On a Happier Note - Spindle Camp

And to make up for the very wordy and imageless previous post, here's a short overview of last weekend's Spindle Camp.

Spindle Camp has become an annual event at a small resort/campground at Lake Francis in Dobbins.  There are a mixture of traditional campsites, RV hookups and cabins for rent. Spindle Camp itself took up an entire site where we could hang out in the shade of our pop-ups to spin, smooze and catch up. See all the happy spinning wheels waiting for their people to wake up?

 

There was food.  Mardi made a gluten-free strawberry-rhubarb cobbler.

And there were roasted peeps.  Yep, roasting peeps on an open fire.  

 

They're really incredible.  The extra sugar coating caramelizes beautifully, leaving a thin crispy shell with the gooey inside.  

This started as a funny experiment, but they are my new favorite camping food. I couldn't wait to try all the colors. 

Special thanks go out to Jan Evers for organizing the event once again, and Susan Prince for photodocumenting  everything and getting donations from some of our favorite fiber suppliers.  Everyone got a bit of swag.

Here's mine.  It's Lisa Souza merino in a color way that I love.

Other attendees have written in more detail about their camp experiences, which you can check out on the following blogs:
A View From Sierra County
In Stitches
Woven Thoughts

Irreconcilable Differences

Turns out there are exactly three reasons one can apply for divorce in the State of California: (1) irreconcilable differences, (2) incurable sanity or (3) nullity of marriage for legal reasons (ie incestuous marriage, one member was not of a legal age to marry or fraud).

Irreconcilable differences.  We hear it a lot, but what does it really mean?  Websters defines it as representing findings or points of view that are so different from each other that they cannot be made compatible. 

I think about this a lot.  I think about the reasons for my marriage of nearly ten years to end.  I chase them around in my head. The bottom line is that when you cannot agree on an idea, fact or statement, and in fact debate the meanings of certain words in a semantic fashion to beat those differences into alignment, there comes a point when you realize this is what is meant by irreconcilable differences.  

It means we're not going to agree. Ever.  Not gonna happen.  And when it's an irreconcilable difference regarding a foundation of a relationship, at least you hope you can agree about the outcome, because there's really only one outcome if you can't agree at that point, and that's to agree to disagree. Which in this case means divorce. 

Though this was initially my decision, and even though it's been over a month, I still feel stunned as I move through the process of dividing up our property and filling out what seems like endless amounts of paperwork.  (It was so easy to get married?!)

I naively thought I'd be able to blithely file the papers, put away my wedding ring, update my Facebook relationship status and move on.  Instead I'm emotionally up and down. My future as a single woman is overwhelming.  I know logically that time needs to work it's magic, but I won't deny that there' s a small part of me that would like to wake up from this nightmare.

So if you ask me how I'm doing and I don't respond right away, well, some days just suck.  The generosity and support of friends, family and fiber are slowly working their magic.  Time will do it's thing.  Life will go on.  

And some day we'll have some warmer weather and we'll get to play in the dirt and plant out all of those seedlings we started in the greenhouse!  (Sspt, yes, spring is on it's way.  I saw blackberry bushes in bloom in Auburn today.  It's coming.)

Shearing Day

Last Sunday Carl the Shearer came to shear Sue's goats and sheep.  There are Romeldale and various Romeldale crosses.  The white one is a Corriedale, and the greys are fleece mutts.  Carl trimmed toes and sheared using his mobile electric shearer.  

The process of trimming a sheap or goat has been called the two-minute waltz.  Before mechanical shears, it would take six men approximately2-3 minutes to collectively shear a fleece.  With mechanical shears and using a consistent pattern to turn the body of the sheep, a good shearer can shear an entire animal in under two minutes by himself.  Mechanical shearing and the techniques that were developed by the Bowen brothers in New Zealand mean faster shearing with a more uniform cut edge and fewer cuts to the sheep, all which yield a higher value to the fleece.

Here's a short video of the shearing of Queenie the Angora goat, which gives you an idea of the process of shearing.

Here's some pics of the various wools after shearing.  These will need to be skirted (removing the poopy bits) and then sent to a mill to be professional cleaned of vegetable matter and processed into fluffy roving.

Lots of changes

Where to even begin?  Beats me, which probably says a lot about why I haven't posted in months.  So lets just gloss over unpleasant things like moving in between snow storms, losing power repeatedly, having first bronchitis, then pneumonia, and discovering that the old place was infested with black mold on the walls after we moved out.

My new home includes the opportunity for most of my favorite things: gardening, fiber, a large yard for Riley, a barn for the dairy goats, and a new flock of chickens.  The new place has a greenhouse and potting shed, so we've been starting seeds weekly for the last couple of weeks. 

