Earth Outdoor Living Diaries

If you are reading this entry as a Bethel resident, then you already know the location I'm talking about.  To the uninitiated, the title of this entry references to Blue Jay Orchards.

As with all things pertaining to small towns and agriculture, especially in combination, Blue Jay has seen its ups and downs in recent years.  Storms and weather affect the crop and typically it's a spring weather event that impacts the fall harvest period.  But the orchard remains a vibrant, gorgeous destination known for apple-picking, pumpkin selection via hayrides, apple-cider donuts and fabulous pies. Our schools take annual field trips to Blue Jay Orchards that parents fight over to chaperone – a role I coveted one year.  And that's just its local reputation!

My diary for the month will try to talk about the history of Bethel, but before that subject can truly be broached, it's important to recognize that without its people, a town's history would be irrelevant.  History is a curiosity.  History's charm is often embraced but not always necessarily maintained.  An exception, Bethel is a beautiful town with a quaint history, which wouldn't remain without the pride and respect of its residents and businesses.

In 2010 Bethel experienced a frightening "blip" on its screen of history, sadly representative of a nation-wide trend.  Our local pharmacy closed.

I was not born nor raised in my quaint hometown of Bethel, Connecticut.  I have simply lived here for the last ten years.  In certain circles, that would classify me as a newcomer.  I have no family here – not even within the state lines.  I came to Bethel by way of a college friend who grew up here.

Bethel is in northwestern Connecticut in upper Fairfield County.  I was raised in lower Fairfield County along the shore, and shamefully admit that if, in my younger years, I had been asked about Bethel or its neighboring city Danbury, my response may have been a blank stare. Then, throughout the late 1980's and early 1990's I attended Western Connecticut State University in Danbury, and Bethel was one of the towns I drove through on my way to school.

I seem to have jinxed the weather here by saying how great it is in September. It's been the fourth wettest September ever! A rather promising baby rooster drowned out there. I feel all sad and guilty, of course. A major coop overhaul is in the works – if it ever quits raining, that is! The little wood frogs seem happy at least, peeping and hopping all over the place. Overall, it has been a very wet year – what was left of the garden all rotted out - and now there are rumblings about abundant snow if this pattern keeps up. Fierce little Dora the Explorer caught her first mouse today, the first of all the kittens. I thought she'd make the best mouser all along. I wasn't sure I could keep 6 cats with a pit bull, but since they got through a rainy day together, I am more optimistic. In my experience, animals are much better than people at working out their differences. I have very much enjoyed sharing these little anecdotes from my life with all of you, and will likely continue on my own blog somewhere. See you in cyberspace!

Bill the contra dance caller owns a big converted barn/house in Bethany. Every month he has this huge party where everyone brings food, plays music and dances. It's mainly bluegrass music, with some Irish and folk mixed in, mostly on strings, or perhaps a pennywhistle. Someone might play some old standards on the piano, and maybe even some Beatles if I'm lucky. Over a hundred people of all ages attend, with the contra dance being the main attraction for the many college students. The house is full of an ever-changing assortment of random objects, rather like an odd museum. "Oh, that's over here now. Gee, I don't remember ever seeing that before." I'm never quite sure what will happen next, but it's always a great place to meet interesting people, run into old friends, try different foods (this is where I discovered quinoa), learn to contra dance, and jam with many types of musicians from beginner to professional. Thanks Bill!

I love to take an old piece of furniture and try to rehabilitate it. Making something that's been neglected beautiful and useful again just feels good. Usually it's in bad enough shape that I can only improve on it. I have no real workshop, so there is nearly always a piece suffering further deterioration on the back porch as it awaits my attentions. First I sand the heck out of it, getting off as much flaky paint, marred finish and grime as I can. Then I do any needed repairs and/or modifications. Finally a coat of paint, stain, or polyurethane before I try to shoehorn it into the house somewhere. I really need a storefront. And a workshop! I just finished this neat old radio cabinet, which was in the neighbor's tool shed across the street. I took the badly warped back right off and sanded off all the gack. Mice had eaten the faded and moldy fabric in the doors so badly that I couldn't tell what it had originally looked like. I tore it all off and tried replacing it with plain burlap, but didn't like how it looked. This coral color seems just right. Still need to pick up a couple new handles for it. I got the 'companion piece' next to it from a basement when someone was moving. It was in such beautiful condition that I didn't have to do anything to it. I don't mind rescuing those either! Now, what to do with this old table...

