Trinity's Birthday

Today is my son-in-law, Trinity's birthday.  He has been a part of our family even before he and Bridget got married in 1998.  We hired him as a carpenter's helper and our tile guy in about 1997 or so.  But he is a person of very rare talent.  He is actually an artist,  but has also become a great carpenter. He is a contractor now, but is still a one man show; he's the contractor, designer and carpenter.  He can do it all and do it with excellence.  Once a client gets him in their house to do their remodeling they almost never let him leave.  So his other jobs tend to log jam. When he was working for us, he built a second story addition on the house at the corner of Fairfield and Walton with just a helper.  

He and the boys look great in pink! You see Dottie Belle and Gypsy are always butting in.

He is also a great son-in-law.  I have often asked him to help me with little things like pull the spurs off the rooster or help me put the saddle on the hen.  He started calling me "Mom" from the start; meaning no slight to his mother.  He has enough love for everyone.

Trinity assisting in Kennedy's first bath.

He is very involved with his 2 sons and daughter.  They do their homework best with him.  He started out as the den leader in Chase's Cub Scout pack and now he is the Cub Scout Master.

 

He also did 2 tours in Iraq.  He is an American hero and someone for his children to look up to.

So tonight is Survivor night and we always get together and usually eat pizza and watch the show.  But for his birthday, I am making his favorite meal, chicken and dumplings and for dessert homemade banana pudding--not from a box.

Happy Birthday and much love, Trinity.
May you have many more.

What Happened to the Roof of the Goat House

Well first off, I didn't take pictures.  It was too disgusting.  I had been noticing every time I went into the backyard and looked in the goat yard that Gypsy was standing on top of the goat house.  But yesterday, I noticed it was covered in goat poop.  I mean covered. Take my word you don't want pictures.  What has happened, is a huge shake up in the girls' pecking order.  Little Miss # 1, Gypsy, apparently has fallen to number 3.  I cannot believe it.  She is the curious, outgoing and very smart one, but no; now she has to stand up on the  roof of the goat house, because Honey Bunny had suddenly realized that she is BIGGER than Dottie Belle and Gypsy and she is not taking anymore of their headbutting.  Wow!!  Honey Bunny still butts around with Dottie Belle a bit. But when Gypsy gets close to Honey; all Honey has to do is put her head down in butting position and Gypsy actually walks backwards to get away.  I'm almost sad for Gypsy, but not really.  She and Dottie Belle were such bullies to Honey the first week, that I just have to be happy for Honey.  Oh and I had to sweep off the roof of the goat house.  I swept it into a bucket and spread it around my peach and nectarine trees.  

So when the goats give me ****; maybe the trees will give me fruit.

Dancing Is Not Just For the Stars

Tonight was the premiere of this season's Dancing With The Stars.  I was there on the sofa watching it until 2 Broke Girls came on and then I switched back and forth.  It worked out great.  The last 3 dances took place during the commercials for 2 Broke Girls.  That doesn't happen very often.

During the first couple of seasons my husband watched many of the shows with me, now he is not interested. Perhaps because I kept making comments like for an anniversary present, maybe we could take dance lessons. I've learned that will scare them right out of the room. I happened to marry 2 rather nerdy guys who I believe will not dance because they fear they will look like Carson on the show tonight.  There is no way they would even look that good--sorry guys.

Even high school dances were terrible.  Most guys just don't like to dance.

I did get to dance with my son at his wedding.  I loved it, but I'm not sure he did.

The best dancing ever happened last October at my daughter, Jacquie's, wedding reception.  The love of dancing must be genetic. And it must go hand in hand with marrying or dating men who do not dance.  I think only my son-in-law, Trinity, likes to dance and is a good dancer.  But he was in Iraq, so all the ladies in the family couldn't fight over him to be their dance partner.

My mother, GiGi, is looking up at the camera.  She had fun.

Samantha and Tafta

Samantha and Jacquie

  Great Grand Mother, Grandmothers, Mothers, Nieces, Cousins and Sisters all danced the night away.   

Looks like my sister, Debbie, was under the table.

