Wicked Rural Homestead
Live Simply
A Marmot’s Tale.
My sister requested I make her a rice crispy treat mountain for her wedding. Preferable, this confectionary mountain would have marmots fighting dragons on it.
Fine. My little sister wants a breakfast cereal mountain adorned with rodents fighting mythical beings- whatever.
This request resulted in a late-night-marshmallow-covered adventure of epic proportions.
I decided that the cereal version of the creation my husband dubbed “Mt. Midoriyama” should have a base of chocolate rice crispy, a middle of peanut butter and just a plain top- straight marshmallow on cereal goodness.
My sister suggested that it should have layers of candy so that when you cut through it it will look like geological formations.
Really?!
Fine.
A mountain of rice crispy treats complete with geological formations adorned with a marmot/dragon battle.
While watching my husband and I have way too much fun creating this wedding monstrosity, my mom defined this situation perfectly.
“You have been doing this all your lives. One of you makes a ridiculous request and the idea snowballs into reality through the other one. I just sit back and enjoy the show.”
The whole family made clay figures and created the story behind them and the battle. I am not going to lie, things got a little out of hand but ended in a cool story and a mountain of crispy goodness!
My Two Cents on Marriage. For My Favorite/Only Little Sister.
My little sister got married this past Saturday and it was EPIC! She was THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BRIDE EVER! The day was filled with new born goats, a rice crispy treat mountain covered in dragons fighting evil marmots, a trebuchet, family and love.
“Who could ask for anything more?”
I am so happy to have a brother! There is no better person in this world to put up with be with my sister. I have an inborn habit of scarring the ever-loving crap out of any boy that even looked at her. With Delbs, I never once had the urge (it probably happened out of habit but my heart wasn’t in it.)
I could not be happier for them and their choices!
I was made to say something at the ceremony and some have requested a copy. Here it is in all its glory. After all, we have been married for almost two years now so I am an expert on the topic…
Wait, I Have to leave My Home to go House?! Ouch, My Head Hurts…
In the next few days we will head West for my sister’s wedding.
(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Where the theme will be fighting Marmots (weird runs all over this family.)
It is the oddest feeling in the world to have to travel thousands of miles from home- to go home, but there it is.
It is nerve racking to leave so much behind. If you can send your thoughts and pryers to our house-sitter it would be appreciated!
He has a lot to watch over. The ever growing garden:
Asparagus trees in full bloom.
Declaration of a Different Kind.
My godfather Mike was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease (ALS) when I was young. I don’t know how old exactly, or how long he suffered before succumbing to the illness when I was nine.
He had given my parents strict orders that I was not to know he was sick. I think he recognized my anxiety issues and wanted to enjoy me being my usual precocious self in his final years.
I had no idea that he was dying till he passed on the 4th of July, 1992. Gaining his independence from a body that could no longer contain such a bright soul.
The disease slowly robed his muscles of their strength and during the last year of his life he had be assisted full time to meet his daily needs.
All I knew was that he was sitting down more and we were spending a lot more weekends visiting him at his house in Los Gatos instead of the adventures and trips that normally occupied our Saturdays and Sundays.
For months his house was filled to the brim with friends, helping out with what they could or just being present for Mike.
I still remember clearly the last time I saw him. I didn’t know it would be the last day I would ever spend with him.
He had known it was.
It was becoming very difficult for him to speak. Soon it was going to be obvious that something was VERY wrong and he didn’t want me to see him like that. We spent to whole day watching videos of Cirque De Sole, something that I just adored.
He sat with me.
Eating fresh sliced tomatoes from his garden toped with garlic salt. I still remember my first bite of that simple pleasure, it was a revelation. The smell of the garlic wafting from the plate had me thinking I was going to hate this odd snack.
Mike just smiled and handed me one of the smaller deep red slices of fruit. “First try it, Em. Then decide.” The flavor exploded as I bit down, salty and sweet symotainusly smelling of savory garlic and fresh tomato.
I was hooked.
Spiders, and Luna, and Chairs Oh My!
The past decade and a half I spent most summer days inside. In the service industry when people are out at the beach, or enjoying vacations and taking day trips they will inevitable want you to cook them dinner.
Hence, I have missed more glorious summer days than I care to recall. All I remember was fire, knifes and yelling.
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.”
Bob, the owner was a Sicilian man with deeply sunken dark-rimed eyes and a Burt Remolds mustache. He had been a sniper in the Marines and a professional chef ever since.
His food was good, really good.
His standards of service were high and he was passionate about his guests’ dinning experience.
It was not his skills in the kitchen or his back office accounting that sealed his fate. It was his skills at the bar down the street that lead to his death and the eventual closing of Silvesterie’s.
My first day, I was faced with this tired beaten looking man. He gave the distinct silhouette of being in his third trimester of pregnancy though it was obvious that couldn’t be.
Except for the ‘not baby bump’ he was a slim man but he seemed to lumber when he walked like a he was much larger then he was. He 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 explained that by being ‘on time’ he meant at least five minutes early and that 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 loose my new found job I was tuned over to the head waitress, Jan.
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 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 leaned 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 Jan, I came to love the fast paced precision that was necessary to complete a busy dinner service smoothly.
It was not easy.
Bob was militant about the way everything should be done. The slightest infraction often resulted in a torrent of profanities coming from the kitchen. We managed to have a new person somewhere in the mix every month and it was often better not to ask right away what happened to the former one.
