tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73878006174536637792024-03-12T20:40:27.539-05:00T&C HomesteadLife in the slow laneCharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-87224196729642093452012-10-23T18:06:00.000-05:002012-10-23T19:08:40.997-05:00The whirligigs of the Milkweed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsV-tcfXv3WiNicH1wtz2ICyjuQxqnR-cCMaclvGtCXmDBLilDuslIbwtbHL7OtOHF22-yDZsSrd5AOkErzp-TL1g4IpxCY9HbLNTZTx6L9-KvovxyfgDwlSuy4lNc-FJfgh-0vMKa7H4/s1600/DSCN2388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsV-tcfXv3WiNicH1wtz2ICyjuQxqnR-cCMaclvGtCXmDBLilDuslIbwtbHL7OtOHF22-yDZsSrd5AOkErzp-TL1g4IpxCY9HbLNTZTx6L9-KvovxyfgDwlSuy4lNc-FJfgh-0vMKa7H4/s320/DSCN2388.JPG" width="320" /></a>Remember as young children, walking to school in late fall.... the leaves were dancing to the rhythms of the north wind, geese were flying overhead in perfect V formations, sparkling Blue Jays called to the crows in the woodland..... and the Milkweed plants prepared to whirl. We gathered up the grayish pods, and with great anticipation pulled the silken parachutes that were hanging tightly to the seeds....... blew them into the wind, like soap bubbles , watching them bounce and sway on the lite breezes, doing their swan dance as if to attract the the rays of sunlight and project them onto the tall grasses that opened up their arms to receive all the babies that were about to alite. Each seed had a definite path way down to the dry earth, to await the cool fall rains that would eventually sink them into the soil to await the arrival of spring. Mother Earth would soon pull the blankets of snow closely, to protect each young life and escort it into its own journey into the world.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigqlz8sn_wNr69oBmtm4kAV3CeXJ6pISCmCTwYt-iNrlgM4UvzfQhrHK1ri3EmcSvGJiZ2Y2w5rxeUVB3U0INTcZX7-9irnlimsaUlFE3rarpttyfceJ2rpYeRTqlqnEQBBQBzRgWyos/s1600/PICT0117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigqlz8sn_wNr69oBmtm4kAV3CeXJ6pISCmCTwYt-iNrlgM4UvzfQhrHK1ri3EmcSvGJiZ2Y2w5rxeUVB3U0INTcZX7-9irnlimsaUlFE3rarpttyfceJ2rpYeRTqlqnEQBBQBzRgWyos/s320/PICT0117.JPG" width="320" /></a>As I walked the dogs down the quiet driveway, the milkweeds that had so boldly presented their pink blossoms not too long ago, and provided comfort to the Monarc Butterflies, now hung their heads down, heavy with burdens of coming year. I purposely do not allow cutting on the South Side of the drive, so the milkweeds can grow and prosper in peace, with only the deer, or other wildlife mingle and tread paths between the wood lines and the fields. Its fall..... and so much has been done this year, The drifting oak leaves throw caution to the wind, and become friends with my shoes, as they too are finding their own place to mingle with the earth..... and protect all the fallen weed seeds the past summer from the heavy snows that are sure to come. The dark shadows in the wood line, open up with the setting sun, all the hiding places of the squirrels are now in full view, and outlines of deer can be seen if one looks very closely. They too have changed their colors, blending in with the warm browns, reds and gold of the frivolous grass heads that are daring anyone to defy them, like the cold winter breezes.<br />
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The long lonely farm roads where the corn has matured, and now changed to a golden brown, has the huge reaper with shears not unlike the one we used to shear the Alpacas, travel the distance of the field, eating up each row, spitting out the stalks and keeping the corn cobs, which will later be loaded on trucks, shelled , dried and follow their destination to parts unknown. Soy beans have been picked, weeks ago, along with the gigantic hay bales that sat unguarded, waiting for tractors and the wagons to carry them into barns for forage later in the year.<br />
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It is Fall in the Northland, and I too have planted, cultivated and prepared our harvest to rest in the jars in the pantry, and the freezers that await in the garage. The horseradish has been dug, and made into sauce, the onions have been dried and spun into powder, along with the wild velvety, yet pungent smell of the hot peppers that did so well in the hot, dry summer we had this year. The apples have been transformed into juice, along with the tomatoes, and sit with vibrant color on the shelves. The garden has been washed of its weeds, and vegetation, only the Kale and Parsley await their fate. Corn stalks have been pulled and slowly thrown over the fence into the pasture to the alpacas and goats, who share their bounty with the chickens along with the expired broccoli and green plants who have fulfilled their misson.<br />
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My shoes no longer stick to the sugary floors, as the jams and jellies have taken their respectful places on the shelves, and the residue has long been mopped up.....only the squash and pumpkins remain to be put away for the winter and set silently in the garage awaiting their turn....It is fall and a time to take a break from the dirt that has tarnished my nails, and constantly set my back on fire from the undimishable weeds that persisted and had to be pulled for days at a time.<br />
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The time has come to become acquainted with the skeins of yarns that have lain silent, and to sew the funny squares again on my sewing machines that have not been used in months. My material stash calls to me in anguish, as I have not had the time to find the energy it requires...... to sew into practical articles the things that they too are destined for in the near future. The stacks of copies of quilts I will never live long enough to make .......cover the open spaces that remain, as I have collected them all summer as if to remind myself that there are other things that remain to be accomplished besides the garden. The cool rainy fall days remind me of the things to come, and all the time I will have while watching the snowflakes cover and protect the ground from the cold wrath of winter.<br />
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However, I will miss hearing the wind call to me from the wood lines, as the windows will now be closed, and the owls that talk and call in the depth of the ravines....all will be silent. I have placed the bird feeders now on the outside of the window sill, so I can watch and hear the chattering of the now brown finches, and the harsh dismay of the Bluejays as they banter along the colorless trees, chasing the woodpeckers, and other tree ramblers from their perch. The redheaded woodpecker delights in the newly made suet hanging above the sunflower seeds that sit in the feeder below, while the nuthatch's await their turn.<br />
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The snow fence is the last thing we must set up, as the chicken coop has been cleaned for the last time, and nests filled with hay, wood chips on the floor. Straw in the goat shed, and all cracks and crannies filled........ so that the wind will not blow in the stray snow that manages to creep in. The waterers are plugged in as there is already ice on the top in the cool morning, and soon I will have to be carrying water to sheds while managing the snowbanks that seem to want to make my life more of a challenge.<br />
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These are the lessons that the milkweed teaches me, it is soon to be a long cloudy winter,...... where the sun no longer warms the ground, and taunts me with the memories of what was and what will be. I have tossed my memories of the long hearty summer into a book of the past, soon to begin another in the book of the future....so as the seeds of the milkweed will sleep thru the months and begin their own replenishment of the earth next year. Meanwhile I will content myself with the tracks of the field mice in the newly fallen snow, the call of the northern lights in the deep of the night, and watch the mighty north wind wield his sword of cold,...... while keeping warm in front of the wood stove and dissolving the piles of material stash into articles of importance........well maybe......only the seeds of the milkweed knows., Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-8649603349560419482012-06-03T11:42:00.000-05:002012-06-03T11:42:54.459-05:00The Sentinal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Time has a way of curving gently over hills and dales, and before one knows it, the days have drifted away, leaving weeks, months behind with only the future to enjoy. That's the way it seems here on the homestead these days, each curve has held new demands, each hill new challenges, with little time to contemplate what has occurred, or what the lies ahead behind or over the next hill.<br />
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Its June, at least that's what the calendar says, but its been cool, actually had to fire up the pellet stove last night, and today the sun shines amid the soft fluffy clouds while the wind whispers around each corner of the house and plays with the new bright green leaves of the trees, saying , catch me if you can. The hay in the unmown field still sways like ocean breezes, waiting for the the swift sharp cut of the mower to open the thick grass protecting the baby rabbits in their soft warm nests, and the nestling of the new fawns awaiting their mother's return while warming their noses in the warm rays of the sun. Birds are everywhere, the dull colored calm females on their nest of eggs, while their mates judiciously fly from branch to branch, making sure all is safe from marauders that are constantly on the prey of such things. Down the way a bit is a dirt road that has became a haven for the great female snapper turtles who have come up from the ponds below to lay their eggs in the sandy edges of the road, but word has come down that those nests were opened up later by the bandits of the woods, who stole the eggs for a grand lunch in the dark of the night. We can only hope that some of the eggs survived and will hatch to continue their life span for years to come. I watched as one of the slow moving rock colored mothers, made her way across the span of the road, and slowly carefully, dug out her nest, carefully, patiently making sure that it was just right. All the effort and struggle seem to be lost in the process of the night, as time sped on making her eggs a meal for another, be it raccoons, or coyotes and make short work of all commotion that went on in the silence of the daylight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvdLzokl0CzvLwktcceYvPATJTm4gmN3VnvBRbhYXv58PtrSEWOoq8cKOPpTpfI592MkFQm2URz2n20SbL0FfKNGzArqy__miECH3dAnYMYnAPq1PN-u35wJqcizKrpUzJNyzS9N0jjk/s1600/DSCN2216+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvdLzokl0CzvLwktcceYvPATJTm4gmN3VnvBRbhYXv58PtrSEWOoq8cKOPpTpfI592MkFQm2URz2n20SbL0FfKNGzArqy__miECH3dAnYMYnAPq1PN-u35wJqcizKrpUzJNyzS9N0jjk/s320/DSCN2216+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a>The arrival by post of a mothers day gift from my son and his wife, and their girls...... set things into motion here. A beautiful Chalet type bird house, fit for any proud wren or chickadee was promptly set up, high on a white steel pole above my rock garden, to sway and taunt the winds that blow so proudly up here on the hill. And though a wren sang his heart out in the nearby tree, a flash of blue came dashing through the air and landed on the small porch of the house, and tried the door. Alas, it was not made for the his broad shoulders, and when his mate tried, she also met with defeat. Watching this from my window, as I sewed, for a day or two, I promptly ordered a matching blue bird house to appease the wants and needs of this couple. Later that week, in picking Tim up from Medford, we happened upon a Farmers Market...... and found another, not so fancy, old time blue bird house to add to the collection. We nestled both houses on poles a decent distance from the other in the rock garden..... and in less than an hour, the male was inspecting each one to see if it met his standards. Next he brought his mate, and together they tried to make a decison as to which house was best.....now that took some concentration, inspection, and long discussions. I think they settled on the old fashion one,....cant be sure...., but he has kept constant watch from the mast of the old boat, or the other bird houses, and swoops down to attack any one who may fly by and inspect the neighbor hood for themselves. Mean while his mate has been carrying bits of material to set up her new home.....while he defends his property and keeps constant vigilance from near by.... This proud sentinel of the rock garden can be seen hiding in the near by tree ready to avenge any wing that comes near, including the swallows,( who by the way, to the dismay of my husband, have already taken over the rafters of our garage) but my bluebird sentinel mainly rests atop the old boat mast, which gives a better perspective of his domain thru out the daylight hours, sometimes bringing a tidbit to his mate ....,or bathing in the stone birdbath basin while keeping a wary eye on passersby. Meanwhile the wind plays merrily around the home, swaying it with its strong breath, gently rocking it to the beat of its own rhythm. As I watch from my window, time seems to stop and watch also...this new vestibule of life that goes on forever.<br />
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Most things are planted in the garden, just tomatoes and peppers to set it, it has been so cold at night, that I hesitate to plant till this weekend, the ground was slow in warming up this year. For Mothers Day, the girls and their partners came down,..... Larry cut down and apart the trees in the back wood line that had fallen during one of the rain storms....... while the others tilled, and carried the compost from the pile outside the garden fence and deposited on the plots inside the garden fence, lots of work, but it was a beautiful day, and that compost heap had been fermenting for a couple of years, so was in perfect shape to transpose my garden. We dug out the extra strawberry plants for them to take back to their own homes, ...last year I had planted only 25 plants, and this year I had way over 100 or so....in full bloom, so needed to thin out a few. The raspberry bushes are doing well, along with the cherry trees which evaded the hard frosts we encountered sporadically, and are full of cherries, along with the apple and plum trees, if all goes well, and we have enough rain there will be plenty to do in late summer. And wonder of wonders......along our long driveway, dancing along the wood line are full white blossoms atop hundreds of strong wide bushes,......the black berries have migrated out of the thick prickly woods, onto the open grassy narrow field and again, with enough rain, I may have baskets full of black berries, if I can beat the birds and the bears to them that is.<br />
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Speaking of bears, the encounter this year, was far different from past years. I had just come back from Medford, and sat down at the computer, when the dogs went wild....the alpacas were sounding their warning calls, and the Guinea hen was screaming from the top of the shed. Someone had trespassed into their realm, and they were not happy. Quietly watching from the pasture fence, I finally spotted the culprit, a medium sized bear was sizing up the landscape and patrolling the fenced in pasture.....after yelling at him for a couple of times, he raced down the ravine.......only to reappear up by the bee hives (which are empty) and stood there, with the 8 foot fence between he and the dogs and I, and swung his massive head from side to side, while the dogs barked,the alpacas screamed and I yelled at him. He was not afraid... as bears before him....who had ventured up were.....and stood there as if daring us to do something about his presence. Finally after I banged on the steel fence posts with another post he took off down the ravine......and that I thought was it.....but instead , no more than 20 minutes later he was up behind the house, by the bird feeders, but that wasn't what he was after,.....he was coming to gate by the fence......he wanted to see what the garbage cans held for him.....unmindful of the dogs barking....he wanted in the fence......another series of banging ..yelling....he finally turned away, and lurked in the wood line, till I finally called the neighbor who came down and shot into the woods, only to scare him off, away from the house. He stayed away till later in the evening around 11 or 12 but only stayed around the pasture for awhile. He has made his appearance known now and visits every couple of nights, but doesn't come up to the house anymore, and as the vegetation grows thicker may not be seen again till fall. There are always things that happen to make life different each spring, and I am never fully prepared for them.<br />
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So now, just like my Blue sentinel in the rock garden, I must keep a vigil on the land, my animals, and my state of mind. Not an easy task at this stage of the game, however, ......I think its going to be a fascinating year this time......waiting for that next curve, will it be uphill, or speeding down the slope......stay tuned.....cause who knows when I will write another episode again.<br />
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<br />Yes, the bear came back last night, and left this mark of his presence.....for all his work, he found nothing, how disappointing that must have been.<br />
<a name='more'></a>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-15713081985386682082011-09-01T15:07:00.000-05:002011-09-01T15:07:08.211-05:00The spinning<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lynn's Bear</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">August is nearing the end, it's been a quiet and dry month compared to the months before, but some rainstorms have ventured in. I watched the other day as the Mother Nature drew ropes of clouds across the sky from the North to the south, while the sun which was beginnning to set in the west, surveying all the action. Her fingers deftly pulled the grayish white clouds into her wheel....which looked like wool roving, as they gently glided past my window. The golden glow from the setting sun filtered down upon the tree tops like glistening flecks of gold dust, as if she were shaking out all the excess color out of the sky to spin the ever darkening clouds in the South. The sun refused to hide ….even tho the fabric of dark gray material began to creep across the sky from her spinning wheel and the wind from the wheel picked up speed... threatening to blow all the gold dust deep into the woods. The weeds underneath the sitting bench out in the lawn began to play tag….your it…..no your it…as they nodded to the glistening rain drops starting to fall. Eventually the sun lost its battle and gave in to the beckoning call of the evening, but not even the moon came out to play that night, as the rain continued to fall and marinate the earth once again with the brine of the wondering storm.</div><br />
Upon going to feed the animals in the early morning, Avi stood at guard looking strangely at something in the tall grasses that border the paddock fence. This was an unusual stance as usually she tackles anything that moves….so I hurried on to see what the fascination in the grass was. There…, caught in some tall grasses was a beautiful tiny golden-brown bat… each time Avi nudged it … it emitted a strange cry that made her jump back and stare. We had a powerful wind storm the night before, so it must have been blown off course and became entangled in the fence and falling to the ground. Gently picking up the drenched small creature, I carried it across to the gate and left it outside the predator area to recover. It laid there on the glistening rain drop grass, quiet, not moving a muscle checking out the territory in case another wet nose would come thunderig down. I continued on with the chores and upon checking later, it was gone… dried by the sun and had flown onward to his night residence to wait until the darkness again gave its permission to sail among the stars..<br />
