Posts Tagged ‘Gracie’

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!

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.

CATCHING UP

Sunday, June 9th, 2024

Right. Been awhile. When we last talked, a screech owl was looking at you. To continue the theme:

This is Rhodie. Their names have become known, and they are Rocky, Rhodie, Lacy, Gracie, and Black. If said in the correct order, there’s a certain poetic lilt, even if we are talking about chickens. No longer cute, little, fluffy.

Rhodie is my fave because she will come and eat out of my hand. The others can’t be seduced. Yet. But they were here preparing to move to their new home. Choice of the new site had become challenging, as each of us, Larry and I, had our own opinions about the better option, and had retreated to our corners. Fortunately, neighbors Ted and Marjorie offered the use of one of their vacant dog crates as a possible home site, to be inside the orchard, but safe from Gracie.

This was promising, and in fact, proved quite helpful in carrying the birds, but during our on-the ground examination, it became obvious where they should go:

Of course. The plant box Peter and Larry had built several years ago, this year as yet unplanted with the tomatoes which would follow. You can’t see, but the top is screened as well, and water can be turned on to fill the canister which would now be hung from the top. Brilliant!

With them settled, let me back up a couple of weeks. Larry had planned to go on a trip with The Nature Conservancy to Southeastern Oregon, on May 23, specifically to Fields, a wide spot near the more well-known Burns. I had meant to go, but learned that 1.) I would be the only woman on the trip, and 2.) that there would be no bathroom facilities during the 8-hour or so excursions into the mountainous back country. How was that going to work?

On further thought, I guessed that Larry would enjoy the trip without my companionship, and settled in to spend the few days at home on the farm. Complete with running water. However, he had been on the way for about 10 minutes when I paused, reconsidered, put on my big-girl pants and called him. Could I change my mind? Could he come back and get me?

He could. The country is glorious, empty, vast, and certainly worth the money and attention the Conservancy is spending to influence the way the land is used. It is currently grazed, (over-grazed, actually) and planted with alfalfa. Which is mostly sold to Asia as fodder for the cattle raised there. Does that even make sense? Yes, economically. But otherwise?

Here’s the buggy in which we were to spend the next couple of days:

Not the most luxurious! Here’s the terrain:

What they mean by back-road, off-road travel. I know. But I would not have seen this stunning landscape without having manned up and gone along.

In the evenings we were fed delicious food cooked by — shout out here to Garth Fuller — East Side land manager for the Conservancy. The bedrooms in the newly acquired farm house were fine, and if the slope to the ceiling caused Larry a few head bumps, he soon learned.

The talks after dinner taught us what the program hoped to accomplish. Here’s one innovation. They can attach a sensor to the cow’s neck collar, which controls her/him by a virtual fence, as defined by a satellite. No literal post and wire and electricity fencing necessary. Sort of how your i-phone knows where you are. That’s the limit of my understanding, but it did give me pause. How soon before they learn to control women in the same way? Okay, just wondering.

Another photo of the moon rising over the desert:

Back home, Larry packed up and left for 5 nights at Black Butte for the famous B.B. Invitational. Men only. This time I did not pick up the phone and ask to be included.

Five days home along flew by. I was busy binge watching Netflix to find a movie for the Chicks and Flicks to watch this following Thursday afternoon. This is a way I usually do not spend my time, but it was fun and relaxing. No dinners to cook, hence no clean-up. Not much laundry. Read until my eyes closed in the evenings. As I have been disappointed in many of the books I’ve been reading, I did find the same lack of depth in the films. Fine. Entertaining. But.

Then Larry came home and daily life as we know it resumed. Work to be done. I’ve decided that we don’t really live on a farm. We live on a ranch. Cows and all. Not that we have to do anything with/for the cows. Still. See what I mean? The garden is providing its abundance and I am back in the kitchen wondering what to do with all that escarole. The berries are ripening. I made a batch of kumquat marmalade, which didn’t set up and thus must be reconsidered jar by jar as we come to them. The kumquats, btw, did not come from this ranch, but from our son’s tree in S. CA. Just so you know.

