Words
from my friend Nancy. So sorry if this is difficult for you to see. I have been
told it’s light grey writing on a white background. If so again, please let me
know as obviously I can’t see this I use a screen reader.
4
I love Sundays on the homestead. For me it is
a time to contemplate the week behind me, gather my stories and spend the day
with nurturing projects
in my
kitchen. So, after feeding the hordes of hungries, scooping the poop from the
doggies and walking the poop patrol in the door yard, I gravitate toward
the
kitchen to start my daily doings. And, today on the agenda is bread and
medicine…. By six a.m., I’ve got my dough mixed, beat and rising. Three rises
then it
will be ready to bake and the warm smells in my kitchen will make my mouth
water…there is nothing on this green earth better than warm bread and
real
butter…. As this goodness is going through its first rise, I pull down a
variety of herbs I will be working with today. I am making Transition Time
Oxymel…a delicious
blend of dandelion root, nettle and astragalus root…mixed with apple cider
vinegar and later, honey which will end up being a sweet
daily
addition to help with digestion and immunity…. I love that I can create these
medicines for my family and friends. Secondly, I am making a Lemon-Rose
Bite and
Sting Soother, a blend of Lemon balm, rose petals, calendula flowers and witch
hazel…this will come in handy come spring when the tera dactyls
and
buzzing bees bite… Lastly there will be tinctures steeping in vodka, Catnip,
Chamomile, Lavender, Eleuthero and Astragalus, all providing nourishing
medicine
for the various ailments of the body…. It amazes me that I am gifted this knowledge.
It amazes me that I can look to the earth for what I need
to keep
my family healthy. I think in these times of convenience we tend to forget how
fulfilling these simple tasks can be. Baking bread, making medicine,
caring
for our animals…all nourishing activities that balance the mind, spirit and
body. Living simply is not always easy. Visit me on a frigid winter
morning,
where my breath puffs out in frozen mist and you’d see toes and fingers that
are cold, boots that are wet as I tromp through the snow for my morning
breakfast
and to slog through the daily chores. But ask me on a Sunday such as this if I
regret one moment of my lifestyle here on the hill and I’d give
you a big
HECK NO! I am doing and living the life I love, hardships, struggles, joys and
laughter, and making medicine and bread….
5
And, I
woke to a throbbing and painful toe. I woke with the remnants of yesterday’s
headache still lingering. I woke to a salmon tinged sky, a few dark
clouds
but the promise of a warmer day. I woke to the sound of the prisoners rattling
tin cups against the bars of their coop demanding breakfast. Would
I be
facing a riot this morning? We’ll see. Let’s start with the throbbing toe...and
the headache. Yesterday I woke with a headache…just a slight one but
enough to
cause me to lie down mid-morning, close the curtains and close my eyes in hopes
it would go away. Resting lightly, I could hear all the little
creaks
and groans that are normal for this log cabin. I soaked into a doze, my
headache sliding back gently and my body sighing into the couch. The dogs,
Sadie,
Lucy and Tara-belle were quietly dozing on the floor. Just as my body and mind
started to slip into that zen state of dozing I heard it. The gnawing
and
chewing of our resident mouse. Jumping up off of the couch, I flew to the
kitchen sink and opened the cupboards…not thinking I’d catch the fuzzy little
mischief
maker but rather hoping to scare it enough to get it to stop eating my house.
With three dogs crowding me, I moved bottles of cleaning supplies,
a mound
of bags, and various other items we collect under the sink. That is when all
hell broke loose in my kitchen…dogs, the cat, the mouse and me in
the
middle. For whatever reason, this fuzzy little critter decided to run out of
the cabinet and right onto my stockinged foot…I screamed, the dogs (all
three of
them) pounced and the cat let out a howl that would rival any mountain lion on
this planet. Sadie was the first one to bite at the mouse…which
was now
frozen in fear on top of my foot…she missed the mouse but not my foot. Yelling,
I shoved her away and kicked the mouse from its death grip on my
foot…it
went flying against the cabinet door and came to rest on the floor in front of
me. Tara-belle lunged, stepping on my foot, driving her nail deep
into my
toe…the ring toe…next to the pinkie toe…and the little piggy will now never
make it to market…as it was gushing blood. And this human was screeching. The
mouse was
skittering…the cat was howling and Lucy, quick as a flash, grabbed the fuzzy
mouse in her jaws and thought she was going to have mouse for breakfast….
I
yelled…Lucy dropped the mouse and Tara and Sadie made a mad dash to get it…and
I made a mad dash to keep them from getting it…and there is blood now
spattered
on the kitchen floor…and the mouse…well it lay in a fuzzy little heap, curled
in on itself… Beating the dogs off I checked it for a heartbeat…and
felt a
tiny little quickening in its chest. I thumped it gently to see if it would
move. I nudged it…. poked it…to no avail. It was alive but frozen in
terror.
