Are you looking for me?

I can see by the confused expressions on some of your faces (not to mention a handful of posts here) that you're wondering whats up.

I've moved.

Yes, that's right. Carpenter Creek picked up and moved to Wordpress. Go ahead and click those ruby red slippers of your's and say, "There's no place like Carpenter Creek" three times (then click the link below) and you'll be taken to me straight away!

On the Shores of Carpenter Creek

It's fixed...

And...we're back to WP

Just click the WP link!

I'm such a Rebel!

Yeah…that’s me. A rebel! A rebel without a cause!

I cannot even tell you what a shock it was to see that my blog had been suspended. And the only way for me to contact them is via email, leaving me at their mercy in regards to when they’ll get to me. Kind of like when you call the dr and they say, on a recorded message, “Your call is very important to us, please hold until the next available operator.” And of course, you hold and hold and hold…and pretty soon you’re crossing your legs because now it’s not just the phone that you find yourself holding. Except that with email I don’t have to worry if someone hears me flushing while they’re coming on the line.

It would appear that Wordpress was concerned with the Bucking Lamb blog I had there. It violated the terms of service because it appeared to be there for one reason only; to sell things!

Shame on me, thinking I could sell stuff on the internet. Shame, shame, shame. I’m hanging my head…see? Shame.

So to rectify the situation, they suggested I put some other content in it. Okay, I can do that.

But in the meantime, they’ve also suspended my Carpenter Creek blog, and while they restored the offending blog, they’ve so far done nothing to help my poor little innocent farm blog. And what’s more…it’s Winsday! How can I have a contest for you when they’ve taken my blog away today???

I am waiting…not terribly patiently…for it to come back up. In the meantime, I’m so happy that some of you are finding your way over here to blogger again (and thankful that blogger is once again allowing me to post.)

Crazy, that's what it is, Crazy!

I went to log onto my wordpress account only to find I'd been suspended! For what? They say no ads that drive people to a third party. This is what is highlighted in the terms of service link:

the Content is not spam, and does not contain unethical or unwanted commercial content designed to drive traffic to third party sites or boost the search engine rankings of third party sites, or to further unlawful acts (such as phishing) or mislead recipients as to the source of the material (such as spoofing);

Now, I've been having trouble getting a couple of links to work, mainly the voting link and the cafe press store. I didn't think the voting link was an issue, and only today they told me I could use the cafe press link. So what gives? And why no warning? I can't even log in to the forums.

Which leaves me back here at blogger. And I wonder if this thing will even publish for me...

Moving to Wordpress

http://carpentercreek.wordpress.com

Such frustration!

I'd finally given up on blogger after struggling and struggling to get things posted. Nothing was showing up on their 'current issues' board, and so many other blogger users appeared to be able to post.

So I up and moved things to wordpress.

Wouldn't you know as soon as I came back to post a couple comments telling y'all about the move, that this ding dang thing was working?

But although I'm struggling through the learning curve over there, I think (since the entire blog has been transfered at this point) that I'll stick with the change. So please come on over and visit me there. It may be a little while before I get things like bloglines/automatic email going as I've not figured that out quite yet. Please bear with me!

Here's the new addy (just in case it escaped you at the top of this post!)
http://carpentercreek.wordpress.com

Oh...and don't forget to vote! I'm thrilled that so many of you remembered even though there wasn't a post today =)
http://www.blogforayear.com/profiles/desperate-horsewife

Driving Day!

Winsday!

Name it and win!

*******************

You may recall my telling you about the family secret, and how Aunt Tillie went to her grave never telling what caused her brother in law to not associate with his late wife's family. Last week while visiting my grandmother I saw that Aunt Tillie's old home is for sale. Unfortunately, it's zoned commercial, which means it will be torn down. I feel a twinge of sadness over this, although I've never been inside the home and certainly Aunt Tillie passed long before I ever came into the picture. Still, it was part of the family farm nearly 100 years ago.

Aunt Tillie's place

Peter's Dairy

I spent many a wonderful time in this old barn as a kid. My Aunt B lives there now. Not in the barn, mind you, but in the house. I brought Darling over there the other day so she could snoop around and shared with her a place that holds so many fond memories for me. We climbed into the hayloft where there were no creepy things to be found (thankfully) and I pointed out where the calves used to be kept, and told her how I'd roped one with baling twine once, then couldn't figure out how to get the rope off a wild calf.

If you like these two photos, better leave a comment. I think it's party time! That's right, I do believe we'll hit 10,000 hits today. And I'm going to send someone two 8x10 photos. Why...I'll even let you choose, because black and white isn't every body's style. Perhaps you'd prefer one the bleeding heart from yesterday? Or the Whatcom Falls shot? Hey, whoever wins can let me know.

