It's kind of sad that all my grandma's were mean. I started thinking about them all while reading a collection of childhood memories sent to me by a paternal aunt. I never knew my dad's mom she died just before I was born, but she was a cruel and neglectful mother. To be accurate she was a chronic alcoholic with many other mental issues that saw her institutionalized many times. My grandfather turned around and married her sister who was pretty much the same except slightly more sane. They both had stopped drinking by the time I was in kindergarten so they were drastically different people to be around. Still I was terrified of my grandfather who made it very plain he didn't like us kids and grandma wasn't someone I ever would have considered even slightly warm. The only kindness I remember from her is a drawer in her kitchen that always had lollipops in it. If we were very good we could get one right before we left.
My dad won't talk about his childhood at all. Only in the last few years would he even stay in a the room if one of his sisters was talking about anything from when they were young. What I know of my uncle who died when I was a toddler is from my mothers stories of a smart, funny, very damaged young man who took his own life. My aunts book made it so clear that he'd never really been given a chance to have a happy life and that's so sad.
I used to wonder why the kids didn't just all run away as soon as they could. I was amazed my dad left, got educated, a wife, started a family then came back to live near his family. Reading my aunts book I finally got to see the glimpses of the good there was in their parents. It wasn't all hell, there was some love there in the rubble, but my dad doesn't want to remember that either.
My moms mother I knew very well. I used to call her Attilla the Hun in drag. She hated me with a passion and I hated here right back. My mother was the child of her first marriage which ended in divorce about 2 months before my mom was born. My mom was born premature and the doctors told my grandmother she wasn't likely to live and to just leave her in the hospital to die. Since my mom was the offspring of the man she now hated Grandma was good with that and left. Her mother was not and came the next day to take my mother home. Mom lived for two months in a rabbit skin lined box beside the kitchen wood stove. Being born was the first crime she committed then she up and lived!!! Mom spent the first 10 years of her life living with her grandparents.
The next great crime she committed was being introduced to her mothers future husband. He fell in love with mom at first sight and from that day on considered her his daughter. For the rest of Grandmas life she had to be nice and sweet to mom whenever Grandpa was around. Mom had some scars from the times he wasn't around.
Long story short. Eventually mom moved back to this area when I was about 10 and again grandpa fell in love. Out of all the grandkids I was the only one who willingly worked on the farm. I slaughtered, I shoveled, I bucked hay and picked berries for hours on end. Grandpa and I were buds from day one. It made grandma crazy. We had a war she and I. Her goal was to drive me away and mine was to keep the Grandpa I adored. She once hit me with a full pan of cooking bacon because I snitched a piece on the way through the kitchen. I was very lucky not to get badly burned. I think that was the first time my mother pinned her mother to the wall and told her in no uncertain terms if she touched one of us kids ever again she'd have her wrinkly old butt thrown in jail no matter what it did to grandpa. The war continued unabated, but the level of violence dropped considerably.
She won sometimes, I won sometimes. In the end when her health failed it was the child she left to die who came to help out of all her kids. Though it hurt my grandfather I didn't attend her funeral, I couldn't be so hypocritical as to pretend to mourn. I remember once she grabbed me by the arm and hissed, "You're going to go to HELL!" My response was, "Save me a place old woman, cuz you're gonna get there first."
Anyway that's my ramble about grandmas.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Update on Life
I have been chided for not keeping up my blog by the person I warned I would rarely have time to dedicate to it. What can I say, life's busy and I have a hundred things I should be doing instead of sitting here. Oh well, the house will stay messy for one day longer.
Update #1 the dog is still broken. We have now passed the 14 month mark since she originally shattered the leg. I took her into a local vet for a cheap double check x-ray and was devastated by the lack of healing. To me and my small town vet it looked like the bone had hardly regained any calcium in over 7 wks. But the x-rays were sent to her surgeon and he was happy with how they looked. She is still on leash only until at least the4th of June when she goes in for yet another x-ray. At this rate she's going to end up with cancer from all the x-rays.
