tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18810886172110521182024-03-27T02:35:20.064-04:00 FairWinds...Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.comBlogger1736125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-68766566579204802882024-03-24T21:01:00.002-04:002024-03-24T21:02:00.304-04:00A cold and the cold... <p> I have a little cold. Usually, when I get a virus, I keep plugging along and stay sick for two weeks or more. When my husband or son-in-love get a virus, they rest like it's their job for 24 or 48 hours and get well fast. I'm a slow study, but I am trying to emulate them this time. It's good timing because the weekend weather was cold and stormy, and laying low was convenient. </p><p>When we woke up yesterday, it was snowing. I got up, took the dogs out, and gave the chickens and goats water. I fed them, gave them treats, and filled the hay rack. Two inches of fresh snow lay on the ground. I came back inside and went right upstairs and snuggled into my warm bed with a good book. I stayed there for several hours, watching the snow fall and resting. We spent the rest of the day being quiet. We made popcorn and watched a movie. By evening, the snow had accumulated to about six inches, and the precipitation had turned to freezing rain. </p><p>By the time we turned in for the night, ice had begun building up on every surface it encountered. I had trouble falling asleep, coughing, and sneezing because of my cold. As usual, my darling fell asleep instantly, so he did not hear the crashing of falling, ice-covered limbs outside. We lost electricity at ten thirty, and I realized it could be out for a long time. I forced myself to get up and stir the embers in the wood stove, adding kindling and stepping barefoot out into the storm to load my arms with wood. I stoked the stove and sat in the quiet dark until the flames caught. I wanted to ensure the fire was going so we would not wake to a cold house. I slept fitfully (so much for resting!), listening to the wind drilling ice against the windows and the occasional crash of falling branches. </p><p>We woke this morning to a silent house. The background appliance sounds of the refrigerator humming and the quiet rumble of the furnace in the basement are usually unnoticed. Still, their absence makes the house feel different. The dogs became restless, and I suspect it was because the house sounded different. </p><p>When I did chores, it was icy underfoot. I had to skate back to the garage to get a hammer to bash the ice off the latches to the goat cozy before I could open the door. The goats knew I was outside their door, carrying breakfast, and they let their disapproval of my delay be loudly known. When I finally wrestled the door open, they rushed out, giving me sideways glances as they dove into breakfast. I left the chickens safe in their coops. </p><p>Huge limbs and fallen trees blocked the roads on either side of our house. A neighbor stopped his truck, pulled out a chainsaw, and cleared one side. We walked up the street and cut and hauled huge pine limbs that had fallen from our neighbor's tree into the street and onto our property. </p><p>Back inside, we made mugs of tea and hot breakfast. We sat by the wood stove where it was warm and cozy. It was late morning before the power was restored. The washing machine resumed its interrupted cycle. I rinsed the dishes. We took welcome showers. The sky cleared, and everywhere there were sparkles. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuTWXlaZrJK683WZh-dDgbNKwE5WQ6cO9F0V1i63aaaoTd5RF0dWCqEiRsL8uNunH7gB7Cc50YP-i5WIVwaA0nglyGtvJ1_yBWj30dFLhg-zUxSST6eLsDWL62L_DP_IDuYxEQi9vpxZ_7BkI8eztaAzGVkVTmJrwHWTn-k6XFBRstORPyK8M-gEUOtI/s5162/robin%20.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3410" data-original-width="5162" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuTWXlaZrJK683WZh-dDgbNKwE5WQ6cO9F0V1i63aaaoTd5RF0dWCqEiRsL8uNunH7gB7Cc50YP-i5WIVwaA0nglyGtvJ1_yBWj30dFLhg-zUxSST6eLsDWL62L_DP_IDuYxEQi9vpxZ_7BkI8eztaAzGVkVTmJrwHWTn-k6XFBRstORPyK8M-gEUOtI/s320/robin%20.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And hungry birds. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHe87MZ-oIS83OtIx1ZoW8RRg7LTaxX4humSiCFfsnJRaVeaTC2QaDHOaVezSnePW7bh7XHsJOiVetQNBmugVrSfCenLwnIoMiSwbb7gXyrN1HeTw1TcKEq_j5Pk6MD2enin4VELwqOJ7_87mZGjZtJx9Fkb6HhGKXQcD8_-OMYSX3_zaTWyBomnoDx0/s640/Ice%20ice.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHe87MZ-oIS83OtIx1ZoW8RRg7LTaxX4humSiCFfsnJRaVeaTC2QaDHOaVezSnePW7bh7XHsJOiVetQNBmugVrSfCenLwnIoMiSwbb7gXyrN1HeTw1TcKEq_j5Pk6MD2enin4VELwqOJ7_87mZGjZtJx9Fkb6HhGKXQcD8_-OMYSX3_zaTWyBomnoDx0/s320/Ice%20ice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>To our surprise and delight, someone nipped in and plowed the driveway for us. It had been too frozen for the snowblower, and we had been dreading trying to scrape and shovel. The kindness warmed us.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhambfTLTEArbG9xB3bShxx22ENY7Cl-dss2_1krUncJdjc0tL7xbkVNaZfT6Ofzr1A6IYhzGLNQPapUT9fEuwNqs1zYotKOHabikpTv4EDTtq_DKkRxFnpRhO-3k05r4Zqed0-wW0lEEvVhR7NgD3o1AzpNac3YBTjQ06si1PMZ8hIxsJekP37ap0wE4E/s853/plowed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhambfTLTEArbG9xB3bShxx22ENY7Cl-dss2_1krUncJdjc0tL7xbkVNaZfT6Ofzr1A6IYhzGLNQPapUT9fEuwNqs1zYotKOHabikpTv4EDTtq_DKkRxFnpRhO-3k05r4Zqed0-wW0lEEvVhR7NgD3o1AzpNac3YBTjQ06si1PMZ8hIxsJekP37ap0wE4E/s320/plowed.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div>We went out for a bite, awed to see how many trees were down in the neighborhood. There will be a lot of cleaning up for weeks to come. March is coming to an end, but winter is hanging tightly with its icy grip. I will be glad when my cold and THE cold pass. </div><div><br /></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-38817808335839583482024-03-17T20:05:00.001-04:002024-03-17T20:08:01.964-04:00Mail... <p><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"> A few weeks ago, I received a special envelope in my mailbox. It was from my older cousin Karen, who lives in Tasmania, Australia. She has been sorting through old correspondence and family photos and sending items off to various relatives who she thought might find them interesting. My envelope had a few photos and many letters from my father to his brother (her father) during World War II. </span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPwyoiR7qpq6z9RGBWvX4nzCNz5fRYI0rD-DGOtE80m-9leXh1BA2BLq5eIW6fmpTGtganXDzGHjTxLNRe2J2a7Nd4CMhiD6vjDpkhIscYMR2F6jhHdoK-rkW3xpois1cox4f_ca43kpgoeVN3e0a9vtVSNRonFZ87dHn48KLw2tNfdc__YYdjZDqxhk/s640/mail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPwyoiR7qpq6z9RGBWvX4nzCNz5fRYI0rD-DGOtE80m-9leXh1BA2BLq5eIW6fmpTGtganXDzGHjTxLNRe2J2a7Nd4CMhiD6vjDpkhIscYMR2F6jhHdoK-rkW3xpois1cox4f_ca43kpgoeVN3e0a9vtVSNRonFZ87dHn48KLw2tNfdc__YYdjZDqxhk/s320/mail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">It made my heart ache a little to see his familiar penmanship, and it was fascinating to read his words to his older brother. It gave me a pang to see that the two were obviously once very close. In my lifetime, they were little more than cordial neighbors. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">One envelope held a special delight. It was a tiny piece of stationary and a letter written from my father and mother to my uncle. They were on their honeymoon at Easter Slopes Inn in North Conway, New Hampshire. My uncle was somewhere in the Pacific. The date was December 28, 1945. In my father's thin, sloping hand, it says, "Dear Pete, This is all the paper I can find, but I want to send a line or two and say hello. Dot and I were married on the 26th and are here for a week. It is wonderful up here; so far, married life is wonderful, and I am sure it will continue to be so. I've got me a wonderful wife. Sorry for such a lack of writing on my part, but I have been so busy, and after writing so much for four years, it felt good not to for a while. Will do better from now on 'tho. Our car runs well but uses oil to beat hell. I get to 50 miles. It may do better after it has run for a while. Hope so. Well, Pete, we wish you had been here to be the best man, but we couldn't wait. All for now. Dot wants to say hello. Hope to see you soon. Dave." </span></span></span></span></p><p>Next comes my mothers addition. Her penmanship is round and loopy and pulls my heartstrings. "Dear Peter, We waited so long we decided not to wait any longer- much to everyone's surprise (I don't think.) Being married is certainly wonderful but it makes me feel so old and respectable. Seriously tho', I'm so happy I'm walking on air. It's heavenly up here and a perfect place for a honeymoon. We will hate to leave I know. I hope you can come home soon, Pete. We all miss you, Love, Dorothy."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Vt6EFIjmMiz0FC8G3wA230md-N0CogG-GeoCerEf_4hx7GofvPCBUXPw5MvbPeFvtQwIWvVZSa-2fBkIh5CKTf5J1smXuIlpoW7prgE4gpM8CdiB6JZv058Ht_9B6ZymJ9WUfqKVyE4kLtNpfC66PZgk4WQoMxGBUnPPjSiuRace36pFve3bgHbOjFw/s640/letter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="415" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Vt6EFIjmMiz0FC8G3wA230md-N0CogG-GeoCerEf_4hx7GofvPCBUXPw5MvbPeFvtQwIWvVZSa-2fBkIh5CKTf5J1smXuIlpoW7prgE4gpM8CdiB6JZv058Ht_9B6ZymJ9WUfqKVyE4kLtNpfC66PZgk4WQoMxGBUnPPjSiuRace36pFve3bgHbOjFw/s320/letter.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><p>Here is evidence of the beginning of my history, my newlywed parents on their honeymoon, "walking on air." They stayed married until death did them part, my father never failing to kiss my mother on his way out the door to work in the morning. I grew up feeling safe and secure in their union, a blessing I don't take for granted. The inn where they celebrated their life together is still there. You can see it here: https://easternslopeinn.com/ . Chris and I plan to spend a weekend there soon to walk the grounds my parents walked and acknowledge this moment in my family history. </p><p><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;">My kind cousin sent me a chubby envelope full of yesteryear. I am so grateful. </span></span></p><p><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-16919424063964620062024-03-10T22:08:00.001-04:002024-03-10T22:13:22.528-04:00Pysanky eggs... <p> Our sweet friends Kathy and Scott invited us again to make pysanky eggs. They are an artistic group that create the most beautiful designs. My creative leanings don't lend themselves to this direction, but oh! It's such fun to try. </p><p>A special tool applies melted beeswax to the eggs, creating a pattern the dye will not cover. Multiple layers of designs and dyes can be used. The dyes are the most beautiful colors and the people in the group with more talent than I have created the loveliest, most intricate patterns. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSGG3kqHTKPeOk3iqa98hhd57SS9rEgmlyiB17TZy2z4mXVLULeA9M0MTyu30ce-cEbZsHKFhJD5U9NWiYZXgD7_oapMU6-c0HQokspSPGf3xXlOnyGwrrmm2RpTreYbQAJw3Z2WWov2LWvg_nnEkoJYhdmOpnucpS3ALJzLXdHuzH8eArJbWzRk00BU/s640/eggs%20candle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="640" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSGG3kqHTKPeOk3iqa98hhd57SS9rEgmlyiB17TZy2z4mXVLULeA9M0MTyu30ce-cEbZsHKFhJD5U9NWiYZXgD7_oapMU6-c0HQokspSPGf3xXlOnyGwrrmm2RpTreYbQAJw3Z2WWov2LWvg_nnEkoJYhdmOpnucpS3ALJzLXdHuzH8eArJbWzRk00BU/s320/eggs%20candle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>My friend tells us that some of the eggs in this basket are fifty years old. She can lift each egg and tell who created it. The basket is full of beauty, both physically and in lovely memories. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvFpx2CbuOrg0LyfnO8GAGif8CEu5IwIy7T7WTUoPhy_h2HM4rHjP8MIKuXiwGLJOCjDviGO1I86Fl_VYntbJvQ66YfukgqhVyvCE4nJ8uZEW7G92eJUmKfY-0nEByRLCKmx_YO0e7Y6KwwAbFLTwwW_SBXAEfmmGefORIyH4ehHNEK9bTr1YvHhYJ1o/s640/eggs%20centerpiece.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvFpx2CbuOrg0LyfnO8GAGif8CEu5IwIy7T7WTUoPhy_h2HM4rHjP8MIKuXiwGLJOCjDviGO1I86Fl_VYntbJvQ66YfukgqhVyvCE4nJ8uZEW7G92eJUmKfY-0nEByRLCKmx_YO0e7Y6KwwAbFLTwwW_SBXAEfmmGefORIyH4ehHNEK9bTr1YvHhYJ1o/s320/eggs%20centerpiece.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4hcMtFIsWLbugtOJFZV7FSK442AuucJ9_LBSXvWmjo9solasqO1mcn3Qt4pHIUXjYHQwY3Jn6kQoNgm2MkqfEIjTSiwra83pmOD2eaV_XuNaMJaGpUxuMyVCEwwUubX5m6eNuH798c93wr96KywCcRHa0hmjdQ8CC0J-3_a8CLkc4SIiqN8vRrfhrdI/s853/hands%20egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4hcMtFIsWLbugtOJFZV7FSK442AuucJ9_LBSXvWmjo9solasqO1mcn3Qt4pHIUXjYHQwY3Jn6kQoNgm2MkqfEIjTSiwra83pmOD2eaV_XuNaMJaGpUxuMyVCEwwUubX5m6eNuH798c93wr96KywCcRHa0hmjdQ8CC0J-3_a8CLkc4SIiqN8vRrfhrdI/s320/hands%20egg.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QsUB60IBMpHq9MpFCoUl4_wtnV0efOtU2j_UsItgO_fMiHFa-tZf2rNTIj8eoleT9fQM0GDEK-54XufCkJd3NUQkJo9km4_gR_-eqIlDdLLEjczxpRhScaz4KP6ukSDqxqFm0cgUIbX72x4K9PUObN16UST3ogTcli_QEYV4Du_SocuBZZu_7Gm3-Y4/s640/dye.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="640" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QsUB60IBMpHq9MpFCoUl4_wtnV0efOtU2j_UsItgO_fMiHFa-tZf2rNTIj8eoleT9fQM0GDEK-54XufCkJd3NUQkJo9km4_gR_-eqIlDdLLEjczxpRhScaz4KP6ukSDqxqFm0cgUIbX72x4K9PUObN16UST3ogTcli_QEYV4Du_SocuBZZu_7Gm3-Y4/s320/dye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>It was cold and raining hard today with a wild wind. The roads were awash with water in spots, and little brooks flowed along the hillsides where brooks are generally not seen. The trees bobbed and danced in the gusts. We braved the squall to get to the door when we arrived at our destination. It was a happy surprise to see snowdrops blooming by the entryway.