Rural Revolution

Learning something new every day

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Tue, 14 Jul 2026 23:55:33 +0000

Older Daughter described how she went out to her car the other day to drive to work. It was very early in the morning (maybe 5 am), and she was startled when something scurried away from her in the parking lot. She said it was about 2.5 inches long and looked like a large spider with huge front legs. She managed to snatch a photo.

I asked if it was a scorpion (this is before she sent the photo), and she said no. She said it was a camel spider.

"A camel spider!" I exclaimed. "I thought those were only found in the Middle East!"

It seems not. I looked it up, and by golly they're also found in North America, notably in drier and more desert-y areas.

And, unmistakably, it was a camel spider (also called a whip scorpion). These are arachnids, but not true spiders. Instead they belong to the order Solifugae, and there are many species spanning both the Old and the New Worlds.

Freaky-looking things, aren't they? However they're harmless to humans, can't climb or spin webs, and are beneficial to the ecosystem.

But yeah ... I never knew camel spiders were found in Idaho. Ya learn something new every day.

Milking: The daily schedule

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 12 Jul 2026 02:03:04 +0000

Ever since Maggie's latest calf was born on June 18 (we named the calf Lucy, by the way), milking was a priority.

This goal was far, far easier than last year's rodeo, for two reasons: One, we already had the milking infrastructure in place (calf pen, milking stall, etc.). And two, Maggie is already trained to milk. Picking the morning routine back up was a piece o' cake compared to last year.

It was muscle memory for me as well. I haven't milked since February 26 (before Older Daughter and I went to Italy to visit Younger Daughter), so I had to remember the basic steps and not forget anything. In this respect, muscle memory played a large part.

So join me in my morning routine. This time of year, I'm in the barn sometime between 5 and 6 am.

This is the milking equipment I take out to the barn. On the left is the milk bucket into which I actually squirt the milk. In the center is the holding bucket, into which I routinely dump the fresh milk as I progress. (I'm a big fan of the two-bucket milking system. This way if Maggie kicks over the milk bucket, I haven't lost the entire morning's output.) Notice the black line marked on the center holding bucket; this delineates one gallon. On the right is just a small bowl which I put a towel and some warm water for washing Maggie's udder.

Here's the bowl with the towel and warm water.

I stack everything together and cover it with a plastic cap before going to the barn.

In the barn, I grab a scoop of grain to put in the feed bucket on the other side of the head gate. Maggie looks forward to this morning treat-slash-bribe. (Never underestimate the power of grain to convince a cow to do something.)

This is the layout of the calf pen and milking stall Don built last year. The main pen is where I sit on a crate to milk. This arrangement has worked superbly.

Maggie is now in the milking stall, eating her grain. On the right is the crate I sit on while milking.

The head gate has an arm that swings closed, which locks in place with a pin tied to a string. Maggie cannot pull her head out until I remove the pin and allow the arm to swing open.

Here's little Lucy, waiting for me to finish up so she can have her breakfast.

On the shelf in the main pen, I keep a bucket of sawdust (on the left) for the times Maggie urinates in the milking stall (it absorbs the liquid almost instantly), and the crate on which I sit. On top the crate is the leg-tie I use to secure one of Maggie's back legs.

I don't care how well-trained a cow is; it's imperative to tie the near leg to a post so she won't kick. Maggie doesn't kick from viciousness; she might kick if a fly is annoying her or if she's getting impatient. Regardless of the cause, I don't need a black eye from getting kicked by a cow. (Ask me how I know.)

Once Maggie is confined, I wash the udder and teats with the warm water. Most of the time her udder is fairly clean, but washing will also remove bits of straw, etc.

After this, I milk. For obvious reasons, it's hard to take photos as I milk, but it actually goes rather rapidly. I usually just milk out a gallon, no more, so there is plenty left over for the baby. Not counting the lead-up and clean-up afterward, the actual milking itself usually takes only fifteen minutes or less.

Interestingly, we had something of a glitch in the otherwise smooth milking season; namely, Maggie's yearling heifer calf Stormy. This young lady is half Angus and is actually slightly bigger than her mother at this point ... but she's still a baby at heart, and quickly learned Maggie has milk again. The thing about Jerseys is they're a soft touch when it comes to milk – we call them the Universal Donors – and they seldom turn away any bovine who wants access.

A couple of mornings in a row, Maggie had been draiued dry by this greedy girl, and I didn't want to take any milk for myself lest Lucy not get any. After some discussion, Don and I started closing Maggie into the barn by herself at night, and locking Stormy (and Romeo, our young steer) outside.

This makes for much easier milking in the morning since I can leave the milking stall gates open for extra elbow room and not be bothered by other animals. After I finish milking Maggie, I release Lucy.

I cover the milk and put it out of the way, then putter around the barn, cleaning up, while the calf gets her breakfast. This way she's not competing with Stormy.

I open the barn doors, and naturally Stormy dives for her mama.

I'm not too worried about Stormy's milk consumption. I suspect it's just a phase. Maggie is producing plenty at the moment, the calf is getting all she needs, and Maggie is getting plenty to eat. In fact, for the last two mornings, Stormy didn't go for the udder at all. I suspect her sudden interest in nursing might be a "regression" situation, similar to how a human toddler suddenly wants to breastfeed again when a new sibling is born. We'll see how this pans out.

When I've finished cleaning the barn...

...I open the gate to the pasture to release the animals, then I'm free to return to the house.

Back in the kitchen, I clean the milk bucket and the bowl with the udder cloth in it (the cloth goes in the laundry basket), and upend them to dry. Then I fit a small strainer over the gallon-sized jugs I use for holding the milk, line the strainer with a cloth, and pour the milk from the holding bucket through the cloth to strain the milk.

