Double Damn You, Death!

So, one of the coolest things we found out about our property is that a family of red foxes has lived on this land for 25 years or something like that. Currently, there are three of them: momma, papa, and a son or daughter. They hide away all day, but around dusk we can see them begin their evening hunt. They run across our driveway often and we think one of their eating areas is behind the barn, because that is were we normally see them go. And even if we can't see them, we can hear them every single night. They sound like high-pitched dogs, but creepier. For something so cute, their howls sure are disturbing. The other night we were sitting under the oak, and right next to us in the vineyard we saw one. He was only about 10 yards away from us, which is the closest we've ever been able to get. He stopped and stared at us for about 30 seconds, then trotted off down the row. It was so exciting to be that close! And how cussing cute that little guy was. Skinny little body, long, lanky legs, and gigantic bushy tail that was more than half as long as the rest of him. I asked J, "I wonder when, if ever, we'll get to see him close up?"

Turns out, much sooner than I imagined.


The very next morning, J ran down to our tiny Main St to get the LA Times (they won't deliver to us!), and when he returned, he gave me the news: right at the bottom of our street, our little fox had been hit by a car and was laying in the gutter, dead. I jumped in the car and sped down to where he was. It couldn't have been but a few hours before that he was hit, because he was still soft and bug-free. We tried to move his body closer to the curb so no one else would run him over, but the animals who came to feast didn't give a cuss about that, so he was back in the street the next day (and had been run over again). I took some pictures, since this was, unfortunately, the closest I would ever get to him, and here they are. I am so sad to post these, but as you are seeing, this is life in the country. None of our neighbors even flinched, and J and I were leaning over the poor little guy, practically delivering his eulogy in the middle of the street. My sister suggested cutting off and keeping his tail as a tribute to him. For a split second I imagined myself in the dead of winter, necklaced by a luxuriously warm fox tail and sipping a hot Toddie on the spot where he died. But then I thought about how annoying it would get to have to explain over and over again where I got such a gem, so I decided against it.

My First Official Three Days of Being a Country Digger

'Tis a strange thing, accomplishing a dream. We are here: on our land, in our trailer, unemployed. Our dream (well, not exactly our dream). We did it. We actually cussing did it. For three nights now we've watched the sun melt down the surrounding hills without hearing a single city noise (plenty of cows, foxes, donkeys and birds though). We've gone to sleep with all windows swung wide open, not even bothering to lock our door. We have risen every morning, had coffee under our big ol' oak tree, and then headed out to our respective areas on the property to sweat and dig and shovel. I've planted lettuce, attempted to build a duck pond (horrible turn-out), raked my ass off, planted four trees, pulled down a fence, and shoveled decomposed granite like a madman. Oh, and we went to the feed store and bought our very first bale of hay! If there is a heaven, this is ours.

But still there is a dichotomy of emotions running through me right now. Sorrow is one. My dear friend, Jess, hosted a going away party for me the night before I left, and the loss of the closeness of friends is still fresh inside of me. Knowing you can meet up with someone at any time if you need to is something I no longer have. And that is OK, but sad at the same time.
Fear is another one. Fear seems to want to jump down our throats at every moment, and if we drop our guard, it's terribly easy to be pulled under. Fear that I won't be able to make a living is the one I've lost sleep over for the past month. I just up and quite the only career I've ever had, and a career that made me blissfully happy. I have no idea what comes next for me, and now that I'm here, it's becoming more and more clear that "working and living off one's land" stopped being realistic with The Little House on the Prarie (God did Michael Landon make that look awesome). In my stronger moments, which thankfully are more often than not, I know I will find something that will bring me joy and cold hard cash, but I can't lie and say that pursuing this dream isn't the scariest thing I've ever done.

Anywho, let's get down to what's really interesting: the ducks. Since they are my very first farm animals, and I know absolutely NOTHING about them, maybe one of you will see these photos and be able to help. One of them is a bit smaller than the other, but what's worrisome is that her face seems to have failed to grow feathers. It's actually pretty freaky looking, and I'm going to guess, not normal (considering her sister has facial feathers and they are the same age and born of the same mother). So if you look at her and know a thing or two about feathering, do tell. It would be a crying shame if my very first farm animal loses all her feathers and ends up bald. What in the hell would she tell the chickens?

Feather-full Face

Featherless Face

No Caption Necessary

I Just Watched a Bee Dying

No matter how small a life, I still feel terribly helpless watching it come to an end. I am freakishly uncomfortable with death; why or how this came to be I do not know.

What I do know is that country living ought to do the trick. Yesterday there was a dead owl in front of my parents' house (killed, we think, by our resident family of red foxes), and the first official night i stayed there, the neighbor's horse died. And I mean, I walked over to feed it some hay because it was hanging by our fence, and something was terribly wrong. He was sweating heavily, breathing hard, stumbling, sighing, and not in a good way. Long story short, the very eve that I introduce myself to this horse ("Yeah! We have a horse next door!"), the freaking thing dies. It was horrible. And it happened so fast. If I had to write a dialogue about it, it would go something like this:
     "Oh, look, Jack! The neighbor's horse came to introduce himself. I'm gonna go feed him some      hay."
     Camie approaches the horse, pets it's nose and notices it's not looking too good.
     "Hey, mom. Come look at him. He's not looking too good. Maybe bring over an apple; all horses love apples."
     "Hmmm, he's not eating the apple either. Oh no, he just fell over. Shit! He can't get up. What do we do?"
     Camie goes and tells the one neighbor they've met across the street what's going on. Thirty minutes after Camie excitedly first meets the horse, he's dead. Turns out, after 27 years of living, he chooses to die the same hour he meets her.

Yes, I do believe country living will indeed help get me more acquainted with death. I can't say I'm excited about that.

Pole Barn and Garden Area Before

And After – though we’re still not done done.

It's Been Three Weeks and Another Knee Surgery

After 11 looooooong days of post-surgery, I just drove up to the farm this afternoon (though my surgeon would literally have a heart-attack if he knew I made that drive).  Wait.  Before I keep writing that magical word, farm, I need to clarify that right now we have absolutely nothing that qualifies us as a farm. It's more of a dream term, if you will, meaning that I am choosing to believe that if I say it enough, I will actually end up with a farm. And to be fair, I did tell my students it was a farm, and now we have two ducks. Naysayers beware.

So, I drove the four hours and fifteen minutes up the 101 North today to surprise J who has been living on our land now, more on than off, for 2 months. He came down to help me convalesce from my second knee surgery for a few days and then came back up. I can't blame him. My parents' neighborhood blows compared to Eureka Lane. Oh yeah, that's our new street. How freaking fitting after a three year search. Actually, the real reason I drove up impromptu-like is that he forgot his two chocolate chip cookies from Pain du Monde. I'm not sure there is another human being in the entire world who loves his P.d.M. cookies like J does. He drove away at 4:00 am and when i awoke hours later to find his cookies still tucked away in my purse, I almost shat myself. That is the terror someone can instill in another when cookies mean that  much. I'm not joking. So I immediately decided that there is only one thing a kick-ass wife can do, and that is to hand deliver the sacred sweets to my lover myself. Boy was that the right choice to make. :)

I have a bunch of pictures to upload  to show the before and afters of one of our smaller fields, and I will do that in the morning. But for now, we are about to pour ourselves a glass of Riesling, sit back in our chairs, and watch the sun slowly sink behind our neighbor's wheat field. I still can't believe we did it. God bless listening to your heart.