Today's entry is a marked departure from the last. But then, life is full of surprises and complexity. If you're at all curious, come join me at 91-1 for an explanation of the above photo.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Gratitude Attitude
Today's entry is a marked departure from the last. But then, life is full of surprises and complexity. If you're at all curious, come join me at 91-1 for an explanation of the above photo.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Rifles and hunters and deer, oh my!
"The frost is on the pumpkin
the goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in an old man's hat."
Don't you just love fall? It ushers in a jumble of family holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Deer Season...
In this part of the Frozen North, Deer Season is a serious enough holiday that it rates a day off from school. That's because nothing spells family time like hunkering down together in the early morning cold and damp, clutching your high powered deer assault weapon and waiting for the first sign of Bambi's mom. Ahhhh, the smell of gunpowder...
Last year I actually purchased a deer license. Of course, nothing ever came of it because I don't have a rifle or a clue what to do with Bambi's mom after she lays lifeless at my feet. I just wanted to experience the thrill of looking through the Hunting and Trapping Digest with my fellow citizens.
If you are proficient in all sorts of weaponry you could probably hunt for something year round. People in the Frozen North take their right to bear arms seriously. That, and glow in the dark orange vests. (they're not just for construction workers anymore!)
Since we have fields around Iron Acres, I am well acquainted with hunters. A neighbor down the road once told me she caught one leaning against the backside of her house getting reading to pull the trigger on the deer that come to her backyard feeder. I take a certain delight in imagining her chasing off Rambo with her kitchen broom!
I understand the problem with deer overpopulation in Pennsylvania--they make messy speed bumps. I also understand the desire to take care of your family by putting some meat in the freezer.
What I don't like is being awakened in the wee hours of a fall morning by the sound of rapid gunfire close by, wondering if some overzealous newbie wielding a shiny, new, high-powered rifle whose potential trajectory can cover several miles has mistaken my geese, dog, or house for a deer!
the goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in an old man's hat."
Don't you just love fall? It ushers in a jumble of family holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Deer Season...
In this part of the Frozen North, Deer Season is a serious enough holiday that it rates a day off from school. That's because nothing spells family time like hunkering down together in the early morning cold and damp, clutching your high powered deer assault weapon and waiting for the first sign of Bambi's mom. Ahhhh, the smell of gunpowder...
Last year I actually purchased a deer license. Of course, nothing ever came of it because I don't have a rifle or a clue what to do with Bambi's mom after she lays lifeless at my feet. I just wanted to experience the thrill of looking through the Hunting and Trapping Digest with my fellow citizens.
If you are proficient in all sorts of weaponry you could probably hunt for something year round. People in the Frozen North take their right to bear arms seriously. That, and glow in the dark orange vests. (they're not just for construction workers anymore!)
Since we have fields around Iron Acres, I am well acquainted with hunters. A neighbor down the road once told me she caught one leaning against the backside of her house getting reading to pull the trigger on the deer that come to her backyard feeder. I take a certain delight in imagining her chasing off Rambo with her kitchen broom!
I understand the problem with deer overpopulation in Pennsylvania--they make messy speed bumps. I also understand the desire to take care of your family by putting some meat in the freezer.
What I don't like is being awakened in the wee hours of a fall morning by the sound of rapid gunfire close by, wondering if some overzealous newbie wielding a shiny, new, high-powered rifle whose potential trajectory can cover several miles has mistaken my geese, dog, or house for a deer!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Farm Memories: Drunk and Giving Birth
The leaves are falling, the sun is setting sooner, the cold is settling in blankets of morning fog here in the Frozen North. The long winter nights give rise to memories of days gone by...
It was almost midnight and I was in the barn alone with my first goat about to give birth. Uh, let me make that perfectly clear. The goat was giving birth, not me.
