Wicked Rural Homestead
Live Simply
GOOD MORNING!!! I Give You- ‘Fry Poached Eggs.’
I love eggs for breakfast. Lucky for me there are a lot about. My problems begin when I try to decide how I want to cook them.
For me, fried eggs (sunny up or over easy) are always a good option but one that requires fat to cook, finesse or a non stick pan (I don’t have one) and I want easy, low fat eggs, NOW!
I like a runny yoke so that leaves poaching or minute eggs.
I like the concept of the shell being the egg’s dish but our shells are really thick and the eggs are small- meaning that often this product’s ‘pain in the butt’ factor is higher than I can tolerate.
Yes, I know I could go out and get one of those adorable little egg spoons. But not today.
Sometimes I just want to crack and egg and have breakfast, with a runny yoke. Is that too much to ask?!
My morning dilemma lead me to the ragged edge of sanity (slight exaggeration) and I came back with something that cannot possibly be an original idea.
The End of A Season
With snow flurries last week and the steady drop in temperature there is no denying that winter is near. The light takes on a thick quality at the beginning and end of the day and it is dark by 5pm. The last of the fall colors is disappearing but the view from the top of any hill is still epic.
The snow clouds last week made an almost alien sunset.
A Quick Pumpkin Hack.
Our Sugar Pumpkin harvest left us with an issue.
I wanted to get into all those little pumpkins, save the seeds to plant and cook the flesh, without making a huge pupkiny mess I would have to clean up.
When it comes to cooking pumpkin, if I am not interested in the seeds I just wrap them in tin foil and bake them whole- at about 350 till they are soft.
That way all the natural sugars stay in and the seeds steam. If you wait till the pumpkin is cool getting the flesh off the skin and seeds out of the flesh is a snap.
People look at me funny when I tell them this but I have yet to find a down side to the method and I have used it for years in kitchens when I had to cook a metric ass-load of them at a time.
When we want to save the seeds the task gets more complicated. I decided to go through layer by layer I would get the best result with the least mess and fuss. After all- I did have a sink full.
How can I tell?
I wrote this at the beginning of last year but I think it may have become more true to me in the time between. A good reminder of the right direction for my thoughts.
Down By The Trading Post.
I could be wrong, but I think that our little Maine town has exactly one of everything- a town hall, fire station, school (grades k-8,) post office, two church and a trading post.
The trading post is the only store IN Acton. The closest grocery store to our house is technically in a different state.
For the first time in my life I have a job that does not revolve around food. This has been bittersweet and a HUGE adjustment for me, mostly because it means I have to BRING food with me if I want to eat during the day.
A totally new concept.
When the need for food is paired with my morning laziness, it results in me heading down to the Acton Trading Post to get my lunch.
It is strategically placed right on highway 109 and across from the lake we throw the boys in all summer.
We tend to stay clear of the trading post during the invasion of tourists that IS summer but during the off season it retunes to the locals and we can enjoy the uninterrupted view of the lake.
Now, the docks sit quietly waiting to be hauled out- in preparation for the big freeze. When the lake will sprout ice fishing camps and become a highway for snow mobiles.
In the fall it is also the place to register and tag deer after hunting. This means that most November days there are one or more trucks with gutted deer hanging off the back when I pull in.
Reminding me that I live in Maine.
The offerings change with the seasons but it always remains the center of town activity. From the morning coffee newspaper to your nightly pizza, fishing/ hunting licenses, groceries, gossip, gas, beer, booze, lottery tickets- all the basics of rural life.
If they don’t have it you don’t need it.
They won’t have the exact brands you are looking for but they will have something that will do. You will not go without.
The trading post is one of the most iconic representations of rural life in Maine. We live in a beautiful place, a place where people come to “get away” from all their troubles. When you live here most of the troubles you have are from these migrant influences, traffic, asshole etc…
It is a system adept at “making hay while the sun is shinning” and enjoying the peace and quite of the remaining year when locals can show up with a carcass in our truck without a second glance and you can get anything you need without leaving the town or the state.
The trading post is not the only place to get lunch but it is an experience and one I am grateful to have near by.
Be well!
(A LONG Over Due) Apiary Update.
Talking with my mom a few days ago she asked how the bees were doing and I realized I had not written about them in a great while. This does not mean that our hive life has been uneventful only that I have not gotten it together to put anything down.
My apologies.
This summer was one of the worst wasp/hornet/yellow jacket years anyone here can remember. By mid-July all the stores (I’m not kidding EVERY STORE, from Lowes to the ma and pa hardware stores) had huge chunks of empty shelves where these supplies once lived.
Our yard was no exception.
This is a problem for the bees because (with the exception of bumble bees)…
they can take to robing the bees of honey. Yellow Jackets have been known to attack a weak hive, destroying killing/ eating everyone and everything.
I know that when I was 12 or so I watched a bee fighting a yellow jacket in my backyard. This battle lasted about five minutes and ended with the yellow jacket killing the bee, cutting it in half and flying away awkwardly with it’s lower section.
It was impressive.
Bumble bees, Yellowjakets, Wasps and Hornets all have a similar life cycle. Only the queen over winters (if they have a well established colony a few workers will over winter as well) She emerges in the spring, mates and begins the hive or burrow anew.
In the space of a couple months the population of any one colony can go from 1-50 members to 20,000.
We had 4 nests in the immediate yard this year. Two paper wasp and two yellow jaket. The wasps make those iconic hanging footballs of stinging death while the yellow jacks live in underground hives, like the bubble bees.
The first wasp nest of the season was a easy one. They built it above the raised fire pit on the overhanging light 15 feet above it. For that one the solution was simple. I just built a huge, hot fire, found a long stick, knocked the sucker right in and RAN!
A Story for Halloween.
When we moved East we were basically homeless for the better part of three months. We lived out of hotels and vacation rentals (not easy with two dogs) and only had one vehicle in the meantime. This meant that my amazing husband would drop me off at work in the morning and then spend his day looking for work and a place to land all of our stuff and ourselves.
He must have looked at hundreds of places before we found our first East Coast home in Kennebunk. The dogs came with us everywhere we went and so it was no surprise they were in the car with him when he had a very odd experience in a town not to far from where we live now.
I’ll let him tell it:
The relator started by asking if I was “scared of ghosts?” I said that depended on the ghost and he said he had a really cheep house to show me only $60,000 for a 3 bedroom remodeled house on 10 acres. Not really believing or caring that the house was haunted I said let’s go take a look.
Well, let’s say I wrong before but never this wrong.
We arrived at the small but quaint house and my first impression was from the dogs- literally ripping at the doors and barking like I have never seem them do before. It even beat the time Pele shat herself when our truck was surrounded by buffalo in Yellowstone. This will be another story to come.
We took a look around the exterior of the house, the out buildings and such. I noticed the realtor never walked in with me, he would sit at the door and gaze in but never passed the door’s threshold.
