Cowfeathers Spring Orientation. Take your seats. Belt in.

The outhouse is still upright and in its place! The first nice thunderstorm of spring came last night. As I have oft mentioned, it is WINDY at Cowfeathers. But, at times we have extraordinary wind. This usually means displacement of the outhouse. My efforts to keep the outhouse stable seem to be working. They consisted of sinking a post 3 feet deep in concrete and bolting the outhouse frame to the post. This does not mean the roof is still perched atop the structure, or that the window isn't in the creek. I will check those out later when it stops raining.
I heard the storm, of course, periodically during the night. Mostly I worried about the horses (are they too equine to stay in their stalls?) and my skunk. My skunk is the third skunk captured by a bounty of marshmallows, and I'm not well pleased that they keep coming in the barn to look for morsels of duck and chicken. But this little fellow is living in captivity for a few days until my friends at Critter Control can collect him. So, I went to the grocery and bought him canned cat food, and got him a water dish out of the tired Tupperware collection in the kitchen. He's made himself a nice little mound of mud and straw and pretty much just hangs out. Now, when he sees me coming, he gets excited for a can of cat food to rain from above. At first he was too cautious to eat it for a while, but now, he comes right over to the end of the cage and happily eats what squishes through the holes. But, I worried that he would be blown around by the wind. Even though he has nice protection from the rain and the wind in the cover around the cage (to prevent direct hits). Fortunately, he, too, seemed not worse for wear in the early morning light. And, seems to think highly of Turkey with Giblets.
I woke early this morning because the picture on the wall near my bed was bouncing on the wall. While this seemed to be just a repetitive annoyance, further consciousness revealed that the picture shouldn't bounce on the wall. Indeed, the house was trembling in the wind, and the roof sounded a bit pained as the metal tried to valiantly stick to it's assigned seat. Time to gather the troops downstairs. As I walked to the bedroom door, Youngest peeked in, hyperopic eyes not saved by glasses and squished up in worry and tears. "C'mon." I said, "Let's get the girls and go downstairs." Of course, with the wind we have no satellite service, so no television, no Internet. I eventually plonked enough keys on my smartphone to find we were under a Severe Thunderstorm Warning (Um, yep.) and a Tornado Watch. Which tickles me because it is dark, and I can't see anything.
Eventually, as the storm calms, it is time for the girls to get on the bus. I drive them out to the road, with an eye to what kind of repairs I'll be performing this morning. With joy, it seems that we have once again missed major damage. There are no big trees down, and relatively few branches (regular bursts of near hurricane force keep dead wood cleaned out). There are some flower urns tipped over and the obelisks in the kitchen garden likewise are reclining. The more subtle injuries I will need to investigate- slates off the house and barn roofs, further rending of the pasted together massive old maple trees around the house. Did the new gutters suffer during their first Cowfeathers Spring Orientation? Maybe the sun will come out and I'll have a look....

Still here..

As an addendum to the negative experiences my "new computer" has suffered, Youngest managed to open a game program that won't go away and uses up all my satellite service, so my brand new computer is as slow as the old dial up regimen.

This time 16 years ago, I was having the worst afternoon of my life. My brand new baby was ensconced in a short little bed under the french fry lights in the PICU at Duke University Medical Center. She had been delivered in miserable fashion in the early hours of the day at a hospital in Raleigh, and made her trip to Duke in the Life Flight van, because the helicopter was grounded due to weather.
It was a bad day.
But, inside all that badness was the bestest. My sweet little? 9 pounder baby girl, who, fast forwarding through all the ick, came home with us in a few long, long days. Where upon she commenced to screaming. Wonderful, loud, ridiculously welcome screaming. For the next few months. I was the happiest Mommy, with my capably screaming baby. She had a lot of easy moments too, and loved to smile for a camera, and was terribly engaging. Still is.
Very far away, and yet those moments are still very fresh. She has grown, and grown, now taller than me. She is bubbly, and quick to anger and quick to feel remorse. She is giving and stubborn and smart and  unwise. She is thoughtful and mature with a foot in terrible twos. How fortune has carried us along for the last 16 years. Thank you, fortune for each day we are given with this amazing child.

New?

