Singing coyote

Every night for more than a week, I've heard a pack of coyotes barking and howling on the other side of the valley. There have always been coyotes here, as long as we can remember. Lots of open pastures, lots of woods, but the real draw is the nearby creek and all the ponds. There are always geese and ducks near the water, plus chickens and other birds (one of our new neighbors brought several peacocks with him when he moved in; he built an outdoor aviary pretty quickly!).
This pack sounds like it's at the big pond across the road, and it sounds like a really big pack. The first time I heard them, I'd just climbed into bed to read, and had the windows open. The cats usually ignore the sound of a barking dog or the occasional coyote; this big pack freaked them out. James actually stood up and stared toward the windows, and had to be coaxed into relaxing and settling down to sleep.

After midnight, I heard one of them singing solo. It's a treat to hear a coyote sing, sort of a yip-yip that soars up into a howl, and it can go on and on. It's haunting and beautiful to hear.

It got me thinking about all the coyote sightings we've had since we moved here. I wouldn't have thought they'd live so close to suburban areas, but the coyote has adapted really well to fringe rural areas like ours. They've become tolerant of people, wary, but tolerant. I like to walk the back roads near my house, and often see a coyote coming or going between the creek and the open pastures, sometimes boldly trotting down the gravel road in front of me.

They've also adapted to a changing food supply, and people are good at unintentionally providing food for them: garbage cans, leaving pet food outside, and even (sad to say) the pets themselves. Every time I see a sign posted for a missing cat, I just shake my head. I used to let my cats go outside, but finally decided it was too big a risk. Ironically, it was a pair of neglected neighborhood dogs who posed the biggest risk to my cats, not the coyotes. When the dogs started packing, they started killing everything they could catch—cats, geese, ducks, chickens, you name it. But that's a story for another day.

On the positive side, in a world where other natural predators have moved away from people, coyotes can help keep an expanding rodent population under control. And in rural areas, especially where there are horses and cows (not to mention llamas and alpacas), rodents are part of the deal. So we've encouraged barn cats to share the barn by providing food, but built a special shelf high on the wall of the barn, easy for a cat to jump up to, too high for a coyote or dog, and( hopefully) out of the reach of rodents!

Use vs. Utilize

This is probably the best description of how to use these two different words that I've ever seen. I don't take credit for it; a new copy editor at work found it in her efforts to break the Marketing folks of their habit of using "utilize" in every other sentence (and always incorrectly). It's something technical writers and editors struggle with constantly: how to get others to understand that "utilize" doesn't make you sound smarter.

Here's an easy way to remember how to use these words correctly:

• McGyver once utilized a shoelace, bubble gum, a house key, and hair spray to create a bomb.
• If he had put the shoelace in his hiking boots, strolled home chewing the gum, opened his door with the key, and set his coiffure for the day with the hair spray, he would have been using those items instead.

False spring & forsythia

Last weekend we had four days of beautiful, sunny, warm weather. Just enough to get the gardening juices going, and make me anxious for signs of spring in the garden... the daffodils pushing through the mulch. For purple primroses, and the huge hellebores to start blooming. The fruit trees to start budding out. And I even look forward to the grass starting to grow again (shhh... don't tell my husband).

Usually by now I've cut an armload of forsythia branches to bring inside, where I fill my biggest vases and place them throughout the house. I've done this every year since we bought this old farm, and I love the sight of bright yellow blooms opening up, bringing a touch of spring and sunshine in the middle of winter. This year it's late, probably because of our very cold weather in mid January. A few more days should do it, once the buds get just a bit bigger.

My big, overgrown forsythia has never failed to provide a beautiful display of blooms, in spite of a few years of neglect (and some not-so-friendly competition from a 50-year-old wild rose). Forsythia seems to thrive when left to grow naturally, with minimal pruning to keep in in check so it doesn't crowd its neighbors. It isn't happy if brambles (or wild rose) block too much of its sun. It will sulk for a season if that happens, but will bounce right back the next year. I love that it comes to life so early each year, and love the bright green leaves that contrast so well with the rhododendrons that grow nearby. It's the perfect shrub if you have the room, and I think I've found the perfect place to plant another one.

Feather nest

We cleaned out the nesting boxes today. Dave built these years ago, and we have them on each end of the barn, on the light poles in both orchards, and on the fence outside our bedroom windows. The one on the north end of the barn was stuffed full, and the nest was amazing. It's completely made of feathers, held together with blond horse hair. Looks like this pair of birds found their nesting materials next door on the Evans’ farm. They have exotic birds in an outside flight cage, and they also have a Palomino horse. The peacock feathers probably came from the big new house on the old horse farm; they brought a flock of peacocks with them when they moved in.

I carefully extracted the nest from the rest of the debris in the box, then sorted through the feathers and saved the best for the collection I keep in my mother’s silver christening mug. The nest is in a martini glass so you can see all sides of it.

The variety of feathers is amazing. There are spotted feathers, delicate beige with faint stripes, solid black feathers, brown with rust edges, and fluffy white goose down feathers. The prettiest are the miniature peacock feathers, with the vibrant blue-green coloring, and the same distinctive eye as peacock tail feathers have. It must have been a very soft home for the baby birds who were born there.

