Mall Adventures

We were only shopping for socks. The lure of the mall, however, offered to transform this ordinary sock shopping trip into a wonderful afternoon mother-daughter outing. It wouldn't hurt just to walk through, would it?

I miss the old Lakeside Mall. Anchored by Montgomery Wards on the west end, and Target on the east, the mall made up the largest part of the unincorporated town of Lakeside, Colorado. The rest of the town consists of Lakeside Amusement Park and nine houses, all along Sheridan Blvd, between 44th avenue and the Amusement Park parking lot. The 2010 census lists the population as 8.

Once many of the stores in the mall went out of business, they brought in all sorts of groups in an attempt to stay profitable. Opening the doors from the Target store into the mall, we would never know what we would find. One day, the space might be populated by tables filled with comic books and baseball cards. Another day, it was an antique mart.

On this memorable sock shopping trip, there were birds. Birdcages with birds were on tables, in some places stacked two or three high. The tables went the entire length of the mall. We saw bunches of budgies, canaries, finches, and a plethora of pigeons and parrots. As my daughter and I love birds, we spent a happy afternoon wandering through the displays.

At the end of the mall, there was a space where a large store had been. The space was far from empty, however. Chairs had been set up and people were sitting and watching as a man in the front of the room pointed to a particularly nice, large birdcage. We decided to wander in. Perhaps the man was a bird expert, lecturing on the care and feeding of cockatiels or African Greys.

As we entered the room, a nice lady gave us a piece of paper with a number on it. It was a clue. The man up front was not lecturing. We watched as several nice cages were auctioned off, and then . . . a small double cage was brought out. I was impressed. It was made mostly of wood with wire doors and the two cages were side by side. This couldn't have been meant for birds! In fact, wouldn't it be just perfect for the two small bunnies we had just adopted?

The bidding started at the ridiculously low price of $5. I held up my card. How could I pass up a deal like this? The auctioneer looked around, searching for someone else to raise the price. After what seemed a long time, a large bored looking man raised his card. The bid was up to $10 now. I didn't hesitate. My card went up - $15 for the double cage. The auctioneer glanced around again, looking expectantly at the bored man, with no result. Going once, twice . . .  SOLD to the mother/daughter team in the back of the room.

I couldn't believe my luck! Most of the cages had gone for prices upwards of $50; a particularly nice one having gone for over $300. Birdcages were not cheap. Of course, this cage didn't look like a typical birdcage, but then, we were buying it for our rabbits.

I brought my number to the table and paid the same nice lady who had given us the cards. Then we went to pick up our purchase. Funny, it looked a lot smaller from the back of the room. They agreed to hold it there while I pulled the car up close to the door. Then we managed to push, drag, and half carry it out the door, down the hall, and out of the mall, to where the car was waiting.

Then came the next challenge. We tried turning the cage side-ways and upside-down, attempting to force it into the trunk, then the back seat. I briefly considered tying it to the top of the car, but realized quickly we could never lift it that high. A mostly wood cage weighs a lot more than a mostly wire cage.  During our struggle, numerous other birdcage buyers made their way out the door and loaded up their cars, trucks, and vans, without a hitch. Eventually, the auctioneer came out as well. I think he felt sorry for us. He stopped, looked at what we were trying to do, and offered wise advice.

“You're never gonna get that thing in there, you know.”

I told him I had figured that out already, but we had to get it home somehow. He shook his head and asked how far we had to go. Fortunately, it was just a matter of a mile or so. He shook his head again and asked if we had any rope. I pulled out several long pieces of heavy rope, a gift from my father-inlaw, and handed it to him. This seemed to cheer him up.

Together, we managed to get the back edge of the cage wedged into the trunk. This left most of the cage hanging precariously over the side, but with the rope securing the top of the trunk against the cage, maybe we could make it a mile or so.

He shook his head again.

I don't think he believed we were really going to try it, but we did. We made it home and I proudly showed off my bargains to my husband. Chris didn't say much, but I could tell he was impressed by the way he raised his eyebrows. We took the cage down and hauled it into the laundry room. After much fussing and fiddling, I had it cleaned and filled with new litter, ready for the baby bunnies to move in to their new home. I was exhausted, but proud.

The new cage worked beautifully . . . for two whole weeks. It's amazing how quickly bunnies grow.

Feathers and Wings

There are wings on the floor, dozens of them. I grab the broom and sweep them, quickly and unceremoniously, out the door. The miller moth migration had come through our house and garden and my studio. I never really mind that they choose to pay us a visit during their journey. Like thunderstorm season and the season of hot dry days and grape popsicles, miller moth season was a regular part of my childhood.

