Here Chick, Chick

          Sometimes, during this time of the stay-at-home edict, my days pass and I have no idea where they went or what I've done. It's a good thing I have pictures to help keep me straight!

          The bridge crew was off work for a couple of weeks because of Rona (the Coronavirus) but they've obtained a waiver and are back to work now.

          We took the golf cart down to check on them.

          They must practice social distancing or wear masks.

          They've also set up a handwashing station along with the safety rules.

          All along the roadside are the bright sunny faces of the Coltsfoot. They don't need much encouragement to grow.

          "Someone said they look like Dandelions," I told Mike. "Do you think they do?"

           "Not very much," he replied.

          I hadn't seen a lot of Dandelions up to this point, then a few days later they started blooming in my yard.

          Dandelion has been used for centuries to treat a myriad of physical ailments including cancer, acne, liver disease, and digestive disorders.

          And let's not forget that as an early spring bloomer it's also a food source for our precious bee population.

          Speaking of which, the pussy willows are flowering. I didn't even have to get very close to hear the loud buzzing of bees. They were all over it!

          I let the girls out one morning neglecting to check the patio for remnants of Spitfires hunting. I knew something was wrong when Ginger didn't come back in a timely manner. When I checked, I see her standing there, ears perked straight up, just staring at the cats breakfast dish. Someone had plated up a little Chickadee.

          Out on the front patio, I'm confronted with this.

          "What is it?" you ask.

          This, my dears, is a whole big handful of cat fur. And there's blood too!     I'm guessing the two feral toms got into it. Judging by the color, Mr. Mister got the best of Jerry. I've seen both toms since then. I can't really tell how Jerry is because he won't let anyone touch him. Mr. Mister has a great big open wound on his leg that I suspect was a cat bite that has festered and opened. I don't think it's a bite from this fight because I've seen it before but thought it had healed. But this fight certainly helped to open it back up.

          We had such a beautiful day here last week. "I hung out a load of laundry and have another in the washer," Jody, my best girl told me.

          "Dang! I wish I'd've thought to hang a load out!"

          "Soon the days will all be nice and it'll be automatic to hang it out," she said.

          The next day turned out to be almost as nice. Mike mowed the field for me. I like him to knock the weeds down at least once a year and I don't care if it's spring or fall.

          "You could turn it into yard if you want," I told him.

          "Naw. I've got enough to mow."

          I had Ginger on a leash and was walking her around. Our pond is full of frog eggs!

          As I was going around to the other side I spot a snot-gob of eggs on dry ground.

          I don't think they're supposed to be there, I thought when I saw them. I wondered if one of the herons had picked 'em from the water and ate part and got scared away before he could finish them or if a frog laid 'em there when the water was higher. I don't have any way of telling how long they've been out of water or if any of the tadpoles are still viable. I did the only thing I could do. I picked it up and put it in the water. The snot-gob was still wet and gushy so maybe there's a chance a few of them are still alive. A few feet farther on I found another one and put it back in the water too. They'll live or they won't. It's out of my hands now.

          We continued on around the pond and Ginger got right in the water — and got herself a drink. She likes the water.

          I spot more egg masses under the water and stooped down to examine them when...

          ...this little frog took off.

          I watched him go then spot the other frog hanging from — what? A reed, twig, pond grass? I don't know.

          Sorting pictures for today's letter blog I see there's not one frog there but two!    

          I spot another mass (sounds better than snot-gob, don'cha think?) and think it must be from a different kind of frog because it doesn't look like the others. 

          My wash was done when I got back to the house so I got my first load of the year hung on the clothesline.

          I just love everything about line-dried clothes. I love toting the basket out, listening to the birds, feeling the sun and wind, thinking of my beautiful mother as I hang the laundry the way she always did. I like seeing how many spiders'll be in my basket when I come back. But I especially love the outdoorsy way everything smells and still smells days later.

          We had such a nice breeze that it didn't take long for the clothes to dry. I was standing at the line, unpinning, shaking, folding clothes, and dreaming of spring days spent flying kites when I hear a sound coming from someplace where it didn't have any business being. I hear a small motor up at Fry's place, a summer house up behind ours. It sounded like someone was approaching it from the field. Earlier in the day, when Mike and I took a walk, a couple of small motorbikes came down the road. Were they up there 'exploring' while the Fry's were gone?

