On the Shores of Carpenter Creek

Are you looking for me?

2007-06-26T07:29:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-05-24T10:02:00.000-07:00

And...we're back to WP

Just click the WP link!

I'm such a Rebel!

2007-05-23T07:14:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-05-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-17T22:00:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-05-16T23:27:00.000-07:00

Winsday!

2007-05-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-14T18:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-14T06:41:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-05-13T04:15:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-05-11T17:14:00.000-07:00

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."

2007-05-10T23:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-10T10:36:00.000-07:00

Coolin' Our Heels

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

Did I Hear You Correctly?

2007-05-09T23:37:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-05-08T21:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-07T21:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-06T23:18:00.000-07:00

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???

2007-05-05T14:59:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-04T13:34:00.000-07:00

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....

2007-05-03T23:05:00.000-07:00

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!

The Lamb Must Die!

2007-05-02T23:00:00.000-07:00

Spirit of the West

First, a big congratulations to Country Goalie for winning yesterday's caption contest! I'll be needing your contact information, dear...my email link is over there to the right.

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

A while back, City Boy bought me a lamb. It was white. It was cute. Downright adorable. And so sweet of him to think of me.

However, the lamb must die.

The news of Darling's and my plan to consume the lamb upset City Boy. But Darling and I were hungry; it couldn't be helped. I mean, just how long did he expect me to keep it, anyway? Besides, it was Darling's idea. She's long been a lover of lamb, and the thought of this one just hanging around, doing nothing productive, was driving her crazy. And not just her. I must admit to having a bit of a craving myself.

Why the lamb, you ask? Why not some stranger from the supermarket, who's face we'd not grown accustomed to?

Because we were having a chocolate craving, that's why!

Pesky little lamb has been taking up space and not pulling his weight far too long. Time to die, little lamb!

Darling quickly removes the packaging

The little lamb is clueless as to his future

Darling points out that he is defective, therefore should not be kept around. Look! The backs of his ears are pink!

I think he suspects something; he's claiming to be a Japanese poodle...

It doesn't take Darling long to suck off the feet and seal his fate

Mmmm....lamb is luscious!

Look, Mom, a puppet!

How are we going to split the head evenly?

Ah...that works!

And that was the end of the lamb. City Boy is still in mourning. He misses seeing the lamb looking at him in the morning, I guess. But Darling and I are not feeling the least bit guilty. Nope! Not in the least.

Redneck Vampire Attacks Trailer Park

2007-05-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

Photo Caption!

This photo will be used (most likely) in the Wild Horse Calendar, as well as on note cards and t-shirts. Winner gets a set of notecards; everyone who enters will have their name put into a drawing for the calendar once all the photos are selected.

This particular print is already on a Year at a Glance calendar, mugs and more at the Mustang Fever Store. Good luck!

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

After picking Darling up from school this afternoon, we stopped at Dodson’s for a quick snack. Walking past the check out stands I spotted one of those…er…newspapers. You know the kind; Alien Invades Body of Kitten, or Giant Sea Turtle Eats Empire State Building. Today’s attention grabbing headline was Redneck Vampire Attacks Trailer Park. Which left Darling and I wondering, are all you rednecks out there okay?

Before becoming distracted by redneck vampires, Darling was telling me about her day at school. “Mom, those kids have the worst grammar. I was walking past this girl who was headed to the office. Someone was asking her why she was going there. You know what she said? ‘I ain’t got no period’.” I looked at Darling, who suddenly realized how that sentence sounded. “So, sounds like a poor choice of words as well as poor grammar,” I said as we walked past the redneck vampire headline.

Darling was now laughing. Yes, she agreed, it was a rather poor choice of words. “But it gets worse, Mom. Kids were asking me what my shirt said. And they hadn’t heard of STYX! Mom! They didn’t know who Styx was! Can you believe it? Next thing you know, they’ll be saying they’ve never heard of the Beatles or Elton John!” A travesty, to be sure. Darling has been spending far too much time in the company of her oldies loving, Grammar Nazi brother, it would appear, to fit in nicely with her peers.

We were disappointed to find that our favorite glass bottled sodas were out of stock and had to settle for the plastic variety. Darling wanted chips. “Off to the pitchfork isle!”

I wanna be a Redneck Vampire and attack a trailer park!

ps...have you noticed the counter? Less than 2000 hits to go. I'm building up the prize basket as you read this!

Super Chick, the Movie

2007-05-01T05:56:00.000-07:00

Okay, it's not exactly an action packed, super hero kind of movie. I mean, I tried tying a little cape around one of their necks, but it just didn't work like I'd envisioned it. So then we tried a shell, but it gave the chick a rather turtle-ish look, and the other chicks just laughed...

It's no secret that a domestic goddess I am not. And just to help solidify my claim to kitchen shame, I tried to burn up my tea kettle the other morning. My morning ritual is stumbling out of bed, starting the water, then pulling up the blog. I wait for the whistle and go make myself a cup of hot chocolate.

But as I was sitting here, completely consumed in photo shop, I realized that it'd been several minutes, and I hadn't heard my whistle. So I peeked out the door to the kitchen, and what did I see?

FLAMES!

Okay, not the first time, and probably not the last, that I've seen fire in the kitchen. This time the outside of the tea kettle was roasting nicely. I rather like the new color; gives it a rather vintage look, don't you think?

My 'new' vintage tea kettle.

Don't forget that tomorrow is Winsday! Plus, an update on The Screamer.

I'm going to go try to microwave water now in hopes of getting my morning chocolate fix. Cross you fingers that I don't set the microwave on fire!

2007-04-29T22:26:00.000-07:00

For your viewing pleasure, a few pictures of the chicks as they were hatching out this afternoon. Because it can take up to 24 hours between the first and last egg, and because there are still several eggs left that have yet to crack open, I'll be leaving the contest open until this evening. Tomorrow's post will give you the total count.

A new chick emerges from it's egg while it's sibling looks on.

It takes several hours for a newborn chick to go from slimey to fluffy.

One of the new black chicks

If you've ever wondered how newborn chicks can be shipped at a day old, spending hours in a box without food or water, it's because they have consumed the yolk of the egg prior to hatching. They don't need food for the first 24 hours. Too bad our own babies aren't like that, eh? Can you imagine getting a nice, long nap after you've struggled with labor for hours and hours, with no midnight or 2 am feeding to interupt you? Some days I think perhaps chickens are a little brighter than we give them credit for.

If you take a look at the middle picture, you'll see the egg on the bottom right has a crack in it. Again, another small sign that perhaps chickens are superior to humans. Not only does the mother hen not have to feed her young 'uns that first 24 hours, but she never had to go through labor! These little chicks have spent hours pecking away at their shells in an effort to come into this world. And their mother is happily setting in a nest of clean hay without a single contraction.

Before the eggs begin to hatch, you can hear the chicks peeping. By the time City Boy came home from work yesterday, they were going pretty good! When I got up this morning, there was one wet black chick. The last chick to hatch was a few hours ago. It's not looking promising for a 100% hatch rate, as we're not hearing peeping from any of the remaining eggs. But you can never tell.

Here's the thing I find interesting about this hatch; all of the eggs were blue. They all were layed by blue (black) hens. We've got three roosters; two of which are blue. So how many blue chicks have we got? Only half of what has hatched! Since I'm clueless on sexing chickens, I'll just have to wait for them to get a bit older before I can tell which ones are hens. I'll be keeping the blue hens to add to the flock and selling the lighter colored ones at the farmer's market. I know there were a couple of you interested in getting some chicks; there just aren't enough of them to keep themselves warm during shipping with this hatch. Perhaps a bit later, when the weather perks up a bit?

Now, Darling got some short videos, but will have to wait until tomorrow, along with the final head count!

River Glen hatchlings!

2007-04-29T11:34:00.000-07:00

Little peeping fluffies have begun to invade the incubator. We started with 20 blue eggs. How many do you think will hatch? Leave your guess and may you'll win...

Wild Horses and Eggs

2007-04-27T23:47:00.000-07:00

The eggs are due to hatch this weekend. However, I'm hearing no peeping sounds coming from them, which doesn't give me much hope. Incubation is 21 days, but they can hatch a day early or late. If there's nothing by the end of Sunday, then I'm going to have to throw them out. Disappointing, eh?

Pinto trotting into Sunset

Geek Boy typed my name into Google recently, then laughed because I didn't come up as the number one result. Evidentally, his name is number one. I'm something like two or three. City Boy doesn't show up at all. He says that's because he doesn't prostitute himself like I do. Yeah...okay. He can call it prostitution, I call it marketing.

It's just six weeks until the Wild Horse and Burro adoption event in Monroe, WA. For some reason I felt compelled to offer my services in raising funds to bring Lesley Neuman up for the gentling demos. I'm not sure exactly why I did this. I love Lesley, and the BLM didn't have funds set aside for demos. When people see Lesley work the horses, it gives them hope and lets them see that it doesn't take a bunch of gimmicks to get the horse to work for you. I've watched her work at three different adoption events with at least half a dozen horses. They start out snorty and wild, but within an hour nearly all of them are following her around like a puppy.

And I suppose that's why I said I'd do it. Because I know how terrific these horses are, if just given the opportunity to trust. So many people are afraid of them; they've heard some horror story or another and have a preconceived idea about wild horses. But you know what? Anyone can get hurt on any horse. And when people see Lesley working with these wild animals, and see how much she progresses in an hour or two, it gives them hope.

Of course, I live two counties away from the event, so I'm running into a wall when it comes to finding businesses to contribute. They look at it like advertising, and since they're not likely to build clientelle from such a distance, they turn me down.

So today I put on my thinking cap, played a bit more on Photoshop and with Cafe Press, and I came up with a page full of fun products that will help raise much needed funds. Mugs, notecards, magnets...even a wall clock! All under $15. Of course, there are t-shirts and sweatshirts as well, including Carpenter Creek products and the crazy Psycho Roo to browse through.

It'll take ten items sold (well, providing it's not just stickers or buttons) to pay for a gentling demo. While there are three demos, if I can round up the funds for just one, I'll be one happy little wild horse lover! I'll be working on a button this weekend that will link directly to the fundraising page. If you'd like to help out and post the button on your blog or website, I'd sure be thrilled! Just let me know.

Tile Box with Grulla Mustang

Now...was that prostitution?

Have a terrific day, and don't forget to check back to see if we've gotten any hatchlings!

2007-04-26T22:50:00.000-07:00

Bale of hay to feed sheep: $8

Hiring someone to shear wool: $6 per sheep

Look on ram's face when lambs think they can get milk out of his 'udder'?

Yup. 'Udderly' priceless!

Say what? Hey...stop that!

I was picking up Darling from school the other day, and because I was early and had nothing better to do, I climbed from the cab and began picking up the loose change that had fallen onto and beneath the mat under my feet. And you know what I found? The gold cap from my tooth.

A few years back I had a dentist who did a root canal and then a gold overlay on one of my molars. They offered silver or gold, but convinced me that the price of the gold would be well worth it, as it would hold up and not need replacing.

I guess they didn't bank on my eating caramel. I love caramel, don't you? Smothered in chocolate...mmmm... And one day I was eating such a delicious piece, when I felt this little suction from the back of my mouth. And then, my caramel became somewhat difficult to chew... I spit it out to find a gold tooth!

So much for gold lasting.

I wonder how much the gold is worth? Can you sell a gold tooth? I wonder if I were to bring it into one of those places that deals with coins and precious metals, if they'd think I stole it out of a dead person's mouth?

I wonder if ebay would let me sell it there? I could probably make up some really cool story, don't you think? Perhaps a fight between a couple of ruffians over a woman...one of them dies; it's her true love, and the only thing she kept of him was the gold tooth, which she wore as a necklace until her dying day...

Okay, help me out with this story. I need something clever if I'm going to make enough money to by a new pair of boots. I need something that rivals the old Ghost in a Jar... Come on, y'all. Inspire me!

Tell Me it Ain't So!

2007-04-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

Two Hearts are Better Than One

Congratulations, Mikki Jo! Your re-thought caption is just what I was looking for! Pop me an email with your addy, and I'll get the note cards right out to you.

And for the rest of you, your names will be entered into the drawing, along with all other Winsday caption entries, for the calendar! Remember, each Wednesday is Winsday!

I love these boots! (Haven't I said that before?)

I’m a self confessed boot tramp. I’ve admitted as much here. I love boots. My favorites by far are my Ariat boots. So comfy, so practical. I posted their pic in the boot tramp post. Darling took their picture just the other day when we traveled on the ferry. My love for those boots rivals my affection for my family. And when the family is being disagreeable, I prefer the boots.

I choose to wear my Ariats over anything else in the closet. The only place I wouldn’t wear them would be church…but come to think of it, I’ve worn them there as well. Which is proof positive of my boot trampiness, I suppose. I mean…who but a boot tramp would wear her barn boots to church? But they’re just so comfy!

Darling and I brought the sheep down to the neighbors yesterday, and I started out with my rubber boots. You know, the pair I discovered the hole in while taking that video of the creek for you? Well, walking in them wasn’t easy. My socks kept sliding down to my toes during the walk, so after our first trip I decided I’d change into my Ariats. Why I hadn’t selected them in the first place, I don’t know. I guess I preferred the thought of a wet foot to wearing my comfy leather boots through the long wet grass.

So home we came, and while Darling slipped into the house to grab a warmer sweatshirt, I snatched my boots from the shelf.

Or…what was left of my boots…

I couldn’t believe it. My heart sank down to the deepest depths of the earth’s core. One of my boots was only half a boot! The top half was gone…not there…where was it??? Which is when I noticed Tait standing there, looking quite full and satisfied with her recent kill. Tait ate my Ariat boot!

What's left of my beloved...I'm in mouring!

City Boy has long wanted Tait gone. She’s eaten countless headphones, speakers, and an array of computer parts. Hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars worth of his electronic goodies, videos and whatever else she’s been able to get her little mouth around. Or not so little mouth. No amount of toys has pacified this dog. She doesn’t care if you offer her ropes or pigs ears or peanut butter stuffed kong toys. No, she only wants to chew up things of great value. And now? Now she’s eaten my boot! And City Boy is laughing.

How could this sweet face be hiding so much evil?

To make matters worse? Tait just tossed up something out of the depths of her tummy. Something that looks like strips of leather from an Ariat boot…and I’m wondering…do I clean them off and try to stitch my boots back together again?

Winsday!

2007-04-24T21:20:00.000-07:00

Today is Winsday, and I'm looking for a caption for this photo!

Now, here are the details. Yes, details! Darling and I are planning on putting together a Wild Horse calendar. We'll also be making note cards with the photos. If you're selected as a winner of the caption contest, you'll get a free set of note cards. And, all those who leave a caption suggestion will be put into a drawing for a free 2008 calendar later this year!

So get your thinking caps on and leave your suggestion. Remember, you don't need to win the weekly caption contest to win the calendar. Good luck!

A Racoon's Tale...er...Tail?

2007-04-24T06:38:00.000-07:00

Okay, here we are, halfway through the day and City Boy is reading...and correcting!...my story. He wants everyone to know it was NOT a shot gun, that no one misses with a shot gun, and that he was using a .22 pistol.

So there you have it. NOT a shot gun. A pistol. Either way, there were holes blasted through my chicken house.

Are you happy now, City Boy? (Sorry, subscribers...you're getting this twice! But at leat you'll know it wasn't a shot gun, lest you thought any less of City Boy for missing with one...)

A friend of mine emailed the other day to ask if she could have some turkey eggs added to the incubator. She'd had a few turkey's disappear overnight, becoming a racoon's late night snack. One of those who was nabbed was a hen who'd been setting (setting is country talk for sitting on some eggs...) I wasn't really sure how well they'd fit, but they into the incubator they went. They're kinda cool looking, aren't they?

