Last post, I listed the tools we have collected to address life here in the country on our “farm.” I’m not sure we can call it a farm, of course, but you know what I mean. This week, I’ll share some of the issues we face. For example, right now, we have no hot water.

Our hot-water system is called “tankless,” a method chosen by the architect of this house eight years ago under the assumption that we wouldn’t be living here full time. Why expend energy to keep water hot under the circumstances? Yeah, well. Let’s be honest. Larry didn’t actually believe we would be living here, so.

I’ve attempted to understand why our system is called tankless, when, there in the garage, is a little tank attached to the wall which somehow sends hot water through the pipes on demand. Never mind. Ours doesn’t work. We called Evenflo, and soon Josh came to assess the damage. We need a new one. Evenflo has them available, and he could install one the following Monday.

It had already been a couple of days, and we decided to spend some of our Marriott points on a hotel room in town. Relax. Go out to eat. Take a shower. A little mini vacation. Sweet.

Monday came. Josh came. The new system was installed. Didn’t work. The system was fuelled by natural gas. Which we don’t have. We have propane. This is the country.

There’s a converter piece, which Evenflo could obtain for us overnight. Overnight came and went. The converter didn’t. As we speak, it is now Day 8, and Josh is expected sometime this morning with the missing piece. We’ll see. I’ll let you know.

But hey, we know how to deal. The washing machine runs on cold water. You can heat water on the stove for washing dishes. A little story: Recently our family was here for the holiday. One of the grandsons who currently lives in his own apartment was curious about the set-up in our sink. “That’s so cool. What is that?”

“It’s called a dish pan.”

“Oh. Awesome. Then you don’t have to just run water to rinse off the plates and stuff before they go in the dishwasher?” Okay, I thought it was funny, but listen, that’s the kid I endlessly bother with questions about my computer. My cell phone. I get it.

None of our tools (see last week) was able to correct or in any way affect a broken water-heater, but I’m happy to say that Evenflo came through, and, get this, didn’t even charge us — anything — as compensation for all the difficulties. Now that is awesome.

Next: This little guy is a vole. Actually pretty cute. Voles are attracted to yards with lots of vegetation, moisture and cover.  They are small rodents that can quickly populate a yard.  Just ask Larry.

He’s been engaged in warfare with these cute little things ever since we planned a lawn around the house. That we have acres of unseeded grassland on which they might set up housekeeping seems immaterial. So Larry devises methods to attack them. Traps? Yes sure. Poison, but it has to be unaccessible to birds. He will poke holes around the rock walls into which he can stuff poison capsules. Here’s what our lawn looks like:

Did the voles cause that? Who knows? Yes, we’ve had the experts out for an assessment, and they fertilize, spread product, offer advice. It never gets better. We have, apparently, bad soil. But this was sod, laid on top of our bad soil. Doesn’t matter to you-know-who. Voles. Our equipment, detailed earlier, is helpless.

Bad soil, huh? We’re located, technically, on White oak savannah, and the white oak thrives on well-draining, gravelly soil. Maybe, but our acidic clay soil tests very acidic. Larry has a beautiful, beloved garden, which he tills, augments, tends, and we do have bountiful crops of, for example, tomatoes on our hard-packed non-draining, dirt. Soil.

One more little photo and then we’ll move on to the good news:

A sample of our potato crop. Two potatoes. They look like a little family. We’re thinking of giving them names. Yep. Bad, acidic soil? Whatever. We have pounds and pounds of potatoes just like this in a box in the shed. Actually, I took these guys, peeled them, cut them into chunks, then chopped them in the processor to hash, which I’ve now frozen. Home fries for breakfast tomorrow. Finally, a tool to the rescue? My food processor!

Life is good, right?

If you’ve been with me from the beginning, you may remember that this account began in a farm equipment store, with the protagonists purchasing a weed whacker. This was before the sale of the property was final, but we had wanted to get started. Wait. I think “weed whacker” cannot be the official name for this tool. I’ll look it up.

Okay, apparently a “string trimmer” is what we wanted. Or “Weedwacker,” or “Weedeater.” I’ll go with one of those. “String trimmer” just sounds silly.

We purchased two, but later discovered that I actually need a battery-operated machine, as my arms aren’t long, or strong, enough to launch the gas powered one. Sometimes I like to work on something when Larry isn’t around to start the machine for me. Right? Check.

