Deer Sanctuary

So the deer have been happily grazing in the hay, 

browsing at the edge of our woods, and strolling through our back yard. 

We're sort of running a deer sanctuary this time of year. 

It seems all the hunters scare the beasts onto our land, where they happily eat our hay, drink from our pond, and bed down in the grass until hunting season has passed.

Deer Season

So it's deer season in these parts. Which for those of you who are not local or rural, means that it's time to hunt deer. Right now, it's time to hunt them with firearms. Some folks hunt them with bows and arrows, so there's already been an archery season for deer. It preceded the firearm season. As well, there is a muzzle loader season for deer. It follows the firearm season. And after that there is the antler-less deer season. These are just the deer seasons.

It always seems to be a hunting season of some sort. There's red and gray fox season. There's a coyote and a striped skunk season.

There are two seasons to hunt raccoon and Opposum (depending upon whether you use a dog or not.)

There's a gray and fox squirrel season, a beaver season, a mink, muskrat and long tailed weasel season. There are four seasons for hunting turkey. 

There are also seasons for hunting ruffed grouse, pheasant, quail, rabbit, and crow. And the kicker for me? There's a season for green frogs and bullfrogs! (Don't believe me? See for yourself.)

As I've let you know, I was worried about hunting when we moved here. I still am a bit. Lately we've been put in an odd spot concerning hunting. Here's the deal. There's a lot of classified forrest behind our property. It seems to be owned by folks on the east coast, as they inherited it. Shortly after we moved in, some local gents were clearing the logging road that runs through it and my husband went out and introduced himself. They told him that they cared for the place in exchange for the right to hunt. And they gave him permission to walk back there any time deer weren't in season. This all seemed reasonable.

The logging road also happens to be the right of way for the telephone and electric companies, as our phone and electric lines are strung along the first 3/4 of a mile. And near the back of the property there is a buried gas line and underground fiber. So the entire length of the logging road is the access point for those utilities. 

Anyway, ever since we have moved here, there seems to be an endless string of people back there at odd times. There have been compact cars in the middle of the day, folks walking down saying they are turkey hunting, a group of teens on foot, various utilities vehicles, random trucks and off-road vehicles. We've even had some young guys on our driveway asking us how to get back there as their friend had told them they could hunt back there. They showed us a print-out of a google map.

It's a bit weird as the road passes along one side of our property line. It's also a bit weird because   the  patriarch of the aforementioned family of hunters/caretakers would stop by at intervals and ask if I'd seen anyone go back there. And I'd answer yes, but never have any knowledge of whom. I'd only have a vague description of a vehicle glimpsed through the trees or what have you, and he'd seem put out. 

He complained once of finding beer bottles. He complained another time of someone else's deer stand on the property. He complained once of some no trespassing signs that appeared (which he did not put up.) It annoyed me. I wondered why he didn't just put a lock on the gate at the end of the road. Why didn't he have his own non-trespassing signs? Why didn't he leave me his phone number so that I could call him whenever I saw a vehicle back there? Then he could come and check things out himself. 

Well, this year there's a new twist. The local hunters/caretakers showed up a few days before deer season asking if they could park on our drive the first day of deer season and walk back into the woods as the culvert  had washed out and they couldn't drive back on the logging road. We knew that the culvert had been partially washed out since we moved here, so my husband agreed. But the day after permission was granted, a front-end loader and a few off-road vehicles went back down the drive. Later I saw that the culvert had been repaired, some gravel had been spread in some particularly mucky places, and the gate had been chained and locked. 

But on the first Saturday of hunting season, the hunters/caretakers still parked in our drive and went hunting. They proceeded to come for the next few days too. So they don't have the key to the gate. But someone does. I've seen cars parked just inside the gate since then. So is the story the hunters/caretakers gave us false? They haven't seemed to be in touch with the owners. They didn't repair the culvert. They didn't hang the "no trespassing" signs. And now they are locked out. 

Oddly enough, we just found out that the eldest hunter/caretaker is the brother of our new insurance agent. But we can't exactly tactfully ask her for information. I guess we'll have to look up the tax information and get in touch with the title holders of the land. That will be awkward too. I'm trying to imagine how to initiate that conversation or how to succinctly describe the circumstances since we moved here. We'd be internet stalkers after all. And in the mean time, we are negotiating with men with guns. :)

Fall Photos

As I mentioned in my last post, fall was full here. Here are some gratuitous photos from the last 2 months. 

When hauling the paddle boat and row boat in the truck, we disturbed a mouse who had been nesting under the metal seat in the row boat. (It is reinforced with a block of styrofoam.) She ran back and forth on the truck bed ledge behind the cab as we drove across the upper hay field, much to the delight and concern of our children. 

One night, returning home with my kids from the children's choir my girls are in, we saw a low-flying hot air balloon. "It looks like it's close to our house." Someone commented from the back seat. When we pulled up, it was just drifting over the garage, and I snapped a few photos as we waved and listened to the roar of the flame.

Despite the drought, the fall colors were beautiful this year (on the trees that still had leaves) they were just short-lived. This is morning light on a brilliant maple along a stretch of our drive with the upper hay field in the foreground.

And it was nice that the hay got green again too! On this windy, glorious day the leaves were just beginning to change colors.

Here's a pic. of some toad stools that struck my fancy as they pushed up through the fallen leaves. There are a lot of fungus, lichen, moss, and ferns in these parts.

And I think those are the only random pictures I have from this fall. But I do have some pictures of berries to make a post about, some deer pictures and a post about deer hunting to throw together, and a post concerning All Hallow's Eve that's coming too! So stay tuned... so to speak.

Posting Hiatus

The leaves are down. I can see the water of the lake from the house now, glimmering through the trees beyond the rise in the upper hay field. Frosts have been regular and heavy. In the half-light of early morning, they have looked like snow. The cold wind is blowing. The temperature has been dropping all day. Tonight the low is forecast to be 23 degrees. And I've missed a month and a half of posting. 

