Farm Life – Page 6 – The Hillhouse

Stinky Stuff

July 8, 2014July 8, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics3 Comments

There’s been a lot of action around here lately. It’s been hot and muggy, and I’ve put in a lot of time dealing with the various pieces of crap still embedded in the corners of my property; pounds upon pounds of plastic sheeting in giant piles over what used to be the garden, long-lost, tangled piles of old chicken wire sunk beneath mounds of wet leaf litter and even car parts from a previous tenant all needed to be collected and added to the growing pile of junk that was to be hauled away. Frank, the handlebar-moustached junk man swung by with his big truck today, and I jumped in the bed to help load up all the crap. He kindly undercharged me for the huge haul, and soon he was pulling away down my long, winding driveway, leaving me a clean homestead for the very first time since I moved here, now almost six years ago.

Finally, finally, my space was clear of every last item I didn’t want or need. The flower garden outside my door was looking trim and neat and the cut lawn stretched out, perfect, in all directions. A day or two before I’d managed to start up both the tiller and weed trimmer and had enjoyed the old, familiar smell of two cycle engine exhaust as I put the finishing touches on my place. Wow. Such a long time coming, but now it was here. I sat on my steps, exhausted and surrounded by my chickens, and I reveled in the moment.

A short time later, sweaty and covered in bug spray, I took off my grungy clothes and started the shower. No sooner had I done this, than I heard a car honk in my driveway. Wrapping a towel around me and running to the door I saw a woman get out of the car – the one who owned the lot through which my driveway runs for about fifteen feet – and she announced to me that she needed to finalize the plans for the driveway, as she had a sale that was to close the next day at one o’clock. Thankfully my somewhat compromised state allowed me a polite stay on the conversation. I promised to call her shortly. And I did.

What ensued was the most civil yet heated exchange I have ever had with a person. She wanted to sell her property – but could not do so as my driveway went through it. She wanted to inform me that ‘first thing in the morning’ there would be a load of gravel dumped so that I would no longer have to cross over her property. I countered (not wanting the probably inevitable building of a house virtually on my driveway) by citing the easement we agreed on when we purchased the house; we bought the place with the right-of-way as part of the deal. She disagreed, but I told her that this was all a moot point – and simply hearsay – until we both had the deed in hand. Then she reiterated that tomorrow she would simply mark her property line with large rocks if need be.

Man, she was a tough woman, and she remained eerily polite throughout. I am no negotiator, but I kept my cool and stuck to my guns. I believe she was calling my bluff, but nonetheless I won’t feel completely at ease until I’ve visited the town clerk’s office tomorrow morning and can learn the truth. She posited that my driveway might have ‘migrated’ over the years and that gravel would fill in the new driveway’s path – I pointed out that it was a well-constructed road, it had not ‘migrated’ at all, and furthermore a simple load of gravel would not be enough to move it. I suggested that the situation be remedied by my family simply buying the some 100 square feet in dispute on which my driveway sat. She told me this wouldn’t work, as that would leave her less than an acre, and that wasn’t enough to build on. Last time I checked, the zoning in town required five acres for a new house. So much for preserving the rural nature of our community. If holding out on this precious, tiny area meant staving off the development, if even for a little while, then I knew it was worth it.

Yesterday, intending to catch a raccoon, I caught a skunk instead. After my initial panic wore off, I spent a little time on YouTube educating myself on safely releasing the creature from the trap without getting sprayed. This event was truly a right of passage for me. This past week I’ve seen the death of two fatally trapped raccoons (sadly even had to whack one in the head to hasten his demise – that too was a strange initiation into real country life), I’ve shot my first gun, and I’ve taken out a dozen rodents in my house. I’m getting braver, but still, this took some new-found courage. It went well, and without incident. I pray for another such ending in this dicey new affair with the neighbors.

It looks like our private little sanctuary in the country might be changing soon. And after finally getting the place cleaned up and looking like it should. Phooey. This is what really stinks.

Surprise!

Not a terribly sharp image, but still you can see how beautiful she is. I was surprised at the amount of white on her – and what a tail.

Got the cage oh-so-carefully draped in a cloth to calm her and reduce her vision. Suited up now and goin in!

I managed to get the door open and propped up – but she wouldn’t leave. I ran inside to get some smelly canned salmon with which to entice her exit, but in the two minutes I was gone – she had left on her own. I’d wanted to watch her leave, but just as well. A good ending to a potentially stinky situation.

Love Penny, Lost Raccoon

June 30, 2014June 18, 2024 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics2 Comments

B man

The other day I’d taken my jar of change into Walmart to redeem some big-time cash for my savings. After the coins had all filtered down through the machine I heard one final and ringing ‘clink’ sound. I checked, and to my surprise retrieved one single penny, cut into the shape of a heart, and with the word “LOVE” stamped into it. Having been rather at the end of my rope recently, and finding even this outing to be something of a challenge with respect to my panic attacks alone, I couldn’t help but see it as a sign. Some readers may smile and nod knowingly, others may think me silly. Who cares, regardless of the means, this little love penny came to me. It came to me at a time when I needed a secret hello of some sort from the universe – real or imagined. When I went to redeem my change for the big money (I even liked the sum: $17.17) I just had to share my story with the gal at the register. She thought it just as sweet and serendipitous as I, and I departed, happy, feeling like I’d just been given a mysterious, secret wink from the world. I tucked the little copper heart into an interior pocket of my purse. Several times during the day I’d pull it out and examine it in wonder. I imagined the person who tossed it into the machine, smiling, thinking of the recipient, hoping it would make their day. I thought of them, thanked them and received the special little penny with gratitude.

Today I awoke with a heart lightened by my surprise ‘love penny’ from the day before, and an attitude refreshed by a sense that things might still be on my side, in spite of all I had before me. Needing someone to bear witness to the unbelievable volume of the stuff I had collected in my basement alone (and needed to get rid of in the coming few weeks), I had my mother – bum knee and all – brave the cellar stairs and come down to witness the enormous mess before me. “How did you get all this stuff?” she asked me, unaware that even she had played her own small part in the chaos; a Sierra club backpack here, a stack of Audubon bird calendars there… Crap everywhere. I don’t even understand how it all got here. I just don’t know; stuff finds us. Hand me downs – a very welcome staple of our life here in Greenfield – take up far more space than I’d realized. Having excavated the old ‘root’ cellar I find the main room now piled from floor-to-ceiling with bins upon bins… It seems so innocent at the time, a friend sends a box, someone leaves a bag on our steps, a classmate one size larger leaves us a bin… Don’t get me wrong, we need this stuff. It’s what clothes my child. Between what I make and what his father sends – there’s not enough to buy clothes after our bills are met. So it’s all a tremendous blessing – only we can’t ever use all of it. And it takes a lot of time to go through and set the extra stuff aside. And besides – some of it is still too big for Elihu right now, so we have to save it. It all takes up space.

But so do old Halloween costumes and boxes of paper airplanes. So do RC cars and defunct helicopters and vintage computers… It all adds up, and the result is a basement in which we can both no longer find things nor walk around in. And I for one have had it.

So when folks lightheartedly ask me what I’m doing for the summer (you know, with all this time in which to relax!) it’s impossible to answer them as truthfully as I’d like. I have a LOT of shit before me, from my own personal stuff to that of the Studio. And I’m just one woman. But I take heart this morning, because after all, someone, somewhere sent me little give of love… and just remembering this makes me smile. Yeah, I have a lot to do, and a huge adventure still before me, but I’m beginning to feel hopeful again. I’m in my own personal zone now; I don’t even know where my kid is – it’s only when I check in on Facebook that I see the photo a friend has posted of him. He’s in Fort Wayne, Indiana today, busking and netting some good tips and giving an interview to the local paper. Good for him. I’d like to check in, but I gotta keep moving.

