FauxReo Cookie Sandwiches

The break in the heat means a return to the kitchen, apparently. Today, the flour and sugar, eggs and butter, and no small amount of chocolate beckoned. V and I responded to the call and made these FauxReos. (The recipe likened them to Oreos, but I thought this name was much more fun.)

They're nothing like Oreos, it turns out, but they're yummy. Rather than enjoy her first taste with the buttercream frosting intended by the original recipe, V opted to turn hers into an ice cream sandwich. By the end of the day, the girls and I had tried both the ice-cream-sandwich version and the buttercream version. Ice cream was the hands-down winner.

BlueKitty agreed.

Doily Storm

I think I noted in an earlier post that E picked up crochet earlier this year. Well, she's taken off. She used to enjoy knitting, but she's LOVING crochet. She made dozens of hats for members of the cast and crew of "Anne of Avonlea" this summer, has expanded her repertoire to include headbands, flowers, bags and scarves. And now these: doilies.














She started with patterns for these creations, but now she's making up the doilies as she goes along. She's discovered bamboo thread which provides for nice, sharp lines and great color. It's fine work, takes loads of time, but she kicks on the music or an audio book and she's off and running.

I really do hate to see any of these creations go, but as her sister pointed out, she could probably make some money with them. She's experimenting with outlets. The Creston Country Store graciously allowed her to place them there, but they didn't sell. Maybe her prices are too high, or maybe it just wasn't the right time and place. She's going to try again at the Friends of Santa Margarita Library Craft Sale on Nov. 17 at the Community Center, Santa Margarita. Please stop in if you'd like to check them out and support our yarn kid.

Creative SLO Living - Tie Alley

I really don't know what this is about, but I discovered it not very far from the sweater-wrapped tree, utility box murals and other street art during a recent walk in SLO town. It's one of those little finds that make me smile, spark my creativity, bring me joy.

It's the little things:

Summer Scenes on The Farm

It was really hot out here this summer, for far too long. I'd expected a couple of weeks of extreme heat - temperatures over 100 - but it went on for weeks on end. I hate heat, but there were countless redeeming factors. Let me share just a few.

While Mr. B was away at a training, I cashed one of my freelance checks for this wood. Turns out while wood is super expensive, prefab sheds or related kits of any sort are even MORE expensive. So the girls and I installed cedar board panels on the windward side of the existing run-in. I helped them level the first, then we were off and running, the girls working together to bring and line up the wood while I drove the screws. What a team! It only took us about half an hour, at most, to get it done. And, wow, what a difference.


I'm sure the horses will appreciate it, too, once bitter winter winds set in.

It's APPLESAUCE TIME!

It's that time of year again! Apple gleaning season which means applesauce galore here.

This year, the girls and I headed to one of our favorite apple spots. For canning and freezing apples, we really don't need the pretty ones (or the prices attached) so we head out to a Central Coast orchard that offers greatly reduced prices on their windfalls. At $9 per 20 pound bag, it's better than we've been able to find anywhere else around here, but still more pricey than last year ($7 per bag of any size) and the year before that ($7 for as much as you could carry). They're catching on, darn it!

It took us less than an hour to pick up 28 pounds of perfectly good applesauce apples, and twice that long to peel them all, even with the counter-top apple-peeler Grandma Kathy got for each of us kids several years ago. The girls were a great help as we prepped the apples for "sauce today, pie tomorrow."

One giant pot of apples yielded five quarts of the "best applesauce you've ever made, Mom." I need no higher praise than that.

But it's been two weeks, and we're already out of sauce. I guess we'll be needing a LOT more apples.

Tomatoes, Hornworms and Hen Diets

Not all was lost this garden season. Sure, we had some issues with pests. Sure, I considered calling it "the year of failure." But that didn't last long. I opted, instead, to call this "the year of learning." Seemed more productive and positive. And certainly has been true.

It all seemed so easy at first: clean out the garden, plan our season, plant seeds and water, right? Well, it did start that way. But then came the plagues. I planted again, though I confess this time I didn't keep track of the things I planted very well. We watered it, weeded it, continued with our battle with rabbits and gophers, and VOILA! Zucchini, squash and tiny, sweet, cherry-style tomatoes abound.

Turns out chickens love tomatoes. They will not, however, chip in around here and eat the giant tomato horn worms which work their way through the garden with ease.

Go figure.

First Day of School Traditions

You may have gathered by now that I'm a lagging on my posts. After all, it's pretty darn close to a certain girl's birthday and you haven't seen a post about THAT! I apologize. I've been focusing on a few other things lately, and my computer time has been limited to paying gigs - as many as I can get! Let's catch up.

Still, we can't let the year go on without sharing our First Day of School pictures. Yep. We take 'em. Always have. And we continue our First Day of School tradition - after breakfast, backpack loading and photos (this year with a furry addition), the girls walk to school. This year, they walked to the bus stop, since we're out in the sticks, and the mysterious school bus showed up to give them a lift. Funny, the bus driver looks exactly like their teacher who also doubles as the cafeteria lady and, oh yeah, their mother.

