Posts Tagged ‘fire’

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JANUARY 25

Monday, January 13th, 2025

Before I start on the farm, a word about the Altadena fire and the Viehl family living there: still all safe on this Monday morning. The house not burned, but the property under blockade re the fire, so no access. No electricity, no natural gas, timing for return uncertain. Peter and Co. living in the little Palm Desert cottage co-owned with Allison’s mom, but without a change of clothes, shoes, and etc. Fortunately they do have two cars, so they can shop for food and daily necessities like food and new underwear (not in that order, of course.) To repeat: all profoundly grateful that their home was spared.

Now, back at The Wood: yes, time for a farmer’s seasonal chores. Like cleaning out the barn, tending the garden, cleaning the fireplace. It seemed a good idea to make a new access point in the fence to allow the ATV to enter without crossing the lawn. We have a relationship with Mitch (you’ve met him earlier) in which we call him for jobs outside Larry’s mandate, and he calls us when he needs some extra income outside his regular job. Works both directions, and he was on hand to manage the break in the fence.

The point was to haul the downed wood stacked about the pastures to storage in the barn. This would facilitate mowing next year, as well as prevent the blackberries from building thickets on top of the stacks. These stacks are now safely in the barn, filling 6 bays of split firewood. You want any? Let us know. We’ll even add a dozen eggs when you come to get it. Ha.

But work goes on inside the farmhouse as well. Did I tell you about the TV in the living room? That we had a cabinet built, a TV screen installed, the furniture rearranged? The device to enable satellite coverage was attached, trials executed, all seemed to be well. Then. Larry wanted to watch a football game, as per the plan. Used the remote to open the cabinet, and that’s when I arrived on the scene to hear him exclaiming “No! Stop! Stop!” The TV screen slowly emerged from the cabinet, and stalled, bent, cracked, broke. Well, for now, at any setback, we say aloud: at least our house didn’t burn down. Perspective gained, right?

Later today: mission accomplished. New TV, purchased yesterday. Phone call to Dish, and this techie arrived to install. Bravo!

Next subject: phones. For my birthday, Larry offered to purchase a new phone for me. Nice! My old one is an 11 Pro, which is actually fine, though a a bit short on storage. Missing some tricks, chipped, very old century. So, missing any Apple store in Corvallis, we went off to the Verizon shop. While there, Larry thought he’d update as well. Both got 16 Pros, not top of the line, but good enough. Then the fun began.

The tech guy there would move the info from old phone to new phone. Except he couldn’t. Missing some passcodes. After an hour in the shop we left, Larry having turned in his old phone, apparently all good. Me? Yeah, no. Took both old and new phones home, phoned Apple Care. Spent an hour and a half with some very patient soul in Someplace, Texas, and this morning I’m no further along. Seems that according to some security protocols, I won’t be able to send or receive email on the new phone until January 18. WTF? What is so secure about January 18?

And. The old charging cords won’t fit the new phones. My earbuds won’t fit the new phone. (Yes, I know you can get the kind that just stick in your ear and bluetooth or someone does the rest. These devices do not stay put in my ears. Apparently my ear canals are sub-standard and too narrow to accommodate bluetooth.) So, I’ll have to buy new buds with cords attached. Why do they change the sizes of the charging cords? They’re more efficient? They’re better looking? No, sorry. The point is, they can sell all new merch. Right?

But our house didn’t burn down.

What’s new (again) is the commitment to addressing the oak copse on the slope just east of the house. This will require lots of input from agencies, so that’s the first step. See what Fish and Wildlife and Benton County and Nature Conservancy can offer by way of expert evaluation. We’ve had crews here just this fall, and the main observation is that the parcel is too small to be worth agency financial cooperation. Well, fine. But we need someone to tell us exactly what can be done. We’ll hire someone (no, not Mitch) to execute when we can get a plan in place.

Ryan Cheeke, ranch guy, plans to plant clover in the western-most pasture, which should continue the improvement of the soils — and, sidebar, will look beautiful for the season.

The creek-bed areas need rehabilitation. Benton County planted an assortment of trees and shrubs with the intention of aiding riparian creatures–frogs, salamanders, maybe fish? However, many of the trees failed, and the bushes, particularly the spirea (unfortunately), grasses, and blackberries have thrived. They are, of course fenced off, making access by machine difficult. Jerod Jebousek, Fish and Wildlife guy, says that the natural landscape is not always beautiful. There you go.

