My First Alive Day - 5/15/2013

Normally, I wouldn't want to make a thing out of anything to do with me personally, because I'm just not a big-whoop kinda gal. But today is a pretty major milestone for me - one year since my accident.

For those of you who might not have been around when the accident happened, you can catch yourself up, if you so choose, here.

These past 365 days have felt like a thousand at least. Crawling back toward normalcy has been painfully, frustratingly slow. I have healed from my injuries, but still carry many scars, both physical and emotional. My flashbacks and panic attacks have, mercifully, passed. The first few months after the accident, the sound of a low-flying helicopter or of a buzzing saw or lawnmower induced a heavy-breathing, adrenaline out-of-nowhere anxiety response. The helicopter made sense, but the saw and lawnmower? The best we could figure is that it must have sounded something like the jaws of life did, opening and pulling my car apart.

It took one extremely painful plastic surgery, and three months of daily bandage changes, debriding and antibiotics to put my scalp back together, but I now have no more exposed skull, no more infection, only a few bright-pink patches of scar tissue that my stylist and I are trying to find creative ways to make less noticeable. It is a far better outcome than anybody in their right mind could have imagined upon seeing the mess that was there right after the accident, not to mention the secondary mess made by the staff at the first hospital I was treated at having hastily stapled my scalp back together with large amounts of my hair and the floor of the Mojave desert still caked within my wound. The infection that followed presented a greater and more immediate risk to my health than the accident itself had. The threat of MRSA, a very real and terrifying possibility for someone with a wound that takes 3 months to close, never left my mind. The near-daily wound care appointments and the copious antibiotics kept it at bay though, thankfully. Thank heaven for strong antibiotics! I will say though - three months on antibiotics of any sort, no matter how carefully managed and counter-balanced with probiotics, does NOT do a body good.

Some of the smaller, slower to resolve things left over from my accident are a wicked case of anemia that has been dogging me now for the entire past year, regardless of how many protein/vitamin/mineral supplements that I eat/drink/swallow.  Maybe the worst thing of all though are the brain issues. By brain issues, I mean the classic Traumatic Brain Injury complaints - amnesia, irritability (stemming in part from my lost ability to multitask and concentrate well), poor short-term memory and poor word-recall. I have good days and bad days. Being tired seems to aggravate my symptoms, and by the end of the day, I find myself fishing for simple words. For someone who has always been a voracious reader, and who fancies herself a bit of a word-nerd, it is particularly painful to be without words.

So I didn't get out of this mess unscathed, but I did get out of it. I'm here with my husband and my kids because I couldn't give in to it all and leave them. I've been working my way back toward being fully-functional one inch at a time. I'm getting there.

So, scars and all, I want to celebrate. My homegirls, my sister and I plan to go out tomorrow for a drink to mark my now having one year "post" under my belt. I never took my life for granted, but seeing it almost go, followed by a year of kicking my own butt to get back where I need to be, and watching my husband cover for me with our girls, our farm and a zillion other little and not-so-little things while I took the time to get myself back together, well, it increases your appreciation for what is real and good and true in your life, exponentially.

Tomorrow we'll bust out the champagne and rock out some karaoke, because that's my happiness in a nutshell - being free and silly and fearless and sappy with the people I love - and I absolutely plan to take advantage of every single second I'm given with them.

Rainy Days and Mondays... A Whiny Rant from Farmer Crankenpants

Today has not been my day.

I suffer from insomnia, so I'd only had about 4 hours of sleep before the tsunami of poo, also known as Monday, decided to slap me awake(ish).

The first thing was a phone call, bright and early, from an uncharacteristically chipper gal at the post office. I wouldn't have even picked up, tired as I was, but Scarlet was still home and so she answered, then handed me the phone while I was still 90% unconscious. "Good morning! Your chickens are here!" Awww... what the crap?! I had the chicks' arrival written down on my calender as being slated for Friday. The run that these little guys would be moving in to in the coop hadn't even been set up yet. Oy.

So I drag my buns out of bed. I make myself a ginormous iced coffee. I have about two swigs of it before I get a call from the garden supply company that is delivering the 25 cubic feet (yards? Whatever. A smallish mountain.) of soil that will be going into our new raised beds. The driver is running a touch late - is it ok if he comes in 30 minutes? I say sure, but I have to run to the post office super quick to pick up my box of chickens first. "Your what?" Having to explain interstate chicken delivery to a stranger who seems to have decided, rather hastily, that I'm half batshizz crazy... Just. Not. Helping.

After the call, I threw on some clothes and put a very sad Penny into her kennel, then ran to the post office to pick up my chicks. The only bright spot in my post office jaunt was getting to show a little kid my package o' peepers. The surprise and delight on his face when he saw and heard the chickies going bananas was awesome. It's one of the aspects of farming in the city that I straight-up live for. Watching a kid break into a smile when they see a baby goat go bouncing by, or just after they pull up and take a chomp out of their first bright purple carrot, dirt and all - it makes me so dang happy.

