make way for ducklings

Pongo, Biscuit, & Beaker

As a family, we rarely, if ever, impulse-buy. We budget and save, and plan for months when it comes to large-ish purchases. BUt, it appears that planning & so forth go out the window when ducks go on sale at the feed store.
 Boom - we have ducks. Aren't they darling?? and every time they squeak their little tails wiggle :}
 The whole thing wasn't entirely unthought out, though. We have an order of chicks coming in this week to replace the mean old birds I can't wait to see go. (You have to replace layers about every two years. We get chicks every year so we're never without eggs). We'll put the chicks and the ducklings in the same brooder box and they can grow up together and be pals & whatnot.
 In the meantime, it's awfully fun to let them run round the house when "responsible" people have left for the day ;}

it hurt because it mattered

I do not know if there is anyone left to read my words, but I am filled with an unexplainable need to be heard. Even if my voice is small and my words only have meaning to me.

You have not heard from me at all in a very long time. And that is because I had no words. No things I could say, no insight in a time that for me and many close to me was black as pitch. I did not need to speak then, but to grieve. But now I am tired of tears and silence.
 I cannot give a full report on all that has left me paralyzed -- I still don't have the words and neither is it something to foist upon the ears of passing strangers.
 But I can tell you the last straw in a string of sharp, heartbreaking events that broke this camel's back.
My Charlie is dead.
 Just like that.
Momma's cancer therapy dog, he was. The puppy that brought smiles even to the bleakest of days is somehow gone.
 All because one boarder at my neighbor's barn was late for work and sped on our gravel road.
I still don't get it.

Do you ever feel like Job?

Two months and two-thousand miles removed from all that, I have, for the first time since, picked up my novel and pen. Only to find I am extremely out of practice. Oh, for a magic key that will let me back into what I once believed was my own world! Or better yet a magic pen that will write my story for me. That is every writers' dream, right? My favorite quote on the subject remains, "I don't like to write, I like to have written." I know there are those who enjoy the actual process, hacking out the details and so on, but I confess I am not one of them.
 I quit writing, drawing, music, and even taking pictures for the month of September. I had no desire for any of it. But now that Black September is over, I want to come back to my art-loves only to find one of them — my favorite, writing — a stranger.
 I need a new start so I was sent to visit my sister, where I am currently writing from. But even here, in perhaps the most inspiring city in the States, there is no magic cure.

 'It's hard to wait around for something you know might never happen;

 but it's even harder to give up when you know it's everything you want.'

 So I'm going to roll up my sleeves and try again. Because that's all I can do.

a farmer's life for me

I love country life, and all it has to offer. I love feeling accomplished at the end of a long day of working outdoors. Whether gardening, or mowing; riding skittish mares or teaching ornery ponies new tricks - living with the land is the life I will always want. This is where I belong.

While our farm isn't as 'working' a farm as perhaps I would like (our only crop is hay & we never sell any of the critters we say we will :), there is always plenty work to be done to keep things running smoothly.

And climbing on top the haystack is the best for watching sunsets (or brooding, as Little Brother was in this photo). Yes, it's a grand view up there, unless an angry yellowjacket lands on your leg - then it's every man for himself.

I should let it be known that bees and wasps are my phobias. I nearly jumped off, but reason still had some control (however impaired) and I ended up sliding down the side to the ground. Not a good day to wear shorts.

A fox got most of our chickens last month, and now we only have five laying hens. I saved two from the mouth of the mangy beast, running through the pasture barefoot in my Sunday dress. I think this is one of the survivors ^.

sooc

These are our little pullets that we got back in May, growing nicely. We hope they'll start laying as soon  as September, and maybe then we can get back in the egg business. 

I think this is the first photo I've posted of this girl since she lost her eye last Christmas. She's getting on well without it, and you can hardly tell, though she sometimes runs into things on her left side (me, for instance). She's a very brave and steadfast little pony and will be an wonderful kid pony for Nephew, when he can reach the stirrups.

Double Stuff on the other hand, still needs some work. He's a silly, slightly devious little man, emphasis on "little". He's had an on-again-off-again education under the saddle, the primary reason being that we (three of us now) out grow him so fast. Though I can't hardly make contact anymore when it comes to kicking, I still ride him occasionally, and LB has been working on him.

Stuffy is a free-spirit, whose intelligence is almost scary, and who believes with every fiber of his being that he is the Stallion of the Cimarron. 

