Musings On a Rainy Day: The Wanderings of a Fevered and Bitterly Disappointed Mind!

south and east views from Briarwood on a rainy winter day

Oscar and I were to have hunted pigeon and rabbit today, but the weather is miserable, and winter is upon us with a vengeance.  And so after some early morning chores at the barn and in town, I sat down with a cup of tea and my Kindle to read a few passages from long neglected books and magazines.  Days like this have always put me in a rather pensive mood, and used to call forth listening to Beethoven, reading Byron, and caressing a bit of cognac or brandy.  But now it is silence, Earl Grey tea, and things I meant to read a long time ago. 

Rebecca and I have long discussed where we might attend worship after my retirement.  Arguably, the evangelical churches have the best preachers, but we would miss the liturgy and sacrament.  While several members of our family are Roman, I could never get by the dogmas promulgated in the 19th century or the presuppositions of magisterium as a concept, ...and as a non-member, I would not be able to receive Communion.  And besides, my experience of most Roman Catholic preaching is that it tends to not be expository, and is therefore generally suspect in my eyes (although I can cite some notable exceptions!).  The same sort of things hold true for Orthodoxy.  While I find Orthodoxy's theology more derivative from Scripture than that of Rome, I always feel like a welcome and honoured guest rather than like a member of the family.  And their positions on Sacraments are like those of Rome.  Some would ask why I don't just find another Episcopal or Anglican Church and go there.  The blend of liberal politics, acceptance of sexual immorality (both homosexual and heterosexual), and the effective universalism in many Episcopal Churches distracts me from focusing on God, and to attend an Anglican parish with regularity given the current state of affairs between The Episcopal Church and the Anglican Church in North America would in my opinion send unhelpful signals to people who look to me for spiritual example and leadership, and would seem to be a rather backhanded slap at my bishop, to whom I am bound to give fealty, and who is after all a decent man who has enough headaches without me creating more for him. 

And all of this brings me to the "Diary of John Evelyn," who lived during the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell, and found his religion no longer fit the mood of the nation.  On 3rd December (1654) he wrote, "Advent Sunday.  There being no Office at the church but extemporary prayers after the Presbyterian way, for now all forms were prohibited, and most of the preachers were usurpers, I seldom went to church upon solemn feasts; but, either went to London, where some of the orthodox sequestered Divines did privately use the Common Prayer, administered sacraments, &c., or else I procured one to officiate in my house; wherefore on the 10th, Dr. Richard Owen, the sequestered minister of Eltham, preached to my family in my library, and gave us the holy Communion." 

And so I wonder, on this blustery and chilling day, if we are indeed in a new interregnum as one age passes to the next.  I have no answers, and hopefully will not need one for a few years to come, but days such as this do call me to deep thoughts of very serious things.

My second reverie grew out of Anthony Esolen's article "Illuminations" in the October 26th issue of "Touchstone."  He writes, "C.S. Lewis suggests that the flames of hell are how the wicked experience the glory of Paradise, for God is the Selfsame, and should we descend into the pit, yet is he there.  The fault lies not in the glory, but in the wicked."  He continues after some illustration, "So in the dark night of Advent we await the coming of the true light that enlightens every man; yet we should remember that light is like cool, refreshing waters for those who love the light, and like the glare of an enemy to those who hate it."  Could this be why so many in our world today seem to intent on opposing the work of Jesus Christ in the world?  Certainly it is worth considering, and if it is true, perhaps it is an indication that even in the midst of the darkness, we ought to remember that God is doing a great thing.  Gods who are not a threat to the enemies of truth seldom provoke violent reactions, because their private worship which has no public consequences are not an inconvenience to anyone.

And finally, my thoughts on this day grow out of a report by Dave Nomsan in the Winter 2014 issue of "Pheasants Forever: A Journal of Upland Conservation."  Even a partisan (an evenhanded one at least) must come close to acknowledging that the antics of the United States government in all of her forms and in all of her parties and interest groups, has been a disgrace over the last few weeks and months.  Nomsan, who is Vice President for Governmental affairs for Pheasants Forever, was working on the conservation aspects of the pending Farm Bill when he realized that the government shutdown would have serious ramifications "limiting hunting access on public lands", and especially to those purchased for conservation by private funds from hunters and conservationists through the sale of Duck Stamps, the 26,000 Waterfowl Protection Areas, or WPAs.  He continues, "As preposterous as it sounded, the federal government had closed public WPAs despite there not being any gates, locks, or staff necessary to keep them open- and all of this during the peak of duck hunting season and on the eve of many state pheasant openers."   Needless to say, the federal government's apparent disregard for the health of upland and wetland habitat, of which scientifically planned harvest seasons are an important part, disgusts this writer.  It also causes me to imagine if the time has not come for a careful consideration of the kind of folks we elect to govern our nation.  Please take this as a denunciation of candidates from both major parties, and not as an attack on one branch or one party.  This is too wonderful a place to allow anyone to throw it away or to destroy it for any reason.  I suppose that is the rant portion of my musing today. 

