wayfaringwordhack: (pondering)
ETA: Just after posting this, while cleaning the kitchen, I watched this video.  Yes, yes, yes. It spoke to a lot of what I feel and have experienced.


 In a comment to [personal profile] asakiyume  in one of my posts, I had said I might expand on what has been going on with my flock, but up until now, I haven't really had the heart to do it.

This winter, one of my hens, Winona, started acting a bit scared/depressed. She stayed inside the coop, barely venturing out, and as a result, lost quite a bit of weight. I thought most of it was caused by the fact that we had two roosters who were constantly fighting over the hens, often dismounting them roughly when chased off by the other male. I figured Winona didn't want to have any part of it and didn't worry too much at that point.

I finally separated the flock into two when we got the infrastructure into place, but one of the roosters got really agressive with the hens. They were so scared they wouldn't come out to eat or drink (moveable coop without the necessary room to put in victuals). So, we harvested the rooster and replaced him with Lucky Fluffypants.  Then one day, one of my hens died in my arms (from the other flock). I thought she was egg-bound, but we didn't find anything to suggest that when we cut her open. She was FAT, though. She was a meat bird that I had decided to breed (as was the mean rooster). However, we also found (post-boiling for the cats) a tumor between her breast and her thigh.  

Exactly one week later, I had another hen acting like the first (purplish comb, sleeping in the nesting box, a general air of straining), so I called the vet and made an appointment for the afternoon. When we went to catch her to take her to the vet, she died in my arms, too. Ruptured vessel. I decided to go through with the autopsy, and we found her intestines completely covered in lesions and her cavity bursting with fluid. The vet had never seen the like, and the lab said the tissue was too old when they got it to be sure of a diagnosis. They suspected Marek's disease, however. I wasn't sure because my animals hadn't exhibited any of the more classic symptoms.

Then we had another hen (one of those meat birds) start eating our eggs, despite having calcium available. Considering her a ticking time bomb, we harvested her, too, and despite being really fat like the other and having a yellowish liver, she seemed OK.  Having three less hens meant the others were being sorely used by the roosters, so we bought in three cou-nu hens who were ready to lay  (naked necks; yes, they are very ugly).

However, Winona kept getting weaker and weaker, so I took her to the vet. He suggested a fecal analysis to look for parasites. Found out we had a very serious infestation of roundworms, invisible to the naked eye. I started treating the flocks, moved them to new pens, scoured out the old coops (with help from a friend), but two days before the treatment ended, Winona died. This time, I did notice her irises had begun to change color, and she was paralyzed when I found her early in the morning.  I thought she was dead and prepared to bury her, not wanting to go through the labs, etc. again since I was sure of myself, but then I moved her leg and saw that she was still alive.

I was all alone and knew that I could sit with her until she died or put her out of her misery myself. I opted to kill her humanely, but by time I had sharpened the knife, she had died.

So now we have a disease on our farm that is basically impossible to get rid of. It can be vaccinated against, with no guarantee that our birds will not get one of the three strains of it--and the strains are mutating in response to the vaccinations, of course. We can stop raising chickens. Or we can try to breed resistant stock. I just had a hen hatch five chicks. The problem? The dad is the son of the one who died from a confirmed Marek's disease victim.  Logic and protocol say not to breed animals that have shown a susceptibility to the disease. And Lucky's dad was Lila, the one who was so sickly last year. Lila survived, however, when no one thought he would. And this time around, with Lucky, we had the best hatch rate ever. We would have had 7 out of 9 if not for my own carelessness, which really hurts.

The conundrum, the conundrum.   

And to complete my heartbreak, I effectively killed 15 ducklings in the egg by moving the mother duck off her nest to relocate her and her clutch to the new pen we built for our ducks. It was stupid and ill-planned on my part. I didn't want to leave her confined as she was in the dark, with no access to fresh air, greenery, etc., but I should have tried moving her under different conditions. "Live and learn," is all well and good, but when it becomes, "Kill and learn," it is devastating. As our neighbor says, When you work with life, you work with death. But the pointlessness of this loss guts me. I won't allow the duck to sit another clutch this year because we don't want to feed birds through the winter or have to harvest them then, either. :( So there goes a lot of the meat production we were counting on.

