Peggy's Jibber-Jabber: This Is It!

This is it!

Or, at least, this should be it.

“What?” you ask.

This should be the letter blog that catches up all the fluff and bits of my life that fluttered by the wayside when our family was here for a visit.

Coming across our little bridge, I see Northern Pintail Ducks all lined up, grooming themselves on a fallen tree in the creek. These elegant ducks feed mainly in the evening or at night by dabbling at the water's surface and upending in shallow waters, which means they spend much of the day resting. Their long necks let them reach food from the bottom, up to 12 inches deep, a trick that other dabbling ducks like the mallard can't do.

The electric company came and moved the high-voltage power lines that ran straight overtop our mountain home. No one knows why they were originally installed like that, they never run power lines over a structure, but all agree it wasn’t a good thing.

They brought two new poles and moved one. I’ve never seen the process of setting electric poles from start to finish. Like most of you, I’ve only seen glimpses of it as we’ve driven past. It was interesting to watch.

The first thing they did, once the trucks were in place, was to put a heavy-duty tarp down to catch the dirt. I thought, Cool! They’re not going to mess up the yard.

One of the guys stood by with a shovel and helped direct the dirt from the blades of the auger to the tarp.

There were linemen working all around us. Everyone knew their job and everyone did their job.

To reuse the old pole, they first had to remove the old cables and light fixture.

Another lineman was preparing a new pole.

Ground wires were added to the pole.

Once the hole was to the prescribed depth (and I don’t know what that was), they left the auger in the ground, unhooked it, and added a tool that would sink the post for the guide cable.

Once that was in place they switched back to the auger and cleaned out the hole, shaking the dirt onto the tarp.

They lifted the new pole into place.

Two guys with plumb bobs made sure the pole was straight from both directions.

After making sure the pole was as straight as possible, the true use of the tarp became apparent. They attached the tarp loops onto a hook and lifted the dirt, funneling it back into the hole around the base of the newly set pole.

I didn’t stay for the moving of the lines or the installation of the transformer but popped out from time to time.

There are several poles up on the hill to the upper barn. There was a line running to the barn that had never been powered since we’ve been here. Over time, one of the poles started leaning, and the cables were getting lower and lower. They cut the leaning pole loose from the one they were moving, and without that support, the pole now looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. The cable was hanging so low Mike couldn’t drive under it with the golf cart. It had to come down.

Mike got the bolt cutters and climbed up on the roof. He couldn’t get high enough to cut the wires at the pole, so he cut them where he could.

Once it was cut, he looped it around the back of the golf cart and pulled on the old, leaning, rotted pole and broke it from its concrete footing.

Mike wound up the cable and moved the pole to the back concrete pad. That’s one more job done and out of the way.

Speaking of jobs out of the way...

I had a commission due by late August. I made a concrete clay fairy house with stained glass windows and a book box.

For some reason I neglected to take pictures of the fairy house but I did take pictures of the book box. Inside I tucked an extra light so there was a little surprise when you opened the box.

I also finished the dog portrait that’s been hanging over my head for months.

I didn’t consult with my first attempt to paint Scout. As a result, I used cool blue undertones in his coat instead of the warm red I used the first time. The people who’ve looked at it and commented, prefer the cool blue, the one on the right.

My guarantee for this or any other job I do?

If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay me.

I’ve also been making greeting cards. Some thank you cards, some missing you cards, and a get well card for my best girl, Miss Rosie.

“What happened!?” I know you wanna know.

Miss Rosie, after gimping around for months and months, finally bit the bullet and had her knee replaced. The first time we visited after her operation, she showed me her knee. The incision was covered with a bandage but you could see how swollen and bruised it was. We took Bondi and Raini along for a little lovin’.

I didn’t let Raini jump into Miss Rosie’s lap, but Lamar was fair game.

The day before Miss Rosie was to have the staples removed, we went to see the incision.

Okay! Okay! It was me that wanted to see it.

“Lamar counted 32 staples,” Miss Rosie said. That’s what I count, too, Miss Rosie.

Miss Rosie is doing her exercises and going to therapy. She has less pain when she walks now than she did before her operation. She should be good as new — or maybe even better! — in a couple of three months.

Winter is coming. We all know that it will come. In the meantime, we can enjoy fall. The color popping out on the trees all around us, cooler days and nights, leaves falling on gusts of wind and crunching under our feet.

Bucks are growing their antlers.

