Living In Tornado Alley

For the past two days, local news crews have diligently covered the aftermath of the EF-4/EF-5 tornado that hit Moore, Oklahoma on May 20, 2013.  Native Oklahoman’s watch with empathy, knowing well the impact of volatile weather.  People from across the nation and the entire world watch coverage in the days to follow, in disbelief.  For some folks, video footage of the giant, grinding  vortex cast a horrific view of nature.  Invariably, in the aftermath of such destruction, the question comes up again and again; “Why would anyone choose to live in an area where tornadoes strike every single year?”

FD and I reside in the southwest area of Oklahoma. I grew up in the southeastern corner of Nebraska. Both are high risk areas for tornado activity.

Growing up in Nebraska, I was used to spring weather that brought tornado activity. Back in the early 1960′s, we did not have the greatest technology for predicting weather and communicating warnings to alert communities of approaching storms.  Radio and television stations might interrupt programming to send out alerts. Towns might blow a siren to alert people to take cover. Most every house had a basement or an underground fruit cellar in that part of the country so, whenever these alerts came, we took shelter in our basement.

After moving to Oklahoma in 1990, I was surprised to learn that most homes here did not have basements, and those that did, generally had difficulty keeping water from seeping in. Much of the soil in the central area of Oklahoma is either sand, sand stone, caliche, or clay. Water drains well, which does not make for dry in-ground shelters.  So, without a basement in my Oklahoma home, I simply went to a central room in the house when the sirens went off in town, or the local television station advised folks to take cover from an oncoming storm.  I made sure I had something to get under, or had plenty of blankets to throw over myself and my dogs.  And, I prayed.

This past Monday, FD and I happened to be heading back to Oklahoma from Nebraska. We had taken a long weekend to visit family. While up there, we purchased some antique furniture and, because we had our 3 little Japanese Chin dogs along, the entire crew cab of the truck was full.  This arrangement left the furniture to be strapped down in the bed of the truck, exposed to the elements.  Knowing volatile weather could be expected through Nebraska, Kansas and Oklahoma that day, we set out early in order to get home before any rain or storms moved in. Two days prior, weather forecasters had predicted moderate chances of severe weather for this day and, only the day before areas just southeast of Oklahoma City had been hit by tornados. By getting an early start, we hoped to avoid running into any bad weather of this kind while driving through the tornado alley corridor.

As we approached the Oklahoma City/Moore area from the north, we could see the sky darkening as a storm brewed. Pulling up the weather radar on my iPad, I could see a line of storms setting up from the southwest to the northeast.  The super-cell in the Oklahoma City area was directly in our path home.  So FD and I opted to drive out of the way, heading directly west, in hopes of skirting the approaching weather.  More than anything, we were concerned about rain soaking the furniture and hailstones beating up our truck. Often, spring storms carry high sustained winds and large hail, and Big Green, our 1996 Ford pickup truck, was still in decent shape for her age.  Dimples from hail stones would not be covered under our “liability only” insurance, and we felt it best to drive a little out of our way and take a different route home.  Driving westward along the state highway that would take us around the looming storm, we could see the clouds to the south and east of us continuing to grow and darken.  Whatever was brewing near Oklahoma City did not look good at all.

Brett Wright managed this spectacular photo of the catastrophic tornado as it bore down on Moore, Oklahoma.

As we approached the highway we would take south towards our home, a nephew who we had stopped to visit briefly in Wichita, Kansas, sent a text-message to inform us of the ongoing devastation in Moore, Oklahoma that he was watching via television.  Family began calling to find out where we were, concerned for our safety.  We were, fortunately, able to assure them we were a good distance from any danger.  But, there was a sickening realization that something terrible was happening to people maybe 20 or 30 miles from us. Having seen such devastation from the EF-5 tornado that went through Moore on May 3, 1999, we knew people were losing their homes… and their lives. And some, for the second or third time.

The good news for all who suffer such fate, is that each time a catastrophic spring storm hits the “Tornado Alley” area of the central United States, communities of people band together to help one another.  There is an outpouring of aid from rescue folks, emergency crews, utility workers, medical personnel, and cleanup crews from all over the United States, and even other countries. Truckloads of supplies and monetary donations come from all over the world to help those in need. Strangers arrive to help people find scraps of their lives and salvage something of sentimental and personal importance. And often, it is not about the work or cost involved.  It is a stranger offering a hug, or sitting alongside a victim and shedding tears of compassion.  Many times, it is the balm of love that we offer, that means so very much.

I have received many lovely comments and emails from people all over the world, offering thoughts and prayer to the people of Oklahoma.  Thank you so very much for that.  It is this amazing connection we have as a people, that offers encouragement and strength, in times of need… and in times of pain.  On occasion, I become negative about what I see of people – an every man for himself mindset, people arguing and fighting, rudeness and disrespect of our fellow man.  But, when catastrophic events come along, I am quickly reminded of the compassion and love that abounds in the world.  It is always encouraging to see that, when faced with the worst circumstances or conditions, our true, inner nature still shines through.

Clark Gardner, at left, and another man, place an American flag on debris in a neighborhood off of Telephone Road in Moore, Oklahoma, after the tornado moved through the area on Monday, May 20, 2013. AP Photo/ The Oklahoman, Bryan Terry – photographer.

So the question remains; “Why would someone live in an area where tornadoes strike every single year?”  My answer?  Because it is home to me.  I love the weather here (yes, even the crazy and volatile spring storms) and I love the people of the South.  I grew up with adversity – I was raised a farm girl and I am not a quitter.  My roots run deep in the soil, and are anchored firmly. There is not much I fear in this world – certainly not an act of nature.  As I write this, people are grieving… but they are also recovering and beginning anew.  There is hope, and with each day we heal.  The people of the central United States who live in Tornado Alley (and beyond) are resilient.  And here in Oklahoma? We are Oklahoma Strong.

