Fickle me

Just when I am fairly sure that Spring (with her dogwoods and bluebonnets) is my favorite season, along comes Summer with hayfields that need mowing and blue skies that fade with the heat. And not long after I convince myself that it is surely the fortitude of wildflowers who thrive in a solar-powered Texas summer that deserves the most respect, the squadrons of giant dragonflies that patrol the green meadow in formation seal the deal. Summer rocks.

But when the heat soars and seems indefinite, my affection for summer wanes. I long for chili suppers and flannel sheets. Then I'm sure it's the relief of fall temperatures that make it the best time of year. And to confirm this notion, I think about fresh baked breads and pies and the warmth of a well-used kitchen.

Outside my kitchen window there is the briefest moment in time when all those little baby leaves whose birth I applauded in the spring will slowly go from aged green to spun gold, ruby red and eggplant purple.

And when they collect on the ground like confetti it reminds me that summer's party is really over. It's time to go inside, build a fire and read a good book.

Soon there will Christmas cards to write and twinkly lites to hang. Shiny papers and festive bows will conceal little girl dreams and little boy toys. But for now ..

.. there are cobalt skies, sweater mornings and a clarity in the air that is peculiar to this season. Thanksgiving wreaths to make and pumpkin scented candles to pull out. Cinnamon toast. Hot chocolate. A weinie roast over an open fire. A deer snorts in the woods. That squirrel is burying nuts again .. and yaupon berries are turning fiery red.

All this and more makes me nearly positive (almost quite sure!) that it really is this time of year that is simply the best.

The Fifth Instar

Yesterday Jane Seymour came running towards us with something huge in her mouth. She didn't want to share with the other chickens and she didn't really want us to investigate either but we cornered her and realized it was a huge green caterpillar.

Later, Big John was staring intently at something on the ground and I went to see what it was. (As you know, we're easily entertained here in DRH.) It was a another big green caterpillar which I rescued from certain death by picking him up on a stick and removing him from the chicken dinner table.

Before depositing him way out in the woods, I showed him to Dave and we talked about what he could be. Well, my instincts were right. (I love when that happens!) And, thanks to the miracle of "google" .. I learned he was a Luna Moth caterpillar. And he was the "fifth instar" or the final version of the caterpillar that spins the cocoon and overwinters in the leaf litter before emerging next spring as a beautiful moth!

I was really glad to see him (and sorry his friend became a snack for Jane!) because we enjoy seeing Luna moths in the spring here in DRH. There is a great article at wikipedia about Luna moths with lots of interesting photos. You can find it here.

And last spring I did another blog entry about our luna moths here in DRH, you can find it here.

Male Luna Moth, March, 2009

Two trees

You see these two trees? You've probably seen them before. I take lots of pictures of the meadow and they live on the southern edge. They are among my favorite trees here in DRH.

They're eastern red cedar trees and they range all the way from Canada to down here in the south. This is the kind of cedar used for making cedar closets and cedar chests. The wood is very aromatic.

The one on the left is male. He produces yellow pollen in the spring which gives folks who have allergies fits. His wife (who is my favorite)is on his left shoulder. She produces beautiful blue berries at this time of year that make me think of Christmas.

I just thought I would share that with you.

Chicken feathers on the hoof.

Dave and I have started sitting outside each evening right at dusk with guns just hoping that *$#@$& bobcat risks coming in close for another chicken dinner.

We've lost another two hens in the past couple of days. He's a gluttonous SOB! But he doesn't know who he's messin' with. Now that he's been seen, identified and caught chicken stealin' his days are numbered. And hopefully ... in single digits.

Zeus and Big John are on high alert!

But last evening, I was armed with both gun (for the bobcat) and my camera (just in case I saw a deer or something pretty to share on DRH). I decided to snap some photos of my beautiful chickens and their beautiful feathers (you know WHILE they're still wearin' them!), and I thought maybe you'd like to see just how pretty chicken feathers can be. They are a sight to behold ..

This is Big John, he's a Silver-laced Wyandotte

And these are Zeus' tail feathers, He's a Pale Brahma and weighs about 12 lbs!

They both have these long, fringy epaulets on their backs. Just beautiful.

This is my remaining Partridge Rock Hen

And this is one of two Production Reds
(and they're both named "Henny Penny").

And this is a Dominique or Dominiker.