Anyhow, this is a large part of why I have been absent of late. That and the garden, of course.

What have you been up to?


wayfaringwordhack: (art - guitton housework)
 Life on the farm has been anything but quiet and restful in this normally calm(er) season, and all my plans of being more present, more organized, more on top of everything pretty much flew out the window. 

We had a warm spell around Christmas, and our flock got infested with lice and red mites. Naturally, J was gone for work, so I bathed chickens, cleaned the coop, and tried different set-ups over several days to make future cleanings easier. Sadly neither the hens nor I were happy with any of the changes, and I ended up putting everything back the way it was. Much wasted effort, but let us think--or pretend if we have to--that I learned something and the extra work was good for me and the birds.

In other poultry news, we bought two ducks to replace the ones that escaped in December. I'll get a drake for them on the 12th of this month.  And possibly one more female...

And speaking of males and females, Lila, our sickly poulet, has turned into a strapping young rooster.* Bad on the one hand since I bought him to be a mother hen, good on the other because Rico has turned into a terror. He attacks everyone in the family except me. It started with Ti'Loup, and we chalked it up to him being only slightly bigger than Rico. But now he is even trying to take on J. So, into the pot he will go. We're going to keep him for about a month longer to fertilize a spring clutch, and then we'll harvest him. *sigh*

The chickens weren't the only ones attacked by parasites. A couple of weeks ago, we discovered that we had pinworms. We found this out the night before J was scheduled to take Sprout and Farmer Boy to my mil's place, the plan being for them to stay with her for 1.5 weeks to give me my first almost-kid-free break in 5 years. I was supposed to use the time to work on my children's book, which I want to send out by March 31. Instead I disinfected the house from top to bottom, only finishing all of the laundry two days before the kids' return. 

The morning after they came back, we had guests come stay with us for 3 days. It was wonderful to see them, and their two kids got along famously with ours.  

I don't think I mentioned that we got a puppy, but we did, back in November. His name is Banjo, and he is a Border Collie/Husky cross, with a couple other breeds thrown in. Those who know what it is like to have a puppy will know what a stupid mistake this was on my part, a total lack of judgment. I'm already responsible for so much with the house, the property, the kids, and I decided that, sure, I could add a puppy to the mix with no worries. If you haven't figured it by now, this is my first time having a dog. So I underestimated the attention they need.

We wanted to get a puppy to raise around the flock to habituate it from the get-go to the birds. In hindsight, we realize an older dog would have been a better fit. In a moment of inattention from me, Banjo discovered the thrill of chasing the chickens. He has attacked Lila** four times. I've been trying to train him thanks to advice from frigg, and he is doing so much better:  He's quick and wants to please, but yesterday, when I was right there with him, making sure Rico didn't attack Ti'Loup, he darted off after Lightning. He immediately stopped the moment I yelled at him, but it just shows that the trust he was slowly building back is unfounded.

It makes me feel even more raw to admit it, but this has been a rough season, and I've been through some rough patches, feeling like I can never get anything done, like I make bad choices and only bad choices.  Which makes me feel worthless and frustrated. Here we are in March, and we aren't ready to plant, much less sow, yet our plan relies on us being able to feed our family a majority of food grown and raised on our own land. I know we have to be patient, but our desires and expectations leave me irked at myself for not being more on the ball.

To add a bit of salt on the wounds, J's request to do his blacksmith training this year was denied. We were counting on acceptance to have him around the farm more this summer to help me out. Our next hope hangs on his being transfered closer, albeit still an hour away, to home this September. 

