Animal Scat

All our chickens got eaten. 

In like a day or two.

It was rather a shock.

And sad.

And boggling.

Whatever got our three huge geese must have come back for everything else.

(Actually, one chicken still remains. Our rooster. And he appears to be in a state of great depression over it all.)

We set up a game cam--hoping to find what has been getting them. 

So far it has captured only four suspects: 

1. Our van 

2. Anders

3. Mike

4. ... Some doves

(Until we can prove one of the four above was truly to blame, Mike suggested we tie our rooster to a stake--like in Jurassic Park--as bait so we can finally get whatever has been coming onto the farm on camera. He was joking. He was JOKING! We've locked our rooster safely in a run near his coop. ... So he can continue on his lonely little life.)

The other day Mike went to the farm to look for animal scat in hopes of identifying what we are dealing with. (Most likely foxes or coyotes, but there are different rules about trapping them, so we would like to know which animal is actually responsible before deciding how to proceed or daring to get more chickens.)

Several of the kids went with Mike on his scat hunt.

When they arrived at the farm Starling climbed out of the van and cheerily called, "Dad, can I climb a tree while you look for poop?" And then she dashed off without a second thought.

And when Mike told me, I wondered just what we've become. (As if Hans touching the electric fence the other day because a friend dared to isn't enough. ...)

Anyway. Here they are. Some of these backwoodsy kids we are creating. (Note: the chicken below is not one of our deceased chickens, rather, a neighbor's that wandered into our goat pen.)

Of course mostly Mike is to blame. 

I just follow where he leads because I like him so much. (Making me some tiny bit more of an innocent party to this madness of goats and geese and chickens and coyotes and their scat and so forth!)

Tonsils, Birthdays, the Letter J, and so Forth

I had an adult tonsillectomy 12 days ago. 

(It felt necessary to insert the word "adult" in there [even if it does sound scandalous]. Obviously I couldn't have had a child's tonsillectomy at age 47. But then, that is exactly what I wanted you to understand.)

I actually felt the cocoon of prayers and priesthood power all about me going into this procedure. And I had none of the possible complications that can attend the recovery phase (extreme nausea, bleeding, etc.). I think I probably had one of the smoothest experiences one could expect. 

And it was still miserable.

(I say was. Hmph. I have at last turned the corner [as they say]. That is true. But I strongly suspect it will be another week yet before I feel normal. So I can't quite speak of this as a was experience.)

Still, life goes on as it needs must. (In fact, multiple times during the last week I've been to the grocery store or to a school function and I've thought, "I look so perfectly normal. I really should be wearing my head all bandaged up or something to let people know that I am not perfectly normal and should be receiving all sorts of exclamations of 'you poor dear' and 'you brave soul'".)

In any case I've made up my mind: no more getting my tonsils out ever again unless I am only five years old. (It shouldn't be too hard a rule to stick to. Unless I get reincarnated and forget. Heaven forbid.)

But back to life going on--with or without tonsils:

Our fogs are back!!! (Well not really back back. This was the first one I've seen since our last fog season. But oh I love how it makes everything feel a mysterious and otherworldly. And neither of those are even the right words. What does it make everything feel? The way it just sort of quietly washes away--like it was never there at all. It makes me feel like I'm glimpsing something secret and magical.)

And here is a nice early-morning moon. Was it the Harvest Moon? It's been on my camera roll for a few weeks so I can't recall for certain. I just sort of ... hope so?

Penny went to Homecoming.

Here we have Jesse trying to convince Hans that no, a 2nd grader named Kristina (whose strength Hans is shockingly impressed by) could not in fact beat Jesse at arm wrestling (as Hans had insisted she could):

Despite his own sound thrashing from Jesse, Hans remained unconvinced. And it ended with Abe promising he would come beat Kristina up if Jesse needed him to. (Though perhaps this mustache he came home wearing the other day might be enough to intimidate any seven-year-old would-be attackers.)

Here Jesse is building something at the farm. And also goofing around at a park we took all the kids to one evening.

Anders turned 13!

Our 6th time introducing a child of ours to their teenage years. 

I reminded him, the night before his birthday, that he had in fact promised me many times in the past that, when he became a teenager, he would not engage in any of the less-than-ideal teenage behaviors he may have at times witnessed from his siblings. 

"I was crossing my fingers when I said that," he informed me. 

In essence: he has promised nothing, and we are most likely doomed. 

(Giving him a skateboard probably only cinches that certainty more tightly.)

Yes, I made his Over the Garden Wall (the strangest little series imaginable) cake. (It's Enoch. The leader of Pottsfield.) Considering I have neither the aptitude for nor the interest in cake decorating (not even the patience to put any frosting into a frosting bag), it turned out remarkably! Ha!

Two signs I especially liked. The first was from Jesse. (If you know who Dean Higgins is, I am well pleased with you. We adore Dean Higgins.) The second was one Goldie sent. I just like her charming little drawings. 

Here Anders (who had school off for parent-teacher conferences) and I are at Starling's kindergarten "Alphabet Fashion Show" where each kid walked the runway sporting something that went with their assigned letter. (When Starling got the letter J, I tried all sorts of J things--we could have her wear jammies or be covered in jellybeans, etc. But she just kept getting weepy and saying, "I don't know what I'm supposed to be"! We finally realized she felt all at sea just having J things on her and felt certain she had to be something. 

We found her this jaguar outfit (which we were careful not to call a cheetah or a leopard) and she was happy as could be. (And has worn it ever since.)

Mette in Magna-Tiles boots.

An Activity Days temple activity for Summer and Mette (front row on the left).

The End.