Can we go hunting yet Dad?

Hopefully this will give you a bit of an insight into the workings of an idle mind.  It can be a very scary place.  I think I'll leave it and see if it is too wet to hunt this afternoon.

And oh by the way, the views expressed here are strictly personal and should not be held against any institution or anyone but me!

A day of Refreshment in a week of Discouragement

The last couple of days have been magical.  Daughter Ashley brought the children for an overnighter at Briarwood, also known as "Grammy's House."  It was a time filled with horses and play and pizza and movie night, and more horses, and all of the wonderful fantasies two happy little girls could muster. (Little George at this point is more interested in eating dog food and playing with electrical cords than in experiencing wonder of any kind!) Rebecca and Ashley managed to get the spinning wheel working and started on the first crop of Scottish Blackface wool from Dayspring Farm. Here are a few pictures of the event.



playing horses

the real thing

and more!

Momma with Little Princess, her retired hunter jumper

Spinning the first wool from the Canter's flock of Scottish Blackface Sheep

Lunch!

Playing St. Michael in the Briarwood Chapel

I thank God for times like this.  The last couple of weeks have been very stressful.  Diocesan Convention, interactions with several colleagues, and the recent political infightings in our country have conspired to remind me of how much of the old order has passed, and of how little I like that which currently holds sway in this great and wide world of ours.  Added to some very difficult administrative decisions of late, it has all made me very tired emotionally and spiritually.  But when I look into the eyes of my grandchildren, and when I survey the wonder that is all around me, I feel refreshed and renewed...ready to face the morrow.  And so I close with a snapshot of Little Princess and Oscar, whose presence reminds me that all is not concrete and asphalt, and that there is still beauty defined by function and nature; beauty which participates in and grows from that which we have all known instinctively from the beginning; that which is unchanging and in which we see the very face of God.

As God shows forth his character and person in the wonder and purpose of creation, so he shows us the fullness of his glory in the Revelation of Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son, of whom the Holy Bible is the sure and verified record.
To Him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.

The Joy of Living

Hoppe's iconic #9

Today started early (at about 6:45 AM) with two services of Holy Communion and a class on the Exodus by noon, then lunch with Rebecca at Four Reasons, phone calls, a Communion distribution at a local nursing home, a visit to my failing mother, and a seminar at the church.  When I arrived home at about 7:30 PM, Oscar was delighted to see me.  Accompanied by Quincy and Rawley, we went to the barn to look after Princess, Ashley's horse, and the birds.  And then it was back to the shop to pick up shotguns for cleaning and a bit of maintenance.  And that is when Oscar, the Spaniel, came to life.  The sight of uncased guns, the smell of powder, and the intoxicating odor of Hoppes #9 was like an on switch to my little black dog.  He ran and barked and galumphed with all of the joy he could muster... and he did not stop until the guns were cleaned, adjusted, and locked in the safe. 

Winchester's fabled Model 12

He and Rawley are now asleep on my feet.  Quincy, who does not like guns at all, has retired to the loft.  And here I sit thinking about what it is that brings me the joy I witnessed in my dog tonight.  I've still not come up with an answer, but I will continue to work on the question in the days to come.  Such absolute joy and perfect happiness borne of anticipation must be filled with innocence and certainly is as  without guile as blessed Nathaniel.  I'll spend a few days on this, and hopefully, by God's grace I will find the key to knowing such absolute happiness this side of heaven.

