Leading the Team

For months now, I have been telling my neighbor Elam that I wanted to help him bale hay, thinking the experience of back-breaking, sweaty work would do my soul some good. While he is always more than happy to laugh at me, he obviously gave the request some serious thought.  As I watched his youngest brother Levi drive a team of 4 draft horses past the house with the baler and two wagons trailing behind (one of which was carrying his young son), Elam knocked on the kitchen door.

We're baling straw tonight, he says. Just a few times around the field, that's all. Want to help? This is your chance to drive the horses, feel the power of the team as they make their way around the field. Kevin can take pictures, and you can show all your friends at work! 

DRIVE THE HORSES? I've never even been on a horse. You would really let me to that? Oh, no. Not tonight, I hear myself say. We have guests. I've got dishes to do. I need a few days notice to prepare for this. 

After a few minutes of cajoling, he leaves to continue his work without me, not wanting to force me into it. Kevin looks at me. He's disappointed too. I tell him the truth: I'm too scared. But he assures me it will all be fine. It will be fun! What an opportunity! This is your chance, Michele! Go for it! 

So I do. Donning my blue overalls (I mean, what DID I buy those for anyway?) and a long sleeve shirt, I trek out to the back field just as he's getting ready to start. After about two seconds of instructions and a snappy "giddup" we're off, with little Elam Junior on my lap, and Kevin documenting every second of it. A friend of ours remarked that Elam must really trust me. I've been thinking about that trust and his self-reliance, confidence, and spirit of community. How can any society survive without those things?

The ride was bumpy, but what a rush! I did it.  Elam helped with the turns. Little Elam Junior sat quitely. Levi stacked the bales. Kevin ran along by my side and took pictures. I was leading the team and no one got hurt.

Pots of Gold

Last weekend a quick and violent summer thunderstorm blew through the Interlaken plateau. Thunder cracked, trees bent, and one electrifying snap of lightning fried our modem with a loud "pop!" The rain lasted about 5 minutes. What followed this outburst was one of nature's most impressive phenomena. Through the green haze and puffy clouds came the rays of the sun and a rainbow, brilliant and majestic. One end of it illuminating a corn field to our south, and the other a field of grazing cows. Would our good fortune double--what does the folklore tell us?-- if we found both pots of gold?

After taking advantage of my first full year of AARP benefits (I turned 50 last summer), I am accepting the thought of retirement. Not retirement from life, but retirement from a full-time, work-for-somebody-else job. Our bed and breakfast is doing great and we love it. I'll need something else, however, to help keep it all going. Learning a new skill which can take me into my retirement (where ever that place may be) feels like the right choice.  So, beginning in January, I will be starting a new journey. It begins at the Finger Lakes School of Massage. 

I'm going back to school to become a Massage Therapist.

All the papers are in place, and now I am about to write what may be the most important prose of my adult life: A tuition scholarship essay. Writing this blog has been good practice. I've learned to collect my thoughts, create a story and put it on paper (well, e-paper), and find my voice. But I've never in my life asked for financial assistance, or had to affirm myself, my existence, my contribution to society, or ask for recognition. It is unnatural for a practical, efficiency-minded, do-bee like me to talk about what makes me special, or what sets me apart from everyone else.

I keep thinking about that rainbow and the two pots of gold. A shimmery, fading glimpse of the past and spark of the future. A reflective and colorful bridge between two careers and two phases of my life. The highs and lows, the graceful arc of a happy, productive, and fruitful life. Hmmm...maybe I just found a theme (somewhat hokey I know) for my essay. Or, perhaps I'll just point the scholarship committee here to read my blog because this, after all, is me.

Hay Fever!

The smell of hay is the scent of summer. For the past couple of weeks, we've seen an epidemic of hay fever.  Anyone who keeps livestock (or grows alfalfa for people who keep livestock) is baling hay, loading hay, and transporting hay. Alfalfa is agricultural perfection. It is raised and baled on the farm, fed on the farm, and spread as manure on the farm.

Watching the weather (make hay while the sun shines!) becomes an obsession because one good rainfall, at the wrong time in the process, can destroy the crop. Rain is a blessing and a curse. Timing is everything. There's so many acres to cut and only so much time to cut it before the first rain drop falls. The sky darkens. The clouds threaten, and still they cut. They windrow. They bale. They sweat. They plow in the dark, headlights (if they have them) illuminating the clouds of chaff, methodically and deliberately until the last bale is loaded onto the wagons. The filled wagons dot the landscape in every direction. 

