First Show in a Week

Can you read this page? You might have to click on it to see it bigger.

It's from the Dominique Club of America newsletter. Mark Fields is the editor, he is also THE modern day expert on Dominique bantams. He wrote the book. Literally. It costs $50 for a copy.

The picture at the bottom right is one of MY pullets. I'm the Janice he's talking about. I also have some of Kyle's birds and raised babies from them this spring. This is so much fun.

The first poultry show of the season is in a week. I can't wait to get those birdies washed and ready to go. That's what all the work has been about, all the hatching and building pens and hauling heavy sacks of chicken feed, and agonizing over which birds to keep and which to sell.

Winning ribbons is nice, but Mark's words mean a lot more to me.

A Phrase I Dislike

"Progress is inevitable." 

(Progress meaning development. Development meaning someone plans to desecrate your landscape. Inevitable meaning the developer doesn't want pesky citizens protesting, and he's already bought off the government people to do this, so just stay home and put up with it. Developer, in my mind, being synonymous with desecrator.)

A neat thing about senior citizens is we can perceive the difference between real progress and someone who is just out to make a buck. We don't buy into the philosophy that making money is a good thing when it's at someone else's expense. This is not a political statement, it's neither conservative nor liberal, there are politicians from both ends of the spectrum who are happy to screw over the citizenry for a profit.

Another neat thing about senior citizens is we aren't afraid to stand up and speak our minds when we see that something is wrong. That's when you hear other phrases: "Grumpy old folks." "Bitter old people." These take the blame away from the issue and put it on the old person who has, evidently, lost the sunshine from his life and is battling with his own regrets.

I think my friend One Fly, in Colorado, has been battling these labels for a while. He has a very clear view of current events, from paying attention over the years. Younger people don't listen, listening might mean agreeing and that might mean they'd have to attempt to do something about a situation. It's easier to just ignore One Fly's warnings, call him "negative" and stay home to watch their favorite mindless programs.

This is not a new thing. The Bible is full of stories about prophets who warned the people and were ignored, even ridiculed. I'd have to read it again to determine if the prophets were all old guys, but the effect is the same.

A lot of senior citizens showed up at the local planning meeting Wednesday night to hear the county's request to rezone farm land into a "special planning area" that would give the county dump people special permission to do whatever they want. And what they wanted seemed to be recycling businesses. In their documents, the word that caught my eye was "tires."

When we citizens first started popping the county's dump-related dream bubbles, it was about 25 years ago. When they built the dump they said it would only be there for 25 years, then it would be closed and turned into a park. We had patiently waited and their time was up. We lived through the early days when a stiff breeze would scatter plastic bags far and wide, hanging them in the trees and on our fences. Their unlined landfill, in which they allowed poisonous substances to be buried, polluted groundwater under the grazing land that was south of it. The county was forced, through litigation, to buy that land.

Instead of calling it by its true name, the Polluted Zone, they proclaimed that to protect the dump from encroaching development, it needed a Buffer Zone around it. And oh, by the way, they weren't going to close the dump now, they were going to make it bigger and turn it into a regional landfill.

They wrote a Negative Declaration for the Buffer Zone. For those of you in foreign countries, or those of you who live in my county and have had your noses buried in the sand, a Neg Dec is a document that says, "Nothing is going to significantly change because of this project, so we aren't going to waste money on a full-blown EIR (Environmental Impact Report)." The county Board of Supervisors and the people who were running the dump at the time swore that this was so. Over and over they swore that.

In 2009, I think it was, the dump people announced they would have public workshops to get input to advise them what to do with their Buffer Zone properties. "What!?!" we said. The plan was that nothing would be done with that land, that it would remain Ag80 zoning and continue to be used for cattle grazing, preferably by the same cattlemen who had been forced to sell the land to the county.

But the workshops were held anyway. Local people showed up and gave their suggestions. The more conservative folks said, "Leave it alone." Some of the more liberal folks were happy to suggest open space and wildlife refuges. But the result was the same.

The county evidently wasn't happy with those suggestions. So here they were, last week, coming to our local planning council to push through their newest plan.

