Cat Naps

I've been finding the cats in the most unusual of places, but then again, can they be considered unusual if it's where I consistently find the cats?

Mo likes to sleep in the garden under the pepper plants.

And in the hay barn, on top of the stack.

And also on the hood of my truck.

His sister, Curley, on the other hand goes for almost any sunny spot around.

Or the dog's bed when she sneaks into the house.

Is it Friday yet?

And sadly, I'm posting this on a Sunday night.

Lots of asphalt time for work the last three days. On the road 12 hours Friday and close to 9 hours each yesterday and today. And each of those days began at 5 or 5:30 a.m.

It's all I've been able to do, coming home, moving the horses to a new grazing paddock, then heading to the sofa for a nap.

The cats are mad at me because I've been feeding them when I get home the last few days rather than first thing in the morning. There was a method to my madness - I've been avoiding turning on the barn lights so I don't have the horses hanging their heads over the gate begging for their breakfast when I don't have the time to mess with it.

The garden was looking rather peaked tonight, so I dug out the sprinkler again and let it run for a few hours. No significant rain in the forecast any time soon.

I should really mow the yard at some point. Maybe tomorrow, but then I've been saying that for the last three days. 

No pictures, please!

I usually try to post a picture or two when I blog, but not with today's post and I think you will agree with me.

The cats have been good at hunting lately. They are not as good at eating/burying/ hiding their kill.

I came home last night to a dead chipmunk in the garden behind the house. Based on the lack of blood, I'm guessing it was Bandit who got this one. He cat-and-mouses the poor things to death. Curley on the other hand goes immediately for the jugular.

Another tell-tale sign is that this poor victim was still relatively unscathed. I don't think Bandit ever learned to appreciate the epicurean delight that is small woodland creatures. Curley usually digs right in, leaving only the tail for evidence.

Don't get me wrong, the cats are well-fed. In fact, I need to go buy another 20 lb. bag of cat chow later today. I also have not seen any mice around here. There have been some brightly colored feathers found around the property, so yes they do go after song birds from time to time. I think of it more as genetic selection - if the birds are stupid enough to be caught, do I really want them procreating? Usually what I find are some fledgling remnants - again, Bandit's calling card as Curley enjoys her poultry fresh and rare.

I'm just hoping we are well past baby bunny season.

Wish I Had Some Chickens

No, wait, no I don't.

Though they would have been very handy the last week.

So yes, the thought did cross my mind.

Why? These guys showed up:

(BTW, here's the source publication on the topic)
So while I was on the road, eating well at the expense of the employer and host organizations, these guys were eating well at the expense of my pasture.

I came home and wondered how the horses managed to eat off so much of their pasture. Then I wondered why/how they grazed off the other pasture. And when I walked through the pasture on Sunday morning I realized even the toilet areas were eaten off. Horses may discriminate, but fall armyworms do not.

So I have declared war on the armyworms!

(Get it? War - ARMYworms? Get it? HA!)

Except they have already retreated, or advanced, to another battle field.

I would have taken pictures but we got an inch of rain over the weekend so the grass has already started to re-sprout.

Maybe I should get back into the chicken business. They eat worms, right?

But then again, when they don't have bugs to eat, they go after my garden instead.

Tough choices.

The Things I Do For My Cats

Curley is thrilled to be going to the vet

We survived the annual trip to the vet. And unlike last year, I got all three cats caught and crated in short order.

I call these guys the most spoiled barn cats in the county. Seriously, how often do people catch and take their barn cats in for annual exams and shots?

The good news:

• No humans were harmed in the day's events.
• Curley made it almost half-way to the vet's office before her stress-induced diarrhea appeared. Usually that happens in the first five minutes of the trip, but this time I only had to smell it for 20 minutes!
• We skipped the fecal floats and just assumed they have worms because they are outdoor cats. The cats probably don't realize what bullet they dodged by skipping that part of the exam.

The bad news:

• We assumed they have worms because they are outdoor cats. I was sent home with three doses of a new topical deworming product. 
• Two days later the cats hated me again.
• Curley made it half-way home before presenting me with another gastrointestinal gift. (Normally the return trip is incident free.)

