Strange experience

Today we had the strangest experience.

It occurred to us this morning that we never got around the changing the address on our FedEx account, an account we've had for probably 25 years. We haven't used it much over the last year, which is why we forgot to change from our old to our new address.

So I decided to call and change our address. After a peppy and extensive artificial intelligence phone tree, I finally got connected to a nice young customer service representative and explained the situation. Naturally he needed some information to verify our account.

After the usual questions (account number, prior address, etc.), he said he would need to ask us some multiple-choice questions about our history to verify we are legitimately who we say we are. Okay, whatever.

For the first question, he asked which of the following addresses we had previously lived at. He listed four addresses – one of which was ours, but from 31 years ago! Seriously, it was the address of a rental house Don and I lived in for a few months immediately after we were married. That was in 1990.

For the second question, he asked which business name was associated with us. He gave several options, one of which was our dba ("doing business as") name, so that was easy peasy.

For the third question, he asked about a previous town in which [First Name] Lewis lived.

Huh? Who is [First Name] Lewis?

Don happened to walk into the house at this juncture, and since I had the phone on speaker, he heard the name. "That was my stepmother," he said, puzzled.

I should explain Don's parents divorced when he was in high school. Just before he entered the Navy in 1975, his father remarried a woman named [First Name], who then took on her new husband's last name (Lewis). Don's father passed away while Don was in the Navy, so he hardly knew his stepmother. Certainly they weren't close enough to stay in touch after his dad died. In short, Don hadn't been in contact with this woman for something like 45 years. How on earth was he supposed to know where she'd lived during the last four decades?

The FedEx representative said he couldn't "move on" to change our address until we answered the question about Mrs. Lewis's address; and no, there was no alternate question he could ask us.

We told him we would have to hang up and see if we could find information about Don's stepmother's whereabouts, and the rep said that was fine.

We hung up the phone, and Don immediately started some frantic online research, trying to find out which of the 80-odd women in the State of California who shared the same name as his stepmother from 45 years ago was the right person. This was assuming she hadn't remarried and assumed a new name. This was also assuming she wasn't deceased. After all, she would be well into her 90s by now.

I thought the whole thing was stupid beyond belief. What – if we couldn't find out what town this [First Name] Lewis had lived in at some point since 1977 or so, we would never be able to change our account address? On what planet?

The whole thing took on a surreal and frankly creepy quality. How on earth could FedEx pull an address out of their files we haven't lived at for 31 years, long before we got an account with them? And creepier still, how on earth did they fish up the name of a woman with only the most tangential association with Don dating back to the 1970s?

Unsurprisingly, Don wasn't able to locate any information about his long-gone stepmother. I decided to call FedEx once again and try changing our address. After I'd waded through their extensive phone trees, I was connected to another customer service representative, a charming woman who recorded our new address without any problem, then wished us a "blessed day" at the end of our call. Easy peasy.

So what was up with these weird multiple-choice questions from our distant past, just to change an address? I have no idea. It was bizarre.

Need a pressure canner?

I just heard from Glenda Ervin, Director of Marketing at Lehman's, that they have All American canners (Model 921) again. Specifically she said, "We have hundreds of these canners in stock (finally)!"

This is the exact model I've had for over 30 years. It's a phenomenal beast designed to last a lifetime. If you're looking for a pressure canner, I can't recommend this model highly enough.

I literally taught myself how to can back in 1991 by following the directions in this canner's information booklet (which I still have). I have canned untold thousands – possibly tens of thousands – of jars of food in this canner over the last three decades.

Additionally, Glenda said they found a new supplier for bulk canning lids.

Just passing along the word. If you want a canner, I wouldn't delay if I were you.

Gravel galore

Last winter when we moved in (December 20, to be exact), we got our rental U-Haul truck stuck in the mud at the top of the driveway.

In fact, the whole area in front of the barn was something of a mud pit, and the driveway had its bad spots as well.

I should explain our house has two driveways: the main one in front of the house (which is flat and nicely graveled), and the longer (and steeper) one that bypasses the house and runs straight to the barn. There is no connection between the house and barn. Kind of an odd arrangement, but we've gotten used to it.

