Catherine Friend's Blog, page 12
December 28, 2010
Walking in the Winter WonderlandIt's official. This is Mi...
Walking in the Winter Wonderland
It's official. This is Minnesota's snowiest December on record... and it's the December I'm doing chores by myself while Melissa heals from neck surgery. WHINE ALERT! (Melissa's doing great, except for a serious case of cabin fever.) We had the Dec. 11 blizzard, then at least two more snowfalls of at least six inches.
Here's how far I must walk from the house to the barn:
For days I slogged through snow over my knees. I'd just get a path broken, and the wind would blow it shut and I'd have to start all over again. The sheep needed help making a path to their water trough. (A woman recently suggested to me that sheep are stupid because they can't make their own paths and I nearly took her head off. Sheep know their depth perception is crap, so they don't dare step into snow that could be over their heads. Hence the need for a trail after a major dump of snow. I made them one with my own two little feet.)
Neighbors came with their snowblower and blew paths to the wood pile, and up to my first red gate. Another neighbor uses our tractor to plow our driveway. A third neighbor scoots down with his four-wheeler and plows when wind blows waves of snow across the driveway. I plan to bribe all these neighbors with peanut brittle until winter ends.
For a good ten days, winter kicked my butt. I'm not proud to admit it. I was wiped out every day with shoveling and slogging. I might have even shed a few tears of self-pity.
Then I realized I didn't have to climb through the snow drifts every day to feed the animals. I needed snowshoes! But I had no time (or energy) to drive 30 miles to shop for some. We shopped online, and Melissa ordered expedited delivery. They came Dec, 23, and on Dec. 24 we had another 6 inches.
Talk about a Merry Christmas! Using extreme ZOOM lens, Melissa caught me up at the barn trying to shoosh the overly friendly ram, Inigo Montoya, away from me. When a ewe's in heat, he pays no attention to me. When none of the ewes distract him, then he wants me. Not interested.
But now, with my handy snowshoes, I can bypass the sheep trail. Inigo can't reach me. I'm invincible! And instead of sinking into snow over my knees, I only sink a few inches. And after a few days, there's a great trail. Here I am in my oversized, baggy insulated overalls.
I LOVE THESE SNOWSHOES! I'm even strapping them on and hiking around the pasture for some extra exercise every day. I've started making a maze in the west pasture. (I must be insane.)
But at least winter's no longer conquering me....With these snowshoes, I might actually conquer it.
So there are two good reasons to live in MN during the winter. Snowshoes are one. And the morning sunrise is another....
Wishing everyone a safe and sane New Year's....
It's official. This is Minnesota's snowiest December on record... and it's the December I'm doing chores by myself while Melissa heals from neck surgery. WHINE ALERT! (Melissa's doing great, except for a serious case of cabin fever.) We had the Dec. 11 blizzard, then at least two more snowfalls of at least six inches.
Here's how far I must walk from the house to the barn:
For days I slogged through snow over my knees. I'd just get a path broken, and the wind would blow it shut and I'd have to start all over again. The sheep needed help making a path to their water trough. (A woman recently suggested to me that sheep are stupid because they can't make their own paths and I nearly took her head off. Sheep know their depth perception is crap, so they don't dare step into snow that could be over their heads. Hence the need for a trail after a major dump of snow. I made them one with my own two little feet.)
Neighbors came with their snowblower and blew paths to the wood pile, and up to my first red gate. Another neighbor uses our tractor to plow our driveway. A third neighbor scoots down with his four-wheeler and plows when wind blows waves of snow across the driveway. I plan to bribe all these neighbors with peanut brittle until winter ends.
For a good ten days, winter kicked my butt. I'm not proud to admit it. I was wiped out every day with shoveling and slogging. I might have even shed a few tears of self-pity.
Then I realized I didn't have to climb through the snow drifts every day to feed the animals. I needed snowshoes! But I had no time (or energy) to drive 30 miles to shop for some. We shopped online, and Melissa ordered expedited delivery. They came Dec, 23, and on Dec. 24 we had another 6 inches.