          I called Mike. "I hear something up at the Fry's."

          "Like what?" he asked.

          "Like a small engine. Dirt bikes or maybe an ATV."

          "It's probably just Vernon," Mike said and I realized he was probably right. Vernon owns the field next to us.

          I was just finishing folding the clothes when I hear Mike come out of the house and the golf cart start up.

          "Let's go check it out," Mike said.

          I put the basket on the back of the cart and we drove out to Vernon's. We found him, his wife Donna, and grandbaby Sophie sitting on the pier feeding the fish. Sure enough, they'd been out and about in the ATV.

          Mike, my little social butterfly, hadn't had anyone but me to talk to in a long time and he and Vernon had a lot of catching up to do. I got off the golf cart and wandered over to chat with Donna while Vernon migrated toward where Mike was — but we all kept our social distant don'cha know.

          Little Sophie is cute as a button but she doesn't know us. She didn't hide when I spoke to her but she also didn't speak and didn't smile. I took a ton of pictures of her.

            Before we left she'd warmed up a little and smiled as she picked a handful of grass for her grandmother.

          "There's that beautiful smile," Donna said and lovingly stroked her cheek with her finger.

          Sigh.

          I miss Andrew.

          We really hit the conversational jackpot that day! Before we got home we met up with both the Kipps —

— and Steph Robinson!

          "Jon's making me a chicken house," Steph said.

          I gasped. "You're getting chickens!"

          Steph laughed. "Yep!" She cupped her hands and held them close to her face. "Cute little baby chicks."

          "Can I come and see them when you get them?"

          "Yes you can."

          Steph was on her way to work but invited us to go up and check out the shed they're renovating into a chicken coop.

          I didn't take any pictures of the coop even though they're doing a great job. I just didn't think about it. But I did get a picture of this old farm machine sitting behind the shed.

          "If I had one of those we could put it in the yard and plant flowers in it," I told Mike.

          "No we can't," he said without even thinking about it. But for him, I know the issue is mowing around it. He doesn't like to have stuff he has to mow around.

          I took advantage of one of our nice days to walk Ginger down to the creek and look for stones to make snails with. On the opposite side, I see a beaver tree! 

           I came home with seven rocks I thought would work but they're all bigger than the one I used so I don't know how or if they're going to work.

          Coming back from the creek, I came up the back driveway and as I approached the kitchen alcove I see a cat dart for cover. It was Anon, one of our wild girls and she didn't know who was coming so she hid. Do you see her?

          I put the snail project aside, which is what I do when I don't know what I'm going to do, and picked up a previously put aside project, which is this one. I really didn't like my butterfly so I cut him loose.

          I stripped, straightened, and twisted wire into more curly q's then added this cute little butterfly. I like it much better now.

          The next step will be to adorn it with a ton of those little flowers that I made from nail polish, Mod Podge, and paint. It's going to be a flower garden. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do with the butterfly. Add beads, paint him, or leave him plain.

          Do you remember the flowers I made with Podge then dipped in printer ink? I found out pretty quick the ink and alcohol mixture melted the Podge so I decided to try just straight printer ink. I waited for two days for the ink to dry and it never did. I rinsed them off and saw the ink had colored the Podge so they look like this now. I haven't done anything else with them yet, like add detail and dip in polyurethane, but I expect when I get an itch to use them, that's what I'll do.

           While I'm updating you on stuff, I've been meaning to update you on those cans and bottles that someone stuck on branches beside the dirt road. Remember them? My cute little red-haired brother Richard has suggested that they may act as reflectors at night. I bet he's right. How clever is that!

          And because I had a computer crash not so very long ago I've instituted a new way of doing things. From now on, when I download my camera, it goes directly to the external hard drive. No more losing pictures to computer crashes. An external hard drive crash is another matter entirely and would be devastating.

          And the same is true for my letter blogs. They also get saved directly to the external hard drive.

         

          I made homemade cheese crackers this week. I had a block of Swiss that I needed to use and these things are so good!

