"Grandma's Christmas Cactus"

Howdy Friends,

 

I spent my youth, which seems so long ago, but sometimes not so long ago, on a dairy farm in PA. When I was about 10 I was, "Farmed Out" that is to say placed on a farm to work for my room and board. There I learned much. It was there that, although I did not realize it at the time, I was first touched by the spirit of the horse. While the farm always had an old tractor much of the work was done with the heavy horses, Dan and Bill. It was huddled in their stall on one of my first nights on the farm that I felt that spirit. I can still remember that feeling of comfort, safety that came over me. The first time in my short life that I felt that way.

Grandma's Christmas Cactus -

Life was suddenly so different. I had spent the previous 3 years locked in a room, with the sole window painted black. Here on the farm there was a vast openness that took some getting used to. Here on the farm there was suddenly no more ugliness, no harsh words and worse. But there was no love there either. I was there to work. I found my work fun though, mostly. I never really enjoyed shoveling out the privy. If you're too young to know what that is, try the google thing. It was here on the farm that I first discovered birds, too. My first was a Killdeer in the cornfield as I hoed thistles from between the stalks.

The farm had no modern conveniences, well we did have electric in the milk house, I suppose the dairy insisted on that. But the house and the rest of the farm had no running water or electric. One of my chores had been to carry and heat water for wash day Monday. Another to keep the wood box full.

One day, a few months after I'd arrived at the farm, a car pulled into the driveway between the house and barn and I watched from the barnyard as a woman walked up to the house. Soon she came out to me. It was my Grandma. I didn't know then, but she was forbidden to come see me. But she did. 

She told me later that she'd parked way off on other days and walked to safe vantage points to watch me work ... Until the day came that she would watch from afar no more. Years later she told me she would sit outside the house where I'd been in that room and stare at the black window for hours.  From that first meeting on the farm Grandma became my only regular visitor. The folks didn't really like it, because when she visited it took me away from my work. But Grandma was very determined.

Robbie and I still have Grandma's Christmas Cactus. It blooms some years at Christmas, other years I guess it doesn't feel like it. Over the years it has sometimes struggled to stay with us, but like Grandma that little cactus is very determined. Grandma loved violets too, it was for her they had such a big role in my novel. 

By my guess Grandma's cactus is well over thirty years old, and this year it's sporting a fine display of red blooms. I paused this morning on my way out for coffee with Kessy and said howdy to Grandma.

That raggedy little plant still brings Grandma's happy visits to me.

Gitty Up, Dutch Henry

"Why "Gitty Up" ~ And Why I love Winnie The Pooh"

Howdy Friends,
 

From time to time I am asked about my love for Winnie The Pooh and my signature, "Gitty Up."

Winnie the Pooh and I became friends in those years when as a young boy I'd been locked in a room for 3 years, before they put me out on the farm and I found the spirit of the horse. 

Horrible things happened in that room, things that continue to haunt me today. But at some time in those room-years I somehow got a Winnie The Pooh book. I used to pretend that room, with its solitary window painted black, was the 100 Acre Wood. Like Pooh, Piglett, Tigger, Kanga, Roo, Eyore and Christopher Robin, my adventures in the 100 Wood were imaginary, but Pooh was a terrific imaginary guide.

Pooh Bear has been a steady and loyal friend throughout life, always ready with a funny story or song, and advice. I credit him with my love of honey. And butterflies.

My email signature comes from Pooh Bear. Our daughter, the sweet and terrific Abbie, had a Winnie the Pooh desk calendar a few years ago and on July 17 of that year Pooh was dressed as a cowboy and the caption was, "Gitty Up Pooh Bear." She sent it to me with this note, "Thought you would like this."

That little picture and her note resides on the table under glass by my chair ever since. About that time I was just beginning to find my way around the keyboard, and emails. I noticed folks had clever and heartfelt sign offs at their siggys. So I latched on to "Gitty Up, Dutch Henry," and except for the most formal emails that's what I use.

I often wonder what folks think about that. But just as the spirit of the horse has in fact saved my life, so too did a tiny yellowish brown inquisitive, funny and heroic bear hold my hand in the darkest moments.

My hero

I think I'll shovel an extra spoon of honey on my oatmeal this morning.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Bluebirds-They Carry The Blue Sky On Their Wings" Pt 1--

Howdy Folks,

As I enjoyed Coffee Clutch with Kessy, Saturday and Tigger yesterday morning our resident male Bluebird landed treetop high, thrust his beak skyward and let go his beautiful trilling song. It was such a delight! I had just commented to Ravishin' Robbie I'd not seen nor heard from our Bluebirds for some time. And I missed them. Bluebirds are my very favorite birds. I love them all, but Bluebirds have the strongest grip on my heart.

Adult male Eastern Bluebird

Growing up as a foster kid on a dairy farm I had many duties that sent me off on my own with tasks and chores. One job that I really enjoyed was maintaining fence along the fields and pastures. It was a lovely farm in rural PA with rolling hills, streams and woods. The fence rows in those days were narrow lines of big trees, thick undercover brush and brambles. I would spend many happy hours trimming back the fence line, patching barbed wire and replacing rail and post, and learning about wildflowers, trees and birds.

A few fence lines ran straight through open fields far from trees and forest. It was a bright sunny, early spring day when I was about 12 that I saw my first Bluebird perched atop a leaning rickety post along one of those open field fence lines. I still remember that little fellow all shiny and blue proudly singing to the wide open world. It truly was love at first sight. I'd met other birds by then, a Bobwhite Quail had also sang for me one morning from a fencepost, and a Killdeer had performed its clever "broken wing" dance, luring me from its nest in the cornfield as I hoed thistles between the stalks. Small flocks of Meadow Larks had gathered near me in our far pasture one Sunday afternoon. Barn Swallows had nests in the lower part of the barn in the horse and cow stables. And our resident Barn Owls always watched quietly whenever I was upstairs in the big barn. As I recall, our old farm had plenty of mice for their family.

