Views from the Homestead

Tangled Up In Blue- The Challenges of Birdnetting

Anna in the Blueberry Patch

I wonder when Bob Dylan wrote Tangled Up In Blue if he was thinking about the challenges of bird netting?Of course not-  but the song has come to mind over the last few weeks as we harvest GALLONS of the yummy treats from our 6 meager Highbush blueberries. 

Each year- we contrive a netting scenario to keep the birds out and give us ease of picking.  Each year- I find more things I HATE about the darn stuff.  If it is not my buttons getting stuck in the netting it is a hair barette- and let me tell you folks- getting your hair pulled out by the roots is no fun when already sweating under a berry bush!  Two years ago we came home from vacation to find a black snake trapped in the mesh and he was well rotted.... EEEEWWWW!

My niece Anna is up for 2 weeks and could not wait to dive in and eat more than she picked-  It was not long until I heard cries for help as her pants button was stuck in the netting.

I tried to convince myself the netting was not necessary until I viewed the copious amounts of bird poop that have accumulated on the bars holding the netting in place.  Little rascals are just sitting up there waiting for a chance to break in!.

Anna has returned to us this year at age 6 with a whole new set of phobias!  Apparently by age 6 I had also developed a fear of all things buggy.  While she has never been stung, she is deathly afraid of bees.  Any slight buzzing sends her into a running, flailing fit - which I might add is difficult to do when trapped under bird netting but quite humorous to behold.

So, last night, Aunt Shannon convinced her that singing songs would scare the bees away-  what it accomplished- well she could not hear the bees over the melodic stylings of Ole Suzannah, Daisy Daisy and many other childhood favorites.  Since Auntie Shannon used to into fits of catatonia over bugs, I can hardly talk can I?  I have tried to educate her about honeybees and beneficial insects- but right now they are all "gross".  This is the same kid who took great pleasure in mashing tater beetles and squash bugs in her fingers.

Today our drought like conditions have ended with some much needed rain- so I guess it is time to go out and weed.

Happy Summer Solstice!

Today marks the longest day of the year and I still feel like I could not get enough done before daylight waned.  We have been in a real hot spell over the last 10 days and rain is nowhere to be seen.  The 90 degree days make it hard to work with any speed and we find ourselves drained before days end.

Karl and I have put the rain cistern to good use and have watered our crops and berries with over 500 gallons of collected rainwater so far this year.  While gravity watering is slower, it allows me time to weed while giving the plants a good soak.  So far our biggest nemesis is a rash of poison ivy scattered around the farm- we are debating methods to get rid of it and would welcome any suggestions!

However you have chosen to celebrate the longest day of the year we hope it was a good one!

Recovering from Lightnin Strike

KA BLAMMMM!

We had a freak super storm cell hit 2 weeks ago while at work. Mom thought she heard a crack over at our place- but when we came home - no clocks blinking, power was on-  that is until we tried to use the compter and then the TV. 

When I went out to see the pups, they were prancing about with huge chunks of bark in their mouths and it became evident that the point of impact was a maple tree in our dog yard.  Thank goodness we did not have pup-kabobs!

After hours of sleuthing we deduced the surge ran in on the phone line and fried our computer and DSL modem. Our satellite reciever was also affected

I won't deny the absence of connection the the outside world was not fun, but it is a challenge when one tries to work from home.

Of course life at the ranch has been packed with the impending summer- weeding.  We have had record heat and until today all the major thunderstorms have passed by leaving the land parched.

Just when you think you are fed up with Mother Nature- she brings the much needed water, cool after storm breezes and oh yes!  Art in the form of a huge rainbow.

Treatise on Ironing Sheets

I am very excited this week to prepare for a visit from my Auntie Cheryl and my Meemaw.  Meemaw is my only living grandparent, and I want to make sure this is a comfortable, special visit for her.

The preparations have been full of excited hustle and bustle and a good excuse to do some late spring cleaning.  While many folks find cleaning a drudgery, I find it relaxing to care for our little spot of heaven on this earth.  So I was happily humming, dusting, organizing and leaving behind order out of chaos until the sad realization hit me.  Oh God, the sheets!

