Wicked Rural Homestead
Live Simply
The Scattering: Dennis Gobets Goes to Italy
Anghiari, Italy to be exact.
This was recently posted by a friend of my father’s.
Found a place I thought he’d like. Lots going on. Fireflies in June so bright you don’t need a flashlight. So many frogs you can’t hear yourself think. Wild boar families running around with babies. Deer. Porcupines. And loads of men, none of them with that haunted, frightened look we see so often elsewhere. Seeming to always be having the time of their lives… galloping across the fields on horses, driving tractors, hunting, working in the fields. And I’ll visit daily to talk things over.- NF
Today, three years after his death his travels are not over yet.
Satisfactory!
Be well.
TBT- Time is never on sale. Get It While You Can!
One year ago, (now 3) I drove across town with the boys in blissful ignorance of what the day would bring.
We were on a mission to find post-Thanksgiving donuts to round out our holiday gluttony.
As we passed the lake; I saw that it was on the cusp of solidity, a magical phase that only lasts a few days.
“You guys want to stop and try to break the lake ice?”
“Yahhh!!!!” 
A few minutes later we parked, donuts in hand and began a simple activity that could consume our entire day if we let it. 
There are no rules, expect to make sure everyone is out of the way of your attempts. We used stones. 
And sticks. 
I supervised and walked the shore looking at all the little frozen moments in time. Absently thinking my dad would get a kick out of them and I should take pictures for him.
He loved bearing witness to nature’s fleeting singularities.
Experiences that you have to seek out or seize when the opportunity arises. The transitory stages of life and nature that stop for no one.
TBT- The Unrepentant Woman
To anyone who has followed my posts (especially my nail polish rant last winter ) it should be pretty apparent that I am not a huge fan of society in general and popular culture in particular.
It is one of the reasons I love living in rural Maine. Why we have chickens instead of cable (we call this “red neck tv.”)
For me, one of the most difficult things about growing up a female in Western culture is the constant dicodimous nature of claiming your femininity without giving up your womanhood.
I have dispised the term “girl power” since its spicy inception in my pre-teen years. I can’t think of a more potent example of the contrary attitude toward girls in our nation and the world.
I am not a girl.
I have not been a girl since I was 12, when my body matured and I was biologically thrust into womanhood.
The topic of my own femininity has always been openly discussed, questioned, judged or blatantly denied.
I was, am (and will continue to be) what most people call a “tom boy.” In elementary school I ran with the boys, playing their games and beating them. By 3rd grade I was a top pick in any recess game. By 6th grade I could beat everyone in the school at arm wrestling (except one boy, who was already 6 foot.)
These abilities carried repercussions. I was often accused of being a “dyke” or that I “wanted to be a boy” along with many other unflattering presumptions.
I have spent my life working in kitchens where my skills were constantly questioned and tested by my coworkers. I have been sexually assaulted or harassed more times than I can count but my reactions were far from ladylike and made it clear that I would take no shit of any kind. In a room full of knifes and fire it is not a hard thing to do (nor was any of it HR appropriate or politically correct.)
Other women who work in kitchens will know exactly what I mean.
One time a co-worker put my share of the tips on his lap and with a grin invited me to “get them.” I grabbed the nearest knife and told him to “hold still,” while I used it as a spatula. I got my tips and we became good friends. He never did it again and actively warned others about the dangers of trying it for themselves.
The hazing usually lasted until we had a busy service. Then they tended to shut up and stay out of my way because I am damn good at what I do.
I think the problem for females begins early. Boys and girls learn how to be flirtatious, something too few women realize is not the best trait if you want to have health happy relationships with men- not based on physicality.
Photo Challenge 2016- Mystery
There is nothing hidden about the changing of the seasons in New England. The constant transition happens all around. Everything out in the open, there to see if you take the time to look.
The fields that line my commute are daily reminders that the land’s harvest is temporary by nature. Backroads are packed with all sorts of medicinal offerings but timing is everything.
Many herbs are most potent when gathered right before they flower. When all the plant’s energy is gathering for the display of its life.
This year, I became aware of the tremendous amount of St. John’s Wart along my morning migration. Collection of Ghost Plant, Plantain, Rose, Wintergreen, Chaga, Yarrow and Mullen where already part of my yearly tincture efforts. There is a short window to locate and harvest these gifts before they pass their prime for extraction or drying.
Most of these interactions result in tinctures that resemble the color of the plant, at time of harvest.
The above Yarrow tincture was dark green by week’s end.
There are two spectacular exceptions: Ghost Plant and St. John’s Wart.
St. John’s Wart is a beautiful yellow flowered plant, it loves gravelly open areas with abundant sun. Often used to help with depression, it has many other applications. The flowers are photosensitive and must be picked before they open or the following magic will not be as strong.
When the plant is mashed and added to alcohol or oil an impressive reaction takes place. At first, it is a pink/orange but this hue darkens.
Within hours it has obtained this incredible shade of blood red.
Photo Challenge 2016- Autumn
Autumn in New England is a grand thing.
The cold nights drive the bugs back to the depths of the hienus hell bogs from whence they came.
That in itself, would be reason to celebrate but as an added bonus (or just nature’s apology for the summer’s unreasonable humidity,) the mountains and valleys transform into living stained glass.
Thousands of words have been composed, typed and published in an effort to describe the beauty of a fall forest.
It is etherial. A living church window.
I feel this inescapable need to capture some bit of the breathtaking display and make a little piece of it mine.
Even the lakes are not immune to the compulsion.
Though it is quite possible, they just happened to be there.
Everyday on my drive I think; “I should take a picture of (insert name for special tree here) soon. Tomorrow maybe…”
“Not now.”
“It’s not ready yet.” Then, the wind takes half of it away and I think, “I should have done it yesterday.”
Even when you pick the perfect day for that particular tree, there is no way to capture the magnificence of a backwoods autumn in anything less than itself.
However, I lack the good sense to stop trying.
2016 Garden Recap (Better Late Than Never. Right?)
Sometime in June I blinked, and BLAMO! It’s October.
Most of my writing efforts this summer have focused on becoming unexpected duck farmers and The Scattering.
The homestead vegetation has been unaffected by my lack of record keeping.
