Thursday, April 25, 2019

Nobody seems ambivalent about living with chickens; folks either love or hate the birds. When I decided to obtain a few, and reflected on what I’d heard about caring for chicks, this step seemed big and doubtful. There’s little resistance to baby chicks that arrive annually at feed stores, they’re the cutest things. I started my backyard flock with ten day-old chicks.

Appropriate space for them was no issue as the babies were too small and helpless to put outside. Plus, springs are very cold here in the northwest. For several weeks, my chicks lived in the garage–in a large horse trough on layers of absorbent bedding and under a heat lamp. Meanwhile, some friends with experience in housing chickens helped design and build my coop and outer-fenced area for the little ones.

When the weather warmed and babies were stronger, they went into their new home. Soon, I acquired three other day-olds–frail and with doubtful futures–segregated from healthier chicks in a farm store. These babies went into a terrarium, under a rigged-up heat lamp, in my living room. The two littlest typically crawled under each wing of the biggest, she barely bigger than themselves, and generous about offering shelter. The weakest chick didn’t make it, but the two that survived eventually joined the outside flock.

Most of my babies were certified as hens, but it’s impossible to be certain about bantams, and a couple turned out to be boys. To my disappointment, when the prettiest bantam chick began crowing, I recalled rooster stories and watched him closely. Eventually, when this fellow could breed, he saw me as an intruder and attacked with energy when I entered his chicken yard. Finally, it was him or me, and he went to a new home.

Life in a hen house is brutal. Within a flock is a pecking order and those lowest on the totem pole get picked-on. The low-ranking birds can become almost featherless, but loyally stay near their companions. I used purple-dyed medicine to cover bare red-hued skin that attracted more aggressive birds. During the hens’ young lives, my unending battle was helping low-rankers maintain decently-good skin and feathers.

Aside from the work required through many seasons, I learned to appreciate and admire chickens, enjoying their presence and individual personalities. It didn’t take long to recognize that they’re smart birds, in contrast to common opinion, and it’s always was fun to observe their habits and responses to new inputs.

Dear Friends, future blogs will say more about my adventures with chicks. Diana

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

On a beautiful day, all the equines and dogs, my friend Janet, and I, piled into the horse rig and headed for Tumalo Reservoir’s well-ridden horse trails. The recently filled Reservoir consumed most of the beach; the sky’s glorious clouds obscured surrounding mountains. I’d not been to the Reservoir for a couple of years and while on the road leading to it saw new landscaping and big homes. I’ve worried that construction might have altered the key Reservoir area, but mostly, it’s the same lovely, cool body of water.

We turned the horses away from that water and started toward Bull Springs, about a mile and a half away. The dogs dashed ahead of me, riding Rosie, while Janet followed on Sunni, with Pimmy at our little parade’s rear. I feel ever-grateful to Pimmy who’s easily recognized and often identified with me. We bumped into other horseback riders coming toward us, and on seeing Pimmy one called out to me. She’s an old friend, Liz, a retired oncology nurse who long ago helped me, when I was a chemo patient and a brand new resident in this area. She’s a committed horseback rider who introduced me to the Reservoir.

Our trail still looked as always, except for changes caused by a huge wildfire several years ago. Today, the trail is weedy with Manzanita, framed by downed, burned trees and a once-forested surrounding area that’s become a cleared and graceful landscape. After our moseying had taken us to what remains of the once-lush Bull Springs area, we turned back.

Upon reaching the trailhead, another long time acquaintance recognized Pimmy, and also, then me. She’s Michal (pronounced Michelle) Bailey, who used to be the proprietor of Tumalo’s Blue Pony. Now semi-retired, she paused while helping a couple of riders adjust saddles to fit their horses properly and said hello. Michal very kindly also took time to help out with a problem that occurred at my trailer.

The afternoon had lots of worthwhile components: Janet recovered her “horseback legs”, I reconnected with a couple of nice friends, the dogs got exercised–worn out and slept soundly for hours, the horses behaved willingly and well, and Pimmy also had fun.

Dear Friends, the older we get, the faster time passes; let’s dive into summer. Diana

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Recently, I met a woman who said that last month her house had completely burned down, becoming a total loss. She and her husband lived in LaPine, a community south of Bend and in higher elevation with colder winters and more snow. A few weeks ago, over three-days a massive snow fell on Central Oregon. The frigid weather caused a strange sequence of events that set the couple’s carport on fire, plus a delay in the Fire Department’s response let a relatively-small blaze spread quickly. It destroyed the carport, adjoining garage, and the home.

In their very clean, tidy carport were parked two vehicles, and a set of tires was stacked between them. One vehicle was their new Jeep and the other her husband’s diesel pickup. In winter weather, he attached to the truck a line that heats diesel to start the truck. That line wasn’t activated, but a bit of it drooped and slightly touched on the stacked tires. Fire Department personnel estimated the blaze as a one-in-a-million occurrence. They figured that freezing high winds blew snow into the carport, and some landed where the diesel line met tire rubber, causing a spontaneous blaze.

