Back to nature

There are a few inventions in the last couple centuries that I can live without.  We don't have a microwave.  That's fine. No dishwasher.  No problem.  No Cable TV.. that's fine too.

But there are a few things that make this world a better place and a few of them I find imperative to daily life.  Hot running water is one thing I'm terribly grateful for.  Forced air heat is another thing I'm very happy to have.  But these things I could manage without for a short time.  Maybe not happily but I COULD manage.

As of last night our little house on the ditch has had a "technical" problem that requires a professional to repair.  The impossible inconvenience of this problem has made certain aspects of my daily life challenging - to say the least.  I am disgruntled.  

The temperature is hovering around freezing.  My options are limited.  This is not working for me.  Peter thinks it's funny.  But then the inconvenience to him is not as great.

Hopefully the repairman will be able to make an appearance this morning - even though it's Sunday.  Otherwise I might have to move into a motel or go stay with the freighbor...

They fit like a glove!

Last year, as I began experiencing winter weather from an LLV I discovered the need for gloves.  And long underwear.  And thermal socks.  And wooly hats and other warm accouterments.

Tina, a very proper and very English friend of mine convinced me that there was a company in England that was THE place to buy these things.  Apparently, so she tells me, the English have vast experience in cold, damp, bone-chilling weather and these products have been around for decades, in fact, Princess Diana used to wear thermals from this company under her designer day dresses.  If Princess Di wore this stuff, it must be good!

I ordered one set of long underwear and a pair of fingerless gloves at an exorbitant price.  Plus shipping (let's not even talk shipping!)  The long underwear was lacy and thin and stylish but I'm not convinced they are any better than something I might buy locally.  Who really needs lacy long underwear anyway?  Certainly not me!  The gloves were also a surprise.  Their design reminded me of swimming gloves I used when I was training for triathlons - webbed fingers and all.  They didn't look like expensive, Princess Di-worthy outer wear at all.  I'm not really sure what I expected but it sure wasn't this.  I was so disappointed!

See for yourself!

The design was just odd.  I'd never seen such a thing.  The fabric was cotton fleece I think.  Nothing remarkable.  For the price I paid I expected something more.. better.  They seem to work fine and they keep my hands warm enough so I shouldn't complain.  The design seems to be perfectly functional as well. A year later and I'm still surprised by them.

This morning when I was dressing the goats in their new fleece jackets, which they LOVE, I pondered what to do with my leftover fleece.  I looked at my hands (because I was wearing those gloves), and I looked at the goat coats, and I looked at my hands and the light bulb came on.  The design is SO simple there was no reason I couldn't make my own fingerless gloves.

I had one failed prototype but for exactly ZERO dollars and about 1/2 hour time investment I have quite a fine pair of gloves.  I made a pattern for them so now if I need gloves I can make a pair of gloves faster than I can drive to town and buy a pair.  How cool is that??

Take that big snobby English company!  This little farm girl wanna be can keep herself warm!

Goats in Coats

The temperature dipped last night.  Down to freezing at least and maybe a little lower. Brrr.

Last week when it was not that cold I took the goats out and Twee shivered and shook like crazy.  She was cold.  My goats are short haired creatures and they are still kinda young and I worry.  While I was standing out in the pasture with my chilly goats I whipped out my smart phone and Googled "Goat Coats."  Surprise Surprise, there are several goat coat makers out there.

Because I'm cheap, and aware that I may be just a tad, uh...odd, I did not order them.  But that didn't mean I didn't think about it.  A lot.  I Googled it a couple more times and found more sources and more information.  Apparently goats don't usually get cold.  They get their winter coats and they are just fine in normal winter weather.  Sick goats might need coats but not healthy goats.

Well... sick or not, my goats were cold!  Why would they shiver if they weren't?

This morning when I woke and there was ice on the ground and the rain that had accumulated in the last week was now a skating rink, I couldn't possibly trek my goats out of the warm barn out to the cold, freezing pasture.  I started Googling again.  This time I found a pattern.  A pattern for goat coats.  Now that appealed to my crafty side, my frugal side and the weird side that wanted to keep my goats warm.  (who knew I was a triangle??)

My goats are now styling like nobody's business!

Een says "Thanks for the style makeover!!  The "E" doesn't make me look fat does it?"

Twee says "Those "nehhhh-sayers" need to spend a day in 32 degree weather without any clothes on!"

The people that sold us the goats have mocked me a bit (one of the risks of posting pictures on Facebook).  I don't think it was very nice of them, and it bothers me.  I love my creatures and I care about them.  I worry that my dog feels bad when I pay more attention to the cats.  I worry that the alpacas think we don't love them if they don't get their favorite grain.  I worry that the chickens will get taken by hawks.  I want them all to be happy and think they are the luckiest creatures in the world to be here, in my care.

And I worry that the goats are cold.  So those mean people can go suck raw eggs.

Jack Maxwell

Jack is now 9 days old.  I don't know what kind of Grandma that makes me... waiting a full week plus to tell the world about his arrival. But I've been busy!!

Jack was born October 18th at 8:30 a.m.  He was 8 1/2 pounds, 21 1/2 inches, and three weeks early.

Peter was unable to get away - but I was in the car headed south as soon as I could manage.

My son seems to have fallen in love with HIS son

My daughter, despite her general aversion to babies, seems to have fallen in love with her nephew

And then there is me..  quickly falling under Jack's spell.

