Random pictures

Here are some random pictures from the last few weeks:

Arrow-leaf balsamroot in bloom, late May.

Apple blossoms from our young apple trees, late May.

Chipmunk.

A puddle by a drainpipe on a neighbor's property. See the little black dot on the pipe?

It's a fledgling blackbird. The parents were twittering anxiously overhead as I took these shots.

With Lydia and Lihn (Younger Daughter's Quaker parrot) in the garden.

I usually bring Lydia out to the garden with me and let her wander while I work. I call her the Guardian of the Garden.

Here she is, zonked out at the base of the Stanley plum tree.

"Huh? What?"

Five red-winged blackbird eggs.

Their nest is in the cattails of our pond.

A rain squall.

Although we've had some warm days (even one or two hot ones), this spring has been remarkably wet and chilly. On June 11 we dipped to just a hair above freezing. Thankfully the tomatoes didn't die.

On such days, the warmth from the wood cookstove is welcome (even in June).

Naughty robin, eating my strawberries.

Don has a faithful audience as he presses hamburger patties for our neighborhood potluck (it was our turn to host).

It's currently daisy season.

Suddenly we have cedar waxwings in the garden. Gorgeous birds.

Notice the one on the left has just caught a butterfly.

However they're also after the strawberries.

Lydia greets the neighbor's alpacas.

Morning sun through some fog.

Dawn sky.

I'm still waiting for the killdeer eggs to hatch. Because the chicks are precocial, the incubation period is fairly long -- 28 days -- and since this couple has nested smack in the center of the garden, it's preventing us from doing anything heavy-duty (using the tractor to bring in additional tires for beds, for example). I can't even pull weeds around the area. I'll be glad when this nest hatches.

Both parents incubate the eggs. It's charming to watch the "changing of the guard" -- the bird getting off the eggs does a little bowing-pecking ritual to its mate, and makes barely-audible cooing sounds, before relinquishing the nest.

Enjoy the spring.

Durned lucky chickens

Yesterday I heard, once again, the telltale squawks and alarmed clucks of chickens in distress. I dashed outside and through the barn. Peering out back into the corral, I saw the yellow eyes of a coyote peering back at me through the board fences. Being without the shotgun, I resorted instead to slamming out the barn door and yelling. "Ya! Ya!" The coyote ran off about twenty feet, stopped and looked at me again. I ran toward it, yelling. He took off into the woods.

The birds who had been behind the barn were cackling in alarm. I decided to leash up Lydia and walk her through the woods, letting her sniff out the coyote's trail in hopes it would keep it from returning anytime soon. Sadly, as soon as I went outside the corral, this is what I saw:

This is what was left of one of our two remaining Buff Orpington hens. I was bummed, as I'm fond of these ladies.

The entire tail had been pulled out in one unit, still complete.

I walked Lydia throughout the woods, letting her choose her own paths, and let me tell you she was hot on the trail of the predator. However no glimpse of the wily creature could be seen, so after half an hour we made our way back toward the corral.

But then Lydia wandered into a small side pen off the barn we seldom enter. Immediately a series of squawks came from the depths. The hen was alive!

I pulled Lydia out of the pen, tucked her in the house, then went into the pen and gently picked up the hen. She seemed glad to be cradled in my arms and, though shaken, was otherwise uninjured.

Let me tell you, that is one durned lucky chicken.

I carried her into the new barn and put her down. She was still drawn and tense and is completely missing her tail (except for one feather sticking up).

She was still shedding feathers too, as she walked.

But she's alive and unhurt, and that's a whole lot better than most chickens end up after meeting a coyote.

Now that we're apparently on the local coyote population's daily grocery run, attacks on our flock have been increasing. It underscores the need to complete an important project this summer: a large enclosed yard for the birds. I like having chickens scattered all over the property, but -- unfortunately -- so do the coyotes.

Such is life on a farm.

Saying goodbye to another daughter

Don and I are proud to announce Younger Daughter's recent career decision: She has enlisted in the Navy.

Let me tell you how this came about.

