drip, drip, drip

     Four kids in the woods with papa and I on Friday.  About 25 trees tapped, some with two spiles, which makes about 35 pails hanging from maple trees, collecting sap that drips in.  Drip, drip, drip, clear, sweet sap.  The free abundance offered from our great mother quietly, softly, lovingly offered.  'You may share this with the trees my dear people, please receive what you will use and enjoy, it is for all of us here.'  Thank you, yes, yes I will receive what you offer dear mother.  We have a lovely family, don’t we?

Next day early morning as mother has been turning towards grand sun, snow still covers the ground.  Temperatures suggest that dripping may have accumulated in pails.  As the child takes first morning stretches still in bed, I invite the dogs and we walk out to the woods together.  Feeling eager to peek in a pail, lift the lid and take a look.  In the short time since holes were drilled into woody flesh and generously received a tap, tap, tap, what have you offered us?  Its so fun to peek into the pails, like Christmas morning glory of opening presents and celebrating surprises.  

Oh my, well this first pail tells of great things and the collecting buckets are gathered.  So begins the long, slow trudging through the fairly deep, very heavy snow.  Each tree is visited, some holding one pail and others hold two, all holding sap on this beautiful morning.  Remove the lid, lift pail off spile and pour into collecting bucket as sap continues its drip, drip, drip onto the ground.  Replace pail and lid then mindfully lift buckets as their weight builds from the sweet gift they now hold.  Walk slowly over uneven ground to large silver milk cans ready and waiting to hold the harvest, eager to play in the woods, their fun change from holding milk for cheese in the basement.  They are the lucky cans.  

All trees east of the fire pit visited, now heading off to the west.  Carrying light, empty buckets, walk past many pails to far north west tree and begin collecting.  Heading east back towards the fire pit, buckets get heavier and my heart soars with gratitude.  Appreciate the trees, the beautiful weather, my strong, comfortable body, the fire and sugar that will come soon.  

All trees visited, pails emptied, and now seven cans hold thirty-five gallons of maple sap.  Wa-hoo!!!  What a first day!

    Papa and child start the fire around 1 pm, after chores are done and mama has been off visiting friends.  I return to the woods about 3:30, grateful to see a cloud of steam rising from two pans over a roaring fire.   Grateful to find a peaceful scene, happy child, contented papa checking the depth of sap remaining in pans.  Again I walk, filling buckets with sap that has drip, drip, dripped since this morning.  Now cans hold fifteen gallons for next day’s boil.  

This day’s thirty-five gallons is boiled down to ten gallons and hauled back to the house as the earth turns away from the sun, gently ending our glorious day.  Cook stove fire started and built to roaring.  Sap poured into five pots and crocks that absorb heat from the fire and move the sap’s water up and away for us to breathe as sweet, humid air.  Evening chores completed, sleeping clothes on, books read, and snuggles in the bed end this marvelous, sugar sweet day.  

Lice

January 10, 2021 following at least a week, maybe more, of mateo scratching his head, I checked and found adult lice.  I had also been itchy and found lice on myself.  I had been in gentle denial, even sort of pushing mateo to eat butter to treat what I hoped was typical winter dry scalp.  I vaguely remembered our town-friend that visits the farm regularly mentioning that she had lice in the relatively recent past, but who knows and it doesn't matter to me.  

That was a Sunday evening and the laundry began that night with tater and I sleeping in an entirely different bed and room.  I made the decision at that time not to tell my dear church family.  (God forgive me if that was wrong.)  I was desperately hoping “out of sight, out of mind”, if they didn’t know, they wouldn’t look for it and they wouldn’t get it.  I didn’t want anyone to get it from us.

That Sunday evening as the washing machine ran, I drove to the dollar store and paid $8 for two special combs (it was all they had and it was a kit including the chemical wash which I threw in the garbage).  Housemate researched essential oils and lined up on the table what bottles we had.  We had nearly every one recommended to treat Lice.  I made an olive oil, essential oil mixture and covered mateo’s head in it.  Can’t remember if I wrapped him in plastic that night, but I think I did, for sleep.  Then I got my sharpest scissors and cut off my hair, short.  Next morning I spread it in the garden.  I love my hair and was grateful it would grown back.

