What We're Up To
Hiromi is off to the Yoder poultry auction, with six big Muscovy ducks in tow. They have worn out their welcome here by frequenting the roadway. It didn't help that the county highway department scattered grass seed along the newly constructed shoulders. The ducks thought it was a buffet intended for their benefit. Also, the grain trucks enroute from the field to the elevator have been scattering grain along the road--more free food, and more trouble for us and passersby.
The ducks seemed totally clueless about impending danger from passing vehicles. Frantic honking didn't intimidate them a bit. They've been known to park right on the road, with traffic coming to a complete stop because they wouldn't move. I'm sure it was tempting to plow through the flock without regard for the consequences, but no one did.
Of an evening Hiromi sometimes had to walk a good ways down the road to bring them home for the night. Often they would tire of the walk home and take off in flight. Muscovys are very strong fliers. All except one, whose wing was apparently broken, and stuck out at a strange angle. He had to walk all the way home.
Maybe they just weren't hungry enough, but the ducks did not prove to be very ambitious grasshopper predators. They preferred hanging around the grain feeders. For these sins and iniquities, they did not receive mercy and pardon. I don't know what fate awaits them, but they should be a perfect find for someone who needs young breeders or plump birds for holiday meals.
***********************
The flower garden is history, since the temperatures have gone down below 25 twice during the past week. We still have some thriving chard, shungiku, Chinese cabbage, mustard, and daikon in the vegetable garden.
Now I remember why it's so hard to get the garden worked in the fall. We've got something in it that we don't want plowed under till after Thanksgiving. Then it's wet and cold, and who wants to think about the garden then? But every spring it feels like a major oversight not to have seen to getting it worked in the fall.
*********************
Grant had a few harrowing experiences to report during milo harvest. Even when the grain was dry enough to harvest, the fields were muddy and difficult to navigate. The usual drive-the truck-alongside-the-combine strategy needed some modification since the truck predictably got mired in the mud. So they pulled the truck along with a tractor--round and round the field.
They realized the necessity of reaching some understandings on the day Orville was helping. Grant was in the tractor and Orville was in the truck when they approached an especially muddy spot, so Grant plowed through and emerged safely on the far side. With his own navigation crisis past, he turned his attention to getting the truck through, presumably with a slow and steady pull. But Orville was prepared to take some initiative in the matter, and gunned it, hoping to make it across by keeping things in motion. When he did that, the tow rope slackened, but only momentarily because Grant swiftly accelerated when he saw the truck gaining on him, at which time the rope jerked taut, and tore--all except one remaining strand.
After that, they decided that the truck driver would basically limit his activity to guiding the vehicle, except in mud holes, where he would accelerate just enough to keep the wheels moving.
After a day of that, Grant came home with a sore neck, from looking over his shoulder constantly, to check on the trailing truck.
***********************
Grant came home to a sad scene the other night. Someone had hit and killed Max on the road.
No one stopped to tell us, although it clearly happened when we were home. That was the worst part--as if it didn't matter. We would have been sympathetic with the driver. We knew Max was way too heedless when he crossed the road, and, seeing a black dog in the dark would have been very difficult.
It's always easy to feel sympathy when someone has an accident, if the person who caused it has regrets. It's a lot harder when they pretend the accident was a "nothing."
Grant was training Max to accompany him when he goes pheasant hunting. Max got hit right after Grant had gotten all his shots up to date, just before pheasant hunting season opened.
He buried Max before we got home from church, right beside Tut, who was a wonderful family pet for many years.
We are all sad about Max.
**********************
A year ago, my mother was in the hospital, in ICU, recovering from heart surgery.
Yesterday, on Thanksgiving Day, when we were all together at Myron's place, we recalled how last year Rhoda and Dad had spent Thanksgiving at the hospital. The rest of us had attempted to carry on with the usual traditions, mainly because it had been a matter of such concern to Mom that all her preparations not be wasted.
