Gone Fishin'

I've had a pretty boring week, back again at The Homestead from a MOST EXCELLENT weekend of fishing at Montauk State Park, in MO. Have I mentioned lately that I love fly fishing? I believe I shall mention it again. I love fly fishing. But the more enjoyable your vacations are, seems the more mundane your "regular" life is.

We met my folks for four full days of fishing fun (say that five times fast) and rented a room at the lodge. I do think someone who is included in these trips should invest in a camper. I like having a room, but I don't like having to share walls/floors or ceilings with other people. I learned an excellent lesson while a Park Ranger that frequently shows itself to still be true (and I think it's a quote from some movie, too): "A person is smart; people are dumb."

The people below us, after making an incredibly loud entrance, did finally quiet down and go to bed, after which we were treated to earth-shattering snores resonating up from their room below us. It took the a/c fan constantly running and a Benadryl to help me through that. The next night we were treated to some pure 100% grade-A LOUDMOUTH yankees from northern Illinois, in the next COMPLEX, who we could hear plain as day chattering and honking like a flock of geese in scratchy nasaly voices, and foulmouthed to boot. Marden did some hollering at them in what he called his "yankee accent", but we thought it sounded more like Chinese...didn't phase them, though. They just kept right on hollering between drags on their cigarettes.

What has happened to common courtesy? Decorum? Just plain decency?

Despite the people, our trip was a blast. We caught many a fish, and I have to brag on Mom. She has been fly fishing only a handful of times, and her very first outing at Roaring River she caught a trout. Our last outing to Montauk, she got bites but didn't manage to successfully land a trout. This time, she kicked some trout butt! She's got it figured out, and in a very short amount of time she's not only on top of casting, fly selection, and presentation, but she can fight and net a trout just like a pro.

Unfortunately the weather didn't cooperate completely...we spent a few hours a little chilly and damp due to standing out in the river and being caught in numerous short but torrential downpours. If there's one thing I detest, it's being wet and cold. Ironically, my two very favorite sports - fly fishing and snow skiing, often lend themselves to landing me in this condition. Go figure. However, despite a couple of damp days, we had more than enough beautiful weather to make up for it.

The last day always seems to be my best fishing day, and this time was no exception. After the folks pointed their car west, Marden and I got back to fishing a while longer. I started pulling fish out left and right, while poor Marden stood staring at an empty hook. All's fair in love and war, and fishing, as far as I'm concerned. While making our way downriver back toward the car, I stopped at one of our favorite holes - a large boulder bordering a deep turquoise pool chock-full of trout, with rumors of "the big ones" that sit on the bottom out of sight. An old man was fishing the hole, but I noticed his empty stringer. He looked sideways at me as I caught a fish on his right, and again on his left. He finally introduced himself as Bill, 75 years old and just retired, and said he was attempting to catch supper but wasn't having any luck. Just then a fish grabbed his lure, but before the fight even really started his line broke. We visited a few more minutes before I headed for the upstream side of the boulder to let my size #16 beetle fly (tied myself, thank you) float past. On the third cast, the bowels of the pool opened and the largest fish I've had even NEAR my line at Montauk rose from the depths, sucked my fly into it's maw, and the fight was on! At least I had the presence of mind to set the hook nice and good, because this sucker was HARD to get in! Every time I'd get my net close, he'd take a run for deep water and strong current, nearly wearing my arm to a frazzle and bending my fly rod double. When I finally got it netted, much to the relief of both Marden and Bill, I was in a quandary as to what to do with this nice rainbow. Keep it for a mount? Let it go? Usually I would've opted for letting a fish this size go. This time I ended up giving the fish to poor Mr. Bill, standing there in freezing cold water, still with no fish for supper. When I offered him the fish, his eyes got big and he said, "You're SURE you don't want to keep him? He's a beaut..." I said I was sure, and maybe it would make up for that fish that took his lure earlier. Bill said he'd sure appreciate getting a fish like that if I didn't mind giving it up, and we promptly put it on his empty stringer. He sure was proud of that fish, and to me it was worth giving it up just to see the smile on his face as he went back to his fishing.

Here's Dad casting for lunkers...or anything that'll bite...

Me at my favorite hole.

Going Postal

Yes I've been a lazy blogger - guilty as charged. I've been out enjoying the PHENOMENAL weather we've been having for August! I can't believe these comfortable temperatures, but I don't want to talk too much about it for the risk of jinxing the whole deal, and rocketing us back up to more seasonable temps. So I'm zipping it.

Not much has been happening lately in Hooterville. We are continuing to have a snafu with our mailbox. As in, we don't have one, but we want one. Those of you who know our address will know that we currently have a P.O. Box, all due to a measly 1/8th of a mile. It's the ultimate in "retardity." (That's a word I invented while at the Police Academy)

Turns out, in order to get mail delivered to the convenient little box at the end of your driveway, you have to have your box no more than a half mile from the previous box. Our closest neighbor from the road is less than a half mile from us, however, they are both postal employees and do not want a mailbox, since they get their mail where they work in a P.O. box. The next house up the road with a mailbox is just an eighth of a mile too far for us to get mail, therefore, we have to rent a P.O. box, which is NOT FAIR. Why should most people get free mail, and we have to pay? Then I was informed by a good friend and post employee that according to the mail system founder, Ben Franklin, everyone IS entitled to free mail, and if they won't deliver to your house, you get a free P.O. box. But, the PO doesn't want to do this anymore, so they gave us the option to put our mail box at the end of our road. How does that help us? I guess we'd get our mail free, but we'd also have our mailbox out in the middle of nowhere. In this day and age of identity theft? No thanks.