Mary, Jack's mom is doing well and recovering quickly.  Unfortunately, seeing as how we all hogged Jack - I don't have a photo with HER in it.  How rude is that??  She was very understanding though, and for that I'm grateful.  It's not every mom who so willingly shares her new baby.

Vacation Fallout

Talk about an expensive vacation!

The fraud department of my bank called me this morning.  They were questioning some charges that started showing up at 6:00 this morning.

Had I made a 99 cent purchase with Sony Entertainment?
How about a $5.00 donation to Africare?
Oh... and did I spend $948 on something called a streetman?

No, no and NO!

It seems the bad guy also opened up a pay pal account in my name, on my dime.

Gah!!

Fortunately the bank is on top of it (yay US Bank!!) and I am not responsible for any of these (and about 20 more) charges.  My account is now locked and secured and a fraud case has officially been opened.

I asked the bank fellow if there was something I could do to eliminate or minimize my risk of this happening again.  For instance change the way I shop on-line or don't let my card out of my sight, ever.  He replied that in this day and age, with current technology there is NOTHING to prevent a determined crook from committing these crimes.  It's just a game of Russian roulette and it was my turn.  He did say it was most likely someone that had my card in the last few weeks.

I can't help but wonder which seemingly lovely person I met on my vacation committed this crime.  Was it the nice old lady at the botanical garden gift shop who took so much care to wrap the gift I purchased?  Was it the nice bartender, recently moved from Key West, new grandpa and the unhappy owner of his first pair of "real" shoes?  Was it the English-as-a-second-language parking attendant we tipped so generously or the cute girl with the interesting tattoos, piercings and hair color that had never been jet skiing but worked at the jet ski place?

Unless I'm in a hurry (or they are) I generally do not just "do business."  I chat and visit and learn about the people I deal with.  And I admit it, I'm a pollyanna and it breaks my heart that someone that I had a conversation with had the nerve to do this to me.  How rude!

Now I am cash only until my replacement card shows up in a week or so.  It'll probably be good for me to get back to cash.  It's way too easy to spend money I don't see.

The upshot is that my behavior won't change.  I will continue to shop online, use my debit card and chat with everyone.  It's who I am and I'm not gonna fight it.

Vacation!

We just got home from vacation.  It was the best vacation ever despite the fact that it got off to a really rocky start.

We live two hours from the Seattle airport.  Our flight was scheduled to leave at 6:00 am.  With all the security measures they say you need to be at least an hour or so early for your flight. That means that MINIMUM we had to leave by was 3:00 am.  Which of course means we had to get up by 2:30 am.

Clever me thought why not leave the night before and get a hotel with park and fly?  I just happened to get an offer from Orbitz for % off a hotel in Seattle.  That made it far cheaper to spend the night than to pay for parking. So I took the first one I found that offered park and fly.

I worked the day we were to leave.  It was a long day that involved me accidentally putting the work cell phone in the outgoing mail which required I chase down the big mail truck headed to the Seattle sorting station.  I caught up with it in Bellingham  (thank goodness!) but that meant I didn't get back home until after 6:00.

When I got home I immediately joined Peter in taking care of animals, last minute packing, house cat-proofing (since we were leaving our three indoor cats with the keys to the castle...) and doing all the other things that needed to be done.  We didn't pull out of the driveway until 10:00 - arriving at our hotel just after midnight.  We figured by the time we got to our room and got to bed it would be 1:00 - and with a 4:15 wake up call we were looking forward to a full 3 hours of sleep!  Oh but the desk clerk informed us that they no longer had park and fly services but they did recommend some nearby parking lots that offered shuttles to the airport.  I was irritated to say the least.  Now we would be paying for a 3 hour hotel stay PLUS parking. We would have stayed elsewhere or even stayed at home but it was too late to do anything about it.  I have a bone to pick with Orbitz!

4:15 came way too early - and then began the scramble.  We hadn't calculated the extra drive time into our schedule and missed the 4:40 shuttle at the parking lot and the 5:00 shuttle was slightly late.  We arrived at the airport 35 minutes before our plane was scheduled to leave.  We did the airport sprint.  Peter, unfortunately, was selected by security to have his bags searched - he was bringing his doctor equipment (like stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, pulse oximeter..).  The clock went tick tock.  Once they decided he wasn't a national threat, we sprinted again. We made the plane by the hairs of our chinny-chin-chin.

An hour or so into our flight, the flight attendants began scrambling and messing with their emergency equipment.  Someone on the plane was having a medical emergency.  A seizure and anxiety attack.  The call went out for medical professionals.  A nurse answered the call, as did Peter.  Between them, and since fortunately Peter had his medical bag with him, they got the poor woman resting comfortably and valuable information was able to be forwarded to paramedics on the ground.  The nurse stayed with the ailing woman and Peter returned to his seat where he was offered a courtesy cocktail by the grateful flight attendants.  It was 9:00 in the morning.  Peter turned it down.

Originally we only had 35 minutes between planes, and of course our first one was slightly late.  Plus we were in the back and by the time we got off the plane, we were down to 20 minutes. Off we went on the airport sprint again.  It was the Houston airport and in Texas they make them big!  Our gates were quite far apart. We were the last ones to board - but by gum we made it!

Fortunately on this flight there were no medical emergencies.  We arrived in Florida now truly and completely ready for a vacation.

We had rented a beautiful little cottage in Indian Rocks Beach.  We had a wrap-around deck facing the Gulf of Mexico and were just feet from the beach.

