Not an exact likeness, but very, very similar…

I had to run DH into town early yesterday morning, and so we made a date of it and had breakfast out. It’s nice to hang out with your sweetie in the early morning hours in a diner over coffee.

The “check engine” light on the Subaru came on on the way home and then started flashing on and off, which didn’t seem like a good sign to me, so I stopped at Brush Creek BP, where the mechanic there tried to tell me first, that he doesn’t work on Subarus, and second, that he doesn’t work on “check engine” problems. If that’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Not to be blown off so easily, I just stood there with my best “damsel in distress with a slight stubborn edge” look on my face, and he relented and came out and listened to the motor, and pronounced that it was just a spark plug, and that I could leave it there overnight and he would fix it.

I had the car loaded with hay, feed, and groceries, all of which I needed at home. I borrowed the telephone and called M*—no answer. Then I tried D*—again, no answer. Same with S*. So I went and stood in the parking lot trying to figure out what to do, and thinking that maybe I could just flag down somebody I knew going the in the right direction. About that time the mechanic comes walking across the asphalt with the phone in his hand—it’s M*, and she can come get me and all my stuff. I take the phone back in to the somewhat irritated guy, and resolve to stay out of his way. I’m sitting in the car, happily doing a crossword puzzle, when back out he comes, again with the telephone, and again with a look of total annoyance–I can tell he’s loving being my secretary. It’s M* again, wondering if A*’s car is ready, and if so, could I drive that to Hot Springs? So in I go to ask Glowering Mechanic Man. “No!” He barks. Well, OK then—I hang up the phone and tiptoe inconspicuously back to my car, where I sit and behave. Until a few minutes later, when here he comes with the phone. Again. I’m apologizing from all the way across the parking lot as he walks towards me with a face like thunder. It’s D* this time—I tell her I have a ride, and thank her profusely, and get the hell off the phone, praying it doesn’t ring for me anymore.

Everything worked out just fine, of course, and I found out later that S* stopped by there just to make sure I’d gotten a ride. Isn’t it nice to have friends? Even if it does annoy the poor Grouchy Mechanic Guy. I hope he’s being sweet to my car.

The girls were down at S* and T*’s a few days ago when S*’s dog Violet brought home a tiny baby field mouse. The girls rescued it and brought it home, to great eye rolling between DH and I. We haven’t had the greatest luck with wildlife rehabilitation, and after a while we’ve become somewhat reluctant to watch yet another creature shrivel up and die under our care!

But ED took charge of this one. It was just past the pinky stage (There’s something to be thankful for!), and ED discovered that it likes goat milk and honey. So she came up with this technique where she holds it in her palm and lets a drop of milk and honey run down a crease in her hand, and Mousie—aka Dent-Head—laps it up. They’ve also felted a couple of little beds—one for here, one for travel (it fits in ED’s shirt pocket).

Whatever they’re doing, it’s working, because the little critter is thriving! Its eyes have now opened, and its back is almost covered with sleek brown fur. It sleeps in its little felt bed in a teacup on top of the computer moniter at night, and actually poked its head over the rim of the cup this morning when I got up!

DH is still feeling a bit cynical, however. This morning, as I gushed that Mousie had actually greeted me, he said—with that annoying look on his face—”How long do you think it’ll be before it’s lost in the house?” So now I’m on the lookout for an old aquarium for a somewhat more permanent home.

Wenesday evening I got a call from M* saying that she was in labor, and so I wrapped up what I had going on here and headed over there. She labored at home for a few hours before we decided that the car ride to the hospital was going to be really hard if we didn’t go soon, so at around 11:30 pm we settled into a relatively comfortable room, which was heaven to M* after being confined in the seat of a car!

At 9:40 last night M* gave birth to a gorgeous 8lb3oz baby girl. I’ll leave the story of labor and delivery for her to tell; may I just say that it was such an honor to be with M* and her husband M* during this beautiful time. M* was so full of courage and strength and grace—-she was beautiful, her sweet husband was beautiful, their baby was beautiful. I’m maybe too tired and at the mercy of my emotions right now to write anything intelligent—-I keep wanting to dissolve into tears!

I got a ride to a sort of halfway point with the midwife last night, and DH met me there at a gas station; I don’t remember going to bed, I just have this sort of hazy impression of it feeling incredibly, unbelievably good to be laying down.

Yesterday was a day of putting out fires: Bernard came running in from the barn at one point, saying that two goats—Guinevere and Cookie—had put their heads through the same opening of the hay feeder, and were stuck, and Cookie was laying on her back. That didn’t sound particularly good, and ED and I ran down there. Cookie had managed to right herself, but they were indeed stuck. It was all we could do to pull their heads out, especially since they were fighting us every step of the way, causing both of us to comment several times on the relative intelligence of goats.

The geese have discovered the house, and think they might would rather live here than up at the barn. So I found myself chasing them out of the yard and back to the barn repeatedly. Annoying creatures. Why do I like them so much?

There is no water at the barn—perhaps that’s part of the reason the geese are looking to relocate—and it’s been a bit of a struggle watering the animals, leading me to wonder what the heck the man who built the barn did. He kept mules and work horses in there, and although we’ve quizzed a few elderly neighbors, nobody seems to know how he got water to them. Carrying buckets to water our goats is one thing, but horses? Yikes!

Before we left for the beach we hooked up a long series of hoses from the springhouse; I couldn’t imagine asking a farm-sitter to also haul pails of water from the springhouse to the barn. Unfortunately, one of the hoses had to cross the driveway, which is used by several families, and by the time we returned the hose was so beat up that no water was making it out the other end, in spite of the copious quantities of tape used in trying to repair it! So we’ve been back to that bucket brigade. Until yesterday, that is, when I dug a shallow trench across the driveway and sunk a ten foot length of galvanized pipe, through which I threaded a section of hose. Yippee! Water at the barn again!

The girls have been walking down to the old house every day and picking up huge numbers of chestnuts. We’re putting them in the freezer to prevent them getting that little worm that chestnuts get; they’ll be a nice treat this winter. The girls take the goats with them when they do this, to get them out of the barn and give them a chance to browse, and it sounds like the goats love the chestnuts. Acorns, too.

So, just trying to keep things functioning somewhat smoothly around here. It’s hard to get much of anything really done, though!