Stoeger's sturdy workhorse, the Uplander

Shelling Beans

I am off this morning for Columbus Day, so I decided to get on with some of the fall garden chores.  The terriers were down in the woods doing what terriers do, so Oscar and I moseyed up to the barn, and after turning out Princess and the girls, applied ourselves to picking through the overgrown jungle that is a late season garden looking for beans.  Some of them were planted for winter soup, and others just got past their prime or were missed on earlier pickings.  A few were just left to dry after everyone I know got tired of eating green beans.  Today was the first pass at harvesting them.  It is a mindless task, but I've always found it relaxing.  There are so many varieties, and they all have their own story.  My favorite variety is a small black bean often called "Trail of Tears", because according to legend, the Cherokee brought it with them from the Carolinas to Oklahoma and Kansas.  If our family histories are anywhere near accurate, some of my folks were on that trip.  But there are the prolific and relatively newer varieties like Kentucky Wonder, and even beans that are reputed to have come to the new world on the Mayflower.  Others supposedly kept Irish farmhands alive during the great famine.  There are as many stories as there are varieties, and as many colors and patterns as one can imagine!

I suppose the best thing about shelling beans is that it gives one time to think.  Time seems to vanish and run into eternity as the bottom of the empty Tupperware container slowly disappears beneath the shining promise of winter soups.  There is time for God, and for old friends nearly forgotten, and for pondering that which is truly important in life.  So if you've never grown beans, I certainly recommend it.  They can be somewhat ignored and still be prolific.  Delicious when young, meaty when middle aged, and hearty when dried for soups or frying, they are easy to grow, satisfying to see, and are always welcome to grace my table.  If your back is old like mine, get the climbers.  They are the easiest to pick.  And in case you hadn't guessed already, Oscar really wasn't much help, but it is always good to spend time with a friend.

Breakfast At Briarwood

The View at Breakfast this Morning
 

What started as a very normal week became a very hectic week when my friend Jim interrupted Wednesday morning's Bible study in the church library to announce, "Bill, your Mom is in the hospital and Rebecca will meet you there."  My well planned schedule was cast to the winds, and as I drove to the hospital, I made calls to insure that my responsibilities were covered for the next couple of days.  Mom is recuperating nicely and hopes to be released today, and once again I give thanks for my good neighbors at Fairfield Medical Center here in Lancaster.  On Thursday, I was able to make the trip to our Diocesan Retreat Center at the Proctor Farm to receive Communion from my Bishop and attend the Clergy Day workshop.  And then, things got wonderfully interesting.

I had decided that on the way home, I would stop for some dove shooting at Deer Creek State Park with Oscar.  It was raining and the corn had been removed in the area I had targeted, so the doves were down.  I drove over to a spot which on the map had looked like a stand of mature oak and hickory trees to find that it was merely a young stand of softwoods, and so squirrel hunting was out as well.  Then, as a consolation, I decided to take young Oscar and walk down a couple of small creeks in the area to see if I could find any wood duck.  We were not disappointed!  We found two small flocks, or perhaps gaggles of ducks, and Oscar was in heaven.  This was his first introduction to them, While I was unable to shoot because the season is not yet in, I believe I have the makings of a pretty good water dog.  He did not settle down until we got back to Circleville! 

Oscar at Breakfast this Morning
 

And so here we are at breakfast this morning after a good night's sleep.  Two eggs soft boiled, bacon, toast with Rebecca's spiced rum peach jelly, and tea completed the meal.  Surely there is no place like home, except heaven, and that is after all home, and what we try to imitate in the design and temper of those places where we live and worship in this life.  Soon, I will go into town to see how Mom is doing, and then perhaps to AW Marion State Park for a bit of fishing. But until then, I will settle in with my Bible and enjoy this little bit of heaven we call Briarwood.

Early Fall in Rural Ohio

I love living in the country.  This time of year is absolutely the best, and I share just a few of the wonderful things that are happening in our small and delightful world.

Grape harvest is in full swing with delicious jams and jellies to follow.

Augustus, the Scottish Black Faced Ram has arrived at Dayspring Farm
 

George is now eating at the table

Margaret started Kindergarten
 

Oscar gets home on the 7th and his first puppy hunt is booked at Federal Valley for the 13th with four birds!

 

The County Fair is just around the corner

I hope your world is as blessed as ours, and that the peace of God reigns in your heart.



Why Did God Put Us Here? With a Caveat on The Proper and Improper Use of Firearms

It is 86 degrees Fahrenheit at 8 o'clock, the hygrometer is at 75%, and the water is half way up the storm glass, indicating severe low pressure.  In a word, we are waiting for a promised summer storm of significant intensity.  Such barometric eccentricities often bring the woods and lakes to life, and tonight is no exception.  I was on the back porch reading when I heard the most horrible ruckus from the secret garden.  Upon investigation, I found that all four dogs had closed on three raccoons, and the fight was on.  Each terrier had engaged a coon directly and violently, and the hound and spaniel were holding the third at the top of a rather largish boxwood.  I left the terriers to their business and snagged Nike (Tristan would never understand or accept a stray gunshot wound or significant lacerations from a fight) and Oscar (who is not yet broken to gunshots), and hurried them into the house, where I retrieved my revolver.  By the time I returned, both coons on the ground were breathing their last and the third was treed, while the terriers were casting in search of more prey.  I dispatched all three vermin and called the dogs in to reward them for their work. 

