Nighttime in the Garden of Chicken Destruction

Or, night time in one of the gardens where chickens have spent the day deconstructing. I have given them half-hearted chase. Since the kitchen garden has yet to be planted, I did not fuss at them much, but they do absolutely ADORE anything new I do in a garden. If you mulch, they are right there to "distribute" the mulch, if you had plantings which the mulch had surrounded, they are quick to "trim" the plants. They will un-plant any new plantings in a trice. And, today, I put the straw down in the paths of the kitchen garden, and did not close the gate= invitation to destruction!

All that fluffy straw had been in neat and tidy flakes, packed down to suppress weeds.  Sigh. And, as you may note, only three of the four paths are straw packed. I did only two bales, and they went so far. The effort to go fetch another was too great. I am still in the invisible mud of grief that comes with loss.  April, you left a hole in my life greater than the ones the chickens persist in creating in my gardens.
So, I am in the garden, at my little cafe table near the Tuinhuis ( our garden house).  It is an attempt at a bit of (further) nature therapy. And, it is good.
I got on my horse for an hour this afternoon, equine therapy is wonderful. Balancing. Nelle, who had that horrible, near death experience and surgery at the end of 2016 is back under saddle, albeit lightly. She and I are getting on nicely, although I did ask the Lord to spare me from skittish Thoroughbreds today when she was clearly terrified of unseen monsters as we crossed the bridge she crosses everyday. And, after a nice ride remembered it as a potential hazardous threat on the way back to the barn as well.  Do you remember the scene in Bambi, when his legs go out in all directions on the ice? That is what Thoroughbreds do, intentionally, for no reason other than their brain screams "DANGER!" My best combat tools are "soft eyes", singing to her and being completely relaxed, which can be a challenge when 1100 lbs of horse is feeling fragile.
The Lord did not spare me the companionship of the Thoroughbred brain. But in his wisdom he threw me a biscuit and allowed Nelle to give me- for the first time- a really nice forward (and sideways-on purpose!) leg yield.
The mosquitos have arrived to shoo me back inside. And, remind me it is time to re-create the screened porch!
More nature therapy?

April, for you.

It's a warm, windy spring day at Cowfeathers, feeling like summer, but without the number of bugs that summer cultivates. My peonies and iris are blooming, but will suffer greatly today in the heat and drying winds. I know that, so I took a picture of the peonies this morning while it was still cool. They wanted to be cut and brought in to the house, but I just didn't feel like it.
I'm slogging through invisible mud.
So are many of my friends, as this Monday April's body was found.
I won't be cryptic about what happened. I always want to know how someone died, as if that knowledge could somehow save someone else I love. Maybe it can.
April was murdered by the man she loved, with a gun, in their home. He then drove to a nearby park and killed himself.
I haven't wanted to say anything about it. I haven't put anything on Facebook, or really responded much to the huge amount of grief pouring out from all of us, her friends and colleagues. I have not felt like I have the ownership of the grief like so many others. Her son, her family, her best friends. I am too peripheral to have a voice in this.
But, as I continue to move through the bare necessities of the day, changing sheets, dishes, stall cleaning, photo of peonies to remember them by, I realize that I was not her best friend, but that doesn't mean I did not love her, and I am not deeply sad. And angry.
April read this blog. She would've loved the last entry with the before pictures of the ruin that is now Cowfeathers. She followed the sagas of our horse dramas, and kid achievements and laughed at my ridiculous illustrations, both in this blog, and the ones I regularly scribble on paper towels in exam rooms to explain anatomy, or seizure thresholds or surgical repairs to my clients.
April was smart. She was a devoted young mother. For 15 years she drove me absolutely batty by telling me how much her stomach hurt, then sitting down to a lunch of Taco Bell, or chicken fingers. For the first few years, I sympathized with her about her angry digestive tract. For the next decade, I just sympathized with her angry digestive tract.
And she would have laughed at this token humor.
She laughed a lot.
No, I didn't see this coming. I don't know if anyone did. Unlike so many other women who tried to save themselves with useless restraining orders, if April had known this was about to happen to her, I think she would have saved herself, not with paper. She was that kind of woman.
When we started working together, she was a kid. I remember her painting the staff bathroom a soft blue and not enjoying the task. I expected her to find other employment after that, but she stayed and continued to work. Year after year, for the last few years often times as my assistant. She said that I had a keen sense of when she stepped away to do something else, that is when I would need her help!