Now things were starting to get interesting.
I too was feeling a bit on edge and even as I write this the hair stands up on the back of my neck.
I noticed some weird tools I had never seen before (I have seen a tons of tools, humans included) and lots of old tools like no one had been in this barn for what looked like the better part of 100 years. I still don’t know or want to know what some of those tools were used for. I then continued on to the main house. The realtor handed me the key and said go check it out- saying “I have to make a phone call.”
At the time I thought nothing of it but looking back he was that scared.
I can’t really describe what it feels like to walk into tangible darkness. I could sense when I walked in this house I was not alone and not with pleasant company. I looked into the first bedroom and there were four beds packed into one room with all their clothes stacked up around the room and in the closet.
Throwback Wednesday (Yes, I am THAT impatient!)
I wrote this two years ago after our trip back home for our West Coast wedding blessing ceremony. It was the first time we got to show the boys where they were born and the last time they saw my dad, their “Grandpa Wise-man” (a title he gave himself for his step-grandkids)
Looking back I am even more grateful to have had this little time with everyone together, not knowing it would never happen again.
“We’ll figure it out”
I wanted to take a second and put down how grateful I am to have had such an amazing time back West. So many people came from near and far to see us and the boys it was absolutely humbling. Everyone chipped in to help us put on “the Blessing.” Even though many of us (me included) could not get through our tears to articulate our feelings, in the end it was unnecessary.
Sometimes words just get in the way of feelings. In the same way that tears get in the way of our words. There was so much love shared I don’t think any verbiage could have improved it.
The oldest munchkin felt comfortable enough that he WANTED to sing his “Grandpa Wise-Man song” and even the little one took the mike a few times- I was not expecting any of that!
Their obvious comfort in that situation meant the world to me and Ry.
I think it is safe to say that the boys had a blast at our ‘fake wedding’ and on the trip in general. They fell in love with the childhood secret spots on my road.
When given a choice all they really wanted to do was walk down to the creek, or play in the backyard.
Not that I can blame them.
We had such amazing conversations with the two of them, they were so excited, sweet and inquisitive the whole time. They were kind to each other and all my family members (most of whom they never met before.)
Their constant and ceaseless acceptance of my family and myself is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced in my life.
We didn’t do any of the normal tourist things in Santa Cruz, instead we showed them all the places that only locals know. We managed to get to Swanton almost everyday for the best strawberries and coffee on the face of the earth.
Then it was off to shelling at Pigeon Point, followed by lunch at Duartes in Pescadero (with my dad.) We drove on every back road we possibly could to get everywhere and made sure to get the top of China Grade so we could watch the sun set over Big Basin and the Pacific.
We caught blue bellies and snakes at Wilder Ranch-
and hiked everywhere.
Keeping our Forrest Healthy and the House Warm
I have always loved trees, when I was a little kid I was always climbing them.
I distinctly remember at the Casville house a tree that we would climb to the second story roof much to my moms dismay. It had to be at this point I decided trees were more than just trees they were old, very wise, and insanely beautiful.
I have seen the Redwoods, Kauris, King Maples, and the list goes.
The one thing all these forrest have in common is they have many trees of varying age and species so when the oldest falls there is a new life waiting to soak up the sun that now flutters through to the forrest floor.
This is sort of my approach to how I care for my own little forrest.
Early spring the grind begins and won’t end until my wife feels like we have enough wood- which is usually around Neveruary. If I had our whole property stacked to the hilt she would still probably give me the look.
You know the “sure honey” look.
What IS Homesteading Anyway?
When we tell people that we live on a homestead we get a verity of reactions. They range from “oh, you live on a farm” to “so, you are like one of those doomsday preppers.”
While both reactions are not wrong they do miss the mark- for a couple of very important reasons. One of the best definitions of I found is this one:
“Homesteading is not defined by where someone lives, such as the city or the country, but by the lifestyle choices they make.”
New Layers And Old Favorites Made Easy.
After letting the larger flock out this morning I found two little green gems tucked in the corner.
Judging by the size and location of these little jewels I believe them to be the first eggs of one of the new flock members! The older ladies have a monopoly on the laying boxes so it is not a surprise these first few occurrences ended up elsewhere.
I LOVE the color and I hope that her clutch mates will lay a similar (or prettier) shells. I ate them for breakfast, soft boiled they were amazing.
Pictures From Acton In Autumn
I have not really been taking too many pictures of the fall foliage here, mostly because I am too busy gawking at it. My commute takes me along the back roads and past some of the most amazing views from my car window.
Everyday there is a further shift toward red or gold. Each individual tree is progressing toward nakedness. Our yard started the month green and will be bear now in a matter of weeks.
The oak trees at the view from the top of the mountain over Great East Lake are rusting, setting off the blue from the water and sky.
I took these in mirrors that are being processed up at the studio for a different perspective.
It feels futile to take pictures that will never quite do the scene justice. That is why I don’t have a bunch more. The problem is not that “if you have seen one you have seen them all” it is the exact opposite- if that makes any seance.
Each moment in time is in motion. Nothing is still. This is autumn in Maine and it is awesome!
And Now, A Word From My Husband- “Giving In To Realizing Your Abilities.” (Written By Ryan)
I am not a person who needs attention. I actually enjoy anonymity.
I don’t like to toot my own horn or say “I am the best!” But I feel like I have achieved something and am proud to have done so.
I also don’t like putting myself out there- especially on the web but I want to preserve the rethinks that have been my driving points. Cronicalling the ups and downs in my life- for my children.
So here I am writing this post against all odds (you can ask my friends) on the web.
I don’t think it is a bad thing to know your limitations. I believe in pushing yourself to your boundaries so you can improve and make those limits strengths- to know you can overcome anything life throws your way.
I look at my life and my life is a garden. I sow seeds, nurture the results of such said seeds, harvest the bounty of the fruits, marry the fruits to nourish us through the rest of the year.
I am not one to say, “I am going to do something”- and not do it.
This last year I convinced myself I could grow enough food to make it a through the next year at least. That is enough sauce to go along with our eggs and chickens as well as any protein we have to buy. (Next year’s goal grow all our proteins by the way 🙂 )
I am now sitting on enough sauce to get us through the winter.
Even though we still still have more to harvest.
We have started planting our late season crops like garlic.
It is always interesting to see how and why plants respond to different things it is something that has fascinated me for my entire life. I can remember as a young boy in Casville, New York.
At age 4 going to the neighbor farmer with a jar of pennies I had saved and asking if I could buy a chicken. The farmer looked at me and with astonishment that such a young soul could be wanting responsibility at such a young age.
The Bean Pumpkin-Vs-The Trellis
Final score:
Pumpkin- 1
Trellis- 0
Midsummer we noticed a volunteer pumpkin plant had sprouted off the deck and promptly gotten confused. It climbed the fence and closed the gap between the deck’s fence and the bean trellis. 
