the comforter I'd washed.  I switched over to fleece sheets yesterday and they are so comfy I didn't need to put the comforter back on the bed last night.

I hear Celeste moving another orphan somewhere.  Keeping them warm is one thing.  I hope she doesn't decide they need a bath.  I can imagine where I'd find a toy floating and it's not a pleasant thought.

Project Do It Now

Project Do It Now got underway yesterday.  In all honesty, it should be called Project Catch Up, but I'm trying to be optimistic.  One item ticked off the list was to drag out all the tiny toys that Ralph had batted under the chest in the entryway.  I wonder if he yells, "Score!," in his mind when one crosses the goal line.  Celeste was horrified to see all these orphan babies and began rearranging them and carrying them to safety, crooning all the while.  She, too, has her work cut out.

Another thing I should have done in more timely fashion was to post a photo of the live Christmas wreath Lorraine brought as a hostess gift on Thanksgiving.  Putting up the Christmas tree is definitely on the list, but just in case, I do have something to show the holiday spirit.  (I put the Halloween decorations away yesterday.  Check.)

I'm not going to list all the chores accomplished (bor-ing!).  Suffice it to say that my pedometer recorded that I walked half a mile without leaving the house.  Camille had called to say that salmon would be served for lunch at the Senior Center, but I declined because I didn't want to break the momentum.  She cut a deal, however, and brought me one of the to-go lunches in trade for a packet of turkey leftovers.  Baked salmon with aioli, wild rice, cooked spinach, and grapes for dessert made for a delicious early dinner.  Six days of turkey and I thought I'd sprout feathers.

Like the sunset, I can't say yesterday ended in a blaze of glory, but I definitely have a glow of satisfaction.

It was a good day.

Resolution

I'm making an early New Year's resolution today to stop procrastinating.  I could put it off until January 1, but that would be typical.  I'm very good at making excuses.  I even have some stored up for situations that haven't happened yet.  I can give excuses to friends for their problems.  I'm darned near a pro at it.  There comes a time, however, when there is a realization that things have gotten out of hand and thinking, "I'll do that tomorrow," (or the next day, or the next) just isn't working.  I can't promise to dust every day, but wish me luck.

After 24 hours and close to, or over, two inches of rain, the sun was so welcome yesterday.  Even a quick (now that's a relative term) trip to town wasn't so onerous, but I took time to sit outside with Bessie to revel in the warmth before leaving.  One task I'd put off before Thanksgiving was to blow the latest downfall of leaves off the deck.  I even had the blower charged up.  Of course that didn't get done in time, either.  Having to slog through piles of sodden leaves was part of what led to my resolution.  We're promised a few days of good weather and hopefully the leaves will dry out.  Note to self:  blow leaves off the deck as soon as possible.

Just after putting the girls to bed last evening, the neighbors' big dogs came roaring up to the fence; their timing was off if they'd wanted to scare the goats.  Surprisingly, the dogs were followed by a young family of five, the neighbors whom I'd never met.  We made introductions (the only name I remember, of course, is the one dog named Zeus).  They apologized for their animals and I explained that I knew the dogs were doing their job, but that they terrified the girls.  They understood.  Bess and the big dogs went nose to nose through the fence and seemed to make friends.  One can hope.

That glorious burst at sundown put an exclamation point on the day.

My Hat's Off

When I was growing up, there were strict, unwritten codes of dress for women, and they also applied to girls of all ages. I do appreciate that such codes have been relaxed now.  Back in the day, one did not wear white shoes before this holiday (possibly Memorial Day), nor after that one (I think Labor Day).  Unless you were Katharine Hepburn, women didn't wear trousers, at least in public.  I think my mother owned one pair of slacks in her life.  She despaired of her tomboy daughter who had to be bribed to put on a dress.  Girls were not allowed to come to school in pants or shorts.  I was sent home on the last day of my sophomore class because I'd brazenly worn a pair.  Gloves were de rigueur and white gloves were to be worn only once and then washed.  Hats were obligatory and not just for church.  Now hats were something I could get behind, and I never quite got over it.

I've always indulged my love of hats, and can still remember favorites from over the years.  I have hats stacked on hats in the entry hall.  For a period of time, I wore nothing but cowboy hats: straw, felt, casual, and formal, decorated and plain.  There are all-weather straw Shady Bradys and cool-weather felts.  My favorite, but rarely worn, is an honest-to-God Stetson given to me by Dave years back.  I don't remember my dad without a hat on, and he always said Stetsons were the ultimate best (although his were never westerns).  I've never worn mine much out of respect and for fear of damaging it, but have always been proud to own a Stetson.

For a period of time I was a member of the Red Hat Society and have any number of festive red hats for our outings.  Deb gave me the most elegant red hat of all in the only hat box I've ever owned.  Unfortunately, now those hats only gather dust.

On the coat rack, there are winter beanies and that silly pig hat that is such a comfort on cold days in the barn.  There is the greatest hard hat with lights that Craig made for any nighttime venture out of doors.  The "got milk?" ball cap is my go-to on rainy days, and there is a straw western with a huge brim that I used to wear for shade when I was gardening.  There is a black Michael Jackson-style felt that I could wear if I want to get down and boogie.

On the rack in the laundry room, there is an Indiana Jones fedora that I adore, as well as a Davy Crockett racoon cap (I've got two of those), and the oh-so-silly chicken and pig hats.  What can I say?  I just love hats.

I just don't wear hats much anymore.  Sigh.