Today I’m emptying the garage, cleaning it, having the brush dealt with and setting traps for the raccoons. May not sound like a lot, but it is. A wonderful fellow named Joe came today and worked hard in the hot summer sun cutting the chest-high brush and cleaning up a years’ worth of neglect. It was a good day. I began to feel that I might be regaining some control over things. I began to feel like the universe was putting out little signs for me, hoping I’d pick up on them.

The day before, just before I’d found my heart-shaped penny, I stopped to watch some guys unloading a bin full of donated clothing. I’d been doing a little reconnaissance regarding the destination of all my stuff… I was wondering where this stuff ended up, and if in fact it all got used. They insisted it did, and furthermore, they offered that they could even come to my house to make a pickup. Although it was mostly clothing that people’d left in the bins, I saw that other artifacts had been tossed into the heap as well. “I don’t even know what this is” the young man said as he held up a bas-relief portrait of Buddha. “That’s Buddha.” I informed him. He gave me a rather blank look. “He’s kinda like Jesus for another part of the planet.” “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him. Yeah. Cool.” he set it down again and went back to throwing bags of clothes onto the truck. “Would I be breaking the rules if I took him?” I asked. “Oh, you’re cool. You can take him.” the boy answered. And so I did. I thanked the guys, wished them well, and tucked the Buddha into my backseat. It felt very much like a little nod from the universe. I could definitely use a little Buddha today. A little paint and tlc, and he might just be a perfect pick-me-up and addition to our wall at home. And then I got the penny not a half hour later. Both of em, just what I needed, at just the right time.

I’d set the humane traps the day before for the raccoon, but had been twice duped by the clever beast. First, somehow, she’d managed to retrieve the chicken thigh cooked in bacon fat without so much as tripping the damned thing. That morning she’d fooled me again, by digging underneath the closed trap and retrieving the bread from below the cage, through the mesh. Inside the house I’d been having another ongoing drama with Gwendolyn, our resident chipmunk. She’d gotten so comfortable in our house that she’d now sit on the kitchen table while I drank my coffee in the morning, sitting as still as I believe a chipmunk to have the patience to, and she’d just watch me while I sipped. A good two or three minutes would pass before she decided she’d had enough, and she’d flit away. When I’d taken Elihu to the airport last week, I’d also taken Gwendolyn, or at least one of her relatives, and so there was every chance that a family had taken up residence in the car as well. For as sweet as they seem, for as endearing as Gwendolyn was as we shared our moment in the morning, I cannot forget that she and hers threaten the electrical system in my car as well as the safety of the food in my pantry. Like the raccoon, she too thwarted my efforts to use the humane trap on her, escaping the closed trap with the bait, and without injury.

It’s not been an easy decision for me by any means to take action, but tonite I had to. I had Joe set a real trap for the raccoon, and rat traps will follow for the chimpmunks. Tonite, shortly after I’d taken a shower and was about to get into bed, I heard a shrieking sound. I went out to the edge of the woods and saw her there, stuck, flailing. It was not as I’d thought it would be. I ran to the garage and searched in vain for my sledgehammer with which I meant to end her suffering. Now in tears, I ran to call neighbor Zac, who showed up only moments later, but just too late. The raccoon had finally died. And as Zac and I worked to free her from the trap, I saw she was a mother. Her kids had likely stopped nursing and were grown, she didn’t have milk, but still, it was hard to see. Having just died, she was warm and soft. I held her like a baby, I told her I was sorry. I understood it was she who’d taken my beloved hens, yet still I didn’t feel glee at her death. A little relief, yes, but it was still sad.

It’s so hard to reconcile all of the extremes in this world. One day I can’t imagine waking up one more morning, the next day I’m encouraged by tiny signs…. One day my heart is angrily set on taking out the animal that’s been killing my own, but in the end, I feel a mix of sorrow and a mild sense of regret. No celebration. No mourning really even. Just sort of a nondescript settling in of the process. Tonite I feel a mix of so many things all at once. The relief that soon my extra things will be gone, that soon the Studio will be underway, that the raccoon is dead. Good and bad, despondent and hopeful, living and dead. It all exists in such close proximity.

I think of my penny, and I go to retrieve it from my purse. It’s not there. In a mild panic, I search for it everywhere I can think of, in the junk drawer, in my car, in my jewelry drawer, in every corner of my purse. I don’t remember moving it since the last time I dropped it into my bag… How on earth is it gone? Yet it must be. In my possession for less than a day and night, I am saddened at the loss. I hadn’t even taken a picture of it. I google the image, and I find nothing like it. There is no proof of my sign… it’s gone…. And then I think of the love penny and how it did just what it was supposed to at the right time, and now it was simply on its way to do its job again for the next person in need. And I think of my new friend, Mr. Buddha. That middle way he talked about. Let things come as they will, and let them go. I guess I just gotta go with it. Easy come, easy go.

I can’t help but look to tomorrow with a new sort of excitement and anticipation, and at the same time I look at the past with gratitude and a sense of wonder. I’m sorry about the raccoon, and I send her my love. On we go, may we all be on the way to a better place, whether it’s here or somewhere yet unknown…

My garage is bursting…

… and my basement is full with Halloween costumes and the assorted detritus of life.

Some things I can’t part with… old concert posters and a certificate for my father signed by Pablo Casals.

Elihu drew these on his easel at five, shortly after me moved here.

God bless Katie and Kat – they helped with the gruntwork.

Some things – like this paper plane of hundreds – get burned.

Joe has been another Godsend. He’s helped cut the overgrowth on my property, which is wonderful, but I learn he’s a trapper, too.

It takes a bit of finesse to set it right.

This is what it looks like when he’s finished.

This is an unsuccessfully closed trap from which a chimpmunk escaped – with the bait. !

I’m sorry to say that in this picture she’s still alive, and struggling. This was horrible to witness. From now on when I do this I’ll have my sledgehammer on hand. This must be quicker and more humane.

When she does finally pass, I admire her hands. So clever, just last night she’d removed bait from a humane trap and escaped. I’ve even seen her use these hands to remove the lids from garbage cans. She was very smart and talented.

I can’t help but cradle her. She’s dead now, but still soft and warm. I thanked her for being a good mom and doing what she was supposed to. Even Zac, as seasoned a farm fellow as he is, he wasn’t any happier about this than I was. She’s now been double-bagged and is in our freezer pending ideas from Elihu. I think it’ll just be a memento of a tail. I just don’t have an appetite for revenge barbecue. Bless you little girl, hope you’re in a better place. I’m relieved that I don’t have to fear for my hens anymore. Hopefully we’re onto a new chapter.

Off Balance

June 15, 2014June 15, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Growing Older, Mommy Mind2 Comments

Since Madeline’s been gone, it’s just felt different around here. Elihu’s noticed it too. The small flock that remains is a rather dull bunch, as something about the attack on the coop the other night has the birds behaving a bit less like themselves – and ironically, perhaps in some cases, a bit more like themselves – than before. For the most part the gals all meander about as they’ve always done, only we notice they’re not quite as brave as they used to be. They don’t take over the porch (a frustrating but endearing activity), they don’t seem to make it as far as their once-favorite flowering quince bush, and in general they stay uncharacteristically close to the house most of the day. Austin, our slightly neurotic guinea fowl, deprived the past few months of his best pal Maximus, has been acting quite nasty to his coop mates, challenging poor Baldy, pulling every last feather from his royal rear end, as well as running after the hens in fruitless circles as they cluck in distress. And since Madeline – the one rather calming element in the the group – has been gone, he has become something of a bully. Elihu and I both know we need to get him some hens, but emails to local chicken friends turn up no prospects. He’s becoming a drag on the flock, and his bursts of incredibly loud calls of ‘chank chank chank’ (I suppose him to be expressing some inner conflict – at least he can get it out, good for him in that regard) that sometimes last for five minutes at a stretch and permeate every closed window with ease – well, this is becoming much more than an occasional nuisance.

