Rabbit Ranching

Friday, June 26, 2020

News Trend Superlatives|Actual

Superlative:(adjective)

of the highest kind, quality, or order; surpassing all else or others; supreme, extreme.

I love geography.

I am fascinated with landmarks.

I am always down for a good day trip.

And among the many extraordinary features of my little corner of the planet is that I live just a few hours drive from the Northwestern-most point of the continental United States.

These four facts came together in a perfect storm of superlatives last weekend when my fourth-born and I set off on a mission to revisit Cape Flattery, the upper left corner of this land.

^ Greyest Start to the Day:

Our eight a.M. Ferry crossing was a monochromatic masterpiece in tones of grey on grey on grey. We snapped a few photos from our parking spot on the boat and otherwise snoozed through the crossing.

^ Springiest Seasonal Sighting:

These sweet harbingers of spring showed their pretty faces to us in Neah Bay, the small town near the Cape. Warm marine air from the Pacific washes over the land and teases out the first blooms of the season.

^ Friendliest Fish

Surprisingly, but also satisfyingly, the land on which the Northwestern-most Point stands is owned by Native Americans. The Makah Tribe - whose name means "people generous with food" - have lived in this area for as long as anyone has ever known. The town of Neah Bay, Cape Flattery, the trails and viewing areas are all maintained by these friendly, hard-working people. And they also love a good whale hunt.

^ Lushest Pathway and Loveliest Boardwalk:

Mmm, Few feats satisfy the nature lover in me as trudging through an Ewok Forest on a series of delightfully primitive planks.

^ Soggiest Trail:

Thank goodness for those boardwalks.The forest floor was fully flooded but my day-glo Nikes stayed almost perfectly dry.

^ Gorgiest Sea Stacks:

Just the south of the Northwestern-most Point, darling heaps of stone sport trees up top, and emerald waters swirl about their feet. Bald eagles perch here and there as they contemplate the hunt for dinner. And we took a whole lot of pictures.

^ Windiest Lookout:

Here we are on the absolute corner of the continent. On the raw edge of this rocky cliff, or more safely settled on the sturdy viewing platform, we hold our breath as the rugged beauty of this corner of the country unfolds in every direction.

^ Rockiest Technicality

Named for an old Makah chief, Tatoosh Island stands straight off Cape Flattery and serves most specifically though less accessibly as the Northwestern-most Point. The tallest bit on the island is an inactive lighthouse, Cape Flattery Light, which used to guard the nearby entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca,

^ Most Perfect Playground:

Just to the north of the Northwestern-most Point, a series of inlets and caves undulate along the coastline. Waves crash against the rocks willy-nilly, creating a cacophony of sound and spray. This is where the Makah Tribe watched for whales, first sighted European intruders, and no doubt explored every inch of this wonderland.

And just when I thought our lovely day trip to the extreme corner of the country could not be topped, we stopped to stretch our legs on the way home, and encountered yet one more superlative sight.

^ Cutest Ducks Ever.

News Trend Women|Actual

On this International Women's Day and every day, I hope to bring some light to my sisters.

I'm a lousy feminist.

Because here's the thing. Gender equality makes no sense to me.

Well, in terms of constitutional rights and insurance plans and equal pay for equal work, yes. Finances and economics between the sexes should definitely be a level playing field.

But we women should never dream of being equal to men.

To be sure, men have plenty of good qualities all their own. But we women are so much more than just their wannabes.

We are social creatures who thrive in circles of support with our sisters, mothers and daughters.

We are nurturers; we not only give life but protect and support the weak and vulnerable among us.

We are creative, imaginative problem solvers, and we work together for the common good.

We understand the limitations of money and power, and we don't easily fall into those traps.

We feel emotions with great intensity.

We talk. We are quite gifted at ekspresi interaction.

We see connections and correlations in the world and in our relationships.

We celebrate out strengths but acknowledge our vulnerabilities too, which brings us power even in our weakness.

We are devoted and trusting and loyal.

We are beautiful and passionate, funny and lively.

We are smart and objective and wise, open-minded and insightful.

We get the concept of balance, and while we can spin a lot of plates, we also know when to let go.

We are women, and we don't want to be anything else.

Thursday, June 25, 2020

News Trend Sugar, Sugar|Actual

I'm happy to say that I grew up in the golden age of sugar.