I enjoyed catching the moths in my cupped hands, letting them crawl around in the small cave I had created for them out of my fingers, and feeling their wings as they tried to fly away. Out of all the insects I loved, these were my favorites. Daddy-long-legs might be easier to catch and Lady bugs were prettier by far, but when the miller moths came through, there were hundreds of them, thousands of them! They were everywhere!

Not all my family shares my enthusiasm for the insect world. In some cases, I agree with them. I've had a few run ins with stink bugs and earwigs make me cringe. I was relaxing in the bath one evening when I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a beetle, dog paddling towards my right ear. It's amazing how quickly one can go from being totally relaxed to jumping up, as stiff as a board, out of the water. I can't imagine how the beetle felt.

One thing we all enjoy are spider webs. Most years we will have a cat's head spider build a beautifully designed orb web in our shed. One year, the web was over a foot in diameter. Every morning and evening we would go and check on the web. “He's got a wasp,” my son would report. Catching a meal often left gaping holes in the spider's handiwork. We would be in awe the next morning when we found the web repaired as if nothing had happened.

Lately, we've inadvertently provided an entire spider habitat. Our daughter left her winter boots on the front patio and there is now a lovely funnel web going down into one of them. As far as I can tell, it's a little brown barn spider in there. He'll have to move out before winter, but for now, it's a cozy place to live.

Fortunately, I'm not bothered by all our insect visitors because my studio seems to be one of their favorite places to hang out. The miller moths especially loved it, evidenced by the number of wings left on the floor. Perhaps some of them were partying a little too much?

As I sweep the wings out the door and into the yard which already has chicken feathers and goose feathers strewn about, I startle my geese and they fly off the stumps that serve as the studio's front porch. My geese often keep me company while I'm in the studio. Barnyard geese cannot fly. They think they can, however, and they sometimes even get airborne for as much as six or seven feet, though never more than a foot off the ground. The younger ones try now and then, running as fast as they can downhill, and flapping their wings. I haven't the heart to tell them it won't work.

When I was younger, you see, I knew how to fly. For some reason, it had to be a secret, although I'm not sure why. Perhaps because others wouldn't understand. I never went too high. It was more like hovering, really. I would go along, about six inches above the ground, never thinking anything about it. When I was older, I realized it had only been a dream, but as a young child, dreams are just as real as anything we do while we're awake, and I knew, quietly and confidently, I could fly anytime I wanted.

The studio is swept and the broom hanging on the nail by the door. I walk back to the house, walking on tattered wings and feathers shed by molting geese. Miller moth season is over and soon again will start the season of visits from our grandchildren. Someday, I'll have to teach them how to catch moths in their hands and make caves for them with their fingers. We'll find the spider webs and see if we can see the funny cat's head spider, hiding in the corner. They'll find lady bugs, roly-polys, caterpillars, and probably a few stink bugs, too.

Maybe someday, I'll even tell them about flying.

Dinosaurs in the Window Wells

It's raining again and I'm sitting by the open window of our dining room, listening to the large drops falling on the metal window shade. It almost sounds like it's hailing. Hail would not be good. It would be normal for Colorado at this time of year, but it wouldn't be good for our garden.

When we moved to Colorado, my Dad got so excited that he bought raincoats and rain boots for all of us kids. We grew out of them before we had the chance to wear them. Actually, we wore them once. One morning as we were getting ready to walk to school, it started raining. Mom pulled out all the rain gear and  we dutifully put it on.

The "storm" lasted ten minutes and we were dry and uncomfortable by the time we arrived at school. We also looked ridiculous. I was so embarrassed that I never wore a raincoat again, not even in a heavy downpour.

I love thunderstorms. Maybe it's because I've spent most of my life living in semi-arid and high desert climates, but rainstorms are a treat. Spending my first school years in Wyoming, rain was something that happened exactly twice in five years. At least, that's what I remember. When it did rain, really rain, it didn't stop for several days. The ground was hard and not used to having to soak up so much water, so it didn't.

The water level rose higher than the sidewalk, then crept up on our lawns, closer and closer to our front door. We watched it, got the sand bags out, and started making plans to build an ark. Before we got too far on our plans, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and within thirty minutes, everything was as dry as it had always been.

Of course, sometimes we would get something that started out as rain, but finished as snow. That's when we had dinosaurs in the window wells. They didn't start out as dinosaurs. They started out as salamanders and horny toads and other little creatures of the high desert that I loved to catch and bring home as pets.

