Photo Essay

The goats had to wait for me as I was so taken by the morning sun playing behind the clouds on the way down to the barn.  The two puffs below the horizon are the smoke from a couple of hellacious burn piles up on Omo Ranch Road.

In the middle of the day, after bringing a load of firewood up to the porch Bess and I took a breather on the deck and saw that the clouds were marshalling their forces, spectacular with the light behind.  That firewood came in handy later as the temperature continued to drop and the wind picked up.

It seemed only fitting to show the clouds as they were at the end of day.  With exquisite timing, the rain held off until I was on the way back again, and then it poured.  The chicken pen was full of turkeys, all those not taking shelter under the manzanita bushes, and they weren't about to leave just because I showed up.  Ginger, as usual, was running around outside the fence and we were all getting soaked.  Bessie Anne lost patience and tried to herd Ginger in, but the little dingaling got scared and ran down into the orchard.  With the Silkies and the rest of the big hens in their rooms and the turkeys busy with a quickly thrown handful of grain, I put Bess in the feed room and tried to coax Ginger to come back, but she wasn't having any of that.  Slogging about and getting wet to the skin, I gave up and Bessie and I went in.  I've such a soft spot for Ginger that I couldn't leave her out in the dark and went back outside again.  My little red hen was tucked up on a hay bale but hopped down and ran with me into her pen and rushed in the door.  By then the cloudburst was over.  Chores done for the day, I turned...

and was struck by a glorious blaze of light and a stupendous sunset.

It was a good day.

Poppy 'Round the Corner

I get such a kick out of Poppy, the old Suffolk ewe.  On those days when the goats are cantankerous, Poppy can always make me smile and soothe my ruffled attitude.  Her arthritis is getting bad and there are some mornings when it takes her awhile to work out the kinks in her knees.  She shuffles and limps her way out of her room and into the sunshine (she likes sunshine but isn't fazed by rain).  Like The Little Engine That Could, once she gets going there's no stopping her on her way up to the alfalfa.  It just takes her a little longer these days.  In fact, if she makes up her mind to go anywhere, she's so determined it takes great strength to turn her in another direction.  Every now and again Poppy gets a runny nose.  She burbles along, blowing what Kathy V. calls snot-rockets.  It might be allergies, because it never lasts long and, as for the rest of us, it seems to come on when the oak pollen flies.  Poppy has a pretty good sense of timing.  I don't know if she counts how many goats go in and come out of the milking room, or if she listens to the banging of the buckets, but she shows up down at the barn about the time I'm finishing chores.  She knows the difference between the bucket I use to haul out poop from the stalls and the one I bring in grain for the next day.  I look for her black snoot poking out as she lurks around the corner, peeking to see if I've got "her" bucket.  If it's the right one, she comes to stand at the door, waiting for her handout; make that three handouts.  She gets three and no more.  Sometimes Sheila wants to get in on the act.  That's the only time Poppy gets cranky and throws her head around.  "You've already had yours!"  Sheila backs off.  For the longest time, Poppy did not want to be touched.  As she's aged, she now seems to enjoy having her oh-so-soft head rubbed, and I take advantage of every opportunity.

Poppy is already past the published "expiration date" for Suffolks.  Driving past or walking down to the pen, I always count noses, making sure all my girls are up and on their feet.  I know one day she won't get up, but I don't think I'll ever stop looking for Poppy 'round the corner.

 It was a good day.

Indispensable

"Don't bring a knife to a gunfight," so the saying goes.  That's about the only time a knife wouldn't be useful, in my opinion.  I would feel absolutely naked without a knife in my pocket (or purse, should it be one of those rare occasions when I'm wearing a dress).  You just never know.  I've not counted the number of times a day that I've pulled out my pocketknife for one reason or another.  I've cut twine, trimmed stems, scraped sills in the barn (pesky birds), opened boxes and feed bags, cut roses, cleaned fingernails, pulled splinters; you name it.  My knife is kept clean and sharpened always.

Duct tape is another thing I wouldn't want to be without.  I don't keep a roll in my purse, but there's always duct tape in my truck.  Sure came in handy when a radiator hose blew in a friend's car.  A strip of tape will keep lug nuts from rolling away if a tire needs changing.  The tape is right there behind the seat next to a few strands of baling twine.

Twine will keep lumber or replacement storm doors from shifting or flying out of the bed of the truck after a trip to Lowe's.  Twine makes a good impromptu goat leash.  I use a loop of baling twine to hold the big door to the hen house open during the day.  If the wind were to blow it shut and a chicken was in the way...it could be ugly.

Back in the day, when hunting with my father-in-law, he always had a bottle of Four Roses bourbon in his truck.  He said it was in case of snake bite.  I don't think the whiskey would have done anything for the poison, but he'd go out happy.  There are those indispensable things one should never be without.

The chances of my getting into a gunfight are slim to none.  In the meantime, I'll keep my knife.