Speaking of close to home, in less-whiney news, I love the varied and fascinating cloud formations we witness living so close to the Massif Central. I've been an avid cloud admirer since my early childhood. Here is a photo I snapped with my phone while taking Sprout to her horse riding lesson; I wish I would have had my camera and could have done it justice:


And the best news of today is that we celebrated Farmer Boy's 4th birthday. I can't believe that wonderful, loving, generous boy is already 4. 

(copy-pasted from LJ)
_______________
* I've suspected for a good two months at least that he was not a hen, but our neighbor kept insisting he was. Buff Orpingtons don't have flagrantly obvious sexual diamorphism, and Lila was retarded in his development because of his early sickness.

**That rooster is like a cat: nine lives. He is getting close to that final number, though; he needs to be more careful. :P

wayfaringwordhack: (pondering)
 I just spent way frickin' too long on my previous post, only to have the images not come through. I don't only want to make image-containing posts; but photos are how I like to communicate. I seriously feel thwarted by DW's setup. Even things that should work for me are not working. This is a major reason why I haven't been bothered to hang around here more often. I might go back to LJ and crosspost here for people who are no longer over there. I don't have enough spoons to continue fighting this irritation. :(
wayfaringwordhack: (Sprout: !!!)
Last week, Sprout and I were in an accident on the scooter.

It was my fault; for some reason, unknown and completely unrecallable, I accelerated when I was trying to brake to avoid hitting two cars who were closing the gap I was driving in.

I flipped over the front of the scooter, landing on my back, a mercy for a woman who is 7 months pregnant.  My right side was banged up from flying over--and breaking--the mirror, but I had no other big injuries. Sprout's bottom lip and chin were cut by the visor of her helment, and her left wrist was abraded, but the sweet love's first words were, "Momma, are you OK? Are you all right, Momma!?"

Many Egyptians came to our aid, offering help, water, comfort...even returning the two coins that had fallen from my pocket.

When Sprout finally calmed down enough, she told me that she is not used to crash landings. To which I fervently replied, neither am I and I hope we never have to get used to them. The baby was moving normally that night, and since I had no abnormal pains or anything suspicious, the doctor said all was well. I was a little nervous upon discovering a bruise just above my navel, but Coquille has been unfazed.

The next day, I was pretty sore, but Sprout seemed fine. She and Kainam got the full-fledged flu, though, and I got a nasty cough that insured this was one tiring week.  The kids still have fever today, but I hope we are all on the mend...
wayfaringwordhack: (Egypt: Sphinx)
Not a fun morning; an admin morning.

I had to renew my passport and after toting a God-awful passport photo for the past ten years, I was determined to have a better one this time around. So, J and I spent HOURS on it. No, not trying to make me look better or Photoshop me...just to do the shot, select one, make website formatting tools play nice, and get our printer to work. After wasting sheets of photo paper and buckets of ink, I showed up to my appt with several options, size-wise.  Only to be told that they would not accept my background, which was white with a faint bluish cast, even though the "rules" state that off-white is fine. Argh. So I had to go across the street and have another taken, in which I look just as tired as the whole process makes me feel and all washed out to boot, thanks to wearing a white blouse.  

I was asked to bring along "proof" of my citizenship, just in case. And spent more HOURS looking for said proof yesterday, only not to be asked for anything at all. ( I had sorted all these papers into a special pile, and then, in the move-house frenzy, packed them, instead of refiling them.)

Thank goodness I only have to do this every ten years.

And the lesson of the day: Stick to my guns and only take a taxi with a meter. On the way to the consulate, I ended up accepting a ride with no meter, agreeing to pay 40 LE because J told me that was a good rate.  On the way back, we held out for a meter and only paid 20. o.O

Second lesson: If there are no signs saying which line you should be in, ask. Even if there is only one line.  I stood in the "wrong" line for 30 minutes. I actually had a feeling it was the wrong line but did not make a move earlier because I was waiting on J and didn't want to go inside without him since a) I had his passport, b) phones have to be off once inside. When the time for my appt arrived, however, and I was only five steps closer (out of about 30 more) to the door, I did jump the line and got to go directly inside.  I did not appreciate the slight smirk of the man at the barrier which seemed to say that he knew I was in the wrong place and could have done something about it.

