The Circle of Life

Spring is supposed to be a time of rebirth, of life, of green and happy freaking maypoles, right?  We enjoy each new iris pushing out of the ground, savor each new bud on the dogwoods, thrill each time we discover a new bird nest.  Heck, we spent one bedtime laughing at the sound of a couple of foxes going at it on Tuesday night...as in fox love.

Life.  Yeah.  But you cannot have life without the inevitable ending.

Last week, I learned to hate foxes.  Never mind that every time it got quiet that evening, every time I began digging into my book again, they'd start giggling like a bunch of hyenas and start it over again.  (I mean, really?  Just finish already!)  And never mind that I giggled too.

No, I learned to hate them the next day.  A day which shall be called Bloody Wednesday.  A day I lost not one, not two, not three, but FOUR chickens.  We lost Acid, Mocha, Ginger, and poor Pickles.

Princess Leia and Peaches-n-Cream are all that remain.  I've let them out twice since; and both times, they were heavily supervised.  As in, locked in the big garden with me as I continued preparing the beds for planting.

There is a fierce debate going...

Sensible:  You need to get more chickens.

Dramatic: Why, so they can just feed the foxes? 

Sensible:  You have this huge coop with more room than many chickens ever see.

Dramatic:  But they don't need to be locked up all the time!  They'll be miserable.

Sensible:  Then put up a fence, so they have a yard that will protect them from the foxes and hawks.

Dramatic:  But then they are not free range.  One of the reasons I wanted free range was because they keep the bug populations down!

Sensible:  Then you have to accept that the foxes will eat some.  Get lots more chickens.  Maybe a rooster.

Dramatic:  I cannot take any more death!  How do farmers do this?

Sensible:  They have more chickens than you do, and they don't name them.

Dramatic:  Well, how will I tell them apart?

Sensible:  Don't.  Don't tell them apart, and just enjoy your eggs.

And so on.  I am trapped by the debate, and so have done nothing.  Leia and Peaches spend their day in their huge, rambling, empty chicken coop, eating and scratching and laying, and I get two eggs a day.

We had to buy our first eggs in months this weekend.

But this wasn't all.  No, there is more.  I could hardly bear it.

On Saturday, the Husband was coming out at 11:30 on the dot to help me get the chickens back in the coop.  The girls enjoyed the foray into my garden, eating grubs and seeds...and the earthworms.  But, I needed help getting them in.  The Husband's alarm sounded, and he came out.  Amy had spent all morning with me, so she didn't bother, but Katt wandered out after him.  We got the girls in, I dumped another load of weeds down a groundhog hole, and then we ate lunch and went to our afternoon event.

On our way home that evening, we realized that Katt had not come in, and that, in fact, we hadn't even seen her when we came back from the garden.  And she usually never stays out of sight of her humans, or at least the dog.

We got home, and Katt was not waiting.  In fact, there was no evidence of her.  Anywhere.  We all spent the next few hours until sundown, wandering the fields, calling her name.  She didn't appear.

If the fox had appeared at that moment, I would have beaten it to a bloody pulp with a stick.

Katt didn't show before we went upstairs.  And she wasn't waiting for us in the morning.  And she never showed up at all, and I had to write a painful email to Country Kitty, letting her know that Katt was gone.

In my heart, I was already grieving her.  I couldn't stand looking into the sunroom, because that is her room.  The Boy was disconsolate, and I had trouble even smiling.  Even Amy seemed unhappy.  The Husband slept poorly last night, and I had to hold back tears as I cooked the Boy's breakfast:  there was no annoying Katt underfoot.  And things were pretty subdued.

And here is where the entry was supposed to end.

But, after I had let Amy out and the Boy was halfway though his eggs, there suddenly came the shout:  "Mommy!  I see Katt!"

I see Katt.  What did that mean?  I put down the pitcher of water and went to the door, terrified of what I would see.

Katt came mincing in, her tail up, her gait stronger than I had seen in months.  She meowed, and our tears began.  She was back, and she was strong, and she DEMANDED her breakfast.  The Boy and I crowded around her, unable to credit this strong and happy kitty, and even Amy joined us, sniffing madly.

That dumb Katt.  

