Miniature Perfection

That is the tiniest, most perfect chicken feather I have ever seen.  It came in with the eggs this afternoon.  I wanted to show it's size so I photographed it on a McCormick Seasoning cap.
 
A picture really is worth a thousand words.

Who Wouldn't Love a Face Like That?

This is a picture taken by Squeaky while she was sitting on my lap in the hen house.  I think she has a good eye for photography.

I love the little curl in her comb.  It reminds me of a rosebud.  And the crazy side swept feathers on her face make me think of Einstein, although I'm afraid that other images also come to mind.

Poor Squeaky!

She has lovely chevrons on her feathers that rival the most exquisite patterns known to woman

 I think she was worth my photo shoot, even if we did break a brown egg in the process.  I almost wonder if she didn't plan the egg-breaking:  It was, after all, the egg of her arch enemy The Queen.  Hmmm.... Brains and Beauty!

Tales of the Mysterious

Before you is the smiling face of  Dr. Feingold.  For those who do not know, Dr. Feingold posited that food additives such as artificial flavors, artificial colors, preservatives and salicylates can cause undesirable behavior in children, especially Hyperactivity.  Whether you agree with his theory or not, think about the following:

"Artificial colors look great. They make food look vibrant and appealing. The majority of food colors are made with petroleum. They are a derivative of Petrochemicals and Coal tar. "  --http://science-news.org


"Yes, Waiter.  We're ready to order now.  I'll take a bowl or Petroleum Byproducts with a serving of Coal Tar on the side.  Thank you." 

All this just to get to here:  I was making my Feingold Brownies tonight.  Mind you, I promised them to Craig on Friday afternoon, but here it is Sunday.  (My Promises must have preservatives in them, they last so long!)

1 cup flour

1 cup sugar

3 tablespoons cocoa powder

1 tsp vanilla

1/2 cup butter, melted

2 eggs, beaten

nuts, optional

Mix.  Use 8 x 8 pan or its relative.  Grease pan.  Bake in 350* oven for 20 minutes.  

Okay, I have been making this recipe for about 20 years.  Foolproof.  Failproof.  Until tonight.  When It came out of the oven it looked fine.  I went to cut into it and it was still raw inside.  I put it back in and cooked it for another 10 minutes.  Still gooey.  Another 5.   Almost there.  5 more.  Perfect.

So, one would almost think that I just didn't cook it in the first place, but I did!  I was there!  The timer was on, the oven was on at its default temperature of 350*, it even had a crust on top when I took it out!  So, Space Cadets, I just want to know what happened.

                          http://cache-02.gawkerassets.com/assets/images/8/2008/03/wormhole.jpg

       Is it possible there is wormhole in my oven, insulating objects from the passage of time? 

                                                        boerse.bz                                      
         I might need to get my parallel universe fixed.

Update:  Try heating oven to 400*.  Must have copied it wrong into my new recipe journal

Strange Sights

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While in the Upper Lynchburg McDonalds, I saw an old man with the most incredible comb over.  It wasn't even a comb over, it was a comb forward.  He had parted his hair halfway down the back of his head, combed it forward all the way onto his forehead and fashioned it into a curl.

  Now you might not think that is so bad, but the curl was like one of those crazy Italian Chef moustache curls, but it was right in the middle of his forehead! 

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/194/522852729_f7d90dcc9f.jpg?v=0

If you could somehow mentally combine all those images you would have an idea of what I saw today.  Scary.  

This terrifying encounter occurred on our way to the Lynchburg Music Center to pick up a new set of guitar strings for Craig's electric guitar.  When we walk in the store Craig invariably heads for the electric guitar room, lingering momentarily by the keyboards.  Today, the earth moved out of its orbit and all the planets bumped into each other in confusion.  

He went into the acoustic room, sat down on the floor and jammed with an old guy in there who was playing.   When the old guy was done he handed Craig a souvenir and then left quickly.  

  
You just never know what you'll see next in Lynchburg.   