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The Homestead suffered some losses this month, as one of the creatures of the night crept in through the open chicken door to find a tasty meal or two. The female goose startled at its appearance flew straight thru the screen on the door leading into the yard, followed by two of the hens, as the gander tried desperately to defend his flock. But it was useless, as my Avi awakened by the hostile action going on in the chicken coop, flew outside to find the goose in her territory and lo and behold a couple of chickens too, and proceeded to make quick work of the invaders on HER lawn. By this time however, the two big whites were bounding out to the coop, and whatever entered in that night made off with another chicken, leaving a trail unknown and only a telltale scent as to what or who the invader was. The big gander is now alone, as his mate of many years is gone, and he travels the paddock with his lonesome call….. throughout the day in hopes that his pal will reappear and had only gone for a walk in the pasture.<br />
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The mysterious invader had visited before, this time chasing the alpacas out to the pasture, leaving them huddling in the far corner, unwilling to come back to their shed. It was late into the night when the barking dogs awoke me again, only this time the bark was different, so taking my trusty flashlight and trotted out in silky night air… my bare feet leaving a trail in the dewy grass……to see just what the disturbance was. The alpacas were nowhere to be seen, including the goat. The dogs had their noses up against the fence line, their loud noisy , waling bays carrying across the ravines, echoing against the tree and sending bats carrening even faster in the night air. Scurrying across the yard, I got into the truck and turned on the headlights as I directed my attention across the fields, the tree lines and the pasture. The guys were there in the far left corner, not moving, not making a sound, looking toward the west hill tree lines, intent on what was stationed out there. As I circled the pasture, nothing was to be seen, the fields were empty, and the quiet sounds chilling. Eventually the guys came back to shed, early in the morning hours… when all effects of the visitor had left the air and the pasture. The stranger was gone, at least for this particular night, leaving no trace in its retreating path……. fading into velvet darkness of the night safely…… giving no notice of its departure.<br />
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The domestic apples hang ripe on the trees in the front yard and must be picked in the coming week….the giant wild crab apple trees are dropping their bounty and carpeting the ground below…., the garden has given up most of its produce, and I have left it to the weeds for another year. It has been so wet, that there is moss growing among the onions which must be pulled and dried. Sweet corn is in the freezer, herbs have been dried, some crops faltered and faded back into the soil, while others maintained their dignity and grew to their potential. The strawberries that had been planted in spring are reloading and springing forth with huge red fruit delighting not only me but the birds as well. Purple bunches of grapes hanging heavy on the vines covering the trellises will be picked; the Indian corn gathered in the month of September, jams put up in the pantry, corn stalks pulled up, to make way for the tiller later in maybe October. I have given up trying to keep the grass cut, with the heat and humidity, having won its battle to grow thick and tall while I wait for the frost to take it out of its …..Or maybe my....... Misery. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vNxCkYnSH8L9SMeJncWHrX1qB3BfTQbFuTvosLHKZPpE6WVMpE-6vhZimoyAowRlW2OBLqalia-lM_VhejawznN_wklL9udXZ9dLXf1XxdJTsg8URmMTOajIfW3g-SyaRp8Kh9i_bFA/s1600/old+fashion+tiger+lililes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3vNxCkYnSH8L9SMeJncWHrX1qB3BfTQbFuTvosLHKZPpE6WVMpE-6vhZimoyAowRlW2OBLqalia-lM_VhejawznN_wklL9udXZ9dLXf1XxdJTsg8URmMTOajIfW3g-SyaRp8Kh9i_bFA/s320/old+fashion+tiger+lililes.JPG" width="320" xaa="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Fashion Tiger Lillies<br />
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</tbody></table>Meanwhile there are plums on the counter to be processed and they say we are having a heat wave coming in for a few days. It has been the longest short summer in many years… as Mother Nature has spun and knitted a strange type of season leaving me in awe of what has been and what is still to come…..and looking forward to the colors of the oaks, and the lonely call of the winter winds……WOW …did I really say that……after last winter…..Yes, the spinning of tales.......... never stops!.<br />
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</div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-65724100847834544612011-07-28T09:18:00.000-05:002011-07-28T09:18:10.378-05:00TIME WARP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQs3B4aMcl41zvQKvm44FGCUJBA_0Nwy-Ic6xJIsY0-eU2p16iydH0l-y3mQv5RgRIVxeqOiCYxE79n_3B5UnaAVUuys4Iv_bxiB867KaVeKMIVqkT5RcJXALLOiBjt-N3XuYMuKDV30/s1600/P3290007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQs3B4aMcl41zvQKvm44FGCUJBA_0Nwy-Ic6xJIsY0-eU2p16iydH0l-y3mQv5RgRIVxeqOiCYxE79n_3B5UnaAVUuys4Iv_bxiB867KaVeKMIVqkT5RcJXALLOiBjt-N3XuYMuKDV30/s320/P3290007.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">TIME WARP</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">If one is to believe in a bit of science fiction and dwell on the dark secrets of the universe, it is easy to comprehend what happened in the last eight months. The loss of two younger siblings to Cancer, and grueling long winter, the very late spring, plus many other factors put this gal in another time and place. Some how things were getting done as usual, but it was like a robot had taken over my senses, and proceeded to do as programed without thought as to what, why and how come. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and then suddenly one day I went out in the garden and said……..how and when did this all get done. The sweet corn is tasseling, the tomatoes are ripening, the herbs are ready to pick and dry, and I stood there in a moment of amazement, realizing that somewhere, in another time zone quite similar to this one, my outer self-took over the chores, and the inner self sought sanctum…in a place most people care not to go. The two worlds were battling each other, one not giving a damn and the other pushing to reach the place above the clouds to breathe. Everything was the same, yet profoundly different…..struggling to gain control……while I just sat on the outside looking in. Two worlds had separated, two time zones, with no direction in sight……...until now. The mind indeed is a strange animal, taking its own sweet time to awake and smell the roses…….!</div><br />
Speaking of roses, a bush that was given to me by my son-in-laws mother, has finally bloomed this year….it was planted about eight years ago, and grew up the trellis, with nary a bloom. Then a few weeks ago, a bit of pink caught my attention and there in the middle of the vines, was a bouquet of small, tiny pink roses….catching the rays of the sun, and the drops of the dew. ….. The other roses that were planted last year, like the “Knock out” specimens are blooming,… but sadly I lost my yellow rose bush to the cold fingers of ole man winter. The colors of the leaves on the oaks and poplars this year are filled with a strong sense of being… as they are robust hues of greens, alternating with the darks and lites, like no other. Mother Nature grew tired of her blanket of snow, and brought on the seasons with a clear cut idea of summer and what it was meant to be. There are also black eyed Susan’s bobbing and talking with the clouds on the hillside coming up the drive. A willow sways and dances with the wind near the culvert, while the young fawns are playing tag in some of the fallen trees downed by the winter’s snows.<br />
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We have a new resident this year, for the first time in a few years….he walks with dignity and a supreme sense of confidence across the hayfield, toward the woodline, with no fear of the dogs barking, or a human watching. The beautiful black fur catches the last rays of the setting sun, as he slowly makes his way thru the tall grasses in the woodline, silently fading into the dark woods, leaving only his scent behind for the dogs to play with. I have seen this black bear many times so far this summer, crossing the driveway about 50 yards from the house, crossing the road down a ways, plus his relatives sitting in empty fields or crossing the road on the way to Medford, to pick up Tim from work. I think I shall name this year…..The Year of the Bear…….I can always tell when he is around , as the alpacas will not go into the pasture and stay close to the sheds, waiting for the moment he travels to another destination, in search of his destiny.<br />
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The usual residents are back, the coyotes still singing their mournful chorus at nite, and a family of beautiful skunks….if you keep your distance..reside at the bottom of the hill. We have seen black mink, raccoons, fox and more deer than in the last few years. All foraging at the homestead this year…however…. they have been taking advantage of the domestic dwellers here and wiped out Lynn’s chicks and chickens one sultry, very hot Sunday afternoon and evening. Apparently they became bored with the prospects of the woods, and decided to stir up some excitement, since the chickens were not taken for food, but left lifeless in the pen.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The rains, high humidity and heat have kept the lawn tall, and the weeds in the garden on a rampage. We broke records this winter with our snowfalls, and now are doing the same with the rain and high temps. However the rock garden is splendid, with all the colors abound and the lilies are tall reaching for the hummers who are patiently waiting for them to open and look toward the sky. A wren couple settled in the gourd hanging under the eve…and has rewarded us with hours of singing from the time the sun kisses the treetops, till it settles down in the west and snuggles in for the night. Barn swallows moved in next door, in another gourd, making Tim happy that they didn’t take up space in the garage again, and litter ….however as time went on, and the garage door stayed open, another party moved in…so there is still…..”Litter” in the garage to match the disarray of materials stored there.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsI-Xgm5Ze52luLlUBTDA_VsDSvYpBKwVamHV4GAkvDRXsdypdoXLrRFbYcubVHYDOYMBFyWcBkI57xQZX2RwlIlIRPJBUwlC07bvmOopYXR3VT5DH53gZSE4rqT3tz0Im6myNiB2mNic/s1600/P3290003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsI-Xgm5Ze52luLlUBTDA_VsDSvYpBKwVamHV4GAkvDRXsdypdoXLrRFbYcubVHYDOYMBFyWcBkI57xQZX2RwlIlIRPJBUwlC07bvmOopYXR3VT5DH53gZSE4rqT3tz0Im6myNiB2mNic/s320/P3290003.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Well, the rhubarb is in the freezer, waiting to be made in to jam…the cherries have been picked …for the first time this year…..awaiting to be made in to Tim’s favorite, cherry pies….6 ice cream pails full….next year I am getting a cherry stoner…….my food drier is humming with basil leaves drying, the alpacas have been sheared and frolic in the rain, life and time synchronized like a fine orchestra in concert goes on, leaving no one behind. The long nights have concluded, and happiness of the sunshine smiling between the raindrops has returned. The fragile time warps have become one for now and the clouds are erasing the moments of abandonment leaving a wild field of contentment for all to embrace. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkTyb4nMip1PcARR7CR63w2qi-fykveBuYD4U98VrJtziAa2pYcj720zHP7dmSLNBrgMTFZdpPJ3ipUk_jrR1gTWohJaus9BnpJYnQc_Fyn1DheFgXyKR7rqgxVzoqMam4WfOF0ETPzo/s1600/P3290011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkTyb4nMip1PcARR7CR63w2qi-fykveBuYD4U98VrJtziAa2pYcj720zHP7dmSLNBrgMTFZdpPJ3ipUk_jrR1gTWohJaus9BnpJYnQc_Fyn1DheFgXyKR7rqgxVzoqMam4WfOF0ETPzo/s320/P3290011.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-10463392951778122022011-05-25T18:48:00.001-05:002011-05-26T07:59:35.350-05:00May ShowersThe advent of May showers leaves me antsy. Due to the late spring, although the garden has been worked up, I have not been able to get in and plant. The clay soil holds water and if one goes in too early we end up with golf sized hard mud balls, which are really a pain to work around. According to my records for the last eight years of residing up here In the North Woods, I am not too late, and the things in the greenhouse will be ready to put in…however My body may not be able to handle the influx of all the bending, stooping, pulling, digging that is required of doing such a chore in minute time required before the heat hits. This getting older bit sucks…but if the truth be known….. it may be the extra weight that sucks more, not the age that is slowing me down. Sigh…never ending battle one way or another.<br />
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The orioles have been crowding the make shift hangers that hold sweet orange slices under the sunflower feeder. Their splendid orange and black suit coats flash with the sunlight, and the melodious singing in the early morning is an alarm clock not to be ignored as they sway on the liquid feeder hanging outside the kitchen window. The Rose Breasted Grosbeaks argue for room at the sunflower feeder, the males tidy in their black and white suites and red ties, constantly singing for their mates who even in their brown sultry dresses are a vision to watch. The Finches have changed their costume from dull winter brown to bright startling yellow and flit from sprig to sprig on the birches and poplar trees, adding to the chorus of spring, catching the raindrops to glisten on their wing tips. A silent flash of blue and the whisper of a Blue Bunting slashes the air as he steals a seed here and there, from under the beaks of the Grosbeaks. Not to be outdone by this spring spectacle at the sunflower tables….. are the woodpeckers, hanging from the suet feeders, with the Red headed woodpecker peering over the side, threatening the smaller Hairy and Downy woodpeckers as if to say ..The King has arrived….please make way…..so they make a swift retreat to the nearby oaks….sailing up and down the tree trunks like the swift running sap that is bringing the leaves into full dress while the almighty red head savors the small morsels of homemade suet. <br />
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Down on the ground another scenario is taking place….as the common Red Polls silently drift down to catch the falling black seeds, along with dozens of White Crowned sparrows, Chipping Sparrows and field sparrows partake in the bounty that the greedy birds above have let fall to the earth. Nothing goes to waste these days, as the frisky chipmunks pack their cheeks full with delicacies they have found hidden in the long strands of unmowed grass, or the gray, black and red squirrels have carelessly left behind.<br />
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Somewhere, way high in the front yard tree a treble of notes float and tango across the roof and then rebound with flirty fun as a Bobolink has flown in from the green swaying grass fields, to make sure he too could be heard, stopping to listen as his mate answered him from a sheltered nest in the woodline, …..Soon they will be feeding on the thousands of dandelion seeds from the fluffy yellow blossom heads bobbing and bowing under the gentle southwest winds. The Red Winged Blackbirds call and dance along the garden fence while the Barn swallows sweep and dive to catch the insects that would dare to come out to see the ruckus. Suddenly there is a swift dart and dash….and the hummers are heading for the nearest blossom, to find the insects hidden there, or the sugar water in the feeder just awaiting their return. Down….., deep in the ravines echo the calls of the Sand Hill Cranes, …somewhere in the thick undergrowth the partridge are drumming…… calling for their respected companions….and soon in the evening you can hear the Loons adding their own creative calls with the croaking of the spring frogs. These are the masterful chorus sounds of spring that cannot be heard in the opera halls of the city…..and cost not a penny; continuing on through the day, ending with the lonely closing ceremony of the hooting of the owls in late evening as the sun has set, bringing down the curtain of shadows.<br />
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In this splendid rendition of the Chorus of the Homestead, one must sit back and take time to relish the music of the woods, now minus the frosted white snow, and full of the life that continues to emerge with each plump cherry blossom, or shiny rain drop frosted leaf. The clouds are parting, the rays shinning down to warm the wet ground, Mother Nature has let her children out to reclaim the skies, and revamp the earth. My garden will get planted, the grasses will grow, and the weeds replenish , all is well on the homestead as it should be….new life will soon be appearing, and another saga is about to begin. It is my good fortune to be able to witness all, and……. sit and…… watch…..and listen….and ….enjoy as everything eventually takes care of itself and worry is for naught..Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-11234606067496431142011-04-04T12:32:00.001-05:002011-04-04T21:05:53.098-05:00The path of the years<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4jIfvMa4PuFGKzfC358Wj5jlI_OMqzxN80T9xjQ_XOosfz3L1vjbEsHMVWAcfiNmbHjxcmumvP-xN4yhyphenhyphen3_noMGUlTZAi0I_h_huNTCeTXM6gICc6iARDJucAzhpFBlUrTvqck3eax0/s1600/DSCN2174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4jIfvMa4PuFGKzfC358Wj5jlI_OMqzxN80T9xjQ_XOosfz3L1vjbEsHMVWAcfiNmbHjxcmumvP-xN4yhyphenhyphen3_noMGUlTZAi0I_h_huNTCeTXM6gICc6iARDJucAzhpFBlUrTvqck3eax0/s320/DSCN2174.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Happy Birthday Lisa</td></tr>
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</div>Today is April 2, 2011, and our 25th wedding anniversary, and is passing just like any other day here on the homestead, a lazy Saturday, with the sun shining, and the snow melting a bit more, leaving only four foot snow banks now, instead of eight foot. We were married secretly at the” Little Brown Church in the Dale”, in Nashua, Iowa in a simple ceremony with the pastors wife as a witness. It is simply amazing to think of all the memories that are now gathering dust on the bookshelves of our lives, some have gone up in smoke, some are still smoking, and others have settled down into majestic moments of laughter and silence. With each milestone that has passed, another age line has evolved, another truth learned, another memento to be filed onto the bookshelf and hopefully many more to be discovered. Regardless of how settled we seem to be, nothing can be taken for granted anymore, and nothing will be the same as it once was. I have learned that nothing is stable or permanent anymore and the curves in the roads ahead are sharper, the hills are steeper, and the potholes deeper. Is this the life I thought would be, or did I even think of what life would be when I was 25 years younger? Too busy, too little time, too many important priorities, left very little room for dreaming of what lie ahead in the future, or where the road would lead. Now, we are still traveling, not running anymore, but walking along the center of the road ... with new memories to be filed,… peering around the corners, rather than careening on two wheels at 75 miles an hour to get to the next plateau, there is no reason for speed now, the years are coming on fast enough for my fancy, and my foot is off the gas pedal. <br />
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Speaking of gas pedals, the little chevy truck we now own, is definitely slowing my logic down to a crawl….being very short….and very FLUFFY, I cannot reach the pedal unless I am setting on top of the steering wheel, which leaves creases across my bellybutton, and my chin on the speedometer. My nose rubs the windshield, and lord knows what has happened to the seatbelt. The seat is as far as it can go forward, and still my toes just barely touch the gas pedal. Never have I had such a problem with any vehicle that we have owned, and who ever owned it before left a sinkhole in the seat, so unless I can find a pillow to fit in it, I have to sit on the side of the seat so as not to be lost in the calamities of the instruments that tell me what speed I am traveling, and how much gas is left in the tank. From the outside it looks like a porpoise is trying to see between the steering wheel spokes …..gasping for air as I struggle to brake and complete whatever journey I have set out to conquer. All I gotta say is thank heavens for Cruise control, and four wheel drive buttons,….. If I had to get out and set the wheels, I would still be stuck in all the snowbanks that accumulated these last few months. Then there is no running board like all our other trucks had, and to get into this sardine can, is a performance that can only be matched by the best acrobatic moves around. Getting out matches the slithering of a snake out of the bull pen….finally hitting concrete surfaces. This was not my idea of transportation, but in these times, with the high gas prices, it has one very good point…it has good gas mileage…so …have to deal with it.<br />
