Mountain Country.
Posted on | October 18, 2012 | 3 Comments
I know I am fudging it when I say we live in the country. It used to be the country. When we first moved here the 2 surrounding towns had nothing except for a post office. And the local post office is still only open from 8:30am-12pm and 2pm-4:30pm. In small towns we often close for lunch (or else we’d have to more than 1 employee) and we like to get home before it’s too dark to milk in the winter time. Although postal employees will call you at 6am if your chicks arrive from the hatchery so you can come pick them up immediately. No one wants to be responsible for dead chicks. Also, the incessant peeping is distracting when you are sorting mail.
Since our small town exists along a highway, the development eventually arrived. And now both of the surrounding towns are swamped by chain stores of all types along their highway exits. We are now in the graceless age of directions that start with “Get off the exit at the WalMart….” You have to get at least 4 miles away from the highway before the directions start with “Turn at the gravel road where you’ll see old Shambley’s bull in the pasture….”
I have never been particularly grateful for directions involving bulls. I don’t text and drive but I find it just as dangerous to be scouting bovine nether regions when I’m cruising down the road. We are surrounded by fields of cattle out here and unless there’s a frolicking calf, I’m not sure how people judge gender from a distance. Read more
Nesting.
Posted on | October 18, 2012 | 1 Comment
For the last few days I have been nesting.
No, not that kind of nesting. Really, how could you assume such horrible things about me?
This is the kind of nesting that comes after a short burst of cold weather. Because, like any good ant knows, cold nights and chilly mornings means time is running out to get your stuff together. Sunny days will soon be replaced by frigid temperatures and snowy fields. Well, not for me, but for you suckers up north it will. But the critters and I will still have to deal with 30 degree nights and a brisk wind chill. On occasion. In like January. So it never hurts to be prepared.
It all started with the duck stock. Since all the duck stock in the freezer was depleted, it was time to make some more. We make duck stock out of duck carcasses once the breast meat is removed. Then we use that stock during the year in any recipe calling for broth. It also makes a rich, healthy, rejuvenating soup whenever someone is sick. Too bad I was the first one to get sick this year. And there was no duck stock. Ask yourself: who makes the duck stock for the sick person when the person who makes the duck stock is sick? Answer: No one. A good ant makes her own duck stock before she runs out. Otherwise, she’s just a sick cricket with no rich, healthy, rejuvenating soup. Aesop was a wise, wise man. Probably a woman publishing under a man’s name actually. No one really knows.
Once the duck stock was on the stove, I was trapped in the house for the next 3-4 hours as it simmered.
The Big Stink.
Posted on | October 14, 2012 | 8 Comments
It’s the time of year when our commitment to sustainability is truly tested. No, I don’t mean when we have to choose between the seedless or seeded watermelon—convenient GMO produce vs. old-fashioned spit-as-you-go produce. That’s the June test of our commitment to sustainability. Although this summer, after several years of seedless-watermelon-consuming guilt, I discovered seedless watermelons are not genetically modified but simply an infertile hybrid. Jeez. Guilt is bad enough. But needless guilt is such a shame. If I was into that feeling I’d be Catholic instead of Baptist. Although that Saturday night church and sleep in on Sunday morning thing they have going on is pretty tempting.
And I’m not talking about our decision to keep roosters with our chicken flock. Yes, roosters mean fertile eggs which means hidden nests which means unplanned chicks and, eventually, a surplus of new roosters that have to be butchered in the fall. Those roosters just make for good eating over the winter. The only real downside about flock sustainability is the constant reassurance to egg buyers that just because they’re eating fertile eggs does not mean they’re eating a chick. Not usually anyway. I only know of one occasion when someone cracked an egg to find a half-developed chick inside. Or maybe twice. Or, I don’t know….how many times is a few? Anyway, just remember that balut is a specialty item and I could charge extra for that in Cambodia. Read more
Apparently, I Am A Boater.
Posted on | September 22, 2012 | 5 Comments
Every once in a while you have to change your mind about something. Just to keep your life fresh and exciting. And also to confuse those around you.
Take boating, for example. For years I thought I was not a boater. Oh, The Other Half has friends with boats and we’ve been out on the lake a time or two. Which was enough to convince me that I did not like boating.
There was a lot of speeding around with water splashing in your face. People were pulled behind the boat on all types of inflatables—the point of this being to drive as fast and erratically as possible until the person loses his or her grip and falls off. Um,…awesome.