Oh now, despite all those rumors you've heard about the sixties, we weren't allowed to run totally hog wild. My mom supervised our sweet treats with an eagle eye, and eventually a lock and key. There were plenty of admonishments about ruining our supper or destroying our teeth.

But like most American kids of the day, I grew up on Kool-aid, cookies, and best of all, sweetened breakfast cereal.

Without question, our morning meals centered on sugar. These were the glory days for Frosted Flakes, Lucky Charms, and my favorite, the unapologetically-named Super Sugar Crisp. My brothers and I raced through boxes of these coveted treats in record time, which is why they were only an occasional splurge. Most of the time, our family budget forced us to made do with more sensible unsugared selections: Wheat Chex, Cheerios, Grape Nuts and Rice Krispies.

But still, we were allowed - even invited - to heap on teaspoon after glorious teaspoon of white sugar.

My brothers and I would bring all the cereal boxes to the table and use them to build walls around our bowls. Huddled down inside our little alcoves (we were non-morning people even then), we poured out our favorite grains and then silently passed the milk and sugar around for each to use.

Sometime during my middle school years, my mom bought a proper 1970s sugar bowl - white ceramic with a cork lid and woven rattan handle. I loved it and admired the way it elevated my morning breakfast routine.

Years went by.

High school.

College.

My professional phase.

And then I was bringing my own little girls around to the same breakfast table, and they were dumping teaspoons of the sparkling white stuff onto their own bowls of cereal.

I bit back my post-millennial hang-ups about sugar and let them indulge.

The sugar bowl began to show signs of life.

The rattan handle frayed, then split, then broke altogether.

We trimmed off the broken remnants and pronounced the dish still useful, but it was never the same.

My mom bought a new sugar bowl with a matching milk pitcher, and life moved on.

The old sugar bowl was sent away to live a quiet life in the back of a kitchen cabinet.

Which is exactly where I found it last month.

I brought it home.

I fashioned a new handle.

I filled it up with sugar.

And now, my mother's sugar bowl and I have entered a new golden age together.

* * * * *

More macrame projects to light your fire:

Fulfilled

Sugar, Sugar

A Macrame Home For My Spider Plant Family

Macrame Magic

Perfect Imperfections

Roses And Ivy

News Trend New Life|Actual

This is me holding my newborn baby brother when he was just a few days old.

I have always had a thing for new life.

Everyone loves Easter

It's a day to celebrate baby bunnies and daffodils and pastel-colored eggs hiding in grass still wet with morning dew.

In simple terms, Easter is about new life, and everyone can get excited about that.

Now, I know that some Christians get a little frustrated about this. While other folks are nibbling on chocolate rabbits and snapping photos of spiral-cut ham, they want to talk about dying on a cross and an empty tomb and a dead man who stands up and walks.

And I understand that, to a point. I'm all about that resurrection life.

But here's the thing. For some people, that story is too much to handle. In fact, for the first thirty years of my life, I cringed at that story. I wasn't ready to wrap my head around a gritty Easter tale of violence and murder. I needed fuzzy ducklings, sweet-smelling lilies, and a bowl full of jelly beans to get me through the day.

Now, I love the full meaning of Easter Sunday, But rather than pushing back against the Easter basket crowd, I'm convinced more than ever that they have a handle on the truth.

If Easter is about anything at all, it's about the joy of new life.

May we celebrate this beautiful day in all its blessed forms.

* * * * *

News Trend Ham Dinner|Actual

Like all the other big ticket holidays of my childhood, Easters were spent at my mother's parents' comfortable home. They lived a few hours away from us in the poetically named town of Three Rivers, Michigan, so when we visited, we stayed for the whole weekend.

That meant that along with a passel of four kids came an energetic and clever Irish Setter named Kelly.

My grandparents were not dog people. Grandma grew up on a farm where dogs were considered working animals and treated accordingly; Grandpa was a bit put off about dogs altogether, though honestly, I'm willing to bet he was afraid of them.

But we loved our boy madly so my grandparents learned to tolerate their furry fifth grandchild.

Easter dinner at my table.

It was the Easter of Kelly's fourth year, when I was about fourteen, that my darling dog put his grandparents' hesitant love to the test.

As usual, as our midday mealtime approached, Grandma was a flurry. Fresh-baked cloverleaf rolls, scalloped potatoes, home-grown green beans, pickled beets and a big ol' heap of mashed potatoes were paraded in from the kitchen to the dining room. But it was the cornerstone of the meal - a glorious golden glazed ham - that was the first dish to reach the table, triumphantly positioned near my grandfather's plate and poised for the ceremonial carving.