It may seem gruesome to some, but vermin control is a necessary part of country living, as the depredations on my laying flock last week so amply illustrate.  And it is good to see a creature do what it is bred and kept to do.  The dogs all responded instinctively to the roles to which they were born, and it is a good thing to see creatures fulfill their purpose.  I have often wondered if we humans would be a bit more well intentioned toward each other if we lived in a culture or a society which encouraged us to be the creatures and to do the jobs we were created to do, that is, to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves; and to tend this garden that God has given us.  While I am a hopeless romantic, I am not so naive as to believe that humans in agrarian societies are any more humane or well behaved than those who live in cities.  History proves otherwise.  But it does cause me to ponder what our jobs really are, what we are born to be and to do.   I'm not so sure we have done a good job of discerning the answer to that question, and I know we have not lived into the answer as a species.

I believe that we homo-sapiens often believe we have found the answer to the above question, and our answers are generally involved with what some would call finding-one's-self, or being true to one's feelings.  I would call such nonsense selfishness of the highest order.  I recall being in a rather low grade theological discussion some years back where one of the participants suggested that since he was obviously pre-disposed to a certain type of behavior which the Bible said is sinful, that it made perfect sense to him that he could best glorify God and find fulfillment by being the best practitioner of those predispositions that God had given him.  I remember thinking at the time what self-centered nonsense that was, and wondering if he would feel the same if his activity of choice was murder or bank robbery, instead of sexual license.  He had in effect rejected the idea of eternal moral imperatives which are self-evident in nature and distilled in Sacred Scripture, in favor of justifying his own predilections in relationship to prevailing cultural norms.  The sad thing was that most of the people there agreed with him.  Better than half of them were ordained.

I suppose it is my experience with the mental constructions of my fellow humans which makes me value so highly my time with working dogs and horses.  They seldom overthink an issue.  They may be willfully disobedient, but when it comes to the rat killing or the chase, their instincts kick in and they do what they were born to do without excuse or cowardice.  I suppose even the raccoons are only doing what they were bred to do when they eat my chickens and quail.  They are worthy opponents who at the end of the day are true to their nature and fight the good fight.  O that we humans might so live and die..."facing fearful odds, for the ashes of our fathers, and the temples of our gods."  Perhaps then I would want to spend more time with people, and yearn less for the company of good dogs, faithful horses, and the thrill of field sport.  Saint Hubert pray for me, a sinner.

A Caveat: Let the Buyer Beware!

     While I was cleaning my weapon tonight, I got to thinking.  I grew up with Hoppe's #9 Gun Cleaning Solvent.  It has a sweet, and far from unpleasant odor, and it has always gotten me to think about things.  It is a sort of mental trigger to the mind of a small town Indiana boy.  Tonight it got me thinking about the kills that made the cleaning necessary.  I shot the raccoons in question with .357 Magnum caliber rounds tipped with 140 grain Barnes expander bullets.  They are self defense rounds made to stop a human, or a coyote, or even a deer.  (It may sound like a lot of gun for a raccoon, but when only a single weapon is maintained for emergencies, it must be prepared for every possible scenario, not just for raccoons.) The shots were well placed from a distance of three or four feet.  Sensation may have stopped instantaneously, but I doubt it.  I have killed a lot of game, and there is almost always a lot of thrashing around, gasping, muscle contractions, and the most horrid sounds.  It was like that tonight with both of the coons I had to dispatch with a shot.  They died clean and quickly, but not instantaneously.