Grabbing my oven mitts…I gently picked it up…meanwhile I have three dogs
crowding my legs, jumping on me and snapping their jaws…I was not impressed
with
their rude behaviour and told them so…sending each of them to their
corners…Leaving bloody footprints across the floor I carried this poor fuzzy
little
dude out
to the woodshed and placed his/her little body on top of a piece of wood. My
hubby won’t be impressed…. but hey, I cannot just kill this poor little
dude/dudette….
So that is why my toe is throbbing this morning…and my first chore this morning
will be to take a walk out to the woodshed and see if this
fuzzy
little mischief maker has made it through the night.
(an
update. Next day, the mouse was gone, so, Nancy says either it got away, or a
creature had a midnight snack.)
6
(This is
one of her best)
And, well in light of my 39th Anniversary yesterday I feel it would be
remiss of me not to write an Ode to my husband. And really ladies and gents,
just to peck about him. As you all have learned, we live here a simple life on
this homestead…and there are times when he and I just have to get right down to
it when tackling a problem. And our problem on this day was the wood stove. Not
really a problem but more of one of those maintenance duties that neither of us
like to have to do. Now before I begin, for all you gents that may be reading
this, ladies too, I am not hubby or man bashing…although there are times when I
seriously have thought of bashing hubby with a two by four for pissing me off.
Why? Because my husband has the patience of a toddler! And when we have to work
together on a project, the two-year-old in him comes roaring its bratty little
head. And in turn, this turns me into a complete and utter mad woman! He does
know how to push my buttons, no surprise after thirty nine years together.
I was in the middle of beating down the bread dough when he decided that the
woodstove chimney pipe needed cleaning. Mind you, I have my hands covered in
dough. I look up.
‘Really?’ Him: Yeah, might as well get it done. Me: You don’t see that
I am busy right? Him: I got this. You don’t need to help. Me: Shaking my head
and grinning. ‘Okay. Whatever.” Now cleaning the chimney pipe is a two man job.
Always has been, always will be. The pipe itself is awkward and heavy, slippery
to hold. When taking it down, I will usually grab one end while he grabs the
other so that all the creosote from the inside doesn’t come spilling out onto
the living room carpet. Because that mess is a bitch to clean up. So, with a
sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I watch as he man wrestles this 10
foot long pipe out of the ceiling. The words coming from his mouth make me
laugh…this is the two years old rearing its bratty head. Wiping my hands on a
towel and throwing my dough back into the bowl, I walk over to lend a hand. Him:
I got this! Me: The fudge you do! Him: You’re in my way! Me: Shut up already!
Stop being grumpy. Fine! Do it yourself a*** hole! Stepping back, I watch as he
pulls the pipe slowly from the ceiling…just knowing what is going to happen
next…and sure as my name is Nancy, it did. The pipe came crashing down…filled
with black ash and creosote, covering my living room carpet and sending up a
cloud of nasty ash dust that covered everything within a three foot vicinity
including my bread dough. Me: Nice going
dickwad!
Him: It slipped out of my grip. Me: Well???? If you’d have just let me help,
not been so impatient, we might have gotten through this with minimal
damage…now you can clean up this fudging mess! Him: Don’t worry, I will! After I get this
pipe cleaned! Now I know his idea of
cleaning and my idea of cleaning are about as far off as the north and south
pole. And my bread, well that is a total loss. And my temper, I can feel it
starting to rise like the sun on a hot summer morning. Me: Ya know what? Don’t
fudging worry about it…I’ll take care of it! At this point he can hear the
edginess in my voice. Me: You are so
fudging pig headed…Gosh I really, really, really dislike you right now! My
temper is winding up and I can feel a bad one coming on. Him: Honey, get a
grip…it’s just a little ash..no biggie…. Me: Frothing at the mouth and growling
like a banshee…. glancing on the table to see if any weapons are handy and
within reach. Him: Help me carry this outside will ya?
Angrily I grab the other end of the stove pipe which has already dumped
its contents onto my floor…and leading the way, we take it outside to finish
douching it out. I can hear him behind me chuckling. ‘What the fudge is so
funny?’ I snap over my shoulder. Him: You look a mess…you’ve got chunks of ash
in your hair. Me: I so hate you right now! Throwing down my end of the pipe I
left him on his own….D.I.V.O.R.C.E!!!!!! Yes my friends…thirty nine long and
happy years!
7
And, You
have all read about my handsome, cantankerous, bad boy of the barn yard, Mr.
Peckerhead. Now this rooster was once meant for the stew pot, freezer
camp,
roaster but to be honest this Warden does not have the heart to follow through
with her threats so thus he lives a happy life as the protector for
his girls
and the nemesis to his keeper. And this is okay for it keeps his and my life
interesting as we do our daily dance of existence…him trying to
stay
alive and one step ahead of me, and me trying to keep myself from getting
maimed by this handsome dude. So, on this day, when the bad ass of the barn
yard got
his ass handed to him by the Little Nasties, I can honestly admit I was more
than a little tickled. Normally I keep the prisoners separated…the
ducks in
their own pen and the Rooster and Chickens in theirs. But today the mountain of
poop needed to be chiseled from the icy pile and removed. And
in doing
so the prison warden, me, haphazardly left access for Mr. Peckerhead to get
into the same pen as the Little Nasties. And all hell broke loose!