And now it’s lunch time. We leave for Portland in an hour for a performance at Portland Center Stage, and an overnight in our “apartment” in Park View. I told Peter I’d include an in-progress shot of the little sweater I’m knitting. Here you go, Peter:

Pretty sure it’ll be cuter with the sleeves.

Til then, see ya!

APRIL

Friday, April 19th, 2024

Larry cooks dinner. Gotta love it! This beauty is chicken thighs. Having overnighted in white wine, they were sauteed along with the endive. He added a chopped salad? Oh, maybe I made the chopped salad. Anyway, delicious! I always thought endive was pronounced “en-dive,” right? But learned from one of my more sophisticated friends that it is correctly pronounced “on-deev.” You can decide for yourself . . .

In farm news, the cows are back. Probably at least 50, yearling steers, chewing down the westside pastures up to and around the barn. I’m glad to have them back, but it does give me pause when I want to take my morning walk down the road. They see me coming and rush over to the fence, then start to follow, moo-ing, plainly wanting something from me. Whatever that might be, I don’t have it. Out? They just want out? I do think that, when they see a person, they believe that change is coming. And they are certainly eager for it.

We’re about to make the leap into raising chicks. Gracie-the-chicken has been living alone for several months now, and although she faithfully lays her egg every day, I’m sure she’d like company. She needs her flock. To this end, we need to improve the environment where the birds will be safe. This means tackling the run, which is lumpish, weedy, impossible to mow (must be weed-whacked) and, acutally, ugly.

So Mitch is here today. He wrestled the rototiller around in there yesterday, is raking it into smoothness today, and will help plant lilacs along the west boundary for shade, and then build a cage for the young birds when they’re old enough to be outside but still need protection from Gracie, if she doesn’t get broody and imagine that they’re hers. Could happen, we’re told.

So what have I been doing while Larry is farming, and cooking dinner? I’ve been struggling to dispose, one way or another, of the baggage we’ve been hauling around all these years. Not just from our lives, but those of several generations back:

You know the kind of stuff I mean. The tea and coffee service from Great Aunt Clara. Cut glass pitcher. Sterling silverware. Mom’s diaries. Larry’s and my high-school annuals? All those photos! Twin bed sheets and blankets. A roasting pan for a twenty-pound turkey. Okay, easy. Donate this stuff!

Last night we went to a meeting for One Hundred People Who Care About Corvallis, and heard about the Community Thrift Store. They take everything, and the proceeds go back to the community in the form of grants to various local NGO’s. Open Wednesdays and Saturdays from 8 to 6. Yes they’ll take my old Nikon camera. That sweater I knit but haven’t worn since Jenny was a baby.

Jenny successfully divested her family’s dining-room set, a grand piano(!) and other treasures, with the help of on-line markets when they moved to their new house. Even got a little cash for it. Maybe a little easier when you live in a huge city, but maybe that’s just an excuse.

And now it gets a little harder: What about my MFA thesis? “Who are these minor characters and what are they doing in my novel?” The vase etched with Larry’s name, presented on retirement from Columbia Management Company. The framed illustrations I did for the children’s book which never got published? The children’s stories I wrote but never submitted. Don’t think the Community Thrift Store is the answer here. But still. Throw them away?

I don’t know why my mom hung onto her diaries. Sister Martha keeps a daily journal of her every day’s life. Don’t know what Mary is up to, but she has a lot to write about, if she isn’t. And isn’t this blog a kind of diary? Hmm. I guess so. But. Ha! “But” means I’m about to argue my own position. See, I mean to entertain you with this record of old people who take up farming. I don’t think Mom had that in mind. Nor does Martha. But, if I don’t get around to tossing my MFA thesis, kids, just do it.

Changing the subject: About the new truck? We’d said we wanted Grandson Will to be in charge of naming the vehicle, and he obliged with the name Bob Junior. We’ve shortened it to L’il Bob, which sounds more down country. Larry says it isn’t a farm truck because it isn’t dented, rusted, dirty, but it’s getting a farm-truck name anyway.

Tonight we had the pleasure of Face Timing with David and Caroline. They’re in Wanaka, New Zealand, it being Friday afternoon where they’re living, Thursday evening here. We get used to it. Caroline is still recovering from a ferocious bout with Covid, but is up and around a bit. We had a long discussion about their plans, which more or less boil down to “we don’t know.” Apparently they can live in both NZ and the US alternately, so long as they don’t trigger some clock ticking with regard to which state gets to tax them.

