Posts Tagged ‘Thanksgiving’

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!

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.

TOWARD THE SIMPLE LIFE

Sunday, December 4th, 2022

The end. The door closes. We begin our new, simpler life in the little house in the country.

Having survived the great Amazon Scam which infiltrated Larry’s computer, the Debit Card Scam wherein someone gained access to the Farm’s debit card and bought fifty-nine dollars of make-up. (The bank declined two other attempts at the card but somehow let this one through. The make-up purchase is under investigation. A debit card, bank-people. Don’t you have to know the code to use it?)

Okay, the “Simple Life” continues tomorrow, when we get up and drive to Portland for a performance at Center Stage with the White-Davises. Spend two nights in a hotel in town so that I/we don’t have to drive there again for the Tuesday evening Book Tea.

We won’t know what to do in Portland during those two days when we don’t have the condo, I worry. No, Larry says, we can go to a MAC store and get his computer straightened out. We can get that replacement glass chimney for the lamp in the bedroom. You can go to the fabric outlet. We’ll get the Bose speaker fixed.

You can learn how to have fun in Portland, Vik says. We’ll take you to a movie. But . . .

Simple?

We spent Thanksgiving in Seattle with the Ederers and the Peter Viehls. Eleven of us, enjoying Jenny’s new house, Tom’s spatch-cocked turkey, all five grandkids being cute and beautiful and funny. It is confirmed that stuffing requires Jimmy Dean sausage in the formula, and that pumpkin pie and mincemeat pie are well augmented by pecan pie.

Just now it’s December 3. Larry is coming in from moving potted plants into the greenhouse. Pulling up the spent flowers in the garden. Ricardo and his crew have been mowing the lawn, raking leaves, dead-heading plants to complete the job started two days ago, before the snow got too heavy.

Here’s the antique clock we hauled down here (I mean, the movers hauled it) because we didn’t know what else to do with it. It looks pretty weird in the corner of the living room — and it doesn’t work. So? In our bedroom? Well? First, of course, we won’t make it stand on the coasters, which look like little slippers or something. We’ll have it fixed, and then decide if we can sleep through the ticking and the on-the-hour gongs.

Just for fun this afternoon, Larry put together a swing for the chickens. This was inspired by a note from Kathy Abraham with a link to instructions. Chickens get bored, too, as you may not be aware, and ours definitely need some diversion. I do understand the concept of pecking order, and Grace takes it quite seriously. They’re all molting now, not laying eggs, so a little recreation seems appropriate. Larry does roll his eyes, but how cute is this?

I’ll thread some beads on the rope, if I can find some large enough. And if I ever see a chicken swinging on it, I’ll grab a photo and post it. Thanks, Kathy!

This afternoon the truck from the moving company drove up with the two reading lamps which had failed to appear with all the other boxes and packages. We were sure we hadn’t left them in the condo, but then we were also sure we hadn’t left my green dress and fleece jacket there either. (Fortunately out agent, the fabulous Susan Suzuki, had retrieved them and we could collect my wayward clothes from her office on the way to Seattle.) The lamps weren’t so easily recovered, as it seems they’d been hidden behind some packaging and had travelled to Palm Springs and back in the movers’ truck before being discovered.

This evening we met Allen down by the gate. He’s made a box for package delivery on the outside of the gate to replace the plastic bin currently serving duty. The box was created with wood from one of the many fallen oaks on the property. He’ll mount it tomorrow afternoon, and when I get back from you-know-where I’ll take a photo and send it next time.

Allen offered to help Larry fix the actual gate sections to new, heavy, steel posts, which should work to correct the problems illustrated in my last post. Allen is maintenance of the best kind — you’ve met him and his massive machinery in earlier posts, and you remember that he’s the bee guy, too?

Larry and I have succumbed to another round of Great British Baking show, but tonight we have a fire, candles, the two new lamps and two good books to entertain us. We can catch the GBBS while we’re tucked into the hotel tomorrow evening. Pretty sure they won’t have an oak fire blazing in the fireplace to tempt us otherwise.

