Red Dirt Farm and Studio

 

A cold wind is blowing.

The treetops are swaying and my breath drifts off in white whispers.

The brown and gray landscaping is starting to take a toll on me.

And then that moon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did y’all get all of that?

Left to right,  Phyllis, Dickory and Hickory, are hatch mates – born in September.  The boys are twice the size of Phyllis.

Hickory is bigger than Dickory.  Dickory is darker, and his cock-a-doodle-doo works better.

 

 

 

No. Never. Ever.  In my wildest thoughts did I think I should take Papaya onto an airplane – just sayin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, this shredded chicken is not one of ours.

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, yes, I do still have Christmas wreaths on my (dirty) window.

A scared young hunting dog showed up on our property recently.  This sort of thing happens all the time.  Normally I nicely but firmly chase them away, out of fear that they will kill or harm our animals.

This one was different.

Sometimes you can just read them; see it in their eyes.  They mean no harm.

I dashed off to get her some food and water while Mr. Cottage called the number on her tags.

She was reunited with her owner.

  I often have mixed feelings about these reunions, when I see the condition these dogs are in.  I just want to save them from their hard life and not send them back to their owner.

 This one was in much better shape than most.  Mr. Cottage assured me her owner was kind and gentle with her when he picked her up.  He told Mr. Cottage that she was gun shy and no good as a hunting dog; that day had been her last chance to prove herself.  He said he had offers from folks willing to take her as a pet and that he figured he would go that route.

Thank goodness I wasn’t privy to this conversation or I would be introducing you all to my newest baby.

 I’m such a sucker.

The weekend was fairly mild, by Sunday much needed rain arrived.  Monday was wet and dreary.  Monday night the temperatures started dropping and a sheet of ice coated the porch steps Tuesday morning.  I know this because I almost went flying.

I’ve sat by the dirty windows drinking tea and lazing in the sunlight streaming in and taking photos of the lovely little birdies.  Too lazy to clean those windows.

I made chicken tortilla soup this week.  It was rather tasty.

No spectacular blue blood moon shots for me.  Our location did not provide for viewing.  We did have spectacular pink sunrise sky in the morning and that evening, but I didn’t even go out with the camera.  The sunrise photos I took from inside the house, again through that dirty window.

This whole blue, blood moon thing has me all out of sorts.  I’ve felt this melancholy coming on and it seems to be lingering.  Have you noticed it too?

To honor Imbolc and St. Brigid an offering of milk and burning candles for Candlemas.

  Carrying a saucer of milk out to the North 40 in bitter cold temperatures and howling winds with at least 70 chickens hot on my feet and one dog ready to drink it, no easy feat.  So please Brigid, bless my wildflower garden with fertility.  Thank you.

 

Just like that, it is February.

Aquarius Season.

A season to celebrate what makes you unique.  Wave your own freak flag, follow your own path.  Listen to your truth and your heart.

Just some thoughts in my head.

Aquarius January 20-February 18th

Birth Stone: Amethyst

Birth Flowers: Violet and Primrose

It is my birth month.

The village market sells old-fashioned African Violets and Primroses too.  Perhaps I’ll treat myself, to a few.

Until next time.