Too Soon?

Is it too soon for orange, for pumpkins, for foggy mornings and cups of hot tea? I know, I know... it's not even Autumn yet, and it's not that I want to rush the season and yet I do. Summer seems so faded and done, and I think my heart is eager to move ahead, in hopes of... something.


Maria and I met Geoff for breakfast, and on our way we came across this big surprise! Big, big, big, big pumpkins. One pumpkin was tossed over the fence, split open, and waiting. I think it was waiting for us. Maria peered in to it and discovered that big pumpkins make big seeds. Maybe this is part of the something that we hope for. We pulled out 3 plump seeds. We'll keep them for someday. It might not be safe to plant all 3 seeds! How much space would we need for vines that produce pumpkins of this size?

Inspired by the pumpkin garden, we decided to visit another garden we know of...


And there we were greeted by tiny blooms, fountains, ponds, trees and wind chimes, and seemingly endless paths. It was quiet in the gardens and we enjoyed listening to water slipping over stones, and birds calling. Maria asked whether flowers talk, and I said yes. She said, "No, I don't think so." I said sometimes we can talk without using words, like when flowers show their pretty selves and the butterflies, bees and children come to see how lovely they are. She agreed that flowers could speak, in their own fashion.


We stayed in the gardens for a long time. We chatted with the men and women working there. We read the little signs and talked about colors and shapes. We walked a lot, but slowly, taking in all the details.


Could I ever forget that this is Maria's Age of Why? We can get 3 or 30 Why questions in succession. "Why do these flowers smells like Hawaii? Why is Hawaii far away? Why is the flower grows in Hawaii?"


We are still planning the "derpday." Every day, with every passing fancy or bit of inspiration, Maria finds something new to add to her birthday plans, and we talked about those plans quite a bit while we walked through the gardens. She would like these tiny flowers at her birthday, and she kept the yellow leaf for her birthday too.


She wants to collect leaves and seed and flowers and make little fairies and princesses out of them, so they can be at her party. In the little shop she found butterflies made of tulle, wire and glitter, leaves too, and you can probably imagine her reaction to those! Yes, butterflies and Autumn leaves, sparkling and shimmering would be a very good thing for her derpday party. "And pumpkins, and pink roses, and a pond, and an apple tree." She's persuading me... it cannot be too soon to make plans, to think on wishes and dreams.

The Waning Season


I don't think it's been a hot Summer. It has been humid and there were a few days when it felt better with a fan, than without. I kept waiting for the kind of heat that would make our backyard dipping pool enjoyable. But the cold water from the hose never felt necessary... rather it felt rash and overstated. We had a few water fights and those were fun, and I am sure if we had a pool we would be swimming, but unlike other Summers, we weren't wishing we had a real pool.


It could still get hot. Summer in these parts can last through October. The only cold Halloween I can recall was in 2002, in Wisconsin. It was strange and invigorating to be traveling door to door, cold and excited, sharing the amusements of the night. September can be a very hot month. In fact I seldom count June as a summer month, thinking of Summer more as July through September. I remember November 1990, swimming at The Cove with my brother, Bill. The weather was fine for an ocean swim. I was pregnant with William and it felt wonderful to ride the waves and get out passed the breakers.


It could still get hot, but I predict an early Fall. Trees in the neighborhood, the Sweet Gum, and other deciduous maple types, are already showing amber clusters, yellow swathes, and shades of Merlot. The spiders are out and busy weaving. We remember our first days here, at Garage Mahal, it was October and the yard was full of enormous garden spiders, all hanging and waiting to ensnare us in their sprawling webs. The grand-daughters of those beady eyed arachnids are already crisscrossing the garden, and setting traps across the sidewalks, getting plump and crafty. Makes me shiver. One caught me and rode in to the house in my hair... I squawked and I think she fainted... we were equally aghast!


Holly says her cat brought in a very tiny mouse, and I remember Grandma Nancy saying that mice come near the house and try to get in when they sense a change in the weather. Fall must be looming. Not just on the calendar, but in our gardens, in the pulse of the Earth. My tomato plant should not have to give any more. It is beaten and depleted, and so are the roses. All those plants that gave all they could are worn out and ready to slip back in to the earth, to return in another season.

Last night I dreamt that we had an amazing, warm, crusty loaf of baked bread. We were breaking the bread and sharing it, and it never ran out. I can smell it. I could feel the weight of it, the crust breaking and complying in our hands, and the warmth of it could not more perfectly evoke home and hearth, that quality of Autumn that calls us to gather closer and share. Wasn't that the pleasantest dream? I like thinking on it.


Maria and I went outside in search of colors and pretty things. We found, of course the chicas, and when we let them out of their sky blue coop they flew. They are nearly impossible to photograph. Some part, or all parts, of them is always moving. Their feet anticipate the next step, their eyes dart, then fix. Most pictures I take of them are a blurry haze of colored feathers. Even though they stay within the same general vicinity of each other, I don't know wether I will ever capture a family portrait... the 3 of them, poised and graceful, sitting alertly together and subtly smiling for the camera.


I am anticipating my favorite time of the year, Autumn, and hoping that plans fall in to place, that we slip in to comforting rhythms and enjoy happy traditions. I am looking forward to gaining an edge and feeling a sense of accomplishment through work and routine. I cannot see my dreams coming true, not yet, so my new resolve is to maintain the good things I do have. Did you see Chris' comment? She shared a quote from Burton Hills: "Happiness is not a destination. It is a method of life." I do have destinations in mind, but I must remember to enjoy the ride, I know.

I think I will dress Maria... I should say: let Maria get dressed, because she loves to find something to wear and do it herself. We can find a nursery and walk the paths, admire the blooms and choices, then bring home new annuals for Lola's Garden, our little barrel of flowers. The season is waning, and we want to welcome the new season with our best intentions and a bit of faith, as much as we can muster.

Black and White and Silent

Chicken Coupe


I think sophisticated humor is subtle, and possibly literary... it is witty. There is no need to roll on the floor laughing or to point out the sheer genius of the joke, explain the punch line... but, man, I crack myself up. I think, those years in the institute of higher learning have finally paid off. Chicken Coupe! Get it?! It should be embarrassing to me that I am so taken with my joke, but consider: I've been awake since 5:40 and I don't drink coffee, I haven't had a haircut in over a year and I've only had one pedicure in my entire life, I don't get out much, last night I had a horrible stomach ache, and yet in spite of all my glaring disadvantages I still come up with a zinger!

Chicken Coupe. That's really funny.


And if subtle wit does not work, then how about playing the cute card? I'm not above that either. Have you ever seen a 3 year old catch a pullet? Maria crashes through the undergrowth, she dodges and Betty weaves. It is a comic pursuit that ends with cackling and giggling glee. Maria calls Betty her best friend and what friend wouldn't want to share a ride in the cozy coupe?