Talk about a Merry Christmas! Using extreme ZOOM lens, Melissa caught me up at the barn trying to shoosh the overly friendly ram, Inigo Montoya, away from me. When a ewe's in heat, he pays no attention to me. When none of the ewes distract him, then he wants me. Not interested.
But now, with my handy snowshoes, I can bypass the sheep trail. Inigo can't reach me. I'm invincible! And instead of sinking into snow over my knees, I only sink a few inches. And after a few days, there's a great trail. Here I am in my oversized, baggy insulated overalls.
I LOVE THESE SNOWSHOES! I'm even strapping them on and hiking around the pasture for some extra exercise every day. I've started making a maze in the west pasture. (I must be insane.)
But at least winter's no longer conquering me....With these snowshoes, I might actually conquer it.
So there are two good reasons to live in MN during the winter. Snowshoes are one. And the morning sunrise is another....
Wishing everyone a safe and sane New Year's....
December 11, 2010
Sheep Lost in Blizzard!We're having a good, old-fashioned...
Sheep Lost in Blizzard!
We're having a good, old-fashioned blizzard today. I have no idea how many inches have fallen (12? 22?) because it's been blowing and blowing. Winds of over 30 mph. All sorts of winter nastiness.
This morning I screwed up my courage and did the chores, which put me outside in the blizzard for an hour. (I'm grateful I did that, because this afternoon the blizzard is twice as bad.) The hardest part was slogging through the snow.
The hens and ducks and cats, all in the little barn, were fine. And I knew the llamas and the ram and the steers would be fine, for they had access to the big barn. It was the sheep, and their guard llama, Tucker, that concerned me.
As I approach the sheep, I start counting heads. Oh, oh, I'm one short. That can't be right. As I get closer to the hay bales, which are providing the sheep with a windbreak, I count again. Still one short.
Okay, don't panic. She must be behind the hay bale. I circle the bale and look. No sheep.
Holy crap. I do panic now, and start scanning the pasture. The wind has sculpted the snow into drifts that are four-feet high in places. Could there be a sheep buried under one of those?
No, the missing sheep must be here, with the others. I look closer. There she is. She was always there, but was so covered in snow that I didn't see her the first time.
Look closely. She looks like a sheep-shaped snow sculpture:
I fluffed up their hay so it will be easier for them to eat:
Sheep are amazingly hardy. Their wool is coated with snow, but when I stuck my hand deep into one ewe's fleece, she was toasty warm. Blizzards are an inconvenience for our sheep, nothing more.
Up at the barn, the steers eat their corn, grateful I didn't abandon them in the storm.
Chachi would like me to shut off the snow, or at least the wind.
And by the time I return home, the path I broke has blown entirely shut. But Melissa and the dogs are waiting for me at the door, so that gives me the extra energy I need to break another path through the heavy drifting.
And now? A book and a glass of wine by the woodstove....I earned it. Wishing you an equally pleasant afternoon....
We're having a good, old-fashioned blizzard today. I have no idea how many inches have fallen (12? 22?) because it's been blowing and blowing. Winds of over 30 mph. All sorts of winter nastiness.
This morning I screwed up my courage and did the chores, which put me outside in the blizzard for an hour. (I'm grateful I did that, because this afternoon the blizzard is twice as bad.) The hardest part was slogging through the snow.
The hens and ducks and cats, all in the little barn, were fine. And I knew the llamas and the ram and the steers would be fine, for they had access to the big barn. It was the sheep, and their guard llama, Tucker, that concerned me.
As I approach the sheep, I start counting heads. Oh, oh, I'm one short. That can't be right. As I get closer to the hay bales, which are providing the sheep with a windbreak, I count again. Still one short.
Okay, don't panic. She must be behind the hay bale. I circle the bale and look. No sheep.
Holy crap. I do panic now, and start scanning the pasture. The wind has sculpted the snow into drifts that are four-feet high in places. Could there be a sheep buried under one of those?
No, the missing sheep must be here, with the others. I look closer. There she is. She was always there, but was so covered in snow that I didn't see her the first time.
