Quick Change

Some things don't change:  I still have all my old bad habits, I still wear bibbies 355 days a year, dusting remains my nemesis, and the dog and cats still take up the majority of the bed.

That said, Nature did an abrupt about-face yesterday and dropped the temperature at least twenty degrees.  I wished I'd worn more than a tee-shirt down to the barn, but I wasn't prepared.  Back at the house, the day before I'd turned on the ceiling fan.  Yesterday I put on a jacket and wore it all day.  While grateful for the break, it's hard to make a fast adjustment to such a quick change.   Now the prognosticators are saying we might get rain a couple of days this week.  I can say with a degree of certainty we will.  How do I know?  Because there is a sack of goat chow in the truck and it will have to stay there for awhile.  Given the current rat/squirrel problems, I cannot put it in the feed shed, nor can I take it down to the barn until the girls eat up much of what's in the barrel and, if I left it on the hand cart, there is the same problem there.  Sigh.

The little girls are also going through a change.  Were I not familiar with chickens, I'd be worried.  Suddenly there are flurries of feathers in the pen and coop.  They don't have some dreaded disease; the flock is moulting.  What I have never understood is why they lose their protection just at the time the weather changes and it starts to get cold.  You'd think it would be the other way around so they wouldn't be so hot in the summer.  Add it to the lengthy list of things I don't understand.

Nature will continue to throw us curve balls and it's up to us to try to keep up.  I know for sure that this morning I'm back to robe and slippers.

I Goofed

I went to the feed store yesterday without Bess because I had another stop to make and the feed store is the only place I will leave her in the truck.  I do like it when we go together, though.  The nice guy loaded a bag of sweet cob for the girls and two bags of birdseed while I went in and paid.  (I get two twenty-pound bags of birdseed instead of one forty-pounder because they're easier for me these days.)  Getting back in the truck, I thought, "Oh crum!  You don't need goat food, silly woman.  You came here for chicken scratch!"  I'm out of the habit of getting supplies for the little girls.  Ah, well, I had to go back in and admit my goof.  I kept the goat food...it won't go to waste.

Speaking of the little girls, on several occasions yesterday I saw a few brave souls out of the coop.  They still don't talk much, but at least they're out adventuring.  That's a good sign, I think.  I had asked Dave, owner of the feed store, and his helper dude if they'd ever heard of Delaware chickens.  Neither had, nor had they ever known of semi-silent chickens.  Dave had his own tale of a rooster who had bitten him recently.  It didn't have a happy ending.

I didn't bring two cookies home for Bessie.  I didn't want her to know I'd been to the feed store without her.  One goof a day is enough.

Glued

Back in the day, 1950, one of the first televised congressional hearings was chaired by Senator Estes Kefauver regarding organized crime.  Maybe it was because my mother was raised in the Chicago area and a lot of the names were familiar to her or possibly because of the uniqueness of the situation, but she sat glued to the television for days.  Other than "I take the fifth," the only thing I remember about that time (I was ten years old) is my mother's fascination and complete concentration.  The reason it is memorable to me is because I was having trouble trying to build my first box kite.  I asked Mother for help, but she just shushed me and waved me away.  The kite took a dive on its first flight and crashed.  So much for box kites.  By the time of the McCarthy hearings in 1954 and his "witch hunt" (such a much-used term today) for Communists, I'd learned not to bother Mother and, besides, I was past building kites.

I gained a much better understanding of her fascination yesterday as it was my turn to sit glued to the television to watch the Judicial Committee hearing regarding the current nominee for the Supreme Court.  There have been other televised hearings in years past on this subject; I can only assume I was working and did not watch.  Regardless of which side of the political fence one falls, this was, in so many ways, history in the making and could affect America for decades to come.  It's not like I didn't have other things to do, but nothing, but nothing got done yesterday.  Thankful for the pause button, I rushed through tending the animals and that's about all.  It was a long, long, emotionally tense day.

Early in the morning, Waldo appeared (he's on the left).  His pitiful, ragged condition is a testament to his well-loved attentions.  I keep Waldo II in reserve for Celeste, just in case.

Twilight Zone

There are times I feel I've slipped into an alternate reality or The Twilight Zone.  How is it that I can have something in my hand, put it down, not leave the room, and not be able to find it again?  I keep a panic button ready for such occasions.  While rooting around for something else yesterday, I realized my checkbook was not in my purse.  (Push the button!)  Okay, calm down, woman.  When did you see it last?  Where did you use it last?  I knew I'd written a check (I'm old school and prefer a paper trail) the last time I was in town.  Oh, please don't tell me I'd left it in the store!  (Push the button!)  Bessie got her exercise as she followed me from room to room, back and forth up and down the hall, probably wondering if the old gal had slipped a cog.  She wasn't the only one.  I checked every flat surface where the dadratted checkbook might be.  I had to put the brakes on my mind that was spinning like a hamster wheel, so turned to the computer and played a few hands of brain-numbing solitaire.  Calm again, as I was leaving the room I lifted a piece of out-of-place paper and ta da! there was the checkbook.  Now I'm wondering what it was I was looking for in the first place.  Cue the music for The Twilight Zone.

