As much as I enjoy my little slice of heaven in the country, I do appreciate a change of scenery from time to time.
And as much as I enjoy little side trips and diversions, I feel strange doing it by myself. It has taken me a few years to feel comfortable dining alone in restaurants, but I still feel out of place taking vacation alone. If I have my dog along with me it doesn't seem as bad, but many of the places I would like to visit are not conducive to having a constant 4-legged companion, especially one getting up there in years.
Case in point, I took an overnight business trip this week to a part of the state I've never been to before. There are some beautiful state parks in the area that offer trails, boat rentals, fishing, even guided nature hikes. Park amenities include a lodge with modern hotel accommodations. The lodge is at the top of a bluff overlooking one of the best bass fishing locations in the region, and my room (with balcony, I might add) was on the lake side of the building. Even though the trees were all naked, I immediately thought this would be a good place to take a vacation. In fact, I had this place on my wish list for a few years.
The last vacation I took by myself was not long after I got here. I spent two nights in a resort area not far from here. I brought three books and my swimsuit, and left my laptop at home. I rented a bike and spent one day covering the "loop" through the golf course, gardens, and woodlands. Along the way I would stop to read, visit one of the garden spaces, or stroll down one of the foot trails. I spent an hour out by the pool and a morning on the lake-side beach. I did more reading in those two days than I had in the last year (work materials aside, of course).
Apparently people in this part of the world do not often take vacations by themselves. Not one time during that trip did I see another solo traveler. Then there are the implied cultural issues in some areas of this state, where it is not proper for a single woman to vacation by herself. A few years ago I was invited to a wedding, and I scheduled a few hours into my travel to visit some historical sites on my way to the wedding venue, which was tucked into a very conservative corner of the state. I'm sure the docents were just trying to make small talk, but they seemed to be taken aback when I said I was by myself. Though maybe it was because they were more accustomed to families and school groups than adults sans children.
My point is, it's not easy to take a vacation alone. First there is the self-consciousness issues. If you can get over that, I find there is at least one service provider that somehow manages to make you feel out of place (whether they intend to or not). And finally, I've noticed that my most memorable vacations usually involve sharing the experience with someone else.
I guess I just have to practice more. There is too much of this beautiful world to visit, and there won't be enough time if I'm waiting for the right circumstances.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Love
The other night I was in the check out line for the arts/crafts/decorating store when I couldn't help but notice the couple in line at the next register.
They were in their late 60's/early 70's, white hair neatly combed & coiffed. They were engaged in small talk as they waited, obviously not in any rush, and had a pleasant aura about them (wish I could say the same for some of the other patrons). When they reached the counter the wife started taking her items out of her basket. The husband leaned in close, kissed her on the cheek, and strolled out, presumably to bring the car around at about the same time as his wife would exit the store.
There was no prompting body language on the part of the wife, like you see some women turn their head and tilt it just right to offer their cheekbone for the requisite kiss. Nor was it a flitting peck on the cheek. The husband was very casual about it, as if he has done this dozens of times before, and based on how comfortable both appeared with this public display of affection, I would assume that this is a regular exchange between the two.
How often in this busy holiday season do you see such a show of public affection? OK, how often do you see that at all?
They were in their late 60's/early 70's, white hair neatly combed & coiffed. They were engaged in small talk as they waited, obviously not in any rush, and had a pleasant aura about them (wish I could say the same for some of the other patrons). When they reached the counter the wife started taking her items out of her basket. The husband leaned in close, kissed her on the cheek, and strolled out, presumably to bring the car around at about the same time as his wife would exit the store.
There was no prompting body language on the part of the wife, like you see some women turn their head and tilt it just right to offer their cheekbone for the requisite kiss. Nor was it a flitting peck on the cheek. The husband was very casual about it, as if he has done this dozens of times before, and based on how comfortable both appeared with this public display of affection, I would assume that this is a regular exchange between the two.
How often in this busy holiday season do you see such a show of public affection? OK, how often do you see that at all?
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Finished! (almost)
But I still have to take down all the plastic drop cloths that are taped to the shed, wrapped around tree trunks, and stapled to the open framing of the barn. Oh, and scrub off the over spray that managed get on a few shed doors, pasture gates, and the paint sprayer.
But other than that, the fence looks great!
And at night, the over spray on the grass along the driveway kind of reminds me of a light snow or a heavy frost.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Target vs. WalMart
I generally avoid WalMart. The one in my town in particular has very poor inventory management, confusing traffic flow, and a tendency to re-arrange aisles every few months. For years I completed the on-line customer feedback surveys but obviously they do not use the collected information.
I much prefer Target. Everything is in stock, the associates know what is going on, and the only aisles that get periodic shuffling are in the expansive seasonal section. Target is twice as far from my house as WalMart, so I always put together a shopping list that takes me to at least two other stores in the same shopping center. I could drive past WalMart on my way home from work everyday, but even then I only go if there is something specific I need from there.
That event finally arrived this week. Or rather, I put it off until absolutely necessary, which occurred this week. I have a thing about matching flower pots on my African violet stand in the house, and the style I prefer (built in drain tray and watering port in the base) is of course at the dreaded Wally-World. They also carry the iron-on denim patches that I like, and I have about 4 pairs of jeans in need of help. I also need a few last minute grocery items for my dish-to-pass for Thanksgiving dinner.
I go to WalMart in the middle of a rainy, dreary, cold day. Given the weather and the amount of traffic in the parking lot, you would think that it's been relatively slow for business despite being two days before Thanksgiving. I go past the check-out lanes as I enter the store. All four self-checkouts are open with 3-4 people in line at each. Two express lanes are open as are two traditional lanes, each with 2-3 people waiting. I head of to garden/seasonal, hunt around for 5 minutes looking for the flowerpots. Most years they keep one indoor aisle dedicated to house plant supplies, but not this year. I walk past a team meeting of a dozen associates (who all look bored to death) to venture outside, and its a few more minutes before I find all of the flowerpots dumped on a bench. There are four left in the size and style I'm looking for. I only need two, but I grab all four because who knows if they will have any the next time I'm in. (When I moved here I went every week for two months looking for air conditioning filters which were never in stock. Now I go to the home improvement store, but that's a tale for another day.)
As I squeeze past the group of associates blocking my path to the rest of the store, I pause to get an amaryllis kit. Because of my bum wrist I struggle to pick up one of the containers and place it in my cart, with all of the associates watching. I head off to the craft section, which has been reorganized once again and I have to go through three aisle before I find the sewing notions. I find one package of the denim patches, darker than I remember and what I need, but who knows if/when the color I want will be back in stock.
Off to the dairy department! There is a huge display of boxed cereal next to the egg case, completely disrupting traffic flow to the milk case. In baking needs, and there is an associate chatting it up with a customer, blocking the aisle and forcing me to squeeze by. I must have passed three associates in my search for canned pumpkin which I finally found in one of those temporary displays on the main aisle. Chicken stock display is completely decimated. On to produce, where half of the little plastic bag dispensers are empty, I can't tell the difference between the on-sale regular celery and the expensive organic stuff, and the carrots are only available in the big 3-lb bag.
I snag a pumpkin pie on way to the registers (hm, looks identical to the one I got at Kroger last week, but $2 more...). There are a few more people standing in line in the express and self-check out lanes than there were before. Three traditional lanes were now open, but the gift paper wrapping on the lane numbers made it difficult to see the illumination. My clue was the clusters of people and shopping carts.
I pull up to one where one person was paying and other had all of her items laid out and occupying the length of the conveyor belt. The cashier disappears momentarily and returns with more plastic shopping bags. When the cashier starts ringing up the purchases of the customer ahead of me, the customer grabs the "next customer" divider from beside the register and hands it to me because the cashier doesn't notice/care. I start putting my items on the belt (one handed of course) while another patron gets in line behind me. The customer ahead of me pays and wheels off, and it's my turn to hand the divider to the patron behind me after the cashier placed it next to the belt beside her register.
Items get tossed into bags based on the order the go across the scanner. The amaryllis and the heavy cream each get their own bags while the two cans of pumpkin and two cartons of broth share one bag. Mushrooms, pineapple and broccoli heads share another bag as do the bags of onions, carrots and celery. I'm sure that if I had not grouped my produce together the broccoli would have wound up with the fabric scissors and the carrots with the flowerpots. As bags get full the cashier places them on top of the bag carousel. I'm placing them in my cart while she shoots me a look because I'm holding up the line by not having my method of payment ready the instant she finishes scanning. I sign the tablet as she gives the carousel one last spin to make certain I grabbed everything. She mutters something resembling 'have a nice day' as she shoves the receipt in my face with one hand and starts scanning the next patron's items with the other, all while I'm trying to tuck my wallet back in my purse.
Now compare all of this to my Target run on Saturday afternoon. The parking lot is twice as full as I usually see during my after-work errands. A few associates are restocking in household supplies, only occupying half of the aisle at most, while apologizing for being in the way and offering to hand you something on their side. Several others throughout the store greet me with a smile and ask if I'm finding what I'm looking for. Double-Stuffed Oreos (my current weakness) are on sale; the display is partially picked over but one can tell that the associate has been moving product to the front of the shelf regularly. After spotting parchment paper in an end-display with other holiday baking supplies (and in it's regular location with the aluminum foil and waxed paper) and finding my vacuum bags (in the same location as they have been for six years) I buzz through home furnishings (with a nice winter-themed selection of new items) and stroll back to the check out lanes.
I'm wandering down the wide, uncluttered main drag trying to remember if I missed anything, and two associates stop mid-chat to ask if I'm ready to check out. There are over a half-dozen registers open, and they direct me to #8 which is open with no waiting. The others either have one person mid-checkout or one paying while another unloads their cart. The cashier says hello as she starts scanning my items and sorting them into bags by category: personal care items in one, household cleaners in another, and non-perishable foods in a third. As bags get full they get lifted off the bracket and placed on the low table at the end, except for the big bottle of laundry detergent and package of toilet paper because it doesn't make sense to bag items with their own easy-grip handle or that won't easily fit in the bag. She scans the giant bag of cat food (which was cheaper than WalMart and in stock!) in my cart and starts placing the bagged items in there while I search for my payment method. Once I have everything back in my purse the cashier hands me the receipt and instant coupons as she wishes me a nice weekend and a Happy Thanksgiving.
Have I mentioned I prefer Target?
I much prefer Target. Everything is in stock, the associates know what is going on, and the only aisles that get periodic shuffling are in the expansive seasonal section. Target is twice as far from my house as WalMart, so I always put together a shopping list that takes me to at least two other stores in the same shopping center. I could drive past WalMart on my way home from work everyday, but even then I only go if there is something specific I need from there.