My mother always told me the same thing. I could keep them as long as they stayed in the window well. She told me this from the other side of the screen door. We were rarely allowed inside the house during the spring and summer so I rarely spoke to my mother without a screen door between us. She was adamant about my pets, too. They weren't allowed inside, either.

My critters went in the window well and promptly disappeared underground. I was not deterred. The next day, I'd be out hunting again, bringing home another pet or two. Maybe this one would have taken such a liking to me that it would stay above ground and come out to visit with me every morning. It didn't happen, unless it rained. When it rained, all the little desert creatures in Wyoming came up above the ground to see it for themselves. I think they were looking for an ark and didn't want to be left behind. There is something about a desert rain storm that does that to you.

So, the rain came and the lizards, salamanders, and horny toads came up in the window well. Then the rain turned to snow. The window wells were somewhat protected from the snow but not from the cold. When I went out the next morning, there were all of my pets, frozen solid and looking like a dinosaur display at the natural history museum.

I don't go out hunting for salamanders and horny toads anymore. I only bring home sensible animals like chickens, ducks, geese, goats, and the occasional donkey. My husband is mostly patient with me. He has, however, put his foot down from time to time about my pets. Which made it all the more satisfying when he came running in one day with a large garter snake in one hand and a grin on his face. "Can we keep it?"

He was serious! I looked at him and remembered all my days of bringing home lizards and salamanders. How could I say no? I told him we could keep it as long as it stayed on the front porch.

That's only because we don't have any window wells.

        

           

© 2011 Terri Reinhart

It's War!

There were six this morning, bounding through the trees and playing a game of chase through our garden.  As three of them caught up with each other and began wrestling in our arugula patch, I felt the tension in the room grow.  Almost as quickly as the tension rose, so did my husband.  Muttering obscenities under his breath, Chris stomped outside, grabbed the garden hose and started spraying the wrestlers.  Now he's retired, the garden is his kingdom and squirrels are the enemy.

Last year the squirrels won.

This year, he's determined.  Armed with a garden hose, squirrel repellent spray, and a fierce fighting spirit, reminding me of the Scots which is mixed in with his German heritage, he bravely drove the offenders out of his territory and into the outer reaches of the high apple branches.  Had he been wearing his kilt at the time, it wouldn't have surprised me to hear something like "Ye mingin' squirrels, gang back tae whaur yae cam frae."

ye mingin' squirrel

I've suggested to Chris that he wear his kilt while he gardens. It'd be cooler than jeans, in every way.  He looks good in a kilt!

Emma and I watched from the window, trying not to giggle.

Despite the squirrels, the garden is looking good.  For dinner tonight, as we had an abundance of eggs from our hens, we had omelets.  We also had a large salad with lettuce, spinach, kale, arugula, and cilantro from Chris' harvest.  I love having home grown meals.

A little while ago, I went out and had a word with one of the squirrels.  I told him he and his friends could have the apples on the tree, especially the ones up high, if they would just leave the garden alone.  My friend swears by this method.  She says she has kept the ants out of her kitchen and the wasps away from her back door by simply making a deal with them.  It's a zen thing.

It might be working.  I haven't seen any squirrels in the garden since then.  If it doesn't... well... Chris has already waged war.  

Tae battle!

Spring Shuffle

In the past few years, it's become popular to have backyard chickens.  Lately, miniature goats have also found their way into the hearts of city dwellers.  That urbanites have become fond of these cacklers and bleaters, just warms the cockles of my heart.  We've been urban farmers for over twenty years.  All those new enthusiasts are simply catching up to where we are.

Wow.  We, the Reinhart family of Wheat Ridge, Colorado, are trendy.  

I enjoy talking to the newbies about their chickens and hearing their excitement.  When they learn how experienced we are, they flock to us with their questions:

What happens if one of my hens starts to crow?  Uh...that one isn't a hen.  My hens don't go inside when it snows.  Is that okay?  Yeah.  They're not the smartest birds on the block.  What do I do with a rooster?  Chicken noodle soup?  The conversation usually ends there.

I'm sure we had as many questions when we first started out, too.  

Winter is slow on our urban farm.  There's still plenty of work to do, but it's really just keeping everyone fed, watered, and protected from the elements.  Spring is when everything starts up again.  Hens start to lay eggs, Josephine looks for a place to hide a nest, all the bird's feathers come in fresh and new, Napoleon the Rooster starts attacking our feet with a vengeance, and Gussie the goose keeps all the predators away. 