There were a lot of old people there. Some of those who had been oldest when we first started this battle years ago are gone now. Some who I had thought were probably gone were still around and managed, despite their advanced age, to be there still. Those of us who were middle aged 25 years ago are now the oldsters. Thankfully there were also some newly middle-aged people, mostly those who live within sight of the dump, who also came well prepared to speak.

The dump guy stood up to present his plan. He had a big map on the wall behind him that explained nothing.

Can't tell what this is? I live here, this is pretty much in my backyard, and I had a hard time figuring it out. That would have been okay, but when citizens started asking questions, the dump guy had no answers.

"Can you draw the footprint of the existing landfill on that map?" one lady asked.

No, he couldn't. He just gestured to the yellow area.

"What industries do you want to put in the pink area?" another citizen asked.

"We don't know yet, we just want to change the zoning to industrial so we can decide later." (Yeah, that went over like a lead balloon.)

One lady said, "Whenever I see a purposefully vague map like that, I suspect someone is trying to pull the wool over our eyes."

Finally, one of the citizens, an older fellow with a big, booming voice, said, "You need to go back to the Board of Supervisors and tell them to stand by their promise to keep the Buffer Zone as open space and grazing land. You need to tell them to stay on their side of Kiefer Blvd." Kiefer Blvd. is the bottom boundary of the yellow area.

The local council voted unanimously to turn down the rezone. The dump guy was not happy. The project will probably go on to the Board of Supervisors and the county Planning Commission without the blessing of the local council, which means that we who live out here in the far reaches of the county will have to make more trips to the hell that is downtown Sacramento.

It's very discouraging, after years of fighting to save our community from Dumpzilla, to find that the new dump guys and the new Supervisors do not appear committed to honoring any of the county's previous promises.

I went back to check some of the old documents to refresh my memory. I found this in the county General Plan pre-2011:

So how could the dump guys begin to think about turning the Buffer Zone into an industrial area? Well, looking a little further, into the newest version of the General Plan, which was written in 2011, I found the following:

The text in red is something that someone in the county added. And the assholes thought they'd get away with it because citizens, after all, are stupid and don't care, and they probably hoped that anyone who still remembered what happened 25 years ago is dead.

The younger generation needs to know that us old folks are not "negative" and "grumpy." We are pessimists and doubters because we are realists. We've seen what happens when you just sit back and blindly allow your elected officials to handle things. It's even more important to keep an eye on local officials than those at the federal level, because they have more influence on your daily lives.

Standing up for your community is not fun. You will have to go to public meetings where you're treated, at best, like an annoyance. You will only have 3 minutes to speak, so you'll have to carefully craft your speech ahead of time. The public employees and the developers will have unlimited time to stand up and just say you're wrong, and won't have to offer a bit of proof. The people on the county council already know how they're going to vote. They think they're noble just because they're sitting there and putting up with all of you. It will gripe you and you'll want to throw eggs at them. (My personal fantasy, perhaps.)

Before they vote, at least one of them will say that, yes, the public had some interesting points, but "progress is inevitable."

My hope is that's when you'll pull out your new fangled electronic devices, the tools of your generation, and show your local government that citizens are still a force to be reckoned with.

Senior Citizens

This morning at the crack of dawn (which the Plumer family refers to as the butt crack of dawn), I took the kitten's two sisters to SPCA for alterations. There were already a dozen folks in line when I got there. Because Sunday is feral cat day, all of these people had carriers full of cats that they had trapped. All of these people were senior citizens.

You might recall that earlier in the year I attended a Sacramento County Board of Supervisors meeting where a proposed development was being discussed. I told you how impressed I was as distinguished members of the county got up and spoke against the development. There were at least 18 speakers and many more in the audience. All of these people were senior citizens.

After that meeting, my 86-year-old friend George, who had been one of the speakers, said, "I just don't know what's going to happen in the future. The next generation is all people who are afraid to do anything. This development is going to be bad for THEM, but they just stay home like a bunch of sheep. When they do come to a meeting they're scared to talk."

I recalled George's words when I got back into my car this morning. The silver-haired people in the waiting room were all working hard to curb the population of feral cats in their neighborhoods. Neighborhoods most won't live in much longer.

What is the next generation doing?

Please, just shut up!

Are you afraid of needles?

For much of my life I was deathly afraid of them. So was my husband. In fact, we got a "confidential" marriage license almost 30 years ago, only because it did not require blood tests. It wasn't like our marriage was a secret, there were 400 people at the wedding.