I love hanging out with these guys. All the other horses are in the big pasture, more interested in seeing how much weight they can put on between rides than talking to me. But the ponies are a captive audience, kept in a pen so that we can control their diet. They have a tendency to become massively obese. 

I have no idea where I'll be this time next year. I'm 18, half graduated, nannying full time, attempting to run the farm, and trying to keep projects important to me - like my horses and my stories - afloat.

My family is at a crossroad, and I don't know what things will be like after. But God, I pray & I plead, let us always have the farm.

the only north star i'd follow this far

The very first and foremost, I am so grateful for all of you who left notes on my last post with prayers, Scripture verses, and encouragement. What a comfort it is to belong to the loving Christian family, and to feel that love through your prayers. Prayers that have been sorely needed.
Unlike I thought before, Momma has to undergo chemotherapy after all, for though her cancer was early, it is the most aggressive type and has a chance of recurring, in which case there is no cure. It is just a sliver of a chance, but one that we will not risk. She had her first chemo treatment yesterday, so I ask for your continued prayers because the side effects are brutal.
 Satan seems determined to fracture my family, whatever the cost. And though the ship quakes and the sails tear in the violent storm, we refuse to sink.
The devil may be in the barnacles that cling to our hull, the sharks that circle in hopes of failure, or even the merciless tossing brine itself, but Jesus is the captain, God our destination, and Holy Spirit the trade wind that will guide us to the harbour on that eternal shore. (here end my nautical metaphors :)

Then Jesus arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace, be still!” And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.

 But He said to them, “Why are you so fearful? Have you still no faith?"

mark 4:39-40 nkjv

Last weekend Momma, Little Brother, Sister & Baby, and I all traveled down to Colorado to visit my grandma whose health is failing, before Mum started treatment. We only got to spend one day with her and my Aunt, but it was good.
 A few of our side adventures include driving around lost in a city for two hours in search of a certain hotel (that turned out to be on the other side of town). Settling instead for the first hotel we could find, experiencing Duck Dynasty for the first time (what the..?), and not-sleeping thanks to the college basketball party arriving next door. If there was ever a time I wanted to pull a Batman (scale the wall, bust through the glass and start beating those rats in jerseys with a blunt instrument) it was then.

Meet Charlie, the newest addition to our menagerie. Nine weeks old, this little Mini Australian Shepherd with one blue eye and one brown practically fell out of the sky into my Momma's arms. It was quickly decided that she required this little fluff ball for therapy :)

I really regret not being able to post more often, but the simple fact is I have no time anymore. I miss writing and editing photos for the little audience I have. I miss a lot of things I used to do and take for granted. Like riding (haven't ridden in a month - hoping the weather will give me a window today). Like finishing a book. Like writing more than a paragraph in TLOS at 12:30am when I finely get to go to bed.
 My days consist of caring for my nephew, house training an ornery puppy, and an endless amount of housework (Respect for Momma status: ALREADY HIGH to NEEDING NEW CHART). I don't mind all that stuff (well, maybe Charlie's incontinence). But all day nearly every day is hard.
 However, I am growing and adapting, and am challenged to carve out my true priorities and discover how hard I'm willing to work for them.
Today is my first day off where it is not blizzarding (just ridiculously windy) and I don't want to waste it, so I shall
 bid you all a fond adieu.

the old grey mare

(she's not that old, but no one ever wrote a song about a young grey mare)

Meet the latest addition to my fur-friends, a beautiful dapple-grey full blooded Quarter Horse mare of approximately six years, who is in serious danger of being called The Grey Mare for the rest of her life. (Just like The Black Pony and My Kitty.) I personally would like to call her Fia - Celtic for... something - since she has fine features and, let's face it, is grey (never had a grey horse before!) and something about that deserves a somewhat mystical (not exactly the word i'm looking for) name. Somehow I don't think it'll stick.

She has been a broodmare all her life, literally out on the range. The couple who owned her breed Quarter Horses and she was one of their own, born and bred on their place, so she got handled when she was little like all the others. But beyond being halter broke, she's a blank slate. Did I mention that she was six-going-on-seven? Yeah, could make breaking her to ride interesting.
 Still, she's bright and full of potential, and underneath a friendly little gal, just shy and wary from the little human contact she's had while living every horse's dream all wild and free with her pals out on the prairie.