I started out slacking off just because I was busy. My husband has traveled more than I could keep track of in the last 2 months or so... California, New York, Philadelphia, a week at his lab for a plug-fest, Germany, California again, Nevada. I may have missed a few trips. I know in October alone he logged 15,000 air miles. In the meantime I was running kids to extracurricular activities, grocery shopping with 4 kids in tow, tending goats, schooling children, paying our property taxes at the court house, going to an out-of-town birthday party for my nephew, carving pumpkins with the kids, having an All Saint's Day celebration with them, and doing everything without help. Plus the kids had a round of fevers AND a round of nasty colds. 

When my husband was home, it was the time of year that chores were waiting to suck up the little time he had here. Leaves needed taking care of. The gazebo needed taken down. Firewood needed stacked. The edge of the hay field needed mowed with the flail mower. The long gravel drive needed graded. Goat hooves needed trimmed. The van needed an oil change and tire inflation, etc. etc. Plus, we managed to squeeze in having the family of some college friends over for brunch, hosting a last minute camping visit from my in-laws and brother-in-law's family, attending a choral concert one of my girls was in, voting, celebrating my oldest daughter's birthday, and most recently, hosting thanksgiving. Oh, I almost forgot a little boating and a camping trip on our land that we had promised the kids would happen after the cows had left the pasture that was squeaked in too. That sounds relaxing, but in my condition and with my husband's tired state, it wasn't. 

Also, speaking of my condition, there's the pregnancy factor. I mentioned in a previous post how huge I get when pregnant. I wasn't exaggerating. When I sit on anything soft, I have to spread my legs to the sides because my belly otherwise gets pushed up so high by them that my lungs are compressed to the point of hardly being able to breath, and my stomach is so compressed that I feel like I'm going to throw up. As it is, when I sit in this unladylike fashion, my belly rests on the chair. It is uncomfortable and embarrassing. My mother-in-law informed me that this baby was probably going to be bigger than the last, but that she didn't know where "it" was going to go because I was already very large.

I'm also a mile from anything I sit or stand in front of. Washing dishes, cooking, scrubbing tables or counters, these tasks are back-breaking now. Sweeping up things into the dustpan? Intensely painful, as well as a bit scandalizing to watch, I imagine. Trying to correct schoolwork or eat at the table is difficult and excruciating. So the idea of typing blog posts on my laptop hasn't been appealing. I mean, I don't really have a lap to set it on, and I can't get very close to a laptop on a table. 

Then there's the exhaustion factor, another element of pregnancy for me. My poor kid is so constricted inside that he seems to only get to move freely when I am lying down. The nightly boogie sessions, combined with the regular Braxton-Hicks contractions that I get as a result, along with the indigestion, heartburn, and general uncomfortableness (sciatica, etc.) aren't conducive to my sleep. I get short snatches on and off all night and wake up with an interrupted sleep cycle hang over. And this has been worsened by kids with nighttime coughs and colds that keep them and myself up.

But anyway, lest this turn into a complaint session instead of an explanation, we'll leave this post topic for now. Suffice it to say that we've been busy, and I've had very little down time in which to post. I'll do my best to catch up a little over the next week.

Snow Globes and Sappy Paintings

I just got done mowing along our drive and along the road. (It took me nearly 2 hours, and that's only a fraction of necessary mowing!) I am putting off cooking dinner so that I can enjoy this beautiful fall day. I'm sitting in the screened porch watching a turkey vulture circle slowly over the upper hay field while my children are playing nearby.

The steady breeze is causing the trees to sway. It murmurs and whispers continuously through leaves and needles. When it freshens to a particularly strong gust, leaves are released in tumbling torrents. They catch the sun and flicker like oversized sparkling glitter. It is so lovely that for a moment I imagine that I am in a giant "snow globe." It is so picturesque that I think briefly of a sickeningly sweet, bucolic, mass marketed Thomas Kinkade painting. This is more perfect, more idyllic, more real. 

But this is no silent still life frozen in time behind walls of containing crystal. A pileated woodpecker is calling intermittently. The distant rooster is screeching his muted warnings to the world. The crows that continually haunt the homestead are crying raucously. Blue Jays are screaming in the distance. A plane is humming overhead. And my children's varied voices are blending into this calming cacophony.  

And this is no quaint and mawkish country scene captured in blurred and muted colors. There is brilliance, clarity, and movement everywhere. The still-green grasses are undulating and waving. The sooty ravens are slowly combing through them in ragged rows. The thin gauze-like clouds shift, stretch, and slide across the large patch of pale blue sky that is framed above the hay by the fringe of treeline. The shadows are slowly growing. My children dart here and there, spreading their excited shrieks, their suppressed giggles, and trails of kicked up and thrown leaves. Into their caps they have stuffed branches, bright with fall foliage. The leafy boughs look like fantastic antlers in the fast-fading light.

Now the leaves of maples along the fencerow are intensely illuminated like new stained glass by the last reach of the lowering sun. And I sigh as I hear my husband's truck roar up the gravel lane. Soon it comes into sight, trailing eddies of fallen leaves and billows of gravel dust. 

Perhaps I am imagining snow globes and paintings because these moments are so few, these moments when I can sit and be and think and absorb, when my children are busy and satisfied, when the world is beautiful and observable. I could use a pause button of sorts. I could bottle this up to release on those difficult, dark days. But then maybe I'd just have an insipid instant to see instead of this serene scene which I savor.

"Song of the Singing Pirates"

Here's a recording of the premiere of my oldest daughter's orchestrated composition for the IU Kids Compose Contest which was performed earlier this year. She was 7 when she wrote the melody. For background information, refer to this old blog post. Enjoy!

Follow-up Ultrasound

For those of you who read my previous post about my first ultrasound, here's a follow-up to satisfy your curiosity. I managed to keep calm until the night before my follow-up ultrasound. I admit that I had moments when I thought things like, "If this baby dies, I wonder if we'd bury him at the cemetery at the end of our road or at the cemetery where Grace is buried." But I wasn't consumed with the worry, and I wasn't continually suffering from physical symptoms of anxiety, like I was that first day.

However, being the realist I am, and following my usual proclivity to be prepared, I remembered what I had previously read about the link between choroid plexus cysts and trisomy 18 (Edward's Disease) the night before the follow-up ultrasound. Again I was shaken. The thought of delivering another child that would probably not survive birth, and if he did, probably not survive the first year, seized my heart. Reading statements in medical studies like, "It is strongly advised that genetic counselling be undertaken and amniocentesis be considered when choroid plexus cysts are identified in the fetus," were of course no comfort. 