If nothing else (and there's a lot of "else"), Farview is a peaceful place.  Standing last evening before putting the kids to bed, I watched the shifting colors of the sunset and let that peace wash over me.  Thanks, I needed that.

Duddy Birds

I hate to admit it, but this flock of little girls is a bit of a disappointment.  Oh, they'll plop out an egg now and then to earn their keep, and are very well mannered, but their entertainment factor is nearly nil.  They still spend most of their time in the coop and show no interest in making friends.  How can I discover their personalities and get them to tell me their names if I only see them clumped together in the coop?  Stanley is the only standout in the bunch, for obvious reasons.  The girls are, I'm sorry to say, conversational duds.

They had a flurry of excitement yesterday when I gave them some very stale hotdog buns for breakfast.  There was a lot of eating, but not much talking.  They also like alfalfa.  I'm not above bribery to get them outside for a while.  It's also a good way to use some of the alfalfa from bales destroyed by the vandals.

I wonder if these hens have taken a vow of silence, or perhaps Stanley is a tyrant who demands quiet.

Aha!  I may have to revise my prior opinions.  Through the wonders of the internet I just discovered that Delaware chickens are naturally one of the quietest of breeds.  I was wrong.  They are not duddy birds, it's just their nature.  I'm still disappointed.

What Were You Thinking?

Sometimes (most of the time) I wish I had Dr. Doolittle's capability to talk to the animals.  Well, I do talk to them, but they don't talk back in a way I can understand and I wish I could.  Bess likes to lie on the deck with her head resting on the lower rail and just stare off into space.  Is she watching birds, the horses next door, what?  If she's daydreaming, what about?  The other morning she stopped for a drink from the wild things' water and would lift her head and just stand there woolgathering before taking another sip, or, in her case, slurp.  It wasn't that she'd heard something; she doesn't hear much if anything anymore.  I "talk" to her now using hand signals and touch.

I understand Ralph's rough-and-tumble play with toys.  He stalks and pounces while playing "lion in the wild."  But what is Celeste thinking when she carries piglets back and forth in the hall, crooning all the while?  She's never had kittens.  It might be some instinctual thing, but cats I've had in the past who have had a litter have never sung to the babies like she does.

I'd like to know what the girls are thinking when they sometimes get so crabby with each other.  What did the other one say or do?  I tell them to play nice, but they either don't mind or don't care.  They certainly don't understand.  Nobody can give you a blank stare like a goat.

What do chickens gossip about?  Do they have best friends and share secrets, and what might those secrets be?  Are they jealous because Stanley shares his affection?  How is the pecking order determined?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Straight And Narrow

What is the difference between a constant companion and a warden?  Sometimes I wonder if Bessie Anne, Ralph, and Celeste want to be with me or if they're monitoring my activities and trying to keep me on the straight and narrow.  Unless I drive away in the truck, I go nowhere alone.  Three sets of eyes follow my every move in the house, and Bess takes the duty if I walk outside.  Bessie Anne can be sound asleep (she snores) behind Stove, but if I quietly leave the room, almost immediately she's there with me.  Privacy in the bathroom is impossible.  "As long as you're just sitting there, you might as well pet me," say the cats.  Bess waits and watches from the doorway.  Sometimes I try to fake them out by ducking into the guest bathroom instead of "my" bathroom.  It doesn't work.  Close the door, you say?  I find the scratching and whining disconcerting.  What do they think I might do without supervision?  I'm hardly likely to run amok and tear off more toilet tissue than allotted.  Everywhere I go, we're a parade of four.  It's gotten so I try to get as many things done as possible in one trip down the hall or to the kitchen so as not to tire them out.  There are times I'll think about doing something and put it off (it's my story and I'm sticking to it) because they're all sleeping so nicely.  The cats are indoor cats, but if I go outside, I guarantee they'll be watching from behind the screen door.  Whatever the reason, all these critters take their job seriously.  The one thing they cannot do is make me meet deadlines.  It's my one act of rebellion.  Maybe I do need a warden.

