Suburban Hedgerow

Worthy Epicurean Art

2011-10-26T19:11:00.000-07:00

Whilst sojourning in the tropics a fortnight in June 2009, our family was introduced to a scrumptious dish cultivated in the melting pot called Honolulu. The developer- one Sam Chow- restaurateur and chef. Found in the local paper, Ms.TR scooped it right up and did Mister Chow's recipe well. We devoured…. er…. enjoyed the dish, so, I brought it home to the main land to share with all.

Now I need add, I’m not proud of how poorly I follow a recipe. I’m a that-looks-about-right kinda girl; sewing, gardening, housekeeping, trimming children’s bangs…mmm hmm.

Be fore warned- the only thing perfectly accurate to the Chow dish are the proportions of the tortellini filling- everything else is claimed only by this simple chef of the people: Me (she claims modestly).

Sautéed Shrimp with Goat Cheese Tortellini

Tortellini filling: mix the following well.

4oz goat cheese

1T parmesan

1tsp minced chives

1T cream

½ tsp nutmeg

Salt

Wonton wrappers (homemade pasta works great too!)

12 jumbo Skinned Shrimp (of course, this portion is always expandable!)

Golden raisins (or cranberries, or dried cherries, or...)

Pine nuts (or pecans perhaps, mmm)

Balsamic vinegar

Cut wonton wrappers into circles (I used the goat cheese package as a template-it measured 4 ½ in. dia.).

Fill with about a teaspoon of filling.

Fold in half and seal.

Wrap ends around finger to complete tortellini and seal.

Boil for about 5 minutes. You may also freeze them for later use.

Sauté Shrimp in butter and garlic (how much butter and garlic is enough? Or shrimp for that matter). Toss with boiled tortellini, raisins, pine nuts, balsamic vinegar and sprinkle with salt. I serve this on a bed of beet greens and spinach from the garden.

Twinkies, Meet Daughters

2011-10-20T18:42:00.000-07:00

Not a worthy introduction, I’m quite sure, but regardless, it was made (and it was fun).

With a twelve year shelf life, we could say it adds years to your life, right? Who can resist, the plasticized, cream filling, inside the soft foam rubber mold…er…cake?

America keeps Hostess in business and this week, I was a culprit.

Possibly the exact opposite of Certified Organic, I wonder when Hostess will take a page from today’s marketing strategy playbook and make a Twinkie with organic ingredients and silly moms across the fruited plains will jump onto the bandwagon of all-things-organic-equals-nutrition. Hostess could do the same with fruit pies, Ding Dongs and other various confections! Just think of it!

I’m certainly thankful to live in a country where free men everywhere can eat Twinkies, Ho-ho’s or maybe, raspberry filled powered sugar doughnuts, in peace, if they so choose (until years later, when man, with good sense, takes a bite and says to wife, “what have you done to me? I used to like these!”)!

Whoa Nelly on the Big K

2011-06-17T14:27:00.001-07:00

For you non-scientists out there, that K stands for kalium- Latin that is, for potassium and I’ve plenty of it!

In the PNW, soils from British Columbia to the south end of the Willamette Valley are heavy on potash (alkaline) and deficient on calcium (Ca, for the closest chemists). That means, of course, I have to add it, and add I shall.

Amend at a rate of about 50lbs to 1000 square feet of garden. Good. It’s cheap stuff. Ours, purchased through Azure Standard of Dufer, Oregon, was six and some change, for a 50lb. bag. Oops, now! Don’t overdo it! More is too much and you could do damage to the tilth (healthy dirt).

Soil west of the Cascade Mountains, range from coarse loam to clay. Ours here in the Hedgerow falls smack dab in the middle at fine silt.

Though only a few feet under the surface lies clay (fine, flat particles, fitting tightly together), the fraction of clay particulate in the topsoil for balanced loam, is quite probably wanting. Did I say balanced loam? That would be redundant, silly me!

Loam is soil that is balanced. Just about equal parts sand, silt and clay (clay being the slighted fraction) and loam is what we’re aiming at.

Our garden is blooming with math and science. It’s a new classroom (without the ‘class’ or the ‘room’) everyday we’re in it! We hope yours is too.

The Long Winter Ends

2011-06-04T14:15:00.001-07:00

My eyes opened to the gentle movement of dappled shadows cast across the voile-draped glass. It has been a long time in coming and not regarded with disapproval, rather a sigh of reprieve from a long winter’s end. Most of the year we awake to stale and lackluster grey, but today, June 4th, 2011, Sun’s yellow rays filtered through the firs and the lush, green, native underbrush the PNW is admired for, and streaked into my room.

The sunshine, here in the soggy PNW (though we don’t even rank in the top 10 for rainfall), is coveted but also despised for his lack of attention to those hungry to see him more often, when the calendar suggests the time for re-acquaintance with this elusive, oft shadowed, blazing star.

Much time has availed itself for reading, managing, and planning for the season ahead.

Steve Solomon, author of Gardening Vegetables West of the Cascades, is the crucial reminder: I need not plant cucumbers sooner than June 1(I’m not late!). Grass-Fed Cattle by Julius Ruechel adds knowledge to establishing our modest acreage as the grass-farm we have undertaken to claim. Anything by Joel Salatin is priceless information for understanding the food industry and the importance of buying local, knowing your neighborhood farms and supporting them (some favorites, Everything I Want to Do is Illegal, Salad Bar Beef, Pastured Poultry Profits ).

Our days start early and end late. As the days have been lengthening, we try to be good stewards of such a gift. The winter wood is already stacking up, roofs are being repaired, pasture rotation on summer schedule, pool open to wash off dust and sweat, and the soil of the vegetable garden, newly turned, is ready for amending, seedlings and direct sow.

The house and garden are fragrant with the heady scents of rhododendron and lilacs, late to bloom for temperatures about 10 degrees below normal. With mid to high 70’s predicted today, the root vegetable garden plot and its farmers ought to dry out and our summer season , may well have begun.

We wish all in our circle of followers and those who stalk about and occasionally peek in, the beautiful weekend weather NOAA has forecasted for us here in the spectacular, maritime PNW.

More Boyd's Bears

2011-05-06T16:41:00.000-07:00

The Bears are back! That Mrs. Coulter! We're glad she cleaned out her garage and passed these old friends along to us.

Here are some more introductions:

This is Harrison Beartillini. Harrison is a great gardener. Here he is standing in front of his garden, showing you some of his exquisite corn. He is attentive to when his garden needs care.

Here he is weeding.

Harrison also loves flowers. Especially azaleas. He has a huge azalea tree. The cubs like to climb in it, especially in the springtime. Harrison says gardening is a great pastime. You should try it.

* * * * *

“Bailey Bear, go to bed!” Bailey’s mother calls. Bailey drags his blanket behind him. He stops and looks at his stuffed toy. “Why do I have to take a nap?” he asks it. Bailey hates naps. Suddenly his mother swoops him up from behind. She carries him to his room and dumps him in bed. She tickled him. Bailey laughed and laughed. His mother tucks him in and goes downstairs. Soon there is a little head poking around the doorway. “I can tie knots, Mommy. Watch.” Bailey show his mama his sneaker laces. Mrs Bear watched, and then sent him back to bed. About five minutes later, Bailey is back. “I have to make a long distance phone call.” Mrs Bear scolded him and once more sent him back to bed. All is quiet. Minutes later, he tugged on her skirt. “Mommy, can I-” Bailey doesn’t have time to finish. Mrs Bear picks him up and takes him to his room. She tucks him in again. She strokes his head and sings. Bailey’s eyes begin to droop. Soon he is asleep.

* * * * *

This is Mrs Mertz and her niece, Rose Trumble. Today, they are at the park.
Here they are at the entrance.

Rose likes to run in the tall grass.

Mrs Mertz is looking at the heather. She thinks she might get some to put in her yard. Mrs Mertz likes to take her niece places. Tomorrow they think they will go to the mall.

Ode To “D”

2011-03-28T17:38:00.001-07:00

O, Vitamin D

O, D of vites

You give me strength

You give me might!

Bring forth cheer when skies are grey

In that little oily way

How can it be that you can do

So much for me and my dull mood

Here in my most NW’rn of climes,

When Spring comes slow and takes it’s time

To greet those winter weary kind

Like myself. Beam now, Sunshine!

Until the glimmer breaks through the cloud

You, my friend, will be my vow

Of good health I do pronounce!

O, Vitamin D!

Big Equipment Farmer

2011-03-10T12:41:00.000-08:00

Here's the Boss-Man farming the only way he knows how: Big equipment.

When driving by the CAT dealership, forget any conversation you might have been engaged in... someone just lost connection...and it wasn't me. "Uh, huh," I hear, from lips on the port bow of the truck, responding absently. Give it another block or so and he'll return to the land of human relationships, and pick up the dialog with no suggestion of distraction.

Most men hook their truck up to the travel trailer to move it. This is much more efficient, Mike might tell you. Some men may scoff. But then, every farmer knows his crop.

Have a truck that no longer runs, has flat tires? Need it flipped around? Say, try the a loader bucket!

Need a tree stump removed where there happens to be a hive nearby? Just wear your sister's beekeeper net!

No guts, no glory- or something like that.

Who said the Big Guy and I couldn't work in the garden together? We both move around soil with two hands and puff exhaust. My hoe turns delicate, detailed areas around beets and rutabagas, while his D3C XL (XL? duh.) cuts through hard pan and clay, falls trees, and shapes swaths of land.

I know women who require their husbands to shower before bed or keep clean fingernails. There's no doubt that makes housekeeping easier! For that matter, I know men who have a tidier dispositions than their wives, flannel wearing or not. As for me, give me a farmer, whatever the crop, covered in dust and smelling of diesel fuel-

White sheets can always be replaced!

Early Season Planting Begins

2011-02-16T16:53:00.001-08:00

Ducks have proven to be a critical part of the garden. Allow me to encourage you to add some to yours.

They eat slugs; many, many slugs. They waddle to and fro destroying very little. Watch out for your flower bulbs (they eat them) and your lettuces (they trample them) but all around the laughter that fills the yard is quite pleasant. When the pond gets crowded, ducks are yummy with rice pilaf and spinach salad and the down makes a lofty pillow (how resourceful!).

Ducks also devour pea seeds and sprouts. The floating row cover renders useless to the nature of the wriggling duckbill; functional for ranging chickens, F.Y.I., but futile under the influence of Quackers. Because of the pricey lesson last year, this winter the peas go to the front where the ducks are unable to roam. We instead will have to chance it with crows, weasels, voles and cottontails.

When the native Indian Plum (oemleria cerasifomis)begins to show its leaves, it is time to begin the pea crop. We planted today and will plant in two weeks, twice over, to ensure a longer harvest. Varieties this early season include ‘Sugar Star’ (snap) and ‘Oregon Sugar Pod II’ (snow). As the weather warms we'll use warmer tolerant varieties.

English peas classify as legumes- a nitrogen fixer into the soil. The deep taproot pulls nutrients up from the hidden layers of the terra firma and deposits them for shallower rooted plants. Peas will get the first crack at this bed and the season shall finish out with summer and winter squash.

Fall nursing included tilled green and horse manure to replace weakened nutrients last garden season.

In the garden we are at the mercy of the weather systems. In terms of expectations, a casual wave of the hand with “we shall see…” is our best outlook! However, let's anticipate, somewhere around Easter, our first picking.

One Ton of Fun

2011-02-07T07:21:00.000-08:00

Big Daddy only drives big trucks.

When we go to Seattle for our annual Christmas dally and dinner, we have to take our small car, ’95 Chevy Suburban. He doesn’t enjoy it but it is the vehicle what fits in a parking garage.

Last year we found open parking on 7^th and Stewart so, (yep, you guessed it!) we all piled into the F-350 this last December!

Mike really, really likes his truck, and in part thanks to Chuck at the Powershop in Enumclaw, who brought it back from one wheel shy of the wrecking yard or a total rebuild with a Cummins block.

Needless then to say, we girls have few opportunities to drive the big blue one ton. Driving it is the next best thing to being with the Big Daddy- we take it when we can! We had it one day last week...

Out to buy groceries we saw our chance to park next to a SmartCar.

Wanna see?

Bwaaa! Ha-ha-aaaaaah!

Get a load of this (or rather we could take a load of this).

Rarely Seen Footage

2011-02-01T18:09:00.000-08:00

“Take ye wives, and beget sons and daughters; and take wives for your sons, and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters; that ye may be increased there, and not diminished” says the Lord (via Jeremiah’s clay and stylus).

Two summers past, Mike and I had the fortune of witnessing parents of a fine young man make a proposal of intent, on behalf of their son, to parents of a daughter back home. Our mouths were agape. It was possibly the most beautiful scene of real life we’ve ever been a third party to.

It was if we’d taken a step into the world of Austen or Dickens (except we were bikers that weekend and I’m not sure leather chaps, and helmets translates favorably into a Dickens type character that I would wish to be) where children entrusted their future spouse to the wisdom of their elders, their parents.

A deal was made, all parties in agreement. We parted ways an hour or so later, crying, praying, contemplating and the respective parents of the projected couple were off to talk with their kids about the proposal.

Side note: The parents in the above story really didn’t make the choice. It was God’s selection. The children had trust in their parent’s godly authority to speak into their lives as young adults through submission to Christ. Everyone in our story had free will.

Out dated and uncivilized? Archaic, you say?

We would have too, several years ago but really, what better liaison could one have for negotiating a spouse then godly parents who know the deepest character of their children, what God gifted them to be and whom would befit them as a partner.

According to God’s word, we are to "find wives for our sons", and "give our daughters to husbands". Parents are not monsters that take pleasure in their children’s torment but exactly the opposite, so we can conclude they would skillfully, advisedly choose a life partner. Doesn’t a parent want the best for their children? Isn’t God a Parent? Doesn't He desire His Best for us?And isn’t our walk with Christ about submission and the yielding of self will. Is it not said that our relationships with others reflect our relationship to God? How beautiful to have children that tribute with faith and humility, their parents.

See the heavenly connection? The Son submits to the Father, The Father loves the Son.

Those kids are married now; loving their new spouse, and thanking their parents for wisdom and faith.

Gooses, Geeses

2011-01-20T15:04:00.000-08:00

I heard some Canadian geese honking today.
I also saw a northern “V”. It’s been rather noisy the last few days.
Whew! Spring comes mighty quick!

Cinderella Who?

2011-01-19T18:29:00.001-08:00

Smoke billowing out of the woodstove means only one thing: I’ll be on the roof with a brush in one hand a flat screwdriver in the other.

Today, I timed myself. How long does it take this little lady to do a man-job?

45 minutes.

Thirty minutes to set up the ladder, climb up on the roof, oops, I forgot the screwdriver, retrieve the screwdriver, back up the ladder, attach brush to pole sections, remove chimney cap, brush stove pipe, brush chimney cap and replace, ask Dale for the broom, sweep roof, gather tools and head down the ladder. (Deep Breath) Fold up ladder, put away the Bossman’s coveted Snap-on Screwdriver, breakdown brush and pole, and into the house to eradicate creosote from the firebox.

Thirty minutes. Not bad, though I don’t know the current record for such a task. Maybe I should aim at beating my time.

The 45 minute mark comes in with that tiresome piece of insulation lid inside the stove that comes out fairly easily but is a beast to return: this is what slows my time, every time. Argh!

Ah, I do this sneeze inducing task but twice a year, so in spring, I may implement new methods. Any ideas? Cinderella you say? Nah, we don’t have time to moon romantically over ashes!

The Surprise Gift

2011-01-07T10:48:00.001-08:00

Last night was Epiphany, or Three Kings Day, or The Feast of the Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles. Take your pick. It is always January 6.