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveye5xtZg6j-iSN-vei_S9YOvWFejcSP4qYWFVccx2nEMDcGsFAGV2BUb6f5xKjmJTPiN_2zyeyHlpS9YcNH3mnJrVomHatyKcIStl0WFsyZ7NmjhZvJLYAXi9T0-46SNODW02EqxsBCTNzAc-7a40fQ1bTyGJMvx_ATXyweD9wmFgGA1vOmTt6X3Iw8/s640/snowdrops.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="606" data-original-width="640" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveye5xtZg6j-iSN-vei_S9YOvWFejcSP4qYWFVccx2nEMDcGsFAGV2BUb6f5xKjmJTPiN_2zyeyHlpS9YcNH3mnJrVomHatyKcIStl0WFsyZ7NmjhZvJLYAXi9T0-46SNODW02EqxsBCTNzAc-7a40fQ1bTyGJMvx_ATXyweD9wmFgGA1vOmTt6X3Iw8/s320/snowdrops.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Inside, it was warm and welcoming. They have the coziest house. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEMcHMnHa9Ag5os3Nawhjw10TABV408Au-jigx3cxKNeA5OIrGpRQnDyXxNkprVhoZxNOeE3j-CrKtFnOVk80dnotJ8E7unaXZBYnbX1yzVjCM2ReMe5oFrMR6ZcljRvRyUYVDc1M0Y0GRZunUq_ePwI96IohRGHj5oISvH-2R0j-nZQjLcSOryMmwao/s640/group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="640" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEMcHMnHa9Ag5os3Nawhjw10TABV408Au-jigx3cxKNeA5OIrGpRQnDyXxNkprVhoZxNOeE3j-CrKtFnOVk80dnotJ8E7unaXZBYnbX1yzVjCM2ReMe5oFrMR6ZcljRvRyUYVDc1M0Y0GRZunUq_ePwI96IohRGHj5oISvH-2R0j-nZQjLcSOryMmwao/s320/group.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Everywhere one looks, there are books, beauty, art, and comfortable spots that invite a person to curl up and soak up the snugness. Maple sap steamed in huge pots on top of a wood stove boasting dancing flames. A buffet of delicious food awaited, warm brie and crackers, quiche, deviled eggs, raspberry scones, home baked Sally Lunn buns with a drizzle of maple syrup made this season from trees they tapped themselves. Everything was a feast for the senses. <div><br /></div><div>As the storm raged, we gathered around a sturdy table lit by an abundance of candles. We nibbled, chatted, and created. My new granddaughter was passed from person to person, causing smiles all around. </div><div><br /></div><div>We came home with our delicate egg creations, happy hearts, and sweet new memories. <br /><p><br /></p></div></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-6234499528999920852024-03-09T20:43:00.003-05:002024-03-10T20:02:43.747-04:00March... <p> A lot of people in New England dislike March. It can be wet, cold, and muddy. We are ready for spring, and March seems to stretch on endlessly, a long, chilly pause between winter and spring. As for me, March is a happy month. It's the month it all began for me because it is when I was born. It is the month my beloved pledged to be mine forever, and five years later, the month our precious daughter arrived. </p><p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY26Txa15iw7wRNSo8OZv8X-5wOeMI35JXL9gSSieXMR2rHiI7vod8ZlU-h45o3zagSSFL8hNRy0tVv7wXRUWdSJSD6JASKrsjvrFOwclFdSavjCfMgvs15SGEZYwXi0gRTWxerdX61nvTaNzngG1SgzQAkAdCGRKGhI1kPl0z2QxDpTxbLv_b1ik00M/s640/boots.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="494" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY26Txa15iw7wRNSo8OZv8X-5wOeMI35JXL9gSSieXMR2rHiI7vod8ZlU-h45o3zagSSFL8hNRy0tVv7wXRUWdSJSD6JASKrsjvrFOwclFdSavjCfMgvs15SGEZYwXi0gRTWxerdX61nvTaNzngG1SgzQAkAdCGRKGhI1kPl0z2QxDpTxbLv_b1ik00M/s320/boots.jpg" width="247" /></a></p><p>The entire long day was stretched out before me when I woke up this morning. It was overcast but in the 30s, so it was decent weather for working outside. I put on boots and work gloves and spent the entire day outdoors puttering. I cleaned the small chicken coop, put down fresh shavings, and cleaned food and water bowls. It looked so nice when I was finished. Here are before-and-after pictures. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEn34tra9se_yJOWwBc5_ZWzlGoirR3LVbxYHsTQD4Nq1OQCaseb0F0FA9YpF-CdKIBin_NCxn0iNwTLg_PXPDe__fzSj0b7bvYGotKOunULUGAD06uitCG1KBqGkeAN7gVlhyg1zPCC4Uji8p7EmKeRii14ESp4587pP3zyceF0_L_Iv0To2n2xT5SQ/s853/cochin%20dirty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEn34tra9se_yJOWwBc5_ZWzlGoirR3LVbxYHsTQD4Nq1OQCaseb0F0FA9YpF-CdKIBin_NCxn0iNwTLg_PXPDe__fzSj0b7bvYGotKOunULUGAD06uitCG1KBqGkeAN7gVlhyg1zPCC4Uji8p7EmKeRii14ESp4587pP3zyceF0_L_Iv0To2n2xT5SQ/s320/cochin%20dirty.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJbIVekx_aFdrR8q6I0PD4d_5_O4IbpyExvp7HuWdCgC939N7KuxlkfgjmhwCu-4x_PFlRH5BDJ3ntqoQKHFS2ZGMQwccsw0LD9Qjm05YIjsAFLiAhKC9F8HGdkfcrPxZtvvn7WA8O71ahvktaO5nv9683Gf-TPc3FI90leESKE69u7UJ0dk6U2GQPG4/s853/cochin%20clean.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJbIVekx_aFdrR8q6I0PD4d_5_O4IbpyExvp7HuWdCgC939N7KuxlkfgjmhwCu-4x_PFlRH5BDJ3ntqoQKHFS2ZGMQwccsw0LD9Qjm05YIjsAFLiAhKC9F8HGdkfcrPxZtvvn7WA8O71ahvktaO5nv9683Gf-TPc3FI90leESKE69u7UJ0dk6U2GQPG4/s320/cochin%20clean.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Next, I picked up some windblown trash from the yard. On a whim, I lit a fire in the fire ring. I piled on branches from a bucket full of winter evergreen boughs, and the air was soon perfumed with spicy smoke. Scraps of cardboard got tossed on, too. I moved to the big coop and cleaned it out. Several hens were waiting to use the nest boxes to lay eggs, and they complained to me loudly. They stomped in and out of the coop, clucking fussily and giving me the stink eye. I tried to work fast. They filed in and presented me with a half dozen eggs as soon as I was done. </p>I cleaned the yard more and sat at our picnic table, looking at the fire and planning what I'd like to accomplish in the gardens this year. I am excited because I can work without pain now that I have my excellent new knee, and the possibilities are exciting. Canada Geese winged overhead, calling their haunting song, urging me to get moving, too. <div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoapI2bh3ZCbai0YI2Gd8hieLx4wZY6sSvqnBquWG7tB-4DmiTTOiL_CIF9qUItwhgJ9YAf6IC4LuqAf6sTnlA4hzYvZ0VATZC4zx41Jd2Jqad4w2-fxd0hm8yZniTwPRscyzS508i6qbSiU6q8ODpHHbdRdssHlCqefM_5hWI3mym-yfM-p8z8ruNpoU/s640/fire%20ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoapI2bh3ZCbai0YI2Gd8hieLx4wZY6sSvqnBquWG7tB-4DmiTTOiL_CIF9qUItwhgJ9YAf6IC4LuqAf6sTnlA4hzYvZ0VATZC4zx41Jd2Jqad4w2-fxd0hm8yZniTwPRscyzS508i6qbSiU6q8ODpHHbdRdssHlCqefM_5hWI3mym-yfM-p8z8ruNpoU/s320/fire%20ring.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><p>Finally, I tackled the goat cozy. For the last two months, I have let hay pile up to create a deep layer of bedding to help the goats stay warm on cold nights. This worked well; the top layer of hay was clean and dry, but we found that underneath was heavy and wet as we cleaned. Thankfully, Chris helped me do some of the heavy lifting. We forked up six or seven huge loads of dirty shavings and hay and hauled them outside. We swept the floor and put down clean, bright shavings. The goats ran in and out excitedly, investigating our work and snorting as they breathed in the crisp pine scent.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYCdnh0cuL9NdqZzLbHVFLNqCdnW5rKlf930QsNUxxGStQl_QwU15XkfX6U9Pz2c0JWezWxvocfB4h2xcobFVol7OnQ-XXQ_w1P6kUzhAYWUH3pcg4kGu9iWlq0gUKrVWVbxyhaQDIdqj0MlZame_iLi_0lPWRyloi2OGArY5zKZcDEtAK5S2ct8-NFI/s640/March%20goats.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="640" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYCdnh0cuL9NdqZzLbHVFLNqCdnW5rKlf930QsNUxxGStQl_QwU15XkfX6U9Pz2c0JWezWxvocfB4h2xcobFVol7OnQ-XXQ_w1P6kUzhAYWUH3pcg4kGu9iWlq0gUKrVWVbxyhaQDIdqj0MlZame_iLi_0lPWRyloi2OGArY5zKZcDEtAK5S2ct8-NFI/s320/March%20goats.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Afterward, Chris and I sat by the fire for a little while, enjoying a glass of wine. It was chilly but an excellent harbinger of warm days to come. As dusk gathered, the chickens filed into their coops and hopped up on their roosts, muttering contentedly. The goats gathered around their hay feeder, and I put bright spring bandanas on them. After their meal, they snuggled in their clean shavings. Tomorrow, it is supposed to rain and storm all day. I will be happy knowing all the animals have tidy homes where they can weather the storm.</p><p>March may not be everyone's cup of tea, but it is a month I cherish. The days get longer, and the sun feels warmer. Migratory birds return and begin to scout for mates and nests and try out their voices for the upcoming spring chorus. It is time to clean up after the long winter, celebrate births, joyously observe our anniversary, and begin to plan for gardening and summer projects. </p></div></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-86385103388670160382024-02-13T21:24:00.001-05:002024-02-13T21:30:23.630-05:00Kindness all around... <p> When my daughter was expecting her first child, there was a tsunami of gifts. They came from friends and family, from neighbors, and arrived in astonishing numbers from our customers. That baby was so well welcomed; it was humbling. </p><p>The same has been true for the new wee one. For weeks before her birth, and now, five weeks after her arrival, sweet presents keep rolling in. We are awash in gratitude. </p><p>Today, a familiar vehicle pulled up outside. It belonged to a favorite customer, and I was alarmed because his name was not on the calendar. I feared I had made a mistake and neglected to write down an appointment. He came to the door and smiled when he saw Rachel, who had popped in to visit. "I came to see <i>you</i>," he said. And handed her two beautiful wooden spoons. "I carved these for your little girls," he said. "From wood on our property." </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnHp1MGgWSulCk3nEI407gX0ZKYhQvVhd_oHS4oSRV2UtPk7_sLbM8c3883loEFFi6L_P7JzB5y0jMCZ-_Jd8BoLIiouCjqlnYtD6d2uIHXxPkHMswJAo9MYJHxKGAYXWf4l1uEcj35HMJP03SYyXgkHggSEKw2OSskok-rLEAWXrTPqIQGghtgHSnsM/s640/Spoons.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnHp1MGgWSulCk3nEI407gX0ZKYhQvVhd_oHS4oSRV2UtPk7_sLbM8c3883loEFFi6L_P7JzB5y0jMCZ-_Jd8BoLIiouCjqlnYtD6d2uIHXxPkHMswJAo9MYJHxKGAYXWf4l1uEcj35HMJP03SYyXgkHggSEKw2OSskok-rLEAWXrTPqIQGghtgHSnsM/s320/Spoons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgtedAGpM0lNCVZLvEDurWg6Dc5L7PSp4c8DpdPxbCqRtWeu4hqmOTcjWRuggPZ84IXxPGK8UDQ-ApbPolHS3BeS6pWBfexPmqS0T15IUlQBLN3gQkGWY31ZVbUpkra-V0eTQEs8NYixKwdt6nKlsMDqpGMldIBnDsvddnxLeODrNhIrz-S2Roy2Rq9M/s640/spoons%20two.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="640" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgtedAGpM0lNCVZLvEDurWg6Dc5L7PSp4c8DpdPxbCqRtWeu4hqmOTcjWRuggPZ84IXxPGK8UDQ-ApbPolHS3BeS6pWBfexPmqS0T15IUlQBLN3gQkGWY31ZVbUpkra-V0eTQEs8NYixKwdt6nKlsMDqpGMldIBnDsvddnxLeODrNhIrz-S2Roy2Rq9M/s320/spoons%20two.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Qka8AF8Lw-hs4ATuifMq_vxLv69kkCYll4wFNjFBVLumqORm9PsIndwbsleGob7uaevKe5SnX5uoB0RLEXW9EwjWyt0gAVwKLM_gjKojkfj2W4ysiFaffnfT9wk_erHFVmGiAJTnLGtdfR4_j3yf50eurlrojjGiEAyQtYPjBn0l4sYGP8ld39GBCsQ/s640/spoons%20three.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="640" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Qka8AF8Lw-hs4ATuifMq_vxLv69kkCYll4wFNjFBVLumqORm9PsIndwbsleGob7uaevKe5SnX5uoB0RLEXW9EwjWyt0gAVwKLM_gjKojkfj2W4ysiFaffnfT9wk_erHFVmGiAJTnLGtdfR4_j3yf50eurlrojjGiEAyQtYPjBn0l4sYGP8ld39GBCsQ/s320/spoons%20three.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>"I'll be making them bowls to go with them," he said. The wood is lovely and perfectly smooth. Rachel and I turned them over and over in our hands, admiring the grain and the finish and the marvelous creativity and care that went into each one. </p><p>The daily news reports are bleak and make me worry for the world. But then there are tiny baby clothes in bright packages, dear books, warm cards, warmer blankets and quilts, festive hair bows. And spoons, hand carved with deep care. And kindness. </p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-37925551638637046642024-02-12T17:08:00.001-05:002024-02-12T19:27:15.226-05:00Kids and sweetness... <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnAXR9z93xrwYpvrrWHAkVpxr0kL5DXTDgmLSUByyNjOh4EgaMDzR0xecxsPrt2Fz0egSnV_pGg0glLmGixp8a8Jl0ZxKn399u5ApJSBPZFmA_sjxw-wrRr8KJ4e5fXkatAxC5SvyVa_FDccdCASscks0YGS4t_A8UJPbVS3suc_EJDDz9eZ7Iafbg3M/s1179/Baby%20Plenty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="1179" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnAXR9z93xrwYpvrrWHAkVpxr0kL5DXTDgmLSUByyNjOh4EgaMDzR0xecxsPrt2Fz0egSnV_pGg0glLmGixp8a8Jl0ZxKn399u5ApJSBPZFmA_sjxw-wrRr8KJ4e5fXkatAxC5SvyVa_FDccdCASscks0YGS4t_A8UJPbVS3suc_EJDDz9eZ7Iafbg3M/s320/Baby%20Plenty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There is something about goat kids. Most people find them undeniably attractive. Personally, I find them to be enchanting. This picture is of my goat, Plenty, when she was a kid. (Thanks to Rock Bottom Farm for letting me use their photo.) <p></p><p>Right after Christmas, we took Plenty and Happy to the farm where we bought them so they could have romantic rendezvous with some attractive young bucks. Because. We want kids. We also want milk, which comes along with kids, but mostly? We want hopping, bopping, leaping, twisting, soft, sweet-smelling, and adorable baby goats. We want to watch them and cuddle them and laugh about them. They are joy on tiny hooves. </p><p>Since it was very cold when we drove them to the farm, the most patient and generous son in love in the world let us borrow his Prius to transport them so they wouldn't get a chill in the back of the truck. The problem with putting goats in a car is that they are not housebroken. Or car broken. Let me be blunt. They poop. And pee. Though in this case, they only pooped, which is good because goats poop tidy little pellets that are pretty easy to clean up. Pee is never easy. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VLsegsw2bVbS22x7UIIxQqEjMNatpzajmsv9540KP3WQDLzYy_WK4OT3peqEJVCllRCn1OIp1t2nBbiuyvQxGa0CKrZ_czbRc0w0S5zVe7rgnMCu76lXceRo8alxL8PuJloG_keUjhzzLlVxDsxJr5Bwqo4CT0aBVP8ANs0JBHwq9NAHYZ5OZZD6fRY/s640/goats%20car.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="640" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VLsegsw2bVbS22x7UIIxQqEjMNatpzajmsv9540KP3WQDLzYy_WK4OT3peqEJVCllRCn1OIp1t2nBbiuyvQxGa0CKrZ_czbRc0w0S5zVe7rgnMCu76lXceRo8alxL8PuJloG_keUjhzzLlVxDsxJr5Bwqo4CT0aBVP8ANs0JBHwq9NAHYZ5OZZD6fRY/s320/goats%20car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The goats were perfectly cozy in the back of the car and rode like the ladies that they are, except for the aforementioned pooping. I regret I wasn't fast enough to catch a photo of a lady passenger of a car that drove past us as she hung out the window with her jaw dropped, looking at goats in the car. <div><br /></div><div>Once we arrived at the farm, we convinced the girls to walk up the driveway, past the barn, to a gate where we popped them through so they could join the herd. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgamWwZk7d-3m5UF0WAPcOii1wrXwh_EnIQrZGBPy3sAhOIIsDloaCNxO3S2cKDb57_49P4uJQl8hmB3TJO0gUOnxwAQycDAoR4mdyR4U3rR7afzjRLT7ble-VXfeh15pRp4n-aPOqA-jSLIq_QCtKdQ5WmxAQRq3bUeHT2zMTu7c3wu_ApEv2_fBXriig/s640/Rock%20bottom%20dog.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgamWwZk7d-3m5UF0WAPcOii1wrXwh_EnIQrZGBPy3sAhOIIsDloaCNxO3S2cKDb57_49P4uJQl8hmB3TJO0gUOnxwAQycDAoR4mdyR4U3rR7afzjRLT7ble-VXfeh15pRp4n-aPOqA-jSLIq_QCtKdQ5WmxAQRq3bUeHT2zMTu7c3wu_ApEv2_fBXriig/s320/Rock%20bottom%20dog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>This picture is inside the barn. We actually put them into a big pasture. I just wanted you to understand that there are quite a few goats. This is just some of them. The day we dropped them off, the quite a few goats hung back, cautiously watching to see what we were about. The very large guard dog placed its vast body between us and his herd. The farmer opened the gate and popped Plenty through it. Instantly, one of the goats in the herd ran to her. "Oh," said the farmer. "That is your goat's mother." The two goats had last seen each other over two years ago. She then hustled Happy through the gate. Again, one goat from the cautious herd broke rank and ran to see Happy. "Oh," said the farmer. "That is your goat's daughter." </div><div><br /></div><div>We were all rather touched by the sweetness of the goats recognizing their family member and quickly welcoming them in. The farmer reported that the mothers and daughters all hung out with one another, eating and resting side by side during their stay. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcR-hK2D6FvMhrJaDEGnpqhx-Bjqg7CeHGhUsFmcBsFzMWk2I4CNmI7DdxP_MNvkdrkedtdzcnEjECIJZynUlNEtQYtk7523qCOjr55qZichjhglWA7NaY5ydSigTIoQB2um4JJO1YprfbEaIrcuoD-TB67q1dpE2nowWwT9sBgJqqFt8G1jNouQbVc8/s640/Happy%20close%20up.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcR-hK2D6FvMhrJaDEGnpqhx-Bjqg7CeHGhUsFmcBsFzMWk2I4CNmI7DdxP_MNvkdrkedtdzcnEjECIJZynUlNEtQYtk7523qCOjr55qZichjhglWA7NaY5ydSigTIoQB2um4JJO1YprfbEaIrcuoD-TB67q1dpE2nowWwT9sBgJqqFt8G1jNouQbVc8/s320/Happy%20close%20up.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeOpbrkvyr-CLUUdWbQq-qsAn7ga1tS9EGBi6-vGsmVo2HBPzmeJF_SfkItw3Se6IjeNWArF-27hpverbsktVhbGmq1V-bCLjhEuz-vVQxEBR7zMs4SXrCu32dtvsS6v8E2EtaFdEy5S0p0gP9iFh4JypIqoVGrJptJ74RpiraZvMVqB4BM5uCYwKlAI/s640/Happy%20and%20Plenty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="570" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeOpbrkvyr-CLUUdWbQq-qsAn7ga1tS9EGBi6-vGsmVo2HBPzmeJF_SfkItw3Se6IjeNWArF-27hpverbsktVhbGmq1V-bCLjhEuz-vVQxEBR7zMs4SXrCu32dtvsS6v8E2EtaFdEy5S0p0gP9iFh4JypIqoVGrJptJ74RpiraZvMVqB4BM5uCYwKlAI/s320/Happy%20and%20Plenty.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><br /><p>We brought the girls home yesterday (again in the generously loaned car, so they got to stay toasty.) There was some head-butting and jostling once they arrived, but everyone has settled down. I'm glad the girls are back; I missed their whimsical little faces. </p><p>Now, we will sit back and happily anticipate kids in June. And more sweetness. We can't get enough of either.</p></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-32883780682656684832024-02-09T20:12:00.001-05:002024-02-09T20:13:52.937-05:00Here's the scoop... <p> A year or so ago my sweet husband shared a memory with me. It was about an object from his childhood. An ice cream scoop to be specific. He remembered his mother dishing up ice cream with it for him. He said it was flat, like a paddle, with a sturdy, unbendable handle. </p><p>I called his sisters in Mississippi and asked them about it. They remembered it and described it a little more clearly to me, but they didn't know what had happened to it. </p><p>I looked online and found one or two that I thought might be what he was remembering, but I wasn't sure, so I never ordered one. I thought about it from time to time, but we continued to scoop our ice cream with a dinner spoon. It was sad. </p><p>The other day, a package arrived from my sister-in-law. A beautiful quilt she had lovingly sewn for the new baby. When I called to tell her it had been safely delivered, she said, "There is something in there for Chris. You will know it when you see it." I dug around in the box and gasped when I retrieved a bubble wrap encased something. I knew what it was instantly and shrieked a little. "We were cleaning out a drawer and found it." She told me. </p><p>My husband called on his way home from work. "Need anything from town?" he asked. "Could you grab some ice cream?" </p><p>After supper, we headed for the kitchen to dish up the ice cream. I told him I had a surprise and... </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yD3W8Ti9YRuCHlX-nEvU5VxSt19v_BreA12zJ2RZrL8-YY6KLJaPY5RzkhyphenhyphenQLEJchu_dhzOC9h4aNroQ2qsw8fArde0TCAyV3ve7hqFHGrQwihEGCYclvZdU2Av8sdBTDb3KF96i9EdLZYcCJudNj_tSfUJ-GhfiMpethxPdaD2I2BEhF6NUpw0wl3Y/s853/scoop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yD3W8Ti9YRuCHlX-nEvU5VxSt19v_BreA12zJ2RZrL8-YY6KLJaPY5RzkhyphenhyphenQLEJchu_dhzOC9h4aNroQ2qsw8fArde0TCAyV3ve7hqFHGrQwihEGCYclvZdU2Av8sdBTDb3KF96i9EdLZYcCJudNj_tSfUJ-GhfiMpethxPdaD2I2BEhF6NUpw0wl3Y/s320/scoop.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />handed him the scoop. His eyes opened wide. "It was JUST like THAT!" he said. I told him, "It was EXACTLY like that! Your sister sent it to you. This was your mother's." He was delighted. "If you found me one like this, I would have been so happy. But to have the actual one that was my mom's is so special. I'm going to be serving up ice cream for my grandbabies with this!"<p></p><p>We scooped up the ice cream, and it worked a treat. </p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-48137412623396844132024-02-04T20:39:00.001-05:002024-02-04T20:39:29.623-05:00Cozy days... <p> Winter in Maine offers some weather that makes people who live in warmer climates wonder what we are thinking to live here. We all learn to appreciate cozy moments. Even the animals. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQBARkK9Vg_pS5jGiYVpuvZQdVDpbCg3ueD435GLvZaQcuvh0EicAJw-M8n5BLXUoYRcHcj2gB0RfBz5PD9YIFvRrgbpMeYCJcbtPBmtxi3US0oRw5-YVrkWvxZWTdz9janrB1NHdIfqTaeJDUEuffy8zp3NILN1d5LAxrRpyizF4Wplw3Awcv3s1dS4/s640/Click%20hay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="452" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQBARkK9Vg_pS5jGiYVpuvZQdVDpbCg3ueD435GLvZaQcuvh0EicAJw-M8n5BLXUoYRcHcj2gB0RfBz5PD9YIFvRrgbpMeYCJcbtPBmtxi3US0oRw5-YVrkWvxZWTdz9janrB1NHdIfqTaeJDUEuffy8zp3NILN1d5LAxrRpyizF4Wplw3Awcv3s1dS4/s320/Click%20hay.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><p>The goat's uneaten breakfast made a snug spot in the sun for Click. He rolled and purred and enjoyed himself. Though there was a bitter cold wind, his fur was warm when I stopped to give him some love. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPC2-GQvmjlIkTtnkbi5fDiRnE1ieb-IyRV-ZDxSqPvC_dIcADuFfHgcQrEcxsNk459g1R4RZl78bwAaIlvKrPfpRJKZuE9moNScGmtEPJ-RM1aejg5ALdcy6kRNsm5m0Wipz0f4lXe1QYflPCpxrzv7YS-WORTA8dXY31K0blgH9MGUCjfW-L8VaN1M/s6000/snow%20goats.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPC2-GQvmjlIkTtnkbi5fDiRnE1ieb-IyRV-ZDxSqPvC_dIcADuFfHgcQrEcxsNk459g1R4RZl78bwAaIlvKrPfpRJKZuE9moNScGmtEPJ-RM1aejg5ALdcy6kRNsm5m0Wipz0f4lXe1QYflPCpxrzv7YS-WORTA8dXY31K0blgH9MGUCjfW-L8VaN1M/s320/snow%20goats.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>The goats have a perfectly comfortable house that blocks the wind and boasts deep, dry bedding, but they enjoyed a nap on an island of hay surrounded by snow and ice. Their winter coats are amazingly thick, and they don't seem to mind the cold at all. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbmV-9I9viVFDfO7ksqZlDln-LwdDojUGQcUGmH2Rw84gc6ldNurLvLg0qtWqC0iUvmzgP-Sv2nuiudFcanh3mmOtpa34vAdEnlMNaObn33AmqLzhMWLnl6Yv7dnEckfPq5NG-I05_vKr_ApmnqZHYrRdsqfFFVXCBPf4km4NHE4E7Ly-tPnJoMOLpz0/s640/Flirt%20and%20Opal%20Fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbmV-9I9viVFDfO7ksqZlDln-LwdDojUGQcUGmH2Rw84gc6ldNurLvLg0qtWqC0iUvmzgP-Sv2nuiudFcanh3mmOtpa34vAdEnlMNaObn33AmqLzhMWLnl6Yv7dnEckfPq5NG-I05_vKr_ApmnqZHYrRdsqfFFVXCBPf4km4NHE4E7Ly-tPnJoMOLpz0/s320/Flirt%20and%20Opal%20Fire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>We keep the wood stove fed with dry hardwood, and the little dogs take advantage of it. <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgggyqjiNqK5tzrkyGGnF6_4BQjA2ehKdCrLbRRzlqkhqPJH7UFUXh-F5t-H_194yI0q-kERvfMZMt9JoxJOU2YHRxBTyu3Ke7afHentBK8vfIDFG9ymv2q5pbFUlG8J_rLuL8uZ_fR8DVgadZ9YjyEedOYuEXjf5x3aUfWlOyDZ5Pu7_Y4PX_WfSTMeOY/s640/tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgggyqjiNqK5tzrkyGGnF6_4BQjA2ehKdCrLbRRzlqkhqPJH7UFUXh-F5t-H_194yI0q-kERvfMZMt9JoxJOU2YHRxBTyu3Ke7afHentBK8vfIDFG9ymv2q5pbFUlG8J_rLuL8uZ_fR8DVgadZ9YjyEedOYuEXjf5x3aUfWlOyDZ5Pu7_Y4PX_WfSTMeOY/s320/tulips.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Chris brings me flowers every week in the winter. When the world outside is cold and white, it makes me happy to see something springy inside our snug house.</p><p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBhMM8HvLrjCEC3afWE487eljyfWq_wD9IR0gN13I3iEPDND99GUiiBzM9qLDtjAfTbCDuwiWnhm2qYWPIua0IDSoqOUGMqdYpeIErPg3yh-3wrgzUpQ6OYp3ULEpifCGKGCSLGNPrVMF6JO2TbvUvEKz01XRCLw-ITXk32Sp4iSsvERvo1jJ7A_UMyU/s6000/Cardinal.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBhMM8HvLrjCEC3afWE487eljyfWq_wD9IR0gN13I3iEPDND99GUiiBzM9qLDtjAfTbCDuwiWnhm2qYWPIua0IDSoqOUGMqdYpeIErPg3yh-3wrgzUpQ6OYp3ULEpifCGKGCSLGNPrVMF6JO2TbvUvEKz01XRCLw-ITXk32Sp4iSsvERvo1jJ7A_UMyU/s320/Cardinal.JPG" width="320" /></a></p><p>It is early February, and this years groundhog predicts an early spring. I have heard a few birds tentatively try out a springtime song. I rather enjoy the cozy days of winter, but admit that I look forward to spring with giddy anticipation. </p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-72322366353289064282024-01-28T21:21:00.003-05:002024-01-29T14:07:11.352-05:00Celebration... <p> Every other Saturday, we have "family supper." It's a time to share a meal and touch base, keeping up with what is going down. Our daughter, her husband, and two wee daughters join us. Afterwards, the Owlet spends the night with us.</p><p> Neighbor/friend Cheryl usually takes a seat at the table, along with Scott, our buddy for the last 20 years. It's generally a casual affair but includes some good chatting and laughs. Last night we invited my friend Megan and her new beau. Then Scott asked if his mom could come, too. We love her and were happy to have her at the table. Then Fields, who lives in North Carolina but has a winter job two hours from here at a resort, asked if she could come hang out. So, we had nine adults, a toddler, and an infant at the table. It was loud and crowded and delightful.</p><p>I cooked some spicy Mexican-inspired shredded chicken and some queso dip. Chris grilled steak and a pile of peppers and onions. Megan brought cilantro lime rice. Scott made his famous salsa. Cheryl brought a pineapple upside-down cake. Evans made some excellent slaw. Fields arrived just in time to help me cook the tortillas. It is a job best accomplished with four hands. I rolled the disks, and Fields tossed them in a screaming hot cast iron skillet. We watched them puff, then she flipped them and stacked them in a bowl covered with a damp towel. We tucked them into a just-warm oven. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wOtx4VQRke34TZEZZBj_wwpzZA4sAk4HHCzwpYpeygnJDU4X4ayDEdefrznd1k4mLAmDYyLHD1VuKEq2rwAzhhioJDmLjEZK2ziKhHjwDWuPoG1euLT1XMgNUXNxfX6mEbC7HbX2ertPbSiwTP6JIO8R_eX_55JhMhUDTTSXXNseLmTUaZkCgucVwjg/s640/Fields%20tortillas.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wOtx4VQRke34TZEZZBj_wwpzZA4sAk4HHCzwpYpeygnJDU4X4ayDEdefrznd1k4mLAmDYyLHD1VuKEq2rwAzhhioJDmLjEZK2ziKhHjwDWuPoG1euLT1XMgNUXNxfX6mEbC7HbX2ertPbSiwTP6JIO8R_eX_55JhMhUDTTSXXNseLmTUaZkCgucVwjg/s320/Fields%20tortillas.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>At the crowded table, we passed platters of meat and vegetables, tortillas, and toppings. Everyone filled their plates. There was a lot of chatter and some quiet lulls when people ate happily. After dessert (which was delicious!), there was a whiskey tasting for those who liked the stuff. I do not. I held the baby, played with the Owlet, and listened happily to the cadence and rhythm of conversation as the tasters enjoyed experimenting with sips from the amazing variety of bottles. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9KgfDw_mFJ4mfLgcxV7N8eqfaRKod2u_d4M3RHpeEuC0JiMvbMBbXrZGWjTagJWKZ0DE2WdVuY5OsEaOciA_fIfrqmha3n_1W8j1Ov5zVue-OUbTR0DYnFlU_a_1ItfkdSqGcCm9WEaxZTRC2UpVbbbxyRABt4QwL8MJDvviM_7uoMsvo5RTmAQ_yqE/s640/Waters%20Hands.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9KgfDw_mFJ4mfLgcxV7N8eqfaRKod2u_d4M3RHpeEuC0JiMvbMBbXrZGWjTagJWKZ0DE2WdVuY5OsEaOciA_fIfrqmha3n_1W8j1Ov5zVue-OUbTR0DYnFlU_a_1ItfkdSqGcCm9WEaxZTRC2UpVbbbxyRABt4QwL8MJDvviM_7uoMsvo5RTmAQ_yqE/s320/Waters%20Hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><p>The Owlet was tired of socializing by nine and said, "Brush teeth. Read book." She announced a firm "bye" to her mama and papa and scrambled upstairs. It amazes me how she embraces the Saturday routine. We had a story, a few songs, and some excellent snuggles, and then she slept until dawn, when her eyes flew open. "Wake up! Bacon!" She understands the best elements of a Sunday morning. </p><p>Today was a quiet, lazy day. The whole weekend was an observance of family, food, and fun. A celebration of the finest kind. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-52866017746130253142024-01-21T20:40:00.002-05:002024-01-21T20:47:53.230-05:00Breath taking... <p> Bald Eagles have been making themselves visible lately. I see them perched in the barren hardwood trees across the road from my vantage point where I work. They catch my attention by swooping into the field and back up to their perch. Their stark white heads and tails are incandescent and unmistakable. </p><p> When I am out doing chores, the air is so cold it makes my teeth ache, I often hear them cry. In movies and on television, they rarely use sound effects that are actual eagle calls when they show eagles. To some, their voice does not sound as majestic as they think it should, so they substitute the cry of the red-tailed hawk. I disagree with those people. The high-pitched piping tone is a sound born of water and air, unforgettable once you know it.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4k7A14uQm3ssxv4lB-pRVFqtzlgGaVFzUYyvZgB-b0xpViNwZkoIKFeAtUzi3eh2s3msYIVIBX_oB2eV8scdw7CJzqqQHfwZdRN1-rjnlS5vP1u60VzblcJl5YEFbhFNl3vzH1_DGHArsNSLvFX6YEmlmQtZcExgV24dpke-KGaYk2kk47uCfBSJzgLE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1379" data-original-width="2072" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4k7A14uQm3ssxv4lB-pRVFqtzlgGaVFzUYyvZgB-b0xpViNwZkoIKFeAtUzi3eh2s3msYIVIBX_oB2eV8scdw7CJzqqQHfwZdRN1-rjnlS5vP1u60VzblcJl5YEFbhFNl3vzH1_DGHArsNSLvFX6YEmlmQtZcExgV24dpke-KGaYk2kk47uCfBSJzgLE" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">iStock photo Ray Hennessy</span><br />My visiting daughter said, "There's a dead animal over there." It was in a spot I couldn't see well from my seat. When I looked, I saw a flock of crows and a dark smudge interrupting the snow. When I had a break in the day, I put Bravo on a leash, stuffed my feet into boots, and went to investigate. The snow wasn't deep, only four inches or so, with a thin crust of ice over the top, unblemished, reflecting the late afternoon light up so brightly I wished I had sunglasses on. Bravo was delighted with our impromptu adventure, crunching through the snow and smelling all the smells. He froze when he got the first scent of the dead deer ahead. <p></p><p>It was a good-sized doe; not much was left of her except her head, hide, and long, delicate legs. The rest had been hollowed out like a shell, the rib bones half-eaten. Coyotes, eagles and other birds had feasted upon her. It made me glad that I choose to lock the goats up tight inside their Cozy at night. As sad as it was to see the remnants of this doe, it would break my heart if it were one of my chubby, spoiled goats. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucljm7VqTvA-ncZWItYZr-fTkT002FgOAS81ZY2Jhq-klL70ads0eGA3F2VIg7QrsvNJM5wZi3f3wXo3uTSjxOGtq9lw7pkAxxrCP2DzycfbNdaWLJE1E44wn6gyJUfSRac1w8iPVQiF7BzD7GkGXUjq6iWn5PToiCaqgGZT-4MeIjPIsYYANcESyjt0/s640/Happy%20smile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucljm7VqTvA-ncZWItYZr-fTkT002FgOAS81ZY2Jhq-klL70ads0eGA3F2VIg7QrsvNJM5wZi3f3wXo3uTSjxOGtq9lw7pkAxxrCP2DzycfbNdaWLJE1E44wn6gyJUfSRac1w8iPVQiF7BzD7GkGXUjq6iWn5PToiCaqgGZT-4MeIjPIsYYANcESyjt0/s320/Happy%20smile.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>A fine car drove past my house twice, three times, then parked near the end of my driveway. A young couple got out with a camera and long lens, a rig that cost four times what I paid for my first vehicle. I could see by their movements how excited they were to see the eagles; they stayed and watched for a long time, doubtless taking hundreds of pictures. <p></p><p>As a child in the sixties, DDT nearly decimated the Bald Eagle population in New England. I checked Rachel Carson's <u>Silent Spring</u> out of the library and read it tucked in my bed one summer night while trucks trundled down our little street spraying for mosquitos. I inhaled that fog while I learned about the decimation of songbirds and the thin eggshells of the birds of prey. My tender heart ached.</p><p>I was well into my thirties and living in the mid-south before I saw an eagle flying free at Reelfoot Lake in Tennessee. Now, back in New England, I see them regularly, sometimes perched on a tree on our property or swooping over our meadow. It takes my breath away every time. </p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-79632013531028060192024-01-14T19:11:00.000-05:002024-01-14T19:11:54.173-05:00Wild weather... <p> Our local coastal community has been bludgeoned by storms in the past week. Terrible damage to roads, homes, commercial buildings, and boats that will cost fortunes to repair. I worried about the suffering people and property damage while the wind shrieked around our house. We did not have any damage here besides a bit of water in the basement. We are thankful. </p><p>While the weather raged outside, inside an Amaryllis bulb a friend didn't want has been in riotous bloom. It's a pale buttercream color, and it's lovely to have something growing while it is so cold outside. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJTbQEJPvHN_Eqg9OMCAWDodVmFqKTxT8nNNQ7SsstN2P0WRIcut21efD9Lc53oB4YB7TlKSo4Cmn4vy-qkadqC7M7V-ZFp4rcYVr0oxBRLMebiuNknAJXgmkB1gh-E25sQPWQwNG9YTdNIKPeMmaMVicK4-kK_HFNeuOf6F4XdTdEtrCeYY1D9UmfeA/s640/amaryllis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJTbQEJPvHN_Eqg9OMCAWDodVmFqKTxT8nNNQ7SsstN2P0WRIcut21efD9Lc53oB4YB7TlKSo4Cmn4vy-qkadqC7M7V-ZFp4rcYVr0oxBRLMebiuNknAJXgmkB1gh-E25sQPWQwNG9YTdNIKPeMmaMVicK4-kK_HFNeuOf6F4XdTdEtrCeYY1D9UmfeA/s320/amaryllis.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">The temperatures are supposed to plummet this coming week, so we took advantage of today's clear skies to clean out the animal houses. It is important that the chickens and goats have dry bedding, especially when it is very cold. It may seem silly, but the animals all look pleased when they return from the pasture to their tidy homes. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp35y5RZY__AU_how3SPLUE0oeFkYU0Fsw39rxjtoj1A1QQz_Z6Uq8831B3SAX2zqGqrurobFbJ-EubDbiC13d91hajFl_E8BQ8Lr3P46OegGRz67BLLWZuojv3mnqJSJ5nSO8lMlv3LtseuUqc9rzYHXtf_YZvXVXxAFvbTV4H7AVZGaUt4z3pLw632c/s640/Chickens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="640" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp35y5RZY__AU_how3SPLUE0oeFkYU0Fsw39rxjtoj1A1QQz_Z6Uq8831B3SAX2zqGqrurobFbJ-EubDbiC13d91hajFl_E8BQ8Lr3P46OegGRz67BLLWZuojv3mnqJSJ5nSO8lMlv3LtseuUqc9rzYHXtf_YZvXVXxAFvbTV4H7AVZGaUt4z3pLw632c/s320/Chickens.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>In our home this morning we were awaked before dawn by the Owlet, who we had here for a spend-the-night. "Wake up, Pop-Pop," her little voice piped. "Wake up. Make food." He did as requested. She followed him to the kitchen with three of her current favorite books and plunked down on the rug I bought specifically with her in mind to await her breakfast.</p><p>I went out into the bitter wind to feed and water the animals, warmed by this cozy scene while I did my chores. Despite the devastating storms, there is much to be grateful for. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwwWjzlvpA7wXFxFeuVqc-BW3FCUBLl3f45QyP14sZ0YZehJs1oqh7eEBwO2eYytrZm3W9JY5I2yix7EVZtu6ULHTTKLNHJV01aD0G7HCDVVs8OHs4_-FL9ntlG-7YTSXNy3sINQ2XmHcZTlliw8doD4zrV2fRT7HIb5P04KHG4lZO3rK98qLCoUOrLM/s640/Sunday%20morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="562" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDwwWjzlvpA7wXFxFeuVqc-BW3FCUBLl3f45QyP14sZ0YZehJs1oqh7eEBwO2eYytrZm3W9JY5I2yix7EVZtu6ULHTTKLNHJV01aD0G7HCDVVs8OHs4_-FL9ntlG-7YTSXNy3sINQ2XmHcZTlliw8doD4zrV2fRT7HIb5P04KHG4lZO3rK98qLCoUOrLM/s320/Sunday%20morning.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-80655104227312893332024-01-10T20:50:00.001-05:002024-01-10T20:50:37.343-05:00Worth the wait...<p> I was absolutely sure that the new grandbaby would arrive before its December 28th due date. Second babies often do, and I was convinced this one would, too. I was wrong. The due date came. Then it went. As did six more days. I was on edge; the waiting was hard. </p><p>On January 4th, my daughter called, "I think today is the day," she said, and she was right. I was at work grooming. In no time at all, I heard a ding on my phone telling me I had a message, and there was a photo of my precious daughter with a rosy newborn on her chest. "It's a girl," the caption said. I'm not naturally a crier, but I stood at the grooming tub and sobbed. I cried with relief that all was well and joy at welcoming a new granddaughter. </p><p>By the next day, they were home in their cozy house. We had kept the Owlet with us while they were in the hospital, and when we took her home, she busied herself around the living room, casting shy glimpses at her mama holding the wee babe. Finally, she climbed up beside her mother and gently opened the blanket covering her sister. She took in the tiny toes, the wee waving hands, the cap of dark hair, and the minuscule face with a look of total wonder. Then she snuggled into her mother's arms. And just like that, the baby was calmly welcomed into the fold. </p><p>My daughter's husband arranged to take eight weeks off to celebrate the arrival. He has been cooking, cleaning, and doting on his family, making everything run smoothly. I popped in tonight after work. My daughter, the baby, and the Owlet were cuddled up on the sofa. There was a charcuterie board with lots of goodies cut just the right size for a toddler to enjoy. A moment later, my son-in-love delivered each of us fancy drinks. Tall ones for Rachel and me, a wee one for the toddler. Crushed mint, limes, seltzer, and a wedge of pineapple. There was even a little one for the Owlet. We had snacks and sips, and I cuddled the baby and kissed her fragrant cheeks. Soft music was playing, and we had a jolly chat while we watched the Owlet play and the baby (who I think I shall refer to as The Cygnet) kick, blink, yawn, and stretch. It was magical. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigneHIMkpWttJ7ily8VB5Vdyt9lxAd71-rxjmzMUcqa10A3GLwl_BXCumHJjkZOnZV9c269vzMq8zzsNlhlW3mQmv5G0WnlKPTl_2zk2gvbf1IPGLjZQxUYNQxrMPZl0SL_CeCYn3KeTM6UdOjlA1krWBrSYQ3z3f9WVkAdZ3edQEHiCLioIMu6fzL2u0/s853/drink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigneHIMkpWttJ7ily8VB5Vdyt9lxAd71-rxjmzMUcqa10A3GLwl_BXCumHJjkZOnZV9c269vzMq8zzsNlhlW3mQmv5G0WnlKPTl_2zk2gvbf1IPGLjZQxUYNQxrMPZl0SL_CeCYn3KeTM6UdOjlA1krWBrSYQ3z3f9WVkAdZ3edQEHiCLioIMu6fzL2u0/s320/drink.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>A healthy new family member to love. She was worth the wait. <div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEc7a03cjDsvQo1R097Ay0P2JYGox6FTQKWyWx9EsV9oM1bytzMDD7_vS0CxB9YpO3DU67iLG3yTtbgivMVqMq0D3ksvtmE_lLPkVnpPMbK3LDqB5yCfKXEATWcspaE0B8fd3O0avQZGtkQdptVuiW4gkSdbOv2ljPeVImT1xmat_YcKHv8x5ydlDN0s0/s853/wavy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEc7a03cjDsvQo1R097Ay0P2JYGox6FTQKWyWx9EsV9oM1bytzMDD7_vS0CxB9YpO3DU67iLG3yTtbgivMVqMq0D3ksvtmE_lLPkVnpPMbK3LDqB5yCfKXEATWcspaE0B8fd3O0avQZGtkQdptVuiW4gkSdbOv2ljPeVImT1xmat_YcKHv8x5ydlDN0s0/s320/wavy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-3777847692861096542024-01-01T21:49:00.000-05:002024-01-01T21:49:15.982-05:00Finale... <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChJ_YrKPqoHqVi7T-6MW-4sw8joicEu9-sXq5GvBcBRVkZXgXvnZLZ1iWxej7y8n1sCnajXleyhRJHoB8F0vXnN_7tbie5-9pRmvaAh7k7kFMeE49NPuQawRDoHzhANqe7ppR4HwAkI2Y6jtCIVx0Ca4sFSwZdV29oZ2X6Z3SEAi73cQzv9CYeCt1Euo/s640/Happy%20Goat%20New%20Year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChJ_YrKPqoHqVi7T-6MW-4sw8joicEu9-sXq5GvBcBRVkZXgXvnZLZ1iWxej7y8n1sCnajXleyhRJHoB8F0vXnN_7tbie5-9pRmvaAh7k7kFMeE49NPuQawRDoHzhANqe7ppR4HwAkI2Y6jtCIVx0Ca4sFSwZdV29oZ2X6Z3SEAi73cQzv9CYeCt1Euo/s320/Happy%20Goat%20New%20Year.