What Comes Next?



Saturday, November 12, 2016

It has been a difficult week. I’m not saying this to be cliché. I am broken to the depths of my soul, and I would be remiss to pass over the events of the past week with drivel about the plumbing, yard work, etc.

This country is wrecked. People are scared, emotionally charged, and hurting. If you don’t believe me, check your Facebook feed, watch the news, read the paper. Change is coming and it’s not going to be pretty or comfortable, or even safe. This is not a political blog, and it won’t move in that direction.   But, I’m not going to tiptoe around my beliefs. I am a feminist, a humanist, and a generally compassionate person, and I am afraid. We elected the school bully to our highest office, and his stated agenda paints a terrifying picture of life to come. For all of us.

I am not alone in my fear. My daughter, her women friends, my women friends, and my LGBTQ friends are afraid. I am worried about the state of my friends with disabilities, my friends whose skin color isn’t “lily white,” and those whose families came from another country. I am worried about the environment. I am worried about the future.

My life on this earth won’t last forever, but the choices made in my name and yours, will follow us like a python stalking it’s prey. This isn’t about “my candidate” loosing the election. I have suffered the disappointment of defeat before. This is about this person’s well-documented plan as to how he will alter the course of history. It will be more than a “bumpy ride” for the next four years. We are in for trouble.

In the hope of solidarity, strength, and safety from persecution, I wish us all the resolve we need to move forward.


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Magical Summer



Wednesday, September 7, 2016

For the most part, we live a fairly unremarkable existence here at the farm. We tend to the things that need tending to, which means that we stay busy. I’ve mentioned this before. We are mindful of the weather and the changing of seasons and all that brings. We mow the grass, weed the flower beds, tend the garden, prune errant bushes, pick the fruit, do the laundry, fix things that need fixing, and attempt to clean up after ourselves. We have grown complacent with this life. But this summer something else happened. This magical series of events interspersed themselves with the usual goings on and turned an otherwise mundane season into a time of great anticipation, and life.

We had company. Dear friends and family members came to visit. This is not a small or insignificant thing. These people of ours came from near and far. They came to visit us ON PURPOSE. Many had not been to the farm in years.

Before each of these groups of folks arrived, they admonished me NOT to “cook or go to a lot of trouble.” As much as I understood their intent, I really did want to cook. Their presence gave me reason to cook. I had things I wanted to make, and things I wanted to serve to more than the usual three of us. Placing food on the table, for us to share, gave me the opportunity to gaze upon their beautiful faces, listen to their voices, and marvel at the wonder of it all, as we ate our meals together. They brought joy and life to our corner of the world. Their stories, their words, and their laughter breached the disconnect that sometimes makes its way into our lives.   To say that this presence graced us is an understatement. It made our summer. For me, and for my family, this IS the life in life.


My kids…….all of them……biological or not


Duplos and kids


Journaling for his school, back in Australia


My cousins, my kids, Dad, Stella, and I


“This is the track that Dad built.”


My cousin and I baked a cake while the rest of the group went on what I refer to as a: “death drive.” (More than a “three hour tour.”)


A birthday cake for my brother-in-law, who came to see us on his birthday!

And to those who I have no photos, Neil and Jenny, Don and Wendy, Jon and Trish, Dick and Helen, and John and Karen, a heart-felt thank you for coming to visit. The gift of your presence meant (and means) the world to us.  Thank you for gracing us.





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The Dog Days of Summer


Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Summer is a good time for our wonderful Stella. She likes warm weather. The hot weather doesn’t seem to be quite as enjoyable for her. As we say, a black dog in the sun is much hotter than a lighter colored dog. This is not just our made-up logic. Pups, the neighbor dog, who has black fur, is always much hotter than her counterpart, the White Dog.

I digress. I was discussing Stella the Wonderful. She enjoys a temperate climate. We are happy to offer that to her, here at the farm, in the beautiful Willamette Valley.