Tomorrow, I plan to start a knitting project — a sweater for a baby boy. I love this! I love to knit, especially things tiny enough to be completed within the space of, say, a couple of good novels I’ll listen to on Audible while I work. This is for the expected grandchild of one of Allison’s great friends. No, you don’t know her and neither do I, and it doesn’t matter. I wonder. Maybe someday, in some future, a woman somewhere will be wondering if she should just keep this cute little blue sweater or take it to a neighborhood thrift shop. I hope so!

MARCH 2024

Wednesday, March 27th, 2024

If you were with me last time, you may remember that we were pleased to be contributing to the well-being of the red-breasted sap sucker Mitch found in the trees down by the barn. Hmm. See photo:

“Sorry to say that your tree probably can’t survive this,” Darren, the arborist-guy at Shonnards Nursery, told us. “That’s a sap sucker’s work.” But this tree isn’t down by the barn. It, and the other two similarly afflicted Mountain Ash, are right up in the front lawn. Well. What to do? First we’ll probably do nothing. It will have to be up to the trees’ own defenses. Here’s what Google has to say on the subject: The mighty Mountain Ash tree is the tallest flower in the world. Native to Tasmania and Victoria and soaring to heights of over 100 metres, they are the second tallest tree species in the world. The tallest flower in the world? Guess we’ll hope for the best.

See this guy? It came down in the recent ice-storm, crushing the fence and blocking the road:

I loved to walk down and see this stump. Just the power and beauty of the thing. Obviously, we had to have help clearing it, and the others, from the fence and road.

But damn. No-one consulted me, they just hauled their equipment in and got to work, and took the stump with them. Of course they did, who would care about the dumb stump, and anyway they would take it to the chippers who would grind it up and it would be useful in all sorts of applications. Wonderful.

So, trees. This morning, Ryan (cow-guy) sent Keaton over to survey the damage to the all the fences. He’ll come back next week with appropriate machinery to clear the fallen trees from the Eastern pasture and re-wire the hot line. I’ll be happy to see the cows come back, and don’t have any particular fondness for any of the fallen timber down there. He’s also going to install opposing gates so that Ryan and crew can move the animals from one side of the driveway to the other. I wish you could be here sometime to watch the cattle drive! Wild-wild-West.

What else is new? This:

Yep. The white one (Bob) had been seriously underperforming for months, refusing to start, for example, and Larry had been all over CarMax to find a replacement. Then this weekend we were on an errand in town and had the bright idea to scan the local dealers, and here this little beauty was. Dodge Ram 1500 for those of you who might know what that even means. 2015, and perfect, inside and out. Yes, it’s littler than Bob, but considerably younger (Bob was a 2002, 187,000 miles). We’re waiting to hear from Will, grandson who named Bob, to see if he has any inspiration for this one. I’ll let you know, but apparently Will is somewhere in Europe on Spring Break, so it may be awhile.

Yawn. Not enough sleep last night. Larry’s in the kitchen baking bread. Don’t you love it? I sure do!

But back to a little story: He, Larry, had gone to a meeting of the Bee-Keepers Association the other evening, and didn’t notice until he got home that his phone had apparently jumped ship somewhere while he was gathering stacks of bee info from the table on his way out. We tried calling the phone, but whoever had it didn’t answer. Next morning we got on our computers and located the number of the man who had run the meeting, and from him, did get the name and number of the guy who picked it up. Of course, the phone is locked, so nothing that man could do but wait. We drove out to retrieve it, and had a nice conversation. He asked me if I’d read my blog that morning — what? No, I don’t usually re-read after the first day to see if there are comments. He said that in looking up “Viehl” which was all he had, he’d come across the blog and had commented his contact info there. Didn’t see it, but I’ve been through several updates and will have to see if there’s something I can do to facilitate comments at this point.

Larry’s garden is up and running. Cabbage, peas, onions, potatoes, lettuce all planted and up. He has a light installed in the greenhouse, and it’s on automatically until 10:00 every evening. It’s fun to see it after we turn off the inside lights to head for bed. Sweet. Oh, and the fennel is planted, Larry has commented in passing.