The absence of our goose Maximus has changed things too. We hadn’t lost any hens to predators over the past two years, the time since we’d had him. But with the coming of warm weather, we’ve had a handful of losses. No coincidence. I guess a two foot tall white gander made an impression on the neighborhood fox and raccoon. With that imposing figure no longer standing guard in the door of the coop at sunset, the critters have nothing to dissuade them. And no one to slow them down, either. Poor Bald Mountain did his regal best the night we lost Madeline; he had put up something of a fight with the attacker, and was covered in new, open scratches and was limping even more than before (in the past he’s lost a spur and returned home quite beaten up after fending off potential invaders). The back half of Baldy’s comb had been bitten off, and though the wound was beginning to clot, he was covered in fresh blood when we first saw him.

We came home shortly after dark to a message on our phone machine from our neighbor. He had discovered Bald Mountain on his front door step. Putting the story together it seems that after the confusion of the attack, he’d ended up fleeing, running through the woods and across the field to our neighbor’s house, where they found him on the stairs of their front door, seeking safety. Neighbor Chad was more than a hero, and wrestled the rooster onto his lap, driving him home on his four wheeler. But by then the damage was done. Madeline had been lost in the skirmish, and Azalea, as we later came to learn, had hunkered down in the darkness for her survival. What a good boy is our Bald Mountain, what a fight he must have given. How stunned and impressed we were at how far he’d traveled to save himself (it is quite a distance). And that he sought out a house, a light, something he clearly recognized to represent the safety of home – it all has us even more grateful for our poor old fellow. Now, if only Austin, that damned nuisance of a guinea, would let poor Baldy alone.

It occurs to me, as I look about at my tail-less rooster, my psycho guinea fowl and my frantic hens, that this is no longer a harmonious homestead.

It’s also becoming a drag to go out these days. To get dressed, to make myself presentable enough to go before people. Somehow I made it through the last few weeks of school, but these days, like a blossom bursting forth overnight from a tiny bud, I too seem to have expanded my own previous dimensions in a very short time. Regret mounts when I think back to last summer; I inhabited a body of a sexy size 10 (for me this was a huge personal victory) and yet now I find I’m surfing Ebay at 2 am searching for fat shirts with empire waists and stretch waist pants, some even size 16. Sixteen? When the fuck did this happen? I ask myself over and over as I find myself unable to button the waist on the few remaining ‘fat’ pants I find in some long-forgotten storage bins. Seriously, how did I get here? Oh, I know how. The stress of this past year really got to me – the new music I’ve needed to learn and play, the unpredictable and horrific panic attacks I’ve suffered with (yes, they are no mere annoyance, they are irrational yet real experiences of pure terror) and the relentless nature of single motherhood have called for a deep soothing, one that only entire tubs of hummus and double portions of curry chicken with a half bottle of red wine can provide. Yeah, I’ve been riding this train for a while now, and now it’s finally arriving at its destination.

The kid”ll be gone on Tuesday for a good month and a half stretch, and finally I won’t have to concern myself with the preparation of three meals plus snacks all day long. I have no new music to learn, no one to perform for. ‘Me’ time is finally here. But then there’s that catch – the one my astute child himself brings up when I talk about how much ‘progress’ I intend to make in his absence. “I know what you’ll end up doing, Mommy” he says, his voice dripping with cynicism, “You’ll say how fat you are, you’ll look at all the work you have to do at the Studio and all the stuff to do around here, you’ll feel sorry for yourself and then drive to Stewart’s and get a bag of chips and a bottle of wine. Then you’ll tell yourself it’s just for tonight. But it won’t be.” Really? Am I that bad? I wonder. Am I that obvious? Crap. With a month to myself stretching before me, I feel hope and despair rising up inside of me all at once. Ich.

I haven’t done my taxes yet this year either. Filed for an extension. But I’ll need to file for another soon. Plus I need to re-apply for food stamps, something which in of itself is very much like filing taxes. This is support we desperately need at this point; living these past three months without that help has been pretty brutal. Between having to eat and wanting things such as a bike, a bike rack to carry said bike, orthodontics and bass lessons, it’s been tough. Time’s been at a premium too, as with all the outside work my new job requires, I just haven’t had the time to sift through a year’s financial information. So this too is something I have on my growing to-do list for the time ahead. And then I remember the bag of chips, the bottle of wine… Yeah, this kind of a desk-bound project is likely to inspire a desire to consume empty calories. When you’re at this end of the spectrum, it’s kinda hard to remember what it was to live at the other end of it – it’s almost impossible to remember what it was like to be the super diet-conscious, portion-conscious, yoga class-attending person that you once were long ago. But I’ll find my way back, eventually. I hope.

There is also the garage to deal with. Looks like a bomb went off inside. The detritus of a long, unforgiving winter. My office is filled with bins marked ‘to file’, ‘to archive/scan’, ‘to do, medium importance’, ‘to-do, urgent’ (now that’s kinda funny, the bin’s been sitting there for months, untended), piles of Elihu’s art need to find a home, piles of clothing I can no longer fit into sit, waiting, while mice leave tiny turds all over them and begin to pull at the threads… Water continues to seep into my basement, and a white, fluffy mold has burst through my paint job of a couple years ago, sending a funky smell (and millions of funky-smelling spores too, no doubt) into the air. Piles of hand-me-downs sit, waiting to be put away, as well as do a thousand other tiny artifacts of our life. I know that my situation is not so far from most folks, and certainly I am not the only single parent with an extra heaping of life on their plate. But still… I just shake my head in deepest wonder…. How does everyone else do it?

Elihu and I spend a fair amount of time on the streets of Saratoga, watching the people walk past. He busks, I sit on a bench, read and watch. And I wonder about each one of these people. They all look so well-tended, so healthy. They wear trendy clothes, they sit outside at the hip restaurants and spend $200 on dinner without batting an eye. How do they do it? What do they do for a living? Do they have bins of un-filed crap at home like me? Yes, they’re out strolling the boulevard, looking fine, but are they happy? What kind of thoughts do they have? What motivates them? Do they feel fulfilled? Empty? Searching? If one didn’t ask these questions, it would seem that everyone is doing just fine, doing exceptionally well, thank you. I search their eyes for answers, I lean in to overhear bits of conversations in hopes of finding answers. They give no clues away. Perhaps their basements are moldy and full of piles too. Maybe not. They just look so good on the outside, there’s no telling.

I think back on the chapters of my life in which I felt the most promise, the most fulfilled, the most in balance. And, ironically, for all the moaning I’d done last year about turning 50, I can in retrospect say that for about half that year I felt the best that I had in a long time. And the time before that in which I remember feeling really good about things was when Elihu was a toddler – I’d successfully lost 55 post-baby pounds, I had a husband, a child and a home I loved, I was singing regularly in front of a top-notch, swinging big band, and life felt wonderful. Before that, it was a time in Chicago when I was playing in tons of bands, on the move all the time, making music I loved and being nearly constantly in the company of dear friends. These were the times I felt things to be most balanced in my life, and thank goodness I have those memories – they remind me of how it felt, how it might feel once again, if all goes well. It may take a little alone time to consider the new recipe I need these days to find myself living a balanced life once again; it’s my hope that a little reflection will re-invigorate my quest and bring some answers to light.

I know it’s important that I use my time wisely and get stuff done – but I also know it’s important to find peace in doing simply nothing at all. And, somewhere in between, lies that perfect balance. Here’s hoping I can come close.

