Farm life mishaps…

The smoky mountains…..

   It was an easy drive to Gatlinburg the gateway to the smoky mountains. Again I didn’t really have any expectations. Its a place I never thought much about. We were told this is the most visited national park in America. As we pulled into Gatlinburg we were shocked to find a mini kid version of Vegas. The town was clearly designed with kids in mind. Every corner had some version of pee wee golf. There was the largest Ripley’s believe it or not museum I have ever seen. Roller coasters, theme dinner shows, candy shops and arcades as far as the eye could see. Our kids would have flipped their lids if we would have brought them here when they were little. I wish I would have known about this then and I definitely would recommend it as a great place for a family vacation. We ended up playing a few rounds of competitive pee wee golf and an aggressive game of laser tag. It started raining on us, our first drops of  what was left of hurricane Ida.

   The next day we ventured into the park. We stopped at the visitors center and picked up a documentary of the history of the place which we listened to as we drove on.  Cascading waterfalls, A huge diversity of plants and   trees, some wrapped  in vines made it a very scenic drive. The day was cloudy and cooler which was so refreshing after being in that miserable hot weather.  We learned about the early settlers who settled in Cades cove, which was cleared into a beautiful meadow area that was used by the pioneers for farming. The first people who came to Cades cove almost died of starvation the first winter, but one night as the husband was off hunting the lady of the house heard noises outside which she thought was a wild animal. Turns out some of the Cherokee Indians had seen their plight and brought them several dried pumpkins which sustained them through the winter. 

  At one point the Cades Cove had grown to a town of 700 people. These were some hardy people to say the least. Many of the homes and buildings  that were built by the people are now part of the state park and you are free to explore them. Its amazing to think what these industrious people accomplished. They had to cut the trees down with an axe then make lumber out of the trees. Sometimes I complain when I have to drive to Home Depot and load some lumber in the back of my truck. 

  The land was beautiful and provided plenty of food from wild game, berries and the fertile soil which they planted all sorts of vegetables and fruit.  I imagine even though, they worked very hard, they enjoyed a nice life. I was fascinated by the hinges on the doors of the barns.They hand carved everything and were so cleverly designed. We saw a picture of two women who would pick their own cotton, give their sheep haircuts then spin it into fabrics which they sewed into clothes for the towns people. If I were ever taken by force into a time machine and cast into 1820 and expected to use axes to build a house or plant cotton and sheer sheep to make clothes I’d be homeless and naked. 

  As we traveled across into North Carolina We stopped and did a hike on part of the Appalachian trail. We listened to another documentary about a guy who hiked all 2,160 miles of it. The determination of some people really impresses me. In the town of Cherokee we visited the museum. Again I was saddened by how ugly humans can treat each other. As I bought my sticker in the gift shop I felt like I needed to apologize for being white.

  Being in the  smoky mountains was a perfect  time to sit back and reflect and be thankful for the magnificent planet we have been entrusted to care for.

  I like bouncing back and forth between cities and nature. We have lived in both but I have discovered I am more of a city person. We tried “ farming” a time or two, but were epic farm failures. We moved to Washoe Valley when the kids were small into a house on a few acres. There was a horse barn and a chicken coop so we promptly bought a bunch of chickens and a few horses. We probably didn’t keep our chicken house as clean as we should have so, we soon had hoards of mice living under the chicken house. Jimmie and his buddy Zac had a hoot of a time shooting mice one night. They filled buckets and had a competition to see who killed the most. We had a really nasty Rooster that Tristan had named Eagle. It was a vile bird. Every time I would collect the eggs it would savagely attack me. I would go into the hen house with a silver garbage can lid and use it as a shield. My heart would be racing as I’d gather eggs with one hand and fight off Eagle with the other hand. Tristan would go in with a foot ball helmet on his head and sit quietly and patiently and wait for eagle to come to him. He would then pet the evil rooster gently. He was the rooster whisperer. 