The secret to having fun dancing is to dance like you think you are a star.  And don't think about tomorrow.

Because I know some of us could not move the next day.

Sharing a Summer Watermelon

Watermelons always remind me of my Uncle Lee's watermelon patch at the other end of Springhill Road from where I grew up in Swartz.  He and my Grandmother Murphy always had a huge garden, but Uncle Lee's specialty was watermelons.  I remember my sisters and I going and picking out a watermelon that we were too small to carry.  Usually we would just drop it a few feet from the patch and eat it right there.  Just scooping out the juicy heart with our dirty fingers or biting it from the rind and letting juice run down our chins.  It actually took me a long time to like watermelon cold; since I grew up eating it right out of the garden.

So this summer I have shared watermelon with the grandkids, goats and chickens.  The first time I cut it, it is room temperature.  The remaining slices are saved for the next day so they are ice cold. There is an advantage to cold watermelon when it is 108 degrees outside.  I have learned to enjoy those slices as well.  I'm glad my grandkids like it.  My children and their dad never really acquired a taste for the red juicy melon.  I think the red ones with seeds are the best.  I have never seen the kind my uncle grew.  He called them Sugar Babies.  They were round and very dark solid green.

I've discovered that Dottie Belle will not eat watermelon cold. At first I thought she just didn't like it, but when I offered her a warm piece, she gobbled it up.  Gypsy will take it anyway I give it to her and she will even jump on the table and take it away from me. She only weighs about 40 pounds now, but she is going to be a force to be reckoned with when she is grown and 70 pounds of pure determination.

Omelet is eating while Little Ace is waiting.  Dottie should just leave.

I find it very interesting to watch the 4 hens and rooster, Big Foot sharing a slice.  This is where the pecking order really comes into play.  Big Foot, of course, gets all he wants.  Hens #1, Omelet, and #2, Little Ace take turns in that order. 

That leaves #3 Dottie and poor #4, Sunny with not getting any until I let them out of the coop by themselves. I try to even things up around here.

A New Arrival

The breeder at Cimarron Valley Ranch named her Honey Bunny.

With any departure, there needs to be an arrival.  Sunday night was the arrival of Honey Bunny, my third Nigerian Dwarf goat and only one with blue eyes and buckskin.  I put the dog crate in the goat yard and let Dottie Belle and Gypsy take a few good sniffs before I released Honey.  I have to admit that I was apprehensive about their reaction to a new "sister" and they proved that I should have been.  Sorry I don't have pictures of their first meeting, but it was too dark at 11 o'clock at night.  

 

Honey Bunny learned very quickly that I have goat pellets in the blue coffee cans.

 

Dottie Belle and Gypsy immediately sent a very strong message to Honey.  They ran in a circle around me and then stood on either side of me and had a stand-off with Honey.  Clearly communicating that Honey was not to come near me. It was quite amazing, but I could not let that situation last.  I stayed out there for an hour trying to make Honey feel welcomed and ease Dottie Belle's and Gypsy's jealousy or possessiveness.

Kennedy loves the goats.  The only animal name she says is cat.

They each have their own bin where they eat goat pellets.

She has beautiful blue eyes.

Gypsy's tongue is out like a dog's.

Of course I love all 3 goats.  But when Gypsy and Dottie Belle start ganging up on Honey Bunny, I remind them that they are $100 goats and Honey Bunny is a $350 goat.  My taste in livestock is getting more expensive.

But you just can't beat the personality of bottle fed goats like Gypsy and Dottie Belle. They just want to play with me.  They are more playful than most dogs.

But I finally gave up, because it seemed that my presence only made matters worse.  When I left they were chasing Honey around the yard and butting her.  I went in and googled, "how to introduce a new goat to a herd?" 
Site after site said you just have to let them work it out.  They have to establish the pecking order.  Gypsy has always been the alpha goat and it seemed that Dottie Belle was putting up quite a fight to remain #2. 


It is probably a good thing that Honey Bunny is 2 months older and a little bigger; otherwise she might get hurt. This is a great example of the importance of disbudding the goats.  I'm really glad none of the 3 have horns. 

