Pyrotechnics

        My friend Laura Tasheiko called me a couple of days ago to come join her for a bonfire in her yard.  She had several piles of brush and the day was mild with little wind.  Off we went.  Maddie was so happy to have a playmate, and she and Chance ran together, exploring the woods, for a good hour, until Chance decided he just wanted to hang out with the humans--and Maddie decided to go exploring by herself. 

Maddie and Chance had a great time running and playing...

After a while, their interests varied.

        Laura and I dragged fodder for the fire from the brush piles (she did a lot more than I did), and I found some very dry sticks that I snapped up (literally) for kindling.  I had to fight Maddie for them, though, because she loves to play with sticks and kept running off with them.  Worse, Chance decided he wanted to check out the new play toy.  No!  I do not need a dog that gets splinters in his mouth!

Chance guarded the bonfire...but at a distance.

Once dry leaves or fir needles caught fire, the flames became quickly spectacular.

           Laura’s friend Leslie and her friend Martin came over a while later, and then we all got involved.  By the time I left around a quarter to four, there were two bonfires and a good chunk of the brush piles had been consumed.  Our inner pyromaniacs had been well satisfied.

At first Martin helped feed the first bonfire...

...but eventually he and Laura started another, all the quicker to get the brush burnt.

 

And we kept adding to the original.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the road again.

           Even before I moved out of Unity, I had a housesitting job lined up in Pennsylvania.  Basically, it’ll pay for my expenses there and back, but I get to spend Thanksgiving with Valerie and Jack again, and take care of Duke, the Carolina Dog, again.  Yes, that’s a real breed of dog, though it was new to me when I first met Duke last spring, the first time I housesat here.

 

           So, on Tuesday morning I left Maine, knowing that I would have to stop half-way and spend the night somewhere, because I just can’t drive at night anymore.  Couchsurfing to the rescue!  This is a site that I joined when it first went online years ago, and I’ve both hosted and been a guest.  It’s a great way to meet new and very interesting people.  My host for Tuesday night was Ruthy, who co-owns a huge house in Northampton, Mass, and shares it with multiple housemates and guests.  With an easy smile, and a good conversationalist, she turned out to be hugely interesting, not in the least because I never was sure of her gender.  I mean, she had a small beard, a slim but not-very-curvy body, and there was a book about using gender-neutral language on the table when I got there.  She and 17 others run a business called “Pedal People”, and they collect trash from people and take it to the transfer station for a fee.  They do this using bicycles, and it was fascinating to watch. 

 

           Ruthy comes from Kentucky and her father raised Saanen and Sable-Saanen goats.  How’s that for a small world?  We talked about ADGA and Saanens and Sables for a bit, and then moved on to vaccines.  Turns out Ruthy has a radio show every Wednesday and she asked if she could interview me for the show.  We discussed vaccine safety and lack of testing, the VAERS system, and the 1986 law that gave vaccine manufacturers a free pass.  I’m curious how it was received, as anyone questioning vaccines is usually viciously attacked.  Vaccination is now in the category of religion, and woe to anyone who questions the doctrine.

 

           The next morning, on to Pennsylvania and my cousin Val’s.  I spent the night and stayed for Thanksgiving dinner.  And what a dinner it was!  Jack, Valerie’s husband, is the chief cook and he is a very good cook.  I had brought with me three kinds of cheese (two of which I made), hummus, and liver paté and we all snacked on that.  While there,

I also made a paleo pumpkin pie.  Mmm.  It turned out very well, and since dinner was so late, Val and I quieted our grumbling stomachs with a piece of pie and a generous dollop of raw heavy cream, the kind you can spoon out of the jar.  Sooo much better than whipped cream!. 

 

           After dinner, I started my housesitting and, happily, Duke not only remembered me but was happy to see me.  We spent a good part of the evening playing ball.  When I reached under the sofa to retrieve a ball, and found a bone he hadn’t finished, the game was over.  He’s been carrying that bone around ever since.

 

 

 

 

           It was COLD when I got up in the morning, and it took me until early afternoon to take Duke for a walk.  That didn’t last long, about a half mile.  Duke needed to have some free time, I thought, so we headed over to a dog park recommended by his owners.  Alas, it was closed, padlocked, locked up tight.  No dog park activity allowed when the town offices are not open, apparently.  I headed for another dog park that I’d taken him to last spring.  I’d forgotten about Black Friday.  The traffic was thick enough that I headed home.  

 

        I took Duke to the Cuddy Dog Park this morning.  There were two more dogs there: a 2 year old French Bulldog and a 4 year old rescue that looked like the RCA Victor listening dog, which turns out to have been probably a Fox Terrier cross.  Mario (the rescue) and Duke played hard for almost an hour, and then the three owners/handlers went for a walk together.  I wish I'd had my phone to video their play, but I left it in the car, even though I had my purse with me.  Not the first time I've done something like that and later regretted it.  By the time we got home, Duke was played out.  Within minutes, he was sacked out on the floor.  Even tonight, he's quiet and sleepy. I am so glad I took him there!

        

A morning walk

          Having Chance motivates me to get out and go walking.  It's far too easy to become house bound, but an energetic dog needs more exercise than squirrel chasing.  Now that it's fall, it seems the wind picks up around 9:00, so if I want to enjoy my walk, I'm out the door by 7:30 latest.  This morning I decided to park at the end of Hart Road and trek down the dirt road that connects Hart with Hunt Road.  I recall driving it several years ago when it was in good shape, and then driving it a few years later when it was less maintained.  Road extensions in neighboring towns seem to go by the wayside and eventually disappear.  What has saved Hart/Hunt Road extension is the blueberry barrens that are raked annually.  Trucks and cars have to get in there, so even though there are a few rough spots, the road is still intact.

Blueberry fields in fall are a sight to behold. This picture doesn't do it justice.

           It's a beautiful walk through the woods from the Northport side.  As expected, I found a few places that were challenging--puddles that covered the entire road, places that a car might sink into, washed out portions that didn't matter much on foot but would give pause to someone in a low-slung vehicle.  Luckily Chance showed me where the dry spots were.  Is there anything better than a dog to show you where to walk high and dry?

One of the easier puddles to navigate, but I was glad I was walking and not driving.

 I even saw one pathway that veered off the road and down the hill. Deer path?  Something to explore another day.

A pathway to the right and down the hill, saved for another day.

           We walked all the way down to within a few yards of Back Belmont Road, then turned and walked back.  It's obvious that it's election time. Even on this quiet road, signs proclaiming candidacy march one ahead of the other.  Chance, perhaps making a political statement, marked them all.

          As we approached the end of the pavement to return home, I let my eye wander over a track to the right, taking in the fence, and musing on where it might lead. 

A track off to the side, just where the pavement ends, looked very inviting.

Chance was ahead of me, intent on something in the woods...I thought.

Not wanting to trespass, I kept on my way. Chance had no such compunction.  As I peered through the trees, I discovered a house just visible. 

It's hard to see the house through the trees, but as I peered, it came into view.

The house at the end of the lane.

I realized Chance was not with me, called his name, and in a minute he came bounding down the track.  No doubt he got a close-up view, but like the wonderfully obedient dog he is, he left his explorations to return to my side.  I love this dog!

          Maine has some of the most beautiful stone walls, and this road is no different.  I sometimes envision the early settlers hauling them one by one, stacking them into useful borders. "Good fences make good neighbors."  Ayuh!  I'm glad I get to admire them rather than build them.  Farming was not an easy task when the ground was such a challenge.

Good fences make good neighbors.  Having hauled a few stones by hand, I can imagine the labor to build this.

           I think we walking in total a little less than two miles.  We got back to the car a little before 9:00.  By 9:15 it had started to gust.  Perfect timing.

Taking a chance on Chance.

The adventure continues!  For those who don't follow me on Facebook, Chance is a Sheltie that I took home for a couple of days, just because I missed having a dog and because I really like Chance.  His owner, Stephen Lee, was going to rehome him in December, and I thought I might be able to find someone to take him. And so I did.  Me.

I took Chance to be groomed today at FairWinds Grooming Studio.  

