Visitors and oddities...

 Summer tends to be a time filled with visitors. At our place, the guests often have four feet. This week Millie has been here. A small, blond cocker/poodle mix, she used to stay here a lot until the pandemic, and it's good to have her back. She fits right in, plays with the other dogs, only chases the chickens a little bit, and is a pleasant guest. 

We also have Ruby Wrinkles here. Ruby is one of the puppies Opal gifted us with last fall. She is staying with us while her humans are on vacation. She was a little worried at first, her brow more furrowed than normal, but she quickly settled in. We let another of the littermates owner know that Ruby was here and she brought her puppy by for a play date. There was a lot of running, tumbling, and general joy. Here is mama Opal (front) Izzy, (left), and Ruby (charmingly tilting her head.) 

My friend Sunday sometimes comes and helps me with yard chores I don't seem to get around to. One thing I've wanted to do was cut down a wild rose bush that was taking over a tree by the side of the road. This species produces fragrant flowers for a brief time in June but is invasive and kills the plants around it as it grows. I wanted to slow it down some by cutting it right back to the ground. Sunday tackled the job, and though the bush bit her, she prevailed. She tossed all the thorny mess into the pasture, where the goats had a feast! The tree it was strangling is looking much relieved. 

My flower gardens are funny this year. Normally I go to the nursery and buy a bunch of annual plants that flower like mad all summer. This year I only bought a few wave petunias; everything else was gifted to me or came up on its own from last year's seeds. A sweet customer gave me zinnias, cosmos, and snapdragons, and my friend Carol, who works on a farm, gave me several flats of plants that, though labeled, were mostly mysteries to me. There were some delphiniums, which I was familiar with, but the rest of the plants I put in not having any idea what they'd amount to. 

Here are the delphiniums, starting to strut their stuff. Several other plants are budded up and will soon reveal themselves to me. It's all a little odd, but quite fun, too, to see what is growing.

Speaking of odd, I received a gift yesterday that most people would not appreciate, but which delighted me. Cheryl sent me a text, "A mistake was made at the slaughterhouse, and I have a bag of mixed feet, liver, and hearts. Would you like them?" Translated, this means that she had 50 or so meat chickens processed, and the parts that should have been separated were not. I was overjoyed, and before I knew it, there was a large bag of still-warm guts in my kitchen sink. 

I got out some rubber gloves and a box of sandwich bags and got busy. I separated baggies of feet, necks, and organs and filled my freezer with fresh, healthy meat and bone for the dogs and cats. This will last me for months and made me happier than you might expect. 

For the rest of the day, I grinned, feeling rich, knowing I had some high-quality dog food stashed away. 

Four-footed friends, flowers, and a sink full of guts. It doesn't take much to make me happy. 

Bonus hours...

 The problem with me is that I always think that everything will be just this way. That life is constantly changing is a lesson I cannot seem to grasp. I think back to when Rachel was a toddler. Life consisted of the busyness of being a mom, combined with trying to work a little here and there because there was never enough money. I was tired, and things were stressful, and though I rationally knew that those hard days were not going to be the reality of my entire life, I couldn't quite wrap my head around it.  

Today boasts what I think of as perfect Maine summer weather. Sunshine, small puffy clouds floating in a flawless blue sky, 80 degrees, and low humidity. A lovely breeze kept any biting bugs at bay. It was the sort of day I longed to be doing something besides working. Digging in the garden, or strolling on the beach, perhaps.  We had a busy workday planned. The afternoon was slated for grooming three time-consuming dogs from one family. That family forgot they had an appointment, and suddenly we had four or five hours totally free stretching out before us. We didn't quite know what to do. We called a few customers from our cancellation list, but none could come on such short notice. So we came up with a delightful plan. 

In no time, we had our bathing suits on and two kayaks loaded into the back of the truck. We drove to Ayer Park, on 7 Tree Pond. It's one of my favorite places to explore, and I didn't go there at all last year. We put the boats in at the boat ramp, then paddled along the shore to where a river opens. The wind made the water a little rough. We skirted between boulders and through a little fast-moving water, under a bridge with cars whizzing over it, and found ourselves in a favorite spot of mine. A wide, slow river, dotted with big rounded boulders here and there. A mama Mallard led her brood of 6 ducklings right in front of us, and they all climbed up on a rock, mere feet away, fearless. Around a bend and we were treated to the sight of a good-sized turtle, sunning on a log. Before us, two dark objects bobbed then vanished. It was a pair of loons, fishing leisurely. They stayed about 20 feet ahead but kept us company as we made our way upstream. 

Round Pond met the river after a while. I rarely ever encounter other paddlers here and love the wild-feeling solitude of the place. Today the wind made progress hard work, so after a bit, we turned back to the shelter of the river. 

