Spring is Patient.....

 

Spring is patient…

By  Melanie Mar 14, 2026

The gallery wall. Photo credit: Melanie

How can you not love the first hints of color that appear in the yards, fields, and road sides. It begins with the dead purple nettle, which I pick by the handfuls to feed to the chickens, who aren’t allowed to free range for propriety's sake. Small town neighbors don’t appreciate my freeloaders encroaching on their borders. These days I have to act like a soccer goalie, defending the chicken run door to prevent the little huzzies from escaping into the warm sunshine that was today.  Yesterday, I had one offender sneak out before I could block her way. Thank goodness she was just interested in the unpicked dead nettle growing outside the run parameters, and allowed me to grab her up to give her a good talking to before replacing her with her clucking cohorts. I had to remind her we had a deal, no unauthorized excursions. We’ll have to see if she can follow the rules, for her own safety.

The next stop was the asparagus patch. Lo and behold, there was one thin spear making an appearance among the greenery I allowed to grow in that patch. Which is bordered on one corner by a spreading thornless blackberry bush. Those newer canes are starting to show some buds. I sooo look forward to those sweet juicy berries. Last year I picked enough to be able to share with one of the neighbor ladies, Phyllis. She is a joy to visit, always pleasant, and a link to “times gone by” with her memories of time she spent with my grandparents and others who have passed on.  The peach trees are showing hints of pink, trying to bust out of the tight buds. With the weather turning cold tomorrow, with a strong chance of rowdy weather ending in snowfall, we’ll have to wait and see if we have any peaches to harvest this year or if the freeze kills all chances of that happening. Asking God for a little grace in this area too. Keep the faith, and move forward with a little Everyday Courage…

                                        

Spring is patient…

By  Melanie Mar 14, 2026

The gallery wall. Photo credit: Melanie

How can you not love the first hints of color that appear in the yards, fields, and road sides. Those purple violets with the vivid colors are my favorite. It all begins with the dead purple nettle though, which I pick by the handfuls to feed to the chickens, who aren’t allowed to free range for propriety's sake. Small town neighbors don’t appreciate my freeloaders encroaching on their borders. These days I have to act like a soccer goalie, defending the chicken run door to prevent the little huzzies from escaping into the warm sunshine that was today.  Yesterday, I had one offender sneak out before I could block her way. Thank goodness she was just interested in the unpicked dead nettle growing outside the run parameters, and allowed me to grab her up to give her a good talking to before replacing her with her clucking cohorts. I had to remind her we had a deal, no unauthorized excursions. We’ll have to see if she can follow the rules, for her own safety. 

The next stop was the asparagus patch. Lo and behold, there was one thin spear making an appearance among the greenery I allowed to grow in that patch. Which is bordered on one corner by a spreading thornless blackberry bush. Those newer canes are starting to show some buds. I sooo look forward to those sweet juicy berries, the size of my thumb. Last year I picked enough to be able to share with one of the neighbor ladies, Phyllis. She is a joy to visit, always pleasant, and a link to “times gone by” with her memories of time she spent with my grandparents and others who have passed on.  

The peach trees are showing hints of pink, trying to bust out of the tight buds. With it turning cold tomorrow, with a strong chance of rowdy weather ending in snowfall, we’ll have to wait and see if we have any peaches to harvest this year or if the freeze kills all chances of that happening. Asking God for a little grace in this area too. 

Keep the faith, and move forward with a little Everyday Courage...

Spring's patience continues...

 Yesterday we spent most of the day on the property. I always like to finish out the day with a bit of sightseeing, and hopefully finding some picture worthy scenes. It did not disappoint. No deer made an appearance, maybe because we had been burning one of several brush piles while the opportunity was there. So, smoke and animals don't mix well.

The first creature, not including the photophobic ducks that wouldn't pose or allow this amateur photographer to react quick enough to get any. So, onward to the slower, least friendly, and most dangerous to anything or anyone careless enough to get close to its mouth. A neighborhood snapper was making its way from the muddy ditch that was drying out, over to the middle lake where food is plentiful.