I still hate the fox.

How Do I Pick?

I've had a lawn before.  And I had a 20x20 garden plot for a few years.  I know about outdoor work, and what needs to be done.

That is the case here on the farm.  I know about outdoor work, and I know what needs to be done.  The issue before me is, how do I prioritize the tasks?  If I mow the garden paths in the big garden...then I don't have time to spend prepping the beds.  If I haul more wood to the burn pile, we could get another evening burn in before the burn ban...but that is time I could spend weeding the flower garden.  I could dig dandelions all day...but I would hardly make a dent, so I have to set an timer to make me stop.  And I don't even have to worry about mowing the fields, because the Husband does that.

Something I tell my acting students is, "If everything is important, then nothing is important."  And I am trying to think in that way here.  If I try to do everything, then nothing will get done... including showering, meals, my writing, and looking through all the lovely pictures I've taken of spring on the farm and still haven't shared.

So, my choice today is to quickly summarize the amazing share-worthy stories and pick some awesome photos.


Top Ten Stories
1. We've had two bonfires in two weeks.  I'm getting good at building the proper structure.

2. We lost Vader to a fox three days after Elastigirl, but gained a lovely girl named Pickles.  She's an escape artist, so she will be uniquely suited to a free-range environment.

3. The kitchen garden is doing beautifully!  Lettuce, kale, beets, peas, and Swiss chard are doing well, and I don't know what the onions and carrots are doing.

4. Turtlezilla has been sighted.  A lovely duck and her mate lost all the eggs she was guarding on the raft.  Sad.
5. While the Husband and I were hauling wood for the last pile, a frog suddenly appeared on his glasses...and just sat there.

6. The entire path around the farm got mowed, because the swamp finally dried out enough to the take the tractor down there.  Now we have 4 inches of rain expected this week.  Boo!

7. We dug out the fire pit...which had been looking more like a fire mound, and hauled all the muddy-ash mixture down Clarence's holes.  Take that, groundhogs!  I also dumped all the weeds I pulled while prepping a bed in the big garden down another of his holes...  Probably just a snack for him, but it felt good doing it.

8. Katt had another decline.  I took her to the vet, and apparently our dear kitty has a pretty bad heart murmur AND high blood pressure.  I have my freaking cat on aspirin, and blood pressure medication.

9. Amy has gained about six pounds since her last vet visit.  She's more active, she cannot get to Katt's food anymore... so she is now banned from the mudroom at all times so we can prevent her from eating cat poo.  The vet said that is pretty high fat content.  I think it is pretty gross.


10. I finally had a big party here.  It was fun, and I have learned that I must never walk around with a wine glass again.  Somehow, it kept filling itself... But, to have so many wonderful friends, both new and old, made for a wonderful evening.

And that is all the news.  Now... to run off and weed before the rain starts.

A Fashion Nightmare

Ah, Friday.  Friday was supposed to be my day to do my social thing.  I was going into Arlington to deliver our guest cat back to Wine Friend, and I'd also checked with a few friends about maybe meeting up for the local First Friday after.  And, the boys were going out for an evening without me!  I was going to have a fabulous evening!

Ha!

My hair was all adorable and curly.  I actually put on a cute top and skinny jeans, and planned to wear hawt high heel boots.  Pretty earrings, light makeup... well, except for the eyes.  I did dramatic smoky eyes, in purple.  Hey, I was getting off the farm!

But, before I could escape the farm, I had to do less glamorous things.  I had to pick up the Boy from school.  I had to take Katt to the vet to get her nails clipped, and get more of her anti-vomit medicine.  And then I needed to pick up two big bags of the water-softener salt.  Muck boots were worn for those errands, and I only got two smears of dirt on my jeans.  I wiped them off, and thought, in an hour, I'll be heading east.

And then my cell phone rang.  I have a cool phone now (sorry, crackberry), and I told it to answer.  It was the Husband.  A hawk had been at the chickens, and he couldn't find any of them now.  It was already 3:30.

I got us safely home, let Katt inside, and the three of us began the search, taking Amy with us.  We walked through the woods and fields, searching for the freaked out chickens.  Eventually, we found Elasta-Girl and Peaches-and-Cream in a tree.  We lifted them out, and they were carried home.  Then we found Darth Vader, hiding in another tree.  Her tail feathers had been ripped out, and we found more sign of lost feathers there.  Had we lost a girl or not?