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…

A Silver Lining To Every Storm…

When Oklahoma gets severe weather, it is often predicted a few days beforehand.  The local weather folks had warned us earlier in the week, that the dry line would set up in our area of the state, giving us some pretty fair chances of volatile weather.  I had planned to spend some time this afternoon, preparing for the weather that would surely arrive by early evening.  I wanted to be certain my plants were protected from hail, and make sure to put the vehicles, and anything else I could stash, in our storage building for safe cover.

My first duty of the day was to fix a hearty breakfast.  I do not usually indulge in a filling morning meal, but the instructions on the medication I was taking the past two days, required the tablets to be taken with food. For over a week, I had suffered with poison ivy rash.  Where and how I acquired it seemed to be a mystery.  The only idea I had was that I mowed two days in a fierce wind, perhaps mowing over a patch of poison ivy I did not know existed.  We do have poison ivy in the woods, but I had not been in that area by foot, and certainly this time of year I always wore jeans and boots for protection. When the rash first appeared, I could not imagine how I acquired it so extensively! Over the next several days it showed up in new places, spreading over my legs, buttocks, arms and chest.  It was as if I had literally rolled in the toxic weed!

And, being a person who prefers to try home remedies first, I tried a number of treatments to find an end to the incessant itching.  Finally, I gave in and went to the doctor. I couldn’t believe that I had succumbed to the urushiol oil produced by the plant after bragging for years that I was immune to this toxic plant (I had unknowingly pulled it up with bare hands in the past and had no reaction!).  I had never once suffered the consequences that 70 to 85 percent of the population does, when they come into contact with the ivy.  The doctor informed me there was no explanation as to why my number had finally come up.  The bottom line was that I had it, and I best figure out how I acquired it so that I could keep from experiencing this kind of misery again.

What a pretty, green plant poison ivy is… but the toxic oil it puts off can prompt weeks of miserable itching and swelling!

And, I had another aggravation on top of the horrible, red blotches and bumps that riddled my body.   The very same week I was exposed to poison ivy, I received a district jury summons.   I had never been called for jury duty and, call me crazy, I had always hoped to be asked. Each time family or friends were called to serve, I was a little jealous.  I wanted to do my civic duty!  And now that I was finally called, I was a miserable mess, scratching every part of my body and utterly unable to sit for very long periods of time.

Then, to top it off, as ugly as they were after a week of trying not to itch, the bumps developed into weeping blisters that oozed and itched all the more!  Just trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep at night seemed impossible.  So, on the last day possible, I made an appointment to see the judge, as instructed on my summons, to see if I qualified to be relieved of my duty.  Taking one look at my angry red, weeping legs and blotchy, bumpy arms, the judge signed off, and I was dismissed from jury duty.

So this morning, I ate my open-faced, egg sandwich and took the Methylprednisolone tablets, choking them down with a full glass of water.  I gently rubbed the Betamethasone Valerate cream on all of the spots and rash patches.  I donned a pair of cargo shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt and headed out to the already, sweltering heat.  The wind was blasting out of the south like a furnace.  Everything about this morning seemed to suggest a spring storm.

As usual, I got side-tracked from my “to do” list and started out picking up trash on the property since tomorrow would be the day the refuse truck empties our trash polycart. Our property borders an alley, where people often pitch trash.  Weekly, I travel the alley in my electric buggy to pick up the trashy b@$!@&#$ discards.  Needless to say, this is an aggravating task.  I do not understand why people just throw trash from a vehicle, or why some properties are riddled with household trash, left to blow around the neighborhood.

While driving down the alley, I stopped to visit my neighbor, Mrs. Perry.  Before I knew it, she was in the buggy with me.  I gave her a tour of our ten acres, and afterward, we sat on the back porch, having tea, talking about life.

By the time I delivered Mrs. Perry back to her home, it was lunch time, which meant time for two more pills and another application of poison ivy cream.  I would have to work non-stop if I was going to complete all that I had on my “to do” list!  By now, it was really hot and humid, and the wind was gusting fairly hard. Big cumulonimbus clouds were building in the southern sky.  Still, I managed all of my tasks by late afternoon and headed inside for a quick shower.  As I cleaned up, I remembered I also had cookies to bake for a friend. Baking on a hot day was not exactly appealing to me, but I had promised them, and bake them I would!

Just as my friend arrived to fetch the cookies, the sky let loose of the first rain drops.  The clouds were looking a bit threatening, so I hurried to take down the hummingbird feeders from the shepherd hooks and move the patio furniture to the back of the porch to keep it dry.  At the front porch, I removed the wicker chair cushions and pulled up the rugs.  By now the wind chimes were making a chaotic racket, so I removed them too.  The storm was moving in quickly!

Before long, the wind came slamming across the fields, bringing a torrent of rain and hail. Most of the hail was pea- and marble-sized, but it continuously pelted the earth, ripping leaves from the trees while the straight-line wind hurled it all against the house.  Most of my young fruit trees were completely bent to the ground in the sustained, high winds.  The rain was driving down in sheets and, at times, I could not even see the trees in the woods just behind the house!  The weather man on the local television station stated that our area had 60 to 70 mph winds.  What I was seeing out my windows, seemed more like a hurricane!

My first thought when weather is severe, especially when it involves hail and winds that can take down limbs and trees, is always about Daisy deer.  I had seen her hunker down in hail storms before.  Despite access to a dry room in the barn attached to her pen (with a roof over the entry, nonetheless, she would often lay down in the open, stoically braving the storm and enduring the hail, slamming rain, and wind.  This evening, I said a prayer for Daisy’s safety and for the protection of all of the woodland animals and birds.

It was nearly dark by the time three different storm cells completed their trek through the area.  Afterwards, I grabbed the high-beam flashlight and headed out to check out the storm damage.  The south side of the house was plastered with leaves.  My beautiful flowers were beaten to the ground, ripped by the wind and splattered with mud.  Looking across the pasture, I noticed branches down from trees, and one big, old elm tree that had lost large limbs, which landed on our pasture fence.  Several pieces of sheet metal from a garage in the alley lay askew in our pasture.  In the distance, I heard the wail of city sirens and, in just a short time, chain saws began to buzz as the sounds of traffic picked up. Obviously, there was city-wide damage from the storm.  I would have my work cut out for me tomorrow!

