I'm Baaaack!

It has been almost three years since I last posted. Not sure why I stopped. Maybe it was caring for the new chickens. Maybe it was finishing up two years of professional writing and deciding I was done with WRITING AND EDITING AND RE-WRITING. Maybe it was something else. Don't remember.

But I just found my blog--sitting there since my last post in 2015. This afternoon I fired up Pinterest and was studying the image of a lovely painted-brick house with a drive of pea gravel. When I scrolled to the bottom of the page, lo and behold, there was Larkspur and GardenMother. Weird!

Since I have some time on my hands these days (I am retired now) and because it is cold and windy...and snowing in the middle of April!...maybe I should catch up.

In the intervening years, I have renovated an old farmhouse with my sister (2015-2016); discovered kayaking (2016); cleaned out my basement and set up a 3-day "you price it-you haul it" garbage sale that was so worth it $$$! (2017); and fashioned a basement space where I could rehab old furniture and work on a variety of projects during the winter (2018).

Speaking of projects, we also bought a mobile home (the "MoHo") in 2016 when my daughter was accepted into the vet med program here at Iowa State University. The MoHo park is located next to the vet college, so these mobile homes are coveted by the students not only for their proximity, but also as an inexpensive alternative to the high-rent apartment living in a university town. So, I have kept busy as landlord, groundskeeper, and Mr. Fix-it.

That's enough post for now. I have some ideas for future posts, like a story on the "before and after" of the MoHo, or tales of paddling in the Current Designs 12-foot Kestrel, or even some photos of the farmhouse project.

Next time....

R.I.P.

Our family's Best Friend, 2002-2015

New Digs for the Hens

This is an image of the new housing unit for the chickens, taken last March 2015. It is amazing what one can do with a new DeWalt drill and impact driver, as well as a chop saw! 
I needed to have this done before we left for Iceland the end of March. It was a lesson about process... I sketched, I constructed, I assembled.  

Here is the chicken pen today. The veggie garden has filled in.

There's Cora, scratching in some radish tops I just threw in the run.

Working, Working

I am closing in on my final day in the trenches. I have been researching and writing reports for the National Park System, through my major professor in the Landscape Architecture department at Iowa State University . I do this part-time (contracted for 18 hours per week). Of late, I have been consumed with finishing a rough draft of a NPS report--a historic narrative of Arbuckle, aka, Chickasaw National Recreation Area in southeastern Oklahoma.

The Arbuckle Reservoir Project was a 1960s water project built by the United States Bureau of Reclamation. The project supplied water to several surrounding communities and the Kerr-McGee oil refinery in Wynnewood, OK. Pretty interesting stuff, eh?  Well, actually it is. A couple of months ago, I wandered off the research path and turned over a stone that led me to some interesting information . In the research world it is known as going down the rabbit hole, or better yet, collecting shiny objects like a magpie. The shiny objects paid off one day when I found out the Kerr-McGee oil refinery was owned by the 12th governor of Oklahoma, who later became a U.S. Senator.

I don't have any doubt that the Kerr-McGee founder and Oklahoma Democratic Senator Robert S. Kerr (1949-1963) was key to President John F. Kennedy's authorization of the Arbuckle Reservoir Project.   Water and oil were the only thing that mattered to the man known as the “the uncrowned king of the Senate." I prefer another quote: “Mr. Kennedy asked; Mr. Kerr decided”.  If Kerr's oil refinery needed water to produce petroleum-based products, then Kerr's oil refinery got water--one to two million gallons per day for pennies per gallon. Unfortunately, the American taxpayers paid over half of the total cost of $13.1 M for the Arbuckle water reclamation project that delivered water 18 miles north to Kerr-McGee Oil Refinery. 

I love my job. Research is fun, especially when you discover the shiny objects.  I am here, glued to my chair for a few more weeks...writing.

Evan

I was in the basement workshop the other night re-organizing; it was during a snowfall that garnered a Winter Storm Warning. I found this Polaroid attached to a work lamp and thought it was worthy to post. This is Evan on a day that he spent with his grandmother Yia-Yia. She slicked his hair and posed him in a rocking chair that belonged to Paul, Yia-Yia's oldest son and Ev's dad. (Notice the bruises on his shin. He was a busy guy.)