We continued stalking the trees, but it was getting later, and the boys had movie tickets for 5:30.  I told them to go on, that I would keep searching.

And I did.  I contacted my chicken friend, and got a few suggestions.  In the meantime, I took a break so I could prepare for the evening.  Emptying the litterbox, gathering all the cat's toys and the remaining food.  And, of course, making sure her cat carrier was ready.  And, since the driveway was still icy, I dragged the garden cart to the front of the house, so I could haul all everything up the hill.

I did another chicken search.  I let Wine Friend know I was running late, and let the other friends know that my time schedule was shot.  Texting while walking through the woods is hazardous, however.  I got caught by a low hanging branch and got a pretty good scratch across my forehead.  I exchanged the phone for a bowl of chicken feed to shake as I walked, and still managed to run into tree branches.  I was grateful it was winter, at least-- no spiderwebs or need for my web-wand.

Leia had shown up by then.  Ginger, Acid and Mocha were still missing.  But Mocha darted toward me just after the sun went down.  I took her home and conceded defeat, hoping that one or both would return in the morning, assuming they survived the night.*

By then, it was almost six!  I had to get out of there.  I was running so late!  I grabbed the kitty and my purse, put on the boots by the door, and wheeled the cart up the ice.  It was heavy, and I took off my coat again because I was starting to, ahem, glow.

Let's fast forward, shall we? I delivered the cat, and Wine Friend took me out to dinner, since I was shaking from hunger.  (I'd planned to eat something after the guys left and before I needed to leave, but that didn't happen, obviously.)  We went to a nice wine bar, and I ate a lovely meal and drank lovely wine.  I visited the lady's room.

Oh, and what a sight I beheld.  I might have been okay if I had freshened my powder and lipstick, although the smokey eyes were more smudged than anything.  And truthfully, the scratch across my forehead would have taken a bit of concealer or something.  My cute curls were in a ragged mess.  There were bits of twig in them!  I had smears of what I hoped was only dirt along my collar bone.  Never mind that I had mud on my jeans.

And I'd put on my riding boots, and not the high heels.  The boots that had been cute when I got them, but then had become my field boots, not to be confused with the muck boots.  These only had mud and a few scratches, and I am almost certain, no chicken bombs.  That I cannot say for the muck boots.

But yeah, the best laid plans of the City Kitty were pooped on by the chickens.  And I wasn't sure which I was more embarrassed by: being late because of the chickens, or looking awful because of the chickens.

*For those of you who could care less about the fashion nightmare, then rest assured, Ginger was there in the morning.  But Acid, the bottom of the pecking order, has gone to the great hawk in the sky.

A Tail of Two Kitties

We've been housesitting Wine Friend's cat for just over a month.  She's a long haired black cat of sixteen pounds, perhaps.  And she's just lovely.

But she and Katt don't get along.

When Nimue first came, we closed off the upstairs with a pet gate.  She hissed at our dog Amy when they met.  Expected, I guess:  dogs and cats are not necessarily natural compadres.  But when Katt crept up the stairs to peer at this new kitty through the pet gate, Nimue hissed and growled.  Katt slunk down the stairs.  And then came back up to look again.  Nimue hissed and growled and batted at the pet gate.  Katt slunk off again...and then came back up.

I swear she was giggling as she repeated this several times.  I finally moved the pet gate the foot of the stairs.

So, we've had an upstairs kitty and a downstairs kitty for awhile.  Nimue gets to cuddle and snuggle with us in bed, and spends mostly quiet days, following the moving sunbeams, sitting in the window watching the chickens down below, and napping wherever the hell she damn pleases.  Nimue is happy to play with me or with the Boy, and she doesn't dart away anymore when he chases after her, begging her to let him pet her.  In that, she is considerably smarter than Katt, who just lets the Boy lug her around the house.  At first, she wasn't wild that Amy comes upstairs at night, but she no longer hisses at her unless Amy comes around a corner she was preparing to round.

I swear Amy just rolls her eyes as she walks around the hissing kitty.