Little Bites

Soon after the first of the year I made a list, a pretty long list (okay, a very long list), of things that need repairing, building, tearing down, cleaning up, etc.  I wish I hadn't done that.  I look at that list periodically and then put it down and walk away.  It's simply overwhelming and I choke.  Yesterday I tried a new approach.  I made another list.  "Things I Must Do Today."  I wrote just three items, three things I thought might be manageable in one day.  Three things are a way to take little bites out of the whole megillah, little nibbles that can actually be accomplished in a day.  Since one thing on yesterday's list was to go to town and pick up Bessie Anne's heartworm medicine, I was able to cross off only two, but I'm new at this process and I'm not going to beat myself up over it.  I just moved that chore down a notch to today's list and added two more.  This could work!

Gary does not believe in little bites.  He opened the entrance to his burrow right next to the breakfast bar and began shoveling grain into his saddlebags.  This small, sleek creature can pack an amazing amount into his cheek pouches, and he made so many trips I had to put down more food so the mice wouldn't go hungry.

Nature is playing with us.  She gives us a little taste of spring and then takes it away.  Mornings have been down in the 30s, close to freezing, and I had to pull one of those closeted turtleneck shirts down again yesterday.  The deck and fields are white with heavy frost this morning.  She teases with a hint of rain, but doesn't keep her promise.  The word fickle comes to mind.

Now where did I put that list?

Ms. Mesta and Me

Perle Mesta was a socialite party-giver and ambassador in the 1950-60s era, known worldwide as "The hostess with the mostest."  I doubt I'll ever make the cover of Time magazine as she did, but my hospitality will not be faulted.  Turkeys are lined up and waiting to join one of my hen parties, and now outnumber the chickens.  Latecomers head up the slope on the run.  It's the same thing in a smaller version in the Silkie pen.  Instead of turkeys, dozens and dozens of sparrows and dinky birds (all who can fit through the chain-link fence) attend the breakfast meeting with the Silkies.  I am assured there will be no "regrets" to my invitations.  Oh, wait.  I didn't send out invitations.

Bess and I had to make a flying trip to Mt. Aukum the other day.  A costly mishap had occurred.  During the last storm when the wind had blown the outer door off the feed room, the hard-driven rain had gotten in under the inner door and wet a 75-pound bag of goat chow.  I thought I'd gotten it moved far enough away, but that storm was a doozy.  Not until I'd trundled the bag down to the barn to pour into the barrel did I realize the feed had gone moldy and totally useless.  Moldy grain can kill a goat.  Goat chow ain't cheap; however, there was nothing for it but to race to the store to replenish the supply so the girls would have breakfast.  I've now got the problem of how to dispose of 75 pounds of feed where it won't poison any creature.  This is not a city situation, for sure.

A dry north wind blew all day yesterday and the chill factor was significant.  It hadn't been a particularly warm day to begin with and by last night I was seriously considering lighting a fire.  I might have done had I not been pinned to the chair by the ever-present Bess and Celeste.  (I didn't invite them, either.)  The furries were comfortable curled in my lap, but my feet were sticking out and getting colder by the minute.  It was a good excuse to go to bed early.  All this hostessing is exhausting.

War Zone

"Man your battle stations!"  It has reached an alarming state.  I'm afraid to sit down anymore.  The minute I do, I'm immediately under attack from both sides and my lap is the desired "high ground" that must be occupied at all costs.  Bessie Anne, normally a well-trained, well-behaved dog, no longer takes no for an answer and pushes, shoves, and struggles to climb up into the chair.  A solid fifty pounds, when she's in my lap I am nailed in place.  Celeste goes for a sneak attack, approaching from the rear, springing up over my shoulder and claiming whatever space is not taken up by dog.  This does not leave much room for me.  Thankfully, neither of them has a flag to plant or I'd be poked with holes like a sieve.  I'd like to think that both sides just want my company or possibly the warmth of togetherness, but it's probably species competition.  Unless he were to sit on my head, Ralph is odd man out.  He is possibly the strategist, directing the occupying forces from his bunker under the dining room table, safely behind the lines and ensconced on the one chair with a cushion.  Squooshed flat and immobile, it's difficult to work on The Project unless I've shown some forethought and gathered all materials nearby beforehand.  This is not always the case and The Project comes to a screeching halt until a truce is called.  It's not easy being a living war zone.

I Love A Parade

After a day of small chores here and there, Bessie and I went out to enjoy the afternoon sunshine.  Cool enough to need a jacket, it was pleasant working in the lavender bed as shadows lengthened.  The granite boulders in what is laughingly called The Rock Garden (the only things growing there are rocks) make a good spot to sit and rest after a stint of bending and stooping.  Bess lay by my feet at the edge of the driveway when we heard rustling over by the first shed.  Evidently there had been a committee meeting of the TLC (Turkey Ladies' Club) and it was breaking up so the girls could get home in time for dinner.  Surely they would detour around me and the dog, but no.  These six were less than half of the turkeys parading past on their way to who knows where and they weren't to be deterred.

Later, down in the shop I finished enough pieces to complete more of The Project.  As I become familiar with the equipment, I'm more confident and competent and the work is going faster.  A big advantage is that I'm more comfortable claiming the shop as my own workspace, no longer a stranger in a strange land (apologies to Robert Heinlein).  Upstairs in the evening, a very disappointed Bessie was banished to her own chair instead of my preferred lap while I worked on assembly.  I was able to improve on the prototype and may actually redo that first attempt.  The concept was good but lacked finesse and the execution was faulty.  I don't know about perfect, but practice does, indeed, make better.

It was a good day.