Younger Daughter has always wanted to travel, and was trying to think of some career excuse to do so. The Navy seemed like a good choice. Don is a Navy vet, and while over the years he's talked about his time in the service, he never ever suggested it as a choice for either of our girls.

In other words, Younger Daughter reached this decision entirely on her own. She thought about it for several months and researched it extensively before letting us know (and her decision took us totally by surprise).

She narrowed the job selection down to several possible choices for a four- or five-year enlistment, and made an appointment to see a recruiter the same day she took her algebra final exam in early May. She promised us if the jobs she wanted weren’t available, she would “walk” and not enlist, at least not yet. Since she wants to travel, she wanted to be on a ship (not land-based), so that was part of her selection process.

On the day of her algebra final she only got about four hours’ sleep (upset stomach through the night from eating a too-spicey dinner) and was very nervous about meeting the recruiter. (She got an A on the final and in the algebra class, by the way.) The first thing the recruiter had her do was take a practice vocational aptitude test called the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB). The minimum for getting into the Navy is 35 percent. On four hours’ sleep, an algebra final, and pure adrenaline, she scored 85 percent.

Immediately the recruiters started talking to her about the nuclear engineering program (“nuke”). Younger Daughter had already looked into this program and decided she didn’t want it, partly because of the six-year commitment but mostly because of the working conditions. The pay is astronomical once you leave the service but working conditions are grim (18-hour days, etc.).

The next step was a two-day overnight sojourn at the MEPS (Military Enlistment Processing Station) in Spokane, where she was given physical exams as well as the multi-section ASVAB (covering general science, arithmetic reasoning, word knowledge, paragraph comprehension, numerical operations, coding speed, auto and shop information, mathematics knowledge, mechanical comprehension, and electronics).

This time the ASVAB wasn’t a practice test; it was the real deal, and would determine what jobs she would qualify for. Two other young men from Coeur d’Alene who were enlisting scored 60 and 75 percent. Younger Daughter scored – 95 percent. (This is apparently termed a "nerd score.")

Then came the big moment where they called her in to let her know what jobs were available. They had five or six possibilities on the table, none of them great. She called Don twice during this process to get his opinion about two of the positions she was offered. None were what she wanted, so she walked.

At least, she walked for about five minutes. One of the positions she had been offered (called Advanced Electronics Computer Field, AECF) didn’t appeal because it had a six-year commitment (two years of school, four years of active duty), and because of that she hadn’t really investigated it. It’s a position requiring higher ASVAB scores, so she was qualified. The work sounded interesting, and she would have the chance to be on a ship, which she wanted. She went back in to the recruiters and accepted the post, signed the paperwork, and swore the military oath.

(Taking the military oath, along with another recruit)

However evidently she made a bigger impression than she realized. Her ASVAB scores rippled up the chain of command and garnered quite a lot of attention from some muckety-mucks in Washington. At a follow-up meeting with the recruiters, they kept trying to persuade her to be a nuke. A female nuke, apparently, is something the Navy really really really really really likes to see. They even offered to bring in a nuke to talk with her about the position. As I said, it has brutal working conditions but amazing pay (after an enlistee’s service is up and he’s ready to leave the Navy, they offer re-enlistment bonuses of around $100,000 if they’ll stay in the Navy).

(Here's Younger Daughter with the recruiter, looking a bit shell-shocked. Notice the height difference: YD is a hair over five feet, the recruiter something like 6'5")

However the more she investigates the AECF position, the happier she is with it and she has no interest in becoming a nuclear engineer. She leaves after Thanksgiving for boot camp in Great Lakes, Illinois, so we won’t have her for Christmas. After that, she’s in school for two years in Great Lakes, and then her active duty begins. She’ll have vacations, so we’ll get to see her once in a while after boot camp is over.

So why the interest in a military career? As YD put it, "I've never met a vet I haven't liked." She had four college math classes with a cadre of vets and liked them enormously.

In my opinion, the military brings out the best in so many people because it doesn't cultivate anyone's "inner snowflake." It strips away immaturity and victimhood and teaches personal responsibility and self-control. This creates a subculture of Very Good People on the whole.

