A Watery Grave of Gold

I wanted to write about this fantastic legend myself and just take bits and pieces from my son Ben's narrative, but his is so good that I just had to post it in his own words. In the image below, the cliff just to the left there, where there is an overhang, is where the gold is supposedly buried.

 

“Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good; that honor, courage, and virtue mean everything; that power and money mean nothing; that good always triumphs over evil; and I want you to remember this, that love... true love never dies. You remember that, boy. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in.”

Ever since I was a little kid, this quote from the movie Second Hand Lions has stuck with me. I've always liked how it describes belief. That a man needs to believe in important things, even if those things aren't proven facts. Another aspect I like is how money and power mean nothing, and that love means everything. Sometimes I get so caught up on things that I think are true. For instance, sometimes I think if I could win the lottery, or somehow land in a towering pile of Benjamins, I would automatically have it made in this life. But money and happiness don't always correlate with each other. I learned that lesson this past summer, the summer I heard the best story of my life.

An unexpected opportunity arose in July to go to Southern Utah for a couple of days. My buddy Caleb owns a bit of private property in Kanab, and I was invited on the spur of the moment to go down there for a carefree vacation. Locals call the area Three Lakes, chiefly because there are three “lakes” on the property. I wouldn't really call them lakes, more like miniature ponds, but all the same they were refreshing to swim in, and the fishing was amazing. We'd cast out into the clear water, and usually in less than a minute we'd have a blue gill or a bass on our lines. The surrounding atmosphere was somewhat like Lake Powell. With tall crimson cliffs encompassing deep blue water. Atop one of the red rock cliffs was a zip line that spanned across the entire length of the pond. Caleb and I spent most of our days in Kanab down at the biggest, and most hospitable of the three lakes. Beside that lake, with the smoke of our campfire rising up to meet the glittering stars, was where I heard the story of the Aztec gold for the first time.

Over fifty years ago, Caleb's grandpa bought Three Lakes as a sanctuary for his posterity. A place where you could breath without somebody else breathing right down your neck. The privacy at Three Lakes is heavenly. You can walk out the back door and shoot a rabbit without worrying about the law. You can spend weeks exploring the miles of property, or swimming and fishing in the lakes. That's what Three Lakes was in the beginning, but it became much more than that.

In 1914, a man named Freddie Crystal made a huge commotion when he came into Kanab with a treasure map from Mexico. He claimed that the map led to a spot a few miles out of Kanab in Johnson's canyon where Montezuma ( the last ruler of the Aztec empire) had supposedly hidden all of his gold. Archaeologists estimate that Montezuma's lost treasure would be the biggest and most valuable treasure ever to be unearthed. When the citizens of Kanab heard this, the whole town flocked to Johnson's canyon, searching every cave and crevice for gold. What they found was interesting, but also disappointing. After several long months of excavating, all they found were booby traps, and a couple shards of ancient Indian pottery. The gold was never found, and the town's people all gave up the search in vain, returning back to their normal lives.

The case seemed to be closed, until years later when Caleb's grandpa, Brandt Child, made an exciting discovery. Scientists found that the Aztec's sometimes used water traps to conceal their gold. What they would do is find a cave in a rock wall, hide the gold somewhere inside, and then fill the area up with water so that the passage to the treasure was buried underneath the water. Never to be seen by the naked eye. Scientists have found several of these water traps, and in all cases, one factor is always the same. The depth of the water from the surface, to the entrance of the underwater cave is always 25 Ft. After hearing this, Brandt tested the depth of the largest pond at Three Lakes out of sheer curiosity. The depth of the pond was 25 Ft. deep. Brandt then hired Scuba divers to go down into the water to check things out. To everyone's surprise, the divers found a tunnel that went straight into the cliff wall, and then branched out into a network of underwater passageways. However, when the divers tried exploring these caves, strange things kept on happening to them. The first time, one of the divers had to come back to the surface because the nozzle on her tank somehow came loose, and all of her air was released. On the second attempt, a couple members of the diving team claimed to see ghosts in the water. Similar things kept on happening when Brandt hired more divers. Each team of diver's was spooked off in some way, and after a while no scuba diver's would even come near the lake.