The Mommies made sushi with the kids, family gathered for the feast, and to end the day, Boss man and I each opened a gift.

Now a few days ago, I explained to the daughters the Epiphany gifts were for Daddy and myself. One girl puzzled that both gifts were the result of my shopping not daddy’s and how could I open a gift I had bought and wrapped myself. I explained that in the Christmas gift buying process, extra needs always get tossed into the mix and I simply wrap them for the pleasure and reminder that even a need fulfilled is a gift. It really does not matter to me if I know what is under wrap and in a box. To open it is still a delight and a need met. I challenged them to reflect on their own gifts and that they receive mostly what could classify under “needs”, and how rapturously they receive with a delighted heart.

But both gifts are from mama, not from mama to daddy and daddy to mama, child questions. Watch and see how it works, I encourage the small, bewildered person.

Big Daddy and I opened our gifts last night with the anticipated cheerful results. We read a book, The Other Wise Man by Henry Van Dyke and beautifully illustrated by Robert Barrett.

It is the story of Artaban, a wise man who traveled to meet three of the friends that had been studying the promise in the ancient writings that a star would rise signifying the birth of a Great King. He had just ten days to meet his friends at the Temple of Babylon for their journey in search of this King. Taking up his treasure gift, he began his travels. However, on his flight to Babylon, Artaban stopped to help a sick man lying along the road. This gracious delay caused him to miss his friends in Babylon. Attempting to catch the traveling party in Bethlehem, he came across a woman hiding her infant from Herod’s slaughter of infants. Artaban helped save this woman’s child from the sword with a portion of his treasure. He heard that the Baby King’s Family had fled to Egypt and there too, Artaban searched. He searched across many lands for thirty- three years, all the while feeding the hungry, clothing the needy, when finally, in Jerusalem, hears that two notorious robbers were being crucified along with a man named “King of the Jews”. Meanwhile, he heard the cries of a desperate girl, being drug to a life of slavery as payment for her father’s debts. With the last of his treasure gift for the King, Artaban buys the girl’s freedom. The sky blackens and the ground shakes. A crumbling building strikes Artaban to the ground. In his desperation of not having delivered his gift, a voice comforts him, “you fed me when I was hungry, you clothed me when I was naked, and you healed me when I was sick. Whenever you helped these, you helped me.”

Big Daddy pulled up from YouTube, Keith Green’s “Sheep and Goats”.

Eww. Please: No Keith Green.

Here is where I explain, I’m not any sort of fan of Green, or his music/vocal style, but Mike thinks it fits the present topic of discussion, and the foundation built by a dad is Holy and Divine so- let ‘er rip, Big Daddy! Show us what ya got!

When the video finished, we smooched the girls and sent them to bed. The weary mama I was, I lay down and shut my eyes. Unbeknownst to me, Mike was now on a Keith Green Internet Quest.

He found the Easter Song. I hadn’t heard it for years but many of the words found their way to my lips.

I awoke this morning with the words of the song not just in my mouth but resonating from my soul. Mike had gifted me last night. Not in the roundabout way of being the moneymaking provider that made, through me, store purchases, but as the strong, earthly guard of my salvation. I fell asleep with such peace, the joy of my Deliverance only to awaken with the same.

Free to all, Mike’s gift to me, I pass on to you this day because the Story of The Magi: Gold for a King, Frankincense for the High Priest, Myrrh for the Sacrifice, have Everything to do with the Resurrection.

I may have to reconsider my feelings about Keith Green.

The Orient By Way of Central America

2011-01-05T11:38:00.001-08:00

Picture This:

Two girls brainstorming the common thread between the Twelfth Night gift under the tree and the rice candy attached to the calendar.

AnnePants and AbiDale agree the theme is- things from the orient.

The Mama nods and with a prompting grin “…and tomorrow is …”,

“Three Kings Day!” the daughters chime together.

“We Three Kings of Orient are...” quotes Pants.

Dale, struck with quandary, “Oh, I thought they were from Mexico.”

Beautiful Twilight

2010-12-22T13:57:00.001-08:00

It lasts only a short time every day. That time when the lights of the tree and the shrubbery around the porch illuminate our slowly darkening world. The moon rises with warmth in the eastern expanse of lavender blue.

Perhaps the most peaceful hour of the day. Enjoy it for the few moments it lasts.

Good-Bye Day! See you again on the Morrow.

A Child is Born

2010-12-08T06:02:00.000-08:00

Every year, Thanksgiving weekend, from the big box marked “Advent”, I eagerly pull out “A Child is Born” written by J. Barrie Sheppard. Morning and evening prayers and meditations gush from chosen Scriptures, from the first day of Advent to Christmas Day.

The book was a gift from the dearest of friends, Catholic by baptism.

In the non-liturgical, Zionist, protestant culture of my family roots, I was unaware of most church traditions once observed by Catholics and Protestants equally.

* * * * *

Within a few years of Mike and I having become a family (the two become one, remember) I knew I was missing something at Christmas. We hadn’t any offspring and having heard so often that Christmas was “for the children”, we wondered where that left us.

I marveled about the Twelve days of Christmas and liturgical Advent. I never pounded very hard at uncovering what was a mystery to me, but every year some new information or history surfaced and furthered my understanding.

I found in a second hand shop, an old copy of the Common Book of Prayer, c. 1945 but ratified in 1790. This little book laid out the church year beginning with Advent. It is rich with thoughtfully written prayers, and ceremonies, I could only imagine in another time, another place; history at my fingers. Our founding fathers and their wives read these prayers to their children and grandchildren! The beautifully musty pages set my path and I was on my way!

An article in the local rag explained what each of the Twelve Days icons represented. Interesting. There is purpose in the Days betwixt Christmas Day and what? Another feast day? Epiphany.

I found different Seasons: Advent – the weeks of Darkness and Preparation; Christmastide- the twelve days observing the Light and Glorious Day of God Incarnate ; Epiphany- the manifestation of God to the gentiles through the Magi (January 6 until Candlemas on February 2).

* * * * *

And now… Back to the Book that opened this article and my Catholic friend.

She and I met within the time of my rock rolling. My fascination with the liturgical church had arrested me with the charm of its traditions and my new friend had encouragement for my endeavors. She gave me this book of advent meditations. Her inscription inside reminded me not to allow function of tradition to overcome the principle basis in our Celebration. Our salvation is not hinged on whether or not I can manage to organize my family well enough to ponder a daily reading (or weekly, eek) or if my children know what the twelve days represent. The focus is not the feast day but the Deliverance brought by the Child Born.

* * * * *

Neither of us “practice” the doctrine, per se, of the order in which we were reared, but not out disrespect of how our parents wisely brought us to Christ. She cherishes her Roman Catholic background as I my own of the Pentecostal. God brought us together that the years would eventually reveal, a search for living in Christ; not Catholic, not Protestant. But our perspective childhoods create a latticework of friendship where the catholic and protestant traditions weave together and influence how we edify one another through the scriptural truths we learned as children. You should all be so blessed to have a "Lanny" to sharpen your wits and better your ken.

Such has entwined through this lovely season we call Advent.

A Pumpkin Good Day

2010-11-06T14:39:00.000-07:00

I love fake cookies.

Mmm.

Sooo gooood.

The Best Day of Your Life

2010-11-01T13:03:00.000-07:00

This summer marked another class reunion for me.

Looking back at those silly moms who told us, while we were lining up to march into Olsen Auditorium, in our red and white caps and gowns, “this is the best day of your life”. Yah, we ate it up. We thought it couldn’t get better then the self indulging congratulations we were all receiving. Parties with parent approved (or blind eye) kegs, cruises, senior trips, all “making memories”. This was the ultimate time of our lives, we heard. That is until a better day came along…

Wedding day- same scenario. There is non-stop infusion of dresses, flowers, making this a picture perfect ‘best day of your life’. No more “wouldn’t it be nice if we were older …” or so Brian Wilson sings the sentiment for more than a few of generations of young lovers, waiting… For what? The best day of their lives, of course.

And so it rolls on: The birth of a child, that child’s milestones; graduation, marriage or children.

In the last year, the burden of cancer arose in our family. As we live in Christ, such is nothing to fear, however, news of this nature certainly humbles the spirit, and reminds the flesh of its own mortality. The cancer was caught early and dealt with quickly; all is well. What a gift to be brought to your station as ‘created’ by a Creator, reminded of restricted resources of humans and of the infinite power of God.

The fact for those who live in Christ, truly then, abundant joy would be the day you left this broken, finite, warped world to pass on to the Presence of God.

Now that truly, should be the Best Day of Your Life.

Bears, Bears, Everywheres...

2010-10-08T09:31:00.000-07:00

And indeed! Okay, they haven’t been washing hairs or hiding under chairs, or collecting fares, or stepping over squares, but they’ve taken over our dresser, and since spring (thanks to Mrs. Coulter cleaning out her garage) have been reigning over our room with peace and understanding (at least for now). Living in all sorts of strange places, for instance, in caves (oh wait, under the bed), in dens (I mean, in the closet), or in caverns (of course, between the curtains). After fetching water and chopping kindling or doing laundry and gathering berries and nuts for supper, the cubs are free for play. They have many adventures. Here are some of the cubs.

Here’s Randy, a lovable, helpful young bear, whose legs weren’t sewn on straight. He still gets around though. We imagine his dad built him a wheelchair, and he goes anywhere he wants to. Randy is a member of the BSW (Bear Scouts on Wheels), and is doing well.

Next is Margarita. Margarita is tall and skinny and she has a warm heart. She always is looking after Spressy, whom I shall explain about in the next paragraph. Of course, you’d think Margarita would probably feel strange about being so tall. Granted, she has her hard days, but actually most of the time she feels good about her height. She helps others by reaching up and getting things for them. Margarita loves to help.

Espresso “Spressy” Frisky, is an adorable little kitten (oops, not a bear. But she is made by Boyd’s). She is very sensitive and loves to snuggle. Margarita is her friend and guardian and is perfect for the little kit. Spressy has no parents or sister nor brother, she has Margarita, and she is perfectly happy the way she is.

Adeline Bearett is a kind bear, just the sort of bear you could love. The Bearetts are a rather wealthy family, and there is nothing more that pleases them more than to give it away. Adeline loves to take care of her little brother Quentin and little sister Becky. She also likes to cook, clean, and housekeep. She always does well in school.

Now here are Betsy and Prudence Bearimore. They live down the creek near Margarita and Spressy’s house. Betsy is a hard worker, and at playtime, she enjoys playing with her best friends Becky Bearett, Rose Trumbull and Greta De La Fleur. Prudence is also a hard worker, and she enjoys it, and thinks it’s the best way to keep warm. Prudence likes to learn and someday hopes to be a teacher.

Join me again for Boyd’s Bears introductions. And keep an eye out for the book which so inspired my title and opening line, Bears By Ruth Krauss and illustrated by Phyllis Rowand. Written in 1948, it is a sweet book; you will love it! Look in your local library. And make sure you read it to your kids. They will love it, too!

Movie Poster Found

2010-10-07T11:34:00.001-07:00

Did I tell you? I found an original full sized movie poster for “Mrs. Mike”.

Thirty duckets. Not bad.

Ah, Internet. Thanks Al Gore.

Companion Planting

2010-08-26T13:45:00.001-07:00

Recall if you please, the Guinness Girls in the Three Sisters garden, summer last. The Guinness Girls are currently stacking split fir in the woodshed but here stands the 3 Sisters now.

Note the beans (‘Kentucky Wonder’) wrapping around the stalks of corn (‘Sugar Dots’) whilst the pumpkin (‘Howden’, ‘Big Max’) keeps the ground from drying out (from the angle of the above photo, I can assure you, this soil is loamy and moist). This planting strategy requires little water. Beans help to anchor corn and increases soil nitrogen which corn eagerly devours. Though corn is delicious and we eagerly await for September harvesting, it has very little nutrition for the amount of nutrients it robs from the soil. Companion planting in season and mulching, regenerating soil off season, in the corn bed, is crucial. Corn proved also, to be an excellent transplanted vegetable.

The PNW has been quite cool this summer. Marine air flow off the Pacific coast keeps most mornings misty and overcast. Anytime between 10 and 2 the sun shows himself and warms up considerably. This is lovely enough for personal comfort but keeps the potential heat from accumulating each day along with needed length of direct sunlight necessary for ripening some produce.

Many plants are a fortnight or so behind schedule however, our consistent Indian Summers ( and a floating row cover) should finish off tomatoes tolerably well, and bring pumpkins to rich, smooth orange globes.

Try, next spring, alternating rows of bush beans with strawberries. Both plants will thrive and throw off better yield.

Planting for Another Season

2010-08-12T10:23:00.001-07:00

The Pacific Northwest certainly has it's failings: Weather here is hard to predict.

It is best to learn the way of the old farmer who smells the rain and snow, who feels the high pressure of clear skies, knows from which direction of the wind, the weather is to come. But on the larger, seasonal scale, La Niña or El Niño are dynamic.

Spring and fall are perhaps the most consistent of PNW seasons- the injurious crime of unpredictability we cast our judgment upon, are the solstices. Our summer and winter bear consequence of global weather patterns. We know not from year to year if the summer will be long and hot or late and cool- winter mild and wet, or deeply chilled.

Though we’re not safe from weather extremes, we are indeed a mild region and can garden around the calendar. When one season fails to bring forth much fruit, no worries, another crop is ready for planting.

From mid-July for several weeks we plant for the early fall through the late winter harvest. No self sustaining here- what comes out of the garden in the winter is sparse but we enjoy a harvest with a few new lessons learned and more winter-hardy varieties discovered.

Fall Peas are in the ground and happily sprouted. ‘Alaska’ and ‘Oregon Sugar Pod II’ (snow). This crop should harvest mid October and then only four months and we plant again.

Discovery: ducks like pea seeds- staple down well, burlap or Reemay. For most practical purposes, ducks in the garden is genius. Trample, perhaps, but their destruction is nothing to a renegade chicken, scratching and digging. Ducks eat the slugs and bugs and leave organic material behind.

Beet ‘Early Wonder’ and turnips ‘Purple Top White Globe’ have sprouted and next week, another crop for staggered harvest along with rutabagas and greenhouse seedlings such as brassics and alliums.

Last autumns harvest of potatoes left us sprouted ‘Red Pontiac’ and ‘Yukon Gold’ from a burlap sack. We threw them in the ground and they should provide several weeks of new potatoes this fall.

No Zoologists Here

2010-08-11T17:07:00.001-07:00

“There’s a tarantula in our pool” factually ejaculates the Small One.

“Where?” prudently questions First Born, really hoping (despite what reason tells her) for an unlikely find as that.

“-or Something” concedes the former, under contorted brow.

I, however, knowing the truth of such phenomenon, dally not, endeavoring to skim all unwanted beetles, duck feathers, fir needles and-

pool tarantulas from our swimming enjoyment.

Campsite Bouquet

2010-08-09T17:17:00.000-07:00

My family was at camp with friends this last weekend. The day we were leaving back home, my family went on a walk through the forest. I found some flowers and plants that I liked and I picked them for this bouquet.
In the above photo you can see (from L to R) Maiden Hair fern, an Acer variety (of some sort), Indian Pipe, and Western Hemlock. We are unable to figure out the stems in the back, so I guess it's just a weed!
We camped an hour from Mt. St. Helens in the Cascade Mountains. We like to visit a little store called the 'Randal One Stop' on hwy 12. When we first saw the Indian Pipe we thought it must be in the mushroom family. It isn't but uses a fungus to help it grow.
This is not an edible native plant.

If These are the Dog Days of Summer...

2010-08-04T14:56:00.001-07:00

Who's the Dog?