We made our rounds, checking out the beehive where the workers were flying in and out. I need to move that hive soon, before the temperatures stay warm, and this part of the property isn't our anymore. Dreams fade when reality gets too hard. We adapt or give up. I choose to adapt, for now.

We took the time to pause and enjoy the breeze on this unusually warm day for this time of year, under the big pine trees. The pinecones lying among the sprigs of grass and discarded pine needles. Beautiful in their own right.

As we left for the day, gates locked, we wound through the nature preserve back roads, just enjoying the day and the splashes of color that survived the recent cold snap. It's time for a shower and a thorough check for ticks, especially since we both have picked a few off of ourselves. This too shall pass, and we have to continue to practice some everyday courage...

 

Snowmageddon on the books for 2026

 

1/29/26, take 2

So I had already written the majority of this blog before leaving the computer to make a quick trip outside. Lesson learned, save, save, save…. So some of the original sarcasm might be missing, but the gist is there.

After watching the snow fall and dealing with the frigid temperatures from inside the house, I decided it was time to venture outside. I have dripped the faucets, rolled towels at thresholds, and hung blankets over the doors to prevent drafts seeping in when there were negative wind chills.  Anyone who knows me, knows I have to have to make a plan prior to any big undertaking, and this falls into that category.  

Let the winter clothing layers begin. I started off with a thick hoodie, heavy leggings, and thick wool socks. Next was the insulated overalls, which did not want to cover the thick hoodie and still zip up. So, off with the overalls and thick hoodie. Light weight shirt found and let the process start again. This time the overalls zipped up and then it was time for the snow boots. Let’s say that wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Bending over in this winter get up did not happen. So, unzip the overalls to even be able to bend over to pull on the snow boots, re-zip the overalls, added a hat with earflaps and an attached mouth nose cover, then leather gloves. Now I was ready to face the snow. But not before I was reeducated, unnecessarily, on how to start a cold diesel engine by my husband.

Out the door, with the plan to use the hoe I never put in the shed, as a walking stick, warm breath fogging my glasses, I used the hoe end to scrape off the steps and it worked quite nicely. My car won’t leave the driveway till the foot of snow behind it is cleared, so till then, my husband is the shopper plowing through the deep snow with his old dually. Then I made the trek through the foot deep snow to the garden tractor sitting in the yard near the chicken coop. We don’t have a garage or an open shed to be able to park machinery in, so as my ancestors said “poor people have poor ways”. The foot or more of snow which my husband has trampled a fair path on the way to the chicken coop, used the glow plug correctly, and started it right up. Moved the snow off the deck of the tractor, hood, and started beating down a path around the tractor with my footsteps. It only had one bar in the temperature gauge, so this could take a while. Granted it’s only 26 degrees out right now, but we will see how it goes.

Next was the trek the final few yards with my trusty hoe, to the snow banked chicken coop, trying really hard not to fall and wallow in the snow like a beached whale. Hard telling how long I would lay there before someone found me if it should happen. The “girls” looked good, feeder still has plenty in it, and the heated waterer had plenty of water in it. We haven’t gathered the eggs since the snow storm, because I didn’t want to disturb the drift covering the coop where the girls roost for the night. I can see around 6 or so eggs from the outside, but it’s not worth messing with the igloo the coop has become, to keep the girls cozy. My pullets have grown to young hens, and are due to start laying any day. So excited with the promise of dark brown eggs to come.

Then to shuffling to the shed for the scratch grain, which is that the girls really want. One scoop to the yard for the birds to find, then one carried back and scattered in the chicken run. All is good with the world and the pecking has commenced.