We were in Florida for 10 days.  We napped a lot.  We walked on the beach.  We breakfasted on our deck enjoying this view:

We watched the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico ..

We swam in the ocean, fed alligators, went sight seeing, attended my nephews wedding..

We visited with brother and his wife and children.  We ate well, we drank rum in exotic tropical drinks.  I found a fossilized sharks tooth (three actually).

We visited 2 aunts and an uncle from my fathers side of the family, went snorkeling in a fresh water spring and put our toes in the Atlantic Ocean at Daytona

We played putt putt golf and went jet skiing where I dumped us both in the ocean when I took a turn too tight.  I laughed until I nearly cried.  Unfortunately, Peter lost his good (read expensive) sun glasses on the dunking.

Coming home was uneventful despite the very long day of travelling.  When we got home we needed to tend to our animals and found they had been very VERY well fed by the babysitter who had the theory "well fed animals are happy animals".   A theory I can't entirely argue with.. Our goats gained weight and look a bit like pigs.

It seems most of our animals were glad to see us come home.  The goats and alpacas don't seem particularly happy since they've been put on a diet but I'm sure they'll be fine.  Eventually.

Oh baby blanket!

The last weekend in August, Elaine, a friend from Salem, came up and joined us for a whale watching excursion in the Salish Sea. It was a wonderful day at sea and we spotted humpback and minky whales.  Peter had to break the rules which nearly caused my head to explode  (I'm a great stickler for rules!) but I did get photographic evidence to black mail him with should the need arise in the future.

During Elaine's visit she became quite intrigued by my loom. Around our sight seeing adventures (Downtown Lynden, Fort Langley) she made a small weaving project.  She had never used a loom before so I tried to guide her in a simple project that could be done in the few hours she had.  Needless to say, things didn't go perfectly.  But as I was trying to show her all the steps in the process I figured out a lot of things that were giving me trouble.  After a few mis-steps (mostly caused by my inattention or misinformation) she ended up with a nice strip of woven fabric in a yellow and blue plaid.

I ended up inspired.

With inspiration swirling around me and a grandson on the way I thought it was a good time to try weaving something special for him.  I planned and plotted and started setting up the loom.

I know.. boring.

But it got more interesting..

After nearly a week of running back and forth to the warping board and the loom.  After threading more than 200 all-cotton strings through heddles and reeds.  After numerous bottles of beer and in the midst of an awful, snotty head cold, I finally started weaving:

An hour later I had a blanket.  A little anti-climatic.  I mean a week in prep and then an hour of weaving.  sigh..  I had enough thread left on the loom that I wove in a separation area and continued on to weave a second blanket in a slightly different pattern.   My nephew and his soon-to-be-wife are expecting a baby boy as well.  I'm not sure how much my nephew's baby will need a warm cotton blanket (they live in Florida after all) but it's the thought that counts.. right?

Today I finished the detail on the blankets:

My grandson Jack's baby blanket

My great nephew Jake's baby blanket

I had to go to the fabric store today to purchase the blanket binding and got further inspired by cute little fleece hats and home made booties and big fabric letters that can spell out words and names.  It all confirms my theory that I need to become independently wealthy so that I not only don't have to work - but I can hire someone to do all the things I don't like to do (like dishes and laundry and vacuuming and dusting and cleaning up cat yack) so that I can spend my time just doing the things I WANT to do.  

MCMIX

In 1909 Theodore Roosevelt was president of the United States.
In 1909 Fatty Arbuckle made his film debut.
In 1909 Orville Wright set a new United States airplane endurance record, remaining aloft for 1 hour 20 minutes 25 seconds
In 1909 Janet Jackson was born.

In Janet's lifetime she saw the invention of TV, color TV, remote controls, cell phones, microwaves, cruise control, space travel, computers.  She saw woman get the right to vote and people of color be allowed to sit in the front of the bus.

Today we buried Janet Jackson.  She was 104 years old.  I met her when she was just 100 and she told me she wanted to make it to 103.  She managed that and then some.  Janet didn't have any children and always looked upon Peter as the son she never had.  She met him over 50 years ago. Unfortunately at 104, there aren't many people left to mourn.  Janet had no children.  Her husband passed away 30 years ago (at 80!).  Her brothers and sisters are long gone.  In fact there was no one left but us to attend to her burial.  It's very sad to think about.

The last time we visited with her we took her out for a walk in the park.  We picked flowers and admired the trees.  She seemed to enjoy it very much.

Peter tells me he could never tell Janet he was coming to visit.  If she knew ahead of time she would make him the gourmet meal of pork and beans with wieners and pineapple.  For dessert she would give him coconut cream pie and artificial grey whipped cream.  He had to surprise her so that she would not cook for him.

Enough maudlin.  On another, somewhat inappropriate note...

We were talking to the funeral director today and he told us that the woman who prepared Janet for burial was named Elizabeth Taylor.  I think that's so fitting.

I'm Pickled Tink!

Our garden is flourishing and bursting with fresh vegetable goodness.  This beckoned to the pioneer woman in me to get busy.  We must not waste any of our precious bounty!