Amelia stands back and watches the scene unfold. She hasn't crowed this morning. I wonder if I cured her with 3 hours in solitary confinement. Yesterday I left her in the shower stall... it was my desperate attempt to avoid eviction by a neighborhood mob of angry city folk. If you think Amelia looks stern, you should see the look Geoff gives me whenever she crows.


So, what kind of home would you put us in? Certainly not another tidy little place like Garage Mahal. We need something less fussy and "grand." We need a yard, for sure. We need storage and rooms for a family of 6, but not necessarily 6 rooms. We need hardwood floors and no more than 2.5 bathrooms. I do not want to see another suburban mini-mansion with a bathroom for every bedroom. Gag. One generous kitchen is more valuable to me than any number of "formal" rooms. No columns, no chandeliers, no marble entries. Laundry chutes... laundry chutes are cool. Laundry rooms are awesome, especially when the architect knows what happens in a laundry room, so it's designed with work in mind. I would not object to a laundry room the size of a bedroom. I would not object to a swimming pool, raised garden beds, a barn, or a finished attic. I like window seats, niches, arches, covered porches and old trees.


One of these is Fantam the Dark Bantam and the other is Buttercup. But which is which? Can you tell them apart, because we hardly can. Buttercup has actually gotten darker and Fantam is growing more golden feathers.


Our teeny-tiny farm operation brings so much joy. This picture brings me joy... the bliss, the exhilaration, the intuitive instinct for enjoying the moment at hand.


1 tomato plant and a handful of ravaged carrots, 4 chicks and a bunny... it's not much, but it is certainly testing the limits of this yard. I would so much rather have a real chicken coop, than a master suite and sunken tub. Oh, wait... let's enjoy the moment at hand... who wants salsa?


Who wants carrot salad a little snack?


Yesterday's post was a fond look back to happy times and our sad last visit to Kalopa, and it was a farewell and aloha to our plans and hopes for a life there. I wonder if we will ever part with all of those dreams, but I know we need to make new plans, to know what we want now, in order to move forward. It still feels like we are living in a holding pattern, waiting for tomorrow. That's not good, I know. So I look at my children and I follow the chicas, and pluck tomatoes and I let go, while taking in new visions and enjoying the moment at hand.

A Sunday Afternoon


It can be hard to believe... when they were babies we knew some day they would be older, that the difference in their ages would be less noticeable, and that they would play together. It seems sudden. Time passes quickly, somehow. Now here they are, 2 little girls, born 16 months apart, cousins. Cousins chatting together, sitting in Izzy's room playing, exploring the yard and sharing the slide. Learning to take turns. Practicing patience.


Practicing patience takes a lot of patience. I love Maria's body language... she's actually trying to contain herself. Sweet temptation. When is it my turn?


Do you remember the toys in other people's homes were better? Newer, different. Everything at cousin's house is wonderful and better. This tricycle for example is very, very good. It can be pushed and steered from the long armed handle.


Whether riding or pushing, Maria could not get enough. And I was even more impressed with the trike, when I saw a toddler could successfully maneuver it.


Even the sandbox is better. After they had their fill of cycling, they made their way to the full sand box. Izzy showed me her bandaged ankle. Is it just me, or does "bandaged" sound more traumatic than just explaining that she had a cartoon band-aid? She had a cartoon band-aid on her ankle.


There, see? It's not so bad. I love her expression. She knows it's worth some sympathy. Maria carries a bandaged finger like a near fatal battle wound sustained during a famine, while she was rescuing kittens from a tornado. It holds a lot of weight, it's got a story, it demands your attention and respect. "Look. Look. I am hurt and let me tell you how it went down."


We should refill Maria's sandbox. It's down to the dregs. It's more like sandpaper than play sand. I would wager cash, that we have more sand in the carpets and on the floor of the car than in the sandbox.


Nick and Max, with a neighbor friend and uncle Geoff, were playing a basketball-baseball-soccer kind of game, that was very reminiscent of Bill Ball. Bill Ball was my brother's democratic, diplomatic, all's fair, anything goes, ball game played with any number of players and any variety of bats, balls and arenas. It was an awesome game to play with friends. This game was dubbed Max Ball and it was rigorous and lively, and much enjoyed.

We are getting together again this Sunday, when Max is celebrating his 10th birthday. A pizza, some cake, Lego time and time to play with cousins and other friends. Max, 10 years old? It's hard to believe. Time passes quickly, somehow.

My One Viola

Amy, of "Clearing the Air," has inspired me to think of the simple things that make me happy. Simple things do make me happy, but I am laughing out loud as I face the challenging part... I really need to zip-it! My busy brain keeps rationalizing and categorizing and battling and sort of whining in a very tedious and sad way. Zip-it brain. We are talking happy right now!


simple things make me happy

flowers
laughter
clean feet
summer rain
campfires
water, drinking, spraying, splashing, swimming, floating,
everyone together and reading aloud
breezes
falling asleep with everyone home
packages from near and far
cut limes
hot corn tortillas
old movies and pop-corn
taking pictures
watching children and hens
hearing from family and friends... baby news
quilting by hand
dresses that swirl and girls that twirl
my children happily sharing a new toy for hours and hours and hours

Back to School?!
At least 5 different people have asked, "Where are the boys going to school this year?" And, "When does school start?" The homeschool program we were enrolled in is not an option any more, so I knew this issue was waiting for me. Waiting and waiting and waiting. Since we are house hunting, I hoped (prayed, pleaded, begged, wished and bargained) that the new address would resolve the which school issue. Rather than risk having to switch districts, campuses, or programs in the middle of the year, I thought: Wouldn't it be wonderful to be settled in to our own home, with the chickens safe and free-ranging, the dishes unpacked and the children running around the yard, and then we would know exactly where to enroll them in school? Indeed. Fairy tale stuff. It ain't goin' down that way.

If I gamble that we are going to wind up in Area A., then we have to get our applications in tomorrow and Alex has to be at his desk the first week of August. Max starts soon after. If we choose to keep them closer, or in Area B., then we need to make those arrangements, but it severely limits our options and makes renting for another year the most likely path. Area A. is a long drive. Area B. is too frickin' expensive.

Sorry.
Hey. We made another family excursion. Another stay-cation, if you will. This time we left the bicycles at home, and we went on a hike.










Can you find Max?


Why does summer have to end?