A few weeks back, a blog I called "CrAsH" lamented the demise of my computer. I've been using an old Mac to do any computing since that day, until now. Today my new computer is in place. Huz did the purchasing, and it came in the mail a few days back. Then, he commenced to fussing with it so it was ready to assist me in all things floated in the ether of cyberspace (still totally makes NO sense to me). Last night, after I returned from a 4-H training session with my Officer children, he made the final adjustments that would permit me to turn it on and get going. So, this morning, in the 4 minutes I allotted myself to check my Facebook page and answer the bevy of bonmots listed on the little earth icon, I thought I would be doing this on my new, shiny computer. But as I arrived at it's side, its newness not yet glowing in the early morning grey light, I noticed it was not nearly as shiny as I had hoped. Indeed, what I suspect to be dark chocolate frosting from the top of one? of Youngest's birthday school cupcakes was smeared all over the keyboard. So, I spent much of the 4 minutes scrubbing chocolate off the brand new sticky keys.
I have heard it said that once the children are gone I will miss the shoes all over the place, the couch ensconced in Legos, the piles of laundry, the use of 25 drinking glasses in one afternoon, the dining room table covered in books and over clothes and old bags of Valentines written in Spanish and bleeding their glitter on all. I will miss finding withered apples under the drivers seat in the car and a trail of bloody nose droplets from bedroom to bathroom, and candy wrappers under every seat cushion and pillow.
My thoughts are.... Really?

Seeing Sam

Dastardly rainy day, yesterday. The poor Presidents. Don't think anyone 'round here was much for celebrating. No Abe Lincoln parades, or George Washington crossing the Scioto reenactments. Just a bunch of cold rain and dreary sleet. I piled the kidlets in Denty for a trip west. All the way to Dayton. Ohio's sixth largest city and home of Wright-Patterson Air force Base. We saw a lot of rain on the way there and back! Terribly exciting for all. Our destination was the Emerald Valley Stables, current home of Samantha Kay, the yellow horse. Emerald Valley Stables are a finely run and well appointed boarding and training facility with a nice air about it. Some barns feel angry, but not this one. It is clean and full and smells of leather and horses. Sammie lived with me for several years, but last fall I took her to Emerald Valley to be used for Foxhunting and general fun.  I hadn't seen her, except in the hunt field since last fall, and it was nice to get reacquainted. I got to see her take a lesson with Mary, her most frequent rider. Mary is 25 and beautiful, and sweet to her. She also does a nice job of riding Sam and the pair looked terrific. They are planning to take on the Greater Dayton Horse Trials in May. Then, Middlest rode Samantha. At this point, it is time for Mother to become Scarce. Georgia does not countenance instruction from me. When she was done riding Sam ( I observed the ride in the indoor arena by hiding behind the tacking and grooming area) she groomed up and rode another horse at the stables. Both Sam and this horse are for sale, and Middlest is shopping for a new mount that jumps. This new guy we renamed Gryphon. Anyone with an eye for horseflesh could tell you why. He is kind and generous and ride-able. He also has some sort of bone chips in one knee, and as previously mentioned, looks like conformation by committee. I observed the pair from the second story glassed in lounge above the indoor. They seemed to get along fairly well. When she was finished riding Gryphon, I went down and got on him to see what else he had besides and lion heart and eagle knees. He cantered acceptably, and jumped cross rails without fuss. She liked riding Gryphon more than riding Samantha- not surprising, as Sam is more athletic and more complicated. Now, other than a horse with a one time broken leg in Bellefontaine (pronounced Ohio-style as "Bell- fountain") there isn't much else for sale in these here parts that jumps and is in affordable range. So, for now, just waiting!
Today is Youngest's actual Birthday. I'm trying to be forward and not too thoughtful about my baby turning 10. He had a Birthday Doughnut and the Happy Birthday song (sung by me with participation from Tucker, the dog), then off to school. I made rich brownies topped with an even richer ganache this morning and took them to his class for a Birthday treat this afternoon.  One of the children who liked the brownies asked me what kind of frosting I used. I told him I made it. He looked confused. So, I elaborated on the ingredients "I used butter, honey, vanilla, cocoa powder and powdered sugar". this really stumped the little guy. He screwed his face up and said "Humph!". I wonder if he'll ever understand not all frosting comes from a can?
I sure hope!

Decade.

