More Progress

Although it seems as though the to-do list is never-ending, my schedule has been balancing out of late and allowing me more time in my loft studio. Did I ever mention that there is a huge room on the second floor of the barn that will one day, Lord willing, be completely made over into studio space? It's enormous, and already framed out; it will need insulation, drywall, flooring and a heating/cooling system, but the "bones" are there. Lots of natural light, quiet, away from the house. One of these days, perhaps once more pressing matters have been addressed.

Anyway - much has been happening in the last few days (the gas and oil companies are in the area) - but more on that in a day or two.

This is coming along nicely and although it's drawn on rough watercolor paper (not really ideal), I like the way it's starting to come together. This piece, and a few others (providing my schedule stays uneventful) should be finished soon and I'll post more photos.

And of course, I forgot to include the boy's hands, which are holding the cat. *Sigh* If you look closely, you can see them in the second photo. Looks like I'll have to try this again.

Rumblings & Rain

I saw the sky darken and the motion lights on the barn come on, so I grabbed the camera and went for a walk (yes, I like to be outdoors during a thunderstorm). The wind was blowing, the trees were dancing, and the clouds were diving down from heaven.

Beautiful.

Looking uphill from the back of the barn. 

 

The top of the barn, framed by swirling storm clouds.

The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low,
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.

The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.

The wagons quickened on the streets,
The thunder hurried slow;
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.

The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands

That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky,
But overlooked my father's house,
Just quartering a tree.
                                            ~ Emily Dickinson

It's Spa Day!

 

And the horses couldn't have been more thrilled! In fact, had they suddenly been blessed with the ability to communicate verbally, they could not have articulated more clearly how perfectly delighted martyred they felt at having been led away from their pile of hay to stand for the farrier. The entire enterprise was accompanied by deep sighs, face-making, half-hearted attempts (when they decided they were just soooo tired, too tired, in fact, to stand up) to lay on the farrier, and other minor bits of nonsense. Of course, my horses are simply too well-mannered and polite to engage in any real misbehavior (they pick up their feet when asked and never offer to kick, strike or bite), but because the day was warm and humid, all they asked of life was to be allowed to eat, drink and laze the afternoon away. Standing for the farrier represented work, and, as anyone who is owned by horses knows, equines avoid work most assiduously when possible, particularly on hot summer days.

  

Mr. "B" (our farrier said I could use pics of him as long as I didn't use his name. He simply doesn't need any more clients) works on Ben's right front hoof. Mr. "B" is an excellent farrier; he takes his time, lets me know if anything might be amiss, gives me suggestions on hoof care and never, ever loses his cool with the horses. Farriery is seriously hard work, and he does a fantastic job.

Ben having his back left hoof done and...

 ...making faces at me (I'm holding him) while Mr. "B" re-sets his back shoes. Ben is a really tall horse (17.1h), which tends to intimidate people; however, he is also one of the sweetest horses I have ever met. He just turned 24 years old this past April.

 Nicely trimmed feet.

Then it was Sally's turn...

Getting her in place. The Guineas seem concerned.

And the trimming commences. Mr. "B" uses a rasp to file down parts of the hoof.

Sally bears her fate with patient resignation. Actually, she's very nearly asleep.

Sally had thoughtfully rolled in some mud just prior to her appointment with the farrier and I didn't have time to brush it off, so she looks a little, well, muddy. At 25+ years old (at least), Sally is our Old Lady, but she still likes to go riding, provided she doesn't have to go very far, or move very fast. She has a very smooth, sweet little trot and is an all-around nice horse.

Here we are in the homestretch - last hoof that needed a trim and re-set, and then Sally was free to return to her stall where, along with Ben, she received several apple & carrot treats by way of compensation for the indignities visited upon her person, along with a couple of flakes of hay and a re-fill of her water bucket.

Ah. Life is good.

Can You Say...

...baby rooster?

I can!!! His hackle feathers are growing in and you can just see the pointy saddle feathers starting to fall over his back. He looks like he might mature into a good-looking boy, but time will tell. He's eleven weeks old today, but so far I haven't heard him crow, or even make an attempt at it.

The other chicks look to be pullets - this is the only one with such prominent and brightly colored comb and wattles. Sexing them by appearance is hardly the most reliable way to go about it; nonetheless, this one is a boy.

Remember those cute little Guinea keets? They're growing up into some seriously funny looking birds, and believe me, they are as entertaining as they appear. The scourge of ticks everywhere, they have been in a run adjacent to their coop for a couple of weeks, learning their "territory," preparing for the big moment when they will be allowed out to free-range and snap up every wretched biting bug and garden pest that they can get their beaks on. We finally arrived at suitable names for the six of them:

Gandalf
Galadriel
Gimli
Galen
Gareth
Gracie

We may have to revise their names if we find we have more than two females - which is a possibility - but for now, these are the names that our Guineas definitely do not answer to and in fact, elaborately ignore.

