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Lonesome George in the morning

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2015 5:47 pm

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We have a large Gum Bumelia tree in the backyard, and the very top of it is a favorite spot for Lonesome George.
Lonesome George is a Mockingbird. He starts his song about 5 a.m., when it's just getting light. He continues trying out his entire repertoire until noon. He sings, imitates other bird calls, does a fairly good imitation of a squeaky wheelbarrow (I must get some oil on that wheel), and even does a bad, but enthusiastic, train whistle. While running through his list of greatest hits, he flings himself in the air and flaps his wings.
There is a platform bird feeder under the Gum Bumelia, and other birds congregate there to have breakfast. George never joins them - he's too busy being the Karaoke King of our yard.
When I'm going out to the barn to say good morning to the hens and let them into their outside coop, I am serenaded by George. He also serenades us while we are picking beans, dead-heading roses, and watering the new apple trees. I was mowing the back yard and I could hear George doing his thing on top of the tree - over the mower sound! George has an admirable set of lungs.
We call him Lonesome because with all his beeping, squeaking, whistling, and flinging, he has yet to attract a mate. Female Mockingbirds are either very picky, or Lonesome George just isn't considered marrying material.
We call him George because that seems like a good name for a Mockingbird. Edward just didn't fit.


Mockingbird ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )





Last edited: Sat Jun 13, 2015 5:58 pm

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Not picking blackberries

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Sat May 23, 2015 3:54 pm

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A dear friend called earlier this week to ask if I wanted to go blackberry picking with her. She has a friend with a blackberry patch, and with all the rain we've been having, the blackberries are particularly nice. Of course I wanted to go!
We decided Friday morning was ideal-early enough before the temperature climbed, and giving us lots of time after we got home to deal with the gallons of berries we were going to pick. It rained.
We decided to go Saturday morning, early enough, lots of time to deal with the berries, you've heard this refrain before. It rained.
We were half-way there before we decided berry picking was out of the question for the day.
This is the fun part-we had such fun riding through the rain and swapping stories.
She told about attending Sunday School when she was first married. The teacher was a nice man, but terribly boring and just strung stories together, none of which were biblical. One Sunday she got so fed up she slammed her Bible shut, and in the quiet of the sanctuary it sounded like a gunshot. They changed churches shortly thereafter.
We started to talk about strange conversations we have had with others(conversations between the two of us are always coherent and intellectual). I told her about an interesting conversation I'd had with a perfect (well, maybe not perfect) stranger at the grocery store. He wanted to put honey out to attract bees to pollinate his garden. I patiently explained that the bees would come to the honey, eat it up, and leave. Why work with nectar and pollen when there is a feast sitting right there for the taking? He didn't believe me. Bees like honey, ergo they would come to his garden and pollinate. I guess he thought the honey would serve as a reward for being busy as a bee.
She told me about her daughter, who is pretty, charming, and extremely practical. When she attends a party and brings something to share, like chips, she is horrified to see people digging into the bowl with their hands. When the party is over, and any of her contribution is left over, the host/hostess says that the leftover chips can be put back in the bag and she can take them home. She declines. She waits to get home to say "Uggghhhh"!
Then we discussed strange customs. When my husband and I were driving into the city last week, we saw several cars parked by the side of the road, with the driver just sitting there. On the way home we saw the same thing-different cars but just sitting on the right-of-way. We must have missed the message about that day being the "Texas park on the roadside day". A lot of important things miss us.
She said she was driving to a meeting in Ft. Worth and stopped for gas. A man at the next station told her to avoid a certain road because there was "trouble". She avoided it, and when she got to her destination asked about the "trouble". It seems someone hit a deer and there was a state trooper and a meat wagon dealing with the situation. Trouble for the deer, not so much for drivers. It seems if you see a state trooper's vehicle, it means "trouble." Especially if you have outstanding warrants . . . .
We decided we had better go home and do something constructive with the rest of the morning. I froze beans, and she was going to bake a pie. We share an interest in recreational cooking.
Not picking berries can be a lot of fun if your not-picking partner has a great sense of humor!

