Dancing Weed

From Katherine, my artist friend:

I knew I’d seen them (these weeds) before but never knew what they were. I finally realized why it looked so familiar though...  In college one of my drawing profs brought in a dried plant (the whole thing, dead and uprooted, actually several of them I think). We had to break off a part and draw it. So I broke mine to look like a dancing person. I still have it.  :-)

K, you are so resourceful! It doesn’t inspire me to do anything useful with the weed, though. All I can see is seeds getting spread all over and I’ll be known as the person who was solely responsible for infesting the corn fields. I’m not even going to throw this weed on the compost pile, it’s going into the trash can.

Now I have to hope it doesn’t get to the dump, where it could go to seed and the seed could somehow catch in the wind and blow back to Sloughhouse. (It’s quite possible, the dump is within sight – miserable sight – of my house.)


On another note, I'm having a foul time this morning trying to format the text on this blog. Has something at Blogspot gone wrong? Sorry this looks crummy, I am trying to sort it out. Type issues are important to me, that's what I do for a living. I hate it when a program's automatic features (usually designed by a tasteless dolt) make it look like I messed up.

What's This?

Can anyone identify this plant that popped up in my flower bed and has grown to 4 feet tall practically overnight?

This is the flower.

And this seems to be the seed pod.

I tried searching on the web, but I don't remember enough of the proper terminology from horticulture to narrow the results. "Plant with big leaves and small yellow flowers," doesn't suffice.

Anyone recognize it?

As long as I was outside, I took a picture of one of the Christmas poinsettias I transplanted this spring.

There are 4 of them growing at the base of the avocado tree. The first frost, if we get one, will snuff them out, but in the meantime I'm enjoying them.

Dreary Day

But only weatherwise. It's overcast and cool. We had one very hot day last week, one of the few this summer. Now it's 10:30 and I'm sitting here drinking coffee with my sweater on. Velcro the cat is on her heating pad.

The boys went camping in the mountains this weekend.

Bob will be working at the winery all day, then taking the back roads up to Silver Lake. The rest of the guys will already be there and have camp set up (in his dreams), a campfire burning (the wood is in the back of Bob's truck though), and dinner ready. Dinner might actually happen because Alex is in charge of that, and Alex takes responsibility seriously. He's also an extraordinary cook. Next time YOU go camping, invite Alex. In fact, pay his way and provide him with an elegant tent.

I haven't been camping in years. It's one of those things that used to be a big part of my life that I don't do anymore.

I only remember camping with my parents once. We went to Yosemite with uncle Bud and aunt Barbara. We stayed in a tent cabin and a bluejay got into it, perched on the peg where our clothes were hanging, and pooped on them. We swam in the Merced River and watched the firefall off Half Dome. We saw a bear trying to break into someone else's car. Good times.

Jerry and I went camping another time with Bud and Barbara, at Ice House. We had an isolated camp site by a creek. I remember doing the woodsman thing and building myself a mattress out of pine boughs up in the rocks, a little way from the camp. It was an excellent idea and I was really proud of myself until it got dark and I had to sleep up there, waaaaaaay far away (in my mind) from everyone else. The only other things I remember about that trip are that the fish were huge and I got my first really bad sunburn.

When I was a teenager my dad had died and my mom married a cowboy. We spent our summers in the mountains in cabins (actually shacks would be a better word), moving with the cows from one range to another, over a vast area of the El Dorado National Forest.

This is the cabin at Cody Meadows.

It was similar to camping except that you'd see the stars through holes in the roof at night. And you'd build a fire in the woodstove instead of having a campfire.

Looking back, it was probably a great time. But the only reason I didn't mind being there was I got to ride. I would have gone anywhere, even to a shack in the remote mountains with my family and bratty brother, to get a chance to ride horses. (Please recall how you felt about your family and siblings when you were a teenager to get the full effect.)

When I had my own life and my own horses and truck and trailer, I spent many weekends camping and riding. In the Sierras, on Mt. Diablo, everywhere there was a trail and a campground. Sometimes we made our own campground. These are my most wonderful memories of camping. Maybe because I was old enough to drink wine.