Now I'm not downing our local post office...they're just following regulations, and have been very friendly and helpful. Matter of fact, our postmaster filed a petition for us, but we haven't heard anything. And the rural carrier has been down here a couple times measuring mileage. So if he can come measure mileage, why not just bring our mail???

And people want the government to take over health care?

Well, I'm keeping my fingers crossed that our petition is approved, and I can dig out the mailbox we already have, install it, and get our mail. And our neighbors beyond us will be able to get mail, too. And all of Hooterville will rejoice.

Mama Mia!

So yesterday I was stuck in town all day. My car has been making a really disturbing noise, so I followed Mr. Hooter into town and left my car at the mechanic, and while he was at work I was free to frolic around town. I decided to go see a movie, and since I've seen "Mama Mia" the play twice and LOVED it, I've really been wanting to see the movie.


Overall, it was a pretty good movie, but I'm going to have to just slightly disagree with those who say the movie is better than the play. I REALLY loved the play. I merely just really liked the movie. Of course, I really just enjoy plays in general -the atmosphere, props, and seeing what someone can do with just a stage and singing without a sound studio to clean up the raw singing voice while dancing or moving around - takes incredible athleticism I would think. But, I was happy that the movie stuck to the story, and I enjoyed the music. For the most part. I have to confess, I'm not a huge fan of Pierce Brosnan...and the dude can't sing. To put it nicely, his attempts at ABBA songs sounded to me like a cross between constipated and drunk. And his facial expressions made me think of someone trying to pass a kidney stone. Aside from drunkconstipated Pierce, the other singers were pretty good. I actually think I would've cast Colin Firth in the "Sam" character, however, nobody asked me...but I do like Colin. I was impressed with the rest of the cast, especially Meryl Streep as Donna. She OWNED the screen. And Sophie (Amanda Seyfried) was just phenomenal. All in all, it's worth the ticket price (despite Pierce). Anyway, that's my un-qualified review.


But the movie got me to thinking, wouldn't it be really cool if we could live in a musical? How awesome would it be if we could just break into spontaneous song with the full backup of a band or orchestra? I've thought that would be cool ever since I saw the movie Pete's Dragon - one of My Very Favorite Movies, by the way. I believe if we lived in a Musical World my soundtrack of songs for the today (if I could actually sing, that is) would go something like this:


"Crap it's Hot Out Here"

"Dog poo on my shoe"

"The Litterbox Blues"

"Crap it's Hot Out Here" (Dance Techno Remix)

"Chicken Eggs, Stinky Piggy"

"Hubby Put that Lid Down Please"

"My House is a Pigsty"

"Laundry Boogie"

"Crap it's Hot Out Here" (Instrumental)

Yep...I feel a Grammy...


Another movie I've seen lately is "Lars and the Real Girl", about a socially backward guy with a few mental issues, who lives in a little northern town and is under the impression that his life-size doll ordered off the internet is actually a real person...and the resulting reactions of his family and small town residents. Poor Lars. Mr. Hooter and I really enjoyed it, and I even got teary at the end...and if you see it, you'll know how ridiculous that is. :)

Eggs!!!

Yes, EGGS!!!

Finally, at long last, after what has seemed like FOREVER, my little chickies are laying eggs. At least some of them are. And, of course, the two days I wasn't here to find them myself is when the blessed event happened. Luckily we have some great neighbors who look over things while we're gone, and she called as soon as she found the egg. I came home to find two more in the nest boxes...good job girls!

Here's the first egg:

And here is what happened to the first egg, served "egg-in-a-hole" style. Otherwise known from childhood as what Cousin Chad referred to as the "Ashlie Egg.":

Here is the haul so far, minus two we ate, one that was cracked, and another that I dropped on the kitchen floor when I tripped. Maybe collecting eggs will someday become a chore, but so far I can't wait to check for eggs every morning. And mid-morning. And noon. And afternoon. And evening. Maybe I'm bugging them too much? I think I'm creeping out the hens. That's the idea I got from Rosie here..."hey, do you mind?"

Well in other news, the garden is still doing well. Beans are petering out, but the tomatos have come on strong. See for yourself:

We've also got LOTS of corn, and most of it turned out really pretty. Here's some Barbara, Mr. Hooter's mom and my mother-in-law, was helping me cream and put in the freezer.

I have to give a great big THANK YOU to Barbara for helping around the house while I was "recovering" from my very very very minor surgery. I had some alien skin bumps removed from my leg last week (nothing to worry about), and since they put me to sleep, it took me a day or so to get back into the swing of things. Thanks again Barbara, even though she did say I was a bad patient after I snuck out of the house to pick beans. :)

Evils of Fly Strips

Sometimes I wonder if I was cursed at birth, say, by the "Stupid Things Will Happen To You" Fairy. Because it never fails, stupid things happen to me with ridiculous frequency.

Recently we've had an influx of flies on the back porch, which follow you into the house to further annoy you into a maddening frenzy. In a sudden inspriation, I remembered we had some of those hanging fly strips left from last summer that were effective when we were working on the house, leaving the doors open and battling flies.

This is what happens when anyone else uses fly strips: A person unwinds the strip, hangs it up, and flies stick to the paper. Paper gets full of flies, person removes the fly strip to the trash. End of story.