But other information that I gleaned, while sobering, gave me hope that my fears would be relieved after this ultrasound. For example, I read: "Babies with trisomy 18 have an extra copy of chromosome 18... They have severe mental retardation and a variety of other problems including abnormalities of almost any organ system such as the heart, brain and kidneys. They have choroid plexus cysts about a third of the time.... many of the abnormalities associated with trisomy 18 can be detected by a careful ultrasound. In fact, fetuses with trisomy 18 almost always demonstrate abnormalities on ultrasound in addition to choroid plexus cysts, although some of these abnormalities can be quite subtle. If no additional abnormalities are detected by a thorough ultrasound, the likelihood the fetus has trisomy 18 is very low." 

I read that a thickened nuchal chord, club feet, curled wrists and clenched fists, cleft palates, abnormal amounts of amniotic fluid, and a slew of other things indicated trisomy 18. So I went to bed thinking that I would know something after the ultrasound, and that knowledge at this point would probably be better than the insecurity that the first scan had caused. That was not to be, however. 

I was called in for my follow-up ultrasound a few minutes early. When walking to the exam room, the technician asked, "So we're just checking the brain and placenta today, right?" 

Quickly I tried to gather my courage and wits and responded, "Actually, I was hoping that we could image some things that weren't in the first exam as well, since a lot of that time was spent visualizing the maternal lakes and the cyst." 

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. I think she actually stopped mid-step. "Like what things?" she enquired. I listed off blood flow through the heart and umbilical chord, the kidneys, fingers and toes, a facial shot, the spine, an amniotic fluid index. I trailed off. 

"We never scan those things." she replied, curtly. This woman had been the ultrasound tech for my last 3 pregnancies, and I had watched her scan all of those things previously for each of those children! I didn't know what to do with that statement. Perhaps she felt like I had accused her of not doing her job properly, but that certainly wasn't my intent. I climbed up onto the exam table. She pulled out the shelf for my legs and readied me for the transducer. Then she paused for a moment, as if in thought.

"Let me just double check your chart before we begin," she said, and exited the room for a few seconds. So there I lay, the door wide open, my burgeoning belly exposed, the protective paper over my lap. 

"Well, we saw everything we need to see, and it all looked good." she stated as she strode into the room and dimmed the lights. In my mind I completed her declaration by finishing, "Except for that cyst on his brain and the pools of blood in your placenta... and all the items that we didn't image at all." 

Right off she looked at the brain and said that she didn't see the cyst anymore. Then she looked at one of the maternal lakes and said, "These aren't big enough to worry about.... Did I tell you the gender? It's still a boy," using one of the calipers to point out the male genitalia. I did NOT know how to respond. 

That was going to be it. My mind scrambled for how to prolong this scan. "I'm sorry to be uptight," I apologized. "You see, I've had a daughter with anencephaly, so these scans make me anxious." She made some polite conversation and asked how I had found out and when, etc. I answered her nosey questions as best as I could, given my nerves and the memories that they conjured up. Then she told me that anencephaly was obvious on a scan. I tried not to sigh and plunged on. "I know that." I answered. "But I also know that I'm at increased risk for chromosomal disorders due to my age, that I have a history of birth defect and miscarriage, and that choroid plexus cysts are linked to trisomy 18. Something like trisomy 18 is what I'm worried about."    

"You can clean yourself up now." she said frowning, as she swabbed the transducer and wiped down the machine's handles. I used the protective paper she had tucked into the waistband of my pants and tried with only partial success to wipe off the copious amount of goopy ultrasound gel from my swollen abdomen. My nervous chatter continued. I told her that I had actually worked briefly for Acuson in the past, and we chit chatted about ultrasound companies and technologies. 

As I stuffed the giant wad of sticky paper into the medical waste bin she postulated, "In all my many years of performing ultrasounds, I've never seen a choroid plexus cyst that didn't resolve. I think that it's more the case that fetuses with trisomy 18 have a greater chance of having cysts than choroid plexus cysts indicate trisomy 18." I guess she was trying to comfort me. But only seeing the things that I had mentioned would comfort me. How could I trust her off-handed treatment of my very real concerns? How could I trust a woman who had misspelled my last name on the patient information screen, had my birthday off by 3 days (both digits), who asked my due date both times (even after having just checked my chart, and who showed me my son's "boy parts" again instead of letting me count his fingers?

I thanked her and numbly found my way out of the office as she called back the next patient. My mind whirled. I switched on my phone to call my husband, who had taken an hour off work to watch the kids during my exam to let him know I was through. The time on my clock was 1:05. My appt. was for 1:00. I sighed and dialed and told him that it was good news... I guess. 

All I know for sure is that the cyst is gone. I'll trust Providence to take care of the rest.  I'm not supposed to know more, I guess. Besides, there are ALWAYS unknowns and fears to face in any pregnancy. Seeing things on my son's scan would have been comforting, but still would not have guaranteed his health, a safe birth, etc. Time will tell in about 4 months anyway. So I'm trying not to be disappointed, but to be happy that it seems that the cyst on my son's brain is gone.

The Beleaguered Belly

Today I noticed a pair of women were ogling me as I was out and about. By now I am used to the rude stares people give me when I am pregnant. This is my 6th visible pregnancy after all. You see, I have a very short torso. Petite shirts fit me (as long as they are short sleeved.) There is about an inch between my rib cage and my hip bone on either side. Even when I was extremely slender I could never wear a belt comfortably, for when I sat down my ribs would pop over the belt! So when I am pregnant, I am very large. My fundal height usually remains on target, just like other women's pregnancies, but necessarily everything grows out, not up. 

Anyway, one of the staring women eventually stopped me mid-step as I was walking past her with one of my daughters by putting her hand on my pregnant belly. I had my hands full at the moment or I might have involuntarily pushed her hand away in an automatic reaction. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she demanded. 

I tried to smile politely. "A boy," I answered. She turned to the woman next to her and said, "See? I TOLD you so!" (Nothing like letting me know that not only were they rudely rubbernecking, they were also talking about me.) 