Neva at Point Reyes, 1983.

New Year's Day with buddies, 1984. 

From top left, clockwise: Neva, Jan, Charlene, Tracy, Sue.

Jan and Neva with my dogs Patsy and Bummer, 1985, 

in the Mokelumne Wilderness.

I still had horses and all my camping equipment when I became a wife and a mother. But suddenly camping was different. What do you do with a toddler when there's nothing but dirt everywhere? You sit with him on your lap a lot.

John holding Bob. At Benny and Julie's cabin, Silver Lake, 1986. 

That's Julie in the background.

You put the baby in a pack on your back (where he grabs your hair and snots in it). If you put him down for a minute you spend all your time fishing rocks and pinecones and other things out of his mouth.

It was practically impossible to watch horses, dogs, and baby all at the same time. We did try, though.

Bob's first trail ride, behind John on Big Ears, 

my trusty old trail horse. 

Neva was along on this ride, too, and both of us worried ourselves sick every step of the way.

John and Bob on the Hodaka at Silver Lake. 

It was a little easier when the baby could walk and there were other kids around.

Bob, Sarah's cousin (sorry, can't remember her name) 

and Sarah at Silver Lake. 

Do you remember this Sarah? Now you're camping with your own toddler!

Everything changed when the baby reached school age. Your child does not become a student, your entire family becomes one. Homework. Homework is evil, nothing but pure evil. It ruins lives and divides families and makes them prisoners of the system. Luckily we were liberated by the Waldorf School, then homeschool, about halfway through. That's all I have to say about that today.

At school, the boy created his own social life and we started having fun in different ways. We were involved in 4-H and all the activities that entailed. For 12 years Bob and I did 4-H. John was less involved. I had fun spending time with kids and John enjoyed his time with old cars and old folks.

For 9 of his years in 4-H Bob went to camp. It's not the same as camping really, but it was great for all the kids. The older kids ran the camp. Chuck, the adult who oversaw the operation, was a wonderful person who understood the value of giving the kids opportunities to take responsibility, have fun together, and bond. The things he encouraged them to learn for themselves have been assets in their adult lives.

And they still like to camp together, even on a dreary day.

And now that I've had this time to look through the albums and share some pictures of good times with you, the day doesn't seem as dreary here, either.

Veggie Quiz

Identify the following fruits and/or veggies.

\

A. Wax peppers   B. Zucchinette   C. Okra

A. Variegated lumpette   B. Decorative gourds   C. Minicchini

A. Tomatillos    B. Gooseberries   C. Pumpkin cukes

A. Hot peppers   B. Wax peppers   C. Green peppers

And this picture is a bonus for those who like flowers.

Cousins in History

The area where I live is rich in California history. As I've mentioned before, a lot of people who live here are descendants of the first white settlers in the area. They've been here since the 1840s, which would "only" be about 170 years. Probably not impressive to those of you in England, but it's very rare for families in California to stay in one place that long.

Sunday there was a "reunion" of the descendants of these settlers. I'm not one of them, but I was invited. My family got here about 20 years after the first ones. We've all been neighbors for several generations. And the event was at the Corn Stand, in my back yard, so how could I NOT be invited? My uncle Jim, aunt Beth and their son - my cousin Kenny - were also there.

This is Aunt Beth (in blue) with Amy W. Amy is a kick. When Aunt Beth told her I was traveling around picking up old guys on motorcycles, Amy asked, "Can't you ride your own motorcycle?"

Aunt Beth took a spill a while back and broke some bones. She also bumped her head, and she's been unhappy with herself because she "can't remember anything." She may not remember how to access her email, but faces, names, and dates are still accurately stored in her brain. My brother is the only other person in our family, I think, whose memory might be as good. The rest of us have a hard time remembering our own birthdays.

This is cousin Kenny and I. 

