Being Home

Enough of the Pacific Ocean, walking on the beach and thoughts of rogue waves sweeping me to my watery death. I want to spend a few days blogging about being HOME, on the mountain... being at one with the deer and my dogs... hiking and doing my solitary thing that I do best. I will return to the vacation on the ocean in a few days. I just need to ground myself in the beauty of the winter foothills for a while.

The prayers and rain dances worked. We have had rain, off and on, this week and there's more to come. It's not going to change the direction of the drought here in California but it's a relief for the parched ground and feelings of dread that plague the mind.
Last Saturday we had our neighbor "D" over for dinner. He watched our house the week that we were gone. He fed the cat and the chickens, picked up our mail and... He blocked traffic on our country road so that we could get in and out with the monster RV. It's probably not completely legal, but he does it for us anyway, so we don't have to worry about meeting a hay truck or teenagers on, basically, a one lane road. The folks who do stop and wait are mostly regular users of this river road and use to delays. Coming home, he blocked the road at our entrance and no one came by. That's how much traffic we have to deal with... on a Monday afternoon. He likes to do this. What a guy! He's one of the good people in our life and he deserved a home cooked meal. It's small payment for his efforts.
So, when he arrived he brought me more deer antlers.

Yes, more. He gave me some a few weeks back for a project I was doing and so, he brought me another one. Plus... he brought me a very cool deer head with antlers.

I know this is probably not too exciting for some of you, but I love this stuff.
Nature is a work of art and the skeletons are amazingly beautiful if you really look at them... closely.

After I bleached and cleaned the deer head, I let it dry on the porch and then brought it inside .

This was found here, near the river somewhere. We will never know why it died. A mountain lion attack, a disease, remains of a hunt during deer season. I don't know... but I think it's beautiful.

The skull is brittle near the shattered nose but the rest is very hard. Some of the back teeth are still attached.

Look where the skull fits together. Doesn't it make you wonder how this all happens? Why there is one shape for a deer, one for humans and one for each animal on earth. Amazing!

Look at the antlers and the growth pattern.

Intricate, complex and amazing. I think this skull will go on my wall somewhere. I know I've said that I would never have a taxidermed head of any animal on my walls, but this is not stuffed, killed by man (as far as I know) or a trophy for someone's collection... and I think it's a work of art in its present form.

The single antler was cleaned and stained.

It sits on top of a gourd bowl that I edged with oak bark. This antler will be the handle.

I used some Howard's walnut Restor~A~Finish on the antler. It gave the bleached and dried out bone a darker, more finished look. I could, now, use some clear wax on it to shine it up a little. We'll see. I will tie the antler on with leather straps.

I've been hiking up into the hills behind us. One day this week we were in between rainstorms and a cold front came through. It got really cold. That's when I like to walk and hike. The wind was blowing, the air was cold and the spirits of the forest were calling me.
I bundled up... I mean bundled... layers... hooded sweatshirt, heavy socks, my gloves and a lined raincoat.

I walked up the road to the well.
Walked by Maggie's grave.

And continued on up to the ridge.

I touched everything. It's important to touch things... to find a connection and reassure myself of my place in this life. This makes me feel alive. Touch is real. It's comforting.

It was so cold. My fingers were numb and red. The photos don't show the cold. My fingers don't look red, but they were. I would keep putting my hands back into my pockets to warm them.

 

Then I would hold the camera with my right hand and take pictures for a while. It's a ritual that keeps me grounded and gives me purpose.
Annie was waiting for me when I got back to the house. She's had an attitude ever since we got back from vacation. She keeps giving me that look... you know, that cats can give you when you do something they don't like? Yes, that one.
She didn't go for a walk with me... not even up to the well.
She's being a bit aloof.
She'll get over it.

This morning we had rain again. Not a lot, but it's wonderful and it smells so good.

Everything is soaking up this gentle rain.

 Tiny sprouts of bulbs that I planted last year are coming up. Spring is emerging from the damp earth.

Even one of the garden ladies seems happier about the rain. She generally seems a little sad... but I felt that she was looking at the rain darkened walk and garden... and feeling happier in her own quiet way. Anthropomorphizing the planter again Farmlady? Yes, I guess I am.
Her ivy hairdo is looking better this week. Maybe she's just happy about her hair.
You know how woman can be.

The first daffodil had opened.

 It's so good to be home.

Call of the River

Yesterday the Prospector and I took the dogs and drove to the Mokelumne River.

It was a perfect early spring day. The dry winter is deceptively enchanting with its green carpet spreading under the leafless trees, along the banks of the river and over all the hills nearby. We need rain badly. It's going to be a hard summer if the next 6 to 8 weeks doesn't bring us some moisture.
I think about the water situation when I look at this beautiful river.

The river seems to have an endless supply, but is already being held back by the "powers that be", to conserve water for the "drought" year that is expected if it doesn't rain next month. There seems to be so much water but there is such a demand for this precious commodity that every year there is more worry about not having enough.

Cutter is still not use to this huge river and the noise it makes. He pulls away from it and looks to Carl for reassurance.
Then the call of the wild makes them forget the huge, noisy river when they get a scent and start wondering what other animals have been here before them.

I left the dogs with the Prospector and walked out onto the bedrock.

I love being "in" the river, on these huge rocks.
It's like standing on the bones of the earth.