Resting on the patio

She is fortunate. There are many reasons for her good luck, but in this instance it really pertains to our myriad collection of things related to leisure. We have lawn furniture to rest on. These pieces of outdoor furniture are not in the sun. In addition, they have provided a comfortable place to rest for EVERY dog that has ever come to the farm. All dogs, past and present, seem to know that these are provided for their enjoyment and relaxation. If we should happen to have company that are inclined to park themselves on said outdoor furniture, Stella is a polite hostess and simply sits with them, usually in their lap. Because EVERYONE loves Stella, this works out pretty well for her. She is quite comfortable sitting in the lap of someone, and they simply put up with a little discomfort in favor of being snuggled by a sweet dog.


A favorite lap to lay on


Another great napping spot

We also have copious amounts of lawn and grass, some concrete, (it provides a sort of radiant warmth to a dog) and then there is the gravel driveway.


A nice warm patch of concrete to rest the old bones

It goes without saying that in unpleasantly hot weather, there is the bed in the house. This would be our bed. Nice and comfy. So many choices for naps. Most days, this quandary of where to rest is solved by moving from one location to the other.


A nice pre-bedtime nap

But, the all time favorite discovery of the summer revolves around the wheelbarrow. Craig happened to be up in the shed fooling around with various things and with the wheelbarrow. He happened to put Stella’s car dog bed into the wheelbarrow. Stella, looked at the wheelbarrow, looked at Craig, and looked at the wheelbarrow. He asked her if she wanted to get in the wheelbarrow. She jumped in. He proceeded to wheel her around. Up and down the driveway. She enjoyed the ride, and a new activity was born. Yes, she does live a charmed life, but then again, life with Stella charms us maybe more than it does her. It is just the way it works, and we couldn’t be happier.


Wheelbarrow rides.  Who could resist?


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Come for the Chicken, Stay for a Swim.

Friday, August 19, 2016


We have been gifted with two quite remarkable things this summer. We’ve had some pretty mild and pleasant weather and we’ve also had a fair amount of company. The first of these facts is remarkable because we live in Oregon and, in spite of that fact, these events somehow happened simultaneously. Dependably nice weather, aka not raining, is hard to come by in these parts. Knowing that we were going to have company, and knowing that our seating arrangements for a dinner-time experience are limited, I bought a couple of plastic folding tables, made a couple of tablecloths and some table runners, and waited for the guests to appear.


My new tablecloth and runners!

It is a known fact that I like to cook. It is also quite true that I like to cook for the masses. With all of these things coming together at once, it has made for a lovely summer of eating on the patio with friends and family. It is also possible that these events allow the odds to be stacked a little more in my favor as to menu selection as the majority rules, with entrée selection. In other words, the pickiest eaters in my group are directed to eat around the objectionable items, such as kale salad or chocolate cake.

But all this joy is not meant to happen without a downside. Like many folks, our summers of blissful dining al fresco seemed to be plagued by the damnable yellow jackets. They infiltrate our somewhat peaceful existence and seem to cause a level of distress among diners that make for anything but a relaxed mealtime. And then there is the ever-present fly swatter that my dear Dad likes to use as the second line of defense against these beasts. His first option is the brown bag. He uses a small, sack lunch-sized bag, blows air into it so that it is full, uses a string or twist-tie on the end, and sets in the bushes somewhere near where we are eating.  This is supposed to mimic a wasp’s nest, which is supposed to frighten the yellow jackets away. If you ask me, there is NOTHING that frightens a yellow jacket.

In order to avoid Dad’s third choice in the eradication of the yellow jackets, which would be insecticide, I have my own plan. I have done this for years and I have pretty good luck. It does pair nicely with my own personal hospitality goals, even though it results in the untimely demise of our uninvited dinner guests.

I have a moderate selection of plastic containers that have been given a second life prior to their toss into the recycle bin.


Yellow jacket traps in the clothesline.  Redneck, but effective.

If need be (in the case of the ketchup bottle) I cut the top off, so that I have access to the inside.  I poke a hole in each side close to the top of the container.


Yellow jacket trap


I thread a bamboo skewer through this hole, and attach a raw or cooked (small) piece of meat to this skewer with a twist tie. I put a couple of inches of apple cider vinegar, and a drop or two of liquid dish soap (to break the surface tension) and set these around up high…..near where we are eating…..but not within reach of any kids or curious adults. (or possibly Stella, although she hasn’t seemed interested)  The yellow jackets arrive. They eat. This meal weighs them down. In their attempt to leave my little diner of sorts, the take-off maneuver begins (and ends) with a downward fall. They land in the water. Since they don’t swim, they don’t leave. Ever.


