Riding Sam

Today was a great day! It was so because I went riding. This hasn't happened in more than a month. Christmas took over our lives a month ago, and then I hurt my back again, so no riding. But now the steroids are over, and I don't feel pain in the disc just standing, sitting, breathing. So, I want to ride. But, yikes! With my spine still in a somewhat fragile state, and both Oslo and Samantha unridden now, for weeks, and it being cold (which for non-horse people translates into frisky horses) I will have to be brave, and trust one of them to let me escape without paralysis. Now, Sam is for sale. Not that anyone really knows this. It isn't a secret, per se, but not exacly publicized either. Peaches is for sale, too. And, last Friday, I leapt a bit and listed her on a local internet Craigslist. I have gotten a few nice inquiries about Peach, and another from a girl who is looking for a horse, just like Sam. So, I told her family about Samantha. She is wanting to see Sam, and I want her to see and ride Sam, too. But, to be fair to Sam, it would be more practical for her to be ridden once or twice before we expect her to be perfect.

On top of all that, I seem to have encountered GI fragility too.... but the urge to ride is strong. So, today, I decided to forgo eating until I had ridden. I did my morning errands, and tacked Sam up by 1. And, off we went. Now, two years ago, I wouldn't have worried a bit about getting on Sam, in the winter, in the wind, with a wackadoo lumbar disc, but I haven't really ridden her since...hmmm... let's see... autumn 2010? And who knows what she's thinking now?
But off we went, me determined to:
1) make it home on top of the horse
2) not acquire frost bite
3) Enjoy this overcast, grey winter day on top of my trusty blonde mare

And, all three goals, accomplished. We went "around the block" which is about a 5 mile trek down our road, then a dirt road, then a country road, then another country road and back to our road, about 1.5 miles from our drive. It includes going over 2 bridges, 3 scary culverts and past several fields of curious cows. One house with about 15 huntin'dogs in kennels on chains, two houses with unfettered dogs sporting raised hackles and suspicious eyes, and a large pole barn being erected by growling machines. For the first half mile or so, we had a few spicy moments, but nothing I would've put much note in had my first goal not been in place. It wasn't like she was attempting "airs" a la the Spanish Riding School:

 More like swatting at horse flies. Still,  the downside of riding in January might be frost bitten fingers, but the upside is no flies. 
But, after we got moving a bit, we had so much fun! We arrived back home just after the bus- which means we also were passed by the bus- again, no problem. And after the last bridge, I let go of the reins, let her stretch her head and neck way out and saunter back home. Lovely.

Cheesy Demo

Youngest is so much fun, and a character. This is a picture of him presenting his science project to our 4-H club for his Demonstration. Each 4-H member does a Demonstration, it is a talk in front of the club about something. His project was titled "Cheese to Please". He had made cheese from 4 milks with different milk fat content, and weighed them and had a taste test to determine if people liked high milk fat content cheeses better than low milk fat content cheeses.
The fun part about this photo, is Youngest himself. Note his efforts in the collar and sweater department, but then add mud covered, too large boots, with indiscriminate pant placement. Plus, I can almost guarantee his zipper is not up.
Then the poster. The "s" in "Please" fell off, but no worries, he's taken a marker and filled that right in. The grass on the bottom of the poster, beneath the cows is also falling off, but he took a few minutes at the beginning of the talk to try to get it to lean up properly on the poster. It didn't work. The clouds on the poster are filled with his materials, methods, graphs, hypotheses, data and conclusion. It's all there, and he is filled with enthusiasm for the clouds contents. He reads one item from the poster, then pauses, smiles and peers around the room at the crowd as if to gage their amazement. Certainly stretches out the process of reading data. I could watch him for hours.
All he needs is a bit of polish, and Youngest will be an accomplished public speaker.

Average Purple Morning.