I point this out specifically to dissuade any reader who thinks that killing anything or anyone with firearms or any other weapon is clean, or quick, or without emotion.  Movies and TV have made many think that you pull a trigger and the target falls lifeless and that is that.  Death is a horrible thing, and killing is a terrible responsibility never to be taken lightly.  What is usually portrayed on the screen is a lie, and I hope that anyone reading this who plans to use a firearm for any reason will seek out proper training from qualified personnel, and consider what you are doing.  I would suggest that you spend a couple of seasons hunting, so that you can experience the consequences of the thing that you do when you discharge a firearm with the intent to kill.  Hunting is a noble pursuit which puts us in closer contact with our food chain and helps us to appreciate what we consume.  Lawful defense of family and country are in my opinion the sacred responsibilities of every person.  But frivolous and unknowing use of firearms is a curse that has brought too much tragedy into the world.  Consider the consequences of your actions, and know the capabilities of the tools you use.  I write this as a lifelong hunter and fisherman, a retired soldier, and as a life member of the National Rifle Association.

Domestic Counterinsurgency- Briarwood Style

They came like the Vikings, at dusk and completely without warning.  They employed every trick in the book and showed no respect whatsoever for the customs or restraints which characterize Christian civilization.  They killed indiscriminately and without mercy nor regard to age, sex, or station.  In the last week they have cost me five of my beautiful Speckled Sussex hens.  We are used to the depredations of Raccoons and the odd Hawk, but Weasels are different.  They kill for the sheer joy of killing and leave the foulest mess.  For four nights running they have been in the area, and they show no sign of leaving voluntarily.  How I miss faithful Pat the white hound in situations like this, but he is gone, and it is time to take action if my laying flock is to survive.

As I considered how to deploy my resources to meet this latest invasion, my thoughts naturally turned to the wisdom of the past.  When I was at the Military Academy many years ago, we studied both the British response to the insurgency in Malaysia and the French and American response to the situation in Vietnam.  And then there were all of those graduate studies in early English history from the late Roman period through the Wessex monarchy under Alfred.  Could it be that finally, I had found real use for my studies?  And so I employed my vast lack of experience and my moderately undisciplined reading habits as an undergraduate and graduate student to solve the problem of what to do with my furry marauders.  I was amazed at how much applied.  We will see if the steps involved work.

1. Establish Hamlets to control your population in safe havens with a minimum of economic disruption.  There will be no more free ranging for the time being, and everyone stays in the chicken run during the day and in the secure chicken house at night.

2. Defoliate the enemy's hiding place to make him vulnerable to direct attack and to limit his ability to conceal his operations.  Defoliant (Roundup TM)has been applied to all foliage around the chicken run.

3. Force the enemy into daylight operations whenever possible.  All chickens must be in the secure chicken house by 5:30 each day.  No night-time strolls for the girls for quite a while.  No exceptions.

4. Employ the advantages of overwhelming technology with ruthless efficiency whenever possible.  That essentially translates to hav-a-hart live traps properly baited and the immediate use of firearms when possible.

5. Regular foot patrols, with dogs of course.

Fortunately, I don't have to worry about hearts and minds types of programs, politically motivated rules of engagement (except for my own self-imposed one of not using poison on animals), and the press is not a problem.  Hopefully, the offenders will be neutralized soon, and my girls and I, along with Chanticleer the rooster, will be able to order replacement chicks and return to the blessings of peace on the farm.

This is my first attempt at such an operation without Pat, so wish me luck.  We have not had Weasel problems here since they decimated a pen of Bobwhite Quail about three years ago,  But like the Vikings and the Saxons (my own ancestors) before them, they just keep coming back!

My Dream World: A Disjointed and Irrational Reverie on What Never Was and Never Will Be (and that is probably a good thing!)

"My Sweet Rose" by John William Waterhouse (English 1849-1917)
Everyone needs a place to dream.

This morning I picked the first of the garden peas.  Rebecca served them for supper in a medley with new potatoes, turnips, and onions, all from our garden.  But life is not all blessing.  In the last week I've had at least three hens killed by predators, probably raccoons.  I suppose life at best is always a mixed bag.  Happy is that man who can learn to take it all in stride, the good as well as the bad.  I appreciate the opportunity to live on a farm, because it is hard to be insulated from things like death and cutworms and late frosts when you grow much of your own food.  But there are always compensations like a trilling beagle or the joyous galumphing of a spaniel puppy.  There are the beautiful and clever things we use everyday: shotguns and tillers and spades and those wonderful trimmer/saw combinations mounted on the end of an ever so long pole.  And then there is the quiet.  It gives one time to think, and just to be.  I'm sure some folks find a way to do those things very well in towns and cities, but I've never been able to manage such things when there are too many people around.  I imagine my inability stems from flaws in my own attitudes and outlooks.  But about a week ago, I walked Oscar, the spaniel pup, from the church down to the post office, about two blocks away.  He was a nervous wreck- so much noise, so many harsh distractions.  We've not done that again, and probably won't.  Better to lose the collar and lead and take our constitutionals in the fields and woods at Briarwood.

