Sale Barn And No Ears

          I wasn't going to write you last weekend. All day Sunday, as I sat in the recliner binge watching White Collar with Mike, I kept telling myself it's okay to miss a week. And it is. It really is. It's not like I get paid to do this job. And I thought about all the pictures I'd already picked out to show you. More than 60 of them. And I thought about what might happen if I had another big week. I'd either have to omit pictures and stories I wanted to tell or I'd end up with a 40-page letter blog.

          "I love whatever you write," Kevin, my handsome youngest son told me. "I don't care how many pages it is."

          But neither option much appealed to me. Since Mike and I didn't have much going on on Monday, I was able to sit and spit out a quick letter blog. And boy am I ever glad I did! I've got 78 pictures in my file for this week. And that number is subject to change. Sometimes I add or delete pictures as I go along.

          The weather was beautiful early in the week and I thought it time to get the girls shampooed and cut for the summer. I started with the hardest one first. Yeah. Itsy. She hates hates hates the clippers. I can usually get her done up to her neck then I have to switch to scissors. There's no way on God's green earth that she will let the clippers anywhere around her face or ears. As I was finishing her up I didn't think my clippers were cutting very good. Maybe they're just hot, I thought.  

          I let the clippers cool off and the next day, Friday, when I went to work on Ginger, they wouldn't cut anything at all. I took 'em apart and cleaned 'em real good, put 'em back together but they still wouldn't cut. 

          "Just get online and order a new pair," Mike told me. But I put it off until he got online an ordered a new pair for me. "They'll be here Monday," he said. 

            Michael loves ordering things online. He'd order our groceries that way too if I'd let him. "You don't have to waste gas; they just bring it to your door!"

          "Doing our shopping is the only time we ever go any place," I told him. "We can't stay home all the time!"

          Speaking of gas... did you know that Pennsylvania has the highest state tax on gas?

          "Pennsylvania sucks," Mike's said more than once.

          I did a web search and found a page that listed the states and what tax is charged on gas. Alaska was the lowest. Missouri was the second lowest for state gas tax and lowest for gas prices. 

           I scrolled through all 11 pages and the very last entry was Pennsylvania. We don't have the highest gas price just the highest state tax on it.

          It's been all over our news this week. People are in an uproar over the misuse of the gas tax money. It's supposed to be spent to maintain roads and bridges and it's recently come to light that they used it to fund the state police.

          Monday came and my clippers were delivered right on schedule.

           But guess what also came to the door on Monday.

          Can't guess?

          Well let me tell you.

          Monday, UPS pulled into the driveway and delivered a big box for Mike.

          "What'd you order now?!" I asked.

          "A pole saw!" he said with a grin.

          Mike's wanted one of these to help with his landscaping for a long time now. He really wanted a Stihl but they're really expensive. Like $600 or more. This little 20 Volt cordless by Worx was under $100. Mike charged the battery and couldn't wait to go play. You can use it as a small chainsaw or put it on a pole that extends 10 feet!

          Ginger was a joy to clipper. She never fusses or fights me even when I'm up on her face or around her ears. They look like all new dogs, don't they!

          Itsy is getting older, she's 14 this year, and she's been having some problems. In the past week or so she's been messing in the house. But I don't get too upset about it anymore. Not since I got that little hand-held shampooer for Christmas. It makes it easy to clean up messes.

          "What's going on with Itsy?" you ask.

          It's taken me a while to figure out that her problems are related to her diet. We did two different things at about the same time. We bought a different kind of dog food and we added an afternoon treat. I've cut out the afternoon treat and she seems better able to hold it until she can let me know she wants to go out. If it was the different food causing her problems, then her system may have just needed a few days to adjust. Either way, they have to finish it because I'm not throwing it away.

          Our Bradford Pears are blooming and as pretty as they look, they don't smell nice. They stink, actually.

          Mike got all of the concrete slabs cleaned up except for one. The biggest one. His tractor can't pick it up. "And I doubt I can break it," Mike said. "The most I can do is flip it end over end until I get it where I want it."