For me, the best thing about walking on the beach is that there is so much to look at. Not just the great expanse of sky and water, but all the different birds, as well as all the seashells, seaweed, sea glass, driftwood, pebbles, and the occasional crab. The action of wind and tide keeps the scenery always transient, ever changing, lovely and ephemeral. The sand on my particular stretch of beach is the usual light tan color, with some purple and black scattered in places. The purple sand consists of finely ground garnets, and the black is iron. Under certain conditions, the water will pull the colored sand through the tan sand into lovely abstract patterns. Which people then walk all over, like a natural oriental rug. I can't resist taking little bits of beach home with me. My favorites are the tiny pieces of broken dishes, worn smooth by waves but still bearing their original pattern. How do they even get there? Are they from the Titanic or something? My best beachcombing experience was near twilight, just after a storm. I found a little injured lobster that died in my hands, washed up on the rocks next to a small silver fork. Fast food from the sea!

 Yesterday I made my annual pilgrimage to the Guilford Fair. It's special because not only do they have the usual things you go to a fair for – the rides, the food, the animals, the contests, the vendors, the entertainment – they even throw in a parade and a one ring circus. The circus always has the Flying Wallendas trapeze and tightwire act, and a few other things which vary from year to year. This time there was a trick dog show and Cossacks on horseback, which were great. I never get tired of wandering around looking at everything. Every year is new and different while somehow being just the same.

It's hard to take a hike in New England without running into a stone wall or two along the way - simple, primitive, long mortarless rock piles. Most land here was once clear cut for pasture land, the wood used for houses and heat. Soil here is very rocky, so early settlers had to clear the land by hand or oxen, piling the stones along property lines. Long after the farms with their rolling pasture land were abandoned to reforestation, hundreds of years later, the walls are miraculously  still standing, in mute testimony to the determination and fortitude of those early colonists. I am humbled by these examples of their effort and skill, and think how soft they would consider our lives today.

Ever since my new kitten had kittens and instantly turned me into a crazy old cat lady- thanks, Mia- I have been keeping the creatures on a large second story screened porch. Here they clatter about and chase each other at all hours and generally trash the place. The problem is, at some point the weather will turn cold and I will want to take pity on them and let them inside. And they are Not Ready. I know this because I have already been letting them inside, and even outside, for brief forays. Like Pandora opening the box, I unleash the little demons upon the world. And they have an agenda, which they share among themselves. A couple will go behind the stereo cabinet to jiggle the wires loose. A quick scrounge through the kitchen for edibles usually ends up with the dog dish. One clears the table. Something must be pushed onto the floor – extra points if the item is full of fluid and/or breakable. They will attempt to trip anyone coming through, especially as they tear up and down the stairs. A few of them gang up on the dog and stare her into a nervous fit. Someone will manage to get trapped somewhere so they can meow pitifully. The climax is always a chase scene involving a flying leap across the couch onto the phone table, sending everything flying. This is followed by banishment to the aforementioned porch. I can only hope cold weather holds off long enough for them to mature a bit. Hey, even Pandora had hope.

My son is buying a car, and since he has never been through this trying process before, I have been going along for the ride, so to speak. Those of you who have been through this before are familiar with the salivating salespersons, the sticker shock, the number crunching, and the agonizing decisions that go with getting a new ride. Somehow it all comes together and there you are driving down the road with new wheels, an empty wallet, and a sense of relief and accomplishment. We took time off between dealerships to discover Rose orchard just over the Branford line, which just might be the best we've ever found. It's on the small side, which is good since you don't need to carry your fruit as far. But there's still many apple varieties here, even peaches and pears. There's lots of farm animals, a water wheel, and a corn maze for the kiddies. The trees are just loaded, especially the enormous red delicious. And since the main store is within walking distance, they even take plastic! Ice cream is a major bonus since apple picking is thirsty work on a warm day. Armed with slushies and a trunkful of tree harvest, we sally forth to face another round of car shopping. If only buying a car was more like buying apples!

