Friday, June 27, 2014

A River Runs Through It


Flooding_2

and around it.

Flooding_3

Perhaps this post should more aptly be titled Island in the Stream.

We have had so much rain in recent days that the earth cannot possible absorb one more drop of water. It rushes down the hill behind Little Red in a torrent carving new pathways as it finds its way to lower ground. Little Red and her inhabitants anxiously hold their ground in the midst of the raging river.

Flooding_1

Today the sun is shining.  It appears we have a reprieve from the storms.  Hopefully we can dry out, at least a little, before the deluge begins again.

In the mean time, I hear sawing from the confines of the barn.

I think the The Kid is building an ark.

Photos courtesy of The Kid.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Mow Bird Down

A strange phenomena occurs when the residents of Little Red arrive in the Land Where the Dandelions Grow.  Instead of spending their days in the confines of the cottage they step outside and embrace the out of doors.

wBlue_reeds

The Kid in particular has developed an affinity for mowing.  He spends so much time on his tractors, yes there are two, that he has been dubbed "The Mow Bird" by our neighbors.  Not only does he mow our property but he is the self appointed grounds keeper of the BAA and keeps the lane trimmed to a respectable height.

Several days a week he fires up his tractor and can be seen bouncing along, lost in thought, intent on keeping the homestead neat and tidy.  There are times I am convinced he mows to avoid my chatter.

Two weeks ago things came to a crashing halt.

First the old Cub Cadet went down.  It's a relic of the past.  Its colors long faded.  Its ancient body riddled with rust.  But it mows, and is most often called in to service on rough terrain.

Two days later Big Orange went down.  With a 52" mowing deck and an engine that roars,  Big Orange is the powerhouse in The Kids fleet.

The old Cubby was shipped off to a near-by farm for an overhaul, while several "in-house" repairs were attempted on Big Orange.  Progress has been made.  Unfortunately, the problem looms larger than The Kid's ability to repair.  Off to the shop it must go.

In the mean time...it rains.  

And rains.

And rains some more.

The grass grows

and grows some more.

And the Mow Bird?

He sits idly by, watching and waiting for the call that gets him back in the saddle again.



Saturday, June 21, 2014

Monday, June 16, 2014

The Rabbit Report

wDaisy_down_under

I am sad to report that the bunnies are gone.

There were five not four.

Early one evening last week I noticed the nest was left uncovered by Mama bunny.  Temperatures were  scheduled to dip into the high 40s overnight.  I was certain they would be cold.

I took matters into my own hands.

Quietly I approached the little nest intending to replace the grace and hay that had been pushed aside.

I inched my way closer. Five pair of frightened bunny eyes watched my every move.

Then suddenly as I reached out towards the nest they bolted.

Five little rabbits running as quickly as, well rabbits, scattered to the wind.

Each one zig zagging across the yard at lightening speed.

And now they are gone.

I hope they are all okay.

I hope they are old enough to make it on their own.

I hope they didn't meet up with the neighborhood fox or coyote.

I hope my guilt dissipates soon.

I hope they stay out of my garden.


Friday, June 13, 2014

Where Do They Go?

Geese_swimming

Where do they go when they aren't here?

Is there a Walmart for Geese?

A McDonald's perhaps for those tired of their diet of grass and seeds?

Do they have a second home?

A second family?

Someone else who listens for the distant honking that signals their arrival?

And then curses them for their constant pooping.

I wonder,

Where do they go when they aren't here?


Thursday, June 12, 2014

Four

wMama_Bunny

I think there are four.

Four baby bunnies.

Four baby bunnies that will grow up to be rabbits.

Four baby bunnies that will grow up to be rabbits and get into my garden.

Four baby bunnies, one frightened Mama and one nosey grandmother type with a camera hiding in the window taking photographs of feeding time in the nursery.

Is there no decorum?

Four.

Aren't they cute?

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Spent

wyellow_daisy

Eventually the day comes when our time is spent.

What once blossomed, fades and whithers.

Yet it is the memory of what once was that we treasure

and carry with us always.

Monday, June 9, 2014

A Mexican Stand-Off

wMorning_light

For the second year running Mama Bunny has determined the perfect spot to build her nest and raise her tiny brood is nestled against the side of Little Red.

There is only one problem.

Miss Henna is not fond of Mama Bunny.

Every time Mama B. returns to tend to her family Miss Henna raises a ruckus.  From her perch on the bunks she sounds the alarm, notifying all who dwell within that wildlife is encroaching on the homestead.

Mama B. stops dead in her tracks and it becomes a Mexican stand-off of sorts.

I have noticed Mama B. sneaking around.  Hiding behind car tires, sliding boards, tall grass and trees.  Hoping to make the last mad dash to her babies undetected by the barking hound.

It rarely works.

Something has to give.

I've tried talking with Miss Henna.  She won't have it.