I cap the milk, date it, and store it in the dairy fridge (a dedicated beverage refrigerator) set at 35F.

Then I clean the holding bucket and upend it to dry with the others.

The last thing I do is put the straining cloth in some water and boil it to sterilize it.

This all sounds like it takes hours, but honestly from the time I leave the house to go to the barn to the time I finish straining the milk and cleaning the buckets is usually just half an hour or so.

So that's my morning routine.

"Stars and Stripes Forever" – wait until the end

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 10 Jul 2026 21:50:37 +0000

When I was in high school, I had one semester in marching band (I would have had more, but I didn't like the music teacher). Because I played flute and piccolo, I learned to play the piccolo solo for the classic John Philip Sousa patriotic song "Stars and Stripes Forever."

That said, I haven't given much thought to this piece of music for decades. But just recently I saw a clip on YouTube and spontaneously clicked on it.

Watch until the very end! If you've ever played piccolo as I have, this blew me away.

Trust me, this will make you smile.

Fun photo

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 08 Jul 2026 00:39:56 +0000

Younger Daughter now has a nice place to live in the West Coast city where she has her new job ... although it's practically barren of furniture, since everything is still being shipped from Italy and likely won't arrive until late August or early September.

Anyway, she's exploring her new community. Just today she was in her local branch library. She messaged me and wrote, "I'm at the library! Wanna see something you'll appreciate?" And here's what she sent:

My books are in the library!

I messaged Younger Daughter back and said, "You gonna tell 'em your mom wrote those?"

She replied: "I am NOT going to be the Daughter of the Amish Smut Writer again, thank you."

(Long story short, while Younger Daughter was in Italy, my authorship became known to many of her Navy cohorts, some of whom ordered a few of my books and thereafter christened me "The Amish Smut Writer." It's a title I bear proudly, though she was teased unmercifully.)

So yeah, a fun photo indeed.

Bambi in duplicate

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 06 Jul 2026 14:19:48 +0000

Last year, if you remember, I lost an incredible photographic opportunity when I saw a beautiful bull elk drinking from a river and I didn't have my camera with me.

I'll admit, I've been obsessively watching this stretch of river ever since, just in case lightning struck twice. Well the other day, lightning struck twice, kinda. I saw two white-tail bucks standing in the river, drinking.

This time I did have my camera with me. However I was also driving, and since it is a narrow and windy road, I had to find a place to pull over and turn around. By the time I was able to get back to the spot where the bucks were, they had waded out of the water to the bank. Therefor the following photos are a little less dramatic than they might have been, but they had the compensating virtue that I was stationary, the animals weren't bothered by my presence, and I was able to snap away to my heart's content.

I'm guessing these young bucks are twins. After their first fawning, does produce twins thereafter.

Unfortunately the cluttered background made their antlers kinda blend in, but oh well.

I'm not the best photographer, so I don't feel I did justice to these handsome boys.

Still, it was like watching Bambi in duplicate.

I watched these bucks until they left the river bank and climbed back up the slope, then drove home.

And this, boys and girls, is why you should never leave your camera at home. After all, you never know what you might see.

Celebrating America's birthday in small-town USA

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 05 Jul 2026 01:28:20 +0000

While America's capital is engaged in phenomenal spectacles and events to celebrate her 250th birthday, hundreds of millions of Americans are celebrating in small towns across this wide nation. We were privileged to be among them.

It's about a half-hour drive to the nearest town, and this modest place went all-out to celebrate Independence Day.

Every flag pole, every store front, every hand rail was adorned with flags and bunting.

As we walked the Main Street of the town, we saw benches set up for the convenience of those who would be watching the parade, due to start at 2 pm.

In other places, people had lined up picnic chairs in anticipation of the parade.

Patriotic signs where everywhere.

One store had put out a container of sidewalk chalk and invited kids to express themselves, which I thought was sweet.

We ducked into the local Veteran's Center where a three-piece band was belting out an outstanding version of "Johnny Be Good."

The city park was set up with booths selling everything from honey to crafts to books to soaps. It was a hot day, so the park was just a nice place for many people to hang around in the shade.

Lots of patriotic clothing.

By pure chance, we found a place to watch the parade in the shade with our pastor and his wife and toddler. People lined the street, waiting for the show to start.

Many kids carried bags, since a lot of the parade participants throw candy to the crowds.

Here's Mrs. Pastor and her toddler waiting for things to get started.

(By the way, Mrs. Pastor is expecting their second child, also a son, in October.)

Some kids waved flags.

The parade started, and somehow it just embodied the best of small-town America. Lots of cheering and applause for veterans, rodeo queens, classic cars, local businesses, emergency services (ambulances, fire, paramedics, etc.), tractors and other farm implements, and all the other components that help make a town function.

This being rural Idaho, there were lots of horses.

Many of the horses had glitter or sparkly stencils on their rumps.

The local Quilts of Valor exhibit.

And what's a parade without royalty?

A local gymnastics group showed up in full force. Every thirty seconds or so, at the sound of a whistle, they would all do a cartwheel. Honestly, by this point (we were near the end of the parade route), the girls looked pretty tired. That's a mile of cartwheels, after all.

Many times we didn't even know what certain vehicles represented. All we knew was they added to the chaotic fun and everyone was having a good time.

This is the local high school's extremely modest marching band. Despite their lack of numbers, they belted out tunes with great enthusiasm.

Nothing like a little death-metal garage band on a flatbed truck to showcase a variety of talent. Not my genre, but they were actually quite decent.

Let's not forget a salute to the people who feed this nation.

Or who harvest its timber for our building needs.

