March. More Like Itself

March. More Like Itself

(This first part was written 2 days ago.)

It’s March again. 15 degrees this morning. All the water frozen in the coops, and up in the goose pen there was a 4 inch solid crust of ice on top of the 5 gallon water bucket. With last week’s weather up in the high 70’s, low 80’s it was the perfect time to reel in all the extension cords that had powered water heaters and heat bulbs etcetera, etcetera. Not so anymore. I’m just glad I held back on my urge to plant lettuce and snap peas and kale. I wonder what this has done to the tender fright wig blossoms on the young maples that were turning the forest pinkish red? “They’re toast,” a friend said at a party this weekend when we were speculating on the cold snaps that were sure to return. Richard’s been up to the pens and coops this morning Gunga Din-ing his cute little butt off, and contending with the ever cantankerous Shmuel who guards his harum with a flurry of fluffed up feathers, then a low snake approach of his neck, and a final sidelong glare, those wild blue eyes in a field of white feathers looking like Moby Dick’s, that warns of menace and mayhem should Richard step foot in the pen. I watched all of this from the safety of a kitchen window, a slight sore throat keeping me indoors. It was quite entertaining. And believe me, I’ve experienced every version of this behavior. Last week with pugs around, Shmuel pulled out the full Chinese New Year dragon routine with wings up Karate Kid fashion and a terrifying serpent head in the center, hissing for all get out. It’s very impressive theatre. And when it comes right down to it, that’s all he’s got as a defense strategy - theatre. Theatre and a good bite or two.

There’ve been 2 pair of Canada Geese battling for supremecy over our pond. Not the most ideal nesting place, though, since it’s still frozen. But last week with the warm weather, there were caws and aerial combat, chases, complaints, and through it all, I was so impressed by the calm of our three. Unlike years past, they didn’t look upset at all. The were like Switzerland, wisely sitting it out, swaddled in neutrality. I was pulling for the smaller, sweeter pair of Canada Geese to win out, but size seems to matter in this battle. Too bad, because the bigger pair seem more contrary and combative which won’t bode well if our geese ever want to take a swim. More will be revealed.

Complete change of subject.

Our statehouse. Okay, Vermont’s governmental set-up has to rank as one more of the reasons I love living here. Let’s say it’s reason 60. I’m still a novice when it comes to knowing the inner workings and all the ins and outs available, but upon first tour, it’s the paradigm of a people’s government. The legislature is in session now and topping the bill is the health care debate with Governor Shumlin’s hope that he’ll be able to forge, with the Senate and the House, a successful path to Vermont being the first state in the union to have Single Payer coverage for everyone in the state. Deb Richter, a new friend of mine, former family care physician and now full time advocate for Single Pay, shepherded me through the halls of the statehouse, part tour, part primer.

“They don’t have any offices.”
‘Who?’

“Any of the legislators.”

A pause to let this sink in.

‘So where do they do their work?’

“Deals are hammered out in the cafeteria. You’ll see at lunch. So if you want to talk something over with a legislator, you can go right up to him at lunch. And not only that, you have the right as a citizen to sit in on any meeting in any office. There is full transparency here.”

This was incredible to me. It had the ring of something unique and special, the resonating original intent of the founding fathers perhaps. Of course, it all depends on an educated populace that is interested enough to take part in their government to keep that original intent alive. And I admit that interest/duty/calling has been hibernating in me. There’s a stirring inside me, though, call it Spring, call it March going out like a lion, call it an awakening, I’m not really clear, but I’m following it, heeding its call. I’m interested in all this, there’s an excitement at being a student, in learning, aiming for expertise, intending that, especially when it comes to health care. Something about that speaks deeply to me.

My first tour continued, first day at school. Deb popped me into the main sessions of both the house and the senate (the senate chamber is very cozy, like Williamsburg, Virginia in miniature) where we saw citizens sitting in the back, observing the proceedings, hooray for them. And then we walked right into a small office where a “private” meeting of senators was being given a précis of the proposed set-up of the insurance exchange through Green Mountain Care that would be a forerunner to Single Payer Care. There were other citizens at the edges of the room, listening in. We were all treated like guests, the same handout that had been given to the senators was also passed out to us. I loved it. And I love that Vermont, little old Vermont, could very well be the first state to have the courage and wherewithal to try Single Pay. It’s doable. With a passionate Governor at the helm, it’s doeable. (I would meet Governor Shumlin later in the day. He seemed a consummate politician, present, alert, bright, making me seem like his full attention was on me for that moment even though he was in the midst of a reception for a major check having been given to the state for Hurricane Irene rebuilding.)