And this is a Silver-laced Wyandotte Hen.
They are pretty but lack a personality.
(In other words .. they don't like me to hold them.)

More of Zeus ..

...and again

And more of Big John's metallic green tail feathers.

Both he and Zeus have them ..

And this is the south end of a north-bound rooster ..
but isn't it fluffy like a baby chicken? Who knew?

See, you learn something new every single day here in DRH.

**Dang it! This was supposed to post on Thursday morning in the wee hours while you were still sleepin' and dreaming of pancakes and chocolate milk for breakfast. I don't know what happened. Oh well - just chalk it up to me being an over-achiever. Sigh. It's a cross I bear ....[grin} ***

Hammerin' Hermits! It's a Chickie Palace!

Today is a new beginning; a good day in DRH. The Palatial Poultry Palace is back under construction.

We started the chicken house/hurricane shelter (more about that later) back in April when the chickies would fit in a cardboard box. Then it got unbearably hot - just too hot to work outside - so we stalled for a while.

Some dear friends loaned us a small coop (which I dubbed the "FEMA Coop") and Dave built a similar coop (which I dubbed the "ZeN HeN PeN") so the stress was off. That's not a good thing, in this case, because Dave works better under pressure. (Doncha honey?) Anyway, now that the chickies are suffering predator anhilation, we are back in our groove. It's nothing but hammerin' hermit heinies today and until it's dried in. (Isn't that right, honey?)

So the thing I have noticed about Dave is that he is pretty much an "all or nothing" kind of guy. And this Palatial Poultry Palace is a good example of his ... uh ... dedication to detail. Yep, that's the ticket! It's built on blocks with 4" x 8" beams and 16" centers. The plywood floors (Daddy's chicken houses were always dirt floors!) are 3/4". I've already told Mama that if we're gone sometime and a big wind comes up ... GO GET IN THE CHICKEN HOUSE! Our house might blow away but the chicken coop will be here long after we're gone!

Yes it has windows. And yes, they are going to have curtains on them ... OH shut up you already knew I was weird!

And no, you aren't seeing things. That is a vinyl tile floor. We read (this is a highly researched project, you know!) that it was easier to clean tiled or linoleum floors than it was to clean bare plywood. Cleaniness is next to Godliness - even in the chicken house.

So, up until this part it wasn't too bad .. but getting those trusses in place nearly gave me a heart-attack. I was sore all OVER.

And here is where we disagreed a little (more). I wanted to finish the inside stuff before the walls went up because it was so damn hot. I won. So we wired the wall separating the feed room from the chicken part .. put in the roost, built some nesting boxes, etc. It was hot but no hermits were harmed by heat strokes in the process.

That old blue screen door is one I have wagged around for a decade and a half. I got it in a painting job I did in Old Town Spring a long, long time ago. I knew I'd find something to do with it someday .. and I DID!

The exterior door is one we found in Dave's Dad's old shed. It was on Dave's grandfather's house in Port Arthur. (Does this mean our chicken palace might qualify for a historic marker? Must check into that ...) I love it very much. Dave's grampa had chickens so I don't think he's at all offended that his door is now on the chicken palace.

So, there you go. This is what I will be up to for the next few days or so. We're going to get the roof on .. get the palace all dried in and and ready for occupation so the chickies won't freeze this winter. Once that is done, we'll build the exterior completely enclosed run so the chickies won't be eaten alive by some blood thirsty four-legged neighbor.

Eventually .. it will have a porch .. and a deck .. and lights (so we can pipe in music). Okay, I'm kidding about the music.

You may not hear from me for a while. I might be too sore to type.

Just know that your invitation for the dedication ceremony of the DRH Palatial Poultry Palace will soon be in the mail. Heck .. who knows? It might even be TELEVISED!

What Dorothy said ...

Last light on a sweet gum

I rarely leave DRH. And .. it's been pointed out by more than one person that maybe that's not such a good thing. I take all that kidding in stride because anyone who knows me, knows how happy this place and this life makes me. It's like that satisfied feeling after a good, hot Sunday meal when your belly is full and you feel a nap coming on. A deep, abiding feeling of contentment.

But, having spent a few days away from home this weekend, I can see the merit of actually putting on shoes and leaving for a few days now and again. I missed Dave (and Maggie, Sassy and the Chicken Gang) but I had a great visit with dear friends, lots of good conversation, Starbucks! and even a candlelit steak dinner. (No worries - Dave is fully aware and my dinner companion was not Tom Selleck or anything.)