This closed off the path we had been using to get to the front garden. Instead of repositioning it we just started going around. After awhile we noticed that a pumpkin was starting to grow about four feet up. 
“Aww.” We thought “look at that cute little squash.” It grew and grew. 
…and grew. 
And grew-
Lessons From The Garden
Patience is one of those things I am going to spend the rest of my life learning (or trying to learn, as the case may be.) Growing anything from a seed teaches you a lot- if you are willing to listen.
The good thing about Maine is that when fall comes there is a tangible difference each day.
The way the air feels, the color blazing from the trees and seeds ripening, all remind me that things are changing.
The garden is a great teacher of patience especially when you are trying to harvest seeds and create hybrids. Things have got to be allowed to mature in their own time. They simply are not done, till they are done.
There is nothing I can do about this fact but wait and wait and wait some more. You have to wait for the seeds to grow and flower.
Wait for the flower to be pollinated. * Crosses arms and taps foot rapidly. *
And for the seeds to mature while the rest of the plant wains. There are few plants that look as pitiful as sunflowers- when their heads are laden with seeds and they can no longer follow the sun.
I made the unfortunate discovery last month that some of the sunflowers are supporting a large population of sunflower weevil. A nasty little bug that lays its eggs in the spring and eat the pith of the stock all summer.
The larvea will overwinter in the roots and emerge next spring to start the whole life cycle over again. We might be able to thwart them next year by planting later (after the larvae emerge) but we might just take a break from the mammoth sunflowers next year. We could use insecticides but we won’t.
The little worms weaken the stocks and cause them to fall over but they do not kill the plant so we do expect to get a seed harvest from them.
Growing your own food and managing your soil year over year is much different than just growing a garden for the ascetics. Plus you have to let it look like a shriveled mess in order to let seeds mature.
If you have any chance of maximizing your yield (especially with such a short growing season) you must be able evaluate and make choices based on observation, trial, hard work and error. A lot of error. Like planting corn to closely.
My husband the “canning monster” has grown, harvested-
and canned over 150 jars of organic, non GMO tomato and tomotillo sauces. Each batch is a moment in time- we let the day’s harvest determine the recipe so each was different.
We still have two more tomato patches yet to harvest completely.
Three Girls, One Hat.
A slideshow of the girls, with Ry’s felt hat. We all know they had it coming. Click on the gallery for the best experience of all the silliness our dogs have to put up with.
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 or denied.
I was, am, and will continue to be a 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 untrue assertions.
I have spent my life working in kitchens where my skills were constantly questioned and tested by my coworkers. The hazing usually lasted until we had a busy service. Then they tended to shut up and stay out of my way. Harassment was constant but I never received it well and usually provided a immediate deterrent, often making sure it became a public spectacle so I only had to do it the one time. I did not allow myself to be violated quietly in private or let things slide.
I think the problem for females begins early. Boys and girls learn how to be flirtatious, something too few women realize is not a good trait if you want to have health happy relationships with men- not based on physicality.
Pumpkins, Beans and Porcupine Chickens.
Fall is in full effect and I am not going to lie, it is pretty epic. One of the only times of year I don’t miss the redwoods.
The garden has browned and is going to seed quickly. We have learned a whole lot about what we can do better next year. All-in-all it has been a productive summer.
The scarlet runner beans are amazing!
We have butternut squash, more pumpkins, sunflower seeds, MORE tomatoes, tommotillos and jewel corn still to harvest. We have to be patient since these are for next spring’s seed stock and need to be as mature as can be.
It has been awesome to watch as eggs became chickens and guinea fowl.
The guineas are have passed their cute phase of life and are headed full speed ahead through ackward and into the land of uuuuugggggllllyyy.
Definitely Not The Leader Of The Pack.
When I was in college, I would spend hours hiking the coast and mountains taking pictures of all the animals I found in my little haven.
I used an actual film camera, you know the kind- where you have to focus by hand and then wait to see if you succeeded when the film was developed hours or even DAYS later.
Remember that!?
I found that I shared this passion for wildlife photography with my Aikido teacher, the amazing Yoshi. His Aikido classes are well attended by many in the Santa Cruz community including people who are not students at UCSC. One of his adult students was/is involved in a wolf rescue program and as a result had a pack of seven wolf husky hybrids at his house.
These are not pure breed wolves but they are not house pets either, all from the same familiar group him and his partner had taken them in and provided them a home years ago. Yoshi spent many days with this pack taking pictures and one day invited me along too.
I was ecstatic! It’s not everyday you get to hang out in a pack of wolf dogs.
We pulled up to a little log cabin in the redwoods and right away you could hear them. The air was filled with howls and behind the home was a very large hillside enclosure where sure enough wolfs ran, jumped and howled at our arrival.
We were met by my classmate and his partner in the cozy little home and they went over the rules of engagement for going into the pack’s enclosure. Like any wild animals they must be treated with the respect owed to them while maintaining yourself in such a way they don’t pick up fear or aggression from you. These amazing creatures were well handled and used to the human members of the pack, they had spent many hours in Yoshi’s energy but I was new.
Entering through the double gate of the enclosure was a bit surreal and one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced. Wolves are wary yet curios creatures and so for a time they kept their distance from me. Our host was able to go where he pleased as he had an obvious position of respect in the pack. The alpha male Krian was as all good leaders are- relaxed and calm. Until there was actual need for his attention. Most of the day he sunbathed peacefully outside the den.
The younger lower members of the pack all jostled and ran about.
Playing fervently, then plopping down in the dirt for a nap. Napping really is what all animals do best. I think human animals forget that. In the wild, there is a time for hunting and all the other daily activities but most of the day is spent playing, grooming and relaxing. One of the smaller females was pointed out to me as “one to watch.” Her name was Bee and she was a handful.
For the first few hours I just sat and watched universally ignored by all. After some time I got more attention.
Yoshi got his acknowledgement as a retuning guest, someone they knew. I was new. An unknown, I was inspected from all sides and distances but after a time I seemed to be ‘old hat’ and they went about their play and rest.
The humans talked and took pictures just enjoying the sun and company.
It was not until I decided to retrieve a lens I left outside the fence that things got interesting.
Read MoreWelcome Home!
If you are one of the many people to responded our lost cat post a few days ago with prayers and wishes for her safe return, it seems that they worked!
How Have I Never Thought Of This Before!?!
In my 31 years, I have come up with thousands of dishes. I am pretty sure that I have forgotten more original recipes than most people ever commit to memory but a few mornings ago I had an epic “DUH!!!” *slaps forehead* moment.
Torn between last night’s sirracha chicken soup,
or poached eggs,
A Familiar Loss
Since the death of my dad last fall, my choices have catapulted our lives into a bittersweet mix of trial and change.
