I Broke In!

I have been locked out of my blog for over a year -- A YEAR!!

And this morning I finally figured out how to get back in. And, boy, do we have some catching up to do. But don't worry, I won't pen a thousand-word post like in the good old days. I'll keep it short and unfold the past year in stages.

For now, just know all is well. And we're all still here. And there are some new cast members. Maybe we'll start with a few of them.

This is Rubeus, but I call him Ruby. Adam adopted Ruby and promptly realized his little, empty-all-day apartment was not a fitting home for an energetic, lonely, bored pup. So, over to our house he came and I love him. Here, he's guarding the freshly planted tomatoes.

Here, he's reeeeeallllly wishing he could join me in the chicken coop. Know why?

Because, ladies and gentlemen, I HAVE CHICKENS AGAIN! We have seven hens and the king rooster, Stanley, or Stan the Man as I call him. And, we have a tiny bantam rooster named Pedro (if you follow on Instagram, he was known as Pasty Butt for the first several months of his life because he had the most stubborn case of pasty butt I've ever seen.)

Now, because I'm not at the farm on a daily basis, the chickens don't really care for me; well, it isn't that they don't care for me so much as they don't care one whit about me. Like, if I live or die, it doesn't matter much to them. Let's chat for a minute about how much it stinks to l-o-o-o-o-v-e creatures that do not give you the time of day. So, I've taken to bribing them for their affection.

Mealworms. 

Mealworms will be the way to their hearts, I just know it. (I tried watermelon but they were afraid of it. Weirdos.)

For now, I'm going to let them be aloof. They'll come around. And, hey, at least they're putting out.

I promised this wouldn't be an epistle, so we'll stop there for now. But not before I share one more character.

Meet Harry. He's one of three kittens born to his mama, Tansy. He's Karlie's kitten. A fact I wish he'd remember at night, when he chooses to play in my bed with his sister.

As ever, I exertlittle control over the creatures in my world.

Not much has changed.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Squirrel!

I was going to post a night picture of our barn and tell you all about how Mike's here at the farm now during the week, we're up on weekends, and we're finally going to get started on our renovation of this place. Only, when I went to find the barn photo I just took, this picture caught my eye and I got to thinking about how much I love to roast green chiles, cook green chile, smell green chile.... And in less than three seconds my photo quest was derailed and I instead committed to the chile.

When given the choice, ALWAYS commit to the chile.

Anyway.

We're back at the farm. It's a brand new era for us. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it!

Much more to come....

(Not to spoil any surprises but part of the more to come may very well be involving some of these little fellers.)



Hmmmmmm, what's in the pot?

I'M. SO. EXCITED.

Love and sleepless with excitement from the farm,
Teri

Sleeping Beauty

Tanner's been sleeping. A lot.

For a few months now, Tan has been sleeping 18 to 20 hours a day, all hours of the day, day or night. Sleeping Beauty we're calling him. And if he's waiting on his princess in shining armor, Siri has apparently steered her in the wrong direction, because she hasn't arrived to wake him.

Sure wish she would. Because this big sleep has cost Tanner a lot.

Two weeks ago, I had the conversation I'd been dreading with Tanner's guidance counselor at school. The weeks and weeks of absences have become too long, and together with the missed credits of past semesters, there's no way he can begin to garner enough credit to finish high school this semester. We have to delay Tan's graduation until fall, with the hope that he'll have the energy to do summer school and take some additional courses online in the fall so he can graduate with a diploma.

Mike and I had worried we might be facing this eventuality so we began talking with Tanner a few months ago about the possibility of a delayed graduation, and how in the grand scheme, a few months extra of high school would eventually be just a blip on the radar. We discussed it with Tan a couple times and got him used to the idea, so if the decision came down he wouldn't be blindsided. I'm glad we took that approach because he wasn't blindsided. He was level headed and pragmatic and sought to reassure us that it was fine, it was no big deal, he understood.

I don't understand.

