Feast of summer...

Summer is fleeting here in Maine. It arrives late, then before we know it, folds into blazing autumn. We have learned to try to embrace the lovely days, because really, there are not enough of them to squander.

Rachel and I worked today. Chris ran errands, mowed the lawns, and then prepared us a summertime feast. There were his amazing steamed clams, (he has tweaked a recipe he found, and achieved perfection.) Here is how he makes them:
50 small clams, in shell, soaked
2 TBS olive oil
6 cloves of garlic
1 cup white table wine
2 TBS butter
juice of 1/2 lemon
1- 1 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes.

Heat oil over medium  heat. Add garlic, saute for 1 minute, pour in white wine and add lemon and pepper flakes.  Add clams, steam until clams begin to open.  Add butter, cover, and cook until all the clams are open.

Rachel, Evans, Chris and I gathered at the picnic table. The weather was perfect.

Evans is a fan of clams. He appreciates Chris' recipe, as do we all.  Kindly note the tee shirt he has on.  A gift from me. It tickles me that he wears it. (It reads: I never dreamed I'd grow up to be a perfect freaking husband, but here I am, killing it.)

Next we had very fresh, local, corn.  There is nothing better.  Chris bought it from the farm stand, still warm from the field. The corn season is brief, and really fresh corn is better than almost anything. We have it every chance we get. I love it grilled, Chris loves it boiled. Either way, it embodies the flavor of the season.

And then, lobsters. This time of year they have soft shells, because they have recently molted. The shells are easy to crack, the meat tender and sweet. We dunk it in warm butter, then slurp it up. The meal is drippy and divine. We don't care because we are outside, wearing old clothes and the mess will be a breeze to clean up.

The setting sun slants its beams luxuriantly across the emerald trees and pasture. The dogs loll at our feet. Our old picnic table is laden with food. Music plays. Over butter and broth, shells and bread and sweet corn, memories are shared, jokes told, and laughter lifts and floats, mingling with bird song and the comforting murmurings of the livestock.

 We linger once the meal is done, savoring the last light. The animals, all fed and happy, head to their beds. Bats flit in the dusky sky, and biting insects drive us towards the house. We gather up the tray with the supper spoils and head inside, full and happy, glad to have shared a feast. We will remember evenings like this when blizzards rock the house, and be glad.

Round and about...

I think our yard is looking particularly lovely this year. 

The gardens have an abundance of bright blooms. 

Including these delightful speckled petunias.

I have a variety of galvanized buckets stuffed with flowers, too. 

And some window boxes and hanging baskets decorate the cute coop.  

The bird feeding station and bath are very popular with the local avian crowd. I'm letting the volunteer sunflowers come up, because they will be so pretty. 

I love spending time in the yard this time of year. And the animals do, too.  Flirt, recovering from surgery to repair a troublesome hernia, is visited by Click (next to Flirt) and Clack, (with his lovely eyes) who plainly adore her. 

We are weaning Echo and Bliss, the goat kids Spirit gifted us with in March.  They are the grand daughters of Luna, my first and much loved goat, and will stay here with us.   We have moved them to the hen yard, where they have a little house to shelter them, a nice tent for shade, and two new lamb friends to keep them company. With SO many kids born this spring (11!) I did not spend enough time with them all, and these doelings were a bit wild.  Now that they are in a small space (and to be honest, a bit bored) they find visits from me to be fun and exciting. Especially when I bring a little grain.  They are becoming very tame and even a little cuddly. They delight me. I think goats are pretty, but I find Saanen's, (which is what these girls are) to be especially lovely. I just like looking at them. I'll be glad when I can move them back to the big pasture with the rest of the herd, but for now I am enjoying spending some special time with kids and adorable lambs. And treats. Lots of treats.

What love looks like...

What does love look like?  A fathers big, strong, hands holding a newborn infant?  A grown daughter cradling her ancient, dying, mother?  Newlyweds kissing?  All of these things, I think. But it also looks like bacon.