I was well acquainted with the process firsthand from a human standpoint, having borne three children of my own "naturally". One would think that after the first time I would have insisted on heavy duty drugs and lots of them, but no-o-o-o, this was the seventies, gosh darn it, and the natural way was better for my babies. Thank you for listening...now where was I? Oh yes, the goat, not me, was about to give birth.
It was both thrilling and humbling that this particular goat, the herd queen, seemed to desire my presence. She was still hours from the event, but experiencing some discomfort and that wisdom of what is to come that animals are gifted with, when I heard a loud rustling sound out in the pasture.
Was it a pack of coyotes waiting to devour the helpless animal babies about to be born? I scanned the stall for something to use as a weapon to defend both doe and kid, but the ever present manure shovel was nowhere to be found. As my eyes stared into the blackness I began to see a human form. A male human form. My concern for the goat's safety shifted to concern for my own. (Where WAS that manure shovel?)
About twenty feet away from the maternity stall, a confused individual appeared from the middle of the fenced pasture, weaving toward the fenceline. He saw me in the light of the barn and asked, "Is this thing on?" (refering to the electric fence which at that moment just happened to be turned off.) I found myself wishing I could say, "Yes it is, and if you touch it both you and your unborn children and grandchildren will feel it." But all I managed was a startled "No", and watched him struggle through the wires and stumble on his way toward the road.
I drew a deep breath and turned my attention back to the mom to be. Marie bore twin kids that night without complication, and I became a genuine goat midwife.
But 17 years later, the question still remains. Where did our inebriated visitor come from? And where was he going? Behind the pasture was acres of woods, beyond the fence was a lonely country road.
I suppose that is just one of the "perks" of living in the country. One never knows who is going to stop by.
Another is horses running wild on the road, but that's a story for another day.
It was almost midnight and I was in the barn alone with my first goat about to give birth. Uh, let me make that perfectly clear. The goat was giving birth, not me.
I was well acquainted with the process firsthand from a human standpoint, having borne three children of my own "naturally". One would think that after the first time I would have insisted on heavy duty drugs and lots of them, but no-o-o-o, this was the seventies, gosh darn it, and the natural way was better for my babies. Thank you for listening...now where was I? Oh yes, the goat, not me, was about to give birth.
It was both thrilling and humbling that this particular goat, the herd queen, seemed to desire my presence. She was still hours from the event, but experiencing some discomfort and that wisdom of what is to come that animals are gifted with, when I heard a loud rustling sound out in the pasture.
Was it a pack of coyotes waiting to devour the helpless animal babies about to be born? I scanned the stall for something to use as a weapon to defend both doe and kid, but the ever present manure shovel was nowhere to be found. As my eyes stared into the blackness I began to see a human form. A male human form. My concern for the goat's safety shifted to concern for my own. (Where WAS that manure shovel?)
About twenty feet away from the maternity stall, a confused individual appeared from the middle of the fenced pasture, weaving toward the fenceline. He saw me in the light of the barn and asked, "Is this thing on?" (refering to the electric fence which at that moment just happened to be turned off.) I found myself wishing I could say, "Yes it is, and if you touch it both you and your unborn children and grandchildren will feel it." But all I managed was a startled "No", and watched him struggle through the wires and stumble on his way toward the road.
I drew a deep breath and turned my attention back to the mom to be. Marie bore twin kids that night without complication, and I became a genuine goat midwife.
But 17 years later, the question still remains. Where did our inebriated visitor come from? And where was he going? Behind the pasture was acres of woods, beyond the fence was a lonely country road.
I suppose that is just one of the "perks" of living in the country. One never knows who is going to stop by.
Another is horses running wild on the road, but that's a story for another day.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The Road to Winter
The road to winter is paved with ripening cornfields...
foggy mornings...
beautiful sunrises...
chameleon leaves shedding summer's green.
The road to winter is paved with brilliant trees...
brooding skies...
red rose hips...
and leaf strewn streams.
The road to winter leads to home, cozy winter fires, warm family gatherings and time to dream...
foggy mornings...
beautiful sunrises...
chameleon leaves shedding summer's green.
