I made this last night, and it was pretty good.

To welcome Trip home, I made him a dinner that took all day to prepare, and only a few short moments to toss down our gullets!

Home-mashed gold potatoes, honey mustard and bourbon glazed ham, and Spanish green beans. Mmm!



It's kind of cold here, and I'm almost missing the days of swimming in the New River, leaches and all.



But in exactly one short week, I will be in the house I grew up in, warm and surrounded by family. It's been a whole year.

Woodford comes to work.

For those of you who don't know, the beetle I work with has been approved for release into the great outdoors. Meaning; I got to move onto campus. Glorious!

I now have a big bright office (not in quarantine), a great new office mate (she's not quarantined), plants and a fish (can't have those in quarantine) and windows that can open (not possible in quarantine, either)!!!

We've decided to run with femalian urges and "nest" in our place of work, making the office comfortable, homey, AND dog friendly. She and I are both blissfully obsessed with our K9s, and are perfectly happy to coddle them over a child any day of the week. Luckily, neither of us actually have children.



Woodford approves!

A good horse is never a bad color

... but why can't the sweetest little dream filly be at least average?!



She's my new project, one in the herd of 20, at the auctioneer's farm down the road. Whenever Woodford and I show up, she walks over to me immediately, so I decided to start doing some basic work with her if she's gonna be there. She is responding at a rate so supreme I can hardly believe it! As far as I know, she's never been really messed with at all. A fresh canvas! I'm tired of nearly a lifetime of dealing with other peoples' horse issues. It can be very mentally and emotionally trying sometimes.

But anyway, about this little girl. For now I call her Tisket. Already I can pick up all four feet, she yields to slight pressure (i.e., moves away from pressure, not into it like instinct tells horses to do), and she lets me touch her anywhere I want (I can put two fingers in her mouth and rest them on her tongue). Just this afternoon at lunch I rode my bike down there with Woodford to see her. I stood at her shoulder, faced her butt, and lifted each of her legs up with a rope I had slung around behind them. That's pretty good, you know, for just being a yearling.



Love!

Winnie the ginormous poop

For the past 2.5 weeks I have given nearly every spare moment of my waking/non-working life to this dog and she refuses to:

believe my roommate is not going to kill her
be tired
lay down
be fully housebroken
be quiet
not try to kill my chickens
not try to kill the chicken coop(s)
play in a non-I-want-to-kill-you way with Woodford
stop bolting when she sees moving vehicles
not jump on top of parked vehicles (this one is embarassing)
quit putting every single personal belonging of ours in her mouth
not plaster the wall in her slobber
...and finally...
stop ruining my quality of life!

But, she's at least cute.



Her and Woodford playing in the backyard. They really do like one another.



She doesn't like being in strange places... even if it's pretty fall weather!



HounDiva

Goodnight Goose

Goose, our insidious-but-amicable cat, fell victim to the road last Thursday morning. Her ridiculously intelligent antics and irreplaceable personality have left us all, Woodford included, heartbroken in her absence.

Goodnight stars

Goodnight air

Goodnight noises everywhere

A flobby day on the farm-ette

Today was a beautiful, perfect, dreamy day. It was the type of day you long for when the weather is poopy, or you're feeling under the afore-mentioned poopy weather. Or for whatever reason. My heart is light, airy and changeable, just like the wind that is flirting with my hair and the leaves on the big oak tree. Fall is afoot, hissing her warning before the strike. She's chilling the air at night, making the dew cold.

I went out last night with a group of my friends. Trip is gone officiating his cousin's wedding and I am here to live and breathe the mountains. I don't want to leave, anyway. But going out was a grand time, it felt good, like college and care free.

This morning came with Woodford on my bed and the sunlight warming my peeking toes. The wind was rampant. Hurricane Earl missed us, but he couldn't go unnoticed. I lazily lobbed myself around my bed, down the stairs, out the door. Let the rowdy chickens out to play all day. They're so spoiled. They just do whatever they feel like all the time. Always happy. Four are laying now, and this means a very large surplus of eggs. I have almost 30 in my refrigerator. They could open up a business.