One of her doctors told Mom last year that by this time next year she should be able to cook a nice Thanksgiving dinner. I doubt that he knew how many people are part of our family celebrations, and how big a project cooking the whole meal would be. (We've all helped each other on such occasions for a long time.) But Mom did her share this year. She baked all the pumpkin pies, and brought turkey and gravy. She also provided some dressing ingredients for me.
Last year on Thanksgiving evening, Ronald and Brenda had taken over at the hospital, and stayed there for the next two nights. Shane and Dorcas took a turn around that time too. Getting Mom to eat was a tremendous struggle, and occupied much of our time while we were with her. Things got worse before they got better, in that department, but finally there was significant improvement--so much so that by inauguration day on January 20, Mom was ready for a party. On that day the hospital bed went back to Cedar Crest, and Mom began sleeping in her own bed.
She is older now than she was then, but she is as well, or better than she was before the surgery. Certainly, her prognosis now is much better than it was then.
Another Thanksgiving with aging parents is a blessing.
************************
Shane and Dorcas are here. Seven more months till they finish their assignment. I'm already looking forward to that. They plan to spend Christmas with Dorcas' family.
Shane discovered that he had an assignment for the Thanksgiving service at church--leading the singing. This followed a 1:30 AM arrival, so catching up on sleep needed to happen at another time.
The Iwashiges are gathering for mizutaki here tomorrow noon, with other activities to be planned as we go, presumably.
*************************
Yesterday morning at church Willard told us that their family plans to stay in our community. I'm sure that we are more happy about that than the people in Arkansas might be. In a small church as theirs is, they would no doubt welcome the return of this homegrown family.
The announcement prompted a round of applause. Oh my. Twice in one service. . .
************************
On Wednesday evening a meeting is planned in which further church outreach will be discussed. I don't know what all has preceded this meeting, but I understand that some who have been part of city ministries see potential for that kind of involvement for our group.
************************
Yesterday Lyle, John, Willard, and Eldo sang for almost an hour in our Thanksgiving service. The singing was lovely.
Shane pointed out that everyone was singing in their sweet spot. That is, no one needed to sing outside their normal voice range. He also took a lot of pleasure in the strong tenor in this quartet--something that seems a little hard to come by in some groups he's sung with.
Willard and Eldo sang together in 1981 at CBS. This is the first time they've lived in the same community since then, and their paths have not crossed often. John wasn't even born when that happened, and Lyle was a year old.
Lyle and Eldo have music degrees and Willard and John have a natural affinity for singing that means they can look at a piece of music and promptly sing it with appropriate aplomb.
**************************
I really love times with my parents and children and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. I need to jot down some of the good things I hear during times like yesterday when the conversation moves from one interesting topic to another. My memory is too poor to recall much of it without having taken notes, unfortunately.
Part of the Thanksgiving feast for the younger boys was a crock pot containing one squirrel and one rabbit, simmered for a long time in a barbecue sauce.
*************************
Kristi and Heidi have probably embarked by now on a survival venture, which is a science fair project for Kristi. It's supposed to last for several days and nights, and since this is one of the few times to do such a thing without having to interrupt it with a school day, it's fortuitous that the weather is beautiful--clear and calm. Heidi is there to document the activity with her camera.
They seem quite a lot less concerned about some of the details than their mother thinks appropriate, but she's willing to let things play out as they will, within limits. They must take cell phones along, and a vehicle must be accessible, in case of dire emergency. Also, since it's hunting season, they're supposed to wear orange vests.
They plan to find food and water and shelter on an unimproved site. Good luck with that. It seems that mid-June would have been an easier time to do this, or even early September.
Kristi shot a big possum in the garden last week for hunting practice. If Christopher's experience recently is any indication, that means it was also old and very tough, so maybe they'd better concentrate on rabbits and fish for their meat supply.
Stay tuned.
************************
A few brave souls are enrolled in the food production class for next semester. I hope a few more gird up the loins of their mind over the holiday and decide to take the plunge before the signup deadline on Monday. (Tisk, tisk. Kids these days. . . . and all that.)