The next day, Monday, I called and spoke extensively with two friends who had personal experience with Lice, one of whom was a school teacher and had dealt with nearly hundreds of parents and families around this issue.  That friend also happens to be a “potion maker” and immediately, generously offered to make us a special “smothering oil”.  Mateo and I drove to her house on Tuesday, day 2, to get the oil plus two spay bottles of different oils that kill the adult critters.  By that time mateo had agreed to cut some of his hair which made it easier for me to emotionally handle the combing.  I did not want him to cut all his hair, as I had cut mine, and he agreed.  

By Thursday, day 4, I felt confident we were clear of the adult bugs and I had been doing laundry every day along with a deep cleaning of the large room where we had been sleeping, and diligently keeping outerwear outside in the conveniently cold, dry weather. (Pillows, blankets, stuffed bear, and chair cushion all in the car and large basket full of coats, hats, scarves, and hairbrush  out on the deck, safe from animals looking for a cozy nest.) I felt like I had done the best I could with my and mateo’s personal things.  I made the decision for mateo and I to attend a craft day at a person’s house we had never met before.  It was a wonderful, ongoing opportunity to join a Waldorf community of people and I didn’t want to miss.  Mateo and I both wore cute, new head coverings, hair soaking in oil, and I said nothing to our new friend.  I selfishly hoped that if they didn’t know, they wouldn’t get it.  (At 5 weeks, truth is out, and after inspection, the mama reports her and three children show no signs of Lice, praise God).   

I continued with the laundry and the oil and sporadic combing.  I did find and remove nits from mateo’s head, none from mine.  I was not combing thoroughly.  The friends I had spoken to described the combing process that needed to happen to find and remove all the nits and I was not doing that.  I was casually combing at best.  I don’t remember exactly but around week two, the housemate was itching and he discovered adult Lice on his own head.  I believe he started using the oil and sprays.   After several days, he cut his gorgeous, thick, shoulder length hair fairly short, leaving the long facial hair intact.  He did not do any laundry or keep any of his clothes outside in the cold.  He also told the child that the lice came from the child playing in the chicken coop.  

Sunday February 14th, 5 weeks later, I again found adults on Mateo’s head. I immediately stared laundry and put things out in the cold again.  I called my friend again and spoke specifically about the combing I had not been keeping up with.  I learned that I could get better, different combs.  Next day, after mateo’s and my first day of homeschool together, I drove 34 miles round trip to purchase the combs.  I spoke to the housemate about my perception of his lack of participation in the lice treatment.  After my comments, he put his bedding outside for 8 hours the next day. That’s it.  I heard housemate, the child’s father, telling him that he, the child, got lice because he eats too many sweets.

On the 18th I found four nits on mateo and was really frustrated with the combing.  My friend agreed to come the following day to comb us both.  I put all of housemate’s bedding outside and made up his bed with fresh, clear bedding.  I put his chore clothes outside and did a load of laundry with some of his clothes that were lying around.  I told him what I had done and that my friend was coming next day to comb, the school teacher with loads of experience, the one who had made us the wonderful oil and sprays.  I suggested he be present for her visit.  He replied defensively, telling me that I was being vindictive and that I was confused.  I held my tongue, which was amazing.

Later that evening as mateo and I were getting ready for bed, I felt the gentle inspiration to shave my head clean.  After mateo fell asleep, I sat in the bathroom with an entire pack of new razors that housemate had from years ago, before his beard grew out.  A few passes with one of the razors showed that my hair was too long, so I got my super sharp scissors and cut the hair as short as I could without cutting my scalp.  It was scary.  Then I tried again with the razors.  No go.  It just didn’t work.  I used to shave my legs so I had imagined it would be easy to shave my head.  Nope.  Then I felt clear inspiration to take mateo to the barber shop and have BOTH our heads shaved.  Yes.  That felt clear, easy.  Done.  Then we’d be done.  By this time I had contacted 2 other friends, so a total of four different families had shared their lice experiences with me.  I felt I had enough valid information to make good decisions about treating the lice.  I wanted to be done.  I am not willing to comb.  There is no one to comb me every day and I will not put mateo through the combing, knowing that we are sharing space with someone who is not participating in the treatment process.  

So we went to the barber.  It was fun and we took pictures and went out to eat and bought new toys at the thrift store and now we’re done.  Now I can focus on laundry and cleaning without being terrified that there are nits in our hair just waiting to hatch.  We don’t have any hair.  YAY!  

  (I know we could get it from housemate again and I’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it.  For now, I’m done.)  