          "I've got an idea," I said.

          "What?"

          "Why don't put it under the awning outside the cat room and use it like a little patio? You could push it that far."

          "I don't want it sitting on top of the ground," Mike said. "I'll have to make a hole for it to sit in."

          Mike scraped the dirt until he had it deep enough, then flipped the concrete slab into the hole....

          ... and broke it.

          All the flops he made and it broke on the very last one.

           I hung out a load of laundry for the first time this year!

          And I got in the pond for the first time this year too! 

We're trying to pull all of these willows out. It's my job to wrap the chain and Mike pulls them out and up on the bank. I unhook them, get them out of the way, and wrap the chain around another one. I got a workout just climbing up and down the bank!

          My boots leak. "Wear mine," Mike says.

          "No. They're too big and would make me too clumsy," I told him. As it turns out it didn't matter about my boots leaking. The water was over the top anyway. As I climbed up the bank the water would slosh from the tops of my boots and it made me smile.

          "Peg, wasn't it cold?" you ask.

          Really, it wasn't too bad and I didn't mind it at all.

          They stocked our creek with trout this week. Miss Rosie called and told me the fish truck was there. When I got there, it seemed to me the officer was giving an educational talk, but I was too late to hear it. The lady in red is Tina Pickett, our state representative.

          They scooped rainbow trout from the tank and dumped them into buckets.

          "We'll be putting three buckets in here," the officer said.

          "How old are the fish?" I asked.

          "They're a year and a half old," the fish-scooper-upper told me.

          I walked out onto the bridge and watched as Tina Pickett dumped a bucketful. She almost got them in the water.

          Miss Rosie held Ginger for me while I was taking pictures.

          "Did you see the Osprey?" Miss Rosie asked.

          "I did! I even took a picture of him. But I thought it was a hawk."

          "The officer said it was an Osprey," Rosie said.

          I'm sure he knows better than me.

          "Peg, is this trout stocking a DNR program?" you wonder.

          I wondered the same thing! A Google search tells me that the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission oversees trout stocking. The mission of the PFBC is: to protect conserve, and enhance the Commonwealth's aquatic resources and provide fishing and boating opportunities.

          Pennsylvania is not a state, it's a commonwealth as are Kentucky, Massachusetts, and Virginia.

          "What's the difference?" you ask.

          A commonwealth is a self-governing political unit that voluntarily associates with the United States, like Puerto Rico. True commonwealths and their citizens lack certain rights and responsibilities as compared to the citizens of the US states. They don't pay income tax to the IRS, they have no voting representation in Congress, and they are not permitted to vote in presidential elections.

          Since the four states I mentioned are recognized as states by the US federal government with all the rights and responsibilities thereof, we are in fact a commonwealth in name only.

          The Lilacs are coming on!

          And look what the deer did to our Rhododendron!

          Mike isn't happy. "That's what I get for feeding the deer up at the house."

          "They'll come back," I console.

          Mustard. We have two varieties. This is Black Mustard. All parts are edible.

          And this one is Garlic Mustard. As the name implies, it smells and tastes of garlic. Again, all parts are edible. You can eat the leaves raw in a salad or as a potherb.

          I'm going to try it this year, I thought and picked a bunch of the leaves taking only a couple from each plant. I've eaten the leaves raw before and enjoyed the mild garlic flavor, so I was really looking forward to having a serving like you would spinach.

          I washed and steamed them in the microwave — I couldn't find my steamer basket to do it on the stove. When they were done, I got a nice big forkful, shoved it in my mouth, chewed once, twice, and promptly spit 'em out. They were bitter. Tell me, what did I do wrong?

          "Trying to eat weeds in the first place!" you say.

          Smart-aleck.

          After skipping a week of our usual Thursday morning breakfast out, we went this week. Passing the site of where the new gas transfer station is going to be built, we see something is happening.

          "It looks like they're drilling a well," Mike observed. "Why would they need water?"

          "They'd need water for the offices and bathrooms," was what came to my mind. But maybe they'd even need it in the process of liquefying the natural gas. I don't know.