Sure, it's silly. But it's fun. It brings us all some grins and giggles and adds to the creativity of our day.

What's YOUR first-day-of-school tradition?

Hen House, Hens and Lots of Dirt Movin'

I can't even begin to express just how fantastic our friends are. Without their help, their encouragement and their old projects we'd still be a no-chicken family. Who knows? We might still be living in town, under the flight path at the end of that newly expanded runway, just a few blocks from the upcoming freeway interchange. After all, it was the addition of chickens to our backyard nearly two years ago that really began the ascent to farm living.

Free Chicken: Flo, our first hen, was a hen-pecked mess when we picked her up from friends desperate to find her a home. She'd never laid. We didn't really care. The girls were interested in chickens, farm animals, well, any animals. Flo was looking for a home, and we lived only a few blocks from her original owners.

One Woman's Trash: Hens need homes, and I'm pretty big on recycling. Plus, what can I say, I make do with the budget I have at any given time. So rather than run out and buy a hen house or even the parts to build the whole, I reached out through social media where I discovered a fantastic coincidence. Several sweaty hours, bloodied arms and granny knots later, Flo had a safe night-time space in the form of a transformed rabbit hutch and enclosure. She only spent the most dangerous hours there - the opossum hours, the raccoon hours, the owl hours, night.

Three's A Crowd: By springtime, the girls were enjoying Flo, but we all agreed she could use some friends. Plus, the girls wanted to raise chicks. And is there much cuter than children and chicks? OK. Children and just about ANY baby animal? So we picked up a pair, an Aracauna ("Tiger Ginger") and Barred Rock ("Falconer"), and repurposed some of our own projects to build them their first home before they joined the Big Backyard World.

Changing Spaces: Then came the Big Move of 2012 in which Flo, Tiger Ginger, Falconer and their home came out to the farm, along with the kids, the parents and all of our belongings. We attached their enclosure to a larger enclosure which we'd rehabed on the new place. The big run is under an oak tree on a hillside near the house. The hens are welcome to lay, rest, or run at any hour of the day, and most often seem to enjoy running up to and around the people house. They seem to take the greatest pleasure from pooping on the porch. More than 50 acres to roam and they have to leave their mark on the PORCH!? These ARE pet chickens! Our three hens were joined this spring by another young Barred Rock, "Owl," which was a gift from a new neighbor.

When Jokes Turn Real: A young friend saw our chickens running lose. I had NO idea she was considering getting rid of her brood when she said, "Mom! I want to bring my chickens out here!" I laughed and said, "Do we get the house with them?" Her dad had built a fantastic chicken house and run with all the trimmings. I'd been eyeing it for more than a year, mentally measuring it, taking notes so that someday I might build something similar though I knew the craftsmanship would never compare. A couple weeks later, her mom called to offer the chickens and the house to us, for real. We coordinated our schedules, mapped out a plan, and made it happen. They wanted to exit the egg business. They wanted their hens to go to a good home. They wanted the corner of their yard back that the hens had completely taken over. We were a perfect fit.

New Digs: A week before we were to bring the hen house out by some unknown means, a local
friend bought a new flatbed trailer on impulse. After years of flat-towing his aging Jeep, it was time, and his timing couldn't have been more perfect for us. I wasn't sure he'd let me take off with his brand-new rig, but he didn't even hesitate. With Mr. B, myself, and the wife-husband team who was giving up this house and flock, we were able to open up a section of their fence, move the house onto the trailer, and repair the fence in a matter of hours.

It took two days to prep the site, thanks in no small part to the brick-hard soil around the day pen and so many other spots on the property. We used pick axe and shovel to hack a notch into the hillside above the existing run. Once leveled, I tiled the run area with pavers our friends had included in the package. If we've learned nothing from our first run, we've learned how destructive squirrels can be. The concrete pavers should keep the squirrels from undermining the new hen house.

It's not often that I can visualize my demise, but as Mr. B and I prepped to move that house off the trailer, down the hillside, under the oak tree and into place, I had clear visions of the thing sliding off the trailer and snapping my arm in two. It was kind of like the images preschoolers have where "broken arm" means the whole thing just snaps right off your body. I was pretty sure we were doomed, but Mr. B had a plan; and it worked beautifully.

Free-range Hens: Now our flock of eleven hens put themselves to bed at night - the original three in their hutch, the new eight in their house. Sometimes, they wander into each other's homes by day, even lay eggs in each other's spaces, but they keep to themselves for the most part. By sunrise, they're in the run giving themselves dust baths and tanking up on water for the day. We open their door to the outside world and hope for the best each day; there are hawks and coyotes, foxes and bobcats about. So far, the new hens have kept themselves pretty close to their home rather than ours.