I don't understand why my sweet boy, who has been through so much and struggled so hard and overcome so many things, now has yet one more reminder of the cost of having chronic kidney disease. The cost of his body struggling to keep his kidneys functioning, at the expense of all other systems. Like the system, for instance, that supports consciousness.

Hyperfiltration is likely the culprit here. Tanner's docs believe he's probably been in hyperfiltration for at least a few years now. Simply put, his kidneys are sprinting, and they have been for a long time. When kidneys are diseased, sometimes they go into this overdrive state. You and I, who presumably have normally functioning kidneys, move along at a steady pace for most our lives, with our kidneys humming along at an equally steady pace that allows them to last the 80 or so years that the average American lives these days. Tan's kidneys, on the other hand, have been engaged in a breakneck sprint for a long time just to support basic functions like filtering his blood, his urine and every other substance that finds its way to these workhorse organs.

But we all know that sprinting can't be sustained for long. Think of the Olympic sprinter vs. the distance runner. Sprinters go all out for 100, 200 hundred yards then collapse; distance runners go for miles. Tan's kidneys have been sprinting for miles and miles and miles, for years.

And his body is tired.

His body is putting its energies toward keeping his kidneys functioning properly, and thankfully, they are. They're doing their job, for now. But with time, it seems, his body has gotten to the point that it's now saying, "OK, I can focus on Tan's kidneys, but that means there are other things I can't get to. Like sending energy to his limbs, keeping his blood pressure in check, and propping his eyes open. I can only do so much; and for now, his kidneys need me. Now back off and let me get back to work."

I understand this is the work his body has to do, and I'm grateful it's rallying to the degree it is. Very grateful.

But, I'm also so tired of the cost.

I'm tired of all that this disease has cost Tanner. Early on, Tanner had to let go of football and P.E. He'd just started wrestling when he had to undergo immunosuppressive treatment that wiped out his immune system, so he couldn't be in such close, sweaty contact or lose weight. When the steroid treatments caused muscle wasting, he couldn't climb stairs, let alone lift weights. In April, he was to perform at Carnegie Hall.  Carnegie Hall. Now, he won't. He has lost out on time with friends; countless family and social functions; and normal, regular, day-to-day living. For years.

We've been lucky to have so many wonderful teachers, administrators, friends and family on our side these past 8 years. People have known Tan's story and supported him and us.  It was alarming, therefore, to encounter a teacher recently who was speaking pretty flippantly and contemptuously about Tan in front of her class. Those who know me know I'm not an unreasonable person; I'm pretty even keeled. So I stayed kind and even keeled when I talked with the teacher. I tried to help her better understand Tan's condition; the fact that when he's not down for the count, he can look pretty darn healthy, so it's understandable she might be confused by looking at him to realize just how tenuous his situation can be at times.

She called into question a photo she'd seen of him with friends, because she hadn't seen him in school. I have a mother who worked for school districts for decades, so I absolutely understand and respect that such a scenario can raise eyebrows, what with all the hooky playing that goes on and whatnot.  I explained to the teacher the circumstances surrounding that photo: Tanner had gone to school on a Thursday morning, though he didn't feel well at all. He made it half a day, then he came home and went to bed, where he slept through until early Friday evening. He awoke, he ate and went back to bed until Saturday evening; ditto on Sunday. Come 5p on Sunday, he woke up, showered, went to a friend's house for an hour so he could be there when she opened a letter telling her where she would serve a volunteer mission for her church; a picture was snapped; he came home and went back to bed. And slept through till Monday evening.  The picture the teacher called out in front of the class represented one hour in a four day period that Tanner left our home.

To the degree I explained above, I get it. (I'm not too hot on the fact that she was discussing it with the whole class, but we'll just put a pin in that for now.)  She didn't know much of Tanner's back story. And, when Tan is well enough to go to school, or parties, or church, or friends' houses, he puts a great face on it. He has a fantastic attitude, doesn't talk about his situation much, and is generally, for lack of a better word, normal.  He doesn't always look like he's been hit by a truck. Thankfully, he doesn't always feel that way either. But a lot of the time he does.

