One of the very first things Gene and I did upon moving in (after the whole moving truck debacle, that is), was take a walk along the trails through the back acreage. He wanted to show me the beaver ponds, so that’s where we started.

I was beyond crushed that there weren’t any actual beavers in the pond, happily paddling around or munching on a tree while looking adorable. But there were TONS of downed trees, with the stumps looking like sharpened pencils sticking up all over the place. And the sheer size of the dam was impressive, to me at least. It had to be 8 feet tall. Gene, on the other hand, started muttering something about traps and sniper scopes. Apparently the pond had significantly risen since he had toured the property back in June.

So anyway, seeing a beaver became my new goal in life. During the dark days, when Bess Bess came to visit, she caught Beaver Fever with me. We researched the prime beaver activity times (dawn/dusk), and found out they’re mostly nocturnal. So we started heading down to the pond every day at sunset and dawn, hoping to catch a glimpse. After a few trips, all we got was a near heart attack when one of them thumped its tail in the water to scare us off. Of course, it did it from behind their massive lodge, so we couldn’t actually see it.

Then we got the brilliant idea of sneaking down to the pond at midnight, when the beavers would least expect it. (Rum & Cokes made this seem like a fine idea). We used our cell phones as flashlights, and set off through the woods in a fashion similar to characters in every horror movie ever. I think our grand plan would have worked too, had we been able to keep even remotely quiet. By the time we go to the pond, literally not a creature was stirring. I think all the night life was too busy staring in shock at the pair of bumbling, giggling, cell phone sporting/flannel pajama pants wearing beaver stalkers who were invading their peaceful pond in the wee hours of the morning.

Fast forward to a few days ago, during one of my pre-sunrise rambles through the woods. Gene set up his hunting blind so I could take pictures of the waterfowl on the upper pond (more on that next post!), so I’ve taken to bringing a travel mug of coffee and my camera out there just before dawn, and settling in to watch the world wake up. I take the long way home, which loops me right past the lower beaver pond. Which is when I FINALLY saw a beaver.

Ironically, I didn’t actually notice him at first. I was taking pictures of two wood ducks and it paddled right into my field of vision. I made my way down to the water’s edge while the beaver swam in a slow circle. It was a little disconcerting, because A) they’re strikingly ugly and B) he never took his eyes off me. Then I noticed every loop he made was bringing him closer to where I stood at the water line.

I didn’t get too worried until he made a sharp turn and started swimming right for me. I flashed back to a news story I had read last year, about a kayaker in Washington who got attacked by an angry beaver. It ended up putting her in the hospital, so apparently they don’t mess around. Then I started thinking about how mad Gene would be if I came home with battle scars, and had to explain I’d opted for a travel mug of coffee instead of a gun.

All that flashed through my head in microseconds, then I realized that by now he was only a few feet away and I should probably take the hint. As soon as I backed up, he resumed swimming in his slow, menacing circles.

I think next time I’m going to sneak over to their lodge with my camera – I bet their babies are adorable!!!!

Let me preface this by saying I am an unrepentant Wattage Hog. Gene is forever grumbling about why I feel the need to leave every single light in the house on. When I tell him it’s because I’m a creature of the light, he responds that he’s a cave dweller, and marriage is all about compromise.

At any rate, I’m not known for my ability to handle service interruptions in stride. When I was in Washington, poor Abigail got a panicked text whenever the power so much as flickered. And I’ll be the first to admit that I did not handle the 6 hours during which our shared neighborhood well was shut off for maintenance with anything resembling dignity.

So of course, the power flickered the very first night at our house. Seeing the panic on my face, and probably wanting to prevent any sort of whining, Gene told me that 80-acre farm mamas aren’t allowed to be wussy. Then he helpfully pointed out that I was about to be on my own for 2 months, and added a spectacularly unnecessary “So suck it up, Buttercup.”

All that being said, no one was more surprised than me when I actually functioned during a 3-day power outage. Not to brag, but I crushed the whole self-sufficiency thing. I melted snow to flush the toilet, I fashioned an apocalypse lantern out of a strand of battery operated lights and glass vase, and I only flipped the light switches out of habit for the first 2 1/2 days.

I spent most of the days playing outside in the snow with the dogs – all 4 feet of it (thus the power outage, it all fell within 10 hours). It’s hard to be stressed while watching Ceri have such a blast. She absolutely LOVES snow. She would play in it for hours if I let her. Her favorite thing to do is bury her orange Jolly ball, dig it up, then bury it again. She turned into a puppy again, it was so cute to watch.

Chupa, on the other hand, won’t be auditioning for lead sled dog anytime soon. I had to excavate a potty trail for him, and even then he’d just kind of stand there looking confused. But once he got used to it he went for a few zooms. Neither one of them had ever seen more than about an inch of snow, so it was brand new world.

