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Hanging out laundry

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Sat Apr 25, 2015 7:00 pm

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I do enjoy hanging laundry on the line. I think of the bag my mother had for clothespins, and of the bag I use that was given to me by an elderly lady who thought I could use a clothespin bag.
When we moved to the farm one of the very first things I wanted was clotheslines. We put them up, made extra posts that would support the lines when I hung something heavy, and I put my clothespin bag into use.
After getting the clothing or linens clean in the washing machine, I pile them in my big wicker basket, grab the clothespin bag, and go out for several minutes of sheer enjoyment.
This morning as I was hanging sheets on the line, I saw a flock of Cooper's Hawks fly over. Two circled over the orchard area, then were joined by six or seven others. They flew big circles over the pasture, then headed east. I stood holding a wet sheet, wide-eyed, and thoroughly entranced by the fly-over.
There are two large cedar trees near our clothes lines. When I go out early in the morning to hang clothes, the cardinals, sparrows, and occasional dove serenade me. They like to spend the night in the shelter of the cedar branches. When I go to get the laundry off the line, there are mockingbirds sitting on the fence and holding sing-alongs. Occasionally a barn swallow decides to swoop over. Luckily they are fast moving birds and don't leave deposits on the clothing!
As I'm leaving the house I often brush against the rosemary growing near the kitchen. That lovely smell lasts until I get to the scent of the rose in the corner of the fence near the clotheslines. While hanging laundry I can smell the rose, and I still have a lingering scent of rosemary.
When I bring the laundry in to fold, I still get the fresh scent of outdoors. I fold our sheets carefully and put them into the blanket chest my husband made years ago. There are two bunches of dried lavender in the chest to give a nice scent to our bed linens. The lavender will need to be replaced this year.
Doing laundry can be a chore, or it can be a small everyday pleasure.


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On being a magnet for the strange

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Mar 02, 2015 4:55 pm

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My husband swears that if there is a weird, strange person within five miles, he/she will find me. Over the years, his statement has proven true.
We had been married a short time, and were sitting in our living room watching an old Sherlock Holmes movie at about midnight. There was a knock on our door and a neighbor was standing on our front porch, holding a six-foot long 2x4. Since he wasn't in the construction trades, we figured something was up.
He asked if we had seen a German Shepherd go by. We replied very few dogs trotted through our living room at 11:45 p.m. so no, we hadn't seen the dog. It seems this neighbor constantly left his garbage can out, and the dog constantly knocked it over. The 2x4 was to whack the dog if he encountered it. We didn't mention any dog worth its salt would go right past that six foot stick and get the neighbor by the nether regions.
The neighbor also had a rather large bandage on his forehead, and since I have no sense at all, I asked him what happened. It seems he shut the car door on his head. I left it at that.
When we moved to Texas, I stepped up my game. Here in Texas we don't keep our strange folk at home, we let them wander about to entertain the populace.
Our vegetable garden faced the Methodist Church parking lot. One evening a gentleman came to the back door and asked if he could plug in an emergency light so he could fix a van that was used for a charity's clothing distribution. We said sure, and showed him where an outside plug-in was located. We chatted, and found out that his name was "Lucky". A misnomer if there ever was one! First, he had only one arm, having lost an arm in a farming accident. Then he said that he couldn't drive his car because the driver's side door was missing. He went to the library to fill out forms for unemployment benefits and parked on the street. When he opened his car door to get out, another car whizzed by and ripped off the driver side door. Since he had no transportation, he couldn't get to the charity that let him drive the van. The charity had him on a waiting list for food and shelter, however.
Then there was the older lady who lived on the street in back of us. She came over one day to ask if we had seen her garbage can. (Remember the German Shepherd incident - deja vu!) No, we hadn't seen any garbage cans going by. Well, it was missing. Later that day she drove by, dragging the garbage can underneath her truck. It seems she had backed over the can which got stuck in the undercarriage, and she was trying to figure out where that strange truck noise was coming from!
Since we moved to the farm we've met a better class of strange people. There was the guy that wanted my husband to 1)trap bees that were in a camper (with flat tires and that obviously hadn't been used in years; 2) provide the hive, frames, and other equipment that bees need; and 3) give him the honey when we got it extracted and bottled. He was slightly offended that we weren't enthused about his plan.
We also have a neighbor who recently got a smart phone, and is convinced it has gotten into his head somehow. We tried to explain "cookies" that trace your preferences and recently visited sites, but he wanted to take it back to the store because it knew too much about him. I felt sorry for the smart phone.
And then there was the absolute stranger we had never laid eyes on before that pulled into our driveway and laid on the horn. We went out and she said she wanted to fish our pond and we should open the gate for her. Needless to say, she fished somewhere else.
I go into town once a week, and my husband worries I'll find yet another stranger that is strange. I cope well - over the years I've learned to smile, nod, and edge away (unless they are really strange, in which case I stash the story away for later use!).


