Important things...

 There are some important "new" things finding places to settle here at FairWinds. These things belonged to my sister Diane, who died over twenty years ago, far too young. "Dicy" was a character and dearly loved by many. She had quirky, eclectic taste, and wherever she lived, her home was filled with wondrous objects, delightful to see. Last week, her partner contacted me and asked if I wanted a few of those things. She is selling the home they shared and had a few items to gift. She kindly dropped them off with Chris at work, filling his car with memories. 

Dicy had this horse as long as I can remember, and it looks fine on top of a cabinet in our living room. 

I'm pretty sure these are the skis my parents used to put outside by the front door in the winter, with some festive greens. They are tall, the wood smooth as glass, and the metal tag on them says "Gregg Mfg." There are tattered leather "binders" and rusty metal bits remaining, fragile with age. I'm not sure what I will do with these, but I'll find a fun spot for them. 

Dicy loved images of cherubs, and this little container found a place on my bedroom vanity table in an instant. 

How sweet is this little thumb back chair? 

It has not found its perfect spot just yet, but it will. 

There was a slim blue folder that contained some newspaper articles, pictures of Dicy, my other siblings, and some cousins, all tucked neatly in its pockets. I looked through it while sitting at my kitchen table, and was transported back to the home we grew up in. I could feel the nubby, scratchy fabric of the living room chairs and smell the scent of home. The sound of our childish voices echoing through the walls my father built sounded faintly in some dim corner of my mind. I had a little cry with my breakfast, then moved through my day, checking off my long "to-do" list and feeling the lingering melancholy of time gone by as I worked. 

We had been gifted an entire bushel (54 pounds) of tomatoes, along with onions as big as a baby's head, and a pile of peppers. 

Rachel brought the girls over, and they played underfoot while we worked quickly to core the fruit and toss in garlic, onion, sweet and hot peppers, and a few random zucchini that were lying around into our huge cooker. The house began to smell like a fine Italian restaurant as fragrant steam seeped from under the lid. It's a late-summer tradition, creating delicious sauce to store away and enjoy the taste of harvest season during the cold winter months. 

I puttered about, finding places for Dicy's treasures to roost, breathing in the delicious aromas. A wonderful cook in her own right, a creator of coziness and welcome, I believe she would have approved of my efforts. 

I know that the "things" that surround me in this place are dispensable in the end, but for today, they carry the weight of happy recollections and solace. They nurture my soul, similar to the way the simmering sauce will nurture my body when the cold winter winds blow.          

    

Autumn nesting...

 When you live in an old farmhouse in Maine, fall brings one certain thing. Mice. The wee rodents are no dummies. They know that frigid weather is approaching, and they seek a place to stay warm. I don't dislike mice in general, but I don't want them in my house. Still, I respect the fact that they want to have a cozy nest during the impending cold season. I do, too. 

Our firewood has been delivered and bales of hay are stacked up to see the goats through the winter. We are preparing for the change of seasons.

Although it is still technically summer, a noticeable change in the air is evident. This makes me switch from wanting to dig in the dirt and plant things to thinking about polishing copper and brass, setting out candles, and tossing warm lap blankets about.  It is not a conscious thing, because in reality, the weather is lovely and inviting, but some primal part of my brain wants to make my "nest" cozy. 

Earlier this summer I bought a vintage wooden table, cheap. I wanted a table in the corner of the kitchen, and I wanted it to be painted white. I looked for weeks and found several that had wood so pretty it would have been a crime to paint. Then I found this one... 

Painted black with stenciling around the edges. Those chairs were a kind gift from a friend who was moving. They are sturdy and comfortable, but the shiny cherry finish just didn't quite work in our house. I am a notoriously terrible painter, but I was determined to do a good job on the table. I asked for advice from people who knew better than me, and bought all the right products. I lightly sanded the table all over and used a primer to block out all that black paint. 

It was oppressively hot outside, so I put down a plastic cloth and worked inside with a fan blowing. I tried to do a nice, neat job. It isn't perfect, but I certainly made an effort. 