The restaurant was pretty busy during the weekend with every seat occupied at least once. On nights like that- getting everything done required no mistakes. If the floor (dinning room) was not properly prepped it would quickly descend into a living hell.
At the end of the night you were handed a wad of cash. It always looked huge, accentuated but he fact that bussers usually get all the small bills.
When I started, Bob looked swollen because he was.
He had been recently told by a doctor that if he did not instantly reduce and then stop his consumption of alcohol his swollen organs would shut down and he would die.
Jan was a recovering alcoholic, sober 20 years and her and him often clashed about his drinking. They had an intense relationship that could result in shouting matches before she had finished her night’s paper work.
Or a midnight tryst on top of a table in the back room.
It was always hard to tell which one it would be on any given night. With Jan’s help over the next few months Bob had actually managed to almost stop drinking entirely.
His belly shrunk and though he still took his nightly stroll down to Joe’s Bar he was actually able to drink only cranberry juice. Sadly his progress did not last and by the same time the following year his cranberry juice became light again, with vodka.
One day our dishwasher didn’t show. While cutting bread in the kitchen Bob asked my if I would be interested in a few dishwashing shifts.
Starting now.
I jumped at the chance, “did I ever!!” It paid more even though the tips were less, but most importantly I didn’t have to iron my shirt and I got to hang out in the kitchen.
A Strawberry With a Secret….
I will not attempt to take any credit for this cool idea. I WILL take the credit for the funky cool fabric choices.
Thank you very much.
I was surfing the web for tote bag patterns and came across a pattern for a ‘strawberry farmers market bag.’ There are many patterns available online but the gist of all of them is the same.
I will not try to list the exact steps since I’m sure my explanation will be far less susinct than what is already out there.
I decided that since we had the strawberry stand next to us last week (the smell was incredible!) these might be a nice addition to our offerings at the Wicked Rural booth.
I started with some great batik fabric that I hoarded this winter and the results where… Well, judge for yourself-
“Random Acts Of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty”
Growing up my parents only had one bumper sticker.
It said:
“Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty.”
There are many things in our childhoods that we habituate to, never really noticing what a great an effect they have on our lives.
In my youth, I took its meaning for granted.
I was brought up in the arts. A great many of my parents’ close friends are amazingly talented artists. I thought everyone had such role models; painters, sculptors, composers, writers etc.
I thought all small kids grew up repeatedly going to gallery openings, The Legion of Honor, de Young and the SFMOMA.
My dad wanted us to have not only an appreciation for art, but an understanding of the process and history.
When my sister and I brought him our childhood works he would critique them-
“If you move this part more toward the foreground your subject will ‘pop’ more.”
“Next time you set up the shot put your subject slightly to the side, instead of dead center. It makes the picture more dynamic.”
This drove my sister and me CRAZY!
“Why can’t you just say ‘WOW! Good job honey?!’ Like everyone else’s parents!”
*Storms off*
Early Morning Encounters.
Wild wings and wild flowers,
GOOD MORNING!
A Honey of a different type (Warning: contains some graphic material)
Honey, Honey Bee, Bear, Bearington, Hon.
She answers to to all of them.
Our dog Honey, came to us in the month after the boy’s unexpected move cross country. I guess technically this makes her my step-dog. I came to be her owner when she was about 7 years old- high strung, anxious, distrusting and willful.
I think one of the worst things a dog can go through is abandonment and she had more than her fair share.
I was concerned about how she would react to Pele but that turned out to be a nonissue. They quickly became sisters, pack mates and friends.
We had to sell the boat (since live-aboards are not supposed to have pets in the first place) and now we unexpectedly had two dogs.
We moved back to my hometown in the redwoods. Into a treehouse on a hill.
About a month after we moved Honey had a horrible accident.
She had gone bounding down the steep hill surrounding the house, barking at the neighbor dog. She came down on what looked like just a patch of ivy. It concealed a badly cut laurel stump, one that still had low cut branches coming off of it.
(Warning: graphic content eminent)
She ripped her chest wide open- in a wicked gash about a foot long.
I hope it is the worst injury I ever have to see on an animal.
With all the animal hospitals over 40 minutes away in Santa Cruz the town vet of Boulder Creek is very experienced in grievous injuries. We got her on the table and they managed to wrap her up.
She would need immediate surgery. When they went to take her to the back kennels I asked if they wanted us to go with them, knowing that she was going to freak out as soon as she realized we were leaving her there, hurt or not.
“No, no it will be fine”
It was not. Halfway into the kennel she flipped out, almost got away and had to be immediately sedated.
I told you she has separation issues.
The garden today.
When we moved in, we became the proud owners of a beautiful lawn. A lawn we had no interest in maintaing.
It surrounded the house. Far from being a blank canvas- this was canvas with someone else’s painting on it.
I have mentioned before that I don’t understand peoples’ obsession with lawns. They offer no value to the bees. You have to constantly cut them or they habor ticks. Further more, they make you itchy when you roll on them (the only real purpose in my opinion for grass in the first place.)
No thank you.
We were excited to turn this expanse into a great garden. But since we moved in late in the summer we had to wait till the following year to put our garden plans into action.
While we were waiting, we got married.
The following spring- we got to work, turning soil and making beds.
