Life Goes On

Where have I been?! Well, typically I get up at 5:30 in the morning to have my steaming hot cup of coffee in peace before the whole house wakes up. During the last school year I had until 7 a.m. to pound away on my computer but THIS YEAR ... my Benjamin, now in middle school, has to wake up at 6:00. Gone are my relaxing mornings and . . . my blogging. I know, I need a new routine -- that doesn't include waking up at 4:30 a.m.! But meanwhile, life has gone on . . .

Here is a sampling of what we have been up to:

My garden is winding down, but the bok choy, arugula, parsley and celery is still going strong.

The bees are put to bed for the winter, and we are hoarding our small honey harvest to try and make it until next summer.

The hens are now all laying. We get 1-5 eggs a day. Helloooooooo Quiche!

My nephew Spencer learned how to walk . . .

The grandkids enjoyed a last northern romp on Gramp's boat (a motorkat) before it headed south for the winter . . .

We saw our last unmarried 'Seinfelder' (long story) tie the knot . . .

(In the photo: The entire Seinfeld Clan L-R: Lori, Jeff, Annie, H.O.G. aka: Bob, Sue, Steven, Tanya, Scott, Victor and me (the photographer) minus 3 -- the two newlyweds, and 'Hand' aka: Jeff Fink, the hand surgeon.)

The Original Seinfelders ... The 'Core Four' minus 'Hand'

We went to a Harvest Party with the classic sack races . . .

and doughnut on a string eating contests . . .

Note to self: avoid the powdered sugar doughnuts-on-a-string . . .

Ripley turned 5, and we threw a party . . .

on Halloween, so it was a costume party!

Later that day, we celebrated Halloween . . . it had been a full day for the chicken . . .

Here is a picture of the chicken in better spirits . . .

Ripley learned how to Rollerblade . . . it took him all of 5 minutes to be on his own . . .

Ripley completed his first Soccer Season, words cannot express how this kid can excel at sport. It's borderline embarrassing. But as his parent, it's also thrilling.

And we've enjoyed quieter moments like listening to Daddy reading a book at the end of the day . . .

Be well, and I'll do a better job keeping in touch.

Ripley's first day of school

At long last, Ripley's preschool finally started up on Wednesday. They hold three days of abbreviated days that nearly drives the parents to skip them all together, but we hung in there and drove back and forth in obedience. Ripley was so happy to go. Benjamin had been for a whole week already! Today, Monday, Ripley's school schedule is as it will be for the rest of the year. He (and I) couldn't be more thrilled!

For the love of Hens

Come out, come out, wherever you are . . .

Careful now, down you go . . .

My boys are loving their pet hens. We've put up a temporary run for them while we construct a sturdier permanent one. It's been fun to see the hens pecking and scratching, zipping around, and generally acting like chickens.

Benjamin is the chief chicken caregiver. He feeds them, waters them, brings them scraps from the kitchen, picks them up, and lets them out. They are creating quite the bond. It's adorable.

Benjamin holding a New Hampshire Red

Even Ripley has gotten up the nerve to pick them up. When they were little balls of downy feathers, Ripley wanted to pick them up, but after a few neck holding events we had to put a stop to it. Now the hens are large enough to take a little boy handling.

Ripley with a Plymouth Barred Rock

Happy Boys . . .

Happy Hens.

Taking a rest and a dust bath.

They all snuggled up together and fluffed in the leaves, dirt and dust.

Apparently this helps them to prevent or combat any pests and bugs.

All lined up . . . a New Hampshire Red, Plymouth Barred Rock and Rhode Island Red.

A Break in the Rain

We didn't see the sun here until 5:00 p.m., but with the exception of a short misty period, it didn't actually rain. Everyone in the surrounding area decided to seized the chance to mow their lawns. As I returned home from an errand, it seemed as if every other house had someone in the yard pushing a mower. 

Victor too, when he came home from work, jumped on the bandwagon. His sidekick joined him. Ripley will 'help' Daddy and follow him with his mower until the entire lawn is cut. Now THAT is a commitment. It's the cutest thing ever. 

The bees too seized the day. They send out all foragers and had orientation flights. However, they almost looked frantic and disorganized, which was a little unsettling for the bee keeper. They did settle down in time and around 2:30 p.m. after the mist had stopped (although dark clouds did loom), I decided to go in and check to see if the bees were ready for their honey supers. 

