tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41503337598897999442024-02-18T23:35:38.171-08:00The 30 Acre WoodAdventures in Homesteading on the Hill in Schroon Lake - Whether We Know What We're Doing Or NotBeti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-85874005191314882082015-04-09T06:40:00.000-07:002015-04-09T06:40:08.983-07:00Cabin Fever Contemplations<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypd6aOa0uT8GWQ39MVCn1U-ell7N1PpRGBRAMi3PVXYT9YHJuze806sF5N4NkJ7CrV6xg_DCHXm58Dg5VBiUbp883P5JNqRPma-Aq7NtVs443jbYJmCWqoTuD8-NjqckLDKg7v5KUigmy/s1600/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgypd6aOa0uT8GWQ39MVCn1U-ell7N1PpRGBRAMi3PVXYT9YHJuze806sF5N4NkJ7CrV6xg_DCHXm58Dg5VBiUbp883P5JNqRPma-Aq7NtVs443jbYJmCWqoTuD8-NjqckLDKg7v5KUigmy/s1600/snow.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Make it stop. Please.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The snow just slid off the roof of the house, its own mini
avalanche, rattling these old windows and freaking out the cats and causing a vibration
under my feet. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s April 9. This is
uncalled for. I’d call Mother Nature a
b____, but she seems peeved about something already and I don’t want to
antagonize her further.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A couple of days ago I was lamenting the bog that I call a
driveway. It happens every spring, and
to most of the Adirondacks, and although at the time it seems unrelenting, it
does go away. As I look at everything
covered in a couple inches of snow and sleet today, the mud would be a welcome
sight. That’s what I get for grousing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Since leaving my day job at the end of the year, I’ve spend
a lot of quality time with our woodstove.
I’ve concluded that when it’s a secondary source of heat, it’s fun to
futz with wood and nice to smell the smoke.
But when you’re counting on it for your survival in sub-zero
temperatures, it loses its luster. By
April, I can’t stand dealing with it anymore and curse profoundly at every
piece of wood that doesn’t quite fit. I’m
resentful of the 24/7 commitment it demands and tired of smelling like a piece
of charred wood. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvUavSNDcMkHt3NFy9LwVEqmi7UZet8CJ3Qvh4GOZ1F35WaOGL4wUbWD-ahha_GYgPq73_K-EDHd40Y6WmYgSDSM1xgMbWZUSdTkjb9Lm3CdE7FR95359tgct4tHrc6jZen-48S6ImWAuB/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvUavSNDcMkHt3NFy9LwVEqmi7UZet8CJ3Qvh4GOZ1F35WaOGL4wUbWD-ahha_GYgPq73_K-EDHd40Y6WmYgSDSM1xgMbWZUSdTkjb9Lm3CdE7FR95359tgct4tHrc6jZen-48S6ImWAuB/s1600/fire.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because we got off to a late start on the firewood this fall
(due to the house painting project), Larry cut nothing but ash. I love it because it splits so nicely. And you can burn it green, which was the
plan. It’s burned very well for us,
considering it only had minutes to age.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our new house in Mississippi has two fireplaces, and I’m
trying not to be elitist towards them. One
has glass doors and was obviously used more regularly than the other one. Neither are intended to be a real source of
heat, but should be useful in getting the chill out on those damp days. I haven’t used a fireplace since our camp in
Lake George, so in yet another aspect, I’m coming full circle. The smell and sound of a freshly stuck wooden
match still reminds me of my grandfather.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I debated whether or not to bring the woodsplitter
south. For a brief insane moment I</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIt6GiBaWdk8XlzRMUCJa6TUSvYJrMOihhnJB1jASzrLPKWTca9ARGoaZ3PCVF8jQF8YoJkEDzSBoOeWGfHzXgisFK7L91Dmg4l9vhhMJ264_5XoFN15kZQn9CpmZhttKfCIJ-h7OFHWR/s1600/firewood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIt6GiBaWdk8XlzRMUCJa6TUSvYJrMOihhnJB1jASzrLPKWTca9ARGoaZ3PCVF8jQF8YoJkEDzSBoOeWGfHzXgisFK7L91Dmg4l9vhhMJ264_5XoFN15kZQn9CpmZhttKfCIJ-h7OFHWR/s1600/firewood.jpg" height="144" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">considered selling it, and ran the idea past Larry, who looked at me like I’d
lost my mind. What was I thinking? We’ll always be playing with firewood. Larry loves to drop trees and work with his
chainsaws and I find splitting to be very zen.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Meanwhile I’m grateful for having a warm, toasty house, the
fact that we had more than enough firewood to get us through the winter, and I’ll
welcome the mud when it resurfaces. I
don’t want to irritate Mother Nature any further.</span></div>
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Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-50340886328151279972014-12-22T08:06:00.000-08:002014-12-22T08:20:51.811-08:00The Christmas Card Standoff<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I don’t know when I started paying attention to such things,
but I’m beginning to scrutinize my Christmas card list.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Once upon a time, when my address book overflowith with
relatives near and far and an</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilkYbhI02eCMOC3e5Sgtxi6ux24zjdoForNWNxSZTvCtwjzpx3G9fO5nWTz356zlsixC8tEjFQcePohJtcnJbJjDL7FpvIHWk2IrNy-HP-vUnxTn62KPjbbkIoKyvc_GUrtPBusDn5Ve8y/s1600/cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilkYbhI02eCMOC3e5Sgtxi6ux24zjdoForNWNxSZTvCtwjzpx3G9fO5nWTz356zlsixC8tEjFQcePohJtcnJbJjDL7FpvIHWk2IrNy-HP-vUnxTn62KPjbbkIoKyvc_GUrtPBusDn5Ve8y/s1600/cards.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> overabundance of friends, it would take several boxes
to get out my yearly sentiments.
Nowadays I’m more discriminating as to whom I send out cards, basically
because I’m cheap and a little lazy.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But it’s also that as I’ve gotten older, I pay more
attention to who really matters in my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Older aunts and uncles always stay on the list. I love them, they’ve been fixtures in my life
since childhood, and it’s respectful.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Cousins for the most part stay on the list. Over the years, a few have dropped off, as
our lives went into different orbits and we finally realized we no longer had
anything in common. Card sending was a
formality that we realized was no longer necessary.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But friends are the real wildcards. Some stay in your life forever, others just
pass through, others are friends but don’t rise to Christmas card level (and
only you can determine what that threshold is).
This is the group of recipients that most often play the Christmas Card
Standoff game.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For example: A
certain friend has been on my list for years.
I worked with them umpteen </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4060wCznOd3ZjLDUgYGOViI7eRDP9WvvOQLLWln-wf-3sKxBAshjY7-IwC7CTSsuS2hSo31NsWBDzuICPo0c_xvcthcPNrK4w2Lhml61wI3yZR0Gupog2Hs9gBIAHPEXJnmbSxdW2QbH/s1600/cards2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4060wCznOd3ZjLDUgYGOViI7eRDP9WvvOQLLWln-wf-3sKxBAshjY7-IwC7CTSsuS2hSo31NsWBDzuICPo0c_xvcthcPNrK4w2Lhml61wI3yZR0Gupog2Hs9gBIAHPEXJnmbSxdW2QbH/s1600/cards2.jpg" height="242" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">years ago at a job that I barely remember. At the time, we were good buds – doing lunch
together a lot, commiserating together about the boss, sharing little kid
stories. But I couldn’t tell you the
last time I actually saw this person.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If the last time I actually saw this person, shoulder pads
were in fashion, it’s time to cut them loose.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I made the conscious decision to not send them a card. I debated, but I made the call. Now I’m waiting to see if I get one from them. If I don’t, I know they felt the same
way, and thank goodness. I don't take it personally if I've rotated off their list of recipients.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes you get lucky and the card you sent to them comes
back as undeliverable, unable to forward, whatever. Hey, you tried. If you run into that person in Price Chopper
months later (after unsuccessfully trying to avoid them by ducking into the
cereal aisle), you can say oh, I tried to send you a Christmas card, I figured
you (moved, went into the witness protection program, died, fill in the blank).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every day at the mailbox now is like spinning the roulette
wheel. Checking return addresses for
people deliberately left off your list just adds to your holiday stress. And if you see an address of someone you
didn’t send a card to, <i>damn!!</i> Now you have to get one off to them ASAP if
not sooner, so you don’t look like a schmuck.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s three days before Christmas as I write this. I know who I didn’t send cards to. I’m hoping they didn’t send cards to me so I
can be relieved of this particular holiday guilt. It’s the Mexican Standoff of the season. Aye carumba!
Merry Christmas to all!!</span></div>
Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-53675381559480957222014-12-13T11:58:00.000-08:002014-12-13T11:58:36.384-08:00The Beauty in Necessary Evils<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There is never enough time to get things done on the
homestead. You wonder where the time
went. We spent all summer painting the
outside of the house. This meant power washing
the exterior and watching pieces of paint and wood go flying all over the
yard. It looked like a ticker tape
parade had gone through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8uAkkgQkJqbnndZdXb59mHVNe-7_cioE_vHEyaOdS1rRe9BXFB6U89y-7cxduZ4RfDyfn2hx1BWW88tKRIaCMdlj3Lo0QKqjqsJCtatMU5bFksTVa8by1okHYTQHjeXGeyBIzwdZq3hFL/s1600/House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8uAkkgQkJqbnndZdXb59mHVNe-7_cioE_vHEyaOdS1rRe9BXFB6U89y-7cxduZ4RfDyfn2hx1BWW88tKRIaCMdlj3Lo0QKqjqsJCtatMU5bFksTVa8by1okHYTQHjeXGeyBIzwdZq3hFL/s1600/House.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Next was spot scraping and repairing siding and molding from
whence said pieces of wood went flying.
Then hitting bare wood with primer, and finally painting. What we optimistically thought would take a
couple of weekends (oh will we <i>ever</i> learn) took the entire summer.
That’s what happens when you're trying to get a major project done on
weekends, and half the time you get rained out or some other commitment crops
up. You can only get so much done
after work on the weekdays.</span><br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But we toughed it out.
It seemed like the never ending project, especially in the face of other
things we wanted to do to get the house marketable. We focused on getting the front done, so we
could take pictures to put online. Larry
also put new metal on the porch roof, to match the rest of the house,
which was done last year. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was a long, slow and sometimes painful haul, but we finally got it done. We stood at the end of the driveway and
thought, wow, the house looks fantastic!
Why did we wait so long to do this?
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Larry also built some sweet steps off the back door. We’ve been using a variety of slippery,
shifting cinder blocks for take-your-life-in-your-hands steps since he bought
the house. Getting the stairs built was
a revelation. It was a thrill to be able
to open the back door and step out onto a platform. It was <i>awesome</i>. Again, we asked ourselves, why did we wait so
long?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It wasn’t a matter of waiting. It was a matter of prioritizing, of working
on what we felt was the most pressing thing each season. We’d spent almost ten years working on
clearing pasture, dropping trees, fighting weeds and trying to get a good grass
stand established, and working on gardens.
This year, with no horses and just five low-maintenance chickens, we let
the pastures go, which was probably the best thing we could have done for
them. They grew in thick and lush, with
not nearly as much weed action as we feared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Larry also planted almost exclusively pumpkins in the
gardens. He wanted to do something
low-maintenance, and they were just the ticket.
