First days of fall...

If I had to choose, I'd say that fall is my favorite season. The gentle blending of hot,bright summer to cooler, copper days. I love to hear the Canada geese call as they pause on the pond during their venture south. I love evenings that call for an extra blanket, the dryer air, the colors that fall in New England blaze. 

I begin to decorate, to bring some of those colors closer. 

The little window box on the Silky coop had depressing, spent flowers drooping in it. So I gave it a freshen up.  Clack cat supervised my work.

Inside I am happy for the first fire in the wood stove, but am reminded that the bright work on it needs polishing, and a can of stove black is also added to the list I am making for my next visit to the hardware store. An armful of stolen hydrangea blossoms are tucked into a freshly polished copper bowl that was once my mothers. I polish the copper candlesticks, too, and some other small bits. Light summer crystal is packed onto the pantry shelves, now I want to see the glow of shiny metal.

The windows have been cleaned, because the days are already noticeably shorter, and we want to let in every ray of light of possible during the long, darker, months ahead. The lace curtains have all been washed, too, and hang, fresh, rid of spider webs and fly specs.

My summer cooking tends to be unimaginative meat on the grill and a vegetable on the side. But with the first hint of chill air I feed my bread starter and bake up a batch. I yearn for stews and soups and heartier fare, and regain an interest in preparing more complex meals. The bowl of apples on the counter is destined for a pie or cobbler, I can hardly wait to smell cinnamon and sugar baking around them.

The flower beds are almost spent. We've had a few light frosts, and they have done some damage. Part of me wants to just pull everything up now so the livestock can enjoy eating them, but the stronger part wants to hang on to every last brilliant blossom. As much as I enjoy autumn, I know that long barren months are ahead.

We've had many a monarch butterfly here these last few weeks. This late straggler was rescued from the hen yard where I found him drying his wings. I put him out of harms way and watched until he took first flight.

His brain is far smaller than mine, yet he has the sense to head to warmer climates. I'll hunker down, the basement stacked full of dry wood, and ready for fall to blend into winter.

Common Ground...

We've gone to the Common Ground Fair for many years. This year we took today (a weekday) off to see if it would be a little less crowded and hectic than it is on Saturday and Sunday. It wasn't, but really, we didn't care.

Put on by the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association, the fair is huge. Locals gently refer to it as the "Granola Fair." The food served is healthy, or, at least, healthier than your average fair food. The fried dough is whole wheat and served with real maple syrup. The kabobs are from grass fed lamb. You get the idea. There are no diet sodas or plastic straws or cutlery. Recycling is a big deal. There is no midway, no neon lit rides.

But there is a hill with cardboard boxes, very popular with the kids, if you judge by the happy shouts and laughter. 

Everywhere one looks, it's a feast for the eyes.

Finally...I found ENOUGH garlic. 

Rachel and Evans joined us.

I love spending time with them. And being with Chris is pretty much my favorite thing of all.

I love seeing the livestock. 

And the beautiful arts and crafts. 

And bread.

The fair is a treat, from start to finish. We can hardly wait for next year.

Kiss my ...

A few years ago one of my customers told me that she and her friend were interested in acquiring a couple of donkeys. They would live at her friends house. She wanted to know if her friend could come meet Abraham.  They did, indeed, come to see him, (they brought apples) and I answered a few questions. I guess they liked my boy, because they built a wonderful barn, put up some excellent fence, and found two donkeys through a rescue organization. Both the humans and the donkeys were very happy.

The male donkey, Tony, was very young. The female, Flora, was a bit older.  They were not terribly friendly at first, but came around with lots of tender, loving care.  One early morning, three months ago, to their total surprise, the new donkey owners found a little foal on the wrong side of the fence. A miracle baby, all ears and fluff.  Flora had been hiding a secret. They named the secret Simon.

Rachel and I went to meet him today.

That FACE. And that fluffy hair. Those dainty legs and wee hooves.

And ears for DAYS.

He has these incredible EYES. But really, what got me?

His little, warm, velvet, muzzle. He was generous, letting me kiss him a LOT of times.