Meemaw is very particular about her bedding- her bed was The Crown Jewel of Order in her household.  As kids, we were never allowed on her bed after it was made every morning.  Her bed never had a wrinkle or a seam out of place.  You could dent a quarter on the darn thing.  One of my most fond memories is of my Dad - running in her bedroom to waller and roll around on her bed like a dog rolling in cow shit.  He LOVED  to "mess it up".  She would get so aggravated with him!

The creation of Meemaws guest bed has been a labor of love. I had a good excuse to replace our well loved and worn knit sheets with new, crisp white cotton.  Washed in lavender soap and line dried in the sun...   ahhh images of June Cleaver and Martha Stewart danced in my head as I ventured out to retrieve the dry sheets.  

Then the horror of it all dawned....  They weren't billowing beautifully in the fresh mountain air!  The damn things were WRINKLED.   Did I mention Meemaw also IRONS her sheets?

So choking back my inner Erma Bombeck who sagely said 

"No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick. "

I withdrew the iron from the back of the laundry cupboard, fished out the mini- ironing board from the depths of the closet, and proceeded to pour myself a large glass of white wine in an attempt to add some glamour to the task of ironing the sheets.  Sheets which looked great for 5 minutes and re-wrinkled because I do not, nor have I ever used- starch.

Now the bed is made, the rooms ready and while I am inclined to agree with Mrs. Bombeck, I feel I have at least made an attempt to make Meemaw's stay a comfortable one- despite my failure of Ironing 101.

 

Misty Morning Memories

I awakened with a start this morning- "Oh No-  did I remember to turn the crock pot off last night?"  After running downstairs and out to the back porch to confirm I had turned off the chili, I was much too awake to crawl back in bed.   We try to use the crock pot on the back porch in the summer to keep the heat out of the house- but sometimes out of sight is out of mind. 

I went about the morning chores - the dogs giving me sleepy looks as it was 6:30 and they like to sleep in on weekends too.  I made myself a cup of Earl Gray and savored one of Moms Cream Scones to break my fast.  Sunday mornings are my favorite- our community remains quiet- no mowers, trimmers, radios.  I am free to enjoy the sounds of the farm sans electronics and other people.  I will often find my mom doing the same thing on her porch- quietly enjoying nature.  Our inability to sleep in must be genetic.

Today the fog encompasses the landscape, muffling some sounds while accentuating the birdsong.  I can barely make out the outline of my mom's house just a few 100 yards away.

This weekend I have been thinking a lot about my dad, who passed away 3 years ago this very weekend from a sudden heart attack.  He would have been up on a morning like this- having a hot cup of tea or coffee.  In fact, this morning he would have been camping.  Dad would be the first one up, stoking a fire and preparing for breakfast.  First I would hear him pumping vigorously to prime that old Coleman fuel stove, then the hiss of the flame followed by the plunk of the percolator- no instant camping coffee for my dad!

Then we would hear breakfast- he had this really cool toaster ( I still have it) for the stove top.  We would have scrambled eggs, toast and sausages.  I remember our devastation one such morning when we discovered the coons had out foxed my dad by pulling an entire loaf of bread out of the small hand hole in his camping supplies box.  The toast was soooo good and never tastes like that at home!  Plus- camping was the only time we were treated to WHITE bread because everyone knows whole wheat bread makes for crappy camping toast.

Karl and I both have cause to remember this weekend- both losing a parent that same year.  We talk about them now with less sadness and now fondness and laughter as we share the stories.  I find now it is comforting to see some of my dad in myself.  Funny how as we age- it is OK to be more like our parents.  Now I am nearing 40 (ugh), all those traits and beliefs I hated as a teenager and young adult now make sense and I embrace many of them. 

All those years we scoffed at Mom's "hippie whole foods cooking" and Dad's "don't pay someone if you can do it yourself".  I can now cook ( tho not as good as mom) and help Karl tackle most of the repairs and work around the farm. 

On your Sunday Morning- I encourage you to take some time to quietly sit and think.  It does not matter if  you choose to worship in a building or in the great cathedral of nature, but I think it is imporant- even if you can't take the whole day to rest- grasp a few minutes to be thankful and remember.