We saw a really cool series of flatbed trucks carrying various ordinary people. Are you ready for this? These were high school class reunions. This is the class of 2016 (10 yr reunion).

The class of 1996.

The class of 1986.

And – drum roll, please - the class of 1976, America's bicentennial. This float got a huge round of cheers as it passed.

What this day of festivities conspicuously lacked was some of the chaos taking place in larger urban areas, such as the teen takeovers plaguing various cities. Instead, it was just a lot of people gathering together to celebrate and have fun. Honestly, it was as fine a Fourth of July as we ever had.

Tonight Don and I plan to watch a livestream of the fireworks in Washington D.C., as well as some of the other celebrations such as the aircraft flyovers and the parade of tall sailing ships from all over the world.

Happy birthday, America!

Happy Birthday, America!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 03 Jul 2026 18:12:10 +0000

Back in 1976 – America's bicentennial – I was 13 years old and in 8th grade. I wasn't overly fond of my math teacher, but I will give her credit for something I've always remembered: She took us on a field trip to see the Bicentennial Freedom Train when it landed either in California's Bay Area or in Sacramento (I don't remember where we went). Any other folks out there remember this patriotic marvel?

Somewhere, too, I still possess a small bicentennial pin bearing this logo. Does it look familiar to anyone?

For more memories of 1976, here is a short documentary:

And, for good measure, a Coke commercial:

Now here we are, fifty years later, celebrating America's semiquincentennial

Presumably I won't be around for this nation's 300th anniversary, but I hope it will be a good one. Happy birthday, America!

Money troubles: Truth or fiction?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 02:39:02 +0000

Recently, Daisy Luther ("The Organic Prepper") wrote a piece entitled "Seven Lies People with Money Problems Tell Themselves."

She distinguishes between those who are just in a rough patch (hey, it happens to everyone) and those who are perpetually in a downward financial spiral. It's the "downward spiral" people she's addressing. "These lies are very common, and they can keep you trapped in a bad situation for a very long time," she writes.

She lists the seven lies as follows:

• It's not my fault. ("Taking personal responsibility for your mistakes is the first step toward setting things right. Nearly every financial situation could have been different if a different series of decisions had been made.")
• It's just this once. ("Whether you’re buying something frivolous on your credit card, going out to dinner because you don’t feel like cooking, or take some other shortcut, it’s really never 'just this once.'")
• My children shouldn't know we're having money problems. ("You need to consider that living in a glowing perfect world where every bill payment is met with ease and budgets don’t seem to exist – things just magically work out – that’s a fairy tale. And if they grow up believing in that fairy tale, you are setting them up for a life of difficulty.")
• Paying off debt is always the most important thing. ("If you are in a bad situation financially, there are lots of things you should be paying before you exceed the minimum payment on your debts.")
• You have to have a credit card to get by in this world. ("It’s far from a necessity, especially if you have a debit card with the Mastercard or Visa logo on it.")
• I deserve a treat. ("This is one of the most dangerous financial lies out there. If you believe that budget be d*mned, you have had a bad day and you deserve that treat regardless, you’re treading into dangerous territory.")
• Money doesn't buy happiness. ("Money makes your life easier, more comfortable, and less stressful. And while that isn’t a recipe for joy, it sure does help make room in your life for seeking those things that make you truly happy.")

(Deeper explanations for each point can be found in the article.)

While Daisy makes exceptions for things that are out of one's control – such as catastrophic illness or injury – in other respects she puts financial hardship squarely in the laps of individuals. To be fair, it sounds like she knows what she's talking about. In her past, she's hit periods of economic rock-bottom, including losing her home to foreclosure, losing her car to repossession, and dumpster diving to feed her kids.

Daisy emphasizes changing one's mindset as an aid toward climbing out of the pit of economic instability. Certainly it's a tool in the toolbox.

But has she gone too far? Are those experiencing economic difficulties largely to blame themselves? What are your thoughts?

"Idaho destroyed today"

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 29 Jun 2026 13:40:52 +0000

Over the weekend, Southern Idaho got slammed by severe storms that resulted in widespread flooding and associated damage. I did a quick search on YouTube for more information and saw a lot of dramatic footage.

The trouble with searching for anything on YouTube, however, is the algorithm then assumes you want to see more and more on that particular subject ... which is why I was so amused to see this ridiculous clickbait video pop up: "Idaho destroyed today!"

The video showed legitimate footage of the storm, so perhaps it's more accurate to say the featured image was clickbait. Ahem, notice the preponderance of palm trees and dramatic hurricane-level flooding in the image. In Idaho. The last time Idaho was hit by a hurricane was, well, never.

Ah, artificial intelligence.....

The season of white flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 17:23:00 +0000

We are having a bonanza of white flowers blooming lately.

At the moment, the most ubiquitous are the daisies. Honestly, these are some of my favorite flowers, so much so that I had them in my wedding bouquet.

This is dog fennel (Anthemis cotula). The flowers are similar to that of daisies, but they're smaller and the plant is stinkier (it's sometimes called "stinking chamomile"). Many years ago, my parents came to visit us, and my mother (who had a wonderful green thumb) was enchanted by the dog fennel and wanted to collects its seeds to plant at home. I warned her it would spread. She went home, looked it up, and agreed not to plant dog fennel.

Oceanspray. At our old place, it grew everywhere and was stunning when in bloom. Here we have far less, so every shrub is appreciated.

Elderberries. This particular (bush? tree?) is located on an embankment near the river. In the fall when the berries are ripe, the road-facing side is stripped bare and the river-facing side is left alone, because no one can reach the fruit.

Yarrow.

Mock orange (also called syringa), the state flower of Idaho.

White iris. We have a clump of these growing just inside our pasture fence.

