My Sippy-Nahs, My Sippy Heroes

That is how Marshall pronounces "Superman". He runs through the house jumping on and off anything he can find while yelling "Sippy-Nah!" Of course Jess is now following right along. The other day I was unable to leave the house before I tucked a blue and red shirt in his bibs to act as his cape. He points to himself and says "Jesse, Supa!" At eighteen months old, he is more sure of himself than I have been.

Maybe that changed today. While I sat in our backyard watching the boys play, I felt very strongly that I really am living my true dream. I want everything else to fall away as I turn my focus wholeheartedly upon my family. Sure, many things will change soon, and these little guys will grow, but we are here, and it is now, and I long to spend my time with my face buried in their necks and hearing their laughter.

White Mountain Week

Jess and Marshall each grew a foot taller while camping.

Grandpa is a hit, even without the Rhino rides.

Wow, I needed that...we all did. I love to push the reset button by camping.

Arizona is such a surprise. I never would have guessed it could have so much. You can go from hot, hot, dusty desert with ghost towns and leathery cowboys to cool, breezy, pine covered mountains with hidden chilly lakes, mossy craggy slopes, and miles and miles of eye soothing green.

My Chuckleheads

It is finally HOT here in AZ. We just returned from a week in the White Mountains (pictures to follow) to barricade ourselves in the air conditioning as we readjust to the triple digits. I love AZ. These few weeks of scorch are worth it!

The Silver Box

     Buddy and I  crouched in the breezeway of the old farmhouse. This one-on-one attention from him was strange and a bit scary.  Mom's boyfriend was a very intense man. He had the body and temperament of an overly stretched rubber band.  I listened intently as he spoke. "You must keep this a secret. We will work on this together. It is better to put thought and effort into a gift instead of spending money."

      Money wasn't something we had anyway. I didn't know or care. Living on the farm was rich with new experiences and the type of wealth that has nothing to do with money. We had food to eat, clothes to wear and a warm place to sleep at night. Simple. Beautiful.

     The theme that permeated every minute of every day was that of economy and self reliance. Nothing was ever wasted, and what was gained was only through hard work. One day Joseph (Buddy's son) and I tore pages from a coloring book to make a pretend fire. We wadded the pieces and threw them under a quilting frame because it looked like a fireplace to us. We were pretty proud of ourselves. When Buddy saw what we had done, all our toys were taken away for a long time. I never wasted anything after that. 

      From behind his back Buddy produced a small dingy object for me to see.  Mom's birthday was approaching and this would be her gift. He handed me an old toothbrush with some goop on it and showed me how to polish the box. As I scrubbed,  ornate details of silver scrollwork emerged from the tarnish of ages. An old silver soap box eventually came back to life...and what? I don't remember. Did I give it to mom? Where is it now? Not important.

     I remember the important things from the experiences. 

Waste Nothing. Use Thought and Effort.

Whoa, where did the time go?

Jess is a great help in the garden.

Tomatoes, ready to plant.

The corn is planted in my tiny garden spot....

Jess and Marshall enjoy the last of the winter garden...

If you want carrots like these, plant them and neglect to water them.

Okay, enough of the picture book. These are pics from February, so I need to update. The corn is 6 feet, sunflowers are around 9 feet tall. It is amazing what consistent watering will do for a plant.

I had a life-changing experience back in March while attending a garden seminar. Seriously. I feel I have been set free. With my new understanding of vegetables and "organic" gardening, I have high hopes for this season's plantings. The seminar was based on Jacob Mittlieder's method. Find out about it at www.foodforeveryone.org

Now that my plants are producing, and I took care of the skunk problem...what the heck is running off with my veggies? Two bell peppers and two tomatoes are missing without a trace.

 I suspect it is a raccoon this time.

The Two-Seater

     I was in a restaurant one time in a small town in Arizona. It was one of those home-cookin'-ma-and-pa types. As I reached to open the bathroom door, an old woman and her daughter opened it and walked out. She chuckled as she told me it wasn't a "two-seater" and added "you are too young to know what that means!" 

 

As a child, I wasn't the least bit bothered by the lack of indoor plumbing at the Cooley Farm. It's probably because everything was so well done. We did have a hand pump that brought up water from the well in the kitchen. I do not remember bathing, except in the creek, which pleased me to no end. And the two-seater was very clean.

A breezeway had been added on to the farmhouse at some point and this attached to the indoor outhouse. Sounds smelly, I know, but it wasn't. Someone knew what they were doing. I think it sloped and drained away from the house.  It had two holes cut in the bench so two people could go at the same time.

My best memory involves two colors; Cobalt blue, and Whelp red. The interior of the outhouse was painted a brilliant, cheerful Cobalt. The "Whelp red" was from the butt comparison that Walt and I did in the outhouse one day after a good switchin' by mom and her willow branch.

Raising Them Right

Someday, M will be ready for pedals, and some trail riding.

 I can and can't wait for that day!

Kurt and the boys hang out while I do the 7 mile loop at my favorite trail.

A Fast Begins

     Although I have been avoiding the news and tv for a few weeks now, I think I will make it official and begin a NEWS Fast. Four years is my goal. This is the perfect day to start. No one will have the opportunity to tell me how they think I should think. When I have taken a step back in the past, the absurdities spewed from the mouths of the worthless, condescending media were absolutely jaw-dropping. I couldn't abide the clarity of mind in the past, but I feel I am now up to it.