Tan doesn't complain much to others, and he doesn't complain much to us. Which is why recently it broke my heart a little when he said kinda shamefacedly, "I know this might sound weird, but sometimes it sucks that I don't always look sick, because I think people who haven't known me as long kind of wonder."  And then he apologized, and said he didn't mean to sound like he was complaining.

Let me insert a note right here to say that Tanner is a real kid, and I'm a real mom, and we have plenty of real moments of typical, boneheaded behavior on both our parts. I'm not glorifying Tan; I want to flick him on the forehead plenty of times. But I'm telling you, on this count -- this huge count that has so much impact on so many facets of his life -- he is something else. He doesn't rage and he doesn't whine about his plight. I'd be fine if he did occasionally, but he doesn't.

And, normally, I don't carry on and whine about it, either. I do count my blessings. I am filled with gratitude that he's still here and in so many ways is doing so well. I do know that we have been abundantly blessed over and over again, and I continue to be sincerely grateful. I'm practical, I don't borrow trouble, I don't wallow.

But there are times when it just causes my heart to hurt. To physically, painfully, ache. Because my beautiful 18-year-old son is still sleeping while there is so much of life to be lived. And I want more for him than that. I want him to fall into bed exhausted because he stayed out way too late or played way too hard.  I want him to sleep too late on a Saturday because he's a lazy teenager, then I can get irritated because I need him to get his hiney out of bed to do chores.   I want life to tire him out, not a disease his body is fighting valiantly against.

I want him to get to be 18 -- outside, during the day, with friends, at school. I want him to not have to put on a brave face, be a great sport, reassure worried moms that he's ok.

Tomorrow I'll put my own brave face back on, and I'll put gratitude before sorrow. And instead of counting the cost, I'll again count our many, many blessings.

But for tonight, I'll brush the brow of my slumbering child, then climb into bed and again pray for a cure.

Sleep tight, Sleeping Beauty.

Dammit, Siri, get it together.

Love from the city,
Teri

Dear Body

Dear Body,

We've been through a lot, you and I. Decades of fantastic experiences where we've always been there for each other. We've laughed, cried, leapt, danced, run, climbed, swam, kissed, hugged, given birth, fallen, lifted, hiked and loved.

Lately though, we've been a little rough on each other. Nothing intentionally harmful; just a bit neglectful and not so mindful. How about we make a deal? I'll be intentional with every movement, strengthening effort, morsel I eat, and sleep I seek.

You? Kindly quit plucking my organs from their moorings and throwing them about the cabin. You're leaving them in the most painful places and it's miserable.

Next week, I'm going to have a nice man sew everything back where it belongs and remove a few organs I don't have use for anymore. What say we view this as a fresh start...a clean slate...and both determine to recommit ourselves to the awesome teamwork we had in the past when we could face any physical challenge, outdoor adventure and simple household task with ease. It's our chance to finish the next 5 decades strong.

Are ya with me? Good! Game on!

Love,
Teri

Bye, E. Coli

So, E. coli happened. That was about as fun as...nothing. It was no fun at all. None.

Didn't know what hit me last Friday evening, but it hit hard and by Sunday, I managed to pull myself into the shower, and that's as far as I got. Mike dried me off, dressed me and took me off to the ER.

It took a few days of shivering and drenching in sweat and other activities that aren't fun chit chatting about, and even less fun enduring, before they figured out what had me so sick.

It's astonishing how quickly something can reduce a person to absolutely useless. I don't remember a lot about my four days in the hospital this week, or the two days before, but I do vividly recall while I moved from the gurney to the CT scanning bed turning to the tech to say, "I can't believe I'm out in public without a bra on."  She said, "Hey, when the patients come in with no bra and unmatched socks, we know they're the ones who actually need to be here. Don't you worry about a thing."  Somehow, her words comforted.

Did I mention we didn't even brush my hair after showering and before heading to the hospital? And that that wasn't rectified for another 2 days? Yeah, I was looking GOOD.

