Tying Up Loose Ends on the Homestead

 

Tiny bouquet of fall mums

We had several foggy damp days last week, but Friday and Saturday were beautiful.  It was sunny and breezy and a little cool, but that made working outside very pleasant.

I was able to do the final grass cutting of the season on Friday.  And then my daughter and son-in-law surprised me by coming up on Saturday to help me with all the rest of my projects.  They removed the air conditioners from the windows, replaced a door in the dining room, moved a heavy piece of furniture down the stairs for me, loaded a pile of scrap metal in my pick-up, and my son-in-law brought more bales to insulate the south side of the house.  He remembered that most of the water pipes are on that wall, and although it's the south side, when there is a freaky weird south wind in the winter, they will all freeze. The bales he brought were actually made of corn stalks, something his brother is experimenting with.

A thought about scrap metal around your homestead. Scrap metal can be hazardous if you have livestock, they can eat it or step on it or get tangled in it, or it can cause damage to your mowing equipment.  Pick an area of brick or concrete where you can collect scrap until you have enough to make a trip to the salvage yard.  If you use a grassy area, the grass will grow up in it and it'll be a mess to keep clean and to pick up when you're ready to load it.  Below is a photo of my truck with a modest load of scrap that I took to our salvage yard.  Usually I'll wait until I have a bigger load, but wanted to take advantage of my son-in-law's muscles on Saturday.  The salvage yard will weigh your truck with and without the scrap and then pay you for the difference in weight.

My truck loaded with scrap metal.  I got $4.35 for this.

I recently learned that copper is much more valuable than regular metals and should be saved and weighed separately.  If you mix it with your regular scrap, you'll get the regular price, which is much less than copper alone will bring.  The salvage yard said prices for scrap metal have really dropped.  It seems like the price for my load was pretty low, but I don't argue with them, I just take what they give me and thank them.  These guys are kind of my neighbors, and sometimes good will is worth more than making an extra buck, especially if you're a lady.

I started burning off my brush piles, which mostly went well.  I cleaned the gutter on my front porch, which was packed with leaves.   And I took my truck into the shop for an oil change and winterizing tune up.

Before the kids went back down south, I treated them (and myself) to an all-you-can-eat buffet at Hibachi, a chinese restaurant.  I can never eat my money's worth, but I still enjoy the food.

As I've been working around the place the past week, I thought of a few miscellaneous things to mention.

When you're dismantling your straw bales to use for mulch, be careful to properly dispose of the string or wire the bales are wrapped with, especially if the string is plastic.  Old-fashioned twine will eventually rot away, but is still a danger to mowing equipment, livestock, or your own feet when it's new.  Wire and plastic string can be very damaging to large livestock as it can wrap around their legs or feet and even smaller animals can become entangled in it.  I once had a chicken swallow nearly the whole length of string used to fasten a bag of laying mash, and I had to pull it back up out of her crop.

When I burn the brush piles I don't use just gasoline to get them started.  Gasoline will flash up fast but burns away quickly.  I mix diesel fuel or kerosene with a small amount of gasoline and use this.  The kerosene/diesel fuel burns more slowly, so the gasoline gets it started but the diesel fuel will keep it burning.  Sometimes I'll use motor oil to drizzle over the pile before I pour on the gasoline, too.  I never add gasoline to a fire already burning.

Be aware of the area around your brush pile.  Rake away all the dead grass and leaves surrounding the brush before you light it, as a brush fire can spread quickly, especially in the fall with all the dead vegetation accumulating.  I had two piles going at the same time Saturday, quite some distance apart, and one of them almost got away from me. ... Also remember to scare away any furry or feathery things hiding in your brush pile before you light it.

Put your snow shovel by the door before you actually need it, so you won't have to go to the shed for it.  Sometimes just a skiff of snow can be swept off with a broom.  And I don't care how bad you think salt is for your concrete steps/sidewalk, any damage you might do to your concrete is better than slipping and falling outside... especially if you're a country widow living on your own.  I keep a container of salt near each exterior door.

A couple of country weather tips that were passed onto me by people much older and wiser than myself that I thought I'd share:

If you're wanting to cut the grass, when you get up in the morning check to see if there's dew on the grass.  If there's dew, that means no rain later and you can plan on cutting.  If the grass is dry, it's going to rain later in the day.

Most wind will come from south and west in the summer and from north and west in the winter.  An easterly wind usually brings moisture, and lots of it.  In summertime, there will be lots of rain; in winter it means a heavy snowfall.

I gave wind direction some thought this fall and decided to park my truck facing northeast.  In this way I can pull out of the drive when snow is deep rather than having to back out like I have in the past.  I think driving forward will make the most of my 4 x 4 options.  Even though it is facing a kind of northerly direction, at least it's not straight north or northwest.

I wish I had paid more attention to my parents, because they were full of wisdom about country weather.  There were a lot of tornadoes where I grew up and I used to hear Daddy up pacing the floor at night during storms, watching for funnel clouds.  I knew he would let us know if we had to head to the basement.  One time, on a visit back home, we were outside watching some storm clouds move away from the farm.  Then Daddy said, "The wind is going to change and they'll start coming back toward us."  I sort of smirked, because that would be totally unlikely given the typical direction of storm clouds and wind.  However, we soon felt a puff of wind in our faces and the storm turned around and came back toward us.  I still can't explain this.  I did learn, though, no matter how smart you think you are... never smirk at your daddy!

I think that about covers all I wanted to share.  I hope these things are helpful to those of you needing ideas about successful country living.  Enjoy these beautiful autumn evenings with someone you love or doing something that's especially comforting for you.  For me tonight, I'm looking forward to a hot bath while sipping wine and watching Bones on my Kindle!

Blessings,

Katrinka

Hope

I've mentioned that I see many similarities between nature and the things we experience in our own lives.  In the photo above, a beautiful display of pink and white impatiens has been overflowing all summer.  When frost threatened, I dug up two of the plants and brought them inside.  I cut the rest of the plants off at ground level and threw them on the brush pile.

I've been a little extra heavy-hearted lately.  Although I love the fall, it does bring the closing of summer and the days get shorter and there's less time for working outside.  Being outside in the sun and working hard is the way I was raised.  I don't think I'm fanatical about it, I enjoy being inside and cooking and doing homey things, too.  And watching Netflix and drinking beer.  But I'm comfortable spending part of the day doing some strenuous work outside.

Another reason for me being heavy-hearted are the changes this year has brought me.  People I love have moved out of my life, for one reason or another, and I do hate to let go of people I love.  I guess I'm learning, though, that just because I love someone or something, it doesn't mean I have to keep them. It's possible to love without ownership... the ultimate in unconditional, no-strings-attached love.  Maybe that's how God feels?  He loves us all, even those who reject Him.  It makes me feel  better to think that way, anyway. ... To think that maybe I'm learning, a little bit, to love like God does.

