Our little farm is nothing but mud right now. It has been raining and threatening with tornados. So far we are staying afloat.
Just yesterday I was assuring my father-in-law that our home is not flooded and we are ok.
I can't say that for other parts of Fort Worth. Several towns are already flooded and have been hit with tornados. It has been almost nonstop rain for about three weeks. On and off with the rain for almost two months.
I feel terrible for Misty since her pen is wet with leaks and water streaming in. Speaking of her, I have been considering selling her. She is getting older and I feel our home is not enough for her. She needs a wide open space of grass and other horses for companions. She needs an owner who can give her more attention and knows how to care for her. I can try all I can but I still don't know what I'm doing.
I don't know what I'm going to do but it is something I'm considering.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Written Word Wednesday
More excerpts from California by Edan Lepucki.
If Bo was right, it would take two days to get to the fabled Spikes. They had agreed to get as far as they could the first day and get moving again early the second day, so as to arrive at the Spikes with the threat of darkness still hours away. They had the extra-large sleeping bag, and more than enough food, and even the flashlight, which Cal tried to convince himself they would only use if they had to. He doubted they'd be so disciplined. They'd both grown a little spoiled since moving into the Miller Estate.
Frida had been angry when he finally told her the truth. "How could you have withheld so much from me?" she'd yelled. But once they'd decided to go, she'd taken his hand and smiled, relief in her eyes. "We've got a plan," she'd said. That wasn't really true, though they did have a goal: they would present themselves to these strangers, these people who believed in containment. "And then what?" Cal wanted to know. Frida had no answer. Whatever happened, they would at least known who and what was beyond their land. She needed that, she said, and so did he.
She took fast steps toward the end of the path. She stopped again. She was craning her neck forward, as if to get her eyes closer to the sight before her. Cal looked back at the man, to try to see what she was seeing.
"No, no, no, no," she began. Her voice squeaked out of her in little high-pitched bursts. "What is it, babe?" Cal asked.
Peter was by their side. "Relax now," he said to Frida. "It's ok." Sailor was bouncing in place, his eyes wide and glistening.
"What's going on?" Cal asked. He felt his whole body go cold. But why?
...The man at the porch was standing steady, just waiting for Frida to meet him. He wouldn't meet her halfway. He opened his arms wide.
Cal's heart beat in his eardrums. Mikey.
No, not Mikey. And not Mike E.
Mic. E, as in Micah, as in Micah Ellis.
Micah.
If Bo was right, it would take two days to get to the fabled Spikes. They had agreed to get as far as they could the first day and get moving again early the second day, so as to arrive at the Spikes with the threat of darkness still hours away. They had the extra-large sleeping bag, and more than enough food, and even the flashlight, which Cal tried to convince himself they would only use if they had to. He doubted they'd be so disciplined. They'd both grown a little spoiled since moving into the Miller Estate.
Frida had been angry when he finally told her the truth. "How could you have withheld so much from me?" she'd yelled. But once they'd decided to go, she'd taken his hand and smiled, relief in her eyes. "We've got a plan," she'd said. That wasn't really true, though they did have a goal: they would present themselves to these strangers, these people who believed in containment. "And then what?" Cal wanted to know. Frida had no answer. Whatever happened, they would at least known who and what was beyond their land. She needed that, she said, and so did he.
She took fast steps toward the end of the path. She stopped again. She was craning her neck forward, as if to get her eyes closer to the sight before her. Cal looked back at the man, to try to see what she was seeing.
"No, no, no, no," she began. Her voice squeaked out of her in little high-pitched bursts. "What is it, babe?" Cal asked.
Peter was by their side. "Relax now," he said to Frida. "It's ok." Sailor was bouncing in place, his eyes wide and glistening.
"What's going on?" Cal asked. He felt his whole body go cold. But why?
...The man at the porch was standing steady, just waiting for Frida to meet him. He wouldn't meet her halfway. He opened his arms wide.
Cal's heart beat in his eardrums. Mikey.
No, not Mikey. And not Mike E.
Mic. E, as in Micah, as in Micah Ellis.
Micah.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Written Word Wednesday
More excerpts from California by Edan Lepucki.
"...We have no idea who's out there. What if there are Pirates? Don't tell me you aren't frightened of them."
"I've never run into a Pirate. Have you?"
"You know I haven't."
"So we still don't know if they're out there. But we know someone is. And August, with his goods to trade, his vague answers. I'm sick of it."
" I want us to be safe, Frida. That's what matters most."
She said nothing.
"I know you're mad at me."
"Oh, stop it," she said.
She began to serve the beets, and Cal did the same with the sprouted beans. They were healthy, necessary to surviving out here, but they tasted terrible.
