Christmas Eve

This holiday, we got the gift of sheep. Seemingly overnight a temporary fence had been strung between metal stakes surrounding our prop and following the roads that flank the open alfalfa fields, and hundreds of sheep were happily munching away.

That was probably one of the most wonderful surprises since moving here, and there have been some serious contenders for that prize. Tom stopped by to drop off a book and said that the shepherd pays him for them to graze. I wonder how it works when they breach the fence and come into our yard. We appreciate the hand with the weeds, but will we also get paid?

Dogs are so great because they are curious and earnest in their desire to explore.  Leashed and well heeled, the Hubs took Sammy out for introductions, especially to the low volt but definitely making a point electrically charged fence.

However.

That lesson was lost once Sam's friends arrived for Christmas and one of the family innocently let them out for their constitutional. The pack wasn't sure what the sheep were, but they intended to find out. They were out and in the back and rocketed through the electric fence before we hit the porch.

The sheep ran for it, of course, and the dogs following a little ways until they noticed something more interesting underfoot. Mud. Gooey, fresh from the rain, perfectly smelly and interesting mud.

Oh man, first the snouts shove in and then they rub their faces and necks in it, and before long plop on their sides and do the back roll thing. All we mortals could do was stand by and weakly holler to them to return.

Getting back through the fence proved more of a challenge, and the Divine Miss S got a shock or two by the sounds of the yip. Fortunate for us they all returned and there is a utility sink in the laundry rm, plenty of space to accommodate a variety of sizes of four legged mudballs, and they took turns.

Once done, with dog cookies and brushings out of the way, and everyone nearly dry, we all curled up on the sofa to watch Miracle on 34th Street, the black and white version because that one's the best.

Our Brand of Christmas

A Definite Guy Job

It's been raining but not enough that the ground won't dry out between innings. The wind kicks up along the flatlands and chatters through the trees. There's nothing bad about that.

Oh, but the water smells bad again, like sulfur. The cold water is fine but what comes out of the shower and kitchen faucet is rotten eggy sour.

It's all bad  - well, except the part where the hubs sprays himself with cologne before work because he thinks his sulfur coated body may not be pleasant to be around, and when he kisses me goodbye it reminds me of our yummy dating years.

And so I put it to the Internet to help with research about this problem, and possible solutions. At first glance, the ideas weren't too grim. *In-The-Know-ers* recommended a couple of solid ideas, such as flushing the water heater and putting an auxilary filter at the well to trap the sulfide particles.

So we're going to divide this project into two parts. The first part which I was surprised the Hubs has never done with owning a house for 15 years, is to drain the water heater. Lucky for him I'm here. I've done this before. Not sure we need to do it, with a 6 month old water heater, but it's worth a try.

And the second part will be in two phases. The first (insane part) is to wrench off the bolt on the side of the well that holds it closed, and - one would guess - stand back, wearing hip waders and praying - while flushing the line until it runs clear. That doesn't sound like a good idea at all.

This idea came from the guy who installed the well, with an offhanded - you don't need to hire this out - it's easy as pie - but seems anything but easy. Maybe for someone in the business who has the knack, but it sounds like it could be ... fraught with peril for us. I mean, it's not a hose with a spigot. What if the bolt won't go back on? Or snaps while being removed? Or drops in the mud as the tsunami of wellwater mud careens toward the house?

It was discussed that Sunday would be a good day for the big well flushout. And if this is accomplished without washing away the gravel drive and the garage, the second part of part two, installing the clay filter, would be done to trap the sulfides forevermore. 

I swear I am not making this up.

The At-Homers

Our holiday tree has priceless heirloom ornaments: a paper mache globe with first grader smiles that are missing teeth; a Santa so heavily antiqued that it resembles an atomic bomb survivor rather than a Christmas ornament; and a glob of clay with broad strokes of red, shaped into a candycane with a kindergartener's name scrawled across the side.

Tangible childhood. 

