Farm Project

We are building a run-in for two horses that are moving in next week. At the moment it looks like an amateur Christo and Jean-Claude installation.

Blog Update Second Try

A few days ago I wrote a blog update that I called, Blog Update. I had settled on that title because comments by a friend made me want to update my blog. The friend complimented my writing. I do well with compliments and compliments seem to carry more cache when the complimenter is talented in the field he or she is complimenting. I started to write Blog Update at a place that advertised free wifi for $2.95. That place was the Oakland Airport. I continued the update at a similar but much larger place that also advertised free wifi. This time the words, "free wifi," was not followed by a price. For the record, even if the free wifi in Oakland had been half price I wouldn't have paid. I have grown accustomed to free stuff where computers are concerned - not counting computers.

This other place with free wifi was the Salt Lake City Airport. The free Internet was everything it said it would be - free and Internet. I finished the post, complete with links and photographs. I was having such a great time that I was the last one on the plane. But before I got on the plane I pushed the refresh button and Blog Update with all of it's embedded links and photographs was replaced with something resembling this: Blog fghaiod. Intriguing but it did not convey whatever it was I was trying to convey.

The reason I was in Oakland was because it has the second closest airport to San Francisco after the San Francisco Airport. And I was in San Francisco because Tenspeed Hero has a show at The Rapha Cycle Club on Filmore and Filbert. Luke Hero, Becca Intern Hero and I were there installing our Tour De France illustrations (illustrated by Becca). We spent a couple of days trying to ignore the plaintive whispers of wool cycling clothing imploring us to adopt (buy) them. But Heroes are only human and I was inevitably broken down by a pair of socks that go by the name, Rapha City Riding Socks. The City Riding Socks rightfully pointed out that I had, heretofore, been riding in cities with decidedly rural and in some cases suburban socks. "You need us," they said.

The show looked great and our hosts were excellent. Thank you Rapha Cycle Club. And thank you Belinda and Nick for the great company, food and inexplicably comfortable foldout couch. And thanks Andrea for the free admission to the Academy of Sciences. And especially thanks to Jenny for minding the farm while I was away.

 Anaconda

Bobcat admiring my Rapha City Riding Socks

Bobcat tasting the air

Bobcat freeing me of my glasses 

Not sure who this is

One of Becca's illustrations

Chicken Hawks

The Davis's (that's what the free range chickens are known as) have been sleeping inside since three of their family members were killed by a probable hawk. Or probably killed by an actual hawk. Or actually killed by something. Maybe a hawk. We left the farm to run some errands and Jenny came back to a dead chicken. Upon further investigation we discovered that two others were gone. Reuben was hurt - missing feathers and there was some blood on his back. He hasn't left his coop in a week. He spent the first couple of nights sleeping on the floor. This from a chicken who usually sleeps fairly high up in a tree. It's sad to see only a couple of hens here and there roaming the yard. 

William Lewis Cabin Painter

The great and powerful Bill Lewis drew or painted or sketched this. There are many more beautiful cabin paintings on his website.

Not Watching the Olympics

Even though my neighbor Kristin Armstrong won a Golden medallion today (today was a few days ago now). And my other neighbor, from across the pond, Bradley Wiggins also won a similar prize in a similar event.
But I would watch the Olympics if I could figure out how. An afternoon break from the oppression that we call summer in Boise would be welcome.

Part II
The next two pictures shows the view from the sprinklers - the sprinklers that want as much attention as the animals. The animals are partly to blame for this sprinkler neediness. Intrepid likes to play in the sprinklers. He scratches his belly on the business end while rhythmically kicking the sprinkler's pipe. It goes a little something like this: rub, kick, rub, kick, rub rub, kick kick, rib, kick, rub, kick..." Meanwhile he hums. If you listen carefully his hums start to sound like a musical, "ahhh, that's it, yeah, oooh, you know me so well."

photo by Jenny Hunter

 Part III

Our caterpillar Brian has a flake of kitty litter stuck to his face. He has long term dreams of flying. We do not have the heart to tell him that he is a lowly caterpillar and unless he can somehow magically turn into a butterfly, or a moth maybe, that it isn't going to happen.

Diego

Blog Post

I've heard from a reliable source that I do not post very often. So as I write these words I will think of something to post. In the mean time, please enjoy the following photograph:

Cochins

Still thinking. Check out the cows etc...

Turkeys and cows across the road. And a pheasant. 

I'm taking too long. Its bed time. We go to bed early on the farm.

Reuben

Reuben is looking beautiful and proud after recovering from the beating his son gave him. He spends more time with the hens and mates with them now that JR moved to California. 

Back at the Farm

I just spent the last ten days in Phoenix Arizona supervising the art installation for an exhibit. I also installed some but mostly watched because we (New Catalogue et al) were in the able hands of Laura Best, the best art installer this side of the Colorado. Or that side. Maybe both sides.