Just Like Riding a Bike

    

 I finally got back on the trails today.

 It's time.

 Jess will soon be 8 months old and the baby weight has got to go!

 It's more than fitness I seek.

There are answers out there in the desert, there's peace, too. 

I left a piece of myself out there when I became pregnant with Marshall over three years ago.

 Now it's time to go out there and find it.

Incidentally, I ride a Santa Cruz Superlight...and her name is "Yes."

A Post with Practically No Foul Language

This may be what I get for saying that I refuse to give up on gardening, saying that I refuse to get discouraged... 

The other day, I went outside and cut some lettuce and picked a few beans. I trimmed my herb garden so it would grow full and not get leggy or go to seed too soon. There's a pretty little rosemary, a few thyme, cilantro, melissa, and some scented geraniums. The basil smelled rich and buttery, the chamomile like honeyed apples.

 

 The aromas of the fresh herbs lifted my spirits, I returned to the house with a lighter step. I felt thankful for my sweet little garden growing magical charms to change my mood. 

The very next day, this is what I found...

Holes a foot deep, plants thrown to the side or buried topside down. It looked like a rototiller had run across my herb garden, through the veggie patch and even torn up our grass.

For the next two nights, the damage got worse. The mystery creature(s) kept coming back. It was giving me the creeps because our yard is surrounded by block fence. I could not figure out what would do this amount of damage without a sound. It looked like a pack of dogs had run wild.

AZ Fish and Game said it was most likely coyotes. They love the manure in freshly planted gardens. 

Javelina (nasty, mean, hairy desert pigs) couldn't get over our wall. They are usually the culprits.

Bobcats are common.  I found evidence of pack rats. They had hoarded a bunch of mesquite pods in an old camp stove out there. 

I did a little searching and feel pretty confident now that it was skunks They were digging for grubs. I wish I could shoot the SOB's. I would stay up all night for the chance if I wasn't sure it would end BADLY. All I can think to do is add some fine wire mesh to the gate and drains to secure the perimeter. Know any tricks?

Last night the smell of skunk woke me up at 2am. I diffused essential oils and finally got back to sleep 4 hours later. I'm mad just thinking about it.

So, if I look on the bright side,  there are two good things. I have learned just how secure I will need to make my dream garden. With all the battles I have fought this summer, I know it will need to be caged completely. Birds, jack rabbits, coyotes, javelina, deer, bobcats, pack rats and ground squirrels are all looking for a meal. The other thing is, now I don't have to buy the expensive grub-killing soil amendment. 

Forget the bright side, I'm still mad.

Dump Shopping

     We lived on very little money in New Hampshire. Most things we needed were created on the homestead or bartered for with neighbors. Cordwood was traded for gasoline to put in the car we rarely used. We went to a community center and traded clothes with other families. We made old things new. 

     Another thing we did is what I like to call "dump shopping." It is pretty self explanatory. It wasn't the sort of smelly dump that you might think of. I would have remembered a bad smell. What I do remember is enormous piles of stuff mixed in with sticks. maybe it was going to be burned. We crawled across the treacherous mounds of tangled trash and found treasures to take home.On one occasion, Walt found many pieces of a metal Erector Set, and I found a damaged dollhouse.

         I was too young to understand how this might have been perceived by the world. It was like going shopping, only I could actually HAVE anything I could find. 

     I have more to say about this, but the words aren't coming. Part of me, a big part, misses that freedom. Freedom from shame.  Freedom from societal pressures.  The freedom of a VERY simple life.

The Bridge House

Through a tunnel of gold, rust, and red foliage I saw the Bridge House for the first time. Sitting on the right hand of the road, it was cradled by birch and sugar maple trees and surrounded by a thick stone wall of about three feet high. 

We entered the house from one of the ends that had been boarded up, and a door added. I think the other end had a window. Inside it was dark and hard to see. As my eyes adjusted, I could see there stretch a loft above and a rough wooden floor below. 

I sat on a creaky wooden chair in the kitchen spot with my mittens still on and spied the stone wall outside. I wasn't looking through a window. I was looking through the gaps in the weathered wooden boards that made the old covered bridge. I thought for sure I would freeze to death in this place. But like most homes in the area, the Bridge House was equipped with a wood burning stove that made everything toasty. It was very much like being in a barn-sans the animal smell. On days when the sky was clear and bright, the open slits allowed the sun to squeeze its blinding beams across the floor in a stripped pattern.

The creek may have been diverted, because the bridge no longer sat on water. But more than likely, the entire bridge had been moved by some historical landmark lover or an artsy, frugal hippy. Whoever spent the time to do such a thing has my gratitude. It was the sort of experience one reads of in fairy tales, and for several years, drawings of the Bridge House flowed from my hand. 

 

Crawling

                                                                     Jess is crawling! 

Thinking About My Freedom

I snipped this from an email...not sure of the author.

A veteran is  someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check Made payable to  'The United States of America ' for an amount of 'up to and including my  life.' That is Honor, and there are way too many people in This country  who no longer understand it.' 

My Heroes

This was pure Marshall, he just knew how to pose. When he first put on his suit, he stood in front of the mirror admiring his cape and his muscles. 

It took some doing, but I stuffed Jess into this costume. The boy is a tank!