On sunny days, when Katt goes outside to do country cat things, I remove the pet gate and give Nimue full rein of the house.  Well, I did that three times, until she discovered Katt's food dish and thought she'd try to take a nibble.  I heard the sound, and started yelling at Amy, who was actually curled up asleep on her bed next to me.  Nimue was banished to the upstairs that afternoon.  Now, if I let her out, the first thing I do is move Katt's dish out of reach.

The two cats have decided to let Amy show herself to be the bigger animal.  Nimue has learned that Amy could care less about her, and now watches with bright, interested eyes as Amy passes on her way to bed.  And she is fascinated when I get on the floor and pet Amy, with the belly showing and that tail thumping the floor.

Katt has finally accepted that the only danger from Amy is that she'll steal her food.  She's stopped chasing the dog around the kitchen, and only occasionally bats at her, and I think she only does that when I am watching.  You see, she now SLEEPS with the dog, and Amy doesn't even run away.  Katt will walk up, sniff sniff, and Amy will either lift her head and sniff back, or just turn a sleepy eye to watch her.  Then Katt will perch on the edge of the dog bed and press her body against Amy's side.  And they will sleep.

Now, she still takes over Amy's bed when Amy isn't there, and Amy is smart enough not to push her luck:  if Katt is there, she passes up that bed for one in another room, or just does without.  To deal with this, I actually bought a small dog bed that was on clearance.  Katt loves it, but only if it is placed next to Amy's bed.

Pet beds are taking over the house.

So, there is a species of cat peace, as the cats have adapted to their new lives.  And I realized that those kitties are not the only changed creatures.

I realized this as I was driving home one afternoon last week.  The road is supposedly dirt, but that means some gravel, a lot of potholes, and several patches of mud interspersed with ice, at the moment.  I was weaving left to right, carefully avoiding most of the potholes, because I know exactly where they all are.  I even think of it as a driving video game:  Pot Hole Dodge.

Anyway, I was driving along, zooming around the road avoiding the potholes, sometimes on the right, but sometimes all the way to the left, hugging the edge.  I came over a hill and found a navy-blue Lexus ahead.  I thought the car was weird as I approached, and it took me a minute to realize why I thought it looked weird.

The car was clean.  Like shiny.

I slowed down as I continued my game of dodge'em.  And I watched Mr. Lexus braking almost to a stop, easing into the potholes, and then picking up speed before hitting the next big patch.  I smirked as I easily swung all the way to the left to avoid that big patch.  I wondered if he thought I was some kind of lunatic.

And then it hit me.  I knew the road, and was driving like an insider.  He was driving like someone who'd never been on a country road before*.  And I didn't identify with him at all at that moment.

The City Kitty has not become a country kitty, but it could be that she's adapting, too.  

Survival of the fittest, baby.



*For the record, I am pretty sure Mr. Lexus must have been heading to the nearby meat boutique--local farmer selling great local meats, from animals that you may have seen wandering the farm the week before.  I visited them as well before we moved out here.  Kudos to Mr. Lexus for supporting local farmers, and I hope his suspension made the drive not too bumpy.

Animals on the Farm

"All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others."

-George Orwell, Animal Farm

Katt is much improved, and back to being the top cat.  She's regained her attitude, and she's certainly back to catting around.  I watched her bravely stalk a female cardinal... by sitting in a fierce pose and watching it until it flew away.  It's a shame, because that cat has got quite a set of claws.  She was an angel when I took her to get them clipped, but she mauled Wine Friend on Saturday night.  Evil beast... or as he said, "She's a cat."

Amy, on the other hand, is curious and adorable, and a threat to no one but the insane person who walks up to the door.  Then she turns into this fierce, slobbering Cerberus.  Children flee and huge men quaver in fear...until I open the door, and she suddenly becomes the world's most affectionate puppy, her tail wagging so hard her body contorts.  But otherwise?  She came into the chicken coop with me once.  The chickens backed into a corner, and one took a daring fly at Amy...who just kinda turned her head and went back to sniffing chicken poop.  They now ignore her.  Even squirrels don't run away much.