He also planted a few cabbage plants (which </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFpBA9zpPxCtu-lZnp7D28lW7rIj6nTOqLejwvJeCm3TGJRwcfVpNq7WNb_CzpaZlet-yETuNlwKMZVoJ1w6BD4vRkG3zlD0Qan5PjOSOiugIeSfNRiDh_T0pWnIXvL9kN-7_eJF-Hr0p/s1600/house+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFpBA9zpPxCtu-lZnp7D28lW7rIj6nTOqLejwvJeCm3TGJRwcfVpNq7WNb_CzpaZlet-yETuNlwKMZVoJ1w6BD4vRkG3zlD0Qan5PjOSOiugIeSfNRiDh_T0pWnIXvL9kN-7_eJF-Hr0p/s1600/house+1.jpg" height="150" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">the deer enjoyed immensely,
thank you very much) and some basil, but the pumpkins became The Thing That
Took Over Charley Hill. They were a huge
return on investment in volume.</span><br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s a sad truth that you get the home improvements and
repairs done when you are getting ready to put the house on the market. The whole thing is bittersweet. But with no serious buyers at the moment, we
get to enjoy our work for a little while. It's a pleasure to pull into the driveway and see the fresh paint, the new lattice, the beautiful metal roof. The house smiles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And we'll take away the lesson - as we said to each other while enjoying cocktails on our
newly painted porch – of not waiting so long next time.</span></div>
Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-61784363959628883862014-09-11T06:27:00.000-07:002014-09-11T06:40:09.408-07:00A Weekend at Watkins Glen International Raceway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUDpblb-RCYk1wShNlrCTNYN_LlsBTd-HTyFMK8V1PUb7OoK23vJL3_4ps71ngGawpN853GOGLwazaiC94DxTvNPYA3OEkExrmGcZfwhqXSoHEAYNIFpUIJUVyi0uU_Wkl1DdXlv56t83/s1600/gator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUDpblb-RCYk1wShNlrCTNYN_LlsBTd-HTyFMK8V1PUb7OoK23vJL3_4ps71ngGawpN853GOGLwazaiC94DxTvNPYA3OEkExrmGcZfwhqXSoHEAYNIFpUIJUVyi0uU_Wkl1DdXlv56t83/s1600/gator.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m still a little dizzy from the fumes inhaled at Watkins Glen International Race Course this past weekend, where Larry and I spent two days watching the U.S Vintage Grand Prix. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a blur of MGs, Corvettes, Porsches, Jaguars, Mustangs, Ferraris, in every variation imaginable, and a ton of other cars I couldn’t identify. Some went faster than others, but they all had one thing in common – the dedication and enthusiasm of the people who drive them, take care of them, and follow them around the country to various events.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTu_RBgxcyDupjderwAb16Ls-IdqDBRipWlQBNnsHrI_91HqQzDyW_JFlzmLEUyQId77mdOdU9jx6SAuNxA1VMd5GAvlzXCBpXPBC9B2KVUWTN9iq_Wvf5o2cv4Z0eJYGPozwCtFHGdOj3/s1600/cars1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTu_RBgxcyDupjderwAb16Ls-IdqDBRipWlQBNnsHrI_91HqQzDyW_JFlzmLEUyQId77mdOdU9jx6SAuNxA1VMd5GAvlzXCBpXPBC9B2KVUWTN9iq_Wvf5o2cv4Z0eJYGPozwCtFHGdOj3/s1600/cars1.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Car racing has no real appeal to me. This was a weekend for Larry. WGI is probably most well known for its annual NASCAR race, but they have numerous other events throughout the year. (Check out their schedule <a href="http://www.theglen.com/?homepage=true" target="_blank">here</a>.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not your typical race track, WGI is 3.4 miles long (for the long course) and includes a variety </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of turns. Bleachers were stationed at various points, so you could go traditional at the front stretch grandstand and watch pit row, or sit at a corner and watch everyone brake into a turn (much like the Northway going into the twin bridges at rush hour). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The stars of the weekend were the vintage cars. It was a bit like stepping back in time to watch them, many from the early to mid-part of the 20th century, revved up and racing around the track. The races were broken up into groups by vehicle: small displacement production sports cars, pre-1973 formula cars, pre-war (which war, it doesn’t say, but I’m guessing WWII), GT cars, and a slew of acronyms that I never figured out over two days.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8f14eWKcqQUCvj0mEjEN99joUckpBsQOV-0OPptLerTryeQbfAX-ok6-sMoQHglMwQBiuePMF6-5eNY8NhFPdNRrbgNW6rCSFxAAebVvJYNjFJWt5fQwwgfvAl4PipM37Tx2N5qnbyw0/s1600/IMG_1937.MOV" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8f14eWKcqQUCvj0mEjEN99joUckpBsQOV-0OPptLerTryeQbfAX-ok6-sMoQHglMwQBiuePMF6-5eNY8NhFPdNRrbgNW6rCSFxAAebVvJYNjFJWt5fQwwgfvAl4PipM37Tx2N5qnbyw0/s1600/IMG_1937.MOV" height="111" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brummmm! Brummmmm!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">WGI is an expansive facility; our tickets were all-access, so we were able to go pretty much anywhere we wanted. It meant we walked miles – miles – each day, but it was worth it to see how much Larry enjoyed himself. We also hiked the equivalent of Mt. Marcy in bleacher stairs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not being a NASCAR race, there weren’t tons of fans in the stands. But the folks who were there, well, they love their cars. Participants ranged from a few true backyard hobbyists to racers sponsored as much as Dale Ernhardt Jr. From the classic car show to the motorcycle expo to the random string of classic VW buses, people were there to enjoy and share their passion. Even in the garage, where drivers and mechanics were busy with all the intensity of a NASCAR event, folks took the time to chat and explain things and share a story or two. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Garage row</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the fun games to play, particularly in the garage area, was “Is That His Daughter or His Girlfriend?” You get to use all your powers of observation and deduction to get to the right answer. Sometimes an unassuming chat with one or both parties is necessary to come to your conclusion (Larry was particularly good at this). Even then – who knows.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the time we left Sunday, I had seen enough. While Larry had me take his picture with every Porsche we passed on the way out, I was ready to stab myself in the eye with a spork. But it was so worth it to see him enjoy himself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It reminded me of when dad and I would go to horseshows (as spectators, not competitors) all the time. We dragged mom along once, and afterwards she said never again. “You two have to stop and look at every horse, every bucket, every bale of hay, every eye hook in the wall,” she said. Dad and I said, “Well, yeah.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Payback is, well, you know.</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-79640442566221957722014-07-24T06:26:00.000-07:002014-07-24T06:26:11.067-07:00It's (Gonna Be) the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year Larry decided we should be pumpkin ranchers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In search of a garden goodie that would not take a ton of maintenance yet yield an easily <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWm-mG4OH5cLhzoYsmMT8bAkNtj2zLgVbhyphenhyphenNZ5REqc98eybzZS2Ru_bRt96GLRFzPo_N2vSO2Q4_GHLY2QD7OHLmdkO_H4t-1eCw_glSmBH0JYsrf7WU2Rj60uVs__RXK5rT9KFfvPHLV/s1600/pumpkins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWm-mG4OH5cLhzoYsmMT8bAkNtj2zLgVbhyphenhyphenNZ5REqc98eybzZS2Ru_bRt96GLRFzPo_N2vSO2Q4_GHLY2QD7OHLmdkO_H4t-1eCw_glSmBH0JYsrf7WU2Rj60uVs__RXK5rT9KFfvPHLV/s1600/pumpkins.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yikes!</td></tr>
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salable product, he planted all pumpkins in the front garden. Their leaves have now exploded, literally filling the garden, and blossoms are visible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The blueberries out back, after doing squat the last few years and being afflicted by some sort of creeping crud last season, are bearing beautiful fruit. Larry also planted a few beets, cabbage for his sauerkraut (oh, the humanity) and basil because what’s summer without fresh basil and mozzarella salad?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This past winter’s long, icy grip is a not very distant memory. When the sweat is running down my back, I remind myself of how I couldn’t get close enough to the woodstove last winter. I will not complain about the heat this year. Not once. It’s become a personal challenge. Anyone who hears me do so has my permission to slap me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our big news is that we’ve put the house on the market in anticipation of Larry getting a job transfer and moving to warmer climes. In an effort to look more mainstream, we mowed our yard this year. I admit, it does look nice. I left a few pockets of wildflowers, where they were actually in greater population than grass or weeds. They provide pretty bursts of color. I wouldn’t exactly call what we have a lawn, more like evenly cut green stuff, which, from a distance, could pass for a lawn. To my dismay, it all grows pretty fast. I’ve gotten back into the lawnmower groove, which is good exercise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The front of the house has been power washed, scraped and repainted, and the porch has been reroofed to match the rest of the house (kudos to Larry for working like a dog on all this). Rehab projects take forever when you’re chipping away at them on weekends. The painting of the porch seemed like the never ending story and I wouldn’t wish painting lattice on my worst enemy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When it was done, though, Larry couldn’t stop admiring how much better it all looked. “We should have done this years ago,” he said, and it was hard to disagree. We didn’t because we were always too busy working out back on pastures, which have gone by the wayside this year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we still have our Final Five chickens. Tough old broads, they are. They’ve become fixtures, following us around and gracing us with one to three eggs a day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m enjoying the yard more this year – futzing with my perennials and doing small yard projects I haven’t had the time to do before. I don’t have the niggling guilt in the back of my mind that I’m not doing enough with the horses, because they’re out of my equation. I’m getting the itch to ride again, but it’s not a burning desire. At least, not yet, not here. I’m not sure where I’m at with that right now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meantime, we’re enjoying our summer immensely – watching the gardens grow, giving the house some long overdue sprucing up, enjoying our time together right here, right now. And oh yeah, we need to cracking on firewood. So I can huddle up to the woodstove next winter.</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-30230383263254021482014-04-05T11:53:00.000-07:002014-04-07T06:57:03.646-07:00A Visit to the Adirondack Meat Company<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX63904888" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Big doings around town lately has been the opening of the Adirondack Meat Company, a processing plant (slaughterhouse) in Ticonderoga. Local producers of local meat have had to go to Eagle Bridge or other fairly distant locales to have their animals butchered for sale. AMC provides a much needed service in our area. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Their primary focus is threefold, according to owner Pete Ward: Humane treatment of the animals, sanitation and profitability. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekn989lXPbmaXwPHhU0TgdK7S1kDpcz77Uywat_XnPNjaXWTThVjYSEy6vDjnMFXjDmDNrOW5Sf-3Mom6Bifs19cQXJc6kFeRVJ4nT7H4QWeCqemgq963T7w24pnj5VyipRfaEII1Pkt0/s1600/AMC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekn989lXPbmaXwPHhU0TgdK7S1kDpcz77Uywat_XnPNjaXWTThVjYSEy6vDjnMFXjDmDNrOW5Sf-3Mom6Bifs19cQXJc6kFeRVJ4nT7H4QWeCqemgq963T7w24pnj5VyipRfaEII1Pkt0/s1600/AMC.jpg" /></a><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">AMC processes beef, pork, goats and sheep. To butcher buffalo, elk, etc. they need an exotic animal license, which they don’t have at this time. They also don’t butcher poultry, so my girls are safe for now. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">It’s wonderful to see how a new local business is taking off, and what they’ll provide to the community in the way of jobs, and a delicious end product. A retail store is in the works as well. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Larry and I took a tour of the facility during their open house and received a valuable lesson in processing. Before taking the tour, I had a broad understanding of how the animal gets from Point A (animal) to Point B (barbeque). And here is, I believe, the opportunity for real learning. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">In brief, the animal comes in from the holding pen into the kill room, where its dismembered and gutted. It then goes to a cooling room when the carcass temperature is lowered to approximately 39 degrees. From there it goes to an aging room, where it stays for an average of 7-10 days. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">At that point, the carcass is cut into specific pieces parts and packaged. Some is turned into ground meat. It all ends up in the cooler for either pick up by the customer or for direct sale to the public. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">While it was awesome to understand the entire process, I found the kill room the most interesting. Here’s where things really happen. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">A participant on the tour asked if someone could be in the kill room when the action was taking place, say someone who brings in their animal for their own personal consumption, and wants to watch the process. The answer was no; only the processors and the USDA inspector are allowed in the kill room. Understandable. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">But this is the opportunity to really educate people. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuMOwKTGKK6gJA0R96LcAWERMZhrCeMWsCx7z-yX4alWah2d1HuQv3cbOmVy4Ql3AV3r5KuuFiP4yO0fh8UkBlF09V5iT3SqD_f__YHQQGNXLlx9-0NwmWZ0ATLtthIjS9mhAcMe5yIZf/s1600/burger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuMOwKTGKK6gJA0R96LcAWERMZhrCeMWsCx7z-yX4alWah2d1HuQv3cbOmVy4Ql3AV3r5KuuFiP4yO0fh8UkBlF09V5iT3SqD_f__YHQQGNXLlx9-0NwmWZ0ATLtthIjS9mhAcMe5yIZf/s1600/burger.jpg" height="188" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I would like to put in the Suggestion Box that AMC install a viewing lounge adjacent to the kill room. Bring in school groups for field trips – particularly little kids, educate them early - and let them see how this part of their nutrition pyramid comes to fruition. Call it “Meet Your Meat Day.” The permission slip sent home for parents to sign could have a smiling cartoon hot dog and hamburger on it, symbolic of some childhood innocence about to come to an abrupt end. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Before it was a hamburger or hot dog, it was a critter on four legs coming in from the holding pen, none the wiser. Then it becomes a hanging carcass, with its heart, liver and lungs on one tray and its head on another, to be inspected by the USDA. Its hide is skillfully peeled back so as to not contaminate the meat, its hocks removed and innards eviscerated and put in a refrigerated holding tank, to be collected for rendering. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I’m reminded of one of the few episodes of Duck Dynasty I’ve been exposed to. Phil Robertson graphically demonstrates for a group of elementary school kids how to dismember a duck. Later, as he recounts the event to his wife, he says “And that’s when the little girls started to squeal.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I imagine there would be a lot of squealing going on in the viewing lounge at AMC. Some of it would probably be coming from me. But that’s okay. Nobody ever said reality was pretty. It is tasty, though.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Click on this link to learn more about the <a href="http://www.adkmeatco.com/" target="_blank">Adirondack Meat Company</a>.</span></span></div>