Our fence worked wonders for the vegetable production this year! It is amazing (not really) what keeping the chickens and sheep away from the garden did for yield.
We managed to plant the garden almost entirely from our last year’s seed stock. Our selection was limited to things that would produce a product we would actually eat over the winter.
It is not all for consumption, I like the perennial bulbs for show. No work and flowers every year.
There were some Irises already here when we bought the house but have trippled in size. They are the first to bloom. A welcome beginning to the growing season.
Border Lilies and Day Lilies showed off nicely this year.
The Easter Lilies have the most intoxicating fragrance. I wish they bloomed all summer long!
For food production we settled on a few staples:
Beans- Scarlet Runners, Black beans and Soy
Popcorn- Dakota Black
Pumpkins
Butternut squash
Tomatoes
Medicinal Herbs- Yarrow, St Johns Wart, Plantain, Comfrey, Calendula (there will be a separate post on tincture making when I get my head out from up my…)
The Scarlet Runner beans have the added bonus of being beautiful. I love the color and humming birds they add to the yard.
Photo Challenge 2016- Rich
Drained and tired,
I started the car and pointed it south.
Clocked out and homeward bound.
The day’s events rolled around my head,
a tango of worry and stress.
My music played with no-one listening to it.
I had no room for the lovely sounds, only the voices of tasks not yet done.
Rounding the corner, the moon silenced all but the radio.
Photo Challenge 2016- Summer
When you are a student, the word summer is synonyms with freedom. At least it was for me. My last day of Kindergarten I thought, “Ok, cool. That was fun. Thank god it’s over! Back to real life.”
Then came the next fall’s rude awakening; this whole ‘school thing’ was no glitch.
Apparently, it was going to be a serious issue for the next 12 (+4=16?!) years. Surely there has been some mistake!!!
The last day of first grade I got it. The proper pronunciation is:
“SUMMER!!!”
The end to school work and early mornings. No more school lunches, tests, assemblies and time enforced outdoor play. Summer was here! Fast forward a few decades, to me picking the boys up for the first week of their summer break. You could see the excitement of summer baking off of them.
“I don’t have to go back to school for weeks and weeks and WEEKS!!!”
“AND WEEKS!!”
For adults working in the hospitality field (like their dad and me) summer means- working everyone elses’ vacation. Many days we are overwhelmed by the sheer number of people all cramming into one space demanding perfectly rendered services. Sometimes we do it proficiently and go home walking on air. Nothing compares to the feeling of having done something difficult, well.
Like finishing the school year with good marks and a fresh start in the fall.
Those two sides of that coin combined one magical day this early this summer when we went to Step Falls. I had to work but we got a room at the hotel and I was able to close the restaurant, go up stairs, sleep and make it to the 6am breakfast shift without a 3 hour drive in-between. It was really nice.
Our northern location allowed us to get to the falls much sooner in the day than if we had left from home. It is beautiful.
Getting All Our Ducks in a Row
I mean literally.
My figurative ducks are all over the place! However, I have found that actual ducks are easy to get in a row. Step 1: Put down a line of food… that pretty much does the trick.
Fun fact: it works for chickens too.
It is a moving, quacking, squawking row; but a row none the less. You may recall from my earlier posts, that this year we were “NOT going to get anymore animals.” Instead, we wanted to focus on keeping the ones we have:
A) Alive.
B) Out of the garden. Then, we might have a chance at a fall vegetable harvest.
I made the decision to take the chicks from the broody-dragon-fowl, based on the ladies’ first attempt at duckling care.
We had a pretty good showing. With all the eggs now gone (!) we have 11 new ducks. For about two weeks, I didn’t sleep more that a couple hours at a time. When they are first born they are so fragile.
I was constantly getting up the check the newborns in the other room or out to the nest to see if any new ones had hatched. They defiantly seemed to favor night time. It was weird; or on purpose, and they are already trying to break me.
My life was a constant judgment of different levels of peeping. Some mean- “I’m alive! Yeh!” Those ones are good.
Others are- “help me I’m F^@ked!!! i’m going to die very soon if no one gets me out of here!” those ones were the reason for my lack of sleep.
Photo Challenge 2016- Water
This summer has been a whirlwind. Work fills my days + the homestead and boys fill the days off. It has been difficult to find time to breath, never mind write anything coherent or take any pictures.
With a few dozen employs and a hefty commute, it seems like I am always in-between one thing and another.
Consequently, I feel like I am always thinking about the place I am not currently occupying. It can be maddening.
I believe that a great deal of the pressure in my day to day life is created and contained in myself. A universe of “I should.” “I can’t stop now,” and “I must do more.” Often instead of motivating me; these thoughts can stifle my will to start anything around the house, no art, no sewing, no crafts, no cooking adventures, no writing… you get the idea.
There is so much to do and that constant nagging voice that assures me that even if I make an attempt at whatever it is, that my efforts will not be good enough.
I should just save myself the time, watch some TV and rest.
This is a false voice, one that is incapable of having my best interests at heart. It is the selfish, lazy, small me and I don’t feel bad ignoring it. There is story (I don’t know how well known it is) about an old man walking down the beach, it goes like this:
One day, as the old man was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”
The young man paused, looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”
“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the somewhat startled wise man.
To this, the young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”
At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said,
“It made a difference for that one.”
― Loren Eiseley
Doing what you can is enough.
Best Present EVER!
This week is my birthday and yesterday I got the most amazing gift I have ever received.
We have a tradition of handmade gifts here on the homestead. Money is always tight and gifts are usually better when thought and effort create them, rather than a factory somewhere out there.
I had to work but when I came home all the boys were on the deck with flashlights.
Odd.
When I got closer they all shined them on a wooden box laying across a couple pallets in the garden.
It was a cabinet they had made from start to finish in ONE DAY, varnish now drying in the hot night.
Months ago, when I was asked the age old question “what would you like for your birthday?” I had responded that it would be nice to have a place to keep all the tinctures and herbs I had been collecting over the summer.
My current arrangement was overflowing with mason jars and I mused wistfully about the cabinet I had back in Ca. that we had to leave behind.
I did not expect such a response.
