How To Make And Bake Tori and Gabs Jelly Doughnut Muffins!

https://youtu.be/eeYeie4r9vg

Lil Chick's Bake Too

Tori and Gabs made jelly doughnut muffins, with just a little help. Of course they had to make a cooking video.  We'll post it here soon.

Mysterious Chicken Egg

https://youtu.be/_KH21J95e8g

What's Inside?

Remember this little guy? We've had several people ask what was inside it. Tomorrow, April 23rd, we'll post a video of the the

girls cracking it open! 

smile emoticon

Bee Story Continued

The still shot is of the swarm of bees that Dennis captured yesterday.  Swarming happens when a queen bee leaves the colony with a group of worker bees. The swarm is large but not the entire colony.  The swarm Dennis caught had around 5000,  at his guestimation.

The video was taken right after he basically placed a box, with a few frames from one of his better hives at home, directly under the branch then gave the branch a swift shake.  This caused the majority of the swarm to fall into the box. Unfortunately he was alone so he couldn't get a shot of the bees falling. 

When the bees hit the box it's then up to them as to whether they'll stay or not.  If they do you can tell when the bees turn their backside to you and begin flapping their wings in unison to air out the space. Honey bee spring cleaning before they move in! Dennis said that they have begun to create comb in the box as well so this is also a good sign they're going to stay.

So just for future reference,  if you see a bee swarm call your local extension office. They'll likely know a bee keeper who would be happy to move the swarm for you...or in this case an agent who'd like to bring them home with him!

Here's the link to the video.  You may need to copy and paste it into your browser. 

https://youtu.be/r2hGqNJAI9U

Bee Charmer

Life with a gardener, chicken wrangler and bee enthusiast is always interesting.  Today Dennis was off work with plans to work outside so I knew he'd get up to something out of the norm before the day was over. Sure enough I got a call at work saying that he was on his way to gather a swarm of bees that had landed in a friend's back yard. It was just a small swarm though, "only around 5000 bees," he said....

Bottled

If only I could bottle the morning bird song to hang from a string.
I'd place them over my head to slip soft and rest above my heart.

Round my neck I would hold tight
to a gentle peace that slips and fades
with the worries of the day.

Poetic words, happy sun filtered colors,
would flesh out my moments
and push back the gauze of responsibility and imagined goals that I don't quite remember making for myself.

The air around me,  the joy of new day greetings and soft shades of grass growing, everything here, no unseen desires,  no constant wondering at what could or would have been,
would be enough.

I long to be the bird song,
the peaceful bliss to calm the storm, found at each days end.

I want to be the bottle
worn round a neck to guard against
the unspoken comparisons.

I want to be the peace, the what if, the enough and too much.

For me,  if nothing else.

Feeling Sorry For Myself With Jacque Cousteau

I'm sick.  Again. 
Literally, almost exactly a month,  (I'm measuring it with days between board meetings) since my last crazy cold and the great passing out episode of 2016.

It's a cold again and this time I've passed it on to Dennis.  I'm saying a little silent prayer over and over again in the background of my brain,  like a monks mantra, that the girls don't get it too.

Sneezing, coughing, sniffling,  water logged,  body aching cold.  Dennis is the same as he holds his end of the couch down on my right. It hit fast like the last time which reminded me of the flu but it wasn't the flu then and I am able to move from the couch so I think that's a good sign. 

I seem to feel good enough to feel sorry for myself.  I know this because Jacque Cousteau, the great french under water documentarian, is narrating my thought process.  Thick, slowly spoken, male accent implied here, "day two of zis struggle,  hope is not completely lost but spirits are low because Amy cannot even taste zi coffee and her kleenex don't have lotion in them."

Don't worry,  all the narration is in my head.  I don't want to scar my children with the notion of just how crazy their mom truly is. They have suspicion but I think I should wait until the teen years to really unleash it so I'll have a little leverage over teen angst.

Ugh. Mostly I just want to sit here and groan. That and I want something to be on TV to take my mind off myself.  I also want to taste my coffee and I want pie, lots of kinds and I want to be able to taste those too.

I also want a pair of piglet pajamas like Gabs got her new bear, Butter Cup, that she made at the Build A Bear store the other day.  Pre-cold, spring break road trip. I'm including a picture.  Seriously,  they are so soft, like baby but soft.  

Okay so my brain is straying now and I can't concentrate.  Tori has taken over the TV and we're being held hostage in our weakened state, french accent here, "zi struggle is real,  the tween child has taken the upper hand and stolen the remote. Too tired to protest zi father and Amy must watch The Voice,  with guest host Miley Cyrus.  In their sickness they sing along and begin to forget the days of twerking past. "

Morning Meditation

Morning wakeup, 7:30 despite no alarm. I should be tired from Fridays late night TV binge but oddly no. Instead I rise with a little less creaking to my bones and not so much resistance from my brain.

Bathroom first,  piles of laundry stare at me but for once I don't mind.  Pull a few from the dryer,  put more in, sort more still. Down the hall to the kitchen to wash up the coffee pot and favorite cups.  I collect the wayward dishes,  socks and assorted paraphernalia of Friday night late bedtimes.

Measure out water,  an extra few cups for Saturday,  more coffee too. Bacon onto parchment paper,  into the oven where I need not babysit it.

The heat whirrs to life above me, pops and clicks from shifting drywall,  slight sucking of air through the hallway filtered vent. The tapping toss of clothes from the dryer.  Buttons dancing round the heated metal bin. The swishing motorized sound of the washer washing away the dirt of last week.

I pour a cup of coffee with a little too much creamer for the likes of most. Dry, rasping, ripping of many, mini, paper packets puff the air around my cup. I pause and wonder briefly at the safety of chemical sweetness and the effects of coffee on enamel,  then stir full speed ahead, happy with the tinkling of spoon on glass.

On to the couch to tap out my own electronic music. The sound of bird call comes muffled by the front door mixing with the occasional spray of the rinse cycle and the smell of bacon rising in the background.

These are the sounds of my silence,  my peaceful happy morning,  my release on the hold of the outside world.  My meditation needs no "om".