Sad Farmer
Help me find the silver lining, the bless in the mess. Through a carefully crafted house of cards, by an elaborate web of lies and denial, I have managed to almost convince myself that Amelia is no cockerel. Sure, she crows, but not every morning. And yes, she is really big and bossy, but hey, I'm kind of big and bossy too, yet you can't say I'm a rooster. You better not say I'm a rooster. Amelia has tail feathers that taper and curl, she has stocky legs and an upright, lean torso. She struts. And. And Amelio has started... ummm... loving Betty. Uh-huh, that's a euphemism.

Amelia, the little flier, was named in honor of Amelia Earhart. Today we are changing the name to reflect his gender, and henceforth the Barred Rock fowl living in our backyard is named Carlos. It's a Latin nod to Charles Lindbergh.

And, Carlos needs a new home. Back to the feed store? I don't know. How many roosters are they willing to take back from us? What do they actually do with them? How long will Maria cry? She still asks for Pip. We still think of Sunshine. Will Betty be happy without her best friend? Are the little ones, Buttercup and Fantam, pullets? Why do we wind up with so many roosters? Why did I ever believe we would have our own home by now? I am plagued by unanswered questions.

I am a sad farmer.
Sigh.

You see, I want to believe that we have some power to influence our destiny, to redirect our path. Waiting for the housing bubble to explode, we have deferred too much. We have waited for that future date, when things would fall into place and we could do the things we dream of. It has been a devastating and damaging experiment and in conflict with the idea that we can steer our own ship... Have I mixed metaphors? I know I am rambling. Sorry. My point is (if I have one) I thought that I was taking matters into my own hands, taking hold of the reins... Definitely mixing my metaphors: Ships are not steered by reins. I thought I could move forward with my whims and dreams and that we had waited long enough. I thought our home was just around the corner.

Dang it.

I know. There are a lot of posts like this... sad, tales of woe. I'm not looking for this stuff, and I am not even putting it all out there. I could delete this, and say something about gas prices dropping below $4, or finding a nice pair of pants. Life is a journey and this section of the road just sucks.

Want to change the subject? I really, really want to love "Mama Mia," but the discontinuity and incongruous time line made me nuts. If I ever rent it, I'll watch it with a shot or 2 of Ouzo.

Chickens and So Much More!

"I have to say, for a chicken blog--I don't see many chickens. But oh well; it's all good.
--Kate, The Manic Gardener"

Do I need a disclaimer? Should I tell my story, the origins of "Chickenblog," all over again? Is it time to revisit those Chicas... Chicas of the past and present?


Lady Betty Orpington. She's a big girl now.

In the olden days, before iPhones and Blue-Ray, I gave up handwriting letters and started learning how to email family and friends. Geoff had always been computer savvy. He used to read me Internet articles back in 1990, which is only recent in geological time, but not in the context of modern technology. So, Geoff was hip and cool, but I was a total newbie and using email was a gigantic tech-step.


Amelia, The Test Pilot. She's got her wings now!

Anyway, I was writing emails to Hawaii and Wisconsin and trying to keep family caught-up with our growing family. And it never occurred to me to cut and paste, to send the same letter to multiple people... that seemed like it would be impersonal, like cheating, and besides, I could never remember the keys for cutting and pasting. In 2002 Geoff thought it was time to update the whole communication system. He thought web-logging would be the most efficient and interesting way to share news and explore a medium that was just starting to take-off.


Amelia's feet are spotty and her beak has a Groucho-'stache. I think Betty could stand in for Harpo.


Not me. No, I am a resistant, foot dragging, fearful, shy, reluctant kind of being. I still pop my corn on the stove top and I am suspicious of new fangled things, like yogurt in a tube and online banking. Microwave popcorn is not right. Bank tellers should be better dressed than me and alive, because that is just what I am used to. I just know I've told this story before. I wonder if I am telling it the same, or dressing it up?


I was kicking and screaming, but Geoff dragged me into the 20th century. Then he pulled extra hard, and managed to get me into the 21st century. My first assignment was to choose a name for my blog. Having never seen any blogs, and still not understanding what the point of blogging could be, I felt unprepared and indecisive. I didn't feel like a person with an agenda or something to sell. I did not have a hobby I wanted to share or promote. There was no creative impulse to drive me, and so no inspired, literary, introspective, artistic or appropriate names came to mind. We had just adopted 4 chicks, the most happy and daring thing had done since having babies, and chickens were foremost in my thoughts. They were new and funny and a source of pleasure for our family, as we were beginning a new chapter in our lives. Our Rancho lives, living in a fixer-upper in the country, learning how to operate a tractor and battle gophers. Amused and distracted by our 4 chicas, I chose "Chickenblog" as the name of the blog.


I see Kate's point. There aren't many chickens for a chicken blog. And, sadly, there were many years with no chickens at all. Chickenblog is about my dreams of having chickens, it's about the whimsy of chickens, it's about me feeling giddy and optimistic when I think of chickens. Chickenblog is my letter to family and friends, a family journal, a way to connect. It's about chickens of the past, like the one we bought for a dime, when we were living in Guatemala, or the ones Santa brought us when my brothers and I were really little kids. Chickenblog is about the chickens we brought home in May 2002, and the new flock we started this year. Chickenblog is about not knowing better and thinking my blog needed to call itself a blog. Chickenblog is about me and us and our stories and deep thoughts and other musings, and sometimes I think I write like a chicken... hunting and pecking at the keyboard, scratching the surface and looking for good things, crowing and noisily clucking when I feel good or scared or excited.


