New and Improved

I'll lay off the depressing stuff for awhile.  No one wants to hear about all the dead stuff anymore.  Nope.

You all want to hear about the three cute little chicks that are currently living in a corner of the chicken coop.  Adorable!  And one is a baby rooster.  Cannon fodder!  (Oops, no more dead stuff...)

We've had sun and lots of rain.  My seeds are going crazy.  We've been eating fresh lettuce, and I am having to thin stuff out.  Beet greens... yum!  Never mind that those are beets that will never grow into real beets.  (Oops, no more dead stuff...)

Of course, the grass is growing like weeds.  Well, there are a lot of weeds.  Everywhere.  But last week, I got tired of waiting for the ground to dry enough so that the riding mowers wouldn't leave tracks, that I got out the small mower and personally mowed up and down the driveway, trimming the grass away from Jungle zone to Lawn zone.  Funny how I have to see a pretty lawn when I drive down the driveway and run over a young opossum. (Oops, no more dead stuff...)

I spent quite a lot of time clearing out the lovely garden outside the morning room.  Peonies and roses and irises and rhododendrons, even the chives!  There are poppies... dear lord, there cannot be a more beautiful flower in the world than a blooming red poppy.  The time was well worth it, even if I had to drag two full baskets of weeds to the compost heap.  (Oops, no more dead stuff...)

Yeah, I am making a joke out of it.  Life and death.  Right now I feel like a teenager, obsessed with mortality and such.  All I need is vampires in the mix... although I did see a bat the other night.

Katt is gone, and I am functioning like a semi-normal person again.  I am better, and getting wiser, I guess.

I even had a party this weekend.  It was tiny compared to the other one.  The Husband smoked a brisket (drool city!) and I prepared way too many vegetables.  Next weekend, my baby brother will come visiting with his family, and we'll have another small party.

The good thing about having company is that it forces me to clean up the house.

A friend recently told me that he admired how I've thrown myself into this country life.  I thanked him, but then I had to admit... I wonder if I throw myself into it more because I have the accountability of reporting my adventures here.

Like, my favorite game right now is flicking stink bugs across the room to hit the wall.  I love it when I manage to hit them hard enough that they don't recover from the impact.

I get off the farm enough, I guess.  But, I have learned to adapt.  Is it a true adaptation, or one for the public?

Does it matter?  Not really, I'd say.  Actions have consequences.  The end result is the same--I came upon a snake skin and picked it up: if I try to come up with a clever story around it for the blog, or simply pick it up to show the Boy, the fact is, I picked up a snake skin.

Now, to slaughter more lettuce...

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.

Hornets and Roofs in a Nutshell

European hornets pretty much suck.  They are huge, and they are mean as hell when disturbed, and their sting feels like sticking a flaming ice pick through your skin.  Here is a pic I got off the internet.  I chose the one with a pin through its body because I HATE them.

And we had a huge nest in the hollow of a huge old tree in the front yard.

I say had, because one wandered into our house on a cool night and decided that my Husband's pillow was a great place to chill.  He stung the Husband in middle of the night, which necessitated a crazed visit to the ER, which involved waking up the Boy, which made me rage against the next one I found flying lazily around the bedroom the next day.  I employed my best curse words and a lethal application of fly swatter.

And then I got on the internet and found a local exterminator.  Two days later, two charming gentlemen arrived to employed a three-step plan to destroy the nest.  Wham, bam, and suck it, hornets.

BUT.  The thing that kinda sucked more than the actual wasps... is that a bunch of guys came to clean and paint the roofs of the house and corn crib.  And they came the first day after the hornet nest had been powdered with poison.  That means the hornets were pissed off right about then.  And I was pretty sure that getting stung while clinging to the roof of an old farmhouse was NOT in the contract.

I warned the contractor, and even suggested they begin with the corn crib, which is a few hundred yards from the nest.  He gave me a funny little smile and asked where the outdoor faucets were.

I spent three days waiting, just waiting for a howl of agony followed by a shudder on the roof preceding a big thud in the yard.  Every time I heard voices, I paused to make sure that it was a request for more paint/rags/hose and not a "Oh ****, run!"  Three days, when every rattle of the metal roof made me pause to identify the noise as a step and not a body dropping from lethal injections of hornet venom.  Three days fearing for the lives of those swaggering roofers overhead.  I even worried for the exterminator.  

But, I am a worry-wort, really.  My husband got all the bad luck, apparently.  Everyone else was lucky, thank goodness, and had a happy ending.  No one else got stung, the hornets are mostly dead, and the roofs are all shiny and green now. 

I'm thinking that next time, maybe I outghta make sure to check ahead of time before scheduling a hornet nest's destruction, just to make sure that there WON'T be men dangling from the roof at the same time.  But maybe that's just crazy talk.