Emily says she has five years to learn that stuff from her Mom during the summer, before she leaves home. She does not feel a need for the class. At least she has a plan for learning food production some time. I'm not convinced that's the case with everyone. Planning on being at home with your parents till you're 23 may not work for everyone, but it's a place to start.
*************************
Many years ago, I was the principal when students were suspended from school. It wasn't fun then. It's not easy or fun now, even though I'm just a staff person, and not the principal.
Then, the atmosphere was quite guarded, and a little defensive. Now it's not defensive--just sad and prayerful.
************************
Last night I accidentally tripped two of the three mouse traps Hiromi had set on the floor of the pantry. This morning the only remaining trap contained a mouse. "Poor thing," Hiromi said. "Such bad luck to have found that trap."
I thought that maybe the mouse was really on a roll after having had such a good time eating the bait off all the tripped traps. Whatever. I'm glad it's caught.
************************
I have a friend who tells a mothball story about his mother's experience. She used to put mothballs in the area where she kept her chicken feed--to keep the mice out of it. As far as I know, it worked. But it didn't seem like such a great idea after an egg customer once revealed that she had been tasting mothballs in the eggs that came from that chicken house. The mothballs were removed, and the problem disappeared.
Some people have tasted mothballs in foods made with flour. I've tasted those same foods and haven't been able to taste the mothballs. So much for my discerning tastes. I suspect, however, that it's another case of food storage in the vicinity of mothballs. Maybe the mice really would be the lesser of the evils in this case. I really would prefer my food without essence of mothballs.
Traps are a good compromise. As long as I'm wearing shoes, they can't hurt me, and I don't need to tolerate lots of mice or any mothball flavors.
************************
Today I gathered some hedge balls (osage oranges). The decorator at Stutzmans says their color perfectly matches the "in" shade of Christmas green this year. And since I am very concerned about being "in"--well, no, actually, since I like to do this every year, I did it again this year.
I like to combine them in a wire basket with twigs of the hot pink seeds of Pink Lady Euonymous. They look like bittersweet, except the outer husk is pink, and the inner seed is red. The tree we have on this property was a long-ago giveaway to students who competed in the poster contest sponsored by the soil conservation service.
Judy says that soapberry seeds also make pretty natural decorations when combined with greens. They are clear gold, surrounding a black seed. Soapberry is a tough little tree that grows wild along fencerows here, but is not often found commercially. The fruit grows in clusters, and was used in bygone years as a soap substitute because of its lathering effect.
A number of years ago I dug some up that were growing along an old fence row south of here and transplanted them to the outback tree row at the Trail West place. They thrived and multiplied. Meanwhile the farmer that worked the land where the original stand was located got a fit of tidiness and demolished the cluster of soapberry trees where I used to harvest berries. I'll have to check to see if the trees on the Trail West place have berries.
*********************
I've put a Christmas wish list under the clear plastic on the dining room table. It's quite a diverse list, suitable for a large or small budget. I've even taken pains to inform Hiromi and Grant of its presence. I've invited them to add their own contributions. No one has done so. They usually don't, probably because both of them are used to buying whatever they want--long before I've identified it as a need. If I ask him, Hiromi always says he doesn't need anything. However, he keeps buying things occasionally, presumably because he needed it. So I know it's a communication failure--not mine, primarily, I believe.
Being the Keeper of Traditions is a tough role for people like me.
********************
Hiromi is a champion of the uncontexted comment or question, or the unpreceeded pronoun. For example: Calling out from the study, "Can you tell me what this means?" or out of the blue, "I think I know how I'm going to say it," or "What did he do?"
It's a little hard to answer or comment cleverly when you've been placidly occupied with reading your emails or cooking supper, or reading the paper, and these utterances interrupt your reveries. What? How? Who? is my typical Jenny- on-the-spot, on-target response.
We're a good average in the word volume department, which is another way of saying that we both operate too nearly at the extremes.
