History

I love stone walls.  If I was younger, and I often wish I had found this life many years ago, I would be repairing the fallen down walls on my farm.  I often think of the endless backbreaking work it took for human and horse to get these rocks out of the ground so they could graze their animals.  Surely all these wide open fields were covered with forest two hundred years ago.  Some of the walls were knocked down to put fence posts in for barbed wire.  Ouch!  Others just fell down over the years.  The hillside is mostly shale.  Little by little my sheep are improving the fields with their manure.  What a beautiful farm this must have been years ago, when it was being worked with teams of horses, and the founders were braving the harsh winters and trying to keep their animals alive without baled hay.  They were made of some kind of stuff.   Sadly, they lay in the cemetery across the road, which I do not own.  Their resting place is in the same shape as this wall.  We used to try to right the fallen stones and read the names.  Lydia, the founding mother whose spirit inhabits my barn, rests there, along with her husband, Elisha, and many of their children.  They buried many children there.  I like to think they approve of what I am trying to do here.  I sometimes hear of people buying farm land and letting it go back to it's natural state.  Trees and bushes are fine, but I wonder if they realize what hard work it took to make it grassy fields.  

Wool

I must have been a shepherd in a former life.  Wool excites me.  I love working with it.  I know I sound like a crusader but wool is a miracle fiber.  It is weather resistant, flame retardant (the US Army is taking advantage of this) and breathes......I can wear a wool sweater in the barn in the coldest winter temps and feel good.  Tried wearing an alpaca sweater once and tore it off me when it felt like I was cooking in an oven.  Don't get me wrong, alpaca, and angora, is great for blending with wool but Wool is the Mother of All Fibers.  Raising my own fibers is like a potter scraping the clay for her work off the banks of a stream instead of buying clay at the art supply house.  It's taking my craft to the most fundamental and satisfying level. 

Glorious

The weather has been fantastic the last day or two.  I've been working hard on wool and mohair, picking out debris of all sorts and bringing it to boil.  The low humidity and beautiful sunshine is very helpful.  This is a very unusual August.  It was 45 F. outside when I was doing chores last night.  The intensity of the sun is dissipating quickly.  I think winter will be upon us early this year.

Bubble, Bubble

I love to overdye dark fiber.  This black mohair from my "Monkey" will be divine...

Monkey (Velvet) is the grand dam of the goat flock.  She is a miracle goat, after coming back to life when she was rejected by her mother, Celeste, and I found her frozen on the barn floor.  I was still living in the camper at the time. I put her on the oven lid in the milk room thinking I would find her still flat out in the morning.  Instead, I found her standing up in the laundry basket looking for her first meal.  She's been giving me lovely black mohair ever since.  Monkey has some "baggage."  She's had two sets of twins and rejected one of them, sadly, both does.  Something in her little monkey brain tells her to do the same thing that happened to her.   Animals are so much like people.  They want to parent the way they were parented.

Surprise!

I've been keeping four duck eggs under a lamp in the house, turning them over several times a day, and waiting.  I found them in the nest after Mama Duck took her ducklings out of it.  Mother ducks and chickens know when their babies need to leave the nest to find food.  Sometimes a few get left behind.  I've hatched chicks this way before, but never ducks.  The last two times I've tried to hatch left over duck eggs was a failure.  So glad to have this little one.  It's been five hours since hatching and little duckling has already jumped out of the box onto the floor, giving me a coronary.  I put him (?) in a small rabbit cage with a top to keep him in, and cats/dogs out.  One other egg has a little crack in it.  Perhaps another duckling is knocking on the door?

Sunday Morning Musings

Glorious weather continues.  I have a turquoise Merino felting batt cooled down in the dye pots, with two bags of wet wool to set out on the drying rack.  I could use two large drying racks right now.  It is infinitely easier to dry wool in the summer than inside in the winter.   I will get as much done as I can.  Am planning on putting out many raw fleeces this year.  Customers love the brightly colored wool.  Pink Orchid is coming up.  That should be eye catching.  I have enough wool dye to last for a couple of years.