That event finally arrived this week. Or rather, I put it off until absolutely necessary, which occurred this week. I have a thing about matching flower pots on my African violet stand in the house, and the style I prefer (built in drain tray and watering port in the base) is of course at the dreaded Wally-World. They also carry the iron-on denim patches that I like, and I have about 4 pairs of jeans in need of help. I also need a few last minute grocery items for my dish-to-pass for Thanksgiving dinner.
I go to WalMart in the middle of a rainy, dreary, cold day. Given the weather and the amount of traffic in the parking lot, you would think that it's been relatively slow for business despite being two days before Thanksgiving. I go past the check-out lanes as I enter the store. All four self-checkouts are open with 3-4 people in line at each. Two express lanes are open as are two traditional lanes, each with 2-3 people waiting. I head of to garden/seasonal, hunt around for 5 minutes looking for the flowerpots. Most years they keep one indoor aisle dedicated to house plant supplies, but not this year. I walk past a team meeting of a dozen associates (who all look bored to death) to venture outside, and its a few more minutes before I find all of the flowerpots dumped on a bench. There are four left in the size and style I'm looking for. I only need two, but I grab all four because who knows if they will have any the next time I'm in. (When I moved here I went every week for two months looking for air conditioning filters which were never in stock. Now I go to the home improvement store, but that's a tale for another day.)
As I squeeze past the group of associates blocking my path to the rest of the store, I pause to get an amaryllis kit. Because of my bum wrist I struggle to pick up one of the containers and place it in my cart, with all of the associates watching. I head off to the craft section, which has been reorganized once again and I have to go through three aisle before I find the sewing notions. I find one package of the denim patches, darker than I remember and what I need, but who knows if/when the color I want will be back in stock.
Off to the dairy department! There is a huge display of boxed cereal next to the egg case, completely disrupting traffic flow to the milk case. In baking needs, and there is an associate chatting it up with a customer, blocking the aisle and forcing me to squeeze by. I must have passed three associates in my search for canned pumpkin which I finally found in one of those temporary displays on the main aisle. Chicken stock display is completely decimated. On to produce, where half of the little plastic bag dispensers are empty, I can't tell the difference between the on-sale regular celery and the expensive organic stuff, and the carrots are only available in the big 3-lb bag.
I snag a pumpkin pie on way to the registers (hm, looks identical to the one I got at Kroger last week, but $2 more...). There are a few more people standing in line in the express and self-check out lanes than there were before. Three traditional lanes were now open, but the gift paper wrapping on the lane numbers made it difficult to see the illumination. My clue was the clusters of people and shopping carts.
I pull up to one where one person was paying and other had all of her items laid out and occupying the length of the conveyor belt. The cashier disappears momentarily and returns with more plastic shopping bags. When the cashier starts ringing up the purchases of the customer ahead of me, the customer grabs the "next customer" divider from beside the register and hands it to me because the cashier doesn't notice/care. I start putting my items on the belt (one handed of course) while another patron gets in line behind me. The customer ahead of me pays and wheels off, and it's my turn to hand the divider to the patron behind me after the cashier placed it next to the belt beside her register.
Items get tossed into bags based on the order the go across the scanner. The amaryllis and the heavy cream each get their own bags while the two cans of pumpkin and two cartons of broth share one bag. Mushrooms, pineapple and broccoli heads share another bag as do the bags of onions, carrots and celery. I'm sure that if I had not grouped my produce together the broccoli would have wound up with the fabric scissors and the carrots with the flowerpots. As bags get full the cashier places them on top of the bag carousel. I'm placing them in my cart while she shoots me a look because I'm holding up the line by not having my method of payment ready the instant she finishes scanning. I sign the tablet as she gives the carousel one last spin to make certain I grabbed everything. She mutters something resembling 'have a nice day' as she shoves the receipt in my face with one hand and starts scanning the next patron's items with the other, all while I'm trying to tuck my wallet back in my purse.
Now compare all of this to my Target run on Saturday afternoon. The parking lot is twice as full as I usually see during my after-work errands. A few associates are restocking in household supplies, only occupying half of the aisle at most, while apologizing for being in the way and offering to hand you something on their side. Several others throughout the store greet me with a smile and ask if I'm finding what I'm looking for. Double-Stuffed Oreos (my current weakness) are on sale; the display is partially picked over but one can tell that the associate has been moving product to the front of the shelf regularly. After spotting parchment paper in an end-display with other holiday baking supplies (and in it's regular location with the aluminum foil and waxed paper) and finding my vacuum bags (in the same location as they have been for six years) I buzz through home furnishings (with a nice winter-themed selection of new items) and stroll back to the check out lanes.
I'm wandering down the wide, uncluttered main drag trying to remember if I missed anything, and two associates stop mid-chat to ask if I'm ready to check out. There are over a half-dozen registers open, and they direct me to #8 which is open with no waiting. The others either have one person mid-checkout or one paying while another unloads their cart. The cashier says hello as she starts scanning my items and sorting them into bags by category: personal care items in one, household cleaners in another, and non-perishable foods in a third. As bags get full they get lifted off the bracket and placed on the low table at the end, except for the big bottle of laundry detergent and package of toilet paper because it doesn't make sense to bag items with their own easy-grip handle or that won't easily fit in the bag. She scans the giant bag of cat food (which was cheaper than WalMart and in stock!) in my cart and starts placing the bagged items in there while I search for my payment method. Once I have everything back in my purse the cashier hands me the receipt and instant coupons as she wishes me a nice weekend and a Happy Thanksgiving.
Have I mentioned I prefer Target?
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Ow
I should know better by now...
Every major home/property improvement project thus far winds up involving a splint on my right wrist and a big bottle of ibuprofen. This project is no different. And theoretically the project is only half done.
It took until mid-day on Friday to finish the primer coat on the fence. I went through just over 20 gallons. I say "just" because there were a few accidents when I was moving the sprayer and the bucket would get caught on a big pile of leaves or a sneaky pecan causing it to tip a little too far. I now have a lovely white puddle in front of the barn. I'm hoping the leaves soak most of it up and not too much penetrated into the gravel drive.
The weather the next few days will be no where near ideal for painting, so my wrist is getting a well-deserved break from this task. Unfortunately, I have a ton of work-work to catch up on that I put off - paint fence while the sun shines, right?
But in the mean time I can enjoy the view.
Except I should really do something about all of those leaves.
Every major home/property improvement project thus far winds up involving a splint on my right wrist and a big bottle of ibuprofen. This project is no different. And theoretically the project is only half done.
It took until mid-day on Friday to finish the primer coat on the fence. I went through just over 20 gallons. I say "just" because there were a few accidents when I was moving the sprayer and the bucket would get caught on a big pile of leaves or a sneaky pecan causing it to tip a little too far. I now have a lovely white puddle in front of the barn. I'm hoping the leaves soak most of it up and not too much penetrated into the gravel drive.
The weather the next few days will be no where near ideal for painting, so my wrist is getting a well-deserved break from this task. Unfortunately, I have a ton of work-work to catch up on that I put off - paint fence while the sun shines, right?
But in the mean time I can enjoy the view.
Except I should really do something about all of those leaves.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Numbers, lots of numbers
18 - the approximate number of gallons of gas that it took to run the pressure washer to clean my fence
504 - the approximate length (in feet) of the fence surrounding my house; multiply by 2 because it is double sided
8 - the number of gallons of primer the guy at the paint store thought it would take to cover the fence
10 - the number of gallons of primer I thought I needed; and the same amount of paint
$600 - the amount I spent on the aforementioned primer and paint, and that was with a 40% off coupon
about 2/5 - the amount of fence covered by the 10 gallons of primer
15 - the additional number of gallons of primer I bought yesterday
10 - the number of gallons of "paint" I need to return, because it turns out the paint store employee sold me a latex wood stain and not actual latex paint; this was discovered when the manager checked my purchase history in the computer; good thing I never opened it up, and that it is off-the-shelf white; the manager was not pleased with his employee, and will honor the 40% discount on the right product
So much for a relatively "easy" DIY project
504 - the approximate length (in feet) of the fence surrounding my house; multiply by 2 because it is double sided
8 - the number of gallons of primer the guy at the paint store thought it would take to cover the fence
10 - the number of gallons of primer I thought I needed; and the same amount of paint
$600 - the amount I spent on the aforementioned primer and paint, and that was with a 40% off coupon
about 2/5 - the amount of fence covered by the 10 gallons of primer
15 - the additional number of gallons of primer I bought yesterday
10 - the number of gallons of "paint" I need to return, because it turns out the paint store employee sold me a latex wood stain and not actual latex paint; this was discovered when the manager checked my purchase history in the computer; good thing I never opened it up, and that it is off-the-shelf white; the manager was not pleased with his employee, and will honor the 40% discount on the right product
So much for a relatively "easy" DIY project
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
I'm sorry...
Wow, two months since my last post. What happened?
Let's see, I got bounced off my horse (but you knew that if you read the last post), I messed up my shoulder muscles by getting overly ambitious with yard projects, horse sliced open the bridge of her nose and got 8 stitches, survived hell-week-of-meetings at work, parents came to visit and deliver my new toy...
...made it through Super Big Project/Event at work, and now I'm on to painting the fence. All 504 linear feet of it, and because both sides are getting attention, really its 1,008 feet.
Ah, the fence. Since the day I first looked at this place I've been wanting to do something with the fence. And I honestly mean the day I first looked at the place, because I climbed the fence to check out the pasture while waiting for my Realtor, and the board broke. I replaced it during Grand Remodeling Project 1.0, but at the time all I did was put primer on the new board. The rest of the fence was peeling pretty good. Fast forward three years and tons of mildew later, and I am finally checking this item off my to-do list.
Not that this is by any means a simple project. I spent many a summer growing up scraping and painting board fences, and it usually took most of the summer to do it. So I've been planning my strategy for a while. My brother asked why I didn't tackle the house first. Truth is, I want to play with my new toy on something simple that people won't pay much attention to.
Yes, a new toy. I bought a paint sprayer. I've been researching sprayers for at least a year. I figure between the fence and the house exterior, not to mention the other interior remodeling projects that need to be done, it would be better in the long run if I bought a sprayer. I could have rented one, but by the time I add up the rental costs it would have cost the same as buying a new unit. It arrived on Saturday, and I spent Sunday evening gleefully unpacking it and watching the instructional DVD (because we all know women actually do read the instructions!).
I spent over 9 hours this weekend power washing the fence to strip off the loose paint and blast away the mildew and algae. And after 9 hours, I only got 570 feet or so prepped. Monday morning I had to return it, so it will be a few more days before I can attempt to finish the rest. See, I said this would be a big job!
Yesterday I dropped $600 on 20 gallons of primer and paint. And that was with a 40% off coupon.
This is far from over.
Let's see, I got bounced off my horse (but you knew that if you read the last post), I messed up my shoulder muscles by getting overly ambitious with yard projects, horse sliced open the bridge of her nose and got 8 stitches, survived hell-week-of-meetings at work, parents came to visit and deliver my new toy...