Some good some bad, all different.
The homestead has had many births and new beginnings but today I fear we must again morn one of our family members.
Our cat Luna has not been home in more than a week and after loosing our other cat (Felix) last year about the same I fear the worst.
We have Coy-wolfs, lynxes, bear, fisher cats, logging, cars etc.. in the neighborhood. She is a ‘cat’s cat’ one of the finest specimens I have ever owned and so she had free range of the outer world.
This freedom is one I believe cats are owed but one that always makes me nervous for this exact reason.
Many times they don’t make it home.
Dealing with the absence of anything you love it is a difficult process, one that I have had more than I have wanted this year- but that is life.
What makes me happy is knowing that the relationship I shared with my kitty was a good one. One where no encounter was wasted and I hugged her everytime she would ‘allow it’ (and admittedly many times she did not, cause she was my pretty little kitty.)
Death often brings regret with it and I am grateful that for me- it rarely does.
Since my OCD makes me chronically aware of the mortal nature of the world I rarely if ever pass up a moment to share my love with all the things that share my space.
Every morning I went to the chickens she would meet me, meowing at my attention to such strange and feathered beings over herself.
Beets and Cream. Really, Trust Me!
The time to harvest tubers and roots has arrived here in Maine!
Apples and pumpkins are next, like tomorrow.
I never liked beets till I was older but now I consider them a real treat. I know they can appear alien and complicated but let me assure you making really tasty beet dishes is easy.
This beet and cream tower is best done the night before and while there is a fair bit of cooking and setting time the whole thing will only take 15 minutes of your attention.
Start by roasting your beets- I cut off the top and bottom. Generously cover olive oil and tons of salt (trust me) put them in a crock (or any baking dish) cover them with tin foil.
Cook for about an hour (depending on the size and count of your beets) at 375ish (depending on your oven.)
When they are done a knife should pass through with little resistance, pull them out and let them cool covered for a while longer.
The skin is no problem with this roasting method as long as you let them sit covered after they are out so they can steam.
Once they are cool enough to handle pick them up, enfold them in a napkin and rub. The skin will come off in the napkin.
“No Hour Of Life Is Wasted That Is Spent In The Saddle.” ~Winston Churchill
On my mom’s side of the family it seems that life has always revolved around horses.
My Grandpa was raised on a chicken farm in Nebraska. There were many things he disliked about the farm but there were a few perks for an energetic young boy to enjoy.
It was riding horses my Grandpa loved most about farm life. He loved to gallop through the fields at full speed and could almost always be found in the stables.
His love of riding and later showing horses has always been his defining trait to me. Growing up I always believed he was a bona-fide cowboy.
I used to marvel at their trophy room (actually the den) one whole wall was covered in colorful ribbons packed so tightly on top of each other that they stuck out a good six inches from the wall. The other walls of the room were covered with shiny plaques and silver bowls in velvet cases, cups medals and statuette of horses.
They won many regional competitions and a few state finals in western pleasure riding and most of their spare time was spent, riding, training or attending horse shows and rodeos.
Everyone grew up riding, my mom, her sisters and all us grandkids.
More importantly we learned about horsemanship, and animal husbandry. We were taught from an early age by my grandparents that it is not all riding, ribbons and showing. Horses are a lot of work and their constant care must come before anything else.
When you make the commitment to contain such a large animal you must do it the respect of attending to its daily needs- of which there are many.
They must be properly cleaned, fed, exercised, stimulated and otherwise maintained. If you have to go to work, you stop by the stables on your way. When go home the stables should be revisited.
Any days off are to be spent dawn till dusk at the stables if at all possible.
I was tutored intensely in their anatomy, behavior and all the do’s and don’ts of proper equine health and training.
As we got older if we wanted to ride we were made to go halter our own horse in the stall, lunge them or turn them out, bring him in, brush and tack him by ourselves.
We always had direct supervision but the steps were drilled into our heads, each little curry comb and hoof pick must be done before you even think about riding.
Unlike the tendency now a day for horses to be trail nags- shuttling helmet clad tourist from place to place. We were taught how to tack our own horse something I am very grateful for to this day.
A Chickie story
When I was young, my dad used to tuck me in at night and tell me a “Chickie Story.” He would make these stories up on the spot with me as “Chickie.”
Most of the time these stories consisted of him rehashing what I had done that day- only in chicken land. A while ago I wrote this Chickie story for the boys based on the last year of parenting and raising chickens.
If you have kids who will sit for it- I would love to know what they think!
Here goes:
A Chickie Story
Chickie was the last born chick of the spring on a small farm in Maine. She was smart but smaller than all her clutch mates by half.
One July morning, when the youngest farm boy was changing the water in the coop the most beautiful blue marble dropped out of his pocket and was left behind.
Now chicken are curios animals but they are also very cautious fowl, things that are new and different are always looked at with suspicion.
The largest chick, Brutus was the first to spot it in the hay and alerted the other chicks.
“THING! THING! THING!!!” he squawked. All the chicks assembled to inspect his foreign object.
The next largest chick, Livvy built up the courage to poke the smooth blue thing with a stick she found. She poked and everyone took cover.
The wise old rooster noticed what his chicks were doing and walked over chuckling.
The Cotton Anniversary?!
Apparently cotton is the traditional second year anniversary gift, I thought it was cardboard.
It is supposed to represent durability and the ability to adapt, I like that.
In a few days my husband and I will celebrate our second wedding anniversary.
When you get married people tell you many things about what a wedding (and often a marriage) should be, some are helpful, some are not, some are down right weird and have you wondering if they are in any position to give advice on the topic.
Our own wedding was done on our terms. We came up with a ceremony that combined Native American, Buhdist, Celtic and other blessings.
We wore what we wanted and got married at home in what would later become the circle garden the following spring.
We only had thirty guests, mostly family.
My husband-to-be decided he wanted wear sandals and a sarong (with board shorts underneath.)
The boys ended up being a ninja and a jedi (who could ask for anything more than that?!)
I was bare foot but wore a traditional gown (this suprized some people) my best friend lent me the beautiful vail her mom made for her wedding. My mom did my hair.
My dad built an alter that was meant to turn into a bond-fire as part of the ritual’s end.
Arachnophilia- Love of Spiders.
I love spiders. In my opinion, their abilities and variations are wonderful to behold.
I completely understand that not everyone shares my enthusiasm but I would like to make a small attempt to stand off some of the irrational fears out there about spiders.
I’m not going to ask you to touch them or love them but I would ask for you to think about them for a little bit. There is a whole lot of misinformation about spiders that floats around civilization causing undo fear and panic.
Much of what we hear about them from our friends, family, media, FB (egads! I know sorry to point it out) and even doctors- is incorrect. I have used many sources for this article but one of the best single pages about spider myths is from the Burke Museum. It is written and maintained by Rod Crawdord their Curator of Arachnids.
