Don't Tell Hubby!

Hubby’s riding a football high. This weekend, his beloved Montana State Bobcats won a hard-fought battle against their archrivals, the Montana Grizzlies. More importantly, they tied two other teams for the Big Sky Championship and got a bye for the first round of FCS playoffs.

An alum of MSU, Hubby’s been a Bobcat fan for half a century, as are most of his relatives and friends. Since Wyoming has only one university, I find it hard to comprehend the depth of an in-state rivalry. I’m still amazed when I overhear a conversation like: My grandson’s got a terrible coach. He’s a Griz, you know. Incredibly, this statement is answered with a sympathetic nodding of the head!

 Cats don’t feel any more sympathy for the Griz when they lose than the Griz feel when the Cats lose. The victory’s too sweet, I guess. Maybe because I’ve only been a Bobcat for years, not decades; or because I knew that the Grizzlies’ season was over and many of their hard-working, talented players would never play football again; or because I’ve never played football (except one hilarious backyard game on my son’s birthday) but do know what it feels like to be embarrassed by my own mistakes or crushed by others’ hurtful words—don’t tell Hubby!—I feel a bit sorry for the Griz.

 



A Message from the high and towering God, who lives in Eternity, whose name is Holy: "I live in the high and holy places, but also with the low-spirited, the spirit-crushed, and what I do is put new spirit in them, get them up and on their feet again.”                 –ISAIAH 57:15

 

It's Time

The goaties are 18 months old and ready to become the dairy goats that they were bred to be. Before there can be milk and cheese, however, there must be a buck and, five months later, some baby kids! Since we don’t want to live with a stinky and (if you ask me) ugly buck all year, Meels and Blueberry will have to settle for a very quick and unromantic date. If these two are as fertile as goats are reputed to be, that’s all it will take.

I’ve put in a call to the Nigerian breeder that I bought the goaties from who has a buck or two that are unrelated. In the meantime, maybe I could enroll them on a goat-dating site. Maybe there’s a fruitful-flock.com, caprine-match.com, or goat-harmony.com. Of course, I’d post this photo taken when they were younger and thinner and had less facial hair!

Meels and Blueberry

 



“God's blessing on your children, the crops of your land, the young of your livestock, the calves of your herds, the lambs of your flocks."     DEUTERONOMY 28:4

More Than Welcome

We have some new neighbors! Two coveys of grey partridges (also known as Hungarian partridges, or, more commonly, Huns) have moved onto the place. We saw them all the time in Montana, but this is the first we’ve seen them since we moved here nearly six years ago. They’re quite cute--kind of like chubby little chickens. The Huns are awfully skittish and camera-shy, and thus far, haven’t allowed me to introduce myself. (Photo is from Google Images.) Huns aren’t migratory, so I hope they settle down here and stay a while! 

 

 

“Who are those who fear the LORD? He will show them the path they should choose. They will live in prosperity, and their children will inherit the Promised Land.” —PSALM 25:12-13

You Never Know

This might be the stupidest way in the world to waste five bucks, I thought to myself that day as I carried the potted tree into the store to pay for it. The tiny, scrawny, lopsided little blue spruce would have made Charlie Brown’s tree look like a Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. Not only that, but it was the middle of summer—the very worst time of year to plant a tree—so I knew that I could be going to a lot of trouble for nothing. But I knew that the store was getting ready to clear out everything in its garden center, and I couldn’t bear to think of a live tree ending up in a dumpster, so I took it home.

Three-and-a-half years and lots of love later, the little spruce has grown rather shapely and beautiful. One of these days, we may be getting a phone call from Manhattan!

 

 

“He puts poor people on their feet again; he rekindles burned-out lives with fresh hope, restoring dignity and respect to their lives - a place in the sun!”                –1 SAMUEL 2:8

The Migrant

The waters north of us must be freezing over, as we’re suddenly seeing and hearing flock after flock of Canada geese in the sky and fields. I happened to glance up at a V of geese that flew right past me on my walk this morning. When I walk, I’m all business—have to keep my heart rate up, have lots to do when I get back. But this particular sight stopped me in my tracks: the vanguard of the flock wasn’t a Canada goose, but a snow goose!