Yellow jacket trap with “guests” taking an eternal swim.

And, there you have it. If, in fact, you wish to try my “kountry method” of pest control, I’ll pass on a couple of helpful hints:

  1. I have been known to stockpile fatty meat remnants for just such events.
  2. I have also used our apple cider in the traps when I have been desperate. (or, out of apple cider vinegar….or both)
  3. You do need to re-bait the traps every 24 hours. The vinegar continues to work, the meat seems to loose it’s “attractiveness.”
  4. Use plastic covered twist ties. It makes #3 much easier.
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It’s Summer (the livin’ is not always easy)

Friday, August 12, 2016


So far, it’s been a fairly uneventful summer for us. This could change, a fact that we are all too familiar with. To date, we have dealt with the demons that have reared their ugly heads, worked through the annual tasks, and enjoyed the respite from the crises that lie on the horizon, hidden from our view.

We’ve done the standard things. We went to the Alien Festival parade in McMinnville.




Alien float


More parade highlights


“LoveBomb Gogo”  They make an annual appearance in the parade.  We love them.

It will come as no surprise that it’s an annual favorite with a majority of the Daisies. Personally, I have only missed one or two parades over the last 17+ years. Dad might not be a fan, so he and Stella stayed home and watched TV. This year it rained on our parade. A. Lot. Of. Rain. We bought plastic bag rain ponchos. This is Oregon, and these events realize the state of our weather and the vendors come prepared.


Craig and I.  I’m wearing my rain poncho.  It was a typical Oregon day. (rainy)

We visited my dear Mother-In-Law over Memorial Day weekend. She was in the process of having a garage sale and purging her stash of wool fabric, and the stash of many of her friends. Dad and I shopped her sale, and we each came home with “a little something.” Actually, Dad came home with a large garbage bag FULL of wool.


The garage sale!

This led into an extended session of rug braiding that began the second we arrived home and continues to this day.


Step #1 – sorting


Cut into strips


More sorting


Sewing the strips together

I suppose it goes without saying that we have been dealing with fruit. We had a nice (small) crop of strawberries, a larger spring crop of raspberries, and cherries. The raspberries are picked every three days, and to date we (actually, Dad) have picked 75 pints of berries.


Dad, picking the pie cherries

We have six cherry trees, all of them a different variety. They ripen at different times, which means: picking for days. And in years where our luck is not so good, the rain pays us a visit. This issue of inclement weather causes a lot of worry in our house. There is concern that the rain will split the cherries and the crop will be no good. This does happen. We also have some “nervous nellies” who want things picked regardless of their degree of ripeness, just so the fruit is off the tree when the rain comes. I am not one of these people. I take issue with freezing cherries that are sour, but should be sweet. My people are aware of this philosophical difference of opinion that we seem to have. This year the Mount Morency, (pie cherries) and the Lamberts didn’t suffer this fate. The Bings were mostly eaten by the birds, as were the Vans and Lapins. Again, this is pretty much an annual occurrence and it does cause a lot of concern. The Rainiers, which are the last to ripen, succumbed to the rain this year, and split. They were picked anyway and given to me with the admonishment that they were split, but okay. The splits were not okay. They were beginning to mold. They were unfit for human consumption, and I brought up this little issue.   I had a better idea.


Dealing with the cherries that were okay

Let’s just say that sometimes these things that are a problem for others, aren’t such a problem for everyone, or for me. I put the split cherries into a bucket and used them for a dye bath for a couple of my clothesline baskets. It appears that after years of fooling around with natural dyeing, I managed to make this dye almost “fast,” which means I don’t think they will bleed if they get wet. This is a BIG deal. (FYI Judy – I pre-washed with washing soda, used a salt water soak as a pre-mordant, and then dyed with the semi-strained liquid dye)   I’m pretty happy with the color, and am contemplating doing a little more dyeing later this summer. You know I can’t resist the Queen Anne’s Lace. Lovely fragrance. Lovely pale green color.


Making the dye bath


Cherry (with a little raspberry) dyed basket

Life would not be our version of “normal” without the usual repair work. The weather station ceased to give us the information we needed to know. This led to work that we would rather not see being tackled by people over a certain age. We are of an ilk that are absolutely aware that what goes up must come down, and a roof is one of those places where a rapid descent makes for a shortened lifespan. This task was completed without incident, and said weather station is now working properly.


