Ear Worm

Sometimes I go on food jags, where I eat relatively large amounts of one kind of food, such as when oranges are in season, or lettuce, or peaches. Other times it's a music jag, as in this case. Lately I have been playing this song everywhere -- in the car, on my iPod when I'm pruning trees and vines, and around the house while I work.  If ear worm is a pest, then if I can hear this song all the time I won't bother trying to kill this bug, because I absolutely love it.

I have no idea what any of the words mean, but some music all about what's beyond the words.  Whether you're out in the field, hanging out in the kitchen or working, this is a great song to move to while you work. All work should involve some dancing, in my opinion.

It is sung by the incomparable Miriam Makeba, South Africa's First Lady of Soul. Enjoy. (If it does not load you may have to follow the link below...blogger is kind of weird this way sometimes.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsDfHvIFwiU

First Fruits

First lupin.

After our rainy weekend, we are drying out and warming up, which is actually quite nice.  All over the signs of spring are becoming apparent -- the early-blooming trees, and a few flowers and buds on almost everything.  The rain was a much-needed drink for everything and a great softener of the soil, so I spent most of this morning weeding around my trees and vines, by hand.  I love the frogs and toads who sing to me all night long, enough that I am willing to forego spraying anyplace which might provide a habitat for them.  And when the soil is this loose and wet, pulling weeds is honestly just as easy as spraying them.

As I was working this morning, I spied the first wildflowers on the hill, as well as the first lupin blossom.  My own habit is to never take the first fruits of anything from our property -- not flowers, fruits or vegetables -- for ourselves. Instead, I like leaving it, if possible, as an offering to God and the land itself, as recognition that I play only a small part in the cycle of life around this place, and that most of it is not within my power.  Flowers are easy to leave, but since leaving produce on the vine to rot is not always wise, where it's not practical to do so I give it to the field or the chickens, as a way of passing it on instead of taking it for myself.

I realize I'm not the first person to dedicate "first fruits" to the Creator or Mother Nature, so I'm guessing there's something instinctive and hard-wired into this method of honoring the natural world.

Mr. Roadrunner.

As I was working in the sunshine, a large roadrunner sat on one of our fence posts and sang his song to me. The song of the roadrunner is a low, almost mournful kind of "hoo, hoo, hoo," but mournful is in the eye (or ear) of the beholder; I sensed my roadrunner friend was feeling good and looking for a lady friend, so obviously the low hoo-ing is a spring sound, filled with hope and anticipation.

And so, with my seed packets and empty mason jars, I am also filled with hope and anticipation with the start of this new season.  Hoo hoo to the roadrunner and everything else coming back to life in this season of Newness.

Photo Friday

A simmering of red

Turns into an explosion of color with the sunrise

All part of God's twice-daily Art Show In The Sky.

We are also forecast for a huge storm this weekend, with the forecasters telling us to expect power outages and high winds. We have enough of everything to be safe,including plenty of wine. 

But these photos do remind me of the old maritime rhyme: Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. We've been warned. And dire weather or not, we certainly need whatever rain this gully-washer will bring us.

Cold Eggs

I heart eggs.

I am one of those people who always likes to have extras of everything on hand, so that I never run out of anything.  It's partly because we live so far away from town, but lets face it -- even if you live close to town it's annoying and inconvenient to lack that one special ingredient you need to make something and have to stop whatever you're doing in order to go and get it.

Because of this, I freeze eggs for the times when I need a lot and when the hens are not laying.  Last year I broke into my stores around holiday time, when I had a houseful of guests and had run out of fresh-laid eggs. I had made a lot of egg nog but neglected to realize I also needed some for baking and breakfast scrambled eggs, but my frozen egg stash saved the day.

Silicone baking (and freezing!) pan. Makes cute little meat loaves, too.

This also works if you worm your hens once a year; during the period directly after they are wormed, you should not consume their eggs for a couple of weeks.  I have not seen any evidence I need to worm this year, but I did a couple of years ago and, again, my frozen egg stash came in really handy.

Each heart is the equivilent of two eggs.  I beat all the eggs together, add two heaping tablespoons of salt to the mix (to help stabilize it while frozen) and then pour the mixture into my silicone baking sheet.

After a few hours, voila!  Emergency eggs.

Losing our #1 farmhand

This week Groceries will travel to an area military induction center, get a complete physical, swear his oath, and join the Navy -- for four to six years.  He's decided to study nuclear engineering care of the military, and (pending the successful outcome of his physical) they are anxious to have him.

And while that means the start of a great life adventure for him, for us it means not only the final  (assuming we get no rebounds) emptying of our nest, but also the loss of our strongest and most dependable farmhand.

In a rural environment, strength counts.  Right now I'm in the process of moving two cubic yards of enriched soil into our raised beds to bring them back to being full (decomposition and runoff all deplete the soil levels of raised beds and chicken compost alone is not enough to keep them full).  It's not backbreaking labor, which means it's something I can accomplish on my own.  For heavier jobs, I will usually ask Big Ag to take over.

I've got this. But other farm-upkeep tasks are beyond me at my age.

But there are other chores which require two strong men, and in that area we are going to be missing a farmhand once Groceries departs for points unknown.  So right now we are trying to get what we can accomplished.  The barn quilts need to be finished so they can be hung. (They are quite heavy!) The chicken run needs to be moved so I can finish painting the coop wall behind it.  These are not things I am strong enough to be much help with, and so we're figuring out what needs to be done before we no longer have Groceries and his strong arms and back with us.

After this, I'm not sure what we will do when we need an extra pair of hands.  We have neighbors we can ask for help, and there's always the option paying a professional to do the things we can't (something we probably need to get used to doing as we get older).

But there is no question that aging on a farm presents challenges.  Everyone loves the archetypical story of the little old 80 year-old lady who still manages her own property, butchers her own chickens and turns her own garden, but the reason we marvel at stories like it is because it's relatively rare that anyone can really do that.  Especially if you farm, by the time you reach 80 your body has endured a host of injuries as well as just the breakdown of your body from age itself, and so it's not wise to assume how you feel right now is how its always going to be.

And so as we ponder the potential departure of our middle son, we realize we will not only miss him being around the house -- his great sense of humor, his calm and dependable nature and willingness to help out -- but also his strength, his common sense, and his youthful enthusiasm to get a job done.

But nonetheless, I say with a heart full of pride: Anchors away, my son. Anchors away.

More carrot soup and an accident

Using the last of the carrot harvest for another batch of that delicious carrot-ginger soup I made a couple of weeks ago.  But in the midst of pureeing the carrots, the blender caught fire and had to be placed outside. Now the house smells like an odd combination of ginger and burning small motor.

I feel it's often the best meals that set off the smoke detector, so I'm hoping the same applies to appliance demolition.

 RIP, Oster Blender, and may a choir of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Out and About -- Photo "Phriday"

An errand day around town today, and so I thought I'd post some pictures of our very early, but nonetheless lovely, spring.

Bradford pears outside the local sports club.

Mustard in bloom on the road home.

Vineyards are still sleeping.