My hands were grabbed and I was lead to it; excited voices talking over each other, explaining all the things that I needed to understand about their project.
The thought that went in to each aspect was astounding. They picked out every board specifically because it’s markings.
This one because it looks like a mushroom. “And you LOVE mushrooms.”
The Best Laid Plans
… of ducks and women often go awry.
This spring, we decided NOT to add anything to the menagerie. Then our ducks went ahead and veto that decision. Of course, it is my fault for letting them sit on the eggs but if you have ever encountered a broody duck you will have some clue as to my passivity in the matter.
They turn into hissing, biting (mine had done no such thing prior) puffed-up taint smears. Hell-bent on guarding their stash of orbs. There is no reasoning with them. After a couple weeks of contentious egg theft and consequent daily berating, I relented.
I was additionally motivated by the fact that my first two broody ladies were also injured. Both started limping badly about 2 months ago (I think they may have been stepped on by sheep while trying to feltch sheep feed) and so I had been keeping them inside the shed and feeding them Ibprophine, anti-inflamitory, antibiotic herb laced feed everyday. When they started refusing to leave the nest in order to sit on eggs; I thought it was perfect.
At first, I was marking eggs and taking the new ones but this become a daily battle with an inflated (limping) pissed off duck kraken, who would then follow me around hissing and nipping at my heals when I turned my back. After a couple times walking through the yard backward; I was totally over it!
“Fine!! Keep them! See if I care!”
(Side note: don’t judge me. Arguments with the critters are frequent ’round these parts. Points are fiercely debated. I wish I could say the blatting and squawking is one-sided but that would be a lie. I might have arguments with animals but I’m no liar.)
TBT- Dead things in mail, Camping with Team Squeam and the Wonderful World of T’n’A
The sun warmed my face and the sandy wind stung my skin all at the same time, I tasted salt and inhaled the sea. The surf resounded inside my head like empty sea shell waiting for new purpose. The feeling of home these things inspire is overpowering.
It is not attached to a structure but rather a world of sights and sounds, smells and tastes that assure me I belong in them. That we all belong to one another. My place here is secure, familiar yet still exciting and changing with each new discovery.
My sand covered sister sits with our mom making kingdoms out of seaweed and shells while my dad is not much more than a tiny spec out to sea, riding the waves back and forth.
In and out, straining to paddle through the shore brake only to abandon all that progress toward Hawaii and let the ocean carry him back, so that he can turn around and do it again.
Most of my early memories are of secluded beaches and rugged coast lines where two cars in the pullout at the top of the cliff constituted unacceptable crowding. Unless they are your buds, then only unacceptable outcome is not having enough ‘breakfast cylinders’ for the expedition. I was fortunate enough to grow up believing that my childhood was the way all childhoods should be.
My sister and I like to say that we were raised by a pack of rabid surfers and hippies in secret places along the California coast. Team Squeam and the subsequent band “The Membranes” was comprised of a few core people but included whoever happened to be at any gathering or event. My godfather Michael (Mike,) Sara’s god parents Todd and Alison, Alison’s brother Gavan, Tom, his wife Stephanie and our mom and dad were the charter members.
The Scattering Part 4- Stashing Dennis At The Lane
Steamer Lane is an epic break in Santa Cruz. Home to many a surfing contest and the highlight of surf films old and new. I leaned how to surf at the next beach down (Cowells) when I was a girl.
The Lane has always been part of my life’s landscape. One of the few definite touchstones. My dad used to say it was one of the “classiest lineups in the world, because if you jump off the cliff past the lighthouse you can get into the break with your hair still dry.”
Some wonderful friends of his added a burl to the collection of memorials that have gathered at the top of the stairs. 
Right next to the rules of the wave. A very fitting place.
He can see the lineup and watch the riders as he did in life.
A Father’s Day Flower For My Daddy
I have managed to maintain my cherub like demeanor pretty well these past couple weeks. I felt accomplished to be so at peace with beginning the LONG process of placing my dad’s ashes. His birthday was last Monday and until today I was holding up REALLY well.
Two days ago, I was thinking it was nice to find myself in a place of true acceptance and joy while dealing with this next step in the grieving process. Even in the writing of our deeds; I was light but today seemed very dark in spite of the bright summer morning.
It is the oddest things that set me off.
Just when I think I’m at the top of the mountain; able to appreciate the full expanse of my pain from a high place; I step backward to take in the beauty of the scene and my back hits another cliff. A place obscured by mist from the base of the climb.
Today’s grief was brought on by listening to The Shining for the umpteenth time. The epilogue to the Torrance family’s trauma; finds six year old Danny grieving his father on a dock in Maine, with Dick Hallorann. Dick tells him:
“The tears that heal are also the tears that scald and scourge.”
Driving in early to work on Father’s Day I was overwhelmed with the notion and could not stop crying.
The day before had been so wonderful, spending time with the boys celebrating their own dad. We went to a lake near our house that is on a beaten path.
The Best Dad In The World.
I have spent the last two years processing my own dad’s death. Publicly and privately. Fatherhood has been constantly on my mind.
His birthday was always around (and even some years ON) Father’s Day and so the day has always seemed custom made for him.
But for this fathers day I will mark the event with a tribute to the dad I live with.
My husband is one of most amazing, devoted, competent, outstanding examples of fatherhood that I have ever witnessed. He outshines my own father in many respects and I know my dad would not hesitate to agree with me (in fact I think may have been his assertion to start with) as would anyone who knows the history of my husband’s fatherhood.
Not many men know how to deal with small babies. Most (including my own) are not comfortable with care taking their young till they can walk and talk.
This is not the case with my love. He can intuit the wants of an infant with ease. Just like he knows just what the garden needs to thrive.
Photo Challenge 2016- Fern
The ferns back home are awesome!
‘Nuf said 🙂
Be well!
The Scattering Part 3-Making Mud Pie With Daddy. Literally
My sister and I were raised by a rabid surfing gang referred to by its members as Team Squeam. Our parents were the only ones in this group of free spirited hippy surfers, to have children. Since there were only the two of us; it was easy to hand us down cliffside or piggyback us up to the lookouts over rough terrain.
We went everywhere the team went (after all we were members from birth,) always under the watchful eye of our mom.