I steeled myself. The next question was inevitable, "When are you due?" she continued, in the tone of a prosecutor cross-examining. I tried to stifle my sigh and keep my smile in place. 

"January," I responded, and started to walk away. Instead of being sympathetic the women were incredulous, making noises to indicate such, as if I would lie about my due date for fun or was too stupid to get the date right. I didn't even tell them that my due date isn't until the END of January. 

"Are you sure?" the nosey lady called after me (as if there could be some mistake and I would correct myself by telling her that no, I was really due in 3 weeks.) I nodded.

"You'll never make it," she announced. I kept my self from rolling my eyes and refrained from telling her that I have been as late as 2.5 weeks in the past. Nor did I tell her that ALL of my children have been late. I also didn't tell her how many children I have given birth to, or that the smallest of my children weighed 9.5 lbs. Instead, for some reason, what came out of my mouth was that my last one was over 11 lbs. That REALLY took her by surprise, as if a hugely pregnant woman wouldn't have huge kids. You'd think that would have been her assumption, since she had never seen me before pregnancy and I didn't tell her about my short torso. I took another step away.

"C-section!" she proclaimed loudly. I had had enough.... MORE than enough. A visible pregnancy should NOT mean that everybody has the right to invade your personal space, interrupt your errands, tell you horror stories about birth, interrogate you with personal questions that were none of their business, or embarrass you in a public place. Yet this happens to me ALL- THE- TIME! People seem to feel entitled to do all these things and more.

"Nope!" I said decisively, and walked away. I had done my best to be polite. She hadn't been polite AT ALL. The daughter at my elbow did not need to hear this. I didn't need to put up with this. The people around me did not deserve to have this information either. I refused to listen to whatever else she said to my back and I realized that my face was flushing. But I gritted my teeth and moved on to the next thing. In my mind I thought of what she would have done if I had told her that all but one of my children had been born at home, and all without medication too! :) 

It's bad enough to have to deal with the physical discomforts of my pregnancies, the mental anguish of dealing with each pregnancy after having a still-birth due to birth defect, but I also get to deal with the family size comments, the insulting gawking, and the judgmental speech from others about my physical appearance when pregnant. It's amazing how rude people can be. Some have no shame. And some have no self control either, as it seems they can't keep from blurting out their thoughts and judgments in such an impertinent manner or even keep their hands to themselves. This is just another price to pay to bring a beautiful life into today's world I guess. It's definitely worth it. But it's also maddening, insulting, humiliating, tiring, and most of all-  sad.

New "Neighbors"

I tried to turn in for sleep at 11:30 tonight. At intervals I kept hearing strange noises that seemed like heavy machinery, throbbing base lines, screams, and upset horses. I live in a stone house, about a 1/4 mile off a quiet, rarely trafficked road. And there's a swath of woods between me and the road that is still in leaf. What could be making that awful din? Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I opened a door to listen. What I heard was agitated, high-pitched neighing, voices yelling, and loud, LOUD country music. 

I stood around for a while. Maybe whoever bought the land next to us after it was logged was making a late night drop-off of horses. That's where the noises seemed to be coming from. There's no habitable dwelling for people on that parcel, but there are a few barns near the road. But the hubbub didn't subside, and the horses didn't calm. No, that wasn't it. And I couldn't tell, were the upset horse noises coming from near the road on the property next door or were they from the horses already pastured across the road? Besides the noises didn't sound like the call-and-answer sort of yelling people do while working. 

I slipped on my shoes and took a brisk walk under a full moon down our long, gravel drive to investigate. The midwife had asked me to exercise more just this past week, and I hadn't fit in in yet, after all. I startled some deer and a couple birds into flight. I heard the dogs howling. As I watched my shadow falling in front of me in the bright moonlight, the roving coyote crossed my mind. It was a perfect night for hunting.

There are 2 treed and overgrown fencerows between our property and the next because an access road to the classified forrest behind our land runs between them. So I couldn't see anything on the neighboring land. But I did determine that no one was having trouble with horses. The anxious horses were complaining from across the road. 

My guess, based on the noises, is that a group of people are having a bonfire, yelling conversation, and playing a country radio station at an unreasonably high and improbable volume over there. I suppose the owners are camping and invited some friends to join them. Last week someone was over there zipping up and down the property line on loud ATVs at weird hours, so I knew something was afoot. Sigh. 

I had gotten used to the lack of human noises out here. I hope that our new and apparently inconsiderate "neighbors" don't make a habit of this. I also hope that they drink enough to get sleepy soon. It's one in the morning, and I don't need any help staying up to all hours. I'm an insomniac without any assistance. And the mosquito bites I just got aren't going to help me sleep either.  

Sophia

This acrostic name poem is in tribute to Greg Travis, and in honor of his late wife, Sophia. I hope that it brings him comfort and accurately reflects Sophia's attributes.

Soft-spoken, strong, sensitive, social, skillful, supportive, smart, successful, strategic, special, sweet, stylish, songwriter, speaker

Original, outspoken, obliging, open, outstanding, optimist

Passionate, progressive, principled, playful, positive, political, pianist, partner, parent

Hospitable, honorable, hopeful, happy, helpful, honest, harmonious, Hoosier

Inspiring, involved, influential, independent, industrious, individual

Adorable, authentic, Asian, advocate, artist, accordionist, activist, anchor

Horse Trading

Friday was as eventful as usual. I got a call in the early morning from the mother-in-law of the man whose cows are (or as it stands now, were) grazing on our land. She said that Cy (or Charlie, as my husband calls him) was loose on the road again. She said he was running up and down and causing problems for motorists... and did I know the name and number of his owners. I had to confess to her that no, I did not know their names or have their number. (I related how that came about in a previous post.) She seemed disgusted. But maybe my guilty self was reading into things. I described to her where their house was though, told her I'd inform my husband about the horse, and hung up. 

So I told my husband, who was in the shower. (He had returned from a business trip to California in the middle of the night and was struggling to get ready for work.) Then I grabbed a bag of carrots, rounded up my 2 boys and drove to the end of our drive. (The older one could help, maybe, I thought. And the younger one couldn't be left alone in the house with Dad in the shower.) 