Those chairs, though. They looked challenging. I tried again to love them the way they were, but it wasn't working. I voiced my concern to my sweet niece, and she quipped, "I'll come paint them!" And she DID. She drove over two hours each way, and then sanded, primed, and oh so carefully painted them for me. What a GIFT! 

Since that niece likes steamed clams, we "paid" her for her epic efforts with a family supper that started out with a pile of "steamers." 

There was also lobster, hot rolls, fresh local corn on the cob, and other treats... but the clams elicited the biggest smile. I know I got the better end of the deal, but she did seem to enjoy our attempt at thanking her.

My sister is visiting this weekend and brought me a tablecloth she brought back from France, but never found a place for, and two matching pillows. They are perfect and really cozy the kitchen corner up. This project soothed a bit of my nesting urges.

Yesterday Deb and I checked out a few antique stores. In one, I was stopped still when I saw a lamp made from an old silver-plated teapot. It sported a pretty shade with some lacy trim. I've been wanting a small lamp to put on the kitchen counter, but needed something sturdy and just the right size. This one fit the bill, but the price tag was $70, which I deemed a bit steep. Still, I felt it belonged in our house. I tried to get Deb to dissuade me, but she was a bad influence, "You NEED that!" And I did. I plunked down the money, and I'm glad.

The transition from summer to fall coincides with fair season, and we visited the Windsor Fair with our daughter and her family. The littles liked seeing the cows, oxen, horses, and pigs. They also enjoyed being pushed around in their little wagon, eating fair food, and both experienced their first rides: a carousel and the spinning tea cups. The smallest one sobbed when she was hauled away from the carousel. I understand.  Change can be a challenge.

The days are a bit shorter, the air more crisp, and my soul knows the seasons are changing. It's the nesting time of year, for both me AND the mice. 

Pullet peril...

 A few weeks ago, we picked up some new pullets (young female chickens) from a guy about an hour from here that I have bought many birds from over the years. We have them in a little calf hutch right next to the chicken coop, so the existing birds could get used to them. After a week, I began to let them out during the day, so the older chickens and new babes could get to know each other. All has been well, until Thursday evening, when the new birds wandered out of their yard and into our back yard. There, they were startled by a dog, and two of them blasted through the gate and into the flower bed next to the driveway. One of them quickly found her way back, but the other refused to budge. I tried herding. I tried scaring, I tried getting Bravo to push her in the right direction. Evening was gathering, and she was not going anywhere. 

Here is a picture of the new girls before one took off on an unwarranted adventure.   They are mixed-breed birds, bred to lay blue or green eggs, which I think will be fun. The missing bird is the one that is very dark, located towards the front center. 

I waited until well after the sun had gone down because chickens don't see well in the dark. My plan was to find where she had tucked herself  to sleep among the cosmos and zinnias and grab her, then put her back with her flock. My plan worked well. At first. I found her pressed against the foundation of the house, perched on a boulder. Holding my big, heavy flashlight with one hand, I carefully reached through the dense foliage and wrapped my fingers around her small, warm body. Unlike most chickens who freeze in the dark, this one bolted. We searched for a while, but couldn't find her. I didn't sleep well that night, listening to a barred owl calling nearby and hoping it didn't find my hapless bird. 

In the morning, I was delighted to see her strutting amongst the flowers, safe and sound. I felt sure she would find her way through the fence and back to her flock. I checked the garden a few times during the day and didn't see her again, so I assumed she had found her friends. But at dusk, when I went out to tuck the pullets in, there were only eight where there should be nine. The missing girl was nowhere to be found. 

Another night of listening and worrying, thinking about that little lost bird all alone and vulnerable. There was no sign of her amongst the flowers in the morning, and I fretted thinking about her. I ran some errands (checked out a neat vintage market that happened near me and came home with this fabulous egg basket), and while popping home for a moment to pick up something I had forgotten, I heard the unmistakable "pew pew" sound of a young chicken. I found her in the front yard, not a care in the world, scratching amongst some gardens. I tried to catch her, but I failed. Again. I put out a bowl of water and some feed and watched as she ate and drank. 