Just doing my part helping to keep the local vet clinics operating in the black. And maintaining the most spoiled barn cats in the county.

How to fix a tractor...

... when your mechanic is 930 miles away. Ten easy steps!

The tractor has been giving me some grief the last couple months. Difficult to start, acting like it's running out of gas after about 15 minutes. I'd only get a fraction of the work done I needed to because I wanted to get it back to the barn before it died.

Step 1. Call Dad. It was his tractor to begin with, though it was a resale project for him. And he's been working on old Farmalls for most of his life. I describe the problem, he asks questions, we start narrowing the possibilities. Need to examine at the distributor, but I can never get my "consultant" on the phone at a time that I am home with the tractor in front of me.

Nope, not the distributor.

Step 2. Half dozen phone calls later we rule out problems with the distributor. No one has touched the choke.Topped off radiator with distilled water.

Step 3. Debate gas quality. About a week later (today), drain gas tank. Contemplate removing the fuel trap because of the sediment swirling around but get talked out of it because there is not a dealer within two hours should I need to replace the gasket. Check oil level.

2.5 gallons of questionable gas.With some residual paint from the fence project.

Step 4. Run to town and get two gallons of premium gas. Cry at the price.

Step 5. Fill up the tractor. Start tractor. Let it idle while I pick up some trash in the ditch. Make three passes mowing along the road before the tractor starts trying to die again. Get it out on the level and it recovers. Did the angle dislodge more crud?

Step 6. Hook up drag and work on harrowing the manure that I've spread around the west pasture. Tractor starts dying. Put it out of gear, grab the cell to call Dad, but the tractor recovers as the phone goes to voice mail. Disconnect drag (overworked?) and start mowing. Tractor makes two rounds before dying under the shade trees. Sounds like it ran out of gas, but there is still plenty in the tank. Call Dad.

Step 7. Try starting again. Maybe it's a bad coil. Let it sit a few hours before trying again. Need to use the choke to not only start but keep it going for the 50 yard distance back to the shed. Tractor dies when I close the choke but at least it is back in the shed. Call Dad.

Choke on the left, "on button" in the middle, starter on the right

Step 8. With the phone on speaker Dad talks me through shutting off the fuel line, disconnect it (second time today), and remove the L-shaped fitting from the carburetor. Cleaned out the filter with the air compressor though it takes several rounds of swishing the filter in the old gas (from earlier - and about the only thing it's still good for) and blowing it out with the air compressor. Impressive how much crap was in there.

Very tricky to get all of those brass fittings separated and then put back together.

Step 9. Call Dad back. Put everything back together very carefully, because apparently it can be easy to strip the threads on brass fittings. Open up the fuel line again, check for leaks. Everything is dry.

No leaks at this end! (but still a bunch of crap in the trap)

Step 10. Try starting. Try with the choke open. Check if the carburetor is getting gas. Close the choke. Throw the throttle 3/4 open and try one more time. Tractor starts with great gusto, smoke pours out of the muffler, soon it's purring like you would expect of a 1952 farm tractor. Back it off to 1/4 throttle so I can hear Dad on the phone, who says I may have to do this every few months. Let it run a few more minutes while I go find soap and water to wash the gas off my hands.

And now it's dark, so I'm going to have wait until morning to take it out for a spin and confirm that the last three weeks of grief were all due to a small 1-inch long in-line filter.

I still smell like gas. I'm heading to the shower.

The New Normal

Did I mention I got a second horse? I guess technically it's a third horse because the boarder has been here so long I consider her to be one of mine, but regardless there are now three horses in the pasture.

Except for this weekend, when there were three horses in my back yard.

Rain has been lacking as of late, so I opened the pasture gates and let the horses graze in the back yard while I was digging in the garden. The grass is always greener over the septic field, right?

