Greening...

 Every year as December approaches, I am happy to buy a wreath or two to decorate our doors. Here in Maine, where evergreen trees grow with reckless abandon, people make and sell wreaths by the truckload, at farm stands and roadsides, in shops, and on street corners. I've often wished I knew how to make one. This year a sweet friend invited Rachel and me to a wreath-making event. I was delighted. I baked some mini pumpkin muffins to share, and off we went. 

A table full of baked goodies in the hall greeted us, along with many warm, friendly people. I was impressed by the organization. A second table full of wire cutters, pruners, spools of wire, wreath frames, and other helpful tools waited at the ready.

On either side of the room were long tables covered with plastic clothes to protect them. These were places for people to get creative. 

The center of the room had tarps taped to the floor, and piles of beautiful fresh greens were neatly arranged. White pine, cedar, spruce, holly, winterberries, and more awaited being trimmed and shaped into seasonal décor. 

Experienced wreath makers came to each table to see if anyone needed guidance. We did. I saw friends I knew and met new people. Rachel wore the Owlet in a backpack and attracted lots of attention. 

It didn't take long for us to learn how to snip groups of greens and wire them to a frame, looping the wire around and around each segment of foliage. 

I was pleased with my results. 

Chris kept busy while I was gone, delighting me by putting twinkle lights on the arbor.

And putting a bale of hay in the sweet new hay bag, he gifted me and hauling it to the goat cozy. The plan is to keep a bale of hay out there so I can just dish out a flake or two at a time and keep the mess corralled. 

He put up a new mineral feeder for the goats, too. 

It was a fun day, with much accomplished. The greening of the upcoming holiday has begun. 

The Feast...

 It was a delicious Thanksgiving. 

Rachel and I cooked all day on Wednesday. Amazing Aimee got up early and drove from New Hampshire to keep the Owlet occupied while we worked. We made the spinach dip and garlic dip, scratch pie crusts, pumpkin pie from fresh pumpkin with fresh ginger, my mother's pecan pie recipe, rum cake, chocolate nemesis cake,  sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes (20 pounds of them!), stuffing and green bean casserole. While we were at it, we made a batch of Hungarian Goulash to eat after we had cooked all day. 

On Thanksgiving morning, Chris put his turkey on the smoker before dawn, and I tucked mine (under a buttery blanket of cheesecloth) into the oven. Aimee and I set the tables, the side dishes were heated, and beverages, desserts, and appetizers were set out. Deb and I (mostly Deb) whipped up a vat of gravy. By two, the driveway looked a bit like a used car lot. 

 

The smoked bird.  

The roasted bird, artfully carved by Evans. 

Some family could not come because a last-minute Covid test came up positive. That was sad. But otherwise the day went off without a hitch. As always, I sat back and listened to the ebb and flow of conversation, the lull as people forked into the meal, then the uptick again. It's a happiness that never gets old. 

Deb, John, and Aimee stayed the night. In the morning, Deb and I finished up the soaking dishes, and John helped put the folding table and chairs away. Rachel, Evans, and the Owlet came over, and after noshing on leftovers, we set up to decorate Gingerbread Houses as we do most years. It's a fun kick-off to the next holiday. We like the frosting and candy part more than the baking part, so Deb kindly brings kits for us to use, plus LOTS of extra candy to festoon the houses. Here is my wee house as we began. 

The finished product...

Then everyone was gone, and the house seemed quiet and empty. A cold rain fell, but we were cozy and drowsy. A long nap fixed that. Another Thanksgiving is over. It was a good one. I feel honored that friends and family choose to travel to spend time with us on this day. More than honored, thankful. 

(And thanks to Chris Kaiser and Aimee Brown for some of the photos.) 

Readiness...

 Slow and steady, I am checking off my Thanksgiving plans.