Ah, the fence. Since the day I first looked at this place I've been wanting to do something with the fence. And I honestly mean the day I first looked at the place, because I climbed the fence to check out the pasture while waiting for my Realtor, and the board broke. I replaced it during Grand Remodeling Project 1.0, but at the time all I did was put primer on the new board. The rest of the fence was peeling pretty good. Fast forward three years and tons of mildew later, and I am finally checking this item off my to-do list.
Not that this is by any means a simple project. I spent many a summer growing up scraping and painting board fences, and it usually took most of the summer to do it. So I've been planning my strategy for a while. My brother asked why I didn't tackle the house first. Truth is, I want to play with my new toy on something simple that people won't pay much attention to.
Yes, a new toy. I bought a paint sprayer. I've been researching sprayers for at least a year. I figure between the fence and the house exterior, not to mention the other interior remodeling projects that need to be done, it would be better in the long run if I bought a sprayer. I could have rented one, but by the time I add up the rental costs it would have cost the same as buying a new unit. It arrived on Saturday, and I spent Sunday evening gleefully unpacking it and watching the instructional DVD (because we all know women actually do read the instructions!).
I spent over 9 hours this weekend power washing the fence to strip off the loose paint and blast away the mildew and algae. And after 9 hours, I only got 570 feet or so prepped. Monday morning I had to return it, so it will be a few more days before I can attempt to finish the rest. See, I said this would be a big job!
Yesterday I dropped $600 on 20 gallons of primer and paint. And that was with a 40% off coupon.
This is far from over.
Monday, September 2, 2013
#@%&!
Got bounced off the horse last week, landing hard on my lower back and whacking my head (yes, I was wearing a helmet). The bruising pattern is interesting to say the least. Worse is the muscle stiffness which makes bending over, sitting down, and standing up a little uncomfortable.
Not a good time to have this happen right before Labor Day weekend. I had a long list of things I wanted to do around the property. But the show must go on, or rather the to-do list.
I figured pruning up the fence lines would be something doable. After all, almost everything needing to be trimmed back is between waist- and shoulder- height. If I couldn't reach it with the lopping shears it didn't need to be trimmed. One afternoon should be enough, right?
Except I got overly ambitious. And there were some thicker branches that needed a bigger tool. So on the second day I broke out the step ladder. And the pruning blade on the cordless reciprocating saw. And another 3 hours later I have not only trimmed back along the fences I've also removed all low-hanging limbs that get in the way when I'm mowing, riding, etc.
Both days I've rewarded my labors with a nap on the sofa with a heating pad on the aching muscles of my lower back. Lots of stretching, and occasionally bending over to retrieve the shears or saw when I set it on the ground. Enough to tell me that I shouldn't be the one to pick up and haul off all of the brush.
So now the holiday weekend is over. I have at least a half-dozen truck loads of brush lying along the fences and under the trees in the pasture. The lawn is overgrown. The manure piles are not picked up. The garden did not get fertilized. Pasture and fence line weeds did not get sprayed. I did manage to fix the mailbox post but ran into trouble with the front gate hinge. But my pasture fence lines look lovely. :)
The little victories.
Now, if you'll excuse me, the sofa is calling again.
Not a good time to have this happen right before Labor Day weekend. I had a long list of things I wanted to do around the property. But the show must go on, or rather the to-do list.
I figured pruning up the fence lines would be something doable. After all, almost everything needing to be trimmed back is between waist- and shoulder- height. If I couldn't reach it with the lopping shears it didn't need to be trimmed. One afternoon should be enough, right?
Except I got overly ambitious. And there were some thicker branches that needed a bigger tool. So on the second day I broke out the step ladder. And the pruning blade on the cordless reciprocating saw. And another 3 hours later I have not only trimmed back along the fences I've also removed all low-hanging limbs that get in the way when I'm mowing, riding, etc.
Both days I've rewarded my labors with a nap on the sofa with a heating pad on the aching muscles of my lower back. Lots of stretching, and occasionally bending over to retrieve the shears or saw when I set it on the ground. Enough to tell me that I shouldn't be the one to pick up and haul off all of the brush.
So now the holiday weekend is over. I have at least a half-dozen truck loads of brush lying along the fences and under the trees in the pasture. The lawn is overgrown. The manure piles are not picked up. The garden did not get fertilized. Pasture and fence line weeds did not get sprayed. I did manage to fix the mailbox post but ran into trouble with the front gate hinge. But my pasture fence lines look lovely. :)
The little victories.
Now, if you'll excuse me, the sofa is calling again.
Friday, August 23, 2013
I smell football
Being a long-distance football fan has it's challenges. My team is (only) a 17 hour drive away. Needless to say, they are not exactly the preferred broadcast in my part of the country. It's even harder during pre-season when only one of the four tames is even getting national coverage.
Regular season is another story. Oddly enough, I live in a football-crazy town. But they are not a PRO-football crazy town. (And few sports bars, but that's a post for another day.)
I spent last season bar-shopping after getting fed up with my previous haunt. I have four criteria for my Sunday afternoon locales.
I'm ready for some football!
Regular season is another story. Oddly enough, I live in a football-crazy town. But they are not a PRO-football crazy town. (And few sports bars, but that's a post for another day.)
I spent last season bar-shopping after getting fed up with my previous haunt. I have four criteria for my Sunday afternoon locales.
- Must actually show my game. Simply having NFL Sunday Ticket is not enough. I've been in a few smaller bars where they have no inclination to change the channel to my game, even if no one is sitting in that corner of the establishment. Or, worse, the self-designated Remote Nazi will dictate which games are on which sets in order to accommodate his multi-game monitoring for keeping track of his various Fantasy leagues' stats (yes, that was plural), and all of this while being oblivious to the fact that the other five patrons all happen to be wearing matching team gear and are craning their necks to see their favorite team.
- Other patrons are civil. See above for explanation. Yes, Remote Nazi was a patron, not an employee.
- Food is more than edible. This is harder to come by than you think. When I moved to this town, I started with a national franchise restaurant. Except that the salad was brown around the edges, the protein was cold, and the sweet tea had a hint of soapy flavor. Then I found something more locally-owned (though still a chain), and it didn't take long to realize most of their menu was based on pre-cooked, quick prep foods. As in the burger patties were preformed and the grilled chicken pre-sliced.
- Staff are attentive and friendly. National franchise would be busting at the seams with the post-church crowd, seat me in the bar area, and then completely forget about me for at least a half-hour. Once I did get service, it would be another half-hour before drink and/or food appeared, and I never saw the server again. Hey, I get it that a table for one is not going to generate much of a tip. What they don't realize is that I will reward them kindly for the simple courtesy of not letting my drink go empty. Several times I wondered what would happen if I simply walked out because it took so long to get my ticket. One time I had to wait until the end of the first quarter of the SECOND game to close out. Conversely, local chain had the issue of giving me my ticket by half-time, without giving any consideration to the fact that I would be sitting there another hour and a half. And that was after patronizing them for a year.
I'm ready for some football!
Thursday, August 8, 2013
What ever happened to...
July?
When did August get here?
And when did my garden turn into a jungle?
OK, having a non-functional lawn mower is not helping the situation, but still, whoever saw tomato plants reaching 6+ feet tall?
But back to the original rant...
August is almost half over? Two more weeks and my job is back in it's seasonal rush mode. While I'm currently in the "down time" period of my job my mind and body are unfortunately still in vacation mode. So when I should be trying to catch up on projects, clean off my desk, and take care of annual and semi-annual administrative functions, I'd much rather be at home on the sofa, unshowered, and watching The View.
And now returning to the tangent...
I was gone for 10 days. It rained while I was gone. The grass grew like a foot. And a half-hour into mowing, the engine blew. Ten more minutes and I would have had the stretch of lawn along the road done. So now I have a long, mostly-cut expanse of grass with strips of knee high grass seed stems running in parallel lines to my pasture fence. It's like a bad mohawk out there. Like the barber failed to overlap his clipper strokes when shaving someone's head. Or I was too stupid to simply follow the trail. Now it looks even more pathetic because it's been like that for three days, and obviously I'm home and I should have finished mowing long ago. *sigh*
I'm borrowing the neighbor's lawn mower this weekend.
When did August get here?
And when did my garden turn into a jungle?
OK, having a non-functional lawn mower is not helping the situation, but still, whoever saw tomato plants reaching 6+ feet tall?
But back to the original rant...
August is almost half over? Two more weeks and my job is back in it's seasonal rush mode. While I'm currently in the "down time" period of my job my mind and body are unfortunately still in vacation mode. So when I should be trying to catch up on projects, clean off my desk, and take care of annual and semi-annual administrative functions, I'd much rather be at home on the sofa, unshowered, and watching The View.
And now returning to the tangent...
I was gone for 10 days. It rained while I was gone. The grass grew like a foot. And a half-hour into mowing, the engine blew. Ten more minutes and I would have had the stretch of lawn along the road done. So now I have a long, mostly-cut expanse of grass with strips of knee high grass seed stems running in parallel lines to my pasture fence. It's like a bad mohawk out there. Like the barber failed to overlap his clipper strokes when shaving someone's head. Or I was too stupid to simply follow the trail. Now it looks even more pathetic because it's been like that for three days, and obviously I'm home and I should have finished mowing long ago. *sigh*
I'm borrowing the neighbor's lawn mower this weekend.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Happiness is a ...
...warm puppy. No, affectionate lap kitty. No, both?
Cat #3 made it to the vet about a week after the ordeal. Then for the next week he played the part of Mr. Aloof. In the mean time, female kitty decided the house was her domain, to the point where she would sit in the big pecan tree in the front yard every afternoon waiting for my truck, when she would dart around the house and in the back door as I walked in the house, preferably before Cat #3 also realized I was home.
Obviously this has led to some jealousy on the part of the dog. Female kitty's routine generally involves lengthy lap-time and cuddling. Even had a few mornings where she would sneak in as the dog went out so she could get some quality one-on-one time. If both the dog & cat are vying for my affections, the cat stakes out my lap while the dog sits at my feet with that pleading look in her eyes. If the cat strays from my lap to sniff at the dog, there's a good chance she may get nipped by the dog attempting to dethrone the cat's position - literally.
Or at least that's how things worked until about two weeks ago. Then I spent several very late nights at work, so by the time I would get home the cats would already be into their nighttime routine and a very desperate crossed-legged dog would barrel through anything in her path as she made a mad dash to her preferred potty spot.