The Wild Bunch

For a change, I'm not talking about animals.  Mentioning cooking yesterday made me start reminiscing about a group of friends from back in the day that we called The Wild Bunch.  We had so much fun together, and, boy, I really did some cooking then.  There were three couples and Deb (this was pre-Craig).  Some or all were at our house for dinner nearly every weekend.  We went to every event in the valley:  the Dixon Lamb Fair, the Courtland Pear Fair, every Highland games we could find, and Deb and I would go to the Isleton Crawdad Festival.  The day after Thanksgiving, some of us would go a way down the road and pick out our Christmas trees, to be cut later.  It was tradition we come back to our house for Irish coffee after these outings.  We went camping together, almost always in the winter to avoid the crowds.  We played poker and innumerable board games.  One year I made a ton of Christmas sugar cookies and we all decorated them.  (The guys got carried away and there were some pretty risque Santas.)  We threw Halloween parties where everyone came in very inventive costumes.  You should have seen Deb as The Killer Clown From Outer Space, armed with a potato masher!  It was at one of these parties that Clay came into our lives.  One New Year's the holiday fell in the middle of the week and everyone was tired.  It didn't stop us from having a party, but along about 10 o'clock, we decided that there could be too much of a good thing.  I set the kitchen timer for ten minutes, we chanted down the time and when the timer dinged we toasted the new year and gave kisses all around.  It was so much fun, I set the timer again and we did a repeat.

Moving up here did not break up The Wild Bunch.  The parties were simply extended to three and four days.  It was nothing to have fifteen or twenty people (family members included) sleeping upstairs and down, and out in the travel trailer we had then.  I would cook breakfast and dinner for this crowd, lunch was catch as catch can.  Ushering in the Millennium was an elaborate, fancy-dress affair and included a time capsule buried out in the yard on New Year's Day.  Craig had joined the group by then (insert happy face here).  Gosh, we had some good times.

Amongst all this reverie, I actually got some neglected chores done yesterday.  It was good to spend time with old friends, if only in memory.  I miss The Wild Bunch.

Get A Grip

Summer continues to throw its last hurrah and we're due for a week or more of mid-to-high 80s.  Doors remain open during the day and the ceiling fan whirls.  We're in the grip of the fall doldrums.  Just a week ago I was freezing.  Thankfully it does cool off some at night.

My ambition fades along with the breeze and not much gets done around here.  Having discovered frozen potstickers and spring rolls, I haven't done any real cooking for days.  Ten minutes or so and there's something hot and (relatively) nutritious for dinner.  Both items come with packets of dipping sauce, but I prefer mae ploy sweet chili and always keep a bottle on hand.  I was introduced to this sauce back in the day when the Filipino women at work would show their affection for Steve, the production manager, by occasionally sending home dozens of delicious lumpia and a bottle of mae ploy.  The frozen spring rolls can't hold a candle to the homemade lumpia, but they bring back good memories just the same.

Weather notwithstanding, having sat like a lump (not a lumpia) I've got to get a grip and get something accomplished today.

There's a piglet in the shower stall.

Playtime

After a considerable time out, consigned to the toy box, the piglets are back in play.  Waldo has gone missing...again.  I've been finding the black-and-whites in the trash basket, the bathroom sink, the bookcase, and they litter the house.  The other morning while the only light in the bedroom was from the computer, I cautiously picked up what could have been a lump of cat barf on the bed that turned out to be another piglet.  Today I fished one out of the toilet (another reason to always flush last and always look first).  Celeste seems intent on proving that, indeed, pigs can fly.

Ladies In Waiting

Bessie Anne and I need to do a better job of coordinating our efforts.  I didn't see my little friend on my way back up from the barn, so I slowed my steps while looking around, and finally stopped and waited.  And waited.  Before starting an all-out search party, I decided I could do a better job of worrying while sitting for a bit in the house.  And there was Bessie Anne, lying on the porch and waiting.  "Gosh, Mom, what took you so long?  I was getting worried."

I must have misunderstood Chicken Lady.  I thought she said the hens were laying five or so eggs a day.  I could have dealt with that, although that would have been considerable overage for my needs.  I don't eat that many eggs, and haven't baked anything for months.  Turns out I pick up five eggs a week, and that is just right.  I hope the little girls are not still dealing with trauma and just waiting to hit their production mark.

Probably twice since they opened have I needed to return something to Wally World, and yesterday was one of those times.  I thought I'd hit the jackpot when there was only one man ahead of me in line (there can be fifteen or more).  The gentleman's transaction must have posed some problems because it was taking the one "associate" behind the counter forever to deal with.  So I waited.  And waited.

It was one of those days.

Missing Missy

I haven't seen the little barn cat, Missy, in at least a couple of weeks.  I put down food morning and night and the bowl is empty each time.  I hope she is okay and just keeping a low profile, otherwise I'm feeding some unseen creature, another freeloader.  I do miss her surprise appearances and rub-ups and her tiny squeak of a meow.

