Road Trip

Too hot to do much of anything else yesterday, I took a little trip down memory lane.  I went by car.  My dad taught me to drive in what must have been a 1952 two-door Chevy.  He always drove a Chevrolet and Mother always had a late-model Buick.  I was probably fourteen.  Kids in my area practiced their new driving skills in the huge parking lot at Santa Anita Racetrack during the off season.  Daddy was not known as a patient man, but he stuck with it as I learned the "H" pattern of the gearshift on the steering column and coordination of clutch, brake, and gas.  Starting and stopping and parallel parking over and over again.  (I don't know why I needed parallel parking as our little town still had diagonal parking on the main street then.)  As long ago as that was, even now I can hear the terror in his voice, "You're turning too fast!  Slow down!  You're going to turn the car over!"  There was one lesson I learned by example only.  If I heard it once, I heard a hundred times how my sister, learning to drive, had driven over a glass bottle and blew a tire back in the day when tires were thin and motorists carried patches to fix them.  I guess she got what-for that wouldn't quit.  To this day, I do not drive over anything in the road.

Daddy taught me the mechanics and safety of driving.  Mother taught me the fun.  It sounds perfectly crazy now, but with a long stretch ahead coming down a mountain or hillside, she'd turn off the engine and we'd see how far we could coast.  Speed limits were never an issue for her; she ignored them.  Much, much later, she would pile my sister's kids in her Volkswagen Bug, put the car in reverse and go backwards in tight circles until those kids were howling with laughter.  Some of Mother's lessons were of the what-not-to-do type.  However, before I got my license she and I took a road trip to Canada and I drove almost all the way.  It was hands-on experience in all types of terrain that has stood me in good stead all these years.  Knock on wood, my driving record is clean. 

Back at Farview after that mental excursion, I dragged Bessie's wading pool out of the barn, set it up on the deck and filled it for her.  We're due for triple-digit weather this weekend and she'll need it.

WWOOF! WWOOF!

Allie (Ali, Ally? drat, I should have asked) and Tess were my enthusiastic WWOOFers yesterday.  By now I have a pretty set routine and standard patter for getting the morning started when WWOOFers arrive.  We become acquainted in the kitchen while beginning the cheese-making process; the curd sets while we tend to the goats.  These young women attend Scripps College in SoCal, both with Poli Sci majors (maybe there's hope for our future).  They decided that WWOOFing during summer break would be a learning adventure; Allie will be going on to another farm after her sojourn at Tim's goat ranch and Tess will go home to be with family.

Down in the barn, my girls cooperated nicely and both Tess and Allie did well at the milking process.  The mice appeared on cue while the ground squirrels waited in the wings.  Having spent a week working with the meat goats, it was interesting to the ladies to see the difference with dairy goats and between large and small herds.  Buckets full, we headed back to the house for the next step in making chevre.  The cheddar cheese bread had just finished baking and the kitchen had that wonderful aroma.  Warming the whey and stirring the curd is a hands-on experience.  It's easier to feel how the curd changes than to explain it.  Leaving the cheese to hang and drain, icy cold white gaspacho was a refreshing lunch on a rapidly heating day.

Making cheese is not difficult, but it is time consuming.  Allie and Tess were up for another lesson so I brought out the wool and drop spindles and they spun yarn while we talked of many things (of cabbages and kings, as it were).  Each WWOOFer brings a new perspective and they are not the only ones who learn throughout their day with me.  It certainly broadens my experience to spend time with diverse, happy people.  As we later took a stroll around the deck, the turkey mama paraded her brood in the back yard but, sadly, there were only five following her this time.

The women tried a sample of the finished product of their day's effort and pronounced it delicious.  They wrote down recipes and techniques.  As all good things must, our time together came to an end.  I so enjoyed their company.

It was a good day.

Sign Of the Times

The best indicator of our changeable weather of late is the clothesline with the week's array of tank tops, T-shirts, and turtleneck, with a work shirt thrown in for good measure.  (Yes, that is one of my Clint Bowyer T-shirts, worn on race day.)  The laundry went on the line just after daybreak; it's in direct sun the rest of the day.

Watering deck plants is now a daily chore before going to the barn.   It's a pleasant enough task in the early morning light.  Yesterday, the turkey mama brought her little choo-choo train of turklets (poults) through the back yard, hurrying them into the underbrush when she realized I was watching.  The other day a huge jackrabbit went bounding by.  One never knows what or who will show up.

My temper had cooled enough that I was able to call Joe, the Tractor Repair Guy, in the afternoon about the now unreliable lawn tractor.  I had turned my back on it and didn't want to face that problem last week.  He was going to be in the area after he closed his shop yesterday and was going to come over to put in the shutoff valve on the gas line anyway.  It seems the latest problem might have been vapor lock from a plugged gas tank cap, an easy (free) fix.  After he left, there was plenty of daylight left and it seemed prudent to finish mowing down the west field.  The darned star thistle was rearing its ugly head again.  The foxtails are bad enough; star thistle is worse.