Update#2 Chickens and ducks. Growing like crazy. The ducks are full sized, chickens about half sized. Everyone is going through their first moult so they all look like bad taxidermy examples right now. They've been very entertaining at times, messy always, stinky occasionally.
The "Free" exotic chick I got with my order has turned out to be a white Cochin Rooster. Hardly a rare bird. From talking to other people the "free" chick McMurray hatchery offers is always, always, always a rooster and since they are hard to sell and usually culled in heavy numbers a good way for McM to unload them. Just a comment not a real complaint. So far I'm good with my roo. Cochins are about as laid back as a chicken breed gets so I doubt I'll have aggression problems with him. We'll see what my opinion is when he starts to crow.
My husband has enjoyed the birds. When he lets them out he usually spend a while communing with them. For some reason the chickens will come perch on him when he's sitting out in their run, but not on me. That doesn't break my heart, I don't like being pooped on.
All in all I'm glad we got them but will be happy when we start getting eggs in a few months.
Update#3 Bees. Well now, they have been interesting. It's been a challenge to keep my hands off the hives and not be bugging them more than once a week. No pun intended. I have the two hives painted with identifying marks to help keep records of them. They are Spot and Stripe.
Right now Spot is just booming. Packed with bees, drawing comb, hauling in pollen and nectar when the weather allows. It was by far the more populace of the two nucs I got by at least 30% so it had a larger mass of workers to start with. They take down about a gallon of 1/1 syrup a week. I've put a second deep on them and they are starting to draw comb on it.
Stripe is far smaller and much slower to get going. It seems healthy and the queen is laying well, so I'm not real concerned. I did pull a frame of capped brood from Spot last weekend and give it to Stripe to help them build a up a little. They are starting to draw out comb and taking syrup at about 1/2 g a week.
My confidence in working them has gone way up. I'm not horribly worried I'm going to screw up bad when I open a hive. I also know the bees better. Stripe is totally mellow and can be worked with nothing but the occasional spritz of sugar water most of the time. Spot gets a little testy and needs smoke to stay calm. Still I was able to shake most of the bees off a frame and put it in Stripe without them getting toooo pissy.
I have yet to put any chemicals in the hive either antibiotics or other treatments. The more I read the less I want to treat unless forced. I have friends who do no treatments and have healthy hives, I have friends who treat heavily and I have one who destroys his bees every fall to start fresh in the spring. They all have their opinions on what works best and I am exploring what works for me.
Right now I am enjoying watching them and being their protector. I need to get up an electric fence before the apples ripen this summer and the bears come back.
Update #1 the dog is still broken. We have now passed the 14 month mark since she originally shattered the leg. I took her into a local vet for a cheap double check x-ray and was devastated by the lack of healing. To me and my small town vet it looked like the bone had hardly regained any calcium in over 7 wks. But the x-rays were sent to her surgeon and he was happy with how they looked. She is still on leash only until at least the4th of June when she goes in for yet another x-ray. At this rate she's going to end up with cancer from all the x-rays.
Update#2 Chickens and ducks. Growing like crazy. The ducks are full sized, chickens about half sized. Everyone is going through their first moult so they all look like bad taxidermy examples right now. They've been very entertaining at times, messy always, stinky occasionally.
The "Free" exotic chick I got with my order has turned out to be a white Cochin Rooster. Hardly a rare bird. From talking to other people the "free" chick McMurray hatchery offers is always, always, always a rooster and since they are hard to sell and usually culled in heavy numbers a good way for McM to unload them. Just a comment not a real complaint. So far I'm good with my roo. Cochins are about as laid back as a chicken breed gets so I doubt I'll have aggression problems with him. We'll see what my opinion is when he starts to crow.
My husband has enjoyed the birds. When he lets them out he usually spend a while communing with them. For some reason the chickens will come perch on him when he's sitting out in their run, but not on me. That doesn't break my heart, I don't like being pooped on.
All in all I'm glad we got them but will be happy when we start getting eggs in a few months.
Update#3 Bees. Well now, they have been interesting. It's been a challenge to keep my hands off the hives and not be bugging them more than once a week. No pun intended. I have the two hives painted with identifying marks to help keep records of them. They are Spot and Stripe.