For the several weeks, we girls have been splitting wood, tending to the garden, swimming with friends, harvesting berries, making jam, entertaining guests, preparing canning jars. Fhew!(deep breath) Cleaning the attic, cleaning the pool, cleaning the closets, cleaning the shed. Trellising tomatoes, saving seeds, propagating fuchsias, forgetting to fix dinner. Oops.

All the while the Boss-man keeps bringing home the bacon, building a bulldozer, acquiring wood for the girls to split, devouring berries, covering fellow employee vacations, expanding pasture and clearing fence lines. Paying bills, hearing from God, telling jokes, loving his family.

This weekend our little band will be enjoying the company of good friends at the foot of Mount St. Helens along the Cispus River.

When we return we continue on the quest for a quiet winter solstice, happy cows, molting poultry, sleepy dogs, a blazing fire and warm apple pie.

Funny to think on this glorious, hot, sunny August day that's the reason we're so busy!

Growing the Church

2010-07-22T20:06:00.001-07:00

Last fall an acquaintance challenged me to clarify how we measure church growth. The accusation of invalidity stung.

I asked The Grandfather, seminary educated, retired pastor, what a church-go-er meant by “growth”.

It means numbers, bodies filling pews, The Grandfather replies. They may say that growth is spiritual but on paper, on the books, you cannot calculate on holiness, it’s a number crunching business.

Hmm, that’s what I thought.

Numbers mean denominational support, financial success, “growth”. This idea is not coming from a cranky, ex-member of big church, it comes from a retired pastor who now at 93 recognizes the organized church was reading the word ‘pastor’ with the incorrect job description. That ‘pastor’ is no higher an authority than evangelist or prophet or teacher. It’s just another gifting, that can be as humbly and privately an executed service as any of the others.

Our family has not attended an organized, hierarchal church since 2005. We then found ourselves in what we once called “house church”, but even that gradually looked like conventional church in a living room; just replace pastor with elder. It had a liturgy of its own. We made it. More than 1500 years of corporate church is hard to pluck from the DNA in 5.

It’s hard work but we live and breathe it.

This is harder than sitting in a pew and belonging to a few committees, sitting on the board of trustees, directing youth group, running the soundboard, teaching Sunday school, singing on worship team, all at the same time. Amazin’, ain’t it? We all dedicated our spare time (and not so spare time) to the “work of the Lord”. At least there, we could schedule church for the most part- cover vacations, maternity leave, counseling sessions, golf tournaments.

Then in the quiet of a fellow Christian’s living room for “house church”, slowly (so slowly in fact, we didn’t immediately identify how profoundly) we began to see that living Christ was still more. Finding ourselves meeting with believers, we would share the wine and the bread. Hunger and thirst satisfied- body and soul. Upon a recent reunion with friends of twenty-plus years, who too, desired a community focused on being church, we began to share the cup and bread with this dear family. Understanding the power of communion intensifies the bond shared between believers over a love feast, the irreplaceable kindness that work gloves and sweat binds together in strengthening the brethren, the body of Christ. Together we go into the market place, or the street, we pray with, we minister to, the public as we meet them, as the Holy Spirit leads, without pretense and manufacture. Now that’s special!

In our circle of fellowship, we have those gifted in faith, discernments, mercy, and generosity. Teachers teach, evangelists reach and prophets prophesy. Not all gifts are used every time we gather. And because different members meet up randomly with each other throughout the week, they may exercise any of the gifts afore mentioned.

Growth is then measured by the manifestation of the character of Christ that is so evident in the lives we are all called to tend and shepherd around us.

Did ya catch that? I'll say it again.

Growth is the outward evidence that Christ lives within and we foster this in one another.

The Grandfather shakes his head doubtfully at obtaining more education, acquiring accreditation and recognized position; just more obstacles betwixt Maker and man. The pridefulness of intellectual achievement, smarts so to say, get in the way. The human race pedestalizes those with education, and perceived authority.

Living Christ is the air we breathe. Neither credentials nor diplomas move God to respect any person, rather a heart submitted to Him.

Legacy

2010-06-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

We all have it. Some look better then others. We can choose to improve it or tarnish it. It’s Legacy.

The Boss-man and I are building our legacy for generations to come. The Divine path on which we ground our children is for our grandchildren and great-grandchildren’s sake, as well as their own. Ours is built from a foundation that the two of us were set upon.

Our daughters’ inheritance began generations ago. Here is another story from the pages that make our family’s history:

Grace’s mother, Delia, introduced her to Matt during the depression when work was hard to find. Matt made a dollar a day. He was a truck driver for Western Farmers. Delia (Granny) was the cook for the workers and found a nice young man well suited for her daughter. They were married June 30, 1934. They built their house across the street from Granny and Pop. A few years later, the house moved to the parcel next door to the folks. Matt and Grace lived in the same house their entire married life. Matt drove truck all over Europe, chasing down Hitler and his destruction. He delivered men to Normandy and drove supplies to the front line and into enemy territory, while Grace kept the home fires burning. When Matt returned, they reared their children and kept 9,000 white “leg’urns” for eggs in a growing and hungry post war population.

Their youngest son and wife and all their children are neighbors to that little house on Route 3. Generations of kids chasing spring calves and slamming the summer screen door, picking autumnal apples and nibbling finska kakor and gingersnaps on a Christmas Eve.

On Gramps last tractor, he sits with Gran; a photo taken for an article written up in the local rag, on the celebration of their 72^nd anniversary.

Gramps passed away the following August after their 73^rd.

Matt and Grace left an important standard to their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that Mike and I are not about to tarnish.

In a weak world, we fuss about our happiness and what we deserve.

Economic depression, nor loss of a child, a war and several countries betwixt them, sunup to sundown hard labor did not make these two throw in the towel, it made them stronger and more resolve that marriage was for a lifetime.

Thank you, Gran and Gramps for a heritage worth passing on to “generations to come”.

* * * * * *

Acts 2:38,39-

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call."

Becoming Mrs. Mike

2010-06-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

The Things You Forget...

…the thing that sparks that forgotten memory; or the timing and circumstances in which that recollection returns.

Memory recently swept me back to a very little classroom I once sat in. I was twelve.

* * * * *

Hanging on a wall, in our home, for at least 15 years now, is a movie poster for the film-noir mystery classic with Joan Fontaine and Laurence Olivier by the name “Rebecca”, based on the book of the same name by Daphne Du Maurier.

Great film; it also happens to be my Christian name.

When I was in the process of having “Rebecca” framed, I had been searching every possible outlet (no Internet, I was hoofin’ it) for a movie poster for the book inspired, 1949 film, with Dick Powell, and Evelyn Keyes as “Mrs. Mike”. No poster existed: All I could find were small replicate lobby cards for the movie.

Again, the name game- Rebecca is married to Mike.

Sometime late last summer, shopping an old thrift store, I’d found a box, only just brought in, filled with very old books, many published as early as 1900. I found among them “Mrs. Mike” by Benedict and Nancy Freedman. Suddenly, reminded of the 1949 movie and my seemingly exhaustive, forgotten search for a poster to hang beside “Rebecca”; of course! the movie was first a book!

As the rhododendrons began to bloom this spring, I plunged into “Mrs. Mike”.

I found something so familiar about the story and a surge of memories came flooding over me. My sixth grade teacher read this book to our class when we returned from lunch! I was completely taken into the Canadian Wilderness! I wanted to be Katharine Mary O’Fallon, marry a big man with blue eyes and dark hair and take off to some rugged country! I wanted to be Mrs. Mike…

…and that’s what I became.

* * * * *

Like Sgt. Mike Flannigan, the Boss-man is seldom out of humor but instead of Mounty red with navy riding breeches, polished, brown leather top boots, Mike wears Carhartt canvas, dungarees, mud kickers and has no desire to sit a-top any horse. He gave me the blond and blue-eyed babies I knew I wanted and a life ever-changing, braving, desiring, the turn of corners unknown. But it’s not so much the similarities between the Sgt.Mike and the Big Guy, rather what both Katharine Mary and I had to understand of the men we married, their nature and whom they needed as wives, to becoming the great men they were born.

God was guiding, through a novel, a girl, staring out the window through the valley that school year, planting seeds she was unconscious of until she became a wife of many years; concepts that meant nothing to a twelve-year-old but within a few years, articulated by rite of passage into wifery. As Christ is the author and finisher of my faith, so as well, my job as wife. Far from the wife my husband needs me to be- I still get angry, wish my own way, neglect the laundry, and spend money I ought not- the Boss-man, through the Holy Spirit, continues to shape me into the Proverbs 31 spouse.

I am my husband’s wife.

I am Mrs. Mike.

Many a-misguided couple influenced our early years of marriage, but as I savor every line of my long lost novel, I see how God had cultivated deeper, the truth about men and their maids, poor advice had only temporarily distracted. We now watch our own girls begin quietly, instinctively shaping with age-appropriate awareness who they will be as wives and mothers.

* * * * *

I had forgotten, all these years, the reason I knew about “Mrs. Mike” was the book, not a movie or its poster. I had lived the North Country and its adventures, nigh thirty years past, and of being Mrs. Mike: the real motive I pursued that dog-gone movie poster in the first place!

Dusty Old Books

2010-06-15T18:51:00.001-07:00

Between the shelves of an old second hand shop, you may well find us, perusing countless book spines; heads cocked, fingers skipping over vertical titles, shoulders contorted, sporadic sneezing. Eyes focused on design indicating era.

And the era which I speak? A few, I suppose. Generally, publish date- prior to the mid-1940’s. (Give twenty years or so before modern philosophy leaked heavily into children’s books.)From turn of the twentieth century to WWII, Gibson girls to USO volunteers, cowboys to executives, a wide array of characters from diverse occupations and passions.

The smell of stuffy, yellowed pages; the feel of the thick leaves and their crude, textured edges; the personal, tender inscriptions; the lost print because press-ink missed contact with the paper; the study of characters and culture.

Mostly, we find books of godly wisdom and temperament that once helped shape the moral code of society. Stories that not only entertain, but draw its reader into aspiring virtue. The unknown story, by a little known author, becomes adventure: A risk well worth a couple bucks.

Certainly, the unpleasant task of tossing a book has befallen us, because some ‘progressive’ in 1911, say, took notion to write his perverse thoughts on paper for the world to see. Eek! So very inflexibly minded of us, I know, but then, walking the narrow path appears to others as quite restricted.

Of course, we’re excited to find the classics in literature- Dickens, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Verne, and Dumas, to name a few. However, the girls and I hit an equally desired jackpot for the ‘new’ novelist- Zane Grey, Jackson Gregory, Pearl S. Buck, Laura Lee Hope, Frank Dixon and Caroline Keene, Dorothy Sayers, James Herriot, Harold Bell Wright, Gene Stratton Porter and truly, countless others.

Books that justly, have improved us for having read them; the disposition of the authors from which such stories sprang shows some greatness of character!

There are plenty who accumulate old books for antiquity but few of us take them in for the quality of what lies between the boards (or what does not lie within anyway). Not a ‘collector’ by trade or ambition, though we have a collection. We are readers; we love history and the future it predicts. Nothing new under the sun, says King Solomon and these old treasures of the past are proof.

"Whatsoever things are good..."

Fisherman, Shrimperman.

2010-06-10T13:35:00.001-07:00

Mike, along with Pop and George, headed out to Point Defiance in the Puget Sound to launch George's boat and go shrimp-ing for the day. The Boss-man's done plenty of fishing before; welcome in a new adventure! North through the Colvis Passage to 'area ten' east of Bainbridge Island.

Shrimp pots dropped at 7am- season open.

Now, this was no "Deadliest Catch" episode, much to the daughters' dismay. They thought Big Daddy was going out to face wind and snow, ice and death! Hunter-gatherer, desperation of providing for his wife and children left back at home, keeping the home fires burning, risking his own life and limb for, for...

What?! This is all you get in a five gallon bucket?! That's the legal limit?! You've got to be joking! 4:30am for 80 lousy shrimp? an hour drive up the Sound to have caught limit in an hour?

Was it worth it? Is value not in eye of the beholder.

To share in the body of Christ for a day, to soak up some sun in the beauty of island coastlines of the Puget Sound, to see what captains Vancouver and Cook saw as they passed through these waters, to marvel at creation and the feast it provides for body and soul.

And the shrimp? Please don't make me buy frozen ever again-

Yep, it's that good!

Some Fine Mid-west Sense

2010-05-28T09:04:00.001-07:00

While going through an exercise of faith in her beautiful patience, a biblically educated seminary graduate counseled our Nebraskan friend , marriage is “a choice we have to make every day”.

She declined to agree with him. She understood the position he took because of the modern understanding we have of God’s word within human psychology, but regardless, disagree she did.

Marriage, she bravely confronted, is a choice made the moment you step down the aisle, when you say ‘I do’: a choice made only once and forever.

The common Christian lingo “you must work at your marriage” or “choose your battles” or “biblical reason for divorce” or “marriage is a choice we make every day” is currently fashionable dogma. I wonder at this modern philosophy befitting the character of Christ.

What if we changed our counsel to “through love, serve one another” … “it is better to give than to receive” … “esteem others higher than yourself” … “submit yourself to God” … “let no corrupt word come out of your mouth” … “be kind, tenderhearted, forgiving” … “the greatest among you is called servant” … “your sins are forgiven” … “repay no one evil for evil”. These scriptures only scratch the surface!

Here’s the point: Stop being a selfish pig and be Christ focused. That is the 'work' to be done.

Does it make us feel better; does it stroke our ego to say we’ve worked soo-ho-ho-hooo hard at our marriage? Does this make us martyrs in our own minds, the pains we live through with our spouse and how deserving we would be to walk away?

Christ didn't forsake His bride (who incidentally has committed every sin possible) which He suffered bodily beating and death by torture.Truth be told, our relationships reflect how we limit Christ’s influence in our lives.

Thanks, you, boring, not much fun, righteous, Christ loving, mid-west square, friend! (you don’t even charge $150 clams an hour, counseling fee.)

A New Mouse Trap

2010-05-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

Meet our new kitten Smedley Webster. He's quite the goofball. Abby and I just about keel over with laughter watching him and his funny antics.

We got him at our feed store, Webster Road Feed, for free. Of course, Abby and I wanted to get one of the kittens, they were so cute. But Mom said that we had to pay 'Chris', which means Gov. Gregoire, which means state property tax, and that would just mean another mouth to feed. So we pet him as long as would be possible. Well, then the guys that work there started teasing Mom to get a kitty, so she got one. They even threw in a really expensive bag of kitty food, for free. We are paying back Mom. As I said before, Webster is Hilarious.

The other day, I was out in the front yard reading Under The Lilacs, by Louisa May Alcott, author of Little Women. I had Webster with me. I like to make a little house with my legs, as you see in the picture below. He loves to climb all over me(you might say I'm his jungle gym), and my shoes provide chewing materials . I've got quite a number of scratches and bites too.

When Abby and I were getting ready for bed the other night, Webster was performing all sorts of acrobatics, like, sliding on his front feet on the tile floor with his back feet going sideways, running like greased lightning, and once when he was sliding, he ran right into the corner of the door, and bopped his nose so hard you could hear it. Poor little Webster! I guess he'll learn.

First Swim

2010-05-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, Quackers took her ducklings for a lesson. She was teaching them how to swim.

After the swim she foraged with them, and settled them down under her downy feathers in the yard, sometimes in the sun and sometimes in the shade.

Ducklings Step Out

2010-05-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

At just one day old, my ducklings came out with their mother for a swim and a feeding exploration. Quackers is watching over them as she teaches them to forage for food. We counted all nine babies. That's 100%! There's that yellow one, again!

