Is it Time for Coffee or Wine?

The deer have been into the trees, the dogs have been into the flower beds, frost in the garden and moles in the lawn. The sink is overflowing with dirty dishes, the laundry room bulging at the seams and I'm pretty sure those are dust bunnies in the hall but let's be honest, they may be actual bunnies. The dogs have gone feral, the chickens are giving me stink-eye with some very unpleasant cackles and I think my house plants are picking up their roots and attempting to move out.

I think Jeff still lives here but between John Deere, the restaurant, the farm and my crazy hours; I don't think we've been awake, or even asleep, and in the same room for nearly 2 weeks.

THIS. This is why I'm so thankful I don't pull overtime shifts very often and get to work part time. Balance is everything.

Now to go cut off a slice of that big, bad, buck sausage and toast to next hunting season. I've had 12 hours of sleep since Sunday and I've lost my patience. #DontEatMyTreesOrWeEatYou, #WhatDayIsIt, #IsItTimeForCoffeeOrWine

Know When to Walk Away

I started my day attempting to renew the boat registration.  It's all online now.  You need an account to log in but our boat isn't associated with an account so I can't renew it. Forty minutes of frustration that needs a Mon-Fri, 9-5 follow up phone call to Salem -- epic fail.

So I dig out the roto-tiller to go burn off some frustration and out of the 8 yellow diesel containers actually full of ethanol free gasoline, (talk to Jeff - you all know I'm a color coded rule follower), I fill the tank with the only can of diesel we have on the property.  Yes - I caught it BUT until you've syphoned diesel out of a gas tank in 90 degree weather - you have no idea how bad that sucks.

By now, I'm pretty freakin' hot and cranky.  I take to the yard to patch all the vole trails carved into once beautiful lawn...  They burrow into the roots and leave ugly dead paths that need to be raked up, leveled and reseeded.  It's not fun work but it has to be done.

I'm crawling around the yard on my hands and knees patching things up - and what do I see in the lawn next to me but a (SCREAM!!!!!) snake...  Jeff grabs for his gun, I grab my itty bitty yard rake, I'm yelling at Jeff to kill it but not to shoot (the hot tub was too close).  It slithers away in the chaos and reappears just as I get ready to move the sprinkler then retreats UNDER THE DECK (gulp).

It gets worse.  It's a rubber boa - harmless to humans (supposedly) and get what it eats -- yard trashing voles...  Dang.  For someone who believes that the only good snake is a dead snake -- this is a pickle of a situation, indeed.

I'm giving up on this day, mixing cocktails on the deck and getting use to the idea that Herb, the vole eating snake, and I can somehow coexist.  Jeff is still somewhere in the shop bellylaughing his ass off.  I'll give him this one - because if it had been a rattlesnake, we'd be moving right now.

Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run - and know when to pour a drink.

#ComeVisit
#BringIce
#WearSnakeBoots

Ahhh... There you are.

I have a confession to make.  I lost the Little Dipper.  I can't explain it.  I have known how to find Polaris since I was about 10.  It doesn't move.  It's impossible to lose, and yet...  I couldn't be certain which star, exactly, was the infamous North Star.  I can't tell you how many times I searched the night sky from the comforts of the hot tub only to let curiosity get the better of me.  I walked barefoot through doggy grenades on the lawn in the darkness, precariously stepped around the house through the sharp gravel, just knowing it had to be behind the big juniper tree or on other side of the roofline.  I knew where it was suppose to be.  It makes it's home between the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. But - WHERE WAS IT?

And then tonight, while I was watering my flower baskets before bed, I glanced up into the darkness and like an old friend, just as clear as could be - as if it had never been lost - there it was.  The Little Dipper.  I walked out into the darkness, as if called by the stars and let the moment absorb me.

It's a warm, beautiful night.  There is no wind and the air smells like sweet alfalfa as it blooms.  There is just a touch of humidity but not nearly enough to call muggy.  This is the desert.  It doesn't take much to feel the moisture in the air.  I can sense the presence of cows more than I can see or hear them.  The calmness of the herd is peaceful reassurance that all is well with the world.  The crickets and frogs are harmonizing with an occasional hush, just long enough to hear the trickling of nearby water.  This side of the planet is tucked tightly into bed, dreaming their dreams, and I feel like I have this moment, of this night, in this spot, all to myself.  It's a perfect summer night and I want to etch every tiny detail into my memory.

This is the good life and today was a good day.  It may have started way too early but it ended on a perfect note.  Though never really lost in the first place, an old friend has been found and all is once again right in the night sky.  I can't help but think of it as a sign for stability and happiness to come.   

