Winter Duck.
Posted on | January 9, 2016 | 2 Comments
There are lots of ways to know when winter has finally arrived. We don’t use snow or ice as an indicator around here because that is usually a surprise attack that occurs just as the season is on its way out. And cold temperatures aren’t enough because we are lucky enough to have 70 degree days sprinkled liberally throughout November, December, and January. For me there are 3 main signs that winter is here and the chores need to be adjusted accordingly.
First, all the leaves are finally off the trees in the winter. During fall I spend every free afternoon attacking the leaves falling in the front and back yard. I can’t wait until all the leaves are down to rake because the grass will get smothered long before that time. This, of course, raises the question of why I planted grass in the woods, but I try not to think about that while I work. Years ago I insisted The Other Half spend a lot of time and money taking down huge established hardwoods so that I could grow grass. And I’ve been planting trees and bushes and making perennial beds to cover the grassy space ever since I discovered that grass has to raked, mowed, and seeded every year. Luckily, the fall leaves are helpful for mulching those trees, bushes, and perennial beds.
Now you might think that as soon as the last leaf is piled into the perennial beds I can put the rake away until next year. Not so. Raking the grass is a fall chore. Raking the perennial beds is a winter chore. Because once winter sets in, the foraging for the chickens gets a little thin and they head to the mulched trees, bushes, and perennial beds to dig up yummy worms and bugs. So each day, as I go to the barn for feeding, I am greeted by happy, healthy free range chickens and the nicely raked mulch scattered all over the grass. It’s hard to say if re-raking the leaves is as annoying as feeding chickens that are barely laying eggs. It’s kind of like the grass thing. I try not to think about it too much.
The second way I know it is winter is when I cannot put off the garden housekeeping anymore. As night temperatures get too cold for some of the crops and as it gets so wet and rainy that the slugs advance into the crops covered by row covers, I gradually abandon the garden. Lettuce, spinach and chard will limp along but pickings are slim and the ground really needs a rest before early spring crops go in by February. So in winter it’s finally time to take down the remains of the summer garden and start covering the rows to smother the chickweed and henbit that want to take over. This year I chose a beautiful sunny day with temperatures in the 40’s. Which was cold enough for gloves for my fingers but warm enough for flip flops for my toes. Perfect. Read more
Day Two.
Posted on | January 2, 2016 | 4 Comments
It’s the time of year for resolutions. So I resolved to finish planning our trip out west this summer. By “finish” I mean get started and get finished. All in one fell swoop. Apparently the National Park rangers like to be notified that you’re coming at least 6 months in advance or they won’t hold a cabin for you. The only problem is that if you live on the east coast and you are visiting a national park on the west coast, it’s hard to know when you might actually arrive at that National Park. But with the Frommer’s and Fodor’s I’ve been collecting from the $1 used book store, the help of TripAdvisor, and a lot of Google maps, I made a plan.
Unfortunately, I’m starting out the New Year as a liar. I originally told the kids that on the first summer we’d drive 1/2 way across the country, see the sights, and then come home. Then on our second summer of travel, we’d fly to the midway point (Kansas? Nebraska?), rent an RV to drive the rest of the way to the Pacific ocean seeing sights, and then fly home. I’m not sure how much I thought 6 plane tickets across the country and 3 weeks of RV rental cost, but I obviously underestimated it. By about 5 or 6 (maybe even 10) thousand dollars. Bummer. I hate it when I forget that I’m not rich. Read more
Spinning By Hand.
Posted on | December 20, 2015 | 3 Comments
One of the reason I sold my dairy goats was to spend more time with my sheep. Specifically with all their wool that is piling up in the craft closet. Last winter I felted 2 entire fleeces into balls in the washing machine because I needed to make room in that closet for more wool. Last spring’s fleece is still in the barn waiting to be washed and carded and this spring’s wool is only a few months away. The pressure is on but the problem is not with the will to spin but with the way to spin. Because I sat through a couple classes on spinning. And I watched some youtube videos. And I borrowed some books from the library. And I was still completely mystified when I sat at the spinning wheel or held a spindle.
