The Thrill of the Hunt

Stalking the wily....

...elusive...

...wild...

...nature photographer.

Oh dear. I think it heard me.

It saw me. Oh dear, oh dear. I'm sure it saw me.

Distraction. Quick - it's my only hope! 




Oh, look - was that a duck?


Hide the tranquilizer gun.

Mayday! Mayday!

May 1, 2011

It all started so innocently the night before, with a stiff breeze.

A VERY stiff breeze.

The tree only a few feet from our front door. Although a blizzard had been forecast since late afternoon the day before - not much warning, to be sure - the severity caught everyone by surprise.

It was the kind of blizzard in which you could get lost between the house and the barn. 

In the morning, it was so dark. It didn't take long to figure out that every single window on the whole house had been covered with a thick layer of snow.

A while back Naughty Clancy had jumped through our front screen. As irritating as that is, it did make for some interesting snow patterns in the front entry.

After a couple hours, we were finally able to see the neighbor across the street. The thick, heavy, wet snow weighted down the pine trees terribly. Many of them broke, including a 5-foot section just to the right of this photo.

In the space of about 12 hours, all the hard work of melting snow had been undone, and our driveway was drifted in again with snow, as deeply as it had been all winter. Between the car and the cottage, you can just see the 6-foot-high trailer sticking out of the snow.

Everything had a coat of snow, including the power lines. Tina had just brought back her borrowed propane heater the day before. The Model of Efficiency became the poster child for freezing people huddled in bed to stay warm. She spent the night with us - we were already down to our emergency heat due to the carbon monoxide, remember? The outage didn't phase us a bit.

Once again, the roads became imaginary; only guesswork mapping out a course for others to follow.

Between the wind and the snow, the gargantuan pine tree in Mom and Dad's front yard looked just a teeny bit scary. It survived the storm, but we were all nervous about walking under the tipsy side for several days.

At last, a thin strip of blue sky announced the end of the blizzard, too late to save thousands of cows and new spring calves across Montana and North Dakota. Many of those that died, blundered into flooded places in the pasture, covered with a thick, deadly coat of ice and snow. With so little warning, not many could be herded into shelter.

Mom and Dad had several trees and large branches snap right off. One of them landed on the TV antenna, bending it into a perfect rainbow shape. This tree was more than a foot in diameter.

24 hours earlier, this was brown, bare grass.

Amazingly enough, the snowplows made it out toward the end. As you can see, it was pretty clear in town, but out on the prairie where the wind still howled, visibility was poor. We sure appreciate the intrepid snowplowists who go out in all kinds of weather to clear our roads.

One of the oddities of the storm was the stop sign at the main intersection in town, blown completely sideways.

Many of you have doubtless seen Pig from the comic strip "Pearls Before Swine". 

Am I the only one who sees the uncanny resemblance?

Our shed is bright, candystriper pink, at least for a little longer. We enjoyed seeing what it would have looked like in bright white.

Blizzard over, sun goes down on another day. Someday soon, the power will be back on. Welcome to May, everybody!

Antennas and Unmentionables

This blog is supposed to be classy. Maybe not all the way to elegant (this is me we're talking about here), but at least not the sort of low-brow humor so scurrilously and uncreatively dependent upon bodily functions for laughs. Delicate persons such as myself do not even have bodily functions, at least not that we'll admit to. 

Thus I feel the need to warn my gentle readers that this blog contains several mentions of the medical term "poop". Yes, indeed. Antennae and poop. My children have not yet learned how to avoid having bodily functions. You have been duly cautioned.

Thursday evening, Jack decided it was time to put up our antenna, which will allow us to get local channels and news. Our previous antenna had become elderly and outdated, and wouldn't work at all. 

That alone was an adventure in itself, and I'm thankful no stray camera people were lurking about.The antenna tower, also quite elderly, was flimsy, ever so slightly slanted, and about 8 feet tall, up on the very top of our steep, two-story roof. Now, there is nothing wrong with being elderly, unless someone is going to stand on you. It's a good thing I'm not afraid of heights. As the lighter of the pair of us, I was elected Chief Tower Climber. Jack was Chief Tower Holder and Keeper of the Wife from Plunging to the Ground. 