To me, this looks an awful lot like Middlest on a sled with a dog, if one was wearing purple lensed glasses. In truth it is yours truly, many years ago, when the world was purple.
When I look at this photo, I see many things, but one of them is my mother. Who isn't in the photo, because as mothers the world 'round, since the invention of the portable camera, stand behind it with it crushed against their cheek, squinting at their children. Or, now, I suppose, hold it at arms length, trying to see life through the 1.5" LCD screen in the glare of sunshine. Mom, you did well to capture things of everyday childhood. There are pictures of graduations and Christmas morning and prom and stuff too, but days like the picture above, though special, weren't unusual. Dad would've gotten up in the middle of the night to plow our driveway with his little Bolens lawn tractor, I believe I once posted a picture of him thus. He would then have made his way through the white Connecticut woods to work on mostly plowed roads. Or perhaps not. Maybe this is a weekend, because the light looks like morning light, and I would've been in school if it were a weekday. Barn chores would have been finished in the barn to the left outside the photo. In fact, I would guess Frosty is hanging over the fence there watching me sled. April, the Cocker Spaniel,  would have walked to the top of the drive, and waited for me to get on the sled before stepping into my lap and settling herself for a ride. At the bottom she would dismount and make her dignified way to the top of the hill again for another run. Blossom, the black dog in motion, would've chased us down the hill grabbing at the back of my coat and barking. All on an average purple winter morning in 1982.

Application Education

I'll admit, perhaps I've been a little too "hands off" in my approach to my girl's educations. They are both self motivated and responsible about getting their work done. I don't now, and never have, had to check that assignments were completed, or they had "read for 20 minutes" a night. If  they had read for less than an hour it would've been unprecedented. Instead, it is mostly me saying "time to stop reading", or "you need to put down the book and pick up your room".  I'll even admit if they shove something under my nose in the early morning dark and say "sign this". I make a cursory effort at making sure I'm not signing a note "Eldest has my permission to miss school today, or really any day she feels like it." But it is dark, and honestly, she points, I scribble.
When Eldest was in seventh grade, her Newly Minted Teacher had the idea that we should observe our children reading for a half hour each day. We were to watch them read (I imagine sitting across from her, on the couch, drinking a glass of chardonnay, and seeing if her lips move?)  and then sign that we had observed them reading, to be sure they'd done so.  To be fair, this is perhaps a wonderful idea for some students and their chardonnay swilling lucky parents. But, as Pride and Prejudice was already in the rear view mirror at this point for Eldest, and weekly trips to the library yielded the daily diet of a novel, I felt my time was perhaps better spent in other pursuits. I signed the entire year of observations with a signature, a time line arrow to infinity and sent it back to school, satisfied that I'd fulfilled that obligation. Newly Minted Teacher was unhappy.  He and I had one more tussle a bit later in the year over a Composition Book (he assigned one to be brought in the following day, I emailed that I would be sure to acquire one the next time I was in town, he emailed back that they are on sale in S. Bloomfield, I responded that S. Bloomfield is a 37 minute drive each way from Cowfeathers, and I was unwilling to buy a $0.99 Composition Book with $12.00 in gas, but that I was planning to drive to town later this week. He replied that it was a shame Madeleine's mother didn't believe in her education. This was an error.) But, still, she finished 7th grade quite handily despite my lack of  educational support. And by the time Middlest made it to New Mint's class, he had learned to give us lead time on acquiring supplies. I also never saw a sheet requiring me to watch her read. But it may be that it just didn't make it into her possession.
I point this all out, because, I have found my hands.
This week has been an effort in "hands ON" approach with Eldest. Not with schoolwork. That still goes quite well ( I assume. She waves her report card under my nose in the dark, and I sign it.). This new approach is for Applications. "Applications" is a word that deserves a capital. For, the annoying beasts are, in truth, quite important. You have to learn how to do Applications, just as you need to learn how to take a standardized test. And, as Eldest is a high school junior these days the real hour is near when Applications will be taking center stage and the vehicle for taking her on into the great big world.
So, it is certainly time to learn this skill. Now, our victim this week has been the Achievement Record Application for 4-H. This is how you apply for certain recognitions, camp and trip scholarships and awards from your accomplishments in 4-H. It is a wonderful difficulty, causing consternation, exclamations and great drama. It even includes the dread Essay.
It is a suitably pig headed Application, with inflexible word processing rules known only to the Application, thus things will randomly be in BOLD, or  the lower half the words will become invisible. Wonderful stuff. Also, seemingly, there is no "cut and paste" from other sources. Eldest has done this Application twice before, but you have to retype everything! Delicious.
I must mention that the previous two attempts at this Application have been done under my tradition educational principles. So, Eldest has had some experience at slogging out Applications solo.
This time, it was time to crack my knuckles, pull up a chair next to her and try my new approach.
"Instead of 'Helping teach' write 'Coached'."
"It says 'Chairperson Member Mentor Committee' but what did you do? That is what I want to know. So, after that what can you write? Use action words like, 'developed, organized, coordinated, created...'."
Line after line. Eyeball roll upon eyeball roll.
And, perhaps she finally understands the value of revision? Her essay, first attempt, was a good first attempt. As something to actually hand in for an Application? Rubbish. But that is what revision is about! Huz, who reads A LOT of applications as part of his job, as well as writes Applications as part of his job, sat down with the essay and did a lot of fancy computer stuff that sat off to the side with suggestions on what to clarify, and how to arrange paragraphs. Kind of like using a red pen, but without the pen. This incensed Eldest. I think she felt insulted that what left her fingers was not, originally,  a final product. After she did some excellent stomping, I explained to her that successful Applications are revised, even her Dad doesn't hand in an Application without having other people review and revise it. Ever. She managed to slog her way through revisions, and even admit it is a better essay now.
So, this Application is submitted today. The torture is over for a bit. Application Season is just around the corner. But, for this, I don't suppose by the time she is accomplished enough at the skill to just wave it under my nose in the dark to be signed, my signature will be needed at all. Brilliant and terrifying.