There are other occasions when I've had to confront needles, of course, doctors don't do anything without first getting some blood. And I've been diabetic since 2007. I poke my own finger several times a day. Eventually I may need insulin, and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to handle that.

But it's still very hard for me to have someone else mess around with my veins. I. Do. Not. Like. It.

Every three months I have blood drawn for an A1C. I have become acquainted with the blood ladies at Kaiser and usually things go well in the lab there. I especially like the one with red hair who reminds me of Flo from the old show Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. (Remember, from Mel's Diner?)

Anyway, yesterday was a blood day and I had to go to the lab. I didn't get one of the ladies, I got an old guy. An old grumpy guy who has no business drawing blood, as it turns out.

He tied the elastic thing around my arm way too tight, it really hurt. Then he started poking at my veins with his finger. I totally hate that. You can gross me out by doing that even if you don't have a needle in your hand. This went on forever, along with comments, grunts and groans (from him) as he dug around. [My thoughts, below, are in italic.]

"I can't see a vein," (sigh) "your veins aren't visible." Right, like I've trained them to retract on purpose and I'm doing this just to torment you?

"Tsk, tsk," as he continues to poke and prod, "there just seems to be a lot of scar tissue here or something, you don't have good veins." Scar tissue? You think I'm a druggie or something? No one has ever messed with MY veins except people like you. If there's damage YOU GUYS did it! [Note: there is NO damage.]

"This is just really bad (moan) (groan)." You won't have a clue just how bad it is until I get up, knock you on your butt, run out of here, and never come back.

Finally he called a tiny little Asian lady over to observe my horrible veins. "Can you see anything here," he asked her, as if I was some sort of impossible creature without blood. "Sure," she said. And she started poking at my arm, too. Aaaaaaaaargh!!!!

They started arguing. "I don't think that vein would hold up if I tried to use it," he said. "The needle would probably go right through it." Puke, I'm gonna puke.

At this point I stopped thinking and started talking out loud. Very loud, actually.

"You people are making me crazy. You need to just shut up and do your job."

The tiny lady smiled. The big fellow left the room. She expertly slid the needle in with no problem, drew some blood, and I was out of there in about 30 seconds, after thanking her.

By the time I got to my car, my veins were quite visible again.

I'm pretty sure I've seen that guy at Kaiser before, pushing a wheelchair. Or maybe a broom.

It's Magic!

Sorta.

The County is at it again

As a "courtesy" they sent me a notice of the next local planning meeting, where they will be presenting their revised plans to turn the entire northern edge of our farming valley into an industrial area for recycling businesses.

Pox on them.

Can't the bozos (I first typed a name that began with ass...) just understand that the entire world does not need to be paved and desecrated? They want to put this crap the Sloughhouse side of the landfill because there will be housing development on the north side, the City of Rancho Cordova side, and you wouldn't want those people to have to see it, would you?

Somehow farmers are not considered "real" people. Farms are not "real" businesses, even a farm business that shares its scenic farm life with the public.

I'm going to be in a perpetually nasty mood for a week or two while I have to take the time to read yet another deceptive POS environmental document, run to the neighbors to get them up to speed, and write yet another stinking speech for a public meeting that wouldn't be happening if there was even one person working for the county who had a lick of sense, or a smidgen of conscience.

Could you people who spend all your time watching Fox News and blaming everything on Obama pleeeeeease pay attention to what's going on in your own backyard for a change? While you're obsessing on things that won't make a bit of difference in your own life, your county government is finagling once again to do things that WILL. Get your butts to the CCPAC meeting at the Wilton Firehouse, Wednesday, Sept 25 at 7 p.m.

The draft EIR is here: POS. (yes, that does stand for Piece of Shit) It will give you a pdf. Anyone can comment on this document.

Making Muffins

This morning while it was still cool, I whipped up a batch of Leftover Muffins. For these, I used the bananas that had gone overripe, a zucchini, a carrot, and an old apple. I always like to start with old bananas and then add any other fruit or vegetable that is hanging around.

I used to enjoy baking more than I do now. For one thing, I can't eat anything I bake, especially something like muffins that have sugar and flour in them. It's not that I'm tempted, it just seems like a waste of time. It's nice to have something around with a weekend coming up, though. I'll have something to offer any company that might show up.

