The Marine and I have travelled over 1,500 miles this holiday season, visiting family and friends and sharing in seasonal parties and events. I actually had to go to the chiropractor to fix my hip, as the amount of driving and sitting in the car had actually knocked me out of alignment.
Our bellies are definitely bigger from all of the wonderful food, and our heads are a bit stuffier thanks to the regional allergies that kicked up (Texas Pine Tree dust anyone?)
As much as I love the holidays, and the reconnecting with family, having to cram it all into just a few days is a bit much. You see, we have Christmas, our anniversary (which is the day after Christmas), my Dad's birthday (which is Jan 2) and the Marine's birthday (which is Jan. 8) all to celebrate while we're together as a family. This means we eat way too many desserts (pies for Christmas and the Anniversary; cakes for the birthdays) and gorge on several different wonderful dinners. And we had three days in which to do it all - oy!
I'm actually looking forward to New Year's, when we have two friends coming over to help us ring in 2011 with a frozen pizza, champagne to toast, and some fun games to play. It will be nice to relax, sit back and laugh with friends and not have to worry about the rigors of holiday get-togethers.
We'll have the beautiful Ozark night sky filled with stars, two dogs and five cats who will eagerly be jockeying for positions next to the warm humans, and a toasty wood stove to keep things cozy. Who needs to ring in the New Year with a bang? I prefer the quiet, peacefulness of the Arkansas Ozarks, with the owls hooting in the background and the coyotes singing in the distance.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Losing a Chosen Family Member
As I write this post, a dear friend of mine, someone I have "adopted" as chosen family, is fighting the ravages of lung cancer and pneumonia in a Memphis hospital and not expected to live through the night.
Trudy is a family member I only met three years ago - a woman who has had songs written about her, has brought laughter and guffaws from her storytelling, and whose shoulders I have leaned on at several times. And now, when I need a shoulder to cry on, I can't cry on hers...
Friends are your chosen family. They are the folks that you choose to be in the trenches with you; the folks that you choose to celebrate your success with.
You can choose the mother you never had. A friend that will always nurture you. The first one to consider your feelings when you call to talk about a run-in you had with your boss.
You can choose the perfect brother. Someone who will tell you the truth without mincing words. You know you can turn to this person when you feel like lying to yourself because they won't, but they are always in your corner, there to help you grow.
You can choose the perfect father. Someone who has your back, but calls you on your BS.
You can choose the perfect sister. The friend you call up to catch the latest movie or take a road trip. She's fun, energetic, and always there for a good time.
Some friends come into your life for six months just to help you through a hard time. They don't know anything about the story and they can offer a fresh perspective.
Others are around for a lifetime. They know your every nuance. They can tell you why you made the decisions you did if you begin to question them.
Great friends keep you grounded and help you fly.
A chosen family is composed of sisters of the heart, brothers of the soul, and stand-in mothers and fathers who are companions and guides through the rollercoaster of ups and downs in life. They are the people who we choose to spend time with, not necessarily those we are born into.
Our chosen family members are not just capable, but also willing to be constants in an ever-shifting world, assisting us in that which we cannot do alone, or at least that which we would prefer not to do alone. These are the people in our lives who we choose to love and who can give us that love and support we desire in return, without all the mess and guilt that comes sometimes with blood ties and birthrights. I'm talking about connection, shared circumstances and intersecting life-journeys.
These are the people we spend holidays with; the people we share moments with -- births and deaths, dinners and wine, conversation and coffee.
Some of them come, some of them remain, and some of them move on. But these are the people who, no matter the length of time between visits, you can call and feel like no time has passed or whom you can visit and blend right into their world. We lean on these people in ways we cannot lean on our parents and siblings and we share with them things our blood families might never understand.
We cannot choose the family we are born into -- not really. Though we are perhaps born into the exact family we are supposed to be born into, for whatever lessons we're supposed to learn, we cannot be expected to get everything we need in terms of support and love from those bloodlines.
And though we should not stop loving our blood family, we can also seek out the people who are the family we wish we had and give and receive all that there is to offer, growing ever-wiser in the process.
Knowing Trudy has been a gift in my life, and from her I do believe I have grown just a bit wiser. In fact, I think that is her gift to many of her "chosen" family, and it is with great pride that I count myself among them. And it is with great humility, that I pause today to think of her and to be grateful for the lessons I have learned from her.
Trudy is a family member I only met three years ago - a woman who has had songs written about her, has brought laughter and guffaws from her storytelling, and whose shoulders I have leaned on at several times. And now, when I need a shoulder to cry on, I can't cry on hers...
Friends are your chosen family. They are the folks that you choose to be in the trenches with you; the folks that you choose to celebrate your success with.
You can choose the mother you never had. A friend that will always nurture you. The first one to consider your feelings when you call to talk about a run-in you had with your boss.