Mama Duck brought her brood inside the barn during goat feeding time, causing much panic on my part.  I gathered up the ducklings in a bucket lest they be trampled by the wild hoard.  There are eight babies, down from nine.  I knew nature would take it's course and reduce the numbers.  I adore those little duckies.  If only I could get a duck tractor built - a portable pen with a little house attached that I could push around the pasture.   Mama keeps the babies in the upper hay mow between the round bales at night.  She parades them around the fields during the day.  The posse, her three Pekin friends, are not as protective as the Swedish Blues on the south side of the barn.  I can't follow them around.  I know they would not be happy penned up but I am considering it...

Much wool work going on today.  The weather report looks good this coming week so I might get some drying done.  Would like to get some wool out to the carding mill before we leave for Maine on Saturday.  The Parkinsons are coming to take care of the farm.  Not too many people are willing/able to take on this wild wacky farm for five days.  They are brave, courageous (except when it comes to my ghost, Lydia, who contacted them when they were farm sitting a while back - you should have seen Daryl's face when I got home) and love all things farm.  We will be visiting Eric and family.  A motorcycle trip to Boothbay Harbor for whale watching is planned, weather permitting.  Very anxious to see the kids again.  They are winding up their Scout camping and getting ready for school to start.   Oh, yes, school starting.   Ouch.  How do I explain that to the doggies?

What's On the Wheel

I took the Logwood mohair and wool hand spun off the bobbin today.  Now I'll wash it in hair shampoo, or my organic lavender dish detergent, whichever is closer to me, and hang it up to dry.  Some people stretch the yarn so it dries straight.  I straighten out a little by hand but I like to let the natural elasticity stay in the yarn.  If you stretch it, then knit with it, you may have some surprises when you wash your garment.  The washing may let the yarn go back the way it wants to.  I'm thinking this yarn would be great for socks.  Mohair is very strong and keeps the heels from wearing out in socks.  Commercial sock yarn has nylon in it.  No need for nylon if you have mohair.  A woman at the market looked very surprised when I told her mohair comes from goats.  I told her cashmere comes from goats and she was blown away.  How could something so luxurious come from such a common animal?  I'm happy to inform the civilians about the wonderful world of natural fibers.

Sweet Grass

The rain continues to come down and the grass is still growing.  I'm amazed at the clover, wildflowers and new grasses that are still coming up.  Brush hogging the tall, bitter and dead grass exposes the short, sweet food close to the ground.  I don't recall my sheep ever having this much to eat on the ground in August.  The rain that is causing so much trouble in other parts of the country is giving us all this grass.  I'm thinking the sheep should be able to graze until the snow falls.

Bags

The weather was lovely and we had some traffic despite the huge Bouckville Antique Extravaganza going on nearby.  I think I'm going to need a bigger rack for my knitting totes come fall.

Very surprised the purple faux leather totes don't seem to be very popular.  I think they are the cat's meow and might steal one for my back-to-school bag.  It's soft as buttah and I adore anything purple.

The Grass is Always Greener...

We surprised the entire flock on the way up to the pond this afternoon.  The rain abated and we thought we would get our pond walk in before dinner and chores.  It was hot and steamy, and I almost turned back but thought I would like the doggies to get a swim to cool off.  As we climbed the hill one sheep appeared, and then they were all there.  Reba is very good at crouching a bit and slinking up to them.  This is all the sheep need to make tracks back to the lush lower hillside were clover and new grass awaits them.  I'm sure they will sneak back up when they can.  I'm considering keeping them in and feeding them hay until I can get the second cut in.  I don't know. 