Daisy comes to me after the rainstorm.

As I plodded back to the house, shoes squishing along the path to the woods, I shone my flashlight into the darkness below.  I hoped I would not see a lot of damage in the woods. I had worked so hard this past winter, after all, clearing brush and fallen limbs while keeping the burn pile stoked.  I scanned the area slowly, looking for downed limbs or trees, and then… there SHE was!  There was the orange collar… and the brown body with the scraggly winter coat!  Daisy had weathered the storm, and had come home to nibble corn at the feeder.

For once, Daisy did not wait for me to come to her, or cautiously sniff my hand before she was sure it was me.  This time she seemed to know… to want her human mother.  She walked to me, and I walked to her.  For a long time, she licked my arms and neck (the parts that didn’t have poison ivy ointment on them!) and she let me scratch her and pick ticks off of her.  I petted her and spoke with her. I put my hand on her belly, hoping to feel a kick or movement from the little fawn she was carrying… and I DID feel movement!!   For about an hour I stood with her. We watched an armadillo rooting nearby, and twice we sent a raccoon packing who seemed intent on feeding on Daisy’s corn and deer chow.

Daisy would eat a bit and then come to me, seeming to want more attention. Her demeanor reminded me of the old days, when she would lay with me and allow me to love on her.  Finally, when I became cold and the mosquitoes began attacking me, I bid her farewell.  Oh, it was so hard to leave her! As I climbed the slope, I shone my flashlight on her as she moved to a nearby tree branch to nibble new shoots, enjoying the tender leaves. A little while later, I went out on the back porch and my flashlight found Daisy grazing in the pasture just south of the house.

I was so happy that my Daisy had come home after the terrible storm!  For that hour I spent with her, I did not once think of my itching, or of the damage to the woods and the property.  I did not hear the noises of the city. I was aware of my humanness, yet I did not want to be.  I was in Daisy’s world… in the night. I longed to be more to her, at that moment, than the human mother that I was. And yet, it appeared, that I was enough for her just as I was. It seemed not to matter to her that I was different… that I was a human. She was content to have my company, and to walk with me.  I was elated that she came home, and that she allowed me to “mother” her like I used to.  Daisy’s presence was a gift to me tonight.  She is, has always been, and shall always be, the silver lining to every storm in my life…

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…

The following photos were taken one rare morning recently when Daisy came to feed during daylight hours.  She spent about an hour roaming around, nibbling plants and trees.  She stopped occasionally to allow me to pet her, pick ticks off of her and rub her ears and face. This time of year, she is particularly itchy, as she sheds her winter coat, and her new, lighter summer coat comes in.  After a time, she slowly made her way deep into the woods, heading back to an area she used to bed down in during the daylight hours when she was just a fawn.

Springtime offers new shoots of leaves on various trees and shrubs. Deer are not the only mammals that find nourishment in the young buds!

Another pose showing Daisy’s growing belly.

This spot just south of our house, along the canyon rim is one of Daisy’s favorite spots to nibble fresh hackberry tree leaves!

Daisy stands atop the ridge of the canyon slope, looking back to see if I’ll follow.

Daisy stops to “catch scent” in the morning breeze.

There is always something good to eat in the in the woods!

Daisy’s belly looks round and full at this angle, with the morning sun dappling through the woodland trees.

The woodland grasses are getting tall now. Soon Daisy will find a place to deliver her little fawn.

Try A Little Kindness!

What a lazy weekend it started off being today!  FD and I had a busy day helping out friends on Friday, and did not get to bed until sometime after midnight.  After being awakened by the phone ringing around 7:30 this morning, and getting up briefly to let the dogs out to do their morning business, I went back to bed and dozed some more.  Finally, at 10:30 I noticed FD had coffee brewing.  I got up too.

What was this strange critter FD had in his hands? Was it a small bird with a very strange mutation to its head?

While I worked at preparing a simple breakfast of open-faced, egg sandwiches for us, FD stood out on the back porch, looking down below the slope to the canyon, where we often see Daisy deer and so many of the other woodland critters that frequent our place.  Mornings are a wonderful time to sit back and relax in the cool breeze, while observing the hummingbirds that visit the coral honeysuckle vine blooming all around the porch rails. Often, there are grand battles where hummingbirds duel over territorial rights to the abundant honeysuckle and the two nectar feeders we keep at the back porch. At times, the fierce battles can even get a bit dangerous for a human bystander!  Hummingbirds move like little jets, intent on defending their airspace and their nectar!

When I stepped out to let FD know breakfast would be ready in just a few minutes, I took note of how he stood, with coffee cup in hand, gazing out into the morning sun. He looked so relaxed and calm.  I turned back to the kitchen, wondering why I always had to hit the ground running?  Why could I not just “chill out” for a bit with my own coffee before rushing into the day?  I did not ponder the thought too long, however, as I wanted to time everything just right, rather than overcook the eggs and spoil a perfect breakfast!

As I dished up FD’s plate, he walked in the back door with something in one hand.  He explained that he had seen a pair of Mississippi Kites, flying lower than usual, apparently attacking some sort of bird in the air.  After narrowly avoiding a strike, or two, or three, the victim dove into tall grasses near a fence line.  The kites did not pursue the fallen object, but did continue their flight above. Stepping off the porch, FD meandered down to the weeds to see if he could find whatever it was the kites had been after.

Oh my! Those bat eyes look a bit intimidating, and those teeth do not look friendly at all!!

In his hand was a small, but very alert, little bat.  FD explained the bat was so well camouflaged that he almost did not see it.  He had discovered it laying on its back, perhaps defending itself, or maybe it simply needed to rest.  FD gently picked it up, careful to grasp it from behind, keeping two fingers to each side of its head, so that it could not turn to bite him.  FD has a special “whispering” way with animals.  It is as if he knows how to calm them, and how to handle them respectfully, and the animal seems to understand this as well.