It's Not the First Test I ever Failed

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So I was doing my daily Facebook and saw a little note in the margin about applying to be a beta tester.  I always wanted to be a beta tester!  I clicked on it and this is some of what appeared:

Choose provocative questions. Write about things you know. Some examples:

• How can I get over my fear of flying?
• What are some fun family activities to do with two small children on the weekend?
• What caused the U.S. stock market to crash in 2008?
• What's the secret to throwing a great housewarming party?
• What are the main differences between Google Chrome and Internet Explorer?
• What are women looking for in a relationship?
• What methods has BP tried to clean up the oil spill?
• What should I do to prepare for the Bar exam?
• How did The Beatles find success?

This is why I will never be a beta tester:

How can I get over my fear of flying?

I don't think you should.  Flying is dangerous and people die.  If men were meant to fly God would have given them wings. 

What caused the US stock market to crash in 2008?

I was not aware the stock market had crashed.  I'm sure it had no business driving.  

What are women looking for in a relationship?

The same feeling that they get when they eat chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.  

What are some fun family activities to do with two small children on the weekend?

It is virtually impossible to plan fun with small children.  You will pick an activity that requires good behavior, the ability to appreciate the money you are spending, and digital records.  None of this is compatible with the outstanding traits of small children, which are bad behavior, selfishness, and the inability to sit still.  It is best to wait until your children are grown before planning any such family fun.  

How did the Beatles find success?

I believe they found it not quite so wonderful as they had thought it would be.

I shall have to confine the wealth of my wisdom and wit to Good Enough Farm.  I am afraid the rest of the world is not ready for it.

Adjusting the Picture

You know how sometimes you get an idea or a picture in your head of how something should  be?  And then if your attempt doesn't match the picture or idea then you are a failure?  Well, I'm readjusting my picture.

I may go out to the hen house in anticipation only to find broken eggs some days.  But I still get a glorious bounty of multi-colored hen fruit!  The green eggs, which curiously look white in the picture, which Squeaky lays are a little smaller, in line with her diminutive frame, but they are so pretty.  And the brown eggs, while decreasing in frequency as my hens age, are large and range in color from tea to coffee.

And even though my beans are not doing as well as I would like, the peas are climbing my homemade nets and reaching for the sky.  The slender pods are swelling from within, growing against all my predictions.

Though I faithfully start everything from seed, secure in my fantasy that everything will transplant well, reality too often intrudes with tomatoes that just would not thrive, with lettuces that withered after being introduced to the outdoors, with eggplant and beets that shrugged their shoulders and gave up.  So I have taken comfort in Carson's Market and their seedlings which beckon to me each time I drive by.  "Laura, we are Amish heritage tomatoes!  We are eggplant grown strong and ready for anything!"  I was seduced by their comely leaves and thick stalks...It doesn't really matter is I grew it from seed or not.  The important thing is to get the garden in and harvest it later.

I must have forgotten somewhere along the way.  This isn't Perfect Farm.  It's just Good Enough.

Tiny Little Happinesses

Today was a day of tiny little happinesses:

Not finding maggots in the trashcan when I did my Dump Run.

Watching the ducks splash in their clean pool and their muddy pool.

Finding four eggs in the hen house, even if two were broken.

Watching Ronny make the same mistake I did with the truck door.

Buying eight tomato plants and 6 eggplant plants from Carson's Market to replace my failed seedlings.

Spending the day with my "boys." 

Listening to the Thunder and the Rain at sunset.

You Probably Think This Post Is About You

     http://farm1.static.flickr.com/90/244067624_937827a345.jpg
 I've been thinking a lot about secrets lately.  I would almost say I don't believe in them, but even Jehovah has secrets.  The sacred secret that he revealed slowly over the course of time which involved his Son.  That was a good secret.  And the only reason for it's secrecy was just that it could not have been understood before.  It gave everyone time to grow up and mature enough to be able to see it and understand it.

I think Jehovah sets the example on Sacrifices as well.  He and his Son made the colossal sacrifice of being parted from each other for over 30 years.  Jesus sacrificed his life for the benefit of  others.  Jehovah allowed that sacrifice and endured the loss of his beloved Son.  Sacrifices all around.  But they didn't last forever.  Jehovah restored his Son to life and they enjoyed a reunion that I can only imagine.

These secrets and sacrifices served wonderful purposes:  They were steps along the way to the eventual outworking of God's purpose to bring all things together again in peace and harmony.  They were to unite, not to separate.  I think that is the point.  Do our secrets bring unification?  Do they bring peace and harmony?  If not, then maybe it is time to break the silence, to end the sacrifice.