Right now Spot is just booming. Packed with bees, drawing comb, hauling in pollen and nectar when the weather allows. It was by far the more populace of the two nucs I got by at least 30% so it had a larger mass of workers to start with. They take down about a gallon of 1/1 syrup a week. I've put a second deep on them and they are starting to draw comb on it.
Stripe is far smaller and much slower to get going. It seems healthy and the queen is laying well, so I'm not real concerned. I did pull a frame of capped brood from Spot last weekend and give it to Stripe to help them build a up a little. They are starting to draw out comb and taking syrup at about 1/2 g a week.
My confidence in working them has gone way up. I'm not horribly worried I'm going to screw up bad when I open a hive. I also know the bees better. Stripe is totally mellow and can be worked with nothing but the occasional spritz of sugar water most of the time. Spot gets a little testy and needs smoke to stay calm. Still I was able to shake most of the bees off a frame and put it in Stripe without them getting toooo pissy.
I have yet to put any chemicals in the hive either antibiotics or other treatments. The more I read the less I want to treat unless forced. I have friends who do no treatments and have healthy hives, I have friends who treat heavily and I have one who destroys his bees every fall to start fresh in the spring. They all have their opinions on what works best and I am exploring what works for me.
Right now I am enjoying watching them and being their protector. I need to get up an electric fence before the apples ripen this summer and the bears come back.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
How Far will we go?
As a few of you know last April 6th 2007 our female greyhound Heaven shattered her right front leg. I've owned and been heavily involved with greyhounds for almost 20 yrs now and this is the first greyhound I've had break without hitting or being hit by something. Contrary to the fact they look very fragile they are incredible tough.
Heavens leg was bad enough we had to take her to an Orthopedic Veterinary surgeon. That alone tells you it wasn't going to be a cheap fix. We are not poor, but we're not wealthy, definitely on the lower end of middle class so being presented with an estimate of $2,800 to fix the leg staggered us. We'd already paid $300 for the trip to the emergency clinic to have the leg put in a temporary cast. Sitting there in the surgeons office we seriously discussed both euthanasia and amputation.
Yes, greyhounds can do perfectly well on 3 legs, but they don't have any fall back position if the other leg gets injured. We live in a house with stairs to get in and out on acreage with lots of rodent holes and other hazards. Sprains and scrapes are the norm around here. We bit the bullet and agreed to the $2,800 fix.
Long story short, today is January 19th 2008 and Heaven is hopping around in a cast after her 5th surgery. What went wrong? A lot. Was it the surgeons fault, no. Was it something we did or didn't do, no. Bad luck from beginning to last Jan 6th when we came home to find the leg had broken again. How much have we spent, well over double the original cost. It would have been more but the surgeon ate 90% of the cost of the last surgery and has agreed if this time doesn't work he will amputate for free.
Yes, we stopped at several points and looked again at our options of euthanasia and amputation. Each time the option of going forward with more treatment was the best one at the time to make. The set backs and near disasters never gave us the absolute line to stop at. Even the surgeon who has been practicing for decades has been shaking his head at all Heaven has gone thru.
A friend asked me if I would go through it all again if I knew we'd end up still in a cast 9 months later. I really can't answer that question right now. If the permanent steel plate attached to the bone keeps her as a happy quadruped then yeah I'd do it again, but we won't know that for many months. The money is gone, the projects we had planned postponed, the vacations cancelled, our debt level is higher than we're happy with, but I am very glad she is still with us with 4 on the floor.
The first week in April this year is the current heal by date to see if the plate has worked. A full year after we started. Ask me in June or July how I'm feeling and how the VISA balance is fairing. If she is still running around on 4 paws by April of 2009 I am going to get my first ever tattoo. Her right paw print surrounded by celtic knot work.
Heavens leg was bad enough we had to take her to an Orthopedic Veterinary surgeon. That alone tells you it wasn't going to be a cheap fix. We are not poor, but we're not wealthy, definitely on the lower end of middle class so being presented with an estimate of $2,800 to fix the leg staggered us. We'd already paid $300 for the trip to the emergency clinic to have the leg put in a temporary cast. Sitting there in the surgeons office we seriously discussed both euthanasia and amputation.