This is what happens when I use fly strips: First, I unwound the strip and hung it up, satisfied that my job was done. I turned to go into the house, when a big gust of wind came up and *fwap*...blew the strip off the hook and right into my HAIR, wrapping around my forehead. I immediately went into self-defense mode, dancing around the porch and ripping at the strip, which HURT, because it's in my HAIR. As soon as I got one part unstuck, another part of the strip would find more hair. I could've called for help, but not only was Marden taking a nap, it wasn't really a position I wanted him to find me in. Eventually I worked the disgusting strip out, and had to work on getting my hair clean of the sticky yellow goo that came off the strip and lodged into my hair and on my face. Little known fact, cooking oil dissolves sticky stuff. I learned that when I was a seasonal SCA at Pinnacle Mtn. State park after I found a black snake that had gotten stuck in a sticky mouse trap. Gross, but effective. Then I had to re-wash with shampoo to remove the cooking oil. And now I'm a few hairs closer to bald. Luckily you can't tell.

My next mistake was re-hanging the fly strip, thinking that it was still good and that I'd fixed it's wagon by re-adjusting the hook. Not so. Later in the day, the possessed fly strip took flight again, this time to land on the worst thing possible - one of the fuzzy little kittens that was napping on the porch. The kitten, Pearl, automatically turned into a hissing, spitting, growling, flopping ball of fury, wrapping herself even tighter in the sticky strip of goo and now dead flies. Once rescued, I had to coat her in cooking oil, then a bath. Talk about one unhappy kitty.

And once again, I re-hung the fly strip, FURTHER adjusting the hook so there was NO WAY it could fly off again. I must note at this point that the other fly strip still hadn't moved. Fast-forward to this morning, when Marden rescued Opal, the OTHER kitten, from the SAME FLY STRIP. More oil. More bath. More unhappy kitty.

Fly strip in the trash, where it belonged in the first place. Beware the fly strips.

I "Need" My Cell Phone

While I'm sure there have been many editorials written about cell phones, I'm going to add to them anyway. A couple of days ago I had a cell phone mishap, which rendered my phone utterly and totally dead, and realized exactly how dependent I am on this tiny little piece of technology.

Remember the days before cell phones? Days not THAT long ago? I remember my first one. I walked very nervously into a U.S. Cellular store and uttered the words that would forever usher me into the world of the "technological leash." My words that faraway day, late summer, 2002 were, "I think I'd like to get a cell phone." A half hour later, I walked out with my very first cell phone...a now-primitive Nokia with a *gasp* black and white screen, that ONLY called people. No music, no pictures, no video, no internet. I was on cloud nine, and at the same time very intimidated by the new responsibility of the ownership of this amazing leap into the future.

Now just five short years later, the loss of my cell phone is akin to the loss of a limb. As I sat on the couch looking forlornly at my destroyed phone, wondering what I should do next, I thought, "Was it really just five years ago that I got a cell phone?" The loss instantly warranted a trip to town to the phone store, where I gave them my sad story...thinking I had insurance. I didn't. I walked out with the most bare-bones phone I could, which is still leaps and bounds ahead of that first Nokia. Still, it's a step back from the one I broke. AND, they couldn't get any of my stored phone numbers or pictures. Arg.

But what counts is that I have a phone and no longer feel like I've had an amputation. I suppose the benefits of cell phones outweigh the drawbacks, but sometimes I wonder. They're great for car trouble, but is it always so great to be SO accessible at all times? Remember the days when you got calls at home, and only home? Remember when you couldn't even walk around the house, but were confined to a single area by a cord? We are definately spoiled.

Ah well, those days are gone. For better or for worse, cell phones are here to stay. I, for one, am glad to have mine back. But what technology is ahead for us that we "can't do without?" Only time will tell.

By the way everyone, I need your digits.

Happy Independence Day!

I hope everyone has a very happy Independence Day! And here's to hoping that in the months to come, our presidential candidates as well as voters remember and stay true to the ideals our founding fathers had in mind for the U.S. and the ideals our people have fought and died for. Here's hoping we'll stay true to The Constitution.

Freedom. Liberty. The right to take care of ourselves, run our lives the way we see fit, and make our own decisions. Once we chicken out and give away our personal rights, there is no turning back. If anyone wants a government to make their decisions for them, there are plenty of people out there in the rest of the world who'd be more than willing to trade places to live here. So, wherever you are today, keep these things in mind.

Happy 4th everyone!

A SuperSonic Adventure

Since my last blog was a little grumpy, I thought I'd share a recent experience at one of my favorite greasy food-in-a-hurry spots, Sonic, that might bring a smile. I've noticed I have a trend going - I stop for a quick drink or bite to eat, or to quickly run into Walmart, and it turns into a complete snafu.

Usually I have the best of luck at Sonic, and they've got some good grub. But recently I wondered if I'd stepped onto another planet...a planet where Sonic only hires blithering idiots. On my way through Cave City the other day, I thought a .99 cent caramel shake sounded yummy, so I pulled into Sonic and pushed the button. Here's the following conversation:

Sonic Menu: "Welcome to Sonic, may I take your order?"

Me: "Yes I'd like a small caramel shake please."

Sonic Menu: "Ok, can I get you any cheddar peppers with those?"

Me: "No thanks, just the shake."

Sonic Menu "Ok, that'll be one small chocolate shake, $1.06."

