Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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friday 5 at the farm: sometimes manure rolls uphill and Alexa, add body wash to the shopping list!

ONE: Sometimes manure rolls uphill, and compost is a miracle. If the field is quite dry and the breeze is strong enough, it is very normal for horse manure to roll uphill, away from my season. This phenomenon panicked me the first time I noticed it years ago. I thought it was one hundred percent paranormal. But I plan for it now. And, in case you’re wondering, this doesn’t really happen with llama manure. Also, ripening compost continues to amaze me with its winter-long incubation and promised garden magic.

TWO: Klaus temporarily smells like a human man.
Yesterday afternoon, and I cannot really explain how this started so just trust me, Klaus spontaneously joined me in the narrow, one person shower, upstairs. Normally I bathe him in the guest bathtub downstairs, where his proper dog shampoo is handy and a wide tiled floor (no carpets to soak or closets full of clothes to splatter) keep the clean-up job well contained. Upstairs, unplanned, I quickly grabbed Handsome’s two-in-one men’s shampoo-body wash combo and (I truly regret this) squeezed and drizzled about half a cup of it generously all over my half wet, 140-pound surprise guest. I now believe that people shampoo is designed to lather a lot more than dog shampoo, and I see that I made the situation much worse by dispensing so much. Within moments we were both covered in heaps and heaps and mountains of darkly masculine-scented, ever expanding, unrelenting piles of bubbles and suds. It took at least fifteen minutes of strategic spraying and rinsing to calm the fury of that lather. He just kept looking up at me like he had pulled off the biggest prank. Afterwards I used five clean beach towels to scrub away and absorb most of his wetness then blow-dried him while he smiled even more wolfishly and wagged his tail slowly. Now he smells like my husband, which is weird. But he is soft, and he loves it. He pranced around the house for hours like a shaggy, poofy, spiky black bear.

THREE: Waterfowl don’t know cold and will happily bathe in fresh water no matter the temperature. Even with nearly freezing air, our lone gander and two ducks thoroughly appreciate a fresh pool for swimming. They dive and splash and luxuriate blissfully, the same as they do in summer. It’s really quite a sight. I am still ruminating the puzzle of how to release them to free range again, for their safety and the safety of my gardens.

FOUR: People are complex and fascinating, and I have a new pandemic story coming soon! My friend and neighbor Mari shared her private pandemic experience with me, and as soon as we edit some details I will be posting that here on the blog. she is like a warm mug of good tea with honey in it. Then all of my pandemic interviews will be complete, and we will either embrace more or start on the book!

No photo description available.
Mari hand-wove this beautiful fabric basket and gifted it to me. I love it!

FIVE: I only have two new gardens planned this year. One is a pizza garden! I have wanted to do this for years, since my girls were small and my dad sent me a newspaper clipping about a farmer who did this in Yukon, and this year I’m finally going to make it happen here in Choctaw. It will be round in shape (pizza!), maybe twelve to fifteen feet across, with a tall bronze fennel (a nod to Italian sausage) growing in the center. From the fennel, it will be divided in wedges (like pizza slices, ha) with each section dedicated to a different pizza ingredient. Think… slicing tomatoes, peppers, parsley, oregano and basil, more paste and cherry tomatoes, what else? Maybe arugula! We should all team up to convince my husband we also need a dairy cow, so we can make fresh mozzarella. Then we should maybe grow wheat? This year’s second new garden space will be just for massive, colorful cut flowers, a sunflowers-and-zinnias patch, alongside the chicken coop just as you pull around the gravel driveway. Kind of across from the “Mural Garden,” where the okra went nuts last summer.

We are going to have so many different sunflowers this year xoxoxo

Okay friends, those are my updates for now! Good reading abounds too, and we have a wonderful Outreach project brewing for which we might ask a little help, but that will all keep for a few days. Please check in soon for Mari’s story! Tell me something random in your world, and happy weekend to you and yours!