No News is Good News

I don't watch much news on TV.  Part of that has to do with only getting Portland's news stations.  I just can't relate to them.  One week the greater good of Portland is pissed off that their roads are falling apart.  The next week, the same people are pissed off that road construction is going on around them.  Citizens speaking out on the news continuously demand for someone to be held accountable and for someone to correct some sort of problem.

It's not really like that in rural America.  I don't mean to imply that we don't have a long list of our own beefs, yes, pun intended.  We do.  We are inherently independent.  We don't really have a "someone" to blame or "someone" to fix it.  It's more "us" and "we" than "them" and "they" out here.  When our electricity goes out, we grab the binoculars and scan our neighbor's places for functioning irrigation sprinklers or lights to see how big the outage is before we call the power company so we can give them an idea of which power pole went down.  When our water pressure drops, we troubleshoot it ourselves.  We test our own water.  If it goes bad, well, it's our own problem and we just pray it's not the well going bad.  That's on us.  Nobody calls.  Nobody is expected to call.  Honestly, we likely won't even test the water until everyone in the house is sick - and doesn't get better - for maybe weeks...  We certainly aren't going to make a stink about being notified more than once or outside of a 4 hour window.  And we aren't going to demand a costly, city investigation of any of it.  That's time, money and resources that are needed somewhere else.  

When a storm wreaks havok on neighbors fields, we get out of our trucks to help move their irrigation lines, equipment, cows, horses and goats; back to where they belong.  We don't sue them or boycott them or call the news station to come video us carrying poster board signs out in front of their homes.  On the flip side, we don't go cut down their trees for a better view - er, ah, at least without asking.  Turn-a-bout is fair play.  Anyone who has had their lush, green lawn oversprayed with ground sterilizer knows that The Golden Rule is real out here, and you never know when you may need a neighbor to come pull you out of an irrigation ditch or loan you some duct tape.

I understand that having a neighbor's home 6-8 feet away from your own is much different than living a half a mile away.  I get that all the rules, regulations, laws and home owner association codes are disabling within the city limits.  I can only imagine the frustration level reached for a 2 mile drive taking 3 hours.  The city is a different animal.  Part of me is envious.  It might be nice to have the luxury of blame and condemnation.  It might even feel good to assign culpability and demand an outside entity correct the latest issue.  At the same time, I get to live in a world where my coworker's husband was championed this winter for plowing local streets, not because it was his job but because he had the equipment, made the time and had the desire to make things better for everyone.  (Thank you, Josh Tolman!)  I get to live in a world where balance is a way of life and understanding cause/effect and action/consequence is ingrained in our existence, not explained in a college course. It's not easy nor is it fun but it makes us independent and accountable for our own selves, lives, families and home -- and it keeps us from making asses of ourselves on the local news. Frankly, we're too busy and none of us get the local news station anyway.

2014

Less wine, more tea.
Less sugar, more water.
Less sitting, more doing.

Hunting Season

I grew up with one foot in the ocean, one foot in the mountains, my head in the clouds and both hands holding a book.  I know how to use four wheel drive (I'm just glad we don't have to physically put hubs in anymore), I can clean my own fish, and we all know that August through November is a time of year known to most of us simply as "Hunting Season" and that a coveted invitation to Elk Camp is a rite of passage.  I'd say that this is my favorite time of year, but in truth, it's the changing of the season that is my favorite.  I love this. The smell of campfires, the comradery, the end of warm nights in exchange for wild winds and promises of snow.  This is what I grew up knowing.  This is how I enjoy living.  

Elk are amazing animals.  I marvel in their strength, size and ability to elude the mighty hunter. Their beauty is majestic.  A part of me gets a little sad each time one of these animals goes down with a hunter's bullet but it's a fleeting moment that is soon replaced with excitement.  I know in the next several days, the opportunity will come to take the animal apart, piece by piece, and the anatomy lesson is better than any classroom lab or lecture that I've ever been a part of.  I answer most of my own questions by tangibly searching them out.  Is that a vessel or nerve bundle?  Let me get a closer look.  Let me pull it, bend it, trace it with my finger to the origin and let me learn.  It's hard to get enough of it.  