I wanted to give a shout out to Bossy, who I noticed has been nominated for a Blogger's Choice Award. Way to go, Bossy! Y'all can trot on over and give Bossy a vote, I'm sure she'll appreciate it.

And while you're on the voting band wagon, don't forget to cast your vote for me at the Blog For a Year site! I'm climbing steadily in the rankings, but falling further behind Melanie. I need your votes if someone's going to come visit!

Now I'm going to go out and celebrate, because I get to drive today!!! Maybe I'll do something wild and crazy...like visit Dodsons =) Y'all take care!

A Really Good Secret

Leaves on a vine maple tree. Did you know they grew little flowers?

So...what to do? Can't drive. Can't lift anything. City Boy and Darling have taken over the chores, although I'm at least able to collect eggs. Good thing, too, because no one else is willing to brave Silver's protective instinct. This makes me feel brave; it gives me a purpose when there's nothing else I'm able to accomplish right now. I am the chief egg collector! Which I was before, and no one cared then, either.

While City Boy, Geek Boy and Darling were out this afternoon, I read my email. Wandered aimlessly about. Took a short nap. Checked the email again. Then I decided to get my camera out and take some pictures. Which I figure will bore you to tears, because what's left to see here? I only recently shot the view from both the front and the back door and you've probably seen more pig and chicken videos than a blog reader should be subjected to. The only thing of remote interest is the Secret Garden.

I started the Secret Garden the first summer we were here. It's a strip of land out near the road in front of the house; it's 25 feet deep and 80 feet long. I soon realized that this was an enormous project, especially when I was also trying to do the front of the house and was on a limited budget. But I gave it my best shot, carving out a path, planting a few shrubs for structure, and welcoming a few starts from friends. Before long, it was at least half full. And then it was winter.

And at the end of winter, Darling was a bit older. She was two. She was toddling. She was toddling and two and teetering through my garden trying to eat things. And when she wasn't trying to eat them, she was dead heading them when they weren't quite dead. This made gardening difficult, and I figured, "Hey, the garden'll still be here in a couple years when Darling outgrows this stage."

But after a couple of years, I got busy with other things, and the garden began to fill up with things that I'd never planted. Ferns and salmon berries began appearing between wild bleeding hearts and foxglove. The herbs were out of control. Alder trees were taking over. The roses decided they loved it up there and before long it was looking like that scene out of Sleeping Beauty where the prince is fighting his way towards the castle. Except...there was no castle here.

I'm sure there's a castle and a sleeping princess in here somewhere!

Hmmm...I wondered where this wheel barrow had disappeared to.

City Boy doesn't like my garden. He'd like to mow it all down.

"What is all that stuff?" he asked one day, clearly in the mood to do some weed whacking.

"It's my garden," I replied. "Don't touch it!"



"It doesn't look like a garden," he said with a snort.


"Shhhh...it's a secret garden," I whispered.


City Boy rolled his eyes. "Well, it's a really good secret!"



Thanks for stopping by today, and don't forget to vote!

http://www.blogforayear.com/profiles/desperate-horsewife

How Not to Spend Mother's Day

OR...

Two Trips to the ER, a Stress Test and an Angiogram Later...

I wanted my camera.

"I'm blogging this," I told City Boy. "I need my camera."

Why we didn't think to grab it at 4:45 in the morning is beyond me. So my arm had been tingling since I woke up at 4. So I was feeling a little chest pain. So I felt like I was about to puke. Okay, maybe that's why I didn't think about the camera. I thought for sure I was dying this time.

Let's back up just a bit. Like six weeks. I had just climbed into bed and felt my left arm tingling a bit. Hmmm...well, probably a pinched nerve. Tried to roll over, readjust, get comfortable. City Boy was working, I had the entire bed to myself. Pure bliss! Or at least it should have been. No one to complain about my stealing the blankets or kicking him in the middle of the night. No one to elbow me when I was snoring. But the tingling didn't stop. In fact, the heart began racing and doing the strangest calisthenics, jumping and bopping around. And I was thirsty. Oh-s0-thirsty.

A quick google search showed that perhaps dehydration had caused this, and a pinch of the back of my hand told me this was entirely possible. I got something to drink, a bite to eat and immediately drifted off to sleep. I headed to the doctor the next day.

Fast forward. I've not had the palpatations that I had that night, but chest pressure and occasional tingling. Wednesday evening I went into the ER because it was a bit more pronounced than it had been. They found nothing with the EKG and sent me for a stress test on Thursday.

Did you know it takes 7 days for them to get back to you? You could die from the wait! I tried to be patient. I figured no news is good news, right?

Until yesterday morning. I got up early. I posted to my blog. My arm was tingling but I ignored it. It seems to always be tingling these days. But it wouldn't stop this time. And then the chest started. It was pressure. You know the kind; like you've eaten something that just isn't going down, right there in the center.