Sad for Madeline

June 11, 2014June 12, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics2 Comments

Ok, so we’ve had probably a hundred birds by now, most of whom have had names, most of whom have daily provided us with a generous supply of fresh eggs, and most of whom have ended up on the stove in a big pot surrounded by carrots and onions. So we know what it is to experience loss. Knowing that it’s coming makes it easier, and bonding less with the gal or guy who’s destined for the freezer makes it easier still. And conversely, knowing those certain, endearing qualities peculiar to one chicken alone, and having both named and loved that particular animal perhaps just a a bit more than all the others, well, that is another story. That makes it hard to see em go. Really hard.

We both just kinda thought our eldest and most beautiful hen Madeline would live out a long and happy life here with us. We knew that one day she’d die, yes, of course we did. But we always thought it would be us to find her, years hence, one morning, lying lifeless in a corner of the coop on a bed of hay. Having evaded a good dozen or more animal attacks and weathered hundreds upon hundreds of cold, wintry nights (some five years of em), we just always thought that our dearest Madeline would be the last to leave, and the least likely to succumb to disaster.

The funny thing is, she probably met her maker just about as I was insisting to our friends last night that yes, when it got dark our chickens were honestly in great peril – and especially these days, as we’d both seen for ourselves the enormous resident raccoon trying his skill at the seal on the feed bins. We had to get home, it was dark, and it was becoming more urgent that we get going. We knew we were pushing it. But we’d pushed it before – I guess just not so recently, and certainly not since our new neighbor moved in. Elihu and I have tortured ourselves with a million ‘if onlys’ over the past twelve hours. And until a couple of hours ago, we continued to hold out hope that we’d see her once again, just coming around the corner as usual, as if nothing at all had happened.

Sometimes that does happen. And in fact, it happened this morning. Last night, when we got home, we discovered two hens missing – Madeline and Azalea. We’re not terribly attached to Azalea; she’s a rather run-of-the-mill red sex link (her coloration linked to her gender), and she isn’t from the original bloodline here. And this morning, when I went out in hopes of experiencing one of those rare moments when one girl finally returns from an overnight hiding spot, sure enough, Azalea came around from the far side of the garage, sputtering and making out of the ordinary sounds, approaching the flock with caution. Azalea came, but not Madeline. My heart sank and I felt shame for my instant disappointment. Where was my savvy survivor Madeline? Why was Azalea coming back and not our treasured Madeline?

Now our surviving flock is rather mundane looking. Only two remain that are related to the first matriarch, Molly. All the gals we currently have are red, black or white. (We cannot forget or overlook our common-looking but delightful favorite Thumbs Up). Ah, but our Madeline – she distinguished herself from the very start as a unique bird. From the eye makeup she wore to the beautiful spangled pattern on her rust-red feathers to the tiny, compact rose comb atop her head – all that plus an aloof, queen-like quality, modest and dignified but yet practical and street-smart too. Sometimes the entire flock would be scattered far and wide in the aftermath of an attack, some bloody, some missing feathers – some just plain missing – and yet there Madeline would be, perched on the very highest rung, safe, quiet, keeping her cool in the eye of the storm. We had such faith that it would always be thus. That it no longer is – it’s simply too much for us to understand. It brings to mind all sorts of existential questions, from whether or not we should even be eating meat to how this afterlife thing might work for animals to lessons we might learn from our loss. We want to memorialize our eldest hen by learning something important from this heartbreak. But what?

Elihu doesn’t cry often, and it took him an hour or so to process what had happened. Finally, he sobs. Me too. Even our flock seems to feel the loss in some way as they all huddle as closely together as possible on the lawn chairs. We both know that the raccoon was just doing his job, that he too needs to eat. That all things happen as they should. That Madeline is at peace. Yeah, we know all this, and we go round and round trying to convince ourselves that it’s all ok. Finally Elihu pounds the bed with his fists and screams. “Damn that raccoon! I do want him dead! I do!” He tells me that he wants to eat the animal. That it’s symbolic. And important. “Look it up, please” he begs me. And I do. I find a video of a fellow cleaning and cooking – and eating – a raccoon. And why not? If it’s a healthy, wild animal, why not? Certainly I can understand Elihu’s need for vindication – and perhaps even connection with his treasured hen. After all, we’ve always believed that an animal should not die in vain. We’ve always felt that eating an animal was in some way honoring it. And since the raccoon ate the chicken, well, I guess Elihu feels he’s showing her his respect. And until this raccoon is on his plate – and in his tummy – I don’t believe my son will feel the matter closed.

“You could just cut off his tail and save that“, my mother suggests, hoping her grandson might accept the gesture instead of the culinary adventure. “Yes, ok” Elihu agrees, “…and then I’ll eat him”. This is a kid who had me fry up crickets and grasshoppers for him last summer and went on to ponder the benefits of a planet that might choose bug protein over large animals… There’s no changing his mind. Now exactly how we achieve this act of revenge I’m still not quite sure. I do begin to hatch a plan: a humane trap and a visit to the local farmer who does in his own hooved animals. This guy hunts too. He likes Elihu and might even get a kick out of helping him out with his project. I don’t know. It’s just so much, so soon. I’m up for the adventure that Madeline has set before us, but still, it doesn’t make this day any less sad. Elihu might just be searching for a way to ease the heartbreak, and for all I know he may cool to the idea in a day or two.

You know the way some things are just such a part of your everyday life that you never bother to record them? You don’t take photographs of that smiling fellow at the dry cleaners who’s been a part of your life for years now, you don’t snap pics of the same places you pass every day on your commute that help to make it the familiar part of your life that it is… There are so many things one just takes for granted. For heaven’s sake I kept dozens upon dozens of journals as a girl, and while I was studying piano with the most interesting and iconic woman for much of my youth, I didn’t so much as even mention her in passing in any one of those journals! How is that possible? All I wrote about was being young and misunderstood. Ich. And while I snap my share of pics – hundreds, in fact – I find that as I go thru my archives, I have very few of Madeline. I guess I just always thought she’d be around. Just yesterday Elihu and I admired her as she nestled down into the ground for a comfy dust bath. I’d thought briefly to get the camera, but then decided not to, as I’d have all summer to get a picture of her doing her thing…

Dear Madeline,

Thank you for being such an important part of our homestead. Beautiful, demure and smart from the start, you’ve fed us and charmed us and kept us happy for years, and for this we thank you and promise to keep you in our hearts forever. At last, no more endless, cold winters or traumatizing animal attacks for you! Hope wherever you are now, you have a flock to keep you company, delicious bugs to keep you fed and cozy dust bowls in which to relax. We love you so and miss you like crazy. The Hillhouse will never be the same as when you ruled the roost.

Love, Elizabeth & Elihu

P.S. This is a really crappy way to begin summer vacation. Sigh.

Our Madeline.

She may have seemed cool and indifferent at times, but she always did the right thing. Here she’s taking a turn on the coop’s clutch of eggs. You can see her pretty spangled feathers. She has a black ring around her eyes too, perhaps not easy to see here, but trust me, she was a looker. If it can be said of a chicken, she had a great sense of self; she was a no-nonsense hen. Were she a human, she wouldn’t be getting as sentimental over all of this as we are. Oh, dearest girl, we shall miss you for a very long time.

The Bs Are Back In Town

June 1, 2014June 1, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics5 Comments

Birds, bees, budding flowers, busking and boys give us lots to do around here. Although I make an effort to be the least-scheduled family in town, there’s still so much to do (often too much to do) that our days are always full.