Up on the roof.  Weather station repair.

We dealt with trees who failed to produce, or continue to exist, for that matter. After succumbing to whatever malady that befell them and the previous two to three sets of trees who preceded them, we unceremoniously jerked them out of the ground with the merciful help of the tractor. We hope this is something the other trees who are standing nearby will take note of. On a more serious note, there is bad juju in the soil in that area. We have not had good luck with any of the trees planted there. Personally, I think it is time for the trees to go and garden beds to take their place. Not all the farm-based Daisies agree with this idea. I guess we’ll just have to see what the next season brings.


And with that, the dead tree left the farm.

We live in an older house. This means there are occasional plumbing issues. And by occasional, I might mean they occur more frequently than some believe the word “occasional” refers to. We deal with some of these things, and others we pretend to ignore. As you might suspect, this only works for us on an “occasional” basis. One of the most common occurring situations would be the line that runs from the house to the septic tank. Continuous lengths of pipe apparently didn’t exist at the time this house was built. This is an uneducated guess on my part, and my second guess is that the way many small pieces of pipe were originally placed end to end, is the way it “was always done,” and so ended up being done here in the land where fate is not tempted by change.


Dad surveying the plumbing situation.

All this aside, we have trees whose roots seem to be attempting to find nourishment in the small spaces between said pipes. The trees really have this battle all wrapped up, and some of us do know that. We have a plan for this situation. With many thanks to Rotor-Rooter, we are able to fight back with a vengeance and a giant 4 inch plumbing snake with a voracious Amazonian piranha-like attachment on the end, that makes history (at least for another 12-15 months) of this usurping of the soon to be “night-soil” in the making. And so, Roto-Rooter became one of our visitors to the farm, this summer. This young lad with the nastiest of jobs solved one of our two plumbing problems. As for the unsolved, it’s one of those things we’ll just pretend to ignore.


The issue that refused to be “fixed.”

And jumping to a happier subject, this year brought more cakes into our lives. We have summer birthdays here at the farm. Dad turned 92 in June, and Craig had his big day in July.


Dad’s 92nd Birthday Cake.  It’s an Angel Food cake with Seven Minute Frosting and gumdrop flowers.  It’s a tradition that I don’t change up. Ever.


Craig’s cake.  Chocolate cake with raspberry filling and mocha frosting.

We visited friends who also celebrate a July birthday, and I took the opportunity to make another cake.


John’s birthday celebration


A close-up of the cake.  (It’s a fondant flower!)

But, the best of all was the wedding of my dear neighbor’s daughter who got married at their house on July 8. I was honored to be the cake baker.


There was a lot of multi-tasking going on during the wedding cake decorating.


These projects tend to overtake my limited amount of space.


Making flowers.


So. Many. Flowers.

It was a lovely evening with a small group of family and friends in attendance. I thought the cake turned out pretty well, and as it should be, the love and joy that surrounded that day, wrapped its magical embrace around each of us. The day was a highlight of the summer for me. I wish this lovely couple a lifetime of happiness together. Seeing the joy in their faces, I know in my heart, this is exactly what the future holds for the two of them.


The wedding cake!



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Wild. Life. Or, Ode To The Other Residents Of The Farm (aka: “We are not alone”)


Monday, August 1, 2016


Our friend, the scrub jay, surveying the neighborhood

We have long known that there are other folk who also call the farm, “home.” We think that most of those beings are creatures of a more nocturnal persuasion than we happen to be, at least at this point in our lives.  We know they are here because they have left their calling cards, which have provided Stella (and those dogs who came before her) countless hours of work as it relates to farm security, not to mention, intestinal distress. But, we’re not going to talk about that. And then there have been those unfortunate times when our animal frenemies have passed through the yard in the daytime, which never seems to end well for them, or for us.


Dad, multi-tasking.  He would be eating a plum that he picked while mowing.


