Life in the fast lane - "a way of living which is full of excitement and activity" characterized my every moment for many years. First it was mommy-challenges on top of a strong desire for self-reliance that called for at least a large garden, if not chickens and ducks and goats (oh my!) Then it was time spent primarily in the design profession, where, so it seemed, everyone expected everything done day before yesterday, and with no input or content to boot.
I was exciting, juggling clients and commutes and freelance work and life. Life cycled between manic peaks and the inevitable slow times between projects when the chance to relax and take a break was constantly shadowed by the fear that a new project -- and new paycheck -- might not appear. I was on call 24/7; when a server crashed at 1 AM, there was always at least ONE client online, looking for their emails or just looking over their web site and ready to panic. And I actually enjoyed that life, while I was there, living it.
But I am not there now. I moved to Maine and (slowly, with some frustration) got in sync with the slower pace of life. I can remember ranting, shortly after our move, about the small number of errands that could be accomplished in one day; there was always something left over, it seemed, and undone, no matter how abbreviated I made the initial list. Not having to land-and-house-hunt helped cut the "to do" list. Not having to job hunt cut it again. And, over time, I settled into a mix of small (and very occasionally large) design projects with clients that I actually like and enjoy working with, hex sign painting, gardening and tending some small stock and a relatively routine part time job in town that involves working with STUFF (that doesn't talk back or get drunk) as opposed to people.
However....
Sometimes things get out of control and today was one of them, with flashbacks far from "the way life should be" [™ State of Maine ;)] back to the fast lane.
I had less than an hour on the clock at work, busy with the routine task of getting music CDs alphabetized and placed in their proper locations on the shelves. I had completed the movie return, to the best of my ability, though I knew I was a ways shy of our 90% goal. The store management, in an effort to minimize the appearance of theft (called "shrink" these days, it seems) has been steadfastly dragging their feet on writing off titles that we no longer have in stock. Some of them have been on the list well over a year (not many, but some) and others since Christmas. Some are less old but still hanging around on the "pull list" and affecting my ability to "make quota." My superior asked me to try to get closer to our goal, via email and I explained in detail why it was not going to happen.
No sooner than I got that done that things started hopping, email-wise, regarding the tractors and equipment that we are trying to sell. Now, mind you, I have these messages come in on my Android device just so that I can deal with necessary and time sensitive issues. But today they ganged up on me, especially considering the lack of ease typing on a microscopically small keyboard.
I was trying to get things completed at work without going over time, because I had previous set up a time, after I expected to have left the store, to return a call to the tech support folks for an app that I need to download and install on the Android for a series of one night jobs for a different company, that when completed will net me over $500 -- earmarked for installation of the wood heat stove this year.
I also needed to get this done (and hopefully pick up medication from Sams Club) and get home by 1:30, when someone was scheduled to come to look at a tractor implement.
And as if that was insufficient to take my attention, K was emailing me regarding some water and antifreeze that I needed to pick up so that he could complete repairs to Boo, the Subaru... not as straightforward an assignment as it might appear, due to the aluminum component(s) in the engine.
Get the picture?? I was, with no warning, shoved back into the "how many hot irons can you keep in the fire and simultaneously juggle" arena. Shoved back (kicking and screaming, I might add, though thankfully for the customers in the store, not literally) into the fast lane.
Sigh.
Left work 20 minutes late.
Called home, opted out of med run and antifreeze run, knowing that puts both errands on the list AFTER my tooth extraction but also knowing that all I have to do is drive there; K will do the actual errands. He can't drive Artie, because Artie has decided not to allow adjustment to his drivers seat.
Shined on calling tech support or trying yet again to download the app. Maybe tomorrow while K is on errands. More likely Monday.
Came home at maximum speed, keeping in mind that I needed to compression brake, as during my last few miles of the inbound commute Artie's brakes suddenly started making terrible nasty rough grinding sounds. Fortunately I am good at this, having driven an old truck with almost no brakes for several months, into, around and out of Spokane, WA.
Arrived home at 1:24. Tractor part guy did not arrive until nearly 2:30
By which time I had changed clothes, had a beer, visited with K, supervised some cultivation....
And he did not buy it.
I did, however, get the lettuces planted and K got the entire necessary garden area cultivated. I peeled and cooked the last of our 2012 potato harvest for supper and we ate, albeit over 1.5 hrs late. And, as I finish this blog entry, I note it is almost exactly bedtime. Time for a quick soak to get the garden off me, and off to bed.
Tomorrow is another day... in the slow lane. "the way life should be" ™
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Thursday, June 6, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Suddenly Summer
We went from the weather of early spring to full blown summer (and temps in the mid-80s) literally overnight.
I had been waiting for the nigh temps to stay, more or less reliably in the 50s with occasional dips to the 40s and nothing below that, so as to set out the tomatoes, peppers, and vine crops that have been crowding the deck. Between juggling the part time job, hex painting and house chores, I was thankful for several days of rain that allowed time to beat down the domestic jungle, before garden time took hold again. I love it when I manage to stay in sync with the universe!