Some years back we'd been losing chickens around here. Loosing, as in I'd get up in the morning and find a half eaten one inside the chicken yard. Trying to find out what was getting in, and how, proved difficult. There was netting over the top, and no holes in the wire. One small area showed where perhaps something small could have been going underneath, but it seemed doubtful.

We set up the old baby monitor and for a few nights we heard nothing. Then one night we heard the most horrific sounds! I don't even know how to describe them...Rocket was still outside, and he's a non-barking dog. I mean, not his breed, but he just never barks. And this wasn't barking, anyway. It was guttural, growling, and primitive sounding. A sound that would raise the hair on the back of your neck, and send you scurrying for the house if you'd heard it while standing outside. Heck, the hair on the back of my neck was standing from inside! My first thought was that Rocket was being eaten alive.

Turns out the sounds were coming from Rocket after all. Not knowing how to bark, he did the best he could, which certainly had caught our attention. City Boy had trotted out to the chicken coop, only to return at a dead run, grabbed his shot gun and ran back outside.

What happened next will no doubt be a story told around the valley for years to come. We had new neighbors behind us; they'd just moved into our peaceful little neighborhood the week before. It was now just after 10 pm and all the lights over there were out. But they were on before City Boy was done.

Inside the pen was a raccoon. When it saw City Boy come running, it tried frantically to climb the fence, but soon realized it wouldn't make it out. He then scurried back towards the chicken house. City Boy, still on the run, aimed and missed. And missed again. And again. Shots rang out, lights went on.

The raccoon realized it had no where to run inside the house, and the bullets were flying right through the wall anyway, so it may as well take it's chances outside. Out it came, running for all it was worth and scrambling up the fencing. No doubt if it hadn't had to lift the netting off the top, it would have made it. As it was, City Boy managed to finally hit the little masked bandit.

I told City Boy to save the raccoon. I asked him to whack off it's tail in the morning so I could make my dad a coon skin cap. But when he went out in the morning, he found the raccoon but no tail! He came in, wondering if I'd already done it. Who, me? You're joking, right? Turns out we had a raccoon tale, but no tail.

We do, however, have a souvenier of sorts. There are three bullet holes in the wall of the chicken coop.

Banana you glad I didn't say Orange again?

2007-04-22T20:53:00.000-07:00

Darling: Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

Darling: Orange.

Me: Orange who?

Darling: Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

Darling: Orange.

Me: Orange who? (sigh...)

Darling: Knock, knock.

Me: No, I don't want to play this any more.

Darling: MOM! Knock, knock!

Me: Who's there??

Darling: Banana

Me: Banana who?

Darling: Banana you glad I didn't say Orange again?

This is Darling's best joke. And her favorite. I know, it doesn’t make any sense, and she's doing it backwards. That, she tells me, is the point and what makes it funny. What can I say? I fail to see the humor.

This morning Darling and I hit the ground running, leaving the house at 6 am so that we could drive to the town of Silverdale and pick up some rubber mats for the horse stalls. City Boy had found them for sale on Craig's List, and they were about 25% the price you'd pay new, so it was worth the long drive and ferry ride to get there.

However, I'm not so sure it was worth suffering through Darling's knock knock joke. Again. And again. And again. So, to keep her otherwise occupied, I handed her my camera.

Darling behind the lens. And in the rearview mirror.

Darling was born with a genetic disorder. It affects half of the family, really. It's camera-itis. My grandmother has it. For years she carried the latest model of Polaroid camera with her to all the family functions. It was such fun to see those instant pictures! My mother and uncle are long time sufferers. My uncle's case is so severe that he's opened up a professional studio. For a while it appeared I'd escaped this malady, but I’m really just a late bloomer. And now Darling has it. She has her own camera, but if I even begin to loosen the grip I’ve got on mine, she snatches it away and begins snapping shots of anything that passes in front of her lens. All I can say is “Thank God for digital!”

To further amuse the child, I offered to let her select the photos that would be used on this post. She was delighted. I told her, however, that there was one condition. She agreed to my trade.

Darling took pictures of everything. Her favorite subject is herself. That amused her while we were waiting in line for the ferry.

Darling's feet. Darling has Converse shoes. Darling loves shoes!

Then she took photos of the scenery as we were crossing Puget Sound.

View from the ferry across Puget Sound.

Big Blue Boat.

And she danced. She danced the Thriller dance. In public.

You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it

You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes,
You're paralyzed

That was fun. Let's do something else now.

Then, I became the target. She took pictures of my feet. She took pictures of me trying to nap. She took pictures of me pretending to nap, thinking I didn’t know she was taking pictures. And I was beginning to miss the knock knock jokes! However, the thought of the trade off was too good, so I played like a good sport.

Aren't my feet cute? Ariat boots; you just can't beat them!

Yes, Darling, I can see you. That's why my tongue is hanging out!

Yes, I always sleep with this expression on my face.
It's what keeps City Boy so enchanted!

Just keep telling yourself...remember the trade off...remember the trade off!

On our way home, we stopped at Uncle Warthog and Aunt Alice’s home. Uncle Warthog had some family history to share with us. He challenged us to find anyone who had a relative here in WA State before we did, as it appeared that Pierre Chartier showed up back in the 1820’s. That was a blinking long time ago! Long before the Oregon Trail. He’s been working for years on the family history, and if you’re into genealogy like Darling and I, it’s fascinating!

Oh, and Darling’s and my little trade off? Here it is.

A Day at the Sheep Spa

2007-04-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

Spa Day? What's that?

It was a day at the spa for my sheepies today. Time for a little extra attention. Time for a little pampering; a little 'ewe' time. Time to get a pedicure and a hair cut. My sheepies just love spa day!

Not.

My sheepies do not like spa day. Why? Well, first you get drug from your new pasture, which your people only just put you in last night. Who wants to leave lush, green grass, only to be drug on a half mile walk back to your home, which has no grass? Certainly not my sheepies.

We like it here in the fresh green grass!

Nor did my sheepies apprciate my luring them with a full bucket of grain into the back of a pick up truck, only to have me take the grain away instead of leaving them with the whole bucket. This, they felt, was unfair and not part of the loading bargain.

No promises of pampering and good looks could convince them that this was to be a pleasant journey. They dug their cloven hooves into City Boy's green grass, locking their legs and pulled back against their halters. Pokey decided to take the possum approach in his struggle, collapsing to the ground as though I'd killed him. Quest decided on the bouncing bunny approach, suddenly developing springs where her legs once were.

But in just over half an hour, I had them loaded. Three down, three to go!

A board is set down to help keep the wool clean. Carrot looks like a German Shorthair Pointer under that wool!

Taffy get's set up on her butt.

The breast area is done first, working from under the chin and down the belly.

The wool under the belly and down the legs generally hits the trash as it's too short and dirty for use.

Licorice's ram lamb rests on Darling's lap while his mamma gets pretty.

Licorice was born black, but has begun to turn a lovely silver.

The smallest in our flock, Licorice had the largest fleece.

Shearing was being done at my neighbor's house down the road. She had five of her own to get done, and I had six. Shearing is hard, back breaking labor. I could never do it. In fact, it took me two days to shear Licorice one year. Marcia had all eleven of these sheep done in under two hours!

Pokey sports his new do!

Despite the nice, new hair cuts and pedicures, I think we're all happy that Sheep Spa Day only comes once a year!

The Pretty Princess Chair

2007-04-20T21:36:00.000-07:00

Darling had wanted one so badly! Those mushroom chairs, that is. It was Christmas, and the chair was one of those top of the list items. And trust me, those lists are long, so being in the top ten makes it pretty special. When she opened the oddly shaped gift from her grandparents, she was thrilled beyond all belief.

The chair sat in Darling's room for a year or two, but you'd never know it. Instead, you'd think there was a four foot high pile of clothing in the corner. In reality, the clothing was only two feet, as the chair was holding it up off the ground. Eventually, City Boy got tired of this type of clothing storage and removed the blue mushroom chair.

The chair was set down in the rec room while City Boy contemplated other items he'd like to haul to the dump that day. He loaded up the trash cans from outside and gathered a few other stray items. He then came back inside for the chair, only to find it occupied. And giving him the most pitiful look was Rufus, head of Homeland Security.

Evidentally, Rufus convinced City Boy that he needed that chair more than City Boy needed to get rid of it. It must have taken quite a lot of pleading, as Darling had failed just an hour earlier. But then, there's a reason Rufus is head of Homeland Security. It's not just his bravery on the job, but his ability to communicate while here in the house.

So City Boy set up the chair to Rufus's specifications. And Rufus moved in.

Head of Homeland Security and Alice, both feeling pretty.

Rufus loves the mushroom chair. It makes him feel pretty, like a princess. Alice would like to feel pretty now and then as well, and sometimes joins Rufus in the chair. Before long, Rocket became jealous. He wanted to feel pretty, too. So when Rufus hopped out of the chair to eat, Rocket would jump in.

Rocket naps in the Princess Chair.

Thus began the battle over the Princess Chair. Who ever was in the chair was the pretty princess dog. It became a throne, and which ever dog was in it, ruled. Rocket would refuse to get down to eat. Rufus refused to go outside to go potty. Heaven forbid they're outside at the same time. They come racing for the door like a pig goes after an oreo cookie. And because Rocket is the faster of the two (and most pig-like), he usually reaches the door first and gets into the chair.

Rufus isn't chief of Homeland Security for nothing, though. He devised a plan to remove Rocket from the Princess Chair, establishing himself as ruler of the rec room. While Rocket sat in the chair, Rufus came walking over to me, sat at my feet and began chirping and humming. No, really. Rufus makes the strangest, non-doglike noises, and he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted. What he wanted was for me to reach out and pet him, which I did. Instantly, Mr. Jealousy lept from the chair and came running over, afraid he was missing out on something.

And with that, Rufus returned to his rightful place as Pretty Princess.

Creepiness to end all Creepiness

2007-04-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

To those of you who wanted this, I hate you. I don't do creepy things. This thing is creepy. But you wanted it, so here it is. I did it for you. Because I loved you. Note the past tense of the verb, love. Loved. I don't love you anymore. At least not today. I'm just too totally creeped out to love anyone right now.

Going up is bad enough; looking down gives me the heebie jeebies!

The ladder into Brigget's hay loft is long and narrow. It’s also old and wooden. When Brigget is home, she climbs the ladder. She's a good friend. She knows I whine and obsess over climbing up there. But since Brigget is not always home, I've found myself climbing it anyway. Not gracefully. My knuckles are white and my knees are shaking. But I do get up there. I was just beginning to relax about climbing that ladder when Brigget pointed out a crack in it, and wondered outloud when it would snap. Snap??? Great. Not only do I have to worry about falling out of the hay loft as I'm trying to climb the blasted thing, but I have to worry about the ladder snapping in two as well.

But for you...you lovers of creepiness...for you I climbed this rickety old ladder.

Barn owl is not happy that I've invaded the nesting area. Again.

The owls scooted on out their little exit door when they saw me. Although I had my camera with me, it wasn't the big lens, so pictures weren't great. We're still waiting for baby owls to hatch.

There are plenty of strange things in Brigget's barn.
Some may be considered creepy.

I walked around the loft, wondering where Brigget had left the creepy thing. I heard crunching beneath my feet. It was just layers of hay, I'm sure, but it wasn't a comforting sound when you're in the dark looking for spider filled creepiness. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up as my imagination covered all the possible reasons I’d hear crunching. I found plenty of owl poop and pellets. Even found a couple of discarded egg shells. After a full pass around the loft, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find it, which quite honestly left me a bit relieved.

That’s when I spotted it, in all it's creepy glory. An icy cold shiver ran down my back. I looked for something to poke it with, and found a small stick. Carefully, I removed the lens cover from the camera, then squatted down alongside the thing. It looked like something a mud wasp would make, but it was split in half and was all smooth at the break. Had it been brown, and not full of creepiness, you’d think it may be a walnut.

Creepiness lurks...

But full of creepiness it was. And I could barely look through the lens to focus.

Are you happy now? Are you?

I hope you’re happy. I hope this is everything you dreamed of. Not only did I have to prod this thing apart so you could gaze upon the creepiness of it, but I had try to focus the camera on it, upload them to my computer, then resize them. That was just too much creepiness. But on top of that, I’ve now got dead spider creepiness on my blog! You’d better appreciate it, that’s all I have to say.

2007-04-19T06:18:00.000-07:00

"Let's get the Heck out of here! There's another school bus on the horizon! I'm sick of this pony ride crap!"

Okay, so I'd been thinking like most of you...something romantic. But Dan just had to win. Slightly altered in the wording (but not much) because, after all Dan, my grandmother reads my blog! And whilst all of you were dreaming up names, I was busy fiddling a bit more with the photo, eliminating the fence behind them so they appear to be running free.

Couple of questions popped up yesterday. Vicki, it was taken while we were in Oregon last week. Barn Goddess, I guess that half answers your question, right? They're not mine. I wish! They're horses at the BLM corrals in Burns.

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

I've had several people asking about the 'simple' way to cut and paste on photo shop, so figured I'd give you a small demo here today. You may recall that Geek Boy had tried showing me, but I couldn't remember all the steps. Then I got that photo shop magazine, which layed it out quite simply.

First thing you're going to want to do is have both of your images up on the computer. For me, that's usually a landscape and a horse. If the subject that you're moving has too many other things in photo with it, or if it's just a small portion of the photo, you can crop it down like I did with the Ghost.

Both images on my screen; the Ghost was cropped because there were more horses in the photo than I need.

Now, look down at your keyboard. Hold down the ALT key and the A key at the same time. No, you don't need to keep holding it. You just needed to give your computer the command that it's okay to shift an image over.

See that lady's eye up there on the right of my screen? Just beneath her eye, on the right side of the bar, is a little arrow. No, I don't know what that little bar is called. No, I don't know how to make it appear or disappear from your computer. I told y'all I'm not knowledgeable in this stuff. Not at all. It's just there on my screen whenever I pull up Photo shop and that's all I know.

That little arrow up on the right is what you're looking for.

So, you see that little arrow? Click it. It's a drop and drag function. Once it's clicked, move your cursor over the subject you want to move. Keep you finger on the mouse, and move your subject over to the background layer and drop it there.

The Ghost photo is now on top of the landscape.

You probably won't be too keen on how it looks. You may not like the remaining background image around your subject. Easy fix. Back over on that side bar is an eraser. Once you click the eraser, the task bar up above your images will change, and you'll be able to do things like select your brush size. This is important because you'll want a big brush for large areas, but it won't work so well when you're trying to get into tight spots. Select your brush size and begin erasing the background from your subject.

Click on the brush to get a drop down menu which allows you to select a different size.

I selected a large brush to begin removing the fencing behind the Ghost.

Once the background is erased, you can move you subject to wherever you want on your background by going back to that little arrow that drags the image around.

The Ghost now trots on water.

There. Now you know all I know. Actually, you probably know more. Oh...the reflection? Um...well...maybe later. Time to get Darling up for school.

Oh...Tomorrow? Creepy. Yes, you asked for it, and you'll be getting it. I'm headed to Briggets to photograph the creepy spider thing. I hate all of you! (Ha! Just kidding...I only hate those who requested the creepy thing!)

I Love it Here...

2007-04-17T15:07:00.001-07:00

Caption Contest!

Leave your suggestion for the caption in the comments!

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

I just went outside to close up the chicken coop. I've been letting them out in the late afternoon, once their egg laying is done, so they can peck at the fresh grass and bugs. They love turn out time! As the sun sets, they all head back for the coop where they settle in on their roost until morning.

It's just after 9 pm here; the sky is clear and I can count stars forever. It's dark, but I hear Quiet Storm's hoof beats as she gallops across the pasture towards me. The Screamer grunts contentedly from her pen. A couple of the ewes baa from the lower pasture.

