The End of an Indian Summer

 

Even the frogs have emerged from their winter hibernation holes. Probably thinking spring came early this year. From the back porch I can hear them at night at the upper pond, croaking in saxophony-like voices to possible mates near the creek and lower pond from which a more alto-level choir responds in return. 

Off to work in late October.  

 

Although we had one day in November and only one in December so far where the mean daily temperature cruised below freezing point, it has been a magnificent prolonged fall, week after week of Indian summer weather.

You won’t hear any complaints from me. The longer the fall, the shorter the winter, the better.

This is why I built the back porch...to sit and watch the incredible Kentucky sunsets.

An Indian summer is technically a short period of above average dry conditions in mid-fall, late November or early December. Usually lasting a week and there can be several Indian summers in a single fall. The last of our current Indian summers, which occurred over the Christmas week, was rather wet but temperatures were in the high 60 degree Fahrenheit and very pleasant outside. Most years we had some snow and definitely moderate periods of cold spells by Christmas. There has not even been a hint of snow this fall.  

 

The drawn out warm weather’s only negative was the dreary display of fall colors. With no gradual decrease in temperatures and associated loss of chlorophyll from the leaves, there was no mass display of fall colors at any particular time. It was mostly just isolated patches of color from trees that hung on to their leaves for as long as they could, contrasted by the many grey, leafless White Ashes that quickly lost their summer coat in one sudden cold and windy spell in late-October.    

 

Alas, the frogs will have to learn to move back to their muddy holes and do it very quickly because by New Year’s Day the bottom will fall out and winter will arrive with its icy nights, frozen windscreens in the mornings, and bone-chilling winds during the day.

 

During late spring we got some sheep and they settled down quite quickly and enjoyed the ample pasture available to them. But they quickly mowed the grass down to very short stubs.

Just before Christmas I created a temporary fence for the sheep to roam and eat on a green patch of grass near the barns.

The day after Christmas while we were inside the house the sheep broke through the temporary fence and this was the sight that greeted us when we walk out on the back porch. It seems for sheep the grass is always greener on the other side.  

Barely 20 minutes after I put the sheep back in their paddock and fed the chickens, dark clouds settled overhead and at dusk it felt like winter had suddenly arrived.

As far as I can remember this was only the second Indian summer that I have experienced since coming to America. But 2015's was by far the longest.

No complaints from me!

I just hope winter is not going to take revenge for this...

Happy New Year!!! 2016...

 

A Brutal January

Good Morning New Year

There is an old folklore about predicting long term weather. Some believe the first 12 days of January foretell the weather for each month of the year, while others say use the 12 days of Christmas, that is December 25 through January 5. Well, both interpretations missed the spot by a mile this past festive season. Christmas was actually a rather nice winter’s day. Cold, but sunny. And New Year’s Day was similar. But January, which supposedly is represented by either one of those days, depending on your interpretation of the old saying, was and still is anything but nice winter weather. Most of January was brutal. Especially the 5^th, 6^th and 7^th. Thus, are we not going to have any form of summer this year?

[Uhmmm…]

It is 11:06 pm on a Monday night.

It could be any given Monday night in early January. It’s winter. Outside a layer of ice covered by a blanket of 3 inches of snow lay silently in the black night. The 15 mile per hour North wind has been blowing steadily the whole day. But the snow is not your usual soft, fluffy stuff that kids like to pick up and make snowballs from. No one is making snowballs with this snow.  The ice from below, the 15 mile wind and the teeth-shattering cold air have turned the snow into snap crackle and pop when walked on.

Animal watching through the window. Not much else to do.

It is -4 Fahrenheit /-20 Celcius outside according to the Skyscan weather station in my kitchen. And it can only go down from here. It tells me I could also be seeing a quarter moon, but not tonight. A thick wall of low clouds have waltzed in on the rhythm of the howling wind and settled over the gentle rolling hills of the bluegrass. More snow is imminent. Now add the wind-chill factor and suddenly it feels like -22 F / -30 C and the bone-crunching cold turns old bones into acute arthritis pain in joints you didn’t even know you had.

Deer came looking for food

Tonight is going to be Killer. Humans with inadequate heating, exposed animals on farms around here, sickly trees, and tender plants not hardy enough for this “polar vortex”, the latest buzz word in meteorology, that is flexing its muscles way out of its normal orbit. The polar Jetstream has shifted, again, (it happens nearly every winter, in some form or fashion) and brought the North Pole, on a nice day, down south to us. 

