Farm Rreporter

Gus and Hilary have to be about eleven years old at least. I am not sure how that equates in goose life for longevity, but it has been a grand and extremely interesting few years.

Gus was given to me by a friend that was afraid the coyotes would get him as they had gotten other farm animals they had kept. It seems the other geese on their place had wound up as foul luncheon for the four legged country hobos. Gus needed protection and a good home. We had both.

Gus has always been very affectionate, needing attention and liking to be picked up and fussed over. His shrill honking close to the ear could be hard on delicate hearing receptor's and his enthusiasm and excitement over seeing me or any other people-person, is expressed with the same, almost insane, high pitched honking. He is easily excited.

Recently, one foggy day, Gus didn't truly recognize me. His strident voice made it quite evident that I was a foreigner in his territory. His tone was shrill, piercing and quite demanding. Coming together a little more, he recognized who I was. His tone changed immediately. His chortling and croons were evidence that he saw someone special to him. His love and devotion is quite touching and very evident. If allowed, he will pull at my shoes and pant legs, trying to get truly close. If allowed, he will walk over your shoes, between your legs and pull at your shoe tops or shoe string, if you have any. At times the extra attention can be a bit intimidating. He is a big bird with a six foot wing span. Those wings are powerful and can at times be used in his defense if need be.

When others are about he is not as relaxed, but on guard, cautious, anxious and inquisitive. He has an instant like or dislike for people also. My number one son happens to be one of his dislikes. The feeling appears to be mutual and though the years there have been many "disagreements" between the two of them. They have finally come to an agreement to disagree, but to leave each other alone.

Within the last year we have new neighbors to the West of us. The three acres they have are ideal for having some horses and other stock if wanted. The new neighbors take pride in having special horses, which they baby by keeping them on a rigid schedule of feeding and seemingly constant grooming. This is unlike our horses that have to eat pasture grass during the summer months and only get special attention during the winter when they have to be fed twice daily. The winter feeding schedule is good for the horses but murder on work schedules. The only grooming they get is a good roll in the dirt, mud or rubs on the trees, fence posts or occasionally by a visitor. I consider our horses more as "Pasture Art."

Gus lets us know when feeding time is in progress at the neighbors. Actually he let us know anytime anything moves about in his field of hearing or sight. He is quite a watch goose and is truly frustrated he cannot be nearer the house. He would come flying to the back door every time he saw us if he could. There have been times he has been left out of the pasture to wonder the full acrage. It is quite disconcerting to look up and see this goose head looking in the patio window pleading for someone to please come out and play. Better yet is the look of, "Can I come in" look. That look can tear at your heart strings if you let it. The mess on the sidewalk and lawns is reason enough to make sure the geese stay where they belong, behind the pasture fence with the horses. Both the geese keep a sharp eye for anyone that comes near the house and truly notify everyone that will listen; someone is out and about the place. They used to even let us know when the mail man drove up with the mail.

Both Beverly, my wife, and I listen for the geese throughout the night, knowing we will keep in touch with what is going on by the sounds of the geese. Mostly it is the constant talking or communicating in goose language to each other that we hear. Often Beverly will say. "The geese were making an awful lot of noise while you were gone. Maybe you should check and see what is going on out there in the barn yard." Often I only need to listen to see what is going on. If I can hear them gabbling I know things are going OK. There are other times I do investigate. Once in a while they will sleep. When they are quiet there is cause for concern. Usually I find them by the horse trailer with their heads tucked under their wings sound asleep. They can wake instantly and greet me wildly with honking, taking flight to hurry to where I am. What a fan club!

Hilary isn't as congenial as Gus. No, they are totally opposite in disposition.

We play a little goose game along the fence. She will attack me if there is a fence between us. What pleases her most is to find the toe of my shoe close to the bottom of the fence. She delights in getting hold of that choice piece and twisting it with gusto, if she could. For this reason I always keep uncovered toes out of harms way. This of course gives me an excellent opportunity to reach over the fence and grab her by that long velvet neck and disable her. She is then ripe for picking up. Her weight sometimes taxes my muscle reserve. Actually I have to be quick because her wings become a formidable force with which to deal. Once I have her in my arms she becomes quite docile and somewhat compliant. She has never once offered any type of resistance or attempt to bite or harm me in any way. I would never be able to do that if anyone else was about. She will whip out a nasty bite at any one that would chance to come close but not me. Both of the geese become edgy when strangers are about and will shy away from coming close.

there have been times when I have picked her up when someone has come up to me. She will immediately snake out her head and try to connect with that individual. It could be horses too that occasionally get the vengeance of Hilary when I am holding her. The horses seem to be quite inquisitive, but recently have learned to stay clear of the geese especially when I am holding one of them. I have never quite figured out what their thinking is other than protection of the one that is holding them.