"I'm just curious," she said. "Don't you want to know what they do with the bras?"
"What bras?"
"Before," she said. "I traded him a new bra."
"Before when? And for what?"
"It's not important. What matters is what's out there. I need to know, Cal. Don't you?"
Frida wasn't stupid. It was obvious he knew something, and that something was nailing him to their house, this tiny four-mile area. He was pretending to be content, but that was impossible. No one could eat sprouted beans in a dark house for days on end without complaint, without hatching an escape plan. They'd slept in Bo and Sandy's bed for almost half a year now, and every day the mystery of their deaths deepened.
August must have told him something. Or Bo had. While she and Sandy had been discussing their menstrual cycles, or the best techniques for mushroom foraging-Pussy stuff, Frida thought wryly-the men must have mapped out the territories, whispered state secrets. Regardless of who gave Cal the information, he wasn't sharing it with her.
Cal liked to describe Micah as a prankster at Plank, but Frida didn't see him that way. She would say he took on dares, and with that bravery he defied you to take on your own. Plank was a dare. He would become a person who could live without women, who could work a farm, who could live in the past. "And you will give up that stupid deli job," he told Frida, "or you'll ask them to hire you in a different capacity. No more validating parking tickets at the register, for fuck's sake." Frida waited until Micah left for Plank, and then she took his advice. She asked to be put in the bakery, or she'd quit. To her surprise, they promoted her right away.
Frida smiled now at that tiny coup and from her bag brought out the laundry soap. The Millers had left it. She had a feeling its ingredients had come from August, but until they ran out, she wouldn't ask. Frida actually looked forward to making detergent herself; she thought it might remind her of baking: the measuring and mixing. It made her heart ache a little. She had been so good at her job.
She remembered writing to Micah about her promotion. She had sent him a letter, because Plank didn't allow email. In reply to her news he had said, "I knew you could do it, Freed. When I'm home this summer, can you give me a few lessons? Our head bread maker is graduating in June, and Cal says the position should be mine."
That's how she learned about Cal, through Micah's anecdotes. In the beginning, she was jealous of this new roommate who seemed to take her place as Micah's main confidant, recipient of his advice, and sounding board for all of his plans, both ridiculous and ingenious...Friday could tell that her brother admired his roommate, which was strange, since Micah rarely admired anyone.
"...We have no idea who's out there. What if there are Pirates? Don't tell me you aren't frightened of them."
"I've never run into a Pirate. Have you?"
"You know I haven't."
"So we still don't know if they're out there. But we know someone is. And August, with his goods to trade, his vague answers. I'm sick of it."
" I want us to be safe, Frida. That's what matters most."
She said nothing.
"I know you're mad at me."
"Oh, stop it," she said.
She began to serve the beets, and Cal did the same with the sprouted beans. They were healthy, necessary to surviving out here, but they tasted terrible.
"I'm just curious," she said. "Don't you want to know what they do with the bras?"
"What bras?"
"Before," she said. "I traded him a new bra."
"Before when? And for what?"
"It's not important. What matters is what's out there. I need to know, Cal. Don't you?"
Frida wasn't stupid. It was obvious he knew something, and that something was nailing him to their house, this tiny four-mile area. He was pretending to be content, but that was impossible. No one could eat sprouted beans in a dark house for days on end without complaint, without hatching an escape plan. They'd slept in Bo and Sandy's bed for almost half a year now, and every day the mystery of their deaths deepened.
August must have told him something. Or Bo had. While she and Sandy had been discussing their menstrual cycles, or the best techniques for mushroom foraging-Pussy stuff, Frida thought wryly-the men must have mapped out the territories, whispered state secrets. Regardless of who gave Cal the information, he wasn't sharing it with her.
Cal liked to describe Micah as a prankster at Plank, but Frida didn't see him that way. She would say he took on dares, and with that bravery he defied you to take on your own. Plank was a dare. He would become a person who could live without women, who could work a farm, who could live in the past. "And you will give up that stupid deli job," he told Frida, "or you'll ask them to hire you in a different capacity. No more validating parking tickets at the register, for fuck's sake." Frida waited until Micah left for Plank, and then she took his advice. She asked to be put in the bakery, or she'd quit. To her surprise, they promoted her right away.
Frida smiled now at that tiny coup and from her bag brought out the laundry soap. The Millers had left it. She had a feeling its ingredients had come from August, but until they ran out, she wouldn't ask. Frida actually looked forward to making detergent herself; she thought it might remind her of baking: the measuring and mixing. It made her heart ache a little. She had been so good at her job.
She remembered writing to Micah about her promotion. She had sent him a letter, because Plank didn't allow email. In reply to her news he had said, "I knew you could do it, Freed. When I'm home this summer, can you give me a few lessons? Our head bread maker is graduating in June, and Cal says the position should be mine."