Back to the tractor. Thought it would be a good idea to call my husband and see how long he thought it would take for things to warm up enough. Forgot I had left my phone in the pocket down my right outer thigh, which ends close to my knee. Under the overalls. Geeze, how am I going to get to that now? So sitting on the tractor, the mission became to unzip the overalls from the bottom of the leg, fail, still couldn’t reach. Couldn’t maneuver enough to get a good grip on the zipper tab and only got it a few inches unzipped. Damp leather gloves off, coat undone, better grip, unzipped higher, fail, not enough. Tried to re-zip, not as easy as it should have been and fail. Had to try the snaps to hold it closed so my leggings didn’t get too snowy. So from the top, snaked a hand down enough to work the phone up enough to get ahold of it. Whew. So after a few phone calls and getting grouchier by the moment with them going to voicemail, the thought occurred maybe he forgot his phone when he left to run errands before work.  And sure enough, a short time later his truck pulled up to the end of the drive, and he had forgotten to take his phone with him. Later I would feel a bit vindicated with always asking him if he had his phone, wallet, and lunch before he left the house. I didn’t do that today….

So after an hour of the tractor running and not being able to raise the bucket, or even turn the steering wheel or move the wheels, I gave up. Not that I was cold, was very comfortable, even with the damp leather gloves, but I knew if I went inside, I would most likely not go back out. So me and my trusty hoe trudged back to the front porch to clean the extra snow off my boots and clothing. The broom did a decent job with the outside, but had to open the right leg snap to try to sweep out the extra snow that had accumulated between my boot and the inside of the overalls. After crossing the threshold, it all had to be reversed with fogged up glasses. Remove the hat, with the static cling hair making that a sight to behold, the gloves laid out to dry, jacket off, coveralls unzipped and time tug off the snow boots. The left one came off without too much difficulty, but the right one refused to release its grip without causing pain in my right knee. It slid out of the pant leg of the overalls without difficulty. So necessity is the mother of invention, standing in my leggings, shirt, wild hair, I opened the door and caught the heel of the show boot on the threshold of the door and scuffed the boot off, crisis averted.

Now in my inside clothing, that left great toenail I had cut a bit too short was protesting with every step, like being tortured by sticking a needle in the end of my toe. It was time to drink some water and take some ibuprofen, since I was starting to walk like a 70 year old who had spent the last hour throwing square bales of straw. Muscles started hurting that I had forgotten about. Who knew walking in deep snow was such hard work. 

I did take the time to throw out a solo cup of bird seed out onto the semi cleared spot where my husband parks. I do love to bird watch when I wash dishes, and feeding the free loaders is the perfect time. Cardinals tend to be my favorite, and the occasional woodpecker graces me with its presence. But they are all welcome to graze on the seed buffet, even the fat squirrel who wanders over occasionally.

Now it’s time to relax a bit, put some thoughts on “paper” while appreciating the warm wool lap blanket I crocheted last year and waiting on my tea to seep. Till next time….

What have you accomplished today that took even a small bit of everyday courage? Even if it was simple as venturing out in the snow.

 

My memory of Sam, the marabou stork, my "out of town visitor"

January 11, 2026

It all started a few years ago when my husband sent me a fuzzy picture of a strange bird he had spotted on the property when he was making rounds one day. I had no idea what I was looking at the time, but thought I would enlist the assistance of a local birding community on Facebook. That was unpleasant to say the least. The amateur sleuths dissected my profile, pegged me as an attention seeking liar (my perception), and as an impossible sighting.

So as days went on, I witnessed the impressive stature of Sam, as he/she came to be known as. When my husband first seen him, he likened the bird to the cartoon Toucan Sam from commercials, so Sam he became. Sam wasn’t always easy to find on the property, but frequented certain areas where frogs and small critters were known to be in the pools of water, left from the ditch flooding in low lying areas of the property. He was skittish and didn’t seem to like the presence of people, but didn’t pay much attention to farm equipment. So my best chance of seeing Sam closer, was from the cab of the tractor or skid steer.  Sam seemed to pal around with young blue heron that frequented the same pools, though he preferred to stride away versus fly. When I say stride, imagine an over 3-4 foot bird with long legs.