Today was Family Day in Deep River, a day of glorious weather, music, sales, specials, and lots of ice cream. The highlight of the festivities is the annual Pet Parade of costumed critters- mainly dogs, but also cats, rabbits, or whatever. People really get into it and come up with some very clever outfits. Kids dress up to match their dogs, chihuahuas get put into space shuttles, Darth Vader chases Princess Leia down the street (I sense a theme here), cheerleader Labs get checked out by doctor shepherds, and pit bull security sniffs down pirate pugs. It's all great fun for participants and onlookers alike.

I went up to the Wesleyan contra dance yesterday. Contra dancing is like square dancing, only it's done in lines and without special clothing. The music is mainly Irish jigs and reels, mostly played by fiddles and guitars. You can wear whatever you want, but shoes need to be comfortable with a smooth sole for proper spinning. The dances are usually pretty simple, and people are friendly and accepting of errors, so it's easy to learn. Wesleyan University has an excellent community outreach program and sponsors many arts and music events like this one. Admission is free will donation of money or snack food. This gives students the opportunity to learn from experienced older dancers in the surrounding area. Bands are usually good ones from up north, and the spacious hall has a nice hardwood floor that's always in good condition. I live within 30 or 40 miles of 3 different dances so I could go every Saturday if I wanted, but this one is my favorite local dance. Good exercise and great fun!

I picked up this cute little 5 month old kitten last spring, because at the time we had no cat and a lot of mice. After she dispatched all the mice, she presented me with 5 kittens. I had not realized she was part of a package deal. People expect you to be upset about it – well, they are a lot of work to clean up after and they eat a whole lot- but they are all such marvelous little cats, in their own very different ways. There are 2 friendly little tiger toms, a jet black demoness, a black and white explorer, and a little sweetheart who looks like her mom. Anyone who has only 1 cat is missing out on the fun of watching them beat each other up. I tell you, it's better than tv. Sort of a 24 hour 3 ring circus. When you have 6, one will always be in the mood to snuggle in your lap, or play ball, or whatever. They will always find their way into mischief. And even though I am too busy cleaning up after them to give them a whole lot of attention, they are all affectionate little furballs who rev up their purring motors the minute I pat their dear little heads. Plus I don't think mice will be a problem anymore!

Great day for a hike, so headed over to Bushy Hill nature trail. Most towns have land trusts in place to preserve nice little spots like this one. Many are simply landlocked or unbuildable properties, but often there are special features such as caves, waterfalls, rock formations or views. This particular one has a stream flowing through a small canyon. It is always cool and green here, even on a hot day, with lots of moss, ferns and pine trees. We have no company today, not even many insects. The stream is down so there's not much mud, and the boardwalks are not needed like they are in spring. I throw the ball for the dog all the way down to the water, where she happily jumps in to cool off. I linger streamside, enjoying the quiet, cool shade as we rest up for the trek back. A perfect hike!

