Chocolate And Chickens

8:40 AM

There have been a few moments when I have wondered if leaving a perfectly good California home, perfectly wonderful, beloved friends, and a perfectly happy, thriving home business was a poor decision.

Then I remember the many moments of fear (the fires), of frustration (PG&E turning off the power for days when they feared the slightest winds would create yet another forest fire), the extremely high cost of living (California taxes and ridiculous policies), the lack of water, and of being concerned about the ever-increasing crime rate.

We are in our late 60's and we have left California.

Kinda crazy, yes, I know.

We are blessed to have a sweet, little house to stay in while we search for our new home in Missouri. Our temporary home is 7 miles out of a small farming town, and we are surrounded by glorious pastures; our neighbours are cattle and horses. The lightning bugs, sunrises and thunderstorms have been a delight. But...

But.

Finding a place of our very own has been much harder than we thought it would be. Finding a place to meet our specific needs and budget has been tough. Yes, we've had moments of doubt, but are still firm in our convictions that we will find a new home that we can pour our hearts into.

We've had our moments, to be sure.

But then, there was a perfect moment.

As I filled the water trough for the neighbours' horses, the evening's light wind snatched and pulled at my cotton nightgown. The temperature was perfection, so the strong breezes were a caress on my skin. The way the sun's last rays caught on the array of greens in the trees on the small rise was pure art. The deep reddish brown colours of the horses as they grazed contrasted nicely with the tall verdant grasses and was the eternal pastoral scene. The birdsong made a riotous orchestra, from the mourning doves' low coo's, the robin's trills, the meadowlark's song, the occasional squawking cries of the crows, the sassy mockingbird's harmonies, and the heart wrenching songs from the multiple birds I've yet to identify. The slight scent of earth, cropped grasses and just the faintest tang of manure was carried on the strong breeze wrapped this exquisite gift in a simple bow.

The feeling of pure peace.

A perfect moment.

Realize and embrace the perfect moments: they will carry one through the many changes life brings you.

CHICKEN DIPPING GOOD (Yes, I know, terrible, terrible... but I do love puns, especially bad puns.)

4:19 PM

Our girls are all dipped against mites and lice, and it was a 2 person job. Thank goodness for my Beloved.

He recommended using a very weak solution of pyrethrum: being a retired vector control (insect pests) person, he has had plenty of experience with chemicals and critters. He actually has much practice with chickens, as part of his job was raising 'test flocks' as part of the mosquito control process. That being said, I, forever skeptical and concerned about my girls, researched it online first ....

One large 5 gallon bucket filled with warm water and The Stuff, an extra long pair of rubber gloves, a warm, sunshiny day, and we were in business.

Wisdom does indeed come with age, at least sometimes. I figured out I didn't need to chase down 13 girls individually; all I had to do was corral them and pen them into a small area. Luckily, the space between the lock down dog run and the back fence of the big run that runs alongside was the perfect spot as it forms a narrow alley with a dead end.

The girls are mostly extremely bribable: tossing a handful of scratch into the 'trap' worked beautifully for 10 of the 13. The missing 3 were Lacy, Elvira and the ever elusive and skittish Twiggy. Lacy and Elvira allowed themselves to be scooped up and dumped into the penned in area: Twiggy gave me a chase,

but I eventually won, only because I am a wee bit smarter than she. Just barely.

My Beloved settled on a handy tree stump, gloved and waiting. I clambered into the small trap area and grabbed Agnes. Used to being handled, she did not squawk, and calmly allowed the handoff, whereupon she was gently and quickly dunked, and deposited on the ground.

Stunned, she stood there, wondering what the heck had just happened.

Gertie was 2nd: she worrit us somewhat, as after being dunked, she started walking backwards. Staggering somewhat. We both watched her for a good 5 minutes, and as Agnes was doing fine (wet and bedraggled, but fine), we proceeded.

All 13 were done before the water got cold; all walking about, a bit dazed and confused, to be sure, and definitely ridiculous looking.

No, sorry, no pictures. The actual truth is, I was busy and didn't think of it.. Here's a nice picture of Ethel though...

