This is the aforementioned, new to me, teapot. Isn't it adorable? I enjoy a pot of tea, as well as a pot of coffee, but tea settles me more, makes me slow down and take stock in a way that coffee does not.
truth be told, probably no more so than what Anglo settlers had done to the native folks. In Tazewell County, when we first moved here, there was a Virginia Department of Highways sign posted that read "Indian Outrage" and detailed the Indian killing some of the Anglo settlers. Shortly thereafter, that sign was removed and a new sign now reads, "Settler and Indian Conflict" which is more truthful. Ah well, history was/is written by the winners and unless/until people protest, nothing gets changed.
Meri Go Lightly leads the herd as they race to get the choicest flakes of alfalfa I'll throw across the fence. These horses are 'easy keepers' and I don't feed them a lot of rich hay which could cause colic and even worse health problems. They get a flake, or bat as they are sometimes called, every day and free choice hay as they want. The free choice hay is in one pasture and I feed alfalfa in another pasture so they get plenty of exercise. 
Dandy Man, a close second, races along the fence line, wondering just where I'll stop to throw hay.
Horse Speak:
HayJ: Ah, not so much.
Peaches: I'LL SAY WHO CAN RUB NOSES AND WHO CAN'T RUB NOSES! I'M ALPHA MARE OF THIS HERD!
Peaches is now backing into HayJ to let him know he can either 'immediately move!' or risk a kick to the chest. Now, even though HayJ is a bigun, he knows enough to know a chest kick will hurt like the dickens. He moves away while Dani Girl is wondering who died and left Peaches in charge.
This week we've had snow one day and clear weather the next...all week long. The clouds have been so low, the mountains have been blocked from view.
Every morning I count heads, both horses and sheep, to make sure everyone is on their feet. Then, and only then, do I allow myself a cup of coffee. If there are problems, I dress and head out to the barn and/or pasture before coffee.
Yesterday, all day long, it snowed like it was never going to stop. Abigail and I took a ride down the road in Ranger, our Man Magnet, and found several opportunities to take photos. The above photo is coming back home, down Cove Road, looking toward the end of the valley.
Abbie, wearing her Army green sweater, takes her job of shotgun quite seriously.
When I'm standing in our driveway, down at the barn lot, I can usually see quite a distance. Not yesterday though; visibility wasn't good at all. This is the same view of the photo after the horses, above.
Usually, looking towards the barns, I can see Morris Knob in the distance. Morris Knob is the tallest mountain in our County and stands at about 3400 feet. Thistle Cove Farm is about 2400 feet and the coldest recorded spot in the county. Makes me shiver just writing the words! Our expected weather for the next week is snow, snow and more snow. God alone knows how much snow we'll get but I'm trying to get ready for anything.
I love this sign! Whenever we go to Abingdon, Bristol or beyond, we pass by this market where the folks who have written bad checks are given a, very public, opportunity to make amends. The name always changes so perhaps amends are made. I hope so; how unfortunate the circumstances that would cause one to have their name on such a sign.
Dave stopped so I could try and catch them but no, they were wild as march hares and streaked away. Needless to say, I didn't get a photo of the cats but did get a photo of my 'up the road' neighbor's sheep; don't they look all wise and mysterious?
Also, on the way home...how many deer do you see?
Miss Hattie Cat, licking her chops, after being fed. She's another rescue from the barn and is about three years old now. She's a thug and best enjoys hiding, then pouncing on whomever happens by, but not all of us appreciate her sense of humor.
Sorry this photo of Carly is so terrible but it's difficult to take her photo. When Carly wants corn, any treat for that matter, she'll come up behind me and paw my leg until I pay attention and give her what she wants. She's a persistent little thing with sharp hooves and has taught her sons, Samuel and Simon, her wicked trick. It used to be a lot funnier...those three coming up behind me and pawing me with their sharp little hooves. I've, almost, gotten used to all the little hoof bruises. When I first got animals, people would look at me like I was an abused wife. I tend to bruise very easily and if someone looks at me hard, there's a bruise. Well, it's not quite that bad but I do bruise easily. Now, I think people are used to seeing me black and blue and Miss K., the child mentioned above, will circle around me, counting bruises and laughing hysterically. Trust me, it's always a lot funnier counting than being the one counted but I'm not giving up my animals, I don't care how many bruises I collect.
