The Choir

I’m trying to keep the Choir alive.

Eight or so darling sparrows spend the night in the barn with the goaties. I call them the Choir because they tend to sit aloft in rows. They chirp more than sing, but hey, I can’t sing very well either. When I let the goaties out in the morning, I love to talk to my little friends, whose down feathers are puffed up to keep them warm.

All this bird-goat-human harmony gets disrupted when the Terrible Tiger, whom I lock out of the barn at night, sneaks into the barn behind me. I have to run at the sparrows, clapping my hands to scare them up higher into the rafters so they won’t be eaten. After evening chores, I have to make certain the Tiger isn’t shut in the barn, which sometimes entails a crazy woman-cat chase. (One time Blueberry helped me chase him out. She doesn’t care much for the Tiger, who, even though he’s greatly outsized, likes to ambush her and Meels from the Russian olives, startling them into running away.)

The other day, Smokey (the Tiger’s sweet alter-ego) was taking his usual afternoon nap indoors. He loves to be petted and snuggled when sleepy, and I’m happy to oblige. That day I saw something sticking out of Smokey’s paw. Upon closer inspection, I identified the foreign object as a tiny feather! I didn’t find any more incriminating evidence in the yard or barn, so hopefully the bird just had a harrowing day but escaped with his life.



“He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” –PSALM 91:4

 

 

 

Blossom

On my way back from my morning run, I stopped to give my regards to the Heffies. Blossom came up right behind me, which was a surprise because she’s the bashful wallflower of the bunch. When they’re all together, she’s usually one of the last to be noticed, hanging back bashfully, often seeming to hide her rather plainly marked head behind one of her more striking sisters.

Hubby and I were just talking about Blossom the other day, remarking how her color and personality almost make her invisible amongst the others, yet she has actually grown into a very pretty, balanced, well-muscled-but-feminine young cow, more so than many of her more conspicuous cohorts.

“You’re so beautiful, Blossom!" I told her as I snapped her picture.

As I turned and headed home, I thought, “I can really relate to Blossom. I’ve always preferred to hang back in the shadows where I can’t be noticed, letting the more confident, poised, and admirable ones get the attention. I’m glad that Blossom is starting to blossom a bit. Maybe I am too.”

 

 

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new!” –2 CORINTHIANS 5:17

Over the Top

When it comes to decorating for Christmas, Hubby thinks I’m a bit over the top. He's not an elf, so he doesn't realize that, when it comes to decking the halls, there is no top. 

 

Actually, I'm quite Spartan compared to some elves I know. My friend, Kathy, has been known to have five Christmas trees in her house and even has lights strung up in her bathroom. My sister, Jenny, has so many holiday decorations that she has to store them in a shed on another farm; although she drives a SUV, she told me that she was afraid the Christmas paraphernalia wouldn’t fit, and she might have to make two trips. My editor, TJ—well, I’ll let his own words convict him:

“My attic has 17 tons of Christmas decorations about to crash through the roof. We have Christmas music boxes that play every song written about the holiday since the original trip to Bethlehem by the key couple. We even have boxes marked “never take these down” which contain old lights and antique decorations from the early Pleistocene era. There are stuffed animals taking up at least five acres of the living room each season, and a growing Christmas village undergoing a Malthusian population explosion. We decorate the yard with wooden stuff I cut out and Sally painted including elves, 9 deer (one with the ruby nose), the Clauses, penguins, bears and … well, you get the idea. I’ll be pounding in the stakes to hold them against the wind and no doubt puncturing my underground PVC irrigation pipes again.”

I’m off to town. I volunteered to take Blackie in to get the oil changed before he takes it on a football trip this weekend. While I’m there, I might as well look around for a bigger Christmas tree.

 

The Road

Snow was expected this weekend, but rain came instead, and a very welcome surprise it was! The more our parched pastures and trees get to drink before the ground freezes, the better. I’m especially relieved because now I won’t have to haul any more water to all of this year’s plantings of junipers, willows, cottonwoods, and currants.

Rain, however, is much more inconvenient on our place than snow because of our lane. It’s “the road” when dry, frozen, or snow-covered, but when it’s muddy, it’s “The Road”. The Road is over half-a-mile of the heaviest, stickiest, slippieriest, muckiest muck that any luckless driver has ever faced. When the muck builds up under the wheelwells, it hardens into concrete that can actually prevent wheels from turning, not to mention wear the rubber off of tires.