It wasn't long ago Hilary and I had quite a go around. Her bill got quite bloody from her biting into the wire cross piece of the fence. She just kept on attacking the shoe/fence and I kept letting her. I did feel quite badly to see her somewhat injured but she did recover quite nicely. The last time I picked her up I noticed she had healed quite nicely.

It is amazing to me she has kept up the ritual for so many years. Gus, on the other hand, tries to discourage her by reaching over and take out a hunk of neck feathers. This doesn't seem to faze her because she keeps doing it again and again. Perhaps she is a slow learner. The place gets to looking like some kind of feathered war has gone on. The occasional breeze will carry away any dropped feathers and we are again back to just green pasture grass.

Gus' favorite ploy to keep Hilary in line, is to place himself between Hilary and myself. He will walk back and forth trying to keep Hilary from the fence and eventually at me or the offered shoe. It is interesting also to note she will never try to attack me when I am out in the pasture with her. She will snake her head and hiss vehemently, but never try to attack me. She usually remains quite aloof and somewhat disinterested in me.

We were playing our little game the other day. I had been out in the pasture/orchard checking the trees and seeing to the general welfare of the barnyard. As I came back through the long pasture gate, I was standing just behind the fence with my hand still on the gate not yet closed. Hilary came with a vengeance at me knowing I was behind the fence. She could see the fence between us. I was curious to see what would happen so I stepped through the slightly open gate, exposing myself to the full force of Hilary's attack. She was only ten feet ways, coming fast, wings spread. I was to witness first hand the great intelligence those birds have and be able to assess her reaction time.

The game suddenly changed in that split second of time. She valiantly tried to change her course. Her great orange webbed feet spread out in front of her, heels digging into the soft barnyard dirt, sending debris flying. In her haste to try to check her full fledged charge, she toppled forward. Saving face is also in her game. With all the dignity she could muster she gave me one more meaningful hiss and folding her wings she waddled off to join Gus at the watering hole.

Her constant efforts to appear mean and haughty have always been lost on me. I found a convenient tree to lean on and held my sides, laughing until I cried. Of course this all was played out around the sixteen legs that are always close by for any handout available.

How interesting it is to realize what entertainment the Lord has given to us if only we would take the time to notice. The birds, chickens, cats, horses and of course the geese give me no end of pleasure. Of course this observation comes from a farmer boy named "Little Leon", yours truly.

Singing Hens

For the last twenty five years we have lived in the country where we have been able to raise a lot of our own useful products, eggs, fruit, and if we wanted, vegetables at times.

I, for one, have always had a bent for ecological balance. Chickens have truly helped bring about that balance. They bring into this mix of farm characters, a lot of personality. Yes, I do mean personality, for every living creature has its own character or personality. I find them as varied as I do the friends that inhabit our life or a regular basis.

The current pack of hard scrabble cluckers is unique. This group sings to me or to anyone around. They talk, gabble, mumble, squawk and cluck drawing out each sound with unmistakable punctuations. To me it sounds very much like they are singing, each on their own octave in a resessitive opera of their own choice. You can hear them as you approach the fenced in area and the music gets louder the nearer you get to the enclosure.

Over the years we have had a huge variety of two legged feather brained, clucking characters. They reside in an unused fiberglass greenhouse mostly hidden behind a creatively tall wooden fence. They really don’t cause any trouble and are always happy to see anyone that might come around to visit. Visiting children are fascinated by these feathered creatures and take all invitations to pay the chicken pen a visit.

One of the best aspects of having chickens is they are great ecological enthusiasts. It is always a wonder that they find so much energy to use for scratching about and looking for whatever it is they find to peck at. We have found them to be extremely good to recycle food scraps into other useful items, eggs and fertilizer being two of them.

