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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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Unsolicited Advice

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Tue May 27, 2014 1:58 pm

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We all get advice that we didn't ask for, nor do we want. Lately inanimate objects have been giving me advice, and I don't like it!
I bought a package of paper towels. When I put the first roll on the hangar, the paper towels advised me to "Smile!", "Play", and "Believe". I "believe" I'll buy a different brand next time.
Plastic shopping bags have a smiley face on them and the admonition "Have a nice day!" How heartfelt, how warm and fuzzy, to have a plastic bag telling you what kind of day to have.
Then there are the health/safety warnings. One of my favorites is the Texas' Department of Public Safety telling drivers if they are in a flooded area, "Move to higher ground." If you need to be advised to move to higher ground, you probably won't be around much longer anyway. That piece of advice is right up there with "Do not poke a rattlesnake with a sharp stick." That bit of advice was posted at a park. So, rattlers don't mind dull sticks? How about fingers?
Then there is the advice you get from complete strangers. "You really ought to get a big tractor." We were looking at lawn tractors, and some guy in overalls (he wasn't one of the store employees, just a too-interested by-stander) told us we needed not a nice $4,000 lawn tractor with a tow-behind cart, but a $40,000 John Deere tractor that came with steps so you could crawl up into the cab. Hey mister, we only have nine and a half acres. That tractor needs more room than that to turn around!
Grocery stores are a hot-bed of advice. A very large lady (to put it mildly) advised me to get some pseudo-cheese "'cause it melts real good on Fritos." Oh, yummy, and here I was going to waste my money on Brie. People seem to have an inordinate interest in what brand of pet food you are buying. I have been advised to "buy the cheapest, it's all the same anyway". Try telling that to our cat! She knows, believe me, she knows the difference. One gentleman told me not to buy the wet cat food in a can, but to get the dry in a bag because it keeps longer. Keeping cat food is not a problem at our house—keeping it stocked is.
So, take my advice and don't listen to unsolicited, unwanted, and unneeded advice from strangers. If you need any advice, just ask me.


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The Pig and I

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2014 7:10 pm

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Shortly after we moved into our little farmhouse, we had an urgent need of a plumber. That is when we met Buck, a thoroughly delightful young man and one heck of a plumber. He came, fixed our problem, chatted a while, and left. About two days later he called and asked if we wanted a pig. I told him we didn't have a pen or sty for a pig, but I sure appreciated the offer.
No, he was offering a feral piglet. It seems his mama ran a "we buy feral hogs on the hoof" business, and someone had come in with a large feral sow and her piglets. Buck got stuck with the butchering and there were ex-piglets up for grabs. Since Buck was so nice, I said I'd love to have a piglet.
Buck came with a cooler with a headless, footless, skinless pig carcass with the tenderloin laying by its side. "I cut out the tenderloin because I wasn't sure you knew how," Buck said. Honey, I've never seen, much less cut up, a pig carcass!
Undaunted (after all we are in the country and I need to learn these things) I let the cooler water and the blood drain out, as instructed by Buck. Then I hauled the little carcass into the kitchen; donned my apron; opened my trusty cookbook that has instructions on how-to-do everything; whipped out a filleting knife and a chef's knife; and learned how to dismember a pig. We ended up with two fresh hams, ribs, the tenderloin, a pork sirloin roast, and various little bits where I made a mistake or the knife slipped.
Feral pig, at least the young ones, are delicious. We ate "high on the hog" for a while, although my apron has never been the same.


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Meet and Greet in the Coop

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Mar 17, 2014 7:29 pm

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Almost any seminar, convocation, or corporate meeting starts with a "Meet and Greet" with name tags, coffee and tea, and a short but nevertheless boring introduction by the organizer.

When we introduced our new dozen hens (known as the "daffy dozen" (because there isn't a brain among them) to the older but no wiser six hens established in their coop, we held a "meet and greet."
Believe me, attaching sticky name tags to a hen isn't easy! A "Hi, I'm Lucy" tag falls off feathers quickly, and none of the hens knew who the newcomers are, nor did they particularly care.