The next thing they tried doing to get to the gold, was to drill down into the water from the top of the cliff. They drilled into the water trap, and when the drill was taken back up, there was gold on the drill bit. Brandt decided he was going to need a bigger drill. They would try again the next day. But that would never happen, that night the driller went home and died of a sudden heart attack. A couple months later his wife also passed away. More than a little spooked out, Brandt decided to try one last thing. Probably the most logical thing to do was to drain the lake. Then one could easily waltz right into the cave and claim Montezuma's treasure. He might've done it too, if it wasn't for an endangered species of snail that lives at Three Lakes, called the Amber Snail. The State Wildlife Protectors wouldn't let him drain the lake, because it would damage the habitat of the Amber Snail.       

After a while Brandt Child stopped going after Montezuma's gold. He believed (with good reason) that it was cursed, and that if he pursued that gold any further he would end up a dead man. Since then, nobody has ever tried to obtain the gold at Three Lakes. It would have been foolishness, but as I sat around the crackling fire that night, I couldn't help but feel a burning gold fever well up inside of my body. The greatest treasure ever to be found on this continent, was possibly lying only yards from where I sat, sleeping for eternity underneath a cursed watery grave. Buried in the same water that I had been swimming in all day. Why couldn't I somehow get the gold? I didn't have the authority, resources, or equipment by any means. But what if, for some divine reason, Caleb and I were the chosen ones, heavenly commissioned to bring the gold back to the world. We slept under the stars that night, and talked about these sort of silly unanswerable questions. My gold fever slowly winded down as I gazed up into the starry sky, thinking more deeply about life and the gold. The availing words eventually drifted into my mind; power and money mean nothing, and true love means everything. To this day, I believe that a vast treasure is hidden beneath that beautiful lake in Kanab. But much more important than money, I believe that people are naturally good; that honor, courage, virtue, and love mean everything. Those are the things that are worth believing in.

One night a woman had a dream She dreamed she was walking in the snow with the Lord.

Across the sky flashed scenes from her life. For each scene she noticed sometimes there were two sets of footprints, one human and one animal.

When the last scene of her life flashed before her, she looked back at the footprints.

She noticed that the two sets of footprints always happened at the very saddest times of her life.

This really bewildered her and she questioned the Lord.

“Lord, why, during my most difficult times do I see two sets of footprints; one human and one animal?”

The Lord smiled and said. “It was during those times that your dog walked with you.”