I'm old enough, and have been through enough, to know that I will feel better some day.  There's even a scripture that says "... weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."  That's Psalm 30:5.  Mostly the 'night' is much more than one night, but that's where the waiting comes in.  I talked in an earlier post of learning to wait, and this is part of that waiting for me.  Waiting patiently, or sometimes waiting impatiently, is changing me.  I'm growing up a little bit.  Maybe some day I'll be a big girl after all.

So, knowing that some day I will feel better means I'm hoping for a better day... a better time.  I know that sometimes I have been in a place in my life that I thought I'd be there forever, that I would just stay that way and live that way until I died.  Then, either gradually or suddenly, my life takes a turn.  Sometimes I wake up one morning and look back over several months or years and realize that things have changed and they've been changing all along and I didn't even know it; sometimes I turn a corner and "boom" it happens in an instant.  But it has always happened.  So it is now for me in this new season of life.

I was thinking these thoughts a couple days ago as I worked outside, and when I headed to the house something bright pink caught my eye among the dead leaves in the empty planter.  I bent down and discovered that, although I had dug up or chopped off all of the plants in the planter, one bright pink blossom was winking up at me from the drab background.  It was stunning to see.  It immediately brought to mind my recent thoughts on waiting and hoping for better things in my own life.  How out of seemingly impossible conditions, life comes to us again.  Bright and sparkling and fresh.  And how, because of the drab background, life seems even brighter and more glorious.

You may need to click on the photo and make it larger to see my bright pink blossom.  And if you are like me, I encourage you to claim this little flower for your own, too, to give you hope and promise of a better day.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Straw

My wonderful truck, loaded with straw bales

I mentioned in an earlier post how I had used rotted straw to mulch the veg garden, and that I'd be going out to pick up some new straw to use for placing around the foundation of the house to help keep the wind from coming inside.  I went out today and got 11 bales at $2.50 each and placed them around the north and west sides of the house.  I think I'm going to need a few more.  I'm feeling compulsive about snuggling in this winter

Here's a photo of the north and west sides of the house with the straw in place.  I'd like to get a couple more bales to place down where the trash can is.  Also, around the corner of the house to the left is a porch area that also faces north that I've never insulated before.  This is where my living room is, and I'd like to try a couple straw bales along that wall.  It's a bargain, especially when I can use the straw next summer and fall for mulch.

One year I laid the bales on edge, and they got very saturated with water.  Then another year I encased the whole mess with plastic and duct taped it in place.  This year I'm feeling very simplistic about the whole process... just happy to get them out there.  I'll say that my daddy used to do this, also employing tar paper that he tacked to the side of the house using furring strips.  The tar paper extended from several inches above the level of the bales down to ground level and then laid upon the ground so the straw bales could be placed on top of the extended tar paper.  This prevented water from leaching down behind the bales and making the siding of the house (wood) soggy.  One year our geese crawled up and ate all the tar paper off of the side of the house....  Hmmm.

He also made his own storm windows using rolls of plastic sheeting and furring strips.  The plastic was only semi-transparent.  My mother always insisted on one west facing and one north facing window to be uncovered so she could see outside.  I so love my mommy.  I totally get it now.

These straw bales are not very heavy right now because they're dry.  I had no trouble unloading the truck and placing them around.  Next spring, when I'm ready to move them, I may not be able to pick them up at all.  If they get water logged with snow and spring rain, I'll have to take them apart where they lay and haul them to the garden in pieces in my little trailer or the back of the truck.

I'm  also going to get an extra bale to insulate the discharge line for my basement sump pump.  I already placed one out there, but an extra bale won't hurt.  And I'll be a miserable country widow if my sump pump discharge line freezes, as it did a couple winters ago, and the water being pumped from my leaky basement cannot get out.  Then my basement starts to fill with water and threatens my furnace and freezer.  So...  yeah...  worth an extra straw bale at $2.50.

I'm very pleased I got this done today.  I was planning on cutting grass one more time this fall, but it's been too wet and foggy and today was no better.  My goal is to do one more cutting either this week or next, so I still have time.  I like to do a cutting in late fall to help chop up the leaves that have fallen and also to make for an easier first cutting the next spring.  Some people like to leave the grass a little longer in the fall because they believe it will help protect against the roots dying off during the winter and forming dead spots.  I don't really care about dead spots, but I do care about trying to get that first cutting in the spring done without choking out the lawn mower.

The straw man just called me back, and I'm meeting him at 4:30 to pick up 7 more bales.  Which means I can get over there and pick up the straw and finish my project this evening.  This is another advantage to having my own truck, rather than having to make delivery arrangements.  It will only take him about 10 minutes to load 7 bales of straw, but if he had to haul it to me, it would take greater time and greater planning and I'd have to pay a delivery charge.

It'll be a little on the dark-ish side when I finish, but I won't mind.So I'm a happy country widow today!

Blessings,

Katrinka

Love Scars

1976 Pontiac Trans Am

The car above is not my car, but I had a car that looked like this, only with a blue interior.  I could tell you a lot about my '76 Trans Am, because, next to my Chevy truck, this was my favorite ride... ever.  But if I start talking about the engine, the 4-speed, the wheels, ... I won't even get to the point of my story.  Sigh.  What a machine.

In the summer of 1980 I had finally paid off this magnificent vehicle.  In the fall of 1980 I totaled it.  Yeah.  It was really sad.  On my way to work.  When I lived in San Antonio.  I turned left on a green light in front of 4 lanes of oncoming traffic.  What can I say... my brain was otherwise extremely preoccupied and didn't notice the lack of the green arrow.  I think I was probably rockin' out to something on the radio...  Did I mention what a great sound system this car had?

As I said, I totaled my beautiful car.  And although there were no outward injuries, I was hurt, too.  A collapsed lung.  Probably from the blunt force of the seatbelt shoulder strap against my chest on impact during the accident.  I had two surgeries, several weeks in the hospital, a few months recovering, a couple months light duty at work, and I was back to normal again.  I was only 25 and very healthy, and yet I was sure at some point each day, sometimes several times a day, that they had released me from the hospital too soon, and that I was going to die.  It was pretty traumatic.  I have a scar that runs from the center of my chest to about 1/4 the way around my back, under my left breast, and several smaller scars lower down on my rib cage.

As fascinating as I'm sure this little story is to all of you, it's not what my title is about.  These scars are not love scars.... I guess if I had to give them a name, they would have to be called 'stupid' scars... or 'careless' scars.  I'm just thankful that no one else was injured during my lapse in judgement.