I am amused when I think of how reluctant and confused I felt when I started blogging... Almost like a headless chicken. Just kidding. Creepy, I know. Sorry. (lol) I could not see the big picture or where things would head. There is a lot we take for granted about blogs now, and there are almost as many blogs out there as there are themes and motivations... it's funny to me, thinking about the early days. 6 years ago was a long time ago in the world of web logging. I wonder where we will be 6 years from now...


I know where we were 19 years ago. We were catching our breathes, grinning, happily just married. Happy Anniversary Geoff. Still grinning. Still happy. It is all good.

Wordy Wednesday


Engraving the barrel was just a passing idea of mine, but my husband is a man of action. He set to it right away. It looks so pretty. By trade he is an engineer, but his skills are hardly limited. And now it seems he can add free-hand wood burning artist. Maria and I worked together turning the soil and adding more, then tossing in some ugly nuts. Never heard of ugly nuts? You'll find them under a rabbit's hutch! With the soil well amended, we were ready for planting: 1 cosmo, 6 marigolds, 6 zinnias and a French lavender. It felt good getting dirty and completing this memorial.


Amelia? It's a working title. Some names take time to fit. She flew out of her take-home box and we had to look for her in the van. A lost flyer... sounds like 'Amelia' to me. Pip and Lady Betty Orpington had settled into their dynamic and worked out their pecking order. When Amelia came on the scene it was pretty wild. She wasted no time in hen pecking her new found sisters, and she would actually peck their feet, lifting them off the ground. Pip and Betty looked stunned and pipped shrilly, with shock and dismay. Max intervened by tapping Amelia on the head. He reasoned that he would show her she may be top hen, but he was the disapproving surrogate rooster. We are happy everyone has calmed down and there is peace in the hen house once more.


Here is Pip, and she is about to leap out the door. She loves me. She runs up to me and settles in my open hand to fall asleep, then Betty joins her and eventually Amelia concedes and shoves her sisters over and squeezes in. Geoff says they're chilly. I say they love me.


This picture is all about tail feathers. Shooting up like tiny sprouts from Lady Betty's posterior are the tufted buds of her tail feathers. I think they are ridiculously cute.


Benjamin thinks they are ridiculously cute too, and mesmerizing and, and tempting and before he can think of 1 more adjective I have to remove him. His heart is not pure... lol.

Chango has more sense and keeps a safe distance from the chicas. Does he remember our Rancho days and the hens we had there, Gracie, Luna and Rosie? He never pestered, bothered, molested or pursued those hens, and hopefully Benjamin will learn to be as respectful as his older and wiser roommate, Chango.

Joe was with us when we lived on our 2 acres. Joe has been with us for 4 houses and 8 years. Sweet, shy Joe. Yesterday I took a moment to do one of my favorite things: Watch him chew. Watching a rabbit's mouth move is seriously one of the most amusing things I can think of, and it never fails to make me smile.


I kept trying to get a really good picture of the whole effect... the wiggling nose, the fast moving lips, the twitchy, cute bunnyness of it. Then I realized it's something that really should be filmed, because still photos are not fast enough... you just get a blurr. And I realized another thing, I was not being very respectful of Joe... snapping pictures while he ate his lunch. It was undignified. Why should I expect to get a decent picture of someone eating? Certainly, I would not want someone trying to make me look interesting or cute eating my lunch. So, I was about to drop the whole project, when I got this:


And I have to say this comes really close to capturing what I love about a rabbit eating. It makes me smile.


I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I should be cleaning, but it really helps to stop and smile.

Sentimental Journey


Adopt the pace of nature,
Her secret is patience
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

When we lived on our Rancho, a 2 acre rustic oasis where we played at being farmers, there was a big water trough that was left by the previous owners. I got a lot of help dragging that thing up from the pasture and over to the garden by the chicken coop. Geoff drilled some drain holes into it and then hooked it up to our irrigation system. I filled it with mulch and compost and dirt and seeds, and it wasn't long be before we had an elevated and healthy, drip-irrigated garden.


Can you see Rosie, our Rhode Island hen...? she's stepping on one of the granite rocks that encircled the play area. Alex and his great grandmother were sitting in the garden together. I miss sharing our home with her, enjoying her good company. Behind them is the yard where Rosie and Gracie and Luna lived... a chicken estate, complete with hanging art and water features. We made it very classy.


We planted fig trees and guavas and jacaranda, and lots more. I really miss the fig trees. And the lime tree. And the lemon tree.


Oh, and do I ever miss these girls, my Chicas!


This is Luna, was Luna. We named her for the white moon on her chick bottom. Her moon disappeared, replaced with spots and stripes. She did retain her docile and sweet baby chicken nature. She was an easy going kind of hen.


Now Rosie was a nice hen, and we loved her, but I would not call her sweet and docile. She had more of an attitude, an agenda that focused on laying, scratching, eating and staying alert.


Here's my first baby girl. My tender, gentle and affectionate Gracie. We thought she was such a dainty, feminine chick, that "Gracie" was perfectly suitable to her person. Her name matched her lovely plumage and the wispy down that framed her pretty face. Gracie, like her sisters, would come when called, and then she would sit on my lap and let me scratch around her neck and pet her soft back. She would fall asleep in my arms. Sigh.


We grew carrots in the water-trough garden conversion, and were those carrots ever happy. They were sweet and ginormous. I remember we would pull just one up and cut potato chip size slices for a snack. Crisp and delicious. We also juiced a lot of carrots. My favorite recipe was garden fresh carrots and beets, with lime and ginger, sometimes apple too. So yummy!