You can choose the perfect brother. Someone who will tell you the truth without mincing words. You know you can turn to this person when you feel like lying to yourself because they won't, but they are always in your corner, there to help you grow.
You can choose the perfect father. Someone who has your back, but calls you on your BS.
You can choose the perfect sister. The friend you call up to catch the latest movie or take a road trip. She's fun, energetic, and always there for a good time.
Some friends come into your life for six months just to help you through a hard time. They don't know anything about the story and they can offer a fresh perspective.
Others are around for a lifetime. They know your every nuance. They can tell you why you made the decisions you did if you begin to question them.
Great friends keep you grounded and help you fly.
A chosen family is composed of sisters of the heart, brothers of the soul, and stand-in mothers and fathers who are companions and guides through the rollercoaster of ups and downs in life. They are the people who we choose to spend time with, not necessarily those we are born into.
Our chosen family members are not just capable, but also willing to be constants in an ever-shifting world, assisting us in that which we cannot do alone, or at least that which we would prefer not to do alone. These are the people in our lives who we choose to love and who can give us that love and support we desire in return, without all the mess and guilt that comes sometimes with blood ties and birthrights. I'm talking about connection, shared circumstances and intersecting life-journeys.
These are the people we spend holidays with; the people we share moments with -- births and deaths, dinners and wine, conversation and coffee.
Some of them come, some of them remain, and some of them move on. But these are the people who, no matter the length of time between visits, you can call and feel like no time has passed or whom you can visit and blend right into their world. We lean on these people in ways we cannot lean on our parents and siblings and we share with them things our blood families might never understand.
We cannot choose the family we are born into -- not really. Though we are perhaps born into the exact family we are supposed to be born into, for whatever lessons we're supposed to learn, we cannot be expected to get everything we need in terms of support and love from those bloodlines.
And though we should not stop loving our blood family, we can also seek out the people who are the family we wish we had and give and receive all that there is to offer, growing ever-wiser in the process.
Knowing Trudy has been a gift in my life, and from her I do believe I have grown just a bit wiser. In fact, I think that is her gift to many of her "chosen" family, and it is with great pride that I count myself among them. And it is with great humility, that I pause today to think of her and to be grateful for the lessons I have learned from her.
The Turning of the Tap
We've really done it now - gone from electricity to honest to goodness, clean running, water...from a tap....when you turn the faucet. COOL!
Yep, if there's one thing this city girl has seriously missed these many moons out in the woods, it's been that wonderful thing called a shower. Now, we have our little gravity fed solar shower, and have become experts at sponge baths in the winter time, but a luxurious, long, hot, shower has just not been possible...until (almost) now.
The well is in, the pipes have been run and at the cabin, the turn of a faucet brings beautiful clear well water on demand. Now, we just need to add the on-demand propane heater and build a bathroom, and my dream of an endless (well, endless til the propane runs out) hot shower is on the horizon.
Trust me, you'll know when that happens, cause I'll be wandering around town with a big old smile on my face and the pruniest skin you've ever seen - but it will be the cleanest pruniest skin you'll ever see.
Yep, if there's one thing this city girl has seriously missed these many moons out in the woods, it's been that wonderful thing called a shower. Now, we have our little gravity fed solar shower, and have become experts at sponge baths in the winter time, but a luxurious, long, hot, shower has just not been possible...until (almost) now.
The well is in, the pipes have been run and at the cabin, the turn of a faucet brings beautiful clear well water on demand. Now, we just need to add the on-demand propane heater and build a bathroom, and my dream of an endless (well, endless til the propane runs out) hot shower is on the horizon.
Trust me, you'll know when that happens, cause I'll be wandering around town with a big old smile on my face and the pruniest skin you've ever seen - but it will be the cleanest pruniest skin you'll ever see.
The Power of...Well, Power!
We have finally done it - the Marine and I have joined the 21st Century at our little cabin in the woods, thanks to our new friends at the local electrical co-op. Yes folks, we have power at the flip of a switch instead of the yank and pull of a generator cord.
We can now watch the television and have the computer on - both at the same time!
We can leave a small night light on at night next to the loft stairs so we don't have to play "step on the cat's tail" in the middle of the night.
Now, instead of percolating on the propane stove for twenty minutes, I can plug in a coffee maker and be enjoying my caffeine in just under five minutes.
I can actually get dressed in the light, instead of guessing if items match in the dark (hey, no more days of mis-matched shoes at the office!)
Best of all, until we get the wood stove hooked up for the winter, we can now plug in the electric heater and stay warm in the evenings without layering on clothes til we look like Nanook of the North.
And next week - in case having power at the flip of a switch wasn't enough - we're having our well drilled, which means running water! AKA Hot showers, a washing machine for laundry, dishwasher for dishes and, in the future, a flush toilet!