For Youngest the party of his decade, as he turns 10 this week! He, naturally, wanted a party, so like any sensible set of parents, we decided to take kids on a Winter Hike. But, just tromping around the wood is not enough direction for 10 year olds, so we focused on Letterboxing. This is a past time our family has been enjoying for about 5 years. Letterboxing is a tradition born in Victorian England, when young suitors and the objects of affection could not communicate directly. It was very complicated. Many folks have heard of the messages sent in a nosegay, where the suitor would choose flowers that would convey a message to the recipient. So, for instance a hopeful young man might send a bouquet with red carnations (I love) and Coriander (lust) and he might receive a discouraging bouquet of Clover and Bachelor Buttons (Good luck with the Celibacy...). Well, with Letterboxing, a guy on the lonely moors of Dartmoor, left a jar with a note in it, and some clues to the jar, and Letterboxing was born in 1854ish. It was picked up as a way to share special letters of affection, and you would hide the letter in  the park, send your sweetheart the clues and wait, going to check for a return letter, likely daily.

Today, the hobby is in many countries and every state in the U.S. Most boxes have a hand carved stamp which you use to stamp a book you carry with you on hunts. You in turn, mark their book, (hidden with their stamp) using the stamp of your own. Then you sign a date and your "Letterboxing name" and hide it all back where you found it for the next happy hunter.
So, for the party, each of the children recieved a Letterboxing kit, with a book, stamp, pen and inkpad. They named themselves their supersecret Letterboxing name they would use to sign the books they found. Then, we piled into our cars and headed for the Hills! The Hocking Hills. Beautiful, rock filled, moss and fern populated forests of icy streams and wonderful caves. Of course, we picked a fine day for a winter hike, as it sleeted more or less constantly for 5 hours. Surprisingly, we were not the sole hikers at one stop, Conkle's Hollow. Often a rather popular hike for it's simple beauty, we thought we'd be alone on such a raw, wet day. But there were several couples out on Sunday afternoon hiking dates. Huz and I served as a cautionary tale with our brood of 7. Certainly a few of those couples are now exploring the option of spinsterhood, or planning the future as the eccentric lifelong bachelor. We hunted all afternoon, eventually locating each box we sought- 5 in all, and with red hands patiently stamped and signed.. Birthday Party for the hardy. As the sleet turned to a downpour, we turned the minivan into the party van and folded away all the seats for a party in a heated vehicle. Streamers hung on the sides, we piled in for food and cupcakes and gifts. Youngest had a grand time, and has pronounced it the most memorable Birthday ever.....who knew all I had to do was set him loose on the woods?

The cupcakes sported little "letters" made from marshmallow.

Youngest holding the first located Letterbox. We started out easy on 'em. Hidden just inside the wood and non-strenuous.

Horsehead Grotto in the sleet. At least it was nice and dry in the cave... if not warm!

For this box, we headed down one of my familiar horse trails in the park. Little did I know, there was a Letterbox here each time I rode past.

Now, the going was getting tough. Wet and slick with a nice coat of sleet and ice. The boys had a fantastic time scampering around the rocks while I yelled "Take it Slow!"  and "Not one step closer to the edge!"

Car Party! Each one of the kids mentioned they'd never attended a Birthday Party INSIDE  a car before.... new Midwestern trend? Forget the bowling alley and the roller rink. Just take the kids to a parking lot and hand out cupcakes.

Popcorn bound and it's good.

The prettiest day of 2011, thus far. This is my conjecture from what I witnessed  before 9am and after 3 pm.
This valuable in between bit was spent on the ups and downs of Veterinary Medicine. Ups? Super cute little white dog (with an unfortunate looking bottom that needed some nipping, tucking repair),  a chihuahua who's been giving me fits about presenting a urine sample who finally agreed to supply, a meat-headed 90 lb pit bull with an overbite who still retains his malenomas, but graciously allowed me to separate him from a pedunculated growth the size of a decent cauliflower, Precious, a sweet kitty who is undergoing treatment for runaway thyroid whose heart rate is slowly coming back into the stratosphere, and a Havanese with the biggest 'fro in doggie fro-dom.
Downs? Not worth mentioning.

Surely, it is hard to feel like a weekend when you're working, but a family movie about the history of West Point and some of our home-grown popcorn seems just the ticket.

Phil, the late model pot likker.