Last year I wanted to make sweet pickles but was dissuaded by Peter.  "How many pickles can we eat anyway?" He asked.  I didn't have an answer and gave in.  This year, I decided to make pickles despite his previous hesitation.  I asked my farm girl friends.  They had no experience with sweet pickles.  Dill pickles, yes, sweet, not so much.  I asked women at the grocery store and women on my mail route.  No one had ever made sweet pickles.  I looked in my oldest cook books and I looked on the internet finding many recipes, no two alike.  No consensus on a good recipe.  Finally I just closed my eyes and picked one.  I didn't know what I was doing but decided to just go for it!  I do like surprises!

Sweet pickles are interesting things.  They are not something you spend an afternoon making.  It's an 8 day process (or 7 day or 12 day - depending on the recipe you blindly pick out of a book).  Each day only takes a few minutes, and the last three days they just sit there.

Wednesday was day 8 and they went from pot to jars.  9 jars to be exact.  The directions stated they should sit a week in jars before they are ready to eat but today I had to try 'em.  They were good and I bet they'll get better in the coming days!

I'm excited and I'm guessing my answer to Peter's question:  "How many pickles can we eat?"  will be "9 jars I think!"

Yummy!

Going Postal

I have been a USPS employee nearly a year now.  In the past month I've worked a lot of hours and I don't like it.  When I hired on I agreed to one day a week.  Budget being what it is, reality tells me that 2 days a week is a much better fit for my bill payment schedule. So I have willingly agreed to two days a week.  However, there has been one "crisis" after another since May which has meant more hours for me.  If I don't work - my coworkers - who I really like - have to pull double shifts.  I don't want to do that to them.  So I've been a postal slave.  I'm tired and I'm cranky and I'm ready to go postal and now totally understand the term.

I really want to post these tips to FaceBook - but I am friends with my coworkers, who are friends with people and so on and someone high up in the postal system might see my words and fire me.  (not the worst thing that could happen - but still....)  There is a much lower chance that anybody from there reads this and yet I can still vent.

If you get mail to your house:

• Pick it up!!  
• If your postal carrier can get your mail there every day, in the rain and the wind and the blazing sun you can wander out the 25 feet to your mailbox and pick it up at least every other day.  If your box is full to overflowing she either has to stand there trying to cram one more piece of mail in, or she has to take time to pull out all your mail, bundle it up and leave a note that your box is full and you must come to the post office to pick it up - which will probably make you cranky as well.  Either way - it takes time she doesn't have.  
• Don't send your children to get the mail from the carrier.
• First - it's against the rules to give it to them.  Second - it's dangerous.  Mail trucks are bigger than children.  They can get squished. 
• Keep your dog away from me unless I indicate I am interested in meeting your dog.  
• I love dogs.  Love them.  But dogs don't always like mail carriers.  If I get bit the USPS considers it my fault and I can get fired.  Really.   I admit - I can't resist puppies.  I'm a sucker.  But I've been met at a mailbox by a child with a big snarling dog she couldn't control.  I backed up to the truck and told her I would not deliver her mail if she and the dog didn't leave.  I'm sure I'm now considered the cranky mail lady but I don't care.  
• If there is anyway to avoid it don't park in front of the mailbox.
• I know there are times when you can't help it but if you can not do it, don't do it. If you HAVE to park in front of the mail box, leave enough room for your carrier to get between the car and the mailbox.  The other day I had to almost sit on the hood of a car in order to get myself to the box.  I'm certain the owner of that car would complain loudly about butt prints or accidental scrapes should I cause damage.  I'd really rather not touch your dirty car, and I'd certainly like to not be responsible for a scratch or dent on your precious vehicle.
• Teach your children not to play around mail trucks. 
• A few weeks ago I had a 7 year old following the truck on his bicycle.  I stopped, he didn't and he slammed into the back of my truck.  Fortunately he wasn't seriously hurt and we both learned a lesson.  Now I scream hysterically at all children within 500 feet of the truck:  "KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!!!!"   (not really but I thought it sounded dramatic..)
• If your mail is in a cluster box - pick it up - and pick up your parcels too!!
• Again, your carrier has to try to cram more mail in your mailbox - but at a cluster box, she is also trying NOT to drop everyone else's mail.  Her arms are full and if it's raining she has no place to put the other mail down while she tries to fit more mail in your box and protect all the mail from getting soaking wet, using her body as a shield.  Pick it up!  If your cluster box has a parcel locker and you don't pick up your parcel - that locker is not available for your neighbor.  If we get to the box and there is no room for a parcel - we often have to walk back to the house (or u-turn and drive back) which takes time and we leave the parcel on the porch - a potential security risk.  Be thoughtful of your neighbors.
• Don't over share... and put on a stupid shirt  (unless you are truly awesome shirtless - then I don't mind so much)
• Yes, I've been regaled with stories you wouldn't believe by shirtless, pot bellied men.  I've been told stories by women who must think I'm their therapist.  Absolutely say hi, be friendly, but until we know each other well enough to go out and have a drink or too, please don't tell me about your impotence or marital problems.
• Teach your children not to tell strangers (even the mail "man") that they are home alone. 
• I've gone to houses with certified letters only to have a child say they were home alone.  I always take the opportunity to tell them not to tell me that!  Maybe it's because I'm in a small town but it just doesn't make sense to me.  Safety first!
• Don't ask us to not deliver "junk" mail.
• We can't censor your mail, and that is what it amounts to.  Absolutely feel free to complain to us about it.  I totally get it and I'm there with you.  But I get paid to deliver it and I have to. If you really don't want the mail you get, contact the sender or get yourself on the "no junk mail" list.  However - keep in mind that junk mail pays our wages.  Without it, we don't get paid - or worse, rates would have to go up in order to pay us.
• Don't point out how late your carrier is.
• She knows.  She's quite possibly nearly sick to her stomach over how late she is.  I have to be back to the office by 5:30.  Period.  The out going mail is picked up at 5:30 and if I miss the 5:30 pick up the boss has to drive the outgoing mail to Bellingham or worse, all the way to Seattle.  I have had to abandon mail delivery, finish the route just picking up out going mail, get it back to the post office and then go finish delivering mail. It's not fun and I often am on the verge of tears by the time I'm nearing the end.  Please don't make me cry.