And to think, this time last year, I was still living in a tent, keeping warm with a wood stove, watching DVD's on our laptop, and going through our daily checklist of inspecting the tent and tarps for leaks.
We've definitely moved up in the comfort class, but we have still managed to keep the best part of our life out here in the woods - falling asleep to the sounds of nature, marveling at the amazing display of stars at night, and treasuring the simple joy of sitting with friends around the campfire, laughing and relaxing.
We can now watch the television and have the computer on - both at the same time!
We can leave a small night light on at night next to the loft stairs so we don't have to play "step on the cat's tail" in the middle of the night.
Now, instead of percolating on the propane stove for twenty minutes, I can plug in a coffee maker and be enjoying my caffeine in just under five minutes.
I can actually get dressed in the light, instead of guessing if items match in the dark (hey, no more days of mis-matched shoes at the office!)
Best of all, until we get the wood stove hooked up for the winter, we can now plug in the electric heater and stay warm in the evenings without layering on clothes til we look like Nanook of the North.
And next week - in case having power at the flip of a switch wasn't enough - we're having our well drilled, which means running water! AKA Hot showers, a washing machine for laundry, dishwasher for dishes and, in the future, a flush toilet!
And to think, this time last year, I was still living in a tent, keeping warm with a wood stove, watching DVD's on our laptop, and going through our daily checklist of inspecting the tent and tarps for leaks.
We've definitely moved up in the comfort class, but we have still managed to keep the best part of our life out here in the woods - falling asleep to the sounds of nature, marveling at the amazing display of stars at night, and treasuring the simple joy of sitting with friends around the campfire, laughing and relaxing.
The Trials and Tribulations of Going Electric
Ah, that magickal flip of a switch that turns the lights on. Today, most everyone takes it for granted. However, those of us who lived in a tent for two years and are just recently closing in on the wonders of electric light still see the awe in flipping a switch and having the lights come on.
Now, it hasn't been that bad. We have propane lanterns and oil lanterns. We cook on a propane stove and heat with a wood stove. And we have the occasional decadence of a generator so we can watch movies and hop online to do e-mail.
But that little switch flip - I have to tell you, I'm counting down the days like a little kid at Christmas, just waiting for it to happen.
And of course, like most things in the country, it's never an easy process.
We had the local electrical co-op come out and look at where we had power lines on our property, and then look at where our cabin was to see how they were going to get the lines up our lovely 600 foot high hill. Underground seemed to be the best way to go. They checked that our dwelling was larger than 500 sq. ft (which it is by quite a bit) and saw that we had a contract to put in a well, so the representative said to go ahead and get the trench in and we'd go from there.
So, in goes a four foot deep, three foot wide, 600 foot long trench, right up our main driveway. Yes folks, I now have the Ozarks version of the grand canyon in my front yard. Anywhoo, we call the co op folks, all excitedly and say, come on out and let's do this.
Ah, that was our first mistake - getting excited. It's just not ever that easy.
Out they come and go - well, turns out "we can't lay the lines yet, as you don't have your well." Oh really? And what about the 600 foot, four foot deep, three foot wide trench we just dug? How do we get the well guys to the well site over the chasm? Needless to say, the Marine and I were beginning to see the value of going solar and not messing with the co-op, if they were going to be acting quite so contrary. But I miss my washing machine and dryer, I'd really like to have a modern stove again to cook on and, to be honest, I kind of miss watching television.
After several phone calls, we reached an agreement - if we signed a contract, guaranteeing that our well will be in by December 31, they would come and lay the lines - but NOT turn on the meter until the well was in. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here thinking: they've already missed out on three years of monthly electrical payments from us, they have all those expenses from the bad ice storm in 2009, and they're still going to make us jump through hoops to get power so we can pay them? Really?
Oh, and here's the best part - now they have decided they need a concrete pad to put a transformer on half way up the hill. So we have to build and pour that too, before they'll come out and lay in the lines, so we can fill in the trench, to get the well guys in to dig, so we can get the meter turned on.
Patience may be a virtue, but I'm about to the point where virtue doesn't really impress me all that much. Here's to hoping that next week, we may finally get some lines in. All just so I can flip a little switch and see the lights come on. Honestly, I'm beginning to think my propane lantern and stove do just fine.
Now, it hasn't been that bad. We have propane lanterns and oil lanterns. We cook on a propane stove and heat with a wood stove. And we have the occasional decadence of a generator so we can watch movies and hop online to do e-mail.
But that little switch flip - I have to tell you, I'm counting down the days like a little kid at Christmas, just waiting for it to happen.
And of course, like most things in the country, it's never an easy process.