[Thanks, but no thanks.]

I was hoping to have the porch done before the end of January, but no such luck

I wrote about it several years ago. But this year the phenomenon is slightly different it seems. It’s pissed off! Most certainly the worst in my 17 years here. If you just have to go from car to house or office to car and being only briefly exposed to it is fine, however, having to go outside and work with water and feed to ensure the chickens survive in the coop it feels more like being on a different planet. Crunching snow under foot, icy winds creeping through every fissure of my coat’s down material and the intense cold and dry air on the exposed parts of my face brings tears to my eyes and freezes ones nose hair after barely a minute or so.

[This is probably how it feels at the North Pole.]
 

 Encapsulated

We have had it all this winter. Well, nearly all. Ice, rain, very strong damaging windstorms, far more snow than usual, and the coldest temperatures in more than 30 years.  The only weather phenomenon still missing is a white-out, a blizzard.

I’ll be glad to see  January’s backside. What will February bring...? It is usually our coldest month in winter so is the worst still coming?

 The pond on January 4, 2014

By January 26 is was totally frozen over and snowed in

[PS: We enjoyed glorious sunshine and a temperature into the high 50’s on the first day of February, just like the 1^st day of January, alas, first, the rain, then the cold, again rain, which turned into ice, and then eventually into snow, returned on the 2^nd day of February.]

 Make it while you have it

It is winter and I am not waiting with abated breath for better days to come. It will come by itself. When nature is ready for spring it will show itself. It has always done so in the past…

I suppose you could say my glass is half full.

 New Year's day evening. A last look at green grass.   

The Thrill In The Ville

 

Every city in the USA is looking for a financial boost to dispel the current depressed economic conditions. Danville, Kentucky is no different and many city councilors and business owners are hoping that the Thrill in the Ville II, the Vice Presidential debate between Democrat Joe Biden and Republican Paul Ryan this coming Thursday at Danville’s Centre College will do that for the town.

 

That a town of only 16,000 people even got the debate is a miracle, especially after Centre College also hosted the Vice Presidential debate in 2000 between Dick Cheney and Joe Lieberman. It’s rare that a city gets a second allocation seeing that many cities apply for the privilege to host a debate. But then, since the previous debate Centre College has raised $170 million to add on new classrooms and residence halls, renovate many of its 100 year old buildings, and added new athletic fields.

How many visitors will eventually rock up for the thriller is unknown, but TV crews seems to be everywhere (it has been reported that about 3,000 media people will be here for the event), Main Street has been beautified and is busier than normal, the college has been cordoned off by 8 feet high temporary fences, several streets have been closed off and the Norton Center for the Arts where the debate will take place, is a restricted zone patrolled by local and state police like Fort Knox. Their biggest fear: Car bombs and snipers. What has our election campaign in the US become? Luckily this kind of security is only erected for the VP and Presidential candidates.

 

 Centre College. Abe Lincoln reading a book in front of the college library.

A little bit of history

Centre College was founded by Presbyterian Church leaders and officially chartered by the Kentucky Legislature on January 21, 1819. The name reflects the College’s location in the geographic center of Kentucky. But the idea of a higher learning facility in Kentucky was already started in 1780 when the Virginia Assembly set aside 8,000 acres of land for this "seminary of learning." At that stage Kentucky was still part of the state of Virginia. Kentucky became a state in its own right in 1792. In 1783 a board of trustees met at Tom Crow's Station (the building is still standing today as a private home in Danville) to organize the school and instruction began at the Transylvania Seminary near Danville in 1785. The seminary was later moved to Lexington and is today known as Transylvania University. So a new Centre College was started in 1820.

Centre College, Danville, KY

Centre college has long been recognized as one of the best liberal arts colleges in America and among its alumni are 2 U.S. vice presidents (John Cabell Breckinridge-Class of 1838 and Adlai Ewing Stevenson-Class of 1859), a chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court (Frederick M. Vinson-Class of 1909 and Class of 1911-Law), a U.S. Chief Justice (John Marshall Harlan-Class of 1850), and at least 13 U.S. senators, 43 U.S. representatives, 11 state governors, and several moderators of the General Assemblies of the Presbyterian Church.

