5/18/10

Yesterday was a horrible day. I went out to inspect the garden after the previous days storm that included pea sized hail. My squash vines were shot full of holes, but otherwise looked ok. I already have little zucchini and they were unharmed, thankfully. The snow pea vines are sagging with pods and the effects of the storm. I will soon pick all of the peas, pull up the vines and feed them to the chickens and plant my tomatoes where they were.

I went to the barn to check on my little baby chickens. As I reached into the pen to get the water bottle I was attacked from the rear. Once again the black rooster, that I named Barack Obama, slammed into me, wings flapping, feet clawing. I turned and kicked him square in the chest. He came charging back. We stood there, three feet apart, staring each other down. I knew then that I could not tolerate this any longer.

For months now, I have had to arm myself with rake, shovel or hose whenever I was in the yard. I got used to listening for his rushing footsteps behind my back. Turning to see him freeze in his steps and whip sideways, staring me down with his red-orange eye. He insulted me with a trill vibrating sound and celebrated with a “chi chi chi chahoo” after his attacks. He stood tall when he crowed, raised and shook his feathers, strutting about, defiant, challenging, cocky. His crow was musical, much nicer to listen to than both of the others.

Why had he decided to terrorize me? I did not kill his girlfriends, the dogs did, but he ignored the dogs as they did him. I made sure to put food down for him when the bigger roosters evicted him from the pen. I could tell he was miserable in his exile, watching the flock from the other side of the fence knowing he was not welcome. I forgave him for spurring me through my thumbnail. His favorite girlfriend, Michelle, had been killed earlier that day. I understood his instinctual behavior and even admired his diligence, agility and bravery. I felt that although I had to suffer him my flock was safer with him on patrol. He had recently survived an attack from a fox, only loosing some tail feathers in the battle. He made his retreat only when all of the other birds were safely out of harms way.

It hurts me that he decided I was his enemy. I was so fond of him. He was stunningly beautiful. His black feathers reflected turquoise in the sunlight, long and curved, pointed at the end. His tail dragged the ground and when the wind blew the long ones would twist wildly in the breeze. His comb was bright neon red. His legs were black and grayish yellow, but often unseen. With all those long feathers, he could have been on wheels and you would not have known it. Well, unless he is attacking you! The sight of him flying at you with his feet kicked up, spurs poised is a rather frightening thing to see while being beautiful at the same time. It always made my heart race.

I changed his name last week after he hurled himself at my shoulder. From then on he was Osama bin Chicken. I was pretty angry. I went to my brother’s and was lent a gun to dispatch my personal terrorist. By now this action had been suggested many times and some had offered to assassinate him themselves. I declined all offers. I did not want anyone to enjoy killing him. I wanted him to have some dignity. I hoped that it would not come to this, but it did. It did the moment that he charged me after I kicked him.

I grabbed the rake and he made a brief retreat. He knows what the business end of the rake feels like. I went into the barn and got the gun. I released the safety and cocked it like Jim showed me then after a deep breath headed out to do what needed to be done. I was not angry. I was trying to be as careful as possible. I needed to be sure that no innocent bystanders were harmed. As soon as Ursa saw the gun she was headed down the road!

My first shot hit the ground just past him. He ran under the fence into the pasture. I shot and missed a couple times as he ran into the barn with the horse. I ran around the barn and found Oliver calm and uninterested in my chase. Osama had slipped over the barn wall and returned to the chicken house. I would have to be careful that he was not waiting to attack me as I came back around the corner of the barn. Yup, there he was, but I was ready for him and he knew it. He made another break for the pasture, I shot, one, close, two, closer, I was getting my aim on, three, he jumps, but this one gets him. He flopped a little on the ground. I walked up closer to get a better shot. He laid there blinking his orange eye, click, I was out of bullets!

I went to the house to cry. I calmed myself, washed my hands, washed the dishes, combed my hair and brushed my teeth. I was ready to survey the damage. I had hoped with all my heart that I would find him dead or at least mortally wounded. Instead I found him lying on his breast in the leaves, beautiful, peaceful. I turned him over. He did not resist. I found that I had only injured his leg, badly. It was not bleeding a lot, but the bone was obviously shattered.

My mind raced! What to do? Jim told me to come get more bullets. Ridiculous thoughts entered my mind. Could I nurse him back to health? Should I? Would he hate me even more after this, just not be able to do anything about it, since he only has one leg? My head hurt and my stomach turned. He lay there suffering while I pondered and agonized. I did my chores, checked on him now and then hoping all the time he would die on his own, only to find him calmly laying there blinking at me. I wondered what he could be thinking. I wondered how much pain he was in. I wish I had not shot him. Did he wish he had not attacked me?