Rooster

 Rooster gotta go

     The oldest rooster, he stays.  He was hatched out here by one of our lovely hens and then snatched away by me to be raised in a card board box in the house.  Daily I would put him and a few other chicks in a cage in the yard so they could be safe from cats and feel the sun on their heads and the earth under their feet.  That’s how I used to “do it”, raise chicks.  Now I step back and watch how the hens “do it”.  Anyway, that old rooster, The Rooster, he’s at least five years old, so handsome.  He stays.

     Red rooster gotta go.  He was also hatched out by one of the hens but was then raised by her, with other chicks, running wild and free on the farm.  Red will be three years old this summer.  He is a handsome fellow.  Soon after Red's long, fancy tail feather grew in, and his full crow, he was properly schooled by The Rooster.  Red was not a full year old when this happened.  The Rooster let him know, on no uncertain terms, that Red was an “extra”.  This flock of big, fluffy hens belonged to The Rooster and Red could find his place outside of The Rooster’s range.  Red is a rooster so he acted like one, for a minute.  He kicked his feet forward at The Rooster, aiming his big, sharp spikes at the old guy.  They beat wings and squawked and earnestly tried to kill each other.  The Rooster only has one spike left but he still put Red in his place.  It was a fantastic display of normal rooster behavior.  I love observing the animals in their natural habitat.  They were out in the open, free to roam anywhere on mother earth, so I felt it was a fair fight.  I broke things up once with a broom, just because I was still learning about what normal is for a rooster.  I have watched different roosters fight to the death and I didn’t like it.  I see now the conditions were different for that fight.  This fight was fair because of the age difference and because they had both been raised here on this farm.  No one was defending their territory from an unknown, outside invader.  I imagine The Rooster had observed this young Red growing up and knew what would happen long before I happened to notice a conversation between the two of them.  Oh I love watching the animals.  So bottom line, Red learned his place and has been happily a part of the flock ever since.

     The flock has evolved.  Now, Red gotta go.  

      Black chicken hatched out two chicks and raised them up well.  They are both sort of a creamy white.  They are not white.  There are white chickens in our flock and they are from the store.  I would describe them as aggressive, towards other chickens and towards cats.  Over the years there have been people that lived here, started a little flock of chickens, then moved on, leaving the birds.  So our flock does have some store chickens.  I think black chicken was a store chicken and she still hatched some eggs, that turned out to be cream, not white, chicks.  One of these has now declared himself a rooster with his long tail feather and long, draping neck feathers.  He goes.

    There is a two year old rooster that is generally white but has fantastic decorations on his back and wings.  There are many different colors adorning those feathers and I would describe this rooster as magnificent. He stays.  But the black chick that was hatched out last spring, he goes.  The tail feather and neck feathers have become obviously rooster-ish and that has secured his place with the other young cream rooster and Red.  

    There is another rooster that gets to stay.  Hatched out last spring, this is a beautiful black bird that has developed gold and many other colors on his back and neck.  Before there were any rooster signs, this young gawky teen-age chick was hopping around on one foot.  I generally let the chickens fend for themselves and may the strong survive, but this was such a pretty bird, just hatched and raised by a good mama, it seemed reasonable to help it along just a bit.  I was assuming it was a she, a hen that would lay eggs for us. 

     Getting hold of her one day a close inspection revealed what I believed to be some sort of injury with inflammation.  So I fed her butter. Butter from the cows here directly reduces inflammation, and its tasty.  Feeding butter to a chicken is easy unless there are other chickens near by that will take the butter and also attack the injured chicken.  The first time I tried to help this bird I caused her quite a bit of grief, and she missed all the butter.   Over time I learned how to wait until she was mostly alone and then throw the butter right in front of her beak so when another chicken came, she had already eaten it and the other chicken got bored and left.  Just two or three days of this and the chicken was now my best friend, seeking me out in the mornings, giving me those lovely chicken eyes and cooing noises, where's my butter?  Well I do love a tame chicken, she instantly became my special little friend, especially with all those pretty colors.  And her foot healed up, she walks completely with ease now.  I mean he, he walks with ease.  Well after I had fallen in love, the long tail feather grew out and the neck feathers became obviously rooster-ish.  OK.  He stays.  

    I love our flock of chickens.  I love how the birds just handle everything and hatch out chicks then raise them up into healthy, sturdy chickens.  They are so generous.  Here you go human.  Have some yummy eggs to eat, and we will just independently replace ourselves too.  You just sit back and watch.  Close our coop every evening and open it up in the morning and we will take care of the rest.  We love you humans, we are dinosaurs and its nice to live with you.