As word got out, I offered a few “bird” people the opportunity to visit the property, to prove he existed and give them the opportunity to see for themselves the rare sight from the side by side we used to work on the property. They would meet me and I would drive them within 50 yards of the bird, and pointed him out when they had trouble recognizing the big oddity. Some would bring fancy cameras to get their own pictures, with some of the biggest telephoto lenses I had ever seen in person. Sam was not always cooperative, not seemingly comfortable with the attention he was receiving, but always able to be seen from a distance. That came to an abrupt halt when one person put the coordinates to the property on a website, which is private and not open to anyone trapesing across.

But I was approached by a local zoo person, asking for the opportunity to see Sam. There was concern for Sam surviving the winter and discussion of how he had come to be here. I am usually of the thought that nature provides the means in spite of what humans think is in their best interest, but was willing to assist in the plan to try to capture Sam and relocate him for the greater good.

As time went by, no zoo had reported a marabou stork missing from their compounds, so the thought process was he escaped from a private aviary somewhere, as he did have bands on his legs that weren’t able to be read from the photos. Marabou storks are also documented as pooing down their legs regularly, so no surprise there. A plan was made with the zoo personnel to build a netted catch pen, lure him in, and then capture. The best laid plans often fail, and Sam was an unwilling participant at best.

Weeks passed checking on Sam almost daily just to visualize him, note his patterns of behavior, and ensure he was still getting enough to eat since the weather was getting colder and his food sources were going into hibernation. Trail camera documented his movements and provided some candid pictures I couldn’t get in person. He began wading the edges of the lake, possibly for fish that might swim close enough. And as marabou storks are a carrion type bird, kin to the vulture, and he was supplied with deer hunter leftovers as well. The zoo persons provided some frozen fish their penguins didn’t like, to place in the netted catch pen to see if he would enter to eat. Though nice in theory, the local wildlife would also scavenged the area as well. We did have to cut a small hole in the net one day, to free an entrapped opossum who wound itself up. Sam did eat a few fish, but didn’t seem overly thrilled them or easily enticed inside the netted enclosure. He started traveling to areas of the property closer to people and the road. And one day, he just wasn’t found anymore. The question was if he had been caught by a coyote or other predator, or migrated further south. That big of a bird would have left feathers a plenty if a predator had nabbed him, so my vote was for migration. I watched along the roads, lanes, tree lines, and waters edges of nearby properties when passing by. I only had one possible sighting, along a railroad lane, but it was too brief an impression to be positive. Over a year has gone by and I often wonder where he ended up, or if he was observed by people again. With all the nature preserves in our area, who knows. But with his wing span of almost 6-7 feet, he could have flown anywhere he wanted.

 

Bees, deer, and memories

January 4, 2026

 

Yesterday was a pretty good day. We made the trip to a bigger town to buy chicken feed, then made the trip to the property to check on the bees. Since it was in the mid-40s’, I didn’t worry about putting on the bee jacket with the hood, and I since I had a warm jacket on. The goal was to check on the sugar patty to see how much had been consumed, and there was enough left to last at least a few more weeks. This is my first winter to have bees to care for, so I have been worried about them. I only cracked the inner sanctum a few seconds, but the workers were crawling upwards, and the buzzing was dually noted. We hunted a few supplies to curtain a few potential air leaks where the cold winds could cause problems. Necessity is always the mother of invention, and we proved that yesterday with an empty dog food bag split up the sides and some small nails with plastic fittings normally used to hold wire in place.  We also moved a tail camera over to the bee area, just to see if they get any traffic in their area. So at sunset, I seen a nice young doe grazing in the area. I love all the nature. The next project will be to mix up another sugar patty to slide in the feeder, I got this.

