The barn yard committee is discussing a solution.
When they work this problem out, I'm putting them on the computer.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Line of Demarcation...Computer Malfuntion
is defined in one instance as the determining and marking off of the boundaries of something. There have been many types of lines but I think it's fairly safe to say this is the first made with shoes.
Bev my middle sister had been staying with us a few days. Her work ethics and drive make me look like Suzy Super Lazy. Our den is painted flooring. She has been "touching" up some places, Even Maggie the Border Collie knows what these lines mean. The lines move and change as Bev paints in sections. Maggie knows which side of the line is safe...much better than I do.
The floor is almost complete along with sorting, thinning and cleaning. Bev has directed Hubby like a drill sergeant or a personal trainer. This room is Hubby's room where items dropped tend to stay dropped. Oh, not anymore! Papers and booklets applying to equipment no longer owned are sorted and discarded. Like tools are in the same spot. It is simply amazing how Bev can request and it is all taken with good nature by the two males that risk pulling a back muscle when they have to pick up a dirty sock.
Had a little snow land at our place that stopped school early one day and out completely the next. The suddenness caught drivers off guard and there were many accidents.
The livestock were fed and wearing many layers was the only way to be outside. Two new healthy heifers were born. No bulls being born yet makes me wonder if we have another dry summer coming.
Predators are also hungry and have choice picked a hen a night for over a week when it was not raining or snowing.. We have found claw marks on a tree over three feet off the ground. The dogs alert us but there has been no capture. The dogs seem hesitant to move in on the predator. We haven't caught the chicken thief.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
The Cave
The cave lay close to the top of a dry creek that cut through the mountain side. The solid rock bed held perfect circles where grind stones had been cut and removed long ago. Traveling for at least a quarter mile up to the left the cave became visible.
No one knows how long this cave has existed nor how long it has been used. No one tried to guess. It has been known longer than my father's grandfather knew.
It was an outing for the family to screen for artifacts along the strong creek bank, picnic in the grass, explore the cave shelter and even swim.
On a school day when I was not allowed to go Dad and Uncle Bill decided to explore. In the cave they moved a large flat rock thinking maybe it had fallen from the ceiling. They soon discovered it was a carefully placed stone covering a lone burial spot where a man sat upright with arms around knees that hugged his chest. They carefully respectfully replaced the stone, notified an archaeological department within a college and guided the archaeologist to the site.
Dad's only request was a report of what they discovered. He only wanted the knowledge of the time, the tribe, the man.
No word ever came. We never visited the cave again since it seemed disrespectful to do so. The days along the creek ended and our knowledge of what lay above the beauty gave us pause to visit.
I shall not name the cave, nor the creek, nor the road. The land has been purchased by a company that gobbles land like cookies, crumples the empty bag of what once was and abandons it with no regard for what they have destroyed for gain.
I may be the last to know where the rocks turn toward the cave, the last to know what once was. I will not tell. May the memory be buried with time since the place may already be covered with sand. To the one we disturbed, forgive us. To the one who removed him, may the kept knowledge rot your brain. To the ones who raped the land, may you know the feeling of being stripped and exposed to the world.
When we are gone and the land has healed may someone discover my secret and honor the past as we have done. May you listen with an open heart and discover the story the lone member of some forgotten tribe tried to tell us.
No one knows how long this cave has existed nor how long it has been used. No one tried to guess. It has been known longer than my father's grandfather knew.
It was an outing for the family to screen for artifacts along the strong creek bank, picnic in the grass, explore the cave shelter and even swim.
On a school day when I was not allowed to go Dad and Uncle Bill decided to explore. In the cave they moved a large flat rock thinking maybe it had fallen from the ceiling. They soon discovered it was a carefully placed stone covering a lone burial spot where a man sat upright with arms around knees that hugged his chest. They carefully respectfully replaced the stone, notified an archaeological department within a college and guided the archaeologist to the site.
Dad's only request was a report of what they discovered. He only wanted the knowledge of the time, the tribe, the man.
No word ever came. We never visited the cave again since it seemed disrespectful to do so. The days along the creek ended and our knowledge of what lay above the beauty gave us pause to visit.
I shall not name the cave, nor the creek, nor the road. The land has been purchased by a company that gobbles land like cookies, crumples the empty bag of what once was and abandons it with no regard for what they have destroyed for gain.
I may be the last to know where the rocks turn toward the cave, the last to know what once was. I will not tell. May the memory be buried with time since the place may already be covered with sand. To the one we disturbed, forgive us. To the one who removed him, may the kept knowledge rot your brain. To the ones who raped the land, may you know the feeling of being stripped and exposed to the world.
When we are gone and the land has healed may someone discover my secret and honor the past as we have done. May you listen with an open heart and discover the story the lone member of some forgotten tribe tried to tell us.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
We Moved Around A Lot...
when I was very young. We traveled with Dad as he followed road construction and the money. Where he was needed we were. This meant different housing every month or so. Sometimes amazing houses or apartments, other times not so great.
I remember one house. I cannot tell the town nor the state but I cannot forget that house. It was a house where magic lived, where squirrels talked to you and little people swam in the bathtub.