The couple were home, saw smoke through a window, went outside, found the blaze and called the Fire Department. The fire fighters could not respond before they had finished fighting a blaze elsewhere. When finally a fire truck arrived at this couple’s home, the fire had demolished all.

Their destroyed vehicles were new and quickly were replaced by insurance. Their home recently had been remodeled with expensive interior components, such as countertops, woodwork, rearranged space, etc. The insurance company estimated the home’s replacement value at $17K, in contrast to the couple’s replacement estimate of nearly $50K. While the husband argued for hours by phone with insurance representatives, the wife managed to find before-and-after photos of their recent remodel and some receipts for work performed–all in all, enough evidence to force the insurance company to re-estimate. This time the valuation came in higher and near their own estimate of $50K.

They’re staying with relatives while their home is rebuilt. The woman added that, aside from all else, the fire destroyed many items of personal and real value that she considers irreplaceable.

This totally unexpected and weird fire-start forces us to think beyond typical fire prevention activities like tree trimming and ground clearing. If we had to face destruction from a fire, we’d have to negotiate with insurance adjusters. This story is a reminder to have photographs and other documentation of household items and their values. It also reminds that a good plan is storing such information safely, with a friend living elsewhere or in a safe deposit box.

Dear Friends, I’ll put my camera to this job and will keep receipts safer. Diana

Monday, April 22, 2019

Sunni, you need a haircut! But no fear, on my watch it won’t happen again. She’s the one who inherited a long thick mane; her full sister, Rosie, got a thinner mane but has a bigger tail. I like to keep both brushed and combed, but not in the winter when its too cold for me to stand working on them. Besides anyway, they’re always winter-filthy from standing in rain and rolling in mud.

We’re cycling through a spring comb-out that’ll continue another week. So far, they’ve shed enough winter coat and mane to create a dummy horse. Fortunately, the donkey isn’t yet shedding, will keep her winter bear-fur until nearly mid-summer when again I’ll wield the coat-strippers.

A year or so ago, Sunni’s trainer “pulled her mane”, meaning that she reduced the foot-long wave that adorned my horse’s neck to a trail of inch-long stubble. And then, she handed me a box of tiny rubber bands and suggested that I BRAID! Oh, Hello!

Fortunately now, Sunni’s mane is all grown out. Maybe in a fancy parade so much mane wouldn’t enhance a neckline, but I love the natural fly-swatter she sports.

Sunni could care less.

Dear Friends, have a wonderful day. Diana

Sunday, April 21, 2019

For some reason, maybe because it’s Easter, perhaps because of these overcast rainy days, my mind has running through it some early lines by the American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. She was born in 1892, and when only 19 submitted a poem she’d written to a contest. She didn’t win first place, but other poets believed she should have. The poem’s publication gained Millay a wealthy benefactor who funded her Vassar education. Millay continued writing poetry and embarked on an early 20th Century bohemian life style.

That first poem, consisting of 200+ lines of lyric poetry, she named, “Renascence”. As a high school student, I loved the poem, tried to learn and recite it from memory, for reasons no longer very clear. Yet, even today, the poem often recurs in my thoughts, and especially for some reason, on rainy, cloudy days.

It’s lines must carry some sort of deep meaning, for they come to mind while I happen to be looking around, and in particular, recalling most of Millay’s opening stanza:

All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I’d started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.

While walking uphill on the south side of my property alongside my neighbor’s split log fence which marks our divide, I find myself drawing near the hilltop with Millay’s words on my mind. As she did years ago, I pause now and look around. From this particular hilltop, the view offers all that I might see–it’s my world, that holds but doesn’t enclose.

Dear Friends, have a lovely day, the sun’s again shining. Diana

Saturday, April 20, 2019

The overnight rain is invigorating, even if it’s just another downpour during weeks of more rain in this area than we’ve seen for years. In these early hours and to the bewilderment of my sleepy dogs, I tiptoed outside with a camera to capture some dripping, tapping loveliness.

Not long ago, our local stores began bringing in flowers. It’s always exciting and I purchased a few, even knowing that for awhile I’d be too busy to plant them. Fortunately, they’re enjoying this damp balmy weather. One on my small deck needs re-potting, the other should be in the ground and attached to a trellis, but now, in this early morning they’re happy, soaking in atmosphere.

• 

• 

• 

So am I, for the whole outside, though dim, feels comfortable and beckoning. From my deck, the shadowy trees are alive with sleepy, watchful birds. Upon seeing me, they began calling, warning of disturbance in this normally quiet, very early morning.

This week’s days were wonderful–warm and sunny with voluminous clouds–and the evenings relatively warm. Sleeping hasn’t required a heated blanket. Already now, the overnight rain has diminished and today is beginning as another lovely.

Yes indeed, it’s a Central Oregon springtime.

Dear Friends, have a marvelous day. Diana

Friday, April 19, 2019

From a kitchen window I can see the sky, and when clouds are right a moon that rises above the treetops. Last night as I fixed dinner, the moon that appeared in a cloudless sky was close and beautiful, bright and spellbinding. It compelled me to stop what I was doing, grab my camera with the strongest zoom lens, and hurry outside to capture that view.