OK, his name is "Ken." But he's my younger cousin, so he'll always be Kenny to me. Kenny is a train guy. He doesn't need to remember much, not even how to get home. The train just goes back where it came from when you put it in reverse. Kenny and I listened to all the old folks tell stories and we've decided that when we're old, we're going to tell stories, too. Since we don't have good memories, we'll just make them up. Who will know?

Unless someone like this is still around. This is Jessie S, one of our local treasures. She's in her 90s and is sharp as a tack. You can ask her anything about your ancestors. If they lived in Sloughhouse, she will know. You have to be careful, she may know more than you want to hear. Jessie's daughters Janeth and Virginia were also at the reunion. They catered a great lunch. We used to play together when we were kids and they lived in the house across the horse pasture. 

This is Uncle Jim, looking at the old Ford tractor at the Corn Stand. Uncle Jim appreciates old tractors. Like my late father and my brother Jerry, Uncle Jim could take this tractor apart and put it back together better than new. Unless Jen or Em inherited the mechanic gene, this fine trait has apparently been lost in our family. Sarah, do you have it? Bob doesn't. 

Rick is one of the farmers who runs the Corn Stand. He's a descendant of the earliest families. He spoke about an old rifle that his ancestors had brought to California. It was made in Illinois in 1845, a 50 caliber plains rifle. Someone called it a "buffalo gun." It was heavy enough you could probably have killed a buffalo with it just by swinging it like a baseball bat. 

Ellen R, who planned this event, is a wonderful lady who has worked hard to document stories she's heard. The day was a little stressful for her and she ended up being taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I hope she's doing well.

Not Shirking

I just don't have my life organized very well around my new schedule. I put off everything on Monday and Tuesday because I plan to catch up on my Wednesday off. I put off things on Thursday and Friday because I plan to catch up on the weekend. Then I work like a dog on Wednesday and both days of the weekend.

But my "optional" things like blogging and art are not getting done.

Hang in there, I'll be with you shortly.

What do the trees know...

...that we don't?

I heard on the radio last week that Sacramento usually has 22 days that are over 100 degrees.

This year we have had 8, and some of those barely cleared 100.

Friday I came to work to find that half of the leaves on my ficus had dropped. I know it's not unusual for a ficus to drop leaves, but I've had this plant for 10 years. It's been in the same window in my office for 3 years. And the plant isn't sick, the leaves looked like they'd just turned yellow for fall during the weekend.

I didn't think too much about it until I walked out to my car to go home that afternoon and saw this.

The Chinese pistache in our parking lot is already getting its fall colors!

It's still August, right? In Sacramento we usually have mild weather through the middle of October. The Corn Stand has sweet corn until then, and tomatoes and bell peppers and whatever else they don't just get tired of picking and selling.

Today's high was 87. Somebody, somewhere is getting all our hot weather. And while that has been a nice thing, I'm starting to get concerned that we'll be getting someone else's very cold or very wet weather this winter.

Is the Farmer's Almanac online? I'm going to go look now.

Security Logs

As promised, a few entries from the Security Logs (reports from the Security Department) at Rancho Murieta. These come from today's River Valley Times, the local newspaper.

"Rule violation. Nine-year-old golf cart driver. Adult took over.

"Disturbance. Resident jogging without a shirt. Other resident yelled at jogger to put shirt on. Verbal exchange, mediated.

"Suspicious vehicle. Country Store (not inside Rancho Murieta). Report of nude occupants engaged in sexual activity. Identified and advised to leave area.

"Rattlesnake. Two snakes relocated.

"Prowling. Report of juveniles looking in windows between two homes. Reporting person yelled at juveniles who ran off. Second reporting person heard footsteps. Checked. Unable to locate.

"Suspicious circumstance. Reporting person heard someone downstairs. House thoroughly checked. No one found. Nothing disturbed.

"Malicious mischief. Subjects throwing rocks on grass. Advised and replaced rocks.

"Curfew. Two juveniles contacted and admitted sneaking out of house to doorbell ditch. Transported home to notify parents.