Just a little Nervous

Yesterday morning Craig and I went out in the ministry and came home to a strange car and a strange man sitting in the driveway.  This probably would not set off alarm bells for most people, but when your driveway is 1/4 mile long and not the friendliest creature in the world it sets off a DefCon 1.

As I parked the truck he called out 'whether this was so-and-so's house?'  I hopped down and said, no.  Ronny moseyed out from the house at this point and the guy got really nervous.  He started babbling about trying to find this house and he was certain he had the address right, and see, he had a present for a five year old's birthday party, and they had a big dog, a great dane, and the lady drove a car with foreign plates and she was Canadian and the man and woman weren't married so her name wasn't on the mailbox and he had her number back at his office in the "city".

He was shaking terribly and sweating quite severely.  His English accent and his shirt, which proudly proclaimed "England", were not so crisp as when he had started speaking.  I said I was sorry we could not help and he left and we all went inside.  I was totally oblivious to anything having been off the mark.  Ronny informs me that he thinks the guy was a pedophile.

I don't know what to think.  I did a street check of the names he gave for the people and they didn't show up.  He was awfully nervous.  He matched a classic warning sign of "giving too much information".  He did have a present, but it had no name and no card, no bow.  It looked like he had wrapped it in the car.  Now none of this convicts him, but it made us talk to each other and Craig about pedophiles.

It would be a lot easier if there were some sort of identifying mark or neon sign.  Craig has been trying to wrap his head around the matter and some of the resulting statements have been interesting:

"His shirt said "England" and English people do not have sex with children."
"If he was a pedophile the police would have arrested him."
"I know bad things happen in the world, but not to me."

 I haven't looked up to see how many pedophiles live around me yet, mostly because I'm not sure I could handle it if I knew. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hear_speak_see_no_evil_Toshogu.jpg

Trucks and Ticks

My truck has been needing a steering stabilizer bar for 4 years.  It's not an expensive part.  It just requires that someone be motivated to buy it and install it.  This took time.  And it was not a necessity so it was easy to put off.  The only thing it did was make the truck steer like when you were a kid and you would sit behind the steering wheel and pretend to drive, and you turned the wheel back and forth in an exaggerated way.  For some reason this was perfectly acceptable to us for many years.  Be that as it may, the time came when Ronny decided the truck needed it and it needed it now.  Visits to various auto parts stores revealed that no one had one:  It had to be ordered.  4 days, two return trips, two phone calls and two incompetent salespeople later that part was actually handed over to us and taken home with great ceremony.

This morning Ronny decided it was the perfect time to install the part.  I would like to point out that Ronny has many talents.  He can do carpentry work, roofing, electrical, driving.  But working on cars is not high up on the list.  He likes to leave his tool box out in the rain so that it gets full of water and breeds mosquito larvae.  Or kick it over so that three months later he has to search through a layer of dead leaves to find his wrenches.  Thus, this endeavor was accompanied by tool locating hunts under the house and through the leaves.  WD 40 was used in copious amounts.  Tools were broken.  Hacksaws were used.  Coffee was required.  When all was said and done the part was installed with minimal "gateway swearing" and field tested with success. 

It even got a pretty yellow boot to cover the piston portion and protect it from debris.  Of course, by the time it was put on it was all greasy and yucky, but it was really pretty when it was in the box.

After all the tools were put away and we had washed up we were unpleasantly surprised to find unwanted visitors in various places on our anatomies. 

*shudder*  I hate ticks.  Two off Ronny, one off me, one off Kitty.  I killed one with a rock.  I burned two with a lighter.  I flushed one down the toilet.  I think the next tick I find I will tie to a string and drag through the chicken yard.  That's probably mean.  But I'm really looking forward to it.