Then it moved. It shifted more to the left. It began to burn. Not heart burn. This was different. I was beginning to stress out. I felt sick. My upper back was hurting. I googled. The results were not what I wanted to see. So I got City Boy up...rather rudely, too. Poor guy. He thought it best he got dressed as I was ranting and raving and hollering "Right NOW!"

So off to another visit to the ER in less than a week. One more time getting hooked up with enough tubes and wires to make me look like a squid out of water. And again, nothing showing up on the EKG. We'd been there for a couple of hours. I was getting tired of being there. The whole thing is frustrating, you know? If it's not my heart, what is it? It's mimicking heart sypmtoms. I know I'm not a hypochondriac; I felt the symptoms before looking them up to see what they were. I don't like going to doctors and avoid them at all costs. But the heart? Well, without it we're all pretty much doomed.

Then a new doctor came in. He was from the cardiovascular center where the stress test had been done. And what did he have to say? "Your test looked like there was a mild abnormality. I think we ought to do an angiogram. I think we ought to do it today."

That got my heart's attention. It began beating wildly. My tear ducts went into overtime as well. I don't like this!

He sat there patiently while I pulled myself together. I wasn't going to be put under, just a local. They'd stick a catheter up through the artery. I wouldn't feel a thing. I'd be woozy; a two martini woozy, he said.

Let me tell you something. It's a good thing I don't drink. They got me on that bed and told me the pain killer, which was administered through a needle like at the dentist, was going to sting like a bee. And it did! And that was it. I was out cold. Vaguely remember the nurse wheeling me back to the recovery room. And if two martinis put me under that quick, well, I now know not to drive after having a couple.

The results of the test? I have beautiful arteries. No heart problems what so ever. Which still leaves me not knowing what’s going on, but at least I’m not going to keel over while driving Darling to school.

Now, if you’ve gotten this far, go vote for me! I’m going to have a lot of hospital bills to pay; you want to come visit; I need that prize money! =) http://www.blogforayear.com/profiles/desperate-horsewife

Ticks?

Brad Paisley, you're the bain of my existance these days. City Boy thinks you're the cat's meow. Okay, not his words, exactly. But given the choice, I think he'd rather spend a Friday night with you than he would with me.

It all started with your old Hee Haw style recordings with Dolly Parton. I was forced to listen over and over (and over) again to Cornography. That was followed by the Politically Correct Christmas. Or White Holiday. No...Caucasion Holiday. Oh~whatever. Again; forced to listen to another of your funny the first time but not the three hundredth and first time (in one day) songs.

But nothing you've done in the past could quite prepare me for your latest attempt to gain control of City Boy's mind.

TICKS!

I swear, it's all City Boy thinks about these days. "Honey, listen, it's our song!" he says with a look that exceeds the romance speed limit. "No, City Boy, it is not our song. It's Brad and Kimberly's song. Not our song."

City Boy is not convinced. He sings me his off key rendition, treating it like a romantic ballad that ought to be serenaded beneath a balcony, and every junkyard dog in the valley is singing backup.

So let's just set the record straight, here, City Boy:

I do not drink beer, so being the bottle isn't going to get you any closer to my lips.

There is nothing playing peek-a-boo, butterfly tattoo or otherwise, back there under my jeans, so keep your hands to yourself, buddy. Stop it. Just STOP IT!

And as for ticks? Puh-leeze! There are no ticks on me~back or front...you keep your hands to yourself, Mister. Oh...City Boy...no ticks...that tickles…er...well...I did go for a walk in the sticks yesterday...maybe it's okay if you check just this once...

Derby Day!

Ah...Derby Day! There's nothing quite like it. The excitement in the air, the crowds cheering on their favorites, and kids racing across the park to turn in their fish in hopes of winning the prize.

What...you thought I was talking a horse race? Nah...that derby was held last week.

This derby is the Kids Fishing Derby held at Whatcom Falls Park each May, the Saturday prior to Mother's Day. The anticipation mounts as children eagerly await this Saturday morning. Still more excitement and tension builds in their parents. And certainly none of them is as eager as City Boy.

The falls at Whatcom Falls Park

The Derby is a tradition in our family. Uncle Warthog, you may recall, won the first derby every held here. I've won, Little Hitler has won. Geek Boy and Darling have both won. In fact, the officials often joke that they're just going to write in our last name when they see us show up, as they know one of the kids will show up in line for a prize when they're handed out.