What I Really Need

My family and I went to Zion National Park in southern Utah for Labor Day weekend with some friends. The whole idea was that we would rappel a few slot canyons - Yankee Doodle, Key Hole, and the granddaddy of them all, Pine Creek. Needless to say, I chickened out at the last minute. I am terrified of heights. It's not the normal fear that most people have. No. I am frozen with fear. I don't mind minor down- climbs, and really, standing on the edge of a cliff doesn't bother me. It's the thought of going over the cliff, even in a harness, or even with someone there to catch me, that horrifies me.
It's not a rational fear, not one I can talk myself out of. It's the same way I feel at the top of a rather steep slope when skiing. Suddenly all logic evades me. I freeze.
But you know, I still had a wonderful time and here's why. I realized what really matters in my life.
We stayed at a campground quite far from the park itself, in red canyon country. That night we stood under the moonlight (a Blue Moon!) and watched the moon cast our shadows. The whole night the sky was so bright that you could see the clouds. The moon illuminated those red cliffs, washing them in cool silver light. And then, something I've always yearned to hear - coyotes howled. It was a raw, wild lullaby.
Earlier that evening, my friend Craig was telling me about a second home a mutual friend owns. He was describing the home's luminous granite floors and a shower that mimics the feel of standing under a (warm) waterfall. It was luxury and excess in my mind.
It became very clear to me what luxury is for me. It's hearing coyotes howl under a blue moon. It's walking up a river bed and standing under a cool waterfall. It's being surrounded by great cliffs and Ponderosa pines. It's watching red sunsets that take your breath away. It's being with family and friends who love one another and truly enjoy each other's company.
I don't think I'll ever rappel. At least not 70 feet of free hanging like those intrepid family members and friends did. I've decided to be more gentle with myself and honor the fears I have. They humble me. They make me realize there are always things in our lives we cannot conquer. Our fears are conduits of truth, revealing aspects of ourselves we would rather not see. But as they reveal our weaknesses, they also reveal our strengths. I am strong enough to admit when something is too big or too scary for me. In a way, I am strong enough to realize that I am not always strong. I am strong enough to acknowledge what really matters in life. My family and friends love me despite my fears. My son Andrew even volunteered to spend the day with me instead of going on the Pine Creek rappel. We had a wonderful time. He admitted he probably had more fun than the others did that day. We found a Starbucks and drank hot chocolate. We went bouldering along Pine Creek and swam in water holes, we talked to cool people and Andrew even helped a lady get her Harley out of a sandy area alongside the road. (She must have weighed as much as the bike. Five men had to help her!)

And what matters is so very simple. Good friends and family and the wild around me. The lyrics of the song "Cowboy Take Me Away" by the Dixie Chicks pretty much sums it up:

" I wanna touch the earth I wanna break it in my hands
I wanna grow something wild and unruly
I wanna sleep on the hard ground in the comfort of your arms
On a pillow of blue bonnets in a blanket made of stars
Oh it sounds good to me

Cowboy take me away fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue
Set me free oh I pray closer to heaven above and closer to you
Closer to you

I wanna walk and not run, I wanna skip and not fall
I wanna look at the horizon, and not see a building standing tall
I wanna be the only one, for miles and miles
Except for maybe you, and your simple smile

Oh it sounds good to me, yes it sounds so good to me,

Cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue
Set me free, oh, I pray, closer to heaven above, and closer to you
Closer to you

I don't have the farm of my dreams but I have come to realize that I need to make do.
I do have 2/3 of an acre which includes garden space and pasture. I have two chicken coops with twelve or so hens and one Silkie rooster that acts like a fop. (A fop, which I only recently learned, means "a man who is excessively vain and concerned about his dress, appearance, and manners.")
I just got 20 meat chickens this morning. They are so cute when they are babies! My almost-eleven-year old, Matthew, cautioned against becoming too attached to them, knowing the end from the beginning. He calls them the "yum chickens" and he is right. They are down right delicious once they are all plump and ready to "harvest." (And pretty ugly too.)
I just ordered four ducks which will be the herdees for my Border Collie as he learns to be the herder. You start with ducks because they have a flock or herd mentality like sheep to stay in groups. But they are a bit easier to manage. (And very cute by the way.) And no, I'm not planning on any Duck L'Orange.
Basically what I have come to understand is that even if the farm girl is not in the country, she can bring the country to her. And that is my goal. So, join me on my front porch and we'll chat about my blossoming urban farm.
Watch for forthcoming photos, ideas, recipes and just plain farm girl thoughts.