Bind-weed, a type of wild morning glory.

The blackberries are in full bloom. I don't recall ever seeing this many full blossoms. We're going to be inundated with blackberries in late summer.

This is due in large part to the enormous number of bees and other pollinators busy at work.

And of course – though really, this is cheating – the seeds of dandelions. Hey, they're white.

With a few exceptions, there aren't a lot more flowers expected to bloom from here on out. Instead, the seeds and fruits are growing.

"Do we look poor?"

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Thu, 25 Jun 2026 15:12:39 +0000

Recently something rather baffling happened: Don and I were at the receiving end of an act of charity.

A contractor came into the house to receive the final payment for a hefty home improvement project he had just completed. We had saved for this project for two years and therefore had the cash on hand to pay for it in full.

But without any prompting whatsoever, the contractor offered us a steep discount for the work he had done. We tried to argue that we could afford to pay for the project and were more than pleased with the final results, but he would have none of it and insisted on giving us the discount. After he left, we were baffled by (and grateful for) this act of generosity.

But the question arose, why was this discount offered in the first place? There was no need for it. We had the money for the project. "Do we look poor?" I asked Don rhetorically.

At this, he laughed. "Of course we look poor," he chuckled.

This actually startled me, because I don't think we do. Certainly I feel very, very rich. We have no debt, and live in a comfortable home with everything we need.

But then I looked around our house and tried to see it with a stranger's eyes. Nearly everything we own is either thrifted, inherited, or built by Don. The most noticeable "flex" is our books, 99% of which were purchased second-hand at library sales or used bookstores. When this person walked into the house, I had clothes drying on our indoor clothes racks and a cooking project in the works. There was no television in sight (we haven't owned one since about 1993), and the only visible electronics were our respective computers. The house was tidy and neat, without clutter.

In my eyes, our home is comfortable and inviting. I feel very, very rich. But to the contractor (who sees many houses), we must have looked like we were struggling financially, and felt prompted to offer the discount.

So, unexpectedly, we were left with more cash in hand than we anticipated at the conclusion of the project. To this end, we decided to ... well, never mind. The left hand shouldn't know what the right hand is doing.

Is this ... a mockingbird?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Tue, 23 Jun 2026 18:46:51 +0000

In my younger days living in California, I loved hearing mockingbirds. We left the Golden State in 1992 and moved first to Oregon and then later to Idaho, and I haven't heard a mockingbird in those decades since. Once, briefly, I heard one sing when I was down visiting my parents a few years ago in Southern California, but that's it. They simply don't live in (or rarely visit) Idaho.

Or so I thought. But for the last couple of days, we've had an unknown bird singing its absolute heart out, right in a pine tree off our deck. It's lovely to hear, but I couldn't see it.

This morning I was able to spot it and photograph it from below.

Sure looks like a mockingbird. Here's a photo from the Wikipedia page:

According to this website, mocking birds have a "transient" presence in this part of Idaho, with no breeding evidence. They are definitely more southern birds, hence why I always heard them in California. However, this website points out they are definitely native to Idaho, though far, far more frequent in the southern part of the state and certainly not breeding this far north.

Whether or not I've mis-identified this bird, I must stay it's absolutely delightful to listen to. I hope it stays.

UPDATE: I was unaware catbirds had such a wide repertoire of sounds. I listened to this video at the same time the "mockingbird" was singing right off our deck, and the calls matched. So yes, it appears to be a catbird rather than a mockingbird. Thank you to all who correctly identified it!

The bird who fell upstairs

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 14:31:42 +0000

Doubtless many of you are wondering how Lihn, our Quaker parrot, is doing since her rehoming last week.

In a nutshell, this parrot fell upstairs.

Seriously, the family (Lara, her husband and children) who took her in are nothing short of bird whisperers. Lara has a lot of experience rehabilitating parrots, some of whom have been abused, and said often she starts by simply leaving the bird in its cage for the first few weeks to get it used to its new surroundings and to understand there is no threat.

So I fully expected Lihn to spend several weeks in her cage, huddled and terrified. Wrong.

The very first morning she arrived at Lara's, Lihn was sitting on top her cage, sassing people, before flying down to the kitchen table to try and snitch a bit of granola from Lara's son's breakfast plate. She sent a video, from which Younger Daughter took a screenshot.

Lihn was due for a beak trimming. Normally Lara would take care of this herself, but since it was Lihn's first day in her new home, Lara opted to bring Lihn to the vet to have it done (so any "anger" for this indignity would be on the vet, not Lara, so early in their acquaintance). Lihn actually takes beak trims without a problem, so that was fine. On the way back home, Lihn was loose in Lara's car, and her daughter was scratching Lihn's head. (All photos are cropped to edit out faces.)

Younger Daughter says this is one of her favorite photos so far, since a bird must really trust someone to allow its head to be scratched.

Lihn has also been hanging around Lara's shoulder a lot, getting affection. Again, this is remarkable. Anytime we allowed Lihn on our shoulder, she would try to chew our earlobes off. But with Lara? She's an angel.

And again:

Back on the kitchen table, looking interested in another kid's oatmeal.

So yes, Lihn fell upstairs and is now living with a remarkable family. Younger Daughter and I couldn't be happier about it.

Maggie has popped at last!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 19 Jun 2026 16:23:54 +0000

Our Jersey cow Maggie was officially due last Friday. Each and every morning, armed with my camera, I carefully checked her before releasing the cows from the corral. And each and every morning ... zip, zilch, nada, nothing.

Yesterday morning, Don and I were getting ready to do a fencing project. I started walking across the yard and, as always, glanced up to gauge Maggie's posture (cows adopt a sort of hunched position when in labor). She looked like she was peacefully grazing ... except she had a long strand hanging from her backside.