Tool count: three. Next, as verified owners of the property, came the purchase of the absolutely necessary ATV:

Obviously this guy, ten years later, has seen a few miles of rugged use. It was employed yesterday to reach a portion of the fence in the west pasture on which a branch had crashed, breaking the wooden cross piece and a strand of electric wiring — which will need, by the way, professional attention before the cows come back in another month.

Seriously, you cannot run a farm without an ATV.

A chain saw was needed for this operation. The next tool. Not sure when it came on board, but here’s Larry using, then refilling it: ( Looking cute in his new Christmas hat.)

On the bench, you’ll notice a clamp of some sort. A walk around the barn would reveal an assortment of tools, like wrenches, screw drivers, a leaf blower, air compressor, and etcetera.

There’s a riding mower, principally used for the area around the barn since we’ve hired the always cheerful and thorough Ricardo for mowing the grass around the house. There’s a rototiller, now dozing, but once key for preparing Larry’s garden. A self-propelled brush hog for wilder terrain, such as the long stretch of ditch along Llewellyn. Don’t misunderstand. This thing is propelled with a gas motor, doesn’t have some AI equipped autonomy! Requires a human person to walk behind and guide the thing.

Next you’ll see a trailer, donated by friend Gordon, which we hope is just the right size for hauling the ATV in for servicing:

And finally, the tractor. John Deere. Green. When attached to its brush hog, it’s used to mow the fields and pastures. To move dirt and haul heavy loads with the bucket. When attached to a chain, it has been known to pull the pickup out of the mud. You never know.

Last week we had to employ it to remove a recalcitrant daphne from the landscaping around the house.

No job too small.

What about tools in my domaine? The kitchen, specifically? Recipes for use with an air fryer increasingly show up on my cooking sites, but, don’t think I’ll go there. The two I like the most are the yogurt maker, and the Almond Cow. If you’re unfamiliar with the Cow, it makes quick work of almond milk (duh) and my new favorite, hazelnut milk.

And that completes the survey.

Moving on, last edition, I mentioned our plan to continue work on habitat restoration. Yesterday, a man from Advanced Land Management came to survey the oak copse. He’s apparently able to work on thinning it, removing the underbrush, and will give us an estimate when an exact plan has been determined. To that end, we spoke with a woman from Silva Saunterra, who does forest management planning. She’ll be able to visit us on the 26th, and we’ll see what she can devise.

Tomorrow, someone from Phoenix Habitat will come to discuss the plan to replace the grass between driveway and orchard with a more attractive, natural scape. In other words, something that may need weeding, but not weekly mowing.

Meanwhile, it’s been freezing! Somewhat stuck inside, I’ve been sorting through the books up in “my office” that somehow made the trip from Portland. Yeah. I won’t be rereading the ones I saved, so what is the point? Instead, I’ve become friends with the Benton County library, and just today, picked up a book I’d reserved. Lost Man’s Lane. Hope I like it! But if not, oh well.

Before I start on the farm, a word about the Altadena fire and the Viehl family living there: still all safe on this Monday morning. The house not burned, but the property under blockade re the fire, so no access. No electricity, no natural gas, timing for return uncertain. Peter and Co. living in the little Palm Desert cottage co-owned with Allison’s mom, but without a change of clothes, shoes, and etc. Fortunately they do have two cars, so they can shop for food and daily necessities like food and new underwear (not in that order, of course.) To repeat: all profoundly grateful that their home was spared.

Now, back at The Wood: yes, time for a farmer’s seasonal chores. Like cleaning out the barn, tending the garden, cleaning the fireplace. It seemed a good idea to make a new access point in the fence to allow the ATV to enter without crossing the lawn. We have a relationship with Mitch (you’ve met him earlier) in which we call him for jobs outside Larry’s mandate, and he calls us when he needs some extra income outside his regular job. Works both directions, and he was on hand to manage the break in the fence.

The point was to haul the downed wood stacked about the pastures to storage in the barn. This would facilitate mowing next year, as well as prevent the blackberries from building thickets on top of the stacks. These stacks are now safely in the barn, filling 6 bays of split firewood. You want any? Let us know. We’ll even add a dozen eggs when you come to get it. Ha.