These donkeys have the most wonderful home. The adults were on the way to be meat when they were whisked off to shady slice of equine heaven in Maine. Here they have everything any donkey could ever wish for. Plenty of good food, fresh water, space to move about. They have a marvelous shelter, and humans who dote upon them. They are all friendly and obviously happy. And they let crazy visitors kiss their sweet faces.

I am becoming a donkeholic. And baby donkeys? They are positively addictive.

Worries and contentment...

Ella is my problem goat. Chris calls her "Cruella." She is not a mean goat, but naughty. You can see the gleam in her eye, the challenge. "What can I do next?" she seems to ponder.  At milking time I bring each goat from the pasture to the garage, where there is a milk stand, a bucket of high dollar grain, and some one on one time.  The goats know the drill; which goes first, and who follows, when. They wait at the gate at milking time, when it is their turn. When I open the gate, the goat who is to be milked marches right to the garage and hops up on the stand. Except Ella. She veers to the left to see if the chicken coop door is open, because she might find some chicken crummets to dine on. She veers to the right to see if she can snag a bite of rose bush or hosta. She checks out the picnic table, because maybe there is a decorative potted plant to munch on. And once she does make it to the garage, she investigates the bag of pig food, climbs up on the hay bales, noses around the table where the cat food and water are kept. Bravo knows she is trouble, and dogs her heels, barking in alarm when she is headed for mischief.  He barks a lot when Ella is out.

Once on the milk stand, rather than standing quietly and enjoying her meal, she kicks. I tried to thwart the kicking by installing hobbles on the bench. These are soft, nylon bands that I fasten around her rear ankles, (pasterns in goat talk.) They don't hurt in any way, but limit the range her powerful legs can fly when she gets the urge.  Fastening the hobbles can be tricky, depending on her mood.  She's a big girl, 150 pounds or so, and strong. If she decides she does not want the hobbles on, she dances about, flashing her heels at my knees and chest while I try to buckle her in.  Once I have her fastened, I try to milk quickly, because she loses patience with the project, despite the meal before her.  She has mastered a move that flummoxes me. She waits, with flawless timing, until I let my guard down. Then she bunches the muscles in her rear legs and with a huge, spasmodic, leap, bucks her hips up. The entire, heavy, milk stand lifts its rear legs up for a fraction of a second, then it comes crashing down. Often, the quarts of warm milk in the bucket slosh out into my lap, and down my legs, and into my shoes. This feels surprisingly icky. Sometimes the stand moves to one side in mid air and lands on my toes. This smarts, mightily.

Friday morning Ella looked a little off. She came in to be milked, and ate. She didn't feel feverish. Her milk production was way down, but her rumen was rumbling reassuringly. telling me she was digesting her food.  I put her back in the pasture and tried to keep an eye on her while I worked.  She was out and about, acting pretty normal. I did see her lie down, flat on one side, for a few moments. This is not unheard of, but not typical, either. I was on high alert.

Late that afternoon, when work was done, a friend visited. We sat in the back yard with a tray of cheese, crackers and some cranberry mead.  Ella kept standing at the empty hay rack like this. Her front feet elevated. It was odd.  Once my guest left, I started chores, and when it came time to milk, Ella did not queue up. Chris went out to investigate and thought her abdomen was distended. We brought her in to the milk stand and I agreed. I texted my veterinarian, and bless her, she texted back and gave me advice. I rifled through my goat medicine chest, and was out of pain medication. Luckily my friend had some and was willing to share. So we took a little drive and filled two syringes with goat pain killers. Once home, in the dark, Chris caught Ella, and held a flash light while I injected the medicine. Then, pushed two large syringes of bloat medicine into her unwilling mouth.  I went to bed that night not knowing if she'd be dead or alive when I woke up, but was comforted to know she had pain killers coursing through her veins.

She is still alive. Up, hanging with the herd, eating and drinking. But she is not quite right. Time will tell, but I feel like something serious is amiss.