I miss you, kid. Your dark brown eyes and dust of freckles, your swimsuit model body that belies your terrible food choices, your tenacity with your job, your love of your boy, your silliness, your devotion to that lemon of a Cane Corso- sweet, very sweet, but so defective! I love that you bought my expensive pasture-fed, fresh-from -the-chicken eggs for your dog, but ate icky store-bought white ones for yourself. Your laugh I will miss terribly. And, I can't believe that the time I creeped us both out on purpose, cracking us up, somehow became a treasured memory instead of just a funny joke.

How I wish it could have stayed a lark.

The Big Daddy of Before and Afters- Cowfeathers Farm from cow byre to feathered nest.

Interesting that my last posted blog was a re-do of a room. I like those entries, because I enjoy the process and the new life breathed into a room, home or space by effort and creativity.  Shortly after that blog I re-injured my back and spent some weeks coping with that mess, but I am mending, and returning to doing most of the things I enjoy in my life.
So, I wanted to share another re-do. A grand-daddy of a re-do. So much more than that, it was a restoration. 
A rebirth of an important place in my world, Cowfeathers Farm. When folks come to our home, many say "you did an amazing job with this place." For the people who knew it 30+ years ago, they are truly impressed with where we live because Cowfeathers had been left for dead. But it wasn't Huz and I who gave it resuscitation. We took a lovely home and made it our own, we have added on, redecorated and maintained, but we did not restore.
That leap was taken by a young couple in the mid 1980's. We had heard their names from the people we purchased from, and I had marked "Meet Tom and Leslie" on the bucket list of my life. I had contacted them once years ago, but all being busy, we never connected. Then, in late winter, they drove down the driveway on their way to The Big City. I was at work, but Youngest greeted them, and got their address. And I was thrilled! I couldn't wait to get them here and hear the stories of the resurrection of our little homeplace.
We found an evening, and they drove up from the town farther south where they now live, and brought themselves ( big gift!) and their stories and even photos.
One of the highlights of my spring to meet these lovely people and connect a little more history on our home.

This is Cowfeathers this spring, the view from the front gates.

And this is what that intrepid, optimistic couple saw from the road 30+ years ago.

The bones are all there, they just have some flesh on them now. But it took some real strength to get there!

 The barn today...

 And the barn in the mid 1980s.

Behind the main barn you can see another building that blew over in a storm more than 20 years ago.


The house today....

 And the house when it was saved from its neglected and abandoned state. The couple purchased it, and the day they closed arrived and sat in the drive, in their car and cried. There was not a thing about this place that said "move in". The depth of the project was, undoubtedly, terrifying. And they had never attacked a project of this magnitude before. They say the optimism born of naivety was soon blown away by reality. I loved the photos of where they started, and the wonderful photos of the true friends that showed up weekend after weekend to work. Hard. Cowfeathers was restored by blood, sweat, tears, hope and friendship.
The house had raccoons, cows, plenty of bats, legions of spiders, a really, really big snake and generations of mystery stirred in with 20 years of abandonment. It came with broken doors and windows, the ubiquitous plywood paneling and lots of possibility.

I would have been excited, and terrified too!

Inside was room after room of work. Painstaking work, as they were embarking on a restoration, not a renovation. So they worked hard to make the home liveable without losing the original character.
This photo of the front stairs is a good example.
The walls are damaged, peeling, cracking and very dirty. the floors are there, but there is dirt, cowpoop, and who knows what on and under the glued on treads.

The same views of the front stairs, taken today.

Every inch of the house needed care, and thought and restoration!

Check out the "kitchen" upon purchase in the 80s. the fire place has been bricked up, and there is a metal shelf on the wall. Otherwise, it is the same today. The fireplace has been restored, and the window on the right of the photo now opens up into our sunroom.

We love our home. And, I have always appreciated the people who didn't let it fall down. I am so grateful to now know them! I look forward to having them back, as often as they can come, to enjoy this place they put themselves into, allowing us to do the same years later. What a joy to have them see their work is well loved. Tom and his friend opened up the fireplace. Tom created the gorgeous mantle that is there now, with this soft curve along the top. I am glad to know that!  And thankful to be the current steward of Cowfeathers Farm. I hope it is loved and lived in for many generations to come.