Our god parents; T and A were the go-to adults for an extra set of hands to hold when we were out camping or horsing around. There was a lot of horsing around.
My dad taught us from an early age the proper procedure when going see Todd and Alison was to jump up and down yelling loudly;”Yahh we are get to see T and A!!!”
I was well into middle school before I realized that the phrase “T and A” normally referred to something other than our god parents. It better explained the grin on my dad’s face when my sister and I would loudly proclaim our excitement, especially in public.
The team camped down in Big Sur every couple months; taking over the group campsite with all sorts of shenanigans, surfing, spear fishing, hang gliding and more than once- ladder burning.
The Scattering Part 2- Dennis Takes a Hike
I grew up hiking EVERYWHERE. If there were no waves, there were always trails.
Through fields, down cliff to the ocean or up endless mountains covered by giant Redwoods. Often past signs that read “No Trespassing,” all in search of the places where you can plainly see the finger print of god.
As a child; I went blithely after the adults trusting that there was a plan, a path and that everything would be ok. In hindsight I can appreciate how amazing it is that nothing ever went too terribly wrong. In the time before cell phones my clan was relatively fearless in our exploration of California.
This practice has taken me to some of the most remote and breathtaking places. It was in the spirit of ‘the hike’ that my mom and I set off to scatter some of my dad at the top of Big Basin in a secret spot that overlooks the whole park and you can see right down to the ocean.
The Scattering Part 1- The Divvy
We set key to lock, and entered the underworld domaine of my father. A place of endless possibilities and combinations. Here, we would find the tools to begin my dad’s final trip.
My mom got to work covering the table and preparing our workspace for this rather ghoulish task. I waded through endless drifts of stuff, exploring his possessions.
You never know what you will find in this depository of things my dad had accrued. Like this stopped hour glass, that I found to be rather profound given our current task.
We could not think of a more apt place in which to divvy up his ashes and so we didn’t try. Rather; we accepted that after more than two years, it was well past the time to get this show on the road.
We were fortunate to have such a clear idea of how Dennis wanted his earthly remains to be handled. First and foremost, we were told to have fun. He always said not to be sad when he was gone. He had done his best with the time he had. There is immeasurable comfort knowing that he felt this way decades before his passing.
We knew that he had no qualms about being split up and passed around. Even in death he was willing to make new friends and visit new places. The first step down this road necessitated that we physically divide what was left of him. I had no problem preforming this task.
Death rituals around the world and through the ages, are as varied as a wild spring meadow. Some are rooted in long standing tradition and ceremony; others are unique and individual. I will let you guess which type this one will be.
We prepared our workspace.
Photo Challenge 2016- Layer
Spring forests in New England are amazing to behold. Bright green leaves are born of twig tips and explode to blot out the sun from the forest floor. The ground darkens and it seems like all in one week, you can no longer see the forest through the trees.
I love to watch everything recover from its winter state. As the new leaves fill the space above our heads; it is easy to forget that just as much is happening below our feet. Protected by layers of spring leaves past, things are thriving getting ready to make their entrance into the dappled sun shine.
Ghost Plant is one of these pilgrims I have taken to observing in these early stages of growth. By locating last year’s remnant,
I can carefully pull back the decaying layers of detritus and find the hope of a new harvest below. This is my entry for the prompt ‘layer.’
When I was a kid, I swore…
That I would eat candy all day, even the kind that would stain my tongue bright “colors not found in nature.”
That I would watch daytime TV to my heart’s content.
I would never do the dishes. Well ok , maybe once a week.
And I would eat Marie Calendar chicken pot pies every night instead of making a balanced meal from scratch.
I would do all of this because I would FINALLY not have my mom looking over my shoulder. Ceaselessly making sure I did the ‘right thing.’
Now as I look around our home, the TV is off, dishes are washed (but admittedly not put away).
The boy’s easter baskets contained mostly seeds to plant and gardening tools. Oh, they got some chocolate and candy but none that stained their tongs neon blue.
There is not a single thing in our refrigerator that is pre-made, dinner tonight and every night will require cooking.
My mother was not strict. She was absolute. She demonstrated daily all the things she believed in.
When she said “no” she meant it.
She only changed her mind once that I can remember-
Wine From a Soup Cup- A Story of Addiction.
The summer I turned 15, a friend called me and asked if I would be interested in bussing with her at the Italian restaurant in town called “Silvesterie’s.”
The owner and Executive Chef was a Sicilian man with deeply sunken dark-rimmed eyes and a Burt Reynolds mustache, called Bill. He had been a sniper in the Marines and a professional chef ever since. His food was good. I mean, really good. The Valley has always attracted artists and skilled craftspeople; like the gold at the bottom of a river talented capable people often settled here.
His standards of service were high and he was passionate about his guests’ dining experience. It was not his abilities in the kitchen or his back office accounting that sealed his fate. It was his skills at the bar down the street that led to the eventual closing of Silvesterie’s.
My first day, I was faced with this tired, beaten looking man who lumbered when he walked, like each step was a tremendous effort. He gave the distinct silhouette of being in his third trimester of pregnancy, though that couldn’t be. He achieved this effect by drinking so much his organs swam in his gut, likely looking frantically for an escape from their toxic environment.
Bill looked me up and down; and told me that next time I came in, I needed to iron my shirt much better. He explained in no uncertain terms that this was a serious job. I was to arrive on time and ready to work immediately. I was to look presentable and leave any problems I was having at home, there. He was in no way interested in my teen angst. He explained that by being “on time” he meant at least five minutes early. Any missed shift would result in instant termination.
In these four walls HE was the king and anything that I was told or taught was to be treated like holy law. After about ten minutes of hearing all the ways it was possible to lose my new found job; I was turned over to the head waitress, Sue. She was a beautiful, tall woman who looked like a ballerina. An impression accentuated by the way she wore her long red hair- pinned in a bun on top of her head.
She looked at my face and giggled a bit. I can only imagine the expression I must have had after such a warm welcome by the management. She cooed “he is not that bad. Plus it’s easy. Just stick with me, I’ll take care of you.” She was a true service professional. One of those people that knows it is not a job, but an attitude towards life.