It is amazing how fast a pile of kitchen scraps can be turned into basic dirt. We don’t often use our garbage disposal, if at all, but rather carry all the left over food stuffs and things that have gone bad in the refrigerator, out to the chicken pen for a chicken feeding frenzy. My wife worries that they will get sick on the spoiled and sometimes rotten things that go to the “garbage”. I tell her that chickens have a different digestive system then we do and they certainly do enjoy the meals we give them.

Their table scrap dinners are supplemented by good vegetable dinning of professional lay pellets provided by the feed store. From these they get all the vitamins and other essentials needed for good health. Since our chickens never get processed meat or other objectionable byproducts, our eggs are always welcome by those of friends and relatives that would like them. Personally, I don’t like eggs and never eat them unless well disguised in some creative way.

Of course to keep happy hens you must have a resident rooster. The rooster protects and watches over his flock. Roosters sometimes have an attitude problem and can come on quite strongly if they feel their territory is being impinged upon. We have had several varieties that just seemed to be more aggressive than necessary and in the end had to be removed from the premises. Now before you jump to any conclusions, these roosters found other homes where they could “strut their stuff.” Not only do I not like eggs but rooster meat is not anywhere found in my diet plan.

The last rooster was truly a beauty of the foul. His brightly colored feathers glistened in the sunlight. His striping and coloration set him apart from the other feathered creatures that have had an experience on the farm.

Not long ago I went to the chicken pen to deliver some scraps and check on the water supply, only to find silence to greet me. It was a very eerie feeling. Usually the chickens come running and are very interesting in their varied approach. My apprehension grew as I stood looking at the silent pen wondering where all my friends were. Nothing stirred. The area was vacant of life.

I looked about and found one dead chicken laying behind a small bush in the hen yard. As I searched the area I began to see signs of struggles. Feathers were scattered here and there with some whole hens lying about in lifeless heaps. We have seen weasels before in the area but have never experienced any such difficulties as a result. Coyotes have gotten geese, ducks and rabbits, but they haven’t been around for several years. The coyotes have been trapped and relocated. Coyotes cause extensive damage to plastic sprinkler systems in orchards using such irrigation systems above ground. The coyotes chew on the plastic parts, often causing mini gushers when the system is activated during night hours. One rancher said that the coyotes play in the sprinklers and enjoy biting the spray when it comes on.

Our chickens die of natural causes. I never kill a chicken; they all die of natural causes when they pass away. Old age I guess you might say. Several chickens had died over the last several weeks and I just thought it odd that these particular one would die. I was not left to figure out who or what the culprit was. Was it a coyote, fox, or local dog? An animal on the hunt will kill and eat. A dog will just kill for fun and leave the victim where it died. I was witnessing the latter variety.

I gathered up the hens I could find around the three and a half acres, and buried them. The rooster was the most difficult to see lying so still. He had proved such a companion and really a compassionate solace for the hen house. He was always clucking to the hens when he found some bit of food or tasty morsel. The hens flocked to him when he called. He had grown into his arena and filled it quite well. Now I would have to look for another leader as well as another flock of chickens. It will be a challenge to find another qualified leader to direct the activities of the hen house.

While grieving the loss of the flock of chickens, I came across one traumatized hen cowering under some construction material to the side of the hen house. Evidently she had escaped the rampage and was now bewildered as to what had happened and where she was to go from here.

I took time to repair the fence where I thought entry might have been accessed. I tightened the chicken wire and replanted posts to make the fence its full six feet height. Nothing like closing the barn door after the horse is gone.

The one chicken left has always had a tail that leans to the right. She now is easy to spot among all the rest of the chickens. She always looks as though a wind is blowing on her. She has survived and is finally doing quite well. She has taken over the ordering of the hen house and clucks to the other chickens much like a mother hen would do. She also will not hesitate pecking another hen if she feels they are in her way or eating something she particularly wants.

The hen house is now populated with six new hens that are starting to lay eggs. They have yet to learn where to put the eggs but they are laying. Sometimes I find eggs in the corner, beside the feed barrel or more often than not now, in the nesting boxes where they should be. I guess it is a matter of time before they all figure out the process. It will take time because there is no leader hen to direct traffic to the nesting boxes. The leader hen is only interested in directing the eating order. As of now I have to hunt for the eggs that need to be brought in.

