Favorites of 2012

You know those two roads that diverged in a yellow wood?

It's true.

The one less traveled by has made all the difference.



The Battle

Featured in the "Why it Works" section of the January 2013 issue of CLICK magazine.


Captive

Yes, I am that Mom that rescues a turtle off the highway and tosses it in my son's lap while he squeals like a little girl.


Waiting

My beautiful baby sister and her belly!


Left Behind: First Day of School

Featured on Clickin' Moms blog and facebook wall


Enough Helpers?



Curiosity



What Remains

Featured on Clickin' Moms blog
Best of Show at our local County Fair


Summer Bliss



Childhood Memory



Epic Quest



Solstice

The Mystery of the Multiplying Caterpillar

If a man jogs all the way down the road and happens to see that his neighbors are home, he'll stop for an evening chat. If the discussion turns to wondering about the battalion of fascinating black caterpillars that are marching through their yard, he'll say he doesn't know what they are, but he knows someone who does. If he gently picks one up and safely carries it a full mile back the way he came, he'll deposit the bewildered spiky insect in his wife's hands. If she has never seen one before and hasn't got a clue what type of butterfly larva it is, she'll click around online. If she finds the perfect match, it will be a species that lives in Europe.

Europe?

Wrong answer.

But if the online images of that butterfly's wings look vaguely similar (in pattern, but not color) to one that does live on the windswept North American plains, all that sleuthing might not have been in vain. And if I'm fresh out of Snapdragons but the apparently somewhat-slightly-related European critter likes Nettles, you know I grabbed a scissors, a jar, and a flashlight, and ran straight out past the barn, through the corral, and behind one of the gardens to a big old patch of Stinging Nettle.

Not literally, I mean.

Don't run with scissors. Ever. Especially in the dark, when half-grown cats are liable to come creeping along the darkest shadows of the garden path and ambush innocent seekers of Stinging Nettle. Stranger things have happened, believe me.

If the caterpillar happily munches away on that nasty stuff, I might mutter "Homeostasis is at ninety-five percent".

If a Bio-Dome quote randomly surfaces, there must be a former Pauly Shore fan in the house.

If that's embarrassing, let's pretend it didn't happen.

The critter seemed happy enough so I tossed the jar on a shelf for a day or three.

Welcome to the The Old Nichols Farm... where the wackiness level fluctuates between "coconut" and "fruitcake" depending on whether we had oatmeal for breakfast, the Earth's geomagnetic activity (honestly - I've tracked it long enough to know), and how many fireflies are loose in the house.

Fruitcake:

I have no idea what that thing is. She found it in the yard. I caught her just in time to save a very trusting cat (please don't ask).

So I know you won't be surprised. In the least. I mean, I wasn't. What? When I casually mention that we popped the lid off that jar a perfectly responsible amount of time later (cough, cough) to give our captive some fresh food. We carefully dumped the jar upside down and found...

Two?

What? What!

Yes, in our jar.

Exactly identical.

What on earth!?



My first thought was that someone had played a great joke on us. However, my awareness of our household having entered The Fruitcake Zone told me that much more fantastic options had the possibility of being true. Anything, people. Anything is possible.

Sure enough, that patch of Stinging Nettle had been attacked. Eaten up. We found a swarm of spikey black caterpillars all over the remaining plants. I somehow managed to identify our caterpillar so perfectly that I had inadvertently collected another one a few nights prior. And strangely enough, as many times as we had inspected that jar we had only ever seen one.

If you tell me something that bizarre can happen in The Coconut Zone, I'll tell you you're crazy.

Fruitcake Queen. I'm putting it on my resume.

Finished hibernating

I walk back into our house, with sun-kissed skin and wind-whipped hair, and a basket overflowing with outdoor scented shirts and pants fresh off the line. That comforting old-farmhouse-wood smell has returned in our front entryway. There is green grass beginning to grow around the yard. If my windows weren't all caulked shut, I'd have every one of them wide open. Barefoot mud-splattered kids shriek as their bikes whiz down the driveway. I convinced one boy to take his training wheels off yesterday and he is proud.

It hardly seems worth mentioning this weather anymore. These oddly warm days that feel like May (or even June?) have become such a fixture that they almost feel normal. February, really, was the only month that looked and felt like winter. It's easy to endure one month. It's easy to forget that this weather is an unusual gift.

The frost is already out of the ground, and with it, a gigantic beetle that had had enough of hibernating.