Look closely. She looks like a sheep-shaped snow sculpture:
I fluffed up their hay so it will be easier for them to eat:
Sheep are amazingly hardy. Their wool is coated with snow, but when I stuck my hand deep into one ewe's fleece, she was toasty warm. Blizzards are an inconvenience for our sheep, nothing more.
Up at the barn, the steers eat their corn, grateful I didn't abandon them in the storm.
Chachi would like me to shut off the snow, or at least the wind.
And by the time I return home, the path I broke has blown entirely shut. But Melissa and the dogs are waiting for me at the door, so that gives me the extra energy I need to break another path through the heavy drifting.
And now? A book and a glass of wine by the woodstove....I earned it. Wishing you an equally pleasant afternoon....
December 7, 2010
Laughing with GoatsTwo weeks ago Melissa had three verteb...
Laughing with Goats
Two weeks ago Melissa had three vertebrae in her neck fused. She was in great pain the first week, but did much better the second week. (Yea, Percoset! Yea, Valium!) And this week she's taking fewer of the pain meds. She has at least six weeks of not lifting more than 20 pounds.
So I'm Head Farmer! Haven't killed anything yet, so it's going well. :-) But winter dumped a foot of snow on us last weekend, so that makes everything harder. After two hours of outside work every day (chores, shoveling snow, bringing in firewood, etc.) I'm beat.
But my newest antidote for exhaustion is watching baby goats (someone else's!) We have friends in CO who are professional videographers. They spent hours filming the baby cashmere goats on the farm across the road. The result is two DVDs: Giggle with the Goats, Vol. 1 and Vol. 2.
I don't care how old our friends and family are---everyone we know is getting one of these for Christmas.
Here's a little taste. (The grey goat with the white ears is named Paloma.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4_EdJ-XkUA
And here's the link where you can buy the DVDs ($12.95 each): www.gigglewiththegoats.com
So here's hoping that if you're recovering from surgery or slogging through the snow every day to feed cattle and sheep, you still can find something to laugh at!
Two weeks ago Melissa had three vertebrae in her neck fused. She was in great pain the first week, but did much better the second week. (Yea, Percoset! Yea, Valium!) And this week she's taking fewer of the pain meds. She has at least six weeks of not lifting more than 20 pounds.
So I'm Head Farmer! Haven't killed anything yet, so it's going well. :-) But winter dumped a foot of snow on us last weekend, so that makes everything harder. After two hours of outside work every day (chores, shoveling snow, bringing in firewood, etc.) I'm beat.
But my newest antidote for exhaustion is watching baby goats (someone else's!) We have friends in CO who are professional videographers. They spent hours filming the baby cashmere goats on the farm across the road. The result is two DVDs: Giggle with the Goats, Vol. 1 and Vol. 2.
I don't care how old our friends and family are---everyone we know is getting one of these for Christmas.
Here's a little taste. (The grey goat with the white ears is named Paloma.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4_EdJ-XkUA
And here's the link where you can buy the DVDs ($12.95 each): www.gigglewiththegoats.com
So here's hoping that if you're recovering from surgery or slogging through the snow every day to feed cattle and sheep, you still can find something to laugh at!
November 20, 2010
It's a SignThe last few posts on this blog have been abou...
It's a Sign
The last few posts on this blog have been about how three pieces of machinery have failed us. Previous blog entries have talked about the male sheep on our farm, and how they've caused trouble a few times by breeding our ewes when they felt like it, not when we wanted them to.
Melissa found the following sign online. On our farm it refers to male sheep, but I'm guessing others might have their own interpretation to the sign.
The last few posts on this blog have been about how three pieces of machinery have failed us. Previous blog entries have talked about the male sheep on our farm, and how they've caused trouble a few times by breeding our ewes when they felt like it, not when we wanted them to.
Melissa found the following sign online. On our farm it refers to male sheep, but I'm guessing others might have their own interpretation to the sign.
November 14, 2010
Look, Ma, No Wheels....So our tractor is broken. The fron...
Look, Ma, No Wheels....