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Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-1210684129936137712014-03-11T12:51:00.000-07:002014-03-11T12:58:03.023-07:00When All Else Fails, Wait for Mom<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chicken tracks in the snow are adorable.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHDlHOxni8oMcTY0DdIzMfcwQSzF197N726piWDBSVjJQ6iHRNw2lORa1xwPAYw1yFkQ9PuyX5clXmg5tV1oo8KagDqiLPBxy27flJypVuI0HCi-7eF9zGdhjA-sQbAM0tCSYOdhFNaU7/s1600/tracks1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHDlHOxni8oMcTY0DdIzMfcwQSzF197N726piWDBSVjJQ6iHRNw2lORa1xwPAYw1yFkQ9PuyX5clXmg5tV1oo8KagDqiLPBxy27flJypVuI0HCi-7eF9zGdhjA-sQbAM0tCSYOdhFNaU7/s1600/tracks1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It looks like little dinosaurs have traveled around your house, which isn’t so far from the truth. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The girls seriously dislike the snow. I can open the door to the coop in the morning after a snowfall and they look out with an attitude of “Yeah, well, no.” Only after I have cleared or packed the path a bit will they start to come out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of their favorite hangouts is underneath the porch of the house. There the dirt is sandy, loose and begging to be dug into. In the summer it’s a great spot because it’s cool. In the winter its appeal is that it’s loose dirt amongst nothing but frozen ground and this annoying, cold white stuff. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With the weather we’ve had this winter – some snow, lots of rain that becomes ice – the chickies have stayed around their coop. Over the summer they kept me company as I convalesced on the porch, by hanging out in the front yard, working their way up the porch steps until I yelled at them, and roosting on the pioneer fence. They endeared themselves to me on a whole new level. Because they were only five of them, personalities became distinct. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We still have Wheezy, the chicken I nursed back to health after a weasel attack several years ago. There’s Broody, the only one out of the original flock who has shown any inclination to set on eggs. She’s the smallest and Queen of the Coop. There’s Spot, named only because she has a dark spot on her lower eyelid that’s noticeable. The other two are indistinct – sorry – and nameless. They're all hale and hearty and coming through the winter in great condition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, the girls started coming down the path through the snow and going under the porch again. When I came home for lunch, I’d hear them coo under the stairs and sometimes they'd stick their heads out looking for a treat. The other day they got the motherlode of my failed attempt at King Cake, devouring it with great relish. I know I'm supporting negative behavior with positive reinforcement (pestering me for treats and getting cake for their trouble), but I’m beginning to feel sorry for them given the winter we’ve been having.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One day last week, as dusk was approaching, I looked out the kitchen window and saw three chickens by the woodpile. It was an odd place for them to be hanging out. Usually by that time of the day, they have instinctively put themselves on their roosts in the coop for the night. I threw on my coat and went outside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It had snow lightly but constantly all day, and the ground was covered with about four inches of very light, fluffy snow. I saw a set of chicken tracks come out from under the porch, pick up the path, and make the left turn between the trailer and woodsplitter to go down the path to their coop. But these three birds somehow – maybe snowblindness, maybe the depth of the snow threw them off – missed the turn and continued straight just a few more feet, to the other side of the woodsplitter, and ended up in a dead end area by the woodpile.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even they knew they were in the wrong spot. They just couldn’t figure out how to get to the right spot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was going to herd them around the corner and down the path. But as I approached them, they didn’t move. Two things had happened: the magical chicken bewitching hour where it’s bed time and they stay wherever they happen to be for the night, and (I think) they had gotten very cold, up to their chicken thighs in the snow, as they all had one leg curled up underneath their bodies like little black and white flamingos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I had the opportunity to do something very rare. I reached down and picked up Wheezy and tucked her under my arm. She didn’t put up a fight. I picked up Broody, who flapped for a second but then gave it up, and tucked her to my midsection, holding her against Wheezy and me with my arm. Then I reached down and one-armed a No Name and brought her to nestle with the other two. I officially had an armful of chickens. For a second I thought they would do their usual chicken freak-out at being held, but then I realized they felt content. They were warming up. They relaxed. They felt secure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I carried my load of poultry to the coop and gently put them on the floor. The other two chickens (who obviously had the smarts to find their way back earlier in the day) were on the roost and looked at them like “Where were you idiots?” Wheezy fluffed up her feathers. Broody got something to eat. No Name gave me a blank, tilted-head look.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lots of people laugh at chickens’ goofiness, and all animals have their amusing moments. But when you have animals in your life, the moments that really have meaning are when you have those times of connection, of when you know they trust you. I've had many with horses over the years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chickens aren’t particularly cuddly, at least mine aren’t. But having that opportunity to “rescue” them (and there have been others) and hold them to me for a few minutes was a reminder of how the universe is a sum of its parts, and to appreciate those moments.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's nice to help out when someone takes a wrong turn.</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-88923801072059187682014-01-08T13:39:00.000-08:002014-01-08T14:01:40.839-08:00Let Go or Be Dragged <span lang=""><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
Hello 2014, you shiny faced little pixie you. You have no idea how happy I am to see you here. Your predecessor 2013 was a little harsh, and not just on me. Lots of folks had a rough year. On the 30 Acre Wood, she lulled me into a false sense of security for the first five months of the year, and then let loose with the big smackdown. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m won’t say it wasn’t necessary, but it was a little heavy handed. Yes, she got my attention. After the pain subsided and I was done being an angry bee and the pity party was over, I began to see the point she was trying to make.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ignore your deepest feelings at your own peril. I had been fighting the feeling that the horses weren't working out for us, but I refused to recognize it or acknowledge it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you’re stuck on being identified with or as something, even if it’s just in your own mind, giving it up can be a mental impossibility, which turns into a physical impossibility. But the universe knows better. And the universe always gets her way. If you’re not paying attention, she drops the subtleties. And the next thing you know, you’re lying on the trail with a broken leg and your horse is gleefully galloping away from you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes you need to let go, even if it’s wrenched from your hand. What once filled your soul may not be working for you anymore, for whatever reason. If you’re holding too tight to something, even if it’s no longer serving you, you can’t hold anything else. That can be self limiting at best and mentally crippling at worst.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life After Horses has been a major adjustment, but it’s beginning to feel alright. Larry and I have had the opportunity to do more things and travel more freely, and that feels wonderful. The universe pried my hand open to make me let go, and now that my hand is beginning to uncramp, I’m able to hold other things. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JTLs0ueciOLQDi2gKD54dUizR7-QS5mCHTU-Z0w6dXg-P2haZaopNKKJAljqgW5riZ1O5QsL23R5c-OdyXWD21r_cKbX2HYt447snFqvZnJC2ldmyvrfh91W9RiUagFfQMeJ0URDJBHI/s1600/calves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JTLs0ueciOLQDi2gKD54dUizR7-QS5mCHTU-Z0w6dXg-P2haZaopNKKJAljqgW5riZ1O5QsL23R5c-OdyXWD21r_cKbX2HYt447snFqvZnJC2ldmyvrfh91W9RiUagFfQMeJ0URDJBHI/s1600/calves.jpg" height="128" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This spring we may get some beef calves, to keep the pastures from going feral and to fill the freezer in the fall. A new batch of chicks may inhabit the coop. I’m looking forward to finally tackling some of the yard projects I’ve been trying to get to for several years now, without feeling guilty for taking that time away from the horses. And who knows – horses may very well indeed be in our future. Sometimes you need to take a breather to come back to something with renewed passion and joy.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What do you need to let go of, that’s no longer serving you? Join the </span><a href="http://www.annegregson.com/butterflies/retreats2.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bona Fide Butterflies</span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> at their </span><a href="http://www.annegregson.com/butterflies/retreats2.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Letting Go"</span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> retreat on January 24-26, 2014 at the beautiful </span><a href="http://www.theglenlodge.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Glen Lodge in Warrensburg</span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, to explore what you may need to release in your life and how to move forward. Best of all, it will be in a playful, friendly and relaxing weekend with kindred spirits. Trust me, it’ll be easier and a lot more fun than breaking your leg.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve never been much of a cook. I have a few culinary tricks up my sleeve, but for the most part my food preparation is utilitarian in nature. If I were a single woman, I’d probably live on bologna sandwiches and Captain Crunch. Fortunately for me, Larry enjoys cooking and usually takes the helm in the kitchen.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcVKd1qQCWj6sqV7wl-B9JlgCUy9z5qWwXFPTwFa-Edb7d2-BbQ-VGbCmhzoTy5nlpRwogvetQ6MwrV41iSKEiWu0BxaD8oCsQNQfSDnxxRabJxUvdKn5QunhD0OzhGK2ue6JNUC0eq2J/s1600/mess.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcVKd1qQCWj6sqV7wl-B9JlgCUy9z5qWwXFPTwFa-Edb7d2-BbQ-VGbCmhzoTy5nlpRwogvetQ6MwrV41iSKEiWu0BxaD8oCsQNQfSDnxxRabJxUvdKn5QunhD0OzhGK2ue6JNUC0eq2J/s200/mess.png" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once in a while, though, I get an urge to bake, especially in the fall. I found a recipe for Impossible Pumpkin Cookies that, despite their name, seemed pretty easy. After starting to mix the ingredients, however, I realized I had purchased a can of sweetened milk and not c</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ondensed milk. There was no conversion or swapping mentioned in my standby Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. So I called my friend and baking guru, Dianne Johnstone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dianne said no, you really can’t use one in place of the other, and there wasn’t any real workaround. She asked what I was making and I said Impossible Pumpkin Cookies, the impossible part apparently being the cook’s ability to pick up the right ingredients from the store.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the end, the cookies proved impossible for me, as they had a weird timeframe of cooking 10 minutes, then sitting out for 10 minutes, then going in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. Behind the eight ball now because of having to run to the store again and having to be somewhere shortly, I fudged the time sitting to 5 minutes and time in the fridge to half a day. Let’s just say the chickens were the beneficiaries of that particular attempt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This weekend I had a herd of bananas on my counter that were growing blacker by the day, slowly inching their way towards the compost pail. I decided to wash the dead bugs out of my bread pans and try some banana bread. I utilized the basics of a new recipe in my cookbook with some of my favorite components from a banana muffin recipe. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when I started putting all the dry ingredients in the bowl I realized I was looking at the wrong recipe in the cookbook (I have GOT to get new glasses), so I pulled out a pinch of what looked like the baking powder here and some of what looked like the baking soda there. Instead of one monster loaf, I split it between two pans and hoped for the best. I warned Larry this was a compilation recipe, there were no guarantees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To my surprise, they came out great – no small feat for me - cooked through perfectly, moist and delicious, as good banana bread should be. Welcome Fall! Sometimes mad science in the kitchen wields wonderfully tasty results.</span></div>