I have no fear (unless spiders are involved).

Those of you who live in more... ahem, tropical climates, may not agree that this is a large beetle. It's all relative, I guess. Around here, they don't come much bigger than this. We were sufficiently impressed.

We proceeded in the way my Dad always did with me. He gets the credit for my love of small critters. Ye Olde Insect Identification Book failed to deliver what we were looking for, though. Thank goodness for The Great Internet.

It's a Large Diving Beetle, we decided. Not to be confused with the Small Diving Beetle. Yes, we measured him. With a florescent yellow ruler that didn't make it into the picture. And yes, we're pretty sure he's a boy. And these pictures look like they could use a bit more red or something, no? Oh well, I'm not gonna fix them now.



All the kids held it (even if one held it very briefly and screamed - it still counts).

We even had a bit of drama. It was swimming around in our tub (you don't let gigantic beetles swim in your tub?) until somebody pulled the plug. Luckily one of the boys was quick to snatch it out of the water, although I have my doubts that it would have fit down the drain anyway.

A lot of the bugs from my childhood ended up pinned in a display box.

Not this one.

Sister was concerned that the stinky slough wasn't a good home for him.

The boys convinced her it was okay.



It's mid-March, people. In North Dakota. I looked a year back in my blog just to remind myself of what we have. I should be close to going stir-crazy, exhausted with this frozen tundra. Instead? We're soaking up an amazing early Spring.

Amazing Arnold

This is Arnold. He wants to join the circus and be a famous flying trapeze artist.



Does he seem a bit intimidating?

Sort of powerful?

Maybe like he thinks he's the man?

Don't be afraid. He's really just a harmless tiny little squirt.



Look! Clown feet!

He's ready for the circus!

One yellow claw on each foot!

An extra toe in the back instead of a sharp spur!

(The ladies will thank him later.)



I don't remember why Arnold was in the house that day. I'm sure it couldn't have been purely for entertainment purposes. Ahem. I mean, that never happens around here.

He came from an itty bitty egg. Remember these eggs that I asked permission to take only after I stole them?

I'm so classy.



All we managed to hatch out of those were four of the smallest small eggs. Two are (very) little red hens, one is a beautiful soft white hilarious Silkie hen, and one... well, one is Arnold.

The Silkie has blue earlobes. I loooooove her, but I can't tell you about her until she has a name. And don't beg. The stress of having to come up with a great name for sweet little thing that looks like she stuck her toe in a light socket... well, let's just say I have enough to deal with right now.

Arnold is a little bitty rooster. He can crow, and it's good for your health to hear Arnold crow. He's a little squeaky toy rooster. Imagine picking him up and squeezing him a few times. Yep. There you go.

When our big Red rooster crows, it echos off all the buildings and a quarter mile down the road.

Arnold's song may be a bit lacking, but besides being such a handsome guy, the bird does have another talent.

Are you ready?



People, if only I could post video.

Alas, my satellite internet majorly stinks.

Once upon a time Several weeks ago (yes, I've been holding out on you) I walked into the barn to put my birdies to bed for the night... although it seems to be entirely unnecessary because we have a gigantic Chesapeake Bay Retriever who has taken it upon herself to keep these chickens safe at any cost, and ride the school bus occasionally...

I opened the coop door and was surprised (to say the least) to find a chicken standing on top of the door. You know who it was. On top of the door. Not the door frame. Does this make sense? No. Not at all. They just, those birds can't... well, they just can't be there.

He looked at me like I'd really bothered him.

They can't be there.

It defied the Laws of Physics.

Not much truly surprises me around here. After all, this is a funny farm. But the Laws of Physics? They must not be defied. So I grabbed the video camera the next evening.

This time I looked before I opened the door. And see? He's levitating.



Notice the girl peeking at me from the roost. Obviously, something is up.

When I opened the door, it bumped the cord, which is normally up near the ceiling where electrical cords should be. The cord slid along the top of the door, and because I did it verrrrrrry slowly... Arnold didn't have to suddenly and silently jump from his electrical wire roost to the top of the door, which is what had me so confused then night before.

Because there is no way on earth a chicken (even a tiny one) could fly up and land on a cord that was (past tense) only inches from the ceiling, without pulling it out of the wall or causing all sorts of destruction. No way. Trust me.



And if he could do it, how could he ever find such a slippery swinging unstable sort of roost comfortable?