It's Not All About Chickens


Real quick, before I figure out where to send the children to school, before I pay bills, before I make breakfast or floss, or clear the clogged bathroom drain, I wanted to share some pictures. If you think that my chickens are just an excuse to avoid tough jobs and responsibilities, if you think I am looking for excuses and diversions, well you are totally wrong! I would never shirk duties, delay, tarry, procrastinate, or run screaming from domestic delights. After I edit chicken pictures, and write poems in their honor, I am going straight to the kitchen to whip-up a healthy, balanced breakfast, and then I am going to find my tools and attack that drain. I may even clean the trunk of the Odyssey, where a gallon of milk was left hidden beneath the stroller, forgotten for 3 or 4 days. (Everyone: Stand back! Anne, I think we made cheese!)


You don't have to say it. I will say it for you: Those are some freaky-feathered fowl! Buttercup and Fantam the Bantam are 2 of the most funky, awkward, goofy looking adolescent birds ever. They crack me up, with their feather spurts and silly gaits. They are a pair, happiest when they are side by side. The boys chose well when they named the Bantam "Fantam, the Dark Bantam." She has remained true to her name. She is a dark and comic character, a whimsical Fantam. The Golden Wyandotte, that I named Buttercup, is getting darker by the day and we have added Peanut to the Buttercup, which suits her better. Peanutbuttercup is as comical as her sister, though a slightly better flyer.


There was a brief time when we were concerned that Maria would remain fearful of the outdoors, dirt and nature. She has overcome all reluctance to be one with nature, to walk barefooted across leaves and sand and weeds. She catches chicks and hens and puts them in their place. She plucks tomatoes from the barrel garden and eats them hot from the vine. She deadheads marigolds, gathers weeds for Joe and she welcomes chicks to perch, wherever they may, because she is a farm girl, cowgirl, a chickengirl, through and through.


Amelia and Betty are doing fine. Maria holds Betty and says, "I just love you Betty," and she tells us, "Betty's my best friend." Like the 2 chicks, Betty and Amelia are happiest when they are together. If you can catch one it's as good as getting both. Amelia will come along sooner or later if you are holding Betty in the swing.


Our summer has quieted down a bit. We are enjoying our evenings, and appreciating the pleasure of our time together.

("Quited down?" I'm not sure what I meant by that. The summer has not been noisy. Maybe it was the worry and rush of unexpected news, travel, the daily anxiety of not knowing where we are going to move. Thinking out loud: I am glad to recognize those moments when it feels as though things have quieted down, so I think I will stop trying to overanalyze this now.)


This may be censored, so look now. I cannot help but snicker at her (Me, not the hen) and think: She's one of those crazy ladies that starts to look like her pets. Snort. To be kind, I will add: Why not? It's a pretty good looking hen.


Sitting atop our picnic table-turned chicken coop, Maria subdues her hen and tells me how it's done. "Be careful, like this," she instructs, and she gently strokes Amelia's pretty feathers.


Maria likes Lady Betty Orpington best, and it makes me glad that Betty is so sweet and docile.


Maria, looking every bit the farm girl in her beautiful apron from Kim. Can you see where Kim added the image of Pip, Lola and Betty, among the daisies? Maria loves daisies and the chicks. She remembers Pip and Lola and reverently tells anyone their stories. Pip is a rooster and went to live with other roosters, and Lola is part of the flowers, in her own little garden. I guess there are many lessons to learn when you are going to be a farm girl. Maria is taking it all in stride.


Mr. Potato Head, a family staple since 2001. We've gotten more mileage out of this toy than I ever expected a family could get mileage from a plastic potato and assorted parts. I threw this one in, because 1. Alex is handsome and sweet and good. 2. Maria adores Alex and Mr. Potato Head. 3. I wanted to prove that I can think of something other than chickens.


The End

Postcards From Our Local Vacation


Maybe "vacation" is too strong a word. It was more like... hey! Dad's home for a few hours. Let's go ride our bikes!" So, in the spirit of making the most of what you've got, we went out for family fun and our first test run of Maria's bike trailer.


Alex clicked and locked and fastened all the parts. Maria was too excited to wait on the outside, so she sat inside.


It came together easily, which is always a refreshing experience. The difficulty came when we discovered that William's bicycle went junk and the pedal completely snapped off. Shift: William took Geoff's new Costco special, and Geoff and I went back to sharing my ride, which meant someone would have to take turns walking. No biggie.


Helmets, sunblock, drinking water, camera, b-ball... ready, set, ride!


Max turns 10 in less than a month. Give me a moment. I'm getting misty. This boy is a treasure. Sigh.


This is hilarious, for me. It looks so well rehearsed and easy. Not!
Close toed shoes for 6, and no flip-flops.
No, no flip-flops. Why? Because.
Who has a helmet?
Where are the helmets?
I know we have at least 42 helmets in this house!
Does this look expired? Smell it. Does sunblock expire?
Everybody put on sunblock. No, we're out of the stick kind.
You inflate the tires and I'll find the basketball.
Do we have balls for Smashball?
Is there any Tylenol?


We were going to leave first thing in the morning. I think it was after 11:00 when we were headed out the door.


Ah, but we were happy and receptive. We were together. We even packed sandwiches and had cold grapes to snack on. And while it was neither rehearsed or particularly easy, it was fun and worthwhile. Think how much easier it will be next time. It's always a good sign when people are willing to consider next time.

Thank You. Muchas Gracias.


Writing about Mexico and memories felt like a private memorial, that I had to get out of my head. Part therapy, part record keeping, so that my children could understand me and how I was feeling. I couldn't leave with 1 hour's notice, at 11 p.m. Monday night, to drive 16 hours for my abuelo's funeral. I was sad enough that he died, and I think I was even sadder to realize I was missing an opportunity to say goodbye, to share my story and hear theirs. Having always felt some uncertainty about my ability to write effectively about my memories and feelings, and being reluctant to commit to saying things out loud, writing this post was liberating and personal. It also felt as though I have barely crossed the threshold of a part of my life, of a hundred stories, of things I know and believe, but have yet to give a voice to.

Blogging can be a lonely business. I've been writing for a while. Some posts are nearly pointless, and some posts are full of my deepest thoughts and happiest musings. As much as I have wanted to be a good writer, to reach people and start a conversation, I have mostly resigned myself to the puzzled looks from family and friends, and feeling like a goof. Receiving comments is a relatively new pleasure, and it is wonderful. Bloggers, you know it's true: feedback, encouragement, connection, community, discussions and exchanges are the fuel and frosting that top the blogging cake.