Love scars are scars we sustain when the cost of our loving is a sacrifice that leaves a mark... maybe a physical mark, such as a limp, a missing limb, dimpled skin left from a burn.  Or sometimes the scar is invisible because it's on the heart.  When we sacrifice for love, we don't always count the cost.  We don't always know what the cost will be.  Or if we think of it at all, we don't count it worthy to be in the equation, because to count the cost means we could choose not to love... and we aren't able to do that.  Love scars always hurt.  Sometimes, if the scar is from a great love, it hurts forever.   And if love isn't great, what's the point?

I know people that are so well ordered, so cool and logical, that affections can be made to submit to higher thinking.  X + Y = Z and if that's an undesirable outcome then X and Y will have to stay alone or maybe pair up with other members of the alphabet.  Only God knows how I envy these people.  It could be so convenient to be wired this way.  My affections can never be called cool...  But, as I think about it, I am quite happy with the way I'm put together.  And hopefully the people that I love feel the same way.  When I love, I always want the people I love to know they've been thoroughly loved.  When I'm gone and people think of me, I want them to think, "she loved me" and to never doubt it.

If you are like me and you love like this, don't be distressed.  To do a thorough job of loving, something will have to go out of you and into someone else.  We're big boys and girls, aren't we?  We understand that there's always a price for something great, and for something great, the price is worth it.  We know loving hurts, but we just can't help ourselves.  There's literally nothing that can be done about it.  ...  At least, that's the way I prefer to love.  Or, I should say, do love, because that's just the way I do it.  

... now about that T/A, one night I was flying through the Texas night and passed a trucker who said something on the CB about a girl in a white Trans Am that made me look at my speedometer.  I was doing 95!  And I felt like I was sitting in a rocking chair.  What a car... 

Blessings,

Katrinka

Putting the Garden to Bed

The first picture above is of my garden after weeding out nearly all of the clover that seems to want to take over.  I left a patch of the clover when I took this photo so you can see how it grows like a carpet. This garden is located inside the foundation of our old barn, which had a dirt floor covered with straw bedding.  So the soil is beautiful, almost like potting soil.

I didn't plant a veg garden this past spring due to my husband's health, but we kept the weeds chopped down and sprayed... except this clover didn't want to give up.  It grows almost like a mat, with little hair like roots interspersed with a sort of tap root.  I'm not sure why it's so prolific, but it also grows in the field road where I walk each afternoon.

Don't take me too seriously when I speak of veg gardening, because I just do what I do.  You'll probably do just as well inventing your own procedures.  It seems that nearly anything will grow nearly anywhere and produce at least a little something edible.

After pulling out all of the weeds, I covered the garden with rotted straw for mulch, second photo.  It took about 5 bales of straw for this and only about an hour of time.  Fresh straw spreads more easily and is fluffier and looks nicer.  But fresh straw still has viable seeds in it from the harvest and next spring I would find a fine little crop of wheat growing under my mulch.

I'll soon go buy 8-10 bales of fresh straw and use them to insulate the foundation of the house or other areas outside I want to protect from freezing.  I'll remove them in the spring and stack them near the corner of the garden, and this time next year will use them for my mulch.  Hopefully the little seeds will have all sprouted or rotted by that time and not cause me any trouble with sprouting in the garden the following spring.

I can still pull some straw from these bales throughout the summer next year for mulching my flowerbeds or tomato plants or whatever.  I love to mound straw all around to hold in moisture and make weeding easier.  I hate weeding.

I'm going to rest my body this weekend.  I've been pushing myself pretty hard, but I'm almost done with fall chores.  Just a couple smaller projects that I'd like to complete within the next couple weeks, and they won't take long.

Blessings,

Katrinka

As a Hen Gathers Her Chickens

banty cochin hen

This isn't a photo of one of my chickens, I left my photos at my daughter's house and I've yet to fetch them home.  But I have plenty of pictures and our little black banty hens looked just like the lady above.

One of the things about living in the country and observing nature is that I see so many parallels between the way things happen out here and the way things happen in our own lives. 

Today I was reading in Matthew 23, and as always verse 37 stood out to me.  Especially this portion "... how often I wanted to gather your children, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing..."  So God wants to gather us under His wings and protect us.  Exactly what kind of picture does that bring to your mind?  Thanks to my country living status and experience with chickens of all kinds, I think I know a little bit of what Jesus is trying to show us here.

These little banty hens, like the one above, are fierce mothers.  It takes a broody breed of chicken to sit on a nest and hatch out chicks and then raise them up.  Not all chickens are broody, and you don't always want your chickens to get broody.  If you're raising a flock of chickens for egg laying you want your chickens to lay eggs, not raise babies.  We had lots of little banty hens and they pretty much had the run of the barn and would lay their nest of eggs wherever they pleased, as determined by their internal chicken wisdom as being the safest spot.

 Inside the barn were separate stalls made of old pallets set on edge at right angles and nailed into boxes for our goats to stay in at night.  The floor of the barn was 100+ years of straw over dirt (this is where we now have our veggie garden).  One spring one of these little hens decided the best place to have her nest was under one of these cross pallet walls of a stall.  She scratched and dug out a hollow and laid her eggs in there... a bunch of them.  Maybe 12-15 eggs.  And then she crawled under the pallet and plumped herself down on the nest.

When a hen goes broody and decides to set, she will only get off the nest maybe once or twice a day to quickly eat and drink and then returns.  With every cell of her being she is committed to sitting on that nest until the chickens hatch, which is typically about 3 weeks.  Sometimes a hen won't get off the nest and if you know of it you need to help her.  I once heard of a hen down in Texas sitting on eggs and she allowed herself to be overrun with fire ants because she wouldn't leave the nest.  ...  Just trying to paint the picture of devotion and dedication of the mother hen as referred to in scripture.

Back to my mother hen...  We had at that time, unfortunately, a very chicken-unfriendly dog named Rex, a bird dog/Australian shepherd mix.  What he did to my chickens was a crime, and why we allowed it and how we attempted to handle it may never be a story for this blog.  Anyway, Rex happened to discover this mother hen and her nest.  I came out early one morning to hear frantic barking coming from the barn.  I scrambled out there, to find the hen placidly sitting on her nest under the side portion of the pallet stall, while Rex had dug a trench all the way around her trying to get at her and her nest.  He howled and foamed at the mouth and panted and scratched and barked.  But the hen didn't move, appeared to not even see him.  She quietly kept her soft fluffy feathers in exactly the right place to cover all her eggs and keep them warm and protected. 

After these little eggs hatched, mother hen proudly trotted them out of the barn and began to show them how to eat by scratching and calling to them and they all tumbled after her... little fluffy balls with twigs for legs.  Some of the chicks were black and some red and some yellow, and some were larger, because she hatched out a few egg laying chicks for us, too, not just her own little black banty babies.

Mother and babies had been out and about for around a week when I witnessed an amazing event.  It was one of those moments when you know you were just meant to be at that place at that time, because there would never be a witness to such an event if you were to try to make something like this happen.