Now I am back at the farm with Jenny and the animals. The most pressing task is getting the archaic irrigation system working. Intrepid enjoys a good rub on the sprinkler. The sprinkler's brass fittings bend pliantly and break jaggedly in response to Intrepid's loving caresses.  Intrepid weights about 1600 Lbs.

For the record, the farm record, I replaced three quick connects in the south pasture.

Conversation with the King

A friend of mine, a former band mate - no! we aren't getting the old band back together, stop it! - and I were talking about how different the person we think we are and the person we are is. (Is that a great sentence or are it?) For example, he said Netflix knows his taste better than he does. How many of us would make a top ten list including films we have only seen once, while films we've watched over and over wouldn't even make the top 11? And I would never admit that I really like the novels of J. K. Rowling. I am much more of a Faulkner man, although I have only read him on tape. Now I am trying to decide if it is better to strive to be the person I think I am or to embrace the person I am. This discussion reminded me of a post from the first year of this blog.
This just occurred to me: if you are writing a dating profile for match dot com, describe the person you think you are. Nobody wants to date the person you actually are. Sorry, but think of it this way: if the pictures of hambergers at fast food restaurants looked like the actual hambergers, nobody would eat them. Don't let that happen to you.

The former band mate's name is Space King Midas aka King Space Midas.

The Horses I Found

The two closer horses belong here. That's Athos and Intrepid. The reddish brown horse and the grey horse on the right and in the field are strays.

Tossie and Treppie poo (that's what they call eachother) were excited to see these horses. I was worried because the were headed toward Scenic Byway highway 55.

 These boys were pretty happy to be free but stressed out to be on opposite sides of a barbwire fence.

I called Jenny in California. We were both at a loss at how to keep these guys safe. As you can see in this photo I figured something out. I went to a neighbor to see if she had an idea as she rides everyday. But she wasn't home. On my way home, the horses started walking in the right direction - away from the highway. But then they stopped. I grabbed a tie-down strap from the back of my rig (that's what I call my car now that I live on a farm). I approached the chestnut horse on foot and placed the strap over his head. Then he followed me home like a well trained dog. The gray followed him. Together, we walked into the arena. Meanwhile, Jenny made some phone calls and discovered the owners.


We thought we might keep them. One of the women Jenny talked to indicated that these horse might not be wanted. Unfortunately, the teenage boy who called to arrange pick up said that they did want them. But they sure look pretty in our pasture.

Here is the teenage boy and a young woman claiming the horses. It took them about a half hour to catch them. But then they hopped on and rode off into the sunset. Except that the sun sets in the west and they went east. Stupid kids. Don't know their cardinal directions.

Blood and Feathers

Yesterday I came home and saw Reuben Jr, Reuben's eldest (only) son, walking by the new chicken coop.  I was thinking, "we should just call him Jr." Then I noticed something confounding: he looked a lot like Reuben Sr. Several characteristics separated the two birds (Yes, chickens are birds): Reuben has large areas of white between his black nape and tail. Jr has black speckles and quite a bit of yellow in the same area. Reuben has long spurs and Jr has short ones. Jr makes up for his tiny tools with a larger comb and a spectacular tail. The biggest difference is that Reuben will let you walk up to him and Jr wont.
So, I walked up to the rooster. He did not attempt to run away. He had long spurs. Quick quiz: which rooster is this? Correct. Reuben. He had blood streaks on his back and wings. He had scabs on his comb. Apparently an unsanctioned cock fight happened while I was at school. Again, I was at school. I attended graduate critiques between 8 - 10 and immediately following the crits, I met with two colleagues at *Big City Coffee for breakfast. There were many witnesses.

Reuben appeared healthy otherwise. He was hopping onto fence posts and crowing. He was foraging. I half expected to find Jr dead, lying in a pool of blood. I found him looking the same as ever. I have yet to get close enough to see if he was injured.

Update: I saw Jr. His right leg and spur are completely bloody. Reuben did not show up for breakfast. When I found him he was sitting statue still in the pasture. I thought he had died standing. He moved when I approached but he was beaten to a pulp; covered in blood. I tried to catch him. Failed. I tried to catch Jr. I shut him in the coop with the hens then tried to catch him. He went berserk. I grabbed his tail (see photo) and he screamed. Before I could get a grip on his back his tail expatriated from Jr's body. Not sure what to do next but I loaded the gun.

Put Bullet on Reuben watch

Gotta go. Horses running free. Not ours.

Zachary

We buried Zachary Cochin Rooster Hunter today. He was a good rooster. He was a gentleman rooster; always waited for the hens to eat before he would.
Not long ago he was found hiding behind a nest box. Upon further inspection blood was decorating his already blood red comb. All efforts were made to encourage him to rejoin the flock proved futile. His son or nephew, or maybe both, pecked him mercilessly. His time had come. Zachary had to move. For his safety, Mr. Rooster-Hunter was placed in protective custody in the tack room. His end loomed. Today he left us. He is now with Rin Tin Tin, Lassies 3 through 7, Adam Yauch, Abraham Lincoln and others.