Me: "No ma'am...that was a caramel shake."

Sonic Menu: "Oh I'm sorry...ok I have a chocolate-caramel shake."

Me: "No...no, that's just a caramel shake."

SILENCE...

Sonic Menu: "Ok that's a caramel shake...$1.28."

My thoughts...A dollar twenty-eight? Why is caramel more expensive? But then she was gone, so I decided it might be more fruitful to question the carhop.

Waiting...

And waiting...my "quick stop" has now turned into 10 minutes...but FINALLY, here comes the carhop.

Carhop: "Yes I have a vanilla-caramel shake?"

Me: "No. It was supposed to be just caramel."

Carhop: "Oh...yeah, well...it is caramel...just added to vanilla."

Me: "But I just wanted caramel. Is it caramel?"

Carhop: "Ok lemme go back."

Waiting...

Carhop returns: "Ok it's caramel. That'll be $1.28."

Me: "Why is the caramel more expensive?"

Carhop: "Huh?"

Me: "Shakes are supposed to be .99 cents."

Carhop: "Oh yeah...they are. But you added caramel."

Me (laughing): "I DIDN'T ADD CARAMEL TO ANYTHING. Look on the menu. See? Caramel is a FLAVOR. I JUST want CARAMEL. See?"

Carhop: "Yeah...ok...lemme go back."

Me: "WAIT...ok...I know with tax it's supposed to be $1.06, and I don't have all day to dicker over a small shake. Let me just give you the money, and I'll take that shake."

Carhop: "Ok...here you go."

So I take the shake and go...shaking my head in disbelief. A couple miles down the road I took a swig of shake.

Vanilla.

Whoooeee...

Well, I'm back at the Hooter Homestead now after a trip back home to help my folks with Grandma D's estate auction. I NEVER want to go through that again! The auction was three days, but it felt like twenty. I learned a few things. First, auctions are only fun if you're not on the selling side. Second, auctioneers are dirty sneaky lying jerks. At least the ones who did our auction. Third, you can still function while exhausted and sleep-deprived...

Also, I've never been to an auction where I didn't respect the fact that all this stuff once belonged to someone who cared about it. But watching the public callously pawing through stuff with careless abandon was infuriating.

The auctioneer, while I will not name names, was a lying little blowhard wearing a huge cowboy hat, who liked to give the impression that he was a real genuine authentic cowboy. He gave me a five-minute speech about how honest he was, and how he grew up all country "doing things the right way", so that sent up red flags right there. If you're TRULY honest, you don't need to tell people. If you're a cowboy, you don't go around trying really hard making sure people know you're one. He was also ignorant. When in just casual conversation I asked where he had gone to auctioneer school, he puffed out his chest and said, "Heh...yeah well, some people need to go to school, but I've just always had The Talent." I guess that's why he sounded like no other auctioneer I've ever heard. "Hey!!! ManaManaManananana wooooopppeeEEEEE mana-nana zing! zing! zing! Dippity dip dip dip zing!" I kid you not...that is an exact quote. Then later he insulted my husband. Again in casual conversation (I don't know why at this point I bothered), I mentioned that I had an art degree and Marden had a degree in Animal Science. He snorted and said, "Well, yeah...you know, I have a degree in animal science." I said, "Oh yeah? Where'd you go to school?" He again snorted and rolled his eyes and said, "Well, it's called growing up on a farm. THERE'S your Animal Science degree." Jerk. Did I say that already? My only regret at that point was simply walking away instead of saying, "You know what...you're a JERK. And you're short." I suppose someone has to take the higher road.

So you're probably thinking I'm being too rough on this guy...but there's a good reason. Maybe it's normal practice, but I feel the auction company had conflicting interests. They are avid Ebayers, and have their own buyers at auctions to buy stuff cheap in order to resell. They were pretty obvious about it, and it REALLY rubbed me the wrong way. Such was the case with some valuable figurines that went for $4 to his girlfriend before anyone else had the chance to see what they were bidding on...even our own "plant" who was keeping an eye out to make sure things weren't just given away. Pretty fishy.

Then there was The Jelly Cabinet Incident of 2008. Saturday night, the night before the last auction day, we re-discovered a jelly cabinet in Grandma D's barn, which we wanted to keep. It wasn't on the sale bill, so we decided to definately keep it. Especially when the auctioneers discovered it...all crowded around and all but petting the thing, with one IMMEDIATELY getting on his cell phone to discuss resale of the piece with what we assume was a buyer. We ended up putting a "NO SALE" sign on it after they left, and the next morning they were FURIOUS. Dad refused to budge, and they said they "had to sell it, since it was on the sale bill." It acutally wasn't..turned out to be another, cheaper, jelly cabinet. But they insisted on auctioning it off, so Dad informed them we'd be buying it back. And much to my stress, I did...and they stopped bidding at $500, I'm assuming because they knew I wasn't going to stop. Later I found a similar jelly cabinet on the internet for over $2000. No WONDER they wanted it. Jerks. Then Dad really socked it back by refusing to pay commission on an item that wasn't supposed to be for sale to begin with. They may have gotten a steal on some items through shady dealings - probably a lot we don't know about, but this wasn't one.