The days are getting longer now, and the bulbs have broken ground. The chickens are fine, thanks for asking, and we’re just watching spring arrive.

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WINTER?

Wednesday, December 11th, 2024

No, it’s not legally yet the solstice, but living under an inversion for the past 10 days or so as we have been, I think it’s fair to say winter is definitely here. An “inversion” means that you can’t see across the valley, can’t see can’t see out your bedroom window when you go to bed, or when you wake up. It is kind of cozy, although Larry would choose a different adjective. Like dismal. But he’ll get over it.

This is the road on my walk yesterday morning. Plus, it’s 31 degrees. So, yeah, winter.

What chores need doing before we settle in? One would be to find a local welder who could fix the poker for the fireplace, whose handle has become detached. Larry tried to fix it with gorilla glue . . . nope. Of course we’re asked not to have a fire during the inversion, so we have time to find a welder. This brings up a topic of conversation we’re having these days. How much of this kind of thing to we really need to do ourselves? Can we hire someone or do we need to purchase necessary tools?

Like what about wood splitting? Days past, we’d rent a splitter, haul it onto the property and get it done. Our more enlightened (and at least a decade younger) neighbor, Ted-the-Engineer, wanted to partner with Larry in the purchase of such a machine and they went off to Eugene on a mission. They did buy a shiny, new splitter, and will store it in our barn. Larry says he’s afraid to use it. Probably need a passcode. Probably need an online users guide. Probably runs on IA. He’ll just rent one when the day comes.

Okay, what about pruning the orchard? It’s time. Larry did it two years ago, but the trees have put up yards of new growth since then. Need a stepladder to do the job this year. Probably an extension ladder. Probably need to rope up. To what? And how can you hang onto the ladder when you need both hands to grab a branch and run the loppers simultaneously? Nope. Better call someone from Home Grown Gardens. Ben is scheduled to do the job January 17th.

With the loss of Gracie, we’ve determined that we can’t really let the chickens have the run of the orchard. They can stay in the run, which is secure with wire topping to prevent predation from hawks or owls. But the run is a muddy mess.

Let’s just put down some sod to keep them clean and healthy. We can buy some lengths of sod from Home Depot, haul it home in the truck. Is it hard to lay sod? Dunno. Let’s check with Bill, the landscape guy.

Hell no, you can’t do it yourselves! He has a job over the way and can order a few lengths of sod for us. His guys can run over and put it down when they finish his job. I’ll send you follow up photos next time. It’s quite nice and the chickens do seem to enjoy it, if you can tell when a chicken is enjoying something.

I mentioned a fire. With the ice storm of last winter and the trees thereby downed, we have to do something about the piles of wood. We thought of chipping it, but we’re talking tons of the stuff. Are you able to refer to older posts? If so, check out the photos of huge trunks being loaded onto a lumber truck. We’re advised that we’ll have to burn, but “burn season” is a specific date, and permits are required. Hey, why don’t we just hire Allen to do this job? He’s volunteered, can use the money, knows what he’s doing?

So last week, on an afternoon when the fog had lifted, the winds from the correct direction, the rains wetting down the surrounding landscape, he got to work. Here’s just one small example:

A job better done by a pro. Right?

And where does this leave us? Are we too old to be farmers or have we just gotten enough smarter and can go on as we are? Hiring everything done? You’ll have to check with Larry. Wouldn’t he just be happier golfing every afternoon?

Changing the subject, Thanksgiving in Corvallis was lovely. Not at the farm, but a VRBO down the road Allison had secured. Eleven of us there, missing Alli, roasting the turkey in Grandma Mrytle’s old electric roaster. It was a little touch and go, but when the pop-overs, which didn’t pop up anyway, were set aside and the bird went into a 21st century oven, she browned up nicely. Larry and I were the beneficiaries of the left-overs and have been dining on them ever since.