A conventional baler throws the tied bales into slat-sided wagon with a powerful thrust machine called a kicker (or maybe that's a thrower?) and are piled up every which way. The bales in the Amish steel-wheeled wagons (which are flat and open-sided) are stacked neatly then pulled to the barn by a team of draft horses, creating a rumble that you first feel, then hear. As our neighbor's team quickly turns the sharp corner into his driveway, I've never seen him lose one bale. One of these days I'm going to help make hay, and Elam's offered to let me lead the horses--they know what to do, he says. Can you imagine me out there in the blazing sun driving the team? I've never even been ON a horse!

During this month's hay-making season, we have cows grazing in the field next to us. At night, by starlight, you can't always see them but you can hear them crunching on the grass, the young bull wailing in the night for no one's apparent pleasure but his own.  Perhaps he has hay fever too.

Keep singing!

Right now there's a Northern Mockingbird outside the window, feverishly and relentlessly singing to impress his mate, who just arrived in our yard today (he's been singing for about a month.) Driven by instinct, he settled in and kept singing. Night after night, a male barn swallow roosts beside his egg-filled nest, even after his mate has been missing for a week and the clutch is lost. Two winters ago a snowy owl made our town his home for 4 months bringing birdwatchers from miles around to observe and record his every move and pellet expulsion. What makes this place so right for them?

But, there's more. Always more. While cleaning up the remains from another spectacular peony bloom, I hear Kevin say "Here's Michele, I'll let you talk to her." On the other end of the phone line was our friend David from the market around the corner. One of his customers reported having a sandhill crane in their front yard. A sandhill crane just up the road? Could it be? I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see one this close, so I dropped the broom, the clippers, spritzed myself with bug-spray (thinking we would be trudging through a field), grabbed the binoculars, jumped in the car and picked up David along the way.

Okay, so up the road was about 3 miles, but in farm country, that's still in the neighborhood. I was half expecting the bird would turn out to be a Great Blue Heron. I was so wrong. As we pulled into the driveway, there it was, its red-patched head a beacon in the green grass under a small tree. It was no more that 20 feet from us, foraging on the ground below the backyard bird feeder. We didn't even have to get out of the car. It made no reaction to our being there. The property owner stood by, shaking his head. He never expected to be feeding a bird like this! Every few minutes, the bird would let out a loud, prehistoric-like clucking squawk. We were thrilled.

The crane has been there for about a week now, strutting around in the yard like a pet, and there is no telling how long it will stay or what attracted it there in the first place. The general area is perfect habitat for a sandhill crane, and so is the neighbor's yard next door, and the yard across the road. Why did it choose this particular yard?

Like the birds, we have chosen one place from a thousand in which to land. We're safe, well fed, and industrious. But which bird are we? The dependable migrant who stays the course year after year? Or the errant who has temporarily lost its way and must survive on wits and instinct? Or the wanderer who stays for a while, and moves on? No matter. For now, it feels right to settle in and keep on singing.

You Just Never Know

Pure joy for a mother of three is having a whole bowl of fresh strawberries to herself:  Not the unwanted, mushy leftovers she usually gets, but the juicy, sweet ones served just for her with a dollop of whipped cream and with fresh flowers on the table. 

Words can't describe the taste of late spring, and the lines at the farm stands attest to our green-starved appetite. In our breakfasts this month, we'll incorporate asparagus, Swiss chard, rhubarb, and strawberries in savory custards or stuffed herb crepes, and the strawberries on their own or baked into a sweet little cake or tart.  But even though we pay extra special attention to our breakfasts, we never know what detail or event will make a traveler's visit memorable. Often it has nothing to do with us or the food.

One morning, our neighbor Mary had the opportunity to meet a guest from Maryland and they were surprised to discover they had a connection through milk.  As it turns out, the company Mary contracts to buy her organic milk is the same company the guest buys at her local market. Both recalled the story to me later, smiling. Saying, but not saying, how small the world is. How satisfying it was to put a face with a product, a family with a bottle of milk. 