But work goes on inside the farmhouse as well. Did I tell you about the TV in the living room? That we had a cabinet built, a TV screen installed, the furniture rearranged? The device to enable satellite coverage was attached, trials executed, all seemed to be well. Then. Larry wanted to watch a football game, as per the plan. Used the remote to open the cabinet, and that’s when I arrived on the scene to hear him exclaiming “No! Stop! Stop!” The TV screen slowly emerged from the cabinet, and stalled, bent, cracked, broke. Well, for now, at any setback, we say aloud: at least our house didn’t burn down. Perspective gained, right?

Later today: mission accomplished. New TV, purchased yesterday. Phone call to Dish, and this techie arrived to install. Bravo!

Next subject: phones. For my birthday, Larry offered to purchase a new phone for me. Nice! My old one is an 11 Pro, which is actually fine, though a a bit short on storage. Missing some tricks, chipped, very old century. So, missing any Apple store in Corvallis, we went off to the Verizon shop. While there, Larry thought he’d update as well. Both got 16 Pros, not top of the line, but good enough. Then the fun began.

The tech guy there would move the info from old phone to new phone. Except he couldn’t. Missing some passcodes. After an hour in the shop we left, Larry having turned in his old phone, apparently all good. Me? Yeah, no. Took both old and new phones home, phoned Apple Care. Spent an hour and a half with some very patient soul in Someplace, Texas, and this morning I’m no further along. Seems that according to some security protocols, I won’t be able to send or receive email on the new phone until January 18. WTF? What is so secure about January 18?

And. The old charging cords won’t fit the new phones. My earbuds won’t fit the new phone. (Yes, I know you can get the kind that just stick in your ear and bluetooth or someone does the rest. These devices do not stay put in my ears. Apparently my ear canals are sub-standard and too narrow to accommodate bluetooth.) So, I’ll have to buy new buds with cords attached. Why do they change the sizes of the charging cords? They’re more efficient? They’re better looking? No, sorry. The point is, they can sell all new merch. Right?

But our house didn’t burn down.

What’s new (again) is the commitment to addressing the oak copse on the slope just east of the house. This will require lots of input from agencies, so that’s the first step. See what Fish and Wildlife and Benton County and Nature Conservancy can offer by way of expert evaluation. We’ve had crews here just this fall, and the main observation is that the parcel is too small to be worth agency financial cooperation. Well, fine. But we need someone to tell us exactly what can be done. We’ll hire someone (no, not Mitch) to execute when we can get a plan in place.

Ryan Cheeke, ranch guy, plans to plant clover in the western-most pasture, which should continue the improvement of the soils — and, sidebar, will look beautiful for the season.

The creek-bed areas need rehabilitation. Benton County planted an assortment of trees and shrubs with the intention of aiding riparian creatures–frogs, salamanders, maybe fish? However, many of the trees failed, and the bushes, particularly the spirea (unfortunately), grasses, and blackberries have thrived. They are, of course fenced off, making access by machine difficult. Jerod Jebousek, Fish and Wildlife guy, says that the natural landscape is not always beautiful. There you go.

The days are getting longer now, and the bulbs have broken ground. The chickens are fine, thanks for asking, and we’re just watching spring arrive.

No, it’s not legally yet the solstice, but living under an inversion for the past 10 days or so as we have been, I think it’s fair to say winter is definitely here. An “inversion” means that you can’t see across the valley, can’t see can’t see out your bedroom window when you go to bed, or when you wake up. It is kind of cozy, although Larry would choose a different adjective. Like dismal. But he’ll get over it.

This is the road on my walk yesterday morning. Plus, it’s 31 degrees. So, yeah, winter.

What chores need doing before we settle in? One would be to find a local welder who could fix the poker for the fireplace, whose handle has become detached. Larry tried to fix it with gorilla glue . . . nope. Of course we’re asked not to have a fire during the inversion, so we have time to find a welder. This brings up a topic of conversation we’re having these days. How much of this kind of thing to we really need to do ourselves? Can we hire someone or do we need to purchase necessary tools?

Like what about wood splitting? Days past, we’d rent a splitter, haul it onto the property and get it done. Our more enlightened (and at least a decade younger) neighbor, Ted-the-Engineer, wanted to partner with Larry in the purchase of such a machine and they went off to Eugene on a mission. They did buy a shiny, new splitter, and will store it in our barn. Larry says he’s afraid to use it. Probably need a passcode. Probably need an online users guide. Probably runs on IA. He’ll just rent one when the day comes.