Nox

Looking over my blog, I realize that have been living and breathing chickens for the last couple months, but I should alert you all that I do have other interests. One, in particular, is another animal who has taken up residence on Friley Road.

lucky kittie

Way back in July, I was with a friend at her family's cabin situated on a beautiful lake northeast of St. Paul. We were not vacationing, but had just made a quick trip north to slap down a coat of asphalt to a leaky section of the cabin roof. Having finished this goopy chore, I was carefully peeling away my sticky clothes for a change into something less sticky when I heard my phone ring from the back seat of the car. And then I heard a message come through. As I was cleaning my hands, there was a text being delivered. And then another round of ringing.  And more voicemail. Once I was creosote-free, I dug for the phone and saw that it was my daughter who had called. Looking at the number of attempts displayed onscreen, it looked serious. Imagining the worse, I punched the call button.

Tess answered immediately, breathless, but assured me she was all right And then her story tumbled out about how she had just rescued a kitten from the middle of a busy, four-lane highway. At first glance, Tess saw what she thought was a chunk of rubber in the road and attempted to drive around it. When it moved, she realized it was a kitten. Knowing time was of the essence, she decided that a heroic effort was needed. She saw an opening in the traffic, so she pulled a u-turn, parked the Mini on the shoulder, and bounded across 3 lanes of oncoming traffic. Tess says she doesn't remember the bounding so much as the "stop, look both ways, and listen" and then the scooping up of a terrified animal. Once she made it back to her car, she wrapped the howling furball in an old work shirt, counted her blessings, and then headed to the local animal shelter.

Over the course of the next week, we learned that this little mutt was a farm cat that most likely climbed up into the engine compartment of a family car and then made the harrowing 40-mile road trip to Ames. The kitten was "released" onto the road when the car exited off the interstate and onto Highway 30. Long story short. That baby cat had just used up four of his nine lives: #1-cavorting with a running motor; #2-traveling at excessive speeds on the open road; #3-jumping from a moving vehicle; and #4-lying in the middle of a well-traveled highway.

Having rescued the kitten from what would have been a gruesome end, Tess decided to adopt the critter. How could she not???  Her father and I were on board with the adoption, knowing full well that we would be raising this kitten once Tess headed back to school within the month. We couldn't say no to her, or to this tiny creature separated far too early from mom and his litter mates. We also knew that for the short time he was at the shelter, he barely ate or drank; he just sat forlornly in his cage. The staff at the shelter called it "failure to thrive", so Tess was allowed to bring him home as his foster parent with the hope that her one-on-one care would bring him around.

And 'round he came! This kitten never looked back. He hit the kitchen floor running, stopped long enough to gobble down his food, and then settled into the loving arms of a very special young woman who brought him home to live on Friley Road.

Today is December 4th. Do something wild next!

Chicky Cam in the Winter Coop

Four for Four

I just went out to lock up the chickens and I found another egg. That is the fourth egg today. All the hens are now laying. Hooray! Hooray!

The Local Line-Up

About 4 weeks ago when the garden was winding down for the season, I decided to let the chickens out into the yard to free-range for the first time. After some initial trepidation about leaving the security of the chicken yard, they ventured forth, and then never looked back! They gossiped among themselves as they strutted and scratched, finding grubs and bugs like no one's business. Every once in a while, one of the hens would fan her wings, set off running, and then take flight. Never mind the low altitude and short distance. They were free and they loved it.

It has snowed twice since the hens have been free to roam the back yard. Boy, were they bewildered by that first snow. They gingerly stepped from the coop, and then stopped in their tracks. Unsure on how to proceed, they either ran or flew to the Adirondack chairs where they roosted off the frozen ground and its icy covering. After about an hour, I couldn't bear watching any longer--they were huddled en masse and covered with snow. I donned my boots and trudged out to the clump of snowy feathers. One by one, I carried each confused bird back to the covered chicken run, where the flock spent the entire day self-confined, but protected from the NW wind and blowing snow.

By the following morning, the winds had died down, but it was still close to zero degrees. However, the sun was out and it was a new day. When I opened the coop, the hens hopped down, checked out their new landscape, and waded out into the snow. Before long, they were dancing their two-step--scratch, scratch, dip; scratch, scratch, dip. With the snow pushed aside, there was grass to nibble, along with fallen safflower seeds from the bird feeder. These happy birds even found the pumpkins left for them on the terrace where they had a go at the stringy flesh and seeds from the sagging jack-o-lanterns.