One of the projects we wanted to get done before winter was graveling the long "barn" driveway and the area in front of the barn. Last week, thanks to the efforts of a neighbor who operates heavy equipment (including a dump truck), that happened.

Before bringing in the gravel, Don scraped the driveway a bit with the backblade on the tractor.

Here comes the first of three loads of gravel.

For this first load, we asked the truck driver if he could back the truck up and dump the load on the slope next to the driveway. We wanted some gravel available for a variety of unrelated projects, and having a pile of it in a convenient spot would be helpful.

Like all skilled truckers, maneuvering the massive dump on the narrow strip of driveway was a piece o' cake for the guy.

The next two loads were earmarked for the driveway itself. Each load covered about half the length. Our neighbor backed the dump truck up the length of the driveway, tipped the dump partly up, then drove forward and deposited the gravel in a line as he drove down.

The gravel was left a bit more heaped than usual, but that's okay. Don soon had it evened out with the tractor. (The pile on the right is the first load our neighbor brought.)

When our neighbor brought in the last load, he and Don stopped to jaw for a bit. He's a great guy and Don enjoys his company.

Here he goes with the last load.

He even managed to "feather" it a bit at the end. Nice!

Then Don tackled the thicker spots and started smoothing things out and making the layer of gravel more even.

It's a job he's skilled at, and within a few hours the driveway was even and well-spread. The gravel will pack down over the next couple of weeks.

No more getting stuck in the mud. It's a thing of beauty, is it not?

One more project complete!

Interesting photo

Somehow this doesn't surprise me.

The Great Boat Lift of 9/11

If you've never read this story, it's a powerful reminder of how people can come together during a tragedy. This is the Great Boat Lift of 9/11.

Lest we forget

Never forget.

Deer being dear

I took lots of deer photos over the summer. Here are a few I never posted.

May 4, when everything was still green, I caught these young ladies being snuggly.

May 18: Be alert! We need more lerts!

May 31: Enjoying the green grass.

Carefully watched by you-know-who.

July 5: Despite the sheer number of deer we have, we only saw one -- one! -- fawn the blessed summer long. No idea why.

When it was quite small, this baby sorta bounced into our yard through the bars of the gate. I'm glad I saw when this happened, so I could keep Mr. Darcy indoors.

I was starting to fret about how it would get back out, especially when its mama wandered away. The last thing I wanted to do was spook it and risk it breaking a leg as I attempted to open gates.

"Mama, wait for me!"

Thankfully it managed to slip through the mesh of the cattle panel fence around the yard and bounded away as if nothing had happened.

July 9: Doe against a smoky sky during summer wildfires.

July 9: Presumably the same fawn as above, on the road with mama.

And away across the pasture!

July 20: She never even noticed me watching her through a window.

August 2: "You talking to me?"

August 8: Barely had time to snatch a photo before they bounded away.

August 8: The baby is growing up.

August 22: Below our deck.

August 28: I was photographing turkeys when the fawn literally wandered into my field of view. Didn't see that one coming.

August 29: Can you spot the two does napping in the shade?

August 31: Early morning pastoral scene. Two deer lying down under the trees, others grazing, turkeys also passing through.

These two deer were grooming each other. Deer being dear.

September 1: The following morning, an almost an identical scene: Deer lying in the shade of the same tree, and just hanging out together.

In case you hadn't noticed, I like deer. A lot. Except when they get into the garden.

UPDATE: Literally moments after I posted this piece, I looked out the window and saw a group of deer with no less than five fawns among them. Go figure.

Frustratingly I couldn't get the entire group into one photo, and/or the babies were in high grass, but here are some pix:

Part of the group wandered toward the front of the house, others went into the woods. All of a sudden this baby looked up and realized it was all alone.

It slowly worked its way down the driveway, bleating quietly all the way. "Mom? Mom!"

It passed below the deck. I could have gotten better photos, but I didn't want to spook either the lone fawn or the rest of the group who were nearby.

Fortunately it was reunited with its mother and twin within moments.

So, for the moment, all is right with the world.

Yes, I like deer. Except in the garden, of course.