Darkness fell, the wind picked up and grew cold, and at last the job was duly accomplished. Jack and I took our trembling, over-strained arms and legs inside to bask in the glow of the evening news while the boys got ready for bed.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM," Damon yelled from the other room. (Pronounced "mahhhhhhhhm", not "moom".)

Jack and I looked at each other. One of us would have to go. "He called you," Jack pointed out helpfully.

Grumbling and aching, I stumbled toward the location of the outburst, the bathroom. In my exhaustion, the full import of the scene didn't burst onto my consciousness like it normally would have. Really, it didn't even flicker. Finally, Damon had to point out the lighter on the floor, and the can of Febreze on the sink.

I sniffed the air, becoming belatedly aware that the bathroom now smelled like a spicy Moroccan bazaar...afire.

Fixing Devon with my best Evil Mom Eye, I asked in a steely voice, "What were you doing in here?"

Devon looked at me, wide-eyed. I could see every fleck of green in his beautiful hazel eyes, so different than the dark brown of the rest of the family. It took him a moment for him to get the words out.

"Trying to set my poop on fire."

I would have been a great proficient at poker, had I ever played. My stone face, though perhaps not as legendary as Dad's or even Jack's, has stood by me through some truly hilarious (but naughty) events. This time, against my will and every effort to maintain it, it dissolved into helpless laughter.

At last, holding my sides and gasping for breath, I wheezed at him, "You can see that I am laughing. What you did was still very bad, and very dangerous. If you EVER DO IT AGAIN, I will be laughing while I paddle your bottom."

I didn't want to ask the rest. Visions of taking him into the ER with rectal burns danced in my head. Maybe we would even get the same doctor that treated his mouse bite. Simply consoling myself that he didn't seem uncomfortable wasn't enough.

It was a great relief to find out the the attempt at incineration had not been made until the fecal material had taken up full residence in the porcelain immolation chamber. His lily-pink ahem person had not been directly endangered.

There remained only one question.

WHY???????????


He twinkled up at me as he answered. "I was just trying to discover a Science Fact."


The preacher yesterday said that a group of 2-4 year olds were tested, and 95% of them were found to be extremely creative. By the time they were 7, only 4% remained extremely creative. The rest had the creativity ground out of them by adults telling them not to ask questions. So I want to be very careful how I phrase this.


Devon, questions are bad. Do not ask questions. Do not try to find out how things work. Do not attempt to explore, discover, or find out anything. Just a little class - is that too much to ask?


Here's to science,
Noni Beth

Got Milk?

Yesterday after lunch, I sat happily convalescing in my room, computer on my lap. The sun shone brightly through the window, and my ill husband snuggled close to me, neither happy nor convalescing. Life was good. 

The bucolic peace  was suddenly shattered by an awful commotion. The noise was indescribable, though I will surely try. With an underlying stampede of booted feet, the main symphony was a croaking, squawking, wheezing, gasping...something. I looked up, startled.

Damon appeared in the doorway like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, arms held out zombie-style in front of him. Indeed, he was the source of the racket, streaming a torrent of drool, snot, and another mysterious fluid. 

"What happened???" we demanded as one.

Damon replied, "URRRRGHLLLLAAAAARRRRRRMMMNNNNXQQQQUYSTCHZZYZZYX!!!!"

"Spit it out - what happened?" I barked.

"MMMMRRRRRRNNNNGHUUUUURRRRRRWAAAALP!!!"

"Damon!" Jack finally croaked. "Is that gasoline?"

The apparition nodded. "MMMMMMMRRRRG!"

I sprang into action. Calmly dragging him by the head, I led him into the bathroom and began vigorously washing his face and the inside of his mouth with soap. The fumes were overpowering, even for me. Still, I bravely scrubbed on.