The china dishes have been washed and stacked at the ready. Same with the serving platters and cake plates. I pulled out all of my mismatched serving pieces: spoons, meat forks, and pie servers. I love the different patterns. The square-bottomed spoon that begins at the top left of the photo has an excellent heft and my mother's initials engraved on the end. They all needed a date with some silver polish and elbow grease, so I got to it. The table clothes and napkins are laundered, folded, and ready to be put to work. Ditto the low crystal candle holders that will line the center of the table. 

Our son-in-love kindly volunteered to sharpen our kitchen knives and spent a long time putting a razor edge on them. This will make feast preparation much easier and more pleasant. 

Brenda popped in today. She is like a magical being, appearing at a moment's notice and leaving beauty and laughter in her wake. She decorated the claw foot bathtub at the end of the drive, and the arbor, too. 

This will help us slip from one holiday to the next before the weather gets too interesting. 

Chris stopped at his favorite florist today. You have to love a man who has a favorite florist. He brought me a dozen yellow roses. My mother loved to have yellow roses at Thanksgiving when she hosted all the family. This is my nod to the memory of her and all the holidays she created to make happy family memories. 

I hope that is what I am doing, too. That one day, my daughter and her family, various friends, my nieces and nephews, and perhaps even the great-nieces will reminisce about the fun times and good food they had here at FairWinds on Thanksgiving. 

Readying...

 Thanksgiving is fast approaching, and part of today was dedicated to preparation. In truth, there is only a little to be done. After years of hosting the bash, we have the routine under control. The house is in good order, and Chris has begun laying in the not-very-perishable groceries such as onions, sweet potatoes, chips, baking supplies, and wine. 

Of course, we don't have any problematic relatives, but this tag makes me chuckle. 

I got out some of my favorite decorations and set them about today. A trio of vintage turkey gravy boats and Big Tom, gifted to me by friend Liz many years ago. An actual turkey feather left by a visiting wild bird hides a chip on his foot. A few hand-knit pumpkins complement the scene. I also hung a Thanksgiving flag outside and stabbed a massive pumpkin with my beloved ceramic and metal turkey head/legs and feathers. This tacky guy makes me grin every year. 

The temperature was dropping, and while I was out in the garage gathering decorations, the cats kept winding around my legs, chatting. I decided they were reminding me to set up their heated house. I got it out, shook the inner pad, cleared a spot, and plugged it in. It took them about 30 seconds to investigate. 

I wrap a warm blanket around it to add insulation. The two brothers snuggle in side by side when it gets freezing, tucking their paws under them. The heated pad below them radiates, and the space gets quite toasty between that and their shared body heat. I like to reach in and pet them on a cold day, feeling the rumble of their contented purrs. 

The day started before dawn with a trek to Portland for the procedure on my eye that was rescheduled last week. To be honest, they make it relatively painless, but the fact that a long needle is injected into my eyeball and wiggled around a while leaves me feeling a little traumatized all day. A thumpy headache arrived within an hour of the process, undeterred by Tylenol. I soldiered on- at an admittedly slower pace. 

In the late afternoon, I fetched my window candles from storage and sat a while loading each one with batteries.  As dusk fell, I quickly turned each one on. They work from some small timer that will automatically illuminate each of them simultaneously each day. I usually put the candles up closer to Christmas, but with the dark coming so early, I felt compelled to set them up now. The house looks cozy and welcoming, with them shining from every polished window through the long New England nights.

After completing several holiday preparation chores, I head into my workweek feeling a bit accomplished. We will greet the upcoming gathering with glee. 

Cold front...

 The weather folks said a cold front from Canada would arrive last night, bringing wind and rain. We have a good roof, and my animal houses are secure, so this didn't worry me, but we have a bachelor flock of young roosters camping in a calf hutch in the backyard.  If the wind is right, those calf hutches can take flight like Dorothy's house in the Wizard of Oz, sail over pasture fences and end up where they shouldn't. It was drizzling when I went to bed, and I woke sometime later to hear the rain hitting the windows hard and wild wilds moaning under the eves. In a semi-conscious state, I huddled under the covers and worried about those birds. I knew I should get up and peer out the window to see if their shelter had abandoned them. I also knew that if it had, I'd have to suit up and go out in the deluge, hunting coal-black birds in the dark of night, and figure out what to do with the poor sodden things once I found them. I didn't relish this idea and tried to force myself to sleep, to no avail. I finally gave up and stood on tiptoes to peer out the bathroom window. Much to my relief, the hutch was where we'd left it. I slept the rest of the night fitfully, checking on the situation multiple times. 

