Under the Big Top

 "La-a-a-dies and gentlemen!  Please direct your attention to the center ring, where you will see the astounding and death-defying aerial acrobatics of Mighty Mouse!  Note that there is no safety net and it is a long way down.  Bandmaster, drum roll, please."

P. T. Barnum has nothing on me.  I have my very own circus, and the acts change daily.  What in the world possessed this mouse to do what he was doing, which was repetitively going up and down the rope I use to bring Sheila into the milking room.  Mice obviously do not suffer from acrophobia, as he had to be up on the high girder to get to the rope in the first place.  I have replaced my flapping clown shoes (two pairs of new shoes in one year, woohoo!), so I have assumed the role of ringmaster of this Big Top I call home.

The herb garden has become a day-care center for turkeys.  There can be from six to twenty adults and babies hanging out among the thyme and marjoram at any time of day, not bothered in the least by our comings and goings.  It can get a little noisy when the turklets are rambunctious before nap time.

Dolly is arriving tomorrow for three days.  Rain is predicted for Monday.  Of course it is; Dolly is coming.

What's In A Name?

Driving down to the big road on my way to get feed yesterday, Camille was coming home and we stopped to talk.  (We do that up here.)  Honey crawled over the back seat to get into Camille's lap so she, too, could say hi.  Honey is a big dog and Camille drives a small truck; it was a tight squeeze.  Camille said, "Okay, you can say hello to your Auntie."

Later, while watering deck plants in the cool of the early evening, my mind went off on one of its excursions and ended up on "Auntie."  My mother was very particular about what she would be called.  When I was a little kid, two small cousins were staying with us and the little boy asked Aunt Esther if he could do something or other.  "Honey, don't call me Aunt Esther," wanting him to only use her first name.  He thought for a minute.  "Uncle Esther?"  That was back in the day when children were taught to call all adults Mr. So-and-so or Mrs. So-and-so as a sign of respect.  My own children called one neighbor simply Mister.  Neither my sister nor I ever called our parent anything other than Mother, never Mama or Mom; that was unthinkable.  Her grandchildren were taught to use Grandmother and nothing else, no diminutives like Grannie or Nana, and certainly not Grandma or the even more dreaded Grandmaw!  The little ones had difficulty and it usually came out as "Granmuzzer."

That train of thought pulled into the station, and so I am now Honey's Auntie.  It could be worse.  She might call me Uncle.

Diamond Dust

In a text message yesterday, Deb told me to go out and look at the sun.  (Did she want me to go blind?)  I did as I was bidden and was stunned to see the rainbow halo and promptly started spreading the word to others.  Doing a little research, I found these phenomena are called Sun Dogs or Diamond Dust, formed by light refracted by ice crystals in the air.

Going out time after time to see this beauty, I noted that there were actually two rings, the lower one very faint but even more colorful.

Coming back to the house in the morning, accompanied by Bessie and Frank, suddenly there was a lot of movement in the herb garden.  The mamas and aunties had brought all the baby turklets to rest in the shade and browse.  There's something not quite right about preseasoning a turkey with thyme, marjoram, and rosemary before they are defeathered and ready for the oven.  Even with the dog and cat there, the turkeys are now so comfortable that they just moved over and didn't leave.  It probably helped that Bess and Frank ignored them.

In an old song, John Denver sang, "Some days are diamonds; some days are stone."  Yesterday was a diamond dust day.

Doug's Big Adventure

I breathed a big sigh of relief yesterday when I did not find the baby squirrel where I'd left him, and went on with the business of the day.  Making the last trip around the corner to fill the feed bucket, oh crum, there he was in the doorway to the stalls, weak and struggling.  What to do, what to do?  The only thing I could think of at the moment to revive him was to dip out still-foaming, warm goat milk in my hand.  (I later threw out that bucketful.)  With a little encouragement, he began to lap at it and his movements became a bit stronger.  I still had to finish up in the barn and get back to the house, so I stuffed him in a bib pocket, one with a snap closure, for a ride-along.

In the medical supplies kept for the goats there were syringes.  I filled one with warm milk and sat down with Doug (by this time I knew his name was Doug) for his breakfast.  With tiny paws on the "bottle," Doug lapped up a little more, gaining strength.  He'd become cold and dehydrated during his night alone.  I heated a beanbag and put Doug, wrapped in clean wool from Poppy, on top.  He snuggled down and closed his eyes for a nap.  With cats in the house and my inexperience with wild babies, it would not have been right to try to raise him by myself.  I called Sierra Wildlife Rescue.  This is a nonprofit, all-volunteer group and they could not have been nicer.  With no hesitation, they agreed to take Doug, saying they'd just received three other baby squirrels and he would fit right in.  I was very happy to be assured that, so far, I'd done all the right things for this little guy.  With distance being a factor, Wendy and I agreed to meet up at the market for the transfer.  I packed up Doug and he went for a trip in the truck.  Boy, will he have stories to tell!  It was with some reluctance that I said goodbye, but it was for the best, Doug's best. 