Yes, greyhounds can do perfectly well on 3 legs, but they don't have any fall back position if the other leg gets injured. We live in a house with stairs to get in and out on acreage with lots of rodent holes and other hazards. Sprains and scrapes are the norm around here. We bit the bullet and agreed to the $2,800 fix.
Long story short, today is January 19th 2008 and Heaven is hopping around in a cast after her 5th surgery. What went wrong? A lot. Was it the surgeons fault, no. Was it something we did or didn't do, no. Bad luck from beginning to last Jan 6th when we came home to find the leg had broken again. How much have we spent, well over double the original cost. It would have been more but the surgeon ate 90% of the cost of the last surgery and has agreed if this time doesn't work he will amputate for free.
Yes, we stopped at several points and looked again at our options of euthanasia and amputation. Each time the option of going forward with more treatment was the best one at the time to make. The set backs and near disasters never gave us the absolute line to stop at. Even the surgeon who has been practicing for decades has been shaking his head at all Heaven has gone thru.
A friend asked me if I would go through it all again if I knew we'd end up still in a cast 9 months later. I really can't answer that question right now. If the permanent steel plate attached to the bone keeps her as a happy quadruped then yeah I'd do it again, but we won't know that for many months. The money is gone, the projects we had planned postponed, the vacations cancelled, our debt level is higher than we're happy with, but I am very glad she is still with us with 4 on the floor.
The first week in April this year is the current heal by date to see if the plate has worked. A full year after we started. Ask me in June or July how I'm feeling and how the VISA balance is fairing. If she is still running around on 4 paws by April of 2009 I am going to get my first ever tattoo. Her right paw print surrounded by celtic knot work.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Watching the Spandex people
It always amazes me the people who go thru life without looking around them. I spend five to six hours a week at my gym trying to not become a middle aged blob. I sweat, I gasp for air, I make horrible faces while struggling with the weight machines and I watch the Spandex people.
If you've never spent much time at a gym or never paid attention while you were there then the Spandex people might have escaped you. These aren't regular folks, because no one can act normal while clad in workout gear, red in the face and sweating. Spandex people are a lot like nudists in their attitudes. You cannot be in a aerobics class looking at a line of bouncing rumps of all sexes knowing there's a line of people behind you watching your rump for an hour or more and keep your same body attitudes. Workout gear, even baggy sweats doesn't let you hide like regular clothes. If you're flabby, we know it, if you're toned, we know it.
I myself am a 40+ yr old rounded woman with more grey hair than brown these days. I can and have gotten onto eliptical machines beside nubile 19 yr old perky boobed blond with less than 2% body fat. One day I was surrounded by a cheerleading squad and their bevy of teenage male admirers. Before I became a true Spandex person I would have never been able to stand comfortably in their midst let alone been bouncing up and down in a sports bra and spandex shorts. I am now a true Spandex person.
It doesn't take wearing Spandex to be a Spandex person. One of the weight lifters I chat with regularly works out in cut off sweat pants held up with suspenders because he lost the string. It's not unusual at all to see him in the Ab class surrounded by a dozen ladies doing the routines along with them. They are all Spandex people and accept him with smiles every day.
Sadly there are so many people who can't see the Spandex way. They come in and try not to getting sweaty or look at the people who are. We call them fanners, because they so seldom put any effort into what they are do they are just moving a little air around. They roll their eyes at the fat lady struggling on the assisted chin machine, me, or the ancient old guy in equally ancient shorts on the rowing machine. He's 87 with perfect blood pressure, damn low cholestrol and he can still bench press 30lbs more than he weighs. He's my idol.
Some non Spandexers do really work out. One guy I call, Mr. Cologne, is ultra buff and really puts in the hours to keep himself up. He never talks to anyone, but is quick to flex if any females less than 20 and good enough looking cast an eye his way. Someday he will become like Toupee guy, well over 60, still trying to look hip for the very young ladies, but just as willing to show off to himself in the big mirrors. To me neither of them is good looking.