Full moon earlier this week and I love to roam the pastures, with the dogs, sheep and cats, when it's a full moon. It was also warmish for this time of the year and simply BEEEYOOOUTIFUL! Cold weather is coming and it will be soup and bread later this week, beef bones are roasting in the oven now and tomorrow I'll make beef stock for soup. My to-do list seems to grow, not shrink and this week is full of chores in the house, in the barn and in the studio.
I found this praying mantis cocoon yesterday, when I was clearing out the flower bed. It was so beautiful and I'd spent a lot of the day writing a magazine article, with photos, and I, desperately, needed a break. Thirty minutes of physical labor soon restored my head to rights.
Grace, left, and Abigail, right, are showering me with LUV. Gracie is the one who always wants to snuggle up, kiss and tell me her thoughts while Abigail is the jealous one who wants to push Grace out of the way. They are both foundlings who have been with us almost twelve years but God alone knows their real ages.
Gracie loves to tell me about her day and with those adoring brown eyes she always looks part human.
We've had extremely high winds as evidenced by our metal sign blowing to and fro. The weather report called for 60 to 75 mph and I think it must have been that bad during the 0 dark thirty hours. A goodly portion of our oak tree was broken off and this is the spring we'll need to plant some new trees in the front yarn. Dave wants some white birch so I think I'll plant seven in a little group in the corner of the yarn. That should look beautiful as time goes by. I want to plant another oak and perhaps another maple while fruit and nut trees will be planted in the garden.
The stables are old, pre-War of Northern Aggression and have a lovely patina. Someone hung up this bit and horseshoe years ago and I've left them because I enjoy the way they look.
You can see in this photo where someone has leaned their left hand against the railing as they used their right hand to open the door. Signs are all around us if we stop, look and think but, unfortunately, most of us are too busy to take the time. Hard to understand, that, when time is all we've got anyway.
When I got to the barn, Thomas was cast...meaning he'd laid down but couldn't get back up without help. He's on a slight incline and was a bit off-balance and all he could do was wave his legs, helplessly, in the air. Zacheous, his steadfast friend, had settled near Thomas' head so Thomas would know he wasn't alone. It took me a while to get Thomas to his feet and hold him steady so he could regain his balance and barn legs. Other than being ancient, he's none the worse for the wear and, eagerly, ate his cracked corn and hay. The water bucket is a bit low so I know they are drinking and that's a good thing as well.
This is the bookmark I'm sending to Bethel in Australia; it's one-third of my obligation to OWOH 2009 Event. The photo is a bit dark but is still a good representation.
The recent snowstorm is nothing more than memories and photographs; perhaps a skiff of snow on the tallest peak in Tazewell County, Morris Knob, pictured above. Here, I'm looking from the alfalfa field, looking across the side and lower pastures, across Rt 91 and then to the Knob, as it's called around here.
Clinton has begun lambing and this is one of the first. It's a down breed mix, primarily Suffolk is my guess and just a few days old. Somehow he managed to get outside the fence so I picked him up, held him for a few squirmming moments and then placed him back inside the fence. He's wild and hated being held but that's the price he has to paid to be put back with Mama. At least I loved on him a bit, Clinton would have tossed him through the fence and said, "get tough!" Yes, Clinton thinks I'm a softie as well as a "hobby farmer"...strong words indeed! And, he's right -smile-.
Psalm 50:10, "For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills."
Buster Brown passed away this weekend and was buried in his clothes. People have asked me if I shear them when they die and have fleeces this lovely. The answer is, "I simply can't." I just cannot send them to their grave nekkid. I know, I know...it's tremendously foolish of me but, for me, it's just wrong. Buster Brown was a good friend for a good many years. I have so many fond memories of nose kisses, head rubs, warm sheepy breath with the smell of alfalfa as he would rub his head against my cheek. He would stand with his head raised when it was time to take his de-worming medicine; not many will stand quietly. He would, slowly but steadfastly, come when he was called. He would allow me to love on him as he stood, patiently, accepting my love with his unwavering heart. He returned that love, unconditionally and always with calm acceptance.
