Gothic Horror Story

 

The sky was threatening. Gloomy, hung over with bulging yellow and grey clouds, pregnant with the promise of fear. She was alone with a grandkid and the dogs in the big gothic spooky house. A storm was incoming. 

She ventured out to the back porch to look east and south.

A thick cable of blackness dangled from the sky like a snaking tentacle, looming close, and coming closer.

She raced inside, screaming for the grandchild to get to the cellar. Grab a blanket. Be quick.

Down the crumbling wooden stair they went, to sit at the bottom clutching the dull red sleeping bag the child had chosen.

But, no! The dogs. They were in the kitchen in their crates.

Stay, small one, stay while I go.

Leash on the white one, where is the grey?

Back down to the kiddo to find the white one tied to a cluster of Easter ribbons and the grey one replaced by a small stuffed toy dog. Weird.

Go back for the grey.

Too late.

The cellar windows were man-high, laid-up stone tunnels reaching out from the cellar to shallow, root and vine-grown trenches in the ground. Through the frame of dangling vines and roots they could see blackness coming and the horrible mouth of the thing open and sucking.

She tried to call 911 but the phone only showed video games in violent reds and purples. No key pad. No contacts list. Though she had memorized the sheriff's phone number a long time ago there was no way to call them.

She tried the small one's phone but it was the same.

The mouth of the maelstrom hovered outside one of the window tunnels, howling in rage.

Then, just like that, it was gone and the house still stood.

Next strangers came, strolling through the cellar, lying down on platforms of boards, looking into nooks and corners. She tried everything to make them leave, even hitting them and dumping water on them. They would not go and more and more of them stumbled down to join the peering throng.

Then I woke up.

 And thought, "Holy crap! That was the most vivid and realistic dream I have ever had!!" Weirdest too and I've had some doozies. 

A lot of stuff going on around here and I guess I am realizing that there are things I can't control, no matter how much of an excessively controlling person I am.

But, man, oh, man, I wish I could bottle my imagination...it's got to be worth something. LOL

The Cats

 

Are rearranging the furniture again.

I don't know how they do it...or why

But you can hear them at it.

Early morning pills and bills

Dogs for walking

Wrens are talking.

Just another winter day 

Cold bright sunrise 

Cold dull routine.

But, wait, what light through yonder window breaks?

Migration is starting...

Yeah, it is!

Yesterday a Wood Duck

Tuesday a Great Blue Heron.

Who knows what today might bring?

Anticipation is the spice of everything!

Five Bald Eagles in one spot

Encounter

While not much else is going right, birding has been awesome lately. Finding Short-eared Owls has been one great treat, but today it was Bald Eagles.

Short-eared Owl

There was one sitting on a log in the pool at the boat launch today. Although I tried for a photo, something unseen blew all the ducks off the Schoharie and spooked him too, just as I aimed.

He flew over to the tree at the confluence, where eagles often perch. Then he landed by the pool and strutted around for a bit. I think he may have left prey near the log, as his crop looked full.

Back to the tree he went. 

Suddenly another one bombed in (probably what scared the ducks) and started going after him in the tree. A third came after that one and the two of them flew over to land in a tree near the aqueduct.

Sure was fun to watch them until they all flew off.

The ducks, however, were not impressed. 

Recycling Part II

 

Some weeks ago, on a section of road we call "Raptor Row" because it is a great spot to find several species of hawks and owls, we passed a road-killed White-tailed Deer.

It was a big one, fresh and mostly intact.

Soon it looked much different

 Many creatures had their way with it. Friends reported Bald Eagles stopping by to feast. Coyote tracks surrounded it on many occasions and something dragged it from the roadside out into the surrounding fields. We saw Red-tailed Hawks and the corvids, jay, crow, and raven, frequenting the field. A pair of Rough-legged Hawks started hanging around.

Rough-Legged Hawk

Soon there was really nothing left to see. Snow covered whatever bones were left, and to be honest I had mostly forgotten about it.

Then yesterday, my best birding buddy and I were out hunting photo ops and good birds. It was a day for it, with snow clinging to every blade of grass, twig and limb. Every curve in the road revealed another calendar-worthy view of Winter's best beauty pageant.

We stopped to photograph a lovely Rough-legged Hawk that floated up out of the corn stubble to land in a nearby tree, glaring at us most frightfully.

We were ready to drive away when I realized that almost next to the car was a flight of nearly forty Horned Larks, skipping and scrambling around after something in the corn.

Click me! Click me!

They did not fly. If you are a peruser of "Field birds" or "Road Birds", the Horned Larks, Snow Buntings, and Lapland Longspurs, you know how skittish they are. Approach with your car...they flit away only to land behind you, or depart altogether. Get a nice shot lined up and another car will spook them. Get out of your car with your camera and they vanish as if someone was standing by with a magic wand. Hey! Presto! Gone in a flash.