The new horse has forced a change with the morning routine. Before if I had horses to feed in the morning I would bring them in, dump the feed, and head back into the house for breakfast/shower/etc. But the new horse is a cribber, meaning as soon as he is done eating he bites down on the top of the stall door and gulps air. He's done it for well over 15 years so I'm not about to try and stop him but he is starting to mangle the metal trim on the stall door (trim which is in place so horses don't chew down the wooden stall doors to begin with).

So the new morning routine goes something like this: let the dog out, feed the barn cats, dump feed in two of the three stalls, bring in the two horses getting feed, spend the next ten minutes watering the garden or filling bird feeders, and kick the horses back out as soon as I hear the cribber start his characteristic "grunt" as he appeases his addiction. I've set up several spots in the pasture where he can do his routine with minimal damage to the fence and barn.

The accommodations I make for my animals...

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Though I did not got to market to buy a fat pig, I am glad to be done with travel for a while. The last one was work related, which meant there was not much time to unwind in between the long drives to and fro. But here are a few observations:

1) Finally! A hotel that uses those little "help us save the planet" signs about laundry and water conservation - and actually looks like it!  Every morning I rehung my bath towel on the rack over the toilet, and it was exactly that way when I returned each night!

2) I miss Starbucks' white chocolate mocha coffee. But I don't miss the price. I'm sure my waistline doesn't miss the calories either.

3) Let them eat cake! Probably one of the better dessert spreads I've seen in a buffet line service in a long time.

4) I had to take my belt off half way home just to be able to drive comfortably. See above comments.

5) Grass grows despite no rain.


And with that, I'm heading out to the gardening shed.

Vacation Season

Just wrapped up my second vacation for the summer, this time to visit family in the Midwest.

How do I manage to take so many vacations? Part of it is the odd scheduling nature of my full-time job. I'm technically off the clock right now, so I'm trying to cram in as much personal leave as possible because when things start up again next week I won't have much time off until Christmas.

The last trip was more of a sit-around-and-check-things-off-the-list-as-they-happen. Not this time. There were agendas, schedules, and a good dose of controlled chaos.  As "Oshkosh" said to me, we got a lot packed into a short amount of time.

Left on Monday, arrived on Tuesday. Ran to the state capital on Wednesday for several receptions and a late night at a convention. Thursday morning it was my nephew's 4K promotion ceremony, followed by lunch at Oshkosh's favorite restaurant in the suburbs of the Metropolis, then aborted plans to get together with a friend (better luck next try). Friday afternoon's plans got derailed when I got called to fill in on the farm. Saturday was the annual county breakfast on the farm event for June Dairy Month, followed by my cousin's wedding (farming themed, of course). Saturday night my nieces and nephew spent the night at my parents' house so my brother and his wife could have an evening to themselves. Which meant Sunday morning involved rounding up three kids under the age of 6 for breakfast, church, and play time at the park. Once they left after lunch it was nap time then run a few last errands before departing Monday morning.

Whew

And then there was the drive back. Normally it's 15 hours total. This time it was closer to 17 hours on the road thanks to all of the road construction. I don't think I've seen this many individual construction projects on the interstate.

Orange barrels do not make for pleasant book ends on a vacation.

Diapers & Duck Tape

That was my shopping list at the grocery store yesterday. I must have spent a good 5 minutes trying to figure out what diapers to get. The duck tape was the easy part.

Why diapers and duck tape? Do I have an unruly toddler? A mischievous tailless monkey? Nope, I have a horse with a sore foot.

There are lots of ways to treat a horse with a foot abscess, but the basic formula is to apply a drawing agent and then pack the foot with padding and a tough outer exterior. That's where the diaper and duck tape come into play.

Previously I had just used folded up paper towels for the padding to help protect the sore spot and hold the drawing agent in the right place. But last year my farrier had me try a new method and concoction. I must admit, it was odd to see such a tough, burly guy hand me a stack of itty-bitty disposable diapers with Baby Mickey Mouse and Baby Minnie Mouse on the front. The good thing about using diapers is that the fold is in the perfect location for the toe of the horse's hoof and the tabs are handy for securing the diaper to the foot. The absorbent interior provides padding and also helps to draw the moisture (and hopefully the infection) away from the hoof.