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Werewolves, Dutch army, and vacations

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Wed Feb 18, 2015 7:53 pm

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Have you ever hugged a werewolf? One February, while fleeing upstate New York's winter, we arrived in Bonaire just before Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras) and got to enjoy the costumes, parades, and music. One gentleman (gosh, I do hope it was a gentleman) in a werewolf suit was hugging the ladies, and I got hugged!
That night, shortly after midnight, the sound of firecrackers woke us up. We decided some fool didn't know that Mardi Gras was over and was still shooting off fireworks. Being pragmatic tourists, we rolled over and went back to sleep. We were from upstate New York and were unfamiliar with the sound of automatic gunfire.
Next morning, we drove into town to have breakfast, and noticed there were soldiers in camouflage under the cement benches along the seafront, and they had automatic weapons. None of the locals seemed particularly worried, so we figured we shouldn't be either, and had a nice breakfast. Joanna the parrot, who was the restaurant's resident mascot, left our breakfast alone, but was very interested in another man's toast. He ended up huddling over his breakfast plate to guard it from marauding birdlife.
We had a nice seafront view, which included uniformed men running up and down the main street. Interesting, but again, none of the locals seemed upset, so why should we?
When we got back to the hotel, there was a nice note in our room, saying that the hotel regretted any inconvenience to its guests, and that Colonel somebody-or-other would be in the lobby all day explaining why the Dutch army, on maneuvers, had mistaken our hotel for the airport. It seems that the airport was their practice target, but since a favorite TV program was on that night, the airport personnel had closed down early and shut off all the lights. Therefore, when the Dutch army arrived by ship, the only place that had its lights on was our hotel! Imagine the surprise of the landing force when they encountered the seaside bar of Flamingo Beach rather than tarmac!
This was shortly after the attacks on the airports in Rome and Vienna, and a lot of tourists were pretty nervous when they found spent shell casings outside their rooms, and saw soldiers hanging about. We, of the other hand, decided to go snorkeling and let the colonel deal with the nervous types.
On our way to one of our out-of-the-way snorkeling sites, we passed several soldiers perched up in trees, trying to look military. They just looked terribly sunburned, their Nordic complexions didn't adapt well to Caribbean sun. We waved to the tree-perchers, and they waved back. Nice boys, and we hoped that someone had thought to pack sunscreen for them.
We visited Bonaire for several years, and always enjoyed the people, the weather, and especially the underwater life. We never encountered the Dutch army again, although they were a friendly bunch.