I cleaned the coop, dusting for possible mites (the reason for dunking), which I do twice a year. Kept an eye on everyone as I cleaned and was happy to see Lacy and Charlotte pop up into the coop to check on my cleaning methods. They do this every week while I clean the coop, and while I enjoy their company, they do slow the process down a bit.

It's now hours later, and everyone is doing fine. They are all fluffed up, laying in sunny spots up in the run: life is back to normal.

(and yes, I am still skeptical: keep your fingers and toes crossed with me, yes?)

THE PANTRY

4:02 PM

THE PIG ON A PLANE AND OTHER TALES

7:42 AM

Our last chapter of Texas led us to Dallas, where construction was a mighty force. From our motel near the airport, we could see several cranes.

We had one free day left, so we chose to explore the Dallas zoo. How pleased we were to find it was a lovely zoo, thoughtfully set up and with huge enclosures for the animals. As it was spread out over 106 acres, they dealt with the challenge that a busy thoroughfare went through the zoo grounds. Cleverly, they simply ran a tunnel for patrons to walk through under the road, and lined the tunnel with gorgeous murals.

The savannah exhibit was marvelous and wound it's way over a wide, long, winding path and contained giraffes, ostriches, zebras and a variety of antelopes. It was usually the home of elephants as well, but as the gate to let the great beasts out was having issues, we saw no elephants that day.
What we did view was the fact that zebras can be ornery beasties: we watched one take a dislike to a certain male ostrich. The zebra chased the huge bird about, eventually even biting the ostrich.

The gorilla exhibits were amazing as well; one enclosure had a papa gorilla with his harem, the other had the 4 bachelor gorillas that live together in more or less harmony. These guys were all 15 years old and big. I mean, they were giant, humongous, massive, enormous, immense!

My Beloved made a new friend in the aviary:

and while we did not see any live elephants, they did have a nice fountain sculpture of the beasts.

As this was a Wednesday, our fellow zoo-goers were mainly mothers with young children, and school field trips with packs of energetic youngsters. It was a very enjoyable day.
So, back to the airport, where we noted that many people had service dogs. Tis 'the thing' these days.... and I'm going to get myself in hot water here, as I strongly feel there is a difference between service dogs, who can sense warnings for epileptics and diabetics, and help those who have physical limitations.... and 'comfort animals' who now seem to fall into the classification as 'service', simply as they help their owners 'feel better'.
You can imagine my shock when we boarded our plane to find there was a 'comfort pig' boarded as well.
This pink, grunting creature had it's own seat, next to it's owners: a young couple.
Most folks found this greatly amusing; I overheard the stewardess say that a few weeks back, they had a miniature horse on board as a comfort animal.
The pig behaved civilly (as did I), and I wondered where the line was: the pig provided comfort to it's owner, but I am not over-fond of pigs.
We sat at the other end of the plane, occasionally hearing grunts and snorts. As I am also not keen on flying, it was a good distraction.
It was so good to get home again.....

TEXAS FISHING

12:03 PM

Bucket List Item # 2 for My Beloved was a bass fishing trip. I'll let you know immediately, this went a lot better than the hog hunting.
We had 2 days to get to the scheduled fishing date, which was perfect, as it was a 2 day drive. A quick breakfast before leaving Gonzales was in order: trouble being, there were no restaurants that served breakfast in Gonzales. We asked around, to find that we were wrong: there was a place....
An ambitious and talented family had converted an old gas station and made it into the perfect tiny breakfast shop. Mexican food being their specialty, home made, perfect tortillas was their crowning glory. Breakfast for two included coffee, and delectable tortillas wrapped around perfect scrambled eggs and bacon, all for the grand sum of $5.99.
Truth be told, the best meal I had the whole trip (although, the chocolate milkshake at Denny's was pretty darn awesome). I was greatly disappointed that I could not take a dozen warm tortillas with me.
Avoiding the interstate as much as possible, we headed out to find another small town called Alba to go fishing. We drove north through east Texas: lovely landscape with green and trees and cattle.

We drove,

and drove,

and drove. I got the biggest kick out of how they pruned the trees from the power lines: clear, straight cuts that left 1/2 a tree in places. (see above - do you see the tree on the left?)