We had the local electrical co-op come out and look at where we had power lines on our property, and then look at where our cabin was to see how they were going to get the lines up our lovely 600 foot high hill. Underground seemed to be the best way to go. They checked that our dwelling was larger than 500 sq. ft (which it is by quite a bit) and saw that we had a contract to put in a well, so the representative said to go ahead and get the trench in and we'd go from there.
So, in goes a four foot deep, three foot wide, 600 foot long trench, right up our main driveway. Yes folks, I now have the Ozarks version of the grand canyon in my front yard. Anywhoo, we call the co op folks, all excitedly and say, come on out and let's do this.
Ah, that was our first mistake - getting excited. It's just not ever that easy.
Out they come and go - well, turns out "we can't lay the lines yet, as you don't have your well." Oh really? And what about the 600 foot, four foot deep, three foot wide trench we just dug? How do we get the well guys to the well site over the chasm? Needless to say, the Marine and I were beginning to see the value of going solar and not messing with the co-op, if they were going to be acting quite so contrary. But I miss my washing machine and dryer, I'd really like to have a modern stove again to cook on and, to be honest, I kind of miss watching television.
After several phone calls, we reached an agreement - if we signed a contract, guaranteeing that our well will be in by December 31, they would come and lay the lines - but NOT turn on the meter until the well was in. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here thinking: they've already missed out on three years of monthly electrical payments from us, they have all those expenses from the bad ice storm in 2009, and they're still going to make us jump through hoops to get power so we can pay them? Really?
Oh, and here's the best part - now they have decided they need a concrete pad to put a transformer on half way up the hill. So we have to build and pour that too, before they'll come out and lay in the lines, so we can fill in the trench, to get the well guys in to dig, so we can get the meter turned on.
Patience may be a virtue, but I'm about to the point where virtue doesn't really impress me all that much. Here's to hoping that next week, we may finally get some lines in. All just so I can flip a little switch and see the lights come on. Honestly, I'm beginning to think my propane lantern and stove do just fine.
The Dangers of Living in the Ozarks – Armadillo Edition
There are lots of dangers to watch out for when one is roughing it out on 43 acres of Ozarks wilderness. We have pygmy rattlesnakes, copperheads, black widow spiders and brown recluses to contend with, plus the occasional hungry bear and large cat moving through. I had never quite categorized the lowly armadillo as worthy of the title, but after last week, I now consider them one of the most dangerous little creatures out there. Let me explain why...
Our dogs love to chase armadillos, and frequently play "dillo ball" any time one is stupid enough to roam onto their turf, where they roll it into a ball and bap it back and forth across the acreage until the poor thing dies of fright or manages to skitter away. "Poor thing"...humpf.
Aside from digging up our gardens and flowers and shrubs and most everything else we try to plant, those little monsters make holes - deep holes -- some that go about straight down and then curve -- holes that are the absolute perfect circumference for a size 8 foot, such as mine.
Yep, you guessed it - I found an armadillo hole alright - with my foot. One broken and badly sprained ankle later and I am now relegated to crutches for four to six weeks, and having to ask my darling Marine to drive me to and from work every day for the week until the doctor clears me to drive again.
So when you're making out that list of dangerous Ozark denizens, be sure to put A for Armadillos at the top - and encourage those dogs to play some more dillo ball whenever you can.
Our dogs love to chase armadillos, and frequently play "dillo ball" any time one is stupid enough to roam onto their turf, where they roll it into a ball and bap it back and forth across the acreage until the poor thing dies of fright or manages to skitter away. "Poor thing"...humpf.
Aside from digging up our gardens and flowers and shrubs and most everything else we try to plant, those little monsters make holes - deep holes -- some that go about straight down and then curve -- holes that are the absolute perfect circumference for a size 8 foot, such as mine.
Yep, you guessed it - I found an armadillo hole alright - with my foot. One broken and badly sprained ankle later and I am now relegated to crutches for four to six weeks, and having to ask my darling Marine to drive me to and from work every day for the week until the doctor clears me to drive again.
So when you're making out that list of dangerous Ozark denizens, be sure to put A for Armadillos at the top - and encourage those dogs to play some more dillo ball whenever you can.
The House that Laura Built
Living the country life in a house with very few amenities in the modern world is a challenge. Living the country life in a house with very few amenities in the late 1800s makes my modern challenge look like a cakewalk.
Recently the Marine and I had the opportunity to take a break from home building at our cabin to visit the home built by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her husband Almonzo in Mansfield, Missouri, where she wrote the Little House on the Prairie books.
Walking through that beautiful farm house, and admiring the amazing ceiling support beams that Laura and Almonzo cut down on their property and shaped themselves, was awe inspiring. This beautiful home, with it's low ceilings and picturesque windows was such a wonder for us. My favorite part was the stone fireplace that Laura had Almonzo create in their living room from three slabs of gigantic limestone they pulled from their apple orchard.
