House-Sitting

Our house took shifts house siting at a local friends. This family had more of a farm house, equipped with 2 dogs and 3 cats (indoor) as well as lots of turkeys, broilers, and chickens (outdoor).
Our house sitting responsibilities included collecting eggs at night and doing the morning feeding. Morning feeding means you're up before the sun.
My turkey experiences thus far have been "educational." My new experiences, they can also be viewed as "learning experiences."
It was Mary Jo and my turn to stay the night. We awoke at 6:13am to the sound of an annoying siren, or what Mary Jo thought was me talking in my sleep :) Turns out, Avi the cat sat in our door way meowing. We quickly ignored him and went back to sleep, waking again ten minutes later to the same noise. After about thirty minutes of this we awoke to not a cat meowing, but the GIANT cat Maco. This wasn't a meowing wake up, but a pounce in the bed. The room was quickly filled with two rambunctious dogs, eager to play in the snow. Giving up on sleep, Mary Jo and I stumbled out of bed.
Mary Jo went ahead and starting feeding the turkeys while I fetched hot water to unfreeze the water trouts. While heading into the turkey pen I noticed the neighbors cows coming to observe our work. They all stood in one line, sniffing, eyeing, and drooling over the chickens corn and grain.
The morning silence was quickly broken with a shout from Mary Jo. "The turkey!" Glancing to turkey pen I saw the gate... cracked open. Running in full sprint was a 20 pound turkey, on a mission for freedom. Dropping the water bucket, I charged. Sliding up to the door I knocking it shut. I was made an enemy that day.
If I may remind you, this turkey and I already have a history. I was at a prior time, chased by this very turkey. Reason being that I collected its baby for my Thanksgiving dining. The next day it made clear its feelings towards me. I was once again, chased.

Splish Splash

Last week I took my youth group to our first big activity: swimming at the Sand Dunes Natural Hot Pool. Sadly I only had the usual four members show up, I was hoping to gain a few more. However on the bright side they said they had a fun time. Four of them versus only me means they can coax me into things. So while at the pool I was convinced to go over the higher diving board. Not a problem... usually. In this case though... problem. The board was covered with sleek ice and the board had a full spring to it. This meant that my planned swan dive turned into a high air, twisting drive. I know it's hard to envision, but you can trust me... it was as graceful as it used to be at Barb's pool.

My accomplishments

Here a few projects I've finished: (All Recycled)

Japanese Knot Bag ... basically a nifty lunch bag made from a recycled flour sack. A scarf that was made from a recycle sweater ... recycled meaning I had to unwind and ball up the yarn from a thrift sweater. A recycled felt bag. A wool thrift sweater, washed and agitated, then cut and sewn. Lastly, my mom's Christmas gift.

... don't be silly, I'm not going to picture mom's gift!

Slope ' n ' Sled

On Thanksgiving it began to snow, to our hopes the snow continued to fall. Awaking in the morning to a white covered ground, David, Emmy, and Josh (from the Boulder, CO MVS Unit) bundled up and set out to town. Our mission: sleds. To our amazement the only place that carried them was Walmart, and at that, they weren't even displayed yet! (Silly Colorado people)
The Great Sand Dunes were covered with at least 6 inches of white, fluffy and dry snow. The dunes remained barely touched. Only a sparse amount of footprints could be found. Our goal: hike to the top and ride a massive dune.

If you recall from my first Sand Dunes experience the hike up to the top... it's not like the Indiana dunes. We decided to pace ourselves, hiking up one dune alone began to heat the body, allowing layers to be unzipped and opened. We had a gradual incline. Climb up one dune, find a decent sledding spot, ride down, hike up to the next dune.

As we sled down each dune more and more exhilaration built. Each one bigger, steeper, quicker. However the landing and ending of the ride also became more violent, brutal, and ungraceful. The most dreaded part of the hike... when it was your turn to go first. You stand at what you think is the edge of the dune, right before the descent. Looking out, all you see is white on white. How steep is it? Where does it lead you? Will you hit the bottom of another dune and crash? Will you go over another ridge and fall further into a bowl? You could never tell what direction you would go or where you would end up. Sitting on a smooth piece of plastic, you held on and hoped for a straight path.

We eventually made it to the top of our climb: our destination. We stood at the top of the third tallest dune. Look out: all you saw was miles of white. Look down: 1,000ft above ground level. You know its tall, yet all you can judge in sight is the five feet in front of you.
There I sat, legs crossed, I situated myself on round sled. Hat tight, coat zipped, gloves tucked. Heart pounding, brain scrambling. Push off.................
My body sudden took an angle, realization comes to mind.... I'm falling! Picking up speed I dashed down the slope, it was such a steep angle that I could no longer see where I was going. All I saw was the snow I was plowing through. It only took two seconds before my lungs burst and I sqwelled.... the rush... the fear...

Suddenly my sled started to turn. I fought it, leaning to one side, using my hand as a router. No use. I was riding backwards and still picking up speed. A knot formed in my stomach... I was going too fast, with not a thing to do about it. I could no longer scream but just hold my breath. I found myself airborne, ramping over another dune's ridge. Landing on the down face, snow sprayed up, yet I remained backward. I look around to suddenly see the merging of the dune base with another dune - heading uphill.

At this speed there is no hope to gracefully slide uphill, lose speed and land at the bottom. No, you crash. As the dune began to incline my sled dug down below the snow into the frozen sand. Coming to halt the sled skidded, my body was thrown into the dune side. Eyes squeezed shut with no clue to my landing. Flipping around, my neck and head collided into the dune. Rolling over with momentum I felt my hat fall from my head, the cold snow fill down my neck.
There I lay.

Gradually opening my eyes I collect that I've completely stopped. Yet a world of white spun around me. Sitting up, 12 feet of unturned sand and sled skids sat behind me. After shock, it arrived. The rush! As my lungs exhaled, a soft word parted from my lips: "Whoa!"

The day was amazing, yet I paid the price of sledding at such extremes. I lay awake all that night. An egg had formed upon my head, the dizziness and throbbing pain untouched with medicine. Soft as a pillow may be to touch, my head disagreed. For three days my neck remained straight, unable to turn. A few purple bruises protruded through the skin and sore muscles stood as a constant reminder. All in all, I plan to return. It may be with a bigger sled, a first aid kit, or even a helmet. Never-the-less I'll be back.

Gobble... Gobble... Gulp!

DISCLAIMER: MEGAN ISN'T RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY LOSS OF STOMACH FOR THOSE WHO READ THIS BLOG OR VIEW THE PICTURES.

As you know, I have learned a few domestic arts here in La Jara. However, last weeks lessson was a different art of its own. This years Thanksgiving festivities were a little different. O, yes, I prepared deviled eggs and roasted sweet potaotes. I contributed to the cooking of our bounitful meal... however, the unique experience this Thanksgiving came before any of the cooking. It was in the preparing.
Wednesday I awoke with both anxieties and excitements. I left work around 10am, picked up Nate, and together we headed to Mia's house - a local friend I've gotten to know. Here we partook in the "preparing" of our Thanksgiving turkey. I really just went because I wanted to chase the turkey around, to my disappointment I found that 36 pound turkeys can't really run. The only chasing that happened was the mother turkey running after me as we escorted it's "baby" out of the pen.
I told Mia the story of the Amish babysitters and my twisted desire to gut the chicken. As a child I was told that gutting was the boys job, the girls pluck the feathers. I since then have grown away from that desire, however Mia felt that it should be fulfill.
I can now say I know the anatomy of a turkey.

I will spare all the details ... although the whole process (especially dealing with a 36 lb. bird!) is interesting.