Have I mentioned how much I love the baby woodchucks?
If not, get used to it… because I’ve been spending a lot of time making friends with them.
I’ve found sliced apples are a great ice breaker.
And if I’m enjoying a little Crown Royal apple while making woodchuck friends… all the better.
It took a while for them to get used to me and they were pretty hesitant to come out with me so close.
But the lure of apples proved too much.
Admit it.
That’s pretty damned cute.
Strange things are happening at Casa River this year.
First, the husband wanted to clean out the big barn ( Okay, he didn’t really. It was just a bit of organizing… but I’m counting it.)
Second, the husband helped me make a garden bed. ( I would have laid money on that never happening. )
And a week ago…
I looked out back….
And saw the husband planting a tree.
Planting! Not chopping down.
Somewhere in America, pigs are flying.
Okay, he didn’t buy them.
And only one of the three stands taller than my knee, but hey.
It’s still a miracle.
He dug them up from the wood line and I seriously doubt he got enough roots to make them viable…. which is why I told him they were going to need lots of water for the first few weeks.
Shall I give you one guess who has to drag that water to the far reaches of our property line because we only have 200 feet of hose and it won’t reach?
Yeah.
I didn’t think so.
Apparently even miracles have limits.
Especially if he’s your neighbor.
Across the road from our house is a ( 65 acre?) family owned and operated certified organic vegetable farm.
We love our neighbors. They’re alternative lifestyle vegans, and tend to do things a little differently….. which has made for wonderful blog fodder over the years.
How differently do they do things you ask.
Here’s a picture of my husband taken a few years ago. He was starting to put a roof on the chicken coop that had been turned into a farmhand’s cabin.
Yes…. that’s a hot water heater up in the tree behind him.
Isn’t that where you put yours?
Fast forward 6 years and the farm has grown by leaps and bounds. Expanded cultivation, multiple greenhouses, migrant workers, a new wife, 2 more children….
And goats.
Our neighbor has earned a stellar reputation among the expensive Old Port restaurants and did most of his business with them…. until the Corona virus shut everything down.
It was literally do or die for the farm, and in desperation the family opened a farm stand on their property. It’s doing well, but can never make up for the market they lost.
So they’ve also brought back their CSA (community supported agriculture). Not sure if you have this where you live, but it’s become very popular in Maine.
The following is a heartfelt plea they sent to our town and an explanation of how it works if you’re interested.
Which were almost too beautiful to eat.
The majesty (and the God damn miracle I’m not divorced) that is the completed baby barn remodel.
And yes even though it’s as small as a shed, there was a horse living in it before we moved in, so it’s a barn.
A baby barn.
And I have the hay holder thingies to prove it.
Please note ‘hay holder thingies’ may not be the correct equine term, but I was born in Jersey. The only thing I know about horses is who placed in the fourth at Belmont.
We started with this….
And finished with this….
Looks a little better than before, eh?
No comments on the empty garden bed, that has yet to be redone.
Before….
After…
Before….
After….
And to think it only took us a 10 mere months.
Which shouldn’t be a surprise.
We started it’s larger father in 2012…. and haven’t really finished that yet either.
Yup.
That’s our motto.
So, can you see it?
Look closely now.
Not until you get near enough to look up.
There.
The neighbor’s tree adjacant tree house, hidden from sight by trees.
I love trees.
Here’s the husband for size reference, holding the enemy of trees. The chain saw birthday gift I’ve lived to regret.
I neither know, nor want to find out what he was cutting down there.
I shall just enjoy the leaf cover those glorious trees provide.
And maybe do this –
Yesterday was a relatively uneventful trip…. which is almost anticlimactic at this point. It’s been such a rich source of blog fodder these past few months.
There was ample toilet paper, meat and soup so maybe the panic buying is finally subsiding.
There was however this sign –
And while I consider my vocabulary larger than your average bear’s, aseptic juice did give me pause.
To my mind the words and septic and juice are not a good mix, for obvious reasons.
Because if I’m thirsty? I don’t usually head for the tank out back that holds our bodily wastes.
But thankfully the word aseptic has a different meaning:
Aseptic processing is a processing technique wherein commercially thermally sterilized liquid products are packaged into previously sterilized containers under sterile conditions to produce shelf-stable products that do not need refrigeration.
Whew… that was close.
My Ocean Spray cranberry almost got crossed off the list.
I heard some Hellacious (Yes, that’s a word. At least in Maine.) chattering the other afternoon.
Looked out back…
And saw momma red squirrel perched on the plant hanger.
She was flicking her tail and screeching like a Hollywood starlet who ran out of Botox.
She screeched so hard a seed fell out of her mouth.
It only took me a minute to figure out why.
The other visitor.
No worries readers, momma escaped unharmed.
They’re everywhere.
Call me crazy, but I doubt this chicka is beating the men off with a stick.
Do I need to feel like Judy Jetson when I dispose of that slightly blue, mold covered cucumber that got pushed to the back of the crisper drawer?
No.
I do not.
Again with the space age crap. If I don’t know what year it is when I wake up?
I need to stop drinking, not buy a new clock.
Oh, yeah. These are sexy.
Perhaps she can double date with that hot Trekkie at the top.
Zero gravity?
I’m pretty sure if I ever find myself there, writing a grocery list or a thank you note won’t be my top priority.
And while I don’t need a dehydration light to flash in my water bottle…. this product might have adult beverage applications.
“Drink! You’re starting to sober up!”
Okay.
I’d buy that.
Do you see him?
There, on the end of the stone wall.
It’s a little baby chucker.
And I am totally in love with these guys.
They’ve started to use the wall as their own personal jungle gym….
And scamper around like little Tasmanian devils.
It’s entertaining as hell.
Our last day of the long Memorial Day weekend meant a morning of yard work.
Tag team mowing with the husband on his new toy and me slogging along with the old push mower.
It was a gorgeous day.
The pear tree was blooming.
The mallows I’d planted were thriving.
And everything had finally turned green.
Except the baby barn which I decided to start painting that afternoon.
Let me preface this by saying I used to love to paint.
I used to.
Until I had to use an artist’s tiny brush around all the nooks, corners, flashing and crooked angles on that beast.
Did I wear some paint, get covered in dirt, rip my pants, tumble off a ladder and work until almost 8:00 at night?
Yes I did.
But paint was applied.
And covered a multitude of sins.
Three sides done, one to go!
River's world..... 