Anatomy lessons lead right into butchering lessons.  Muscles, tendons, bones and ligaments soon shape into steaks, roasts, burger and jerky as the body becomes a carcass.  No pieces are wasted. It's as close to a religious experience as I've been a part of.  Knives are sharpened, jokes are told, meat is cut, wrapped, labeled, shared and frozen.  This is how it's been done for decades.  It brings a continuity to life that our disposable world easily eludes.  It's like coming home after a long trip.  It's an odd form of security. It's a recentering ritual that brings us back to our hunting and gathering roots born hundreds of thousands of years ago.  It's innate and instinctive.  


I was invited back to my roots this year.  It reminded me where I came from and who I am.  In the struggle between life and death, I will always fight for life, it's the nurse in me, but I also appreciate a good steak.  Hunter versus gatherer.  Sometimes it's important to have a foot planted in both worlds to understand the best parts of each.  I know it's something I can't imagine a life without and that make this time of year a little special.  


Besides, what else is there to do while we wait for enough snow for the mountains to open?  Life is good, friends.  

Finding the Right Ratio

I was overtaken by an amazing revelation when I woke today.  This is what happy is suppose to feel like.

Sometimes I get too caught up in the "doing" part of life.   I get too busy to feed the parts of my brain that need to be fed something other than mandatory continuing education credits.  I put off opportunities to fill my spirit and soul because I am simply too tired to fit it into an already overlapping schedule of work, sleep, meetings, errands and household tasks.  I forget to invest in myself so that I have what it takes to give to others.   I find myself defined by roles, responsibilities and expectations. I become a slave to an unfulfilling schedule that eventually begins to reshape the person I am - until something snaps and suddenly, I am reminded, hey, this isn't me.  I know better than this.  

That moment came to me about a year ago while sitting next to the glacial lake at the top of Broken Top.  It was reinforced in San Francisco after a dinner of amazing sushi and just enough saki.  I felt it reverberate through my soul when my skis touched snow last winter but it wasn't until a road trip to Tahoe to watch a friend run the Western States 100 mile trail race that I knew what to do. 

Like the mathematical laws that drive everything from physics to philosophy, my happiness has always been based on a simple formula that balances the ratio of fun to cruddy stuff.  It's so simple, in fact, that I forget it.  I needed less cruddy stuff and more fun.  I needed to make more time to enjoy the things that make me whole.  I needed to surround myself with people who bring an amazing energy into the life they live.  I needed to demand more time for myself and walk away from others demanding time from me.  So, in a giant leap of faith, I quit my job.

(After a few meetings and negotiations, an agreement was reached that I'd still work a few shifts a month, but quitting outright might have been the scariest and bravest thing I've ever done so I don't want the moment to be lost in the story.)

I've been off for 3 weeks now, (wait a minute, it's only been 3 weeks?!) and today, I feel like a new person.  

Cutting Back

We are given one life that we can live anyway that we see fit.  We balance responsibility with desire, obligation with what makes us happy.  At the end of the day, we ask for fulfillment so we may fall asleep satisfied with all that we are and all that we've done.  It's a tricky balancing act and I feel lucky to achieve it even a few times a week.  I'm sure I'm not alone.  Late nights with a glass of wine staring into the stars dampens the sting of a bad day, but it doesn't erase it. The goal is to have more good days than bad, to surround myself with people I genuinely believe in, who can bring out a great belly laugh, and to love whole-heartily, all of it - my past, my present and the people who have touched either one of them.  Those are my simple priorities.  That's how I believe in living my life. Open, honest, true and with purpose while doing the best I can to do "the right" thing.  Lofty goals in today's dog eat dog world.

I don't need an obnoxious amount of money, I only need enough to maintain a simple life. I don't need applause or recognition or even to stand out in a crowd.  What I do need is to feel proud, confident and like part of a team of people or group of friends that command respect by the examples they set.  Listening to "me,me,me and I,I,I" people tell me how great they are, is more painful than taking two handfuls of sand and rubbing my own eyes out.  Having these same people demand that I respect them for telling me how great they are, is tortuous.  To give up the life I want to live; time with friends, family, dogs or any other beautiful creature and be held hostage in such an atmosphere is simply a deal breaker.  I feel like parts of my life have hit the "deal breaking" level and it's time to make some adjustments.

I'm an ER nurse.  Talk is cheap, most people lie, actions and behaviors speak louder than words.  I can gauge most situations quickly with a fair amount of accuracy.  It's part of my job.  I need to be able to read between the lines to give the patient the best care.  It's a quality that flows over into real life for me.  I'm surrounded by amazing people and they are out there proving it everyday.  These people don't make a list of accomplishments and publish it in newsletters because: #1 they believe they will figure out an even better way to do it the next time, #2 they are too busy performing amazing feats to sit down and put that much thought into themselves, #3 they don't think it was really that big of a deal in the first place and, #4 they redirect all that attention back into positive energy to support the team or project.  They are humble, genuine, open, honest, hardworking, generous and I'm proud to call them my friends and coworkers.