At first, he was barely able to speak, though he did manage to answer "not much" when we asked him how much he had swallowed. Sigh. "Um, Sweetheart, could you please look up and see what else we should do for him besides giving him milk?"

As his mouth got cleaner, Damon got more coherent. In a manner of speaking. "Wheeeee! I think I'm hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh!!!!!"

A couple more minutes, and he was even able to tell us that he hadn't actually swallowed the gas at all, only gotten a mouthful of petrol and a lungful of fumes. 

Then came the challenge of finding him some milk, since I haven't drunk real milk since high school. As the supervisor of the shower, on call in case Gasboy passed out, I couldn't run over to Mom and Dad's to get some, either. Rather than have to quit what he was working on and come over, Dad suggested the one milk product I did have on hand, that had slipped my mind.

And so it was that Damon, coughing and wrapped in a towel, sat eating a bowl of peanut butter cup ice cream. I couldn't help but feel that it sent the wrong message, somehow. Drink Gas, Eat Ice Cream.

Once the crisis had been dealt with, my small nephew, Bubba, had a chance to tell me his side of the story. The condensed version: "...And Damon was moving the gas from the three-wheeler to the three-wheeler and he sucked on the tube and he had me hold the tube and I said, "Damon, why not you just BUY some gas?"

The burning question we'd all like to know. Next time, Damon probably will buy some gas. That is, unless he wants some more ice cream.

Suffering from an excess of gas,

Noni Beth

I'm not sure that came out quite right.

The Birthday That Never Ends

Woe, woe, woe. Woe is me. I have a heavy birthday upon my back, and I don't know how to get rid of it. Hopefully today will be the last I have to hear of it for almost a year.

As I mentioned before, I have been quite sick. I am still sick. April 1 will make two months exactly, with no end to the coughing in sight. At least I have my voice - Mom's has been missing since mid-February. (If you find a missing voice, please ship it to General Delivery, Westby, MT. COD is fine.) Nothing natural or traditional has been enough to finish off this terrible bug so far, though the hope of temperatures into the 40's may mean we can get a little sun and fresh air, instead of months of only going outside with every square inch of skin covered.

Still not great now, I was completely miserable on Devon's birthday. The poor thing was lucky to get supper at all, never mind a special birthday supper. And cake? Who can stomach the stuff? (Maybe one little boy who wasn't sick and didn't get any, but NOBODY ELSE, OKAY???)

Instead of having one modest party with a friend or two and some cousins, we have had an ongoing celebration for almost 6 weeks now, trying to help Devon feel less cheated about his birthday. In retrospect, I wish I had either crawled out of bed at the time, or just hired some entertainment. Since I didn't, we have done more for Devon's birthday over the last month-and-a-half than in the last five years rolled together.

Somewhere around five parties/occasions dedicated to Devon, and two cakes - three if you count all the cupcakes he got to take to the people at the nursing home, given in his honor. To (HOPEFULLY) bring the celebration to a final end for the whole rest of the year, Tina invited us out for a snow frolic, also in Devon's honor. 

It wasn't even a blizzard this time, just a strong east wind, that left Tina's driveway not only drifted, but completely filled in. Some places must have been at least 5 feet deep, right there in the middle of her driveway. Thus even the walk up to the house was fraught with adventure. 

No one else was around to see my ungainly, cautious waddle (thinking light thoughts) as I tried to cross the deep snow unscathed. No one was around to witness my hip-deep plunge at the very end, or to laugh as I finally had to roll down the hill to escape. No one was around to hear the increasingly shrill soprano cries as snow melted into all sorts of personal areas. And if any unkind persons bring up dolphins, I won't be held accountable. There are NO dolphins in the wild in Montana.

We took turns skiing, the first time I have ever had skis on my feet. Technically, they were only under my feet, since the toe clips were nowhere near big enough to fit over the toes of the huge boots I had borrowed from Jack. I really think that put me at a disadvantage, since I have always known I would have been very good at skiing, if only I had learned. First, I tried not to go too fast. Then I tried to go faster. Then I just tried not to get stuck, as the skis slowly sank farther and farther into the powdery whiteness.