Meanwhile, Abraham and Sarah are bonding. I've seen them play a few times, and they are beginning to groom each other, standing close, and nibbling on each others itchy spots.

Abraham used to sometimes chase the goats and bite them. Not hard, it was clearly all light-hearted play for him, but the goats were not amused. Since Sarah has arrived he has not done that even once.  He has a whole new demeanor. And Sarah is calm, quiet and as sweet as a donkey can be.

There is a new level of contentment in the pasture these days. Visitors often remark that this is a "peaceable kingdom," and that is true more now than ever.  Sarah has changed the tone of FairWinds in the loveliest of ways.

I am keeping a close watch on Ella, and watching the donkeys, closely, too, because I love to see the contentment that is being created.

A happy little project...

Several years ago, when we had some work done to the house, the construction guys cut a hole about 3 feet square in the upstairs wall at the top of the stairway landing. They needed to do this so the electrician could have access to the space behind the wall to put in a bunch of new wiring.  They left the hole open for a long time, and when they finally came to fix it they made a really ugly patch out of plywood, trimmed with hideous molding. I've hated looking at that patch for a long time.  I've been keeping my eyes peeled, looking for a piece of furniture that would hide it.  Whatever I put there would have to be tall, but not too tall, because there was a window over the patch. And narrow, because the banister for the stairway is in front of it.

Last month I happened to find just the thing at the Union Antique Festival. This annual event takes place at the local fairground, and is one of my favorite summer destinations.  I found this cabinet at the very first place I visited. I plunked down my money and asked them to hold it for me while I shopped.  When I got it home I put it in the garage, because it needed fresh paint. It was painted a grimy putty color, and the inside had old, ugly, contact paper on some of the shelves. The whole thing was pretty dirty, too. I think it had been in a house with people who smoked, because when I washed it the water that came off looked suspiciously nicotine laden.

Today I put it up on the picnic table bench, and got my paint out.  It was a bit more of a project than I anticipated, but the weather was fine and the work pleasant. Here is a "before." Sort of. I had already begun to paint the inside when I remembered to snap a picture.

I was going for a fresh, cottage, look. 

To my joy, the cabinet looks as good as I imagined it would in the space I bought it for. 

I have begun to put things on it, but it will be a work in progress.  I'd like some pretty folded linen's, tablecloths and such here, as well as a few decorative bits. The sun is going down and shining too brightly in the window, but I was in a hurry to post this, and too impatient to wait to get a better picture. This has been a happy project and I am pleased with the results of my efforts. I am especially glad that the ugly patch in the wall is now totally hidden. 

Buttoning up...

After a particularly hot, humid, summer, last night the air was chilly and fresh. Chris put the feather duvet on the bed, (but left the windows wide open) and it felt good to snuggle under it.  When I got up this morning to do chores I was surprised to find a light frost on the lawn.

Hot days will return, but there is no doubt that the season is changing.

The farm stands are colorful with pumpkins and Indian corn and a huge variety of squash. Crickets are singing their late summer song. 

So today we did some buttoning up.  Chris got his tools out, and we replaced the window in the  goat cozy. We take it out in the spring, leaving the space airy and open.  But if feels good to have it back in place, knowing that cold winds will soon blow. 

And we put the plexi-glass panel up on the front of the donkey room, too. 

It's amazing how much warmer that space gets when that little bit of plexi is up. The sun shines in and the little room is so cozy. The donkeys watched with great interest as we made their home snug. 

Today was also the day when we scrub out all the water tubs and refill them. Chris put a fresh bale of hay in the pigs little house, and they quickly went inside to toss the flakes and make a huge, warm, fluffy bed. They will sleep snug tonight. 

I had an idea a few weeks ago, to use a few spare boards we had and make a little bridge for the goats to play on.  Chris did that today, too. Echo and Bliss immediately discovered his handiwork and danced gleefully upon it. 

Despite the light frost, the front garden is still a riot of color. Butterflies dance there all day, and some of the plants are taller than I am. I am enjoying them extra, knowing their days are numbered.