I'll confess that I've had trouble for years getting my own seeds started.  Too hot, too cold, not enough light...  Well, not a problem anymore.  These seeds are popping up, no problem.  Many of them are already developing their first sets of true leaves.  That's trombetta squash in the front, then lots and lots of sunflowers.  I counted fourteen dozen sunflowers and six dozen zinnias, among other things.  We want lots of cutting flowers in addition to our veggies and herbs.

Riley gives it all two paws up.  (I was trying for all four paws up, but missed the moment!)

In Search of Some Holiday Cheer

I think most of you reading this will understand, though possibly may not agree with, what I'm about to say.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Yep, I said that dreaded PC/non-PC phrase.  And why shouldn't I?  I've been saying it for far longer than the idea of being politically correct has existed.  Why I say it goes back to fourth grade, when my class did a project studying different religions.  We visited a Catholic church and a Buddhist temple.  The other fourth grade classes visited other places of worship, and then we shared what we learned. 

What is it about being nine and suddenly understanding in a big way that there are other people, with vastly different ideas and customs than your own in the world?  That was the year I understood that while Christmas was what the majority of the people around me celebrated, there were still many of people right there in my community who celebrated other traditions.  I made a conscious decision to recognize that fact by wishing people Happy Holidays as a way to acknowledge and respect others.  

Twenty-five years later, I don't describe myself as being aligned with any one religion.  Seems to me that most teachings include practical concepts for living a 'better' life, but very little about bigotry, narrow-mindedness and just being rude.  I don't want to be boxed into any religion if it means I can't acknowledge all traditions with a non-denominational greeting.

And as for those people who have said to my face that I'm unpatriotic, anti-Christian, etc., the nine-year-old in my really just wants to stick out her tongue.  I know better and I'm not going to let anyone take it away from me.

And now for a non-denominational, wintery scene of Riley playing in the snow.

The Happiest Place on Earth

Back in March we participated in Disney's volunteer program and earned two Disney passes, which had to be used by December 15.  So we called some friends, calculated gas mileage, scrapped together some pennies, asked my sister to watch all the animals, and headed south.

 

We drove and drove and drove some more.  We listened to back episodes of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me to pass the time. And drove some more.

And finally we arrived.  DISNEYLAND!  We actually stayed two nights with our friend Debi, who is an amazing artist and just happens to live in Los Angeles.  She is lives in the Brewery Artist Lofts, a former Pabst Blue Ribbon Brewery turned artist-in-residence community. 

Our gracious hostess doing a little product branding.  Debi has an annual pass and gleefully accompanied us into the park.  And she mentioned to some other mutual friends we were coming into town, so with the wonder of texting, Chris was able to meet up with us in the park.

The park was not crowded, so we were able to hit all of our favorite rides before lunch.  Indiana Jones, Tarzan's Jungle House, Pirates of the Caribbean, Haunted Mansion, Innoventions, Sleeping Beauty's Walkthrough, Space Mountain and Buzz Lightyear's Astroblasters. (I got the high score.)

On our way through the castle back into Fantasyland we found the Evil Queen, and had to stop to show our reverence. She was pleased by our recognition of her greatness. 

Then on to Autopia, with a lovely example of LA traffic, including irate drivers. (Chris is a deaf interpreter and has a very expressive face.)

Lunch, teacups, Finding Nemo, Jungle Cruise, Pirates and Indiana Jones for the second time, running around the former Tom Sawyer's island, now Pirate's Cove. I'm sure I'm forgetting something in there, like Winnie the Pooh.

After the amazing fireworks and 'snow' on Main Street we ran back into Fantasyland for awhile, rode the carousel, Mr. Toads Wild Ride, Storybook Canal, and Snow White's Scary Adventures.  Through Sleeping Beauty's Castle one more time.  While waiting in line for the Haunted Mansion, the rain that had been threatening all day finally opened up and poured.  It was after 11pm and we were done.  A total of 13 hours in the park.  Don't know when we'll get back south again, but it was all worth it.

Stuck in Mud

Today was the 8th Annual EcoKids.  Today it also rained.  A lot.  In the last 24 hours it dumped 1.77 inches on Grass Valley, of which 0.64 was received in the last 6 hours.  Yep, that would be the same six hours during which we set up the Burton Homestead, opened, and subsequently were utterly rained out.  

This wasn't just a little rain.  How do I know?  Well, first off is this nifty website produced by the National Weather Service that I posted on Facebook during the last storm.  Be sure to play with the different time scenarios during and after a storm.  So very cool.  So yes, over half an inch during the time frame in question.

Secondly, there was water sheeting off of the ground, which then lead to the further observation that our meadow aka parking lot for the event was rapidly turning very soggy.