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Early last week, before the last snowstorm hit, the geese were out in the pasture, following the alpacas out to some of the bare ground that finally surfaced. When it started snowing lightly however, the alpacas came in to the shed, while the geese comfortably settled into the tall grasses pulling at some tasty strands of weeds still left standing……Suddenly they melted flat into the ground, ..and a slow flying shadow circled around between the tree lines. It came from very high in the sky, and was sensed by them before I could even see what the problem was. As it slowly circled and descended toward the ground, they made a wild dash for the coop. My Toulouse geese are heavier than most geese, and it was surprising to see how fast they could travel, with their huge wings catching the air as they almost flew at ground level...... Suddenly I saw the problem; a huge, beautiful adult eagle had spotted them while on a hunting mission from high above, ...circling quickly and quietly looking for his prey. He landed in one of the tall oaks across the field alongside the pasture, and perched on one of the higher leafless limbs, ....watching,..... waiting……..I am not sure who would have won this battle, for the gander is very protective of his mate, ...even hissing when I come near the nest to gather the chicken eggs every evening, ......this time the eagle lost the gamble, as the geese went in for the night, never to return that day, and the snow kept falling. He sat there for about an hour, preening his graceful feathers, always on the watch for the mouse, or inattentive squirrel, going after that last acorn on the ground. Then, with a flick of his wings, and one last long look, he took to the clouds, leaving the pasture free again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTPk-ofXKFjdaNEVM5JENt41PlYMQDLr6JG54bBNfzmxQ3AF0FADbkt11Eqcdwnks992CSpl6onQtW0E-useiyYcF7zEMGwK-jhYvZS35poH3AldRZbHQCIawdIt8iyOmzLKYn0PKz0c/s1600/Easter+Eggs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTPk-ofXKFjdaNEVM5JENt41PlYMQDLr6JG54bBNfzmxQ3AF0FADbkt11Eqcdwnks992CSpl6onQtW0E-useiyYcF7zEMGwK-jhYvZS35poH3AldRZbHQCIawdIt8iyOmzLKYn0PKz0c/s320/Easter+Eggs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Boredom has brought back an old hobby that I did as a child when my grandmother decided I needed to learn more then how to clean house....., and now am back at it again, crocheting up some of the yarn that has been sitting here for ages. At first I started to knit, but then a picture from one of th knitting forums caught my eye, and walla!.......it was a perfect birthday gift for my eldest, whose birthday was arriving fast. The picture at the top of this page shows the color a lot darker , actually it is soft ecrue, or lite ivory. As you can see in the pictures, I actually finished the afghan in a few weeks, and am now working on Easter objects, that resemble the sugar craft learned when I was in the business of decorating cakes. The picture shown here will be a surprise for the grandkids…These are things I used to make when I had my Cake Decorating business, made of sugar then, crumpling with time..now stiffened crochet thread hold spring fancies and maybe a candy or two.......but these will last much longer,.... I know they don’t read this, so it will be new to them..........but then one never really knows just what lies around the corner....., now do we?<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3rqDF2RRHBTMelQ5XeC7tQDylNo8LNNI7t31KCffY2LUudOb210o_WMgVGrFaCtSBDh5L60zRPbeAMU7NT8TnKrffOiW_kF43UICXrJh74KmVOuzwJTTXjcPgna-eZG60HKZVK2Uaj4/s1600/dogs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3rqDF2RRHBTMelQ5XeC7tQDylNo8LNNI7t31KCffY2LUudOb210o_WMgVGrFaCtSBDh5L60zRPbeAMU7NT8TnKrffOiW_kF43UICXrJh74KmVOuzwJTTXjcPgna-eZG60HKZVK2Uaj4/s320/dogs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-19063624693628646442011-02-20T09:48:00.000-06:002011-02-20T09:48:08.753-06:00Are you listening,The morbid month of January has passed, and Cupid brought in his hearts for February, directing the winds and snows to focus on driving mortals like me unequivocally mad and crazy with frustration. There was a time I told people who complained about the cold and snow to move somewhere where it was warm, and Old Man Winter would not show his cold blustery face...but that is no longer...everywhere has snow and cold....BUT, times are a changin, I can hear it in the wind. I heard whispers last night as the wind whipped around the old oaks, raced into the chimes, and whistled and played tag around the corners of our house. This morning the sun gazed upon the bobbing empty seed pods, and smiled as if it too had heard the whisperings rolling in on the gusts of wind, hushed secrets of the spring Gods, heard only by those who listen very carefully. Mother Nature will carefully shield the newborn breezes with snow showers, and ice, but never the less they are there,...., hiding in the old oak limbs, peaking around the forlorn branches, checking into the squirrels nests, and rocking the gourd bird houses. The next few months will be hide and seek for the youngsters, before finally resting on the clouds nestling in the blue skies. Revealing their arrival with soft warn rain drops ... all will know....spring has arrived.<br />
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Meanwhile, with last Falls lingering brown leaves sliding and dancing on the ice left by last week’s thaw....I creep across the tundra with water bucket in hand, carrying water to the chickens, and alpacas each morning and afternoon, all the while cussing the attributes of nature, and cursing the fact that the older I get each spring, the harder the task of keeping animals warm and fed. The geese have been laying eggs for weeks now, and each egg freezes with the rise of the moon. Age must be getting to them to...don't they know it’s still below zero out most of the time. Or is this their own special practice time before the real task arrives. The alpacas have ventured out into the pasture, which means the thaw has taken a good amount of snow down, and the drifts have become level with the land. The lone female turkey now calls again and again into the empty cold day, but there will be no mate for her this year....and even tho she has made it thru the angry winter this year....spring will not bring a brood for her to cradle, and she must contend herself with the fact that she has also reached the age of retirement, and must settle into the long hours of boredom.<br />
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This week was time to break out of the prisms of white and grey, and travel north to the land of snowmobiles, ice shacks, and cross country skis. Awaking the animals at 5 AM with feed cups banging, and dogs a barking....the alpacas watched with astonishment as not only did I fill their feed cups, but also brought the hay for them to eat rather than later in the day. A sure signal I would be gone the day. Leaving around six, the dark sky promised sun later as now clouds were present. A few miles down the road, there was a whisper in my ear....watch for the deer, ....and sure enough not more than 50 feet down the road a doe stood poised to cross into the next field. Unsure of her next move I slowed down to a crawl as she watched me approach, with the headlights in her eyes....within 10 feet of her, she suddenly decided to cross the road, and as the first hoof hit the icy pavement she lost her balance and slipped down to her knees and for a second faltered, slipping and sliding, and then finally regaining her balance and sped across into the woods and safety. Had it not been for that brief thought that crossed my mind I surely would have not slowed down and she would not have made it another day. The rest of the ride was uneventful, cept for traveling down Highway B....I came up on a coyote crossing the road in a hurry, but hitting the soft snow bank, became immersed in a snow bank, and its back legs were trapped for a few minutes as he struggled to overcome the soft snow and continue into the woods. It was warm and animals were moving early that morning, all of us traveling alone, onto destinations of anticipation. I traveled down Highway 8 this time, unsure of the truck we have just purchased, and road conditions, this road is more heavily traveled, especially by logging trucks should any mishap emerge, there would be help close by. With Tim trucking down the highways of Ohio, this was the safest bet. The sun rose, melted last night’s icy roads, and arrived in Michigan in record time.<br />
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The girls and I visited the thrift shops, where many treasures were displayed, awaiting new homes. The thrift stores there are well stocked, and well kept up. I found a heavy iron for quilting, a ceramic Betty Crocker Pie Plate for baking, and a traveling stuffed furry companion to ride in the passenger seat of Tim's rig. Many drivers carry mascots in their passenger seat, and it was time Tim followed suit...so Amos, a fat, cute, cuddly 2 foot monkey now has earned his right full place sailing down the highways in a big white cab. I am sure he will have many stories to tell in the next few years.<br />
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Back home again, later that evening, having gained a bit of respite from the boredom, and beating the heavy fog that settled in that nite,( due to the warm air currents and the cold layers of snow), it was a break from the humdrum that settles in at this time here at the homestead. It is time to scavenge thru the seed catalogs, write out the lists for the garden, changing to different plants this year, scanning the new items, leaving out the veggies that weren't so popular. Time to dig out the folders for the taxes, and spend the weekend up to our elbows in paper work. This will be Tim's first full weekend home in a while so must take advantage of doing things that have been on hold.<br />
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In the meantime, will be listening to the winds, watching for the first new arrivals of spring, and slide into a galaxy of perpetual summer filled dreams.<br />
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FOOT NOTE.....Winter weather warnings are out again, we are due for a huge snowstorm, 10-15 inches or more starting tonite....this time I am prepared, the bird feeders are filled, the animals double dosed with feed, the snow blower ready to go, and the mood ......well that sucks...but oh well, it is after all still FebruaryCharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-90627229541911543732010-12-14T19:47:00.003-06:002010-12-14T19:54:09.832-06:00Mother Natures Winter Ball<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpTkU8CMJmASBN3miTrjTh2LU7kWHQqLT3k5V65qbM2BX6lf3F-emWMin1GsHCU_XvJv6MBwsJczGm5kCeElQVKLeqkjMD1mBOBrKjoTX_PMMVI0A-qhleG7KNT1gqbQvyReV-srJkAw/s1600/P7190007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpTkU8CMJmASBN3miTrjTh2LU7kWHQqLT3k5V65qbM2BX6lf3F-emWMin1GsHCU_XvJv6MBwsJczGm5kCeElQVKLeqkjMD1mBOBrKjoTX_PMMVI0A-qhleG7KNT1gqbQvyReV-srJkAw/s320/P7190007.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the storm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mother Nature's children threw a winter celebration yesterday. Like rebellious teenagers the party they held lasted 20 hours, and nothing could sooth their frenzied nerves. The Snow Sisters danced to the beat of their Wind Brother's band, sliding sideways to the earth or filing single file into tall six foot snowbanks. They stopped only for a moment to pick up speed and continue on into another snow slide to sway with the long brown flower stalks as partners. Like ballerinas they swirled and pirouetted in to a mix of crescents and rifts, leaving the imprints of wind skis through out the yard. When the crescendo of the wind fluttered to a quick stop, the ground was left bare as they gathered again like a skateboarder to leave silent arks between the tall oaks and and the fences corralling them into silent surrender.<br />
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Brother wind sang with the howls of the wolves, speeding around corners of the house with the flash of a falling star, catching the snow gusts swinging them in to the air only to crash against the window in a merciless abandonment. He was so powerful in his glorious sweep of the land that there were no bounds to hold in the snowflakes caught on his breath. Like ocean waves crashing against the shores, they frolicked riding against the shrubs and tall oaks, daring them to stop their wild and wonderful dance. It was a nite of wonder and bewilderment, as the curtains of snow rose a hundred of times to reveal the wood line and the grey clouds that attended the merriment yet could not bring themselves to the final curtain call. They sang, and danced for close to a day, until falling into heaps on the ground to rest till another day.<br />
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Today the sun came in to view the spectacle left by the party goers and shook his head, young folks he said, as he tried to straighten the melee left behind....but the third sibling the cold had not yet begun his tribute and the temperatures dipped to 20 below, leaving the sun to simply add his light and repaint the pictures that were left behind. The wind now tired by his last escapade flowed softly thru the shrubs and tall grasses, looking for any bit of the snowflakes that were dancing before, but all had fallen now , exhausted into mountains of fluff, silent, and could not be awakened with the gentlest of of his breaths. Chickadees replaced his merciless howling, with calls of glad tidings that the storm was over. The Blue Jays scratched at the feeders of corn and sunflower seeds, scraping away the awry snowflakes that took comfort there. The great red headed woodpecker now hung from the suet feeder, no longer having to hang on for dear life when the wind laughed and lounged at his favorite dish. The black and white Downy's are skittering up and down the tree trunks, looking for tasty bits that have survived this last wintry blast. Its morning, and the merriment has subsided, leaving in its aftermath, huge mounds of whipped snow to be explored with a shovel or snow blower, and sliced through like an ice cream pie, for paths to the paddock, and dogs furry footprints.<br />
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Twenty-one inches or more fell throughout yesterday 's hours of frolicking. The dogs toys are now hidden away beneath the mounds, to be found in spring when the air turns warm. My big whites tunnel thru the piles, with their noises throwing up sprays of dusty snow. Rolling, and sliding they are light enough to walk top of the mountains, with out sinking up to knees like their owners are about to do. My husky dances for joy and runs through the garden oblivious to cold, windy bursts, searching for the moles that just might come up for air thru the marshmallow hills. After three hours of snow blowing, we finally made our way to the pens, where, the fierce winds had swept snow in through every open nook and cranny, leaving small piles of crusted snow covering the alpacas feeders and inside the chicken coop where it had forced it way in thru the door and any crack not filled with straw. The sparrows that took shelter with the chickens are now anxious to be released into the the new world of snow and ice after I lift the trap door. The pair of geese saunter off to bath in the snow dust and preen their feathers oblivious of the cold northern wind blowing around the corners of the fences. Sadly, in the corner of the coop, lies a victim of the fierce cold storm, my old Royal Palm turkey, has succumbed to old age and the cold. He was one of the first to occupy the pen, and I knew he wouldn't make the winter. But this Homestead is all the occupants "Forever Place" to live out their lives with fervor and grace.<br />
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Its a beautiful day out however, the sun is shinning, a cold wind still blowing, leaving the sharp clear picture of winter only the North lands can offer. The fields are glazed over by the frozen top layers of snow now, and sparkle like diamonds in the rays of the sun. There is not a print to be seen, cept for along the wood line where deer tracks can be seen leaping over the drifts of snow piled up in front of all the brush and tree lines. Every so often the wind gathers up enough strength to blow up a cloud of snow to vanish into the clear blue sky. It is worth the fortune that we will pay for the snowplowing today, as black and white colors of an old time photograph are now here in front of the homestead in contrast to the colorful colors of the summer. There is nothing so refreshing as the aftermath of a huge snowstorm, to bring one's reality into focus. The cool, crisp taste of winter flowing into the clear blue sky , brushed by the now gentle wind reminds us that Mother Nature is still in charge, regardless of how powerful we humans think we may be. And this homesteader stands in awe of her powers, and beauty so often taken for granted. Its going to be a wonderful winter, this year...the beginning of a season of worship, knowledge, and serenity of the powers greater than man, and as fine as a wisp of snow. The sorrows of the past year will be put away,buried under the cover of the cool white snow, stored in memory for future reference , many miles on down the road.<br />
I will not look back and try to figure out the mysteries of the moments, or the whys and wherefores of the questions, leaving them to scatter like the stubborn leaves left on the oaks before the storm, and quietly disappear with the passing of time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRn_74Nfx2P3jskgL85agQOu68_dvyjCNKpbPf94Fgn_DBRC9z2qYF1G4GS9vd777jhspCXkDYpmhAB9-DnkH80oJeLmapQLfHXiC3KXlv8dRZ9Jtrb2Awh1r8Nv7v9dXBwL-OYCgc4d4/s1600/DSCN2104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRn_74Nfx2P3jskgL85agQOu68_dvyjCNKpbPf94Fgn_DBRC9z2qYF1G4GS9vd777jhspCXkDYpmhAB9-DnkH80oJeLmapQLfHXiC3KXlv8dRZ9Jtrb2Awh1r8Nv7v9dXBwL-OYCgc4d4/s320/DSCN2104.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the sun shines again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-81964831386396773642010-11-20T12:12:00.000-06:002010-11-20T12:12:03.560-06:00Giving up the helm<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTcmH2X3366cBXDeK9BM9rLZ0LW38KincpPzNZ1t-FFtTXYEHknCxBWzj5coJ7BR6kjYunOmSy0kAUcW7NVKb9YsU0jo8c5vw-x_VV2HCAW76fjtwGZ3rFyD27ZZbZyxP-G3mCeWJ0Qcc/s1600/P7190002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTcmH2X3366cBXDeK9BM9rLZ0LW38KincpPzNZ1t-FFtTXYEHknCxBWzj5coJ7BR6kjYunOmSy0kAUcW7NVKb9YsU0jo8c5vw-x_VV2HCAW76fjtwGZ3rFyD27ZZbZyxP-G3mCeWJ0Qcc/s320/P7190002.JPG" width="320" /></a>November, the trees have given up their leaves to nurture the seeds that have fallen on the ground over summer, and now stand naked, impervious to the cold northern winds, and stand alone against the gray winter skies. They no longer can hide the brown and black squirrels that scamper up and down their trunks, or the woodpeckers knocking soundly against the bark for insects now deep in their winter sleep. The huge black turkeys roost in the top most branches, leaving the ground open to the coyotes who look up into the night air hoping one may just be close enough to lunge at and pick up an easy meal. Huge eagles now fly low, with the crows hassling them at every air current, along with the beautiful white breasted hawk that sits alone watching these events with curious eyes. So begins my nemesis.....enclosed by four walls, watching, waiting, for the first snowflake to make its appearance, and cover the brown bare grounds with a white quilt that will erase the summers escapades and quell the thunderbolts chased by lightening rods across the darkened skies.</div></div><br />