Heart of the Matter

This past Saturday I was blessed to attend the Special Assembly Day at the Richmond Assembly Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses.  The theme:  "The Time Left Is Reduced"

I think there is no excuse for anyone who cannot see the truth in that statement.  Every facet of the system of things which surrounds us, whether it is Religion, Big Business, Government, or The Lifestyles Promoted by the World,  has been shown to be no place of refuge, not worthy of trust, incapable of solving the Real Problems of People, a false hope.
Two Scriptures from the day that spring to my mind:
"But the end of all things has drawn close.  Be sound in mind, therefore, and vigilant with a view to prayers."
(1 Peter 4:7)
"Since all these things are thus to be dissolved, what sort of persons ought You to be in holy acts of conduct and deeds of godly devotion..."  (2 Peter 3:11)
As I was taking notes and wrote the above scripture down I was struck by two words:  Acts and Deeds.
I scribbled a personal note: "It all requires DOING, Laura!"  This counsel to myself is mirrored by the words I wrote on the front of my Study Watchtower a few months ago:  "Jehovah is not paralyzed by hurt and disappointment"  (the implication being that I am) and "Realize the danger of being consumed by anxieties."
                                                 That is the heart of the matter in my life

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I have been consumed and paralyzed and not doing, just existing, just surviving my own head.  Margin notes scream at me:  "What are you doing?  Being consumed by Anxiety or Activity?"  "Don't just sit there.  Do something.  Take reasonable action.  Pray to Jehovah.  Accept the Situation.  Move On."
     I circled a whole paragraph!:
     "Some Christians have become disheartened to the point of discontinuing their personal Bible Reading and their meditation on God's Word.  Their prayers have become perfunctory, and they may isolate themselves from fellow worshippers.  Clearly, remaining in a state of dejection can be harmful."
      It was following the study of that Watchtower that I determined to get ahold of myself.  I began to wean myself off my medication, convinced that it was exacerbating my anxiety.  I weaned, I detoxed, I reset my body, I adjusted my dosage to 1/4 of what I was taking.  I am virtually anxiety free.

  Now that my head is in order I need to put my Spiritual House in order.  I've got to stop just existing, just surviving.  I've got to start Doing.  More Personal Study.  More Prayer.  (Somebody said that when we don't pray to Jehovah we are ignoring him.  Really hit home for me.)  Certainly More Service.

So, the weekend accomplished it's purpose.  It Threw Cold Water on me and Shouted in my Ear:  "Hey!  Wake UP!  We are too close to The End to mess up now!"

Okay!  I'm Awake!

Confessions of a Luddite

As I was preparing my thoughts to write on my status of being a secret Luddite, I found this blog post which absolutely struck a chord with me: http://www.buzzle.com/articles/book-lovers-neo-luddite-lament-technological-age.html   I encourage you to stop now and read it.  I wish I had written it.  If you're done now we can go on.

Overlooking the fact that I am sitting in front of a computer and using the Interwebs, I confess to being a Luddite. Okay, I'll hedge that a little:  a Neo-Luddite.  I am happy to say that my children have seen typewriters;  Although they were electric, they still had keys and not the little type-ball that came along later.

                       (the caption for this image actually contained the Phrase:  vintage type ball!)

Allison at least has a proper appreciation of paper.  I am sure her eyes would still light up if you handed her an empty notebook or tablet.  When she was young and we shopped at Valu Food there was an aisle that had a secret stash of paper.  It was similar to legal pads, but a yellowish white with blue or red lines.  It was  hidden behind what was on the bottom shelf, and only if you knew it was there would you bend down and fish it out.  We were probably the only people ever to buy it, and we probably bought it all one tablet at a time.  It was magical.  Paper to capture and make visible the infinite imaginings of her mind.

So much time is spent in front of a computer screen sending messages that once would have been written in longhand, folded lovingly into an envelope and sent off into the trusted hands of a mailman.  The little notes and illustrations that adorned the envelope:  SWAK, Write back ASAP.  Honestly, does email really have the same presence?   The same weight or value?  Does anyone save their email "letters" and tie them with virtual red ribbons?  Can you scent a cyber-missive with perfume and press loving lips to the seal?

The Kindle, while I am sure many would defend it and it's ability to make any book available instantly, is to me an atrocity.  It's pages will never dog-ear.  It will never carry the scent of a summer spent reading  inside the chicken coop (for you, Misqueala!).  Memories stir from touch and smell.  An electronic book is a poor thing.  I confess to having read two e-books from Project Gutenberg.  I enjoyed being able to do so as I could not get a paper copy.  But there is loss in my having only read pixels on a screen.  I cannot lend it to a friend:  "Oh, you must read this!"  I cannot lovingly trace the lines or brush toast crumbs from it's pages.  It cannot curl up with me in front of the fire, be draped over the arm of the sofa, fan it's pages out in clear evidence of it's being loved.