We're back to t-shirt weather and due for more low-grade heat.  Saturday is the official start of fall.  The oaks have taken that literally and leaves are dropping, swirling on the breeze and covering the deck.  Bess is on a mission to bring in as many as she can on every trip out the door.  "I'm helping clear the deck, Mom."  Gee, thanks.

I think Ralph can count.  Both cats get a small helping of treats every morning up on the counter before I head out for chores.  Celeste makes sure I don't forget by herding me into the kitchen and leading me to the Treat Spot.  Ladies get served first, and Ralph always looks at Celeste's little pile of goodies before starting on his, seemingly to assure himself that she isn't getting more.  It's gotten so that I actually count out the little pieces for each.  Can't have sibling rivalry.  I don't want to hear Tom and Dick Smothers, "Mother always liked you best."

Maybe I'll see Missy today.  One can hope.

Makes Sense

Cam called to see how the new flock was doing.  I expressed my concerns that all the chickens, while well behaved, didn't seem to have much fun outside.  In her postgraduate days, Cam had worked in veterinary pharmaceuticals and went to many livestock and industrial chicken barns.  She thought that these little kids might have been raised in a confined space and needed the comfort of close contact with each other, thus the huddling together.  Well, that makes sense.  I felt better in the afternoon when most of the girls were out in their yard and Stanley...well, Stanley was doing what roosters do, and crowing afterward.  That's progress.

Either Or

Either these Delaware chickens are the most well-disciplined, possibly well-trained chickens ever, or they're scared out of their wits (and chickens aren't known for having many wits).  They tuck themselves in every night all by themselves, and that's fine.  What worries me is that they're rarely out of the coop in the daytime; I know because I keep checking.  Stanley crows in the predawn hours, but not much after that.  The neighborhood gents yell all day long.  Hmmm.  I definitely keep an eye out for the return of the coyote, but haven't seen hide nor hair.  The thing is, I love to watch chickens, busy little creatures that they are, and listen to the hens gossip as they scratch for bugs and take dust baths.  No wonder they call it a hen party.  Maybe these kids just need more time to acclimate to their new home.  I hope they're not living in fear.  I do feel deprived, though.

It was good to get a text from Deb yesterday saying she was feeling some better.  It was so disappointing on Saturday when she called and said she was coming down with something, and, kind soul that she is, didn't want to share it.  It was awful not to spend time with two of my favorite people, but the long drive wouldn't have done her any good and I didn't want to take a chance on getting sick, either.

Yesterday was the Steelers game, followed right after by NASCAR.  Both, for me, were a waste of time.  The Steelers lost to the Kansas City Chiefs and Bowyer came in a disappointing 24th.  Sigh.

Either I'll get something done today, or not.

Shut The Front Door

"Shut the front door" is a euphemism intended to indicate disbelief.  In my case yesterday, it was quite literal.  Not only did I need to close the front door, I shut the side door and the door to the laundry room, too.  Those doors have stayed wide open for months, but believe me when I say it was cold!  A jacket wasn't enough protection against a strong, cold southwest wind.  Down in the barn, Sheila was up on the stand when I heard an almost unfamiliar sound...raindrops on the roof!  It was over as soon as it began.  My sympathies are certainly with those suffering from Florence in the Carolinas, but here that small preview was welcome.  The photo was taken on the way up to the house, the first peek at sunshine when the clouds rolled back.

In between cooking shows, I changed the sheets on the bed.  It doesn't take much to amuse Ralph, but he becomes ecstatic when I make the bed anew.  He burrows under when a sheet is flipped up, grabs at every wrinkle as if it were the last, and plonks himself down on top, making it impossible to smooth out.  I sneak back later to finish the job after he's left the room.

In the afternoon I was struck by an urge to go check on the chickens.  Bess and I took a little walk and found Stanley and his girls standing quietly in the coop.  I'd expected to find them outside enjoying the sunshine.  Oh well, what do I know?  Back in the house, I needed to get something from the freezer on the deck and saw...a coyote!  He/she was standing in the north field, looking toward the hen house and sniffing the breeze.  Drat!  No wonder the chickens were hunkered down.  Stamping my feet, clapping my hands, and yelling, "Git, git, git!," was enough to send Wiley running for the woods.  The "Not welcome" sign is out for him.  In 1966, Buffalo Springfield released a song, "For What It's Worth," in which one line says, "Paranoia runs deep."  Now I'm paranoid about the safety of the flock and left the front door open so I could hear if the little ones were in danger.

Clean sheets and a blanket made for good sleeping last night.