We hear stories about waking to the sound of a horse-drawn plow plodding along outside the bedroom window; curious heifers running to the fence, pushing each other and vying for the front spot for a photo op; exhausted parents on a weekday getaway eating breakfast in their pajamas; sitting down at breakfast to find the other guests are your best friends from your post-college years; planning a whole day of wine tours only to plop down on the porch and go nowhere for hours; seeing a barn swallow nestling leave the nest; catching the purple light just before sunset. 

All the planning in the world couldn't make these things happen. As innkeepers, we savor these experiences and aspects of our life. Our house is a comfortable respite for those who are willing to treat themselves to it, and serendipity takes care of the rest. You just never know.

Barn Rules

Well, it has happened. I've missed my first every-other-Sunday posting deadline! I have been writing, but all I've got is about 5 topics in draft mode. What have I been writing about?  Rhubarb. Barn swallows. Kittens. Woodchucks. The quest for the perfect cup of coffee. Guests. Is it spring fever? More likely my brain is otherwise occupied with work (yes, my other job) on top of the regular coordination of laundry, preparing for guests, cleaning, baking, and having some fun time in between. All winter we make lists of projects, then good weather arrives and we have to cram it all in at once. We never sit down. And when we do, we fall asleep!

Here is some food for thought until I get my act together, that is, until I finish a story.  Someone gave me this list of BARN RULES right after we moved in, and I think they are as applicable to life as the Golden Rule:

BARN RULES:
If you open it, close it

If you turn it on, turn it off

If you unlock it, lock it

If you break it, admit it

If you can't fix it, call in someone who can

If you borrow it, return it

If you make a mess, clean it up

If you use it, take care of it

If you move it, put it back

If it belongs to someone else, get permission to use it

If you don't know how to operate it, leave it alone

If it is not broken, don't fix it

If it will brighten someone's day, say it

If you fall off, get back on.

There. I'm "back on" schedule.  See you in two weeks!

Our Country Kitchen

I confess:  I love cooking in a large country kitchen.  Our kitchen has 25 cupboards, 14 drawers, 2 closets, and 9 doors. It also has the original 1880's pantry, providing us with an additional 6 drawers, potato bin, large window, and 7 cupboards--one of which opens on both the pantry side and the dining room side. Very cool.

Both Kevin and I love to cook. He makes most of our meals and breakfast entrees, and I do most of the baking and dish washing. Getting adjusted to this large space was dizzying - literally - and we found ourselves walking in circles and frequently bumping into each other. Sharing the kitchen with your spouse can be pleasingly copacetic, kind of like synchronized swimming, with each having particular specialties, tasks, and timing.  But occasionally the order breaks down and it turns into a scene from Faulty Towers (...Basil!) or Hell's Kitchen (who moved the **bleeping** kitchen shears?). Fortunately, we figured out some things that work well for us, and may also work for you.  

Here's our list:

1) Never walk around the kitchen with a knife pointing outward.  This should seem like a no-brainer, but if your other kitchens were small, then you probably developed some habits that don't transfer into a large space. 
2) Keep all knives sharpened (a sharp knife is a safe knife) and store them in a slotted wooden knife tray in a drawer. Pasquale says "your knifa is lika your besta frienda and no one can hurt you lika your besta frienda."

3) Buy two free-standing paper towel holders so you always have one where and when you need it. 

4) Free yourself:  remove that annoying ring connecting your measuring spoons and cups. Buy a few sets of both and keep them inside the containers of those products you use most often like sugar, flour, popcorn, oatmeal, and pet food. The extras come in handy for multiple ingredient measuring as well.

5)  Keep the counter tops and flat surfaces clear of appliances and decorative items. Anything that does not get used every day does not belong on the counter.

6) Don't store anything in the cupboards above the stove. Ever.  

7) By all means, keep the kitchen shears IN THE KITCHEN and tools in the toolbox!

Another feature of our kitchen is a well-lit corner space next to the laundry room where I do the ironing. I love the feel of a starched napkin or pillowcase and so I toil to provide this small amenity. Last week I discovered I could make my own spray starch by mixing water and cornstarch, and, well, that just about made my day. Ask Kevin. I was giddy.

Of course, improvements can always be made to the current space. So what's on my wish list for our country kitchen?  It is not an automatic dishwasher - I actually enjoy hand-washing dishes. My dream kitchen would have the oven and the cook top as two separate units. Having to share the gas range causes some tense moments. Bing! There goes the timer. Sweetie, please step aside. I need to get into the oven NOW!!!