By the way, a funny thing happened at MEPS. According to Younger Daughter, the recruiting office's goal is to do anything it can to qualify applicants, and the goal of MEPS is to do anything to DISqualify applicants. Since the MEPS she attended is in Spokane, and marijuana is now legal in Washington, the issue of drug use was investigated closely.

At one point a doctor tried to get YD to admit she'd used pot. YD denied it. "You can tell me," the doctor urged. YD denied it. Come on," the doctor persisted. "Are you SURE you've never used marijuana?" YD denied it. He continued to push, until Younger Daughter said, "Look, I was homeschooled on a farm by Christian parents. When would I have had a chance to try marijuana?"

At this the doctor stopped pushing. Instead he smiled, shrugged, and said, "Okay then."

So she’s off to a good start. With her high moral character and frugal upbringing, we have a feeling she’ll do well and go far in the Navy. She may even make a career out it. Even if she doesn’t, the training she gets will insure she has no problem getting a civilian job after her enlistment is over.

We're proud of her decision. It will be tough to have her leave so abruptly, but we're launching a good kid into the world.

Last chance for Prepper Bundle

This is the last chance to participate in the Prepper Bundle. It ends at 10 pm Central time.

The bundle is available in three formats:

• Online only ($29.97)
• Flashdrive only ($54.97)
• Online portal + flashdrive ($59.97)

Subjects include food storage, meal planning, seed saving, water, security, canning, urban and suburban preparedness, emergency kits, going off-grid, organization, checklists, firearms, a case study of Venezuela's collapse, and even some dystopian literature.

I don't like nagging people to spend money, so that's all I'll say about it. Except, honestly, it's a pretty durned good deal.

Prepper bundle now available

This year I'm pleased to participate in the Prepper Bundle consisting of 30 preparedness resources.

This bundle is only offered through next Wednesday. It contains loads of nifty information from a lot of top-notch experts.

Subjects include food storage, meal planning, seed saving, water, security, canning, urban and suburban preparedness, emergency kits, going off-grid, organization, checklists, firearms, a case study of Venezuela's collapse, and even some dystopian literature.

It also includes access to documentaries, short-term membership in preparedness classes, and discounts on various products. In short, a huge bang for your buck.

The bundle is available in three formats:

• Online only ($29.97)
• Flashdrive only ($54.97)
• Online portal + flashdrive ($59.97)

I urge you to take a peek at their website for more details about what's included in the bundle. Don't put it off, though; I should have announced the availability a couple of days ago, when it opened. My bad.

The unexplainable heebie-jeebies

A few weeks ago, an article came out entitled "Some spooky things are happening at serial killer Ted Bundy’s childhood home."

It seems a contractor bought an old fixer-upper house and began renovating it to put it up for sale. But then some spooky, creepy, unexplained things started happening. "I’m not one to believe a lot of this stuff, but this house made me a believer," said Casey Clopton, the contractor, who ended up penciling Bible verses on the walls and bringing in two pastors to bless the house. Clopton didn't know the house's history before purchasing it. His only goal was to renovate and re-sell it. None of Bundy's murders occurred while he was living in the house.

Don and I got to talking about this story recently, wondering how real the "heebie jeebies" really are.

We like to think we're rational, logical people. We both have science backgrounds and neither of us has any patience with the "supernatural." Nonetheless I've had three instances in my life where I got inexplicable heebie-jeebies.

The first time was in college. It was my junior year and I sitting on a couch, studying a science textbook. The chapter was examining the scientific contributions of various and sundry people. I turned the page and freaked.

The page showed a photo of some guy from about the 1880s or so. There was nothing wrong with him -- he just had one of those solemn faces you always see in 19th-century portraits -- but there was something heart-klunkingly creepy about him as he stared out of the page at me. I instantly turned to the previous page so I couldn't see him.

Over and over, whenever I looked at that photo, I couldn't stand it and had to cover the scientist's face in order to read the text. I asked my roommate if the photo bothered her, and she said no. At last, since I had to study the chapter, I ended up folding a piece of paper in half and taping it over the photo so I could study in peace.