  

          My biggest and best project this week was making a chicken and chick from barbed wire.

          My Miss Rosie likes chickens and has quite an extensive collection. When I saw it online I knew I had to make it for her. She didn't have any chickens made from barbed wire that I knew of.

          To get the wire I asked my neighbor Jon Robinson. They have some old fences that aren't used anymore.

          "You could have just taken a piece," you say.

          No. No, I couldn't have. Used or not, it's still their fence.

          "But he'd never miss it!"

          I know, right! But even so, I couldn't do it. I asked Jon and he gave me permission. I walked along the fence line and found a place where I could get to some. Unfortunately, I encountered an uncooperative branch that took a swipe at my nose. It didn't hurt but I soon felt a tickle. When I wiped at my nose, my hand came away bloody. I'll tell you what! That scratch bled and bled — but I got my wire!

          When I was in the early stages of making the chicken everything was looking good but I could trash the whole idea at any time and then she wouldn't get anything for an Easter gift, which wasn't a big deal since she didn't know I was making her something anyway.

          The wire was old and as I bent it one strand broke in a place or two. Rather than start over, I justified. It's okay, I thought to myself, It just adds to the charm. My mind raced ahead. I worried what I'd do with 'em when I got 'em done.

          "I'm thinking it might be kinda dangerous for Miss Rosie to handle barbed wire," I wrote to my online friends and family, "so I'm thinking of mounting it on something like maybe a piece of old wooden snow fence? Then adding wire for it to hang by."

          I went back to Jon and asked for a piece of his old snow fence.

          "I don't care," he said.

          Although I saw the snow fence before, I went and looked it with a more critical eye. Then I went back to my online friends and family. "The snow fence won't work. The slats are pretty far apart, rotted, and all rolled into a big roll and I can't get to it anyway. I have an old window. What if I took the window out, put chicken wire in, and mounted my chicken (and peep) to that?" I asked. But even as I wrote it out, I worried. "I'm afraid the chickens will get lost in the wire." I changed gears. "So how about old barn wood? Either by itself or behind my window frame?"

          I asked for thoughts and got some great ideas. But the one I liked best was the one my beautiful sister, Phyllis suggested. "Got any concrete?"

          "What a great idea!" I told her.

          Adding a concrete base solved another problem that had been rattling around in my head.

          "What's that?" you ask.

          If I put it on barn wood and made it into a wall plaque, where would she put it?

          "You let me figure that out," is the answer Miss Rosie always gives me when I ask her.

           Mike made the bases for Miss Rosie and we took them down Saturday afternoon.

          I enlisted Lamar to cover Rosie's eyes and bring her out where Mike and I waited. I prefaced my gift with, "Miss Rosie! If you don't like them please say so! I've been sharing online and there are other people who'd love to have 'em!"

          She pulled the bandanna from her eyes and I could immediately tell that she loved them. "Why did you think I wouldn't?" she asked.

          "Only because it's just one strand of wire and tends to get lost."

          We talked about ways to make it stand out more but ultimately. whatever she does with them is up to her.

          Let's call this one done!

Blessed

          Last time I told you about not finding any yeast. Later in the day I get a message from my friend and sister in Christ, Joanie.

          "I found some yeast at the store. You want some?" she asked and sent me a picture.

          In big letters it said IDY. "I don't know what IDY yeast is?" I told her. "Is it dry yeast?" There are different kinds of yeast. Brewer's yeast, Nutritional yeast, yeast for making wine, and Momma used cake yeast.

          "Yes, it's dry," she told me.

          I neither confirmed nor denied wanting yeast. "I'm not really planning on making anything," I told her. "I just like to replace it when I run out. And I might try some potato yeast." I didn't want to put my friend out.

          Next thing I know someone's coming in my driveway.
         Look at this beautiful lady, would ya! She loves me enough to buy yeast and bring it to me. 

          I was a little embarrassed that Joanie caught me in my quarantine wardrobe but what are ya gonna do?

          I offered to pay for the yeast but she wouldn't let me. Turns out, as I read the package, IDY stands for Instant Dry Yeast. Who knew!

