2000 Flushes

You may not recall this, but my bathroom is decorated in a peacock theme. I don't judge you for not remembering that, I wouldn't remember your bathroom colors either. Only my former sisters-in-law, Patty and Tina, remember things like that so they can buy you something that matches for Christmas. They were trained by Betty, their mom, and she was the best. The rest of us are just human. Or guys.

Anyway, being in the house by myself means that the bathroom stays clean for a longer time. It usually always sparkles (unless Wesley has been shredding toilet paper that week) except for the toilet. We have hard water in Sloughhouse and the minerals leave a stain, a noticeable orangey ring, around the water line.

The neighbor across the road recommended scrubbing the stain with a pumice stone. Well, that sounded boring, and possibly more work time than I cared to devote to a toilet. So I got this instead.

AUTOMATIC Toilet Bowl Cleaner. High tech. Too cool. Makes your toilet look like a movie star's swimming pool. All I had to do was lift the lid and drop in the two big pellets.

Except things don't work that way in the country. And 40 minutes later the bathroom looked like this.

That's sand in the bowl. When I lifted the lid I found half an inch of sand on the bottom of the water bowl. Sigh. That means I hadn't lifted the lid since I had replaced the old water pump that was sucking sand into the system.

So, before I could just drop the pellets in, I had to take the sand out.

I turned off the water hose at the bottom of the toilet. Like all the faucets on this place, it would not turn off completely without breaking. So I bailed water as fast as I could. I'd try swishing the sand around and mixing it with the water, but it was too heavy and settled right back down to the bottom. I got the baster from the kitchen and tried to suck it up that way.

In the end I got most of it. It took 90 minutes. This is what I got. See those gold flecks? Click on the picture and look closely. Remember, this is California and I live downstream from the Gold Country.

In California you can even find gold in your toilet!

Fool's gold, that is, iron pyrite.

It took another 30 minutes to clean up all the mess and I finally got to "just" drop the pellets into the tank. The effect was interesting. First, the waterline was now below the stain line, I must have jiggled something. But now, with the turquoise water and the orange line around it...

...it looks like the eye of a peacock feather (refer back to the first picture if you will).

As a side note, when John stopped by later in the day I told him about my project. He lives in a trailer park now, where I'm sure life is much easier than it was for him here in the country. I mentioned how the faucet wouldn't turn completely off, and how hard it was to bail water fast enough. He said, "You just pull the plunger up and sweep that stuff down the hole."

"NO! The top of the water was at least 4 inches deep," I answered, "the plunger thing is 4 inches high, there's still a lot of water below the top of it." When we were married, I got so tired of him talking to me like I was stupid.

"But you can lift it from the bottom and the whole mechanism moves up," he sneered. Okay, maybe he didn't sneer. Maybe that was just in my mind.

I AM stupid, evidently.

This is a farm breakfast?

Maybe it's not a typical farm breakfast, but it's what I eat at least twice a week. The other days I have scrambled eggs because, as you know, I have lots of free eggs.

I have followed a low carb diet ever since I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes in 2007. I have no problem staying on it because it works very well for me (last A1C, 5.1). I take no medication. Why would I trade that for a donut?

The breakfast above is one of my favorites. I buy a slab of bacon ends and pieces instead of regular sliced bacon. It's much cheaper. I throw the equivalent of about 5 pieces of bacon in the pan and when it starts to brown I add onions and mushrooms. When that's almost done, I throw in 2 cups of salad mix with kale, spinach, broccoli and some other greens in it and stir it around for just a minute, then throw it onto a plate. Sometimes I add a little chopped tomato at that stage.

God knows, it's good! I know God created bacon. If you've read the Bible, you know there are several references to the priests throwing select pieces of meat on a grill so the scent would waft to Heaven. I think this meat was bacon. God didn't want the people to eat all the bacon, it was too special. So the Jews and Muslims were told not to eat it. The sons of Ham were cursed because they were in charge of making bacon, but wouldn't give it to anyone else. Why else would be call a pig's butt ham? (That's my interpretation, and I'm sticking to it.)

Too bad. I'm sure there would be peace in the Middle East if all those people had bacon for breakfast. Bacon and eggs. Or a BLT for lunch. Bacon makes everything better.

There are places in the U.S. where Denny's is more hallowed than some of the churches. This is because of bacon. There are no bacon scents wafting from the churches. And where do a lot of parishioners go right after Sunday services? To breakfast!!!