Ruminations

Made Fried Irish Cabbage (a jazzed up recipe) for dinner tonight, served with buttered noodles and a thick slab of homemade bread slathered with European-style butter (yes, there is a difference). 'Twas very, very good, and all of it real food, raised locally and obtained from clean sources.

This is how I make it:

Ingredients
1 12 - 14 oz. package bacon, no nitrates or nitrites, very little sugar
1/4 cup bacon drippings
2 cloves garlic
1 med. onion
1 large green pepper, chopped fine
1 large red pepper, chopped fine
2 large tomatoes, chopped
1 small head cabbage, cored and finely chopped or shredded
1/4 c. chicken broth
Ground black pepper/salt to taste

(Olive oil as needed)

Directions
Cook bacon in a deep skillet over medium heat until crisp, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove bacon from skillet and drain on a paper towel-lined plate. Reserve 1/4 cup drippings in skillet.
Saute finely chopped garlic, onion and green and red peppers in bacon fat until soft
Add chopped tomatoes
Add cabbage and cook over medium heat until cabbage wilts, 5 to 7 minutes. Add a dash of olive oil if necessary.
Add 1/4 c. chicken broth, combine all ingredients in skillet well. Cover and simmer for 10 minutes.
Add bacon back, crumbling over cabbage. Stir and simmer until bacon is warmed, 5 minutes. Season to taste with salt/black pepper. Serve over buttered noodles.

So.

I've been doing quite a bit of reading on the subject of natural healing. My paternal grandmother, who passed away in the 1980's, had an extensive knowledge of the medicinal use of food and herbs/spices, which, for some inexplicable reason, no one in her immediate family bothered to ever learn, preserve or pass down. My father and his siblings grew up wearing medicine bags - a practice they tired of and cast aside once they were grown and out in the world - but (oddly enough), they were rarely sick as children. Although Grandma was a Christian and this practice may have represented a bit of lingering syncretism (likely a legacy from previous generations), my understanding is that she chose to focus on the actual properties of the herbs, flowers, etc., she used in her healing work as opposed to seeing them in an esoteric light.

All that to say that, having fought a few recent battles with inflammation, and upon finding that I'm the object of affection of biting insects this summer (and no, DH isn't affected. Go figure. I'm covered in itchy welts and he is completely unscathed), I am rather more attentive than I typically am to the  possibilities conferred by the medicinal use of herbs and spices. None of this is actually new to me, but it may be time both to make a habit (in terms of practice) of what I do know and seek out new sources of information. I wish I knew what my grandmother knew.

Turmeric, for example, is a potent anti-inflammatory that also possesses antioxidant properties. It has evidently been the subject of a number of clinical studies attempting to ascertain its effect on various disorders. Early results seem promising. Ginger is another powerful anti-inflammatory/antioxidant. And of course, my seasonal favorite - blueberries! I picked enough to fill two buckets just the other day and plan to return before the month is out for another round - one simply can't eat too many blueberries. My opinion, of course. No one has to agree with me.

Disclaimer: I'm not a healthcare professional. I'm an artisan/educator, and I'm not making any recommendations, so let's get that on the record. OK? OK, good.

However, Hippocrates said "let your food be your medicine" (he was the same guy who also said "first, do no harm" - not in the Oath, but in the Corpus). Westerners have, for too long perhaps, allowed others to do their thinking for them where these matters are concerned. While there is a great deal of quackery out there, insisting on its cacophonous claims,  I believe there is much to be said for an informed review of the evidence for the use of God-given herbs, spices and other foodstuffs in the cause of wellness and good health.

And that's where it all stands at the moment - this moment - in time. More later.

Fallingwater

DH and I made a quick get-away a week or so ago (leaving the animals in the hands of a kindly and experienced temporary care-giver) and headed to Fallingwater for a couple of days. For those of you who may not know, Fallingwater is American architect Frank Lloyd Wright's masterpiece of organic architectural design. Surrounded by a woodland and situated over Bear Run Creek, the house features floors made from sandstone quarried on-site (ideas!) and is primarily fabricated from concrete and steel. Built by the Kaufmann family as a "cabin in the woods" in the late 1930's for $155, 000 (including the $8, 000 Wright was paid for his designs), the house was given, with artwork and furnishings intact, to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in the early 1960's.

I haven't been to Fallingwater in a very long time. It is still an amazing conceptual work of art. And the place smells great! - moss, trees, water, earth - the elements of nature, along with the arresting visual impact of the house, inside and out, combine to give the viewer a nearly complete sensory experience.

Plus - we were able to get away from the endless work and challenges (i.e. problems) here and actually relax. It was fun. And having fun is important.

Toad of Toad Hall...

...says 'allo!

This is one singularly unimpressed toad. I found him in the barn and followed him outside to digitally preserve his countenance for posterity, and although he proved a most cooperative subject, he seemed bored with the entire enterprise and hopped off shortly thereafter. Lest you think I have so much time on my hands that I must resort to photographing toads in order to feel useful and productive, allow me to disabuse you of this notion. I simply found my little toad friend visually interesting. I even like the word "toad."