That first day I was shown how to cut the bread and fold the napkin in the basket over perfectly. How to pour the oil and vinegar so that the dark liquid pools at the base of the garlic- neatly surrounded by the oil. More importantly, I learned how to make them in such a way so that you don’t spill oil all over the table cloth, or your diners. As time went on and with the constant help of Sue, I came to love the fast paced precision that was necessary to complete a busy dinner service smoothly.
Ent Tears
On top of the mountain behind our house; is an amazing view of Great East Lake. We have spent a lot of time hiking to this lookout over the past few years. It has been a part of our routine, it was even the first spot we walked as a married family.
Recently the sheep have started to accompany us on this trek.
A month ago we all headed up the trail; talking about everything and nothing as we went. At the fork in the path- that leads through the blueberry patches to the vista, we all stopped.
Something was different.
The quality of the light was so direct and bright. All conversation seized.
We walked on through the blueberries, even the sheep were aware something wasn’t the same. The smell of pine stung our noes and we rounded the corner to find that the entire hillside had been clear cut.
Neither of us could speak. There was nothing to say. The booming finality of it was deafening.
Gone. All gone.
Like someone had ripped apart an exquisite piece of antique lace then stomped it into the ground.
This was not our land to keep. We have no idea if this means a building will soon go up. It could have been for the sole purpose of the view.
Which IS spectacular.
Photo Challenge 2016- Work
The photo prompt for this week is ‘work.’ Oddly enough, I find myself with time off from work. It has been amazing. Of course, I made a bunch of lofty promises to myself about how productive I was going to be with my vacation.
There is a lot to do around the homestead to make way for summer, some if it has even gotten done. Today, I will write about work without actually doing any but I think I have a pretty good excuse – the snow.
Yes. You heard me. Snow. It’s April 26th.
Without fail, about a week after we think it is safe to reclaim the quarter of the house devoted to plants and put them outside; this happens and we have to bring them all back in. Every time.
I’m going to look on the bright side since the snow actually makes the ‘work’ in my picture stand out even more.
This year we had to wait to doing anything major in the garden because it had to be made safe from the sheep.
Last year, between our late start and the growing lambs’ access to the garden we had a pretty pitiful harvest. We knew that there was going to be a lot of work involved in to get all the animals situated before the planting.
First, the ducks needed a pond. One that we didn’t have to drain and clean. Trust me, this is a must for ducks. We have a marshy spot on the front of the property and with a little poking around found there was a spring down there! With a few days worth of digging and a reused tent canopy, the ducks have there own little pond now. The constant flow of water means its always clear in the morning.
Next, was the dogs/garden. We needed to fence in a huge area around the house in order to keep the sheep out of the garden. This structure doubles as the dog run, finally allowing all the doors in the house to be left open with no fear of husky escape.
Making such a large area dog proof was not an easy task and it is still ongoing. Everyone chipped-in and the snow today actually makes it easier to see all the rock work that went into securing the bottom of the fence.
The sheep now inherited the dog run and are still near the house. This will have to be remedied soon but for now, everyone is adjusting to the new boundaries. Some better than others.
The other day Daisy tried to be spider-sheep and almost climbed over the five foot fence. She just puts one foot in front of the other and waits for things to bow under her weight. She was more than half way up it before I got her off. She bent one of the post badly and we had to drive in a seven foot steak just for good measure.
The sheep are not impressed with the new arrangement. But I love our salvage fence gate.
Photo Challenge 2016- Reflection
Back to last fall with my photo, Reflection.
I had gotten in kind of a reflection rut. I just couldn’t stop looking down to see the sky. It lasted through the winter. There are worse problems to have I guess. Like not knowing how to spell ‘winter.’
Be well!
Photo Challenge 2016- Path
Growing up the martial arts community it is almost impossible for me to think of “a path” without the concept of the Tao or Dao. Contrary to the notion of a well defined boulevard or road The Way or The Path has always been explained to me as more of an attitude than a plan.
It is not the line you take in a direction but the manner in which you pass along it that matters. I feel more and more that this way is fluid rather than solid. If I set out with a track in mind I will surely miss all the things that are not directly in front of me.
Back home; in the mountains, under the redwoods I could always find a place devoid of ware. Territory where there is no path. I would go up the craggy mountains single-mindedly. Looking forward. Blazing my own trail. I was never worried about getting lost even though the area was vast and could be dangerous.
Here, I don’t have to worry about cliffs, mountian lions, rattle snakes or earthquakes though there is the ever-present fear of ticks and possible lyme disease as I meander through the back woods.
I still wander.
I always have and I suspect, always will. Regardless of what side of the country I live on.
Now, I go with no direction or destination in mind. I stop frequently in order to hear the wind and watch the birds fly and call to one another.
There are buds on all the trees now. Very soon the forest will start its sprint toward the sky. I make my way down to the bog, past the sunlit survivors of fall.
Photo Challenge 2016- Secret
There have been others in this challenge who have already addressed the fact that if you show something to someone- it is no longer secret. Thus, I will not explain my entree.
It is a secret!
Photo Challenge 2016- Friends
I have been blessed throughout my life with great friends. In my early adulthood; I was elated to find that my family and I all had/have, true and close friendships filled with love and silliness.
When I widen my focus I see many life long connections with amazing people.
I had the great fortune to meet and marry my best friend. A partner to create this chaotic homestead with.
I have felt the sting of fakery and venomous relationships. I learned from these experience; and make my current decisions with the benefit of this knowledge. As I look back on my life this far; my greatest friends have been of the furry, feathered or scaly verity.
Like the friendships of my very early childhood, I find these connections with critters to be some of my most valued. The ones I learned the most important lessons from. Relationships between the species require; kindness, truth, patience and empathy.
They are based on authentic consistent action- on what you do and not what you say. I like that.
Now a days, I rarely if ever feel the need to seek interaction outside of our little family and the homestead. This could be a result of spending most waking hours at work- talking with MANY, MANY people. Often these people become good friends over time and trial.
Dynamics between inhabitants of the homestead are always interesting. Some are indifferent; like the ducks and the chickens. Some are contentious; like rooster relations.
And some require physical boundaries in-order to avoid death; like that between the husky and anything with feathers. The other two dogs have no such restrictions.