Here is a Blue Swede chick. It is so cute and small. The wings are only about an inch big. We won't know the girls from the boys until their much older and feathered out. AnnePants suggested we take Robert McKlosky's idea from his book "Make Way for Ducklings" for naming the babies.

What do you think we should name this one?

The Ducklings are Here!!

2010-05-13T08:51:00.000-07:00

Quackers ducklings just hatched early this morning! It was twenty-eight days exactly! One left to hatch out of it's shell. They are sooo cute! Quackers is not so happy that we are so near her ducklings.

The greyish ducklings are the Blue Swedes and the black ones are Black Swedes, but I'd like to know where the yellow one came from! I'll have figure that out- maybe I'll know when it grows up or I could ask someone who knows about ducks or look in my duck book.

Can you see at the bottom of this picture is a wet little head still working its way from out of the shell? We count eight so far.

Setting Duck

2010-05-10T16:17:00.001-07:00

At 7 o'clock every morning Quackers calls to me for her food and after a thorough bath she waddles back to her nest that she has covered with feathers to keep hidden and warm. She is usually a forager but for now I feed her so she can stay close to her nest.

Quackers is setting on nine eggs. We ordered them from a farm somewhere in California. Some eggs will hatch Blue Swedish and others will hatch Black Swedish. It is important to have both varieties for breeding a strong blue color.

It takes 28 days to hatch a duckling. At this post, she will have four days, counting today, to hatch her eggs.

You can see here, Quackers fanning her tail. This means get away from her nest because she is protecting her babies or should I say eggs.

Tending to the Hive

2010-04-20T22:39:00.001-07:00

For a history of our family’s honeybee hive, refer to You Never Can Tell With Bees

Stephie called us out watch her add another box to the hive for the growing colony.

She also requested Benedryl for the boy.

Next to the friendly hive, grown from the swarm we rescued from the apple orchard behind the barn last May, a renegade throng of feral bees has recently discovered an abandoned hive(they’re a rough bunch smoking and drinking, carousing with the queen bee and all).

They fidget around the hive, loitering as it were, without the order and pattern of the tended colony. Seemingly looking for trouble and Kai found it on the lip.

Now Kai’s no sissy when it comes to bees. Since he was a tot, he was tenderly picking bumblebees out of the clover, petting them, before sending them on their way. Occasionally you’ll hear the little guy say “oh, he stung me”, but without delay Kai is back to his apian aspirations.

The lip incident was no different.

As our family beekeeper, Stephie cracks the whip on any drone who thinks they’ll be nipping honey off the sweat of another bee’s back. She is prepared with a beautifully painted nuc box, should another swarm head for the orchard.

Lessons on a Baby Taylor

2010-04-01T18:49:00.000-07:00

Here I am with Mr. Coulter and his Baby Taylor. I am learning how to play the guitar. The Coulters came down from Burlington to help the Vicks at their house but stopped in to have breakfast with us and to give me a couple of lessons of guitar skills. He showed some things to practice until they come down again which will be soon.

Mr. Coulter is really good at the guitar has been playing very long time since he is very good at it. He taught me how to hold the guitar and was showing me how to play it.

I am interested in the guitar and other stringed instruments. But we have a guitar and I have someone special to teach me how to play.

At the end of the week end what did Mr Coulter mistakenly forget but the Baby Taylor! So he sent daddy a message that he had forgotten it and told daddy that I could play it for the week.

Anne took my picture practicing the scale I was taught to play.

Today: A Crabby American

2010-03-23T20:40:00.000-07:00

What exactly is ‘Healthcare’?
Do you remember what it used to be called? Medical insurance. The name changed, so the American mindset changed too. Medical insurance was just that, insurance for medical needs or expenses. Our choice: a freedom to have or refuse.

The humble coverage plan we had on me, when the Boss-man and I were first married twenty years ago, cost us about 60 clams. Then legislation in Washington State, somewhere in 1993, passed laws mandating insurers to accept pre-existing conditions. Same said policy for same said newlyweds, that was once fairly under a hundred bucks now costs us in the range of $250. Here’s why. Let’s say, a woman becomes pregnant, picks up coverage (because she can’t be denied), pays her bill of $250 a month for, (if even) the full nine months of pregnancy, would have contributed only $2,250 for a birth, that, with no complications would cost twice that amount. She has the baby and no longer needs coverage, drops the plan before she has paid in what she pulls out, thus fostering swelling welfare mentality and taking food from somebody’s table.

The privileged D.C. lawmakers continue to fix ‘a broken system’ for us (how nice). Promising restored health(for every one whether you contribute to society or not), should we support them and their clever plan to save the private citizen, when it was they, who by ignoring the words and wisdom of Adams, Madison, Jefferson made it a mess in the first place, by interfering in the lives of the folks that pay for their own excellent medical coverage.

Besides, we already have federal health insurance. It’s called Medicare and Medicaid.

‘…that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…’
gives us the right to work as hard as we can, to better ourselves the way we see fit, within the Life and Liberty endowed by the Creator. Yup, some people abuse such Life and Liberty and pervert what pursuing the Creator's true Happiness is. That is not our financial tax burden to bear-nor our children or grandchildren.

So, Barry, if you and Michelle are having a tough time making ends meet and paying for medical insurance, remember your freedom to get a new job, perhaps one with better benefits; to improve your Life with Liberty for your own pursuit of Happiness, not mine.

Men die for that freedom. They have been since 1776.

Some Work Out; Some Work In.

2010-03-22T17:08:00.000-07:00

A Rough Morning. Doesn’t sound very pretty, does it? It started out just fine.

Abby and I woke up to Follow the Fleet, with Ginger Rogers & Fred Astaire, and we loved it! So far so good.

But somewhere after feeding the chickens I just felt like crying.

Mama was out repairing the lawn. As you know, we have dogs and they can be rough on a lawn that was already struggling when we bought the place. Anyway, Mama was out spreading Tegro on the lawn.
Here is one of the culprits and he's sulking about it.

I believe Tegro is a mixture of dirt, manure, and a little bit of sand. I sprinkled some Tegro on a few lilies’ I’m growing, and then I did start crying. After being hugged, I was sent in to do up some breakfast.

Mama gave instructions for sausage gravy and hashbrown potatoes. While the gravy was cooking, I emptied out the dishwasher and set the table with fresh periwinkles and hyacinth.
In the microwave to save time, I baked some potatoes. When they were cooked and I went to cut them for the hashbrowns, that didn’t work out so good (they turned out to be smashed potatoes instead!).
Abby called Mama in from her work and the three of us sat to a yummy brunch and I was cheered up.

Rough Morning? I mean Good Morning!

Aye, Begorrah. Be Readin' Wit ta Gaelic in Moind

2010-03-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

Ta sun, she be shinin’ and ta birds a-singing their spring ditties on shooch a foin morn.

Aye, ‘tis a grand day, indeed!

On tis bleset day o’da year, we’re sure not to be spekin' ta crown’s anglish but spekin' wit ta mooter tung. All day, I be sayin’. Áine woke tis foin day not skippin’ a beat on tat one. Ta lass had her ‘th’’s dropped like a hot potatoe in a good harvest! Tis a bit o’fun we like ‘avin’.

Áine an Abigeál be craftin’ soom special tings for ta grandmooters an coosins an makin deliveries.
Not even St. Bridget herself can keep us from enjoying our lamb stew an colcannon, washed down wit a pint o’stout (mmm, Smit''icks)wen Da comes home fer soopper.

St. Martin o’Tours! I ploom fergoot me goodies bakin’ in ta ooven!

Ah, me! Enjoy tis blesset day we honor St. Padraig for bringin' ta good news of ta Christ to Eire!

Lutefisk and a Hot Cup of Tay

2010-03-15T07:04:00.000-07:00

My children’s heritage is so…so...Vikings-invade-British-Isles…they ought to have been red heads!
(and Abi-Dale has the temper to prove it)

Oh My Throbbing Thumb

2010-03-12T17:06:00.000-08:00

Post- Short. Using hunt-and-peck typing method. Note: not useful.

Dear Friend brought poultice components to relieve pain, break up congestion, and aid circulation.
Alternating every twenty minutes hot and cold packs, herbal goo to mineral salts, the pain is improving, but the swelling? Eh. So,so. Time heals all wounds?
Competent Anne is my extra hand today.

Here’s the procedure, each timed 20 minutes:
Paste made of ginger and castor, smeared on wool felt, fitted around offending thumb, secured with plastic wrap and heated with a steaming hot towel.
Thumb submerged in an icy bath of Epsom salts.
Paste of comfrey and castor, smeared on wool felt, wrapped as ginger preparation, again heated.
Another icy bath of mineral salts.

Mr. Long says it looks like I have a burrito stuck on the end of my thumb. Yup, it kinda does.
Thank you, Dear Friend, for bringing such a basket of healing! Along with N’Braskan taking me out for bathroom tissue, we’re doing okay!

How about the redheaded stepchild where all the trouble started? No, no, I mean the hardwood floor.

The radius is completed which means the miter saw and router can be put away, making more room around the workspace. Now it’s a matter of placing the boards and stapling them to the subflooring. This job can expect to move to finishing next week.

We’re pleased with how it’s turning out. Mike and Pop are certainly craftsmen. We look forward to having the existing hardwoods and those newly laid, homogenized as one floor, one room.

I'm hungry, who's up for burritos?

Beware of swinging mallets.

2010-03-09T14:51:00.000-08:00

This is what happens when you’re not paying attention.
I say ouch! And you? 24 hours of non stop throbbing pain finally ended with a the cutest little percocet you've ever seen! Today I was able to dress myself. I’m afraid this little mishap ended an otherwise productive evening.

Pop and the Boss-man spent some time fashioning pieces cut from a 12x12 red oak board to fit around the newly cut radius in the floor; the tie-in pieces that transition from the kitchen tiles and into the new and pre-existing hardwoods.

Pop is a journeyman woodworker, over 40 years in the fixture (cabinets, doors, mill work) business. His last job was for a yacht-building outfit and in that field, cost and precision increase several notches. Boss-man is no slouch when it comes to wood constructing, however, Pop knows how to give it the finesse that comes only from decades of experience- he’s the master!
Tonight after AnnePants has fed us (remember that nasty purple thumb, I can’t do a thing!) Big Daddy gets back to installing the wood slats so we can be that much closer to having this house put back together!

Living Christ

2010-03-05T18:09:00.000-08:00

Good bye cold, insensitive, hard, hard tile floor.

Flooring can be cold on the tootsies first thing in the morning regardless of the season or the degree in which the woodstove is cranking out the heat. The last owners of our house preferred ceramic tile to the hardwoods that my aunt and uncle previously installed (they built the house in 1966). The tile incongruously placed in the great room, as a replacement for the hardwoods, was to indicate a dining area, which divided the room with conspicuous absurdity.

(Sunshine outside and mid 50’s, so we’ve got our groove on Chicago IX. For those of you who have issues with ‘Greatest Hits’ albums, we’ll talk about this later.)

Meanwhile, back to the tile floor; we are returning it to its previously oaken status.

You see, hardwood floors are chilly enough to the pigs, but ceramic tile, well, that sucks the living daylights out o’ ya, robbing a creature of the warmth it needs to stay alive, icicles off the tip of your nose (or toes as it were), if you know what I mean.
Tile is also extremely unforgiving to plates and drinking glasses and antique baby food dishes in the shape of Donald Duck, that say, maybe your father ate from as a tot, or something like that, when they slip from the butterfingers attempting to hold them. Children and adults alike; no one is off the hook from the curse of the pitiless tile.

So onward to hardwood flooring! The great room will be great once more! Design unified throughout the room! Form and function, hand in hand!

Interesting post title, you say (some of you forgot already because it didn’t seem pertinent to tile floors). Anyone still hanging in there with me waiting to see the connection? Living Christ.

Those tiles coming up meant work…

but we never work alone.

We live in a remarkable family of believers. Here in the hedgerow we don’t go to church, we are the church.

“Going to church” for us and the Longs this week mandated pry bars, flat shovels, hammers, saws and cold beer and pizza. A burden needed bearing and it was bore on the backs of Papa Long and his boys. Mama Long and and I dusted the china hutch as we tenderly removed its contents and boxed it up for the duration of the project.

Removing a tile floor is unpleasant enough, but the men found a snag within the first few tiles. The tile was of course glued and grouted to backerboard. The backerboard, however, was not only nailed to the subflooring; it had been glued. What, the contractors were worried the tiles would float away? Yeesh! Out with the Skill saw and up with everything but the kitchen sink! Aye(waving nonchalant hand), so we replace chipboard with plywood, it’s only money, they print more everyday.

We “churched” two days in a row. Wait now, it will be three. We’s a-heading out to the family sheep farm tonight (as the lambs are dropping like cherry blossoms on a warm spring day) for more communion and partaking of the bread and the wine as Jesus said to do often and in remembrance of Him.

Being the Church is everyday life. There is no building for us. It means folding someone else’s underwear, sitting up all night in Holy Ghost provoked prayer, giving a scripture that is not easy to give, perhaps un-pleasant to receive, loaning someone your car while you’re repairing theirs, driving hundreds of miles in a day solely to fellowship.

It means ripping up someone’s tile floor.

(wiping brow)Fhew, this living Christ stuff takes work! Nobody has a day to himself because our days do not belong to us. To avoid sin in the church (people remember, not building) we are to encourage one another daily, while it is still called “today”, redeeming the time. Remember: Time plus opportunity equals trouble no matter who you are. If we don’t stay in contact daily, in one accord, from house to house, breaking the bread, how can we keep our brother from the fire. Daily contact and being held responsible for God’s children is a mighty high call. And if you don’t do your job, it’s a mighty high price.

Bearing one another’s burdens takes on a fully new meaning. The responsibility no longer is on the shoulders of a youth program, men’s breakfast leader, women’s retreat speaker, or “Pastor”.

It falls on ours.

Heb 3:13

Heb 10:24,25

Luke 17:1,2

Acts 2:42,46

Eph 5:16

Gal 6:2

1Cor 11:24-26

Catching Up

2010-03-02T17:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday’s migraine brought motivation for today.

Seven hours with an ice wrapped noggin and a strong cup of regular coffee, a full eight hours of REM and I was ready to knock some ‘must do’s’ off the list this morning.

Put away hearts and snowmen, plant peas, edge the lawn, smooch Quackers, bury lilies, medicate the hens, turn the compost, conference call with Lanny to solve a few of the world’s problems, just to name a few.

Here the girls are cutting Reemay to cover the peas. The fabric warms the earth about 4 degrees and keeps the crows from snitching. Dale planted 'Sugar Star' and 'Little Marvel', both shelling varieties.

Migraine headaches are new to me. I think I had one or two when I was pregnant with Abby‘dale, but they are now coming more frequently and challenging to deal with. Debilitating, really. Tylenol won’t touch these babies! Give me a bag of frozen peas, a dark room, and soft voices, please.

AnnePants has taken responsibility for this little patch of earth. She would like to showcase a variety of oriental lilies. You see her laying out 'Anastasia'.

To awaken this morning well, was well, heartening to say the least.

My Procrastination is Showing.

2010-02-24T11:46:00.000-08:00

Can you tell? The garden seems to be on hold. I really shouldn’t.
Fun calls. The Boss-man answers (he’s a party girl) and it takes little persuasion for me to follow (I’m almost a party girl).
Here we are bowling for the third time since mid January. And this time Mark bargained (by a few ditties from his traveling Taylor) with Mike to participate physically, that is, as a bowler.

Reminiscent of the gang at Arnold's

Pop warming up and Bet showing her form.

Mister Double XX-L and 16 pounds of marbled resin for a 10 pin SPARE (no,no,I mean STRIKE)!