I was out with her yesterday brushing and talking to her, pretty much trying to convince her that I am not the Boogieman, and there was a moment after she settled down and relaxed (we were discussing chickens) where I completely forgot she wasn't broke and actually was making plans to hop on her bareback. I had a grip on her mane and everything and it was only when she took an uncomfortable step back that I realized that this might not be the best idea.
 So, yeah, I chickened out(read: woke up) and probably missed out on a real life Black Stallion moment. oh wells.

  I really can't wait to see how she turns out as a riding horse. She looks very promising.

and have a chicken before you go :)

have a lovely thursday, what's left of it!

Hammie-ham-ham

Dear Hammie,
 It's always you, isn't it?
 Always you, my baby boy, that things happen to.

 Wednesday was pretty much a nightmare, when Hammie got run over in the driveway as my older brother left for class. Luckily it was the driveway so the car was going pretty slow. All the same, Hammie was hurt pretty bad and we couldn't tell where so we ran him in to the vet.

 At the office they asked me to put him on the scale. Now, I've been suffering under some kind of sickness most of the week and Wednesday seemed to be the day it peaked. I was feverish and unbelievably weak and shaky. None the less I struggled and eventual was able to get all 58 pounds of Ham onto the scale, though I nearly fainted afterwards. (58 pounds, my goodness Hammie likes his chow.)

 From there they took him and treated him for pain and shock, and said they would X-ray him once he stabilized. They called us late in the afternoon with the results: That Hammie's pelvis was broken in two places, and his sacroiliac (the place where the spine meets the pelvis) was also broken. They said the bones themselves are fixable, but there was concern over whether or not his nerves had been damaged, the danger being his back legs could be paralyzed. It was late in the day so they said they would test and call us in the morning.
Wondering whether or not you will have to make the call and put down one of your best friends in the morning makes for a very hard and sleepless night full of worry and fear.

Thanks be to Jesus, the vet called with good news about Hammie's nerve and we were able to bring him home that afternoon. Once his right leg heals enough to stand on, we'll take him back to be operated on.

I'm pretty much his full time nurse along with Da, so I'm afraid NaNo once again must leave me behind. I'm pretty sure it's cursed for me. The last time I did NaNo I got sick and then Double Stuff got a bad case of colic. So I may never attempt it again for the sake of my animals. :)

Dear Hammie,
 I love you, silly old bear.
-Gwyn

Thank you all for your kind thoughts and concern for Hammie! They're much appreciated :)
@Scarlett Pimpernel: Hammie is a half corgi, half Australian Shepherd -- good eyes :) 

Because life doesn't stand still

I have few words today. I think it must be the abominable heat. Or perhaps because for the last four days I have been beating myself about the head with a blunt object in an effort to make it come up with worthy story material. As it is, what pathetic sum I have scribbled is most unsatisfactory.
 And so, instead of writing you with words of things & happenings I am going to let photos do most of the talking. For while my pen may have been idle, Jackson and I were not.

All sleek and shiny in their summer coats. This might sound like bragging -- promise it's not -- but I have some pretty horses. Okay, so I'm a little me&mine-monster. Sorry. But every time I see them out in the sun, all glossy and beautiful, I get a semi-ridiculous smile on my face. 'cause they're my friends. :)

 Water fights + 103* = a mustmust. One sided water fights? Even better. As long as I'm the one with the hose.

 {And learning how to set shutter speed -- pure awesome sauce!}

 Spanish labels have taken over a large part of my room, peoples. Pillows, walls, boxes..... nothing is safe.

I think I'm learning.

 Lots of this. Because running the dryer is stupid when outside will get your clothes dry 10x faster.

 90's... 100's.... Who cares. When it's this dry it doesn't make a difference. It's a terrible year for crops all around. A dry winter and spring have totally butchered any hopes of surplus for anyone this year. As far as hay, this year we'll be lucky if we get enough from our fields to last us much past Christmas, so we've already bought up a bunch from a friend east of us to last us. A lot of people are going to run short.

 Farmer's who got up to four cuts last year are now hoping they can scrape together one. I know one man who raises hay who has 90 acres he won't be able to cut at all because the grass is only six inches high. I can't imagine how it is down South.

Mum and I went to town yesterday and got our hairs did, and I.... I am no longer Rupunzel. It's the shocking truth. After growing it out for a year & a half {ma hair grows fast, people} I whacked off 13 inches for a light bob {what a dumb name for a hairstyle, if I may say so}. I saw this photo, thought about how hot my mass of hair was, Pinned it, thought how I love my waves, reconsidered, decided not to do it, got to the stylists, told her to have at it.