Later that afternoon, I enlisted the help of Rachel, Evans, and the Owlet. Armed with a big net, we attempted to nab the runaway. She eluded us at every turn. Finally, she streaked across the lawn and dove into a thick bed of Hosta. I waded in after her and caught a glimpse of her dark feathers, hunkered down deep amid the wide leaves. I knew I had to be bold and decisive with my chicken-catching technique, so I braced myself and went in hard, with both hands, elbow-deep in foliage. My fingers gripped her tightly, pinning her wings to her body. I was triumphant and lifted her up and out of the greenery. She squawked in protest and tried to wriggle free, but I kept a firm hold, lifting her over my head like a prize fighter raising their hands in victory. Not only was I holding my (expensive!) pullet, I was holding a good night's sleep in my hands, because I knew that I would rest well knowing she was safe with her flock. 

It felt good to put her back in her hutch with her friends. I'm happier when my pullets are more at peace than in peril! 

Unwritten...

 Sometimes magic happens. After some unseasonably hot, dry days, today was clear, cool, perfect. We had a busy grooming schedule, but the last customer of the day, with two Standard Poodles, didn't show up. I hate to admit I wasn't sad. We cleaned the studio and hatched a plan. The Owlet (3 1/2) had been asking to go out on my beloved kayak with me. 

Rachel met me at the lake. I had the kayak. She had the girls. The Owlet, clad in her bathing suit and a life jacket, eyed my kayak critically. "Why it so SMALL?" she asked. Once she climbed on board, she changed her tune. "This boat BIG!" 

Snuggled against me, she leaned left, trailing her wee fingers in the water. "Are there mermaids here? Dolphins?" We paddled to a dock and startled a cormorant, who half flew, half water-walked away from us. We watched it with delight. I rowed back to the beach to meet her mama and baby sister. The Owlet nimbly climbed out onto the rocky shore, and the Cygnet plopped into my lap. She grabbed for the paddle, "I help!" Her wee hands joined mine, and we swept through the water happily.

Kayaking is a special joy for me. I love the sights, sounds, scents, and sensations. To share it with the grands was an unexpected delight. Their tiny bodies snuggled close to me as we rocked on the water, witnessing fish leaping, turtles paddling, birds taking flight. "Lilies!" The Owlet cried as we passed through a patch of them bobbing on the blue. 

Back in the truck and heading home alone, one of my favorite songs came on. "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. 

"Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten"

I never could have imagined sharing my love of kayaking with wee girls. Their tiny hands splayed on my thighs, their glee in being on a Maine lake with their Lovie readily apparent. They were off on a brand-new adventure, secure in the knowledge that I would keep them safe. I was living life with arms wide open. Every day, my book begins. I can't wait to see what the unwritten future holds. 

 

Visitor season...

 I had a handful of good friends during my college years. One of them was Jeannine. She was one of the very few friends who came to witness our elopement. We have kept in touch sporadically over the years, and six years ago she came to visit for a couple of days with her husband and teenage son. A few weeks ago, she messaged and said she wanted to get away. She asked if our guest room was available. She's been here for a bit, entertaining herself while I worked every day. Today I had the day off and took her to see some tourist things. She lives in South Carolina, so Maine is a whole different world. 

We went to the top of Mount Battie in Camden, with its amazing views. 

Jeannine climbed the WWI memorial tower. 

The weather was perfect. 

We stopped for a lobster roll and dined overlooking Rockport Harbor. Then I took her to Rockland to see the beautiful breakwater and lighthouse. 

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There were still a few Rosa Rugosa in bloom, but they are waning, and this made me realize, more than any page on the calendar, that summer is winding down. One nice thing about having company from "away" is that it forces us to do summer things to keep them entertained. It's so easy to stay busy at home and think, "We'll do something fun soon..."  Last weekend we went out on a harbor cruise. Our daughter and husband joined us with the grands (3 and a half and 19 months). The three-year-old loved being on the boat and pointed out other boats she wanted to ride on. She was attracted to the schooners. We hope to take her out again before the season is over. 

Chris and I love time on the water together. On this trip we saw lighthouses, seals and porpoise. It was a wonderful day. 

