At least I have Bee Balm

MAY, 2009 - Such great aspirations this Spring. The Cornish Rocks were coming along nicely and the wisteria was in full bloom. We managed to get the corn planted, along with the christening of our new scarecrow before I broke my ankle. I'm hard pressed to find either now because of the wicked Johnson grass.

JULY, 2009 - Despite the weeds, I have a profusion of Bee Balm this year, mixed in with the lilies, butterfly bush and wormwood. I really should cut back the Wisteria on the gazebo. It's getting to be a bit much, although it was loaded with blossoms this year.

Me and Sotomayor

Seems that I have a bit of time on my hands. I have broken my ankle. I don't know how Sotomayor broke hers, but mine is courtesy of the wildlife we enjoy. We look up at the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains with Skyline Drive on one side, and the George Washington National Forest on the other side. There are deer, fox, bear ... owls, blue herons, vultures ... possum, turtles and groundhogs - or should I say grrrr-roundhogs.

A couple of months ago I decided my blueberry bushes just HAD to be planted despite the fact it had been raining on and off all day. Our faithful Keeshond, Cody Bear, kept me company and didn't seem to mind the rain. All of a sudden, I heard a commotion in the barn. I knew I had closed the door and that the gates were locked. I could also see most of the horses had taken shelter. I thought I better check it out. Cody was not one to be left behind, so he made sure I was not alone. As I slid the door open, there, pretty as you please, was one of the biggest groundhogs I ever saw. It must be ol' Woody. His hole is right under the barn door so I thought "Trying to raid the horse bins again, huh? You better get back in your hole before Cody sees you." A "No, thank you very much." was what I got. Woody came running toward me and failed to notice Cody lurking behind my right knee. It was chaos! Ever try to get out of the way of a spitting groundhog and red-eyed Keeshond while trying to keep your balance in the mud and muck? Doesn't work.

I heard the cracking of my ankle and down I went. There's nothing quite like an eye-level view of a life and death struggle. I rolled over in the mud and got up on all fours only to find that I had placed myself squarely between the two. Woody had his teeth bared and was gasping for air. Cody was stunned to see me down on the ground with him, and for a brief moment there was peace in the valley. I stole a look back at Woody and he seemed to know this was his chance to beat feet. He quietly slipped off into the underbrush.

Needless to say, the garden didn't get finished this spring and what I had put in is now drowning in waist high weeds. The newly planted orchard remains unmulched, and the grass and weeds are taking over my beautiful rows of apple and cherry trees. I hobble out to the deck and try not to look at all the work waiting for me. And occasionally I catch a glimpse of Woody down by the barn, no doubt looking for his favorite new human. I wonder how Sotomayor is making out?

You're Invited

Bear with me. I'm new at this sort of thing. I'm hoping you will receive this personal invitation to drop by and check on my new blog. Me blogging???!! As if I don't have enough to do already. For prevous articles, click on Home at the end of this article and don't forget to mark your address book with http://www.hill-spring.com/. Welcome to our home.

Do Chickens Have Feelings?

I guess it all began with my grandparents; my love for animals, that is. Here's my grandmother Edith Knight, who married my grandfather William Whobrey. Grandma always had a flock of chickens, and Grandpa always had a collie dog. So I always wanted a flock of chickens. (I suspect the ones in the photo are Rhode Island Reds.)

As a young child I couldn't wait to explore Grandma's chicken house. I'd grab a couple of ears of corn and scatter the kernels onto the ground in an attempt to get my hands on those lovely, wiley hens. Didn't work. I love the 'Rhodies', Hamburgs, and Wyandottes, but above all, my favorites are Buff Orpingtons - in particular, one called Rose. She taught me much about her kind.

Here's where I should probably back up. My sister and I use to look forward to our annual vacation at Grandma and Grandpa's. Who knew what surprise awaited us. There could be chicks out on the back porch or in a cardboard box by the coal stove. Or kittens up in the loft of the old garage. But here I have to confess, that more than anything, I couldn't wait to see Lassie. Yes, I am a product of the 50's, and like so many others our age, we were introduced to the wonderful life of "Lassie" which aired every Sunday night. I might add this was about the only night Dad was with us so he would have to wait until we girls were satisfied that Timmy was once again saved by the smartest dog in the world. Gunsmoke and Maverick would have to wait.