A sport utility vehicle was parked at the end of the drive. And there was the horse with a kind-hearted blonde lady who was feeding him grain from a margarine tub. He looked in bad shape. He was muddy, had burrs in his mane and tail, and embedded in his halter. She said the sheriff's "horse man" was on the way. She described how the horse had been rearing and was really skittish. I thought perhaps by way of apology, for she seemed to think that the horse was mine. 

Again I told the story of his frequent escapes, described again where the owners lived, and how I did not know their names or have their numbers. Sigh. While we talked, the Sheriff's man, Terry, showed up. He seemed to have been routed out of bed. He wore shorts on a morning in the 40's and had a flannel thrown over his undershirt. He seemed pretty grumpy. Again, I recounted that the horse was not mine. We all stood there looking at one another. They looked at me expectantly. So I offered a stall to hold him in. 

They seemed relieved and turned to go! My boys were in the van in the drive and I am a visibly pregnant woman that knows nothing of handling horses, especially one that had been running up and down the road "playing chicken" with cars. "Could you help walk him to the barn, please?" I asked. I apologetically pointed out my protruding belly and such. They resignedly acquiesced. 

But the going was rough. Cy wore a halter, but he wasn't cooperative. He tossed his head and resisted while she tried to lead him and Terry smacked his rump with a newspaper. They said they needed a lead. Luckily my husband arrived shortly thereafter with one. So Cy made it safely to our barn... again. Terry made sure to let us know to keep the goats away from him, as he was libel to hurt them, given his mood.

I tried to talk to the good samaritans after Cy was safely stabled. But they had no desire to talk and hurried back down the drive. I asked them what could be done since he kept getting out. I figured someone affiliated with the sheriff's office would know. He called over his shoulder something along the lines of, "I'd say it's time you learned about horses!"

And she called back something like, "My first horse was a dumped horse too!"

"Thanks for your help!" I called after them, and then they were gone. 

On the way into the house I realized that in the fluster of a stamping horse and such I had again failed to do proper introductions. And I also realized that I should have offered them a ride back down the long drive, that they were probably late for work. And then I thought, "I thanked them for saddling me with a horse."

I was fully resigned to keep Cy/Charlie this time, at least until I could locate new owners. I figured the third time was the proverbial charm, after all. After my research during his first visit here, I knew that there was no outlet for horses like him, and I knew I wouldn't be driving over to his owners to pressure them to come and get him, not after the scruples I had the last time I handed him over to them. I also doubted they would come looking for him. Besides, if they didn't have farm insurance (and odds are good that they don't) and a car struck the horse, they would be liable. So not only were they probably struggling to feed him and make their ends meet, they were probably risking being sued for damages every time he got out too.

I also figured that if I wouldn't take him, the sheriffs had no outlet for caring for him. They couldn't just impound him like a car to auction off at year's end. Most likely one of the sheriff's marshals would just euthanize him and sell the meat to a rendering plant if he was abandoned by his owners and no one stepped up to care for him. I couldn't sentence Cy/Charlie to that. So really, assuming ownership of the horse was an act of charity, I told myself. And as luck would have it, one of my home education listservs had just advertised an equine education course for "home schoolers."

Later in the day, after feeding all my kids lunch, I was finally sitting down to lunch myself when a honk sounded outside. The honking continued until I headed outside. My neighbor, son-in-law of the woman who had started the whole horse brouhaha this  morning, was leaning out of his truck. (He has emphysema and presumably didn't want to get out of his truck, but I was still a bit irked. I thought, "why didn't you just call?!") He informed me that the cows had just gotten out again and that since it was so close to our agreed cut-off date, that he took them back to his pastures. So it seemed we had traded cattle for a horse.

As I prepared dinner later that same day (a late dinner, as we had been out with the goats and moving fire wood to a rack near the house) Cy's owners drove up. It seems the sheriff had notified them of their horse's whereabouts and they felt obliged to come get him. My husband headed out. I thought he was going to offer to buy the horse or something, given our previous conversations. But he only turned over the horse and came in with their phone numbers. (And we still don't know their names. What is our problem, anyway? :) But who knows! He may be back again some day.... for good.

It Rains

We've had a little rain in the last month and things are green again. It's amazing how resilient grass is! The trees still look bedraggled, and we may lose some poplars, but the cows are happier. They have been content to graze on our land now that things are juicy, so we've had no more escapee incidents. Their ribs are still showing, but hopefully they'll fill out fast. 

Because of the rain, the summer-long burn ban was lifted just in time for an impromptu camping visit from my in-laws. Camping without a bonfire seems wrong after all. We had a violent thunderstorm the first night, but the second night it cleared up for the tent camping crowd. The weather couldn't have been more pleasant for fishing, picnics and such that day.

It's raining again today. A steady, straight rain... windless, peaceful. There is no thunder, just the soft striking of drops of water on the surface of everything, just the pattering of droplets in the guttering. It is fitting.

My husband called me from California this morning. He's been gone since early Sunday morning. He informed me that he missed his flight. His alarm went off, but he was so tired he slept through it for over an hour before it finally woke him. So now he'll be returning in the middle of the night instead of at the children's bedtime. But really, that was the good news- that he got to sleep in.

Because... he also informed me that the wife of a work acquaintance of his had died suddenly last night. She'd been undergoing tests since January for flu-like symptoms, but was as yet still undiagnosed. In fact, the "most scary options", as she put it, had been ruled out already. It did seem that she had a heart condition, but she didn't make it to the appointment with the specialist. He found her collapsed next to her bed. She is dead at 46, and leaves behind a beautiful 4 year old son, along with her husband and many friends. Having been a musician and a politician, many were touched by her life. 

I was one of those people. Her death is a heavy burden on my heart. I can't say that I was a close friend. I can't even claim that I was really a friend of hers at all. We simply knew each other. She passed my old house in our little community's annual parade and called out her personal greetings. Her husband even came to a party at that house once. She and her spouse had sent me "friend requests" on Facebook, so we knew what was going on in each others' lives to some degree, posting comments on each others' status updates sometimes. 

I ache for her small son, for her already burdened husband, for the trail of heartache she leaves behind. I pine for a life cut short. 