Good looking and ultra cute is the burly logger who once called out to his buddies, "Hey watch this!" Then squatted down to do a dead lift and completely ripped out the back of his shorts with his back end pointed at the full spinning class. He turned bright red, but instead of getting upset or just running he whipped off his shirt to cover his rear then did a pretty good strip tease imitation all the way to the locker room. He is a true Spandex person.
If you've never spent much time at a gym or never paid attention while you were there then the Spandex people might have escaped you. These aren't regular folks, because no one can act normal while clad in workout gear, red in the face and sweating. Spandex people are a lot like nudists in their attitudes. You cannot be in a aerobics class looking at a line of bouncing rumps of all sexes knowing there's a line of people behind you watching your rump for an hour or more and keep your same body attitudes. Workout gear, even baggy sweats doesn't let you hide like regular clothes. If you're flabby, we know it, if you're toned, we know it.
I myself am a 40+ yr old rounded woman with more grey hair than brown these days. I can and have gotten onto eliptical machines beside nubile 19 yr old perky boobed blond with less than 2% body fat. One day I was surrounded by a cheerleading squad and their bevy of teenage male admirers. Before I became a true Spandex person I would have never been able to stand comfortably in their midst let alone been bouncing up and down in a sports bra and spandex shorts. I am now a true Spandex person.
It doesn't take wearing Spandex to be a Spandex person. One of the weight lifters I chat with regularly works out in cut off sweat pants held up with suspenders because he lost the string. It's not unusual at all to see him in the Ab class surrounded by a dozen ladies doing the routines along with them. They are all Spandex people and accept him with smiles every day.
Sadly there are so many people who can't see the Spandex way. They come in and try not to getting sweaty or look at the people who are. We call them fanners, because they so seldom put any effort into what they are do they are just moving a little air around. They roll their eyes at the fat lady struggling on the assisted chin machine, me, or the ancient old guy in equally ancient shorts on the rowing machine. He's 87 with perfect blood pressure, damn low cholestrol and he can still bench press 30lbs more than he weighs. He's my idol.
Some non Spandexers do really work out. One guy I call, Mr. Cologne, is ultra buff and really puts in the hours to keep himself up. He never talks to anyone, but is quick to flex if any females less than 20 and good enough looking cast an eye his way. Someday he will become like Toupee guy, well over 60, still trying to look hip for the very young ladies, but just as willing to show off to himself in the big mirrors. To me neither of them is good looking.
Good looking and ultra cute is the burly logger who once called out to his buddies, "Hey watch this!" Then squatted down to do a dead lift and completely ripped out the back of his shorts with his back end pointed at the full spinning class. He turned bright red, but instead of getting upset or just running he whipped off his shirt to cover his rear then did a pretty good strip tease imitation all the way to the locker room. He is a true Spandex person.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Vehicles
Reading a friends blog about cars made me smile. Just last week I was hurrying through a parking lot when an old battered Dodge truck caught my eye. It was green, white and rust, identical to hundreds of other wheezing old hulks still managing to stay rolling, but this one still sported the remains of the half dozen pro feminist and out right lesbian bumper stickers I had pasted on it over a decade ago. I'm sure more than a few shoppers wondered about the woman standing in the freezing wind looking at an old truck and laughing.
When that truck and I first crossed paths it was owned by a friend of mines husband and it was the brand new darling of his life. Long story short, I didn't like the guy at all and he was developing both a gambling and drinking problem. Understand I don't drink and I'm way to tight with a buck to do any real gambling, but I'm not above playing with people stupid enough to drink and gamble simaltaneously. A smile, a few stupid questions and a look of innocence can get a gal into a poker game with a bunch of drunk guys pretty quick. Most of the time I just played for a little pocket money, but the night I got into a game with him I was just mean. It took less than two hours before I had every dime he had and the title to that pretty truck. I left him sitting in that bar with no way home and no money to keep drinking.