“Even a rabbi should spend ten percent of his time
gardening and washing dishes and cooking
and tending to the basics of daily life.
There is something about it that connects you to other people.”
~Colin Beavan
XOXOXO

ducks, geese, & some related marital advice

Rick Astlee the One Eyed Duck is, really and truly, living his best life. In many ways he seems worlds happier than before the incident last winter, and if you could spend a few days with him I think you would agree. His limited vision does mean that he tilts and leans hard toward the ground, so as to see where he is going with his one good eye; and this usually means he walks in circles. But more and more, he has been stretching those circles into longer and longer ellipses. He waddles in oblong, not too elegant loops, overlapping them with greater and greater distance every day. It is pretty amazing to watch his slow, steady progress and also watch him regain some independence. Mike Meyers Lemon, his smaller duck companion, the one with the wonky wing feathers, is genuinely concerned for his friend and tries to help. Mike calls rapid fire to Rick, “quack-quack-quack,” and Rick answers languidly, “quaaaaack” and Mike hurries closer, “quack-quack-quack,” like an earnest round of Marco-Polo, Mike stretching his shiny duck neck and waddling search of his circle-walking friend, bit by bit, voices easily distinguishable, until they are safely reunited. This drama happens throughout the day all over the farm, but the sweetest thing is watching it play out at sunset. We noticed that almost every night, if the south coop flock has retired to bed without Rick, the calling and fretting is even easier to hear. The trouble is that often Rick is fast asleep somewhere errant, deaf to Mike’s pleas. So either Handsome or I, accompanied by Klaus, scan the farm with a flashlight until we find Rick curled up beneath a cedar tree or within the hydrangeas, sometimes beneath the deck which is wildly troublesome, and then we carry him back to the coop. As Rick arrives safe for bedtime, Mike always loses his mind like a worried parent whose teenager has missed curfew. It is precious.

Snapshot from last winter, the Bathtub Days xoxo
When Rick Astlee makes it all the way to the shade garden on his own, we celebrate!

Meanwhile, Johnny Cash the lone gander has been heart breakingly attached lately. Attached in the neck-swooning, soft-whine-honking, gentle spirit way that MIA used to have with me. He has attached himself alternately to Chanta, our big gold and white paint horse, and Klaus, the world’s most loving German Shepherd. Johnny Cash is Mr. Lonelyheart when he wanders the farm alone, but when he is with his chosen buddy of the moment he could not be happier. Often we find him waddling after Chanta, Chanta’s thick tail swishing at him contentedly. Or we see the goose and his dog resting in the shade of a pine tree, supervising the chickens at scratch. A few days ago I brought Klaus a bowl of water plus a few golden Oreos to share with his friend, and his friend lunged at me, shooing me away from their bro space. Klaus didn’t seem to notice, which is good. Like, extremely good. I cannot think he would approve of any animal attacking his mama, not even his friends.

Out of the blue a few weeks ago, an old adage blew through my mind and settled with more clarity then ever: “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” I suppose that most of my life have assumed it meant something like, what’s fair is fair, or maybe what’s good enough for women is good enough men, and vice versa. Like an obtusely framed anti-sexist thing? What have your believed it to mean?

I asked my husband his take on the expression, and he said, “You can’t have a double standard.” Exactly, right? No double standards.

Here a little extra I am putting behind the expression lately: What benefits one of the pair, benefits the pair itself. As if we are two streams feeding into one river, a thorough mix of waters, and the health and quality of each stream constitutes the health and quality of the river. That’s what I’m thinking.

My guy wrote this in the sand for me while on a business trip early in our marriage. xoxo

When we renewed our vows in July, one of the promises I added to our original ones was to remember that my husband is my teammate, not my competition. There’s a lot of private history behind that, and maybe I will share more as we go, but for today’s purposes I am just reflecting on how the better off he is, the better off we are. The happier and healthier I am, the more vibrant our union is.

20 YEARS!!

It’s not earth shattering new wisdom, but it is a timely reminder for me. And since my daily life is so filled with birds and bird behavior, the adage is likely to blow through my mind again and again. I appreciate this nodding wink from the Universe.

What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, because the goose and the gander are one. Their streams have fed willingly into the same river, and that’s very good. That’s really beautiful. It can be powerful.

In Estes Park a few years ago, before life changed in so many ways. We stayed in a cabin that opened to the river, rushing through snow and ice. Gorgeous!

Thanks for checking in, friends! May you have a buddy as devoted to you as Mike Meyers Lemon is to Rick Astlee, so that on the days your circular wandering leads you far from home at bedtime, that friend calls and calls to you until you are safe again. May you also find an unlikely friend, like our lone gander has found with both a horse and a dog. And if your stream mingles with any other, may all that water be clean and nutritious, with strong currents and sweet flavor.