For some reason, a couple of them have taken to coming up onto the porch and pecking at the door. I have no idea what they want, but it is a pretty decent attempt at being neighborly. They must be asking for a cup of sugar or jumper cables. I tell them to go away.



From there I did some more flobbing around. Took Woodford to the Blacksburg Farmer's Market, then on to PetSmart. I didn't buy anything at either. But I did go to Panera for a mid-morning snack. Their souffles are bomb ass, and though expensive, I eat them on occasion. Human flaw, I know. There have been worse.

But as I rolled up to the Panera, there was a dog already in the outdoor dining area. Now, us dog owners who take our dogs places always keep a very keen eye on the other dog owners. Are they serious dog people, or are their mutts poorly behaved and wiley? It's generally the latter, but the former almost always makes for a decent conversation. The other dog was a black lab/pit looking dog on a Flexi-Lead (a sure sign of a generally mis-behavin' dog). It was flopping itself around trying to play with Woodford. I'll have none of this. I tied him to a post in the shade, told him to sit, and went inside to order my food. When I returned, he was laying down in the exact spot I had left him. I got to eating my ham and cheese souffle, Woodford calm under my feet, and an older man walked outside. He looked at the other dog, tangled in chairs and flexible cord, and then at Woodford. He came over to stare at him for a few seconds and spewed glorious compliments all over him. How beautiful, well-mannered and happy he looks. I thanked him, and the dog owners behind me grew silent. As vane as it is, these little tiny moments make my day.

Most of the day I decided to lay in a hammock, sweep the front porch, and other small tasks that needed to be done. Just before dinner time, I thought it wise to go for a jog. Woodford and I waddled down to play with his newest friend, Jar Jar. The people that we thought owned our house (the ones with the two horses he plays with) got a new shepherd-ish dog. He and Woodford are kindred spirits. By now we've fully met the people, Bill and Theresa, and I'll just leave him in their yard as I finish my jog to the end of the road, and grab him on the way back.

Trip and I have been jogging together quite a bit lately. No big, long jogs, but small regular ones. It feels good. Makes everyone happy, and wears me enough to sleep and act like a real person. If I don't do something physically &/or mentally taxing in a day, things get ugly. I guess it's just like a dog. But Woodford won't have a problem napping tonight.



Speaking of! I'm in the process of volunteering for the Montgomery County Animal Shelter. I'll be taking on a foster dog for a month or so, and I really, really can't wait. I've always wanted two dogs, but they are so expensive to maintain, especially the way Trip and I do things. Feeding/vetting two dogs would be a little intense at this point in our lives. The bummer part is that I have the time and the ambition for two dogs, so this is a very wonderful option. The shelter vets her, feeds her, and I just have to treat her like she's mine all mine. For a bit anyway. This is the girl I'll likely be taking care of: Allie. She and Woodford are going to be best friends, do you see why? :)

Biggest tomato I've ever seen

And it came out of my garden!

New girls, old biddies, and hiking a wayside mountain

Introducing! My three new girls. I got them last Friday morning, but they were actually hatched on my birthday. So they're a little over two months old now. I swear the one on the left-est really does have a face, too.



The two brown ones are Speckled Sussex and the white-ish one is a Light Brahma. She has clydesdale feet. Covered in feathers. And she bites me when I pick her up. The other two are at least cordial.

Greg and Laura ordered 25 chickens, but only have room for nine or ten in their coop. When it was mentioned, I was more than happy to take in a few free birds. Well, I did compensate her with a small Panera GC. She loves their frozen mochas. I thought it was a decent trade. But I did have a real job; to make some room for the newbies in the yard... Remember the old free dog house? Well, Woodford hasn't once used it. In fact, he'd rather sit in the pouring rain than step inside it and be dry. We never accused him of being intelligent...

After some teachings from Trip, I learnt how to use the jigsaw. From there I transformed the unused canine cabana into a real poultry paradise! I knew Dad would have been proud, and possibly skeptical, so Trip took a photo.



