Barn Beginnings

Except for the first week we lived here, in which we put Beatrice the Amish goat, Peaches and her pal Chewy (Chewcifer-Lucifer) in the barn due to lack of fencing out of doors, the barn hasn't been used too much. And I might add, it's a lot cleaner since those three goats are on winter vacation. The girls are at Farmer Ron's becoming pregnant does (the intact male goats--bucks--stink, so I'm happy to let them stay there for a while), and Chewy had to go along because Peaches is his best friend and they are each lost without the other.

I finally swept and moved the barn items from the garage to my little tack room, which is completely adorable, and now I have my own tiny room for barn animal stuff. I use the term "tack room" loosely, because it's not like we have a full horse operation in this joint. The big beautiful barn used to house gorgeous draft horses (Percherons, I think); now, it will have a couple of goats and a very fuzzy Miniature Horse that might actually be a tiny buffalo. I'll check and get back to you.

Inside the tack room

A real, live barn stall complete with hay and goat feeder

Aisle View



Thus concludes this tour of the barn...and if anyone knows how to work an outdoor automated waterer, you just feel free to call me up. The manual is around here somewhere.....

Gunnar's Afternoon

Let me illustrate his day with a pictorial:

"Mom--I like that stuff in the bowl..............."

"Mr. H--what do you have over there?"

"I feel like it's time for you to have another bowl of something...."

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Give Me A Sign

I was hoping for a name for our new property to just pop out of the sky--or into my head--but so far, nothing. Thinking it might be the best time for this when we finally throw a housewarming party near spring time is obviously not going to work either. This became apparent as I skidded past my driveway yet again, in a Camry with two refrigerators full of groceries crammed into it. I could actually feel the contents of the trunk roll around as I tried to maneuver into the driveway--way late.

I'm not sure what Mr. H has in mind for names and we all know the hardest part of this will be to get both of us to agree on the identifier for our hobby farm. At the moment I'm leaning towards "The Black Squirrel," because our town is overrun with the little dark fluffy animals. I've rarely seen a black squirrel until I came here and then, I've never seen so many in one area. Not a very majestic, regal, refined, or meaningful name though. I told Mr. H all I picture when I think of the Black Squirrel is the "Black Pearl," Jack Sparrow's boat from "Pirates of the Caribbean." Can you imagine a huge roadside sign with a large black squirrel on it, dressed in pirate garb and an eye patch? Oy. Who knows, maybe that's what the farm is supposed to be named: I mean, Lily perches on Mr. H's shoulder like a parrot and Gunnar is a great first mate. And, well, Loki, Talon and Wulf are definitely "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything."

Most local properties have names like Maple Leaf Farm, or Evergreen Haven...imagine this redneck family moving in, buying a large-ish property and naming it after a pigmentally challenged (or melanin overdosed?), fluffy-tailed rodent!

Someone put a sign in this frame, please

Same Walk, Different Woods

The white Husky and I have already established ourselves in the woods behind our new house. Though Gunnar is the only one that has marked this territory, officially, he's dragged me across enough branches and trees that my scent--and a little skin-- is there too.

Today we scared a small herd of deer out of the shelter of our northern section of land and I scurried Gunnar back toward the house before he looked up and saw the four white tails in front of us. We then resumed hunting mice in the front paddocks but not before he rolled briefly in a small dead animal. I pay a lot more attention to what he does, and rolls in, now that he is a house dog. Luckily, he is not a "bed" dog; he sleeps on a blanket on the floor on Mr. H's side of the bed. But still...

Nosey

Prettiest boy ever...

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Crime Scene

Take That, Martha Stewart!

Believe it or not, Mr. H and I hosted a small Christmas brunch for our parents today. I was planning my meal weeks in advance, cruising the internet for recipes, and generally figuring out where we were going to find table space for 10 people. I even got a little frisky and designed a menu with our house all lit up (It's a first year attempt--wait til next year with more time and planning: it will be like Clark Griswold crawled up there!). We were a few strands short because I did not seem to read the labels on the extra lights I picked up.

Logistics in place, I attempted two casseroles, some side dishes, ordered Mr. H to man the scrambled egg/pancake/Spam station, and begged Grandma to make Christmas bread and cookies for me. She was happy to comply and so we had a complete meal. Not too bad, either. This morning I had a brief moment of panic, worried whether the gas ovens would actually "gas up" hot enough to cook the monster casseroles. New to gas-powered appliances--and entertaining--I just didn't know what I was getting into. Luckily, our families are very laid back and would have been happy with anything we would have thrown at them.

Everything tastes great when you throw cheese on it

And to really impress everyone, I attempted some edible snowmen out of donut holes and various candies...eat your heart out Food Network!

Isn't he cute?



Full Contact Sport

Why is gift wrapping so painfully difficult? I'm going to file that right next to dish washing and pooper scooping! And I can never wrap the present nicely: it always looks like someone sat on the gift right after it was wrapped. Long live the gift bag!