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>We ended the year quietly, just as we began it, together at home. It's our favorite place to be. </p><p>For me, the year's high points include getting a new knee. I am a little more skeptical about modern medicine than some people, but oh! how grateful I am to walk pain-free. The recovery was not much fun, but I got through it thanks to Chris's excellent nursing care, Rachel's running the grooming business, and an incredible physical therapist. The improvement in my life is a new wonder to me every day. </p><p>I surpassed my goal of reading fifty books by three and wrote and published many articles. I practiced being a "Lovie" by enjoying every second with the Owlet. Well, almost every second. Some of her two-year-old tantrums are a little trying. I was proud of the quality of grooming we put out daily, had many laughs with my daughter while we worked, and made some excellent memories with our lovely customers. </p><p>Chris and I celebrated 39 sweet years of marriage with a lot of gratitude. We know how lucky we are and don't take a day for granted. </p><p>This morning we started off the new year in a unique way. We took two of our goats back to the farm where we bought them so they could have a romantic liaison with a buck. It seemed fitting to start the year with the hope of new life, and nothing is livelier than a bunch of tiny baby goats flouncing around the place. </p><p>As we open the new calendar to a fresh, blank page, we happily anticipate the wonders that will unfold. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-33259501784265777122023-12-28T15:58:00.002-05:002023-12-28T16:01:29.623-05:00Anticipation... <p> We had an exceptionally pleasant Christmas. The house was cozy and festive. I enjoyed decorating and took a lot of pleasure in gazing at our tree, the vintage decorations, the little illuminated village, the roses, and the candlelight. I listened to beautiful Christmas music all month, and we viewed all our favorite seasonal movies. Holiday anticipation is really the best part, don't you think? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05_jPZStrCuYSG-3QHUZSIMv49Rnqjmgvvx2gbC7q9uPgz_XaFo1gweJZofu1V16BDmWhXiyxfCrlUk8Zwr0n9Lu3YRbOiYKWvMwIBP6IAb66bILYAaTTkd1cKfdT-QL8GlIgclkjfPQFks7vuX9wkhcwq8tap7ignpn4ztpa3GBVoyflBYHesR_SMwA/s853/Swedish%20angels.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05_jPZStrCuYSG-3QHUZSIMv49Rnqjmgvvx2gbC7q9uPgz_XaFo1gweJZofu1V16BDmWhXiyxfCrlUk8Zwr0n9Lu3YRbOiYKWvMwIBP6IAb66bILYAaTTkd1cKfdT-QL8GlIgclkjfPQFks7vuX9wkhcwq8tap7ignpn4ztpa3GBVoyflBYHesR_SMwA/s320/Swedish%20angels.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>On Christmas Eve, I drove up the road to buy some extra milk and took a selfie with Moxie, the Jersey cow. Moxie has spent time in our pasture the past two summers, and it was fun to give her a little winter smooch. She was decked out in red velvet with brass bells and looked particularly lovely. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWHoTJCXLWJwayIn6PBYL119kL9uE0GVWefm9cf9PwKrHGH614zrnBaTPXHLA5VHvDB8R03j7kiiZikGfQQ55iDpxRk9H-rVlTXqbofocZ27WxIr0ocvcSx4y_YtlJBOesUfQqyCHRJUcDcrx016dm4kCVkiB7jKnm1pWcVwev7E7QKXyUwUb4EQ7U7o/s853/Christmas%20cow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWHoTJCXLWJwayIn6PBYL119kL9uE0GVWefm9cf9PwKrHGH614zrnBaTPXHLA5VHvDB8R03j7kiiZikGfQQ55iDpxRk9H-rVlTXqbofocZ27WxIr0ocvcSx4y_YtlJBOesUfQqyCHRJUcDcrx016dm4kCVkiB7jKnm1pWcVwev7E7QKXyUwUb4EQ7U7o/s320/Christmas%20cow.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I spent the rest of the day in my happy kitchen, cooking. I made a favorite potato dish; it's a little fussy to create and contains more than its share of calories, but it is so worth it. Here is the recipe in case you want to try it sometime. https://www.thespruceeats.com/gratin-dauphinois-recipe-1375736 I baked a gingerbread recipe that has been in our family for over 100 years and a rum cake. Rachel made eggnog pie with a gingersnap crust. I made phyllo pastry straws stuffed with cream cheese and pesto, and Chris made bruschetta. I baked a batch of popovers, and Chris roasted an enormous prime rib to perfection. There were seven plus the Owlet at the table that night. Our sweet neighbor brought tasty Brussels sprouts and the most delicious squash. There was excellent wine and toasts and cheery conversation. No one went hungry. <div><br /></div><div>Christmas morning, the Owlet and her parents came for breakfast. We enjoyed it at a leisurely pace, then headed to the living room to see about the pile of gifts that awaited. The Owlet enjoyed opening things for a long while, but then she became weary of it. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZcLOvgFMRbLffFoWlTUvPl9h1bIohVhzhDJYgoG4JVlcXkzGiX2YpAVG5I6kOl1b_CGvcRDR60-QpOr8K6C0zQNKvZQI-wRthtPyLWg_0PdH_9n6CzWBD7HAe4QFBLKigkQtrK-b-Hmi7OGPAiWwpnMGw-_JIfq_NeakSQ1-mlz67_DieL-HPWQ2ljY/s640/Bravo%20x%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="568" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZcLOvgFMRbLffFoWlTUvPl9h1bIohVhzhDJYgoG4JVlcXkzGiX2YpAVG5I6kOl1b_CGvcRDR60-QpOr8K6C0zQNKvZQI-wRthtPyLWg_0PdH_9n6CzWBD7HAe4QFBLKigkQtrK-b-Hmi7OGPAiWwpnMGw-_JIfq_NeakSQ1-mlz67_DieL-HPWQ2ljY/s320/Bravo%20x%202.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><br /><div>We had given her a sweet little toddler-sized bed pillow. She went to where her napping sheepskin and knit blanket were stored and brought them to the living room. She carefully placed them in the middle of the floor, surrounded by gifts and discarded paper and ribbons, and laid her little self down. She looked up at us with big eyes and said, "Cozy." Then she picked up a book her Grandmama and Aunt Meg had sent and coaxed her father to join her on the floor for a read. He patiently complied. </div><div><br /></div><div>Around the time we were cleaning up, she climbed up our stairs. "Seepy time. Lovie. Seepy time. Pop Pop, seepy time." I asked if she didn't want to go home for her nap. "No. Snuggle. Read book." So, we sent her parents home for some quiet time and had a cozy Christmas nap (after reading approximately 100 books.) It was a peaceful afternoon, with plenty of fine leftovers for supper. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once the days preparing for and enjoying the holiday were past the anticipation kicked into high gear, because we are all anxiously awaiting the arrival of our newest family member. The due date is today (12/28) and because this is a second child we all suspected it might arrive a little early. The expectant mama has experienced many taunting signs that labor would soon begin in earnest, but then the baby apparently decides to stay where it is safe, warm, and cozy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today is chilly and raw, with leaden skies and a drizzly rain. Rachel and I went for a walk on the beach to see if the primordial sea and pull of the tide might trigger something. We stared at the pewter water, the foam, and the sand and sighed simultaneously. The waiting is difficult. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIs7tDABrdwiDMVV8VUxTcwI-BqMiget7kjOAIojZxh-a3R6aowwZImRPC0tiUn_j8VYSNy-jkgylHyBcXVIpWqE0qdqlTW3HdamcIwVKk6S063lndhYwyD8_mDyKgCFj4bpyETSMMIKJMQEuGmvXo09Y0KzpeQyCVq6UJAIrKNTYcwaNxSMKtvQzjhs/s853/R%20beach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIs7tDABrdwiDMVV8VUxTcwI-BqMiget7kjOAIojZxh-a3R6aowwZImRPC0tiUn_j8VYSNy-jkgylHyBcXVIpWqE0qdqlTW3HdamcIwVKk6S063lndhYwyD8_mDyKgCFj4bpyETSMMIKJMQEuGmvXo09Y0KzpeQyCVq6UJAIrKNTYcwaNxSMKtvQzjhs/s320/R%20beach.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WdT3PPOI_Dc6_9-upIid4CX8yAByB3zZVJFyp8hJpkF4EvVLX25z49yfV22WANLuKOsU-dxoxVItt7Qsd8oGWz14RnpHPFBsQ9_QGevI9b7kinVkinyJVdNyJDI1x50tcVYlOfPag690YIUYdaNeeeVvwzQAWIdhpZa2vgEWgxXjDOnfOmLJlEoKsqM/s640/us%20beach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WdT3PPOI_Dc6_9-upIid4CX8yAByB3zZVJFyp8hJpkF4EvVLX25z49yfV22WANLuKOsU-dxoxVItt7Qsd8oGWz14RnpHPFBsQ9_QGevI9b7kinVkinyJVdNyJDI1x50tcVYlOfPag690YIUYdaNeeeVvwzQAWIdhpZa2vgEWgxXjDOnfOmLJlEoKsqM/s320/us%20beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjez5DMzG3OcuQcqasntvjdnx1sF2jWh3rjweNbQ2auf_Jm_IRsoHmFPm53bTxQChwsQkQTsPiO_AaVFni888mTqJnShnnpv_pjZtbbhTuu8gG5wa705NzX1ceDH4CC5zNFVBiwBt7fcrZqP2kPJP3mSOlcKB_7pUmhMnuWbDt0QzrVuptR0ZBP10r0eTw/s640/beach%20kiss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="640" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjez5DMzG3OcuQcqasntvjdnx1sF2jWh3rjweNbQ2auf_Jm_IRsoHmFPm53bTxQChwsQkQTsPiO_AaVFni888mTqJnShnnpv_pjZtbbhTuu8gG5wa705NzX1ceDH4CC5zNFVBiwBt7fcrZqP2kPJP3mSOlcKB_7pUmhMnuWbDt0QzrVuptR0ZBP10r0eTw/s320/beach%20kiss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>But wait, we must, feeling like we are holding our breaths in readiness for the arrival. I think we are all ready for this "pregnant pause" to pass. We are all anxiously anticipating falling in love with the new baby. </div><div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-38880506413695625232023-12-18T21:13:00.001-05:002023-12-18T21:13:54.407-05:00Let it blow, let it blow, let it blow...<p> The famed Christmas song, "Let it Snow," kept running through my head today as we experienced sixty-mile-an-hour wind gusts. Today's storm was not Christmassy at all. The temperature hovered in the 50's, and the rain poured down in torrents. I had an appointment, and driving there was a little scary. As I drove, huge tree limbs fell on the road, and the wind buffeted my truck. When I got home, we had lost power. And a big tree had fallen near the end of our driveway and blocked the road. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8bMK-dcescy5w-rQfAbrN8By1wd5XEfs8i5Ar0aF0g9iXCV5LG-_uh4BincUCdmBVRymsoB0RqkWAu9ShZ1-N3bpJU50G3sM6eLzLdWbQ1cToKoe7HwvjWfxnIhcqe0_QpPuFAC3IN8hwzSIQ27feDw7Rh0aOSCqRhmYs01nqJz9YqridKPfWSgRKKk/s640/tree%20down.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="640" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT8bMK-dcescy5w-rQfAbrN8By1wd5XEfs8i5Ar0aF0g9iXCV5LG-_uh4BincUCdmBVRymsoB0RqkWAu9ShZ1-N3bpJU50G3sM6eLzLdWbQ1cToKoe7HwvjWfxnIhcqe0_QpPuFAC3IN8hwzSIQ27feDw7Rh0aOSCqRhmYs01nqJz9YqridKPfWSgRKKk/s320/tree%20down.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Although it was fairly warm outside, I started a fire in the wood stove. It was only mid-afternoon, but the house was dark because the storm clouds were so thick. I lit a bunch of little candles and busied myself tidying the house. Because we have a well, when we lose power, we also lose water, but I wiped down the kitchen counters and put away some things that were where they didn't belong. I played Christmas music on my phone and swept the floor. I folded a load of laundry and wrapped a few last gifts to tuck under the tree. </p><p>Because we are expecting a new grandbaby any day I planned way ahead for the holiday this year. It seemed to me that it would be nice to be prepared in case the baby made an early appearance. I did my shopping in October and November and even wrapped most of the gifts before I turned the calendar to December. This was a first for me. We had a baby shower here the first weekend of the month, which spurred me to put up any decorations I wanted to use before then. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfbfkKAXagkPDa7SJINV6Wk3wWe9ktS-76A4cCZu0Y7cn11gmQphQJTfaZTEpokPX6w7C41m2FvaYBQAdVo90-mjRM9ijG1lm2Ez9QvxUGhk09x9IpUjb8s7Q4blH3BWhGUeuNvmx3Z1MI_2YVGkV59qdQJxDk2XFXCtYjj02QGXMJygcmGYmsbgOa7E/s640/sled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="634" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfbfkKAXagkPDa7SJINV6Wk3wWe9ktS-76A4cCZu0Y7cn11gmQphQJTfaZTEpokPX6w7C41m2FvaYBQAdVo90-mjRM9ijG1lm2Ez9QvxUGhk09x9IpUjb8s7Q4blH3BWhGUeuNvmx3Z1MI_2YVGkV59qdQJxDk2XFXCtYjj02QGXMJygcmGYmsbgOa7E/s320/sled.jpg" width="317" /></a></div><p>So today, while the tall firs danced at the edge of the meadow, and anything not tied down outside banged and crashed, and the wind had a loud voice, I puttered in our holiday-decorated house by the flicker of candles and chuckled a little when "Let it Snow" piped out from the speaker on my phone. </p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-53095808327609879302023-12-03T19:00:00.001-05:002023-12-03T19:00:02.859-05:00Yule Season Sprinkle... <p> Our daughter and her husband are expecting a new addition at the end of the month. Today, her wonderful friend Elizabeth hosted a "Baby Sprinkle" for her. Apparently, first babies are welcomed with a baby shower and subsequent infants are celebrated with a Sprinkle. Smaller gifts since baby number one already received a car seat, stroller, and all those biggish things that babies require. We had the party here because we had more room to spread out. Almost forty people came to celebrate the impending birth. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ8nkz_j9Z4R8BUfgmSMmCrLT4JYD2ekvFT9_04rdDXDNkNQDZU3lb4pw_swCtL0XFVROrxx2gkcgPnfBiUARFoiegwHyRh0_os8gCdQy2O0KayAm9wvy09qwZaAkTtCZRrlw2jte0YwvMzVkuspYPX1PiG041lbMcbBa_IgdeCWfX2I_jG2WdQ6AvjM/s853/liz%20and%20r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ8nkz_j9Z4R8BUfgmSMmCrLT4JYD2ekvFT9_04rdDXDNkNQDZU3lb4pw_swCtL0XFVROrxx2gkcgPnfBiUARFoiegwHyRh0_os8gCdQy2O0KayAm9wvy09qwZaAkTtCZRrlw2jte0YwvMzVkuspYPX1PiG041lbMcbBa_IgdeCWfX2I_jG2WdQ6AvjM/s320/liz%20and%20r.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Liz and her husband created the most gorgeous charcuterie board. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboc3ea92GPbHMsKBbJUW2BWNDN8q27LwfCElEAuj24BzyE3hpC3ZmNzAmjXBH7FV9mDLttFej5t5GwVwrFknhMFgCu_TBF_IE11rUvwiK2k9VvJMgsyizGEFXcGy_ijUi1q1pZd7Y4Sr6z2EMhg789gZ1ycMmAFEH-uRhD2PeGabcquGcO_RcSgMWmpU/s853/Liz..