The asters are blooming. I’ve got several varieties growing right here in my yard.

The New England Aster is deep purple.

The Bushy Aster is lavender.

The tiny little Calico Asters.

We took the girls on a golf cart ride. I spotted a tree with small red fruit. “Stop!” I said. “Is that a cherry tree?”

Mike drives down the little path and I could see they weren’t cherries. They’re crabapples.

A whole tree full!

It was growing beside our pretty little creek. The dogs and I got off the cart and walked to the edge of the water. I looked one way...

...then the other.

A field of asters.

Bondi looks like she’s smelling flowers.

I spotted a mid-September Monarch caterpillar. These caterpillars are the last generation of the year and are known as the “super generation.” These caterpillars will transform into butterflies and begin their migration to Mexico before winter sets in. Unlike earlier generations which live for only a few weeks, the super generation can live for several months, allowing them to make the long journey south and overwinter in the warmer climates of Mexico.

We’ve been watching these twins grow all summer. I look for them in the neighbor’s field every time we leave the driveway.

Turkeys! I even managed to find a turkey feather on the road. It’s living in the pencil holder on my desk right now.

Something else I saw was a horsefly trapped on the speckled patio window. These things are huge! I didn’t rescue him. I left him to his fate.

And I saw these guys three weeks ago!

I haven’t seen any hummingbirds at my feeders in a week. But I’ll leave the feeders up for any stragglers. They’ll need the sugar.

Speaking of critters...

I was at the kitchen sink when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and there was a mouse tottering across the kitchen floor. My first thought was, Is he sick? Regardless, I wanted him dead. Mice are destructive and I do not want them in my house.

“Raini!” I called and Raini, being a good dog, came. I pointed at the mouse and said, “Get ‘im! Kill ‘im!” Raini looked in the direction I pointed and watched the mouse make its way toward the butcher block. “Get ‘im!” I implored. Raini went over, sniffed him, and came back.

Fat lotta good you are, I thought but didn’t say.

The mouse disappeared under the butcher block.

I called in reinforcements. “Bondi!”

I tried to put Bondi on the trail but she wasn’t smelling him. I assumed the mouse would go the opposite way from me so I thought he’d go around the front of the kitchen island. On that side are the dog kennels and the toy box.

“Bondi! Come here,” I called as I pulled the first kennel out. Bondi came and so did Raini. “Where is he?” I tried to put as much excitement in my voice as I could. No mouse was running — or wobbling— down the wall. I pulled the second one out, then the third, then the toy box. No mouse. I didn’t think he’d had enough time to go any farther, and I was looking around, trying to decide where he might’ve gone when, suddenly, he came out from the front of the counter. Raini and I saw him at the same time and this time Raini did kill him.

I picked him up by his little tail and took him outside to toss over the fence. Who do you think was sitting right outside the door looking pleased as punch?

“Spitfire!”

And you’re right. I’m guessing he brought the mouse in to the patio, cornered him by the pet door, and the mouse came in that way. That was the direction he’d come from.

That wasn’t my only encounter with sneaky little mouse things this week. I went out to the cat room to feed Sugar (our outside cat) and there was a mole stuck down in the litter box. I don’t know if Sugar put him there or if he somehow got there on his own. It’s a deep litter box but a mouse wouldn’t’ve had any trouble jumping out. Moles are more adapted to digging and can’t jump like mice do.

“Sugar, get him!” I said but Sugar ignored me, tucking in to her supper instead.

I went in the house for old reliable. I held Bondi by the edge of the litter box. “Get him!” Bondi looked where I pointed and looked back at me. The mole was holding very still. She can’t see him, I thought. I picked up the pooper scooper and poked him. Bondi saw him but when I held her in to where she could grab him, she was more interested in the treats in the box than the mole. This isn’t working, I thought. I took the bucket I scoop the cat litter into and scooped the mole into it. Then I took him and Bondi out the door to the middle of the yard. I dumped the mole and said, “Now kill ‘im!”

This life and death battle took way longer than it should have. The mole ran and Bondi watched him go. Then she went after him and grabbed him. I think he bit her because she dropped him, snorted, shook her head, and licked her snout. He ran and burrowed under a tuft of grass. I couldn’t see where he went but Bondi’s nose found him and her claws dug him out. She was hesitant to grab him. It took a lot of coaxing on my part but she did eventually dash in and give him a quick nip. He flipped onto his back and screamed. Then he flipped back over and tried to hide again. After several more minutes and digging him out and more darting in and nipping, she was confident enough to get a good hold on him and shook the stuffing out of him, but like I said, it took way too long.