The dogs and sheep however can share a common fence and often race each other back and forth.
Death and Snowflakes
The snow falling lightly on my window reveled itself to me one day.
All the little flakes waited patiently to melt.
Momentarily displaying their breathtaking detail, individual beauty and uniqueness.
I was there to see it.
But had there been no audience-the show would have remained exactly the same.
Little frozen moments.
Photo Challenge 2016- Spring
This challenge has once again given me a chuckle and serious pause for thought at the same time.
Yesterday we got almost six inches and snow…On the second day of spring.
Yah, New England weather.
This resulted in my pictures for the prompt being chuck-full of juxtaposition. In fact, it was kind of hard for me to pick between the subjects I had on hand. With snowy backdrops for all, spring seemed absent.
It started with eggs.
Photo Challenge 2016- Outline
Sheep ATTACK!!!
Most days when the sheep are done munching around the yard they come to the sliding glass door and try to get in. Sometimes they just lay down and wait for someone to notice them.
Other times they will knock on the glass with their hoofs, insisting someone pay attention NOW!
I don’t like this behavior because they are substantial animals and their interactions with the large glass door make me very nervous. Last month I started leaning a boogie board up against the door, this blocks their view and protects to door. Plus they don’t seem to be the flat-thing’s biggest fans; for whatever reason it spooks them.
Double win, right?!
Wrong.
2016 Photo Challenge- Solid
Even the heart brake can yield a harvest.
Fredrick, the last guinea fowl died Valentines day, which is rather fitting. I think he might have been a little suicidal after the death of his flock at the paws of the husky. He was never at peace. Didn’t want to live with the chickens even though he had been raised with some of them.
He would hang with the sheep, but more often then not he would be out by the cars, looking at his reflection in the paint. Other wise he would hang in a little spot I made him with a mirror and shinny trash can.
He was lonely that was obvious. Why he would do things like this:
Not as obvious.
I found him Valentines morning dead in his coop. It was one of the coldest days this year but he was rooming with 3 other chickens all of whom are fine.
He was frozen solid. He looked like he just laid his head down and went to sleep. It was very sad but we can hope he is with his family. Now, we were left with a problem. The ground was still frozen.
The oldest boy has been studying ancient Egypt and we came up with the idea to give him a king’s burial. Complete with stone monument. This offered several advantages; we could unearth the stones, creating the chamber while getting the materials for his temple.
I got some natural clay and we set to work making him a sarcophagus.
Eastward Ho! Part V. New Beginnings At The End Of The Road
This April will mark five (six, oh my god!) years since we packed up the truck and headed the wrong way across the country. After half a decade of winters I can promise you that people headed west for more than the chance to strike it rich. More like the chance to feel their extremities during the year.
We willingly gave up established and well connected careers to move to a land where we knew no one and had nothing. Even after we arrived and thankfully- found work we were still homeless for three months. With two dogs and twice weekly visits from two kids. Living out of hotels and vacation rentals.
All of this so my partner would have a chance to be the parent he wanted to be. To demonstrate to his kids what it means to be a dad.
All we were trying to do was be a ‘normal’ family; no matter what. Our sole focus was (and is) the boys. They are the measure of all things, the compass that directs our path. More often than not- through country that seems impassable.
They light the way.
There have been many times when we have been at our wits end. Out of resources and options, with nowhere to go but forward. Through an unsure future that seems determined to bite and rend apart all we have managed to scrape together.
We have been blessed, though.
Maybe the best example is from our time in Hampton Beach. The first time I was going to meet the boys on this side of the country. By this time, we had been here more than a month and their weekly visits with daddy had become routine for them. I think my diary entry of the day says it best:
Eastward Ho Part IV-Yellowstone
The day after our mining adventure in Helena Montana, we headed for the North entrance of Yellowstone. We had planned our route cross country based mostly on national parks, geology and a vow to wander as much as possible.
Having set out at the very brink of spring; the West entrance to the park was the only other gate open and it had only been open a day.
Snow still covered the park in some areas and the springs steamed in the cool air.
We had no real idea where we were going, just that we wanted to see wildlife, water and geysers in whatever order they came. Driectly after passing the stone arch of randomness we got to the ranger’s station and were presented with this ominous flyer:
This was going to be a good day! I think this is the best thing I have ever been handed in a national park.
Rounding the bend above the little town center we stopped dead in the middle of the road (we were lucky the park was almost empty during our visit) both of our jaws on the floor as this grazed 15 feet from the truck.
Holy crap! That’s a Fu*king buffalo! It didn’t take much note of us, until Pele started barking uncontrollably, through the window at the quadruped. I have no idea what her deal was. It was as if she took offense to the sight on some basic premiss.
In my head she sounded thus- “Hey you!!! You’re not a cow! You look like a cow, but you don’t smell like one. EXPLAIN YOURSELF NOT COW! Why are you as big as the truck?!”
Not waiting for answers to her doggie questions we continued on. Pele whined disconsolately, Honey looked nonplussed at her pack-mate’s behavior.
A little farther down the road we came to these amazing mineral pools/hot springs.
Eastward Ho Part III. Our Little Mine.
When we drove across the country four years ago– one of the only things we DID plan was to stop in Montana and mine for sapphires. Both of us totally dig (no pun I swear!) rocks and minerals. There are few better ways to spend a day than to go gold panning or mineral mining. While still living in Ca we often packed up the dogs and drove into the Sierras then down Yuba river to pan for gold.
We found the Spokane bar Sapphire mine outside of Helena and since it was close to the entrance to Yellowstone we decided to give it a try. Many things in Montana were not quite what we expected. For instance this is a MEDIUM coffee:
When we got the the mine we were informed that since all sapphires and garnet form in the first five feet of ground-the mine does not look like you would think. It is NOT a deep shaft into the earth. Instead it was an area on top of a hill in the high plains of Montana. Here again we found a breathtaking view and a place to run the pups WHILE mining. How is that for multi-tasking?!
Eastward Ho! Part III (Actually Part II.) Confused Yet? Good, so am I. Onward!
Six years ago…
The first day journey was relatively uneventful (except for my love shipping ALL our shoes to upstate NY.)