</span><br />Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-11521876043840304502013-10-17T12:12:00.000-07:002013-10-28T05:54:43.790-07:00Operator, Can You Help Me Make This Call?<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Telephone</u>: an instrument for reproducing sounds at a distance; <i>specif: </i>one in which sound is converted into electrical impulses for transmission (as by wire) – <em>Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary</em></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had to get a new telephone for the house. As much as I prefer our old black rotary phone, which can double as a weapon against intruders, telephone transmissions no longer play nice with them. The cordless unit we had was beginning to act up, and we were never </span><br />
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happy with the clarity of the answering machine recording. It always sounded like a bad fast food drive-through. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Best Buy can be intimidating to us just-fell-off-the-turnip-truckers: cavernous, flashy and overstimulating. There are too many options. Sales people are either over exuberant (which is quickly followed by exasperation when they see I have no idea what they’re talking about, and they have to dumb everything down) or they try to keep two displays away and avoid eye contact so they don’t have to deal with me.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wandered the store for a while unsuccessfully trying to find regular telephones. I dawdled by the iPods and mp3 players, something I’ve been thinking about getting for a while but I’m 1) too cheap and 2) too intimated to learn how to use them. You’d think that the adult education folks would offer something useful like "Portable Music for Dummies." What struck me was their size; the last time I looked at them they were something you could put down without losing. Now, they’re the size of a graham cracker. The label actual included the word "Walkman" (well, that I could relate to) and "video." How are you supposed to view video on such a tiny screen? Are optometrists in on this?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unable to find unmobile telephones, I reluctantly approached a team of three cell phone salespersons. "I’m almost afraid to ask this," I said, "but do you have regular telephones, you know, for landlines?" The inner struggle between being helpful and being condescending showed on the young guy’s face. "Sure," he smiled. "Follow me." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He practically jogged to a far wall of the store, while I hobbled after him, trying to keep up. He led me to a cobwebby and dusty shelving display, to the technological Island of Misfit Toys. "Here you go!" he announced and promptly disappeared. These phones were unpromoted and unannounced, no "Outdated Technology For Losers" signage which would have been helpful. The five display phones looked sad and neglected, spaces between them on the shelves where their brethren had been removed, never to be restocked again. All I wanted was a phone with an answering machine built it. Most of the options were a phone base with six offspring so every room in our house could have telecommunications.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I finally zeroed in on one. The box read "Communication Answering System." The word telephone was nowhere on the package. I suppose that word is now obsolete as well. Its proudly listed features included large, backlit buttons and caller ID that announced who was calling. I suppose these are helpful for us old people, who are the only ones buying these archaic things anymore. I’m surprised it didn’t come with a sample of Lipitor or a coupon for Depends.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I approached the cashier, I joked that it was called an answering system versus a telephone. She gave me a sad, tolerant smile. "Hardly anyone has landlines anymore," she said. <i>Yeah, well, I live in the country, honey,</i> I kept from saying. <i>I’d like to see how well your ass stacks firewood.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This weekend I will fortify myself with some tequila and take a run at getting our new communication answering system hooked up, charged, and programmed properly. I can always hope for a power outage, where I'll have no choice but to plug in the rotary phone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-43326652830090820692013-10-11T13:17:00.000-07:002013-10-11T13:47:55.620-07:00Clearing the Channels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YyBOWf3B1Gugup-iskRLG79jbXyUfF1NVhX_vHhgBGdjJFRe981LPstlMYWegV_k3hXHhgCxGraIjuQf7DY6rGZHDthXjK78BNkIVniFkx-E5C7L23-_-bIEJ8J7ILS6p8SvzsNNrBg9/s1600/Oct+2013+022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YyBOWf3B1Gugup-iskRLG79jbXyUfF1NVhX_vHhgBGdjJFRe981LPstlMYWegV_k3hXHhgCxGraIjuQf7DY6rGZHDthXjK78BNkIVniFkx-E5C7L23-_-bIEJ8J7ILS6p8SvzsNNrBg9/s200/Oct+2013+022.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Greetings from the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where
hubby and I are taking our annual vacation with a wide array of his
relatives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally I’m happy to hang
with the large assortment of cool cousins and extended family, but right now
there is a visiting herd of little kids running amok in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounds like a pack of wild Indians out
there (which probably isn’t so far from the truth), so I took this moment to
hole up in my room and figuratively put pen to paper.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There was an interesting post on the writer’s blog Write to Done about writer’s block.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
brilliance of the post was in the different angle it took on this topic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It viewed it not as “writer’s block,” but as a
“log jam.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem isn’t being
blocked, but being so overwhelmed with ideas, thoughts, etc., that our brain
jams up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a real eye opener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One, it made me feel better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two, it made perfect sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of being an unproductive dolt, I’m
really just too flush with ideas for my own good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recognizing the problem is halfway to a cure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looked at in the right light, it isn’t even
really a problem.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This enlightening post came on the heels of a one-day
workshop sponsored by the <a href="http://acw-dev.herokuapp.com/" target="_blank">Adirondack Center for Writing</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was on nature writing and was facilitated
by the lovely Robin Zimmerer who published a book entirely about
moss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t quite sure what to expect but it’s
important to keep an open mind about such things and to be willing to try new
experiences.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A campground in Old Forge was the great setting for the
workshop. It was more about the intuitive, warm and fuzzy aspect of writing,
whereas I’m more of a nuts and bolts kind of gal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, where I didn’t think I’d be able to
write anything remotely decent and felt embarrassingly blocked, I surprised
myself by coming out of the </span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">writing exercises with interesting, decent
stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About moss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The best part of the weekend was spending time with fellow
writer <a href="http://nancyscarzello.com/" target="_blank">Nancy Scarzello</a>, a Ticonderoga herbalist and naturalist whom I had
corresponded with briefly in the spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Summer of the Broken Leg flew by and I unexpectedly received an email
from her telling me about the ACW workshop and asking if I would like to share
a rented cabin with her in Old Forge while attending the workshop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the perfect little getaway and a tonic
to my writer’s soul to spend time with such a kindred spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sometimes you just need to let the natural currents break up
that log jam.</span></div>
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Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-70693207669843345482013-08-27T12:06:00.002-07:002013-08-27T12:06:42.728-07:00Step by Step, Slowly I Turned...<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> It’s always darkest before the dawn. Actually, it’s always coldest before the dawn.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Metaphorically, I was freezing. I was tired of the cold. I was tired of those stupid crutches. Sick to death of them. Of hobbling around from place to place, of having to think of how I was going to navigate a certain area or place, of always having to take them into consideration.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I went into the barn. My deserted, dusty, cobwebby barn. I picked up the broom and tried to sweep the floor, the way I do in the kitchen, with one hand. But the barn broom is much heavier than the house broom, and that wasn’t going to work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Screw this.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I have been so very afraid of hurting myself again. The physical pain of the initial accident and subsequent surgeries were very fresh in my mind. I didn’t want to undo all the healing I had done. I just had to try to put some pressure on my leg, snugly encased in my velcro boot. Dr. Rosas said for me to try to do what I was comfortable with. I told him </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrGfteHTVZz0RHCxTeDL5qCtO5Xj2k1lNrMQSjhanHVBQGXlshF6pFJsWy43liOCOM5cfqbkJi6KwIa2CKP44cUU8M5YjzfjBwHw7tBVRnC2CqO6_JbS3Sjw4u2Awvt97XUFLQvKf-vz0/s1600/cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrGfteHTVZz0RHCxTeDL5qCtO5Xj2k1lNrMQSjhanHVBQGXlshF6pFJsWy43liOCOM5cfqbkJi6KwIa2CKP44cUU8M5YjzfjBwHw7tBVRnC2CqO6_JbS3Sjw4u2Awvt97XUFLQvKf-vz0/s320/cartoon.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copyright Garry Larson<br />
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</tbody></table>
that a lot of my hesitation and fear was in my head, and without looking at me he furrowed his brow a bit when I said that. How could he not get that?</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> But now I had had enough. It was sink or swim time. I leaned my crutches against the gate. I balanced myself and gingerly put my left foot forward and rolled on it, heel to toe, as I brought my right foot forward.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> It was okay. A little tweaky, but not bad. I took another step. In the quiet of my barn, surrounded by the shadows of all my former horse loves, I started really living again. Within the next ten minutes, I had swept the barn floor, moved the wheelbarrow and tidied things up. I had proven to myself that I could it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I had shown myself that a little faith can go a long way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Larry often tells me that he has faith in me. He recently said I have taught him the most about faith - not in the religious sense, but in the humanity sense. I learned about my own faith that day in my slightly scarred soul and badly scarred leg. I did it, taking that step back towards myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> That was almost two weeks ago. I am now walking well (with the boot), although rough or uneven ground is still a challenge. I can get up and down stairs much better, and am able to walk at home without the boot, although they are smaller, mincing steps, but self-powered all the same. The first time I was able to carry my own coffee out of the kitchen, you would have thought I’d won the lottery. I played 9 holes of golf for the first time ever last weekend (with a cart), poorly, Larry and I had a blast. I mowed the grass by the chicken coop because I couldn’t stand it any longer. Now that was empowering! And the girls seemed happy to see me back there. Even if I made that up in my own mind, I’ll take away the feel-good.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Ya gotta have faith.</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-89965274893857406232013-08-13T07:28:00.000-07:002013-08-13T07:51:28.019-07:00Ghost in the Machine<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>I stood in the entrance of the barn, the air cool on my face. There was a thin layer of snow and ice on the cement floor; I was worried about slipping on my crutches. I hobbled into the barn and looked around. It looked like a haunted house - cobwebs in every </em></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxS9oJgRKnz9mKKv5XV85bXkO7mkFfeD1FqC9SbXIWsFjyN0MvEgm9f78plC96eOrXRAC_EStW49n6nIAzNk9aR0UaX4pDgqj1uPXEY6ZHQCRKod7VTnCYZXvIAP4QjYmAX3sZ8QqFV1OH/s1600/imagesCAIM11NX.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxS9oJgRKnz9mKKv5XV85bXkO7mkFfeD1FqC9SbXIWsFjyN0MvEgm9f78plC96eOrXRAC_EStW49n6nIAzNk9aR0UaX4pDgqj1uPXEY6ZHQCRKod7VTnCYZXvIAP4QjYmAX3sZ8QqFV1OH/s320/imagesCAIM11NX.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My subconscious sucks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