I am also sobered by the abruptness of her death. Too many of my peers have died or had health problems lately- addiction/psychological problems too. I've reached that period in life where the deaths of my contemporaries are not from freakish tragedies, but rather from our failing bodies, our susceptibilities. Who will be next, which friend, which loved one?

I find my mind now scurries down those rabbit trails of thought that tempt us after tragedy. What if my husband never comes home? What if his stressful job and long hours contribute to a stroke or heart attack? Merely imagining his loss causes great anguish and anxiety. He encompasses my entire adult life. I really can't imagine my life without him. For over 15 years he has been my all.

And then there's the practical side of survival without him. How would I support 5 kids? What would I do about their education? How would I pay off the house, the car? How would I navigate my children through their pain while dealing with my own? (Yes, I know... life insurance. Well, it's been in the works for some time, but isn't yet completed. It's difficult to schedule a physical when you're as busy as he is. And even with life insurance, it would still be terribly difficult.) 

A father is a rock on which a family is built. My kids behave differently just knowing my husband is in the house. They behave better. It's not because he is a great disciplinarian. It's because they know he loves them. They are comforted and feel secure just knowing that Daddy's home. When he's gone, none of us are quite ourselves. And they take his absence out on me.

Or what if I die? What if my "milk of calcium stone" causes renal failure? What if my high cholesterol causes a stroke or aneurism? What if I die in childbirth? What would become of my children? I guess everything that I do can be done by someone else. My husband could pay for childcare, enroll my kids in school, hire a cook and maid, take the laundry to the cleaners. And if their needs were met by someone else, would my children even miss me or remember me? They don't seem to have much thought for me now. That's what moms are for, to take care of you. You take them for granted. A mother's love does not demand reciprocation. Thirteen years of interrupted sleep, nursing children around the clock, changing diapers, preparing and cleaning up from meals 3 times a day, an endless string of laundry, the endless cleaning up, the never-ending preparation, administration, and evaluation involved in their education... I lead a hidden life for my family. Because of that, I don't have a large circle of friends. I don't have the time to! Those touched by my death would be few. Does that matter to me? 

What about my husband? How would he be affected? Like I said, what I do for he and the kids could be done by someone else. He spends most of his time at work, working from home, or lost in thought about work. He doesn't have much time to think of me now. He wouldn't have much time to think of me if I was gone. Would it only hit him in the morning rush or in the evenings when there was no one to listen to the daily run-down, no one to get the kids ready for and into their beds, no one to warm the bed next to him? It's a sad thought, but not terribly unrealistic. Besides, he could remarry. He's got a successful career, is a good financial provider, has many qualities appealing to marriage-minded women who love children. And he has all his hair! :) 

When a college friend died earlier this year, I pondered death a fair deal. I still agree with my previous thoughts on life that were included in a blog post I wrote after his funeral, but I no longer have the same aspirations for my own. I knew at the time that I had unreasonably ambitious desires and I said as much. I also said, "I hope that when my 'time' comes, I will have touched as many people as he has. I hope that I will leave a trail of lives touched by love. I hope that love echoes and reverberates long after my life, not so that I am remembered, but so that there is more love and less pain in these difficult, beautiful lives that we lead." 

While I would still love to lessen pain and spread love to many beautiful lives in this world- and think that a noble desire, today it seems to me that my echoes and reverberations will simply amount to a ripple. I am too small and insignificant to reach as far as I would like. It seems that there will be no "trail of lives" that I leave, just a family that grieves. I am one who will probably slip silently and nearly invisibly into the afterlife. And I'm learning to deal with that. 

It is humbling to think that I am replaceable, that my passing on would affect so few. But it's prideful to care I guess. Do I really want to leave a trail of grief behind me when I go anyway? Maybe it's better to sink secretly away, unnoticed after all. 

However, if the net of love I cast can't be wide, I hope that it is at least deep. And I hope that I don't spread any hatred, vindictiveness, or malice inside or outside of my little circle. Let my life instead be full of steadfast dedication, compassion, unselfishness, prudence, fortitude, and forgiveness. Succumbing to a small, deep pool of that would be nothing to be ashamed of. Even that is ambitious I guess. But as that line in the Patty Griffin song goes, "It's a mad mission, but I got the ambition."

Cattle Prattle

As I've mentioned in previous posts about the cattle, the cows are picturesque from a distance. They fit in here. When they saunter along the crest of the rise, the sun filtering through the trees and making seas of sunlight on the grasses that they slowly swish through, they are lovely. When their sweet, earthly smell drifts through the window from afar, and the faint lowing lies like a backdrop to my day, I enjoy them. 

the daily late-afternoon nap

When the near-ceaseless crunch of their grass cropping leaves meandering paths through the dew-drenched grass, it seems wholesome and quaint. When driving down our long lane I spy them standing in the pond to their shoulders, they seem silly and sweet. When I notice a cow nuzzling her calf or see the backs of slumbering cattle dotting the field, I smile. When they butt each other, tussle, and jockey- they seem endearingly puerile.

the youngest calf

But when I have a close encounter with the cows, my nose crinkles with distaste. They are muddy. They are bug-ridden and swarmed by flying insects. They lick their nostrils, sling saliva at pesky bugs, tear grasses to toss onto their backs in an attempt to chase the countless creep-crawlies away. They scratch their heads and necks with their hind hooves, in the undignified style of dogs. Their coats are matted, stiff, riddled with burrs and bugs. They drool vast quantities seemingly near-continuously. They drop sloppy, splattering piles of poop that are a breeding ground for thousands of flies, not to mention a stinky eyesore and walking hazard. Such is the life of a beef cow.

The First Ultrasound

Last spring my (then) 2 year-old was praying nightly for a "girl baby for my birthday." As providence would have it, I confirmed my current pregnancy shortly before his birthday. I've felt that this baby was a boy. My intuition had served me well in past pregnancies concerning gender. But I figured that if my son got the baby he prayed for, he may have gotten the gender too, so I doubted myself. Whatever the case, we had purchased 2 doelings shortly before his birthday, so he had 2 female babies of the goat variety for his birthday at least.