I was just browsing my photo library. I thought it would be a quick glimpse of days gone by, but some of these just had to be dusted-off and brought out of hiding. Diego, resting in an empty cereal box. I have never known a more mellow cat. He would sleep in the car! He came with us on a drive to Wisconsin and on another road trip to Oregon. It was awesome, really. I wish I had a picture of him in Custer State Park, where we were getting snowed-in and buffalo (bison, right?) were blocking the road. Diego stood on the dashboard to take in the spectacle.


Our Rancho didn't always look this good. Getting it this beautiful was one big labor of love. When we bought it, it was a sadly neglected house with no landscaping whatsoever. I read the entire Sunset Western Gardening Book twice and then designed a landscape and chose all of the plants. We hired Nacho and Victor to execute my visions, and wow, what an adventure that was.


Maria would have loved the Rancho, the big sky and the fresh fruits growing all around the house. I think she would enjoy wearing cowgirl boots and a hat, like her momma.


She would love the Chica round-up, leading them home for a night's rest.

Geez. No wonder my posts take forever to write...

34 words

Speedtest

Lily of the Valley and 2 Cats


This is my garden of the day. Trader Joe's has the most beautiful plants and flowers, so reasonably priced, I forget my troubles and virtual lack of a garden, and I splurge. Splurge: That looks like spl...as in splash + urge... as in gotta-wanna do it. Makes me want to go swimming. Posting my train of thought isn't always worthwhile.


Oh, look who's come to visit the garden. It's Benjamin Franklin Thunder Cat, Cowboy and Explorer. Maria calls him Benbee. He lives indoors, safe from coyotes and reckless drivers. I call him my Furry Baby and Woodgie-Woodgie Love Monster. He's extremely handsome and affectionate. Well, he is affectionate until he isn't and when he isn't a snugly purr box, he becomes a biting, scratchy beast and I have to put him in the garage. The garage is safe and comfortable, but he always come out of the garage reformed and humble.


I love Benbee.


Here comes Chango. Chango had a brother named Bongo, and together they were Chango Biddy Bongo and Bongo Biddy Chango. I am not saying this is interesting, but it's nice to write it all down for posterity. Chango is a survivor. He is the most domesticated feral cat I have ever known. He was a mighty hunter in his Rancho days, and he can still can scale a tree in a flash. He's such a tender, affectionate and sensitive fellow. He gets very nervous, and we always admire his attempts to contain his wild ways and relax. Sweet, sweet Chango. Sweet lactose intolerant, barfy Chango. I love Chango.


Geoff doesn't know this yet, but I think we are going to get another kitty... not right away, but in the next year or two. I also sense that we are destined to bring home a lop eared bunny, 3 or 4 chicks, and maybe even a pair of goats. I like the look of Nubian goats and the personality of La Mancha goats. Max really wants a pet frog. Tee hee. Benjamin looks as though he knows more room-mates are coming and he's not pleased.

Carrots and Honey
Last night I ate carrots cooked in honey. It was a suggestion from Maria B. to Janice R., to cook the baby carrots with a bit of honey. I wonder how much exactly. I have carrots and honey. I even have a ham, and Janice R.'s amazing carrot cake recipe, and somewhere in the garage I have a packed box full of Easter decorations and Spring touches. I could go on for a long bit about Easter and how it catches me off-guard and unprepared most every year, fortunately I have labels, including an "Easter" category of past posts, so no need. It's all been said before. I really do try. I try to plan and clean and decorate and I even imagine going to church, but somehow my efforts fall short. Last year, probably around 4th of July, when I packed all of the Easter bunnies, baskets and egg decor, I really believed I was packing for another move. I did not think we would still be here. Not that we had a plan or even much hope, so I guess it's just a habit. It makes me sad how I dread holidays, even my favorites. Gad. I wasn't going to do this. Carrots cooked in honey is really very nice.


Maria and Jordan riding the ottoman, sister cowgirls of the living-range. I found this pair of feathered $1.87 bonnets at a thrift shop in Madison, Wisconsin. I love Willy Street and St. Vincent's. I love discovering an unexpected treasure and seeing it open up a new world for someone. I need to grab my camera again, the next time Maria is brandishing the inflatable sword, and wearing her brother's leather belt and her purple pirate hat. William says she appears in his room, dressed in her piratey garb, and thunders pirate words... Oooh arggh! I'm a pirate!

Suddenly It Is Spring


William initiated this Spring cleaning weeks ago and they are still at it. They are methodically, diligently sorting and organizing Lego bricks, components, characters and gears.
I tried to get a picture that included the cats; the cats like to tiptoe through the maze and find a spot to roll in, but they came to me when I showed up with my camera. This is Alex's room. This is the first time the boys have had their own rooms. In the "TreeHouse" their beds were in the dining room/kitchen/living room. In our "Rancho" they slept in one room and played in another. At "Neptune" they shared a room in the little house we had. Maria shares our room. I think the boys would just as soon share a room as not, or at least they agree that they enjoy sharing a playroom, er a "Lego Room."

They love Lego bricks. Love. Don't talk to me about the expense or the waste or the volume... I have a thoughtful and tested response to every negative comment I have ever heard against Legos. Even Maria uses Lego bricks to make things and she brightens when her brothers invite her into their world. She is very helpful with sorting and finding heads. I imagine she will be an engineer, like her brothers, able to comprehend the function of gears and pistons, and how to increase the speed of vehicles. Maybe she will have Alex's design skills, or some of William's creative abilities. She'll be lucky if she can be as methodical and disciplined as Max is with his creations.