I turned and walked back into the house. "Change of plan," I announced. "Let's go get Maggie's calf instead." The little sneak had managed to conceal her early labor when I released her and the other animals from the corral into the pasture, and then had the audacity to have her calf without my being able to watch.

Dragging the gorilla cart, Don, Younger Daughter, and I all trooped up into the pasture to fetch Maggie and her newborn back into the corral.

The calf had just been dropped and was still flat on its side, and very wet with the birth fluids.

Loading the calf was a three-person effort: One person to hold the cart steady in its "dump truck" position, and two people to shove and push the slippery-wet calf into the cart. (By the time we were finished, both Younger Daughter and I were soaked with placental fluids and would require a full-body change of clothes and a shower.)

After the calf was in the cart, I pulled while Don kept the calf from trying to climb to its feet, and Younger Daughter shooed the other animals from following us out the gate. It was a steep downhill drop from the pasture to the driveway, then level-flat as we pushed/pulled the cart around to the back of the barn into the corral. Maggie trotted on our heels, agitated but not aggressive. (Thank God for sweet Jersey cow dispositions!)

Once in the corral, we gently dumped the calf out of the cart to the ground, and let Maggie continue licking her baby dry.

Meanwhile the other animals had come around through the gate to see the new calf. This is Stormy, the calf's older sister, meeting the newcomer.

And the baby is a girl! Back when we had Maggie bred by AI (artificial insemination), the breeder was actually able to select for a heifer for a slight increase in price. She emphasized the gender was not guaranteed, but of all the times she's selected for one or the other gender, she's been successful. We'll have to let her know she succeeded again.

This is our first purebred Jersey calf, so we're pretty jazzed. In years past, all our calves were either purebred Dexter, Jersey/Dexter crosses, or Jersey/Angus crosses.

Maggie is an experienced mama now, so we had no concerns about her maternal care. However we wanted to make sure the calf was nursing as soon as possible to get colostrum.

Meanwhile, she had a long strand of mucous hanging from her backside that was dragging on the ground and tangling around her legs. I took a pair of scissors and snipped off a length.

It took the baby some time to get to her feet. She didn't seem in any hurry.

We left the animals to calm down a bit and let nature take its course. An hour or so later, we checked and saw the calf was standing, though very unsteadily, and blundering around trying to find a teat.

She tried the usual suspects: Maggie's armpit, her sister's leg, the steer's nose, that kind of thing. (It takes a calf a while to figure out where the udder is located ... and on what animal.) The calf didn't quite have her footing, either. At one point, trying to master the three-inch lip on the threshold of the barn door, she went splat.

"What just happened?"

Maggie wasn't much help during this process because she was swishing around in agitation as she labored to pass the placenta.

I went to fill up the feed bins with hay, since the animals were confined to the corral, and by the time I was finished, Maggie had passed the placenta.

Then, in true bovine fashion, she proceeded to (try to) eat it. This is normal behavior for cows, and doubtless is an instinctive technique meant to prevent drawing in predators. Maggie slurped and chewed and chewed and slurped, but wasn't making much progress.

After about fifteen minutes, I grabbed a wheelbarrow and a pitchfork, and scooped up the placenta. Maggie seemed vastly relieved to be excused from this duty.

I decided to run the placenta down to the county dumpsters (located a few miles away) rather than trying to bury it somewhere. I invited Younger Daughter to come with me, and she went to put on some shoes and use the bathroom before departing.

"I'm going to go load the placenta into the car," I called to her through the bathroom door.

"That is SUCH weird sentence to hear," she shouted back.

Toward evening, Younger Daughter and I went to check on the animals and saw both mother and baby were resting, doubtless exhausted from their ordeal.

I was mildly concerned because I had not yet seen the baby successfully nurse, and I rummaged around in our supplies for a rubber teat in case I needed to milk out some of the colostrum and bottle-feed the baby. The calf was still blundering around investigating armpits and legs without locating the correct spot.

So YD and I collaborated to get her to feed. At a point when she was kinda in the right neighborhood of the udder, YD pushed the calf gently from behind while I guided her mouth toward the teat. Aha! Success!

With a belly full of warm colostrum, within an hour she began doing the cute little skippy-hops of a healthy calf as she tried out her legs.

"Hi Mom! Whatcha doing?"

Later she settled in for the night among her new herd-mates.

So all is right in our little bovine world.

A new home for Lihn

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 17 Jun 2026 22:10:31 +0000

Most readers are familiar with Younger Daughter's Quaker parrot, Lihn. Today, Lihn went to a new home.

This was clearly a difficult decision for all of us, and requires some explanation.

YD got Lihn when she (Younger Daughter) was sixteen years old, an excellent argument why parents shouldn't let teenagers get a long-lived pet. I sorta inherited Lihn when YD left for the Navy, and for the next nine years I was her parrot mom. We got along fine.

However over the last year and a half, Lihn's behavior has been going south. This may or may not have been triggered by my two-week absence in March/April of 2025 when I traveled down to help my dad transition my mom into a nursing home. Whatever the reason, Lihn started feather-plucking.

Anyone who has owned a parrot understands the severity and complexity of feather-plucking behavior. It got increasingly worse. Our local vets (who are in all other respects excellent animal doctors) don't have much experience with parrots, so they urged me to make an appointment with the Washington State University Veterinary Teaching Hospital in Pullman, Washington. Unfortunately the earliest appointment I could get was in November of 2025, so poor Lihn had to endure several months of waiting. During this time I also took an additional trip to see my parents, which may or may not have compounded the issue.

