Cheers and Tears

The week began with tears.  

Last Monday, we had to sit down with the Boy and really drive it home for him that we are going to be moving.  He doesn't want to leave:  he's going to miss the farm, the fields, his school, but mostly the chickens.  I assured him that Country Kitty agreed to keep the chickens, and I was certain we would be able to come out and see them.

His tears hurt both our hearts a little.  All three of us have grown accustomed to the farm, and all of us will miss it in some way.  The Husband will miss it more than I will, since this is his dream.  However, the farm has grown on me.  I'll admit there are things I've come to like about living in the country.  But, we have to find a place to live until the right opportunity presents itself.  So, we are looking at places both in town and in the country, if the commute for the Husband won't be any worse.

In the meantime, we are all determined to enjoy life here to the fullest.  The Boy and the Husband cleared out the upper field on Saturday.  The Boy has been spending even more time outside, playing frisbee and unfortunately chasing the chickens:  he loves the sounds they make.  I've just suggested to him that maybe he ought to record them, so he'll have the sound forever.  Big smiles.

white peaches

The peaches in the barnyard have come in finally.  White peaches, sweet as can be.  I don't know if I am going to have enough to attempt canning any.  Sad, that.  But the pears are also coming in, and we all shared a beautiful but tiny apple.

fixing a broken handle

Early last week, the chicken waterer appeared to have been knocked down.  Alas, the red carrying handle had broken somehow.  I found a suitable object to set the waterer down on, but wasn't relishing having to buy a new waterer.  I grumbled about it for a few days, and was working up to a new one, when it occurred to me that I could fix it!  I found some heavy wire, a few plastic corks from wine bottles, and went to work.  It is really cool, and way more comfortable to carry than the other had been.  I haven't rehung it, however, as I am not certain if the wire will keep its shape if it is holding 5 gallons of water underneath.

Sheila, the Eastern black swallowtail

We are not only raising chickens here on the farm.  All our work to preserve some butterfly habitats paid off!  The boys discovered tons of caterpillars in the fields this weekend.  We captured one (now called Sheila) and put in the Boy's Butterfly Habitat.  Sheila didn't do anything much on Sunday, but this morning, I found a cocoon!  Very exciting...

rat snake skeleton

The boys also uncovered the remains of the snake we killed:  nothing left but bones.  

The bones make me think about what we leave behind, how we affect the world and lives around us.  We've been here a year now, and I can see signs of our presence here:  the reconstructed chicken coop with its big pen, the white laurel, the new path through the woods, Katt's grave, all those funny trails in the lower field, the trees we've trimmed from the paths, the new lawn near the sunroom.  

But, the farm is also leaving its own trace on us.  The Boy identifies plants and bushes, where once he asked if everything was poison ivy.  He has no fear of wild animals now, and indeed recognizes that the cute fluffy bunnies are evil beasts from Troll Planet X, and that the majestic eagles we've glimpsed are a danger to our chickens.

I've learned how to use a riding mower, and how to dodge potholes.  I automatically climb into my muckers when I leave the house to chase down the dog or check on the chickens.  I rarely leave the house without my phone, so I can snap pictures of cool spiders or weird scat or an unusual footprint.  Heck, when I walk into a spider web, I don't even shriek anymore.  

Well, not as much, anyway.

The trees are beginning to turn, and leaves are falling already.  My garden is past its prime, and I've been considering planting a fall crop of greens and maybe broccoli.  At every task or observation, I now remember fondly how I handled it last year.

Memories fade.  But I did two amazing things last year, and will benefit for the rest of my life from them.  First, I agreed to try this whole living-in-the-country thing.  Second, I decided to create a blog so Country Kitty could see what we were experiencing.  I've recorded many of the big experiences, and more importantly, lots of little ones.  I'll have this forever.

But, in the meantime, I have two more months to live here.

And I will be living it.

Just Another Month on the Farm

I am sorry for being gone for so long.  I was working on a show...and there was so much to do with that: the summer camps, the meals, the karate, the storms, the weeding, the volunteer duties, the chickens, the extra kitty.... 