The ducks seemed totally clueless about impending danger from passing vehicles. Frantic honking didn't intimidate them a bit. They've been known to park right on the road, with traffic coming to a complete stop because they wouldn't move. I'm sure it was tempting to plow through the flock without regard for the consequences, but no one did.
Of an evening Hiromi sometimes had to walk a good ways down the road to bring them home for the night. Often they would tire of the walk home and take off in flight. Muscovys are very strong fliers. All except one, whose wing was apparently broken, and stuck out at a strange angle. He had to walk all the way home.
Maybe they just weren't hungry enough, but the ducks did not prove to be very ambitious grasshopper predators. They preferred hanging around the grain feeders. For these sins and iniquities, they did not receive mercy and pardon. I don't know what fate awaits them, but they should be a perfect find for someone who needs young breeders or plump birds for holiday meals.
***********************
The flower garden is history, since the temperatures have gone down below 25 twice during the past week. We still have some thriving chard, shungiku, Chinese cabbage, mustard, and daikon in the vegetable garden.
Now I remember why it's so hard to get the garden worked in the fall. We've got something in it that we don't want plowed under till after Thanksgiving. Then it's wet and cold, and who wants to think about the garden then? But every spring it feels like a major oversight not to have seen to getting it worked in the fall.
*********************
Grant had a few harrowing experiences to report during milo harvest. Even when the grain was dry enough to harvest, the fields were muddy and difficult to navigate. The usual drive-the truck-alongside-the-combine strategy needed some modification since the truck predictably got mired in the mud. So they pulled the truck along with a tractor--round and round the field.
They realized the necessity of reaching some understandings on the day Orville was helping. Grant was in the tractor and Orville was in the truck when they approached an especially muddy spot, so Grant plowed through and emerged safely on the far side. With his own navigation crisis past, he turned his attention to getting the truck through, presumably with a slow and steady pull. But Orville was prepared to take some initiative in the matter, and gunned it, hoping to make it across by keeping things in motion. When he did that, the tow rope slackened, but only momentarily because Grant swiftly accelerated when he saw the truck gaining on him, at which time the rope jerked taut, and tore--all except one remaining strand.
After that, they decided that the truck driver would basically limit his activity to guiding the vehicle, except in mud holes, where he would accelerate just enough to keep the wheels moving.
After a day of that, Grant came home with a sore neck, from looking over his shoulder constantly, to check on the trailing truck.
***********************
Grant came home to a sad scene the other night. Someone had hit and killed Max on the road.
No one stopped to tell us, although it clearly happened when we were home. That was the worst part--as if it didn't matter. We would have been sympathetic with the driver. We knew Max was way too heedless when he crossed the road, and, seeing a black dog in the dark would have been very difficult.
It's always easy to feel sympathy when someone has an accident, if the person who caused it has regrets. It's a lot harder when they pretend the accident was a "nothing."
Grant was training Max to accompany him when he goes pheasant hunting. Max got hit right after Grant had gotten all his shots up to date, just before pheasant hunting season opened.
He buried Max before we got home from church, right beside Tut, who was a wonderful family pet for many years.
We are all sad about Max.
**********************
A year ago, my mother was in the hospital, in ICU, recovering from heart surgery.
Yesterday, on Thanksgiving Day, when we were all together at Myron's place, we recalled how last year Rhoda and Dad had spent Thanksgiving at the hospital. The rest of us had attempted to carry on with the usual traditions, mainly because it had been a matter of such concern to Mom that all her preparations not be wasted.
One of her doctors told Mom last year that by this time next year she should be able to cook a nice Thanksgiving dinner. I doubt that he knew how many people are part of our family celebrations, and how big a project cooking the whole meal would be. (We've all helped each other on such occasions for a long time.) But Mom did her share this year. She baked all the pumpkin pies, and brought turkey and gravy. She also provided some dressing ingredients for me.
Last year on Thanksgiving evening, Ronald and Brenda had taken over at the hospital, and stayed there for the next two nights. Shane and Dorcas took a turn around that time too. Getting Mom to eat was a tremendous struggle, and occupied much of our time while we were with her. Things got worse before they got better, in that department, but finally there was significant improvement--so much so that by inauguration day on January 20, Mom was ready for a party. On that day the hospital bed went back to Cedar Crest, and Mom began sleeping in her own bed.