"DUI arrest. While notifying mother of curfew violation, she appeared intoxicated and was belligerent and uncooperative. She drove away from her house and returned. SSD and CHP responded. Arrested for DUI.

"Disturbance. Several reports of yelling and profanity. Area check found three males with bats. SSD and CHP notified and responded. Arguing over female resident. Two guests arrested for DUI and public intoxication. Both under age 21."

By comparison, things were thankfully dull in Sloughhouse last week. One morning there was a very noisy crop dusting plane. Two mornings it took me a long time to get out of the driveway onto the highway because of all the traffic. I flushed out 3 gophers with the garden hose. George caught one.

I bet life would be more exciting if we put a gate and guard station here. Maybe I could take some racy videos of naked people in the parking lot and post them for all of you.

Busy Weekend

OK, I'm pooped. It was one of those weekends when I only had 2 things planned - attend a friend's birthday party and take some birds to the auction. On Friday afternoon that sounded like a relaxing schedule.

The party was Saturday afternoon. My friend, Marleen (not the Texas MERlene) was 60 years old. She lives up the road from me, in Rancho Murieta and she likes to garden. That meant I just HAD to go to Green Acres nursery and get a gift certificate for her.

It was Doggy Days at the nursery (the "dog days of summer.") There were tables for all sorts of rescue groups and tables that sold doggie doodahs like scarfs and leashes. I had to look at everything and pet all the dogs. I had only intended to buy the gift certificate, of course, but while I was visiting with the dogs I couldn't avoid seeing the flowers. And of course there were a few that I just had to buy.

To plant the new ones, I first had to weed and clear out the front bed, which was a bit overgrown. That took me most of Saturday and 4 hours Sunday. I got it done, but the muscles are complaining today.

The birthday party was fun. I didn't know too many people, but had a great time visiting with the ones I did know. Rancho Murieta is about 5 miles east of where I live. It is a housing development that was put in 30 years ago. It has some good points and some bad ones.

In my mind the worst thing is this:

To get into Murieta, us "common" folk have to go through a gate. This picture shows all the visitors who were backed up at the gate. I hate it that people think they need to live behind a gate. Perhaps if your development was in the middle of the bad part of a city it would make sense. But Rancho Murieta is surrounded by miles of open fields. It's further from Sacramento than I am. We in Sloughhouse are their only neighbors, and we're hardly the sort of people who need to be kept out.

Look, they're even hiding the name of the place.

It's a local joke that the Murieta gate should be on the exit, not the entrance, to keep some of those people locked IN. Our little local newspaper has a page devoted to security reports. Most of the bad news in our area concerns things that people in RM do to each other. Cars are broken into, kids are caught with drugs or alcohol, juveniles drive golf carts illegally. But mostly it involves people sitting in their houses waiting for their neighbors to make a wrong move so they can call security and report it.

Rancho Murieta's population is about 2500. Sloughhouse has a population of about 200 if you count the surrounding area, which I do because it's relevant whenever we have to vote on anything. Our little rural voice is drowned out by the suburbanites, even though they live in OUR area.

Another thing I hate about the gate is that I have to ASK to go through it. No one has to ask to use the nasty highway that goes past my house. Everyone from Rancho Murieta and beyond uses (and abuses) it.

OK, so that's the bad part. The good part is that RM is not one of those wall-to-wall sterile, ticky tacky developments that gets thrown up overnight. After 30 years there is still some building space because the homes are custom. Which means you buy a lot and have your own house built the way you want it. Every house is different. A lot of the native trees were preserved. Some open space was preserved.

There are houses on the left of this picture and open space on the right. In that space you are quite likely, any time of the day or night, to see wildlife. There is more wildlife in Rancho Murieta than there is down here in Sloughhouse. Especially deer, lots of deer. I've also seen coyotes, raccoons, and wild turkeys. Others report seeing mountain lions, though the security people often report it was actually a big yellow dog, or nothing at all. But with all the deer, a mountain lion is a distinct possibility.

