I Spoke Too Soon

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome. Isaac Asimov

Yes, things are back to normal on the farm. I guess last week's positive perception of things was just a dream after all.

Upon arriving last weekend, we found all our lovely chickens, raised from babies, once again massacred, this time by a weasel who entered through a hole about three inches in diameter. That night, we set the trap near the cinder blocks in front of the coop. In the morning, the bait (one of the dead chickens) was gone, the trap was about 15 feet away (on the left in the green bushes in the following picture) and it had been turned on its side so that an opening was created for the dastardly critter to escape.

So, the chickens are gone.

In addition, yours truly managed to disable two mowers.

The neighbor's well-beloved German shepherd, Raza, went to her eternal rest after 20-plus years of a good life raising all the children in the area.

It was 100 degrees the day I needed to harvest perishable items for sale in the CSA in town. (They didn't look too good, needless to say.)

The Missouri river is experiencing historic flooding, closing our route to the farm (but not affecting our land -- silver lining there).

And when we got back home, Maya's new bike had been stolen.

Given all this, I'm beginning to understand why all our farmer friends are always so cheerful. You simply have to laugh to keep from crying.

Pinching Myself

I'm going to dare and write a sentence that is not usually found among these pages:

Things are going quite well on the farm.

Thanks to the addition of the new fence around the garden, it looks like I might get more than three beets this year.

Here we have about six rows of radishes and four rows of lettuce (also unheard of before the new fence -- the deer have good taste).

Next we have the second round of tomatoes in addition to some peppers, on the left, all weeded and mulched and supplied with drip hoses. On the right, that large, leafy plant in the foreground is one of our signature volunteer sunflowers. Behind it are two rows of beets straddling a wide row of arugula (or "rocket" for those of you across the pond).

For dinner, we had some of said lettuce, radishes, and some of the lovely herbs that are also thriving.

In addition to the garden successes, in this same week, we sold our hay from last year. (We're one step closer to breaking even on that score!)

The rain, which has been a little too much for most people around here, has made it easier for us to weed and keeps things growing in our little microcosm.

The garlic and onions and aronia berries are all doing well.

After a couple of years of strategic abandonment, the clematis are a profusion of color.

Even the long, lost kitty, Tsarmina, returned to the fold! (While she was away, her six kittens went to that great cat box in the sky, but we'll save the negative stuff for one of the many other blog entries about the farm.)

A Wedding and Four Funerals

The Wedding

Last weekend, my cousin got married in California. It was a most lavish affair. A goodly number of us cousins flew out to witness the fine nuptials.

But not all was sweetness and light.

Funeral Number One

Given the timing of the wedding, I was pressured to plant about 100 tomato plants before leaving for California on May 6th. Given that our last frost date is usually around April 24th, and last year's was actually March 30th, I figured I was safe.

Ha! (You're never safe when farming.)

There was a freak frost the first night that damaged my beautiful seedlings. It was followed a couple of days later by 97-degree heat which did them in completely. Two plants remain. No worries. I have another hundred or so that will take their places in the garden. I would have had too many tomatoes if the first batch had made it. Yeah, right. How can you have too many tomatoes?

Funeral Number Two

Time. Money. Sleep. Yes, it was one of those vacations from which one needs a vacation. I swear I won't do this ever again. The next vacation will be relaxing and fun and restful.

Funeral Number Three

My Mom looks up at her little brother in this photo taken three years ago. Since then, however, my Uncle Frank has been fading, both physically and mentally. The brother she has known for over 70 years is gone.

Funeral Number Four

The innocence of youth can be buried after this visit.

About 15 of us cousins grew up spending the summers together. But that was 40 years ago. We have all gone our separate ways and grown apart. After three days with one aunt and uncle, we realized that the ties that bound us together all those years ago do not exist anymore. It was made clear that we were not welcome. I will not see them again.

I am reminded of the old joke about the man who opens the door to his hotel room only to find the place covered in thousands of bottles of Angostura.

When he goes back to the front desk to complain about the state of his room, the concierge replies, "I'm sorry, Sir, but you have to take the bitters with the suite."

Such is life.

Woodhenge

The planets were aligned for Lizzie last weekend.

But first, a little background...

I have had a big vegetable garden for the past five years. In order to keep the critters out of it, I've had a 6-foot high fence made out of netting around it. It has served me well, but it was getting a bit worn and easy for said critters to breach. Also, I was spending some of the precious time I have for working in the garden repairing the fence for the garden. One morning, two large does were breakfasting on my brand new spinaches and lettuces. They were completely non-plussed when I tried to shoo them away. Rather than pulling out the big guns, literally, Hubby offered to help me re-do the fence.