Anyway, it's over. The stuff is gone, we held some stuff back for our own personal use and Ebay, and Mom and Dad have that monkey off their backs. And one bright spot was our security guard, Lavern, and his dog Fred. Classic example of how you can't judge a book by it's cover. Despite appearances, Lavern was actually a pretty smart guy, and very interesting to talk to. He's been everywhere, is well-read and genuinely nice, but without fitting into the norms of society. A modern-day mountain man with no wilderness to live in, other than the wilderness of the road. He told me he wasn't long for that town...his feet were "getting itchy." Lavern and Fred, I wish you well in your travels!

So I've been back at The Homestead for a few days now...still exhausted, but muddling through. And, since the garden is doing so well, I've now delved into the exciting world of food preservation through canning! Our garden is going nuts, and I ended up purchasing a canner that'll work on a glass-top stove. Yesterday I put up the amazing amount of a whole SIX quarts of green beans. Actually, most were yellow, but same difference. Yeah, I know...don't overextend myself. :) But, now that I sort of know what I'm doing (at least as far as beans), I'm ready for the plants to really start spitting them out. I also canned eight pints of bread-and-butter pickles, though I had some difficulty getting them to seal. Word to the wise - when the directions say boil, they mean rolling boil. So I dipped them again, and this time they sealed. Might taste like shoe leather though...we'll see in two weeks.

Oh, and I have three new additions. Well...temporary additions. While at Stu's house in Searcy last week (before the auction), checking on the progress of Maggie (our truck...yes we named it. She's kind of a truck-stop waitress kinda truck, loosly inspired by the song "Maggie's Dream" by Don Williams), where Stu and Tony were fixing 'er up, some kittens were brought to my attention. Mama kitty was a stray, and all had bad but healing wounds caused by who knows what, and they were pretty skinny. And sucker me, I had to take them. Here's a pic of the crew, who, by the way, had to come to my folk's with me (and Sally), where after they got over being freaked out, they wreaked havoc in Mom and Dad's laundry room. Wounds are all healing really well (white kitty got the worst of it, and will be pretty scarred up, but she's still cute).

I'd forgotten how fun kittens are. Puppies are awesome, but a lot of work. Kittens are easy, adorable, and can really relieve stress...I guarantee having three purring away in your lap will make anyone smile.

Who needs an adorably cute kitten???

My Kickin' Garden

Ok, bragging time! I'm enjoying the best garden I've ever had...really, the first "real" garden I've ever had. The raised beds are a success! They are booming with produce and practically worry-free from weeds so far. All my garden worries from early spring were for naught, as it usually goes with worries.

Yesterday's harvest of 4 zucchini, 4 summer squash, and 5 cucumbers...and we're just getting started!

Here is one of our bee girls pollinating the cucumbers. The bees have been all over the garden blooms, and I think it's one of the reasons the garden looks so good. Then again, maybe I'm just overly proud.

Here are some chickie pics! No eggs yet, but we're only a month or so away from them...mmmm....

Annnd...I'm back

So sorry for the delay, but the Hooter Homestead has been kicking my butt! With Mr. Hooter off doing army stuff for another month, I've been soloing on the yard work, garden work, housework, and animalwork...leaving little motivation or inspriation for blogging.

However, I'm back now in writing action. Recently I recieved some inspiration in the form of a minor irritation on a recent visit to the feed store for pig food. While waiting my turn to get my purchase, this character strolled up. I'd seen him earlier strolling the store, shirtless. Now, I know guys can prance around shirtless and unlike women not get arrested, but sometimes I wonder how fair this is. While this guy isn't a fatty, he sure wasn't an Adonis either. I sure didn't want to see his flabby naked hairy belly, yet that didn't stop him from proudly showing it off. I know it's just a feed store, but it's nice enough...kind of like a small Orchelns or Atwoods...nice enough to expect a guy to have some scruples and wear a shirt. Am I wrong? It just struck me as inappropriate and rude.

Maybe I'm just irritable today, which I have every right to be. I'm really tired of getting bee stung! I "worked the bees" yesterday, as you say in beekeeper speak, and one of our hives is extremely irritable for some reason we probably need to fix. I worked the first two hives without gloves, because with gloves I'm a bumbling idiot, and without them I can pull out the frames and inspect without dropping them. On the last hive I paid for the attempt at dexterity. I suppose my hand will now be this fat for a day or two...not as fat as the infamous snakebite, but still pretty darn fat!

New Addition and a Loss

Yesterday we added to the Hooter fold - a 1970 Ford 250 truck purchased from (where else?) but Ebay! We've been looking for a truck for a while, and decided this was the one. I have a thing for old vehicles, and since I grew up with a '73 Ford truck, it kind of has a nostalgic twang. Plus we can't even begin to afford a new one. :)

And with an addition comes a loss. We said goodbye to a swarm of bees, which swarmed out of the OTHER hive yesterday. I just wasn't quick enough, and they were on a MISSION. The huge ball of bees flew across the pasture, over the road, and into the wilds of the next property. I may have been able to catch them had I been more willing to sacrifice my body to the ticks and chiggers, but I took my eyes off the swarm to run indoors, apply copious amounts of bug spray and long pants, then run back out. By this time the swarm was long gone...probably swarmed up in what "Beekeeping for Dummies" says is their favorite tree - a cedar. Hmm...there's about a billion just on the hill of the next property. I did spend a while looking, but alas, it was in vain. Just the fact that I was looking for them after my last swarm experience probably says something about my sanity.

Anybody looking this direction for fresh honey better hold out for next year...

My UnBEElievable Day

Hey, it's my blog, and I can have a cheesy title if I want.

