Thursday, May 13, 2021  (13 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

There’s no decent photo of my baby chicks in their brooder, a converted small watering trough, covered with an opaque screen. I brought home chicks without advance planning. Their trough became a quick, easy grab, and it’s turned out to have too-short sides. When I lift their covering screen, my bitty rascals become frightened, start leaping, and surprisingly high, potentially escaping the container.

They’re a week old and for several more weeks will live in the brooder, its overhead heat light keeping them warm while their feathers grow. Once their feathers can warm independently, the chicks will go to reside in a chicken coop, sharing space with protective dwarf goat twins.

My previous chickens knew me, were comfortable walking at my feet and right over my shoes. They followed, while avoiding my reaching to stroke or pick up a chicken. To hold one, I first had to chase and corner it.

Less effort with these new babies. They should get to know me, be comfortable with human handling. Starting now and daily, I’ll spend time at the brooder, lifting and holding each chick. On beginning this and first attempting to remove their covering screen, their leaping to escape were worrisome.

I responded by laying new bedding at the bottom of a deep container. Into that I transferred the chicks one-by-one. Then by turns, I played with one with the others safely confined, easily available. Each fluff resisted being lifted, but once held became quiet and comfortable.

No telling if this “training” will evolve as hoped, but it can’t do harm.

There’s room for one more baby, a Welsummer. I’ve searched feed stores, local and beyond, for an available chick. People like Welsummers so none remained. Happily, yesterday, a supplier phoned saying Welsummers will arrive Friday. After a confirming call, I’ll go for a chick. My flock is young which makes introducing a new baby easy.

These are smart and wonderful chick protectors, the dwarf twins.

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Dear Friends: I refused to have another chicken, “No, no, no!” Proof that certainty isn’t an absolute. Diana

Wednesday, May 12, 2021  (14 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

Peaches is my constant companion out in the RV garage. I’m transforming it into a shop of sorts, and actually more, a she-cave.

Long ago, I did a little carpentry and was hoping to play again with wood, my plan before venturing out and seeing current wood prices. A single sheet of good plywood costs nearly as much as a new table saw. A contractor busily loading two-by-fours onto a cart commented that he’s beginning to create wood slabs by connecting single boards.

My woodworking plans may be on hold but there’ll be a play space. By now, in my she-cave are a couple of chairs, a little refrigerator, some basic carpentry equipment, miscellaneous leftover boards, and a perch for Peaches. There are south and north sliding doors allowing air flow and pleasant views.

I’ve used this building to store hay, about once a month entering and transferring hay to a smaller storage space at the barn, nearer the horses. Now I’m trying to remove the last stored hay, have created enough space for tools, chairs, and such, but still hay remains to be moved.

Yesterday, Peaches watched me climb onto the stack, re-arrange bales, and one by one shove each down onto my Gater’s bed, which holds two bales. I drove to and from the barn multiple times to load and unload. That meant many climbs onto the hay stack, lots of bale-pushing, and multiple unloads at the barn. Once the stored hay is all gone, the entire RV space may be whatever I wish.

These are pandemic stay-at-home days. They’re also get-going days of action, forced by climate change, rampant wildfires, and retirees looking to move. Essentially, daily life “just happens”. For example, lumber prices raising because of destructive wildfires and current mega-construction, chokes a novice’s plans to saw, glue, and nail. That forces new planning.

Regardless of how the RV garage space becomes used, it’ll be available for storage, or for just hanging out. I’d sit gazing out the door with my parrot, or set up a system so music may reverberate in the large space. Or rethink ways to woodwork. Those sticks of scrap wood could become framing for better photos.

Dear Friends: Time moves rapidly, situations change quickly, we move forward creatively. Diana

Tuesday, May 11, 2021  (15 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

I brought home five chicks, days-old, each a different breed. Surprised myself, had sworn against doing that, but my last and most favorite hen, Welsummer, still is with me. Now eleven years old–ancient for a domestic chicken–and very much alive, she’s well-feathered, energetic and thriving. Recently, she even managed to produce an edible egg.

Welsummer and I are close. She rushes to greet when I enter her space and follows me around. Yesterday, something was a little off. She seemed less interested in her beloved morning treats. Maybe that old lady is losing appetite, hinting at decline. I’ll watch her closely.

