The Mother Nature Tree Service

We had our trees trimmed Friday night while we lounged around in our luxurious basement. We didn't have to do a thing. Mother Nature took care of it all. She didn't miss a tree.

I'm going to have to write to the service department though.

This used to be my favorite tree. It was perfectly shaped. I was looking forward to watching the sheep graze under it's boughs. I didn't want this one trimmed. Yet all the old, dead branches on other trees I did not want are still standing. I guess I should have spray painted them with a big, orange X.

She also misplaced our outdoor furniture while she was here. We'd like to know where the chair is that goes to that cushion.

But most importantly, we really feel like she could have stuck around and helped with the clean up.

I certainly won't be providing her a good reference. Wieners and marshmallows anyone?


(Don't worry, I counted beaks. All chickens have been accounted for and were unharmed.)

Never Name Your Roosters Before They Crow

You remember our little Easter miracle baby don't you? The one Milah so aptly suggested we name Lazarus if it was a boy. I then decided if it was a girl I'd call it Liza, because when it closed it's eyes the lids were so dark it looked like it was wearing gads of eyeliner.


Well, it's been growing. Usually you would be able to tell by now if it's a girl or a boy. There are several things to look for. First the comb and wattles. If the comb and wattles grow in early and red you can rest assured you have yourself a rooster. Except...

roosters generally will also have erect tail feathers, like Sparky here. They tend to stand up straighter with their chest out and have a macho attitude. They like to taunt each other. Just like a lot of teenage boys I know.

Our little Easter miracle doesn't do any of that. Nope, this chicken definitely carries it's self like a hen; tail down with a horizontal stature and is very non-confrontational. But wait. See those pointy hackle feathers at the base of the tail? That's another sure sign it's a rooster. So what gives?

I've had no other choice but to sit around and wait before I could name it. But this morning while I was doing chores it finally let it's true colors show. Sir Sparky d'Uccle crows the cutest, most perfect little cock-a-doodle-do you've ever heard. Today our little Easter miracle here, however, let out the most pathetic excuse for a crow to slip past a beak. It sounded more like a cat hacking up a hairball while it's paw was stuck in a mousetrap. It wasn't pretty. But it was definately a crow.

Now we know for sure it's a boy that just acts like a girl. Our little Easter miracle appears to be a cross-dresser.

So I wonder? Should we name him Tootsie?

A Blond, A Brunette and a Redhead Go Walking Into a Bar...

She's a Lady, Whoa Oh Oh She's a Lady

May I introduce to you Lady Millie d'Uccle (pronounced du-clay) of the Belgium d'Uccle's? The lovely wife of Sir Sparky d'Uccle.

Polished and refined--she's a real class act. They say behind every great man is a great woman. I see big things in store for Sir Sparky. Big things.

Just like Jackie O., Princess Di or even Michele O'bama she has impeccable taste in fashion. Don't you just love her footwear?

Big things, I'm telling you. Big things. You just wait and see.

It's Raining, It's Pouring, The Old Man is Snoring

And I've been hiding away in Sheville.

First I made a doll quilt with some leftover blocks.

Then I finally layered, quilted and bound my spools quilt. I've named it Jesse's Shirts-N-Skirts. Jesse was my grandmother, a farm wife, who I know made some of her family's clothing. I'll bet she had shirtings and calicoes just like this in her scrap basket.


Then I busied myself making the wonkiest quilt top to ever grace Sheville. Have you ever tried to square up any of these book panels? I'll tell ya it's enough to drive a woman to drink. I figured out why it was at the bottom of the kit pile at our kid's quilt charity sew-in. Everyone else was smart enough to run like **** in the opposite direction of it. I'm glad it's done and I can turn it in at the next guild meeting for someone else to quilt. I don't ever want to see it again.


Then since it was the seventh day in a row of rain, I started in on a Jo Morton concentric log cabin quilt.

I'll finish it after dinner. I had to stop and let everything cool down in Sheville. Things were really heating up in there with all this work going on.

Or maybe it was a hot flash?

He Shall be Named Sparky

And he shall live on the farm forever.

I don't care what Old Jack says.

I'm keeping him.

Sparky's no dummy. He's already got the ladies wrapped around his -- uh, err, well let's just say the ladies like him. So much so that Minnie was willing to stash him away behind her in the nest box to keep Old Jack away.

The littles have been loose in the coop for several days now but have yet to take a step outside. I'm starting to think it's because Sparky's afraid to get his feathers dirty.

He's Single, Ladies.

I received a harassing e-mail from my brother. It seems he's annoyed that I haven't blogged in over a week. So I would like to take this opportunity to point out to all the ladies out there reading this blog that he is single and apparently doesn't have enough to keep him busy.

Here he is after a long day of playing golf. He also enjoys cycling, reading and he even enjoys going to the theater. Phantom of the Opera was one of his favorites. I'm telling you he's quite the catch, ladies. I'm looking for a nice girl, preferably a quilter to keep him in line and to make him start eating healthier. Any takers?

Something tells me he won't be harassing me about my blog anymore...

which I know has been neglected as of late, but I try to keep things cheery here on the blog. Only my life isn't always so cheery. Yesterday I woke to a pile of dog doo just inside the back door. While I cleaned it up I noticed the dog had eaten all of the chicken feed I had reserved for the injured chicken I have residing on the back porch. I was going to have to go get more from the coop in the pouring down rain. As I dressed, the cat started upchucking a hairball on the carpet directly in front of me. The only room in the house with carpet I might add. She could have puked anywhere else, but no. All before I even had a cup of coffee.

It's been like this for a week. So I locked myself into Sheville with a bottle of Midol and a quart of chocolate ice cream and didn't come out until I finished this cheerful crib size quilt.


Sometimes you have to make your own cheer.