A happy weekend...

 My friend Carol invited me to join her at the Belfast Ice Festival. It sounded jolly, and we made plans. The whole town was hopping. Parking was tricky; restaurants were full, but we both eventually managed to find places to land our vehicles, and a restaurant with a table for two and no waiting was a terrific surprise. Though we don't live far apart, we don't actually see each other that often, but speaking for myself, it's always a great time when we do. 

There were some impressive ice sculptures. My favorite was a big, googly-eyed goldfish that reflected the color of people's clothes as they passed, flashes of pink, blue, and green, making it look as if it were illuminated from within. Oh, and this one was the most creative...

When I got home, my sweet niece Aimee was here for a visit. We are always excited to see her, and Chris and Rachel whipped up one of her favorite meals in celebration: double-breaded pork cutlets with lemon dill sauce. Chris got a kick out of having Rachel assist him in the kitchen; it reminded him of her teen years when she'd often accompany him as she practiced her way around the spice rack. She learned well and is a wonderful, competent cook now. Our meal was delicious. 

I caught this picture of the Owlet sitting in a little youth chair at suppertime. 

My paternal grandmother gave me this chair when I was five or six. It used to sit beside her brick hearth, and I often perched on it when I visited. One day, she said, "Take that home with you." She died suddenly not long after. My daughter used it when she was wee, and now her girls do. It's a treasure. 

On Saturday nights, the Owlet often has a spend-the-night with us. When it was time for bed, she boldly announced, "I have a slumber party with Auntie Cakes!" Aimee looked dubious, but the wee one fell asleep quickly and had a lovely time snuggling with her godmother until I whisked her away when she woke at dawn so Aimee could sleep a bit more. The last time the two spent a night together was when the Owlet was born. Aimee was the birth doula and pulled a rocking chair up to the window, rocked the newborn baby, and sang to her under the big sky outside while the exhausted parents caught a few winks. Their bond is long and strong. 

This morning, sausages and pancakes were served for breakfast, and the table was full again. Family chatter, dogs underfoot, kids giggling—it was all so very good. 

We groomed Aimee's little dog and then hit a favorite antique store for some treasure hunting. We all found a few little things to bring home and had a great time poking around. 

It was such a happy weekend. 

A little miracle...

 When the weather is snowy, I usually leave the chickens locked up. They may be bored but have food and water and are out of the elements. Saturday, we had a break between storms, and I opened the coop doors so the birds could come out and have a change of scenery if they chose. When I did evening chores, the four little Olandsk Dwarf chickens, who had been out pottering around much of the day, were still out. I tried to gently encourage them to head towards their coop. My efforts backfired badly when they all took off flying in different directions. I don't know who was more surprised at how well they could fly, me or them. 

One hen landed on the picnic table, and a second flew up onto the garage roof. I was able to shoo the picnic table bird back to her coop, but the bird on the roof looked very worried by her newfound heights. I found a flying disc dog toy, and after a few tosses above the bird, I convinced her to fly back down to her coop. Evening was creeping, and the light was falling. If you don't know chickens, you might not realize they don't move after dark. They put themselves where they want to be at dusk, and there they stay until dawn. I went looking for the rooster and found him perched on a fence. When he saw me coming, he flew to the roof of his coop. Thinking he was safe, I went looking for the last hen. I hadn't seen where she had gone when they all spooked the first time, so I looked in all the likely places. She was nowhere to be found, and the forecast was for snow overnight. This made me worried. 

Meanwhile, the rooster left the relative safety of the top of his coop and flew up on the roof of our house. I was horrified when the hen landed on the garage roof, yet the house roof is far higher. I put my flying disc toy to work again and was able to spook the rooster back down to the coop. With three of the birds safely tucked up,  I came inside for a while, and once it got dark, I went out again with a flashlight and Bravo. We both looked high and low, but there was no trace of that little hen. A barred owl called repeatedly from a tree at the edge of the pasture. I wondered if it was telling me it had enjoyed a fine chicken dinner. 

When I did morning chores, I looked again for the missing bird. There was no sign of her. It snowed all morning, and then we had sleet, rain, and more snow. I assumed she had fallen prey to something or frozen to death in the storm. 