The house was two-storied with an amazing upstairs balcony. I loved that place. I could go up and look down and it would seem like miles to the ground. I think I was about four years old maybe younger.
What I do remember is the way my mind wrapped itself around things and would not let go.
Having few toys didn't matter because Helen my first dog traveled with us. I remember playing with a small inflatable horse. On the balcony I decided to see if my horse could fly. It could not but it kinda floated on the wind like a leaf slowly to the ground. This sent my mind another direction. If it took that long to get to the ground, I could throw it over and run down to catch it. What a wonderful new game!!
After about my fourth trip running break neck speeds from the upper balcony and out the front door, my mother came to check.
When called by Mother, Helen and I both sat properly waiting to hear what Mother had to say. Helen and I thought we'd done something wrong...again.
Mother asked, "What are you two up to now? All I hear is running and slamming, running and slamming." Mother stood with her hands on her hips with her no nonsense expression. Helen and I both knew she wasn't handing out cookies.
I decided to speak up and explain what we were doing. We were tossing the horse off the balcony and if Helen and I ran really, really fast, we just knew we could catch that horse before it hit the ground. We just had to run faster. That's what we were doing. We just had to try harder, that's all.
Toward the end of my explanation Mother's hands left her hips. The mad left her eyes and there was a hint of a smile. She patted Helen on the head and straightened the bow on my dress. "Well," she said, "I admire your and Helen's faith and hard work. Go ahead, just try not to slam the door when you go out."
As Helen and I bounded up the stairway again with that poor inflatable horse I grinned at Helen and said, "See, I told you we weren't doing anything wrong!" Helen said nothing but wagged her tail all the way to the balcony.
I remember one house. I cannot tell the town nor the state but I cannot forget that house. It was a house where magic lived, where squirrels talked to you and little people swam in the bathtub.
The house was two-storied with an amazing upstairs balcony. I loved that place. I could go up and look down and it would seem like miles to the ground. I think I was about four years old maybe younger.
What I do remember is the way my mind wrapped itself around things and would not let go.
Having few toys didn't matter because Helen my first dog traveled with us. I remember playing with a small inflatable horse. On the balcony I decided to see if my horse could fly. It could not but it kinda floated on the wind like a leaf slowly to the ground. This sent my mind another direction. If it took that long to get to the ground, I could throw it over and run down to catch it. What a wonderful new game!!
After about my fourth trip running break neck speeds from the upper balcony and out the front door, my mother came to check.
When called by Mother, Helen and I both sat properly waiting to hear what Mother had to say. Helen and I thought we'd done something wrong...again.
Mother asked, "What are you two up to now? All I hear is running and slamming, running and slamming." Mother stood with her hands on her hips with her no nonsense expression. Helen and I both knew she wasn't handing out cookies.
I decided to speak up and explain what we were doing. We were tossing the horse off the balcony and if Helen and I ran really, really fast, we just knew we could catch that horse before it hit the ground. We just had to run faster. That's what we were doing. We just had to try harder, that's all.
Toward the end of my explanation Mother's hands left her hips. The mad left her eyes and there was a hint of a smile. She patted Helen on the head and straightened the bow on my dress. "Well," she said, "I admire your and Helen's faith and hard work. Go ahead, just try not to slam the door when you go out."
As Helen and I bounded up the stairway again with that poor inflatable horse I grinned at Helen and said, "See, I told you we weren't doing anything wrong!" Helen said nothing but wagged her tail all the way to the balcony.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
Trekking
The rains came and came. The sky filled with light shows to rival the Fourth
of July Celebrations. We oohed and ahhhed with great enjoyment through the
evening Saturday night. Reports of tornadoes flew on radio waves but I centered
on the roar of the storm and loved the simple beauty and the power of it.
The modern in me wanted internet and phone but the storms left and took that access with them. I really didn't mind because I planned on viewing Rock Hollow in the beauty of the rain.
I wanted to see the swollen water of Rock Hollow. To see the full volume I
should have explored in the dark. By the time I reached the stream bed the
water had begun to recede. It was as beautiful as I had imagined.
I climbed up the hollow, watching my feet carefully. The waters had washed away much fall debris. The wet beauty of the rocks with lichen and
mosses was indescribable. Normally a dry hollow it was filled with run-off from the night's rain. I did not see the fullness that was but could see the path of the flood along the bank.
The modern in me wanted internet and phone but the storms left and took that access with them. I really didn't mind because I planned on viewing Rock Hollow in the beauty of the rain.
With reports of rain and sleet from Hubby and after a few false starts I
headed out.
The sheer majesty of this place seems to make it magical.
I like to think once there may have been live water here tumbling swiftly as it does this Sunday.
The dogs explored, jumped the stream and sometimes waded. I think my enjoyment was contagious. They were smiling with me.
I discovered at the top the path is changing as it has many times I imagine. The Majesty of Rock Hollow always renews me. It reminds me that our Earth is ever renewing and ever changing as we should be.
Something told me to follow it to the creek.
So I followed the Rock Hollow run off until there were no more boulders. The water ran clear and swift and cold on its path to the sea. I stood at the point where Rock Hollow joined the main creek and wondered how I could survive the beauty of the Grand Canyon if I was this excited over a few rocks here At The Farm.
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