So our tractor is broken. The front end, which holds the two front wheels and allows Melissa to perform certain critical tasks, like steering, collapsed.
Our neighbor Craig found a guy with a refurbished front end, and it's the right size for the tractor. So with his trailer in tow and Melissa in the truck to pay for gas and a stop at DQ, Craig drove 50 miles to pick up the new front end and wheels.
He's going to fix the tractor for us. Yeah!
But before this can happen, Melissa must get the tractor from where it broke, out in the pasture, down to the shed where we store it, a place out of the wind where Craig can work.
Remember, the tractor does not have any front wheels. We consider the options. Resting the front bucket on the back of something that can act as wheels? This tractor is heavy, so nothing is going to work.
Melissa calls another neighbor for ideas and Greg comes over to check things out. (Both Craig and Greg came right over when they heard the news. I think guys like to check out equipment that has broken in a spectacular way.)
Greg suggests that Melissa drop the bucket and angle it in such a way that it will slide over yesterday's snow and support the front end.
Melissa calls me on her cell phone. "You gotta come take pictures of this! No wheels! No hands!"
So I run out with the camera and am treated to the sight of Melissa 'driving' the tractor down through the windbreak and onto the driveway, where she then 'drives' it into the tractor bay in the shed.
First, no wheels. Amazing.
Second, no hands. There's no reason to use the steering wheel because it doesn't work. Instead, she's steering with the brakes. Because the back wheels turn independently, if she brakes the right rear wheel, the tractor moves right as the left wheel continues to turn.
I learn something I should have known---this is how farmers are able to make such tight turns at the end of their rows---basically keeping one wheel in place and turning the tractor with the other. MAGIC!
Here's one more shot. No wheels, no hands, just a farmer happy to have her tractor on the move once more.
So our tractor is broken. The front end, which holds the two front wheels and allows Melissa to perform certain critical tasks, like steering, collapsed.
Our neighbor Craig found a guy with a refurbished front end, and it's the right size for the tractor. So with his trailer in tow and Melissa in the truck to pay for gas and a stop at DQ, Craig drove 50 miles to pick up the new front end and wheels.
He's going to fix the tractor for us. Yeah!
But before this can happen, Melissa must get the tractor from where it broke, out in the pasture, down to the shed where we store it, a place out of the wind where Craig can work.
Remember, the tractor does not have any front wheels. We consider the options. Resting the front bucket on the back of something that can act as wheels? This tractor is heavy, so nothing is going to work.
Melissa calls another neighbor for ideas and Greg comes over to check things out. (Both Craig and Greg came right over when they heard the news. I think guys like to check out equipment that has broken in a spectacular way.)
Greg suggests that Melissa drop the bucket and angle it in such a way that it will slide over yesterday's snow and support the front end.
Melissa calls me on her cell phone. "You gotta come take pictures of this! No wheels! No hands!"
So I run out with the camera and am treated to the sight of Melissa 'driving' the tractor down through the windbreak and onto the driveway, where she then 'drives' it into the tractor bay in the shed.
First, no wheels. Amazing.
Second, no hands. There's no reason to use the steering wheel because it doesn't work. Instead, she's steering with the brakes. Because the back wheels turn independently, if she brakes the right rear wheel, the tractor moves right as the left wheel continues to turn.
I learn something I should have known---this is how farmers are able to make such tight turns at the end of their rows---basically keeping one wheel in place and turning the tractor with the other. MAGIC!
Here's one more shot. No wheels, no hands, just a farmer happy to have her tractor on the move once more.
November 9, 2010
The God of Farm Equipment Hates UsI know this title makes...
The God of Farm Equipment Hates Us
I know this title makes me sound paranoid, but it's the only possible conclusion one can draw from the events of the last few weeks.
Melissa was mowing the lawn with our riding lawn mower (Usually my job, but I was inside cleaning the house to prepare for a visit from friends.) The engine noise suddenly dropped an octave, so she stopped and noticed oil spurting from somewhere. Not good! (Thank god she was mowing---I probably would have just kept going.) She turned off the engine to protect it from running out of oil and seizing up, then used the four-wheeler to pull the mower 100 feet into the shed. We need to take the mower to a repair shop.
