Warm Wind

"Life is always a rich and steady time when you are waiting for something to happen or to hatch," states the narrator of E.B. White's Charlotte's Web.  Indeed, this is my favorite time of year as spring begins to swell to its fullest.  Nearly everything has been born and has hatched at this point, but I'm still enjoying every moment.  School is not yet out for the summer, so I still have every last minute of that delectable freedom ahead of me.
For the importance of this "almost there" moment, I have to quote A.A. Milne who wrote, “'Well,' said Pooh, 'what I like best -- ' and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.”  I try always to be celebrating and savoring this "moment just before."

I'd spent the weekend planning what I would write about the chicks John brought home yesterday and promptly settled into my "barn," if a building smaller than my small living room can be called a barn.  (I plan for it to be the calving shed next spring when Daisy gives birth to her first little one.)  However, I've yet to take a picture of the chicks, and I'm not exactly besotted with smelly critters that look more like chickens than chicks and have very few redeeming qualities at the moment.  So that's how I find myself preparing to write about something that would make nearly everyone else squirm: Charlotte's babies.  (Okay, I just called her Charlotte all last summer.  She didn't do anything as valiant as save an adorable pig's life, but she did keep me company on the porch -- and she was impressive.  Small house spiders may earn their right to stay alive, but only the largest most unusual outdoor spiders earn the right to be called Charlotte.)  I spent a fair amount of time on the internet trying to identify the particular type of spider Charlotte was, but I never found anything that adequately fit her description.  Regardless, she produced an egg sac by summer's end, just like that of her namesake.  I kept an eye on it all winter, and was amazed to find it looking very different one day this spring.  However, there were still no babies.  The first picture is how the egg sac has looked since it changed for the first time.

I would guess nothing else changed for at least 4 weeks, and then last week, suddenly, hundreds of babies. 

"Charlotte's babies were here at least," White writes.  I remember very clearly that in the novel the babies floated away on a warm wind.  Today's wind wasn't warm since we're expecting a storm that is supposed to bring snow to higher elevations, but there has been a wind nonetheless.  After spending over seven hours working in the yard and doing chores, I settled on the porch earlier this evening to finish reading Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea.  As I have for the last few days, I glanced up to check on the babies.  Much of the group that had ventured the farthest away from the nest were descended from the porch roof on a long strand that floated in the breeze.  At one point I took a break from reading to look at the cat pen John has spent the day building, and when I returned, the long strand had disappeared.  The first of the babies had sailed away.

Only I would be sitting here with tears flowing down my cheeks as I read the final pages of Charlotte's Web.  I feel like Wilbur who felt "it was the best place to be [. . .] this warm delicious cellar, with the garrulous geese, the changing seasons, the heat of the sun, the passage of swallows, the nearness of rats, the sameness of sheep, the love of spiders, the smell of manure, and the glory of everything."

I recently read an article about the best first lines of novels.  One of the those included was from Charlotte's Web:

"'Where's Papa going with that ax?' said Fern to her mother as they were
setting the table for breakfast."

The last line is a great one, too:

"It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."

As I finish this post, I could wax poetic about how Daisy, like Wilbur, was also saved from an "untimely death."  She probably doesn't have a Charlotte to thank, but I, like Fern, now have my own young one to care for as a result, and as Fern described Wilbur, I must also say that Daisy's "absolutely perfect."

Not again . . .

I had just finished my last post and decided to head outside to check on Daisy . . . 

See, we've been having a little problem with her getting out.  The first time was a couple of weeks ago.  I wasn't at home, but John was sitting on the couch watching TV and suddenly saw her running through the front of the other yard.  (We have two houses and two yards in case you're not familiar with the layout of our property.  Daisy lives in the back of the other yard.)  She'd pushed through the fence right where it ended at the far corner of the other house.  John solved the problem by rigging up a 6 foot steel post and some rope.  However, night before last I'd gone with him to deliver a ton of feed to some friends.  We were gone no more than an hour and a half and returned to find the front gate on "our" side chained shut, which it normally isn't.  Daisy had gotten out again and had made her way down our driveway to the open gate -- I know this because I could see her hoof prints!  Fortunately, some unknown but very kind stranger seems to have gotten her back in and then shut the gate.  This is one of the many ways people help each other out in the country, and while we would have done the some for others, I feel extremely indebted to whomever it was.