          I watch the scenery pass as Mike drives. I've glimpsed an old barn through the trees many times but didn't think we could get any closer to it without going down someone's driveway. This day I happened to look at the GPS as we were going by and see there's actually a road there. "Can we take it on the way home?" I asked Mike. "It links back up to this road. I saw it on the GPS."

          "We'll see," he says but I know he will.

          Just outside of Mark's Valley View, where we were having breakfast, we saw some worker guys walking up and down the road. About that time Mike's cronies came in. "What's going on with that?" I asked.

          "I think they're tree trimmers," Butch replied.

          After breakfast, we get out to the Jeep and Mike turns it around just enough to sit and watch these guys work. "He's got a line on his pole saw," Mike said. "Do you think it's a safety thing in case he drops it?"

          "Sounds reasonable to me."

          We sat and watched for a while. Two guys stood back talking while the guy in the bucket cut a few branches. Then one of the guys heads our way.

          "Can I help you?" he asked.

          He was on my side of the Jeep so I answered. "No. My husband just likes to watch other people work."

          "Yeah!" Mike leans over and says. "I could watch it all day long!"

          The guy politely laughed at this old joke.  "Okay. I thought maybe you needed to get past us."

          "Nope. Just watching." They weren't in our way at all.

          He started walking away. "Hey is that an electric pole saw?" Mike called.

          "No. It's hydraulic," he answered over his shoulder, gave us a wave and went back to work. Now that the guy with the saw was done it was his turn to feed the fallen branches into the chipper.

          "That explains the hose," Mike said. We watched as they started up the chipper and let it run for a few minutes.

          "Is there a safety on that?" I wondered. "It would probably drag you right in if it caught your clothes," and I thought of poor Jack Yakubowski going up to his hips in a corn picker. That was a hundred years ago now.

          "It's big enough to chop you up!" Mike said teasingly.

          I knew where Mike's thoughts had turned. There was a case where an airline pilot killed his wife, froze her body, and used a chipper to send her out over a lake. They had no evidence against him until they found a tooth belonging to her and that was enough to convict him.

          "Okay," I said. "But freeze me first. Otherwise, it's too messy."

          "Peg! That's too awful to even contemplate!" you say.

          I know, right! But what's even more awful is when it happens in real life. This week we had a woman fall into an industrial meat grinder here in Pennsylvania. Contemplate that.

          On the way home, Mike asks, "Is that the road you wanted to go on?"

          "No. It's down by the personal care home."

          Once we were on the road Mike could drive at a more leisurely pace since it was not a heavily used road. We didn't pass another car the whole time we were on it. I started clicking away as soon as we were on the road.

          "What's that?"

          "It looks like some kind of a monument out in the middle of a field," Mike answered.

          We drove up beside it and I read the inscription.

           "This stone was erected on the 15th day of June in the year of redemption 1871 by members of the Moravian Historical Society."

          I got out and took a picture of the dew-covered storyboard.

          "There used to be a village here," Mike says. "I bet they got flooded."

          I read the inscription on the next side. "Remember the days of old, consider the years of all generations. Ask your father, and he will inform you, your elders and they will tell you."

          It doesn't say but this is a Bible quote from Deuteronomy 32:7.

          The third side says, To mark the site of Friedenshutten (M'chwihilusing) a settlement of Moravian Indians between 1763 and 177?

          I walked around to the third side. It was much more weather-beaten and I couldn't read much of it. But I could see Isaiah and some Roman numerals on the bottom so I knew it was another Bible verse. A little research and I find it says this. Then my people will live in a peaceful habitation and in secure dwellings and in undisturbed resting places. Isaiah 32:18

          The Indian village was named M'chwihilusing but we (the whites) shortened it to Wyalusing.

          According to my research, Friedenshutten is a German word meaning 'huts of peace'.

          "That's not what I was told it meant," Mike told me but couldn't remember what he was told.

          I kept digging and found another website that translates it to 'house of friendship'.

          "That sounds right," Mike confirmed.