Most mornings I get up early and fix a little breakfast for my husband before he goes to work.  Nothing fancy... scrambled eggs, some sausage, maybe. Or, bacon and an omelette. I pack him a sandwich for lunch while breakfast is cooking, then I head outside to take care of the animals and milk the goats.  I am generally not hungry for breakfast when I first wake up. I'm happy to cook it, but not interested in eating any of it.  Once the critters are cared for, the kitchen cleaned, the grooming studio ready for the days work, I might make myself a smoothie or something before I start work.

A few days ago I made Chris 4 small slices of bacon, and a couple fried eggs.  I called upstairs that breakfast was ready then headed outside.  An hour and a half later, when all the animals were fed, watered, milked, patted, admired and loved, I came back inside to clean up the kitchen. And I found this.  One of the wee slices of bacon I had cooked had been left there, for me.  And I realized, it might look like a sliver of fried pork to most people, but to me, it looked like love.

Love that I had gotten up and prepared for my sweetie before he went to work, and love that he had sacrificed eating something as delicious as fresh bacon to leave for me.  Yup.  A bit of tasty, crispy, love.  I enjoyed every bite.

R E L I E F...

About a month ago my chest was hurting. I didn't think too much about it, until it lasted for a couple of weeks, and wasn't getting any better.  In fact, it was worse. And I was a little short of breath. And my sternum was numb and tingly. I felt tired all the time.   About that same time a sweet customer/friend had similar symptoms and ended up having a quadruple bypass. I began to feel very much in touch with my mortality. I was aware of my heart beating in my chest, something I normally pay very little attention to.

My father died from heart problems, as did his father.  So there was family history.  And I'm overweight and out of shape and pushing 60. Ever since my daughter was born (29 years ago) I have thought, "I just want to live long enough to see her grown and settled." She is grown and settled now, but suddenly I realized, I am NOT ready to be done with my very wonderful life. I don't want some other woman marrying my man, I don't want my animals to be homeless,  and I DO want to meet my grand-babies. So I called my doctor.

I very much dislike going to the doctor. I don't like how expensive it is, I don't like how they schedule a zillion tests, I don't like feeling like a sick person. And really, I was probably FINE. It was probably nothing.  But off I went. My doctor seemed concerned.  She sent me to the hospital for blood work and chest x'rays, an EKG and an echo-cardiogram. Meanwhile, I saw my chiropractor, and a few days after he worked his magic I began to feel better.  I still have an occasional ache in my chest, but mostly I feel fine.  No medical people called me with any news about the tests, but I had a scheduled follow up  appointment for this afternoon. I worried a little, wishing I knew the test results, but figured if they'd found anything awful someone would have called.  And since no one did, I chose to believe that no news was good news and kept marching forward, feeding animals, grooming dogs, cooking meals, living life.

I felt pretty good, so wasn't terribly worried when I went to see my doctor this afternoon.  And sure enough, all my blood work was great, my blood pressure terrific, my EKG, echo-cardiogram, and all the tests prove that I am doing just fine.  "So I am not dying?" I quipped.  My doctor gave me a hard look. "We are ALL dying," she said.  I pondered, then revised my question.  "I am not in imminent danger of keeling over from a heart attack?"  She nodded.

I feel quite relieved. There is so much to look forward to in the future, and it's a relief to know my heart is up to keeping me here to see the wonders unfold.

Good things...

Little Flirt, our whimsical toy poodle, had a hernia.  Today she had it surgically repaired. I hated leaving her at the veterinarians office, even though I knew she would receive excellent care. She looked at me hard as the good doctor was carrying her away.  I fretted all morning. I love that little dog, and can't imagine life without her in it.

 It was errand day. I saw my dentist and had my teeth cleaned, I went to a store, I had my hair trimmed. Then I met my friend for lunch and told her, "I am rudely bringing my phone in, and will answer it if the vet calls."  Luckily I have the kind of friends that understand, and in fact, wouldn't have it any other way.  He did call, and assured me that Flirt was fine, and I could pick her up at 4:00.  Her hernia had been repaired.