Tomato planting started Thursday and continued Friday. Over 170 plants... three full long rows... is a lot of plating. I had high hopes of getting them done Friday, despite the heat, but the body had other ideas. A tooth that had lost its filling (and indeed, according to the dentist, broken) finally decided to start hurting and get infected. SERIOUSLY infected. I was able to get into the dentist Friday just after lunch, was given antibiotics and serious pain pills and scheduled for an extraction Friday coming. No biggie... I did some planting, but bending over was NOT fun, so figured to end it on Saturday.
What they didn't tell me, though, was that both meds increase sensitivity to heat and sunlight. I found out the hard way Saturday morning when, after less than 1/3 of a row put in I started feeling ill. Yeah, it was hot, but not THAT hot, so I figured the noted side effect of dizziness/queasiness was in play. BOY was I wrong... I was on the early side of heat sickness, and lost most of Saturday to sitting, standing in the shower, sitting, lying down, spraying water on myself with a spray bottle, ad nauseum (pun intended.) It was bad enough that I called out of work for this morning... our busiest day at work... something I never have done before. But I had no idea how quickly this would pass; previous bouts -- admittedly more severe -- had me out of commission for several days.
Thankfully this was not that bad. I have, however, determined that all garden activity will be done in temps below 80, and for now below 70 and only in early morning and evening hours. I did need to wake up early for my antibiotic, and felt pretty much ok, so I decided to plant the peppers, put some pre-sprouted spinach seed out and start working on the cucumbers. Things were doing just fine in the early morning cool temps until the SUN broke from behind the cloud that those strange feelings started to return. I finished the flat, but not the row, came in and sat for the rest of the morning and now know.
Even more than previously, the sun is my enemy. I have never been a big fan of sunny days, though I know they are as necessary for the garden as the overcast and rainy ones. But as most folks tolerate the rain, anxiously awaiting a sunny weekend, I tolerate the sun, and greet overcast skies with joy. Gotta be a little weird, but it's me. I have not, previously, felt the sun to be hostile since I moved to Maine, though it often felt that way when I lived in the southlands. Even when the temperatures were not yet high enough to be uncomfortable, the sun rising over the fire station across the street and streaming into my kitchen window as I grabbed my first cup of coffee on a summer morning in Beaufort, NC, made me feel as if my skin was being attacked. For many years, each summer was accompanied with daily doses of St. John's Wart to offset the depression that crowded around me as the days lengthened and the sun rose higher in the sky each day.
It is called "Summer SAD -- Seasonal Affective Disorder" and I was researching it on the Internet several years before I saw any mention of such condition (other than as a way to talk about winter depressions in the southern hemisphere.)
But this is something else, thank the Gods. I have been reassured by several folks that the sensitivity to sun/heat that comes with various medications will fade as the drugs leave one's system. And I am also thankful that, in Maine, the unseasonable temperatures usually do not last for long. Today they are breaking and this week we will return to more typical, and acceptable to my strange mentality and body, days with highs in the 60s to 70 and partially cloudy skies.
So planting will continue, and painting during the mid-day as orders for 3' hex signs continue to roll in.
I had been waiting for the nigh temps to stay, more or less reliably in the 50s with occasional dips to the 40s and nothing below that, so as to set out the tomatoes, peppers, and vine crops that have been crowding the deck. Between juggling the part time job, hex painting and house chores, I was thankful for several days of rain that allowed time to beat down the domestic jungle, before garden time took hold again. I love it when I manage to stay in sync with the universe!
Tomato planting started Thursday and continued Friday. Over 170 plants... three full long rows... is a lot of plating. I had high hopes of getting them done Friday, despite the heat, but the body had other ideas. A tooth that had lost its filling (and indeed, according to the dentist, broken) finally decided to start hurting and get infected. SERIOUSLY infected. I was able to get into the dentist Friday just after lunch, was given antibiotics and serious pain pills and scheduled for an extraction Friday coming. No biggie... I did some planting, but bending over was NOT fun, so figured to end it on Saturday.
What they didn't tell me, though, was that both meds increase sensitivity to heat and sunlight. I found out the hard way Saturday morning when, after less than 1/3 of a row put in I started feeling ill. Yeah, it was hot, but not THAT hot, so I figured the noted side effect of dizziness/queasiness was in play. BOY was I wrong... I was on the early side of heat sickness, and lost most of Saturday to sitting, standing in the shower, sitting, lying down, spraying water on myself with a spray bottle, ad nauseum (pun intended.) It was bad enough that I called out of work for this morning... our busiest day at work... something I never have done before. But I had no idea how quickly this would pass; previous bouts -- admittedly more severe -- had me out of commission for several days.