We’re planning to start a new little chicken flock in a couple of weeks. Walking up the road the other day, I saw Gracie wildly squawking and beating her wings, safely in the run. But as I got near, I saw a cougar? bob-cat? mountain lion? standing at the fence. Seeing me, he took himself off across the orchard, leapt up onto a post and so out into the woods. Obviously, he who’d taken our other two. Poor Grace was much upset and took herself into the coop for the rest of the day. She’s been laying every day, now, bless her heart, and already we have more eggs than we need. But a flock is more than one, and she misses the others to boss and scold and teach their place. We’ll do what we can.

Dinner tonight? Pulled pork enchiladas. Courtesy of our last visit to Costco, where we’d acquired a 2#package of the pulled pork. Also picked up a stack of corn tortillas. In our freezer I found a half-pint of tomatilla sauce, made either at the inspiration of, or recipe for, from Tom a year ago. Never made it before and hope it will stand in as enchilada sauce. Oh, btw, we divided the 2 pounds of meat into four packets and will proceed with our usual m.o. of making several batches from the first half-pound, which will last us until the next full moon, or the anticipated eclipse of the sun. How it goes in Chez Viehl.

Bon appétit, and see you next time.

LONDON

Sunday, September 10th, 2023

Been a morning already . . . starting last night when we discovered that we had no water into the house. I can hear you, Vik, “call Maintenance!” No, what you do in this circumstance, after surveying the complex RO water complex in the shed, is find a couple of buckets, hop in the ATV and head to the pump house down by the barn where there’s a faucet. This allows for manual flushing of toilets, albeit nothing else. It was a lovely, starry night, though. There’s that.

Anyway, we were out getting coffee this early morning (yes, Starbucks was open) when Jake, Pump Guy, returned Larry’s phone call from the evening before. Seems there’s a lever that activates automatic shut-off when pressure level is too low. This sometimes happens when there’s been no water activity in the house for a week, or so . . .

Every single time, when, on returning home from a trip, our plane touches down, I breathe, and claim NEVER AGAIN! Of course, there’s always an Again, as was the case here, when we traveled to London. So, how was it?

Must admit, it was pretty wonderful. Yes, exhausting, nerve wracking, but. The first surprise was the appearance of Jan, our exchange student from back in the day. (Pronounced “yawn” but that noun in no way applies to our Jan.) He’d “hopped over” from Dusseldorf where he lives with his family, to wish Larry a happy birthday. Wow. Really sweet. He’s a lovely man, taking time for us before a quick trip to India on business.

Next morning, we made the trip to Alli’s new student apartment in West Hampstead. The place was busy with student move-in, and we could check out Alli’s new people. She had hauled a year’s living across, which now needed to be settled into her new space. On the eighth floor. And the elevator was out of order. I know. Good to be young, right?

Here’s Alli at home, and also a shot of Jan:

We spent the next days with Jenny and Alli, putting thousands of steps on our Apple watches, and then the girls left for Paris, and Jan’s parents, Ursel and Epi arrived to pick up the slack.

OMG. The Schefflers are urban folk, unlike us, simple country people, and we saw London in all its crazy, people-intense, noise, history, richness. The Germans wanted to travel everywhere by underground, but I was firm in my psycho dislike of that MO. Instead, we got tix on a Hop-on, Hop-of bus, and that was actually great fun. Included in the program was a boat trip up the Thames. I don’t have photos of this part of the trip, but will just tell you that we saw As You Like It, performed at Shakespeare’s Globe theater. Pretty memorable, especially when we needed to get an Uber for a ride home and Ursel discovered that her phone was out of juice, that Larry’s was inoperable, and there was not a single taxi to be seen for us to hail. I didn’t have an app, but somehow my own sweet phone was able to connect us to a ride and we didn’t need to walk the 6 miles back to the hotel.

All things coming to an end, we left for home on Thursday. A nine-plus hour flight and we touched down in Seattle (NEVER AGAIN I said). And looked out at a thousand-plus mass of people trying to thread through 3 or 4 Pass Control stations. BTW, did you know there’s an app for pass control? Larry made a stab at working it, got the error message, but the sympathy of the line control person was somehow engaged and we were shunted over to a station and then through and out into the evening light.

