It's been a long, happy, week....

Mr. Fuzzy and I got home from our respective trips within a couple hours of each other, ate a lovely pizza from our local Italian restaurant, Mickey G's, and promptly collapsed. The next evening our friends from Vermont arrived for a five day visit while Brian taught a weekend blacksmithing class at the Jacksonville Center. .... A class which both the Fuzzy's had signed up for and one had completely forgotten said factoid. That would have been me, Mrs. Fuzzy.

Laussanne and I got a little gardening done before the weekend (how can I ever begin to thank this wonderful woman????) and on Monday we ran off to hike the Buffalo, our local mountain. It was an all-girl affair... humans and dogs. This is Laussanne, her little dog and our foster girl, Lady, at the summit.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. There was the weekend... which found your authors covered in soot and turning little rods of iron into very functional spoons. On day one Mr. Fuzzy made two spoons while remembering how to do things. I created scrap, learned that iron sparklers are not a "good thing," and all the truly basic basics of blacksmithing. On day two I made two spoons while Mr. Fuzzy made two more spoons and a fork. I am now trying to decide where to erect our soon-to-be-built forge. This was the most pleasurable craft I have ever tried and I'm chomping at the bit to do more! Thank you, Brian, for opening up a whole world of possibilities for me!

And then we were alone with a garden quite overgrown and 26 young chickens in way too small a space....

We have our work cut out for us trying to get the gardens under control but after a few good hours of work I got the chicken yard erected. The fence is a combination of U posts, reinforcing mesh, and poultry wire with a piece of scrap for the gate. It's so ugly it's pretty.... just like the coop! I'd never used a circular saw before, can't make an accurate measurement, and am no good at planning things out so this whole building venture seems like a minor miracle to have it all done.

We now have some very happy cluckers. When I put them away for the night I could hear them excitedly telling stories of their individual adventures, of the menacing cats, and that terrifying black dog that barked ever so loudly. No doubt they have moved on to discussing the finer points of catching ants and their glorious subjugation of those other two dogs.

Notice the 'peeping tom' up in the corner?

Touch of frost, touch of sorrow

This morning the temperature at eight feet above ground level was 31F. A cursory survey of the pasture manifested a wide spread frost. The Fuzzies circumambulated the back half of the farm in the afternoon and discerned significant frost damage, even among the native plants, especially the new growth on spice bushes and the bog iris blooms.

My grandfather advised me long ago to 'share your joys but keep your disappointments and sorrows close to heart.' His advice, with more than four decades of retrospection has proven sage. For this once, I will violate his rule, and hopefully, gentle reader, you will consider it a proper disclosure nonetheless; it weighs upon me mightily.

One week ago tonight, Mr. Fuzzy's favorite cat of all times, Miss Lily, refused to come in at dark. It was not entirely out of the ordinary for her - she wanted to hunt. Always before, she would be waiting at the kitchen door come first light - but she was not there. And we have not seen her since. Almost certainly she has been killed by a predator, most likely an owl, as she was very savvy about four legged hunters. She came to us from the animal shelter as a very sick young cat; Mr. Fuzzy held her for the week she battled with fever and chills. Lily was always extremely affectionate, graduated first in her class at charm school, a boon companion. She usually slept at Mr. Fuzzy's feet. We both miss her terribly. She was Jack's best pal and the pair of them could have passed as brother and sister. Farewell my little friend. UPDATE: she has returned after a week's walkabout!!!! Oh thank you...




Yesterday an email informed Mr. Fuzzy that his old and dear friend Kristen had died unexpectedly on May 14th at only age 38, leaving behind three children under six years of age (Owen is but five months) and her husband. We first were introduced by a mutual friend seventeen years ago and although we have rarely seen each other in recent years, we stayed in contact via emails. She oozed artistic gifts, was refined and elegant in way almost totally lacking among young women, was kind, thoughtful, sweet, great company at the art museum, restaurant table, hiking trail or the rodeo. Oh and did I mention, stunningly beautiful and brilliant? The world has become significantly poorer without her. You left us far too soon, my dearest Lady. Kristen, you will reside forever in my heart.

Our friend and favorite cartoonist, Peter, has sent us this wonderful ditty about the arrival of the new cat.

"Well, this is how I made it here folks:"

"I was born in Dundee, in Scotland, and when my old ma was dying she told me to go to Cupar in Fife and find my Uncle Tam but when I got there he had emigrated to Santa Fe in the USA, So I got myself a job as "Ship's Cat" on one of those Rhine Barges that go up to Perth and when I had earned my sea going ticket, found a berth on a Container Boat out of Amsterdam.

"When I got to New York I made myself agreeable to an old lady who took me on a train to Chicago. Once there I hitched a lift on a truck to Santa Fe, only to find my uncle had passsed away. However, his folks had gone to a place called Floyd in Virginia. Found a truck going east and after working around a bit finally got to Roanoke and walked from there.

"They seem a real nice berth, and some great company too. Guess I'll stay on and write a book!"

------

Chetworth responds:

"That's a lot of livin' for a cat who hasn't even hit adulthood. I don't buy it. Here he shows up just after us, eats our food, plays outside while we hafta stay in all the time, and at night he steals the best room upstairs. AND he eats our food and plays horrible hunting games! I hate my new housemate!!!! Grover says he saw some houses just before the car turned on to our road. I bet he came from one of them!"

Lily responds:

"Chetworth, you're just jealous 'cause I like him... he's lots of fun, you old stick in the mud, and if you'd grow up and quit hanging on your Momma's apron strings, you'd want to play with him, too."