The season of romance. Candy, flowers, cards, red, pink white. Lace and bows. Sure, February has long been the month to celebrate love. Even before St. Valentine ( at least one of the three) died in 270, the month was the one in which Faunus- the fertility god, was celebrated as spring was near, and the fertility of the ground and livestock was critical for living another year.
But, this is not the only season of February. This is the season for Candlemas Day, cutting of timbers, and cleaning the soup pot. A whole season for cleaning a pot? Yep, I'll explain. It is the season for closing the year's accounts and make inventories. Toward the south, planting could begin, and in the north the start of maple-sugaring.
Eric Sloane, author of Seasons of America, is taking me through the end of the year. March is the start of the New Year of seasons as recognized by early Americans. Having received the book from my friend, Shawn, for Christmas, I couldn't begin in the beginning of the book- which begins with March. No patience, I had to know what I was missing in January. Thus the blog entry "Ice, rolling and nails- no more" in January.
Well, February 2 is not just Groundhog day, it is Candlemas. This is a British holiday the Americans brought with them to the new world. It was considered the half-way mark of the winter season. Which, could be kind of a frightening thought- hasn't it been cold forever? Aren't we getting a few reluctant signs of spring already? But, you have to think of the season as spanning not just the cold months, but the months in which no food will be forthcoming from the ground. Candlemas  is a day of inventory. Firewood and food stores.
The provident farmer on Candlemas Day,
Has half of his fires and half of his hay.
If you've gone through more than half, you start slowing your consumption to make it through. Of course, there is a great variety of weather here in the U.S., so this admonishing poem doesn't hold true throughout. Still, prudent in my area.
Also done in February was the pruning of larger trees. Land leases did not allow you to cut down whole trees, but you could prune as much underwood as could be reached by a hook or crook.  Recognize that one, eh?  Because of the running of sap beginnning this month, timbers were cut "during the old moon" for their strength and durability. So, get out your axes, people! Fence posts, framing timbers, excellent firewood awaits.
Now, a note about axes. Think of the big ax pictured in the hands of illustrations of Paul Bunyan. That massive ax, with the broad flared blade would have been a Broad Ax. He wouldn't have used such an ax to fell a tree. For that he would've used a smaller, less dramatic Felling Ax. The Broad Ax was used for hewing round logs into square beams. To do this, you "four-score" the tree with a chop on four sides of the log. Picture one of those jumbo Tootsie Rolls handed out at Halloween. The candy has scores along the length for the more restrained children to break the candy into more reasonable bits. That is what four-scoring resembles. Then, you yield the Broad Ax to pop the outside of the tree longitudinally between scores, ending with a square shaped beam. Cinch.

Now, for the disturbing season of the pot cleaning. I suppose it would simplify the dish-doing in the home anyway. See, the soup pot was kept going all winter. You'd swing the pot on the iron arm over the fire to make it hot, swing it off the fire to let it cool, but you'd just add stock and vegetables and bits of leftover possum or whatever you've got, and when it got low, add more. Pot likker was what it was termed. You'd get your bowl of pot likker and a slice of cornbread and that was the meal. Well, towards the end of February, the pot was allowed to get quite low, eventually empty, and you scoured all the scary bits out of the bottom.
When pot likker's low
or ceases to stew,
The farmer doth know 
that the Winter is through.

So, Punxatawney Phil is just a late model pot likker.

Dear Winter, Don't leave yet.

There is a lightness to the world outside my windows today. Yes, it is the sun- a rarely felt item in Ohio's winter and a lure to lie in a patch of it and enjoy the sensation of warmth. But, also it is a irritation, an itch you can't scratch, a need that can't be filled by food or exercise or thought. It is a waiting.

The crusts of snow still lie on the banks of the creek and the north side of the hills. The ice is finally gone on the patios and outdoor stairs, the way clear to the barn, one stubborn hillock of ice keeping the barn gate from fully opening. Distressingly, my Muck Boots are leaking. As a child, my mother would save bread bags. When winter rolled around, our gloriously inadequate 70's winter boots were yanked onto little feet only after application of a bread bag. 40 years later, and bread bags are again lining my boots for the squidgy trudge to the barn. I know it is the threat of spring that is making me antsy.