City Boy didn't grow up here. He didn't get to fish in the derby as a kid. But the man is driven. To distraction. For weeks leading up to the derby he's planning the attack. Poles, lures, hooks, lines, and reels begin showing up in the living room. Weights are analyzed. New colors of power bait appear, seemingly out of thin air. And there sits City Boy; his eyes glazed over and a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth (and drool; mustn't forget the drool.) The man is in a fishing stupor this time of year.

It's so peaceful right now...tomorrow it will be swarming with rugrats!

The derby begins at 9 in the morning. The little kids fish first, those 9 and under. There is a two fish limit, with prizes going to the top ten girls and the top ten boys. By now the fish have been stocked in the pond; trout raised specifically for this event. They're not fed the day prior to the derby so they're hungry and will bite for the kids. And bite they do! It never fails that the first few kids have their two fish within two minutes. As fast as you can throw out your line, you've got a fish at the end.

Trout being raised in the park hatchery.

Of course, they're a bit slower to bite for the second round of fishermen. Those fish bellies are now full of lost power bait, eggs and worms. It takes a good five minutes for the first few kids to get their fish. Still, most of the kids there have caught there fish within half an hours time. They then trickle out to the park and wait for the prizes to be given out.

Same trout, now excited because they think I'm there to feed them! Don't worry, they aren't starving; they do this everytime someone walks by.

So here we sit. Bait has been purchased. Chairs have been loaded into the car. The tackle box has been carefully filled and each lure, hook and sinker is in it's proper, easy to locate place. The bucket is ready for the fish. Donuts are handy for an early morning breakfast as we walk out the door. City Boy's plan of attack has been laid out carefully. Everyone knows their positions. We all know that we need to use the rest room at least 30 minutes prior to the starting whistle blowing.

WE
ARE
READY!

And Darling just told me.....

"I don't think I want to fish this year."

Silver does not want to give up her eggs...or anyone else's, for that matter!

If you were to just pop into my house, and open up my refridgerator and see my eggs, you'd probably freak out. They're dirty! Yup. I snatch them from under the hen and pop them straight into the fridge, even if those hens have been walking through the mud to get to their nests and the eggs are dirty.

Why wouldn't I wash them? Well, I do wash them when I'm ready to cook them, but not before. When you wash an egg, you risk the water soaking through the pores of the shell, carrying bacteria inside the egg. If this bacteria is harbored long, you run the risk of contaminating it and making yourself sick when you eat it. The risk of salmonella is incredibly low in raw eggs, did you know that? Most salmonella is on the outside of the shell, which means if they've gotten wet and sat around, you've got yourself a potential problem. Personally? I still eat raw cookie dough =>

I sat down to the computer the other day and as I began pulling photo off my camera I came across a set that I hadn't taken. Judging by the looks of the fingernails in the photos, Darling hadn't taken them, either.

This pic shows the chick's third eyelid.

The turkey eggs never hatched. I got word that the one remaining hen turkey over at my friend's managed to hatch out nine babies. But the incubated eggs? Well, they just went through too much stress. Too cold, I suspect, between loosing their mamma and getting into the incubator here.

We're down to two ducklings. One died the first week. The three remaining ducklings had been moved outside to a pen alongside the horse and sheep. I got up the other morning to feed and found the yellow duckling missing. I'd hesitated putting them in with the hens, as chickens can be very aggressive. However, it was worth the risk for the last two ducklings. Thankfully, they're bigger than the hens and everyone is getting along fine.

Another loss. One of our chicks died. I found it with it's head in the water, no doubt trampled by it's brothers and sisters while trying to get a drink, causing it to drown. That is the sad side of farm life. You invest time and emotion, and you suffer loss. After a while, you begin to accept the losses without so much grief, especially with poultry; they do everything they can to kill themselves, and they're quite good at it. I suppose I don't feel the same grief because I've invested more emotion in sheep, dogs and horses. Which isn't to say I've never felt sad when we loose a chick or duckling. But it's part of life.

Don't forget to vote today! http://www.blogforayear.com/profiles/desperate-horsewife

Coolin' Our Heels

Congratulations, Denise! Send me an email with your addy =)

Did I Hear You Correctly?

So there I was, merrily skipping along, minding my own business, when I came across a blog that had a little link that said something like "Hey, you! Vote for me so I can make a ton of money next year doing nothing more than writing my really stupid blog!" And I thought...what? I have a stupid blog. I'd like to get paid a ton of money to write it!

Now, I know all of you are out there saying "Get paid to write stupid stories about creepy things? How cool would that be?" And I'd have to say, way cool! And then you're probably wondering how much a person gets paid. And the answer to that would be...are you ready? Up to $80,000! Of course, winning involves none other than you...

Here's the deal. Other bloggers are signing up for this contest, too. I've read through the top ten vote getters so far, and each of them is after the money to do some silly thing like, oh, put their kids through college or end world hunger. At least one was brutally honest and said she just wanted to go shopping!