I went over to Jim’s to get more bullets, but he was asleep. As I drove down his road I could see black clouds coming in our direction. By the time I started making my way back home, big drops began spotting my dirty windshield. Not only was he laying there in pain, now he was going to be rained on. He so hated getting wet. I considered covering him with a bucket to keep him dry. I was looking in the barn for a big enough bucket when I found the stick.

I had found it on a hike. It was light, but the wood was hard. I struck the ground with it to see if it was strong enough to deliver a single death blow. The thought of having to hit him more than once sickened me. I stood there in the barn watching the rain falling heavily. Breathing deeply, I mustered my resolve. I had made the decision to kill him, so I had to finish it. I had to end the pain that I had inflicted. I had to end the life that I destroyed. The rain was coming down hard and steady. I had to do it now. As I approached I could see him blinking the raindrops from his eyes. He was soaked and pitiful looking. I took position where I could not see his eye, raised the stick and struck him so hard that my stick broke. He was still moving so I struck him again. No movement, no staring orange eye. I ran bawling into the house. This morning he was gone. My guess is the fox that had taken his tail feathers came and took the rest of him away. I was so glad not to have to see what I had done to him again.

05/11/10

My visit with Anne and Tammy was way too short. We did not eat all the food! We did not drink all the drink (thank goodness!) We had not done all I had imagined we would do! Hell, the first night I passed out cold! lightweight Some hostess I am! Anne cooked a turkey. We took a tour of the land and my brother's house. woooo hooooo! Ella got to chase some birds, smell some butts, have her butt sniffed. We watched movies! ("Lovely Bones" and "Pirate Radio") We went to the feed store and bought chickens and to the farmer's market at Carolina Brewery. We talked and watched the animals. We burned some of my left over fire wood. The fire was still burning the next morning! I got to remember what  a hangover feels like. I was sad to see them driving away, but have the promise of another visit this summer to look forward to.

The first four of my baby chickens (Black Sexlink) have been in with the adults for 3 days now. They still run to the fence when I go to check on them. They have not been permitted into the house yet. Chickens are not sympathetic creatures. I do not worry about them too much. One of my roosters is not permitted in the house either, so he is outside and looking after them, I hope! They seem to be learning where everything is. It takes them awhile to figure out where the water is, since they have been drinking from something close to the ground. I feed them when the adults have perched for the night otherwise, I am afraid they might starve! The five Buff Orpingtons are almost ready to go into the mix. I know that the six Ameraucana will be glad to see those big yellow bullies go away! The buffs don't peck at the little ones as much as they knock them out of their way or step on them. What a difference three weeks makes.

I do not think that there will be any Purple Tomatillos this year. I have one stringy little seedling left. The others were promptly eaten by pillbugs. I am bummed. I let myself look forward to them, a bad thing to do when gardening. You never know what is going to happen. Anyone that gardens knows that!

The weather has stayed cool enough that my lettuces are delicious and plentiful. I will be picking peas on friday. I have tasted a few and they are so sweet and crispy! I have planted some of the tomatoes. When the peas are done I will plant the rest where they were, thinking that I can spread out the tomatoes instead of them coming all at the same time. With all of the tomatoes planted, between my brother and I, we hope the deer leave us with some fruit for our labor.

04/19/10

The last month has been a very busy one, as it is every year. I have been treating my upper pasture for weeds. As the horse eats grass, he leaves the undesirable weeds to take over the pasture. I should have tested the back pack sprayer before mixing the herbicide. I filled it and struggled to get it on my back only to discover that the pump did not work. I ended up using a hand pump bottle sprayer. I had to fill it 14 times and could barely move my hand the next morning! Since then Steve has loaned me another sprayer and I have almost eradicated those massive growths of, what I have always called, butter cup weeds. If you drive around here you will see entire pastures taken over by the stuff. They are kind of pretty, but I need to grow something Oliver will eat! It must taste awful. There is not much he will not eat.

My peas are about a foot high. I have planted a lot of sunflowers and they are coming along nicely. I saved the seeds last fall, from the largest flower that I grew last summer. The basil is volunteering this year on mass, but not as well as the cleome and dill! I separated the sage and parsley making 3 out of one. The sage is blooming now for the first time. The columbine is blooming now also for the first time. I planted the butterfly bushes. I hope I chose good places for them. It had taken me 2 years to choose the right position and location. Some times I think too much.

I started my tomatoes inside this year. I got some exotic seeds from Shannon Wall. She runs Creature Coalition & the Crusty Cottage Sanctuary, a rescue, adoption & sanctuary for dogs, cats, rabbits and chickens.

Here are some of the goodies I hope will be successful this year. I have also planted some different varieties of  squashes, cucumbers and pumpkins.

I have 5 new baby Buff Orpingtons. I am waiting for the feed store to get their next shipment. I want some more Ameraucanas. I think that I will wait until Anne and Tammy get here. It will be fun to have them help me choose my new chickies!