The geese then flew in a figure-eight, eyeing the hayfield beside a little drain pond. The Canadas decided to stop and take a break here, but the snow goose was on a quest. He left his dark friends behind, headed due south, and rapidly disappeared into the light blue sky. I wonder what his story is, I thought. Lord, help him find his own kind.

I’ve always thought snow geese to be exquisitely beautiful in flight, and we hardly ever get to see them here, so this sighting was a double delight! I don’t have a bird-worthy camera or the skill to use one, so I’ve pasted a photo from Google Images and Cornell’s allaboutbirds.org. Their video of snow geese will give you chills!

 

 

“God's works are so great, worth a lifetime of study -- endless enjoyment!”  PSALM 111:2

 

 

A Bit Chilly

Hubby says that, in the absence of a thermometer, the best way to tell how cold it is outside is by the sound of the snow crunching and squeaking under one’s feet. The louder the scrunching noise, the further the mercury is below zero. I was just outdoors doing chores—feeding hay to the goats and horses, breaking the ice in the creek where the latter go to water—and although my ears were covered with three heavy layers, the scrunching was rather loud!

Bodie is something of a thermometer himself. Even though he’s mostly Border collie and blue heeler, both of which are heavy-coated, Bodie is one-eighth Catahoula, a southern breed which doesn’t need much hair. Bodie’s coat is Border-fluffy but Catahoula-sparse, so when it’s sub-zero, he’ll want back indoors before chores are over. This morning he only lasted a few minutes.

Frigid weather is particularly dangerous on our place. When the cat, Smokey, has been indoors too long, cabin fever triggers the arrival of one of his evil triplets, the dreaded Evil Moriarty. Hubby and I both have fresh claw and teeth marks on our person. Bodie would have had some too, had he not defended himself with growls, snarls, and gnashing teeth. Moriarty was ejected from the premises, which was his objective, but he returned after only a few seconds of minus 11°.

Hard to believe we were working in t-shirts (while the animals watched from the shade) just last week!

 Frozen rose hips!

 



“Warm me, your servant, with a smile….” –PSALM 31:16

 

At Last!

It’s our first snow of the season. It’s late by several weeks, but it’s a good one. It snowed all afternoon yesterday, melting into the ground for several hours. Such a blessing for the thirsty, powder-dry ground! As I write this, we have five or six inches of the white stuff, and it’s still coming down. The temperature is supposed to dip to 5° tonight, so it looks like the conditions might be ripe for an early morning cross-country ski tomorrow.

Up until now, we’ve had very little fall moisture—less than half-an-inch—so I’ve still been irrigating all of this year’s tree transplants. After the water was let out of the canal a month ago, I’ve had to use hoses, buckets, and a 150-gallon water tank in the pickup. Earlier this week, I watered them again and mulched them too. This heaven-sent moisture has a better pH than our well water, and the layer of snow on the mulch will help protect the trees from the bitter cold on the way.

 

 

The animals don’t seem to mind the snow, maybe because they’re so plump and well-insulated! The calves and heifers are playing instead of lounging around all day. Sugar, something of an equine Jillian, keeps galloping laps around the pasture, leading a less-than enthusiastic and somewhat overweight Solly. The goaties stayed indoors until this morning, when they finally got bored enough to brave the snow, even though a dozen sparrows had kept them company in the barn.

The only one that isn’t happy with the snow is the cat, who fancies himself a Terrible Tiger who roams an imaginary jungle, not a snow leopard who ranges in the Himalayas!



“Just as rain and snow descend from the skies and don't go back until they've watered the earth, doing their work of making things grow and blossom, producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry, so will the words that come out of My mouth...do the work that I sent them to do...." ISAIAH 55:1--11