I'm cutting my hours way back in the ER right now to go in search of that ever elusive balance between work, home, family, friends and the almighty belly-laugh.  My goals are to get a tan, teach the dogs to sit and finish a scrapbook.  For the past 2 years, Jeff and my work schedules have averaged 2 days off a month together - which shouldn't imply we've had the chance to spend them together because there are other things that sometimes have to take priority - like grocery shopping or (something I have less understanding of) the weekly poker game.  I'm not joking when I say that I know more about the lives of my coworker's pets and kids than I know about my own husband's. He's asleep, I'm awake.  He's home, I'm at work.  I'm home, he's at work.  It's a never ending juggling act.  I'm afraid that the majority of our conversations have taken place sitting in separate rigs, going opposite directions, in the middle of the road or driveway, through an open window and within sixty second increments for the past 2-3 years. It's time to fix that.  

I will still be picking up some shifts to satisfy that insane need I have for ER nursing but I am also going to take some time to enjoy this crazy thing we call life.  I'm going to see more of my niece and nephews.  I am going to drive to an orchard to pick fruit and then can it.  I'm going to catch up on wall painting and clutter purging.  I'm going to get a fishing line wet.  (Don't steelhead run one more time this fall? I'm going to find out.) I'm going to get some old bulbs in the ground and the scrapbook room cleaned up.  And I'm thinking, hmmm...  Maybe we need a few more pheasants around this farm and *giant smile* a little pig named Snort.

The Ugly Truth About Chickens

 

They stink, they eat their own eggs, they peck each other bald and consume more feed than what it costs to buy the organic, range-free eggs. All of these truths were tolerable until we inherited my Dad's dog, Max. Max doesn't care for chickens. In fact, the only chicken Max has any affinity for is a dead chicken. He can kill a chicken quicker than a .22 bullet to the heart. When the chickens went into 24 hour confinement, so did their excrement. They no longer free ranged and that quadrupled their feed amount at about the same time corn based animal feed nearly doubled in cost. Raising chickens was no longer fun, relaxing or rewarding. It became tedious, expensive and frankly, quite smelly. I had a friend in need of some chickens, so I boxed them up, loaded them into the back of her SUV and said farewell to my chicken raising days.

There is now an eerie calm and hushed silence out on the farm. I no longer have every bird within a 5 mile radius stopping by for a bite to eat or quick drink from the chicken pen. There is no 4 AM rooster crow to remind us that the sun will be rising in the next 3 hours or angry cackle from a mad hen warning that the dogs are too close to the pen. No frozen water to break or tote by 5 gallon bucket in the sub freezing temperatures. Do I miss my chickens? Hmmm.... Ask me in a few more months.  I'm now thinking bunnies are the wave of the future on the Jordan farm - or maybe a little pig - or a couple goats - or a new calf...

 



The Lawn

I have to admit it.  I wanted the lawn.  I wanted pretty, uniform cut, dark green grass surrounding our home.  It was going to cut down on the dust, the heat and all the work we put into weed control around here.  It was going to be a place for the dogs, kids and even the adults to enjoy.  Other people have it.  We had two lawns growing up - three if you count the far back lawn.  It didn't seem too hard to grow or require that much upkeep.  I thought once we had it in, we were home free...  I was so wrong.

Our lawn is a time machine.  It sucks up hours, if not days at a time.  One day it's trimmed, green and beautiful.  I smile as I gaze at it with pride.  I work my 4 nights, squeezing in some quick sprinkler sessions when I get home and before I leave.  It all seems okay -- until it suddenly doesn't.  Dry spots, dull spots, brown spots, missing spots...  Grubs, moles, sage rats, sodworms, aphids, june beetles, crane flies, over watering, underwatering, seeding, feeding, insecticides, edging, filling, mowing, moving hoses, changing hoses, changing sprinklers, moving sprinklers.  My lawn is a Dr Seuss book just waiting to be written.  It takes all of my attention, all of my time and uses every last bit of patience I have left.  This is not fun.  This is not easy.  Then after spending all of my days off to care for the lawn -- it is trimmed, green and beautiful again.  I smile with pride as I drive down the driveway and then much to my dismay, the cycle repeats itself.