There were many things about New England I was blissfully unaware of when we moved.
My first few years I marveled at the endless rock walls here.
They are EVERYWHERE and it is not like they really keep anything in or out. The vast majority are about 4 feet tall and a couple feet wide.
I had assumed that these walls were built to serve some purpose. Now I know the truth, you can’t pull out a clump of grass here without finding a rock.
It is like the natives planted rock seeds, knowing that it would make anything the white man wanted to do- very difficult.
This year was a easier since we had the beds from last year. That is not to say we didn’t have any encounters of the rocky kind.
Long live the queen!
I have to admit I have been dreading looking in hive #2 for sometime now. After the last inspection reveled that they were in the process of re-queening I have been very worried that I might have to combine to two hives if the attempt was not successful. I defiantly put off inspection for a few days longer than I needed to.
But, yesterday I put on my big girl panties and went for it.
The outside frames of hive #2 are still not drawn out all the way but they are being filled with nectar and even some capped honey.
I was pleasantly surprised when on the third frame in I found…
EGGS!!!
This was what we needed! They were plentiful and in a nice laying pattern. All the little deposits right in the bottom middle of the cell like they should be.
Sometimes when you have a laying worker bee (not a good thing) the eggs will be on the sides of the cells (since their abdomen is not really long enough to get it down where they need to be.)
From this I can tell that it is more than likely we have a new queen! Over the next couple weeks I will be able to tell if she is fertile or if she is laying drones. When a queen is infertile she still lays, infertile eggs are male (drones) and fertile eggs are female (workers.)
Let there bee light! (I’m sorry. I could’t hold it in.)
I love candle light! In fact, I quite prefer it.
Growing up in a place where the power went out frequently for extended periods of time I got used to the flickering lumiation that fire light provides.
My mom taught us how to make candles when we were young. Sand candles, molded candles, dipped candles, multicolor totally crazy candles etc…
She believes (as do I) in being proficient in the the old crafts. The skills that used to be necessary daily like making cloths and light. She is a more then adequate seamstress and made all of the family’s Renaissance costumes from infant to adult.
In the back here you can see my mom using her spinning wheel. A gift given to her one birthday by our dad. Then assembled with child labor, as all thing were in our household.
The best dad in the world.
I have spent the last few days and the last half year processing my own dad’s death. Publicly and privately. Since November 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 comfterable 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.
After his ex unexpectedly moved the boys to the other side of the continent, he would fly out every month or two for a week or more. Trying desperately to maintain the bond that their mother seemed so bent on breaking.
The places I found you.
I went for a dive today,
hoping to find you along the way.
I took the back roads and chose the path.
Hoping to find you somewhere,
maybe on some mountain’s pass.
What I discovered was exactly as I had feared.
That you were no longer here,
but I knew that from the start.
AMEN.
There is a clip of Jim Carrey making a commencement speech has been making the rounds and struck such a cord with me and our current state.
I was inspired by my dad’s death to take a chance and try to make a living doing the things I love without the compromise the comes with a guaranteed paycheck.
As Jim points out, that ‘safety’ is not lasting. The decisions we make out of fear for the future often lead to us left in the lurch when we no longer suit those paying our salaries.
To begin, my resting state is one of almost crushing anxiety. Adding to that all the normal pressures of life and it often makes me want to find a rock and curl up.
Many people who know me would find this hard to believe. Most would consider me strong, determined and extremely self-possessed- because I am. It isn’t an act, I am not disingenuous about any part of my life. It is a tremendous daily effort to maintain.
The fear has never stopped me. In fact one of the things that has been paramount in my process is to go toward the things that cause pain and fear.
Laughter is one of the only reliefs and that is why I have such a grim sense of humor. I can find the most horrible things amusing.
What does it become?
What does a birthday become after a person’s life is done?
Does it transform into a day to mourn the last?
I don’t know what to do- where to begin the task.
The only direction I have to look now is back.
Symptoms of a sick society.
Why?
The question everyone wants answered in the wake of yet another random shooting- but is it the right one?
Normally I stay out of these debates. I have little interest in them but I have found in all the pontification about the causes of these tragedies that something seems to be overlooked and wholly unmentioned.
I could be wrong, after all I have unplugged for the last two years.
Before I begin, I will vet my opinion. I didn’t go to culinary school as my career may have implied.
I did attend and graduate with honors from UCSC. I have BS in Psychology and a double minor in Sociology and Philosophy. I wanted my education to aid in my understanding of myself and the world I was born into and I think it has.
The fundamental attribution error is Pshyc 101, day one. It states:
“Essentially, it involves placing a heavy emphasis on internal personality characteristics to explain someone’s behavior in a given situation, rather than thinking about external situational factors.”
When you want to understand a behavior you must understand the motivation for the action, rather than the person acting. If you want to change or impact a behavior you must provide or discourage the motive for it. We are not that complicated and far too often spend our time looking the wrong way or mistakenly inferring causality.
The motivation for these events is not the gun itself. Yes- It is an object that makes such a crime easier and more devastating. This should not be debated, but look at all the horrendous atrocities where guns were not the tool utilized by the perpetrator; The Oklahoma city and Boston Marathon bombings, 9/11, Any number of hostage situations at knife point or mass poisonings.
What is the common motivation for such random violence?
What is gained by these sad souls through their (often) final act? The one thing their life did not provide them:
Attention.