Those are my complaints and tips and I feel better having vented.   Now - here are some helpful tips

• Wave!  We like to wave.  We are in your neighborhood every day.  We know a lot about your lives (even when you don't over share)  We know when you refinance your house, when a significant other moves out, or moves in.  We know when your children are preparing for college, we know when you are getting married.  We know your patterns.  We might be the first one to discover a problem, or a burglar.  We are trustworthy and we care about you.  If you pick up your mail every day - and all of a sudden you don't - and you live alone we get worried and we come and knock on your door.
• Go ahead and chat with us.  It's part of what I enjoy about this job.. but if I'm running late, which you kindly don't point out, don't hold me prisoner.  Let me get going.
• On a really hot day, I mean, sweltering, sidewalk egg-frying, sun-burning, forest fire days, leave a bottle of ice water in the mail box.  That would be delightful!

I'm done now and I feel better.  Have a lovely day!

Granny Snatcher, Boxcar.... Room of Doom!

One of the things I've wanted to do for YEARS is go white water rafting.  A few months ago Groupon (don't you just LOVE Groupon??) offered a white water rafting trip for 1/2 price on the Deschutes river in Maupin, Oregon.  Without a second thought I grabbed and convinced 5 other people to go on this adventure with me.

It was just a 1/2 day trip and we scheduled it for this past Saturday.  Leaving for the weekend isn't so easy for us anymore.  We had to make arrangements for alpaca and goat babysitters, we had to leave instructions for duck, goose, dog, cat and chicken care.  We had to water the garden, feed the creatures, clean the stalls, pack the car, pack our clothes, and put away our inter stellar transport ship...  We had a Friday morning, 10:00 am target departure time and managed to pull out just after noon.

Then we hit Seattle traffic.  It took us three hours to get from the north side of Seattle to the south side of Tacoma.  Normally a trip that takes less than an hour.  We finally rolled into our campsite about 9:30.  Our friends were already there and we quickly set up our tent and blew up our air mattress.  We visited for awhile and went to bed.  A totally useless effort.  We were staying in a river rafting camp ground.  It was a primitive campground to say the least.  There were eight port-a-potties at one end, a hose at the other, and about 50 tents with people all high on adrenaline (and who knows what!) eager to start their river adventure. Partying went on until 2:00 am.  Hoots, hollers and music filled the air.  Our air mattress went flat well before the partying ended.  Sleep was elusive at best.

Finally - it was time to hit the river.  And hit the river we did.  Our trip involved class 3 and 4 rapids with such fun names as Granny Snatcher, Boxcar, Oak Springs, AC/DC, Devil's Hole and the dreaded Room of Doom.  Our guide, Justin, briefed us on proper safety and paddling instructions and off we went.

The scenery was breathtaking.  Unfortunately there was no time to take photos.  There were other rafters on the river and there is a certain amount of rivalry.  Serious splashing of rival boats and rival companies was required.  In the slower patches of river we would try to sneak up, nonchalantly like and then WHAM water was the weapon and there was unlimited ammunition!  We rammed other boats and taunted them mercilessly.

We got wet - and then some.  On the slower sections we got out and swam. The smaller rapids we were allowed to "ride the bull" - one person would sit on the bow of the boat and hang on for dear life.  The class III rapids were exciting and plentiful.  The trip had one class IV rapid.  Before we went down it were pulled over to the side and were given special, specific, instructions.  What would happen, what we would experience and what we needed to do to get out alive.

We did an excellent job!  It was exciting and exhilarating and we all came out alive.  Wet, but alive and still on the boat!  Justin broke his paddle but man it was fun!

After we made it through the rapid we pulled over to an eddy and watched the next raft come down.  That raft got into trouble.  They made it down but the paddlers weren't able to get out of the suction of the river, they spiraled around the drop in a most dreadful manner.  Justin said, "Oh.. they are in the room of doom.  That's bad, watch this!"

Here's a photo.  That's the guide going over the back, if you look closely you can see the foot of one ejected rafter, in the air around the middle of the photo.  All together they lost three rafters.  Justin sent us paddling and we managed to rescue one, two more were pulled out just a bit farther by a safety line.

A little farther down the river was a stretch that we could ride down, sans raft.  We were told we could just jump out of the boat and ride the rapids. Body surf, in a way.  After that stretch we had to get back in because the river got quite rough again.  Two of our crew did it and then climbed back in the boat.  As we were preparing for the rougher section we ran across a person continuing to ride the rapids, without a boat.  Justin called over to him, "Were you planning on riding the lower elevator??"  The guy said no, he'd lost his kayak up above and couldn't do anything.  So we paddled over to him, pulled him in the boat just in time, ran the rapids and saved yet another human life!  We let him out just past the rapids and sent him hiking back up stream to find his kayak.