Lest you think I exaggerate, I quote Jeremy, our Co-op tire guy: “Look at this chunk of concrete wedged in here! It has scraped the sidewall right off the inside of the tire! You must have driven over some wet cement.” I shook my head and said no, I didn’t think so. I could just imagine what Jeremy was thinking: Women drivers! They don’t even know when they’ve driven over wet concrete!

Since removing the concrete is most unpleasant and tiresome, we try to avoid driving on The Road. Fortunately, the ground was frozen early this morning, so Hubby was able to take his car to work. I drove Blackie out to the county road before the sun could warm up the muck. If I need to go to town later, I can shuttle myself out there in the Ranger, which, hopefully, is more amphibious than Blackie.

“Didn't He set us on the road to life? Didn't He keep us out of the ditch?”      –PSALM 66:9

 

Life is Good!

On our way to Cody for a Christmas shopping excursion yesterday, we were delighted to see a large band of wild horses hanging out close to the highway.

 These mustangs are part of the Bureau of Land Management’s McCullough Peaks herd, about 168 animals that range over 109,814 acres. The BLM does a good job of managing the area; even though it’s been a drought year, the horses are in fairly good shape. Where he works, Hubby sometimes sees wild horses from the Pryor Mountains. He reports that those animals are smaller and in poorer condition.

Better feed supply is not the only reason that the McCullough Peaks horses are bigger; the herd has a definite draft horse influence. Genetic testing points to Percheron breed markers, along with a lesser input of Spanish breed markers. The herd’s genetic diversity is partially explained by the Friends of a Legacy (FOAL), a wild horse advocacy organization:

 “At least one McCullough Peaks horse tested as a descendant of horses owned by the Royal Family in England, probably a relative of the horses they gave to Buffalo Bill when he toured England with his show the Wild West….Ranchers, in the “before fences” era, would allow their horses to graze with the Mustangs over the winter months.”   (http://friendsofalegacy.org/?page_id=132)

Christmas shopping, eating out, and seeing wild horses up close, all in one day—life is good!

 

 

 

 

“Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life….”      –PSALM 23:6

 

Who Needs Roosters?

Even though it’s only just 7 pm, I’m really sleepy. This condition is due, in part, to eating too much Thanksgiving cherry pie a la mode and mashed potatoes a la gravy. (I told Hubby that I felt like I’d just eaten a deep-fried whale and would never be hungry again.) But the primary cause of my blurry vision and heavy eyelids is presently scratching Hubby’s new chair: the cat.

Smokey’s latest hunting schedule compels him to wake me up between 3 and 4 am to let him outside. I don’t rouse easily, but after a series of meows and crashes (from books and other items being systematically knocked off my nightstand), I’m awake. As I grope in the dark for my glasses, my arm is batted by the Terrible Tiger. (The latter is one of Smokey’s alter-egos; if he was the Evil Moriarty, he’d be drawing blood.) Next, Bodie (the dog) goes out to scout for danger. Meanwhile, I stand with the door open, waiting for Bodie to somehow communicate the “all clear” sign to the Terrible Tiger, who then joins him outside. Two to fifteen minutes later, depending on the temperature and availability of cottontails to chase, Bodie scratches on the door to be let inside. All of this fresh, frosty air wakes me up enough that I can’t go back to sleep.

Nevertheless, if asked to enumerate all for which I’m grateful, Smokey and Bodie would be near the top of that very long list. Right after their names, though, I’d have to write “coffee”.

 

“The earth is full of His unfailing love.” –PSALM 33:5



Alternative Energy

We’ve had something of a thaw this week, with several afternoons that are too warm for anything but a sweatshirt. Nighttime lows are still well below freezing and accompanied by thick frost, though, so I was rather surprised to find this hardy little dandelion blooming this morning!

When I looked closely at the dandelion’s habitat, I saw that it was nestled in a bed of decaying vegetation and cow manure, where microbial oxidation is apparently producing enough heat to keep the dandelion from freeze drying.

The moral of my story: If you’re ever lost in a blizzard and find yourself in a barnyard, grope your way (or follow your nose) to the nearest manure pile and wriggle inside until help arrives!

 

 

“A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”  PROVERBS 17:22