Infamy.
Immortality.
Power.
We all buy into it. The media plays their manifestoes, philosophies and demands on a loop. Their pictures are on the cover of every newspaper and magazine. The red flashing “breaking news” banner appears at the top of every major search engine all over the internet.
As if the “WHY” matters.
“If you always tell the truth you never have to remember what you said.”
The truth is a simple thing.
It cannot be injured by questioning.
Infinite abuse is done when blindly we accept a lie in the place of truth.
The reaction to query exposes the nature of intent.
When questions are met with justification, not explanation- we should look no further.
The answer is clear.
The truth needs no justification.
Because the truth is a simple thing.
“The greatest homage we can pay to truth is to use it.”– Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Eggs Of A Different Type
We celebrated Easter this year with colored eggs that we filled with chocolate (but not dyed. They are colorful to start.)
LOTS of seeds, gardening tools, a sunny day and frog eggs.
After our egg hunt we took a walk. At the bottom of the property on the road is a wetland and small pond (the same one I ran through a bunch last week) We looked closely as we passed and saw a metric-butt-load of frog eggs!
Upon closer inspection reveled there really were about a million little jewels.
Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?
Answer: Because, I was chasing it.
Wait.
I’m staring this story in the middle. Let’s rewind to last month.
Apparently, every year the day after Mother’s Day my husband goes ‘chicken crazy’ and cannot rest until we have acquired MORE chickens.
We have been hatching chicks from our flock for some of Ry’s friends. I think he had a harder time giving away our little ones then he thought he would.
Even Honey seems a little attached. You can tell she kind of wants to eat them but knows she will be in BIG trouble so she nudges them and sniffs their tails. A good compromise if you ask me.
This brings us to the great chicken hunt of 2014.
Poll If I Vacuum The Dog Will I Still Have To Vacuum the Floor?
Spoiler alert!
The answer is “yes.”
Weekend Mommy
Life now only matters two days a week.
The remainder pass with anticipation and preparation like a dream.
Sleep is hard to come by so full of thoughts of you both.
Waiting, wishing, hoping, missing.
Then your here smiling and laughing.
Both so open and loving that I can hardly believe my good fortune.
Always worried that I will not be enough or that my novelty will fade.
When I Die I Want To Come Back As One Of My Dogs. Then I Might Get A Spot On The Couch.
Our dogs have been through a lot with us. Pele was raised on a boat. Honey has had over a hundred stitches in the past 5 years (from one big injury and one recent surgery.) Isis is a big fluffy-pain-in-the-butt. Our two oldest traveled across the country with us when we moved. They have been to Yellowstone, The Badlands, Mt. Rushmore, all up and down the coast of Ca. and New England.
I think they are enjoying this place we have found- the land of doggie retirement.
I have to admit, they make sure our lives are never boring but sometimes I think they might be running the show.
Who am I kidding? There is no “might” about it and I have the pictures to prove it.
Soup! Made easy.
We have a few patches of wild asparagus that grow in our yard. Yesterday was so cold and dreary I decided it was time for some soup.
I haven’t written much about cooking on this blog and for those who know me, this might seem a little odd.
First of all- I have been cooking since I was allowed in the kitchen. Mostly because I LOVE to eat.
I catered my first party when I was 12 (50 chocolate covered, custard filled eclairs.) Baking was my first love but as soon as I was allowed to play with knifes and fire, it was all I wanted to do.
I made a career of it.
Starting when I was 15 as a dishwasher and progressing through every facet of restaurant life. I have been running kitchens since my early 20’s and recently gave up a prestigious position as Executive Chef and head of the F and B department in a very private golf club.
The hours it takes to manage these operations properly is not something I want to give anymore since it comes at the cost of time with my kids.
Given this recent life change I feel fortunate that my passion for food is completely independent of having a title to go with it.
I cook everyday and that has not changed. The respect that one should show to the plants and animals that die daily to sustain us is always at the forefront of my mind. It is not about asserting your will on the things we prepare but making sure your efforts give respect to their ultimate sacrifice.
I have made this sound more complicated than it is. After all this is about 5 ingredients, patients and good soup!
First I start a pan with olive oil, one onion and 3 cloves of cracked garlic. I leave the chunks big so that they will not burn before I get some good color on them and since I intend to blend this soup, fine knife work is unnecessary. DON’T OVER COMPLICATE THINGS JUST CAUSE YOU CAN, it mades for pretentious food and wasted time.
It is important to let the heat do its thing. You want to caramelize the natural sugars in the onions. When they get some deep color on them add a good bit of salt. Salt draws out the water in anything and it will help to being out more sugars and deglaze your pan.
Home Again, Home Again.
Five years ago, back in California- I would have said that a 50 degree day with rain was the worst possible weather for an outdoor market.
Now I know better. There are things like sleet and snow that could make the day way worse.
Yes, we were chilly but we were surrounded by hot soup, coffee, amazing scones, wool blankets and good company. We had an excellent spot right next to the stage and Sandra played her heart out the whole time. My husband kept saying what a great mix of songs she had. He wasn’t kidding her choices kept you on your toes.
One woman, a couple guitars and a righteous play list= heaven!
We meet new people, got more then a few complements and came up with new ideas for next time. It rocked pretty hard.
Most important we got to spend the day together. It was funny how nervous we both were. After al,l we have both been in charge of HUGE events and multi million dollar budgets in our careers for years now, but this was different.