Then, this morning, I headed out to feed the goats, and to my shock, the little bird was perched forlornly on the aluminum fence next to her coop. I dropped my water jugs and scoop of feed and walked ever so carefully to the gate. I tossed my gloves on the snow and steeled myself. I had one chance to catch the bird and return her to safety. If she spooked and flew, I would probably not be able to snag her again. She flinched as I reached for her but stayed put, and I felt triumphant when my fingers closed over her sleek feathers. One little "squawk," then she settled into my arms and let me reunite her with her flock. 

Life is a series of little miracles. Some have feathers. 

Before the storm...

 Yesterday, we had quite a bit of snow on the ground, and another six to eight inches were predicted, with more storms on the horizon for the coming week.  It was sunny but well below freezing, and there was a brisk west wind, but I decided it would be a good day to clean all the animal houses. Doing this chore with snow on the ground makes everything a little more difficult, but it had to be done. 

 I started with the little coop, raking out the soiled shavings and replacing them with fresh ones. I scrubbed and refilled the water bowl and topped up the food dispenser. The little chickens waited out in the snow while I worked, looking very unhappy until I finished. Chickens, in general, are not very fond of snow. I imagine those scaly feet and legs must get awfully cold. As soon as I was done, they rushed back inside to enjoy their fresh digs. 

I tackled the big coop next. I dumped some old shavings on the snow for dry footing and shooed the birds outside. 

They complained loudly but were happy with the end results. A flake of sweet-smelling fresh hay gave them something to scratch up and will help keep them entertained. 

Typically, I use a wheelbarrow when freshening the houses, but that does not work in the snow. Instead, I use this handy sled. We bought it 20 years ago, and I was aghast at the cost. But it has been used to haul firewood, kids, hay, feed, shavings, and more. It has served as a wading pool for piglets and a pond for ducks. The goats often nap in it or tap dance on it if it is overturned.  It turns out it was worth every penny. The rope is old and frayed, but it has never let me down. 

Cleaning the goat cozy was a bigger project. Since the goats make this job trickier by "helping" me, I lured them into the backyard and fastened the gate. They frolicked about, bouncing in the fresh snow, while I raked, scraped, shoveled, and hauled. While I was at it, I stuffed their hay bags full. 

By the time I was done, the goats were standing at the gate, tired of the diversion and hollering to get back in and see what they were missing. They all raced to their house to check my work (and get out of the snow) and were soon ankle-deep in fragrant shavings with their heads stuffed into the hay bags.

Next on the list was carrying armloads of firewood from where it was stacked to the rack on the deck. Having it just outside the door is convenient, and it makes me feel rich to have it crammed full before a storm arrives. The wood stack is covered tightly with tarps to keep it dry, so I was noodling around, pulling logs out and balancing them in my arms to carry back to the house when I spied a praying mantis nest on one log. I stashed it safely away so we can enjoy the mantis babies in the yard when the weather warms up. It made me smile to think of the promise of new life enclosed in that frothy beige nest, and it was a sweet reminder that though I was slogging through snow, spring is right around the corner. 

Lastly, I filled all the wild bird feeders to the brim. Then, I had a well-deserved rest and a cup of tea by the woodstove, pleased with all I had accomplished before the storm. Let it snow! 

Farm lunch...

 Neighbor Cheryl has a real-deal farm: many cows and pigs, a few horses, some goats, and a big flock of chickens. On Sundays, she often cooks a lunch to share with farm helpers. The cast of characters around the table changes as frequently as the menu. Today, we were invited, though we don't do much to help.

The main course was jambalaya from a family recipe. I offered to bring a batch of biscuits to share. Chris taught me how to make them many years ago. He is the undeniable king of baking them in our family, but today, I took on oven duty because he was getting our groceries for the week. I took great care to follow his favorite recipe to a "t." Biscuits are simple to make, but some recipes are better than others. Chris's preferred recipe is the one on the Bakewell Cream can. Flour, salt, baking soda, Bakewell cream, shortening and milk. I used lard I rendered myself (from one of Cheryl's pigs) for the shortening. 

At times like this, I appreciate my pretty, organized kitchen and my collection of tools. I have everything I need, all within easy reach. Chris does a great job ensuring we have all the provisions we need kept in stock. 

We arrived at the farm lunch with a bowl full of warm biscuits, and everyone seemed to enjoy them. They were a good complement to the excellent meal. Besides the jambalaya, there was a fabulous salad, quiche, and homemade brownies with ice cream, all topped with drizzles of raspberry sauce and chocolate sauce. It was a sweet ending to a fun meal with terrific people, good conversation, and a few excellent laughs. 

Farm lunch was a lovely mid-winter punctuation.