Fantasic Mr. Fox [cuss!]

About a month ago, I had gone out to the shop to feed the cats, and when I came back in, Finley, who was sitting at the table eating breakfast, said, "I just saw a fox!" She said it was running down the hill in the neighbors' pasture.

True to fashion, I responded, "Oh, wow!" looked out the window to see if I could catch a glimpse, but really didn't believe her. I mean, why would there be any foxes around here?

A few days later, when we found a mangled chicken body in the driveway, it occurred to me- she might have been right. "Finely, remember that fox you saw? What color was it?" I asked her. "Red," she responded. "And it had a bushy tail." Oh. [chagrin] We let the neighbors know so they could keep an eye out.

A week or two later, I wandered outside to the usual throng of chickens, but felt like something was missing. No duck laughs. No ducks. I asked Chris if he had seen the ducks. "Yes, I saw them this morning." "Are you sure?" I proceeded to check the ponds. No ducks. Chris realized maybe he didn't see them. It was last night he saw them, past dark, hunting for frogs in the little pond. A more thorough search ensued, and finally, in the pasture just northwest of the shop, he found one, head missing. Chris was despondent.

I can't lie. I wasn't quite as upset as Chris was. We had just had a visit from Chris's trapper friend who bestowed upon us a skunk skin. I had visions of a fox skin dancing in my head. [This is where I can see heads shaking in disapproval. I should try catch and release, right? I'm just not sure where around here would be safe to release a fox where it wouldn't be a nuisance to some other chicken owner, what with the fox's 2-3 square mile territory. Now if we lived anywhere near the Tennessee National Wildlife Refuge...]

So we bought a live trap, and the neighbors set it up in their barnyard for a few days, but no luck. Next we set it up along the fence line between our ponds. Two days of a live chicken for bait and nothing. We put some chicken hearts and gizzards in there and caught one of our cats the first night, then a possum the next. Chris gave up.

This morning, as I was talking on the phone with my neighbor, all of a sudden I heard, "The fox [something, something]! I'll call you right back. [click]" Oh, the agony of suspense! Time dragged. And dragged. Finally, she called back. By the time she had loaded the gun and gotten out there, the fox had run too far off to get a good shot at it.

So what will happen next in this saga of the fox? We shall see... Aside from the danger of losing some good laying hens, I have to admit, I love the drama of country life.

Sick Kids & Edumacation

It's Thursday, I think. It's hard to tell, with the kids home sick from school. They were sick all weekend, and I thought they would be well enough to go back to school yesterday. I set my alarm, and woke them up in the morning to find that they were still running fevers. I called the doctor's office down in Lewisburg, but they didn't have any appointment times open (groan), so I ended up making the 30-40 minute drive into Spring Hill. Finley was confirmed sick with the flu, and although Joe seemed to have gotten over the flu, had developed pneumonia. They will be home for the rest of the week. At least I have the doctor's approval to keep them home.

A friend of mine who is homeschooling her seven eight kids posted an article yesterday about homeschooling entitled "Want To Tell The State To Stick It? Homeschool Your Kids." Bad timing, Shyla. I really didn't want to read an article like that after what we've been going through this year with the government trying to trump my rights as a parent to keep my kids home from school when they are sick without having to obtain a doctor's note or the school nurse's approval.

To make things worse, I went to parent-teacher conferences last Tuesday. The kids were doing fine, really, but I just wanted some face time with the teachers. Finley's homeroom teacher and I were talking about Finley's sloppy handwriting. I mentioned that I thought writing in cursive might help. Her teacher said she wasn't sure when she'd have time to teach it, and wondered out loud if it they would ever use it anyway with most communication done these days via computer. I made a half-joke about spelling not being necessary either.