I was too busy being the City Kitty in the Country that I had no time to write about my adventures on the farm.

The month in review:

1.  We got another four chicks:  two beautiful gold twins, a dark chocolate

one, and a pretty reddish one.  I don't know their breeds:  just chickens.  To be honest, I am not one-hundred percent certain they are all females.  But  our rooster now is part of a flock of ten birds.  And I am still getting only two eggs a day.  But, they are now eating almost every bit of kitchen scrap we produce, and still going through the food.  Thank goodness my schedule is such that I am going to be able to let them go back to free-ranging on a carefully monitored basis.

2.  I once treated any berries that entered my kitchen as rare and treasured fruits.  Now I am swimming in them.  I actually traded a pound of black raspberries for a dozen eggs from Chicken Friend.  (And just so you know,

around here, a pint of black raspberries is going for $4.50.)  We've been feeding what goes bad to the chickens, because we can hardly keep up.  Additionally, we have peaches, Manchu cherries, wine berries, and blackberries beginning to show.  There are peaches and I am swimming in fruit and thinking:  sheesh!  I ought to make some kind of fruit dessert thingy...

3.  I need to find a Lawnmower's Anonymous group and start while I can, and drag The Husband along.  We each mowed for four hours yesterday...and we could have kept going.  Embarrassing!

4.  I ate the first three beets from my garden!  They were each about the size of the first knuckle on my thumb.  I loved them.  I want to dig up more.  I need to wait for them to get bigger.  But they are sooo good.

5.  My first Roma will be picked tomorrow, I think.  My life is about to get cloudy with a chance of tomatoes, I think.  I better double check that I have enough lids for canning!  We just opened my LAST jar of last summers' arrabiata sauce last night for pizza...

6.  The flowers just keep coming.  Country Kitty, my hat is off to you!  There is never a moment without new flowers emerging and making me ooo and ah.  The lilies are killing me, they are so beautiful.

7.  I am supposed to have my new car any day now.  Just like I was supposed to at Mother's Day.  I am a pain in the @ss apparently, because I actually want what I want.  See, if I would just settle for an automatic, we could already be driving my new car, and in red!

8.  We've been hosting Wine Friend's kitty again.  After a few rough days, she settled into the routine. But the Boy cried a little the first night she arrived--he missed Katt.  We went and visited her yesterday.  Her grave carries a certain solemnity, a gravity that made it impossible to speak in a normal tone of voice.  Even the path, untraveled by us for over three weeks, was still there, lonely and yet inviting.  Mue gave her own tribute by using Katt's box, which we still hadn't put away.  Nice.

9.  I contracted a wicked case of poison ivy, no doubt while changing the chicken yard configuration.  As is not uncommon for me, my body went into hyperdrive, and I wound up having to take steroids to get it under control.  It wasn't fun slathering my arm with hydro-cortisone and wrapping it loosely in gauze just to be able to sleep the night through.  But, it is much better, thank you.  Amazing just how many things I used in the name of temporary relief, but my favorite was the Itchy Stick.

There you are.  The highlights of the last month.

But, there is a bit more.  You see, we know our time here on the farm is gradually coming to an end.  Mid-fall, and we'll be gone.  We are spending quite a bit of time as a family reviewing this life we've been living.  It is a delicate subject, to be honest.  We all love certain parts of country living.  We all have things we don't like.  But none of us has the exact same likes and dislikes. 

The decision of what to do looms on the horizon.  What do we do?  Where should we go?  What is important to us as a family?  What is important to each of us?  As we are swept away in the every day living on a farm, we are also having to carefully tread water until we can find a safe place for us all.

The next few months will be interesting indeed.

Digging Holes

Digging holes is hard work.

I've spent the last two weeks working in the garden.  I dug out the compost heap to add to the soil.  The chickens love that hole:  they've decided that every time they catch sight of me with a shovel, they ought to come see what I'm up to.  