TRIBE

Tuesday, December 7th, 2021

After a quiet Thanksgiving, the West Coast members of the Viehl clan were rounded up to join in celebrating Elsa’s wedding. Elsa is the grand-daughter of Allan Viehl, (Larry’s brother), daughter of Kelly Viehl Anderson, and thus a full-blood member of the tribe. The ceremony was to be in Boone, Iowa, and no, I’d never heard of it either. But I’m not blood at all, so feel a bit like an interstellar time traveler when my space ship delivers me to a tribal event such as this wedding.

The West Coast members are, at this time, Larry, Peter, and Andrew Viehl. We were missing Allison, Peter’s wife, and David. Allison gave up her place for the trip to Andrew, and the other available Viehl, David, simply wasn’t available.

Tom and Jenny and I were happy be to hangers-on when the space ship was this beauty:

Yep. A private plane. Seriously? But the tribe called, and why not? We landed in Des Moines, checked into a motel in Urbandale, and went to find something to eat. Which turned out to be an affair called Smokey D’s, once featured on Guy Fieri. They do know their BBQ in Iowa, and how to serve it. Check. I experience the first wave of sweet mid-Western culture in a place where infants and toddlers can be observed chewing on a rib.

By the way, the legend on Andrew’s jacket means Just Enjoy This Life — a good mandate which were were determined to observe.

On to Ames the next day in our rental cars. A moment of hilarity when the dude checking out the cars wondered if Peter and Larry were twins. What? No, that lasted longer than a moment and soon became the springboard for lots of smart remarks. Of course, Larry loved it.

At the new motel we were able to check in, change into our wedding finery, and be off to the wedding in the afore-mentioned Boone. At the end of several dirt roads, we found the wonderful barn-like structure, a newly, purposefully built, venue. And there they all were.

At this moment I discovered that I’d left my phone behind in my every-day purse, and would have to rely on others for photos to share.

First, here are Larry and Allan. Allan has had the misfortune to stumble on the stairs at home on Thanksgiving Day, to break both bones in his left leg, and thus get to attend the wedding courtesy of a wheel chair. Now these two might look like twins, right?

Fortunately, Allan had his boys there to take care of him. They run big in this tribe, as you can see from the next photo, which, sorry, is the only one I can offer. This is Kyle, Allan’s second son, dad to Delaney who, upon learning that we were coming, was shocked. “You mean there’s more Viehls than just us?”

My sister-in-law, Gloria, is one of those talented, amazing women who can make works of art out of the assignment to make, for example, cookies for the reception.

She made those? Dozens of them, all different? Yes, plus little place-treats, cookie pops dressed up in a tux or bridal gown, by the hundreds. I think Starbucks got the idea from her. Anyway, she belongs to a tribe of her own, the Gaymans, who were there with husbands and sons and daughters and grandkids . . .

What about the bride? Getting there. Elsa is Kelly’s youngest, and she is stunning, gorgeous, smart, and well, tall like the rest of them. As the attendants were coming down the aisle ahead of the bride, we were treated to one beautiful, very tall young woman after another. Ah. Got it. Elsa played college b-ball, and these women were her team-mates and friends. Wow.

I don’t know anything much about the groom, except he seems pretty happy. Duh.

I got to sit next to Steve, Elsa’s dad, at the wedding dinner. He’s a devoted, successful hunter — if you’re his Facebook friend you could see the photos of the gorgeous birds he brings down and home. I took the opportunity to query him about cooking the elk steak I mentioned in an earlier post, and told him I’d post the results. That will have to wait until I actually cook the steaks, and then I’ll let you all know.

I had a chance to talk with Ken, Kristi Viehl’s husband, who works for the FAA, doing traffic control for the Sioux City airport. He’s a lieutenant colonel in the Air Guards, spends active duty when deployed, wherever they send him. Such as the Middle East, for example. This year, somewhere in the southern U.S. Not sure where, but it does mean being away from home for the duration. From Kristi and their two munchkins, Emerson and Hudson. Tough. Appreciated.

We were with the tribe for about 7-8 hours out of a three-day trip. All worth it. Especially as we got to be with our own far-flung segment for the entire time. And who wouldn’t like flying in a sweet little airplane, with a pilot who graduated OSU in ’17, who began flying with his dad at the age of 6, who got his license at the age of 17? Even this confirmed flightophobe could relax and enjoy looking down on the plains and mountains of this-land-is-your land, etc. Okay, I’m lying. I didn’t actually relax. But the mountains are exciting seen from that close.