I love my vegetable garden. There's something special about picking food that I've raised from little seeds. Unlike most of the food I eat, I know where it came from, what it's been through. Unfortunately this was my worst garden year ever. The weather was not only quite humid, which is normal, but unusually rainy, which isn't. The grass never even turned brown! Plants actually did all right early on, in fact the radishes were the best in years, the peas were good, and there were the usual couple pounds of beans, some yellow squash, a few cherry tomatoes, carrots. Quite a few things just never grew though- tomatoes, peppers, beets just sat there. There's a 10 foot tall sunflower out there that refuses to bloom, the sunchokes too. Tomatoes didn't flower, just put out lots of leaves. Carrots are actually bolting now. Then everything just rotted. I've never seen anything like it and I've been gardening here for, well, a real long time. Even the flower garden got hit. Ok, it didn't help that work kept me from keeping up with the weeding like I should have. It's pretty depressing. Normally I would be swimming in tomatoes, making pickles, tabouli salad! I love those few weeks in August when we can just live off the garden and I barely have to go to the store. I'm not discouraged though. My herb bucket is happy. There's still one cucumber plant and it's a big one; some tomato plants that may yet do something, two yellow squash, one winter squash, gourds, and the climbing beans are okay. The second sowing of peas and lettuce are up. Dill is doing well, and I usually have trouble growing it. When everything is harvested I will have to see about putting down some sort of fungicide. In the garden there's always next year, another chance, another season to work and hope for the best.

I own a bipolar pit bull named Kamikaze. I'm not kidding. She's like a hyperactive toddler with teeth. She is also mentally challenged, attention-deficit and a bigot. It's not her fault. She wasn't brought up right. By the time my son rescued the scrawny, confused thing at 8 months old, she had obviously been abused and neglected, in training to be a classic junk yard dog or worse. She was terrified of other dogs, suspicious of most people. I did not know what I was getting into! With a lot of food, exercise, love, and time, I've been able to tame her somewhat. For me, it's been like a combination of fitness and assertiveness training. Somehow we've met in the middle, she mellowing out and me toughening up. Exercise is the key. Get rid of all that nervous energy until she is too tired to even think of aggression. I look for deserted places in the woods with empty parking lots- not very common in this area- where she can run and chase a ball. In summer, we swim together. She is on the small side for her breed, thank goodness, only 40 pounds, but very strong. Her short black and white fur dries quickly, sheds dirt, and never smells. She is the Staffordshire type of bull terrier, and is actually kind of cute, with her funny pig-like noises, goofy expressions and distinctive markings. This is the kind of dog Buster Brown had, and the Little Rascals. It's a lot like living with a cartoon. She is always doing something silly, or getting into trouble. Like getting a potato chip bag stuck on her head, shredding things into little pieces, running into trees, or fishing things out of the trash and carrying them around like prizes. She hauls huge pieces of driftwood back from the beach, to the delight of passersby. Cars actually slow down or stop to look and laugh. She enjoys the attention and hams it up for all she's worth. Of course friends need to be carefully introduced by taking a walk with her off property, preferably with treats or a ball. Some people she just won't take to, but if you can make it onto her short list of tolerated persons, you will be on the receiving end of absolute adoration. The challenge of rescuing this little dog has been one of the most rewarding things I have ever done.

Work sends me out that way and I'm running low on chick feed, so it's time for a trip to the feed store. I look forward to going to Lakeside Feed, first because of the pleasant drive down hilly Route 80 and through picturesque Guilford with its green fields and stone walls. It's a friendly family run place with dogs running around and llamas and neat decorations to look at. There's nearly always someone there getting advice about their horse. One time I stopped by when they were closed (on Monday) but she sold me feed anyway. Best of all, they are even a bit cheaper than most other places, and more fun too.

I have a flock of around 20-25 chickens in a shed out back, some of whom hatched out chicks last week. Baby chickens and eggs are usually associated with spring, but they can hatch anytime, even in the dead of winter. Late summer seems to be the time of year my hens prefer, for they usually manage to hatch out an assorted half dozen or so right about now. This time around, 1 hen hatched 4 chicks and 2 other hens hatched 1 each. These youngsters are 10 days old now, and have already fledged out their little wings. The hatchlings are not necessarily the biological offspring of the mother hens, who set on everybody's eggs. Often hens hatching out chicks at the same time like this will simply co-parent the entire brood together, especially if they have been sharing nesting space. I am always fascinated by the whole process of inert eggs coming to life, charmed by the cute fluffy babies, and impressed by the patience and courage of the mother hens. Ever notice how many quotations there are about chickens? We have much to learn from these marvelous birds who bring us breakfast, and somehow manage to look beautiful and ridiculous all at the same time.