Stormin' Stormin' Stormin'

They come up in dark of night ... huge, frighteningly loud winds that make me wonder if I should wake Scott and head for the basement. Ducky is up, trembling, usually giving us warning long before we hear anything. Then the rain hits the house, hard, and I fear hail. I hope for the best and fall asleep again. 

In the morning I go out bare-legged, in a long T-shirt I've slept in, to see what the air's like. My Korean lilac cuttings have been knocked out of their pot of water, where I've set them to root. Eight flower pots and the glass table are still on the step, but the two chairs — even the heavy wooden Adirondack — have been blown off. The plants in the large perennial bed are standing tall, but the peppers and tomatoes in the vegetable garden south of the house have taken a beating. The hanging tomato plant is still swinging on the swing. 

And another storm is coming ...

From the back step

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "Wee Wrens": 

It took me a long time to realize there was a bird in that picture. Live and learn.

What!? There is???

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "Goings and Comings": 

Mr. Never in a Hurry lives here. I have tactics, mostly formed around access to my books and a comfy place to sit. 

Ha! Yes, one figures out a way to live with the way things are. 

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If there are more comments below, I will reprint and respond to them beneath a future entry.

Goings and Comings

"You sweet thing!" I say to Scott, though he can't hear me. I'm looking through the kitchen window and the half-ton has just passed behind the caragana trees. The back of it is filled with old appliances and junk that was left out in the pasture by the former owners of this property, and I have been reminding Scott for several years that it needs to be hauled away. I've even been willing to hire someone to do it, but he put the kibosh on that because of some trench he'd made out there last year, or because there was electric fence for the cattle, or because ... well, always some reason on top of the fact that he is The Busiest Man in the World.

We bought this acreage in 2009, so it was well past time this job got done and I was thrilled to see it happening, and most grateful.

But then I realized he had loaded all that crap (including a fridge and two stoves) onto the truck by himself. Help was on the way, apparently, as his sister Laurel and her hubby Brett are down from Denare Beach and were on their way over, and Brett's back and muscles had been enlisted. They just weren't quick enough for Mr. Always In A Hurry. He could've come in and got me, but no ... he'd've had to wait for me to get out of my housecoat! Or maybe he thought I'd say Sorry, I'm not going to try lifting that heavy stuff, which would've been the intelligent thing to say. But wait for reinforcements to arrive? Hell no! Silly fella. Strong like ox, yes, but ... lacks patience and a strong sense of self-preservation.

Bye Bye, Garbage!

Laurel and Brett caught me in my housecoat again ("That's nothing new," they said), as Scott hadn't mentioned they were coming over. He'd gone out the door while I was still asleep, so how could he? This is often the case, so it's fortunate that such things don't embarrass me. (Maybe they would if it was 3 p.m.)(But not likely.)

I was sitting out on the step with my coffee, as is my wont on summer mornings when it's warm enough, and he was filling the wheelbarrow with leafy branches pruned from around the house the day before, when he said "There they are" and nodded toward the driveway.

A fresh pot of the black stuff was brewed and we had a visit around the kitchen table before going out to transfer Laurel's wild rice and pork/beef/turkey/spinach/feta (she makes quite a variety) sausages from their coolers to our deep freeze out in the quonset. Then we stood around outside the trucks for another half hour or more, chatting, before they took off down the road.

Scott's sister Laurel and her hubby Brett

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Ralph Goff has left a new comment on your post "Wee Wrens": 

That is a nice birdhouse. When we were kids my grandmother always called those birds "jenny wrens". We grew up thinking that was the correct name. 

And I was eyeballed yesterday by a "jenny wren" looking out from the birdhouse in the oak beside it, too!
Just saw the barn cat in the maple tree — it must be getting curious, now, to come this close — hope it doesn't get the baby birds. They should be safe as long as they're in their homes. We shall see what kind of hunter the cat is. There are all kinds of birds' nests around the yard: robins, catbirds, merlins, red-winged blackbirds, ducks, coots, etc. I'll tell the cat to hunt only rodents, but have alas no faith that it will obey. 

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Wisewebwoman has left a new comment on your post "Wee Wrens": 

Sweet birdhouse.

XO

Our kids Gunnar and Melissa gave it to us one year at Christmas. If it was bigger, it looks like the kind of house I'd like to live in!

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and there may be more comments below ... which I will reprint beneath my next entry, and reply to.

