Wandering in the evening

If we can make it just a few more weeks without frost, our raspberries will be perfectly ripe. Fresh and new and yummy. They've been teasing us, one here... one there... but now we've begun to find them a handful at a time.

I had to chase the dog out of there yesterday. She gets all kinds of good things, she doesn't need every last one of the raspberries too.

This little damselfly was about to go hunting for mosquitoes. Yet its own life is nearly over. I can feel that hint of crisp change in the evening air. I wonder if the little creatures are aware of it.



The day is complete when everything is saturated with that fabulous golden light, it is brief but magical.

I chase the diminishing light with my lens, forced to change my camera's settings almost constantly. Finally I admit that I just can't collect enough light with the tools I have. My tripod is in the house. I'm not running back in for it, not tonight anyway. The mosquitoes are terrible.

But until those blood-thirsty demons send me racing for the safety of the house, I sit alone with my camera... quietly observing, listening, feeling, seeing.

Well, okay, so I'm not technically alone. This big sharp-clawed rumbling orange beast loves to tag along.



And I don't mind.



He's good company.



More Summer's Simple Things at

The second day of school

The first day of school gets all the attention.

Clothes are laid out the night before. Moms put a tissue in their pocket, just in case. Cameras click click click. Everyone is at least a little bit unsure.



The first day of school, our big kindergartner was ready. His mom was ready. The camera was ready. As we waited, someone noticed spiderwebs and admired them, which calmed any remaining nerves.



Although preschool last year had prepared us all for school itself, the bus was a new thing. He wanted me to step on the bus with him. I was happy to.

Amazingly, considering it was only a few weeks ago that he declared, "And I'm not gonna do it", all was well.

In a cloud of dust, our big kindergartner was off to his first day of school.



Of course it was the second day, when I let my guard down, that the drama arrived.

Again, I waited outside with the kid. The bus was coming down the driveway. The doors opened... but he hesitated.

So our ninety pound beast of a dog got on the bus instead.

Happy tongue swinging, flapping tail slapping the seats, nose investigating, completely ignoring my request for her to get her butt back on firm ground. I finally had to grab her collar and pull. She knew mom meant business and didn't argue.

The giggling kindergartner got on the bus. You would laugh too, if your gigantic dog wanted to go to school with you.

And then I discovered that my clever three-year-old had locked me out of the house.

I have everything under control. Always. Yes, I do. I'm the mom.

Hidden treasure

After we got our big kindergartner on his bus yesterday, and watched that cloud of dust go down the gravel road for the very first time, it seemed strange with him gone. We needed something different to do. So I grabbed my two younger ones and we set off in search of something special.

I figured the chance of us finding it was actually quite good, since the adults have been migrating through our yard by hundreds and hundreds, these the last two days.

It didn't take long before we were immersed in the magic. We found one!



We got up close and inspected it thoroughly.


{See the hovering fly?}

Then we collected it. Someone giggled because it left a trail of tickles on his hand.



Next we found a super-tiny itty bitty one. So, so small. You may not believe it, but we even found one tinier than this.



But there were plenty of big ones too.



We built a little cardboard mansion and gathered a banquet of milkweed for them. Now we watch and wait.

For me, personally, this is something really special. My Dad got me interested in insects when I was little. I searched year after year looking for Monarch caterpillars. I never found a single one.

You Capture - "Outside"

All photos on this post were shot with the lensbaby 2.0 and the super-wide angle accessory.

Also, yes I have a bunch of pictures of the Monarchs migrating through our backyard, and I did use a real lens for that. I'll get some of those pictures up soon.

Delicious quiet

The boys are out fishing with their Daddy, in the wind. The Bean is down for a nap, recharging her batteries. The house is quiet, momentarily.

Quiet. It's delicious.

My quiet is balanced on top of the sound of a cricket singing and the trees dancing in the wind and something else.

A screen door is softly tap tap tapping as the wind pulls it barely open and then lets go.