Blessings

We ventured down the hillside in a fine mist this morning and I stopped dead in my tracks.  The long awaited blessed event had happened - Northside Hay Mow Mama Duck had hatched nine little yellow fluff balls with tiny bills and webbed feet.  I have many baby farm animals here, but there is something about those ducklings.  These are likely purebred Pekins - big white ducks.  We had been watching the nest for weeks.  Oh how I wish Luke was here to see them.  The Southside Swedish Blue Driveway ducklings are so big I had to look hard to distinguish them from the adults.  After several failed nests over the last couple of years these two groups of ducklings this summer are so precious.  I set up a waterer in the barnyard and threw out some dry cat food for mama - her favorite snack.  The babies are already eating grass and bugs, making me thing they are a couple of days old.  I climbed the ladder and checked the nest.  Four unhatched eggs were still in the nest.  I brought them inside and put them under lights.  Who knows?  They were kinda cold, but we'll see.  In the meantime I have counted nine babies several times today.  I hope the three adult ducks in the Northside posse are as protective as the Soutside Swedish Blues.  I don't think so as they look so mellow.  Time will tell.  Cats lurking everywhere but, incredibly, I still manage to hatch dozens and dozens of tiny chicks - one bite and swallow for a cat.  In the meantime, the dye pots are bubbling and the fiber pipeline is moving.  The fleeces start on the floor with me picking through each and every lock, removing any chaff and tags.  Then the washing machine, then the dye pots, then the washing machine again, then the drying rack.  Each step takes time and care to do it right.  In the works now - a purple/midnight blue/black mohair and wool run.  I just started a turquoise Merino felting batt like the one I made last year.  It sold at Maryland.  What else can you do with fiber an inch long?  The lady was thrilled to get it last spring.  Maybe she'll come back and let me know how she liked it.  I have plenty of it.  I will be working hard on fiber from now on, with sneaks at sewing and spinning at night before I close my eyes.   Found some totes cut out and will sew for a while.  Seven Bundaflicka Knitting Totes to add to the bag rack at the Hamilton market tomorrow.  Funny how the mostly non-knitters get to see these totes first.   They look at me quizzically when I tell them I make the bags for knitting as I'm a shepherd and raise sheep for wool.  I don't even say goats for mohair - that's too much for them to ponder.   Rabbits for angora throws them completely.  There was a time when I probably would have given the same blank stare in response.  Now it's my life's work.  Raining steadily now, ensuring the green grass will continue growing and my sheep will be fat going into winter.  Not a bad way to go into the lean times.  I hope Northside Mama Hay Mow Duck has the babies safely tucked away between the round bales.

Friday

Putting in some serious sofa time while plying some gorgeous mohair/wool I call Logwood.  I have no idea how I got this color and can never repeat it.  Now if I was a camera where would I hide myself?  Pictures when I find the little beast.  This color is gorgeous - kind of a brownish/purple/pink.  I adore mohair.  Angora goats are harder to keep than sheep as they need more hoof trimming and worming, but I love them.  I can grab a little goat by the horns and sometimes give a shot and worm meds myself.  I do admit I have been knocked down more often by goats than sheep - when they spot a bucket of corn they are a formidable force.  Mohair seems to grow nicer here than wool.  The lack of selenium in the soil here does not help the wool.   Goats need copper which can be deadly to sheep.  Libby Llop gave me copper boluses to give to my goats at shearing time, which definitely helps produce lustrous, silky mohair.  I was skirting a bag of black mohair yesterday that blew my mind.  Don't think I will blend anything with it and just keep it for myself.   I finally got the dye pots going.   Definitely had some approach avoidance there.  Tough to break away from the spinning wheel and sewing machine but it had to be done.  Still waiting for the new light to be installed over the dye stove so I can see what I am doing.  It's only been in the box for a year.  Let's not go there.  My headlight will do until then.  I won't get a substantial amount of fiber out to the processor in time for early fall shows, but here we are.  Raw fleeces will have to do.  Steamy and rainy today so the drying rack will remain empty until tomorrow when the lovely, sunny weather comes back.   The harder I work in the next three weeks the easier it will be for me when school starts.   I have lots of ideas for art projects swimming around in my head.  I've been looking at drawing tutorials on line.  Crafting is wonderful but I really like teaching kids how to draw.  I see walls covered with pumpkins and self portraits.  Right now I see bags and bags of wool that have to be spread out, skirted, picked, washed and dyed.  Happy with some of them, others  not so much.  Jim Baldwin was right - crossing breeds can result in fiber that is not as nice as either of them.  I have a couple of fleeces from the rescued Moorhouse Merino ram who got Bluefaced Leicester ewes with lamb.  They are surprisingly coarse. Go figure.  I plan on making felt boot inserts with that wool.  Bought a couple at the Bouckville show from an alpaca breeder.  They are heavenly in worn out rubber boots.  There is always something to do with wool, any wool.  Love the stuff.