In general, though, they handled the frigid winter temperatures fairly well. Ceri got a new blaze orange “Safe-T-Pup” vest that she wears during hunting season, because according to the locals every single person that comes up from the cities to hunt is a total asshat. The couple we bought the house from said they always wear something orange just to cross the highway and check the mail. The orange definitely makes her pop against all that snow.

Chupa got a new pair of booties, which he hates. He tries to walk without putting his feet down, then looks crushed when I can’t stop laughing at him. But his dainty puppy paws can’t take below zero temps – within about a minute he’ll be holding up his paws like they hurt. I even bought him a parka from Petco, which he rocks, naturally.

When it hit 30 below, I decided to try freezing some bubbles. Since no one around here carries bubble solution in November, I made my own with Dawn dish soap, karo syrup, and water. It was really cool to watch – they froze almost right away. As did my fingers. After about 5 minutes I could barely press the shutter button. But watching them solidify and fall out of the air was worth a little frostbite!

Since Gene couldn’t retire until the end of the year, and we moved in at the end of September, he could only stay a few days before flying back to Washington. I dropped him off at the airport in Duluth, and thus began what I refer to as “the dark days”.

I kept myself busy during the day, between my at-home writing job, unpacking, painting the walls a nice bright color (Yellow!), and exploring the woods with the pups. But the nights were rough.

I’m not good at self-sufficiency – in the 10+ years I’ve been with Gene, I’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of service. Drinks presented to me, water glass pre-filled on my nightstand, blanket turn down service… let’s just say I was forced to rough it until he returned.

It didn’t help that once the sun went down (at like 4:00 pm), the house transformed from a bucolic, pastoral cabin in the woods to that creepy cabin from “Cabin In The Woods”. Each time I went out with the dogs for an evening potty, every single episode of Walking Dead I’ve ever seen started playing in my imagination.

Not being accustomed to the local nightlife, the night bird sounds were near-terror inducing. There’s one bird, which I later learned is a ruffed grouse, that makes a noise by beating its wings against a log that sounds exactly like someone dribbling a basketball. Not scary during the day, but at night, when you’re not expecting to hear sports-related noises? It’s twins-from-The-Shining level creepy.

And then there’s Mr. Waddles. I met Mr. Waddles one night around 11 pm. I was taking Ceri out for her last game of laser chase before going to bed. Normally she chases the red light up and down the driveway about ten times, goes pee, and sleeps through the night. Win-win for both of us. But that night, she chased the laser down the driveway… and nothing but the laser came back up it.

I grabbed the flashlight and shined it toward the trees lining the drive, fully expecting to see a zombie chowing down on a 100-lb Shepherd snack. Instead, I saw Ceri trying to play with a big ol’ skunk.

You know that game happy dogs play, where they splay their front paws out and playfully jump toward the other dog? Mr. Waddles was not amused. I daresay Mr. Waddles was vexed. Mightily vexed. As I’m running down the driveway, bellowing “No – LEAVE THE KITTY” (which usually works inside the house), Ceri managed to corner Mr. Waddles against the shed.

Just as I was reaching down to grab her collar, Mr. Waddles decided his personal bubble had been breached one too many times, and unleashed some stinky retribution.

Oh. My. God.

We got both barrels. Poor Ceri didn’t know what to do. It was in her eyes, so she could barely see, and neither one of us could breathe all that well (mostly by choice, cuz damn). I was able to guide her back to the front door, then made the mistake of letting her collar go so I could open the door. She bolted inside, and decided the best way to get the sting out of her eyes was using the couches and the living room carpet as a towel.

(On a side note – I always thought those Febreeze “wash your room” commercials were full of it. Turns out, that stuff actually works.)

It was a rough night.

I got her locked in the bathroom, called Gene, and possibly blamed the whole situation on him for not being there to prevent it. (Our memories of said conversation vary, but I’m pretty sure I would never say such a thing).

He found a recipe on Google for skunk oil removal, involving Dawn dish soap, baking soda, and hydrogen peroxide. I was able to mix up a batch while Ceri fouled the bathmat, the walls, AND the shower curtain, then I got her cleaned up in the shower.

The next day, I drove to Target and loaded up on Febreeze. I also purchased an entire plastic tote’s worth of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and Dawn. It’s now in the front closet, with a huge label reading “Open in case of skunk emergencies”.

The worst part, though, was about two weeks later when Bess Bess came up to visit. I had washed the clothes I was wearing, including my favorite hoodie, several times. But we were walking through the woods, and Bess Bess kept saying I smelled like skunk. I was all, “whatever, you’re just imagining things because I told you the story.” Then we happened to run into the neighbor on the very far side of the property, and since I’ve never met them before, she invited us into her cabin. It was small, and rather hot… and soon it was rather stinky. Sigh. I threw out the hoodie when we got home.