Our Lassie was the sweetest dog ever. She greeted you with just as much love and excitement as Grandma and Grandpa would after our long, hot, challenging car ride to southern Illinois. (Remember, no air-conditioned cars back then.) I say challenging in respect to my folks. We girls were crammed into the back seat among pillows, new coloring books and crayons, and whatever else mom could think of to keep us busy. Inevitably, the fussing would start and the "Mom, she's looking at me." or "Mom, she's touching me." would start. Oh, did I forget the "Are we there yet?" Then before you knew it we were in Grandma's big soft hug, secretly bracing ourselves for Grandpa's poke-poke in the side.

After Lassie died, Laddie became the guardian of the farm. Grandma would write to me about his adventures; how he killed a snake in the back garden, how he patrolled the farm every day, and how he never seemed to gain any weight because he was so busy running everything off. Dinner for him was leftovers from the kitchen table with hunks of torn up Bunny Bread covered in sausage milk gravy. Today our animals are fed gourmet food produced in large factories and they are cared for as diligently as a physician would his own child.

While we spoil our animals at Hill Spring, we've TRIED to strike a balance. And that brings me to Rose. Rose is a lovely Buff Orpington that I purchased at a local county fair. She runs to greet me and often jumps up on my arm to fuss at me about the latest cache of grubs, worms and that nasty old rooster Hank (who she hates). Last year she hatched two beautiful little chicks. She was the proudest mama. I watched how she showed them to scratch the earth, preen their feathers, and cluck "no no ... BIG bumble bees are not good to eat."

I was down by the horse stable one day when all of a sudden my husband hollered that our dog had something yellow in his mouth. I ran to the hen house where I found to my dismay one of Rose's babies had accidentally slipped through the fence. I was heartbroken. Even though she saw us remove the body, Rose refused to stop looking for her chick. I felt so awful that I just sat down in the chicken yard. Then a remarkable thing happened. She came over to me, crawled into my lap and rested her head on my leg, being ever so still. She let me console her by allowing me to pet and talk to her ... or perhaps she was consoling me. I'm not sure which, but at that moment I began to wonder, "Are chickens more perceptive than we give them credit for?" I told my husband about what happened that day and he said, "You know, it's a chicken. Maybe you shouldn't tell anyone. They're going to think you're losing it, hon."

Keeshonden

Here are our kids. It's true when they say Keeshonden are not for everyone. They NEED to have a routine. They know when it's time to check on the chickens, when it's time for my husband to come home, and definitely when it's time to eat! Unfortunately, all that hair can be quite a challenge. Miss Dana loves to go for a swim down by the pond and follow it up with a nice roll in the horse manure. Then it's back to the pond. (Our incentive to remove all indoor carpeting.) Dutch has since passed on, but Cody Bear is more than able to take over. He's our ratter. He patrols the stable and chicken house diligently. Forget the cats ... he'll make sure not a mouse is left standing.

I do believe in fairies!

I often dreamt that some day I would be enjoying the peaceful solitude of the country, drinking in clear blue skies while sipping a cup of Earl Grey ... by a roaring fire, of course. The animals would be fat and content, trees heavy with fruit, and you'd be able to see the stars to eternity. Too much?? Well, one can dream.
I had come to the conclusion I was not cut out for city life. Dirty brick walls of Chicago bungalows and booming radios from constant traffic had me just plain worn down. Where were the overalls and the big straw hat that should have been in my closet? The only time I got to see wildlife was when I sat out on the front stoop about 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. The occasional racoon would wander up and down the sidewalk under the orange glow of city lights. Cats would yowl at each other in the back alley. And then it happened. My husband began muttering something that sounded like "early retirement". WooHoooo ... Now what? Where should we go? This required the help of a good fairy.
We had traveled to Wisconsin, Texas, Missouri, southern Illinois, and Kentucky looking for a place to build our retirement home, but we always ended up in Virginia. My family had its ancestral roots here. Some of the Whobreys, Norvells, and Buggs of Mecklenburg Co., VA could be found in the public records as early as the late 1600's. It was a possibility. The countryside was nice, but my husband had one important requirement. He wanted to see mountains, or big bluffs - anything but flat land! That's when we found the Shenandoah Valley. It was everything we wanted and more.
Hill Spring is our place, our home, and part of our life story. I'm hoping to drag you along with me and that you will share your expertise with me.  I certainly would appreciate some country wisdom, know-how, and foot-stompin' inspiration. I'm going to need all the help I can get. Thanks for dropping by! I just know we're going to have a great time.