She is older now than she was then, but she is as well, or better than she was before the surgery. Certainly, her prognosis now is much better than it was then.
Another Thanksgiving with aging parents is a blessing.
************************
Shane and Dorcas are here. Seven more months till they finish their assignment. I'm already looking forward to that. They plan to spend Christmas with Dorcas' family.
Shane discovered that he had an assignment for the Thanksgiving service at church--leading the singing. This followed a 1:30 AM arrival, so catching up on sleep needed to happen at another time.
The Iwashiges are gathering for mizutaki here tomorrow noon, with other activities to be planned as we go, presumably.
*************************
Yesterday morning at church Willard told us that their family plans to stay in our community. I'm sure that we are more happy about that than the people in Arkansas might be. In a small church as theirs is, they would no doubt welcome the return of this homegrown family.
The announcement prompted a round of applause. Oh my. Twice in one service. . .
************************
On Wednesday evening a meeting is planned in which further church outreach will be discussed. I don't know what all has preceded this meeting, but I understand that some who have been part of city ministries see potential for that kind of involvement for our group.
************************
Yesterday Lyle, John, Willard, and Eldo sang for almost an hour in our Thanksgiving service. The singing was lovely.
Shane pointed out that everyone was singing in their sweet spot. That is, no one needed to sing outside their normal voice range. He also took a lot of pleasure in the strong tenor in this quartet--something that seems a little hard to come by in some groups he's sung with.
Willard and Eldo sang together in 1981 at CBS. This is the first time they've lived in the same community since then, and their paths have not crossed often. John wasn't even born when that happened, and Lyle was a year old.
Lyle and Eldo have music degrees and Willard and John have a natural affinity for singing that means they can look at a piece of music and promptly sing it with appropriate aplomb.
**************************
I really love times with my parents and children and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. I need to jot down some of the good things I hear during times like yesterday when the conversation moves from one interesting topic to another. My memory is too poor to recall much of it without having taken notes, unfortunately.
Part of the Thanksgiving feast for the younger boys was a crock pot containing one squirrel and one rabbit, simmered for a long time in a barbecue sauce.
*************************
Kristi and Heidi have probably embarked by now on a survival venture, which is a science fair project for Kristi. It's supposed to last for several days and nights, and since this is one of the few times to do such a thing without having to interrupt it with a school day, it's fortuitous that the weather is beautiful--clear and calm. Heidi is there to document the activity with her camera.
They seem quite a lot less concerned about some of the details than their mother thinks appropriate, but she's willing to let things play out as they will, within limits. They must take cell phones along, and a vehicle must be accessible, in case of dire emergency. Also, since it's hunting season, they're supposed to wear orange vests.
They plan to find food and water and shelter on an unimproved site. Good luck with that. It seems that mid-June would have been an easier time to do this, or even early September.
Kristi shot a big possum in the garden last week for hunting practice. If Christopher's experience recently is any indication, that means it was also old and very tough, so maybe they'd better concentrate on rabbits and fish for their meat supply.
Stay tuned.
************************
A few brave souls are enrolled in the food production class for next semester. I hope a few more gird up the loins of their mind over the holiday and decide to take the plunge before the signup deadline on Monday. (Tisk, tisk. Kids these days. . . . and all that.)
Emily says she has five years to learn that stuff from her Mom during the summer, before she leaves home. She does not feel a need for the class. At least she has a plan for learning food production some time. I'm not convinced that's the case with everyone. Planning on being at home with your parents till you're 23 may not work for everyone, but it's a place to start.
*************************
Many years ago, I was the principal when students were suspended from school. It wasn't fun then. It's not easy or fun now, even though I'm just a staff person, and not the principal.
Then, the atmosphere was quite guarded, and a little defensive. Now it's not defensive--just sad and prayerful.