entertainment in my dream world: pastoral and gracious

The flowers this year have been beautiful.  Yesterday, a single white tea rose bloomed on faithful Pat's grave.  It made me smile, and brought a tear to my eyes.  Were Pat still on duty, there is a good chance that those hens wouldn't have been killed.  But he was more than just a worker here, he was a friend and a member of the family.  This was his place as it is mine, and both of us would rather be here than anyplace else on earth.  It is a good thing to belong, and to have a sense of place.  There is comfort to be had in a place such as this.  So much in modern society seems so impermanent and alone and transient.  Certainty seems to have vanished with the old ways (which were often far from perfect.)  But here at Briarwood, so much of what might once have been seems so close and real.  If only for a moment, it is good to escape the harsh realities which abound in a disintegrating culture and imagine a more humane and gracious world. 

Religion in my dream world: All the tribes willingly united under King Jesus
Where "Every knee shall bow and every tongue confess Jesus Christ as Lord"
of course with Orthodox Anglican Bishops! And enough Benedictine monks to keep us balanced and in good humor.

Chesterton has our Lady say that in days to come the seas will run higher and higher, but we who eat the flesh of God will never be without hope, because our knowledge of Christ's ultimate victory makes us willing to face the defeats which seem to dog our days- face them with a more profound knowledge of a deeper truth and a certainty of eventual triumph.  It is so easy to believe that here.  Here I can close my eyes and for just a moment live the delusion that baseball and horse racing still define our national character, and that steward kings like Arthur and Alfred still represent Christ on his earthly thrones, and that a gentle, rational, and orthodox Anglicanism is the established faith of the realm.  If it all sounds a bit like Tolkien's Shire or Narnia after the defeat of the witch, I suppose it is.  But we are all entitled to our dreams, however fanciful or silly they may be, and it is easy to have dreams in a place like this.


Alfredus Magnus: Ever King in my dream world until Jesus Claims his Crown

May we all find a place to dream, and a place to escape the unpleasant realities which surround us for just a little while.  May God give us the grace to see enough of the good that we are not overwhelmed by the bad.  And might our outlooks be so transformed by the grace of our baptism that we can always see through the present darkness to experience the brightness of Christ's return.

Animal News from Briarwood and Dayspring Farms

Promised pictures of Oscar, courtesy of my friend Peg Merton.

Me and Oscar at work

 

In his kennel at my study

Pokiing around at the Church

And of the Canter's Scottish Blackface Sheep, to be delivered on Friday.

...e vivi la vitta (...enjoy your life)

One of the great joys of spring!

It rained hard this morning, cancelling at least some of my plans for my day off.  But I did manage some time out with the dogs and then got chores done and had the most wonderful surprize.  The first of the asparagus is up and ready to harvest.  Breakfast this morning consisted of an asparagus and cheddar omlet (with our own eggs and asparagus of course), multi grain bread with strawberry and rhubarb jam, orange juice, and a cup of americano made with Lucaffe http://www.lucaffe.com/index.php on the Blitz machine http://www.tecnosystemcoffee.it/home.cfm?lang=en&section=43.  A day that starts like this cannot be all bad, and I might even slip over to Newark and see the grandchildren!

A Speckled Sussex Hen- The Founder of the Feast

"Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know"
But he protects the flock and thereby fulfills his destiny!

Happy Children: A Blessing From God!

A few pictures of Margaret and Helen at their farm for those who are interested.  Saturday, Pappa broke sod for their 40x70 foot garden.  Hopefully, the sheep will arrive soon.  the chickens are doing well, and it is a blessing to see my children and grandchildren so happy in their little corner of this earthly paradise we call the Ohio Country.

"My soul doth magnify the Lord
    And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour..."

Springtime in Fairfield County

The spring garden is planted and we are waiting for rain.  Potatoes, peas, cabbage, broccoli, lettuce, onions, parsnips, beets, spinach, turnips and chard are in the ground and waiting for the necessary moisture to sprout and grow.  The rhubarb stalks are about five inches long, and I anticipate the first of the asparagus any day.  The peeper frogs were back this year for the second year in a row after their strange disappearance a few years back.  A careful listener can hear the buds of the trees popping open in the early evening warmth.  The bulb cutting beds are ablaze with color from the daffodils, hyacenths, tulips, muscara, and crocus. 