We found Alba, but had trouble with the back roads to get to the resort. Thankfully, they answered their phone, and like every person and business in Texas we dealt with, the lady I spoke to was polite, gracious and very patient. She assured us that we needed to look for 'Tiffany's Restaurant', and there we'd be.

Well, we found the place, but passed it several times, as we were looking for 'Tiffany's Restaurant' in vain.

I don't see 'Tiffany's' on this place, do you?

The fishing place stated they were a resort; having never been to a fishing resort, I was surprised at the mix of practicality and nice this place offered. They had a well stocked fishing supply store, and a row of nice rooms to offer.

Our room was clean and nicely furnished, if you discounted the extremely dehydrated, deceased frog under the end table, poor guy.

The next morning, bright and early, My Beloved met with the guide who took him out fishing.
While they were out fishing, I took a walk to find that many people had trailers and mobile homes parked around the lake area; most studiously and smartly wrapped in screened porches. I can only imagine the many happy hours that families have spent here.

And I'm including this picture below, just because I like the colour combination on this place:

The fishing guide, who'd been born in Texas, had lived in California for a while when he was younger, so did not have the California prejudice that we'd run into before. My happy Beloved thoroughly enjoyed himself, catching 12 bass total, 2 of which were around 5 1/2 pounds.

Catch and release was the name of the game that day; we did not have fish for dinner.
Bucket List accomplished: we had 2 days left. Where to next?

WATER BUFFALOS IN TEXAS?

11:57 AM

My Beloved's Bucket List Item #1 was a boar hunt.

His hope was to, if possible, take a big boar and have a really cool, snarling boar's head mounted for the motorcycle shop.
It seems there are few public lands in Texas for hunting: it is the norm that folks with land allow other people to hunt on their land - for a hefty fee. It is a system that seems to manage itself well.
The ranch My Beloved signed up with for a night hunt is a well know, heavily advertised outfit. They have got it down: the hunter pays the hefty fee and brings his own weapon, orange hat and vest, water and cracked corn for bait. (purchasing these, along with the hunting license was our first 'have to' on our trip and warranted a stop at one of the myriad of Texas Walmart's and a frantic search for a feed store)
Upon arrival at the ranch, he was quickly introduced to the other hunters there, but once it was announced he was from California, My Beloved quickly found he was ostracized.
Seems the 'good ol' boys' don't care for Californians.
Things moved quickly though: the hunters were teamed up and sent off to go find their hunting blinds. Except for My Beloved: he was to hunt solo.
He had no idea that he was expected to drive out over rough land to get to the blind. My Beloved described the others setting forth in their 4 wheel drives and ATV's..... and he set out in our rented Ford Flex.

The hunting blinds were simple platforms set up in trees, with a backless swivel stool set on it. Once folks were up in their respective trees, ranch employees zoomed out, spreading the cracked corn and bait feed.
And then it got dark.
My Beloved described the night: the light chill and mist, the sheer darkness... and then, the sounds.
He could hear a rustle and then rattling. Turning on the flashlight, he found a herd of elk clustered around his tree. And, as it was rutting season, he watched the males clash their antlers and fight. An amazing sight, to be sure.
That's when the water buffalo showed up.
Honey, I told him, there are no water buffalo in Texas. He assured me that this was indeed a water buffalo: big as 2 couches, large and seemingly benign. And it liked the cracked corn too. The beast ate heartily and laid down and took a nap.
He could hear it snore.
Wondering what he was doing, perched up in a tree with elk and a water buffalo underfoot, he turned off the flashlight and waited again.
Until the pigs arrived.
There was much grunting, and gnashing of jaws: he could hear the them chewing. He used the flashlight again to watch, and saw he had a herd of small hogs underneath his tree. They might have been 140 pounds he thought; not the 'big boar' size he'd hoped for, so he as content to watch while he could hear the guns going off from the blinds near him.
My Beloved reported it was a bit rattling, to be sitting on what suddenly felt like a flimsy platform in the dark, to watch these wild pigs fight and rip at each other, and have guns firing repeatedly and furiously around him.
And it was cold.
And wet.
Groups of pigs came and went, all while, the water buffalo snored.
The hunters had been told to stop firing at 9:45pm and come in. My Beloved gave up the ghost at 9:30.
In his haste to employ his great idea of getting into the car and running the heater, he hurriedly placed his gun in the gun case and securely locked the padlocks ..... along with the keys to the gun case, safely inside.
My poor Beloved.
He had to gather up his wounded pride and ask the ranch folks if they had a bolt cutters, which they did.
Thereby ended the hunting trip. And the snarling boar's head donated to the shop by a dear friend will be just fine, thank you very much.