corner, darkness making it difficult to see, leaves and debris blown across the floor, the smell of old hay and brittle leather. Why was it so dark? It was empty of horses, but beyond that, it was... deserted, abandoned. The sadness felt like a weight on my chest.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The weight on my chest was the cat, staring at me, willing me to wake up and feed her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Once I fell off Nifty, I didn’t lay eyes on her until the day her future owners came to check her out. I didn’t even head towards the barn until weeks after our remaining leased horse went home to Crown Point. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I don’t blame Nifty for my fall; in the beauty that is hindsight, I blame myself for not lunging her before I got on in the first place. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not; it doesn’t matter anymore. But I still feel betrayed in some way - by the horse, by myself, by my body for crumpling up in such a heap upon hitting the earth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I'm still very on the fence about my future with horses. On one side it feels good to have the break from the twice-daily responsibilities. I certainly have more money in my checking account, which is a nice change. If Larry and I want to do something, we don’t have to take into consideration barnyard schedules. The chickens can fend for themselves until we get home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Two weeks ago, I finally did gimp my way back to the barn. Uneven ground on crutches is, for lack of a better word, a BITCH. Standing in the doorway of the barn, I felt sucked into my very dream - to my surprise the barn floor was indeed covered in leaves, pine needles and dirt, the corners cobwebby and dark. In the tack room I ran my hand over my dusty saddle (it doesn’t take long for an inch of dirt to accumulate in a barn), knocked the cobwebs from my grooming tools and bulletin board with the horse calendar my grandmother gets me every Christmas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">People seem to be in two camps regarding my future with horses - there’s "Those damn things will kill ya, spend your time doing something else" and "You got back on the horse, right?" Personally, I feel both ways, depending on where I am at the moment. When I’m not around the barn, I feel like I can completely walk away from it all. No regrets. But when I’m in the barn, I miss the sounds and smells and grooming and cleaning tack. I miss the one-on-one with my animals. I enjoy being in the barn, caring for them, puttering around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’m sticking by my decision to take the winter "off." Not that it was much of a decision to be made - I can’t do anything and I couldn’t put all that work on Larry, which he handled the first 6 weeks after my accident. I’m the type of person who likes to make a decision, make a plan and BAM execute it. This indecision is making me crazy, and Larry’s been the witness of a meltdown or two (or three). But I can’t commit one way or the other yet. And as Larry keeps telling me, that’s okay. Despite my left brain wanting things all neat and orderly, it’s not something I have to decide right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Maybe it will come to me in a dream.</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-60959923974399634412013-07-30T08:39:00.000-07:002013-07-30T08:39:00.540-07:00It's Not Easy Being Green<span lang=""><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The beginning of June usually marks the start of peak growth season. I had just put down an initial bed of mulch around my three front flower beds and the perennial bed I planted last year. And then I broke my leg and it rained and turned hot. Things grew. And grew.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Larry is the anti-lawnmower man. As in, he hates to mow. In the 10+ years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him use the lawnmower. It was part of his incentive to rototill the entire yard and plant wildflower seed when he first bought the house. It’s been successful in varying degrees. The front of the house has fared the best, with really beautiful growth, but last year the backyard bore more grasses and weeds than anything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Regardless, I've always mowed my little paths through the jungle - across the front of the </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1mAcVYb9t4RWF2mtcLkk5z4wO6DUKh7iTCIID2vTvIuA36JVonma1ICjOdfRg6SCZ0Lyqe-dzH4QAnYMtovbhc-q4L0xrMalhkL7o66CHZlwLvAnK0UtwJFNx-d1OCzup6EIsVk6ZiZz/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1mAcVYb9t4RWF2mtcLkk5z4wO6DUKh7iTCIID2vTvIuA36JVonma1ICjOdfRg6SCZ0Lyqe-dzH4QAnYMtovbhc-q4L0xrMalhkL7o66CHZlwLvAnK0UtwJFNx-d1OCzup6EIsVk6ZiZz/s200/flowers.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front yard flowers - my perennial<br />
bed is in there somewhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
house and around the gardens, which gave things some semblance of order and neatness. Last year I put paver stones around two of the front flower beds and erected little pioneer fences behind my perennial grasses and the new perennial flower bed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But this year I've been stuck in a chair watching the grass grow. And the weeds grow. With no taming in sight. Larry had his hands full helping me out, taking care of everything house-wise and working. I didn’t have the heart to whine to him about the yard. He enjoys his vegetable gardens; the rest of the yard, who cares?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This spring Larry bought a 4' brush hog attachment for the tractor for the back pastures. It sat next to the barn, waiting for its maiden voyage into the back 40.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As the yard grew exponentially with the rain and angst began to show on my face, Larry </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf_qiJy3R8gKG9rtRkMzK6crRT-6wahvjudJXMuY49LllAUsL4YKIFsG1ZzIDH197ZI0PB6zZ9ZJE6n1EtZ4O4z0syVTyWhxIoYWsjD12kYwQqPht-OVloXHqyyaD9H5FEiAJyo35q_lq/s1600/chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf_qiJy3R8gKG9rtRkMzK6crRT-6wahvjudJXMuY49LllAUsL4YKIFsG1ZzIDH197ZI0PB6zZ9ZJE6n1EtZ4O4z0syVTyWhxIoYWsjD12kYwQqPht-OVloXHqyyaD9H5FEiAJyo35q_lq/s200/chicken.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stupid chicken! Get out<br />
of my flower bed!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
offered to mow around the house – with the brush hog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I didn’t want to seem unappreciative. I didn’t want to discourage him. But I could not quite visualize how this would work. A 4’ brush hog really isn’t destined for footpaths around the house. It's not a finesse tool. I had visions of everything within a 50’ radius of the house being mascerated, with flower heads flying everywhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Larry hooked the brush hog up to the tractor and started it up. I heard him drive behind the house, put the brush hog in gear, and lumber along with the occasional hair-raising sounds of rocks being chiseled. The man was undaunted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">He came around the side of the house, by the garden. He got close to the fence, mowed the high vegetation there. But he never came around to the front of the house.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">An hour later, the tractor went quiet and Larry appeared, sweaty and with little green bits of vegetation sticking to him. "Well," he said, "That was kinda like using a 20 pound sledge to hammer in a finishing nail."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J8rq3Gx7hsKabmH_02tfow1Uhm0d1wy-Uvljv8_J8sR_YY7bHUL9OcX53GYqn5PF7ks0JqXrw9Z0BUUOx9G-xVWWYuuxoHpIisqENX3864rlXQj6CcYrbHFr-PF26mDEbVEQLfMFGPmX/s1600/back+garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8J8rq3Gx7hsKabmH_02tfow1Uhm0d1wy-Uvljv8_J8sR_YY7bHUL9OcX53GYqn5PF7ks0JqXrw9Z0BUUOx9G-xVWWYuuxoHpIisqENX3864rlXQj6CcYrbHFr-PF26mDEbVEQLfMFGPmX/s320/back+garden.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back garden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Minutes later, to my shock, I heard the lawnmower rev up, and he made a very quick pass across the front of the house. This weekend, he weed-whacked along the back garden fence, which was all but invisible behind tall grass. He spent hours weeding in his gardens, making the wonderful vegetables he grows suddenly stand out and shine. I managed to get on my hands and knees Saturday and weeded three of the flower beds, which was very satisfying. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMHEvUUK8r50saDPLQCGMvGsCM4QPXfz9lRl64UIJJf-pEb1WhUU9pCoFUFS_yIbbAcJ7uVfWSvkQnN5D5bxSyQxtSmo8FTKm-6KwHLv_nAs7cESRkiZp7N8Ra9DirhPlK285NUkxHmZo/s1600/front+garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMHEvUUK8r50saDPLQCGMvGsCM4QPXfz9lRl64UIJJf-pEb1WhUU9pCoFUFS_yIbbAcJ7uVfWSvkQnN5D5bxSyQxtSmo8FTKm-6KwHLv_nAs7cESRkiZp7N8Ra9DirhPlK285NUkxHmZo/s320/front+garden.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front garden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Things are still a little rough and shaggy looking, but as Larry says, "Hey, it's the Adirondacks."</span></span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-50223782476435846302013-07-23T09:34:00.000-07:002013-07-23T09:34:24.229-07:00The View from the Porch<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’ve done a lot of porch sitting this year. Our house in Schroon Lake has a small but cozy screened-in porch, with barely enough room for four chairs and a mismatched table. Three of the chairs are original rattan pieces from our summer house in Lake George - long bleached like desert bones and slowly unraveling, but loved just the same. When you sit and are still, you learn a lot about your immediate surroundings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Being in a forced sedentary position for most of June, I learned about my cats’ daily routine. When they aren’t sleeping or shedding or simultaneously sleeping and shedding, they are bringing small mammals, birds and amphibians into the house. One morning Augie came trotting into the driveway not once, not twice, but three times with two long legs dangling from her mouth - frogs snatched from the wetlands next door. No matter how loud you yell "NO!!!," if a cat knows you’re not getting up and coming after them, you will be ignored.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I access our second floor by going up and down on my butt, step by step. The stairs are <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNMIlpxOmbyr1-sbHA8NQvWBhqJZ_cSKIrfmYl18f58MByFqj_0m6DslhCF7tnO-mcQapkM8uhNUA-BEhlYyxlUNBa3Kwmk8WWUauuVLSrSp8wv4FgPP1J25tsy_kMKxRz690wU9KP4VG/s1600/frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiNMIlpxOmbyr1-sbHA8NQvWBhqJZ_cSKIrfmYl18f58MByFqj_0m6DslhCF7tnO-mcQapkM8uhNUA-BEhlYyxlUNBa3Kwmk8WWUauuVLSrSp8wv4FgPP1J25tsy_kMKxRz690wU9KP4VG/s200/frog.jpg" width="200" /></a>steep and narrow - normal by 1890's building standards - and I don’t have the patience or skill to use the crutches on them. The other day as I was making my way up, I was suddenly face to face with a frog on a step. It looked at me with an expression of "pleasejustgetmeouttahere..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But back to the porch. A pile of books on the floor has slowly sprouted next to my chair. An assortment of magazines, notebooks, writing implements and Nalgene bottles clutter the table. I’ve never been much for retail therapy, but I gleefully bought new cushions for the chairs to perk things up and cope with the impression left by my butt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From my vantage point, I saw a large shadow cross the yard, and a blue heron landed on the top of the telephone pole in front of the house. It stood there for probably a full five minutes, checking out the landscape, a beautiful, graceful and tall bird. What a treat to see. We’ve also had a flush of woodpeckers this year. I’ve heard babies in nests and watched parents fuss and fluster with other birds who have gotten too close.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A species specific to Charley Hill Road are the annual <a href="http://www.seaglecolony.org/" target="_blank">Seagle Colony</a> Joggers. Every year, a group of enthusiastic young folks attending the operatic summer stock down our road start off the season jogging past our house, usually just up to the top of the (quite steep) hill and then back down, waving frantically at the bugs swarming their heads. As the summer wears on, their numbers wear out to the last colonist standing. The best was the young man a few years ago who sang falsetto as he ran by - not an easy feat given the hill he was heading up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’ve also learned to identify the neighbors by the sound of their vehicles, before they come into view. It’s become a game between Larry and me as to who exactly is coming down the hill. I’ve definitely got an advantage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Slowing down, watching and listening has been a lesson unto itself. I’ve enjoyed the meditative quality of it; I’ve used it to quiet my busy mind and let my body come to terms with being still for stretches of time. I used to think I stopped and smelled the roses a fair amount, but when you are plunked unceremoniously in the middle of the garden, things take on a whole new scent. </span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-55780638221851617892013-07-08T06:38:00.000-07:002013-07-08T07:26:16.084-07:00Putting Humpty Dumpty Together Again<span lang=""><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Does it hurt when I do that?" Zach asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No," I said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "How about that?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "Nope, it’s fine."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Larry and I are regulars now at OrthoNY in Malta. These are the fine folks who have slowly but surely been putting me back together. We’re now on a first name basis with a number of the staffers. Zach is the cast/dressing guru, a talented and friendly young guy with a "Jennifer" tattoo on his left forearm and studs in his ears. He wraps me back up at the end of every visit. We were psyched about putting a purple cast on at our last visit until Dr. Rosas burst our bubble and said we would stick with splints.