Your author and his adoring chickens take a turn around the estate on Thanksgiving morning.

I had a great Thanksgiving, not just because of the huge meal and fun desserts. No my favorite part (sorry to house guests and wife who prepared the big meal) was in the early morning when I went out to check on my chickens.

It was such a beautiful morning, I did not have to run right back inside to escape the cold. Instead I ran back inside and got my Bible. I went outside to my little farmyard and let my chickens out of the coop to forage around the yard before I fed them breakfast proper.

Don’t I paint a romantic picture — young farmer clad in a sweater walking to and fro in his yard reading aloud from Psalms? And all the while his chickens peck at the ground contentedly around his feet. Inside the house, the farmer’s wife bakes bread for the holiday meal later that day.

I only wish the chickens pecked contentedly at my feet because they loved me and wanted to spend time with me. The truth is they only care about me as the provider of chicken food. They stay close hoping I might magically produce the white food bucket and rain chicken food down on their heads. Mindless beasts! (But still sort of fun.)

Oh yeah, the meal was pretty amazing too. Thanks, Nikole.

Recently, I walked out of the house with our parakeet, Mr. Misty Freeze, on my shoulder. Inside the house, the bird had been on my shoulder for much of the day and I had forgotten she was there. When the little kids experienced some kind of chicken feeding emergency in the back yard, I walked right out of the house to help them. I bent over the feeder and felt something hop across my back. I looked at Ruthie and asked, “Is there a bird on my back?” Ruthies eyes grew huge and she looked close to panic as she said, “It’s Misty!” I said, “It’s okay. She can’t fly.”

Lies! What I really meant was, “I hope she does not try to fly, catch some freak of nature gust and sail a hundred feet up in the air and glide half a mile away.”

I straightened up and the bird climbed back onto my shoulder. I walked calmly back into the house all the way distracting the bird by telling her how pretty she was. She never showed any sign of taking flight.

I am very glad we clip her wings.

Artist's rendering of the alleged crime scene.

Yesterday, Helen, Lydia and I planted sunflower seeds in little starter containers because none of the sunflower seeds we planted in the ground ever came up. I left the little containers on our picnic table to germinate and turn into big, healthy sunflower sprouts.

This morning, I found the little containers on their sides, dirt spread around, and sunflower seed shells strewn about. I did not witness the crime, but I knew right away who was responsible. Squirrels are such jerks!

As if that were not bad enough…

Once, last year I had another negative squirrel experience. We often had several monarch chrysalises hanging from a stick in our house. One morning, a butterfly emerged and was hanging from the stick drying his wings. I put the jar holding the stick out on our picnic table so the butterfly could fly away whenever he was ready. But, before, the innocent butterfly could take his first flight, a squirrel came along and ate the butterfly and two chrysalises! There is no question who committed the crime, as my children caught the culprit in the act.

Carniverous rodent of death.

Now this is a family blog, so I cannot discuss the thoughts that went through my mind when, on my returning home from work, I learned of the crime. I will just say I know now why old men work so hard to keep squirrels out of their bird feeders (and some trap squirrels in live traps and deport them to parts unknown). I am becoming such an old man.

Proposed consequence for eating butterflies.

Note: The killing of squirrels is not condoned by this blog or its authors. However fantasizing about killing squirrels is encouraged as a great reliever of stress.

Edward Luke and his father in the act of stealing a leaf pile.

In my effort to be the strangest man in the neighborhood, I have taken to stealing leaf piles. It all stems from my addiction to gardening. (“Stems” from “gardening”– Ha Ha, that’s a funny pun, Ed). Anyway, I have decided to try deep mulch gardening next year. I need 18 to 24 inches of mulch, and my one maple tree cannot produce enough for me.

In our town of Harlingen people rake their leaves into big piles next to the street where they wait for the leaf sucker. The leaf sucker is an organism made up of three men, two rakes and an orange vacuum cleaner truck, the arrival of which causes home school children to leave their seats and run to the window shouting, “The Leaf Sucker is here! The Leaf Sucker is here!”

Now, there is an interval of time after the raking of the piles and before the arrival of the leaf sucker when deep mulch gardeners look at their neighbors’ leaf piles with covetousness.  It is during this interval that I and my offspring sneak out after dark and steal leaf piles. I take a kid or two with me (they don’t know how weird it is yet), and we rake the leaves onto a tarp, which we alternately drag and carry back to my garden. Stealing one leaf pile requires multiple trips. I have gotten caught twice by my normal neighbors. They have not moved out of the neighborhood yet.

Other Random Stuff

Nikole shot this video of Ruthie helping Helen with her piano song. The music is not great, but it is only 1:20 minutes long and you get to see Lydia being an 18-month-old.

Beautiful tomatoes

I planted tomato seeds very early this spring and my plants are finally producing some ripe tomatoes. Just look at the beautiful tomatoes in the photo above. They would be even more beautiful if they had been harvested from my garden. But the healthy fruit you see above came from my neighbor’s garden. (She gave them to me, I did not steal them, though the thought has crossed my mind in the days since.)

No, the photo below shows the kind of evil, mutant tomatoes produced by my garden. I lovingly raised my tomato plants from seeds. I carefully prune them, water them, protect them and they reward me with fruit so scary, young children cannot bear to look at them. Where is the justice?

Scary tomatoes

My Latest Vice

Late night tomato snack

Why can’t I just be good? At night, just before bed, when I should be giving my stomach a rest, I sneak into the kitchen and slice up a couple tomatoes (after cutting off the crevice marred tops). I eat them on soda crackers while my beautiful wife says things like “Shouldn’t you go to bed soon?” Sometimes I have to go back and slice up a couple more. I used to eat them on Vinta crackers, but my beautiful wife stopped buying Vintas in an obvious attempt to curb my latest vice. Unfortunately, I am a man prone to addictions. I will keep sneaking my tomato snacks until the season of fresh fruit ends. Then, my stomach will search out a new vice.

First a confession

Sometimes I drive the speed limit. I drive 55 in a 55 zone. I drive 65 in a 65 zone. It used to drive my wife crazy, but she is starting to get used to it. You should try driving 55 in a 55 zone. Other drivers really like it. Okay, fine, I speed up to 59 when people are behind me, or I pull off and let them pass.

Sometimes less

I have been known to drive five miles per hour under the speed limit.

Sometimes I drive under the speed limit. I often drive 60mph in a 65 zone — to save gas. I’m trying to save the planet here. I don’t, however, drive under 55, and I only drive under the speed limit when Nikole is not paying attention and when I’m on a four-lane road so people can pass me.

Today I drove the whole seven hours at the maximum speed. I knew I needed to get my wife to the cabin as quickly as possible (and I was not real excited about spending more than seven hours in the car with a one-year-old.)

I love my wife’s inconsistencies

My healthy wife turns into the snack queen when she goes on vacation. Before we left, she went crazy at the grocery store buying anything that was high in fat, salt or sugar. All the way up to the cabin she was saying to the kids, “Sure, have some Cheese-its. Sure have some licorice. Ritz crackers anyone? Helen, put some Mountain Dew in Lydia’s sippy cup!” She made sure there was always an open bag of cheesey chips by my seat and a big cup (an earth-friendly re-usable cup) of sugary, creamy coffee in my cup holder. I married the perfect woman for me.