This morning

Since the tour the other day, I’ve embarked on a crash course about Single Pay. The idea of Single Pay has always intrigued me, it’s always seemed like the best choice, otherwise why would people be so LOUDLY against it, rolling out the old charges of socialism. That’s my first clue that this must be something really good for the common man. So I’ve been boning up on it. Deb and her husband Terry Doran have written 2 terrific books about health care in Vermont and I’m devouring Wendell Potter’s terrificly true “Deadly Spin” about his background as a senior executive and spinmeister for Humana and CIGNA before becoming a whistleblower and major advocate for Single Pay. I love unlikely heroes. You go, Wendell. More to be revealed. Very exciting.

Back to the geese.

I’m once again at the kitchen window, standing and typing on my Macbook pro. The geese are right outside the window, congregating around a 5 gallon white bucket filled with water. I love watching them. Shmuel submerges his neck, diving so deep into the bucket and then back out again. I can tell he’s so missing the pond because he tries to climb into the bucket, reaching his big orange feet up the sides of the bucket, trying to gain purchase, taking part in some magical thinking that maybe if he dives his neck deep enough in this water it will turn into pond. He’s such a water fowl. It’s who he is. So wonderful observing creatures be completely who they are.

Dear Felicity just gave a little cry. She’s been so game about her injury. It’s getting better, but she’ll probably always have a limp, always a little Long John Silver to her get along. Shmuel and Mary Ann leave her on her own a lot of the time, wandering away from her, which is sad to see. She just noticed they were gone – that’s what brought her cry, a plaintive “where are you?”, they’re flock birds after all – and she’s hobbled over to where they are, chewing grass along the way. She’ll get there and sit for awhile, maybe because of the pain, who knows. I mean, what is pain to her? Just a piece of what her life is now, not necessarily a setback, just what is. Tough it out.

Oh, 2 male Canada Geese are still battling it out up on the hill, both families still waiting for the pond to thaw and Spring to come.

I think I’ll plant some seeds inside today.

Spring News in Brief

EXTRA! This Just In!!

Felicity is still limping, but game about her recovery. Her balance is extraordinary. Literal, physical balance. She’s posing on one leg most of the time, tenderly touching earth with the other as if she’s checking the temperature of the soil. Heal! Heal!!

Temperatures are in the high 70’s today.

The skies have been filled with the calls of Canada geese in search of unfrozen ponds on which to nest. We have 4 Canada Geese visiting us, assessing the layout of our place. One pair arrived yesterday, another pair joined them this morning. We’re speculating whether or not they are part of the family from last year. All of them are on the smallish side. That call of theirs has a gulpy foreboding sound. I’m biased of course because I have an audio recall from last season when that sound was a harbinger of a coming attack aimed at our geese. Territoriality. That doesn’t seem to be in air this year. Ours and theirs are getting along quite nicely, thank you very much, fingers crossed. Our pond too is still covered with snow and ice, a thin layer I’m sure, but the Canada Geese walk around on it, perplexed, and not knowing what to make of 70’s temperature and icy water. More shall be revealed. They’re off checking out our neighbors pond right now.

As I’m writing this, a batch of Richard’s eggs are hatching in the laundry room, 3 brand new chicks are already out, drying off in a larger incubator, and 3 remaining eggs have pips in their shells and peeps from within. Also, Richard is “processing” one of our roosters. We call him the Dispatcher, the Dispassionate Dispatcher. The deceased was a handsome fellow, right off a Cornflakes box, but his eggs turned up infertile and he was a bit scrawny and pushy and we had to choose between him and 2 other roosters. Richard harvested a tough brahma rooster 2 days ago, leaving a very impressive and kind fellow to look over the flock of hens. Birth and death all around, always.