Most aspects of the move were completely unplanned. One of the few things we DID plan (besides mine sapphires in MT) was to visit as many national parks as we could.
This resulted the trip being longer than necessary but much more interesting than a straight line to a destination we really didn’t want to go in the first place.
Early the second morning we rounded a bend and Mt. St Helens came into view.
I had no desire to stop and so we continued though a lovely town called Weed.
This is a real town.
In fact it reminded me a whole lot of Boulder only this little haven was founded in the shadow of Mt. Shasta.
We found the entrance to Crater Lake National Park and began to climb the 2000 plus feel to the top. Along the way we encountered our first snow, it would not be our last.
We thought- “ok cool, snow.” But the snow banks on either side kept growing and growing…
By the time we got to the top:
TBT-Eastward Ho! Part I
Almost six years ago…
Almost four years ago now, my partner (now husband) and I found ourselves in the unenviable position of moving to the East Coast. For us, the timing of the move was not something we had expected. In fact it was years sooner than his ex and him had agreed when they split. He woke to a phone call- on what should have been a visitation day with the oldest from their maternal grandpa, “your kids are no longer in the state, they are in Connecticut now.”
No warning, no goodbye, nothing.
The youngest was seven months old and the oldest wasn’t even three.
He was devastated.
Perfect little Imperfections and Unintentionally Complete Projects
Like so many of the things we see everyday I have rediscovered two of the items in my living room. They have been hanging on my walls for almost half my life- and there are long periods of time when I cease to see them.
I have been welding since I was 12, but I have been watching my dad weld since I was allowed down to the “Clampit area”(my mom’s name for the welding shed and surrounding accouterment.)
From a very young age I had the privilege of watching unbendable steal- soften, liquify and sometimes explode into a shower of sparks leaving nothingness in its wake.
There is magic in that process.
Something most benefit from but rarely if ever witness, never mind get their hands on. After my initial education and resulting equipment testing (all conducted by my dad) I was allowed hours of time melting, bending, joining and generally screwing around with molten metal.
I have many scars to prove it. Hey, chicks dig scars. Especially their own.
I would spend entire days down there in my time off from school often listening repeatedly to Bob Segar for reasons I don’t remember now. I loved a style of sculpture my dad had dubbed “rod to rod.” Where you use the coper coated steal rods normally used to add metal when joining two larger pieces of steal and make objects and pictures out of them.
I made many things that are now rusting in my parent’s garden back home but two of the wall pieces I did have always come with me. For years I thought that this was because they were unfinished.
The tree on a hill has been a reoccurring image in my life. This is mostly because I can’t seem to stop drawing it. These particular renditions are a day and night set of ‘The Tree.’ I did both of them when I was 15 or so though only one is signed and dated.
Day:
And night:
Are Phoenix Ashes Impatient?
An oldie but a goodie… Almost two years later. The more things change the more that stay the same.
When a Phoenix dies, do its remains know they will be reborn?
This past few months I have managed to; loose my dad, quit my job, flounder in the beginnings of a new venture, remain almost completely homebound for months and gradually loose my mind in the process.
I have been working on one particular painting for years and I just cannot seem to get it right.
I fear it will remain eternally unfinished. I have been trying to pick it up again but it seems that as one part gets to a point I can tolerate, others wait glaring at me with impatience for their own completeness.
I admit; I may be reading into this a bit much. Leave me alone. It has been a rough winter!
It is a picture (or more accurately- TRYING to be a picture) of a Phoenix rising. Here are some of its unsuccessful incarnations.
Photo Challenge- Extra
Currently, the word evokes strong- conflicting emotions.
There is a constant battle inside my head over how I perceive my reality and judge my efforts.
It seems like there is never enough. Not time, money, energy or anything for that matter. Any effort that’s exerted, comes up short. My schedule is filled with ‘those days.’ The ones when even your best is not good enough and it is a relief just to break even.
Especially this time of year. The dead of winter. Slack tide.
Wake up, animals, drive, work, drive, animals, eat, sleep, repeat. Try to do get ahead of it all enough to carve out time with the boys and still have time to nurture our marriage.
There is always more to do; or something/someone I feel I am neglecting.
Extra?! What’s that? We would need to have enough before we could have more.
Then, I breath. I thank the breath in my lungs for being there.
I breath again, closing my eyes and open them as I exhale. I thank them for my sight.
I look around and breath some more. I thank the universe for all the lives I share my space with. It is not perfect, but it is safe, warm and filled with love.
It was with this attitude I approached the photo challenge this week. Our persistence and endurance provides us with many things to be grateful for. There might even be some extra.
Overwintering animals is hard work and during that time most don’t produce any of their normal bounty. It is easy to forget that one of the reasons we put forth so much effort and dedicade time and space to them is not just to have something to pet- we receive from them too.
That Time I Brought a Hawk Home
I’m not kidding.
I don’t know if it was a good thing my husband was unsurprised and (to my dismay) rather unimpressed :/
He was actually said “that sound about right”
Seriously?! What do I have to do to get a reaction around here?!
When I worked at the golf course my beverage cart girl came in one morning and told me that she had seen a baby hawk on the ground the day before.
“AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!!!”
I almost fired her on the spot. Instead I made her take me out there right away. There are foxes and coyotes on the course and I was sure that the baby did not last the night.
I was surprised on two counts-
1) The chick WAS still there alive and well.
2) It looked more like a full grown hawk than a chick.
Before we left Ca I had started an apprenticeship for falconry and had a little bit of an idea how to get the little/big boy.
Pretty simple really, I took off my chef coat and gently placed it on his head. He fell right over, lights out!
I picked him up brought him back to the clubhouse (everyone there was more surprised than my husband but no one was shocked, go figure)
I made him a hood and feed him some raw meat. He was dubious but hungry so he ate.
Later I got some mice from the pet store and he ate those more willingly.
But nothing could have prepared me for what happened when I brought him home and got some live feeder mice the next day.
I have been keeping snakes for a long time now.
I am a firm believer that you do not just drop a live mouse in the cage and walk away. This often results in mice and rats doing series damage to your pet.
As much as it sucks it is important to make sure the kill is clean. In this spirit I figured I would have to help or supervise feeding live mice to the hawk.