Wandering Mind

I had the advantage of a rather unstructured childhood.  Oh, I had dance classes, music classes, Blue Birds (because I was too young to get into Brownies) and Girl Scouts, and the occasional play date arranged by my mother because she felt bad that I was an only child.  (What she didn't realize was that I liked being an "only.")  Even with all these activities, I had plenty of time to do nothing, to lie on my belly in the grass and watch ants or on my back watching clouds.  I could play games of my own devise and act all the parts in stories I made up.  In other words, I could let my mind wander (and wonder) at will.  My train of thought travels far and wide and takes me to wild and wonderful places.

This morning, perhaps because of our recent holiday, I boarded the train with stops on things for which I am thankful, beginning with toilet paper (don't ask).  That led to indoor plumbing (which my parents grew up without) and then to automatic washing machines.  When the first three of my Kids were babies, their diapers were long strips of flannel that had to be washed.  All I had was a wringer washing machine that had to be filled and emptied by hand.  Mother had told me that good mothers rinsed diapers five times, put through the wringer each time before hanging on the line, and so that was what I did for years.  Can you imagine the time that took on a daily basis?  I remember my joy when Larry was born; by then commercial sewn-cloth diapers were available and my dad bought me an automatic washing machine.  Ta da!  I didn't have a dryer until the fourth Kid, and when it was raining, all those diapers festooned inside the house.  Add dryers to the list.

I'm thankful for garbage disposals, even though now if my disposal had to live on what I feed it, it would starve to death because of being on a septic tank and because most scraps go to the (then) chickens and now turkeys.  It was my job as a kid to take the day's garbage out to the can at the road after dinner.  I'll admit I was afraid of the dark.  We lived in a semi-rural area and the house wasn't close to the road.  My wandering mind imagined all sorts of lurking dangers as I walked as slowly as possible out to the garbage can and ran back to the house as fast as I could, thankful for the safety of the front porch.

The train veered from the past into the present day.  Having grown up in a world without such things, I appreciate television, wireless telephones and cellphones, computers.  In addition to many, many material items, I'm thankful to live in such lovely surroundings with time to just enjoy the sights and to have my animals, indoors and out.

This was sunrise yesterday morning.  How could one not be thankful for such a glorious sight.  Even though it's not yet raining, the wind is howling in the dark this morning and I doubt there will be such a vision today.  I'm calculating how many days' worth of firewood there is on the porch.

There are worse things to have than a wandering mind, especially when it takes you to all the good things in life..

Deep Breaths

After the flurry of activity the day before, yesterday was a day off.  Thanks to my Kids, all I really needed to do was put away the dishes, pots and pans, etc., that they had so kindly washed.  Cam stopped by to pick up the turkey carcass for the stock she makes for winter soups.  She had all the dogs with her and they got out of the truck to say hello to Bessie.  We got to laughing as all the dogs went through the ritual pee parade that dogs seem to enjoy so much.  Buddy stayed in the truck, but Honey, Sammi, and Bess followed one another around the front yard, each stopping to leave a scent mark in the same spot.  One wonders how they never run out and how they have such control.

The girls had not eaten all their alfalfa and deer had come in the night to enjoy the leftovers.  I can always tell when we've had visitors.  Goats are straightforward munchers, but deer eat in a swirling pattern and there were circular divots in the feed pile.

The turkeys also enjoyed the leftovers from Thanksgiving prep; trimmings from celery, apples, some soft cranberries, and bits of dinner rolls.  It would not be kind to put out turkey scraps.

It was a day to take deep breaths and make the most of the lovely weather, especially since we're due for several days of rain this weekend.  The realization that Christmas is the next holiday hit hard.  Good grief, it took me long enough to put out a few Halloween decorations (which, by the way, are still up).  Somehow, the subject had come up on Thursday and Deb suggested that everyone could help put up the Christmas tree.  Since that is a time-consuming task and Thanksgiving is devoted to poker and dinner, I nixed that offer.  Lorraine had given me a beautiful, fresh Christmas wreath for the front door, so I've already got a head start.  The tree will either get put up, or it won't.

Beyond Thankful

Yikes!  Dave, Lorraine, and Jester drove up about three hours early, right after I got back to the house, so of course I was caught with my dusting down.  It makes no sense to shower and change before going to the barn, so I didn't even have time to spiff up a bit as I'd planned.  Oh well.  My Kids are a forgiving bunch.

Deb, Craig, and Pete arrived soon.  Many hands make light work, and yesterday was proof of that.  My job is pretty much over when the turkey goes in the oven.  Deb and Lorraine helped ready the side dishes, and Craig is the official baster.  Dave is the traditional carver of turkeys, and Clay took Larry's place as sous chef and taster.  Yes, that's a mountain of sliced turkey.

There is that wonderful moment for any cook when guests begin to eat and suddenly all are silent and she knows they are savoring those first bites.  I mentioned that I've cooked the same Thanksgiving meal for over fifty years and suggested it might be time for a change.  "Gasp!  Why?!  Why would you do that?"  I guess Thanksgiving is not the time to try something new.  We did forego pumpkin pie in favor of pecan pie to celebrate Craig's birthday.

There was the traditional poker game before and after dinner (I won!).  The Kids doled out leftovers for everyone and then cleaned up the kitchen while I sat like the Queen of Sheba and stayed out of the way of the worker bees.

We were all conscious of the missing faces at the table, with Larry in Hawaii and Jake in Saudi Arabia.  Deb and Craig had made this sign and we sent this photo to the guys.  (Ain't technology grand?)  I asked Deb, "When did I get so short?"  "Mom, you've always been short."