Threat. Indeed, for that is what it is. I know spring is hope and rebirth, and my promised start of the new year of seasons on March 26. But, spring is also shearing and fence building and garden prep and planting and weeding, and field maintenance and cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, and conditioning of the horses, and arrival of the calves and raking the stones back onto the driveway displaced by the plow and burning the asparagus patch and spraying the orchard and mulching all the flower beds and moving the manure piles and finding the blueberries and current bush in the raspberry overgrowth. Spring is painting fences and re-siding the tractor shedrow and finding a jumping horse for middlest and planting the seedlings and getting the east side of the barn regraded and the slates fixed and replacing the door on the poultry run that the sheep broke down and then got iced in place.  Spring means figuring out how to keep the gander in the poultry yard so he doesn't eat every tender spring shoot in the gardens, and getting the kids to keep the fair projects in hand and raising chicks in the mudroom and building a better duck house so duck slaughter is not repeated. But spring does not mean an end to the myriad lessons, the multiple weekly meetings and work.

So, thank you God for the hard frost this morning. Let me keep winter for a bit longer....

Love in the Darkroom.

I spent the summer of my second year in Veterinary School in Iowa. I was a research assistant to Dr. Howard Tyler at Iowa State University in Ames. My best friend, and former housemate, Shila was there working on her masters degree and we were able to work in the same lab. The lab was at the ISU Dairy, in one of the old barns. I was working on a few projects, but my main project was an incubator model for premature births. Each day we also worked a bit on the cows doing different projects. I had traveled to Iowa with my other best friend, Randleigh. Randleigh was a big black dog? I was never sure how much of Randleigh was dog. He did have one particularly canine trait- snarfing stuff off the floor. One morning I awoke to a dog that could not. After assessing him, I realized he was in real trouble. I called my then boyfriend, a 4th year veterinary student at ISU and told him  Randleigh was a goner. He drove  over to get him, and I started thinking. Toxin was top of my differential list and I needed to figure out what he could've gotten into. I decided to go to the Dairy and pull feed tags off bags and see what might be lurking inside. On the third tag I got a hit. Lasolocid. Lasolocid is a coccidiostat put in calf feeds to help prevent scours, or diarrhea. Lasolocid is toxic to dogs, and even more so to horses. It attacks the heart muscle, causing acute death in the horse and a slower version in dogs. This is what was happening with my pooch. I called the Vet School again, and let them know what they were dealing with. They did a marvelous job, saved my dog? and the boyfriend had a short moment of being my hero before I gave him walking papers.
At the end of the summer, I borrowed enough money to fuel my way back to North Carolina. When school began, I thought to have a cardiac check up on Randleigh to see how the damage to his heart was progressing. The first step in my check was to have him radiographed. This is the official way of saying "x-rayed". I brought him with me to school and went down to Radiology. I implored Randleigh not to eat anyone and let them do their jobs. He decided to allow them to live another day and his chest films were taken. I went into the dark center of Radiology, and he and I waited next to the warm humming processor that would spit out his films. In front of us was two separate banks of light boxes. The films were getting shoved into a clip at the top of the box, then a Rad Doc would come along, have a looksee and speak into a little recording microphone his or her findings. Then, pull the films down off the lights and move on to the next. I saw Randleigh's films come out and onto the top set of boxes they went. I waited and soon a tall fellow came over, peered briefly at the films, said "Normal" and pulled them down.
Wait! This is a learning experience and my best friend has a heart problem. "Excuse me." I said.
"My name is Cate Hamilton. I'm a third year student and these films are of my dog, here. Would you please go over them with me?" The handsome Doctor looked a bit taken aback, but stammered out a "Sssure." He put the films back up on the light box and pointed and described and let me know what he saw. "Thank you." I said, holding my hand out "and, you are?" Now, I know I startled him, but he told me his name "I'm Dr. Drost"."Well, I appreciate it, Dr. Drost. I'll see you around!"

He was awfully cute. I decided to marry him.

WonderWoman

She looked really pretty. 100 years old, and as Jane said "Boy, that makeup stuff really works!" Someone had put a little lip gloss on my 100 year old grandmother. AND blue eyeshadow. Her hair was cut stylishly, a still thick and pretty silver and white. She was so cute, asking every so often "Is it my birthday?" And when told "Yes, Gram, you're 100 years old!" She would look aghast then shake her head in chagrin. Sister, Stephanie, got her singing, and she sang through the verses of "I've Been Working on the Railroad" Then, laughed at herself, and with pleasure. She ate a cookie and some cake, asked for another cookie, ate a few bites then put it down. "I don't want to get  fat!" - oh, pu-leeeze! She made the rounds of her guests, tickled baby Laney's toes and then announced she was tired and ready for bed. She waved goodbye, accepted kisses from her family and took her balloon strewn wheelchair off down the hallway, her little feet pulling her away. My Gram is WonderWoman.