Wee Wrens

"Pst! Pst! Pst! Pst! Pst! Pst!"
I try to interest the baby wrens so they'll show themselves, but have no luck. I get only one glimpse of a tiny beak before they've pulled back out of sight.
One of their parents isn't far away though, and is making a different noise than its usual chattering. Perhaps this one is a warning to the chicks that there is danger nearby.

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "Feverfewer": 

I thought when I saw "Feverfewer" that I was seeing a missed typo, but then, as I read, I could see how cleverly you'd drawn me in. I really, really hope that feverfew can help you with your migraines. I've never had a migraine, but I have had headaches that made me lie down on the backseat of my car and cry instead of going home for medication that works. I love it when it turns out that the natural relief is the one that works best. My natural cure for headaches was retirement.

I'm also going to pick wild raspberry leaves and make a daily cup of tea with them, see if balancing my hormones makes a difference. Guess it's time to get out there and do it. But there are still wood ticks ...

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Comments below will be answered following my next entry ...

Feverfewer

"Why do you think that is?" he asked, when I mentioned having fewer "neck migraines" in June than in previous months.

"I dunno," I said. "There usually are a couple months every year when they're less frequent; summer months, come to think of it."

And that was it. We dropped the subject. 

Then I went outside and, while inspecting the flower beds, picked and ate several leaves of feverfew. Most days I do. Maybe that has something to do with it? Maybe I'll start eating more of that particular herb. It is known for alleviating migraine, after all. 

Flowering feverfew. Click to enlarge. A friend in the Okanagan gave me a handful of the dried flowers to seed with, and the feverfew has reseeded itself every year. Lovely plant. 

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Wisewebwoman has left a new comment on your post "Silver You Say": 

Embrace it all. Every part of aging. Those cosmetic corporations pimp "anti-aging" nonsense to the tune of 1/2 trillion dollars every year. And hair dye penatrates through to the brain cells.

I've been au natural for years now. Lived the mixed bag of my hair. And I positively despise blonde jokes. Daughter and grandaughter are natural blondes and their IQs are through the roof. Replace negros for blondes and you'll see what I mean.

XO

WWW 

Blond jokes don't upset me, though I often say "Speak for yourself" when another blondie makes such a remark, and when I make a gaffe, I myself sometimes say "Damn, I hate being blond!" To me it's all in fun. But you are right, it is thoughtlessness on my part to do so, because while it may not offend me, it certainly does perpetuate a foolish stereotype.

Definitely with you on accepting the changes that come with aging. It's not always easy, that's for sure, but as far as I can tell, it's either embrace them or you will suffer more than need be.

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and there may be more comments below ... which I will reprint beneath my next entry, and reply to.

Silver You Say

"You just keep telling yourself that," said my mother-in-law with a grin.
Perhaps she didn't quite believe that I don't mind the silver in my hair, not one bit.
There's so much silver, it seems, that the other day when I jokingly chided someone about a "blond" quip he made, he said "You're not blond!"
I'm not?
Hm; maybe not anymore. Been blond long enough anyway — white-haired child, ash-blond adult — boring already.
There's a shock of silver at the front that my hairdresser says women pay to have put into their hair; my sister Joan couldn't believe I hadn't dyed it. It blends in so well with my natural colour (former natural colour?) that I see hardly any difference when looking into the mirror.
But I bet when a certain light shines on it, that silver positively glitters throughout.

After a couple Father's Day drinks with Dad

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "The Coos": 

I love cooing things: babies. That's the only one I ever hear these days, but I've had my share...in the day

Me too. Glad I no longer have to take care of a cooing thing in diapers, mind you! But sure enjoy holding a contented one.

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Ralph Goff has left a new comment on your post "Not an Earworm": 

I do that all the time, some tune gets into my head for reasons unknown to me and no significance to what I am doing at the time either. Just more complexities of the human mind I guess. 

Exactly. We're full of surprises.

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Wisewebwoman has left a new comment on your post "Not an Earworm": 

Funny how these songs strike out of ghetto blue and then don't leave even with a good last of the Fifth or so mm at. 

Love photo. 

XO

WWW 

Should you happen to know what that wildflower is really called, please tell me!

Not an Earworm

It makes perfect sense if you hear a song that it may stick in your head for hours or for the day. What is curious is when you find yourself singing a song and are surprised, wondering where out of the blue it came from. 