  One day I was working outside and I heard Cole screaming bloody murder. He was about two years old. I came around the corner and that horrible bird had him down on the ground and was spurring him with his talons and pecking his head.  I screamed and kicked the bird off of Cole. He was bleeding profusely all over his head and face. I am not a person who handles emergencies well. I go into complete panic mode every time. I scooped Cole up and screaming I ran to find Jimmie. As Jimmie washed the blood off his little head he looked at me and said “ you need to kill that rooster”. In complete panic mode I ran outside eager to seek vengeance on the ruthless bird who attacked my baby. Eagle saw me running after him and he took one look at me and knew I meant business. Instead of running towards me to attack as he usually did he took off like a bat out of hell across the lawn. I chased that bad bird down and grabbed him by the neck intent on ringing its neck the way my mama did when I was a kid. My hands around his throat, I tried to “wring”. I was “wringing and wringing “ but his head wasn’t coming loose the way it was supposed to. Now by this time me and Eagle were looking each other in the eye and I knew if I gave up  he was going straight for my eyeballs . It was my eyeballs or his life. I just couldn’t make it work the way I thought. After what seemed like hours of me dancing around the yard with him in in my hand swinging him around like I was a cheer leader with a Pom Pom I was realizing I clearly have no clue how to wring a chickens neck. In fact I have never killed anything bigger than a spider. Out of options I looked over and saw the fence. Eagle, say your prayers, your going down. I beat that rooster on the fence until I was convinced he was not going to take my eyeball or hurt my babies again. The deed was done and Eagle lay dead. Tristan was so upset and I felt really bad about it.

  A few years later we were living in Grass Valley California on five acres. Ticks and lime disease were a constant threat so Jimmie came up with the brilliant idea to order 30 guinea hens. Supposedly they eat ticks. Unfortunately when the box of hens arrived at the post office he was gone and entrusted their care to me. Whatever happens “ Don’t kill them!” Were his last words to me as he left town. Now I am a working mother of three, I am really not stoked about caring for 30 little birds. It was summer so it was warm outside. I knew from from past experience you need to put a light on baby chicks to keep them warm. We learned the hard way not to put the light to close. We once did that and awoke to the smell of rotisserie baby chickens. I figured since it was a hot summer and I didn’t want to cook them they probably didn’t need the light.  The next morning me and Momika my dearest friend who we rented the house from went  to have our coffee down by the pond. We stopped off to check on the chicks.  I let out a small scream and when I opened the door it seemed half of them were dead! A few had drowned in the water dish that I filled for them. I didn’t see that coming. Some appeared to be already dead and many were deliriously stumbling around knocking on deaths door. Apparently I needed the light.  With a sad heart I took a few of the dead ones and tossed them out in the bushes. Momika with her optimistic spirit said in her cute Swedish accent .. “ Oh honey maybe they are not dead, maybe they just need to warm up” I thought that seemed ridiculously optimistic as to me they looked mostly dead but I figured what have I got to loose. I took a little bird out in the sun and rubbed it in my hands. It kinda worked! Once I got them warmed up it was like a guinea hen resurrection! Momika’s optimism worked. I tried not to think about the poor few saps I tossed in the bushes. All in all out of 30 I think 8 survived. We ended up raising them in the house after that. The boys took great care of them and they became their pets. My mom was visiting and we agreed the boys bedroom was starting to smell like a chicken coop and it was time to move the birds outside. She being the Oregon mountain woman seemed to know what she was doing. She hoisted the cage up high on a pole outside of the coop to keep them separated from the other chickens and safe from predators. 

  The next morning I heard the most awful blood curdling screams from the boys. They went to check on their friends. In the night something like a skunk or raccoon had climbed up the side of the barn. I don’t know how they managed it but they ate the heads clear off of three of them! One seemed to die of a heart attack and laid there in the middle, untouched but dead as a door knob. Two little hens were in the middle of the cage shaking in fear. It was awful. We have committed chicken atrocities and have decided farm life is not good for us or the poor creatures in our care.

   As beautiful as all the places we have seen are, theres no place like home. I love our little house in the city of Santa Cruz. I’m home sick but theres more to see… 

  North Carolina here we come…..