Blog therapy

I just saw Julie and Julia, the movie that follows the lives of Julie (last name?) and Julia Child. I realized that blogging can be very therapeutic and I think that's just what I need. I'm not into the one sentence headline of Facebook, ie; "Josie...is baking cookies..." I need to write and express myself more fully and hopefully people will read what I have to say and find it interesting (or weird..or pathetic).
For a long time I was emailing a friend and it was fun to actually put thoughts down knowing that someone was really going to read it and respond. When they stopped responding (I guess they must have thought I was weird or pathetic) I stopped writing my thoughts and feelings.
Every once in a while I get a good idea for a story. Usually a romance, always schmaltzy. I can't get over how sappy the storyline is. Sometimes I lose myself in the action and live more in my story than in real life. Not long ago I spent hours and hours writing a story. I neglected the house and my boys (including Rob and my dog). I was caught up in the story, enjoying the adventures of my heroine. After a week or so I realized that I was having more fun in my heroine's life than in my own. I enjoy movies for the same reason, they are all having an adventure. Their lives always have some meaning and significance. When the movie is over it is hard to get back into real life. It's like the Christmas Eves we would have with the movie camera. My dad would turn on the spotlight and it would be bright and beautiful while he was "filming" us. Then he would turn it off and everything would be dull and dim.
It's time for me to enjoy what I'm doing in real life. To have adventure and live meaningfully. So it is my quest to fine out what I'm here on this earth to accomplish - and get busy doing it instead of writing about it.

Fall chicks?

My little Jungle Pea Hen loves to have babies. She has just hatched her fourth clutch of cute, bright eyed chicks. She's a very good mother, clucking at them and making sharp kk..kk noises to instruct them what to eat. The problem is that she is very naive. She doesn't realize that the big Tom turkey wants to eat her children and that there are rats just waiting for a midnight snack. In fact, if she tried to do it alone, her babies wouldn't survive. That's where I come in, the "deus ex machina", helping this poor mother by bringing her and her brood into my root cellar, supplying the food and water, warmth and safety.
In general, the "deus ex machina" is a poor literary tool. It means "god from the machine" and is a plot device used by authors in which a person or object suddenly appears out of nowhere to rescue a character from doom. It's a cop out. It's not good writing. But it's what I do a lot in real life.
This is the conflict all biologists studying animals have. Do they allow the animal to suffer in it's natural habitat for the sake of realistic research or save the animal they've come to love?
And it's not just animals I save but my sons as well when I fear the consequences will be too hard to bear. When they forget their homework and call me pleading, "Mom, can you bring me my homework, if I don't turn it in I'll get an F," how can I say no?
"Experts" say that I'm not letting them learn natural consequences for their actions and they'll never be functional adults if I always run to their aid. To them I say, it may be bad literature, but everyone needs some sort of deus ex machina in their life. Be it a mom, or an angel neighbor, we sometimes are in need of someone appearing out of nowhere to bring us aid.

Gorgeous Inside!

Once in a while I'll come across a Realtor sign dangling under "for sale" that says, "gorgeous inside." It always makes me laugh and want to say, "Me too!"
I'm just going to be honest with myself, I am just not drop down gorgeous on the outside. My company always asks me to do voice recording but never modeling. They never say it but I know, I'd never make it as an actress. Or a Country singer. I'm not in the least bit photogenic. I'm not the world's version of the perfect weight. (Raphael's paintings reflect the ideals of a different era where his "ideal" women are fleshy and curvy. What happened to that "perfect 10" ???) But....if they could only see the inside!! I think a lot of women feel the same way. Overlook the sagging porch, the peeling paint on the fascia and awnings, the droopy flowers and unkempt lawn.....just look inside where we shine! I truly am gorgeous inside. :)
I love the movie "Shallow Hal" about a man who is "hypnotized" into seeing people as they are on the inside instead of outside. There's the really ugly, bony, anemic nurse who is really beautiful but he doesn't see that, the handsome Hawaiian whose really obese, and of course, the "love interest", the beautiful, kind and loving woman he sees and falls in love with who is actually very overweight. I found out the actress....(the name slips me) put on a "fat suit" for the part and actually walk around in public to get used to it. In real life this woman always has men gawking at her but "fat"- even though she's the same person inside - no one looked twice!
I'm lucky enough to have a husband and family and friends who love me just the way I am. And of course, I'm always trying to improve my looks....I just wish I could wear a sign around my neck that says, "Gorgeous Inside." Do you think then that I could make it in Hollywood? :)