It's fun when people visit and we have a chance to see things around our place through their eyes. Jeannine took pictures of our gardens, and it was a treat to see the way she saw them.  

Last year I had a wild mix of colors in my garden. My sister Deb recommended I stick with pink, white, and purple, so I have. She was right. I've had many compliments on the garden this season. I planted bunches of cosmos, zinnia, and other pink, purple, and white annuals. They'd look even happier if our drought ended. Maybe tomorrow. 

Jeannine leaves on Monday, and sister Deb arrives in two weeks, followed by our sweet friends and neighbors from our Memphis years in September. Then the visiting season will be over, and we will regain our regular duo rhythm.  We enjoy sharing our lifestyle with friends who come to stay, but we also appreciate the days we spend alone. The long days of fall and winter are coming. We will have our solitary days. For now, we enjoy visitors. 

    

                 

The scoop on the coop...

 Our chickens bring me a lot of joy. I love to watch them out ranging about the pasture, and of course, there are those delicious eggs. The birds have a very nice custom-made coop that keeps them safe, but it needed a little freshening up. The door was damaged from years of use and needed to be replaced. The whole thing needed a fresh coat of paint, too. 

I have talked to several carpenters over the past two years about making me a new door. I wanted something more attractive. In fact, I wanted something cute. As soon as a carpenter heard that word, they ceased to have any interest in this small project. Until I ran it by Bill. He's the guy who helped me design and then built the beautiful new decks. He walked away muttering, "Cute. Cute..." and I figured I'd lost him. Then, a couple of weeks later, he said," I have an idea for a cute door." Boy, did he! 

I gave the yard around the coop a hard look, and there was a pretty serious problem that I simply didn't know how to fix. Nine years ago, my friend Brenda did some yard work for me when I was recovering from a dislocated shoulder. She built a little retaining wall of stones around the coop, and it worked great. But the stones had sort of sunk into the ground over the years and though they were still holding dirt in place as intended, they didn't look nice anymore. I asked Brenda if she'd come show me how to fix it, and she did today. In two hours, she dug up all the rocks, smoothed the dirt out, and re-stacked everything beautifully. 

I had the finished product happily visualized in my mind, and I knew mulch would be the frosting on the cake. Chris nicely filled my truck up with the stuff. After Brenda worked her stone magic, I got to work hauling and spreading. And here are the before, during, and after shots. 

                                                  

I am simply delighted with every single thing about the makeover. Especially that cute door! To celebrate we are picking up some new pullets this weekend. They will surely appreciate their pretty new digs! 

New for twenty two...

 We moved to Maine 22 years ago this week. I loved this house the first time I saw the realtor's photo of it, and I am so grateful to live here. We have made the place our own over the years, with lots of fresh paint, a roof, a furnace, landscaping, and more. When we bought this house, there was a deck that was part of our main entrance. 

The boards and supports began to get spongy last year, and the whole thing needed to be replaced. Finding a contractor was a trick. I tried for months. This was frustrating, but in the end, it was a gift, because with the help of friends, I realized there were better options for this structure, which didn't really suit our 100+ year old house. 

Another friend found me a contractor who not only wanted to take on our project, but totally "got" me. I'd explain what I was thinking of, and he would add perfect suggestions. About a month ago, he and his team got started making my house dreams come true. I enjoyed having them here and loved watching them create beauty around our cozy home. The end results are a delight. 

They tore off the old, rotten deck and built a beautiful new entryway. This greatly enlarged my favorite flowerbed. They made the prettiest little picket fence and gate. Then they spruced up the entry to the grooming studio, which is on the front porch. 

While they were at it, they replaced the under-house lattice skirting (which I never liked) with something much nicer. 

Best of all, they cut an enormous hole in my dining room wall, removing the small, off-center window and installing a large French door.

 Beyond that door, they built a 16 ' by 16' deck. Chris and I love being in our backyard and have talked about installing a deck for decades. It was a fun adventure to design what we had been dreaming about and then watch as the dream came beautifully true. 

On the twenty-second anniversary of moving to Maine, we gave our house a little facelift. 

I think she approves. 

Moving day...