Okay, what about pruning the orchard? It’s time. Larry did it two years ago, but the trees have put up yards of new growth since then. Need a stepladder to do the job this year. Probably an extension ladder. Probably need to rope up. To what? And how can you hang onto the ladder when you need both hands to grab a branch and run the loppers simultaneously? Nope. Better call someone from Home Grown Gardens. Ben is scheduled to do the job January 17th.

With the loss of Gracie, we’ve determined that we can’t really let the chickens have the run of the orchard. They can stay in the run, which is secure with wire topping to prevent predation from hawks or owls. But the run is a muddy mess.

Let’s just put down some sod to keep them clean and healthy. We can buy some lengths of sod from Home Depot, haul it home in the truck. Is it hard to lay sod? Dunno. Let’s check with Bill, the landscape guy.

Hell no, you can’t do it yourselves! He has a job over the way and can order a few lengths of sod for us. His guys can run over and put it down when they finish his job. I’ll send you follow up photos next time. It’s quite nice and the chickens do seem to enjoy it, if you can tell when a chicken is enjoying something.

I mentioned a fire. With the ice storm of last winter and the trees thereby downed, we have to do something about the piles of wood. We thought of chipping it, but we’re talking tons of the stuff. Are you able to refer to older posts? If so, check out the photos of huge trunks being loaded onto a lumber truck. We’re advised that we’ll have to burn, but “burn season” is a specific date, and permits are required. Hey, why don’t we just hire Allen to do this job? He’s volunteered, can use the money, knows what he’s doing?

So last week, on an afternoon when the fog had lifted, the winds from the correct direction, the rains wetting down the surrounding landscape, he got to work. Here’s just one small example:

A job better done by a pro. Right?

And where does this leave us? Are we too old to be farmers or have we just gotten enough smarter and can go on as we are? Hiring everything done? You’ll have to check with Larry. Wouldn’t he just be happier golfing every afternoon?

Changing the subject, Thanksgiving in Corvallis was lovely. Not at the farm, but a VRBO down the road Allison had secured. Eleven of us there, missing Alli, roasting the turkey in Grandma Mrytle’s old electric roaster. It was a little touch and go, but when the pop-overs, which didn’t pop up anyway, were set aside and the bird went into a 21st century oven, she browned up nicely. Larry and I were the beneficiaries of the left-overs and have been dining on them ever since.

Side bar: do you know what Canadian bacon is? Probably heard of it, wasn’t there a movie? Okay, so I’d purchased some to make eggs Benedict, which didn’t happen, and here we are with some chunks of seemingly unusable pork product. Along with the leftover turkey meat and some rice we’d used earlier on a potsticker Wednesday night meal. Got out my retro meat grinder, enlisted the left-hander in the room, and ground the stuff up into a very unpromising supply of . . . yeah. What am I going to do with it? Freeze it, of course, but first, sauteed a bit, added the turkey chunks, left-over broth, the rice, some left-over onion and with the addition of some left-over cream, I think we’re good for dinner.

I’ve been working with a professional web-desisgner to create a site which will use my existing domain to showcase my book. The idea is that when you click on my name, as usual, you’ll be directed either to the blog or to the site with the book. So don’t worry — I’ve already done all the worrying that will be necessary — and I expect that the duo site, when operative, will be great. A little advice: if you ever want to write a book, go for it. It’s fun. But if you want to publish it? Mmm. Maybe not. Be prepared!

Ten years ago in June, I first wrote about our little house in the country. Not a house yet, just a piece of beautiful property on which slumped an old house and a sturdy barn. That was the beginning of The Wood. So it’s an appropriate anniversary to bring our little house in the city onto these pages. It’s not a house, never will be, and not a condo either. At best, it’s an apartment in the old folks’ home. Park View at Terwilliger. We stumbled over what to call it, and Allison had the idea to simply name it 862, its address in the building. Maybe that will come to be. Right now, we just say Portland. As in, we’ll take that to “Portland.” Time will tell, right? The surprise is that we are coming to love it.