Part of the problem is being left-handed. Right handed people are never sure whether they should try to teach me how to do it the right-handed way or whether they should try to teach me upside down and backwards, which is the way us lefties are used to living. Also, there’s a bit of room for personal preference—-ask 3 different spinners and you might be shown 3 methods that are just the teeniest bit different. And that teeny bit is very confusing. Throw in the terminology (draft, ply, slub, whorl, Z or S twist) that is thrown around during teaching and it’s all very baffling. Besides, I have found that my hands are better learners than my brain. Which results in even more problems.
For example, when I learned to card wool I had the same difficulties. This part was not hard.
Sick Day.
Posted on | December 19, 2015 | No Comments
It started with Netflix. Which my parents got us for my mother’s birthday. Yeah, you read that right. We got it from my dad for my mom’s birthday because he was getting it for her and she wanted us to have it, too. The Other Half never says to my face that he thinks I am spoiled but he eye rolls it a lot. Anyway, with the arrival of Netflix my former beach room was co-opted for watching television. Generally, it was only used for playing Wii (when the kids weren’t on Wii restriction) or knitting or reading quietly. But now we were all wanting to sit there with our feet up, with snacks and drinks and pillows and blankets, for hours of television shows that the rest of you saw about 12 years ago.
I had to move the plant boxes that I kept on the rail behind the sofa in the beach room. They used to hold air plants but the kids killed those years ago by constantly knocking the boxes down the stairs while playing ball in the house. Also, with each fall, the handles cracked off the boxes until they were nothing but dilapidated rectangles that I left on the rail out of sheer, worthless defiance. But even I realized they couldn’t stand up to all of us on the couch, readjusting pillows and blankets, and otherwise jostling about. So I filled them with offshoots of Uncle Rodney’s prolific aloe plant and moved them to the top of the stairs on the DVD/video cabinet. Where the plants are quite pleased with the filtered light from the window and the plant boxes at least stand a chance against indoor hoops.
Middle-earth.
Posted on | December 9, 2015 | 1 Comment
When I was growing up, you actually had to read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings to explore Middle-earth. I mean, the entire 1,000,000 pages. There were no movies and no online discussion forums. Now that I am in my forties I realize I could have skipped all the novels and just waited until I had kids in elementary school, middle school, and high school all at the same time to experience that bizarre and fantastical area stuck between two worlds. A place of shifting alliances, constantly passing between light and darkness, where the unexpected is always around the corner. An epic journey that leaves everyone older, wiser, and, hopefully, appreciative of the hobbit-hole called home.
During the past week I took Big, Pretty, and Middle to their first rock concert. And I do mean, rock concert. While my first concert was sitting across the arena from my parents at a Neil Diamond show, my kids enjoyed The Struts, New Politics, Bastille, Awolnation, and Fall Out Boy together at an event just outside Washington, D.C.
Southern Problems.
Posted on | November 28, 2015 | 1 Comment
I know some of you already had snow. And I feel for you. I really do.
But today, after ignoring my garden for weeks (months?), I decided to stop by and pay it a visit. Because after gorging ourselves on holiday food I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a few low-cal garden-fresh meals.
So I headed down there with a plan to pick a pail of snaps peas to send in with the kids’ lunches this week. Also to gather a bunch of lettuce to make a nice dinner salad. Plus to dig up a few potatoes to have with parsley and chives from the herb bed. And broccoli for a simple steamed side dish. Voila! An easy and healthy dinner.
We’ve had a few night time temperatures just below 30 degrees. But the sensitive lettuces were under row covers. The herb bed is in a sheltered spot that lets it thrive later than most other areas. And even though the tops of the potatoes died off, the spuds themselves can stay in the ground all winter and just be harvested as needed. The rest of the fall crops enjoy crisp temperatures and are sometimes even sweeter after a frost.
But frost wasn’t actually the problem.
Turns out the warm sunny days were too warm to counter the cooler nighttime temperatures. And several bunches of broccoli had already gone to flower.
Triggered.
Posted on | October 28, 2015 | 3 Comments
Have you heard about this? Trigger warnings are all the rage. Or not. Apparently, trigger etiquette is up for grabs. I used to find the whole concept very confusing. After all, my life might be interesting enough for an occasional blog post, but not interesting enough to result in trauma. Or at least not the kind of trauma that can’t be fixed by meeting a friend for a hike. Or a chocolate bar library.