Let me make it clear that we also consider just laying about the house something that’s important to ‘do’. Personally I feel it’s a very healthy thing to have time in which to do nothing at all. Today, as we lay about doing just that, Elihu lamented that he was one of the few kids he knew who didn’t have a trophy. I made it clear to him that those trophies represented many, many hours at lessons, practice and competitions too. And lots of time in the car. I hoped to make it clear to him that the variety of activities that he enjoys in his life – and the relatively relaxed manner in which they occur, ‘laying around’ time included in that – is something he’d miss if he jammed his hours of freedom full of commitments. As it is, today we played hookie from a 4H horse event, something I’m still trying not to feel guilty about. But in that this next week is his last week of school, and in that I still have lots of new music to get in my fingers today and hours yet of playing and practicing still ahead (you’d think it would be done by now, right? me too) I know I made the right choice. The resurgence of panic attacks over this past year are another reason to cut back on extra, outside activities. Yes, Elihu’s classmates likely have more densely-packed schedules, but for the most part, I’m not made of the stuff that it takes to live like that. My son may well have a full and fast-paced summer of activities with his father ahead of him, but here at the Hillhouse, we’re about keeping things as mellow as possible, as we kick back and chill with the Bs.

We love bumble bees.

Glad to see em back in town.

Birds are back and in business too. Our resident Phoebe mom is patiently sitting on her new clutch.

Wild strawberry blossoms promise a good crop, if only we can beat those other Bs (the bunnies!) to it!

This is my favorite week of the year – now already gone by – the peak time for Lily of the Valley. Our bird sculpture by Vietnam vet Ace stands guard over the patch of flowers.

The most heavenly scent you can imagine.

Neighbor Stephanie kindly gave us half her flock of chicks (we only had two hatch out this year).

Birds and babies – both in a box. (Clever, huh? That’s the kind of invention-by-necessity that comes of having three little ones.)

The big B. Gotta keep practicing…

The butterflies are back, too.

We’re at the cemetery, gleaning a few lilac suckers and lily of the valley plants to add to our homestead.

Elihu admires the bird on the top of this ancient gravestone.

Back home planting our new additions. This is in front of the flowering quince, which has now lost almost all of its blooms.

These are the lilacs we hope to grow here for ourselves one day. I expect it’ll be a decade before we get results like this.

Last week Elihu and I dug up some wild Columbine from the roadside and transplanted them here too. This is the very last bloom left.

Male brown-headed cowbird, acting innocent.

But he’s got the ladies on his mind and he erupts into his mating display. Can’t help himself, it’s that time of year.

Here’s a short vid of the boy doing his little dance. We’re lucky to have this platform feeder and the window tinting cling – it acts as a bird blind and allows us to witness some interesting stuff up close.

Here he is with his gal in the morning light.

Phoenix comes over for an afternoon, which starts in the music room. The boys kept switching instruments. Fun to see kids with such a natural feel for music just doing their thing – and with such joy, too.

This wasn’t the best of their performances, but it’s the only one with a distinct beginning and ending. Good enough for now.

Farm boys, yes, Waldorf too – but electronica is still key.

Phoenix tried Ramen noodles for the first time (in his memory, that is.) I told him about the old folkloric belief that if you try a new food that you like, you add 100 days to your life. He was stoked.

Bikes and birds, a natural combination, right?

We meet up with Phoenix’s twin brother, Jonah, and it’s now all about Pokemon.

Heard of poker face? This is Pokemon face. !

After we left the boys, Elihu busked downtown Saratoga on Broadway for a while. Netted a cool $40 in less than half an hour. Too bad the kid’ll be gone for much of the tourist season. I advise him to rake it in now while he’s still cute and little. He might not be quite as successful as a gangly teenager. We’ll see.

Dishwasher update? Well, it’s not magic. Helpful, definitely, a life upgrade, unquestionably. But yet there are still things for which a dishwasher is not suited. Plus I have only one of some things I use often. So I guess the dish rack will be back soon too.

Bonding with his birds. This is about ten days after we got the new chicks and they’ve grown like crazy.

Elihu’s shot. He likes em up close and super-cute.

This is what we two call ‘Crow Field’. It’s one of the last wide-open fields left in Greenfield. We treasure this field if for no other reason than that ‘our’ woodcock returns to it year after year – plus we love the expanse, the air and light… the vast space with no interruption. Our little homestead is on the right, just beyond the dark line of trees. At the base of the trees is an old stone wall and barbed wire fence from the days when the whole area was open land for cattle grazing. Now enormous trees have grown up, making it nearly impossible to imagine what it looked like only fifty years ago – with a view of Albany to the South, Schuylerville to the North, and Vermont in between. Did I mention that the field is for sale? Had Elihu in tears last year to learn it, and me in a funk for months, but now we count each day that it remains as a huge gift and blessing in our lives.

Elihu drew this at age six, shortly after this we got our first chicks. Elihu always said he wanted ‘twenty chickens, a coop and a run’. We started with a few chicks in the basement, moved em to the garage, then finally outside and into a retired wooden shipping crate. That was then, this is now. Today, we have a coop, a run and (some one hundred birds and five years later) twenty resident chickens. That’s a happy ending, huh? We do so love birds of any kind, and there’s no doubt that they add a lot of enjoyment to our lives. We’re glad to be raising up a new flock again, and glad too to see our migratory friends return for another summer here at the Hillhouse.

Mother’s May

May 11, 2014May 11, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics4 Comments

Mother’s Day never qualified as a ‘real’ holiday growing up in my family. My mother, whether being stoic, passive-aggressive, just plain honest or some mixture of the three always insisted that there was no need for such a day. “Every day is mother’s day” she’d say enigmatically, absolutely throwing me for a loop each time she did. But I never took her to task on it. I’m pretty sure we made her cards nonetheless. Even today I ended up making a bouquet for her and giving a small gift of a scarf – just because. We stopped in for a quick hello, because at this point in the game, how can we not? Now me, myself, I admit I don’t mind folks giving me some props and thanks for doing what I do – because I really do feel that my role is very important, and I feel that I do a pretty good job at it too. I don’t mean to sound self-righteous about it – but this is the most important job of my life, so a little respect from the world at large not such a bad idea. Nuff on that.

How about a couple of scrapbook entries to mark our day? I apologize if my photographic accounts are getting a bit too much or a bit tedious, but if it doesn’t get documented here, it doesn’t get documented anywhere. This is what my kid has to look back on someday. (Hope he feels more gratitude than regret when that time comes!) So thanks for bearing witness, and feel free to overlook this post entirely if you’ve had enough. Here’s hoping you mothers didn’t have to cook, clean or put things away today – unless you felt absolutely compelled to do so (I did).

These things are downright sexy, are they not? Good lookin yolks… And just think, this is how we all begin; as our mother’s eggs…

What’s better than yolks fresh from the farm? Bernaise sauce made from those fresh yolks! Here’s my made-to-order ‘deconstructed’ Eggs Benedict. This particular batch of Bernaise kicked ass. And it’s topped with fresh-cut chives from the garden. !!

Like clockwork – they first arrive here on Mother’s Day each year.

Next up, the chicks need to meet the great outdoors.

Still cute and fuzzy – but more than twice as big as they were two weeks ago.

Seriously guys? Ten open acres and you’re all hanging out in the porch? Sheesh.

The last glimpse of Saratoga Lake we’ll get ’til the leaves fall off the trees again.

Now we’re deep in the swampy area of my folks’ woods. Not easy getting around here. We were in search of a huge boulder Andrew and I would play on as kids – only difference is we came out here all those years ago in the wintertime when this was all one big sheet of ice. The ice made it much easier to get back here. After some searching, we didn’t find the rock, but we did find other sweet little diversions along the way…

Like the Marsh Marigold

And very few standing trees against an amazing, cloudless sky…

On the walk home we found what was left of a raccoon that had been at the side of the road for nearly a year.

Reminded us of a Dr. Seuss poem about ‘shin bone pinning’…

Having broken my neck once, I’m partial to this spinal remnant

Elihu gathers fiddleheads for our supper

Fuzzy wuzzy

This is the house where we Conants spent our summers (winter vacations too). Uncle Andrew now lives there.