Mo' Hair

Spent a good bit of time working on fiber yesterday.  I started with the stash that is in the house, buried in the "guest" room, which is now a fiber/fabric cave.  There was an avalanche and I couldn't open the door.  I had to push all my weight against it and stick one hand in to pull things out and away from the door to make room to open it.  If someone locked me in the house, fed me food and water, took the dogs out for me, and left me alone with a spinning wheel, sewing machine, computer and TV, I would be just fine for a couple of years.   I got a big bag of silky black mohair, lots of angora rabbit from Kimmie Cornerstone,  and some kid mohair on the verge of being buggy,  picked and sorted.  Picking simply means picking out the bits of hay, dried manure ("tags" in the sheep world) and whatever the animal has picked up in the field.  My animals enjoy a varied environment that runs from grassy field to little shrubby trees to forrest.  All that ground gives them valuable minerals and stimulates their rumens.  It also makes dealing with their fiber more challenging.  Fiber is why I have them - other than the ultimate bucolic beauty they provide every time I look out the window.  I don't raise them for meat.  I like knowing that my yarn comes from sheep that enjoy such a good life, with a big barn to keep them safe and warm at night and in bad weather, and good dogs that protect them from coyotes.  Excuse me while I get a little verklempt at all this.  I love spinning my fiber blends, and have such little time for it that when I do sit down and pull my wheel over to me it's such a treat.   I adore mohair blended with wool, and nobody does it like Greta Dise and Leslie Orndorf of Tintagel Farm.  They were the inspiration for my blends.  Greta is now having all her fiber machine spun but Leslie is still selling roving.  I bought some for Hannah at Maryland last May.  Yes, with all this roving available to her from her grandmother's stash, Hannah still wanted some fiber with sparkly bits blended in.  Yuck.  No sparkly bits in my yarn.  But I love my granddaughter and set out to find her what she wanted.  Leslie was almost sold out but had some sparkly mohair left.  Hannah was thrilled.  On deck for today - more picking, which the inside dogs enjoy.  Cooper kept trying to "help" me, by sneaking little bits of hair away when I'm not looking.  After retrieving handfuls of fiber from him several times I finally threw him a big, matted clump that I couldn't pull apart.  I watched in amazement while he put his big paws on it and pulled with his mouth.  The clump seperated and I threw it back in the bag.  Good dog!  I don't have to tell you what a mess this makes in the house.  I should be picking outside but I like to watch the news or a movie while I'm doing it.  I make sure I sweep before spouse gets home.  He feels he is making a major sacrifice by suffering through this lifestyle.  I think he is extremely lucky and should thank me every day for providing him with all this healthy and artsy agricultural enrichment.  Therein lies the problem.   I always get a fabulous meal together before chores.    Good thing I have those chores or I might pick, spin and sew into the night.  

Market Goodness

Sunday breakfast for today - luscious jalapeno rolls from the Heidelberg Bakery, homegrown handmade butter from a local farm, local blueberries that are never sprayed, and aged Gouda from a farm just a few miles away.  I buy the same things every week at the Hamilton market.  I'll stock up and freeze some cheese and butter before the market ends in November.  Blueberries, alas, will only be out for sale another week if I'm lucky.

Don't You Dare

Sheep prefer to eat short green grasses.  My flock would love to feast on the baby second growth just starting to take hold.  No way.  There is plenty for them to eat down below.  Reba gently "walked" the flock back down to the lower pasture.  We are mowing down tall growth to expose the short sweet stuff. 