And though I'm certain they're very worthy individuals, you love me best, right? And why do you love me best? Because if even a quarter of that prize money shows up, I'll be flying one of YOU to come see me, HERE, at Carpenter Creek! I did hear your correclty, didn't I? That you wanted to come visit? That you wanted to sleep in the Little Loft of Horrors? Well, this is your chance, folks!

So please click on the link I've provided you with. Click it every day as though your very life depended on it! Not only that, please spam contact all of your friends and relatives. Ask them to vote at least once. For me, of course. Once for me. (Or twice would be better, but I'll accept just once from total strangers.) The more they vote for me, the more they're really voting for you!


So here's the link. Click it. Vote. Spam your friends and family. And thank you. Thank you very much!

http://www.blogforayear.com/profiles/desperate-horsewife

I do look desperate, don't I?

PS...Darling would like to select the winner for yesterday's contest (seeing as how they were her boots and spurs!) I'll get it posted a bit later today, so be sure to check back and find out who won!

The Good, The Bad, and the Really, Really Scary!

The Good

Name it and Win it!

I love this picture of Darling in the rain. Well, of her boots, at least. And her spurs. So, give it a name, and a matted 8x10 will be yours!

The Bad

Darling and I made a quick trip to Brigget's this afternoon for hay. Brigget couldn't wait to tell me that she'd found some owl eggs up in the loft. Of course, she pointed this stuff out after I'd climbed that oh-so-high ladder without my camera. Which left me with one of two choices: Climb back down the long, rickety ladder to get it. Or: Hang halfway out of the loft, risking life and limb and try to reach for it as Brigget teased and taunted me about not wanting to climb the ladder while she waved the camera around just out of my grasp, despite the fact that I kept hollering at her "I'm blogging this! You know I'm blogging this!" To which she replied that I didn't have a camera to document it, there-by there was no proof of it ever having happened. I'm wishing I'd chosen the ladder.

Brigget has created what she is now calling the Creepiness Corner. This is where the Creepiness to end all Creepiness appears to be stashed. Not only are those horrifying spider legs still kicking around, but they have been joined by owl eggs. And not just any owl eggs. No...your average, normal, non-stomach turning owl egg wouldn't do for Brigget's creepy corner of the hay loft. Instead we've got partially developed, embryonic and mummified owl eggs.

The Creepiness Corner.

And because I knew you'd hound me to the depths of my grave if I didn't get pictures for you (you sick puppies, you!), I found myself hanging out a barn loft risking life and limb trying to get my hand on the camera just so you could have a cheap blog thrill! (Have I mentioned yet that I risked life and limb for you?)

The first egg in Brigget's collection looks normal. They're small, like bantam chicken size. You'd think a bird that big would have big eggs, wouldn't you?

Uh, huh...getting creepier! Partially formed baby owl. Were you eating breakfast? So sorry (ha!)

And, last but certainly not least, the mummified baby barn owl.

Of course, we're still waiting to see if there will be babies this year. There's been quite a bit of activity in the barn, with both parents flying in and out, so we're hopeful. Me, especially, because then when I risk life and limb climbing that ladder into the loft, it will be for something far less creepy.

The Really, Really Scary

I'm not much of an entertainer. My grandmother, even my mother, enjoys a good party and having a house full of guests. Me? I didn't inherit that gene. Or so I thought. I've found that blogging is rather like entertaining, only you're visiting my cyber living room and I don't need to vacuum first. Or dust, for that matter. And typically, I'm not a game player, either, so I was surprised when I found myself signing up for Vicki's Fun Monday. But then I realized that seeing the cyberview from my cyber living room was the hospitable thing to do. After all, Grandma wouldn't close up the drapes to prevent her guests from looking outside, so why should I?

And do you know...people I've never met before came to visit! And I felt all tickled pink, and thought to myself, "This must be what it feels like to be Grandma!" Lots of guests stopping by to tell you that you've got a lovely view, or that the head of a dead horse hanging not far from your door isn't so weird.

Well, today I was visiting a few of those new people, and imagine my surprise when one of them tagged me for a new game! I have to tell you, my stomach did a double back somersault when my brain notified it of my name being there on the list. A game? A new game? My mind began running in circles just like those headless chickens do. Would I have to think for this game? You know how I avoid that...

Thinking did not appear to be involved (sigh of relief!) However, posting a photo of yourself...a fresh from bed, no make-up and no-coffee-morning face is what is being asked for. Well...that's a lot to ask of someone, don't you think? Especially when you've only just met them? And now I'm left wondering if this ever happens to Grandma when she entertains... Grandma, do your guests request seeing you as you roll out of bed in the mornings? I'll venture to guess not.