Snowfeathers Farm

There is a particular way in which snow falls at Cowfeathers.
Inside.
I affectionately call it "Snowfeathers". It keeps me from despair.

Inside the loft.
Yes, on the beam at the bottom of the photo, are my handprints from climbing into the hay loft.

In hay loft.

In Mike's stall.

Outside the barn.

Pretty much equal.
Anyone want to come help shovel the attic?
I "luuuuv" winter.

Garden Catalogue Month

The Border Garden, 2 winters ago. It is amazing how much bigger it ahs all become!

So, it is garden catalogue time. I think January might be the official month of the garden catalogue, as December is the month of the everyconcievablecatalogue. This is the month in which you sit in front of the roaring fire while the wind howls outside, and your garden gives up with shivering and just plain ol' goes to sleep. Well, I suppose the zone fortunate, in the lower half of our country can still do some gardening here and there. But here in the great white, (which isn't white atall atall) it just isn't done. My neighbor was able to pull and can some beets right into December, which he then presented to me as a wonderful Christmas present of bounty, but mostly, gardeners are sitting next to the idyllic fire with their catalogues, dreaming of what will be.
And, I am most easily seduced. I love the nostalgic vintage drawings in the Shumways catalogue, violets and seed packets, and hand pushed garden tillers. The thick, large rectangle of the Jung Seeds Catalogue  with veggie choices like Danish Ballhead Cabbage and Lutz Green Leaf Beets, herbs and seductive sentences like "Enjoy all-summer color from this fragrant reblooming lilac!" and names like "Rasberry Truffle Echinacea".  The Johnny Seeds is my favorite. I have the best luck with their products, and so hang back from looking at that one. Because when I get to Johnny's, then I actually end up planning. Which is ever so much more work than dreaming.
Brent and Becky's Bulbs. Again, planted with great success in the past, this catalogue is a dreaming one, because I rarely spring for the investment it takes for a show with Brent and Becky. I tend to dabble around the edges, purchasing bulbs from Lowe's, and then noticing that 80% never peek up in the spring. Every few years I get disgusted and order a large whack of amazing bulbs that then perform for years. And it is good.
The problem is that all this lying about in front of the fire lands me in the same place; with a new garden being born in about 5 months. I need to use garden birth control in January. I start dreaming, and before I know it, Oops, I've done it again. But like other births, the new ones aren't the only ones needing attention. The weeding, trimming, clipping, fertilizing, bug picking, mulching, staking all need to be done for my older babies as well. The Beans need a new trellis this year, and don't get me started on the cost of proper cages for the Tomatoes! The border garden needs to have rearranging done, and I have allowed my Zephrine Drouhin Climbing Rose to get completely out of control. I'm not sure how I'm going to deal with her when I have a young'un all ready to be dug and planted.
So, this year, I am going to attempt to limit myself to a rehabilitation, and no new beds. The rehabilitation effort is aimed at the northeast bed of the Anniversary Garden. It is thus named, as the previous homeowners had this garden designed and constructed as an Anniversary present. It has morphed here and there since we moved to Cowfeathers, but that particular quadrant has not had much fussing done. I have put some herbs in it, but mostly I have let it be. It had a somewhat anemic buddhelia, but mostly had become a bed of hardy purple echinicea- with one lavendar too elderly to be beautiful.  Until about 3 years ago, when I started noticing what I call "bind weed" popping up here and there in that bed. This particular weed has my number. I have no clue how to get rid of it. and as it choked most everything out last year, I finally gave up and pulled everything out of that garden, save for the boxwoods that anchor the space. Now, I couldn't face having a totally naked quadrant, so Brent and Becky helped me out, along with Youngest. He dug the holes and in went a whole passel of tulips, and a few giant alliums. Those will come up in the spring, and then, the possibilities are endless! I will concentrate all my dreaming on this one quadrant. That and the veggie gardens....
Control.
Control.