 

Before his grooming session

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After--he looks thinner, but much fluffier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daryl is another goat person and a premier groomer in the state of Maine. She instructed me how to do a careful and thorough grooming, a necessary task for a double-coated Sheltie. He wasn't thrilled with being washed, dried, and brushed, but he was so well behaved.  He looked less than thrilled, but took it all with only a bit of a "hang-dog" look ;)

Chance with his cap on to protect his ears.  

Oh my gosh, the fur that came out of him! 

 

Check out that pile of undercoat!

He looked thinner and felt softer afterward.  He had a "burdock clip" a few weeks ago, so his ruff and quite a lot of the guard hairs are missing.  Now he's brushed and clipped, and even his paw fur is trimmed.  I'm looking forward to seeing what he's like in 6 months after his coat grows in and he's had 6 months of raw diet. He's beautiful as he is now, and when he's all grown in again, I'll bet he'll be stunning. 

He's certainly a happy dog! I think he likes having a person all to himself, especially one who plays ball and throws toys for him. Yeees, he's here to stay. I don't know if I picked him or he picked me, but I love having him around. One of the side benefits, too, is that now I have to get out and walk, because he needs walks--even though he spends a good part of his day chasing and barking at squirrels. (Those pines are TALL! The squirrels keep getting away!)

 

He's definitely my boy, and I'm grateful to Stephen Lee for pushing him on me for the past year. Smart man! He knew Chance was meant for me.

 

An unlucky break

I left Weatherford at the end of February. a mutual friend had told me about someone who needed help on her goat farm, a Saanen goat farm. It had been raining for several days and we weren't able to do much at the farm in Weatherford, so I left early and headed for Northeast Texas.

I loved every minute of it. there were so many kids running around and if there's anything cuter than a Saanen kid, it's several Saanen kids.

One little buckling was very weak. when he was born, his clueless mother let everyone else nurse on her and he got little to no colostrum. they been separated from the herd, of course, but he still wasn't doing very well. it's called failure to thrive and clearly he was not thriving. 

Because he wouldn't nurse when I held him to his mother, just barely able to stand, I decided to bottle feed him. I did that for four feedings, then I put him to the teat and to great pleasure, he started to nurse. I was thrilled! he wasn't out of the woods yet but he was definitely improved. I checked on him 3 or 4 times a day and if his belly felt really round I left him alone but if he seemed listless, I took him to his mother again. he was still pretty weak. in fact, if he laid down on a slight incline he couldn't get up, and I would come running when I heard him crying.

By the time I left, I still wasn't sure he was going to make it because he was still not active. I was wrong. A few days later I got word that he was jumping around, and nursing vigorously.

 I left sooner than I had intended, not because I wanted to, but because of something that happened: I broke my wrist, and not just my wrist, but my right wrist, my dominant hand.

 Now how did I do that? you might ask. Here's what happened. I decided to clean out some of the water buckets. As I was scrubbing one of them out, I lifted it to empty the water that was in there. It was rather muddy out there just around the buckets, and I slipped and started to fall backwards. Of course, I put out my arms to stop the fall. Whoops! As soon as I landed, I knew it had broken. It looked terribly deformed, so with my other hand I grabbed my fingers and pulled hard, twice, to get it back in place. Then I went to the house to get a ride for x-rays. Since it was Saturday, I went to an urgent care, where they confirmed what I already knew: it was broken. They splinted it and advised me to see a specialist on Monday.

 When Monday rolled around, I called the orthopedist they recommended, Charles Wittenberg, D.O. and was able to get in quickly. The visit didn’t go quite as I anticipated.

Dr. Wittenberg unwrapped my arm, looked at the x-rays, and stated that I didn't need surgery. He told me that the wrist needed to be bent so that it would heal properly, that there was too much swelling to put a cast on, but he could do that at my next appointment. He commented that he would like to also put mr on a drug for osteoporosis. On hearing that, I said to him “Oh, I'm sure there's something we can do to treat this naturally.“ “Like what?“ he asked. “Well,“ I replied, “like diet and exercise.“ He replied but if that were the case, I wouldn't have had the problem to begin with. “Not necessarily“, I answered. “I might not be getting the right minerals.“ “Good luck with that!“ he exclaimed, “but I allow people their illusions. You can certainly have yours.“