Thank you for your comments. You may have convinced me I can say things, say them well enough to start a conversation that we can all share. But mostly, because of what you shared with me, I felt like I had kind and tender company as I sorted my thoughts and feelings and began to say goodbye to my abuelo, to chapters and days that in some ways are forever beyond my reach. I could not be at the funeral, where they say it rained for days, and the lightning did not wait for the thunder, but lit the night sky with every percussion. I could not be there to hold my abuela and to share the grief, and the healing that comes with company. I have been to too many funerals in the last year, and I have seen enough death and loss to understand that support and compassion are a tremendous resource for comfort and courage. Thank you for reading about my abuelo, about things I am trying to make sense of, and feelings I want to hold on to. Thank you for responding and encouraging me, for being supportive and compassionate... it helps. I feel less alone.


I think I have been afraid to post again, because I was pretty sure I wouldn't be as eloquent or interesting as I seemed to have managed in my last post. What? I'm not too proud to admit positive feedback felt really good. Really good. So, maybe I will slip back into mediocrity and obscurity. Maybe I have the rough draft of the next best seller, but writing is like surfing. Some days you paddle, paddle, paddle and never get a ride.


And some days you catch a wave.


Perhaps every post won't be an exhilarating ride, but I am hooked on blogging, and I love looking through the archives and seeing my children, recalling the things they've done and said. I love reminding myself that there have been good days and bad days, and I am still around to know the difference.


Independence Day was a good day. I planned a long day at the beach with the children, expecting Geoff would work, as he usually has to, but he exchanged this day for working the weekend (which he usually does) and he joined us for an entire day of surf, sand and sun fog.


Truthfully, I love the fog. It was overcast, but warm, and it made it easier to play all day, without feeling scorched. We dug a private pool for Maria. Max, Geoff and William did a lot of bodysurfing. The beach was crowded and happy. We had chips and dip. I love chips and dip. We ate strawberries, we walked, we built drip castles.


It didn't stay crowded. By late afternoon the beach was deserted, and we enjoyed a very foggy walk, collecting all kinds of treasure along the way. Suddenly I decided to tile our shower with the smooth stones that cover our beaches. Not the shower here, at Garage Mahal. The shower in our own, future, imaginary, hopeful, some day house. I walked back to our base-camp carrying about 15 pounds of shower tiles. It's a start.


Someone got hold of my camera. Notice my relaxed, at ease expression?

Nothing's ever as easy as I think it should be. This day, this no-stress day at the beach was days in the planning and took hours to prepare and pack for. I was totally absorbed in making an idyllic, classic sort of celebration. I even envisioned presenting one of those clever fruit decorated flag cakes. So, you know, I was scurrying around, gathering towels, finding swim shorts, hats, sunblock and anticipating every need and patriotic whim. And finally, we were ready to head out. Stop for gas, and pick up ice, then the beach, and our beautiful celebration of freedom and family time. In the market I grabbed an extra bag of corn chips and a magazine to read while lounging luxuriously, and I kept noting how terrific everyone looked. Cute T-shirts, red, white and blue details, and snazzy summer sandals. Everyone was looking dressed for a holiday. It wasn't until then that I realized I had forgotten an important detail... I was still in my pajamas. 'nough said.


I let the children decorate the Fourth of July Fruit Flag Cake.


It was beautiful.


It was a very good day.

Last Night We Went For a Walk

Thank you for the support and kindness. Abuelo's passing is sad mostly because it brings to mind distancia... how far away I feel from family, from feeling at home and connected. And my heart aches for my Abuela... she lost a husband of 70 years. Thank God for her faith. I think it will sustain her.

Geoff has been gone since Thursday, and today we pick him up at the airport. He was going to shuttle directly to work, but I cannot resist seeing him, even if it's only to drop him off at the office. Thanks to our cell phones, I think we talked more while he was away than when he is home. Sometimes we didn't talk at all, but having him on the phone helped me get through the day.


Going to the car wash is one of my favorite... activities? Events? Pastimes? Something. I just get a big kick out of sitting in the car, and riding through dirty and coming out clean. No brakes. Put it in neutral. I turn around and watch the children's faces as water and suds and big rollers splash and spin. We wait for the 3 color foam soap and multi-tentacles of the dryer cloths.


And this time? Oh this time was awesome, because the triple foam failed to perform and we almost drove away crest fallen and rainbowless, but they hailed us back! They said, "Go through again. You didn't get the color foam." Sweet. Like finding $20 in an old coat pocket. It's your $20, but it feels like found treasure.


After the car wash we went on an evening walk. It was a good idea to get out of the house.

Another good idea was finally celebrating Alex's 14th birthday. We invited Adam and Jacob over for a double feature, on our big screen, with gooey cheese nachos, stove popped popcorn, cold grapes, lemonade and pizza. We set out all of the good eats, dimmed the lights and let the films roll. And Adam and Jacob brought Alex a huge Lego set. People are amused to learn that Legos are still at the top of Alex's wish list. Trust me, those Legos were a huge hit with all of the children living here.


As many of you know, I have been a rebel, an outlaw. I cannot deny my ranchera roots, my cowgirl spirit, and that is why in this manicured-Garage Mahal neighborhood, living in the landlord's columned rental palace, I have snuck-in chickens. First there were 2... Lola and Betty.
When we realized we wanted needed 3, we brought home Pip.
We thought this was our final line-up, but then sweet little Lola died.
Still committed to the idea of having 3 hens, we introduced Amelia.
And for a while we got to just sit back and enjoy the sight of our 3 chicas, Betty, Pip and Amelia.
And wow! did they start to grow fast!
And make us happy!
They have even inspired great works of art.


It was during our visit to Oregon, that my mind proved to my heart that we had a rooster in our midst. I could not be sure about Amelia/o, but it was painfully obvious that our dear Pip was growing proud tail feathers and a cocky stride. If we were in another kind of neighborhood, if our yard were wider, deeper and our own, then this might not have to be a problem. Some roosters are nice and capable of being fine pets, stately additions to a family farm.

I took all 3 chicas to the feed store where they came from and asked Martin to come to the car and see what he could tell me about our situation. Martin could see what I saw and confirmed that Pip is a rooster. He also admired his pretty plumage and unique appearance and he invited Pip to stay there, either as a permanent resident or possibly to be adopted. Some farmers want roosters, and he assured me Pip was destined for a good home. Sigh. You don't think this was a *the dog is living on a farm now* kind of story, do you? Don't tell me. I don't want to know.

All the way home, Maria sang "Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip. Pip don't be a rooster. Come home Pip." It was a very sad song. Thinking of it generates endless wishful thinking.

Naturally I called Geoff from the parking lot of the feed store. I had to tell him the sad news, and promote myself... the responsible cowgirl, who can make the tough decisions. And I was ready to drive home, move forward, take my losses, but it was Geoff who said, "But we need more than 2 chickens. There's no sense putting it off, if there are chicks available now we should just go for it." That's the honest truth. See? I'm not the only outlaw in the family.