How about some road pictures?

Still standing!

We got caught in a work zone. They’ve resurfaced Route 6 and now they’re replacing the guide rails.

“I heard the old ones aren’t strong enough for the new electric cars,” Mike said by way of conversation.

These guys are cutting the old sections.

I didn’t see them taking out the old sections.

These guys are driving the new posts in.

And these guys are putting the new sections up.

Some older road pictures that have been hanging around waiting for their turn.

Two fairly decent hawk photos.

The Wyoming County Fair is always the last week of August, culminating on Labor Day. The first and last days of the fair are free admission for seniors so that’s when we always go. We never do much. We’ll walk around some and eat our favorite fair foods. For Mike, that’s an Italian sausage sandwich. Holy cow! The prices go up every year! It was fourteen dollars this year for just a sausage on a bun!

For me, I hit the church pierogi stand. I love the tender homemade pierogies swimming in butter and sauteed onions.

After that I hit the maple syrup stand for a deluxe ice cream. It comes in a waffle bowl and is topped with their trademark walnut syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry.

My beautiful cousin Stacey was working at her company’s stand and we caught up on her news.

I spoke to this guy, admiring his walking stick. I always think of my brother Mike because he liked to make walking sticks.

I never saw a people trailer on the back of a scooter before. How clever.

The reptile man was there again this year. I wrote about him last year so I didn’t spend much time visiting with him.

Mike and I happened upon the man offering tractor-pulled wagon rides around the fairgrounds just as he came to a stop. We were the first aboard, but as we waited, more people joined us. The ride took us up around the stock barns. I aimed my camera to take a picture of the cow-washing station and this cutie-patootie saw my camera and gave me the most beautiful smile! I adore people like that, much, much more than people who throw their hands up to hide their faces or turn away.

This cutie-patootie didn’t like the smell.

“I don’t mind the smell of cow manure as long as it’s fresh,” Momma once told me. Having worked in the milking barn with her father, she knows what fresh cow pies smell like. But if you ever follow one of those old nasty bull-hauler trucks, you know the stink of old manure.

Some kids were playing kick ball in a vacant arena. “Is that N.J.?” I asked Mike. N.J. and his dad, Nick Sr., go to our church.

“Where?” he asked and I pointed him out.

“N.J.!” Mike yelled. N.J.’s head came up but he didn’t know which direction his name came from. “HEY!” Mike yelled and N.J. spotted us on the wagon ride. We waved and N.J. waved back.

“I’m not sure he recognized us,” I told Mike. And I’m that way, too, unless I know someone fairly well. For example, the gals who work at the grocery store or the bank — if I don’t see them very often, I might not recognize them outside of those places.

On the last day of the fair, we walked around a little more than the first day.

Going past the Kubota equipment display, I ask, “Why does that look so funny?”

Mike walked over and inspected it. “It’s a new design. It looks like it attaches here,” and he pointed. “And you can pick up the front end to change the blades.” He was quiet for a few minutes, taking it all in. “Cool!”

On ours, lifting the front requires a second tractor, chains, and a lot of work.

We went past the chainsaw carver’s tent and looked at his creations.

I could hear an announcer and applause and looked to the horse arena. There was an event going on down there.

“Mom would’ve wanted to watch that,” I said. Taking Momma to the fair and watching the rodeo with her is one of my favorite memories. Actually, the whole day with her was a good day. If you want to re-live that day with us, you’ll find it on my blog site. The Wyoming County Fair — A Day with Momma. The date I published it was March 19, 2015. I don’t know why it took me so long to write the story, but there it is.

We went back up to the cow barns and found this handsome young man.

“Did you win anything?” I asked N.J.

He nodded, “Um-huh.”

“Where’s your calf at?”

He pointed behind him. “On the other side.”

Mike and I walked over but I couldn’t see a name on the calves so I don’t know which one N.J. raised.

“Let’s go look at the old farm equipment,” I said to Mike. That’s something else Momma liked to look at. I took a bunch of photos but I’ll show you this one.

This guy was “guarding” the exhibits, making sure no one walked out with anything. Why this particular barn had “security” and the others did not, I don’t know.

Mike chatted with him while I walked on in.

Look at the fancy scroll work on the old farm equipment,” I pointed out to Mike. “Why do you think they did that?”