I've reached the point that I've put so much time and energy into it - I can't walk away from it.  I can't ignore those dry spots in the back and go enjoy myself at the lake for the day because I know, if I don't water them right away - they will turn brown and take weeks to come back.  I can't ignore the mowing.  It grows so quickly that if it doesn't get done -- it will be 10 times the work to get the cutting clumps raked off so they don't kill the lawn beneath them.  If I give the mole a chance - the dogs will find him and that means filling 15 large holes instead of just 2 small ones.  The grubs can eat the roots of very large chunks of lawn within a few nights.  That grass is dead.  It needs to be dug out and reseeded.  Bindy weed needs sprayed at first sight or it will spread voraciously.  Timers are a great idea but they limit water flow.  If I use the timers, I get half the coverage so it takes twice as long - or longer - depending on how many times I have to move the hose or change the sprinkler. 

So if you want to see us this summer (what's left of it), I'm afraid you will have to drive out.  I will pour you a glass of ice tea and you can sit on the deck and I will work on the lawn while we chat.  I haven't given up the battle yet.  The thistle infestation might send me over the edge but I'm not going down without a fight.  It's over the drainfield and really, who wants to hang out over that anyway. 

New Beginnings

 

We have a new addition -- Ruger, the latest little Corgi to join the pack.  He's sweet, stubborn and has already made a playmate of his sister, Josie Wales, who is just one year older.  He's been home for 3 nights now and has settled in well.  We are in the process of crate training and I swear I don't remember it kicking my butt like this in the past -- but that may have been due to sleep deprivation and memory loss.  It is the first time I have entrusted the dogs to dog sit for me while I took a much needed nap.  All is well that ends well and we sure love the little guy.

I am back on night shift at the hospital and will be spending more time back in the ER.  It's where I do the most good and feel like I'm in my element.  The old saying that if you make a job out of something you love, you'll never work a day in your life seems to fit my situation well.  I feel a bit rusty and out of sync but I'm sure it won't be long before the flow returns.  I love my job most of the time and I know enough to realize how lucky I am for that.  It's where I belong and I'm doing what I was always meant to do.  That is a satisfaction that I do not question.

It's been a tough year.  I thought the year my parents and my husband's dad got divorced was tough but it seems like just as the dust was settling from that is when my Dad died and everything that had been "unsettled" just came apart.  It's hard to lose a parent.  It's harder to watch your siblings experience that grief and know that there's nothing to be done to fix it.  I think I thought moving to day shift would make me more available to them to help fill some of the void my Dad left behind but I was wrong.  That void is too vast and nothing within my power will make any of this easier on them.  We all have to find our own way through it.  That being said, I sure miss him.  Every day I miss him.

I have a lot to be thankful for and even more still yet to do.  Crate train the puppy, clean the hot tub, fill the pantry, play in the dirt, save a few lives, laugh some good laughs and live the dream that we all call life.  I think that is the best way to honor everything my Dad made certain to ingrain in my existence -- to simply live it to the fullest and do the best that I can do.

The Harsh Reality

The harsh reality is that my adult coping mechanisms do not engage until noon.  I have given this 4 in the morning crap my best shot and I am not winning the battle.  I might be able to fake my way through a 6AM wake up call a few days a week and manage it but roll-call comes much earlier than that.  I can wake up on Island time and enjoy the day but intricate elements of my survival plan include umbrella drinks and beach-side siestas - and management refuses to sign off on either.  So...  I am left with the facts.  I will never thrive on day shift and oh - how I ever enjoy thriving!

My life is about smiling from the inside out.  It's about happy, goofy dogs playing in the sun.  It's about truly "being present" for the moment.  It's about sharing that energy with friends and family.  It's about resolving any possible problems before they happen.  I like having a plan.  I like to eliminate worries before they hit the horizon.  As my nephew Grady told his mom one morning, "Mom, it's Auntie A.  She takes care of everything.  There are NO worries..."

I can't do that at 4AM.  At that hour, I am grumpy.  I obsess about coffee.  I am resentful of my husband, still asleep in our nice, warm bed.  And I worry.  I worry about my patients.  I worry about my skills.  I worry about my charting.  I do things two, three, four different times because I don't remember actually doing it.  My brain is asleep, people.  I can't wake it up.  I don't enjoy chatter.  I am not present.  I am in survival mode.  Non-critical chit-chat pisses me off -- don't those people have more important things to do?  And where the hell is the coffee?!  There is no smiling on the inside, there is merely gritting my teeth on the outside.  I can't troubleshoot, I can't problem-solve and I certainly can not formulate a plan.  These are higher level thinking skills and non-existent in the brain that is simply fighting to survive.