The world has been righted some time in the last few days. I've come home to find all three cats lounging on the back porch or in the garden. All three affectionately rubbing up on the dog as she makes her rounds in the yard. But it took a pretty good thunderstorm tonight for female kitty to take up her post by the back door waiting for her opportunity to sneak in the house. And seize she did. She made a straight line to my spot on the sofa, and quickly took her place in my lap purring and face-marking as if she hadn't seen me in a month. Jealous dog joined in, wet nosing my arm and trying to nip at kitty's ears - hard to do for a short-legged old girl. I barely had the invite cross my lips and the dog popped up on the sofa and nestled in by my thigh so she was practically cheek-to-cheek with kitty and occupying as much of my field of view as possible.
As soon as kitty took off to patrol the kitchen and get a few laps from the dog's water bowl, the dog took off in hot pursuit of the interloper. Now both are curled up in their preferred corners fast asleep, which is what I would like to do myself but first I need to disturb a sleeping cat and kick her back out into the cruel, stormy world. Hell hath no fury like a cat who believes she belongs indoors.
Cat #3 made it to the vet about a week after the ordeal. Then for the next week he played the part of Mr. Aloof. In the mean time, female kitty decided the house was her domain, to the point where she would sit in the big pecan tree in the front yard every afternoon waiting for my truck, when she would dart around the house and in the back door as I walked in the house, preferably before Cat #3 also realized I was home.
Obviously this has led to some jealousy on the part of the dog. Female kitty's routine generally involves lengthy lap-time and cuddling. Even had a few mornings where she would sneak in as the dog went out so she could get some quality one-on-one time. If both the dog & cat are vying for my affections, the cat stakes out my lap while the dog sits at my feet with that pleading look in her eyes. If the cat strays from my lap to sniff at the dog, there's a good chance she may get nipped by the dog attempting to dethrone the cat's position - literally.
Or at least that's how things worked until about two weeks ago. Then I spent several very late nights at work, so by the time I would get home the cats would already be into their nighttime routine and a very desperate crossed-legged dog would barrel through anything in her path as she made a mad dash to her preferred potty spot.
The world has been righted some time in the last few days. I've come home to find all three cats lounging on the back porch or in the garden. All three affectionately rubbing up on the dog as she makes her rounds in the yard. But it took a pretty good thunderstorm tonight for female kitty to take up her post by the back door waiting for her opportunity to sneak in the house. And seize she did. She made a straight line to my spot on the sofa, and quickly took her place in my lap purring and face-marking as if she hadn't seen me in a month. Jealous dog joined in, wet nosing my arm and trying to nip at kitty's ears - hard to do for a short-legged old girl. I barely had the invite cross my lips and the dog popped up on the sofa and nestled in by my thigh so she was practically cheek-to-cheek with kitty and occupying as much of my field of view as possible.
As soon as kitty took off to patrol the kitchen and get a few laps from the dog's water bowl, the dog took off in hot pursuit of the interloper. Now both are curled up in their preferred corners fast asleep, which is what I would like to do myself but first I need to disturb a sleeping cat and kick her back out into the cruel, stormy world. Hell hath no fury like a cat who believes she belongs indoors.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Training cats?
Maybe I need to rename the blog.
Two of the three barn cats made it to the vet for their annual check up and shots today. Yes, I have some rather well cared for barn kitties, and so far their vet bills exceed the horse's this year (knock on wood).
Why not all three? Believe me, they were all scheduled to go. I even borrowed an extra carrier from a coworker. My grand plan was to shove the boys in together in the big carrier and put the female in the other since she has been growling at both lately, including her litter-mate. I came home from lunch to find the boys lounging on the back porch and the girl hanging out on the front porch. Grab Boy One, put him in the crate, close door, yowling begins. Grab Boy Two, open carrier, and attempt to shove him in as Boy One makes his exit. It was a rather impressive feat of feline acrobatics since I had put the carrier on end so the door was on top and the cats were basically getting dropped in. My real mistake was that I was doing all of this in the horses' wash bay rather than inside the tack room or other enclosed space where escape meant they were still somewhat confined.
In all the fur-flying confusion, coupled with a few claw swipes and hissing, both boys retreated to the porch. Both were lounging again, so I went for Boy Two first, but he figured out what was happening and eluded my lunge. Grabbed Boy One without trouble, put him back in the crate, close the door fast. Retrieved The Girl from the front porch and threw her in with her brother. I tried catching Boy Two a few more times, tracking him through the hay shed and pasture but he managed to retreat into the woods. When he took off through the poison ivy I figured it was time to cut my losses and head off to the vet with the two I did have. I called the vet's office on the way to let them know a) I'm running late and b) I only have two felines in tow. The office manager asked if I would like to reschedule for a day I could bring in all three but I declined. If a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, I figured two cats in a crate were worth three on the lam.
Returning home, the two good kitties were released and I spotted the escape artist crouched in the pasture. Even after a few hours of decompression, Boy Two won't let me approach him in the pasture. I figure he will come around in time, but in the mean time I'm trying a little behavioral conditioning so the crate is not so scary when I do finally get him caught. So I'm trying to channel my inner Jackson Galaxy (if you don't catch the reference, start watching Animal Planet on Saturday nights). In an effort to help the cats make the connection between the crate and something good, the big crate is up on the counter in the feed room where the cats are normally fed, and Boy Two's food bowl is inside with plenty of room to eat. I know he's found it because I heard the door rattle and saw him dart back out the barn aisle earlier this evening. I'll probably have to pull the other food bowl at some point so all three cats have to eat inside, but since they generally "graze" in shifts I'm hoping it won't be much of a problem.
Fingers crossed.
Two of the three barn cats made it to the vet for their annual check up and shots today. Yes, I have some rather well cared for barn kitties, and so far their vet bills exceed the horse's this year (knock on wood).
Why not all three? Believe me, they were all scheduled to go. I even borrowed an extra carrier from a coworker. My grand plan was to shove the boys in together in the big carrier and put the female in the other since she has been growling at both lately, including her litter-mate. I came home from lunch to find the boys lounging on the back porch and the girl hanging out on the front porch. Grab Boy One, put him in the crate, close door, yowling begins. Grab Boy Two, open carrier, and attempt to shove him in as Boy One makes his exit. It was a rather impressive feat of feline acrobatics since I had put the carrier on end so the door was on top and the cats were basically getting dropped in. My real mistake was that I was doing all of this in the horses' wash bay rather than inside the tack room or other enclosed space where escape meant they were still somewhat confined.
In all the fur-flying confusion, coupled with a few claw swipes and hissing, both boys retreated to the porch. Both were lounging again, so I went for Boy Two first, but he figured out what was happening and eluded my lunge. Grabbed Boy One without trouble, put him back in the crate, close the door fast. Retrieved The Girl from the front porch and threw her in with her brother. I tried catching Boy Two a few more times, tracking him through the hay shed and pasture but he managed to retreat into the woods. When he took off through the poison ivy I figured it was time to cut my losses and head off to the vet with the two I did have. I called the vet's office on the way to let them know a) I'm running late and b) I only have two felines in tow. The office manager asked if I would like to reschedule for a day I could bring in all three but I declined. If a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, I figured two cats in a crate were worth three on the lam.
Returning home, the two good kitties were released and I spotted the escape artist crouched in the pasture. Even after a few hours of decompression, Boy Two won't let me approach him in the pasture. I figure he will come around in time, but in the mean time I'm trying a little behavioral conditioning so the crate is not so scary when I do finally get him caught. So I'm trying to channel my inner Jackson Galaxy (if you don't catch the reference, start watching Animal Planet on Saturday nights). In an effort to help the cats make the connection between the crate and something good, the big crate is up on the counter in the feed room where the cats are normally fed, and Boy Two's food bowl is inside with plenty of room to eat. I know he's found it because I heard the door rattle and saw him dart back out the barn aisle earlier this evening. I'll probably have to pull the other food bowl at some point so all three cats have to eat inside, but since they generally "graze" in shifts I'm hoping it won't be much of a problem.
Fingers crossed.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Here comes summer!
I suppose I should be grateful that "spring" lasted as long as it has. But it's over, and not just because it's Memorial Day weekend - the unofficial start of summer. No, we hit 90 degrees this week, and in just three mornings of teaching class outside I officially have the traditional farmer's tan. Unfortunately I have also realized that my work shirts have longer sleeves than my "casual tops" in the closet, and scrub tops are not appropriate apparel for the conference I have next week.
It's also the time of year when the garden is in transition. The local big box store was having a sale on plants this week so I went ahead and bought my tomatoes even though I've been saying all along I won't add any more plants until I get back from this next business trip. So between the tomatoes, the garden, and the front lawn there will be a lot of watering expected of those left at the house.
Oh, yeah, the front lawn. Normally I am against watering lawns - bigger water bills, more work mowing - but in this case it's necessary. In my first year of gardening out here I thought I had the perfect spot in the front yard for a small garden. And then the pecan trees leafed in. Last year when I pulled up the last of the beans and gave up on the watermelon I let the area go and started mowing it with the surrounding lawn. Unfortunately weeds have since become the predominant plant form out there, not grass, and to compound the problem there still were a few lumps and ridges from the rows of veggies. Every time I went across the front yard with the lawnmower I could feel my teeth rattling loose in my head. So I had the brilliant idea to take this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and rework the area to level the dirt and establish real grass.
Have I mentioned how hard it is to establish real grass in the spring in the south? But before you can establish real grass, you need to prepare the seedbed. Easier said than done. The plan was to kill the current greenery, work up the dirt, and drag it smooth. First, it took a minimum of two rounds of Round-Up to kill off the "prickly grass" as I like to call it - the burrs produced by this pestilence is the number two reason behind fire ants that you can't walk barefoot through the yard. Once I finally had more brown than green I dug out the rototiller to start working things up. I love this machine, but my particular model is older than me and about as motivated to start as I am to go for a swim. Once it finally did fire up, I had the pleasure of wrestling this monster as it attempted to drag me across the yard while the humidity helped trap the exhaust cloud in my face. The auto-soak option, heavy wash cycle, and two Tide Boosts have not been enough to get the smell out of my clothes.
Then the real fun began. I realized that hand raking roughly 1/3 of my front yard would not be an efficient use of my time. So I hooked up the pasture drag to the lawn mower and promptly got the old Snapper stuck in the soft dirt. After three more ill-fated attempts I did the next best thing and attached the drag to the hitch on my truck. I didn't get stuck, but the lack of agility in turning meant that I only got about half of the area dragged. I still ended up hand raking about half of the project area. Oh joy.
At least I was smart enough to borrow a hand-crank seeder from a friend. Another 10 minutes and the area was covered with a fine sprinkling of blue-tinged seed. I'm skeptical about how well this is going to work. The product label says it is impregnated with water-saving technology, but I know from work that establishing bermudagrass from seed is a real ____. Which is why I'm now watering my front lawn every day for who knows how long.
I don't want to see next month's water bill.