Built Up

I love sitting outside on a cool morning with my coffee and newspaper - yes, print media may it never die - and watch the hummingbirds take their sips of sugar water.  Spouse came out to join me, but was driven in by 55F. temps and my protestations over his polluting the fresh country air with his ghastly cigarettes.  The smoke always finds it's way directly into my face.  At least he did not jump on the table, dump my coffee and chew up last Sunday's paper.  It feels more like October today.  Love it.   Directly across the little Beaver Creek valley from where I am sitting is another home, a double-wide, ubiquitous in this region, recently installed.  I am typical of people who find a spot in paradise then expect no one else to come.  I, however, moved into an existing structure, something that used to be commendable in environmental circles.   Just above the two double wides on the opposite side of the valley is a lovely old barn that was being refurbished by people from New Jersey.  Matt says the materials they were using are top of the line energy efficient panels.  They lived in the tiny farmhouse while they were working on the barn in the summer.  Before Matt got his weatherization job with the non-profit, he stopped in to ask if they needed any help with construction.  The guy said he had fallen on hard times in NJ, like so many, and was not in good health.  Nothing has been done on the site for a couple of years now.  Perhaps they wanted to move here permanently, too.  Dreams dashed by unfortunate circumstances.  I wish I lived in a more isolated place, perhaps the Adirondacks.  I have privacy, but not complete privacy on all sides.  People can watch me with binoculars - yes I know I provide better entertainment than Direct TV.  I don't want to move, as I have the most lovely spot, under the piney ridge, on a hillside, and a back pasture that has so much character, with streams and ponds.  Both our jobs are commutable, long, but manageable.    I could never, ever, afford to build this magnificent barn anywhere else.   Sure, it would have better pipes and amenities, but not the historic class that mine has.  Maybe someday someone will have the money to really fix it up, but I can't imagine anyone investing so much of their life-force into a barn, other than the Amish.  People complain about them and say they do carpentry work and undercut local contractor's prices, etc.  I don't mind them a bit.  They are farmers, unlike the "downstate people" (an insult around here) who buy land, put a Winnebago on it, cover it with a tarp, and come up periodically with their quads and guns to shoot animals.   They are not as bad as the downstate people who move here, get on the town council, and enact laws against things that farmers need to do, like burning piles of debris once or twice a year.  If you don't have a back hoe to bury it there is not much else to do with it.  Farms grow piles of debris.  Then there is the guard dog issue.  Don't get me started.  Guard dogs bark into the night to warn the predators to stay away.  City people who move to Paradise don't understand that.   A lovely 300 plus farm, like mine was, was divided up nearby and city people have built little cabins on parcels.  One of the gorgeous stone barns was beautifully restored, with a little prefab house next to it.  Cameras were installed with signs that read "Smile-We Are Watching You" or some such nonsense.  They have GOT to be city people.  I am city people, too, having lived a mile outside of a large town, in a development, in New Jersey....but I have sheep poop on the bottom of my shoes!  That has to count for something!

Love Linen

I've really enjoyed sewing on this heavy, luxurious natural colored linen from New Orleans.  I only had enough for a knitting tote and a Yarn Pocket.  I set out the Yarn Pocket with a lovely ball of variegated handspun and a set of Mei-Mei needles.   I didn't notice anyone looking at it, but the linen/damask tote I finished yesterday sold as I was setting up.  Lots of looking at the other bags, but no takers.  The day was a success, all in all, with some wool sales.  My earnings went straight into the local economy, as the market is my summer job, and the animals (and humans) like to eat.  Home to a lovely walk up to the pond in the most glorious weather we've had all summer.  I would like to spend some more time on this sofa, but Comet is calling to me from outside and I have to make his bottle.  I only give him two a day, as I want him to eat this lush green grass.  Tough love, I know, but he's growing nicely and doing just fine. 

My Basket Runneth Over

My hand spun basket is looking very healthy these days.  I enjoy putting it out at the Hamilton Market.  I always spin in the booth, and when people say, What are you doing? I can point to the basket.  Most people have absolutely no concept of how their clothing is made, or the basic idea of loose fibers being twisted to make them strong.  I sometimes remind them of the suspension bridges, like the Verrazano, and the twisted cables that hold it up.  I don't sell a lot of handspun because I won't give it away, but I still like to show it off.  Frankly, I don't care if it ever sells.  It doesn't go bad and I will knit with it someday.   I've heard people muttering about a Joann's coupon they are going to use on yarn, or they have no idea what to do with yarn.  I had one customer buy a skein of mohair to "put on her coffee table in a basket" because she thought it was so beautiful.  You hear all kinds of things at the farmer's market.  I love displaying my yarn at the market because it reminds me of just how unique and special it is.  At the big shows, most people know what handspun is all about, but they need large amounts of a single run of machine spun yarn to do a big project.  I completely understand.  My skeins are for small projects, or maybe a vest.  I fill up my bobbins as much as I can without a break in the yarn.  I love to pull my wheel over to me when I'm tired and want to spend some time on the sofa, but still want to feel productive.  In the meantime I will filling up my basket and play with the skeins, like toys, and fondle them.  Handspun only gets softer with handling, especially the skeins with a little angora.  Manna from heaven.