Compromise Helps

Okay, two days now. I did go swimming yesterday and do my usual farm work that I think counts as aerobic exercise. I've decided on some things, like food and love, compromise is important. So...my compromise with hot chocolate (I just can't start the day without it) is that I use "healthy" sugar (just dehydrated cane juice) and then limit myself to one cup a day. I seem to be happier this way.
One of my chickens died yesterday. It was really bizarre, chickens are bizarre creatures. It had been out all night and I think attacked by a cat or something so it had a little cut. The other hens (before I knew about it) tore at her feathers around it on her head until she was completely bald! They go into killing frenzy when they see blood I guess and by evening she was a goner. So sad! What's so ironic is that she dies because of a gash in her neck but my other hen survives having her leg bitten off! Go figure.
Speaking of figures....I'm still at it, improving my figure that is.
Thanks to everyone who reads this and comments, I really appreciate the support!!

This is Hard!!

Breaking old habits is soooo hard. And it seems like there are so many things out there wanting to thwart your goals. I sat down to play my cello and started tuning it and the string broke!! How stupid is that? So it took me a while to put a string back on and then tune it and then.....of course, it was time to go pick up Ben from band practice! So, no practicing for me today with all the other things on my schedule. And I seriously was so close to giving in and having hot chocolate. I think you go through withdrawals even with chocolate.
So day one is over and hopefully it's going to get easier and easier.

I am officially starting a new healthy lifestyle. So here, in my blog, I will "journalize" my experience. A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step and it really does seem like it will be a long journey for me. But, here's the first step.
My goals are to start exercising every day, lose 30 pounds (I'm 165 now) and eat healthier (chocolate has started to take over my life.) I never knew one could be addicted to chocolate but it's true for me. I don't have a problem with chocolate, I have a problem without it. I need to eat more fresh fruits and vegetables and less meat.
I think the first step is one of the hardest, however. I am so entrenched in habit, good or bad. I am used to having hot chocolate in the morning, without it, I'm all depressed. You don't know how many times I convinced myself that a cup of hot chocolate in the morning is okay after swearing off the stuff. Every time I attempt to lose weight and start a new healthy lifestyle, I sabotage myself! I give in, or give up. I convince myself that I'm being too extreme. I decide that today is not the day to start my diet, a Monday would be better, or the first of a month. Or, I cheated already, might as well wait until tomorrow.
I find that I do this in other aspects of my life as well like exercising, practicing cello, dressing better, reading my scriptures, writing and finishing my novel, trying out for musicals, staring a band, cleaning the house, planting flowers... I lack inner discipline to achieve my goals. I lack the stick-to-it-ness that one needs to change, truly change. But I NEED TO CHANGE!! Quoting from "Don't Cry For Me Argentina", "I have to let it happen, I have to change." I will never discover who I really am inside if I do not change. If I do not discipline myself and develop healthy habits - good, positive habits.
So, I take the first step...and hope that there will be those along the journey to cheer me on and wish me success.