This was OUR booth, OUR products and US… that’s it.
We got there early.
“I Got My Lunch All Packed, I Got My Shoes Tied Tight.”
The Greenland Farmers Market is happening in just a few hours. I am completely beside myself.
I have been going to farmers markets as long as I can remember. I can’t tell you how much I miss the ones back home. I have never been on the vending side of the market. I’m not going to lie, I am nervous.
You may have noticed a new page tab in the top menu, if you haven’t look up about 6″. There, you can find info and links for most of our items.
I hope to hone our offerings as time goes on. I have no idea what kinds of things will sell, how these things will be received and if I think about it too much I might just loose my mind.
Last night my husband asked my what me expectations are and I said honestly “nothing.”
I can’t.
I have no sales goal (not such a great thing I realize for someone trying to start her own business) or big plan. I just want to share the things from our land, made with our hands- with others.
I absolutely hope our efforts will be well received but I have no aversion to rethinking everything if need be.
It would be a HUGE bummer, don’t get me wrong. We are willing to do what it takes.
My hopes for the day are to; spend the day working with my love, something we haven’t gotten to do in years. Meet interesting people and hopefully see a few old friends.
I think most of all I am expecting just another adventure. We have been on so many already and I can only hope there will be many more to come. That is all I need to be happy, let us hope this is the next step in our newest journey.
Come down and see us if you are in the area we would love to see you!
*Deep breaths*
Off With Her Head!
The dandelions and trees are in full bloom!
As much as I dislike (and my husband down right HATES) the mock cherry tree in our front yard, its blooms are the first large source of nectar in our yard. So it gets a pass…for now.
For the past week it has been buzzing loudly like it is about to take off! I decided it was a good time to take a peak inside the hives.
There are three things you have to remember when playing with thousands of bees.
1) You will want to do everything fast, DON’T.
The faster you move the more bees you injure and kill the more “WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!!! get ’em” -pheromone they release and more agitated the hive becomes. This is much easier said then done.
2) Be patient. It takes time for the smoke to have its desired effect (mimicking a forest fire so they all gorge on nectar) every time you do something take an extra second before moving to the next step. Be efficient but it’s not a race.
Remember if someone ripped the roof off our house and started pushing all your rooms around you might get pretty pissed too. Move slowly and deliberately, be aware of your tools.
2) Frame gripes are amazing! Especially since I like to work without gloves. These little dojamers make it much easier to grab and lift the frames.
First things first-I removed the feeding buckets.
Both hives have drawn out most of the bottom frames and are ready for a new box with fresh foundation. I saw they both had plenty of nectar and pollen so I felt they have found sufficient food sources and are well on their way, I hope.
The frames make cool stained glass. The picture doesn’t quite show all the colors of pollen because of the backlighting. I saw every shade, from blueish grey to bright orange.
After that the two hives diverged in a pretty significant way. I only found one queen.
Before Apps Ruled The World
“In my day we didn’t have…”
Yes, I have come to that inevitable place of derision for the younger generation and all their “gizmos, gadgets and whosiwhatsit.”
And,
I DON’T CARE. I am completely prepared to decend into the land of “bah humbug” when it comes to the ridiculous new, extraneous time sucking inventions of our current culture.
Remember when weather apps were called “windows?” Or when you had to use a map that didn’t have a blinking dot indicating your current location?
A time when you had to look around and see where you were, to find where you are going. The expanse of human history before little boxes ruled the world and captured all our free attention.
If you want, you can chalk this rant up to me not having an iPhone. Ok, I have one (it was my dad’s) but I refuse to activate it for three reasons:
1) My old phone still works, even of multiple attempts by Isis to ‘make a call’ last year. (I am sure now that I have jinxed it and it will stop working promptly.)
2) It will be more expensive than my current plan no matter how little ‘data’ I want.
3) I don’t need or WANT the internet on my phone. All the ‘associates’ I have talked to about this look at me like I have five heads. When I tell them that I only want to pay for it to text and call they retort “but you this is a smart phone.” Always explaining this fact gently, using small words.
Like I might explode at any moment.
As if this reasoning will change my desire. It is like saying “you have a whole bottle of vodka. Why you only want a glass?”
Because I don’t want a information hang over, that’s why.
I have no desire to be hunched over a tiny box for large portions of my day instead of looking up and around at the things surrounding me. I have even less desire to be tracked everywhere I go by people who’s motives are unknown to me. (By the way that is what that little dot is doing, even when you are not using it to find the nearest coffee shop.) (( yes I know you can turn this off))
I do not need to be constantly connected to anything that is not within the reach of my hands. Why would I forsake the living world around me for information that most of the time has absolutely no impact on my life.
I do not care who wore what at the last big event.
Or who won the last singing/dancing/cooking/surviving/goat catching (Ok, I would watch that one) contest.
When I think about the throngs of people living life bent over their laps I come back to the simple, sad fact- that we are missing so much more than we are gaining with these habits.
When you are chronically hunched you miss so much of the world’s original occurrences. For example:
Down By The River…
In our wandering around Maine we have seen some beautiful things.
Peaceful rivers full of tumbled stones and some VERY cold water.
Meanwhile down stream this lazy river joins with others and turned into a torrent.
It even comes with multiple warnings.
What siren?! Sudden release of water?!