A Day Of Firsts

Evidently the new little girls are settling in nicely because the first thing I saw when I opened the coop door in the morning was an egg...no, wait...two eggs!  Good girls!

Later in the day I went out to sit on the deck and enjoy a cool breeze, first time I've done that since the beginning of summer, and it was lovely.

Still later, when I was back in the house, I heard Stanley (in honor of Delivery Guy) crow for the first time.  I'd been wondering when that might happen.  It had taken the little Silkie rooster almost a week before he got brave enough to proclaim his presence.  Once he started, Stanley wouldn't shut up.  He announced his arrival in the territory over and over.  You go, Stanley!

Not for the first time and certainly not the last, Arden came over in the afternoon for a drink, nibbles, and nonstop conversation.  As she said, we never seem to run out of things to talk about.  Cam had finished her first week of chemo and radiation and understandably just wanted to chill, but she was missed.

Come sundown, I went out to herd the chickens in for the night.  To my surprise, they were all in the coop already and had chosen their spots on the roosts.  In all the years I've had chickens, that had never happened before.

Having nearly frozen the night before, last night I put a blanket back on the bed, first time in months.

It was a day for the record books.

Special Deliivery

Stan's arrival was a bit delayed, and that was fine with me because I could keep going on stuff in the house.  There are ongoing problems with the new vacuum cleaner and the living and dining rooms didn't get quite done.  Crum.

When Stan did come, I went out to get a great hug, a big grin, and meet the new arrivals.  All seven chickens were in a huge dog pen in the back of the enclosed truck, very quiet, as chickens are when afraid or wary.  The Delawares turned out to be white with touches of black and a light wash of gold.  These kids are hefty two-year-olds, being dual-purpose chickens.  They might be a little past prime for Sunday dinner (never happens here), but the perfect age for laying eggs.

Stan's first order of business was to nail down a warped section of T1-11 on the back wall of the coop.  The hammer and nails were easier to find than anticipated, but getting the panel nailed down was more complicated than one would think.  Stan was good at improvising and got the job done.  I'm pretty good at holding and handing things and staying out of the way.

I like to think I can still do everything by myself, but I never could have unloaded those big birds without Stan.  We had discussed the need to clip wing feathers to keep the chickens from flying.  Adopting Butterfly McQueen's attitude, Stan said "I don't know nuthin' 'bout chickens," but was game to try.  We worked out a pretty good system where he'd grab a hen from the cage and hold it tight and I did the clipping.  We left the rooster for last.  Stan was rightfully respectful of that big boy's spurs, and we got him done.  By that time the girls had found the scratch and were inspecting their new home.  Bessie Anne was so excited to meet the new residents.  I think she thinks I got them just for her.

I am very happy with the new flock, but the best part of the day was spending time with Stan, catching up on family news, and getting another great hug when he left.

With sundown coming, I needed to adjust time frames to accommodate the addition of chickens.  It's been awhile since that was on the chore list.  Happily, these kids trooped into the coop right away and tucked themselves down for the night like they'd been here all their lives.

Throw in a gorgeous sunset and I can say it was a very good day.

Quick Change

Wow!  I wasn't prepared for that!  Got dressed as usual yesterday, but it didn't take any longer than the walk down the hall to know that a tank top wasn't going to cut it.  Almost shivering, I put on a jacket.  A cool down was predicted, but I'd anticipated something a little more gradual.  It was 51 degrees at barn time.

I was on a business call when another call came in.  (Don't you love call waiting?)  For a minute there I was juggling back and forth like an executive until I could conclude the first and devote attention to my brother-in-law, Stan.  He was acting as intermediary between the Chicken Lady and myself.  Between the two of them, they arranged for Stan to pick up all seven chickens for him to deliver here this morning.  That's a triple gift:  I don't have to leave home, I get the chickens, and I get to see Stan!  Of course, that meant a quick trip to restock with two new metal trash cans (I learned my lesson with plastic barrels) and bags of scratch and lay pellets.  Bess got her two cookies, one outside and one in the house, and then stood looking at me.  "Ahem, Mom, haven't you forgotten something?"  Well, yes, I had.  Regardless of where we go, she always gets half of a lamb treat when we get home.  She'd been traumatized as a pup, hated getting in the truck, and for fifteen years has gotten a reward for being a good girl.  Even with the two cookies, she got her treat.

I got a treat, too, when I got a text from Deb saying they'd be up this Saturday.  Two companies in one week!  My cup runneth over.

That morning chill wasn't a fluke.  It barely rose to mid seventies and I wore the jacket most of the day.  How long has it been since we've seen honest overcast and no smoke?

It was a good day.