That's how she learned about Cal, through Micah's anecdotes. In the beginning, she was jealous of this new roommate who seemed to take her place as Micah's main confidant, recipient of his advice, and sounding board for all of his plans, both ridiculous and ingenious...Friday could tell that her brother admired his roommate, which was strange, since Micah rarely admired anyone.
Monday, May 18, 2015
It's Been A While
I'm sorry it has been over a week since I've posted anything. My parents came to visit us and between them and teller school last week I didn't have time/forgotten about blogging. And I'm not that organized to have posts ready ahead of time.
I will need today and tomorrow to catch up on reading California and to get things back into routine again. So starting Wednesday everything should be normal again.
I will need today and tomorrow to catch up on reading California and to get things back into routine again. So starting Wednesday everything should be normal again.
Friday, May 8, 2015
Farm Friday
About two weeks ago we had a rough thunderstorm. I made sure with my husband that all the chickens were in the coop and all the other animals were settled in. He assured me they all were.
The following morning when I was doing the morning chores I was counting heads and I noticed one of the babies is missing. I looked all over the yard and I've contacted the neighbors who also have chickens to keep an eye out for her. After two days I've decided she is probably already dead. I would have been so surprised if she had lived since we have coyotes and stray dogs and cats and other animals that would eat her.
So now there are five babies. And they are getting huge!
They are roughly 3 months old now and I'm starting to have trouble telling them apart from the adults.
I love that they are getting so big but now I want more little fluff butts. Maybe next time I'll get Silkie babies or Barred Rocks...
Have a great weekend!
The following morning when I was doing the morning chores I was counting heads and I noticed one of the babies is missing. I looked all over the yard and I've contacted the neighbors who also have chickens to keep an eye out for her. After two days I've decided she is probably already dead. I would have been so surprised if she had lived since we have coyotes and stray dogs and cats and other animals that would eat her.
So now there are five babies. And they are getting huge!
They are roughly 3 months old now and I'm starting to have trouble telling them apart from the adults.
Their little 'crowns' are coming out and some are growing out their waddles.
So cute!
'Who? Me?' Yes, YOU!
I love that they are getting so big but now I want more little fluff butts. Maybe next time I'll get Silkie babies or Barred Rocks...
Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Written Word Wednesday
More tidbits from California by Edan Lepucki.
"That's what I'm worried about," Frida answered. "You and me, alone."
At first, that's how it had been. August hadn't found them yet, nor had the Millers, their closest and only neighbors, a few miles to the east. They later learned that Bo Miller had built the shed, years before. Their first four months out here, Cal and Frida had spoken only to each other, and sometimes that was the hardest thing, more trying than the planting or irrigating or the labor it took to build the rudimentary outdoor kitchen. Though she'd tried to prepare herself, Frida couldn't believe that they were really alone. Just the two of them.
This was one of things he loved about life out here. The space to consider questions. Even if he sometimes longed for mindless diversions, mostly he was grateful for the silence, the time. It reminded him of college, where thinking itself was considered noble, and where there had been nothing to distract from that endeavor. For most of his fellow students, it had been the first break from Devices, but Cal had never owned such things. There were too many links to cancer, his mother said, and she wanted him to feel lost once in a while. Everyone else was dependent on instant answers, on satellites, and this was turning them stupid.
Cal remembered that first dinner at Plank, how the other boys used words he'd never heard of: enframed, signifier, telos, and phronesis. What he'd learned about the world so far was baby food compared with what these guys knew, and that night he took to nodding at the things his classmates said while inside his brain, a tumbleweed skipped. At orientation before the meal, the second-years had taught them to show agreement by raising their fists and knocking on an invisible door. Cal couldn't see himself ever doing this, not without laughing, at least, but at dinner, there was Micah with his fist up, knocking. As if he'd always known the gesture.
The two men stood at the edge of the clearing, Cal with the foraging bag over his shoulder, the gardening gloves and parking knife in his hands. August had jumped off his buggy and was running a brush across the mare, who snorted at his touch.
The first time Frida had seem him approach the shed, sitting high on his carriage like someone out of Victorian England, she had felt oddly homesick. The carriage, choked with discarded furniture, car parts, crates of produce, and even a dollhouse, reminded her of those rundown trucks in L.A., filled with junk. There was always a hand-painted phone number on the side, to call if you needed something picked up and discarded. When she was younger, it had been a job for illegal immigrants, but over the years, more businesses like it began popping up , with all kinds of drivers. Near the end, they'd begun to disappear; you had to have a safe place to store your truck and its discards, or else all of it would be looted, and almost no one had that.