Slowly, the group left in twos and threes, and Clay and Pete stayed for conversation for awhile.  Then the house was quiet, Celeste came out of hiding, and I was left to reflect on just how thankful I am for family and friends...beyond thankful, truly.

Hurry, Hurry

Since I'm running so late with everything that needs to be done today, I might as well start at the end so I'm ahead on at least one thing.  Sunset last night was lovely.  All I needed to do was put the bowl into the barrel and the little mice climbed right in.  Boy, they learned fast.

Ralph is being mean to Celeste.  She brought the one baby remaining in the bedroom out to join the others, and she'd no more than put it down when Ralph pounced on it and threw it downstairs.  This offended her no end.  She went down and got it (in this case it was a toy mouse), put it safely next to the others, and then turned and boxed Ralph's ears.  I imagine Deb can relate to the trials and tribulations of having a younger brother.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  I need to get the turkey in the oven.

It Never Ends

"A man may work from dusk to dawn, but woman's work is never done."  If you doubt this, ask Celeste.  All these babies must be transported, one at a time, back and forth up and down the hall.  I don't know why she does this, and I'm not sure she does, either.  It's a self-appointed task and she takes it seriously.  One of these days, or nights, she will carry them all back to the bedroom, crooning or crying all the way.

A night bird, not an owl, has taken to hunting the property recently.  This bird has a particularly irritating call, similar to a squeaky rocking chair, and it makes this sound continuously.  After a while of listening to it, it begins to grate like fingernails on a chalkboard.  It's outside the bedroom window now.  I do not understand how the nighttime hunters ever catch anything when they constantly announce their presence.  Most self-respecting squirrels are underground anyhow.

A cat, either a neighbor's or a feral, has been hanging out in the big pen in the morning.  The girls are sure it is a lion and snort and stamp and cluster together.  There's no convincing them that the kitty is no danger.  Their instincts tell them different.  I'm just glad that Bessie's eyesight is so poor now.  She lets Celeste and Ralph snuggle up and rub all over her, but strange cats are not to be tolerated.

The night bird is squawking and Celeste is bringing a baby to the bedroom.  It never ends.

Mouse Whisperer

Goat chow is kept in the barn in a big, blue industrial barrel with a lid.  It has taken years, but mice have finally chewed a small hole up at the rim for access.  The girls get a nighty-night treat of a few mouthfuls of grain as an incentive to go in their stalls.  For some time now, almost every evening I find two or three (or more) mice in the barrel.  Once in, they can't get out again.  At first when I'd lift the lid, the mice would become hysterical and race around and around like it was a hippodrome.  Not about to try to catch them with my hands, with great effort and many misses, I'd scoop them up one at a time in a feed bowl and fling them out to freedom.  (The Flying Wallendas fly again!)  One thing is certain, mice are not stupid. The past few nights, I lift the lid, there are the mice, and I reach in with the bowl.  Surprisingly, the little creatures do not panic anymore.  They do not run around, but wait for the elevator to arrive, then actually climb into the bowl for a ride to the top.  On their own, they've evidently decided I mean them no harm.  I guess I can add Mouse Whisperer to my resume.  There probably won't be a big demand for my services, but it's always nice to expand one's repertoire.

Rain came again in the afternoon. 

At Last

A large breakfast crowd had gathered when I walked out the door (tap the picture to enlarge), muttering to themselves and ruffling their feathers.  Monarchs could not have marched more regally than the strutting toms toward the feeding station.  The hens, however, broke ranks when I threw down the seed and rushed to get there first.  It's quite a way to start the day.  One thing is for sure:  I dasn't run out of birdseed.

It seemed very strange to be walking down to the barn without a bucket yesterday.  Sheila has been giving not more than a couple of cups of milk a day and it is time to let her dry up.  I'll milk her maybe every other day for a week or so to help that process.  But, as I said, after all these years, not having a bucket and really working in the morning was very different.

Determined to make some advance toward the holiday, the kitchen seemed the most likely place to begin.  Groceries were sorted and a collection station was set up in the round room for Thursday's meal.  It helps to have everything in one place.  Progress was somewhat slowed by the Vikings vs. Rams football game, as well as the NASCAR race, and I went from kitchen to chair to catch up on scores and placements.  I'd made significant inroads on the kitchen when Pete called and said he'd like to come up, and had finished by the time he got here.  He tried to suppress a shudder when I offered him Limburger cheese or liverwurst; like I said, scarred for life.  Pete is neither a football nor race car fan, but he was tolerant when I'd periodically check on both.  (The Vikings kicked butt!)

Celeste has her babies on the move again.  I hear one being brought down the hall now, and I stepped on baby bear this morning.  An owl is hooting just outside in the dark.  These are the sounds of Farview in the morning.

What with some progress at last and a good visit with my Kid, it was a good day.

Almost Pleasant

I girded my loins (whatever that means) and bit the bullet and reluctantly drove to town.  Not just town, but down to Cameron Park!  The day was mild, traffic was light, and the hills were punctuated with pools of gold and spires of red.  Most of the potholes had been filled so I wasn't constantly swerving.  Winding, hilly Bucks Bar can be a beautiful drive when conditions are right.

I anticipated a grim crowd of tense customers fighting over turkeys and cranberries at the store.  (When it comes to shopping, I always anticipate the worst.)  I wonder if the store hadn't put something in the air conditioner, because, while there was a pre-holiday crowd, there were smiling faces and an exchange of pleasantries everywhere.  The nice man at the counter went in the back and found a 23-pound turkey for me.  It's my theory that it's too much work to roast a dinky 12-pounder.  Half the fun of Thanksgiving dinner is doling out leftovers, keeping plenty for self.  Imagine my surprise when I found I was actually having a good time.  And best of all, the store had not only liverwurst, but Limburger cheese!  I haven't been able to find that stinky, stinky cheese for years, and I love it.  Back when the Kids were small and I wanted a little peace and quiet, I would open a package of Limburger and the house would immediately empty.  I probably scarred the Kids for life.