There's always a newcomer who feels she has to establish her presence and precedence. One of daffies decided since she was the leader of the pack of new hens, she'd just take over the whole flock. What a mistake! The "head of the pecking order" hen from the older group just stared her down, flapped her wings, and the question was settled. Newbie wasn't #1, but at best was #7.

The line at the coffee urn can get long during a "meet and greet" but in the coop, there is a definite waiting time before you get to the feeder. Big girls first, daffies next. Think of it as the "preferred customer" line at Starbucks, but with sharp beaks involved.

And about that boring introduction. We had the daffies in a separate coop for a month where they could see but not interact with the big girls, and vice versa. I was standing by with a fly swatter (for some reason chickens really hate fly swatters, and a wave or two of a swatter will break up an altercation really quickly) and talking quietly and encouragingly to both groups when the door between the coops was opened and they could mingle. Well, I could have saved my breath—nobody was interested in me, the fly swatter, or the cooing noises I made. They just looked at each other, determined where the feeder and waterer were, and proceeded to form a flock.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if humans could blend as easily?


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A Day on the Farm

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Jan 13, 2014 4:08 pm

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One thing is for sure—you never have to worry about how you are going to fill your day!
Sometime between 6:45 and 7:00 a.m., the cat decides our (her) day needs to get started, and she kneads, purrs, and licks until my husband gets up. I follow and get dressed, make the bed, and go out to see to the chickens. Nothing like having fur and feathers start your day!
The girls are usually waiting for me, expecting their first treat of the day. I throw a handful of oyster crackers into the coop. Ever tried to get into a coop with 17 enthusiastic hens? The crackers get them away from the door so I don't step on anyone. Hens eat a lot, with the resulting addition to the compost pile. After cleaning the coop and adding to the compost pile, I fill their two watering stations if needed, fill the feeder, and tell the ladies to get with it and lay eggs!
By this time my husband has fed the cat, turned on the coffee, and filled the wild bird feeders. You will notice that much of our early morning involves feathered critters. When I get in we sit at the dining room table with our coffee and watch the birds at the feeder, and at the pond. Lately we have been having seven or eight ducks (Northern Shovelers, Grebes, and Mergansers) daily. Of course, the Great Blue Heron is out posing on the bank. Our bird watching and coffee sipping is a nice breather before the day really gets started.
There are several alternatives available to fill the morning—shoveling sand into the old coop; pulling the spent annual herbs in the herb garden and digging it over; tossing compost; sifting compost; washing the truck (I feel dirty trucks are happy trucks but my husband likes clean vehicles for some unfathomable reason); or, shudder, cleaning house. I'll usually opt for an outside job, which explains the state of the inside of the house.
Lunch is usually a quiche, or an omelet, or a frittata—all egg-based dishes. There are always left-overs or veggies in the freezer for quiche-omelet-frittata fillings. Fortunately, there is no shortage of eggs . . . .
Afternoon is a choice of one of the tasks I didn't do in the morning. I try to pick something that can be interrupted, because often there is a neighbor who stops by with cookies, or empty egg cartons, or just a bit of news. I try to send them home with a dozen eggs or more. Sometimes I have my husband distract them while I sneak out and put the eggs in their vehicle. My sneakiness has increased exponentially with the number of hens we have.
By 4 p.m. I am in need of a shower. After getting the major amount of dirt off (sometimes I resemble our truck) I do the prep for dinner. The local 5 o'clock news is always good for a laugh. I'm sure there are high-fives in the newsroom on the rare occasions they get a story right. Then dinner with a nice wine, and reading or listening to music or, on Sundays, watching Downton Abbey. To bed by 10 p.m., and falling asleep planning the next day, which will start with a purr and a lick. There are worse ways to wake up!