I advised him that I wouldn't be in Texas for more than a day or two. He stated that he wasn’t going to do anything since I wouldn't be there for a follow-up.  He then told me that as soon as I got someplace where I was going to stay for a couple of weeks, I should I should get an orthopedist to take care of the wrist. Surprised, I asked, “Why don't you change the splint then; you can put my wrist in the right position. He answered that he would do that if he were going to cast it. I reminded him that I wouldn't be there and if it needed to be set why not do it now? He again stated that he would do that if he wasn’t going to cast it. I again said to him, “Why not just put a new splint on it with a different shape?” He replied, “You already have a splint.” I reiterated, “But it's not the right shape, my wrist isn't where it's supposed to be.” He again stated that I already had a splint,  and  told me that no doctor was going to take me on as a patient if I wasn't going to follow up with them. Well, I knew that wasn't true since I'd already had dealings with doctors with broken bones in Pennsylvania when I broke my ankle. 

A more arrogant, overbearing, self-righteous doctor I have never encountered. He rewrapped my arm and sent me on my way.

There's more to this story but I'll save that for another day.  By the time I reached the Tucson area, it had been a week.  I wasn't overly concerned because Dr. Wittenberg  had said the swelling had to go down.  Much to my surprise and dismay, when I saw the orthopedists in Tucson, they asked if the wrist had been set.  "Uh, no, though I did give it a couple of good tugs to pull it into place after I fell."  "Good thing," was the reply.  The doctor in Tucson then proceeded to completely remove the bandage, and apply a cast.  Then he set it, in the cast, x-raying before and after.  "Well," he said, "let's cross our fingers and hope that it stays in place.  This should have been set in Texas."  "But what about the swelling?" I asked.  "Change the cast," he replied, "when it gets too loose."

Alas, it didn't hold, and I needed surgery--which wouldn't have been necessary had the good doctor (tongue-in-cheek here) done his job.  C'est la vie.   I now have a lovely piece of metal in my wrist, but you know, it doesn't set off the metal detectors!  I'm thankful that I have the use of my wrist, and happy that I could proceed on my way.

           

A Morning Walk

           What a beautiful morning for a walk, and what a lovely road!  Here in northeast Texas only an hour or so from Oklahoma, some of the land is flat, and some is just a little hilly. I say hilly, but that’s not quite true.  It’s more that the land rises and falls a bit here and there, just enough to be noticeable.

             I walked down a narrow road bordering the farm where I'm staying this week, amid a chorus of birdsong:  Blue jays—how I love them!  They’re familiar and saucy and brilliant blue.  Cardinals are everywhere.  I rarely see them, but I recognize their song and look for them in the treetops.  Then there’s the meadowlark, that sweet song bringing me back to Colorado, where I fell in love with them.  Finally (but not all) the lovely song of the mockingbird.  I hear them all the time; today I got to see one.  I had expected a plain bird, like brown thrashers, catbirds, and some other mimics (family name Mimid), but they’re actually quite pretty, with their long tails that open into startling white and grayish-brown stripes and their flashy wing spots.  It’s no wonder they’re the state bird of Texas.

 

If I hadn’t known I was still in Texas before, I would have known instantly when I came upon a small herd of longhorns.  I had thought Longhorns were rare, but I’ve seen them almost everywhere I’ve been in Texas.  I’m not sure of this, but I suspect they’re the perfect grass-fed, grass-finished beef, or perhaps there's just an increased interest in preserving this uniquely North American breed.

I walked for a little over a mile, then reluctantly retraced my steps. I love that I’m up to over two miles a day now.  My ankle is strong and my stamina is increasing daily.  On the way back, I spied a stand of spring flowers that I hadn't noticed earlier.  It's been raining hard, and this morning was a respite, but to see the loveliness that God puts before us lifted my heart even more.  Truly, life is good.

 

Exploring Texas

           Life has a funny way of throwing unexpected things your way.  So it was when I decided to leave my second wwoofing farm. My next stop was a farm in Weatherford, about a half hour west of Fort Worth. I knew my friend Rose came to Texas in the winter to visit her brother and his wife, and I thought, “Well, maybe she’ll be coming soon and I can see her before I leave Texas.  With a little luck, maybe it’ll even be within a reasonable distance.”  With that in mind, I messaged her on Facebook and discovered that she was already in Texas, immediately outside of Fort Worth!  How cool was that!