Anyhow, I got the beds slowly planted, and for the first time that I can remember, I got everything in before anything died.  Eleven tomatoes, thirteen peppers, marigolds, zucchini, cukes, cantaloupe, and then all the seeds: sweet corn, butternut squash, spaghetti squash, more cukes...

Digging the holes in my garden beds wasn't too bad.  Several tomatoes were a little bigger than I liked them, but I just clipped the lower stems and sank the plants in some pretty deep holes.  The other plants?  Not so deep. 

The marigolds...I actually had about 60 little plants to begin my border (I'll add seeds later).  For them, I used my tulip planter to dig about 60 little holes and that was that.  

So, Sunday, I thought I would lay down the straw for weed/erosion control, and also do the spring cleaning in the chicken coop to prepare for the chicks arriving this week.  I thought I was done digging for the weekend.

But, there was a really important hole that I still had to dig.

Sunday afternoon, Katt finally lost control of her bowels and bladder.  She staggered, and could hardly move.  I called the emergency vet and got an appointment.  There were a flurry of emails and texts...and one useless attempt at an international call.

 We had an hour with her at home, the three of us.  We still hoped somehow for good news, but we all said goodbye before I took her to her appointment.

Have you ever been in a bereavement room at a vet's office?  This one was nice and big.  Couch, comfy chairs, a pretty carpet.  Katt began her stalking immediately.  We waited for the vet.  Katt got herself stuck behind the couch, and I grumbled about how silly she was for not just turning around, even though I was pretty sure she couldn't do it.  I moved the whole couch for her.  She slowly made her way over for some petting and scratching, but she wouldn't settle.  I was sitting on the floor with her when the vet came.

The vet asked lots of questions, consulted Katt's chart, and examined her.  The list of issues was long:  severe lower back pain, neurological issues, a sizable heart murmur, high blood pressure, loss of sight... the list got too long.  I stopped listening when she said that the treatments for any one of those things could be too hard on her heart.

It was time.

I kept it together.  It needed to be about Katt.  I'd have time later.  The vet explained that Katt would get a big sedative, and her pain would stop.  After that had taken effect, the last medication.

I sat there on the floor with Katt as they gave her the sedative.  She growled and got fussy, and I was so glad to see that fleeting spark of personality.  They left, and I kept petting her and she kept hitting me with her irritated tail.

I knew the moment the sedative started to work.  The tail stopped, and the purring began.  And for the first time in months, I saw a relaxed Katt.  A Katt that wasn't twisted with stiffness and pain.  A Katt that could just lay there, purring to have me at her side as I talked to her, thanking her for being part of our family, giving her a last goodbye from Country Kitty, and apologizing for not understanding just how bad it had gotten for her.

And then the purring faded away, and she was just breathing, utterly relaxed.  The vet came back to check, and I asked for five more minutes.  I continued petting Katt for a bit, and then I sat back, just watching her.  And then I climbed up to sit on the couch, and kept it together.  And I watched her until they came and took Katt away.

Later, they brought her back in a white cardboard "coffin", sealed with packing tape.  The attendant asked if I needed help, since there was no way I could carry both the cat carrier and the coffin. She asked which I wanted her to carry.  I kept it together, and I asked her to get the coffin.

I drove home.  I changed clothes, got my boots and gloves, and found the shovel.  I was going to bury Katt in the woodland garden, near the previous cat's grave.  The vet had warned me to bury her deep.  I wandered around, searching and finally finding the perfect spot.

I dug.  I dug the deepest hole I've ever dug.  I moved soil and roots and rocks and more rocks.  The Boy came out and kept me company for awhile.  He asked me if he could help, and I asked him to find a nice big stone for Katt, and to bring me the potted lily I'd been wondering where to plant.

I dug until I didn't think it was possible to dig anymore.  I opened the box, and saw Katt laying there, still wrapped in the blue towel I'd brought to the vet.  I kept it together as I lifted her out and placed her into a paper bag, which seemed like a more environmentally sound idea than the cardboard box wrapped in tape.  The Husband placed her at the bottom of the hole.  I kept it together.

