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 This Blog contains day-to-day thoughts and other nonsense.  {c} ![Merit Badge in Community
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I'm starting to see your name everywhere I go *^*Bigsmile*^*. Thank you so very much for all you do around WDC! It is people like you, who make WDC such the awesome place we call our second home *^*Heart*^*
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I wanted to give you a badge you didn't have yet, and this cheerleading badge suits you. You are such an encouragement to many members of this site, including me, and I wouldn't know what Writing.Com would do without you. *^*Smile*^* You're a gem, Barbs. Thank you for your friendship and everything that you do. Love, Me *^*Smile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Cheerleading-210.gif) Thanks to pencilsoverpens  for the MB![Merit Badge in Funny
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I've never laughed more, thanks Barbs](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Funny-200.gif) Thanks Wolfdale  for the MBThanks to pencilsoverpens  for the awardicon for this blogThanks to Equilibrium for the pretty green ribbon she pinned on my poetry folder. Thanks to Alfred Booth for the Awardicon for Happy Book and for my wonderful, vibrant sig. |
| I'm not a farmer but I do make observations about farm life. Today our neighbor was taking care of business. The old tradition of dispersing manure with a manure wagon seems to be going the way of the dinosaur. That was a daily occurrence in the past. The farmer loaded up the honey wagon with the day's "accumulation" and drove it across a field with the scatter mechanism engaged. It flung and spritzed material far and wide, fresh and fragrant. The new "thing" is a system whereby the waste is automatically conveyed from the place where the deposit was made, out of the barn, through a system of piping, and into a large open lake of manure. It accumulates in said lake where it bubbles and ferments under the hot sun. It is there, where it turns into something really potent. Then, twice a year, the farmer lowers something akin to a Paul Bunyon sized eggbeater into the murky pool, and whips that which has gathered there. This agitation mixes the liquid layer with settled solids. Once the material is of pumping consistency, the slurry is lifted up and out of the pond, and deposited into a small fleet of odious tanker trucks. These hellish trucks shuttle non-stop to empty the pond as expeditiously as possible. One is filling up, one on the road to the recipient field, and one is spraying its load onto the land. When we have the bad fortune to be located downwind of this activity, we must exist with the house windows closed until such time as the perfume abates or the wind shifts. Fortunately, there is only enough "material" to cover one field per lake full. That means that the field surrounding our home only receives an application once every four or five years. This, is that year. Windows closed. |
| Come spring, the most valuable pieces of real estate in town are wedges of street corner terrace. Every other house on every street is in the garage sale business this time of year, and each seller needs to funnel customers into their net. Enter the garage sale sign. . .A withering forest of them. On a recent Friday, I counted along my route into town, and found seventy-four in just nine blocks. Unfortunately, out of all of them, only two were legible. Many are the preprinted neon pink or green signs that come with a paid newspaper ad. They're stapled to sticks that are pounded into the soft spring dirt at such an angle so as to be seen amid the fairy circle of signs already there. All four corners of each intersection are full of them. Others are handmade with varying degrees of legibility. Often the lettering is so small or sloppy that I would need to get out of the car with my reading glasses to decipher the instructions. Still others are large, offering a whole paragraph of directions. Five good-sized words are the most I can take in while commanding a moving vehicle. Then, if it's windy, signs are often uprooted, or folded together like praying hands. In rain, the ink looks like mascara on a jilted prom date and, at times, I run across one from a house where the only writing implement was a pencil. Occasionally a well-meaning husband attempts to circumvent the moisture issue by covering the fresh sign with a protective, clear plastic bag, thus rendering it completely unreadable. I see an opportunity here to make a fortune. Any potential partners for a garage sale sign business out there? |
| Thrusday is our day to drop in to Kathy's Kafe for lunch. It's only a five minute drive from our home and the Thursday special is pork and dumplings with sauerkraut and fresh homemade bread. Yumm Yumm. It's the only place that we know of that offers this scrumptious menu item except for Zion Lutheran in Stratford. They serve 600-700 of these meals for their annual Harvest Dinner each fall. Kathy's is a small diner on Hwy 10 that only seats about twenty-six plus four or five counter stools. Every available spot is filled on Thursdays. Service is good and the atmosphere is pleasant. Today there was a crew from Alabama sitting at the corner table. These guys are in the territory for a week or so to install a full-fledged signal at the track crossing over in Sherry. They were looking for "sweet tea" which had Marge stumped. She had tea. And she had sugar, but none of us knew what sweet tea was. Then, when I think I can't eat another bite, Marge comes out with homemade hot apple pie alamode. Who can pass that up? Tony and I each had a piece today. I almost had to be rolled back to the car. Why do I eat like that? |
| We feed birds of all kinds here year 'round. One of the most popular items that we make available in all seasons is bird pudding. It has completely replaced suet in our suet cages. For a time we offered both, but it was clear that the suet went untouched until the pudding holder was empty. Ten years ago, I came across a recipe for this magic bird magnet. Over time, it has morphed into the process we use today. I'll share it with you and hope that you enjoy the many birds that come to eat it as much as we do. In our yard, that includes: woodpeckers of all stripe, orioles, chickadees, nuthatches, and the occasional blackbirds. The process is a messy one and we go thru so much of the stuff that I have increased the batch size to my liking. You may choose to start smaller to see if you feel that the results are worth your time. Bird Pudding 4 lb pail lard 4 lb can peanut butter 1 lb white or whole-wheat flour 2 box yellow corn meal 1 large box rolled oats 1/2 cup honey or sugar (optional) Add other ingredients sufficient to make a thick slurry including a variety of the following: Chopped fruit: apples, raisins, currants, dates Seeds: sunflower, walnuts, unsalted nuts, birdseed of any kind Unsweetened shredded coconut Breadcrumbs Grated cheese Cream of wheat Note: The ratio of lard to peanut butter is 1:1. The more of these two that you use, the more dry ingredients in any combination you will need to come to a stiff end product. This recipe makes a very large batch, so start with your largest pan or cut the recipe down to a smaller batch. I use a huge roasting pan or extra large soup kettle for this. Melt lard over low heat. Add peanut butter and stir until melted. Add flour and incorporate until smooth. Add honey or sugar if using. Add dry ingredients and stir until mixed. Scoop into any large 3 inch deep, flat pans. I use two large disposable, aluminum, turkey roasting pans for this purpose. Chill. When firm, cut into desired size pieces and serve in suet style feeder. Refrigerate or freeze unused portion. |