Why do we have an apartment in an old folks’ home? Because we’re old? Well, yes, that. No, we’re not moving! We’ve just found that, having sold the condo, we like a place to spend the night when we’re in town to see friends, for the symphony and play tickets. And, honestly, it’s an insurance policy. Farming really is a dangerous occupation and we just may need a place where we can land when the day comes . . .

Anyway, no photos to show you, but it’s on the 8th floor, has a nice view and a tiny deck. A living room, kitchen, dining space all in one, two bedrooms, two baths. The second bedroom is now an office space. We hired a designer, so have a sofa and a couple of chairs, a fake fireplace, and are beginning to give it some personal bits and pieces to make it seem homey. Well that sounds perfectly awful, and it isn’t. Honestly.

Daughter Jenny had planned to spend the weekend at the farm, so we suggested that she get as far as Portland on her way from Seattle, then stop at 862 to have a look, spend the night. She was surprised to find that it really was better than she’d expected! So that’s good.

Then we all caravanned to The Wood on Friday morning. We did have some chores for the weekend, but first Jenny wanted to make the acquaintance of the chickens:

“You can’t really pick them up,” we told her. Jenny didn’t listen, and here she is with crabby old Grace. Jenny and her brothers didn’t grow up on an actual farm, but we did live out in the country, and her roots are showing here. Speaking of country bumpkins, if you notice that her shirt appears to be inside out, it isn’t. Look at the buttons. I guess it’s a thing in Seattle to construct clothing seam side out?

Friday was apple picking day. We have three trees that are bearing credible, edible fruit, so we got busy and collected three baskets. There are Honey Crisps, another whose name Larry will have to go upstairs to find, and Granny Smiths. Here are the Grannys:

We left the apples in the wheelbarrow by the shed, and Jenny and her dad went out to attend to the bees:

Jenny was the photographer here, so no pix of her. Everyone safe, and on to Larry’s garden to harvest whatsoever there may be:

That thing is a cucumber. A very mature cucumber. Some exotic strain, and at first I was reluctant to try it. But it’s awesome. Crunchy, fresh-tasting, mostly flesh with a small center core of seeds. You do have to peel it, but one cucumber will practically feed the whole family.

In the evening we introduced Jenny to Jeremy Clarkson, Clarkson’s Farm. It’s so damn funny, and she’s a convert. Says she’ll watch the remainder of the series at home. Sidebar: Larry and I are working with designer Chris to see if we can retrofit the Wood with a TV set in the living room. Will make it easier for 3 people to watch Jeremy, if Chris can figure out a plan.

Next day we had to do something with the apples. First choice of the resident parents, make mincemeat. Jenny was somehow born with the gene for sugar missing. Dessert? Meh. But she had to pitch in. We have a little machine which cores, peels, slices the apples, and Larry mans that on the assembly line. I curate the arriving slices, chop out the worm holes and etc., and feed them into the next machine. A doo-dah which levers the slices through a grid into small dice. Jenny mixes together the sugar, brandy, spices, and the whole recipe gets put into sterilized jars, heading for the freezer. Tiring, but so rewarding. For those of us who do like dessert. Me, for example. (Ah, Larry has just come downstairs with the information that our third apples are Gala.)

Out to dinner. We like a local restaurant, Castor, which serves up Cajun food, so Gumbo for two of us, shrimp and grits for me. (OMG. Next time you come and visit us, we’ll take you there.) The Beavers were playing at Reser Stadium, crazy crowd, but we made it back to Llewellyn before the game ended, and we climbed up to Larry’s office to watch another episode of Clarkson. I know. We’re simple people.

This morning, Jenny gathered herself and left for the trip back home to Seattle. Larry and I are left alone to manage the rest of all those apples. Just an observation. We worked ourselves through pickle season and tomato season, but another hand in the kitchen in apple season is a rare and fine thing! Come back soon, Jenny!

Okay, test passed. STILL AUGUST published. So I will try again to post all the lovely photos I tried to show you yesterday:

But first, a little note. I thought it would be fun to search back through the blog and see what was happening back in, say, August of 2020. Seems we were having chicken drama: Apparently Burnt Toast was attacking, and hurting, the others and we determined that she had to go. Yep. To the vet, where they “euthanized” her. Cost $243. We won’t make that mistake again. The present-day chickens will simply have to learn to get along.

Anyway, here are the latest photos of the downed trees:

This is an operation run by one of Allen’s friends from church. He and his dad have a business of moving these 13 thousand pound logs to the mills. Wow.

