Monday, September 25, 2006, 03:50
Din-Din
We had our annual fall barbecued pork dinner at church today. (I spent part of yesterday afternoon up to my elbows in coleslaw.)
It was kind of strange, but the church dinner reminded me of craft sales I have been to lately. A slow, steady stream of people that, when it was finished, amounted to a smaller turnout than we have seen in other years.
As a consequence, we had lots of food left over. Half a roaster of homegrown sweet corn (cut off the cob and quite delicious, I must say). One whole roaster of barbecued pork. Two gallons of coleslaw. A half a roaster of potato dumplings. A smaller roaster of sauerkraut. Maybe six dozen homemade buns (also quite delicious). Three or four pies.
It's always a job to parcel out the leftover food. We were able to put some of it in the freezer to save for other events. And I think pretty much everyone who worked in the kitchen went home with something.
To tell you the truth, I'm glad *that's* over.
A Close Call -- I ran home from church this morning before we got into the thick of things for dinner (such as it was) to check on the horses and to make sure they had enough water. I had no more than turned off the main road and was driving past one particular place when a white cat ran right in front of the truck. And I mean *right* in front of the truck. She was so close that she disappeared from my line of sight under the edge of the hood.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her run across the ditch and toward the house, but I could not tell, for the life me, whether I had hit her.
All I could think of was my sister telling me about how my nephew and his wife had lost one of their kitties recently. Someone had hit the cat with a car, and while my nephew was mowing the lawn, he saw the cat's tail sticking out of the culvert by the driveway. He shut off the mower, went to investigate, and discovered she was severely injured. They took her to the vet clinic where they decided she ought to stay for a few days. They thought the cat was doing better. But then she died.
While I was checking on the horses and giving them more hay and taking Charlie for a little potty walk down the hayfield, all I could think of was the white cat.
Sooooooooo. . .on the way back to the church, I just had to stop to find out if the cat was all right.
I got out of the truck and the man and a couple of his children were out in the yard. They are a kind, compassionate, wonderful family. Lots of critters around. A big garden. They homeschool their children, and their children are as bright as all get-out.
I told them their white cat had run out in front of me and that she was so close, she had disappeared from my line of sight beneath the hood and I was wondering if she was all right.
"A white cat?" he said. "Marcia was sitting on the back step 10 minutes ago when we came outside -- just like she always does. Nothing wrong with her."
It took a few moments for the information to sink in.
And then -- the relief was enormous. I suddenly felt like maybe I needed to sit down.
"Marcia's all right?" I said.
(Marcia, no less.)
"Yes, she's fine," he said.
"Oh, good," I said. "I was really worried I had hit her. And I didn't want to have hit her and then be one of those people who didn't even bother to stop."
He assured me again that the cat was all right and thanked me for stopping to make sure the cat was all right.
I have to say -- that was the most awful feeling when the cat disappeared beneath the hood and out of my line of sight. Even though I had slammed on the brakes (and tried to hit the clutch, too, because I was driving Randy's truck and it's an automatic and doesn't have a clutch, but the force of habit made me go for the clutch) and she had run up the ditch toward the house, you just never know about things like that. . .
Sloppy Mess -- It rained Thursday evening and off and on all day Friday and Saturday. And now we've got a sloppy mess down in the horse pastures again.
Last night I thought for sure Isabelle had hurt herself badly. She came to the fence for her grain, and right by her grain bucket it is exceptionally muddy and slippery. Her feet slipped out from under her, and she ended up with one ankle knuckled over, her full weight on the ankle as she tried to get her footing on the other three feet.
For a few seconds, her head was hooked over the fence, too. I stood there helplessly while she tried to regain her footing. Finally she got herself standing on all four feet again. And when I poured her grain into her bucket, she went to eating like she always does. I watched her afterward when she walked over to her hay, and she seemed fine. Not limping at all. And today I haven't noticed her limping, either. The ankle also looks all right. I thought maybe it would be swollen, but both ankles on the front look the same.
It's funny how instincts take over at a time like that. My first impulse was to grab hold of her somehow -- oh, jeepers, I don't know, maybe throw my arms around her middle -- and help her stay on her feet.
Right. Like I'm going to keep 800 or 900 pounds of horse on her feet. I'm just thankful she didn't go down completely.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Friday, September 22, 2006, 17:41
Early Birds
Okay. So what's going on here?
All of the summer birds left two weeks early. The swallows and hummingbirds and robins and towhees and whippoorwills and whatnot.
The bluebirds are still around, I see, but they usually don't leave until later in the fall.
This morning, when I took Charlie for a walk around the hayfield in the cold rain, a large flock of very small birds flew up from the neighbor's field. Must have been hundreds of them.
"What are those?" I said to Charlie as the birds circled and swooped and dipped and soared.
I watched the grayish birds, listening to them twitter as they flew around and around.
And then it dawned on me.
The birds were juncoes.
Juncoes?
But juncoes don't arrive until the first or second week of October. And it's the next to last week in September.
Sometimes juncoes are called "snow birds" because they like to hang around yards during the winter. They flock up in the fall, and then they move in closer to a house. We often have dozens of juncoes eating bird seed from the feeders or off the ground. They like to eat in a group. And they also like to chase each other while they are eating. It's as if they don't want another bird a half an inch closer than it has to be, which is hilarious, seeing as they eat in a tight group in the first place. When they scratch in the bird seed, they make me smile because they look for all the world like tiny chickens scratching in the dirt.
So what *is* going on here? The summer birds leave two weeks early and the juncoes *arrive* two weeks early.
Do the birds know something we don't know? Will winter -- after such a hot, dry summer -- arrive early too?
The last week has been unusually cold. "Heavy" rain that looked suspiciously like mushy snow. Frost two times during the week. Weather cold enough to make me wear a hooded sweatshirt and a fleece jacket or a sweater and a fleece jacket. Last Saturday it was warm and humid. Sunday we turned the furnace on to take the chill off the house. And I have been turning the furnace on for a little while every day since then to take the chill off the house.
Maybe the birds *do* know something we don't know.
LeAnn R. Ralph