          The village was flooded out and they did move it. Even to this day, the monument ends up under water but still stands.

          "Bluebells!" I exclaimed. Mike stopped, I took a few pictures and picked one to bring home. 

          More pictures from that ride.

           And this is all the closer to the barn we could get in the Jeep before we were stopped by a closed gate and NO TRESPASSING signs.

           Another day when Mike and I were out, I'd seen another barn from the road — and this one had a big pond in front of it. By pure luck, I found out that the people who lived there came to my church.

          "Can I come and take pictures of your barn some day?" I asked.

          "Sure," Mike and Jody both agreed.

          "If you come fairly soon you can see the lambs," Jody said.

          "You have lambs?" I ask like a dummy. She just said so, didn't she?

          "We do! And right now they're penned up in the barn so you can see how soft they are."

          Too many things got in my way and it was weeks before I was able to get out there for a visit.

          "We've turned all the sheep out," Jody told me. "But you're welcome to come anyway."

          I wasn't too sad about the sheep being let out of the barn. After all, it was mainly the barn I was interested in taking pictures of. Boy, was I in for a surprise. I loved the sheep!

          When Mike and I arrived we were greeted by Jody and her two dogs. "Mike found out our grandson has a ball game tonight so he went to that," Jody said.

          And I felt bad. "We can do this another time," I suggested.

          "No, it's alright. I told them I was sorry I couldn't go because I'd already made other plans."

          And Jody made me feel like I was important, and I smiled.

          "What would you like to see?" she asked.

          "Everything!" says me.

          This old guy is Scout and he's 17 years old.

          The younger guy is 4 and his name is Mick.

          Both dogs accompanied us on our walk-about.

          "Can you call the sheep in?" I asked. Jody mentioned to me before that she might be able to do that.

          "Do you want to get run over?" she asked with a laugh.

          I didn't know how to take that. Was she kidding? "Not really," I said.

          Mike and I stood in the pasture as Jody went for a bucket of corn.

          She stood at the gate and called. 

            A ewe and her lamb stood at the top of the hill but wouldn't come down.

          "Are they afraid of me?" I asked.

          "I don't know. They are wary of strangers but I don't know if that's it or not."

          The chickens, on the other hand, seemed to know food was coming and they headed our way.

          Jody kept calling and the sheep kept answering and before long I see them come running down the hill.

          More sheep were coming from the other way too.

          "You might want to stand back now," Jody warned. I backed up to the fence post.

          The sheep jostled for a place along the line where Jody spread the corn.

          And I had a great time taking pictures.

          "How many sheep do you have?" Mike asked.

          Jody had to think about it for a moment. "Um, 20 ewes, 1 ram, and 17 lambs.

          "How long do sheep live?" I wanted to know.

          "About 10 years."

          "Do you eat them?" was what I wanted to know next.

          "No. Well, I like lamb, but I've never had mutton. I hear it's pretty good though."

          "What do you do with them?" Just wait, I had tons of questions for Jody.

          "We sell the lambs."

          "How old are they when you sell them?"

          "12 to 15 weeks. They're not all born at the same time and depends more on their weight."

          "Do the mothers get sad when they take the babies away?" you wonder.

          I know, right! I wondered the same thing but didn't ask.

          "Do you shear them yourself?" Mike wanted to know.'

          "No. We have a guy that comes and shears them for us."

          "What do you do with the wool?"

          "Nothing. We don't have a market for that."

          "Jody!" I exclaimed. "You should learn how to spin it yourself!"

          She laughed. "I've thought about learning how to do that, but who's got the time?"

          "How do you get rid of your sheep?" I asked the question just about the same time one of the sheep scooted around Jody and went into the room where she kept the feed.

          "Sale Barn!" she said and darted inside.

          "Oh," I said to Mike. "They take them to the sale barn."

          "Sale Barn!" I hear Jody call again like I hadn't heard her.

          "She's not talking to you," Mike informed me, "She talking to the sheep."

          "Sale Barn, you get out of here," I heard Jody say.