 We then spent a wonderful evening with the family, all at my Aunt's ski house. Not quite stuffed to the gills, but pretty full with 15 of us sleeping there. Aunt Sib and cousins Jeff and Jane slept at the main house in town. The house is 4 stories of openness and with 8 kids- activity. Mostly we just wanted to be together. And in traveling from all over the country we achieved what Gram would've wanted most- her family sharing food and themselves under roof.  Sadly, in absentia was cousin Linda, her charming husband, and beehive of 5 kids. We were also short one husband- who stayed at home to bring home the bacon. Or, maybe just eat bacon. But we missed him too. What an amazing thing to all make such effort to be in the same room for less than a day. Still, so worth it.

I am always surprised by how much I love being with my cousins. I get to see so little of them, yet it is seconds before they are making me laugh, sometimes that hard, full laugh that makes your stomach ache and your cheeks hurt, gets you coughing and your eyes teary. How can I see so little of these people, when I enjoy them so much? Why are we living days apart? In my Gram's generation and before, we would've been in the same county. In the same town, maybe in the same house. Gram and Aunt Lib lived together in their old age until doing puzzles in the basement with Sonny, her cat, wasn't enough.  Lib went too far 'round the bend and had to go to the home. Aunt Velma lived at the old homestead with Uncle Ralph, until Ralph married that hussy, who kicked Velma out, waited for Ralph to die and sold the homestead without even informing the family to which it had belonged since, well, for a coupla hundred years anyway.  So, Velma moved in with Uncle Bill. They lived together, then went to the home together and made it well into their nineties. Uncle Carl- my Dad's cousin stayed around, Uncle Charlie, ( my only uncle)  my Dad's brother and Sib's husband lived next door to Gram until we sadly lost him to cancer a few years ago. But, our generation has stayed no where. We've moved. And now we call Connecticut, Virginia, Illinois, Georgia, Colorado and Ohio home. No overlaps.
We came home this afternoon to a cold house. Thankfully, it was such a warm weekend we did not return to frozen pipes. The house was cold because we were out of propane. We were out of propane because we had a leak. This was all sussed out and fixed before our late supper. So, now, heat is back on, hopefully, no propane leaks and no danger of open flames...who wants to light a candle?

Centennial

February 10th, 1911 Helen Ruth Fink was born, the youngest of three to a family with deep roots. My Gram is the tap root. She's the last one in the area from a blood line dating back to pre-Revolutionary war times. And now, my Gram is 100. 100 years. I've done 100 minutes, 100 days, 100 months.. all before I was nine. But Gram? She's 1200 months, or 36,501 days, or 52,561,440 or so minutes. 52 and 1/2 million. What does that mean? What has that 100 years bookended? Whoa. Well, a whole lotta cookies and knit wear. I'd know her writing anywhere, her cinnybuns are ledgendary, half my sweaters came off her knitting needles- and I'm not the only one, her fisherman's knit sweaters kept several generations warm, with enough knit to clothe a small country. This lady even knit bathing suits!  Her Christmas stockings are spread all over the United States, hung on mantles year after year. And, last week her beloved Steelers made it to the Superbowl again. She was a fresh faced 22 year old when Art Rooney started the Steelers franchise, and has been a devoted fan for the next 78 years.
Yes, she had some bad times in 100 years, life does that to you, but she's kinda like a tennis ball (yes round, no yellow) she might get pushed under the water, but she bounces to the surface again, cheerful and bobbing along. People have said to me I'm lucky to still have my Gram. I'm lucky to have EVER had my Gram. Thanks, Gram, for a lot of lessons on life lived well. And, Happy Birthday. When I grow up, I want to be a tennis ball.

Book 'em.