Now, Amy and Katt have finally settled on their pecking order.  They touch noses until Katt swats at Amy.  Katt will approach Amy sleeping on her dog bed and sniff at her until Amy gets up and leaves, at which time Katt settles onto the warm spot left behind.  Katt chases Amy around the kitchen island, her tail lifted in delight as Amy tries to escape with her tail tucked between her legs.  Oh, and this is the worst:  they get fed at the same time, and Katt will eat two bites of her food and then settle just outside the mudroom, watching as Amy finishes scarfing down her own food and then sniffs at Katt's food, at which point Katt saunters in again and forces Amy to slink off.

Ah, good times.

But, it isn't all hissing and scratches and a 70 pound dog scurrying away from a 10 pound cat.  Other times, they seem to be able to ignore each other enough to get along.  Very cute, right?

 In other news, the chickens are pooping and eating and STILL refusing to leave the chicken coop.  I'm getting one egg a day from Gandalf.  I eat two eggs a day for breakfast.  The Boy eats eggs for breakfast, and the Husband likes them as well.  Adding in the occasional need for eggs in baking or cooking dinner, we are about five chickens down in terms of production.  It might be time to add a few more chickens to the mix.  Or, maybe Leia and Vader could find the time between pooping and eating to try laying a little.  Snicker.

Prongs came home on Friday.  I am very pleased to announce that we had some challenges settling him into his new home.  As in, wow, that is a whole lotta packages in the freezer.  We came home with over a 100 pounds of venison, and the loin is as big as a pig loin!  And I can promise, I am pleased to have the meat.  Last night, we ate ground venison in some of the ratatouille I made this summer, when I was swimming in squash and tomatoes.  Amazing to think that most of that meal came from within 100 yards of the house!

And now I am planning the menu for Thanksgiving.  We will have a house full of people for that meal, and I am so excited.  I'll be able to use the butternut squashes from the summer, a local ham, and jars of relishes and sauces that were canned from our own garden.

I am still holding out hope for the Husband to bag Tom.  He's a big guy, and he's been all over the farm.  Turkey hunting is hard, and this guy seems pretty active.  But, he would make a lovely addition to Thanksgiving dinner.  (Way better than the back-up turkey taking up space in the other freezer).

And honestly, I would just love to have another animal in the house.

.

City Kitty Learns a Lesson

[Warning to other city cats, potentially objectionable content follows.  Country cats, feel free to proceed, and please don't laugh too much.]

Perhaps you are wondering why I'm posting later than usual.  I had planned another cute little entry about what a big old chicken I am, and how chicken the chickens are.  I didn't attempt to push them out into the light of day until Friday, and each day, they have refused to exit.  Elvis has still not left the building.

As my morning began, I had my day planned out.  Feed the Boy breakfast, drop him off at school, make breakfast for myself and enjoy my coffee, and then skip the morning walk since the Husband was hunting, to finally sit down and type out the new entry.

I made the Boy two pieces of cinnamon toast, and one fried egg (harvested yesterday from Gandalf, who is now using one of the nesting boxes).  I fed Amy and Katt.  I put a filter (unbleached, of course) in the coffee machine and was pouring the first scoop of fair-trade certified coffee (ground at home!).

BAM!

I jumped.  I peered through the window and saw through the bushes beyond the lawn area a blaze orange Yeti walking.  The Boy shrugged and said, "Well, that was a surprise."  I then looked over my shoulder at Amy, who is ANOTHER chicken, and was relieved to see that she didn't hear the gunshot over the crunching of her hippy dog food.  A few minutes passed, and Amy whined to be let out for her morning constitutional.  Unsure how to proceed, I texted the Husband.

Me:  Didja get one?  And can I let Amy out?  
Him:  Maybe Prongs.  Yes, just near house.

I shared the news with the Boy, who said that he was proud of Daddy.  I took Amy to the front door and let her out, and thought about it.  First thought was that I was pleased for Husband, who hadn't had any luck yet this season, and anticipation of being able to cook with ground venison again, after three months without.

Him:  Found him.  He's a big son of a gun.