Back at the farm, Larry has recovered his mojo, successfully tuned the tractor with an appliance delivered by Amazon. Say what you will.

Yesterday, a rain-filled, dismal, morning, a crew arrived to remove huge patches of blackberry, which they’d earlier sprayed to death. And now, the fields are mowed, the leaves spent, fall has arrived. Welcome home.

NOVEMBER

Friday, November 22nd, 2019

Just sitting here in Portland in the sunshine waiting for the tech from the gas company, who’s scheduled to come fix whatever is wrong with the gas fireplace in the condo. Service window from 12 noon to 4:00. Love the specificity.

But what’s going on at the farm? When I left to come up here this morning, Allen and crew were at work, transforming the scrubby area in front of the orchard to a grassy extension of lawn. This is Larry’s brainchild, and I think it’s going to be great. The area in question is the residue of the house-builder’s efforts with a bulldozer to level the site for the house. Leaving behind a scraped wasteland upon which nothing but a few anemic weeds have grown.

A little excitement yesterday when a passer-by reported to Animal Control that one of our cows was wandering down Llewellyn toward the bridge. See, we don’t really know what to do about this. The cow, or calf, certainly isn’t going to come along when we call. But we took the ATV down to see what the heck? The fence is pretty impenetrable — wire mesh topped with barbed wire, and the farm gates are closed with steel link chain.

On our way, we were greeted by Ms. Animal Control, who joined us at the site, and agreed that there was no way an animal could have breeched the enclosure. How many animals do we have?

Good question. We call Ryan. He says 20, 10 moms, 10 calves. We count 18. Two missing? No way two animals could be strolling down the street toward the creek. So Ms. A C leaves, assuring us that passers-by often call in when they misinterpret what they see, that cows, being herd animals, would be in a panic to rejoin their herd if they were indeed loose. Okay. We go back up to the house. We resume working. And then, there they were. All 20 cows, peacefully grazing in the adjoining pasture.

Not an exciting end to the story, but it did remind us that we are so clueless!

Here’s what we’ve been doing this month:

You can make out the fence under the fallen branches. This is along Muddy Creek, near the road, in front of an acre or so of land that is, weirdly, ours. Some earlier owner ran a fence on this line, probably because the land between it and the creek is a thicket of ash, poison oak, and unidentified weeds.

The fence was bent, but in place, so the effort to clear the branches was in service of esthetics, really. We have found, however, that untended windfall like this invites blackberry to come on over and colonize, so there is rational cause to clear, other than the pleasure of future bonfires and tidiness.

Took us three days to accomplish this. As you see, waiting down at the corner is another tree down, but that’s for another day. The thing is, we have to work when we can still drive the truck down there. This is wetland, so hard to say how long we have. We’ll try when we get back from California, and Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, when the rains do come and the county gives the go-ahead, here’s what we have ahead:

We’ll haul the firewood up to the shed, then torch the piles. Fun. Come on down. Bring your boots and raincoats.

It was bound to happen:

“JANE!”

“YEAH?”

“I’M LOCKED IN THE COOP!”

Okay, mustn’t laugh. “COMING!” Seems the cord thingy which enables a person inside the coop to spring the latch, should the door accidentally close, had gotten tangled. Right, you want to know why Larry was in the coop in the first place.

“What were you going to do if I’d happened to be inside, didn’t hear you? If I didn’t have my phone around?”

“Sleep with the chickens? Wait for you to miss me?”

Somehow it has become his job to clean the coop. A most noble undertaking, rather unpleasant. But there it is. Fine with me.

And what am I doing while Larry is heroically doing farm chores? The funny thing is, that life on the farm continues to have inside chores as well. Laundry. Cleaning. Cooking. Who knew?

Luckily, I do love to cook. One of the fun things is that one can’t just pop down to Safeway if one runs out of, say, butter. So there’s been a slight shift, in which I’m challenged to create a meal out of what’s on hand. What needs to be used up.

For instance. Last week I had one leek, a frozen slice of prosciutto, and of course, frozen chicken broth, in the larder. Found a recipe requiring all of the above. Didn’t have the required endive, but on the next trip to town, procured a half pound. Endive soup! Sounds a bit effete, something you might expect at a la-de-da dinner party, but it was really good.