I've made the same Thanksgiving menu for probably fifty years (don't mess with success).  While I took the precaution of making a list, I could probably shop for ingredients in my sleep.  I was in and out of the store in next to no time and was home well before the witching hour (4:30).

By sundown, bags and bags of food had been unloaded from the truck (you don't want to see my kitchen counters at the moment), I'd had a bit of a sit-down, and was ready to put the girls to bed.  As much as I detest shopping, I'd have to say that my outing yesterday was almost pleasurable.

Slowly, Slowly

It would be preferable to have steady, if slow, progress toward the holiday instead of the fits and starts I'm experiencing.  Ah, well, at least I'm moving forward, even at a snail's pace..

It was a lovely, crisp fall morning and the goat pen is entirely carpeted in green once again.  Those barely visible patches of grass are now about three inches tall and growing.  The weather was so nice that I was able to take more time and do a better job of cleaning the stalls.  Another couple of dewy mornings and the girls' hooves will be soft enough for a pedicure.

I received a surprise call from another brother-in-law yesterday with an invitation to meet for an early dinner at Poor Red's.  This is the same BIL who had advised me not to get a milk cow when I started talking livestock because I'd be so tied down to the animal's routine.  Well, I didn't get a cow, but I know he understood when I had to reluctantly refuse the invitation because the girls' bedtime is so early these days.  I'd gotten a late start getting ready to go shopping and had to postpone the trip because I couldn't have made it back by 4:30.  Be advised:  goats will put a crimp in your social life.

All of Celeste's foster babies have been transported from the bedroom back to the living room, one at a time and loudly.  As I don't walk around the living room with bare feet, I won't be stepping on a little furry body in the dark for awhile. 

Progress Report

The thing about a progress report is that there should have been some progress made, or at least have a good excuse ready.  I have neither.

It poured rain all day.  Once again I appreciated that ridiculous piggy hat with ear flaps that kept my head dry during barn chores.  I left the big room open for the girls.  Between the rain and the wind, the play yard was wet and they would have been miserable instead of just cranky.

Back at the house, I got Stove cranked up, changed to a dry jacket, and sat down to warm up.  Just the act of sitting down is an invitation to Celeste.  She jumped into my lap; I was doomed and we spent the day napping off and on.

I hope to have a better report tomorrow.

Why, Celeste?

Sometimes Celeste does it in the daytime, but mostly at night after lights out, and I don't know why.  She wanders up and down the hall with one or another of the smallest soft toys like the bald hamster in her mouth, plaintively meowing the whole time.  Celeste has not had nor will ever have kittens, but it's as if she considers them babies.  At first I thought she was perhaps mourning over them, but now I wonder if she's singing to them as she carefully puts the little one in a safe place.  Ralph pounces on the toys, throws them in the air, and claws with his hind feet as if to disembowel the creature.  That is not Celeste's way.  Is some mothering instinct going on?  As I do so often with the animals, I wonder why.

It rained off and on most of yesterday.  I took advantage of a dry spell to bring more wood to the porch.  This isn't a particularly cold storm, but the dampness seeps into the house.  Thanks to Clay, there is a nice mix of oak and cedar to keep Stove happy.  I got a pretty good start on the glassware once Stove got going.  There are dozens of wine glasses to be washed.  Camille asked why so many when we are not a wine-drinking family (usually only at Thanksgiving).  There is no good answer.  It probably goes back to my theory that if one is good, more is better.  Steve built a long sideboard in the dining room, and that doesn't count all the glasses in the liquor armoire.  (I'm not going to mention the six or so complete sets of dishes in the other cupboard.  Steve used to call me the Imelda Marcos of dishes.)

The brunt of the storm hit after dark and the girls were tucked away in the barn.  The bedroom is on the south end of the house and, as I've said before, it's like being on the prow of a ship with the wind howling and rain banging on the windows.  I am so very glad I got the covers up on the barn in time.

It is still dark this morning and Celeste is coming down the hall with her mouth full...again.  Why, Celeste?

Ole!

Mexican food has become an anniversary tradition for me.  It began because Steve had asked me what I'd like, and I said Chinese, but then changed my mind because I knew he liked Mexican better.  I've gone with friends and I've gone alone, but I go out for a Mexican lunch every November.  Cam accepted an impromptu invitation and we met at a restaurant new to me.  My benchmark for that cuisine is chile verde, and that which I enjoyed yesterday was excellent.  The problem with that system is, if the chile is not good, I don't go back, and if it is, that is all I ever order.  I once attended a week-long seminar out of town; on the second day I went to a Mexican restaurant.  Their chile verde was very good and I ended up returning for the same meal four days in a row.  You know you're in a rut when the waiter asks, "The usual?"

Another day of changing from work bibbies to go-to-town clothes and back again was wearing.  Just going to town is wearing, no matter how pleasurable the reason.  I spent what was left of the afternoon just fiddlefarting around.  That's a term my daddy used, and I learned in later years that it had, in fact, originated in east Texas, where he was from.  (I would really like to study lexicology.)

Today I need to knuckle down and start getting the house ready for company.  At last count, there were eight, possibly nine, coming up for Thanksgiving.  I'll leave the dusting for last.