It's a good thing I took video too, because even though I can't share it with you, it turned out to be valuable because my husband would never have believed me otherwise. My only mistake was not continuing to shoot video as I attempted to close the coop door with Arnold still on the wire.

He ended up on top of the ladies on the roost. Briefly.

"chicken"

Big fat tears ran down her face. She said my singing made her butt hurt. I had to admit it was a creative retaliation to my asking her to stop screaming (the girl is LOUD and it made my ears hurt). Planning a day such that she misses her nap leaves me laughing with regret every time.

We were stuck in the car together, she sobbing under her blanket and me singing because the radio didn't work. Then I attempted to distract her with a donkey that I knew was just a few miles down the road. Fail. She cried even harder imagining a "hee haw" was waiting for us in our own barn.

I suppose an ass could be a scary thing? And even more so if you've missed your nap?

I had no option left but to ponder silently on the use of the word "chicken".

See, if I mention I had left "chicken" in my entryway, you would think meat. Yes? Something in a plastic bag. You might ask if I should have put it in the fridge or the freezer. You might wonder if we're having an Italian or Chinese dish with chicken as an ingredient.

No fear, friends. The entryway is unheated. The "chicken" will still be nice and cold even if I've left it there. It's winter here in North Dakota, after all.

But if I were to say, hypothetically speaking only (of course), I had left "a chicken" in my entryway, this leaves no room for error.

You might even ask what her name is.





You might wonder what on earth she's doing in here. You might realize that wasn't quite what you meant to ask when I tell you:

She's been singing to her new friend for the last three hours.



You might correct yourself then and ask why she is in the entryway instead of the coop. And at that, I would remember exactly why this entire thing played out in my mind while the overtired Bean drama continued in the backseat.

Her butt hurts.



But it wasn't my singing, I'm sure of that.

The little pirates

Phase One of the "Get Those Pirates Out of the House" project has begun in earnest.

Two and a half weeks. Is that all? It seems like so much longer. Two and a half weeks of the little savages pillaging and plundering our house. Two and a half weeks of extracting them from my camera bag, the dishwasher, and from behind the boys beds. Two and a half weeks of them gleefully terrorizing Her Royal Highness Ellie, our resident fat indoor cat. Two and a half weeks of nearly failing to keep The Bean from loving them to death (literally).

I've been tossing them out the front door. Under supervision only. The dog almost has me convinced she isn't going to eat them, and "almost" isn't quite good enough.

In two and a half weeks they've gone from "kitten" to "miniature cat".

Oh. And they finally have names.

Captain Hook...



... and Black Beard.



Possibly the least creative names I've ever come up with. My dear husband consoled me by mentioning that my brain is no longer functioning. Instead of being offended, I'm taking it as assurance that I truly am as overwhelmed and exhausted as I feel.

A very good friend threatened to drop off two more kittens. I promised her I'd return the favor by stuffing a hormonal adolescent rooster in her mailbox.

I think I've got all the carousing uncivilized little brutes I can handle at the moment.

But they sure are cute.

Random issues

Scavenger Hunt at Ashley's! It's been awhile since I played.

1. Seeing double/two

We've fallen in love.

I will send them out to the barn... I will send them out to the barn... I will send them out to the barn... I will...

Yes I will. They've only been in the house a week. It's not an issue (yet).



2. Whatever

Socks with my off-brand Crocs. Crocs? Is that even how it's spelled?

I've already proven that I'm a fashion queen.

*sigh* Whatever.



I have control issues. I had to painfully force myself to switch to shooting in plain old jpg for my own day-to-day pictures. Three weddings worth of RAW images to process pushed me over the edge. (I am not a wedding photographer. Just had a few opportunities to test the water.)

3. Sweet

I have attention issues. I forgot to change back to RAW format when we were under the mixed (artificial and natural) lighting in the coop.

My baby with one of her "beebee peep". So sweet.



Sticking my fingers in my ears while singing "la la la" and blissfully ignoring my white balance issues by slapping the ill-fated jpg straight into black and white... sweet. Okay. Not really sweet, but it works. Sort of.

4. Space

The always variable amount of acceptable minimum space between these two brothers fascinates me.



The amount of acceptable minimum space between the Older Brother and The Bean is not variable. Ever. It's starting to become a real issue.

5. Bright

Did I say I have attention issues? My goal here was to take an artistic picture of grass. Don't ask.



He was sitting on a gigantic round bale of hay (grass). I was just a little distracted by his bright shiny eyes.