XOXOXOXO

free range friday

Our free range experiment is going well overall. Not a single chicken has been hawk-caught or otherwise injured during their daytime freedom romps, and Klaus is acclimating well to his newly crowded playground. In fact, he loves the two flocks being out, and when he isn’t protecting them he seems to be boasting his superior running and fetching skills.

We wondered whether any of the birds would know exactly how and when to retreat to the safety of the coop at bedtime, but our concerns were soon alleviated. Despite having only ever lived in either incubators or grow troughs or enclosed coops, every hen and every rooster (around thirty, total) has scooted peacefully to their correct shelters every evening, just before sunset. Knock on wood, we have done zero chicken chasing in the dark. Have you ever chased loose birds with flashlights, with your spouse, wearing pajamas, very tired, avoiding stickers, trying not to get in a fight and also getting sweaty before bed, but then definitely getting in a stupid fight but the chickens still don’t appreciate your efforts? Fun stuff. We are so thankful that has not been the case this year.

Our lone gander, Johnny Cash, is sometimes the wild card. He still rejects our offer of pond life, choosing instead to keep company with, and loosely referee, his adopted family. Occasionally at bedtime he is alone, still nested comfortably in the lawn. He honestly appears to be watching the sunset, though, and as we approach, he always waddles sweetly to bed. We say goodnight and latch the door behind him.

As I write this from the upper deck, the sun is basting me aggressively in my own sweat. Klaus is sitting on the top step of the pool ladder, cooling his hot feet and belly while Handsome sweeps the chlorinated water. To my left, some poultry chaos is brewing in the fire pit. One rooster and two hens have taken up residence in a small, empty cardboard box and are attempting a late afternoon ménage-a-trois. It is a novel setting, I will give them that. But they are making too much noise now, and BW has left the pool and walked over to evict them.

Now someone else is laying an egg in the shade garden, a particularly vocal event, and all the disruption is bouncing from one small group to another, layer upon layer of growing excitement. Exult! Celebration! Announcement! This lasts for several minutes and is so loud we cannot have a conversation. But we love it.

Now the south yard is mostly quiet. We gradually hear a few long, exaggerated moans plus a few stray, one-syllable clucks in the distance. Just here and there. Someone is hot and sleepy, and someone else has found a wealth of insects or worms and is calling everyone to the feast.

my newly arranged stone walkway is a joke to them

Free range ducks means that I can move their little plastic wading pool around the various gardens as often as I want, emptying it easily at the base of any thirsty shrub or in any flower bed as needed. I am not pouring the duck water on food, just to make sure I use compost that is as well rotted as possible; but this little nutrient-rich deep watering feels like a good choice for ornamentals. And the ducks love having fresh, shaded water every single day. It is so fun to watch them discover it anew every day. Splish-splash. Klaus stands and watches them too, smiling. Salivating?

Half an hour later, the same feathered trio attempted another cardboard box rendezvous, and this time Klaus took charge. He marched up to the edge of the fire pit and used his considerable snoot to tip over the box, emptying the lovers onto the smooth rock surround. More chaos. Many loud objections. A satisfied Shepp.

A few people have asked me recently whether the chickens do much damage to my gardens. The answer is yes, they certainly do some leaf shredding and crater digging for dust baths, but not enough to bother me. I harvest way more food than they ever eat. And they provide far more help to the gardens than harm. So the balance is in check for now. They eat grasshoppers and who knows what else. They uproot crabgrass for me and scratch the earth where it is impacted, leaving scant amounts of diggable fertilizer as they go. Symbiosis.

And gosh dang they are so fun and beautiful! I might think long and hard about exposing my more delicate early spring gardens to their treachery, but that decision is for next March. For now, this well established Eden in late summer can comfortably host these happy flocks.

they are not shy lol

The only new problem worth solving seems to be the sudden and conspicuous absence of fresh eggs. We get only three or four per day lately, compared to twenty or twenty-five normally, and most of the ones we do bring to the house have been found in random, temporary nests around the farm. Handsome tends to find a clutch near the base of the pool pump, which is enclosed by wooden walls. Today I found eggs inside a potted plant.