************************
Last night I accidentally tripped two of the three mouse traps Hiromi had set on the floor of the pantry. This morning the only remaining trap contained a mouse. "Poor thing," Hiromi said. "Such bad luck to have found that trap."
I thought that maybe the mouse was really on a roll after having had such a good time eating the bait off all the tripped traps. Whatever. I'm glad it's caught.
************************
I have a friend who tells a mothball story about his mother's experience. She used to put mothballs in the area where she kept her chicken feed--to keep the mice out of it. As far as I know, it worked. But it didn't seem like such a great idea after an egg customer once revealed that she had been tasting mothballs in the eggs that came from that chicken house. The mothballs were removed, and the problem disappeared.
Some people have tasted mothballs in foods made with flour. I've tasted those same foods and haven't been able to taste the mothballs. So much for my discerning tastes. I suspect, however, that it's another case of food storage in the vicinity of mothballs. Maybe the mice really would be the lesser of the evils in this case. I really would prefer my food without essence of mothballs.
Traps are a good compromise. As long as I'm wearing shoes, they can't hurt me, and I don't need to tolerate lots of mice or any mothball flavors.
************************
Today I gathered some hedge balls (osage oranges). The decorator at Stutzmans says their color perfectly matches the "in" shade of Christmas green this year. And since I am very concerned about being "in"--well, no, actually, since I like to do this every year, I did it again this year.
I like to combine them in a wire basket with twigs of the hot pink seeds of Pink Lady Euonymous. They look like bittersweet, except the outer husk is pink, and the inner seed is red. The tree we have on this property was a long-ago giveaway to students who competed in the poster contest sponsored by the soil conservation service.
Judy says that soapberry seeds also make pretty natural decorations when combined with greens. They are clear gold, surrounding a black seed. Soapberry is a tough little tree that grows wild along fencerows here, but is not often found commercially. The fruit grows in clusters, and was used in bygone years as a soap substitute because of its lathering effect.
A number of years ago I dug some up that were growing along an old fence row south of here and transplanted them to the outback tree row at the Trail West place. They thrived and multiplied. Meanwhile the farmer that worked the land where the original stand was located got a fit of tidiness and demolished the cluster of soapberry trees where I used to harvest berries. I'll have to check to see if the trees on the Trail West place have berries.
*********************
I've put a Christmas wish list under the clear plastic on the dining room table. It's quite a diverse list, suitable for a large or small budget. I've even taken pains to inform Hiromi and Grant of its presence. I've invited them to add their own contributions. No one has done so. They usually don't, probably because both of them are used to buying whatever they want--long before I've identified it as a need. If I ask him, Hiromi always says he doesn't need anything. However, he keeps buying things occasionally, presumably because he needed it. So I know it's a communication failure--not mine, primarily, I believe.
Being the Keeper of Traditions is a tough role for people like me.
********************
Hiromi is a champion of the uncontexted comment or question, or the unpreceeded pronoun. For example: Calling out from the study, "Can you tell me what this means?" or out of the blue, "I think I know how I'm going to say it," or "What did he do?"
It's a little hard to answer or comment cleverly when you've been placidly occupied with reading your emails or cooking supper, or reading the paper, and these utterances interrupt your reveries. What? How? Who? is my typical Jenny- on-the-spot, on-target response.
We're a good average in the word volume department, which is another way of saying that we both operate too nearly at the extremes.
posted by Mrs. I at
2:11 PM
3 Comments:
I like the string of anecdotes, but especially the last sentence. I think that would accurately describe my husband and myself. It seems I have a thousand words for every ten of his.
Happy Thanksgiving break!
By
Deb, at 11/28/2009
I AM sorry about Max. I always enjoyed Max tales. And know how sad it is to invest a lot of time and money in a pet only to lose them.
By
Anonymous, at 11/28/2009
Grant tells me the escapades involving Orville happened during forage chopping. That makes more sense. They've done a lot of different harvesting things recently, and I got details confused.
By
Mrs. I, at 11/28/2009
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