The Boy wanted to shovel some of the earth back.  He and his father wound up filling the grave together.  I went back to the big garden and filled two big planters with the rocks I'd collected the last few weeks.

We covered her grave with lots of pretty rocks.  I planted the tulips at the edge of her grave.  They had already peaked, so I went and cut some pretty blooming flowers.  It only seemed fitting, and I kept it together.

I've been keeping it together.  Maybe only just, but I've done it.  Never mind that cleaning her food dish was a physical pain in my chest.  Never mind that her not greeting me when I got downstairs this morning left a ghostly wake that has followed me all day long, as I walked the farm, worked in the chicken coop, and struggled to keep focused.

There is a hole inside me right now.  But nothing is getting in right now because I'm keeping it together.

A few years back, Country Kitty's parents died, and we had offered to get her a white lilac in memory.  Well, for a variety of reasons, it took a long time to track one down, but we finally did, and it arrived last week.

So, today, I dug one last hole.  I planted that white lilac in the front yard.  I feel like I may never dig another hole without thinking about her.  But I'm keeping it together.

  

Katt and the Other Kitty

Everyone in the house has been sick except for the dog.  The Husband and the Boy have colds.  I am suffering from allergies exacerbated by the chicken house construction (why oh why didn't I wear a mask when moving all that dirt?).  The Husband is also still suffering from throwing out his back when we were finishing the chicken coop.  And Katt is not well from something we don't understand yet.  And my girlfriend's dog had to have emergency spleen surgery.  Okay, her dog doesn't live here, but it sure seems as though sickness is everywhere.

Lemme tell you about illness in the country.  There is no quick five minutes to the doctor's office when you live out in B.F.E.  It is more like twenty minutes.  Not terrible, but think about last time you were suffering from a cold.  You think, yeah, I can manage to get myself to the doctor's office without killing anyone.  You don't have that option in the country--you have to be well enough to dodge the suicidal deer and raccoons  (Why are there so many raccoons running across the road?!?)  and not turn off the side of the road when you sneeze 8 times in a row.  Or, think about when you go to the doctor and they give you a prescription for a hard-core nasal spray to combat the allergies that have been making your ears pop for two weeks and leaving you gagging from the amount of mucus dripping down your throat.  What do you do when the pharmacy says it'll be an hour?  Do you drive twenty minutes home to wait for twenty minutes and then drive the twenty minutes back?  No.  You spend an hour wandering through the drugstore and packing a shopping cart with all sorts of shit that you never knew you needed because you cannot remember the things you actually might need.

Do I sound a little cranky?  That is to be expected.  Don't get me started on what happens if the Husband's back pain gets so bad that I wonder about whether or not I can get him to the hospital if need be, and remember that there is a narrow twisty staircase to navigate just to get him to the main level.  And wow, if I called an ambulance?  What are they gonna do?  Cut a hole in the building and lower the stretcher out by crane?  The crane that could not possibly get down the gravel driveway without hitting about seventy trees?

And then there is Katt.  Katt was a fairly tough country kitty when we got here.  In the last two weeks, she has suddenly had a personality switch.  She is affectionate, and demanding attention, and always underfoot.  And she paces.  All.The.Time.  She's still eating and drinking.  But her foot slides every once in awhile.  And, unlike most cats, she keeps being underfoot, actually under our feet.  So, I think, I ought to take her to the vet.  OOOO!  Another twenty minute drive over gravel roads with a displeased cat bouncing around the backseat as I attempt to miss the worst of the potholes.  And then the vet thinks that maybe Katt had a stroke, or brain trauma, and that she ought to have blood work and a few other tests done.  Poor Katt.  At least she can still chase Amy when she want to.  But she's no longer the Katt I've grown to enjoy.

I am desperately trying to remember what the City Kitty used to do, other than drive a lot less.  I am haunted by the pretty party clothes and gorgeous and impractical footwear that catch my eye in the closet.  My new ring will likely collect dust with all the other bright and sparkly baubles that go unworn as I miss art shows, spontaneous dinners out, or even hanging out with friends at my favorite bar. 