Then several days ago Melissa was at the neighbor's with her four-wheeler, helping them with a task, and the four-wheeler just stopped. Dead. They couldn't get it going again. I retrieved Melissa, then she drove her tractor down to the neighbor's and used it to pull the four-wheeler nearly 1/2 mile home. Our neighbor Craig came to look it over, and he couldn't figure it out either. We need to take the four-wheeler to a repair shop.
Then yesterday Melissa was on the tractor moving bales into place for winter. (We set out all the bales, then give the sheep and steers access to one at a time.) With Craig's help, we've recently learned the tractor has had---for the last thirty years---some front end issues---the bar supporting the two front wheels is the wrong size for the tractor, so needs to be replaced. We planned to have Craig, or someone else, replace the front end this winter .
As Melissa was doing her thing, she hit a shallow dip in the pasture. The front end of the tractor crumpled like a piece of paper. Melissa pitched forward, but stayed inside the cab. She managed to use the hydraulic front loader to lift and hold up the front end, but that's all that can be done. We need to have a repair guy come pick up the tractor and take it to his shop.
Not surprisingly, Melissa's now afraid to drive the pickup or our car. They're the only engine-based things we have that still work, and she's afraid she's cursed!
Two things are going to happen next:
1) Melissa's going to get a massage to relax all the muscles that tensed when she was pitched forward.
2) We're thinking of buying a team of draft horses. I've heard they don't break down as often. Draft horses are overseen by the Goddess of Pasture Animals, and she's much kinder to us than the God of Farm Equipment.
I know this title makes me sound paranoid, but it's the only possible conclusion one can draw from the events of the last few weeks.
Melissa was mowing the lawn with our riding lawn mower (Usually my job, but I was inside cleaning the house to prepare for a visit from friends.) The engine noise suddenly dropped an octave, so she stopped and noticed oil spurting from somewhere. Not good! (Thank god she was mowing---I probably would have just kept going.) She turned off the engine to protect it from running out of oil and seizing up, then used the four-wheeler to pull the mower 100 feet into the shed. We need to take the mower to a repair shop.
Then several days ago Melissa was at the neighbor's with her four-wheeler, helping them with a task, and the four-wheeler just stopped. Dead. They couldn't get it going again. I retrieved Melissa, then she drove her tractor down to the neighbor's and used it to pull the four-wheeler nearly 1/2 mile home. Our neighbor Craig came to look it over, and he couldn't figure it out either. We need to take the four-wheeler to a repair shop.
Then yesterday Melissa was on the tractor moving bales into place for winter. (We set out all the bales, then give the sheep and steers access to one at a time.) With Craig's help, we've recently learned the tractor has had---for the last thirty years---some front end issues---the bar supporting the two front wheels is the wrong size for the tractor, so needs to be replaced. We planned to have Craig, or someone else, replace the front end this winter .
As Melissa was doing her thing, she hit a shallow dip in the pasture. The front end of the tractor crumpled like a piece of paper. Melissa pitched forward, but stayed inside the cab. She managed to use the hydraulic front loader to lift and hold up the front end, but that's all that can be done. We need to have a repair guy come pick up the tractor and take it to his shop.
Not surprisingly, Melissa's now afraid to drive the pickup or our car. They're the only engine-based things we have that still work, and she's afraid she's cursed!
Two things are going to happen next:
1) Melissa's going to get a massage to relax all the muscles that tensed when she was pitched forward.
2) We're thinking of buying a team of draft horses. I've heard they don't break down as often. Draft horses are overseen by the Goddess of Pasture Animals, and she's much kinder to us than the God of Farm Equipment.
October 26, 2010
A Very Freaky DealWe have a pair of Golden Pheasants. Her...
A Very Freaky Deal
We have a pair of Golden Pheasants. Here's Pharoah, the male, in all his glorious plumage. The photo doesn't capture the brilliant yellows and glowing greens.
He's a quiet guy, saying nothing, and running for the nearest clump of grass whenever I show up.