Zacheous is one of Buster Brown's barn buddies and is almost as ancient as Buster. He's slowing down rapidly but still loves to eat cracked corn out of my hand, drinks his warm water and, if I'm seated, will come to be loved, hugged and kissed.
My square hay is kept in the barn loft which is accessible from three different doors, all of which are kept locked. When we first moved here nothing was locked up but times are hard and these are different days; now, everything is kept under lock and key. Here, I'm standing in the loft, staring down into the tack room where I keep cracked corn, sweet feed, cat food and other animal essentials.
I'm standing in the loft door facing the front of the barn, where I back the Polaris Ranger into place so I can load hay. Today I loaded eight square bales...yeah, yeah, I can see they are truly rectangle but farmers call them square bales...which weigh between 65 and 75 pounds each. My neck and shoulder muscles are crying like babies and as soon as evening chores are over, I'm headed to a deep tub of HOT water.
This is the hay loft; ain't it just BEEYOUTIFUL!? I truly adore barns and think we've got one of the prettiest I've ever seen. It was built prior to the War of Northern Aggression, has a limestone foundation and is built with pegs and handmade nails.
Our road, Cove Road, probably, won't be cleared today as we're a secondary road and only three families live here full time. There are a couple of other houses but they are empty. Cove Road is also a dead end road and the road into which Cove Road empties is called Maiden Springs Road which is incorrect as there's only one spring but try telling that to the folks who named it. They named it incorrectly and, now, won't change it because "it's too much trouble". It's also Route 91, the only dirt primary road in the Commonwealth of VA. Strong men have been known to weep and saintly women to curse upon driving Rt. 91 across the mountain. There aren't any guardrails and a fair number of S turns, U turns, switchbacks and sheer drops into mountain air. Generally, we have a tractor trailer, or three, try and go across the mountain...even though the signs say, "NO tractor trailers" because, "the map says it's a primary road." I don't believe even one tractor trailer has made it around the first S curve; usually, they go over the side of the mountain and then tie up "traffic" all day. Hey! We call tractors traffic, don't you?
This is silage which is corn and corn stalks that have been cut in the summer heat, churned up into a "mash" and then piled into keeping areas. It ferments and, eventually, smells a bit like sour mash which I think smells good. A lot of non-farming types, including Dave, think it stinks. The birds won't visit my bird feeder in the winter because they'd rather eat silage. They swoop around, alight on the fence, fly down into the silage...it's fun watching them do their aerials.
Abigail and I headed down Cove Road today because we wanted to enjoy the beautiful day and I wanted to take some photos. Our nearest Cove Road neighbor, about two miles down the road, has one of the largest sheep flocks in the Commonwealth. The sheep had worked a gate loose and were in the road, eating spilled silage. I love the old barn, what character!
This constitutes a traffic jam. I waited until this car passed and then I parked my Polaris Ranger and managed to get the sheep back into their pasture. It's just being a good neighbor and Clinton has done similar for me. He knows my flock is ancient and, sometimes, he'll see a sheep that's cast...meaning, the sheep is lying down and can't get to its feet...and Clinton will climb my fence to right the sheep. I went to Clinton's house and told him what I'd done. I also wanted to check on his Mama, she's been ailing but is coming home today. I know she'll be happy to sleep in her own bed tonight!
This is John and he's feeding out silage to his cattle. He's the brother to Dr. Anne, our vet, and such a good young man. He and his wife have a beautiful baby boy...he's the little boy I made the John Deere tractor quilt for...and I love catching up with the news in their lives. John's wife, Miss A., works for Dr. Anne so we're accustomed to telling one family member something to pass along to another family member. We all live in a very small valley so it pays to establish good ties with each other; we all depend upon each other, one way or another.
This is Trouble, doing what she does best...eating. She'll stand and chew hay, apparently delighted with herself, thinking she's doing something wonderful. My sheep tickle me.
And, Carly, pretending she's a camel. Carly is one of the matriarchs of the flock and loves to come when I call her. She knows there's generally a small treat of cracked or whole corn, a cookie or some other goodie.