Deep inside me, possibly losing Welsummer became an energizer. I always have enjoyed this hen and want another just like her. On checking, I learned the breed won’t be available locally for a couple of weeks. But while in the store, I made the mistake of peering into the brooders. Baby chicks, so tiny, bitty wings, chirping. Every one, cute, irresistible, needing a home.

Many tell me how much they dislike and consider chickens not smart. I’ve an opposite perception, finding them very likable, with personalities and smarts. The difference probably has to do with one’s experience with numbers of chickens and their purposes. For example, a commercial enterprise producing bulk eggs and meat would be the opposite of a homebody’s small pet flock of birds. I’ve appreciated chickens, enjoyed their presence.

That’s why here begins a new story. One not yet complete, it needs one more chick. Today, Maybe I’ll find in nearby Redmond, my waiting tiny Welsummer.

Dear Friends: Attitudes reveal limited learning or real knowledge, the sciences can alter perceptions. Diana

Monday, May 10, 2021  (16 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

These days, Central Oregon is warmer and finally new spring is showing itself. I toured the local neighborhood to grab high spots, finding freshness and colors so seductive that I wanted such beauty nearer. So yesterday, just beyond my door, I planted a variety of “spring looks”.

A feature in this neighborhood is a property on which cattle once were raised. Its very old sheds of wood after many years are weathered beautifully. The property recently became sold. Maybe the new owner will tear down and repair. In economic reality, this very visible neglected property has the quality of eyesore. But to many local area residents, its long-aged structures have gained an unmatchable beauty, and equally, are tributes to western history.

The property’s crumbling fences are fascinating. They reveal a history of destructive containments, and now they’re a visual with impact that sparks imaginations of direction and distance.

That old property greets people as they turn in to this subdivision. To me, it reminds of many beautiful cattle past that hung out and grazed. It brings sighs on the relief of having escaped traffic. Most-best though, sightings of it tap into my eagerness for home nearby.

At home and just outside the door, here’s some joyful spring, planted and natural, living colors.

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Dear Friends: I postponed until midweek a road trip into Eastern Oregon with dogs and camera. Diana

Sunday, May 09, 2021  Mother’s Day (17 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

I’m lifting a coffee and toasting all moms, real and surrogate. Here on this ranch I’m a mom, will be stepping up to the needs of varied critters and trying to fulfill some of my own.

I’m considering loading the dogs and taking a longish drive into Northeast Oregon. I’ll take cameras and periodically stop awhile, to let the puppies run about, while I record images of the desert in early spring.

This long drive will be a way to carve out time for remembering my mom and older sisters (surrogate moms), all gone too-long. I’ve learned that maturity changes our childish perceptions of motherhood. For me these days of reflecting on a before and after, connect with with a fuller understanding of myself. I’m aware of a deep resilience entrenched in my life journey, guiding me to new experiences, surprisingly fun and with continuous learning.

Still, there’s an imaginary part impossible to satisfy. Just think, if one could begin all over again, and could strive to become a mom’s more thoughtful and better child….

Dear Friends: Writing short pieces can be challenging, and so, wishing to all, Happy Mother’s Day! Diana

Saturday, May 08, 2021  (18 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

The local PBS television has scheduled my favorite news-related show, Amanpour and Company, in late evenings, at 10 p.m. I’m usually exhausted as Christiane Amanpour’s hour begins, and often can’t stay awake throughout. Nonetheless, it’s my good fortune to follow her fine episodes, since also, they’re podcast.

Last night, I had no trouble remaining wide awake and riveted as Christiane interviewed an astute, articulate 98-year-old woman,Selma van de Perre. An amazing person, she was a Nazi-era Jewish Resistance fighter and a Ravensbrück concentration camp survivor. Her autobiography, My Name Is Selma, already is highly regarded and next week will become available in America. Quickly, I pre-ordered it.

I, too, am a child of Jews. My ancestors immigrated to America prior to the Holocaust. They long had been victimized in their home countries for being Jewish. For me, learning about the Holocaust while growing up was awful. Survivors’ stories could make me almost physically ill.