It was nice to get away.

And it was nice to get home. Despite the luxurious surroundings, sumptous meals, loving friendship and bushels of laughs ... it was good to get home.

Big Bad John

Driving in yesterday I admired the sunlight in the trees (which are finally starting to turn!) and even the column of circling buzzards across the way which announced I was not in Big Town any more. The chickens all gathered around me when I stepped out of the truck. Maggie came running and Dave beamed when he saw me. His hugs felt extra warm and strong.

It's good to know that I can leave from time to time. To dust off my hermit clothes and get gussied up, drink wine around a beautiful table with even more beautiful people, to remember my artist side and enjoy a tasty cup of coffee with an amazing friend. But it's also good to know that waiting for me are all the appointments of Heaven: no shoes, my own bed, my own Charming Hermit and all the things I love about DRH. Dorothy was right. There really is no place like Home.

Smilin' Maggie

BOOoooooooo!

Hermit Dave and I wish you a safe and happy candyfest. But take it easy. There are no toothless hermits in DRH!!!

Serial Killer Identified.

"BOBCAT!"

Dave yelled as he ran into the office where I was working, grabbed his pistol and ran for the front door with me on his heels. I knew immediately what he meant. We'd been wondering what gluttonous varmit has been preying our precious banties in broad daylight .. within mere yards of our house. I never dreamed a bobcat would be so brazen. But I guess all the easy targets were too hard to pass up.

So when Dave and I hotfooted it out the front door and around to the front of the house I was shocked beyond belief to see that the bobcat was still there! He had a dead Mo in his mouth(one of the two silky banties, one-half of the Mo and Ron odd couple) and when Dave fired the first shot the bobcat took off at mach 5, running across our line of vision, across the front yard and headed into the woods and down the hill just northeast of the meadow. Dave fired four times but apparently missed each time. It's hard to hit a blur, especially when you're completely shocked by the target in your sights. The shotgun is out now .. he won't miss again.

The other surprising thing was that the big chickens, who were only yards away from the whole attack and saw it, didn't seem particularly flustered by the killing .. or the shooting! Maybe they were in shock. I was.

So was Dave. He'd been in the livingroom watching out the windows and he actually saw the silkies running and then he saw why. He saw the bobcat take Mo and he said that death was instanteous. When the bobcat bit down on Mo's neck I guess he severed the spinal column. Small consolation but at least I know now that Little Girl, Zuni and Blue Boy didn't suffer a lingering death.

It hasn't been that long ago I was thrilled with having seen a bobcat here in DRH. Now this turn of events has me wishing it dead. I have mixed feelings about that but there's no turning back. I AM A CHICKEN RANCHER and I'll be damned if I'm raising chickens for bobcat dinner.

Attitude adjustment

Today has dawned a bit dreary. I know better than to complain about the rain because it can be a rare commodity so far wiser to just embrace it. (Even when it's been raining for the better part of two weeks!)

Dreary day in DRH

I tried to get some shots of the leaves that are starting to turn, but the lighting was really messing with me so I gave up and decided, instead, to share some of Dave's photos from the past. He's a wizard. So here's a few of his bird portraits. Have a good day and remember to express your gratitude. It's all a gift.

All of it. Even the parts we don't like.

Goldfinch and Chipping Sparrows
All Photos by Dave

Look at the one in flight!

Blue Jay

Male cardinal

Do you know how hard it is to photograph a Chickadee?

Chipping Sparrow

Chipping sparrows & Goldfinch

Titmouse

Sad News From Dirt Road Heaven

I think whoever said "It is far better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" never lost their three prized banties to a mystery serial killer. These are sad, sad days in DRH.

Sunday was a beautiful day here in the woods. But apparently the darkest of evil dares to show its face even in the brightest of sunshine. That evening, when Dave and I went out to tuck in the chickies, Little Girl did not come to roll call. And, as was her habit, she hadn't tucked herself in the Zen Hen Pen either. I immediately went looking and, there within full view of our livingroom windows and right beside the woodpile, I found a pile of her beautiful feathers. The feathers I had stroked and admired so often. It wasn't any gorier than that - just feathers. Whatever took her apparently plucked a great deal of feathers on the spot. What creature would be so brazen to do this within 30 yards of the house in broad daylight?