Here to start; are some of the incorrect facts I have personally heard or asserted myself at one time or other:
(None of these things is true. You can visit the web site for more along with sources and elaborations.)
“Spiders drink the moisture from the corners of your mouth while you sleep.”
“You can tell I got bit by a spider while I was sleeping, look at these two puncture wounds.”
“You can identify a Brown Recluse by the violin shaped marking, right behind it’s eyes.”
“The daddy longlegs is the worlds most venomous spider but it’s fangs can’t get through your skin.”
“The spiders you find in sinks and bathtubs came up though the plumbing!”
“That’s a wolf spider!”
“Look at those two huge poison fill sacks on their fangs! How can they not be dangerous?!”
We acepect and deciminate many of these ‘facts’ without thought or investigation, they seem to be perfectly plausible truths about such horrible creappy crawly things.
Spaz and Her Fortress of Spazatude
I have mentioned in a few posts that we have one chicken who has seceded from the flock. Even though she has no problem getting in and out of the fences.
Exhibit A:
Recently she has decided not to return at night to roost. The first few days of this new behavior I was worried when she didn’t show up in the nightly head count. We lost three chickens last year around this time when the flock still had the run of the yard. But I kept on seeing her in the morning.
Ok, hearing her is a better description. I call her Spaz not only because of her daily escape but also because while she is running around the yard she makes chicken “warning squawks.”
They are some of the worst noises I have witnessed coming from a chicken. In addition this racket has no desernable cause, the only thing I can come up with is that it is a six month protest about having her roosting spot moved when we put them up in the new A-frame coop across the yard.
Her normal routine was to escape after being let out, run over to the old coop (now the Guinea’s coop) go inside and lay her egg, then return to the A-frame coop. Loudly complaining about the process the WHOLE TIME!
Since the Guinea coop has been unavailable for such activities the past couple months she has apparently taken up residence below the structure. Like some kind of chicken Smeagol, hold-up with her ‘precious’ eggs.
I’m not sure what else to do but take pictures-
I kicked her off the nest to get a look at what she is hoarding and sure enough it is full nest of eggs.
At this point I find myself at a loss for what to do.
We have a half-crazed broody hen who has taken up residence UNDERNEATH a shed when she has two other options.
Fine.
We will see what happens. It is one of my favorite spanish phrases- “vamos a ver”-“Let’s see.” She is a willful beast, this will be interesting… as all life should be.
Following Life’s Not So Subtle (Road) Signs
“High Ho, High Ho, it’s off to work I go.”
Well, to be honest as a restaurant “lifer” I have been sneaking shifts bar tending down South at a cool historic inn. It has been amazing to focus on the homestead and the boys this summer.
My crafts have been selling (not as much as one would like but selling all the same,) it has been amazing to have the chance to make things I love and have them appreciated by others.
But a few weeks ago I had the sudden urge to look at craigslist and came across an ad for “antiques restorer” IN MY TOWN! I sent my (completely restaurant based) resume with a short cover letter along with some pictures of my paintings and to my surprise, promptly got a call back.
My dad instilled in us the importance of old things and antiques. My sister and I grew up at auctions and ceaselessly poking around rural antiques shops. As a result I have a fair knowledge of these things and I know way more than anyone needs to about Native American baskets.
I went in for the interview, along the back roads of Acton and was a little shocked to see a brand new road sign off one of the roads:
Pancake Rorschach Test- Take at Your Own Risk.
While looking through iPhoto found some of the pancake shapes the boys have requested for breakfast over the past year. Can you tell what they are?
.
.
.
.
.
.The answers:
.
.
Sonic the Hedge Hog, Sponge Bob with bacon seaweed and a random fish and Godzilla Vs Mothra.
Did anyone get it right?
September’s flower: Morning Glory
Even though I didn’t plant any this year, they are blooming all over the yard from last- with some scarlet runner beans for good measure.
Along with more of our confused ‘bean’ pumpkin.
Have a great day!
“That Man Is The Richest Whose Pleasures Are The Cheapest.”-H.D.T
I got an unexpected surprise soon after I married my husband. We had no money for a honeymoon (this was not the surprise.) As we were discussing what we could do with our time off together I jokingly suggested that we go driving around Maine listening to Stephen King audiobooks.
To my absolute shock he got really excited and exclaimed “That’s perfect!”
For our Honeymoon week, we would day trip up North have lunch (at the time we were doing a lot of “BBQ research”) and getting to know all the back roads and highways that wind through Western Maine and Eastern New Hampshire. Living so close to the White Mountains offers us a wonderful opportunity to explore the forests, lakes and National parks that surround.
This week, we found ourselves with a couple of unexpected days off and decided to download some stories, load up the dogs and take off. Though the older two are pros at car rides and national parks– it would be Isis’s first time. I’m not going to lie I was a little nervous.
We both prefer paper maps to GPS and plotted a route based on roads we had not been down before.
We especially like the roads with signs that say “Warning: Road not maintained in the winter 1 mile ahead.” That’s where the keep the good stuff!
We passed hundreds of lakes.
Lots of wide open farm land that reminded me of all our trips up to the Sierras in Ca, when you are crossing the middle of the state.
As we wound into the mountains, the maples and oaks gaveway to cedars and pines. Right after-
Beware of Squirrels
Anyone who knows my adorable little sister, knows that she is afraid of squirrels. She is not a squeamish person by any stretch of the imagination and it is not like she squeals anytime one crosses her path.
Growing up in the redwoods we were constantly surrounded by the adorable little creatures. You wouldn’t get very far with a squirrel phobia.
After years of carful observation and interaction- her explanation goes like this: they are organized, up to something, possibly armed,defiantly deviant and they have the high ground!
(Think about it.)
This belief made it impossible for me not to screw with her when I still lived back home.
When she was at work I used to leave her threading messages from ‘Commander Nutz’ written in the dust on her car. I would complete these love notes by making squirrel foot prints all over her car.
I highly recommend the method for screwing with undeserving siblings of all shapes and sizes.
“Ch-Ch-Ch- Changes.”
Here in Maine the feeling of change is tangible, like someone flipped a switch overnight and summer on its way out. There is a new crispness to the air at the beginning and end of the day.
You can see it clearly in the trees, as they frost with golden red tips and tops. Our garden knows it too; fruit ripens, seeds mature, leaves droop. The green steadily giving way to brown- reminding us all that it is time to prepare for the coming months.
The fall harvest has started and canning madness has begun!
One of the most obvious marks of time’s endless passing is watching the chicks we hatched this year grow.
Everyday I search the garden for the icky no good Japanese beetles, knock them into a bucket (a very technical process)
and serve them to the guineas.
“There!”
They now move like a well oiled machine. They are so different from the chickens it is astounding. At this age they can fly from the ground to the top of the coop. They are much less awkward and way more deadly than the chickens.
