I'll take the B

As my 12 followers have probably noticed (and those of you who read my blog but don't publicly follow) I've been silent since the New Year. No reason, really. Not bored with writing but I am bored with winter. Seems like it has been a hard one this year. Windy. Cold. Lots of ice. I'm not certain that the weather map data will confirm those facts. It's more of a feeling, I guess.

Life has picked up a few paces with me being in school. Weekend classes began at the end of January, and I feel like I've been playing catch-up with my time ever since. I don't feel overwhelmed, but my brain cells are otherwise entranced in Swedish massage, body mechanics, kinesiology, muscles and bones. I'm feeling exhausted and exhilarated, absent-minded yet organized, buried under chores but ready to open for business. How I can feel all of this all at the same time? 

I'm amazed at how quickly I learn some things, yet how slowly I'm catching on to others. I'm learning how I learn. Visually? Kinesthetically? Auditorialy? A combination of all three? I'm reminded by my instructors to be patient. Confusion is good - it means that our brain is processing the new material, and it will arrive comfortably in the land of knowledge in due time. We had our first quiz in kinesiology over the weekend and I missed 3 out of 20. That's a B in the grade book and I'll take it.

PS:  Here's a picture of Pip hiding under a hosta last fall. She's our little outcast. Squeemish, timid, and lovely.

Riding in the New Year

Our traditional New Year's Eve celebration is watching a bunch of movies, creating and enjoying a fabulous multi-course meal, and drinking lots of wine. Just the two of us. Well, three if you include our warm and comfort-seeking dog named Jake. Temperatures were mild enough to start the evening on the porch stoop and drink a cocktail, the barn and shrubs ablaze in sunset.  Most of the meal was sourced locally: a standing roast from High Point Farms, a creamy soup of leek and rutabagas from Country Side Produce, chocolate ice cream from Cayuga Lake Creamery, wine from J. R. Dill and bubbly from Lucas Vineyards. It was another perfect evening.

Early in December we made reservations for a New Year's Day trail ride at Painted Bar Stables in Burdette. Neither of us having ever been on a horse, we nervously made our way into the stables, all the while getting safety tips and riding instructions from Erika, the owner. I was to ride Dozer, a sharp looking chestnut gelding. Duchess, a solid paint palomino mare, was saddled for Kevin. We mounted, and with my stomach in my throat, I gingerly directed Dozer to the trail head and I stopped. I can't do it, I thought I said to myself, but Erika--ever present and alert--heard me, and made a suggestion. "Hum a tune, and you'll get over your fear. And don't forget to breathe. The horse will sense that you are nervous, then he'll get nervous. Oh, and don't micro-manage the horse. He knows how to walk through the mud and ice. Just gently suggest what you want him to do." I did, and he did, and all was well.

Creekside, my fear took over again, but with kind encouragement from Erika and the other riders, I kept calm, leaned back and let sure-footed Dozer manage the slope into the water. Slow and steady. That wasn't so bad. All in all, it was lovely ride on a mild winter day through corn fields and meadows, and I can't wait to go horseback riding again. Perhaps this will be a new tradition for us--riding into a Happy New Year.

The Lovely Snow Geese

There's nothing more beautiful on a cold, clear winter day than a gaggle of snow geese. When first you hear them, you can't help but stop whatever it is you are doing, and look up at their black wing-tipped whiteness against the blue sky. 

Although their numbers are much smaller in December than in the spring, they are impressive nonetheless. Like falling snow, they descend into the fields in swirls, circling and circling, their feathers sparkling as they catch the sunlight.

I was working in Geneva, New York the first time I saw the snow geese. Their unusual sound caught my attention; an unfamiliar ruckus of sorts and nothing like our local frequent flyers the Canada Geese. It was more like the baying of hounds, and there were hundreds and hundreds of them in crisscrossing V formations. I was in love!

As I came to look forward to the return of the snow geese, I shared my passion for these lovely birds with my sister while she was visiting one spring. We drove for miles searching the skies for the large masses of snowy white geese. We stopped at every vista, scouring the lakes for their large glacier-like congregations, until we came upon an open field covered in white. We jumped out of the car. There were thousands of snow geese as far as the eye could see. The noise was incredible, even as they took flight in waves and waves of white and black.

Last year some snow geese landed right across the road from our house and stayed for a day or so. However, the snow geese are not the farmers' friends. They forage in the fields, pull the plants by the roots and devastate the crop. But for me, the lovely snow geese are a little piece of heaven in winter.

It's Been Something Seeing You Again!

We are now closed for the season, but what a season it has been! With almost 180 guests coming through our doors (almost twice as many as last year), we feel so lucky to have met such wonderful and interesting people. 

So until next year.....