Little Girl

I tried to accept that it was survival of the fittest but my heart was heavy when I went to bed that night.

The next morning I was reluctant to let them all out again but I knew it was cruel to keep them penned up in their coop. Besides Monday morning dawned to thunderous symphonies and rain was expected all day. The chickens would spend most of their day under the deck. And Dave was making regular circles (with his pistol on his hip) eyes watchful for whatever had killed our Little Girl. She was his favorite, too.

But his surveillance would prove futile. Last evening when we went out to gather all the poultry there were a couple missing.

My Beautiful Boys

The big chickens are still in the FEMA coop loaned to us by dear friends sympathizing with my homeless chicken dilemma. They are good about going in with only a little coaching. The banties, along with Yellow and Jane Seymour live in the Zen Hen Pen that Dave built.

But last night .. there was no Blue Boy and no Zuni. Our search came up empty. No banty boys and no remains. They were just G O N E.

Intellectually, I know they are 'just' chickens. Logically, I have known all along that free-ranging chickens in this part of the world would provide a possible banquet for the area wildlife.

Baby Zuni

Baby Little Girl & Baby Blue Boy

But losing my three favorite little guys in the space of a day has left me wishing I'd never started this adventure. It's like I've been a bad mother and now my babies have suffered from my irresponsibility. I know most people won't understand.

What do you suppose they were discussing?

But I'm here to tell you that love comes in all kinds of shapes and sizes. It even comes in the form of little chickens with feathers on their feet.

Where do I apply for Muleskinner school?

Not far from where our beloved dirt road meets the pavement, if you turn right and head to town, you'll pass a ranch on the left that has the most beautiful Santa Gertrudis cattle. They also have a couple of llamas that I always look for in the pasture .. but what I enjoy most are their mules. I never really thought much of mules until recently but now I find myself wishing mightily for one of my own. A great big, gentle old mule. (A four legged one, I mean.)

I grew up down the road, in Aldine, from one of the kindest, most loving families who had two daughters. They were older than me but always treated me like their adored little sister. And ... they had a HORSE. Her name was Dolly and sometimes they let me ride her and, for this little cowgirl, that was a banner day! I had boots, I had hats, I had cowgirl clothes .. all I needed was my very own horse. And, at age five, I got her.

She was a mean old nag, but I loved her. My brother named her "Mabel" .. (and this was his logic) .. because at the time there was a beer named "Black Label" with an apparently successful advertising campaign that involved whistling and the name "Mabel".

(I'm convinced there's nothing you can't
find online by 'googling'!)

The idea was, we could name her Mabel, and whistle, and she's come running. Evidently Mabel never got the memo. It didn't matter, I never learned to whistle anyway! So, Mabel the Nag was my introduction into equine ownership. And even though she bit me and kicked me and chased me, I loved her so much.

At least until I got my next horse.

And, by this time, Circle 8 rodeo had gone in next door and I was in Horse Heaven and quite sure that it was my destiny to become a famous Rodeo Queen. Well, that didn't happen but I did grow to love the smell of barns and horses and leather. And that hasn't changed much in all this time.

But I'm getting way off-track here .. so back to these mules. Every time we pass the ranch and they are in the front pastures, I just admire them so .. and drop all kinds of hints about having one to Dave who just smiles and nods and pats my hand. It's very irritating. (I'm sure he thinks this is just another of my passing fancies; some strange menopausal phase I'm entering.)

But the folks with the pretty cows and the gorgeous mules are apparently big into trail rides and they sponsor a couple every year. Last Friday as I was headed out of town for an overnight visit with Ashley & Trey, I saw the sign on the ranch road announcing 'Trail Ride Here'. Yay! I just hoped I made it home next day in time to see them as they usually come down the dirt road.

Saturday afternoon when I returned to DRH, the ranch pasture was full of fine rigs, giant horse trailers and humongous pickup trucks. I wished for the courage to go in .. introduce myself and take a million pictures and maybe get an invite to sit in a wagon. But I kept driving, sad that my lack of hearing really keeps me from doing a lot of things I'd like to do. But, after all, Dave was expecting me home.

But then, as I turned off the dirt road and into the entrance of DRH, I was surprised to see, just coming up the hill and over the creek, a big ole cowboy on a big ole mule! I'd made it home just in time to see them. I turned off the truck, pressed the emergency brake into service (Dirt Road Heaven is all uphill!) and grabbed my camera.