Side bar: do you know what Canadian bacon is? Probably heard of it, wasn’t there a movie? Okay, so I’d purchased some to make eggs Benedict, which didn’t happen, and here we are with some chunks of seemingly unusable pork product. Along with the leftover turkey meat and some rice we’d used earlier on a potsticker Wednesday night meal. Got out my retro meat grinder, enlisted the left-hander in the room, and ground the stuff up into a very unpromising supply of . . . yeah. What am I going to do with it? Freeze it, of course, but first, sauteed a bit, added the turkey chunks, left-over broth, the rice, some left-over onion and with the addition of some left-over cream, I think we’re good for dinner.

I’ve been working with a professional web-desisgner to create a site which will use my existing domain to showcase my book. The idea is that when you click on my name, as usual, you’ll be directed either to the blog or to the site with the book. So don’t worry — I’ve already done all the worrying that will be necessary — and I expect that the duo site, when operative, will be great. A little advice: if you ever want to write a book, go for it. It’s fun. But if you want to publish it? Mmm. Maybe not. Be prepared!

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TOMATO SEASON

Monday, August 19th, 2024

Again with a post? Already? I know, but I wanted to get these photos registered. Alan, one of the landscape guys (the cute one) has started his own business, Stone, Soil and Wood, and has contracted with us to clear the huge mess left by the ice storm.

I’d like to get these side by side, but my program won’t let me, so:

Big job, and this is just the west side along the fence. On Friday he started down below in the riparian area, where there even more downed trees. He’s making huge slash piles, which he will burn when the weather and the county permit. Taking the wood suitable for his mill, stacking the wood to be cut into fireplace size and sold. Wow.

So back to the tomatoes. Larry’s garden is just now providing an enormous crop. Of course I want to get them canned and/or frozen. This means strapping myself into the kitchen with a long rope that does allow me access to the garage pantry and bathroom breaks. But whew. First batch, I put up by the “open kettle” method and scored 7 pints, cooked and slightly muddled with a stick blender. They all sealed. Went out to the garage and looked at the jars of frozen tomatoes already there from years past. OMG. We will have to eat tomatoes every night for the forseeable. But one does not complain of having too much food. Right?

We were talking to son David on the phone this afternoon, and Larry had the floor. He talked about the cat he’d seen in the orchard this afternoon. Which, on seeing Larry, ran, leaped to the top of the 12 foot fence post and disappeared.

“Cougar?” David asked. No, Larry said. “Long tail, but just a feral house cat. Gray.”

Parenthetical aside: “Grey” is meaningless when reported by a color-blind person. I’m sitting in my chair thinking that was no feral house cat. It probably wasn’t even grey, and what house cat can leap 12 feet in one bound? But I’m not a female cat person, so what do I know. “Probably a cougar,” I said. But Larry’s sticking to his story.

I was talking with my sisters this afternoon, as usual on Sundays, and we wandered into a conversation about religious faith. How had Mary chosen to become a Quaker, and why do we — some of us — insist that this is a “Christian” country. Mary is the smart sister and her knowledge of Christian history is vast (Martha and I just listen). But I remarked that we had not experienced a particularly religious upbringing, did not, for example, say grace before meals.

“Yes we did,” Mary claimed. “Of course we did.”

“No we didn’t,” Martha said, in a kind of snorting way.

So I know memory is fungible (does that word work here?) But’s so odd. Three of us, living together all those years, and we don’t agree on this simple thing.

So now it’s completely dark, one of the cows is calling her calf, the wind is still, and let’s all go to bed.

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PICKLE SEASON

Thursday, August 15th, 2024

Started last Sunday when Vik and Gordon arrived at the farm with 10 pounds of pickling cukes from Sauvie Island, our historic supplier. The cucumbers have to soak in salt water overnight, so we left them in the sink and went off for dinner.

Vik and I have been making pickles for decades, I think. Maybe not, but a long time. We got to work Monday morning, and put up 24 jars of dills, and were rewarded with the pops of sealing lids on all but two. The pickles have to cure for some weeks, so they’ll be stashed for a while, and thus I can’t now report on the quality of year’s crop.

Would have taken a photo, but Allison (d-in-law for those of you don’t know her) arrived Monday afternoon. Allison is the most organized member of the extended family, and on seeing the jars on the kitchen counter, began to plan their correct placement in the garage pantry. I would never complain, she’s amazing, but I didn’t think in time about a photo for the record.