Why do people assume that just because they  have 4WD that this won't happen to them?  People were very nice but a bit dismissive of my AWD Scion.  I could feel how slick the ground was, thought I was going to make it, but no.  Completely stuck, almost to the bumper line on the passenger side.  So people in 4WD and big pick ups tried to make it out and got equally stuck.  Luckily my Geico insurance coverage included tow service.  Within 15 minutes I had a tow truck and got pulled out of the mud.

The tow truck driver made short work on installing the tow bolts on the front of my bumper.  I never knew that's what those big eye bolt looking things with my spare tire stuff were for.

We made it home ok after that, where DH had started a fire in the wood stove and had a lovely pot of our locally sourced chicken (see previous post) whipped into a lovely chicken veg rice soup.

Alouetté, gentille alouetté...

Warning - this contains some detailed photos of our us harvesting our excess roosters.

This summer our broody hens hatched out seven chicks, of which four turned out to be boys.  Now, hopefully you know by now that you don't need roosters for hens to lay eggs.  Additionally, when you have more than one rooster fighting for dominion over the harem things can turn nasty.  Our dominant, three-year-old rooster Kazoo will not share the coop with the young upstarts, so every night we have to go out with a flashlight and rescue the recalcitrant boys off the roof of the coop and shove them in with everyone else. Since it's hard to find homes for excess boys, we decided to take the plunge and do our first chicken harvest.

Neither of us had harvested chickens before, so we watched some youtube videos.  I liked this one the best. We dressed in Troy's cooking clothes.  Set up an ice bath, trash can, hanging hook, cutting board, and knives, and caught us a rooster boy each.

 

We didn't have a cone, so we simply tied them up by their feet and bleed them out by cutting a carotid artery on the side of the neck.  The chickens are already in a semi-stupor when held upside down, and once they loose significant blood pressure, it all ends pretty quickly. 

Troy decided he wanted to try skinning his chicken.  Here it is after being rinsed off.

I wanted to go traditional by plucking my bird.  There is definitely a knack to it, and while there are a few pins left in the skin, it wasn't that hard.  This is my bird after plucking.  Really does look like one of those imitation rubber chickens.

 

There's the crop.  Don't want to cut that open accidentally.  This is where all of those biology dissections really come in handy.  Pulling apart viscera is the same on all animals.

Yes Mom, that's me doing the nitty gritty.  I really did stick my hand repeatedly into the chicken.  (Ask me about the time I didn't eat chicken for several months after being threatened to stick my hand into the chicken or go without.)

When we were done we rinsed out each carcass and placed them in the ice bath to finish cooling rapidly, finally putting them in a freezer bag and into the freezer.  Since these birds are all from breeds that specialize in egg laying, they don't have the plump breasts that meat birds do, so these won't be great roasting birds.  Also, at four months of age are probably beginning to toughen up just a bit.  Most roasting birds are harvested at 10-12 weeks old.  These'll probably go into a soup or stew pot.

The Life of Riley

I've heard there haven't been enough Riley posts, so here you go, our life with Riley.  Enjoy!

Day one with 13 week old, tri-color Welsh Pembroke Corgi, Riley.

Hanging out with Ringo at 49er Feed and Farm Supply, a full size male Corgi.

Running in green fields while I work, 5 mo old.

Going to work.  Water? Check. GPS? Check.  7 mo old Riley? Check.

Exhausted after a morning of playing and exploring in Forest City, 8 mo old.

Special canine supervision at work, 9 mo old.

Helping Sue Flynn sweep the floor after Spinning Saturday, 9 mo old.

Hanging at the river and patrolling the boundary, 10 mo old.

After preparing this post, we found out that Ringo, our Corgi friend at 49er Feed and Farm Supply on Wolf Road, was fatally injured after being hit by a car Saturday afternoon.  Our deepest sympathies go out to Ringo's family.  He will be missed by many in the community.

Grass Valley Celtic Festival

The Grass Valley Celtic Festival hosted by KVMR is my annual chance to reunite with friends acquired during the eleven years I worked and played at Renaissance Faires.  The last several years I was in faire I braided hair with Adorn Thy Hair/Tresses Entwined, and the Celtic Festival is not only at my local faire grounds, the hair braiding booth comes every year.

Good friends, good music, best fairgrounds anywhere!  And then it turns out that my fiber guild also participates as entertainment.  Wham!  My local, fiber and faire worlds collide.  It means a lot of my favorite people all centralized into one place.  I even spun a bit when I wasn't braiding.

Barbara Sue with her masses of hair.

Jocelyn with her long hair and sunglasses. (Sspt, those aren't period sunglasses.)

Riley made lots of new friends

Tiffany getting to play...

And even Leann and Shane from Americoprs stopped by!