Thirty-one Roses

The board covers got nailed up on the barn while the sun was shining in the morning, and that is a good thing because it was raining by nightfall.  There are big clear-plastic roof panels to let in light, so it isn't like going into a mole hole even at twilight.  The girls are such scaredy cats about going into a dark stall.

I had to make another trip to town.  Sigh.  The first stop was at the lab to have blood drawn.  The oncologist had sent four pages of tests she wanted done.  Good grief!  The phlebotomist was thrilled when she saw the veins in my arms.  After all these years of milking goats, the veins stand out like ropes.  The arteries were another matter.  It took her three tries and both arms to hit paydirt, and I kept reassuring her that it was okay, not to worry.  I needed to keep her calm and focused.  Six vials of blood later, I was released.  (So was she.)

A quick stop at one store, and then off to Home Depot.  There were plenty of people behind the counters, but not many helpers in the aisles.  I was on the hunt for a particular brand of rat trap that Camille had recommended.  From the postings by locals on FB, evidently rats are rampant this year as never before.  They've started coming into Cam's house, and I've got to get a handle on the situation in the feed barn before they think the welcome mat is out up here.

Mission accomplished, I headed off to Wally World with a list of just four things.  Imagine my horror when I heard on the radio that Thanksgiving is next week!  I knew that it was coming up soon; I just didn't think it was only a week away.  Aaarrgh!  There are just so many things to be found at WW, but I filled a cart with non-perishables.  At least it was a start.  It does, however, mean another trip to Cameron Park.

On our first anniversary, Steve gave me two red roses.  Why two?  One for the year past, and one for the year ahead.  From then on, I received roses for each year we'd been married, plus one.  He died just shy of our 18th.  Today, in my mind, I see thirty-one roses.

Off To The Races

There is only a week or two until the culmination of the NASCAR 2017 schedule with the final race of the season at Homestead, FL, so it was especially fun for me yesterday because Clay had gone to see the race at Phoenix and he essentially took me with him via texts and photos.  Gotta love technology.  For someone who grew up with 10-pound, black, rotary-dial telephones with woven material cords without a curl, these little pocket computers that do everything but fill your gas tank are a marvel.  I'm set adrift when NASCAR goes dark.  Not only do I count on a do-nothing day on the weekend, race day is one way I tell that it is the weekend.  Barn chores and feeding wildlife take no holiday.

This morning I need to put the covers back on the barn window openings.  I wait as long as possible before shutting off the girls' view of the world, but we're due for rain off and on this week and temperatures will be dropping.  There have been years when we'd get a spat of rain, followed by more heat, but that doesn't seem to be the case this year.  It is predicted to be a colder La Nina season.  I know that even on a sunny day, I needed Stove to take the chill from the house yesterday.

Bess seems to have undergone a transformation or rejuvenation of sorts.  For long months, she would not walk more than a few steps onto the slippery kitchen floor because her back legs would slip out from under her.  That all changed in a blink and now I find her behind me as I work at the sink or go out the kitchen door.  "Well, look at you, you brave girl!"

Faster than a speeding bullet, the holidays are coming at us.  I've got a major grocery list ready for Thanksgiving.  I just need to gird my loins to go shopping.  Aarrgh.

A Day To Remember

Armistice Day, renamed Veterans Day, is honored on November 11 to commemorate the peace treaty signed between the Allied Forces and Germany at the end of World War I in 1918.  That was supposed to be the "War To End All Wars."  Would that were so.

There is a difference between Veterans Day and Memorial Day, though both are days of remembrance for all servicemen and women.  So many of the men in my family served in one branch or another of the Armed Services over the years, beginning with my father in the Army and now with my grandson in the Air Force.  Actually, I could go back even farther on my mother's side to German immigrants who had left Germany to avoid whatever war they were fighting there and ended up being conscripted into the Army here to fight the Civil War.

At any rate, it was a beautiful morning to fly Old Glory and breathe a prayer of appreciation and for the safety of veterans, past and present, everywhere.

Turkey Trot

"Turk, turk, turk!"  And the race was on!  Turkeys came running from all directions.  They came in droves up from the woods.  They rushed past me from the front yard.  They were flying over the fence from my neighbor's pasture.  I kid you not, there were at least thirty at the feeding station and probably another thirty still straggling up the hill.  I tried to get a photo of this feathered horde. but dark birds in deep shadow...drat.  It's been ages since I've seen so many turkeys, males and females, together.  I'd thrown down the usual amount of birdseed, and I don't think it took five minutes for every last grain to be gone.  The rule is, no second helpings, sorry, Charlie and Charlotte.

 It was a bright, sunny morning with just a few puffy clouds in the sky.  A light breeze blew, certainly nothing like the strong winds of the past few days.  Feeding and milking went quickly because the girls were anxious to get outside and enjoy the day.  My milk customer has been out of town for a few weeks.  He's been a customer for a number of years, but I fear I'm going to have to disappoint him when he returns as Sheila is just about ready to close for business.  She's producing less and less milk these days.  I've always taken pride in the quality of the girls' product, and it would take so long to save up a gallon now that the milk would be old when he came for pick up.  Raw milk doesn't have a long shelf life, and I'd rather keep my good reputation.  Sheila and I are ready for retirement.