One of the aspects of the current group of feathered frustration is their constant talking or, as I call it, singing. I have never heard such singing before. I have not had such a friendly flock before either. When I enter the “club house” I have to scoot my feet along to keep from stepping on fragile chicken toes. They see me coming and run to greet me. I picked up a hen to show a visitor and it sang the whole time I held her. She chirped, chortled and murmured, much to the delight of the onlooker.

The chicken yard is now never quite. No matter when I visit, there is always someone talking or just singing, in fact just about all of them will be singing at any one time, with the exception of when they are eating. They follow me around like puppies and are very eager to receive whatever I might throw out to them, be it corn or just scraps. I do imagine that this is an indication of a happy chicken. “A Singing Chicken Is a Happy Chicken” don’t you suppose?

Not only are the chickens happy but they provide us with eggs enough to give away besides those my wife uses in food preparation. We do benefit each other in several ways.

The hens have taught me a great lesson, that is: in whatever situation you find yourself sing and be happy, deliver the goods and don’t worry about tomorrow, it will take care of itself.

Encounter

For the last five years, we have truly tired to live a very healthy life style. My wife has joined a health club and I have started a very vigorous walking program.

We live in the beautiful San Joaquin Valley I central California. Established walnut, almond, peach and cherry orchards dominate the landscape. Along with hundreds of acres of corn, the valley is noted for its tomatoes, watermelons, grapes and lush alfalfa fields. The best apples around can be had by driving 40 miles up into the hills east of here to “Apple Hill”, where there is no lack of diversity in home marketing for the favorite fruit. Most is raised for profit but a lot is just grown for home use. There is no shortage of canning and freezing opportunities for the industrious.

Needless we live in a land blessed with plenty of sunshine and usually abundant water supply for the mountains. Our water comes in the form of snow run off to catch basins in dams and mountain lakes. Lately, however, with the lack of winter rainfall, our mountain water supply has dwindled at an alarming rate. Our rainfall comes between November and March with the rest of the year being totally without any measurable precipitation. (This year, 2008, we have had no measurable rainfall since February – six months – with none in sight until possibly the last of October, making it a total of eight months without rain of any kind.)

I don’t mind the lack of rain but the trees get laden with a lot of dust. The first rain of the year is tremendously refreshing as you can imagine. The roads are slick from accumulated grime on the highways and accidents happen with frequency. The news is always trying to make people aware of the road conditions when the first rains are expected.

But I digress from the purpose of this story.

My walking has taken me to five miles a day. Through fog, rain, sunshine and wind, I have walked on and on early in the morning. I varied my walking from time to time trying different routes but usually went back to my favorite one.

Current walking shoes are kept by the back door in the garage, where my walking stick is kept. I must make quite a spectical on the encounters I make on the walking route.

I usually cut down through the access road between properties through the walnut, almond and peach orchards that line the properties that surround our home. Walking can take me for a couple of miles before I actually would walk on any pavement and then the pavement only lasted one of the five miles. I never really walked fast but I was a steady plodder enjoying what was passing by.

Besides the walking stick, I always had my cell phone, (that I used with frequency), my hat on occasions when it was cold or I needed shade and pepper spray, in case of encounters with belligerent animals, dogs mostly. These accoutrements were carried in a red fanny pack I found at a flea market or yard sale, I don’t remember when or where. It has been with me so long it has become a trade mark of my walking “daze.”

My walking took a nose dive after a trip to Florida where we stayed on the second floor of a home we were helping to improve. For ten days I was up and down the stairs carrying things both up and down many times a day.

The trips up and down the stairs were getting more and more difficult until they had to stop altogether, only necessity would make me use the stairs. Even the walking on flat ground became more difficult.

After returning home it was determined that the knee and more specific the knee cap had been torn and surgery was recommended to correct the problem. While this procedure was coming to fruition, I had a stroke which dominated the landscape of my being. Surgery, to clean out the coratid artery, was strategize and within a week I was out of the hospital recovering from surgery.

Recovering some lost abilities stared me down. At first I struggled to regain balance. The reading ability didn’t return right away because the words seemed to change places and sometimes dance around the page. It was frustrating and very discouraging at times, but with time it got better.

Being in crowds still makes me very uncomfortable. I now use a walking stick when in areas where there is not a clear path or my wife is not available to hold onto.

