Cold Antler Farm Fiddler's Summer comes to fruition

This is my entry for Cold Antler Farm's Fiddler's Summer contest. And a photo of my muse. I did break down and buy myself a new violin last weekend. It really does seem to make a difference and it didn't break the bank even though it was about 6.5 times more than I spent for the ebay student special I started on.

Thank you to my family and neighbors for their patience now and in the future as I continue to hone my skills.

Garlic, Groceries, and Garb

We harvested our garlic last weekend. I had never grown it before. It seems to have done well. It is curing in the shade of the garage.

Saturday mornings are usually reserved for grocery shopping. Maisie takes this chore quite seriously as you see from the photo of her leaving the house with her reusuable bags and her keys.

And lastly, wouldn't you agree that Maisie should be the clothing consultant for the local gardening club?

"Meow" indeed.

War Games

I have never been a believer in or supporter of war and it's kin. So, it was not without a fair amount of shock and consternation when I experienced an almost blinding rage, although of an infinitesimal tiny duration, but nonetheless real. While strolling at the farm where we pick up our CSA, with my aunt and holding Maisie, a young farm camper, maybe 8 years old, wearing an old man-style crusher hat, glasses and sandals with socks, ran a serpentine pattern, crossing in front of us and "firing" his gun ( a tree limb) at point blank range directly at us. He clearly saw the "whites of our eyes" and displayed no remorse or thought of consequence. Almost immediately his father spoke to him and he ceased fire, marching to the barn, dejected. I was relieved to hear the father's reprimand.

However, I felt my internal reaction was extreme. Perhaps it was my instinctual self priming my parasympathetic nervous system for "fight" to protect those I love, my sole remaining blood relation not of my generation, and my child. Either way, I was unnerved-by my response and by the invasiveness of violence in such a buccolic place and perpetrated by an innocent child spending his days learning about sustainabilty and respect for living things. Isn't it ironic, don't you think?

Summer!

Today was a beautiful summer day in Maine. And people were out in numbers-sure there were tourists, but there was also a lot of natives (or native transplants) soaking up the sunshine and on shore breezes, ala Frederick.

I spent some of the morning helping with weeding at our CSA and then in the afternoon we went into Portland to the play ground on the Eastern Prom and then into the Old Port and to the main pier. (These pictures look better if you enlarge them.) If you've never been to Portland, I encourage you to do so as it really is a very beautiful and culturally alive city.

Pilgrim's Progress: Cold Antler Farm's Fiddler's Summer

Here is the second installment of a video record for teaching myself to fiddle. Hopefully, y'all see some improvement. Check the June 22, 2009 blog entry to see the first video.

If golf had ball girls

I'm thinking of changing Abby's name to Job

We are blessed to have such a good natured and patient dog as the Abbinator, aka notorious D-O-G. She was my folks dog. She adored my father and lived for car rides and her chore of feeding the chickens. After he died unexpectedly, she became jobless and housebound. Within 9 months, my mother also died and Abster came to Maine. Her route to Westbrook St. included a seven month stay with friends in Porter, where she was thrust into a pack of three larger dogs, three cats and an invisible fence. I believe the jolts from the fence functioned as electro-shock therapy in her case, as her chronic state of melancholia seemed to abate and she negotiated her living arrangements well, especially in light of the fact she had been living with chain smoking, hard of hearing, routinized senior citizens for the last six year. Her bark sounded more like a smoker's cough and her figure had been compromised by nightly french fry outings. Upon coming to live with us, she met Tyler T-Bone Tiberius Thompson. Most people are leary of Tyler due to his massiveness and his reputation as a "biter without warning". With Abby, he is a pussycat. With Maisie he is a pussycat. With everyone else? Imagine the Jaws theme music playing as he saunters toward you or sits beside you. Then 4 months later, here comes this baby and life has never been the same. A daily dose of doggie Prozac and some Xanax for thunderstorms and everything is good. And everyday is a day filled with hugs, and pats, and kisses and woof-woofs, and scraps of food from the floor and grubby toddler hands. Good girl, Abby.

It's been a cold summer

I was finally able to get the weeds under control this past weekend. I side dressed everything in my own compost formula to try to give a boost. The lettuce, sunflowers and garlic (and the weeds I didn't remove from around the garlic) are thriving, but everything else is quite stunted. And, after three days of sun and warmer temps, it is pouring and is 57 degrees outside.

At least I have the devotion and companionship of my garden dog...until it gets hot. Then she heads for the shade and immobility.

Holiday Weekend- A Photo Essay

At the end of most days I am dog tired. Just looking at the photos of Maisie's July fourth weekend makes me realize she must feel the same way, especially since she goes at everything with all jets burning. Her pediatrician called her personality "unadulterated glee". May she always have this energy and enthusiasm.

Here she is enjoying a straw of honey, a laugh with Grampie, a hippie chick moment and a stroll throught the farmer's market.