Thankfully this was not that bad. I have, however, determined that all garden activity will be done in temps below 80, and for now below 70 and only in early morning and evening hours. I did need to wake up early for my antibiotic, and felt pretty much ok, so I decided to plant the peppers, put some pre-sprouted spinach seed out and start working on the cucumbers. Things were doing just fine in the early morning cool temps until the SUN broke from behind the cloud that those strange feelings started to return. I finished the flat, but not the row, came in and sat for the rest of the morning and now know.
Even more than previously, the sun is my enemy. I have never been a big fan of sunny days, though I know they are as necessary for the garden as the overcast and rainy ones. But as most folks tolerate the rain, anxiously awaiting a sunny weekend, I tolerate the sun, and greet overcast skies with joy. Gotta be a little weird, but it's me. I have not, previously, felt the sun to be hostile since I moved to Maine, though it often felt that way when I lived in the southlands. Even when the temperatures were not yet high enough to be uncomfortable, the sun rising over the fire station across the street and streaming into my kitchen window as I grabbed my first cup of coffee on a summer morning in Beaufort, NC, made me feel as if my skin was being attacked. For many years, each summer was accompanied with daily doses of St. John's Wart to offset the depression that crowded around me as the days lengthened and the sun rose higher in the sky each day.
It is called "Summer SAD -- Seasonal Affective Disorder" and I was researching it on the Internet several years before I saw any mention of such condition (other than as a way to talk about winter depressions in the southern hemisphere.)
But this is something else, thank the Gods. I have been reassured by several folks that the sensitivity to sun/heat that comes with various medications will fade as the drugs leave one's system. And I am also thankful that, in Maine, the unseasonable temperatures usually do not last for long. Today they are breaking and this week we will return to more typical, and acceptable to my strange mentality and body, days with highs in the 60s to 70 and partially cloudy skies.
So planting will continue, and painting during the mid-day as orders for 3' hex signs continue to roll in.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Walking a Difficult Path
My life path these days is difficult. Not necessarily all that different overall than that of many others, women and men, I am sure, but in the details perhaps a little more different and certainly a challenge.
I am partnered with someone younger than I, who has been in ill health -- or at least fighting chronic conditions -- as long as I have known him. So it's not like I walked into this and got blindsided, yanno? However it's still a challenge.
He wants, heck he NEEDS to help, to be useful, to DO stuff around the house and on the farm even though he is officially disabled. However, his pain levels, his energy levels and his mental acuity and memory all vary from day to day and even moment to moment, with nothing improving and no real likelyhood of it. He has been diabetic since the 70s, untreated part of that time and unmedicated for much of it, due to poverty. It has affected his ability to walk and to feel. He has had mental issues for Gods only know how long; he was seriously abused/abandoned/neglected as a child and has spent much of his life trying to be perfect... to meet or exceed everyone's expectations.. to be accepted... to fill the hole in his psyche and heart with a real family. This has led him to make many bad decisions, which thanks to the counseling and medical care which he has been able to get since being declared disabled, he is aware of and working to put into the past. Lots 'o baggage, yeah.
After years of saying "I'm not a farmer" he had really gotten into it. Driving and working on the tractor (I gotta make him a t shirt:" If I'm not working on the tractor" (graphic of fellow driving pulling implement behind) on the front and "I'm working on the tractor" (graphic of machine with its hood raised, guy bent over and tools flying everywhere) on the back), keeping the weeds down between rows, mowing, opening new fields, tending fowl and bunnies... even when he can barely walk or move and doesn't even get started until mid-morning. If he is late with chores, he mentally "beats himself up." If he looses a day to fatigue, pain, whatever... even more so.
And I know, and he knows though he is not really facing it, that his ability to "push through" will continue to decline.
I am not a spring bird either; my knees plague me and give me a lot of pain. I've recently fought my way back from near death by anemia and gotten through a bout of shingles (with relatively little pain, I thank the Gods) and this year have the energy to at least walk the rows in the garden, hoe a bit and have acquired tools to help make my garden time less painful and more productive (a sitting on, rolling stool and a "baby" garden cart that is much easier for me to pull back up to the house than the "mama" size one we originally bought. Of course, I use both, but the baby one for everything possible.
I wish there were someone I could talk to, someone who had walked this path before. I could surely use some guidance trying to find a decent route, or at least a "yeah, I understand" and a pat on the shoulder.
This morning is typical in an atypical way. He awakened near first light or a bit before, to the sounds of fussing ducks. Nothing obvious was amiss, they were just fussing, but in attempting to check it out, as we have had serious predation issues this past year, he was awake and unable to go back to sleep so he got up and I went back to catching up on missed sleep.
Anyway, when I finally rolled out around 6, he decided to go back to bed, as he was sleepy. Usually he stays up, tries to get something done and usually does then after lunch when I go back to projects, he wants "just a few minutes more" to rest, and several hours later I find him still sawing logs in the recliner, awakening in time for supper (sometimes with my nagging) and more "beating himself up" mentally for not having completed what he had planned for the afternoon.