Here's Trixie, his mate, in her tastefully understated plumage so she can blend into nature while sitting on a nest of eggs.
She loves to chat when people visit, and isn't as shy as Pharoah.
Last month Melissa came in from doing chores and said, "Trixie's molting." Since it's normal for birds to shed their feathers and grow new ones, I just nodded. "But her feathers are coming back like Pharoah's. She's growing male feathers. She's cross-dressing."
"That's nice, dear." I was deep into the simultaneous revision of two manuscripts (not something I can recommend if you value your sanity), so I really wasn't listening. Or maybe I heard, but I just didn't believe it.
Then Melissa went on a hunting weekend and chores were mine. I entered the bird pen with food and water, calling for Trixie. I heard her perky chirp coming from one of the low wooden shelters, so I bent over and peeked inside.
Holy crap. Holy What's-Wrong-With-This-Picture? This wasn't the Trixie I knew. She had a long tail, like Pharoah's. She had yellow and red and orange feathers, like Pharoah. Could this really be Trixie? I searched the rest of the pen and found Pharoah, who of course darted behind a little building.
Yes, that first bird had Trixie's shape, taller and rounder than Pharoah. And she was chirping happily, like Trixie. She was Trixie!
I ran back to the house for my camera. I snapped Trixie's photo. I chased Pharoah around the pen, nearly falling into a hole and breaking an ankle. I nearly slammed my face into a low-hanging roof. Each time, the blasted bird slipped around the corner so the only thing in the photo was his tail. Then I remembered I had a Pharoah photo on my computer.
But now I needed a photo of both together to prove there really were two male-colored birds. Neither Trixie or Pharoah cooperated. I finally snapped this non-award-winning photo of Pharoah following Trixie.
Then my camera battery died, and both birds hopped onto the roof of the shelter and sat side-by-side, blowing raspberries at me.
Our birding friend Kathy assures me these sorts of things happen (the female-to-male plumage, not the bird taunting behavior.) I did some research and found an article, but when I got to: 'phylogenetic distribution of proximate mechanisms controlling plumage dichromatism," I moved on.
I don't really need to know the science behind it. It has something to do with her being low on estrogen. (Oh, baby, can I relate to that.)
The good news is that Pharoah still loves Trixie, and still does his best to impress her with his brilliant plumage. I imagine she's less impressed now, since she's so stunning herself.
We have a pair of Golden Pheasants. Here's Pharoah, the male, in all his glorious plumage. The photo doesn't capture the brilliant yellows and glowing greens.
He's a quiet guy, saying nothing, and running for the nearest clump of grass whenever I show up.
Here's Trixie, his mate, in her tastefully understated plumage so she can blend into nature while sitting on a nest of eggs.
She loves to chat when people visit, and isn't as shy as Pharoah.
Last month Melissa came in from doing chores and said, "Trixie's molting." Since it's normal for birds to shed their feathers and grow new ones, I just nodded. "But her feathers are coming back like Pharoah's. She's growing male feathers. She's cross-dressing."
"That's nice, dear." I was deep into the simultaneous revision of two manuscripts (not something I can recommend if you value your sanity), so I really wasn't listening. Or maybe I heard, but I just didn't believe it.
Then Melissa went on a hunting weekend and chores were mine. I entered the bird pen with food and water, calling for Trixie. I heard her perky chirp coming from one of the low wooden shelters, so I bent over and peeked inside.
Holy crap. Holy What's-Wrong-With-This-Picture? This wasn't the Trixie I knew. She had a long tail, like Pharoah's. She had yellow and red and orange feathers, like Pharoah. Could this really be Trixie? I searched the rest of the pen and found Pharoah, who of course darted behind a little building.
Yes, that first bird had Trixie's shape, taller and rounder than Pharoah. And she was chirping happily, like Trixie. She was Trixie!
I ran back to the house for my camera. I snapped Trixie's photo. I chased Pharoah around the pen, nearly falling into a hole and breaking an ankle. I nearly slammed my face into a low-hanging roof. Each time, the blasted bird slipped around the corner so the only thing in the photo was his tail. Then I remembered I had a Pharoah photo on my computer.