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8nFY_05EXGna3prwzn9dhLV0k3T3zuEmuYw5BU3PxTG3a6ol5xTNe7AO4EiLWvaIBsG1DhlpehATDCXaXlXSVk0XFfyfu5JS1JQAMOJIxR0Z3ZDUK2wZaqHSmDQp1ckuDTgeXkBkbZ5b/s1600/scan0002+(2).tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8nFY_05EXGna3prwzn9dhLV0k3T3zuEmuYw5BU3PxTG3a6ol5xTNe7AO4EiLWvaIBsG1DhlpehATDCXaXlXSVk0XFfyfu5JS1JQAMOJIxR0Z3ZDUK2wZaqHSmDQp1ckuDTgeXkBkbZ5b/s320/scan0002+(2).tif" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post second surgery, 7/3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDljlhmQuA21O84w6620cBI5J4f7LubFPzjkF9xOXOJhWrrWlWH7qizHVdXnj7iSBHlxqo6zAICs5rOfxY-keL7IUuN4jzie_zfsgwTIzNk8Et8JEizkZuvhPpTh3IHWFBr_EQyABl2j8/s1600/scan0001+(2).tif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDljlhmQuA21O84w6620cBI5J4f7LubFPzjkF9xOXOJhWrrWlWH7qizHVdXnj7iSBHlxqo6zAICs5rOfxY-keL7IUuN4jzie_zfsgwTIzNk8Et8JEizkZuvhPpTh3IHWFBr_EQyABl2j8/s320/scan0001+(2).tif" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broken bones, 6/5</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lauren is the tech who was on duty the night Larry and I went there for Urgent Care, at the end of a very trying and painful day at the beginning of this odyssey. She saw me at my worst, and every time she sees me now she gushes over "how much better you look" and at my speed on the walker. She’s an amazing cheerleader. Emily and Ashley, resident PAs, do the preliminary check-outs and how’s-it-feelings and put their blissfully cold hands on the tops of my weirdly sensitive toes. Then The Man comes in, Dr. Rosas himself, always with a handshake for me and Larry, and we talk about where we’re at and where we go from here. Although I can’t imagine how busy this guy must be, he never seems rushed or preoccupied when meeting with us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I can’t talk about OrthoNY with mentioning Salvatore Quattrochi, the, let's say, <em>confident</em> PA (doctor? I'm not sure, it's a bit of a blur) on duty the night we went to Urgent Care. It felt a bit like being treated by a character of <em>The Sopranos</em>. Unfortunately, we haven’t seen him since then, but he feels like my angel in all this, as he calmed me down, assured me he was good at what he did and would help me, and the man delivered. I'm just glad I didn't throw up on him. Larry and I will always be grateful to him for his help that night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When I was at Saratoga Hospital for my second surgery, the two women in charge of prepping me for surgery were having a hard time getting my I.V. line in. I have notoriously shallow veins and they had sunk further into my body in protest of all the recent abuse they’d taken. I was starting to stress and tweak a little at that point and that made the techs feel even worse and more apologetic about the hard time they were having. So they called in the assistance of a doctor whose name I can’t recall, a young Ukranian woman with pencil-thin arched eyebrows and skillfully applied eyeliner. I understood maybe every fifth word she said, but she smiled and winked a lot and moved with an air of authority. She put a blood pressure cuff on my arm and cranked it up – and left it there. She then took a needle and grabbed my hand and said "VHAT is the problem, you haf BYOOTIFUL veins," and jabbed that sucker in in no uncertain terms while I involuntarily yelled in protest. But it was done.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> In my room after surgery, as I was getting my bearings back, I started to experience lower abdominal pain the likes I’ve never experienced before. It turned out that, because of the spinal block I had for surgery, my bladder was full and beginning to spasm. All I knew was that I was in screaming agony, and suddenly there were (no exaggeration) 10 people filling my room, with carts and equipment, all ready to pounce on me depending on what my issue turned out to be. Morphine, please!! That and a catheter, and five minutes later all was right with the world.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Lots of people have done lots to help me. Yes, it’s their job, but I can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude and appreciation for what they’ve done, and continue to do. Thank you, one and all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-14380698644461159602013-06-21T07:15:00.000-07:002013-06-21T07:15:45.152-07:00Small Wins and Baby Steps<span lang=""><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the physical therapy room at Saratoga Hospital, they have various set-ups to show patients how to navigate the real world. There’s a four-step stairway with a landing for practicing going up and down correctly, which I spent a lot of time on. There’s also parallel bars, a play kitchen, a wide variety of scenarios. My favorite was the mock car, which consists of the front seats of a vehicle to practice getting in and out of. It raises and lowers on a hydraulic jack to best simulate your own vehicle. I kept telling the therapist to raise it; ultimately, it didn’t go as high as the seat in my truck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the past few days I’ve been conspiring how I could (safely) get in and out of the truck so I can get myself around. While my dear friend Anne Gregson has been more than gracious in bringing me in to and picking me up from work every day, she does have a life of her own. I felt it was time for me to get my act together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The biggest hassle in getting out and about is getting up and down our porch stairs. Fortunately, there is a handrail on both sides; I have to use a crutch under my left arm to support myself going up and down. Down is much easier than up (isn’t is always). But the trick is, I leave the walker at the top of the stairs when I go down, then have to get it down to me at the bottom. And then reverse. I had to figure out how to do that. Yesterday it was time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I put my walker on a leash. At the top of the stairs, I folded it up and slid it to the bottom, holding the cord so it didn’t take an unfortunate bounce out of reach. I then gimped down the stairs with my crutch, and had the walker right there to reopen. Going up was a little trickier. I discovered that I couldn’t just pull it up by the cord – the wheels caught on the steps. But if I folded it up and laid it on its front, then it would slide up the stairs without catching on anything. First phase solved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then came getting into the truck. It still sat exactly where Larry had left it the day he brought me out of the back where I’d fallen. Dried mud caked the tires. It was positioned on a slight slope that made the ground a little lower from the driver’s door than it would be when parked normally. That just gave me more incentive to get in the damn thing. I opened the door and it was like Big Blue was saying, "Well, hello! Where have you been?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fortunately, my right arm is my good arm, and the heave-ho handle was perfectly positioned. The seat was quite high because of the slope and I couldn’t quite pull myself that far up. I positioned the walker against the open door and braced my good foot lightly on one of the support bars. That gave just enough stability to get myself all the way up into the seat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once in the vehicle, I was thrilled to discover that not only did I have lots of room so the fixator pins wouldn’t whack anything, but it was easy to pull the walker up, fold it, and slide it past myself to set in the passenger side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I turned the key. She roared to life. We pulled out of the driveway and went for a ride through town on a beautiful, sunny afternoon. I let the tears fall, unabashed, as I drove towards my new normal.</span></span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-51151545414394682612013-06-19T07:44:00.000-07:002013-06-19T07:44:22.667-07:00I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up - No, Seriously!!<span lang=""><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the epilogue of Stephen King’s <i>On Writing</i>, he tells about when he was hit by a van while walking along a Maine road in 1999. He describes how when he came to in the ditch, the first thing he noticed was the unnatural angle of his leg, and how he thought that just didn’t seem right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I bailed off my bucking horse two weeks ago, hoping for a landing in the bushes, I heard a distinct <i>crack</i> upon impact with the earth. I rocked up on my butt, legs in the air, and the first thing I noticed was the very unnatural angle of my left foot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My first thought was, "I’m not going to be able to go to &^$#@# Colorado!!" as I was scheduled to leave in two days to visit my daughters. My second thought was, "I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much pain before in my life!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They say your life can change in an instant, and I’ve certainly experienced that numerous times along the way; haven’t we all. But this accident was a serious game changer. I’m still processing the various lifestyle modifications that are on my horizon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First off, let me say that I’m glad it wasn’t worse. Yes, a broken leg is a serious bummer, but I didn’t have a head injury (I was wearing my helmet) and Larry more or less knew where I was (he knew I had ridden out back and came looking for me with Nifty returned to the barn without me). Unfortunately, I had a horrible experience with Glens Falls Hospital which resulted in my not having surgery until a full three days after I broke the leg. Those were three days of hell which I have no desire to relive here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The accident was on Monday; I had surgery Thursday and came home Saturday. One plate has already been inserted in my leg, and a fixator was put on at that time. This was necessary due to the lapse of time between accident and surgery. I will go in for a second </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fixator post-surgery</td></tr>
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surgery (hopefully next week) that will see the removal of the fixator and the insertion of a second plate. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m currently hobbling around with a walker. I also tore up my shoulder a bit so crutches are unstable. I get around pretty well, but it’s exhausting, and this fixator is a major pain in the butt. A cast will be welcome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a split second, I went from being able to take care of 80% of what needed to be done around the homestead to next to nothing. This is a very bitter pill to swallow, especially for someone as independent as I consider myself to be. Even the mundane tasks such as laundry, housecleaning (such as it is) and going to the dump are now next to impossible. But the bigger issue is taking care of animals twice a day. It’s put a huge burden on Larry, who already has his hands full with a day job that is more demanding than it has a right to be. Larry made the excellent point that he may make the money, but I put the majority of the time in around here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ve had several heart-to-hearts about the horses and the options right now. I’m working at the law office a few hours each morning, which gets me out and keeps a handle on things. I’ve been blessed with friends and neighbors who continually help out with transportation, food and the lifting of spirits. I can’t even begin to express my gratitude for everything people have done to help.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Larry and I each have our good days and our bad days as we navigate these temporarily tricky waters. He’s shouldering a lot and it can get heavy. I’m frustrated and trying hard not to be depressed. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t have a good cry now and then. I think it’s healthy to get it out, otherwise it could back up and manifest in ways like throwing things across the room or eating my weight in ice cream.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, I continue the only way I know how – by forging ahead, revamping plans, laughing when I can and getting up yet again. At least my foot is now at the correct angle.</span></span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-88571441322590383082013-05-28T08:36:00.000-07:002013-05-28T08:36:05.308-07:00Memories Are Made of This<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you want to experience a true slice of Americana, there are numerous things you can do. Among my personal favorites are go to a drive-in on a warm summer night, work in a truck stop (I think everyone should have to do this at some point in their lives) and go to a county fair. You can also go to a Memorial Day gathering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday Larry and I attended the Memorial Day service here in Schroon Lake. Our town erected a lovely memorial wall a few years ago. It serves as a somber reminder and respectful dedication to those residents who have served their country.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a scene played out this weekend across the country, in towns large and small. The color guard, the gun salute, the playing of taps. But being in a small town, where you know so many people, gives it a special kind of intimacy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A local bed and breakfast owner, who also hosts open mic nights at Witherbees, provided the sound system and stood at attention in his Ray Bans. A handsome young man in his uniform, who was part of the color guard, cringed and muttered to himself when he made a slight wrong turn with his flag during the ceremony. I heard a splash down by the waterfront and saw a dog swimming after a stick tossed in the lake. I looked at the backs of the Boy and Cub Scouts standing at attention, some of them sons of friends of ours. I watched my elderly veteran neighbor (who once told me, in all innocence, that her cat was named Obama because "he’s black and white, you know") shuffle assisted to the edge of the memorial to lay the wreath at its base. A young boy with a fishing pole walked down the sidewalk towards the docks. I recognized most of the people who spoke at the podium and enjoyed those who, as Larry observed, "weren’t afraid to not be P.C." I saw lots of folks I recognized from the law office - people who I’ve assisted with wills and deed transfers and various matters, all items entrusted to me by the office’s ethics of confidentiality. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Communities like these are the backbone of this country. They care enough to support each other. They take part in ceremony for the things that are important to them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the conclusion and thank-yous for attending, the slightly somber mood was immediately lifted by the noise and bustle of kids cut loose and running in the grass, smiling faces and handshakes among friends, ice cream cravers heading over to Stewarts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is all part of what Memorial Day means. Time passes. In addition to those no longer with us, remember this simple, good stuff. It’s what lives are made up of. </span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-44666636836114102302013-05-07T12:46:00.000-07:002013-05-07T12:46:36.579-07:00Zen and the Art of Raking (or how raking is like running a marathon)<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Larry and I put several years of backbreaking labor into clearing land for pasture. Forest does not become field without a major fight. The first year, 2005, we cleared what we now call Pasture A. The following year was Pasture B, and the area that was cleared in subsequent years became half Pasture C and half Pasture I Don’t Give A Damn Anymore. Altogether, we cleared about 3 acres by hand (well, with a 1952 tractor and two chainsaws) and that was enough, thank you. It’s work for younger backs than ours.