          "Peg, hold the door open," Mike said.

          I should have thought of that myself. Jody would have an easier time shooing Sale Barn out if the door was open.

          Sale Barn came out with Jody behind her. She pushed the door shut. Just in case the answer wasn't 'sale barn', I asked again. "How do you get rid of your sheep?"

          Jody was patient with me and all my questions. "The sale barn," she confirmed.

          "You get rid of them through the sale barn and you have a sheep named Sale Barn?" I asked.

          "Yeah."

          "Okay, I've got to hear this."

          "Well, she was abandoned by her mother and she was a bottle baby. Mike told me not to get attached to her because she was going to the sale barn. The day we loaded up the lambs to go to the sale barn, Mike said, 'Sale Barn hasn't had her bottle yet.' We took her off the trailer and have had her every since," Jody explained.

          "How long do you keep your sheep?" I was thinking about my cute little red-headed brother. He only keeps his laying hens for so many years then he takes them to the sale barn. I wondered if it was the same here.

          "Usually about seven or eight years," Jody said. "We keep records on how many lambs they have and how healthy they are."

          "How do you replace your stock?"

          "We keep some of the better-looking lambs. And always the twins. You have a higher success rate of having twins with twins."

          "Do you name all your sheep?" I asked.

          "Not really. There's Sale Barn and over there is No Ears."

          "No Ears?!"

          "Something attacked our sheep one night when No Ears was about two years old and they tore off her ears. It killed one ewe and four or five chickens, I don't remember anymore. But I suspect it was dogs because if it had been anything else they would have taken them with them, especially the chickens."

          No Ears gave them their only set of triplets this year.

          "What are the tags in their ears for? Identification?" I asked and guessed.

          "No. It's a Scrapies tag. It shows that our flock is Scrapie free."

          "What is that?"

          "It's a wasting disease sheep get. If you get it you have to destroy the whole flock then you can't have sheep again."

          "Ever?" I asked.

          "I don't know if there's a time limit on it or not but I'll tell you what. You don't want Scrapies."

          From there Jody showed me the barn. "Is that a feed room?" I asked.

          "No," Jody answered. "We needed more storage so Mike made these."

          She opened the door and I got to see her stuff.   

          "There's lots to see," I said and snapped away.

          Jody is so sweet and unapologetic. I love that about her. She didn't make excuses for the way things were. "You should see Mike's side compared to mine." She laughed and opened the door to the other side. "See? Everything's nice and neat."

          And I feel so much better knowing I won't have to make apologies when she comes to my house either and she'll see that my Mike's 'half' is much neater than my half too!

          We went back out and I explored while my Mike (remember Jody's Mike was gone), while Mike and Jody talked.

          "Peg. Don't be so nosy," Mike admonished as I poked around.

          "Hey! Jody said I could go anyplace I wanted!"

          "That's right," Jody confirmed. "I did."

          They have three big silos. I stuck my head in one and the only thing inside was a polar bear.

          I took a picture looking straight up from the inside...

...and outside.

           We walked across a little bridge...

          "There goes a beaver!" Jody pointed and I took a picture.

          I didn't get a good shot but I tried.

          "Where's his house?" I asked.

          "He doesn't have one. I guess single males don't always build a house and since there's plenty of water in the pond he didn't build a dam either."

          We walked around this beautiful piece of property and saw the creek and even the junk pile!

          "I don't know why I showed you that," Jody said.

          "I love it!" I told her.

          We saw the flowerbeds. "My Bleeding Hearts are blooming," Jody said.

           Their porch is so close to the pond that, "You can't even hold a conversation out there because the Peepers are so loud!"

            "Peg, what's the story with a single sock on the line?" you ask.

          I know, right! I wondered too but never asked. My imagination can come up with a story that's probably much more exciting than the real reason.

           I can't tell you how thankful I am to have met this beautiful couple and to be welcomed into their home so openly and warmly. Even more than that, I'm grateful that I was allowed to take pictures and share part of their lives with all of you.

          Remember, you're all in my heart.

          Let's call this one done!