With the shadow of the Old House to the right, Mom’s place is at the top of the driveway, and the Studio is on the left.

Elihu shows mom our bone treasures

Good old Annie, named so as she was found by my parents on their wedding anniversary, now many years ago.

Nothing like that salmon-pink of the flowering Quince

Just perfect.

Two kinds of ferns to avoid, and one kind to eat.

After some labor-intensive de-fuzzing, they’re ready to be boiled. Next they’re sauteed in butter, and served with a squeeze of lemon. If not cooked well enough they can cause some tummy problems (that’s the nicer way of saying they can be ‘slightly toxic’.)

Nothing toxic here, yet. (The possible threat – however miniscule – did inspire a couple of very entertaining death scenes at the dinner table.)

We’re done with our lovely day. After a call to the other grandma in Illinois, we settle in for a few more chapters of our favorite Springtime tradition of all – The Burgess Bird Book for Children. Good-night all!

May Daze

May 9, 2014May 9, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Farm Life, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics, Waldorf Life3 Comments

Elihu asked me last night why I often say that ‘when we get past something’ we’ll be alright… He wanted to know why I’d say from time to time that we’d be ok once a certain event, a certain time or a certain holiday was over. “Like Christmas, you kept saying ‘We’ll be ok as soon as we get past Christmas.’ Why do you keep saying things like that? What exactly do you mean?” I hadn’t realized my offhand remarks had made such an impression on him. It gave me pause for sure. I wanted to learn from this, yes, but at the same time I wanted him to understand my point of view too. “It’s just that we hit these super-busy spots in the year, and I just can’t keep up. I can’t keep up with the food, the laundry, the work. And it gets harder when there’s more to do.” He understood, but warned that my comments didn’t sound as benign as I was making them out to be. Wow, I do really try to keep from getting too dark with him, but he’s a sharp kid. He gets my meaning. And again I wonder, is it just me complaining? It can’t be. I’m not that crazy-different from most folks. I like to flatter myself into thinking I might be, but I’m pretty sure I’m not experiencing anything that out of the ordinary. Or am I? After all, there is no partner to tag-team with, no one else to step in for a minute, no one else to make it happen. Ok, yeah, so there’s a lot to do. But I’m not the only single mom here in this world. I just express myself without much editing, I guess.

This past week Elihu has felt it too – it wasn’t just me feeling the overwhelm of a busy, end-of-the-school year rush. There has been a lot going on recently in a very short amount of time. And today, Elihu got it. After being patient and good for an hour long appointment at the eye doctor after school, he finally broke down in tears. “I’m SO tired” he moaned, and pushed his face into my shoulder. But he’d made it. Me too. Still have another couple weeks of recitals, performances and then the big pentathlon event for the fifth grade, but most of our landmark events were past now. And we enjoyed them all, every moment. But we’re kinda zapped now. As I write, he’s relaxing in his bedroom, organizing his collection of Pokemon cards, and I’m sitting here wondering what in hell I’ll make for supper. But this is a mere blip on the screen in view of the two huge, life-changing events that happened just today: Elihu learned how to ride a bike!!!! And what else? Get this – Elihu learned how to put contacts in his eyes!!!! We’re on the path to tinted contacts – something that will radically change his life forever. These two landmarks have us elated, proud, relieved – and ready to collapse. This is one May we will never, ever forget. We’re definitely in a daze tonight, but man, it’s a happy one.

Going back two days (feels like two months ago by now) to a window on my birthday morning. Guinea fowl Austin on the bridge, our beloved flock below and Ace’s sculpture “Mayfly” to the left.

Hey, we had the garage cleaned and painted last year, why the splotches of mud??

A-ha! Our friends the Phoebes have returned and once again made their nest atop the garage light. Ah well, we can always wash up the mess after the babies are raised and gone. So very glad you came back! Nice to see and hear you again. Now I think this is a very sweet birthday present.

Here was another sweet birthday experience… I got to write and play music for the eighth grade play. Mr. Ruel introduces “Tuck Everlasting” to the Waldorf students in the charming theater space of the local Episcopal Church, Elihu is in the dark hair and shirt in the center.

Jessie explains the magical properties of the spring in the wood, and its awesome implications.

Angus Tuck tells young Winnie “I just got to make you understand” as he explains the dangers of living forever.

A climactic scene in which the tension rises and the play takes a turn.

Well done, eighth grade!

There’s been a delay with the carpenter… still hoping this job will be history soon.

What a perfect birthday present from mom! The name says it all too! Finished with washing dishes by hand soon!!

A quick, late-night trip to Stewart’s to grab a birthday cake for myself. Yes, I ate both of them. !

The next day starts with a double smooching of chickens.

Dinah and Thumbs Up share Elihu’s lap and really seem to like it there.

Now it’s time to go to the gig. Elihu regularly donates the proceeds from his Eggs of Hope sales to Drilling for Hope, a non profit run by local woman Karen Flewelling. She asked Elihu if he’d play drums for the opening night of “Faces of Rwanda”, a collection of gorgeous black and white pictures taken of Karen’s last trip by photographer Emma Dodge Hanson. Twins (and classmates) Jonah and Phoenix join him here.

This is a photograph from her recent trip to Rwanda of villagers drilling a new well.

Pics of donors and the Rwandan children that they’re helping to send to school.

We looked and we looked and yay! We finally found our friend from so far away! Hopefully we will be sponsoring this very student in the years to come. Wow. I can’t believe we’ve been able to help someone else here on the planet. We, of so very limited resources are absolutely rich in the world-wide scheme of things. This helps to keep things in perspective for sure.

Classmate Ben helps Elihu find his picture on the big wall at the exhibit.

Karen says hi to Elihu; he just made another gift to Drilling for Hope to help Karen do her wonderful work in the world.

The view from my post most of the day: high school eurtythmy class. They’re in costumes now, getting ready for the big performance at Zankel Music Hall at Skidmore College next week.

After my high school classes are done for the morning, I rush over to the Lower School to see how Elihu fared. And just as I got out of my car and pulled out my camera – who should come riding up on his bike (a thing he could not have done only a couple of hours earlier) but my amazing boy!!! Talk about a surprise!!!

And just as effortlessly as he rode to me, he then promptly rode away. Sigh.

The sanctuary of an empty, fifth grade classroom, pre-lunch.

And the same room moments later. All are in a good mood.

After lunch I get to hang out with the kids for a bit as I’m on yard duty. Our equestrian friend Cally (who’s also an incredibly talented singer) smooches a home made horse doll and lil first grade buddy Tylor admires a beeswax figure Elihu’s working on.

Now we’re visiting a new eye doc in hopes she can be a little more proactive in getting Elihu red tinted contacts. It’ll be new territory for her. She was very kind and positive. We’re hopeful…

These have a crazy, futuristic Harry Potter-esque vibe – maybe even a little Brazil-esque feeling to them too (yeeks). Elihu’s trying out some mild prism glasses here to help him find the null point in his nystagmus (shaking of pupils).

The doc’s assessing Elihu’s ability to read – hard to know if his vision challenge is a product of light sensitivity, acuity or both.

Assistant Jen shows Elihu how to put contacts in his eyes.

Here he is – with contacts in! They’re not tinted, they’re just to give him an idea of how it all works.

One more spin around the park. (The bike was a gift from the local program “Bikeatoga”; thanks guys, we so appreciate it!) I told Elihu ages ago that riding a bike was the closest thing to flying that he’d ever know. Today he laughed and said I was right.

May we remember the feeling of this special day in May for years to come.