The day of the vet appointment finally arrived, and what I didn't realize was that they planned to keep Lihn overnight for comprehensive testing. This meant a three-hour drive to the vet, a three-hour drive back home without Lihn, then another six-hour round trip the next day to pick her up, and then another six-hour round trip the next week for a follow-up appointment. The conclusion: Undetermined health issues, though they did say she had some arthritis in one foot. (They also determined SHE is actually a HE, but since we've been referring to Lihn as a "she" for the past twelve years, it's not an easy habit to break.)

Lihn was prescribed two types of medication, an anti-inflammatory and a pain reliever. Essentially she will need to be on this medication for the rest of her life. She did a lot better behavior-wise with the pain meds, but she never quite recovered her previously perky personality.

It was about this time (January of this year) that YD began her transition out of the Navy. She was able to land a job on the West Coast, but she is nowhere near in a position to take Lihn with her. For one thing, YD will be at work all day long, which would leave Lihn by herself for the majority of her waking hours. And two, YD's position will require her to be at sea twice a year; once for about a week, and a second time for anywhere from five to six weeks. So Lihn, it seemed, had a permanent home with us.

So YD proposed the idea of rehoming Lihn. At first I was opposed to this, feeling like a failure as a parrot mom and also concerned that wrenching Lihn from the only caregiver she's ever known could backfire, but gradually I saw the wisdom of her logic. Although the initial transition would be difficult, Lihn would conceivably thrive under the care of someone with a natural affinity for parrot psychology and behavior.

With this in mind, YD started her research. There are loads of people willing to take in rehomed parrots, but sadly the majority of them are bird flippers, bird hoarders, or other examples of abusive situations. The thought of putting Lihn in such a cruel placement almost gave me an anxiety attack.

Finally YD connected with two women as possible rehoming candidates. Both had sterling reputations and references. However one woman was having health issues and required some major surgery over the summer, so YD went with the other woman (whose name is Lara), who lives near Boise. Lara has comprehensive experience in rehabilitating birds both physically and psychologically, and felt confident she could nurse Lihn back to her previously healthy and perky self.

For the past week, we've known Lara was coming today (Wednesday), and YD and I have been in something of a funk at the thought of Lihn going away, even though we knew it was in her best interest.

Lara arrived this morning, and immediately YD knew she had made the right choice. Lara was a walking encyclopedia of parrot care. She has a stable home life and is also a stay-at-home mom with children who are respectful of pets. And my goodness, does she know her parrots.

And so, after an hour-and-half visit, we bundled Lihn into her travel cage, then transported her large cage with its stand into Lara's car, along with surplus food, toys, medicine, and other paraphernalia. (I also sent Lara home with about ten pounds of frozen blueberries from last year's crop as a thank-you.)

And then Lara drove away, and Lihn was gone.

Yeah yeah, we know it was the best thing for her, but I'll confess my eyes are stinging as I write this. Lihn's departure leaves both a physical and an emotional hole in our home.

Perhaps it's fitting that there was a single feather on the floor where her cage once stood.

Lara promises to keep us posted on Lihn's progress. If for some reason the rehoming placement doesn't work out, we will take Lihn back ... but Lara sounded extremely confident that wouldn't be necessary.

So yeah, YD did the absolutely right thing in finding someone like Lara to take over the job. But it was still a tough decision.

Younger Daughter is home!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 14 Jun 2026 15:06:53 +0000

Younger Daughter is home! She hasn't been here in over three years. While I've had the chance to see her more frequently (trip to see my parents, trip to Italy), Don hasn't had the chance, so as you can imagine it's been a happy reunion. Older Daughter is coming in tomorrow as well, so it will be the first time the whole family has been together in a long, long time.

YD is now officially (and honorably) separated from the Navy. She flew stateside on June 8 straight into Southern California to spend a few days with her grandparents, and then flew to Idaho today.

We've spent the last couple weeks turning Older Daughter's room into a guest bedroom. The couch is Older Daughter's, but she couldn't take it with her when she moved out, so we're using it for the moment.

YD will stay with us a few days, then drive to the west coast city where her new job is located. She needs to find an apartment, so that's her primary goal. She has a short list of possible places which she'll look over. Then she'll come back and spend a few more days with us.

Our chick has (temporarily) returned to the nest!

Ready to pop

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 01:08:45 +0000

For the last few days, we've been keeping a sharp eye on Maggie. That's because she's ready to pop.

Seriously, she was bred on Sept. 8, so according to an online gestation calculator, that means her due date is tomorrow (Saturday, June 13). Now of course, as with humans, due dates for cows are merely suggestions, so we don't know precisely when she'll go into labor.

A few days ago, we pulled the animals off the big pasture and released them into the lower pasture, where we could keep closer tabs on them. Last night, when we gave them their evening grain and confined them to the corral (per our usual routine), I checked Maggie before bedtime and noticed, by flashlight, that she was swishing her tail in agitation. That is often a sign of early labor, and so I got up at 4 am this morning (barely light), fully expecting to find a calf on the ground.

No such luck. Today, we released the animals into the very small pasture just around the house where we could watch Maggie closely and scoot her into the corral if need be. Nothing doing. She grazed and chewed her cud all day with nary a care.

But she's huge, and I'm sure just as anxious to have her calf as I am. Stand by for news!

Older Daughter's new digs

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 23:32:00 +0000

Older Daughter has been living in her new digs – a studio apartment in an older building – for over a month now.

A month is enough time to figure out whether you really like a place or not. And I must say, Older Daughter stinkin' loves this studio.

Except for the stairs.

(We actually gifted her with a three-wheeled grocery stair-climbing cart popular in places like New York City to make the trek up those stairs easier when carrying loads.)

But aside from that, she's happy as a clam. There is a lot to see from her massive ten-foot-wide window, and a lot of things to do in the immediate area.