So rather than waiting breakfast on my first day off (my town job starts a 6 AM so I am up at 4 and leave here shortly after 5, with a cuppa coffee under my belt and breakfast in my bag to eat during my morning break; on days off, I cook a more appropriate country breakfast) and setting my day way behind, I cooked and ate and am about to start my day.
It is an ongoing challenge to get done what needs doing, in a timely manner, and without making him feel worse than useless. I know it would be a challenge, as well, to do it ALL myself but at least that is a challenge that would be totally under my control. It is frustrating, knowing stuff that needs to be done, that he considers "his chore" may not happen (a) when it needs to or (b) at all, thanks to his worsening memory.
Sigh.
The dishes call, the fowl and bunnies need fed and watered (well, at least the bunnies need water, I think Ma Nature took care of the fowl last night, it's been raining for hours!) and I have house pick up and cleaning, mending and darning and hex painting to do. Better get at it. Thanks for "listening."
I am partnered with someone younger than I, who has been in ill health -- or at least fighting chronic conditions -- as long as I have known him. So it's not like I walked into this and got blindsided, yanno? However it's still a challenge.
He wants, heck he NEEDS to help, to be useful, to DO stuff around the house and on the farm even though he is officially disabled. However, his pain levels, his energy levels and his mental acuity and memory all vary from day to day and even moment to moment, with nothing improving and no real likelyhood of it. He has been diabetic since the 70s, untreated part of that time and unmedicated for much of it, due to poverty. It has affected his ability to walk and to feel. He has had mental issues for Gods only know how long; he was seriously abused/abandoned/neglected as a child and has spent much of his life trying to be perfect... to meet or exceed everyone's expectations.. to be accepted... to fill the hole in his psyche and heart with a real family. This has led him to make many bad decisions, which thanks to the counseling and medical care which he has been able to get since being declared disabled, he is aware of and working to put into the past. Lots 'o baggage, yeah.
After years of saying "I'm not a farmer" he had really gotten into it. Driving and working on the tractor (I gotta make him a t shirt:" If I'm not working on the tractor" (graphic of fellow driving pulling implement behind) on the front and "I'm working on the tractor" (graphic of machine with its hood raised, guy bent over and tools flying everywhere) on the back), keeping the weeds down between rows, mowing, opening new fields, tending fowl and bunnies... even when he can barely walk or move and doesn't even get started until mid-morning. If he is late with chores, he mentally "beats himself up." If he looses a day to fatigue, pain, whatever... even more so.
And I know, and he knows though he is not really facing it, that his ability to "push through" will continue to decline.
I am not a spring bird either; my knees plague me and give me a lot of pain. I've recently fought my way back from near death by anemia and gotten through a bout of shingles (with relatively little pain, I thank the Gods) and this year have the energy to at least walk the rows in the garden, hoe a bit and have acquired tools to help make my garden time less painful and more productive (a sitting on, rolling stool and a "baby" garden cart that is much easier for me to pull back up to the house than the "mama" size one we originally bought. Of course, I use both, but the baby one for everything possible.
I wish there were someone I could talk to, someone who had walked this path before. I could surely use some guidance trying to find a decent route, or at least a "yeah, I understand" and a pat on the shoulder.
This morning is typical in an atypical way. He awakened near first light or a bit before, to the sounds of fussing ducks. Nothing obvious was amiss, they were just fussing, but in attempting to check it out, as we have had serious predation issues this past year, he was awake and unable to go back to sleep so he got up and I went back to catching up on missed sleep.
Oh, did I mention that not only do I grow veggies for us and for sale, have a small design business (Vision IPD) and sell my art (hex signs) on the web, I have a part time job in town? All of my business ventures have always been undercapitalized and the part time job is my hedge against the ups and downs of the market. And that job was extremely stressful this week, due to things beyond my control, leading to lack of sleep and extreme stress. In fact, had this week happened next year at this time, I would have quit and walked off the job Monday, with no notice. Next year, you see, by this month, I will be able to collect my Social Security pittance, which amounts to just about what I am making by working part time.
Anyway, when I finally rolled out around 6, he decided to go back to bed, as he was sleepy. Usually he stays up, tries to get something done and usually does then after lunch when I go back to projects, he wants "just a few minutes more" to rest, and several hours later I find him still sawing logs in the recliner, awakening in time for supper (sometimes with my nagging) and more "beating himself up" mentally for not having completed what he had planned for the afternoon.
So rather than waiting breakfast on my first day off (my town job starts a 6 AM so I am up at 4 and leave here shortly after 5, with a cuppa coffee under my belt and breakfast in my bag to eat during my morning break; on days off, I cook a more appropriate country breakfast) and setting my day way behind, I cooked and ate and am about to start my day.
It is an ongoing challenge to get done what needs doing, in a timely manner, and without making him feel worse than useless. I know it would be a challenge, as well, to do it ALL myself but at least that is a challenge that would be totally under my control. It is frustrating, knowing stuff that needs to be done, that he considers "his chore" may not happen (a) when it needs to or (b) at all, thanks to his worsening memory.
Sigh.