Fair Weather

It's hard to believe that there is now a generation born after 9/11, but uplifting to see school kids planting flags in memoriam.  Watching the news or reading FB posts regarding that day still makes me cry.

There doesn't seem to be anything fair about the weather these days.  It was pretty good here yesterday, warm, but not too hot, and there was a nice breeze.  My niece in New Hampshire was telling me that it was 90 degrees with nearly 100 percent humidity back there, and the Carolinas are gearing up for Hurricane Florence.  A little more moderation, Nature, please.

Tessie and Sheila are becoming more dependent on each other.  I rarely look out without finding them close together in either pen.  I dread to think about when there is only one.

The Chicken Lady still hasn't returned my call, so I may not be getting chickens after all.  Oh well, the pens and coops needed cleaning anyhow.  I'm just glad I didn't rush out and stock up on feed.

Helper Dude is coming this morning to cut down a few volunteer live oak saplings that are growing too close to the house.  I'd leave them for the shade, but I'm due for an insurance inspection and I know they wouldn't pass.

The kitchen help did the dishes yesterday.  I'm not above playing Lady of the Manor.  (I once had a step-mother-in-law...it's complicated...who used, and meant, that phrase.)

All said and done, it wasn't a bad day.

Think I Was Kidding?

This mess is the remnants of a bale of alfalfa.  It's not enough that the whatever-they-are critters are freeloading, they tear apart and burrow into the rest.  I found a large, shallow, bowl-shaped flower pot and use that to carry the girls' breakfast to the pen.  Life used to be simple before Genghis Khan and his horde moved in.

Ralph and Celeste had such a good time again at their latest Feline Frolic.  I'm starting to feel more like a janitor after Mardi Gras than a housekeeper.

I knew that the NASCAR Cup race had been moved from Sunday to Monday.  Because the TV guide doesn't keep up with such changes, it took me a while to find the right channel.  I thought it was to come on at 1:00, but there it was at 9!  Oh crum, and then I noticed it was the Xfinity race that normally runs on Saturday and I usually skip that one.  Both races had been postponed because of rain in Indianapolis.  The Brickyard is NASCAR's crown jewel, the race that determines who has enough points to get into The Chase for the championship title and a lot of money.  What the heck, a race is a race so I settled in to watch and ended up many hours later, having overdosed on two helpings of NASCAR.  Clint came in fifth, but will definitely be in the running.  Yep, I'm a fan.

I don't kid.

Sports Fans

"Listen up, sports fans," is an oft used phrase of Bull Meechum, played by Robert Duvall in the film "The Great Santini" (1979, Blythe Danner, Michael O'Keefe).  It came to mind yesterday as I was watching the Minnesota Vikings beat the San Francisco 49ers, knowing that Dave was also cheering.  Clay wasn't so happy about the tie between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Cleveland Browns.  NASCAR was delayed until today, so I know I'll be sending texts to Dave and Clay while they're at work.  Let's face it, we're sports fans.

I put the laundry room servant to work washing clothes.  I love the TV pause button.  It allowed me to go out and hang up a couple of loads, feel somewhat productive, and not miss an event.  It also gives the opportunity to fast-forward during the multitudinous commercials.

Bessie Anne has either gotten better control of her back legs or has overcome her fear of uncarpeted floors.  It had come on rather suddenly, but for the longest time she stopped coming farther than a few steps into the kitchen.  Now she is back to using what had become a cats-only water dish.  She never wants to be left behind, but it took real coaxing and patience to get her to cross the tile floor in the laundry room.  Yesterday she beat me to the door.  Either way, I'm happy for her.

It was a good day.

Blast From The Past

I still haven't heard from Chicken Lady, but only piddly chores got done anyhow.  All the good PBS cooking shows are  back to back on Saturday and I'm hooked.  I even watch pretentious Martha Stewart's two shows.  How many of us commoners keep sumac in the cupboard?

Then I got caught in a time warp and sat through "Battle Cry," a perfectly awful 1955 movie with Van Heflin, Aldo Ray, Tab Hunter, and a host of B actors.  Bad writing, stilted acting, faked love scenes...just dreadful all the way around.  It bore no resemblance to the gritty war story by Leon Uris in 1953.  I first read the book when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen (my mother put no restriction on my reading).  It was in that book that I first saw the F word.  A girlfriend later explained what it meant.  Wow!  It wasn't in the movie.  How times have changed.

NASCAR doesn't start until one o'clock today, so maybe, just maybe, I'll get something done today.

Theme Song

"Wasted Days And Wasted Nights," Freddie Fender, 1993...yesterday's theme song.  I understand there are some people (Steve was one) who really like to go shopping.  I take that back; I really don't understand that at all.  I had to go to town to pick up Bessie's heartworm medicine (six-month supply).  After looking at my list and deciding what I could do without, I pared the trip down to three very quick, in-and-out stops.  It didn't matter, it still wiped me out and, as usual, I was useless for the rest of the day.  It didn't help that we were back up into the 90s.