Of course, I took a couple of photographs to show the small size of our new little friend.  Its teeny, tiny teeth looked very sharp, and its beady, little eyes made this bat look just a bit intimidating!  FD and I both agreed he probably just needed to recuperate a while on the back porch, and perhaps he would fly off of his own accord whenever he was rested and ready.  As it turned out, we did not have to wait very long at all!  As soon as FD released the little bat, he flew off as bats do – zig-zagging and flippity-dooing through the air and on into the woodland trees.  What a beautiful sight to see!  I bid him farewell, hoping he could manage to stay away from the Mississippi Kites, raptors who often prey on insects and small mammals in our part of the country.

Thinking back on the morning’s event, I wondered how many times FD or I happened to be in the right place at the right time to rescue an animal, or step forth to help a friend in need.  Sometimes it required very little to get an animal back on its feet, such as an offer of just a bit of respite from the heat, cold, or to relieve the animal’s exhaustion. Now and then a friend might just need a little help, or an hour or two of our time. I thought about other situations in life, where we might be observant enough to recognize an opportunity to step forth and offer a simple act of kindness.  How many times do we see an elderly person struggling to shop in a store?  Do we offer to help them get what they need? What about times where someone might be picked on, taunted, or bullied? How often do we step forth to stop the activity or encourage better treatment?  Numerous situations and observations in my life came to mind, where someone had come forth to help and assist me.

Each time FD gently stroked the top of our bat friend’s head, its mouth snapped open quickly! I suppose if barring of teeth was one’s only defense, it could be effective – it certainly seemed to be in this little fella’s case!

I hoped today, that our little bat friend was glad to have a human interject at maybe just the right moment.  What if we had not slept in so late, and what if FD had not been enjoying his quiet time on the back porch at just the right moment?  Would our batty little friend have been a raptor’s lunch by this time?  It is not for me to question the timing of so many things in life… but I do wonder how many opportunities we are given to step forth, and offer a little bit of kindness – and how many of those we miss?

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…

Shake A Tail Feather

Early morning is my favorite time of day to get out with my camera.  Often, only a gentle morning breeze dances across the pasture, drying the dew from the grasses and plant life. Sometimes I get lucky though, and only stillness surrounds me.  It is during this morning calm when I am able to detect activity and sound that I might otherwise miss.

I love the tender,spring flowers of the woodlands!

It was just one such morning about a week ago, that I ventured out to wander through the woodlands with my camera, looking for spring blossoms to photograph.  The sun was just beginning to dapple through the trees, and I wished I had dressed a little warmer, for the chill still hung thickly in the canyon.  Even the birds seemed a little slow at getting around this particular morning. The usual chorus of chirps, singing and trilling was absent.  A few active squirrels were dashing about, always careful to counter every move.  A heavy dew weighted down the tall, woodland grasses. I wondered if, perhaps, it was still a little early to be out?

Putting this thought aside and moving on, I snapped photos of a few simple prairie flowers. As I knelt down to get a shot from ground level, I noticed a slight movement to my left. The tiniest, little blue-hued bird I had ever seen was darting all around on the ground, tail feathers flashing quickly as it hopped through the leaves and brush.  Moving slowly, I attempted to get a close shot, but it was difficult to get the camera in focus with the bird’s continual flitting here and there.  It surprised me this tiny, little bird did not seem to mind my presence and allowed me to get so close. Unfortunately though, its constant motion and tail-flicking made it almost impossible to get a decent shot.

As I continued my pursuit, I noticed the little bird seemed to be extracting insects or some other edible things from beneath twigs and leaves on the ground.  It hopped in wood piles and through cat brier.  I marveled at this tiny specimen.  I first thought it to be a juvenile mockingbird, since its tail feathers seemed long for such a tiny bird.  But the color did not appear correct for a mockingbird, nor did the eyes.

After managing a few more “disappointing” shots, I decided to head back to the house to research this interesting find.  Walking back along the trail I had taken, I noticed yet another of these tiny birds not far from where I had seen the first. This one, however, was foraging for insects on the bark of trees.  I took a couple of photographs of it from a distant angle and then ascended the slope to the house.

This was the only good photo I managed of the female Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher. She was constantly on the move!

Back at my computer, my research indicated the little bird I had photographed was the Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher.  My favorite online bird reference, The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, informed me this tiny wonder of constant motion flicks its long tail from side to side in order to scare up hiding insects.  It also showed me that the first little Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher that I photographed was a female.  But the second specimen had a definite black line above the white eye-ring, indicating it was a male.  I was disappointed to find I had only managed two decent photos of this pair out of the dozen or so that I shot.  But that is often the way it goes when photographing wildlife.

This is a distant shot of the male Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher. If you click on the photo to zoom in, you’ll notice the male’s distinct black line above the eye-ring.

Yesterday, I was out early in the morning on the buggy, hauling loads of cut branches and brush to the burn pile in the canyon.  Each spring we attempt to clean up the iris beds that FD’s grandmother lovingly planted decades ago.  It is hard work trying to clean out young saplings and weeds that attempt to take over the vast expanse of iris surrounding about an acre of yard.

As I hauled brush and clippings across the pasture to the burn pile, I noticed the first Scissor-Tail Flycatcher of spring.  It is the State Bird of Oklahoma, and known for perching on fence lines. This elegant bird is commonly seen catching insects along our pasture.  They are swift flyers, and make a great show of aerial acrobatics while catching insects on the wing. Their long, split tails make them easy to spot.

The beautiful orange/salmon color on the belly and flanks indicates this scissor-tail is a male.

Of course I had forgotten to take my camera with me in the buggy, so I sped off to the house to retrieve it, hoping my friend did not fly from his perch before I could return.  Fortunately, this striking fellow did not seem to mind the wait, and remained perched where I last saw him.  As I inched the buggy in close for a good shot, he watched me, seemingly unconcerned.  When I got within twenty feet of him, he flicked his tail feathers and moved a short distance down the fence. Again, I slowly moved the buggy closer.  This time he flew up and over me, backtracking to the starting point and making a spectacular show of it with his aerial acrobatics. Using that extraordinary scissor-tail to dive and swoop back behind me, he landed again on the fence.