Sometimes the house gets very quiet, and I call their names... William? Alex? Max? Maria?
Then I hear back, "We're up here. Maria's with us."
They are playing together. They often do.
They plan and design together, and share ideas for future creations.
They read aloud to each other and have sleep-overs in each other's bedrooms.
No, they are not always perfect angels... they get moody and mean, but it's quite rare and even understandable.
Truthfully, I think they are 4 of my favorite people in the world. I love their company and their ideas, their attitudes.
I love that they care for each other and that they have no qualms about sharing their love.
I marvel at their intelligence and curiosity, their appetite for learning.
Even when I think of our challenges, the areas we need to improve, the setbacks we want to overcome, I think that I am not so disappointed or dismayed. They fill my heart with so much pride and joy, that I can only expect good things, bright paths. Perhaps our paths are unconventional, and maybe we cannot always see the most direct route, but at the end of the day, you will find us together and happy, and I would not want to have it any other way.

Looking Back: Nine Hundred and Eighty-Four Pretty Good Posts
See that long list of dates in Chickenblog's sidebar? Those aren't randomly generated, they aren't pay per view ads... those represent the times I couldn't help but express my deep thoughts,


Max, Alex and William: December 31, 2002. Hawaii

share family news,


The Boys with Deanne: May 4, 2003. Legoland

congratulate friends,


Holly, Nick and Rich: June 13, 2003. El Rancho


pass along recipes,


Anne and Max: October 24, 2003: The TreeHouse

announce a birth,


Alex and Tamsyn: March 30, 2004

beg for help,


Sam, James and Deanne: December 21, 2004

feeling the love

or promote world, and local peace.


Geoff, Maria and Natalie: March 27, 2005

I never imagined I would keep it up for this long or that it would matter to me as much as it does... I certainly dragged my feet, when Geoff suggested I start a blog. My first post was just a fanciful daydream, meant to convince Geoff that I would give blogging an earnest go. In those early days, blogging could be supremely aggravating... oh, wait, it can still be supremely aggravating!


William, Geoff, Maria, Max, Nancy, Alex, Rich, Sophie, Lily, Nick, Phil. Kayla and Holly: June 12, 2005. The TreeHouse

I am glad Geoff insisted I blog. We have a colorful journal of the last five years, with photos, and remembrances, silliness, frustrations, and a lot of happy reflections. I am glad Holly makes tasteful banners, so Chickenblog can look polished and inviting. I am glad that, very recently, more than 2 people have discovered Chickenblog and they have joined the conversation, shared the laughs... blogging is so about dialogue and connections. I am glad that my friend Anna Banana is blogging too... she and I appreciate how cool it is to keep track of things that matter and to amuse ourselves with stuff that probably matters very little.


Alex, Alison, Dominic, Bill, Max and William: June 30, 2007

All this gladness cannot be contained... Geoff has been nudging me: You better get busy making a 1000th post contest to celebrate. I was remembering my very first contest, when I asked readers to identify something the cat coughed-up... that was April 26, 2003, but no one took a chance at my grand prize offer (too bad the Grand Prize was a pony and a Hawaiian cruise... too late now.) But now we can have a new contest, and I will think up a new grand prize, so sharpen your pencils, put on your party hat, and be on the look out for the 1000th Chickenblog post.

Can't you hear that rooster crowin'?
Rabbit runnin' down across the road
Underneath the bridge where the water flowed through
So happy just to see you smile
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.

Can't you hear that motor turnin'?
Automobile comin' into style
Comin' down the road for a country mile or two
So happy just to see you smile
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.

The night passed away so quickly
It always does when you're with me.

Can't you feel that sun a-shinin'?
Ground hog runnin' by the country stream
This must be the day that all of my dreams come true
So happy just to be alive
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.

So happy just to be alive
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.
New morning . . .

Bob wrote it. The words are stirring my heart to embrace this first day of Spring, and listening to Liz and Lisa sing the lyrics my head is nearly convinced that this really could be a new morning. Not much has changed or improved. Children are still coughing and Geoff has left for work, but Maria is dancing and it tickles my soul to see her turn and spin, to see her smile. Could it be? Could this be the day that all of my dreams come true? Let’s just say, I am feeling mighty receptive.

I am at it again, browsing through my photographs. I posted photos from 2003 last time and today I want to add a few more. Slowly, I am developing a concept in my mind that may eventually be a catalyst for action: I should print photographs, frame them and hang them on the walls, then I could see beautiful faces and enjoy happy memories throughout my day. It is an idea too large to fully grasp in one sitting. In the meantime, I will play here, from the comfy chair.

And now it is autumn and we are still living in our lovely El Rancho... where the chickens and children play.

Diego is still so alive in my heart that I can see him stretching, like he is here, and I just want to snuggle his furry scruff.

I have never known a more mellow, tender, sweet, loving kitty. He rode everywhere in our car, happily snoozing on anyone's lap, and he liked to be carried in baskets or boxes. Yet in spite of all this kitty kindness, he gave the biggest stink eye of all time.

Janece is inspiring me to look at myself. She is taking a self portrait every day for 365 days. I think we have similar issues of about self-image. I do have some photographs of Me, like this one of me blogging. Naturally I like it better than most, because I think I showered that day, or something. (Again, with the self deprecating humor. Janece, how's your project going?)

Here's my William. He's been writing summaries of Huck Finn. He never wants to write and he insists 'it's hard' and he's 'no good.' But he is good. He is a very good writer; better than I was at his age. I think it may have something to do with his quiet, reflective way of absorbing details, making observations. I can see it in his intent gaze.