Steve loved to go shopping.  It didn't matter what store or what for.  Groceries, shoes, underwear, hardware; it didn't matter.  I know what I need and where it is, go there, get it and get out.  Depending on the lines, I can be in and out of Wally World in 40 minutes.  Shopping with Steve was an all-day excursion.  We'd cruise up and down every aisle.  He'd try on fifteen pairs of shoes (and not buy any).  I spent countless hours standing and waiting in the hardware store while he looked at stuff he didn't need.  (I did learn, however, that a snath is the handle for a scythe.)  Now, if I need something out of the ordinary, I put Craig on the trail.  He, too, is a shopper.

I haven't heard back from the lady with the Delaware chickens.  Clay messaged me saying he would help pick them up if needed, bless him.  Loomis is a small town a fair distance away, over in Placer county, above Rocklin.  I can probably wrangle the chickens by myself, but I sure would appreciate his company and a navigator.  I don't do GPS.

Unless she calls and today's the day, I might be more productive.  Or not.

Drat

The Dynamic Duo showed up at first light and got right to work whacking down the now-dry weeds in both chicken pens.  They raked the yards and did some cleaning in the coops.  And then they hit me with the news that they'd be moving soon.  Nooo!  I've really come to depend on these boys for help with some of the "guy" things around here.  For twelve and thirteen years old, they have a great work ethic, for which I credit their parents.  I had anticipated that, being so young, they'd probably dog it, fooling around and needing a lot of supervision.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  When their mom came to pick them up, she explained they'd be moving to a (very) small town near Sonora in a week or two.  Drat!  That puts them completely out of range.  The boys will be sorely missed and hard to replace.  Helper Dude started working here when he was fifteen.  I can still call on him in an emergency, but he has many customers now and his time is limited.  As hard as it is to believe, he's twenty years old now and next year when he turns twenty-one, he's applying for work with the Sheriff's Department.  They grow up so fast.

When the boys left,  that was the end of work for the day.  Normally I watch the early morning news for the weather and that's it.  Yesterday there was so much chaos in Washington that much TV time was devoted to the op-ed in the New York Times and to the congressional hearings on the nominee for the Supreme Court and I got hooked.  I ended up watching a neutral news station all day long.  I have no interest in radical talking heads on either the conservative or liberal sides.

I didn't get a darned thing done.  Drat.

New Kids On The Block

I'm getting pretty excited.  A while ago my sister-in-law called and told me a friend of hers had chickens she needed to rehome, and would I be interested.  Hmmm.  After the demise of my last flock, I had decided not to replace them and had let the weeds take over the pens.  Yesterday I talked to the lady and she told me she had six Delaware hens and a rooster.  Well, that's manageable.  Okay, I'm a sucker.  I told her I'd take them.  Now all that needs to be done is to work out the logistics of getting them here.  My SIL had said something about coming up, but I don't think they have an appropriate vehicle to haul chickens.  That's up in the air, and I'd have to figure out where the heck we keep Loomis if I need to go get them.  The Dynamic Duo is coming this morning to whack the weeds and get the pens ready.

I'd never heard of a Delaware chicken.  What a fount of information we now have at our fingertips.  The Delaware is a cross between New Hampshire Reds and Barred Plymouth Rocks, but are white with some black touches.  They are, as one article stated, a "critically endangered" breed.  Who knew?

Looks like Farview Farm is going to be a farm again.  (What's a farm without chickens?)

To Each Her Own

Fall won't officially begin until the autumnal equinox on September 22 this year, but the trees are getting in some practice already.  Drifting leaves provide cheap entertainment for Ralph and Celeste as they sit on window sills and watch them swirl down.  Me?  I see the same thing and think I need to charge up the leaf blower and get out there while the piles are still manageable.

I get a kick out of the girls.  They have such different personalities and quirks.  Sheila inevitably leaves a few bites of breakfast in her bowl.  Tessie, on the other hand, eats every bit and then signals she's done by throwing her bowl around.  She obsessively cleans up every dropped morsel on the stand.  They make me think of Felix and Oscar in "The Odd Couple."  Sheila can't wait to make a dash out the door, while Tess takes her time, looks around, sniffs the uprights on the stand, and sometimes has to be coaxed outside.  Without Inga to pick on, these two seem to get along quite well and are always together.  It could be that Sheila is smart enough not to start a quarrel with a goat with a unicorn horn, or maybe it's because they realize they're the last of the herd.