Lessons From A Seed
Today, I marveled at the singleminded effort of a seed.
Conceived in a bloom and set free
tumbling to earth
to lay and wait
covered by snow and the oblivion of all that came before.
An entirety of existence bound in itself
the passing of time allows the opportunity to root
a chance to twist down and hold fast, to nurture the future with the past
only when the roots are strong can it push up
with blind faith there will be sun
knowing no other way.
The swelling of the source against the pressure of the earth
just when it feels like there is no room left, that life is too hard to live
something gives and there is
light
to stretch
to grow
the one and only chance to become whole.
We Went To Mexico- No One Spoke Spanish And We Saw A Moose!
That is because we went to Mexico, Maine.
We have been meaning to go gold panning since we moved. Yesterday we got our butts in-gear and headed north. We saw lots of nothingness; punctuated by small towns and tons of lakes and ponds. Some have little islands and the coolest private cabins.
I kind of want one.
We stopped randomly at a spot we both liked, took off our shoes, waded in and nearly froze our feet off.
It was worth it! Not that we struck gold but we got to spend the day outside sitting in the middle of a river, playing with rocks, in the sun.
Catching A Dream.
I may be taking this a bit too literally but what’s the harm?
In my quest for the Holly Gr….. No wait, stop that!
Sorry, too much Monty Python of late.
Since I have decided to make a run at our dreams of living from the land and the things my hands can make from it- I have remembered one of the first magical objects I ever learned to create. Dream catchers.
I still have my first one. As with all first attempts at anything, it fell well short of my intentions. I still believe it to be a powerful reminder of my beginnings. A failed attempt that created a beautiful and precious object.
On it- I have locks of hair from everyone in my life that was important at the time of its making. My sister, mom, dad, friend, even our first and second dogs, and my favorite bunny. (YES, I know I’m weird. Get over it.) There is also sage, moss and an origami crane. All for reasons I cannot remember but there all the same.
Emerging Life
Maine is amazing this time of year. It’s a trip to watch as sticks and barren ground explode with life. As if all the plants have to wait for frost to pass and then SPRINT for growth while the sun still shines and before the snow falls again. Quite a thing to behold.
Click for the gallery and have a great day!
Where is Dr. Doolittle When You Need Him?!
I have never subscribed to the notation that I am the “mother” of our many animals. As I have written before our animals are not our children. Though they are our familiars. (Try saying that sentence five times fast.)
They know you by your intimate actions and while they may not mark all the instances of your kindness any perpetration of neglect will impact your relationship for the rest of your lives.
It is this fear of falling short of my responsibilities that weighs heavy on me this Mother’s day. This could be because currently we have:
16 Adult chickens, a clutch of hatchlings (and the possibility of more at anytime,) 3 dogs, 1 cat, thousands of bees, a lizard, a snake, hundreds of tadpoles and that is not counting all the plants in our newly started garden(s) to worry about. Oh yah, weekly visits from two little men and a husband to tend to. (Plus housework, looking for a job, grocery shopping, bill paying…)
Home
I have spent a lot of time writing about what we left behind in Ca:
I feel it is time to move on and give thanks today for where I woke up this morning.
Home.
We began looking for property the moment we got to this side of the world. I cannot count how many houses we entertained in that two and a half years but it had to be close to a hundred. It was for this reason that I was completely jaded the day I unwittingly met our homestead for the first time.
The only reason we even looked at this property was because there was an old organic farm in the area we were coming up to see. We thought we would look at some comps. Even though this house was nothing we thought we wanted. We had gotten it into our heads that we were going to buy an old farm house of some sort and fix it up.
Something with lots of land and room for improvement. Ok, a lot of the time we looked into places that were completely dilapidated BUT on established orchards and we thought “this could work.”
Looking back I realize this was idealistic and a bit naive. We would never have had the time and money to fix anything!
When we saw the listing that said “DO NOTHING BUT SIT BACK and enjoy this sunny home…” We thought “well that’s not for us but we will look anyway. What’s one more house.”
When I drove up the pine lined driveway everything changed. I was early and got to meet the owner before he took off. A smiling man with two dogs, so far so good.
As he left and the sound of gravel under his tires quieted I was enchanted by the calm silence. Bird songs of all types surrounded me and I walked about the private bit of property astounded by the feeling it evoked. Thinking “I hope the other place is like this.”
More than half the land was still virgin forest and there was a trail that ran up to the top of the mountain (not our land but uninhabited) and over looked Great East Lake.
Your Free Range Days Are Over!
Last year we learned an important homesteading math lesson.
(Chickens + planting a garden) x (no fence)= fat chickens/no plants.
The chickens have been contained!
It was time.
I constantly worried about predators and neighborhood dogs (not to mention Isis) having free access to the flock. We knew that we would have to build an enclosure and new coop for the Mepmeps.
Until last week our flock had spent their entire life here without fences. Now, they have been mercifully contained.
It started with funds from Gofundme (THANK YOU TO EVERYONE!) and ended in a blaze of cooped-up-fenced-in glory!
We decided to go with an A-frame to get maximum ground cover as chickens are not tall animals.
We also decided that the best spot on th property for it was closer to the road (as opposed to closer to the forest and all the horrible forest monsters.) Plus that part of the property is leafy and marshy so it is full of bugs and grubs.