I took the Boy to school and came home, mostly looking forward to my jalepeno (canned from my own garden, naturally) and egg sandwich and my coffee.  And then came the request for help.  I emptied the truck bed, and then cautiously approached the top of the hill which slopes down to the upper pasture.  I saw Husband over a big object that could only be a deer.  I hollered down to see if he wanted me to drive the truck down.  Even from that distance, I could see the disbelief in his body when he yelled back that I should probably wait awhile.

Fine.  I made breakfast and enjoyed it.  I went out to the chicken coop to check on the girls.  I was considering starting the laundry when I saw him waving me over near the barnyard.

I went and saw Prongs.  I couldn't believe that he was just laying on the sled my husband was hauling.  He still looked so full of life...until I saw the other side of him.  Gulp.  He'd been field dressed.  I was just staring at him, when my Husband gently suggested that I go put on his car coveralls to protect my clothing (pretty blue lounge pants with matching jacket) from blood.

I am not going into all the gory details, or tell you all the things that disturbed my delicate sensibilities.  I simply had a rude awakening.  I love eating the local meats:  venison, the local sheep, goats, chickens and beef.  But I've still been getting it all in little plastic bags.  I've been separated from the reality of how that meat gets on my table.

At one point, I grasped Prongs' foreleg near the shoulder as we were attempting to haul him into the back of the truck.  It could have been one of Amy's legs:  muscular and softly furred.  Except it was cold.  Prongs was dead, and would never break into the hen house again, or lead a couple of does into the yard to munch on the bushes.  I'd never be able to expertly identify which of the three bucks we'd caught on the game cam, because we are down to two.

The Husband asked if I wanted to go to the processor with him.  I've been there several times, picking up all those little plastic bags of venison.  I'd never taken a deer there.  So I went.  They weighed Prongs in at 130 pounds.  He had a 9 point rack (8 normal ones, and another one inch spike beginning.  There were two more tiny spikes, but apparently you don't count those).  The processor began to cut off the rack with a saw, and I had to turn my back.  There are pretty cows there.  I started counting them.
  
The Husband got my attention, because he needed to know how I wanted the meat.  I turned back, and thankfully the worker had moved on to one of the other deer waiting to be processed.  I watched as he skillfully began to skin the doe.  It was okay to watch, if not fascinating.  But I had to walk away when he turned his attention back to Prongs.

I was quiet on the drive home.  Husband asked if I was okay.  I cracked some jokes:  I'm married to Voldemort!  Looks like Santa was hauling the deer this year!  I'm gonna have to kill off a supporting character on the blog!

It's been an interesting morning.  I'm okay.  I'm glad my eyes are no longer shut so tightly.  But my comfort zone wasn't stretched today.  It was totally breached.  Here I thought I was getting my hands dirty already.  I have my family so accustomed to pure venison that beef tastes weird to us.  I completely support the much-needed reduction in the local deer population.  But then I finally got to see just how a running, jumping, and fascinating animal winds up in my freezer.  I feel like a stupid city girl who might as well go sit out all night with a sack held open, waiting for snipes to crawl in.

Am I happy we'll have venison?  You bet.  Do I wish that I hadn't known Prongs?  Absolutely.  Do I think I am going to have the cajones to actually purchase some chickens for meat and then do what needs to be done?  I doubt it.  Apparently I might be too much of a tender-hearted, overly-sensitive little princess.  I always wondered how small farmers and 4-H kids could raise animals for slaughter, but in an abstract way.  Now I have a tiny bit of understanding.

So, tonight, I will raise a glass (of a medium body red that would totally work with venison) to Prongs, who was a lovely addition to my country adventure, who provided me with plenty of smiles, who will feed us for several months, and who helped teach me a lesson.

Never name your food.

I Live On A Farm... And I Have A Truck!

I LIVE ON A FARM NOW!!!

We've been here since Friday.  All I've done is unpack, pretty much.  I've managed to sneak in a few walks.

The best walk was dragging three garbage cans out the "curb"... down the gravel driveway, up the rise, after dark.  The first two trips, I entertained myself by shining the heavy duty flashlight into the trees and undergrowth.  The third, I finally remembered that we are close to a full-moon, so I turned off the light and walked by moonlight.  That was worth it.  The world looks different when not blazing with light.  I must do that more often.