The sofa has become my haven for rest and recuperation. I can watch the world go by and even enjoy it. But don’t think that is all there is to life now. Many activities have been added and my life again has become a sometimes blur of activity, especially with grand children.

Mowing the lawns have again returned to my duties. The mower somewhat is my stabilizer as I cross and re-cross the seemingly vast expanse of lawns we try to keep up. Occasionally, in crowds, I still use a walking stick for balance, but can make a good effort to seem to be a normal upright human being.

Here, again, I have digressed from my story intent.

After about a year and a half, I have again been able to drive the car, with the encouragement/direction of my wife. She has been unusually tolerant, very understanding and most helpful in regaining my independence once more. Now anyone passing by would be hard pressed to know I ever had a problem. Most of the problems are now internal ones that I must deal with on an hour to hour day to day basis. My typing is almost as good as before. There are still words that are elusive and challenging, but for the most part life has come back to almost normal.

The walking again would bring back the last pin in the train of daily living that I so wanted to continue.

Several months ago, on my last walk through the orchards, the sun was shining, I was talking on my cell phone just heading for home, a little over a half mile from home. If there had been no trees I could have seen the house.

There was a field of alfalfa to my left, a large field of perhaps three acres. The alfalfa had been recently cut and was lying in rows drying. There are small access roads between fields where workers and owners can get into the property to spray for weeds or other farming duties that demand attention. On one such road I could see a young man on a motorcycle exercising his dog and gaining some time along with his machine. The two of them came to the intersection of the roads much before I did. They were still a quarter of a mile away. I stopped and watched, fascinated by the apparent bond of the dog and human.

The young man saw me and turned his bike around and called to the dog to follow. The motorbike was a distance back down the path but the dog had spotted me and was now fixated on my presence. He began running in my direction, intent on eliminating this being from his presumed territory. In vain his owner called and shouted, demanding the dog to come back. The bike again come back to the intersection and turned toward me and the now energized dog.

I pulled my pepper spray from the fanny pack and extended it toward the dog as he circled around me looking for a good attack venue. I don’t remember how many times we went in circles. I was getting dizzy but the dog seemed to actually enjoy the dance we were doing.

The dog owner was frantically trying to get a hold of the dog’s collar to restrain him yelling at him to stop. The dog was unflappable, his mind was set and he was going to have his goal. All this time I had been talking on the phone. Now I stopped to concentrate on the danger of the current situation.

I have encountered dogs before along with, opossums, rats, cats, and even wily coyotes, but none of them ever offered to endanger me in any way. My policeman son always warned me about walking through the orchards because of the danger from unsavory characters that might be lurking there.

The present danger didn’t really scare me and I kept up with the circling dog as he wound around and around me, looking for that attack spot.

The dog’s young owner finally was able to restrain the dog by holding very tightly to the studded collar. He looked up at me and for the first time said anything to me or even acknowledged me. He said, “Thanks for not using you spray.”

I moved on, still talking on the phone, looking back over my shoulder to see where the dog and owner were.

The owner held the dog for quite a while or at least until I was quite a ways down the access road. The dog had lost interest in pursuing me and if the truth be known, I was happy he had.

Many times I have relived the scenario, but never with fear. The dog didn’t realize what I had in my hand nor did he realize the consequences of his actions toward me

I am not so sure the walking will continue through the orchards. I miss the spring, summer fall and winter aspects of the trips and will have to find some substitute for the walks. I know that gyms have exercise machines but they leave me cold. I have enjoyed the trees, fresh air, some animals encountered along the way and people I have met while walking. I have matured (aged) and will perhaps, slow some in my accomplishments or perhaps add new avenues to my daily activities. Who knows I may add a whole new dimension to my life.

In-Laws or Out-Laws

I was very fortunate indeed, to marry into a wonderful family. Truly, it has been an accepting family of amazing friends. They have been quite tolerant of my idiosyncrasies and tendencies to be a bit out of the ordinary. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a sore thumb or someone you might think of as really odd, just a bit eccentric, I suppose you might say.

As a family, we have had the opportunity to travel together on occasion and have gotten on quite well. We spent time in Europe together, traveled across the US in a motor home, (with five kids and five adults.) That scenario alone would sink most family relationships, but not ours. It has become stronger – it had to, to survive.