Dottie Belle is trying to take the camera from me.

One Makes a Departure From the Backyard Farm

Chicken formerly known as Olive. 

Remember the juvenile chicken that flew over the fence a couple of weeks ago that I just named Olive, because I am excited about the possibility that it will lay olive colored eggs.  This was a very special chicken, because it was one of 4 of our first eggs every to hatched here.  

Olive a combination of these 2 eggs.

  

 Saturday when my sister Debbie arrived for our Tulsa trip, her husband Ken drove her. Their son, Ben, met them here so he could visit with everyone.  Ben and Ashley live in Fayetteville, AR and have 4 extraordinarily beautiful children.  

Big Foot

Ken and Ben also have a lot more experience with chickens than I do.  When Ben was growing up, he actually raised them and showed them at the fair.  Anyway, they took one look at Olive and said I should have named that chicken Oliver.  And I should not be anticipating eggs of any color.  I was crushed and really wanted to remain in denial. I knew that chicken was too pretty to be a hen.  Anyway, I have to stick to my guns and not keep another rooster.  My small backyard farm is only big enough for one mean rooster and if I had any sense, he should become dinner. 

So Ken put Oliver in a box and took him home with him.  I do not want any updates on what became of Oliver.  But I did say that if the chicken laid an egg to bring her back.

A Weekend With Sisters to Tulsa, OK

 Just because you see OK in the title doesn't mean the trip was okay. 

Lenora, Debbie and Me     I have a chick on each shoulder.

My sister, Lenora, bought almost 12 acres next door to where we grew up on Springhill Road in Swartz.  She actually got me started with my backyard chickens.  I had always wanted them, but never just did it. So when she got her first order, she gave me 4.  But then I jumped off into the goat thing.   

Now Lenora is getting baby doll sheep and goats. She and I have a blue-eyed buck on reserve from Shekinah Creek Ranch in OK that we plan on sharing, but as of yet he has not been born.  Lenora found through an internet search a 1 year old black baby doll ewe and a 4 month old white ram for sell in Tulsa.  So over the Labor Day Weekend, we were going to make a livestock run to Oklahoma. Our other sister, Debbie, decided just for fun she would ride along with us.  I'm the oldest of 6 children, Debbie is 2 and 1/2 years younger than I am and Lenora, the 3rd sibling, is 12 months younger than Debbie.

Our first obstacle was actually leaving on Saturday at noon.  We had planned this for 2 weeks.  Lenora has a well established record for being 4 to 6 hours late for everything; with the possible exception of work.  Most events are ending when she shows up.  She is the only person I know who has no concept to time passing.  Mom, Lenora and I had a trip to New Orleans a few years back.  The plan was to be in New Orleans to meet up with another group at noon.  Lenora arrived at my house at 6 p.m; therefore we got there at midnight.  I get a migraine waiting like that.  It literally makes me sick and this has happened several times when making plans with Lenora.  I can count on Debbie being 30 minutes early and I'm usually right on time or 15 minutes late at the most.

So Debbie and I had several conversations on how to get Lenora to my house for a noon departure.  Friday night she was suppose to spend the night with me.  I waited until 11:30 p.m. Friday and called her to see how much later she was going to be.  She said she had decided to spend the night at her daughter's, so I could go to bed.  I did, because I would be sick waiting on her much longer.  She arrived in Shreveport at her daughter's sometime after 3 a.m.   But she was at my house by 11 a.m. and we left about 12:15--my 15 minute tardy tolerance.  Of course, Debbie was at my house at 9 a.m. as I was getting out of the shower.  Early is great; late and the world comes to an end.

I love that she has poka dots around her middle

Lenora was the driver, because she had her youngest son's truck to haul the sheep in the back.  I rode up front, because I had big plans to find a blue-eyed goat somewhere in Oklahoma and it would ride with me in the back seat on the return trip. Debbie wouldn't think it fair to have to ride beside my goat.  She had already asked was she expected to ride in the backseat with the goat.  I had spent the hours I was waiting for Lenora, Friday night, googling blue-eyed goats in Oklahoma.  I had found a ranch 20 miles west of Tulsa called Cimarron Valley Ranch.  It looked like she had a 2 year old doe named Lucy for sale.  It turned out Lucy was already sold, but she was one of the most beautiful goats I have seen.  But the owner, Deb, said she has an 8 month old doe that she might sell. She had planned to keep her.  Lenora and Debbie agreed that we would at least go by and check out the ranch Sunday before heading home.