We will have to raise these day old chicks separately from the teenage chicas, but I think they will catch-up and adjust soon enough. This dark chocolate baby is a Dark Bantam, and the boys were awestruck with the breed name and immediately and simultaneously declared: "Her name has to be Fantam the Bantam!"


And this little Buttercup is a is a Golden Wyandotte. Considered a friendly breed and certainly very pretty... she and Fantam look like peanut butter and chocolate together.


I just love the markings on these 2. They are very sweet together and we are enjoying their smallness... now that we are so *experienced,* we have a greater appreciation for how quickly this little chicky phase passes.

It's hard to get good pictures of chicks. They move so fast. Peck, scurry, peck, peck, peck. The camera captures dozens of fuzzy blurs, little feathery somethings, lost in the big picture.


Amelia can be almost as hard to capture. She and Betty are on the move and big! Amelia fancies herself a parrot. She loves to perch on shoulders, and she has no trouble flying up or down.


"Ooh arggh, Amelia!" She's setting a course for a patch of green grass.


The best times of this week have been in the garden, watching Joe and Amelia and Betty free range, while we keep very watchful eyes on the new chicas. The weather has been pleasant, comfortable. We have no big plans or commitments. Our carrots and tomatoes are getting full and plump. Lola's garden is abundant with blooms.


Even with a good camera, I cannot always get the picture I want, but these fuzzy farm photos are a happy reminder that we have had some good days, some enjoyable times... amusing and tranquil.


There are plenty of cold grapes and crisp nectarines to feed us the flavors of summer. I talk to my mom almost daily and she is making some progress, managing as best she can, and I am glad that her Mommy is with her this week. I finished 2 blocks worth of hand quilting on Ruth's quilt. One day at a time, recognizing the pleasures and blessings, appreciating what is good. I look forward to more evening walks and double features.

It's almost time to head to the airport. More joy ahead!

Tempted to Machine Quilt

June Jamboree at Starry Night Hollow was not only fun, it was an inspiring place to be for anyone who loves fabric. I love fabric.


I love how the seasons change light and colors, reveal shades undetected. And with nature's changes my preferences change... sometimes in ways that surprise me. I have favorite colors, but looking through my fabric stash, I doubt you could guess which are my favorites. Most colors are well represented in my collection of fabrics, but citrus tones are the colors I have the fewest of.


I thought orange was a favorite color of someone I want to make a quilt for, but it turns out to be a little too much like pink, or something like that. Orange definitely qualifies as a color I don't gravitate toward, but I am loving the Fresh Squeezed collection from Moda Fabrics. It's sweet and tart, it's sharp and refreshing... it's an idyllic summer.


So with some complementary fabrics from my stash and a charm pack from Starry Night Hollow, I got busy designing and piecing. And I wasn't the only one enjoying the new color scheme... Alex, Geoff, William, Max and Maria offered layout suggestions and expressed appreciation for the Fresh Squeezed theme. It's extra fun to work on something that everyone likes.


I bought extra yardage to sash the charm pack squares, and more for the backing. It has to be finished before the end of summer. It's definitely a take me on a picnic kind of quilt.


Under blue skies, near shady trees. The colors of the quilt are so invigorating, so reflective of summer... maybe it could brighten a dark winter day, when one is beginning to think wistfully of lemonade and garden beds.


So, how soon before we can take it for a test run? How many days or months will it take me to hand-quilt this quilt and the special quilt I am trying to finish for Ruth? The truth is, my fingers and shoulders will give out before I can finish either quilt, especially if I push myself to finish both before the end of summer. Hand quilting is so slow, so hard. I am emotionally attached to the traditional ways, to the look of those dear stitches and even to the meditative leisure of sitting with a quilt on my lap, a needle between my thumb and fingers.

But I already have new quilt designs I am aching to try, and I really would like to make use of my fabulous fabric collection, so I have this irresistible urge to try machine quilting. Machine quilting has it's own challenges and limitations, and I'm not sure my machine is even up to the task.


I need to learn more about my machine, and more about machine quilting. I am hoping I can learn to do something pleasing enough to be worthwhile. Certainly it will be faster than pulling a thread and needle by hand, but I don't want to compromise the hard work and integrity of the quilt top just to finish faster.

I am simultaneously worked up about this issue and pleased... in truth, it is a blessing to have these kind of minor dilemmas to ponder.

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This just in:

76 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Superior Take the test!

Thanks to Sara for the fun link. I cannot account for my results.

Pistol River State Beach

I feel like I am posting just for Geoff today. We were all up very early yesterday, to take him to the airport for his flight to Chicago.
Sigh.
I really wish we were with him. He's gone to be with family, in remembrance of Jim "Corm," who passed away last February. It is strange and indescribable... the countless ways our lives have changed since that sad and unreal day when we first got the news. I could hardly say what happened; it was too painful, and even now, I find that there is still a great deal of disbelief and grief.

I find myself thinking Everyone in Chicago is going to have so much fun, and we'll be missing out on all of that family time, and then I am taken aback when I realize, again, that it's a memorial, that we have lost someone. It won't be all fun and levity, and the fact that I forget is very telling of how hard it is to believe, to really know that he is gone. I do not think that time eases pain. I believe that time is what it takes to learn how to wrap the pain and hide it from our heart and thoughts, otherwise it cannot be tolerated. When I turn off the noise of everyday tasks and chores, when I quiet the daily din of rambling thoughts and remember that Corm is gone, the pain unfolds and I am devastated all over again.


I still wish we were with Geoff. Everyone will be having fun. There will be fun and healing and wonderful memories to share, new ones in the making. And even when it is painful and sad, I wish I could be with Geoff, and Ruth and Holly, Paul, with all the people that knew Corm and loved him, because time does not ease pain... family, friends, love and sharing ease pain.


I still remember the first time I met Jim and Ruth. It was 1982. I hardly knew Geoff and came to their home as a guest of a mutual friend. I think it was my huge crush on Geoff that made me take everything in and preserve it all in so much detail. Geoff introduced me to "Mom and Corm." I shook their hands, "Hi Mom, hi Corm." Even then I was struck by the familiar and easy way I felt. They had company and were finishing a spaghetti dinner, and Geoff was really excited about his sister being home. Holly had just returned from a year in Wisconsin.

I can picture the dining table, the soft evening light of summer. I can even smell Corm's spaghetti. I can remember the relief at realizing that Holly was Geoff's sister! Geoff was so sweet and attentive, and until I was introduced to her I thought she might be his sweetheart! She lent me a swimsuit, so we could all swim at the neighbor's pool. Now we share baby clothes and holidays, and sisterly love.