I recall there were some really cool, involved dreamlike states I faded in and out of during my stay. And one snazzy cat who morphed into a bowl of Honeycomb.

My Mom came to the Valley and stayed with me at the hospital, and got the kids out of the house and fed a few times; and Mike's mom was there with us, too. Sweet church ladies brought meals to my family in the evenings, so Mike could be at the hospital with me after work. I couldn't talk much, and holding my eyes open was painful. The only release was sleep and I do remember praying they would just put me out until I was well. Once the cultures grew and E. coli was confirmed, getting the right antibiotics on board brought about a quick improvement and they sent me home Wednesday to recuperate further.

I tried Facebook a time or two and managed a few minutes before realizing it just hurt too much to look at a screen for any length of time. I moved to the living room to be with my girls during the day on Friday, and finally managed to glance through some emails. I spent an hour reviewing and responding to emails and fielding a few calls and felt as though I had been at it for 15 hours. I called it a day.

Today, I realized if I have any chance of going back to work on Monday, I had to steadily increase my stints of being up and around. I have an 80-mile round trip commute to the office each day and would be in an office for hours before driving home; it was time to build up a little stamina. Time to venture out.

So, I bathed, I put on make up, a bra, pants with a zipper and pushed my hair around a little. I decided to take just a very short trip with the girls while Mike and Tanner were off at a church meeting together - a 10-minute drive to "Ladies Night" at a local bookstore, then a treat and come home. I made it about 7 minutes walking around the store before I realized I'd bit off more than I could chew. The girls were totally chill about cutting it short, Karlie let me hang on her arm as we made our way to the car, and I tried to walk straight though my eyes were mostly closed because seeing was tender and exhausting again. We decided to get a treat through Kneaders' drive through and a burger from In 'N Out, since I had no idea what to do about dinner. And I thought about how awesome it would be if we'd gotten Macy her driver permit all those months she's been asking about it.

Picture us in the drive through at In 'N Out; me, eyes closed, head hanging; the car ahead of us moves, Macy mildly says, "Mom, it's time." I lift my head, put the car in drive, inch forward 4 feet, press on the brake, wonder whether I can trust myself to hold the brake, decide I'm an iffy proposition, put it back in park; lather, rinse, repeat.

The girls weren't piqued with worry; this is just how we've been rolling lately. Tanner's years of crazy medical dramatics have made these kids pretty cool operators; illness and odd Mom behavior rolls off their backs. They were totally unflappable (for the moment); we chatted, they sang, and every so often, Macy would blurt, "Mom, it's time." And forward we'd go.

I'm glad no one was tense and worried, since my next trick on the trip home was to...well, let's just have it...how do I say it delicately?...I ....ugh...well, I barfed a bit as we drove along. Yep, just driving along. Because life is just that awesome.  And the girls reacted just as they should...totally grossed out. Not stressed, not scared. Just fully and completely grossed out. Exactly as they should have been.

Trust me when I say, I didn't think I was overdoing it. I honestly figured 3 days after being out of the hospital, it was reasonable I should try to manage a 1-hr outing; that I needed to be moving around a bit and trying to move ahead.

Turns out, maybe it's a little soon. Since I managed to have yet another incident on the driveway when I got home, it kinda confirms it.

So, keys are back in the drawer, I'm limiting my forays to the house and yard, and I'm not sure I'll attempt that commute on Monday.  Don't want to be a menace to society with my head lolling and what not.

But for the moment, at least, there's a little eyeliner still intact, I've managed to get through typing this post, and the bra's still on.

Progress.

E. coli, I believe we're beginning to see the back side of you.

Love from the couch,
Teri

Still a Farm

When we pulled into town Friday night and saw the lights of the Navajo County Fair, I was so excited, and I immediately was thinking of the photos I'd take so I could share all about how we'd come up to the farm for our county fair/ birthday week tradition, complete with kids getting ride wristbands from Grandma and Grandpa, the legendary Jose's Green Chile fries, Open Class Exhibits (more on that soon) and lots of run ins with friends and family.