This morning I got up thinking it was going to be just your average, normal, beautiful sunshiney day after a DREARY day yesterday, and the day before when I'd just gotten back from vacation and didn't feel like doing much. Finally, a day to weed the garden and redo a flower bed that turned out to be a water dam instead. Morning goes uneventful, but after my lunch break I stepped out on the front porch and hear...lots of buzzing. Lots. Not the normal amount of buzzing I usually hear from our two new beehives 200 yards away. This was LOUD.

I investigate, and can tell REALLY quick that something is out of whack. The normally calm hives are all a-flutter...er, a-buzz with a huge cloud of bees. This is a pretty frantic sight for a uber-novice beekeeper, having been told in every beekeeping book that I've read, and at every beekeeping meeting that THIS IS BAD. Swarming, to those of you non bee-in-the-know, is a hive's natural way of making more hives...the bees make a new queen, and a good number of them fly into the wild blue yonder. That's bad because they're not staying to make you yummy honey.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. First, I made about four pointless trips back and forth from the hives to the house. During this time, the bees have now worked themselves into a big ball in the very tip-top of a skinny oak tree. Since I couldn't figure out what to do, I called hubby and yelled, "HONEY...THE BEES ARE SWARMING!!!"

Our following conversation went something like this:

"HONEY, THE BEES ARE SWARMING!!!"

"THE BEES ARE SWARMING?!?"

"THE BEES ARE SWARMING!!!"

"WOW, that's COOL!!!"

"YEAH, that's COOL! But what do I DO?"

"You gotta get the swarm!"

"Get the swarm? But it's in a tree."

"How far?"

"Uhhhh....a loooong way...like...40' or more."

"Well...get it if you can...we can make a new hive"

If I can. "IF you can" aren't words I take lightly. Of course I CAN...somehow. Those are OUR bees, and just where do they think they're going? Of course I can get those bees...it's not that high...I mean, they're right THERE.

Fact #1 about bees...they don't respond to calls of "Here bee bee bee bee bee!" So, first thing I needed was a ladder. So I got our ladder...which is like 5' tall. Not gonna cut it. Not even if I unwisely place it in the back of the truck, which I OF COURSE wouldn't do - it was only a very brief consideration. So...surely the neighbors have an extendable ladder, which they do, and I borrow. Armed with a very long ladder, my next step was to work for 10 minutes standing the ladder up to the tree, consistently banging the tree as hard as possible, shaking the swarm and ticking them off. After they're good and mad, I decided to climb the ladder.

I'm going to back up a minute back to childhood, when there wasn't a tree or a roof I couldn't climb. Climbing was my game, and I was good at it. The bros and I spent long hours on insanely tall perches in the sycamore tree in the front yard (unbeknownst to mom) without a single worry of falling. Then...at some point in time that changed. I'm not sure when...but I did notice a ridiculous amount of shaking and sweating while climbing a ladder in high school during a paint-the-house extravaganza. I dunno...maybe when I got taller my center of gravity changed. Maybe I grew a chicken liver. For whatever reason, I all of a sudden realized I had a problem with heights. Maybe not heights so much as feeling insecure and FALLING from heights. I can go to any height if it feels safe...tall ladders most definately do NOT.

Back to present - now I've made it up the ladder. After a couple tries, I had to ditch the beekeeping veil and gloves and go up the ladder "naked"...but I'm relying heavily on the factoid in my "Beekeeping for Dummies" (and at this point I'm thinking that title is apt) that swarming bees are full of honey and aren't prone to stinging. That "prone" is an interesting word. It seems to mean "it won't usually happen, but it'll probably happen to you."

Now I have to wonder how I find myself 40' up in a too-skinny oak tree, which is bending precariously, standing on the rung of a entendable ladder which reads "Do Not Stand On This Rung", hacking away with a saw at a branch holding a basketball-sized wad of stinging bees. All the time shaking, sweating, and talking to myself like the crazy person I must be.

After a few precarious tries, I finally cut the branch with the biggest wad of bees, successfully ditch the saw without hitting a dog or cat, which are both unwisely sitting at the bottom of the tree watching the procedure, and make my way down the ladder with branch containing the bee wad. According to "Beekeeping for Dummies", I can put them in a cardboard box. Which I do (see pic)...after unbelievably getting the swarm down without banging it or dropping it. Then back to the book, which is unclear at this point. Or else I'm a real dummy. So I called a lady from the beekeeping club, who tells me to shake them into a hive body, since that's all I've got. They ARE pretty docile, I must say...to endure a cutting, a trip down the ladder, being put in a box, then a shaking into a hive. But now I've been told I need to get a frame of brood and honey from one of the other hives.

No problem...NOW I'm a pro. Thing is, THESE bees aren't swarming, and they don't take too lightly having brood and honey stolen. They're pissed. And once I'm in the hive taking out the frame, they begin to very rudely exploit a hole in my armor - a gap between the elastic gloves and my sleeve. Fact #2 about bees, they also do not respond to yells of "STOP STINGING ME!!!"

Now I'm in the middle of robbing the hive, and I have at least FIVE angry bees up my sleeve...just stingin' away. My arm is on fire, and all I can do is kind of a little dance and say bad words. My overwhelming urge is to go running back to the house screaming bloody murder, but I can't make them MADDER - so I grit my teeth and calmly put the hive back together, added the robbed brood and honey to the new hive, put the hive back together, and THEN ran back to the house at a dead sprint, shedding gloves and shirt on the way. Most of them had already stung and were dead or dying, but I did have a couple live ones fly out. Thankfully we live at the end of a dirt road, and to my knowledge nobody saw me streaking the yard in my bra.