And in 26 years I have had the pleasure and blessing of becoming a part of a family that feels as much my own as the mother and brothers I grew up with. I was a child when I met Corm, with a child's limited perspective, and I cannot say when this changed, but I see so much more now and it breaks my heart to realize what we are missing.


My husband, his integrity and skills, his tender devotion... I can see that Corm influenced these dear qualities.

My cooking... turkey burgers, chili and spaghetti are some of the mainstays of our favorite family dinners.

Love. I can say that Corm has been a significant teacher about love. I realized this too late to thank him.

He loved music, and he could play instruments and sing... I used to sit in Geoff's room listening to Corm sing to his parrot, Pablo, in the shower. I adore this memory, and can still recall the happy sensation of enjoying those loving (private) concerts.

He loved language and art and craftsmanship and he applied himself skillfully to all of his interests and endeavors, so that his work and his home, his cooking and conversations were all artful, intelligent, well made. I will miss walking in the house he and Ruth built, appreciating the views they chose, the quality of the construction and the beauty of their work.

He loved Ruth. He loved her in private ways. He loved her with his heart on his sleeve. And it was not about flowery declarations or material gifts... it was about sharing the workload, listening to her needs, honoring her beliefs and sharing his own. His love was about being constant and dedicated to Ruth as his partner. He went to work to provide for their goals. He came home to share in the making of their dreams, to be in her company. I never heard him speak to Ruth or about Ruth without at least a hint of reverence, a protective tenderness and affection. Especially in recent years, I would be so touched by his giddy exuberance when he told me how much he loved her, cherished her, appreciated her, and it was with unchecked candor that he shared his love of his wife, and his awareness of her love and devotion to him. I thought A person could be sustained and carried through anything with this kind of respect and affection. It's a beautiful gift that he can feel this way and share these feelings and acts. And when he died, I thought How sad it is that we cannot witness this love, this outspoken regard and tenderness any more.


I think, perhaps at the memorial, in the next few days, Corm's love and devotion, his dedication, will be witnessed once more, because he touched so many of us and we can each of us carry some part of him with us. When we tell his stories, and share the memories, we will evoke the qualities that were a part of him and that he imparted in us.



I hope Geoff will come home and share many of the details of his time in Chicago, so that we can have some idea of what we are not there to be a part of. I realize that we are missing not only Corm, but in not being at this memorial we are missing all of the people that knew and loved him and that were an influence and inspiration to who he was. Even as a memorial, how can it not be a wonderful time? Everyone there is a part of a circle of people that influenced or were influenced by a wonderful person...


I really hated to leave my Mom and Ron. More than ever, I am keenly aware of the frailty of life. Nothing is constant on this Earth. I tried not to cry as we drove away, or during any of the 1,000 miles driving home... the children have seen too much of that already. I have tried to let Corm's example move more consistently in my life, so that I share my love out loud and wear my heart on my sleeve. I love as much and as sincerely as ever, but now I consciously endeavor to say what I feel, to honor what I feel and to treasure the time I do have with the ones I love. So, as sad as I was to leave, and even with my fears and worries, I found some comfort in knowing that I love my Mommy and Ron, that I have shared my feelings and said my piece... it's not the same as having them close by, being able to drop in on them any time, but it's good to love and be loved, and share those thoughts and feelings often.

On our way home we stopped at Pistol River Beach State Park. It was an unplanned break at the start of a long and arduous trip home. There are about 42 or more places that I would have loved to stop and visit, such is the beauty and attraction of the miles between here and there, and it's hard being very pragmatic and merciless about not visiting every park, viewpoint and farm stand.


Ah, but it is so worthwhile to stop, to quiet the din of everyday chores and appreciate the beauty in the world, the humor, art and language, and the people in our company. So, we watered the chickens, and found the trail to the beach. We let time pass unaccounted and played at being treasure seekers, and pirates. We planned picnics and camp-outs and noted the size of rocks, the sound of the waves. Geoff, you would love this place. We were looking for agates and imagining having a home on the forested bluffs overlooking the ocean. As happy as we were to be there, we were even more anxious to come home to you, because we love you.

More Oregon


An alternate title for this post could be: Things I left Behind


At the top of Delia and Ron's quiet street is a feed store, where there is always a variety of happy, rescued animals to visit. A hand written note nailed to the door reads: If you must drop off an animal, please leave some cash to help us out... or something like that. In these economic times there are many stories about abandoned pets, but this feed store has been making room for all kinds of unwanted animals for many years.


Horses and dogs, cats and pigs... all are sheltered and fed to the best of the store owner's ability and without any assistance. The owner was getting a lot of complaints from a few vocal citizens that accused him of not keeping the animals in better facilities. I find it so disheartening when people want to complain, but don't want to find solutions, to help or contribute. I admire the effort of the feed store owner to shelter and feed abandoned animals, to find homes for them, especially since he cannot stop people from anonymously dumping their responsibilities on his front door.

Besides a big pig, some healthy chickens, free-range bunnies, horses, dogs and cats, the feed store also has an attic full of antiques and collectibles. It's a dusty, eclectic array of stuff, adjacent to the hayloft and smelling of sweet alfalfa.


During our stay, and in past visits, we spent a lot of time exploring the corners and shelves of the feed store.


I think it would be so strange to find my portrait in some random shop. I suppose famous people are accustomed to this, but I've always felt a kind of sadness when I see boxes of old family photographs. Once treasured photographs, in second-hand stores, like long forgotten memory orphans. At least Mr Peck has the advantage of being recognized and remembered kindly.


"Antiques" is a term that gets thrown around rather loosely in second-hand shops and resale stores. That's okay... one person's junk is another's junqué. But some antique items make me feel old. What's this VCR repair manual doing here? Hey! VCRs are not old! Right? Why, when I was a girl, we didn't even have VCRs. We waited for the moon to be full so we could do hand shadows on the outhouse door.


The sweetest surprise of this visit was the kitty that kept meowing and meowing and meowing and walking away, while looking back at Alex. She wanted him to follow her, and she kept waiting for him to catch-up, then she'd meow some more and walk away, always look back for him and waiting. Alex caught on to her game and followed her to where the attic of the feed store meets the hayloft of the barn, and that is where he saw what Ms Kitty was so eager to share...


She had a very shy, very black baby, with the very bluest eyes. The momma cat exuded so much pride she could not contain herself. She purred and padded back and forth, she snuggled and meowed and looked to us for affection, approval and admiration. She ranks very high in my memory of happy momma cats. And her woolly black kitten was almost impossible to leave behind.

Do you remember BP, the potbellied pig I wrote about? The one that Maria conversed with? I actually filmed a bit... it's the last part of Maria explaining to BP how to "Oink, oink, oink." It seems she was not impressed with the snuffling, snorting kind oinking BP did. She thought it was so funny that the pig did not literally o i n k!