Going into the bigger town, where I used to live, is about a thirty minute drive with traffic, but mostly on paved roads at least.  But going in to teach a lesson or go to an appointment or visit Costco is suddenly like an outing.  I dress up as much as I can justify.  I add earrings and try new eye makeup. I accessorize with cute scarves and try to remember to change purses so they actually match my outfit.  But, I mentioned driving on gravel and dirt roads?  Your car gets dirty.  Like crazy dirty.  And then you brush up against it as you get out of the car and get a white smear on your clean pretty dress.  Real cute.

You probably wonder if this rant is going anywhere.  It is.

I miss city life.  I feel like Katt, whose personality is changing to fit her new physical limitations.  She cannot see as well, so she stays at home and cuddles with the warm people.  I am throwing myself into making that chicken coop, and baking pizza crust from scratch since no one delivers out here.  I spent all day yesterday in the kitchen, making homemade chicken soup for the boys and canning the last of my peppers, before making that pizza crust.  But I am raging against the change in me.

I recently went to a party that I overdressed for-- I had to carry my high heels into the car so they wouldn't sink into the gravel and mud.  And I bought that crazy town ring.  It is bigger than my thumb.  And I never wear rings.  (Where am I gonna wear it?  To open the chicken coop door?)  Last night, after all day in the kitchen, I decided to go into town at the last minute, so I could sit at a bar and look pretty, and then watch a movie in a climate controlled, bug-free environment.

I am clearly having some adjustment issues.  I ought to learn from Katt's example, but the City Kitty is not as adaptable as Katt is.  I get frustrated and should go for a walk, and commune with nature and appreciate what is around me.  Instead, I dress up and flee into town.

I'll be in town tomorrow.  And I am looking forward to it.

(This clearly isn't over.)

Receiving Guests

Rooms were looking good.  Paths were clear.  Some weeding had been attempted, and yards had been mown.  I was ready to receive guests on the farm.

I didn't grow up in an environment where one entertained.  I hosted my first party ever back in 2003:  a party to celebrate our newly purchased house.  There were a few more there, and after we moved to a much bigger home, I began to entertain semi-often.  I cannot call myself an extraordinary hostess, but I've learned to enjoy planning unusual occasions, arranging decorations, and creating interesting menus.  My Anti-Valentine Play-Reading Party was a huge success, but I guess I outdid myself when I hosted my brother's wedding and reception for over 40 people.  It was semi-casual (for a wedding), but it was a nice affair.  Last year, when we house-sat a townhouse for friends who went to Puerto Rico for a year (just because!), I had to scale down the entertaining.  Other than my son's birthday party, when I squeezed 15 additional people into my living area, I limited myself to no more than three guests.

Now, there is parking, there is plenty of space for entertaining, and I am looking forward to having many a nice party.

So, last week, I thought I would have a few guests:

Friday: one of my girlfriends, who was to bring her twins to play with the Boy.
Saturday: two friends from good old Austin College.
Sunday: the Son of Country Kitty, who grew up here and who I've decided to adopt as my slightly younger brother.

FRIDAY

My dear friend from the old neighborhood came over with her kids.  I gave her a tour of the house before we decided to settle in the sun-room.  My son and the twins were upstairs in the "playroom"... which is really a nice den area that has been co-opted by tons of Legos, an old wooden farm, eighteen thousand construction trucks, and three bookshelves full of books.  There is an area for adults to sit, and frankly, with a window unit in that area, it is pleasant.  But three kids spreading out allows little room for two adult women who want to catch up on gossip what's been going on in our lives.

Maybe forty-five minutes later, my husband wandered in and said he'd just had to go upstairs and break up a fight.  Huh?  We'd heard nothing.  Apparently, my son had pitched a fit because I wouldn't let him have his cow-popper (which may be one of the most evil gifts he's ever received), so he went up to the playroom and slammed his door repeatedly.  

Sunroom= cannot hear the rest of the house.  Now I know, and I suspect I'll be spending more time there....

SATURDAY

Wine Friend came over with College Friend from Austin.  She has twins also, but they were back in Texas.  We were going to grill burgers, drink wine, and play a board game or two after the Boy was in bed.