| I recently drove from Stevens Point to Wisconsin Rapids on State Route 54. In the distance, on the far side of the right-of- way, a small cross caught my eye. I slowed to take it in, and thought briefly about why it was there. "Whose memory did it represent?" I wondered. The road was straight as a string at that point. "Why there? How did it happen, how long ago? Who was careless, intoxicated, or sleepy, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" The tiny shrine sported a fresh coat of paint. It was a bright goldenrod-yellow. Plastic ivy twined the length of the upright. The outstretched arms bore neon-pink vinyl roses, and ribbons fluttered from the distal poles. Someone held this memory close and faithfully cared for the symbol. That was clear. I accelerated past it and drove on, wondering. |
| A rail corridor traverses central Wisconsin. I spend a fair amount of time waiting for trains to pass because the track transects the city of Marshfield, which is where I do all of our business. While I'm waiting, I have time to reflect and these are some of my observations: The trains that use this track are all marked Canadian Northern. The trains are long. Very long, often in excess of two hundred cars, allowing plenty of time to think. The cars in trains traveling south out of Canada are all loaded with lumber, coal, potash, and other chemicals. The train cars being moved north into Canada are mostly empty with the exception of occasional new vehicle transporters. You may draw your own conclusions about our balance of trade with Canada. The graffiti on rail cars approaches an art form. Some of it is incredibly intricate and beautiful. Try tho I might, I have not been able to decipher a single piece of this artwork. Perhaps if I could, I wouldn't think it so attractive. Train work seems almost entirely automated. There are no brakemen to adjust track switches manually, no lanterns to indicate when the cars are all on the siding and clear of the main line, no conductor to coordinate the train movement. Only the engineer and one other staff a moving train. Only rarely does an engineer return a friendly wave from a car waiting at the crossing. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Barbs10 |
| Two members of our household are Jupiter and Oolah. They are pound kitties that came to live with us last October. Tony and I drove to Milwaukee to pick them up. You, like Tony, are probably wondering if there weren't any stray cats available a little closer to home. A three hundred mile round trip does seem funny now that I think about it, but at the time, it made perfect sense. To get back to the cats, I found one that I really liked on a rescue website. A four-month-old lynx point, male ragdoll. I called and spoke with the gal who runs the shelter to say that we, alright, I wanted that particular kitty. She agreed, BUT she said she would only let him go to a household with another kitten. Seems he was very active and needed another cat with which to play. OK, OK. I'll take two. This turn of events made it a wee bit more difficult to explain my plan to Tony. We did make the trip and came home with Luciano and Esmeralda. Neither name stuck. Luciano didn't fit at all. The ragdoll was big, bodacious, beautiful, and more Greek than Italian. He had bearing and was the alpha cat from day one. I renamed him Jupiter as he clearly saw himself as king of the gods. The little female was the polar opposite. Soft and pliant, it took about a week, but she warmed to her new housemate and became the good-natured foil for the bruiser. They are inseparable now, as if they were littermates. And Tony? He has warmed to both of them, just as I knew he would. |
| I am a rummage sale person from way back. Locals love to see me coming because I rarely fail to find at least one thing at each, whether I need it or not. My husband, Tony, has long ago resigned himself to this fact and normally says nothing about my newest addition to our house. About a year ago, I came home with a handsome pair of acrylic lions. They are identical and about two feet tall. I positioned them together on the stoop to the garage door where, in mute duplicate, they greet all incoming guests. Tony refrained from comment until one day recently, when we were returning home from a short trip. As we approached the garage door, he quietly said, "The lions are doing a good job." I looked at him, wondering what was coming next. Wryly he added, "No wildebeests." I dissolved in peals of laughter. |
| For years, the Hauke Honey people have kept hives on Pleasant Hill. Every fall they collect the supers from all of their sites and truck them back to honey headquarters where they extract the nectar from the frames. One hive is left behind to assure that the bees have enough food to see them through the winter months. The Haukes came back this week and set up three dozen or so new supers on their usual site for the spring/summer season. It's another beat in the pulse of life here on Pleasant Hill. |
| The neighborhood farmers who are blessed with high ground and good drainage have been working the land for the last four or five days. We have had a rather dry spring so far, so the rest won't be far behind. The oats are the first. I love to watch them sprout. Makes the field look like green velvet. Later, when the soil is warmer, the corn and soybeans go in. If it is too cold and wet, they will get a poor start or even rot. A neighbor has reported that the hibernating black bear has moved. It is a big one; four hundred pounds or so. I'm keeping my eyes open for any movement around the house at night. It's exciting and scary at the same time. |
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Thanks for these Barbs, we really miss you around here! Update us on everything some time alright! 