But now I needed a photo of both together to prove there really were two male-colored birds. Neither Trixie or Pharoah cooperated. I finally snapped this non-award-winning photo of Pharoah following Trixie.
Then my camera battery died, and both birds hopped onto the roof of the shelter and sat side-by-side, blowing raspberries at me.
Our birding friend Kathy assures me these sorts of things happen (the female-to-male plumage, not the bird taunting behavior.) I did some research and found an article, but when I got to: 'phylogenetic distribution of proximate mechanisms controlling plumage dichromatism," I moved on.
I don't really need to know the science behind it. It has something to do with her being low on estrogen. (Oh, baby, can I relate to that.)
The good news is that Pharoah still loves Trixie, and still does his best to impress her with his brilliant plumage. I imagine she's less impressed now, since she's so stunning herself.
October 16, 2010
Checking InAcck.Life. It goes too fast. Where have I been...
Checking In
Acck.
Life. It goes too fast. Where have I been for two months? That's like two years in blogging time.
...In Colorado recording an audio book of Hit By a Farm, which will be out next spring from DogEar Audio.
...Dealing with a wonky heart thing that turned out to be non-life-threatening premature atrial beats. Thank goodness they've settled down so it doesn't feel as if my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. Very distracting.
...Writing, writing, writing. Turned in the final draft of my new memoir, called Sheepish: Two Women, Fifty Acres, and Enough Wool to Save the Planet. Turned in the next draft of my children's novel, Barn Boot Blues. Good heavens. When am I going to stop writing about this farm?
The current Sheepish cover is great---black, with lime green title, author name in hot pink, and subtitle in orange. There's a white sheep wearing a lime green knit cap and scarf. Very funny. I'd post it, but the Sales people haven't approved it yet (and I can't figure out how to convert a pdf file into a jpg.)
Also, don't get me started on Sales and Marketing---my editor likes the cover and the art director likes it, but Sales and Marketing people run the publishing industry now. If Sales doesn't approve the cover, I might have to throw an Author Fit. I'm not really sure what that might look like, but it won't be pretty. I wonder if there's an online Author Guide to Throwing a Fit.
...Taking care of the farm while Melissa went hunting for a weekend. Unfortunately she came back with a bad head cold, which might affect her plans to go hunting again next week. Good news is our hunting dog Molly is shaping up nicely, and LOVES to be in the woods tracking down birds.
...Naming the ram. Our ram (thanks for all the suggestions) has ended up with this name:
Inigo Montoya. ("You killed my father. Prepare to die.")
If this name has no meaning for you, run (don't walk) to your library and check out the movie (or the book), The Princess Bride.
...Naming the new male duck. Melissa chose Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the former prime minister of India.
Seriously. Heck of a name with which to saddle a duck. I call him Mr. Bodgepie. When Melissa bought him, his wings had been clipped. So for two months he just waddled around the farm. But yesterday I heard what sounded like a child running around on our roof. Concerned because our steep roof is not the safest of playgrounds, I went to investigate.
Mr. Bodgepie has discovered his wings. Hard to get mad at him for that.
Fall has come, and has been lovely.
Some sheep in some early-morning fog:
And a bird story....
Because we have a bank of windows on the south side of our house, birds often fly into them. Almost all of them fly away, and a few drop like stones, killed instantly. But whenever Melissa hears that telltale 'thunk,' she runs outside to see if she can help. If the bird is still alive, she'll put it safely in a tree or on a post so it can catch its breath. Or she'll put the bird, in this case a cedar waxwing, on her finger until it's ready to fly again.
I love happy endings.
Acck.
Life. It goes too fast. Where have I been for two months? That's like two years in blogging time.
...In Colorado recording an audio book of Hit By a Farm, which will be out next spring from DogEar Audio.
...Dealing with a wonky heart thing that turned out to be non-life-threatening premature atrial beats. Thank goodness they've settled down so it doesn't feel as if my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. Very distracting.