Amy and Charlie arrived the next day, and we got to check in on the grandkids. These two are both living and working in New York, both love it, although Charlie is newly arrived there. He hasn’t as yet found work in his chosen field — musical production — so may have to set up on street corners with his violin. The gig economy?

They all left for Black Butte, meeting up with Peter and Andrew, who had driven up from Altadena. After music lessons on Friday, Larry and I joined them for the weekend. Love it! Family!

Back on the farm, though, it’s still Pickle Season. Now Bread and Butters. And I took photos:

Larry and I had taken a trip to the Peoria Road Farm Store and bought another batch of cukes. Funny, you buy them by the each at this store, so we got exactly 17 for the batch. You have to process these guys in a boiling water canner, so a bit more work. But they all sealed, and we’re good for the cold winter ahead. Fourteen pints. Yum.

And there’s more kitchen news. As an early birthday present, the California kids purchased a pizza oven for their dad. Here it sits on the patio table:

It’s pretty cool! You put kiln-dried wood pieces into the burner, light it, and the thing gets up to 900 degrees. The pizza takes 2 minutes. Okay, some trial and error expected, and the first attempt was, not surprisingly, a little sketchy. Tasted good, though, and we’ll get better:

Chicken news:

Yes, the babies are laying! At least one of them is. Pretty little brown eggs. Not as big as Gracie’s, the white one, but we’re very proud. She, whichever she is, is even using the correct nest in the new little coop, so all good.

Widening the scope, on August 2, a crew from NRCS, a national conservational resource group, met here to assess the problem of the trees in the “copse.” Specifically, to see if they can find funding to have the stand of oak on the slope east of the house thinned. No word yet, but they’ve offered some names for us to contact.

Alan, one of the landscape guys, has newly formed his own company, and has begun work on the massive job of clearing downed trees after the spring ice storm. He has an excavator down along the fence line and the slash piles are mounting. He’s salvaging all the trunks of some determined width, and will use them to make lumber. Also is stacking any wood useful as firewood, which will be sold in some fashion. Then, come winter, he’ll professionally burn the slash piles.

Larry’s garden is, and has been, producing. Fennel! Cabbages! Zucchini! And now, finally, tomatoes! The apples in the orchard aren’t quite ripe, yet, but all this bounty does mean that I’ll be in that kitchen trying to “put by” the produce. Freeze most of it, but the tomatoes will have to be canned or frozen as sauce. Don’t know how to keep fennel over the winter . . . any ideas?

Until next time, be well, eat your green veggies, stay in touch.

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Sunday, February 25th, 2024

THE LORD GIVITH . . .

You know the rest. But first:

Yes! Friday afternoon, on our return from Portland, we heard Goldie singing the “I laid an egg” song. First time! This chicken is she who has the charming voice of a rooster with a sore throat, but still. I’ve learned to trust this song, and there they were. Two eggs! One crushed, but one lovely specimen. Of course, they might have been courtesy of Grace, but that song? On Saturday we found another, and are hopeful that the long pause in production is over.

Mitch came over on Saturday to help Larry with the tangle of downed trees by the barn. He’s a wizard with the power saw, and the boys spent the morning lumber-jacking. Results:

More firewood and several huge burn/chip piles of branches. They left three stragglers standing because of the red breasted sap sucker Mitch id’ed working the trees.

And now we come to the second phrase in the title’s quote: He taketh away. I, having spent the morning doing inside chores, opened the door to the storage space in the garage, and found the pipes for the tankless water-heater happily dripping. The floor flooded, along with the stash of exotic alcohol (what is Manzilla La Gitana and why do we have it?) Costco supplies of paper towels, and etc.

I immediately turn this sort of emergency over to whatever men may be on hand, and in this case, there were two of them available. They did what they could, turned off the system, helped move all of the sopping etcetera out into the main body of the garage, thereby blocking access to refrigerator and freezer, of course, and went off to move the bee hives, or whatever else they had been doing. Sigh. It’s Saturday. The plumber’s shop is closed. They will put us on the list for Monday morning. Can I call this an emergency? Yeah, no. We will just do without hot water for a day or so. Didn’t we just have a water emergency a couple of months ago? We’re fine.