To see the craftsmanship of this sweet home, nestled on a rising hill just off the main road on a place they called Rocky Ridge Farm in 1894, and to know that they too started from a small shack they quickly cobbled together to this amazing house over almost 18 years of hard work, side by side, gave me hope that our cabin may soon find it's way to completion too.
Their daughter, Rose Wilder Lane was an amazing journalist and quite successful for her time. She used her earnings to build a lovely rock home for her parents on the far end of the farm while she moved into the lovely farm house that Laura and Almonzo had built together. Being loving parents, Laura and Almonzo dutifully moved in to the new and modern rock house (equipped with electricity and a new-fangled electric stove). But not too many years later, Rose felt the pull of journalism and left the farm once again, at which point her parents rather quickly packed up and moved back into the pretty white farm house they had built together, and where they both spent their final days.
Having endured only two years so far of cabin building, I can completely understand how Laura and Almonzo felt - the new house was certainly nice, but there's really no place like home - especially a home you have built and made yourself. That seems to hold fast no matter what century you live in.
Recently the Marine and I had the opportunity to take a break from home building at our cabin to visit the home built by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her husband Almonzo in Mansfield, Missouri, where she wrote the Little House on the Prairie books.
Walking through that beautiful farm house, and admiring the amazing ceiling support beams that Laura and Almonzo cut down on their property and shaped themselves, was awe inspiring. This beautiful home, with it's low ceilings and picturesque windows was such a wonder for us. My favorite part was the stone fireplace that Laura had Almonzo create in their living room from three slabs of gigantic limestone they pulled from their apple orchard.
To see the craftsmanship of this sweet home, nestled on a rising hill just off the main road on a place they called Rocky Ridge Farm in 1894, and to know that they too started from a small shack they quickly cobbled together to this amazing house over almost 18 years of hard work, side by side, gave me hope that our cabin may soon find it's way to completion too.
Their daughter, Rose Wilder Lane was an amazing journalist and quite successful for her time. She used her earnings to build a lovely rock home for her parents on the far end of the farm while she moved into the lovely farm house that Laura and Almonzo had built together. Being loving parents, Laura and Almonzo dutifully moved in to the new and modern rock house (equipped with electricity and a new-fangled electric stove). But not too many years later, Rose felt the pull of journalism and left the farm once again, at which point her parents rather quickly packed up and moved back into the pretty white farm house they had built together, and where they both spent their final days.
Having endured only two years so far of cabin building, I can completely understand how Laura and Almonzo felt - the new house was certainly nice, but there's really no place like home - especially a home you have built and made yourself. That seems to hold fast no matter what century you live in.
Don't be Square - Dance!
One of the things about living in the Ozarks that I love is investigating and learning about the many crafts, trades and skills that people in the Ozarks have kept alive. One of those skills is square dancing. Now, I know what you're thinking - oh my goodness, a Yankee square dancing - but let me tell you, it was the best workout and the most fun I've had in ages. And it just goes to prove that anyone can learn how to square dance.
I met up with the Alton Flutter Wheels at their Thursday night dance, held at the Alton Schools Multi-Purpose building from 7pm - 9pm. President's Larry and Daisy Simmons were on hand to greet me and introduce me to the dancers and the callers.
I got to watch several dances from the sidelines, marveling at the intricate steps and smiling faces as they went round the square, promenading, alemand-ing and even do-si-do-ing. And then, it was my turn....
As you can see from the photo, the smiling is contagious when you're square dancing - in my case, it was from having goofed a few steps along the way - but messing up is sort of half the fun, as everyone is supportive and laughs with you (not at you) and all help you get back into step and moving along.
There are several square dancing clubs in the area aside from Alton, including one in Horseshoe Bend, in Mountain Home and in Mountain View, Mo. If you're looking for a fun weekly activity that the whole family can do together that won't break the bank, I highly recommend coming out and trying it. You will get a lot of exercise (more than you would expect) and you'll share plenty of laughter and fun with your fellow Ozarkians. So don't be square - Dance!
I met up with the Alton Flutter Wheels at their Thursday night dance, held at the Alton Schools Multi-Purpose building from 7pm - 9pm. President's Larry and Daisy Simmons were on hand to greet me and introduce me to the dancers and the callers.
I got to watch several dances from the sidelines, marveling at the intricate steps and smiling faces as they went round the square, promenading, alemand-ing and even do-si-do-ing. And then, it was my turn....
As you can see from the photo, the smiling is contagious when you're square dancing - in my case, it was from having goofed a few steps along the way - but messing up is sort of half the fun, as everyone is supportive and laughs with you (not at you) and all help you get back into step and moving along.
There are several square dancing clubs in the area aside from Alton, including one in Horseshoe Bend, in Mountain Home and in Mountain View, Mo. If you're looking for a fun weekly activity that the whole family can do together that won't break the bank, I highly recommend coming out and trying it. You will get a lot of exercise (more than you would expect) and you'll share plenty of laughter and fun with your fellow Ozarkians. So don't be square - Dance!