We had 4 goose eggs sent from Arkansas last Friday to fortify the blood line of our flock, but the last they were heard from was tracked to a post office in Fayetteville. They may be lost in space. Frustrating. It shall be rectified. I’m looking forward to seeing some goslings.

Green Mountain Film Festival in Montpelier continues through the week. If you’re in the area, go; it has a very impressive list of films from all over the world. The warm weather is keeping people away, but it so deserves everyone’s support. Go, go, go. It’s a fantastic event.

Lots of activity. I’m off for a walk mit muck boots. It’s slip slidey out there.

Happy Spring!

PUGNACIOUS

I’m with my neighbor Royce, Pugs aren’t my favorite dogs in the world. These 2 orphans glommed onto me during my morning walk. The sky was clear and blue, streams cascading fresh and full, shimmering the air with sound, a slight scent of pine. Glorious. I was reading a favorite book of mine and had stopped to write a bit in a notebook I was also carrying, when these miscreants came snorting up to me, one larger, maybe the papa or older brother, a plastic collar and packet around his neck and the other more diminutive, a punk. Both were beige with wrinkled smooshed faces. Every time a vehicle would pass, they would tear off on a short legged gallop, barking and snapping at the wheels then return with bluster and sneezes. After a few moments of this, my i-phone alarm went off telling me I needed to turn around and come home. It was 10 am and we’d be leaving by 11. I set off and they followed. I tried discouraging them, shooing them, but they’d have none of it. They were valdiree-valdirahing right beside me. Okay, whatever, they’ll turn back, sometime. Well, they didn’t. Long story short, they followed me home, then avoided being caught and instead gave chase to our chickens and geese, laming Felicity, causing a great deal of havoc. Richard got pissed, we argued, 11 o’clock came, he had to take off without me while I continued with this fruitless corralling. I needed a new idea. Finally, at a loss, I got in my outback and slowly drove/led them back to the crossroads I’d found them about a mile away, they yipping and barking beside me. I’d have to let them rest every once and awhile. I was so trying to rise above all this, trying to see the positive opportunity, but it was hard. My back had rewrenched itself giving chase, my patience was thin. I kept imagining our neighbor Dennis’s satisfaction when he allegedly gunned down a husky that had been killing chickens up and down our road a few years back, but I don’t think that could be classified as a positive, could it? The one “rise above” thought that stuck was these pugs want to go home, everyone appreciates home, no place like home, so I tried to hold that in mind as I crept the car along and watched them zig zagging in my back and side mirrors. These are creatures that want to get home. And then a navy blue car began following me and the pugs. I pulled over, so did she, I parked the car and got out, and as this spry older woman with straight white hair in a bowl cut stooped out of her car, I asked if these dogs were hers. She looked like a central casting fairy tale character, not quite a witch, but … “Yep!” she snapped as she clawed at them up, snatching them up. “You little brats, c’mere.” ‘They followed me home and spooked our chickens and geese.’ She could’ve cared less. She gave a sidelong glance and a semblance of a smile and then went on with her business. I got in the car and drove off, looking for a turn around. Well, I did my duty. The dogs were my responsibility – okay, I could argue that in court, they were THE WITCH’S RESPONSIBILITY!! But they followed me home. I should’ve been more insistent with my shooing. And now Felicity was limping and in pain, and Richard and I were pissed at one another and, and, and … whatever. I turned the car around and headed home and as I passed back by the hobgoblin’s car, I saw her ripping some kind of meat product from a cardboard box perched on her trunk, her smile had a touch of the maniacal.

And I never exaggerate.

New Ideas

New ideas

Shmuel trumpets with great abandon these days. No holding back, his call is bold, clear, LOUD, tantarah-ing that he’s the man, he’s the protector, the father, and he’s BY GOD doing his job!! Richard and I have an air purifier going in our bedroom, so his morning blasts at around 6 are muffled somewhat. Still he cuts through the drone of white noise as if to say “I’m real! I have a need here! Wake up and tend to it, PRONTO, because I’m not stopping this caterwauling until you unlatch this gate!” And so one of us hops to and is out the door to serve our master.