We have picnicked on the steps of the Smithsonian Institute, shared lunch in Golden Gate Park, eaten out in suspect eateries in Key West, FL and attempted an outdoor lunch in the mosquito infested surroundings of rural North Dakota. Throughout these various sorties we have bonded and have learned the value of true friendship and accepting relatives for what they are.

Throughout our association over the last forty years, we have all changed remarkably and have developed an understanding and perspective of each others space. Each of us is unique. Strong personality, that could well define a rocky relationship are permitted and even tolerated. Now with extended families competing for attention we find ourselves more and more, as couples, content in the occasional lunch out together or just doing things together. Finding a new restaurant, attending an auction, looking for selected plants for yard or garden or just a chance visit still holds its reward for the four of us.

We have had trials and problems to be sure. We have also survived divorces, deaths, demotions, ridicule and rankling camaraderie from associates. Through it all we have been able to come out smiling and saying we have grown from that experience.

Thrown into this mix, has always been the everyday experiences that have brought raised eyebrows, amused smiles, giggles, laughter and side splitting hilarity. None of it has been contrived or otherwise orchestrated. It has come of its own accord, willingly or unwillingly perpetrated by one very proper member of the family that truly endeavors to always have an affinity toward doing things correctly. I suppose this is what makes it comical when the unforeseen happens to him, which is often..

Take for example one early morning breakfast. We had traveled some distance trying to gain some time on the road anticipating a very long day traveling. We wanted a real meal, not just snacks provided by the thoughtful driver. We spotted a small town in the middle of the Oregon high dessert that might promise something to satisfy the growing hunger pains that seemed to be growing by the moment. We all decided this was going to be our last chance for food for several more hours. We weren’t really starving but the backbone seemed to be uncomfortably closer to the belt buckle. Consensus of opinion was to at least see what the prospects were here in the minuscule cow(sheep)town.

The community was not a prosperous one but had had its prosperity a century ago. Sheep raising was the commodity of respect in that area. It was easy to see why things were not going so well at the moment. This was a community of about thirty five struggling people, if that many. The effort of a few diehard residents could be witnessed if one took the time to be observant.

The hotel was of the late 1800s vintage and nothing much had obviously changed since it was built. In the dinning room there were tables for four scattered about the room. There was no discernable order to the room. It resembled a hodge-podge of odds and ends of stout tables and very old chairs that occupied the aging interior. We were invited to find a table, which we did. Pancakes were the main healthy eatables on the menu. We ordered and waited with anticipation.

It wasn’t long before we had our stacks of hotcakes with appropriate accoutrements. We attacked the breakfast with gusto. The smallish pancakes seemed to have somewhat of a mind of their own. Somehow one of mine managed to skip off the plate onto the floor. Of course not wanting to call attention to the faux pas, I reached down and just said very quietly, “Ops.”

What happened next was tantamount to an implosion. No one said anything but looked like the three of my companions would bust at any moment. Mouths full of syrupy breakfast were hastily hidden behind minuscule paper napkins. We all attempted to stifle the surprise and hilarity that commenced and threatened to erupt into uncontrolled laughter. Even I found this unusual event somewhat amusing. Keeping the other three from leaving the room was going to be my challenge. We survived that near fiasco. It goes without saying, that event has been relived many times over until the actual happening hardly resembles the truth. I know. I was there.

It always seems that eating activities will bring out the worst in unplanned events. I don’t’ know why. It seems that I use all caution to preserve the dignity of the meal and truly mean to not embarrass those I dine with. Over and over again the unexpected and unexplained events go hand in hand with meals in public places especially with these unfortunate relatives. .

Take for example the time I ordered Tater Tots. It wasn’t by choice that while spearing one of those slippery little dudes, that one went flying to the next table. It wasn’t intentional. Fortunately no one was sitting at that table at the time but you can be sure that the same three table companions have not let it slide by. After all, it was hardly unnoticed. It doesn’t take much of an imagination to conjure up the results of that incident too.

The embarrassing events have not ceased but do become more expected if not more tolerable. The last event happened just recently. The restaurant was not crowed and fortunately we were seated in the corner of the dinning room. I prefer being seated in a corner. I don’t like people behind me and I enjoy watching other people at work eating.