You know how it is when you get your mouth set for something?  I've been thinking about pumpkin cookies lately, and baking was the task I'd set for myself after barn chores.  (It's probably the fall weather that brought that on.)  Before I could get started, my friend Harold called with an invitation to meet for lunch.  Well, I wasn't about to turn that down.  I had just enough time to mix and bake a batch of cookies, and put a baker's dozen in a bag to take as a thank-you gift.  A bachelor, Harold cooks for himself, but baking isn't on his list of accomplishments. We met for fish and chips at The Pub and had a convivial visit.  While we talked, the sky darkened and then rain fell.  The morning had been so bright, I hadn't left the play yard open for the girls.  It didn't rain long, but they let me know I'd let them down when I got home.

A lunch out on the town and cookies for dinner.  It was a good day.

Never Gets Old

Bess and I stepped out on the deck yesterday morning.  I needed to put some recyclables in the bag and get something out of the freezer.  Turning to shut the door, it was I who froze at the sight of this buck and his lady on the slope to the woods, as well as a flock of turkeys close by.  I couldn't move fast enough to get my camera out, sure they'd take off into the trees.  I needn't have worried.  It was as if time stood still.  I took my photos and the deer didn't move.  Finally, I put the jars in the bag and opened the freezer.  They didn't move.  The turkeys wandered away, but the deer seemed content where they were.  Because of the bare branches, it's hard to see that the buck is a forked horn (two prongs to a side), even though that's a good-sized rack he's carrying.  Seeing wildlife here never gets old.  Finally, Bess and I went back into the house.  I checked back about fifteen minutes later; the deer were still there.  All in all, the pair stayed for nearly an hour.  They evidently took "make yourself at home" seriously.

There was enough rain overnight to show me where I needed to trench in front of the play yard.  It didn't seem nice to let the girls into a protected area with a river running through it.  Rain fell off and on throughout the day, but it never got below 50 so I didn't need to light a fire.

Time may have stopped while the deer and I watched each other, but it went into warp speed at sunset.  On my way down to the barn, the sun was the brightest it had been all day.

In the few minutes it took to get the girls into their rooms, that brilliant glow was just a memory and the clouds were pulling their blanket over the sky.

Wildlife and the ever-changing sky, they never get old.

Hold Off

Nature held off throwing a storm at us yesterday.  She threw a couple of test runs with some heavy gusts of wind during the day, and a smattering of rain on my way to town (aargh), but she wasn't serious.  I brought several wagon loads of wood up to the porch in case she changed her mind.  That big pile of firewood is just as comforting as a well-stocked cupboard.  I fired up Stove, one, because I could, and two, I thought how nice it would be to walk back into a warm house instead of an icebox when I got back from shopping.  Even though Bess and the cats wear fur coats, it didn't seem kind to leave them in a cold room while I gone.  The firewood this year is a great mix of oak and cedar.  Cedar burns hot and fast and leaves little ash; it's great for starting a fire.  Oak burns slowly and for a long time, but fills the ash tray under the grate.  How quickly one gets back in the routine.

Perhaps deer season is over, because I saw another beautifully antlered buck grazing in a field off the road.  I did my share of hunting back in the day and hold no prejudice, but now I'd rather just enjoy looking at these forest creatures.

Pete called in the evening.  "What's up with this cold?"  He's a southern California guy start to finish and winter, per se, is almost unknown to him.  "Well, Pete, it's because we have 'seasons' up here and this is just the beginning."  He hasn't been up here when we've had to postpone a holiday because of snow on the roads.  I often think of asking Larry if he gets bored with the constant low 80s in Hawaii.  Let me guess...I think not.

The goats and I were glad Nature let us get through the day without getting soaked.  I don't think we'll be that lucky today.  She let loose with a downpour and heavy winds last night and it continues this morning.  We might as well get used to it.  Nature held off as long as she could, but it's winter.

Split Up

Some time back, I posted a photo of the huge pile of cut rounds that Clay brought up.  Yesterday, Beau and I turned those logs into an even bigger pile of firewood.  I can hardly believe we got this much wood split in just a couple of hours.  No, I did not stack it neatly.  We were flying and I may or may not (probably not) get around to that.  Beau worked like a robot loading the logs onto the splitter while I worked the controls.  I can't compare our jobs, but I can say that by the time we were done, I was absolutely stupid tired.  We pulled a protective tarp over the wood pile and called it quits for the day.  I didn't light a fire last night because I was afraid I'd fall asleep while waiting for Stove to catch and settle.

This is the last of the seven-day black-and-white photo challenge for FB.  It was taken the day before and I really like the silhouettes against the afternoon sun and clouds.  I need to play with the camera more.  There are other interesting effects that I haven't even tried.  Most of my pictures are taken on the fly; the wild life won't pose long for just the right exposure.

Speaking of wild life, Bess and I took the trash down to the road in late afternoon and when I drove back to the house, an absolutely gorgeous three-point buck (that would be a six-point in Texas) was drinking from the water pot.  It must be close to deer season, and I hope this big boy stays on my property for sanctuary.  We looked at each other for a minute or two before he wandered off down to the woods.

Rain isn't due until tonight, but the wind sure howled after dark last night.  I have a feeling I'm going to be raiding the wood pile soon.

Believe Me

You'd better believe I kept a watchful eye in the barn yesterday.  There are plenty of places where Francois could have gotten in and I didn't want either of us coming up on the other unexpectedly.  When a skunk yells, "Surprise!," it's accompanied by a cloud of nauseating fumes, the last thing I wanted, for sure.  Fortunately, there was nothing in the goat barn but goats and the morning passed without incident.