          Since Joanie gifted me the yeast, I made her some homemade bread. No-Knead Bread isn't the prettiest loaf of bread you'll ever see but I really like it. I like how easy it is to make. I like the crustiness of it whereas others might like a softer crust. You can always oil it and it'll come out softer. And I like the Italian-like texture. It's perfect for holding lots of butter — not that I would do that!

          You might notice the tortillas on the stove with the bread. I was making them when the bread came out of the oven. I bet I made tortillas three or four times in the last two weeks. Mike really likes chicken quesadillas. I didn't really have to make tortillas that many times. The recipe makes eight and the quesadillas use four. I put the other three in the freezer because I like to keep some on hand.

          "Peg, I thought you said there were eight?"

          Oh. Yeah. Four for quesadillas, three for the freezer, that doesn't equal eight does it. Well, someone (who shall remain nameless at this time but might be me) loves to eat them hot off the griddle. That probably explains what happened to the other one and also explains why I had to make another batch when I had chicken to use up.

          "Did you find a potato yeast recipe?" my other beautiful friend and sister in Christ, Jody asked.

          "That's weird," I told her, "that you should ask me on the very same day that I made some."

          The web site I consulted said instead of using cloth or paper towel to cover it that I could use the lid of the canning jar and just cover it loosely.

           You should see bubbles in 24 to 36 hours, it said.

          I didn't have any bubbles in that time and when I took the top off to smell check it, the lid had sealed. I loosened it and checked again the next day. Still no bubbles. I switched out the lid for a paper towel and 36 hours later I had some nice bubbles.

          The finished yeast starter should smell pleasant, very lightly of yeast, like rising bread.  Possibly ever so slightly sour like sourdough, but mostly like yeast.  

If your culture smells nasty…something went wrong.

          I opened my potato yeast and took a tentative sniff. It didn't smell yeasty to me. I took a bigger sniff. Nope, not yeasty. And just to be sure, I smelled it a third time. It was nasty. Something went wrong. I took it out to dump in the weeds. After I poured some off I gave it another sniff just to be extra sure but I needn't have bothered. Before I was done pouring, the smell was wafting up to me. It was definitely, officially, certifiably, nasty!

          "Will you try again?" you wanna know.

          I will. I really like the idea of making potato bread.

          Food isn't the only thing I've been making this week. I needed a new scrubby to exfoliate my face (and maybe scrub off a few wrinkles) so I bought a yard of purple netting and made two!

          Spring is pooping — oops. What a difference a single letter makes!

          Spring is popping out. Down in town, it's more popped than here on our mountain but you can really tell it's coming!

          Buds on the Bradford Pear tree.

          The pretty reds of the Multiflora Rose.

          Coming back from the mailbox, I spy the pretty ruffled edges of a fungus. In my mind's eye, I remember a project that my cute little redheaded brother Rick helped Momma do. They took a fungus, preserved it somehow. I don't know if they used a polyurethane or what. Then glued it onto a piece of cork and added a magnet to the back. I have one of them. On an impulse, I picked this one up, thinking, I can dip it in polyurethane. Beyond that, I didn't have a clue what I was going to do with it.

           I walked Ginger down to the creek. On the way I found a pretty round rock. My oldest and much-adored sister Patti took me to a place that had a lot of really cool stuff. One of those things was critters made with rocks. It's been rattling around in my head for quite a while now that I wanted to do something like that. Maybe I'd do something with this rock. Maybe a ladybug. But I didn't. I made a snail. But it was much too big for the rock I'd picked up. So I went out and picked up the first rock that was about the size I wanted. 

           I was coming back in with that when I see the fungus I'd picked up sitting behind the microwave (where it would be safe). Hey! That could be his hat! I thought.

          I thought my snail was cute with a hat but there's only one problem. If I ever wanted to make another one, I'd never find another fungus like this one.

          I wonder if I can make one. I worked it out in my head and set about making my vision become a reality. I made the frame and added ribs. Then got out the Mod Podge and tried to form the bubble that I'd later paint. My bubbles kept popping — pooping out on me. I tried and tried and tried! I even went so far as to put the Podge in a bowl and try dunking it. No matter what I did the bubbles would just not stay intact. And, boy oh boy! Did I ever have a mess on my hands by the time I gave up. Mod Podge up to my elbows, drips and drops all over the counter and dripping down the sides of the jar, not to mention the bowl I'd poured it into.

