DD 12/11

It’s wet with a capital ‘W’!

This morning I got to thinking about turkeys.  Quite alien to me considering we don’t really have wild turkeys to the same degree in Scotland.  We farm our turkeys much like chickens.  Turkey is our traditional Christmas feast so I really embrace Thanksgiving dinner as a practice run for Christmas dinner!

Our previous house was built on a steep slope so the deck at the back was level with copious numbers of trees and felt like you were part of a treehouse system.  On a very still evening, I noticed one of the trees had vibrating branches.  Only one.  There was no breeze and the other trees were unaffected.   Obviously this called for further investigation so off I went, down the hill to the bottom of the tree.  Naturally, by the time I got there, all movement had ceased.  Maybe not quite the stealthy approach I had imagined!  Inspecting the tree from the ground up, no marooned cat or any other critter to be seen.  

Later in the week, I was discussing my tremoring tree with a neighbor.  Nobody could possibly suggest I am short of thrilling conversation!  She casually mentioned that it was the turkeys.  Now I have seen the turkeys and their chicks and they were most definitely on the larger, slower more ponderous side of life.  The trees had at least ten feet of smooth trunks before the lower branches appeared.  To be polite, I nodded sagely and made a note to google turkey acrobatics and agility once I returned to the privacy of my home!

Lo and behold, they do roost in trees at night!  This I had to see with my own eyes.  Yes, I stalked my turkeys with all the stealth and grace that a large human with a flashlight possesses.  I came, I saw and I scared the bejesus out of my slumbering thunder chickens!  I had no idea that turkeys were airborne, flying fowl!  Armed with this knowledge, I know to not only watch out for land based attacks but also to be vigilant for airborne assaults!  Turkeys, built for survival and striking fear on land and in the air!

DD 12/10

It’s a touch icy underfoot!  We have an outreach visit at 10am.  Busy, busy just how we like it!

Just so we’re clear, the final two expressive arts, music and drama were both subject to my unique lack of skill.

I took piano lessons for a few years.  For what reason I really am not sure.  The poor lady teaching me was beyond accommodating, she taught me to read music most likely because that involved me not touching the keys!  I did have numerous scales to practice, at home!  My mother knew when I was slacking because of the lack of strangled sound emanating from the poor piano wires! We persevered far longer than necessary or healthy!

I cannot and will not sing.  It is impossible for me to hold anything resembling a note let alone a tune and I have no desire to inflict that amount of pain on unsuspecting animals.  Unfortunately, later in life, I was entrusted to prepare a class of six year olds for the centenary celebration of their school.  The theme was music through the decades.  We were assigned the sixties and the music teacher created a medley of popular sixties songs.  So far, so good!  My only responsibility was crowd control because this class consisted of a good number of children who had their own individual psychologists.  In other words, they were rather tricky and prone to outbursts!  I adored this class.  Did I mention that the musical instruction was the responsibility of the professionally trained music teacher?  Until it wasn’t.  She fell ill, I then felt far iller when I realized there was no back up and that the responsibility for the medley for the hotly anticipated centenary celebration fell to me.  Rising to the challenge and armed with the cassette tape of the music to sing along with, I started daily renditions of the required music.  I was exceptionally pleased with our dedication and progress…. 

I was selected to give a talk to teachers regarding the methods I used to engage,  motivate and suppress children with divergent behaviors in a classroom.  The Headteacher was delighted, this was quite the honor to be selected.  Me, not so much.  This did, however, relieve me from singing for a day!  The Headteacher was a proud member of her church choir and would step in to cover the activities.  I went, I saw, I talked about classroom organization and management of behavioral issues then returned to the school to prepare for the next day.  The HT met me at the entrance, flustered and displaying lots of handwringing.  Last time I left this class the substitute teacher had a knife ‘incident’.  I was sure no such thing could possibly occur with the HT firmly in charge?  Turns out, in her mind, it was far worse.  A catastrophe, a monumental disaster, we were doomed and beyond hope.  Oh dearie me, what could possibly be wrong?  Apparently, the day had gone quite splendidly, the class was well organized, independent in their routines and peaceable until the last thirty minutes swung round.  That thirty minutes had presented a traumatic event that overshadowed the whole day.  She asked them to run through their medley and what occurred caused so much offense to her aural tubes that she was all afluster.  Yes then knew the words, yes they were enthusiastically singing, the actions were joyful and faces gleeful…. The singing was flat.  Clearly this news was not received by me with the required amount of shock and horror.  I was still waiting for a cataclysmic revelation.  FLAT, FLAT, FLAT.  As in 2-D and not 3-D?  This would not do, she would need to take over their training to remedy this horrendous calamity.  I carefully schooled my face to display understanding and concern.  Inside relief and joy was bubbling while angels were singing in the most glorious flat and off key manner imaginable!  

I was relegated to set design as an area that even I couldn’t mess up.  Remember the orange, silly assumption to make!  I found a grandparent with artistic abilities and the time to help.  We were home and dry!