 Bedrock is the layer of solid rock formations below the soil or underneath glacial drift in a particular area. 

 The rock comprising bedrock can be sedimentary, igneous, or metamorphic.

Bedrock is the native rock underlying the surface of the Earth. It's solid and goes nowhere. It's the solid, foundation of the earth's crust.
It feels elemental and secure. When I'm on this huge consolidated rock I feel safe, as if I'm standing on the only ground that will never be moved out from under me.

We walked down to another beach area, called Box Beach, where the water gets deeper and slows down. In the summer this beach is packed with people. Now, it is quiet and serene. 
You can see that people have been here. A small toddler's wading area was built in the water.

And a rope swing is suspended from an oak tree.

There it hangs waiting for the hot days of summer.

Can't you just feel, or remember what it felt like, jumping from a rope swing on a hot summer day?

We walked back to the car, on the road, and past a couple of signs. One warned about the change in flow of the river which can happen quickly and needs to have some forewarning.
It says CAUTION: Flow of river subject to sudden rises. All persons enter channel at their own risk. They are not kidding. I've seen the river go from "You could almost walk across it" to "OMG! What a torrent." It's scary how fast this happens.

The other sign is kind of funny. I guess I have a weird sense of humor. Just drive right in...

The dogs had a great time. We should do this more often. We ALL need the exercise.

Until next time.... goodbye wonderful old tree roots.

Goodbye reflections in glassy water.

Goodbye mud that makes its own art.

And sparkles under melted snow water.

Goodbye old river... until we meet again.

Brownie and the Black Feather

On my walk the other night I went through the back gate. Annie was up on the fence, as I went by. She has  a badly scratched up nose. She has had this sore nose for a week now.

  It's healing but it still looks kind of sore. She won't let me touch it. I think it's getting better on its own.

"Wanna come with me Annie?" She looked mighty comfortable and didn't move, so I left her and continued up the road.

As I walked past the "other woman" I sensed a feeling of unrest.

And I thought I heard a small grumble coming from her hood vent.

I'm really sorry that she has to stay outside now (Really, I am.) but until we build another garage, this is the best we can do. I don't think she's happy about it.

I walked on up the hill to the well and choose the low road to the orchard...

 The road, on the left, goes to the top of the hill where I love to walk. (This was our escape route during the fire last summer.) The road on the right goes down  to the old orchard, (what's left of it) and to our septic leach system... and to the other knoll where all the Manzanitas grow. It's a much shorter walk.
 I always take the lower road in the summer because there is less dry grass. Even though the weather is nice and cool this week, I never walk in the tall grass until late fall when I know that there's less chance of a Rattler lurking in the weeds.
The sky was so beautiful.

The hills to the east, toward the Sierras, were laughing in the overcast, coolness of the day.

I said hello to Maggie who is buried up on the hill near the road. She was our last big dog, a beautiful shepherd mix, before we got the two little Corgis. Actually, Carl, our first corgi, came to live with us while Maggie was still alive.  
When she died, The Prospector buried her up here and asked me to make a sign for the site.

  That was almost four years ago. She was a wild little puppy when we first got her and I always feel like her spirit is bounding around with me up there. I don't walk up to the grave this time of the year (the grass is too long) but I always say something to her. She was a good dog.
I turned around and started back.. When I got about two thirds of the way back to the house, I saw something long and black on the side of the trail. My heart started beating a little faster, but I was quite a distance from it and well... rattlers aren't usually that dark. I just couldn't see it clearly.
I walked down, slowly, and  realized it was a feather, a huge black feather...

 underneath the utility pole. It was a turkey vulture wing feather sitting there moving a little in the wind. It wasn't in the deep grass, so I picked it up. It was huge.  The vultures like to sit up on the top of the pole a lot so I guess one of them dropped this feather. We have found them here before.

I walked down toward the house and the blond hussy (the 38' Chevy). This time she didn't say anything. I think she should be happy that we, at least, cover her. After all, she is going to get a complete overhaul one of these days (money, money, money...) and I can't even get the Prospector to pay for my orthopedic inserts.
Oh, I'm sorry. Now, I'm the one that's venting.

When I got down to the back gate, Annie was still up on her perch. I took the feather and teased her with it.

She humored me for a few minutes and then...

Lost interest.

I went by the goat yard and Brownie gave me a  muted "Hello.", so I walked over to the fence, reached over with the feather and tickled his nose.

That's when he made this face. Hilarious! 

 I pulled the feather away and started to leave... 

So he gave me his cute goat look.

 "Why did you stop?"

 "Farmlady. Please keep doing that."

 And he made that silly toothy smile again...

 What a ham!

So I played "feather" with him for a while

And he got downright silly about it. He tried to eat the feather. We had a great time. He loved all the attention.
This morning I took an old brush out there and gave Brownie a back rub. (Yes, I'm spoiling him.) His hair is growing back and he's looking pretty darn good. He's still too skinny, but he is gaining weight and his body looks so much better. He seems to be thriving in his "last goat standing" status. I was always told that Nubians didn't like to be alone. That they need other goats. Well, this guy is just fine. He's a character. That's for sure.
 I dearly miss Murphy, but Brownie is our survivor... par excellence. He is playing this solitary life for all its worth. He's still our outspoken, show pony. I'm sure there will be more stories to tell.