So here is the line-up:

Nettie Zook, a Silver-laced Wyandotte

Olive Batman, a Black Australorp

Cora Stenges, a Buff Orpington

Ida Grove, a Barred Rock

An egg a day.....

Nutty Nettie Zook; Olive's backside

The hens, as of yet, have not been earning their keep. Every morning when I open their coop door and they hop out, I remind them...."Lay an egg, Ida." "Olive, please lay an egg." "Cora, it is time." And "Nettie, today is your day." I wait and watch, and then I spend another $3.69 on a dozen eggs at the store.

Last summer for my birthday, my husband installed a video camera in the chicken coop. I can access a live feed via the Internet to see what the hens are up to if they enter the coop. The camera is motion sensitive, so it captures any movement throughout the day.  Last Wednesday, Cora tripped the camera--at 9 am, then 11 am, and then again at 3:17 pm. She entered the coop, proceeded to the nesting box where she fluffed the hay and settled in. But only for a moment. She immediately hopped out of the nest, gave the camera the stink eye, and then strutted out of view.

I was sure she was going to be the first to lay an egg, but there has been nothing...until today.  Well, by golly, Ida was the one who listened to me today. I went out to the chicken yard about 5 to throw them some fresh sweet potato ends and she was nowhere to be found. The others came running, but Ida was not with them. When I peeked into the nesting box, Ida was in the nest.  I retreated to leave her to her business and when I went out again at 6 to check, there was an egg, albeit a yolk apart from the soft, gooey shell.


I figure this egg is worth approximately $893. That is about how much I have invested in their food, their shelter, and other accessories for the chicken yard. The payback period will be a very long time at $3.69 per dozen, but I don't care. I finally gathered my first egg today. Cackle on,sisters!

Cora (L), Ida (M), Nettie's head (R)

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Moving Day

The young chickens in the "chix truck" with Dewey looking on.

Four chix arrived on the 6th of May and took up residence in our main floor bathtub. After 3 weeks, I decided to move them down to the basement to a larger brood pen. They acclimated to their new digs fairly quickly, so last week on a particularly warm day, I decided to let them experience the great outdoors. I wheeled the "chix truck" out into the yard and, one by one, carried each squawking bird to their pen-on-wheels. They acted stunned at first, but soon came to life. They loved pecking around in the fresh grass, where they strutted like, well, real chickens. And the dog loved watching them. They provided him with endless entertainment.

The new coop and run in the chicken yard.

The chickens were out again today--scratching for bugs, flapping their wings, and quietly conversing among themselves.  They were out for almost six hours and after watching them so thoroughly command their new environment, I decided that it was time for their last big move. Outside. Permanently.

Next week, they will be 6+ weeks old.  They are now the size of small footballs. They have lost all their innocent chick down and sprouted feathers. Their distinguishing markings have emerged to reveal their individual breeds. The coop (retro-fitted with a green roof) and the run (expanded and roofed) stand ready for their arrival. These chickens are ready to fly!

another garden couple

Curfew

On a recent stop at my favorite junque shop, I sat for one treasured hour going through old B&W photographs that the shop's proprietor had recently nabbed. Her husband's hometown newspaper office was cleaning out files and this mountain of photos was going into the garbage!

I am so thankful that Brenda intervened; I did not leave the shop empty-handed. I found many of my favorites...farm yards with farmers, tractors, and farm animals; old couple gardeners; relatives gathered on the front porch; exterior shots of beautiful old houses--and their interiors with furnishings and appliances of the day. I even found several shots of a funeral -- from one photo that captured the pall-bearers carrying the casket out of the small church to the last photo that was snapped graveside.

My favorite  is the above photograph. One of the shop clerks came over to check out the piles of images that I had set aside. I happened to have this one in my hand. I had been studying the sofa and the chairs set around the room; the man's overalls and stocking feet; and the darkness on the other side of the sheers. Just then she leaned in and said, "He is so waiting for his daughter to get home."

Almost...