Mean to him and mean to his wife are two separate things. The guy was a contractor and had to have the truck and all the tools in the back to make a living. I drove that truck straight to his street, parked it out of sight and went in to explain to my friend what had happened. She listened then handed the keys back to me saying, "I want you to do me a favor and keep the truck until I say he's ready to get it back. Drive it, play with it, let all your dogs slobber in it."
I did just what she asked and put the bumper stickers on the back. It was the nicest set of wheels I'd ever owned and with her ok drove it all the way to California to visit family with all three dogs in the cab.
About two weeks in my friend showed up with $500 in cash and bought the truck and tools back. I wasn't going to take the cash until she said he'd sold his hunting rifles to get enough money to buy a beater truck and some basic tools so he could start working again. He'd known all along I would have given it back if he'd come himself and asked, but he wouldn't. My one stipulation for letting him have it back was the bumper stickers stayed on.
I lost track of my friend not long after. They moved to Texas where she had family the last I heard so seeing the truck back here in Oregon was a real surprise.
Sadly I couldn't wait to see who was driving it but I left a note under the windshield wiper. It would be very cool to hear from here again, but if he's the one driving I doubt he'll be passing my note along. Then again, maybe he will since he left those bumper stickers on there for over ten years.
When that truck and I first crossed paths it was owned by a friend of mines husband and it was the brand new darling of his life. Long story short, I didn't like the guy at all and he was developing both a gambling and drinking problem. Understand I don't drink and I'm way to tight with a buck to do any real gambling, but I'm not above playing with people stupid enough to drink and gamble simaltaneously. A smile, a few stupid questions and a look of innocence can get a gal into a poker game with a bunch of drunk guys pretty quick. Most of the time I just played for a little pocket money, but the night I got into a game with him I was just mean. It took less than two hours before I had every dime he had and the title to that pretty truck. I left him sitting in that bar with no way home and no money to keep drinking.
Mean to him and mean to his wife are two separate things. The guy was a contractor and had to have the truck and all the tools in the back to make a living. I drove that truck straight to his street, parked it out of sight and went in to explain to my friend what had happened. She listened then handed the keys back to me saying, "I want you to do me a favor and keep the truck until I say he's ready to get it back. Drive it, play with it, let all your dogs slobber in it."
I did just what she asked and put the bumper stickers on the back. It was the nicest set of wheels I'd ever owned and with her ok drove it all the way to California to visit family with all three dogs in the cab.
About two weeks in my friend showed up with $500 in cash and bought the truck and tools back. I wasn't going to take the cash until she said he'd sold his hunting rifles to get enough money to buy a beater truck and some basic tools so he could start working again. He'd known all along I would have given it back if he'd come himself and asked, but he wouldn't. My one stipulation for letting him have it back was the bumper stickers stayed on.
I lost track of my friend not long after. They moved to Texas where she had family the last I heard so seeing the truck back here in Oregon was a real surprise.
Sadly I couldn't wait to see who was driving it but I left a note under the windshield wiper. It would be very cool to hear from here again, but if he's the one driving I doubt he'll be passing my note along. Then again, maybe he will since he left those bumper stickers on there for over ten years.
Friday, October 26, 2007
First Bee gear!
I got my first bee gear today. A wonderful man named John gave me 4 hive boxes plus tops, a bottom and queen extruder. All pretty old and well used but in good shape. Best of all free!
It was a long but beautiful drive out to his farm this morning. I had a nice chat with him before we loaded the gear into my truck and I headed back for home. A stop at a Home Depot for some paint and other oddments ended up being very startling. When I came back out about 20 minutes later my truck was surrounded by an ANGRY cloud of hornets. apparently one of the big hive boxes had a large nest in it that had warmed up enough sitting out in the sun in the back of the truck to realize they had been moved and they weren't happy. Neither was I. Neither was the Home Depot guy who didn't want them in his parking lot. Spraying $200 worth of bee gear with pesticide was not something I was willing to do.