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Hanging out laundry

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Sat Apr 25, 2015 7:00 pm

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I do enjoy hanging laundry on the line. I think of the bag my mother had for clothespins, and of the bag I use that was given to me by an elderly lady who thought I could use a clothespin bag.
When we moved to the farm one of the very first things I wanted was clotheslines. We put them up, made extra posts that would support the lines when I hung something heavy, and I put my clothespin bag into use.
After getting the clothing or linens clean in the washing machine, I pile them in my big wicker basket, grab the clothespin bag, and go out for several minutes of sheer enjoyment.
This morning as I was hanging sheets on the line, I saw a flock of Cooper's Hawks fly over. Two circled over the orchard area, then were joined by six or seven others. They flew big circles over the pasture, then headed east. I stood holding a wet sheet, wide-eyed, and thoroughly entranced by the fly-over.
There are two large cedar trees near our clothes lines. When I go out early in the morning to hang clothes, the cardinals, sparrows, and occasional dove serenade me. They like to spend the night in the shelter of the cedar branches. When I go to get the laundry off the line, there are mockingbirds sitting on the fence and holding sing-alongs. Occasionally a barn swallow decides to swoop over. Luckily they are fast moving birds and don't leave deposits on the clothing!
As I'm leaving the house I often brush against the rosemary growing near the kitchen. That lovely smell lasts until I get to the scent of the rose in the corner of the fence near the clotheslines. While hanging laundry I can smell the rose, and I still have a lingering scent of rosemary.
When I bring the laundry in to fold, I still get the fresh scent of outdoors. I fold our sheets carefully and put them into the blanket chest my husband made years ago. There are two bunches of dried lavender in the chest to give a nice scent to our bed linens. The lavender will need to be replaced this year.
Doing laundry can be a chore, or it can be a small everyday pleasure.


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On being a magnet for the strange

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Mar 02, 2015 4:55 pm

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My husband swears that if there is a weird, strange person within five miles, he/she will find me. Over the years, his statement has proven true.
We had been married a short time, and were sitting in our living room watching an old Sherlock Holmes movie at about midnight. There was a knock on our door and a neighbor was standing on our front porch, holding a six-foot long 2x4. Since he wasn't in the construction trades, we figured something was up.
He asked if we had seen a German Shepherd go by. We replied very few dogs trotted through our living room at 11:45 p.m. so no, we hadn't seen the dog. It seems this neighbor constantly left his garbage can out, and the dog constantly knocked it over. The 2x4 was to whack the dog if he encountered it. We didn't mention any dog worth its salt would go right past that six foot stick and get the neighbor by the nether regions.
The neighbor also had a rather large bandage on his forehead, and since I have no sense at all, I asked him what happened. It seems he shut the car door on his head. I left it at that.
When we moved to Texas, I stepped up my game. Here in Texas we don't keep our strange folk at home, we let them wander about to entertain the populace.
Our vegetable garden faced the Methodist Church parking lot. One evening a gentleman came to the back door and asked if he could plug in an emergency light so he could fix a van that was used for a charity's clothing distribution. We said sure, and showed him where an outside plug-in was located. We chatted, and found out that his name was "Lucky". A misnomer if there ever was one! First, he had only one arm, having lost an arm in a farming accident. Then he said that he couldn't drive his car because the driver's side door was missing. He went to the library to fill out forms for unemployment benefits and parked on the street. When he opened his car door to get out, another car whizzed by and ripped off the driver side door. Since he had no transportation, he couldn't get to the charity that let him drive the van. The charity had him on a waiting list for food and shelter, however.
Then there was the older lady who lived on the street in back of us. She came over one day to ask if we had seen her garbage can. (Remember the German Shepherd incident - deja vu!) No, we hadn't seen any garbage cans going by. Well, it was missing. Later that day she drove by, dragging the garbage can underneath her truck. It seems she had backed over the can which got stuck in the undercarriage, and she was trying to figure out where that strange truck noise was coming from!
Since we moved to the farm we've met a better class of strange people. There was the guy that wanted my husband to 1)trap bees that were in a camper (with flat tires and that obviously hadn't been used in years; 2) provide the hive, frames, and other equipment that bees need; and 3) give him the honey when we got it extracted and bottled. He was slightly offended that we weren't enthused about his plan.
We also have a neighbor who recently got a smart phone, and is convinced it has gotten into his head somehow. We tried to explain "cookies" that trace your preferences and recently visited sites, but he wanted to take it back to the store because it knew too much about him. I felt sorry for the smart phone.
And then there was the absolute stranger we had never laid eyes on before that pulled into our driveway and laid on the horn. We went out and she said she wanted to fish our pond and we should open the gate for her. Needless to say, she fished somewhere else.
I go into town once a week, and my husband worries I'll find yet another stranger that is strange. I cope well - over the years I've learned to smile, nod, and edge away (unless they are really strange, in which case I stash the story away for later use!).