One morning before work I took a short walk with Ducky Doodle so he'd have a chance to "do his business" before being stuck in the house all day. The sun was shining as I jaunted down the road, the air was sweet and sparkling, the birds were calling, and suddenly I noticed I was singing "Little Arrows." 

What the hell?

One of the wildflowers abundant in the ditches along our road. I call it candytuft, as it has the same sweet scent.

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Maggie Turner has left a new comment on your post "The Coos": 

I like cows. We had only one cow on our farm when was growing up, a milk cow. She liked to roam and was an expert at deciphering weaknesses in fence structure. We kids loved that cow, I don't think the adults responsible for her did though. 

I like them too, in an affectionate sort of way, but don't want the duty of looking after them or cleaning up after them. If I had to do that, I'd do without cattle. They get through fences, you have to freeze your fingers in 30-below when the water bowl quits working ... on it goes. No thanks. Like much of farm life, it looks peaceful and appealing from the outside, but it's actually a heavy load of work and care that you don't often get to relax and enjoy. 

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Wisewebwoman has left a new comment on your post "The Coos": 

Was it the mooers who were cooing or did you sort out some other critters who have this ability. I've never forgotten my mourning doves beneath my bedroom window back in Ontario who would coo softly through the night. So comforting.

This was a long, drawn-out and quite loud sound; not bovine in any way I've ever heard. 

I'll have to accept that I may never know. 

Last night I went outside with Ducky Doodle and heard a bird I've never heard before. It wasn't an owl. It was dark. The call, a very loud two-part almost-whistle, came from one side of the house, then high in a tree on the other side, as if it had flown from the trees on one side of the house to the other, and then a minute later it was coming from west of the yard. 

Not a dove. 

What kinds of birds fly around at night, if not owls? 

Hornswoggled, here. Still learning. Life full of mysteries small and large. 

The Coos

"What the hell was that?" I wondered, lying there listening in the wee hours, hoping to hear it again. It was a long drawn-out low-voiced howl coming from a little distance but not far beyond the bedroom window, which I keep open all night long in order to hear the birds and breathe in that fresh, scented, cool air.

It was not a sound I'd heard before. Not a coyote; not a wolf, which I've only heard on TV or radio. Later that day when I got home from work, I did a search for cougar vocalizations and didn't recognize it there either.

"I'm going to have a look at my buddies across the road," said Scott. "I haven't seen them yet today." There's a lot of space over there and they can graze back behind the bush or lie in the shade of the trees.

The small herd that was pasturing around our yard has been moved over the road to Scott's parents' land, for fresh eating. The moment they hear him start up the riding mower, they come at a gallop and wait impatiently for the grass clippings to be thrown over the fence:

The "coos," as my Scottish brother-in-law would call them. 

Always Look at the Menu

"Don't you know," says my boy, "that it's restaurant etiquette to always look at the menu?"

This in response to my query as to why he was looking at the menu when he always orders the exact same thing: a grilled cheese sandwich on brown bread, with fries. 

We often, though not always, walk down to one of the cafés for supper on Thursday nights. It's a nice way to have our little visit. Often I'd take the Chinese food smorg, but have given that up in favour of a small plate of poutine: an unhealthy decadence I allow myself once a week and hope my arteries won't mind. 

Last Thursday our meal was paid for by the grey-haired gentleman sitting in the distance, who called out something about buying supper for "that skinny girl." Moi? Pfft. But I don't mind being called skinny; that's no insult to a woman who was taught from the time she was 12 years old that if she didn't count her calories and be careful, she was going to be fat. As if it was inevitable. Mom was always trying to lose weight. 

Eventually I saw that the inevitability of being a chubby adult woman was not a fact but simply a belief about reality, and I could choose to believe something different about what I could expect from my body. But that's another story. 

Yesterday when one of my co-workers pronounces me "scrawny" after I quip, while taking a third Dad's Goodie Ring, that too many cookies won't help me keep "my girlish figure," it's a welcome reinforcement. And apparently my clothing is doing a good job of camouflaging my muffin top!

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Maggie Turner has left a new comment on your post "Working Today": 

Critters Kate! The rabbits are eating my Mom's garden, right down to the ground. We have rabbits here, but I haven't seen any lately, and so far our garden is surviving. There are two local cats that wander the neighbourhood, and they use our front garden as a toilet, but what the heck, at least the plants there grow, and we wear gloves and masks when digging there, which we seldom do. The cats seldom catch birds, but stalk mice and chipmunks. The chipmunks are on the rebound though, watched a tiny chipmunk jumping at a grackle in the backyard this past weekend, it was funny to watch and the grackle won out, gave up no ground until the chipmunk gave it up.