Tonight when I checked my horoscope, I found an entry for the week of February 6th titled Almost. Rob Brezsney's "Freewill Horoscope" is not too far off the mark these days. It does seem like my life is composed of thousands of these small almosts--almost home, almost happy, almost changed. Almost, but not quite there.

However, I have been assured that in the next 14 to 16 weeks I will "graduate from the endless and omnipresent almost" and rise up to some "bold measure of completeness from out of the ever-shifting flow."  According to Brezsney's prediction, it kicks into high gear now. So how am I kicking it into high gear? How am I rising up to some "bold measure of completeness"? How about with chickens?

Two years ago I thought about getting some chickens, but then I accepted a teaching assignment where I would be on the road for six weeks during the semester. Tess had just left for college and my husband was traveling with his work, so I let the idea slide. Then last spring, I decided to go for it. I liked the idea of chickens scratching around in the back garden; they would add another dimension to the home landscape. As luck would have it, a pair of Cooper's hawks decided to build a nest in our honey locust. I almost had my chickens, but decided to put my plans on hold--again--until next spring.

And now "next spring" is almost here. It is almost time for chickens!  The coop and the run are in the garage ready for assembly; the feeders and waterers are in the basement workshop washed and ready to fill. Plans and sketches for the layout of the chicken yard in a fenced section of the veggie garden have been drawn and seem reasonable. Even the neighbors have been notified (and they're excited); my mother-in-law is eagerly awaiting the chicks' arrival. "Let me know, so I can come babysit," she says.

My horoscope reads that it all kicks into high gear now, but still, I must wait. For the bitter cold and deep snow to abate. For the eggs to hatch at the nursery. For the arrival of the those little peeps who will be my salvation from the omnipresent almost to a bold measure of completeness....with chickens.

Merry Christmas...from Vietnam

Thanksgiving Day 2013...the day before Ev returned to Vietnam

The hands on the clock in Vietnam just ticked past Christmas Eve into early Christmas morn and the phone rings here in Iowa. Ev's voice is on the other end of the line wishing me a Merry Christmas. He sounds mellow. He is just getting ready to turn in for the night, but wanted to call home to send his love.

Even though we had all read Ev's email yesterday relaying lots of stories of his recent travels in the north of Vietnam, it is so much better hearing from him in person. As much as I love to read about his adventures, hearing his voice centers me. It reminds me that my son is living a life he has chosen for himself and actively pursuing memories that will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Merry Christmas, Ev, and all the best in this New Year. Stay safe.

the Older Brother

I just discovered this blog post in my drafts file this morning, December 21 2013; it was written over a year ago and stashed there for safekeeping. In light of a recent development concerning our man Horace and his cemetery work, I decided to publish this piece, for the record, about the Cleveland brothers of Massachusetts.

In the summer of 2012 after I had completed my Master's thesis and graduated, I indulged in a little "fun" research. This indulgence started out totally innocent, but turned rather quickly into an obsession over the next few weeks. I am the first to admit that I tend to get sidetracked during historical research by some little scrap of irrelevant information that leaves me scratching my head. My major prof used to refer to this as my magpie obsession with shiny objects. The shiny object of this story was a letter in which the landscape architect Horace William Shaler Cleveland wrote about an older brother who lived in Iowa. Because the brother was not the focus of my thesis (Horace was), I grudgingly set this tidbit aside. However, when visiting with a distinguished professor and Cleveland scholar about my graduate work, I learned that the older brother Richard Jeffery had lived in Olin, Iowa, a tiny town in Jones County and had died there in 1877. With that little morsel, I started an all-out assault armed with Google and my Cleveland file folders. After numerous Google searches, I discovered that Horace's older brother Richard Jeffery had relocated from New York state in 1835 to settle in Whiteside County, Illinois, where he was one of the founders of Prophetstown.

A piece of the puzzle had just dropped into place. I knew that my man Horace, the youngest of the three Cleveland sons of Massachusetts, worked as a surveyor and then taught school in Prophetstown around the same time his older brother was living there.  Digging a little deeper, I found a biographical listing for Richard Jeffery in the 1879 History of Jones County.  Richard Jeffery Cleveland married in 1838 and then moved with his wife Mary in 1840 to Jones County, Iowa. They settled in Walnut Forks, where he purchased 220 acres of land.  As the area grew, the village came to be called Rome, and later Olin, IA. When Richard Jeffery moved from Illinois to Iowa, Horace also left Prophetstown. Instead of moving to Iowa with his brother, he headed back to the east coast and married. He and Mary Dwinel started their family and Horace set about learning his life work of landscape architecture.