I can hear the frogs singing happily from across the valley down in the cow pond. Not nearly so loud and obnoxious as they were during breeding season, they've settled into a sweet lullaby, accompanied by the trickle of Carpenter Creek just beyond the trees. And the air? The air is so fresh, so crisp and clean. Not at all like city air. Out here, you can breath!

I love it here. I can muck manure every day in exchange for nights like this. If City Boy moved our bed outside right now, I'd happily snuggle up with him under the stars...that is, if it weren't for those danged mosquitos! Dang, where did those things come from?! Eeks! They're biting me! Quick! Back to the safety of the house!

Never mind, City Boy. We're sleeping inside.

Sheepish

2007-04-16T23:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy couple of days. Yesterday I had to run get some hay from Brigget. She went up into the loft and found this rather odd sort of thing. It was hard, roundish and split in half. Looked like the inside of a honey comb. I'd seen it up there last week, but had left it behind as it was kinda...I dunno...creepy.

Anyway, there sat Brigget up there in the doorway showing me this thing, pointing out that she thought there were spider legs coming out of it. And if anything is creepy beyond all creepiness, it's spiders. Their legs coming out of some sort of unknown object just makes them all the more creepy. She asked if I'd like it, no doubt thinking I'd take pictures for the blog.

"No, thank you," was my reply. Somethings are just too creepy even for me, I told her. She gave me a puzzled look. "You brought home the head of a dead horse in your trunk, and you don't think that's just a little bit creepy?" Okay, she had me there.

Anyway, most of Brigget's ewes have lambed now. Take a look at these adorable Icelandic babies!

Three weeks old, and look at those horn buds!

These are Sunday's babies; remember the caption contest with the kissing ewe and lamb?

Astrid lambed last week; her boy has lovely silver flecks, and check out those horns already!

Lovely spotted ram lamb. His mamma has a name I can barely pronounce, let alone spell. It means Pancake, so that's what I call her.

This morning I got up and was amazed at how many people had already visited this blog. Blown away, really. I get all sucked up by the statistics and comments. It's like my little cyberspace living room, and you all are my visitors throughout the day. And it amazes me how many of you pop in to see my decorating!

So here I sat, utterly enthralled, when I ought to have looked out the window. Why? Licorice was giving birth! By the time I finally yawned, stretched, and dawned my rubber boots, she'd licked the boy clean and he'd had his first visit to the milk bar. Like last year's lamb, and the lambs before that, he's a curly little black baby. His papa was an icelandic, and I'm hoping someone who'd like a pet wether will come along. He's bound to have a beautiful fleece with his genetics.

Still wet, and with a dangly umbelical cord.

Of course, I can't let you go without an updated pic of Ohren and Baron!

Ohren's ears are still just a little tippy!

Don't forget, tomorrow is Winsday and there'll be a new contest!

Think, think, think

2007-04-16T06:13:00.000-07:00

Drive By Shooting from Oregon. Loved the gold colors!

Okay. Home from vacation, finished with the youth fair. Not sure I'm fully recovered, but I'm forcing myself to put on my thinking cap and dole out some thinking awards.

First off, though, I want to thank Dorothy (no, that's Kahshe Cottager), RoseMary and Sue for dumping...er, graciously thinking of me and giving me that lovely award! No, really, I'm just joking about the dumping part. I really do appreciate that you thought of me. I was just so overwhelmed by getting two in one day, the a third the next...and I knew I'd have to start thinking. Thinking scares me. But...thinking is what I've done. And here are the first five Thinking Blogger's I'm graciously handing this award to!

Granny Miller: Granny Miller always makes me think when I visit her blog. Her thoughts can be very thought provoking, she writes poetically, and today she's showing everyone how to make butter. The butter sealed the thinking award deal, as she got me thinking I needed a cream separator to make butter with.

Dixie: Dixie popped on over here after seeing a comment I'd left for Slick. I don't recall how I found Slick, but I'm glad Dixie found me! Dixie, without knowing it, I suspect, has reminded me of God's incredible grace. Dixie also reminds me that we're all a bunch of jagged, sharp rocks thrown into tumblers to get smooth. Currently, she's in a tiny tumbler with one particularly sharp rock. Honey, I feel for you, I really do! You're in my prayers and I know you'll come through, all nice and polished and pretty!

Dan: Dan has a Blah-Blah-Blog. Dan makes me laugh. Not booger laughs, but he's so danged clever! Loved his video of doing taxes. But what Dan makes me think of most is cemeteries. And why is that? Well, Dan posted to my cemetery blog before he posted to anything else around here, saying he also enjoyed them and had photos of them. I cannot for the life of me find those photos of Dan's. I keep hunting through his photo albums, but so far no cemeteries. But hey, half the fun of cemeteries is in the search, right?

Vicki: The first time I visited Vicki's blog, I was taken~no, swallowed~by the photo in her header. A fence with a bit of horsey hair stuck on it. Yes, it swallowed me whole. I'm sure City Boy would barely have noticed it, but you know, right then and there I was certain Vicki was destined to be a friend. I hadn't even read a single word she'd said! Headers are very telling. Vicki has a new header now, and I think it's booger worthy. I swear I snorted boogers when I came home from vacation and read her new header.

Jocelyn: This is a funny lady. She should have won Diesel's recent caption contest. She's already got a thinking blogger award, but I need to pass the buck here, and Jocelyn, you're getting it. But you so deserve it. Why? Because you've made me think that perhaps the Booger Award ought to merge with the Thinking Award, and we'd have a Thinking Booger Award. Sounds like a match made in...um...well... Sorry, can't think of where it's made. I'm all thunk out.

And that, dearies, is it for my first round of Thinkers. Five down, ten to go. But not today. And not tomorrow, either. Because we've got funner stuffs to do, right? Right. Like manipulate photos so they appear different than they really are.

Do ghosts have shadows?

I think you could easily say I've become a little obsessed with this horse! I think I may need him just for the photographic opportunities alone!

Meanwhile...

2007-04-15T04:44:00.000-07:00

Back on the Farm...

I like chickens. They're fun to watch. They hunt and peck for bugs in the dirt, and scratch about in my garden creating a nice growing environment. They get down right silly about taking dust baths. But mostly I like them because they make me feel smart. Feeling smarter than a chicken may not be enough for some folks, but I'm quite content with it. While I like baths, I prefer mine in water with bubbles. And while an occasional bug may tickle my fancy, I much prefer owl barf, don't you?

River Glen Chickens

Early on in my blog, I posted about my chickens. They're not an official breed, but come from a closed flock that a friend has. She started with a few bantams, an Aracauna (they type that lays the blue eggs) and a Phoenix (long tailed.) She now has an eclectic little flock of small chickens in various colors. The 'blue', which really range from a smoke to black, tend to lay blue eggs. I took on some of her chickens last fall in hopes of further developing the blue chickens who lay blue eggs.

I must admit to not being a very diligent breeder. If I were, I'd have three or four pens of chickens, and I'd be rotating my two blue roos among my blue hens and tracking what the offspring looked like and what they layed. Instead, I've got all my chickens together, blue and pied, hens and roosters. A week before leaving on vacation, I collected all the blue eggs and placed them in the incubator. Since I've not got an automatic turner, the hatch rate will likely be low. But who knows? They're due to hatch on the 28th of this month.

Styrofoam incubator (without an automatic turner, sniff, whine.)

I've had a couple of inquiries regarding shipping hatching eggs or chicks. I hesitate to ship eggs, as I've had poor luck with purchasing eggs from other people and would hate to have that happen to one of you. I am, however, looking into shipping chicks. So if you're interested in raising some River Glen Blues, just let me know!

Upon returning from vacation I had an email from Margery saying another one of her ewes had lambed. This time it was a ram and a ewe. Part of our breeding contract was that I'd get a ewe lamb from her, and now I've got three to choose from. She's got one more ewe that may lamb this summer, but Darling and I already know which lamb we'd like. She looks like a little cow! Isn't she just the most adorable thing?

Baa Moo Ewe?

As for Darling's new critter...well...

This weekend was the youth fair, an event put on here in Whatcom County each spring. It's a short, sweet, two day event with tons of classes that the kids can choose from. They pretty much get submerged with tons of information regarding a project; anything from livestock (Darling did sheep her first couple of years) to clowning to chess. This year Darling took photography and stole my camera for the weekend. I felt naked!

The youth fair also has a live auction, and at that auction are things like pies (which sell for $100 each) and pigs. Can you guess which one we came home with? I swear, this is the world's ugliest pig! And you know the term 'squeal like a pig'? I can assure you that unless you've picked up a squealing pig, you have no clue what it means. None what so ever. I had pigs growing up, and until I picked up this pig to carry it out to the truck, I had no clue what a squealing pig sounded like.

This pig, which shall remain nameless (because we haven't come up with a good one yet), could be heard three counties away. I know, because we got calls about a potential murder at the fair grounds. People were calling 911 in Canada. You'd have thought I was skinning her alive for all the noise she made. Twelve hours later, and I'm only just now getting my hearing back.

One ugly pig. No spider is going to help this girl out!

Once home, it was time to unload The Screamer. City Boy hadn't been there when Darling and I picked her up the first time. Darling was hiding, all huddled with fingers in her ears, on the other side of the pick up. She was still suffering from Squeal Shock, which is similar to shell shock, only worse. CB couldn't figure out what her problem was. He also didn't know why I was so reluctant to climb into the back of the truck after The Screamer. He soon found out. I nudged the pig to get her to move. She grunted and clung to the bed of the truck. I pushed, I prodded, and finally she moved enough for me to get my hand under her belly. And that 's when it began all over again...

The volunteer fire department showed up about five minutes later, wondering if everyone was okay. Evidently a kind neighbor had called in, saying they were certain there was something wrong. A few minutes after that, the sheriff was there, wondering about our child who was now crouched down, shaking and sucking her thumb. "Pig...pig...pig..." was all that would come out of Darling's mouth. I had ringing in my ears, as the screaming from inside the truck canopy had echoed back and forth. City Boy had a dazed look on his face. Never in all his years had he experienced anything like The Screamer. Thankfully, the sheriff's officer had raised pigs while in FFA and it didn't take him long to figure out what the neighbor had heard. He smiled and gave a wave. I think he said something as his lips were moving, but I still couldn't hear anything.

Honestly? Even if a spider does write Some Pig in a nearby web, I'm going to be happy to eat The Screamer!

All the animals gathered to see what the commotion was about, as The Screamer goes straight to work tilling up the garden.

Wild Horses Keep Dragging Me Away...

2007-04-14T06:37:00.000-07:00

I promised more wild ones, and here they are!

Wild Wrangler jumps onto tractor to snatch up a bit of alfalfa...
(What, you don't think the wrangler is wild? Okay, you're right, he was domestic...)

Tuesday morning, while City Boy and Darling slept, I snuck out of the hotel and back to the corrals. It was feeding time, so the tractor and trailer were making their way from corral to corral, tossing off huge flakes of the greenest alfalfa for the horses. When the guys saw me out with my camera, they began tossing the hay along the fence line hoping the horses would come up a bit closer for me. Wasn't that sweet of them?

This weekend there's an adoption in Salem, Oregon. Wranglers were separating a group of horses that would be going. On the far left is a sorrel horse with a dark mask. He kinda reminds me of Quiet Storm; at least he's got the same shape to his face. I find the mask very interesting, and wonder if he'll shed out differently?

Wranglers moving horses through the corrals.

I've become quite fond of this little ghost horse through the photographs. Hasn't he got a sweet face? I almost think I'll have to email for some details on him. Being as how he's a ghost horse, City Boy will never notice when he's added to the pasture...right? And if he does, I can just tell him it's an over grown sheep...

Blue Eyed Ghost Horse

Okay, do you know how many pictures I took of this red roan? Neither do I, but it was a lot. He stuck pretty much to himself at this end of the corral, looking longingly over the fence at his neighbors. I suspect the neighbors may have been women. They were probably his harem before his manhood was abruptly stolen away.

The roan and Ghost alongside each other. You can see how much taller the roan is than the rest of the herd.

Morning breath

The horses were quite active, what with me sitting alongside their feed! They'd canter over to eat, then spot me crouched down on the other side of the panel. Snort, snort, and off they'd go!

Freedom!

This grulla is one of the horses used by the wranglers...or at least that's my guess. When we drove into the holding area, the gates were closed with a note that said 'close them behind you'. We soon found out why. This guy, plus a couple others, were free to come and go out of their holding corral. Isn't he beautiful?

Okay...have I bored you enough with wild horse photos? Perhaps you just need a break. We are back home, after all, and things are happening on the farm. I got an email from Margery, and another of her ewes has lambed, so Carrot is a pappa again. I've got pictures, of course, and they'll be up tomorrow. Plus...Darling got a new critter. Wait until you see it!

Have a terrific Saturday, everyone!

The Whitman Mission

2007-04-13T06:03:00.000-07:00

Cranes nesting near the Whitman Mission in Walla Walla, Washington.

Home, sweet home! My back is happy to be in my own bed again. Those hotel beds, I swear, were made of concrete. Not comfy at all. The first night out, Darling thought I should be sleeping with her. Apparently, she didn't think the beds were that comfortable, either, as she ended up sleeping on top of me half the night. Playing pillow wasn't what I'd signed up for.

On our trip home, we stopped in Walla Walla where we visited the Whitman Mission. Such a tragic tale! The Whitman's honeymoon was spent travelling to the west. Narcissa was the first white woman to cross the country; becoming pregnant on the way and giving birth to the first white child in the Oregon Territory.

That child was Alice Clarissa, who wandered away from the dinner table down to the river one afternoon. There'd been several guests, and when the Whitman's realized she wasn't there, they frantically went in search of her, only to find two cups floating in the river where she'd gone for water. A Cayuse Indian found her down river and brought the body back to the Whitmans. The Cayuse had been quite enamored with the little girl, as she was born larger than their children and had blond curls. It was the only natural child that Narcissa and Marcus ever had, although they did adopt the Sager children later on.

The Missionary Board wanted to close the missions in the Oregon Territory, but Marcus made a formal protest and was able to keep them open. The Whitmans realized that the Cayuse were not willing to learn the gospel, but they also knew that the flood of emigrants would change the way of life they were leading. Marcus taught them how to plant and irrigate, and how to operate a grist mill so they could grind flour.

The new settlers brought disease. The Cayuse hold the medicine man responsible if he cannot cure them. They saw that Marcus was able to help the whites, but not their own people. They felt he was purposely trying to kill them, not realizing it was a natural immunity that the settlers had. Eventually, they killed the Whitmans and eleven other settlers.

On the day of the massacre, Narcissa pulled her dying husband into the mission, where she was shot. They drug her body outside and shot her eleven more times.

Layout of the mission, marking where both Whitman's died.

The Great Grave, where Narcissa and Marcus, plus eleven others, are buried.

This is a graveyard that was used by the settlers near the mission. Only two headstones remain; it is unknown how many bodies are buried here.

Sisters buried on the mission site in the settlers graveyard.

Whitman Memorial sits up above the Walla Walla Valley.

When the Cayuse burnt the mission to the ground, they left one structure. It was the grist mill. None of the structures are left today, but the foundations have been clearly marked. If you're ever near the Walla Walla, Washington area, I highly recommend visiting the memorial.

I'll Make Him an Offer He Can't Refuse...

2007-04-12T06:38:00.000-07:00

"Working Boys"
Congratulations, Rachelle!

Go ahead. Try to guess what came home with us in the trunk.

Nope.

Nope again.

As we're driving along the highway, somewhere between John Day and Pendleton, City Boy shouts out, "Hey! I just saw some fur! Should we go back? Could be there are neat bones, too." At this point in the trip I had a throbbing headache, so I pretended not to hear him. I didn't want to go backwards, I just wanted to head to the next hotel where I could unfold myself from the car and take a nice, long bath.