Only, when I thought about saying we were up at the farm, all the excitement deflated in a whoosh when I had the stray, unwelcome thought, "Should I really call it a farm anymore when there is no life left there?"  No chickens. No ducks. No farm dogs or barn kittens. No turkeys. No pigs. No Gertie the Goat banging on the door or munching fall leaves.

The thought made me a little forlorn and brought a mix of emotions I decided not to try to sort through right then and there. I pushed this sad little question aside and determined to reclaim my joy for being at our other home, and quickly regained my excitement about the fair, where I knew in just minutes I'd see my sister and my Sweet Ell.

The fair delivered, as it always, always does, and after a late night of canasta with Mom, Dad and Mike (during which Mom and I WIPED THE FLOOR with Dad and Mike...), Mike and I came out to our place and stayed the night in his Mom's camper behind our house. (Have I told you we're pre-remodel in the house itself, so it's full of redwood planks, piles of stone tile, and new windows stacked everywhere? Not a bed in sight.)

Anyway.

I woke up early this morning and while Mike slumbered, Sadie and I went outside to start watering the trees and rose bushes that we're trying to keep growing by watering every couple weeks when we come to the property. (Low-tech auto watering systems are high on the project list, but not yet conquered.) Thank heavens it was a particularly rainy summer up here, which helped keep things alive when our absences stretched weeks apart.

As I looked at our weed covered property while I was moving the water, I thought again about that mood dampening thought I'd had about whether this is really a farm anymore. By my production farmer and rancher friends' measures, no way. Adam's dad, John, is now married to a wonderful girl who is the daughter of a true-blue Minnesota farmer with many, many acres of verdant farms. John enjoys my writing about our farm antics, but one day laughed as he told me, "What you call farming, we call gardening."  And he said that when we still lived here and we still had chickens! AND ducks!!

I laughed along, though, because I knew he was right. By many standards, this isn't a true blue farm. Still, this is our tiny farm, and I've been happy to call it that all these years. The thing is, though, if there aren't any critters or gardens growing here right now, what about it? Is it a farm or not?

As I continued to think about it, I moved the water from the globe willows to the apple tree, then Sadie and I strolled down the lane to the chicken coop so I could check whether we had plenty of straw and old poo to throw on the garden bed since it's preparing to slumber for the fall and winter.

And I looked down to watch my step and saw this.

Look closely.

Do you see them?  Those are somebody's prints in our lane.

A sure sign that something living has been wandering the place since the last rain.

Then I looked closer, and saw these. A smaller critter than the first -- a racoon? a porcupine?

Then there are these.

These tire tracks are from the farmers who drive back and forth on our lane to their well, which is right behind our property. They park behind our barn to tend the alfalfa fields off the back and side of our land, too. We bought this little 3-acre slice of their land, which they hay around us. (Around here, "hay" is a verb as well as a noun.)   Those farmers moving on and around are property -- they are life.

Next to the tire tracks are Sadie prints.

Hey there, Sadie.

A few seconds before she sat for me, I saw her over at the corner of the summer kitchen, alertly investigating the spot where once there was a monster bee hive, dripping with honey, and where occasionally, traveling bees pop in to hang out for awhile.

Bees qualify as life. Heck, bees ARE life, in so many ways -- their value to our living systems can't begin to be overstated.

I stopped in my tracks about this time; just pulled up still, held my breath, and listened.

I heard the grasshoppers rustling the grasses and chirping; the birds perched on the power lines and outbuildings singing my favorite morning songs; the lizard scampering across the tin panel by the shed, and the pigeons cooing atop the weathered grey barn.

I thought about the very act I was engaged in -- I was pulling water from our deep, cold well to water peach trees, almond trees, an apple tree, globe willows and mulberries. The towering poplars are drinking from the puddles surrounding the rose bushes.  And that well? When Mike went down the stairs into the well house, which doubles as a cool, damp cellar, he encountered a very startled tan and white rat. The fat fella had brought in fresh alfalfa from the field and made a nest on one of the shelves that used to be heavy with canned goods preserved, no doubt, by the woman whose husband farmed this land long before we bought this place.