Pins Beware! "Wolverine" Coulter is throwing a 14 pounder today!

Justin putting a bit of 'English' on that ball.

Anna showing off her new dungarees (Yelm Sunbird's, $49.95)

Sheila showing us she can 'git'r done'!

Someone's wearing an extra 15 pounds across her Calvin Kleins! Woo, hoo, and pass the cookies!

Abigail doing her very best!

It looks like the PLU 'Lutes' need to be calling in alumni for the 2010 season. Go, Patty,Go!

Winding up this day at Lieu's in Parkland.

Oh, I don't know- this might be a mighty important garden to be cultivating!

Another Man’s Treasure

2010-02-20T09:44:00.000-08:00

It is time to sell grandma’s house. She no longer can live on her own. Family members have been through the house to take home what tokens mean the most to them. Now in the very caring hands of a granddaughter and her home and hearth, grandma has only the things there that she needs.

Texas mom came up here to the PNW to help her brothers finish going through boxes and make some final decisions about their mother’s estate. Mom brought us something from grandma’s house she thought we might enjoy. She chose considerately. Texas mom brought us her grandparent’s Bibles. Published in 1946, but gifted, by inscription, nearly ten years later by one of their daughters, Texas mom’s aunt, grandma’s older sister (still with me?). Though not heavily worn on the outside, the contents prove the godly heritage imparted to us, through Mike’s maternal ancestry. The girls have already taken to them as their own Bibles and have begun reading in them.

Honored we are, to have received such a treasure.

Thumbing through the Bibles, one belonging to Walter, the other to Lillie, we found old photos, hand written notes, family records and yellowed newspaper articles; history, as it were, in our very hands. Along the pages were inked references and annotations. Among the pages are prayer cards and tracts from multiple western states, their cities and of different denominations.

The markings in and alongside the leaves of scripture are diverse. Each great-grandparent exercised their Bible; you can see by the variation of scrawls and symbols, circled scripture cues, written in their own hand. The very nature of the pamphlets and handouts from various missionaries and Bible societies, tell our little family of how much these great-grandparents of ours valued their salvation. They honored the sacrifice made on the cross.

Yet there has to be more. There can be no relying on ancestry for our ticket into heaven. While at present, it is the responsibility of Mike and I, to teach our children to love the Lord their God with all their heart, soul, and strength, at some point that responsibility rests also (also, I say, for we do not relinquish responsibility for their independence) on their shoulders to obey their parents in the Lord and walk in righteousness to stand before God on their own.

It is a treasure to have these beautiful Bibles in our household. Nonetheless, in the words of a favorite Christmas song we have been humming during the last several weeks,
My precious Jesus is more than an heirloom to me

2010-02-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

I'm wearing Carlisle Blue today.

2010-02-16T15:48:00.000-08:00

You've all been very quiet about Brussels sprouts...
Hollie seems to be my only comrade with the mini brassics.
Anyone?...anyone...?

“Daddy, Look! A Sign of Spring!”...

2010-02-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

Said Abigail years ago, pointing out crocus leaves jutting up though the icy earthen bed.

Big Daddy, being the breadwinner and all around outstanding provider, hunter-gatherer, door-knocker- downer, bad-guy-thwarter, omelet-slinger and so forth, does not have the hours with the girls as I do(pretty busy guy, eh?), so he is often surprised by their funny little quips and assessments of their surroundings when in their company.

Originally coined by Anne and myself, Mike had never heard our observations noted as “a sign of spring” and he found himself taken by the darling ‘Abi-dale’ and her remark; innocent, fresh, pure, completely aware of her world.

Now the girls participate in the “signs” at a new level. They are learning to propagate, store, divide, plant, and design, for future winter walks that bring about “signs” and the pleasure of anticipating the hope of the spring to come.

TOP: Crocus from Gran's garden CENTRE: white hyacinth BASE: Indian Plum in bloom

One Garden Down, One Garden Up...(and a tip on tulips)

2010-02-11T14:43:00.000-08:00

Early December brought record lows to the PNW. Our usual cold snap comes late January early February, so this mild winter has flora and fauna a bit befuddled. The garden is bursting with buds not typically exposed this early, or in any case, to such an advanced degree.
The wintery decorations we typically keep up until March seem erroneous. The usual Epiphany season activities, while including some garden clean up, consist mostly of closet cleaning, baseboard dusting, seed catalogue ordering, puzzling (of beautiful spring scenes of course)at solaced tea times, quiet and restful before the full swing of spring is cheerfully unavoidable. We gladly observe the days lengthening and the perennials awakening. So what are girls to do when it's fifty and mild with 'spring-like' conditions? Head on out.

In the garden yesterday, I harvested our last crop of winter brassics- Brussels sprouts. These stalks look a little worse for wear; however, they weathered some less-than-mild conditions late fall. This is variety ‘Jade cross “E”’. These darling little morsels cleaned up nicely, took a good steaming, sautéed in garlic and butter then tossed with parmesan. Mmm.
*****
The tulips are further along this year than projected. It set me to thinking about the work ahead of me this summer. Tulip propagation and maintenance is scheduled for this year. Unlike naturalizing daffodils, when a tulip creates offsets, if not dug-up and separated, the parent bulb suffocates by the crowding of the new bulblets. The underground nursery maid exhausted by its little charges, gives out. No more blooms, weak leaves, maybe. Here’s what ya do:
Sometime in June after the plant has yellowed, unearth the bulb and remove the bulblets. Set them in a lightweight medium in full sun, where there is little chance of dousing with a sprinkler system or the garden hose (here’s the dry, airy rest). Replant them by September’s end for their required cold hours.
Here’s the trick:
A deeply planted bulblet grows fat and large over the course of 3-4 years, to produce the bloom-bearing bulb. If planted deeply (up to 12in), the bulb should be good undisturbed while forming into a mature bulb. A shallower planting (6-8in or less) for an already mature bulb, creates more bulblets for more aggressive propagation, future blooms for the dinner table!

Little Abe Lincoln

2010-02-09T16:32:00.000-08:00

By Elizabeth Upham

Ambitious little fellow,
Did you dream of being great ,
With charcoal for a pencil
And a shovel for a slate?

Earnest little fellow,
What high hopes filled your head,
As you lay upon the bearskin
Of that wee log-cabin bed?

Honest little fellow,
When a neighbor’s book got wet,
You labored with your axe for weeks
Until you paid the debt.

Unselfish little fellow,
Whose life was ever spent
In doing deeds for others,
You were made a President!

Kentucky Birthday

2010-02-08T20:30:00.000-08:00

Kentucky Birthday February 12, 1816
By Frances Frost

Leaning his chin in his small hard hands,
Abraham thought and thought
About adventure in distant lands:
His breath came fast and caught

In his throat as he dreamed on the cabin floor.
The firelight danced on his book
In a gust from the suddenly opened door,
He twisted around to look.

His father stamped the snow from his feet;
The steaming stew on the crane
Smelled tender-rabbit, spiced and sweet;
The sharp snow knocked at the pane.

Abraham smiled at the alphabet,
Tall on the firelit page:
He guessed he’d remember the dark floor wet
With snow, till he came of age.

He thought of wide American lands,
But this warm room was heaven.
He cupped his chin in his small hard hands-
Abraham Lincoln, seven

Sunday at Grandma Grace’s House

2010-02-07T19:35:00.000-08:00

On Saturday and Sunday mornings, with faithful Scooter by his side, Pop drives a whole fifth of a mile to his childhood home to see his folks and have coffee. It has slowly evolved into, well, all of us…for breakfast. Gramps passed away a couple of summers ago and for Gran, Sunday is an important day of fellowship (besides reminding her what day of the week it is!).

Gran has lived in her house since ’34 when she and Gramps were married. They moved only once: the whole house, across the street. Their youngest son and his wife and all their children live in homes surrounding (that's us).
Life on Route 3 varies little and that is what we all like about it. Change can be good; especially when you’re rearranging furniture, buying new shoes or seeing a cloud-cover free the sun, but at Gran’s the less change the better!

Kai said last week, while mowing down yet another sausage link, “I love Sundays”. He stated clearly his emotion of approval and satisfaction of having it remain the same. Hear hear!

So, yet again we meander ‘over the river’ or anyway, up the street to Gran’s for breakfast, coffee, fellowship, dogs at the hearth, kids in the side room, knitting needles clicking, kick off times confirmed, daily schedules discussed.

Bacon and eggs, anyone?

Baited. All on my Own.

2010-02-04T20:59:00.000-08:00

I bit, hook, line and sinker on dry land. Me and my big ideas for ‘quality entertainment’.
In ta blesset name of Saint Brrridgette, what was I tinkin’?
Avoca, County Winslow, Ireland

This winter, I thought that it might be fun to watch some BBC early in the morning before the children awoke. You know, period drama, a little romance and often a message of virtue. A nice way to get the day rolling.

Oh, it’s been fun. And foolish.

The idea started with good intentions; Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Shakespeare. Soon it deteriorated to series drama. Ballykissangel to be exact.
You think I’m joking? I want to defect to Ireland, take conformation into the Roman Catholic church, and drink (or pull as a publican)pints of Smithwick’s, Guinness, Harp, at Fitzgerald’s Bar.

Fitzgerald's on the right

And that ain’t the half of it!

Ballykissangel, come to find out, does not truly exist. The town’s real name is Avoca, in Co. Wicklow. It’s a ruddy tourist trap! Brenden and Siobhan are in fact, just friends and Father Peter Clifford has not actually disappeared in the unknown Irish wilderness questioning the priesthood, how to serve God and mourning the death of his beloved Assumpta, local barkeep!

And how did I reach such outrageous conclusions, you ask!?
Series 4.

Very disappointing.

Now it seems like I’m just watchin’ TV.

2010-02-01T15:54:00.000-08:00

"Good as workin' as it sure shines a-bright!" says Abi-dale as she hands Pop the flashlight.

I love seven-year-old-speak.

Word Study

2010-01-31T12:50:00.000-08:00

If the last post fried your brain, made you angry, confused you, or concerned you, here’s another one to sizzle it a bit more and perhaps clarify a Biblical model of spiritual discipline.

http://itsthedirt.blogspot.com/2010/01/too-much-balance.html

It is long, but I think well worth a deepening understanding of the concepts the Hedge has been forming over the last several years about being Christ-followers.

I do need to warn you though: it is NOT for children to read.

Allow me to note that the other article referenced and linked in the first paragraph, is the post you just read below, ‘Something to Chew On’.

Something to Chew On. But Please Digest.

2010-01-27T09:22:00.000-08:00

God, the supreme chromosome-ologist, DNA decider, gives every family exactly the gender of children He wants that family to rear.
Boss-man and I have daughters.

I was watching TV today when an interesting exchange happened between two characters:
Dad: Have you seen my daughter? I don’t like the idea of her running off with Danny [for a hike in the hills] just like that.
Local man: She is 16, don’t you think you’re being a bit over protective
Dad: (indignantly) I don’t remember askin’ for advice.
Local man: Just tryin’ to be friendly.
Disrobing of parental authority, friendly?!
Come on, you say, it’s just a Hollywood script.
Maybe, but we’ve all taken the bait. This is our response to the real people, not actors, in our community.

Several weeks ago, in bedtime routine, my oldest daughter, putting her toothbrush away, says “Mom? Do ya think I can get married at sixteen?”
(choke,sputter)“I can’t talk about that right now. It’s late. Let’s just get ready for bed.”

The surprise I took was not at any absurdity in her question; rather the grief I imagine daddy and I will endure from not so well-meaning, not so astute people, should she have been making, that night in the bathroom, a prophetic statement.

The same people that speak of parents being “over protective” regarding children are the same people who have the proverbial cow that a sixteen year old is too young to marry: then protection is lacking.

You see, it’s okay for daughters to run around without parental protection, unsupervised and un-chaperoned. That’s trust! And we must trust our children! Particularly the 16 and over crowd. Daughters, especially the responsible ones, should be able to make their own decisions with, perhaps, parental input, but essentially, it must be of her own plan. She has to learn to make these decisions and live with the outcome, right?

But should she decide, that at 16, instead of tramping around with boys her own age, that are looking for a little slap and tickle (oh, and relationship too, I’m sure), she, with her parents guidance and blessing, should consent to a marriage with a respectable, hard working, taxpaying, dependable, godly young man, where she sleeps in the safety of one man’s bed, without guilt: That’s just plain foolish.

Uh, huh.

Some Winter Warmth

2010-01-22T15:46:00.000-08:00

Our family vacationed last summer in Honolulu and resided in the ol' folk's condo (not to be confused with the 'old folk’s home'). Feel to warmth of the June sun? We still can.

Waikiki Beach, Honolulu

Hilltop House, Home of Puna and Coco

Lanikai Beach and it's beautiful fine, white sand

Around the island of Oahu

Dole Plantaion

Enjoying the folks all around their world.

North Shore, Haleiwa, at sunset

What a time we had! A fortnight of loving, laughing, and discovering the Hawaiian folk’s island life. AnnePants adhered to condo living, Abi-dale thrilled at running along the darkened beach after an evening concert and Big Daddy and I took pleasure in being a generational family on vacation together.
Last fall I spent hours putting together a slideshow for the sidebar but Blogger didn't like it, wouldn't allow me to post it, something about corruption in the feed. Wasted time turned aggravation, turned tabled project, turned seven months later, turned "well, I should post some pics individually, at least". These photos are only a small fraction of the shots we took, but they do show the warmth of the sun, and that of the love family, despite an ocean, shares.

An Early Spring Tease

2010-01-18T19:46:00.000-08:00

What a day! The sun was beaming up to 55 degrees, slight breeze blowing, sparrows warbling.
Our “I-thought-it-was-spring-so-I-shaved-the-goats” weather has come a good month early!

Here in the great Pacific Northwest, somewhere around late February, we see a break in the forecast and experience spring-like conditions. We tear the cover off the pool, bring out the tee shirts, and make iced tea. Heck, the thermometer might hit 66, let’s have a barbeque!

And all for naught, of course, for we have weeks yet of hard, ever-changing, eventful weather.
But not usually in January.

The girls walked the garden, assessed it’s condition, talked of planting peas and mowing the grass.
Wait, no.
It’s too soon.

Peas in the ground now, could rot; mowing could damage the fine blades of fescue. We shall leave it at appraisal and garden planning for now. Rake up from the windstorm and turn the compost. Gather muck from the paddock and work it into the raised beds.

I will facilitate the postponement with the Western Garden Book and seed catalogs with tea and Christmas chocolate. And ask Lanny about the goats; I have none.

Waiting, resting, enjoying really, in the Winter Sojourn.

The Sound of Sanctuary

2010-01-13T17:11:00.000-08:00

Fffft-chrt-click.

Sometimes if the Boss-man has to go to work extra early, or we've had an unusually late night, he'll try to sneak out without waking me. I'm a mama, I sleep with my ears on. I'd have to be sawin' logs, deep in some REM, before I slept through Mike's morning routine. If he wakes me, he often insists that I stay snuggled up in the flannel sheets. When I’m awakened moments before he’s ready to hit the road, and I mean, eyes wide open awake, he prefers hoping I will get more sleep, so I remain under the covers until he disappears. That can be hard to do; I like starting my day on the front porch waving Big Daddy off to work. I don’t feel so helpless then. I can assess my surroundings, the day ahead of me; coherent of my world.

The few mornings he leaves me tucked in, there is, yet, a sound that changes everything.

Fffft-chrt-click.
The front door, safely bolted.

A Family Affair

2010-01-11T23:56:00.000-08:00

Years ago, Mike and the little missus, learned an important mystery, fact really, found in Ephesians 5:31: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”
Mike and I were a complete family, the two became one.