I had gone down to Cam's to pick tomatoes as invited and came back with a box of yellow strawberry tomatoes and a lot of little cherry Sungolds.  Both yellow varieties are so sweet and lack the acid of the reds.  The Sungolds never make it in to a recipe because they get eaten as a snack out of hand.  The strawberries make a great sandwich, but are too sugary to make a good sauce alone.  I did, however, pull one of the bags of diced tomatoes from the freezer and added some of the yellows to make a tasty marinara.  I had never had Calabrese sausages before and wasn't sure the best way to fix them, but browned them well and then simmered until cooked through in the sauce.  The sausage was spicy, similar to linguica or chorizo, and went really well with marinara.  Believe me, good stuff, Maynard!  Thanks, Pete, for a new taste experience.  There was enough sausage for two meals, and tonight I'll throw some frozen shrimp into the leftover marinara for dinner.

Beau and his youngest daughter stopped by in the afternoon.  I'd sent a message asking if he might have time to split some of those logs in the big pile.  It's dropping into the 30s at night and not getting out of the 50s during the day, and we're due for more rain this week.  I'm pretty frugal with the firewood, but still....  Beau said he'd come back today.  I can run the splitter, but he'll have to handle those logs.

Holy cow!  Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and we all know what comes after that.  Believe me, I'm not ready.  I'm trying to cope with the time change.

Black And White

The girls were acting squirrely in the barn yesterday, and I have enough squirrels to deal with, thank you very much.  The last goat was out when Bessie, outside the pen, began a serious, "You'd better come see this, Mom," barking.  Oh, crum.  Pepe Le Pew's cousin was up at the corner on the inside, just a few feet from Bessie Anne.  Since skunks can spray upwards of 10 feet, I thought, "This isn't going to end well."  Fragrant Francois turned away from the fence without letting Bess have it in the face (whew!) and headed toward the barn.  Oh, no!  The goats clustered behind me as I grabbed a stick and tried to head the little creature off.  I'm not as fast as I once was, and Francois went into the shed at the side of the barn.  "No, kiddo, not gonna happen.  There is no welcome mat out for you here."  I banged on the walls and yelled and Frankie finally found a way out and went off around the far side of the barn. 

Thinking the drama was over, I went to clean the back stalls with rake and shovel.  Busy in Sheila's room, I turned and was shocked to see Francois in the aisle right behind me.  By this time, I was feeling sorry for the little guy.  It was a grey, cold morning and he probably just wanted some place to get warm.  There was, however, no room in this inn for this guest.  I was able to turn him away with the shovel and got him outside the barn, where we were joined by the goats.  Tessie, wanting to help, even butted the skunk.  Why she wasn't sprayed, I'll never know, but I was ever so grateful.  Can you imagine having to sit next to a skunked goat on the stand, or even have such an odiferous animal in the barn?  I was finally able to get Frankie out into the big pen where he trotted down toward Robert's fence line (and away from Bess).

I am worried that Francois might have had distemper like Pepe.  His reactions were not normal for a wild animal.  Animal Services is not open on weekends, so there was no one to call, but I'm concerned about an epidemic.

I had enough black-and-white excitement for one day...a whole lot of days, actually.

Timing Is Everything

A wood stove (my wood stove) is neither quick nor easy.  It takes patience to get a good blaze going, so timing is critical.  I can't just light a match under a piece of wood and walk away, so I have to be able to sit and watch between computer work and heading down to the barn.  That, or wait until I come back up to start the process.  There are three elements to a fire:  fuel, air, and a heat source.  Stove has three vents.  At least two have to be open when I want to get a fire going, and the third is the "big gun" when he's being balky.  Given that I get the wood lit, the temperature has to get to a certain point to get a good draw up the chimney, and then I can start closing all but one of the vents.  If the temp goes too high, there is danger of a chimney fire.  If the vents are closed too soon, the fire, deprived of oxygen, will go out.  It had rained hard during the night and there was a damp chill in the morning.  I'd gotten up early enough to take the time to work with Stove before chores, and it was lovely to come back to a warm room.

The goat pen had, for months, been a barren brown field.  With just a couple of mornings of heavy dew and then a night of rain, little sprouts of green from seeds that had been waiting had sprung up, visible for the first time yesterday.  It rained off and on most of the day.

Getting more firewood from the rack on the porch is tricky.  You just never know what you'll find.  This mother lizard and baby were immobile from the cold and I was careful not to disturb them further after taking away their protective cover.  I'm a little more cautious when getting wood from the stacked pile under the oak.  Lizards are one thing, snakes and black widow spiders are another.

Camille called in the afternoon to ask if I wanted to come down today and help pick the rest of the tomatoes from her vines.  If let go, the rainy weather would start them rotting.  What a waste that would be.  I see more marinara sauce in my future.  The timing is right.

Clear The Deck

It's certainly a good thing I blew all those leaves off the deck, what, a week ago?, so as to make room for all those that fell in the last day or two.  The promised rain came in the night, so these contributions aren't going anywhere for a while.  Sigh.

Company coming is a great incentive to get out the dust rag.  I've been much better about the living room lately, but then there was the dining room.  The dining room is a pain in the patoot to dust as it is full of pigabilia and other knickknacks (i.e., treasures), so it isn't a simple case of swiping across an empty surface.  There are times that a minimalistic approach to decor has its appeal.  The reality is that, dusting notwithstanding, I like looking at all the little piggy faces and thinking of friends and family that gave them to me.

Harold was coming up for an early dinner yesterday, so the pot roast went into the crock-pot well before sunup.  I like the '70s simple recipe with dry onion soup and a can of mushroom soup; it makes the best gravy!  Mashed potatoes and, wait for it, Brussels sprouts and bacon rounded out the menu.  Pete really spoiled me with one of my favorite vegetables and the thick-cut bacon.  Harold is easy to cook for and he's a good eater, and it was a pleasant afternoon.