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You can judge a man by his boots

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 3:34 pm

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You can judge a man by his boots. Almost everyone around here wears boots and the boots tell a lot about the wearer.
If the boots are pointy-toed and rake heeled, either the wearer does a lot of line dancing or is just dressed for the part. Do not hire this person for any serious work.
If the boots are pointy-toed and have a heel, look at the side of the boot just above the instep. If the color is rubbed off, the wearer does a lot of riding. A stirrup will rub the boot at that point and remove any dye from the leather. Hire this person to move cattle from pasture to pasture, or to rope that nasty bull you're afraid to approach.
If the boot has a rounded toe and flat heel, it's a work boot. The wearer has bought a size bigger so thick socks will fit inside the boot in cold weather, and in hot weather, the foot can breathe. These are the boots favored by farmers. The flat heel doesn't catch on the steps up to their tractor (some of the tractors around here are really, really big and require three or four steps to get to the cab) and the round toe is comfortable. Some of the more cautious folks have steel-toed work boots. Those who are less cautious just hire someone who wears work boots and lets nature take its course.
Boots also come in a variety of leathers. Ostrich skin boots are the ones the box holders at football games wear to demonstrate they can not only afford the box, but really expensive boots, too.
Lizard skin boots are for show and are worn for effect. Of course, if you have a late lizard on your feet, the effect may not be what you wanted.
Calf skin boots are a bit more practical. Calfskin doesn't wear as well as cowhide, but it would be a shame to waste that hide.
And there are still a few elephant hide boots from the 60's in use. One man we know is on the third re-soling of his elephant hide boots that he received as a graduation gift (yes, he completed high school!) and the tops are just fine—he keeps wearing out the soles after 40 years of wear. Fortunately for the elephants, elephant skin has been banned for years. His boots are grandfathered in, however.
If the man from a nearby ranch, who goes past with his horse trailer containing two saddled horses, heading for the pasture across the road to move cattle, ever shows up wearing Nikes, you will know that the world has changed, and not for the better!


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Early morning trip to the barn

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Tue Aug 05, 2014 5:53 pm

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Since my husband retired, we have been sleeping in and don't get up until 7 a.m. One of the first things I do after dressing is head for the barn and the chickens, who are impatient to start their day.
The path to the barn goes through a flowerbed
From our back door ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )

and I walk through a butterfly gauntlet. The Queens and Hackberrys like the Gregg's Blue Mist and the Wafer Ash Tree, and don't get out of the way for anyone!
Queen butterfly on Greig's Blue Mist ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )
Occasionally I get buzzed by a hummingbird that is at the feeder, or sipping nectar from the Salvia Greggii.
After ducking and dodging the wildlife, I get to the workshop, and usually see the first bunny of the day. They like to hang out in the cool grass next to the workshop porch (it's a handy place to hide under if needed). Generally we are just part of the rabbits' landscape. They look at us, but figure we aren't important enough to merit running away! By the time I get past the workshop I can usually see two bunnies "binking" in the pasture. One chases the other, both stop, and then they do a synchronized reverse jump and the chaser becomes the chased.
I take a look down the pasture to the pond to see if there are any water fowl up yet. We have great blue herons and white egrets almost year 'round, and in spring and fall, ducks.
Two shovelers and an egret ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )
Even if there isn't any activity at the pond, we still have collared doves and meadowlarks skimming the field, and our neighbor's Black Angus herd is slowly making its way from the night shed out to graze in the next field.
When I get to the barn I can hear my girls clucking—they want their breakfast treat and to be let outside!
Photogenic hens ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )
To get into the coop I have to toss treats away from the door, or they all crowd up against the door and I'm in danger of stepping on a hen. I scurry to the outside door and get it open before they gobble down their treats and start mobbing me for more. After checking the water and filling the feeder, I clean the coop and then visit the compost pile with the ladies' contribution to the richness of the soil.
Heading back to the barn with the manure bucket, I usually take a long look at the sky. Texas has some of the most dramatic skies you could imagine, and it would be a shame to neglect taking a good look at the day's offering.
October Dawn ( photo / image / picture from marlingardener's Garden )


From the barn to the house is the same trip, reversed, but I pick up the pace a bit. By this time I want a cup of coffee and to find out what my husband has planned for the day. We might be clearing part of the vegetable garden for tilling, or picking almonds (we are all the way up to 60 almonds!), or mowing, or any of the many interesting ways a person can spend the day on a farm. The walk to the barn just gets the day started well.

