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Christmas letters

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Mon Feb 09, 2015 8:14 pm

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You may think that February 9th is a little late to be talking about receiving Christmas letters, but one came in the mail today from the neighbor across the street.
We were congratulating ourselves for not receiving the annual Christmas letter touting the accomplishments of their extended family, but we were a bit premature. The neighbors admitted they were a bit (?) late in sending out their letter. I was sincerely hoping they had given up on the three page, underlined, paean to their family.
How do you say "I just don't care"� in a nice way? I just don't care whose granddaughter is playing softball; I just don't care who lives where; I just don't care what church everyone goes to. I just really, really don't care!
We also get another Christmas letter from another couple. It seems they caught a big fish - whoopee. Some of the grandchildren can walk on hind legs now - whoopee. The children are doing well (would you tell us if they were homeless?). Whoopee.
I am sincerely thinking of sending out our own Christmas letter next year. We can tell everyone every little thing that has gone wrong all year long; mention how badly our family members are doing; and explain why our finances are now such that we are accepting donations.

Hello dear friend or slight acquaintance,
We are barely hanging onto the farm after the tornado hit and removed our barn with the chickens in it. We have found feathers, but no chickens. We tried to salvage the vegetable garden, but the cows next door took advantage of the downed fences (see reference to tornado) and ate everything up. They didn't even have the decency to die on our property so we'd have the beef.
Most of the house is still here, and we are making do with an outside toilet and the charcoal grill (one for cooking and the other, well, you know). It's been about three months, but the utility company is promising we'll have electricity soon, probably sometime in the new year.
Our church members are praying for us, but so far haven't taken up a special donation to help us out. Prayers are nice, but $20's are appreciated also.
We notified our family members that we had survived so far, but if they could help we'd appreciate it. We found out that we must have been adopted - no one is claiming to be related to us.
On the bright side, we now don't have to worry about decorating for Christmas - there is very little left to string lights on, and anyway we don't have electricity.
Hoping you have happy holidays, and if so, could we please come to your house for Christmas dinner. We're tired of grilled hot dogs and it's darned cold in what is left of our house!

Your cold, hungry, and slightly testy neighbors


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My Aunt Tula

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Mon Nov 24, 2014 1:08 am

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My Aunt Tula was Uncle Charlie's wife. Uncle Charlie, my daddy's brother, was a horse trader. He didn't limit his transactions to horses, since he'd trade almost anything for something of greater value. That is why Aunt Tula had a grand piano.
In our small town, she had the one and only grand piano, and that gave her a certain cachet. She made sure her three daughters could play the piano, almost chaining them to the thing until they mastered Chopin, Bach, and Mozart. None of this was easy for three teenage girls, but Aunt Tula was determined.
After the daughters were moderately proficient, Aunt Tula started having afternoon teas and evening soirees, at which the girls demonstrated their ability to play the grand piano, and Aunt Tula lorded it over all the other ladies in town.
My sister and I were too young to be invited to the teas and soirees, but Aunt Tula saw an opportunity to instill some social graces in us. She would come to lunch and rearrange the place settings (When Aunt Tula was there, we didn't just have plates and silverware--we had "place settings") which involved cloth napkins, not paper ones. My mama cheerfully hated Aunt Tula . . . .
Aunt Tula also had a passion for posture. We were to sit in our chairs without our backs touching the chair backs, cross our feet at the ankles, and make delicate conversation. The time I tried to describe our cat's giving birth to kittens while I was at the luncheon table was unforgettable. Aunt Tula cast a suspicious eye on me ever afterwards.
Aunt Tula nearly met her match when a new doctor came to town and brought his young wife from "up north" with him. The wife immediately joined the most socially prominent church (don't think about that one too long), started a bridge club (which most of the town's ladies thought involved putting a new crossing over the Wabash River), and, worst of all, played the piano! She knew Chopin, Mozart, and Bach, and was also acquainted with Dvorak and Beethoven.
Have you ever seen a cat fight between two evenly matched cats? Aunt Tula and the doctor's wife went at it with teas, charity doings, and soirees. The ladies of the town were pawning their engagement rings to buy enough dresses to attend all the social events these two women were arranging.
Aunt Tula won out--she had lorded it over the other ladies for so long that they were thoroughly cowed. The doctor's wife licked her wounds, smoothed her fur, and became the leading light of the hospital's ladies auxilliary. The field was clear for her because Aunt Tula considered it beneath her to associate with sick people.
Aunt Tula left me with good posture, impeccable table manners, and a loathing of playing the piano.