Harold had no more gone down the driveway when Helper Dude drove up.  Thank goodness the rain had held off and he was able to safely get up on the roof to sweep the chimney.  That done, he took care of another much-needed, overdue task and trimmed Bessie's nails, something I will not attempt myself.  HD trains service dogs and is well-versed in nail trimming.  Bess certainly doesn't enjoy it, but he is so competent and assured that the job is over almost before she knows it.

It was only lightly misting when I put the girls to bed.  There was no arguing about going in; they almost pushed me out of the way to get inside.  A downpour heavy enough to wake me last night will reverse that procedure this morning; I'll have to push them to get them out of the barn.

Perhaps the rain will settle the dust and I'll be able to avoid that onerous job for a while.  Or not.

It was a good day.

Shades Of Grey

A B/W photo of sunset a couple of days ago.  There was no sun yesterday.  It was misty, grey, and cold all day.  Rain isn't due until tonight, but I left the play yard open for the girls, just in case.  I was so cold after coming up from the barn that I made a hot drink, sat down in my chair, piled on a couple of cats to get warm...and promptly fell asleep.  Normally this would not matter, but Linda had invited me to go wine tasting.  It's been months since Linda and I have gotten together and years since I've taken advantage of the local product.  Panicked that I would be late, I threw on clean clothes and dashed out the door and arrived at the winery with four minutes to spare.  Whew!  I enjoyed Linda's company and it was pleasant to sample various reds and whites, although this vintner is not my favorite winemaker.  We whiled away a couple of leisurely hours; given the hour and the day of the week, the tasting room had few customers so we weren't taking up space and it was nice to catch up with my friend.

The day before, Kit, Tinka, and I had been discussing the crazy weather, and I mentioned that either the grape harvest was very late this year or I'd missed the pickers going through the vineyards next door but it didn't look like the vines had been touched.  Yesterday on my way to the barn, there was activity in the field next door, chattering amongst the workers and tractor going up and down the rows.  I can't remember a harvest as late as November.

The house was so cold when I got home, I broke down and lit the wood stove.  There is a wonderful moment when the chill leaves the air.  I sent a message to Helper Dude, asking if he could clean the chimney today.  Stove was a little balky and I think the chimney is the reason.  I haven't heard back, but I'm hopeful.

Country Roads

("Take Me Home, Country Roads," John Denver, 1970)

Still caught up in a social whirl, I drove over to Fiddletown to spend a special afternoon with Tinka and Kit yesterday.  Two kinds of pizza and home-baked chocolate chip cookies only added to the pleasure of seeing my friends again.

Many of our roads in El Dorado county are in deplorable condition.  I think wheel alignment is the business to be in, due to the many, many potholes, and Lawrence Road is a prime example.  Lawrence Road winds its way over the hills past ponds and meadows and through the forest.  Going even 30 mph is enough to rattle your teeth, but coming up on one little hamlet there is a "Go Slow" sign that makes me smile, but I obligingly dropped to 15.  There is an advantage to the slower pace.  If and when you can give your eyes a break from looking for the next wheel trap, there is beautiful scenery along the road, including this herd of, if not longhorn, at least well-horned cattle and calves in a field.  What made me really laugh was the sign at one point that said, "Road narrows, visibility limited."  Lawrence is only a one-lane road as it is, and there have been times I've had to back up to find room to let an oncoming car pass.

As predicted, the temperature dropped, and we ladies went outside to stand in the sunshine for a while.  Kit had come up from the San Diego area where it has been in the high 90s, so who could blame her for putting on a winter jacket on a low 60s day?  As it always is with these friends, time passed too quickly and it was time to head home.

It was a good day.

Kitten On The Keys

("Kitten On The Keys," music for piano, Zez Confrey, 1921.)

This B/W photo is of Celeste, but Ralph is the rascal of the day.  After a frustrating week of having the blog disappear midstream and an error message where the followers should have been, I was so happy when Blogspot worked out the kinks and got everything back to normal.  And then....  (Why is it that life always includes an "and then" in the mix?)  I may have mentioned that Ralph will periodically very politely ask to sit on my lap as I type.  I'm always happy to oblige, even though he makes things difficult and I have to reach around his furry self or deal with a tail in my face.  Being Ralph, he doesn't stay anywhere long.  The other day he was on my lap and then walked across the keyboard.  When I suggested he move on, he just looked at me.  When he left to go torment Celeste, I discovered that I could type, but nothing showed on the screen.  The keyboard made a tsk-tsk clicking sound like a disappointed grandmother, but would not give me words.  Drat!  I'm pretty proud of me; not only did I figure out how to make B/W photos, I found out that Ralph had turned on "filter keys" (I didn't know there were such things) and how to rectify that problem all by myself.  Evidently old dogs can learn new tricks.

A good portion of yesterday was spent at a follow-up appointment with the radiologist where I'd had the radiation treatments.  Fifteen months out from radiation, she gave me a clean bill of health with no sign of recurrence of cancer, and released me from her care.  She advised yearly mammograms and six-month exams; piece of cake.  I drove home with a light heart.

Knowing how hard Camille has been working (I'd been on 911 duty in the morning), I'd invited her to dinner last night.  Short ribs had been simmering in the crock pot all day and I fixed  buttered noodles and Brussels sprouts with bacon when I got home.  During the summer, we'd had dinner about 5 so as to have time to put our critters to bed before dark.  Since night falls even before 6 now, we tended to our chores before eating.  It might have been because we were both ravenous, but dinner was super good.

It was a good day.