We hadn’t gotten through the salad and bread when it happened. I don’t know why so much salad dressing is put on some salads. I suppose those slippery slivers of lettuce, small, round and tough hided min-tomatoes are the preferred vegetable used in restaurant salads. I find them offensive and a great deal of a challenge. How do you gracefully spear or fork those into the mouth. Obviously there is a correct mind set that will accomplish the task, but I have yet to discover the trick. Without any fanfare, my attempt at stabbing the lubricated delicacy was met with a decided unexpected outcome. The small tomato simply hit the front of my shirt and dribbled on down to a comfortable stopping place. Once again, those with me and myself included, had a private opportunity to laugh out loud, leaving those around us to imagine what could have prompted the joy from the corner of the room.

One thing I must add here. My family has always tried very hard to help me keep my dignity. Often it is a difficult commission. Most of the time I can count on them covering for me and my dignity is spared. However, my brother-in-law somehow finds that retelling the incidents brings its own rewards. Each time he embroideries the story making it absolutely more expressive with each telling.

All this is done in a sense of true friendship and good brotherly love. Without that a lot of these incidents would remain locked away in a place where no one would ever hear about them. My family, for sure, has every right to be embarrassed at times. However, they have honed a great aptitude for covering up my ineptness and clumsy attempts at grace. They are troupers with large forgiving hearts and generous attitudes.

I wouldn’t trade one of them for any other table companion.

Clair in Mendocino, CA summer of 2006

Kitty One and Kitty Two

We live in what is considered country, surrounded by California walnut, peach and almond orchards. It is an easy existence where we are somewhat isolated from the general populated areas of our community. We have a fairly close knit neighborhood, not that we know everyone, but we do know their names and in general a little about them. Actually there are only seven families that we consider neighbors. Some have been here longer than others. The latest ones to inhabit our neighborhood moved here just last summer.

Actually we have been here the longest and have seen the older residents die or move away because they could not or decided not to care for so much property.

It has been a difficult scenario to see old friends and close neighbors cling to what has been dear to them but have to give it up because of the amount of work to keep up several acres of property. We have all shared (at least most of the small community residences) a love for the country life and what it means to work in and with the soil. We are in the country but still close enough to town to be able to get to shopping areas quickly and usually easily.

We have always had pets, outdoor pets, that is. My wife is very allergic to pet dander so we have made it a practice to separate the outdoor life from the indoor life. It has been hard at times, especially until the children understood the reason.

My daughter’s horse riding experiences always came with dander. She learned early on that she entered the house through the laundry room, stripped off any garment and dropped them in the washing machine before proceeding through the house.

Usually there was no problem but on occasion my wife would cloud over and begin to have difficulty getting her breath. On such occasions there was medication that would help. A few times it has been a trip to the hospital to get relief and to be able to breath deeply again. She has survived all the animals my kids have brought home from lizards to “pet mice” and everything in between.

About thirteen years ago, two identical small kittens showed up on our property. I don’t know where they came from but there they were huddled together. They were not really friendly. I don’t know why but they had this distance air about them that really made them rather superior to the rest of us mere mortals.

As they grew and matured, their personalities also developed into two very distinct personalities.

It has usually fallen my lot to name most creatures that inhabit our property, at least the ones we had intended to stay. These two kittens posed a problem for me. Two names would never seem right for them nor did anyone else come up with signatures for these new residents of the farm.

Finally in desperation they were referred to as “Kitty One” and “Kitty Two” and have remained so for the last thirteen years.

Remember these kittens/cats are almost identical. Like most twins, if you live with them long enough you become familiar with their quirts. Their habits are totally different and actually there are subtle but distinctive markings that distinguish them quite easily. Although from a distance I still have some trouble telling them apart.

What is apparent is how they carry their tails. One has a very straight tail and is usually straight out behind when walking. The other has a crook toward the end of her tail. Kitty One has the crook and Kitty Two has a straight tail. It isn’t complicated just a mark of distinction.

There is a shelf under one of the back windows, where the cats are fed. The shelf is somewhat protected from the elements of rain and sun. A ramp of a old widely cut rough timber was put in place almost thirty years ago and is still just as serviceable as it was when it was placed there long ago.

The shelf serves as a great scratching post as well as a passage through the flower bed to the shelf. The cats have used this access for all of their lives, but other cats have found the easy access to food as well. Not only cats but possums as well. I don’t know about other creatures, I have only seen possums on the shelf besides other visiting cats that need some nourishment along the way.