GONZALES, TEXAS

6:55 AM

My Beloved's 1st Bucket List adventure required me to lodge in the very small town of Gonzales, Texas. I'd be thinking this town was indicative of many of the small towns in Texas, so will devote a post to it alone.
Built around the classic town square (named, Confederate Square) Gonzales was rich with history and sad with economic decline. I was greatly entertained by the stories shared by some of the older folks I met there: it seems that Gonzales had the first, the First, mind you, skirmish with the Mexicans in 1835, 6 months before the Alamo happened.
It was a fact they were all quite proud of.
The town's motto is 'Come and Take It'. It seems the Mexicans, who 'owned' Texas at that time, had loaned a small cannon to the white settlers, to ward off Indians. Comanches, I was informed, who didn't scalp anyone, but were notorious horse thieves.
As more and more white settlers moved in, the Mexican residential army got a tad nervous about these folks using the loaned cannon against them, so they asked for it back.
The response from the (rather ill mannered settlers) was "Come and take it!" The settlers won the small battle, a fact that was mentioned with great pride.
The town commemorates the Alamo with a lovely mural of Susanna Dickinson and her baby; the story being that Susanna and her infant were the only ones allowed to flee unharmed from the Alamo.

The town is rather sad; harsh economics playing out it's role. Two dinner restaurants, three hotels and four 2nd hand stores glow amidst empty storefronts. It appears that Gonzales is a dying town.
One 2nd had store stood out: the Emporium. A 2 story building, with shaky flooring, with downright soft footing in areas, peeling walls (interior and exterior) and a ceiling that is giving up the ghost. One needs to walk carefully around various buckets that caught drips. Still, it was worth the impending danger to roam a place that was stacked high and sort of, kind of, organized chaos of .... stuff.

Upstairs was furniture, women's clothing (and every piece included sequins) and saddles.

The proprietor and his wife were gracious, pleasant and eager to chat, even after I admitted that I wasn't going to buy a thing. After a happy 20 minutes of learning the history of the town, I was politely asked: 'what brings you to Texas?'
As I'd already heard that 'the damn, 'scuse me ma'am, techie liberal Californians have corrupted and ruined Austin' I was ready with my answer. I stated that ever since my husband had heard that Hillary was running for president, he wanted to move to Texas.
Right answer, at least to prevent me from getting kicked out of the place. We spent another merry hour, mainly with the proprietor raking all 'damn, 'scuse me ma'am, Democrats, Californians and techie liberals' over the coals.
I have to admit, I found myself much more open minded than my host, but it was his house, so to speak, and I certainly wasn't going to be changing his mind about anything.
It was an interesting education. Strong opinions run right, as well as left, and in each small Texas town we stopped in, opinions were definitely bent to a strong right-wing direction. No real surprise there.
Its a different culture, Texas....