Last Wednesday I received the first ultrasound scan of this pregnancy. I had a blood draw scheduled after the ultrasound, and only 15 minutes was allotted for the scan. That's standard practice at my OB. The ultrasound tech only comes in one afternoon a week, and they schedule her tightly. I've never had an ultrasound longer than 10 minutes. My husband missed attending one once because he got delayed for a few minutes at work. They even have signs up in the office saying that if you are more than 10 minutes late for an ultrasound you have to reschedule, as there isn't enough time to get you in before the next patient. So I shouldn't have been surprised when our ultrasound lasted only about 8 minutes. And I wasn't I guess, but I couldn't help being disappointed. 

Never before have I had an exam where toes and fingers weren't visualize, kidneys weren't inspected, the palate wasn't looked at, the nuchal cord wasn't examined, a frontal facial shot wasn't done, blood flow through the cord and heart wasn't watched, an amniotic fluid index didn't take place, etc. During the exam, the technician pointed out to me a cyst on the baby's brain, saying that they often resolve themselves. She also used the doppler to look at my placenta in a way that I hadn't witnessed before, but I couldn't tell what she was seeing.

Then, after confirming that we wanted to know the gender, our tech informed us that I was carrying a boy. My youngest was with us, and immediately he cried out softly in anguish that he didn't want a boy, "I want a girl baby." But I smiled. He'll benefit from a same-gender playmate, seeing as his 2 older siblings are girls and his brother is 13 years older than he is.

I left the short exam without being comforted and with questions. I almost wished that I had opted not to have a scan. My husband just seemed relieved that there was no indication of the same birth defect that caused our first daughter's death. I was stewing over the cyst and the placenta thing, and figured that since she had spent time inspecting the cyst in my son's brain and the blood flow in my placenta, that she had taken up the time she usually would have spent imaging the things I mentioned earlier.

Six days later, a nurse from my doctor's office called to inform me that the doctor had reviewed my ultrasound.  "Everything looks good except that the baby has a cyst on the brain. Did the tech mention that?" she asked. I responded yes. Then she said, "Oh, and you have maternal lakes." She didn't offer an explanation, so I asked her what they are- just to be sure. She said, "pools of fluid in the placenta." Then she went on to say that I'm to come back in 4 weeks for a follow-up ultrasound to monitor both of these things. No more information... no nothing. I was immediately transferred to scheduling. Sigh.

Having worked for Acuson, and having been pregnant 7 times in the last 13.5 years, I know a little about ultrasounds. I know that placental lakes are pockets of (usually) maternal blood in the placenta. They can mean poor blood flow to the child (impeding growth) or the increased likelihood of postpartum hemorrhage. They can mean nothing. I've even had a maternal lake in the past with no negative outcome. In fact, my kids have been huge. (My last one was over 11 lbs. when he was born!) Like the cyst (which I think is choroid plexus) placental lakes sometimes just self-resolve.

However, I also know that cysts in the fetal brain are thought by some to be "soft markers" for chromosomal disorders such as Trisomy 18. So the phrase, "everything looks good except..." when so many things (including other soft markers) weren't imaged is insanely frustrating. (Several soft markers increase the odds of a chromosomal disorder.) You see, Trisomy 18 is often fatal, and so my peace has been shattered. My hormonal pregnant self is succumbing to worry, despite my best efforts and my rational mind knowing that I shouldn't.  I have a lot of emotional baggage from a past miscarriage, as well as a still birth. And I have felt extra rotten during this pregnancy. I'm sure that doesn't help.

(FYI: I turned down the quadruple screen as it in not a definitive diagnosis and often causes unnecessary worry. The only real diagnosis is via amniocentesis. I'm not interested in that. For one thing, it substantially increases your risk of miscarriage. For another, a woman I used to work with told me about a disturbing thing that she witnessed as it occurred during her amnio. As everyone watched the monitor of the ultrasound machine, her pre-born daughter reached up and grabbed the needle shortly after it was inserted! Everyone in the room gasped and then held their breath until she let go and the needle was quickly removed. If her arm had been but a little bit off, she may have damaged or lost her hand, etc. Besides, I would never abort an "imperfect" baby. And what good would the knowledge of an untreatable chromosomal disorder like Down's Syndrome do me before birth? It would just hang like a pall over the rest of the pregnancy.)

Anyway, my littlest is now cool with a baby brother. My sweet, sweet nephew just spent the weekend with us, and my youngest son was smitten. Now he thinks that we should name the baby with the same name we gave him. I think it's because he wants to share his personalized baby blanket with him. That's pretty endearing. But in the mean time, our newest son's in utero name is still Zebo. :) 

Charlie, Suzie and Zebo

Charlie/Cy, the lost horse from previous posts whom we returned to his owners (Horsin' Around, Gift Horse, Sorry, Charlie!) was sighted last Friday. My husband was heading out the door on his way to work when one of our neighbors drove up in his pick-up. He was here on business, but while here mentioned that the horse was loose on the road and that several people had stopped at his place to ask if it was his. 

So my husband headed out to see if he could round him up. He saw him run off into the woods, but being dressed for work and already running late, he gave up the search and headed to his office, er... cubicle, er... workspace... okay, desk. Sigh. 

After hearing that he had run off and was still loose, I loaded up my kiddos in the family van (along with a bag of carrots for bait) and we did a driving survey. Two of my kids thought they spotted him in the open space of the neighboring land. But when we turned around, there was a man with a compact car parked on the property, and hopefully he was after the horse. (It wasn't the man who came to my door for the horse though.) We felt we had fulfilled our obligation and that the horse was probably taken care of, so we returned home.

It was awfully fast for Charlie/Cy to have escaped again. I'm thinking we'll be seeing him in the future. Our place is nearly entirely fenced, so he'd have had a hard time getting here unless he came down the looooong drive or through the woods directly behind the house. He was already very close though, and far from his home. His location seems too coincidental.

That's the good news I guess, compared to my next bit of news. One of our young goats is dead. She somehow managed to clamber onto the hay feeder yesterday and get her head stuck in the bars that hold in the hay. She must have panicked and kicked her body over the side, for she was hanging by her broken neck when she was found. And... the kids found her during a game of hide-and-seek. Sigh. 