After several miscarriages, we were uncertain we would have any children and were dispirited by the language model applied by well meaning folks in inquiry about offspring.

“So….when will you start your family”

We already had. We got married.
Here are the girls sledding in a meadow at the foot of Mt.Rainier, elev. 14,411.

Children, it seems, legitimizes marriage in the minds of all those asking why you don’t have any. Yes, be fruitful and multiply (God mentions it a few times in Genesis) but we were not calculatedly refusing the babies. God was merely setting, cementing into place that the babies were NOT the family but what He had joined together to make one flesh. An important truth God needed us to own, preparing us for the weirdsmobil He was going to have us on.

Getting the gear on.

I’ll tell you about the weirdsmobil sometime.

Right now, onward to wedding anniversaries and kids. Yup, in our world they go together.

January 11, 1991 was the birth of a new family. Nineteen years later the family has increased, improved, learned, struggled, grown, and awaits every new day the Divine lays out and that which we have not yet seen.

When January 11 arrives, everyone in the house wishes everyone else, “Happy Anniversary!”, because it belongs to all of us. It is our family’s birthday and that is an important legacy for generations to come.

Having lunch and being exceptionally silly.

Today, Big Daddy treated us to snowshoeing and sledding at Paradise on Mt. Rainier after breakfast at the Tall Timbers restaurant in Eatonville. I packed a smart lunch; soup and sandwiches, chips and Honeycrisp apples. On our way back down to the lower elevations, we stopped by Dirt and Lanny’s for a dinner of steak, veggies and Black Butte Porter, newly knitted hats from Lanny and a boot tray for the mama.

This is all part of life in a Hedgerow.

Mele Kalikimaka and Pass the Porter

2009-12-31T13:59:00.001-08:00

We had heard about its existence; we had tried other varieties, but not until Pipeline Porter crossed our lips did we believe we had found our winter beverage!
The Kona Brewing Company has made some tasty concoctions including, Longboard Island Lager and Fire Rock Pale Ale but I tell you what (as gramps would say) Pipeline Porter is the new Kahuna! Pipeline is brewed with Kona coffee. What a lovely combination.

Most winter beer varieties packaged by brew houses for the fall and winter seasons have a tendency toward the bitter; not a personal favorite twist to our yeasted beverage. So enter Pipeline somewhere in October at a charming cabin aside the Methow River in Winthrop with Lanny and Dirt, and that ‘Newest Branch of the Family’.

Now, skip ahead several weeks to the Tap House Grill in downtown Seattle where five siblings eat out every Christmas season, enjoying the big city and each other’s company and picking up those little extras you can only find downtown. With 160 beers on tap this is no place to order a Coors Light! However, as common as it could have been interpreted, one of the brothers orders Pipeline on tap. Who’d a thunk delicious could have become more delicious!

Our hand was forced! A keg for the Feast of St. Stephen! Talk about your pairings: primerib smoked and barbequed, aside Pipeline Porter (was there anything else on the table? would it have mattered if there were?), beef and beer. Notice the similarity in the two words. Mmm.

Now don’t misunderstand, we’re a principled group!
Yes, keg.
But for lots of people. I’d hate to have any teetotalers out there thinking of us as drunkards. That we are not. We simply agree with the wisdom of our ancients and forefathers on the blessing of beer!

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. -Benjamin Franklin

I am a firm believer in the people. If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any national crisis. The great point is to bring them the real facts, and beer. -Abraham Lincoln

We old folks have to find our cushions and pillows in our tankards. Strong beer is the milk of the old. -Martin Luther

The roots and herbs beaten and put into new ale or beer and daily drunk, cleareth, strengthen and quicken the sight of the eyes. -Nicholas Culpeper

He was a wise man who invented beer. -Plato

In Harms Way. By Choice.

2009-12-29T15:29:00.000-08:00

It’s a surreal thing to watch the news and see footage of someone you know, you’ve supped with, painted living room walls for, vacationed hither and yon, arriving home from the hospital after narrowly escaping any number of permanent handicaps from a gunshot to the neck. The wound was suffered the Monday before Christmas, whist on duty as a deputy of our local sheriff’s department.

We love this family. Have a number of memories documented by a number of photos. The kids get along and so do the parents.

My friend and I both pack husbands off to work, out into a cruel world every day, to see and deal with the public in all their dysfunction. Sometimes my husband’s job makes me nervous. As a pawnbroker, Mike could be witness to , or be in the way of a theft, or a domestic dispute gone ugly; it’s been known to happen. Nevertheless, our friend gives her husband to protect and serve anyone who calls for his or her aid, no matter the level of dysfunction. This woman sends her husband out to be in harms way.

The other deputy involved in the incident took three gunshots to the neck, shoulder and chest but managed to returned fire before he went down. Our friend was drug into a room and received first aid by those in the house. The deputy afore mentioned died Monday night, a week after the shooting.

Not many people are shot with a large caliber handgun (at the hospital, Mike said he could have put his finger in the wound, it was so big) above the shoulder and live to tell the tale. Our friend has and we’re so very grateful. The doctor on call said he was lucky, the bullet missing vitals a millimeter in any direction. We know that a Divine Providence had a plan for his life, his children, and his wife. What an incredible journey God has set before our dear friends and what a testimony of His infinite goodness has been bestowed upon them and all who have the pleasure of calling them friends.

The Sarge has more life to live, more people to help, more appointments at Brank’s and more diet Dr. Pepper (in a 16.9oz. bottle) to drink.

Thanks to you Sarge for keeping us safe. Thanks to your wife for sharing you.

St. Lucia Day

2009-12-14T13:54:00.000-08:00

In Sweden, Christmastime begins on Dec ,13. This is St Lucia Day.

St. Lucia was a brave young woman who was martyred about 304A.D.
In those days, most people hated Christians, so they had to live in dark tunnels. St Lucia brought food to them every single night. She wore candles on her head to light her path. On St Lucia Day, Swedes celebrate the Festival of Light. Long before sunrise , the oldest girl in the family dresses all in white. She puts an evergreen wreath with seven lighted candles on her head. She carries coffee and buns to her family in their rooms.

God Jul (happy Christmas)to you!

When a Northern Front Comes In.

2009-12-14T11:20:00.000-08:00

So it’s already been mentioned that weather from the north means electric blankets for the cows, coffee for the hens, hot tubs for the ducks. We girls, however, donned the skates.

Heavy rain followed by weeks of freezing weather makes the best conditions on the pond.

With the exception of a few characteristically placed
branches around the edge that protruded from the
depths of the mud up through the ice
(look out!)
from some windstorms that brought in the front, the pond’s surface was outstanding for the blades.

We visited also, the pond at Vicktory Farm & Gardens. Their pond has the surface of a small lake. And certainly, the more the merrier!

Typical of the green and mild PNW, snow often comes on a warming trend. Yesterday we would skate our last as the snow fell and projections of rain, cloud the forecast. How beautiful and what a blessing to live a little ‘Currier and Ives’ on occasion.
After skating, our family, spread between four homes along the street, packaged St. Lucia buns, and delivered them throughout the neighborhood with caroling and greetings of the season. We do this every year on December 13, the day of Saint Lucia.

The snowfall enhanced the pleasure we took in an already anticipated family event with the addition of several well placed (no black eyes, only some initial stinging) snowballs and made the hot coffee and tiramisu around the wood stove at Pop and Patty MorMor’s that much richer.

I guess our life here on 42nd Avenue really is Currier and Ives!

That is a blessing indeed.

2009-12-10T11:59:00.001-08:00

Did I mention how cold it is? Did I tell you the lows were in the twenties? Try the teens, or colder. Twenty is now a high. In the sun. After noon.

Did I tell you? I love it!

Soon the Winter

2009-12-04T11:11:00.000-08:00

The nights are down into the twenties with the daytime just reaching the low forties. A scosh of snow predicted for Saturday. If any perennials were holding on to their fronds and flowers, our week of frost has sent them into complete dormancy. Only the winter garden remains.

Water trough ice to break, lamp to the coop, blanket over pullet enclosure, hay to the paddock, and extra feed for everybody.

An Advent Lesson- Day 3

2009-12-01T12:01:00.000-08:00

God, when He created man, did not sit on His heavenly throne inventing a bunch of rules for his human creatures to follow, or not follow, therefore in continual consternation of ruin.
Enter Dear Messiah.

O come, o come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel.

What a guttural, echoing cry.

There are more than 600 Mosaic laws, rules if you will. Ugh. I’d ‘av been kicked out after my first Passover and sent outside the city gates; no doubt a corner of my kitchen that didn’t get purged! There is no possible way I could remember feast laws much less all 600 hedge laws!

Christ came to fulfill the law. Redeemed.

Matthew 22 :34-39 But when the Pharisees heard that He had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. Then one of them, a lawyer, asked Him a question, testing Him, and saying, “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?” Jesus said to him, “‘You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’

Here Jesus is giving two commandments. Phew! Just two. But these two precepts cover oh, so much ground.

Philippians 4:8 Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things. The things which you learned and received and heard and saw in me, these do, and the God of peace will be with you.

These words of Paul’s fall under the words of Christ perfectly. They help to fine tune the details of the day-to-day.

If Mike leads his family under these words of Jesus, it navigates the narrow path we are to follow. We don’t have a bunch of rules hanging on the refrigerator door. Big misunderstanding people have of us. The further we walk the narrow road, the narrower it becomes. Less recognizable to us walking it but glaringly so to those still hauling the ‘wide load’ sign.
Funny how we never recognize our mire for what it is until the Holy Ghost gently removes the scales from our eyes (I speak for myself). When Christ calls you from out of your mire, however nicely you have it arranged, or painted, or dressed, or washed, or decorated, transformation is inevitable but inexpressible to anyone who has yet to meet freedom in compliance to Christ. Mike led his family out of a mire probably twelve years ago. And it gets easier. But it doesn’t get any easier. The stakes change. The ante goes up.

Ransom paid! Captive no longer!

Mike doesn’t make up a bunch of rules that his family can’t or won’t follow. He leads us with Paul’s words in mind-what ever is true, noble, just, pure, lovely, of good report- anything that falls under this benchmark is welcomed to his family, to meditate on these things. Our family follows these excellent, inspired principles under Christ's commandments. We girls do as we learn, receive, hear and see the Big Daddy do; one as a wife, the other two as daughters. Wow! That’s a bundle of responsibility! Thank you, Mike for your obedience. That calling is immense and not for the faint of heart though, truly, few men take it. Bless, Father, the broad shoulders upon which, dared to brave Your calling for our family.

A New Twist on an Old Tradition

2009-11-28T21:34:00.000-08:00

To the left is Anne, preparing place cards with the help of the delicious Mrs. Long. Anne also made napkin rings. She has been making rings for holidays since she was five. More for the Mama keepsake box!

Knowing for years that the inevitable change of family dynamics was upon us, maybe six Novembers past, our collective family decided to make the feasting a sort of game.

With the sound of raging football fans as our milieu, huddled around coffee and pie with pants quietly and inconspicuously unfastened and bellies liberated from confinement, all agreed upon those dishes crucial to the Thanksgiving banquet. From green bean casserole to jumbo olives, mashed potatoes to pie, approved for the ‘hat’ were ten dishes. Placing each item on a slip of paper and each family member drawing his fate for the following year. The idea was that everyone participated and brought a dish, young or old. I’m not kidding. Aksel, a year ago, at two months old brought the rolls; Abigail at four, butchered, bled and basted a turkey (oh, that Daisy was a prizewinner!); Granma Grace at ninety-five had the relish tray. Even if someone should need assistance (i.e. a very small child), and a mommy or dad has more than one dish to do, spreading out the responsibility still gives everyone relief of the substantial task the Thanksgiving Feast requires. Now, the ten dishes earlier mentioned? There are more then ten of us. Simple solution. In said ‘hat’, we threw in the “wild turkey”. It’s the freebee. You make or bring whatever you wish- no holds barred!

We play hard-core-we take no prisoners…we give out trophies.
First runner up receives Honorable Mention, Second place obtains the Jenny award and First place is the Most Palatable Plate.

This year’s green bean casserole was made entirely from scratch. Two turkeys were carved with two different stuffings. Oh, the sweet potatoes drizzled with a ginger-lemon sauce. Eggnog (the real stuff, nothing from a carton), mmm…hiccup. Granma’s fabled cheese ball.

How about 40lbs of meat for a modest group of thirteen. Excess? We say no! We feast for three days. Back to gran’s house tonight to finish up the side dishes, a little bit of the Apple Cup, and more fellowship with eggnog…mmm…hiccup.

Big Daddy took first place with this beauty! He basted the ham in Pipeline porter, Kona Brewing Co., and blackstrap molasses then injected with swiss, pepper jack and white cheddar cheeses.
AnnePants' bread cornucopia with after dinner fruit to cleanse the palette and aid digestion. Her creativity and thoughtfulness is always her mama's pleasure!
Mama's mashed potatoes- if loving butter is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Our bread baker, little Frenchie, made pumpkin cornbread muffins (with sprinkles, of course) and buttery Parkerhouse rolls. She is learning the art of yeast bread skillfully.

Pops Favorite Dessert

2009-11-20T10:33:00.000-08:00

Cherry pie is one of Pops favorite desserts and I made one for Friday night gathering of the body of Christ. I saved a slice for him and boy, was he pleased. Well now you can enjoy this little slice of heaven by following this recipe. Serve it to your family and friends. It will just melt in their mouths.

Oven 450

Cherry Pie
1 cup sugar
¼ cup AP flour
½ cup juice from cherries
3 cups drained, canned, pitted, tart red cherries
1 Tbl soft butter
4 drops almond extract
Pastry for 9-inch lattice-top-pie

Combine sugar, flour, and ¼ tsp salt; stir in juice. Cook and and stir over medium heat till thick; cook one minute longer. Add cherries, butter, extract, and 10 drops food coloring. Let stand; make pastry. Line 9-inch pie plate with pastry; fill. Top with lattice crust. Flute edges. Bake in very hot oven (450) 10 min. reduce heat to 350 and bake about 45 min more.

Chocolate Cream Pie

2009-11-18T11:19:00.000-08:00

Photo taken by Zac Long

Hello again for the first time in a long time. Sorry I have not posted sooner. Well I’m back again and ready to share with you some of the latest pies I’ve made.

This pie I took to Mr. and Mrs. Long's home for a little bit of fellowship, a Sunday back, that included Dirt and Lanny and the girls too. The Long's have four kids. We played lots of games and laughed and had fun! Our families hadn't really seen each other since I was five! It was fun to be together.

For this pie, I garnished with whipped cream, a sprig of mint, and toasted almonds- yum! Note that the original recipe called for this pie to be topped with meringue but nuts and chocolate go so well together!

Chocolate Cream Pie

1 cup sugar
2- 1ounce squares chopped unsweetened chocolate
⅓ Cup all-purpose flour or 3 Tbl cornstarch
¼ tsp salt
2 cups milk
3 slightly beaten egg yolks
2 Tbl butter
1tsp vanilla
1 9-inch baked pastry shell
In a saucepan, combine sugar, flour, and salt; gradually stir in milk and chocolate. Cook and stir over medium heat until mixture boils and thickens. Cook 2 minutes longer. Remove from heat. Stir a little into yolks; return to hot mixture; cook 2 minutes stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Add butter and vanilla; cool to room temperature. ( To prevent a crust from forming, put clear plastic wrap or waxed paper on top touching the surface of the pudding clear to the sides of the bowl.) Pour into pastry shell. Top with meringue.

The Result of the “Remark”

2009-11-17T15:46:00.000-08:00

So the spouse says in all jocularity, “yah, I keep going to the blog and all I see is lemon meringue. What? Did ya toss blogging?”

