Guess Who's (Not) Coming To Dinner

 Breakfast, yes.  Dinner, no.  These beautiful boys were on parade yesterday, secure in the knowledge that they would not be invited to the Thanksgiving table.

I don't think the bird feeder was meant to hold birds of this size, and definitely not two at a time.  The twelve or so on the ground were only half of the tribe who arrived for the buffet.

Patient or impatient, these birds were waiting for the second seating.  It was a busy morning at the Farview Farm Cafe.

I've finished my coffee and another turkey needs my attention in the kitchen.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Misfits

When the last goat leaves the stand, I open the gate to the big pen to give the girls more room to graze.  It's my habit then to take a minute to scan the horizon; one, because it's just a beautiful sight; two, looking for smoke plumes that might be from fire or an illegal burn pile; and three, to see what weather might be headed our way.  Yesterday as I stood there I kept hearing a crow cawing but couldn't see it (or them).  Overhead, a kettle of vultures was circling, coasting on the thermals.  There in the vortex was one crow, yelling, "Hey, Ma!  Look at me!  I'm flying with the big birds!"  Whoever said that birds of a feather flock together was wrong.

Cindy's constant complaining was bad enough.  Yesterday, she shut up and Tessie and Inga took up the chant.  It seems goats never get too old to come into heat.  Aaargh.

The timing was perfect to watch "Plymouth Adventure," (1952, Spencer Tracy, Van Johnson, and Gene Tierney) while tearing loaf after loaf of bread for stuffing in the afternoon.  This romanticized version of the pilgrims' voyage to the New World was actually a pretty good flick.  Too much housework makes a dull girl, and I needed to get a leg up on food prep.  (That's my story.)

I always count noses at sundown whether in the pen or the hen house.  Once again, there was one too many in the goat pen.  The girls were clustered up by the gate, all watching the interloper.  My first thought was, "Oh crum, another mouth to feed."  The deer seemed in no hurry to leave, but finally turned as I got closer and effortlessly leapt over the fences and away.

I have my chair, Bessie Anne has hers.  She is aging and has always had trouble with her back legs.  If she can get a good enough running start, she can make it onto her chair by herself, but some days she needs a boost.  Last night, she started to make an attempt and then put on the brakes.  Like Goldilocks, she said, "Somebody's sleeping in my chair!  Mom, you have to do something!"  Celeste had, indeed, preempted Bess's spot and was curled up in the recliner.  Celeste had no intention of vacating and Bessie was insistent.  I gave the dog a helping hand and the two snuggled together for the evening.  Ralph?  Ralph does his own thing.

Game Face

"The game's afoot!" or "What?  You talkin' to me?"  Tessie, the unicorn, was ready for a walkabout.  I was not.  One thing about goats, they are very curious.  Tess got so interested in the camera and what I was doing that I got close enough to grab that collar and haul her into the barn.  Ha ha!  Almost as good as winning a hand at poker.

Cindy, on the other hand, was constantly in the way yesterday.  She is in season and nearly drove me nuts, incessantly bawling and complaining about the lack of male companionship.  Just in case I might be ignoring her, she rose up to stick her head over the Dutch door while I was milking Sheila to yell in my face.  "I get it.  But I can't help you."  That wasn't the answer she wanted, so she went around the corner of the barn and continued to whine.  Thank goodness it's short-lived, twenty-four-hour condition.

The table in the round room is the staging area for supplies for Thanksgiving, piled high with yams, onions, loaves of bread, that bag of potatoes that sent me to two stores, and such canned goods as will be needed.  Milk Guy wanted to know yesterday if I was planning to feed an army.  Preparations in the house are moving along, but the real work will start tomorrow.  I was talking with my friend Tinka and we agreed that, living alone as we do, cooking for family is a joy.  I'm happy just thinking about it.  I'd sure rather cook than dust!

See It My Way

Any way you look at it, sundown was gorgeous yesterday.  After tucking the girls in the barn, I looked up to see the oaks by the house gilded by the sun.  The goats have worn trails through the pasture up to the water trough and the corner where the alfalfa is thrown.  This view is looking toward the north.

Turning to the west, sunset had taken on another aspect.  It's a sight I never tire of seeing.

The day never warmed up much after a very chilly start, so it was necessary to bring several wagon loads of firewood up to the porch to keep the stove stoked.  The hearth stone is semicircular, and is now ringed with furry critters as Bess and the cats toast one side and then the other (when there's no available lap).

Come Thursday and the house will fill with people, Celeste will disappear for the duration, Ralph will make a periodic appearance, undoubtedly choosing Dave (who is allergic to cats) as his favorite target, and Bessie Anne will be beside herself with joy because her boys are here.  Me, I'll be in hog heaven.  Can't you see it now?