Its the season of the great bucks, now turned the color of the tree barks, so as not to be seen by the hunters. This year there seems to be a surplus of deer, which is quite unusual as it has been quiet the past 4 or 5 seasons. I watch as the sun lays low in the west, and a 8 pointer slowly marches over the hill and takes a look at the bounty before him. My alpacas are watching from the far side of the pasture with quizzical looks to ascertain just what this marvelous creature has in mind for the evening. He holds his head proudly as he walks to the fence, and sniffs the cool evening air for that ever evasive doe. He stands at the fence for a minute or two, looks at the alpacas, while my lone goat prances around excitedly and the alpacas lower there heads and continue to graze on what green forage that has been left by the frosts of past weeks. The pasture does not hold the prize he is looking for, so he continues back to wood line, stretches up on his back legs, and leaves his scent on the tall oak, paws the ground a bit, and take on another oak further down the way...and then finally disappears into the woods. A few minutes later, a another nervous shadow appears, three does sprint across the field headed for the other side of the ravines, not ready yet for the marvelous buck that has been searching for them earlier. His time will come, but not tonight, and the owls will hoot the story to the moon as darkness settles over the homestead.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxrmDOLLAWObhPCKCwmztSjtCGSHFAzuDoBXtxP9268ff5PmuTrU4ylys59T0ktZwXC_RZSte1wTGNqP_54vpKNrHlU2kES8dsp17fmT23_jm7YO2sXWrxtVq9rm_YTF0xH_XcuFGNks/s1600/DSCN1772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxrmDOLLAWObhPCKCwmztSjtCGSHFAzuDoBXtxP9268ff5PmuTrU4ylys59T0ktZwXC_RZSte1wTGNqP_54vpKNrHlU2kES8dsp17fmT23_jm7YO2sXWrxtVq9rm_YTF0xH_XcuFGNks/s320/DSCN1772.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I have been keeping a wary eye on the hawks and eagles this fall. There seem to be many more than usual, and tell tale signs of feathers shows that my chickens are now on their menu as well. I have watched them swoop in and fly off before any one of us can get outside with their prize caught up in the sharp talons to a destination deep into the woods. Angel, one of my big whites, barks to no avail, as they know that there is no harm so high in the sky. I can hear them laughing as they circle, chattering their plan of attack, waiting for the prime opportunity, and sailing down with out hesitation, afraid of no one. It is their land now, nothing can find cover to hide from the wide wings of destruction.<br />
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Thanksgiving will soon be here, and I am giving up the helm. Ever since the children were little, Thanksgiving was held at our place, my former husband was gone for the week deer hunting, and this was our celebration of the fact.<br />
Now we will go to Michigan, and Lisa and Larry will be hosting the event, and though this may be a little sad, to give up this task, it is to my benefit. Our house is way to small with the dogs, and all my "Stuff" anymore, and I don't have to clean and put away all the things that do not surface again till I tear everything apart looking for them. Sometimes that may take months.....and the turkey will not have to be cooked squeezed in between all the other things that the oven must prepare. Plus there will be no leftovers in the refrigerator that last for weeks, if not frozen immediately after everyone leaves. This will be a first, we will leave early, providing Tim is home, on Thursday morn, and return that evening, free from all the cooking, cleaning, baking and all that stuff....the queen has left the building. The only problem will be Tim's schedule...will he be home, or on the road...there is no rhyme or rhythm anymore to his job, and we must fly by the seat of our pants instead of making plans. But we will know the weekend before, and plan accordingly as Lisa says it could be on the weekend....or Friday....or ...sometime in that week.....only the future knows.<br />
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The weather has turned now to cold, very cold, like 14 above this morning, the first day of deer hunting, the shots ring out like crackling icicles across the moody sky. This is the weather that finally rinses clean all my ambitions of garden work, and turn to the fine art of window watching as I turn scraps of material into pieces of quilts, or crochet long pieces of wool into rugs. My little corner of the world now consists of yarn strings that have caught on my boots and make cobwebs across the entire house, material scraps that look like confetti strewed on the floor changing the direction of the tile. Bolts of material stacked precariously on chairs waiting for the magical cut of the scissors to proclaim their fame. In the middle of all this I sit, like a child among mountains of toys, just not quite sure which one I will play with on this cold, quiet, awesome day.<br />
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The gourds are gathered in the garage, and new ones drying in the greenhouse, ready to become spectacles of wisdom this coming new year. I just have to gather a few more tools to begin crossing the road into a new vision of colorful scenes to tell the story of winter dreams. It is always good to have new anticipations for the coming year so as not to become lost in the heavy winter clouds that fall to the ground.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUJwm6BGSyGd9ik22HGQjqAKRV2fMKPBb50jMmrGp4FZ513nbcKNdRitnDEh5HCLgZLCFfM-Af0YCLwIZ24xqnV7yLlnXzIoanVt4ndhc5MkmS6YEql9mQBiupdfjnJAfuvruSWo3OAE/s1600/P7190008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUJwm6BGSyGd9ik22HGQjqAKRV2fMKPBb50jMmrGp4FZ513nbcKNdRitnDEh5HCLgZLCFfM-Af0YCLwIZ24xqnV7yLlnXzIoanVt4ndhc5MkmS6YEql9mQBiupdfjnJAfuvruSWo3OAE/s320/P7190008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This is the time to wish all a wonderful holiday blessing, of Thanksgiving and all the holidays that come to the many days of this ending year. In giving up the end of this old year, and entering into the depths of the new year, we each give up the helm and become captains of new dreams, talents, and begin afresh. So much to look forward to, so much to wonder about, entering the new realm of the unknown is no longer a worry, but just another road to travel. Taking the curves slowly, forever going forward.</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-24930265510076769582010-11-12T17:53:00.067-06:002010-11-14T08:00:36.144-06:00Train leaving ...all aboard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7ZYL_k1WA4H85mps6OWlxDQ7ibaMXY54_wgtvdvfwrH1JjbwrPPSgcWdSqA-UvPxoDYZTKMjex_4Eb8rRCCFgEl3hz5qTp9XnGYvRbJzd1Q__rBaqVp7ct0s0rghyphenhyphennULdc0nKZKJvpY/s1600/Shay_3-Truck.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7ZYL_k1WA4H85mps6OWlxDQ7ibaMXY54_wgtvdvfwrH1JjbwrPPSgcWdSqA-UvPxoDYZTKMjex_4Eb8rRCCFgEl3hz5qTp9XnGYvRbJzd1Q__rBaqVp7ct0s0rghyphenhyphennULdc0nKZKJvpY/s320/Shay_3-Truck.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Have you ever felt that a train wreck was ahead, but you just weren't quite sure where or when it would happen. Well this homesteader has almost hit the end of the tracks. Our Life Trains carry a combination of passenger cars and freight cars across the countries of our life, dropping a few here, and picking up a few there. Sometimes it is up hill, sometimes downhill, sometimes the whistle blows, and sometimes the engine comes to a dead stop,..... could be a bear on the track, boulders from the top of the mountain, or the bridge is out. We pick up passengers on the way, and drop them off some where in the years ahead, always picking up new ones, and sometimes they stay awhile, leaving their baggage with you, or maybe they carry your baggage for awhile. But the passenger cars always have room, and the freight cars keep filling up.</div><br />
Take this last year for instance.... the mountains were getting steeper, as the severe illnesses in our the family are quietly filling one of the freight cars....consquently this old steam engine was puffing along, slower then usual, pulling more as the weight from the cars were added on. First came the layoff, a car or two flew off the track...adjustments were made, rail spikes straightened and on over the hill we went. Then the old truck finally became to expensive to repair, and went the way of the junk yard heaven....that sadly took one car to fill, but could be emptied if we found a new truck.....soon. The railroad bridge trestle became fragile when the generator went down, and it took $700 for someone to say, "Ah, yep, the motor must be rebuilt to the tune of $2500, or we could buy a new generator for $3500 or more. Into the freight car went the generator next to the truck that hadn't yet been replaced....since there just wasn't enough coal in the coal car. But that wasn't the end , I looked back and saw there were still more empty cars waiting ...... the Pellet stove that we heat the house with, and have a garage full of pellets stored for the winter, became the next casualty... as there is no one within a thousand miles that can figure out why the pellet rotor will not drop its pellets including the conductor we bought the stove from... However that freight car is still running empty, because finally, some one from the state of Washington is going to trouble shoot on the phone with hubby to see what the problem is...but only after we had already paid out $250.00 for a new circuit board that someone thought for sure was the problem....toss that into the box car...also.....on its way back to manufacturer (who by the way normally does not take merchandise such as this back) as it was not the quick fix we had hoped for. OK, so now the temps are down to the low 20's and 30's, snow is on the ground, and I have to turn on the super expensive electric heat to take the ice off the coffee and pile on the sweatshirts..find the feather quilt........another box car starting to fill. If you think things came three at time ....right???....wrong...little did we know.....Box car number 4 was being added to the train and was rounding the bend......this time however the new occupants were boarding at the station to help our carry luggage..big time.<br />
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Last week in the mail came a small bright orange colored postcard, ....flashing red lights....do not cross.....signal gates are coming down.....it seems as though our one and only working vehicle had been recalled to the Barron Ford dealer for a defect that could be lurking in the undersides.....when it was built. I almost threw it in the garbage, but since those signal gates were still down and caution lights flashing , decided to call and make an appointment to get the car checked out. Now to those who know me, the gas pedal in my car seems to have this penchant for peddle to the metal,.... now I say ....its because of my heavy boots, yet that doesnt cut it with the conductor, ....most people call it speeding,.... but in this county with all the PUTZERS who the hell would know. So if you can see your way through all the steam rolling up from the engine wheels, this could have ended in a run-a-way not to pretty situation. While sitting in the showroom, with a beautiful new Ford car taking the place of the steam engine in my imagination at my feet, out came two very serious looking gentlemen from the garage area....and very gravely sat down in the chairs next to me....and proceeded to explain that the Ford Company will not let me drive my van home. IT seems as though there is a crack in the rear axle of my car, due to the defect when it was made....eleven years ago. HUGE boulders have fallen on the track, and theres no one to push them away .....the train has stopped. Tim is in Kentucky, on 18 wheels, dealing with his own miseries, and the steam engine here is stalled and quickly running out of coal. Ford company will give me a check for $3400.00 for the car, which is very generous, since it is 11 years old, and has made contact with about three deer in the last year, (the deer won). And so maybe..the salesmen who have been listening to this scenario ask.......would I like to look at the cars on the lot, while they call Enterprise and rent another car for my pleasure at their expense. AHAH! These were the new passengers aboard that would carry my luggage for a change....I looked, at the used vans, saw a beautiful red truck with a snow plow but at a price that couldn't move those huge boulders off of the track. It seems as though they have already checked 100 cars or more, and mine was the first one to have the defect the salesmen tell me, and the cars on this lot go very quickly...I wonder did they have this defect also and should I settle fast in case they get on the cattle car at the back of the train..<br />
Enterprise was out of rental cars, so they loaned me one of the vans that was offered for sale on the car lot. Small boulders moved...... I loaded up a few things from my now defunct car and headed into our little town to talk to my favorite Mechanic, at Skyway..."Take the deal" he smiling said as he headed for his own computer....and quickly found another Van that was only a couple of hundred dollars more than that check will be. And he will even go into Chippewa to check it out, if it is measures up to his standards, he will bring it home, and we wait for the check in the mail, and I keep the rental car until all the boulders have been removed from the track. The last passengers have come aboard and repaired the tracks, cleared out these particular boulders and I can start climbing that mountain one more time. However, I am running out of allotted coal for steam power for this year, and we still have a month and a half of travel.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So tell me.....passengers with me on this great escapade of life,..... am I the "Engine that could" ...and can I make to the other side of the Pass, with time to spare, or will the tracks be buried in a land slide of snow and ice, and the fire go out?......................Oh by the way...did I tell you that I carry a snowmobile in the Caboose?.........Just in case.....................this is the north country ya know!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcfdAT6lTTObogON4oQGFClH2PB9Fr75vmAiuyk6QWaQYVljLlQ0boIHNILwxwHaG0ll3CHtWrPOq6vLaEdTdbHngW-NVevMVuJ3YlhctV4EMc2Dx72UWE4_j00qbVsoziE1mDNiJv_8/s1600/red-caboose-moraine_%257Ekr35806.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcfdAT6lTTObogON4oQGFClH2PB9Fr75vmAiuyk6QWaQYVljLlQ0boIHNILwxwHaG0ll3CHtWrPOq6vLaEdTdbHngW-NVevMVuJ3YlhctV4EMc2Dx72UWE4_j00qbVsoziE1mDNiJv_8/s1600/red-caboose-moraine_%257Ekr35806.jpeg" /></a></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-50769357470333904192010-10-16T12:12:00.003-05:002010-10-17T12:14:50.907-05:00Shiney floors<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FvPCrNKx4V90hKxUmhWq-2TJi02adDHwt2sLavHC6_KTJOXCpQ0ZU5mDx_aB3xn6twiAcNwZ0d5cJeeWBTlvklH2akcKCv0DK_NM43qKVjM74MzSgBUjW1e4NwUjLXsqw3NpSvGlE14/s1600/DSCN2054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FvPCrNKx4V90hKxUmhWq-2TJi02adDHwt2sLavHC6_KTJOXCpQ0ZU5mDx_aB3xn6twiAcNwZ0d5cJeeWBTlvklH2akcKCv0DK_NM43qKVjM74MzSgBUjW1e4NwUjLXsqw3NpSvGlE14/s320/DSCN2054.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Fall Mushrooms in Denny's yard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Fall has arrived at the homestead....later than normal, we had snow this time last year. One can always tell when its fall here, and no, its not the beautiful red oak leaves that have fallen from my beloved oaks onto the woodland floor. Nor is it the arrival of the Blue Jays, crows, ravens, and eagles that sail in the wind, composing a rap songs of the coming snow clouds. A momentous occasion occurs..... I finally wash the floors, where all the scraps of the previous canning, freezing, drying fervor made the floor look like a crazy quilt with out the stitches, are scraped free. The canners are put away in the garden shed, along with all the extra jars that may have taken their place on the counters, chairs, table, and any other space available. Jars of dried herbs, are actually neatly placed on the shelves, and the smell of baked bread is now wafting thru the house, rather than the smell of drying onions that can be sniffed all the way down to the mail box. The windows are full of plants that have been brought in, secure from the frosts that are sure to put the blooming flowers in my garden to sleep. The winds are singing lullaby's to last hardy roses, and Mother Nature is filling her cupboards with the heavy snow clouds soon to be distributed with abandonment through out the grasses, and corn stubble, and old Jack Frost has been painting the ponds with his magical wand, and ice filled paintbrushes. The pure blue skies will soon become heavy pillows of gray fluff, with the winter winds blowing boldly singing the last hurrahs of fall.<br />
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Fall in the North country brings on harvest festivals, and finally after many years of procrastinating, we attended the Cranberry Fest in Eagle River a few weeks ago. Traveling down the Highway 70, embraced by the colorful leaves swirling around the roadside, we reached our destination to be greeted by hundreds of cars, lined up like the Chicago rush hour, trying to find that ever elusive parking place. We however, traveled on a few miles across the line to Michigan to meet the kids, and and swap cars to travel back and park in that special place that only residents of the area know how to find. <br />
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The entire small city of Eagle River was carpeted with white Tents holding the most coveted arts and crafts, and goodies that had been put together with love and devotion, and now displayed proudly on racks, shelves or ground with care. Main street held smells of old, new, and not so new thrift sections, while the cafes were busy selling brats, hot dogs, hamburgers, and cranberry beer, along with cranberry chocolate, and just plain ole cranberries by the pound. There is something to be said for the North country people, they are jovial, considerate, fun loving and very talented. Well ya have to do something during those long winter nights, and Eagle River Cranberry Fest displays it all.<br />
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Mother Nature tried her best to discourage us with onsets of showers mixed with the sun...and yes snowflakes, but no one minded her, even tho she sent her best cold winds to shoo us quickly on our way. We just ducked into one of the hundred of tents which covered the fairgrounds and checked the treasures that they held, trying to resist the temptations that awaited with beckoning smiles.<br />
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But the temptation became too great however when we walked into one of the barns, and there before our eyes, hanging from clothes racks were long skeins of wonderful hand spun Alpaca and llama yarn, dyed the soft colors of fall leaves, and tantalizing baskets overflowing with multi-colors of Fiber just waiting to be touched , hand dyed to perfection, with sweaters, mittens, scarfs lining the edge of the cubicle, each one a deity of patience and wonder. Each skein was dyed to the imagination of the young lady who created these small miracles, and as she said "once a particular dye solution was gone, the recipe was never kept, so each selection of colored skeins were never repeated". Well, thank goodness she took debit cards, because, after the second visit, and my husband saying..."you will regret it if you don't go back and get what you want"..... was enough...to mentally check our bank account..since normally I do not carry that much cash, so as not to be tempted. An hour later I was the proud owner of cuddly, warm, hand spun alpaca fiber, that could be crocheted into the objects of my imagination. My husband sat in the chair provided for husbands for the moment, and would say," better get that color if you like it", and the ladies there, along with some customers helped match the various colors, making the collaboration complete. So on this particular day one of my dreams had become reality, going to a Cranberry Fest in Eagle River, and acquiring ounces and ounces of alpaca fiber, and meeting new friends in the process. Shady Haven's Fiber Designs and Llama Adventures will be holding a fiber boutique between Spring Green and Arena outside of Madison, in November and hubby says yes, we can go....hang on bank account...this may be a disaster.<br />