I wish I could take a camera with me on these trips. I've never once toppled my boat in 17 years, but I worry I will ruin a camera if I take one out. I wish I could show how the ferns grow at the edge of the water, sun-dappled by the rays streaming through the trees that hug the shore. I'd love for you to see the green heron that fishes where the fallen logs reach out into the water, and the metallic glint of a school of tiny fish, rising to the surface in a flipping, flapping flurry. I could show you the flawless leaves of water lilies and the buds of their flowers, unexpectedly bright against the water. But even if I dared bring my camera with me, you still couldn't hear the Yellow Warbler singing or the haunting call of the Wood Thrush. You wouldn't be able to see the movement of the Red-Winged blackbirds, swooping in the brush and scolding us brightly as we pass by. Nor could you smell the river water, clean and fresh. 

When we first moved here 18 years ago, my two sisters and I paddled these same ponds and river. We stopped at an enormous bolder and took a summer swim. It was wonderful being together there, and I thought, "Now that I live in New England, we can do this all the time!" Missing our sister Dicy, we braided wildflowers, said a little prayer, and tossed our creation into the lake.  Just then, a Bald Eagle swooped over, low. We felt it was a sign- that for one instant, all four of us were joined in spirit once again. It was all magical and wonder-filled. And here is where you can see my problem. That was the last time my sisters and I ever kayaked together. Life was never just that way again, and never will be. 

So today, when my daughter and I had the unexpected gift of bonus hours, perfect weather, and small, sturdy boats to paddle in a lovely place, I made myself focus hard on how precious each moment was. 

The funny bullfrog calls, the whir of duck wings overhead, the sensation of sun on my face and water on my hands as I rested the paddle, tilted my face to the sky, and trailed my fingers in the river. 

As the sand runs through my hourglass, I hope to cling to each grain with the knowledge that every passing day is unique. And it will never be just this way again. 

 

D.L.O....

 I have written about this topic before, but it deserves another mention. 

I opened my home business here 8 years ago in August. A week or two into my new routine, Chris kissed me, left for work, then came back into the house. He went into the grooming studio for a moment, then left and drove away. When I went in to work an hour or so later I found a perfect red and orange maple leaf on my grooming table.  It was too early in the season for the leaves to turn, but Chris had seen this one lovely harbinger of autumn on the lawn and thought it would delight me. He picked it up and left it where he knew I'd find it. I was thrilled by the beautiful leaf, but even more so by the thoughtful gesture. I sent him a thankful message and posted about it on Facebook. 

When he tells the story it goes something like this, "I am Pavlov's husband. I did something, she liked it, I'll repeat it." So, every day, for the past 8 years, he has left me what he has come to call, "a daily love offering. Or a 'DLO,' or, even, 'a dealio.'" Sometimes it is candy. It might be lip balm or lotion. A jar of mixed nuts, a treat for one of the animals, seed for the wild birds I delight in feeding and observing.  If I have a desire, I'll text it to him, and with a few days, it will magically appear.  

Last week a groomer on social media posted this picture. 

A vintage bottle shaped like a poodle. She didn't know what to do with it. I suggested she send it to me. She politely declined.  I love vintage bottles and dog stuff, and I thought this bottle was amazing. I'd never seen one like it. I had no idea where to find such a thing, so I sent a picture of it off to Chris. 

This morning when I opened my eyes there something on my bedside table. A poodle bottle of my own!

I popped some fresh flowers in it straight away. Today's daily offering is a special treat. 

Sharing my life with a man who strives to bring me joy each day is the most special thing of all though. I am blessed beyond measure. 

New day, new life...

 It is a perfect summer day in Maine. A cool, clear morning, with the promise of warming as the sun climbs. 

I started my day as I always do, by letting the dogs out. Then I dish up a plate of food for the barn cats. The cats get fed, then I scoop up some chicken food and turn the hose on. In the hen yard, I wash and fill the water tub, put the scoop of food out, and rinse the duck pool. While the pool fills I let the birds out of the coop. If I'm lucky I have a few minutes to observe what happens next. The ducks rush headlong for the hose in the pool, drinking deeply, trying to catch some spray on their feathers, and as soon as there is an inch or so of wet they hop in for a joyful splash. The hens eat, then drink, then scatter to the pasture in search of bugs and tasty plants to nibble. 

Next, I head to the wee coop in the back yard where the 4 Silky chickens live. This morning when I did this I noticed two of my layer hens were near the Silky coop. I try to discourage them from being in the backyard. They poop a lot, scratch up my flower bed, and are pushy with the diminutive Silkies. Bravo is smart enough to know that the layer hens don't belong in the backyard, and when he sees them he gleefully chases them back to the pasture or hen yard. So this morning, when I saw those hens where they didn't belong I said, "Bravo, get those chickens." He began to do my bidding, then stopped in his tracks and looked at me, then at the birds, then at me. Puzzled, I followed his gaze. 

At first, I didn't understand why one hen was so puffed up. Then I saw scurrying movement beneath her. 