That opened another can of worms. She said the state is no longer emphasizing spelling, that after 2nd grade, they really aren't required to study spelling, but she thought it was important. She said spelling is one of the the first things to go when the state/district wants them to focus on something else. She told me she wished the teachers had more input into what was being taught instead of the school district and/or state (ie. the people NOT in the classrooms on a daily basis) dictating what the focuses should be. Wow. It's nice to know that my kid can go sit at a computer playing games for a half an hour (in the interest of learning how to use a computer) instead of learing how to spell.

Anyway, inspite of the fact that I absolutely love the teachers and staff at the elementary school, I am starting to have the thought that maybe we should be homeschooling again.

Free is Good

Last weekend, Chris noticed an ad on craigslist. Free playset to whomever was first to come get it. A storm had blown it over. Some parts were damaged.

 

Of course, Chris jumped right on it. He enlisted our neighbor to help him go pick it up. Today, using a few spare pieces of decking and some treated 4x4s we had on hand, Chris put it back together again.  In order to prevent another wind from destroying it a second time, he extended the legs with some 4x4 scraps and sunk them into the ground with the intent to cement them in.

Not pictured are the slide, climbing wall and swings that came with it. All it needs now is a good power-washing and coat of sealant. It's not as sturdy as the mack-daddy playset we built in Nashville, but free is good.

Good-Bye (and Good-Riddance)

We are getting a new mattress today.

The old one was almost as bad as the mattress in the movie Psycho. I feel like the picture doesn't do it justice.

 

I contemplated trying to figure out the slope of my dent, or laying a yardstick across the high points and measuring the depth, but without me in it, the measurements wouldn't be as accurate. I'm a little worried that after being used to sleeping on such a slope, a flat mattress will make me feel like I'm slightly upside-down. That's okay. I'll get used to it.

The Forgotten (Remembered) Film

A couple weeks ago, I was browsing facebook and saw that some one was selling an old film camera. "What is film?" I joked. The camera wasn't all that old, really. It had the smooth curves of your typical SLR digitals of today. It wasn't boxy like my old film camera. Oh! That's right, (I thought to myself) I still have one. It has been sitting in the top drawer of the junk dresser ever since we moved here. And I think it still has a roll of film in it.

 

Vague memories came back of running across the camera in years past, wondering if there was still film in it. I remembered snapping a few photos and watching carefully to see if the rewinding mechanism would spin as I tried to advance the film I wasn't sure existed. I remembered thinking that if there was film, I sure didn't want to waste it. Back before the digital days, you recall, every click cost some money.

 

I went to retrieve my camera and called Joe to pose for me. Sure enough, there was film left in it. I wondered if it was still good. I wondered what pictures I had taken. I figured it was high time I found out. I snapped some more photos of Joe and Z, let Joe try to take a couple pictures of me, then went outside to finish off the roll on some chickens.

 

It turns out that our local Walgreen's still processed film on site (who knew?), so the next time I was in town, I took the roll of film in. It was a few days before I could return to pick it up, but in the meantime, I relished the suspense. In this instant age, it isn't often we get to wait and anticipate.

 

Monday, I finally got the chance to pick up my photos. Zivah and I paid for them ($12!), then we headed to the van to see what we would find. The first picture to greet me was this melancholy image of Joe, not quite a year old (2007?), with a hint of the eczema that troubled him at that age.

 

 

 Next were several photographs of this cactus. You can read the story behind it here.

And then came the photo that made the $12 worthwhile:

These must have been taken around Joe's 4th birthday in the late winter or early spring of 2010.

 

And nearly three years later as I finished off the roll:

 

I was a little disappointed that I didn't have any pictures Finley. I guess she wasn't around the few times the camera came out.

Now I am tempted to buy another roll a film, load up the camera, and stash it away again to see what we end up with in another 5 or 6 years.

Beggars Can't Be Choosers

I am getting a little more anxious to get the house to a point where we can move in. And all the more so after a few weeks of sick family and cold, dreary weather. It made walking into the trailer feel closed in and kind of... gross. Now I can feel some potential energy building: plumbing supplies are ordered, spools of electrical wire are begging to be used, all just waiting for the right time for this energy and anxiety to be spent on some work.