Ghosts, Spiders, and Croquet

We are settling in nicely.  I've spent a lot of time unpacking and arranging things, and while there is much more to do, it is more focused (i.e. "Where the %@^$ are my headbands?" versus "OMG, another box marked Kitchen?").  But, while unpacking is never an easy process, I have made lots of progress.

I've been able to linger over my coffee and my lunch, and the morning room/breakfast nook/ room off the kitchen is a marvelous place to linger.  Two walls are huge, old fashioned type windows, the ones with lots of little panes, rather than one big pane with a grid laid across it.  Miss L told me that if one of the panes got broken, we can actually go down an actual hardware store in the historic downtown area, and replace the pane.  How cool is that?

Anyhow, I read too much, and lingering over my coffee is one of the best times to read.  I sit here, in the morning room, with a view of the lawn to my left, and the patio and pond immediately before me, full of fluttering butterflies of black, yellow, gold, blue, and white... although at the moment, there is a little boy creating worlds with his Legos blocking some of that view.  Anyhow, the book I've been lingering with is by Shirley Jackson:  The Haunting of Hill House.  This is a selection from the opening paragraph:

"Hill House stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within...walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."

 Oops.  For those of you who haven't read it, this is a terrifying book, even if there is no blood, guts, or gore.  (Actually, there is a bit of blood, come to think of it.  If you HAVE to watch one of the films, watch this version.  You should read it, if you can.)  I've read this book dozens of times, and gotten the chills, and my mouth drops open as I discover new gems hidden within the text.  Here's the one that gave me chills just yesterday, in which Dr. Montague is explaining the architecture of Hill House...

"Every angle...is slightly wrong.  Hugh Crain must have detested other people and their sensible squared away houses, because he made his house to suit his own mind.  Angles which you assume are the right angles you are accustomed to... are actually a fraction of a degree off in one direction or another.  I am sure, for instance, that you believe the stairs you are sitting on are level, because you are not prepared for stairs which are not level... [they] are on a very slight slant toward the central shaft, the doorways are all a very little bit off center..."

I could go on, but I am certain you know where this is heading.  THERE ARE ALMOST NO LEVEL FLOORS IN THIS HOUSE!!  The rooms are odd shapes (not square!) The doors are unusual sizes, and some refuse to close while others refuse to open.  There are little stairs here and there.  All this can be attributed to four different constructions over the 300 year history of this farmhouse.  Before yesterday, I found all this charming and quirky, and I regarded it all affectionately.  But that scene, which has NEVER gotten me before, got me yesterday.  And as I walked through the house last night, closing windows, turning off lights and checking doors... I thought, "Whatever walks these wooden floors, walks alone."

Speaking of walking (yeah, I am totally changing the subject--there is no one to hear me scream in the night, except the boy, who does NOT need to wake up like that!)... this weekend the paths in the upper and lower fields were mown (and widened, thank you so much, City Tomcat Husband.)  Yesterday morning, the boy and I took the dog and our trusty web-wands out for a walk.  We saw many interesting things, but what captured our interest the most was all the fascinating spider webs along the path.  (The ones in our path were destroyed by my waving tree branch and the boy's swinging ball on a rope.)  We saw funnel and sheet webs, but the one we watched being constructed was an orb.  Here is a crappy picture of it:

Now what was extraordinary about it was the actual spider.  We were close and I found a picture of what it looks like.   (I am attaching a link, because I do have a few friends who might murder me if I put a big picture of a spider here.  Take a look at the blog, and scroll down to the 12th picture.)

Spiders are everywhere inside.  I am trying to remember that they are here to eat the other bugs, and that they are my friends... but it is hard to remember that when I am about to plug in an electric cord and see a little spider sitting on her web, grinning up at me with sharp pointy teeth.

The day ended nicely, despite the ghost stories and spiders.  The boy and I played a few rounds of croquet on the newly mown lawn.  It was fun.  And I tell you, there is nothing quite like being able to shout with laughter and not wonder if the neighbor is gonna start peaking out the window to see if someone is being slaughtered.  Because...

"No one can hear you if you scream in the night."  -Eleanor Vance in The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

City Kitty Dresses for the Farm

I spent last evening with a group of girlfriends.  We were drinking wine (we polished off about 4 bottles) and eating wonderful food, enjoying the sunset over the mountains.  I was glamorous in my white tunic paired with a floor length black "skirt with a slit up to your butt," as one of them put it.  (I cheerfully replied that my butt did not sag that low, if at all.)  My hair was in a sleek pony tail, and I accessorized with black sandals with gorgeous silver buckles and my favorite hoop earrings.

The topic of spiders came up as we sat outside on the deck.  I shared how, last weekend at the farm, I was weeding along a fence line when a huge spider crawled across my arm.  I'd shrieked and flung him away, and then burst into wild laughter, my husband just shaking his head.  One of my friends HATES spiders, and she couldn't understand how I could be so casual about a huge wolf spider crawling up my arm.