Who? Us? Never happen

However, we hadn't even seen these birds, right next to the car, as they were not flying away. They stayed all the while we shot dozens of photos and were still there when we went off in search of other goodies. They were still there in late afternoon when we headed out owling. My friend figured out what was going on... I'm sure you have guessed by now. They were rummaging around in the corn for bits of that poor deer.

It was amazing to watch them squabbling and scuffling over tufts of hair, which must have had something nourishing still clinging to them. Their jingle bell calls belied their grisly business.

Nothing is wasted out there in the wild world. Not one tiny morsel of something that can feed something else in the food chain goes to waste. By Spring there will be nothing left, except many a lingering scent, just enough for a Border Collie to take a nice roll, and come back indoors reeking of puppy perfume.

Mourning Dove

Thanks deer, for the lesson and the chance to get some goodish photos of elusive and challenging birds. You've done your part.

Recycling

Drainage holes bored with a screw setter

Hinged lid

The wait begins

 An empty kitty litter jug.

Germination
Now, if only they don't damp off on me

My life as a Sous Chef

 

Yesterday I found myself browning chopped up sweet Italian sausage, ground venison, celery, and homegrown garlic on the small burner on the stove, in a bath of butter and herbs.

In the oven a tired head of cabbage was roasting, coated in dark, rich, olive oil, sprinkled with everything from fennel to Italian seasoning, with a bit more butter on top.

The basic recipe was not my idea. The methods and flavorings were.

See, I work under Becky now, as a sous chef. She works under the big yellow sign down in the village so she has no time.

I have nothing but. When she got home she assembled my contribution into deconstructed golumpki casserole, and let me tell you, it was awesome. We came away with ideas of how to make it better next time, but we really liked it. (More cabbage. Fresh cabbage. Less rice. Different, fluffier, rice) 

I have cooked since I was small, pestering at the elbows of my family in the kitchen when barely tall enough to see over the edge of the table....Uncle Larry, do you remember the horrible-looking cakes we made in Grandma Lachmayer's kitchen, all purple and green, with runny, weird-looking frosting that nobody else wanted to eat? Man, were they ever good!...

My brothers and I grew up tasting the Great Depression in the kitchens of our grandparents who lived it. We learned food from the ingredients up and how to substitute what we didn't have and enhance what we did with what was in the cupboard. Both grandmas, all the aunties, and many of the uncles, knew how to make do, and still make tasty and nourishing meals.

My next younger brother and I were cooking when we were just kids. We got off the school bus, ravenous as kids tend to be, but both parents worked, so we were on our own. Sometimes there were snackie things around the house, but that was not a major industry then, (I think there was only ONE kind of potato chip then) so we either made popcorn on the stove top, or corn meal muffins, and devoured same.

 Every single person in my immediate family cooked all through my childhood. Dad was a master at his own special bread recipe, which he would not, and never did, share with the rest of us, alas.

But it's all right. I can make bread. My brothers can make bread. My kids can all make bread...and pizza crust, rolls, muffins, etc.

Counting back, I have made at least fifty Thanksgiving dinners and many unofficial turkeys, including wild ones over the years.

However, when Becky started to get serious in the kitchen, I was admittedly in a rut. We ate good, wholesome, cooked from scratch food, but it was boring, same stuff, different day.

Now, she sees a recipe and wants to make it. No time for elaborate preparations, as she works most days. Enter mom, who is sick of thinking up stuff, but knows how to sauté and season, and has had a lot of practice. We did a whole chicken the other day, stuffed with a large onion, garlic, thyme from the garden, and sundry other spices, seasoned with sage and that kind of stuff. Made soup from the leavings. That one bird fed us four days and well. We made chicken stock, which bammed subsequent soups and sauced up a notch, big time. 

Our brainstorming and cooking by committee has produced all manner of new kinds of cookies, great (and interesting!) meals, and a lot of fun. I like it.

The other two kids have always cooked as well. Being deeply stuck in the stereotypical rut of my youth I did not expect my son to become a homegrown chef. However, since his early teens when he made lemon bars for school, entirely on his own, he has been a master in the kitchen. As a teenager he taught me things about seasoning meats and cooking wild game that I still use every day. He sends me pictures of things he cooks....and I know from eating at his house that they are spectacular. Wish we lived closer...

Liz feeds her farm family with special dietary needs things that sound fabulous to me and keeps them happy and healthy. It's her pizza crust recipe that helps us feed Ralph well, while keeping him within the boundaries of his diabetic diet.

Anyhow, I am liking this new role as a sous chef. I know how to do my part and i don't have to do the other part.

As the Barred Owl says, who cooks for you? And what do you like?

I don't usually do This

 But....

It might help ease the grim January weather...

Nesting Season

 

We saw a Bald Eagle carrying a big stick to the Sprakers nest today. It was the first time Ralph had ever seen that and perhaps the third for me. It almost felt like Spring despite the foot of snow on the ground and the winter field birds thronging the roadsides.