A squirrel, living dangerously, by being inside the fence when dear Stella may or may not be on patrol

Because we are a naturally curious bunch not to mention cautious, (and also not to mention, thrifty) we have stationed game cameras around the property. We use these to keep track of the nighttime traffic, and I would possibly be talking about both the two and four-legged variety, but for reasons that I think are based solely on luck, (and, perhaps Stella) we haven’t seen much of the two-legged kind. One of these cameras is positioned at the front gate, which is one of the few places where the fence doesn’t actually touch the ground. This gap of about four inches seems to be a very hospitable sized opening. So, it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to us that the local wild life have taken great advantage of this breech in the perimeter. Our nightly visitors consist of raccoons, skunks, cats, deer and the occasional possum.


A racoon taking a casual stroll.


Mama racoon who’s back with the whole family.


A skunk


Kitty cat


Another more cautious kitty


That’s a deer

And then there was the mystery animal. This little fellow (or gal) didn’t look like anything else we had ever seen. With its pointed nose, thin tail, and squat body it looked to me like a javelina. (wild pig native to southern Arizona) I surmised that unbeknownst to us, it had stowed away on the Hag as we left the desert. Of course, that isn’t what happened, and it did take us a while to establish identity on this night visitor.


I believe in giving credit where credit is due. So to our friends Dick, retired from ODF & W (Oregon Division of Fish and Wildlife) and Bill, his also retired boss, thank you for identifying our mystery animal. It is believed that said intruder was, in fact, a small grey fox. We have only seen it once, but we’ll be watching.


Some visitors are in a hurry, like this possum.


Some visitors come for dinner.  We like them.  Especially when it’s locally sourced.  This is Oregon, after all.

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Happiest of Birthdays Dear Stella


A birthday collar for the birthday girl


Sunday, May 1, 2016

It is said that for any great event to occur, many small but not so insignificant things must first happen in a specific order at a given time. We are witness to this. One year ago our dear Stella the Wonderful came into our lives under a fateful set of circumstances. We had lost our beloved Wiley, while at the same time things were coming unraveled in Stella’s life. While we mourned, this grand plan was put into place, putting her on a trajectory towards us and us towards her. I count this as a gift of the highest order. Truly, the universe unfolded to bear witness to the evidence that miracles do exist and one was coming our way.

Many folks would shudder at the premise of a “mere dog” being a gift or a miracle. To those people I would simply say, you obviously haven’t loved a dog, or a cat, or a horse, or anyone of a different species. An animal friend gives you insight into another world. Each of you learns something from the other. You forge a language together that only the two of you speak. You have a comrade in your daily doings, and at the very deepest level you are blessed with the understanding of what compassion truly is all about.


So on this day, the day our dear Stella rose from death’s doorstep and remained with the living, we celebrated her. Obviously, we don’t know when her actual birthday is. She’s not talking about the past, so we picked this day, May 1, a day with meaning for all of us. While we labored with yard work, she moved from tree to tree and watched over us.


She visited with her neighbor dogs. She played Frisbee.


She’s FAST!


She likes to shake that frisbee like a…..skunk, I guess.  And then she likes to have a good chew.

She ran.


Yes, it’s a rather formidable look, but she pulls it off pretty well.

She napped.


We refer to this as “the dead dog in the gravel” look.


It seemed appropriate, on this special day, that our dining menu should feature the one food she will TAKE FROM THE TABLE. That would be hot dogs. Today I actually hand-fed her a hot dog, side-skirting the imprinting of theft. She’s a very polite little lady, so quite fortunately, this unbecoming thievery only occurs when this delicacy is in her presence. And I’m happy to say, that doesn’t happen very often. (RIP Jack, the thug who firmly believed that what was ours was his and what was his was his. He was known to create a diversion and seeing we had left our food unattended to deal with the ensuing crisis, would circle back and eat what was left unguarded.) I digress. Truly, I digress. We are well trained and are much the wiser for it.


Mmmmmm…….hot dogs…..

We also had Raspberry Champagne cupcakes in all their pink splendor, and I made some to take to our angels at Aumsville Animal. Her life is a celebration for them, too.


Ok.  Pink and Buttercup splendor.

The moral of this story:

I do believe if you are patient and alert, your reward will come in the form of miracles and life changing events. The message is pretty clear. Let your heart lead the way and good will follow you all the days of your life.

From all of the Daisies to all those who brought us this one-year anniversary of the day Stella lived,

Thank You




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