Warning! None of the included photos have anything to do with any of this post!
We started 2015 off with our second visit in as many
years from the Benton Volunteer Fire Department. It was my fault – hot embers plus dry, windy
day equals roaring fire in the back yard.
We were home that evening and it was Betsy who opened the curtains and
saw the out-of-control blaze heading directly for our propane tank. You know, what they say about owners
resembling their pets is true: we all started running around frantically, like
chickens when a fox gets in the hen house – I assume. We’ve never had a fox in the hen house, but
more on what we have had later.
“Get out of the house!” Jim bellowed as he ran out to
move the cars. After I dialed 9-1-1 and
got transferred by the Butler County Emergency Department to the Benton Fire
Department where they painstakingly verified my phone number and asked grueling
questions like, “How big is the fire?” (Me: “Uh, as big as the pool?”), the
older kids and I leapt into the SUV and raced to the front of the property to
flag down the fire truck when it arrived.
Unbeknownst to me, Jim left Amanda with the truck, whose gearshift is
one of those new-fangled knobs on the dashboard, rather than a stick on the steering
column. In the ensuing panic, Amanda
couldn’t figure out how to get the truck in gear. So, as the flames blazed up the maple tree
and devoured the pool filter, Amanda fiddled frantically with buttons and knobs,
and four-year-old Lucy helpfully showed her how to turn the interior lights on
and off. Meanwhile, Jim raced back to
turn the hose onto the flames. Of
course, the hose came up just a tad bit short.
The cavalry arrived, led by our neighbor, Rex, who
snowplows our driveway every winter. Once
at the scene, he cheerfully hailed me with, “That sure was good candy!”
referring to the plate of Christmas sweets I’d left with his family the week
before. It was my first indication the
fire was under control. When I apologized,
Rex said, “Heck! This is what we get paid for!
And we get a free tee shirt every year!” So Amanda and the kids returned (she did
finally get the truck into drive) and from the back windows, we watched the
fire fighters clean up in the dark.
Somehow the flames missed the two trampolines, the
decrepit play fort, and the pergola. The
fire fighters saved our wood pile, which is the first thing they spray down,
and my good friend Carly wisely suggested I begin hiding all valuables in the
wood pile.
In the end, only the pool was damaged. We decided not to report the loss to our home
insurance. Can you imagine how much
premiums would increase if they discovered we can’t even keep our pool from catching on fire?
I heard later that the fire fighters had been
impressed, maybe not favorably, by the number, depth, and randomness with which
Jack had been digging fox holes all around the back. These hindered their attempts to drive around
putting out all the little fires. I was mortified but Rex just offered us a
green click pen with 9-1-1 printed on the side.
“For repeat customers,” he said as he left. God bless farmers/volunteer firefighters.
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| Halloween 2014 Woody - Superhero; Lucy - Fairy; Betsy - Princess; Jack - Himself |
Let’s see.
What else has happened? I’ve
concluded Holiday cooking is wasted on the kids. All they want is the canned cranberry jelly,
canned fruit salad, and sparkling apple cider.
They’d never even notice if we didn’t have turkey. I would be satisfied with just pie: apple
pie, sweet potato pie, german chocolate pecan pie … I don’t ask much. But Amanda
would revolt if we tried to leave out the homemade rolls or stuffing. And Jim
would cry if he couldn’t roast a turkey with an entire stick of butter tucked
under each breast skin (it does make for a juicy, if somewhat less than
heart-healthy, bird).
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| Fishing with Dad |
Speaking of birds, we’ve had a possum problem this
past fall; they got into the chicken coop one night and killed a rooster. After I went out (on the coldest day, of
course) and furiously nailed more chicken wire across all the gaps, they turned
their attention to the ducks, whose coop is less reinforced.
Several times Amanda stepped out her door to see one
or two possums inside the coop, doggedly pursuing the ducks, who lumbered slowly
in circles, quacking almost as an afterthought.
I’m not certain they were aware of their peril, but Amanda got mad
enough to chase the possums off with a hoe.
After the rooster was murdered, we realized we’d have to get more vigilant and
decided to set live traps for them.
“What will we use for bait?” I asked Jim, because the only thing I knew
for certain that tempted the possums (besides chickens) was trash from our
trashcans. “Ducks,” grinned Jim.
But we ended up catching one in the coop with the
ducks again, and Jim brought the .22 rifle and killed one as the other scurried
sullenly off into the darkness. “I hope
that was his best friend,” Jim said grimly, as he tossed the carcass out, and
the ducks blinked benignly from their Dogloo.
I guess the other possums got the message, because sightings have been
fewer and farther between. I can’t help
but feel like a part of some kind of farm co-op mafia: ordering hits on friends
of the perpetrators. Anyway, all we
catch in the live traps is our garage cats …
The boys started a PE class in dodge ball last
week. Jim’s favorite part of the whole thing was the less than enthusiastic look
on the boys’ faces when I told them they’d be playing dodge ball. The class is for homeschoolers, and not
surprisingly, is all boys. There’s the
usual 14-year-old with a burgeoning moustache, and all the rest are gawky,
gangly teenagers, some with too long, greasy hair; most with scrawny arms; all with
enormous adams apples. But, to my
knowledge, none were drinking beer or running an undercover betting ring on the
side, so we’re going to let it ride.
Woody is one of the youngest and smallest. He spends most of the time with his back to
the game, chatting with other players. Jack learned his
technique from the ducks, which is to say, he confounds the enemy with his
slow, predictable progress across the floor, never juking or dodging, never
panicked, even when facing certain elimination.
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| Betsy Baking |
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| Lucy Baking |
In other news, we no longer have a mouse
problem. These were eradicated by the
snakes I now catch in the basement utility room, which is open to the underside
of the house. They’re all bull snakes
(non venomous) but three to four feet long.
I keep a walking cane nearby, which is good for hooking them around the
neck, and the pruning shears, which are good for carrying them outside and
lopping off their heads. I appreciate
the mouse population control, but I’d prefer the snakes do that outside, before the mice get inside.
The other animals are fine. Amanda said she thinks she needs to
have her eyes checked since she was under the impression, glancing out her
window, that Max was a cow. But I
assured her since Max has been eating freely from the enormous round hay bales
dotting our property, he actually is as big as a cow, and this time, it’s not bloat.
I asked Jack the other day if he wanted animals when
he gets his own place and he promptly said, “NO!” Then, “Well, maybe a cat; you don’t have to
take care of them.” I told Jim this
later and he said, defensively, “I still think it’s been a good experience for
them.” Then, after a pause, “It’s been
TERRIBLE for the donkeys, but it’s been good for the boys.”
What else? Lucy
asked me the other day, “Mom, did you always want a little girl who loved you?”
I said, “Yes!” and Jim, who was walking by, said, “Maybe some day we’ll get
one,” which offended Lucy deeply.
Everyone is fine.
School is school is school, except for right now, since we’re on our way
to, let’s say it together: “Disney World!!!” (excited exclamation marks added
for Jim’s benefit). I texted our next-door
neighbor, just to let her know we’d be out, and therefore, they’d all be safer
since we wouldn’t be there to set any fires.
I think she was relieved.
That’s it for now.
Hope you all have a mild winter!
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| Hugs and Kisses |