THE ROADS TO, IN AND AROUND TEXAS

4:22 PM

We wanted to see Texas; there are so many things to do and see in that state. My Beloved asked me to make a list of possibilities: not that we wanted an agenda, but if we happened to be nearby....
Of course I obliged: we always have a great time on road trips. No agenda? I was more than fine with that. Exploring is grand fun. Getting lost a happy adventure.
My Beloved then decided he wanted to fulfill a couple of bucket list items, so he scheduled them in without checking a calendar.... nor a map. Nor me.
It turned out we'd start by flying into Dallas, then had Bucket List Item #1 to get straight to in Gonzales, which was more or less by Austin and San Antonio which are in south Texas. Sounded promising, until I saw that Bucket List Item #2 was scheduled 2 days afterward, in Alba , which is just northeast of Dallas.
We flew into Dallas at 9pm. Mr. No Agenda, bless him, thought it not necessary to take my suggestion that we book a room ahead of time for that night, so was surprised to find that the 1st place we stopped at was full... as was the 2nd place.. as was the 3rd. Lost, tired, a bit overwhelmed, we practically dropped to our knees near midnight, in thanks that the 4th place had a room.
In the morning, we headed southeast for Gonzales, to get My Beloved to Bucket List Item #1. (more on that later) The rental car did NOT have a GPS - an invention that ranks right up there with sliced bread and dishwashers - but we did have a map.
Perhaps I should mention here, I am not the best map reader.
The interstates are massive in Texas. They are paved with concrete, the speed limits seem to be fast, faster and fastest: semi-trailer trucks are happiest in the fastest lane and going about 90 mph.

The overpasses and exchanges were huge; obviously there is no worry of earthquakes in Texas! Seeing highway exchanges stacked 3,4 and once, even 5 levels winding above us was not uncommon.

Once out of the Dallas area, we also discovered the on and off ramps are nothing like California's long lingering loops: they appear out of no where quickly, and are maybe 150 feet long. This leads to vehicles suddenly appearing in front of you, desperately trying to pick up enough speed to merge.... as well as us consistently passing up where we wanted to get off.
When we did get off the interstate, we found that most of the frontage roads were either one way (the wrong way for what we'd hoped for) or no right turn to go back... which led to the discovery that if you make a left and drive parallel to the interstate, you eventually get to what is called 'a turnaround' that goes under afore mentioned interstate, so you can loop back and get to where you wanted to go.
Getting back onto the interstate had you commending your soul to God and accelerating with gritted teeth.
The good news was, gas was CHEAP!

It was exciting, to say the least.
One of our favourite discoveries was the Buc-ee's conglomeration in Katy, Texas. After multiple billboards, we had to stop, thinking that Buc-ee's was a restaurant that proudly advertised Clean Bathrooms. Turns out, Buc-ee's is much, much more.
Think of a very nice Wal-Mart merged with the cleanest, best truck stop in the universe. Pulling in, the first thing we noticed was the gas station pumps - long and precise, we were proudly informed that 124 vehicles could be fueled up at the same time. And here's the best part - gas at Buc-ee's was $1,79 a gallon.
That's right, folks, $1.79.
Inside the store, which appeared to be a big as a football field, was a display of everything you might possible desire on a road trip.

Snacks and beverages, of course, including many regional favourites: dill pickle flavoured popcorn being one item that stuck in my brain. Texas related t-shirts and whatnot, fast moving sandwich bars that served up the best tasting, melt in your mouth BBQ beef sandwiches I've ever tasted

and, the piece de resistance, the promised clean bathrooms.
Now, mind, these were just not any old clean bathrooms. There was 2 connected huge rooms that had not just stalls, but solid wall and solid door individual potties. And clean? You could serve dinner off any surface you saw. The attendants were hopping, wiping, spraying, sanitizing constantly.
Impressive.
All the employees were energetic, cheerful, helpful and charming. Perhaps all this enthusiastic, happy energy was powered by the decent wages:

Customer service at it's finest. In fact, the chain made the national news! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSdkEDU_TGI
We thought we'd seen it all though, until we saw the car wash. It has been crowned by Guinness Book of World Records as the longest car wash in the world (yes, everything is bigger in Texas!), and while floods of water and soaps cascade over your vehicle (yes, we had to check it out), giant brushes roll, whirl and scrub your car clean.

And the adventure continues.....