And daylight savings time? It simply put me over the edge. This morning crap is crazy and to do it all one hour earlier than the week before - that's just plumb freaking nuts!

So I have begged my bosses to help me find a way back to night shift.  It's where I belong.  It's where "my people" thrive.  It's where all of the "told-you-so" friends are sitting back with a big ear to ear and all-too-knowing smile.

I am again smiling from the inside and happy to know that someday I will be back to my normal self.  Until then, just a suggestion; approach me cautiously before noon and perhaps even arm yourself with an extra cup of coffee - just in case.





The "make it all better" coffee mug.

Identity Crisis?

I'm just not a morning person.  I never have been.  My mom bought an alarm clock for my little sister and I when we were in preschool and kindergarten because she didn't want to be the one to wake us grumpy girls up in the morning.  My sister adjusted.  I did not.  I like to stay up late.  I like quiet.  I like to gently let go of my dreams and ease into my day.  Being thrown into wakefulness with the annoying shrill of a clock leaves me feeling unbalanced and unsettled for the first few hours of each day.

I've tried to be positive about my move to day shift but honesty tends to win out with me.  It's hard.  It's like the beginning of a new fitness routine.  Do I like it?  Um... Yes?  Maybe?  It will get better, I think.  I still find myself sleeping in until 10 every morning the alarm is not set.  Sometimes it's closer to noon that I crawl out from the covers in a blind fog in search for coffee, like today.  Eh, it is what it is.  I am who I am.  I think maybe that my internal clock is Australian.

And then there's the cows...  Our neighbor is using our corral for his herd and I have to admit, it's something I really miss.  I found a calf out of the pen late last night.  I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get her back where she belonged but we've had some close encounters with coyotes (and maybe even a cougar) so I knew this wasn't something that could wait until daylight.  Unbelievably, she let me pick her up and set her back in the pen through the fence rails - which was great news because the gate was on the opposite end of the corral.  There's something sweet about that warm, soft fur and blind trust that just has a way of making everything in this world seem so simple.  I miss that.

So now I'm a night person working days who lives on a farm without cows and an ER nurse in the part of the hospital that doesn't really have emergencies and I'm not really too sure how this life is suppose to fit into my psyche.  It's all a bit foreign to me. 

For now I think I will go get my poop boots on, trek through the mud and go check on the cows that aren't ours and scan the highway for any possible traumas on my way.

Live More

Fall has always felt like the right time for change and this year we are making quite a few.  We are simplifying, downsizing, making room for opportunity. 

The cows went to the auction block, every last one of them.  I'll miss Tinkerbell but she has spent the past 5 years becoming less of "my cow" and more a part of the herd.  We had several events this past year that made me realize we either needed a few more closed gates down our driveway or it was time for her to go to the sale.  The rest of the herd had a date with the auction block and it just felt like the right time for her to go with them.  I will miss her, I will miss the unique bond between human and animal but I have faith that she made it to another field and will bring someone a beautiful calf next spring.

I am giving up the nightlife of the ER for a more bland, less dramatic dayshift working with patients admitted to the hospital.  Less trauma, less adrenaline balanced with more family, more time with friends.  I admit I will miss the thrill of saving a life from the brink of death and there are those that have just giggled at my plans with an all knowing, "Oh, you'll be back..." but I believe this is the right choice to make right now. 

I vacillate between excitement and regret.  I love my job.  I love the people I work with and for.  It takes a lot out of me but I love it.  I will miss it.  I will NOT miss the exaustion of maintaining a nightshift life in a dayshift world.  I will not miss the choice of missing sleep or missing family, missing sleep or missing friends, missing sleep or missing fun.  I will not miss being too tired to remember anything.  I will not miss feeling left out of my own life.

Dayshift will be a big change for me.  I will need to be up by 4:30 on the mornings I work but I am excited to try something new.  It won't be as action packed as the ER but it will still be something I love.  I will continue to be the best nurse that I know how to be.  And who knows, maybe on those rare days that someone calls in sick, the powers that be will decide to float me back down to the ER to cover a shift or two.  It might be enough adrenaline to float me through -- and if it's not, I might just go skiing.

A New Normal

Spring was not a time for growth and regeneration this year.  In fact, it's been one of the tougher seasons of my adult life.  We said goodbye to Bitsy the Wonder Dog, then we said goodbye to my Grandpa Pete and then we lost my Dad.  It was bitter, it was cold and the storm front didn't pass until about last week when the sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds and the daily temperature shot from the 60's into the 90's.  I'm not going to pretend that it hasn't been rough.  It's been hell.  The important part is that we found our way through it and we did it as a family.