The singing practice was returned to my care with one caveat.  I was, under no circumstances to allow any sound to come out of my mouth.  In order to start the singing, I stood in front of the children, took an exaggerated deep breath in and opened my mouth and they then sang like angels!  Not one sound from me to derail their sweet voices!  When we progressed to on stage practice, the HT would wander in and give me the hairy eyeball to make sure not one sound passed my lips!

Our part of the concert was exuberant and a tremendous display of class unity and personalities.  I couldn’t tell you how they sounded because they always sounded good to me!

DD 12/9

Art class.  Still life to be precise but more akin to ‘still living?’ in my case.

Such a beautiful, serene setting.  The atmosphere calm and the voices low and soothing.  Alarm bells are ringing, this is not my usual environment nor vaguely close to my comfort zone.

The tables were all business, slanted towards you with a small ledge at the bottom.  Obviously, designed with snacking in mind, a handy, dandy ledge for snacks just incase they should be of the roly poly kind that would plop off the table.  Perfect, looking up already!

The instructor invited us to choose from an array of items on a side table.  I selected familiar and simple, an orange with an easy shape and color.  Job done!  We sat down at our assigned desk.  The lovely lady at the front started explaining shading, light and dark, creation of depth, texture….  It was lost to me, I wasn’t ready to cross the start line, my orange although simple just wouldn’t stay still.  I knew this wasn’t a study of motion, it was still life after all.  I had managed to select the orange with the possessed jumping bean in the middle!  I decided just to hold it for safe keeping just as the lovely lady was explaining the importance of the object staying in the same position for the duration of the assignment.

To add insult to injury, the medium of the day was charcoal.  I have an aversion to charcoal.  The scratching sound makes my ears bleed and that blending and smudging with your finger is not only extremely messy but it raises the hairs on my neck.  It’s up there with sand on a newspaper, spine chillingly awful.   

Also, I had lulled myself into a false sense of security.  My orange was not proving to be simple or straight forward and the ledge was not for snacks but for making sure the charcoal didn’t roll off the table.  Looks like the day decided to take a trip south!

Off we go, orange teetering on the top ledge, charcoal lurking on the bottom, paper wrinkling in the middle.  Let the count down begin.

A concentrated effort was applied.  It was roundish, the ‘shading’ didn’t enhance its roundness or anchor it to the paper.  It was a random orb, pock marked with some questionable bruising.  To add insult to injury, I was not allowed to color it orange.  That would have totally given the game away.  It was whitish, black and smudgy with black finger prints all over the remaining sheet of paper.  My finest offering!  I should confidently proclaim it to be channeling my inner Picasso with a touch of A Clock Work Orange.

Time was up.  I was down.  Another expressive art stuck off the list.  Painful experience all round but worse was to come.

Never compare your offering to others. For the greater good, I really don’t need to share my talents with the rest of the class.  And for the record, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it falls upon the beholder to be responsible for their facial expressions and temper them accordingly!

The learning and life lessons that I took away from one still life class were meaningful and varied.  I cannot draw, my eyes see one thing and my hand is, clearly in the other room making a sandwich which results in the translation from eyes to paper becoming distorted.  It is important to precede an artistic offering with, ‘I’m not much of an artist but you get the general gist of…..’ and hope for a sympathetic reaction!  It’s imperative to be able to identify your skills.  My kind of drawing is definitely not free hand and open to interpretation, it’s more of a graph paper, ruler, pencil and eraser style.  It’s even more effective if someone throws in a good number of co-ordinates for good measure along the lines of dot-to-dot or join the numbers!  Who says art isn’t powerful stuff?

Anyway, butchered another section of the arts what could possibly be left open to my interpretation?

Carlene is partaking in a highly motivated 4am walk through the halls of Hawthorne Hill.  She says this is all part of a very cunning plan because, for all intents and purposes, it looks like she is exercising.  She is actually going to the kitchen to procure extra sugars for her coffee!  She likes some coffee with her sugar!

DD12/8

SNOW!  First real snow of the season!

Art class.  Next attempt at gracious living for children.  Maybe we should just leave it here because we all know how this is going to unfold?  If you’d like me to share my hints and tips to ensure you are not extended a second invite to art class, let me know?

Did I mention it had snowed and is still snowing?  I love snow, Janine does not love snow so I best make myself scare and attempt to be useful.  I’ll be the one on camera moving with graceful feet and elegant arms, flitting and fluttering like a butterfly.

Oh how I make myself giggle!

DD 12/7

Happy Saturday!  It’s still dark with a touch of a red sunrise.  You know the saying, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning!

People have asked how I ended up working with horses.  My path to equine bliss was not predetermined like Janine’s.  Mine came after a bunch of experiences that created a very strong aversion to the popular activities for young girls.

I was enrolled in ballet classes.  Sensible activity, my friends loved ballet and had all the gear in the required pink. 

I joined the happy throng of excited, pink clad pixies.  They were the epitome of lightness and grace.  Hair in neat buns, little wrap cardigans, outdoor shoes that were of the white and pink variety.  One girl even had a special bag to carry her satin ribboned ballet shoes.  It was in the shape of a rabbit face, a pink and white rabbit.  