Speaking of the chickens- it look like both of the chicks we kept from our spring hatchings are boys.
My First (and Last) Christian Puppet Show.
When I was about seven our mom accidentally took us to a evangelical puppet show. It was put on by the church at the top of town and one of my friends from school was going.
I asked if we could go too and she saw no reason why not- until the show started.
The lights dimmed and the curtain opened to reveal a sad little puppet who looked depressed slowly walking around the little stage proclaiming how lost and alone he felt in life. When who should appear?
Puppet Jesus, that’s who!
Puppet Jesus launched into a speech about how he could save you from all that and make everything better. In addition it turns out it is the only way to get into heaven.
This was bad enough and my mom fidgeted, uncomfterably and secretly wished for this to be over soon so we could escape. To her horror after the lights came back up all the children (who were sitting up front while the parents stayed in the back of the church) were ushered quickly into a side room to have a little chat about Christ.
She told me later that it was at this point that she almost lost her shit. Caught between her impulse to scream “NO!!!” rush up the isle and take us home and not wanting to make a scene in a church and in front of many other mothers who she would have to see everyday after this.
At the time I could tell by the look on her face from across the room that this was NOT OK with her.
She let us go.
I had thought the show was odd it certainly was not what I had been expecting from a puppet show, now seeing her stress assured me that what they had been saying was not endorsed by the maternal unit.
Once in the room with the door closed behind us the Sunday school teacher started to again tell us about how we all had to accept Jesus into our hearts or we would not go to heaven- we would be headed straight to hell.
I thought this was a bit intense, now understanding the look on my mom’s face.
This was not a safe place for my sister and me, not at all. I raised my hand and asked how they KNEW these things were true. The response was that it was written in the bible and the bible was the word of god.
I asked if it was god who had written the bible and was answered that he had apostles for that. I quieted for a moment and they continued to tell us that not only did we have to do this for ourselves but we had to make sure that all our families and friends did it too, or they could not come to heaven with us.
I interrupted again and asked if this meant that ANYONE who was not Christian would not be going to heaven and annoyed answer came quickly, that indeed they would not.
Why? Because I Felt Like It.
Sorry, I can’t keep all of them in, all the time.
After a late night binge of The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings I woke up and REALLY REALY wanted a felt hat. A wizard hat! I found some wool roving online and ordered it as if clicking quickly would ship it faster.
I grew impatient (you are shocked I know) in the meantime and scoured the county’s craft stores for wool of any type. It proved difficult but it gave me time to research how exactly one turns wool into felt.
I was basing most of my felt-making theory off a vivd argument I had at the Renaissance Faire when I was eight. I was making a felt ball at one of the artisan booths and talking with felt maker while he made a hat over his knee.
My family religiously attended the “Renn Faire” every year since I was a baby and I was well accustom to its proclivities.
Anyone who has ever been to the Northern California Renaissance Faire can tell you that the queen’s procession is something of a spectacle.
As always, I had questions- so I figured someone who worked at the faire should have some inside info I queried the felt maker;
Me: “Is that the REAL Queen of England?”
Renn Faire Dude: ” Of course she is the Queen. LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!” (This phrase is always shouted.)
Me: “No. I mean in real life. Not at the Faire is that the Queen of England? This is NOT my first Faire! I know it’s mostly an act- so is that, or is that not the real Queen of England- who is alive today”
Renn Faire Dude: “Of course she is! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”
Me: ” So she comes over from england and works at the Renn Faire?!”
Renn Faire Dude: “What do you mean comes over from England?”
Me: “Uggggghhhhh!
Have You Ever Seen A Lobster Roll/Taxidermy Stall? I Have!
Look Closely At All The Ways Acton Town Fair ROCKED! Each picture is worth at least 1,000 words!
“All Things Are Difficult Before They Are Easy.”
8/20/09
Boys,
It is just so very hard- hard to see you both smiling in pictures knowing that it’s not for me, that you don’t even remember me anymore.
It is hard to know that I am not wanted in your lives, hard to know that people think that is what’s best for you.
Hard to realize that as time passes the few memories you may have of me will fade into nothingness. It is hard not be able to be there for you, even just a little.
Hard to take that if we do meet again we will be starting over.
Hardest to feel this ache a place where you live inside of me and knowing you can’t be there to fill it. It is difficult to accept that I have no validity to be a part of your lives.
But this is selfish and there is nothing for it but time. Maybe with time this will change and I may be blessed with the chance to be a part of your lives.
I want to make it clear that I do not harbor resentment for the actions of others.
I only wish that things could be different, but I have made my choices and I allow others to make theirs.
Time will pass, it will not judge.
I wish to say that “only time will tell” but this implies that a conclusion will be made at some point, that someone will be deemed right. That is not the way that life works.
Time passes as do opportunities and that is what is hardest; missing opportunities, to teach you Spanish, how to draw dragonflies for daddy, how to cook or put ice down his shirt.
I can only hope that we will all meet again and that I may have the chance to help to you make sense of life.
Know that while this is the hardest thing I have ever delt with, if the future holds even the smallest chance of being around you two its all worth it. The only thing time will do is give you both the choice to have me in your life and I hope that you will give me that chance.
I guess we will see, until then I think of you both constantly and keep you with me wherever I go.
Know that I love your father and that I will do right by all of you and maybe a time will come when you will know who I am.
…………….. FIVE YEAR LATER AND 3000 MILES AWAY………………
Now And Then.
Now..
And then.
The pumpkin/melon patch started in the green house.
But it could not contain the awesomeness!
Judge Not…
Before Monday, I could have truthfully stated that I have never cried at the death of someone I didn’t know. I think there are many people around the world who could have said the same before the passing of Robin Williams.
I only hope we can all gain some perspective. There is much to be desired in our society’s understanding and discourse about basic human psychology and the myriad of factors that influence behavior.
If we are to have any chance in this indevor we NEED to move away from the sensationalism we create in our world. There is such a tendency to exaggerate or embellish the traits of people and things. We like to flatten them against the screen we watch them through and think that we know them.
We rob them of their complexities and fit them neatly where we want them to be in our own lives.
We take a part and make it the whole.
If we can let this event spark a greater understanding of of ourselves and each other then it will not be a complete loss. If this man’s death becomes another reason to judge and point fingers then we are in a sorry state indeed.
The concept of suicide is a hard thing to understand if you have never had any personal experience with it. I think we should start by agreeing that if you have never known a person who has taken their own life or tried to-
YOU SHOULD SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND SIT DOWN.
NOW.
I am sad to say I can’t easily count how many people I have known who took their own lives.
I know the first. It was my freshman year of high school. Tyler was one of the funniest people I had ever met, cute, athletic, popular. Curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. The kind of class clown that even teachers liked.
