The first butterfly

During the fall, we have flies that somehow get inside our windows, and I assume they get into the bathroom vent, and I'm not sure where else. They seem capable of squeezing through a space that you wouldn't know existed otherwise.

It is there that they freeze, and thaw, and re-freeze, and thaw again.

Lather, rinse, repeat, all winter long.

So it happens that all winter long, a random thawed fly or two finds a way into the house. Just often enough that we don't forget about them.

We live in the country. It's just the way it is.

Hence the fly excitement I documented a few weeks ago.

When I saw yet another one in the kitchen last evening, I wasn't too surprised. But in between a three year old boy doing his best to imitate a deafening power tool noise, trying to listen to my older boy tell me a story with the word 'very' repeated five-hundred times, noticing my husband throw one end of a sump pump hose across a snowbank and attach the other end to our basement window, and trying my darnedest to get supper ready while waddling around with a baby hugging my leg... I noticed the fly was not a fly.


That might be the worst photo I have ever posted. Considering what I had to work with you're darn lucky I even got one at all.

Lucky for me too, or you might have never believed it was a tiny butterfly. Seriously. A butterfly, in my house, in the middle of March when the snow is deep and slushy outside.

It must have come from the same magical place those flies come from.

Thanks to ToadMama for suggesting black frames on my photos. The funny thing is that at one point I had played with a black background for the blog. I loved how it made the photos pop, but then I had this little problem of white text on a black background which was absolutely impossible.

I may subject you to a lot of nasty things, but white text on a black background will never be one of them. I promise.

Simply putting black frames on my photos had never crossed my young-child-raising, sleep-deprived, foggy brain.

Anyway, I like it, even with such an awful photo to test it on. What do you think?

Quiet

Here I sit eating a bean and rice burrito for breakfast, and contemplating images that represent the word quiet. Bean and rice burritos are quiet, but you know those bean and rice burritos have a reputation, and for good reason.

Hmmm... my day is not likely to be quiet for long.

We've had a few warmish (above freezing) days, and some rain. Our snow is changing, getting slushy, which is technically called "ripening". The melt is coming, water will begin running. We wait to see just how much water we'll be dealing with this year, and just how much it will affect us.

But before all flooding chaos begins, it is quiet.

Last Saturday I got outside and the calm, quiet of pre-Spring was hanging heavy in the air.








And the color of the day, apparently, is rusty orange. I rather like it.


You Capture - "Quiet"

The trouble with roosters

Ugh. I am just sick.

This afternoon I walked out to the barn with my baby in one arm, and a jug of water in the other.

I had to bring the baby with because I cannot trust my three year old around her anymore. I am completely at a loss of what to do with him. It became apparent today that I can't step out of a room for even a minute, if he can get to her... so to the barn she came.

After I made it through our sloppy mud to the barn, I happened to see the Barred Rock rooster, Fritz. He was muddy, and blood was dripping off his head. The frostbitten part of his comb had finally fallen off.

But something didn't seem quite right, and yes indeed, it was much, much worse than that. (no photos, I promise)

Hiding in a corner and squinting at me through one eye was the Buff Orpington rooster, Red. To say he looked awful would be an understatement. He was also muddy and dripping blood. His swollen face, his droopy wings, everything about him read utter defeat.

These two roosters have gotten along with each other marvelously. I have been amazed daily, as I see them puttering around with the hens, always tolerating one another. Once in awhile Red would give Fritz a dirty look and chase him for five seconds. If one rooster saw the other mount a hen, he would come running and with one swift kick dismount his rival. Although, that was more hilarious than menacing, and I laughed out loud every time I saw it happen.

That was the full extent of any turmoil between the two of them.

It might sound crazy, but I am frustrated beyond belief, because I thought I was constantly aware of the relationship these two had. I knew there was a real potential for fighting, but I expected to see some bickering and picking at one another before anything meaningful happened.

But there was none, and I was bloody wrong.

I did not see this coming. At all.

The battle had obviously been a vicious one, and it started with no warning. I had been out just hours earlier, and at that time all was well.

I couldn't do a thing to inspect them. Besides not being dressed for mud and blood, there was a baby in my arms calling them "tee tee" (kitty).

