Wicked Rural Homestead
Live Simply
Spring time in Maine (Shut Up Ca! I Can Hear You From Here.)
To celebrate the fist day of spring, I went to the beach the other day…
(Click for gallery.)
I think I have said all I needed to.
Time May Heal All Wounds- But It Makes Homesickness Worse
My little town has always been the core of who I am.
Even now as I sit thousands of miles away-it feels close enough for me to touch. It still stings my heart that I am too far away to do so.
Boulder Creek still looks the way that most towns in the West used to. Something I never appreciated till I moved East. It is still stuck in a time when California was a wild place as far from civilization as could be reached by land. The “edge of the continent” as my Dad always said.
Where brave people dared to move away from all the safety and civility that came before. Hoping for something better. Or at the very least an exciting adventure to tell back in the city, if they returned to it.
Mostly I think it was the spirit of self-reliance that inspired people to come here. People who wanted to answer to no one but themselves and live the way they wanted.
Plus the lack of wicked cold winters probably helped.
Boulder Creek is a quintessential frontier town, one main street lined with stores and shops.
These small businesses may not have everything you want but they will provide you with everything you could need. The whole of downtown contains not a single traffic light of any kind and only one main intersection.
There are no chain stores here, not one. Everything is owned and run by the people who live here and it shows.
I have always said that Boulder is made of equal parts hippy and hick. At the end of town is Jonnie’s market, a huge florescent arrow points down at the front door from its roof and flashes “Liquors” in bright blue green lights.
While right across the street stands New Leaf Market a hippy whole foods store. Both have enough business to prosper. In fact both are necessary for the needs of the town folk.
The economy is a local one. We are the gateway to Big Basin State park but tourism is not something necessarily encouraged by the locals and certainly not to be depended on for anything as important as earning a living.
The old buildings remain largely untouched by ‘progress’ unable to expand from their original foundations by the forest, river and mountains that made their initial existence possible.
The fronts of many buildings still carry their original signage. ‘The Brandy Station’ is written in yellow letters above the building that was the town bakery in my youth and is now a Chinese takeout restaurant.
“Mac’s 100 Year Old Place” adorns the wooden awning of the building where I had my first job. Then a restaurant now an antiques shop.
Murals of town at the turn of the last century are painted on a number of outer building walls and they look almost the same as the current vista only the fashions worn by the town folk have changed.
This was and still is a logging town, founded on the harvesting of the forest that guarded us from the outside world and made our little haven possible.
My parents chose to raise children here deliberately, they always called it “god’s country.” Still wild and composed of more nature than human construction.
The mountains were not the safest place to raise children and that was not the reason my parents chose to live in Boulder Creek.
It could be argued that- being forty minutes from the nearest hospital, only one sheriff for twenty miles, abundant earthquakes, regular and extended power outages and having poorly funded school system made it a horrible place to raise children.
This widely accepted sentiment that living close to everything (in case of accidents) and relying on school budgets to determine how educated your kids will become was not one my hippy parents believed in.
There may be safety and security in numbers but there is little in the way of self-reliance and the quite calm necessary to gain true self knowledge. My parents wanted to live where it was beautiful and quite. Where everyone has enough space.
They felt the best gift they could give their children was belonging in a place where you could see god everyday-in the face of a wave or meet him alone on a mountain top. They gave my sister and I the gift of solitude and then had the courage to let us go explore it.
Perfect little Imperfections and Unintentionally Complete Projects
Like so many of the things we see everyday I have rediscovered two of the items in my living room. They have been hanging on my walls for almost half my life- and there are long periods of time when I cease to see them.
I have been welding since I was 12, but I have been watching my dad weld since I was allowed down to the “Clampit area”(my mom’s name for the welding shed and surrounding accouterment.)
From a very young age I had the privilege of watching unbendable steal- soften, liquify and sometimes explode into a shower of sparks leaving nothingness in its wake.
There is magic in that process. Something most benefit from but rarely if ever witness, never mind get their hands on. After my initial education and resulting equipment testing (all conducted by my dad) I was allowed hours of time melting, bending, joining and generally screwing around with molten metal.
I have many scars to prove it. Hey, chicks dig scars. Especially their own.
I would spend entire days down there in my time off from school often listening repeatedly to Bob Segar for reasons I don’t remember now. I loved a style of sculpture my dad had dubbed “rod to rod.” Where you use the coper coated steal rods normally used to add metal when joining two larger pieces of steal and make objects and pictures out of them.
I made many things that are now rusting in my parent’s garden back home but two of the wall pieces I did have always come with me. For years I thought that this was because they were unfinished.
The tree on a hill has been a reoccurring image in my life. This is mostly because I can’t seem to stop drawing it. These particular renditions are a day and night set of ‘The Tree.’ I did both of them when I was 15 or so though only one is signed and dated.
Day:
And night:
Eastward Ho! PartII. Our little mine.
When we drove across the country four years ago- one of the only things we DID plan was to stop in Montana and mine for sapphires. Both of us totally dig (no pun I swear!) rocks and minerals. There are few better ways to spend a day than to go gold panning or mineral mining. While still living in Ca we often packed up the dogs and drove into the Sierras then down Yuba river to pan for gold.