I. WAS. SO. WRONG.
TBT- Ode To Honey
Honey is somewhere around 15 years old. (Now 16!)
This is a ball park estimate since her age at the time my husband adopted her was uncertain. She has been such a blessing in our lives and rather than singing her praises after she is gone (an inevitability I don’t like to think about) I wanted to take some time to truly appreciate her and all that we have shared as a family.
She has lived a pretty amazing life for a dog. Scratch that. She has lead an amazing life for an earthly being.
Her relationship with me started with a fair bit of drama. When the boys were moved across the country, she was left with a neighbor. Even though we quickly recovered her it did nothing for her already tentative trust in humans. At the time we lived on a boat with the little dog, Pele and had to scramble for other accommodations. Two dogs on a 30 foot boat is no good.
It was cozy.
We relocated to the redwoods.
A Daisy Story
That last photo prompt; tension, got me thinking of a story I have been meaning to put down for more than a year. I have written quite a bit about Lulu’s early life and drama but I have not said much about our other sheep, Daisy.
When Rusty died we searched high and low for a new companion for Lulu. Most farmers had pre-sold their spring lambs and it took us more than a week of searching to locate a lamb of similar age. Daisy is a Katahdin, a type of hair sheep developed in northern Maine.
She was born on a large farm with many different types of sheep and a few different flocks. Daisy’s early life was not a happy one. Her and her brother were rejected by their mother and he died within the first couple days. She joined a couple other orphans and they were dubbed the “Tres Amigos.” They were being bottle feed and slotted for fall slaughter.
The owners were good, salt of the earth people used to managing a large operation. When we pulled up, several herding dogs greeted us. They nipped at Lulu; not understanding why this sheep was being allowed to stray from the flock.
We entered the huge barn and the farmer pointed over to three small lambs huddled in a corner. He expertly picked her up and we let the girls touch noses, I looked her over and we decided that she would do just fine.
His wife came over and they administered the shots she would need, so we could take her home. The lamb knew what was going on and struggled feebly in the strong man’s arms. Their doctoring was quick and expert and we loaded her up and brought her home.
My husband quickly named her Daisy. Lulu and her were different in many ways. Aside from the obvious difference between wool sheep and hair sheep. Lulu had adapted quickly into a house sheep. SPOILED ROTTEN! Always trying to get on the couch with the dogs and eternally irked when she was removed.
Photo Challenge- Tension
As the land thaws and spring approaches- there are many interesting moments on the homestead. I picked the picture below for the word of the week “tension.” Thus far the two roosters have shown little aggression towards each other, but then again I have been keeping them apart.
Only time will tell as they grow if they will stay mellow in their maturity or if my never ending rooster problems will persist.
Here are a bunch of this series that weren’t quite tense enough.
To everyone else in this 2016 photo challenge, “good luck! Happy snapping!”
Be well!
Transitions
The thaw is on!
This is not like last year, when I declared winter to be over out of exasperation. Instead, I think the ground might be here to stay.
This winter was very different from the last. There is still more time for it to get gnarly but it seems like we have made it through with a good chuck of our winter wood still on the deck.
The bog in the back of the property is putting on one last frozen show.
We decided to go check it out. As usual; the sheep were not far behind.
The Swell (how life works from the perspective of a surfer’s daughter.)
My upbringing in the west taught me so much that I depend on when life gets complicated. I am grateful for the lessons learned by bearing witness to the awesome power of the Pacific. Its boundless power could give and take life with equal ease. I was raised to never turn my back on the ocean, a foolish disrespect that could change your life in an instant.
When we lived on a boat the ebb and flow of the tides constantly marked the day and our activities. When your home is afloat there is a connection with the sea that is visceral and comforting in its constant flux and change. While living there I wrote this, I like to revisit it from time to time as I always find it helpful sometimes even profound. As if someone else wrote it. 🙂
The Swell
Again and again I tread the same water passing it over my body and going nowhere, suspended between what is and what is to be.
Then change comes as a wave out of the abyss consuming everything.
Shifting your entire bodily universe and there is nothing anyone can do to prepare for it, it will come when it comes, as it comes.
Time has shown me many things and I look forward to the unsure future being nothing as I ever thought it would be.
2016 Photo Challenge- Home.
I have never participated in any of the online challenges that circulate the web. This is not for any particular reason other than laziness. Until now…
The Aran Artisan is one of my favorite blogs. Melissa is a native Mainer (basically from the next town over from us) who moved to Inas Mor, a small island off the coast of Ireland. They have a homestead and her writing, garden, crafts and wisdom are inspiring.
Her and a few other equally awesome bloggers decided to do a weekly photo challenge for 2016 that sounds so laid back, even I could do it.
The challage is simple, 52 weeks, 52 photo prompts.
I am late to join and so I will begin my attempt at week 7; with the word, Home.
This felt an apt place to begin the endeavor. My husband and I have been working so hard it seems like most of the time we spend at home is passed asleep- because it’s true.
I am hoping that this challenge will help me regain some badly needed balance in my life. I need to remember to make room for random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty. So here goes.
Home.
Such a small and simple word.
Recently the word has evoked the feeling of a place I no longer live. Growing up, the concept of home was so connected to the land where I was born and raised; that after our relocation it was hard to feel anything other than a distance from my ‘Home.’
I wasn’t there anymore.
It’s all fun and games till someone calls “NIYDEK!”
I wrote this well over a year ago and I am glad (?) to say it is just as true to day as it was then…
I have often heard people talking about activities and situations that they “could never do with a spouse without killing them.” My husband and I have done so many of the things others recommend not to I have lost count. For example, we have:
-Worked together in a high stress industry (running the front and back of the house in a busy restaurant)
-Driven across the country together (with all our stuff, two dogs and no real clue where were going)
-Been homeless (for three months after our move cross country, on account of the ‘not know where we were going’ part)
-Lived on a 30 foot sail boat (while running the restaurant together)
-Worked opposite schedules rarely having time with each other.
-Had no money. Ever.
We have delt with injury, death, addiction, family issues, stepfamily issues and so much more and we have come through it all closer than ever. I think this is because we observe first grade playground rules to settle pretty much everything.