Fair Play Style

Tank tops are a distant memory, put away in drawers for the duration.  The weather app on my phone tells me it is 45 degrees here in Fair Play; that's rather optimistic as the thermometer informs me it is 34 outside.  I tend to believe the thermometer.  My current oh-so-stylish vogue is a turtleneck sweater and a flannel shirt under bibbies and, when headed to the barn in the rain, a fleece-lined canvas jacket and a Michael Jackson felt hat (can't carry two milk buckets and an umbrella).  When it's not raining, the hat is replaced with a watch cap jammed down to the eyebrows.  I haven't yet gone on an all-out search for a warmer set (put somewhere safe last spring) so make do with a pair of gardening gloves.  To complete the ensemble, both shoes have sprung leaks so I squelch through the muck.  I don't know why the photographers from "Elle" or "Cosmopolitan" haven't come knocking on my door.

It's well known how much I love to go shopping (NOT).  Thinking to get it out of the way and give the turkey time to thaw, I bit the bullet and went to the grocery store wa-a-ay down the hill on Friday to get supplies for the holiday.  It seems an order had gotten screwed up and there were no potatoes available.  "We'll get some in tomorrow."  Heads will roll!  My own head would be bouncing alongside, as, unbelievable as it seems, I had forgotten to get the bread for stuffing.  It was right there on the list.  I must have been so discombobulated by the absence of potatoes that I skipped right over the bread.  (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)  Rain or no rain, I had, oh joy, to go up to the closer market yesterday.  As I put 10 pounds of potatoes and 8 loaves of bread on the counter, the checker asked, "Are you making stuffing?"  "Well, yes, I am.  I've got 17 coming for dinner."  "Oh.  I'm expecting 20 and only got 3 loaves.  Maybe I need more?"  Three loaves?!  It wouldn't be worth my time.  What about leftovers?  The main reason to make a turkey dinner is to have leftovers!  After eating their fill at the table and before going home, my gang descends like lions to bag up leftovers.  That's how we do it in Fair Play.

I Know Who You Are

Someone might have noticed yesterday, before I caught it myself and fixed the error, that I called Ralph Frank.  This happens to me all the time.  Red-headed Ralph bears no resemblance to Frank, who was Siamese, so that's no excuse.  I might be forgiven for calling Celeste Pearl because Pearl was also a grey tabby.  I frequently apologize to Inga for yelling at Tessie, but using Inga's name.  This is, unfortunately, a long-standing problem.

When the Kids were little and I wanted one or the other for something, I'd call out the whole litany of names before hitting on the right one.  At one time I thought about having their name tattooed on their forehead for quick identification and a shot at getting it correct.  But that meant I'd have to have them in line of sight, so I gave up on the idea.  In desperation, I finally started calling them all Arthur (even my daughter).  Only one of the four was offended.  "But, Mama, I'm ___________.  Don't you know me?"  "Oh, honey, of course I do.  I'm so sorry.  Now, Arthur, go on outside and play."

It's a familial thing.  I inherited it from my mother.  My confusion with a flock of Kids might be understandable, but Mother had only two daughters.  My sister had red hair, was tall, and was sixteen years older than I.  She'd married and had children of her own when I was growing up.  Still, my mother would call us by the other's name.  Like my own Kids, my sister and I had to develop a strong sense of self or wonder all our lives who in heck we were.  We quit correcting Mother; we knew she knew us.

So, my friends and family, regardless of how I may address you, I know who you are.

Give Me A Sign

I have a sign that says "Goat Crossing" and one that says "Pig Crossing" (that was when I had Louie).  It's obvious that I now need a sign that says "Turkey Crossing."  This is the tail end of the traffic jam caused by the 17 turkeys in the driveway on their way to the breakfast buffet.

Cold and overcast all day, the rain didn't come until after 3:00, but then it poured.  I hate to put the goats in the barn too early because they can't get to water so I hesitated to go out.  Then I realized they wouldn't go in the rain even if they wanted a drink.  Bess had enough sense to stay in the house when I geared up and trekked outside.  The girls nearly ran me down in their rush to get inside.  I don't need a sign to tell me that goats hate rain.

Ginger had taken refuge under the feed barn.  She stayed there while I shut the door to the Taj for the Silkies, but got worried when I headed to the big hen house.  Obviously wishing she had a newspaper to hold over her head, she made a dash across the way like a fussy lady crossing the road and went under the coop to get out of the rain.  Afraid she would get left out in the dark, Ginger finally ran zig-zagging past me to get to the gate.  "Let me in!  Let me in-let me in-let me in!"  Once inside, she shook like a dog and fluffed her feathers, joining the flock who'd stayed dry all day.

All those poor turkeys were huddled under the manzanita and whatever relief they could find under the nearly denuded oaks, shoulders hunched against the rain.  They needed a sign pointing to the live oaks that said, "This way to dry shelter."

The wood stove had been cranked up all day and the warm house sure felt good when I came back, dripping wet and chilled.  Bessie, Celeste, and Ralph took their assigned places on my lap and legs.  It's nice to get a little help from my friends.