The dishes call, the fowl and bunnies need fed and watered (well, at least the bunnies need water, I think Ma Nature took care of the fowl last night, it's been raining for hours!) and I have house pick up and cleaning, mending and darning and hex painting to do. Better get at it. Thanks for "listening."
Saturday, May 18, 2013
The Curious Case of the Movable Milestones
Milestones along a roadside to let you know how far you have come, and perhaps, how far you have yet to go on your journey. As such, we have the right to expect them to be properly placed and to remain in their appointed location.
Milestones in life, I think, are called that because we have become used to finding them equally as stable, fixed points in the flow of time. Our culture, stories and traditions often reference them and we look forward with anticipation, or sometimes with mixed feelings, to the time when we or those we love will reach or pass these traditional points.
Our first day of school is one such point; though we may feel its shadow the first day of the school year as we move through the grades, they are never quite the same as when we first leave our mother's side to step onto the bus or through the door that first day. Whether we, or our mom, looked to that moment with dread, anticipation or both, it is likely etched on our minds to this day.
Graduations from high school and college are related milestones that many of us have passed, some multiple times. And while these stones are not necessarily fixed at at particular age or date, we likely expected them at similar times in our lives; age 5 or perhaps 6; age 18, and again if we continued on in our schooling, typically 4 years later.
Many of us looked forward with eager anticipation to turning 16 and our first driver's license and 21 for our first legal alcoholic drink. Twenty-one... that magic number that for years was a singular doorway through which we became adults.
Except I didn't. There was no drama, no magic; some time between when I turned 18, after high school graduation and while I was in college, before I turned 21, the legislature of the state of California where I was living at that time, decided in their wisdom to legislate a change in the age of majority from 21 to 18. No party, no first legal drink... honestly I wasn't particularly interested in either, OR in the age of majority until I got into an argument with my folks about whether I was allowed to do something. They insisted that I could not, until I was 21 and a quick call to the local cop shop on my part confirmed my assertion: that I was, like it or not, Mom, a legal adult.
Now, once again, I am feeling a little bit cheated out of a milestone.
Earlier this week, I turned 65. Now, normally I don't make a big fuss about birthdays. I haven't for years. Matter of fact, when I was raising my kids, it was such a non-issue and I had so much on my mind that I honestly forgot, often, how old I actually was, and began only counting -- and changing my stated age -- every 5 years. So, ok, this was a 5 year marker, but "should have" -- considering the many years I lived with it as a cultural milestone for retirement -- been something a bit different at least, if not exciting. But no... the legislative powers-that-be, in an attempt some time along the way, decreed that for folks born in my year, the "full retirement age" at which we are able to draw the maximum of our Social Security pittance, would be moved to age 66. Yes, a pretty and nice round number in its own right, 2x33, but really?? And yes, I know for others the age is moved out even farther. But darn, I miss having the milestones.
Do we even have milestones any more? Beyond the one that we end up laying under, that is... and as I am planning at present, I won't even have one of those.
Milestones in life, I think, are called that because we have become used to finding them equally as stable, fixed points in the flow of time. Our culture, stories and traditions often reference them and we look forward with anticipation, or sometimes with mixed feelings, to the time when we or those we love will reach or pass these traditional points.
Our first day of school is one such point; though we may feel its shadow the first day of the school year as we move through the grades, they are never quite the same as when we first leave our mother's side to step onto the bus or through the door that first day. Whether we, or our mom, looked to that moment with dread, anticipation or both, it is likely etched on our minds to this day.
Graduations from high school and college are related milestones that many of us have passed, some multiple times. And while these stones are not necessarily fixed at at particular age or date, we likely expected them at similar times in our lives; age 5 or perhaps 6; age 18, and again if we continued on in our schooling, typically 4 years later.
Many of us looked forward with eager anticipation to turning 16 and our first driver's license and 21 for our first legal alcoholic drink. Twenty-one... that magic number that for years was a singular doorway through which we became adults.
Except I didn't. There was no drama, no magic; some time between when I turned 18, after high school graduation and while I was in college, before I turned 21, the legislature of the state of California where I was living at that time, decided in their wisdom to legislate a change in the age of majority from 21 to 18. No party, no first legal drink... honestly I wasn't particularly interested in either, OR in the age of majority until I got into an argument with my folks about whether I was allowed to do something. They insisted that I could not, until I was 21 and a quick call to the local cop shop on my part confirmed my assertion: that I was, like it or not, Mom, a legal adult.
Now, once again, I am feeling a little bit cheated out of a milestone.
Earlier this week, I turned 65. Now, normally I don't make a big fuss about birthdays. I haven't for years. Matter of fact, when I was raising my kids, it was such a non-issue and I had so much on my mind that I honestly forgot, often, how old I actually was, and began only counting -- and changing my stated age -- every 5 years. So, ok, this was a 5 year marker, but "should have" -- considering the many years I lived with it as a cultural milestone for retirement -- been something a bit different at least, if not exciting. But no... the legislative powers-that-be, in an attempt some time along the way, decreed that for folks born in my year, the "full retirement age" at which we are able to draw the maximum of our Social Security pittance, would be moved to age 66. Yes, a pretty and nice round number in its own right, 2x33, but really?? And yes, I know for others the age is moved out even farther. But darn, I miss having the milestones.