The hard part (for me) was figuring out what size diaper to buy. I don't know the first thing about diapers other than they are sized according to the weight of the baby. And since I try to avoid babies as much as possible, I don't have a concept of how big the bum is on a 10 lb. baby compared to an 18 lb. baby, and how that relates to the size of a horse's foot. The good news is I guessed small, grabbed a package of size 1, and wound up with the right size. But since it was a package of 48 diapers, I probably now have a lifetime supply of horse hoof bandaging material.

So the trick is to pack the infected part of the foot with the drawing agent, wrap the hoof in a layer of stretchy bandage material, apply the diaper, secure with another layer of bandage material, and finally encase the whole thing in duck tape so it has a chance to hold up to the wear and tear of pasture turnout. 

It looks goofy, this silver and white blob on the end of the horse's leg. The good news is I can get this contraption to stay on for at least 12 hours whereas I was doing good if I could get 12 hours out of the old wrapping method.

Hoof abscesses. Prime opportunity to practice the art of wrapping horse feet. And a reason for raised eyebrows in the checkout lane at the grocery store.

It was THIS big!

I took a vacation.

An actual vacation.

Like get a critter sitter, get on a plane, and find myself several states away from home.

Strangely, though, I felt more at home than I do sometimes in my real home.

My big thrill this time around was going fishing. I've been wanting to go fishing for the last few trips to visit my friend "Portland" but it usually doesn't work out that way. Last time we managed to squeeze in a few hours of fishing on my last night in town - literally night, as in we didn't get started until almost 10:30 p.m. because of crazy work schedules. And I didn't have anything to show for it. My pitiful catch was a few puny bottom-feeders that necessitated the use of a needle-nose pliers to extract the hook so that you wouldn't get stung by their built-in defense mechanisms in their spiny fins.

This time was different. First of all, it was daylight hours. Secondly, it involved an actual boat. And thirdly, I have photographic proof of my more impressive catches. Portland unfortunately had to work, so her boyfriend "Jibstay" took me out as he had the day off. (BTW, I'm sensing a trend here. It's not the first time that Portland's significant other has taken me out because Portland had to work and her SO wanted to get out of the house. But that's a story for another day. At least she trusts me alone with her men.)

The day started slow, none of Jibstay's usual spots had much to offer. I even caught one of those lousy bottom feeders again.

And then, just when we were contemplating pulling up anchor and trying somewhere else, this redfish made the mistake of going after poor little bait perch on my line.

Thank goodness for cell phone cameras, because this fella was under the legal limit and got to swim another day. And yes, I had to be taught how to hold a fish, because those measly little bluegills and sunfish I caught as a kid are not exactly something you show off to the rest of the world.

That alone would have been enough to make my day, but no! When Portland finally got off of work it was time for round 2.

Jibstay knew of a spot where schools of fish would regularly come through about dusk. I wasn't sure what to expect since there were a few other boats already in the spot and not having much luck. Furthermore, it was a relatively high-traffic canal with the requisite holiday weekend idiots buzzing through and ignoring the no-wake courtesies that civil boaters observe. Just as another boat turned to come through the canal I started to reel in my line so it wouldn't get tangled in the passing motor. And at that moment, this drum took the stinky dead shrimp bait.

He put up a fight, and it must have been a good show because the boat that passed by us actually ran aground because the driver (captain? boater? I have no idea on the terms) was distracted by what was happening on our boat.

After properly sliming my shirt, this one was declared a keeper destined for the dinner plate. He was joined in the ice chest by a slightly smaller friend about an hour later.

There were a few more, certainly not worthy of capturing for digital eternity. Including a lousy bottom feeder. Somethings don't change.



Post Script: Drum are tasty, especially when cut into little pieces, battered, and fried.

Post-post Script: The only thing that would have made the day better was seeing that pontoon boat run aground. I was too busy fighting the drum.