We found the Spokane bar Sapphire mine outside of Helena and since it was close to the entrance to Yellowstone we decided to give it a try. Many things in Montana were not quite what we expected. For instance this is a MEDIUM coffee:
When we got the the mine we were informed that since all sapphires and garnet form in the first five feet of ground-the mine does not look like you would think. It is NOT a deep shaft into the earth. Instead it was an area on top of a hill in the high plains of Montana. Here again we found a breathtaking view and a place to run the pups WHILE mining. How is that for multi-tasking?!
The closest I’ll ever get to writing a love poem
To all those who have never fallen in love.
Never tripped over your own soul to be swallowed by another’s.
For all the people that have contrived meetings,
set forth guidelines to follow safely into planned monogamy.
For those who think they have fallen but never had to sacrifice for it.
How I envy their balance, and control of themselves.
To never have been thrust into choosing to be true to yourself at the expense of every expectation you ever had for your life.
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How Do You Tell If It’s The Calm Before OR After The Storm?
This time last year I was doubtful that this day would come. All THREE dogs sitting quietly on the couch with the rest of the family.
Our two oldest are old pros at the ‘relax and cuddle’ game but our newest edition has been a work in progress for what feels like forever, even though it has only been a year.
While Isis started out as one of the cutest puppies in history:
My hands…
Have never known a manicure or file.
And they are bitten rather than clipped.
They have been painted less times than there are fingers to paint.
In many places they are more scar than skin.
The fingers on the right appear to have been badly broken long ago, though they never were.
They often spend their days covered in food, blood or dirt.
Lovingly touching things that make others cringe.
They are not spectacular for how they look but for what they do.
They have created meals that nourish and astound, providing me an income for my modest household.
They have made many things of beauty that fill my house and life.
They have healed and comforted the beings I love.
They are strong and can hold fast when I need them to.
I hope they have given more than they have taken from this world.
Because through helping others…
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Stained Glass Flowers-Easy as Clay! (Less tasty than pie…um pie)
More goofing around with clay-
I like rainbows! There I said it. I like stained glass too.
I have found it is easy to create clay “stained glass.” Start by making logs of all the colors you want to include. Then wrap them in black. Grey and white work too, but I like the contrast of black.
I roll the logs out to different thicknesses some big and some small, all of them will have the same cross sections when cut but in different proportions. Now stack and smash.
The piece to the right is what the end of the log looks like before you cut it off. To the left you have a cut cross section off the log in the middle. Since I was trying to make plumeria I also added a large chunk of the leftover clay to the finished log.
You can see it on the middle bit-there is an extra section of black clay. This is so I can press the petals to each other without loosing part of the rainbow. Below you can see what happens when you have a flower but don’t add that extra clay. You will loose parts of the pattern that you just worked so hard to create.
How sad that little girls don’t dream of becoming stepmoms when they grow up
Here I am the same as before, but different in every way.
Me,
wanting to be there for them every second, but knowing full well such things are impossible.
I have to let go everyday.
Every morning when I wake up and they are not there.
Each time we get in the car headed South again.
They inspire my every thought and they hold my dreams in their ever-growing hands, their smiles are like granted wishes and their laughs like answered prayers.
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Koi Pillows and Emu Eggs
I started quilting last winter and while I only managed one full sized quilt this season I have done a bunch of other smaller sillier projects. For instance-I was messing around with overlapping progressions of fabric and decided that they looked like fish scales, so I made a koi.
The mouth is actually a pocket that runs the whole length of the fish so it can ‘eat’ things that you want to hide. I made the backside out of fleece since I have found that to be far more comfortable than the layers of fabric and stitching. The boys only care that you can shove your whole arm in it and then run around hitting things with your “fishy hand.” Go figure 🙂
Before I ventured into the uncharted waters of the quilted koi pond I had been working on some etched and dyed emu eggs. They are a bit smaller than an ostrich egg but far prettier in terms of color. They come in this amazing deep emerald green speckled shell.
My Little Indoor Hair Garden
The snow is still falling but I have decided to grow some flowers anyway. Clay flowers that is, no danger of snow or frost impeding my progress.
I started making roses out of clay when I was pretty young. I have always given them aways as gifts and used them myself. Other’s reaction to them has always been very positive but I have never thought of putting them out there as a commodity to the public. As I sit here-snowed in again I have gotten up the courage to try.
I like doing little roses on regular bobby pins. I make sure that the clay doesn’t effect the utility of the pin so that you can actually used them to put your hair up and not just stick them in as an after thought.
I decided to branch out and did some huge ones on larger bobby pins. I even got some little crystals to stick in the center. Ohhhhh, sparkly.
I made some that glow in the dark…
I made some that have no use or purpose but are really pretty and remind me that summer WILL happen…at some point.
After a few days I had a whole pot full!
I got some tin metal headbands and experimented with some off center little bouquets that I think turned out quite well.
Well now that’s done. What next?
Maybe a quilted koi fish pillow with mouth pocket?
Hey stop laughing! I’m serious.
The First Step in a New Direction…Maybe. AHHHAGAHH!!! ^&^%$##$ &(&(*& !! (breath, breath, breath)
Confucius say:
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
I have not always gotten along with Confucius but here and now I find some solice in his words.