Why?

Because my "I am such big fancy stuff" Red rooster crowed.

He does not crow once. Nope. Once he gets fired up he crows at least a dozen times. At least.

Where?

He crowed right underneath The Bean's window, and she is sleeping, you recall.

I jumped off my chair, out the door and down the back steps, nearly landing on a hen.

Red saw me coming.

He took off for the lilac bushes and I was close behind. I chased him across our clover and bee filled yard... bare foot. I did not get stung. It must be my day!

Around and around we went. I told him to shut-up. I said it nicely. Maybe.

Dude gave me a dirty look like he always does when he admits that I am the bigger rooster. And I am. He knows it's true, just needs a reminder once in awhile.

And then we just stood there looking at each other. He is a beautiful bird. His tail feathers whipped around in the breeze. The sunlight bounced off his back. He turned and I watched him walk his ladies across to the other side of the yard.

I am sitting here listening to a cricket singing, the trees dancing in the wind, and the tap tap tapping of the screen door that I didn't quite get latched on my way back in. I do not hear any chickens.

Quiet. Mmmmmm...

Tilt shift baby!

When you live way out in the boonies, where your chickens lay eggs in the doghouse, you still have to enter society once in awhile. Unfortunately. I'd rather be moving our couch in search of escaped amphibians.

Both of which I had to do twice this week.

Was it only yesterday I swore I would never go grocery shopping with all three of my offspring ever again? Ever. For the rest of my days.

I was so distraught I even forgot to use my coupon. It was that bad.

Honestly, the kids aren't normally so bad... two is okay. Three is a gamble. I'm sure it's due to some phenomenon involving psychology, calculus, time of day, and the pull of the moon's gravity on the earth. I don't know. I won't ask my husband because he would sit down with some duct tape, graph paper and a paper clip and figure it out.

And yet, I find myself about to lose my mind again. I find myself having grabbed the cart with the bad wheel that wobbles around and around, praying we find what we need and can get the heck out of here before disaster strikes.

Squeak, squeak, squeak...

Things seem a little off. Perhaps it wasn't a level headed idea, but we gotta get this job done.



Sorry Bean, but the big kid needs shoes.



How is it possible that a kindergartner has need for two pairs of shoes? At school. Need as in "required". Gah.

Hey Wal-Mart! Guess what? I went to K-Mart, so there!



Shoe shopping is serious business, this can't be rushed. But we're already feeling dizzy.

The monkeys want to be free!



Suddenly he realizes that if he pulls up on the front panel of the cart, his cage door starts to open! It lifts the Bean forward up into the air! She squeals and hangs on for dear life... but it's a bad angle for him, and she's too heavy to go all the way over.

He drops the partly open cage door.

It falls back into place.

The Bean plops down in her seat.

Her fingers?

Pinched.



Frogs in the living room is nothing compared to this.

Playing with my food

My kitchen reeks of basil. After being immersed in it for a few days, I'm convinced that it starts to smell rather like skunk after awhile. Or perhaps my nose is just overwhelmed and confused after our weekend excitement.

At any rate, lots and lots of fresh basil is a very good thing.



Oh, yeah. And sweet red pepper too. Did I mention the red pepper?

Red peppers make me exceedingly happy and awfully grumpy too. I can't grow a red pepper to save my life. Frost arrives way too early in my mysterious sunken swamp of a garden for any green pepper aspiring to turn red. But there are worse problems to have in life, so I just admit defeat and buy them at the store. You know, like normal people do.

But you can't buy basil that looks this good at the store.



I slapped some mayonnaise on a flour tortilla, and sprinkled it with cayenne pepper. Dangerous, I know. I like to be reckless with my food.



Then I pushed some basil leaves into the mayo. Squish. Squish. Squish. I got so excited I nearly dropped my camera.



Next I topped my artwork with slices of smoked turkey and the glorious red pepper.