After the other day, we should’ve known why he was stirring up so much commotion. Geese lay eggs only during a 2 month period each year and both Mary Ann and Felicity have begun to nest. Last year they did most of their laying up in the goose house, a piece of plywood tented against one of the side walls giving them privacy. It’s to be expected that they will lay an errant egg or 2 over at Royce’s or in some grassy surround, but the lion’s share will be laid in one area. The other morning both Richard and I were witness to Mary Ann walking over to the side porch where our riding mower and wagon are stored for the winter, hopping up to where there had been a dainty spill of straw from the bales we also had stored there, and methodically pulling and placing everything in a suitable nest. It was like being present at the nativity, sans angels – we were the shepherds and, okay, the wise men. Shmuel stood and then, when Mary Ann later settled in to lay, sat very nearby, the quiet protector and watcher. He is devoted to her. Felicity sat calmly farther out in the grass and would later go up to fashion her own nest next to Mary Ann’s. Richard and I shared a look. It was all so beautiful and right. They were going to be the designators of where the perfect nest would be. It was going to be their decision. After all, they’re their eggs, they know better. And so we watched. And this morning, Shmuel was crying and crying out in a demanding way and the moment Richard let them out, they all three made a calm and steady bee-line for the side porch. Richard had put up a little plywood ramp to accommodate Mary Ann, but she didn’t need it. She paused briefly, taking in the situation, calculating the energy needed, and then she easily flapped twice and was there on her nest. Every other day is usually how it goes with the laying cycle. And today we got one from Mary Ann and a little bit later another from Felicity. Miraculous.

It dipped to just below freezing last night, but common wisdom is that maple sap season is over for the year due to the warm temperatures. For the uninitiated, ideal sapping weather is above freezing during the day and below freezing during the night. A friend of ours, Dylan, stopped his truck beside me during my dusk to dark night walk last evening and we spoke of sap and other things. It was fitting since the back of his pick-up was sinking low under the weight of a large squatty plastic vat 2/3 full of sap. Dylan is a major tree person, he and his friend Ben, an arborist, helped thin and clear some huge dead pines from our land beside our pond last winter. He agreed that sap season was over. I asked if he’d ever seen a winter like this; he had, though he hadn’t been sapping then. He didn’t invoke climate change which I appreciated since I’m trying to eradicate it from my vocabulary because in my case it tends to aspire to the level of constant complaint. I’d rather talk of solution or new idea. He reminded me that last year had been a fantastic year for sap, lasting almost to April. I asked him if we returned to a cold snap after this spate of warm weather would the sap come back. He didn’t think it would happen given the weather reports, and he continued that though it was possible, when it warms the budding mechanism has been set into motion so the sap, if present at all, would probably not taste good. Learn something every day. I hope so at least. Plenty of ideas floating around just waiting to be embraced and brought to life.

Richard’s been out in full joy, trimming up the apple tree branches. He looks like Michelangelo out there, sculpting master pieces. He’ll cut and trim, sometimes up in the big branches, and then he’ll climb down and stand back to take in the shape. His work has paid off with great tasting apples last year, the perfect balance between tart and sweet. Delectable.

Muck boots are a God send this time of year. Mud season may not be that long because the frost wasn’t too deep, but right now there’s a lot of slip slidey stuff all around whether your on foot or in a car. As I mentioned, I set off on a 4 mile walk yesterday evening just as the sun was reaching the top of our tree line. Knowing that it would be pitch black by the time I got home, I packed a mesh reflector vest to put over my black fleece and flashlight into my small backpack, along with an apple and some seltzer, a book, a large steno notebook and pen, and my Nook, just in case. I had a tureen of coffee for the beginning of the walk and it was a fine jaunt through both the mucky and the dry areas. Just another season in Vermont.

The grass is beige brown, the trees are bare, the snow is melting away, only existent in the back of our house where the sun’s light doesn’t spend a lot of time. I planted a whole bunch of daffodils last autumn, so those should be peaking up in a couple weeks or so. The trees will be budding soon, their bark blushing pink/red before they do. The pond’s starting to melt, so we should have a pair of Canada Geese flying in soon. I hope our geese and they will get along this year, but that’s to be revealed. For now, the soil and the air, everything is alive with ideas of growth and blossom and birth and green.