Alas, the happiness was fleeting.

About 30 seconds after I pull into the driveway, the dirt delivery guy shows up. I have a package of shivering, mildly-traumatized poultry that need dealing with, and now this fella who needs my input on where to heap my dirt. I gave him two potential choices - both were rejected. He wanted to dump the dirt a little further into the yard. You got it, chief. Go nuts! I leave him to it, and go to put my peepers in the coop.

I no sooner unpack my peepers than I notice that we have a jailbreak unfolding. The chicks are still small enough that they can get through the holes in the chicken wire, and have wandered into neighboring runs. Crap. I round up my freshly liberated chicks and ponder a plan B.

I slap a temporary home for them together in a galvanized water trough. I stash them in our back room, hopefully securing them by closing the the two doors that separate them from the range of Penny the Huntress, freelance chicken murderer.

Sweet. I have two seconds to sit down and chug my nearly-forgotten cup of coffee. Then I realize that I've nearly forgotten something else that is kinda critical - that I need to show the chicks how to drink their water. It's been so long since we've had baby chicks here that I didn't even remember that chickies don't come with that knowledge. I went to check on my peeps only to find that - yep - these guys and gals were going to need a little help in the drinking department.

Check out the rocket scientist STANDING in the water, just chillin'. 

I'm about to sit down and starting teaching these chicks, one by one, the dip/scoop/tilt-the-head-back drinking method when there is a knock at the door. It's the dirt delivery guy. His truck is stuck. Super.

I go outside to help him find some wood scraps and gravel to throw under his truck tires. In my haste, I fail to secure the front door completely. To Rex, that is an as good as an engraved invitation to take the heck off.  Out-muther-frackin'-standing! Cue the parade of helpful neighbors driving/biking/jogging by who stop to let me know that "Your dog is out!". You don't say! Is that why I have a leash in one hand, a chunk of ham for a bribe in the other, and a completely humorless/borderline apoplectic look on my face? Thanks so much!

To recap, I have - 

a) thirsty, travel-weary chicks who can't drink until I show them how,

b) a d-bag escape artist dog who thinks that my limping down the road after him - IN THE RAIN - is some sort of great sport, 

c) a tiny terror of a dog who is just waiting for her opportunity to devour the thirsty baby chickens the first time I space out and leave a door open,

d) a dump truck in my front yard that is digging some fabulous, giant holes with its slipping and spinning tires and still not going anywhere. 

e) zero point zero percent blood sugar/circulating caffeine in my system.

Can I dig a hole and crawl into it now? 

Finally, finally, the dirt-guy got his truck out, Rex wandered back up to the porch and eventually back into the house, the chickies seem to have settled in a little - drinking lessons are still forthcoming, Penny hasn't visited death upon anyone/anything yet today, and I've made a dent in my great, highly-tragic caffeine deficit. 

Still, I think this will be a PB&Js for dinner kinda night. And woe unto the child who dares complain - WOE UNTO THEM. 

Serenity now!

The Month of May (so far) in Photos

 Scarlet & Sophie

Our piggies, three

Sidney sneaking a nibble of our neighbor's sword ferns

Chardonnay and her twin Doelings

Chardy's baby girls, Bramble (in front) and Dahlia

Coming in for a landing

Busy little fly-girls!

I am very much enjoying both my new camera, and my newly-acquired ability to take a walk up the hill to pay a visit to my critters. 

This has been an incredibly busy month here so far with the two beehives going in, eleven goats being sold, eighteen new raised beds going in the garden, a self-imposed crash-course in turkey husbandry (soon to be followed by the arrival of actual turkey poults!), 21 chicks due to arrive next week, AND spending every spare second researching, planning for and generally freaking out about a new business venture that a friend and I are embarking on. 

With all of the hustle and bustle, it's easy to miss the small things; the miracles and the beauty that we get to live smack in the middle of on our little piece of earth. I'm so thankful for the sweet little camera that Billy bought me for my birthday, so that I can capture a glimpse, now and then, of the amazing critters that we get to share our lives with here. 

Life right now is a little crazy, but it is a lot good. 

Names?

Our blue-eyed beauty needs a name! 

Chardy's doeling and Hop's little wether, half-siblings (and also Aunt/Nephew - goat family trees are kind weird and twisty.) 

We didn't name any of our little goat babies this year, as most of them were destined to move on to new homes. But - we've finally decided which of Chardy's twin girls we're keeping (the little black goat with the big blue eyes), and so she needs a name that is as pretty and vibrant as she is. Scarlet has suggested the name Moulin, which is the French word for "windmill". Heaven knows why, but she's seriously feeling that name. So far, she is the only one to put a potential name in the hopper. I happen to think that this girl deserves a better name than windmill, but I haven't hit upon one just yet. Suggestions?