Banned from the crowded kitchen, I lingered silently in the dining room, watching the feast come together and waiting for an opportunity to make a few unauthorized taste tests.

I thought nothing of it as Kelly came wandering through the dining room.

I wasn't surprised when he stopped near the ham.

I smiled as he stretched his nose out toward that steaming platter and drank up the fragrant aroma.

But I was totally and utterly unprepared for what happened next.

My second setter, Casey, never stole an Easter ham but he did once help himself to an entire meal's worth of Dover sole while I was changing a diaper.

In the blink of an eye, Kelly leaped up, braced his front legs against the table, sunk his teeth into that ham, and hauled it off the table for all he was worth.

I froze up, too horrified for words.

Kelly was halfway to the front porch when my grandfather caught sight of him.

"GRACE!! COME GET YOUR DOG!"

My mother surely noted the panic in his voice and flew into the room.

I will never forget the look on her face as she caught sight of that funny, handsome, clever dog who by now had dropped the heavy ham onto the floor and backed the slippery thing into a corner so he could properly dig into his prize. I'm sure she was ninety-nine percent amused by her darling boy's audacity, but well aware that her father was about to blow a gasket. So she summoned up the necessary outrage, wrestled our Easter dinner out of the dog's chops, and told my grandfather to calm down because everything was going to be fine.

"Your dog ate half the ham. I don't see anything fine about that."

My mom had already deposited the partially gnawed ham back on the plate and circled through the kitchen to come back with the electric carving knife.

With a practiced skill - this was definitely not her first dog-bitten-food rodeo - she sliced away the offending bite marks and reshaped the ham to look almost normal again.

"See?" she showed my grandfather. "It's fine."

He was not impressed.

My third setter, Ranger, was usually not one to jump up and steal human food but he might have considered his options had he caught scent of this flank steak.

Kelly was sent outside where I'm sure he licked his whiskers and congratulated himself on a job very well done.

We kids were told in no uncertain terms to lay off the ham until our grandparents ate their fill of what was left.

And once the holiday weekend was over and we were back on the road, we finally enjoyed a hearty laugh over our crazy dog's ham dinner and hugged him all the way home.

* * * * *

Go here to read a sweet recap of all my pets

or here to find a collection of stories about their antics.

* * * * *

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

News Trend Damsels In Distress|Actual

Heavy black clouds raced menacingly across the sky.

Winds twisted their branches in dizzying gusts.

Rain pelted down, soaking their delicate faces and threatening to blow them to pretty pink bits.

But through it all, they held on for dear life.

And I must say, these precious harbingers of spring are far more tenacious than I would have ever guessed

News Trend Buying Apples|Actual

Only two of the Granny Smith apples remain, but I also bought some Pink Ladys.

I was counting out four Granny Smiths when I noticed him staring at me.

An ordinary man, about my age. He faced me across the apples, smiled nervously, and blurted out, "Do you live in the Chennault Beach area?"

"Sure do," I replied, suddenly uncomfortable in my orange fleece jacket. My favorite ancient outerwear for walking has no business being worn in public but I had not bothered to change between my walk and a few quick errands.

"I thought so!" He smiled again, this time more comfortably. "I see you out walking all the time."

I began twisting shut my plastic bag, and braced myself for what was surely coming next.

"Hey, is your dog okay? I haven't seen him lately. I asked my kids about it and they said they haven't seen him either. We all notice you've been walked alone..."

My hands held the bag still. "Yeah, we lost him in January."

"Oh. I'm so sorry. He seemed like such a friendly dog. We all miss seeing him around."

Our small talk quickly trailed off. I thanked him for his kindness, balanced the apples in my cart, and pushed off toward the ice cream aisle.

And while I undoubtedly appeared to be an ordinary woman reaching for a carton of salted caramel, my heart was soaring among the heavens. What an extraordinary thing it is to be noticed and known by perfect strangers, to live in their hearts and to warrant their compassion and care. And what an insane gift it is to have such a person reach out to you, in the most ordinary circumstances, to share this miracle with you.

I'm glad I thought to buy the apples.

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Friday, June 26, 2020

Thursday, June 25, 2020

Wednesday, June 24, 2020