I came home and checked all the animals.  The pigs were hot, so I filled their wallow and hosed them down. They liked it.  I was hot, too, and decided it was a good day for a swim.  And here is where I get to tell you about something wonderful.  Last week I wanted to go swimming and I wanted Bravo to come with me. Flirt does not enjoy such things, so I left her home. It was a hot day, and we went to the little boat launch at the pond across from us.  There were several people there, and one family had a couple of big, snarling, dogs, tied up. The walkway down to the water is narrow, the sand beach small,  and I didn't want to go down there with Bravo, so we aborted the plan and went home and sulked. I wished and wished that I had somewhere I could go that was a bit secluded. A place where I would not bother anyone with my dog, and where we could have a little solitude.  And here is where the magic happens. The very next day I received a message from a sweet customer/friend that said, "I have an old tumbling down camp where there are kayaks and great swimming.  Not sure you all have a place to go but it would be close to your house. You are welcome to bring Bravo. You can go any time."  Then she sent the address and directions. It was as if she read my mind. As if the universe whispered my fondest wish to her and she generously decided to share her little slice of heaven with me. So today I went. Her directions were perfect.  Down a long country road, then down a dirt road, turn right down an overgrown driveway.  I put a long leash on Bravo in case he decided to go on walk about, but he behaved perfectly.  There was a lovely picnic table, a few chairs, and some stone steps down to the dock.  Little waves lapped on the rocks. There was not another soul in sight.  In about 1 minute I was ankle deep in the cool, clear water.  Bravo was confused, but once I was out paddling in water up to my chin, he got brave and swam out to be with me. Then back to shore, then back to me, repeat.  I climbed out and found a stout stick.  A rowdy game of water fetch ensued.  There was much joy. What a gift we have been offered. I can hardly wait to go again. I am so grateful.

And while I am appreciating people, look at this sweet image.

They have been haying the field across the street.  One little lily had been blooming, and I had been enjoying seeing it there. I knew the tractor would take it down. When I got home today I saw that whole field was mowed, but the little ditch lily had been spared. The man who mowed had neatly trimmed all around the plant, and left it there to bloom some more.  One more reason to smile.

Flirt is home and heavily medicated, sleeping in her favorite spot. Bravo, still a bit damp, is snuggled up to me, tired and happy. And for the millionth time I reflect on how magical life can be.

Oh, well...

Here in the country, most people rely on wells for their water.  The well at our house was here long before we moved in, and has served us flawlessly. A few months back the pressure tank needed to be replaced, and the plumber told me he thought our well pump was on it's way out.  A few weeks back our water pressure, (never all that great) got worse, and Chris went down in the basement to see what he could see.  The pressure tank was running non stop, trying to give us enough water, but clearly, the pump was not doing it's job.  Normally this would be an expensive but fairly simple fix, especially in the summer (we were glad it was not January, with feet of snow and ice outside!)  The plumbers came on a Monday a few weeks ago. The plan was to pull the pump up from the bottom of the well, and replace it with a nice, new one.  I had to go to an appointment, and when I came back I was surprised to see the plumbers truck still here.  I went out to see Chris and three plumbers, all standing around the well, scratching their heads. The mood was grim.  It turns out that due to some seismic shift, the pump was stuck fast.  They had been able to pull up up about 15 feet from the bottom, and there it stayed. It could not be moved up or down.  "What do we do to fix it?" Chris asked. "You need a new well," was the unwelcome reply. They were kind enough to rig up a long pipe that ran from the well, across the pasture and into the basement. The old, tired pump kept on working (thank heavens) and we had water. But it was a little stressful, knowing things could all go south at any moment.

 The plumber recommended someone to come out and take a look.  A few days later a well digger came, and agreed, there was nothing to be done except dig a new (expensive!) well.  It seemed an awful shame, but we had little choice.  We do enjoy having running water, after all. 

The next week, we locked all the stock up and opened the pasture gate. Two huge trucks came in.
One was the well digging rig.