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Unsupervised Shopping

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Tue Nov 26, 2013 7:33 pm

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Do not let your husband go shopping without you. In fact, don't let him out of the house if you are not with him and he is carrying either cash or a credit card.
Today I had to run into town to get the turkeys to roast for the Food Pantry's Thanksgiving dinner, and my beloved husband said he'd go get a haircut. That sounded safe enough—a 45 minute to one hour round trip into the "big city" to get a trim. Weather was good, not too much traffic, and I could trust him to get a haircut and return in time for lunch.
He did return in time for lunch. However, he had spent two and a half hours shopping. We now have six bottles of wine, a bag of snack mix, four pizzas, and a rifle. Yes, a rifle with a scope. Barbershops are not what they used to be, now that they obviously stock wine, snacks, and arms. I shall have to mention this to my hairdresser, who may want to branch out from rinses, shampoos, and manicures.
So, now I have to sight in a rifle—something I haven't done in over 30 years—and learn to use an over-the-barrel scope. The snack mix, pizzas, and wine I know how to handle.
With the holidays coming up, I thought I'd best warn wives about letting husbands out to shop unsupervised. You never know what they'll bring home.


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Children's Names

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Sat Aug 17, 2013 7:08 pm

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A dear friend had signed up to help register new Kindergarten students at a local school. She broke her wrist, and was unable to type, or write. I got the feeling that some people would do about anything to get out of registering Kindergarteners and their proud parents. I was drafted to replace her. Next year I'll break my wrist, all ten fingers, and anyone's neck that suggests that I go through that again!
What happened to good old names for children—Sarah, George, Ann, Ralph, etc.?
After working for two hours registering children, I realized that short, easily-spelled names were out of fashion. Sixty years from now the nursing homes are going to be filled with (sic) Tiffanees, Ashlees, Anthonees, and Phoelixias (Felicias in previous times). Some of the names I had to ask the parents to repeat, and they seemed a little huffy that I didn't immediately know how to spell Antwon or D'lite.
I got the distinct impression that the new Kindergarten class was a gathering of Indian tribes (Shawnee, Cherokee, Cheyenne) or a mixed hardwood forest (Aspen, Willow, Birch). There was even a river thrown in—Shenandoah. I'm not sure where Savannah came in—city or misspelled veldt.
I am so out of touch with today's culture.
Next year the registration can proceed without me. I'll be in front of the local hospital, picketing for new mothers to name their babies Robert or Barbara. Cathy is out—can be spelled with a K or a C, and I don't want to have to deal with that in five years!


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Why I went to college

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Jul 29, 2013 3:47 pm

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I went to college to get educated, and to learn how to handle whatever life sent me. Most of what life has sent me wasn't offered in the college curriculum.
Outsmarting chickens—nope, no "Smarter than Chickens 101." I had to learn on my own how to get reluctant hens into the coop at night. What I consider bedtime is not what they consider bedtime, and I'm outnumbered. My college also didn't offer "How to keep the ladies from tossing food about," even in grad school. Floor feeders get tipped over; hanging feeders are swings for the enjoyment of the younger crowd. So far we have a draw—I raised the hanging feeder so it's harder (but not impossible) for the hens to sit on top of. I think I get a "C-"in that course.
Coping with cats—I flunked. Psychology courses are of no help whatsoever. We've never had a cat that didn't rule with a velvet paw. Samcat was seven pounds of semi-Persian juvenile delinquent. He killed anything that moved (including ripping the throat out of a weasel) and brought his prey home for show-and-tell time. He expected me to pick the burrs out of his long fur, and demanded an incredible amount of food to maintain his fighting weight. When Feliz arrived on Christmas Day as an orphan in the alley, she knew exactly what she was doing. She looked at these two semi-intelligent people sitting on the patio and went into the pitiful kitty routine. We fell for it hook, line, and sinker. We've been at her beck and call ever since, and actually enjoy it. My engineer husband, who had a long and illustrious career, now arranges the tins of cat food in the pantry so Feliz doesn't have the same meals one after the other.
Farm work—good heavens, why didn't I take a mechanics course instead of art appreciation! Luckily, my husband can fix most anything, but my talent is limited to changing a light bulb. However, hanging out with some of my college friends at a local watering hole taught me language that has come in handy when the mower won't start.
Secondary degree in Theology (not optional when you attend a Catholic university)—I have never prayed so much nor so hard as I have since we moved to the farm. Please Lord, let it rain. Please Lord, let it stop raining. Please Lord, let my garden produce. Please Lord, isn't there a bug that eats zucchini? Please Lord, didn't You make a BIG mistake with grasshoppers, and won't You correct your mistake? And then when you see a tornado drop down out of a flat-line cloud, there's the ever-popular OH LORD!
So, why I went to college was to learn to cope, even with things that were not in the curriculum. Art appreciation taught me to appreciate our sunrises and sunsets, the beauty of our native flowers, and the green sheen from my chickens' feathers. Theology courses taught me to say "thank you" frequently, instead of "I want." Education courses taught me to leave well enough alone. Some folks know what they know, and trying to point out a different viewpoint is kind of like trying to teach a pig to sing. It is futile on your part and irritates the pig.
But most of all I'm glad I went to college because that's where I met my wonderful husband. It took me four years to get a B. S. of education, and one in Spanish, and six years to get my MRS. Guess which I value more?