We are already planning to go again.  I'm keeping my eyes on the groupons.  I've researched other rafting trips, down the Rogue River, Snake River, Nooksack.. they are all over.   I want to do them all.  And I think I'll join the late night revelry.  I can hoot and holler with the best of them...

Betty Botta bought some butter

Betty Botta bought some butter;

"But," said she, "this butter's bitter!

If I put it in my batter

It will make my batter bitter.

But a bit o´ better butter

Will but make my batter better."

Then she bought a bit o´ butter

Better than the bitter butter,

Made her bitter batter better.

So ´twas better Betty Botta

bought a bit o´ better butter.

Every now and then I have to pause and reflect on the position I find myself in and I have to say out loud, "Thank you."  I try not to pause and reflect in public places because most people don't understand why I'm talking to myself and they tend to swing wide around me at the grocery store and paint shop.  They stare at me in my car as I have entire conversations with myself about how grateful I am.  Perhaps though, they might think I'm talking on a bluetooth cell phone and I'm just imagining their reaction.

I have a job that I don't absolutely hate any more.  I work one day a week but have opportunity to work more, but I don't HAVE to work more than I want to.  I get to play with goats and alpacas.  I get to spin, weave and knit, when I want to.  I get to bake and cook as much as I want to, but not more than that.  I get to make soap and butter, beef jerky, jam, jelly, pickles and more.   I get to do all these things because I want to.  I do not have to grow my own food, make my own soap and butter and such just to survive.  Deep inside I'm certain I would not enjoy these things nearly as much if I HAD to do them or starve.

I love to tour historic houses.  For some reason they really spark my imagination.  There is an historic house in Ferndale called Hovander Homestead.   We toured it a few years ago and It was fascinating.  The kitchen was equipped with all sorts of appliances from "the day,"  There was a wood-fired oven with a hot water reservoir attached, an ice box,  and a butter churn.  The butter churn was a mason jar butter churn that totally intrigued me.  For two years I've been keeping my eyes open at second-hand stores and estate sales hoping to find one of these treasures.  I finally spotted one - but they wanted $100.00 for it!  I sure didn't want it THAT  bad.  Then as luck would have it, our local newspaper had a story about making your own butter using a Kitchenaid mixer.  I already have one of those!!

So I bought cream from the local dairy.

It's really good cream.  I mean, the cream started out so thick it needed to be coerced out of the bottle:

Once I got it out of the bottle I mixed it.  A lot.

The directions said to add really cold water and knead the butter under the water.  I immediately thought I had ruined it.  The nearly-solid-almost-butter turned into a gushy soupy mess.  I would have taken a picture but both of my hands were covered with goupy soupy ick and I couldn't pick up the camera.  

Needless to say, I was very disappointed, but kept working with it, refusing to give up.  My perseverance paid off and I eventually ended up with butter.  Real butter!

I gotta come clean.

I'm absolutely loving having goats.  I have, indeed, become that crazy goat lady.  I'm a lost cause. In two short weeks I've taught my goats to come when I call.  They seem to love me back.  Peter says the sound of their bleats changes when they see me.  It's like they start hollering "Mom!!  Hey!! MOM!!!"

Een likes to nibble.  She even likes to nibble toes.  It tickles.  A lot.

Just for fun, we are babysitting a third goat, Een and Twee's sister/cousin.  She needs to be weaned and had no where to go while she gets use to her new diet.  So now we also have Sprout.  Three recently weaned kids means there is lots of milk.   A goat shop needs soap to sell and this gave me the opportunity to try my hand at making it.

I found a recipe for oatmeal and honey goats milk soap.  I've been wanting to make soap since I first dreamed of My Little Goat Shop.  I shopped second hand stores to find a used enamel pot and other equipment, I borrowed a food scale from the freighbor and I gathered the ingredients.

I figure my first batch of hand made soap cost about $50.00.  If I sell each bar for $3.00 I can actually make a profit.  Not a big profit but a profit none-the-less.

Part of soap making requires a lot of stirring.  A friend came over to help stir - with water (just water!) in hand.  It was hot and she had worked all day.  She was such a good sport.

I had built a mold out of wood and lined it with a black garbage bag.  Then I looked at the amount of soap in the pot and the huge size of the mold.  We decided my mold was not going to work - unless we wanted 1/4 inch bars of soap... so we scrambled for a smaller container and lined it with a Dead Frog Brewery bag.

Then we poured the soap into the mold.

By nightfall the soap had gotten quite firm.

Today I cut it into bars and now I have to wait and let it cure for 3 to 6 weeks.  I don't do wait well - but if I don't wait the lye in the soap will eat my face off.  No one wants that.  Ouch.

Hippy Dippy Earth Mother

Today was my second day off in a row.  Yesterday I spent recuperating from a week-long vacation coverage and hanging with the kids.  I downloaded a couple books - one on goats and one fiction book and I took my iPad out to the blackberries and read, and played with goats, alpacas and dog.  It was lovely.

Today I worked toward becoming a hippy-dippy-earth-mother.  I made two loaves of bread.  I was testing bread machines.  The machine on the right is mine, the one on the left is my mother-in-law's. I used the exact same recipe and ingredients.  It appears her bread machine does a better job.  Now I can blame all my failed loaves of bread on the machine. Yay.

I also went to the grocery store.  I looked at pork sausage and was utterly appalled at the ingredients list.  Corn Syrup? Dextrose?  BHA??  Propyl Gallate??  What the heck!?!?