I did get to see something unusual on the taxi ride this morning: A motorcycle passenger sitting sidesaddle, his ankle swathed in bandages, carrying his own foldable wheelchair.
wayfaringwordhack: (Sprout: Soëlie eating)

Can you guess which one?

I made a Thai-influenced soup for lunch:

Junebug took his spoon, dug in, and proclaimed, "Tasty!"*

Sprout looks in her bowl and without tasting it, wails, "I like shrimp, I like calamari, I like chicken; what a bad surprise this is, having them all together! And rice! I didn't want my rice mixed in!"

o.O


_________

* Yes, I made the soup, so I might be biased, but it was very tasty.

wayfaringwordhack: (art: guitton - housework)
I know we (well, the kids and I) have a long break ahead of us, but it seems like time has caught us up and is flinging us madly about since we got back to France. This is going to sound like a list of complaints, but it really isn't. It's just busyness and things.

Expandthe particulars )
All this to say that I had (have!) grand plans for getting some writing and art done this summer, but I haven't found the time or breath or centeredness to do it...yet.  I'll get there, though.  
wayfaringwordhack: (Sprout: !!!)
We are all still trying to get over our jetlag. Truth be told, without the kiddos, J and I would be just fine by now.  Sprout is never ready for bed at "bedtime," and three weeks romping around the countryside have made her even more of a caged tiger in our apartment. Even though Junebug is getting better about falling asleep at his regular time, he doesn't stay asleep. New favorite:  Playing from 1 a.m. to 4a.m.  It is jetlag, yes, but it is also teething.  He is going to get four teeth in the space of one month. Three are already in and the other top one is just beneath the skin.

And all of this adds up to a very tired me.  Sorry I'm not back yet, not in the sense that I'm able to keep up with anything.  Hopefully by week's end.  Hopefully. For now, color me brain-dead.

In the good news department, the weather here is lovely, not getting hotter than 32C/89.6F.
wayfaringwordhack: (wayfaring wordhack)
Low oil in engine number two. Everyone had to debark. Trying to find connecting flights. And it all started off so smoothly...

At least we got off before the plane had trouble. Silver lining.
wayfaringwordhack: (hellville)
This post is mostly for my "records." It is easier for me to keep track of things on LJ.

So, health whinge below cut.
Expandcough, cough, hack, hack )

I have entries to comment on and emails to reply to, but friends, please bear with me. It ain't going to happen tonight (8:15 p.m. and I'm headed to bed). It might happen tomorrow. Maybe.
wayfaringwordhack: (hellville)
...we have all come down with the crud.  I hope it is a quickly-passing cold.  Ugh, ugh, ugh.  Why, why, why?

OK, no more whining. Going to bed in hopes that some sleep will go a long way towards righting me.
wayfaringwordhack: (art: guitton - housework)
...at least I hope I am.

I am very much dreading the "etat des lieux" tomorrow, the handing over of the keys, the verification of the inventory and the state in which we have left the apartment.

I always leave a place spotless. Spotless. I am not a tidy person, but when I leave a home, you could eat off the floors, the walls, out of the dishwasher*...  We have replaced what we have broken and have not damaged anything irreplaceable.

However, the lady who is coming to do the état des lieux has not been...friendly whenever we've spoken on the phone.

When we had to replace the broken induction stovetop and called to find out the procedure for insurance purposes, she was downright witchy, practically accusing us of trying to rip off the rental agency when all we were trying to do was follow the proper channels.

Then, the other day, in setting up the appointment for the "check out," she told me we were going to have to pay a plumber to do the annual maintenance for the heating. We lived here from March to 1 Oct and had no need of the heating. I asked her to discuss it with J, citing we had only been here six months.  She went ballistic and said we were going to HAVE TO pay so no need to discuss anything. To which I politely insisted she talk to J about it. 