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Using what you have--and harvested!

Category: Vegetable gardens | Posted: Wed Jun 12, 2013 7:44 pm

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Summer Recipes

Once summer hits, I don't get much of a chance to spend a day in the kitchen. Mowing, weeding, planting and harvesting, making sure the hens are happy, all these take up most of my day. However, once in a while I get to have a day in the kitchen.
First, I go to the vegetable garden and pick what is ripe. Then, into the kitchen to wash, refrigerate, or prepare the harvest. One of my favorite things to fix early in the morning for that night's dinner is Green Bean/New Potato Salad.

Green Bean/New Potato Salad (serves four as a salad, two as a *lunch)

1 lb. new potatoes, red, yellow, whatever you have that are about as big around as a quarter, washed
¼ lb. green beans, bottoms and stem ends removed, and washed
1/8 c. mixed fresh herbs (parsley, thyme, oregano are my favorites, but use what you have)\
1 tblsp. extra-virgin olive oil, and a little extra
juice and zest of ½ lemon
fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Simmer potatoes in salted water until fork-tender. Drain in colander. Cook beans in salted water over high heat until crisp-tender (they should break, not bend). Add to colander with potatoes and drain well.

In a large bowl, toss together the beans, potatoes, herbs, oil, and zest. Add sea salt and black pepper to taste. Add extra olive oil if needed. Refrigerate until an hour before serving. Remove from fridge and let come to room temperature, or slightly cooler. Toss well, and add a bit more fresh parsley, coarsely torn.

*If serving for lunch, you can add some thinly sliced ham or grilled chicken breast

I like to get my herbs picked early—when the dew is off, but before the heat of the day hits them. I take a flat basket out and cut basil, parsley, marjoram, oreganos (note this is plural, more explanation to come), and rosemary. The flat basket is so I can keep them separate (marjoram looks a lot like Greek oregano and I have been known to confuse the two!). If I'm going to use any of these herbs within the next two days, I just stick them in a glass of water in the refrigerator. If they won't be used that soon, I prepare them for storage. Basil and parsley get chopped fine, a bit of vegetable oil added to the basil and a bit of water to the parsley, then they are put in one tablespoon dabs on a piece of waxed paper, frozen, and then transferred to a freezer container. Both retain their flavor, and although the basil darkens a bit, it still is perfectly acceptable in any cooked dish. Marjoram is hung to dry along with the Greek oregano and the Mexican oregano in a spot out of direct light, but with good air circulation. Mexican oregano has the same taste as the Italian or Greek oregano, just a bit moreso. I like it because it is very hardy and can withstand our heat/humidity. The Italian oregano tends to die out, and the Greek loses its flavor when stressed.