What freaked me out? I have no stinkin' clue. It was the unexplainable heebie-jeebies.

The second time was shortly before Don and I got married. I was renting a small house in a suburban neighborhood in West Sacramento. Every evening after work, I leashed up my dog and rode my bike around the neighborhood with her -- past a grocery store, up to the library, around some side streets, then back home -- so she could get her exercise.

One evening -- a calm summer evening around 5:30 pm -- I was riding with my dog past a broad vacant lot I'd passed dozens of times before. It was quiet and sunny and completely deserted, just as it had always been.

Suddenly I got the chills. I became horribly, irrationally afraid. I looked at the vacant lot and saw nothing, absolutely nothing, to cause concern. Still, I didn’t waste any time. I wheeled the bike around and urged my dog to a run to get out of there. I stopped a few hundred yards away to let her catch her breath.

I have no idea what caused that fear. I saw no one. I didn’t hear or smell anything. I even kept an eye on the news for the next few days but saw nothing related to that particular spot. The only thing I had to go on was instinct, pure gut. And my gut said run.

The third time happened in about 1996. Don and I were living in southwest Oregon. Older Daughter was a baby. I was working seasonally as a field biologist surveying owls for the BLM, which meant I worked from about 7 pm until around 3 am. The usual procedure on this job was to stop at "stations" about a quarter-mile apart and voice-call ("hoot") owls and listen for responses.

Most of my time was spent driving on dirt roads through towering forests or hiking around some very remote mountainous areas. I had many adventures, but was never afraid -- except once.

It was a quiet summer night and I pulled the rig (truck) to a halt at a juncture of two dirt roads, which made a broad clearing surrounded by forests. I stepped out of the truck to "hoot" (voice-call owls) and listen for any responses.

Suddenly I was terrified. I heard nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing -- but I dove for the cab of the truck, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors. I probably looked like a fool, out there miles from anywhere, huddled in the driver's seat ... but I wasn't getting out of that truck for anything.

As before, there was no rational reason for my fear, nor did anything happen.

So why did I freak? Why did I lock myself in the truck? Well, I figure humans have cultivated an amazing ability to disregard sixth-sense warnings. We still have instincts we're often too “civilized” to heed. But instinct is there for a reason, and that reason might be very important.

Of course, why an old photograph in a textbook should trigger such an instinct is anyone's guess. It's not like it could do me any harm.

But heebie-jeebies are weird that way.

Homemade dirty rice

I have a fondness for Zatarain's Dirty Rice.

The boxed version is easy to make. Brown a pound of ground beef or ground pork, add the dirty rice mix, add 2.5 cups of water, cover, and simmer until done.

It's so easy, in fact, that I knew I had no excuse to buy the boxed stuff, and should look for my own recipe instead.

Recipes for dirty rice abound on the internet, some of which had ingredients I didn't care for (notably chicken livers), so after a bit of poking around I cobbled together my own version as follows:

1 lb pork sausage (or ground beef), cooked
1 onion, chopped and cooked with the pork (or ground beef)

2 tablespoons rehydrated red bell peppers, soaked in chicken broth (enough water and chicken broth to make 2.5 cups)
1 tablespoon garlic (or rehydrated garlic)
1 1/2 teaspoon crushed red cayenne peppers
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1 cup rice

I had dehydrated garlic and dehydrated red bell peppers from last year's garden, but fresh versions can be substituted. I also had crushed cayenne peppers from the garden. We have pork in the freezer after we swapped beef for pork with some neighbors. I used chicken stock I canned up from a chicken carcass following a meal last year.

I started by soaking the dehydrated red bell pepper and garlic in the chicken broth (which I eventually supplemented with water to make 2.5 cups).

While the pork and onions were browning, I mixed rice with the rest of the spices...

...then added it to the browned pork.

Pouring in the chicken stock with rehydrated veggies.

Next step, bring it to a boil, cover, let it simmer.

Voilà.

I always like to add a shake of Montreal steak seasoning, even to the boxed version.

This was a simple recipe, but I'm absurdly pleased to be able to eliminate another boxed item in favor of a homemade version. Ah, the little things in life.