Before this starts, there is the annual Spring Shuffle.  No, it's not a dance, though sometimes it seems as if someone has choreographed the whole thing.  Every bird in the yard has to find their place.  One wouldn't think it would be so challenging or creative.  It's different every year.

This year, we've had some interesting changes.  One of those changes, we implemented ourselves.  Gussie now has a pen to himself.  In the interest of my calves and the protection of our guests, he is in solitary confinement.  He's less aggressive without the females and we don't have to worry about an accidental hidden nest presenting us with a brood of new goslings.  We have four geese.  Enough is enough.  

The rest of the geese and the female duck are out in the main yard where they can scrounge around for any food they can find.  They keep the weeds down while they're at it.  The female geese are exceptionally docile and often follow us around the yard.  

Our chickens stay in the enclosed chicken yard.  There are exceptions.  Napoleon goes where ever he pleases.  He is the undisputed ruler of the farm, and if you don't believe him, he'll let you know by crowing loudly into your ear from his perch on the fence post.  

Josephine, our banty hen, also goes where she pleases.  Our son found her hidden nest under the rabbit cage one night.  He became suspicious when he heard the rabbit clucking away contentedly.  Peering under the cage, he found Jo the ventriloquist, sitting on her nest.  We can't reach it, so perhaps we'll have a brood of banties this year.

Then there are the odd ducks, so to speak.  One is a hen who has decided to keep Gussie company in his confinement.  It's unusual to have a friendship between a chicken and a goose, but I won't argue.  So far, so good.  Then there is Little Goose.  She is one of last year's goslings who has suddenly decided she'd rather stay in the chicken yard with the hens all day, rather than graze in the big yard with her mom and sister.  Again, I'm not going to argue.  It's peaceful out there.

Now we're getting eggs.  Out of sixteen hens, one duck, and three female geese, we got thirteen chicken eggs and a goose egg today. 

It's spring!  

These Gardening Boots should last awhile!

After looking all over the place for a good pair of backyard muck boots, I ran across these at our local ARC Thrift Store.  They were brand new, with tags attached and cardboard still inside each boot.

Steel toes, shin guards, thick insulated rubber,

Thorogood Hellfire Structural and Hazmat

real honest to goodness Firefighter boots!

Okay, Napoleon and Gussie, let's see you try attacking my feet and legs now!

ARC Thrift Store price:  $9.99/pair 

I got a pair for Emma, too.

Online price (Anclote Fire and Safety):  $249.00/pair

They even come with a one year warranty, though it only covers normal firefighting use. 

Muck-y Boots

You know it's time to replace your backyard boots when you have more invested in the duct tape you are using to hold them together than in the boots themselves. I didn't buy the designer duct tape, either.  In case you don't know, you can now buy duct tape in various colors and patterns, including pink polka dot, zebra stripes, skull and crossbones, and purple paisley.  My duct tape is the standard silver stuff that everyone has in their garage.  

When I put on my knee high, plaid, Target clearance rack, two-year-old, $6.00 boots this morning, I noticed that the tears on the sides had gotten a little longer.  There were a few new ones as well.  This meant I had to change my wet socks as soon as I was finished with my outdoor chores.  It was cold this morning, too; in the single digits.  Though I hate to admit it, the old plaid boots would have to go.  After two years of being worn daily by me and my daughter, they are worn out.  

I figured it would be easy to find a replacement pair.  I went back to Target and went to their garden section only to find out that it had been replaced by the snow shovel and fake Christmas tree section.  Maybe it's time for plan B.

I decided to look online.   I found a cute little pair of green boots for $7.99.  They fit over your shoes like the old galoshes.  Upon close inspection of the reviews, however, I learned that they tear easily.  "Buy several pair!" one reviewer exclaimed, "They're cheap!"  I wondered if they came with a roll of duct tape.  On the other end of the spectrum were the Burberry rain boots, offered at $375.00 at Saks Fifth Ave.  I don't think those were meant to be worn while cleaning out the chicken house.  

Between these two extremes were many pairs of boots labeled rain boots, garden boots, farm boots, and one with the brand name of "Muck" boots.  I looked at the last one closely as the name clearly described the purpose for which my new boots would be worn.  However, at an average of $100.00 per pair, I didn't think I'd feel comfortable wearing them in the muck.  Out to dinner, maybe, but not in the chicken yard.

Hmm... I'll probably go with something decent but inexpensive, like the boots in the Vermont Country Store catalog.  It's either that or the designer duct tape.