Denise Domning writes, makes jelly and watches the weeds overtake her garden on her 8 acre farm in Cornville while tending to her 100 turkeys, 3 cows, 20-some chickens, 2 dogs and 8 cats.
For the record it turned out that six sheep is better than simply sufficient. Having just the new moms and their babies has been both peaceful and easy. Tiny only calls now when one of her babies is lost (this usually means on the wrong side of a fence) or she wants me to open a gate.
Tiny, as usual, was late but efficient. Her lambs finally made their appearance on March 28th. At birth both of them were larger than Mari's little guys. That didn't stop Tiny from pushing them out one right after another with less than 5 minutes in between.
I was surprised by lambs again this past week. That's not to say I didn't expect to have lambs toward the end of this month. It's that I didn't expect those lambs to come from Mari.
Before I get started, I'm here to report that it seems I now have semi-domesticated ducks. This morning when I reached the turkey coop to release Tom and his girls, the boldest pair of ducks was sitting outside the coop waiting to be fed.
What a change. January brought days in the 80s but now that it's late February we're enjoying a stretch of cold, wet weather. Today, the wind is howling, the sky is heavy with thick dark clouds, and it smells like snow.
When my ex-husband and I bought this place back in July of 2010, we were told that Sam, the previous owner, had upgraded the house from a tiny, tar paper shack to a 2500 square foot McMansion.
Before I throw myself into this week's post, I have to kvetch over the recent full moon. I know everyone was going on about it being this blue-blood-full-eclipse moon, but why didn't someone warn me what that meant? Here I was, figuring this was a full moon like all the other full moons I suffer through, what with the coyotes showing up and Bear barking all night.
It appears from this title that I am on a "D-D" kick. Perhaps this is apropos as my initials are "D.D." Over the years a few people have tried to call me Deedee, but I'm really not a Deedee. I am Denise, named for a villainess in a Frank Yerby novel. (Hmm, do you think that steered me into authoring historical novels?) My father tried to soften the somewhat awkward name by calling me Den-den. No one else was ever allowed to call me that. It's even worse than Deedee. Enough about me. Let's talk ducks.
Once again, I've managed to work my way through another week of barn cleaning. OMG! Whole counters are bare. How awesome is that? Another few days and I'm going to call the "great clean out" done.
It's time to come clean. I admit it. I am not a spit-wife.