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Our ride home was guided home by the bright setting sun, amid the showers, and flocks of dining turkeys gathered along the roadside eating gravel, about every five miles of the route. Highway 70 has always been a favorite of mine, setting adventures to the high side, with never a repeat scene regardless of the season. Even Tim, who travels thousands of miles a year agrees, that this movie never repeats itself. <br />
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Speaking of Tim, we finally have his sleeper berth decorated to his advantage, with a small table for his computer, and all the necessities needed for traveling comfort. Since he spends anywhere from 3-5 nights in his rolling hotel room, its nice to have some comfortable commodities. One night when he was high in the Appalachian mountains, he was unable to get phone service to call at his usual time, and as the hours went by, this homesteader became worried, wondering if anything was wrong. However, his computer, which has a different phone service was able to finally get thru. He was parked in a tiny 6 truck parking , truck stop, and tho the service kept being interrupted, at least I knew he was down safe for the night. While I will never stop worrying, as its my nature, I know that he is comfortable in his job, and loves the road, and doing what he loves to do.....cept when he graduates and gets out of the rig, and goes to his second love which is computers. By the way he passed his college algebra with a C.....will wonders never cease. The third semester is on now, which Computer repairs, and College Comp....I will be studying the English Composition with him and so far, find it a wee bit boring...but oh well, like algebra, I am bound to learn something.<br />
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Along with fall arriving, and my kitchen clean, comes the the disrobing of my sewing area. This is the area I hardly visit during the spring and summer, and stays kinda neat. The next 6 months however will be disarray of everything from material, thread, scraps,...and now the addition of yarn....Lisa and Allona found an old knitting machine that had been lovingly used by someones aunt for a pittance, at a rummage sale and now it is sitting here by my shelves. I have always wanted to learn how to use one, and here in perfect shape is the chance......this will be my new opportunity for January, to learn something new as has been my custom now for years. But now it is more important than ever, to look forward to a new challenge.<br />
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</div>The clouds are rolling in now, rain is forecast in a couple of days, the cool wind is settling the rest of the leaves off the trees, tucking in the last of the seeds of summer, preparing for the season not far off. The deer have changed their coats to dark brown, and rummage among the fallen acorns of the oaks, and the coyotes have divided into two packs now, I imagine due to the good supply of pups this year and sing on both sides of the ravines. The other day coming up the driveway, I saw a beautiful black mink rushing across down to the other side of the slope. The spry little chipmunks are carring every sunflower seed that falls from the feeders, to their winter habitat in the green house, unaware that I know where they are stashing their winter supplies. Every critter is preparing for the onset of Mother Natures cloak of snow,.... along with me, ....are cleaning their dens, making room for the long hibernation from the sun, settling down to wait for the transformation of the seasons.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRLHN43EwALXXtXNdJIfiOwKJwb7KD9pyJyMyUC8o_r0AidVEo8qCQmGtItWbLZVU42W7HNPNFLW4LbE6fqKilOr3NZFF6D0U9CemARKyek6msq315Qbq8Koad_5gh9Zu9l0axW9cP_8/s1600/Image0077+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghRLHN43EwALXXtXNdJIfiOwKJwb7KD9pyJyMyUC8o_r0AidVEo8qCQmGtItWbLZVU42W7HNPNFLW4LbE6fqKilOr3NZFF6D0U9CemARKyek6msq315Qbq8Koad_5gh9Zu9l0axW9cP_8/s320/Image0077+(2).jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim, Somewhere in Kentucky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-75951831334104685732010-09-17T21:41:00.000-05:002010-09-17T21:41:57.791-05:00Mad Hatter EffectThese days this homesteader is feeling more and more like the Mad Hatter....I'm late, I'm late for a very important date....but I can't remember which date that is and why I am late, or how I even got to this part of the date.......happens every late summer....and I can't seem to get a handle on why.<br />
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It all started with a day in very early July, when on checking my bank account I found that someone, somewhere, had stolen my debit card number, (we will never know how, since it was still in my possession), and was charging BIG dollars to Home Depot, pharmacies, and book stores in Illinois, one of the suburbs of Chicago in fact, and was just having a great time. We were able to stop the card in time so as not to lose the hundreds of dollars this woeful person had charged, but about a thousand did go thru, however due to the wonderful response from our credit union bank, and the fast response from the credit card company, it was all returned, but..., we had to change accounts, cards, shift balances...I was up....then down......then sideways.... Mad Hatter effect...that experience was definitely an eye opener.<br />
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Then my wonderful, loving daughters decided to change my appearance and I became a blond for a couple of months....it was fun, but now am back to my uneventful brown hair with out the dark roots that came on so fast....now why can't I lose weight as fast as my dark roots grow back in....its the mad hatter effect, I am telling you now.<br />
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In Mid July, Frightful sounds were emitting from the bedroom, which has been transformed into my husbands study room , somewhere between..."this is a page of crap" ...to..."none of this makes any sense (Mad Hatter Effect)....to "what the hell am I ever going to use this for"...came over and over like a broken record from the depths of the room. It was his Algebra class....moaning, and sniffling, and cussing and just plain aggravating complaints never ceased, and he decided he would drop the class.....BUT, he couldn't, ...they wouldn't allow it, not with out consequences....so what does a good wife do....give up the quiet life, and take out the books, and study 24/7 for two weeks with him to catch up on three weeks of lessons he hadn't completed. I ran thru the Internet, looking for all the lessons on beginning algebra, took a bottle of aspirins, and wore my best dress of patience, and worked slowly with all the problems, and we made it, this is the last week of homework, Finals are next week, he may not pass the class, but at least he has gotten all his homework in, and lab work, and by golly I know a little bit of algebra....don't know where its going to get me with all the garden work....lets see...a= a+ b (cd^2) over N...........salad equals tomatoes, cucumbers times the dressing over lettuce.....yes I can see where Algebra may be a big help next year. Mad Hatter Effect.<br />
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We have had rain, and rain, as much as 6 inches or more a week, and lo and behold in marched the slugs, like an army exploring the rain forest, invading every nook and corner and eating every thing in sight. Nothing has been left untouched,.....Step, squish (rain water) step,...Smash...(slugs) goo everywhere. Blight swept over the garden like the cloak of Haides, leaving the tomatoes leafless, naked, sunburning the fruit itself. In spite of all this, there was an abundance of produce, and in between the hours of studying, the pantry shelves got filled, and the freezers got full, jam jars of plums, grapes, strawberry, pickled peppers, cukes,and spaghetti sauces, along with tomato juices made their way to the pantry.<br />
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The farmer cut the hay, best crop ever, Sean said, and later I sat and watched the coyote catching the mice in the newly mown grasses.....it was raining as usual and I didn't think to get the young chicks ...which I let scratch for bugs along the wood line in back of the house.....back into the greenhouse before the dog like creature in the field decided to search for better pickings. Sure enough that evening I was 5 chicks short, supper for the beautiful reddish brown four legged creature and maybe his family that was so playfully catching mice in the field. A few days later I spotted the creature inside the pasture, loping along till he/she came to the corner where the fence didn't quite meet the ground, and underneath he went, then as if to make his domain very clear, sat down on the path and glared back at the dogs as they barked through the fence at the intruder.....lifted his head in disdain, turned up his nose, and trotted on down toward the wood line, turned around one more time as if to say......I was here first, I belong here.....you came last....so get used to it.....and disappeared into the trees. And he sings every nite, proclaiming his love for this land and my chickens. <br />
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Another note to turn this homesteader upside down again...MAD HATTER EFFECT......Tim found a job, at 5R Processing in Ladysmith, about 25 miles down the road. They recycle computers, digital equipment, etc... and he bugged them for about two months. AH!...at last he was among the minority, he has a job....what we didn't know was, that this is their corporate office, and they have plants in Georgia, and Tennessee, and he was hired on as a long haul driver. So now after being home for 7 months, he would be gone 4-5 days at a time, home on weekends. In fact he now travels from Ohio, to Virginia, to Georgia and so on. He has the computer in his truck, and printer, does his homework on the road...cept for ALGEBRA , waits for the weekend for that......and skypes me every evening. Now to those of you who think this is a really sweet thing that the husband in no longer underfoot,...(I did once).. that is good in theory, but gets old fast. When in the city, there was always something moving, people scurrying....but out here in the country it's a different story. Being a trucker is hard, but being the wife of a trucker living in the boondocks is harder. While he is off fighting the four wheelers, I am trying to figure out why the generator is spewing oil all over, the lawn tractor is digging holes in the lawn while mowing, how water got in the gas tank of the roto tiller, and where the hell did he put that wrench. Now I am good at a lot of things, but really bad at mechanical things...a hammer is an alien being that does not like me at all. AND its quiet.....when Sean and his son were cutting the hay, I actually loved the sound of the machines, because that meant there were humans within sight, ......silence can be so deafening when it is 24/7....especially at night...when this homesteader who is afraid of the dark,,... not bears, coyotes, or four legged sprites...the "dark"...must go out to figure out if the varmints are in the pasture, or out of the pasture...are the animals safe...or in danger.....oh yes....I also do not like guns.....so here I am..slowly, ...bravely, ....creeping out with the dogs at my side, and huge flashlight , walking stick in hand to brave the elements and fight the battles. Truckers' wives, are widows for days, or weeks, smiling when their guy comes home, and when they leave...then sinking into this oblivion of work and silence, conquering the unknown, trying to be strong while all the while shivering inside, knowing that out on that long road, an 80,000 pound, 18 wheeler is battling the odds with the four wheelers, trying to make it safely to their destination, and get back home again. OK, now after all that whining I have to go figure out why the pellet stove won't stay lit...Mad Hatter..........<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Prairie Sunflowers</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrwk8v-vhCh29r4i8kZpwFDBA7HmOxF1SO8xcSKQJ5JC652qSEAC5BlakF8VJwqEjm_Yf7kSWEBPbwD2-6QUVwhHS3QZOtAxpTgpnL5Dfy_d452tYyRH5pkI7VaqN6CnitPd5Om7PVG3g/s1600/DSCN2049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrwk8v-vhCh29r4i8kZpwFDBA7HmOxF1SO8xcSKQJ5JC652qSEAC5BlakF8VJwqEjm_Yf7kSWEBPbwD2-6QUVwhHS3QZOtAxpTgpnL5Dfy_d452tYyRH5pkI7VaqN6CnitPd5Om7PVG3g/s400/DSCN2049.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>So now I think I know what date I am late for....I missed August, and the end of summer, between studying, and gardening, and mowing, and canning and freezing, there just hasn't been time to smell the roses. Oh well, now with fall knocking at the gate, there will be blankets of snow...great...better get the snow blower out to be checked, and find the doggone snow shovel, and figure out where he put the ice chisel....how the Hellllllll does he find anything in this cluttered garage.....and oh great, the UPS man just delivered the next semester college school books.......he has to take Comp (English)....and hates it...here we go again.......MAD HATTER EFFECT.Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-85882275107088400632010-07-22T19:56:00.000-05:002010-07-22T19:56:43.192-05:00Mysteries at the Homestead<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So far its been Sherlock Holmes mystery month here at the homestead. July came in rainy, and humid, making the garden grow in leaps and bounds, the sunflowers standing tall, guarding the youngsters at their feet, including the unwanted visitors that were not invited. These tall guardians of the garden were not planted by human hand, but came up from the seeds of their ancestors of last year. Each year, I routinely plant sunflowers in rows, only to have them wither and die, while the wild ones come up to taunt me in the rows, outside the rows, daring to be pulled. Some lose their bet, others I leave in the rows to reach out to the sky, and play with the clouds.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Tomatoes are ripening faster than I can count, earlier then ever before, corn has tasseled, peppers have peppered, and the vines of squash, pumpkin, gourds have hidden the fence on the pasture lane, mixing in abandonment with each other, leaving the bees to wonder whose flowers belong to whom. The potato beetles have given up the battle, and herbs have been drying. First mystery, everything is so early, weeks early, my farmer neighbor down the road can't keep up with the ripening oats, multitude of hay, and the corn 6 foot high by the 4th of July. Everything has become almost too fertile for the fields, including this homestead.</div></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lynn down at the other end of Scotts Lane always comes every year for a few dozen eggs to set for new laying hens. This year however , she came early, as a family of raccoons went out on the town and stopped by her chicken pen and dined on her hens. So I gave her three dozen, usually out of this about a dozen chicks or less hatch out.......THIS TIME...32 hatched out..SURPRISE...And back here on our homestead....a biddy hen walked out from somewhere with one chick.....never missed her while she was sitting for a few weeks. Meanwhile Avi, our bloodhound husky, kept trying to dig under the old shed, even tho I kept putting pallets on the ground to discourage her. Upon listening carefully, I heard peeping coming from inside the shed......low and behold there was another chick, sitting inside a barrel of alpaca fiber all by it self....chirping for someone, anyone, to come and rescue him. Now how he got in that barrel at two days old is mystery number two . Picking him up and placing him with the "one chick" hen mom, they all went happily about their business of pecking the ground for food. But the story doesn't end there,....email message came thru......".do you want some of the chicks?, we have way too many for us here".....Lynn asked. This was to be the year, I wasn't going to raise any little ones......so down we went and came back with 15 cheeping, noisy black little dots, depositing them into the greenhouse, went back into our own pen, located now "2 Chick" Mama hen, put her with the 15 new arrivals, providing her with a proper and full family of 17 black dots, running around pecking at everything she shows them. They are happy, quiet, and content even tho they can not all fit under her wing at night and must take turns riding on her back, learning the trade of the chicken world. They will stay there, exploring the lawn around the greenhouse, the wild flower garden, and the wood line, till they have feathered completely out, and no longer need the older hen to show them the way....and then all will be moved into the fenced alpaca yard, along with the older generations of hens and roosters that was the start of it all. Circle will be complete.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOZs3NM2iztVvkH5jkMrBSPMRTi3VM7nOSak5tNw8KcOr5aXwc9TOMvSuwbR7aDS4-4DkK7W2RGqaKSlcf7rrxEDoFnAIrbbSlSY9BMYrbVRybWLgctjfp0ltUaPJeuUibiPiWrxcerM/s1600/DSCN1965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOZs3NM2iztVvkH5jkMrBSPMRTi3VM7nOSak5tNw8KcOr5aXwc9TOMvSuwbR7aDS4-4DkK7W2RGqaKSlcf7rrxEDoFnAIrbbSlSY9BMYrbVRybWLgctjfp0ltUaPJeuUibiPiWrxcerM/s320/DSCN1965.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Earlier in the month, while out separating the weeds from the earth in the garden, a loud, humming, buzzing noise got my attention fast. Looking out across the yard in one of the tall oaks there was a spiral commotion of activity flying fast and free, and with one intent.......to find the queen. It was a sight to behold, a swarm of bees, hanging from one of the trees, at least two feet or more in length, swirling, circling, black cloud, finally settling slowly on each other in the quest for ....the queen mother. We thought that maybe one of our hives had swarmed, but they were fine, cept for the few drones that were now leaving to join the party. Mystery No. 3...and 4.....as a few days later, I heard the same music coming from the woods in back of the garden, tho could see nothing. Within a couple of hours another swarm flew in and took their place in one of the apple trees in the yard. This one much smaller, but just as noisy, and dramatic, even the dogs kept their distance. By the morning all were gone...as before......where they came from, what their destination was, we will never know......but it was definitely a first for this homestead. Meanwhile , our own hives are doing a good business as more rooms were added to both hives, and the honey is rolling in....minus a few drones.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The wood line across the hay field has become a stage for the proud peacock strut of a huge buck, still in velvet, as he prances across the field in search of a tidbit of clover growing again after the first cut. Behind him two more bucks come into my line of vision, smaller, more timid, but holding their heads high, cautious, frantically trying to keep up with the leader, all the while snipping a leaf or two here and there. This is the first time in five years we have seen any bucks come across the treeline into the fields, usually its the does and their fawns playing in the sunlight, but they have been absent this summer or the hay had grown too tall for them to be seen. The Sandhill cranes couple, have emulated into three couples this year, as they come back to the same nesting place along the tree line between the two fields. These majestic birds take their time looking for food in the cut hayfield, gracefully placing one long foot in front of the other, marching in tune to the rustling oak leaves, lead by the swallows gliding on the sails of the wind, and the hummers swinging from one flower to another, while the loons call from the lake across the ravine. Its cool early in the morning, the only time to search for food or garden before the sun sends its hot rays to chase in all but the most brave by noon.</div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Well, the rhubarb/strawberry and raspberry jam has been made, ready for gift giving in December, the peas, and cauliflower have taken their place in the freezer, along with the broccoli and kale. Potatoes must be dug, and onions will be ready in a couple of weeks to pull and dry. This doesn't usually happen till mid August. The pole beans have hidden their supports, and the honey bees have taken permanent residence on all the flowers now in full bloom. The rain clouds keep a comin, and the moist heat hastens the delivery of produce beyond my control. Tomatoes will be canned, cucumbers pickled, all in July, along with the corn, beans, and herbs. The Organic Gardner says that by the end of this century, New Hampshire is predicted to have summers similar to what we currently see in Virginia or North Carolina.