This year, except for the tree, the holiday lights will stay where they are. There'll be no glitsy display along the front and looping down the posts. In honor of our landing spot, there are garlands with simple natural decorations. This is what gratefulness looks like, as we practice more joyfulness with less stuff.

May 2013 be everything good, and inspiring, and hopeful. May it provide many opportunities to learn how to give and take, and love in large measure. Peace to all, and Merry Christmas.

Randy and Nanci

Random Storm Pics

It was coming down in buckets. And right in the middle
of the worst of it, a rainbow peeked through.

It rained like it would never stop. High wind gusts. Bunnies
hid under the porch and wild grasses burst forth. This
citydog scratched at the door to be out in it the whole time. 



The drive has some rock but is mostly mud. A lot of
 leaves were still on the trees, and the high winds knocked them
off. They created a soft bed to walk on, over the mud.

Inside, 2 kinds of soups were simmered on the stove,
Tuscan Minestrone and a new experiment with
Cream of Potato with bacon, onion and kale.
It tasted good on a stormy weekend.

The first casualty of the Season was a big glass Santa globe
that the Hubs has had FOREVER! We harvested his parts and
now he looks out from his temporary headquarters on the
water cooler. Any ideas on how to replicate his body?

I made this Apple Wreath in 1988. Just love putting it
up at Christmas. I can't believe it has lasted - a straw wreath,
plastic apples, ribbon, glass bulbs and one stout glue gun.

The Hubs h-a-t-e-s glitter but in this case it looks good with the garland
accents around the windows. So please! Nobody touch it...and it won't shed



Blurry pic, but the twigs from the trees outside still have some
 leaves attached. We tried those advertised Command hanging
hooks that are supposed to stick to the wall and not leave
marks when they come down. Waste of money. 

The place did alright except for a leak from the windowbox
in the hall bath and water on the sill upstairs, everything
else was tight and right. Feelin' grateful for that.



Favorite Weekend Moment: when the Hubs figured a
way to plug welcome lights above the cabinets so we could display
the Christmas train in the perfect spot! The grandparents gave Mike and
his first cousin Rory matching wooden trains for their first
Christmas (1982) - they were born 4 days apart.

 

It's Elementary

We were talking to a farmer, or maybe the well guy, or the arborist, or maybe it was the contractor, anyway! There were water pressure problems, as in the toilet kind of gurgled and didn't make much of an effort to flush, and we wanted an expert opinion from one of the locals.

Whoever it was that we trapped into an opinion thought it was probably the water table getting low on account of the late summer harvests and everyone watering crops the way they were.

I was lost in thought. What did watering crops have to do with us, again? We have our own well. I was thinking and wondering away along these lines, silently I thought, until his expression and tone changed and he explained, as if speaking slowly to a dim-witted child, in this case me, that the water is everyone's and our well just taps into it.

How did that unfiltered thought escape? I blushed in embarrassment. And then I admired his fortitude for not busting a gut laughing at the clueless city girl. It seemed almost chivalrous to hold back from finishing me off with, Just Like an Underground River, Dear.

Ya, well, I still brine a mean olive.

Kind of a Blur

This pretty much sums it up for Thanksgiving 2012.

Lively.
Lots of family.
Lots of good food and people stayed late.

We harvested some more olives on the weekend. We tore apart the house looking for the two boxes of pickling salt that we both saw on the counter, and knew we had, and are absolutely convinced are staring us right in the face.

And then we gave up and went to the store and bought more.

The girls hung out together most of the weekend. This was their first meet up.

• Sammy showed Roxie precisely where to stand to get any leftovers from the chopping block that might fall a dog's way.
• Roxie showed Sammy about how fast people move when they cross the road to the neighbor's farm. Bad, bad idea, city dog.
• Sammy taught Roxie how to run up and down the stairs and make a grand finish by jumping the last couple of stairs.
• Roxie taught Sammy about how to toss a golfball.
• Sammy taught Roxie the joys of sofa and bed sitting.

The rest was kind of a blur.