I was out wandering around in front of the house one afternoon and noticed the black banty hen with her babies outside near the corner of the barn.  Suddenly I saw the mother's little head cock toward the sky.  She lifted her wings and made the noise that only a mother hen can make, and all her fluffy babies shot toward her like little individual feathery rockets.  At that point, I saw nothing of any concern.  But as I stood there I caught a dark shadow out of the corner of my eye, and became aware of a hawk plummeting toward the earth.  Aiming right for mama and chicks.  

(This hawk wasn't only a threat to the babies, because hawks can kill and damage full grown chickens, especially of the smaller breeds as the banty.)

Instead of scrambling back to the barn with her babies, mother hen flew up and met the hawk in the sky.  There was a terrific squawking and a few feathers floated down, and the hawk changed direction and shot back up into the air and over the top of the barn.  Mama hen plunked to the ground and gathered her babies and continued scratching for food.  The whole scene maybe took about 10 seconds.  But I was there to see it.

I immediately thought of this scripture and tears filled my eyes.  Even now, I get goose bumps when I think of this example of God's offered love and protection that He allowed me to witness.  Sometimes when we read stories in the Bible or hear various verses over and over again, they lose their freshness.  Or in this case, the real life example from nature is lost on those who don't understand the significance of how protective a mother hen is with her chicks... what she will do to provide for them and defend them... how she will give her own life for them.  She was willing to die in their place to provide life for her chicks... just as Jesus knew He would do for us when he spoke these words in Matthew.

Maybe the next time I feel alone and unprotected, I can remember that I am not.   Maybe you can remember that, too.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Hope and a Future

I had the opportunity last week to host a visiting missionary for a meal, so I took him to a little Mexican restaurant for lunch.  He's from Ghana and he and his family have sacrificed much to become missionaries over here in the United States, pastoring a church of people from all nationalities and backgrounds.  He has tremendous drive and sense of purpose.

I envied him so much, because since my husband died this past summer, I've had a struggle with having a sense of purpose.  As his caregiver, for years I knew exactly what I was going to do when I got up each morning.  And even though my life was very hidden and my world was small, I never felt insignificant.

I'm plenty busy with work around the homestead.  I'm looking into volunteer work and possibly employment next year.  I love my kids and grandkids and the time I spend with them.  I have wonderful friends and church folks in my life.  I'm especially comforted when I think of the joy Randy is experiencing in heaven.  God has blessed me with all of this and is also resolving some health concerns I've had.  I hope I'm not ungrateful.

But life as a caregiver was a very intense, focused life.  I had something (someone) to pour myself into, and now much of what I do around here alone seems kind of self-serving and aimless.  I used to be so driven to keep this place up, it consumed me at times, and now I feel I could just walk out the door and leave it all behind.  Without the people I love here with me, it's only so much wood, stone, and glass.  I don't think that change in perspective is all bad, but it leaves me wondering "What comes next?"

Sometimes I wonder if I haven't already done the greatest thing I'll ever do in my whole life.

I don't have an answer to this dilemma yet.  I'm still in the process.  I would prefer to rush out ahead and shake things up and make things happen.    But I'm learning each day to rest and wait.  Sometimes it's real agony for me, and other times there's an inexpressible sweetness in the waiting... waiting for my next adventure to unfold...  So this blog post will have to end with 'To Be Continued'.  We'll all have to wait for the next installment together.

Blessings,

Katrinka

P.S.  For those of you who might be a caregiver to an Alzheimer's sufferer, I encourage you to visit www.alz.org and especially the message boards.  This was very helpful to me.  I also couldn't have managed caring for my husband without friends, family, and a high-quality caregiver agency.  If any of you would like to discuss anything  with me about caregiving, please email me at rcdkatrink@gmail.com.  I'd be glad to communicate with anyone needing encouragement in this area.

Country Dining

When you say you're going to dinner, what time of day do most of your friends think you'll be eating?

When you call someone on the phone and he tells you he's eating supper, what time of day is it?

And what about lunch, brunch, and tea?

Hmmm....

Yesterday I enjoyed a wonderful birthday meal with an old friend and a new friend.  My old 91-year-old friend had found a new 31-year-old friend and they wanted me to fit in with their group, which I did nicely.  I not only fit in because we all enjoy the same things, I fit in numerically, because I'm 61.

31 ... 61 ... 91 ...  And we're all country women, we all enjoy living a successful country life, and we can all learn from each other.  It was a great meal and a great visit!  But I almost missed it.

The 31-year-old is new to country living; only been out here about 3 years.  And when she set up the meeting she said she would bring the main course for dinner.  To country folks, especially older generation country folks, dinner is served as the noon time meal.  

When the men come in from the fields and the work day is done (more or less), the family eats supper.

Since I had plans for the evening yesterday (the annual Sunday school bonfire, which is always a great time), I was thrilled that we would be having our birthday meal at noon time, so I could make both events.  

However, on Thursday my old friend called and said there had been a misunderstanding.  Our new friend had intended us to have an evening meal together, not a noon meal.  Could I make the evening meal?  I reminded her that I had a bonfire to attend, but they should have a great time without me, and maybe I could stop by on my way to or from the inferno?

My country women friends were so gracious, though, and re-planned the whole thing so we could have dinner (some might say lunch) together and it was terrific!  Our new friend made lasagna, brought a birthday cake, and two bottles of wine to enjoy with the pasta.  

I like her style!  Wine with pasta is always a treat, whether it's for dinner, lunch, supper, or somewhere in between.  And she's a refreshing, energetic young woman who brings a spark to our group.  And, just when I think I'm finally beginning to look my age, she tells me I have beautiful skin and she can't believe I'm 61!

I think we're all going to get along just fine ... especially now that we all know when we're going to eat.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Lock Your Doors?

One thing about being a widow is that now I live all alone.  I've been all alone a couple other times in my life, but nothing quite as isolating as now, with country living.

The thing that leaves me kinda sad about being a widow alone out here in the country is that now I can do anything I want to any time I want to, and nobody knows and nobody cares.

On the other hand, one of the nice things about being a widow alone out in the country is that now I can do anything I want to any time I want to, and nobody knows and nobody cares.

One day a couple weeks ago I decided to get up early and go through some boxes in the attic.  I worked up there for 2 or 3 hours sorting and packing things up to take to the thrift store in town, and then hauled some boxes out to my truck.

I was dusty and hot and decided to jump in the shower before dressing for town.  I was just to the point in my shower where I was totally committed... you know, sudsy all over, including my hair.  Suddenly I heard "Boom!  Boom!  Boom!" on the front door.  I froze in place.