It is the difference between the mechanical, the physical, the tangible and the fleeting, impermanent, invisible.

I know, I'm probably just old-fashioned.  I like being that way.  I make my bread my hand.  I still roll it out with a rolling pin before I put it in the pan.  Nobody does that anymore.  I hang my clothes out to dry on two clotheslines spanning my back yard.  I raise and butcher my own poultry.  I can feel and smell and taste and touch all those things.  That's important to me.

I'm not so stern in my stance that I reject technology.  But I do think there is something left behind that, just perhaps, may be missed.

A Good Day

This morning I was really dreading going outside.  I hate hot.  I hate sweat.  I hate humid.  Three strikes and I was out.  Except Ronny was home and wanted to work in the yard.  And I had made a list a week (or two) ago to
1. Clean up Front Yard
2. Work on Garden
I really don't have an excuse for not getting them done.  They're right outside my assorted doors.  Except, as I said, it's yucky outside. But ex-Catholic guilt and the desire to be supportive impelled me to go outside and work.  Ronny's particular task at hand has been moving a small hill that was in the backyard.  The former homeowners had apparently dug out a level spot for an above ground pool and the resulting mound has irked Ronny for years.  No more.  He has moved it all back to where it came from, minus the accompanying rocks which have taken up residence in the washout in the lane. 

My own tasks were off a more delicate nature.  I only had to use the Weed eater to cut down the assortment of weedery growing in the front "yard", and do some garden stuff.  But you know how that goes.  Halfway through the front yard work I ran out of string and had to put everything down and run to the hardware store.  (I love Carson's.  It is the only hardware store I know of that has a deli in the back.)

Thus,  I was able to finish with the front "yard" and move onto the garden.  This involved finishing laddering the string I had put up for my peas.  The beans are bush beans and shouldn't need support, but the peas do.  So after a lot of cutting and wrapping and tieing we had a nice result:

Not to be left out of all the work, the ducks demanded attention and Ronny improvised them a mud pond.

You may notice my compost pile in the background.  Directly to the left rear of it is the area that was the hill Ronny moved.  He wants to put a picnic table there since it is right under a tree.  Plus it's a good spot for poultry watching.

When everything was done I was this happy:

Take Assorted Periods of History, Combine, Stir Vigorously

http://tnrdlibrary.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/sherlock-holmes.jpg


 If you have been following the exciting Mystery of the Egg, Reader, then you know that I was all but certain that the Red Queen was guilty of one of the worst sins available to Henkind.  I had assembled my miniature guillotine and had a crowd of Frenchmen standing by to shout various and sundry things applicable to such treachery.  Before taking such an irreversible step, however, I vowed to catch her in the act!


When I examined the corners of the Hen House in the early morning I was gifted with one whole unbroken egg.  This, and the fact that it was in an old laying spot, was reassuring.  When I went in two hours later to check again, The Third Broken Egg was splashed  in the far corner like one of Jack the Ripper's victims!  It's contents had not been consumed, however, so the crime may still have been in progress!  I saw nothing, but then I heard a peculiar sound.  It was coming from the shelf on that side of the house.  


Now, to elucidate, I had blocked off access to the shelf with a huge container full of wood shavings, some feeders, assorted chicken paraphernalia.  But upon hearing this sound I pulled the container out and there was Squeaky, squashed behind the tub!  She was sitting not just on her egg, but on one other.  I do not pretend to understand how the hens got themselves behind this barrier, but it is certainly clear that doing so required exertions and contortions which had resulted in the destruction of Three Perfectly Good Eggs.   


I had solved the mystery and absolved all the hens of any intentional shedding of yolk, and yet somehow I was disappointed.  Oh well, the Red Queen will get her comeuppance another day.  I'll keep the guillotine sharp!  So don't go too far, my bloodthirsty Frenchmen! 

Tremblez, tyrans et vous perfides
L'opprobre de tous les partis,
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