And the
gang fight began! Fluffy, feathery criminals circling each other, throwing
taunts and posturing. Shivs came out from under fluffy feathered wings
and the
dance of survival ensued. The Little Nasties, beasty in their own right,
circled the Bad Boy who was warily growling and puffing himself up to
appear
larger and more menacing. Amidst the squawks and growls and angry quacks I
hurried to get into the outside pen to break up what would more than
likely
turn into bloodletting. As I struggled with the outer, metal door, I saw Mr.
Peckerhead backed into a corner by the two Nasties. I yelled as I fought
with the
door. These Nasty little babes would rip my handsome boy apart given half a
chance. His eyes met mine through the chicken wire fence. I could
see he
would not go down without a good fight. I could also see that he would go down.
He knew it, I knew it. One of the Nasties had her beak latched onto
Mr.
Peckerheads throat…and he was using his claws and spurs trying to get her
off…the other Nasty was biting at his butt, pulling feathers out by the beak
full. And
the damn frozen door would still not open for me to get in and break up the
fight. It was going to be a massacre if I didn’t get them off of
him soon.
Squawking, growls and quacks greeted me as I finally waded in knee deep,
throwing punches, kicking and threatening the stew pot for all involved
in this
prison riot…..one of the Nasties bit me as I pried her beak from Mr.
Peckerhead’s throat…the other Nasty attacked me from behind…it was survival
of the
fittest amidst the duck poop, frozen swimming pool and food dishes…and I was
determined that Peckerhead and I would survive. Grabbing him up, I
backed
slowly out of the duck pen, my eyes trained on the two Nasties should they
decide to refresh their attack…Mr. Peckerhead, his eyes filled with shame
that
these two tough broads got the best of him. He had tail feathers missing, neck
feathers missing and one eye was beginning to swell shut. As I carried
him back
to his coop I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little Bad Boy. And I
couldn’t help but chuckle as to how fast the Little Nasties had taken
the wind
from his over inflated ego….and handed him his ass in return…and the lesson
learned here I think is that no matter how bad ass you think you are…there
is always
someone out there that is bigger and badder than you. And my Peckerhead learned
this lesson by having his ass handed to him on a platter by two
very
pretty and normally docile duckies.
8
And, this
morning is a gift, the type of gift that makes me grateful that I am alive and
as I sit in the darkness on my front porch, I watch the fog roll
across
the expanse, I sink blissfully into the unusually warm temps. We have a kiss of
spring in the middle of January and this homesteader is not complaining….
With the
cold and stormy weather of late, there has not been much activity outside or in
the coop so this morning, before the light has even risen I walk
through
the murky fog, mist coating my face and my boots sinking into the soft ground
where the snow has melted and there is dirt under my feet. Lamp in
hand I
listen as the Little chicken Mafia, the Little Nasties and Peckerhead stir
about. Grabbing my pitch fork, I am happy to be able to tackle the mountain
of poop
and wet hay which has thawed over the past few days…. Am I insane to be this
happy about cleaning out the coop? To be stinking of duck and chicken
poop? Oh,
hell yeah and only another homesteader would understand this joy. Opening the door,
I am greeted by squawks, clucks and quacks…even Peckerhead
is in a
good mood this morning as he crows loudly from the roost above. My feet sink
into the soggy mess of hay and poop as I deliver the prisoners their
breakfast
and collect my own…5 fresh eggs await my eager hands as I gently move the girls
out of my way. It is still dark but I leave the coop door open
for fresh
air as I dig in and start scooping up soggy hay, soggy poop and God knows what
else that had previously been frozen in a hill the size of a mountain
inside of
the little prisoner’s house….it is a wonder they haven’t gathered together,
hired a lawyer and thrown a class action lawsuit against me for these
miserable
living conditions…but I explain to them every day that I am doing the best I
can. After loading the wheel barrow full several times, I dump it
in my
compost pile…awwwww…black gold for my garden come spring. Forgetting to close
the door, I hear Peckerhead coming up behind me…and turn quickly. He
is loose
and it is dark. Man! Giving chase, I run him through the door yard, around the
trees and over snow piles…a rooster loose in the dark is asking
for
predator trouble. ‘Get over here you little Flucker!’ I yell as I hot foot it
behind him and him staying always one step ahead of me. I am swearing,
I am
sweating but mostly I am worried that my handsome little beast will take off
into the dark woods and become a meal for some hungry animal…damn these
early
morning calisthenics….. Finally catching him, I deposit him back into the
coop…we are both breathing hard and he is now glaring at me…. I think I
ruined
his good mood. Shrugging it off I inhale deeply the sweet smell of fresh hay as
I lay a thick bedding for all of the prisoners…. this work makes
me feel
good, makes me feel whole. Yes, the cold makes things so much harder on the
homestead, but when the warmth with its fleeting gift surprises me,
I can’t
help but remember and give thanks for what I have.
© Nancy Broadly
And I
hope there will be many more stories. Also, I have a link to one of her books
please check it out. She is pure talent.