I quickly assessed my situation.  The shower curtain is mostly clear plastic with large greenish blobs, so I could see out into the bathroom as far as my feeble eyes could focus.  I had laid out 2 bath towels, but no clothing... my clothes were out in the next room, beyond the bathroom door which was standing wide open.  That room is connected to the front room (where the front door is) by an open doorway.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!" I muttered.  God understood this to actually be a prayer that went something like "Oh, please, God, tell me that I locked the front door before climbing into the shower!"

You've heard it said that God always answers prayer, but that the answer isn't always what we ask for.  I really understood this concept when, while I was frantically rinsing myself off, I heard "Woo hoo!"  coming from somewhere inside the house.  I almost fainted, which I've only actually done once before in my life when I stood up too fast from lying on the floor in front of a hot fire...

All was OK, though, it was only my wonderful 91-year-old friend on her way home from the store.  She saw my truck in the yard and decided to stop in and became alarmed to find my door open (!!) and me nowhere around.  Since I have joined her ranks of widow-living-alone-in-the-country, she had to make sure I hadn't fallen and couldn't get up.  So she stepped right into my house.

This is OK with me, I do the same thing to her, because she's hard of hearing.  Do you know how difficult it can be to walk up behind a nearly deaf person and let them know you're there without scaring them half to death?  But I, too, want to make sure she hasn't fallen and can't get up.

So...a little more advice from the country widow... lock your doors for privacy before you climb into the tub.  Unless you're planning to fall and not be able to get up.  Then you'd better leave them open.

I think you'll need to decide this one for yourself.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Finishing Fence Line Clean Up

I've been finishing the east fence line.  I thought I'd share some practical info on clearing out these weeds.  Above is my truck loaded with just a portion of the outside of the fence... I have to clear both sides of the fence because the weeds grow on both sides, and there are also trees that grow into the fence that need to be removed.

I'm wondering if I should just take the fence down and keep this area mowed next year.  The fencing is a boundary, and if I get a dog or chickens again in the future, I think I'll wish I had kept it.  So I'll wait and decide on that next spring.

When we first moved here we had two dogs. One was an older dog who was blind and the other was a younger female, we think 1/2 German shepherd and 1/2 Husky.  We found her on a drive out into the country and brought her home.  She used to yodel at us, kind of a warbling howl.  Anyway, we had no fencing at first and I'd put the blind dog on a leash and lead him around the yard, right around the property lines.  And the female would follow along behind.  About three weeks after moving here, the older dog died and I stopped with the walks.  However, the female would walk the property line every day at about the same times, all the way around the acreage, marking every few yards.  I've always wondered if I could purposely train a dog to respect boundaries using this method, without having fencing.

I had to buy a new tree saw, my old one just got too worn out with all the sawing I was doing.  This is my favorite kind of saw, and it only cost me $20 at the hardware store.  It would have cost $15 to have the old one sharpened.:

Fiskars brand 15" curved blade tree saw

I can get a lot of leverage with this type of saw, kinda hang on it a little pulling it backwards and I can get two hands on the handle and really put my weight into it.  It makes all the difference if you're doing a lot of cutting.  Of course, since it's curved you can avoid poking the end of the saw into branches or objects close to the limb you're sawing.  One thing to be aware of is if you're sawing out a tree that's inside a wire fence with this curved saw, make sure you start the cut in a place that you'll be able to finish it without hitting wire.

I was really wearing out as I neared finishing this fence clean up.  I could tell, because I kept having to take a break every 10-15 minutes.  I discovered that kneeling or even sitting on the ground and scooting along and working that way took a lot less energy.  The only difference was that I couldn't stack the weeds as I went along, but just threw them behind me and had to come back later and gather  them in stacks.  That was no trouble, though, and saved me lots of energy to do the actual chopping/sawing.  After I gathered the weeds, I came back with a garden rake and pulled all the dead grass away from the fenceline and mowed down the fence on either side.

I have some more trumpet vine along the south fence that I need to prune, and then I think I'll just burn off any more of the fence that I want cleaned up.  I couldn't do that with this area, as there were too many trees and vines.  I've had a couple nightmares lately of long, skinny arms reaching out with short twiggy fingers pulling at my hair... memories of getting tangled in the tall, dried weeds!

When I burn off the fence, this means I'll need to wait until everything along the fence is nice and dry and also have a few buckets of water to splash on the wooden fence posts so they don't catch fire.  I burnt up one of my good wooden fence posts last fall.  I thought it was well protected, but I came out a couple days after burning the grass and found it smoldering!

We have cloudy skies today.  But I'm pretty sure that right before the sun sets, down on the horizon, there will be a break in between the cloud cover and the earth and the sun will dazzle us just before it sets.  I don't know if this happens all the time, but it happens every time I have been watching.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Here's a photo I took just a few moments ago of the sun breaking through the clouds right before it set.  My camera phone doesn't do justice to the colors.  

Chickens, Prologue

banty gamecock rooster

When we had our chickens, we had basically two batches... one 'on purpose' flock of heavier bodied egg/meat birds, usually Buff Orpingtons.  The second flock was the result of someone giving us a gamecock rooster and two little black cochin banty hens.  These little roosters are called gamecocks for a reason... there are only two things they like to do, and fighting is one of them.

These smaller birds were very active, could fly into the rafters of the barn (which is where they preferred to roost).  The hens would get broody very easily and made excellent mothers, leading huge groups of little fluffy chicks out of the barn every so often.  They were dark colored, so avoided the eye of the chicken hawks.  I lost track of what exactly was going on out there, what with all the other things I did, until Mister D came in one day and said that some of those banty roosters would have to go... he had counted 25 of them!  

'To go' in homestead chicken language means 'to go' into the stockpot.  But these little fellas are not much more than bones, feathers, and muscle.  Still, he said we would do the usual routine with these guys until we got rid of some of them.  

The usual routine for butchering chickens around here was that we would get up early and I'd start a big pot of water heating while Mister D went out and chopped the heads off of 6 birds.  Then he would come inside and dress for work and leave.  I would spend most of the rest of the day dressing out the chickens and either canning or freezing them.

This worked well for getting rid of these little birds until one day, for some unaccountable reason, I began to feel sorry for Mister D that he had to get up and kill little birds all the time before going to work.  So I volunteered to do the whole job for him.  I assured him I would be fine, I could manage it, he should just go ahead and dress in his work clothes and I would handle it all.  He wasn't so confident and questioned whether I should do the chopping-the-head-off thing.  He felt like it was man's work.  But I insisted and he finally agreed

Little active birds on a chopping stump are harder to hit than a big, fat, lazy bird.  The target is smaller, the bird is wigglier... you get the idea.  I did OK with the first two birds.  The third rooster, however, was my downfall.  I chopped and yes, I did kinda take the head off.  But only the front half of the head.  He leaped up off the stump and took out across the yard, crowing and zig zagging all over the place.