Going Deaf

I'm about 5 weeks away from celebrating 12 years with my dog. And given that she was a young adult at the time I picked her up from the shelter (she was in heat at the time, and her underline was developed as if she had nursed a litter of puppies at some point), I'm estimating her age at somewhere around 14 years.

Looking good (regardless of age)!

We've had the usual slow downs expected with age. She's not as inclined to have a sudden burst of energy and sprint after a squirrel in the yard. She prefers to spend more and more time curled up on her pillow/cot/sofa. I've had to start giving her some anti-inflammatory drugs when we visit someone with a lot of steps in the house.

The biggest change has been her hearing. I started noticing it about a year ago. I would try to call her out of the pasture and got no response. Now, it wouldn't be uncommon for her to ignore me a bit to spend more time out there. But I would go out to correct her and bring her back, and she would turn around and look surprised like she wasn't expecting me to be there.

Our morning routine lets her explore the yard and do her business while I'm getting ready in the house, then come back inside for her breakfast. Usually I would find her laying on the back porch, and just the sound of one piece of kibble hitting the metal food bowl would be enough to get her to jump up and prance at the back door. Now I'll dump the whole measure of food in the bowl and slam a couple of doors before she looks my direction to see if something is going on. Once the back door opens she darts in as usual.

I mentioned it to the vet at the annual check-up. She found some wax build-up on my dog's eardrums and sent me home with an ear cleaning solution. I was aware of some wax issues from when I would clean the exterior parts of the ears, and there was a little bit present at that time. I diligently used it for a week, and at first it made things worse. I was having no response to clapping or other verbal stimuli unless practically next to my dog. Within a few days of stopping treatment her hearing was back - best I can figure is that the fluid compounded the issue but once it dried out things were back to normal.

However, within a month or two her hearing started to fail again. I did the cleaning solution for a few days but there was no change. I have walked out the back door and made it half-way to the barn before the dog starts from her sunny spot on the side of the house to see if I will spill any cat food or horse feed (it tastes better than pricy dog food apparently). I have come home from work, walked in the house, disarmed the security system, and made it almost into the living room before she sheepishly slinks up to meet me. In both situations, she acts like she is ashamed for having missed meeting me.

The most tell-tale sign those is her lack of response to certain voice cues. It used to be that phrases like "outside," or "car ride" would send her into a tizzy of excitement while "bath" usually resulted in a dampening of emotion. "Up" or anything like it was an invitation to leap onto the sofa for cuddle time. Now, no matter how inviting the tone, she won't get up on the sofa without a clear visual gesture. This morning she finished her breakfast and wandered into the living room where I was on the sofa with my laptop. She dutifully stood there wagging her tail. Normally she wants to go right outside, but with the cold front that came through last night I wasn't sure if she wanted to do that or curl up with me. I ran through a list of voice cues while keeping my hands obscured and voice and facial expressions the same. There was no difference in her ear position or wagging frequency as I asked about outside, see horses, car ride, go to vet, or bath time. When I got up off the sofa I figured it out quick - she made a bee-line to the back door and promptly plopped down on her cot on the porch.

I guess we have our answer.

Acclimation Difficulties

I got a new horse this week, if you can consider something 20-years-old to be new. He had been a teaching horse at the local university for the last 9 or so years, and the time had come for him to get a new career. Between my soft spot for old teaching horses and an open space in my pasture, I took him in.

Unfortunately, the steady old boy I knew is not who is in my barn at the moment. I wouldn't call it separation anxiety since he is not calling out for his old friends, but he certainly is not settling in at his new home. The mares are indifferent to his presence, so he spends his time on pasture frantically trotting in circles. He's also too nervous to eat; good thing he was a bit of a chunk when I brought him here on Monday.

Through this process I have learned that Prozac can be given to horses. Technically it's the generic form, but still, Prozac!  So far it has translated to an hour of peaceful grazing before he wants back in the barn. And he is actually eating hay finally when he is in the stall.

The mares on the other hand are not too happy about being cooped up in the barn when there is plenty of green grass to graze. Luckily they are adapting, and I've been rotating their pony-sitting duties.