I don't have to water the grapes winding along the fence line or the overgrown asparagus patch, because the water from the hay farmers keep these remnants from the previous owners growing wild. The lilac bush is nurtured on the fence line, too, and the runoff from summer rains have kept the honeysuckle bush under Adam's window green and strong.

I turn from the honeysuckle and see this. A "mano y metate" -- ancient grinding stones, used hundreds and thousands of years ago by Native Americans to grind corn and grain to sustain life. The side of the small stone you see is smooth and flat, from the years and years it was gripped by Native women making food for their families, firmly pressing hard kernels into the flecked, hard surface of the stone basin below. These prehistoric tools were here when we bought this place -- I don't know if the previous owners found them on this land or while out herding their cattle on the surrounding high desert prairie.

As I looked around me again, I came to a realization. This place may be temporarily missing goats and chickens, turkeys and ducks, pigs and barn kittens; and we may no longer live here full time. But we return often to nurture the life that is still here, with dreams of returning for good some day, when we'll delight in our grandchildren and great grandchildren who will tumble out of the just-opened doors of their parent's SUVs, racing to find their favorite kitty, or check the chickens' nests for eggs, or grab a handful of straw to offer to nervous goat kids. They'll toss a distracted, "Hi, Grandma!" over their shoulders as they disappear around the side of the house. We'll find them later, hidden under their grape arbor forts, munching an apple they stole from the tree as they ran past, and picking up where they left off with their interior design projects of the last trip.

Their last trip to Grandma and Grandpa Walker's farm.

Because this IS still a farm.

There is still life here.

I am still here.

And forever will be.

Overflowing with love from the farm,
Teri

Well, Hello!

It's been nearly a year since I've posted here and I just couldn't let the year mark pass without stopping in for a chat.

A lot has changed since last we met.

While we still have our dilapidated little farmstead in northern Arizona, it's no longer our primary residence. We returned to Gilbert, in the Phoenix Metro area, where I'm working at my old PR & marketing agency. I won't bore you with the why's and wherefore's -- we're here, we still have the old farm, we're all doing great. You're caught up.

We have lots of good things in our life here in the Valley (Valley of the Sun, for those who aren't Arizona natives), and we're glad we're here. This is a good move for us. What makes it OK for my heart and soul is knowing we've kept our little farmstead up north and are going to continue to love and nurture it so it will become a verdant little sanctuary for us and our future grandkids to enjoy far into the future.

What we don't have in Gilbert? Chickens, ducks, a garden, farm dogs, stubborn goats, grapes, honeybees, pigs, asparagus patches, fruit trees, lilac bushes or a clothesline.

We don't have our old horse Buddy in the neighbor's pasture.

We don't have fresh eggs.

What we do have: our old dog Sadie and two of our farm cats, Peter and his mother, Ophelia.

Awwwwww. This is Sadie in her younger years. 

She's 10 now and is showing signs of age. She's the reason there is a U Haul moving blanket path from Tanner's room to the back door, since she slips on the wood floors. We're going to be getting her booties that are used to protect dog paws from hot Arizona sidewalks, to see if that helps her get a grip. Then, she'll be able to move freely about the cabin, and I'll be able to see our beautiful floors again.

What we do have that helps me connect to our old life? My aprons!

I still love my aprons. This is one my Aunt Carol gifted me for my birthday one year on the farm. I wore these for countless canning marathons, wheat grinding and bread baking sessions, and general gardening and cooking. Donning them here in the Valley makes me feel connected to home.

The other link to our old life that brings me joy?  Farmers markets!

I just went this morning to the year-round (yeehaw!) Gilbert Farmers Market. It's a fantastic market, with produce, baked goods, scads of locally made food products, and an arts & craft market across the way. The whole shebang is under a water tower downtown. I love this market.