Devon did quite well, 

and so did Laura, right up until the last moment, when both skis stopped and she kept going. With grace and beauty, she whirled and pirouetted before dropping into a drift. Rescue Dog Finley rushed to her aid.

After all of us were clumped with snow, soaked, and cold, it was time to go inside for hot chocolate - also in honor of Devon, of course - and get ready to go home. 

Devon, if you read this, your birthday is over. I have made up for being sick. Several times. There are no more presents. There are no more cakes. There are no more parties. Your birthday is O.V.E.R. You will have another one next year, but until then, there are No More Birthdays for you. Only for other people. 

I will leave all of you with one final image, that of Tina making a snow angel.

Tired from the adventure,

Noni Beth

The Puppetmaster

Me: Ok children. It's time for worship. Let's sit very quietly and see which Bible story Devon is going to do  for us with his new present.

Devon: Once there was a donkey. He was walking along through the jungle.

Me: (interrupting suspiciously) Is this a BIBLE story???

Devon: Of course. So anyway, this donkey was walking through the jungle, here and there. Walking through the jungle. Finally, he saw a house. "Aha," he said, "I need to find a new owner. I will go to this house." Inside, he found Mary.

Me: (to myself) Ah yes, the Bible connection.There in the jungles of Nazareth.

Devon: Mary took Clonk N Thonk...

Tiggy: (whispering loudly) CLUMP N THUMP!

Devon: (sighing) So Mary took Clump N Thonk to the stable. There, he met her other pet. (Lengthy pause to consult puppet packaging.) Perry Winkle. Perry Winkle had been Mary's pet for a long time, so he knew her very well. Perry Winkle came close and whispered in...

Tiggy: Clump N Thump...

Devon: ...in Clump N Thump's ear. Then Joseph came out with a lot of supplies. He loaded up (glares at Tiggy) Clump N Thonk with lots of stuff. "Wow," said Clomp N Thonk, "I can tell this is going to be a very long journey. Look at all this stuff we are taking. It's going to be a loooooooong time before we're back home again. "I know," said Perry Winkle. Then they all started out. Mary was much heavier than usual, tee hee, and they went on. It was a long trip. They walked all day, and rested that night. Perry Winkle ate his seeds. He...he....(tries repeatedly to make Perry peck at the seeds, without success). Perry Winkle put his head under his wing and went to sleep. They walked all the next day. Then they slept. Then they walked all the next day, and finally got to Bethlehem. 

Tiggy: (whispering loudly) Here, take my doll!

Devon: (sighing) They went to sleep again that night. During the night, something woke them up. It was a baby crying. They walked over to the baby and looked at him. Just then, two shepherds came. "The angel told us we would find the baby here," they said. And just then, (singing) We Three Kings of Orient Art...

Me: Um, Devon, that didn't happen till much later. 

Devon: (singing) We Three Kings of Orium Ares...

Damon: About two years later.

Devon: You're kidding!!! Ok then, two years later (singing) We Three Kings of Orienarr...and they brought their gifts. Gold, silver, and what else?

Me: Gold, no silver, ffffffff......

Devon: Frankincense!

Me: And mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm (his brow furrowed) mmmmmmmmyyyyyyyrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhh.....

Devon: Myrrh!

Me: Yes!!

Devon: And then Joseph letted Perry Winkle and Clomp N Thunk go free! They ran, well actually they hopped and jumped and leaped to freedom.

Me: Ok, Devon. Thank  you for that lovely and interesting rendition. Let's bow our heads for....

Devon: And THEN, many years later, Clonk N Thonk carried the baby who is, who was, who used to be a baby but then he grew up, he carried his body. He was so sad. "This man looks familiar," he said. And he carried him to the grave. And then he met Perry Winkle again, and they both went free again. They jumped and hopped, and Perry Winkle's head went UP and down, and UP and down, and UP and down, and UP and down...

Me: (sternly) Devon!

Devon: And they lived happily ever.

Yes, really. That's how it ends.

The Majestic Perry Winkle