Our sweet corn is ripe, and I'm trying to keep up with it. Other than freezing it, or serving it every other night as corn-on-the-cob, I've found that using it in Southwestern Eggrolls is a good way to use up the small amounts left from freezing.
(You will notice that amounts are not noted in this recipe. It's free-form in that you use what you have, add to your taste, and enjoy. I do recommend that for the timid of palate, you go easy on the jalapeño peppers).

Southwestern Eggrolls

Flour tortillas (buy them. Believe me, it isn't worth trying to make your own!)
hamburger
canned diced tomatoes, or fresh tomatoes, diced
corn, off the cob
whole pickled jalapeño peppers, with seeds removed
canned black beans (again, buy them canned!)
ground cumino
chili powder
salt and pepper

In a large skillet, brown the hamburger mixed with the cumino, chili powder and salt and pepper. Add the beans, tomatoes, and corn. Warm the tortillas briefly so they are flexible.
In the middle of each tortilla, place a generous tablespoonful of the hamburger mix, roll the tortilla once, fold the ends in, and finish rolling. Place in a greased shallow dish. When all the eggrolls are in the dish, place in a 350° oven for about 20 minutes. Remove, cool slightly, and serve with a salad of shredded lettuce, tomato, and red cabbage with a vinaigrette dressing.

Dessert is always a challenge. Texas doesn't provide a lot of fruits, and desserts tend to be on the heavy, sweet side. We like to have a mixed fruit (pear, fig, and blackberry) compote.

Mixed Fruit Compote

Whatever fruits you have that are fresh and seasonal, wash and drain. Put them in a bowl, add to a quart of fruit about ¼ cup of white sugar, and ½ tsp. vanilla extract. Mix gently so as not to puree the fruit, and refrigerate for at least an hour.
If you want to get adventuresome, add a bit of sweet white wine (Moscato) or about a tablespoon of orange juice concentrate, undiluted. The concentrate goes better with melons than with berries.
If you want to get really wild, take a small watermelon, cut four or five plugs, inject Tequila or Vodka into the plug holes, and serve small portions to those over 18 years of age.

Tonight we are having honey-glazed salmon, fresh baby carrots and red onions salad with a soy sauce/olive oil/black pepper marinade, baguette with roasted red pepper tapenade, and a very traditional strawberry shortcake for dessert. I had so much fun in the kitchen today!



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In today's mail

Category: Serendipity | Posted: Tue Apr 02, 2013 7:05 pm

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In today's mail we received three letters, and obviously someone knows something we don't!
First, we got a letter from The Neptune Society, offering to cremate our remains and dump an urn containing same into the Florida Keys. We used to go to the Caribbean to vacation and snorkel, and enjoyed seeing the marine life and corals. We didn't go to see an urn laying on the sand, containing Aunt Myrtle's remains. Sanibel Island is famous for shells, not for the shells of the departed.
Then our second piece of mail was from the AARP (American Association of Retired Persons) offering us life insurance "so we wouldn't leave a burden for our loved ones." Believe me, I don't care! Society hates the sight of a rotting corpse, so someone is going to see that I go underground. I don't need "additional insurance to relieve the burden on my loved ones." I'll take grief any way I can get it--financial or emotional, somebody is going to care that I'm gone!
The final piece of mail was from our local water supplier, telling us that the arsenic level in our water was above acceptable levels. We were assured that "THIS IS NOT AN EMERGENCY" and we didn't need to go to an alternative water supply. If you have "health concerns" it may cause increased chance of cancer, skin damage, or problems with the circulatory system. Well, that about covers it. Fortunately we filter drinking and cooking water and the hens drink rainwater. We also don't bathe that often . . . .
So, if you don't hear from me for a while, contact the Neptune Society to see if I'm laying on the bottom of the Florida Keys, the AARP to see if I've opted out of "providing for my loved ones", and the local water supply to see if arsenic poisoning did me in.

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