Darling, however, has a sense of adventure. Also, apparently, a need for bones. Before I could protest, the car had made a reverse there in the middle of the highway and we were headed back up the hill in search of fur, and possibly bones.

After about a mile, the fur came into view, and City Boy pulled over onto the shoulder. I opened my door and was greeted by a horse skull, complete with jaw hair and a partial ear. Can we say "Charming"? No, I didn't think so.

Okay, so my City Boy doesn't wear a cowboy hat, boots or spurs. He has no problem, however, putting the head of a dead horse into the trunk of our car to bring home. Whatever...as long as I don't wake up with it in my bed come morning!

A few more Drive By Shootings...

Lake Kachess, on Snoqualmie Pass (this is one that didn't show up the first day.)

Wild? Probably not. But that's what they'd look like!

Plenty of scenery like this along the way.

One of many abandoned homes along the way; this one near Fox, Oregon.

Tomorrow I'll have more photos and the story of the Whitman Mission for you. A very tragic story. The buildings are gone, but the story lives on.

Alice Clarissa Whitman died here, in what used to be a river bed.
She was just two years old, and the first white child born in the region.

View from the Whitman Memorial over the valley.

Wild Horse Corrals

2007-04-10T18:44:00.000-07:00

Name this photo! It's Winsday!

Hooray! So glad the photo showed up for everyone yesterday. Hopefully today's will work, too.

Yesterday, as we drove into Burns, City Boy noticed a trend. All the men were wearing cowboy hats. They were also wearing cowboy boots. And, to Darling's utter delight, there were spurs on those cowboy's heels! The whole thing appeared to be unsettling to City Boy, especially when he spied one of them jingle jangle jingling his way into the quilt shop.

Of course, Darling and I found it all quite natural, and tried our best to explain to City Boy that we ought to just get him some boots and spurs for his visit so that he would fit in. However, he declined, saying there's no way we were ever dressing him up in boots and spurs. Guess there's just too much city left in my boy!

Cliffs in the Steens Mountain area near Burns.

Antelope above Frenchglen in the Steens Mountains.

We drove up a long, winding road yesterday, past the Narrows and Frenchglen, up to where the Steens Herd Management area is. While we never spotted any horses, we did see this herd of antelope, plus a small herd of deer.

Since I was up before everyone else this morning, I snuck out early and headed back to the corrals. Among the many pics I got, there was the red roan. Isn't he just lovely! I'm certain I heard City Boy say, "Okay, bring him home" in between his protests. Darling can back me up on that. Not that we can bring him home in the car. However, the BLM is holding an adoption close to home in June....

Red Roan gelding.

Geldings in a pen at the holding corrals.

That's it for tonight! We're spending the night in Pendleton, home of the Pendelton Roundup. Tomorrow we're going to drive up to see the Whitman Mission. From there? Who knows? And don't forget to leave your name for the photo!

Crazy!

2007-04-09T20:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, I just had to give a photo one more try...

The weather in Burns has been crazy! It's crazy that the pictures aren't showing up! I think City Boy thinks I'm crazy, too...

I've no clue why those photos aren't coming up. Craziest part is, they were showing up on the lap top after I posted them last night. I even snuck a peek at the blog from the complimentary computer in the hotel lobby, and they were there, too. This afternoon when we checked into the hotel, the pics were still showing up for me. But tonight? Gone. I'm going to have to try reposting them once we get back.

The only upshot is that my camera battery is running low, and uploading the photos is draining it. Can you believe I forgot my battery charger? Yeah, I'm sure you can. And I did. Perhaps a bit later I can get Darling's photos up.

Crazy...the weather is crazy here. 70 degrees yesterday, snow flurries today. Lots of snow flurries! The temperature jumps between 34 and 54 within ten miles. And snow. SNOW! You know how I feel about snow. It's the four letter S word! I don't like it. Thankfully, it's not sticking to the ground, or we'd be stuck here in Burns. We may not like Burns if we have to spend more than a couple days here.

This morning we went to the Wild Horse Corrals. Oh...the pictures I've got for you! Darling and I want to bring one home with us. In the car. Just stuff it into the trunk. Or maybe tie him to the top. Sure, he may leave a few hoofprints. It may appear that a we'd had a very heavy tap dancer riding on the roof of the car. But hey, it's a trade off I'm willing to make. Which is why City Boy thinks I'm crazy.

We never managed to find any horses out in the wild, but we gave it our best shot. What we did were antelope, deer, and a couple of dead cows. All of which I documented so that you could feel like you're really here with me!

Right now, I'm cold. More snow flurries tonight. City Boy says we're not going to rush out tomorrow morning, so I think I'll take a long, hot bath to warm up my poor, frozen little toes. Then, come morning, I'll try to get Darling's photos up for you. I think she got some great Drive By Shootings! Then I'll come back and try one more time to get photos up for you =)

Honey, I'm home!

2007-04-08T19:22:00.001-07:00

This is it. I'm here. Home. I'm going to buy City Boy a cowboy hat, a pair of Ariat boots, and a shiny belt buckle that says something like 'Saddle Bronc Champion', with a cowboy riding a bucking horse on it (because we all know if the buckle says it, it must be true, right?) And I'm moving here. To Oregon. And we'll live here, in this romantic little get away, and raise sheep and a few moo cows. And we'll live happily ever after...and it will never snow. (Hey, it's my fantasy!)

My new house. Isn't it beautiful? City Boy, please buy it for me....for us...I love you!

Even Darling has given up Waterville in exchange for John Day and the surrounding vicinity. It's absolutely beautiful! The entire drive was lovely...everything but the restrooms at the top of the Snoqualmie Summit. That was less than lovely. There were two restrooms, each with just one toilet; and they were unisex. Unfortunately. City Boy saw the sign and asked if I had to go. Hey, sure! I polished off my bottle of water as he pulled off the highway.

I was instantly sorry I'd finished that water. There were two small buildings, each with one toilet. They were labeled for unisex use, and it was obvious which sex had been the last to use the only available toilet. Worse yet, the floor was all wet, and I prayed it was just recently melted snow.

It got worse. It was an outhouse. The building was permanent, but the toilet was a no flush beauty that allowed you to dwell on what you were exposing your underside to. And did I mention I could tell who'd used the toilet last? Because not only was the floor wet, but the seat was, too!

Thankfully, the rest of the trip was lovely! Here are a couple of Drive By Shootings from today!

One of the many breathtaking views travelling through the passes in Oregon.

Lovely lake, no clue what it's name is, on Snoqualmie Pass in Washington.

Snow is melting away from this restraunt on Snoqualmie Pass.

That's all for tonight! See y'all tomorrow, when I'll have pics of the wild horse corrals and the John Day fossil beds!

Happy Easter!

2007-04-07T08:34:00.000-07:00

By the time you're reading this, I should be on my way to Oregon!

The littlest Easter Egg

I went out to take care of the chickens the other day when I happened to look down at the ground and spot this teensie, tiny little tan ball. Not egg shaped in the least, but it was the right color. I bent down to pick it up...wow, it really is an egg! Never in my life have I seen one so small...at least, not a chicken egg. Not even the pullet eggs are this small. I wonder which of my new hens layed this? Can we say slacker?! How many do you think it would take to make an omelet?

Darling got all eggcited and wanted to crack it open. Why did she want to crack it open? I dunno...what else would you do with an egg? I guess we wanted to know if it really was an egg inside. We did it outside (just in case it was old and stinky.) Sure enough, a yellow yolk oozed out! Tait's nose was half an inch from where we broke it, and it didn't take that pup long to slurp it up...egg shell and all!

Growing up, I always used to go to egg hunts at my great grandmother's house. She'd hide eggs and invite not only the great grand kids, but half the neighborhood. Kids would be swarming all over her property in search of hard boiled eggs. That was back in the day when it was okay to eat an egg that'd been hidden all morning. Back when we didn't die because of it. Kids these days are weak, they're not allowed to eat old eggs for fear of stomach cramps or dying. Wimps.

Plastic eggs for today's wimpy kids.

Anyhoo...as I said, we're on our way to Oregon. We may even be there by the time you're reading this! We'll most likely head southeast, through Ellensburg, then down to the John Day region where I'm thinking we'll spend the night.

Come Monday morning we'll explore the fossil beds. If I understand it correctly, you can actually keep some of the fossils you find! How terribly cool is that?

Burns, OR is a bit more than an hour south of John Day, so we ought to be there at some point in the afternoon. The walking tour, I've been told, takes about an hour. For me? Probably two or three...or four or five... When do you think they close? Do you suppose they'd let me just camp out?

Hopefully I'll be able to post later tonight the things we saw and did today. I hope you're all having a blessed Easter! Don't forget that Jesus is the reason for this season as well =)

NEWS FLASH!

Deb just emailed me, letting me know that Taffy's mother just had quadruplets! Deb, you're going to have to email pictures to me so I can get them up for everyone to see =)

Oh...and one more thing! I was at Kim's blog and scrolled down to see she'd taken a quiz on what kind of horse she was. Well, I wasn't about to pass that up! Naturally, quizzes such as this tend to be full of Arabians, Quarter Horses, and Thoroughbreds...so imagine my surprise when I turned out to be...

What breed of horse are you? Find out!

Okay, I promise I'm actually leaving you now. Have a blessed Easter, everyone, and see you later tonight!

What were you thinking???

2007-04-07T05:15:00.000-07:00

The barn at Berthusen Park

Enough of this nonsense...really! First I find that Kahshe Cottager has tossed one of those Thinking Blogger things my way. I was honored...but confused. When do I think? Not often, if I can avoid it. Thinking can be stressful. But then...then it gets followed up by RoseMary sending a second one my way, and on the very same day!

And I just need to know...WHAT were you ladies thinking?

Just to set the record straight, I have a long history of not thinking. It began as a child. I recall my mother often saying to me, "What were you thinking?" And my reply would be.... .....or something equally as profound.

City Boy often times will be rambling on and on about something around here, and then I'll hear him say, "What do you think?" Huh? What? I was supposed to be thinking? I forgot. Could you repeat the question?

Cleary, thinking is not my strong point. Yet two of you numbskulls went and handed me something that eludes to the (non)fact that when someone visits here, they're visiting someone who thinks. And to make matters worse, I've got to find five more bloggers who think. No, wait...I've got two awards, which means I've got to be finding ten thinking bloggers. This will take a great deal of thought, something I'm not sure I'm ready for. Thought confuses me. It befuddles me. It hurts to think.

And you know what? I’m not going to do it. At least not right away. Hey! I’ve got a vacation to take! You can’t expect a person to think while they’re on vacation, can you?

By this time tomorrow, we’ll be on the road to Oregon. I’ll be posting updates for you along the way; City Boy has installed Adobe onto the laptop so it’s good to go as far as getting my photos resized and online for you. Hopefully we’ll find something interesting to take pictures of, or you’ll be stuck with (more) videos of me!

Before I go, I’m going to share a couple photos from the other day. After leaving the cemetery with Lanky, we went to Berthusen Park. It’s another one of those old homesteads that has been donated to the parks department. My cousin and his wife manage it and are lucky enough to actually live there! Of course, living on a homestead has it's disadvantages...

One more thing before I wander thoughtlessly off for the day: I’ve added a link here where you can subscribe to my blog. This will ensure you get my thoughtless drivel in your email each time I post something. Which really you probably don’t need, but if your brain is like mine, it may forget to check in. And you wouldn’t want to miss out on our little vacation, would you?

Random Silliness

2007-04-05T21:58:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Lanky Hanky!

Today is Lanky Hanky's birthday. Darling and I took her to the cemetery to celebrate. We feel it's important to do things on one's birthday that one will be able to look back on later in life and say "Gee, that was warped". Lanky Hanky, thanks to us, will be able to do that.

Lanky Hanky and Darling exchange a hug.
This is a birthday she will long remember!

Lanky Hanky is taller than Darling!

Lanky is the older sister of Miss Banana Head, and the younger sibling of Trouble. She is also more than a full year younger than Darling. Which why we're puzzled as to the size difference between the two. Lanky's mother is Little Hitler, who is a good four inches shorter than I am. Both City Boy and Lanky's father are about the same height. So how did Lanky grow so tall?

While at the cemetery, we pondered nicknames for Lanky. Darling suggested Skinnie Winnie. Lanky nearly fell of the tailgate of the truck laughing. No, she didn't think that was a good one. Hmmmm...how about Thin Min? No, that wasn't going to cut the mustard either. Darling sighed...Lanky Hanky? Another outburst of laughter from Lanky. "It's all about the rhyme with you, isn't it?" she asked Darling. "Yes. The rhyme an the fact that you're too skinny."

And that is how Lanky Hanky got her nickname. It was just one step above Skinnie Winnie, and as it's Lanky's birthday, we allowed her that one small token as a gift. However, it still doesn't answer the question of how she got so tall.

But I swear...it'll never happen again!

It Rained Today

2007-04-04T23:57:00.000-07:00

I was going to go down to the neighbor's and work on my fencline today, but it rained. I don't work in rain. I barely work in sunshine, but most definitely not in rain.

Yesterday the sun was shining. I managed to get a few posts put into the ground and some more wire stretched. Below is a picture of the fence post pounder. I'm not sure if that's the actual name or not. My tongue always trips and falls over it...fence post pounder. Try saying it. Try saying it three times fast! Not easy. Hopefully there's an easier name. Something simple or pretty sounding. I wonder what it is in French? Of course, I don't speak French, so it probably wouldn't roll of my tongue any easier than fence post pounder.

The ground down at the neighbor's is a little wet, which is why you see that weedy, reedy grass in the photo. In fact, during ark season it's down right swampy! The frogs, however, find the boggy, slimy ground somewhat romantic, and everyone up and down the valley can hear their love calls all night long. All Night Long! You've not heard anything so loud as thousands of frogs singing "In the Mood" late into the night. People in the city wonder why we country folks are walking around looking like cast members of Night of the Living Dead. After all, things are so peaceful out in the country, right? Yeah, and roosters are charming little alarm clocks.

But I digress. Once we return from vacation, the sheep will enjoy getting out on that soon to be lush, green grass.

Speaking of vacations, I've found that my camera doesn't have a video feature. Something about the resolution being too high on the camera, and too low on a video...or something like that. Good news is that Darling's camera does have video! In fact, while playing around with it tonight, I see that she's got a short video of Taffy and Ohren shortly after lambing! Mind you, it was terribly windy so there's lots of rumbling noise.

Now, should I show you another one? I played a bit with the camera, trying to figure out how it worked, and shot a couple practice videos. Are you ready to see them? I'm not sure anyone is ready for this. I know I'm not ready for it. Which one to load? The creek? Or me? Well, whichever one doesn't end up here today will show up tomorrow, so be sure to come back to see it!

I'm so Excited!!!

2007-04-03T22:41:00.000-07:00

Cool Beans! Thanks to all of you, that little counter clicked on past the 5000 visits mark last night! Yee Haw! And as promised, a drawing has been held with all those who's names showed up on my comments screen. Geek Boy did the honors...and Deb, you're the winner!

Mom, you're not bringing that camera into the store, are you?

I hope Dorky Dad is okay. He passed out after reading the little bit about castrating Ohren. Poor guy. Well, he'll be happy to read, as will many of you, that Ohren escaped that little ordeal yesterday. Darling is wrestling over which lamb would be the best option for her. While we all agree that Ohren is absolutely adorable, a ewe lamb will also be sweet, plus give her lambs to sell later on. So she's got quite the decision ahead.

In the meantime, Ohren's got all his body parts still in tact. In fact, he had quite the exciting day! Darling decided she wanted to bring him with us when we drove into the city. Naturally, that would entail explaining why our dog went baa, and then excusing ourselves after he burped in their faces. But Ohren was on good behavior, and no onlookers were harmed during the filming of this blog.

No, Darling...I would never bring the camera into the store...