Kitty Two will sit on the shelf when she anticipates her morning portions. Her eyes are more golden color than her sisters and she uses them differently. There is more disdain with a very superior air about her. She sits very straight with her head pulled back as though assessing you and analyzing you to ascertain your intent and intrusion into her presence. Did she invite you there or did you just appear for her benefit. With her tail curled around her prissy feet, she surveys you from her lofty throne. She will eat when you have left but not usually before. Besides the straight tail, golden eyes and easily discernable dislike for you, she also is missing the little patch of white under her chin that marks her twin sister.

Both cats great me in the morning when I go out to feed them. Kitty One will stretch and yawn with gusto racing up the ramp in anticipation of the early morning repast. Kitty Two observes with some reserve and uses carefully placed padded feet to ascend the feeding rostrum.

One cat has an eager expression while the other is mainly indifferent to surrounding activities. One will come and rub back and forth contently but the other will keep her distance. Neither one will hide the fact they do not like to be held or for that matter even allow being picked up. It is OK to rub on you but try to bend down to lift or pet one and its instantaneous retreat will amaze you.

I have always maintained a farm needs at least one cat to keep the mice away or perhaps use them for food. I don’t know for sure these two are great mousers. Perhaps they devour their prey when I am not looking. Even I have seen a plethora of mice in the hen house where mice food is abundant. I don’t know why the cats don’t hang out there. They could get a great critter lunch when I am there to gather the eggs or refill the chicken feeder.

Usually after being fed, the cats will disappear, one for the entire day and the other to rest on some obscure comfort zone far from prying eyes and an interrupting presence.

Kitty Two is often seen atop a nearby shed where she can observe but be away from any unwanted interaction. She can be seen climbing a tree to the shed roof where she can either bask in the warm sunshine on cool days or enjoy the refreshing breezes of a lazy summer day.

Other cats we have had have ended up as Frisbee cats while trying to cross the road that runs along the front of our property. I have never seen our current felines ever off the property. They have free roam of three and a half acres that they share with geese, chickens and horses.

On either side of us are not-cat-friendly dogs. For this reason and probably this reason alone, our cats are home bound. It always amazes me how close to the fence the cats will go and how unwelcome the neighbor’s dogs make our cats feel. I am always impressed at how quickly the cats will respond when someone inadvertently leaves the gate between our properties and a dog gets through. Of course a great chase ensues with the cat up a handy tree and the dog left without something to sink his teeth into.

There was a young fellow who stayed in a travel trailer on our property for awhile. He had a wonderful dog named Luke. The dog was usually kept on a chain clipped to a section of the chain link fence that runs along the west side of our property. The dog had a large half circle to roam when the owner was not at home. Often we would let the dog off the chain to let him roam the yard and enjoy the coolness of the flower beds.

The dog and the cats had some sort of understanding. The dog would chase and the cats would run but only fast enough to stay some distance apart. Neither one ever caught up with the other.

One particularly blistering hot day when the temperature hovered around 110 degrees, the dog and cat did their usual run about the yard. The only difference was it was too hot to run or even walk fast. The cat lead off ambling across the yard and the dog took his lead from that and ambled after the cat, doing their usual dog and cat chase only is very slow motion. It was comical to watch the two, in the hottest part of the day, slowly cross the yard only to collapse at the edge of the lawn, the cat in the flower bed and the dog laying on the edge of the lawn, both too exhausted to pursue the other any farther. Even animals have their limits.

The cats have been constant companions when I am working in the pasture/orchard. Just seeing them cautiously evading the watchful geese is an opportunity to observe nature in action. The cats early on learned that geese can be a speedy foe with a painful pinch and they shy away from any intentional encounter.

Usually the geese will keep to themselves when I chance into their area. The cats then have time to sneak about investigating what I am about. The horses can be a problem at times when they lumber about poking their noses into what I am doing. Now and then I have to slap them away. They become like mosquitoes – bad companions. They too are part and parcel of life on the farm. They eat the summer grass that keeps growing and my wife enjoys seeing them when she looks out the back windows while working in the kitchen.

Both cats have brought a simple enjoyment to the “farm”, one a sense of great dignity and the other a playful abandonment. Although they look alike there is a definite discernable difference. I have enjoyed both and value their companionship and quiet understanding.