"That's what I'm worried about," Frida answered. "You and me, alone."
At first, that's how it had been. August hadn't found them yet, nor had the Millers, their closest and only neighbors, a few miles to the east. They later learned that Bo Miller had built the shed, years before. Their first four months out here, Cal and Frida had spoken only to each other, and sometimes that was the hardest thing, more trying than the planting or irrigating or the labor it took to build the rudimentary outdoor kitchen. Though she'd tried to prepare herself, Frida couldn't believe that they were really alone. Just the two of them.
This was one of things he loved about life out here. The space to consider questions. Even if he sometimes longed for mindless diversions, mostly he was grateful for the silence, the time. It reminded him of college, where thinking itself was considered noble, and where there had been nothing to distract from that endeavor. For most of his fellow students, it had been the first break from Devices, but Cal had never owned such things. There were too many links to cancer, his mother said, and she wanted him to feel lost once in a while. Everyone else was dependent on instant answers, on satellites, and this was turning them stupid.
Cal remembered that first dinner at Plank, how the other boys used words he'd never heard of: enframed, signifier, telos, and phronesis. What he'd learned about the world so far was baby food compared with what these guys knew, and that night he took to nodding at the things his classmates said while inside his brain, a tumbleweed skipped. At orientation before the meal, the second-years had taught them to show agreement by raising their fists and knocking on an invisible door. Cal couldn't see himself ever doing this, not without laughing, at least, but at dinner, there was Micah with his fist up, knocking. As if he'd always known the gesture.
The two men stood at the edge of the clearing, Cal with the foraging bag over his shoulder, the gardening gloves and parking knife in his hands. August had jumped off his buggy and was running a brush across the mare, who snorted at his touch.
The first time Frida had seem him approach the shed, sitting high on his carriage like someone out of Victorian England, she had felt oddly homesick. The carriage, choked with discarded furniture, car parts, crates of produce, and even a dollhouse, reminded her of those rundown trucks in L.A., filled with junk. There was always a hand-painted phone number on the side, to call if you needed something picked up and discarded. When she was younger, it had been a job for illegal immigrants, but over the years, more businesses like it began popping up , with all kinds of drivers. Near the end, they'd begun to disappear; you had to have a safe place to store your truck and its discards, or else all of it would be looted, and almost no one had that.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Marriage Monday
Today we are talking about 'domestic life' and I've decided to include my husband in the post. I've incorporated a few questions that I've borrowed from CupcakesandCashmere. Hope you enjoy!
What is the best thing about living with your spouse?
J: The constant loving contact between eating dinner together and being able to hold her at night.
K: The best thing about living with him is the fact I wake up every morning next to him and every night he is by my side. I love that I don't have to come home to an empty house. It's even better when I have a bad day and he is there to cheer me up.
What annoys you the most about living with your spouse?
J: Her utter lack of specified (OCD) cleanliness
K: He is super OCD
How do you delegate chores?
J: I usually do most the labor and building while she does the cleaning and gardening but it really all depends on who has the time.
K: Jared does a lot of labor intensive work while I do more 'domestic' work and garden. We both take care of the farm together.
What are rules that you've implemented after moving in together that didn't exist when you were single?
J: Communicating before making detrimental decisions.
K: Asking permission before buying a big ticket item is a big one right now.
What is your favorite room in the house and why?
J: Garage Lol... I actually prefer the backyard being the main reason I bought the house.
K: I have to agree with Jared. We love being out in the backyard with the animals or doing yard work. But if I really have to pick a room 'inside' the house I love my kitchen because I enjoy cooking and entertaining.
What is the best thing about living with your spouse?
J: The constant loving contact between eating dinner together and being able to hold her at night.
K: The best thing about living with him is the fact I wake up every morning next to him and every night he is by my side. I love that I don't have to come home to an empty house. It's even better when I have a bad day and he is there to cheer me up.
What annoys you the most about living with your spouse?
J: Her utter lack of specified (OCD) cleanliness
K: He is super OCD
How do you delegate chores?
J: I usually do most the labor and building while she does the cleaning and gardening but it really all depends on who has the time.
K: Jared does a lot of labor intensive work while I do more 'domestic' work and garden. We both take care of the farm together.
What are rules that you've implemented after moving in together that didn't exist when you were single?
J: Communicating before making detrimental decisions.
K: Asking permission before buying a big ticket item is a big one right now.
What is your favorite room in the house and why?
J: Garage Lol... I actually prefer the backyard being the main reason I bought the house.
K: I have to agree with Jared. We love being out in the backyard with the animals or doing yard work. But if I really have to pick a room 'inside' the house I love my kitchen because I enjoy cooking and entertaining.
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