Friday morning something unusual occurred: I drove off-farm alone.
No canine posse in the backseat. Doubted it would be allowed to bring them all to my yearly physical. My appointment dragged on and I started to get concerned about what Dax was doing at home unsupervised, a certain Demon Spawn hadn't had his morning run... To further elevate my stress levels, the good doctor was concerned about the noises my heart was making, postulating that the hole in my heart had widened, she asked me to hang around so she could try to get me in to a cardiologists that day. Plus, I was in holding pattern waiting on the pharmacy. Phenix City, Alabama isn't renown for its cultural museums, so I found a sprawling vintage store where I could go idle for a couple hours.
A working 1930's refrigerator and gas stove, just what my kitchen needs.
A padded bar for my living room, sweet!!
The perfect gilded mirror to hang over it.
A chic bar deserves an equally stylish bartender.
Now we know where bridesmaid dresses go to die.
I think a mink stole would say it all... I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes and try to find more practical items.
A laying box for hens, never mind that the bottom is rusted out... minor detail.
A 'safe' place to leave Dax for the day, never mind, he'd break out.
30 lb game caller, complete with records and megaphone. Finally, I get the news that I can go home, no earlier appointment could be made because of upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I should rest and absolutely avoid stressing my heart with running. I arrive home to stress:
A frustrated Dax had been on a rampage.
Garden hose sections littering the yard. A favorite sleeping bag assaulted and shredded.
A new pair of heels, one now 3" lower than its mate. So much for stress avoidance. Screw doctor's orders, I decide to run the snot out of the heathen.
I'd ratchet down his energy level if it killed me, I reasoned.
Yes, my logic is infallible.
I'd been trying to keep his mileage at 5 or lower because he's only 1-1/2 years old. But, Friday, we ran Cole's old 8 mile circuit. Proving the doctor wrong:
I did not keel over.
Matter of fact two days later, we did a 7 miler. Limits are prisons, I live free, or I'd rather die.
Thursday, the ceaseless rain was still plaguing us, but the posse and I made a run for it.
Let the packing begin.
Chester tries out Cole's old backpack. His confusion is obvious: why can't Mum carry all our gear???
Columbus Riverwalk Park was laid under siege by the Smith war tribe. Check out the guys' war gear. Totally battle ready.
For once, I'm the happiest camper of the bunch. I'm off exploring and that's all that matters. Right Garrett and Peter?
Right? Maybe a homemade meal can mend some fences with the disgruntled crew.
Peruvian lime chicken with spicy jalepeno mayo and stuffed acorn squash with wild rice.
For dessert: Argentinian cookies, stuffed with caramelized center. Know how to make the best cookie stuffing? Boil a can of sweetened condensed milk for 3 hours.
Since my last annual leave 20 months ago, I've been fixated on planning another adventure.
I bought a tiny camper in the hopes of jettisoning us far from the farm. When its renovation, in time for a Fall getaway, looked hopeless, I bought another escape pod.
I'm not even discussing that one at the moment. So, I had to break it to my fam that we could only get as far as a tent and 5 backpacks could take us.
Their enthusiasm can be contagious :) Taking 4 dogs hiking and camping is a daunting task.
No matter how well behaved 3 of them are:
It is purposeful that the fourth remain unmentioned:
Demon Spawn is finally becoming more disciplined, but we have so much further to go. Thankfully, the new dog's training regiment is rubbing off on Daxo. Yes, may as well call Chester the new dog... his forever home in New Jersey didn't work out. His Aunt Deli cannot take him with her on her new life adventure.
He was due to depart next week. Fatigued and defeated, my only reaction was: whatever. Chester loves me, he'll go through windows to make his way back to me; he spoons so close to me at night that between him and Dax, I'm the squished middle of an Oreo.
He finds it hilarious that he's weaseled his way into my heart.
Real funny there, Mr. Chester. He's become my right hand man, always willing to lend a hand-- like today, on my day off when I'm repairing screens he's busted through.
Omnipresence is his forte. No matter where I'm working, when I look up, he's there, watching me. Humbling to be loved so devotedly by a dog caught trespassing. After trying for 10 weeks to get someone to adopt him, from making promo videos of him, listing him on a national adoption website, canvassing every rescue group within a 400 mile radius, I capitulated. Mr. Chester, you win, but now you have to learn how to camp like a Smith.
Two weeks ago, Dax heartily participated in the organizing of all our hiking gear. We were taking three days off and heading into the woods. Were...
Storms usurped our plans.
And the next plans.
And the third rain date plans. Are you kidding me??? I figured I'd just go back to work as I'd done the week before, but people smarter than me had been telling me I was plowing my way to a burn out, so I gave in to a word I loathe: staycation.
I'd been meaning to make homemade breads again for months. Now I have a few days to bake...
And try out new recipes. Those aren't wads of dirty Kleenex, those are uncooked samosas!
I've always wanted to know how to make those!
And no, it's not flattened roadkill on the mushroom lasagna that I slaved over 4 hours making, it's hand rolled pasta. Very disappointing.
Pineapple and water chestnut vegetable stir fry with fennel apple pork tenderloin...totally a success.
Kitchen is going to be a mess for a few days, but worth the detente of burying oneself in cookery. Plus, with Deli and Flynn pulling longer hours this week due to the inclement weather, I can make myself useful as camp cook. Maybe backwoods hiking wasn't what I needed to refuel my tank this week, maybe, just maybe it was good food and camaraderie.
Plus, my butterscotch pear pie doesn't hurt! Hope you enjoyed my postcard from my staycation, I have to hurry to bed, gotta get up in 6 hours to feed breakfast to the two people who make it possible for me to take a break from my duties for a few days. Thanks Deli and Flynn, mean it!
No one uses the idiotic garden tubs in mobile homes. I do:
25 baby chicks came in the mail at 7 AM this morning. On my day off, what fabulous timing, now I can play with baby chicklets all day! Shipped right as hatched, they arrive after two days a little stressed. Two were dead in the box, and four had to be force fed Gro Gel through a syringe. Proud to say, they're all doing well now.
Dax's first exposure to chicks, he's mesmerized.
So much so that I have to stop videoing and carry him out of the bathroom.