Okay, I've got to tell you something. I'm so excited! I mean, pee my pants excited! Why? Because come Sunday morning, I'll be on vacation! And unlike those other blog keepers out there, I'm not going to leave my readers stranded at home with nothing to read. No, I'm bringing the laptop and YOU along with me! Where are we going? To the Wild Horse Corrals in Burns, Oregon! I'll bet you're peeing your pants in anticipation already, aren't you?!

Hmmm...maybe I ought to learn to make shadows...

Geek Boy will be staying home here on the farm. He's not terribly interested in a horsey vacation. Nor is City Boy, for that matter, but he's being a good sport about the whole thing. I need to learn a new skill before we go. I've got to figure out how the video feature works on this camera. Currently, I can't even find that feature, although I'm certain it has one. You may be seeing goofy videos over the next few days, for which I apologize in advance. But, hey...that could be fun too, eh?

The Counter's Ticking Towards a Party!

2007-04-03T06:46:00.000-07:00

Have y'all been watching that counter? I have. I do recall saying something like "There'll be a prize the day we hit 5000"...and a party, too! So...will we hit it today? I'm thinking so. But of course, only if y'all come to visit.

City Boy bought me a couple of Photoshop magazines! I'm just having way too much fun (and it's completely consuming me...) Naturally, you recognize Ohren's picture above. It didn't start out that way. (Thankfully...as I'd be rather frightened to go outside and find one of my new lambs wearing a party hat.) The coolest thing I learned was how to cut and paste...the easy way!

Geek Boy had tried to teach me how to cut and paste before, but I'm a lousy student, especially where technology is concerned. So I just bagged the idea. Then in walks City Boy with the magazine...they're bloomin' expensive! I'd never spend that much on it myself, but I'm so excited he did. Of course, I'm now a total addict. I was only a partial addict before. He may be sorry he ever brought them home... Do you think there's a twelve step program? I hope not!

So, what other goofy things have I been up to with Photoshop?

Meet Pyscho Roo! He's one of the recent additions at the Cafe Press Store. This one here, however, has the Carpenter Creek name across the top, and he could be yours! Yes, I know...you're overwhelmed at the prospect of owning him...hee hee! Well, he'll come on a t-shirt, along with other goodies, if you're the winner of the 5000 Visits contest.

Okay, I'm going to go do something serious now. Maybe castrate a lamb. Oooooo...you guys are crossing those legs, aren't you? Well, maybe I will, and maybe I won't. All depends on Darling. She'd been considering keeping Ohren as a pet, and if she does, it'll need to happen. Don't worry, we'll document the whole thing for you! Then again, perhaps she'll decide she wants to get one of those little ewe lambs of Margery's. If that's the case, all of Ohren's body parts will be safe.

Y'all have a good day, and don't forget...you can't win if you don't leave a comment!

Tracey to Brain...Come In, Brain...

2007-04-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

Ever had one of those days? You know, the kind where your brain just runs off and leaves you stranded? Well, I'm having one of those mid-lifes. It's called Menopause. I know we've talked about it before; about how my brain is on pause and all. But golly, I wish my brain would check with me before it took off.

It wouldn't be so bad if I could find it when I needed it. The dog runs off sometimes as well, but I can pretty much be assured that I will find her across the creek at the neighbors where she likes to help with the landscaping.

My brain has been missing for a few days now, so this morning I waded across the creek to see if it'd gone with the dog and accidentally gotten buried during a gardening incident. I thought perhaps it would hear me calling and start thumping from beneath a fresh patch of dirt. I figured a dirty brain was better than no brain at all. Alas, no such luck.

Brain not found with dog across creek.

I'm thinking about putting an ad in the paper. "Lost, one brain, slightly damaged." I'm not sure about offering a reward; what do you think? I may get someone trying to pass someone else's runaway brain off on me in hopes of getting the reward money. And I wouldn't want that; the other brain may be worse than mine! Then again, probably not. Perhaps I'd get an upgrade?

In any case, here are the repercussions of a runaway brain these past few days:

First, there's the issue of my surprise contest with the naming of the lamb. Becky, congratulations! You had an adorable name, and I forgot all about it. I'll need to get in touch with you so I can send you your prize.

Mamma Loves Ewe!

Second, I forgot to post who won the Booger Blog Award yesterday. Oh, The Joys... Congratulations! Dorky Dad and Diesel did their best, but obviously they weren't able to buy~er, encourage~enough votes to pull out ahead of you.

Third...this morning I got an email from Margery. She had three ewes up here last fall to be bred; perhaps you recall my bringing one of the boys back down to her place a couple months ago? Anyway, she emailed to let me know that her ewe, Lady, lambed yesterday! Twin ewe lambs (why did she get ewes while I got the rams, I'd like to know?), one black and one white.

Needless to say, I was excited and wanted to get down and take pictures of them. I changed my clothes (make that into my clothes) and headed towards the freeway. About halfway there, I realized the truck felt rather empty. Darling wasn't with me, but it was more than that, it was...EEEK! My camera wasn't with me! So back to the house I went.

Fourth...on my way home from the lambs I decided to pick up a few groceries. Filled up my cart (I forgot about the few part) and went to the check out line where I realized I'd forgotten to bring any form of money along with me. No debit or credit or cash or checkbook on me, in my truck, tucked inside my shoe... So I had to drive home and get some money and then go back to pay.

If you happen to spot my brain wandering around, will you let it know I miss it? Defects and all...I'd like to have it back again. Maybe then I'd remember to get up in the morning. Thanks!

Now, just because I'm sure you haven't wasted enough of your day here with me, I'm going to leave you with this totally hysterical link. But you'd best have sound on your computer, as without it the clip makes no sense. And if you've got bladder control issues? You may want to grab a fresh pair of Depends (you've been warned!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4Y4keqTV6w

Bowling

2007-03-31T22:57:00.000-07:00

I was sitting here this morning, minding my own business, checking out comments left on my blog, when a whirring of motion outside on the road caught my eye. What’s this? Uhg…Bowling Day!

Each year the local university holds a big bike race out here in the valley. Why, I don’t know. You’d think they could pick a nice, long, wide, straight road. But no, they find the hills and corners challenging. And they ought to, what with my bowling score.

I gave City Boy a call this morning while I was out for my walk. “Guess what I’m doing?” I asked him.

“What?”

“Bowling! I’ve already got two strikes!”

“Leave the bicycles alone!”

City Boy is no fun sometimes.

I brought my camera along with me, thinking I may at least try for a few decent shots of the bowling pins as they rushed past me down the road. Wouldn’t you know I had a camera malfunction? My lens had a hard time focusing. I had to take some time to figure out what was wrong with it. Before long, I was distracted by all the other things that I found a great deal more interesting than silly boys in tight fitting spandex riding bowling pins down the road.

Where did this tree come from?

The neighbor just strung a new barbed wire fence.

Look at that fluffy cow scratching her butt with her horns!

Oh, wow! A slug!

Darling and I went ran into the city a little later. We passed by a group of pins on our way.

“You got your seat belt on, Darling?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Open your door, I think I can pick up a spare!”

Dodson's IGA

2007-03-31T04:14:00.000-07:00

We live in between towns. And by towns, perhaps I ought to clarify. One is a city; it comes complete with a mall and I-5 running through it's center. The other is...well...a hick town. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing the matter with a hick town. In fact, Darling is ready to move there.

The hick town in question has all the amenities one could want. At least, according to Darling. There's a post office, a gas station, a casino. I've never seen a fire truck there, but we did see Hick Town police officers dining at the greasy spoon, so there must be a police department. I'm not sure why they'd need more than just a few officers because the town is only five blocks long. I think Barney Fife could handle the job most days.

Darling loves hick towns. Darling loves Dodson's IGA even more!

Aside from these amenities, there is the grocery store. Dodson's IGA. Dodson's has been doing business out there for something like 100 years. Or maybe that's just how old the founder is? They have everything you could want at Dodson's. Need to pick up the makings for a salad? They've got the goods. Got a late night craving for some ice cream? No problem, their freezer is stocked with dozens of varieties. Need to dig a trench? You'll find shovels at Dodson's.

Darling loves Dodson's; she insists on stopping there nearly every afternoon after school. They've got a terrific selection of soft drinks there, and not just the kind in a can, either. No, you can get the real fancy stuff that comes in a glass bottle!

A couple months ago Darling and I decided we wanted to make some cheese. Trouble was, we didn't have any cheese cloth. I had to decide...did I want to run into the city? Or drive out to Dodson's and risk them not carrying cheese cloth. Darling looked at me like I was insane. Of course Dodson's would have cheese cloth, she insisted. So out we drove. We looked all over the bloomin' store for the cheese cloth. I couldn't figure out where they'd put it; the store isn't organized like your usual grocery. Then again, your usual grocery doesn't carry shovels. We finally asked, and found the cheese cloth in the tool isle. If you ever stop there and need cheese cloth, you'll find it next to the paint brushes, just beneath the screw drivers. Should you be an electrician, Dodson's will carry tape for you. I think it's next to the produce. Duct tape? Across from the jam. Or somewhere in that area.

The other day Darling and I stopped to grab a bag of chips on our way through Hick Town. "I wonder where they keep the chips?" asked Darling. "Probably across from the pitch forks, " I said with a chuckle. Darling nodded, "Makes sense." I'm not sure how it made sense. I had no clue where the pitchforks were, but Darling headed down the isle, found the pitchforks and did an about face. Potato Chips! Darling smiled, and said, "Mom, can we get a pitchfork while we're here?"

And to be honest, I never thought I'd be buying a pitchfork at the grocery store...but hey, it's a Hick Town!

Oh, the Glamorous Life I Live!

2007-03-30T02:59:00.000-07:00

I know you're all sitting out there wanting to live my life. It's so terribly glamorous, what with my Farm Girl Spa each morning, muddy pedicure and all. But I've only been telling you half of the story! The cute half. The diabetic overload, sweet half. But in reality...

Bessie is prone to sticking her head through the fence...and getting stuck. Not just once, but several times. Look at that big hole in her ear! That happened on her second day here. You'd think she'd learn, but no. I am unsticking her daily.

You want to come visit? I've got something for you to do. Aside from unsticking Bessie. Sheep poop. It piles up around the place like nobodies business. Well...I guess it's the sheep's business. You'll need to grab Blake (Darling's name for the pitchfork) and start shoveling up the old bedding and wheeling it out into the garden. Battling flies all the while, of course.

Make certain you get it spread evenly around the plants.

Then you can mend the fences. City Boy would be more than happy to hand that job over to you. Not that he minds terribly doing the work, he's just not happy about the camera aspect of it all. He's camera shy, my City Boy. You're not camera shy, are you? You wouldn't hide, making it nearly impossible for me to get photos for the blog?

Oops! The Tax Collectors have realized there's activity that they've missed. Better impose the Mend A Fence Tax.

While they're at it, they figure they'd better install a compost for the garden tax. Plus charge me for their contribution (poop, that is.) That'll be two cookies each. Make that two cookies and a cracker filled with peanut butter.

Another load of compost heads to the garden. Don't you just love my wagon? City Boy bought it for me. Can't say my man isn't a hopeless romantic...

It's deworming time now. We use a paste product that is applied with a syringe into their mouths. Nasty stuff. They do not like it.

Okay, so Carrot likes it. Alot. He won't let go of the syringe. Darling must offer a deworming tax. Quiet Storm is not so cooperative. And just so you know? The back end of a horse is way more businesslike than the back end of a sheep; you'll be expected to clean that up as well.

By now it's dinner time. Taffy stands patiently as the boys grab a quick bite.

Okay, okay...I just couldn't help a little cute!

2007-03-28T22:57:00.000-07:00

As promised, a surprise contest for today!

But first, check out the nominees for the 'coveted' Booger Blog Award! Either click, or scroll down to below the duckies and my whining about not getting breakfast. Clicking may be quicker.

Now...guess what happened out at Brigget's house last night? Lambs!

Brigget's ewe, Sunday, delivered healthy twins, a ewe and a ram. Both are black, and the ram lamb already has little horn buds! A bit too dark to get a good picture of them, but rest assured that by next week I'll have some good shots for you. You won't believe how quickly the horns on an icelandic ram can grow! The photo above is of Brigget and the little ewe lamb. Go ahead, everybody say "Aaaaahhhhh"! (Of course, they're not as cute as my lambs, right? But pretty darned close.)

Caption Contest!

Sunday is such a good mamma! This is her first time lambing, and twins were not expected as she was pretty tiny around the tummy, unlike the older, wiser girls pictured below.

Here are, from left to right, Fiola, Hulda, Cinnamon and Brekka. Can you believe how wide Brekka is? Last year she lost her twins and was so unhappy. Hopefully she'll have a successful delivery this year. Brigget is hoping all that weight is from the babies and not the taxes Brekka has been collecting.

Did you notice that Hulda has horns? Both ewes and rams can grow horns in the icelandic breed.

Meanwhile, back on the farm... The Baron and Orhen are a full week old today. Taffy has relaxed and they trot about without her becoming terribly anxious. Today they were practicing being rams. Head down, rock your weight back over your hindquarters and...

Charge!

Boys will be boys, eh?

Now, you've got two things to do. Vote for your favorite Booger Blog, and give me a caption!

What City Boy Did

2007-03-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

Remember when I told City Boy I wanted ducklings? And he gave me grief over it? But yesterday I get home and what do I hear in my rec room? Peeping! City Boy has brought home a box of quackers!

I think this one is brain damaged. It has a funny head. I'd say it was a bad feather day, but City Boy tells me it was a return. Someone returned their duckling! The only reason I can imagine they'd do that is if it were brain damaged. Why else would you return a duckling?

Now, I've got more fun stuff coming tomorrow. Brigget's ewes...you'll have to come back and see! I'll be springing a surprise contest on you (which isn't so much a surprise if you know one's coming up...but you don't know what it is, right?)

AND...tomorrow I shall announce the Booger Blog nominees! Yes, I did find three blogs out there worthy of snorting a few boogers over. I'll be emailing the unfortunate bloggers tonight to inform them of the news, and a poll is ready for everyone to vote.

NOW.....go give that photo of Alice and Tait a name!

Winsday!

2007-03-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

Name the Photo!

Folks, you just can't imagine how good I'm feeling...because I actually slept last night! Went to bed at 10 thinking...hey, I can post early in the morning. I mean, typically I'm awake at 5 am. But today? 7:30! And I'm rushing now to get chores done and get off to the doctor. I've got a cholesteral check today, so I've not eaten yet (they make you go without food for ten whole freaking hours!) I'm going to ditch you until later, that means, because I'm going to be getting grumpy pretty quick if I don't get some food in my tummy.

Which means...race around and do the chores...race into town so they can prick me with needles...then EAT. And then I'll come back and share a bit more with you. Because I do have something to share.

In the meantime, how about some captions for the photo?

And the Nominees are...

2007-03-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

As promised, I've spent the past few of weeks roaming about, reading a few blogs that have been submitted by you or stumbled upon by myself, trying to come up with a short list of three for this months Booger Blog Award.

Your job, as responsible readers, is to go check out the blogs in question, then come back and vote for the blog most likely to cause you to snort out some boogers.

Congratulations to Oh, The Joys on winning the Booger Blog Award!

Do you know a great candidate for the booger blog? That would be a blog funny enough to make you snort boogers while reading it... If so, just let me know!

Taxes

2007-03-27T05:22:00.000-07:00

Dolly wanna cracker

Back when we first got sheep, Darling had a little black lamb by the name of Freedom. We'd put a collar and leash on Freedom, toss her into the back of our SUV (sheep utility vehicle, aka Volvo station wagon) and bring her with us to the feed store and other places, such as the McDonald's drive thru, where people would fall in love with our little curly haired puppy. And we'd be forced to explain that this was not a puppy, but a lamb. They were, however, not convinced until the lamb let out a baaaa and a burp in their faces. At which point they didn't really care any longer if it was a puppy or a lamb because the fumes from the burp had knocked them out cold. Eventually we just began telling people she was a sheep dog, they'd pat her on the head and walk away, thus saving us the embarrassment of having people passed out at our feet.

Most people think sheep are not very smart, one of those being my nephew, Trouble. Trouble is not his real name, but it ought to be. He lives on a cul de sack with his brothers and sisters, his father and Little Hitler. He owns and shows a corgi, doing quite well in 4-H at both the local and state level. He looked at Darling as she led her lamb across their grandparents yard one day and asked what good that lamb was? Darling let Trouble know that she'd get that lambed trained and be competing against him in obedience classes before long. Trouble just laughed, telling her sheep weren't that smart.

Darling and Freedom's daughter, Honey

Training sheep is not an easy task. It takes time, patience, and a lot of peanut butter filled crackers. The first thing we taught our sheep to do was Baaaa. They caught on right quick, noticing the parallel between us carrying a box of crackers and getting a treat. Soon they were baaing each time they saw us with extreme exuberance! In fact, we could not get them to shut up. You could hear them all up and down the valley, and it was soon obvious that our sheep had trained us to carry treats each time we left the house or risk having some very annoyed neighbors.

The sheep also recognized that when a car pulled into the driveway, it often had treats inside of it. Hence, the driveway tax was imposed by my sheep. Should you ever come to visit, I highly advice having a box of peanut butter filled crackers with you. They're also fond of fruit loops. If nothing else, you should at least have a few old french fries. This is not on their list of approved snack foods, however it shuts them up long enough for you to get out of sight.

Do you have a cookie?

Our sheep don't allow for second chances. No, you get it right the first time or you find yourself face down in the mud with an entire flock doing Irish step dancing on your back. This is why our pockets are always full of cracker crumbs, which can be a bit embarrassing if you've actually gone out into public, reached into your pocket for your keys and pull them out covered in peanut butter. The best thing to do in this situation is to just lick it off casually as though it's a peanut butter key pop. People will look at you strangely, but it's easier than explaining the driveway tax to them.

Briget and her sheep

Feed us. Feed us NOW!

Our sheep have us well trained. They've taught us to duck as we walk past the window. If they see us through the window, we're required to pay the window tax. They stand and baaa until we go outside and feed them their crackers (or fruit loops), which isn't entirely a bad thing unless it's 6 am. The neighbors aren't terribly fond of the window tax our sheep have imposed on us. Oh, it's not so bad during the week, but they get rather cranky on weekends. Our sheep don't care about our neighborly relationships, however, so we walk around like a house full of hunchbacks.

Needless to say, the thoughts of having a prize obedience sheep has long since flown the coop. Instead, we're thinking perhaps there ought to be a class for well trained humans. How many times can your sheep get you to jump up onto that grooming stand with a cookie and coo like a baby at him? How many humans does it take to tip a sheep onto it's butt so it's feet can be trimmed...and how many of them can be layed flat in the mud in the process? Things like that.

Cuteness today, tax collector tomorrow

Yes, our sheep have done an excellent job with us. I'll bet Trouble isn't nearly so well trained! Dogs aren't nearly as smart as sheep.

It's time to shed a few...

2007-03-25T21:33:00.000-07:00

Taffy and Baron Von Milchschaf

Taffy is a great mother! As hard as it's been raining, the other sheep still venture outside during the day to graze a bit. Taffy would normally do the same. And while her shed has been open to allow her such a treat, she's kept her boys tucked safe and dry inside. I've had other ewes stupid enough to lamb outside in weather like this! Today the sun came out, and Taffy brought the boys out for their first adventure. She's a smart little ewe, that girl.

Go ahead! You just tell me this isn't the most adorable lamb you've seen on a blog today!

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

So anyway, here I sit. Pondering. It's all Savvycityfarmer's fault that I'm wondering if there will ever be a day I can snap the waist closed on those inspiration jeans. They've only been hanging there for what, six weeks? I ought to have shed a few pounds by now, but I haven't. I started out okay; bought a few carrots, went on a few long walks, and did some sit ups. But then I caught a cold, and who wants to do sit ups when they've got a cold? And everything was down hill from there.

Inspiration Jeans...are you as tired of seeing them on this hanger as I am?

But my jeans are still hanging where I see them every morning and every evening...in fact, every trip to the loo, as they hang over my tub (where I'm sure to notice them when I slip into my bubble bath...along with my not so slim waistline.) I'd hoped hanging them there would shame me into some progress, but it hasn't. Instead I've been stuffing my face with things such as Oreo cookies...although they weren't the double stuff, if that counts for anything.

Whilst skipping through blogland (I probably should have been skipping around the yard) I came across a site that was a Bloggie nominee; Fat Cyclist. It seemed like a blog I ought to at least peek at; perhaps it would be inspirational...more so than my jeans have proven to be. The guy's been cycling for a couple of years now and shed about 20 lbs. I think that's great! But I'd like to take those 20 off a bit quicker, so cycling probably won't be my weight loss method of choice. Plus, I've never been very good at balancing.

If I recall, my first bike was given to me when I was about six years old. It was red and shiny and pretty...and very dangerous. A person could get killed falling off one of those things! It had only two wheels, after all, and no strings to keep you upright. I was not getting on that. No way, no how.

But my father, the same man who later coaxed me into standing on treacherous, slippery rocks for a chance at a fish, also talked me into trying the bike. I'd get on, and he'd push, promising he wouldn't let go. He lied. I fell. They say I wouldn't have fallen if I hadn't looked over my shoulder to realize he'd let go, but I think they were lying about that, too.

My dad put in countless frustrating hours trying to get me upright on that bike. I'm not sure how long it took me to finally get the hang of it, but I never did enjoy it much. My parents would get their bikes out; there was one of those infant seats on the back of one of them for Little Hitler, and they'd stick me on my bike so we could do the family bike ride thing. It was like we were supposed to be Austrian, without Julie Andrews and the clothing made from curtains. It never sat well with me. It especially didn't sit well that Little Hitler got to ride in that little seat (oh, don't go giving me the 'she was only three' routine! I'm sure she had a trike.)

So as you can see, bicycling is probably not me weapon of choice against the poundage around my middle. Plus, then I'd be among those horrifying pedalists that people like me are always bowling for.

Cyclists pretending their pins in a bowling alley.

No, I'll need to come up with some other fashion of losing weight. Obviously, I'm not too good at sticking to exercise plans (the sit ups have failed so far), and I do love my sugar. The only thing I can think of that may work is personal humiliation. Yes...I think I'm going to go ahead and toss those numbers up on this blog for the whole danged world to see. But I am not going to post a picture of myself in a swimsuit, or even shorts, like those commercials on TV. Nope. Not going to happen. And really...you wouldn't want to see it!

I'm not going to update every day like the fat bicyclist does, but I'll try to do a once a week update. And you all have to keep me in line. If you should find me stuffing my face with oreos again, yell at me! Should you see my truck automatically hanging a right at the Dairy Queen...well...is it okay to have a blizzard now and then? NO! The answer is no! Don't let me do it! I'm assigning you the role of junk food police. Tomorrow I'll weigh myself and post it (ouch!) for everyone to see. And I'll also tell you my target weight. As soon as I actually get there, we'll celebrate, okay? Okay. Just keep me away from the oreo cookie isle.

She's got spurs, they Jingle, Jangle, Jingle!

2007-03-24T22:14:00.000-07:00

"I like the way they jingle when I walk", giggle giggle.

Darling discovered spurs today. I'd pulled out an old pair that's not been in service for years, thinking I'd stick them on the back of a boot and take a picture or two. That wasn't going to happen with my little Imelda around. The boots went onto her feet and the spurs onto the boots. And there they stayed throughout the day. She liked the way they jingled when she walked (giggle giggle.)

Darling and Rocket out in the rain...jingle jangle (giggle giggle.)

Did I mention it's been raining here a bit? You'd think we had a trout pond out in the driveway at the moment. Normally not a problem, this non-stop, round the clock winter of rain has the whole Pacific North WET under water. Thankfully, we're no where near as bad as other areas of the county. Still, a little reprieve would be nice.

Head of Homeland Security got a hair cut. He doesn't seem to mind being out in the rain without his coat. Just like a kid, eh? Darling also didn't mind being out in the rain today. Especially since she was jingling everywhere she went. One of our stops was at my trainer friend's, where I snapped this pic of the inside of that bull for you. If you missed that post, he drives the bull while his clients work their cutting horses. He can get this thing to whirling around pretty good, giving the horses a good workout (or easy one, if that's what they need.)

I slipped inside the tack room for a picture of the bridles hanging on the wall. I'm not totally thrilled with the photo, but it's late so I'm not going to fiddle with it right now. Each horse has his (or her) own bridle. If you take a close look, you'll see a whole slew of different bits (the mouth piece) in them. And way off to the left there is a hackamore, also called a bosal, that has no bit. Some horses work well with one kind of bit, others need something different. There's no one size fits all...kinda like shoes. We all need a different size or width, or feel comfortable with a different heel or sole.

Darling feels comfortable in spurs, evidently, attached to her boots. Here she is again, out playing in the rain with her new footwear. The spurs were still jingling, even when they got wet (giggle giggle.)

After driving down into the neighboring county, I didn't feel so bad about my driveway puddle. It could be worse. Look at this! A sure sign of spring is that yellow growing up in the swampy, roadside water. It's bright, yellow and visually attractive. That is, until you know what it is, or get close enough to smell it. The plant is known as skunk cabbage, and it smells like both!

You can actually see the white line of the road in this shot, and the water right up alongside it. There are several side roads underwater right now due to our heavy rains. I believe they've had some flooding up in Canada, eh, as well.

After leaving my friend's place, we headed to a shop where we picked up some pretty papers to make a scrap book. Yes, Darling jingled, jangled, jingled and giggle, giggled her way through the store. And despite her request, I managed to not bring the camera in and take pictures of the event. Although, I'm rather regretting that now...giggle, giggle!

2007-03-24T05:55:00.000-07:00

Baron Von Milchschaf

Congratulations, Ross!

I Fish, Therefore I Lie!

2007-03-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

It's raining. It's pouring. I don't hear anyone snoring... I'm waiting for the ark to come floating past, though. We've had nothing but rain and snow since November and the place is soaking wet. I know some folks are dealing with drought, and trust me, if I thought I could send you a gallon of rain I would. Or a barrel. A rain barrel full of rain. Except that they've made it illegal to collect rain here in Washington without a permit. Why, I don't know. It's not like we've got a shortage of the stuff!

Not that the rain doesn't play a role in our growing seasons. A couple of years ago we had very little spring rain, so our intuitive governor declared a state of emergency. She also said that farmers shouldn't water their crops. I suppose it's because someone else needed the water more than we needed food.

Like the cemeteries. As you know, I'm rather drawn to cemeteries, and one of the things I noticed during our drought was that there were an awful lot of sprinklers keeping lawns green while our farmers weren't growing food for us to eat. Many of those sprinklers were in cemeteries, and they splashed a good amount of water all over the paved roads. Now, I'm no expert, but it really didn't seem right that the farmer's were needing to ration their water while dead people were allowed to have beautiful lawns.

Dead People's lawns can be watered, but we cannot water crops or collect rain water without a permit.

Then again, politicians tend to favor those who vote for them, and since our governor had a large contingency of dead folks vote for her, I suppose she was just doing what she felt was right. But enough talk of dead people and droughts. It's raining now, and the ground is so wet I can't plant my peas, which should have been in last month.

I wouldn't mind the rain so much if it were fishing season. Everyone knows that fishing is good after a rain. I come from a long line of fishermen. Well, at least the previous generation fished. A little. There's this kid's fishing derby held here each spring, and my Uncle Warthog and Dad were there at the first one ever held. Uncle Warthog paddled around the pond in his little row boat. He was the first kid to catch his limit, and he still has the bamboo fishing pole he won that year.

Sunset down at the bay where Dad and Uncle Warthog used to fish.

My dad and his brother the warthog were great fishermen. They'd go down to the docks at the bay and fish during their lunch breaks 'back in the day', eating their sandwiches and tossing their hooks out into the water. Dog fish were what they were after. A bucket of white paint sat on the dock with them. They were the sons of a painter; painting was their summer job. When they caught a dog fish, they'd pull it up and slap a white stripe down it's back, then set it free. And that's how there came to be skunkfish in the bay.

I've never fished for skunkfish or dogfish. I do recall a fishing trip with my dad and Little Hitler (my bossy little sister) when we were young. He brought us, along with the neighbor girl and her dad, down to the falls to fish. We climbed down the steep hill and over slippery rocks. Little Hitler and her friend stayed down on a small rock while Dad pulled me up onto the big rock that was right beneath the falls. That's where the fishing was best, he said.

Do you see the rock? Neither can I.
But I swear it's there, under all that water.

Now, this particular creek was for kids 14 and under only, so no adults were allowed to fish. Which is why there were grown ups all over town grabbing the neighbor's kids and dragging them out on fishing trips. None of them, however, was as brave as my father. We were the only ones who dared to go right under the waterfall. The others were up above us, or down below. Kids and their adult partners, all with their poles in hand and hooks in the water.

Another view of the falls.
Naturally, there was less water when we were fishing that day.

My dad had me by the waist as I tossed my line down behind the rock we were on. We were being sprayed with water from the falls, but that was okay. The dad of Little Hitler's friend stayed down on the low rock with them, where they were catching bull heads and crawdads, getting an occasional trout in the process. I, on the other hand, stood cold and wet and fishless on the rock with my father telling me to just be patient.

And then it happened...a strike! And a bite! It was huge; I'd never felt a pull like that on my rod before. Dad helped me set the hook and I began fighting to pull that fish up out of the water. There's about a ten foot drop behind that rock, and of course standing on top of it you can't see what you're pulling up. It was so heavy that I thought perhaps it was just a log or something, but Dad insisted it was a fish.

Soon a small crowd gathered above us, looking over the falls. People were lining the bridge. I had a huge fan club! Wow...too cool. I was ready to sign autographs. The neighbor dad left the smaller girls down on their little rock to come and look. A teen aged boy got brave enough to jump over the big rocks to stand alongside of us. He layed down on his belly and reached over the edge of the rock.

The bridge that crosses the creek; the falls are there to the left.

I heard shouts and gasps coming from the people around me. It was a big one! But I couldn't see it. I could only hold onto that reel with my cold little fingers and try to pull him in. Then the line lightened. "I got him!" shouted the boy. Another cheer!

My eight year old mind raced. What did he think he was doing? That was my fish he'd got! And I gave a huge yank on my pole, lifting the fish off his fingertips...and of course once it was off the fingertips it fell back down to the end of my fishing line...which snapped...and my fish was gone.

The cheering turned to groans. Heads were shaking as people walked away, disappointed. The teenager, who'd only been trying to help, was still cheerful, saying he'd never seen a fish that big come out of the creek, must have been three, four pounds! Friend's dad had gotten a peek at it, saying it was at least 18 inches, if not more.

Walking back to the car, Little Hitler wrinkled her nose at me, stating that she'd caught trout for dinner, but I hadn't. I sneered back. "You may have caught trout, but we'll eat it and they'll be gone. My fish story will live on forever!"

And so far, it has!

I'm sick...sniff!

2007-03-22T22:43:00.000-07:00

They've all had it; City Boy, Darling, and the Geek Boy. They've all been sick, coughing and sputtering all over me for a full week now. I've done my best to ward it off, but my body just couldn't fight it any longer. It's wet out, it's cold out, and I tend to spend too much time out in the wet cold. And my immune system finally said 'no more'.

But despite this, I know that you all are awaiting another days worth of lambie pie photos, and I can't bear to disappoint you! So without further ado...lambies!

Name me and WIN!