So now we have three hives. Soon to have four, because we can't just get into a new hobby slowly like normal people. We're also in the process of getting a wild hive out of a tree in town, which is not nearly the harrowing experience of getting a swarm. Getting a wild hive is really no more than being mean, blocking the entrances to the hive, and making them gradually go into your hive box.

And despite all this, we're still not guaranteed a butt-load of honey...but keep your fingers crossed! I would, but mine are swollen...

Post Vacation Blues

I've had a few days to "recover" from the trip, but now I'm stuck in the dastardly clutches of the Post Vacation Blues. No, I didn't make that up...it actually has an official name. And I thought I was just being a wuss...which I am, but my wussiness actually has a term! And apparently, the better your vacation was, the worse the blues are. On top of that, the cloudiness and rain sure doesn't help on the motivation end of things. Bah.

So now that I'm back, Mr. Hooter is now getting ready for his big trip, though his won't be that fun since it's work-mandated...so far he's not overly excited.

On the bright side, our farm is now several thousand critters bigger. :) Don't panic, mom...it's just bees! We're the proud parents of two new beehives purchased from a very experienced beekeeper in Calico Rock. They're busting at the seams, and if all goes well we'll be really rolling in the honey this summer. Not literally - that would be sticky and a waste of good honey.

In an abrupt change of subject (which I can do because this is MY blog), the Today Show just showed some tops that you just HAVE to HAVE for summer. and one little tanktop number that's "SOOOO affordable at just $144." Yeah!!! Only $144...whip out the pocket change!!! Who ARE these people??? For one thing, it looked like someone got it out of the rag bucket and pasted some sparklies and beads on. Second...half that to pay for a top is too much....for even half that, it better be something really dressy, not just something to flit down the streets of New York in.

Ah well...now they're discussing the important topic of what to tell your kids about your wild past...I think I'm going to barf.

Well, that's all for today...we need groceries...and I can quit listening to this yammering and go get two week's worth for the price of that "SOOO affordable" top...

Great Wild West Vacation Pics - Part II

Judith and I are back at our respective homes in the Natural State, after our whirwind tour of the southwest. What a great trip! I have to say, though, I'm glad to be back home with the hubby and the critters. Travelling is exhausting work...especially when you hit it hard like we did with no dilly-dallying.

Here's some more pics from the road:

Pottery sherds (is it sherd or shard?), which were scattered all over the ground at the Tsankawi Ruins at Bandelier. We would have taken some, but aside from being wrong, we just couldn't spring for the $10,000 fine.

Really cool valley somewhere in Utah (behind Judith). Judith spotted some elk waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy far away down in the vally, don't ask me how, but we verified them as elk through the "binos." (side note - "binos" is a term we learned that one uses in overly loud conversation when trying to impress your lady friend as well as nearby tourists, when you're actually full to the brim of absolute crap.)

Another kiva (one of the approximately 14,854 that we saw on the trip) at the Salmon Ruins.

Inside of the restored Great Kiva at Aztec ruins.

Gouldings museum and trading post, as seen in lots of old westerns I'm sure I've seen at one point in time.

Me and John...keeping an eye out for the bad guys.

Monuments at Monument Valley.

"Cliff Palace" at Mesa Verde. We sprung for the guided tour.

This was our ranger on the guided tour...she did an excellent job, and was NOT an incredibly arrogant boob like the ranger we would meet later.

What was really cool about these ruins, is that the complex seen directly behind the ranger are not living spaces, but administrative buildings and storage up high. Just imagine...you're living in a cliff pueblo 700 years ago, and you're STILL mired in bureaucracy. I can imagine it going something like this:

"Yes, we did recieve your reqest for a new water jar. However, you improperly filled out Form B, and therefore you must go over to the Balcony House pueblo down the canyon and fill out Forms C, D, and E. Please bring eight forms of I.D. and your damaged water jar to show you do indeed need a new one, and your new water jar will be delivered to you in 6-8 weeks, pending approval."

Judith and I, on our guided tour. In front of a kiva. Again.

More petroglyphs... I HIGHLY recommend Mesa Verde...everything we saw was really awesome, but M.V. just took the cake.

Our last stop was in Colorado Springs to visit my brother Trent. For fun we hiked the Manitou Incline...and when I say "fun" I mean the lung-splitting, heart pounding, leg-burning, gasping-for-oxygen kind. But, we made it...I'm not sure I would've without brother's prodding, but here we are at the top.

So that's our Wild West Trip in a very small nutshell. Only just over a week, but a week packed with fun and excitement, which everyone should have every so often. Grab a buddy and just take off, do some tent camping (until your air mattress springs a leak), and just see what you can see. And always remember - if your digital camera gets too full, you can always delete pics!(sorry...inside joke...;)

Great Wild West Vacation Pics - Part I

Giant turkey spotted in Springdale, AR in the company of a green-shirted tourist...approach with caution.
WHY would someone do this? Because it makes people (like us) whip off the freeway to go look at and pose for photographs with some cadillacs buried in a field.

Passed this sign in Amarillo. Seems like a lovely place...we might stay there on our way back.

Our first ruins, at Pecos National Historic Park, New Mexico.