 

           I got an immediate invitation to come by, and to stay the night.  I ended up staying two nights before I drove off to Springbox Farm.  Rose and I were joking this morning that we’ve seen more of each other in Texas than we did in Maine! 

Rose and me.  The best of a poor set of selfies!

 

 

           Springbox Farm is small, about 16 or 17 acres, just starting up.  My tasks include taking care of chickens, ducks, geese, and rabbits, and scratching the necks and heads of two donkeys and two dwarf goats.  Sunrise comes late here, almost 7:00, so it’s quiet and cool when I go out.  No matter how quiet I am, though, they know I’m coming and eagerly await the “escape from confinement”.  The rabbits, alas, have to stay in their cage, which is large and two deckered, but when children come, they get to run around the outdoor pen or snuggle against a delighted child.  Charlotte is a therapist, working with children with autism and other neurological problems, and the farm provides a serene, safe place where chaos ramps down.  Animals are good for the soul.

Cocoa was an occasional guest in my little trailer.

After checking things out inside, Cocoa surveys her domain.

            You can tell we’re in Texas, cattle country.  The land was purchased from the neighboring longhorn ranch, and barbed wire is everywhere.  Last week I spent several hours removing it from T-posts and stacking it up. 

7 Acres of prairie, divided by barbed wire, soon to be replaced by something different.

It was hard to get the barbed wire to behave, but stacking it in a pile made it manageable.

Believe it or not, the greenbriar was much more problematic than the barbed wire, though!  That stuff is nasty!  Barbed wire is well-behaved, staying where it’s attached until you remove it, and giving up during the process.  The greenbriar, on the other hand, is a wild child, grabbing and seeking and scratching whenever it can.  I swear I can hear it chortle as it nabs me unexpectedly--pant legs, jacket, arms, hair!  It doesn't stay put on the ground, either.  It climbs above and reaches down when you're not looking. I was surprised to find it’s in the Malvaceae, the mallow family.  Who’d have thought such a grabby vine could belong to the same family as the lovely hibiscus!  I was surprised to read, though, that this plant is very tasty.  There's a silver lining to every cloud.

 

           I’ve had time to go for some long walks and have explored several places on foot that I’d never have thought to go in a car.  Walking lets me see a different place than I would in a car.  Instead of zooming by, I notice things like tall prairie grass and how the fences are built differently, little things that give the flavor of the area.  I love traveling!

There are still some stands of wild prairie grasses.  They are surprisingly tall!

When you compare the height of the grasses to the trees, you can see just how tall they are.

Some fencing is just two feet apart, the posts from a local cedar, very hard.

 

WWOOFING!

           After I left Florida, I headed to Alabama for my first wwoofing assignment.  I was so excited!  I knew they’d had freezing temperatures a week before, but I was sure that was a fluke and it would be warm and balmy. It didn't turn out that way, this being "an usually cold winter."  I can't tell you how many people remarked about how much colder the weather is than normal.  I'm a New Englander.  I can handle it.  It did seem rather ironic, though, that I'm 1000 miles away from Maine and on some days it was warmer in Belfast than in the South.

 

            First stop, Marion Junction, Alabama.  Spencer Farm is just outside of Selma.  What memories that name brought!  Bloody Sunday, marches on the capital, Martin Luther King, the accusations in the press that he was a communist. (Why?  Because he marched?  Did they think Ghandi was a communist, too?)

 

            The accommodations for the wwoofers were good, but surprising—co-ed bunk rooms.  That didn’t work for me as a Christian, but the gardener’s cabin was vacant so I was able to bunk there and join the others in the bunkhouse for meals and socializing.  The Spencers provided our groceries and we prepared breakfast and lunch for ourselves.  Monday through Friday we had dinner with Chip and Laura, and were on our own for the weekends.  It was cold!  Neither we nor they expected such cold weather, and the wood stove ate a lot of wood but didn’t put out much heat.  Even so, I enjoyed my time there immensely.

The common room, where we played cards, talked, and socialized.