Farm Fashion

I had forgotten to describe my gardening attire.  I described it and watched her eyes get bigger and bigger as I painted the picture.  You see, this is what my son and I look like when we go to the farm, ever since the first weekend, when we found a tick on Daddy, and I got my first sunburn in ages.

My son picking blackberries

Big floppy hats.  I love them.  The sunglasses are 100% blah blah blah, and the sunscreen is SPF 50.  My over-shirt is one my husband's retired work shirts--heavy poplin and oversize to catch the breeze even when buttoned.  The boy's over-shirt (not pictured) is oversize... for now.  Both have been treated with permethrin.  I wear a tank under so when I am under a tree hydrating, I can cool down more quickly.  My cell phone has to be in a safe place so I can receive texts from the husband on the other side of the property.  Long-cuffed leather gloves (goat leather in the palm) are great for weeding, planting, watering, and protecting against spiders crawling up my arm.  The capri-length jeans have also been treated with permethrin, good for up to 40 days.  (The boy picked his almost too-short camo pants for treatment.)  The heavier material also protects against thorns.  Finally, the rainboots to wade through mushy straw and protect against ticks.

Okay, do we look funny?  Oh yes.  Do the big shirt and jeans show off my figure very well?  Not even a little.  But I don't have to spray bug repellent on me now, and I can avoid a lot of sun and thorns, as well as itchy plants.  So far, no mosquitoes, ticks, or poison ivy.


For the record, I didn't plan to have my tank top match the boots.  I promise. And I don't always wear earrings. 

My Garden, Part 1

So, for a city kitty, I cannot claim to be unfamiliar with vegetable gardening.  The city's parks and rec has a Garden Plot area, where you can register for a 20'x20' plot.  We did that for 3 or 4 years (Before Child, in other words).  I grew tomato, pepper, lettuce, spinach, squash, flowers, corn (sorta), beans, broccoli, and carrots.  I checked out a book from the public library and learned how to can.  I know canning is trendy right now, but I did that back in 2002.

After Child, I moved on to different kinds of vegetable gardening in much smaller spaces.  Tomatoes in deep pots, lazy beds of greens, peas with trellises of corn, melons (that were devoured by the @#$^$% groundhogs), and even strawberries in cute pots.

Now, I get to go larger scale again.  At the farm, I'll have a bed of 11'x20' as part of an enclosed garden with deer fencing.  I love planning out my plot: digging out my lazy gardening and companion planting books*, scaling the plan on graph paper (3/8 scale, thank you very much), and drawing with colored pencil exactly where and what and how many I will be planting.

Garden plot 2013

I've learned that LOTS of critters hate marigolds.  So I put a border of marigolds around my plot.  They also attract butterflies and bees.  At the bottom, you see my tomato bed, mostly Roma for canning salsas, marinara, and whole tomatoes.  Really close together, right?  I learned from my deep pot tomato planting (and from lazy gardening sources) that creating an ecosystem for the plants can help the plants produce better.  (The downside is that it can endanger the plants if any have disease or a bug infestation... but more on that later.)

Above the tomatoes, I have a row of nasturtiums.  Pretty and attractive to pollinators, true, but they also repel certain pests.  Interspersed, you see some red X's-- borage, another flowering herb that attracts bees and butterflies and repels slightly different pests.

Above that, 2 zukes, and then 2 varieties of winter squash that I love to eat, but have never tried growing:  butternut and spaghetti.

We finally get to a planned path, and I've created a bed for carrots, the plan being I will sow every two weeks later in the growing season.  Another path, and then the top two beds:  one for hot peppers (serrano is my choice, but I will take what I can find as long as it's hot!) and then another larger bed for cukes, and corn with peas planted later.

Ambitious?  Perhaps.  The proof will be in the planting.

*Here are my favorite books, although I have about a dozen more.  I've added links to Amazon in case you are interested.  I also use a book about growing fruits and vegetables in my state-- mighty handy!
Tips for the Lazy Gardener by Linda Tilgner
Carrots Love Tomatoes by Louise Riotte

Hello... or, Howdy! (An Introduction)

I have always lived in the city.  Well, at least suburbia.  Towns.  Small cities.

This summer, it looks as though I will be living on a 10 acre farm in the country.  I'll have a tractor, chickens, a garden as big as I choose to make it, and a pond!  Maybe a sheep!

There will also be ticks and spiders and stinkbugs.  And mice.  Possums.  Deer.  Maybe even some otters!

Now, I love my high heels, my cute hats, and fancy purses.  But, I also love hiking and gardening, and I already have a dog!  So, I'm ready for this.  Right?

Right?

What is that chirping sound?  Birds?  Cicadas?  Crickets?  A chipmunk?

Well, at least this will be entertaining for my readers.  I'll take pictures, and describe what I am learning, and how I am surviving, and any other thing that will demonstrate my ability to laugh at myself.  Someone will learn something, and I suspect it will be me.

The move will be sometime in August.  Until then, posts may be sporadic.