Backing up, we had spent a couple of days in our apartment in Portland, and I was able to spend time with Chicks at a happy hour and movie. Our designer had scheduled a crew to hang our “art” which had been in storage, and it was fun to revisit the old favorites. Not all of our collection will work in this new space, so we’ve brought a few things back to the farm to enjoy here. And now I’m back to where the Lord givith:

For some month I’ve been unable to find a book that I loved. Didn’t like Colleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us, Kristin Hannah’s The Women, Jilly Cooper’s 915 page epic Riders (actually read all of that one as it’s so famous). Anyway, there, in Portland, was a cardboard box of my books from grad school in North Carolina. My books! Andrea Barrett, Rick Bass, John Barth, Charles Baxter! Barrett and Baxter were both on the faculty of my school, and all were examples of great writing to study. OMG. I’ll be good for months. Years. Yes, of course, I will have read them earlier. No worries.

Now I’m back up to the present. The weather is lovely, the daphne is blooming and that lovely scent fills the room with clippings. The daffodils are in bloom. I have a massive week-whacking chore waiting in the chicken’s run, but can’t do that without the man here to start my f-ing machine. The power cord of which is built for longer, stronger arms than mine, so oh well. Where is he? you may ask?

He has driven the truck, which happily started this morning, off to the recycling stations around town, to Wilco for more chicken feed, to Safeway for sundries, and should be home in time to take me out to lunch at his golf club. Some of the things you can’t/don’t want to do when you have no hot water: take a shower. Wash your hair. Run the dishwasher. Yes, I can still cook, but am laughing at how many times I turn the handle for water and nothing appears. Have to turn the cold water faucet, dummy.

I can still iron, though. Make a cup of coffee the old-fashioned way and sit on my porch swing enjoying the peaceful, quiet morning.

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2024

Wednesday, January 17th, 2024

Is officially underway. Yes, I know it’s already the 17th, and the days are getting longer. It’s cold! We have a fire going. We have no heat from the furnace, because the generator stops at providing lights, keeping the freezers cold, and energizing a few outlets. No stove, no microwave. Every few minutes another sheet of ice crashes down from the roof with a sonic boom, but we just look at one another, then back to the page of our book.

Here’s what that looked like earlier, before the temperature reached the present evening’s 40’s:

Now the house must be surrounded by these piles of ice. The little camelia outside our bedroom window has been crushed under the assault, and you just wouldn’t want to be standing around outside admiring the stars while this is going on.

Backing up: On Monday, when it became clear that we wouldn’t be going anywhere, Larry decided to try running the ATV down to the barn to collect the firewood we’d be needing. Ooops. The tough little all-wheel couldn’t make it up the hill closest to the gate, and slid into the fence. Larry had to hike back up with the news that we’d better ration the wood. The power was out much of Monday, but life seemed kind-of fun. Pioneering. Snow bound. Then overnight the power was miraculously restored.

But last night, at 10-ish or so, while I was still up reading my new fave, Jodi Picoult, everything went black again. Larry was already sawing logs, metaphorically, because wait for it. I’m not evolved enough to realize that my phone would work as well as a candle to see me into bed, so I groped blindly for a match, and tucked myself in.

No power this morning, no power all day. I made a cup of coffee by boiling water in the Instant Pot, and the toaster works fine for bagels. We are getting a bit low on essentials, like milk, cream, eggs (no, the chickens are on strike) and so on. This afternoon we thought we’d see if we could get out to the grocery. Tested the SUV on the driveway, and the ice seems to have melted enough to let the big SUV travel just down this far:

Across the road. Yep. Guess we weren’t going to the grocery store. We backed up, put on our hats and gloves and boots, picked up our walking sticks and hiked down the road to where the ATV lay ditch-wise. Larry coaxed it onto its feet and we made it to the barn where we could pick up the chain saw. Back up the road, we stopped and Larry sawed logs for real (haha.) A path wide enough to squeeze by. At least we could see that there were tracks on Llewellyn, so are encouraged that tomorrow we think we can at least get some food, even it we can’t cook it.