When we moved in, the realtor (different agent) said the maintenance was our responsibility, at which time J asked for a receipt showing the last upkeep done on the boiler.  We never received anything.  

Anyhow, the witchy lady never called J. He called the agency instead and repeated the need to see a receipt for the last maintenance because, hey, why should we have to pay for something we never used? And the agency kept dragging it out, claiming to be waiting on the plumber to send them the last bill. Only the thing is: They handle this apartment for the owner. It is their responsibility to have all of these documents on hand, already.

Witchy lady finally called back, leaving a message, in which she said, "Lucky for you, the last maintenance was done in Sept 2010, so you don't have to do it." (Remember the maintenance is ANNUAL, so they dropped the ball in 2011.) Lucky for us? Why lucky for us?  If we had bowed to her attempts to cow me, then we would be stuck paying something that is not our business to be paying.  Luck plays no part in it. They messed up; they have to pony up. Who wants to bet they try to fob off the expense on the next renters?

All day today, I've been tormenting myself with scenarios of her trying to find something wrong with the apartment and succeeding, thereby getting to keep all or a part of our deposit.  I'm making myself miserable. I'm borrowing trouble from tomorrow, when perhaps there will be no trouble.  I know that, but I just can't stop. Stupid mental playback of misery!

OK, enough whinging. Time to get back to cleaning so as not to give witchy woman any ground...

____
* that might seem an odd thing to say, but have you ever cleaned a dishwasher filter? Nasty,greasy things...
wayfaringwordhack: (critters: praying mantis)

According to the pharmacist, my itchy, bumpy, allergy-thing, probably-insect-bites ongoing saga is to be blamed on this blasted devil and his kin:


(image via Wikipedia)

Harvest mites, aka chiggers!  I have yet another outbreak of bumps after Sunday's bike ride and yesterday's walk in the ornithological park.  I ITCH!  I can't get rid of one crop of bites before the next pops up. I tried using Tiger Balm a couple of times, even though it is not recommended for nursing women, that's how bad the itching is, how mad it is driving me, keeping me awake and waking me at all hours...the hours when S is not waking me, that is.

But, there is a reason Tiger Balm is not to be used by nursing moms:  Every morning that followed a use of the balm, S would spit up. She usually never does that. I went several days without using it but last night used just a smidgen.  This morning, spit up again. Not much, but enough to confirm that the balm was to blame.

The pharmacist gave me a "safe" brand of antihistamine cream, but I am sad to say, it is not working.

Oh, my legs, I want to claw them to shreds! 
wayfaringwordhack: (I heart you)
Thank you ever so much to those who responded to my last post.  Each and everyone of you gave such good advice that will help me through the writing doldrums.

In fact, mulling over what everyone said, I came to realize that I what I really need is an attitude adjustment...

Right here, right now, there is a disconnect, a strident dissonance, in what I'm saying I want and what I'm doing to get it. [livejournal.com profile] mindseas compared story love to getting struck by lightning, and I told her that while I too want that lightning, instead of getting out and chasing the storm, I'm hunkered down in a house bristling with lightning rods. I should've added that I'm standing on tires, too.

This is not confined to my writing. It is me, all of me.  I feel pretty useless these days, adrift and without purpose, unable to contribute. I guess a bit of that seeped through because, in chat, [livejournal.com profile] frigg told me my post was depressing.

So, yeah, time to adjust that ol' attitude and get to the heart of a few matters...
wayfaringwordhack: (plot problem)
The manuscript I'm working on, the one I promised to finish a draft of by Sept 1st because I believed it was pretty sound--unfinished ending aside--is broken.

It is painful, but I must admit that my memory of a fairly sound draft does not match the reality. There is no way I can uphold my promise to Julien to have it submission-worthy by Nov 1, no way to meet my own standards in the time I have.  Especially since the story is not singing to me, not even humming. It sounds like an excuse to say that, to try to get out of writing because I don't feel hot, passionate, consuming story love. So many times I've read about the importance of showing up, of sticking with the story and pushing past any discourage sloughs of Blah. But. But.