Antiquing in the Ozarks
One of the big past times here in the Ozarks is antiquing - going to flea markets, garage sales and antique shops to browse the wares and find odds and ends to take home and clutter another shelf. The hunt for "antiques" back home on Staten Island would usually entail a trip into the basement to battle the spider webs and dust bunnies to find something that Great Aunt Millie might have saved in a box. Not the most fun, if you ask me.
At least, that used to be how I felt about it, until my friend took me "antiquing" up through West Plains, Caulfield, Bakersfield, Gamaliel and Mountain Home the other day.
What an adventure!
I can't remember the last time I found myself literally squeeling with delight over a toy I recognized from my youth or a beautiful cameo that reminded me of my grandmother, who loved and collected cameos.
I had turned into a kid again, looking through antique farm tools, digging through old records and scouring every aisle with the hopes that I'd find that special something before my friend did. We had an absolute ball that day, roaming from shop to shop and down aisle after aisle.
Living in a 36 x 14 foot cabin, you can easily understand how we don't have a whole lot of room for knickknacks, so the look of dismay on the Marine's face when I came in with bag after bag of goodies was probably well warranted. But now I have fun little items I can gift to friends and family, along with one or two that are going to get a shelf, just so I can keep them.
What's one more shelf right? We have lots of wall space - I bet I have room for a whole bunch of shelves. I'd best start sweet talking the Marine now, so I have plenty of room for my next trip.
At least, that used to be how I felt about it, until my friend took me "antiquing" up through West Plains, Caulfield, Bakersfield, Gamaliel and Mountain Home the other day.
What an adventure!
I can't remember the last time I found myself literally squeeling with delight over a toy I recognized from my youth or a beautiful cameo that reminded me of my grandmother, who loved and collected cameos.
I had turned into a kid again, looking through antique farm tools, digging through old records and scouring every aisle with the hopes that I'd find that special something before my friend did. We had an absolute ball that day, roaming from shop to shop and down aisle after aisle.
Living in a 36 x 14 foot cabin, you can easily understand how we don't have a whole lot of room for knickknacks, so the look of dismay on the Marine's face when I came in with bag after bag of goodies was probably well warranted. But now I have fun little items I can gift to friends and family, along with one or two that are going to get a shelf, just so I can keep them.
What's one more shelf right? We have lots of wall space - I bet I have room for a whole bunch of shelves. I'd best start sweet talking the Marine now, so I have plenty of room for my next trip.
The Joys of Sharing a Home with Furry Ones
As you well know from following my adventures on this blog, my husband and I live in a small cabin in the woods, nestled on 43 acres of Ozark beauty that we share with two dogs and five cats.
As lifelong animal lovers, our home has never been without the patter of little feet and the ever-present menace of car-- sized dust bunnies.
We also find ourselves every morning dodging cat toys, dog bones, the occasional "I love you" offering of a dead mouse or snake from the cats and the same offering from the dogs, which is usually the tail of an armadillo or a dead deer leg, gently gnawed upon and laid to rest right at the foot of the stairs, so not only do we trip, but we get to start the day off with a good "ewwwwwww" -- and all of this before coffee mind you.
Our animals are our kids though, so we praise the brave hunters for their prowess while quickly disposing of the dead animal parts in places where they (hopefully) will not be dug back up and re-deposited as yet another morning hello.
There are days when having so many furry children can be a bit of a bother - especially on nights when we're cooking freshly caught fish from the river. Those nights we get dinner and a show, as the cats go through the most amazing aerial acrobatics and balancing acts in an attempt to glean even the smallest sliver of fish from our plates while we try to eat, fending off paws, tails and other cat parts in the process.
The dogs on the other hand are much better, having learned that once we finish eating, we will gladly share the plate remnants with them in what we call "Puppy pre-rinse" -- as in, our pre-rinse cycle before dish washing. Trust me, Cascade combined with the pre-rinse cycle on a dishwasher never got dishes so clean.
Dogs can also be interesting back seat drivers, as they tend to notice everything on, beside and above the road that you do not deem important, such as people, other dogs, birds, etc., at which point they bark, climb, scrabble and claw their way to the windows closest to the offending object, including your lap, while you're trying to drive. This usually means you end up with 80 pounds of dog in your lap, drool in your left ear and the right side of your head being whacked by a tail that puts a piano metronome to shame -- all while you're trying to driving 55mph down the highway. Have I mentioned how glad I am that my car insurance company includes pet insurance?
Of course, the best part about our pets is their companionship -- they never judge, are always there for a hug or a desperately needed break on a particularly stressful day and they are great fun to walk through the woods with, as you'll find yourself noticing things in nature that you'd never seen before -- and in the case of the cats, might never see again if they happen to catch it...except perhaps the following morning at the bottom of the stairs. Ewwwww.