We happened onto a sale on heavy-duty, tall, chicken wire at the local farm store. A neighbor offered to find us tall fence posts. All we needed to do was dig a few holes and pop those posts into them.

A piece of cake.

Yeah, right.

Here are some things to consider (for you non-farm types):

Can we get this project done before the asparagus starts coming up in early April (because, if we can't, the deer are going to have lunch, too.)

Can we get the old steel posts dug up and the netting cleared away so that we can put in the new stuff?

Is the ground thawed enough to dig into?

Is it thawed enough but not too wet to dig into?

Is the neighbor going to bring the posts when the ground is thawed and not too wet?

Can we dig 32 holes in a weekend?

Well, yes!! (to all of it!)

We started by digging holes by hand. After about one and a half holes, Hubby jumped in the truck and went to town to rent an auger for us. (What a guy!)

The gas-powered auger made things a bit easier, but it had to be man-handled (or, at times, woman-handled) and had no self-propulsion or lightness of being to it. :( We did get a system going and managed to bang out the 32 holes. (Our muscles suffered the consequences of this system the next day.)

We say "ni hao maa" here because this hole goes all the way to China. :) Seriously, though, the holes needed to be about 2.5 feet deep.

The ten-foot (plus) hedge poles were delivered about two hours behind schedule (much closer than 98% of the goings on at the farm) and promptly popped into their holes around the garden. Each pole was weighty enough to require two people to carry it, so, it was quite fortuitous that the now mostly-grown neighbor children showed up to help. In addition, daylight savings time had just kicked in so we had an extra hour of daylight to get it all done. We'll wrap the whole thing with the chicken wire next weekend. The hard part is done.

It was warm enough.

It was dry enough.

The auger was available to rent.

We had time to do it all.

The neighbor kids helped out.

The planets were aligned for Lizzie last weekend and she was well pleased!

We may even have more than three beets this year!

Vive les Dioramas!

As I've gotten older, I've become more patient with the semi-annual need for teachers to have their students do some kind of project. The latest incarnation was not quite as bad as the model of the pancreas, but it was the same short notice. (Don't children know that we Moms need more time to make a great model?)

"Mom, I need a pioneer house for school tomorrow morning!"

I used to insist that my children do these projects by themselves, stand on their own merits, be able to stand back and be proud of their accomplishments.

Well, over the years, I've seen that there are too many Moms who don't share my idealism when it comes to child-rearing. The competition is fierce! The kids know it, too. My daughter insisted that it be "perfect".

So, I helped.

After some cutting and taping of cardboard, paper, and aluminum foil, we broke out the paints and produced:

Notice the toothpick windows, the blue curtains, the opening door, and, you can't see it from this view, but, the chimney is fully functional, i.e., there is a hole in the roof. The entire roof is detachable so that you can see inside, where we have a tiny flashlight "fire", and some "buffalo skin" blankets for our cardboard people:

Bring it, Fourth Graders!

Traveling Light?

Here is what my college-aged daughter needed for her two weeks at home over Christmas:

We have here two bags to check, one carry on, and many instruments of hair torture. They intrigued me, so I had my daughter explain each one:

From the left, the first item is a ceramic hair straightener. The second is a small-curl curling iron, not to be confused with the third item, which is a large-curl curling iron. And the last is a hair dryer with no handle (very curious for me, all-the-rage for my daughter).

But maybe there's something to her list of necessities. I mean, here I am, barely cognizant of the ins and outs of a basic hair dryer (although I do brush my hair daily, mind you):

And here she is, after all her careful coiffing:

Maybe it was worth the $60 in checked luggage charges and all the expensive salon equipment.

I'll let you be the judge.

Communing with Mother Nature

Or

An Exercise in Stupidity

You can take your pick after you read this entry.

Taking one for the team, I volunteered to venture out to the farm last weekend to check on the chickens and kittens and make sure all was well at the cabin. Normally, this is not noteworthy. But, this weekend, the outside temperature registered a bit low:

Look again.

That is not 38 degrees. There is a little decimal point in there.

It was THREE POINT EIGHT degrees Fahrenheit at 6:00 Sunday morning! (That's -15.6 degrees Celsius for those of you across the pond.) This is significant because we have to come up with our own heat when we're at the farm. The cabin is not insulated.

But, I survived. The wood stove and oil burning heaters did a great job of heating the cabin.

Plus, the inside temperature was balmy: