In which I keep writing, and I get a little LUCK in the mailbox

Today is Friday the 13th, and look what showed up in the mailbox today:


His name is LUCK, and he's a gift from BootsandSaddles4Mel. I stopped at the mailbox on the way out to run errands this morning, and there he was, waiting to go with me!

Isn't he just about the cutest little thing? I swear I must have kissed that sweet nose every time I was stuck at a stoplight. Then I brought him home and wrote him even further into my NaNoWriMo novel (21,319 words so far)!

Here's today's excerpt. A few days ago the novel was starting to stagnate, and it desperately needed a crisis so I pushed a supporting character down the stairs. Today, the main character tried to figure out the significance of the little sheep toy. Good luck, lady.

Or should I say, "Good LUCK" because that is, of course, our little toy himself in his very first cameo appearance in a novel?

“It's just really intense” she told Isabelle that evening as they chatted by phone. "Here’s this big, perfectly-capable adult man being watched every second by an over-protective eleven-year-old. No, “intense” isn’t the right word—it’s almost frantic. That kind of manic look you see border collies get when they watch a flock of goats that are bound to do something outrageously foolish at any moment.”

Isabelle considered. “Well,” she said, “the kid did just lose her mom. Maybe she’s afraid to lose her dad as well?”

“Yeah, I thought of that,” Libby said. “Except that she was the same kind of frantic about her grandmother until.” she paused, remembering the chain of events, “until she gave her grandmother that little toy, the sheep thing. That little girl looked like she was ready to explode when the toy fell, and she only relaxed when we ducted-taped the thing to Katherine’s shirtsleeve.”

“You didn’t duct-tape a stuffed animal to Katherine’s shirt really, did you?” Isabelle asked, sounding appalled.

“Well, yeah. I mean, the medics had a roll of the stuff right there, so I borrowed it. And as soon as the sheep was secured, the kid was okay, like she had unplugged the worry machine. It was really weird.”

Now, back to writing the novel. It's a good thing I've got LUCK right here. He reminds me to quit dawdling around with the blog and write another 1,000 words before dinner is ready!

In which I heed a friend's very good advice, and I Shut Up and Ride

Sometimes, even in the rainy season, it's better to ride than it is to talk about riding. So that's what I did yesterday!

I've included three short videos of some trails through the Pilchuck Tree Farm, one of the best local places to ride: lots of trails, lots of logging roads, and lots of wildlife. The film quality is not always the best, but it will give you a little taste of our terrain.

Let me take you with me on a few of our trails:

In which we salute the person who had to work on Veteran's Day

A bit ironic?
Jim, a veteran, doesn't
get a holiday.

In which I continue writing like a madwoman, and ponder gifts

NaNoWriMo continues to dominate my social calendar this month (word count: 18,170).

I had a breakthrough this morning and pushed a supporting character down the stairs, thereby gaining myself more than 1,000 words once I got the granddaughter on the scene, the volunteer medics on the scene, and the stuffed animal back where it belongs. Whew. Here's an excerpt from the story (before grandma's encouter with gravity):

Her dad was down in the kitchen, making waffles. “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted his daughter by lifting up the hat and plunking a kiss on her forehead, “you are just in time for the best waffles in the whole world!”

“You say that every Saturday,” she told him solemnly.

“I do say that every Saturday,” he agreed with her. “And every Saturday it is even more true than it was the Saturday prior. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence? Maybe we should call the record books or something.”

“Yeah, Dad. Sure,” she said, trying to sound sarcastic, but smiling at him shyly instead. She had actually always loved her dad’s Saturday morning waffle routine.

He had kept up the waffle routine for her even when her mom swore off waffles for life, (“I can’t ride with all those carbs, Michael!”) and he made a point of waffle-Saturdays even after the divorce. Then, he would pick her up early on Saturday mornings at her mom’s house—or sometimes, at her mom’s barn where they’d spent the night after a long week of clinics and lessons with visiting trainers—and drive her back to his apartment to make waffles and plan their weekend together.

Sometimes they would go fishing, sometimes they would go to the zoo, and sometimes they would just stay home and read books and watch movies. But always there were waffles.

“Maple syrup today, my dear? Or strawberries? Or…” he checked the contents of the freezer, “Yes, it looks like the blueberries survived the long and perilous journey across the state to the vast unknown wilds of this new and untamed freezer. Would you like to reward their tenacity by devouring them on waffles?”