Good thing.

I Madonnari for One

A strange thing is happening as the girls gain a little more independence and learn to express their desires more clearly: they're opting to separate, to seek out one-on-one time with each of their parents. Recently, that meant E and I turned up at a festival we haven't attended without V since, well, before V was born.

We wandered among the chalk artists, talked about the works and found our way to the children's chalk art area where we ran into a few friends. While E created art in a few squares, the adults visited. Then I joined her for some time on the ground before we continued on through the sponsored squares.

Without her sister there, she's much more subdued. While the girls ask for their time away from each other (not in so many words, but that's the end result of these days), they don't seem as buoyant without each other. Maybe it's because they're more relaxed, not competing. Or maybe it's because they miss each other. E is much quieter. V takes the opportunity to asks loads of questions, but also talks about her sister when we're away from E. ("E would like this." "Do you think we should bring xxx home to E?")

On our way out from the festival, a theatre-friend of E's waved her down. "Would you like to join us?" And there she was, down on the ground under the umbrella helping a friend with a large chalk project. And there I was, watching, enjoying, and missing V.

Mountains+Water+Cousins=Wild & Wacky Bunch

For each of the past several years, with one exception, the girls and I (and once Mr. B) trekked to a certain campground in the Sierra to float the river, soak in the natural hot springs, make s'mores and otherwise enjoy the great outdoors with my little brother and his family. We always have SUCH a great time, in no small part because, well, their family rocks.

The first year we gathered here was rough. Their youngest was only a year old, if that, and camping was entirely foreign to most of their little kids. Couple that with a long drive, late arrival, hungry kids and tired parents and you can bet it was a pretty nerve-wracking first day or so. My girls were only slightly older, and with only one adult to meet their young demands needs, particularly with so much water play involved, it was hardly a restful trip. But the kids got involved with the dirt and rocks and sticks - 'cause really, who needs toys in the forest - and the weekend was saved.

Fast forward a half a dozen years and we've gotten into a groove. All of us look forward to this trip. When the adults involved utter summer plans that may not include this trip (something both families considered this year for various reasons), all the kids freak. And our constitutions aren't that strong. Where cooler heads might opt to skip a year, stay home, take a break, our hearts pull us back together at this place. It's a tradition. We have to go. And not just for tradition's sake. We enjoy it there. We enjoy the company.

So through the years, we've braved plagues of mosquitoes and yellowjackets, weathered a storm that flooded the big tent, watched the kids grow and enjoyed each other's company. We've gotten to know each other better, had opportunities to play with each other, enjoyed time together.

I can hardly wait for next year's reunion at this special place with this rockin' family.

Father-Daughter Weekend Getaway at Coyote

It's been a long time since my dad and I had a weekend to just the two of us. One beautiful weekend this summer, Dad was headed up to one of our favorite Sierra lakes. His passenger seat would be open.  Mr. B was slated to be home. Dad was coming home well in time for me to settle in before Mr. B headed back to work again.

I asked if I could join Dad in the trip.

It was so spontaneous, I think we were both surprised!

In keeping with Jeeping tradition, we left home  later than expected, perhaps spent longer than expected at dinner, and arrived at the trailhead somewhere around 1 a.m. We could have stopped there. We could have slept there and rolled into camp the following morning. But we were already packed up, already on the trail, and the fun part of the drive, the part that keeps off-highway drivers awake, was just beginning.

As we bumped and thumped and rolled on along the trail through the darkened forest, I suddenly realized that my compulsion to stay up late and wrap things up, to work obsessively at a task, to drive on to the end isn't entirely my compulsion, but a genetic one. Why stop now when we're so close? Who needs caffeine?

We arrived at camp somewhere around 4 a.m., not an entirely unusual bedtime for me. We threw down the tarp, our pads and our sleeping bags. I looked up through the boughs of those Sierra pines, smiled at the stars and, for perhaps the first time in my adult life, fell asleep before my dad did.

The benefit of working through the night was that we were in camp all day Saturday. No packing. No traveling. No muss. We made Queen Snake biscuits over the fire for a brunch-like breakfast. I took a walk around the lake. We took an evening paddle. We sat around the fire and told jokes with other campers we met there. And of course we had s'mores.

Sunday, we didn't exactly rush away from camp. I don't think either one of us was really ready to leave the lake. I looked forward to being home where our sky is open and clear, where my husband and kids were. But I'll miss that lake, those mountains, and that special time with my dad.

Quidditch Wednesdays

Kids find the most fun things to do! Each Wednesday, we gather in a fairly local park with a load of other kids of the same educational ilk.

At least one family is VERY interested in all things Harry Potter. Combine this HP obsession, a playing field, a seemingly random collection of balls and a bunch o' kids and what do you get?

Game upon game of Quidditch. At least one adult may know the rules, but the kids seem to alter it as needed to accommodate the age groups on hand.