</div></div></div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Mystery No. 5....so what happens to the summers in the southern states....will they have hot sandy deserts, or will they have fallen into the oceans? We of course will never know....but it definitely leaves much to the imagination of this homesteader.</div></div></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXeR1ZS4u-AZjmAN4AaHuB7goNuZfMetUwOsoOy7V1JNuVYhZ0o7UyrUnab09ALCWsn2M_QSZWgfdSYlURXUTWh1HTdiQMsRHH3yAQNRzuyj34uKPNl08NXpZ6gQhhhXpXLUnZDyt3dY/s1600/holmes.gif" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXeR1ZS4u-AZjmAN4AaHuB7goNuZfMetUwOsoOy7V1JNuVYhZ0o7UyrUnab09ALCWsn2M_QSZWgfdSYlURXUTWh1HTdiQMsRHH3yAQNRzuyj34uKPNl08NXpZ6gQhhhXpXLUnZDyt3dY/s200/holmes.gif" width="185" /></a></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-11367461615030812952010-07-07T20:57:00.001-05:002010-07-07T21:06:45.171-05:00The sad days of July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY0JWwZOlPnQl7HYMKYD1IkpKQehlBzD-YzC1MCJjLlVlGkh2RfUmuuXOK8Zb1WOft9i87XDl7jHRVWYnXq9SRaSuvrZ90QeiFQo-Dtq46XAihFZ0yt8_3HhhAkrv9Nln7QdnqEbbOpA/s1600/DSCN1914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY0JWwZOlPnQl7HYMKYD1IkpKQehlBzD-YzC1MCJjLlVlGkh2RfUmuuXOK8Zb1WOft9i87XDl7jHRVWYnXq9SRaSuvrZ90QeiFQo-Dtq46XAihFZ0yt8_3HhhAkrv9Nln7QdnqEbbOpA/s320/DSCN1914.JPG" /></a></div>As I sit here, listening to the first throes of a thunderstorm, and watch the rolling clouds over head, the cries of the Sand hill cranes woeful calls match the mood of this homesteader. Its been a raw month, the end of June and the beginning of July. The heat has been excessive, and the rain a plenty...draining the mind of logical thought, and the senses become dull.... reality blurred. News spread quickly that day.... as down the road a bit, there was a horrible accident killing three area people, and injuring three more. A mother and her son, plus a young girl in the other car took their eternal flight. The driver of the other car was a visitor from Australia,.... we may never know what happened....but the sight of the Mayo clinic helicopter flying very low over our field, left an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach... churning... as I knew there must have been a severe accident somewhere, and it was...just 1/2 mile down the road. The rare, angry sounds of ambulances wailing in all directions sent shivers down the spine... they came from the three small towns around, along with country sheriff's squads hoping not to find what came across on the radios. One more helicopter slices the sky, and then silence. Later the late evening news told the grim tale that cemented it firmly in my mind. Now a wreath marks the spot so all will slow down at the corner of death.<br />
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Little did I know that there would be more sorrowful news in the future, with a text message early Tuesday morning, stating that my Mother in Law,( from a previous marriage had died).....she was in her late 80's and in poor health, but somehow I thought she would make another summer. She lived in the town a few miles down the road, and tho I rarely made it down to see her, I made a point to call her at least once a week.....and we would kibitz on what kind of summer it would be and how much rain, or snow we would get. Our birthdays were 2 days apart in the same month and we would congratulate each other for making it another year. Life becomes so fragile, when we are made to stop and listen to the tears. To make things even more delicate, she donated her body to Science, therefore there will be no funeral, no closure to celebrate her life here in the heartland. It is a new reality to life that I must sift <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">thru</span> and set right in my mind.<br />
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Turning to a softer side of life, on the way to town a few weeks back, we saw a huddled dark spot on the side of the road......turtle, duck?...we didn't stop to find out, as we needed to take our weekly 10 dozen eggs to the food pantry, before it opened, and as usual we were late. On the way back that dark spot was still there so we stopped to investigate, as curiosity took over the best of us. Tim bent over and picked up this little black spot, and it quickly picked and pecked at him as he returned to the car. Feisty, soft black down became a ball of jostling energy, as Tim cradled it in his big hands......It was a baby Loon, perched on the side of a busy country road, to fend for its own..on a busy day. We surmised that he had somehow been left behind by his parents, a long way from the water, well for him anyway....and had gotten lost and finally grew tired and just stopped on the side of the road. Now the dilemma was what to do with him...since he is a protected species, and we didn't have a pond to put him in. Finally , with much heavy thought , we took him down to the neighbors, whose land bordered the lake he must have come from, and made him promise to take the little one to the lake shore. It was fine with Jeff, as he said he knew that there were a couple of pairs of loons on the lake, and he would walk down <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">thru</span> the woods and set him in a safe place, where hopefully the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">furried</span> friends would not see him, and he would have a chance to get back in the water. We had a severe thunderstorm and rain that night, so I don't know what became of the little one, but in my imagination, he lost his down and grew feathers and is echoing the calls of his parents, on the lake where I know he came from. No closure here either, except the imagination of the mind taking over the sensible, practical , logical ways of this homesteader. The ways of the land are cruel, and hard sometimes, and ones... I have not managed to overcome in the seven years here in the woods, yet everything seems to balance out somehow, sometimes in a few hours, or days...making life more masterful, and powerful then before. Understanding may never become a project fulfilled, but one that will keep my imagination rolling on like the hills never ending, never stopping.<br />
Balance here on the homestead, means getting away for a couple of days. We traveled for a family gathering along the boundaries of Wisconsin and Michigan. Seventy was a warm friendly highway, gently curving into the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Chequamegon</span> National Forest, where the landscape begins to take on new direction. The swamps are filled with sentinels of the peaked, pointed spirals of pine trees, watching over the waving tall grass, hiding the forest creatures that are going about their various duties. The highway was dressed for the holiday, wearing miles of yellow <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">BirdsFoot</span> trefoil flowers, with fringes of black eyed Susan's, and white daisies gathered in ruffles along the wood lines. She is proud, beautiful in the early morning dew, quiet, empty, with the sun rays fondly kissing the tips of the trees with silent adoration. By the time we reach <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Minoqua</span>, the traffic has picked up, and we become aware of the holiday celebration enthusiasts, with bicyclists on the path, ATVS, roaring down the side roads, and runners on a jaunt to nowhere. For a brief two days, with three dogs in tow, we enjoyed walking barefoot on the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">piney</span> crusted ground, the towering <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">majes</span>tic pines, and the laughing of family members playing games on the lawn. We were entertained that evening by my son-law's, B<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">lues</span> band, and people dancing on the wooden floors at <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Goouches</span> bar and restaurant in Boulder Junction. Brian plays the guitar and sings the songs with an abandonment only a dedicated, artist can , making the night more precious in memories. We drove back the next day, in the rain, ready to get back into the harness of everyday work here on the homestead, renewed, looking forward to the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">mondain</span> energies of everyday life.<br />
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So maybe there is not to be closures or endings, we must flow with the streams, rushing down the mountain into a continual force of energy, dancing like the raindrops into new realms of dreams, never to be forgotten.Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-83372888176117936312010-06-13T13:52:00.000-05:002010-06-13T13:52:51.308-05:00Rainy Days are for Housecleaning?"I thought you always said that rainy days are given by God to you, so you could clean house"....this remark came thundering across the garden along with the thunder god above, from a scowling, brow curling, husband, carrying a shovel and a rake. Slowly standing up, so my back would uncurl to a pain free, up rite position, my mud covered hands grasping an unforgiving pie<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">ce</span> of sod....I had to laugh. Your the one who brought me to this chapter of our life, so deal with it, was my sarcastic reply, while trying to get the wet hair out of my eyes, and focus on the job at hand. <br />
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Actually he was right, if anyone should enter into this domain, during a dry spell, you toss in your coin and take your chances, housework was never on my menu, ever....My mother tried to teach me, the good sisters at the convent tried to amend my ways, but to no avail....it is simply not to do, unless you have known company coming...like my kids, or the tax inspector is coming, or some appliance breaks down, I see no reason for not living with all the white dust balls of fur from the dogs, muddy foot prints, dust on the ceiling fans if.... there is something of more importance to accomplish. But I digress from the story at hand.<br />
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Actually it was all my Brother Den's fault, as he called me up late Friday and said...."I have all these extra raspberry plants growing around the edge of my raspberry rows, and you can have them, rather than me mowing them down. <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Wheeee</span>....my eyes light up, the adrenaline flows, the mind starts moving...."Be there in the morning" I reply while hubby yells out...not before 10 AM, I'm not getting out of bed early <a href="mailto:for!@@#$$%%^....unprintable">for!@@#$$%%^....unprintable</a>!<br />
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EARLY, Saturday morning we speed into town to collect the prizes of a lifetime. Dennie's garden is small, pristine, and he is a master at raspberry growing...as we dig out the little foot tall specimens he proceeds to tell me how far to plant, what kind of mulch to put on, when to prune, when to pick, the life history of his precious plants. I have learned to listen to the masters when they have done things I have not yet accomplished, as there is yet so much to learn. Hubby has this resigned look on his face, but dutifully helps lift the tote full of plants into the car knowing full well what may lay ahead.<br />
We walk across his manicured lawn, now that Den has retired he has plenty of time to take care of his own little piece of heaven. He has this really neat bird feeder, that raises up and down, and do I think I could use it out at the homestead...as the squirrels just jump down from the trees, and eat the precious seed, or knock it on the ground. Tim sighs, and manages to fit it in the van....another project to finish.<br />
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Back home now, the puzzle deepens as I try to figure out where in this absolutely crowded garden, will these gems retire to...only one thing to do, tear out the sod along the garden fence, shovel out the pile of compost sitting there, and level out the garden path. Digging out a 20 foot ravine of quack grass and sod is no easy feat, Hubby would rather climb MT. Everest....carrying out the rocks hiding in the mud... and ....what? ...filling it back in with compost....my husband by this time is hoping the sky would just open up and lightening fill the air....but it only mist slightly, as I finally put the plants in their final resting place.....hubby delightfully heads for the house...when....wait a minute, we have to mulch this entire new plot.....sinking to the ground, head in hands, I am sure now that he is sending up prayers to the rain gods.....why have they forsaken him........????<br />
The dogs eagerly hop into the van after he hooks up the trailer, and we head down to the neighbors to load another 40 bales of wet moldy hay, but this time Dave helps with the heavy wet bales. "Yep", he says," made one round of raking up the cut hay, and she (the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">sk</span>y) just opens up...had to come in and get a dry shirt, didn't think you would make it back here for another load today". Its been a hard month on the farmers, the hay must be cut, but there hasn't been enough sun to dry the furrows, ..".probably be a long dry July n' August after this month" he says, with a slight drawl of words, those of a seasoned,..long <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">har</span><span class="goog-spellcheck-word">dened</span> worker of the earth.<br />
Heading back up the road, pick up the mail, and the rain comes down.....good thing, because by now hubby has had it with the Honey <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">DO's</span> and its time to just pick up the remote. The wagon is sitting in the yard next to the garden, covered with a white tarp so as not to soak up the rest of the days rain, but ready to mulch tomorrow, or the next day, which is today......Yes I finally took a mop to the floor, only because the tractor soles of my high topped boots tracked in more mud than the dogs wet footprints, and my aching muscles need a rest.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFdq9Uk3gMtiH8Y4H5JztJFwoPNhtYdIWbDaMlBhjDDQO2aoVBGDf8Ay2LO0ITvzF7s7CowIt6SA_mJc4ibgpq31lJo8kI_FFDIeNByyxDrpYFGA32pfAcFRpsDg_U0dDPRDk5KSxEKs/s1600/DSCN1866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFdq9Uk3gMtiH8Y4H5JztJFwoPNhtYdIWbDaMlBhjDDQO2aoVBGDf8Ay2LO0ITvzF7s7CowIt6SA_mJc4ibgpq31lJo8kI_FFDIeNByyxDrpYFGA32pfAcFRpsDg_U0dDPRDk5KSxEKs/s320/DSCN1866.JPG" /></a>Phone rings...its Denny again....."You know those white lilacs in the middle of the lawn.....I am going to cut them down...but I got to thinking...they sure would look nice on the hillside down your driveway...you know on top of the hill where you want to put that bench...." ......... OK, be down next week, ...have to wait a bit before I tell hubby.....you know ....prime the water....break it to him gently.................!</div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-23527421381087568852010-06-12T18:23:00.000-05:002010-06-12T18:23:52.048-05:00Road tripA road trip here on the homestead means going a little farther than normal, to get something specialized done that could have been mailed, but we need the respite from some of the routine chores of the land. We needed to have the blades sharpened on the clippers to shear the alpacas, and the only place that does that kind of work is in Hayward. Only a couple of hours away, so good for a rainy Friday morning, to take a jaunt off the beaten path and see how the rest of the world looks like and is fairing. It has been a long time since I have visited the old stomping ground, going way back as a teenager, searching.but.never..finding her nitch in the world. The familiar road seemed to say welcome back, while new places have been built where before there were woods, or trails startled us back into reality. <br />
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Turning off Hwy 70 at Couderay, toward the Indian Reservation brought back memories of fishing, wild parties, and happy times. As a teen, one never, ever thinks that they will reach the ripe old age of 60+., being indestructible, infallible, and knowing all. The tall 100 year old pines formed a canopy over the wet, slinky, winding road, while the lakes peeped thru the undergrowth beckoning the passerby with the deep blue mirror reflections of the dark rain clouds. The Chippewa Flowage was quiet, deep and mysterious, nary a ripple on the water, its beauty concealed by the gray storm clouds, all the while hurrying down to the hidden creeks beds, to destinations unknown.The deep dark greens of the tall grasses sparkled with diamonds of white daisies, and blue cups of the wildflowers as the highway formed a ribbon along the landscape, and the deer bounded out without a thought to the danger that could await them from a speeding car. The tranquil setting of the north woods was a positive thought on a thundering, raindrop falling atmosphere, signaling a time for reflection and peace. We reached our destination, dropped off the blades and decided to take a different route back among the many resorts, lakes, restaurants, that paved the way to untold delights, endearing many a tourists into their open arms.<br />
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Traveling back we stopped in Radisson to see Uncle Ray and the boys. His sign business is doing better, now that they got refinanced by the local bank, and have expanded with a new truck, and hired one new employee, a local veteran back from Afghanistan, who needed work. In this tiny, sleepy town, this is a good sign. Uncle Ray stands away from the crowd with his out of the box thinking, and blames the the oil spill on the enviromentalists who did not want drilling on land or Alaska, therefore we were forced to go a mile under water, creating the scenario we face today. Not in the mood for a political debate this "tree hugger" let him spew on with his thoughts, some good, some not sensible...but then what do I know, he has 10 years more under his belt...maybe he knows something I haven't yet learned. Its always good to go and see what the other side of the world is thinking, and maybe readjust ones thoughts to a keener view of the landscape. <br />
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Crossing the bridge out of town, the Couderay River spun around the huge rocks with glee, playing with the tall reeds on the sides of the banks, happy with the excess water, making it easier to speed on down the paths to the Chippewa, and onwards, maybe dreaming one day to enter the sea.<br />
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We stopped at the cemetery, to see our ancients graves, so quietly waiting for the sun to reappear. Mary Lou's stone was decorated with a blue bird, flowers, and things that only grandchildren would place with tender care. It stood apart from the others with colors, and love radianting out into air for all to see. Behind bare and lonely, stood Mom's and Francis's graves,so distant, unadorned as the life that they once lived. I am thinking will buy some solar lights to put on Moms grave.....(saw one on some of the other graves that were there,) and thought that would be an easy, unobtrusive way to light up her piece of ground with out causing concern for the cemetery lawnmowers.<br />
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Back home again, the sun appeared to taunt us with its rays for a brief few minutes, and then gave way to the stubborn clouds that have been dominating our world for days now. Like spoiled children, they play tag with the winds, and rain, not willing to give up their time to let the sun kiss the grasses that are cradleing the songbirds, or the clover blossoms that send out their seeds for the future summers. It is a test of wills, with Mother Nature letting each of her children test the system to see how far she will be content in their mischievous games.<br />
.Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-43034127992108207922010-06-07T21:41:00.002-05:002010-06-08T11:33:13.108-05:00Wow, where have I been<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGx40UwcaR5aeVIn7-MLG_BQ0IvbdXYZ79k38Nw5mw9jwhGLnBWr6NPG0I_WPmS43cOXlNgHisxz8583pIgP2wouZay29bk4DHJOYAE5tUuV3daO6FnxyY9l5JVz9PhaDcr_Z5LAep4AA/s1600/DSCN1796.JPG"></a><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzu_SEoqnkubFIIS6oAZdQeRINOwmGXapwCLqqajVxaipWNKIQSdR2oXt5Dvunu1sm_Mnbkm6FDUAQDr6I6Rk38k85IATLm6i9v2ILA54YtnSP2P4BfZNLrJRhRkbULOY_mspwJEOhm8/s1600/DSCN1797.JPG" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480219825880582402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzu_SEoqnkubFIIS6oAZdQeRINOwmGXapwCLqqajVxaipWNKIQSdR2oXt5Dvunu1sm_Mnbkm6FDUAQDr6I6Rk38k85IATLm6i9v2ILA54YtnSP2P4BfZNLrJRhRkbULOY_mspwJEOhm8/s320/DSCN1797.JPG" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Time really does fly...its been over a year...so many things have happened, passed into the wind, fell into a sink hole, never to be recognized again. With health issues, family problems, the homestead itself, the time to write here was not the top issue. Now however, I think I can try again.....and write in my blog rather than play computer games.</div></div></div><br />
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<div>So lets bring you up to speed, in September of 09, after many months of testing, running to Eau Claire to the heart specialist, I received a pacemaker.. the electrical system in my heart went haywire...and went down to 36 beats per minute, leaving me with nothing to go on.... now the rest of the heart is fine, infact after having a heart catherization this past spring there is normal plac in the veins, with nothing of concern....wheee....so this year I have more energy...and finally can walk across the lawn. Then the last day of December of 09, my husband joined the ranks of the unemployed...which was a shock to the our systems....and after three fruitless months of searching..decided to go back to school for IT, Globe university, on line courses. Now we owe our souls to the School loan systems, and in 15 more months he can pursue another career, other than truck driving, meanwhile studying, and looking for a driving job ....which in this local is like trying to find a needle in a haystack....but life goes on.</div><br />
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<div>Spring has set her foundations firmly in our life now, the garden is fully planted almost three weeks earlier than previous years. This year I raised enough plants in our greenhouse to supply 8 families, plus yours truely. In return,among some of the things I received maple syrup, tincture of elderberry for the winter colds, and most important at this time 30 + bales of old moldy hay from the neighbor to mulch my garden with. My brother Den, gave me at least 40 bags of last fall's leaves, which already has been used in the garden mulching the potatoes and onions.</div><br />
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<div>Spring came early, in fact by March my greenhouse had been started, it was very warm, and April proved to be dry, warm so by May, the potatoes, onions, and all cold plants like lettuce, peas, kale, cilantro, were planted and peaking thru the ground. In the green house were peppers, tomatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, and flowers, almost bursting the seams of the little sun home, enough to supply plants for 8 families. I mean, you can buy a packet of seeds for little, and there are enough seeds for the world, and since I hate saving and planting last years seed, I contacted a few people who were more than happy to let me do the things I love to do best...and had the time for. All the fruit trees were in bloom, in Mid April, it seemed like spring was here to stay.</div><br />
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<div>However, there was a little burst to this fine growing bubble, we had snow in May 7th, like 4 inches, and a heavy frost. That took us back to reality, in a fast way, my root crops were in the ground, so it passed them over, but the apple trees which were in blossom were bit, and some of the plum trees in the garden became tainted with brown blossoms. The flowering plants in the rock garden hung down to the ground, under the heavy wet snow. It was both a sad scenario, yet beautiful, almost refreshing after the very warm weeks before. As it turned out, the snow melted the next day, and we were still left with a very early spring. By June 1, my potatoes were more than a foot high, and I was battling the potato beetles, weeds were growing faster than I could mulch, and it rained, and rained. All through the earlier months, it had been horribly dry, in fact April and a part of May, there was no moisture to speak of.....we started worring about the dry cold soil, with the warm spring winds.....what kind of summer was in store for the homestead this year.</div><br />
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<div>It never pays to worry about Mother Nature, she does what she pleases, and we must bow in humble vintage to what she orders. Now I sneak in between the rain showers, to mulch, weed, and check the bugs. It is so refeshing however to go out and pick the spinach and kale along some beet tops to make my green smoothies, challenging the taste buds after buying southern winter crops in the stores thru the winter.</div><br />
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<div>I have dried the first crop of parsley, cut the rhubarb and made 25 pints of rhubard/strawberry jam, and now drying the mint for teas this coming winter. A new thing I am learning now from a dear friend, Joyce Arndt, is making elixers from rose petals, and later from the elderberries, and some other tantalizing things from herbs. She is a trained herbalist, with so many things to share, and I have so much to learn. Its a whole new field that I hope to have the time to learn about.</div><br />
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<div>Meanwhile, along with the gardening, shearing the alpacas, gathering eggs, mowing the lawn, and checking on the couple hundred pines we planted earlier, I am trying to finish sewing the summer dresses that my 14 year old granddaughter actually asked me to make.....what a surprise most teens prefer to buy the tantalizing fashions in the top fashion stores. Tim is glued to the computer, studying for upcoming exams...while trying to keep up with the honey do's issued from above. The grass is growing faster than the weeds, the soaker system has been laid down on the tomatoe bed, the frames have been built for the pole beans, (I can no longer bend over to pick beans, back complains way too much), new horseraddish roots have been sunk in the earth, and the rain continues.</div><br />
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<div>A typical, but as unusual year has begun, the learning process is in session, and I am keenly attune to lifes cycles beginning anew. This year we have a quiet barnyard, the tom turkey died in very early spring, so now I have three hens, with no mate. However, along the fence line struts a newcomer to the homestead...a lone, wild, Tom, that has been trying to entice my gray hen with his romantic calls, and majestic struts. Finally one day she could not longer resist his heart, and proceeded to fly over the fence....which is a feat in itself, as the fence is 8 foot high, and she is no spring chicken... ah, turkey....she had been pacing the fence for days, and finally decided he was worth it. The love sick hen was gone for the day, but finally I spotted her up behind the beehives, clucking contentedly, eating the bugs and grass from the woodland floor. In a harried chase , she was finally back over the fence, away from from the clutches of the coyotes which sing every night....and home again. The spirited Tom was no where to be seen, though he would be hard to spot in the tall uncut hay, where he usually crosses each morning, after flying down from his favorite roost. Obviously, he is off to other pursuits, trying to find another lonely hen, as most of his own kind have already hatched out their family, and hiding deep in the woods, away from the coyotes, wolves, racoons, and what not, that roam when the moon is high in the sky, and the owls are hooting their stories to the clouds.</div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So goes the spring time at the homestead, rain is on the way again tonight, but at least I have most of the garden mulched, cultivated, and ready for another sunny day. I leave you with some pictures of the visitors that have paid their respect to the flowering buds of spring.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzOUpVsaCoPUL1Z_NeMUKPbPUFGxeTOrwFlJw_FZyH_IQIDPeRdoBjB6Anfp0JIOtb5MQ83rXHSy0aM_E44bK1ir1ZClAJZ0q-vF7R09hinOldYrVBnrjmb-NIEt4ymOe-7wtHdFb0vk/s1600/DSCN1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzOUpVsaCoPUL1Z_NeMUKPbPUFGxeTOrwFlJw_FZyH_IQIDPeRdoBjB6Anfp0JIOtb5MQ83rXHSy0aM_E44bK1ir1ZClAJZ0q-vF7R09hinOldYrVBnrjmb-NIEt4ymOe-7wtHdFb0vk/s200/DSCN1798.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTWvspBOWWx-LqUPR-LnwKqnOp5grPg_D6hf981go9qJXyhy7QPyScpx8HHfQMQSxkZHHE2A5SjbpKcNTkYgigD5OhCLFU0MCtW1pOQT2qePw2hw5hC2DDZKH8kaj_PT8m9LmBAAnREU/s1600/DSCN1795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTWvspBOWWx-LqUPR-LnwKqnOp5grPg_D6hf981go9qJXyhy7QPyScpx8HHfQMQSxkZHHE2A5SjbpKcNTkYgigD5OhCLFU0MCtW1pOQT2qePw2hw5hC2DDZKH8kaj_PT8m9LmBAAnREU/s320/DSCN1795.JPG" /></a></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-76507779878041716822009-04-07T09:26:00.008-05:002009-04-07T10:32:00.117-05:00Easter Memory Circles<div>Easter is another happy holiday, brite, cheerful, saluting the arrival of spring. I found the pattern to these Easter Baskets in the Bernina website, under projects, illustrating the use of the circle attachment. Well, not having that particular item, I set about to readjusting the pattern to fit my own circumstances, and here they are.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321965597932822274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8Au0pIGvH80nGHsDAqjiWtc3fiCE2hukjoxXkLvBzvYte06qVv4oiybkwnaw8iQXYOvhXH387Oc4tX7CbBe-KL2AxkT4cm0-l6aEptbbbaXHhhBZZWcNBLhOqaD_bH_BUaA4uOvePjA/s320/P4020001b.JPG" /></div><br /><br /><p>Using my magic circle cutter, I used various colorful scraps of material, lined them with another circle of color, added the handles of lace, and the baskets were created. Put in a few candies, and wrap them up, to send out to my GROWN children, grandchildren and a few special people. I think that no matter how old one gets, a little bit of spirited childhood in our adulthood is good for the soul. I am sure the recipients think I am a bit "unjointed" BUT thats OK with me, secretly I think they like being able to relive their youth for a couple of seconds or so.</p><br /><p>Easter according to Scripture is a time for reflection, to rejoice in rebirth, time for remembrance. For me its a wee bit sad, reflecting back on the times when the kids were small, sewing up the finest outfits to wear to Sunday Mass, coming home to watch them search for all the hidden Easter Eggs, cooking the Easter Ham, and all the Easter bakery items including the Lamb cakes that were decorated with the many candies of the season. Visitors would come over, and if the weather permitted kites would be flown, softballs to be hit, secrets exchanged, the skies were filled with laughter. Daffodils were in full bloom long with the tulips, and maybe even the many crab apple trees along the boulevard were starting to leaf out. It was springtime in the city, and colors were out to awaken the day.</p><br /><p>Now many years later, far away from those happy scenes, Easter becomes just another holiday, that commemorates the spring time coming,. Out here in the North land, the daffodils have not peaked through the cold earth, and there is still snow along the wood lines. The tall brown grasses belie the fact that somewhere beneath their feet, in the frozen confines will be green shoots, awaiting the kiss of the sun and the embraces of the warm spring winds. The skies are cloudy, with a hint of the coming snowfalls yet to arrive. Mother Nature secretly playing games with us, knowing full well we are tired of the winter, bored with the snow clouds, and the loneliness of the naked trees allowing the winds to dance among the branches with the abandonment of young creatures.</p><br /><p>Down in the newly cleared ravines, stands an old oak tree, that has been stung by a lightening bolt, chastised by the raw confines of Mother Nature,still standing tall, graceful, headed for the sky, unwilling to give up the years it has guarded the hills, even though its insides that held the secret chapters of the past, had been ripped from its bowels with a single stroke. it has refused to give up its place in the world, still offering its branches for the birds to nest, sheltering the many nimble four footed animals in its base, allowing squirrels to run up and down its trunk to harvest the acorns. It's leaves still carpet the floor each fall, adding nutrition to the soil below, and though time has taken its toll, it still has a purpose.</p><br /><p>It is then that I realise that the lessons continue, even though we have gone through the ages of memories, there are still many more different shades of color to be explored, more interests to awaken, finding all the corners of life that are still waiting to be shelved in the memories of our minds. It is not a time of sadness, but a time of continuance, just like this Old Oak Tree, watching silently as the world slides by on the wind currents, gathering the riches beyond the rainbow, placing them in the circle baskets of time.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p><br /><p></p>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-49321036233945490802009-03-21T09:11:00.017-05:002009-03-23T06:49:35.255-05:00Charlie Brown<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6S15KPDrSW_XNvjeDj8mlxjnSSt7uDB0gcEnHMgJrrVKszRJvzNWe3a3AMRpuhxI7bZpgYJvb58oACWw3DkbWvIkkb_wdVbxDrlOnHtH_4rRV5uRo_k39CBJVOsxRLLzIzc7wElLSXc/s1600-h/Charlie+Brown.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315652447164561794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6S15KPDrSW_XNvjeDj8mlxjnSSt7uDB0gcEnHMgJrrVKszRJvzNWe3a3AMRpuhxI7bZpgYJvb58oACWw3DkbWvIkkb_wdVbxDrlOnHtH_4rRV5uRo_k39CBJVOsxRLLzIzc7wElLSXc/s320/Charlie+Brown.JPG" /></a><br /><br />We are in the middle of March Madness, and I don't mean basketball. A few days ago we had 50 degree temperatures, and today we have 2 inches of snow. While it is beautiful, it is beginning to wear on my nerves as there are so many things I just have an itch to do. However, I do digress, I want you to meet Charlie Brown. My daughter in law and the grandchildren wanted a pine tree just like Charlies Browns Christmas Tree, kinda scraggly, bare, looking like it needed a home somewhere. to plant in their front yard. This was when we still lived in the city and I was unaware of the powerful forces of nature. We used to come out to what would eventually be our homestead on a regular basis, just to see what was growing. One day on an excursion to escape the city, we saw Charlie Brown, on the steep hillside along the path that was one day to become our driveway. He was all by himself, struggling against the wind that is so prevalent here. There was huge rocks to his left, and brown prairies grasses to his right, and tall popples and birch trees kept the sun away from his branches, and so he was barely two feet tall, a perfect picture of what they wanted. Out came the shovels, burlap bag, and soon he was firmly tucked into his carrying case for the venture south.<br /><br /><br /><br />Five hours later Charlie Brown arrived at his destination, on a corner lot in the city, ready to face the tide of cars, trucks, bikes, and people. Firmly implanted with the utmost care and love, he faced at least three winters of salt spraying, from the winter city trucks, fumes from the large trucks, traffic on busy street, and the hassles of sparrows and squirrels climbing his fragile tree trunk in hopes of finding a tidbit here and there to eat. The children mowed the lawn to perfection, manicuring every corner, planting strategically placed flower beds adding color to the city landscape for the summer and played hopscotch on the busy sidewalk. However, something had happened to Charlie, and he stopped growing, the pine needles didn't fall, he didn't wither away, he just stopped growing, something was very wrong in the heart of what should have been a very strong pine. So it was with much regret, out came the shovels, into the burlap bag he made his way back home.<br /><br /><br /><br />By this time we had moved from the city, built our pole shed house and were on our way to becoming homesteaders in this lonely quiet country. We picked one corner of our lawn, overlooking our garden, to the right, and overseeing the goat yard to the left, and settled him in, not expecting much if at all to happen. By this time he was a little over three feet, still sparsely branched, looking almost as he did when he had made the journey south, not much had changed. It was spring time, the mud had settled, the garden was being tilled, so we didn't give him much thought till one fall day, I looked through the window, and there was Charlie Brown, he had grown a foot, sprouted some new branches, and standing tall. Charlie Brown was back home, where he had sprouted from a tiny seed, on the far hillside, done some traveling, and like most of us as we get older and have seen the world, came back home. He survived a goat mangling when one of the kids escaped the fenced yard, and decided one of his branches was pretty tasty, the use of my big whites, (German Shepard dogs) as a fire hydrant....hence the fence around the bottom, and is now well over 12 foot tall, heading for the sky. He sheds his needles in the fall, adds pine cones in the spring, and is companion to the many birds that head his way. Charlie Brown is home, and I wonder, maybe I am too.<br /></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-28610502413022909312009-03-18T14:44:00.008-05:002009-03-18T18:13:53.551-05:00Magic in the air<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgT131h9_VpFtDz4gPfxt3Fx746ZDenLozvqdbDyxFsGNDbsHGEKStw2UjhYZhLev69SGZN5aKUk30Y58nrcjRKBZZTlkI1_TJkj_RkCfyeNRCr_Hs4_seQ_UYuYS7zyCg0GdD35yfyw/s1600-h/P3160013.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314627077579590018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihgT131h9_VpFtDz4gPfxt3Fx746ZDenLozvqdbDyxFsGNDbsHGEKStw2UjhYZhLev69SGZN5aKUk30Y58nrcjRKBZZTlkI1_TJkj_RkCfyeNRCr_Hs4_seQ_UYuYS7zyCg0GdD35yfyw/s320/P3160013.JPG" /></a><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhPHYdZNWbJtU390C6uA7P5z_ywl-9fJI3Xcn_hdFEcK6rMBqQ_xs5LF-WpnukjarinnTzWaZVUiIsKYYZWnfG3yUB1W2Pyf9ka7YD681mVkFZsHoqLynDsq6xt8Iny308qr6KYiK72Q/s1600-h/oak+hit+by+lightening.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPOM7PUtuGTwR_FeSFNB4b7D5Z7sSRLla0dr6ib3e3mvL2lW3GKcx2oslGx4rac4QC0hroy1E6g3lKtK3aoN41cfswSjMnAVAlQWQ2bhdGgpelQTBr3ZEZUk9Ge3PzQ2kGFUUzbMkKng/s1600-h/Oak+hit+by+lightning.JPG"></a><br /><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZAPy9KLipUNqAxjCHC8mFEyFRaeQBvoa9q_P18OxD_74UMGBdH-qtagoVbpibNWKL86OwqNeLHNW4hulQ52eCvGVjMGhc_jy3uzKJddxxsE5g79j2j1C4wI8o3PaCCA03SGmG70UbNc/s1600-h/oak+hit+by+lightening.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">The woodlands are beginning to tell a new story, for this proud year of 2009. Rivulets of water are dashing down the sides of the ravines, bringing news of warm weather to the ponds below. Tell tale signs of deer are showing now along their inner secret trails, used during the deep winter snow, pounding down the fallen leaves into deep tracks of sinking mud. The ponds still carry their blankets of ice, and the winds out of the north still carry a hint of winter not quite ready to give up its realm to the southern wind currents beating at their door. Over head the first sounds of geese coming back to wander about the tall dead grasses to find the perfect place to raise a family. Deep in the ravines come echoes of the calls of long legged emu like birds, the Sand Hill Cranes, which here in the north land signals the first real signs of spring. But the most enticing hint of spring, are the bluebirds, circling my cement bird bath, sitting on the meadow fences, trilling the sounds of mother nature, finally issuing the command of the warm spring spirits. Mother Nature has kissed the finches, turning their dull brown jackets into happy yellow formals touched by a bit of green. Let the celebration begin...the band is warming up for the spring and summer session, awakening the the leaves, and grasses, signaling the earths return to the lighter side.