“Growing Old Is Mandatory Growing Up Is Optional.”
Today is my birthday.
I am 31!
My thirties have yet to come with the anxiety, doubt and depression promised to me by sitcoms and TV movies. My biological clock is not thudding in my ears (but that could be because I DO have kids, I just didn’t birth them.)
I have never had a problem growing old. This could be for several reasons:
1) Since I was sixteen people have assumed I was in my mid-twenties.
If guessing, people have always added almost a decade to my age. By the time I was in my early twenties people would put me at past thirty without hesitation. When I revealed I was twenty-four they would bumble over excuses for such a grievous social infraction.
It never really bothered me too much and I enjoyed watching people squirm and backpedal. I would have thought my youthful good looks would have made people hesitate at the thirty mark, but alas.
People who met me though work justified their miscalculation by pointing out my position was usually not held by young people and certainly not young women.
Ok, fine. A pass for you. Running a large kitchen staff in Spanish at twenty-four is a bit abnormal.
2) Considering I was never the beneficiary of these youthful accreditations I am not entirely sure what services they provide. Thus I do not miss them- now that I am indeed over thirty.
3) My Oma is without a doubt one of the wisest and most sensible person I have ever met. When her daughter (my aunt) was about my age she asked her mother, “if you could go back and be any age, what age would it be?” Oma thought about this carefully, in her meticulous German way, and responded with confidence:
Homesteading Math 101: Counting Chickens.
Does anyone remember that old riddle about how to get a cabbage, a goat and a wolf across a river with one boat?
That is what it feels like we have been trying to do recently. I have decided to call it homesteading math.
With our final hatching of the summer now over I can finally count our chickens/guinea fowl. There has been a lot of hatching, moving around and unfortunately loosing (there was a jail break while we were in Ca and we lost 5) of poultry over the past month.
Introducing the newbies into the established flock was (and still is) a process of trial and lots of error.
I hope that I have learned enough to make the combination of the guineas and chickens this winter easier but I am sure it will be a whole new set of issues to look forward to.
As of now the 5 guineas are outside in the original coop. Which has been moved off the deck by my husband’s incredible mind powers. “The force is strong with that one.”
All my little birds have left the nest and I could not be happier for the semi-quiet in the house.
When I introduced the new chicken chicks to the old I did it in several steps. First, I brought over 3 hens from the older flock I knew would be nice. Snowflake, Abby and Henrietta are calm happy chickens who I knew from past encounters would be fine with the smaller chickens.
After that went well for a week, I brought over 3 more chickens. Making a total of 18 chickens in the outhouse coop and 10 chickens in the A-frame coop.
Where you put the rooster changes the dynamic in any given coop and since one of the chicks that we hatched here and kept looks like a rooster I need to make some decisions pretty soon so as not to repeat last winter’s rooster juggling routine.
Dude has gotten a ‘tude, as all roosters do but it is manageable. I have to keep him apart from the little rooster I have no urge to even try and see what happens. It could be totally fine or a blood bath… again, no thank you.
Letting Go of Giving Everything Up.
I feel now that so much of what I am looking for, the patience, the peace, the calm can only be found though my ability to let go. I have realized that when I try to change things I have no influence over, I find my greatest unhappiness.
The concept of letting go of your expectations of control is easy enough. What takes time is knowing where that thin line begins and ends. There are many things in life you do indeed control.
Most of the time they look almost exactly like the things you cannot. They are inherently a part of them, bound up within them.
That is what makes this delineation more difficult. The only thing you can effect is your reaction to the event.
The event itself is outside of your control, an event can be a person (in general), action (acute event), or actual superseding situation (like a life changing medical diagnosis.)
Ultimately we have NO control over these aspects of our trajectory but we can control our reaction within path we find ourselves on. It seems that often times we expect too much from the things outside our sphere.
We want to think after a time of following the same path that we will always be headed where we are going now. That our environment will follow our Will effortlessly as it seems to have done in the past.
This coincidence makes us feel that even though the future my not be KNOWABLE it can be predictable.
Herein lies the validity for this sentiment and the ultimate source of our discontent.
This assumption is TRUE most of the time.
Life doesn’t have the time or volition to mess with all of your plans. Many things will happen just as you expect them to for extended periods of your life.
That doesn’t make your control over these external things any more valid.
Foul! Guinea Fowl That Is…
When we left for my sister’s wedding we had 11 eggs going in the incubator. For the first time this summer they were not chicken eggs.
I declared my desire for guiena fowl one night this past winter. Thanks to the magic of the internet I was able to have fertile eggs sent to us.
Our local feed store has a great selection of poultry but I really wanted to hatch them here, if we could.
I really believe there is such a big difference in chicks that have been handled right away and the ones you get from a mass hatching. Even when you get very young birds. The ones we have hatched here are just that much more used to hands and humans.
I had an additional reason for wanting the guineas born here. Unlike chickens, if you were to buy adult guinea fowl and just free rang it in your yard right away- they might try to fly home. They are more like pheasants than chickens. I wanted them to be born on the property so that their little GPS’s will be set here.
The whole purpose of getting the little feather heads is so they can roam the garden and eat all the bugs. Chickens eat bugs AND gardens, guineas eat bugs. We could really use the help since we are growing everything organically/GMO free.
I have decided that “organic gardening” is Latin for “being constantly covered in bug parts all day.” The best part is they eat lice, worms, ants, spiders, weedseeds, and ticks so they can roam the backwoods too!
They are not going to be like the chickens. Even with the early handling they are a little more feral and WAY more aerodynamic. This is another reason that I will let them roam free, they are very capable of getting up into trees and aways from predators.
They are also sometimes descried as “watch dogs” (like peacocks) they will make warning sounds when predators are around.
We had 5 hatch (3 more piped but didn’t make it 🙁 After the last candeling I was not expecting the other 3 to hatch- but I kept them in there anyway just in case.)
Guineas are the reverse ugly ducking of the poultry world. Keets (baby guineas) are the cutest little things!
When they grow up- this happens:
I love their feathers but good god! I’m interested to see how you get there from here:
This should be interesting.
At this point they are a lot quieter than chicks (bonus!) and WAY faster. I thought little chicks where fast but these things are like, I don’t know. They are also VERACIOUS little buggers. Baby crickets terrified the chicks the guineas all went “LUNCH!”
I am happy with these new little beings, now I just have to figure out how to get them all in one coop this winter…
Homesteading problems!
More chick pictures-
“Know When To Hold ‘Em. Know When To Fold ‘Em.” Know When To Rip Them All Out And Start Over.
Once uopn a time my husband and I went to the store. When we left our corn was tall and happy:
While we were gone there was a pocket thunderstorm and when we returned to the homestead, we found this had happened:
My husband had a very uncharacteristic explosion of heart felt profanities and I took the groceries inside while he surveyed the damage/cried a little.