Anyway, right out of Shreveport Lenora tells us she forgot the GPS, but her I-Phone is just as good.  But I always have a backup plan and for that matter a backup to my backup.  So I had printed up directions to the hotel in Tulsa where I had made a reservation, directions for getting from the hotel to the farm to pick up the sheep and directions from the sheep farm to Cimarron to look at the goats.  So I thought all was well.

For entertainment I had brought along my road trip journal.  It has a name I cannot write in a blog. It's sort of a parody of Harlequin Romances. It is about actual places and the people traveling with me, but the events are outlandishly fictitious. My first journal entry was when Debbie, Mother and I drove to Minnesota to visit Uncle Eddie on July 11, 1999. Mother screamed most of the way there, "Don't write that trash down!  Somebody might read that and believe it." My thoughts were, "We can only hope."
Well, we missed our first turn when we crossed the Texas line because we were laughing and making up our own adventure story. But I was still confident that all was well.  

Debbie is hamming it up. Lenora does not think we are funny.

Debbie took pictures of me taking pictures and she posted them on FB.

Then Debbie and Lenora decided they want to stop along the way to look at every little junk store that looked interesting.  So I let go of my hopes of making it to the hotel in time to see the LSU/Oregon game.  But I had 2 relatives sending me update texts.  My other problem with stopping is: shopping=buying.  I just have enough cash for a goat and I don't want to spend money in the bank.  I only bought a $2 belt to use on a future purse I will someday make and I tried to negotiate one another item, but they didn't budge on the price.  We all 3 went in together to buy Debbie's husband, Ken, a birthday present. We also had to make a stop at WalMart so Lenora could buy a tarp to go over the sheep. Rain was predicted.  I hate WalMart, so I walked behind her taking pictures. I know how to get back at people who irritate me.  But I am going to be kind and not post those pictures.


 
Pretty soon it was obvious that as the driver, Lenora is also the navigator and DECIDER.  I have never ridden with anyone who would not let the other person in the front be the navigator and read the map.  Oh yeah, at a stop Debbie bought a map. By now my directions could best be used for toilet paper.  We became hopelessly lost when we hit Tulsa at 11 p.m.  I had been riding up front watching Lenora try to read that tiny writing on her I-phone while driving on interstate and all the while she ignored Debbie's reading of possible directions from the map until finally I called the hotel.  It took 3 calls, because the young guy didn't know Tulsa well enough to give good directions.  I thought at one point I was just going to start crying in frustration.  We made it to the hotel after driving around and around for over an hour and then, I know it was the same guy, our room reservation was messed up. So instead of a suite with 2 double beds; we had a suite with a king bed and a sofa bed.  I chose the sofa and went straight to bed.

I almost smiled.

We got up early, had a complimentary breakfast and headed to the sheep farm.  It was impossible to find--dirt roads.  So the owner met us at a Quik Trip and we followed him. 




Lenora had a great time loading up Ewela May and Lambert.  
 
She had bought harnesses, like I have for my goats, but these lambs were not pets, so the harnesses were quickly discarded.
 












Trying to leave this farm, we drove all over the place.  Lenora had no idea how to escape. I think Lenora was having an adventure, but I felt trapped in a truck. 


Twelve hours the previous day had taken it's toll on me and I felt I would go insane if this turned into another 12 hour drive. 
Finally, the farmer was leaving and we followed him out. 

Now we had to drive to the other side of Tulsa to find the goat farm.  Thank goodness it was visible from the highway!  Her farm was great.  She practices bio-security so we had the option of stepping into a pan of sanitizing fluid or not walking into the pasture.  Of course we sanitized our shoes and went to see the goats. This time I forgot my camera in the truck, but I told the owner I would be copying her pictures and she was fine with that.