It's also the time of year when the garden is in transition. The local big box store was having a sale on plants this week so I went ahead and bought my tomatoes even though I've been saying all along I won't add any more plants until I get back from this next business trip. So between the tomatoes, the garden, and the front lawn there will be a lot of watering expected of those left at the house.
Oh, yeah, the front lawn. Normally I am against watering lawns - bigger water bills, more work mowing - but in this case it's necessary. In my first year of gardening out here I thought I had the perfect spot in the front yard for a small garden. And then the pecan trees leafed in. Last year when I pulled up the last of the beans and gave up on the watermelon I let the area go and started mowing it with the surrounding lawn. Unfortunately weeds have since become the predominant plant form out there, not grass, and to compound the problem there still were a few lumps and ridges from the rows of veggies. Every time I went across the front yard with the lawnmower I could feel my teeth rattling loose in my head. So I had the brilliant idea to take this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and rework the area to level the dirt and establish real grass.
Have I mentioned how hard it is to establish real grass in the spring in the south? But before you can establish real grass, you need to prepare the seedbed. Easier said than done. The plan was to kill the current greenery, work up the dirt, and drag it smooth. First, it took a minimum of two rounds of Round-Up to kill off the "prickly grass" as I like to call it - the burrs produced by this pestilence is the number two reason behind fire ants that you can't walk barefoot through the yard. Once I finally had more brown than green I dug out the rototiller to start working things up. I love this machine, but my particular model is older than me and about as motivated to start as I am to go for a swim. Once it finally did fire up, I had the pleasure of wrestling this monster as it attempted to drag me across the yard while the humidity helped trap the exhaust cloud in my face. The auto-soak option, heavy wash cycle, and two Tide Boosts have not been enough to get the smell out of my clothes.
Then the real fun began. I realized that hand raking roughly 1/3 of my front yard would not be an efficient use of my time. So I hooked up the pasture drag to the lawn mower and promptly got the old Snapper stuck in the soft dirt. After three more ill-fated attempts I did the next best thing and attached the drag to the hitch on my truck. I didn't get stuck, but the lack of agility in turning meant that I only got about half of the area dragged. I still ended up hand raking about half of the project area. Oh joy.
At least I was smart enough to borrow a hand-crank seeder from a friend. Another 10 minutes and the area was covered with a fine sprinkling of blue-tinged seed. I'm skeptical about how well this is going to work. The product label says it is impregnated with water-saving technology, but I know from work that establishing bermudagrass from seed is a real ____. Which is why I'm now watering my front lawn every day for who knows how long.
I don't want to see next month's water bill.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Springtime in the South
One benefit of moving down (over?) here is that I can get a good two months in both spring and fall without having to run the heat pump or air conditioner. I did keep the flannel sheets and extra blanket on the bed a little longer than usual this spring, and there were a couple nights within the last week where I wished they were still on the bed. On the other hand, I've had a couple of evenings recently where I did run the AC for an hour or so just to clear the air in the house.
And on the third hand, the Jekell-and-Hyde weather has also had a few benefits with the garden. Have I mentioned my broccoli bumper crop? Or the potato plants as big a shrubs? But the roller coaster of temperatures is about to take its toll. The radishes are threatening to bolt in more ways than one. The zucchini is no longer patiently waiting for the broccoli to leave so it can take over. And just when the peas are FINALLY starting to come in, they will probably be sunburned to a crisp within a week. Again, mixed blessings because I've been itching to get my tomatoes and peppers in the ground and they are supposed to go where the peas were supposed to come out several weeks ago.
*sigh*
At least it looks good. Now to go mow the lawn. Again.
And on the third hand, the Jekell-and-Hyde weather has also had a few benefits with the garden. Have I mentioned my broccoli bumper crop? Or the potato plants as big a shrubs? But the roller coaster of temperatures is about to take its toll. The radishes are threatening to bolt in more ways than one. The zucchini is no longer patiently waiting for the broccoli to leave so it can take over. And just when the peas are FINALLY starting to come in, they will probably be sunburned to a crisp within a week. Again, mixed blessings because I've been itching to get my tomatoes and peppers in the ground and they are supposed to go where the peas were supposed to come out several weeks ago.
*sigh*
At least it looks good. Now to go mow the lawn. Again.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Double, double, toil and trouble...
... fire burn and cauldron bubble.
I tried my hand at broccoli-cheese soup this weekend. The plan was to use up some of the bumper crop of broccoli from the garden in a manner that can be preserved in the freezer. It didn't go well. I misread the recipe, put in too much milk, my "four heads broccoli" was more like six by the time I cut it up and threw it in the pot. Then to try and even it out I added extra cheese. It's OK, but still needs more salt and pepper.
The worst though is that I once again managed to burn the roux on the bottom of the pot after adding the milk. Not just "little brown bits" but a layer of charred carbon on the surface of my stainless steel Cuisinart stock pot. I didn't realize it was burned until I was ten minutes into cooking the broccoli in the stock - I thought I stirred adequately as I added the liquid.
So, thanks to the wonder of Google, I have brought to a boil a stock pot full of water with 2 tablespoons of dishwashing liquid, simmered for 10 minutes, and am now letting it cool to room temperature. Not the most appealing of aromas to emanate from the kitchen in the last three days. Fingers crossed that it works.
I tried my hand at broccoli-cheese soup this weekend. The plan was to use up some of the bumper crop of broccoli from the garden in a manner that can be preserved in the freezer. It didn't go well. I misread the recipe, put in too much milk, my "four heads broccoli" was more like six by the time I cut it up and threw it in the pot. Then to try and even it out I added extra cheese. It's OK, but still needs more salt and pepper.
The worst though is that I once again managed to burn the roux on the bottom of the pot after adding the milk. Not just "little brown bits" but a layer of charred carbon on the surface of my stainless steel Cuisinart stock pot. I didn't realize it was burned until I was ten minutes into cooking the broccoli in the stock - I thought I stirred adequately as I added the liquid.
So, thanks to the wonder of Google, I have brought to a boil a stock pot full of water with 2 tablespoons of dishwashing liquid, simmered for 10 minutes, and am now letting it cool to room temperature. Not the most appealing of aromas to emanate from the kitchen in the last three days. Fingers crossed that it works.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Seasonal pyromania
I finished playing with the pole saw yesterday. (Yes, I wore gloves this time.) But then I broke out the heavy artillery and used a pruning blade on the cordless reciprocating saw to get a few limbs too big for the pole saw.
The proper way to remove a large branch is to begin with an undercut a few inches away from the trunk, then cut off the branch from the top a few inches distal to the undercut, and finally cut the "stump" near the trunk itself. Mental note: when making the undercut, don't go more than 1/3 of the way through. The blade got stuck when the weight of the branch pinched down. Had to release the blade from the saw and use another blade to make the second cut before finally freeing the original pruning blade.
The major benefit from limbing-up the trees is the production of two large brush piles of mostly-dry wood. The conditions were right, and the inner pyro won the debate of "to burn or not to burn". I'm still trying to get the hang of starting a fire (last week was a very poor effort of burning out pine needles beneath a tree in the pasture) and making things more difficult was that the brush pile in question spilled over onto the grass. It would take a little strategic fire-igniting but I managed to get it burned up without severely damaging the grass around the edge of the burn spot. I will admit I can't leave well enough alone, and I probably singed off some fine facial hair as I got close to the pile to shovel the outlying branches into the middle of the pile. If you can't stand the heat, wait another 15 minutes before trying to do a little site grooming.
Did I learn my lesson? Of course not. The plan for tomorrow is to burn an even bigger pile.This time with witnesses. And maybe beer. Or marshmallows? It will probably be a little messier thanks to a freshly cut pine bough and the overall size and misorganization of the pile. But I'm guessing it will go up in a beautiful blaze of glory. Who needs spring cleaning when you can have a bonfire?
The proper way to remove a large branch is to begin with an undercut a few inches away from the trunk, then cut off the branch from the top a few inches distal to the undercut, and finally cut the "stump" near the trunk itself. Mental note: when making the undercut, don't go more than 1/3 of the way through. The blade got stuck when the weight of the branch pinched down. Had to release the blade from the saw and use another blade to make the second cut before finally freeing the original pruning blade.
The major benefit from limbing-up the trees is the production of two large brush piles of mostly-dry wood. The conditions were right, and the inner pyro won the debate of "to burn or not to burn". I'm still trying to get the hang of starting a fire (last week was a very poor effort of burning out pine needles beneath a tree in the pasture) and making things more difficult was that the brush pile in question spilled over onto the grass. It would take a little strategic fire-igniting but I managed to get it burned up without severely damaging the grass around the edge of the burn spot. I will admit I can't leave well enough alone, and I probably singed off some fine facial hair as I got close to the pile to shovel the outlying branches into the middle of the pile. If you can't stand the heat, wait another 15 minutes before trying to do a little site grooming.
Did I learn my lesson? Of course not. The plan for tomorrow is to burn an even bigger pile.This time with witnesses. And maybe beer. Or marshmallows? It will probably be a little messier thanks to a freshly cut pine bough and the overall size and misorganization of the pile. But I'm guessing it will go up in a beautiful blaze of glory. Who needs spring cleaning when you can have a bonfire?
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Pass the naproxene please
Yesterday I rode the mare. She had more than a few days off since she had gotten her feet trimmed, so it was time to get back to work. I'm still taking things easy with her, building up the foundation to get her fit again. Still mostly walking, but now I'm upping the ante by adding more bending and yielding of different body parts - which means there is also a considerable amount of bending and yielding of my own body parts. I didn't realize my right leg adductors were so much weaker than the left side. Introduced some trot work, did lots of stretching and balance work in the stirrups, and even added in some big steps up and down off of the little rise in the pasture.
Today it was the upper-body workout. It started with lifting up my riding lawn mower, not once but twice, so I could take the blade in for sharpening (more like replacement) and reach all of the grease fittings. I borrowed a pole saw from a coworker to finally take care of some tree limbs that were just out of the reach of my step ladder. Helpful hint for anyone considering a similar feat - wear work gloves. Two hours later, my hands are covered in blisters from the pull rope, I have a large bruise forming under my left arm where I wedged the pole for some leverage while I was sawing, and my neck and shoulders are aching from leaning my head back to see what I'm trimming. Then it was on to using the pruning blade on the reciprocating saw to cut away some lower limbs that were too big for the pole saw. On the upside, I do have several impressive piles of dead tree limbs scattered around the property. Now to just collect them all and add to the burn piles.
As for tomorrow, the rose bushes are in need of their spring fertilization and refreshing the mulch. That is if I'll be able to move.