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboc3ea92GPbHMsKBbJUW2BWNDN8q27LwfCElEAuj24BzyE3hpC3ZmNzAmjXBH7FV9mDLttFej5t5GwVwrFknhMFgCu_TBF_IE11rUvwiK2k9VvJMgsyizGEFXcGy_ijUi1q1pZd7Y4Sr6z2EMhg789gZ1ycMmAFEH-uRhD2PeGabcquGcO_RcSgMWmpU/s320/Liz..jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTScPum6RyaAi3AOD_vj8PGpZ1xspa_wujfJSb6_7kZ042XVyXfsFrimAtAYlMFNo1Z9Ord08DwxeBKndxEsJQJQAJ9yFhtF9vV-y51amgo0SQW5o5su2RLWg88naE4dAAj8teSqN_dkHs496QaLeyFAdkoUtXKgZOmgG137iwvvw_KBOgGpCmvY_CO8/s640/charcuterie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTScPum6RyaAi3AOD_vj8PGpZ1xspa_wujfJSb6_7kZ042XVyXfsFrimAtAYlMFNo1Z9Ord08DwxeBKndxEsJQJQAJ9yFhtF9vV-y51amgo0SQW5o5su2RLWg88naE4dAAj8teSqN_dkHs496QaLeyFAdkoUtXKgZOmgG137iwvvw_KBOgGpCmvY_CO8/s320/charcuterie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><p>Since the baby is due during the Yule season, the expectant parents have dubbed the baby "Yule," while they wait to meet him or her. Knowing this, Liz ordered a cake from an amazing local baker shaped like a Yule log for the party. It was not only gorgeous, it was incredibly delicious. The largest piece was black forest cake, and the smaller front pieces were tiramisu. Everything on the cake was edible: candied rosemary and merengue mushrooms... every bit of it a treat. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2ZH1b5Xpxv0XwiwxGvL0Fcc000U2_39Jh0ufayxAqlBMnveLrq5XvsXdBdwTpNg__P8OQJH4KFFV0fp7c-PxuwajarZzagP3huP_tIAs5feVFUjxefxiAMGe7O2V1EBCzACizpJLicKhoZCjNQiugvmPRpG2dO3EkeH4SIrABgD1XIs9UisBnovWQzQ/s640/Yule%20cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="640" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2ZH1b5Xpxv0XwiwxGvL0Fcc000U2_39Jh0ufayxAqlBMnveLrq5XvsXdBdwTpNg__P8OQJH4KFFV0fp7c-PxuwajarZzagP3huP_tIAs5feVFUjxefxiAMGe7O2V1EBCzACizpJLicKhoZCjNQiugvmPRpG2dO3EkeH4SIrABgD1XIs9UisBnovWQzQ/s320/Yule%20cake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>We had lots of other delicious munchies, too. Hot and cold dips, hot wings, deviled eggs, a make your own sandwich board. Everyone helped themselves, chatting and snacking and having a good time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrq45A1gi6OKhzGT4zmIyDRkvJy6p6HZw31YpvmXKXNjQMMWYKVXK6Jvq83nEz0P_IfJf6eJjMoULCKxrE7_2F71q6MnqTHNkPJp8n76V9zP4eg434LB1cLPeDdToUBsiwvkkzj13XUO79BrdtWPJjllC6Ol-mRwYIDBz5N-YZw3MemrYcYymnP9_PuAM/s853/table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrq45A1gi6OKhzGT4zmIyDRkvJy6p6HZw31YpvmXKXNjQMMWYKVXK6Jvq83nEz0P_IfJf6eJjMoULCKxrE7_2F71q6MnqTHNkPJp8n76V9zP4eg434LB1cLPeDdToUBsiwvkkzj13XUO79BrdtWPJjllC6Ol-mRwYIDBz5N-YZw3MemrYcYymnP9_PuAM/s320/table.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Many little kids were present, and they all went out and met the goats and chickens. The goats were wearing festive holiday ruffles and welcomed the company. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFn9XWvhpmx9DMJSxuc6gD9A8Plfe33z9SNI38YhUmFw9j7aK9sDd_QRzFGdNEJDQ6HQB2l73wXHPTEbfZskxRmi9kfwaDAAb5NpNXe1qoJrk6FJY9NkGxExKe5N6iCnBnusd6P0E1OvJeO-EWJhTZPczjHJYnPB_MUtnT2YL2Dipxrrfz2JGXEfXbJjQ/s853/kids%20on%20bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFn9XWvhpmx9DMJSxuc6gD9A8Plfe33z9SNI38YhUmFw9j7aK9sDd_QRzFGdNEJDQ6HQB2l73wXHPTEbfZskxRmi9kfwaDAAb5NpNXe1qoJrk6FJY9NkGxExKe5N6iCnBnusd6P0E1OvJeO-EWJhTZPczjHJYnPB_MUtnT2YL2Dipxrrfz2JGXEfXbJjQ/s320/kids%20on%20bridge.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>They also decorated sugar cookies with icing and sprinkles to take home as party favors. <div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5qqN95uLS76RQ_4EiA9L6hmSsAEBLMLME6DCzEWOdzIs7kekYfFyEUwkpCYfcT0sVzFbISCLwoU6rQwnMqK6wQcdFT2W4WkGrQsToR4jDCooyUzPAnEFuDvkIdzgpvDRsT2ZObQ3m0jE9DKgbbx_LzlsGFRI2fV3mtaxge5hIyBXg3_uRBh5bhPPSa8/s853/cookie%20table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5qqN95uLS76RQ_4EiA9L6hmSsAEBLMLME6DCzEWOdzIs7kekYfFyEUwkpCYfcT0sVzFbISCLwoU6rQwnMqK6wQcdFT2W4WkGrQsToR4jDCooyUzPAnEFuDvkIdzgpvDRsT2ZObQ3m0jE9DKgbbx_LzlsGFRI2fV3mtaxge5hIyBXg3_uRBh5bhPPSa8/s320/cookie%20table.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAq78DkQLjn0CdJDyiMFFcCsIEJAzyqrg_Xq7inRfDciSeGRniTDnBxQoMe_JabkoHDCjf-dT_3CqhSm8hBkqjEpbBQJ2ttypmXTiCS4Y1KOEm0GRzu37gOCrSg5FrJPvAJQ4eQkO9DGxWAECoPPIpxGRn4RcP_2byaGg8JET-5xSz6JI2D1QeDg9tbE/s640/kids%20decorate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtAq78DkQLjn0CdJDyiMFFcCsIEJAzyqrg_Xq7inRfDciSeGRniTDnBxQoMe_JabkoHDCjf-dT_3CqhSm8hBkqjEpbBQJ2ttypmXTiCS4Y1KOEm0GRzu37gOCrSg5FrJPvAJQ4eQkO9DGxWAECoPPIpxGRn4RcP_2byaGg8JET-5xSz6JI2D1QeDg9tbE/s320/kids%20decorate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It looked like lots of fun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a pile of presents. Impossibly tiny knit hats, wee little onesies, lots of diapers and wipes, and more. All to welcome a precious new babe to the tribe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7svJydeZxcYJDYHfgvf8Zd9HLtvz6PRmcpdgC93R0IDqYthbnF7unW5M3W55wHy3-JQFchzibRnvDp5LvEn8yNIYsbireRuRDLA2vs6CCm8O1nAYa-Q_kQaXEVnR7zyzBd7ZwgZQAIq2FrcEMtkxhKv_2qWTyHpxI09qxU4JPLdNpQ_75nEf1HOaivQ/s640/Opening%20gifts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="392" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7svJydeZxcYJDYHfgvf8Zd9HLtvz6PRmcpdgC93R0IDqYthbnF7unW5M3W55wHy3-JQFchzibRnvDp5LvEn8yNIYsbireRuRDLA2vs6CCm8O1nAYa-Q_kQaXEVnR7zyzBd7ZwgZQAIq2FrcEMtkxhKv_2qWTyHpxI09qxU4JPLdNpQ_75nEf1HOaivQ/s320/Opening%20gifts.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>I was privileged to meet lots of young moms and dads and their small children, friends I have only heard about. Family members drove for hours to share the day. Seeing the village that surrounded and supported my daughter's growing family did my mama heart good. A lot of love and joy was sprinkled today. I am so grateful. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-46144682217793254052023-11-24T20:19:00.001-05:002023-11-24T20:46:41.219-05:00Gathered... <p> The last guest has gone home, and the house is very quiet. It wasn't that way... the first visitors came Wednesday, and at one point, we had two additional air mattresses inflated and tucked in spare rooms as more family arrived. </p><p>Rachel, Deb, and John all pitched in with cooking, and the joint effort was delicious. </p><p>Niece Emily and her family brought whimsy and laughter. The Owlet was thrilled to have her big cousins here. There were shrieks and giggles, tickles and laughter, visits with goats and snuggles. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOH8e5p-oQzFN8VnwO3GBgN9PwZ8Lsvegqwe3y-iRnrkK6rJHDWIHfpkHCEWm829GPoAtALRB8Ve6ItIL4FFTEf0_QqQ6YhAcMT4wr5a4WQMxjde8yPFE0t65hKnwy_cwNF3otqZ866-RmSgMYMueWkcvT4yxlNNfLUvipljadg01jKcKrjBo1aN8hw8c/s853/emily%20turkey.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOH8e5p-oQzFN8VnwO3GBgN9PwZ8Lsvegqwe3y-iRnrkK6rJHDWIHfpkHCEWm829GPoAtALRB8Ve6ItIL4FFTEf0_QqQ6YhAcMT4wr5a4WQMxjde8yPFE0t65hKnwy_cwNF3otqZ866-RmSgMYMueWkcvT4yxlNNfLUvipljadg01jKcKrjBo1aN8hw8c/s320/emily%20turkey.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCCXUXBxYUlM6sfb1k6rXswCXhDcOEyNA9gr_e3x2mz4AkJVke2A1J3ABSiZch7pqpuMtyxj35sTzpSfrZS7LUUnqY6Bmdi_-qxElp5gId9h2Hz-Z-qscJ71RorDiSUvgNN89IJqeMfCnlDi7ljIiIPTu6q4dC5pH1UQsiy8NX6B1_5wcvrsZ_8pUUz8/s640/Bella%20and%20goat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCCXUXBxYUlM6sfb1k6rXswCXhDcOEyNA9gr_e3x2mz4AkJVke2A1J3ABSiZch7pqpuMtyxj35sTzpSfrZS7LUUnqY6Bmdi_-qxElp5gId9h2Hz-Z-qscJ71RorDiSUvgNN89IJqeMfCnlDi7ljIiIPTu6q4dC5pH1UQsiy8NX6B1_5wcvrsZ_8pUUz8/s320/Bella%20and%20goat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Inside, the air was fragrant with the scent of our favorite seasonal foods. The dessert table was laden. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZhJu2m7xDdoFLTtd5-L1WMqtYpYR1GV4e-qpb-IFXpOMrBpC4-GxnlMf-_10aD-GfSBNqfUjOSK8nxdj6xoQfxbtldBqDSGDPfh-u5Kkow3tegIIIhg3xDDpEtbFJHreh1CTfaUjy5BJ96rGQf6Vm4k2RAuVhqjPmBYxjpDCEzyrVwVgz7Ly5NivOFQ/s640/desserts.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="640" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZhJu2m7xDdoFLTtd5-L1WMqtYpYR1GV4e-qpb-IFXpOMrBpC4-GxnlMf-_10aD-GfSBNqfUjOSK8nxdj6xoQfxbtldBqDSGDPfh-u5Kkow3tegIIIhg3xDDpEtbFJHreh1CTfaUjy5BJ96rGQf6Vm4k2RAuVhqjPmBYxjpDCEzyrVwVgz7Ly5NivOFQ/s320/desserts.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>My grandmother's silver sat side by side with gifted China, thrifted butter dishes, and salt and pepper shakers. In addition to doing all the shopping, Chris brought me buttercream roses to decorate with. So pretty! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifZUN9PfXZuNMM9LGDJlosTRW4z7dLJe116zA6eEmAtfYc8YQHdHGV1a53UBzWZ44wxVStZKvUiHXNNTgdAKCE-jDaCi86L3EehZ8QhI-HMhYKWTHvdOnHQtCRi02lRn6y2IhQfNEIri4oEDQrZiAVB9sut-YUAuYhgCakK_YKthrhPPCMZCWPGxlCL8/s853/tday%20table.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifZUN9PfXZuNMM9LGDJlosTRW4z7dLJe116zA6eEmAtfYc8YQHdHGV1a53UBzWZ44wxVStZKvUiHXNNTgdAKCE-jDaCi86L3EehZ8QhI-HMhYKWTHvdOnHQtCRi02lRn6y2IhQfNEIri4oEDQrZiAVB9sut-YUAuYhgCakK_YKthrhPPCMZCWPGxlCL8/s320/tday%20table.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbgkDaQUB3E4P8nxnFSlrk_fmF-vBmw20kpTFnUryTEp6Ahww88goD1pOu5Wy3Ok1KvBSkmLTZ0Pk4kMggZW8pHmcoMz39H0j3ECA4f_Y19ztuYQIgTmrqWHTOSz3y1peoSeGK6bxpiJKJ-0NbFGczYsAgCB62QnG813ojURw7llo9EIOaAD1Xk4gTyg/s640/rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="295" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbgkDaQUB3E4P8nxnFSlrk_fmF-vBmw20kpTFnUryTEp6Ahww88goD1pOu5Wy3Ok1KvBSkmLTZ0Pk4kMggZW8pHmcoMz39H0j3ECA4f_Y19ztuYQIgTmrqWHTOSz3y1peoSeGK6bxpiJKJ-0NbFGczYsAgCB62QnG813ojURw7llo9EIOaAD1Xk4gTyg/s320/rose.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I got to hug my baby and her soon-to-arrive baby simultaneously. Lucky me! We wore matching dresses for fun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzB7gRU5zcEZh0NEvVHf-43iLLJkkiA-dhxzxUSo5PZO-ADUhhsJUcw8B9EqS6fLdrwlPbZo3L9yI22W_I0XDRniMRZ5jciJm0uluP-Etx8WYVirlsqvBcuhhh5PEFfHB8JpzQBkje9CyKKQGorlJMMVFGhsqORA874-XoWKn5ds7ozNYjmmF9GxlJi04/s640/Me%20gup%20and%20yule.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzB7gRU5zcEZh0NEvVHf-43iLLJkkiA-dhxzxUSo5PZO-ADUhhsJUcw8B9EqS6fLdrwlPbZo3L9yI22W_I0XDRniMRZ5jciJm0uluP-Etx8WYVirlsqvBcuhhh5PEFfHB8JpzQBkje9CyKKQGorlJMMVFGhsqORA874-XoWKn5ds7ozNYjmmF9GxlJi04/s320/Me%20gup%20and%20yule.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If our calculations are correct, Chris and I have hosted Thanksgiving for 34 years. The menu has varied a little from year to year, as has the location and guest list, but this holiday is special for me. The preparation, the teamwork, the cooking, and, best of all, the gathering of the ones I love. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>This year, we missed some favorite faces around the table, but we had the added joy of <br />anticipating a new babe and watching the three youngest of the clan play. It was an excellent gathering. <br /><p><br /></p><br />Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-70260660811071668622023-11-19T20:43:00.001-05:002023-11-19T20:43:12.514-05:00Straddling the Seasons... <p> We are excitedly gearing up for the Thanksgiving feast. This will be the twentieth year we have hosted it in this good house. The guest list varies. This year will be a smaller than usual group, just sixteen around the table. In readiness, I catch up on lots of things that I have procrastinated ... like cleaning the pantry, washing the China, and polishing the silver. The groceries for preparing the meal have been bought. A locally raised turkey is nestled in the refrigerator. The guest room is ready. </p><p>The weather has been mild, but it won't last. I wanted to do some exterior winter decorating while I could, so today Chris helped me cut down a few small pine trees and bring them to the yard. I snipped and cut and filled the old iron clawfoot tub at the end of the driveway and a big galvanized tub with them. A nice neighbor friend let us steal some brilliant winter berry boughs from her land to brighten the tubs up. It was great to get this done before the cold weather freezes the soil in the tubs, making it difficult (or impossible) to secure the branches. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkRTbCznT-CmR_WTjuV4ROOYuCR0t3ZdVEvv9D0xVb8RqRQFK_AqdDJbzLcXpAFeCEN7XzBx51IMG3Hskpj0326olK_PZ73wchiGv-ZtGXrKh3BDBaO5_bYuABGOu70jew5KK-SgJuism0SmPSd7Yn8uExvDBdMFidg4D_-L7oZsRiKiSiNwYzHFhhx0/s853/big%20tub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkRTbCznT-CmR_WTjuV4ROOYuCR0t3ZdVEvv9D0xVb8RqRQFK_AqdDJbzLcXpAFeCEN7XzBx51IMG3Hskpj0326olK_PZ73wchiGv-ZtGXrKh3BDBaO5_bYuABGOu70jew5KK-SgJuism0SmPSd7Yn8uExvDBdMFidg4D_-L7oZsRiKiSiNwYzHFhhx0/s320/big%20tub.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUP2wGca2d1j7NDy2IQ-a2MmLiihu3uoEVBjP_XbrVC7FJAJIjOuxML96ytqeiuCN9fYBlVNJDFYP2kBKgKqJuzXkFsoGD6zy2ub1Wlq7PsycPuldtx0Z6btxWTclQUijutNGyAGeJVUh7ptY6n08cVZU94Z0A6kq_gPJVE8lMCkEPE7jUxPV-e5mMjc/s853/Little%20tub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUP2wGca2d1j7NDy2IQ-a2MmLiihu3uoEVBjP_XbrVC7FJAJIjOuxML96ytqeiuCN9fYBlVNJDFYP2kBKgKqJuzXkFsoGD6zy2ub1Wlq7PsycPuldtx0Z6btxWTclQUijutNGyAGeJVUh7ptY6n08cVZU94Z0A6kq_gPJVE8lMCkEPE7jUxPV-e5mMjc/s320/Little%20tub.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /><p>Next, we put batteries in all the little window candles and set them on every sill at dusk. Then we took a break and went out for an early supper. The house looked so pretty when we drove away. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-REjvTrdyKfeGPSVUwLTRofOjeXzgNRBoEIA438s2rR-MdzYwpLa5bVrHYMSP_SE27WnTBocBg55IV7Sl-PV32h9xWFohSzOFTfLjsE9fWZpbcig-8F9D5DNRCm-sgSBnOG0udd6IfLpGYrCM8qwX7Nq9jjYX39JtpCpXhApipz3zy3GxZ5uvfde8g4/s640/candle%20house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="640" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-REjvTrdyKfeGPSVUwLTRofOjeXzgNRBoEIA438s2rR-MdzYwpLa5bVrHYMSP_SE27WnTBocBg55IV7Sl-PV32h9xWFohSzOFTfLjsE9fWZpbcig-8F9D5DNRCm-sgSBnOG0udd6IfLpGYrCM8qwX7Nq9jjYX39JtpCpXhApipz3zy3GxZ5uvfde8g4/s320/candle%20house.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I like to celebrate each holiday in its own time and, in an ideal world, not decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving is over, but this year, I am straddling the seasons. There are busy days ahead... Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas, and a new grandbaby expected before the New Year. I plan to embrace each happy moment. Preparing a bit in advance will help. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-66349611826396452422023-11-12T15:00:00.003-05:002023-11-12T15:03:13.529-05:00Kind November... <p> The weather has been kind to us, and I have been able to get more yard projects done. To make the jobs even more enjoyable, I invite the goats to leave their pasture and join me in the fenced yard. Since the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, they are delighted when I prop the gate open, and all rush to explore the more novel space. We don't allow them into the backyard during the summer because they destroy the gardens and poop on the picnic table. But now that the outside dining season is well past, they can do as they please. </p><p>They nibble on the plants I am trimming, dance on the lawn chairs, and make me laugh while I work. There is something joyous about them. Last week, a car pulled into the driveway, and a couple got out and asked if they could see the goats. They were visiting from Cape Cod and had never met one. I was working, but Chris was here and kindly took them out to the pasture. The little herd dutifully charged up to them and showed off their cuteness. The people told Chris the visit was the highlight of their trip. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIU_2o6s45o_z5Bnsg-aVSHTy0AlQbWrPTVr8bSEGNVKrgk9ITeqCqPCIUGTYqgrRGtpz2DKRtXJcLA4bEtOjBNOoFxG91tHpEdD6jIl7q6c0PCzzqbpfv7fvHyJtzhs1Iql0gZ6D2MM3z57V830BkIRnsc6GFDnIcV57oL_DuLu22N3nePRPH5-Nbu_w/s853/goats%20picnic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIU_2o6s45o_z5Bnsg-aVSHTy0AlQbWrPTVr8bSEGNVKrgk9ITeqCqPCIUGTYqgrRGtpz2DKRtXJcLA4bEtOjBNOoFxG91tHpEdD6jIl7q6c0PCzzqbpfv7fvHyJtzhs1Iql0gZ6D2MM3z57V830BkIRnsc6GFDnIcV57oL_DuLu22N3nePRPH5-Nbu_w/s320/goats%20picnic.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>The Owlet was here yesterday for a little while as her mama worked on a project. She loves to be outside more than anything, so she joined me as I put a garden to bed. "Owl help," she proclaimed and carefully picked up the foliage I was discarding and placed it, piece by piece, into the wheelbarrow. She turned two this month and is becoming competent at many things. Her vocabulary grows by the day; she is interested in counting, loves books above all toys, has firm opinions about things, is fascinated by big trucks, and is generally the most delightful and happy little spirit. Seeing so much of her is an enormous blessing; this grandparenting stuff is even more fun than anticipated. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTOMzm6zT2EjMn8bn4XhF7dpvDelAkMZod4oGuz-LkTY045Bq5XmQE_lms-GkbL167o4Cn8yzlNsd4xzonYTVEP6Abp0-8mPv1YV26d8Ba9-b654FgZ0jrLBqw0GFGsZQRaZN7yWp1FBsUrUjVA8X2WAk-vukl7CJeLxW87L4qYasVdORISzWIkC6r6s/s640/Owlet%20gardening.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="640" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTOMzm6zT2EjMn8bn4XhF7dpvDelAkMZod4oGuz-LkTY045Bq5XmQE_lms-GkbL167o4Cn8yzlNsd4xzonYTVEP6Abp0-8mPv1YV26d8Ba9-b654FgZ0jrLBqw0GFGsZQRaZN7yWp1FBsUrUjVA8X2WAk-vukl7CJeLxW87L4qYasVdORISzWIkC6r6s/s320/Owlet%20gardening.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>My focus is turning toward the annual Thanksgiving feast, preparing the house for guests, plotting the menu, and planning the supplies needed. I look forward to this holiday all year and am excited to hear the voices and laughter of my nearest and dearest filling the house once more. I have so much to be grateful for. </p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-70190046521628990722023-11-04T20:27:00.000-04:002023-11-04T20:27:26.555-04:00A Very Good Day... <p> I've always liked to mess around in the garden. For the past few years, my knee was so painful that gardening ceased to be fun. Walking on uneven ground caused shooting pain, forget trying to shovel or kneel. Fortunately, I have friends who were willing to come to help me keep the yard looking pretty, but it was sad that I couldn't easily participate. </p><p>A few weeks ago I had four yards of mulch delivered and dumped in the side yard. My gardening friend has not been able to get here and that mountain of mulch has been vexing me. Last weekend I grabbed a shovel and tried spreading mulch in the garden right next to the mulch pile. My new knee didn't hurt a bit, and the job was soon done. I felt so happy and satisfied. That feeling stayed with me all week and today I decided to tackle a larger project, mulching in the big circular garden in the front yard. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlc2o13bj48lN0RQGNkxCFTNwXq0BtcDfCYnQe6-3Ihi1ZBMoc3-yx2Cwmtg-H55kDUlJrcNyvq2ruDqcXuVLZvndZDPXVaDjPT3OYGAXf49Yu79IeDpeNZw2190EJH4Ggu5t25n13SiKm6XHDKGBihKYRcFbU1rR3DKP7NAyut4v7nHQv0K_OkZ3pblM/s853/mulch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlc2o13bj48lN0RQGNkxCFTNwXq0BtcDfCYnQe6-3Ihi1ZBMoc3-yx2Cwmtg-H55kDUlJrcNyvq2ruDqcXuVLZvndZDPXVaDjPT3OYGAXf49Yu79IeDpeNZw2190EJH4Ggu5t25n13SiKm6XHDKGBihKYRcFbU1rR3DKP7NAyut4v7nHQv0K_OkZ3pblM/s320/mulch.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I filled the big wheelbarrow with shovel after shovel of fragrant mulch. It made for a heavy load, and I had to push it up and down to get where I wanted it. It took 5 trips of the stuff to fill the big bed and one more to do a couple of smaller beds in the same area. I raked it all smooth and stood back to admire my work. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnBj_2GYGHXMzxvK7gELSzyUbNMrhyphenhyphentG_BKE4yqCEHRXWHdfHTkyO3ituwpSOYabcRVGMyE69n30Nfw2w86-iATIlhqhx3wwoUAVF65bAcgZrMOnQPg90E7-bzrAwA1OG2Fazv07PouteFgTYWCGXn7QeEcfohU8ZzC4wx74_3cjNnzOG58YJV5-ekLM/s853/circle%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnBj_2GYGHXMzxvK7gELSzyUbNMrhyphenhyphentG_BKE4yqCEHRXWHdfHTkyO3ituwpSOYabcRVGMyE69n30Nfw2w86-iATIlhqhx3wwoUAVF65bAcgZrMOnQPg90E7-bzrAwA1OG2Fazv07PouteFgTYWCGXn7QeEcfohU8ZzC4wx74_3cjNnzOG58YJV5-ekLM/s320/circle%20garden.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><div>To my great joy, I still had energy. I weeded a small garden and pruned a shrub, then hauled more mulch and covered up that tiny space. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOyNCTQY8hmmsaFqN-Fjgbc77dLT00bpIAytfrl_X2BogEQ3WgrkrOpxVPECdGQIemNtEJIw7w79daR-Oh0Vo3SLoqfY9h6p5F7gKYm1JrhGqhXQJ3GUfNgYCoK7tBsUuk6-zQamaI5Np3FHbg7oaw4ha6aM3VHwqjLj5uhAv8lp3PD3bh4x9V2GRQsoQ/s853/poppy%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOyNCTQY8hmmsaFqN-Fjgbc77dLT00bpIAytfrl_X2BogEQ3WgrkrOpxVPECdGQIemNtEJIw7w79daR-Oh0Vo3SLoqfY9h6p5F7gKYm1JrhGqhXQJ3GUfNgYCoK7tBsUuk6-zQamaI5Np3FHbg7oaw4ha6aM3VHwqjLj5uhAv8lp3PD3bh4x9V2GRQsoQ/s320/poppy%20garden.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div>And then... I wasn't done yet. There was a messy garden that needed pruning, weeding, and cutting. I got to it, hauling a full barrow of tired plants off, then loading up two more barrows of mulch. Chris got home right about then and helped me push and dump the last two loads. By the time I finished raking, I also felt... done. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLOoqogXZxTf-OryBlaomhbJJe6Bbjl6NIA2LQP9tj1hKtb9ZEwaKu_L697lDeyE05NVXEt9Dif9mHquKOPbXI5FABydaBd0n-4OJnMpDwGZT7jfvpBBpfeybRzWR8PK4APzwE7qcCrsuH6gGUTh6nf1cunzrYBGgBjypTNjflpZC_denQskLPcP-BRo/s853/side%20garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLOoqogXZxTf-OryBlaomhbJJe6Bbjl6NIA2LQP9tj1hKtb9ZEwaKu_L697lDeyE05NVXEt9Dif9mHquKOPbXI5FABydaBd0n-4OJnMpDwGZT7jfvpBBpfeybRzWR8PK4APzwE7qcCrsuH6gGUTh6nf1cunzrYBGgBjypTNjflpZC_denQskLPcP-BRo/s320/side%20garden.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div>But I also felt incredibly happy that I had been able to do a bunch of gardening. I shoveled and pushed and dumped and raked and weeded and pruned, and it was terrific. There is more to be done, but today seemed like a turning point. There will be future gardening and similar delights to come. My new knee has healed, and I feel... good. </div><div><br /><p><br /></p></div></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-53170888732313256982023-10-22T10:49:00.002-04:002023-10-22T10:49:29.768-04:00Rainy days... <p> The forecast called for yet more rain this weekend, but yesterday morning, though overcast, was dry. I took the opportunity to clean all the animal houses. I started with the goat cozy and enticed the little herd into the backyard so I could clean without their assistance. They are not terribly helpful. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcsQwoUugSU3yjnfq2gHjYO2C2aKAjB-sNGTrxr1o_BLuEY75-7d8CFLLURXAo6ZX51eG5aNGFw4OPY9tk1X9krXO9X07e2YgHmpPW_Dnjin4DQU3mRC3rfXTMgLPfhX3uRapNqz-suptpibrKI8WnEnXtZBToZ103lW1zT9ix0h1iADDTwhIuvcCfxc/s640/goats%20kayaks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="441" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcsQwoUugSU3yjnfq2gHjYO2C2aKAjB-sNGTrxr1o_BLuEY75-7d8CFLLURXAo6ZX51eG5aNGFw4OPY9tk1X9krXO9X07e2YgHmpPW_Dnjin4DQU3mRC3rfXTMgLPfhX3uRapNqz-suptpibrKI8WnEnXtZBToZ103lW1zT9ix0h1iADDTwhIuvcCfxc/s320/goats%20kayaks.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5UHGzZ6g_-_1Yt6vg0jKZDD3eGzCdvBhj8Ty5Cd5g5yZXGTjpdCGro8T_JXuW8zAjBhoP-ZtkXkcctO-mFUe-2PdabuQ08g-nTeGcV-67DLI1D3O1OcGrjHYLS6q1CLAA4PCcECDIq0igH-HEJsnK-wab2aZzPPiSMyEr7nytktcfc9xwY5-Tl8NtNw/s640/goats%20pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5UHGzZ6g_-_1Yt6vg0jKZDD3eGzCdvBhj8Ty5Cd5g5yZXGTjpdCGro8T_JXuW8zAjBhoP-ZtkXkcctO-mFUe-2PdabuQ08g-nTeGcV-67DLI1D3O1OcGrjHYLS6q1CLAA4PCcECDIq0igH-HEJsnK-wab2aZzPPiSMyEr7nytktcfc9xwY5-Tl8NtNw/s320/goats%20pumpkin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was hard to concentrate on my work because they were so entertaining, dancing loudly on the overturned kayaks and trying to nosh on my pretty pumpkin. Once their house was clean, I swept the soiled shavings out of the wee Cochin house. When I peeked in on them this morning, I was surprised to see how many feathers littered the floor. The fall molt is in full swing. This means they lose all of their old, tattered feathers and replace them with bright new ones in time for winter. My yard looks like a variety of feather pillows exploded.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdu3JuMYzY0fkXZOB7hesrZ6_cIWwAanj4PVwns_OaYQ7Sm9aie6rLlv0HR6g0tffXY_2DF8jLa596xFjdubXUDlV4vqPRcqGiCGQB2yeCbchQQvxlKmQc0qT2ibBqzzvk3SszzZzPmlxJT7WRPMf5w41hp-WipmOgQKO9iq-FKNPMzcUYDp4aFxEvxc/s640/cochins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdu3JuMYzY0fkXZOB7hesrZ6_cIWwAanj4PVwns_OaYQ7Sm9aie6rLlv0HR6g0tffXY_2DF8jLa596xFjdubXUDlV4vqPRcqGiCGQB2yeCbchQQvxlKmQc0qT2ibBqzzvk3SszzZzPmlxJT7WRPMf5w41hp-WipmOgQKO9iq-FKNPMzcUYDp4aFxEvxc/s320/cochins.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>From there, I moved to the big coop, hauling tub after tub of old shavings out and to the big wheelbarrow. I filled their feeder and spread a fresh bale of shavings over the floor. The Lavender Orpington pullets hovered outside the door, supervising. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Gq4Tjuvb3uPouci-jD6aNTeUaQqPiLqKNlGdeMqmUT9kdKPiB_cWv8Yabr5Ko3C4KcTw5zTKGwmay0rHOCLMO92p5nurcv-7m2kbpsf-GNjdVwDg4ANQR5nRG7b1Ih2DSI2_cO5hbQahwluQlPkohHHYywE0Xvlp8ok2Mig74j06kaOymrcw0BTCZy8/s640/Orps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="640" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Gq4Tjuvb3uPouci-jD6aNTeUaQqPiLqKNlGdeMqmUT9kdKPiB_cWv8Yabr5Ko3C4KcTw5zTKGwmay0rHOCLMO92p5nurcv-7m2kbpsf-GNjdVwDg4ANQR5nRG7b1Ih2DSI2_cO5hbQahwluQlPkohHHYywE0Xvlp8ok2Mig74j06kaOymrcw0BTCZy8/s320/Orps.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>These recent additions to the flock are growing nicely and should begin to lay eggs soon. They keep to themselves and don't forage around the pasture with the rest of the flock but seem happy enough. They are large birds, and their color is beautiful. Photos don't really do them justice. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIzrs2oCH9xevzcnl0FqzAShWS5ip-WnSLMBUQiRQ-oM7k9pqx60oJffVmxFkgZtsltzx-qwKOUp4ptUkNt2KrVfDFsGaz2hLzClsdYUW9HJP9cS_pLsXOLduuIqC1H5pkA2_aYSnw9drNMwww4gpTTkQRuBNN14RpZ2gCD6RgNdAPOT7TExtUR55n-k/s640/Owlet%20colors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="640" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIzrs2oCH9xevzcnl0FqzAShWS5ip-WnSLMBUQiRQ-oM7k9pqx60oJffVmxFkgZtsltzx-qwKOUp4ptUkNt2KrVfDFsGaz2hLzClsdYUW9HJP9cS_pLsXOLduuIqC1H5pkA2_aYSnw9drNMwww4gpTTkQRuBNN14RpZ2gCD6RgNdAPOT7TExtUR55n-k/s320/Owlet%20colors.