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 boys’ easter baskets contained mostly seeds to plant and gardening tools. Oh, they got some chocolate and candy but none that stained their tongues 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-
Once upon a time we lived on a boat.
A 27′ Hunter sail boat, I don’t count the bowsprit if you ask my love he will say it was a 30 footer- it. was. not.
We lived in Santa Cruz harbor and life was…well, never boring (not that it is now)
When he bought the boat, the slip that came with it was grandfathered in as a live-aboard. It was not on the live-aboard dock but that was just fine! It was also the last slip on the dock right on the main canal.
So stuff like this swam 10 feet off the dock and sometimes woke you up by bumping the keel.
And great blue herons hang out on your ‘lawn.’
To Be Grown.
Like many (or all) I became a true grown up by accident, or should I say misstep.
The perpetration of something that I never intended to do. Could truthfully never have anticipated doing. In all my time till this point, I could I assured you without a doubt I would never be involved in.
Well so much for that.
The truth is that life often takes you where you never intended to go.
All those who fain the purposefulness of every action in their life are either missing god’s path or lying to themselves and others.
How wonderfully unintentional most of the big changes in my life have been. As if god has lead me to a cliff but left it up to me whether or not I jump.
The only thing that is sure is that nothing will remain as it is, or was.
In that I can find continuity between the past present and future. I wish only to avoid tragedy if I could be so blessed and I pray daily for such good fortune.
I wish to have the modest fortune to spend a long life with my partner in the constant company of our family with love, balance and good health.
My childhood anxiety still influences my matured life and in that I find it hard to get a foothold on today without some amount of ambivalence about tomorrow.
It is hard not to feel disconnected with my past life back West.
Even the magic of the internet often only offers another empty inbox to check hopefully. That is the price one pays for the chronic isolation of self. I can hardly count it as a fault of others- now that I feel the absence more keenly.
BASEBALL! GLORIOUS BASEBALL!
I was raised by a recovering Catholic and a Frisbetairan (my dad believed that when you die your soul goes up on the roof and no one can get it down. And if you bad you get chewed on by the Big Dog.)
We were introduced to the basic tenets of all religions and encouraged to have philosophical debates. The closest thing we had to a mandated belief system was baseball.
My sister and I were born, raised- and will die SF Gaints fans.
From spring to fall we worshiped our orange and black clad gods without fail.
After we moved, my husband discovered that Portland is home to the Red Sock’s farm team and a little bit of normalcy retuned to our lives.
I have been to a few games at Fenway and I dislike the experience (unless you have box seats behind the plate.)
Boston is crowded, parking and driving can be a death wish.
There IS a lot of history in that iconic ball park. Along with $12 beers $10 mini sausages and they don’t play the game on the big screen. So every time someone in front of you gets up to get an overpriced beer you miss plays. Some of us are there to WATCH BASEBALL!
-Rant done-
Back to the Portland Sea Dogs! The park is small, the players are really good and four box seat tickets are under $40!
For the past few years we have been going to as many games as we can each season with the boys and admittedly sometimes without them (best date night ever!!!)
We taught the boys about heckling their first game and it has been a laugh riot ever since.
When I introduced the concept of heckling before the game the youngest munchkin listened quietly and didn’t say much while the oldest parroted back all the old favorites “we want a pitcher…” etc.
As we were walking to the park, hand in hand, the littlest man looked up at me and said “You know what I am going to say?”
“No. What?”
Self Indulgent Ramblings and Abstract Metaphors
I am constantly amazed with how the acceptance of my situation and a lack of expectations has lead me to the far East Coast and happiness.
I get to see the boys (though it is not enough) and while I am always sad when they go, I am happy that they seem well adjusted and comfortable in this situation.
I am blessed with so much that I am aware of and grateful for.
I feel I have done a halfway decent job of being kind to those around me and ever-mindful that I can do better.
I do not pretend to know the future or to try to make it bend to what I think it should be. Thinking you know or to try to torture what will be into what you expected it to be, only servers to make one unhappy.
Life will rarely bend to our plans and that act of such purposeful manipulation only throws things out of the natural balance they are in. Needlessly- and to serve a selfish desire to know the future something that few if any can truly do.
Are You Checking Out My Package?
Well You Should.
Actually it’s packages. Filled with bees.
Are you impressed yet?!
No, fine.
I was pretty pleased yesterday when I got to pick up my bee packages from Sparky’s honey and syrup. In contrast to a nuclease- a package of bees contains only bees and a mated queen, no comb or brood like in the nuc. You can see the 5 darker frames in this picture from last year, those are from the nuc.
The packages come in a wire box with a feeding can.
Inside the package in her own little cage and attendants is the queen.
You can see her at the bottom of the first picture, she has the long abdomen. In that picture you can see some drones, or boy bees too. They have large bodies, big eyes and lack a stinger.
Oh the Bee-manity!
Well…
The bees did not make it through the winter. I am not really surprised and neither are my bee mentors who have lost a few hive themselves this year.
A bee can only preform cleansing flights when the outside temp is above 50 or so and this winter full of -20 degree days did no one any favors. Least of all my bees.
We had a small warm up in January and they all bubbled out of the hive pooping as they went. This was the beginning of the end. Less then 2 week later our little hive was silent.
We had gotten a huge harvest from the summer, something that is very unusual for a first year hive. We also had good numbers going into winter so it is hard to tell exactly what happened.