Before dinner, I gave College Friend a tour, and took her to see the garden...which needed to have its paths mowed.  Oops.  So, the garden tour was us walking along the perimeter of the fence, and me pointing and saying stupid things like, "And there are my tomatoes.  I really need to harvest.  And there are my butternut squashes.  I don't know when I get to harvest those."  And so on.

I offered up some appetizers:  a cream-cheese dip whose recipe I'd altered because of allergies.  That came out great.  The home-canned salsa...not so much.  I hadn't sampled this year's batch yet.  L-A-M-E.  My jalapenos were not particularly strong this year, and my tiny little tomatoes dictated that I puree them rather than chop.  Wine Friend and I dug through my (organized, thank you very much) spice cabinet and added about a million powders and seasonings in an attempt to make the salsa acceptable. 

Hamburgers for dinner.  Great.  The meal went nicely (and the wine flowed).  After the meal, we cleaned up a bit and that is when we were supposed to decide on games... except we didn't.  We wound up with a fire pit in the front yard (but not where you could actually see the stars), cigars and more wine, and (I am blushing to admit this) the hostess falling asleep on the couch in the sun-room.  Games were out of my head until the next day.  Embarrassing.

SUNDAY

I had promised ribs and home-made ice cream to CK's son.  I struggled to finish thawing the ribs before the time I had to start cooking them.  I succeeded, and they were amazing, if I may brag a bit.  

However... the ice-cream.  See, July 4 dinner here at the farm, I was supposed to make ice-cream.  I had my machine, my special vanilla, the sugar, and left the whole milk and heavy cream at home.  We used the 2% milk on hand, and attempted to experiment by adding whipped butter to thicken it.  Butter-chunk ice-dream is dreadful.  Period.  So, I promised CK's Son that I would provide good ice cream this time, ha ha.

I had the ingredients on hand this time.  However, I had not remembered to put my ice-cream basin in the freezer until the previous day.  And I couldn't find the recipe book anywhere.  Still we made a game attempt...which didn't work, because 24-hours is NOT enough to freeze the basin.  I had to offer chocolate instead.

But, we did play two rounds of croquet, and had a blast.  There were bugs, a storm was forming north of us...and passing north of us, and someone far off was firing off a bazooka or something.  It could have just been an elephant gun.  My husband thought it was probably someone sighting in their rifle for hunting season (which opens next weekend!).  Then the guys sat in the breakfast/morning room and did some computer thing.  I understood the following phrases:  signal strength, wi-fi, passwords, router.  I did the dishes.

After a bit, it was time for the Boy to go to bed.  We were heading upstairs, and thanking CK's Son for visiting, when the Boy suddenly stops and announces that there is a mouse on the stairs.

Here are the reasons it couldn't have been a mouse.  One, the stairs were totally dark, and how could he possibly see a mouse?  Two, mice run away from humans.  Three, why on earth would a mouse be hanging around on the stairs anyway?

We called for light.  It was mouse.  It was cute and furry and too small to jump up from the stair.  He looked as though he was thinking about nesting in my silk dressing gown.  CK's Son trapped it in a plastic storage container (which has been sterilized since).  The Husband took it outside to dispose of it.  CK's Son left, I read to the Boy, and we all settled down.

I wondered how the Husband "disposed" of the mouse.  I mean, Katt is a terrible cat, in that she doesn't hunt.  I didn't think he'd taken it out and shot it since I'd heard no gunshot, and plus it was only slightly larger than my thumb.

Me:  So, what did you do with it?

Him:  I disposed of it.

Me:  Did you kill it?

Him:  No, I took it out into the field.

Me:  You just let it go?

Him:  Sort of.

Me:  What does that mean?

Him: (sheepishly) I threw him.

Me:  Did you pick him up by the tail or something?

Him: (even more sheepishly)  I just threw him from the container.

Me:  (laughing at image of the flying mouse)

I liked having my friends over, because I invited them.  

The mouse?  So not invited.