Do we even have milestones any more? Beyond the one that we end up laying under, that is... and as I am planning at present, I won't even have one of those.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Frigga's Day, New Moon and Spinning Spells of Protection
Yesterday was Frigga's Day. No, I am not going to entertain a debate on whether FRIday was named for Frigga or Freya or Freyr... I walk with Frigga, so in this house, it is HER day. And while technically new moon was not until just past midnight last night, the moon was NOT in the sky to be seen all day or night so for me that's good enough. And new moon is the time for turning over new leaves, for change, for setting up protection, at least for this witch. And busy I was.
Usually I spent time with Frigga in the evening, at my spinning wheel, and usually I have spent at least part of the day "at the hearth," or in this house, in the kitchen at the stove. I try to make it clean for Her each Thursday or if not Friday morning. But this is Garden Season (you know that one... it follows close on the heels of Mud Season here in Maine at least) and there are seeds and seedling to get in the ground on a regular basis. Unlike many folks, I don't put everything in the ground in one marathon session on Memorial Day weekend. Like us humans, not all plants like the same conditions. Some of them, like me, prefer the cooler days of spring to put down their roots and bring forth their abundance and some -- like many of my southern friends -- prefer the warm summer days and comfortably warm soil around their roots keeping them cozy at night. Those are the guys, tomatoes and peppers and vine crops, still living most of the time on the
growing racks in the house. The vines are just now poking their little seedling leaf-heads out of the soil blocks and looking for the light, matter of fact, though on the warmer days we have had of late, many of the tomatoes have taken in the sun from a protected location on the deck for a few hours each day. Not this weekend though; cool and rainy (thank the Gods!) the weather has returned to seasonal norms for now.
On this Frigga's day past, my garden task was to put up the first part of my version 3.1 deer fence. Deer
love peas, and I am determined to have some to eat and sell this year, so yesterday found me walking the perimeter of the first pea row, pounding in fiberglass stakes. I was thinking about Frigga as I began installing the fence material: 6 strands (up from previous years' three) of monofilament fishing line. I was thinking about fiber arts and threads and spinning, as I started work, tying invisible knots in material that, it seemed, could neither be seen nor felt. As I wound the material around a stake to hold it in place for knotting, deployed it along the line to the next stake, cut the piece with a reasonable end to wind on that stake and tie off, I realized that I could indeed think of this line as a fiber. And that I could use it to spin a spell of protection, in addition to the physical barrier.
I naturally count things, so as I wound the fiber around the stake "one, two, three...." the spell was begun. My intent: to keep the deer "where they belong" ... in the woods and NOT in the garden... so that was voiced as I wrestled the uncooperative, stiff and all but invisible line into a knot. And with the completion of each knot. "by the power of three, let it be." There are many, many stakes as the rows are over 100 feet long and with each strand being a separate piece of line, lots of cutting and tying. and lots of back-and-forth to do 6 strands all around. Lots of reps, and the spell was spun. We'll see how well this works.
The theory behind the invisible deer fence is that they cannot see it and when they walk into it, it spooks them, like when we unexpectedly walk into a spider web. And for several years, three strands worked. But last year they defeated it. I am not sure if they were going under or what but there were constant deer tracks in the garden and little produce left for us.
I have also read that one needs a double fence, because if properly placed they won't try to jump it. So I am going to be putting up a second, more visible "barrier" 3' inside the invisible fence this year. It won't be much of an actual barrier. I am going to put in fewer stakes and string the inexpensive, light weight nylon twine that I can get for cheap at a local outlet, around with two strands... just something to say" I am here, not a place to jump.
It would be fun trying to out-think these animals if it were not so bloody important!
Usually I spent time with Frigga in the evening, at my spinning wheel, and usually I have spent at least part of the day "at the hearth," or in this house, in the kitchen at the stove. I try to make it clean for Her each Thursday or if not Friday morning. But this is Garden Season (you know that one... it follows close on the heels of Mud Season here in Maine at least) and there are seeds and seedling to get in the ground on a regular basis. Unlike many folks, I don't put everything in the ground in one marathon session on Memorial Day weekend. Like us humans, not all plants like the same conditions. Some of them, like me, prefer the cooler days of spring to put down their roots and bring forth their abundance and some -- like many of my southern friends -- prefer the warm summer days and comfortably warm soil around their roots keeping them cozy at night. Those are the guys, tomatoes and peppers and vine crops, still living most of the time on the
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| Tomato seedlings on the growing rack. |
On this Frigga's day past, my garden task was to put up the first part of my version 3.1 deer fence. Deer
 | ||
| If you look carefully, you can see the "invisible" deer fence stretching into the distance near the center of the picture. The pea row is to the left; stakes are in, but no trellis yet. Potato rows need hand cultivation to remove weeds, walkways have had shallow tractor cultivation. |
I naturally count things, so as I wound the fiber around the stake "one, two, three...." the spell was begun. My intent: to keep the deer "where they belong" ... in the woods and NOT in the garden... so that was voiced as I wrestled the uncooperative, stiff and all but invisible line into a knot. And with the completion of each knot. "by the power of three, let it be." There are many, many stakes as the rows are over 100 feet long and with each strand being a separate piece of line, lots of cutting and tying. and lots of back-and-forth to do 6 strands all around. Lots of reps, and the spell was spun. We'll see how well this works.