After getting a couple of shots of the scissor-tail, I went on to the house to take a break from my work, and download the photos to the computer while I fixed a cup of tea. Again, I referenced The Cornell Lab of Ornithology to discover more about the Scissor-Tail Flycatcher and its habits.  I decided the specimen I photographed was a male, as it had the beautiful orange/salmon colored belly and flanks that males do.  I also learned it is a highly territorial bird, which might explain why it did not seem to fear me, and insisted on staying with the fence line even as I drove back and forth on the buggy.  This fellow was easy to photograph and I ended up with several nice photos from varying angles.

By zooming in on this photograph, one can note the bird’s forked tail. I tried to capture this split tail in flight but failed on all attempts. Bird photography requires much patience and luck!

I marveled at these two intriguing species of birds, both with long tails that perform important functions in the “catching” of insects.  Had it not been for the distinctive behavior and appearance of either bird, I may not have noticed them.  One flicked its tail feathers from side to side to scare up insects, while the other used its forked tail to make sharp mid-air twists and turns in the capturing of insects in flight.  Both tactics are important skills these birds utilize for survival.  Even in courting displays, birds use their tails, fanning them out to create size and shaking them in the performance of a dance, all in hopes of attracting a mate.

While considering an appropriate title for this blog post, I thought about the human aspect of the saying “Shake A Tail Feather”.  We shake our booty when we dance as a form of physical expression.  This can even be a spiritual thing, I think.  And, I suppose, in the human courting and mating process, shaking one’s booty might sometimes assist in attracting a partner – when performed properly!  But aren’t you glad we humans do not have to shake a tail feather to put dinner on our tables?  I wonder how successful many of us would be at that?!

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…

Gypsy In My Soul…

I profess… I am a gypsy.  This was not apparent to me until last night, actually. One of my sisters sent me a link to an online test where one could discover who they were in a past life (What I Was In A Past Life).  Sometimes I indulge in these silly tests just for fun.  After all, what could it hurt?  It might be fun to entertain the thought of a totally different life from long ago!  And maybe, it could explain some quirky habits or characteristics I might have carried into my current journey on planet earth!

With little hesitation, I answered each question on the quiz. They were simple, multiple choice questions, so I picked the first answer that appealed to me. My answers addressed current gender (in this life), favorite color, greatest fear, favorite school subject, and favorite number.   I was asked for my birthdate and zodiac sign. I have to admit, I half expected the results to show I had been a philosopher, perhaps a healer, or maybe a person connected with nature in some way.  So, when I clicked the last button and the website indicated it had calculated my answers, but then asked if I was still ready to view the particulars of my past life, I wondered, “Now what is that supposed to mean?”  Was it so odd, difficult, or taboo that I might not want to see it? Oh well, I figured I could handle it, whatever it was, so I clicked the red button.  Why not?

Here is what it said:   “You earned your living as a gypsy fortune-teller on the fairs and you were also competent in numerology. The pseudonym you used was “Eleona Baltimor”. You were born in the city of Ankara around year 1884. You lived in a cozy caravan which you inherited from your mother and although after you were two years old you never saw your father again, you had an interesting and comfortable life, you were devoted to fortune-telling and you never experienced any hardship in money.  Your exact place and date of death is unknown, but you died at decent 64 years of age.”

The first trip to Wichita, KS to visit my nephew, Jeff. His mom and sister drove down from Nebraska the same weekend.

At first, I discarded the entire idea.  A gypsy fortune-teller?  I was stymied!  But my sister quickly reminded me there were some interesting connections to the gypsy lifestyle.  Actually, it was not very long before I made the realization that she was onto something!  I certainly have indulged in travel and capricious gypsy inclinations! Suddenly, I understood my absolute love and fascination with the 2005 release of Van Morrison’s “Magic Time” album, and more specifically, the strange pull I felt listening to the song, “Gypsy In My Soul”.

When I first graduated high school, I managed to vacation outside of my home state of Nebraska a good bit. I traveled much of the United States for the next decade.  I did not have a lot of money back then, but I managed camping trips to national parks and often flew to visit friends who had moved to distant areas in other states.  These were trips I could take inexpensively, and yet fulfill the need to seek adventure and experience a little excitement.

When I moved to Oklahoma in 1990, I continued to travel.  By then I was making better money and was able to afford trips to larger cities and more upscale destinations.  I was intrigued and fascinated by life in the various regions I visited, always striking up conversation with local people and gleaning much about their way of life.  But in the period from 1998 to 2011, I did not travel as much.  As many of you may have drawn from previous blog posts, I suffered with chronic depression.  So the only traveling I managed during this time was a few business trips with FD, and a few trips he and I took for pleasure.

I felt safe and protected with FD, but traveling on my own became a thing of the past.  I had lost my trust in people.  Where just years before, I had been a traveling nomad, knowing no stranger and fearing nothing, I had now retreated into my shell to live much like a hermit.  I knew I needed this time of caring for self, healing wounds, and protecting myself from further hurt.  Try as I might though, I could not muster the desire to put my traveling shoes on again.  Even a trip to the grocery store was a dreaded outing for me.

Then, in October of 2012, something changed.  My nephew, Jeff, had just moved to Wichita, Kansas and I desperately wanted to see him.  I had not driven a four-hour distance by myself in nearly a decade, but my desire to see Jeff overpowered my fear of making the trip. I worried mostly about fuel stops and encountering strangers along the way. What if I got fatigued and exhausted… what if I had a tire blow out, or a mechanical breakdown? So many questions of fear arose; my ego hammered me the whole trip.  It was all needless worry. Not one snafu occurred. In fact, the drive went so smoothly, I wondered where the time had gone!  I was proud of myself and I had a wonderful time!

Sandy drove from Iowa to Muskogee, OK (to visit family). I drove across Oklahoma to meet her.