Danville, Kentucky

Lying just southwest of Lexington, KY, in pure Bluegrass Country, and on the eastern side of the historic triangle of Danville, Perryville and Harrodsburg, Danville has in the past been voted one of the best small towns in America by Time Magazine, while Progressive Farmer magazine has voted Boyle County as the 3rd best place to live in rural America, and in 2011 CNN/Money named it the 4th best place to retire in America.

 

Not bad for a small town where the cost of living is still low, but the quality of life is high.

What's In A Name?

Eventually we have settled in on the farm or as settled as one can be after two weeks. There are still boxes to be unpacked and many other tasks outstanding before the house is truly a home again.

I remember many years ago when we use to go to Jongensfontein near Stilbaai in South Africa for vacations at the beach and how we used to walk the streets of that tiny coastal village. (It used to be tiny then, but I am sure it is much more crowded now.) We found a lot of fun in reading the names of the houses.  Some were funny while others were the obvious: Sea-esta, 2 fat ducks (whatever that implies), Eventually, “platsak” (out of money) and then there were the mundane: Huisie by die see (House at the sea), See-view, Ons huisie (our house), The Retreat, etc.

Similarly, a farm must have a name. All farms have an address, which make it identifiable for mail and other legal matters, but a farm isn’t a farm without a name. This naming tradition is worldwide and we also thought long and hard to come up with something for our little patch of land. Some of the neighboring farms around us are named One Duck Farm (what’s up with all the ducks?), The Frolicking Goat (with not a goat in sight, but a lot of geese and ducks (ducks again), or simply The Farm (so impersonal and anonymous.) Usually you consider the surrounding environment (hilly, forest, woods, etc.) or a special feature of the location or the farm (a pond, a tree, a road, mountain, etc.) or you give it a name that has special meaning or might be funny to the owners. No limits apply.

We played around with Pondview and Forest Glen (too many of them already and there is a Pond Side Farm just around the proverbial corner), and Woodhill and Woodcroft (our house is on a hill with woods around it), and a few others. An Afrikaans name (I thought of Platfontein, the name of my grandfather’s old farm in the Calvinia district of South Africa, but this is such a totally different landscape it would have spoilt my childhood memories of the Great Karoo) or an African name just did not sound right and we felt it would not fit in. The Americans would probably have had a problem pronouncing it in any case. This is not about remembering South Africa or our past; this is about our next phase in America and our future.

So where does the name Lily Rose Ranch come from?

Picture: From the Internet and not what I actually saw and described in this post.

To begin with, the land is a piece from Mother Earth, and it will eventually bring forth the food for the animals to eat and produce vegetables and fruits for us to eat and only women can “bring forth” and “produce” something from within. Not so? Therefore, it had to be a female name or a name that can be associated with a woman and Lily and Rose are both ladies names.

Next, on the very first visit to the farm there were the most beautiful bright noon-time-sunny-yellow daylilies blooming around the base of several of the White Ash trees in the back yard. A bright yellow I have never seen in daylilies before. Daylilies and in particular Asian lilies are my favorite flower.

Picture: From the Internet and not what I actually saw and described in this post.

In the same vein, near all the woody and overgrown areas on the farm there are wild rose, in our region also called pasture roses and out West they are called woods roses. Off course they are probably not really “wild” roses, just tough roses that can survive without human attention. Real truly wild roses are rare. But I am digressing. There are lots of these clusters of roses next to the dirt roads on the farm and in the woods. They are everywhere. Sometimes I think they are more a pest than anything else if I consider how many scrapes and how much pain they have caused me so far while I tried to clear some overgrown pasture land. Also, roses are M’s favorite flower. As a matter of fact, in every yard that we have ever owned I created a rose garden for M.)

Another important point was that the name had to be unique for business purposes, so no dot com had to exist already and so far I have not found any company or product with the name Lily Rose Ranch. (I have already claimed the dot com.)

Last but not least, Lily Rose Ranch rolls easily off the tongue and based on my explanation above there is a little story behind the name. And it’s always nice to tell stories. Once I have the farm entrance completed, hopefully sometime next year, there will also be an easy association between the farm and its name.

Now I am sure some folks in Texas and out West will scoff at me calling a 38-acre farm a ranch because the word ranch is usually associated with a large tract of land and the practice of raising grazing livestock for meat or wool while the word farm is usually used for smaller land areas that produce livestock and/or fruit, vegetables, wine, milk, cheese, horses and many other things that farms produce. But what the hell, those folks out West do not own the English language. Scoff and get over it! The ranch stays and Lily Rose Ranch it will be.