My Polaris Ranger, aka my Man Magnet. This is The Most Fabulous Utility Terrain Vehicle EVER! It starts, it goes, it has four wheel drive, independent suspension on every tire, a load leveling capability, will go far faster than I'll ever need to, will carry +1,000 pounds, will pull about the same and looks like a Moon Buggy. Every time I drive this thing, meaning every day, some guy will stop me and talk about what a great vehicle it is. I told John this morning, "this Ranger is my Man Magnet. You know how guys drive cars that are chick magnets? Well, this Polaris Ranger is a Man Magnet." I think he was as amused hearing about it as I was in the telling.
Buster Brown getting his morning feed of cracked corn. He wouldn't drink any warm water this morning and I think he's getting closer to saying good-bye. He's had a great life, has been petted and loved on more than a lot of people...sad commentary on how we humans treat each other...but I think he'll be ready to cross over and be with our other beloved animals. Look at that Roman nose, how very Romney!
The driveway had drifts of three feet, perhaps more. It was an interesting morning, walking down to the barn.
We're in the midst of a winter storm, had about six or eight inches of snow last night and it's still snowing. The wind is calm so the 26 degrees F feels like ten degrees warmer and it's not long before I'm shedding layers of clothing. When it's frigid cold, nothing says comfort like being warm whether layers of clothing, a hand made throw or home made soup. Work is my panacea for just about everything that ills me, no matter physical, emotional or spiritual.
John Deere fleece throw is for my BIL who is retiring soon from a corporation and then wants to farm his family farm. This throw, probably, isn't large enough but it will keep his torso warm as he's napping in his recliner.
Maiden Spring is underground until it emerges here, down the road about two miles. It's our water source and as pure and sweet as only limestone water can be.
Round hay bales remind me of Shredded Wheat cereal sprinkled with sugar.
Every morning I feed the horses a small bit of alfalfa. They have round hay bales to eat whenever they want but I enjoy giving them a bit of a treat. Also, it allows me to eyeball them, making sure everyone is well, on their feet with no problems.
Abigail, my rough coat Jack Russell, is my constant companion and helps with farm chores by making sure everything is all right. She gets from pasture to pasture, lot to lot by jumping through the fence. She looks like a pole vaulter as she leaves the ground, twists her body as she clears between the two fence rungs.
Our stables is also our hay barn and where we store square bales of sweet smelling alfalfa hay. The barns and other outbuildings are sided in rough cut hemlock which we'll allow to age naturally. These old barns were here prior to the War of Northern Aggression and will be here long after we've gone.
Boscoe, our back porch cat, enjoys slumming; he goes to the barn in the mornings to make sure the barn cats are kept in their place and he gets a bit of Meow Mix as a treat. The barn cats get Meow Mix cat food and, up at the house, Boscoe gets Purina One. The Meow Mix must be more highly flavored because TC also used to enjoy slumming and would insist on being given Meow Mix when she visited the barn.
Goldy, the gold fish, swims in the water trough where s/he keeps algae at manageable levels. S/he was purchased in a 5 for $1 group about ten years ago but is the only survivor. Frankly, I think s/he ate the rest of the bunch. He gets a bit of cracked corn or sweet feed as a treat but seems to have done quite nicely on algae. Dandy Man, one of my American Curly horses, is looking into the trough, probably trying to figure out if it's worth trying to get those bits of cracked corn.
This is Thomas; poor old, trembly, frail, fragile, toddery Thomas. But, he still loves to eat cracked corn, sweet hay, minerals and drink warmish water so I still tend to him. I have huge loyalty issues, have you guessed?
Taken from the upstairs window, at dusk, looking toward the support buildings. The far right is the run in shelter for the horses combination storage barn; the middle building is the stable/hay loft/tractor bay; the far building on the left is the farm office building; the middle building on the left is the grainery and the smaller, near building on the left is our livestock scales.
Until we purchased the electric water bucket, this is what I had to look forward to every morning.
The walnut tree in the back pasture looks lovely against the skyline.
So, this is my day at Thistle Cove Farm. After chores, I head to the studio where I work on projects and enjoy my day. In the winter I listen to books on CD but in the summer the windows and doors are kept open so I can hear God's voice in nature. The crock pot is full of soup, there's cheese and garlic bread waiting for the toaster and all's right with my world. Hopefully, it's the same with your world.