Her name was Suzie Cubed, a play on words as a nod to her lineage. (Although it frustrated my son, as it was not mathematically correct.) Her dam was named Suzie 2, and her grand dam was named Suzie. Of course she was the favorite of our two doelings. She was pure white. She wasn't a jumper. She was calm and was gentle. She would have made a great milker, had she lived long enough.

That's one of the things about rural/farm life. Out here you can't seem to escape death. There's always a dead critter to pass on the road, a feral cat trying to sneak inside that gets inadvertently trapped under a garage door, an animal that becomes sick and dies, is attacked by a predator or which is slaughtered for food, someone whose tractor rolls or whose farm machinery does him in. Some would view this as a draw-back to life "in the sticks." While I admit that it is definitely difficult and unpleasant, I think that, in general, it is a good thing. It helps us to cope with reality. It keeps us grounded. It makes us grateful. 

My husband may not feel the same way at the moment. He had the dubious honor of extracting Suzie and burying her. That's tough.

But overall, I think that the endless string of "little" deaths out here, the exposure to the reality that all life is limited, helps us to deal with our own mortality. Knowing that we and those we love aren't going to live forever causes us to live more purposefully. It causes us to be more appreciative of every day that we're alive, every day that get we spend with those we love. It puts into perspective our gripes and complaints, and life's other difficulties.

I'm not immune to the sorrow or the difficulty of facing death. I'm not even saying it gets easier to face. But another way to look at it is this. The dead animal on the road feeds the turkey vultures (as I saw today on the way home from the docs.) The the stray cat that loses its life means that the mice, songbirds, and other small creatures live. Even the animal who sickens and dies feeds wee beasties and enriches the soil for future plants. Do you see where I'm coming from?

Faced with sudden death without preparation, it seems senseless. But faced with a pattern of death and re-birth from a young age, death can just be viewed as a part of life. After all, isn't that one of the many reasons why life is valuable? Our life here on Earth doesn't last forever. If we did it would probably be just be one more thing we took for granted. And as much as we hate that living things die- especially humans (sometimes seemingly needlessly, before their time, or in horrible ways) their death makes room for new life. And to folks like me, it means more kith and kin to intercede for us from the other side. To use a trite and Disney-fied phrase, it's the "circle of life."

Oh yeah, maybe now is a good time to mention that I found out today at the first ultrasound of this pregnancy that the baby I am carrying is a boy (whom my 3 year old son wants to name Zebo!) Having previously suffered through a miscarriage, as well as having given birth to a stillborn daughter whose birth defect was incompatible with life outside the womb, I can say that those deaths certainly make me value the gift of my fertility and the lives of my children more than I probably would have otherwise. The depths of sorrow can serve to heighten our joy... if we put it all into perspective. 

Sunny Beaches!

Vacation was lovely. It wasn't as laid back and relaxing as I would have liked, but with 4 kids (one of them 3 yrs. old) how laid back and relaxed could it be, right? Besides, nearly everything is hard for me right now. I am a miserable pregnant woman after all. I also suffered from an ear problem that made me feel ill while away. But all in all, it couldn't have gone better!

And partly it was the run up to vacation that was hard to recover from and which set the tone for the following week of vacation. As you may remember from my last post, we were busy the week preceding our travels. We bought a new mini-van in a town far away, got an auto loan, installed guttering and downspouts on the pole barn, fixed the garage door opener, got new living room furniture, prepared for a new school year, hunted for escapee cattle, attended a Holy Day Mass, arranged for a farm insurance policy instead of a homeowners policy, changed insurance providers, returned library books, took garbage and recycling to the drop-off location, and packed and planned for vacation- among other things- the week before we left.

(Disclaimer: I neglected to pack my camera cable, so I have no pictures from this year, as it was needed to recharge the camera battery that had drained. You get to enjoy a few pics from a previous vacation at the same location.)

We rented a cottage on glorious Lake Michigan, with its sugar-sand beaches, stunning sunsets, wind, wildlife, and waves. We had a blast in the water jumping waves, riding floats, and paddling. We constructed things in the sand. We took wave-side walks along the empty beach. We flew our giant kite, even playing tag with it and using it to kite-surf (pull a rider on a float across the water.) We waved at the pilot of the pontoon plane that did low fly-overs. We read books for pleasure. We went to sleep with the sound of waves in our ears. We reveled in the lake breezes whisking through the screened patio doors. We could even see the lake from the kitchen table!

Then there was the food! We stopped at a natural foods market on the way in, and made most of our meals. But we also ate ice cream. We ordered take-out pizza. We ate fresh, organic, local blueberries. We grilled out. We dined out next to the water for lunch one day. We picnicked on the cottage's patio overlooking the beach. We made s'mores the night before we left.

There was also our sight-seeing excursions. We walked the harbor front and pier to the light house. We witnessed a magnificent moon-set. And we stayed for the giant musical fountain performance. We raced go-karts. (I didn't, obviously.) We visited the Holland Museum and the historic Capon House and Settler's Houses. We toured the USS Silversides submarine. They even started 2 of the 4 diesel motors while we were aboard- a rare (and noisey/smokey) treat! We also toured the associated museum and a prohibition-era Coast Guard Cutter. 

And of course there was the fauna. We saw 3 different kinds of mantis, 3 different types of squirrel, hummingbirds, bats, butterflies, a wild swan, migrating geese, deer, and of course sea gulls. They are fun to feed. How blessed we are!

But now we're back to the "real world." This week isn't much less busy. I started things off on Sunday (our first day back) by spending 5.5 hrs. at PromptCare for my ear after Mass, and then followed that with grocery shopping. A correction to our loan paperwork was needed Monday. I had a visit with the midwife. My oldest daughter tried out for IU's Allegro Choir (and made it!) A video needed to be returned to the library. The girls needed to be registered for choir. Normal things needed done like bills needed to be paid, laundry and dishes needed washed, etc. (Keep in mind we're 45 minutes from where all of the errands were.)

And tomorrow our mattresses are being delivered. I have an OB appt. Choir rehearsals start. I also have some things left to unpack from vacation. Violin lessons need to be set up. And then there's school, etc.!

Oh, and the cows are still here, in case you wondered. (Here they are at "nap time.") They are picturesque from a distance. But they are mucking up our camping spot, and are not staying off the dam. I suppose we had better rope that off soon.