 Regrets? Not yet.

Do you take crazy in your tea?

"One lump or two?" asks the Voice Inside My Head.
"Ooh you know me, I'll take all the crazy you've got!" says Brain. "And I know I really shouldn't, but I think I can squeeze in one more slice of loony pie."

 Heaven's to Betsy, it's been a long time! I shan't bore you with the usual rot: 'I apologize for leaving you without notice! I've been so[insert a thousand more o's] busy!'
 First of all, I am quite sure you all can cope a week or two without hearing from yours truly {it might even be good for your health}. If you've found that you can't, however, and that you find yourself wondering why you even bother to go on in my absence, all unkempt hair and yesterday's tea cups; here is what I say: Get a life.
All that being said, we shall move on.

Oh what things have happened while Eldest Sister is here! So many things. Like shopping...
 Summer clothes for me. I cannot believe how hard it is to find decent jeans anymore. They're either all mangled with holes or they make your legs feel like Polish sausage. Thinking of this analogy I start to snicker at myself in that tiny little dressing room. Then I catch the reflection in the mirror of myself not-laughing while struggling to extricate myself from the ridiculous things and suddenly Getting Out of These Jeans Alive has gone to level Two. Feeling fit to burst {not helping my escape any}, I give up trying to hold the chuckles in and try and focus on getting out of these...dratted...pants! By this time I'm laughing pretty hard and not all that silently when my fingers decide they think this is funny too so they'll just take the day off and go all wobbly and useless. I imagine what my neighbors must be thinking which doesn't help my situation at all. Just when I'm beginning to think I'm going to die in this little corner of Kohl's; that they'll one day find me, my body wasted away but the skinny jeans a-size-too-small remaining, when there's a sinister knock on the door. "Are you alright, ma'am?"
 That sobers me up, right quick.
After assuring the kindly matron of the store that I am just trying to kick these wretched pants off and not in fact having a seizure, {aaaand declining her offer to help}, the pants, as though feeling they've had me suffer enough, release their hold.
 It is with triumph that I march out of the dressing rooms and fling the too-smalls on the To Put Back {aka Everyone Hated Themselves In These Things} counter.
 "There you are!" calls Mum. "Did those not work?" No, Mum, no they did not. "Well then, try these," She hands me a stack several feet high of blue. And it is in this moment that I realized something profound: I hate shopping.

We also did other things. Big things. Like planting all our gardens. This is the first year I finally got to use my kitchen garden boxes -- or raised beds might be a better term. They're 4'x12'. So that's a lot of dirt to shift to fill them, too. With a shovel. Just so you know, my arms and back survived. In fact they did more than that -- they conquered! *tribal whoop*
 I planted my boxes with cherry tomatoes, lots strawberries, peas, carrots, radishes, lettuce and other leafy roughage.
 The big garden on the hill got much of the same treatment with tomatoes, a huge patch of squashes {squashi?}, cucumbers, beans, and four rows of corn. We also got herbs and things for pots, and a lovely flower arrangement for the new barrel-halves planter things for our deck.
 Little Brother got his pumpkin patch again this year, and is already making plans for a giant pumpkin fest this Fall.

{This is LB robing up to acolyte {light the candles} at church, by the way.}

So those are some of the highlights of this month. Not so glam is that Double Stuff {the little black & white pony} foundered last week. On a scale of one to ten I'm not sure how bad he rated, but the poor little bugger could barely stump around the first few days, and his feet were on fire. Because Da was leaving for a few days...aaaand because I wanted to play vet, Stuffy became my patient. We put him on Bute right away. Bute is a NSAID, a pain killer/blood thinner. Basically Ibuprofen for horses. And that's all I really have to do: Once a day give him a bit of mash of apples and karo syrup to hide the taste of the Bute powder. And make sure he doesn't get any worse, which, as of yesterday he's doing great. He even ran around for a while.

 I did learn more about founder, though, thanks to my awesome book The Horse Doctor Is In by Brent Kelly [DVM], I highly recommend it to all you horse peoples. I love it to pieces.

 For example, geldings are much more likely to founder than mares or stallions, and ponies more than horses. So if you have a gelding pony {like ol' Stuffy} they have a saying, "There are two kinds: those that have foundered, and those that will."