Now it's been something seeing you again
In this time we've had to spend
You've been so good to be around
I thank you for that special thrill
Keep me going on until
The next time I'm in town 
 

Though I won't be back here for a while
Or hear your laughter, see you smile
And I'll remember what went down
I can't tell you how or when
But I'll be seeing you again
The next time I'm in town

Now the faces and the places range
'Cross the bridge of time and change
Once again I'm homeward bound
There's one thing I promise you
And that's another rendez-vous
The next time I'm in town

You can listen to this song by Chet Atkins and Mark Knopfler on YouTube.
Music:  Mark Knopfler/Chet Akins: Neck and Neck; 1990

Crisp, Clear Autumn

Crisp, misty mornings. Clear, cold nights. Autumn can be surprisingly stunning, with every turn in the road a new, perfect picture: a frost covered, sparkly carcass of a black bear; a narrow band of low clouds over the lake; the whitish, translucent ice of the milky way; a shooting star.  I love the mornings this time of year. The mist and fog make everything soft and light.

My morning drive is often an obstacle course of road-crossing mammals. One week, I counted 6 different species, including a red fox and a coyote. A few days ago, though, a large black cow appeared out of the mist. Slowly, steadily it stepped out of the brush, stopping and looking in my direction, the fog swirling around its hefty outline. Fortunately, I was able to stop. When one cow finds a hole in the fence, and you can be sure the others will follow. I put the truck in reverse, and backed it into the owner's driveway only to be met by his camo-covered, ski-masked, gun-wielding son riding a 4 wheeler.  I'll never get used to seeing guns up close, particularly first thing in the morning. Cow, I pointed. In the road, I said. Cow? not a horse? he asked through the knitted muffler. (see, this happens more than you think!) I repeated --cow-- pointing up the road to nothing. The beast was gone, as if it were an apparition.

Closer to home, the willow tree still holds its green leaves but our maple trees are bare. One of them exposes the Baltimore oriole's nest, suspended on the end of a branch over the road. I can't tell you how many times I stood in the middle of the road watching that oriole fly in and out--right there--yet I've never been able to see that nest. Bluebirds and mockingbirds are feeding on seeds and berries while fighting off the bluejays, and Canada geese fly so low you can hear the whoosh-whoosh of their wings as they pass overhead.

While I crunch through the frozen grass, I take in autumn's crisp, dry breath, and keep watch for the return of the short-eared owls. Their moth-like flight and piercing eyes will be my entertainment for the winter. Until then, I soak up the ever-changing light, keeping my eyes open for the next beautiful thing.

Weaving Memories

One of our returning guests handed me a present before she left. It was a handmade, loop and loom potholder; colorful, tightly woven, and characteristically scrappy. Holding it, I was instantly transported to the floor of a friend's house where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pleading for my sister to teach me the tricky method for finishing the border of my loom potholder. It was just a flash, but this blast from the past inspired me to pick up the craft again.  I've been making potholders in the evenings ever since. 

Satisfyingly easy to make, the patterns come alive with color and contrast. It's like quiltmaking, only faster and more functional. This type of potholder is the best you will ever use. They keep out the heat. They are washable. And, their small size keeps the corners from going into whatever you are taking out of the oven. I figure by the end of winter, I'll have a whole basket of functional potholders to share with friends and guests.

I recall spending hours weaving and planning, picking out the unpleasant colors and struggling with the ill-fitting loops. I don't think my sister ever did teach me the trick to finishing the borders. But I was surprised when I picked up the loom again:  I knew how to do it. 

Just recently, I heard a report of a new memory study which found that the act of remembering actually creates a new memory which is stored in a new space in the brain. I'm happy to have this new memory in this new place.

Many Hands Make Light the Work

"The ovens are off!" proclaimed Mary, "We're two hours early!"

Last week, under torrents of rain, I trekked through the puddles to Mary's house to help her and her crew wrap baked goods for the Ithaca Apple Festival. Mary's booth is one of the most popular at the annual event, and people return specifically to purchase her goodies every year. The entire operation is quite labor-intensive with the majority of the work--baking and wrapping--having to be done at the last-minute by Mary. Helping her are some local girls, and her sisters-in-law, mother-in-law, daughters, nieces, and me.

In her commercial kitchen located just off the main house, she produces hundreds of fruit pies, pumpkin pies, pecan pies and shoo-fly pies; banana bread and pumpkin breads; white, wheat and raisin (iced or not) breads; sticky buns; apple dumplings (pictured here), apple goodie and apple crisps; oatmeal, chocolate chip, and pumpkin cookies; Angel-food cakes; and whoopie pies (hers are hands-down the best in the area). Once everything is wrapped and labeled, we pack it all on to trays or into banana boxes and pie chests. The men, arriving after chores, load everything into a large trailer for delivery the next day. The whole process is repeated again the following day.

Often working only by the light from a gas lamp, I cherish the two evenings I spend there with her family reveling in the friendly banter, the laughter, and the unmitigated cooperation. The girls busily work at assembling and cleaning, and share the most unpleasant and arduous tasks without prompting or complaint. Everyone has a job to do, and seems to know exactly what needs to be done and when. Floors get swept and scrubbed, trays are carried and stacked. Older children tend to the younger, even putting themselves and their siblings to bed. Fussy children get pulled aside, soothed, fed, and entertained. Chaos one minute, and in the next, everything is clean and in order. Many hands, do indeed, make light the work.

This year, we all got a chance to sit down and put up our feet as we peered through the windows for the first sign of the truck's headlights on the hill. Elam returned from Ithaca with an empty trailer--a sign of a very good day at the festival--and I got a ride home in the buggy!