Second Cut

With luck, we might get a second cut of hay this year.  There is so much lush pasture on the bottom of the hill and the way-back I am very hopeful.  I would like some square bales which are much easier to handle than the round bales up top.  I have a fabulous elevator to get square bales off the wagon and in the barn.  Many variables come into play....weather, machinery, people, etc.  An epic sandstorm in Africa is said to be keeping the nascent hurricanes at bay.  We might get lucky. Maybe.  

Apples!

With all the weather issues including record rainfall and a very long spring, I didn't know what to expect from my ancient, perhaps colonial era, apple orchard.

The sheep will grow fat on these apples once they drop to the ground in the fall.  No apples at all last year as a late freeze killed the blossoms.  I still harbor fantasies of bringing my orchard back.  I wish I knew who planted all these apples trees.  It surely was back breaking work, with this ground that is solid shale.  They planted the trees so close together, tucked under the piney ridge, and they grew so large, that most of them do not get any sunlight and don't produce apples.  I love to wander through the other-worldly darkness in the middle of the orchard.  The trees on the perimeter are heavy with fruit.  I will not spray them, so the fruit does get a bit buggy.  The sheep and goats don't care a bit.  Matilda and Fancy's son, Bubbafette, are already taking advantage.   The sheep don't have the ability to stand up on their hind feet like my Nubians.  They can only watch and wait.

Salamander

We took a sunset walk before chores last night and spotted this salam

Big Boys

I have four big monster wethers (sheep speak for neutered males) loaded with wool.  What's wrong with this you ask?  I'll tell you what.  These wild, and very athletic,  bad boys are carrying huge fleeces that should be in the bag and not on their backs.   At my spring shearing I had four big strong men, not including the shearer, Big Jim Baldwin, here to catch and handle the sheep.  I pay top dollar so you would think the helpers, all former students, would be especially enthusiastic.  When 46 sheep had been shorn, four big black monsters were left.  The guys were done in.  In a moment of ridiculousness and bad judgment I gave in to their whining and let them off the hook.  In retrospect, which is all so clear, I should have refused to pay them until the four outliers were taken care of.  I will get Jim back to shear them, and some goats, before the fur (or wool) starts flying in the fall.  This is a sheep farm and wool is my focus.  It doesn't do me or the farm any good for this lovely black fleece to be getting sunburned and rained on out in the field.