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify">Here on the homestead the pond has filled to its deepest depth due to the run off of snow, and the geese are happy little bobbles , washing off their winter grime, sailing to the corners of the water, diving to the bottom muddy reservoir, finding little gems of enjoyment. Our young neighbors on the East rim of our acreage brought out their Cat to clear away all the prickly wandering brush that is so prevalent here on the woodland border. We were chipping away at it with chainsaw and elbow grease, the last few years, not ever accomplishing what they managed to clear in just a few short hours. Now the proud 100 year old plus oaks stand tall among the fallen leaves, clear of the barrage of ugly prickly woody stems that harbored many alarms to anyone who dared cross their path. We found age old crab apple trees, that were lost in the shuffle, which we pruned for a new years growth to feed the deer in fall.<br /></div><div align="justify">One of the joys we found was an old oak tree that may have been struck by the force of a strong lightening bolt, shearing away a major part of its branches, hollowing out the trunk to make a perfect den for any four legged creature in need of shelter. The Oak continues to live, spewing out more branches, defying the laws of nature, while sheltering any homeless creature that may happen along its destiny. With out the help of our young neighbors we may have never been able to peer into the magic of the woods, their thoughtfulness is a treasure that seems to be so scarce these days of pressure and doubt. Now we can take our almost ancient bodies up thru the paths they have carved out over the 80 acres for us and walk up and down the ravines to find more treasures hidden among the fallen giants of the woods, struggling at the top of the steep hills for breath, and sliding down the other side like gleeful children , on the slippery leaves, searching for magic that Mother Nature has left behind.</div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-65420293089098574062009-03-15T04:40:00.015-05:002009-03-15T10:59:16.814-05:00The diamonds of March<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk9JDxDSJersmFzpKe0cljZXqqx4s2Z6FvjQXhjVUQOuoe6hViKnzdh-M0Py-9ExRuPekDXJ2S4yjlSjXiRgD42Y5VHIjeSDG6bAhQsiUD-d89hbzPIp9BG6ZZWL01jIhGWOctG92w5cg/s1600-h/P3150003.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313444673595369890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk9JDxDSJersmFzpKe0cljZXqqx4s2Z6FvjQXhjVUQOuoe6hViKnzdh-M0Py-9ExRuPekDXJ2S4yjlSjXiRgD42Y5VHIjeSDG6bAhQsiUD-d89hbzPIp9BG6ZZWL01jIhGWOctG92w5cg/s320/P3150003.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify">It is easy to compare March to the facets of a diamond, all distinctly separate, but yet all the same. Mother Nature stands in the middle of her galaxy trying to decide whether she should sweep her intricate fashioned snowflakes out the backdoor and usher in the warm sweet currents of spring in the front door. In her confusion, the children, Rain, Snow, and Sleet run in abandonment among the clouds, sometimes awaking the Thunder who loudly claps his disapproval, while the sun escapes their melee by hiding under a gray mass only to come out when they are asleep. It is a circus of events, awaiting the final approval to sound the trumpets of Spring, while the mortals kneel at her feet wringing their hands in consternation of her lack of clarity.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Meanwhile here at the homestead, it is the time of Taxes, and Seed ordering, setting up the nest boxes for the geese and ducks to establish their quarters, time for the chickens to go off strike and lay again, after taking a few weeks off to relax in the very cold weather. Its time for the alpacas and goats to travel out to the meadow to find what winter has left behind in the way of old grasses after a winter of dry hay. The pond fills up with the melting snow and the ducks enjoy the brief respit before the warm weather takes the water away. Thanks to Turbo Tax. the years taxes take about three hours of my time, and the computer whisks them away to be filed somewhere in syberland and then later deposited in my savings account. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>The seed catalogs however present a different problem. I have been sinking in the mire of catalogs sent out starting last December,,,,every company still in operation has sent at least 2 of their brightly colored wish lists, describing every plant and seed one could hope for. I have read each one for hours on end, finally deciding on five of the worlds in which to favor my requests.Its been a long arduous task, and probably the only real reading I ever accomplish.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>This spring I will finally order some components to make my life easier, such as the bean cutter from Vermont Bean Seed Catalog <a href="http://www.vermontbean.com/">http://www.vermontbean.com/</a> , rather than cutting each one by hand. This year I will also inoculate all my beans, peas as last year my peas has a poor showing. Johnny's seeds out of Main, <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/">http://www.johnnyseeds.com/</a> , will get my sweet corn order as they now have specially treated corn for cold soils, last year my corn failed as many other farms did also...due to either poor seeds, or weather, plus will be ordering meadow grasses to reseed the meadow, which is sure to delight the alpacas.<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Lehmans out of Ohio, <a href="http://www.lehmans.com/">http://www.lehmans.com/</a>, has a Pea sheller that is guaranteed to work with fresh peas along with a stainless steel vegetable slicer to take care of the rest of the products from the garden. I am still debating on the bean frencher cutter for french styled beans for the freezer. All these items will aid my hands from becoming stubs in the summer canning season.<br /></div><br /><div>On the sewing scene, I have actually completed my first daughters birthday gifts, ON TIME, yes, she was born in MARCH, by making her the 6 or more pillows she needs for her home....two have been made with the cathedral style quilting patterns, one sewn by hand, the other by machine, machine sewn is so much easier, and then one was appliqued with patterns from the FatCat Patterns, <a href="http://www.fatcatpatterns.com/">http://www.fatcatpatterns.com/</a> . I love her patterns and have copied each one down for future use. The others were simple quick easy shapes to add to the decor. I even made a few for myself,will wonders never cease. Now with spring almost around the corner, there will be less time for sewing so need to make use of all options now. All I have to add is a tiny kitten made out of scrap material from Wee Wonderfuls Pattern....<a href="http://www.weewonderfuls.com/">http://www.weewonderfuls.com/</a>, and I can package it all together for the trip by Post to Land O Lakes. Each birthday of my eldest reminds me of how fast the years are passing by, and what I have yet to accomplish. The faster I go, the slower I get.</div></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-81360616569304634752009-03-03T14:25:00.007-06:002009-03-03T21:48:04.454-06:00Dispatch.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFTopo7eTGA9p_DV5RYrVmWOjU11IA4AvUSEWSR_7oSCAG1bzoRFOG2bq1G9Z38K2Ltzw5LM52uDDbO5XzrqT48UAg2EyeGlgm8CRLq0h1xAdqjLh6faFMkpM_cE4YHxtVqaUCcizbyDs/s1600-h/P2070001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309172323930131650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFTopo7eTGA9p_DV5RYrVmWOjU11IA4AvUSEWSR_7oSCAG1bzoRFOG2bq1G9Z38K2Ltzw5LM52uDDbO5XzrqT48UAg2EyeGlgm8CRLq0h1xAdqjLh6faFMkpM_cE4YHxtVqaUCcizbyDs/s320/P2070001.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>March brings on new trials to this homestead. These are the days when I think I will never make it as a farmer. My brother down the road has no problem "dispatching" his steers when they are ready, even tho he has raised them from birth....but for me it is a problem. In my working days, dispatching meant sending out the trucks to deliver our product to the five state area...but here on the hill it means an entirely different thing. It is time to cull out all the extra roosters from last years hatch, as they are now full grown, and feathered out like Indian headdresses, ready to catch every hen in sight, not once but many times. The poor hens are losing feathers from the spurs of the roosters, and are thoroughly hassled by the male population. Therefore, I must "dispatch" at least 8-10 of the beautiful proud strutting romantics to the end of their destiny. My mother never had a problem with her feathered flock, every Sunday or Saturday she would stride out with ax in hand, for Sunday dinner. We as children never had a problem with it, living on the farm, it meant food for the table...so what happened as I grew older and retreated to the city? I became accustomed to just picking up table ready chicken out of the grocery freezers with nary a thought of where they came from. Now, raising them from fluffy little chicks, to full blown rainbow colored walking suitors, shielding them from the huge black turkey buzzards swooping down for a quick meal in the summer, or the quiet stealth of the red tailed hawk watching high in the trees calling out to their mates that there is dinner waiting down below. Months of careful feeding, watering, and making sure they were in their coop at night, makes this homesteader queasy at the thought taking them out of circulation. But, its part of the logic of the earth, so with heart in hand, into the coop I venture, handing them out to hubby, who has no problem with this fact of life, to do the dirty deed. These are times when I think its time to become a vegetarian, but as the days turn into weeks, the idea fades, and life returns to normal....which brings me to the fact...I wonder how the pioneers made it through the long winters, and cold, cold days, in tiny homes out on their own prairies. Our tiny house, seems to start to cave in at the walls about this time, cant start the plants in the green house yet, cant go walking out on the icy covered road, too cold to even hang the clothes out on the line....March is my nemesis, lets hope I make it thru with at least part of my sanity.</div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-87532148628975632652009-02-23T09:20:00.008-06:002009-02-23T10:30:38.906-06:00Cabin Fever<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSVVE6M1Vo5xFT5Qy_Y000_04-TB8k1SF6mQ99bZWXd3iYX6dnNZ-hu0m3nYOY59aR6qvvbNMMtF_zbzTde2ixW-2EnXBDnqpV8F7y6oZ9dr5aPNe6e_MfivmH6LqbxuDI6oyr-1lp90/s1600-h/P2180002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306027176082399522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSVVE6M1Vo5xFT5Qy_Y000_04-TB8k1SF6mQ99bZWXd3iYX6dnNZ-hu0m3nYOY59aR6qvvbNMMtF_zbzTde2ixW-2EnXBDnqpV8F7y6oZ9dr5aPNe6e_MfivmH6LqbxuDI6oyr-1lp90/s320/P2180002.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0n6hRd7-v4QRmGTpl5Ye6e7cQA9wA3gMLLYedppd1J4ZgEw5OPn9RDTK-Z82HmGLVd_qD8_DOzvMO4G3sK-PUVxW1UBOxSXHeYRM7NYKn40c4z9a_BJkFMkXYqttf5Zfq7XG8tiFovE/s1600-h/P2180003.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><div>While I was finishing the denim circle quilt that was way past due for my daughter, Mother Nature was snuggling in her children with another blanket of white fluffy snow. There were deer grazing along the wood line underneath the oak trees, looking for the last of the acorns that had fallen there last fall, when everything had been put to sleep for the winter. This month has been a short but enduring period, the departure of an aunt of 94 years , and the arrival of two babies in our extended family, providing the ebb and flow of life, which as we grow older, realize is the natural way of life. It is this time of year that Cabin Fever comes knocking at my door, and almost crosses the thresh hold, so I must beat a hasty retreat up to the Michigan Border to see the kids. The three hour trip was made longer, by the continuing flurry of snow storms, when I became aware of the new world we were entering. The long rows of one sided pine trees, which had been cut by the electric company to save the wires, bordering unending acres of white empty fields, gave way to forests of hardwoods, and pines, and huge snowdrifts, hardly touched by the fingers of time.....and then we began to notice , hints of alien beings, darting back and forth, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">thru</span> and around all the standing trees, over and through the snowbanks, leaving powder puffs of white sifted crystals in their wake. Bright lights coming through tunnels of the lifting gray clouds made me wonder what planet I had unwittingly entered, and then as the fog cleared, I realized I was in the land of "Sleds". Long snow crusted trails led along the highway and then disappeared into the landscape, only to be seen again miles down the road, or crossing the blacktop seeking a retreat on top of a frozen lake. Like charging Buffalo, they came in herds, big, shiny black images, screaming and snorting as they waited impatiently for us to pass so they could fly into the next untamed territory. We pulled into town and parked the car in the driveway, and opened the doors, to the sounds of a bee hive full of very angry bees, careening into the gas station, to fuel the next episode of dreams. Marshmallow like beings got off and stretched their legs, called to their partners and laughed loudly as they strolled into the gas station to pay their dues, and warm up to hot cup of coffee or hot chocolate. This is SNOWMOBILE LAND, where it didn't make a bit of difference if the snow was blinding or the cold was chilling, this is the land of adventure, where adults become children and children become adults , indulging in all that Mother Nature has to offer in her castles of ice and snow.. </div><div> </div><div>My daughter loved the quilt, blissfully ignorant of all the mistakes in the making, or the time lapse between her birthday in November to this last week of February, and we conversed in the warmth of the family, and the happenings of their lives oblivious of all the action that was taking place around us.</div><div> </div><div>Later in the day, as we traveled back down the road toward our homestead we were escorted by strings of lights leading the way down the snowy, powdered sugar road for at least 30 miles when all went dark again as they turned off unto destinations unknown, leaving us alone in the with the memories of a very special day.</div></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-7565056784640750152009-02-14T10:50:00.006-06:002009-02-14T11:28:06.757-06:00Colors of the wind<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR1RODj2frYg7X1PLE97KkypyMXmRdt2DMlIgZUuw4e9xNcePfqyxzwjPGfvR0g7Xj6y7z1BIQQPyKlyY9-20-0sxgRnwQrtyRBdHw8ZAU1FZWxWcNajgOEM10Rxp-v4MgiQ-VBLzMCU/s1600-h/DSCN1508.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302702314284653810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR1RODj2frYg7X1PLE97KkypyMXmRdt2DMlIgZUuw4e9xNcePfqyxzwjPGfvR0g7Xj6y7z1BIQQPyKlyY9-20-0sxgRnwQrtyRBdHw8ZAU1FZWxWcNajgOEM10Rxp-v4MgiQ-VBLzMCU/s320/DSCN1508.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />While assembling the final Valentine pillows, on a thread of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">desperation</span>, I wondered..........<br /><br /><div>Why is it I can put words together, black on white, in fashion that one can understand, but I cannot color the wind. In fact, I cannot fashion colors to the extent of understanding and harmony as I can words. Maybe in college I should have taken art and the color wheel rather than bookkeeping and accounting. My fat quarters sit quietly on the top shelf, looking down on baskets of colored materials collected over the years, whispering secrets of beautiful quilts, in a language that I cannot understand. When I sort out the colors I think would be perfect, they stand out like mischievous children, not really naughty, but not really nice either. And as soon as I turn my back to find another perfect piece of cloth, colors collaborate into a jumble of jigsaws, and triangles and squares, making my head spin, and my brain collide in a mid air disaster with the wind. Stars, and rectangles, strips and stripes, calico and polka dots, jump back and forth over the waves like a kaleidoscope, never giving me time for a breath as they merge as one, and then disentangle themselves again into a pile of dissatisfaction. I gaze at all the pictures of the breathtaking masterpieces of color put together with love and thought, and wonder how I managed to get lost in the maze. Is it a gene you are all born with that managed to escape my burst of energy, flying away on the wisps of the wind, that I will never be able to capture.<br /></div><br /><div>Why cant I color the wind?</div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7387800617453663779.post-23929397821179317502009-02-11T11:26:00.006-06:002009-02-11T12:42:56.059-06:00Country Roads<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5rh_UNG6glETMcJS6zVAFo8wxEdAVpa7j8Rt8ZlaiX7OZyOcSh4C-QClvWhM1FlFQDdzGsz3VVQqxxbsvk7QVDdXSG4P4ALiqot5FDi1I-OdsuC8FdrXvRWRXZr-L21anBG6ayiHFuM/s1600-h/DSCN1296.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301609518399178802" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5rh_UNG6glETMcJS6zVAFo8wxEdAVpa7j8Rt8ZlaiX7OZyOcSh4C-QClvWhM1FlFQDdzGsz3VVQqxxbsvk7QVDdXSG4P4ALiqot5FDi1I-OdsuC8FdrXvRWRXZr-L21anBG6ayiHFuM/s320/DSCN1296.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktZA4zjM1myxwj5xaFeje8RH6h2zjPLKhDP86cVr-Yy5HjLvYuZYSUuOOstn1kLl0Ehh7XaM6Fdc2qVTJk55xKAbpoyRBBu7GmHq_8-wunS8zpxk1sZw1uPsgpBl99kQ23E5D8YJpYH0/s1600-h/DSCN1295.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div>February seems to bring out the best in all the country folk around here....why?...because our sweethearts called "Country Roads" turn into witches. Country Roads beckon in the spring and summer, their sweet curves calling out to you to travel up and down the winding hills, into the forests and around the lakes, over the rivers into picturesque dreams of running wild in the wind. Come Fall, they even become more enticing due to the beautiful colors displayed along the ditches and the daisies nodding farewell as the October moon smiles down on the unsuspecting rouge that decides to stay the winter. The first snowfall is quiet and soft, with no promise of what the future holds, ....then it happens...the fickle COUNTRY ROADS turn into witches riding broomsticks of ICE...slick curves lined with naked trees and ditches filled with three feet of salty snow hiding the treachery that lies below. Each year my husband falls prey to the hidden dangers lurking behind every solitary curve...in fact the tow truck number has a special dial on the cell phone just for such incidents. I cannot understand how he can maneuver a 90,000 lb. rig thru ice, sleet, rain, snow, with nary a problem, yet not be able to stay out of the Country Roads seducing ditches with the van, or for that matter the pick up truck.<br /></div><div>The answer lay in earlier on a cold December morning when on his way to work at 2AM, he was followed by brite lights for a few miles...thinking that this was just another soul with weird hours, he continued on. Suddenly the road lit up with piercing red lights, and a siren howled mournfully in the dark night, bringing him to a screeching, sliding halt. The young uniformed county cop ambled over and asks him if he has been drinking...then proceeds to tell him that he had been traveling to the left of the yellow line...on this lonely, snow covered COUNTRY ROAD deep in the heart of nowhere. That yellow line will not be visible till Spring when the three inches of ice melts and the flooding starts.....meanwhile the COUNTRY ROAD is laughing softly to herself, having brought another victim to his knees. The result of that lesson is that he travels on his side of the road, maybe just a bit too close to the icy shoulder, while the COUNTRY ROAD waits in silence for one tire to kiss the ditch and slither in to her cold embrace. Well he didn't get a ticket, just a warning, and now the COUNTRY ROAD has merged with Mother Nature and left the ice on our long drive way, just waiting for him to slide down the hill, past the the curves into the magic of the swamp, which is probably the beginning of another new story on the hill. </div><div>Hope your roads are treating you better till next time..........</div></div>Charhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09870037214483922200noreply@blogger.com2