My Beloved's Memorable Birthday

4:48 PM

My Beloved had been looking forward to going to Fort Bragg for months. We'd planned the get away for his birthday and it seemed every week he'd ask: 'is it this weekend?'
We left home on Sunday, packed up ourselves and our doggie, Maggie, who loves the beach. It's a solid 5 hour drive due west from our town on old Highway 20, made longer this time by the crazy north winds that blasted down the valley. We were tired but happy; hit the grocery store to pick up dinner and snacks and happily collapsed into the motel room. Turned the cell phones off and relaxed.
Woke up early Monday morning to find our cell phones blowing up with frantic text messages: 'are you alright???' We figured we'd slept through an earthquake or something. Turned on the laptop to find wild fires had broken out - and one was at home.
Specifically, at McCourtney and Orion. We live in McCourtney, and Orion is a stone's throw away. The very first text message on each our phones was the local sheriff, telling us to evacuate.
We gulped.
My Beloved is quicker thinking than I: he started calling friends.  Our road was closed, the reports said, due to the fire. One of our younger friends, a brave young man, hopped on his motorcycle and headed over to see and let us know: did we still have a home?
While we waited, we took quick showers, walked the doggie. We packed back up, looking at our things, wondering if this was all we had left. It was a long 20 minutes.
Our young man then called, standing in the drive: yes, our house was still standing. The winds were blowing away from the house, and while several homes were burnt to the ground, ours was still there.
We headed home.
Entering the coastal hills, the sky was dark with smoke. The sun, still low in the morning sky, glowed a vibrant orange. The skyline of coastal mountains to the east glowed the same eerie, terrifying orange between the hilltops and the black smoky sky.
At the roadblock, we learned that the hills were on fire: Highway 20 was closed. We've got to get home, which way can we go? we asked the highway patrol.
They weren't sure: the cell towers had burnt and there was no internet connection to be had. They did warn not to try south though, as there were large fires there. Those wild north winds and summer dry conditions created an event - California was on fire all over.
Our only option was to go north 3-4 hours , cut over east another 4 hours or so, then south another 4 hours, then, hopefully, east to home.
North we went.
Driving north up 101 takes one through the redwoods, normally a lovely and relaxing drive, but our drive was anything but.
We spent a sleepless night in a moldy, extremely overpriced dump of a motel, and were grateful for it.   A greasy delivery pizza for dinner, a quick breakfast in a questionably clean little diner on Tuesday morning and we were on our way to where we could catch Interstate 5 south.
Home.
Hoping we still had one.
Around noon we pulled onto our road: the first sight we saw was the local fairgrounds packed with firefighters' tents from all over.

The field across from the fairgrounds was burnt, and the houses, one by one down the road, were burnt to the ground. The fire must have moved fast, as the trees were still standing and alive.
And our home was still there. No power, but still there.
Taking deep breaths, we started unpacking, but were not home but minutes when sirens wailed and I stopped counting the firetrucks that raced down our road at 14. A truck pulled into our drive, telling us that they were evacuating the fairgrounds: a new fire had started on the other side of us and was moving fast.
At that point, friends started showing up on bikes and in pickup trucks. They helped load up the bikes in the shop into the trailer and into the back of pickup trucks: myself, I grabbed the photos of our children from our walls, the 'important papers' and tossed the yet unpacked suitcases into the back of the car.
Our nephew, who lives in 90 minutes away, drove up to help. He's a military staff sergeant and has seen way too much active duty in his young life. I have to say, seeing his open smile and being able to hug his strong shoulders made me feel a whole lot better.
Helicopters and the tanker plane flew over,

dumping water and retardant: we sat tight and eventually got the 'all clear'.
We stayed packed though. That evening, enjoying our battery powered lanterns, we shared a store bought sandwich and cake squares.
Happy birthday, honey, I said. We could only laugh, and feel extremely grateful.
Things are back to normal now for us, but not for all those who have lost everything. Our area had 4 majour wildfires within one week, several other northern California counties saw horrible fires.
I have given much thought about how we are so blessed, so lucky, so privileged to have such good friends, loving family and our home still.
God bless them all: the firefighters, law enforcement, our friends, our family.
And God bless hot water: the power came back on late Wednesday night: that lovely shower Thursday morning was just wonderful.

Treasures

2:36 PM

Deer in my Garden

8:22 PM

New little Littles!