I have so much to do, so many projects, and a baby who is a major monopolizer of my time and energy; and I think, why?  Why should I pursue something that my heart is not in right now?  Why shouldn't I turn my passion and my spare moments to working on something that brings me joy?

I promised, that's why. But when the black hole of no-inspiration-and-even-less-desire strikes*, that doesn't seem a good enough reason.

I told [livejournal.com profile] frigg that I should perhaps work on two projects simultaneously, only working on the "fun" project (WW2) after spending a set amount of time on the "promise" project.  Time, though, is in short supply.  Now I just sound whiny.

I just need to make time. And get inspired.

Anyone want to share how they get fired up about/deal with a project that has fizzled?


_____________
* can a black hole strike? :P
wayfaringwordhack: (Maki World Domination)
There is a site I wanted to join called Pinterest. However, you have to wait to receive your invite.  Said invite arrived today, and guess what?  I can't join because I can only do so by logging in with my Facebook or Twitter accounts, two sites I refuse to have anything to do with.

argh!

Thanks, but no thanks.  

Binge(s)

30 Aug 2010 10:27 am
wayfaringwordhack: (sunflower - closed)
 I have not been writing; I have not been revising.  I have not been sleeping...well, not sleeping enough. 

ExpandMini-meltdown )
wayfaringwordhack: (monk)
 So, still only two chapters to go till the end of this draft.  Still haven't written them.

For the past week, I've been in a bit of funk over some "bad" news and haven't felt like writing, preferring to bury myself in reading.

What's the bad news? Julien's requests for transfers (he asked for a couple of different places) were all denied. I was so sure we were going to get to move and have our housing/neighbor problems solved. Not so, or not in the near future anyhow.

He did send his application to the embassy services yesty morning, so maybe we will have positive news from that. The only problem is that interviews for acceptance are not until December. 

I'm into my sixth month of pregnancy and not looking forward to another move so soon, but I called to give our landlady notice yesterday.  She told me that she wants to do some insulation work on the house and that the smoker is supposed to leave in Sept.  Theoretically, if all the factors align, we could happily stay here. But if she doesn't do sufficiently satisfactory work on the house and the smoker doesn't leave, we're going to have to find another place before winter, and hopefully before I have the baby.

And if Julien gets accepted into the embassy service, it could mean a mission as soon as January or February.  Which would imply, possibly, yet another move within four months. *sigh*

I like change, but I have my limits...
wayfaringwordhack: (monk)
I don't know if I should be coming back to LJ-land yet, but well, here I am.  I went offline to force myself to get some writing done, and I did, two chapters' worth (4.5K words).  But I'm still three chapters away from the end. I knew when I decided to write the story that these chapters would be the toughest, hence why I saved them for last. I'm not sure now that that was such a brilliant idea. It makes getting to The End that much harder. As if finishing a book needs to be any harder.

I need to do what all writers and concerned friends of writers counsel and Just Write the First Draft. I know that, but the fears of inadequacy, they cripple me.  And they have spilled over into my dreams of late.

In one dream, I had to infiltrate a diabolical sect, but I couldn't even worship the Devil correctly. He refused me!

Last night, I dreamed that I could not take a photograph to save my life. Everything was against me: the light faded; no matter how hard I tried, the image refused to be framed correctly; the camera malfunctioned. Lots of factors outside my control, but I stupidly just kept pushing the button, pushing the button. Finally I turned to another subject, but again, everything went wrong. I thought that I should stop and check my camera, see if it was on, if it had charged batteries, etc. but no, I kept pushing the button.

So I woke up this morning, secure in the knowledge that I feel inadequate, that I have performance anxiety.  Only, I already knew that.  What I need now is the kick to get me past it.

I don't know what to do besides accept that this draft will not be perfect--nor will the next--and just keep typing one word after the next. Yet, that feels frighteningly like pushing the button.

Any advice from the masses who have trod this hellishly hard way before me?

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