Side bar: Here’s how you cook when you have only an Instant Pot and a toaster. Take something out of the freezer, dump it into the pot, press saute, and go have a glass of wine or something NA if you’re me. Okay fine for nights 1 and 2. How much do you even have already prepared in the freezer, anyway? So this evening, night 3, I found some sort of braised mystery meat, but we’d need something on the side, like potato or rice or polenta, and you can only cook one thing at a time. Maybe you’d like to keep all of it warm at the same time? No can do. My uninspired choice was to boil some potatoes first and thereby make potato salad. Tragically, we’re also out of ice cream and the Christmas cookies are gone. Whimper. Okay, we’re fine.

The booming continues as I write, and we wonder just how much ice has accumulated up top. We’ve just heard a coyote cry, and realize this must be hard for all creatures down here on the Wood. We hear the geese flying, and the creeks are full and rushing so life surely goes on. Tomorrow will be better!

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NOVEMBER ’23

Saturday, November 18th, 2023

First, let me show you how the project is progressing:

This was about 90%. If the rain held back, Allen and Chance would be able to start unfurling the sod the following week. As I’ll show you in a minute, it did, and they did.

Meanwhile, does anyone know how to keep Meyer lemons over the winter? The tree will have to spend the time in the greenhouse, as it has for the past years. Not sure how old this little beauty is, but we had it in the condo in Portland, and down here since, but it’s doing a fine job:

Of course I Googled the subject and learned lots of ways to “preserve” them. As in salt. In jelly. In Lemon Curd. But can they just go in the refrigerator and last several months? I guess I’ll find out.

And here’s the way our new lawn looks with actual grass on it:

The wall around the tree will have a stone facing and top, but it’s getting there.

So that’s what Allen and Chance have been doing. What about us?

A wedding at the neighbor’s home, which was gorgeous. Their son Everett married Katie. Out doors, just a little rain to bring its blessings, lights in every tree, great food (Vegan wedding cake — who knew that was legal?) and we met some new people from the neighborhood, whom we hope to see again.

Back and forth to Portland, it seems. We attended a Celebration of Life for an old friend from Tigard school days, and work, in Larry’s case. Jenny came down for the gathering, as Steve and Maxine’s daughter Jill had been one of her high school buddies. It was so sweet to see the other girls — women — who had been part of the circle. All grown up and married and moms of their own teenagers.

We learned, also, of the loss of another friend of those days, Renee Edwards. She and her family had lived next door to us since we first built our house on 133rd. So many stories of those times! Most of them funny and almost all of them true.

Yesterday we drove to Portland in the morning to attend a procedure at the Endodontist’s office. Me. Root canal. Not fun! But we remarked that soon (!) we’ll be able to break our trips up and down I-5 with a stopover at the new condo at Park View.

It’s 5 o’clock now, and getting dark. Sigh. Larry is outside somewhere raking the few last oak leaves, but the oven is turned on and soon we’ll be having dinner by fireplace light. And then, on to Altadena next week for Thanksgiving with the assembled family.

So what is for dinner? I just completed an inventory of the garage freezer. I have to make room for this year’s garden, and this will require discipline in the kitchen. While in Portland yesterday, we stopped at a favorite grocery, Zupans, and bought half a boneless ham. Been disappointed in the product labeled “ham” from groceries lately, and trusted that Zupans would be better. ( I remember ham! It used to be salty and dark and certainly not sliced and packed in water.) So we chopped it up Zupan’s ham and squeezed it into the above-mentioned freezer, with exception of the chunk for tonight. Which will go nicely, I think, with some Rumbledethumps (look it up) and zucchini. Fingers crossed.

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Saturday, September 30th, 2023

Last day of September, ’23, and the sun has come back after a week’s rain. Maybe we’ll have our Indian Summer. Can we say that? Looked it up. Nope. “It’s disrespectful, and should be called Second Summer.” I think I disagree. It’s a beautiful time of year and perhaps may cause us to take a moment and think of the people who were here first.

On our return from England, we got ourselves facing the right direction and were lucky to have David for a couple of days all to ourselves after the golf function, and then a visit from Amy. In town for a reunion with her UO buddies for the Saturday football game, she stayed with us for two nights. Okay, yes, I am bragging, but our two granddaughters are pretty amazing. Amy, a little older than Alli, is establishing a career in New York City, working, at the moment for a fashion design company called White + Warren. They sell beautiful (yes, expensive) sweaters, and Amy is an assistant buyer and is in marketing. Yeah, I don’t know exactly what that means, but check out their website!