May Begins

May 4, 2014May 4, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, PicsLeave a comment

“Whoah” Elihu laughed, looking around, “Did I sleep here last night?” He was truly surprised to be waking up in my bed. I told him that late last night, as I’d been sitting in my chair at the computer, he stomped into the room, grunted, and then proceeded to get into my bed – and on my side, no less (if he’s to share a bed with me, he knows I’m pretty particular about me being on my side). Instantly, he was deeply asleep. More like he was asleep the whole time; he can get fairly animated while sleepwalking and talking, but this was dramatic even for him. But there was no use making an issue of it, this night I wouldn’t be sleeping on my chosen side, so I just slipped into bed on the other side and turned out the light. We spent a little time after waking just goofing around, making our hands into characters, inventing silly scenarios and goofy little jokes. It made me so happy to see him the way I’d always known him. There was no hint of the offended eleven year old who’d been hanging around the house this past week. In fact, even the night before had been entirely delightful. Mom, Elihu and I had gone to the fancy Wishing Well restaurant for his annual birthday dinner of frogs’ legs and had had a wonderful time. (Man, he gets so fired up each year for em, and I don’t think there’s any dish on the planet he relishes so.)

It had been a pleasant evening the night before, and it looked like we’d have a nice, easy-going day before us too. His old pal Keithie was coming over, and we had little planned. I had some practicing to do, some work in the garden and a few domestic chores inside, and the idea of having a house full of inspirational young boy energy appealed to me. The weeks to follow are going to be chock-full of end-of-year projects, plays and assemblies. It all kinda starts tomorrow, and I can’t really say I’m energetically there yet. Hopefully this weekend will be restorative enough that I make it through relatively stress-free. There is, however, one major event that is approaching for which I can hardly wait – one which I hope will change my life in a very important way: we are having a dishwasher installed!! It’s a Christmas gift from my mother, which has now become my birthday gift. The thing arrives tomorrow, and on Wednesday, my 51st birthday, carpenter Josh will install it. I still don’t believe it. I’ll miss my junk drawer for sure, but I won’t miss wasting upwards of two hours a day doing the blasted dishes. This is literally a dream come true for me. Seriously, where would I be without my mom? I cannot wait to see how life feels post-install…

Elihu waits all year for these delicious delicacies…

He requested escargot, too

Please, mom, no pictures now. Let me enjoy my food here.

Dark shot, but here we are. Our hostess, Ganna, who is from Ukraine (and who remembered us from our visit to the Wishing Well this past New Year’s Eve), took our picture. We ate in the living room of the old house-turned-restaurant, carpeted and cozy and lined with bookshelves.

After dinner, Elihu played his djembe for a bit with the gal playing in the piano bar. Mom looks on.

Bartender David (known to patrons as “Hook”) is a drummer and surprised us by joining in on the bongos.

A little mandolin in the morning

and then some fun with the two chicks…

Elihu has stereo chicks – each one nestled up close to an ear. It tickles!

Elihu and Madeline regard each other

Madeline is one of the oldest. She was hatched on Elihu’s 8th birthday. She is the only hen with eye makeup. She looked a lot like a sparrow when she was born and still has a distinct look. Unlike Thumbs Up, Madeline always retains her dignity and composure and does not allow herself to be treated as a mere plaything.

In the current vernacular of the fifth grade boys: this is just so wrong.

I cannot imagine a time that my counters won’t be covered in drying dishes, but it’s coming soon!!!

Time to March past April into May!

Lucky Eleven

April 28, 2014April 28, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Growing Older, Mommy Mind, Pics4 Comments

Eleven years ago this very minute I was standing in my bedroom in a mild state of confusion. Water was gushing out of me as if someone had turned on a faucet. Nearing two weeks past the due date in my pregnancy and this night truly unable to get comfortable, I’d only just fallen asleep minutes earlier. That night my husband and I had just finished a dinner of pasta and wine while watching The Producers before going to bed well after midnight, both of us figuring we’d be getting a good night’s sleep in before any action began. Wrong. Before long I was stuck in the middle of a searing, non-productive back labor at home, with no good end in sight. Some seventeen hours later, after giving it my best and ending up with blood spots all over the whites of my eyes from five hours of pushing to no avail, I was on Lake Shore Drive being driven through rush hour traffic to the hospital for an emergency C section. Nothing about my beloved son Elihu, from start to present, had been what I’d planned on. Including his gender. I was convinced I was having a girl. Wrong again. And so it was that my son was released from Chicago’s Lincoln Park Hospital as “Baby Boy Conant”, now over a decade ago.

And what an adventure has ensued… We love our little tradition of birthday parties here, from hatching out chicks to jamming in the basement (well, kind of) to silly string on the trampoline to poker-like pokemon action at the table to the ancient model T driving the neighbor kids back home. It all comes together one day in late April and nothing, not even a brief downpour, can dampen the joy of the day. (After all, our parties go to eleven.)

Some intense gaming at the top of the afternoon

then the action migrates downstairs to the music room for a bit… but still, kids are constantly on the move

they do stop long enough to try to get something together

let’s not forget the trampoline… it’s just getting going (pre-silly string, that is) Look who surprised us by coming! It’s the twins, Cora and Sophia! That absolutely made my kid’s day. And my mother just kept admiring all the red hair present.

Annabelle is daddy’s girl. That family’s a brainy, techie bunch.

our beloved Thumbs Up entertained everyone. She allowed herself to be picked up and set down anywhere. Here Sam and Eva get a good chicken-smoochin in.

And Miss Coco’s bringing the chicken back to the party

kinda fuzzy, but can you see? Babies and chickens in the kitchen. Fun!Recognized immediately by his Pokemon peers. Charizard. I think. ?

the closest we’re gonna get to having all twenty-something kids in one shot.

the little kids hear the frantic peeping coming from inside an egg in our incubator… this chick worked hard all afternoon

With mom watching over from the steps, our neighbors get ready to load up on Zac’s Doodlebug. Stephanie has three little ones to bundle up and get ready. Let me not forget our other neighbor mom Casey – she has three little ones too, only her oldest can do it pretty much all herself.

Loading up six little ones for a ride home

Good-bye! Thanks for coming!

Out of twenty-four eggs, this lil gal’s the only one to have hatched on her own so far….

This little one struggled valiantly for seven hours, and then I realized that like me, she too needed just a little help. We very carefully peeled her free of her shell and laid her there to dry and rest. A chicken C section!

The end of night selfie. Thanks everyone for coming to Elihu’s 11th birthday party!

A Happy Birthday Post Script: The little C section chick, although still a little scraggly-looking, is doing just fine in the brooder tank with her/his only other sibling. A third chick died mid-hatch, and no other eggs have shown signs of life. Such is the chance one takes when breeding your own chickens.

Golden Touch

April 7, 2014April 13, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Farm Life, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics, Waldorf LifeLeave a comment

We’ve been crazy-busy lately, but in spite of that, we both have enjoyed something of a golden touch this past week, starting, of course, with Elihu’s wonderful performances as King Midas in his class’s annual play. (Many times he made sure I knew its true title was The Masque of Midas, with a ‘q’ and not a k.) I cannot relate to you how robust a performance he gave, how clear were his lines, how his understanding of their meaning (in spite of the flowery, archaic language) translated so easily through his speech and gesture… His voice was as crisp, bold and commanding as was his character; his body moved so much like royalty too… I personally loved the part where he admits the fickle nature of humans, and concedes how quickly we forget the small miracles of the everyday. As he eats a grape (which previously his spell prevented him from tasting) he admits that in spite of the lesson he’s learned through having – and then losing – his golden touch, even now the precious fruit was losing its ‘ambrosial taste’. And beyond that, Midas expected that in very little time he would revert to his old ways and completely forget the lessons he had only just learned… I loved the way Midas – and Elihu too, in his understanding and appreciation for the meaning of his lines – had the clarity to recognize that through his human ways he would likely in the end lose the ability to recognize the true value in the everyday. This was a kid who got it, and who conveyed it. The whole cast was wonderful, and many children were able to play their instruments in the production, everyone of the children sang beautifully, and a handful of them enjoyed playing some very animated and funny scenes. The play was a beautiful ensemble piece that will live long in the memories of these children, their beloved teacher, and all their proud friends and family who were there to share in the experience.