The Anniversary Garden in winter.

Six Hours

This is the "After" photo.  I have to mention, I'm a very senimental gal. The rope bed is a family antique, the little roll top desk was a garage sale find, by my mother, in the early 70's. She refinished it, and it was my sister's, then mine. The hook rug was fashioned by my  mother when she was in high school. The Lite Brite on the sill, was mine as a child, one of my favorite toys. And the painting over the fireplace is a watercolor by me, of our local county fair.

This is a blog post written as a team, by me (as usual) and with input from my son, Youngest. The reason he is co-writing this post, is it is about his stuff.
I'm calling the post "Six Hours" because that is the amount of concentrated time it took for our team to uncover his floor.
"It's Clean! That means there isn't a lot on the floor." Also, he adds "I love Cheese." This has become his most common utterance in the last few weeks. I think because it is so.
"I like having  clean room better because I can play in it and do my homework. I makes me feel good.
When my room is dirty I feel like I don't want to be in it. I don't feel like it is a nice room.
The best thing about having a clean room is I want to spend time in it, and it is nice when I go to bed. I'm going to keep it clean and pick it up every night. "
"Do you promise?" (That is me, in a very hopeful voice).
"It's a medium promise."
I guess that's all I can hope for....

This is a "Before" photo. Yep. You might be saying "ONLY 6 hours?" And I would have to say that miracles do happen.

The first mouse of '12

I killed a mouse this morning.
Well, it may have been last night. In any case, upon coming downstairs this morning, I could see that it was dead.
This is no surprise. I may be a veterinarian, but unlike my friend, Lyn, I am not a catch and release mouser.
I have two traps set 365 days a year on either side of the stove, pushed way to the back, nearly tucked behind. They are deadly and not frightening to use, unlike the old wooden kind where you hazarded a broken finger every time you set the wire killer piece balanced precariously on the little wire arm. . Ortho makes my plastic harbingers of mousey death.
When we first moved to Cowfeathers, the mice had been enjoying a rather cush deal. Just yards from the back of our kitchen is a corn field. The little brown critters would have a fine fall eating bits of corn, and then when it turned cold, would come live in our house. I am definitely in the "Ick" camp when it comes to living with mice. But, the kitchen was old, and the walls were poor defense against mice.
In 2007, we put an addition on to the house, and I took that opportunity to put windows in the west wall of the kitchen, over the sink and facing the cornfield. I ripped off the old drywall (it had been done in the mid-eighties last) to reveal the bones of a wall with a few pitiful wilted spits of insulation meant for insulating homes in San Francisco. That, and many nests from the icky brown beasts. Suddenly, it made perfect sense, both why we had happy mice, and why our kitchen topped out at about 42 degrees all winter and we had to keep the water dripping from November through May.
So, I invested in a large bag of steel wool and then a whole bunch of insulation.