As lifelong animal lovers, our home has never been without the patter of little feet and the ever-present menace of car-- sized dust bunnies.
We also find ourselves every morning dodging cat toys, dog bones, the occasional "I love you" offering of a dead mouse or snake from the cats and the same offering from the dogs, which is usually the tail of an armadillo or a dead deer leg, gently gnawed upon and laid to rest right at the foot of the stairs, so not only do we trip, but we get to start the day off with a good "ewwwwwww" -- and all of this before coffee mind you.
Our animals are our kids though, so we praise the brave hunters for their prowess while quickly disposing of the dead animal parts in places where they (hopefully) will not be dug back up and re-deposited as yet another morning hello.
There are days when having so many furry children can be a bit of a bother - especially on nights when we're cooking freshly caught fish from the river. Those nights we get dinner and a show, as the cats go through the most amazing aerial acrobatics and balancing acts in an attempt to glean even the smallest sliver of fish from our plates while we try to eat, fending off paws, tails and other cat parts in the process.
The dogs on the other hand are much better, having learned that once we finish eating, we will gladly share the plate remnants with them in what we call "Puppy pre-rinse" -- as in, our pre-rinse cycle before dish washing. Trust me, Cascade combined with the pre-rinse cycle on a dishwasher never got dishes so clean.
Dogs can also be interesting back seat drivers, as they tend to notice everything on, beside and above the road that you do not deem important, such as people, other dogs, birds, etc., at which point they bark, climb, scrabble and claw their way to the windows closest to the offending object, including your lap, while you're trying to drive. This usually means you end up with 80 pounds of dog in your lap, drool in your left ear and the right side of your head being whacked by a tail that puts a piano metronome to shame -- all while you're trying to driving 55mph down the highway. Have I mentioned how glad I am that my car insurance company includes pet insurance?
Of course, the best part about our pets is their companionship -- they never judge, are always there for a hug or a desperately needed break on a particularly stressful day and they are great fun to walk through the woods with, as you'll find yourself noticing things in nature that you'd never seen before -- and in the case of the cats, might never see again if they happen to catch it...except perhaps the following morning at the bottom of the stairs. Ewwwww.
Adjusting to Life Off the Grid
Being a big city girl, I had grown accustomed to certain "givens" in life before I moved to the Ozarks. Givens such as the availability of a warm shower whenever I wanted one, the magickal flip of a switch to bring lights on in a room, the cool breeze of an air conditioner humming through the living room, cable TV with a variety of channels to choose from, a refrigerator to keep things cold and a freezer for my favorite late night snack of ice cream, among other things.
Fast forward to our little cabin in the woods. No electricity, no running water. And thus, none of my favorite "givens" at my disposal. For a warm shower, we have to hook up our gravity fed solar shower or bathe down in the river. For electricity we rely on our propane lanterns and oil lamps. Air conditioning consists of hand fans and a water spritzer, and when it really gets hot, a small battery operated fan. TV has been reduced to what we can watch online on Hulu or what we can get through our Netflix subscription. We run the TV with the help of a generator, sparingly though, since gas is still pretty expensive. Our refrigerator is actually three ice chests we keep stocked with block and bag ice and covered by Tek-Foil, an insulating sheet of foil and bubble wrap used to insulate chicken houses, and a freezer is just sort of out of the question.
We have a wash station set up for washing dishes, where we heat a large stock pot of water up on our large propane burner and use a second pot of cool water for rinsing. Bathroom facilities are provided by our composting potties, which are actually pretty neat little contraptions.
All in all, not the most glamorous existence at the moment, but we've adjusted. We actually spend lovely evenings outside together, reading and relaxing with the dogs until it gets cool enough to go inside and cook dinner on our propane burner. We take walks through our property and watch the hawks and various wildlife, and enjoy the peace and quiet of living in the country. Now don't get me wrong, I miss my "givens" and I now value each and every one of them a lot more highly than I used to, but I also value the quiet time we've found to spend together that we never had the "time" for before. I think that, even when we do get electricity (which hopefully will be soon now), we'll still make that time to sit together and relax under the beautiful canopy of our Ozarks hideaway...I'll just have ice cream to enjoy with it.
Fast forward to our little cabin in the woods. No electricity, no running water. And thus, none of my favorite "givens" at my disposal. For a warm shower, we have to hook up our gravity fed solar shower or bathe down in the river. For electricity we rely on our propane lanterns and oil lamps. Air conditioning consists of hand fans and a water spritzer, and when it really gets hot, a small battery operated fan. TV has been reduced to what we can watch online on Hulu or what we can get through our Netflix subscription. We run the TV with the help of a generator, sparingly though, since gas is still pretty expensive. Our refrigerator is actually three ice chests we keep stocked with block and bag ice and covered by Tek-Foil, an insulating sheet of foil and bubble wrap used to insulate chicken houses, and a freezer is just sort of out of the question.