I've tried talking to Mama B.  I have encouraged her to nurse the wee ones under the cover of darkness.  She won't have it either.  Her maternal rabbit clock is set to some unknown schedule and the reset button is kaput.

And so the drama continues.  Twice a day.

Living in the country is a war zone.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Summer Morning

wwild_iris

Mornings this time of year are near perfection.

The tall grass along the water's edge is heavy with dew,

Bending and swaying in the gentle breeze.

The sun hangs low in the sky kissing the shore with a promise of the day to come.

On mornings such as this, all one has to do to see the beauty is open their eyes.




Friday, June 6, 2014

A Day on the River

wRiver_watchers_13

The Third Annual BAA Shenango River Kayak Expedition took place this week.  This event is typically sponsored by the Shenango Valley River Watchers group and is supported by 50-100 canoes and kayaks.

For one reason or another the group canceled this year's June event.

It was on receipt of this news, on an early morning walk, with a complete lack of caffeine in her system, someone  (I'm not mentioning any names but she lives at my address),  stated that "we didn't need an organized trip.  We were perfectly capable of doing this ourselves at a time that was most convenient."

A plan was hatched.  A date set.

That was the first mistake.

Yesterday was the day.  The weather was a mixed bag of sun and clouds with temperatures hovering in the low 60's with a light breeze.  (Remember this, it's important.)

I wish I could report that the trip was uneventful.

That awards given for the best near death experience (first and second place),

the most miles walked on a kayak trip,

and the pig-pen award for best belly flop into the mud were not necessary.

I would like to tell you all of that, but I can't.

It all happened, and within the first 30 minutes of a 3 1/2 hour excursion.

To start off the fun, yours truly found herself kayak-less and clinging to a downed tree for her life.  Up to her neck in river water while the swift current threatened to have it's way with her.  After what seemed life forever,  she managed to secure her footing and make her way to shore.

There was no grace involved in any of the maneuvers.  Not the ones that got me caught up in the swift moving current and sideways against the tree.  Nor the ones that resulted in my kayak filling with water and being swept out from under me. And especially not the ones that had me literally hanging on for dear life to said tree. No grace at att.  It was more like a panicked bid for survival and it wasn't pretty.

After making my way to the river bank, I stood dripping wet from head to toe wringing out my sweatshirt when I looked up and witnessed...

The Colonel following in my footsteps.  (I thought those military types were smarter than that.)  Somehow, he too managed to get caught up in the swift moving current ending up sideways against the tree.  Within seconds his kayak and paddle were floating downstream while he waged the same battle with tree and river that I had so recently fought.  He is taller and stronger than I and apparently more graceful (well, perhaps not, I believe flailing was involved) and soon made his way to shore while his kayak and paddle were corralled by our now slack jawed companions.

The result was two soaking wet kayakers, two swamped vessels, and several more gray hairs added to the overall collection.

After a short delay when kayaks were emptied and paddles returned to their rightful owners we were on our away again.

It only took ten minutes for the next crisis to unfold.  The Principal had an altercation with a protruding rock  The rock won.   She too found herself waist deep in the river and kayak-less.  Though her life was not endangered, she ended up walking not only down stream, but over hill and dale and eventually down main street before finally catching up with her swamped vessel.

It's true folks.  I can't make this stuff up.

Now there are three people soaking wet.  That is when the weather gods frowned.  The clouds rolled in and the breeze kicked up.  Did I mention the temperature was in the low 60s?  Felt like 30.

The long hard winter had taken it's toll on our little river.  Several large trees were down across the stream making navigation difficult and at times impossible, especially for the lone canoe in our band of merry travelers.  While the kayaks were able to squeeze around theses barriers the canoe could not and had to be portaged.

You see what's coming don't you?  MUD.

Thick, odorous, and deep.

It was on one such occasion the Coach found himself knee deep in muck and mud.  After successfully toting the canoe around the barrier, getting it back into the water became the challenge.  Spying the mine field of mud before her, his princess bride quickly scrambled to higher ground leaving the Coach to the dirty work.  Bravely he waded in and slowly he sunk, deeper and deeper into the muck.  Knee deep and apparently releasing the odorous gases that had been accumulating beneath for 20 years.

It took some finesse but he was able to work his way free, get the canoe back in the water and his bride safely aboard (dry and mud free I might add).  It was then that disaster struck.  While attempting to get himself back into the canoe he found himself with one foot in the boat and one in the mud.  Stuck again. It wouldn't budge. It was at that precise moment that the canoe shifted sideways launching him belly first into the mire.

It was an ugly sight.

But it certainly was funny.

The remainder of our trip truly was uneventful, but by the time we reached the finish line I was too cold to care.

After a very long and very hot shower I was able to put the day in perspective....

It was a memorable day on on the river.  I can't wait to see what next year brings.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Rhythm of the Rain

wBleeding_heart

The rhythm of the rain drifting through the open window whispered "stay in bed, stay in bed, stay in bed."

So I did.

One should always listen to the rhythm of the rain.