We escorted her back to her designated territory, and while I'm not 100% certain, I don't think we had any trouble with her getting out yesterday.  The reason I can't remember for certain, however, is that she's gotten out at least 4 times today.  The first time, I was laying in bed this morning when I heard a very distinct "Moo!" right outside the bedroom window.  I was prepared for what I'd find when I looked out, but she was a bit surprised that there I was hollering at her.  A bit perturbed, I got up to survey the damage (same fence, same spot) and put Daisy back on her side.  But first, when I got out to the driveway, she stood looking at me with an expression that said, "Well, it's about time!  Where have you been?"  I walked next door and she followed right behind.  After feeding her, I gathered up every last steel post stashed around both yards.  We had five posts on our side, and there were six more next door.  That should have been plenty to reinforce 30 feet of fence, right?  I left the posts for the time being and had a bit of a chat with my fence guy. 

Daisy stayed put until just after lunch.  John took a break from his work, and to reinforce the weaker garden posts in the area where she'd been knocking down and walking across the fence, we installed 6 of the heavy steel posts.

That lasted until mid-afternoon.  Because John has been working hard all day to get a gate built, the only thing I could do was put her back again and shut the front gate just in case.

He ran to Laurel at 4:45 for parts and some groceries.  When he got back, she'd gotten out again.  We installed the remaining five posts -- so that's 11 steel posts plus the weakling garden posts plus those on both ends of the 30 foot stretch.  By then, John was pretty pissed off, Daisy looked triumphant, and I was a little worried about both of them.

I came inside, wrote the last post, and walked out to check on her.  There she was, standing in the front, in the driveway, and in trouble.  She'd jumped a section about 4 feet wide and had to have cleared 3.5 feet of the fence to get over it. 

I'm quite certain that as of this time tomorrow, she will be very familiar with electricity as John is planning to put up electric fence to keep her in.   Hopefully he only has to install it in the one spot, but as I'm learning, fences are mere deterrents for cattle and not really barriers.  As long as Daisy doesn't figure that out about the rest of the yard, we might all continue to get along.  For her sake, however, she better start to believe that if she wants to continue to be a good neighbor she won't mess with good fences.

I Got Milk!

In terms of new experiences, last weekend was amazing because I learned how to milk a cow.  She was a mama whose calf had been born in the last 24-36 hours but had thus far been unable to suck.  I'm not sure which problem came first but she had particularly large teats that he was not able to fit into his baby mouth.  John made it sound as though her milk had dropped too suddenly and the calf hadn't been able to keep up with the amount she was producing.  We had to milk her by hand in order to relieve some of the swelling factor, and then we tried to get the baby to latch on but didn't have any luck.  In the end, we tube fed him some of the milk we had gotten from his mom so that at least she'd get some relief and he'd get some much needed food.

I've been thinking all week how to describe the sensation of milking a cow, and the closest thing I can compare it to working with a frosting/pastry bag.  I had to reach to the top of the teat and trap milk below the ring created by my thumb and and index finger and then squeeze it down as though moving icing to the tip of the pastry bag.  Once I got the hang of it, it was not that difficult to get milk; however, I got tired very quickly.  And while I couldn't get the correct angle with my right hand at all, the angle of my left hand meant the milk hit my hand on its way out and went everywhere.  Strange though it may sound, I do smile just thinking about the experience.  I think part of my sense of accomplishment goes back to a time I was at the fair in Billings and had the opportunity to milk a goat.  I was probably 8 or 9 and was too scared to try (and perhaps fail?), so I turned down the opportunity only to immediately regret it.  I don't know that I ever got over wanting to have a second chance.