Altivo

We have a lot of chipmunks and squirrels. In general, I don't mind that, but at times they are downright destructive. The squirrels want to bury stuff in my container gardens, and the chipmunks want to dig them up. The chippies also tunnel under our wooden walks and decks, and chew up the surface wood even though it is treated with whatever lumber suppliers use now to prevent rot. This spring there have been so many tunnels and entrances that I begin to wonder if the whole house could collapse into one giant sinkhole.

Anyway, we have two barn cats left. Both of them are eager chipmunk hunters, and when the chipmunks get too fat and slow from eating seeds dropped from the bird feeders, they even catch one now and then. This morning when we went out to feed horses, The cats were feasting on a lerge, very much dead chipmunk. I let it go, but apparently Gary took it away a bit later.

I went out an hour later to turn Asher and Archie out after they'd finished their morning food, and heard a strange, cat-like "mrrph, mumph" kind of whining. On inspection, there was Emma, the smaller of the two cats, with another large chipmunk in her mouth. She was carrying it around and calling for her pal Delta, who is much larger and usually the more successful hunter. He was nowhere to be seen. I took a couple of steps toward her, and she dropped the rodent and backed up. Unfortunately for the chipmunk, though, he was seriously broken in some way (probably his back) and he could only twitch and jerk. Emma grabbed him again and ran off. I left it to her to settle her affairs.

Had the critter been able to run away, I'd have let him go. Cats can be cruel, I know, but we do need some reduction in the population this year and that's nature's way of taking care of it I think.

One face cord, stored in horse barn where it's pretty dry.

Overloaded day included two shopping trips as well as lunch out with the library retirees (or at least some of us.) We met at the Stanchion (in the Starline building, Harvard Illinois) for a reasonably priced lunch and not too crowded environment.

The usual daily farm chores had to be done as well. No time for reading, and I need to do that. I need to finish about 12 more books before New Year in order to meet my 90 book pledge at Goodreads.

When dinner time rolled around, neither of us really felt like cooking, but also felt it was too soon to revisit a couple of substantial leftovers in the fridge. In the end, I pulled some unusual (for me anyway) "convenience" food out of the freezer. I had a box of falafel, precooked, reheat in the oven. Those came from ALDI a few weeks ago and I had forgotten I had them.

We combined that with whole wheat pocket pita, Greek yogurt, Gary's home made hummus, mixed chopped fresh raw veggies (sweet onion, sweet peppers, tomatoes, and snap peas.) Oh, and some pickled beets I happened to have in the fridge. Red wine and green tea for beverages. Quite a good result, and respectably vegan except for the yogurt. I like falafel anyway, but have had none for a couple of years.

Tonight's low temperature is supposed to stay in the mid-50s (F) but that may also be the high for the day as temperatures drop during the daylight hours with possible snow flurries Friday night. So much for Indian Summer, always too short anyway. Fortunately, Asher's new horse blanket arrived this afternoon, so we will try it on him in the morning and if he accepts it calmly, let him wear it tomorrow both day and night. It's blue plaid, with a waterproof shell and a medium weight insulated lining, which should be just what the vet recommended. The plaid is on the bright side for my taste, but I know he won't object to that. The other choices were a pink plaid or a solid purple, so the blue plaid is the least offensive in my opinion. Besides, his saddle blanket, halter, and lead rope are all blue. (Archie has red, Tess has green.)

It suddenly dawns on me today, with bright sun and a temperature around 68°F, that this is what we used to call "Indian Summer." Of course, it used to come somewhat earlier, like mid-October or something. I don't remember thinking about it in November before. Forecast calls for similarly balmy weather for most of this week, but the ice hits the fan on the weekend, leading quickly to daytime highs below freezing. Yow!

At the same time, we are seeing birds here that normally show up during severe cold winters in Canada. The red-breasted nuthatch, the evening grosbeak, the tufted titmouse are all appearing on a daily basis at the moment. We saw none of them last year. I'm pretty sure I got a glimpse of a three-toed woodpecker a few days ago. If/when we see these, there's usually already a pile of snow north of the border, which isn't yet the case as far as I know. But sometimes the birds and animals seem to know things about the weather that we don't have an instinct for. Have to wait and see, I guess.

At least I got some weight onto my problem eater before the cold sets in, and we measured him and ordered him a new blanket last week. That might get here before the big chill, or at least not long after.

Last night was the third night in a row that temperatures dipped below freezing. In fact, this morning it was 20°F when I got up at 5 am. We went out to feed horses, cats, and ducks at about 8 am and found a film (sometimes more) of ice on every water bucket, indoors or out. Indeed, the boys' outdoor watering trough had a thin glassy layer of hard ice covered with fallen leaves.

The catalpa trees around the house have been holding onto their leaves for dear life, but this was the last straw for them. The leaves are hanging like limp rags from the branches, and will likely all be on the ground by evening. This event for the catalpas is generally decisive and quick. Often I wake in the morning of a first hard frost to find that all their leaves that were still green and healthy the day before have already dropped to the ground. When I lived in Lansing, Michigan, I rented a small house with several very large catalpas in the front yard. When they jetisoned their leaves, the result was an entire yard knee deep with leaves and all at once. That means winter is imminent.