On the other hand, I am reminded what a pain it is to clean three stalls.

"Eats like a bird"

or "Eating me out of house and home." Either title would work for this post.

I have a total of 7 bird feeders up right now:

sunflower, 6 ports
wild bird mix, 10 ports
safflower, 4 ports
sunflower & wild bird mix globe-type, 4 ports
suet feeder
mealworm tray
hummingbird feeder

Hummingbird feeder aside, the other 6 are receiving non-stop traffic from the seed- and insect-eaters. I thought it was bad this winter when the finches would drain their tube of finch blend in under 24 hours and the finch feeder would go just as fast. My evening routine would be to bring up the horses for dinner, feed the cats, fill the feeders, turn the horses back out. Luckily I hung the feeders close enough to the barn that I could find them in the dark.

Now there is no rhyme or reason to the rate which the ungrateful leaches drain their feeders. Sometimes they sit barely pick-ed at for a day or two, and then the whole thing will be gone in 12 hours. I may refill the meal worm tray and watch the bluebirds immediately swoop in and begin making laps back and forth from the next box, or it may sit idle for two days. I could go days without seeing a woodpecker, but as soon as the suet cage is empty I see the yellow-bellied sapsuckers at the wild bird seed feeder on the other side of the house while the downy woodpeckers attempt to feed from the globe and the red-bellied woodpecker gives me the stink-eye. And I thought the tuffed titmouse was a drama queen when it's preferred feeder went empty!

I'm going through a 35-lb. bag of wild bird mix each month. I've gone through a full 10-count box of suet cakes since February. I lose count on the safflower and meal worm bags because they are much smaller than the others.

I'm going to need a second job to keep feeding these free-loaders.

Organic guilt

I have a visceral reaction whenever someone uses the term "organic" to sing the praises of a certain food item or ingredient. It probably goes back to when I first heard the term used in that context, and the speaker was making it to be that organic products were nutritionally superior to conventionally raised products, people who ate conventional products were destined to die an early death, and organic production would be the salvation of our environment (false on all accounts, by the way). Usually the speaker would be unable to (correctly) articulate what it meant to be organic yet they had no problem bashing other food options. As one of my co-workers used to say, I'll eat organic beef when you can show me an inorganic cow.

Warning soap box moment follows:

In reality "organic" simply one food option, one of many that are out there. Isn't it great that food is so affordable and available that we have those options?

(end soap box moment)

So, yeah, I have a visceral reaction whenever someone uses the term "organic". To the point where when I am shopping for certain ingredients for various cooking and baking projects I feel a certain sense of pride when I pull the non-organic product from the shelf. Part of me thinks it feels lonely and unloved compared to its organic buddy which is seeing plenty of attention (depends on the grocery store, of course), and part of me is simply cheap - let's face it, organic costs more to produce and that cost plus all of the other supply/demand and exclusivity pricing mumbo-jumbo from my college microeconomics class is what leads to the bigger dollar amount on the package.

In the last couple years I've gotten into home baked bread. I can count on one hand the number of store-bought loaves that have been in my house in the last year - usually a last minute garlic bread purchase but occasionally sliced sandwich bread. I really like the no-knead technique in the series of cookbooks by Jeff Hertzberg & Zoe Francois (http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/). Basically, you mix up a batch of dough, let it rise for two hours, and then throw it in the fridge and cut off the amount you need until you use it up in 10-14 days.

I've really gotten into their second book which focuses on whole-grain breads. And thanks to that, my kitchen counter now looks like this:

Yes, that is all flour or whole grains. Well, except for the containers of kosher salt and cornmeal. My sugars live on the other side of the kitchen, right next to the regular all-purpose flour and the stand mixer. Somewhere in the cabinet is my self-rising and cake flour, mostly because they don't see the light of day very often. (And yes, I use cute cookie cutters, rolling pins, and pizza peals for wall decorations. Another wall has grilling baskets and prongs. Small kitchens require creative storage.)