So while this has been the Year of the Ice Storm, it has also been the Year of the Tall Grasses. In the land immediately around the house, we are advised by Jarod from Fish and Wildlife in the cultivation of wild flowers. One such being Checker Mallow, whose nectar is particularly attractive to wild honey bees. It was a lush crop, and we would want leave it until the seeds for next year were set before mowing. Thus the grasses were at least waist high when Larry climbed on the tractor:

The second shot is a turkey vulture searching the newly mown field for dead mice or similar. She’s big, huh?

Larry has been afraid that he’ll have to trade up for a bigger tractor, as this little green guy keeps over-heating. Luckily, our neighbor Ted, who is a total gear-head, volunteered to have a look and will be coming over this afternoon to help Larry take the radiator apart to see if anything can be done. Fingers crossed!

As this is actually a “working farm,” we get a tax deferral on the property. Sweet. However, we have to prove that it is, in fact, a working farm, and for this, Larry suddenly needs a copy of the contract he and Ryan, Cow Guy, have for the grazing lease. Oh. It’s just a verbal agreement. It’s worked this way for 7 years, but now the gov needs a signed document. That’s okay, Ryan says, why don’t you stop by and we’ll write something up. And you can pick up another box of meat while you’re here.

See, we do get paid in cash, but also much beef as we want, whenever, as part of the deal. So from time to time, we pick up a box, mostly hamburger and stew meat, a few roasts, and keep it in the freezer. Larry came back from their meeting with a huge box, this time including quite a lot of lamb. Where’d that come from? Anyway, now we’ll have something to use with all the tomatoes we’ve been canning this year. Hamburger hot dish! Chili! (Wonder how I can work all the zucchini into the deal.)

I should report on the bees, having mentioned them earlier. They seem to be thriving, and if all goes well, we could harvest the honey next spring. Well, that was said lightly. I have no idea what harvesting the honey will look like. I’ll let you know.

Today is Larry’s birthday. To celebrate, he wants a loaf of pineapple zucchini bread, with a candle stuck in the middle to blow out for a wish. Yes, that is a little specific for his b-day cake — perhaps he heard me groaning when he brought in yet another specimen of the vegetable that will not stop?

So now I’ll try again to post this. Deep breath. Fingers crossed!

Oh what? You allow me to open my Word Press site? Shall I try again? Fooled me once? I wrote this whole blog yesterday when it was still, actually, August, and when I tried to publish, was informed that I was apparently “off-line.” Whereupon the entire thing vanished and I flung myself about in a fit of annoyance/anger/frustration.

Seems that Verizon, my web provider, may not recognize Word Press. So I’m going to try to publish this bit and see what happens. I am definitely on line. (I was definitely on line yesterday as well) IF it goes, I’ll get back to you with the real blog, complete with photos. Here goes:

Again with a post? Already? I know, but I wanted to get these photos registered. Alan, one of the landscape guys (the cute one) has started his own business, Stone, Soil and Wood, and has contracted with us to clear the huge mess left by the ice storm.

I’d like to get these side by side, but my program won’t let me, so:

Big job, and this is just the west side along the fence. On Friday he started down below in the riparian area, where there even more downed trees. He’s making huge slash piles, which he will burn when the weather and the county permit. Taking the wood suitable for his mill, stacking the wood to be cut into fireplace size and sold. Wow.

So back to the tomatoes. Larry’s garden is just now providing an enormous crop. Of course I want to get them canned and/or frozen. This means strapping myself into the kitchen with a long rope that does allow me access to the garage pantry and bathroom breaks. But whew. First batch, I put up by the “open kettle” method and scored 7 pints, cooked and slightly muddled with a stick blender. They all sealed. Went out to the garage and looked at the jars of frozen tomatoes already there from years past. OMG. We will have to eat tomatoes every night for the forseeable. But one does not complain of having too much food. Right?

We were talking to son David on the phone this afternoon, and Larry had the floor. He talked about the cat he’d seen in the orchard this afternoon. Which, on seeing Larry, ran, leaped to the top of the 12 foot fence post and disappeared.

“Cougar?” David asked. No, Larry said. “Long tail, but just a feral house cat. Gray.”

