Kate,
Well, I've been on a serious film binge since I wrote you re: "Julie and Julia."
You can read my adventures in women's films here:
http://viridianariverstone.blogspot.com/
and on poor folks here:
http://livinginthehood.blogspot.com/
On the last, you'll also see detailed research results on building a home made air conditioner. I have plenty of fans and buckets; I just need some flexible, metal tubing and I'll stay cool all summer. If I purchase a 12 v automobile fan and a solar battery charger, I can use no electricity! But that's down the road. Right now, I have to keep it cheap.
See, next week, I begin a 4 day, paid training to be a Census canvasser. The job will last apx. 11 weeks, apx. 30 hrs/week at $13+/hr. It should give me plenty of opportunity for meeting local residents, whom I may contact later for radio stories. There's plenty of walking, too. I should be carrying a hand held computer or specialized notebooks. I can drive my gasoline powered bicycle to the neighborhoods. So, I'm gorging on film stories, so I'll have images, memories and sounds of things I really enjoyed as I go out to people's homes. It will make me less fearful, less anxious, less defensive, less grumpy, less impatient with meeting new people at their homes.
You're torturing me with your adventures in NYC, you know. I get plenty of music online, yet I do know the power of a cathedral, acoustically designed for music and spoken word. I watched "Amedeus" again the other night. The wedding takes place in a cathedral with live music.
I work & sleep in a kid's bunk bed: double on bottom, for self and animals; twin on top, welded of metal tubing. I've hung baskets, clock, lamp, electric blanket control, modem, telephone and speakers from the top bunk's bars. My computer speakers are directly over my head and of radio production quality. While my hearing has diminished over the years, due to tinnitus, my brain is quite capable of filtering out the static of whistles, squeals, buzzes and I can hear ok. And the brain soon adjusts to the position of the speakers, relative to the monitor (which is to my left and apx. 3 feet away), so I hear what I'm watching in good stereo. The Mozart was wonderful!
We have a few, non indigenous trees that bloomed in private yards. Mostly, though, I'm still waiting for the prairie to look green from a distance. I see fresh growth everywhere, close up. I'm on a gently rolling hillscape, above the Rio Grande. I can see bottom land fields, mesas and the Sandia Mountains. The sky is heartbreakingly beautiful.
TINY flowers are blooming everywhere, but must be noticed to be seen. There's a miniature white daisy that I suspect is chamomile, but I won't pick any to smell it until it's past blooming. There's a bell shaped flower on stalks of something that looks like wild onion or chives or maybe a tiny lily. There are salmon flowers, the size of a nickel, that look like small wild rose or California poppy, but are not. Occasionally, I see wild, white lupin. Mustards are blooming. I see starts of thistle in my nearly-barren back yard; they'll grow four feet tall with outrageously purple blue flowers, like miniature artichokes.
My father used to call these desert flowers "belly plants," because you just about have to get down on your belly to really see them. He loved the desert and Mom and I scattered his remains at a primitive camp ground in Borrego Springs, among the hummingbirds (his most loved bird.) He actually held one once, when he was very sick. He was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the garden, when two hummers started fighting for territory. One hummer flew right into our 8 foot redwood fence and felll into the flower bed. He grabbed his oxygen tube (200 feet long, so he could walk the yards with oxygen) and went to the bird. He rummaged in the plants 'til he found it and held it, on its back, in his palm. He gently stroked its chest, fearing it was dead. Soon, however, the bird revived. He said it was limp in his hand and, suddenly, it was just gone! It went so fast, he couldn't even see it fly away.
I get my love of primitive life, desert and animals from Dad. I also get my sense of humor from him. From Mom, I got love of the arts, including music, well done home crafts, including food and gardening. And I got learning and reading from both of them: he, nature and science; she: literature, poetry.
My little garden is struggling to sprout, despite almost nutrient free soil (thank to goats, I have lots of goat poop and my neighbors bring me yard waste for compost and mulch). I have no idea what will survive the struggle to live here. My tub gardens are sprouting mightily. They're cattle feed tubs, like these:
http://www.cliftonfeed.com/images/pix-logos/Cattle-FlyTub.jpg
And I found two timpony, of all things, at the Fort Sumner landfill. They had no drum heads. I'm thinking they belonged to the high school. But they're great for planting and they look like copper, so they're quite impressive.
I'm TRYING to grow amaranth, purple beans, multicolored popcorn, several squash and melons, garlic, onions, carrots, broccoli, spinach, basil, poppies, marigolds, luffa sponge, a blend called "Rio Grande restoration" which includes native grasses and desert/prairie plants, birdhouse gourds, lemon cucumbers (which can be pickled), heirloom tomatoes, some old potatoes that went to sprout, clover, oats, and I can't remember what all else.
I've dug 2 trenches apx. 30 feet long beside the house and fenced it. I also scratched out an apx. 15x10 kidney-shaped bed in the "drive" on the other side, liked with firewood. I have some native cactus in there, too. That one's covered with plastic and metal laundry hampers, crates, animal cages and a small piece of fence, to keep chickens and goats away from sprouts 'til they're big enough to be unattractive. Of course, chickens and goats MUST jump on all that, but they can't get to the baby plants. Oh, I have sunflowers, too: Hopi black dye.
I bought a bunch of seed at http://www.nativeseeds.org/ and an online friend sent me a huge batch of other seed. We're having spring rains, so watering's not a big issue.
I should tell you about the rooster who walked at least half a mile, half dead, to get here. Nobody nearer has chickens. He was in the empty lot, across the road from my drive. I thought, at first, he was one of my hens (my eyes are bad), and approached him. I knew he was a rooster when he raised his hackles at me. He took off, running the opposite direction, so I left him be. Several hours later, there he stood, again. I ignored him, but threw out some feed. Soon, he was in my yard, so spent, he let me pick him up, but screamed about it. His entire comb, waddles and part of his beak were black with frost bite. His tail feathers were gone. He had poop on his vent feathers, which can be a dangerous sign of contagion. But I put him in my chicken/goat house. He was so weak, he had a hard time holding himself upright.
Next day, he was still where I'd put him. I took him out to my little fish/stock pond and set him down. He fell in the water twice. He drank and drank for most of the day.
The next day, he began, haltingly, to walk about the yard. The hens would attack if he came too close; they knew he was sick. For three days, it went like this. He never made a sound, except to scream if I had to pick him up.
Finally, in early afternoon of the next day, he crowed. I thought: he might make it.
He won't sleep with the others; he perches on a low branch of a sapling beside the north side of the house.
The hens adjusted to his presence and began permitting him to come ever closer to them as they hunted food in the yard. By now, he was crowing appropriately, mornings and evenings and , periodically, at other times, if a stray dog came near us.
By the time the hens were ignoring him as one of the flock, the best thing happened. I was out with the goats, across the road in the field, when I heard a hen squawk. I looked up to see the rooster dismount my best laying hen.
He's a gaming cock. I don't think he was fought; he looks old and his spurs are nubs. He doesn't have much time left on Earth: maybe a year or two.
But he's all over the yard now, healthy and happy. I don't know what will happen to the blackened flesh on his face. it may drop away and he'll look very strange.
He found me. Just like Fatty Watty Kitty Catty and Spanky, my part time dog.
I guess the word is out about me in the animal world. These days, there's a scruffy, hungry-looking black laborador circling the place apologetically. He doesn't seem interested in killing chickens, goats or cats, so we'll see what happens there.
I may buy some ducklings at the feed store this week; they're due on the 21st of April.
Very long message. sorry.
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