But that’s not even the best part of the process. First, the kids must beg and beg and beg to be the first to ride the inflatable. And then the kids complain the whole time they are waiting for their turn. Next, when it is their turn, they will get scared and hesitate (and who wouldn’t after watching the person before them take a huge wave to the face and fly off, untethered, into the wake zone) and say they don’t want to go anymore. Commence the convincing and coaxing of the child by the male parties on board to attempt riding the inflatable while all the female parties are forced to avoid the child’s terrified and pleading eyes. Finally, 1 of 3 glorious results occurs: Read more
You Said It, Coffee Cup.
Posted on | September 17, 2012 | 6 Comments
I forgot the little ones were out of school for next 3 weeks.
So I was up at 5:15 am, stumbling around the kitchen, hoping to gulp down a cup of coffee, catch a bit of news, and start the bacon for breakfast before they got up at 5:30 am.
But it was still quiet at 5:40 am.
Which is when it dawned on me.
There would be no kids awake until the older ones got up for school at 6:30 am.
Which meant I had an entire pot of coffee and 2 pounds of bacon.
All to myself.
For the next hour.
You said it, coffee cup. You said it.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
Posted on | September 15, 2012 | 7 Comments
When Little was back in kindergarten his teacher had a funny saying. Whenever the kids got an answer right or were being recognized for good behavior, Mr. K. would shout, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner!!”
It was an odd turn of phrase. There are a lot of odd southern sayings but none of us were familiar with this one. We discussed this over dinner on many occasions and finally googled it. According to the internet, many people believe this phrase started in Las Vegas years ago when you could get a nice chicken dinner for less than $2.00. Because winning an average bet meant you generally won over $2.00, you could buy a chicken dinner. Hence, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner!!”
So I’m guessing Mr K. was a gambler before he was a kindergarten teacher. Which actually seems like a bit more reliable, less stressful profession than teaching 5-6 year olds.
Now a few years have passed, Mr. K moved on to get his Master’s degree so that in return for thousands of dollars in student loans he gets paid $.50 more per hour to teach those same kindergartners (yep, that’s the spirit of a gambler!), and I am beginning to think his catch phrase applies in other situations, too. Read more
Homeland Security.
Posted on | September 14, 2012 | 6 Comments
We rest easy at our place.
Bruno is in charge of alerting us to any vehicles coming up the driveway. Also, making us aware of any bikers that are approaching the vicinity. No biker may pass without an escort for the length of our property line. Then there’s the heron that tries to get into his pond. Oh, he hates that heron with a passion. But not as much as he hates the vulture who enjoys sunning himself in an old dead tree on the dam. He is not able to scare him off. So he must sit beneath the tree and guard him vigilantly until him decides to go away.
But should anyone make it past Bruno’s security, the puppies take over, ensuring no one reaches the front door without notice. Read more
Looks Like We Made It After All.
Posted on | September 7, 2012 | 12 Comments
The kids and I went to a friend’s art show last night.
I know, shocking, right? I didn’t even realize I had kids who were old enough to go to an art show without ripping the paintings off the walls, rubbing their fingers on all the canvases, and saying things like, “This is cute, but I’m pretty sure I’ve done better.” Read more
Mistakes.
Posted on | September 5, 2012 | 9 Comments
It was a big mistake. The kind of mistake that you look back and say, “Why did we do that?” But, of course, we didn’t know. How could we?
We didn’t know that morning when we had a bunch of kids over to play that he would arrive. We didn’t know until they started yelling that there was a loose dog in the yard, that he was here. And we didn’t realize we would have bigger concerns than whether or not he was chasing chickens in the end.
The kids flew out the door which, in retrospect, seems like a foolhardy thing to do with a random, loose dog. But my kids grew up around dogs and they seemed fully capable of hollering off a dog that was chasing the hens. But he wasn’t chasing the hens. Or barking through the fence at Bruno, the livestock guardian dog. Or even remotely interested in our German Shepherds pacing in the backyard at the scent of him. When I finally got up to check on the proceedings he was sitting in a circle of children, getting kisses and head rubs, and showing them he knew how to “shake.” Read more
Woof, Woof, White Dog.
Posted on | August 28, 2012 | 8 Comments
Woof, woof, white dog, Have you any fur?
Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am, three bags and more.
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