An Electric Blue Well

I'll admit living with a well is a little bit different than what I expected.

For instance. It's not this kind of well. It's this kind of well.  



This is what we got

This is what I had in mind

The charming well is from one of the many

trips to and from Chico that I admired as I

passed by an old man's little roadside shop with

windmills and wishing wells out front.

I had to have one, and we shook on it

and in a couple of months

when he got around to it, he said he

would call. And he did.

 

 

We had to get to the bottom of this well thing. How exactly does it work, and how long do they last, and when was our soon-to-be well dug and by whom? So many questions. 

 

We got a tip that a local drilling company did the work sometime in the 70s, a father/son team and we found a really old number and rang them up just to see what would happen, and darned if the driller's wife didn't answer. Coop was long since retired, but he found the original drawings for us and dropped them by and chatted a while and had all sorts of recollections about who lived here and when. 



 

You can't buy that kind of connection. We also had the water tested. Being surrounded by farmland that probably uses some type of pesticides, we were leery of it as drinking water, but it turns out as the water makes its way trickling down 275 feet through various layers of rock and shale, it is cleansed and flavored before it is drawn back up through the enclosed pipe, filtered once more and then diverted to the house and yards. 

We were deliriously happy.

And then came the first shower in the guest bath, by one of our sons who worked his butt off to move us, and who emerged with the most vile stinky sulfury smell on his skin, wafting from the bathroom and filtering down the hall. Whose great idea was this country living, again? We needed this looked after, and how.  And the next day the problem solved itself when the sulfur smell was flushed through the system and water flowed sweet and clear again.

When the water pressure became iffy, we figured out about the filter thing and how to balance the output. A friend asked the other day about our plans for a storm generator, and I replied happily that we were in the process of procuring one for the house, but she asked if we were getting one also for the well, and I looked at her dimly because at no time did it occur to me we would need one for the electric pump that motivates the water to the house.

There is no more shock over the modern looking, electric blue well that stands out like a sore thumb. Now there is only appreciation for how strong it is and how capable. And yes, we are on the hunt for a little generator for the well, and another for the house, as winter sets in.

Clean Sweep

So what if I name my trees? I think we get on better being on a first name basis. A gnarley, neglected fig tree sits in the yard with a gaping wound that carved out much of its base. The arborist thought maybe it was a split trunk that was taken down in a storm, but who knows. We at first thought it might be from termites or in danger of falling, but in the end the oodles of charm won us over. Figaro stayed.

It was loaded with fruit when we got the keys to the place, and I handled the not-quite-ripe yield. Just a couple more weeks, and they'd be ready to pick.


Fat chance! A week or so later, a huge flock of migratory blackbirds swooped down and ate every stinkin' piece of fruit on the tree! The noise was deafening: they appeared out of nowhere, covered every branch of the tree, and just as suddenly the little thieves were gone.

So, no figgie for us this year: the whole of it had been picked clean in a matter of minutes, with nary a taste for the hosts.

My grandma used to say figs don't ripen once they are picked, but I'm hearing it depends on when they are picked and if the ripening is underway, the fruit should continue to ripen even after harvesting.

We'll try for a little intervention around harvest time next year just to best The Birds out of another clean sweep.

Above the Fruited Brain

The news came out today that the fabulous Capital Nursery is going out.

Thinking a lot about fruity things ...

And harvesting patterns ...

Apples: July-early November
Apricots: May-June for most varieties
Avocados: autumn-spring in California
Blueberries: 60-80 days after blooming
Cherries: May-July

Citrus: Year round in mild climates
Figs: First crop June & July; second crop in September in CA
Gooseberries: Late spring-summer
Nectarines: June-September (as early as April in milder climates)
Peaches: June-September (as early as April in milder climates)
Pears: July-late October
Plums: June-August
Raspberries: Early summer; everbearers can produce into autumn

Boy, are we in trouble.

{Sources: Sunset Western Garden Book; Sunset's How to Grow Fruits, Nuts, and BerriesSee more}

Little Black Gnats