Today it was the upper-body workout. It started with lifting up my riding lawn mower, not once but twice, so I could take the blade in for sharpening (more like replacement) and reach all of the grease fittings. I borrowed a pole saw from a coworker to finally take care of some tree limbs that were just out of the reach of my step ladder. Helpful hint for anyone considering a similar feat - wear work gloves. Two hours later, my hands are covered in blisters from the pull rope, I have a large bruise forming under my left arm where I wedged the pole for some leverage while I was sawing, and my neck and shoulders are aching from leaning my head back to see what I'm trimming. Then it was on to using the pruning blade on the reciprocating saw to cut away some lower limbs that were too big for the pole saw. On the upside, I do have several impressive piles of dead tree limbs scattered around the property. Now to just collect them all and add to the burn piles.
As for tomorrow, the rose bushes are in need of their spring fertilization and refreshing the mulch. That is if I'll be able to move.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Piece and quiet
Almost two weeks since the chickens left. It's so nice to be able to get a full-night's sleep, not worry about protecting the garden and landscaping, and (best of all) no fresh chicken poop on my truck!
If you are concerned about where they went, last I heard they were enjoying the wide open spaces of a farm about an hour east of here. That's one benefit of my job, most of the other people in my department also have property in the country with various types of farm life. So even though the new owner is a butcher by trade, I don't think they will be ending up in the stew pot any time soon. (Though I did assure him that I wouldn't mind if that was their final fate.)
So what's been happening since then? I've started the big mare on her road back to being a usable riding horse. It's been three months since treatment on her leg wound finished. Being on 24-hour turnout on pasture with rolling terrain has helped in her self-regulated rehab work. Now I'm just playing it smart with her conditioning program - lots of walking, bending, and flexing for now, work up to some trot work in a week or two, and go from there. The broccoli and kohlrabi has taken off in the garden, radishes and lettuce are close to picking, but the recent cold snap may have killed off the potatoes. Something has taken up residence in the new bluebird house but I have yet to see what kind of bird it is.
Will the name of the blog change now that the chickens are gone? I've given it some thought, and decided to keep it.
Is this the end of chicken raising? For the short term, yes. For the long term, who knows. I'm not taking down the coop just yet, but I did give away the remaining chicken feed. The friend who gave me the roosters suggested I might make a good home for one of her laying hens that is going blind. My goal has been to have birds that are relatively self sufficient so I don't know if I want to take on a special-needs case. She assures me that it won't mess with the garden, but then again the previous feathered critters proved that wrong. The only guarantee is that it won't crow.
If you are concerned about where they went, last I heard they were enjoying the wide open spaces of a farm about an hour east of here. That's one benefit of my job, most of the other people in my department also have property in the country with various types of farm life. So even though the new owner is a butcher by trade, I don't think they will be ending up in the stew pot any time soon. (Though I did assure him that I wouldn't mind if that was their final fate.)
So what's been happening since then? I've started the big mare on her road back to being a usable riding horse. It's been three months since treatment on her leg wound finished. Being on 24-hour turnout on pasture with rolling terrain has helped in her self-regulated rehab work. Now I'm just playing it smart with her conditioning program - lots of walking, bending, and flexing for now, work up to some trot work in a week or two, and go from there. The broccoli and kohlrabi has taken off in the garden, radishes and lettuce are close to picking, but the recent cold snap may have killed off the potatoes. Something has taken up residence in the new bluebird house but I have yet to see what kind of bird it is.
Will the name of the blog change now that the chickens are gone? I've given it some thought, and decided to keep it.
Is this the end of chicken raising? For the short term, yes. For the long term, who knows. I'm not taking down the coop just yet, but I did give away the remaining chicken feed. The friend who gave me the roosters suggested I might make a good home for one of her laying hens that is going blind. My goal has been to have birds that are relatively self sufficient so I don't know if I want to take on a special-needs case. She assures me that it won't mess with the garden, but then again the previous feathered critters proved that wrong. The only guarantee is that it won't crow.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Buh-Bye
I just spent the last two hours catching and crating the chickens.
No easy task. Those dang roosters must have known what was coming. I consulted with a coworker (the person who gave me the half-grown birds in the first place) on how to catch them since half of them have taken to roosting in the barn rafters. Her suggestion was to take a broad broom or garden rake and bump the birds in the chest to get them to step on the new "perch" and lift them down.
So I waited until dark and for the birds to roost. I had to flush one out of the "attic space" over the tack room at dusk so it would be in the barn with the others. Once everybird was inside I closed up the barn doors. I figured the more confined the better. I started with the center aisle lights on, then just the feed room lights on, but the birds still walked around on the rafters like it was daylight. Finally I just gave up and killed all the lights so the only illumination came from the yard light, shining in through a few small windows.
I went for the Ring Leader first. I should have known better. Even in the dark he would evade the rake and move just out of reach. I even crept up a ladder I placed before dark and tried to grab him, but he took off and flew across to the next rafter just as my fingertips touched his feathers. After a little shuffling and resettling, he perched near the ladder again. This time I brought a draw-string laundry bag, hoping I could basically bag-and-scoop but he took off even quicker. This time he and his buddies huddled themselves in a cluster (flustercluck?) just out of reach of my tools. Flipped on the barn lights and figured the least I could do would be to herd them into the coop/stall so at least a few would be easier to catch when reinforcements could arrive the next evening.
OK, new approach. Three birds had roosted in the stall, so I went in there and closed the door behind me. My initial plan was to grab them off their roosts and stuff them into the dog crate I had in the stall with me. Didn't take long chasing a bunch of dark colored roosters in the dark on the floor of the stall. Is it a bird? Is it a shadow? No! It's Super Wiley Rooster!
Plan F. Open dog crate, place in corner, herd chicken into open door, slam door shut and haul out the crate so I can transfer my quarry to the transport crate. Worked pretty good for on the first bird. The second bird (Ring Leader) put up a fight when I was doing the transfer, and I wound up with a big handful of feathers and another chase around the barn until I could get him back into the stall.
Ah ha! The more I can keep the barnlights off, the less of a fight the now blind and vulnerable birds put up. Two birds caught, three birds. Flip the barn lights back on, use my 10 foot longe whip (I new it would come in handy for something!) to flush the quarry from its hiding spot, and play a complicated game of cat and mouse, trying to first get the birds on the ground and then herd them into the stall. Two more go in; I never even bothered to let them roost before turning out the lights and played more chicken coop Marco Polo with Four. Five put up a good fight, but it's panting gave away its location. I left him in the coop in the dog crate while I finally flushed out Six and corralled him in the stall.
Lights out one more time. Transfer Five into the carrier. Odd how the chickens remain calm in the dark even as the carrier continues to get fuller. Back in the stall, and I quietly "shush, shush" to tell the bird where I am as I had his now-caught com-padres. Back and forth, back and forth. A few futile attempts at a vertical escape (("Go toward the (yard) light!")) before he wedged himself between the crate and the wall. One more flush and a little more back and forth, and Six took a few hesitant steps into the dog crate.
Close the door, deep breath, no sigh of relief until this one has joined his buddies in the travel carrier. As with the others, turn the dog crate on its end. Reach in and grab by the base of the wings. With the other hand release the bungee cord holding the lid shut on the carrier. In one swift move lift the lid and shove the bird in. Strange how the bird that was at the bottom of the pecking order was the last one to be caught; you think he should have been better at avoiding the avian bullies given his skill at evading me.
Flip on the barn lights, grab some baling twine and tie the lid shut. Release the dog from her exile in the tack room, and watch her and the cat sniff and explore this odd box and its feathered convicts. Call it a night, turn off the barn lights, leave the barn doors shut just in case... Go find a beer.
I wonder how the chicken soup will turn out.
No easy task. Those dang roosters must have known what was coming. I consulted with a coworker (the person who gave me the half-grown birds in the first place) on how to catch them since half of them have taken to roosting in the barn rafters. Her suggestion was to take a broad broom or garden rake and bump the birds in the chest to get them to step on the new "perch" and lift them down.
So I waited until dark and for the birds to roost. I had to flush one out of the "attic space" over the tack room at dusk so it would be in the barn with the others. Once everybird was inside I closed up the barn doors. I figured the more confined the better. I started with the center aisle lights on, then just the feed room lights on, but the birds still walked around on the rafters like it was daylight. Finally I just gave up and killed all the lights so the only illumination came from the yard light, shining in through a few small windows.
I went for the Ring Leader first. I should have known better. Even in the dark he would evade the rake and move just out of reach. I even crept up a ladder I placed before dark and tried to grab him, but he took off and flew across to the next rafter just as my fingertips touched his feathers. After a little shuffling and resettling, he perched near the ladder again. This time I brought a draw-string laundry bag, hoping I could basically bag-and-scoop but he took off even quicker. This time he and his buddies huddled themselves in a cluster (flustercluck?) just out of reach of my tools. Flipped on the barn lights and figured the least I could do would be to herd them into the coop/stall so at least a few would be easier to catch when reinforcements could arrive the next evening.
OK, new approach. Three birds had roosted in the stall, so I went in there and closed the door behind me. My initial plan was to grab them off their roosts and stuff them into the dog crate I had in the stall with me. Didn't take long chasing a bunch of dark colored roosters in the dark on the floor of the stall. Is it a bird? Is it a shadow? No! It's Super Wiley Rooster!
Plan F. Open dog crate, place in corner, herd chicken into open door, slam door shut and haul out the crate so I can transfer my quarry to the transport crate. Worked pretty good for on the first bird. The second bird (Ring Leader) put up a fight when I was doing the transfer, and I wound up with a big handful of feathers and another chase around the barn until I could get him back into the stall.
Ah ha! The more I can keep the barnlights off, the less of a fight the now blind and vulnerable birds put up. Two birds caught, three birds. Flip the barn lights back on, use my 10 foot longe whip (I new it would come in handy for something!) to flush the quarry from its hiding spot, and play a complicated game of cat and mouse, trying to first get the birds on the ground and then herd them into the stall. Two more go in; I never even bothered to let them roost before turning out the lights and played more chicken coop Marco Polo with Four. Five put up a good fight, but it's panting gave away its location. I left him in the coop in the dog crate while I finally flushed out Six and corralled him in the stall.
Lights out one more time. Transfer Five into the carrier. Odd how the chickens remain calm in the dark even as the carrier continues to get fuller. Back in the stall, and I quietly "shush, shush" to tell the bird where I am as I had his now-caught com-padres. Back and forth, back and forth. A few futile attempts at a vertical escape (("Go toward the (yard) light!")) before he wedged himself between the crate and the wall. One more flush and a little more back and forth, and Six took a few hesitant steps into the dog crate.
Close the door, deep breath, no sigh of relief until this one has joined his buddies in the travel carrier. As with the others, turn the dog crate on its end. Reach in and grab by the base of the wings. With the other hand release the bungee cord holding the lid shut on the carrier. In one swift move lift the lid and shove the bird in. Strange how the bird that was at the bottom of the pecking order was the last one to be caught; you think he should have been better at avoiding the avian bullies given his skill at evading me.