Much more exciting were the events of January 5th, when the nesting season gave to us a brand new granddaughter, Riley Mae Friers. She is a beautiful baby and joins her delightful sister Bailey Rae, and lovely cousins Peggy Ann Marie, Madeline, and Claire, to give us a full house of grandbabies.

It won't be long before the owls are hooting sweet love songs in the night, but none will be as wonderful as all those little girls.

Have a Very

 

Take two, they're small!

Christmas Gull

 

I guess a Christmas goose is traditional, but Becky made us chicken, which was excellent. Nice having a chef in the house and home on vacation. I don't think I've cooked in days, and no lie, I don't miss it.

We did our traditional Christmas spin around our local favorite spots and found a pretty good representation of expected species, plus the above Iceland Gull, which although not the first for the year, a decent find. Hope he sticks around until next week.

Otherwise the holiday was about as uneventful as it can get, which was fine for me. Talked and video chatted with some family members, saw videos of our distant baby and had a visit from a closer one. 

Nice

No complaints.

Hope things stay calm. A very, very, very, super important event is to take place in our family really soon and I am at once nervous and excited about it. And praying hard as always.

Hugs from Northview and best wishes for the coming year.

Conversations of Dairy and Derriere

 

Twas the Eve of the Solstice.

When inside the house....

"You almost had to drive me to the hospital."

Said by a man in outdoor boots and clothes, steaming and huffing at the edge of the dining room door. At least he was kind enough to keep his boots off the rug.

"What!" Three simultaneous gasps from the audience in the living room.

"I fell off the woodpile."

"What the heck were you doing on the woodpile?"

"Putting a chain on a log."

Mind you it's dark out. There are plenty of daylight hours, but he is a real night owl.

"Are you okay? Did you break anything?"

"Well, my butt is sore. Maybe my hip."

Not even funny. He in fact did not sustain any serious injuries and seems okay today.

I figure its the gallons, and gallons, and gallons of milk he drank over the years, and the large amount he still does.

And the toughness. He is farmer tough, ( old fart foolish), and farmer brave.

But (and butt)...

We are getting too old for this stuff. 

Roadside Friends and Acquaintances

Peaceful Puppers

I think this guy would have come right in the window, 
if he could fit.

These ladies were munching at a hay feeder when
we encountered them while counting birds.
As soon as they saw the car their heads came up and they looked with great interest
When we paused to chat with their owner they
ambled right up. Friendly ladies indeed

Patience

 

Down the Rabbit Hole

 

The Internet has given us a lot of things, some of them horrible, but it has also supplied us access to an incredible wealth of information.

I can remember not so many years ago having family members get into intense discussions over many esoteric subjects. They/we would argue for hours and hours and even days and weeks over who was right about something of such utter triviality as to be meaningless. Sometimes we never found out.

Now, you can learn just about anything you want to, almost instantly, and if you are handy with search engine research, you can dig pretty darned deep into the topic of your choice.

A couple of cases in point...a good Facebook friend shared a meme comparing the relative sizes of polar vs black bears. It was a holy cow moment. I probably spent an hour, when I should have been hanging up laundry, delving into just how big bears are. I discovered that a polar bear could easily bump its head on our living room ceiling, which is ten feet above the ugly red shag rug. Dang! I am glad they live a heck of a long way from here. There was a black bear out in our woods a couple of weeks ago, at least according to the trail cams, and that is more than enough excitement for me.

Then there was the matter of the Buffleheads. We saw a little clutch of them during a bird count, energetically diving into the shallows of a nearby lake. It was downright awesome to find them on a CBC as open water is rare here this time of year. My friend and mentor opined that they eat vegetation and are highly popular with hunters as they taste really good. No question that fish ducks, such as mergansers are said to taste like a good dose of cod liver oil, but I thought diving duck=fish duck, and thus disagreed.

Thanks to modern technology, I now know, that although they occasionally dine on mini-minnows, their cuisine of choice consists of crustaceans, insects, and snail-type critters. (The former might explain their tastiness.) It all made sense after I thought about the matter a bit. Most fish ducks are streamlined for catching fast-moving prey, while Buffleheads are fluffy and fat and ridiculously cute. I don't suppose they have to essentially fly underwater like mergansers to catch snails after all.

However, I had to wait to get home to delve into that bit of trivia. No Internet in the 'Dacks. It was like flying blind!

I have to say that I in no way miss those prolonged and tedious discussions about minutia that often plagued our personal argumentative clan. (Montgomerys love to argue and Friers aren't far behind.) Nowadays when I hear one start to brew and bubble here in our normally peaceful living room, with a click of a mouse, clatter of a keyboard, or tap, tap, slide on a cellphone screen, I can shut them all up almost instantly.

BITD