Kitchen area. Everything we needed to make ourselves at home.

         

            Chip Spencer is a technical farmer.  By that I mean that he looks for the numbers on everything—protein requirement for his livestock and how best to mix the feed to get that, how best to bring his animals to market weight and yet not use commercial feeds, how the diesel turbo works and why it’s important to throttle the engine down before turning off the engine, what the angle of the sun is on the greenhouse and which location best takes advantage of that year round. He researches everything, calculates everything, and seamlessly turns toteaching mode whenever something new to the wwoofers comes up.

 

I learned a lot from him, and from Laura as well.  She grew microgreens for market and I worked in the greenhouse harvesting with her a few times.  There's a lot more to growing microgreens--and the proper way to harvest them--than I'd ever have thought. Laura also taught the wwoofers how to make soap.  I’m so glad I waited for a tutorial.  She went through the process piece by piece and emphasized just how caustic lye can be.  I wonder if I’d have been that careful had I done it on my own the first time.  At the end of the tutorial, we had several bars of soap to cure and take with us.  We all traded soaps, for we'd all chosen different scents.  Soapmaking is something I'll definitely pursue later.

 

The Spencers also made sure we got to the Selma Interpretive Center to learn more about the local history.  As I watched the film about the brutality that took place there in the 60's, I found myself emotionally back where I was when I first watched the reports on television, shaken and emotionally bruised at man’s inhumanity to man.  I wonder if things have really changed much.  Now we as a nation attack Muslims, always finding justification for our prejudices.  If we don’t learn to see others as our brothers, how will they ever see us that way?  If we don’t extend the hand of love, instead attacking, beating, and bombing, why would we ever expect anything but hatred in return?  We used to call ourselves a Christian nation, yet now we have denials by those in high places that we should identify ourselves that way. 

 

Truly, many things we’ve done as a nation are anything but Christian in nature.  That’s not to say that we haven’t done many things that Christ would approve of.  Condemnation of religions because of things done in the name of Christ or Allah overlooks the good done in their name, and there is much good.  We have to take off the blinders and see the whole picture.  The trouble with war (and we are a warlike nation) is that in order to justify it, the “enemy” has to be dehumanized.  They are kikes, and ragheads, gooks, spics, slant-eyes, krauts, gringos, all names designed to make us forget we're brothers and facilitate the killing, looting, and carnage. What a waste. 

  

And then there was the Birmingham Botanical Gardens.  It was, admittedly, pretty cold while we were there, but the tour was fascinating and all my love of botanizing came back in a rush.  

Japanese Garden at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens.

Three other wwoofers were there during my stint, Luke, who came from Virginia, and a couple from Belgium, Liam and Judith. I enjoyed them immensely.  Luke and I had some animated theological discussions, Judith and I worked together in the greenhouse and the garden, and Liam fished and cooked his catch. 

Judith and I worked together on the raised beds.

 Our guide. Every evening as we walked to the house for dinner, Midnight would show up and lead the way.

This picture doesn't do justice to the beauty of the peacock.  He was half hidden behind the barn, but I managed to snap a picture anyway.

Chip and his family are very musical.  His daughter is a gifted and talented violinist, his son a self-taught guitarist, and Chip also plays one or two instruments.  The last Friday I was there, they jammed at the local bookstore "As Time Goes By". I’d intended to go for just a short time, but found myself caught up in the excellent music.  I’m so glad I went!

Front left Chip Spender on guitar, Mac to his left, middle, on guitar, to the right Veigh Kaye on violin.  The man  in the camel colored jacket is an admirer.

Veagh Kaye is one talented violinist.  I could have listened to her for hours.

When the gardener returned for the season, my stint was over.  I would love to have stayed longer.  Two weeks was not nearly long enough. 

 

 My next stop was Celeste, Texas.  I asked ahead whether the arrangements were co-ed, and was told no, I’d have my own room.  That didn’t last too long, though.  My host asked if I were “a party girl”.  Uh…no.  Three days and I was gone.  Nice to know you, nice place you have here, but it’s time to move on.

 

 

Texas ice storm.  Who'd have thought it could be so cold in Texas?

And move on I did, yet life is full of surprises.  But that’s the stuff of my next blog.