Flip on the barn lights, grab some baling twine and tie the lid shut. Release the dog from her exile in the tack room, and watch her and the cat sniff and explore this odd box and its feathered convicts. Call it a night, turn off the barn lights, leave the barn doors shut just in case... Go find a beer.
I wonder how the chicken soup will turn out.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
I've had it!
Yesterday was the proverbial straw breaking the camel's back. The chickens are officially in need of a new home and/or purpose to mankind.
What brought me to this point?
First it was the destruction of the salad garden. The salad garden is a planter box of sorts around the base of one of the porches. I call it the salad garden because its the right size for growing various lettuces and herbs. I learned a long time ago that it was a nice dust bath area for the chickens (and a litter box for the cats when the ground was bare). Then last fall the chickens decided my almost-ready-to harvest crop of romaine was fair game, and what were nine beautiful, leafy plants were reduced to pathetic, ragged stems within a day. (Have I mentioned their previous destruction of a beautiful crop of ripe roma tomatoes, the mercilous slaughter of the bell peppers, and the defoliation of carrots the preceding summer?) At the same time one bird thought the perfect napping spot was under the branches of the rosemary, to the detriment of the thyme beside it. So I took the proactive approach this spring by putting lattice over the top of the bed until the seeds sprouted, then upgraded to the mesh fencing around the whole L-shaped box. This worked for about two weeks, when the birds' sparing on the porch railing would cause a few to land inside the mesh, causing a dust-up as the bird attempted to escape and the death of a few romaine and red leaf transplants from the local garden center. I replaced the perimeter mesh with 7-foot wide mesh so that it would form a tent over the whole thing beginning from the ground and wrapping up and over the porch railing and tied to the spindles with some baling twine. The mesh also has deterred the roosters from hanging out on the porch railing. This was last weekend's project.
Shortly after that problem was solved, the chickens decided they did not have enough space roosting on the wide-spaced boards that form a barrier between the horse pasture and the covered parking area attached to the barn (who wants a horse to reach over the fence and take a taste of their vehicles?). So they started perching ON my truck when I came home from work. I tried shushing them away but to no avail. This act quickly devolved into hanging out on the sides of the truck bed, and then became one of their preferred sparing areas as their aggression on the smallest and weakest of the group took a turn for the worst. Now I have a truck covered in chicken sh#t and plucked feathers in less than a week, and I haven't had the nerve to get out the ladder to check the paint damage to the roof.
Then yesterday was the last of it. Last fall the chickens made it a mission to defoliate the hostas and other shade plants off the back porch (oh, and made themselves another dusting area in the mulch, destroying the landscape fabric underneath the walking paths). This spring as I started to plant the raised beds, I extended the mesh fencing to surround both of the raised beds as well as the mulched hosta area. I put up with having to move/step over the fence to access the rain barrels and weed/water/plant in this large area of the back yard. Worked great until yesterday, when the chickens figured out how to get onto the porch and go around the fencing. After spending the day working from home, I walked out the door to find rooster-sized craters among the broccoli plants, the (struggling) carrot sprouts uprooted and/or covered in a thick layer of dirt, and the tops of several emerging potato and pea plants looking rather plucked.
I have reached the point where the roosters' problems far outweigh any benefit they may be providing. I am currently seeking rehoming/harvesting solutions for the birds. Unfortunately at a year of age they are no longer desirable for roasting, frying, and other common cooking methods, and I don't have the resources for mass production of chicken stock. However, I hear a neighbor may be able to put them to good use in her own freezer . . .
One thing I do know is that their days at Cheesehead Hills are numbered.
What brought me to this point?
First it was the destruction of the salad garden. The salad garden is a planter box of sorts around the base of one of the porches. I call it the salad garden because its the right size for growing various lettuces and herbs. I learned a long time ago that it was a nice dust bath area for the chickens (and a litter box for the cats when the ground was bare). Then last fall the chickens decided my almost-ready-to harvest crop of romaine was fair game, and what were nine beautiful, leafy plants were reduced to pathetic, ragged stems within a day. (Have I mentioned their previous destruction of a beautiful crop of ripe roma tomatoes, the mercilous slaughter of the bell peppers, and the defoliation of carrots the preceding summer?) At the same time one bird thought the perfect napping spot was under the branches of the rosemary, to the detriment of the thyme beside it. So I took the proactive approach this spring by putting lattice over the top of the bed until the seeds sprouted, then upgraded to the mesh fencing around the whole L-shaped box. This worked for about two weeks, when the birds' sparing on the porch railing would cause a few to land inside the mesh, causing a dust-up as the bird attempted to escape and the death of a few romaine and red leaf transplants from the local garden center. I replaced the perimeter mesh with 7-foot wide mesh so that it would form a tent over the whole thing beginning from the ground and wrapping up and over the porch railing and tied to the spindles with some baling twine. The mesh also has deterred the roosters from hanging out on the porch railing. This was last weekend's project.
Shortly after that problem was solved, the chickens decided they did not have enough space roosting on the wide-spaced boards that form a barrier between the horse pasture and the covered parking area attached to the barn (who wants a horse to reach over the fence and take a taste of their vehicles?). So they started perching ON my truck when I came home from work. I tried shushing them away but to no avail. This act quickly devolved into hanging out on the sides of the truck bed, and then became one of their preferred sparing areas as their aggression on the smallest and weakest of the group took a turn for the worst. Now I have a truck covered in chicken sh#t and plucked feathers in less than a week, and I haven't had the nerve to get out the ladder to check the paint damage to the roof.
Then yesterday was the last of it. Last fall the chickens made it a mission to defoliate the hostas and other shade plants off the back porch (oh, and made themselves another dusting area in the mulch, destroying the landscape fabric underneath the walking paths). This spring as I started to plant the raised beds, I extended the mesh fencing to surround both of the raised beds as well as the mulched hosta area. I put up with having to move/step over the fence to access the rain barrels and weed/water/plant in this large area of the back yard. Worked great until yesterday, when the chickens figured out how to get onto the porch and go around the fencing. After spending the day working from home, I walked out the door to find rooster-sized craters among the broccoli plants, the (struggling) carrot sprouts uprooted and/or covered in a thick layer of dirt, and the tops of several emerging potato and pea plants looking rather plucked.
I have reached the point where the roosters' problems far outweigh any benefit they may be providing. I am currently seeking rehoming/harvesting solutions for the birds. Unfortunately at a year of age they are no longer desirable for roasting, frying, and other common cooking methods, and I don't have the resources for mass production of chicken stock. However, I hear a neighbor may be able to put them to good use in her own freezer . . .
One thing I do know is that their days at Cheesehead Hills are numbered.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Yikes!
I thought last week was busy, this week I've barely made it home from work before dark. Not that I haven't tried, but it seems that the two days I could go home before dark fate works against me one way or the other such that I don't get to do anything around the house.
I'm still driving around with 80 lbs of birdseed in the back of my truck. And oddly enough, if I make it home before the chickens roost for the night, they spend a fair amount of time patrolling the edge of my truck bed. Are they hunting for an opportunity (or started hole in the bags) to access the yummy sunflower seeds? They certainly are doing a good job of changing my red truck and black bed liner to a more mottled color but the birdseed bags are still in tact (for now).
I do feel sorry for the other birdies. After all, I haven't been home long enough to refill feeders. On the other hand maybe it should teach them to rate their intake a little better.
But that would work off the assumption that songbirds are capable of higher level reasoning.
OK, this post is starting to get too cerebral for this time of night.
I'm still driving around with 80 lbs of birdseed in the back of my truck. And oddly enough, if I make it home before the chickens roost for the night, they spend a fair amount of time patrolling the edge of my truck bed. Are they hunting for an opportunity (or started hole in the bags) to access the yummy sunflower seeds? They certainly are doing a good job of changing my red truck and black bed liner to a more mottled color but the birdseed bags are still in tact (for now).
I do feel sorry for the other birdies. After all, I haven't been home long enough to refill feeders. On the other hand maybe it should teach them to rate their intake a little better.
But that would work off the assumption that songbirds are capable of higher level reasoning.
OK, this post is starting to get too cerebral for this time of night.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Ironic, isn't it
Today I walked out of the local big-box home improvement store with over 80 lbs of bird seed and a 700 square foot roll of bird netting. Both actually were for the chickens, sort of. The chickens have learned to become opportunistic moochers when the song birds get messy with their feeders. On the other hand, the other purchase is intended to prevent them from mooching off the appetizing veggies in the garden.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
I appologize for the lapse . . .
It's been one of those weeks where I could have used a weekend on Wednesday. Last week already feels like a month ago. Amazing how any preconceived notions on how the week's work will go gets thrown out the window before things even get started.
On top of still trying to catch up with various work projects that were put on hold during my working vacation, I had a horse increase my stress-level and rearrange my schedule. In short, the old horse let me know that his body was worn out and it was time to let go. After two and a half years, the pasture looks strange with just the two mares, but I no longer wake up every morning and rush to the bedroom window to count heads in fear that the old guy had something happen overnight (or do the equivalent as I pull into the driveway after work).
With another multi-day rain event in the forecast for the weekend it looks like I do not have any excuses for further procrastination on indoor home projects. I tried catching up on a few last things outside tonight, like transplanting cool season veggies in the "salad garden" and moving the chickens' feeder to where it would be protected from the rain. I thought about refilling the wild bird feeders, but after the effort it took to clean out the finch feeder when the thistle seed got wet in the last deluge I decided that the birdies should just fend for themselves for a couple days.
On top of still trying to catch up with various work projects that were put on hold during my working vacation, I had a horse increase my stress-level and rearrange my schedule. In short, the old horse let me know that his body was worn out and it was time to let go. After two and a half years, the pasture looks strange with just the two mares, but I no longer wake up every morning and rush to the bedroom window to count heads in fear that the old guy had something happen overnight (or do the equivalent as I pull into the driveway after work).
With another multi-day rain event in the forecast for the weekend it looks like I do not have any excuses for further procrastination on indoor home projects. I tried catching up on a few last things outside tonight, like transplanting cool season veggies in the "salad garden" and moving the chickens' feeder to where it would be protected from the rain. I thought about refilling the wild bird feeders, but after the effort it took to clean out the finch feeder when the thistle seed got wet in the last deluge I decided that the birdies should just fend for themselves for a couple days.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Dumb birds?
We were sitting at Busch Gardens last week, enjoying lunch, and commenting on how food service puts way too many french fries on the combo baskets. As expected in any outdoor eating space at a theme park, the opportunistic birdies were making their presence known. And of course there were signs discouraging us from feeding the birds (and squirrels).
So my friend, who happens to have a bit of a bird phobia, decides to throw a french fry across the open space to try and draw the birds away from where we sat. The flying fry made a beautiful arc and landed about 20 feet away, with three starlings in chase. After a brief squabble one emerged victorious and perched on the perimeter fence holding its prize.