Don't lecture me about cholesterol. Mine is 123. Beat that, and you can talk to me. Don't lecture me about religious insensitivity, either. I don't care what religion someone else follows as long as they aren't blowing up a plane I'm on or making judgements on the U.S. Supreme Court.

Slender salamander

This picture is from the Internet

Yesterday I picked up a flake of hay to throw to the horses, and one of these slinked away. At first I thought it was a peculiar snake, but then I saw its tiny legs.

I have lived here all my life and never seen a salamander here. Has anyone else? On the internet I found that my area is just barely within the slender salamander habitat. I think most wild animals in our area stay close to the riparian habitat at Deer Creek or the Cosumnes River, cultivated farm land is not a safe place for little animals that can't move very far very fast.

When I was a kid, there were fewer wild animals around. I remember seeing people run inside their houses, grab guns, and trying to shoot every hawk that flew over. All hawks in those days were "chicken hawks." A turkey farmer across the creek hunted coyotes. He kept a few Airedale dogs just for that purpose. His turkeys were free range, they ran loose in the farmyard.

I never saw a raccoon here until about 25 years ago. Nor an opossum. Or a bobcat. Or a river otter or beaver. Everything was chased, hunted, and eliminated. Or maybe, because there was a lot of open grazing land around us, there was just enough room for them to avoid a farming area.

Once in a while we'd see big cat tracks in the sand along the river. A couple of times we heard mountain lions screeching at night. People would take dogs and try to hunt them down. I think just for the fun of it. Mountain lions were never a danger in cropland. They didn't kill and eat hops or corn or row crops. They probably just used the riverbed to get from the foothills to wherever they were going downstream from us. Following deer, perhaps? I never saw many deer then, either, because people shot them and ate them.

There were no wild turkeys for the same reason.

It's interesting how times change. It was fun – after the initial shock of thinking "snake!" – to see the salamander. Happily, this isn't like Australia, where many wild animals are poisonous.

It will be interesting to see what shows up next.

Missing cats, and other things

This is a picture I took last year of Mollie, Rosie, and their mama Carla.

Mollie and Carla have been missing for over a month. I suspect coyotes, but I'm not sure how they would have snatched cats that seldom left the safety of the fenced yard. Rosie, poor, whiny, paranoid Rosie, is by herself now. She isn't the only cat left. Big Biscuit still comes 'round twice a week and little Linda, Wesley's mom, hangs out in the hay barn. Rosie hates Linda and she loves Biscuit too much. She annoys him. So she is by herself.

I'm trying to figure out a way to make life safer for feral cats here. I need them, but I don't want to invest a lot of time and emotion in them just to provide food for the coyotes. In defense of the coyotes, they have never bothered anything else here, and I have no hard evidence they're actually to blame for the disappearing cats. I'm quite sure, though, that Carla and Mollie didn't just wander off. I want to make things safer before any more cats come here.

There are three rows of old Christmas trees that are very tall and full between my house and the rest of the fields. The lower branches are close to the ground. I'm considering trimming them up a few feet in case the coyotes might be hiding there to pick off the cats. But I don't know if those trees actually give the cats a place to hide from coyotes. I've just never had to study coyote behavior before. Does anyone know how they operate?

Meanwhile, Biscuit looks at the front door longingly when he's here. I know he'd like to come in. That just won't work with Wesley and Gollie in the house. Biscuit hates Wesley and is big enough to hurt him. Gollie hates Biscuit. When Gollie is bothered, she poops in inappropriate places. Sometimes life is so unnecessarily complicated. I think I can make a nice bed for Biscuit in the wood shed, or maybe even in the new chicken barn, for this winter. It has electricity, I could put Velcro's old heating pad out there.

I didn't just sit around and worry about cats this week. Earlier in the week I used the golf cart to haul some stuff over to the dumpsters at the corn stand. Then I took a bucket of old eggs to a place down near the creek, for the wild animals. I had heard the old John Deere start up earlier in the morning, so I went looking for Uncle Jim and Cousin Ken. They had driven it to the Davis Ranch shop. They already had it apart and were playing in the oil and grease with smiles on their faces.