Some of the custom houses are very large and ostentatious, as you might expect. Others are just well-built, medium houses. And the people who live in the well-built medium ones are mostly the ones who are our friends.

Not everyone in the place hides behind the gates and looks down their noses at the rest of us. Some of them help with local causes like preserving historical landmarks and ecological areas and doing activities for the kids. And some of them are just nice people who happen to be parents of kids Bob went to school with.

This is Marleen's back yard. Behind her vegetable garden is a high fence. It doesn't just keep the dog in, it keeps the deer out.

As we sat on the deck, a couple of deer wandered by. The deer here are not very wild. Can you see what's just beyond the fence in this picture?

It's a huge flock of young wild turkeys. When I was young, the whole area that is now Rancho Murieta was a turkey ranch, where commercial turkeys were raised free range. Some of us locals still call RM "The Turkey Ranch."

Marleen is the lady in red on the left in this photo. Her husband John is at the end of the table (right in front of Bob and Travis). Marleen's daughter Erin is across the table from Marleen. Erin is one of the few girls who was in Bob's class at Cosumnes and was in 4-H with the boys. The flames in the middle of the table are from the multiple cakes with candles. It took a lot of cakes for 60 candles.

Happy birthday Marleen, thanks for the great party John and Erin!

All the Facts

I have type 2 diabetes that I keep under control just by avoiding carbs. I was lucky to have been guided in the right direction by a nurse at Kaiser and had some really good books recommended.

I try to read everything I can about diabetes. A lot of what we take for common knowledge is totally wrong. I mean that. TOTALLY wrong. People can't make good decisions for themselves if they don't have all the facts.

One source I have come to appreciate is Jenny's Blog. Jenny analyzes drug studies. Most of her comments are pretty straight-forward, though she doesn't have much appreciation for drug companies that skew results.

I would recommend this for anyone, not just diabetics. Her subject today, in fact, is about psychiatric drugs.

Jenny's blog.

Plum Tuckered

Bob and Velcro are world-class nappers.

Sights From My Walk

I don't enjoy walking very much anymore, though I do appreciate being ABLE to walk. I have to watch the ground constantly while I'm moving, to make sure my surly toes don't stub themselves on some miniscule rock and send me crashing to the ground. I rarely crash, but that's because I'm diligent and watching. When I want to take in the sights, I have to stop for a minute. And see things like these:

That (senile) Goat wondering what the crazy (senile) lady is up to.

Dusty wonders, too. He's looking back at the feeder, convinced that I must have thrown hay into it before I started my walk. Surely I wouldn't leave without feeding him first! As I walk away from him, he whinnies and whinnies - "You forgot to feed me! Come back! Come back!" Horses use lots of exclamation marks when they speak.

The first thing that catches my eye are the new gourds growing up the trellis. This year's plants are climbing right in front of the carcasses of last year's crop. I don't know if I like this picture best...

or this one. I love the little tendrils backlit by the sun.

A little further on I see the neighbor's crop. Dirt. He's a lawn farmer. (Yes, I think that's contemptible.)

What's this in the dirt? It looks like the track of some strange creature with a paw on one leg and a hoof on the other.

Hmmm. The paw is almost bigger than the hoof, what the heck WAS that? I'm pretty sure the hoof mark was left from Katherine's ride, those horses weren't tiny. There are German Shepherds in the neighborhood, but are their feet that big? And besides, they don't walk much, they're always in the back of a truck. Oh well, if it's something exciting I have my camera.

If I'm ever found dead out in the field, someone remember to check my camera, it will probably tell the whole story.

On the way back, behind the Corn Stand, there are four old farm trucks parked. This one is the oldest. I must be older than this truck, but I can't remember when it wasn't here. The others aren't much better, but they serve the purpose - to get boxes of crops from the field to the stand. They used to leave the keys in the trucks all the time, but someone finally came along who figured out how to get one to run well enough to steal it. Now the keys are locked up at night.

I see bins of squash. Bright orange warty squash.

Bright yellow smooth squash.