My plan was to see how their mood was to determine whether or not I'd pull frames out and do a full hive check. I started with the right hive, and as soon as I lifted the inner cover off I had a mad bee buzzing at me. I decided that they weren't up for a full visit and just peered in to see how their comb building was coming along. They had made some progress. They were beginning work on frames 1 & 8 in the upper brood chamber, although they hadn't finished with 2 & 7. So, I decided to add the honey super on. Since I have empty wax foundation, they will need to build comb, and will need extra time to build that comb. So I wanted to give them some space and the opportunity to start moving up and preparing a place to put excess honey.

It's been a tough June for the bees. Not only are plants behind about three weeks because of our lack of sun, but they haven't been able to forage as much as they would have otherwise. They may send out some foragers, but as an outside observer it seems like it's just a handful. On a sunny day there are tons of foragers zzzzz-i-pp-ing in and out of the entrance bringing in nectar and pollen. Hopefully at some point our summer will swing into gear. Although I actually heard a weatherman say "if the weather pattern doesn't change all summer . . . " Have mercy.

Fathers: Invaluable

When Victor and I were married, he became a father. A step-father to my son Benjamin from my first marriage. He embraced his role seriously, enthusiastically and thoughtfully. Victor has been more diligent about going to Benjamin's parent-teacher conferences than he has Ripley's (granted, Ripley is only in preschool). He has in his mind, and knows that one day he will get the push-back from Benjamin in a heated moment, probably in his teens: "But you are not my real dad . . . " He thoughtfully and energetically invests time and demonstrates his love and commitment, assuming that that day will come. I will be forever grateful that Victor has been a reliable, committed, loving father figure who has integrity. 

At the same time Victor and I are positive and supportive of Benjamin's visits with his biological father. Benjamin visits with him on Wednesday nights and every other weekend. It is hard to share your child. But a child psychologist we consulted when my ex-husband was going through his second divorce said that unless a father is dangerous in some way, any short comings are far outweighed by the importance of having a bond with your father -- flaws and all -- knowing that he wants to spend time with you and loves you in the best way he knows how. Fatherhood is powerful, isn't it?

When Ripley was born, Victor was in awe. I don't think he could believe he'd been given such a miraculous blessing. At first, we had both wanted a girl. But when Victor saw this perfect little bundle arrive through the miraculous process called birth, looking so much like himself with his Portuguese skin tone, his long thin legs, his long slender hands, his dark brown eyes and eyelashes, and much to his relief and my disappointment -- my reasonable nose, he was speechless. 

He wouldn't let that baby out of his sight. Victor followed Ripley wherever the nurses or doctors dragged him. Shots. Baths. You name it, Victor followed that bassinet cart and stood outside the door and waited until they brought him his baby back. It was the most precious thing I'd ever seen. 

To me, fathers are teachers and doers, and it is their presence and investment in their children that demonstrates their love. I know my perception is stereotypical, but this has been my experience. While moms are throwing dinner together in the kitchen, it is your father who shows you how to mow the lawn. While Mom is bringing wood in for the stove, Dad is teaching you how to split it and stack it. While I am stressed out thinking of the laundry that needs to be folded, or the floor that needs vacuuming, Victor is at peace spending two hours with the boys outside practicing baseball. Maybe it's that sixth-sense that women have about all that needs to be done, and the absence of that sense that many men have that make them good fathers. While I'm throwing the frisbee to the boys, I may pick up the broom and start sweeping the garage. Not exactly what you'd call "present in the moment". 

Growing up with a house full of boys and a mother who could managed them all, kill a chicken and be a star at the golf club, my father taught me to be a strong self-assured daring woman for my generation. Even though I was a girly-girl and insisted on wearing dresses and skirts that twirled, my father didn't treat me any differently than my younger brother. He taught me to give a firm handshake and look that person right in the eye. I helped mow the lawn and stack wood. He had no interest in a house full of whiners and insisted that we were 'tough'. We painted and schlepped,  sanded and hammered, assisted and cleaned up after him. He taught me to mow without 'holidays', to garden and weed, to churn ice cream and row a boat, roll a sleeping bag and cook bacon, to ski, skate, swim, dive, ride my bike and be brave. While my mother was expressing grave concern on the sidelines during any of our adventures, Dad would say "Ahhhhh, they'll be fine, let them go . . . " He taught me to lick my wound slap a bandaide on it and move on. He taught me the importance of working hard and playing hard. He taught me that you can still be a serious, smart person and occasionally wear a costume. 