I was horrified.  He couldn't see, but he could hear and his legs worked just fine.  I grabbed a dish pan and went running after him, thinking I would plunk the dishpan down over the top of him and figure out what to do next.  But when he heard me coming behind him, he would take off like a rocket.

I had a bad go of it.  He didn't wear out or slow down, and once, even when I got the dishpan down over him, he jumped up and knocked it away and took off out across the yard again! I was wearing out and getting desperate, and worse was even beginning to admire his stamina and wishing I didn't have to do him in... but of course that was still going to have to happen.

I went into the house and called Randy at work, and, in tears, begged him to come home and finish off the rooster.  All he would say was, "I'm sorry, baby."  I pleaded with him, I rationalized, I came up with every argument I could think of, every bit of pathetic femininity was put into my conversation, but "I'm sorry, baby" was all he would say.  Finally, I lost my temper and hollered, "Stop saying you're sorry and COME HOME AND KILL THIS BIRD!" ... Hahaha.  That didn't work, either.

I'll interject right here that I like a man who won't let me push him around.  It gives me a sense of security knowing that he'll do what he thinks is best even if I hit him with all I've got.  However, I was having some serious doubts about this philosophy that day...

Well, it all worked out.  I finally caught the rooster, finished the job, couldn't stand to dress him out, though, so he got totally disposed of.  I shakily butchered the other remaining roosters and dressed them all out.  After that, it was Mister D's job to do the butchering.  

I guess if there's a moral to this story, it would have to be to not feel sorry for men who are doing man things... they got it covered.  And also, maybe, when butchering smaller chickens remember to always aim low.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Letting Go

I found this online poster on Facebook.  I think this is probably good advice, but I'm not very successful in living my life this way.  I keep hanging on... I keep trying.  Sometimes it seems God has to come down in some form and say "Don't... do.... that... anymore.  Stop!"  Even then my brain will often interpret that as "Try harder, stupid."  And I still won't give up.  I have to believe that, since He's God, He understands my communication style and He manages to eventually get through to me.

I have come to accept that some things are beyond my ability to control... relationships, Randy's Alzheimer's, my own cancer, the weather.  But there has to be a releasing inside of me that tells me it's time to let go...  Living this way I have made some mistakes and had some heartaches, yes... but I've also lived an exciting life and accomplished things even beyond what I thought possible.

Maybe I'd have a more peaceful life if I could get better at letting go of how I think things ought to be.  Maybe I'll do that as I age and get more mellow and worn down.... and maybe I won't.  You'll just all have to stay tuned...


Blessings,

Katrinka

Old-Fashioned Petunias

old-fashioned petunias

Old-fashioned petunias grow tall and will climb or even stand alone to 2 or 3 feet or more.  They have a deliciously sweet, subtle fragrance, and will literally take over an area because they reseed themselves.  I've seen huge beds of these flowers.  As you can see above, they come in a range of nearly white to dark purple and other colors in between.

Since they are so fragrant, it's a good idea to start them in an area south or west of wherever you plan to be enjoying them, since the prevailing breezes in summer come from south and west.  This will waft their scent right into your home or onto your porch or deck area.  

To ensure that old-fashioned petunias return from year to year, do nothing to them in the fall.  Let them stand right where they are and let the seed pods dry and fall onto the ground.  The following spring you can pull up the dry dead plants.  At times through the fall or winter, I've gone out when the flowers are very dry and crumbly and rubbed the flowers tops, dropping the seeds onto paper towels to reseed in a new location. When you get a good patch of these flowers started, you'll almost have to treat them like weeds and keep thinning them out ... and sharing them!  

Some people prefer only one color of petunia in any particular area.  To accomplish this, I've seen people pull out all flowers except the desired color from year to year and this way they manage to have a patch of all dark purple, all white, etc.  They also do perfectly fine grown in containers.

It would be nice to be like these flowers... strong, sturdy, determined, beautiful, and fragrant!

Blessings,

Katrinka

Alternatives

Propane wall heater in the living room... a very toasty spot!

I guess today I'd like to mention focusing on alternative options.  When living in the country, it's best to not depend on any one form of acquiring or accomplishing the things we need for survival.  I touched on this a bit when I talked about the well vs. city water situation.

For heat here, I have a typical propane gas forced air furnace.  It's necessary not only to keep the chill down in a uniform manner in the house but also to keep the pipes from freezing in the basement.  This will happen at my house and it will be awful.  That's a story for another time.

I also have propane wall heaters (unvented) installed.  One large one in the living room and a smaller one in the kitchen, where I have no heat vent and lots of drafts.  My brother expressed concern about unvented propane heaters, and it's definitely something to be considered.  However, my house is so drafty I doubt that carbon monoxide could build up adequately to be a danger.  Still, I'm cautious.  I don't leave the propane heaters on when I'm gone or at night.

These propane heaters do not require electricity to be turned on or to operate.  The living room heater has an optional blower installed, but it's not necessary.  These heaters will save my life if I'm stuck out here in a snow storm and the power goes off.  They also usually will heat the whole downstairs adequately except in the very coldest of weather.  The only reason I have the furnace run periodically during normal winter weather is to prevent the Freezing of the Pipes I mentioned above (suppressed shudder). 

I also have a few electric space heaters, one in each bathroom and of course a couple others for use in hard to heat areas during extreme temperature drops... like the back porch, where pipes can freeze easily.

The first winter we moved here, about 20 years ago, we were shocked at the amount of propane it took to heat the house.  One day my husband came home with a freestanding kerosene heater.  It had a sort of robotic look to it, put out a lot of heat and pretty flame, and held kerosene in a reservoir at the bottom of the unit, where the wick would extend down and soak up the kerosene.  Similar to a kerosene lantern.

My first reaction to it was terror... open flame?  Fumes?  Liquid petroleum products?  As a northern Iowa country girl, I was familiar with fuel oil stoves, propane heaters, even wood stoves.  But the thought of this monster belching heated air into my living room reminded me of a small nuclear reactor.  (Someday I'll share with you my experiences in Berlin during Chernobyl..)

However, once my husband explained the operation of it, explained how to let it cool before refilling, about periodically burning off the wick to remove smokey deposits, and set me up with a couple 5-gallon containers of kerosene and a siphon to refill the tank... and once I had used it a few days... I was in kerosene heater love!  There are some real specifics to using one of these heaters, such as making sure you don't use up all the oxygen in your house and gas yourself... open flames use oxygen to burn (remember my brother's concern with the propane hater).  And using care in lighting and refilling.  And make sure you don't tip it over or sit things on top of it, because it gets REALLY HOT up top there.  But I will share that after a month of having this heater in the house, you could not have pried it from my fingers.  It was heavenly.  And I became a real pro at wick maintenance and flame adjustment.