Then, there was the smoked salmon chowder. Had a piece of the salmon slouched in a back corner of the freezer. Came from Eva’s husband, Mr. Outdoors himself. Only 3 years old. What if I made chowder with it and the sweet potato that obviously wasn’t going to be eaten any time soon? Must report that nothing I could do could save that yuck-o bowl of orangeness. Liquid smoke? Horseradish? White wine? Nope. One for the garbage disposal, and an inch off my self-congratulation exercises.

I’ll be in Portland until Monday, when we board the train for Los Angeles and the family Thanksgiving. Just can’t keep running up and down I-5 for no good reason, so here I am. Taking one for the team. In the meantime, hope that Gas Co. tech shows up. Been an hour and a half. Grrr . . .

But best wishes to you all for a happy holiday. See ya!

HENRIETTA’S GONE, GOODBYE

Monday, November 12th, 2018

This morning I have to tell you that our little French hen has been taken into the Great Chain of Being. I suppose it must have been an owl, though I am not a chicken-crimes forensic specialist. I should not privilege one bird above another, and am glad it was not a skunk or weasel that took her, but I can’t escape a feeling of responsibility. I depended on the work of the automatic door, which somehow failed and left the chickens out in the orchard all frosty night, exposed and cold. Why didn’t I check last night to be sure all was well? Aaargh!

It wasn’t quite daylight when I walked by the far window with my coffee and saw the dark forms huddled against the far fence. What the heck? Slogged into my boots and made the discovery. No body, no blood, just feathers, and two frost-bitten sad survivors, who didn’t run to greet me as they always do. Their feathers were icy, and the door to the coop resolutely still closed. Don’t know how to warm a chicken (no jokes about the microwave here, let’s be sensitive) but called Larry, back in Portland, retrieved the red thumb-push which opens the auto door and teased Edith and Sally inside with some corn. I hope they found their way up to the warm straw-carpeted roost.

Lesson learned.

Now I’ll have to tell Pat. See, the lovely, generous Pat Hills has volunteered to chicken-sit while we’re away in CA for Thanksgiving. She stopped by on Saturday to get the instructions for their care. She had reached the farm ahead of me, and I found her just coming in from the orchard. She’d been taking the chickens for a walk around the orchard, teaching them a song. Seriously, isn’t that the best? We’d thought we’d just depend on the auto-door while she’s here, but now I’ll have to teach her how to manage it manually each night. I hate to tell her about Henrietta, though.

And why was I late getting here on Saturday? Larry and I had met at Charbonneau to visit an open-house, our first foray into the inevitable move from the Portland condo. No, dear Reader, we did not like the open-house condo, and Larry has proposed another scenario we’ll have to consider. How about renting a place in Charbonneau? No commitments. Hmm. A visit to the Web reveals a rental option there that doesn’t look terrible on line. Sigh. Here’s the thing. This weekend, Larry has stayed in Portland so that he can get to his monthly Monday breakfast with the boys from Columbia Mgmt. He has said repeatedly that he will not give up his normal Portland life in favor of the farm. That means golf at Pumpkin every Sunday, breakfasts with his friends, Symphony, Center Stage, random visits with our buddies, coffees with various members of the community who look to us for donations. And so on. Just the urban scene. Fine.

But it’s getting harder, as he is, I believe, ever more deeply engaged down here. Now, this stretch of urban life was to include breakfast with another set of old work colleagues on Tuesday morning. But we’d bought tickets to an activity here called Pub Talks (I think. That doesn’t sound right) for Monday evening. Let’s see. Drive down Monday, back to Portland whenever for Tuesday breakfast? Tough call. He gets frustrated and angry. I don’t know how to help.

But here I am, alone on another frosty morning, biting myself on the butt about Henrietta, and I’d still rather be here than anywhere else in the world.

Short post, no photos. Back soon. Love, Jane

NEIGHBORHOOD PARTY

Friday, October 5th, 2018

I know, surprise. We actually have a neighborhood. Terri, the only one we know, had the idea to have a “gathering” after the fire (which I’ve mentioned before). Good idea! We met a couple across the way who raise Islandic sheep, and the wife’s mom who lives in the original, small house on the property. Another woman, who owns a large property adjoining the sheep people, has just built the first home she has lived in for 40 years, her entire adult life. When her husband died several years ago, she sold some of the property, inherited from her family, and built her home. Been living in a trailer on the property those long 40 years. Good for her!