Parenthetical aside: “Grey” is meaningless when reported by a color-blind person. I’m sitting in my chair thinking that was no feral house cat. It probably wasn’t even grey, and what house cat can leap 12 feet in one bound? But I’m not a female cat person, so what do I know. “Probably a cougar,” I said. But Larry’s sticking to his story.

I was talking with my sisters this afternoon, as usual on Sundays, and we wandered into a conversation about religious faith. How had Mary chosen to become a Quaker, and why do we — some of us — insist that this is a “Christian” country. Mary is the smart sister and her knowledge of Christian history is vast (Martha and I just listen). But I remarked that we had not experienced a particularly religious upbringing, did not, for example, say grace before meals.

“Yes we did,” Mary claimed. “Of course we did.”

“No we didn’t,” Martha said, in a kind of snorting way.

So I know memory is fungible (does that word work here?) But’s so odd. Three of us, living together all those years, and we don’t agree on this simple thing.

So now it’s completely dark, one of the cows is calling her calf, the wind is still, and let’s all go to bed.

Started last Sunday when Vik and Gordon arrived at the farm with 10 pounds of pickling cukes from Sauvie Island, our historic supplier. The cucumbers have to soak in salt water overnight, so we left them in the sink and went off for dinner.

Vik and I have been making pickles for decades, I think. Maybe not, but a long time. We got to work Monday morning, and put up 24 jars of dills, and were rewarded with the pops of sealing lids on all but two. The pickles have to cure for some weeks, so they’ll be stashed for a while, and thus I can’t now report on the quality of year’s crop.

Would have taken a photo, but Allison (d-in-law for those of you don’t know her) arrived Monday afternoon. Allison is the most organized member of the extended family, and on seeing the jars on the kitchen counter, began to plan their correct placement in the garage pantry. I would never complain, she’s amazing, but I didn’t think in time about a photo for the record.

Amy and Charlie arrived the next day, and we got to check in on the grandkids. These two are both living and working in New York, both love it, although Charlie is newly arrived there. He hasn’t as yet found work in his chosen field — musical production — so may have to set up on street corners with his violin. The gig economy?

They all left for Black Butte, meeting up with Peter and Andrew, who had driven up from Altadena. After music lessons on Friday, Larry and I joined them for the weekend. Love it! Family!

Back on the farm, though, it’s still Pickle Season. Now Bread and Butters. And I took photos:

Larry and I had taken a trip to the Peoria Road Farm Store and bought another batch of cukes. Funny, you buy them by the each at this store, so we got exactly 17 for the batch. You have to process these guys in a boiling water canner, so a bit more work. But they all sealed, and we’re good for the cold winter ahead. Fourteen pints. Yum.

And there’s more kitchen news. As an early birthday present, the California kids purchased a pizza oven for their dad. Here it sits on the patio table:

It’s pretty cool! You put kiln-dried wood pieces into the burner, light it, and the thing gets up to 900 degrees. The pizza takes 2 minutes. Okay, some trial and error expected, and the first attempt was, not surprisingly, a little sketchy. Tasted good, though, and we’ll get better:

Chicken news:

Yes, the babies are laying! At least one of them is. Pretty little brown eggs. Not as big as Gracie’s, the white one, but we’re very proud. She, whichever she is, is even using the correct nest in the new little coop, so all good.

Widening the scope, on August 2, a crew from NRCS, a national conservational resource group, met here to assess the problem of the trees in the “copse.” Specifically, to see if they can find funding to have the stand of oak on the slope east of the house thinned. No word yet, but they’ve offered some names for us to contact.

Alan, one of the landscape guys, has newly formed his own company, and has begun work on the massive job of clearing downed trees after the spring ice storm. He has an excavator down along the fence line and the slash piles are mounting. He’s salvaging all the trunks of some determined width, and will use them to make lumber. Also is stacking any wood useful as firewood, which will be sold in some fashion. Then, come winter, he’ll professionally burn the slash piles.

Larry’s garden is, and has been, producing. Fennel! Cabbages! Zucchini! And now, finally, tomatoes! The apples in the orchard aren’t quite ripe, yet, but all this bounty does mean that I’ll be in that kitchen trying to “put by” the produce. Freeze most of it, but the tomatoes will have to be canned or frozen as sauce. Don’t know how to keep fennel over the winter . . . any ideas?

Until next time, be well, eat your green veggies, stay in touch.