Stop feeding turds into the fan....

This is one of those days that if I were forced to hear the 'sunny day' chorus of Sesame Street - I might need to be sedated. I know, I know, the rain is good for my newly planted strawberries, fruit trees, and asparagus roots - but after three stinking days of gray, cloud, wet, humid, then cold, I am starting to look like Jack N. in the 'Shining'. Did I ever tell you that that was the first adult book I ever read? In our fundamentalist, no fantasy reading household, good trashy books were hard to come by. Somehow, mom's fervent lust for bloody, horror and romance novels DID NOT conflict with our beliefs whereas yours truly was shunned and grounded for reading "Are you there God, it's me....Margaret". Hmmm. We'll examine that one another day.

Clearly (I hate puns - even accidental ones) the lack of sunlight and, therefore, my outdoor fiber painting fun - is getting to me. So much so that I got some stupid idea to look at the month ahead. Let's see....planting time is upon us and, of course, the ground isn't ready. Move on. Thing 2 is raising two piglets this year that are supposed to be acquired next weekend. We haven't put aside the money nor have we built them a sun shelter and fenced in some wilderness for them to play in. That's, oh, about three days of work without doing anything else. There's Fiber Frolic in just a few weeks and - guess who is flying by the seat of her pants in preparing for that? The llama needs shorn. Usually, when hubster has to do something new that he's slightly worried about, he puts it off. I follow him around nagging until he hates me enough to do it. Here, we have the problem. Folks, I am scared of shearing this llama, too. And, as he is gargantuantly tall and has four long, hoofed feet to kick us with - we are desperately hoping one of the kids volunteers to do it. It takes at least two people, though, so the chances of that are slim. In three weeks, the chicks will arrive. There will be new laying hens as my girls are all over three years old and in the laying hen world, you're practically washed up at that point. There will be turkeys because I like them and we love turkey. A few years back we raised our own Thanksgiving turkey(s) and it was an awesome experience. There will also be cornish cockerels because the boys want to raise their own meat, again, and I have no problem with not eating the scary meat in the store. Essentially, whilst planting the entire 1+acre garden, replanting my herb garden (had to move it), getting ready for a show a month this summer (spin, you lazy bum, spin), and parenting these wild beasts - we must also construct three bird stations, a large pig pen, a llama shearing contraption, oh, and house repairs that MUST be done before winter or I'm going south with the ducks and geese. Thank every deity in sight that no one in my house wants to raise ducks or geese!

After reading, studying, and generally being fascinated with Eliot Coleman's organic gardening methods, I once bought a dozen ducks that he purported would 'eat weeds'. Upon returning from Thing 1's dance class one summer day, I was met with the horror that they will also mow your 4+ foot green been vines down to the ground. In addition, they are nightish creatures and I raised them right next door to my new laying hen chicks. We got very little eggs and some really bitchy, tired hens....the ducks went to new homes. The next year, we raised some goslings. Thing 2 fell in love with them and I have no spine. The one he really fell for was brutally attacked and killed by the other beasts in one of those episodes of 'nobody told me THIS might happen'. The geese became terrorists. They chased us, they bit the dog, and THEY STOLE OUR POTATOES RIGHT OUT FROM UNDER OUR NOSES! You read it right. The sneaky little bastards pulled the mulch back, dug their evil little beaks into the soil, pulled potatoes out, and left the rest to turn green in the sun. We ate one, but it didn't taste anything like potatoes......

These are the ramblings of the sun-starved people. There is yarn to be dyed, much to be done, and plenty of rain. I'm off to speak soothingly into my many cups of coffee.