The odd part was while other birds did arrive to check out the commotion, they all start staring gaped-mouth at the ceiling expecting more greasy potato goodness to come falling from the sky like manna.
So my friend, who happens to have a bit of a bird phobia, decides to throw a french fry across the open space to try and draw the birds away from where we sat. The flying fry made a beautiful arc and landed about 20 feet away, with three starlings in chase. After a brief squabble one emerged victorious and perched on the perimeter fence holding its prize.
The odd part was while other birds did arrive to check out the commotion, they all start staring gaped-mouth at the ceiling expecting more greasy potato goodness to come falling from the sky like manna.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Non-birds of a different feather
Apparently I also attract people in bird-like costumes.
Watch out for the street performers at Busch Gardens.
Watch out for the street performers at Busch Gardens.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Birds of a different feather
I've had birdfeeders out since I had my rental house in town. Usually it's one of mixed seed and one of black oilseed, and then a hummingbird feeder in the summer. The hummingbird feeder is a cheap source of evening entertainment, with me sitting on the back porch watching those little suckers fight over feeder space. One time I counted as many as seven ruby-throats dive-bombing each other. Adding the trellis and cages for the pole beans and tomatoes last summer changed the airborne tactics, in that the wires were just the right diameter for a hummer to pause and plan it's next path of attack.
The latest change was switching out one of my winter mixed-seed feeders for thistle (niger) seed. Growing up in the Great Lakes region, goldfinches were a ubiquitous part of the summer flora and fauna. Down here in the Deep South I'm in their winter range, and when a co-worker mentioned how many were spotted around her feeders I took the plunge to try attracting them too. They don't have quite the markings I remember because they are in their winter plumage; they are more of an olivey yellow-green to faded yellow but the personality is all there.
I never thought much about feeder placement other than keeping them out of reach of the cats and horses, and away from the garden should spilled seed go uneaten. I'm just now realizing the retrofitted thistle seed feeder is in a prime viewing location from my living room sofa thanks in great part to the new flurry of activity. I've seen as many as a dozen goldfinches around the feeder as they battle for one of four feeding ports. They aren't as territorial as the hummers, as the finches will somewhat patiently wait their turn in the branches surrounding the feeder compared to the ruby-throats that don't want to see another bright green "friend" while they enjoy their nectar. However the finches are chow-hounds - I've watched the seed level drop an inch in the past hour of their morning feeding frenzy.
The mixed seed is still out there, but I moved it to the other side of the house. Now I can watch that one from my bedroom window as I get ready for work. And so far the horses have not payed much attention to the pinata-of-seed that is the new mixed seed feeder.
As for the chickens? I think one of the side benefits of all these bird feeders is that they are opportunistically waiting under the songbird feeders for any sloppy eaters. And I'm hoping this means they'll leave my daffodils and pansies alone. (knock on wood)
The latest change was switching out one of my winter mixed-seed feeders for thistle (niger) seed. Growing up in the Great Lakes region, goldfinches were a ubiquitous part of the summer flora and fauna. Down here in the Deep South I'm in their winter range, and when a co-worker mentioned how many were spotted around her feeders I took the plunge to try attracting them too. They don't have quite the markings I remember because they are in their winter plumage; they are more of an olivey yellow-green to faded yellow but the personality is all there.
I never thought much about feeder placement other than keeping them out of reach of the cats and horses, and away from the garden should spilled seed go uneaten. I'm just now realizing the retrofitted thistle seed feeder is in a prime viewing location from my living room sofa thanks in great part to the new flurry of activity. I've seen as many as a dozen goldfinches around the feeder as they battle for one of four feeding ports. They aren't as territorial as the hummers, as the finches will somewhat patiently wait their turn in the branches surrounding the feeder compared to the ruby-throats that don't want to see another bright green "friend" while they enjoy their nectar. However the finches are chow-hounds - I've watched the seed level drop an inch in the past hour of their morning feeding frenzy.
The mixed seed is still out there, but I moved it to the other side of the house. Now I can watch that one from my bedroom window as I get ready for work. And so far the horses have not payed much attention to the pinata-of-seed that is the new mixed seed feeder.
As for the chickens? I think one of the side benefits of all these bird feeders is that they are opportunistically waiting under the songbird feeders for any sloppy eaters. And I'm hoping this means they'll leave my daffodils and pansies alone. (knock on wood)
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Roosting and other crap
You would think that chickens would be consistent in their roosting behavior, but guess again.
When the juvenile roosters first arrived, I had them contained in a modified horse stall. Netting covered any open spaces to keep predators out and the chickens in. The "chicken stall" includes two 10 foot-plus pipes at window height to serve as perches. For the first couple months, everyone would cozy up on the perches.
One by one flock dynamics would force birds out, at which point the outcasts started roosting in the rafters and on the stall dividers. Not too bad if it's one or two birds, but now that over half of the flock have gone for the penthouse sleeping arrangements their nightly bathroom habits have spilled over into the adjoining stalls, stained the tops of the stall dividers, and fallen into the aisle way. One poor bird has been ostracized to the point where it roosts separately from the others - over the doorway to my tack room. Which means there is now a growing deposit of crap right where I walk to retrieve my morning Pepsi from the refrigerator next to my saddles. Try dodging that in dress heels some time.
There is some entertainment and wonderment value in all of this. Lately the 3-4 birds that roost on the stall dividers have been having their own tiffs, so one poor sucker who wants to maintain proximity to the others finds himself balancing on a section of 2x8 framing on the barn wall. Of course, it's a wall, so he doesn't have the room to properly balance. Instead he spends the night with one leg outstretched and the other flexed, like a sleeping flamingo with a foot rest. How he maintains that balance all night long I have no idea. Another poor fool will occasionally find himself wedged in the eave opening in an effort to find a sleeping spot - "hunkered down", but 12 feet in the air, balancing on the sheet metal skin of the building.
However, I must say the most curious of avian sleeping arrangements happened this past week, where one bird was in the stall, three were on the stall divider, one was on the wall, and the last bird was sitting on the netting covering the top of the stall. This last fellow looked like he was levitating the way the netting blended into the shadows cast by the barn lights.
These chickens are an endless source of comic relief if not anything else.
When the juvenile roosters first arrived, I had them contained in a modified horse stall. Netting covered any open spaces to keep predators out and the chickens in. The "chicken stall" includes two 10 foot-plus pipes at window height to serve as perches. For the first couple months, everyone would cozy up on the perches.
One by one flock dynamics would force birds out, at which point the outcasts started roosting in the rafters and on the stall dividers. Not too bad if it's one or two birds, but now that over half of the flock have gone for the penthouse sleeping arrangements their nightly bathroom habits have spilled over into the adjoining stalls, stained the tops of the stall dividers, and fallen into the aisle way. One poor bird has been ostracized to the point where it roosts separately from the others - over the doorway to my tack room. Which means there is now a growing deposit of crap right where I walk to retrieve my morning Pepsi from the refrigerator next to my saddles. Try dodging that in dress heels some time.
There is some entertainment and wonderment value in all of this. Lately the 3-4 birds that roost on the stall dividers have been having their own tiffs, so one poor sucker who wants to maintain proximity to the others finds himself balancing on a section of 2x8 framing on the barn wall. Of course, it's a wall, so he doesn't have the room to properly balance. Instead he spends the night with one leg outstretched and the other flexed, like a sleeping flamingo with a foot rest. How he maintains that balance all night long I have no idea. Another poor fool will occasionally find himself wedged in the eave opening in an effort to find a sleeping spot - "hunkered down", but 12 feet in the air, balancing on the sheet metal skin of the building.
However, I must say the most curious of avian sleeping arrangements happened this past week, where one bird was in the stall, three were on the stall divider, one was on the wall, and the last bird was sitting on the netting covering the top of the stall. This last fellow looked like he was levitating the way the netting blended into the shadows cast by the barn lights.
These chickens are an endless source of comic relief if not anything else.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Happiness is a frolicking horse
And so the New Year has come, I'm back to my job and a new cycle of work. But I'm also back to my horses.
The mare has healed from her wounds, and other than a criss-cross of hairless lines on her legs one wouldn't know of the trauma she's been through. Luckily she's not showing signs of lameness as she gallops through the pasture, but I'm not sure if she's the lucky one or me; we'll decide that when I start legging her up again to get back in training.
The old man on the other hand is presenting his own set of challenges these days. I'm afraid his age and chronic illness are catching up to him. He dropped weight over the holidays and hasn't put it back on yet though he's back to a more regular feeding schedule. Blood work by the vet came back clean, so I take whatever comfort I can from that.
When I retired the old boy two years ago from a university teaching herd I knew his days were limited. My objective was to give him a comfortable home after his years of service in their lesson and training program. Between the arthritis in his knees and the melanoma tumors (a condition that roughly 95% of grey horses in this part of the world will experience) I gave the old boy 2-3 more years; it's now been about two and a half.
Now I play the watch-and-wait game. I'm tinkering with his feed to try to put the weight back on, trying to pack in as many calories as I can while he's in the barn. When I turn him out on the winter pasture for a few hours every day, I watch to see how he responds to the opportunity. The other horses react like kids who realized the candy store door was left wide open and unattended. Lately he still shows the interest, but the enthusiasm is not there.
I'd feel better if he would let loose with a good run and buck like he did a month ago. For now I'll interpret his nickers, pricked ears, and brief spells of floating trot as the sign that all is as well as it can be.
The mare has healed from her wounds, and other than a criss-cross of hairless lines on her legs one wouldn't know of the trauma she's been through. Luckily she's not showing signs of lameness as she gallops through the pasture, but I'm not sure if she's the lucky one or me; we'll decide that when I start legging her up again to get back in training.
The old man on the other hand is presenting his own set of challenges these days. I'm afraid his age and chronic illness are catching up to him. He dropped weight over the holidays and hasn't put it back on yet though he's back to a more regular feeding schedule. Blood work by the vet came back clean, so I take whatever comfort I can from that.
When I retired the old boy two years ago from a university teaching herd I knew his days were limited. My objective was to give him a comfortable home after his years of service in their lesson and training program. Between the arthritis in his knees and the melanoma tumors (a condition that roughly 95% of grey horses in this part of the world will experience) I gave the old boy 2-3 more years; it's now been about two and a half.
Now I play the watch-and-wait game. I'm tinkering with his feed to try to put the weight back on, trying to pack in as many calories as I can while he's in the barn. When I turn him out on the winter pasture for a few hours every day, I watch to see how he responds to the opportunity. The other horses react like kids who realized the candy store door was left wide open and unattended. Lately he still shows the interest, but the enthusiasm is not there.
I'd feel better if he would let loose with a good run and buck like he did a month ago. For now I'll interpret his nickers, pricked ears, and brief spells of floating trot as the sign that all is as well as it can be.
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