But the best outcome from the party, from our point of view, was the acquaintance of a couple, whose property adjoins ours, who are passionate about chickens. (You knew I’d get around to chickens, right?) The gentleman has volunteered to come over and take care of our birds whenever we want to get away for a while. Like for Thanksgiving, when we’re heading to Pasadena. Hooray! He has met our chickens, pronounced them nice and healthy. This is actually a big deal, as we have been wondering how we’d find a chicken-sitter when the time came.

So, finally, here they are:

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They haven’t seem excited about being “free range.” There they were, the whole orchard open to be explored, and they just huddled around the coop. Back door open, good to go. So Larry and I were pretty surprised yesterday, when out in the orchard ourselves setting mole traps,to find the girls clustered around us, well away from home base. We had been bringing them treats in order to introduce ourselves to them, but still, this was new. Edith, the Rhode Island Red, is the bravest, and will come right up to the little cup I hold to investigate the dried corn within.

This was a fun trick for us. Now when they see us, they come right over. They still won’t go abroad when we aren’t there, though, which is good, as I saw a hawk sitting on the fence post one day. And they are averaging an egg a day among them, which is just the right amount.

But chickens are not the only news around here. A massive dust cloud got our attention the other day, and on examination, we found this monster in the field along Llewellyn:

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This proved to be Mike, employee of USF&W. Seems the permit to build the vernal pool had finally come in, and work is underway. This work, Jarod, our main F&W Guy, explained, is “jurisdictional.” Which means permits were required from the Corp of Engineers, State of Oregon, and Benton County before earth could be moved. Because we’re in a jurisdictional flood plain. Fortunately the permits came in just before the promised rainfall later this week. Here’s what this looks like now:

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When finished, the “pool” will be about a foot deep, and native plants will, theoretically, colonize the space. But it won’t look like a pond, alas, just a marshy wet-land. The aquatic community of birds, salamanders, frogs, however, will love it, Jarod insists, and come January we will be deafened by the chorus of Coastal green frogs, photo below:

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Larry is, at the moment, driving his tractor in the later-this-week rainfall, after a fraught morning when the automatic brush-hog release feature didn’t function. Over to the John Deere folk with a photo of the problem, and, problem solved, but not in time to beat the rain. So here’s a photo of him yesterday when the sun still shone on his vision garden:

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I agree. It is a vision. Good for him!

AND FAMILY

Monday, December 5th, 2016

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Starting today with some photos taken by Alli Ederer, our Seattle granddaughter who, with her family, spent Thanksgiving with us. She had an assignment in her art class to take landscape photos. Talented girl! No description needed for the above. But next, the ATV tracks across the wet pasture looking back across the road:

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Okay, backing up here. We weren’t going to have the whole family with us this holiday, but the Pasadena branch of the tribe made an impressive showing on the Tuesday before. Margie, my co-grandma with the Peter Viehl kids, came to visit that afternoon, along with a cast of Allison’s cousins, uncle, sister and brother-in law, with an assortment of kids as well. It was fun to have them all, and to get a chance to visit with Blair, Allison’s uncle. He has a nursery in Coos Bay and brought us two pots of bedding plants, our first, and will be a great source of advice when we get the “landscape” going next spring. Margie also brought a load of Amy’s laundry, and she and Angie loved playing mom again. “Is it okay to put Lulu Lemon in the dryer?” We decided that the answer is no. Amy wasn’t there to advise us, as she stayed in Eugene to study. Smart girl!

Jenny and family arrived Wednesday evening. Long drive from Seattle! We got up early to get the pies baked (only the one oven in the house, see) and grandson Will was a great sous chef for the pecan number. Which joined gravy as the menu feature requiring close supervision of over-use by family members. The turkey was a triumph, new technique involving dismemberment of the bird.

On Friday, Jenny, Alli and I went out and about to see what Corvallis looks like, and to get provisions for a batch of Grandma Viehl’s Christmas cookies, Melting Moments. Oops, forgot the corn starch, so Alli and I, determined to bake, went back into Philomath to pick it up. To find Bell Fountain flooded! We paused at the south end of the river flowing across the road, watched cars at the north end turn around. When one of them chanced passage, and succeeded, we chose to make the attempt. Alli, at the wheel, got us through. Adventure! On the way home, we tried another route and this time, were cautious enough to retreat, and finally got home the safe way. When we told the others how we had seen cars swept away, the helicopter rescuing motorists standing on their roofs, no one believed us. You shouldn’t either.