While we were checking things out around the property, we jumped a few does in different areas, fixed a barb wire strand that had some deer damage. The tracks and the trail to the fence told the whole story. It was grey cool day, but it does my mind good to get out and lay eyes on the acres we have worked so hard to clear and maintain, from what it was when we bought it several years ago.

When we first started working with the property, it was covered in briars, saplings that were full of thorns, and invasive Bradford Pear trees. Of course, there were some hardwood trees too, so the selective deforestation, as I called it, began to take shape. I started off with bush hogging with an old 4020 tractor. I wasn’t familiar with the land, which wasn’t always flat, so it was a bit nerve wracking working around and between the small lakes. This is coming from a town raised woman, who was a nurse for over 20 years, and hadn’t driven a tractor since I was a teenager working on my grandfather’s melon farm. But it was so satisfying, clearing acre by acre of growth you couldn’t see over, to gentle pastures that are visible now. My husband said I was responsible for the clutch not working right now.

I even dug a stock pond in an area that a bit swampy in the winter, and thrilled it holds water all year round. That was the phase of my life where I learned to operate heavy machinery, and cleared groves of black locust trees. The brush piles still speak for themselves. The piles had to age a while before they would burn, so it was a process. One time, we had a brush pile that was almost the length of a football field and taller than the tractor. My husband used a bulldozer to push that mess together, and it was a beast, and burned it for about 3 days. But I took the rest out with a tractor, and later a skid steer. Those were good days, and worth all the blood, sweat, and tears. The goal was to build a house on the property, move there and develop a small working farm from the reclaimed strip mine land. Not believing that will ever happen at this point, because life often takes turns we can’t expect or anticipate. Be we live, learn, and continue to work to survive what it throws at us. The agriculture programs we had been participating in were trimmed from the Federal government, so that was income that was slashed from our budget too. The goal has now become to not lose everything we worked so hard for.

 

Time to look forward...

December 30, 2025

It’s over, all the celebration, torn paper, and crock pots cleaned. Ok, the tree and lights I tend to hang onto till after New Year’s Day, but the rest has been pretty well cleaned up. I like the warm glow in the evening hours from the tree, helps me not focus on how cold it is and a bit less stark.

The food was good as it always is when you let yourself indulge, and cream cheese is its own food group. The cheese ball is over half gone, the hors d’oeuvres stuffed with cream cheese have been consumed, broccoli casserole a fond memory, and the spinach dip is almost to the point of being fed to the chickens. We decided to have a variety of soups, finger foods, and not as many sweets this year.  Though I did bake a few different kinds of cookies. It was too easy to grab a few as I pass the cookie jar. Traditional gingerbread, and new recipe sugar cookies and meringue cookies, which I have probably eaten at least a few dozen since Christmas. Some leftover veggie tray slices were transformed into omelet ingredients. My husband volunteered to cook and it was wonderful. We have grazed on leftovers for several days now, and I appreciate every bite of it. The home baked from scratch, the French bread, which the last few crusts with mold specks became snacks for my chickens today.  Times have been rough this year, so there was less focus on a huge meal that few people cook and have to pay more for, and more on stretching every dollar. One sister made the comment she almost asked if it “was a joke” referring to the menu, but then again, she doesn’t cook or clean up, so I tried really hard not to be too offended. But she also had no problem loading up on leftovers, which I really didn’t begrudge her, but it had to be said.

 I sit here thinking about all that still needs done, years past, and the family that wasn’t here, either from death or conflict, and the mourning continues. The “memories” that pop up on Facebook with some of the grandkids helping cut out cookies and decorate them, with those now almost grown faces I seldom get to see. The tears threaten to well up, and have to be clamped back down. There is no room for tears, those are saved for dire circumstances, and who has money for a therapist to work out all the “feelings” kept locked in the box. I have to struggle to find the resolve to keep moving forward and not let the depressive thoughts win out.

Rejoice in the sunshine we are blessed with, embrace change, remember to stay hydrated, and keep moving forward.