Despite several attempts, no one was able to guess the correct lambing date on Taffy. So, we'll just have to find another way to give the prize out! And that would be giving this dear sweet boy a name. His mother, of course, is Taffy. His father is Carrot. The breed is East Friesian, which is German (or Finnish or Dutch, but most often German.)

The prize includes, but is not limited to, the following: One hand felted lamb, perfect to stuff into some one's Easter basket or set upon a bed. A jar of sheep milk Manna, milk and silk Heavenly Body Butter, a bar of Ewe Stink sheep milk soap (the soap doesn't stink, silly!) and plenty of other goodies. All in all, a $50 value! So put on your thinking caps and offer up a name for our sweet little guy!

Yesterday Alice the Cat decided to accompany me out to the shed to watch the proceedings. Normally hanging out in the rain is not on her to do list, but she realized that everyone else was there, so something important must be happening. Sure enough, there were slimy things making noises!

Taffy is not so sure that a cat should be allowed in the birthing suite. She gives Alice the 'stare down' glare and stomps her foot. This technique works with most would be lambie assassins in the barn yard, but Alice pays no heed. She's wondering what lamb chops taste like.

Look, there's something hanging off the back end of this slime ball!

Kill it! Kill it!

Oops! A bit too close! Taffy charges and Alice jumps away from the target.

Aahhh...they just want to be friends! Alice doesn't appear to mind the blood and slime all over the little one. In fact, she appears to rather enjoy it!

This morning the lambs are bouncing about and a bit cleaner (thankfully! I know you all were rather disgusted yesterday!)

Here's Mr. Droopy Ears. No, that's not really his name. Darling has yet to give him a name. Well, she did try, but I vetoed Gollum. I mean, I didn't want my lamb wandering around saying 'My Precious' and talking to itself!

Did you know little lambies will try to nibble on solids so soon? Amazing, isn't it? Now, if the weather would just begin to cooperate, they'd be able to go outside and play. But for now, they've got enough space in their cozy little shed to bounce and drive mamma crazy.

Now, I do believe I'll go take some drugs and drift off into lala land for the night. Hope you've enjoyed the pics, and don't forget to leave a comment with your name suggestion! =)

2007-03-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

And the winner is.... Stormin' It Up!

Being as Quiet Storm is Darling's horse, I felt it only fitting she should select this week's winner. And who would it be? Rachelle!

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Yesterday they held parent conferences at Darling's school. You may recall me telling you she was going back after a couple years of homeschooling. She was all excited, but after a day she decided she didn't really want to be there. So we cut back the on how many classes she's taking and that does appear to help somewhat. She's got just two teachers, and one of them wasn't there. So we spent something like, oh, a minute and a half with the teacher who was present. He said she has a good attitude and comes in with a smile, and that aside from a few holes, she's doing well.

After that taxing, exhausting and emotionally stressful event we came home to find three ewes staring into the sheep shed. Taffy was not among those staring. Being in my 'dress up and go to school' shoes, I couldn't walk through the gate(too muddy), but did go up alongside the fence beside the shed, and from there I heard Taffy's voice. Baaaa....baaaa...baaaa...in a tiny little whisper meant for mamma's and babies. I ran to get my boots, Darling ran for the camera...

....which means you get to see the whole, bloody event!

This is what greeted us as we walked into the pasture; one very new and very yellow lamb. With floppy bunny rabbit ears. Taffy was lovin' all over her new baby while he tried his best to get up and move. Newborn lambs can walk within minutes! And we complain when our children are walking before they turn one...

I had no idea how long ago she'd lambed; obviously not too long as he was still quite wet. I sent Darling off for some towels and walked in to inspect. Which is when I saw...

...oh...icky.

Before I could set the camera down and step in for a closer look, she gave a push...and out came lamb number two!

Another ram lamb; he was born breech, but so quickly that there were no ill effects. Taffy pulled the sack off from his face and I stepped in to pull a bit more away from his nose so he could breath. Darling was back out with the towels by now, so she took my camera while I wiped and inspected.

The bad news here is that no one guessed the correct lambing date! The good news is I'll have more photos up tomorrow, along with a new contest for you all, so be sure to come on baa-aack, y'hear!

A Wild, Wild Day

2007-03-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

Name This Photo!

The afternoon was so lovely that I just had to move sheep and let Quiet Storm out to play for a while. I thought you may enjoy seeing Darling's Muddy Monster at play.

Let's run this a-way!

Now we'll trot that a-way...

Snort! I'm done now.

We had issues today. Not that Quiet Storm was bad, she was just feeling good and showing off. City Boy was out working on the gate between paddock and pasture; Quiet Storm felt it necessary to stand nearby and do her Lipizzaner tricks. This created a somewhat nervous City Boy! I didn't blame him, to be honest (and perhaps that's why I was on the other side of the fence?)

Once Quiet Storm settled down and went back to her placid self, I began contemplating allowing Sunny out. Mind you, she hasn't been out of the paddock since she's been here, which was Feb 4. And while I can get her to walk up to me while I've got grain in my hand, she's not the easiest catch in the world.

For those of you who've not read about Sunny, she's our most recent adoption and still a bit on the wild side. She doesn't like to be touched, but she knows who carries out the hay in the morning! I decided to take my chances and bring her out into the field. I've got to tell you, it's a scary thing letting go of a horse after they've spent time cooped up; scarier still when they're wild like Sunny. You just never know if they're going to slow down for fences.

Sunny sniffs green grass for what is probably the first time in over a year.

At first I held onto her lead rope. She snorted a bit (she always snorts), holding her head high. Every muscle was tight as she walked into that pasture. She doesn't lead very well, but she did manage to follow me as I showed her what the fence looked like, praying she didn't just rip right through once loose.

Light on her feet, but listening, she followed me to the front of the pasture, looking at sheep and watching Tait. Then she saw the neighbor's horses, and despite my best efforts, off she went, lead rope flying alongside!

Of course, I was totally calm, cool and collected as she flew down the length of the field, then came back straight at me at a dead run. Totally!

Okay, well maybe not totally. But what could I do? She was loose, she was running, and the only thing I could do was take her picture! So I did.

After several minutes of racetrack action, she finally slowed to a trot and made her victory lap.

Hey, Mom, did I have ya worried?

I let Sunny hang out in the field while I finished up a few other outside chores. She didn't want to be caught and I think it took half an hour before I managed to snag that lead rope. Once I had it, though, she followed me placidly back to the paddock where dinner was waiting.

Ride 'Em, Cowboy!

2007-03-19T23:16:00.000-07:00

Mammas, don't let your babies grow up to be Cowboys...
Geek Boy back when he was still a cowboy!

My post today is in honor of my friend, Laura, and her son JB. They ride the rodeo circuit; Laura and her horse do barrel racing while JB rides bulls. Yes, her little boy rides BULLS! Okay, not so little anymore. He's an adult...legally. But still, once a mamma's little boy, always a mamma's little boy. Which doesn't mean they're any less a man, it just means we mammas always think of them as our sweet, rosy cheeked little monsters.

Cowboy from the Rockin' J Ranch buckles his chaps

JB has ridden in, what, four? five events? And twice he's gone the full eight seconds! Which officially makes him a man (so you can stop doing it now, JB, so your poor mamma doesn't go stir crazy each time you plop yourself down on one of those bad boys!)

Some years back, when Geek Boy was in kindergarten, we had an opportunity to volunteer at one of the county parks. It's actually an old homestead, and each summer is full of farm animals. This particular year there was a sow who'd had 19 piglets; one of them was very small and we were able to help with the bottle feeding.

Two piles of piglets...see the ones in the top right corner?

Geek Boy and I loved going out and feeding the animals. We got to do more than feed the piglets. I recall being out there on a sunny afternoon, getting a nice tan as I was happily scooping pig poop and being asked a question, to which I replied, "Oh, I'm just a volunteer." To which all the park guests turned to look and gasp. "You volunteer to clean up after pigs???" said the shocked woman. "That's not all," I assured her, "They also make me clean the chicken coop, and it stinks!"

Anyway, Geek Boy named the runt Oscar, and we'd sometimes bring along a friend of his to help us with the chores. Oscar loved people and visitors; we'd often times let him follow us around the park, much to the delight of visiting children.

Miss Mouse and Oscar

There were more than just little piggies and their mammas at Hovander. There were also three young pigs that you'd probably think of as teens. They were half grown, black and white, and rather friendly. One day while I had Geek Boy and Miss Mouse out there, Geek Boy had an idea. They'd try to ride a pig.

Now, I don't know if you're very familiar with pigs or not, but there's a reason John Wayne didn't ride one. And it's not just because his legs were too long and his feet would have drug the ground. No. It's because pigs don't want to be ridden. Bear in mind that Geek Boy was sired by a City Boy, but from the womb of a Desperate Horsewife. The urge to get on and ride came natural; he just didn't know what he was supposed to be riding.

Geek Boy and Miss Mouse hatch a plan.

Fortunately for Geek Boy, Miss Mouse was easily convinced. Unfortunately for Miss Mouse's mother, Miss Mouse was easily convinced. The two of them scaled the fence and sized up the young pigs. The potential mounts were dozing happily in the morning sun, completely unaware of the momentous occasion that was about to take place. As the children approached, the pigs jumped up. I'm guessing the children had had visions of just stepping onto the sleeping pigs, but this was not the case.

No, instead all h#%l broke loose. The pigs sensed something was up just as the kids were about to straddle them. Jumping to their little cloven hooves with a speed you wouldn't think a pig had, they left Miss Mouse and Geek Boy in the dirt. Not willing to admit defeat, the children began chasing the squealing pigs around the pen. Before long, they had an audience. We all stood along the rail of the fence wondering who was making more noise, the pigs or the kids. It was rather hard to say. The kids would chase the pigs, then the pigs would turn around and chase the kids. Squealing and squallering could be heard across the farmyard.

It was also hard to say who was winning. The children decided to join efforts and go after one pig. Miss Mouse would hold it still while Geek Boy would try to get on board. The other two pigs would roll on their sides laughing at the poor pig who was being mounted. But it wasn't as simple as just cornering him and climbing on. For as soon as Geek Boy had his leg over that pig's back, the pig shot forward, then spun in bucking circles just as though he were rodeo bucking stock.

That's when Miss Mouse decided that girls could ride better than boys. Geek Boy seemed more than willing to allow her to prove herself and cornered another pig. Miss Mouse gingerly attempted to lift herself onto his back, but before she could get her leg over he spun right into her, knocking her into the mud before squealing back to his buddies.

Regardless of their unsuccessful rides, the two of them had a great time pig bustin'. And, like many a cowboy, Geek Boy learned that eight seconds is a very long time when you're riding a bucking animal, even if it is a pig!

Amazing Grace

2007-03-18T22:16:00.000-07:00

Grace to you and peace from God our Father

Grace:

favor or good will.

mercy; clemency; pardon: an act of grace.

the freely given, unmerited favor and love of God.

Mercy:

compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy, or other person in one's power; compassion, pity, or benevolence

Today the kids and I went to see the movie Amazing Grace. I was warned ahead of time to bring a box of kleenex. City Boy's family has a rating sytem; it's not how many inappropriate scenes for children, rather how many boxes of tissue you may go through during a move. I hadn't heard how many boxes this one would require, and in fact, I'd rather forgotten to pack the tissue so was left snatching up napkins and pretending it was for the popcorn once in the theatre.

I'm happy to report, however, that boxes of tissue were not needed; at least not in my case. Then again, I'm one of the few people who never cried during the Passion of the Christ. Lest you think my tear ducts be clogged, I assure you they are not. In fact, I did cry during the movie...or at least, at the end of it. Nothing can make this girl tear up quicker than a screen full of men wearing plaid skirts, showing off their knees and pumping away on bagpipes to the tune of Amazing Grace. Wouldn't you agree?

In the very first scene we're set up with an act of compassion and grace. There is a horse laying upon the ground, his master is beating him in an effort to make him return to his feet. Darling buried her head into my shoulder immediately, but kept her eyes on the screen. But grace came along in our hero, William Wilburforce, as he stops his carriage and recommends the men allow their horse some time to recover. Grace. He didn't beat the men's faces in like many of us would like to do had we come across that scene. Mercy. They'd deserved it, but hadn't received a brutal punishment for their actions.

But this movie is not really about horses being beaten. It's about slavery and God's amazing grace.

There were roughly over 10 million African's put onto those slave ships. That's a number I can barely comprehend. A ten, with six zeros. I can't even visualize what one million would look like! And yet, over ten million men, women and children were put into shackles and brought in boxes; yes, boxes the size of a coffin; to work as slaves.

The song Amazing Grace was writting by John Newton, a former slave trader. Later in life he gave up his profession and became a minister, speaking out against the slave trade. While it would be our inclination to condemn him and others, John Newton realized that God's grace was upon him. He experienced grace in the form of mercy. Mercy, which is not receiving something that you deserve.

And so it was throughout the movie that I asked myself how many times I'd been shown grace or mercy. And how often do I show it to others? I'm afraid I take for granted the mercy shown to me by others. I'm also far too quick to offer judgement over pardon to those who offend.

I have a challenge to put forth to you. I'm going to recognize when grace and mercy have been shown to me this week. And I'm also going to offer it to others. Will you join me? Will you post here the grace you've received from others?

And...will you share this with a friend? I'd love to see how many acts of grace we can recognize in our lives around the world!

It's a sheep's life...

2007-03-18T09:11:00.000-07:00

Dolly plays hide and seek in the garden.

Meet Dolly. She's a sheep. Dolly is without a doubt the smartest sheep I've ever met. If you stake Dolly out to graze, and should she be tied, say, to a tree...well, like most animals she'd go round and round until she had very little rope left. But unlike most animals, Dolly figured out how to go around the other way, thereby lengthening her rope again. Pretty smart for a sheep!

Dolly meanders casually across the yard as though she belongs out there.

Dolly is also an escape artist. Last year at this time I would sit down to the computer and look out the window. If I didn't see Dolly out in my front yard, I'd become worried. Not that Dolly was supposed to be in my front yard, and certainly City Boy didn't appreciate the natural fertilizer she left behind. No, Dolly should have been in the pasture with everyone else. But since she never was, and since she was always in my front yard, if I didn't see her I'd wonder what had happened and go outside to see where she was.

Dolly was always my first ewe to lamb in the spring. This was taken almost a year ago to the day. Look how wide her body is! Look at that huge udder! And she waited another week before giving birth.

Mory and Tevy were born March 26. Mory was just over 11 pounds, Tevy was just under. Dolly is an excellent mother!

Mory and Tevy visit with 'Uncle Walter'
They are approximately 12 hours old here.

Mory and Tevy, less than 24 hours, out grazing with Dolly.

Did you know that lambs were born with tails? Some sheep, such as icelandics, have naturally short tails. But others like Dolly (she's a suffolk dorset cross) have long tails. When the lambs are a couple days old, a band is put around their tails. As they grow, the band becomes gradually tighter, killing off the nerves. After about 14 days, the tail falls off. Now, don't get all squeamish! It's rather like sitting with your foot under you, and having it fall asleep. When the tail is small, it will grow into the band the there's minimal discomfort; even then, it's only a few moments before the lamb feels nothing.

Why would we dock the tail to begin with? Those tails have a lot of wool, and feces and urine will stick in it, drawing flies. This creates a problem known as fly strike, which can cause illness in your sheep. Better to have a pinching moment at two days than get sick later on from fly strike.

Tevy runs for joy!

Darling and Tevy.
Who wouldn't just snuggle their face down into that sweet lambs wool?

I hope you've enjoyed this glimpse into lambing here at Carpenter Creek!

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!

2007-03-17T09:17:00.000-07:00

Are you dressed all in green today? You may have noticed that I changed the color around here to reflect my Irish roots!

The weather here is so gloomy, dreary and gray; it's been like this since November. I was flipping through some of my older photos and realized just how much I miss the sunshine! Darling asked me why I take the camera with me everywhere I go, and I told her just in case there was something to take a picture of; then I realized the only thing out there are clouds, clouds, and more clouds!