Blogging is Like Unpacking
It's true. Blogging is like unpacking. My brain is like the trunk of the mini-van... full of stuff that's just bursting and ready to come out. My thoughts are like the rooftop bag... tightly crammed with essential bits. Really, there is no point in doing much else, until I have downloaded the camera, recorded my deep thoughts and made sense of the other musings.


I made the perfunctory market visit, so that we have restocked the larder. I asked the boys to unload the dishwasher and put the groceries away too. I even made lunch, and emptied the cooler... actually I assessed the damages and let William empty the cooler. That accounts for my initial sweep through domesticity, and now I am going to faithfully record high and low points, happy and tasty moments, and stuff.

So, after my mom's accident, Geoff and I scrambled to get things in order with work, school, home, pets and our conestoga, so that we could go to her in Oregon. We put out a lot of fires that week and by Friday night we were on the road.
4 children?
check
3 chickens?
check
3 sleeping bags?
check
DVDs
CDs
socks
hats
sunblock
toothbrushes
check, check, check, check, check

That first night we made it all the way to Solvang. Incidentally, there was a recurring theme on this venture and it has to do with advance reservations. Advance reservations are a real good idea. No pictures from Solvang. We arrived late and we checked out early and Geoff and I whistled loudly when we snuck the chicas back to the car!

We didn't see elk and salmon jerky until we were far north of San Francisco. Winding our way ever north we saw bear carvings, ferns, meadows, rhododendrons, barns and tractors, cows and sloughs, pear trees, strawberry fields and hundreds of places that looked too enticing to skip, but of course we did skip them, this time. Next time, I want to stop in Eureka and eat at the place with the sign out front: Carnivore, Herbivore... We Have What You're Looking For!


And all along the way I would see things I wanted to remember, to photograph and write about, to share. We stopped every 2 or 3 hours, and that's when we would beg Maria to use her potty or try to sanitize some public restroom for her. My apologies to the planet for a dependence on disposable princess panties.

I would give the chicas a nice cool drink and replenish their scratch. Geoff was hilarious, slowing extra much in the curves and apologizing to the chicas for severe bumps in the road, and the rest of us rolled our eyes and laughed, because we accuse him of not being as courteous with us!

We slept in Fortuna, which is easily becoming one of my new favorite places to imagine living in. From Fortuna we finished the journey and made it to Delia and Ron's in the late afternoon. What a delightful experience it was to enjoy the long days, which grew longer with each passing day and the further north we were. It made it hard to realize it was dinner time, then bedtime. Still, I really enjoy allowing the rising and setting sun decide the start and end of day.


Look at our Pippy. It's those feathers in his tail, the ones that taper and curl... those are the ones that have me concerned. Until he is bigger, I will not be able to find him a home. And if he lays an egg, then all my fears will evaporate, but I am not too hopeful. Or we could find a home of our own before he crows, but for that I am even less hopeful. Sigh.


What about Amelia? She stands guard, always flying to the highest point and playing a cock-fight kind of posturing game with Pip. Oh dear. Why would we have to get 2 roosters? Why?


When Pip and Amelio are acting cocky, Lady Betty Orpington retreats to a quieter corner. She is shy and reserved, and when the light begins to fade she will sit on my arm and snuggle in.


Though it was colder than we were used to, the days were still lovely and Mom and Ron have such a wonderful corner of the world to call their own. We enjoyed the garden flowers, the wild flowers, a quail sighting and the wind in the trees. The chicks enjoyed the grass and seeds and new variety of stuff in the ground... things to scratch and enjoy. We made an improvised chicken run for the sunny days and they stayed in a small room in the garage at night.


Sitting together in the big yard, walking to the feed store, collecting seeds for the chicas, napping outdoors... such sweet pleasures. In the evening we would help Delia down the stairs and share her walk. I think I counted 5 different kinds of pine trees growing along their quiet street. We always turned around before we got to the schnauzer house. Hilarious little dogs bark incessantly, then get their little toys in a wicked choke hold and demonstrate their vicious skills. It's funny once or twice, but not conducive to relaxation and inner peace. I guess this means their quiet street is only that way when the schnauzers aren't disturbed.


I'm glad we found warm clothes for Maria... a bit large, but when I bring them out again in November they will be fine. We've come home to a heat wave. It's so strange to travel; to be in a completely new place one day and then another the next day. I still don't know how to cope with the distance between here and Delia and Ron's, or the ocean between here and Ruth, the deserts, mountains and prairies that separate us from Nancy and our Midwest family, the border and miles that keep us from my abuelos. Such blessings, such longing. We are fortunate to have the desire to be with family, and we have been blessed with many wonderful opportunities to visit and travel, to connect. I just want more. Such insatiable longings.




Geoff drove north with us, then flew home first thing Monday morning, so he missed many of our adventures and encounters. When I drove the children and chickens home, I was filled such gratitude for my wonderful vehicle; it's safe and comfortable, so reliable. And I thought about how lucky we are to be seeing redwoods and rivers, to be able to go to family and hold them and be glad for the good stuff. Driving home I thought about how much I was missing Geoff, and how happy we would all be when we were together again. Somehow, some way... there has to be a way for us all to be neighbors, to live close enough to hold each other every time we need it, want it... this would be very good.

How Do you Make a Tissue Dance?


How do you make a tissue dance?
You put a little boogie in it.
Bad joke, I know.


If I thought we were going to bring boogies all the way to grandma's house, I never would have shown-up. But, it wasn't until Thursday morning that the first clue issued forth, when Maria sneezed. Then she sneezed some more. And some more, and when it finally occurred to me that these were caused by more than a tickled nose, I felt dread and frustration. My Mom and I went over all of the practical, emotional and more practical issues... Maria was getting sick, we were 20 hours from home, neither mom or Ron could possibly, even remotely risk getting any kind of cold, we hadn't thought of leaving for at least another week, we had to leave as soon as possible, maybe it was too late anyway. It was a sad conversation, since we were both disappointed and concerned... me for her and her for me.

All of my big plans, to be a nurse, a maid and cook, to make good use of myself to my recuperating mom and to give Ron a little back-up and relief, all of it was sunk. The most prudent plan now was to get Maria and her boogies out of town, so our focus turned to packing, to passing her tissues, to taking down the tent, corralling the chickens and loading the conestoga. Alex would miss the electronics thrift shop in Coos Bay, and there would be no more stops at the quilt shop or feed store. I never did vacuum, or clean the fridge.


The boys took the tent down Thursday night, so we could make an early earlier start on Friday.