Max may be a writer someday too, or if not, someone should follow him around and take notes on every thing he says.

This is from October of 2003, so we must have been celebrating Jacob's birthday. Jacob and Adam are friends of William, Alex and Max, and Anne and I are friends, since the start of MNO. I just love seeing a snapshot of friends and being reminded that I have history and connections.

I started the day brightly eager to spring forward. This picture makes me pause and cry, because I miss my feathered chicas so much. This was the last time I was with Gracie and her sister hens, Luna and Rosie. Lately, I worry that my memory of the chicas has become inflated and grand, and that having hens again, if I ever can, will not be as sweet as I make believe. Was it only a dream?

Alex remembers the chicas. And I remember Alex, living at El Rancho, planting his guavas, digging around, growing and exploring. He's part farmer too, I think; just like me.

Now, this is cooking. Don't think this is camp cooking or roughing it. This is my uncle Gilberto making breakfast at the family ranch, Ojo de Agua, in Mexico. I will have an outdoor kitchen again some day. Will you come and eat hot corn tortillas with me?

If ever I do get around to hanging photographs I will be sure to include scenes from the ranches and farms of my youth, the places I dream of and long to return to.

And then I can gaze happily at horses, cows, and chickens, gardens, fields and skies.

Make a list of five or more things you would like to be doing right now, and if it doesn't include 'riding around the country in the bed of a truck,' then you may be missing out. I would love to be riding in the back of an old truck, especially with my sweetheart.

Warning: Whiner Ahead.

Geoff has been home lately, and consequently my space at the computer has been invaded. He's updated software. He's been mucking with all the dials and buttons, and my comfort zone is completely gone. It takes me a long time to figure out how to operate programs and make things on the computer work. I don't figure any of it out with natural geek intuition. Understanding software and navigating the secret passages and backdoors of the computer world is way difficult and foreign, and frustrating.

I can't rename photos and export them as jpgs anymore, because he changed Something. I can't work on my movie project, because he changed Something. I can't post pictures to Chicken Blog, because I can't export them, because he changed Something (technically this is not a third problem, but I am trying to get whiner mileage from the first complaint.) It's not fair to shake my fist at Geoff. If it weren't for him I would not have any computer opportunities, but if he had not changed Something, I would be productive right now instead of cranky. I'm so cranky that a small pain is spreading from between my eyes to the back of my neck.

The small pain may also be coming from other frustrations of my own creation, but the problems we make are never as satisfying to whine about as the problems we are the victims of. I am a victim of good food, and an ample supply of it; it's made me overweight. I am a victim of material possessions; our stuff is all over the house and not keeping itself in order. I am a victim of hormones; strands of my hair are falling out and I find them everywhere, reminding me of getting older, and balding.

One more thing: Geoff and I haven't been to our old neighborhood, together, for fun, since we moved. We went to our favorite feed store/ice cream saloon yesterday. Our neighbors have horses and like ice cream so it seemed like a fun excursion to make with them. We were enjoying the ambiance and sharing some ice cream when Duke and his daughter Donna walked into the saloon. Duke is the man that bought El Rancho, our former home, and his daughter kept our Chicas. They are very nice people, but it was a little awkward for us, because Geoff and I are shy people, and because they are living in the house that we worked very hard to make a home and then chose to sell for a higher purpose, which has turned out to make finding a new home unexpectedly difficult. Alex whispered in my ear to ask about the Chicas. He wanted to know how our hens, Gracie, Rosie and Luna were doing. With reverence and apology, Duke explained that one at a time, since early in December, they had been taken by coyotes.

This is Chicken Blog and those dear, silly hens were the inspiration for a lot of joy and fun. There is a great deal I can think to say about their significance to me, but it's the very affection and regard that I had for them that makes me silent.

Gracie, evacuated and sheltered.

Though the Paradise fire is not 100% contained, it is well enough under control that the moratorium on new fire policies has been lifted. That was a lot of words to say "escrow will close!" I am here at the Rancho, meeting repairmen and packing mops and tools, and then last of all my computer. It's really time for lights out.

Meanwhile, out west, the evacuated Chicas are living in a sectioned off area beneath the back stairs. It's not home. We let them out the first day and Luna trekked down the road to the neighbor's rose garden, twice. Joan was amused and surprised and very friendly, but we have kept a much tighter rein on the adventurous Chicas ever since. Poor Chicas are not very happy penned in and without their usual spread to cruise. This morning we let them out for a brief bit of freedom. They have many options, but are most attracted to kicking all the wood chips out of the flower bed and on to the sidewalk. In a matter of minutes they mange to create an impressive mess. Don't let my brave front fool you. I am very sad about making the responsible decision to let them stay at the Rancho. I love them. They make me happy, and messy or neat, I never tire of their antics.

I have also discovered that I will miss our market. In two years I have never waited in line to buy groceries, because they always rush to serve. Manuel in produce knows us by name, and he always slices fruit for us to sample. We know the managers and cashiers, the baggers and the bakers. They are friendly and attentive, and even through the grocery strike, our local market has maintained astoundingly awesome service. Major Market deserves a poem or some sort of recognition for doing their job well. Though it's a long drive, I may continue shopping there, rather than suffer long lines and indifferent service at the local markets.

I will miss the view from here; the beautiful hills and sunrise light, the flocks of egrets crossing every morning and afternoon. Yesterday evening a great horned owl sat on the house antenna and looked down on Geoff and me. I will miss his soft "who," and the distant and distinct call of the ostriches. I will miss our neighbors, who have been kind and generous, and the wide open sky that has shared stars and storms, sunsets and breezes. It has been quieter, and slower here, and it has been hotter and colder too. There are many things we are leaving behind.