Ladybugs

I bought a gorgeous Hibiscus tree last summer. It's a magnificent thing.

It's the kind of potted lovely you put outside to soak up summer and then rescue when the days get colder. Maybe you wouldn't have to invite it in the house where you live. But here, well, it wouldn't be magnificent at all if I had left it to fend for itself. Not a chance.

Did I mention it was all of twelve dollars?

There may have been a reason for that.

From the day I promised to love it forever, and brought it home, it's been infested with aphids. Impressively so. But the strange thing is, it doesn't seem to mind.

At one point I stuck it inside our barn when a severe thunderstorm rolled over our farm. It was safe from the hail but not the wind. After my beautiful beautiful Hibiscus fell over, someone's dang chickens ate every bloom, every leaf, every bit of green they could find on it. And by default, they ate the aphids too.

Chickens are nothing but trouble. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

It appeared to be a horribly tragic ending.

The Hibiscus grew back prettier than ever.

So did the aphids.

I've washed the dumb thing with soapy water. At least three times. These aphids are impressive too.

But the good news!

We keep finding ladybugs in the house!



Oh wait. That one doesn't eat aphids. At least to the best of my knowledge.

The other ones, we relocate them to ladybug paradise.



Where do they come from? Honestly, as long as they're not boxelder bugs or gigantic furry spiders, I really don't care.

These are the happiest ladybugs on the face of the earth.



It's really something to watch them create aphid-free zones. Although it's an uphill battle for them, they don't complain.



Linking up with Macro Monday

Tiny intruders

I finally caught one of the little buggers!



The drama started about a month ago. Something woke me at 4am, and in my groggy half-conscious state, I couldn't figure out what it was. It was something loud. Very loud. I decided it must be my husband snoring on the couch.

But no, that didn't seem quite right.

Was it the little Bean snoring with her head tucked into my armpit? (Her presence was the reason why her Daddy had escaped to the other room) No, it wasn't her.

It seemed to be coming from the basement.

It sounded like... a frog? A really loud frog? Yes, in the basement.

A few days later we could distinctly hear at least two of them singing to each other.

The search was on.

My husband saw one jumping around behind our freezer. Our boys searched with flashlights until their batteries went dead. Despite doing a quick check for them whenever their song echoed through our home, the only time I saw one was when I lifted a bin of recycling and scared the little guy that was hiding there. It hopped underneath the freezer, of course.

They're tiny little creatures, and fast too. Did I mention how loud they are?

We hear them all the time.

The little Bean puts her finger up to her lips (shhhhhh) and parks herself by the baby gate at the top of the basement stairs so she can hear them better. In fact, when we hear frogs outside now, she puts her finger to her lips and laughs like a hyena.

It's been quite a game.

The sound of frogs singing has been a sort of zen-like addition to the chaos of my days. And honestly, even my husband admits he likes hearing them too.

And I finally got one!

There is a hole in the concrete floor about the size of my hand, with a little cave that disappears behind it. A tiny little frog cave. We've had water issues. Don't ask. The frogs are just the icing on the cake.

Would it worry you to have an empty space of unknown size underneath your basement floor? What if the entire thing is going to collapse? What if I step off the stairs tomorrow with a big basket of laundry and end up in China?

And you know, there are other animals besides frogs that spend winter hibernating deep in the ground. I won't mention them here.

{Cough} Snakes.

What if we get snakes in our basement? My mother would never ever visit us again. I would miss her. Although I do like snakes as much as I like frogs.

Salamanders? I adore them even more. But really? Not in my basement.

Those poor frogs must be so confused. They dig down looking for a nice warm place to spend the winter sleeping, take a wrong turn and end up...

It's been a full month! What the heck are they eating down there!?

So I caught one. Right after our big kid got on the bus one morning. I couldn't just let it go outside. I knew he needed to see it. He loves frogs. LOVES them. But what to do with it until he got home?

I was brilliant. The boys have a little terrarium plant thingie, complete with a lid. Perfect.



The younger boy and I stuck it in there. I spent the day imagining how excited that big kid would be when he saw it, and how happy the tiny frog must be sitting in soft moist soil among the seedlings, instead of on cold concrete.

When the kid arrived home that afternoon, I told him I had a surprise.

I built up the suspense and I built it up good.

We peeked into the terrarium.


{awkward silence}


It was gone... apparently buried itself for the winter. Again.

{sigh}

Sometimes I'm so brilliant I even amaze myself.