A heavy gust of wind shoved the hornets to one side long enough I was able to get into the truck and slam the door unstung. I drove slowly over to the far side of the lot away from everything taking the hornet cloud with me. When traffic was clear and the wind in my favor I gunned it and took off leaving most of them far behind. After that I stopped every few minutes when I found and unpopulated spot to let more boil out of the nest then I'd zoom away leaving yet more lost and upset hornets in my wake. That took care to 95% of them. A friend with a bee suit was willing to meet me on the far side of his work yard and dump out the hive. I stayed safely in the truck while he stomped the nest to paste with great gusto. I owe him beer.
There was nothing to do but celebrate the gaining of a real hive by heading for the bee stuff store! ;-) Ruhl bee supply. I bought some foundation, not all I'll need, but enough to learn how to load a frame and a hive tool. I showed a remarkable amount of self control considering all the great stuff he has that I want!!!
At home I cleaned up and repainted the now hornetless hive boxes. Cleaning old crusty frames is time consuming and best done outside on the open lawn. A warning, do not reach down and pet a cat when your hands are covered with propolis. Also the frames seem to appeal to my dogs as chew toys so they will be stored up where they can't reach them. Right now I have ten frames cleaned and filled with fresh foundation. Only 30 more to go.
I don't have bees yet, but I've spent several hours sticky with old wax and propolis, even after a shower my hands still smell good. I must be getting closer to being a real bee keeper
A chicken house without chickens.
Bee hive without bees.
A pond without fish.
It's a long time until spring when all the holes will be filled.
It was a long but beautiful drive out to his farm this morning. I had a nice chat with him before we loaded the gear into my truck and I headed back for home. A stop at a Home Depot for some paint and other oddments ended up being very startling. When I came back out about 20 minutes later my truck was surrounded by an ANGRY cloud of hornets. apparently one of the big hive boxes had a large nest in it that had warmed up enough sitting out in the sun in the back of the truck to realize they had been moved and they weren't happy. Neither was I. Neither was the Home Depot guy who didn't want them in his parking lot. Spraying $200 worth of bee gear with pesticide was not something I was willing to do.
A heavy gust of wind shoved the hornets to one side long enough I was able to get into the truck and slam the door unstung. I drove slowly over to the far side of the lot away from everything taking the hornet cloud with me. When traffic was clear and the wind in my favor I gunned it and took off leaving most of them far behind. After that I stopped every few minutes when I found and unpopulated spot to let more boil out of the nest then I'd zoom away leaving yet more lost and upset hornets in my wake. That took care to 95% of them. A friend with a bee suit was willing to meet me on the far side of his work yard and dump out the hive. I stayed safely in the truck while he stomped the nest to paste with great gusto. I owe him beer.
There was nothing to do but celebrate the gaining of a real hive by heading for the bee stuff store! ;-) Ruhl bee supply. I bought some foundation, not all I'll need, but enough to learn how to load a frame and a hive tool. I showed a remarkable amount of self control considering all the great stuff he has that I want!!!
At home I cleaned up and repainted the now hornetless hive boxes. Cleaning old crusty frames is time consuming and best done outside on the open lawn. A warning, do not reach down and pet a cat when your hands are covered with propolis. Also the frames seem to appeal to my dogs as chew toys so they will be stored up where they can't reach them. Right now I have ten frames cleaned and filled with fresh foundation. Only 30 more to go.
I don't have bees yet, but I've spent several hours sticky with old wax and propolis, even after a shower my hands still smell good. I must be getting closer to being a real bee keeper
A chicken house without chickens.
Bee hive without bees.
A pond without fish.
It's a long time until spring when all the holes will be filled.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Learning Peoples Phobias
Since coming out to my family as a Bee Keeper I have discovered far more phobias than I had noticed before. My brother and sister in law appear to be extreme bee phobes. Both for good reasons, my sister in law accidentally inhaled a bee as a child and nearly died. My brother breaks out in hives from top to bottom with a bee sting, at least he did, he hasn't been stung in 20+ yrs, but he's unwilling to see what would happen now. A shocking lack of curiousity on his part in my opinion. ;-) Since he is my brother I've been getting a good deal of entertainment out of this phobia. If anyone knows how to send a box legally through the mail that will buzz like angry bees please let me know.