As with any relocation, the first couple weeks were rough. Where to put everything? What to keep, what to donate? How does such-and-such fit into this new space? Arrgghh!

But then, gradually, order came from chaos. And then comfort came from order. Next thing you know, she has a cozy home.

Also, Frumpkin ("The cat who fell upstairs") is also settling in, and has claimed one of Older Daughter's thrifted chairs as his new throne.

I mean ... lord of his domain, am I right?

She says the kitchen is one of the nicest aspects of the studio. It's spacious and has loads of storage. Older Daughter has become something of a gourmet cook, so having adequate space to prepare nice meals is a bonus.

Here she made a lemon-blueberry loaf.

She has a desk for her computer. This will become especially needed when her coursework starts.

And that window simply dominates the space. It's stunning.

Here's what it looks like from the outside.

So yes, her new digs are wonderful. She's so pleased that she actually baked some cookies and brought them to the property management's office to express her satisfaction. If all goes well, she'll be living here for the duration of her schooling ... and maybe even beyond, if she ends up getting a local job after graduation.

So for now, she's settled in.

Golden-hour photography

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 12:56:34 +0000

The golden hour, as most people know, is the time of evening when the sun is very flattering for photography. The same can be applied to early morning, too. Over the last few days, I've been engaging in a little golden-hour photography.

Here is some vegetation in the early morning after a previous evening of rain.

The rain caused early-morning fog to creep up the valley.

Grass in bloom. No wonder Don's allergies have been kicking up.

How many times do we ignore these minute, miniature wonders?

In the evening, I took some photos of blooms and grasses, but it was actually a bit too early for the classic golden hour.

Still, this is why I try to keep my camera on me whenever possible.

My latest book hit the Publisher's Weekly Bestseller List!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 16:48:53 +0000

My latest Amish Inspirational, "The Amish Nanny's Marriage Offer," hit #3 on the June 8 Publishers Weekly Bestseller List!

Here's the cover:

Here's the backcover blurb:

Searching for a safe new life, she never imagined she’d lose her heart
Fleeing Pennsylvania with her son, Amish widow Winifred Amman is desperate to escape the man her family is pushing her to marry. In the wilds of Montana, she finds a job caring for the daughter of widower Seth Martin. The brooding furniture maker has given up on love. But when Winifred asks for his help, he agrees to pose as her fiancé. Soon their pretend courtship starts to feel all too real. When her unwanted suitor comes to claim Winifred, her bond with Seth is tested. Will fear hold them back from a chance at a new beginning?

I've been watching the stats on Amazon. Yesterday they were decent:

Today they were better:

Please help push the stats higher! The book is available through Amazon and Harlequin.

UPDATE: It's working! Look at the numbers below as of Saturday. Thank you!

Yep, shedding

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 03 Jun 2026 15:04:33 +0000

We're suddenly seeing a lot of snakes around here. Yesterday I walked across our lawn, and a small and swift snake (no idea what kind, except clearly it wasn't a rattlesnake) slipped away ahead of me.

A day before that, we were walking Darcy on the road below our house and saw a snake lying in the sun.

We made sure to scoot it off the road so it wouldn't get run over.

After Don found those two snakes on a pile of lumber the other day, we noticed one of the snakes had "blue" eyes. He said it was a sign the snake was about to shed.

This blue-eyed snake ducked itself it a slot between some boards.

We joked that the next time Don needed a 2x6, he'd find a snakeskin. Sure enough, yesterday he came in holding a fragile and perfect snakeskin.

The level of detail on snakeskins never fails to amaze me.

Nature is amazing.

$28 lunches?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Tue, 02 Jun 2026 15:53:53 +0000

Now that Older Daughter is no longer living with us, I'm rediscovering my cooking skills. (For the duration of the time she was staying with us, Older Daughter's "rent" was cooking, and man was she good at it!) Recently I found a nice recipe online called "Sweet Chili Rice Bowls" and decided to give it a go. It was delicious, so the other day I made a much larger batch so Don and I would have several days' worth of meals.

Here are the ingredients:

• 1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces
• 1 cup jasmine rice
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 cup broccoli florets
• 1 red bell pepper, sliced
• 1⁄4 cup sweet chili sauce
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon grated ginger
• 2 green onions, chopped
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Sesame seeds for garnish

I made a few changes to accommodate what ingredients we had on hand. I used canned chicken instead of uncooked chicken. I didn't have any red bell peppers, so I chopped up an onion. I used apple cider vinegar instead of rice vinegar.

However I would like to point out that every single ingredient (with the exception of the chopped garlic, which I canned last fall) is store-bought, not home-grown. I didn't make the vinegar, or the soy sauce, or the sweet chili sauce. I didn't grow the ground ginger or even the broccoli or onion (too early in the season). The chicken was also not home-grown. Yep, all store-bought. Keep that in mind for a bit.

Making the dish is easy. While the rice cooked, I drained the canned chicken...

...then added it to a pot with some olive oil (another store-bought ingredient). Then I chopped an onion and some broccoli...

...and added it to the chicken.

Since the chicken was already cooked, all I had to do was soften the broccoli and onions a bit. I covered the pot for a few minutes to let steam do its job, then uncovered and kinda stir-fried the mix.

Then I added all the spices and sauces.

This portion of the dish was ready before the rice was finished cooking, so when the rice was done, I dumped the stir-fry part into the rice and mixed everything up.

It's not fancy, but it's hearty, filling, and provides enough for at least six meals (three days for two people).