The theory behind the invisible deer fence is that they cannot see it and when they walk into it, it spooks them, like when we unexpectedly walk into a spider web. And for several years, three strands worked. But last year they defeated it. I am not sure if they were going under or what but there were constant deer tracks in the garden and little produce left for us.
I have also read that one needs a double fence, because if properly placed they won't try to jump it. So I am going to be putting up a second, more visible "barrier" 3' inside the invisible fence this year. It won't be much of an actual barrier. I am going to put in fewer stakes and string the inexpensive, light weight nylon twine that I can get for cheap at a local outlet, around with two strands... just something to say" I am here, not a place to jump.
 |
| Garden in the distance, showing orange snow fence deployed to discourage free range chickens and paper feed sack weed block under brassica plants. |
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Elvis' Wild Ride
Elvis, as you may remember, is our relatively new rooster. He is a beautiful bird, but not terribly long on brains, it would seem, even for a typically bird-brained species. He has taken to roosting on my pickup truck, Artie, at night. The first night he found the passenger side wiper a sufficient place to rest; after "wiping" him off and then having to take to the window with a scrubbie from the kitchen to remove his residue, I am glad that he decided the side of the bed was a better place to bed down and even more happy that, each night, he sleeps face IN, and that he is sufficiently large than his droppings land on the ground beside the truck.
Just last night we discovered that "deer
season" is upon us again. No, not the time when folks take to the woods with weapons and a full freezer on their minds, but rather, when said mammals begin to take interest in dining "al fresco" on fresh, organic veggies.
Dogs were barking as we were dishing up supper last night and K spotted a deer browsing in the far back field. We want to seriously DISCOURAGE them from thinking this is an OK place to be, so I went to the back door and hollered. No luck. Clapped my hands, hit a yardstick on the fence rail... ditto... So I dashed (...slowly... on sore legs and bare feet) out to the truck to use it to run them off.
Elvis had already gone to roost for the night on the side of the pickup bed, but I figured once I got going he would depart.
OH HOW WRONG I WAS! I stopped watching him after traversing the rutted ground on the lawn next to the driveway that we were using at one point as a turn-around (mud season....) as I was rapidly gaining speed for the deer drive-by. Artie and I flew around behind the garage, out past the well head, and past the apple tree, heading toward the browsing deer at a reckless pace. I had to get almost to them, honking as I went, before the herd (about 6) began bounding off across the neighbor's drive and into their woods. I didn't see Elvis, and wasn't sure where he might have hopped off... I figured it had been at the first sharp turn, at the garage.However, he must have clung on for dear life, as I think now that I must have lost him on the sharp turn away from the border lilacs after spooking the deer.
Didn't see him on the return trip (I was looking for him in the side yard by the well, behind the garage). When I got back into the house and looked back into the yard, there was this small, dark speck moving slowly and in an aimless manner in the back field. Elvis was a LONG way from anything he had explored and would know as home. Since he was not getting any closer to the house and dusk was upon us, K offered to go out and run him home. I swear K walked twice as far coming back as he did going out. Apparently a rooster WILL NOT walk a straight line. Either that, or he got into my beer on the back porch.
I went out on the back stoop to watch the chicken herding, and by the time they got about half way to me, I could hear Elvis. He was cussin' the whole way back.. I don't know exactly what he was saying, but I am real sure that I don't want a translation.
He slept perched on the side of Artie's bed again last night. I wonder, if I have do to another deer drive-by tonight, if he will take the hint. I know I am not going to offer him a ride again, though. I don't want to hear words like that outa a rooster again this soon.
 |
| Elvis settling in for the night. |
Dogs were barking as we were dishing up supper last night and K spotted a deer browsing in the far back field. We want to seriously DISCOURAGE them from thinking this is an OK place to be, so I went to the back door and hollered. No luck. Clapped my hands, hit a yardstick on the fence rail... ditto... So I dashed (...slowly... on sore legs and bare feet) out to the truck to use it to run them off.
Elvis had already gone to roost for the night on the side of the pickup bed, but I figured once I got going he would depart.