Back in the Saddle Again

I'm back in the saddle again so to speak, we're finally in the egg business after a fox devasted our flock. I got 8 hens from Coleen, the mother of one of Andrew's friends. It's wonderful to enjoy "homegrown" eggs again. I was so in the habit of having my own eggs that I kept forgetting to buy eggs at the store. I'd begin to make muffins and realize I didn't have eggs. Shoot! I figured out how to make a lot of things sin huevos but it wasn't as good.
Our little farm is growing. We added four ducklings to our fowl family and three turkeys. (What's the baby name for turkey, turklette?)
The trouble is...the fox. I was reinforcing the chicken coop yesterday, putting up more chicken wire, my trusty Border Collie at my side. Suddenly he looked up, barked and tore after a fox. It was broad daylight, eleven in the morning, and he was heading for the "snack bar", the chicken coop! Toby chased him all the way to his den but he got way ahead of me and I couldn't find it.
We have tried trapping this fox but he is too...well, sly. "Sly like a fox" has taken on new meaning for me. We had a trapper who works for Wildlife come and set a snare where we think the fox is climbing under the fence. Instead of catching the fox we caught a racoon one night, a cat the next. When the cat died from exposure my neighbor and I didn't have the heart to use the noose-like trap anymore. We're back to using a more humane cage trap where there's no injury or death in the process.
The cat's death was very traumatic. Rob and I cut the wire cable but couldn't get it off from around his waist. We called the trapper and he tried to explain how to do it, all the while hurrying up the interstate at my desparate request. We had the cat lying on our dining room table over newspapers, a surgery table of sorts. He was breathing very shallowly and I became quite alarmed. I thought he was my neighbor's cat, Tommy. I could just imagine the phone call, "John, we accidently killed your cat." When the trapper arrived he got the noose off very quickly but sadlly, the cat was already dead. We felt so bad! I found out later that the cat was not my neighbor's thankfully.
We had a little funeral, burying him in our pasture with the chicken Saphira and the baby lambs. Our pasture has become quite the cemetery! Sam played taps on the trombone and I offered the eulogy. Matthew picked some wildflowers to put on its grave.
Morbid as it sounds, I took some posthumous pictures as well just in case I see "Missing Cat" signs all over town with photos. If it looks like him, I can show them the pictures and they can identify him. I can assure them that he had a decent burial. I feel so bad that I inadvertantly caused his death that I'm going to donate cat food to the animal shelter for "penance."

I just had to show y'all a picture of this incredible dog. Notice anything different about her? Or does she appear to be just a normal, healthy lab? She looks pretty happy to me. Amazingly, this cute girl was run over by a truck the day before. She even has the tire marks over her back to prove it! The truck hit her and sped off. She got up and walked away! You know, sometimes it's animals that are my heroes.

Goodness, where has the time gone? I apologize to all my dedicated readers for slipping. Here is a picture of Matthew with our new(ish) chicken, Saphira. Our neighbors gave her to us when they realized she was a bit too difficult to care for. They lose that baby chick cuteness fast. Anyway, she is as tame as a parrot and will sit on your shoulder anytime. Watch out though, she likes to peck at things and she's pecked at my tooth a couple of times.
Unbelievably, all our chickens our safe even though a racoon lives somewhere nearby. I can hear him at night, his eerie chatter wakes me at about three in the morning. I send our dog out for a quick sniff which seems to deter him. One night the racoon caught our chicken Tina, who preferred roosting outside of the coop at night. I yelled out the window, "Stop that, stop!" (as if he understood me) and ran outside. He had let go of her and she just lay on the ground, a still heap of feathers. I thought for sure she was a goner, but then we noticed that she was still breathing! Almost half of her feathers had been pulled off and I wasn't sure whether she would make it through the night. I put her in our shed in a little box and anxiously awaited morning. By morning she was out of her box and wandering around the shed. She had even laid an egg! When she saw that I had opened the door to the shed for her, she ran out and miraculously wasn't the worse for wear. You can bet she roosts in the coop every night now!
Oh, and as a little side note, our neighbor got some chickens this spring. And guess what? One is a rooster!! Now I'll hear the wonderful crowing of a rooster every day and not feel guilty. Now, as he's still trying out his teenager voice, he sounds pretty bad. Good thing he doesn't have to endure acne as well.