Whatever your political views, I think it's hard to disagree with President Obama's thoughts on fatherhood and I applaud him for addressing this important issue. Here is an excerpt from an article he wrote for Parade Magazine this week:

"In many ways, I came to understand the importance of fatherhood through its absence—both in my life and in the lives of others. I came to understand that the hole a man leaves when he abandons his responsibility to his children is one that no government can fill. We can do everything possible to provide good jobs and good schools and safe streets for our kids, but it will never be enough to fully make up the difference.  

That is why we need fathers to step up, to realize that their job does not end at conception; that what makes you a man is not the ability to have a child but the courage to raise one. 

See family photos of Obama  and his daughters

As fathers, we need to be involved in our children’s lives not just when it’s convenient or easy, and not just when they’re doing well—but when it’s difficult and thankless, and they’re struggling. That is when they need us most. 

And it’s not enough to just be physically present. Too often, especially during tough economic times like these, we are emotionally absent: distracted, consumed by what’s happening in our own lives, worried about keeping our jobs and paying our bills, unsure if we’ll be able to give our kids the same opportunities we had. 

Our children can tell. They know when we’re not fully there. And that disengagement sends a clear message—whether we mean it or not—about where among our priorities they fall.  

So we need to step out of our own heads and tune in. We need to turn off the television and start talking with our kids, and listening to them, and understanding what’s going on in their lives. 

We need to set limits and expectations. We need to replace that video game with a book and make sure that homework gets done. We need to say to our daughters, Don’t ever let images on TV tell you what you are worth, because I expect you to dream without limit and reach for your goals. We need to tell our sons, Those songs on the radio may glorify violence, but in our house, we find glory in achievement, self-respect, and hard work. 

We need to realize that we are our children’s first and best teachers. When we are selfish or inconsiderate, when we mistreat our wives or girlfriends, when we cut corners or fail to control our tempers, our children learn from that—and it’s no surprise when we see those behaviors in our schools or on our streets."

As a mother of two boys, I appreciate the knowledge and understanding that my father has about what it means to be a boy. As a grandfather, although he has high expectations for his grandchildren, he also has a lot of understanding and encouragement to offer a mother beside herself wondering how to manage a bright, intense son. He can see through the challenges of youth through to the gifts that will grow into something fabulous. He, like Victor, can't believe that he's been blessed with five beautiful, healthy, bright Grandchildren to teach and "do" life with. And sometimes I think he's speechless when he thinks about the blessing of having raised two children that through thick and through thin, came out wonderfully. I know he's proud. Now, sometimes, we teach him a thing or two. We are thankful for the privilege of having Dads and a "Gramp" who've taken the time to invest in us, love us, support us and actively be there with us as we "do" life. We love you.

Precious Boy

Ripley wants to be big. He wants to read with a vengeance like his big brother. Percy Jackson and the Olympians is one of Benjamin's favorite book series. As soon as the next book in the series comes out, Benjamin jumps on it and consumes it. So of course he has already finished the most recent release The Last Olympian. Now Ripley has picked it up. He takes it everywhere. He sits and stares at the pages while I'm making dinner. He takes it in the car when we go on errands. He brings it to the dentist while I'm having my teeth cleaned. He brings it upstairs to bed with him at night. He looks at all of the letters on the pages, flips the pages and marks "his place" with a bookmark. Precious Boy. 

I asked him while I was cooking dinner last night "Aren't you getting bored, honey?" (I was trying to suggest a more age appropriate book.) Ripley replied "No." I asked "Are you looking at all of the different letters and sounding them out?" "Yes." He sat there "reading" for a good half hour. 

Bubbles . . . A Gift from a Thoughtful Boy

Ripley thought: I love bubbles, surely everyone must love bubbles.

Like The Little Drummer Boy, he offers what he can do . . . as a gift.

to four of our little chicks . . . 

roaming around outside for the first time.

The chicks loved their field trip.

FYI: Ripley has also drawn a picture for the chicks, that Benjamin helped to tape up in the hen house. Awwwww.

Friends and Family

This week is going to be a busy one. On Friday morning I'm leaving for my -- make note -- 20th year college reunion. Yes, indeed. I went to an all women's college (why, I have no idea) so no one brings their spouses. It's kind of sad really, because I'd love to have Victor meet my college friends all of whom live a long distance away, but instead it will be like a big 'ole girls night out -- which will be fun too! 

So, not only do I have to pack and skidaddle out of town early Friday morning, but I also have to:

• Prep the second half of my garden for planting.
• Make dinner for a friend in need.
• Celebrate Benjamin's 10th Birthday on Tuesday!
• Plant seedlings (after the expected frost tonight) tomorrow.
• Prep our little home for the baby chicks downstairs in the basement.
• Get day old chicks on Tuesday!
• Give Victor a crash course on how to raise baby chicks so they survive my weekend away.
• Install new wax foundation in 16 frames for my hives. (A lot of work BTW)
• Do a hive check on Thursday and install the second brood chamber with the newly prepared frames.