‘n Somberheid van Tevredenheid

Die Saterdag toe die verkoper se agent terug gekom het na ons toe om te sê ons aanbod op ‘n 38 akker / 15 hektaar plasie net buite Danville, KY, is aanvaar, was daar snaaks genoeg geen hallelujah, redneck hee-haa of jubelende oomblik nie. Geen geronddansery of sjampanje oomblik nie. Ja, ek was natuurlik blyeen oorweldig, maar dit was meer asof daar ‘n salige tevredenheid oor my neergedaal het. Meer ‘n tevredenheid oor die voltooing van ‘n sirkel. ‘n Tevredenheid oor hoe ver ons gekom het sedert ons migrasie na die VSA. ‘n Saligheid oor die voortsetting van ‘n familie tradisie om te boer, om op die land te werk en vry te voel.

Dit was amper ‘n sombere Saterdag. Die aand, terwyl ek ‘n eenvoudige maar tipiese geurige Suid-Afrikaanse hoenderpotjie sonder enige tierlantyntjies of vreemde smake gemaak het, het ek baie gedink aan my oorlede pa. Nie so seer of hy baie trots of bly sou gewees het oor my aankopie nie, ek hoop hy sou as hy nog gelewe het, maar meer om dankie te sê vir wat hy oorgedra en my laat ervaar het. Dit het uiteindelik gelei tot my eie drome om ‘n stukkie landelike aarde van my eie te besit.

Ek het my die aand darem self bederf en een van my hoog aangeskewe witwyne (Wine Spectator gee dit 92 punte) wat ek spesiaal gehou het vir ‘n geleentheid soos dit, ‘n Far Niente Chardonnay 2009, oop gemaak en al by myself ge-savor. Maar selfs die komplekse aromas van soet ryp pere en spanspek, die subtiele helderheid en varsheid van die goue voggies in die glas of die lang nasmaak van vye, vanielje en eikehout kon nie my somberheid lig nie. Nie dat ek dit wou gelig gehad het nie, soos ek gesê het, dit was ‘n somberheid van tevredenheid.

Dit sou lekker gewees het as ek kon dankie gesê het vir my pa vir die plant van die saadjie om my eie plasie te besit, doerie tyd, gedurende skool vakansies, toe ek saam met hom deur die Swartland getrek het, in ‘n woonwa gebly het in die veld, terwyl hy van plaas na plaas gegaan het en om vir water te boor. Nie net is die liefde vir die oop veld en boerdery gesaai nie, maar ek het ook geleer, op die tender ouderdom van agt of nege, hoe om aandete in een pot te maak, (kosmaak: iets wat ek nog steeds lief voor is) laag op laag, die vleis op die uie, dan die groente, gegeur met wilde kruie, en laastens die rys. Of net om dankie te kon gesê het vir pikdonkeraande in die veld, soms verlig met die maan, maar meestal slegs deur die sterre, ver van stadsliggloede, maar slegs die gloed van die wapperende tonge van die kampvuur. Daar het ek geleer dat die lewe se egte plesier lê in die eenvoud van selfgeluk in die huidige oomblik. Nie in môre nie, nie in volgende week nie, maar tevredenheid met vandag.

M en ek. Cheers! Op die toekoms. Op Lily Rose Ranch en ons nuwe lewe.

Dis nie aldag dat ‘n mens ‘n plaas koop nie. Tewens, die meeste mense wat ek hier in Amerika ken dink seker ons is gek om op ons ouderdom by die “boerevereniging” aan te sluit. Maar dis gaan nie oor ouderdom nie. Dit gaan oor ‘n positiewe denkwyse. Hel, ek is nog nie dood nie! Ek glo ook daar is nog ‘n goeie twee dekades van werk oor in die lyf van my. Verder gaan dit oor ‘n anderse leefwyse. ‘n Leefwyse van, so veel as moontlik, produksie van jou eie kos, weet waar dit vandaan kom en die genot van plaasvars produkte; vleis, groente en vrugte (vrugte is eerlike waar van swak gehalte in die VSA.) In plaas van die gewone rat van net werk toe gaan en terug te kom, rondvroetel in ‘n gevestigde tuin, eet, ‘n glasie wyn te geniet en TV kyk, gaan dit ‘n hemelse verandering wees om weer uit te sien na iets nuut. En alhoewel ek nie die wêreld van beton, teer, stadslawaai en werksgejaagtheid gaan agterlaat nie is die moontlikhede van naweekboerdery en om iets anders te probeer en om anders te lewe legio. Om weer te droom oor die uitleg van ’n nuwe groetetuin, ‘n land te vorm na jou eie wense, die aanskaf en grootmaak van ‘n paar skape, bokke, beeste, hoenders (wat ook al), die oes van groete, die uithaal van eiers, selfs miskien die hand aanslaan om ons eie sponsbotter te karring en te geur met knoffel en kruie of om ons eie bokkaas gepoeier met paprika en ‘n snuf van rooi peper te maak.