OH HOW WRONG I WAS! I stopped watching him after traversing the rutted ground on the lawn next to the driveway that we were using at one point as a turn-around (mud season....) as I was rapidly gaining speed for the deer drive-by. Artie and I flew around behind the garage, out past the well head, and past the apple tree, heading toward the browsing deer at a reckless pace. I had to get almost to them, honking as I went, before the herd (about 6) began bounding off across the neighbor's drive and into their woods. I didn't see Elvis, and wasn't sure where he might have hopped off... I figured it had been at the first sharp turn, at the garage.However, he must have clung on for dear life, as I think now that I must have lost him on the sharp turn away from the border lilacs after spooking the deer.
Didn't see him on the return trip (I was looking for him in the side yard by the well, behind the garage). When I got back into the house and looked back into the yard, there was this small, dark speck moving slowly and in an aimless manner in the back field. Elvis was a LONG way from anything he had explored and would know as home. Since he was not getting any closer to the house and dusk was upon us, K offered to go out and run him home. I swear K walked twice as far coming back as he did going out. Apparently a rooster WILL NOT walk a straight line. Either that, or he got into my beer on the back porch.
I went out on the back stoop to watch the chicken herding, and by the time they got about half way to me, I could hear Elvis. He was cussin' the whole way back.. I don't know exactly what he was saying, but I am real sure that I don't want a translation.
He slept perched on the side of Artie's bed again last night. I wonder, if I have do to another deer drive-by tonight, if he will take the hint. I know I am not going to offer him a ride again, though. I don't want to hear words like that outa a rooster again this soon.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
It's Time for Growing Things!
Life is picking up speed here at hex central and on Hearthfire Hill. Chickens and ducks (the latter, the namesakes of our new vegetable marketing brand -- Fussing Duck Farm.
That is the way the cycle goes, though. The long nights and quiet, cold days of the dark side of the year, with time spent spinning by the fire and doing a human version of the bear's winter sleep, to recharge from the previous busy growing season, give way once more to longer days and projects galore!
The first project knocked off the list was one that had been forgotten about over the past few months. I had started a small redesign of the Dutch Hex Sign store page, to give more information about the various designs and clean up issues with the shopping cart, but other projects intervened ( two large print projects, actually, for clients of my design studio, Vision IPD) and the personal web redesign was dropped. Then I sold one of the few, small, in-stock signs and, in a fit of efficiency, removed it from the page. I did not scroll down enough when doing this "quick fix" to notice that I was working on the only partially completed redesign page, which I then uploaded... broken links and defective shopping cart and all! I finally discovered there Http://www.dutchhexsign.com/store.htm now works ( if you happen to see anything I overlooked, or which is not working in YOUR browser or on your device, PLEASE let me know what is broken and what browser/operating system/device you are using to view it!)
was a problem and completed the update.
Then, magically, the soil warmed (it seemed like overnight!) from 32 degrees to a balmy 46! Not exactly the optimal temperature for a mud bath (though the fowl have been enjoying "dusting" themselves for several days now) but warm enough to entertain the first plantings of many of the cool season crops. Equally amazing, after this long, cold and WET spring, the soil dried sufficiently for Tractor Guy K to get out there today with Fergie and begin soil prep. I was totally prepared to stick the first rows into ground that had last seen cultivation in the fall, but this will be better.
The seedlings are in the process of being hardened off, living on the porch, surrounded by a makeshift fence of plastic poultry netting and step-in posts, dropped into holes drilled into the deck, to keep the hungry chickens at bay. One of the planter boxes of lettuce, from which we have been eating, was attacked by Confused, one of the hens, on a previous plant outing, and several of the seedling kale plants uprooted. Hopefully all will survive and prosper, now that the chickens cannot get to the "treats." I am still considering how to protect them in the garden until I can get chicken fencing up again. That is another spring project on the list, along with assembling the small (8x12) greenhouse we bought last year.
We'll see how much gets done over the weekend!
Meanwhile, test your knowledge of lettuce! Visit http://www.fussingduck.com/lettuce.htmlhttp://www.fussingduck.com/lettuce.html
That is the way the cycle goes, though. The long nights and quiet, cold days of the dark side of the year, with time spent spinning by the fire and doing a human version of the bear's winter sleep, to recharge from the previous busy growing season, give way once more to longer days and projects galore!
 |
| New Earth Star Flower design for outdoor display |
was a problem and completed the update.
Then, magically, the soil warmed (it seemed like overnight!) from 32 degrees to a balmy 46! Not exactly the optimal temperature for a mud bath (though the fowl have been enjoying "dusting" themselves for several days now) but warm enough to entertain the first plantings of many of the cool season crops. Equally amazing, after this long, cold and WET spring, the soil dried sufficiently for Tractor Guy K to get out there today with Fergie and begin soil prep. I was totally prepared to stick the first rows into ground that had last seen cultivation in the fall, but this will be better.
 |
| Seedlings getting hardened off; protected from hungry chickens! |
We'll see how much gets done over the weekend!
Meanwhile, test your knowledge of lettuce! Visit http://www.fussingduck.com/lettuce.htmlhttp://www.fussingduck.com/lettuce.html
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