So here's a quick roll-call of this corner of the kitchen: regular whole wheat flour, white whole wheat flour, bread flour, rye flour, spelt flour, oat flour, buckwheat flour, wheat bran, oat bran, ground flaxseed, 10-grain hot cereal, wheat berries, oat groats, buckwheat groats, raw pumpkin seeds, raw sunflower seeds, and other various seeds for sprinkling on loaves.

Which brings me to my organic guilt issue. Many of these unique and unusual whole-grain products are only available at the local health-food store. Which means they are usually organic too. Every time I pull in to the parking lot I find myself glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone I know notices me there. I quickly dart through fresh produce and make a bee-line to the bulk foods section. If I can't find it there, I cross my fingers that it will be in the gluten-free baking section (which gets it's own aisle sign, but not the regular baking ingredients right next to it on the shelf). I stand in line at the checkout pondering the health benefits of organic chocolate truffles and potato chips in the impulse-buy displays (organic junk food is still junk food, right?). I cringe at the register total, curse myself for forgetting a reusable shopping bag, and briskly head to the parking lot.

I don't purposely buy organic, but it does help that the pro-organic folks really like these odd ingredients. Otherwise there would not be enough demand to justify processing and selling these items. So does this mean I should be thankful for the organic movement? Maybe. Just so long as they recognize that choice is a good thing.

Now, I believe there is another loaf of buckwheat bread about to come out of the oven... which will shortly make acquaintance with the regular store brand butter that was on sale last week.

Just trying (to be a) fungi!

May the puns begin!

I got wooed by seed catalogs this spring. In the midst of dreaming about parsnips, rainbow bell peppers, and fancy petunias, I stumbled upon mushroom growing kits.

"Grow the Monarch of Mushrooms from home!"

"Grow your own for the fraction of supermarket prices!"

"Grow gourmet mushrooms in your kitchen!"

"All you need is a cool, dark location!"

Yeah, I gave in.

$35 and two weeks later I know have my own little science project on the kitchen table. Well, today it's on the kitchen table. The top of the washer is better, but I have to do laundry every now and then.

I can already taste the stir-fry, pasta, and salads.

Just about average

January has been anything but average. In this part of the south, the January average low is 34 degrees. We hit single digits during the first major cold snap, two weeks later we dropped into the teens. Last week not only did the overnights drop into the teens, but a quarter inch of freezing rain followed by snow shut everything down for three days.

We are not prepared for that kind of weather down here. Upper 20's is one thing, but most homes here are not constructed (or, more specifically, insulated) for handling temps in the teens. For the first cold snap I was gone on a business trip and had one pipe freeze and crack, a minor annoyance for me. The plumber told me all of the home improvement stores were cleaned out of repair materials because of the amount of frozen and damaged plumbing in the area.

The temperatures were not as bad for the second and third rounds but the precipitation was another matter. Very few municipalities have the equipment and know-how to handle freezing rain and ice. In this area most schools and businesses were pro-active and announced cancellations and closings the day before it hit. The grocery store that night was completely packed. I had heard some of my coworkers talk about runs on bread, beer, and toilet paper in the past, this time I witnessed it. For me it was a regular trip to the store, though I did stock up on baking supplies since I figured I would have time to try out some new recipes. The parental-types had carts overflowing as if they were buying twice the normal amount. The sorority-types had produce and cases of bottled water in their carts while the fraternity-types stocked up on beer and toilet paper.

The freezing rain started a few hours earlier than originally forecast. By mid-day we were under civil emergency as the counties started closing down roads and ordering people off the highways. A few hours of snow in the afternoon added a couple inches of fluff, some areas getting more than others.

Through all of this the garden has (mostly) survived. The garden quilts I bought last fall did a good job of insulating the plants, keeping most things alive through the cold weather. Not bad for a product that is labeled for use down to 24 degrees. The snap peas didn't make it and the broccoli took a hit.

Forecast for the next week? Highs fluctuating between 45 and 65 during the day, and lows in the mid to upper 30's at night. Just about average for this time of year.

oops

If you think this blog is neglected, I haven't sent my Christmas cards yet.