We would not miss the mosquitos. Not a bit, but we still hadn't been to Bullards or even mailed postcards. And we would be leaving behind all of those blackberries. Well, they were only blossoms, but one can easily imagine the buckets of berries to come.


I did manage to help with laundry and I cooked some meals. I gave my Mom a leg massage... she may have noticed I am out of practice, but I had hoped to repeat the service during my stay. I think we forgot to return the bouncer to the garage. Sorry Ron.


That's how my thoughts are these days... bouncing from one thought to the next... thinking of what we did and what we forgot. Hoping we were helpful, knowing we could have done more. Regretting that time ran out. Praying that we brought all of the boogies back with us.


Aunt Becky, Dan and grandma Eunice are driving to Oregon this week, so maybe a break between helpers will be welcome. Ron is doing such a good job of taking care of Delia, and Delia is doing a good job of doing all she can, like walking regularly and being patient. Healing takes time, and waiting takes patience. There are still specialists to see and injuries that will mend slowly. I would not blame her if she got very sad, if she felt overwhelmed. It is hard being a patient, passing time waiting for normal. If she were bummed, it would be quite understandable, but so far she is brave and grateful, her humor is intact, her spirit is good. She is, as always, admirable and strong.


It was hard to leave. Their home is remote and not easy to get to, otherwise I would assume that I could return as soon as Maria's cold passes. We need to close the gap, shrink the miles between our homes, somehow. I wish it were only an hour away, or a minute, or even one day's drive, instead of 2 or 3 day's worth. Even flights are circuitous and long, and expensive, of course. All the way home, I was thinking of how we could live closer... maybe in Corvalis, or Eureka, pretty Fortuna, the Bay Area, the Central Coast. For 1,042 miles I thought about how wrong it is for families to live so far apart. I thought about turning the car around and calling Geoff, "We're here. Come. We'll get a few acres, raise goats, grow basil and tomatoes."

The further we came, the harder it got.
The trees disappear, the roads widen and crowd.
We travel faster, meaner.
Gone is the scent of redwood, the colors of farms and forests.


My thoughts are still bouncing. I still feel the vibrations of the long ride home. The car is in the driveway, covered in dust and ash and 2,000 miles of travel and packed. I could almost get in and start all over again.


The children are the best travelers. We shared ideas and reflections and enjoyed our stops along the way. It will take a few days to unpack, to return to our routines and rhythms, to discover the new rhythms of summer.


Thank you Mom and Ron. We were so glad we were able to come and share time with you. We enjoyed our stay, and we were greatly comforted being in your company.

And thank you friends and family who have reached out to our family, to Ron and Delia. Your kindness is a comfort too.

We're Home


We are home, and we are dog tired.

Access!
We are here. "Here" being the Oregon Coast, grandma and grampa's house. We pulled in to the driveway Sunday afternoon. My Mommy was standing on her porch, and it was welcome sight. The chicas survived and so did we, and at last we were able to give Delia gentle, loving hugs, to see for ourselves that in time and with tender care she will be well again.

Geoff is back at Garage Mahal again. He flew south early Monday morning. We miss him already... imagine how much more I will miss him when we drive home without him. Sigh.

So. I have about 42 different things and thoughts I would like to share and record, but there are obstacles in the way. For one thing, I had to drive in to town, find a wifi cafe and figure all of that out. The children are settling in to their lunch, Maria has stopped whining about the strange pizza. Everything is "strange" when you are 3 years old and far from home, missing your daddy. The dial-up modem at the house is s l o w. (Sorry Mom, Ron, but it has to be said.) I can't post, because the cookies are disabled and the Internet service times-out in between pages. It gives me a tremendous appreciation for my mother and the fact that she manages to read Chickenblog at all.

Ironically, having 42 things I want to post about, I cannot decide on 1 subject to post about. It's hard to get in to the groove sitting in a public place, with my salad staring at me.

It's cold here... warmer today, but still colder than what we are used to.

I saw a 7 or 8 inch banana slug.

There are many, many flowers in bloom.

I came to see my Mommy, to help, to comfort. I feel like I could leave in a few days or stay the rest of the summer. You see, Ron is taking really good care of her. He is methodical and protective, nurturing. It is very comforting to me, to know she is loved and in such good care. She will need constant assistance and attention for many months. I think I am being helpful somewhat. Cooking, and retrieving this and that is good, and I plan on vacuuming, cleaning the fridge and doing some laundry, but... I dunno. I can see where we might be disrupting the rhythm they need to establish. The children are being good, and we are managing to not get in the way, but sometimes one person's idea of being out of the way cannot match another's. Does this make sense?

So, I need to find the balance: Stay long enough to help and leave before we impose, or wear them out.

Who wants to hear about the feed store at the end of the street? Alex, Maria and I walked there this morning. It's very close, and a dear place to visit. It's not at all fancy or meant to impress with first impressions, but the people that run it take in abandoned animals and to the best of their ability make them comfortable and safe, feed and shelter them. We were approached by a coal black pot bellied pig and Maria was astonished by the sight of her. She made a constant snuffling noise and lookied imploringly at us, and Maria launched in to a full scale dialogue with "BP." When BP ran along the fence line, trying to follow us, Maria pulled my hand and said, "I have to tell her sumpting." So, we paused, and Maria consoled BP, "You live here. I'm sorry. You cannot come to grandma's house. This is your house. Sorry pig."

We also met a very purrfect momma kitty and her woolly black kitten. We saw 3 rabbits and a few hens, 3 horses and a dog. The feed store is full of old things and collections, odds and ends, it smells sweet of alfalfa, there are treasures to be discovered. Walking back to Ron and Delia's Alex saw a quail, and we anticipated the buckets full of blackberries that will be coming. Now the spiny shrubs are full of blossoms, but we remember the sweet black jewels we enjoyed last summer.

Uh. What is free wifi protocol? We did order lunch and we aren't takng seats during a busy spell, but I do feel as though we should move on. Yes, time to move on. The children are looking at me a bit desperately, a bit b o r e d.

Geoff hopes I will do this everyday, but I think when he sees what we paid for lunch, he might settle for every other day!

We're Going to The Zoo, The Henry Vilas Zoo

Back to Wisconsin. Like I said, we didn't laze about the whole trip. One day we met Gabe and Betsy, with their children, Griffin and Jordan, at the Zoo in Madison. The free zoo!


We saw bison, lions, seals,
prairie dogs
a badger
an ostrich
a black bear and a polar bear!


We had sno-cones!


We fed goats.


Hungry, hungry goats!


The nice thing about a free is zoo is no one feels pressured to see everything and do everything.


Without the pressure, there's time to sit and reflect, sketch. No hurries. No worries.


Geoff remembers this zoo from his childhood. I love visiting places he