Eagles and coyotes

The other day a bald eagle swooped over and landed in a tree near our barn.

I mentioned to Don and Older Daughter that if we still had our chickens, I'd be out there guarding them with a baseball bat. An eagle could easily pluck off a hen.

But since our chickens now belong to some neighbors, we didn't have to worry about losing any to predation. Instead, we could watch and enjoy this majestic bird.

Then early yesterday morning, just as it was getting light, I looked up from my computer screen and thought our neighbor's dog was loose in their field. Turns out it was a coyote.

I watched it for quite some time as it wandered around, sniffing after voles and sometime digging for them.

Evidently he didn't find much, since he soon moved on. Once again, our chickens would have been vulnerable, but they're safe in their new home.

Coyotes and eagles. Just part of North Idaho living.

Trivia

I apologize for the blog silence! I've been busy with writing assignments, we're working on an enormous wholesale tankard order, and we're hosting the neighborhood potluck tonight.

So, as a placeholder, let me modify an older blog post and present some trivia:

• I’m left-handed but use scissors with my right hand (they didn’t have left-handed scissors when I was in kindergarten). My husband is also left-handed (including scissors), yet somehow between us we managed to hatch two right-handed kids. Go figure.

• I played the flute for many many years. Was quite good at it too.

• I used to dance ballet semi-professionally. That was many years and many pounds ago.

• When I was ten years old, my parents moved from New York State to California. Oh my goodness, I hated it there. I never did adapt to California. But living in California did give me one wonderful thing: my husband.

• I hate to cook but love to bake.

• I hate to sew but love to can.

• I hate coffee but love tea (except Earl Gray).

• I hate anything to do with crafts. No patience, I guess.

• I honestly don’t mind mucking out manure.

• I can’t set a mousetrap to save my life. I’m good at emptying them, though.

• I get seasick at the drop of a hat.

• When I was 16, I had an honest-to-goodness (and real freaky) out-of-body experience. I hope I never have one of those again.

• My favorite fruit is peaches. I like to joke that I’d sell my birthright for peaches.

• I adore broccoli in any size, shape, or form.

• I didn’t get my ears pierced until I was 20.

• I weigh too much. Working on it.

• Without my glasses, I am blind as a bat – my vision is about 20/450.

• I adore writing (obviously) but I’m absolutely dismal at grammar. Any grasp of grammar is purely instinctive.

• I have a phobia of zero gravity. You know, the sensation you get on roller coasters and other horrors. My idea of the entertainment from hell would be to go bungee jumping or skydiving.

• When I was 16 I decided I wanted to become a field biologist after reading (about 250 times) Jane Goodall’s “In the Shadow of Man.” I still passionately admire Dr. Goodall. My dad took me to hear one of her lectures back in 1980 (a kindness I've never forgotten) and she signed my copy of her book. I majored in Zoology in college and Environment Education in grad school and worked as a field biologist for many years.

• One summer, while working as a field biologist, I stepped on two yellow jacket nests a week apart and was stung a total of 15 times. It gave me a terrible phobia of wasps that lasted about 20 years.

• I loathe tuna more than almost any other foodstuff on the planet. Even the smell makes me sick. I don’t care for celery either, largely because of its association with tuna.

• I have never touched drugs in any size, shape, or form (except prescription). I’ve never smoked. I drink one glass of wine (never red) about five times a week. I got drunk twice in my life (the first
time on red wine, hence the aversion) and decided never again.

• My ancestry is half Polish, half French. My paternal grandparents immigrated to this country around the turn of the (last) century. My mother’s people are Cajun French, descendants of the Acadians who were kicked out of Canada and eventually found their way to the bayous of Louisiana. My mother didn’t speak English until she was five and went to school.

• My husband and I tend to be obsessed with books. At one point we owned well over 5000 of them, though we’ve thinned our collection down to about 4000 or so.

• I love Baroque music and usually have it playing on my computer, quietly, all day long.

• Green is my favorite color.

• Don and I are coming up on our 30th anniversary. Where do the years go? He is my greatest blessing in life. Our kids are our next greatest blessings.

• I’m something of a jigsaw puzzle junkie. Doing puzzles relaxes me. I usually have one in the works at all times.

• I don’t like hot weather. I don’t mind cold weather. Hot summers are one of the factors that sent us fleeing from California.

• I’m an introvert and can go days without leaving home. Love our weekly potlucks, though.

So there you have it. Trivia.

Snow whomp

Whew, what a snow whomp we got over the past week!

It was no surprise when our driveway got drifted shut numerous times.

Ditto with the road leading in.

Don and the rest of the neighborhood men joined forces to clear the snow with tractors and plow blades. This photo is of our neighbor D., but everyone else pitched in over the last week as we got dumped on again and again.

Darcy did his part to "melt" some snow.

On one particularly dramatic afternoon, Don and Older Daughter and I took Darcy out walking during heavy sideways-blowing snow.

Can you see the white-on-white snow blowing beyond the tree?

We found out later that, at the height of this storm, our neighbor's cow finally had her calf.