In spite of my looming to do's we had a nice time over the weekend with friends and family. On Saturday Night we enjoyed some potluck grub with friends . . . 

L-R: Dave, Carl, Matt, Victor, Ron, Cheryl, Jon, Ann, Kara, Michelle, Kathy

On Sunday after church, we were treated to an early dinner at Victor's parent's Portuguese Club. It was fabulous. It had closed down for awhile, but now a new couple is managing it. A small team of people cook a fabulous meal for about 60 people every Sunday. 

L-R: Braulio, Aldina, Dulce, Michelle, Sandy, Ripley

Ahh, this time we got my father-in-law Mario in.

Really, it's about getting together with friends, with whom you have a lot in common, over dinner and a glass of wine, and celebrating your culture. 

Victor and Michelle are on the right, getting coffee.

On this particular Sunday they had music and dancing also -- all Portuguese dancing, of course. It's not like Portuguese Folk Dancing with the costumes and the whole bit, it's a collection of miscellaneous dances most of which accompany music with an accordion. The subtle difference between each of the dances elude me, but my mother-in-law tried to teach me a few.

They had a raffle which everyone jumps to participate in, as a fund raiser. They were raffling off a bottle of pineapple rum. As my sister-in-law Michelle said "yeah, no one wants that." It's all about keeping the club going, certainly not about the random thing they decide to raffle off that day. Ripley, being a young honest boy, was chosen to pick the winning raffle ticket. Being rather reserved, I was surprised that we was willing to go up and draw. But he did. And his "Avo" loved every minute of it!

Bees, Baseball and Pizza Pie

Before I get to the nitty-gritty of going into one of my hives yesterday, let me first present to you my adorable assistant Ripley. Can I just tell you that this was his natural pose? I just told him I was going to take a picture -- and this is how he stood. He loves the camera, just like his Avo (Grandfather in Portuguese). I had to go into my hives in the middle of the day, so Ripley was around. I just had him sit by the garage at a safe distance away. He really didn't need the whole get-up, but he was eager to have a bee suit like his older brother. So, I got out a white dress shirt and Victor's veil and -- Voila! Pleased as punch (as you can see).

Now, the nitty-gritty. Yesterday's task was to go into each hive and check to see that the queen had gotten out of her cage through the soft candy plug (consistency of salt water taffy - but not stretchy) that I'd already poked a hole into with a large nail to help her attendants dig her out. If she was still in there, I was supposed to pry open the cage (over the hive, so as not to lose her!), set it down on top of the frames and watch her crawl out. Although she can fly and all, that's really not her main thing. Unless you drop her or squash her, she will happily go into her hive to do her work. These honey bees have a mission. They have work to do! The other thing I knew I'd probably have to do is take out / off some burr comb, which is comb that the bees build in areas they are not supposed to. They will fill up any open spaces with comb. Because of the queen cage, my frames were askew so I knew this was a possibility. Okay, so that's what was supposed to happen.

Now, let me tell you what did happen. I got myself and Ripley all suited up. Ripley took his safe place back by the side of the garage and dutifully sat down and watched. I told him, no talking or moving. He's a very mellow reliable 4 year old from that perspective. Check. Got my smoker stoked and lit. I don't know how good a job I did with it. The thing is, all of these tasks are so foreign and new. Every move you make feels like you've been plunked into Saudi Arabia (a country with a foreign language and culture I've never been to or experienced first hand) and are expected to function properly. So, I got all of my props - hive tool, bee brush, smoker, more fuel for the smoker (pine needles) and I went over to the right hive (still need names, any suggestions?). 

You always approach your hive from the side so you're not in the line of traffic (bee line? :) ). Did that. Check. I puffed smoke from my smoker into the entrance and then as calmly as I could muster I took off the rock, the lid, the top box and feeder. There were bees sucking away at the sugar water in the feeder -- not knowing what on earth to do (being a skittish novice) I just slowly put the thing down and hoped they crawled out. At the time I didn't even think to put it on the ground right side up, or to bee brush them off. Can you say overwhelmed? And I hadn't even opened the actual hive body yet! 