What drove me to pursue that little thread of information about the Cleveland brother living in Iowa? I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I, along with other historical researchers, never really know why a subject's life unfolds as it does unless we are fortunate enough to uncover a primary piece of evidence that spells out the why's and how's. Cleveland scholars have never been certain why H.W.S. Cleveland landed in Prophetstown-and this puzzle piece certainly is not irrefutable evidence. It does, however, make sense that the youngest Cleveland brother probably joined his older brother in Prophetstown, stayed on while family was there, and then left when family moved on. Historical documents are full of stories where the oldest son blazes a trail and then calls for the rest of the clan to follow.  I am comfortable with how this story of the Cleveland boys might have worked out. Scholars have also speculated on the reason why Horace Cleveland eventually re-located his East Coast practice to the Midwest. Some believe that the lack of work out East pushed Cleveland west; other say his desire to play a part in the planning and design of the expanding frontier pulled him to Chicago. The deaths of his middle brother in 1843, his mother in 1850, and his father in 1860 might shed some light as to why Cleveland decided to move out west in early 1869.  The only living sibling of Horace's immediate family, was living in Iowa. Maybe it was as simple as that.

The search was on. I was determined to learn about Richard Jeffery Cleveland. Perhaps a glimpse into his life could reveal further information about Horace Cleveland. This is what I have discovered about the older brother. He was a Harvard graduate--Class of '27. He, too, was a surveyor, who worked in the General Surveyor's office in Dubuque, IA. He was listed as a founding father of two towns.  R.J. held the position of postmaster as well as justice of the peace in Olin, IA. He enlisted as a Civil War Iowa Volunteer in the 9th Infantry Co. B. And it was this little discover about his service to his country that sent me down the road early one summer morning to search for evidence of Richard Jeffery Cleveland's life, and death, in Olin, IA.

After walking the grid back and forth across the Olin Cemetery grounds, I found a marble headstone, along with the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR) star, bearing the name of R.J. Cleveland. The family plot contained his grave site and that of his wife Mary E. Cleveland Lowry. His widow had outlived her husband and remarried. The good Rev. J. Lowry is buried next to Mary, two graves over from R.J.

In the end, this indulgent research provided a possible clue to a long-niggling question that I, and others, have had about Horace's motivation for settling here in the Midwest. This is exactly what I love about historical research--finding those elusive pieces to the puzzle. Especially when they are discovered in an out-of-the-way cemetery in Jones County, IA.

BOY TRAVELLER

Early Christmas present to Ev, published 1881

My son left for Vietnam last Friday after an extended stay in the States. Ev arrived home in June, then spent some glory days exploring Iceland with the family, catching up with old friends in Minneapolis, Iowa City, and Denver and reconnecting with family members in north central Iowa and Kansas City. He ventured out to the Nevada desert to partake in Burning Man in late August and explored Seattle with his father. His time here was well spent.

Ev is now at the Taiwan airport on a 10-hour layover, awaiting the flight on his final leg back to Hanoi. Once there, he will look for a teaching gig and settle in, but also hopes to do a little traveling around the north of Vietnam before heading back to Saigon.

This is the time when I am the most anxious; Ev is traveling without a phone, so he cannot keep us updated as to where, when, how he is doing.  I long just to hear his voice so that I know he is OK. I wish him well on his journey,  but this mother-worry never seems to go away.

Setting aside my worry and sadness, I relish the time that we did spend together over these last few months.  During the warm afternoons of September and October, we would head out in the old pickup driving the back roads looking for woods to tromp or an old cemetery to explore. We were never disappointed in our many adventures.

As my firstborn, Ev spent many hours exploring the outdoors with me--as an infant and toddler in the backpack and as a little hiker under his own power.  Over these past few months, we have re-kindled those precious times, making new memories. And these memories are what now sustain me...until this boy traveller returns home from his own adventures.   

Do Something Wild Next!

The Primo Ride

Sassafras

I miss you most
When the gold-mittened hand of the sassafras tree
Waves goodbye as autumn fades.