But this is exactly what Robin over at Pensieve has asked of me, and since I don't want to appear rude...well, I said I'd play...and I really, really apologize to my regulars. I know you like creepy things, but this is beyond all that. It's just really, really scary!

I'm afraid my arms aren't long enough to get my whole face. Lucky you!

Okay, I'll manage a pre-hot chocolate smile for you. Almost. Be thankful you can't smell the breath.

Now, go give that photo a name and get out of here!

Coop and Breakfast

And now, for your listening pleasure...or is it viewing pleasure? I'm not really sure. Fact is, you may just be bored to tears and find no pleasure at all! Be that as it may, here's the latest film from Carpenter Creek!

Okay, you pesky varmints! Ever since I started this blog I've had to listen to you whine about wanting to live my life. Everything from just coming for a visit, to pleading with me to clear out a corner of the barn where you can spend the rest of your days. Even Paul's gotten into the act, wondering what the view from the guest house looks like!

And yet, I've not got a guest house. And the horses would be mighty put out if they had to give up a corner of their stall space. And sleep with the sheep? Perish the thought! Trust me, I wouldn't send my worst enemy out to sleep amongst the sheep burps. However, your enthusiasm for doing barn chores and mending fences does sound tempting...

...which is why Brigget and I have hatched a plan. Yes, a plan.

You do recall Brigget, don't you? My friend with the barn? The barn with a loft full of wise old barn owls? And didn't someone ask if we could have sleep over in that loft? The loft full of the creepiness to end all creepiness? I do believe someone did. ( I do believe it was Ms. Phyllis.)

WELL... Here's the view from your new guest room!

Yes, it's a room with a view! Isn't it lovely? You'll enjoy your stay in this peaceful, romantic little get away that was once an old chicken barn. The view is spectacular; the gentle summer breeze will fill your room with fresh air and fragrant farm scents. Nothing says country like chicken manure!

Rooms are decorated in a rustic, early 60's commercial chicken farm motif. Lining the aisles on the north side of the building, creating a charming little storage area for your personal belongings are the old chicken cages. Cages still have their clasps that held chickens securely inside, making them the perfect place for any valuables you may bring along.

The cabin is full of 'creature' comforts, such as open air conditioning.

The southern side of your cabin is open, allowing the early morning sun full access to your room. This is something you'll appreciate as the farm chores begin at 6:30 am. The sun rises shortly before 6, giving you plenty of time to wake up and fully enjoy the serene farmland around you. The new chicken coop is just feet away, giving you the freshest eggs you've ever had! Not to mention, you'll be up when the rooster crows (at 2 am, 3 am, 4 am...)

Plenty of natural light flows through the open wall of your quaint cabin.

We hope you don't mind rooming with John...

Rounding out the country feel is the old John Deere tractor that resides in the west end of your cabin. Go ahead, hop into the driver's seat! I'll even snap a photo of you to post here on the blog. For a few extra bucks, I can be convinced to photoshop the barn cabin out of the picture and place you and the tractor out in the fields where it will look as though you're tilling up the land!

Your days will be filled with the simple, laid back life of a farmer. You'll gather eggs, feed the sheep and clean the chicken coop. Then, after breakfast, a jaunt over to my place where you'll get to rototill the garden, weed the flower beds, and wash the sheep wool. I think City Boy would like his car washed as long as you're here. Fence mending, hay baling and lamb castration round out your visit. And at the end of the day, perhaps we'll be able to talk Brigget into playing her fiddle, just like Pa Ingalls!

Of course, we'll be needing a name for our little adventure. Perhaps Mrs. Tweedy's Coop and Breakfast? Or how about Horrors of the Hen House? Well, put on your thinking caps and see what you can come up with. It'll be good practice for tomorrow, which is Winsday. I've got a new photo for you, and the winner gets an 8x10!

Until then, have a terrific day, and don't do anything I wouldn't do! (Rather a wide open door, eh?)

The View

There's lots of talk about Rosie and the View, but that's not the view I'm talking about today. No, Vicki over at Catching Light has requested a view from the front door. And, just because she's nosy, from the back door as well. It is obviously not enough for Vicki to see breathtaking photos of slug weddings, dogs eating horse poop and super creepy things from Brigget's barn loft. She wants to know what's outside my doors.

Well, be prepared to be shocked...

...because everything here is normal. Peaceful. Tranquil. A place where one may come to relax and enjoy all of God's creation. It's spring, maple trees are full of new leaf, the apple trees heavy with blossoms. Fragrant spring bulbs have worked their way up (finally) after a long, winter's slumber.

Apple blossoms have a light, sweet fragrance.

Open the front door, and this is what you see. The porch, a small red maple, and my driveway.