Celeste would definitely take the role of Felix.  She gets so irritated with Ralph.  He is admittedly the world's worst when it comes to the litter box.  He'll take a couple of swipes to cover his stuff, sometimes uselessly scratching outside the box, and calls it good.  Celeste comes behind and does a better job for him and sometimes starts to cover up before he's even finished!  I'm just happy he uses the box.

I don't need the calendar to tell me the seasons are changing.  It's not full daylight now until after 7, and sundown comes before 7:30.  It wasn't that long ago that the girls didn't go in the barn until 9 o'clock.  At least the time change won't happen until November 4th and really screw up my days.

Short Shrift

I need to start paying more attention to the girls.  Since they stopped giving milk, it's become a case of getting them in, fed, and out.  Goats, by their nature, are very rapid eaters so Sheila and Tessie don't get brushed down every morning like they used to.  That's on me.  Once their head is locked in the stanchion, they're not going anywhere and probably wouldn't notice the few minutes a little currying would take.  I don't know if they miss it, but I realize I do.  Without that close contact, they become just another chore...get it done and get out, and that's not fair to them or me.

I'm seeing more vultures these days, on the fence, in the tree, and in the sky.  (No, they're not looking for seconds.)  I think they're starting to gather for the annual migration down to the Owens Valley.  That usually happens toward the end of September, and these must be the vanguard, the early birds, if you will.  I was so glad that Deb was here one year on exactly the right day to see this amazing, jaw-dropping phenomenon.  Committee refers to vultures on the ground.  In flight, they're called a kettle.  That's a pretty descriptive term as they circle and rise like steam on the thermals.

With the holidays approaching, I've been thinking about washing windows.  That's as far as I've gotten so far, but at least I've been thinking about it.

Spray Away

During that week of really pleasant weather, I had put the empty, no longer needed spray bottle back in the kitchen.  Yesterday it was refilled and back in action.  Aaargh.

Talking with my daughter, she asked about plans for the holidays.  Whaat??!  Nooo, it's too soon!  And then I remembered what it's like to try to get my herd of cats organized and decided she was right.  Undoubtedly Thanksgiving will be held on the weekend, which day depending on when Clay is off work.  He has split days off and I'm never sure whether he'll be free on Saturday or Sunday.  I put out the word.  Christmas, as always, is up for grabs.  Sometimes it gets delayed because of weather or illness.  All I'm ever sure of is that I'll go down to the goats in the morning and, if someone is here, I'll cook.  It pays to be flexible.

Poor old Bowyer can't catch a break.  He was running in the top ten toward the end of yesterday's race when he got taken out in a crash.  Ratchafratch!

September

It is my habit to watch the morning news, mainly for the weather, every day before going down to the barn.  Yesterday both local channels and others were covering the funeral of Senator John McCain instead and I got caught up in that.  (Funerals are not my thing.)  I was stunned by the eloquence of eulogies by family, allies and opponents alike.  Three past presidents spoke, as well as a host of political dignitaries.  (How long has it been since Henry Kissinger has been seen?)  It truly was a bipartisan event.  There were tears and some humor.  None ignored the man's temper and foibles, but the common thread addressed McCain's heroism and, above all, his loyalty and fervent patriotism over the sixty years he served our nation.  The senator left some big shoes to fill.

Camille returned from Houston yesterday (yay!).  After a battery of tests there, she was able to transfer her care to a Sacramento facility, and will begin this week.

Bessie Anne opted not to go with me in the morning, even though I assured her I would not leave her outside.  Maybe she was just not up for the walk.

Nature is reminding us she's still in charge and that summer is not yet over.  We're due for another week of high temperatures.  Thankfully the nights are still cool.  That makes a big difference.

Indulgence

Okay, so tending the goats takes a little longer, so what?  It isn't the goats, it's the walk back that is slower as I wait for my companion.  Neither of us moves as fast as we used to.  One of us (the short one) takes several breaks on the way up to the house, and other one (me), if she is honest, is grateful for the pauses.  Last evening Bess wandered off the drive to get a drink from the wild things' water pot, and needed to be redirected afterward.  Ordinarily I would have kept going, but no longer.  Waiting is such a small thing if it keeps that lost and confused look from her eyes.

I received a long and gratifying call from a high school friend.  We touch base now and again over the years, but not often.  I've seen more recent photos, but in my mind she never changes from our boarding school days.  Her enthusiasm and passion are contagious, and our conversation ranged far and wide on a variety of topics.

Neither Arden nor I eat out often, but yesterday we met to indulge in pizza and (for me) more good talk.  We had a leisurely lunch before she left to go to the library (Arden is a voracious reader) and I went across the street to get groceries.

It was a good day.