Things are different around here now.  The story continues but it's a definitely new chapter and the newness of it hasn't quite worn off yet.  There's a new crow from the chicken coop, the sound of a puppy yapping while she plays in the yard and the husky bark of my Dad's dog as he adjusts to his new home.  We have the bottom hay fields leased out to a neighbor, most of the cows have been moved to a different pasture closer town and even Tinkerbell has a date with the auction block in the next few months.  I'm slowly but surely decreasing the size of my chicken flock, I don't work as many overtime hours and I spend a few minutes of every one of my days literally watching our green grass grow -- yes, you read right, we finally have a lawn.

So yes, things are getting back to normal around here.  It's a new normal but we're all adjusting to it and embracing what it brings.

Not Much Happening...

I believe we are about finished calving out here on the farm.  I've decided to let go of the responsibility and let my father-in-law run the entire show.  If he gets to make all of the decisions then he can figure the rest out, too.  I just have Tinkerbell to worry about now and that seems to be enough for me - well, Stinky-Tinky AND the chickens, of course.  Tinkerbell had her calf last week.  He's a cutie.  He got a little confused after he was born and followed me all the way back up to the porch.  Tink was not happy about that but they figured it out and things have been fine since.

We will be bringing home a new puppy in another month or so.  She's a little Corgi.  I never thought I'd like that breed but I some how fell in love with the little beasts.  They are a big dog brain on little dog legs.  They are herders, which I think helps me understand them a little bit better than other breeds.  We'll see how Scout likes the company.

I've been spending my nights either at work or at home learning all about digital scrapbooking.  You'd think it would cost less and be much quicker but that hasn't quite turned out to be true in my case.  It probably has something to do with my ancient desktop computer that I still refuse to upgrade from XP.  

Chicks will begin arriving at the Feed Store this week.  My goal is to get a couple Americaunas (green egg layers) and a few little bantams.  That's it.  Now that I've figured out what I like and don't like about this chicken business, I'm going to thin down the flock some.  I think 30-40 chickens is about the perfect number.  So if you'd like any 1-2 year old hens that are already laying great eggs - just let me know and I'll get them ready for you!   

More Chicks!

I had nearly a 100% hatch rate on my latest incubator full of eggs and now I have 42 chicks that need a new home.  Fall may seem like an odd time to hatch chicks but I think it is the perfect time.  They can spend the first 5-8 weeks in a box in the garage as their feathers fill in and only need the heat of a lightbulb to keep warm through the nights once they move outside.  They should start laying eggs in April and lay nearly daily until November.  Most chickens like to take the winter off but I can usually convince them to keep laying by bribing them with some heat and light.

The downfall of getting chicks in the spring is they only have a month or two of established egg laying before the days shorten and weather chills - the two factors that can end the laying cycle until the following spring.  I look at the issue from a mathematical stand point.  Fall chicks tend to provide a better egg to food ratio over a lifetime than the spring chicks. 

Keeping chickens is so much easier than most people believe it to be.  My first flock I spent hundreds of hours in self-education and more money than I like to admit in building the perfect hen house.  My second flock, I incubated myself and used a left over dog house with a tarp over top of a chain link kennel.  Frankly, the second flock of chickens produced more eggs.

Chickens are so easy to keep that I think more people should have them.  Hens can live in most city yards.  They don't take a lot of space to live.  Fresh eggs actually do taste better than store bought eggs and it's nice to not only know where food comes from but what it's treated with before it gets to the frig.

If you want to give it a try - call me.  I can hook you up with eggs or chickens or both...  If you don't like raising chickens - you can bring the chickens back to me - or eat them. 

Eggs for Sale...

So today I made my first official egg sale.  I met a gentleman in Bend and sold him a carton of 18 eggs for $4.  Of course - I threw in an extra carton for good measure...  Why not - I have so many right now that we are out of space in both refrigerators and there is no way I'm going to buy an extra frig just to store eggs!  I mean - for that kind of money I could get another fancy little chicken coop and another 50 chickens or so...  And yes, friends, that is truly how my brain works these days.

I still need to make about 20 more chicken coats.  They wear them on their backs to prevent them and their coop-mates from eating/picking all of their feathers off.  For a few, I'm a little late.  Poor Big Mama looks like a nearly bald chicken.  It's not pretty.  It's on the edge of frightening when you stare at her long enough.  I thought about isolating her in the brooder in the garage until she fills back out but chickens just hate to be alone and they already pick on her so much - I'm afraid I'll never be able to get her integrated back into the flock.