Cookbooks for a farm kitchen

I don't claim to be a great cook, or even an avid cook, but I do love to cook. And my friends never complained (or failed to accept an invitation to dinner), so I guess that says something. My early efforts were tentative, sticking to the food I was comfortable preparing, and only occasionally straying into uncharted territory. But once I stopped being intimidated by the whole process, I found that I really enjoyed cooking.

I also discovered the joy of reading cookbooks. I used to grab an armload and sit in my local used bookstore, or maybe in Barnes & Noble, sipping on a Starbucks coffee while I looked through each book to see if it suited my tastes. I soon discovered that my favorite cookbooks were those that tell a tale while tickling my tastebuds. Those are the books I read cover to cover. Everyone has a story to tell, and I've read some great tales while flagging recipes to try in my own kitchen.

My friend Ruth has a good technique for scoping out cookbooks to try: she goes to the newest branch of our county library system. They have the latest titles, brand new and squeaky clean, with that great new book smell… yum. I bring home an armload at a time, and when I find a cookbook that I can't put down, that ends up bristling with colored tape flags, and the recipes I've cooked taste as good as they sound... it's a book for the collection.

Over the years, my collection has grown and shrunk, depending on my changing tastes. But some that came to stay permanently include these (and they're still in print!).

Streamliner Diner | a charming diner on Bainbridge Island, just a ferry ride away. My version of the book is the first, written by the four women who started the restaurant, and who took turns cooking. Probably my all-time favorite salad recipe came from this book, and just reading the title makes my taste buds perk up: Mushroom-Bacon-Blue Cheese Salad. The flavors of bacon, marinated mushrooms, toasted walnut halves, and blue cheese atop crisp Romaine lettuce, with a Dijon vinaigrette, are heavenly.

The Riversong Lodge Cookbook by Kirsten Dixon | Probably the first cookbook I ever read cover to cover before cooking a single recipe. The author and her family run a fishing retreat in the Alaskan bush, living there year-round. Really good, hearty food, but I love the Orange-Chocolate Chip cookies.

As American As Apple Pie by Phillip Stephen Schulz | I absolutely love this book. It has a very simple concept: a dozen recipes for favorite dishes, like baked beans, chocolate chip cookies, pot roast, meat loaf, pancakes, and potato salad; twenty categories in all. Feel like making chili but don't want to search through a dozen cookbooks to find the recipe that matches the ingredients in your pantry? This is the first book I pick up.

Sunday Suppers (Barnard & Dojny) is another book that I bought many years ago, but never got tired of. Simple, wonderful comfort food with common ingredients and completely "unfussy."

When my 30-year collection reached the century mark, I limited my cookbook research to the library, and stayed away from the bookstores! But then I gave some away, and sold a few more, and have added some new favorites. I love Ina Garten's Barefoot Contessa cookbooks. and I'm baking bread again, thanks to Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day (and my sister, who recommended the book to me).

It's all about focus

I enjoy the transition to winter each year, the chance to scale down my daily life. Inward vs. outward. Inside vs. outside. Small steps, not long walks. Roomscapes instead of landscapes.

My summertime pursuits always seem to be large-scale. Weeding flowerbeds. Planting patio containers. Mowing an acre of grass. Pruning fruit trees. Waging war on the blackberries. In winter I can enjoy the weather outside, but focus on things like cooking, quilting, reading, writing. Build a fire, and the whole house feels cozier. Put on a pot of stew, and the whole house smells yummy. Small things, big results.

One thing in my life that makes the transition from season to season is photography. Whatever the season or weather, my lens is turned to the world outside the four walls of my little farmhouse. Just at home, there's plenty to focus on. The towering wall of cedar trees behind the tiny well house, which protects the original hand-dug well for the farm. The birds that enjoy free food, year round. The flower gardens, the orchard in full bloom. In years past, horses galloping in the pasture. Broad views across our narrow valley, beautiful with its green pastures and trees that change with the seasons, never boring.

My camera is always close by, and when I leave the house, it's always with me. You just never know what you might find. I spent part of the Christmas break sorting through my photo archive, and realized how many pictures were just happenstance, being in the right place at the right time. Like the kids playing in the town fountain plaza on a 100 degree day. Or the Merlin that's currently in my blog header, sitting in a branch just a few feet away. The herons flying across the road in front of me, each carrying a branch for nest building. The local truck farm full of tractors and pickers, with Mt. Rainier in the background.

Each day is a new chance to see something remarkable, and I can hardly wait to see what I'll find.

My kind of down time

Today is one of those winter days I just love...

It's chilly and grey and rainy. Even with the blinds open to the outdoors, there isn't much light coming in. The neighbors are trying to burn limbs and brush from last week's storm; all they're doing is filling up our country neighborhood with dense smoke, making it even more gloomy. It's too soon to start any serious clean-up efforts. I'll wait for a warmer, drier day.