6:41 PM

As we are down to 8 fluffy butted Girls, My Beloved thought it be a good time to add a few young ones to augment our flock.
I thought so too: I mean, really.... who can pass up on a chance for babies?
First things first though: as the new Littles have to be kept separate from the Big Girls until fairly size compatible, a place had to be prepared.
The well shed and a fenced run sits adjacent to the Girls' run and last year we found it to be the perfect place for Littles. That being said, we had to re-install the partition to keep the Littles to the front of the well shed, as we also use that shed for outside storage.
A run to the locate hardware store for some 2 by 2, home to cut and place and screw a couple older, small sheets of plywood as a dividing wall: glory be, well shed ready. Set up water, feeder, shade and we were ready too.
A trip to the local feed store and a happy purchase of 5 Littles, They only had little Littles: no longer the fluffy ball of down, but not quite the teenaged pullet age. No worries: we scooped up 3 baby Buff Orpingtons

and 2 baby Silver Laced Wyandottes.

Of course, they don't look like that now... they look more like this:

We popped our little Littles into a box, also purchasing a bale of straw for bedding, a bag of crumbles for food. Got them home, released them into the run.... to find the 2 by 3 square wire fencing was simply a gateway for such little Littles. The little buggers just stepped through the openings and off they went.
Insert very bad words here.
Thankfully, they are still babies: shy, nervous and wont to stay together. Thankfully, instead of scattering to the 4 winds (yes, they get airborne even at this young age), my presence blocking their wanderlust did have them scurrying back through the fence.
Alrighty now.
What had started as a fun morning now turned into 3 more hours of me clipping the roll of 2 x 3 wire fencing to run it sideways, making a 10 inch high mini-fence along the bottom of the 2 x 3 wire fencing. This made the openings trim down to small squares, more or less, which should stop any more escape attempts.
Here is where I add that it was hot: we hit 95 degrees today, and a good portion of my labour was done in the sun, sitting in dried weeds and the dirt, which has been well used by the bigger Girls in the past.
I finished triumphant, if not just a bit sunburnt, sweaty, somewhat bloody from wire pierced fingers, and extremely grubby.
Hit the shower, then off to a lumberyard where my Beloved and I loaded 2 lengths of Hardee Plank siding and really long, pressure treated boards (I've no clue: they were long and heavy): home to unload (new project in the works: not chicken related) ... to find a couple of our little Littles had found a spot I'd not thoroughly secured, had escaped again, and (thankfully) were hovering anxiously near their buddies, wanting to get back in.
I said a few choice words, but was delighted to find the threat of me standing over them urged them to find the escape spot, and they tucked themselves neatly back to where they belonged.
More wire judiciously applied, and I think we're good now.
Yes, I've gone up to check several times. Will let you know. And, yes, I'm tired now.

I Wouldn't Trade Him For The World

10:58 PM

There are two sides to every story.

4:16 PM

The day I found my mother's body was one of those desperately garish, cheerless grey days right before Christmas.

My mom and I didn't see eye to eye on many things, but we both had come to despair over Christmas. Since her health declined, the very press of what her expectations were made family gatherings took more effort than she could manage. She swore off holiday gatherings, but woe to her children should we forget to make an effort.

As she had refused to even let anyone set up the per-decorated artificial Christmas tree, I was hoping to surprise her. I'd planned on hanging ornaments from ribbons from her living room ceiling, in an attempt to bring a little festivity and a smile. I figured at first she'd fuss at me, and would most likely tell me to take them down, but thought it was worth the effort. I had suspected she'd rant some, but then relent, stating I could leave them up just a few days.

That's how it was, between my mother and myself. Oh, there was love, but she could never express love well. And, it forever seemed, no matter what I did, my efforts were never quite good enough, never quite up to her standard. During her long, slow decline, between cancer and congestive heart failure, I'd gotten used to her standing over me as I did things for her (whether vacuuming or preparing strawberries and everything inbetween) , telling me what to do, how to do it, berating me at times, but eventually thanking me, and I'd know she was at least pleased with my efforts.

It took me years to realize she wasn’t berating me personally, she was berating herself. She was so frustrated that she could no longer do the simple chores that she used to be able to do so well and so easily. There was something more though...

She married young, as most women did in the early 1950's, right out of high school. I came along and she was so pleased to have a baby girl.

She had hoped, she told me several times, that she could dress me in ruffles and bows, and I'd be the small replica of herself: a pretty, buoyant, happy, slim, athletic girl.

