Wolf lake. Darn cool. Michael’s father always said there were floating islands on that lake, and by golly, we saw one! Small rounds of cattail bog migrate from side to side, sailing with the wind. The same wind created a chop on the water, which is when yellow perch love to bite! Between the two of us, we caught 19. Aunt Harriette and Irene will be having their long-awaited fish dinner. Now it’s time to put the livestock to bed. V
Monday. We visited with Aunt Harriette this morning after taking care of some of things for her. (Harriette is Michael’s auntie, who is 96 and appreciates being sprung from the Old Folks Home every now and again). We took her out to lunch at the Kozy…they really do have good hamburgers and will fry the onions if you ask them. On the way back to The Land we took a detour through Fish Lake Wildlife Reserve to check on the swans who had been nesting within sight of the road. They were off their nest and escorting a clutch of four cygnets through the cattails. Now Michael is making dinner for us here (Irene has to eat between 3-4 pm due to health issues), and then, since our day is pretty much schmeised anyway, WE GET TO GO FISHING!!!!
Having found nothing but wee ones at Atlas Mill Pond ten days ago (the last time we had a rain day from construction and garden duties), we are going to explore Wolf Lake. Don’t know if there are fish in there, but we are willing to find out. There is no regular boat access, so we will be throwing our canoe in from HWY 87 (there is a place to pull off where Wolf Creek crosses under the road) and paddling up the creek to the lake. If we have luck, I’ll let you know. If we don’t, well, I won’t be bragging that one up…unless, as is usual, even if we don’t catch fish, just being on the water is worth sharing. Ten days ago the blue flag started to peek out at shore’s edge, the water lilies began to carpet the surface of the shallows, and blue herons hung about being great. Eager to see Wolf Lake. V
Today we released the prisoners! Their 50′ of plastic fencing that we had been using to control their movement was getting small, even for month-old birds. We took part of the area we fenced years ago to protect trees from deer and added rabbit fence to the bottom, in an effort to discourage the neighborhood cats, dogs, raccoon, foxes, etc., from helping themselves to a chicken or duck dinner. We will see if we have any luck with that. We are also protecting our garden from the birds, who would love to eat all of our fresh lettuce if they could. The birdies love the new pasture and immediately set about hunting down spiders, moths, worms, weeds, and any other tasty morsel that caught their eye. I’ll eventually get around to posting photos of the chicken shack and duck hut we made for them, but I’m feeling pretty successful in getting this one done. Time to make dinner and eat some of that lettuce ourselves!
Today we concentrated on the neglected garden space. Michael turned the sod over on this one in March, soon after the ground thawed. I planted herbs , squash, peas, and beans when it seemed as if spring had come. WRONG. Cold and damp discouraged my seeds (except the herbs) but not the weeds! Hoed it up again and replanted with peppers, eggplant, and more tomatoes. Saved the edible weeds (a spinach family member my mom calls quelites) and added it to the pizza toppings. Revenge is tasty.
When we get better at how to work this blogosphere, we will divide our posts into areas of interest, such as the Garden Journal (a photo of which I am proudly displaying with this post, hopefully); Livestock Journal; Nature Journal; Culinary Journal (which tends to be a cross-over of all the proceeding…); Construction Journal, and I am sure there will be additions to these as we go along. This is a way of sharing knowledge and the SHEER JOY that goes into making and caring. Last year, the garden spot you see above was a grassy field. This year, it is growing onions and beets and turnips and potatoes and lettuce and tomatoes and, and, and…you get the idea. Oh, those vibrant plants in the foreground are rhubarb. We hope to make wine with them some day. But that is a story for the Construction Journal! Duty, and laundry, calls.
Books were the initial attraction between my husband (Hansen) and me (Villa) and Ray Bradbury is one of our favorite authors. Ray titled one of his anthologies “Golden Apples of the Sun,” which as with so many of his stories, is a series of love stories. The title comes from the final line of the Yeats poem we have as our initial post. We placed it as the beginning of this blog because you have to start somewhere, even though it feels as if we have been starting new adventures every day. Our latest joint venture is starting a subsistence farm on land we purchased in 1996. My husband helped my father-in-law build a cabin on The Land (40 acres in Western Wisconsin), and my in-laws lived here during summers until they could no longer make the hajj to Arizona every winter. A few years later, my father-in-law went to the doctor due to having flu…only it wasn’t flu. It was cancer. Eight months later he died, leaving my mother-in-law, Irene, alone. She always hated living in the country, so we invited her to live with us in Maine. She lasted one winter, then announced she was headed home for good. That left us with some decisions to make, so investigating options, I found I could retire from being an Assistant Federal Defender…and so I did. We moved back to the Midwest (here, to The Land) on August 27, 2014. We have been working to make a living from The Land ever since (since federal retirement is not very generous). This is our adventure. We share it with you.
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when the white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossoms in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The Silvers apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
~William Butler Yeats