We still have snow on the ground, and under the thick layers of downed fir and cedar branches there's a thick layer of ice. Not solid ice, this is the chunks of ice that fell out of the trees as the branches broke and came crashing down. This morning I made a quick survey of my herb garden and perennials near the house, and with each step I could hear the crunch of ice underfoot. So far, my gardens seem to be in pretty good shape. All the small branches and fir tips piled up around the plants, protecting them from the big limbs that came down on Thursday afternoon.

Since I can't work outside, I'm doing my version of nesting... making my home cozier and warmer, better organized for winter, and full of good smells from the kitchen. Progress so far:

• Brought home an armful of new cookbooks from the library to read through
• Cleaned the house, in my endless attempt to keep ahead of dust from the woodstove
• Started a batch of barbecued ribs cooking in the Dutch oven. The house smells yummy!
• Sorted through my photographs of last week's storm
• Lit a fire in the woodstove, to keep the gloomy outdoors at bay
• Started the new Lee Child book, Running Blind

Photographs of Winter

I've gradually been going through my photographs of last week's snow and ice storms.  I'm also looking through my photo archives, looking for older photos of the same views, to show the contrast between the farm today, and how it looked before it was shattered by the storm. When I can, I'll upload more.

This view shows the end of the orchard, the pasture fence, and two birch trees brought to the ground by ice. The tree arching over from the right was actually laying on the ground during the height of the ice storm. It arched over the roof, over another birch three, and the fence before coming to rest on the ground. The tall trees in the center are three 100 ft. cottonwoods that grown by the pond, about 200 ft. from where I was standing. Limbs that came down out of these trees were the size of small trees, 6-7 in. diameter and 30 ft. long.

Snow day

I got up a couple of times during the night, checking on snowfall... nada. Very disappointed. But when I got up at 5:00, it was snowing, and we had another couple of inches to add to the snow already on the ground. And at 5:15, it was official: the inclement weather message was up at work: closed for the day. Yeah! Think today I'll take a walk through the back roads near our house, and take some photos.

I took this picture one around 8:45, still almost dark because of the heavy snow. It looks out on the original well house for the farm, built to match the main house. We already have nearly 5 inches of snow.



Just after 10:00 am, I snapped this one of Phoebe. It looks out on our well house, but all her attention was on the birds fighting for their chance at the bird feeder, and at the seeds I'd scattered on top of the crusty snow (both just out of sight of the camera). You can see how hard it's snowing.

Storm of the century? Wait and see...

We both worked from home today; thought we may as well, since we came home from work yesterday, prepared to do just that. We watched it snow, rain, sleet, blow all day long; even saw a couple of snow plows on our country road (or was it the same plow, twice?) It's a huge beast; glad the county has a chance to try out its paces in a real storm.

Anyway, it's 2:45, and the sun is out! Still, we're on storm alert. All day long, the weather channel has been updating the story with superlatives: Major Northwest snowstorm. An enormous snowstorm.  As much as 8-12 inches possible in lower elevations. Major, potentially historic, winter storm. Earlier in the day, they actually used the word "Epic."

What really got my attention, though, was when the National Weather Service started to compare this storm to the November 1985 storm and snowfall. That was the winter we moved to our small horse farm, and we had snow on the ground... a lot of snow... from November until after into January. Our well froze up, and we had to haul water from my mother-in-law's house. I melted snow on the stove, so the horses would have water to drink. The nearest plowed road was 3 miles away, so getting to work or to the grocery store was a major effort (and pain in the neck) involving tire chains and tarps as bookends on each end of the drive.

When the sun is shining into my home office and there's plenty of blue sky to the west, it's pretty hard to believe that major snow is coming. I remind myself that our winter weather comes from the north, not from the west. Still, I'm prepared to take the experts' word for it. We should know later in the day, if snow starts to fall and this time, doesn't stop. I'll keep you posted. And if the snow does stack up, I'll post photos. Because there's nothing more beautiful than the farm in winter.

We don't typically get a lot of snow around here, and the historical list of single-day snow totals is pretty impressive. These are the 10 biggest totals; I've listed them by year.

• Jan 13, 1950  20 in. & Jan 26, 1950  10 in.  Before my time. This must have been quite a January... two separate storms dropping 30 in. of snow, just two weeks apart
• Feb 28, 1962  7 in.
• Dec 23, 1965  8.9 in.  I remember this one... this much snow, just two days before Christmas, was incredible!

My first year of high school... look at these three storms: within a month, 3 record-breaking days

• Dec 31, 1968  9.3 in. 
• Jan 27, 1969  14.9 in. 
• Jan 29, 1969  7 in.

• Jan 25, 1972 7.9 in.  My first year of college
• Dec 26, 1974 8.8 in.  My sister and her fiance flew home from Australia to get married, and we woke in the wee hours to find all this snow and ice, and Peter missing. He'd gone out walking through the neighborhood; he'd never seen so much snow at one time.
• Nov 21, 1985  7.8 in  On the farm, melting snow for horses to drink, and trying to stay warm
• Nov 27, 1985  7.6 in. | Ditto