But speaking of floods: Another of Alli’s landscapes. Muddy Creek at flood stage: (I love the light in her photos)

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Next day, we women went to Eugene to check that town out — found it a bit more interesting than downtown Corvallis. Also wandered around the campus and looked up Amy’s sorority. Amy, of course, was at home in Pasadena, but we did get a sense of what she’s experiencing.

And the men, meanwhile, were hard at work. Will and Larry built a firewood rack for the shed. Pictured below. Larry says Will did all the work while he supervised. Important to train a new generation in the skills a farmer will need.

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Tom, meanwhile, mowed the “lawn” under the homestead tree, and I would like to give him credit for all the other stuff he did, but I don’t know what it was. Good job, Tom! There.

So it was a lovely inaugural holiday in the new house. Here’s to many more, here’s to family, here’s to home.

DECEMBER

Monday, December 7th, 2015

December. Haven’t been to the farm in 10 days, and the last visit was just a fly-by on the way to Calistoga, CA, where we celebrated Thanksgiving with Peter and Jenny’s families. Missing David, but Hawaii too far for him and Caroline to fly for the days of the holiday. We brought bird houses for the grandkids to assemble, which they painted and decorated to be placed on the farm next spring.

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So today was our opportunity. On the way south the sun joined us just south of Salem, and the colors of the blueberry stems, almost purple but not quite, the new greening grass fields, filbert trees a gentle nutmeg, all under a blue sky called for a poetry of description I don’t possess. I’ll just say we were happy to be alive, listening to the songs I need to learn for the upcoming “Adult Band Camp.” This is not as racy as the title suggests. Okay, it’s not racy at all in any way.

We unlocked the gate and drove to the house, anticipating our first look at the new siding. But wait! That’s not the color it’s supposed to be! Taupe?

“Just pre-primed,” Larry assures me.

Humph. Supposed to be gray. Well, never mind.

We’re meeting with Jarod and Steve and the woman, Donna, from OWEB on Wednesday to talk about a grant to fence off the streams carving their way to Muddy Creek. These bodies of water are marked on maps, but un-named. Therefore, we will name the largest stream The Little Sometimes Creek. (Have to tell you that “sometimes” is now, as I’ll demonstrate later.)

We’re also, providentially meeting with Matt Jones, Fence Guy, to sign a contract. He tells us they’ll start just after the first of the year. We’ll fence the length of the driveway and around the house, as well as the banks of the creeks. The idea is to keep the cows off these streams, and to plant willow and Douglas spirea to reclaim the habitat for birds and other aquatic creatures. In fact, we recently learned that a study of farmland waterways in the watershed claims that salmonoids have been found even in the irrigation ditches around the area. They will surely love our improved streams, even though Larry refuses to believe in their existence in Muddy Creek. He also refuses to believe in Santa Claus, so there we are.

Now I’m going to show you a photo, just to keep your interest: We’ll call this the “Before” shot.

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We had work to do in the barn, so left the house and drove to the barn. Changed into our boots, found our gloves, and attacked the 6 cribs remaining to be cleaned. This is honestly a nasty job, but it feels darn good to have accomplished it. We’ll see if we feel like inviting more sheep in there to be shorn after all our hard work. Larry manned the tractor, shoving the crap out back of the barn where we hope the rain will turn it into fertilizer. Of course, it’s already fertilizer, but not in manageable form.

While he continued to putter, I decided to go for a walk to photograph all the lovely colors. Unfortunately, the sun had disappeared and the luminous green moss on the oaks was now just green moss on the oaks. Took a photo anyway:

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And I just wandered, enjoying the small sounds of the water, the cry of our red tail, the feel of oncoming rain in the air. I found a new waterway, which I’ll show the agency folks on Wednesday. A buried pipe, a sink hole. I don’t know if this is good news or bad with respect to allowing the passage of water across the property to reclaim it’s natural course. Will learn more next week:

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Close your eyes. Next year, or maybe the year beyond, this will look like this, the “AFTER” shot:

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Just kidding! This is a photo from the VRBO in Calistoga where we spent our Thanksgiving holiday. But we really are planning on a swing.