Step out onto the porch and peek around the railing. There are my daylilies, not quite ready to bloom. City Boy has just mown the yard; doesn't it look good? Off in the distance is the pasture, and across the road one of the many small foot hills that separate us from Mount Baker.

Uh...this is Darling, wearing her pink poodle pajama bottoms and her mother's sweatshirt. Yes, the little shoe thief has taken to stealing my clothes these days. She also seems to think it funny to jump out in front of the camera lens unexpectedly. I shall count this as my cardio-vascular exercise for the day.

Let's step out back, shall we? My father built Little Hitler and I the loveliest arbors! Originally we'd hoped to have a small stream trickling underneath it, but that hasn't happened. I'd like to plant a climbing rose over it, but City Boy isn't fond of the thought of getting scratched up while mowing.

Carpenter Creek is just beyond those trees, and it is this direction that our Homeland Security team spends most of it's time patrolling. It's coyote season right now, so the dogs are constantly on guard.

Chief of Security, Rufus, sits on the patio. Like the rest of his team, he's always on guard. Beyond the patio, to the north, sits my pick up. You can see just a hint of the barn and paddock.

Er...speaking of Homeland Security...seems Tait has found a predator in the bottom of a plastic bag. No wonder Rufus appears so disgusted in the above photo!

Yes, things are pretty peaceful here at Carpenter Creek, as long as you don't mind the 2 am rooster crow...

Or The Screamer insisting that it's feeding time as soon as she sees you walk out of the house (I do believe she picked up the tax cries from the sheep!)...

Yes, tranquil, peaceful, relaxing...nothing odd or out of place around here. Nothing creepy...nothing weird. Bet you didn't expect that, did you?

What's that?

Oh, sure! Bring that up, why don't you! Yeah, yeah...there's a skull hanging outside my back door. But, hey, it's a good fifteen feet from the house. And you can only see it from the sliding door in the rec room. Vicki never said which back door the view had to be from...

Who you callin' Weird???

Shabby in the City tagged me. Seven weird things, she says, I must post about myself. Oh, please! The agony of attempting to select just seven! But here is just a taste...


7) When I say I'm a cowgirl, I mean just that. I learned to ride on the back of a Guernsey milk cow. Nothing like riding a cow. You can trust me on that.


6) I like pickles with my peanut butter. I've written to M&M/Mars several times asking for a candy with pickles and peanut butter, sort of an alternative to the Reese's candies, but they continually turn me down. I don't know why...doesn't everyone enjoy that combination? mmmm...pickles dipped in peanut butter...


5) I learned to speak pig Latin when I was nine. Not terribly unusual on it's own, I suppose...however...I came home from school and neither of my parents were home. I don't recall where they were...there was probably a note saying they'd stepped out to a neighbors or something. Shortly after I arrived there was a knock on the door. I answered it to find a warthog. Not just any warthog. This one was my uncle. Uncle Warthog. And while we waited together for my parents to come back home, he taught me to speak pig Latin. I'll bet none of you learned pig Latin from a warthog.


4) My uncle is a warthog.


3) I'm the official photographer in this county for slug weddings. No, really! The pay isn't great, but the dandelions are fairly tasty as long as you get to them before Uncle Sylvester.


2) When stores ask me for my zip code, I give them someone else's.


1) There's not much I enjoy more than a good, creepy cemetery! If it's got an angel with glowing eyes? All the better...

I swear her eyes glow at night! Really!

Soooo....now I'm supposed to tag seven others. But you know what? I'm not going to play the game. Well...not quite in the same fashion. I mean, the weird thing has been travelling around like a virus, and I think it's time to morph! So instead of seven weird things...

I'm going to hand out boogers. And this will be played like the thinking blog tag, but instead of blogs that make you think, you'll need to tag three blogs that make you laugh. Laugh enough for boogers! Which of course is somewhat weird, so it does fit rather nicely after all. And the best part is, you don't really have to think (about how weird you are or anything else!)

And here are my three little boogers for today:

Blind As A Bat. That would be Beth. She loves to laugh. She loves to laugh at herself. It says so in her profile, so it must be true. Plus, I'm pretty certain she's caused a snort or two in me over the past couple months. Trot on over and wish her little boy a belated happy birthday!

Catching Light. This is Vicki's blog. When I first 'met' Vicki, I realized we had a lot in common. We both blog. We both take pictures. We both have horses. Both of us are women. Women with children. We are also both Christians. However, the similarities end there, because unlike Vicki, I've never been to a sex shop. And if I had been? I seriously doubt I'd tell the world about it on my blog. Okay, maybe I would, but I've never been. Vicki, however, has both been and posted about it. And when I read about it? Well, booger worthy if anything ever was.

Dan's Blah Blah Blog. Okay, I tagged Dan a few weeks ago for the Thinkers Blog. Like me, he complained of the pain involved in thinking. Like me, he wished he didn't have to think. And yes I think my husband is the sexiest, best man in the whole world!!!