I am so looking forward to this weekend! My dear friends are visiting from Savannah. It has been some time since my last visit to see them. At least 5 years! Too long! I know we are going to have a blast. We always do.

Beth Bale and I have been talking about having an outdoor art show. We are thinking maybe the end of October, beginning of November. We will hold it in two locations, my place and her farm less than a mile away. We have plenty of room for booths, musical entertainment, I plan to have a bonfire. If you are an artist or musician that would like to participate please email me. We hope that our little festival will be an annual event. We are also interested in crafts people and farmers that would like to sell their wares and crops. I will post our plans as they evolve.

03/18/10

I have been recalling the stories that my Grandmother told me about her life. She was an amazing woman. I have completed one story so far, but have several more in the works. I have tentatively named this project Herstory. I will add chapters as I finish them. If you would like to be alerted when a new chapter is posted email me at ginacandelori@windstream.net and I will send you an email with a link to the next installment.

03/04/10

Journal entry Fall 1993

My heart was not broken. It was completely disintegrated. This did not happen abruptly, the result of a violent, explosive act. Unrequited love had carved a canyon over many years, reduced my heart to tiny grains of sand and washed them away. I felt soulless, hopeless, worthless. I honestly did not care what happened to me anymore. I wanted to just disappear.

I slept, dreamless sleep. I had no dreams, good or bad, awake or asleep. Life was going on around me, things that could have made me happy if I had only given them a chance. I had opportunities and people that loved me, but my eyes were closed. I was sleeping.

My body had made its imprint on that thrift store sofa. I had no shame in just laying there while others lived their lives around me. I was a botanical human that refused to even grow, much less flower. The last thing I expected was to be awoken by the kiss of a handsome prince.

Through the darkness I felt his breath. Then his lips softly touched my face. When I opened my eyes he welcomed me with a radiant sweet smile. He could not have known what a powerful effect his kiss would have on my life. I was just lucky to have had my face within his reach. I sat up when he held out his arms to me. I lifted him to my lap and held him close, not wanting him to see me cry. I had not felt anything in such a long time, I was overwhelmed.

02/18/10

Money is like Manure

Having sex with your boss never has a good end. At least my employers recommended me highly to one of their wives’ hairdresser. He was looking for a receptionist and I could answer a phone and receive clients.

It was a well respected salon in Buckhead with clientele that could afford the very best. I enjoyed the glamour of the place and the company of the staff, although they could be eccentric and temperamental.

Norman, the owner, was charming and talented. Rich, beautiful socialites came in daily, sometimes just to have their hair combed while they unloaded their troubles in his patient ear. Most of these women barely acknowledged that I was there. Once I had delivered their coffee, tea or other refreshment they sat quietly waiting their turn. No small talk about the weather. That was ok with me, since I could not imagine that I had enough in common with them to have a conversation anyway.

That is why I was caught off guard when she came in. I was told to expect her. She had flown in from Dallas and was coming directly from the airport. I knew she had to be important, because Norman had worked her in before his appointments began for that day. She was beautiful, blonde, tall and smiling. I expected her to be cold like the regulars. She asked for something a little stronger when I asked if she would like coffee or tea. I brought her a mimosa.

She did not sit, saying she had been sitting all morning on the plane. She was chatty and gestured with her hands while she talked. She was obviously excited about her visit to Atlanta. As I watched her hands I noticed that her fingernails were gold. She noticed my gaze and held out her hands so that I could inspect the nails more closely.  “They are lovely”, I told her. She smiled and said, “I know that they are a bit much, but it is only money”. She must have seen in my face that I survived on a diet of ramen noodles and canned fish on crackers. “I am very fortunate”, she stated. “I was born with money and married even more”. “Spending money is my job and I am good at it”. “After all, money is like manure, if you keep it in a big pile is smells awful and attracts flies, but if you spread it around it makes things grow!”

02/16/10

Lately, I have felt a little frustrated. I do the books for my brothers’ businesses and this time of the year I am occupied with preparing their records for the tax accountants. This activity is not in my nature. I am better suited to things that are tactile and creative. I may be suffering a little bit of cabin fever as well. I enjoy the winter, so this feeling is confusing me.

It has been a long time since I suffered depression, but I remember what it feels like, though my reaction is much different now. Before, I was overwhelmed. I surrendered to misery and hopelessness. I wallowed in unrelenting pain. Today, I put it under a microscope and dissect it. There is a beauty to it. I find it fascinating. I wonder if I am too old to feel pain anymore. I accept things easily now. I adapt. I am not angry or sad. I am just tired, annoyed.