I have been cooking professionally for more than half my life now. I have built a career out of burns, blood, sweat and tears (NEVER shed in the kitchen. There is no crying in kitchens. The commute home is where that bullshit belongs.) I got into restaurants right after the coked up glory days of the 80’s and before the rise of the culinary school at the turn of the century. A “no (wo)man’s land” of time, when females did not work in the back of the house.
For the first decade of my work and almost a hundred co-workers (no exaggeration-kitchen turn over is pretty unprecedented) I did not share a line with a single member of my sex. For years I was surrounded by nothing but older, surly, often unbalanced men. Many of whom worked in kitchens due to criminal records and other social abnormality or disfunction.
The back of the house was and is a place where you were yelled at, belittled and blatantly abused. I was often sexually harassed by my coworkers but that is not to say that I took it very well.
Death and snowflakes
The snow falling lightly on my window reveled itself to me one day.
All the little flakes waited patiently to melt.
Momentarily displaying their breathtaking detail, individual beauty and uniqueness.
I was there to see it.
But had there been no audience-the show would have remained exactly the same.
Little frozen moments.
Multitasking, laziness or genius? You decide.
The snow and the eggs keep piling up!
Looks like today will be another day of being homebound for me. I’m not sure if it’s a good sign that I am totally OK with this. I have only left the house once or twice a week for months now and I don’t think I have suffered any ill effects.
The purple monkey in the cabinet is claiming otherwise, but he is drunk! As usual.
“Shut up!”
Stupid monkey.
A few days ago I was again (and still) marveling over the endless pile of eggs on our counter and in the refrigerator. I started a new pattern of colored eggs I call ‘bubbles.’
How to make a spaghetti squash bomb
It’s easy!
1. Turn oven to 400 degrees or so.
2. DON’T poke or cut the squash in any way.
3. Wait for the boom (about 40 min.)
and enjoy…
To make the same recipe WITHOUT the mess and noise do the opposite of step #2.
Hang the little buggers!
Eggs, people I’m talking about eggs.
Boy do you need help!
Through my adventures in egg decorating I discovered an incredable simple way to hang the finished product, which is good since I seem to be unable to stop making them. You can do it too, all you need is some wire and fishing line.
Here goes:
Standing isn’t as simple as you might think
I mentioned in my OCD post that I have been in the martial arts community my whole life. Due to my mother’s practice of Tai Chi I have spent many hours moving S L O W L Y or watching others move at a snails pace. My own training as an adult has been in Aikido, both are considered to be ‘soft style’ arts.
Before any Tai Chi class even starts to think about movement, you stand. Just stand, for about five to ten minutes. Sounds easy right?
Now make sure you back is straight, body relaxed and there is no tension in your ankles. They should feel like “freshly risen bread dough” This simple mandate is frustratingly difficult to achieve never mind maintain in movement, even for my mom almost 35 years into practicing.
When my sister and I were young my mom practiced the whole ‘short form’ (a misleading name) EVERY. MORNING.
She did this in the living room and so we had to be still and quite for the duration. She has been practicing Qigong daily since she was 19 or so, she has been teaching for 20 years and still has weekly lessons with her teacher, Sid.
Growing up I had the privilege to be surround by amazingly talented martial artists. This included Sid and his wife Wendy of The Tai Chi Natural Health Club in Santa Cruz. As well as their teacher a man named Chang I-Chung.
He is a Tai Chi master and a teacher of teachers in this country for 30 years. I knew him as Mr. Chang. In my memories he is a tinny spritely person with a HUGE grin- who could knock any man on his butt with a smile and twitch of his wrist. His demonstrations were truly amazing.
Late night trouble with the iPad
4 am.
Currently in our bed there are; two humans, one cat and two dogs. I would love to tell you that Isis is not here too because we learned our lesson after the first two; that dogs should sleep on the floor. But that would be a lie. It is because we only have a queen sized bed.
In the corner are two chickens. *IN CRATES,* I’m not that far gone…yet. Abbey has a cut and Snowflake has sour croup.
Oh and a snake (also in a cage.)
Everyone is sleeping quietly but I am wide awake. Looking stuff up on the iPad. My dear husband ‘up putter of many things’ wakes to the glow of the small device:
How a random acts of kindness resulted in a senseless act of beauty.
Just a story to bring attention to:
More than a decade ago, I was walking to my car in downtown Santa Cruz. Coming toward me from across the parking garage was a man, he was crying. His hair was matted to his head and his cloths hung off him awkwardly.
He was speaking Spanish asking for “help.” It was one of the saddest things I have ever seen. He was sobbing openly and stumbling toward the front of the garage. I stopped and walked to him. He rambled at me in Spanish “help me, the police just woke me up from down by the river. They said I needed to go away, I am so hungry and I don’t know where to go.”
I hugged him, told him “no llores” (don’t cry) I checked my wallet for some cash but of course had none. “Let’s go get some food.” He looked at me, shock now replacing the sorrow. I’m not sure if he was more surprised I could understand and speak to him or that I was willing to help.
It was quite obvious that this half drunk, half asleep man had not really expected anyone to listen to him. We walked together back toward downtown.
Golden cabin fever brain farts.
OK, brace yourselves. Are you sitting down?
Yesterday it snowed, again (or is it still?) You are shocked I’m sure. Good thing you were sitting down!