 Founder is an ailment of the feet caused by too much rich pasture or feed. In fact, if your horses get into the grain barn and gorge themselves, vets say you should be more worried about founder than colic. In any case, call your vet as both can be and often are serious.

You've probably noticed by now that none of these photos follow any sort of theme either with each other or the post itself. Well, let me say this: I love my camera. I love my Jack. And we have been snapping pictures and just having the best times. I take my little Rebel everywhere.
 I've been looking for projects to do {A Day In the World: check} but so far haven't found any to my liking. Most are competitions, which are okay, but I take better pictures when I know they aren't going to be judged. So I've been turning over in my mind to just have weekly project on this blog. A theme. Something to give me direction. Anyone want to join me? I suppose I could add a link tool and it could be like a blog hop for all us camera-crazies. Si? Well, comment if you're interested and we'll see where it goes from there.

-Gwyn

I'mma barber || Painting with café

Why spend mounds of money at some frou-frou pet grooming salon when you can achieve results like this with a little application and some blunt shears?

Disclaimer: I cannot promise your pet will be particularly happy with the results.... in fact it may just wander miserably away, embarrassed by the sight of its own self and generally hating the world (or you).

  I myself am quite proud, mostly because I never once drew blood (which is more than a certain other person could say last year). I sheared nearly a five-gallon bucketful of hair off Hammie. You wouldn't believe the hair on that dog. He may be half Corgi half Ausi shepherd, but I'mma thinking there's some alpaca in there too. 

Aaaaand since we're talking of dogs, here's a pic of Hooey for good measure. Weasel Dog. Toad. She has many nicknames. Mostly because she's a big mooch. And very gun-shy, which is why it is very hard to take a picture of her -- she thinks you're trying to shoot her. Either that or she follows that ancient belief that when the photo is developed the subject's soul is stolen. Not quite sure when or where that idea originated.

 But anyway. The best shot (ha.) of getting a photo of Weasel is to grab her firmly round the middle, shove the camera in her face, and hope for a good picture.

On a completely  unrelated note -- painting! with coffee! not as easy as the tutorial made it look! But lots of fun, none the less. Painting with coffee is a lot like painting with watercolors or much more wet. Much more. Therefore you have to wait between 'coats', otherwise it'll all just wash out. So, yeah. Lots of time to think about things like.... I wonder if Da will flip when he finds out how much of his instant coffee I'm using.... Make that if he finds out...
 I'll probably do it again, though, because I really do like the color tones. If you would like to try it, here's a link to my Pinterest board where you can find the tutorial: [do it yourself]

Apart from those little dittys, Sister's here so there's been birthday caking, jelly bean eating, Hunger Games watching (second time for me, hooray!), rainy days, sunny days, and happy new pasture! crazy horses.
  Long live happiness.

-Gwyn

And she was singing 'Five green speckled frogs...'

Five green speckled frogs

Sitting on a hollow log

Eating the most delicious bugs

(Yum-Yum!)

One jumps into the pool

Down where it's nice and cool

Now there's four green speckled frogs

Sitting on a hollow log.....

Imagine me waltzing barefoot along a country road belting out this round at the top of my lungs {punctuated with a few 'ow!'s here and there; my feet are still soft}, camera swinging with every step at my side, and you have a pretty good idea of my yesterday evening. And while we were out, Jack and I discovered something...

It was the smell that alerted me at first... or rather it descended on me with all the grace of a tidal wave. A big wall of scent buffeting against the old sniffer. A honey-sugar smell so sweet it near turns the stomach. It could mean only one thing, so I followed my nose, and sure as the whiskers on your face...
  The chokecherry bush-tree-things are in bloom.

I ambushed My Kitty while she was napping and proceeded to annoy her with the snapping of my shutter. But we have hardly any photos of her and she really does deserve to be remembered as the best barn cat ever. She may look not-very-nice in the pictures but that's just because she's cheesed off at me. She's really quite friendly, and never scratches. {Unless you try giving her a tractor ride, to which she says "No, thank you!"}

At this point you are probably asking yourself if this whole post was just an excuse for me to post some of my latest photos.... Well, yes it was. Is. {Should that be past- or present-tense?} But not entirely, I suppose. You see, I have been experimenting with fonts for my watermarks and I can't quite decide on one. These are a few that I've pared it down to. Is there one you like best?

I've got to go now -- once again my smell-sense it tipping me off, this time that supper might be burning. I think I was supposed to take it out when the timer went off. Wondered what it was going off for at the time.

Dia,

-Gwyn