So now I have Honey Bunny in a dog crate on the back seat with me.  Since Lenora has told us repeatedly not to give her directions; we watched in horror as she turned the wrong way out of the driveway. 



After we had turned around and were at a stop sign, where a fire truck and many firemen and young people were standing with boots to take up money for MS; Debbie burst into tears and got out of the truck saying, "I'm walking right over there to that police station and calling Ken to come get me.  I can't stand this anymore."  Oh, my words exactly, except substitute Don for Ken!  Whereas I have faith that Ken would come to get Debbie, I wisely know that Don's response to my call would be, "Get you butt back in that truck.  You can handle anything."  I can, but it doesn't mean it won't make me sick afterwards.  


Lenora pulled into a church parking lot that was right beside the police station.  She turned to me and yelled, "What am I suppose to do, just be quiet and take directions like a dumb mute?"  I replied, "That would be such an improvement." I stayed in the truck and petted my new goat and watched as Debbie and Lenora had a come to Jesus meeting right there in the parking lot of the Church of Christ.  They quit when they saw me pointing my camera at them.  And for a minute I thought they were going to get me. But we quit all those hair pulling fights in our preteens when we became concerned that bald headed girls didn't get boyfriends. I put my camera down quickly.  I did get one picture though! Documentation!


I can't say things got better, but Debbie, Honey Bunny and I did not end up at the police station waiting for Ken to drive to Tulsa and get us.  We just quit saying anything, certainly no directions, and I prayed that at some time, in the not too distant future, I would arrive home and not have to sit by a cute little goat that was now a stinky little goat. The return trip also took 12 hours for me. And I did not blog for a week because I, in fact, did go insane. Actually, the 3 goats were great therapy.  I sat out in their pen for over an hour introducing Honey Bunny to Dottie Belle and Gypsy.  It was not a pretty sight.  The goats head-butting was very analogous to the past 24 hours I had just spent in a truck.  Debbie and Lenora got home around 1:30 a.m. because after dropping me off, they still had 2 and 1/2 hours to get home.

I did learn that sisters just grow old.  They never give up their sibling rivalries.  But I already knew that; I just keep forgetting it.

If a Tree Falls On Your Neighbor's House Does It Make a Sound?

Labor Day was a real CRASH.  I got home last night at 11:00 after spending 24 of the past 36 hours riding in a truck to Tulsa, OK and back. I know it is just a 6 hour trip, but not for my 2 sisters and me.  Anyway, I was very tired this morning.  Bridget, Kennedy, Dottie Belle, Gypsy and I were sitting in my yard, when at about 1 P.M.,  we heard a very loud CRACK. 

 
  This video was taken less than an hour before the huge tree fell in Linda's yard. Don, Linda and the goats are standing right where the tree is going to fall.


I don't know if I have every heard a tree break, but Bridget and I both knew what it was.  We jumped up, grabbed the baby and I yelled, "Let's get out from under these trees. 

We ran toward the front yard. I don't know if that was because there were no trees there or if we knew that was where the sound came from.  Just as we made it to the front of the house a huge cloud of dusk rose from the ground.  Bridget yelled, "It hit your house, Mom."

 

The tree covered her entire front yard.

 For just a second we thought it had hit the office in the house.  But soon we saw that a huge old oak from two houses down had fallen and crushed my neighbor's car and house.

 

Linda had been sitting at the kitchen table right where the tree hit.  She shot under the table, skinning her knees, but was not hurt.

The car still started after they removed the tree.

She tried to get out the front door, but it was blocked. All the neighbors were very helpful and concerned. 

The fireman are talking with Linda.  You can see the downed line.

Firemen came and escorted Linda out of the house because electric wires were down and there was a fire risk.  I'm sure even after a week, Linda is still shook up, but she seems fine. 

It took me a couple of days to get over it, just because I had been frightened for just a minute or 2.  We may still have more surprises in store for us with this hot and dry summer.  It's going to be 103 degrees tomorrow.  I'm ready for fall.