Not two weeks later, another trip presented itself.  I would drive by myself to Muskogee Oklahoma, nearly 3.5 hours from my home, to meet blogging friend, Sandy Sue from “A Mind Divided“.  I was not nervous about meeting Sandy – but I was nervous about the drive.

In my heart, I already knew Sandy.  We had poured out our hearts and thoughts via our blogs and email for nearly two years.  No, it was my fear of strangers and situations I might incur along the way that I was wary of. And, because of the driving distance and time involved to be able to visit, I would have to spend a night in a hotel, alone. But once again, I managed just fine.

I arrived without a hitch, checked in at the hotel, shopped a bit, ate lunch and dinner alone in a restaurant, and went to bed early so that I could be up in plenty of time, ready to meet my friend Sandy, face to face!  Sandy’s blog post about our meeting expresses the event quite eloquently, “The Intimate Strangers of Blogland“.  Unfortunately, the five hours we spent visiting and connecting that day went entirely too fast.  I found myself wishing she was my neighbor across the street, instead of a distant friend in far away Iowa.  I drove home elated that afternoon, thinking how I would drive to Iowa if I had to but by golly, I was going to see Sandy Sue again… nothing could keep me from it!  The barrier I had set up a decade ago was crumbling away and my traveling bone had risen from its ashes!

I got to see a lot of Alabama and Tennessee countryside while helping Bob and Lynda look at acreages during my visit.

In February this year, I again made my way to Wichita to meet Jeff.  This time we planned to carpool, driving onward to Nebraska for a weekend with family. That too, proved to be another traveling milestone for me.  I was able to confront some personal demons and hurts from the past on that trip.  Small steps to letting go, great leaps of liberation and freedom. For twenty-three years, I had dreaded trips back to Nebraska.  This trip, the dread and anxiety fell away, much like the melting ice and snow we encountered that weekend.  The winds of change had followed me into historically stormy territory.  But the warm sun was shining on me now!

The Wee Choos were my wake-up alarm every morning. If that didn’t work, Lynda’s geese began honking shortly after the guinea hens began calling!

Just after returning from the Nebraska trip, I got an invitation to visit another close blogger friend, Lynda, from “Life on the Farmlet“. Lynda and I had not only shared blogs and emails over a two-year period, but we had also visited over the phone. Lynda had been my friend from nearly the start of my blogging days, and had encouraged me all along the way.

So, early this spring, I made the arrangements to fly to Alabama in late March to meet Lynda and spend a week with her and her husband, Bob, on the Farmlet. Other than some fear of airport security protocol and not knowing what to expect without FD’s help, I was excited about the trip. Hilariously, the only issue that presented itself was that Lynda and I did not recognize each other at the airport (even though we kept looking right AT each other).  Had she not mustered the effort to call out my name just as I passed by, we might have missed each other!

The week with Lynda and Bob was fantastic!  It was the perfect week of sisterly bonding, sight-seeing in historical Huntsville, experiencing the rhythm of Farmlet life (complete with guinea calls and honking geese for an alarm clock in the morning), bird and squirrel watching, gardening and chores, getting a “taste” of Lynda’s fabulous cooking, and taking in the gorgeous landscape of eastern Alabama and parts of southeastern Tennessee.  I also had some intriguing dreams while I slept at night, and that just doesn’t happen folks! Dreams like I experienced that week, would normally only take place in an environment where I felt relaxed and completely stress-free.   This just goes to show how very “at home” I felt during my stay with Lynda and Bob. To read more about my visit, check out this recent post in Lynda’s blog, “A Visitor on the Farmlet!”

The weather was cold during my visit to Alabama, but that didn’t take away from the beauty of the landscape. I fell in love with the distant Appalachian Mountains.

Perhaps my sister (also known as Princess Josaphine in her previous life) is correct about my gypsy ways.   I think it is a good sign that, after a long, dry period of being rooted in one spot, I am back in my traveling shoes again.  I just needed time to heal. I needed the gifts of medicine from Daisy deer and all of the wildlife here on the ten-acre ranch,  to help me work through my troubles.  And I am thankful that FD, my family, and a few special friends, loved and supported me through my hermit time.  I do not know where the gypsy winds will blow me next… but with these strong, springtime, Oklahoma gales gusting away, I’m thinking I best put a couple of rocks in my pockets!

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…

FD (the photographer), niece Kati Jo, and I taking in the view at Multnomah Falls, along the Columbia River in Oregon.

FD and I dine at a favorite French restaurant on the pier at Marigot in the French West Indies. That is our CRAZY French waiter in the background! St. Martin is our favorite vacation spot in the world.

Food and travel just seem to go together! FD and I love to take in the local cuisine wherever we travel.

FD and I enjoying an Eastern Caribbean cruise to the US Virgin Islands and the French West Indies.

Hiking in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas. Most of my life I’ve been drawn to the outdoors and nature.

Back in 2001 on the waterfront at San Diego Bay. Yes, I was a blonde for a while!

FD’s Sissy Jo and me on a Western Caribbean cruise in 2005.

I traveled to New Orleans many times to visit Uncle Jewel. I never could fit in my clothes on the way home… I enjoyed too much great Cajun food!

In the Dark of Night

It is a nightly ritual of mine to venture out onto the back porch, scanning the woodlands below the slope for diners at the deer feeder. Using my high-beam flashlight to light up the woods, I always hope I will discover some “green” eyes reflecting back at me. Specifically, I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of orange-collared Daisy deer.

When we first moved on this little ranch, I did not really enjoy the nighttime.  Coyotes howled in the distance and sometimes ventured near the house.  With no outdoor lighting on the property except a couple of motion lights on the front and back porches, it was completely dark… blackness surrounded us.  Only the twinkling stars and a sometimes full moon lit the sky at night.

When Daisy deer came into our lives, I learned to appreciate her world.  At night, deer and most other wildlife are very active.  In time, I no longer feared the night sounds and found that I actually enjoyed the rhythm of the night creatures.  Even the baying and howling of the coyotes was intriguing and exciting!