Send In the Clowns

Some days have a natural theme song and yesterday it was definitely "Send In the Clowns."  Oh, wait.  That was me.  Flappity whappity, what the heck?!  The sole on one of my new (okay, almost new) shoes had come loose almost back to the heel.  Ka-whap, ka-whap; all that was needed was the sound of a calliope in the background for my clown act.

Looking out while milking, I saw two deer walking on the driveway just outside the goat pen.  The goats lifted their heads and the deer stopped.  For a long minute, the does of two similar species stood and looked at each other as if looking in a mirror, and then the deer moved on.

When the deck was in afternoon shade,  I took Bessie Anne out and began giving her a puppy cut with the clippers, shearing off a big pile of fur.  She seems so much more comfortable.  Bess needs a little more touch-up work before I'll take her close-up photo, but she's so darned cute.

Putting the girls to bed last evening, I heard a very different sound, a kind of chittering, coming from the walkway by Ruthie's stall.  Tucking all the goats in, I went in the near dark to investigate and found this tiny squirrel, smaller than a sparrow and smaller than the palm of my hand.  It wasn't moving much, but was certainly vocal.  Even little squirrels can bite, so I gently picked it up by the tail and moved it out where the light was better to get a good look.  I don't know why this baby was out on its own all alone.  Perhaps the mama was moving it to new quarters and got scared off when the goats came in.  In hopes that this was the case and that she would come for it, I carefully put it back close to where I'd found it, but by a bag of wool so it would stay warm.  I know that sometimes a wild mother will recognize some deformity in her young and oust it.  I hope it's not there when I go down to the barn this morning.  I'd like to think it is back in the company of its family.

Between my silly shoe and the animal acts, I'm not sure if I'm running a farm or a circus.

Please Be Seated

After giving me a dose of attitude the other morning, Tony took a day off and I saw neither hide nor hair of him.  Yesterday he was back and no amount of squirted milk was going to deter him from the breakfast bar.  The crew was not necessarily patient, but they did wait for brunch to be set out.  I've noted that squirrels have a unique way of holding their place in line.  I can't imagine how they do it, but I will find one drop of pee or just one "pellet" in the bowl, left like a calling card.  As for Tony, the mice have decided that if they are to eat at all, they've got to stand their ground.  At times, the two species are munching nose to nose.  I've tried to explain to Tony that, yes, it is an all-you-can-eat buffet, but taking food home is discouraged.  Still he packs his cheeks with meals to go.

No other motorcycle has that deep, throaty rumble that identifies a Harley.  I could hear Dave and his friend, Chainsaw (Jason), coming long before they got to my road.  As they circled the drive, the flock of turkeys resting under the front oak slowly moved off, but gave Chainsaw's girlfriend Brandi, who was riding on the pillion, a sample of the wildlife here.  It's always gratifying to hear the reactions when guests admire the views surrounding Farview.  We spent a pleasant afternoon meal together before they rumbled off again.

Bess is overdue for a summer haircut.  We've dealt with foxtails, the dagger-like seeds from the bracken, and the little Velcro burrs, but there is a new weed this year that is driving us both nutso.  It weaves her fur into a mass that is darned near impossible to brush out.  If she so much as steps off a path, it's there waiting and she comes back a total mess.  Most of last evening was spent trying to make her comfortable.

Foo-Fah

The day was going so well.  I'd finished weeding the barrel (ta da!) for tomatoes before barn chores and was feeling pretty good about that.  Back in the house, I'd cleaned up the buckets and was sitting down to plan the rest of the day when Camille and Honey drove up with a surprise invitation to go to lunch.  Without a second thought, I hurriedly spiffed up and off we went to Toscano Winery down in Amador County.  The buildings are Italianesque, with trickling water fountains, roses perfuming the air, and Andrea Bocelli's glorious voice soaring in the background.  Camille and I enjoyed lunch outside and leisurely shared a bottle of wine while Honey enjoyed the attention of passersby.  The weather couldn't have been better.  On the way home, reluctant to end the day, Camille suggested a stop at The Pub.  Sounded good to me!  (I now can highly recommend their Kilt-Lifter beer.)  Getting ready to leave, I discovered an urgent phone message from Craig, my son-in-law; he never does this.  Cell phone service gets spotty in the hills and I couldn't get a signal.  There had been several recent tragedies in my extended family and I hit the panic button, imagining the worst.  Pulling up in my driveway, there was a car in front and as we stopped, I could see a man's silhouette inside my house.  Panic of another sort!  Joel came out and then I was sure something terrible had happened.  It hadn't.  It turned out to be a comedy of errors.

Joel had come over to bring me a gift of sweet cherries and baby carrots and found the truck there and no one answered the door.  Worried that something might have happened to me, he called Deb and Craig, who knew nothing of my plans.  They called Dave, who also was clueless.  Judy was contact central and was passing messages back and forth.  Joel, bless him, had gone all over the place looking for me, including the house.  He explained all this and I, so relieved that my family was safe, burst into tears.  It had never occurred to me to tell anyone other than Bessie Anne that I was leaving.  It is gratifying to know that, should something be wrong here, I've got dear neighbors and family who care.  Joel left, Camille left, and I was left to call the Kids to apologize and let them know all was well.

Until the very end, it had been a most excellent day.