My New Babies

One of our chickens just hatched four cute, fluffy baby chicks. It is nothing short of a miracle. I am always amazed at birth. I remember when I was training to be a midwife I would marvel at the miracle of birth, this tiny newborn human wiggling in my hands as it takes its first breath. It is a sacred moment and I was always humbled. Seeing these newborn chicks I feel the same way. I'm used to going to the feed store and stuffing six or eight chicks in a box, hearing their peeps as I drive home. But I didn't marvel. The feed store baby chicks were hatched in an incubator, removed from any maternal nurturing. These new chicks were patiently cared for by their mother who forgo food and water and her favorite dust bath to sit on the eggs. She sat on them for endless weeks and I often wondered if they would ever hatch. We wondered how long a chicken would lay on eggs before she realized they would never hatch, if they had not been fertilized or if somehow all the embryos had died. Then suddenly, there she was with her little fluffy brood behind her one morning last week, proudly strutting around the backyard. Because I am maternal by nature, I couldn't help becoming their second mother and cooing over them and worrying about them. Where should I keep them so they will be safe? What if a hawk flies down and snatches one up? What will the other hens do to these babies? What will they eat? I was so used to taking over all mothering duties that I didn't trust the one mother who instinctively knows what's best - their chicken mother. She is a wonderful mother. She hides them under her at the least provocation and fluffs out and hisses if you get to close. At night they are safely tucked away in a hole she has made. During the day they follow her around the pasture, watching her and learning how to be chickens. It's so cute to see these little chicken miniatures following her lead and scratching and pecking at this and that on the ground.
Since we needed to give away our rooster, I'm hoping that we have at least one rooster from the four. Then, if a neighbor is bothered by the rooster and asks us if we have a rooster we can innocently say, "No, we gave our rooster away and we haven't bought any new ones this year." And then, to shift blame I'll say (trying not to smile) "You know, my neighbor next door has chickens, maybe it's one of hers..."

New Endangered Species: The Rooster

I just found out that a neighbor of mine isn't happy with our rooster. Never mind that he didn't come to me and tell me and that I had to learn this "through the grape vine." He was probably just being polite. He claims that our rooster wakes him up at 5 in the morning with his crowing. I have to admit, Felix does start crowing at 5 in the morning and doesn't really stop until evening. There's a few breaks here and there and frankly, I love to hear him crowing. But unfortunately, most people do not. Which is why the rooster is soon to become an endangered species. After all, you don't need a rooster to get eggs, just chicks.
For me perhaps the crowing of a rooster is wrapped up in nostalgia. The farms I have known all had roosters. Or perhaps for me it is an inherited memory of a time long ago when my ancestors raised chickens. Our Swiss side (my ancestory is sort of octagonal so this side is 1/8) were chicken people. I know that because their last name was Hunerwadel and their family crest was a rooster on a crescent moon. "Huner" or "huhner" is the possessive form of chicken as in "chicken's"...... I can't find a translation for "wadel" although "wade" means a "calf" so perhaps "Hunderwadel" means "chicken leg." Kind of loses it's beauty in the translation, doesn't it?
I come by this chicken thing honestly. But honestly, why are there so many people that are bothered by a rooster crowing? Is it because it's so early? Is my neighbor really awoken by the rooster, or does he wake up as we quite naturally do toward morning and then hear it? What am I to do with my poor rooster that no one wants? Can you surgically remove a rooster's voice box? What is it in his programming that tells him it's morning even when it is not yet light out? Is there some way to fool him into thinking it's still the dead of night? Most of you probably won't have answers. Just sympathy and that is enough for me.

Food Prices Soaring in Utah

The picture to the left is in Tuscany. We were staying in a bed and breakfast called Astieto not too far from Florence. Across from the 40 acre B&B was a farm. In fact, there are all sort of beautiful farms dotting the countryside. One farm I really wanted to visit but didn't have enough time was a sheep farm where they produce sheep cheese called pecorino. One day we noticed horses running around their paddock, whinnying nervously. I looked up to see a wild pig running about. He was squealing, desperately trying to find his way out and the horses kept snorting and chasing him. I loved Tuscany so much. I loved seeing the old stone farmhouses with red tile roofs. The countryside was breathtaking. I long to have a farm in a place like this.