Now let's break down the costs a bit. Since I tend to buy some things in bulk (notably chicken breasts which I can up, as well as rice in 50-lb. bags), let's bring the prices up to reflect current grocery-store costs for the triple batch I made. For convenience's sake, I'll use the Walmart check-a-price website, even though I don't shop at Walmart since it's so far away:

• 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces (about $8)
• 4 cups jasmine rice (about $3.22)
• 6 tablespoons olive oil (about $2)
• 2 cup broccoli florets (about $1.25)
• 1 onion, chopped (about $0.75)
• 1 cup sweet chili sauce (about $1.81)
• 1/2 cup soy sauce (about $1)
• 2 tablespoon apple cider vinegar ($0.07)
• 2 tablespoons chopped garlic ($0.19)
• 1 teaspoon ground ginger ($0.05)
• Salt and pepper to taste ($0.05)
• Sesame seeds for garnish ($0.05)

These ingredients add up to $18.44. From this enormous batch I made, I estimate we'll get at least six meals (three meals apiece) for Don and I, which comes out to about $3.07 per meal. Understand, however, that since we buy so many things in bulk, the actual cost is a whole lot less.

Now why, you may ask, did I go through all the trouble to break down this particular meal? Two reasons. One, it consists of store-bought (as opposed to farm-grown) ingredients). Not everyone has the benefit of a homestead to supplement their diet, so realistically most people get their food from the grocery store. And two, it illustrates how inexpensive it is to create meals at home, even for people (like me) who are less-than-enthusiastic cooks.

This whole exercise came about because of an opinion piece I read recently by someone named Ward Clark entitled "Young People Drowning in Food Costs? Try Boomer-Style Frugality."

Mr. Clark wrote, "It's a bit frustrating, and not just for us aging Boomers, to see young people whining about the cost of eating, and then to learn that they are getting much of their food from Uber Eats or DoorDash."

He then profiled a Twitter (X) post in which a young person complained, "Lunch just costs $28 now. Are they not supposed to eat?" To this, a Boomer named Joel Berry jumped in and broke down the cost of a healthy homemade lunch made with store-bought ingredients (wheat bread, deli turkey, cheddar, condiment of choice, apple, hard-boiled egg, carrot sticks, tap water) for a grand total of $2.05 and concluded by saying, "You can do this."

As of the publication of Mr. Clark's opinion piece, Joel Berry's X post had received 9.3 million views, most of which presumably applauded his Boomer frugality. Conclusion: Don't gripe about $28 lunches when there are far more inexpensive alternatives, none of which take much by way of kitchen skills.

Does it seems a lot of younger people are deliberately sabotaging their own finances beyond repair through spectacularly bad decisions and behaviors, like regularly having $28 lunches instead of $2 lunches? Maybe it's because, as journalist and technology columnist Taylor Lorenz pointed out, DoorDash has become a "necessity" because Zoomers lack the "capacity" to cook. But are Zoomers incapable of making a sandwich? For some people, that $28 is a week's worth of groceries.

It took me about fifteen minutes to throw together those rice bowls, which provided enough food to last both of us for three meals. And don't forget that turkey sandwich and veggies lunch recipe. If you're incapable of pulling together a lunch that simple, then you have more serious problems than you realize.

My "Boomer" advice to young people is this: Learn to cook. Or at least, learn to make a sandwich. Your future self will thank you.

Spring snakes

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 31 May 2026 22:00:33 +0000

Don came trotting into the house the other day. "Grab your camera," he said. "And hurry."

Whenever he suggests something like this, I don't argue. I grabbed my camera and hurried.

He had been working on a project which required the use of a couple of 2x6s, a pile of which we have stacked and tarped in the driveway. He pulled back the tarp just enough to pull out a couple of boards, but what he saw made him come get me and the camera.

Two racer snakes – good sized ones – were curled up on the boards, looking annoyed at the disturbance.

I'm guessing they were both about two feet long.

The morning was kind of chilly, so the snakes were rather sluggish. This allowed us a few moments to admire them.

I was snapping photos fairly quickly so they're not in the best focus, but one snake looked like it was blind (blue eyes). Either the camera was playing tricks with the lighting, or (Don's suggestion) it might have been in the beginning stages of shedding.

Despite the presence of the snakes, Don needed his boards; so he carefully started pulling them out of the pile, far enough away from the snakes so as not to disturb them. Despite this, they began moving.

Zooming in on that one snake ... yep, blue eyes, not a trick of the light. Yep, shedding.

The blue-eyed snake tried to crawl into a space between the boards as Don pulled one out above it. No worries, that was the last board he needed. We re-tarped the wood and left the snakes alone to continue their task of keeping mice under control.

Although it wouldn't surprise me to find a snakeskin next time we need a 2x6.

The season of roses

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 31 May 2026 00:16:17 +0000

The wild roses are in full bloom.

As with everything else this year after the freakishly mild winter we had, they're a couple of weeks early.

But that's okay.

Whatever time of year they bloom, they're beautiful.

Magic evaporating rain

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Thu, 28 May 2026 19:22:39 +0000

I checked our weather report at about 12:10 pm this afternoon and was startled to see this dramatic prediction:

Holy cow, half an inch of rain within the span of about an hour! Chaos! Batten down the hatches! Alert the media!

Fortunately we did none of that. Instead I checked the identical weather report about ten minutes later and saw this:

Yawn, ho hum. Another magic evaporating rain prediction.

(Of course, the joke is on me if the original prediction actually comes to pass....)

UPDATE: Whelp ... I stand corrected. A massive storm cell is, even as I write this, right overhead and dropping furious rain on us. Lightning is flashing and thunder is echoing.

We scrambled to get the cows under cover before it hit. I'm grateful we have barn space enough for everyone.

By the time it passes, it could easily total out to half an inch. I would like to formally apologize to the weather people for doubting their prediction.