“Uuhhh!”, I whine, with brow furrowed and feeling hurt at such a heartless accusation to my abject lack of consistency. “I’ll have you know that,” I begin to reply in defense, “that, that…. Yup. I’m a bit of a loser on the big ol’ blogosphere right now. But the girls are still baking every week! Yah! In- in fact, Anne crafted two pies last week- not just one! And Abigail…well, she’s my girl and all I’ll say on that account."

In offering, I write this simple confession as a new post Mike can be pleasantly surprised with and I can have reacquainted myself with a keyboard. I find it a challenge to 'kitchen' all day and then write about it! So be assured our kitchen is in full swing and posts will...umm...eventually follow! very soon…I'm sure.

Lemon Meringue Pie

2009-11-03T10:57:00.000-08:00

This pie is one of my Daddy’s favorites! I experimented by adding ½ tsp. of vanilla to the meringue. Very good!

Set your oven at 350°.

1 ½ c. sugar
3 Tbl. cornstarch
3 Tbl. AP flour

Dash salt
1 ½ c. hot water

3 slightly beaten egg yolks
½ tsp. grated lemon peel
2 Tbl. butter
⅓ c. lemon juice
1-9 inch baked pastry shell

3 egg whites
1 tsp. lemon juice
6 Tbl. sugar

In saucepan, mix ½ cup sugar, cornstarch, flour, and salt. Gradually blend in water. Bring to a boiling over high heat, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to medium; cook and stir 8 minutes more. Remove heat. Use the a bit of hot mixture to warm yolks before adding. Bring to a boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to low; cook and stir 4 minutes longer. Remove from heat. Add lemon peel and butter. Gradually stir in ⅓ cup lemon juice. Cover entire surface with plastic wrap; cool 10 minutes. Now pour into cooled pastry shell. Cool to room temperature (about 1 hour).
For meringue, beat egg whites with 1 tsp lemon juice till soft peaks form then gradually dissolve 6Tbl. sugar and beat to stiff peaks. Spread meringue over pie sealing to pastry edge. Bake till meringue is golden (12 -15 min.). Cool to serve.

Last of the Summer Harvest

2009-10-29T14:26:00.000-07:00

Sunday couldn’t have been lovelier.
Low clouds and chilly.
Perfect for action in the garden.

Align the eroded shape of the raised beds with spade and fork. Freshen the the paths and perimeters. To the compost with the browned sunflower stalks that trellised the cucumber vines and the remains of the summer squash. Harvest the red cabbage (for that touch of German in us) and clean up around the winter roots that are yet to feed us. Plant garlic, pull carrots, and pick spinach. A new crop of sweet pea buds are setting to bloom; a nosegay for Thanksgiving, possibly. Brussel sprouts are coming on. Slowly, slowly, the winter romaine leisurely continues to mature.
How satisfying it is to come in exhausted, to warm by the stove; extricate mud and moisture, rest and reflect and dine on the Last of the Summer Harvest.

Chocolate Chiffon Pie

2009-10-28T11:12:00.000-07:00

This recipe is from the 1965 Better Homes ‘New’ cookbook.

1 envelope unflavored gelatin
¼ cup cold water
2-1 ounce squares unsweetened chocolate
½ cup water
3 egg yolks
½ cup sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup sugar
3- beaten egg whites
1- 9 inch baked pie crust

Soften the gelatin in ¼ cup water. Combine chocolate and ½ cup water; stir over low heat until blended. Remove from heat; add gelatin, stir till dissolved. Beat egg yolks with ½ cup sugar till light; then add the chocolate, salt, and vanilla. Cool at room temperature. Gradually beat ½ cup sugar into egg whites; fold into chocolate mixture. Pour into cooled pastry shell. Chill till firm. Serve garnished with whipped cream and mint.

Cracker cookies

2009-10-28T10:53:00.000-07:00

My auntie Laura introduced our family to this cookie and it’s delicious!

First, bring to a boil, ½ cup of butter and ½ cup of brown sugar with 1 teaspoon of vanilla. Mix it with a whisk. Put one cellophane sleeve of Waverly crackers on a cookie sheet. Drizzle the caramel mixture over the crackers. Take a spatula and spread the caramel all over the crackers and don’t miss a spot! Sprinkle almond slices all over.

Put them in the oven at 350 for about 12 min. We turned the pan after 8 minutes and left them in 4 minutes longer. Cool them on parchment or wax paper. I put this batch in the freezer.

The nice thing about these cookies is that they don’t have many ingredients and they didn’t take long to make.

Tuesday Baking Day

2009-10-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

We’ve proclaimed Tuesday Baking Day! It seems we’re in the kitchen just about all day. This Tuesday will be our third lesson.

I’m working on pie baking which means I’m learning how to treat the pastry with a gentle hand. Pastry is an art. It is something that has a certain feel. The weather can change how your pastry turns out. Abigail is discovering many varieties of cookies. With Holidays coming she and Mama are beginning to stock the freezer. She too, will be sharing a weekly recipe.

Be sure to visit us in the Hedgerow on Wednesdays to see What Abbey and I have done on Tuesday.

The pies I’ll be telling you about will use the following recipe. I replace 1Tbl. of water with apple cider vinegar. A sippy cup is also ideal for sprinkling water; that way you could add an ice cube or two, to make your water very cold. This trick comes from Mor Mor.

For a single crust pie,
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour,
½ teaspoon salt,
½ cup shortening,
4 to 5 Tbl. cold water.
For a double crust pie, (this is the crust I usually use)
2 cups all-purpose flour,
1 teaspoon salt,
2/3 Cup shortening,
5 to 7 Tbl. cold water.
Sift salt and flour. Cut in shortening. For extra tasty and tender and flakey crust, divide shortening in half, cutting in first half to a corn meal texture, then the second half, till it resembles small peas. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon water over part of the mixture, gently toss with fork then push to one side of the bowl. Continue this process with remaining liquid, 1Tbl. at a time. Form into ball and let rest. Flatten ball onto a slightly floured surface, to 1/8 inch thick. Use light strokes starting from the center and rolling outwards. Handle as little as possible!

Mr. Webster...What Do You Say?

2009-10-17T00:45:00.000-07:00

Mike “Bible studys” with an old guy, somewhere in his eighties. He is a good man; Christ-follower and minister of the gospel.
Last Tuesday, the morning ritual ended pondering the question of what sin really was. The above mentioned fellow found himself puzzled on the subject and remarked as he left the building, “I’m going to have to go home and see what Webster says about this.”

“Hmm”, says Mike to himself, “Webster?! Would n’t it be more appropriate to find what God says about sin?”

And then which publication do you use, asks wife (that's me)? The original '1828' is known to have the most Biblical references of any other edition. It is perhaps, better known that the latest modern volumes have little in common with the original text. Would /sin/ look the same for the godly Noah Webster as it does for the contemporary publishing house editor with a deadline to meet (and cocktails at five)?

And yet, Webster himself considered "education is useless without the Bible". Right! Thanks Mr. Webster for sending me back to God's Word.

Blue Ribbons and Green Goo

2009-09-30T17:09:00.000-07:00

Home from the Fair and we brought back awards and sore throats. We did what we could to acquire the former and avoid the latter but in the end we obtained both! Fair hours are hard on a body and our little gaggle of girls was spent by Saturday night. This week is restful and we’re watching far too many hours of BBC. However, keep the kitchen picked up and the animals fed, the beds made and the laundry folded and I am above suspicion of laziness, and we girls can recover from head colds before it turns to influenza!

To The Fair!

2009-09-22T10:16:00.000-07:00

The girls (mama is one of those girls, remember) will be in the Puyallup valley this week at state fair. The Fair marks our official rollover of seasons...When we return, Fall will commence.

Here we work the exhibit of heritage breed turkeys for one of our family’s farms. Five days of the public multitudes, little sleep and eating Fischer scones; shoveling manure, re-acquainting with familiar faces and deep fried indigestion. Did I mention the Washington Junior Poultry Expo-tition (as Pooh would say)? The daughters will be entwining turkey husbandry with that of the responsibilities of the state poultry barn and showing their own hens and ducks. Fhew (wipe brow) I’m tired already!

It’s no doubt a love-hate relationship; late September is an awfully busy time around here to disappear for five days but corn dogs and throngs of people are too, too hard to resist.

Here we go into the mission field ready to do God’s work for His Kingdom; Holy Ghost, teach us and make us able.
The girls get ready for fit and show by washing thier cochin hens.

Hello Old Friend

2009-09-22T09:51:00.000-07:00

A longtime friend called the other day. We hadn’t talked for years. Her sweet voice was like a soothing, enlivening, balm to fatigued muscles. This week I’ve cried tears of joy upon hearing from her again and the more-than-exciting news she brings of her family. It is a precious thing to renew an acquaintance but when it’s God’s hand that re-establishes contact, how can human words describe the elation, or the song my heart sings, not for my own pleasure of her company but of God’s dear heart toward me and the weaving, interlacing He creates in His Body.

* * * * *

Now, the personification of a life yielded, she worships her Creator as her sole (soul, perhaps?)source of joy, salvation and healing. She has ministered to my heart and will share in my walk with Christ in a new and profound way.

Thanks for loving me, old friend, and showing me, that the mercies of Christ bring complete healing for those who ask and cede into His hand. Your jingle over the line was testimony of love and obedience.

Pride Vs. Pleasure. Which Describes God?

2009-09-18T15:54:00.000-07:00

Let’s do a word study.
Our vocabulary is so very limited- we, even the most educated of us, use words improperly or quite narrowly.

A friend dispatched a conversation she’d had with another friend on whether or not God was proud or if our being proud was EVER appropriate. She asked me my thoughts:

“Well,” says I to said friend over the phone, “I teach my children against pridefulness, but I do say ‘I’m proud of you’ because I am…so…I am proud of….er… well, isn’t God…but…I take pride in….hmm...... I guess not”.
This has been another Holy Spirit awakening through the use of His Body. If you dare to go Deeper, take a peek…

Proud-
Everyone proud in heart is an abomination to the LORD; though they join forces, none will go unpunished. Prov. 16:5
He has shown strength with His arm; He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. Luke 1:51
…he is proud, knowing nothing, but is obsessed with disputes and arguments over words, from which come envy, strife, reviling, evil suspicions…1 Timothy 6:4
God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Prov. 3:34
Pride-
I know your pride and the insolence of your heart…1Sam 17:28
A man’s pride will bring him low, but the humble in spirit will retain honor. Prov. 29:23
For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world. 1 Jn 2:16

Out of 98 verses found in Strong’s Concordance, NOT ONE suggested that ‘proud’ or ‘pride’ are words that represent godliness. If God asks us for humility, any pride, at all, is a sinful weed in the humble heart and must be pluck out. The two CANNOT co-exist; they are the exact opposite.

Moving right along. Are you still with me? Scripture reading is not for the faint of heart, but Martin Luther got that ball rolling for us so let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. Shall we continue? Oh, no. After you....

Pleasure-
I know also, my God, that You test the heart and have pleasure in uprightness. 1 Chron.29:17
Bless the LORD, all you His hosts, you ministers of His, who do His pleasure. Ps. 103:21
Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Cor. 12:10
…having made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His good pleasure which He purposed in Himself…Eph 1:9

Pleased-
The speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked this thing. 1Kings 3:10
By this I know that You are well pleased with me, Because my enemy does not triumph over me. Ps. 41:11
And suddenly a voice came from heaven, saying, “This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Mt.3:17
But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased. Heb 13:16

So which describes God? Proud or Pleased
Do I take pride in my work or does my work give me pleasure because I am occupied by the things of God? Am I proud of my children or am I pleased with them. Proud American or pleased that I live in the greatest nation in the world- a pleasure God has given me. Words mean things. Pride or being proud is a word we think we deserve to use, an attitude we think shows a healthy self-confidence or illustrates how well we progress with societal evolution or technological advances but as Apostle Paul tells us “for when I am weak, then I am strong”.

All of this said, it is not I who says it, but the Scriptural evidence is clear(if you trust God's Word as just that) that God is NOT proud, therefore to be like Him and display His Character we mayn't partake of such behavior hence it would behoove us to remove it from our personal vocabulary as a word describing anything other than sinfulness.

Here at the homestead we're implementing 'pleased' for 'proud'. Change has already abound. No longer do we invite the godless spirit of haughtiness into our home. Can we invite you too, to bury 'proud' and live with the humble heart of 'pleased'.

A Last Look at Summer

2009-09-02T16:31:00.000-07:00

The header photo was taken at North Shore, O’ahu. Though it was taken back in June, the fortnight we stayed with the folks, it seems now suggestive of a waning summer- not gone, mind you, merely fading into a season to come; shorter days, threatening skies, cider pressing and warm lefsa griddles.

Every year, a troop of us head south east to Mt. St. Helens for our last summer hurrah. We camp where Iron Creek runs into the Cispus. Mmm, beautiful. Good food and fellowship with the Body, over to Yakima for canning peaches, huckleberry pickin’ on Burley Mountain, and s’mores with Reese’s peanut butter cups.

Here's part of the gang packing the trailer; fixing windows and replacing refrigerators.

We’ll be around next week sometime, not ending, but winding down the best summer this family’s had in a long time. Yup, this one’s for the books!

Brain Overload, Can't Write

2009-08-28T08:42:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure how I feel about this. It feels a bit like cheating. But I think it's an important explination to my writers block. I'm linking you to another blog.

Put those bi-focals on and sit down with a box of tissue, and a cuppa, to an exeptional story of yeilding to God's Will.

This Link will lead you to two stories. Read them both. They's long, but they's good.

http://itsthedirt.blogspot.com/2009/08/ready-for-another-freak-fest-if-final.html

Read A Final Lesson in Faith first and then A Little More...

A Tomatoe Update

2009-08-26T07:48:00.000-07:00

My tomatoes have been growing quite large lately and have been harvesting well. In my first post, as you may remember, I told you about planting tomato varieties Stupice, Chocolate Cherry, Korlick, and Super Marzano.
So far, the Stupice are about the size of a ping pong ball and are very sweet. Those were planted upside-down in a hanging pot at our pool patio.
The Korlick are savory and the size of a small cherry. I planted them on a small metal trellis out in the kitchen garden. Daddy loves Korlick as it is a addition to his lunch-box.
Chocolate Cherry is the typical size of a cherry tomatoe and one of the choicest tomatoes to eat by itself. It, along with Stupice, is very sweet.
Mama added Super Marzano in our beef stew one rainy day last week and they made a rich, thick broth. Yum.

Tut Tut- Looks Like Rain

2009-08-12T15:37:00.000-07:00

and my ducks love it! After weeks of hot, dry days, the rain came and made my water loving ducks happy. Mama found them this morning outside her bedroom slider in a rut that Pallo dug to sleep in. The rain filled the hole up with water and the ducks found it and swam and drank from it. It started as a bed and ended up a puddle. The sun is back out but I see dark clouds in the sky.

The ducks I have are Swedish Blues for they are a grey-blue-green. Their names are Flapppers, Quackers and Rolly. You know, Flap, Quack and Roll. Flappers however, is now a dead duck. She had a sickness and Mama checked her and tried to surgury her but we could not save her. Nothing goes to waste around here so we plucked her downy feathers and will make a pillow with her down.

A Working Alliance

2009-08-07T12:32:00.000-07:00

Everyone here has a job and that includes people and animals. A couple of cuties that live on our farm are our dogs.

The first dog to introduce is Pallo. He is our head dog and guards our house and home. Rodents stay clear of Pallo because he digs moles and rats out of their holes, plus rabbits out of their burrows.