Please forgive – or overlook – the donkey ears. They come out at the end, and we forgot to stash em for the photos.

A fitting instrument for the king to play, I think.

Things weren’t entirely golden at the start, but we persevered, looking for that unanticipated golden ending… Had a coupla goodnews/badnews scenes of our own play out this past week. Elihu’s bass broke. I went to tune it for one of his plays, and the strings just weren’t responding. I took a closer look at the tuners, and glad my attention was there, for I saw the giant headstock just fall over forward. I caught it, thankfully, so no more damage was done. And the break itself wasn’t a clean one. Worth a look-see at the shop, but deep-down I kinda knew Elihu’s days with this instrument were over. Sad, I thought. My father had seen him first play on it. He’d learned a lot on it – we’d enjoyed making some good music together with it. But then I caught myself, and reminded myself not to get too sentimental. There will be many basses yet to come as he grows. This is a rental, and only a quarter size at that. But still. It was his first. We prepared for a good month without an instrument when good old Ed called from the shop and told us he had a new one in for us. Huh? Really? That only took like a day! Here’s the good news/bad news part. The endpin just wouldn’t come out. Had to be pounded back in when we did finally pull it out with some pliers. Nope. Wouldn’t cut it. Besides, the action felt bad, and I think it sounded like a box. We really had lucked out with that first instrument. (Glad we took down the maker’s name… may try finding him again.) This generic rental was made in Romania, and while we’re pretty sure some fine polkas likely come from this country, this instrument itself was sure not serving as the country’s best calling card. Elihu saw far more promise in his new discovery of a Bajnolele as we awaited the fate of this new rental… Last visit he had his first sit-down with a mandolin, and now this…. Perhaps his problems with these basses was helping to open doors to new adventures… Elihu’s eleventh birthday is in three weeks… He may have another instrument (or two) in his bag of tricks by then…

Ed ascertains that there’ll be no easy fix here. Time for a new rental. Too bad, this one sounded and played great.

So in the meantime, Elihu picks up a mandolin. Hey, they’re strung just like violins. Hey, Elihu can play a violin…

Ed really helped us by getting a new rental in ASAP, only the silly end pin’s stuck. That’s ok, the thing sounded like a box anyhow. Hope the next one sounds and feels better than this. He’ll use his upright electric tomorrow in orchestra – that’ll be kind of a new adventure. Make him a rock star at school, too.!

While Ed tried to work on the bass, Elihu discovered a Banjolele – and now it’s Mama who knows the tuning here and can show lil man a couple tricks. Wow, this thing is fun! Hmm… this might be a lot of fun to add to the collection….

The culture of fifth grade boys: a renaissance of Pokemon

Thankfully jamming holds some solid interest. Drums, Wurlitzer, Melodica and Clarinet. !!

Yes, we’ve had some golden moments in the past few days; the class play, the trying out of a couple new instruments (and getting along with em just fine), a couple of long play dates with his two buddies, one of which was outdoors in the new warmth of Spring (and which also included some making of music, video gaming, Pokemon trading, trampoline hopping, woods exploring, plane flying and chicken chasing). Then there was the day we’d waited for for a long time now. We went to visit an old family member. We went to see (with our breath held and hopes not too high) our beloved goose Maximus in his new home. We’ve been told he’d keen on a certain gal, and that he’s found his place in the large flock. That we even saw him at all was a bit of a surprise to us. We’d come expecting the worst – we’d thought he’d likely be deeply embedded in his flock, that he’d turn and run the other way, aloof, wild, anything but how we’d once known him. Thankfully, he was close by when we arrived, and in spite of Elihu’s advances and Max’s slight protests, in very short order Max had allowed Elihu to pick him up. How our hearts warmed! And I got to hold my beloved Max’s sweet head in my hands and kiss his cheeks and head as I had always done. I swear that bird recognized us in his heart. I swear he knew it was us. That we were there – not just any crazy humans trying to pick him up and smooch him – but us, his first family. Elihu spent some alone time with Max, talking to him. Saying things I didn’t need to ask him about – as they were between a boy and his bird.

The folks who took Max in have taken other sad creatures in to live with them. They’re angels who are giving a handful of God’s creatures a better experience on this planet. Good people, good work they do. And we’re eternally grateful that they were able to give our Max a wonderful, full-goose life here on their side of the mountain. My goodness, they even have a pond! Heaven on earth! I think of that tiny pond I’d made here last summer – and remember Maximus doing his ‘up tails all’ move in that tiny triangle of water… Such joy he radiated, and yet in such tiny confines. Can you imagine the goose-joy he’ll feel when finally in a real pond for the very first time? We hope that we can be there to witness it… we hear that when they pull that winter fencing back and open the pond to all the critters of the farm for the first time each Spring – it’s a BIG deal – an event of sorts. The birds all know and wait at the edge…. Like patrons at a concert waiting to stake out their spot on the lawn… The geese all hang about, nearly frantic to get on that glorious water… The fence goes back and the geese go forth…. A golden moment for sure.

Now it’s off to visit Maximus in his new home

Elihu spotted him right away.

And had him in his arms just about within seconds.

After an ‘enforced’ smooching (I got to kiss him too), Max regards us from a distance.

Probably the very most important thing we did this weekend was to stock our incubator. These twenty-four eggs are worth their weight in gold to us… Each year we put them in the machine such that they’ll hatch out the day of Elihu’s birthday party. I can hardly believe it, but this will be our fifth year doing it. It has truly become a tradition on his birthday. What a lovely way to remember his childhood birthdays, too… We were given eggs from our friends at Elihu Farm (I know, right?) and also from Max’s new family. We added some of our own, and between all three sources hope for a good hatch out in twenty-one days. Ya never know. The sound of the small, table-top incubator clicking along, day and night is for us a sound of Spring. From within those tiny machine noises comes a certain kind of hope, of excitement for the future. It gives us a refreshed sense of happiness and possibility…. So much potential, so much unknown…. such a metaphor for life itself.

Mary Pratt of Elihu Farm. She kindly gave us some (hopefully) fertile eggs to raise up a new flock.

Here they are today going into the incubator. They’ll hatch in 21 days.

Ah, such a hopeful time of year. Snow still lingers, but each day there’s less and less of the stuff. Just today Elihu and I both heard some Redwing blackbirds (haven’t seen one yet – that will have me pulling over to the side of the road for sure). This morning the air was absolutely filled with the sounds of nearly a dozen new arrivals – all of whom were heard for the first time today! It’s as if some threshold has been crossed now. How do they do it? we shake our heads in wonder each year, but more unimaginable still is that they all seem to arrive at once. We don’t even try to understand. In this world of 24/7 illumination and patches of untouched nature so few and far between, it breaks our hearts to attempt to comprehend their task. So all we can do is revel in their return and let them know how much we love them, how glad we are to see them. “They really are like family, aren’t they?” Elihu asks me each year as we lean on our elbows and watch the visitors on our platform feeder. “Yes, they are”, I always answer.

Elihu has loved and consulted his audio bird books for half his life now. They come out again this time of year.

One of our many daily visitors

My mother hates these sneaky cowbirds, but hey, they can’t help how they’re engineered….

The most precious gold of all in our world is the brand-new Spring plumage on our little goldfinch friends…

The Hillhouse

The Journey of a Mother and Son

Category: Farm Life