The road to winter is paved with brilliant trees...
brooding skies...
red rose hips...
and leaf strewn streams.
The road to winter leads to home, cozy winter fires, warm family gatherings and time to dream...
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Goodnight Moon
The day began with a pale moon skirted by pink clouds...
... and a shy sunrise.
Down the road, a neighbor's ripening soybean field was changing colors along with the leaves.
The sun and blue sky was a welcome change from the typical gray of fall.
Yes, it was a beautiful day in the neighborhood. And the day's beauty continued with the lengthening shadows across the corn field.
And the setting sun...
...made way for the harvest moon.
Goodnight sky, goodnight leaves, goodnight soybeans, goodnight field, goodnight corn, goodnight farm, goodnight moon.
... and a shy sunrise.
Down the road, a neighbor's ripening soybean field was changing colors along with the leaves.
The sun and blue sky was a welcome change from the typical gray of fall.
Yes, it was a beautiful day in the neighborhood. And the day's beauty continued with the lengthening shadows across the corn field.
And the setting sun...
...made way for the harvest moon.
Goodnight sky, goodnight leaves, goodnight soybeans, goodnight field, goodnight corn, goodnight farm, goodnight moon.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Saturday Sillies: Locust Theatre Presents -- The Princess Bride
Thank you Rob Reiner and William Goldman for one of my favorite movies. Please forgive me for the liberties I am about to take with it...
"Has it got any sports in it?"
"Farm boy, get me that pitcher!"
"As you wish"
“Do you want me to send you back to where you were... unemployed... in GREENLAND?!”
“INCONCEIVABLE!”
“You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never to get involved in a land war in Asia. And only slightly less well known is this: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”
“Mawwage is what bwings us togwether today....”
"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!!"
There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C. ... (before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy...Well, this one left them all behind.
Locust Theatre Presents "The Princess Bride"
"Has it got any sports in it?"
"Farm boy, get me that pitcher!"
"As you wish"
“Do you want me to send you back to where you were... unemployed... in GREENLAND?!”
“INCONCEIVABLE!”
“You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never to get involved in a land war in Asia. And only slightly less well known is this: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”
“Mawwage is what bwings us togwether today....”
"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!!"
There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C. ... (before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy...Well, this one left them all behind.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Gathering
The cooler weather that signals fall's approach brought billows of fog to Iron Acres yesterday morning. The dew on this cobweb testifies that fall's friend, winter, will not be far behind.
On the way home from work, I spied busy farmers mowing fields and gathering in the last cutting of hay.
A neighbor's farm is experiencing an explosion in the poultry population. Mother hens are gathering their newly hatched chicks underneath them in barn and barnyard.
Honeybees and bumble bees are buzzing 'round the goldenrod, gathering nectar and pollen for winter food.
All too soon the blue sky will be robed in winter gray.
So I too am gathering...memories of precious Sprittles on sunny beaches, brilliant butterflies on flowering Texas sage, summer warmth and green, family times together. I'm wrapping them all in lavender wands to pull out on the bleak days ahead to remind me... of the spring to come.
On the way home from work, I spied busy farmers mowing fields and gathering in the last cutting of hay.
A neighbor's farm is experiencing an explosion in the poultry population. Mother hens are gathering their newly hatched chicks underneath them in barn and barnyard.
Honeybees and bumble bees are buzzing 'round the goldenrod, gathering nectar and pollen for winter food.
All too soon the blue sky will be robed in winter gray.
So I too am gathering...memories of precious Sprittles on sunny beaches, brilliant butterflies on flowering Texas sage, summer warmth and green, family times together. I'm wrapping them all in lavender wands to pull out on the bleak days ahead to remind me... of the spring to come.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Letting Go
I will admit to being a pack rat, a habit I'm trying to change.
Stuff binds us.
Although I know there is more peace, more freedom with less, I still have a problem letting go, learning that it's the memory, not the thing itself, that is worth holding onto.
This was my ancestral home in Texas, a picture taken by my Dad, an amateur photographer, the year of the great snow in Houston (his shadow is in the bottom center of the photo.) It is the house Mom and Dad built as newlyweds, the home they held onto when times were hard, the place where they raised two independent, "cotton pickin' brats", (as Dad lovingly referred to my younger sister and myself) their shelter as they grew old together.
The garage in whose darkroom corner I watched pictures appear magically on photo paper is no longer there, a victim of a tree thrown by Ike's raging winds. Only a beaten, cracked concrete slab bears testimony that it once existed.
That, and my memory.
In the house, the closet, which my sister and I shared along with a tiny bedroom, bears dated penciled lines that grew with us. We discussed rescuing the molding, that family heirloom chronicling our lives, but we have so much already.
Rich memories of Dad returning from a weary day looking for a job, yet taking time to crawl on hands and knees from the living room to our bedroom, gently carrying the pretend cowgirls on their pretend horse.
The wonderful smell of fresh bread baking in the old O'Keefe and Merritt gas range in the kitchen. Mom was not a great cook, but she did some serious baking on that stove, especially at Christmas.
Oh, the Christmas mornings, meals around the small kitchen table, practical jokes, laughter, tears. Sights and sounds and smells rush back into my mind.
The fireplug we gingerly played on and around. No ordinary fireplug, it served as a cow for roping practice, a crow's nest from which to view new worlds to conquer, a place to sit and contemplate life.
Yesterday, at 3:30 in the afternoon, the deed to that house passed into the hands of someone else. This little house, our childhood ark, our legacy, was sold, the key turned in the old lock for the last time and surrendered to the new owner.
Perhaps they will make memories of their own, add several coats of new paint, repair old tile and flooring. Perhaps they will demolish the house and start all over.
I do know this, it was a great place to spend my childhood. A cup full of experience and love. Memories I will pass on to my children, and my children's children.
Memories too precious to let go.
(Thank you, Principessa, for the pictures of the magical fireplug and back door.)
Stuff binds us.
Although I know there is more peace, more freedom with less, I still have a problem letting go, learning that it's the memory, not the thing itself, that is worth holding onto.
This was my ancestral home in Texas, a picture taken by my Dad, an amateur photographer, the year of the great snow in Houston (his shadow is in the bottom center of the photo.) It is the house Mom and Dad built as newlyweds, the home they held onto when times were hard, the place where they raised two independent, "cotton pickin' brats", (as Dad lovingly referred to my younger sister and myself) their shelter as they grew old together.
The garage in whose darkroom corner I watched pictures appear magically on photo paper is no longer there, a victim of a tree thrown by Ike's raging winds. Only a beaten, cracked concrete slab bears testimony that it once existed.
That, and my memory.
In the house, the closet, which my sister and I shared along with a tiny bedroom, bears dated penciled lines that grew with us. We discussed rescuing the molding, that family heirloom chronicling our lives, but we have so much already.
Rich memories of Dad returning from a weary day looking for a job, yet taking time to crawl on hands and knees from the living room to our bedroom, gently carrying the pretend cowgirls on their pretend horse.
The wonderful smell of fresh bread baking in the old O'Keefe and Merritt gas range in the kitchen. Mom was not a great cook, but she did some serious baking on that stove, especially at Christmas.
Oh, the Christmas mornings, meals around the small kitchen table, practical jokes, laughter, tears. Sights and sounds and smells rush back into my mind.
The fireplug we gingerly played on and around. No ordinary fireplug, it served as a cow for roping practice, a crow's nest from which to view new worlds to conquer, a place to sit and contemplate life.
Yesterday, at 3:30 in the afternoon, the deed to that house passed into the hands of someone else. This little house, our childhood ark, our legacy, was sold, the key turned in the old lock for the last time and surrendered to the new owner.