I'm not done playing with my food until I've rolled it up and stuck a knife in it a few times. And then I hauled it off across the room looking for different light.



And you see what happens?



A basil thief!



When she's not busy knocking chairs over, sneaking things out of the locked cupboards, or climbing onto the counters... she steals my basil.

You Capture - "In the kitchen"

I kept thinking the You Capture theme this week was "In the chicken". Kitchen, chicken, kitchen, chicken... perfectly reasonable, right? I entertained the thought of being completely annoying and just running with it, but I had technical difficulties.

I can't find my axe.

It could have been very educational. Do you have any idea where a boy chicken's testicles are located? Hmmmm?

When sharpshooting goes bad

My husband stuck his head in the house and hollered, "Is your coop open?"

I didn't answer right away because I was busy thinking (and making pancakes). Why in the world would he ask me that? My chickens were puttering around the yard doing their thing, so obviously the coop was open. But since we have such great communication around here, I played it safe. Perhaps a gust of wind had blown the coop door shut. Or something. And why would he care anyway?

"It should be open", were the words that I chose gently, very much the way you would pick raspberries off the cane.

Then all things were made known to me.

"There is a skunk in the shop."

"In the shop?"

"Yes, in the shop."

Concise and clear, with no room for error. Such a beautiful thing.

A cupboard door slammed and I heard that metallic "ka-chink". He had my gun.

{if you don't like the type of story that involves a skunk and a gun, you would do well to end today's visit to the farm now... you've been warned}

It was my turn to yell. "Be sure it's not a cat!" I put my spatula down, swung my baby onto my hip and followed him out the door.

{insert some banjo diddly here... and have I mentioned we have nothing but mud in front of the house right now, along with the flattened remnant of my once beautiful flower bed?}

Okay, so it was something. Not a gust of wind, but rather similar in a way if the occasion was right. And people, you already know the occasion was so right that it was going to be very very wrong.


{a raspberry that has nothing to do with my story}

I raced off to the barn to be sure my chickies weren't under skunk assault, since all kinds of metal things were at the same moment apparently fighting for their lives in the shop. All was well. The bird-brains were oblivious to the drama as usual. Life in a shell. First literally and then figuratively.

Just then Pepe le Pew meandered out the shop door, and I witnessed my expert marksmanship former Marine husband drop to his knee while simultaneously firing a single shot. He made it look effortless. I was impressed. It would be an understatement of magnificent proportions to say that his form was better than mine when I shot a bad little skunk two years ago.

However, my aim was better.

It went back into the shop and the Marine was left pacing back and forth on the driveway with my shotgun, debating his next move. Firing inside the shop without eye protection was not an option.

It was interesting and everything, so I went back into the house. I found our boys running around the kitchen with their pancakes, like little wind-up crumb dispensers.

"Is Daddy still alive?"

"Yep. He's standing out there looking very grumpy."

They were bouncing off the walls. "Can we see him? Is the skunk dead? Mommy can we see Daddy? Did he shoot the skunk? Mommy! MommyMommyMommy!"

I moved my pancake batter bowl and put them both, with pancakes in hand, on the kitchen counter with a window facing the farmyard. An eternity later A few minutes later I heard the front door swing open, but I couldn't hear the words that accompanied it. I was sort of curious to say the least.

"What?"

And then I smelled him.

The boys scrambled down from their perch and met him at the border of the demilitarized zone baby gate that blocks our entryway. Our hero had already discarded his clothes at the door. The air was filled with a nearly electric excitement, along with a stench that burned my eyes and made me gag.

It was our oldest boy, always the thinker, who surveyed the scene and made the whole event priceless.

"Daddy", he demanded, "How grumpy are you?"

I'm not sure I've ever giggled and gagged that hard at the same time.

Luckily, it wasn't a direct hit. Two showers later their Daddy was cleared to spend the night indoors.

In a way, the whole ordeal reminded me of THIS...


Although that time the battle was less stinky to say the least.