The other thing I'd like to mention about heating in the country is zoned heating.  This means, when you can, you might want to take the opportunity to close off certain areas of the house during certain times of the day.  Now that I'm alone here, I've decided to move my bed downstairs and close off the upstairs.  I can also close off the back porch or even the main bathroom when it's not needed, or the spare room on the northwest corner.  With use of the various heaters I have, I can juggle heating certain parts of the house and leaving others cool, and this saves me money.

You need to be careful with any kind of heating appliance, even a furnace.  Many of the things I discuss on here require some common sense and some basic knowledge of certain skills.  So you need to know what you're doing before attempting some of these alternatives.  

You should use your own imagination to diversify when working around your own homestead by using the concept of alternatives.  When spring gets here I intend to discuss alternatives when cooling and ventilating rooms.  There are some fascinating facts about air flow that most people don't understand that I discovered from reading an old 1900s book on home keeping.  

Blessings,

Katrinka

My Truck

My 2003 Chevy Silverado 4 x 4

This is a photo of my truck.  I love my truck.  It's 12 years old and somewhat of an oddity, in some way that I don't fully understand... it's a 1500 HD, 6.0 liter, V8, 3/4 ton, 4 x 4.  Whenever I used to get the oil changed at those fast oil and lube places they always wanted to dispute about how much oil it needed, etc., and I always had to pull out the engine specs.  The mechanics always thought the engine was smaller than it was... I guess now these trucks are called 2500's?  Or maybe it has a lighter frame than a 2500... I do not know.

Anyway, this country widow couldn't get along without her truck.  It's dusty and a little banged up, but country trucks are supposed to be dusty and banged up.  That's because we really use them.  And it's extra dusty because it's harvest time around here.  I only get 12 mpg, and repairs can be pricey, but it hauls stuff for me (even if it's only from the front of the property to the back of the property) and gets me out of here in the winter time, like nothing else could.  It seats 5 people very comfortably, has a Bose sound system, heated seats, auto 4 x 4, power everything ... and it's paid for.

Yesterday I didn't work outside because I had to run errands in town.  I still managed to get in my walk up the field road when I got home, after putting away all my purchases and starting some laundry.  Whenever I go shopping I get this elated feeling on the way home, thinking that I'm done with my shopping chores.  Then when I get home, I have a let down when I realize that I still have to unpack everything and put it away.  This is especially shocking to me when I'm returning from a major grocery shopping trip.

Yesterday I bought food and some clothing... and even a country widow lady likes shopping for clothes!

That's it for today...

Blessings,

Katrinka

Acquiring Skills

Bedding plants in the south window

I didn't work on weeding the fenceline yesterday, as I had planned.  I looked at the weather app on my phone, and it said that the temperature was to get down to 35 degrees on Thursday night, which is pretty close to freezing.  So I knew I had to dig up and pot any outside bedding plants that I wanted to bring in for the winter.

I began this practice when we first moved back here about 7 years ago, and some winters would have bedding plants spilling from every south or west facing window in the house.  It can be as big or as small a project as you like.  It provides color and beauty through the winter, because many bedding plants we don't think of as house plants will bloom profusely and colorfully all winter.  And it also provides new bedding plants for next spring, because while the plants may need to be pinched back during winter to prevent becoming leggy, those cuttings can be rooted to make more plants. 

This year I only chose to keep a few:  3 different colors of impatiens, a geranium (the original plant was given to me by my daughter for Mother's Day many years ago), a red flowering plant I can't remember the name of, a lemon grass plant for making lemon grass tea (which is supposed to be helpful for cancer patients), and a pot of 3 old-fashioned petunias.  I left them all long and scraggly so they don't feel too much shock at being dug up and brought inside, but once I know they are adapting well I'll cut them back so they can put all their strength into developing good roots.

I also prepared my furnace and duct work for winter by removing the plastic bags I had taped over the floor ducts (to prevent dust and stuff from falling down in there all summer... no way to shut off the grates) and washing them off.  I put a new furnace filter in.  Then I took some rags and made them very wet. Almost dripping.  And laid them across the heat vents and turned the furnace on.  The first blast of air from the ducts will blow whatever dust is in the ducting onto the wet rags and capture it instead of blowing it all over the room.  

Then I swept all my floors.  My eyesight isn't very good, so there are some cleaning projects I'm blissfully ignorant of.  But I just assumed the floors needed a good sweep.

I believe it's a good idea to learn whatever skills we can, at any age.  We can get things out of our own head to experiment with or try something we see someone else doing or have read of someone doing.  

When I was a young woman living in Berlin in the mid-80s I read an article about people from some country (I won't attempt details because I'll get them wrong) who had, through government grooming, lost the ability to bake their own bread.  So they would stand in line for long periods of time just to get a loaf of bread.  I was amazed that none of them, apparently, would just get out of line and go home and bake their own bread, no matter how bad.  And just keep trying until they had it right.

I decided then to learn to bake as much of our baked goods as I could.  So I experimented for many years with various recipes and types of buns, loaves, muffins, etc., until I got good enough to satisfy myself on my ability to provide us with bread.  I've enjoyed baking all through the years and baked all our own sandwich bread until about a year ago.  

Many other things I've experimented with until I felt I was good enough to do it if I had to.  I didn't always continue on with doing all these things, as a survivalist might, but I knew that I could do them if necessary, and that was what mattered to me.  And I also have the knowledge and experience in my head to share with others who need those skills.  

Having the ability to do many strange 'frightening' things can give us the confidence to try other new things or to be ready to tackle unexpected emergencies around the homestead, instead of just folding up and mewing piteously like a little kitten when things go wrong... and things will go wrong.

Here at my homestead I currently have the happy combination of a propane water heater with a pilot light (read:  no electricity needed) and city water.  The city water was NOT my idea, but my late husband's.  I thought city water would cost us money, which it does, but it's very convenient for me, which is what he was concerned about at the time.  Because of my happy combination, when the power goes out around here, I can still do dishes and take a long hot bath.... by candlelight!  

We still have a well, it still has water, but it's disconnected from the house.  A well needs a well pump (read:  electricity needed, unless you're going to use buckets or an old pump operated by elbow  power).  Several winters ago our water company had a huge main break and we lost our water for more than a few hours.  I'm remembering 2 or 3 days.  We went and got a couple buckets and tied a rope around the handles.  We pushed the concrete cap off the top of the well and dropped the buckets down into the well (we have an old hand dug well lined with field stone) and hauled up several pails of water and lined them up on the front porch.  I had never done this before, but I saw it in the movies.  This was not that difficult.  I'll never have to wonder again if I can do this, because I know I can.

Don't be afraid of adversity... use it as an opportunity to equip yourself with new skills and the knowledge that you can still acquire new skills, no matter what age or state in life.

