4 November …
Last sunday, on her Facebook line, a young friend wrote the following …
November begins with “no”, but feels like a thousand yeses. It’s the pause in the cold, sycamore leaves crunching underfoot. It’s the possibility of days spent curled under blankets with hot cocoa, watching the rain. It’s the calm after a summer of going, going, gone. It’s when I get to be my best introvert while, oddly, cooking some of the biggest celebration meals of the year. I was born here. I love here. Because it can be anything.
Couldn’t have said it any better (except I’m a May baby).
We’ve been having rain on and off … usually light but occasionally hard enough to get through the pine needles. It is nice and we are grateful.
The birch has become a golden candle, especially in the morning sun …
and the plum and apricot in the courtyard are lovely (those lines lower right are the solar dryer).
There was snow on the Eddys monday morning which glimmered as the first sun hit it …
and snow on the Mountain …
which was heart filling … (pictures courtesy of a walk Michael took)
we are still affirming snow ! Snow !! SNOW !!! SNOW !!!!
I Recently met a friend in a local store (as you often do when you live in a small town). I used to work with her (we are both retired now), and we are both into genealogy. She is also a bird watcher and she had a story to tell.
Their family shares a vacation house on the mid-Oregon coast in Yachats, and they had been up there a couple of weeks ago closing the house for the winter when she spotted a bird in the yard which she had never seen before. She immediately got out her bird book and identified the bird. It seemed to belong further south so it was a real prize for her sighting book (or whatever birders call their list of the birds they’ve seen).
She then called a friend to brag and the friend called the top birder in Oregon who put out the word and within a day my friend was over run with people wanting to add the bird to their lists as well. People came from as far away as Kansas!
She said the street in front of the house was packed full of cars for several days. She had to keep track of the bird so she could tell people where to look … “around that side”, “under the bush by the garage”, “behind those rocks”. Otherwise they were tramping all over the yard.
We were laughing together by the time she finished her story. Other shoppers may have wondered at our behavior, but a laugh is always good. And she finished by saying she was relieved when the bird decided to move on.
On the subject of birds …
When I went out friday evening to put the ladies to bed, it was dark dark and there were only two hens in the house. I made a tour, by flashlight, of the chicken area and found a whole lot of feathers and the remains of one of the rock hens. No sign of the other red hen. It was too dark to do much investigating in spite of how detectives on tv use only their flashlights all the time and are able to make fantastic evidence collections that way.
Saturday morning, when I went out to feed the ladies, there was no talking as there usually is and when I opened the door the two of them were reluctant to come out. So I spread their food and made a check of the yard. It would appear, from the condition of the remains, the predator was one of the dogs allowed to run loose around here, although that is illegal ( after all … we’re in the country and laws don’t apply, right?)
The two remaining hens finally came out of the house but stuck close to me until I turned to leave and they went under the potting table. As I opened the gate, I heard talking outside the fence. There was the other red coming down the drive … talking softly. Evidently she went over the fence as the attack was occurring and spent the night in a tree.
The chicken yard has two parts. The inner part is surrounded by a 6′ high fence. The outer fence is only 4′. So for the rest of their time out there (until they move back near the house for the winter) they will be limited to the inner sanctum.
Three ladies. Hooray …
Tuesday evening, John came in to tell us there was a red-headed woodpecker working on the apple tree in the courtyard. It was so intent and unconcerned that we could get what seemed much closer than usual to take pictures.
There are now three perfect rings of pecker holes in that branch meaning there are a lot fewer of whatever the bird was after.
Nature at work.
I seem to have forgotten to tell you the details of the “Rules” at Poor George’s. There is a plaque on the wall which admonishes …
Give thanks for your meal Sit up straight No elbows on the table Napkins belong in your lap Use your utensils, not your fingers Don’t play with your food Eat all your vegetables Chew with your mouth closed Don’t talk with food in your mouth Use your indoor voice Say Please and Thank You Excuse yourself if you burp or need to leave the table Clear your dishes
That last one reminded me of the time the family went out to dinner and, as we finished, the boys got up to carry their plates to the kitchen.
I love words !!!
There was a request on one of the genealogy sites I frequent asking that we each write what we would expect to see on our grave marker. There were some interesting ones about family history or war records or charitable things done or religious activities or philosophy or …
I plan to be cremated and have my ashes scattered on this land that I have lived on and loved for going on forty years already, so there will be no grave marker. Maybe something can be etched on one of the big stones on this land. I have the words in mind …
You tell me yours and I’ll post mine in a week or two.
It is cold this morning … below 32° at breakfast time. It warmed a bit by the time John and Michael left.
This trip was nice, as are they all. John checked my computer completely while he was here. I am now good to go for the winter.
I cherish the times I get to touch, see, and hear my children.
I am blessed.
The thought for the week …
Adventures are all very well in their place, but there is a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain.
So, ’til next week …