Two roosters are that empty box now. They are obsessed!

The End.

duck tales, a-woo-hoo

Between what ages would a person be to have read the title of this blog post as a cartoon jingle, and what after school snack are you now craving?

On the first brutally cold morning of this artic storm in Oklahoma (in every where), our two ducks were so cold they were struggling to walk in the south coop, so we quickly brought them into the house to warm up. They took up residence in the downstairs (pink) baththroom and have provided loads of entertainment ever since. Their bathtub days are numbered, though, as the forecast continues to imporove, so I am sharing a few stories to really soak up the moment.

Rick Astlee and Klaus in a friendly stare off,
Mike Meyers Lemon doing his own thing as usual.

First, Klaus believes this is all for him. He believes we brought them indoors for his pleasure alone, and he has established a routine where two or three (or seven) times per hour he interrupts us, staring unblinkingly at us from his soul, and leads us to the closed bathroom door. The instant we open the door and he can see the ducks, his tail starts wagging. No, his whole, long, substantial body starts wagging. He grins wolfishly and pants in a baritone way, gazing left and right and in small, slow circles as Rick Astlee and Mike Meyers Lemon scuttle around the towel-lined bathtub. After a few minutes of tense but safely guarded interaction, we escort Klaus out and close the door. For the next three or four minutes, our gentle giant finds the nearest stuffed animal and thrashes it hard, violently I am afraid; then he runs back and forth across the concrete floor, smiling like it’s his birthday. Then he usually falls asleep. This routine is literally the first thing he does upon waking up in the morning and the very last thing he does before retiring at bedtime. We are powerless against his begging. I do not know how we will handle the emotional void when the ducks return to their chicken flock.

Next, the ducks are noisy. I mean, quacking is the least of it. They are big and strong (for ducks, at least, in my limited duck experience) and highly energetic. They make lots and lots of racket, especially when we run them some warm bath water to play in. Today as we exited the bathroom for them to swim peacefully alone, they went bezerk. Mike Meyers Lemon especially flipped upside down, spun in tight little counterclockwise circles, and dove repeatedly, in that wonderful dramatic duck-swoop way, into the foot-deep warm water. It was quite a sight. Even without the water to splash, though, they climb and wrestle and pitter patter nonstop until about 9:00 p.m. It’s amazing and sweet.

Also, my favorite beach towel: Will my favorite beach towel, which I grabbed that first day to warm up the ducks, ever be the same again after their indiscriminate filthiness? No. The ducks defacated all over it and embedded seed like it was a mosaic project. Goodbye, blue and green sea turtle beach towel that was the perfect length for me. You died a noble death. Thank you for all the paperback reading-sunburn-on-the-deck memories.

The ducks’ indoor adventure has coincided with the widespread energy crisis in Oklahoma (and beyond), at the epicenter of which my husband has been working an average of 16 hour days. He is virtually undistractible while working this hard on something this important; but today at a relatively calm moment, he heard the ducks’ chaos from his upstairs office. My tall, handsome, super smart, thunder-and-lightning bolt husband appeared just to playfully reprimand our temporary houseguests: “You ducks better caaaallmmm doooowwn! That’s enough! You’re being crazy! We are gonna have to burn this bathroom down after this!” Sadly, they ignored him wholesale and continued their white water party. This man has been crafting large scale, unheard of solutions to unprecedented crises all week long, fearlessly confronting people in much higher positions than his. And then he was ignored and flatly disobeyed by a pair of two year old water fowl.

One more note about the ducks’ indiscriminate filthiness: The smell is pretty special. Have you ever been to, like, a herpatarium at the zoo, and there is also a cat’s litter box in there for some reason?

The End.

lots of random updates including a wedding photo & a recipe

My sweet parents joined us at the farm on Wednesday night for dinner and just catching up. I made my version of all-day Indian food, which amounts to Tikka Masala made with boneless chicken thighs (soaked for hours in spiced, full fat Greek yogurt), several large discs of garlic naan bread (I definitely overcooked a few of them), some steamy jasmine rice, and heaps of garlic-roasted broccoli. We ate well, enjoyed much needed conversation, and laughed so much. During dessert (simple brownies) we watched the kids’ wedding video and photo slideshow, and Handsome and I told them lots more stories from their third grandchild’s wedding. They laughed and wept and smiled the whole time. It was hard and strange for none of the bride and groom’s grandparents to attend (due to covid restrictions), but as always my parents just rolled with it. They were happy to see everything in photos and hear about all the details and special moments. They celebrated with us as if they had been there. Nothing but love and support.