But since playing a bit in Photoshop, I've discovered I can manipulate those clouds, and I've begun looking at them in a whole different manner. I was on my way to bible study just the other night when I began looking at the clouds. They were thin in areas, puffy in others, and just opaque enough to allow a little light from the sun to glow through. Fortunately for me, I had the camera along and started taking pictures! Unfortunately for everyone else on the road, I had my camera along and didn't pull over before taking pictures!

I'm not sure why everyone was getting their undies in a bunch. Sure, I'd managed to dip down to 45 in a 55 zone. Why were they in such a hurry? Didn't they see how perfectly lovely those clouds were? Don't they know I'm shooting photos for my blog, so that all of you can enjoy them? Didn't that guy in the ambulance recognize just how perfect your timing needs to be in order to capture the light just right before you drive behind a tree and completely miss the photo opportunity? I mean, really...sheesh! Some folks are just all about me, me, me!

In any case, I managed to get this picture below.
I'm sure you can see why I had to hold up traffic; aren't those clouds just divine? Look at them out there in the distance, with just a hint of gold showing through...

And the tweaked rendition! More gold, less road... So totally worth holding up traffic, don't you think?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go clad my body in green before the rest of the sleepy heads around here get up and realize they can pinch me!

More Pretty Pictures

2007-03-15T23:29:00.000-07:00

Is it cute? Or is it cute?

Okay, you're right...it's cute!

This is Darling's horse, Quiet Storm! We've made a silhouette from a photograph of her, then had it printed onto t-shirts and buttons and such. And if you'd like to see a few more (and perhaps even order), you can check it out at my new Cafe Press Store!

Here's the original photograph. Its one of Quiet Storm running across the pasture. I've got to tell you, I was pretty excited to get her eye in focus as she was galloping past! If you're ever photographing something that's moving, just follow along with your camera as the subject is moving past. Don't forget to keep moving even after you click the shutter, and your subject will be clear and the background blurred.

This is the original image. Not only did the eye end up in focus (sheer luck, I assure you), but her stride has her looking like the Ford logo, don't you think? I used Photoshop to create a layer, delete the (ugly) background, and then change the color of Quiet Storm to red (and black and pink!)

I'd love to explain how to do this, but to be honest I'm just learning it all myself. The Geek Boy, aka Grammar Nazi, has had to show me how to do this stuff. Several times. Over and over. Again. I believe I've finally gotten to the point of not running from the room crying when I get frustrated with it all.

The most important thing that Geek Boy has taught me is to create a duplicate copy before doing anything else. That way when I screw up (and I will screw up), I've still got the original and it's unharmed. I've been altering my images strictly through clicking the little auto contrast button, and that's made a huge difference...or at least I thought it had been. But the Geek Boy has shown me something new. Something called layers.

Remember the beach photos from last week? Well, I began playing with layers. The above photo was altered slightly to give a bit of a sunset using layers. Between the Geek Boy and Betty Jo (who gave me a tip on a particular technique using my new found layer skill), I re-worked the photo to look like this:

The second photo is really lovely when it takes up the full screen; it's got such a soft, romantic glow to it!

Another feature that I like to use are the filters. You can give your photo the look of a painting, which is what I did with the hay wagon below. Isn't that the coolest wagon, btw? It may appear a bit too small on the screen to truly see the 'paint', but hey, the wagon was so cool I had to post it anyway!

This is a better example of a before and after on the filters. The original is first, followed by the 'dry brush' filter.

Okay, then there's this one. I LOVE this photo! It was taken a my friend Nancy's place (the wagon above is her's, too.) We've had a pretty wet winter, and her little shed here was sitting in water, just crying to have it's picture taken.

I used the same technique on this photo that I used on the second beach photo, but the blurred layer on this one is stronger.

And of course...Geek Boy the Grammar Nazi himself! And what is it he's framing his face with? A very, very old computer hard drive! Aren't you glad they don't make them like that anymore?

That Never Happened...

2007-03-14T22:18:00.000-07:00

Congratulations, Rachelle, on your winning entry in the photo contest! Winter Whiskers, it is!

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Darling cut her own hair!

I'm the queen of 'That Never Happened'. Really, I am. I never snorted boogers all over people while on a first date. I never dropped my cell phone in a public toilet and got caught fishing it out. And I certainly never go outside where truck drives can see me in my flannel pj's walking barefoot through muddy horse paddocks. No...these things never happened. Never.

Darling and Rufus

Today turned out to be quite lovely, despite the snow on the hill and chilly air. Darling and I decided to bring the dogs into town and walk along the old railroad tracks through Whatcom Falls Park. It's a lovely place; so picturesque and tranquil.

Now, I've not mentioned it before, but Darling has a habit of running into things. Little things, like walls, for instance. Fortunately for her, there were no walls out in the park. Unfortunately for her, there were trees. "That never happened," she said. That's Darling's second most favorite phrase. As I told her this afternoon, half of her life hasn't happened. She has no idea what I'm talking about, pleading complete ignorance. I really have no idea where she comes by such denial.

Someone is walking backwards...
Either the dogs are very talented, or perhaps it just never happened...

Hurry! She's old, we can outrun her!

While we're on the subject of Darling's favorite phrases...her most favoritist (is that a real word? The Grammar Nazi will come for me if it isn't) phrase is, "I was adopted, wasn't I. Please tell me I was adopted." I'm not really sure why she'd think that. We've always been very honest with Darling in terms of where she came from. Some years ago we sat her down and told her that, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much, they call the travelling pig gypsies who always have a supply of extra children. Pig Gypsies are always willing to barter a bit, so we traded a shiny bottle cap to them in exchange for a new daughter. To which Darling responded, "I was adopted."

Young Redwinged Blackbird pulls seeds from cattails growing in the pond.

Our walk this afternoon, as I mentioned, was along the old railroad tracks. Prior to entering the park, they travel past Scudders Pond, a gloriously swampy piece of water full of cattails, bullfrogs and mosquitoes. I told Darling how one early morning I'd decided to go for a stroll along this same trail. It was something like 6 am, probably not the safest time for a young woman to be out walking alone. That thought hadn't occurred to me until I'd been out there for half an hour and noticed that the only people I was meeting were a handful of male joggers. I was beginning to get just a bit nervous, imagining the worst each time I heard their crunching footsteps approaching me from behind. I'm sure they noticed my jumpiness, too, as I'd turn quickly around so as to get a good look at their faces just in case I lived through the attack.

My heart was racing by the time I was out of the woods and back alongside the pond. But I knew I was within sight of the apartments across the pond now; surely someone would be up and hear my screams should worse come to worse. Just as I was letting that thought slip through my head, my fears were realized. I was attacked from behind! I let out a scream; I'd been hit on the top of my head! I fell forward, the palms of my hands hitting the gravelled trail. I recall wondering briefly why I hadn't heard them come up behind me...

Quickly I attempted getting up to flee...or fight... Do you know how awkward it is to turn gracefully when you're on all fours and facing downward? Breathlessly I got up, but there was no one to be seen. I looked around. And then it happened again. Thwunk!!! On the top of my head!! What the heck??

That's when I heard the squawking and chiding from a tree above me... There sat a red winged blackbird, thoroughly ticked off at my hot pink headband!

Oh, sure, they look innocent enough...

I brushed the bits of embedded gravel from my hands, straightened my sweater and looked nervously around to see if there were any witnesses. Thankfully, there were no joggers at the moment. Hopefully, no one was awake over in those apartments to have seen what had just happened. Imagine, being attacked by a silly little bird and having it drive you right down to the ground.

But of course...That Never Happened!

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Now, a quick Taffy update! Here's what she's looking like from behind. Her udder is filling up, but we're not there yet.

Could this be considered Sheep Porn?
(Oh, never mind me...I'm up way past my bedtime!)

Farm Girl Spa

2007-03-13T21:37:00.000-07:00

Winsday Photo Contest!
What shall we call this one?

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Farm Girl Spa

I know several of you long for the country life, and I must admit it’s pretty darned intoxicating some days. Fresh air, a slower pace…it’s what all you city folks dream of, right? And naturally, without the grit and grime that comes with your polluted city air, those of us out in the country (past the city limit sign) will have healthier bodies and skin.

Today is your lucky day, as I’m about to give you a very intimate peek into my life. You’ll gain insight as to how a farm girl such as myself keeps that healthy, youthful glow that keeps City Boy coming back for more punishment.

Getting up early is the first step to a healthy country life. The old saying “Early To Bed, Early To Rise” must have had its roots on the farm. Morning most definitely does not break before my sleep around here. The recent time change doesn’t help; it’s dark when I rise. Perhaps you think the roosters are the alarm clock of the farm. Well, yes, but they crow all day and all night, so unless you’re one of those people who like your alarms set for 1, 3 and 5 am, I’d not recommend roosters on your farm. But yes, I do hear them crowing, as well as the neighbor’s rooster. They are obviously engaged in a crowing competition with several other roosters, as the cockadoodle doo’s are echoing up and down the valley well before dawn.

A few good stretches are essential to helping your mind get in touch with your body. Stretch, yawn, stretch. Attempt to find the bathroom in the dark without running into a wall (that may cause bruising on your pretty face; we wouldn’t want that.) Try to land your bottom square on the toilet seat (missing isn’t good, don’t ask how I know.)

No need to get dressed in anything fancy this early in the morning as the only ones who’ll see you are the farm animals, the school bus driver and a handful of dirty minded loggers going up the road. Spas would have you undress anyway and wrap yourself in a towel before beginning treatment (with the loggers and bus driver, I wouldn’t recommend this on the farm.) I prefer my flannel sheepie jammie bottoms, my silky feeling (and somewhat short, hence the bottoms) pink nightie, and an old coat to help keep the early morning chill off. I am a regular farm girl diva when I head out in the morning for my spa treatment!

The brisk morning air will fill your lungs with its natural goodness; breath deeply. It will also smack your face silly, and if the stretches and yawns hadn’t quite done their job arousing your brain, the chilly air will. Now that your brain is fully functioning, it’s time to take hay to the animals. Gather several flakes into your arms, being sure to bend at the knees as you lift. A few bits of hay will undoubtedly slip down the front of your pretty nightie, causing a bit of discomfort in the region of your bosoms. This is nothing to worry about. Farm girls know that exfoliating is good for their skin. Two or three more armloads of hay to the various critters in the barnyard are necessary to fully benefit from the experience.

The horses are the last to be fed in the morning. Carefully load yourself up with hay, then walk through the muddy paddock to the barn. As you’re walking, the suction of the mud will grab your boots and you’ll step right out of them, allowing your feet to sink into its glorious, muddy goodness. Wiggle your toes, working the mud up between them so as to experience the full, soothing benefit. Thank the good Lord above that you didn’t forget about not wearing socks to your morning pedicure. Proceed to walk to the barn barefoot, because the boots are stuck so deep in the mud and your arms are full of hay that you can’t pull them out until the horses are fed.

It’s now time to water. Put the end of the hose into a water tub; go turn on the water. Realize that the hose is about to jump out of the tub with the force of water that’s coming through, so run (barefoot, of course, because you haven’t put your boots back on) to the end of the hose. This is when the hose shoots out of the tub and sprays you with your icy cold morning shower. If you weren’t awake before, you are now. And, it helps the blood circulation. As long as you’re wet, now is the time to rinse the mud from your feet and put your boots back on.

Dripping wet, with muddy toes and hay embedded deep down inside your nightie, it is now time to head back inside. Strip down to your birthday suit in front of a mirror and pluck the wet hay off your bosoms. You are now wide awake and refreshed. Your skin is toned from the cold water, your bosoms are positively radiant after exfoliation, and your feet have had a one of a kind mud pedicure for which you didn’t have to spend hundreds of dollars on at some swanky spa. You look like a million…well, probably not a million dollars…perhaps a million pesos. Perhaps. But hey, you’re definitely awake.

Now, doesn’t this make you just want to come running on out to the country for a farm girl spa day?

Bandits!

2007-03-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

...or...

The Night City Boy Tried to Kill Me

I was at the chiropractor the other day when we got to talking about my old friend the possum. Dr. E listened in a bit of disbelief as I told him how the possum wasn't playing, astounded that I would even consider saving one of those enormous, filthy rats. I tried explaining to him how lovely they really were, how soft their fur was...how... Well, it didn't matter how 'anything' they were, he said he considered them targets while driving. Poor possums.

I'm not really sure why we were talking possum, but from there it was only a natural leap to raccoons. Yet another 'beady eyed' critter he'd rather be without. Can you imagine??? I think raccoons are perfectly delightful creatures. Sure, they carry parasites that are deadly to we humans; parasites that will invade our brain tissue (which is why you ought not allow your youngsters to play near raccoon dens.) To win Dr. E over, I felt compelled to tell him the story of Edwina.

Years ago, Edwina would come for dinner each night. We knew she was a girl because she had huge, saggy bosoms. (I wonder if Victoria's Secret makes a bra for raccoons? Edwina sure needed one.) The kids and I enjoyed feeding Edwina; we'd toss cat food out into the lawn and watch her reach out with one 'hand', feeling for the food while never taking her eyes off from us. One day we tossed a left over hot dog out to Edwina. She felt around in the grass for her cat food and was amazed to come up with a meat like substance! Snagging her prize and stuffing the end of it into her mouth, she ran off into the woods looking much like a little old man with a cigar.

This image did not convince Dr. E that he should befriend raccoons, so I told another tale.

There was a time, many years back, when City Boy and I lived in town. City Boy worked shift work; on those nights when he'd come home at 12:30 am, he'd make himself something to eat and then sit in front of the TV watching the only thing on that time of night...horror movies! Most of the movies were pretty B rate, but one particular night City Boy found himself getting drawn in. A little spooked from the movie, he thought he heard the front door knob rattle. His eyes shifted from the TV to the door. Nothing happened, so he turned back to the television, sure that it was just his imagination.

A moment went by, and he heard the rattle again. Now just a bit concerned, he turned to the door again. This time another rattle followed almost immediately, and he saw the knob moving! Understandably, City Boy was a bit concerned.

Quietly he snuck into our bedroom where I was asleep. He began to rummage about in the closet, which is when I woke up to find my husband standing along side our bed with a pistol in his hand. Reason does not dwell in my head when I ought to be sleeping, so the sight of this gun toting husband slinking around in the dark was not exactly putting visions of sugar plums in my head. However, I did spring from my bed in an effort to save myself from whatever fate he'd dreamed up for me. Too bad my legs got caught up in the blankets, tripping me and sending my sprawling face first onto the floor. Some get-away! Certain that I was a goner, I turned in fear to face him.

That's when he hushed me and told me to be quiet, and slipped out the backdoor into the night. I was completely clueless as to what was going on. Should I go out behind him? Should I call the police? Should I hide under the covers? Considering I was only clad in an over sized t-shirt, I opted for the last option. No point in running outside half naked, and what would I tell the police? That my husband wasn't going to kill me after all?

A minute later City Boy came back inside and put the gun away. "What on earth is going on?" I asked in a hushed, yet somewhat angry tone (now that I was sure he wasn't going to murder me!) That's when he told me that the door knob had been rattling, and that someone had been outside. I'm certain I turned white as a ghost. I felt weak; whatever was in my stomach was threatening to make a rapid exit as I listened to his story.

Pressed up against the side of the house, City Boy had slipped along in the shadows until he reached the front sidewalk. Holding the pistol out in front of him, he quickly stepped around the corner, ready to surprise who ever it was on our front porch. Well...he sure did surprise the guy. Out on our front porch was the biggest raccoon he'd ever seen, standing up on his hind legs and trying to open our front door! Seems no one left any cat food out and he thought he'd just help himself.

After that, City Boy always made certain there was a bowl of cat food out for the masked bandit.