Food trucks line up at the market. I love the niches these truck vendors decide they're going to commandeer. Whether it's waffles, wings, or gourmet soups, there's always a great selection of offerings.

These little guys were at the market this morning sporting their Home Depot aprons.

They had all kinds of ideas about what their dad should pick up. He took their advice and went away with a nice haul.

Wrapped in those plastic bags are my 2nd favorite thing about this time of year -- fresh roasted green chiles! I may have been born on the shore of Lake Erie, but I've lived in Arizona since the summer I turned nine and green chile is now part of my DNA. Seriously. I think if someone looked closely, they'd find a chili molecule on my DNA strand.  

Tell me, who doesn't salivate when this is going on in their cast iron skillet?

These are the chiles I brought home from the market this morning, along with the fresh roasted garlic I bought from the same farmer.  And the already sauteed market onions. I wish I could share the aromas.

This is the farmer who was selling the chilis and garlic. (Don't mind me; I'm just going to keep toggling between chile and chili until I decide which spelling I prefer.)

I don't know his name, but I was glad to take some of his produce off his hands. 

Here is my little haul from this morning:

My pan and oil were already heating up on the stove so I needed to hurry and catch a photo then get right down to chopping veggies, which is my excuse for this poorly composed and blurry photo. Sorry about that. I'm a little out of practice.

This turned into a quick batch of green chile for huevos rancheros, and I also made fresh salsa. (My trusty blender died on me a few months ago, so I had to blend up these veggies with my stick blender. It was a little clumsy, but it worked.)

Remember how I said chiles are my 2nd favorite thing about this time of year? Well, here's my very favorite thing -- homegrown tomatoes!

I love just picked tomatoes. They are so flavorful and nothing like what you get in a store. We're heading up to the farm next weekend to water our trees and bushes and I'm hoping to score a couple bags of tomatoes that I can bring home and can. I can't express how much I miss our canned crushed tomatoes. While store canned tomatoes are good, again, they don't begin to measure up to home canned. 

As soon as I finish this post, I'm slicing up the squash, onions and garlic to sauté for dinner.  The tiny melons in the upper left corner will be chilled before we each get a few bites from them. We haven't tried them before but they smell wonderful, so I expect they'll be good.

I don't do it often, but I took photos as I made my green chile so I may post the recipe later. I'm not going to do it now, because I don't want my first post after our long hiatus to go on for six miles. Nope, I'll end it here. 

It's good to be back. I've missed hanging around these parts. I'd like to promise that we'll finally update my 64-year-old masthead up at the top of this blog, but I don't want to make promises I can't keep. For now, it'll have to sit still.

Hope all is well with you, and that we'll see each other back here again soon.

Love from the city,

Teri

Wandering Eye

We have to ask ourselves if Sonny's penchant for chatting up the ladies had anything to do with Cher's abrupt departure.

I suppose we'll never know.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Don't Blink

Things change fast on the farm.

Take for instance, Cher. Remember how just 72 hours or so ago I wrote about her being cooped up with Sonny, the promise of little Bonos, her staying power?

 Yep, not 18 hours after I posted that little intro, Cher flew the coop. Up and left. Headed out on a solo career. Leaving Sonny (and my dreams of crazy-haired babies) in the dust. We'd suspect a varmint or a coyote, except there's no evidence of either, no other birds have gone missing, and we saw one of the other ladies on top of the feed shed in the chicken yard. It's been awhile since we've had upwardly mobile chickens around here. I guess it's time for a little wing clipping party.

I had high hopes for Sonny and Cher. Dang creative types with their flightiness.

Then we had another change from just a few days ago. See the pretty red pan holding breakfast-for-dinner below?

It's no longer with us, either. Karlie broke it while doing dishes. It was part of a 3-pan set my Mom gave me last year. Grumble...grumble. Poor Karlie felt so bad Tanner actually offered to sweep up the mess for her. And if you knew the home dynamics between those two, you'd know why that was worth mentioning. I'll miss my red dish. I liked it a lot.

But with the bad comes the good.