When I did the hive autopsy there was still over 15 lbs of capped honey left near the cluster so I know they did not starve. I am also pretty sure that it was not one of the really bad bee maladies that got them, like American or Europian foul brood.
We did get new hive furniture to start the new hives and I am bleaching the crap (no pun) out of the old boxes and frames. New wax foundation for everyone!
I suspect mites weakened the colony and a lack of days to fly gave them desentary, it’s all down hill from there.
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.
A Rant. My First. Probably Not My Last.
For almost three years now we have not had cable TV. This started because we could not afford the $160+ a month bill. In the end it has been AMAZING!
The only thing we both had to give up is live sports and we are getting by without them… kind of.
This means that we have no idea what the latest movies are or newest toys for kids. We don’t watch the news, instead we read it from a verity of sources.
Basically we live under a rock and love it.
There is little/nothing I have found I miss about popular culture and cable programming. The one thing I know I still detest are commercials or ads as they call them on the East Coast.
Yesterday, I was watching a video online and the STUPIDEST commercial in the world kept playing and playing and playing. By the fifth time I was subjected to it, I started talking back to the computer…
Never a good sign.
It was a Revlon commercial featuring very buff, manly men recounting which nail polish color “tuns them on” the most. There was so much wrong with this basic concept I find it hard to know where to begin.
Oh wait, I know!
Depending on who you ask almost 10% of men in the USA are red/green color blind. They can’t tell the difference between red and green. The chances of them being extra turned on because your nails are “raveshing red” and not some less rehashing shade- are slim to none.
Second, I have worked alongside men for half my life in kitchens. For the earlier half I was a tom boy (I know, you are shocked.) Most of the time I am ‘just another one of the guys.’ I know how they talk and what they say about women when they consider none to be present.
I have never, in 30 years, heard a single comment about a woman’s nails. Unless they picked up the bill in which case the conversation is more like:
“What the hell did they do to your hands that was worth over 60 bucks!? Do you know how much beer I could buy with $60?! ”
(I am assuming that is how much a manicure costs. I have never had one and don’t ever intend to. Do you know how many chickens I could buy with that kind of cash?!)
Third, men are not motivated by anything you do TO your nails. They can be very motivated by what you do WITH them.
See.
Big difference.
I fear slightly for the future of femininity. During the feminist movement it was about being strong and capable. Able to do anything a man can do. Claiming our rightful place at the head of the table along side our mate.
Not trying to trick him with pretty colors and flashy products.
‘Killer’ The Chick Vs The Invading Cricket Hordes!
20 days ago we started incubation on 41 eggs from the ladies, these eggs included parings from all four roosters so this was going to be interesting right from the beginning.
The first bit of excitement comes on day 3 and 6 of incubation. Lets face it- most of the time the eggs just sit there and it is not very entereinaing to watch them.
Starring on day 3 you can begin to candle the eggs. There are all sorts of candling kits you can buy but I think if you have a good flashlight and a hand your are all set.
Make the ‘ok’ sign with your thumb and pointer finger and lay the egg on it sideways. Apply flashlight the underside and see what you can see. On day 3 there is not much going on, on the thiner lighter eggs you can see a red spider web growing from a central point on the inside.
A lot of our eggs are difficult to candle due to the thickness of the shells. Like the amazingly talented person I am- a minute after telling the oldest munchkin to be careful not to drop the eggs, I drop one.
It dented and cracked.
No coming back from that (pout.)
I hear you can fix minor cracks with white glue but this was no minor crack and it was only day 3, too early in the cycle to try.
This bumble turned out to be an opportunity to see if we had any developing eggs. Since our candling efforts were inconclusive thus far. I cracked the egg open and was met with a happy/tragic sight:
(warning this could be considered graphic, but it is where all chickens come from.)
It was sad but at least be knew some of them had potential for things other than disappointment. By the seconds and third time you candle (day 6 and 9) the results are much more impressive.
By then even on the thick shells you can see a large shadow and an air pocket start to form on one of the ends.
If they shine clear at this point they are probably “dead outs” and were either not fertilized in the first pace or have fallen victim to bacteria. Sometime you can see a dark circle where the bacteria gained entrance.
You can candle every three days till day 18 but with our shells you could not see much more than that. By day 18 we had under 30 of the original 41 left.
Then on the night of the full moon and lunar eclipse I heard pepping looked though the window and saw this:
“Officially unemployed, homeless and in debt. Time to start all over again, here we go…”
I posted that Facebook status four years go yesterday.
My how things change. Well- not the debt part. And right now I am unemployed, so I guess the “more things change the more they stay the same”?
OWW my head hurts…
All I know is that when you are going through it you don’t feel like your are making progress even when you are well underway.
This has been our greatest adventure so far. I’m not sure which one of us is Sam and which is Frodo but I know that their relationship reminds me of what my husband and I have been through over the last few years.
(Minus the weird gay hobbit vibe as we are straight homo sapiens. Not that there is anything wrong with gay hobbits. Hey! Maybe THAT is why Bilbo went to live with the elves! )
There have been long journeys. Ones you think are at their end till some wizard/elf/dwarf tells you, “Oh no you have to go throw it in THAT volcano, Over there. The one right next to that guy that hates you…that one.”
Only I didn’t get a Mithril vest ! 🙁
(Yes, I have decided I am Frodo)