I harvested 12 little pumpkins that grew on a volunteer plant in the pasture. I saw several orange leaves on the ground. Acorns are littering the street where I walk the dogs.  It's time to button up.

Sarah and Abraham...

Sarah has been here at FairWinds for almost two weeks.  The first day she was here she kicked Abraham, hard, several times. After a while they settled down, and began to graze, side by side.  Sarah discovered the donkey cozy. She seemed to like what she saw, the deep, clean shavings, the airy windows, the tasty salt lick.  She refused to let Abraham in. He was confused.  But after a few days, they seemed to reach a truce. She let him into the cozy, and they began to go everywhere together.

We had our wonderful veterinarian out and she gave Sarah an exam and the vaccinations she needed.  We gave her worm medication. Today the equine dentist came out to "float" her teeth.  If you are not familiar with the mouths of horses and donkeys, the teeth sometimes develop sharp "points" where they wear unevenly.  The points rub against the inside of the cheeks when the animals eat. The dentist uses special files called "floats," and vigorously rubs the files against the sharp spots to smooth them down.  He uses a variety of different files to achieve different results.  At some point he slides an interesting sort of halter over the animals head, which has stainless plates that separate the front teeth. A ratchet system gradually opens the horse or donkeys mouth so the dentist can access other areas of the mouth.  It all looks quite uncomfortable.  My horse, Chanel, was a pro at having her teeth floated, and always stood perfectly still and behaved like a lady.  I had no idea how the donkeys would act. I don't believe either have ever had this particular experience before, and though they are small, they are wickedly strong, and I could just imagine them refusing the service and behaving badly.

Here is the bucket filled with dental tools.

The dentist is a true professional. He started out by saying hello, handing out some pats and scratches.

He gently introduced a float, and Sarah, who was first in line, took it all like a champ. Even the big stainless thing that held her teeth apart. 

Abraham was a little bit more of a challenge. But the dentist was totally calm and patient, and soon won him over. The dentist said that Sarah was a "peach," and that Abraham was a smart boy. 

There were cookies handed out all around, and a brownie for the dentist.  The donkeys teeth will be good for another year or so. I was really proud of how well they did, and am glad they will be more comfortable now. Here they are, side by side, as they almost always are now.  They are becoming friends. The story continues. 

Hupurt...

The summer after my father died, I was visiting at home, and sad.  My big brother cooked up a mess of steamed muscles and lobsters to cheer me up. It worked. And he went over the top, as he often does.  Everyone else had pound and half lobsters, but me?  He bought me a HUGE lobster. It was double the size of the others. He dubbed it, "Hupert," and was so pleased to surprise me.  This is my brother. One of my all time favorite humans. Especially because he buys me huge lobsters.

My husband took note of my delight and now often does this same thing.  We live in Maine now, and treat ourselves to lobster often.  Here is how we have a lobster feast Conner style:  Chris fires up his outdoor propane cooker, and gets a huge kettle of salted water heating up.  Meanwhile, we carry plates, little bowls for melted butter, a roll of paper towels,(this is a messy meal!) a bottle of wine, lobster crackers and picks, plates, etc., out to the picnic table on a huge, well used tray.  There is usually fresh corn on the cob, and some nice dinner rolls, too. Sometimes Chris also cooks steamed clams. But the lobsters are the stars of the show.  This meal may be just the two of us, or we might have some of our favorite people join us.  Last night we had three fun family members here from out of state, and the feast was ON.

Chris thrilled me...

A "Hupurt!" This is just one of the ways he makes me feel cherished, every day. In case you are wondering, Hupurt was delicious. 

If we play the family lobster feast right, there are left overs.  What does one do with leftover clams and lobster? Make stew of course!  Simply melt some butter, then sauté a big onion. Add some diced potato, and a bit of broth saved from steaming the clams.  When the potatoes are tender, add the leftover clams, lobster, and corn (cut from the cob, of course.) Add a dollop of cream, salt, fresh cracked black pepper, and heat through.  The result is medley of deliciousness. 

Kind of like summertime, when we have lobster feasts at the picnic table as often as we can. And Hupert's, for sheer joy.