Zachery: Rooster, father, lover, friend. He is survived by all manner of relatives: sister/daughters, nephew/sons, daughter/wives. He will be missed.

Neighbors

John and Pat live next door. They are married and have been that way for years. They are opposites. One is a man and the other a woman. One friendly and positive. The other strains to be friendly but does not bother with positive. To her - now you know which is which - being positive would just be unrealistic. She can't lie to herself or to her young, good looking, neighbors (her inner thoughts not mine).

Every project we have undertaken at the farm has been universally admired (lauded, celebrated) by John. Pat thinks that each attempt is futile: every nail a waste of iron, every watt of electricity flowing through  the fence a waste of sun shine,  and every armed-gard a waste of food and air. No chicken coop known can keep the chickens from their inevitable demise at the jaws of Mr. Fox or Mrs. Raccoon or Brother Coyote. "You wont have chickens for long," she frowned.

Yesterday she pointed to Jenny's prized Cochin bantams and asked, "Are those special chickens of just regular chickens?" When I told her the type she said, "We had some of those once." Me: "They are cute." Pat: "Yeah, they are cute. And vicious."

Farm Log

I've been meaning to keep a daily log of life at the farm. So far it has been something closer to a monthly log. That is, if I write in it today. It is a paper log - a plog if you will.

So far today everyone has been fed. Everyone is the horses, dogs, cats, chickens, quail and goats. There is a bunny names Louis but he gets fed in the afternoon. The cats are the biggest job if not the biggest animals. The horses fill those shoes. Yesterday I had a heck of a time getting Dallas Winston to eat his Urinary SO food. He ate some but he is easily intimidated and 7 or 8 other cats wanted his food more than he did. This morning, I am happy to report, he ate all of his breakfast even with a few of his closest friends trying to share it with him. I told them, "get crystals in your pee and you can have this food too, but until then step off! Sometimes I like to talk like I am a cool tough guy when I am with the cats. Like this:"Cool it, kitties!"

Then there is our sweet (bitchy) cat Camille who is struggling with weight issues. Self esteem, blah, blah, blah. She compensates by hissing and swatting at her peers. Camille eats diet cat good. As far as we know she also eats regular cat food. This morning I dished out her 1/8 cup of food but even the sight of a tail from her downstairs neighbor, Daisy(Picture a cat tree with a fat black cat in the middle, Camille, and a genuinely sweet calico, Daisy, on the bottom) was enough to piss her off. She was happy to see me at first but, even though I was there to guard her while she ate, she started hissing a swatting at me.

Another important chore is pill distribution. Everyone gobbles up their pill-pocket incased pills with relish, except Gavin. This morning Gavin carefully chewed his medication and spit out every pill. Even the Neutrix which are basically dog treats with vitamines. He's got impressive oral dexterity. Whoever marries Gavin will be one lucky bitch. Sorry for the crassness. Gavin is a confirmed bachelor.

More from the farm

This is the view toward the neighbor's, the Boem's, house. It is black and white this time of year.

This is Danny. His is helping build a chicken coop. He helps by getting as close to me as possible and plopping down on my feet, my tools, my materials etc. Every little bit helps.

Farm

I was supposed to be on this plane on my way to Belgium, EU. But alas, there are animals to care for. If you are wondering how I got a picture of the very plane that I was supposed to take to Belgium keep wondering. If I gave away my secrets then every one would do it. 

It's not so bad staying here at Black and White Rainbow Ranch in Idaho. There is plenty of company.

Danny and Diego for example. Jenny is on her way here for the weekend. There have been a few hitches in our plan to have been all moved in by now. For example, the trailer, the one that has Jenny's tractor on it, needed a new axel. That is a very short version of that particular hitch. It is kind of like saying John F. Kennedy need burying. Another hitch was that the trailer that was bringing Jenny's horses here lost a wheel. That was another short version.

If you encounter this pit bull the best approach is to look at him and swim toward him. No, that is for sharks. Walk toward him. Then pet him. He wouldn't say no to a kiss too.

Diego is in love with Lola. 

Fiona

Morning

Tiger and Smitty (in mouth)

Red Hen. No name. Lays eggs and eats eggs. 

French Wasp

Looking through photos from last summer I stumbled upon this lovely wasp.

Tiger (Orange) and Jasmine

Gavin

Gavin is a dignified friend of mine. He hates getting his picture taken and somehow he knows when something is a camera whether it is a camera, a phone, or a secret spy ballpoint pen camera. He gets up and walks away, with all of his dignity intact. 

Yesterday I borrowed a long lens or two from an associate. I hid under the car for some of these pictures.