The other thing I don't enjoy so much about baking these days is the senility factor. Did I already add eggs? (Check in the garbage can and see if there are egg shells.) This is how it goes. My memory is still fair, but I question myself constantly. So this morning, after I'd prepared the muffin pan, I went to the cupboard to gather spices and came back to find this.

Well, dang! What was I doing that I forgot the last muffin paper? I traipsed back to the cupboard to get another one. That's when I saw this.

How did he doooo that? He must have sneaked onto the counter, snagged the paper, and carried it back to the floor to turn it into a toy, all within the 30 seconds or so when my back was turned. I threw the new toy away before he could lose it under the stove.

"Hey lady! You hoarding any more toys up there?"

Here are the finished muffins, by the way. They are chock full of fruits and vegetables, they're very substantial. Which is another way to say that if I threw one at the kitten, for example, I might hurt him.

Not much danger of that, my aim is terrible and the kitten is quick.

Carla and the Girls

If you recall, Carla had 5 kittens in the wood shed a little more than a year ago. Only two of them remain, the two that are not inclined to hunt in the coyote-infested fields or cross the busy highway.

One is Mollie.

Mollie always looks perplexed. She's very sweet, like her mother. I can pet them both while they're eating. Mollie is the sort of benign soul that doesn't take much space in anyone else's universe.

The other is Rosie. This is Rosie, on the right, trying to push her mother out of the feed bowl.

Rosie is a beautiful cat, but she's loud and whiny and pushy. The other cats don't like her. Mollie and Rosie both love their mama, but Carla can't tolerate Rosie for long.

Here's a typical evening on the farm...music by the Roosters.

The kitten's family is still here, too. One of his siblings escaped the cage (grrrr) and I'm going to have to try to trap her again. The other two are in there getting bigger and stronger. It's going to be hard to catch them when it's time to go to SPCA.

Sister.

The little mama, Linda, still lurks.

My Favorite Company(ies)

I don't like most big businesses, I'd rather shop in little local shops. There are fewer and fewer of those.

My favorite company is Apple. I have been using their computers for almost 30 years, even through the years when all the pundits said Apple was dead, even through times when the tech dept at work tried to take my Mac away and replace it with a piece of shit PC. I told them I'd quit if they did that, and I was quite serious.

My second favorite company is Amazon. If I'd have to go drive around and hunt for an item, and it's not something I could get at a local store, I buy it on Amazon.

Yesterday I spilled a whole glass of iced tea on my keyboard. Ooops. Can't even blame it on the kitten. I went right to Amazon. I have a one-click account there, so I didn't have to worry about using the keyboard that wasn't working. The mouse was still functioning. I couldn't type in what I wanted, but I kept using submenus until I found a replacement for my keyboard. Clicked once and bought it. Clicked once more and added 1-day delivery. The UPS driver brought it to my house at 10 a.m. today. I didn't even have to turn the computer off (like we did in the olden days), just unplugged the old keyboard and plugged in the new one.

I love Apple and Amazon. I wish Apple made show chicken cages that I could order on Amazon and they would be here the next day completely assembled and ready to add chickens.

I also love that Amazon invented the Kindle (I've been told it was designed by a former Apple employee) and that I can one-click any book I want and start reading it within 5 minutes.

Almost Finished

After a depressingly unpromising start, followed by several trips to the hardware store, sometimes 4 in a day, and after a week of making it up as I went along, I am finally almost finished with the show bird pen.

All I still have to do is figure out how to screw the mesh to the bottom metal of the framework, and build two divider walls to separate these into 4 pens.

I would like to thank my son for absolutely no help whatsoever, so I get to say I built it all by myself. He did take the opportunity to call me a chicken hoarder and other unflattering names when I asked him for a couple of minor assists. Yes, it's time for him to move.

Breakfast in Bed

Kitten: "Velcro! Velcro! I caught a hedgehog, I brought you breakfast in bed."
Velcro: "Get lost!"
Kitten: "Well, okay then."
Kitten: "Gollie, Gollie! Where are you? I'm bringing you a present."

Jan is working hard trying to build show cages. You will have to be content watching the cats this week.