Here are two happy events to keep our cosmic house in balance:

We have a new layer.

This is the first egg we've gotten from our new flock and I was so excited to see it this morning.

Almost as excited as I was to see this:

Look close and you'll see Autumn and Pheebs' new bunk mate. Autumn and Pheebs have been sharing a nest for weeks now and overnight or early this morning, their first duckling made its appearance. The Mamas are very nervous and protective, though, so I didn't get a good photo of the little peeper. Can't wait to see how many more they hatch. They have lots of eggs under them and they've been diligent nest warmers.

So, you lose some, you win some.

We're ending on a winning note for today.

Love from the farm,
Teri

Sonny & Cher

Meet Sonny.

Oh, wait...here...let me find one where he's looking at us.

Heheheh. 

Come on now, how could I NOT? :)

A wonderful lady in town sold us some of her chickens from her McMurray Hatchery order of this spring. They're just beginning to lay eggs, so we are lucky to have them fill the void left from losing our flock last weekend (I'll write about that later. Maybe.)  Aside from missing our 6 hens and Wyatt the Rooster, we also were down to our last few eggs from them. As soon as they adjust to their new surroundings in the next day or so, we should start getting eggs from our new friends.

Well, not from Sonny. Because he's a boy. Let's keep up.

But his girl, Cher, here...she should be letting loose some huevos anytime now.

 

I didn't get too close to the newbies with my IPhone since it was their first day in the chicken yard and I didn't want to push myself on these newcomers yet. I just sat on a straw bale watching them get the lay of the land for a while after work yesterday. I'll get better pictures of them soon.

Of the 15 new chickens, these two had to be named first. It had been a few years since I had a crazy-haired chicken, and I had missed having these fellers around so I decided the names had to be perfect.

I toyed with "Dude" for the rooster for awhile, but then I decided his lady friend had to be Cher, so naturally Sonny followed.

Why Cher, you ask?

Well, come now...

 Isn't it obvious?

Surely you understand I had no choice.

But why Sonny for our rooster pal?  Well, here's what cinched it for him:

The man is wearing silver boots, for Pete's sake. Sonny was clearly the only option.

In time, we'll put these two in a pen together so we can be sure to have little Chastity at a future time. Or a little Chas. We may let them decide. One thing's for sure, though, we want to keep these fine feathered heads as part of our flock for a long time to come. We figure we're in pretty good shape...if we know anything about Cher, it's that the girl has staying power. 

Love from the farm,

Teri

Raspberry Sauce

This is where I pretend for a moment that I'm a food blogger...and then I look at my photos and lack of Photoshop color touch up and realize, no, I'm just sharing a yummy recipe. 

I will stand by my first photo, though. It's just pretty. There's no getting around it. 

Raspberries were on sale the other day at the supermarket, so I bought 11, 6 oz packages, took them home and put them in the fridge. I took them out 2 days later, and was able to find a little over 2 cups worth that hadn't already begun to mold. 

Still, the ones that were left were beautiful.

Macy and I considered putting some directly in the pancake batter she was making, then decided to save all of them for a raspberry sauce, instead. 

So, I went looking for a recipe, adapted one and here we go:

Put 2 cups of fresh berries, 1/3 c sugar and 1 3/4 c water in a saucepan. Stir and bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

Mash the berries in the pan (I used an old-fashioned potato masher) then pour berries and liquid through a fine mesh sieve over a 2 c liquid measuring cup. Mash the berries against the sieve to remove the seeds and press some of the pulp through the sieve.

If there isn't a full 2 cups of liquid, add water to bring up to the 2 c line. Return to pan and return to a boil. Add 1 - 2 T. water to 1.5 T corn starch in a small bowl; stir until smooth. Stir corn starch mixture into the boiling liquid. Reduce heat and stir rapidly until thickened.

Serve with pancakes...or over waffles...or biscuits...or scones...or cheesecake...or just grab a spoon.

 We had breakfast for dinner. Yum.

Enjoy!

Love from the farm,
Teri