A little research told me that it’s called a “pink moon”, or otherwise the full moon of April. This full moon, like all the others was named by early Native Americans. It represents the time in spring when there are growths of pink ground phlox, or moss pink. The moon itself doesn’t change color, not even when we see a “blood moon” or a “blue moon”. Those colors that seem to be actually are reflections of atmospheric conditions affecting the moon’s appearance.

Moss pink is a flowering ground cover that grows in almost every kind of soil, blooms on for several weeks, and some of its species are invasive.

And so, the April pink moon tells us what’s growing wild and widespread. Last night’s moon isn’t yet gone. This morning, it’s at its fullest, and this evening will be visible still as Good Friday’s full moon.

Forever it seems, we’ve heard that full moons affect the behavior of living beings. It’s telling that the words lunacy and lunatic derive from “luna”, the Latin word for moon. There’s no scientific evidence that relates full moons to behavioral extremes, but it’s thought that gravitational influences may bring about social tension and disharmony.

I’m pretty sure that last evening some force larger than myself pulled me outside to capture that moon, as if its image would reveal deep meanings. Well okay, but I’m a drop in the bucket of all living beings. Everything alive feels, and in their various ways, responds to the powers of full moons.

Dear Friends, tonight look upward, and experience that incredible moon! Diana

Thursday, April 18, 2019

They’re back! So beautiful those Flicker Woodpeckers, and such nuisances. One year, long ago, I ignored a Flicker’s hammering until seeing clearly that the bird had drilled a huge hole high on the side of my house. That hole stood out for years until finally a house painter repaired and covered it.

Afterwards and always upon hearing the Flicker’s distinctive hammering, I try to determine a direction it’s coming from, and if it seems near my house, I hurry over there, waving a stick, jacket, or towel, and yelling for that bird to go!

The thing is, they remember where they’ve been working and may return to the site. So, knowing they’re back, I stalk around my property, at-the-ready to try and frighten them away, while at the same time enjoying each sighting of the absolutely gorgeous birds.

The Flicker’s voice is as distinctive as its appearance. I’m not sure how to describe well enough its loud, single-note call that ends with a distinctive drop in sound. A visit to the Cornell Lab’s terrific bird site explains that a woodpecker’s drumming session continues for about 25 beats, before the bird slightly shifts away to start a new beating series. Cornell Lab explains that a woodpecker’s drummings are the communication equivalents of a songbird’s singing.

Ah, and mostly happily, they’re back!

Dear Friends, have a wonderful day. Diana

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

This season’s Mountain Bluebirds have arrived. I followed one around while trying to take a photo with my cell phone as the bright fellow hopped mostly beyond camera range. The bird I watched hunted for a while near a busy Robin, and each did its work undisturbed by the other’s close presence. No surprise, for bluebirds are members of the thrush family and thus closely related to Robins.

Last year, a pair of bluebirds built a nest inside my barn and slightly above where I enter and exit while working. They watched me closely, but not seeming particularly bothered by my nearness to their nest. I very carefully remained as quiet and nonthreatening as possible. The two were a hardworking team, taking turns hunting and watching their nest. While caring for their eggs, the two alternated hunting and nest-setting. After the babies emerged, both parents stayed busy, and I loved hearing cheeping sounds from that nest.

I hoped that this year the original pair or at least one of their offspring would nest-build in my barn, but not so. They’re nearby though, high in trees except for hunting expeditions. Often they’re sitting quietly and watching me closely, same as last year.

The beautiful males sport more blue feathers than the females whose undersides are somewhat tan. In previous years, I’ve seen blues with red bellies that suggest their close relationship to Robins. I’m wondering if the blue- and red-bellies alike are members of the same batch. One or two Blues in an area suggests the presence of many more as they tend to migrate in flocks, and this year I’ll be alert to see whether reddish bellies are in the mix.

Dear Friends, some of the loveliest beings enter with spring. Diana

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

Thanks to my neighbor, Frank, for the photo of me working Sunni with long lines while Rosie hangs out on the side. Both girls got their workouts, it’s the beginning of getting them into shape for cart-pulling days ahead.

This year, instead of hauling horses over the mountains to our trainer for sprucing up, I’m taking on the work of reacclimating them to harness and handling. Constantly working the ropes and keeping a horse moving correctly takes strength, in my case it also means swallowing dust.

In long-lining, the trainer uses two 30-foot ropes to simulate rein handling while driving a horse. The near rope guides the horse to move in a circle, and the off rope allows the horse to move out and maintain a wide circle. While sitting behind a hitched and moving horse, a driver’s hands and elbows constantly are busy and guiding. Long-lining an exercising horse requires a handler’s similarly active arms to guide and control.

I’ll long-line as often as possible considering our somewhat unpredictable weather and my part-time job schedule. These experienced horses need only a week or so of this routine before they’re ready for hitching. Sunni will restart her conditioning workouts in the neighborhood. Rosie’s somewhat higher energy takes slightly more handling, and we’ll practice in the workout arena before moving on to local streets.

Dear Friends, our pets with jobs love working, and they keep us young. Diana