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The Pig and I

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Apr 21, 2014 7:10 pm

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Shortly after we moved into our little farmhouse, we had an urgent need of a plumber. That is when we met Buck, a thoroughly delightful young man and one heck of a plumber. He came, fixed our problem, chatted a while, and left. About two days later he called and asked if we wanted a pig. I told him we didn't have a pen or sty for a pig, but I sure appreciated the offer.
No, he was offering a feral piglet. It seems his mama ran a "we buy feral hogs on the hoof" business, and someone had come in with a large feral sow and her piglets. Buck got stuck with the butchering and there were ex-piglets up for grabs. Since Buck was so nice, I said I'd love to have a piglet.
Buck came with a cooler with a headless, footless, skinless pig carcass with the tenderloin laying by its side. "I cut out the tenderloin because I wasn't sure you knew how," Buck said. Honey, I've never seen, much less cut up, a pig carcass!
Undaunted (after all we are in the country and I need to learn these things) I let the cooler water and the blood drain out, as instructed by Buck. Then I hauled the little carcass into the kitchen; donned my apron; opened my trusty cookbook that has instructions on how-to-do everything; whipped out a filleting knife and a chef's knife; and learned how to dismember a pig. We ended up with two fresh hams, ribs, the tenderloin, a pork sirloin roast, and various little bits where I made a mistake or the knife slipped.
Feral pig, at least the young ones, are delicious. We ate "high on the hog" for a while, although my apron has never been the same.


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Meet and Greet in the Coop

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Mar 17, 2014 7:29 pm

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Almost any seminar, convocation, or corporate meeting starts with a "Meet and Greet" with name tags, coffee and tea, and a short but nevertheless boring introduction by the organizer.

When we introduced our new dozen hens (known as the "daffy dozen" (because there isn't a brain among them) to the older but no wiser six hens established in their coop, we held a "meet and greet."
Believe me, attaching sticky name tags to a hen isn't easy! A "Hi, I'm Lucy" tag falls off feathers quickly, and none of the hens knew who the newcomers are, nor did they particularly care.

There's always a newcomer who feels she has to establish her presence and precedence. One of daffies decided since she was the leader of the pack of new hens, she'd just take over the whole flock. What a mistake! The "head of the pecking order" hen from the older group just stared her down, flapped her wings, and the question was settled. Newbie wasn't #1, but at best was #7.

The line at the coffee urn can get long during a "meet and greet" but in the coop, there is a definite waiting time before you get to the feeder. Big girls first, daffies next. Think of it as the "preferred customer" line at Starbucks, but with sharp beaks involved.

And about that boring introduction. We had the daffies in a separate coop for a month where they could see but not interact with the big girls, and vice versa. I was standing by with a fly swatter (for some reason chickens really hate fly swatters, and a wave or two of a swatter will break up an altercation really quickly) and talking quietly and encouragingly to both groups when the door between the coops was opened and they could mingle. Well, I could have saved my breath—nobody was interested in me, the fly swatter, or the cooing noises I made. They just looked at each other, determined where the feeder and waterer were, and proceeded to form a flock.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if humans could blend as easily?