In less than a month I will be 50. That is reason enough to spark my melancholia. I see that the things that I hold most dear in this life are becoming scarce and undervalued. I must stand by and watch my loved ones do stupid things that cause them harm, tragedies that they could avoid if they would only listen to warning. Am I the only person on earth that has learned from someone else’s mistake?

I wish I was in Fairbanks. This time of year was always my favorite.

Yukon Quest Sled Dog Race
Iron Dog Classic
Delta Festival of Lights
Free Alaska Movies

North Pole Winter Festival
Native Art Festival
Nenana Ice Classic
World Ice Art Championship
Limited N. American Dog Races
Fbks Winter Carnival
Chatanika Days
Open N. American Dog Races

So much to do! I took this occasion to visit the arctic cam. Click here if you would like to.

No, I am not having a melt down! Just feeling a little off. I got excited when I saw the seed display at the feed store, so it can not be too serious. I am sure that once these two boxes full of papers are in the hands of the accountants I will be back to normal, well normal for me!

01/12/10

Works in progress

01/10/10

I can not move into the new year comfortably until I have organized and archived the year I have just finished. This is usually a pretty simple process, but the end of a decade is different than the end of a mere 12 months. It has been 10 years since I left Alaska. Seems like just yesterday. It has been 7 years since my Mother left this life. The longest 7 years of my life.

My mind went back, evaluating loss, accomplishment, relationships and personal growth. It has been a positive decade for me. I have heard from some folks that are glad to bid good riddance to the 0s. Most likely, spurred by 911, war and the economy. Along with those happy things, I experienced the deaths of at least a dozen people that I love including my mother. I concede that the last 10 years have not been easy. Quite to the contrary, but I feel that I have done my best with this time and have come into the new decade a stronger, smarter, empowered person.

 Recently, I have reconnected with some folks I have not seen or heard from in over 20 years. I am sure that is no surprise to anyone reading this. Facebook, Myspace and the like make that pretty easy. In catching up with old friends I have collected some links to the past in the form of photographs.

This photo was taken by Warren "Butch" Jackson in January 1987 on my porch in Little 5 Points. What a blast from the past! I remember him waking me that cold morning. I am still wearing my jammies!

He took this photo of Mary Alexander around the same time. This is one of my favorites. This is so MARY!

You can see some of his more recent works if you click here.

Thank you for sharing these pictures Warren! They sure did take me back!

The other day, I was chatting with Kevin Haller on Facebook. We were talking about our long lost friend Dave Losi. Both of us consulting the great search gods, he came up with a link to some photos posted by James Burns.

Kevin and I had both worked at the old Binders store, like most of our friends, so we were excited to see these photos of our friends and our old work place. Jim gave me his permission to post the link to those pictures. Thanks Jim!

If you live in Atlanta you probably have heard of James Burns. He is the creator of the weekly comic strip Grumbles published in Atlanta’s Sunday Paper.

01/01/10

With the beginning of this new decade, I have decided to explore writing in earnest. I have been a personal journalist since I was a young girl. I burned some of my diaries when I was 15, because my brother read them and they became a play book for adolescent torment, in typical “Brady Bunch” fashion. I wish that I still had them, although I am sure I would find them painful to read. It was not until later that I realized that the damage was already done and destroying the evidence was not necessary. I am much less sensitive in my old age.

I have been told many stories. My grandmothers’, parent’s and other family and friend’s memories have deeply affected my life through the understanding of their lives through their experiences. Family history needs to be recorded or it is lost forever. As these people leave this life they take with them a part of our history. I strain my memory to recall the stories exactly the way they told them. When I was a child I would ask, “Tell me again, about the day I was born? How did you get that scar? What was it like to grow up during the depression”? I can not ask those questions anymore. I wish I was listening more carefully when I had the chance and my 50 year memory is mounting and sometimes unreliable. If I am going to do this, now is the time!

I have stories of my own, fifty years of experiences that I feel are interesting enough to recall. At the end of this decade I hope that I will learn about myself by writing down my recollections of years long gone. I am going to dedicate at least an hour a day to this discipline. I also intend to scan every photo in the family library I inherited.

With all of this thinking about the past, I hope that my friends and family will help remind me that I am living in today.

Periodically, I will post a story. I welcome your opinion and criticism. I am especially interested to hear from those who have heard these stories before. Please let me know where I get the facts wrong. Send me your stories! Send me your favorite recipe! What do you want everyone to remember? What do you want to pass down to your kids?

I wish you all a brilliant, productive and happy new year! I am determined to make mine just that!

I have a real treat for you!

Click on the hat to hear and download for free!

Collaboration: Music KVpop, Words Tom Ferguson, Editing/Remix Killer Haven

The musical compositions of  KVpop combined with the words of painter and political cartoonist Tom Ferguson.

Featuring Priscilla Smith on track #10 "Farewell"