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It wasn’t enough that we were clearing forest; we were also fighting the fact that there is not a speck of flat ground to be found on our 30 acres. We also have rocks of every size, shape and depth into the ground. They don’t call them Charley Hill potatoes for nothing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slowly, the fields have improved as we continue cleaning and cultivating. A and B are looking pretty good at this point. C and the remaining areas are still in dire need of cleaning up, stump popping and rock rolling. Fortunately our newer 21<sup>st</sup> century tractor is well equipped to help us with that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As idiotic as it sounds, experience has taught me that one of the best ways to improve your pasture is by raking it. Tedious, endless, blister-busting raking. I did this on the pastures at my parents’ house in Corinth. In the spring, you have a winter’s worth of manure you really have to rake up. Otherwise, your pasture just becomes a trashed plot of land that your horses will never enjoy and will look like crap (pun intended). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m not one of those summer-long, crazy rakers. I hit the grounds around the barn and the house once a year, in the spring once the mud dries up, with occasional touch ups.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the pastures I’ve spot-raked to get the worst of the junk up, but this weekend I raked A in earnest - the entire thing. Raking can be a very zen activity. You have lots of time to think and reflect. I realized how a raking job like this is like running a marathon. Which I’ve never done. But given enough running friends and living in a town that hosts a major marathon every year, you start to think you can make analogies:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>1. You start from the farthest point</strong>. You do this because your enthusiasm and energy level is high, and you know it’s going to be a long haul, so use some psychology on yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>2. The ideal weather is a little cool and cloudy</strong>. Yes, it’s the beautiful sunny weather that gets you outside, but once you realize how sunburnt you’ve become and how far from water you are, you pray for some cloud cover.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>3. Your feet start to hurt</strong>. But you focus on the butt muscles you’re working out, especially when pushing the wheelbarrow uphill. (Okay, you’re not pushing a wheelbarrow in a marathon, unless you’re in a seriously hicksville foot race.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>4. It becomes self-competitive</strong>. "I could quit here, but I have to do just a little more, go just a little farther..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>5. You hit that rakers/runners high</strong>. "I’m in the zone! What blisters? Look how far I’ve gone! I’m not stopping until I hit that finish line!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the finish line is oh-so-sweet!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-42991721352915222912013-05-02T13:56:00.000-07:002013-05-02T13:56:30.198-07:00Reality Smackdown (Or Leaping Before You Look)<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The day after my excited post about hawking my cheese at the Schroon Lake Opening Weekend, the walls of reality came crashing down.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I discovered that I can’t sell my product to the public unless it comes from a licensed and inspected facility, i.e. a kitchen that passes NYS Dept. of Health and NYS Ag & Markets criteria. I’m sure NYS would be less than impressed with the officialness of my kitchen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is what happens when I let my enthusiasm race me down the road without taking the time to adjust my mirrors. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I suppose the fact that two folks who were kind enough to give me a gallon of raw milk to play with said, several times, "I can’t <i>sell</i> it to you, but I can <i>give</i> it to you," should have been a tip off. I was dipping my toes in NYS’s shark infested waters. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Yesterday I read up on the regulations and requirements online for a bit. When my head felt ready to explode, I reached out to Essex Co. Cornell Cooperative Extension for some information in laymans terms. When I asked if I was taking a chance of being arrested at Opening Weekend, I was jokingly told I was at risk of being put in handcuffs and chains and put in the stocks in town square. I told her I wouldn’t tell Larry about that, because he might actually volunteer for it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the end, a helpful representative from Adirondack Harvest confirmed what I was interpreting - I can make cheese for home use and personal consumption, but to sell anywhere, I need to be licensed. I’d have to have or use a commercial kitchen for my production. Ultimately, I withdrew my application for the weekend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I do have options. I could produce it at someone’s licensed kitchen, but that somewhat defeats the purpose of my doing it at home, when I have time. I’m not really into having to go somewhere and losing more time from home. Depending on what type of cheese you’re making, this could involve a lot of back and forth. Quite frankly, I’m not really into that.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And that’s okay. My friends and family will continue to be the beneficiaries of my home kitchen-based experiments. We’ll keep cheese production as part of The 30 Acre Wood’s business plan, and make it an aspiration for down the road. Meanwhile, I’ll keep trying different types of cheese and perfect my craft, as it were. I’m keeping it fun, which is what it’s all about!</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-49410519284691619782013-04-30T09:09:00.000-07:002013-04-30T10:14:53.451-07:00Taking the Plunge<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I filled out the application. I scanned it to my email. I wrote the email to <a href="http://www.mrpsmountainsmokehouse.com/" target="_blank">Shelby Davis of Mr. P’s Mountain Smokehouse</a>. I thought about it one more time, looked over the edge, and hit send. That was it. The point of no return.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9J4X0WN31Nb2ULlwjkwg-EM2I_4N-gCsIGzkaOxmif-q-TQzfJmxqZ3pjWAa1rGn0rRR_Dy2ght2qlZ3hx2TJeC4Ed9LGTpasG4CHTODlH-aeXys746C3UBBAvZqD8rtm-JC9ZAhnzTk/s1600/firework_new.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9J4X0WN31Nb2ULlwjkwg-EM2I_4N-gCsIGzkaOxmif-q-TQzfJmxqZ3pjWAa1rGn0rRR_Dy2ght2qlZ3hx2TJeC4Ed9LGTpasG4CHTODlH-aeXys746C3UBBAvZqD8rtm-JC9ZAhnzTk/s200/firework_new.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The 30 Acre Wood has officially become a vendor for <a href="http://www.schroonlakeregion.com/blog/2013/04/opening-weekend-hot-air-balloon-rides" target="_blank">Schroon Lake’s 2013 Opening Weekend festivities</a>, where I will be selling my homestead soft cheeses. I’m scared to death.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">They say if you wait to be ready for something, you’ll never do it. I’d been debating whether to do a booth for the weekend after Shelby tossed me the idea. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My guest post on <a href="http://www.thesocialsilo.com/internet-outskirts-farmers-york-broadband/" target="_blank">The Social Silo</a> garnered more attention that I had planned on. People started talking about it. The post directed people to my blog, and the next thing I knew I received email from Shelby asking to profile my cheesiness on the <a href="http://schroonlaker.com/" target="_blank">Schroon Laker blog</a>. The small town network is alive and well around here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My knee-jerk response was "I’m really not newsworthy." Now, let’s think about this a minute. I want people to be interested in and buy my product, yet I’m afraid to let people know about it. <em>That </em>makes a whole lot of sense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGk3d37DeG83sZyiX6b1MekVNM_ORWobG3UL7prozwznO28F2PVX4bsn7_DIjhAh-0z_Mrx3fFnb_z8jDs62PiGlxZmUwfpajQ_0g0TwKf1SBnhjyJ35D_qC8tFGrs42tOKRqqiRG-wsWW/s1600/30AcreWood-Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGk3d37DeG83sZyiX6b1MekVNM_ORWobG3UL7prozwznO28F2PVX4bsn7_DIjhAh-0z_Mrx3fFnb_z8jDs62PiGlxZmUwfpajQ_0g0TwKf1SBnhjyJ35D_qC8tFGrs42tOKRqqiRG-wsWW/s200/30AcreWood-Logo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new logo, courtesy of ubertalented daughter Jessica Jones<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I approached my coworker, Donna Moses, about sharing a tent with me. She makes amazing crafts and figured if we split a tent, then neither one of us has to make a huge amount of product to have a nice display. It was a good way of taking some of the pressure off myself. Then Donna decided not to participate due to numerous family obligations. Totally understandable, but I did tell her that if I have a total cheese-related freak-out going into this, I’m holding her responsible.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So that leaves me and my half-dozen or so variations of soft cheeses all alone in the spotlight. Or at least in the tent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7G2pOe09LKy5YZzoMQXEh81CSeCxArVJiOn-myBEnC2ceXujNy1l3SyovSfovxGG4IujVfuLpafl1_OnKvcea_7kdNK8y3Smy0RtJDtHZk9l9tW_kU_6KtgCjWfuwlcMnPsP64yGV-NrY/s1600/cheese+hang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7G2pOe09LKy5YZzoMQXEh81CSeCxArVJiOn-myBEnC2ceXujNy1l3SyovSfovxGG4IujVfuLpafl1_OnKvcea_7kdNK8y3Smy0RtJDtHZk9l9tW_kU_6KtgCjWfuwlcMnPsP64yGV-NrY/s200/cheese+hang.jpg" width="130" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fromage draining<br />
this morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m still experimenting and trying to perfect (to the degree that you can) my cheeses. My first mozzarella/pesto log turned into a watery, gooey mess on the first try, but that’s where troubleshooting comes in. I’m trying different flavors for fromage blanc, which has winners and losers. Larry loves them all, so he’s a poor tester, although he’s good for my ego. Friends have been getting samples with "Tell me what you honestly think" attached to them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If you don’t leap at some point, you never get anywhere. You stand on the end of the diving board forever, with your toes gripping the edge until they cramp. I dove off my board. I emailed Shelby my application. Needless to say, I receive a very enthusiastic response from her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Had I not pushed myself to do this, I don’t know what I would have waited for before I went "public." A bona fide production kitchen? A cheese cave? Kudos and atta-girls from those nearest and dearest? That’s stupid. Time’s a wastin’, as June and Johnny would say. If I’m not going to have fun with it, what’s the point? And fun is getting out there with my coolers and containers and samples and chatting it up with folks on a beautiful spring weekend. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now I have to get cooking! See you in the park on May 25!</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-75512424451217253142013-04-16T11:57:00.001-07:002013-04-16T12:10:40.109-07:00The Fifth Season<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone came up to me the other day and said, "I didn’t recognize your truck in the parking lot. It was so dirty." That’s a tell-tale sign of mud season.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhcqurFrlILUAiIafsIXY5vB9kEYDwA-RcYvZqUB1rfvPt-ivL7UFvpXjNDc9X07zAxVavlMYva14zEKwpk93eUskm9XNrph0XhevGEk3YWugnJ_kIh4ttrJYs_jwAngMDZXB-5bS7dta/s1600/boots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhcqurFrlILUAiIafsIXY5vB9kEYDwA-RcYvZqUB1rfvPt-ivL7UFvpXjNDc9X07zAxVavlMYva14zEKwpk93eUskm9XNrph0XhevGEk3YWugnJ_kIh4ttrJYs_jwAngMDZXB-5bS7dta/s200/boots.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ah yes, mud season, otherwise known as The Fifth Season, the precursor to spring. That long-awaited time of the year when the robins come back. And I don’t bother cleaning floors. Really, it’s like shoveling before the snowstorm ends - what’s the point?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Larry can get up the driveway in his front wheel drive Jetta, but the truck bogs down and I need four wheel drive to get off the road. Either that, or I back up in our neighbor's driveway and get a running start, shooting across Charley Hill Road, hopefully with enough momentum to get me to higher, drier ground. Going through the turnaround becomes extra exciting, because sliding a foot or so in either direction is going to smack off a side-view mirror.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It also makes for squishy paths to the barn, and once the dirt bared itself, the chickens began to dig and churn and revel in its earthy glory. The horses came off Pasture A, reluctantly and unhappily, as now it has to be protected from their sharp hooves and allowed to grow unhampered. The rest of their area, aptly named the "sacrifice" area, now becomes a mud pit of its own until things dry up. I rotate feeding locations to try and minimize the damage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tis the season for old houses like ours to be catheterized. The sump pump is an important part of its long-term care. One spring when we had an ice storm and the power was knocked out, I came home and looked down the cellar stairs, to see kitty litter boxes floating like sand-filled pirate ships in a foot of water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mother Nature has been fickle this spring. This morning the sky was bright blue and a warm breeze caressed my face. It is now raw and raining, on the verge of sleeting - again. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHXf35OPAvkvGH3o1Mk1MCTj9IYRFfDB5UEy7lO4yQKQnC3GTgp8O2tIRXo2-APk_hBSrA4IiS3fLblODb9vVxBZmLw3B0IEV_QDGvf5sGtKVwrwRfymfNNWIpsmpBIFkAg4Jmv9g1Pdy/s1600/shedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHXf35OPAvkvGH3o1Mk1MCTj9IYRFfDB5UEy7lO4yQKQnC3GTgp8O2tIRXo2-APk_hBSrA4IiS3fLblODb9vVxBZmLw3B0IEV_QDGvf5sGtKVwrwRfymfNNWIpsmpBIFkAg4Jmv9g1Pdy/s200/shedding.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[courtesy doranna.net]</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It can be hard to stay chipper in weather like this - spring seems so close, yet so far. But yesterday I took a moment to look around the yard - the front garden soil looks black and rich. The perennial bed that I planted last year looks ready to pop as soon as it feels a few days of successive warmth. When I brush a horse, there’s a pony’s worth of hair on the ground at the end (note to self: do NOT wear Chapstik in the barn). Hardy souls like crocuses and lilies are starting to push through the ground.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the robins? They’re braving the rain and sleet. They know warmer weather’s just around the corner. And clean floors are way overrated.</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fLNJeVfQTAyaUexmO6SurE45yDrQkFdRGH9WVhbtyPUfZyc11nIALAQ1fzEd5h1GbfAdSGYPvoEIXfRg_jywMG0y5F63z3O2gOeTPmamJygWAEGu2xDd2iKM8R32JV2wBzr-erphJcio/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fLNJeVfQTAyaUexmO6SurE45yDrQkFdRGH9WVhbtyPUfZyc11nIALAQ1fzEd5h1GbfAdSGYPvoEIXfRg_jywMG0y5F63z3O2gOeTPmamJygWAEGu2xDd2iKM8R32JV2wBzr-erphJcio/s320/flowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming soon to a yard near you!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-16690932560607847732013-04-07T11:20:00.000-07:002013-04-07T14:19:39.152-07:00Great Expectations<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Each year, shortly after New Years, Larry and I write up a list of what we want to accomplish on the homestead in the coming year. They have taken many forms over the years - from formal typewritten lists to something scratched out on a napkin in Flanagans. The new list gets pinned to the kitchen bulletin board on top of the prior years' lists. A planner at heart, I love seeing hopeful To Dos in writing, and at the end of the year when we scratch off our accomplishments, well, it doesn't get better than that.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wxFbvWyBpnebuuHeUxive10usmYuz0mofHAR4XMTmvBN5yCL_ZjYAANxEIVbhd_bOO8-bwsF1JyaxfUGJy1DAQzPcwyJKEqRiVw2q6fxbPh35NblR3MT1K5Y-5Y5QPv4E_XwgmWQ3j4M/s1600/deer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wxFbvWyBpnebuuHeUxive10usmYuz0mofHAR4XMTmvBN5yCL_ZjYAANxEIVbhd_bOO8-bwsF1JyaxfUGJy1DAQzPcwyJKEqRiVw2q6fxbPh35NblR3MT1K5Y-5Y5QPv4E_XwgmWQ3j4M/s200/deer.jpg" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is he sticking his tongue<br />