So, then I went about taking off the "inner cover" which is this thin (5/8"?) top that covers the frames where all the bees are busy in the frames. When I lifted that cover off I immediately felt and said quietly out loud "Oh my gosh, I don't know what I'm doing. I have no clue. What am I doing in here?!" (Not to mention a few unmentionable sentences.) So much for positive thinking and positive 'self talk'. You can read all you want and go to every single bee class (like I did) and still feel totally inept and overwhelmed at opening up that hive. In reflecting on it, I think the thing is -- it's simply unnerving to go into a buzzing hive of bees at first. When I pulled the inner cover off there was this large piece of burr comb stuck to the underside of it. It looked like the dorsal fin of a dolphin -- every millimeter of it was packed with honey bees. I just froze. Okay, now what? What to do? I grabbed my smoker and puffed a few puffs into the hive and onto the comb. Not one bee moved. Okay, now what? Uhhhhh, pry off the comb (which is very easy to do, no 'leverage' required). I got out my hive tool and pryed it off so that it dropped gently on top of the frames with the other bees. Then, I placed the inner cover on top of the other box to the side. I turned back to the hive and slowly picked up the burr comb. I tried to give it a little shake. Nothing. All bees stayed put. Again, not knowing what to do, I decided to grab my bee brush, which looks like a very soft, long 'haired' dust pan brush. I brushed the bees off. That worked just fine. But the bbbbbuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzinnnnnnggg got louder. They didn't like being brushed. Who would, right? Even Benjamin and Ripley complained. I puffed the hive with a little smoke. (maybe I should try that with my boys?) I don't know that the smoke did anything . . . it was effective when I had 2 or 3 bees come at me -- granted I had the full on bee suit so they couldn't get to me if they tried, but I smoked them away anyway. 

I put the burr comb to the side and then looked at the queen cage wedged in between the frames. It was packed with bees all over the outside of the cage. They want their queen out! I could see that the hole was bigger. I held onto the little cage and pulled it out. I could still see (sort-of) through all of the bees clinging to the outside of the cage, that there were still bees inside the cage. I didn't know what to do. I felt like the hive was already mad at me, even though I felt like I'd done what I was supposed to and I didn't know if I should proceed. I was supposed to pry the little wire mesh off the cage and allow the queen to crawl out . . . but the thing was covered in bees. I shook it. I smoked it. Nothing. I just didn't know if I should bee brush them off. They were teeved at me as it was. Can you bee brush the queen cage?? That will really get them mad (I guessed). No knowing what to do. I just buttoned that hive back up. I put the queen cage back in it's place with all of the bees crowding on it and closed her up. It's one thing to not know how to bake bread and to get through it by trial and error. It's a whole 'nother thing to go into a buzzing hive and feel clueless. Overwhelming. 

I immediately called my friend Diane the beekeeper and talked her ear off. Poor gal. Thank God she's a nurse. She calmly talked to me about the whole mess and encouraged me and told me (in the end) to try going in tomorrow. I took that advice and ran with it! After the fact I felt like I'd accomplished nothing and had been a complete and utter failure. I've never done drugs, hardly ever take even aspirin -- but I was thinking that right about then a Valium would have been helpful. I was a mess. 

In hind sight, and thanks to listening and encouraging friends, I can see that I did learn something by going into my hive. This was my main accomplishment. Learning. But it was tough unnerving learning. Unsettling. The bottom line was not knowing what to do moment to moment. When Diane had been by my side during the install, I was totally calm. I felt comfortable even! And there were many more bees just flying around not knowing where they were or where to go. Fear of the unknown. Like walking into Junior High for the first time, but with more bbbbuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzziiinnnnggggggggg. 

And, I also removed a large piece of burr comb. Deep in each cell glistened fresh nectar (or sugar water) that the bees had put there. Here it is.  Neat, huh? Today I am going in again. Pray for me. 

Incidentally, I asked Ripley afterwards if he found watching overwhelming or fun and interesting. He said "fun and interesting". So, that's good. At least he enjoyed it.

On a completely different note, Ripley had his very first T-ball game last night. There was a mix-up with his uniform shirt, so he didn't have one, but thankfully that didn't bring the tears. I was worried.

Here he is in the outfield at the ready -- in the white shirt.

Here he is glowing on third base -- having the time of his life.

Afterwards, I made two variations of asparagus and goat cheese pizza. I didn't have a recipe, so I was winging it. It was very yummy, but I don't know if it was 'perfect'. The first one has garlic and olive oil on the dough -- I cooked that for a few minutes, then added the asparagus. Cooked it for a few minutes, then added the goat cheese and red pepper flakes. 

This one I put a thin layer of red sauce on the dough. Experimenting with pizza is a lot easier than experimenting with honey bees - - just so you know.