It had been since late December that we had seen Daisy deer on our property.  We had spotted her a half-mile from here, in an area near the old river channel.  I had also discovered her a couple of times further down the river – about a mile away, always with a couple of wild does.  It was comforting to know she had managed to find a place in the local herd, and she seemed to be flourishing on her own.

FD and I had both noticed a change in our girl after the rutting season in November 2012. It was apparent that our little orphaned fawn had grown up.  She was a young lady now and we wondered if she would become a mother this coming spring, having been spotted over a period of three days during this past autumn’s rutting season, in the company of, and trying desperately to avoid, a young buck.

This photograph was taken at dusk, a time we might spot Daisy and her friends grazing on wheat in the field beyond.

All through January and February, I scanned the feeding area in the darkness in hopes of seeing Daisy, but she did not come back.  Becoming discouraged, I quit going outside after dark to look for her.  I still prayed to God/Universe each night to protect her and keep her safe. Part of me still worried, but I could not dwell on thoughts of where she might be.  I had to trust she was fine.  After all, she had managed for more than a year on her own and proven she was capable of surviving in the wild.

Ever hopeful, FD continued the nightly vigil, watching the canyon and hoping to see some sign of Daisy’s return.  Though we knew from hoof prints found some mornings that one or two deer occasionally stopped to nibble a little feed in the night, we were not seeing any deer at the feeder.  Most mornings, I found only evidence of raccoons, squirrels and birds having visited the feeders.  In March, I found wild hog prints in the sand, and torn up patches from their rooting and wallowing near the feeders.  Those beasts had actually moved both of the feeding trays far from their normal spots and gobbled up every bit of the deer feed!  Since we were not seeing much sign of deer activity anyway, we decided not to put deer feed down for a time. Obviously, we were attracting some undesirables to the feeding area!

Finally, in late March, FD found Daisy at the feeders a few times.  However, she was usually with other does and FD was mindful to leave Daisy alone when he saw other deer accompanying her in the woods. Instead, he would observe her and her friends through binoculars, looking out the back door. During one visit, FD noted Daisy seemed to be the dominant one of the group. She fed at the corn feeder and sometimes hoofed the others off if they attempted to feed at the same time.  A few times, he found Daisy alone and managed to brush her and visit with her for a short time before she took off into the woods. FD wondered if her companions were nearby, as she always seemed to be in a hurry.

Last weekend, FD and I worked very hard moving dirt and repairing fences on the ten-acre ranch.  After Saturday’s work, I opted to go to bed early to rest my weary muscles, as I knew Sunday would be another hard day since the weather looked to be favorable again. I am not sure how long I had dozed, but FD gently awoke me around 11:30 saying that Daisy deer was at the corn feeder – alone.  He did not need to ask if I wanted to get up… I shot out of the bed and dressed quickly, hoping to get down there before she took off. Daisy was like that – we would spot her and just seconds later she would disappear into the woods.

Shining the flashlight down to the base of the slope, I caught her beautiful dark eyes, shaded by long lashes, looking up at us.  She was a little wary until we offered our hands for her to sniff.  Assured it was us, Daisy relaxed and went back to her nibbling.  We petted her and spoke softly to her.  We did manage to pick a few ticks off of her ears, but she was distracted by two gray foxes trotting past as they made their way into the pecan orchard. Being the night hunters that they are, we frequently see the fox pair just before dark and again at dusk each morning.  Whenever she spots them, Daisy has always run off the foxes and feral cats in the area.  That night was no different!  She stomped off after the foxes and disappeared into the woods.

This past Monday night, I grabbed the flashlight at 9:30 to let our three little Japanese Chin out front to do their final business of the day.  As usual, Zoe and Bear took off to the north while Tori went south.  Why they could never go as a group was unknown to me! I was always watchful this time of night… scanning with my flashlight to look for predators by land and air. Zoe is small enough for an owl to snatch up, and Tori and Bear would certainly be coyote or bobcat dinner if I was not looking out for them!

This particular night, I spotted a big, brown shape in the pasture.  It was a deer, and it seemed to be alone.  Letting the dogs back inside, I announced to FD there was a deer in the pasture, and he came out to investigate. Noticing the wind was blowing our human scent right at the deer, and it did not seem to be alarmed, FD declared that it had to be Daisy and began moving closer. Soon, he could pick out the blaze orange collar, sliding up and down her neck as Daisy raised and lowered her head to feed.

It was a beautiful and quiet, starlit night, with warm temperatures. And there was Daisy, nibbling on vetch in the pasture just south of our house!  As we approached and lowered the flashlight, Daisy relaxed and, after a sniff of hands and arms, once again allowed us to pet her and pick ticks off of her. At one point, she stopped to lick FD’s forehead, something she had always done as a fawn.  She grazed a bit longer, and then headed down to the canyon to meet two other does who were at the feeders, waiting for her.

Daisy’s hoof print in the soft, red soil of the canyon.

On Wednesday, spring storms moved in by late afternoon.  Our area seemed to be just north of the line of heavy storms. This evening, southwestern Oklahoma was being blasted by strong winds, heavy rains, large hail and even tornadoes.  As I always do during threatening weather, I sent out a prayer for Daisy’s safety and comfort.  The combination of rain, wind and cold is tough on wildlife, and the temperatures dropped forty degrees in a short time as the storms moved through.  Daisy was showing signs of the spring shed, and was beginning to look very unkempt, but I knew she still had a lot of her winter coat left and would weather this storm too, as she had done many times since her release. Still I worried…

By 10:30 p.m.,  most of the volatile storm activity had diminished and FD took his flashlight out one last time to check the feeders below the house.  There was Daisy munching corn in the soft rain! Both relieved and elated, we padded down to greet her and give her some “fruity kibbles”, a name we gave the deer attractant that Daisy loved to snack on!  With more than 4 inches of rain falling over the last few hours, the ground was soft and sloppy and Daisy’s hooves and legs were mud-covered.  We too, sunk into the muck where she stood.