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A Day on the Farm

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Jan 13, 2014 4:08 pm

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One thing is for sure—you never have to worry about how you are going to fill your day!
Sometime between 6:45 and 7:00 a.m., the cat decides our (her) day needs to get started, and she kneads, purrs, and licks until my husband gets up. I follow and get dressed, make the bed, and go out to see to the chickens. Nothing like having fur and feathers start your day!
The girls are usually waiting for me, expecting their first treat of the day. I throw a handful of oyster crackers into the coop. Ever tried to get into a coop with 17 enthusiastic hens? The crackers get them away from the door so I don't step on anyone. Hens eat a lot, with the resulting addition to the compost pile. After cleaning the coop and adding to the compost pile, I fill their two watering stations if needed, fill the feeder, and tell the ladies to get with it and lay eggs!
By this time my husband has fed the cat, turned on the coffee, and filled the wild bird feeders. You will notice that much of our early morning involves feathered critters. When I get in we sit at the dining room table with our coffee and watch the birds at the feeder, and at the pond. Lately we have been having seven or eight ducks (Northern Shovelers, Grebes, and Mergansers) daily. Of course, the Great Blue Heron is out posing on the bank. Our bird watching and coffee sipping is a nice breather before the day really gets started.
There are several alternatives available to fill the morning—shoveling sand into the old coop; pulling the spent annual herbs in the herb garden and digging it over; tossing compost; sifting compost; washing the truck (I feel dirty trucks are happy trucks but my husband likes clean vehicles for some unfathomable reason); or, shudder, cleaning house. I'll usually opt for an outside job, which explains the state of the inside of the house.
Lunch is usually a quiche, or an omelet, or a frittata—all egg-based dishes. There are always left-overs or veggies in the freezer for quiche-omelet-frittata fillings. Fortunately, there is no shortage of eggs . . . .
Afternoon is a choice of one of the tasks I didn't do in the morning. I try to pick something that can be interrupted, because often there is a neighbor who stops by with cookies, or empty egg cartons, or just a bit of news. I try to send them home with a dozen eggs or more. Sometimes I have my husband distract them while I sneak out and put the eggs in their vehicle. My sneakiness has increased exponentially with the number of hens we have.
By 4 p.m. I am in need of a shower. After getting the major amount of dirt off (sometimes I resemble our truck) I do the prep for dinner. The local 5 o'clock news is always good for a laugh. I'm sure there are high-fives in the newsroom on the rare occasions they get a story right. Then dinner with a nice wine, and reading or listening to music or, on Sundays, watching Downton Abbey. To bed by 10 p.m., and falling asleep planning the next day, which will start with a purr and a lick. There are worse ways to wake up!


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Why I went to college

Category: Farm Doings | Posted: Mon Jul 29, 2013 3:47 pm

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I went to college to get educated, and to learn how to handle whatever life sent me. Most of what life has sent me wasn't offered in the college curriculum.
Outsmarting chickens—nope, no "Smarter than Chickens 101." I had to learn on my own how to get reluctant hens into the coop at night. What I consider bedtime is not what they consider bedtime, and I'm outnumbered. My college also didn't offer "How to keep the ladies from tossing food about," even in grad school. Floor feeders get tipped over; hanging feeders are swings for the enjoyment of the younger crowd. So far we have a draw—I raised the hanging feeder so it's harder (but not impossible) for the hens to sit on top of. I think I get a "C-"in that course.
Coping with cats—I flunked. Psychology courses are of no help whatsoever. We've never had a cat that didn't rule with a velvet paw. Samcat was seven pounds of semi-Persian juvenile delinquent. He killed anything that moved (including ripping the throat out of a weasel) and brought his prey home for show-and-tell time. He expected me to pick the burrs out of his long fur, and demanded an incredible amount of food to maintain his fighting weight. When Feliz arrived on Christmas Day as an orphan in the alley, she knew exactly what she was doing. She looked at these two semi-intelligent people sitting on the patio and went into the pitiful kitty routine. We fell for it hook, line, and sinker. We've been at her beck and call ever since, and actually enjoy it. My engineer husband, who had a long and illustrious career, now arranges the tins of cat food in the pantry so Feliz doesn't have the same meals one after the other.
Farm work—good heavens, why didn't I take a mechanics course instead of art appreciation! Luckily, my husband can fix most anything, but my talent is limited to changing a light bulb. However, hanging out with some of my college friends at a local watering hole taught me language that has come in handy when the mower won't start.
Secondary degree in Theology (not optional when you attend a Catholic university)—I have never prayed so much nor so hard as I have since we moved to the farm. Please Lord, let it rain. Please Lord, let it stop raining. Please Lord, let my garden produce. Please Lord, isn't there a bug that eats zucchini? Please Lord, didn't You make a BIG mistake with grasshoppers, and won't You correct your mistake? And then when you see a tornado drop down out of a flat-line cloud, there's the ever-popular OH LORD!
So, why I went to college was to learn to cope, even with things that were not in the curriculum. Art appreciation taught me to appreciate our sunrises and sunsets, the beauty of our native flowers, and the green sheen from my chickens' feathers. Theology courses taught me to say "thank you" frequently, instead of "I want." Education courses taught me to leave well enough alone. Some folks know what they know, and trying to point out a different viewpoint is kind of like trying to teach a pig to sing. It is futile on your part and irritates the pig.
But most of all I'm glad I went to college because that's where I met my wonderful husband. It took me four years to get a B. S. of education, and one in Spanish, and six years to get my MRS. Guess which I value more?


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