Ah. A five-hour trip down I-5 and we’re there. Except, no. Got stalled in a one-lane construction zone, which took an hour and a half to thread.

Home, fell into bed, and woke up on London time. Stumbled through the day unloading, laundry, surveying the plants which had died from lack of water in the hot spell, and found . . . little tension in the plot line here . . . that one of our remaining chickens was missing. Feathers strewn about, with Gracie wandering about sadly clucking. I’m not sure her clucking was from unhappiness, but still. So, Trouble and Sorrow aptly named.

We’ve checked the web for replacement chickens, but it was Saturday and nothing was open. We’ll have to find some replacements, maybe on Monday. Then to bed again, hoping for a full night’s sleep. Ooops. No water.

As we speak, Larry is out searching for baskets into which to load our crop of lovely apples, now dropping from the trees. We also have a crop of prunes, pears, and plums, so the next few days are mandated for me. Which is okay, because Larry and the boys of the family are off for a golf excursion at Bandon Dunes, leaving me at home in perfect quiet to process not just the fruit, but the last week of London. And travel. Honestly, really, Never Again?

LIFE STORY

Monday, January 31st, 2022

Acorns once fell to the earth, put down roots and then, three to four hundred years later, crashed as giant oaks back to the earth. Wind, rain, ice, old age? Here’s the most recent windfall, came down last weekend. You can see that it’s been dead a while, and that the acorn woodpeckers have turned it into a granary tree. Each of the holes stuffed with acorns.

And that’s one way the story ends. Across our fence, you will note, and onto the neighbor’s property. A big clutter, and we are grateful to Mitch and Chance who like to earn auxiliary cash on some weekends by sawing, bucking, stacking.

But last year, the trees which fell were more statuesque, with long, straight trunks which Allen wanted to salvage. Remember Allen? He’s going to build a mill in his back yard and plane the trees into planks which he will use to floor his living room. Allen is also the one who built the stone work on our patio, who raises bees under the oaks in our Fish and Wildlife acres.

He had stashed 10 trunks from last year’s windfalls by the barn, to season for a year, or maybe to wait until he built his mill. He came by this weekend to collect the wood. A little photo essay:

Does he just rent that equipment, I ask Larry this evening while I’m typing this. “No, he owns it.” I guess someone who is building his own mill will have the necessary. That’s Larry on the John Deere, btw, his John Deere. Always fun to put it to such manly work, right?

The story of these trees isn’t ending in ignominy across a scrappy fence.

Mitch and Chance have indicated that they’d like to try to sell the firewood they’ve cut these past two years. They’ll have to rent a splitter, find the customers, haul it away. Why not? You’ve seen that we have already a century of firewood split and stacked in our barn,

Another ending to the story:

This is tonight’s fire, in front of which, Larry sits reading. Dark Star, by Alan Furst.

But I expect you’d like an update on our Gracie? Who lost her feathers? She has been reunited with her flock, and her feathers are growing back. This photo won’t make it clear, but we are optimistic that she’ll fully recover:

A little family news: Charlie has arrived in Vienna for his semester abroad. His sister Amy thinks Grandpa Larry should hire a private plane and fly us all to Austria to visit him this spring. Grandpa Larry has shown no enthusiasm for this plan, but I have to admit I like the sound of it. Just kidding, Larry!

Charlie has a story. He went to a cafe and, trying out his brand new German, asked if he could get a coke and fries. “Is that what you really want?” asked the waitress, presumably in English, “or is that just all you know how to order?” Busted.

So life has resumed, despite Omicron, despite the weather? We had tickets to the Oregon Symphony’s concert in Salem Friday night, and there, huddled in the seats of the Willamette U’s concert hall, masked up, of course, heard Scheherazade. Gorgeous. I wish you had been there, too.

After a week of cold, blue-sky weather, the rains have returned. I’m going to find my book and join Larry by the fire. Reading Ann Cleves’ Blue Lightening. Just a cozy little mystery story sited on Fair Isle, Scotland. Perfect for a rainy Sunday evening.