The prognosis was not good. Most of our six foot corn was broken or ripped out of the ground completely.
There is an old joke about the weather in New England. “If you don’t like it, wait ten minutes.” As you can see here- an hour or two later and it was sunny as can be. But that night the thunderstorms came back and stayed for the weekend, just like most visitors to Maine.
By the end of the maelstrom it was clear that the corn would not recover.
Before you go getting too sad for him, remember he planted 3 mere beds of corn two weeks ago plus our Jewel corn in the circle garden is, at this point, undamaged and doing great.
(Knock on wood.)
All the same, this travesty would not stand. All the boys set to work ripping and hauling the stocks off to make “Mount. Compost!” I was very impressed with the quality of their work.
Turns out, if you tell little boys to “rip all that and put it over there.” Twenty minutes later you get this:
It’s All In The Cards.
I have been reading tarot cards since I was small. It was just one of the many skills my mom taught both her daughters at an early age. Though it is not something that any of us often openly talk about. I have no doubt that this fact will come as a surprise to many of our close family and friends but it should not be taken as a slight against them.
Our collective silence is not a product of some secret pact, fear, shame or sense of modesty. It is simply a private and personal practice that all of us rarely see reason to bring up. None of us are fortune tellers and our purpose in practicing tarot is meditative rather than predictive.
It is not a party trick or fader for superficial conversation. Rather, we all consider it a personal tool that should be used in order to make sence of the events in our own lives.
It is also not something that any of us would ever deny to anyone, I know it’s a skill we all take immense pride in. But, like what kind of panties we have on- it is just no one’s business.
Our Little Slice Of Mushroom Covered Heaven.
I was preparing a post on how much I hate money but I scrapped it. Writing it did not make me happy. Life is too short for that, so I stopped. We went for a walk instead. There is so much life in our backwoods. I believe you could stare at a small patch of ground for hours and still not discover everything. There are baby toads. 
Monotropa uniflora- also called the ghost plant, Indian pipe, or corpse plant.
Since does not contain chlorophyll, it is parasitic and takes energy indirectly from birtch trees through the mycorrihizal mushrooms that attach themselves to the roots of the trees. This makes it rare and hard to propagate since its relationship with the forest is so complicated and fragile.
In our woods it is everywhere! We even have the red verities that are even rarer than the while and grey varitials. This could be something else since everything I read says that indian pipe only has one flower and these have many. 
We have some amazing quartz that just pops out of the ground in many spots. It is shot through with mica, making it extra shinny. 
That is not even counting the mushrooms and other fungi. These are either coral types or the more specific Beautiful Clavaria. I can’t tell the difference.
We have jelly mushrooms.
As well as the bacteria Hypomyces lactifluorum on the proptery which makes the coveted ‘lobster mushroom.’ Only this is not a type of mushroom- rather, it is a parasite of Lactarius piperatus or Russula brevipes and covers the entire fruit body with an orange skin. It is possible to have a poisonous lobster mushroom and the covering of this bacteria makes identifying the mushroom underneath even more difficult.
Ours seem to grow in groups of almost straight lines… Odd. 
We have Sickners (a type of Russella) they are a striking red.
We found these little red jelly like ones too. 
I have no idea what they are- along with many others. Good thing we only have plans to look at them- NOT EAT THEM!
Some of them are adorned with natural jewels. 
Some are almost up to an eight year old’s shins. 
A few got a pretty leaf hat. 
It was a much better use of my time than musing over all the way money makes people unhappy. I am glad I didn’t persist in my endeavor. I was blessed with wonderful company and many uniquely singular beings to share my morning with. The heavy rains and thunderstorms of the recent days have given us a lot to look at, but it cost us some corn. Ok a lot of corn. 
It might stand back up. If it doesn’t we have more…
The Loose Ends…
Devoid of purpose, I wandered.
Making my way down the worn path to that old familiar place of fire and metal.
The overgrown jungle of iron and found “treasures” from years of my dad’s ramblings.
It was as he left it- when he left us.
The spiders now sewing everything in their place.
High on a shelf I saw a a little bird.
I knew it was his.
Another unfinished project to add to the list.
I couldn’t let it be.
Here finally was something I could fix, something I could make whole.
I thing I could give its proper home.
Is There Such A Thing As ‘Gardener’s Anonymous?’
What felt like the shortest week ever in California looks like it was the longest seven days back in Maine. We knew it would be fun to see how much our garden had grown while we were away but neither of us was ready for the greeting we received upon our return to the homestead.
The corn is almost as tall as the apple trees!
The squash and melons have exploded, both in the greenhouse and out-
The ones in front started out so small-
Not anymore!
We even have good sized peppers in the other greenhouse-
The original circle garden filled in decently. I spend almost 3 hours yesterday staking up monster tomato plants and I’m not done yet.
The corn here is an heirloom jewel verity. I made a deal with my lovely husband that he could plant more corn if we got a grain mill so I can make meal and maybe some tortillas from scratch come winter time.
The words had not even left my mouth and he was out there making ANOTHER three beds of corn. You can see the tomotillos here in the left corner of the picture, they are starting to look like trees!
We have had good luck with beans of all types. Strings, runners and bush beans- Oh my!
The green beans are amazing. We planted them late, about three weeks ago and…
Like all things in life the garden is now taller than I am. This is not a huge feet by any means but it is amazing to watch your months of hard work grow and (hopefully) fruit.
So green!
We have managed to do all of this without chemicals or pesticides. I have to admit organic gardening requires a commitment to personally squishing A LOT of bugs. I like to get them while they are young and slow. We have also released thousands of lady bugs to aid us in our efforts.
There are 11 guinea fowl eggs incubating right now to debug the garden next year.
All in all- it’s a good start. I have learned not to count chickens before they hatch (or after- for a few days) or anticipate the harvest till the snow falls. We will see what happens.
For now though I am grateful for the opportunities the land has given us. Way more fun than watching grass grow, if you ask me. We will be able to eat food grown right outside our door and that is worth all the bug-bitten dirt-covered sweaty hours in the sun.
The first meeting for the Acton chapter of Gardener’s Anonymous will be held next weekend.
We can talk about compulsive seed buying and probably plant some more corn.
A Week On the Fog-line.
This trip has left me with such an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness it is hard to articulate. Unfortunately, that is not going to stop me from trying. Here goes-
I got to share the place I love, with those I love most. It that was one of the greatest blessings I have ever received.
I was once again able to pass large amounts of time exploring the places that carved my soul. The rugged coast, that was the cradle of my youth, did not disappoint us. The boys got to see the morning fog burn away- unwrapping the blue of the ocean.
Illuminating the crystal clear waters beneath.
We got berries at Swanton. A place my dad shared with me when I was not much older than they are now.
We timed the tides and went to our favorite spot for Abalone shell hunting, climbing from one cove to the other.