Did someone pray for rain? Thank you. Things are far more hopeful today than they were at the beginning of the week, and we are cautiously optimistic about containment of the fires. The total damages, so far, are terrible. Julian was saved, but I am deeply grieved by the price. I don't think any of my dearest memories or sentiments about Cuyamaca, Julian and the back country, are worth a man's life. All of the firefighters gave fully and I hope we can convey our fullest gratitude.

Thank you to friends and family who have stayed in touch. We are doing fine, and looking forward to settling in to our new home. Right now I am supposedly helping Geoff clean and repair; still finishing the tedious details of moving.

We are heading back to the coast. Let it rain. Please, let it rain.

Spreading out; winds are moving from southwest to northeast. The wind direction helps us, but is keeping Julian in peril.

Growing.

Updated view of Paradise Fire from San Pasqual area looking northeast.

Check this map for an overview of the county and fires: activefiremap-1029-10am.jpg 791x527 pixels

KFMB-TV News
Prayers for the firefighters and their families. One firefighter, defending Julian from the Cedars Fire, has died. Two other firefighters were also sent to the hospital.

The weather is still making containment impossible.

Escrow cannot close on Friday. Due to the fires, no insurance company will insure new home buyers, and so escrow cannot close; possibly for weeks. We also cannot get new services to the rental home, so we are holding on to our internet connection here at the Rancho. There is an undeniable degree of suckiness to this, but I don't feel entitled to wallow in self pity. We have our home...two homes in fact. We will continue to receive email here, and our landline is set up as well. And I am trying to keep up with cell phone messages. It's encouraging to hear from family and friends, and know that some parts of the world are okay...it's hard to get perspective in this bizarre atmosphere.

Humor makes things bearable. This goes out to Bill and Alison: We are evacuating ALL the chickens!

Suddenly our Rancho site, just above the San Pasqual Valley has blue sky. It's hot and breezy. It still smells like smoke and cinders. Now, like Sunday morning, we can see the foothills and mountains, and the thunderheads of billowing volcanic smoke.


This is the view from our porch looking north and east. The high smoke column on the left is from the Paradise/Valley Center Fire, then there is a clear section in the center of the image. On the right is the Cedars Fire. The two fires are forecast to meet around Palomar/Lake Henshaw (the 'clear section' between the two smoke columns.) Taken about 12:45 p.m.

ArtLungBlog»Current Thoughts
Joe is another San Diego blogger with links and thoughts on the fires. Information feels so precious to us right now. We can't get enough news about our community and the people working to save it.

http://artlung.com/blog/2003/10/

SignOnSanDiego.com

A map of fires, but it's already broader than this reflects.

That's it. I gotta stop for a while. We are trying to finish our move out of the Rancho, and the air quality is hazardous. I have even more respect than ever for the reporters, newscasters, firefighters, volunteers, CDF...they have been going for days. Some firefighters were just pulled from the lines after 72 hours without meals or sleep. They wanted to stay. They want to fight. Another fire has just been reported as starting at Mussey Grade road. Naional weather service has just posted warnings of fire hazard weather and conditions; more winds, more hell. Any single day since this began has contained enough tragedy to merit despair and grief, but it isn't over. It isn't nearly over.


Monday: Evacuating horses from Julian to Del Mar. We were heading to the coast as well.

Taken minutes ago from our television screen: A helicopter making a drop on hot spots just south of Julian town. Flying behind the old gas station at the south entrance of town.

163 at 52 in Kearney Mesa: A new fire has just been reported.

Crap. The Paradise (Valley Center Fire) and Crest fires are five miles apart, with wind, and moving fast. Reports are coming from the south grade pass to Palomar where both fires can be seen. The fire has also jumped the 78 just northwest of Wynola.


Here is what Cuyamaca looked like last night. More of a Mt Saint Helens image-very volcanic.


Sunday morning we had no idea how bad things would get, but looking east toward Ramona and Julian, it looked bad enough.

The Valley Center Fire is making its way to Lake Henshaw and Palomar Mountain. The hope is to keep the two major county fires from converging. Strong winds have returned to the valleys and mountain passes, and there is too little humidity. As the Valley Center fire has moved east, we are feeling less threatend. The smoke is still heavy. Normally we could see the mountains and hills in question, but we can only see the smoke.

Fire is descending upon Julian. Cuyamaca is gone. The fire has traveled north, and is approaching Julian from Cuyamaca. Meanwhile demand for firefighters at Palomar has increased, so engines are leaving Julian, heading north on the 79 for Palomar to prevent the Valley Center Fire from meeting the Crest Fire. No one can confirm for certain, but it is appears that the engines that are retreating are leaving Whispering Pines and Kentwood engulfed; homes are burning in the eastern neighborhoods of Julian.

Hey!

Even in chaos there is time to email, and Blog! Go figure!

Movers came today and much to everyone's surprise we got about 95% of our stuff outta here. This is great. We also learned that in the entire county, Escondido has the worst air quality: "Hazardous." It feels hazardous, and we have almost no visibility beyond our neighbor's homes. The fire came within just a few miles of here...on the north side of Wild Animal Park, but seems to be making a slow move east. No wind is our salvation.

There are about a thousand emotional details that are weighing us down, especially when we hear about all the losses and damages. Places that are near and dear are in terrible danger, or even completely lost. We saw Bate's Nut Farm surrounded by flames and can only imagine that the outcome is grim. Now Julian, Palomar, Wynola, Santa Isabel and Pine Valley have been added to the mandatory evacuation. These places are very special to me, and I am trying to believe that we will see them again, unscathed.