Marshmallows.
Maybe they worked.
Or, maybe it was the elderly duck egg, uncovered on Sunday by the chickens working on a pile of straw in the corner. Laid some time ago by the ducks, now all gone. I didn't want to break that one! But, I thought, it might be just interesting enough to get something non-feline and non- poultry into that trap. Whatever the enticement, the trial is swift, not of peers and no appeals. 
Sure enough, this morning, black and white and happily hanging out in his new crib, skunk #2.
I, on the other hand, was dressed in grey and blue, a jaunty pashmina around my neck, and chic leather short trench- ready for spending the day in the USDA office getting an APHIS Accreditation. I did not want my smell to precede me.
Bravely, I followed the example of Mike Faler, from Critter Control of Columbus and calmly picked up the trap and slowly carried it out of the barn, with it's cargo inside. I put the trap out in the morning sunshine, almost feeling the sun, and let the guy stay right there, with his nice bed of straw and a belly full of marshmallows and duck egg. When my barn chores were finished, I passed by the trap, happy to not be a bother to it's contents.
Mr. Faler kindly came by and picked up the little renegade. I was hoping we were done with this chapter of predator meets prey. Then, as our neighbor came down our lane this evening, she passed....a skunk. Sigh. Trap will have to remain set. It's breeding season for the stinkers.

Lazy Days

I am so enjoying these quiet, easy days of winter. Skidding my way up to the barn towing 50 pounds of grain each trip (to spread out the enjoyment, you see) battling 30 mph gusts and subzero temperatures in the fine February sunshine. I love the easy afternoons by the fire, also known as stopping without brakes while zooming around the countryside to piano, saxophone, flute, girl scouts, 4-H, Destination Imagination, STEMS (Science Tecnology Engineering Math), PSEO (Post Secondary Educational Opportunities) and work. (Huz does the boy scouts driving!) I love the meditation of creating fine meals- "Good News Everyone! Tonight we're having beets- to color our lives! Beets and.... let's see, what else have we got around here.....eggs!" And the time to plan the events of our family. Three birthday parties in two weeks, 100 years! 16 years! 10 years! Someone should at least get a cake. The poor Youngest has had his share of sub-par birthday celebrations, beginning with his first birthday, in which he was presented with a leftover school cupcake from Eldest's birthday earlier in the week, and had his picture taken. I think. This is because of all the extra time in winter, planning, enjoying, quiet, days of ease. Well, gotta go pick up kids from piano, keep fingers crossed that Youngest's Valentine's card making destroys as little as possible while I go "sit by the fire".... sure hope Huz meditates on a meal while I'm out!

Week 2, phase 1

I've entered week two of my attempt at balancing the workings of this body. I have done this before, with great success in my health, energy and strength and find that I can tell when it is time to re-balance. Things like 5 day long headaches tell me something is off! So, for many, this will be strange, mumbo-jumbo type stuff. For some of you, with chronic disease, you may find this to be old hat. For some of you, this might just be interesting. My sisters and I seem to all have some chronic disease(s). Some are worse than others, but all point out that the systems are not working to their full potential. For some diseases, medication is vital for life, in some cases, medication is of little help. For instance, if you are allergic to coconut, you don't' take a pill to enable you to eat coconut, you just don't eat coconut. This would be a chronic disease state for which medication would be unhelpful.
In my case, it seems medication does not help either. But controlling my diet, exercise and way I live does indeed help. A LOT. When the normal diet and exercise routine I follow is not enough, I re-balance.
For most people, I think they believe the diet too restrictive, the routine too difficult. But, like most things worthwhile, ease is not the primary objective. After one week, I am already feeling much better, sleeping like a rock, have energy to move mountains, and my senses are telling me what to avoid.
I know my body is already thanking me. My fingers are warm.

The details are numerous and pretty boring. Mostly, I am asked what I can eat. That may be most easily stated as what I cannot eat, as that leaves everything else! Off the list are meat, dairy (all animal products), alcohol, sugar, wheat, anything made with yeast, so no bread, no peanuts. I can eat most all vegetables, fruits and legumes, beans and raw nuts. I start the day (phase 1 and 2) with warm water and lemon. Then, eat fruit every half hour or so until lunchtime. I rebound (on a trampoline) in the morning. Also important are accupressure, relaxing baths and massage (that doesn't sound so bad- eh?) I drink a lot. Cranberry- unsweetened, non pasteurized, fresh juice, other fresh juice and lots of green tea. Water, water, water. There is a mess of herbs and vitamins I swallow, green food supplement, psyllium, pectin, digestive enzymes when I eat. The pile of green food tablets alone feel like a whole meal. It changes a little every phase. I will be done with Phase 1 soon, I think. Then, I move on to my lymphatics. Important little system of highways, the lymphatics are difficult to assess, so often overlooked. People understand when their lungs aren't working well- you can't breathe properly. If your joints hurt, if you're vomiting, if you have to pee every 12 minutes, it is easy to understand that something is off in a system. But what happens if your lymphatics are bungled? Those suckers are everywhere! So, when I've decided my kidneys and digestive system are about as good as they can get (my digestive system needs training wheels), I'll move on to that lymph system. Clean chyle, that's spring cleaning. Right now it's time for some kale juice. 