But something about that tiny Bluebird took hold of me that morning. I remember sitting down in the warm grass and watching him sing. I noticed then at the very next fence post a momma Bluebird was peeking out a hole in the weathered roundish wooden post, looking exactly like the many pictures we see now. Of course at first I didn't know it was a momma Bluebird. Thinking back I believe I thought it was a field mouse, but as I stood up it flew out. I do positively remember noting the different shade of blue she wore.

There was another first that day, I chuckle as I recall. I experienced my very first "swooping" by a pair of defending Bluebird parents. Being 12, and curious I just had to have a look in the hole of that old fencepost. Totally absorbed in examining and counting the 4 sky-blue eggs I never saw the attack coming! Suddenly a Bluebird flew past my face, I think his feathers touched me! At the same time momma whizzed behind me clicking her beak in a most threatening way. They continued to dive bomb me until I was well away from their nest.

For the next few weeks I kept a check on that little nest in the old post. The parents greeted me each visit with wing swooshing and beak clicking. I watched those blue eggs hatch into tiny pink, blind babies, and remember when they got their first feathers I saw them when they were nearly grown, fully feathered and beautiful. I remember the next time I visited they were gone. Years later I would learn that's called "fledging." ... I didn't know it then, but that was my first experience with "Bluebird nest box monitoring." I will tell you, I never, ever replaced that old post, and almost every summer there was a Bluebird family in it.

Please join us here tomorrow and I'll share some Bluebird Trail Monitoring tips I learned in my 25 years of volunteering for the PA DEP monitoring trails in State Parks.

Have a Bluebird day & Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"A Tale Of A Skunk's Tail"

Howdy Folks, 
 

On the farm I grew up on as a foster kid, I usually had some time to myself on Sunday afternoons between lunch and milking. I often used this time to explore the meadows, woods and streams. It was a beautiful farm nestled in a small valley surrounded by forested hills so nature abounded there. Being the only youngster there my romps were solitary, unless I took the farm dog, Skippy along. He was a great pal, my best friend for a lot of years. Never knew his breed but Skippy was at least half collie.

One beautiful early spring Sunday when I was about 12, Skippy and I set out for what we called the far meadow. It was one of my favorite places way at the North end of the farm, at least a half hour's walk from the house. Some folks might call it a glade. The cows kept the grass short, and there was never many weeds there so it looked like a well manicured lawn with a sleepy narrow stream meandering through it and shaded by about 20 ancient hickory trees. This truly was a magical, peaceful place, and thinking back I suppose the magic touched me there as I can remember several childhood adventures taking place under those hickories by the stream.

As this particular adventure starts I'm laying on my back taking in the sun, Skippy snuggled beside me. From where we lay we had a view across the stream, out over the meadow with the woods far off as a backdrop. I think I was telling Skippy a story when he started to bark. Following his stare I saw something, an animal of some sort, waddling down the hill toward the stream. It looked funny because it was bouncing and rolling all over the place.

The cows had wandered way up to the woods so it was just Skippy and me watching this silly animal. I coaxed Skippy to come along to investigate. He was a good guard dog, from a distance. Always ready to bark, but always keeping plenty of room between him and whatever danger threatened. He stayed behind me as we advanced. The closer we got, the sillier the animal looked flipping, rolling and waddling.

Soon I realized it wasn't one animal, but two! Two skunks were scampering along climbing all over each other in some kind of spring frolic. They were having the time of their life, and so involved were they, they never noticed Skippy and me. They would waddle a few strides then one would climb atop the other and they'd commence rolling down the hill a few feet. Then the other would climb on top. I think they were young skunks perhaps on their first spring adventure.

I was able to get right up on them, they paid no attention to me as they frolicked. I remember Skippy, who was a wise dog, stayed well behind me and had stopped barking. I stood right over them intrigued by their silliness, and anyone who has ever seen a skunk up close knows they have adorable faces. And the tiniest feet.

It was about that time I remembered being told that skunks can't spray you if you grab them by the tail and hoist them up. They must have heard me thinking that because right at that second, they stopped fooling around and looked up at me. Both of them.

Without hesitation I decided to test that tail snatching theory and I grabbed the littlest skunk. An adorable almost black little fellow. He twisted around to look me in the eye.

Then it happened! I don't really remember the next few seconds, but as the spray hit me full in the chest I understood pretty quickly that not all advice is accurate … And that skunk tail tale is not true! Not only can they spray while you hold their tail, they can spray, twice. You see I was so surprised I held onto that squirming little black ball of fur longer than a boy should. It was Skippy barking and howling that finally jerked me back to my senses and I dropped the little fellow, who calmly walked away, right back to his friend.

My eyes started to burn and the trek back to the house was a blurry one. I stumbled along, Skippy dancing and barking all the way. Maggie, the woman who raised me, could smell me before I even got to the porch and she hollered out the front door for me to shed my clothes and sit in the water trough for a while before coming in. We didn't have plumbing or electric in the house, so the best I could do was wash up in the trough and at the wash basin. Skippy kept barking all the while, rubbing it in.

There was lots of teasing at supper and milking time that night. Ol' Bill, Maggie's husband, said he'd have never told me that if he'd thought I'd test it. But they way he laughed every time he told the story for the next ten years, I think it went just the way he planned. I did get to skip school for a week, they said I smelled too skunky.

Gitty Up

Dutch Henry