Ook vir M is daar ‘n groot uitsien en opgewondenheid na die maak mooi van ‘n nuwe huis, van nuwe style wat inskakel by die plaashuis wat geleë is soos ‘n “cabin in the woods” en van die uitleef van haar eie drome en ‘n nuwe lewenwyse. Sy sien uit na die andersheid van plaaslewe, na die afgooi van die juk van elke-dag-dieselfde-patroon, na om daagliks weer iets nuuts aan te leer of te probeer.

Ons nuwe "cabin in the woods"

Nieteenstaande die opgewondenheid, sien ons nie uit na die Groot Pak en Groot Trek nie. Wie doen ooit? Maar ons albei glo “the good always follows the bad”, die son en die karooblomme verskyn altyd na die reëns.

Vandag, 5:30 namiddag Oostelike Tyd, ‘n maand na die aanbod en teenaanbod toutrekkery het ons uiteindelik besit geneem van die plaas. Die ou Afrikaanse speekwoord van plaas koop is nie perde koop nie is nogal waar. ‘n Maand van harde werk om ons huis gereed te kry vir verkoop en te struwel met die bank (‘n mens moet deesdae, na die 2008 ineenstorting van krediet en die banke, omtrent jou hele finansiele siel bloot lê; om dit in skoon Afrikaans te sê: Banke is deesdae vol kak.)

Eerste aandete op Lily Rose Ranch: Sout en asyn chips en 'n Hempies Du Toit classic. Dis amper 'n sonde om so 'n goeie wyn sommer net so te versnap, maar die geleentheid was reg.

Tyd vir blog skryf sal seker kom en gaan, soms meer gaan as kom, maar dis darem nog nie totsiens aan In the Shadow of the Baobab nie, wat altyd die eerste pioniersfase van ons koms na Amerika sal verteenwoordig, maar dis ook ‘n hartlike hallo en welkom aan die Lily Rose Ranch wat hier tussen die rollende heuwels van die Kentucky graslande gelee is en nou die volgende fase van ons lewens verteenwoordig.

Die uitsig vanaf die agterstoep met 'n perserige sonsondergang voor ons.

Ons eerste besoekers, alhoewel ek dink hulle is gereelde besoekers as ek sien hoe gemaklik hulle is op die plaas ronddwaal.

Independence Day 2011

 The 4th of July is always a starry starry, bang bang night in America.

"Blond Bombshell" 

"Double the Delight"

"Cascading"

"Big Bang Theory"

"Exploding Flower"

"Red, White and Blue"

Bales of Hay

For months now I wanted to take a few photos of bales of hay lying in a field on the edge of town. So yesterday, snuggled between two snowy days, we had a sunny, but bitterly cold day, and with frozen fingers, but a warm spirit, I was out in the country at sunset snapping away.

Sticks and balls

 

Like dead soldiers in a battlefield

 

Last rays

A Little Bit Of Africa In The Bluegrass

At last the sun is shining again and the snow has melted. For now at least. The land is grey and the breeze is cool, but 57 degrees Fahrenheit is not to be ignored. One could be fooled spring is coming.


Went to some South African friends on their farm close by to get out of the house, shake off the claustrophobia of the four walls, get some fresh air and feel the expanse of space again.

Header photo: An Ankole Watusi cow from East Africa with its long horns. Often called the cattle of kings. In Uganda the Bahima tribe, traditional herdsmen just like Kenya's Maasai tribe, still owns large herds of these longhorn cattle. 
 

A Texas Longhorn

 

Roughing it.

 

Good Buddies.

 

The grey trees and cold creek still very much scream WINTER.

 

The sun setting behind the barn