Dirk Sutro just gave us a call. He read Chicken Blog and thought to check in on us. Just last month we were enjoying our luxury ride up the 78 and through the back country to Julian, and around Mount Palomar. He'll be taking calls from listeners and I think there will be a lot of people that will appreciate having a sympathetic ear as they share their stories.

For now our story is one of relief and gratitude. We have some obstacles yet, and I stink real bad too, but the boys are playing in the home of good friends, and we were fed last night by another dear family. The scope of all that we, as San Diegans, are enduring is unbelievable. Please pray for us all, particularly for the firefighters and other people working to serve and protect. It's time for some relief for everyone.

Last Blog from the Rancho...well, I can't say this is anything like I imagined. We have lost our belt of clear sky, and all around is a murky and ashen fog. I feel keenly in tune and yet completely oblivious. Reality has reached a level a surrealism that is interfering with my senses. I do not want to drive away. I do not want to believe we have reached a point of certain danger. I do not want to accept a probability of loss. Damn. I'm stubborn.

Anne asked whether there will still be a Chicken Blog. Yes, I will still sit at a computer and think deep thoughts and share little bits of this and that. I will still wear my boots and hat, and dig in a garden. And I will look forward to a day when I can raise chicks again.

Thanks to everyone that wrote or called about Nena, and about the fires, and about our big changes. Stay in touch.

MSNBC Cover

My camera cables are packed so I can't share the images I have taken. We are sitting in between the Cedars and the Valley Center Fires. The Valley Center Fire is north of us and moving southwest. The fire chief, desperately, explained that without 200 more engines there is no chance of containing the fire. He predicted it would reach Escondido (it did last night) and San Pasqual and wild Animal Park (it may do that with the help of Santa Winds today.) We are on high wind advisory until 2pm. The same high winds that knock over tables, roll wood benches and sheer metal roofs from horse shelters, are blowing ash and embers over the entire county.

Last night we moved out photo albums and frying pans, Legos, and Diego. We were grabbing really important things and some rather meaningless articles. I wish I could bring the piano and the sideboard that we bought when we were married. The packers we hired can't come. Many of the major highways and roads are closed. Escrow is supposed to close on Friday. There is a toilet to replace, and a roofer is supposed to repair flashing around some pipes. We are supposed to have everything out of here before the weekend. I am prepared to pack up the chicas and rabbits, and then head to Petco for some immeditae remedy for an impromptu farm.

There are so many urgent tasks and responsibilities, and yet I am riveted to the view. Billows of black smoke are rolling up the backside of the nearest range and hazy amber smoke is begining to obscure the foothills and valleys that extend toward the Wild Animal Park. Resources are overextended and even out of town. No one talks about putting out the fires; they are beyond containment. I wish people were not losing their lives and homes.

Ramona, Lakeside, Alpine, Santee, Poway, Escondido, Valley Center, Miramar, El Cajon, Skinner Lake, Harbison Canyon, San Carlos, Kearney Mesa, Mission Trails, Clairemont...if you don't know these names, these places, it may be hard to comprehend the magnitude of this disaster. I do know these places and names, and I find it very difficult to comprehend. The distances are vast. In a county as large as San Diego we seldom ever think of there being any relative proximity between Ramona and Clairemont, Tierrasanta and Alpine, but now the county seems very small.

It seems somehow alarmist to believe our Rancho is danger. I am trying to assess the situation objectively. Using the Cedars fire as a guide, and judging by the rate and distance covered, then it is not impossible for the Valley Center fire to reach San Pasqual. More smoke is filling the view. It smells bad. The sky to the west has turned brown.

Packing. Still packing. Moving soon, so we are mostly packing.

Later I may write about how emotionally sucky it is to replace doors, stove burners, and a toilet for the new owners. There's a lesson in this.

Of course no duties or chores could ever come between us and our Halloween party. Geoff, the software Pirate, and I, his saucy wench opened the doors to our new home for a rowdy time with family and friends. We 'bobbed' for donuts hanging from dental floss, and we split in to teams for the 'Mummy Wrap.' Food, fun and excellent costumes were in good supply.

Pictures later. Ramona and Valley Center fires, and Santa Ana winds have me too edgy to Blog. Packing double time.

The last time, the only time, we hired movers was September 11th, 2001. They came on time, as we sat, still in our pajamas, our hands and faces weak with incomprehensible grief. We were supposed to finish 2 or 3 more hours of preparing and packing, so that everything could be ready for the full day ahead of us. I was up just at 7, and followed my habit of checking the television for a forecast and tidbits. William, drowsy, sat beside me amid boxes and mess. Everything we knew and believed was suddenly shaken and thrown to the ground, and we could not know when the devastation would end; nor how far it might spread.

As though radios and televisions were a lifeline between ourselves and New York, D.C., and Pennsylvania, we kept them on; it felt disrespectful to shut out their voices, their suffering, their hope. We had to absorb as much as we could, feel as much as we could. We were thousands of miles away, but our hearts were close enough to touch.

Most mornings I turn on the news. I used to prefer morning news to the more sensationalized late night news. Morning news is sprinkled with homey sets and cooking tips, but late news assumes a more foreboding tone. So now, I watch with mild trepidation, and shallow breathing. I watch for anything that might signal another day of inconceivable destruction, and the weather. I thought I merely hoped for a smattering of celebrity news, a movie review, a hometown report of good fortune or heroism, but I realize that there is a child inside of me, and she hopes for a morning when what shattered security, and ripped a ragged line across our memories, could somehow be reversed, or at least profoundly healed.