The rain had slowed by dawn. Since it was my day off, and the air blowing in the open bedroom window was bizarrely warm, I opted to do chores in my pajamas. This is a luxury that living in the middle of nowhere affords. Only the dogs and one lone hunter driving by saw me, and he gave me a cordial wave and a nod as he passed. 

I squelched across the pasture, opened the door to the goat cozy, and stepped inside. The air smelled of clean pine shavings, hay, and healthy livestock. Rain pattered gently on the metal roof. The goats know the routine. Plenty went to the gate of the milk room and waited nicely while I fiddled with the latch. She entered happily, hopping up on the milk stand and standing quietly while I dished her a scoop of mixed alfalfa pellets and sweet feed. I sat behind her, cleaned her little udder, then went to work milking. She calmly enjoyed her breakfast. I like a little music while I do chores, and this morning Carol King was appropriately singing "Too Much Rain." 

When she is done with breakfast, Plenty waits, chewing her cud and looking out the window. She is the best little goat. 

Grace, on the other hoof, is impatient about everything. She stands at the gate staring with her ice-blue eyes, willing me to hurry along. Every few minutes, she lets out a bleat. Her voice reminds me of a 90-year-old chain-smoking woman from New York. 

When it is her turn, she blasts through the gate and hops up and down off the stand in rapid succession as I get her breakfast from the bin. I have to work fast because she will only tolerate me milking while food is in front of her face. The moment the grain is gone, she struggles to get her head out of the stanchion and dances her back legs in a rapid tattoo that has knocked the milk bucket (or measuring cup!) into my lap more times than I care to count. I've learned to hobble her back legs with soft nylon straps, but she still manages to wreak havoc more often than not. It's a good thing she is cute and produces sweet, delicious milk. 

Bravo waits for me just outside the Goat Cozy. He hops up when I come out, and trots before me, plumed tail waving. I take the milk right in the house and pour it through a chilled filter into a chilled jar. There is always a little extra to splash into Bravo and Flirts bowls. More tail wagging ensues.

The rain picked up again; I watched sheets of it blowing across the pasture as I buttered toast and tidied the kitchen. The dogs arranged themselves damply, sighing over their breakfast-filled bellies and settling into a stormy day.  I long to join them, but my to-do list awaits. 

November starts...

 I am a fan of November. I like the look of the newly bare trees against the sky, the frost and chill, fire in the wood stove, and homemade soups. I even like the changing of the clocks, which makes me a freak. Of course, November is where Thanksgiving lives, that delightful day full of feasting, friends, and family. And the Owlet was born in November, the icing on the cake of a lovely month. She celebrated her first birthday with a family supper on the actual date and brunch with extended paternal family a few days later. She handled that soiree like a veteran, visiting with unfamiliar aunts and uncles confidently and with charm.  

Among her gifts was a wee, soft chair, just her size. But she is the gift to all of us, of course. Being a "Lovie" is even more fun than I imagined. I thrill at every new development and treasure the hours I spend with her almost daily. I know how very fortunate I am.

On a different note, Chris took a morning off work Monday to drive me to Portland for a procedure on my eye. We had to get up early, take care of the animals early, milk the goats early and be on the road before 6:30 to get there in time. I had fervently hoped we would have time to get a McDonald's biscuit for breakfast on the way. That seems silly, but living in the middle of nowhere, the occasional fast food meal is a treat. We were making good time when my phone rang, the doctor's office canceling my appointment. So we did what we do and made the best of a bad situation. Rather than a pedestrian biscuit, we popped into the fabulous A1 Diner. 

We dined on a superb breakfast, then took a pretty drive on a circuitous route home.  We shall try again next week. 

November has had a good start.