The worst walk involved me forgetting that I need a "web-wand" when strolling down a mown path through the trees.  I usually grab a fallen branch and wave it around madly as I walk, as if I was Gilderoy Lockhart.  The purpose of the web-wand is to break up the SPIDER WEBS that form exactly where I want to walk.  So... there I was, strolling down the mown path through the trees, and I walked right into a big web, which I am certain MUST have had a carnivorous spider waiting for prey like me.  I shrieked... No.  Let's be honest.  I screamed like a horror-movie blonde.  I was madly attempting to brush the spider off (not that I knew she was there, but why take chances?) as I wiped the web out of my hair.  BECAUSE I HAD FORGOTTEN MY BIG-BRIMMED HAT.  To my credit, I did laugh after I stopped running.

What else?  We've seen a stray cat, a lot of deer, a chipmunk or two, several bunnies, a mangy looking cardinal as well as many chickadees, which is my son's favorite bird to identify currently.  Lots of frogs in the pond in the patio.  I saw five today.  I excitedly told my son, who hardly raised his eyes from his Legos to say, "I saw six yesterday."  

So what, kiddo?  I am sitting in the breakfast nook, listening to those frogs and the cicadas and the crickets.  He's asleep, the dog is stretched out somewhere, and the cat is catting around outside.

The dog has been here since the beginning of the month.  Amy and Katt began as housemates cautiously, but have progressed to touching noses and smelling each other occasionally.  But yesterday, they behaved like, well, cats and dogs.  Big fight over the cat food.  I made the mistake of feeding Amy at dinner time when Katt was outside.  Later, when Katt came inside, I thought I would feed her.  I must be stupid.  There was food EVERYWHERE.  Even under the dish.  Katt's water was splashed over cat, dog, floor, food, wall, steps... and into the three next rooms as Katt took off running.  Amy is now banished when Katt is eating.

Speaking of eating.  I have now cooked twice on the gas stove/ oven, which matches the rest of the kitchen theme.  1800s? (I must ask Miss L, the Country Kitty, before she leaves.)  Anyway, it is all rounded and has little doors.  It is a modern appliance, however...I've never cooked on gas before.  So, there I was last night.  I had decided to cook spaghetti, since I had two spaghetti squashes that we needed to eat.  I was prepared to do that...until I remembered that I have no effing clue where my baking dishes are.  Somewhere in the dining room in a box marked "Kitchen- Stuff", maybe?  Anyhow, I had to make do with real spaghetti (well, the gluten-free variety, which is pretty rocking).  I needed to brown the sweet Italian sausage from the half pig we bought last summer.  I needed to boil water.  And I needed to heat up the marinara.  No problem, right?  A dinner I could cook while half asleep.

The Stove/Oven.  (ignore the boxes)

First, I couldn't find the buttons, or dials, or whatever they are called.  They were hidden behind the cute little door on the left.  Then I didn't know which dial was for what burner.  And then I remembered that I had no freaking clue if I was supposed to push something to catch the flame, or how high to turn the dial.  I decided to just experiment.  I promptly managed to kill the pilot light.  Fortunately, I DID know what to do with that, since my son had blown it out the previous day when Miss L was just telling me about keeping eye on the pilot light.  So, I re-lit it.  After awhile, I managed to get one lit.  It wasn't the one I wanted, but I used it.  I had to get the meat cooking!  I then took about ten more minutes to get another going.  I am so grateful I have good pots (All-Clad Copper-Core), even if they are almost 12 years old.

My truck and the farm-house!  And a big tree!

Long story short (too late!), I did a great job, and the food was excellent.  And breakfast was even easier!  Yay me!  Although, Miss L dropped by this afternoon, and noticed that one of the pilot lights was out.  So glad this farmhouse was built during the French and Indian War... i.e. drafty.  Good grief.

Now, Miss L came to drop off the essential farm accessory.  A TRUCK!!!  Okay, I could care less that it is a truck, except that it is a stick shift!  My car, a 1997 Honda Civic, was totaled last November, and I miss driving stick so much.  So, I cannot tell you a thing about the truck other than it has almost 200k miles on it, and it is a stick shift!  Oh, and it doesn't have power windows or locks... JUST LIKE MY POOR HONDA!