Knowing this baby was due to be born at the exact wrong time of year, they had set up a cozy shelter for mama and baby, complete with heat lamp. The little bull calf is doing fine.

The neighbors' ducks seem to like the snow.

For some reason, the snow has triggered geese flying south. We've seen dozens of formations with hundreds (or thousands) of geese flying out in the last week.

Taking Darcy walking in the field once more required snowshoes.

After walking, it's easier to leave my boots strapped to the snowshoes. I had the bright idea to cover the top of the boots with plastic bags and rubber bands. As it turned out, that was wise.

Much of Darcy's twice-a-day exercise has been chasing snowballs, which means bounding over the fields.

This results in massive "jingle balls" of snow on his fur, some the size of cantaloupes.

Then he drags these into the house and spends the next hour chewing them off his fur, while we periodically scoop up the snowballs and dump them in the sink.

Right now the snow is about 15 inches deep.

So it's a winter wonderland out here, though we're on a slight warming trend. We'll see what the next couple of weeks are like.

Late or early?

Are you someone who is chronically late? Or are you someone who always arrives on time or even early?

We all know those annoying people who insist on rushing out of the house because they're obsessed with punctuality. Similarly, we all know those annoying people who are chronically late for any and all appointments.

So what gives? What makes someone obsessively punctual or habitually tardy?

A recent article in The Guardian entitled "Beat the Clock: The Surprising Psychology Behind Being Perpetually Late" didn't offer much by way of explanation. "There are probably as many reasons for unpunctuality as there are habitually late people," the article begins, and covers such possible motives as early childhood training, passive-aggression, a feeling of unworthiness, a reluctance to change gears, a sunny and optimistic disposition, or a sociable nature that enjoys chatting with anyone with whom they cross paths (thus making them late).

Those who are rigidly punctual in their behavior have been termed the "uptighterati" and "schedule obsessives." Such people are often counseled to slow down, dude. The author of this article describes herself "as an early person with my own set of neuroses" for whom being late would make her "ill with anxiety."

In another article (by a different author), the writer found herself in the casual professional atmosphere of Brazil, where the concept of timeliness was far more fluid. This came as a culture shock in more ways than one. "To members of the Uptighterati, like me, it’s almost impossible not to interpret the Brazilian attitude to time as a form of laxness, however enviable. But that judgment masks an unexamined assumption that punctuality is obviously the only meaningful temporal standard, which different cultures observe or ignore to differing degrees."

This author says "there’s something odd about the punctuality principle, which involves first mentally conjuring an abstract timeline, then trying to make reality conform to it. The alternative – often mistaken for slacking – is what scholars call 'task orientation' ... in which the rhythms of life emerge from life’s activities themselves. It’s less that Brazilians are failing to abide by a timetable, than that they’re successfully abiding by something else."

Here in the Lewis household, we tend to fall on the side of the "uptighterati" spectrum -- but that's only if we have someplace to go, which we often don't. When we're at home, working at our own pace and our own schedule, we're definitely in the laid-back camp.

Perhaps that's why I've always liked the old story about the successful businessman, vacationing in a foreign fishing village, who starts lecturing a younger local man on the secret of success. Instead of whiling his life away fishing and drinking and playing music with his friends -- the businessman says -- he should expand his fishing operation, hire employees, make millions, then eventually retire‚ so he can spend his days fishing, drinking and playing music with friends.

So what end of the spectrum do you hit? Are you early or late? And what's your logic/reasoning/motive behind it?

Cheesy potatoes

One of our favorite family recipes is cheesy potatoes. Here are the steps for the perfect version.

I recommend a nonstick pan.

Start with potatoes. How many? That depends on your pan size, how many people you’re feeding, and how hungry everyone is. Three medium potatoes usually fills our particular pan.

Peel the potatoes, then grate them.

Then – and this is a critically important step – squeeze the juice out of the potatoes before putting the shredded mix in a bowl.

Next, grate some cheese. How much? That depends on how much cheese you like. (Despite the vagueness of these measurements, you’ll learn how much cheese you prefer through experience.)

Mix the grated cheese and the grated potatoes together.

Melt some butter in your pan.

Pack the potatoes into the pan, pressing down to make everything compact. Add salt and pepper to taste. Do not cover the pan.

Now here’s the hard part: Cook the potatoes on LOW heat. It takes something like 15 minutes to cook one side, but if you turn up the heat the potatoes will get too dark while leaving the inner parts uncooked. Be patient!

When the potatoes are browned on one side to your satisfaction, it’s time to flip them.

I slide the half-cooked potatoes onto a plate and add a touch more butter to the pan.

Then I flip the potatoes and let the other side cook. This takes a bit less time, perhaps 10 minutes. Don’t forget to salt and pepper (to taste) the second side.

The result is a delicious, crisp, cheesy plate of potato goodness.

A friend with many children who uses this recipe modifies it a bit. She has a griddle on her stove, and spreads a lot of grated potato/cheese mix across the griddle. This way she can feed all her kids at once.

However you cook it, enjoy!