It was a glorious, sunny October day. Perfect for ridin' and ropin' and all manner of cowboy life. The riders and the wagons kept coming!

The mules, and there were lots of them, were decked out in the finest harness wear I've ever seen. (Granted, I haven't seen much harness wear, but these were fine!) I was amazed at the beauty and crafsmanship of the wagons, the surreys, the buggys. (I truly think, apart from the required petticoats and lack of air conditioning, I was born in the wrong century.)

So I snapped away and thought, again, how lucky I am to live in Dirt Road Heaven. It's not every day you get to have a mule parade and a jillion happy cowpokes drive by and wave.

Now. If I only I talk Dave into buying me a mule (or two ....)

Monday Thunder

I woke to thunder this morning. Colliding molecules in the sky. Seems simple enough but when you think of all the required ingredients to make rain or thunder, you realize what a miracle each rainy day is. Just one more routine thing in life that we all take for granted.

In Zuni, rain and snow are considered such blessings. Of course, living in an arid environment would make you appreciate the gift of water falling from the sky, but it's more than that. Precipitation is considered a visit from the ancestors. One of my Zuni friends remarked to me once that, while on a business trip for the tribe to Washington, DC, it suddenly started raining and everyone scurried inside, took cover, scrambled for umbrellas, overhangs, anything to stay dry in the unexpected downpour. He said, "and there I was .. in my suit .. standing on the street corner thinking how wonderful it was."

It gave me a whole new perspective to think about. How we take the storms of life for granted. Like most everyone else, I've experienced some pretty major storms in my life. Some I'd even call hurricanes. Some were Category fives! But, just like in a real storm, once the wind subsides, once the tides have gone back out to sea, once you gather the courage to clean up the debris, take stock of what is salvageable and count your blessings, often what you are left with is a better version of what you had before. Take a new picture. Look at the situation with fresh eyes.

Storms don't appear on the horizon randomly. It takes a series of events, perfectly timed, to create that chaos and energy. I don't think storms in life arrive randomly either. They are usually just the culmination of decisions, circumstance and, sometimes, a little bad luck. Often, in hindsight, we realize we probably should have seen that coming. But no worries .. "this too shall pass" and the sun will come out and what we're left with might look different but consider it an opportunity to be creative.

I've finally decided that acceptance is one of the most valuable tools in my "living life gracefully" toolbelt. Accept what is ... but always be willing to work to make it better. Don't dread the storms in life. Just find a safe place to watch the lightning until the sun comes out again. And it will ...

One word: Commitment.

Jim & Roberta Meader
10.25.2009


The Meaders

Forty years ago today my brother married his high school sweetheart, my parents gained another daughter and I got a best friend for life. Pretty big stuff, huh? (Throw in the nephew, the niece, niece-in-law, great nephew & great niece and we're talking HECK of a deal!)

In a world where forever lasts only until boredom sets in, this marriage is seasoned with the stuff that our parents and grandparents knew when they said "I do".

I'll admit I am more than a little envious since I'm a repeat offender and, even now, I am not really sure what makes a marriage last 40 years. Sense of humor comes to mind .. along with giant dollops of forgiveness, flexibility and respect. It's been a priviledge to be on the sidelines for this one.

Congratulations, Jim & Bert, here's to forty more.

Maybe she's born with it ...

... maybe it's Maybelline

Good morning hermits! Nothing like a precious calf with super-long eyelashes to start your day. (I swear I want to take a washrag to that dirty little cow-snout so I can kiss it!) Is that weird? Probably, huh?

Nothing profound to say this morning except that blogger.com seems to be having issues again. You may have accessed this post via the email link but I don't think dirtroadheaven.blogspot.com is functional. At least it isn't for me and I'm the boss of DRH, so ..... I'm pretty sure the goblins and gremlins who tend the airspace at my little acreage at blogspot.com are having a long weekend. (Starting yesterday.)

Anyway. I'm in the midst of making some changes .. so now is the perfect time to do it, right? Don't fret if you don't hear from me for a while. I'll be back as soon as all the wrinkles in dirtroadheaven.com are ironed out. I might even have to get the starch. And use the steam setting. But I promise, when it's done, we'll all have pie and coffee and sit on the deck and watch the chickens. Okay? But it's getting too cold to go barefoot, so bring some fuzzy socks.

Good morning Sun. I've missed you!