 The broiler chicks are around three and a half weeks old. They have most of their feathers and were outgrowing the "brooder" we use, a calf hutch with a heat lamp. Today was predicted to be hot. Last night after work, while I was on an errand, Rachel mowed a handy corner of the pasture and moved a calf hutch there. She set up the electro netting, and Chris helped her "hot it up." I got up early this morning, and after doing all my regular chores, I grabbed the wonderful new garden cart Chris gave me. I easily grabbed the first half of the chicks and moved them through the gate, across the back yard, and to their new home. The second batch had wised up and hid way in the back of their house. I had to get in there and catch them, which was a bit tricky because the hutch does not offer standing room. I hunched, waddled,  grabbed, and waddled some more, then placed the squawking birds into the cart. They rode beautifully, and it was quite fun to transport them to a spacious new home on such a fine summer morning. 

Their new situation confused them, but soon they explored a bit, finding food, water, and shade. I watched carefully all day to make sure they were doing alright. This evening, Chris helped me, and we caught each chubby chick and tucked them into their hutch, where they will be protected from any number of wild animals that enjoy the taste of chicken. We rigged up extra shade, too. Now they can dig in the dirt, bask in the sun, eat bugs and weeds, and grow happily. Moving day went well. 

Big doings...

 We are having some excitement at FairWinds. Our old deck, the entrance to our house, was rotting and needed to be replaced. We decided to change things up a bit while we were at it, and the work has begun. I will share before and after pictures when the project is completed. Meanwhile, removing the old deck left me with my favorite flower bed vastly enlarged. Here is what it looked like. 

Where you see that tallish green plant in the center used to be the back edge of the bed. Now the whole area is 8 feet or so deeper than it was. I decided to dig up and move everything currently in there, because those plants no longer fit into the new shape of the garden. I also decided to plant a bunch of annual flowers while I get used to the new configuration and decide if I want shrubs or perennial plants. I started digging and made good progress, but the large rose bush on the right was a tough customer. Chris helped me dig and wrestle it out. I gave the long rose canes to the goats, who made short work of them, thorns and all. 

There was a Flag Iris in the garden that my friend planted 9 years ago. It had spread so it was the size of a bushel basket, and was one tough customer to shift. I dug and wiggled and dug some more. I finally called "uncle!" and Cheryl and Mike came to my rescue. In about 30 seconds, they team lifted the heavy mass up and out for me. I was sad that I couldn't quite manage it alone, but thrilled for the assistance. 

There was a sweet little breeze the whole time I worked, and it wafted the perfume of our lilac bush to me in tantalizing gusts.

The soil that had been under the old deck was hard as concrete, so I got out my mattock and went to work breaking it up. Then I hauled bag after bag of heavy compost to the spot, sliced them up with my wicked pocket knife, and distributed the deep black stuff over the soil I had just disturbed. 

Over the weekend, I enjoyed a stroll through a local plant nursery and loaded up with a nice variety of seedlings. I could hardly wait to start planting them. I decided to top dress the soil with some mulch before I put the tiny seedlings in, so I hustled off to the hardware store and bought six big bags of mulch. My friend who owns the store told me she had no help, and I'd have to load the mulch myself. A kind man standing by overheard our conversation, strode right outside, and helped me load the bags. How magical is that? 

Once home, I dumped the bags at appropriate intervals and carefully spread the mulch in an even layer. While I was at it, I created a little stepping stone path from the edge of the garden to the water faucet. Then, I planted morning glories, hollyhocks, and foxglove. I planted cosmos and portulaca. After all of that, I decided I'd done quite enough for one day. I gave all the plants a cool drink and sat for a while, considering where to tuck the zinnias and other seedlings that were waiting to get growing. The plan is coming together nicely; every bit of the work and planning has made me happy. 

Meanwhile, the construction guys went back and forth, sawing wood and priming boards and chatting with each other as they worked. The quietest of them paused to look at my efforts and said, "You are gaining on it." High praise! 

Big things are happening at FairWinds, and little plants are stretching their roots and settling in until they are big enough to fill my new space with loveliness. 

Circle of life...