Since I have my brand new meat grinder attachment I decided to try my hand at making my very own sausage.  I bought a big "family pack" of pork chops and divvied it up into portions.  Some pork chops I left as pork chops - but the rest I ground up.  Then I added onion, garlic, pepper, chili powder, kosher salt, thyme and a few other ingredients.  All things I know how to pronounce.  I ran it through the grinder a few more times and produced a fine home made pork sausage.  I'm quite pleased with myself.  

The goats are doing well.  They explored their future pasture today.  Eventually they will be hanging with the alpacas in their pasture, but right now the alpacas are very curious and very big and scary to little baby goats.  That meant the goats got to play awhile with out the alpacas.  They ran and jumped and spun and had a ball.  

Just to make you jealous, here is a glimpse into my new morning routine:

My little GOAT shop

Just to get it out of the way - my new meat grinder, Kitchenaid attachment arrived.  I shall never buy ground beef again!  The process was efficient and non-revulsive and the end product was far better in texture, fat content and possible mystery ingredients than anything you can buy.

Now!  To the real story!  A couple weeks, while I was at work, Peter had gone to visit some friends of ours,  Angela and Mark, the people we got Chupa and Cadbury from.  The very people that had the two baby goats I was trying not to fall in love with.  He came home with 6 Muscovy ducklings and 2 goslings.  Because you can never have too many ducks and geese!

Coincidentally, that very afternoon Angela posted on Facebook that she had sold the two baby goats.  I told Peter and said it was just as well.  I wasn't ready for goats and then I laughed and said, "YOU didn't buy them did you?"  He looked me straight in the eyes and said:  "No."  I was actually fine with someone else buying them because I'm NOT ready for goats and if they found a good home somewhere then I didn't have to work so hard not to get them.

Fast forward to yesterday.  I was doing my job, putting mail in a neighborhood mail box, while the people in the house right in front of the box were unceremoniously ripping out about 6 feet of very crowded iris and dumping in the garden recycle box.  In horror I asked why and was told the owner just didn't like iris.  Crazy I'm telling you!  I love iris. They are some of my favorite spring flowers.  I was told I could have them and I made arrangements to come back after work to fetch them.

When I got home from work I went in search of Peter so he could go with me to retrieve my salvaged flowers.  I wasn't sure where to start.  We do have acreage and he could be hiding in a thousand different places.  As I cast my glance northward I saw Peter's mother traipsing across the tundra toward the Alpaca pasture.  She never goes out there.  There had to be a reason, most likely in my mind was that she TOO was looking for Peter and had probably spotted him.  So I followed her.  As I rounded the bend by the blackberries there were Peter and his mom watching  Een (Ayn) and Twee (Tway) feast on the blackberries.  He HAD bought them.  He HAD lied to me about it.  Hmm... now I have to be suspicious of  the things he tells me.

Hey!  Are you our new mom?

Goats like to climb on things

Chupa has to investigate her new neighbors

Een and Twee are LaMancha/Boer crosses and are about 3 months old.  They are not fiber goats.  I have alpaca for fiber.  These are going to be milk goats. LaMancha goats are easy to pick out because they have tiny little ears. Boer goats are often meat goats - but we will NOT be eating these goats or any of their offspring.  Sometime this winter we will send the girls back to Angela and Mark's for a "date night" with their little buck, Caspar the friendly goat - then about 5 months after that we'll have even MORE goats.  Sigh.

Things are coming together...

 

The daily grind

We should live off the land!  Says I.
I need to go out and slaughter a pig!  Says I.

All this junk that get's put in our food.  It's just crazy.  I don't want to eat chemicals and hormones and alien babies!  I don't think the time will come when I can ever slaughter a pig.  Or a chicken for that matter - but it doesn't mean I don't want to take what steps I can to eat healthier.  We don't eat packaged food around here (except on very rare occasions), we don't have a microwave and we grow much of our own produce.

I decided to start the journey to eventually slaughtering a pig with baby steps by grinding my own ground beef.  Ground beef at the grocery store was $4.99 a pound.  Roast was $5.49 a pound and buy one get one free.  That made quality roast about $2.75 a pound.  Roast was much cheaper than hamburger and I knew additional fat and gunk was not being added.  It still was not grass-fed beef - but I had to start somewhere.

So I set up the grinder:

 I cut a piece off the roast:

I tossed it into the grinder opening and cranked on the handle for about 5 minutes.  The grinder slipped and shifted.  The meat squished and squashed.   Stuff oozed and goozed.

My result:

The process was totally off-putting.  The results were most unappetizing.  Plus the labor-intensiveness of the process did not seem at all a good investment.

I might just turn vegetarian.  Except I like bacon.  And I like ribs.  And I like fried chicken.  Perhaps I need a newer grinder - this one was from the 40's or 50's.  I need something electric and with a tad less personal involvement because this did not work for me.  In fact - I just went to Amazon and ordered an attachment for my KitchenAid.

I should have the attachment in about three days.  I'll report back on how it goes with this tool...Wish me luck.

I enjoyed work today.

But don't tell anyone!

After all the complaining and moaning and groaning I've done I'm loathe to admit it, but today was fun.  Today was the first day I drove a for-real rural route.  My regular route, and the other one I'm trained on are called rural routes but they are in new subdivisions (that most certainly were farmland not that long ago).  I drive from neighborhood mail box unit to neighborhood mail box unit.  Because the Post Office likes to have  all their substitute carriers cross-trained on all the routes I was forced into training and delivering on this route this week, Taking a third of it each day.  This route is 28 miles long.  The first two days I was delivering in subdivisions but today I took to the open countryside.