Camel Rock, near Santa Fe (and very near Camel Rock Casino)...but I'm pretty sure it's a turtle.
Petroglyphs at Bandelier. Looks like E.T. to me...

Wild West Adventure - In Progress

Howdy from the Southwest! Coming to you live from Kayenta, Arizona in the Navajo Nation. Judith and I are nearly halfway done with our Great Wild West Adventure 2008, and after four nights of camping, we decided a night of hot showers and warm, soft, comfy beds containing no dirt was in order. I'm still basking in the glow of the Best Shower Ever, in my clean pj's getting free wireless.

So to update you on our progress:

We started out Friday mid-day from Judith's house at Gassville, AR. Before hitting Oklahoma, we whipped out the camera for a first vacation shot: Giant Turkey Statue in Springdale. At least I got one gobbler this season.

Then, on to Oklahoma, where we stopped our first night just west of OK City at Red Rock Canyon State Park. This is our lovely camp (post pics later). After 30 minutes of firewood gathering, and 10 minutes searching for a fire source (we had SAFETY matches with no box), we had a roaring blaze with which to warm our cold toes. For about 10 minutes. Still, it was a success at $8 bucks.

Westward ho!

On to Texas, where we spent some time messing around in the panhandle. If you've been through the panhandle, you'd think there isn't much messing around to do. Oh contraire...because just south of Amarillo is Palo Duro Canyon, which is second only to the Grand Canyon. After a heavy dose of sight-seeing-some-spectacular-scenic-scenery, we headed back to Amarillo and onward west.

Next stop - New Mexico. We messed around looking for the elusive red dot on the map labeled "Site of Coronado's Bridge", which apparently doesn't exist. Eventually we gave up...but we saw more good scenery. We camped the second night at Villanueva State park, which was labeled "quaint state park located on the banks of the Pecos River, near picturesque Spanish Villanueva Village." I'm assuming "quaint" means "people having a big party and playing thumping music" and "picturesque" means "looks like a crack house collection." Nah...it turned out ok and we got a good peaceful night's sleep. The big party was nothing more than a family reunion, which eventually quieted down ( at about 10:30 pm they moved from raucous Mexican and pop hits to Air Supply and Juice Newton) and in the broad daylight the village was pretty quaint after all.

Next - Pecos National Historic Park, where we saw partly prehistoric Pueblo ruins (Anasazi), and partly a rebuilt monastery from the 1600's.

Santa Fe was the next on the list, but since Judith and I have both been there, we didn't spend a lot of time. Plus, it's a city. Bah! This trip is for wide open spaces. However, I did purchase a couple of turquoise and something else necklaces from a Pueblo woman, guaranteed made by herself and her family. I'm not sure how "authentic" the materials are...possibly purchased at Hobby Lobby, but heck...she was nice, and I have two new neclaces, bringing my total jewelry collection up to four.

We made our next stop at Bandelier National Historic park, where we camped for two nights in the quietest and most comfortable campground so far. VERY IMPRESSIVE...we hiked all over looking at ruins where the Asasazi had hollowed out rooms in the highly erosive volcanic rock, then built the square rooms on in front. We also saw LOTS of petroglyphs scratched into the rock. I could look at those all day...that's by far been my favorite part of the trip. Since our comfy campground was sans showers, we had to go into Los Alamos to the Y and shower. I can skip a day here or there, but a day of hard hiking leaves a person pretty funky and dusty. Best $2 I ever spent.

As we headed toward Arizona, we stopped at two more Anasazi ruins, the Salmon Ruins (named for the folks who homesteaded there and protected the ruins from being messed with) and the Aztec ruins (really misnamed, like Toltec Mounds S.P. in Arkansas). Both were really cool.

Next stop - Monument Valley. Until next time...adios! (p.s. - more pics later...taking too long to download)

More Childhood Entertainment

In response to my post about Schoolhouse Rock, I was reminded by an anonymous commentator of another childhood memory (even harder to remember now that I'm officially 33...*sigh*), one that was likely unique to our family and overactive imaginations.

Once again let's go back to the days of Saturday morning cartoons...when for most kids, the entertainment only began with the actual cartoon broadcast. With my family, it was just not so...we could be entertained by a packing peanut (seriously - take a pen and put some eyeballs on it, and you have an instant caterpillar). In the wee Saturday mornings at Grandma and Grandpa's, we were entertained from the very moment the TV was turned on, no matter how early. You see, not everyone has a cousin who aspired to be a meterologist, as Jodie most definately did. Every Saturday of cartoon watching, Chad (my other cousin) and I were treated to a weather forecast while we waited for the cartoons to start.

Yep, this is the color screen which I believe is actually used to calibrate cameras. But to us, it was weather. Jodie was quite the weather girl, sometimes even using a yardstick as a pointer. As I remember, the weather usually broke down something like this:

It wasn't always the same...of course the weather changes. And Jodie was VERY official, with comments like, "Today in the nation's midsection, they will be experiencing high levels of sunshine. However, in Alaska, they will be having strong snow storms followed by hail. In California...tornados." We were fascinated, and begged for repeated forecasts. And when Trent and Tye joined the fray, they also demanded a forecast. Only Jodie could give an accurate one, though.

Our weather forecast was usually concluded with the National Anthem, followed of course by cartoons and a happy afternoon of playing outside. And though we thoroughly enjoyed them all, nothing beat The Forecast.

To this day, I can't see a color bar screen without thinking of the weather. Jodie truly missed her calling.