Yesterday I attended two club meetings. One was a plant group and when I mentioned bee keeping two people actually leaned away from me as if I had suddenly become contagious. I was surprised plant nuts would be bee phobes, especially anyone obsessed enough to belong to a single species club. I am assuming they will not be attending the next club picnic held at our house.
The next meeting I was bored and sitting in the back reading a bee book. When I got up to grab a drink I noticed the gal sitting near me pick up my book to see what it was, she actually violently dropped the book with a look of horror. That elicited enough interest from people who saw her reaction that I had a couple good conversations with people who liked bees. One older gentleman remembered his father keeping bees in straw skeps in Ireland.
Talking about peoples terror of the gentle honey bee usually gets someone to admit other types of phobias. A coworker won't drink out of containers he can't see into after seeing someone stung on the lip by a wasp as a child. He cannot lift a can of pop to his mouth without choking.
A friend of mine already refuses to visit my house because of the abundance of garter snakes in my yard. Something I'm quite proud of since it shows my gardens ecology to be diverse and healthy. When I told her about keeping bees I expected her to be appalled, instead she was very interested and might come visit the bees on a cold rainy day when the snakes won't be out.
A neighbor down the road who works as a construction contractor has a phobia about stepping on sharp things. He doesn't know where it came from and hasn't been seriously hurt that he remembers, but it's definitely strong. He wears steel soled boots almost all year except when boating. People running around barefoot or in sandals make his skin crawl.
I myself have am a compulsive obsessive so have several strong phobias. While I love caving and will happily crawl into a natural cave the mere idea of a dirty nasty people filthy hole is enough to send me screaming away. My husbands job occasionally sends him into steam tunnels and inspection crawlways under buildings. He takes great glee in telling me about these journeys knowing I will be curled up screaming by the time he's done.
Parasites also drive over the edge. My animals are not allowed to have fleas! The varroa mites bees get are something I'm going to have to deal with. Bees crawling on me, no problem, mites on my bees, hysteria. If they invented little combs I could pick up each bee and brush them clean of mites, well, I'd go blind and be stung to death, but I'd probably try.
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Yesterday I attended two club meetings. One was a plant group and when I mentioned bee keeping two people actually leaned away from me as if I had suddenly become contagious. I was surprised plant nuts would be bee phobes, especially anyone obsessed enough to belong to a single species club. I am assuming they will not be attending the next club picnic held at our house.
The next meeting I was bored and sitting in the back reading a bee book. When I got up to grab a drink I noticed the gal sitting near me pick up my book to see what it was, she actually violently dropped the book with a look of horror. That elicited enough interest from people who saw her reaction that I had a couple good conversations with people who liked bees. One older gentleman remembered his father keeping bees in straw skeps in Ireland.
Talking about peoples terror of the gentle honey bee usually gets someone to admit other types of phobias. A coworker won't drink out of containers he can't see into after seeing someone stung on the lip by a wasp as a child. He cannot lift a can of pop to his mouth without choking.
A friend of mine already refuses to visit my house because of the abundance of garter snakes in my yard. Something I'm quite proud of since it shows my gardens ecology to be diverse and healthy. When I told her about keeping bees I expected her to be appalled, instead she was very interested and might come visit the bees on a cold rainy day when the snakes won't be out.
A neighbor down the road who works as a construction contractor has a phobia about stepping on sharp things. He doesn't know where it came from and hasn't been seriously hurt that he remembers, but it's definitely strong. He wears steel soled boots almost all year except when boating. People running around barefoot or in sandals make his skin crawl.
I myself have am a compulsive obsessive so have several strong phobias. While I love caving and will happily crawl into a natural cave the mere idea of a dirty nasty people filthy hole is enough to send me screaming away. My husbands job occasionally sends him into steam tunnels and inspection crawlways under buildings. He takes great glee in telling me about these journeys knowing I will be curled up screaming by the time he's done.
Parasites also drive over the edge. My animals are not allowed to have fleas! The varroa mites bees get are something I'm going to have to deal with. Bees crawling on me, no problem, mites on my bees, hysteria. If they invented little combs I could pick up each bee and brush them clean of mites, well, I'd go blind and be stung to death, but I'd probably try.
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