Our yard now looks like this:
There is still one person here who is beside herself.
Please do not tell her she could now easily jump the fence, it’s a secret.
Inside, we have descended into a marathon of mining shows, dredging, digging, prospecting, ghost mining- it doesn’t seem to matter. This season, last season, three years ago. We even went through the behind the scenes episodes. Something we normally abhor and consider cheating on the production’s end of the deal to entertain us.
Yesterday I looked up from the TV long enough to notice that despite my effortsto color and eat as many eggs as I can we still have more laying around. In my contemplation of yet another omelet, I had a huge smelly brain fart. What if you cut off the top and used it as a starter container for seeds? The idea seemed so simple I thought there must be some reason I had not thought of it before.
I went through the trouble shooting possibilities:
Stop saying you have OCD. You are just anal, I have OCD.
Growing up on a fault line meant that I have been through more than my fair share of earthquakes. This includes Loma Preita in 1989 the 6.9-7.1 magnitude quake that collapsed the bay bridge, and our fireplace. I was six at the time.
The randomness of earthquakes was one thing. But it brought with it the concept of random destruction and mortality. When I saw the pictures of the bay bridge and collapsed buildings on the news I asked if everyone was “ok.” My mom replied that they were not, that many people had died in the quake.
I have always been high strung and anxious, even as a baby. A temperament that makes me prone to anxiety disorders. My mom could not leave me anywhere even for a second without a HUGE fit.
I had never thought much about death and injury and now I had experienced a violent event that killed many people. This was a revelation. When reasoned to its logical end, meant that- if you were hurt bad enough to die; you did not come back, not even for Christmas.
I became preoccupied with mortally and the concept that everyone and everything around me would one day die.
This was a fact. One of those things you find as a child that you can not prove false and must accept for the rest of your life. An absolute truth about the world.
♥ Read Mine ♥
Yesterday the internet filled to capacity with pictures and stories both good and bad about Valentines Day. Most of my friends on FB posted pictures of the flowers or gifts that their sweeties had given them. AWWW (truly no sarcasm, I promise) and others posted vents about gifts that were not so well received for one reason or another.
“It’s the same thing he got me last year!”
“He got his mother something better!”
“How does he not know I hate that type of chocolate?!”
“He only wrote my name on the top the card and nothing else, I’m not dating hallmark!”
Etc…
I do not envy the male of the species on Valentines Day. First of all, I highly doubt that the modern traditions and practices would have been ratified by a comity of men if there had ever been an opportunity to do so. It seems to have become a day where female expectations often far exceed natural male ability.
Oh sure they can be trained, and the smart ones learn the Valentines day tricks early. But ask yourself; if not acted on my multitudes of women and the media would men choose to cram a year’s worth of affection and expectation in to a 24 hour period.
I think not.
RUN Phil RUN!!!
Check out the purple haze at suneset
It snowed. Again….
As I previously mentioned I am ok with this. My husband is not. Since he grew up on the East Coast he has had more than his share of winters, when he was 17 he thought he had escaped them for good when he moved to Kauai. Well, I think you can guess how that worked out in the end.
So today he sits by the window glaring at the new fallen snow and asks a suspiciously random question before going out to snow blow the driveway:
Him: “Where do you think they keep Punxsutawney Phil when he is not making predictions that ruin my month?”
Me: “Well he is the fattest groundhog I have ever seen, so I would imagine he is someone’s pet the rest of the time”
*pause*
Never buy chap stick again!
Even if you don’t have bees you can still make your own chap stick. It is one of the simplest things ever, I promise. You can find all the supplies you need at Bulk Apothecary or your local health food store and it doesn’t take much money to get started. Unfilled tubes go from $.0 7-$.12 each. Get a hundred, go nuts. You will thank me later.
I like using extra virgin olive oil, most other people use almond oil, coconut oil, vitamin E oil and so on. There are recipes all over the internet. I have gotten great results with the EVOO. I think that the first pressing of any type of oil is always the cleanest. I feel like the extraction of other nonfood oils involves much more processing of the material to get the oil out. In my reckoning EVOO is the cleanest most hypoallergenic option.
Quickening Moon
I do not believe in Valentines day, the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, or that unicorns fart rainbows. (A Unicorn’s fart is just like all other horse farts, silly. They SNEEZE confetti AND rainbows. Now you know.) The difference is that I can’t remember ever believing in Valentines day. There were a few years when I did think it made perfect sense for a mutant (possibly radioactive) bunny to run around and hide eggs one random day every year. I mean, why the hell not?!?
ANYWAY…
Sometimes the chocolate box of life gives you the best kids in the world.
We got married over an year and a half ago and it was perfect. Not because everything went the way we planned but because it didn’t.
The only thing I really cared about was having the kids there with us. They dressed as they wanted (one ninja and one Jedi) and were perfectly themselves. I wrote vows just for them but almost could not get them out- they stuck in my throat.
I was so blessed to kneel in our garden and have the chance to say these things to the two of most important people in the world:
“When I tried to figure out what I was going to say to you today I started by trying to define what this day changes between the three of us.
I thought for a long time and I came to the conclusion that while today means many things, it changes nothing for us.
Life is made up of all the choices you make with the time you have and when I chose to be with your father I first made the choice to put your NEEDS before my WANTS.
