Many Hands

After breakfast and before letting the goats out of the barn, Deb and Craig were pressed into service.  It isn't that I couldn't have done the work by myself, but their willing hands and generous hearts made an hours-long job zip by (and it was a subtle ploy of mine to enjoy their company a little longer).  Goats are inveterate "rubbers," leaning almost perpendicular as they rub along a wall, any wall or fence available.  Over time, the girls had thinned out the outer barn panels to the point the nails no longer held and one panel was peeling back; not good with winter approaching.  Craig nailed a "band-aid" board over the seam, which the girls will appreciate when the cold winds blow.  Any work with the little tractor in the pen has to be done without goats in attendance.  Like teenagers with new learner's permits, they insist on driving, pushing each other off the seat, or chewing on tires or wires and, in general, making terrible nuisances of themselves.  With the girls still confined and complaining loudly and bitterly, we hooked trailer to tractor and went down to do some clean up.  Louie the Pig's old house had nearly disintegrated since his demise.  Generations of goat kids jumping off the roof tends to do that.  Craig dismantled what was left and we loaded the pieces, and then he drove around while Deb and I picked up a trailer load of branches and sticks spread throughout the pen from when Tree Guy worked on that oak.  The burn pile replenished, I had to get to the milking and the Kids had their own plans for the day.  Before leaving, they covered the stacked wood with a tarp for me, and took some loose firewood for the camping trips they have planned.  Sitting in the milking room next to Cindy as Deb and Craig drove down the drive, our mutual cries of, "Love you!," echoed in the air and in my heart.

It was a good day.

A Broken Drum

It was a day like a broken drum...you couldn't beat it (one of my mother's many sayings).  The Kids' timing was perfect, arriving just as I got back to the house with the milk.  The weather was fully cooperative as we went out to the the remnants of the garden, picking green beans and the lone pumpkin for us and some overripe tomatoes for the chickens.  Warm in the sun, cool in the shade, we stood and watched the chickens in both pens for awhile, laughing at their antics.  Deb and Craig hadn't been up since the last oak fell, so we wandered over that way while catching up on our news.  Farview worked its magic as we stood on the deck, just looking and listening to the peaceful surroundings.  They both work high-stress jobs and I could see them visibly relax as the hummingbirds hovered nearby.  We watched an excellent movie that ended just at the critters' bedtime, and then dinner.  I'd pay money for a broken drum like that.

Tricks and Treats

Pearl put one over on Frank this morning.  He pretty much goes where she goes and does what she does, so when she went to the kitchen door while I was making coffee and asked to be let out, he went out.  Pearl held back and didn't go through.  As soon as I shut the door and went back for my coffee, she ran to the Treat Drawer and made her wishes known.  Two minutes later, she said she wanted out.  I swear I could hear her sing-song voice telling Frank, "I got a treat...and you didn't.  Hahahaa!"

I had planned a treat for Deb and Craig.  I had wild blackberries in the freezer (picked and gifted by Joel), and wanted to make a blackberry puree and red wine reduction to pour warm over a wedge of Brie cheese for an appetizer.  It is a pain in the patoot to mash the softened berries through a strainer to get the seedless puree, but worth the effort.  That done, I added the wine and a little dab of sugar with the least pinch of cloves and set the mix to simmer and reduce.  And then my downfall.  I opened a new book by an author new to me.  The pan with the burned, hardened mess still sits soaking in the sink.  At some point today, I will caramelize some onions for the Brie and I won't pick up a book.

A good part of yesterday was spent in the kitchen (before I opened the book).  This change in the weather calls out for comfort food, and those bags of dried Lima beans had my name on them.  I started quick-soaking one bag, then read the label that said, "Makes six cups."  Well, six cups would not be enough!  I put the second bag to soak.  There's a predictable end to this story.  I have enough ham hocks and Lima beans to feed Cox's army.  In addition, I'd already taken out and thawed the meat for stew for dinner tonight.  I hope Deb and Craig are hungry.

A Different View

I do have a few gentlemen callers, husbands of my milk and egg customers who have been drafted into service to make the pick up once in awhile.  I might run into Joel at the fence line.  Tree Guy or Go-To always stop to talk when they come to work.  Same-sex conversations are comfortable and affirmative; there is a base of common knowledge regardless of background or education.  It is, however, talking with the opposite sex that gives an opportunity to stretch conversational muscles and gain a different point of view.  Speaking only from my own experience (and from a woman's standpoint), men deal in absolutes.  Joel and I most frequently discuss weather and the effects on his vineyard and my animals.  With Tree Guy, depending on the season, talk may turn to hunting or the building of a dream barn or engines.  If we were only asked, Tom and I have solved the nation's economic problems.  Yesterday's conversation with Guy (no adjective, that's his name) was most enlightening.  He shared a lot of knowledge about the attributes of various manures; cow, pig, chicken, goat, and the best type of poop to use for different applications.  I did know that goat droppings are great for soil amendment in the local decomposed granite, but had no idea that pig manure is best used for growing root vegetables, chicken for the leafy varieties, etc.  Guy raises all sorts of livestock on his farm and knows whereof he speaks.  Still talking, we drifted out to the old tractor; he has had his eye on the spring harrow and the spike harrow, but I really want to keep all of the implements to sell as a package.  Digging around in the weeds, he found a small snow plow that would attach to the front of a Jeep or four-wheel drive truck.  I didn't even know we had such a thing, and mentioned I would put it in the pile of scrap metal I've accumulated for the ironmonger whenever he shows up.  Ha!  Guy's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  I recognized the signs of a scrounge and his avarice for acquisition.  "Well," he mused, "if you're just going to give it away...."  Happy as a clam, Guy drove off with the plow in the back of his pickup.  Sarah will probably be happier with the milk and eggs.  It's all in one's viewpoint.