The weather wasn't REALLY nice today but the rain held off and I got to take a drive in the country.  I delivered mail to dairy farms and blueberry farms and assorted other farms.  I even delivered mail to my own house!  I saw horses and sheep and cows.  Lots of cows.  I saw one cow licking it's newborn calf.  I had to stop the mail truck and admire the spectacle.  I talked to the cows and horses too ~ but they didn't talk back.  Too bad, I bet they'd have fascinating stories to tell.

For those of you who don't know how close to the border I really am.  I delivered mail to this mail box today:

The road on the right is in Canada, the one on the left is in the US.  Only a ditch separates the two.  Don't get any ideas though - there are cameras all up and down this stretch of the border to keep out those pesky aliens!  I even delivered to the border crossing station.  They certainly seem to be more pleasant to the mail carrier than they are to travelers...

The one bad part about this route is that a portion of the rural part is on a busy highway with speeds around 50 miles an hour.  It is two lanes and has no shoulders, with ditches next to the highway.  One wrong move and... SPLASH!    It was a little nerve wracking to be stopping to deliver mail along that stretch.  There was no way possible to completely get off the road.  I just kept hoping people were paying attention to the little mail truck with flashing strobe lights.

Welcome to Sharontopia!

I lay claim to this 264 square feet, formerly known as the "Future Fiber Studio" in the name of Sharon, the Queen.  I name this space: "SharonTopia."

Visitors are absolutely welcome in SharonTopia. I shall have an open border policy. There will be strict import laws, however.  Anything brought into SharonTopia to stay shall have to be approved by The Queen.  Placement of imported items to SharonTopia must pass a strict approval process.

SharonTopia is a work in progress.  The Future Fiber Studio was a dream.  SharonTopia is real.  It is now. It is there.

Here's the scoop.  I got married a couple years ago and now share my life with someone else.  That someone else, who I adore, seems to think he rules the roost.  I'm (mumble mumble mumble) years old and for most of those years I have been the roost ruler.  I have been master of my domain, Queen of my realm and the final word on anything involving anything around me.  Not having that control has been a frustrating element in my life for the last couple years.  We live in a house smaller than I'm used to and Peter has stuff.  He has lovely stuff, and I'm not complaining about his stuff, but it just doesn't fit and I've slowly gotten squeezed out of the house.  Originally our home office had two desks, one of which was mine.  We still have two desks in there, but his files and papers have slowly migrated over.  I had my spinning and weaving stuff tucked into the pretty spare bedroom, but now his stuff is sneaking in there.  He lives here too and he has every right to put things wherever he wants.  My problem is that I can no longer find any of my things - and when I can - I usually have to move 'stuff' to get to them.

Before we got married, even before he came back into my life I stated loudly and proudly that I wanted to live in a house that had enough room, or as little stuff, that I could ride my bicycle in it.  Clutter makes me crazy!  I want to be organized and clutter-free.  I NEED to be organized and clutter-free.

Saturday I planted my flag in SharonTopia.  The future fiber studio needed doors, but to do the job properly, the floors and sheet rock should go up first.  But before sheet rock, insulation needed to be installed, but before insulation wiring needed to be added.  That was the problem.  Although I can do insulation, sheet rock and flooring, I needed Peter to do the wiring.  So - toss out the future fiber studio and embrace SharonTopia.  A less-than-perfect but perfectly serviceable world I can control.  I decided to install my interior french doors.  Peter was busy installing a pump and filter in the fish pond so I snuck off to SharonTopia and started cleaning, straightening and installing the doors.  I wrestled them into place, and tacked them up.  Then I found out that there was a board fastened to the bottom of the doors to keep them from opening.  I removed my temporary nails and tried to tip the doors.  Unfortunately, they weren't fastened at the top so the  doors started to separate and pull the frame apart.  I stood there holding up the doors and keeping them together and unable to move.  I was in a pickle.  I managed to get them to lean against the doorway and propped them up on blocks, then I tried to use a hammer to remove the board attached on the bottom of the doors.  Problem was, it was screwed in, not nailed.  Sigh.  My only choice was to lay the doors on the floor.  I started to move them into the position to lay them down when one door flew open, the frame twisted, and I was again left stranded holding my doors at a wonky angle.  Unable to put them down, unable to lift them back up.  This time I was truly stuck.

I stood pondering my predicament for several minutes when Peter poked his nose through the doorway.

Our conversation went something like this:

He, very nonchalantly: Whatcha doin?
Me:  Nothing
He:  Are you installing the doors?
Me:  Apparently not.
He:  You know it would be better if we installed the walls and floors first.
Me:  I realize that.  (about ready to buckle from the weight of the door)
He:  Need some help?
Me:  No.  I'm fine.
He:  Are you sure?
Me:  Well, maybe I could use a little help getting this thing off the bottom...

Peter helped me get the board off the bottom and then helped me maneuver the doors in to the doorway opening  and left me to my own devices (good man!)

So here are photos of SharonTopia as it stands today..  I am happy has a clam for electricity via extension cords, walls made of boards leaning against the studs and peeling floors.  It is mine.  I shall soon remove the outdoor furniture (for it never to return) and I will make other changes as I see fit but for now it is perfect.