Selma van de Perre describes her experiences while still a high school teen. She had to survive losing to concentration camps her father, mother, and younger sister. Her story is a re-awakening, from the perspective of lifelong learning. Her experience, still vivid with the pain and terror of trying to stay alive, speaks to her incredible courage in how she managed to fight back. She explains with sound wisdom why so long afterwards she has written her book. She speaks to having memories daily of family lost and explains how she deals with them.

The interview has made me eager for more of that lady’s story.

A transition here, to explain that earlier in the day and way prior to Amanpour, I went strolling. With Peaches on my shoulder and a camera in my hand, it was a photo-journaling expedition. I might write more about it tomorrow, but meanwhile, enjoy photos of a neighbor’s beautiful dogs.

I love these of them telling me to, “Get lost!”

Dear Friends: As eighty becomes a “new sixty”, ninety-eight becomes the new seventy-eight. Diana

Friday, May 07, 2021  (19 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

My newest “things” are daily to-do lists. One enumerates stuff that needs doing today, the other records needs doable-anytime, but not to be overlooked or forgotten. A sudden driving inspiration for these lists makes me wonder if they’re an unconscious way of compensating for memory loss. I shrug this off, my memory seems reasonably good. The problem has been my usual helter-skelter way of planning, which has skipped some things that must be done.

For example, take IRS deadlines. How is it that every year mid-April so-quickly arrives! Sure, the coming mid-April date pops into and out of my mind, but until my tax preparer sends a reminder do I awaken to The Hour almost here. Well, in 2022, there’s a new me and ahead of the game. Already, on my doable-anytime list is April’s drop-dead date.

Such ridiculous forgetfulness isn’t new and concerns me as to memory status. We know memory loss may occur gradually or quickly, and it’s sensible regularly to monitor brain capability. Every brain is unique and each person needs an individual way to status memory. For me, fiddling with daily to-do lists might become an enlightenment method.

Aside from mental fallibility, gray hair brings some wonderful things. I’m learning about this while shopping at a big home improvement store.

I’ve been setting up a sort-of shop in my RV garage which has taken me a couple of times to Home Depot. First, when I needed a few two-by-fours. (Aside: Have you seen the price of lumber lately!!)

I was staring at stacked 2x4s when a customer walked over and said, “Can I help you find boards?” I don’t know if I managed to nod before he said, “How many do you need?” He stepped up and began pulling boards and eyeballing them for warps. Each that he liked, he asked, “Is this okay with you?” and when I nodded, tossed them onto a rolling cart. I just had to find a cashier, pay, and leave.

While pushing through the parking lot, I saw him securing lumber on the top of his SUV. He looked toward me, stopped what he was doing, came over, said “Here, I’ll help you load this on your vehicle.” At my Jeep, which isn’t an easy to load vehicle, he manipulated the long boards, got them inside, smiled at my thanks and nodded, “Have a good day!” before departing.

That was so sweet!

A few days later, I returned to HD and now needed several two-by-four cuts of lumber. After finding them and paying, while rolling my boards through the parking lot, a passing big truck slowed. A fellow stuck his head out the window. “Hello! Can I help you load those into your truck!” He hopped out and took on my task. After a big smile, with a “Happy to help you, have a great day,”, he drove off.

Dear Readers: Gray hair invites the good and the bad, enjoy what’s good to offset the bad. Diana

Thursday, May 06, 2021  (20 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

My couple of small well-established freshwater aquariums are populated with gentle fish. They’re such as White Cloud Mountain minnows, Harlequin rasboras, Kuhli loaches, and one has a pleco that hides and keeps growing. Each tank also house a couple of snails and in each is a male Beta.

Betas, both females and males, display often and spectacularly in a community tank. These are my current boys, and unfortunately, capturing the blue in all his glory isn’t easy, but his photo suggests the possibilities.

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These tanks have been active several years, are pretty, and best, the creatures get along. During the pandemic lockdown, I toyed with wanting to learn more about creatures of the deep and became intensely interested in octopuses. An octopus requires a large salt water tank, so instead, I settled on aquatic frogs, because they’re gentle little beings, and decided to add one to each tank.