Then there was me.  I was already experiencing a red alert moment.  This whole environment was feeling very alien to me.  I felt like the dull brown fish in a beautiful shoal of iridescent, choreographed and synchronized fish.  Everyone knew the routine with the exception of me!

The actual class was, I’m sure perfect but it did not compute with my brain.  We practiced raising our arms.  We were instructed to allow one arm to float, slowly like a butterfly while following it with our eyes.  I’m sure the charming lady meant, raise your arm in the air and wave it like you just don’t care.  It became apparent that my arms work with precision and speed.  It’s here, now it’s there and I would have watched it but it was so fast all I saw was a blur……

Next was essentially running in a circle.  That’s not what they call it in ballet class.  It’s called flouncing on tip toes.  I know this because I tried it and found it lacking and an inefficient use of my time and energy.  They added in arms to help them flutter.  Ehh?  Pumping arms make you go faster, all this fluttering…….

Moving on to the grand finale, standing in line with your feet making odd shapes.  Peculiar really that people feel the need to practice pointing the feet and making their heels touch then moving just one leg at a time.  I noticed my ribbon was coming undone and slowly slipping down my leg.  This did not go unappreciated!  Now I could twirl my foot and make the ribbons dance.  Such fun, until it’s not.  Those silky ribbons didn’t just exist to look pretty, they actually, quite efficiently held the delicate, satin shoe on the foot.  Well they would if they hadn’t undone.  The shoe left my foot, the class gasped and clearly this was an enormous faux pas.  Who knew one little shoe could relieve you of further tortuous ballet classes?

My mother was summoned after class and told that ballet really wasn’t in my future and not to bother bringing me back.  If that ballet teacher was anything, it was intuitive!

The ballet class went home looking as immaculate as when they arrived. I went home, face pink from exertion with a halo of hair sticking out in all directions.  A clear indication and validation of my lack of finesse and suitability for the world of pink precision!

DD 12/6

It’s a beautiful bright and crisp Friday with ample sunshine.  The sunshine is having no affect on the temperature!

I’m researching pigs.  There are so many pigs in rescue mainly, it appears, because people don’t realize that even ‘miniature’ in the pig world is gargantuan and turns like a Mack truck.

My only experience with pigs is on a farm on the Isle of Colonsay shouting ‘pig, pig, pig, pig, piggy’ and waiting to see the result.  It was impressive and rather daunting, two enormous, pinkish pigs came thundering over a hill and down to the gate where they, very fortunately, stopped.  Dinner was enthusiastically consumed and then they left without a backwards glance!  Pretty limited interaction and definitely not detailed enough to color a decision!

So porcine research abounds which will keep me busy and out of trouble!

DD 12/5

It’s Thursday and we have really pathetic snow!  Even Noodles, who embraces anything wet as a challenge to be had, was unenthusiastic.  

So much of what we do is weather dependent.  Each season brings challenges and benefits for us to capitalize and use to our advantage.  The one exception to the rule is mud.  I see absolutely no benefit to mud and believe me, I have tried!

We have one enormous paddock that is the proud owner of its very own underground spring.  Sounds idyllic and conjures up images of softly babbling brooks surrounded by lush, green grasses gently swaying in the gentle breeze.  Well our is a ravenous beast that doesn't actually break the surface preferring a stealth attack from under the ground.  Yes, it generates lush, green grasses but on closer inspection the surface is deep pock marks from horse’s feet.  Lying within the unctuous concoction are horse shoes, expensive horse shoes unceremoniously sucked from horses’s hooves by the evil substance.

The bipeds are not spared.  Rubber boots are sucked down by vacuum effect and leave you one legged with arms flailing in an attempt to balance.  Once a semblance of balance is gained, the tug-o-war with unseen forces can begin.  The trick is to wiggle the possessed boot until the vacuum seal is broken and then, gently, extract the boot and replace on foot.  It’s a well honed skill that can easily result in a filthy disaster if rushed.  Unfortunately, I speak knowledgeably on this matter!

The changes to the land due to weather are amplified on a farm.  The land, in its most natural and undisturbed state tells stories, should you choose to listen.  The underground spring in the paddock lay dormant this summer.  It either didn’t come close to the surface or the aquifer source has changed.  This was indicative of the water issues observed across both farms.  Dust, less lush paddocks and hay fields that only produced a first cut of hay when a second and potentially a third would have been possible in previous years.

This situation produces concern and dismay due to its far reaching consequences.  Water is our life source.  It’s an essential component in everything we do.  Hay prices soar and sourcing narrows.  We conserve water as best we can.  We scrub out troughs once a week instead of daily.  Seems counter productive but to scrub a water trough requires the dumping of useable water in the cleaning process.  We don’t fill troughs to the top instead calculate enough water for the animal’s requirements and top up twice a day.  This means, should we have a trough paddler, it’s a lesser amount of water to change.  We do have animals that like to bathe their feet!  We use nets to scoop out leaves and debris but those are ineffective against muddy water!  All animals need fresh, clean water it’s just some can’t resist the urge to paw it!

Here’s hoping for a wet, snowy winter season to replenish our resources.