I love pets, but in an urban setting they are a big responsibility and quite an expense. I have to make due fraternizing with the cat from across the street, who comes to visit often and is very friendly.

Funny old world, your years raising kids were the best of your life, mine were not much fun due to active ill will from third parties I care not to mention in polite society. Grandchildren, on the other hand, are remarkably, unexpectedly, wonderful. I guess we find our joy in life, wherever and whenever it is offered! 

Well I have yet to experience grandchildren, so maybe I'll change my mind about when the best years are!
Farmyards really need a couple barn cats, it seems. They live a dangerous life, the incorrigible hunter being also the prey of foxes and coyotes, but I think it's a good life, one with freedom they'd choose for themselves if they could. 

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Secret Agent Woman has left a new comment on your post "Working Today": 

Why is the squirrel a bad thing to have around? We have loads of them. A few bunnies and chipmunks, too. 

They can make a mess and damage property, and we have quite a few outbuildings. Otherwise we wouldn't mind a few about the place. 

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Ralph Goff has left a new comment on your post "Working Today": 

Yes, coyotes killed a lot of my cats. Down to 3 tom cats now. I need a dog to scare off the racoons that are way too numerous. I've had a small number of squirrels here for years and I keep a close watch to see they don't get too numerous. They look nice but they are just rats with bushy tails. 

Ha!
It sounds like Scott is picking up a couple barn cats tonight from a farm whose cat population has gotten too high. 

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Wisewebwoman has left a new comment on your post "Working Today": 

Yes, a wise move with so much at stake and those other predators to worry about.

XO

WWW 

We think so too. Little Ducky is afraid to go off the step after dark to "do his business." I have to stand out there and wait for him. That won't be so pleasant in the winter! Right now it's very nice, as the mosquitoes haven't arrived by the horde yet. 

Working Today

The up-side of not having a farm dog or a barn cat is that you see more rabbits in your yard, and the birds have a better chance of survival.

We know we have to get a couple cats, otherwise we'll be overrun by rodents, or our outbuildings will. They are already making nests in the quonset where Scott keeps his construction tools, his grain truck, the riding mower, and so on. That's probably unavoidable, but a cat in the territory tends to decimate their numbers considerably. 

We've been putting off getting the cats in order to give the baby bunnies and the baby ruffed grouse a chance, but yesterday I saw something just outside the back door that made me get on the horn and call the man who is going to give us barn cats. 

It's something we've never seen in this yard: a squirrel. Scott saw one down the road about a week ago and figured it might make it as far as our place, and apparently it has. 

With luck, it will move out when the cats move in. 

Next we'll have to think about giving a farm dog a home. 

It's been nice to be without one;  nice to see the rabbits eating the dandelions (see below) even though I've been worried they'd get to my flowers eventually. 

But one day Scott saw a big coyote stroll through the yard. We watch our little Ducky Doodle closely when he's outside. We go out with him! You'd think he was a toddler. 

A barking dog will warn off the coyotes and foxes. Not completely, mind you. They'll still sneak around. That's probably what took our last barn cat. But a territorial dog gives the cats a better chance at survival, and with luck will scare off skunks and raccoons somewhat, and maybe keep deer out of the garden and flowers. 

We shall see.

Helping Scott with the dandelions.

Friday's the Canada Day holiday, so I am working today. Off I go!

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Teresa has left a new comment on your post "Rainy Weekend": 

Your post brought back memories of when dad thought this was a great way to wake us up https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBQWsBiM5YY 

Oy! 

Maybe I have no business complaining. I used to wake up my boychiks with a song: 

"It's time to get up! It's time to get UP!

We're all in our places

With sunshiny faces

This is the WAY 

to start

a new DAY!"

Oh for the good old days when the kids lived at home. Not that I'd go back to them. But they were among the best days of my life. I'm sure, however they wake up now, they prefer it. Yet when I'm dead they'll have a few fond memories, and the morning song might be one.

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "Rainy Weekend": 

Personally, and neutrally, I think the positives outweigh the hollering, but I wasn't there. 

I agree, although it's in my nature to shoot for perfection.