“Yes, please,” she told him. “I’ll heat them up in the microwave if you want some, too.”

He nodded, and she carefully poured little frozen blue marbles from the bag into a glass measuring cup, and put them in the microwave for half a minute. Serving the blueberries this way had been the invention of her mo—um, her grandmother really liked blueberries served this way with waffles.

Yes, it was that same grandma who did the gravity check a mere two pages later. I am nothing but cruel to my supporting characters, and have never pretended otherwise.

I have also written in an unplanned character to the story, thanks to BootsandSaddles4Mel, who awarded me a Valuable Prize on her blog this week:

Isn't this just the cutest little thing? I've named him "Luck" and he will actually have a very important role in the next few chapters of the story. Thanks, Mel!

Now, can we talk about gifts?

The "holiday season" for ME is Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving and NaNoWriMo. After my mom's birthday on December 1st, I prefer to pull the covers over my head and sleep until the Pacific Northwest Endurance Rides' annual conference at the end of January. Don't bother me with Xmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa or Junkanoo, please. I will arise for a brief celebration on Solstice (days getting longer, hooray!).

Other than that, just leave a message and I'll get back to you in early Spring, right?

But there's this "gift thing" in December that is morbidly fascinating to me. I find it almost almost interesting enough to stay awake:

The Fabulous Useless Gift of the Year.

You've seen these: S'mores makers. Ice-tea makers. Anything invented by Ron Popeil, and anything advertised in hyperactively excited tones: But Wait! There's More!

Jim and I love to try to discover these unreal items by watching the newspaper ads (we don't do television or commercial radio, so I'm sure we miss stuff...but that's another post).

He's betting on this for 2009:Yes, you guessed correctly. It's a Food Tumbler. People are starving in the world, and somebody wants to waste electricity to marinate meat. Sigh.

I haven't found my entry for 2009 yet. I'm still boggled by this:

2008 Truck Antlers. >shaking my head<

So, what does the discerning Poet/Farmer appreciate in a gift?

Jim and Willy hit the jackpot at the lumber yard the other day:(HINT: Lumber yard= good place to shop for farmer gifts. Hardware store = even better)

Not only is this a nice-quality single-hand folding knife with a locking blade, it's PURPLE. And also GREEN. And also SHINY! I used it to hack up the jack o' lanterns so the chickens could eat them.

Now that is a gift.

Life is good!

In which I learn important farming skills by telling an old folktale

On alternate Sundays mornings, I spend several hours at the radio station, broadcasting an eclectic mix of storytelling and world music as a host of the program Global Griot. (A "griot" is a storyteller).

Some days, I base my show on a theme. Other days, like today, I just share stories that get stuck in my head (like an earworm...but much longer and harder to explain to non-storytellers)

I learned the story "Sleeping While the Wind Blows" late last year, when Jim and I were looking at farmland and realizing that we might actually be able to buy the farm of our dreams...which, obviously, we did!

I told the story a lot last winter while we were waiting for the banks to do whatever it is that banks do. I wrote it down and sent it to people.

And then...I forgot about it.

Last week, when the rain was pelting down and the wind was gusting hugely, I remembered the story, and haven't been able to stop telling it. So, I told it on the radio this morning!

Now it's your turn to learn some important farming skills, by way of an old, old story.

Click to play:

If the player (above) doesn't work, you can access the story directly here.

Sleep well, friends. Life is good!

In which the Minerva Louises do not enjoy the rain at all

The tarp manufacturers must love us. I figure we're probably on their corporate Xmas gift list this year, because we've supported them so strongly since buying Haiku Farm.

Jim is on the last stages of finishing the chicken's Winter Palace...unfortunately, the part that isn't in place yet is the roof, so they can't move in early and must make do for now with the hastily-winterized Chicken Tractors.

Apparently, not all of them are satisfied with this arrangement.

Dear Farmer People

We want boots, jackets and hats

Sinceerlee, chickens

In which I post a few short poems about an unpoetic thing

My novel is progressing steadily--I'm at 7,008 words so far, with a goal of 50,000 words by November 30th.

Yesterday, an old friend who also happens to be a veterinarian, talked the main character into fostering an injured dog:

“Wait,” said Libby carefully, “what is it about this broken-leg dog that you aren’t telling me?”

“Who me?”

“You agreed pretty quickly to pie and coffee for the duration,” Libby pointed out. “which means that there is more than just a broken leg going on here.”