...Writing, writing, writing. Turned in the final draft of my new memoir, called Sheepish: Two Women, Fifty Acres, and Enough Wool to Save the Planet. Turned in the next draft of my children's novel, Barn Boot Blues. Good heavens. When am I going to stop writing about this farm?
The current Sheepish cover is great---black, with lime green title, author name in hot pink, and subtitle in orange. There's a white sheep wearing a lime green knit cap and scarf. Very funny. I'd post it, but the Sales people haven't approved it yet (and I can't figure out how to convert a pdf file into a jpg.)
Also, don't get me started on Sales and Marketing---my editor likes the cover and the art director likes it, but Sales and Marketing people run the publishing industry now. If Sales doesn't approve the cover, I might have to throw an Author Fit. I'm not really sure what that might look like, but it won't be pretty. I wonder if there's an online Author Guide to Throwing a Fit.
...Taking care of the farm while Melissa went hunting for a weekend. Unfortunately she came back with a bad head cold, which might affect her plans to go hunting again next week. Good news is our hunting dog Molly is shaping up nicely, and LOVES to be in the woods tracking down birds.
...Naming the ram. Our ram (thanks for all the suggestions) has ended up with this name:
Inigo Montoya. ("You killed my father. Prepare to die.")
If this name has no meaning for you, run (don't walk) to your library and check out the movie (or the book), The Princess Bride.
...Naming the new male duck. Melissa chose Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the former prime minister of India.
Seriously. Heck of a name with which to saddle a duck. I call him Mr. Bodgepie. When Melissa bought him, his wings had been clipped. So for two months he just waddled around the farm. But yesterday I heard what sounded like a child running around on our roof. Concerned because our steep roof is not the safest of playgrounds, I went to investigate.
Mr. Bodgepie has discovered his wings. Hard to get mad at him for that.
Fall has come, and has been lovely.
Some sheep in some early-morning fog:
And a bird story....
Because we have a bank of windows on the south side of our house, birds often fly into them. Almost all of them fly away, and a few drop like stones, killed instantly. But whenever Melissa hears that telltale 'thunk,' she runs outside to see if she can help. If the bird is still alive, she'll put it safely in a tree or on a post so it can catch its breath. Or she'll put the bird, in this case a cedar waxwing, on her finger until it's ready to fly again.
I love happy endings.
August 3, 2010
Don't Worry, Bee HappyOur friend Kathy (beegirl!) has mov...
Don't Worry, Bee Happy
Our friend Kathy (beegirl!) has moved her hives closer to our 'house area.' The previous site was too shaded, and it was time for a change. So now the hives are behind what we call the Big Bird pen, which used to house peacocks but now just houses two little golden pheasants. (We should probably rename this the Little Bird pen.)
The hives are tucked between the pen and the first row of our windbreak. (These trees, by the way, seemed to remain two feet tall for ten years, ...
Our friend Kathy (beegirl!) has moved her hives closer to our 'house area.' The previous site was too shaded, and it was time for a change. So now the hives are behind what we call the Big Bird pen, which used to house peacocks but now just houses two little golden pheasants. (We should probably rename this the Little Bird pen.)
The hives are tucked between the pen and the first row of our windbreak. (These trees, by the way, seemed to remain two feet tall for ten years, ...
July 7, 2010
Coming to a CD or MP3 Player Near You....I must take a b...
Coming to a CD or MP3 Player Near You....
I must take a brief detour from farming to promote something that keeps me sane when the farm overwhelms me: writing romantic adventure novels. I've done three, and would love to do more, but probably won't have time until next year.
Anyone out there listen to audio books? I'm afraid I'm a paper reader myself, but I have friends who love to listen as they drive.
I love outtakes. (I seem to be taking a long time to get to the point---adventure, audio...
I must take a brief detour from farming to promote something that keeps me sane when the farm overwhelms me: writing romantic adventure novels. I've done three, and would love to do more, but probably won't have time until next year.
Anyone out there listen to audio books? I'm afraid I'm a paper reader myself, but I have friends who love to listen as they drive.
I love outtakes. (I seem to be taking a long time to get to the point---adventure, audio...