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Advantages of small town living

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Mon Oct 20, 2014 7:07 pm

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There are quite a few advantages to living in a small town.

First, if there is anything that needs fixing, a neighbor has a recommendation. Often it is a relative of the neighbor, but that person has a double burden--keeping up the family's reputation and getting more recommendations. We have found roofers, tree trimmer/removal services, handymen, and car repair places this way. Each one has worked out well.

If you go to the feed store and have forgotten to bring cash, they'll trust you until the next time. They don't forget that you owe them but they also don't take back the feed sacks that they just loaded into your truck.

If your truck is in the shop for an inspection, and you take the car into town to get something, someone will call and ask if there is an emergency ("I saw both vehicles were gone. Is everything all right?") and if everything isn't all right, the caller asks what can they do.

A siren is closely monitored. If it goes down the state highway no one gets overly concerned. However, if it goes down a country road, there is a parade of pick-up trucks following it, driven by men in hats with fire extinguishers and six-packs of beer. The ladies are at home heating up casseroles and calling their neighbors and relatives. there is a whole network of caring/helping people that go into action at the sound of a siren.

And of course, births! If there is an imminent baby, everyone goes into high gear. Knitting, quilting, baking (the new mama won't have the time/strength to cook properly) and letting everyone know that there is a baby on the way! Everything is delivered as soon as the mama is on the way to the hospital (and you wouldn't believe how quickly that word gets out) and then for a week only the family members are allowed to visit (new mama and baby don't need to be disturbed). After that first week, all bets are off and there are lines of folks at the door of the baby's home. Each baby is the most beautiful anyone has seen. If you've seen a newborn, you know how kind and somewhat blind these nice folks are.

So, living in a small town, or near one, has its advantages. Mostly the advantages are the folks who populate these small towns, and have learned to depend on each other in times of happiness and grief.

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Southern Living

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Sun Sep 21, 2014 3:13 pm

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We received an offer to subscribe to up to four magazines for two dollars a year. The only magazine I thought I'd be interested in was Southern Living. After all, I'm alive and in the south.
I'm not sure who lives like the folks in that magazine, but I am sure I don't know them. For example, in this issue there is an article "How to Style Your Coffee Table" with a picture of a coffee table with a tray holding two books, a Cloisonné pitcher, and a bouquet of roses. There is also a pair of twist-stem gold candlesticks, a stack of books with a "decorative object" on top to give "a polished touch." There is also a bowl of nuts. Our coffee table has a book on it, and plenty of room to prop up your feet while reading. I guess my fuzzy slippers could be considered "decorative objects."
Holiday How-to suggests stenciling leaf shapes on bags from a craft store (it seems the brown lunch bags from the grocery are a no-no). After you spend most of your afternoon stenciling the shapes on the bags, you are to carefully cut out the shapes. Place a white bag inside a dark bag, put sand in the bottom for stability, and put a candle in each bag. Our Texas wind would take those bags and sail them into the nearest field, where they would start a grass fire and the local fire department would not believe an explanation that involved leaf stencils and craft store bags and candles.
Then the Southwest Insider section has the great news that Lucchese boots, the ultimate in hand-crafted luxury cowboy boots (and no, that is not an oxymoron) now has a line of stiletto high heels for ladies, starting at somewhere around $595. I don't know of anyone who would pay nearly $600 for a pair of shoes. In fact, I don't know anyone who wears stiletto heels!
I gave up on living the southern way when I saw what was done to a home's entry way to "decorate for fall." All you need is a magnolia leaf garland, heirloom pumpkins, a pinecone wreath, bittersweet, and cabbage. Yep, cabbage! According to the decorator, one drapes the garland around the entrance, hangs the wreath on the door, and artistically arranges the pumpkins (heirloom, remember?) and cabbages on the steps. By the time a guest fights his way through the foliage and trips over a cabbage and lands on an heirloom pumpkin, the magic has gone out of your decorating efforts.
I did like the decorations for the bar area at a party—wine, gin, vodka, several types of whiskey (party must have been in Kentucky) and cheese and crackers. The crackers were served on a plate balanced on a pumpkin (presumably heirloom) and there was a weedy looking bouquet but after sampling the bar offerings, probably no one would care.
So, here on the farm we are not garlanded, stenciled or growing heirloom pumpkins. I'm afraid stiletto heels would make deep marks in the chicken coop and I wouldn't want the ladies to trip on a Lucchese shoe's hole.
Think I'll go prop my feet up on our coffee table and read a book.