 Last week, forty new broiler chicks arrived via USPS in a peeping box. We set them up in the kitchen for a few days so we could enjoy the totally overwhelming adorableness of them. 

The Owlet is enchanted by them and immediately gathered a pile of her favorite books to share.

They outgrew the little nursery quickly, so on Friday, they were promoted to a big hutch in the garage. They have a heat lamp, a deep bed of clean shavings, and lots of food and water. They eat, drink, sleep, and poop- and then they poop some more. But they are still cute. 

Later that day, a fox slipped into the pasture and killed two of our good laying hens. We had been fortunate; in twenty years of enjoying chickens, we had only lost one to a predator. Having two taken in one day was a sad loss.  I kept all the birds locked up the next day, and today I let them out since we were home all day to keep an eye on things. The rooster kept the ladies close to the coop; he's a wise bird. The fox did not make a repeat visit, but it certainly could. 

When I did chores tonight, I peeked into our little coop, where the diminutive Olandsk Dwarf chickens live. I've had a broody hen there for a while. When hens feel in the family way, they sit on eggs. For most breeds, this means that for 21 days, they rarely move, leaving their nest only once or twice a day to eat, drink, and defecate. I figured chicks would be due mid to late week. So I was surprised when I saw an empty shell, perfectly split in half, at the edge of the nest. I carefully lifted the hen and saw a pile of intact eggs, but no chick from the empty egg. I then ruffled through her feathers and, sure enough, found a teeny, peeping baby bird snuggled close under her mama's wing. 

Then I remembered this breed has a slightly shorter gestation period than most, 18-19 days. I gave the chick a little cuddle, tucked it back deep in its mamas feathers, and grinned all the way back to the house. 

Living with animals, one experiences the circle of life at an accelerated rate. I am sad about my fox-food hens, but happy to welcome new life to the farmlette. 

And then my eyes leaked...

 When my older sister Dicy was around sixteen years old, my parents bought her a horse. Dad built a little one-stall barn with a tack room and Midnight came to our place to live. I don't remember her, but she was part of family folklore. 

The barn is still there. It was turned into a pool house when I was a little kid, but there was a sign that the building once had a different purpose. Dicy had carved a little two-dimensional horse and our dad hung it between the diamond pane windows that faced the house. When I was a little girl, I was in awe of that horse. It amazed me that my sister could make something so pretty from a blank piece of wood. 

My sister Deb and her husband now live in the house where I grew up. A few years ago my brother-in-law mentioned to me that they were replacing the windows on the old barn. I asked him about the little decorative horse. He didn't know what I was talking about, so I described it to him. He said he suspected it may have disintegrated and disappeared, because he had never noticed it. After all, it was over sixty years old. I was a little sad, but I am a pragmatic person, so I filed the memory of the small figure away in the happy place where such memories live. 

For Mother's Day Rachel and I packed the little girls up and drove to my sister and brother-in-laws house. We had terrific weekend that included fun and delicious family meals, time with my adorable new great-niece and an outdoor flea market on a perfect spring day. We also poked around a huge antique mall and took all the tiny girls for a swim at a beautiful heated indoor kiddie pool. 

At one point, when my brother-in-law and I were alone for a moment, he handed me a slight, flat object wrapped in red tissue paper. "I've been saving this for you." he said. "It needed a little repair, and I can make it look more perfect if you want, or you can keep it just the way it is." My curiosity was piqued, and I carefully opened up the light package. And then my eyes leaked. 

After I mentioned the little carved horse on the barn he went out and looked for it. It had been painted over numerous times and was camouflaged and unnoticed until he searched. He managed to gently pry the little equine from where it had been fused to the wall for decades, a small nail through its eye. The tail was broken in two places, but he carefully saved the fragments. He left it on his work bench for safe-keeping, then recently he glued and clamped it. 

My brother-in-law is a genuinely nice guy. He is also thoughtful and talented. "You are the only person who remembered Dicy's horse," he said. "So it should be with you." 

I opted to keep the pony just as it is, and she is now safely here at FairWinds. My eyes have stopped leaking, now I smile every time I walk past her. Thank you, John, for the amazing kindness.