In this photo from 20007, I was painting the kitchen floor. You can see the sanded brown parts I haven't gotten to yet. On the left of the photo is Middlest and Youngest, banned from the kitchen. You can see my new, light filled windows and the sink stand I built with Kendra, holding the old sink from my Middlest Sister's renovated farm house, as well as appliances. Now, to the left of the windows, you can see the drywall is not finished above the stove. You can see the cross piece of ancient framing, and in between the studs- beautiful insulation. Our kitchen now holds around 60 degrees all winter! Okay, if it is really cold and the wind is high, it needs to have some cooking being done to reach 60. But, still. For those who have not had battles with the Mouse King, the steel wool is to shove in every nook and cranny you can find. The mice don't like to chew through the steel. Useful tip, eh?

And, the drywall did get finished. Here is Youngest putting some up next to the kitchen stairs.
The steel wool has mostly done it's job, and the mice stay out of the kitchen, except for the occasional creature who will climb up the back of the stove and poke his head out for a nice little dish of peanut butter. Ew.
Thank you Ortho, for your help.

Winter Ponies!

Winter Ponies! The boys, Mike(below)

  and Oslo got brand new heavyweight blankets this year, and we broke them out for the onset of real winter temperatures last night. As you can see in Oslo's photo (below)  it is snowing, in typical, vicious, horizontal, Ohio fashion. As you might note, I use the term "ponies" loosely, as none of them are actual ponies ( which would designate them to be 14.2hh or less. A "hh" is short for "hand" which is a horseman's measurement equaling 4 inches. A horse's height is measured from the ground to the top of the withers, which is where the neck meets the back.) In fact, Oslo's blanket is the largest one made for the commercial market, at 84" from chest to tail- certainly not used for many ponies. That would be a really stout pony.

Sammie got her old blanket back. In fine shape, and plenty warm for the winter. Peaches, also got her old blanket back on, but I didn't get her picture. Just so you know, she's warm too. And for those who are wondering what Mike has on his head, it is a cribbing strap. Mike, you see, is a Thoroughbred, and some of the breed tend to be a bit high strung. He is one. He does not sit still. And, when he eats, as well as other times of day, but particularly then, he want to put his front teeth on a horizontal surface, draw backward and suck in air. This is good neither for him, nor the surface. It is called "cribbing" in horse parlay, and to be discouraged. The strap makes it difficult for him to tuck his chin and pull in air. I have to say, we can leave the strap off him for long periods of time now, as he is getting more settled here at Cowfeathers, and doesn't fall back on the habit as often.

Now, if the darn mud would just freeze completely!

Pictoral Holiday- if'n you're not a grandparent, not too interesting...

Pre-church Christmas Eve Photo Session!
My kids are really good sports about this kind of thing, and I am grateful. I have a few treasured photos from the time in my life when I was still a girl living at home with my parents, getting gussied up for Christmas Eve and having a photo. My favorite is the one of my two sisters and me with our Grandfather, circa 1980. You can never go back, so better record it when it happens.

No Grandfather here this holiday, but we did get pictures of our wonderful children!

I thought this one is informative for those of you who don't see us everyday. I'm the one in the middle. No longer the tallest gal.

Daddy and his daughters. I LOVE this picture!

Momma and son. (He's still shorter than me... tune in next year for an update)

Me and Huz. Prom Picture 2011.

 New Years Day! Since 2002 we have had an open house for our neighbors to mark the start of the New Year. Lots of food and a house full of friends is a nice way to start a year.

Middlest was integral in getting the table done for our annual New Year's Day Neighborhood Open House.

For a centerpiece, she used paperwhites in a glass cylinder, and our "sheep trees", these are cones covered in wool from our sheep. I love them. She added a pair of crystal birds that were my Grandmother's, and tucked a little white tin church under the trees.

Our Christmas Tree becomes the Resolution Tree. You write your resolution on a card and place it on the tree. They come back each year, and the tree has hundreds of cards on it now.

From the youngest...

To the eldest.

I neither prompted this picture, nor shot the photo. It warms my heart that these three chose to inhabit same-space voluntarily!