That’s when I learned that one doesn’t just buy a frog, one adopts a frog. It’s the real thing, completing adoption papers, promising to adhere to care standards, and all else associated to adopting a living being. It’s because frogs are air breathers. The aquatic types hang out on bottom for long periods, periodically scooting to water’s top, grabbing a breath, and zip-returning to bottom.

My tiny weird-looking pet frogs are difficult to capture in a photograph.

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These photos, which don’t capture their colors, show each reflected in aquaria glass. As is typical, Blue’s hanging out on the bottom, and White’s shooting up for a gasp. Actually, they’re cute and fun to watch.

Like all frogs, aquaria types can leap, and bigly. I understand they also are escape artists. Early on I learned how quickly one can disappear, for while transferring one into my tank, it made a big jump, got past my hand and landed on the tile floor. Luckily, I recaptured the creature without harming it.

I’m glad we can feel somewhat more free than during last year’s lockdown days. Otherwise, I’d probably already have begun setting up and establishing a large saltwater tank. I’d be searching for an octopus.

Dear Friends: Knowing what you do, and if one could start over, do you wonder what you’d study? Diana

Wednesday, May 05, 2021 (Cinco de Mayo + 21 days before May’s “Flower Moon” rises fullest to Earth)

I’m watching a South Korean series currently streaming on Netflix. “Navirrela” tells the story of a 70-year-old man, a retired postal letter carrier, who strives to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a ballet dancer. Without any dancing experience, he has specific wishes, “to learn how to soar” and to dance in a production of “Swan Lake”.

We shake our heads, for he looks his age. He shuffles while walking, worries about aging, and has zero physical potential.

This old man happens upon a 23-year-old, practicing a routine in preparation for a ballet competition. The old man’s eyes light up on seeing the other perform a complex series of twists and leaps. Afterwards, he collars the young man, begging for instruction in beginning ballet.

This seemingly implausible plot, in Korean with subtitles, has had me wondering, had me laughing, and had me in tears. It’s a captivating series about social and family complexities, about aging and hope, and about conflicting interpersonal issues. Above all, it’s about how new relationships may develop, and how they may change over time.

To me, the entire cast was new. Playing the 70-year-old, a wonderful lead actor, Park In-Hwan, an experienced and well recognized South Korean, is sensational in his role. The young man who’s an aspiring competition dancer is Song Kang, usually a dramatic actor. For this role, he spent months learning ballet, is athletic and dances convincingly. The large supporting cast of family and community members complete the fine ensemble.

Currently, this series consists only of one season, but another is on the way. I’ve found tuning into this story to be a worthwhile experience.

Dear Friends: Foreign-sourced series, beyond story and talent teach much about the larger world. Diana

Tuesday, May 04, 2021 (22 days before May’s full “Flower Moon” rises nearest to earth)

Here in Central Oregon skies change as constantly and unpredictably as the weather may vary. My little ranch near the eastern base of the Cascades offers easy viewing of the complex profile of an ancient volcano. Known as Broken Top, its collapsed center creates a magnetic profile that becomes altered in appearance with every weather shift.

Broken Top demands attention.

Yesterday, low-laying clouds capped and slightly obliterated Broken Top’s profile. In fact, only its moodiness was the bit of Cascades showing through massive cloudiness. I couldn’t stop looking and wondering what it might be like to be on Broken Top, and studying contours from a horse’s back.

This season, and hopefully not just my imagination, Broken Top’s appearances alter from previous years. For example lately, when its sharp peaks and edges are set against an almost unclouded sky of very light blue, they’ve seemed unusually prominent.

This photo shows the mountain framed by an almost neutral background, a vision differing from today’s header photo and compelling equally.

I didn’t intend this morning to write about Broken top, but as usual slipped under its spell.

My plan was to respond to another inspiration. Yesterday, as my Cockatoo and hound dog received their annual health care, I admired beautiful plantings that punctuated the veterinary clinic and took photographs.

My property is on the town’s very east side where it’s far less moist and much more rocky. It’s very desert-like. My views of mountains this time of year are fabulous, but early spring makes me thirsty to see vibrant ground-life and natural colors.

This season, I’ll be more free than usual. Maybe I’ll try to create and maintain a little patch resembling these.

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Dear Friends: Removing oneself from living among lushness feeds a searching for tropicality. Diana