“Well…”

“I knew it.”

“The leg is badly infected, and very fragile. We’ve splinted it up sturdily, but she will need to be careful until after her pups are weaned.”

“Pups? You didn’t mention puppies! How many puppies are you bringing to me?”

“No idea, actually. She hasn’t had them yet. She’s probably got another week or so before she delivers, so you can get her settled in and comfortable.”

“I knew it, I knew it. Alright, I’ll do it—but you bring me pie and coffee.”

“Okay.”

“Every day.”

“Okay.”

“To my office.”

Hank sighed. “Fine.”

“Naked.”

The vet snorted and choked. “Dangit, Lib, I just sprayed coffee all over my steering wheel. Quit that!”

“Ha. You shouldn’t be talking on the phone and driving, let alone talking and driving and drinking coffee. You want people to think you’re a responsible adult, you might want to work on that.”

Just for the record, I have never had this conversation with any of the vets who have talked me into taking foster animals. Yet.

Here are a couple of haiku poems:

Worming Somebody Else's Horse

Grab hold, and hold on

Head, feet, syringe all fly up

did any go in?

Worming Fiddle

The wrapper : scary

The tube of stuff: not so much

After: I get cookies.

Worming Hana

You can give me that

and then pet me, okay? I

like the attention.

Worming Goats

Maaaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa.

Maaaaa. Maaaa. Maaaa. Maaaaa. Glug. Glug. Glug.

Maaa. Maaa. Maaa. Maaa. Maaa.

In which I am busy, and so I write a few poems just for fun

Since I'm busily writing my NaNoWriMo novel this month, my blog posts will be shorter than usual. I promise to publish a few amusing excerpts from the book, as soon as I write something amusing. Hmmm. Might be a few days.

In the meantime, a few haiku poems to amuse everyone and keep y'all updated on the goings-on at the Farm:


New Horse Blanket
It arrived today
wrapped in plastic, pristinely
clean. That sure won't last.



It Looks Very Nice
Straps are adjusted
Buckles are done just so. Her
tailor is a goat.


On The Horse
That white bit on top
She eyes with great suspicion
Soon it will be mud.

In which Hallowe'en costumes are cute, cunning, and just slightly silly

I took an afternoon last week to get everybody dressed up in their Hallowe'en outfits so I could get pictures to share!

The goats, of course, already had their fashion show in an earlier post.

The dogs were next.

Mimsy would rather be chasing chickens, which is Strictly Not Allowed.

It's difficult enough for Mim to hold still for a photo, but sitting still while wearing WINGS was really a challenge!

Luna likes to have her photo taken. She also likes to wear pretty outfits.

Luna is the girly-girl my mom wanted me to be. I guess sometimes it skips a generation.

Hana is another one who enjoys dress-up days.

She will wear just about any crazy thing we can hang on her, tie on her, or attach to her tack.

I guess her edition of the Arabian Horse Handbook of Stuff to Spook At was missing Chapter Thirteen: Weird Tack.

Instead, she enjoys all the attention. I'm pretty sure there's a chapter about that in the Handbook someplace, right?

Sometimes it's more difficult to get Jim to wear a costume than it is to get the animals in costume.

For a nice reversal on my classic horse-is-pirate/rider-is-parrot,

I plunked a pirate hat on Jim's head just before snapping the picture. Don't they look cute together?

Fiddle usually wears the pirate gear, so this year I tried something new:

Fee doesn't mind wearing costumes. She figures that if I'm dressing her up and posing her for photos, there will be remuneration.

Although I didn't actually have a cookie in my hand at any point during the dress-up sessions, she kept doing her tricks so that I'd feel guilty and go get her a treat.

Well, heck. Hallowe'en is all about trick or treating, right?

I ran to the barn and got her a cookie. Goooooood girl!

Life is good.

In which I share scary stories of ghosts and hauntings for Hallowe'en

It's Hallowe'en at last, my favorite holiday!!!

To celebrate, I've recorded a few of my favorite scary horse stories--not the kind with huge vet bills, but the kinds with GHOSTS and HAUNTS and DEVILMENT!

Enjoy!

If the embedded code fails me (again), you can go here for the story Devilment

And here for The Ghost Horse of the Chuckanut Hills.

Devilment:

Ghost Horse:

Happy Hallowe'en!

(if you dressed up yourself and/or your animals, send pictures and links to me, and I'll post them here tomorrow!)