How wonderful to have my parents here, near me, alive and healthy and engaged in life. I look around and see so many friends who don’t have their parents or who don’t have this kind of warmth with their parents, and it only deepens my gratitude. Mom and Dad have walked us through so many chapters in life, many of them easy breezy, many of them terrifying and uncertain. They just don’t shy away from anything. And they’re lots of fun.

Here is a photo of Jess and me at her wedding. I cried thousands of happy tears that weekend, just overwhelmed by and speechless from the deepest joy, very much like when she was born. Around the moment this photo was taken, she said, “Mom I think you’re gonna dehydrate.”

Okay.

I finally ordered most of my garden seeds, whew! They will begin to trickle into my turqouise mailbox over the next few weeks, and I will use the broad tables and bright windows in the upstairs Apartment to give them the best possible start in life. I have also begun the annual Clearing of the Oak Leaf Ocean outdoors, which is easily the most laborious precursor to the growing season. Also one of the most exciting jobs, because it means winter is literally being swept away. Our compost bins are all full and cooking away nicely. Very ready to feed the soil.

I want to relocate our two ducks to the front coop to try out some companionship living with Johhny Cash, the lone gander. He is peaceful enough with the chickens and roosters but does seem a bit lonely since Mama Goose passed. Plus, Rick Astlee and Mike Meyers Lemon are occassionally agressive to the small hens in the south coop. I think the big girls up front have a better chance of putting them in their place. I am sure this is riveting to you. I promise to keep you updated whether you like it or not.

They used to be so small and harmless.

Also in poultry news, the girls are laying like crazy! One new hen up front is laying mint blue eggs, which is thrilling to me. Maybe I should name her Tiffany.

Handsome and I both needed a little sweet indulgence today, so I made a small pan of “Chocolate Peanutbutter Oatmeal Bars.” Here’s the easy recipe:
BASE: Blend together the butters and sugars, add the egg, incorporate flour, baking soda, salt, and vanilla, and oats. Spread dough in a prepared small, deep dish baking pan (I used mine that is just smaller than 9×13), bake at 350* for 20 minutes.
1/2 cup butter, melted to brown then cooled.
1/3 cup peanutbutter
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 plain white sugar
1 large egg
tsp baking soda
pinch salt
tsp vanilla
1 c flour
1 c oats
FROSTING: Making frosting while bars bake. Just blend together 1 c powdered sugar with 1/2 c peanutbutter, add milk or cream until you get a spreadable consistency.
FINISH: When baked bars come out of the oven and are still warm, sprinkle with 1 c of chocolate chips (more if you are a happy person). As they melt, spread and smooth the chocolate gently over the top of the bars. Eventually, dollop the peanutbutter frosting on top and spread that too, then allow to set up a bit. Very good with ice cold milk.

Chocolate Peanutbutter Oatmeal Bars

A quick word about running: Over the past several months I have been rebuilding gradually and carefully, leaving extra energy on the table and being really careful about soft tissue happiness and joint mobility, also trying my best to be patient about pandemic time management, life balance stuff. And it is paying off. Yesterday I ran 12 miles for the first time in months, and it felt amazing and actually easy. I had loads of extra energy to spare, and nothing hurt. The feeling of being in tune with myself and at ease with life is just irreplaceable.

I have recently finished reading two few books that were straggling on my shelf of good intentions, and for very different reasons I am so glad to have read them:

Fear Itself: the Causes and Consequences of Fear in America (bu Ann Gordon, L Edward Day, and more, it’s a heavy research book)
The Pull of the Moon (by Elizabeth Berg)

With a little luck I will post reviews on each book this month. Have you read either one?

As I close up today, I am happy to see emails notifying me that two of my three giant seed orders have shipped. I might celebrate by eating another cookie bar and doing a few yoga stretches, because no running today.

Have you every been in a cult?

Over and out!

Don’t join a cult.
Just grow a garden
and bake something.
Maybe go running.
XOXOXOXO