Ohio's Great Horned Owl

But today's big news is that the owls are back.  We always had owls in the woods, but last year they disappeared.  I've heard different theories for their decision to leave.  Some maintain that the Cooper's Hawks run them out.  Others say that there aren't enough rabbits and squirrels in the woods to feed them.  I really don't have a theory, but it was good to hear their distinctive call tonight at dusk.  My heart was gladdened as if an old friend had returned unexpectedly, which I suppose he had. 

All around me, the beauty and wonder of creation calls me to the worship of God.  I praise him for his bounty and his grace, and for callling me to live and work in this garden of the earth that is Greenfield Township, Fairfield County Ohio.

Welcome Home Oscar!

Today, Rebecca and I traveled to Strongsville to pick up our new dog, nine week old Oscar.  We met Jim Karloveck and Matt of Flushing Star Gundogs http://www.flushingstar.com/ at one of their field training locations and brought home our dog.  He is a coal black English Field Cocker who seems to be a chip off the old block.  Tonight, I put a wee bit of rabbit juice on a puppy bumper and tossed it four or five feet in front of him.  He galumphed over, nosed it once or twice, picked it up and brought it to hand.  I was amazed.  Rebecca got the whole thing on film during a later display, but unfortunately, neither of us are as smart as my phone, and we can't figure out how to send it to anyone, or to post it here.  We will work on that in the days to come and see if we can't get some footage of Oscar on line. 

Several people have asked, "Why Oscar?"  First, it carries well in the field.  Second, it is an old name in my family.  My father and his father both bore it, and before that, it was the name of my great Grandma Huffman's uncle.  I seriously doubt that it will be used again in this next generation, and so it seemed like a good name to use.  One wouldn't want some future grandson to be named after the dog!

My New Dog!

 

Today I traveled the three hours to Columbia Station to meet Jim Karlovec and his dogs at Flushing Star Gundogs http://www.flushingstar.com/.  After spending some time with them, I put a deposit on a two week old black English Field Bred Cocker Spaniel.  If he lives up to his bloodline, and after seeing his parents and the other dogs Jim has there is no reason to think he will not, I should have a great hunting partner for the next nine or ten years.  That should just about see me through my days in the field.  I will bring the pup home sometime between St. Patrick's Day and Easter, and he will go back to Flushing Star at the end of July for basic gun dog training.  If he looks anything like his parents, he should look a lot like the dogs pictured here. 

 

English Cockers and Springers are from the same stock, and until the mid twentieth century, they were often born in the same litters, with dogs and bitches under 25 pounds designated as cockers and larger dogs called springers.  Today's Cockers generally weigh in at between 26 and 35 pounds.

They are very biddable and are versatile, retrieving on land and in water and able to flush and retrieve rabbits and waterfowl in addition to upland birds.

We are looking forward to the arrival of this newest member of our family.  I daresay even the terriers will learn to like him!

Official Start of the 2013 Garden at Briarwood

This weekend, I brought the propagator in from the shop and started the first plantings of cabbage, broccoli, iceburg and romaine lettuce.  In a week or two, everything should be sprouted, and after a week or two inside under lights for a couple of sets of leaves to develop, it will be into double cold frames in the greenhouse and from there to the long cold frame for growing.  Next come the eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes (In that order and starting about 12 weeks before our last frost date in mid May).  Matthew called yesterday to get my order for replacement hens for the year.  We will stick with the speckled sussex.  They are not the best layers, but they are beautiful birds, and they are considered an endangered rare breed.  I also have plans to add some khaki campbell ducks (if I can find them) for their chicken sized eggs and perhaps a few quail for eggs as well (the last purchase of 50 chicks was a bit excessive even by my standards).

This flurry of activity was jump started by a few days in the low 60's (farenheit), and by son in law Matthew's recent acquisition of a vintage Ferguson tractor.  It is a beauty and I would post a picture, but we had to make some changes to the computer to address a security issue, and I haven't figured out how to get pictures from my computer to the blog given the new configurations. 

In the midst of winter, I hope all of my readers are finding ways to look forward to spring.  Hope is a wonderful thing, and without it our lives can be so very, very terrible.

By the way, I found the most promising additions to this years cutting flower garden, all from Burpee seeds.  Their Sunflower Cutting Mix promises single branching stems producing 3-8 inch flowers in reds, golds, yellows, and bicolors. Their 3o inch Zinnia All Summer Cutting Mix ix an all time favorite with its multicolored double blooms.  This year I also found their 30-36 inch Zinnia Peppermint Stick Mix with its flecked appearance in several colors.  I'm looking forward to a grand season!