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>The Owlet has been exploring her artistic side, hauling a little bucket of crayons with a giant poster board from room to room. She plops down to draw and likes an audience. "Sit, Lovey," she tells me, pointing out which chair I should land in. Then she toddles to the front room and drags back a little footstool. "Toes!" she commands, and I put my legs up. Under my watchful eye, she gets to work, concentrating deeply as she lays out waxy scrawls. Despite the dreary weather, it's a colorful life. </div><div><br /><p><br /></p></div></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-23787050977452679212023-10-21T09:22:00.001-04:002023-10-21T09:22:18.860-04:00A milking I Shall Go... <p> My goats make me happy. I like to look at them in the pasture... grazing, snoozing, leaping, playing. I like to stroke them and feel their sleek fur. And I like milking them. It's a quiet time, the goat happily munching on grain and alfalfa pellets while the warm milk hisses into the pail. It's time for peaceful thoughts; the sweet smell of pine shavings, hay, and healthy animals wraps around me. But lately, milking time has been fraught with peril. </p><p>I had a little wooden stool gleaned from an antique store that I would perch on while the goat, on her stand, enjoyed a meal. That stool got wobbly and worrisome. One day last summer, Chris took over milking chores while I was away. The sad little seat collapsed and broke, dumping Chris unceremoniously as it splintered. He replaced it with a previous milk stool he found in the garage. I had abandoned it because it was creaky and wobbly. Every time I sit on it, I wonder if it will hold me this time. So far, it has, but each time I sit, there is concern. </p><p>Last night, our son-in-love popped in with a twinkle in his eye. "I hear your milk stool needs to be replaced," he said. And gave me this. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhCQgJAv0GiDL-_uBvqTZ2CGGmolO21vdaQB0utwjYGMNPyMW2g-mIGWoHwuqUCklYFWaRh94VmQFejuuUR71Vdz2JuXFFFwydwBdveIycqjvfahNldRFlWGPzvAxJkISJdcXVvjk-3mbRNMWcb_iOcQk9EVXyKArJXCfWdxS_HszIgPlLHZrHD7ofEk/s640/top%20stool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhCQgJAv0GiDL-_uBvqTZ2CGGmolO21vdaQB0utwjYGMNPyMW2g-mIGWoHwuqUCklYFWaRh94VmQFejuuUR71Vdz2JuXFFFwydwBdveIycqjvfahNldRFlWGPzvAxJkISJdcXVvjk-3mbRNMWcb_iOcQk9EVXyKArJXCfWdxS_HszIgPlLHZrHD7ofEk/s320/top%20stool.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSNHMzQ7UrhxzRXWsVykXsUuoo6k61rSWZ0fl4R6g9MbwFqwAlUyZj-QIgunvDIHHZr7TDFfcMh_CxE5_5zsyWUAJy2dNcFuy9FN2DlrMzeJq6ESVkD7uW4FWqlL1DVCKnUUkAC_WuSoiife0UalwKmV-AeM2QVpObQDVhOqav-lDYfAX3vbhi9dUFWM/s640/Side%20stool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="437" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWSNHMzQ7UrhxzRXWsVykXsUuoo6k61rSWZ0fl4R6g9MbwFqwAlUyZj-QIgunvDIHHZr7TDFfcMh_CxE5_5zsyWUAJy2dNcFuy9FN2DlrMzeJq6ESVkD7uW4FWqlL1DVCKnUUkAC_WuSoiife0UalwKmV-AeM2QVpObQDVhOqav-lDYfAX3vbhi9dUFWM/s320/Side%20stool.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><p>Beautifully handmade by him, the lovely, smooth top is crafted from fine Fir, the legs sturdy Pine. It has been carefully oiled to protect it from the elements. I promptly tried it, and there wasn't a wobble anywhere in that excellent seat. I can hardly wait for milking time. The old scary stool will be relegated to the burn pile, and I can milk away, free of fear, with this handsome seat beneath my rear! </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-17385890671989401802023-10-03T20:38:00.000-04:002023-10-03T20:38:09.440-04:00First story... <p> The Owlet is 23 months old. She reliably speaks over 200 words and babbles a lot. She has been chattering on for months, obviously trying to tell us stories, which we all wished we could understand. Today, for the first time, she told me a story I could quickly interpret. </p><p>Recently, she and I were out in the pasture with the goats. Shine, the baby goat, was dancing about and trying to play with the Owlet. She called out, "Shine!" in a happy little voice, obviously enjoying our outing. Shine then knocked the toddler down, and giggling ensued. Then she jumped on the Owlet's head, which was not quite as popular. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZrz6wIkzOsHIgLFIQ6fKn2rE8t3lMvZC6gFH-RL3ulFXq2Yk8pzefLC722Neevye7xQIzM98hKv9RSjZHuHL30GWj79__DSuvp1I_9ucl5d68V9F16QQARYTXSRC2C3Eh7RipFYjlQdpWbdbw8SSjojs_yEqtLKRo3dJa1OwAvMks6AyelOwKnZYfVY/s853/T%20and%20Shine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZrz6wIkzOsHIgLFIQ6fKn2rE8t3lMvZC6gFH-RL3ulFXq2Yk8pzefLC722Neevye7xQIzM98hKv9RSjZHuHL30GWj79__DSuvp1I_9ucl5d68V9F16QQARYTXSRC2C3Eh7RipFYjlQdpWbdbw8SSjojs_yEqtLKRo3dJa1OwAvMks6AyelOwKnZYfVY/s320/T%20and%20Shine.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>The next time we went out to the pasture, I asked Pop Pop to carry her so no goats would topple her. The baby regards her Pop Pop like a groupie would a rock star. (It may have something to do with the fact that he happily fulfills any request she can make clear to him.) He scooped her up, and she could admire and pat the goats safely. He gently set her down in the milk room while I was milking, and she was able to watch the process with great interest. A wonderful time was had by all. </p><p>Today, we were sitting outside, and the Owlet saw the baby goat. She said, "Shine!" Then she patted her head, reminding me of how the little goat had climbed on her. Then she put her arms up as if asking to be picked up. "Pop Pop, hold you." She said, her face alight with happiness. She was clearly telling me the saga of how she was gently carried out to see the goats from the safe height of her hero's arms. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaJQY0oq5XTmWkW4A_X48AZfFMGjvu5gCCIqxVai3f7sGv1kP1IVd79DiEFYV3ciEHk7B7_xVa2tguace7Y23GSo1MCUoeDqP9dDQcRy_SpRzZjH5aPe75XIH3E-GYwqA-91dokv9ulYy5DDYY2cZr_67VbtVnvOUVVAkOUwsPCGkXzRbkSolFgxpeNM/s853/C%20and%20shine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaJQY0oq5XTmWkW4A_X48AZfFMGjvu5gCCIqxVai3f7sGv1kP1IVd79DiEFYV3ciEHk7B7_xVa2tguace7Y23GSo1MCUoeDqP9dDQcRy_SpRzZjH5aPe75XIH3E-GYwqA-91dokv9ulYy5DDYY2cZr_67VbtVnvOUVVAkOUwsPCGkXzRbkSolFgxpeNM/s320/C%20and%20shine.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>It was a good story. There was action, drama, a damsel in distress, and a knight in shining armor to save the day. I can hardly wait to hear more of her tales. </p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-42402158053595659732023-09-20T20:59:00.000-04:002023-09-20T20:59:52.837-04:00Drama on the Farmlette...<p> Today started off in a typical, pleasant fashion. I got ready for work, did animal chores, tidied the house a bit, then began working. We were just finishing up grooming our first dog of the day, and the second customer arrived a little early and was sitting and chatting with us. The weather was exceptionally fine: blue skies, low humidity, and a soft breeze blew through the open windows. All was well. Until suddenly, it wasn't. </p><p>We heard a goat scream. From where we work, we have a good view of the goat cozy and a long, elevated bridge I had a carpenter friend build for them several years ago. The goats love this spot, and after breakfast on a nice day, they lie up there contentedly chewing their cuds and surveying their domain. It is usually a very peaceful scene. </p><p>When the terrible sound of a goat screaming in pain and fear reached my ears, I jumped and looked outside. There, to my horror, I saw a goat hanging, suspended head down from the bridge, her hind leg stuck in the ramp. I don't move as fast as I once did and knew it would take me a bit to get out there to help her. Time was clearly of the essence. The panicked goat vocalizations continued, causing a massive dose of adrenaline to dump into my bloodstream. My very pregnant daughter was there with me. "You can move faster than I can," I said, but I was talking to the back of her head; she was already on her way. I put the dog I was grooming into a crate, asked my customer to be patient, and headed out to help. My daughter somehow moved at warp speed... through the house, across the long deck, down some wonky stairs, through the back yard, through the tricky gate, over the muddy pasture, through another gate, and with strength driven by panic, quickly lifted the dangling goat back onto the bridge.</p><p>This is the goat in question. She is a recent addition to our place and such a pleasant one. She is lovely to look at with her gazelle-like facial markings and sweeter and friendlier than any goat we've ever had except our very first one. She is a dream on the milk stand and produces sweet, delicious milk. Having favorites probably isn't nice, but she ranks high on the "best girl" list. Her name is Happy. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqcCC7UNiUwvc2HaH7ibq7weiAcu0NYglmZI_us7B6C-Qf6MHNiOSrE9cY8Q-0YLdPjxesRjGKoF1-8GT_VdOItFwTzMIHDH3fludBwb4cpJ0gCOeHsuYvL3InlFhRHt0xeEIF_SHiRSYdLyQfmN8dDZEsnW0VWe0f_wp5GT6V-A4KCLlt4iWXW9xAfw/s853/happy%20face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqcCC7UNiUwvc2HaH7ibq7weiAcu0NYglmZI_us7B6C-Qf6MHNiOSrE9cY8Q-0YLdPjxesRjGKoF1-8GT_VdOItFwTzMIHDH3fludBwb4cpJ0gCOeHsuYvL3InlFhRHt0xeEIF_SHiRSYdLyQfmN8dDZEsnW0VWe0f_wp5GT6V-A4KCLlt4iWXW9xAfw/s320/happy%20face.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDQNjD0XOLfdC0TZPPgGZQYHqxcj1WL0Q2x1waZwmlO3typnWiDAZAeDAiLehPQi0XGutdgjtIshUu6Be133m213KWOfx-pgI3Ejz3wjXCd5nTy_aqzbkmNBSOos3KEA8OvQBCGb5w8axG7vWuZKARYtbPoswG0QeSWMvxDeKD-aJ3exPrmtqX03ZrOs/s640/happy%20body.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="640" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDQNjD0XOLfdC0TZPPgGZQYHqxcj1WL0Q2x1waZwmlO3typnWiDAZAeDAiLehPQi0XGutdgjtIshUu6Be133m213KWOfx-pgI3Ejz3wjXCd5nTy_aqzbkmNBSOos3KEA8OvQBCGb5w8axG7vWuZKARYtbPoswG0QeSWMvxDeKD-aJ3exPrmtqX03ZrOs/s320/happy%20body.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Once Rachel lifted her from her dangling position, she had another problem. Happy's leg was stuck tight in the gap at the top of the ramp. Mind you, this ramp and bridge have been used by countless goats for years with no difficulties, but today, a freak accident occurred. Here is the area where it all happened. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGb7TTW8qWqSRXzoSLdQnCuVeQqIhSQFc2Z4XGigUqNwxUX1eepEVSsp74uvh4rp5Mn68q4ds0aK4hqUlMVTCXXkogMK7vkWOjiK706tj_ZQU0H8z1LhPlFaAkTRh_ZAcP2hUFwFrQ3RK66bFZyoOgA_jdr7dMb-B7CGsdiMBfTa_MSUJUMazj9NPGfOc/s640/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGb7TTW8qWqSRXzoSLdQnCuVeQqIhSQFc2Z4XGigUqNwxUX1eepEVSsp74uvh4rp5Mn68q4ds0aK4hqUlMVTCXXkogMK7vkWOjiK706tj_ZQU0H8z1LhPlFaAkTRh_ZAcP2hUFwFrQ3RK66bFZyoOgA_jdr7dMb-B7CGsdiMBfTa_MSUJUMazj9NPGfOc/s320/bridge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>See the black and white goat? Happy's leg was wedged just to the right of where her left front leg is, and she was suspended, head down, in that triangle of space you see between the two animals. </p><p>With some skill and finesse, Rachel managed to free the jammed leg. Happy laid there, stunned, until Rachel gently lifted her down. She walked off on three legs. I was on the phone to my veterinarian so fast! </p><p>In the end, Happy seems to be ok. She didn't get so much as a scrape, though her lower leg is slightly swollen. She is limping but bearing weight. I have given her an injection of anti-inflammatory medication, and my husband and son-in-love will help fashion something to ensure no goat ever gets stuck in the ramp again. </p><p>My pleasant morning went awry, but my amazing daughter saved the day, and my dear little goat seems to be not much worse for her awful adventure. </p>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881088617211052118.post-76079006699927509532023-09-14T20:27:00.000-04:002023-09-14T20:27:35.341-04:00Toddling... <p> The Owlet and I took a little walk out into the pasture today. She loves to be outside, and her joy is contagious. </p><p>The goats ran to greet us, and the Owlet giggled with glee, petting them happily. They seemed glad to see her, too. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J2DOTRzPyWjN7en1S5g5ovmcavEP-V0s-KvAn-2abLeRLYgXZmVpzc8GwYYLpsgcgyUuup6l8lMOUN5uQr0kiqjSlR6uD59_86r0BFqVp06T3GWerdzJoCYk8uHGzs2VLDNUlVGJOtvKprLOeMtHPfAY3lOwRTE5lGg_-RteU9JR2thxeNja9BqJOQc/s640/T%20and%20goats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="607" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J2DOTRzPyWjN7en1S5g5ovmcavEP-V0s-KvAn-2abLeRLYgXZmVpzc8GwYYLpsgcgyUuup6l8lMOUN5uQr0kiqjSlR6uD59_86r0BFqVp06T3GWerdzJoCYk8uHGzs2VLDNUlVGJOtvKprLOeMtHPfAY3lOwRTE5lGg_-RteU9JR2thxeNja9BqJOQc/s320/T%20and%20goats.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><br /><p>We strolled around, and the goats all joined us. I plopped the Owlet up on top of a big pile of hay. She enjoyed the lofty perch and throwing handfuls of dry grass into the breeze. After a long time, she slid all the way down to the bottom and was so pleased with herself. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4GpV4fOdCvJ7K-SKkU-Zu-Jzo4L6G0fWq8-z2s-zCfBQaosLeJ5ES6YluG-242I_MP_-3wAq1usmVdx1qbRc_VgRI9zNVepeAhNSNfXaUfr2KbyPFsrBu9xMoHB2NfdUHOkDlC7x4ByBnmZMy-835_LjqfqTKeeWjgktFjId5LmWZ7FSMZRvNiTilYM/s853/hay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4GpV4fOdCvJ7K-SKkU-Zu-Jzo4L6G0fWq8-z2s-zCfBQaosLeJ5ES6YluG-242I_MP_-3wAq1usmVdx1qbRc_VgRI9zNVepeAhNSNfXaUfr2KbyPFsrBu9xMoHB2NfdUHOkDlC7x4ByBnmZMy-835_LjqfqTKeeWjgktFjId5LmWZ7FSMZRvNiTilYM/s320/hay.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>She stopped to pick some flowers in her chubby fists on the way back. "Mama!" she said, and we brought the bounty back to be proudly presented. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyc_B77gqF2JQAaspzGSKgN-r1UDfcUOo6LZsIXRf22MXFomrCJMxJFJ_hhoZTw5aNc5SaCbaJibS58_ZcqQSP8q4e1GbA3vcCrsiQF9m-lAGeJoXrS7244dyCNv60Py5HtZUa6xuBvEWf1Z1qrXiOa1K34HQbRxmjJ5KuwwY7u4IdfYdlqd2HHfPMwsY/s853/hands%20and%20flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyc_B77gqF2JQAaspzGSKgN-r1UDfcUOo6LZsIXRf22MXFomrCJMxJFJ_hhoZTw5aNc5SaCbaJibS58_ZcqQSP8q4e1GbA3vcCrsiQF9m-lAGeJoXrS7244dyCNv60Py5HtZUa6xuBvEWf1Z1qrXiOa1K34HQbRxmjJ5KuwwY7u4IdfYdlqd2HHfPMwsY/s320/hands%20and%20flowers.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br />To see the world through a toddler's eyes is a blessing beyond compare. <br /><p><br /></p></div>Darylhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08288010860017779162noreply@blogger.com0