August 1

It's still high summer but this is when I start feeling the downhill slide into fall.  It's dark and cloudy with rain threatening which does not help my anxiety.  Rain is okay - funny how we dread the rain when we're trying to get hay in, then desire it when we want a second cut to grow.  Still can't get over how lush the lower pasture is, with clover, flowers and dark green grass still growing.  The sheep are funny grazers, leaving tunnels around clumps of green growth here and there.  Even the tunnels have carpets of clover in them.  This time last year the lower pasture was dust, with the sheep going up top for something to eat, preventing us from getting a second cut in.  Grass is life and hay sustains it through the winter.  I'm loving my mornings, doing chores and walking the dogs in my jammies, watching the news, spinning wool, playing with the dogs and kitties, sewing, cooking eggs for myself, and generally wallowing in the freedom I will no longer have in September.  We walk up the hill and around the pond twice a day - my spa walk I call it.  No spa could be as beautiful.  Yesterday we reached the pond and Bertha waded in for her swim.  She paddled around a while then started our walk around when we all froze.  There was a snapping turtle taking a sun bath. I flashed back to three or four years ago when we found a snapper in the same spot.  She was dry and lifeless, perhaps after a long trip somewhere to lay her eggs.  I read that snappers go back to the same spot they were born to lay their eggs, and that they like to do it in plowed fields. Plenty of that around here.  The dogs were getting too close and started harassing it, so I impulsively pushed it into the pond with my foot.  Here we are, years later, only this turtle looked healthy and fine, with bright yellow eyes and great big feet, long tail and tough hard shell.  Bertha and Cooper, on leashes kept their distance but leaned forward to sniff the beast.  Reba, not leashed because she never runs away, ran right in to get a closer look.  The turtle shot into the pond, obviously at home where she lives.  I think the turtle I found years ago just decided to stay and thrived.  Yikes, to think we have been blissfully ignorant of who was living in the mud while we walked on the bottom of the pond.  It's safe to say I will be floating on top, on my raft, after having pushed off from the shore, with my toes pointed out of the water.  There's a lot for that snapper to eat in the pond, even with the heron that keeps visiting us, including my lovely gold fish.  I wonder if that snapper got my Goldie?   I love wildlife in all forms.  I have a healthy fear of snappers having grown up on the South Branch of the Raritan River in New Jersey.   The babies would bite our fish hooks, and we couldn't get the hooks out of them as they were snapping at our fingers.  All we could do was cut the line and let them go.  My father, The Shooter, was after a giant snapper who, he told us, was pulling ducks underwater to eat, and would surely get our dog, Andy.  His .45 shells bounced off the monster's shell he told us.  As little kids you can imagine how this turtle took on exponential proportions in our minds.   The years passed and I've had more encounters with snappers, even picking one up on my way to work at Voorhees High School and taking it home with me to safety in a pond.  And then, oh Lord, there was the time I was home tutoring a student in Califon who broke his back in a quad accident.   A little brother came into the living room to tell us there was a big turtle in the garage.  Low and behold, there was a big snapping turtle in the garage.  I was afraid to leave the house after tutoring as I did not trust my student home alone with his little brother and that turtle.  This kid was a real piece of work.  I figured he was the one who captured the beast and put it in the garage.  I was more worried about little brother.  I got a garbage can and pointed the open end at the turtles head.  I pushed the can as far as I could under the shell, ran around behind it, and put my foot on the shell to get it farther inside the can.  This turtle was so heavy it took all three of us to get the can upright and drag it to the car.  We hoisted the can up into the truck and drove down the pasture in back of their home to the river where I suspect my student found this turtle.  We rolled the can into the water and the turtle crawled out.  Whew!  I wonder whatever happened to that kid.   I don't remember his name,  as so much of my life is being lost to faded memory.  That's one reason why I'm writing these silly little stories down.  I have other snapping turtle stories, but there are needy animals in the barn and I'm still in my nightie at ten twenty three in the morning.  What if the FBI, or yahoos looking for scrap metal came knocking at the door?  What would they think?  Do I really care?

Back to Work

Our pond walks are so special, but duty calls and there is work to do in the barn.  Animals need tending to and humans must get ready to go to jobs that keep the farm going.

Serenity

This pond, man-made by a previous "guest" on this lovely land, makes me wish I could paint.  Sunsets are particularly beautiful and a perfect way to end a busy day.

Cooper

Cooper, newest dog, loves to swim, but only in selected spots in the pond.  I take him to a secluded place behind a wall of cattails.  Cooper is coming along nicely having spent too much time in a crate.  He's learning to go to the door and bark when he needs to go out.  I expect we'll do some backsliding when I go back to work.   Cooper no longer chases chickens, thankfully.  He's a terrific watchdog and loves playing with his ball.  I'm hoping I can teach him to retrieve it from the middle of the pond, like my sainted Bodie.

Bertha Loves to Swim

Pond Walk

The doggies tell me when it's time to go up the hill.  It's good for me and them.

It's a half hour walk, up, around, and down, but we love to linger and play in the water.  Bertha is quite the water puppy. We've been hiking up to the pond twice a day lately.  I would love to let Bertha and Cooper off their lines, but they would go exploring and take their own sweet time about coming back to the barn.  Besides, I need them to help pull me up the hill.