Last week, Chris found a vanity on craigslist that he wanted me to consider. It looked like it was real wood, was in great condition, and would work for our master bath. The base cabinet had ample storage in the form of six large drawers and one sink. [I know, the trend is to have a his and hers sink, but we're not really a two sink couple. I do not foresee any evening where he is anxious to shave that 5 o'clock shadow but has to wait for me to remove layers of make-up.] There was also an option to buy matching upper (his & hers!) medicine-cabinets, which was something I had hoped for.

The one downfall of the whole setup was that the cabinet doors have arches. And I hate arched cabinet doors, really. But what to do? Am I going to stamp a spoiled, little foot and refuse a good deal, cause us to spend more money, and ultimately delay moving into the house just because I hate arched cabinet doors? No. So I swallowed my aesthetically-minded pride, and Z and I went to take a look at the vanity yesterday, with the hopes that some day, I will be able to alter or replace the doors. (Just like the kitchen cabinets.)

We arrived at the Habitat Re-Store in Lebanon, parked the truck, and as I walked around the corner of the building in search of the entrance, a little mission-style set of drawers next to a grimy, old, jacuzzi tub caught my eye. I wondered about the price, but bent on my mission, went in search of the vanity. As I approached the vanity, I saw what I had feared in the back of my mind but refused to consider: a scalloped shell sink. Awesome.

Counter tops are replaceable, though, so I checked the vanity over. Nice, solid plywood. Really good condition. I want to move into this house pretty badly, and I don't think Chris will go for a temporary plywood counter floating a drop-in sink until I can build or buy my dream vanity, so here we go. We'll take it.

I approached the front counter, and as this store isn't run in the most professional manner, found I had a little time to kill, so went to check out the little set of drawers again. It was old, simple, and well built. Just like I like things. The drawers stuck a little, but some wax would help that. There was some water damage and wear to the top, but so what? I liked it. A lot. And it had a price of $10 on it. I went back inside to see if I could get some service.

Lately, I've been watching Market Warriors on PBS lately, and being the non-confrontational, introverted sort, I don't normally like to challenge some one's price. But the influence of Market Warriors has emboldened me a bit, and reasoning that it doesn't hurt to ask, after telling the lady at the counter that I wanted to purchase the vanity, asked her if she would take $5 for the little chest of drawers. "Oh, we just got that in today, and he had me price it at $10," she said.

As we went back to check on the item numbers on the vanity set, I noticed another woman wandering the store. Heels, black skirt, and hot-pink top to match the hot-pink slip cover of her smart phone. I wondered what she was doing there. We went back up to the counter to pay, and the check-out lady told the store manager what I was getting, then told him I had offered $5 for the drawers out front. "Sure," he said. I couldn't believe it. I probably would have paid $20. My insides felt like I had just won a million dollar prize.

I payed, walked out of the store, picked up the drawers, and headed to the truck. The pink lady was a few seconds following us out the door, and as she started to get into her SUV, said, "You know, I was going to buy that." "Sorry," I smiled at her. And my deal of the day seemed all the sweeter.

Snow!

I thought Chris was joking this morning when I woke up and he told me school was cancelled for the day. During the night, against all odds and expectations, it snowed. We lazed in bed, drinking coffee, and one by one, the kids awoke and discovered the snow. By the time Chris left for work, the kids were chomping at the bit to go sledding, so we got bundled up and headed over to Henry Horton State Park when a decent sized hill awaited us.

 

There was just enough snow to cover the grass and just cold enough to keep everything frozen while we had our fun. By the time we were done, half the snow was worn off the hill, but I didn't feel too bad about it, since apparently no one else in the area owns a sled or thought to go sledding at the park.

 

Back home, with hot cocoa was warming on the stove, I went out to check on the chickens to see what they thought of the snow:

 

The ducks must think the chickens are snow-weenies. They would be correct.

It is now half-past noon, and the snow is all but gone. Winter in Tennessee...