Which isn’t to say I don’t have any experience with triggering events. To me, a trigger represents the event that clearly sets another event in motion. Sometimes, like Newton said, it is an equal and opposite reaction. Sometimes it’s more like Karma. Which is this:
Either way, it leaves you looking back and thinking, “Uh-oh.”
For example, the kids all had well visits with their pediatrician this past summer. I made the appointments because I am a concerned and caring parent that stays on top of her kids’ medical health. Also, because I signed up for accident and critical illness insurance at work. Which is usually a waste of insurance premiums. Except, in this case, the accident and critical illness insurance provider pays out $50 for an annual well visit for each covered member. For my family of 6 that translates into a $300 payout. Since the accident and critical illness insurance only costs a $294.17 a year, our coverage turns to be free. As long as we get our well visits. Which are covered for free under our regular health insurance. That proves there is an advantage to having 4 kids. I’ll try not to spend my $5.83 all in one place. Read more
Luna-tic.
Posted on | October 21, 2015 | 2 Comments
Despite being the smaller and skinnier German Shepherd, Luna is the fierce one. Don’t be fooled.
She stands on the front door, nails scrabbling madly on the window sill, barking at new arrivals. Which serves in place of a doorbell for us. She cannot be trusted around small livestock—she salivates through the fence at goat kids, leaves a swath of dead chickens in her path, and feels free to rid the barn of barn cats. She cannot even be left unsupervised with my mom’s rat terriers because I’m not sure she really believes that they are dogs. Although, in her defense, none of us are really sure about that.
Old Friend.
Posted on | October 19, 2015 | 1 Comment
This is how it happens. Every year. I watch the weather reports, I pay attention to the chill as soon as the sun slips below the horizon, I note the heavy dew in the mornings. But the first frost is not as predictable as the forecasters like to believe. I planned for Sunday night. Just like the meteorologist told me as I sipped my morning coffee. So, in preparation, I set up heat lamps in the kidding barn. Even though the babies insisted on laying everywhere except under the warmth and light.
I brought in the aloe plants. Which had flourished so much over the summer…..
….that there were tons of aloe babies to share.
And then I figured the rest of the work could wait until Sunday. But by Saturday afternoon the temperature was dropping even quicker than the sun. And by the time dinner was over, I knew it was time to recheck the weather channel. Which was calling for frost. By Saturday night, not Sunday night.
So The Other Half and I made our annual, last minute, frantic trek in the darkness—-down to the garden, around the barn, into the woodshed. Impossible to say how many years Jack Frost has watched us rushing through the dark, shivering in summer clothes, gathering what can’t be protected, covering what we hope to save. The Other Half emptied the plastic waterers that risked a rupture if they froze and expanded. I started laying row covers over the lettuce, unscrewed the hose, picked tomatoes and eggplants. We met by the peppers and I lifted branches and plucked the last of the summer’s crop while The Other Half held the flashlight in one hand and folded hot peppers into his shirt with the other. Read more
A Good Day.
Posted on | October 11, 2015 | 4 Comments
There are days when it all seems worth it. Days when the hard work starts to pay off. Days when it all goes as planned. Those days are good days.
On a cool sunny afternoon this week, the pigs were loaded up and taken to market. We’ve butchered our pigs ourselves in the past. But 2 pigs takes up an entire day and I couldn’t face the time and effort put into butchering 4 pigs. Plus 4 pigs was 3 pigs too many for our freezer and taking the pigs to a state inspected butcher enabled us to feel comfortable selling the extra meat as well as getting custom cuts for which we don’t have the proper equipment. So with the help of a borrowed livestock trailer, a piece of ply wood for a ramp, a few cattle panels to encourage them down the right path, and, of course, a pail of milk and grain, we let the pigs off their pasture and tried heading for the truck.
They were good pigs that day. They were actually good pigs the entire time they were here. It’s doubtful that our field fencing could have resisted an assault from 4 pigs, even before they reached 250 lb pigs. Even if the fence was strong enough, the fact that it didn’t reach the ground in a whole lot of places made a determined attempt unnecessary. A simple snout push would have been enough to set them free. But they didn’t really have it in them.
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