Today, because there’s a moment of sunshine, Larry has taken the opportunity to mow the field in front of the house. The threat of wild fire has prevented field mowing until now. After an hour or so of crawling around the barn floor greasing the brush hog, he’s glad to be back in the saddle just driving the thing. He’s carefully circling the young, two-foot high, oak trees which we hope will provide another generation of Oregon White Oak on this landscape.

In other farm news, here are the two new members of the flock family. We were able to persuade neighbors Tracy and Lyn to release a couple of birds from their several dozen. They, now named Goldilocks and Snow White, for obvious reasons, must be wondering why they were kidnapped from Paradise and sentenced to live under the reign of Miss Bossy Pants, ie, Grace:

I’ve been mostly in the kitchen, standing at the counter peeling, chopping, slicing, freezing. These are the peppers I brine to make pickled peppers, one of our favorites.

Tracy, she of the chickens, also lent me her steamer/juicer. Quite a contraption, but super easy to use. The question is, what to do with the first 6 pints of juice? It’s naturally sweet, tastes nice, but I am about out of storage space or I could keep going for days with this year’s grape crop. Someone suggested gummy bears, minus CBD of course, but seriously. Absent grandkidlets, who’s going to find that a special treat worth the work?

But now it’s my turn to get outside. Deadhead the dahlias, sweep the gravel off the side walks, pick apples? Yes. Or, wait. Maybe sit in the sunshine and read? I’m liking Mad Honey, by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Boylan. Good idea. I’m on it.

Larry’s in for a moment. It’s not so easy as it looks, he says. Now he just has to weed whack around those new trees and then he’ll be ready to watch more of the Ryder Cup this evening. No, late breaking news: he’ll do the rest of the field tomorrow and get started now cooking some ribs that have to over-night in the refrig. What a guy!

I’ll be in touch.

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R.I.P SORROW

Tuesday, August 15th, 2023

She’s the one who kept trying to escape? The little Speckled Sussex whose wings we’d had to clip? Yes, that one. Yesterday she flew the coop for good. This had been some days coming, and we had determined that we wouldn’t take her in to the vet, as one of the possible explanations for her torpor was that she had simply gone broody. Wanting to hatch her little family.

But no, she was definitely dead yesterday morning, and then came the hard part. Influenced by a book we’d been reading, Wilding, The Return of Nature to a British Farm, we wondered what would the most natural, reasonable way to deal with a deceased chicken? (NO! We couldn’t fry her for dinner.) We could put the body out into the pasture land and wait for an eagle, or more probably, a turkey vulture, to dispose of her remains. Wait. We don’t know cause of death. Maybe some sort of avian flu? Can’t risk spreading some unknown bird virus throughout the valley.

Just put her in a plastic bag and add her to the garbage pick-up on Thursday? No, don’t want to add plastic to the landfill. So a brown paper bag became her shroud and she’s on her way to her final resting place.

It does look a little thin out there in coop with just the two-bird flock, and when we return from England, we’ll see about a replacement.

Today we’re shrouded ourselves in the smoke from a couple of fires, the Lookout east of Eugene the most probable cause. This is along the Mackenzie River on the highway to Black Butte. With temperatures in the 100s the last couple of days, it has felt inevitable. So being outside isn’t an option, and what farm chores remain will just have to wait.

Okay, it isn’t all bad news! Last week, all our cows were moved to their winter pastures or barns. I think I mentioned the moo-ing last post, which had become a little challenging, and we’re glad they’re off to greener pastures. Not a euphemism! Really!

And we were treated to a bagpipe concert down in the oak grove behind the barn. Neighbor Terri had met a gentleman, newly moved to Philomath from Oahu, and somehow she had taken him with her when she walked her dogs over on the west pasture. He thought the grove would be a perfect place to play the pipes, and Terri set it up.

A bagpipe concert is a little hard to describe. You can’t really be sure what song you may be hearing, although Danny Boy did come through. But this Dan was dressed in his clan kilt, looked the part for sure, and we sat on our lawn chairs, drank lemonade, and enjoyed the somewhat rare event.