A picture is worth at least one poll…I hope.
Last week I took a drive to get out of the house and take some pictures. I love the way you can see the animal highways frozen in the snow.
I stumbled upon some kite skiers, what a cool idea!!!
I love they way the rivers freeze, and the waterfalls or spillways are super cool on the right days.
It’s all fun and games till someone calls “NIYDEK!”
I have often heard people talking about activities and situations that they “could never do with a spouse without killing them.” My husband and I have done so many of the things others recommend not to I have lost count. For example, we have:
-Worked together in a high stress industry (running the front and back of the house in a busy restaurant)
-Driven across the country together (with all our stuff, two dogs and no real clue where were going)
-Been homeless (for three months after our move cross country, on account of the ‘not know where we were going’ part)
-Lived on a 30 foot sail boat (while running the restaurant together)
-Worked opposite schedules rarely having time with each other.
-Had no money. Ever.
We have delt with injury, death, addiction, family issues, stepfamily issues and so much more and we have come through it all closer than ever. I think this is because we observe first grade playground rules to settle pretty much everything.
My surrender to a lack of expectations
This journey is far from over and the things I have learned are immeasurable and priceless. Every once in a while I am privileged to have some positive reinforcement that my thoughts and I are on the right path.
Surrender is not something to submit to or to accept and then bemoan the lack of control it brings. Instead it is the honest and true acceptance that life will take you were you are meant to be. Not that there is some grand design or puppeteer behind it all, only that like a chemical reaction your actions-mixed with your environment and the presence of others have a definate interaction with the outcome that you do not control. Like this interaction of a broken hydrant and a storm.
Antiques Roadshow Thinks You’re an A$$hole and Why
Years ago we gave up cable and switched to Netflix and Hulu instead. Originally this occurred because we couldn’t afford to pay $160 a month on anything we can’t eat. We have not gone back because we don’t miss it, the bill or the content (frankly we still can’t afford it) This has resulted in a few unforeseen consequences;
1) We have no clue what is going on in the media, award shows, reality love contests, singing/dancing competitions, new movies, new products, popular culture, etc..
and you know what? No one has blown up or burst into flames of ignorance!
7/13/2010 -Today you said you love me.
Without preamble or question, today you said you love me.
My heart leapt out of my chest and my breath stopped in my throat.
All I did was build a fort and my reward was a unsolicited statement of affection.
I could only answer that I loved you too,
but I wanted to swoop you up and hug you till next year.
The Places I have Found Myself
More than once I was waiting for myself as I summated a mountain’s top,
standing on the path yet out of my own way,
so that if I had not been looking for myself I wouldn’t have been there to see.
Long ago I stopped looking for myself in the mirror.
I knew that was but the surface’s reflection of my truth,
not anything to build a life on.
Eastward Ho! Part I
Almost four years ago now, my partner (now husband) and I found ourselves in the unenviable position of moving to the East Coast. For us, the timing of the move was not something we had expected. In fact it was years sooner than his ex and him had agreed when they split. He woke to a phone call on what should have been a visitation day with the oldest from their maternal grandpa, “your kids are no longer in the state, they are in Connecticut now.”
No warning, no goodbye, nothing.
The youngest was seven months old and the oldest wasn’t even three.
He was devastated.
Buck Flack Friday!
You shouldn’t hate anything but…I hate ‘black friday.’ I despise the consumerism and mania that it encourages. I find it abhorred that the nation can deftly vacillate from heartfelt appreciation for the things we have- to unabashed and rapid accumulation of new things. Things we are convinced we have to get NOW, why? Mostly because the idiot box said so. I fundamentally object to the sentiment that a sale should motivate you to buy a thing that you do not NEED but WANT. If you get something on sale you are not saving money, YOU ARE SPENDING IT. Spending money is the opposite of saving money.
But I digress…
This year I got a whole new reason to dislike the day after Thanksgiving. While watching a movie with the boys, I got a call from my mom.
My dad had suffered a massive coronary.
My hands…
Have never known a manicure or file.
And they are bitten rather than clipped.
They have been painted less times than there are fingers to paint.
In many places they are more scar than skin.
The fingers on the right appear to have been badly broken long ago, though they never were.
They often spend their days covered in food, blood or dirt.
Lovingly touching things that make others cringe.
They are not spectacular for how they look but for what they do.
They have created meals that nourish and astound, providing me an income for my modest household.
They have made many things of beauty that fill my house and life.
They have healed and comforted the beings I love.
They are strong and can hold fast when I need them to.
I hope they have given more than they have taken from this world.
Because through helping others they have made me whole.
They have become more than the sum of their parts and I believe that they are truly beautiful.
Mostly I am just grateful to have such tremendous alleys at the tips of my fingers.
Today I am beyond thankful for the simple gift of my hands.
This isn’t a post. it is a cry for help.
Just in case I am found dead in our house, tied up with yarn and covered with small puncture wounds and scratches- you will know what happened.
Luna did it.
I am beginning to suspect that our cat, Luna blames me for winter. This could become a problem. At first I thought she was just mildly annoyed with the whole outside turning the only color she can’t blend into. As she is an all black cat she is accustom to being a ninja, Navy seal-ghost protocol kind of cat. Able to come and go as she pleases. Unnoticed by everyone but her victims and only then when it is too late. The rest of the year she rarely comes inside. When she does I think it is only to make sure we are still putting food out for her, not that she needs that kind of bipedal charity.