The piglets were astonished by these new developments, so close to their paddock, and ran and grunted and ran some more, until they got tired and took a nap in the shade. Every once in a while they would come and stare at the ruckus, looking incredulous. I had to turn off the electric fences while all this was going on, and I was constantly on edge, worried the pigs would make a run for it and never be seen again.

The donkey and goats, locked in their little room, stared out with great interest. 

All day long, the digger rumbled and banged, going through the ledge one slow foot at a time.

 Since they charge by the foot, I was rooting for water at 50, but my wishes went unfulfilled. I took chocolate chip cookies out to the crew.  It was so loud we couldn't really talk, but with some yelling and gestures, I found out they were down nearly 200 feet and had water, but not enough.  Then they had an equipment problem and left for the weekend.  The huge digger stayed behind, startling me with its looming bulk each time I glanced out to the pasture.  They also left chip wrappers, cigarette butts and empty soda bottles in their wake. I was not amused. 

They were supposed to be here before 8 on Monday, but showed up mid-day, and dug some more.  At 240 feet they had 6 gallons of water a minute.  Satisfied, they packed up their machines and left. The plumber was supposed to come the next day to put in a new pump and switch us over.  He called late in the day, "I'm in kind of a mess. Can you wait until Monday?"  Since the old well pump was mercifully plugging along, I agreed.  I don't groom dogs here on most Monday's, and it would easier to do without water while they fixed things.  Except, I forgot that I actually was grooming that day, since I had planned to take the 4th off for Independence Day.  

Monday morning, at 7:30 sharp, the plumbers arrived, bringing a backhoe and a van into the pasture. By this point I'd given up locking the hoof stock up. They were bored by the whole thing and pretty much ignored the work crews.  Except Abraham, who supervised rather closely. And made friends.

I had a dog in the tub when they told me it was time to shut the water off. I begged for a 10 minutes delay, and was able to get him washed and rinsed in the nick of time. 

They dug a deep trench to bury the pipes below the frost line, and then hooked the new pump up to the new well. The plumbers left, the backhoe guy went back to work. 

He did quite a nice job burying all the rock dust from the well diggers, and smoothing things out. Until he hit the brand new well with his machine and smashed the top, damaging the head of the well, too.  "I'll have that taken care of," he said.  I'm still waiting. 

Meanwhile, the next step of the process was rather alarming.  We were instructed to go buy a gallon of Clorox bleach, and DUMP IT INTO THE WELL.  Now, if anything seems more counter-intuitive than dumping bleach into your drinking water, I'm not quite sure what it might be.  But we followed their instructions.  Then we were to run the garden hose into the well, until we could smell the bleach in the water. This took a long, long time.  Next, we were to let the bleach sit 24 hours, then run the hose until the bleach smell was gone.  This, too, took a long, long time.  It felt like a sin to waste all that precious water, too.  

Now we have two wells. One working, one not.  Our water is clear and the pressure is a bit better.  And hopefully we will never have to go through this again.  Because it was not a lot of fun. But I keep reminding myself how lucky we are to have clean, fresh water and Chris keeps cheerfully reminding me that at our age, this well and pump should long outlive us!. 

Demands...

The tree swallows have hatched a clutch of eggs in the house in the back yard.  We can hear them chirping, endlessly, while the parent birds fly in and out. They carry droppings from the chicks away, and bring back bugs. This morning, for the first time, I could see shadows of the chicks hopping around behind the little entryway.

At first there was a little yellow beak braced on the bottom edge.

Then it managed to get a toe hold on the door and poke its whole little head out.

When it saw a parent coming, that little bill flew open and filled the air with loud demands.

It was not dissapointed.  Papa bird zoomed in with a tempting morsel.

Again and again.

I think there are three or four chicks in the nest, and the adults work from first light until last to keep those mouths fed.  In a day or two the chicks will leave the confines of their cozy home and fill the sky with their aerodynamic feats.  Chris calls them, "little happy birds," because they look so joyful as they flit through the sky above FairWinds. We are so glad they are here.