Chocolate And Chickens

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.

A Sunday Drive

6:59 PM

It is April, and it rained all day Saturday, so I got all the indoor chores done. Was so looking forward to spending my Sunday getting back into sewing, before heading back to work on Monday.
Well....
My Beloved had other ideas, it seemed. When he was measuring the fence line we have to repair and said 'let's go for a ride', I figured we would head out to pick up supplies and we'd be repairing fence today instead of me sewing.
As Maggie loves going for rides, she was invited too.
Instead of going down the hill, he headed up.
And up.
And up.
We went for a Sunday Drive.
We drove up old highway 49 and goggled at the hillside damage from and now cleaned up landslides that had closed the highway several times this winter. We marveled at the traffic being reduced to one lane , that accommodated the current repairs of massive sinkholes and a road collapse. We passed through the small town of North San Juan, and enjoyed the always lovely view of the tall trees and mountain winding roads.
The Yuba River is running fast and high, amazing with it's white crests over submerged boulders and stunning jade green pools. A cinnamon coloured doe trotted nonchalantly across the road, and then hopscotched without any effort up the near vertical slope that bordered the other side.
Arriving in Downieville some time laer, Maggie enjoyed a walk to explore where the convergence of the Downie and Yuba rivers. We ambled down the sidewalks, sidestepping a 'town dog', who was a gentle giant. Lunch was a couple Mexican style beef tacos, while sitting behind the tiny restaurant, enjoying the river flow, roaring near our feet. The stack of sandbags on the little patio, and debris in the trees and bushes told us just how high the river had crested.
Leaving Downieville, we headed further up: through Sierra City (a village, but it boasts some of the best fly fishing in the area and several quaint but pleasant looking lodging choices) and Sattley (a hamlet at best). The view gave way from chilly but sunny green, to snow on the ground. The higher up we went, the more snow, until we reached about 5,000 feet where it all looked like a Christmas card, with fresh snow weighing down the branches of the conifers and glistening (an over used word for snow, but the best description) on the mountains sides.
Reaching a large turn out, we parked and let Maggie play. The fresh snow was a good 2 foot deep there, on top of a couple feet of more solid stuff. She had a grand time chasing snowballs and leaping through the drifts. She did look rather surprised when the first snowball she 'caught' disintegrated between her jaws, but continued the game merrily.
The turn out overlooks a pristine Alpine valley that contains the village of Sierraville. This area is mostly cattle, and was settled by some Swiss emigrants during the Gold Rush days. They must have recognized a little bit of home there, and rightly so. We traveled down into the valley and through: they also have plenty of snow for this fine April day.
If you make a right turn in the center of Sierraville (you can't miss it; it is the only corner), you head to Truckee, passing groves of aspens, amongst other lovely trees. There are times that I have to drive this area for work, and especially enjoy it in the autumn, when the aspens show gold. It is so worth the long drive.
Hitting Truckee, we took the old Donner Pass Road and were thrilled at the 12 foot high snow walls left by the plows: Truckee still has plenty of snow and the back roads are incredible.
Up, up and over: these roads are closed often in the winter months. How lucky we were to be able to enjoy them during this brief, perfect moment. Is there anything more magnificent than tremendous granite outcroppings adorned with thick layers of pure white snow on their more horizontal edges?
Heading down, now, we passed by Sugar Bowl ski resort, who's parking lots were over packed and too many folks had parked alongside the roads.
Getting back onto highway 20, which leads back down to our area, we stopped at the Little Town of Washington and had an ice tea in the old hotel built in 1857. The hotel's charm is from the creaking architecture and very funky décor, a hodgepodge of leftover odds and ends from the late 1800's and mid 1970's.
The hotel's true treasure is the wide back porch that runs the width of the building, and overlooks the river. A mish mash of planters (old feed troughs included) were sporting red tulips on this fine day.
The hotel/bar presides over the tiny town, and the locals were very happy that the little general store has re-opened after 4 years. Those 2 establishments are the only businesses in the town.
Arrived home too late to even think about sewing, but I thought about this... sharing a lovely day with someone dear to you is the very best way to spend the day. I am sure you will agree.