Perhaps they will make memories of their own, add several coats of new paint, repair old tile and flooring. Perhaps they will demolish the house and start all over.
I do know this, it was a great place to spend my childhood. A cup full of experience and love. Memories I will pass on to my children, and my children's children.
Memories too precious to let go.
(Thank you, Principessa, for the pictures of the magical fireplug and back door.)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Can You Feel It?
Can you feel it? Fall is in the air. The ripening ears of corn stand in green soldier rows, almost ready for harvest. They're everywhere I look.
On the way home.
Across the road.
Along the Wendy's parking lot.
Their green and golden connect earth to the blue and white sky, and make me smile.
Fall is in the air. Can you feel it?
On the way home.
Across the road.
Along the Wendy's parking lot.
Their green and golden connect earth to the blue and white sky, and make me smile.
Fall is in the air. Can you feel it?
Friday, September 4, 2009
Sunset on Sky Watch Friday
I don't remember seeing that many sunsets as a child. I think I was probably too busy burning up the last inches of daylight with play. I have more time now, more opportunity to watch the sun quench its golden blaze in the horizon.
In the last 18 years at Iron Acres, I've watched many a sunset from this window. Some are more spectacular than others. On this night, the sun's flames licked the side of our house, gazing at its own image in our windows as the clouds chased it down.
Caught in an act of vanity, like a self conscious child it tried to hide behind a tree. I had been standing in our field, so I turned back to watch the display on the window. Actually, I ran from the field toward the house to catch the sun before it escaped.
Perhaps I still am burning up the last few inches of daylight in play. Only this time out, it's hide and seek with the sun!
You can seek out more more glimpses of sun and sky from all over the planet here.
In the last 18 years at Iron Acres, I've watched many a sunset from this window. Some are more spectacular than others. On this night, the sun's flames licked the side of our house, gazing at its own image in our windows as the clouds chased it down.
Caught in an act of vanity, like a self conscious child it tried to hide behind a tree. I had been standing in our field, so I turned back to watch the display on the window. Actually, I ran from the field toward the house to catch the sun before it escaped.
Perhaps I still am burning up the last few inches of daylight in play. Only this time out, it's hide and seek with the sun!
You can seek out more more glimpses of sun and sky from all over the planet here.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Barnstorming for Sky Watch Friday
There is just something about a barn that shouts character and charm for me. Maybe it's the association with horses and sawdust, leather and weathered wood, or hay and grain. A barn is a feast for the senses.
I love living in the country and watching how the seasons stitch the hues of planting, cultivating and harvest together to form nature's own quilt out of reds, blues, yellows, greens.
The colors of the rainbow.
And in and around it all is the barn. My city childhood was often lost in dreams of playing in a barn loft, hiding in the hay, hearing the crunching sounds of a hungry horse meditatively chewing timothy hay below. We have a small barn here at Iron Acres. In the last 17 years it has known the joy of kidding, kittens, hatching peeps, escaped bunny corralling, and endless rounds of storing hay up for the winter and feeding it out until spring.
Our little barn is empty now, but the loft is still a wonderful place to hide...
...and to dream...
(for more pictures of dreamy skies from all over the earth, dream awhile at Sky Watch Friday.)
I love living in the country and watching how the seasons stitch the hues of planting, cultivating and harvest together to form nature's own quilt out of reds, blues, yellows, greens.
The colors of the rainbow.
And in and around it all is the barn. My city childhood was often lost in dreams of playing in a barn loft, hiding in the hay, hearing the crunching sounds of a hungry horse meditatively chewing timothy hay below. We have a small barn here at Iron Acres. In the last 17 years it has known the joy of kidding, kittens, hatching peeps, escaped bunny corralling, and endless rounds of storing hay up for the winter and feeding it out until spring.
Our little barn is empty now, but the loft is still a wonderful place to hide...
...and to dream...
(for more pictures of dreamy skies from all over the earth, dream awhile at Sky Watch Friday.)
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