When I was four, I asked my parents for a puppy. They told me that I could have a puppy on one condition: if I gave up my pacifiers. I agreed and went and threw them in the garbage. But the next night I went and got them out again. I struggled for several weeks but managed to gain my pup.

When I began forming words as a baby I called my pacifier, a pallo and that is just what Grandma Grace suggested for a name; a pallo for a Pallo.

You are probably wondering how I got him. Dad found an article for a stray puppy in the lost and found area in the weekly newspaper. Dad told them it wasn't our dog but if they couldn't find his rightful owners, we'd make him ours- and so we did! After about a week, we got in the 'burb and drove to the area the directions in the ad told to go to. When we got there the people were waiting for us. With them was the cutest pup imaginable. Pallo has a good home now.

Libby is our Vizsla/Lab hunter. The Vizsla is a Hungarian pointer and the Lab is a retriever. She too, has brought in many a mole, however, birds really catch her attention. Though she has become accustomed to the poultry around the place, whenever we bring home some new foul, she 'babysits' you might say, carefully guarding the barnyard addition. Unfortunately, Libby's instincts get her into trouble and she's had to wear her victim more than once. Libby has been in causual training for the field for two years, so we'd like to take her out hunting sometime. In the meantime, her job is bein' cute and companion to Abbey and I when we're out land trackking. Libby came to us with one of her litter mates . We named him Scooter. Scoot lives next door with my grandparents. He and Pop are good pals.

Here is Scooter Libby and Scooter and Libby. Not a lot of resemblance but integrity is high.

An Era has Ended

2009-08-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

Truth be told, it ended, actually ages ago but the final article of its existence has been removed from the house. The Diaper Pail. Uh, huh, gone.

Now, having children out of nappies by the age of two you may wonder if we still have a crib to take down, or perhaps a musical mobile, or changing station caddy to disband. Don’t you believe it. We do still use baby wash cloths (the girls prefer that size) and traces of diaper cream from an Okie pharmacy, endures a number of purposes (Bohan’s by name; Wilson’s Pharmacy 405-737-3464).

You see, when the girls were in diapers, we had said bucket for the diapers immediate confinement. It was a future ‘bleach, hot water’ load. I did diapers every day. So it made sense to add other white articles to the intended pile. So, even after the ‘diaper load’ waned to once every few days and beyond, “Throw them in the diaper pail” became a common phrase in our home; that was ten years ago. My how time flies. We potty trained and diapers became rags. Diaper pail remained. We moved. Oh, steadfast pail of flannels past; still in use for socks, unmentionables, wash cloths and rags. Ehh… they can now go into the hamper with the rest of the laundry; I need the floor space. Boot tray, perhaps.

By and by we’ve needed a change. The hallowed pail will simply move on to a new job: a trash bin, a rag bag, maybe green house storage bucket. I do not know that I will ever need a diaper pail again.

Farewell old friend- my babies are babies no longer.

Warning: if you are a liberal or a hippy or a liberal hippy you will probably not enjoy this article- it makes personal remarks.

2009-07-23T13:20:00.000-07:00

A friend and I went on a chicken run.

In the quest to find a true Rhode Island Red for my daughter’s endeavors to become a breeder of such, an ad on Craigslist took me to the wooded hills west, beyond Olympia.

After several 3-point turns and much deliberation on finer details of- we'll call him ‘Jordan’- 'Jordan's' directions, we found the staked house number in a bramble and intrepidly advanced to the house. We were accosted…er… addressed by a tall, slender, bearer of wooden beaded dreadlocks. Bad sign. ‘Jordan’ has already in the last 24 hours told me he sold out of hens, found four more, ten apiece, oh, did I say 10, I just remembered two of them are 15. Uh, huh.

He welcomed us to his farm. “Farm”, inaudibly says I? I see no tractor implements, old trucks, or rotting lumber scattered about the perimeter, over grown with berry brambles. “Farm?!” Friend is making her own calculations: this hippy probably works at the organic nursery at the bottom of the hill and woos all the ladies, young and old, bra’d or not bra’d.
We look at the hens. Friend says boldly, not true Rhode Island Reds. Craigslist fraud shrugs with, ‘huh’. I panic and say, I’ll take the two at the agreed ten dollars. He remarks feeling bad that he changed his price (whilst I was en route to pick up the four hens for $40) and tells me he’ll give me a deal: 3 for forty. What? That would make the fifteen dollar hen twenty! Or, the three hens, thirteen dollars and thirty-threeeeeeeeee cents (I just did that in my head). Now, I don’t believe ‘Jordan’ was clever enough to know he was swindling me out of five more quid. The Farmers I know, nonetheless, actually have to know math when working their farms (please reference earlier exclamation-“Farm?”).

Now you’re asking yourself why I purchased these hens. Well, it became evident when Friend and I stopped for 99 cent fish tacos from Long John Silver’s; we found one of the hens de-beaked. Horror struck my heart! She was UGLY! No rooster would have her. The missing facial characteristic made her look mean and disturbing (Night of the Living DeBeaked). Wait, she is mean. She gave up being a buxom, broody hen, tending to her chicks and cock; forging the way instead, for the liberated hen. Leg band burner and au natural. How could I show my children, who already cautiously tend the poultry and embrace femininity, this… this… emaciated and starving, free ranging, hippy hen that ‘Jordan’ boasted ate organically? What kind of hen, sir, do you raise?

It became quite clear. We had made an animal rescue and are considering involving PETA and if they don’t hear our cry, we’ll call ACORN.

Meanwhile, we are presently taking action with feed store crumble, fresh water, and re-indoctrination on trickledown economics, smaller federal government, and personal liberty. It’s exhausting work but she seems to understand that activist liberal females, like herself are…...well, perhaps enough has been said.

If you should enjoy pictures and another perspective of this escapade, you'll find it at http://itsthedirt.blogspot.com/

This is the Monk Seal. His name is Nuka 'au.

2009-06-30T15:35:00.000-07:00

He lives at the Honolulu Aquarium, near the beach, in the state of Hawai’i.
I saw a lot of animals from the sea at the aquarium. We saw brown octopus and many fish. They were pretty. But my favorite was the monk seal.

The monk seal is a mammal. That means their babies are born alive, and their mothers feed them milk. Mammals are covered with hair.

The monk seal is only found in the Hawaiian Islands and is an endangered animal. It’s mostly in danger of sharks that eat them. Monk seals eat lobster, octopus, and various fishes. They can stay underwater for as much as 20 minutes.
From April to June females birth single pups on the sandy beach and feed them milk. After six weeks the pup is left to swim back to the ocean and care for itself. The pup will soon become about 7 feet long and weigh between 400 and 600 pounds.

The Guinness Girls Meet the Three Sisters- Twice.

2009-06-01T17:38:00.000-07:00

Here are the girls in the garden finishing, or rather replanting, after a naughty bantam escaped to scratch it to ruin, the Three Sisters companion garden.

The Three Sisters was developed and used by the Wampanoag, though the Iroquois seem to have developed the legend of ‘Three Sisters’. It was the Wampanoag gardens that enabled the early settlers of Jamestown to survive and thrive in the New World. Squanto was a Wampanoag who taught the newcomers to plant maize in little hills and fertilize each mound with an alewife, a species of fish (we opted not to plant our seed with such a mesmerizing animal enticement). With this efficient and intensive gardening style, each family could sustain their needs on about one acre of land. Many of the tribes of the Northeast, including the Iroquois, used the Wampanoag garden design. Planted without plowing or tilling, the traditional Wampanoag garden includes corn, beans, squash, and sunflowers.The corn and beans are planted in mounds, with squash planted between the mounds.
First, the raised corn and bean mounds must be constructed. These small mounds are laid out in rows with 4 feet between the centers of the mounds. Each mound is about 4 inches high, with a wide base (about 18 inches in diameter) that narrows to a flattened top (about 10 inches across. Plant four corn seeds about 6 inches apart and 3 inches deep in the top of each mound. Plant four beans seeds halfway down the slopes on the sides of each mound.

See the giant dryer sheet behind the girls? it's a row covering for up to 10◦ frost protection, allows the sun and water through, keeps out the birds and some air-borne dieseses. DeWitt is the name and can be aquired at

http://www.mcconkeyco.com/page.aspx?nid=27

So we planted twice, clipped some wings, and hope there’s no need for a charm.

You Can Never Tell with Bees....

2009-05-23T07:55:00.000-07:00

...but the wrong sort of bees these were not. They swarmed in Gran’s orchard between the barns, a matter of feet really from the nesting box. So out comes sister Steph with the sugar water for the hive and I put up the ladder (for Steph of course, I was the Photographer). We found more of Gramp’s beekeeping gear in the barn and Sis donned it beautifully. And we said things like, "Tut-tut looks like rain", and "The important bee to deceive is the Queen Bee" and "I think the bees suspect something" and "You don't look like a little black rain cloud".

Up the ladder with dull pruners (the sharp ones were at my house, oops) she went and the cardboard box for transporting the swarm to the hive with her. Well, let me tell you that dull pruners are never a good choice and box-propped-on-lower-branches-to catch-swarm, even less, compounded by wobbly, old, wooden, orchard ladder…..snap!, ugh!, fwap, thump, BUZZZZZZZZZZZ…….Photographer ducks, beekeeper flies from branches to the ground!
Then we remember: swarming bees don’t sting or anyway, unlikely. It just so happens, that standing in the midst of bees amuck, feels a tad disconcerting. But we managed to rally.
When we discover: Success! The swarm, though perhaps a bit discombobulated, is in the box (or mostly so).

Around the side of the barn comes Pop from the garden. He encourages the victory and lends a hand to the finishing touches. The swarm is emptied into the hive and the loose bees gather themselves before settling down.

Some tried to escape but we know their secrets, their little ways and now we will make them our slaves to produce honey (sinister laugh)-our indentured servants to fly from blossom to bloom collecting pollen for our good- shhh, they don’t even know it!

Kitchen Garden Tomatoes

2009-05-19T12:22:00.000-07:00

This year's kitchen garden begins with four varieties of tomatoes. I planted Chocolate Cherry, Super Marzano, Korlick, and Stupice. We got the plants from Auntie Stephie.
My aunt, Stephie took over growing and selling tomato plants after Great Gramps died two summers ago. Like Gramps before, she supplies our tomato plants every year. I like to pick them fresh off the vine and sprinkle them with salt and eat them. My mama teases me that she will leave a shaker in the garden under a cloche for me.

Both Stupice and Korlick are early growing tomatoes with smallish fruit. Stupice is cold tolerant.
Super Marzano is a Roma type fruit growing 5in long. Rich in pectin it's great for sauces and pastes. It tastes so good. Best grown on trellises because it's a climber!
Chocolate Cherry is a new variety for us and we're looking forward to eating it.

Oh, So Conventional....No, Really.

2009-05-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

‘Everyone’s a critic’- so they say….whomever they are….they’re right.

It’s no Sunday picnic when you’re riding the weirdsmobile. Less fun if you’re driving it. When there’s no charted course for the unorthodox journey you embark upon, explanation to concerned bystanders is almost fruitless given that parts of said journey are yet to be writ.

How can you relieve the worries of a populace whose thinking has been so badly damaged by conventional wisdom (which isn’t very wisdom-y (note: I make up new words)) that we have abandoned the truly innate knowledge of the Creator. But for the learned scholar, an intellectual, a psychologist, or the university study recently published, we don’t dare depart from the road most traveled which incidentally is the same widely trodden path that the former mentioned authorities walk, so we can conclude their information is merely recycled twentieth century humanism -the religion of man.

Hey! Who said you could make decisions on your own? There are highly trained and paid experts to tell you what will improve your life. Don’t look to Granny- it’s a wonder her kids survived or that she endured her husband. Common sense was once actually common knowledge.

From the top- ‘parts of said journey are yet to be writ’- funny thing, what we do as a family has been documented triumphantly for generations too numerous to count, yet for the masses it is no more than risky business.

Part I- Some Simple Deductions
Our expedition begins in 1991 when my husband and I were first married and living in a two bedroom apartment with commercial grade, moss green, looped carpet. I was standing by the dresser, Mike near the closet. The subject: the educating of our not yet conceived offspring. Public or private school? No agreement. What next? No children.
Jump ahead nearly nine years and the same couple is now blessed with a child (heavenly chorus, please); a daughter born seven weeks too soon. But she turns out to be quite bright. None of the physical ills she was expected to developed plague her. Quite the reverse, she was gently leafing through the pages of books by twelve months and humming measures of recognizable tunes by fifteen. Wow! She hasn’t even been to play-group. The baby hangs out primarily with an intimate circle of family and dear friends. The parents realize the value in the development of her budding gray matter. Everyday is a day of discovery, research, scholarship and baby becomes pre-schooler.
Now…
three years down- and the looming black cloud of kindergarten haunts us when girl number two emerges to the stage.
Silly second born delightfully different! Not so much the academic achiever her predecessor but at nine months she knows a first-rate punch line and apperently understands the concept of playing dressup and what to do with a baby doll (she introduced these things to her decorous older sister). She is physically aware of her space and her body. She observes things our-now-three-year-old would never have seen. Baby seems equipped with a baloney-detector. Yah, she perceives drivel and I see her little eyebrow shift and sense her leeriness. A whole new style of learning, of understanding, of intelligence, and of needs. Ugh. And yet, Ahhh.
The parents have discovered just what could be accomplished at home and likewise what never need be. Parents have been arranging their childrens education for years. History encourages us that with common sense, generational experience, and the teaching of the Holy Spirit, our 'unconventional' road is rather the opposite.

Part II......hmm. The last scene took months to ponder. Stay tuned for the next installment.

A Pasture Improvement- Miniature Herefords

2009-05-13T22:13:00.000-07:00

The miniature Hereford is a lowline variety of the standard sized breed of the same name. Standards weigh from 900 to 2,000 pounds and stand 51 to 54 inches. But a miniature only weighs about 700 to 1,000 pounds. A bovine is classified miniature by frame measuring 38 to 43 inches from the hip. The mini Hereford was developed in the 1960’s in Texas.

Cattle are a herd of cows all together. Cattle are from the family bovidae which means cloven hooves and genus Bos meaning ruminant quadruped (cud chewing, four-legged animal). A female bovine is a cow; a male, a bull; a castrated male, a steer. A calf is a baby. A heifer is a young cow that has not yet calved. And that’s what we’ve added to our pasture.

Her name is Miss Mini Moo and she’s about two years old so she can be bred for calving next spring. She is our primary stock for a miniature herd.
Miniature Herefords are easy to take care of because: they have a docile/sweet temper, less pasture needed, make great pets, easier on fences (mama loves that), and they’re great reproducers. I love miniature Herefords because Number 1: they have good looks; Number 2, they are friendly and lovable.

Found: Lost Dog

2009-05-12T17:12:00.000-07:00

I’ve got two news. The bad news is that I lost Spot. The good news is that I found him again.

Spot is a spaniel. He is my friend. He was in my stocking years and years ago when I was three. I grew up with Spot. He’s been practically half way around the world! Canada and Idaho, shopping and the library.

In September [2008] I lost him at the Fair. We were there showing turkeys. We stayed in the trailer. We couldn’t find him. I felt very bad because he was a special friend. I prayed for him and put up a sign to have somebody help me find him. I cried hard. Then in the springtime [2009] my friend Bet found him in the trailer hiding behind the pillows. God answered my prayer to keep Spot safe. I didn't know I would have Spot again but while he was missing I learned to love God more than Spot. Cause you can’t love an animal or a thing more than God, because God made earth and everything and even the person who made Spot. And God knew before I was ever born that I would have a special friend.

My friend Spot has been through a lot of trouble.