Chicks! Last year when these White Rock hens went broody things went very badly. They hatched chicks, then one by one pecked them until they were injured or dead. It was a nightmare. So this year, when two of the birds began to think of creating a family, I did everything within my power to discourage them. But meanwhile, two of the ladies had gone missing. There was no evidence of foul play, no piles of feathers left about, so I knew there was a possibility that there were hens nesting somewhere in secret. Since all my birds are the same breed and look alike, it's hard to tell individuals apart, so if a bird that was nesting came out of hiding to eat and drink, I'd never notice. I suspect that the two missing birds were cuddled up together under the Silky coop. They probably co-hatched these four wee chicks. Yesterday when I was doing yard work, I thought I heard chicks peeping, but then I didn't, so I chalked it up to some wild birds and went about my business. 

This hen is all about mothering the babies. She puffs up in a threatening way when a human, dog, or other bird comes near. She is showing them how to find food. I put out a plate of chicken feed, soaked in water and easy for tiny birds to eat. She instantly took them there, clucking in the special way mother birds do. 

The other hen that brooded with her has rejoined the flock, ditching the chicks for freedom and fun. I know human mothers like that, too. 

Our chicken count has increased by 4. Four adorable, wee, peeping chicks. Well done, Mama hen. Well done. 

Kitchen creations...

 For 17 years we have had friends Scott and Marion over to watch the triple crown horse races. They don't get the TV channel that plays them, so early on asked if they could watch here.  We began making a bit of an event of it, cooking special food, inviting other friends and neighbors. Some years it got too busy, with people we didn't even know showing up, and not enough room for everyone to see the race. 

Last year, Covid canceled the races, and we were glad to be able to get together to watch again this year. We kept it small. Marion brought all the food for the Kentucky Derby, we all contributed for the Preakness, and tonight I wanted to try something different for the Belmont Stakes. Rachel and I thought it might be fun to make homemade Gyro's. I found a likely recipe, Chris brought home the provisions, and I got to cookin'. 

I made Tzatziki sauce with local yogurt, diced cucumber, and twice as much garlic as the recipe asked for, (among other things.)  

I found a likely-looking recipe to make the meat portion. Local lamb and beef, (I made two varieties) diced red onion, garlic, lemon juice, and a whole pile of flavorful seasonings like cumin, oregano, and nutmeg.  I mixed it up early and let it sit a while so the flavors would meld. We formed them into oblong patties and Chris grilled them up to give them a nice smokey flavor. 

The most ambitious part of the project was making homemade pita bread.  I have always liked pita bread and thought fresh-baked would be tastier than store-bought. I made a double batch to feed 7 people, and to my delight, they were so popular not many were left. 

It was a simple dough, yeast, water, flour, salt, and olive oil.  I made it up and let it rise in a sunny window. Then I cut the dough into 18 or so sections,  kneaded, and formed each section into a little ball. 

I let them rest a while, then rolled each out until it was about 1/4 inch thick. 

I heated a cast-iron skilled up, and then with a wish and a prayer tossed a disk into the hot pan. In two minutes I was overjoyed to see... 

My pita had puffed!  It was unseasonably warm today, and I spent the next hour hovering over the hot stove, cooking one or two dough disks at a time, and reveling in their lovely puffiness. It was totally worth it. 

2-3 minutes a side and they became a lovely toasted color. I stacked them in an earthenware bowl, then tucked them under a dish towel to keep them warm and moist. The whole project was a time consuming effort, but oh so tasty. 

We all made our own sandwiches, fresh warm pita bread, cool tzatziki sauce, flavorful meat. I had an array of greens, tomatoes, and sliced cucumbers to add to each sandwich. Marion brought a beautiful salad complete with edible flowers, and Chris made a massive bowl of barbecue potato salad. Cheryl brought a fabulous pie. Rachel made a sweet bowl of fruit salad. It was a feast. But I am going to say that my pita pockets were a big success. Ok, I'm going to say they were the star of the show. There is a rule that one should not serve a totally new recipe to guests. I threw caution to the wind and tried three new things tonight. No complaints. I'm totally making those pita pockets again, and soon. 

The race was a nail-biter. I can hardly wait till next year's triple crown. I'll have to come up with some other new recipes to trot out. 

Relationships...

 One of the things I love about living with and around animals is watching the relationships they share. It is a constant wonder to me. 

The other day we cleaned out the donkey dorm and hung a fresh Himalayan salt block. I was happy to catch this picture of Sarah and Spirit sharing. 

 There is a bluebird house just outside the window of the grooming studio. Earlier in the spring, a pair of bluebirds checked it out, then moved on. A pair of English Sparrows visited, and I tried and succeeded in discouraging them. Tree swallows examined but didn't buy it. Today, to my delight, several pairs of bluebirds showed up and fought over the house, giving me some lovely distractions. 

There was a bit of arguing over real estate, which seems to be typical these days with humans, and bluebirds, too. I am hoping some lucky couple will raise a clutch for us to admire.  Those would be some lovely relationships to see.