Wait! I didn't type that! My husband has nothing to do with Dan! Sheesh, step away from the keyboard for a moment and City Boy takes over...

Okay, back to Dan. Dan is funny. But not as funny as his cat. Go check out Dan's cat, Lulu. Poor Lulu is is hopelessly abused, and somehow she found a way to express herself on Dan's blog this week. And she hasn't even got opposable thumbs! Way to go, Lulu! You get a booger for your effort at the keyboard. (PS...my cats made me give the last booger to Lulu!)

Now...all three of you little boogers must find three more booger worthy blogs and pass it on... Hey, look at it this way, you're at the top of the booger pyramid! You don't have to worry about handing it out to someone who's received twelve dozen of these stinking awards already!

Taxes and Weddings

Who...me?

Those bad sheep are at it again!

I brought the ewes and their lambs down to the neighbor's pasture where they ought to be able to graze contentedly for the next month or even two without griping. But do they appreciate it? No. Yesterday I donned by favorite Farm Diva outfit (but I did put on pants this time) and walked down around the corner to check on them. On the way, I spotted a wedding, and thought to myself I'd better get some pictures! But first, I needed to check on the sheep.

I got to the crest of the hill and what did I see? My tax collectors are all loose! On the road!!! Four ewes, three lambs, all out for a walk and insisting that they be paid taxes from everyone's lawns! Baaaaaaad girls. I was going to take a picture, but I could hear a car behind me somewhere, so decided I'd better scoot down to the bottom of the hill pretty quick.

When the tax collectors saw me, they began bellowing out loudly for popcorn. That's become their favorite tax, and they'll knock you down and tap dance on your head if you haven't got any with you. Fortunately, I had a small bag left over from the day before in my pocket (I'd cheated on my taxes, don't tell the girls!) They ran wildly up to me and followed me back into their pasture, where I spent a great deal of time trying to figure out exactly where they'd escaped from and fixing up the fence.

We're not baaa-aaad! We just sound that way!

Thankfully, the wedding was still in progress when I walked back home. I just couldn't resist snapping a few shots of the happy couple and their guests! Thankfully, they were kind enough to allow me to post their photos here for you to enjoy.

The happy couple. The bride is wearing a lovely cherry blossom gown.

Their families traveled for feet, sometimes even yards away to attend the wedding feast.

Uncle Sylvester loved the fresh flowers, but what he really wanted was dandilion wine.

I know...I need to get a life.

I found out yesterday I've been tagged! Seven wierd things about me. Gee...where do I start? Well, since this post is already done for today, I guess I'll wait until tomorrow to divulge a few wierd facts. Not that you probably haven't figured a few of them out just from today's post alone...

I got Sunshine on a Cloudy Day....

Sun Storm

Remember Sunny? My recently adopted mustang filly? She was delivered on Superbowl Sunday, and she was a mess. Covered in lice and scared half silly.

Sunny had been adopted the same weekend Darling and I adopted Quiet Storm eleven months ago. Her owners lost their home and moved out of state, relinquishing both of the two year old horses they'd adopted back in June. One was a gelding, the other was Sunny. I just had to share with you her before and after pictures!

Before... all shaggy, and checking out the scary chair!

Today...shedding out and showing a bit of shoulder muscle!

Before...notice the patches of hair missing; this is due to lice.

Today! We're still battling lice, but it's no where near as bad.
See the white line on her neck? That's her BLM freeze brand.

After three months here, Sunny still can't be allowed to roam without a halter and lead rope. She doesn't want to be caught, and she doesn't want to be touched. She just wants to be left alone (she does a terrific Greta Garbo!)

People often ask if these horses are at least halter broke when you adopt them. I find myself explaining time and time again..."Wild means wild. Take the size of a deer or an elk, and put the fright and flight factor of a wild rabbit onto it...do you think you'd be able to lead either one of those animals around with a halter?"

The answer is no. It should be a quick and easy no, but some folks have to ponder it a bit more, forcing me to go deeper. "Have you ever tried to catch a wild rabbit on foot? Did you succeed? And if you did, were you able to put a harness on it and take it for a walk?" Usually, they haven't succeeded in catching it. Those that have were left bleeding without ever attempting to take their newly caught wild rabbit for a walk. It's at this point they get it. Wild horses are wild. And big.

I can see the resemblance, can't you?

Not that I mean to call Ms. Garbo a horse face...I just happen to think Sunny is beautiful!

Now, playing with my pretty pony isn't all that I've done today. Nope. I also went to a wedding. But hey, can't keep you here all day, can I? So those photos and the story that goes with them will have to wait until tomorrow =)

Later, Gator!