The Circumcision of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Tristan's New Year's Dinner

Roast Pork Loin with salt, pepper, sage, carroway, anise, and Jaegermeister

German Potato Salad with Fingerling Potato Medley, celrey, onion, bavarian bacon (sauteed,) egg, vinegar, sugar, terragon, Duesseldorf style mustard, salt, pepper, and dill

Pan Seared Green Beans with red bell pepper, sun dried tomato, sliced almonds, crushed red pepper, and parsley

Red and White Sauerkraut mixed with brown sugar sauce

 

Brut Curvee Champaign

Paulaner Salvator

 

Chocolate Mousse, grated milk and dark chocolate,egg, whipped cream, expresso, Captain Morgan Select Rum, and sugar, dimpled and served with assorted liquers (Bailey's, Chambourd, Kahlua, Ettaler,and Cask and Cream Carmel.)  Accompanied by expresso. 

The parties are over and a beautiful blanket of snow covers the ground.  I arose early, cleaned off the sidewalks around the house and to the root cellar, and headed to the barn.  Cleaning stalls is never really that much work, but the chicken house is another matter.  It is always better when it is cold, and today was the day.  Hopefully the girls appreciate it.  After putting out food for the deer and wild birds, and making some mid-winter adjustments in the greenhouse, we cleaned up and went to see "The Hobbit" at our local cinema.  As a Tolkien fan from way back (I think 1967 was my first time through the trilogy,) I was very disapointed.  The plot dragged, the characterizations were forced, and there were way too many computer generated cartooney graphics.  Last night was another story.  We watched "Der Untergang," a telling of Hitler's last days in the bunker from the perspective of staffers inside fortress Berlin.  It was a powerful film which illustrated the evil nature of Nazi belief and practice and the depths to which human nature can fall, and at the same time preserved the essential humanity of the German people involved.  This was not a wooden story about straw men as American films about WWII often are, but a deeply realistic portrayl of how real people find themselves in difficult times, sometimes of their own making, and sometimes far beyond anything they imagined would happen.  I understand this 2005 film was the first time a German actor had played Hitler.  In any event, I reccomend the film highly.  This afternoon, I started (for about the fourth time) the basic Rosetta Stone course in French.  Hopefully it will be better this year.  I've tried the beautiful French language on several occasions since High School, and have always ended in failure.  Perhaps this time will be different!  Tristan's work on German has inspired me to try again.  I will close because it is almost dinner time.  Traditional pork and kraut with the trimmings.  A family like ours with so many Huffmans and Landerfeldts hiding in the wainscotting has no choice but to enjoy German Cuisine at the New Year.  What a way to spend the Feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord Jesus Christ.  I am ever so thankful that the Second Person of the Trinity decided to identify with us in history and flesh.  We are blessed indeed!  Frohes Silvester!

Wasting a Day or Two

"Then come, my sister! come, I pray,
     With speed put on your woodland dress,
And bring no book; for this one day
     We'll give to idleness."

William Wordsworth
"Lines Written At A Small Distance From My House..."
Lyrical Ballads

These past few days since Boxing Day and the Feast of St. John, I have indulged in the poet's suggestion to his beloved Dorothy and giv'n myself to idleness.  It is an important thing for a priest, or I suppose anyone, to do from time to time.  It is different from sabbath.  It is merely a time for sleeping in and letting the mind grow fat with nothingness.  With the coming of Sunday Services on the morrow, it will end for me, but it has been lovely. 

 

I visited my daughter and son-in-law and the girls at their newly acquired horse farm.  We made snowmen, went sledding, and drank hot cocoa, and laughed a lot.

I read books about training gun dogs in preparation for the selection and homecoming of the "Espaniel Breton" that Rebecca gave me for Christmas.  Tristan and I drove to Bay's Packing House on Pleasantville road and brought home the beef we bought back at the end of November.  The hanging weight of 1250 pounds netted us almost 700 pounds of packaged beef.  That well keep three families of us through the coming year! 

We watched "The Hunt for Red October" with Sean Connery and Alec Baldwin, and "The Replacements" with Gene Hackman and Keanu Reeves.  We took in a couple of great parties. 

I hope that all of my readers were able to find at least a couple of days to do nothing over the holiday season.  I wouldn't reccomend it as a regular practice, but as an occasional indulgence, it is wonderfully refreshing!