She's one of my favorites.  Big Mama, The-Little-White-Hen, Blackie, Blondie and Zoey's Rooster are my only chickens with names and they are my favorites.  They are also some of the rougher looking birds right now - I think maybe because they are the most gentle and get picked on the most.  Maybe when it gets a little cooler I'll move a couple of them inside the garage together to regrow their feathers and fatten them up a bit.  There's an idea...

I'm not looking forward to my return to work tomorrow.  Yes, I love my job but sometimes work really feels like work and I don't feel caught up with anything around the house.  I signed up for a bunch of extra shifts in the next couple weeks, too.  I guess that is what I'm really dreading.  It's not really the extra hours - it's the lack of rest in between regular shifts and extra shifts that kills me.  I mean - I see most of the people on one of the worst days of their lives.  You get enough of those in a row and the mind begins to crave Farmville.  Point - click - point - click...  You get the idea. 

Ironically, I do get more regular sleep while I am working, though - so that's a plus.  I don't think I've had more than 2-3 hours of sleep in a row for the past 4 days - except for Monday.  I fell asleep around 6 am and Jeff woke me up around 8-9 that night.  I probably could have slept nearly 24 hours straight.  That's the way it works...  Someday I might change things but for now it's a necessary evil. 

So...

It turns out I'm not very good at blogging...  I think it may have been all of the time I spent on FarmVille.  I'm cutting back on that.  I'm experiencing some withdrawal but I've promised myself not to plant any crops until my real garden is planted.  I tried to convince Jeff that we ought to test out some farm implements this year - plow the front yard then drill it with hay seed.  Then - when it comes time to mow the lawn, we can bale it and feed it to some hungry critter around here.  He looked at me like I was joking - I think he may be in for a surprise down the road.

I'm resisting all temptation to order some turkey poults - so far, that is...  I'm not sure why I want them but I keep finding myself looking through hatchery sites to find them.  I have cut the chicken flock down a few roosters, I'm giving away 5 of my flightier hens to a fellow farmer who needs his flock boosted a bit - and I'm giving two of my calmest, sweetest hens to my just-as-sweet massage therapist who tragically lost one of her hens last week.  That ought to leave me with 65 birds total -- 6 roosters, 33 laying hens and 26 pullets that should start laying mid July...  If I only had another chicken pen and hired hand to help with the daily feeding/watering.

In truth, it sounds like more chickens than it looks.  Even Jeff was surprised by the number.  They really don't take up much space - and even if you give them space, most of them tend to huddle together.  I can't help but notice all of the empty old barns and sheds I see along the highway and think, "Geez - I could fit a hundred chickens in there!" 

You Might Train your Dragon but ....

How do you bathe a chicken?  I'm afraid this is my next adventure and I'm not looking forward to it.  And why is it that the roosters that fit within the breed definition are a bit mean and too rough on the hens but the ones with all the wrong colors are the gentle, nice guys?  I think Darwin is off the hook on this but Murphy and his annoying law come to mind...  Not sure what to do about it all, either. 

I'm averaging between 15-20 eggs a day and the best news is that my little Black Copper Maran has started laying those infamous "chocolate" colored eggs made famous by James Bond.  I'm still hoping to "bump" into someone willing to bring my eggs with them to a local Farmer's Market to sell this summer but it all usually sounds easier than it winds up actually being.  I've taken the "wait and see" approach.

Working night shift has been kicking my hiney and zapping me of energy these past few weeks so all of my great intentions have gone to the wayside.  Landscaping feels futile at this point.  Oh well, at least the house is clean and the hot tub has been refilled.  It's a start.  I keep expecting to tire of the chickens but they continue to entertain me.  I decided that it is because it's like an Easter Egg hunt every day.  I never know how many or what colors or what size will be next to fill my basket and every day it's a little bit exciting to find out. 

Today Scout snuck into the hen house while I wasn't paying attention - then she wouldn't come out!  She mostly herds them with a random good chase or two thrown in for good measure.  Hasn't hurt one yet but I keep a close eye on her.  Bitsy is more of a control freak.  She will bite them - not to kill but to hold.  The other day I picked one up and about the time I realized it was too heavy to be just a chicken, I saw Bitsy with her jaw locked on it's tail-feathers!  She let go but the trust is gone.

I'm still battling feather loss and mites.  I thought I had everything under control but I think it's going to take a few weeks to get ahead of the problem -- hence the chicken baths.  That should be interesting!