I read in the paper a few days ago that food prices in Utah are soaring. This isn't unlike other states I'm sure. You know what the big irony of this is?? Every day huge developers are bulldozing away good farmland. Farmland that could support and sustain our communities here in Salt Lake and Davis Counties. Farmers could barely make a living off of the land, developers are making millions. Where are our priorities? Not only is our valuable land being made into McMansions and pavement, but we are creating a rising population of people who demand the resources we are losing. It doesn't make sense! More developments mean more needs; more water being used to water huge lawns, more energy being used to heat and cool the huge homes, more people using more cars and more gas to get from here to there. Utahns need to be more responsible for their land. We need to value agriculture and farmland. No farmers no food. Period. If we insist on buying locally instead of buying food at the store that was shipped an average of 1,500 miles we won't have the problem of rising costs. Each community needs to learn how to sustain itself. CSA's are a great way to go. (This stands for Community Supported Agriculture.) CSA's are a partnership made between community members and a particular local farm. (In our case, East Farms.) In this arrangement, members buy "shares" which entail a weekly allowance of produce and sometimes milk or meat. There are certain times that members can even go and help out on the farm. This is a type of farm that I'm interested in someday having. In this way we support the family farm and help them with costs. Another way to buy locally is to support farmer's markets in the summer time. We have a few in our area. What's wonderful about this is that you are buying fresh, ripe produce grown in your own area, supporting small farmers and garden hobbyists. Co-ops are another great way to go. I belong to a milk co-op. Our members take turns going down to the farm to pick up wonderfully delicious raw milk from grass-fed cows. Also, we have the chance to buy grass-fed beef at a good, affordable price. And of course, another great way to sustain a community agriculturally is to encourage people to have their own gardens. (Another terrible thing about "developments" is that it is all house and no land. Land is sooooo important! In "Far and Away" as Joseph's "Da" is dying, he looks at his son and says something like, "Land Joseph, it's a man's very heart and soul." It's a woman's very heart and soul too. At least mine.

Matthew's 9th birthday was on Friday and for his party he wanted to have the theme of "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle." We had a blast! The image you see is his cake, it's supposed to be a compost pile like the one we have in the garden. I used five round chocolate cakes, layering them with frosting, shredded coconut dyed yellow for straw and green for grass, chinese chow mein noodles for dried out plants, fruit chews, "malt ball" robin's eggs, and of course a gummy worm here and there. I wrapped chicken wire around it to make the compost heap more complete.
In addition, we had some fun activities that related to the theme. Each child was instructed to bring a plastic bag, a tin can, and an empty plastic milk jug. The first thing we did was go out and pick up litter. (You'd be surprised at how much litter there was in a square block!) Each child filled up their plastic bag they had brought with litter - each bag was very full! We then separated each bag into what can be recycled and what has to be thrown away.
Next, we talked about compost piles. I had each child take out their tin can (now with a hole at the bottom) and we filled them with nice soil from my old compost pile. (The chickens had nicely aerated it for me.) We talked about what you can put in a compost pile. We then planted a pansy in each can.
After eating the compost pile cake (I kept teasing them that I couldn't believe they would want to eat dirt!!) using disposable forks made from potato, we played a game of toss, using the plastic milk jugs. I had cut the bottom off of each one, leaving the top with the handle. They could then play catch with a "recycled" aluminum ball. While one group was playing outside, I had another group inside reusing scrap paper to make new paper!
The door prizes were the most popular. The first door prize was a recycled, reusable bag from Target using old plastic Target bags. The second was a set of colored pencils made from a certified forest where they replant trees. (If you ever wondered how a pencil was made, check out their website at www.forestchoice.com- it's quite interesting.)
I think the children had a good time and learned some important things about caring for the earth as well. :)

Border collies are good for more than just herding sheep too. They also herd chickens. Or if you need to stay on task--just have a border collie stare at you. Those intense eyes say 'get it done or else buster'.