Blessings,

Katrinka

Inside of our well during drought of 2012.  This is a very low water level for this well.

Weeds in the Fenceline

Weed free propane tank

I started a project a few days ago to clear out the weeds around my propane tank.  Winter is coming, and the weeds were blocking not only my view (and access over the fence) to the tank, but also would make it difficult for the fuel company to reach my tank and deliver the propane.  The photo above shows the results of the first day's work.  It turned out to be easier and a lot more fun than I had anticipated.  So I'm going to try to do the whole fenceline.

As a country widow, I never want to run out of propane.  So my rule is to hop the fence once a week (usually on Friday) and check the gauge and record it on my calendar.  When it reaches 20% I call the propane company.  Or sometimes they top it off when they're in the area.  If I can afford it, I'll pre-buy a few hundred gallons when the price is low, an option the propane company usually offers in late summer.

Yesterday I worked on another section of fenceline, along the east side of the property heading north.  It's good upper body exercise.  I try to walk a mile a day, up the field road, so with clearing the fenceline I get a total body workout... free!  This concept is something Mister D introduced to our employees when we had our foundation business.  We needed lots of manual labor.  Very demanding physical labor.  It was difficult to get some of those young men enthusiastic about this idea.  So he would tell them he was providing them with a body building workout and was actually paying them to do it!  This sales pitch would convince a lot of young men to stay... for 2 or 3 days.

Yesterday I pulled my pickup around to load the weeds into.  I worked about 2-1/2 hours on the next section of fenceline and then hauled the weeds to the brush pile and shoved them off onto the top of the pile.  That pile is getting pretty large, but I'll have to wait for it to dry awhile before I can burn it off.  

Sometimes when I clear areas like this, I'll just make a brush pile wherever I happen to be working and leave it go.  When it's dried enough, I'll burn the piles right where they stand.  This is OK with me.  It saves me from a lot of hauling and it keeps my brush pile from looking like Mt. Everest.  Us country widows have to improvise, ya know.  I'm here to help you think of ways to do that.

But burning off a brush pile next to the propane tank didn't seem like a good idea, so I hauled it to the pasture to add to my growing pile of sticks and cardboard and brush.  

So... hmmm... where was I.  Oh, yes, after shoving the weeds off onto the brush pile I left the tailgate down and took a very fast drive around the mile to blow the sticks and leaves out of the bed of my truck.  Perhaps some folks will wonder why I didn't just climb up in there with a broom.  But I know there are plenty of you out there to whom this idea makes perfect sense.  

When I got back home, the bed was clean except for some leaves stuck around the spare tire and the 60-pound bag of hardened Quikrete that I accidentally left there after some friends put in a new mailbox for me. Both of these items are impossible for me to move, they are so humongously heavy.  So pretend I'm leaving them there for weight to provide traction in the snow this winter.  This makes me look very wise, instead of weak and forgetful.  This is another thing we country widows have to become skilled at... using our goof-ups to our own advantage.

I guess this will be it for today.

Oh!  I need to mention that, should your brush pile become too huge, before you burn it take a big stick or a hoe or something and beat on the top of it and holler at the top of your lungs.  Yes... this is truly necessary.  Little furry things and little feathery things and little slithery things hide in huge brush piles and you want them to GO AWAY before you hit it with a match.  Don't ask me how I know this, just trust me when I say it...

Blessings,

Katrinka

Introducing Katrinka, a Country Widow

Ahem.  OK.  (fingers nervously tapping keyboard) Here's my first post on my Country Widow blog.

As mentioned in my profile, I am a widow and I do live in the country.  On 2-1/2 acres. I've lived in the country a lot longer than I've been a widow.  I was only widowed a couple of months ago.  However, it seems longer as my husband died from the complications of Alzheimer's disease, and that can remove the sense of companionship that all happily married couples enjoy, sometimes many months or years before the actual loss of your beloved spouse.  I'll just share with you that he was a wonderful, gentle, humble, loving man and it was an honor to be able to do what I could for him in the final years of his life.  I've been saying good-bye to him for a long time now, so I suppose I was uniquely prepared to lose him.  It's a source of great joy to me in knowing that he is with the Lord right now, and can no longer be touched by any sorrow, confusion, or pain. He was a true man, and his dignity and manliness shone through him to the very end.  ...  You will probably read some stories about him in my future posts.  But I especially wanted to introduce you to him in my first paragraph!

Oh, also, I should probably say that although I try to do a good job with spelling and grammar and punctuation and all the stuff about first person, second person, and everything... I will make plenty of  mistakes.  And I probably won't use spell check or grammar check or all of that.  It just kinda cramps my style and I will obsess about all of that instead of just getting whatever is in me out of my system.   Which is not desirable to me.  And this IS my blog.   Just a caveat...

As far as country living... I was born and raised on a farm in upper Iowa, not far from the Minnesota border.  Daddy and Mom raised and grew just about everything, at one time or another.  This was before the large farms that specialize in grain, dairy, beef  or whatever.  We did it all.  As a child I can remember us raising dairy cattle, beef cattle, chickens for eggs, chickens for meat, hogs, and at different times we also had sheep, geese, ponies, and horses (the last two were for me).  And probably other types of livestock.

We raised apples, grapes, strawberries, rhubarb and any kind of vegetable you can imagine.  Along with lots of flowers and roses and flowering bushes and shrubs.  I'm probably forgetting a lot of things we grew.  One of the things we did when I was a child, in the hot summer evenings, was to get in the car and cruise around with the windows down and polka music on the radio.  Daddy would stop and get a quart of beer that he and Mom would share while we drove around and looked at crops and flower beds.  Ummm, I guess there were no open container laws back then.

I lived in this glorious manner until I was 17 and left home.  When I was growing up, I would get up at 5:00 a.m. during the school year to read (a book) for a couple hours before leaving for school.  During the summer I would get up at 5:00 a.m. to do my chores so I could have the rest of the day to 'play'.  At that time, I would pack a lunch and a thermos and take my horse or my bicycle or my feet and disappear all day until supper time.  I could be swimming, playing tennis, visiting a friend, riding into town to the playground, or just plain walking/riding/bicycling all over the countryside.  No one worried about where I was or what I was doing unless I was late getting home... and I was a very prompt child.

After leaving home I lived various places, all city, until 1994 when we moved here to our little acreage in southern Illinois.  This has been our home since, except for a time in Indiana.  In Indiana we lived in the country, too, so I figure I've got about 38 of my 61 years spent viewing a rural landscape out of my kitchen window.

Allright.... the necessary, but possibly boring, details have been covered.  Making way for later posts that will undoubtedly enthrall you.

Blessings,

Katrinka

My late husband, Randy (Mister D)
in his Mom's kitchen in California
summer 1984

October 22,1948 - July 30, 2015