This is the end product. We added a door with a latch (no midnight snacks for hungry neighbors), two leftover 2x2 roost perches for inside, and I cut out two triangular "windows" and screened them in for ventilation. It ain't pretty, but it works. And I did it!



When it comes to my girls, hilarious is an understatement.



But anyway, really. Look at these eggs. They're beautiful, and this is just a week's worth, with just two hens laying! I don't feel deserving of all this. They eat ticks, slugs, and other bad bugs from my garden, follow me around the yard with endless adoration, provide me with hours of entertainment chasing one another (and Goose), and then come running up to the car when I return home like happy children with a slight separation anxiety. And after all that, they lay my breakfast, too?! It's almost better than a dog... almost. But definitely better than cats. Absolutely better than cats.



Trip's mother came to visit on short-ish notice. Sunday she drove all the way down from Illinois all alone. And she probably didn't stop her vehicle for more than 30 minutes for the total drive of 14 hours. The woman is a machine. She's a little spicy, saucy, rambunctious and tenacious, so we put this to work on Wednesday afternoon. We decided to take her up a mountain on the Appalachian Trail in 95 degree heat and intermittent storms. Eight miles roundtrip to look out over McAfee Knob (with a safe distance between her and the edge) and gloat about it when she returns to Illinois.





RamboGwen and her progeny (does anyone else see this similarity?). And yes, indeed, that is the exact same bandana around their big heads.



But other than that, we've been doing fun stuff like touring Blacksburg, learning thrifty things, creating a clothesline for the front porch, shopping at Goodwill, hearing good (llllloooonnng) stories, and hatin' on Trip together. That last one is really the glue that binds us. Tonight we are heading down to the Floyd Country Store's Friday Night Jamboree to hear some Old Time Appalachian music and sample a slice of the old time life before she heads back to the land of corn, concrete and Nascar on Saturday.

And for those of you who haven't seen it, here is me standing in the midst of my garden. It's seriously a jungle. And NO, that is not a BEER in my hand (gardening is serious business, folks). It's an IBC Cherry Limeade soda and they're not very good. I'm hoping the sweet corn is better.



And Woodford. He's my jogging pacer, cycling partner, inciter of laughs, kitchen mistake disposal, cold night bed warmer, never ending wagger, giggle begger, chicken shepherd, rock steady reality check and copilot. Not graceful, but faultless.



I'm going to love these two forever and always.

A whole year

Exactly one year ago this morning, Trip and I woke up in our bed for the very first time in Virginia, over seven hundred miles from our family and friends.

It's been a whole hell of a year.

The life and times of Carlos the blue rooster

A brief photographic summary of Carlos' stay at the homestead:



The day I brought them all home, less than 24 hours old. Holy shit do I really have chickens?!



3-4 weeks old now. He's up front acting like he owns the place. He basically did, though.



A good 1.5 - 2 months old. We were good friends at this point, walking around every day while I talked to him about life and things in general. He cooed and cawwed, naturally, as most do when they hear me speak.



I'm not sure how, but he's gained quite an affinity for beer at this point.






Both of these photos are from one of his last days walking and sqwauking around the yard. I borrowed a really nice DSLR camera from the school to take some deserving photos. Pretty nice, huh?



His final resting place, where he spent the previous hour with a can of PBR (nectar of the gods) up his ass in my oven. A pretty fitting way to go, in my opinion.

Rest in peace, Carlos, until you are my undesired alarm clock in heaven.
2/7/2010 - 7/16/2010







These are the very first eggs my girls laid. They've since been eaten (astonishingly yellow, delicately flavored and delicious). The other Orpie sister has started to lay as well, so we're getting about two eggs a day, which is going to mean a lot of scrambled eggs and Trip's favorite brunch food; quiche! Baaha, not really. Maybe one day I'll make one he likes. But he's going to have to keep eating them until then anyway. Ah well.

Woodrow Ford and the mysterious production of eggs

One of those girls has given me three eggs now... but I'm not sure which. Woodford?!?!