After a time, Daisy trotted up the slope to the yard and FD went to fetch my yellow rain jacket so that I could continue to walk with her.  She grazed around the yard and into the pasture south of the house while I spoke gently to her.  I listened to the tapping of rain on my jacket. I could smell the cedar trees, and the scent of earth as I walked alongside her.  I heard the squeak and “rip” of green vegetation as she nibbled vetch and other tasty weeds in the pasture. This was a magical world she lived in, and all was right for me in this strange darkness.  Enveloped in the warmth of my coat and rain jacket, and reveling in Daisy’s company, I felt comfort in the blackness of night. I did not feel fear or worry. Peace and tranquility were mine for that moment! For even in the darkness, nature speaks to us.

Suddenly the skies let loose with a torrent of rain.  I bid my girl a hurried goodbye wish as she ran off to the woods. I trudged back to the house in the opposite direction with a heavy heart, thunder rolling in the distance.  It is never easy to part ways and watch her run off all alone.  For often, I long to be with her, running wild and free in the night!

By the way, FD and I are fairly certain our very robust girl is expecting!  Looking back at photos of her with her young beau in November, we can only estimate an approximate “due date” of early to mid-June.  The next month will tell us more, I’m sure, and I will continue to look for Daisy in the nighttime hours – the hours when she is free to roam as deer do… and the hours when I find unexpected comfort in the darkness.

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…

Midway… An Unspoken Message from the Albatross

Back in 1975, when I was a freshman in high school, I enrolled in a required English Literature class led by a young teacher named Jim Kisling. There were actually two different English Literature classes, and I was horrified to learn that all of my friends were in Mr. Paxon’s class and I would be the only one in Mr. Kisling’s class.  Being an introverted person and highly sensitive to any social situation, school was always difficult for me.  I found security only in the fact that I usually knew someone in each class I attended.  In this class, I knew absolutely no one.  And to boot, I heard rumors that Mr. Kisling taught a very different class than Mr. Paxon.  Mr. Paxon enjoyed the American classics.  Mr. Kisling ventured into Poetry, Medieval and Renaissance Literature.  I was panicked! I was no good at analyzing poetry and interpreting literary text, especially works I considered ancient and of little use to me in the 1970′s.

As it turned out, Mr. Kisling’s class was not as scary as I thought. In fact, after listening to my friends talk about Mr. Paxon’s class, I was quite thankful to be where I was.  As the weeks rolled along I found that Mr. Kisling was quite open to hearing our opinions on prose. Every student’s interpretation was interesting to him.  There was no wrong answer. He encouraged us to look for metaphor, figurative language, imagery, and symbolism. In this environment, I felt comfortable asking questions, and I found I liked the class.

When we studied “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” though, I was stumped and quite thankful we didn’t spend a lot of time delving into that particular piece of work.  It was a morbid bit of poetry that left me with a ghastly feeling. Some bits of that poetry, however, stayed with me over the years.  For the rest of my life, for instance, the albatross signified, for me, something rotting, stinking and wretched. Any time something was bothering me terribly, I referred to it as my “albatross”.

Image courtesy of http://www.midwayjourney.com/ Midway Film Team

Recently, a blogger friend who is the author of “Creative Endeavors, The Home of BoxCarOkie.com“, sent me the link to an interesting movie trailer.  This blogger sends me a lot of animal interest stories. But, knowing my gentle heart and love of animals and birds, he warned me about the content of this particular video. He knew I might find it disturbing. It was disturbing to watch, but the video spoke mountains to me. Let me explain a little more about those “mountains”.

I have struggled with an “albatross” around my neck for the last thirteen years.  That is a long time to carry around a rotting, stinking, carcass of a problem.  I was so miserable with it that it permeated every nook and cranny of my being. I reeked of the stench. Its effects on me were visible.  At times, I was prone to dark moods, anger, and bouts of seclusion.  I felt sorry for myself… woe is me.  It was a foul and rank place to vacillate back and forth in.  And then, a couple of weeks ago, I hit rock bottom.  I just blew! I ripped the albatross from my neck, and hurled it out into the abyss of… well, wherever it went!  I yelled the words out, “I am TIRED of HURTING”.  Simple, precise words.  It was not really about anything or anyone; I was simply hanging onto hurt.  Hurt that had become something bigger than life.  It took blurting out my deep, inner feelings before I realized what the real crux of the problem was.  And beneath that albatross lurked other albatrosses… hurts from decades past and more recent hurts. Suddenly, the need to be free of the burden of hurt was paramount!

When Don forwarded the link to, “Midway – A Film by Chris Jordan“, I watched it with a different perspective of the Albatross.  And by that, I don’t mean the literal message about environmental pollution, that is evident in the trailer.  As I watched it time and again, I was deeply touched by my own inner pain.  Pain from decades of personal hurt and abuse. Realization of my infliction of hurt and anger on others. I knew that this small video clip, documenting the plight of the Laysan Albatross, was actually a message from the albatross to all humankind.  It is a metaphor of our times.  It approaches the destruction and carelessness of our planet, of plant life and animal life.  And it spoke to me of our careless regard for the treatment of each other.

Image courtesy of http://www.midwayjourney.com/ Midway Film Team

I hope you will all find the beauty in the message the albatross offers us in this video by Chris Jordan.  Unfortunately, it is easy to turn a blind eye and ignore this message.  It takes courage to accept the gift nature has to offer sometimes.  The lives and deaths of the albatross are not in vain, if we come to realize the message they leave us.

For me, the albatross is no longer a symbol of woe.  I realize now, the morbid, ghastly poem from Mr. Kisling’s class, actually focuses on humanity’s relationship to the natural world. It calls us to recognize humankind’s insensitive and destructive relationship with nature (and each other), and the consequences that result. As I read my own words on this subject, I think, “Wow! It took 37 years for me to realize the true meaning of the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”  Still, I believe Mr. Kisling would be happy to know I finally “got it”.

© Day by Day the Farm Girl Way…