“What?” I guess he was absorbed in looking at the antiques.

“Why would they take the time to make it all pretty like that? It’s not like there were many women out there working in the fields?”

“Pride in their workmanship,” Mike guessed.

We stopped to watch The Flores Family perform. We weren’t in the stands. Instead we’d found some seats under a tent pretty far away, but we could see and hear well enough. This gal climbed to the top and did a few acrobatics. Then she strapped her feet to the pole and hung on as she swung around in a circle.

The next act was two young sisters in the fourteen-foot steel Globe of Death. Both sisters began riding motorcycles in the cage at a young age. One was six, one was four when they started. They’re both in their teens now. One of the gals even appeared on America’s Got Talent in 2011.

Heading home we spot what first appears to be a political sign.

“Did you see that sign?” I asked Mike.

“No. What did it say?”

“It says, ‘I’m an asshole. I’m not running for anything, I just wanted a sign.’”

“Why would you want a sign like that?”

“Maybe they think it’s funny.”

Road pictures from other days.

I think someone hit it.

We stopped at the Chinese restaurant for lunch and I got two fortune cookies in one package! I never read the fortunes but sometimes I eat the cookie and sometimes I give the cookie to the girls.

Speaking of food...

I lost a batch of homemade yogurt. It was nearing the end of the cooking time and I noticed it was yellowing. Yeah. It’s not supposed to be yellow. I gave it the old sniff test just to confirm what my eyes were already telling me. Yep. It was bad. And I don’t know why it happens sometimes. I always do it the same way. Somehow, the bad guys moved in, took over, and booted the good guys out. And this isn’t the kind of bacteria that makes yogurt — or maybe it’s still yogurt, just not good yogurt. It’d probably make you sick if you could get past the smell and eat it. But no one in this house is going to take a chance on bad food.

Speaking of bad food...

I made a recipe called Butter Swim Biscuits. I love Butter Swim Biscuits! I made them to take to church on movie night so I didn’t taste them. All the food is laid out on two or three tables, everyone gets their food, the lights are dimmed, and we watched another episode of The Truth Project. This series, created by Focus on the Family, delves into the foundational principles of a Christian worldview. It covers things like ethics, morality, the existence of God, and the nature of truth itself. It’s thought-provoking and we have some very interesting discussions afterward.

After I got the leftover biscuits home, I’m getting them ready for the freezer and see there’s like a white powder on top. It reminded me of powdered sugar. I searched my memory for anything on the table that had powder sugar on it and there wasn’t anything. I shrugged it off. Only a few of the biscuits were eaten, including the corner piece I ate — the best piece, in my opinion — and leftovers are normal. Most times there’s so much food that seldom is anything completely eaten.

I pulled it apart and found lumps of flour! Aye-yi-yi!

I know what happened. The recipe said not to over-mix. I didn’t. There were lumps in the batter. I knew there were lumps, but I thought it was like pancake batter and the lumps would cook out. They didn’t. And no one said anything to me about it. By the same token, I didn’t notice it in the dark, and didn’t taste it in the piece I ate either. I pitched the remaining biscuits. The critters aren’t fussy about that kind of stuff at all. Then just for kicks and grins, I re-made the recipe the next day. This time I used my whisk to remove all the lumps. I’m almost positive that using the whisk would constitute “over-mixing.” But you know what? It was good and the amount of mixing I did didn’t seem to hurt the end result at all.

Speaking of not knowing stuff...

I found this dish of ground up something or another in a lower cabinet where I’d obviously put it and I don’t — didn’t have a clue what it was. I smelled it. I tasted it. I still didn’t know what it was. And that presents a problem. If I don’t know what it is, how do I use it?

“You tasted it!” you say incredulously. “What if it’s poison!”

This I know for sure. I wouldn’t put poison in one of my food storage containers and if it had been poisonous, I would definitely and definitively have labeled it so I would never use it for food again.

“Why didn’t you label it anyway?” you ask.

I know, right! I asked myself that very same question! And here’s the answer. I didn’t label it because I thought I’d remember.

I puzzled over it for some time, coming back to it, picking it up, shaking it around, examining it, smelling it, and even tasting it a couple of more times before reaching my conclusion.

“What did you decide?” I know you wanna know.

I decided it was probably some baby bird food that I’d ground up to dispense with a dropper to the baby bird I’d tried to save. I took it out and put it in the bird feeder.