Just in case it helps, her Mom's name is Chardonnay, her Dad is Buckley, and her siblings are Hop, Barley, Liberty & Hope.

Update: Ladies & Germs - introducing the lovely Miss Bramble. :)

Our Garden Space - Before

We're a little late on the draw this year re: the new garden. 

Honestly, we've been trying to till this thing for a few weeks now, only to have not one, but two tillers crap out on us. Tiller #1 (borrowed from a friend) had blades so dull that they were rounded off. In a plot that had been tilled up previously, that might have cut the mustard. But in our lower pasture, densely matted with reed canary grass, and just below the surface, their tightly interlaced rhizomes, it was like trying to turn the sod over using the power of happy thoughts. No go.

So, we rented a tiller from a home improvement store. After lugging that lumbering beast home and up to the garden site, Bill started tilling. It worked 110% better than the first tiller, but had an ill-fitting gas cap, which meant that whenever the machine was jostled, a wee bit of gasoline slopped out. There was no stopping the leakage. Bill and the guy at the store tried various techniques and different caps in an attempt to stop the gas from spilling out, but nothing would plug it up sufficiently to keep the gasoline from sloshing out and onto our soon-to-be garden. Not cool! So, Bill returned it and got a refund.

A full day wasted and absolutely nothing to show for it. Turning over that much space by hand wasn't feasible. If only there were another way...

 ...BAM! 

Do you see that pen that they're in? That was solid, lovely green grass before these guys got a hold of it. It was freshly tilled mud-pit 24 hours later. So, we're putting these lil' stinkers to work for us in the garden space. Coming up with our genius plan was the easy part of the process. The hard part? Wranglin'.

There was a lot of this -

Porkchop is on the lamb!

Attempting to separate Baykin from 'Shootie.

The "Wheelbarrow Maneuver". By far the easiest way we've found to get a cranky pig from point A to point B.

Porkers on the green. Do your thang, piggies!

They're all three now in their new, fortified, garden digs, happily chowing down grass, after which (I hope) they'll quickly resort to rooting up and eating the grass roots, and dropping some potent fertilizer as they go. By next weekend, I (really, REALLY) hope that I can post an "after" picture of their handiwork.

And now I must go and collapse in a heap after helping to chase down and wrangle the piggies three. Blergh...

DIY Magnetic Mason Jar Spice Rack

I bought a case of these little 4 ounce jam jars because I fell in love with how cute they were. I was planning to save them for Jam-o-rama 2013, but in the ensuing lull between planting fruits and picking them and turning them into some of our fabulous jam, I found another project that captured my fancy - a magnetic spice rack.

I probably originally got the idea for this from Pinterest or from someone else's blog - I don't remember - but once the idea started percolating in my noodle, I decided that the jars would have a different destiny than originally planned.

Here's my step-by-step photo how-to for making your own DIY Magnetic Mason Jar Spice Rack:

Paint or label your jars to your liking. I used some chalkboard paint, because it was what I had handy.

Even though these are painted with chalkboard paint, I decided to label them with metallic-colored sharpie pens instead of chalk. Have you ever tried to write tiny with chalk? It either doesn't fit, isn't legible, or wears off every 10 seconds. No thanks.

In addition to your freshly labeled jars, you'll need a corresponding number of small, strong magnets, some super glue, and a piece of sheet metal that will fit your specs - this is 6x18".

Put a wee little drop of super glue in the middle of your lid. Carefully place your little magnet on the dot of glue. Be careful! The strong little magnets tried to jump right out of my hand onto the lid willy-nilly. And between the strength of the magnet and the super glue, there'd be no moving it from where it lands. Go slow.

Affix your sheet metal under a cabinet, on the inside of a cupboard door or wherever else it'd be handy to have your spices hanging. (I have not attached mine yet, I held it in it's eventual resting place just for this pic. I'm leaning towards using Liquid Nails or Gorilla Glue to attach the sheet metal to the bottom of the cabinet, but the hubs wants to use screws. I'm afraid they'll go through, into the cabinet itself. I'll update with whatever we end up using.)

And that's it! I paid $9 for the jars, $4 for the magnets, and $14 for the sheet metal (which I now realize that I could have sourced a LOT cheaper - d'oh!) for a total of $27 for this project. If you already happen to have some jars on hand that you'd like to use, you could cut the cost by 1/3. Have fun! :)

Dog Shaming

My pups are angels, angels I tell you, 99% of the time. But when they go rogue, boy do they ever. 

At least Rex has the grace to look abashed for his antics. Penny, god love her, as usual, looks clueless as to why Mama's miffed. Chickens aren't chew toys, Pen. 

It seems that it may be my lot in life to be surrounded by adorable hooligans. Oy...