          Then my beautiful friend Trish comes to mind. Do you know what that girl did! Oh my gosh! I'm so eternally blessed to have the friends and family that I have — and eternally thankful too.

          Trish upcycles and repurposes boxes of all kinds. She decoupaged these for me with some of my favorite photos.

           One is a prayer box and the other two have different photos on the other side. I can put my brushes and combs in one or use it for my crafting supplies. No box will ever sit empty in this house for long! Aren't they just beautiful!

          So Trish came to mind and I wondered if I could use this technique to fix my Mod Podge bubble problem. Having a sturdy base would certainly help.

          But what can I use?

          Toilet paper!

          I got a few sheets of the single-ply that my husband swears is best for our septic system, and a bowl of water. I drooped — dropped! There's just something about o's and p's together that makes my finger automatically double the o's!

          I put the sheet of single-ply into the water and when I picked it up, it fell apart.

          Don't laugh. You might've known it would but I didn't!

          Okay then! That's not going to work!

          I draped a piece over the hat frame and spritzed it with water and that worked much better. When I went to tidy up the edges I tore the paper and had to start over. This time I let the paper dry before trimming the edges. It becomes almost translucent. This is a picture after I dipped it in Podge and it's not yet dry. Once it was dry it was almost translucent again. 

          I had foxglove in mind when I painted it. Purple on the outside, spots on the inside. When the paint dried I dipped the whole thing in polyurethane. When that was dry I put the bonnet on my snail. There might be a couple of extra holes where I didn't have it seated quite right the first time.

          I was so engrossed in showing off the hat in this photo that I didn't notice the shell had slipped back.

          "Your snail is so cute," Trish said. "When you do another one, you could make her a beau."

          A purple bonnet is good for a girl snail but maybe not so good for a boy? How about a leaf!

          And I made a leaf. Now I have to make another snail. All kinds of questions come to mind. Should I put a flower on the boy or should I make a bug of some kind? Should I fancy 'em up with more copper wire or leave them simple?

          One thing is for sure. I need to make a trip to the creek to see if I can find some better rocks to use as shells.

        

          We made a trip to Walmart to pick up a few things. In the county where Walmart is there were no cases of the virus reported at the time. So we thought, with a little reasonable care and social distancing, we'd be okay. The old people hours are 6 to 7 on Tuesday mornings. To be there at 6 we needed to leave here around 5 which meant, if I wanted any coffee, I'd have to get up at 4:30.

          Farm machinery in the early morning fog.

         

          Ginger totally grossed me out the other morning. I'd let her out to do her business and when she didn't come back I went looking for her. There she was, munching down on the gut sack of a rabbit someone brought in. I have a picture but I think I'll just spare you this time. I'm going to assume it was Spitfire because he's a good hunter and I've seen him bring rabbits in before. I yelled at Ginger and she finished her bite before she came in and she didn't look a bit contrite either! The guts were on one of my flat patio rocks so I picked up the rock, guts and all and tossed it on the other side of the fence. I looked around but didn't see any other pieces parts.

          A couple of hours later I let Ginger out again and again she's gone so long I go looking for her. There she is out by the fence and I can see she's chowing down on something.

          "GINGER!" I yell. "DROP IT!"

          Does she listen to me? NO! She does not! She just chews faster. I get out there and hanging from her mouth is a rabbit foot with a splintered bone sticking out the end. I have a picture of that too but again, I'll spare you the nitty-grittys. I had no choice but to reach down and pull it from her mouth. Ewww! Then I got to be scared she'd ingested a bone with the potential to do her internal harm.

          "Peg! Dogs have been eating bones for thousands of years!" you say.

          I know, right! It's been several days now and I'm not feeling as anxious about it as I was.

          I have some colorful train graffiti I could show you.

          I have a not-so-great shot of a juvenile eagle I took on the fly I could show you. 

            I stuck a celery butt in a dish of water to watch it grow. I could show you how that's doing after a week. 

         But you know what? I think we'll just call this one done!
         P.S. I'm showing the pictures online but there's no room in the printed version.