The WWOOFers are due this morning and there are things to do before they arrive.

En Garde!

"You look funny."  "Yeah?  Well, you look funnier!"  "Aw, your mother wears combat boots and she dresses you funny."

Driving past the corner on my way to town, I paused to watch Shadow and Cricket, both decked out in fly masks, a necessity up here and common to see on horses.  The masks look very much like the face guards worn by fencing duelists.  The two donkeys had been grazing together, but then the verbal abuse started.  I think the "combat boots" comment was the deciding factor and the fight was on.  Ears back and teeth bared, they swung their heads and battered each other.  Like a chihuahua taking on a Great Dane, Shadow has no concept of his size.  Camille had brought Cricket to be a buddy for Shadow, thinking as we humans do that Shadow was lonely.  Shadow would prefer to be an only child.  He doesn't like to play nice.

I certainly don't blame Trash Guy for wanting to beat the heat, but he comes earlier and earlier as summer approaches.  I've got to get the barrel down to the big road today; I missed him last week.

Reality

The next set of WWOOFers is coming on Wednesday, two female college students from SoCal.  I can only hope it won't be as hot then as it was yesterday.  The barn was an oven in the morning even after I'd taken the covers off the window openings, trying to catch whatever breeze might blow through.  How I wish the mulberry trees had been planted last fall.  The nursery told me that they won't be ready (how does a tree get "ready"?) until July or August.  A little shade would be nice now.  It is what it is, however, and the girls will get a taste of the reality of farm life.  I'm thinking a cold white gazpacho and fresh bread might go well for lunch.

Poor Shadow.  He got a foxtail in his eye and Camille had to have the vet come to take it out and treat the scratched cornea.  Poor Camille.  An emergency visit on a Sunday means a hefty bill.

The darned bluejays have discovered the strawberries and beat me to the ripest ones.  I can imagine what they'll do to the plums.  Oh well, there will certainly be enough to share this year.

It's A Secret

Shh.  I don't want Joel to know I baked a pie last night.  I owe him a pie, but this wasn't one he would want anyway as he is not a big fan of vegetables.  Years back, my friend Linda gave me a recipe for Russian Cabbage Pie that I tried and thought was wonderful.  Somewhere along the line, the recipe went missing.  That pie came into my mind recently and stuck there until it became almost an obsession.  I wanted that pie!   Bless her heart, Linda sent it again.

Yesterday was a very hot day, too hot to do much of anything, and cooking was a low priority in an overheated kitchen.  Bess and I went to the feed store in the late afternoon.  Camille waved from her patio as we passed by on the way home so I knew her chores were done.  I was still having visions of that pie.  Oh, what the heck, I needed to put this thing to rest and I couldn't make the kitchen any hotter.  Camille accepted an invitation to an impromptu dinner and I went to work.  Most of the prep was done by the time she and Honey came up and we talked while the pie went into the oven and the sun went over the yardarm.  Memory had served me well and that pie was everything I'd hoped for:  savory with a variety of herbs, rich with hard-boiled eggs and cream cheese, flavorful with cabbage and onions, and a golden flaky crust.  Camille and I pigged out on pie while Honey dragged toys out of the basket.  That recipe is going into a safe place for the next time the urge strikes again.

Don't tell Joel about this.  I still owe him a pie.

Critter Day

A mouse came and sat in the shadows as I milked.  It didn't move when the goats were switched out, so I picked it up and took a closer look.  Aw, the poor creature had died right there.  Then, in my hand, one eye squinted slightly in the sunlight.  I wasn't about to give mouth-to-muzzle, but did begin one-finger chest compressions and soon its little legs started twitching.  I was hopeful, but had a goat on the stand and had to leave the tiny one on its own.  It didn't make it, but I tried.

It was the day for Bessie Anne's yearly well-baby checkup, physical, and immunizations.  Turning out of the driveway on our way to town, a turkey hen stood in the middle of the dirt road.  As usual, I'd cut the timing pretty close and was a bit irritated at this feathered roadblock.  At a full stop, Bess and I waited for her to move.  Suddenly out of the underbrush came a baby turkey (turklet?), followed by five more.  When the crossing guard had all six chicks safely on the other side, she gave us a last glance and followed them.

Going to the doctor is not Bessie's favorite thing to do.  The first thing she does once inside is head under a chair, trying to keep as low a profile as possible.  Dr. Ric and his techs are very kind, but she knows she's not there to make friends.  Bess got her shots and a pedicure and a clean bill of health.  However, Dr. Ric noted that she had put on a few pounds over the winter; he even used the offensive "O" word (obese), followed by the dreaded "D" word (diet).  On the way home, I told Bess I'd give her a summer haircut and that should drop a pound or two right off the bat.

I mentioned to Dr. Ric about the morning's episode of giving CPR to a mouse.  He told me he'd done the same thing with a squirrel, going so far as to try to breathe life back to the tiny thing.  No wonder he's my favorite vet.

Bess had been such a good girl that she got a treat when we got home.  The "T" word (tomorrow) is soon enough to start a "D."