We will be swapping out ordinary buckets for electric heated ones today. Have to put the floating defroster into the boys' water trough as well. Make sure the duck house has plenty of good straw on the floor, increase the amount of wood shavings in the horses' stalls, make sure the woodpile in the garage is replenished if it is down (it may be OK for now) and clean out the woodstove. Before using that, I have to relocate all my string instruments (guitars, banjos, mandolin, ukuleles, violin) from where the cases have settled over the spring and summer. They are too close to the woodstove and its brick hearth and would be damaged for sure by the heat.

I'm not exactly complaining about any of this, though. Now that I don't have to get up before dawn in order to shower, eat, and start off my 15 mile commute to work in the dark and snow, I find that I don't mind winter nearly as much. Taking care of the animals in the cold is not exactly pleasant, but I love having them and they mostly appreciate what we do so it's worthwhile. (Reminder to self: Asher needs a new stall blanket for this cold weather. Have to order that.)

The truth is, I love having four distinct seasons in my year. The variety in weather and changes in the landscape are fascinating to me. I grew up with that in Michigan, and unlike most of my family, I'm not inclined to move to somewhere that has no clearly identifiable winter. In fact, to my younger brother's credit, I laud the decision by himself and my sister-in-law to build a retirement home in Michigan and live with the shifting seasons. They had spent time in Japan and several homes in the southeastern part of the US where the weather is somewhat milder during the years when he was in the Navy. They still decided to return to Michigan and to the area of Traverse City, where our grandparents last lived.

Here, on the wall behind the woodstove, we have four large ceramic plates depicting the four seasons. Those were painted and fired by my mother when she was taking ceramics classes about 40 years ago. She and my step-father retired to Florida not too many years later, but those plates still hung in her kitchen. Once when I was visiting them she asked if there was anything in the house that I wanted to keep after she was gone, and I asked for those plates. She laughed and said she would put my name on them. What actually happened though is that after Ted passed away, Mom decided to move to live with my older brother in Texas. He went to Florida and helped her pack up or dispose of her house contents and sell the house. And at that time, around 20 years ago, those plates showed up in the mail here, packed in pizza boxes. Fortunately, they survived the trip intact and are mine to cherish now.

They hang on the other side of the stove from my grandmother's cuckoo clock that I loved so much when I was a child. Granny gave that to me while she was still living, saying she couldn't keep it running any more and the local clock shop said they couldn't fix it. But years later, after she was long gone and it had lain in a box in a closet for all that time, my dear husband sneaked it off to a clock shop here in Illinois and they got it running again. I have to wind it twice a day (no eight day movement for that one, it's nearly a century old) but the clock and those plates keep my Mom and Granny alive in my memory still.

Archie and Asher back in their yard, though giving occasional skeptical looks at the red portable fence panels. I guess the color is not suited to their highly developed taste. 😋

Puffballs. Calvatia gigantea to be precise. Edible if you get them before the slugs and insects tunnel into them.

Yes, I know, official meteorological spring began a month ago and astronomical spring two weeks ago. But one of our significant measuring points was hit over the weekend: our ducks began laying eggs. The first two are in the fridge along with four more left in the hay storage by the neighbors' wandering hens.

Also, I got some sour jelly beans (Starburst, not the best ever but they'll do) so that annual requirement is met. I think last year I never found any at all.

It has been raining on and off for three days. Coming down fairly hard at the moment. I can hear it on the roof and hitting the skylight in the kitchen as well as dripping into the stovepipe (despite the fancy cap that is supposed to prevent that.)

( Music chunterings )

Other than going out to care for the horses, I spent most of the day editing and arranging tunes for ThingamaJig. Tomorrow we should see a little more of the sun, but then they tell us to expect some actual snow. Had enough of that now, no thanks.

Some may have seen me talking about this on Twitter during the summer.

Last May two stray hens (no idea where they came from) started laying eggs in one of our barns. One of them had nested in stacked hay bales, the other on the flat top of a tack room (enclosed closet) about 8 feet above the floor. Both eventually sat on eggs for about 8 weeks without hatching any, and we removed the potential stink bomb eggs and figured that was that.

( General birdbrain meanderings )

Once again I've taken too long a break from posting here. The winter has been made busy by several events, not the least of which is my planned retirement from full time library work. After June, I will be a greymuzzle pensioner, with more time for writing, music, gardening, and my pets. Of course that means helping to find and train my replacement. After twelve years in one job, there is a lot of stuff to organize and document and I've been kept very busy getting that done while keeping up with my regular responsibilities.

Meanwhile, my husband is getting near the end of his five year quest for the Ph.D. degree, which has also kept us pretty busy. Next week he will be presenting a paper at a conference, while I cover the animal care tasks he normally handles here at home.

Also some announcements on the writing front. First, I have two poems recently published. One gives a tortoise's view of history, and can be found at QuarterReads. The title is "Thoughts Chelonian." The second appears in a curated selection of furry poems at Adjective Species. The title is "Procyon Prowling" and the subject is a raccoon. I recommend the poems in that collection. They represent a wide variety of styles and formats, and an equally diverse viewpoints on furry subjects. Lunostophiles did a fine job of selecting them from the submitted works.

My story "Coyote's Voice" will appear in ROAR volume 6, to be released in July at Anthrocon if all goes according to plan. The publisher is Bad Dog Books, and the very competent editor for this issue is Mary E. Lowd, also known as Ryffnah.

I'm also currently engaged in writing the completing chapters of Oh, Ricky, the parody on Richard the Lion(heart) that some of you may remember from NanoWrimo 2011. I'm doing that in connection with this month's Camp NanoWrimo where I'm one of a dozen folks working together to prompt and encourage each other.

More as events develop. Thanks for reading.