We have a wash station set up for washing dishes, where we heat a large stock pot of water up on our large propane burner and use a second pot of cool water for rinsing. Bathroom facilities are provided by our composting potties, which are actually pretty neat little contraptions.
All in all, not the most glamorous existence at the moment, but we've adjusted. We actually spend lovely evenings outside together, reading and relaxing with the dogs until it gets cool enough to go inside and cook dinner on our propane burner. We take walks through our property and watch the hawks and various wildlife, and enjoy the peace and quiet of living in the country. Now don't get me wrong, I miss my "givens" and I now value each and every one of them a lot more highly than I used to, but I also value the quiet time we've found to spend together that we never had the "time" for before. I think that, even when we do get electricity (which hopefully will be soon now), we'll still make that time to sit together and relax under the beautiful canopy of our Ozarks hideaway...I'll just have ice cream to enjoy with it.
Chickens do what?
Growing up on Staten Island, the bird we saw most often was the common pigeon -- that amazing nuisance of a bird that tends to decorate statues, sidewalks and unknowing passers-by with it's droppings on a continual basis, and which many park goers love to feed in order to facilitate additional droppings. Ah, the never-ending circle of life, or poop in this case.
Fast-forward to the Ozarks, where the most ubiquitous bird in the region is the common chicken. Many folks in these parts keep a few chickens for the fresh eggs they provide in abundance and the occasional evening dinner of fresh chicken and dumplings.
Now I have always heard of the expression, "Running like a chicken with it's head cut off." However, I'd never actually seen a chicken running around without it's head and assumed that the phrase was a quaint saying made by country folk to describe us city folk, since we are endlessly bustling about with too many thoughts in our heads and no real direction. Imagine my surprise at finding out chickens actually can and do run, once they've had their heads lopped off. The term, "screaming like a little girl" was also placed into context, as I was absolutely flabbergasted at the sight and proceeded to express my dismay with the afore-mentioned scream -- which managed to just make the poor headless chicken run faster and my friend the farmer stare at me like I was an alien.
A few days later as I was driving home with the hubster, we saw a dead chicken in the road, surrounded by other chickens. Now, I took in this scene and saw a poor bird, cut down in the prime of life and surrounded by his friends who were mourning his passing. I turned to my husband and expressed my surprise that chickens could express such forlornment over their dead friend. To which, the Marine turned to me and said, "Well, it's either that or they're eating him." And that's how I found out that chickens are real live, practicing cannibals. To put it mildly -- Ewwww.
I'm amazed that no B-Movie director has ever made a horror film based on chickens gone wild - something to the effect of - It Clucked in the Night or Den of the Chicken Cannibals. Anyways, I have grown in my knowledge of the venerable chicken and although I will leave the beheading to the Marine, having fresh eggs and the occasional dinner of chicken and dumplings is definitely worth our setting up a chicken coop at our land - even if they are blood-thirsty cannibals.
Fast-forward to the Ozarks, where the most ubiquitous bird in the region is the common chicken. Many folks in these parts keep a few chickens for the fresh eggs they provide in abundance and the occasional evening dinner of fresh chicken and dumplings.
Now I have always heard of the expression, "Running like a chicken with it's head cut off." However, I'd never actually seen a chicken running around without it's head and assumed that the phrase was a quaint saying made by country folk to describe us city folk, since we are endlessly bustling about with too many thoughts in our heads and no real direction. Imagine my surprise at finding out chickens actually can and do run, once they've had their heads lopped off. The term, "screaming like a little girl" was also placed into context, as I was absolutely flabbergasted at the sight and proceeded to express my dismay with the afore-mentioned scream -- which managed to just make the poor headless chicken run faster and my friend the farmer stare at me like I was an alien.
A few days later as I was driving home with the hubster, we saw a dead chicken in the road, surrounded by other chickens. Now, I took in this scene and saw a poor bird, cut down in the prime of life and surrounded by his friends who were mourning his passing. I turned to my husband and expressed my surprise that chickens could express such forlornment over their dead friend. To which, the Marine turned to me and said, "Well, it's either that or they're eating him." And that's how I found out that chickens are real live, practicing cannibals. To put it mildly -- Ewwww.
I'm amazed that no B-Movie director has ever made a horror film based on chickens gone wild - something to the effect of - It Clucked in the Night or Den of the Chicken Cannibals. Anyways, I have grown in my knowledge of the venerable chicken and although I will leave the beheading to the Marine, having fresh eggs and the occasional dinner of chicken and dumplings is definitely worth our setting up a chicken coop at our land - even if they are blood-thirsty cannibals.
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