Slide, slide, slippety-slide

Still no tutorial from Huz, so still no pictures.
But, he did chip my car out of ice so I could go to work this morning.  Whatta guy!
I saw not another soul for the first 15 minutes of my drive. The roads looked terrible, but I didn't seem to slip much, so gained confidence (and speed) as I made the highway. As I turned off the highway and on to the beltway around TBC (The Big City), I was topping 55 miles per hour, folks! When I left the beltway a few miles later, I was going around 22. I counted 6 smash ups in that short space of road, and as each one occurred, the traffic slowed, wisely, then slowed some more. Just after I passed a main exit, there was a six car smasheroo that closed the highway for a while. I had clients running late all morning, and I was thankful they were just late! Oddly, we have more folks not show up for their appointments if it rains. Rain seems much more daunting to the general public than a total ice covering.
Success means making it to work, then home again. I am a success.

Making do on the farm.

Huz figured something out, he hooked up an old Apple laptop in place of my now, presumed defunct computer. I took a few pictures as the sun came up this morning. There is no wind! It is 8 degrees, and the sun makes everything look like it's iced with pink sugar. Winter mornings like this are a treasure. I can't wait to go back out when my fingers warm again. I can't seem to operate a camera wearing gloves.  I would love to share a few of the pictures, but have no clue where to start on getting them from my camera on to this blog via an Apple. Perhaps I can get a tutorial from Huz at some point. I can tell you that of the things I do know about Apple computers, I like the sound the keyboard makes better than my Dell's or Gateways. Maybe that is why they are used in the movies and television more often. They sound nice.
Now, as a tribute to the intrepid optimist I spotted yesterday in my wanderings. You, sir, deserve a Hymn. 

Hymn to the Comb-Over

by Wesley McNair

How the thickest of them erupt just   

above the ear, cresting in waves so stiff   

no wind can move them.   Let us praise them   

in all of their varieties, some skinny   

as the bands of headphones, some rising   

from a part that extends halfway around   

the head, others four or five strings   

stretched so taut the scalp resembles   

a musical instrument.   Let us praise the sprays   

that hold them, and the combs that coax   

such abundance to the front of the head   

in the mirror, the combers entirely forget   

the back.   And let us celebrate the combers,   

who address the old sorrow of time’s passing   

day after day, bringing out of the barrenness   

of mid-life this ridiculous and wonderful   

harvest, no wishful flag of hope, but, thick,   

or thin, the flag itself, unfurled for us all   

in subways, offices, and malls across America.

cRaSH!

i had hoped it was just the fault of great wind. but i am writing this from my cellular telephone as the computer had a major setback.

Skating uphill

This is a useful motion to be familiar with today at Cowfeathers. If you are outdoors, you will be skating. Youngest is out in the driveway and yard right now, skating around with the gander. I had a time getting uphill to the barn this morning, as skating seems to be best done on flat surfaces. You don't see "uphill skating" for a reason. Eventually, I skated down hill until I found a place with enough snow I could drive my boots into the surface of the snow and make some progress. The bare patches made it slow going. Our first ice of 2011. Watching  the gander learn the motion was interesting. At first, he'd get himself crosswise on the slope, and the down foot would start sliding until his thick underbelly would be touching the ice and his poor drumsticks were at odd angles. Then, he figured out that if he just aimed straight down the slope, he could gracefullly glide, switch feet, glide, switch feet, glide. He made it to grass, which is slightly better for him to dig in toenails. I have encouraged all the big animals to stay in the barn, to prevent a splaying of leg. Pretty certain horses don't skate well.
Welcome to February.