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You can judge a man by his boots

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 3:34 pm

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You can judge a man by his boots. Almost everyone around here wears boots and the boots tell a lot about the wearer.
If the boots are pointy-toed and rake heeled, either the wearer does a lot of line dancing or is just dressed for the part. Do not hire this person for any serious work.
If the boots are pointy-toed and have a heel, look at the side of the boot just above the instep. If the color is rubbed off, the wearer does a lot of riding. A stirrup will rub the boot at that point and remove any dye from the leather. Hire this person to move cattle from pasture to pasture, or to rope that nasty bull you're afraid to approach.
If the boot has a rounded toe and flat heel, it's a work boot. The wearer has bought a size bigger so thick socks will fit inside the boot in cold weather, and in hot weather, the foot can breathe. These are the boots favored by farmers. The flat heel doesn't catch on the steps up to their tractor (some of the tractors around here are really, really big and require three or four steps to get to the cab) and the round toe is comfortable. Some of the more cautious folks have steel-toed work boots. Those who are less cautious just hire someone who wears work boots and lets nature take its course.
Boots also come in a variety of leathers. Ostrich skin boots are the ones the box holders at football games wear to demonstrate they can not only afford the box, but really expensive boots, too.
Lizard skin boots are for show and are worn for effect. Of course, if you have a late lizard on your feet, the effect may not be what you wanted.
Calf skin boots are a bit more practical. Calfskin doesn't wear as well as cowhide, but it would be a shame to waste that hide.
And there are still a few elephant hide boots from the 60's in use. One man we know is on the third re-soling of his elephant hide boots that he received as a graduation gift (yes, he completed high school!) and the tops are just fine—he keeps wearing out the soles after 40 years of wear. Fortunately for the elephants, elephant skin has been banned for years. His boots are grandfathered in, however.
If the man from a nearby ranch, who goes past with his horse trailer containing two saddled horses, heading for the pasture across the road to move cattle, ever shows up wearing Nikes, you will know that the world has changed, and not for the better!


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Early morning trip to the barn

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Tue Aug 05, 2014 5:53 pm

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Since my husband retired, we have been sleeping in and don't get up until 7 a.m. One of the first things I do after dressing is head for the barn and the chickens, who are impatient to start their day.
The path to the barn goes through a flowerbed
From our back door ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )

and I walk through a butterfly gauntlet. The Queens and Hackberrys like the Gregg's Blue Mist and the Wafer Ash Tree, and don't get out of the way for anyone!
Queen butterfly on Greig's Blue Mist ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )
Occasionally I get buzzed by a hummingbird that is at the feeder, or sipping nectar from the Salvia Greggii.
After ducking and dodging the wildlife, I get to the workshop, and usually see the first bunny of the day. They like to hang out in the cool grass next to the workshop porch (it's a handy place to hide under if needed). Generally we are just part of the rabbits' landscape. They look at us, but figure we aren't important enough to merit running away! By the time I get past the workshop I can usually see two bunnies "binking" in the pasture. One chases the other, both stop, and then they do a synchronized reverse jump and the chaser becomes the chased.
I take a look down the pasture to the pond to see if there are any water fowl up yet. We have great blue herons and white egrets almost year 'round, and in spring and fall, ducks.
Two shovelers and an egret ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )
Even if there isn't any activity at the pond, we still have collared doves and meadowlarks skimming the field, and our neighbor's Black Angus herd is slowly making its way from the night shed out to graze in the next field.
When I get to the barn I can hear my girls clucking—they want their breakfast treat and to be let outside!
Photogenic hens ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )
To get into the coop I have to toss treats away from the door, or they all crowd up against the door and I'm in danger of stepping on a hen. I scurry to the outside door and get it open before they gobble down their treats and start mobbing me for more. After checking the water and filling the feeder, I clean the coop and then visit the compost pile with the ladies' contribution to the richness of the soil.
Heading back to the barn with the manure bucket, I usually take a long look at the sky. Texas has some of the most dramatic skies you could imagine, and it would be a shame to neglect taking a good look at the day's offering.
October Dawn ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )


From the barn to the house is the same trip, reversed, but I pick up the pace a bit. By this time I want a cup of coffee and to find out what my husband has planned for the day. We might be clearing part of the vegetable garden for tilling, or picking almonds (we are all the way up to 60 almonds!), or mowing, or any of the many interesting ways a person can spend the day on a farm. The walk to the barn just gets the day started well.

























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Night Sounds

Category: Nature | Posted: Tue Jul 01, 2014 3:40 pm

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There is an old Scot's prayer that says: "From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties, And things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!"
We don't have ghoulies and ghosties, and the "long-leggedy beasties" (coyotes) stay away from the house, but we do get the occasional bump in the night.
With the unusually cool spring we've had, our windows have been open at night. Laying in bed and listening to the wildlife serenade, argue, and seek a companion is lovely night music.
At dusk we get the frogs in the pond croaking out a chorus. I don't know how many frogs we have, but they are all baritones! We also get the sleepy peeps from the birds. We have nests in most of the trees, and at night everyone goes home and nestles down for the night, but first they have to call out a goodnight to the neighbors .
When it's good and dark, we hear the coyotes yodeling. Yes, they yodel, they don't howl. Coyotes often hunt in packs and they keep in communication with each other with a series of yodels and trills. Then of course the cattle on the surrounding farms have to have their say. They bellow, moan, and make a gulping sound. If a heifer is about to drop a calf, she can keep you awake all night!
Toward morning you get the nighthawks swooping and calling. Their wings make a sound like a bull-roarer, which is their other name. A bull-roarer is a racheted noisemaker that makes a terrific rattling sound. Coupled with their high-pitched calls, you might thing that some "ghosties" are around!
One night we heard a sniffling, scuffling sound just outside our front door. A skunk was examining the premises to see if there was a den possibility. Thankfully, turning on the outside light discouraged her. She later moved under the workshop and had three kits. Now we get little skunk tracks through the flowerbeds.
Early in the morning, and I do mean early, we get Lonesome George the mockingbird doing his imitations of squeaky wheels, other birds, and whistles. He is trying to attract a mate, but if she hasn't shown up by now, she ain't comin', George! I'm just very glad he hasn't heard any rap music to imitate. The squeak of the wheelbarrow wheel imitation is bad enough, thank you.
The Eurasian Collared doves take over when George runs out of repertoire, or steam. Their gentle, if somewhat mournful cooing is a relief, at least for the first hour. After that, it gets a bit monotonous.
When full dawn arrives, we get the chickens. Our girls just discuss the coming day and make plans. However, a neighbor's rooster feels obligated to announce that the sun is up and we are burning daylight! Of course, he makes the same announcement several times during the day. Wish someone would get that boy a wristwatch.
Since all the birds, amphibians, and mammals have had their say, we two-leggers get up and start our day after listening to the night sounds.


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