Egg craft do’s and don’ts-how can even unborn chickens be such a pain the ass?
It’s has been a couple weeks since I started down the egg paved road of Pysanka and I am no saner now than when I started. But that train may be on a one way track no matter how I pass my time.
I have learned a lot of fun ways to demolish something you have been working on for half a day. Learn from my mistakes so that some good comes of this OR be sentenced along with me to the scrambled egg diet, ummmm eggs!
I will share some of my most spectacular screw ups, there are more than this.
Dead things in mail, Camping with Team Squeam and the Wonderful World of T’n’A
The sun warmed my face and the sandy wind stung my skin all at the same time, I tasted salt and inhaled the sea. The surf resounded inside my head like empty sea shell waiting for new purpose. The feeling of home these things inspire is overpowering.
It is not attached to a structure but rather a world of sights and sounds, smells and tastes that assure me I belong in them. That we all belong to one another. My place here is secure, familiar yet still exciting and changing with each new discovery.
My sand covered sister sits with our mom making kingdoms out of seaweed and shells while my dad is not much more than a tiny spec out to sea, riding the waves back and forth.
In and out, straining to paddle through the shore brake only to abandon all that progress toward Hawaii and let the ocean carry him back to shore, so that he can turn around and do it again.
Most of my early memories are of secluded beaches and rugged coast lines where two cars in the pullout at the top of the cliff constituted unacceptable crowding. Unless they are your buds, then only unacceptable outcome is not having enough ‘breakfast cylinders’ for the expedition. I was fortunate enough to grow up believing that my childhood was the way all childhoods should be.
My sister and I like to say that we were raised by a pack of rabid surfers and hippies in secret places along the California coast. Team Squeam and the subsequent band ‘The Membranes” was comprised of a few core people but always included whoever happened to be at any gathering or event. My godfather Michael (Mike,) Sara’s god parents Todd and Alison, Alison’s brother Gavan, Tom and his wife Stephanie and our mom and dad were the charter members.
How sad that little girls don’t dream of becoming stepmoms when they grow up
Here I am the same as before, but different in every way.
Me,
wanting to be there for them every second, but knowing full well such things are impossible.
I have to let go everyday.
Every morning when I wake up and they are not there.
Each time we get in the car headed South again.
They inspire my every thought and they hold my dreams in their ever-growing hands, their smiles are like granted wishes and their laughs like answered prayers.
Ode to my sister or an elaborate excuse to tell a funny puke story. You decide.
The Little One
One of my earliest memory from childhood is of playing on the floor by an old wooden lamp stand we had in the living room. My parents came into the room and towered over me, backlit by the bank of windows on the far wall.
“Honey,” they said. I looked up from my mission of reaching the stand’s summit so that I could gain access to what I had become convinced was a magical lamp.
“We have something very important to tell you. You are going to have a little brother or sister soon!”
When life gives an ‘arctic blast,’ make a wicked dirty Maine-tini and repeat till warm.
Supplies:
A night without kids, snow and a mason jar.
Recipe:
1……………………. jar of tightly packed, fresh Maine snow
1/2 jar…………..…olive juice
3……………………olives
1/2 jar …………….cocktail onion juice
2………………..…..cocktail onions
Add as much vodka as necessary (I would not presume to tell you how much to drink or not drink)
There you have it.
Crank up the fire and “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.” That is, until the roads get bad and you run out of vodka. Then shit gets real and I realize I need to teach Isis to pull a sled. Can you get a DUI if the dog is sober? I will have to cut her off early.
Stay warm!
The closest I’ll ever get to writing a love poem
To all those who have never fallen in love.
Never tripped over your own soul to be swallowed by another’s.
For all the people that have contrived meetings,
set forth guidelines to follow safely into planned monogamy.
For those who think they have fallen but never had to sacrifice for it.
How I envy their balance, and control of themselves.
To never have been thrust into choosing to be true to yourself at the expense of every expectation you ever had for your life.
Eggs, eggs, the magical fruit… Fruit that comes from a chicken’s butt
During the winter I love the excuse to make random things and try new crafts. My sewing machine has gotten a ton of use the past few weeks and the dogs are getting pretty sick of the racket so I decided to try something new. I have always loved intricate processes and the insanely ridiculous easter eggs from the Ukraine have always impressed the crap out of me.
The art of Pysanky loosely translated means; “overly complicated, absurdly involved way to color eggs. That we know how to do and you don’t. Nanner nanner, nanner” (said while making an “L” shape with fingers on forehead and tongue out.) Well, I took that as a challenge no one ever intended to extend. After a quick trip to Amazon and $24 later I waited impatiently for my kit to come. In the meantime and confirming I am my father’s daughter, I jerry-rigged my own Kristka. True to form and never having seen the tool in person I royally screwed it up. After a few REALLY primitive looking etchings (etching is when you use vinegar to dissolve the shell enamel, leaving any spot not covered in wax the original color of the egg) my kit finally arrived!
The swell (how life works from the perspective of a surfer’s daughter)
The Swell
Again and again I tread the same water passing it over my body and going nowhere, suspended between what is and what is to be.
Then change comes as a wave out of the abyss consuming everything.
Shifting your entire bodily universe and there is nothing anyone can do to prepare for it, it will come when it comes, as it comes.
Time has shown me many things and I look forward to the unsure future being nothing as I ever thought it would be.
Corn starch and chicken blood; this isn’t your mother’s chicken soup recipe.
Ok, technically it is not a recipe for soup at all. Actually it has more to do with keeping our chickens out of the dinner pot than getting them in there.
Unfortunanelty one of the things you have to worry about with a larger flock of chickens is injury. Raising chickens in Maine means you often have to be equally concerned about the weather, predators and other chickens in the flock. All these things can cause serious and sometimes mortal injury to your birds. You never know what new thing the little ‘meep meeps’ are going to get into. I believe that one of the most basic things that a person needs to do with any animal in your care is to pester the ever living shit out of them, on a regular basis. Wait, let me clarify.
I don’t mean poke and prod them just to see them jump. I mean get them used to being handled period. Desensitizing them to as many of the things that freak them out as possible. It will make your life so mush easier when dealing with an injury. Our chickens were raised from two and three week old chicks but you still have to take the effort to get them used to contact in every stage of their life.
First; get them used to the concept of your hands, as they do not have them. Hand feeding is good, but you also want to introduce the idea that hands are not made of food. Chickens have really good eyesight, they can see one small seed in the palm of your hand and precisely pick it off. Offer empty hands to them too till they do not immediate assume that all hands are always offering food. This process is not instant and you will get pecked. You need to be carful not to lash out at them with your hands when they peck at things like freckles, moles and rings. I always tell them “no” and pull my hand back slightly so it is out of range. Eventually they get it, chickens are not quite as stupid as you would think. In fact sometimes it seems like you are dealing with a group of super evil escape artists who can not be contained by any structure man can engineer.
After they are ok with hands start picking them up, so they become used to being held. In the beginning they will require chasing or grabbing but when they are older they will have no problem at all being scooped up. I can get most of them one handed now, which is really helpful when you need to get more than one. The most important thing in the whole process is that none of it should cause them extra stress. After they are comfortable with being off the ground and in your care you can move on to touching their feet, face, beak, wattle, etc while they are being held. When they struggle hold them firmly and securely, until they quite.
Remember to them it is as if a giant alien just came come over, then picked them a fifty feet off the ground. If you are unsure or tentative they will not feel secure and you will not establish any trust between the two of you.
You can not tell any animal to trust you, you have to prove over time and trial that you are worthy of their trust. I’m not going to lie, bringing them food and water everyday helps. Animals remember what you have done to them and so it becomes supper important to treat them with a basic amount of respect. Pay attention to their body language and the noises they make, talk to them. Silly as it sounds, make eye contact. Cluck with them and crow at them, it is actually a ton of fun. I try to see if I can be louder then the boys. If you start from the assumption that they can not understand you or communicate with you then you will limit your interactions with all nature tremendously and you will not have nearly as much fun.
We have two problems in our coop right now. Freezing and fu… fornicating.
In November I had them in an outside enclosure and even though it was wrapped in thick plastic as a wind break some of the roosters still sustained some frostbite to their combs and wattles. Turbo (our Buff) had a massive comb that stood off his head over two inches and a large and droopy wattle. I came out to check on them mid-November and found him with (I shit you not) icicles under his chin. At first I thought it was kind of funny, then I realized it was not good at all. After dipping his wattles repeatedly into the drinking water in below freezing temperatures he had accumulated a layer of ice completely encasing his poor little danglies.
I took him inside and warmed them in water then sat with him in front of the fire till he dried. Since retuning a damp chicken outside would only make things worse. While we sat there, him just standing on my lap. Our dog Honey (our retiree) came over to sniff him. I let her approach since she is really good around the chickens, cat and reptiles. I know she just wanted a little whiff the bright orange thing I have been holding.
Turbo was having none of it and went to peck her right in the eye when she got close. I have to admit I was not expecting that from him. It was surprising to realize that after being grabbed, brought into the house, getting a bath, and sitting just fine (clucking contentedly) for more than 15 min, all without protest, that he did indeed have limits. As well as a very precise way to deal with the fuzzy faced intruder. Honey was not at all impressed and jumped right back on the couch like “well fuck you too!”
This brings us to the other over indulgence of the flock, fornication. When most of the first flock was wiped out we only had three remaining hens. These hens had a jump on the new brood by a month or so. This meant that three of the girls ‘came of age’ before the others and lucky for them became what is commonly referred to as “the favorite hen.” This means that they got a lot of action from the roosters.
There are two things you worry about in this case (and especially with multiple roosters) is the feather loss that results from the mounting process. Specifically the roosters hold on to the feathers on the back of the head with their beak and climb onto the back of the lucky hen and do their business. Hens will squat flat to the ground with their wings out, frankly make it easier for everyone. When they do not accept the proposition, they run away (or try to) squawking loudly at the insult and usually lose more feather as they are yanked out by the insistent randy rooster. I have a few hens with significant feather loss but with all the flock now of legal age the activity is now spread around a lot more. The problem is that the feathers take a long time to grow back.
I watch them every day for redness or bleeding but mostly there is none. Just some very silly looking half bald hens. Gail is the only one who has incurred an injury called “bareback.” It is just what it sounds like, she has no feathers on part of her back anymore. I decided a month ago that all the roosters would now be getting pedicures in order to make sure that they were not able to do any more damage.
Last Sunday (after the bee defection extravaganza) I revisited the various injures of the flock. All the roosters came inside to get something patched up and their nails clipped again. If chickens see blood on other chickens for some reason they will peck at it so if someone has a wound it becomes important to clot the blood flow. This is where the corn starch come in handy, you can also use baking soda but I think that the cornstarch probably stings less. I have not personally verified this theory.
Gail had no cuts or abrasions but I did rub a homemade ‘chicken salve’ on her bare little back.
The salve is made from our honey and wax. It is really simple to put together. I use olive oil for the base and lavender oil. Lavender oil has many medicinal qualities and is an antiseptic. It also contiains Linalol which is an active substance in lavender flowers that heals sores, burns and other wounds and reduces pain and inflammation. It is also used in aromatherapy and most importantly is safe for the chickens to ingest. Unlike tea tree oil which can be too powerful and have a toxic effect on some type of animals.
All in all it was a good days work and I was happy to get all of them looked at and attend to. Honey ignored the parade of interesting smells through her living room. The younger dogs cried at the door of the bathroom most of the time I was in there; “we just want to help, honest.” I did not trust that their intentions where noble so they got shooed away. The chickens on the other hand seemed to handle all the activity just fine. It really made me happy that I had messed with them all so much when they were young. If the process had caused any stress to the chickens or dogs I would have had to clean wounds in a cold chicken coop and that is not ideal for any medical procedure. After all chicken poop while excellent fertilizer has no known antiseptic qualities.
Thank you for reading!
How can I tell?
Am I beautiful?
How can I tell?
I could look for the answer in the mirror to see what I need to cover up.
I could give myself a number either off a scale or tag.
I could look at the the beautiful people that surround; compare and see what I should change.
I could starve myself so that I take up less space.
Then I will be beautiful.
Fuck that!
I am the beholder and I choose the measure.
I know I am beautiful.
I see it when I look in my husband’s eyes, I should make him my mirror.
I know when I count the beings comforted by my care and company, I should make this my number.
I can look to my kids and see that they don’t care I’m not like the women on TV, I should make them my source of entertainment.
I will not take up less space.
Instead I will try to fill all that surrounds with more love and kindness.
When I do all of these things I AM beautiful to the only person that really needs to believe its true,
me.
It is not always about honey and eggs, some days are filled with bee shit and chicken blood
Taking advantage of the momentary warm up I went out to check on the hive’s honey supply. If it gets too low we will have to install a candy board (big block of sugar) to supplement the food for the little buzzers. As I approached I saw that they were flying today, a good sign, I thought.
When it gets below a certain temperature bees become inactive and form a cluster. In that cluster the bees will ‘shiver’ their wing muscles and produce heat. The queen will often leave single cells empty when laying so that during the cold periods worker bees can back into those cells and heat the little block of larva. One ‘heater bee’ can heat 70 surrounding cells. She can reach up to 111º F for almost an hour, I think. After awhile she will have to feed. Pretty awesome.
When I got closer and I saw the usual smattering of bee bodies around the front of the hive and something I had not seen before. Little brownish yellow dots carpeting the snow.
Life at the top of the mountain
Life is wonderful.
Whether you take the time to realize it or not.
To truly look around and see creation, life, living as it is, is a symphony to behold.
The harmony of sky and sea, mountain and sun can not be accurately inscribed in anything less than itself.
These words are but hollow reflections of the feel of warm sun on your skin, soft rock at your back, a beautiful scene in your eyes and the news of the mountains in your ears.
Animals, plants and me, here together, being nothing other then what we are.
Acting living all under the same sky, chilled by the same breeze and warmed by the same sun.
We are all one.
Whether we realize it or not, we are all part of this thing, this life.
Some never truly enjoy that realization. Some have never sat alone on a mountain top and listened to what god has to say to them.
We are all spoken to.
Nature, the way, is hidden from no one.
It is right outside our doors and ourselves. But you must seek it.
Nature seeks nothing.
It is, that’s it.
Perfect in its kind, one of a kind, yet made of many kinds, all equal, all a part of this one thing.
When two become one and many act in harmony we can see a glimpse of our potential as humans.
Yet we do not act as we know we should and so we will remain as long as we continue to alienate things, say that they are more unlike us then like us, we will never fully appreciate our duty to them or ourselves- to the system as a whole.
We must all truly feel that life is beautiful or we will continue to destroy it without understanding why.
We must put ourselves back in the circle, sit quietly and listen to what god has to say to us.
Because the same thing is said to all living things everyday, that life is a gift.
Be a part of it seek it out, let it make you whole.
So that you may join with others and make something more of the time we have.
Truly live life, because tomorrow is promised to no one all we have is right here and now to do right by those here with us.
To live life in such a manner everyday seems woefully uncommon.
But the wind can blow in any direction its only constant is change. And therein lies hope for what can be.
That the wind will change and we will change with it and live life as we know we should.
Wicked Rural Homestead 