On the back side of my garage is this mess. Who put this junk here? And when is it going to be moved?

Who put this junk in the carport? And when are they going to move it? (The only thing of mine is my bicycle. It doesn't fit in the garage because that's full of junk, too, she says self-righteously.)

Sigh. And it was such a good walk until the junk brought me back to reality.

Then I walked past this little dahlia on my way to the front door. That put me back into a good mood.

Alan's Babies

Remember Alan, the little mutt rooster that Bob has spoiled? Well, he is the daddy of 3 fluffy brown chicks. They all have topknot feathers that make them look like Woody Woodpecker, and lots of foot feathers.

I think the Little Black Hen is their mother. I was really hoping for female babies, but fear these are all cockerels. Like Alan, they are very tame, they already fly up on your lap to take a nap and love to be handled. If anyone would like a great pet in another month or two, a couple will be available.

In the meantime, they're running around in the pigeon pen. The pigeons don't use the floor much, they won't leave their shelves for fear another pigeon will claim their space. Pigeons are paranoid.

The Pigeon Inn is Finished

This is Nick from the neighborhood helping Bob do the last of the painting before they finished the roof on the new pigeon pen.

I won't show you his face because he doesn't want to be known as a professional pigeon pen painter. He's hoping to get into law enforcement. And maybe put people in the pen(itentiary).

Instead of building nesting boxes and shelves to put them on, we got some pre-made shelves from Home Depot and Bob screwed them to the walls. I put some graveled roofing stuff on the shelves so they wouldn't be as slick, and also to make them easier to clean once the pigeon poop gets cemented to them.

When we added the pigeons, the turf wars began. For 3 days now the birds have played musical shelves, trying to vie for top honors. Like the cats when they play King of the Mountain on the cat tree.

Little Roger the Taganrog, who has been a bachelor for quite a while, staked out the top of one shelf and there he sits. He isn't interested in the females, he only wants the penthouse for himself. Whatever.

The Taganrog female has gone back to her old mate. I had separated her from him because in two years they didn't manage to hatch a single egg. When we put all the pigeons back together, she went right back to her sweetie. (She's the one with the dot on her face.)

I don't know how happy he is about this. Like Roger, he was quite content in his bachelor pad. Now he has to haul sticks around and defend his nest. The other males don't much care about the female, but they covet the nest.

The Valencian Figurita, Val, is now by himself. He doesn't care, he's on the other top shelf. And even though he's a tiny little squirt, no one can move him.

Val and the Taganrog female raised 4 babies.

This was Baby #1.

Yes, he has a head, the picture is weird. Anyway this bird fell out of the nest, or was pushed, before it was ready. So I brought it in and tube-fed it. Baby pigeons are extremely easy to raise once they're a couple of days old. This bird was in its own condo between the two male Taganrogs. Bob has been goofing around with him so the bird will grab your finger and try to beat you with his wing. What a great trick.

This is baby #2. Not sure yet if it is male or female.

The other 2 babies are only a couple of weeks old. They are a weird pair. One baby is usually a little bigger than the other in a pair, but the little one of this pair has always been half as big.

The little one was pushed out of the nest about a week ago, so I brought it in and started feeding it. I don't know why the Taganrogs seem to have trouble keeping babies in the nest. When we moved the parents we brought the bigger sibling in as well. I was concerned the parents would abandon it. And anyway I LIKE feeding baby pigeons.

So, we had 6 adult pigeons. And only 1 was confirmed a female. Not a situation conducive to peaceful conditions in the new pen. I had been promised a female by friend Richard S. I think that was at least a year ago. Maybe two. Then I remembered a fellow not too far from here who might still have pigeons. I drove over yesterday and found him.

These are the mail order brides:

They will be in quarantine for a few days to make sure they're healthy. I asked for small birds with regular beaks. Val and the Taganrogs have very small beaks. The pigeon guy said that's why they aren't very good at feeding babies. (But does not explain why the babies end up on the ground.)

Probably no one but Katherine is interested in this pigeon story. But that's what you get today.