photo by my zack, who likes to get up close and personal with wildlife

not the grand canyon, but pretty grand nonetheless

it’s a good thing i was at work at not there or i would have been hyperventilating

those are mountain lion tracks yes they are

tonight i was chatting with my nephew and his wife about the roominess of the back seats of their new truck (remember in the olden days when trucks did not have back seats) and someone said the words “bench seats” and suddenly we started reminiscing about how just a few years back all of us (meaning myself and my inlaws–there were a lot fewer of us then–now it would take four or five suburbans) used to pile on to the dusty seats of the old baby blue suburban.

and the world was ours.

the uinta mountains. moon lake. nine-mile canyon. you name it. we were there. those were the good old days.

*****

tonight my mother-in-law mentioned she was worried that the guys and the kids were talking about skipping their traditional thanksgiving day drive tomorrow morning. suddenly, i understood. it is tradition not just to go to the mountains and count the deer and the antelope (ok, elk, not antelope), but it is also the time for my mother-in-law to prepare the feast without children underfoot and free from dozens of fingers reaching in to sample the savories before they are ready to be served. if you do the math (seven children and their exponential offspring) i can see her point. a twenty-pound turkey could be devoured long before it reached the table. and let’s not even go there with the olives.

*****

long ago my father-in-law served as a missionary among the navajos. seven kids and several decades later he and his wife returned to the reservation to serve among the navajos again. they have a great love for this people. so much that when they found themselves bursting the seams of their small home they built a hogan on to the existing home to serve as a family room. heated by a hearty wood stove, the hogan is the gathering place. the heart of their home.

i’ve spent many–countless even–hours there. curled up on the sofa. gathered around the table my father-in-law built with his own hands. seated around a quilt frame.

it is the heart of many fond memories.

*****

the numbers for tomorrow’s feast are not firm yet. 45-50 maybe. i never know how we all manage to fit in that cozy room. i never know how there is always enough food.

it is how i wrap my head around the miracle of the loaves and the fishes.

and my heart is grateful.

First off I have to say I absolutely love keeping chickens.

When I selected my sweet tiny babies from the local IFA it was all about the eggs. I had no idea how entertained I would be as I patiently endured their gawky teenage stage, tripped over them as they flocked about my feet every time I let them out into the yard, and discovered the smart ones who seemed to inherently know if they would climb up on my lap as I sat in my back yard to observe them I wouldn’t be able resist feeding them by hand.

But I did know that in addition to making sure they had plenty of love, food and water I would also be responsible for mucking out their coop.

And if I’m going to be mucking out a chicken coop you’d better believe I’m going to be wearing a cute pair of boots. (I have the same attitude about other necessities of life. You should see my pink plaid reading glasses.)

photo courtesy of western chief

A pair of these arrived on my doorstep yesterday. (Two pair, actually. I got a screaming deal so I bought a matching pair for my daughter.)

I decided these boots are going to be the symbol of taking care of business.

And this summer I am all about taking care of business.

Especially in two areas: my home and my health

my home

Spending a week in a two-bedroom condo reaffirmed this feeling I’ve been having that I simply have too much stuff. Managing that much stuff (or not managing it, as the case may be) is both a time-suck and an energy-drain. And I’d rather be doing other things. So I’m going to be getting rid of it. It may take me all summer. It might even take up part of the fall. But I’m going for it.

I hope I can be ruthless.

my health

My attitude toward my body has basically been a twist on the old “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” My version is “if you don’t know what’s wrong it ain’t really wrong.” But having met all our out-of-pocket medical this year is kind of a big incentive to take care of some things I’ve been putting off. So instead of ignoring my body in hopes whatever it is it will just go away (it generally doesn’t), this month I’ll be seeing doctors and getting tested.

Nerve conduction study. Check.

Still to be scheduled:

Mammogram.

Colonoscopy.

Yeah. I’d definitely rather be mucking out the chicken coop.

Also on the list: coming up with some sort of a fitness plan. I have hesitated to do this in the past because I won’t start it unless I am serious about sticking with it. But for the first time in several summers–knock on wood–my knee and feet issues are relatively mild (it’s just my hands and elbows this year). I won’t have a kid in early morning seminary this fall–so I might have a few spare minutes in the mornings to do something for me.

I think now’s a good time to get this party started.

And that’s where my friend ~j comes in. I already mentioned how she inspires me. She just completed her second triathlon. Now she’s hosting a great giveaway on her blog. Three sessions with her amazing personal trainer. I seriously want to win this one. But I’m all about playing fair so here’s a link in case you want to enter as well.

Well, almost.

In other news…

the baby chicks have reached full-fledged teenager status. Not so cute and sweet anymore. Long and gangly legs and big feet. Scraggly and shaggy. They just eat and sleep and expect me to clean up after them.

But I love them anyway.

Of course by this stage they’re testing their wings, taking off across the box with all sorts of determination and bravado. Making more noise than altitude. It’s kind of entertaining, actually. Just like with real teenagers. (Only with a little less drama. Whew!)

You’ve heard me say this before: You can take the girl away from the farm but you can’t take the farm out of the girl. Or something like that.

I was raised on a small farm in the heart of the Willamette Valley near Eugene, Oregon. Our six acres included a half-acre vegetable garden (which took entire summers to weed), dozens of fruit trees, blackberries growing wild right on the fence line (what I wouldn’t give…), Angus beef, a couple of quarter horses and the occasional flu-free swine. We had a couple of dogs, too, but my dad drew the line on two things: No chickens. No cats.

That’s OK, because, as you know, I’m really not a cat person.

Unless that cat thinks it’s a dog.

But this spring has brought me such a nice surprise.

You’ve already met the girls.

Let me introduce to you the litter that found its way into our garage over the weekend:

e i e i oooooo!