out at us?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Our homestead goals range from practical (fix cellar doors, paint upstairs hallway) to optimistic (get riding ring done, get horse trailer). Some are carried over from year to year to year (Larry's </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"get a deer this hunting season"). But they do happen (I have faith in my husband), and seeing past accomplishments helps us keep our eye on next year's prizes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The past couple of years we have been selling eggs and getting more out of our garden. Ever the entrepreneur, I'm trying to find ways of generating a little income from the homestead. Larry's been encouraging this plan all along, but I've been poo-pooing it due to lack of time, lack of knowledge, lack of fill-in-the-blank. But getting involved with the Farm Bureau, and getting to know other people who are making things happen, has been a steady source of encouragement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A couple of weeks ago, I attended a small farm business plan workshop sponsored by Saratoga County Cornell Cooperative Extension. Well, talk about lighting a fire under my butt! Not only</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5IvZf2NY2DTXxFXWBM9FbiLM4ioDvJAFMptpySS65r_13pg4Q18WGidF5IGgso87Ueg2cTKL-Pb8_yAX7xmllWpUjuxjRIMj3uUVhCmI9TGwtaLDbIRBMRtrYPnvjA5WCfCAsDHPPx0Q/s1600/cornell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="37" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5IvZf2NY2DTXxFXWBM9FbiLM4ioDvJAFMptpySS65r_13pg4Q18WGidF5IGgso87Ueg2cTKL-Pb8_yAX7xmllWpUjuxjRIMj3uUVhCmI9TGwtaLDbIRBMRtrYPnvjA5WCfCAsDHPPx0Q/s200/cornell.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">was it an education learning how to tailor a business plan to a small farming enterprise, it was cool meeting and talking with other people doing similar things. Although everyone's business had a slightly different focus, our goals were all the same - to establish/expand what we've got to make it better, and make it a viable business. There's nothing like being in a room with like-minded individuals to get you inspired.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMip1uSm1QJ36Qbs1IbpBbfzF4F2uoRXaFdsToy_QnN1_Mf3ZyxOxE0AO1IjFBLjHGEj_4rrCS0dV4-CxEL_Crbo0pDE5cuQg3tLb_TYHwDumfjqjRDMgTZKq9WLt6qs2cixL_VsHULrlb/s1600/plan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMip1uSm1QJ36Qbs1IbpBbfzF4F2uoRXaFdsToy_QnN1_Mf3ZyxOxE0AO1IjFBLjHGEj_4rrCS0dV4-CxEL_Crbo0pDE5cuQg3tLb_TYHwDumfjqjRDMgTZKq9WLt6qs2cixL_VsHULrlb/s200/plan.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have been working out my business plan since then, and in mapping it out in my mind and on paper, I've seen some areas that, theoretically, should work better than others. There's nothing like the nitty-gritty of actual numbers to see if something is </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">realistic or not. Layers will take a little time to turn a profit, where broilers are a relatively quick turnaround. I've been amazed at the response I've gotten from people interested in my soft cheeses, and I think there would be a market for my onion braids. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWpkmbKaVjyqbGY8Prp0b1rkRBLclN1CY-7_UGhC13R9FmonBvCLaSSfGaUyR8GWsHMXFnQGWitwXPieoMlzojTJ6VLFKQSalIOS0S6VzmAszotfcB-Q9VliY6CViSFKAcHu9RGekqF9i/s1600/cheese.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWpkmbKaVjyqbGY8Prp0b1rkRBLclN1CY-7_UGhC13R9FmonBvCLaSSfGaUyR8GWsHMXFnQGWitwXPieoMlzojTJ6VLFKQSalIOS0S6VzmAszotfcB-Q9VliY6CViSFKAcHu9RGekqF9i/s200/cheese.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can dream, can't I?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In following our business plan guru's suggestions, I applied for our DBA and opened a separate checking account for The 30 Acre Wood. Larry and I are mapping out an expansion of the chicken </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
coop for a new batch of chicks. I'm hoping the weather gods cooperate and we have a good garden this year. We'll start small, see what works and what doesn't, see what people want, and see what happens. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We're looking forward to crossing more off our list at the end of 2013, including "get a deer this hunting season."</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150333759889799944.post-25174570444038284612013-03-11T07:53:00.000-07:002013-03-14T12:33:02.608-07:00Somtimes it takes a village... and a tractor... and a trailer... and a big truck...<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Few things are as satisfying as a win/win. This weekend Larry and I were able to help out some neighbors, improve our sugarbush stand, and get some good exercise. I suppose that makes it a win/win/win.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A couple of weeks ago, John and Jennifer Otruba of <a href="http://www.adksugarbushfarm.com/" target="_blank">Sugarbush Farm</a> here in Schroon Lake suffered a devastating barn fire. They lost a number of their animals in the blaze. The Otrubas are a local success story in how they have turned their little valley farm into a successful CSA, growing beyond their expectations. They are also the parents of a herd of four little girls. Their homestead is one of happy chaos. In short, they are crazy people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Their fire has brought the community together, which is culminating in what is turning into a huge <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#!/events/524149170970316/" target="_blank">potluck</a> for their benefit next week. In the meantime, people are helping out with animal feed and other items. Larry decided we could best help by providing them with dimensional lumber for their rebuilding effort. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPgh5KD_CCZUWz-EcyiIv5y-7-i_yipza40Fki4GmFIo9OepmmSjqEDlhikWuU66B5-vuE02dotpRGVPJ7jIlQ6W_SFODAmJVYpYzV1OR8TBl3wyXcG1ESwpFY0VBydQV2l7BAGlcY0fA/s1600/tree2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPgh5KD_CCZUWz-EcyiIv5y-7-i_yipza40Fki4GmFIo9OepmmSjqEDlhikWuU66B5-vuE02dotpRGVPJ7jIlQ6W_SFODAmJVYpYzV1OR8TBl3wyXcG1ESwpFY0VBydQV2l7BAGlcY0fA/s200/tree2.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Man at work</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have a sugarbush stand (or at least, that’s what Larry’s calling it) that has many struggling maple saplings trying to reach the sun. Larry envisions this as his future maple syrup production stand. In this plot are a number of very tall, very large pine trees. We have thinned the area out a little over the years, but the Otrubas gave us the perfect excuse to drop the biggest of the pines to have milled into lumber. The plan was to drop the pines, cut them into 12 foot lengths, then bring the lengths to Joe Delczeg’s sawmill in Riparius to be cut. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down it goes!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was one of those projects where the gods smile on you a little. The weather was great. The equipment all worked (for the most part). Larry dropped four pines which we limbed and cut into lengths. These were not small trees. They shook the ground and spooked all the animals when they fell. Then there was the challenge of skidding them out (around other trees) and staging them to load on the trailer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The tractor did well serving as a skidder, and those logs that were too much for its little John Deere heart fell to the truck. As Larry and I like to say at times like these, "That what we got it for." Four wheel drive low it went, and eventually we got the biggest of the bad boys out. While the warm weather was nice, it made for increasingly slippery conditions. Traction was sometimes a problem, but ultimately we got the job done.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqSSWqNussKFtdPSY7HrIkz9Wkqr2c-6C1A63HNb-LBQjOHojNr6x5pSTFBgtA0GgUAgIIo1wlFvOYfsRNSj0NEprrTbkz9QwU-DjFi7lcpLh_f9Fp7JNqeBTPCvLxwzYU_0animfyYk4/s1600/tree5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqSSWqNussKFtdPSY7HrIkz9Wkqr2c-6C1A63HNb-LBQjOHojNr6x5pSTFBgtA0GgUAgIIo1wlFvOYfsRNSj0NEprrTbkz9QwU-DjFi7lcpLh_f9Fp7JNqeBTPCvLxwzYU_0animfyYk4/s320/tree5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a whole lotta tree</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then came loading these monsters on the trailer. Larry did an awesome job maneuvering the logs via chains attached to the bucket. He would lift an end of a log onto the edge of the trailer, then get behind it and push it with the bucket up onto the trailer. We learned with the biggest logs that I had to stay in the truck with my foot on the brake so he didn’t push the whole show out into the road! Doing all of this took time, finesse, and patience. Rolling logs with peavies is hard, but sometimes that was what we had to do to get them into position to pull out. At one point Larry said to me, "This part will be easy," to which I replied, "Don’t use the "E" word with me."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbvx910JbWyPE54T8-HDM4WQgbV8qo0xdDq1wlq1dUIyQp3vLJXapQLdOE1-b2oNpf9AuPLPMEQI7orXfdorMEAVxZc9tRWKuHla2ICmEppWNiZOpRxqRi2ZHxaGqIp03neXKzuVp-AAy/s1600/tree7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbvx910JbWyPE54T8-HDM4WQgbV8qo0xdDq1wlq1dUIyQp3vLJXapQLdOE1-b2oNpf9AuPLPMEQI7orXfdorMEAVxZc9tRWKuHla2ICmEppWNiZOpRxqRi2ZHxaGqIp03neXKzuVp-AAy/s400/tree7.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Larry doing his tractor magic</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3p5xbNWqAUWw5q9EVTnBi9Aso89qq8HwHVFtX0WOWjqqc-YPGjOyuNyQJwS7ddsmFqCqegX3bEVGpzb8kg_EJz_GRXAPp-E4421_dWhALU7CMY8wgCs_26TMh7I3B13TtyZIXsZ59XMFg/s1600/tree10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3p5xbNWqAUWw5q9EVTnBi9Aso89qq8HwHVFtX0WOWjqqc-YPGjOyuNyQJwS7ddsmFqCqegX3bEVGpzb8kg_EJz_GRXAPp-E4421_dWhALU7CMY8wgCs_26TMh7I3B13TtyZIXsZ59XMFg/s400/tree10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe makes quick work of our load job</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We took one load to Riparius Saturday, where Joe unloaded them to cut. Going down the road, I watched the trailer tires from my side view mirror, as they flattened out a little from the weight of the logs and every bump on the road seemed to squish them down a little more. It was a <i>lot</i> of weight! The last thing we needed was a flat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sunday, with all of the cutting done, it was easier getting the logs on the trailer by Larry lifting a log and me backing the trailer under it. I had an awesome day backing that trailer up! I had to get it into some tight areas but managed to pull it off. Sunday around noon we brought a second load to Riparius, and to our amazement Joe had already cut up the first load. He said he could have the second load done in a few hours if we wanted to pick it up later that day!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UPhh8dI2ly8wy5gLc8ytdZOy6pzC1FFjh2_CCWg6cEL890QKsfthiPVlvVDN9jJNs-pRLVkGblRdzRop41y43pDQ4H8JB1bv3NdEv3fDSPZuPsR697tWwi1UbFCNEpwJE7QjcXxstFFg/s1600/tree13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3UPhh8dI2ly8wy5gLc8ytdZOy6pzC1FFjh2_CCWg6cEL890QKsfthiPVlvVDN9jJNs-pRLVkGblRdzRop41y43pDQ4H8JB1bv3NdEv3fDSPZuPsR697tWwi1UbFCNEpwJE7QjcXxstFFg/s320/tree13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finished product</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was perfect. We went back in the afternoon and voila! From all those trees came ninety-two twelve foot 2 x 6 boards. They are green but will season fairly quickly, and since they are for framing, they should serve their purpose just fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We brought the boards directly to Otrubas, where we unhitched the trailer to leave for them to handle the wood at their convenience. As we were unhitching the trailer, I heard "sssssssssssssss" and sure enough, a tire on the trailer was going down before my eyes. At that point we didn’t even care - we were just grateful it didn’t blow out going down Route 8 with thousands of pounds of trees on it!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The perfect weekend was topped by my friend Judy making us dinner Sunday night, which we ate covered in pine sap, sawdust and grime. We appreciated it more than we could say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They say people volunteer not just to help out other people or organizations, but also because it makes them feel good. To be honest, I’d have to say that applies to this weekend. It was a help to us to get the pine down, and we were delighted to be able to help the Otrubas by doing so. But it also felt good to put the work and time into the project, to have received help in the way of a quick turnaround from the sawmill and a dinner we didn’t have to worry about cooking, and for Larry and I to remind ourselves of how well we work together as a team. It was a lot of physical exertion, but we also laughed a lot and appreciated how hard each other worked. That may be the biggest feel-good of all.</span>Beti Spangelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05382963072219700674noreply@blogger.com1