Naively, quietly, I have sat with the sun rising over my shoulder, the cat rolling on my feet, and waiting for a good weather forecast and a news report of "millions marching in peace and world hunger erased" or "cancer cured, now, today." My experience, and dark humor, my cynicism, none of it has completely eclipsed the longing I shelter for everything to be all better; for the fear to subside, for comfort, healing and trust.

I am embarrassed to admit that I am nervous about next Tuesday. Movers are scheduled to come, and we have to be packed and ready for a long day. I watch the news, and try to follow the movements of forces, good and bad, trends, markets, and signs. I try to be rational, completely level headed. I have been prayerfully thankful for how well our home sale, and new plans have been going so far. Really, it has been smooth and full of great results. But now Nena is gone, like Bongo when we first moved here, and I can feel my breathing is shallow and I feel the ache of wanting everything to be all better. All better for us all. My faith may be shaken, but it won't be left on the ground. I better get off my butt and make a better news day.

Susan G. Komen Foundation :: San Diego Affiliate

Habitat for Humanity International

Charitable organization for sustainable development - Heifer International

Rancho Coastal Humane Society -

April 1990 - October 16, 2003
Nena, our kitty girl.

FAQ: Apparently there are unanswered questions on people's minds:

FAQ #1: Why are you suddenly selling and leaving your Rancho?

Suddenly? Actually, we have been telling friends and family that expectations and trends are changing in Geoff's field of work since last January. We have been alluding to the possibility that we might have to make some difficult choices since Spring. We have been diligently debating our options and thoughtfully weighing the pros and cons for a long time, and we have taken a lot of factors in to account. We have considered our lifestyle and changing needs, job security and ethical choices; we have also tried to be sensitive to the needs of my grandparents, and thoughtful of other family. And we have openly discussed much of the debate in Chicken Blog, personal emails and in conversations.

FAQ #2 Well, I thought you were happy, so why would you give it all up?

Life is neither all sad nor all happy, at least not for many, and thankfully not for us. We have enjoyed good, and challenging, times here. I suppose it would be easier to understand selling our house, pool, tractor and view if we had been miserable here. Maybe if we suffered and bitched about being profoundly disappointed, then we wouldn't be confounding so many people. What I can't understand is why anyone would believe that loving this place and being happy here somehow entitles me to stay here indefinitely. Of course I love it here, and there are also aspects I will not miss. I hope people can see that this decision was not made lightly, that we are sad about it, but also realize that we are trying to be realistic, to be flexible. Rather than wait for the strain and wear of Geoff's career and his commute dictate our lives, we have chosen to proactively adjust our circumstances. Rather than postponing the pursuit of different options and possibilities for a later "some day", or after retirement, we have chosen to take advantage of our opportunities. Rather than dwell on difficulties and frustrations from life's inconstancy we are choosing to make the most of what is good in our lives. I do not want to change my home, job, hobbies, interests, or even my dreams only after I have been miserable, or forced to by tragedy.

Please consider what we are not giving up: our values, our love, our respect for each other as husband and wife, and as friends, our children's security and well being.

FAQ #3 We don't know whether to be happy for you; who knows what you'll do next. What if you just pack up and move again?

Well, what if we did? What if we moved to, say, Minnesota for example? And what if we found it wasn't what we expected, and though there were enjoyable aspects and experiences we benefitted from, on the whole we decided it was not our best choice? Should we stay there and just lump it? Sure, if we had no choice we could stay put and make the best of it, but we do have choices. Starting over is an option. We haven't asked anyone to be happy or excited for us and our plans, and we didn't realize it might be such a challenge either. I have not always had the luxury of being able to adjust my circumstances to meet changing needs or interests, and as long as I am able I will exercise this option. Whether I choose to sell a tractor or move to an Island is rather trivial compared with the difficult and unpredictable things life can throw at us at any given time and place. It seems safe enough to be happy that we are healthy, still happily married, interested in life, concerned about family, and willing to adjust to changes in our dynamic lives. If we moved to Hawaii, or anywhere, and then packed up and move again, then I would think: "Thank God we had that time there, because it was good and we enjoyed it. And thanks too, that we are able to do what we feel we must to fulfill our needs and desires."

Each of us finds a way to cope with life, and those that do not, suffer a great deal. Perhaps some do not agree with how Geoff and I have decided to deal with our circumstances, and I appreciate that there are many ways of going about living our lives. If you are not excited about our changes or can't figure us out, that's okay. We never expected to be predictable, or to satisfy everyone's expectations, and sometimes we can't figure ourselves out. We have rarely ever acted rashly, we have agonized over most choices we make, we have gone to great lengths to be considerate of loved ones, and most importantly we have been able to honor and support one another, and we are happy about this.

So much for quiet introspection; for letting the gentle passing of time reveal our destiny. Escrow closes in 32 days! Picture me: open palms holding my face with mouth gaping and eyes popping. 32 days! Apart from feeding and educating children, collecting eggs, pulling weeds and plucking stray eyebrow hairs, I have got to get my booty on the fast track. The weight of this news is so heavy that I have spent the last twenty minutes laying face down on the sofa.

Max is sick. He threw up 3 times at 0-dark hundred, and two more times today. Last night I ambitiously, confidently marked our calendar with all the important dates for surviving a 60 day escrow. It seems appropriate for fate to cut the number of days down, and toss some vomit our way too. My new game plan? Keep a towel and a wide bowl next to Max, and wander around the house saying, "Oh my God. Oh my God."