Back to the house with a heavy heart, to deal with an out of control three year old boy.

By the time I was able to return to the barn, the birds had gone to roost for the night. Red was cowering in the coop with one hen. King Fritz was just outside the coop on their porch (the location they normally put themselves to bed, much to my dismay), with the other nine hens.

A line had been drawn, invisible but powerful. Despite shake-ups being horrific, the social structure of chickens is fascinating. They don't hesitate to take care of business.

Sleepy chickens are easy to handle.

I grabbed Red first, and I just wanted to cry. There are laws against cockfighting for a reason. He was sulking, and just plain miserable. I covered his entire swollen, sliced up head with antibiotic ointment.

Fritz was clearly the winner. I used half as much ointment on his head, and then locked him out of the coop with everyone else inside.

He wanted in. Badly.

He was clucking and growling at the coop door. The hens wandered around inside the coop making a noise I haven't heard since they were tiny. They sounded like lost, confused baby chicks. They wanted their king.

Poor Red just stood there among the hens, invisible to them.

What is clear is that I will not have two roosters for long. What remains to be seen is which one will survive.

Red usually keeps better watch of the hens, while Fritz prefers to march around the barn loft looking pretty and listen to himself sing.

I want my rooster to be useful, not just barn decoration.

Tomorrow I will make Red a safe little place to rest and heal away from the other chickens. I doubt that he can escape an infection, but if it becomes apparent that he can survive his wounds, I will make certain that Fritz does not survive his.

Just like the roosters, I can take care of business when necessary too.

Snowy boots

It was a good day.

Grandma and Grandpa watched the kids,


while my husband and I got our boots full of snow.

Together.

I love him, even if he buys grapefruit when I ask for oranges.

A purpose

There is a little army waiting quietly in my attic.


Canning jars are patient like that. They sit forever, have a very exciting couple of hours, and then sit some more.

These particular jars (a ridiculous number of them) sat for years and years with food in them. Boxes and boxes of them. Really, you have no idea.

Someone who loves me very much disposed of the contents, cleaned them all up, and hand delivered them to their new home here. THAT was not an easy task.

For better or worse, I will never want for canning jars.

Oh cool! A green one!


Are you as easily distracted as I am?


I have a stash of seeds waiting patiently too. Very soon, some of them are going to begin the journey towards their purpose.

That is where the destiny of canning jars and garden vegetables collides.

Well, not literally. I hope.

Hopeful

Us humans, we are such limited creatures.

We see what our eyes can see. We see what we think is there to be seen. We see what we are supposed to see.

The moon was huge as it rose the other night. As in, one glance out the window took my breath away. It was a full moon, and low in the sky the atmosphere warped the sunlight bouncing off it, which made it look even more enormous and impressive.

To my eyes (perpetually wearing corrective lenses because I honestly can't see anything on my own) the moon looked something like this.


Beautiful. Red. Slowly rising through wispy clouds.

Yet, there is more. So much more.

Open your eyes, open them wide.

You still can't see everything.

There is so much in this world we cannot see, so much we don't understand. Mysteries of life and death are confusing, and the world beyond this one we can only wonder at.

We are small. We get scared.

We want to see and know, and we try to understand.

Oh, do we try. And we fail.

But I have hope because I believe there is One who is bigger than me. A God that knows and sees and understands all there is. And He is. And He cares for me.

Even though I am small.

God is.


I believe in what I cannot see. Believing gives me hope.

That is not a sunrise... or a sunset.

That is the same full moon rising in the black night. (long exposure)

The moon looked nothing like that to my eyes.

But then, I cannot see.

So I put my hope in Him.



You Capture - "Hopeful"

I Heart Faces - "Hilarious Outtakes"

There is some seriously funny stuff going on over at the I Heart Faces "Hilarious Outtakes" challenge.

Just think, a challenge based not on talent, but lack thereof! Finally, I feel like I am really qualified to play along.

Ahem.

Here is my disastrous attempt at a Christmas card photo of my kids this year.

Overexposed. Shutter speed too long and aperture too wide. But hey, I had little more than a month's experience venturing off full-automatic.

At least I tried!

And my kids?











Life as usual here at our place.

Sigh.