It all came full circle in just one tiny weekend

Friday, I killed Carlos.

I went to the backyard to grab him, to which he barely resisted. Carried him dutifully to the front yard like I'd done a thousand times before, and held him while the funnel was prepared. He remained calm, collected, almost proud. I didn't feel sad. I didn't cry or feel remorse. I had a job to do, and I did it.

He's in the refrigerator right now, waiting patiently for his final preparations. He is tomorrow's dinner.



Saturday, Trip and I woke entirely too early to ride yet another wagon train. Things were going semi-well, when the sky opened up and poured on us, and then stopped. It's not very fun to ride a steamy animal in heat and humidity with wet jeans, underwear, and hair.



Saturday night, however, was a blast. Those people really know how to party.

Sunday morning I didn't feel like riding. The horse I ride is in so much pain due to the ill-fitting tack I am forced to use, it's not worth it. I thought I'd spared him, but he was ridden anyway. So I just hung out with some baby chickens, and chopped some veggies for a fresh pasta salad until Trip and the rest of the men returned. Baby chickens are so silly.

Sunday afternoon Trip and I were so exhausted we took almost a three hour nap! That's the longest nap ever in our histories together. I hate taking naps. This one was was mandatory. I awoke to gray skies and sauntered down the road, just Woodford and I, well, and some sweet tea in a jar. At the very end of the 1.1 mile stretch of dead end road, it was completely, totally silent. I stood still with the ground for a few minutes and watched a storm come over Price mountain. There were two separate and small rain clouds far apart. It looked like a Charlie Brown cartoon. I thought I was safe. But I started feeling big drops. Ah, poo. Luckily, my knight in shining armor came by in his big truck and saved soppy wet Woodford and me. :)

Sunday night as I was putting the girls (hens) away, Trip said "What the hell laid that egg?" I ran over to inspect... It was, indeed, a chicken egg. It all came at once. This little brownish egg from this little blackish bird that knows nothing but to eat, sleep, play in the dirt. It's heavy in my hand. She made my day. She made my year. It was the period that ends a profound sentence at the end of a book. This is what it's all about.

I know I shouldn't.

I'm spending the majority of the day fantasizing about what I'd be doing with myself if I had no student loan debt, or even half of my student loan debt. It gets me nowhere, but I can't help it.

I really want to take some photography classes here at Virginia Tech. The classes themselves will be free, but I need a Mac laptop before I can even take the pre-requisite, and then a digital SLR for the classes. I'm not going to abort the mission, but right now it just seems impossible.

Farmer's Market Fresh

Juicy blackburrries and pumpkin dog bones.

Too much has happened...

...to rehash all events, which include but are not limited to; Natalie and Justin visiting from DC over Memorial Day weekend, supreme heat, and my one week Effingham, IL wedding planning extravaganza. Pictures from that will come later, but I would most like to share pictures from my garden currently. Taken as recently as this afternoon!



All four of my girls, alive and well. Still no eggs...



Some sunflowers that spend their day looking away from the house. Well, at least the faraway neighbors get some enjoyment out of them.



One of six marigold/'mater duets is finally starting to take off and vine up my fence...



Baby asparagus!



Brussels sprouts fore right, LOTS of Boston Pickling Cukes, and some nasturtium. Next year, not so many cucumbers...



Okra in flower!



Sweet Carmen pepper in ripening... and a sleepy Woodford. Always ripening.



Moon and Stars watermelons. They are supposed to be spotted, don't worry!



The sweet corn is not pleased with how late I planted it...



Some native wildflower mix that I planted, compliments of my Ma and Pa.



My living, breathing, salad.



Also, Dad, thank you so much for sending the mountain bike. She's ride-ready, rock steady, and equipped to roam.



Since all you Midwesterners are sucking all the rain, we've had a very hot dry spell down here in the mid-Atlantic. Trip and I have no way of cooling off, so we invested in a 100 gallon stock tank from Southern States. It's deemed the "Hillbilly Hot Tub" and it gets put to use, especially after mowing the lawn!