Last night I pretended I was a civilized person and went to town to see a play at the Music Circus. I went with mothers of Bob's former schoolmates from Rancho Murieta to see Brigadoon. It was nice. I didn't have to drive downtown Sacramento, we had an early dinner at a nice restaurant, and the musical was charming. It was nice to get some use out of clothes I used to wear to work. Since I've retired, I seem to wear the same 4 pairs of jeans and 5 or 6 T-shirts every week.

One of the moms is helping her daughter plan a wedding. That's a whole world that seems so foreign to me. She pulled a book out of her purse – something about wedding etiquette. I'm glad I don't have a daughter. At least not for that occasion, it would have been fun to have a horse-crazy one to ride with.

Roman is here this morning. I need to go out and line up some projects for him. He's Vladimir's nephew, remember? He's been working at Davis Ranch and has a few spare hours this morning, which means he can get at least a week's worth of work done. Whew! It's going to be a rough day just trying to stay ahead of him.

Another poultry sale

The poultry auction I usually attend is held on the first and third Sundays of the month in Roseville. I generally have a feeling of dread that starts early on auction week as I'm picking out birds to take. I feel bad about having to "get rid" of the excess birds. They don't understand that they aren't perfect, especially the little cockerels. I feel bad all the way to the auction, and then I feel guilty all the way home because I'm relieved it's over for a couple of weeks.

Yes, there is a cure for this. Don't raise so many birds. I understand that completely, and it's my goal by next year to only have to raise 30-50 chicks and still have enough to show. I don't subscribe to the theory that it's necessary to always raise a whole bunch and cull heavily. I guess it could be worse. To some people "cull" means kill. I don't doubt that some of the birds I take to auction might be killed. Is it being chicken shit if I think I'm a better person because I don't kill them myself? I don't know, but those thoughts rattle around in my head.

This Sunday I went to a different auction. To get there I took the back roads across the foothills. The California foothills are perilously dry right now.

We are experiencing a severe drought. Unlike coastal California, where the hills are bare during very dry conditions, here in Northern California we had enough rain to sprout the grass and convince it to grow enough to make fire conditions very bad. For full effect, this picture could have been taken on any of the very hot, sunny days we had last week. On Sunday, however, it was overcast and the temperatures were in the low 90s. One advantage of an overcast day is I couldn't psychically "hear" the trees moaning in pain.

My route took me over Pardee dam.

I had expected to see the reservoir almost empty, but it was actually almost full. Like many water storage reservoirs in the foothills, this water is not for local residents. This is part of the system that sends water to the San Francisco bay area.

It would have taken me a little less than an hour to get to Valley Springs, where the auction was held, if I hadn't taken a couple of wrong turns. I know the back roads pretty well, but never paid attention to their names. If I'd just followed my instinct I would have been right, but a couple of times logic prevailed and took me the wrong way. No problem, it only takes me a half mile or so to know I'm on the wrong road. It just takes a while to find a place to turn around.

The last few miles were well marked. I got there almost too early.

What I found was a collection of old, but decent pens for the birds under the shade of a big pine tree. The grounds around the pens were raked and neat.

The auction staff was also old, but decent and neat, wearing matching T-shirts. They were efficient, kind to the birds, and friendly. At Roseville, the staff is very young and always in a hurry.

At Roseville, I drop off the birds and leave as fast as I can. At Valley Springs, I needed to wait for friends I was meeting for breakfast. It was a comfortable place, and I didn't mind being there at all. The parking lot was shared by a herd of spectators.

They stuck their noses in the backs of all the pickups, checking for goodies.

I soon learned that other things are sold at this auction. People would bring things they had laying around their places, like extra cages, tools, and...for some reason...a sword.

Everyone who walked by the table had to pick up the sword, take it out of the scabbard, and look at it longingly. Why? Does everyone harbor a secret desire to be a buccaneer? Zorro? I admit, it was the only thing on the table I might have bought, too. For practical reasons, though, I could use it both as a cane and to kill raccoons.

When the buyers started arriving, most of them had gray hair and seemed to really appreciate poultry. Here are two gentlemen checking out the small birds.

Finally my friends arrived (they are two of the people looking at the large birds) and we left for breakfast.

My friends stopped back by the auction on their way home. They reported the prices had been very low compared to other times. That's okay with me.

I'll still need to go to Roseville. The Valley Center auction is only once a month. But I'll look forward to going back there. Maybe I can even find some surplus items to drag along. There's enough of it around here. Hmmm, will have to borrow Bob's truck.