Peter, Andrew and Charlie flew into town for a short trip to Black Butte. We played golf, and learned that Andrew has a highly developed style of putting ambidextrously. This was good for alot of laughs. How does he do that? Good food, good stories, good to see them.

Larry got his first bee sting this morning. We had not realized how complex this bee keeping is, including the massive amounts of sugar water to be boiled and provided to our darlings. There are two types of bees, the Carnolian and the Italian. No we can’t tell them apart on the fly, but they each have their own hive, their own queen.

Our trip to England? This is mostly a celebration of Larry’s birthday, and the excuse for the event is Alli’s move to a years studying in London. Also an opportunity to meet with our great friends, Ursel and Epi, who will join us for a couple of days. Jenny has been busy making reservations for lunches, dinners, shopping, walks, etc. It’s nice to have a tour director as we feel a little overwhelmed with the transition from farm to, gasp, London. What would we wear? What shoes? How hot will it be over there?

Ah, it’s lunch time. I’ve been watching the clock, and now it’s legal. Larry has just made a new batch of his amazing bread. Wish you were here!

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POLLEN COUNT

Thursday, June 15th, 2023

You can’t stay inside on a day like this! Highest pollen count in decades for Corvallis? Grass seed? Yes, but, my allergies?

I thought I’d left my hay fever behind when we moved from Minnesota and its ragweed. And then came the great wave of hazelnut (filbert, to some of you) planting in our valley. Corvallis, the Grass Seed capital of the world now has a second claim to allergy-generation fame.

But instead of sneezing and coughing, I get hives. Yes. Red, blotchy, itchy hives. I call my beloved Dr. Jen, and she suggests something called Zyrtec. Comes with all kinds of warnings, but hey. If it works? It doesn’t.

I see a product advertized. Allegra Hives. Yes! Specifically for hives. It doesn’t work. Not to feel too sorry for myself, but have you ever itched so fiercely that you can’t even try to sleep? All night? You can try Eucerin, but over your entire body? What would that do to the sheets?

I call Dr. Jen again and she recommends Xyzal. (A ridiculous name — how would you even pronounce it to the pharmacist when you call?) “24 HR ALLERGY” Take it, Dr. Jen says, with Pepcid AC. Today, I’m holding my breath because the hives, while still there, DON’T ITCH. I went outside in celebration, into the wind, the pollen be damned.

Okay, that behind us, let’s get on with the blog. Ryan, cow guy, has been busy. The west-most pasture had been planted in early spring to fescue, but to lie fallow this year. I like that word: fallow.

Then last week, came the thresher crawling over the field. I don’t have a photo of this stage, so use your imagination. Because next came the rake to gather the grass into windrows. Another word I like. Windrows. And this time, I have a photo:

And finally:

The bales will be stacked, then loaded onto a truck, and stored in one of Ryan’s barns. Next year, the plan is to plant sweet peas in this field, a legume meant to fix nitrogen, but which look and smell gorgeous as a bonus.

How are the bees doing? It’s a little hard to tell, but Allen came over to assist in settling the creatures into their new habitat. Here’s what that looked like:

We think they’re doing well. Apparently they have to be fed at first, before they set out to gather nectar and — pollen! For energy, the nectar, and for protein, the pollen. Who knew we’d have so much free protein for them?

Allen brought his family with him, and here are his two little girls making friends with the chickens:

It’s true that the chickens haven’t managed to enjoy the swing Larry made for them, but little girls know what to do with one:

We’re just back from a Nature Conservancy trip to visit Sycan Marsh, and learn about the fire management programs they’re implementing there. Their before and after photos are compelling, and the personnel are passionate and smart. The marsh is a mile-high meadow, and, speaking of words, I asked one of the staff the definition of another of my favorites, “fen.” What’s a fen?

Although both bogs and fens are similar types of wetlands as they are both considered peatlands, what sets them apart from each other is the source of their water supply. Fens typically are fed by a steady source of ground water whereas bogs are usually enclosed depressions filled by rain water.

Larry is standing at the sink, preparing to create one of his specialities for dinner, Szechuan Sweet and Sour spare ribs, when he says Hey! Look out the window!

Not sure why this photo came up super-sized, but it seems an appropriate ending to this afternoon’s blog. Wish you were coming for dinner — it’ll be delicious!

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