Looking Forward

Squirrels, woodpeckers, and me.  We're all stocking our larders for winter.  In spring and summer, I so look forward as each fresh fruit and vegetable makes its appearance:  asparagus, rhubarb, artichokes, spring onions, strawberries, sweet corn, watermelon.  It's no secret that I am an advocate of eating local, eating seasonal, but the season for "fresh" is winding down.  After a spate of company, I found I'd run out of an indispensable staple, onions.  Rather than make the trek all the way down the hill to my favorite (cheaper) grocery for just the one item, I went up the road ten miles or so to a "local" store.  Big mistake.  They stock a number of specialty items not available in the bigger store and I found myself cruising the aisles and filling my cart.  I make most of my own bread and have had a devil of a time locating rye flour (bought two of those).  Warm gingerbread with rum-soaked raisins and chopped crystallized ginger is killer on a cold night; bought a pound of ginger so I can bake ahead and freeze.  I'd not been able to find the large, meaty dried lima beans I prefer (bought two of those); a big pot of limas and ham hocks is in my near future.  As long as I was in that section, the split peas for soup caught my eye (bought two).  I'm looking forward to a visit from Deb and Craig this weekend, and they are kind enough to pick up some bulk items at Costco for me.  I've put in an order for walnuts and pecans, getting ready for the annual Christmas baking.  The squirrels and I, both hoarding nuts.  Stocking up a bit at a time now saves a big grocery bill later.  I may bemoan soggy feet and frozen fingers later, but I am looking forward to winter meals.

Earthquakes are much in the news lately.  Last night we felt one here.  I didn't so much feel it as hear it...a quivering in the windows and items on the shelves.  Strangely enough, Bessie Anne did not seem affected; usually dogs are the first alarms during a temblor.  Checking the news this morning, this quake was centered above Lake Tahoe and was only a 4.-something; in California, that's next to nothing.  "Yup, that's an earthquake," and then you turn over and go back to sleep, and I did.

Night Song

Bessie Anne said she wasn't quite ready to come in the house after putting the kids to bed and stayed out on the porch step to watch the last rays of the sunset.  Frank and Pearl kept her company, writhing and rubbing against her face before settling down at her side.  I tend to think of this as "The Children's Hour."  Because it was well after dark before Bess finally asked to come in, I thought perhaps we'd forgo the now-established evening walk.  No, a habit is a habit, after all.  We all do love our routines.  I snapped on her lead and out we went into the night, not even a sliver of moon to light our way.  When it's dark up here, it's really dark.  There is no ambient light from street lamps or buildings, and there are no nearby houses with light shining from the windows.  Even the lights on my hat had difficult piercing the night so we could pick our way along the drive.  I could see Frank and Pearl only by the glow from their eyes when they turned my way, little headlights in the dark.  A pair of owls were working the area, signaling back and forth, one directly across the road, the other moving behind the garden.  The cats were nervous and stayed much closer to me than usual, realizing they could be fair game for the huge birds.  A stranger chimed in from what's left of the big oak in the goat pen...a call I've never heard before.  From the sound, it also was a big bird.  I wonder what it could be.  My little parade did a quick-march back to the house, the cats looking over their shoulders, and we all went in together, leaving the hunters to sing their night song in the dark.

Be Quiet!

I may have to revise my opinion of fall being a quiet season.  Walking along the driveway strewn with fallen leaves sounds like walking through bags of potato chips, rustling and crackling with every step.  Acorns dropping on the shed roofs and truck bed sound like we're being bombarded with boulders.  Woodpeckers are jackhammering away, packing stores for winter.  Crows may have a large vocabulary, but how they understand each other is beyond me since they all talk at once, yelling at full volume as they crowd together on the power lines.

With the earlier sundown, Pick-Me-Up Peggy has been going to bed with the flock and I've missed her earnest little face looking up.  She evidently had the same thought, as last night she came out of the coop as I was shutting doors and again asked to be held.  I find her so endearing as she snuggles in my arms.  The hens have started to pick up production again after a fairly long (dare I say it?) lay off.  One or two eggs a day does not a dozen make and I've had to tell my customers we were out of supplies on several occasions.  It's a case of feast or famine; either there's not enough or there are buckets of eggs overflowing in the fridge.  With each egg being laid throught the day, the pep squad gives a loud cheer.

Hormones still rage in the goat pen.  It's hard to sit in the milking room, listening to the thud of bone on bone as the quarreling girls head butt.  The males are not let out of the barn until I'm done milking, and Nineteen whines continuously, apparently thinking he could help the situation.

Whatever made me think it was quiet?