Motherhood did not go easily for her though, as she and my father split up when I was barely 3 years old. Being a single mother in the mid 1950's was akin to being a pariah, and she fled her small home town in northern Illinois for Chicago, where she could find work.

I have a vague memory of a funny little studio apartment, where we slept together on a fold out couch, and ate our breakfast of cereal and milk out of those little cereal boxes that one would split open the side, pour milk in and eat right out of the box. The windows amazed me, as instead of people's faces, all you saw was their feet. My mother was surprised I'd remembered that, and as rather horrified, as she thought it was shameful that we lived in a basement apartment.

Balancing a job, a small child and slim wages was hard, so she farmed me out to her older brother's home and family. My Uncle Rich and Aunt Dorothy were wonderful people; I loved living there. Not only the fun of having my cousins to play with, but Aunt Dorothy was demonstrative and boisterous as my mother was not.

I had a grand time, and enjoyed every minute. My mother's older sister, Aunt LaVerne had qualms though. Aunt LaVerne was as reserved in her manner as my mother, and felt that Aunt Dorothy's household was not the best place to raise a child. (Aunt Dorothy was known to have a beer in the evening with Uncle Rich and occasionally cuss: sacrilege!) There were words between Auntie Dorothy and Aunt LaVerne the summer before I turned 5: in the end, Aunt LaVerne and Uncle Russ simply added me to their household with their children. Small traitor that I was at that young age, I didn't mind. What fun for me! More cousins to play with and I had a glorious time.

When my mother married again and I was told I'd be going to live with her, I didn't want to go. You have to remember: I was only 5 years old at the time.

We moved to California when I was 6, along with my new baby brother. Things changed dramatically then; I was far from what I'd called home, far from my beloved cousins, far from comfort, far from my loving Grammy Ann, aunties and uncles.

It soon became apparent I was never going to be the pretty, slim, buoyant, happy, athletic little girl my mother had hoped for. I was plain, clumsy, chunky and shy: I was also a tomboy.

Those first few years in California, I protested. Being so young, all I could say was I wanted to go home. Home, to me, was Auntie Dorothy or Aunt LaVerne's house. Home was the snowy winters, the green summers, to chase the fireflies, to play with my cousins, to laugh and be happy.

I wanted to go 'home'.

How could I have realized at my young age how much this hurt my mother's feelings? Along came my 2nd brother when I was 9, and I was pressed into helping even more. Oh, how I resented having to clean house, wash out cloth diapers, mow the yard, weed, wash the dishes and, once my mother went back to work, mind my little brothers when I got home from school. It's taken me these many years to appreciate that I was learning skills that have served me well as an adult.

My mother and I never grew close, never found a way to really talk to each other. She never gave praise, only scolded for me to do better: it was the way most parents were back then. She would often sit back, take a good look at me and state sadly 'You are nothing like I ever was, I really don't know how you could be so, so ….' and trail off. She had been the prom queen, a cheerleader, the most popular girl in school: I was none of those things.

I felt I was a pure disappointment; it was as simple a that.

Children view adults as almost superior beings: children can never imagine their mother being a true person in her own right.

As an adult, I tried to see things from her eyes. I am sure the gulf in our relationship started from my wanting to return to my aunties' homes. How my mother must have missed me, wanted to have me with her, and all I wanted to do was leave. It had to wound her to the core. Sadly, about the time we could start to enjoy each other for who we each were, instead of who we wanted each other to be, her health and the resulting dementia brought a whole, new dimension to our tenuous relationship.

The day I found my mother's body, I had hoped to bring a bit of cheer to her. My heart still breaks thinking of how she had died alone. If you knew my mother, you knew what a powerhouse of opinion she could be. Being alone was exactly, she would tell everyone, how she liked it. That being said, she did expect visits, short, productive were the best: there were always things needing to be done. Once she was satisfied, you were urged to leave.

I can chuckle now: my mother, forever the prom queen.

The day I found my mother's body, my world shifted: my life would never be the same. Normally, I came on a Saturday, perversely, that weekend, I came on Sunday, a day too late. Did I disappoint her again? At this stage, I try not to think of it that way: we both tried our best. Its time to let the old hurts go and just remember the good.

Mom, I love you.