Sushi, Saturdays, and spring time musings.

Friday night I revisited sushi. We've had a pretty tumultuous relationship. I want to like sushi, because thats what worldly people do, but I really hate sushi. The aforementioned friend of mine from high school came over to our neck of the woods, and we headed over to Poor Billys, a sushi hotspot. Luckily this time wasn't so bad. I was mostly focused on the warm sake in from of me. I had never had sake before, but this stuff was very mild and delicious. It had this faint aroma of my Grandma Nancy's homemade cinnamon roll dough, laid out in rectangles with melted butter drizzled over them. The cinnamon-sugar clusters expand outward as they sink slowly in the butter puddles. I would always pinch away the corners of the dough and eat them. I love dough. Anyway, Trip and I ordered things in roll form this time, to play it safe. What really made me hate sushi is the Nigiri form, which is when it's just sitting on a square of rice, staring at you. So the rolls are like child's play. Either way, I still don't get why people are all about it.

Saturday was a beautiful day. I went to work to check on the beetles, and brought my favorite Valentine along so he could run around the wide open spaces that house my place of work. It was really nice, too. about 50 degrees. Well there's this hay field right behind the greenhouse at work with a gorgeous view of mountains, so I jumped up on on of the round bales. Fortunately they are covered with black plastic, so they were warm and dry. I was up there, getting ready to take a picture when I felt a warm tongue on my jeans (He loves licking jeans where you wipe your hands on them. It's embarassing when you have company). I knew the culprit... Woodford! How did you get up here?! I had no idea he could climb, but he did. He jumped, dug his nails into the musty hay, and propelled himself upward. What a champ! Anyway, click here to watch the video that ensued.



After the large amount of alcohol we consumed Friday night, we were looking forward to not tearin' the town up again. Plus, Trip worked all day with our friend Greg doing some electrical work on some lady's barn roof. Well, I worked hard, too. As you could tell. I had this craving to go to Barnes and Noble to drink some hot chocolate and snuggle up in an oversized chair with a good book about sustainable living practices. Luckily, this can actually happen, and it did. I found this AWESOME book called Possum Living, written in the 70's by some backwoods bumpkin broad, Dolly Freed. Well, I thought so anyway. She wrote it with a 7th grade education, and it is hilarious, and way practical. As it turns out, she went on to be a NASA aeronautical engineer, and a professor, and an environmental educator. But this book tells you basically how to live with no money in the backwoods, and it's not all hippie crap either. It's like "Ok, doves are better to eat than starlings, but if you want something really good, eat a woodcock. Also, groundhogs are good, but best when clubbed, rather than shot." Plus she tells you how to distill all types of liquor, even a good moonshine. She doesn't do holidays, the gifts she gives include; dressed and frozen rabbits, double distilled (the good stuff) moonshine, and fresh eggs. I can't begin to profess my love for this woman. So, I showed the book to Trip, and he fell in love with it, too. So he bought it. Now we own this legacy.


Sunday was the two week birthday of my little baby chickens! They're getting all kind of feathers poking out all over them, and they look terribly awkward. However, they're getting much sweeter, so I can't hate on them for being ugly. I fed them part of my cereal this morning by hand, and one of them perched on my arm while the other three gathered around my cupped palm and ate their fill. Ahh, so cute. Click this spot to enjoy a video of them I took yesterday.

The temperature is increasing, and winter beginning to melt. Finally I remember what the snow has been hiding for three months. My visions of garden planting and seed starting are getting less hazy. Soon the chickens will be outside, pecking at bugs and scratching the earth under their feet. Woodford will laze about in his dog house, yawning in the sun. Warm, wet ground, tall boots covered in clay. My coffee on the front porch swing, gazing at Old Man Weather to the west.