Sorry for the hiatus, but life got in the way of blogging for a few months. Well, okay, 12+ months. But in my defense, we did sell our house and move to northern Minnesota. I dare say a whole lot of things got in the way of blogging, starting with getting our house in Allyn ready to go on the market.

The first step was finding great homes for all of our farm critters, which took awhile. The second step was making our backyard look like we never had a farm to begin with, because according to our realtor, today’s modern home buyer expects things like “grass” and “no piles of turkey poo”. So ya, we had some work to do.

Getting the backyard ready was fairly easy – Abigail brought her tractor down and we had a hoot playing demolition derby. Then it was just a matter of paying some guys to haul off the detritus. But since her tractor wouldn’t fit through the front door, I actually had to go hands on with the piles of stuff inside the house. We went from “one step away from qualifying to be on an epi of Hoarders” to “ready to be Home #2 on House Hunters” in just a few months. And all it took was one storage unit, plus A LOT of boxes. (Shout out to the produce department at QFC for saving all the best apple boxes for me!)

All of my sorting, packing, and cleaning paid off big time, though. The house sold in 24 days! I like to think it’s because of the incredible staging – Bess Bess flew out to help me, and we hit the clearance bins for suitable bedding, statement pieces, and decorative orchids. Our realtor had said our bedroom wasn’t “master suite-ish enough”, so we found a collection of throw pillows that any HGTV design star would be envious of. (We knew we struck gold when Gene declared them “too sparkly for Liberace”).

The Things were especially fond of the new bedding. Prior to a showing, I would spend hours vacuuming, dusting, and Febreezing the litter boxes in hopes of hiding the fact that we have cats, only to get calls from all the realtors asking for permission to photograph Chunk. Apparently he was fond of following the prospective buyers from room to room, then hopping up on the bed to demand pets before curling up next to Liberace. There’s probably like 15 versions of a 30-lb cat curled up next to a beaded pillow on Instagram now. Thing 2, on the other hand, preferred the stealth approach of sleeping underneath the decorative pillows, then yowling if anyone went in for a closer look.

Of course, the house selling so quickly meant we had to find a new house sooner rather than later. Gene was lobbying hard for Idaho, but my need to be closer to my family won out in the end. Plus, the amazingly low price tag on an 80-acre proper farm (with a real barn, smokehouse, pole barn, and shop) backing up to state land had a lot to do with his willingness to relocate to the frigid Northland.

Surprisingly, moving 2 adults, 2 dogs, and 5 cats almost 2,000 miles went fairly well. Gene built a rolling kitty condo to haul behind the truck, which I furnished with tons of pillows, blankets, and bedding, and I had Ceri and Chupi with me in the car. It took us 3 days to make the trek, mostly because we stopped at Every. Single. Rest Area. between Washington and Minnesota, according to Gene.

The moving truck showed up a few days later, and brought all kinds of drama with it. First off, it was HUGE. It was the kind that moving companies contract with, so there were multiple family’s worth of stuff in it. Our driveway is long, lined with trees, and since it had been raining heavily for days, surrounded by very soft mud. You can probably see where this is headed…

First the driver got stuck backing up. Gene had recommended the best angle of approach, but the driver was all, “Ya, I got this.” Then did the opposite. He managed to get the semi stuck against a tree on one side of the driveway, and mired axle deep in the mud on the other side.

Gene ended up having to cut the tree down with a chain saw to free the trailer end, but pulling the cab out of the mud required heavy machinery. Luckily enough, the one and only employee of the shops for Koochiching County happened to drive by, and was kind enough to return with a grader.

It took about an hour, but he was able to pull the truck out and get it oriented the proper way along the driveway, only to have the driver high-center the semi on the highway as we he was re-positioning for Take 2. Good thing graders can’t go very fast, and we were able to flag him down for a second tow.

So by this time, the moving crew was pretty much over it. They decided since the semi was safely back on the highway, they could just unload the stuff from there, put it in our rental Penske, and drive it up to the house. Since there’s almost no traffic on the road (besides the shop guy going back and forth, thank God), it seemed like a grand plan.

Until we realized we had lost the keys to the Penske. That was a fun hour long search. Gene finally found the keys where they had fallen into a bag that had been stored in the cab of the truck, but was now sitting on the kitchen floor. Kudos to him for even thinking to look in it, I was too busy checking the front yard and telling the moving crew how crazy it was that the key chain looked exactly like a fallen leaf, and that’s why I kept screeching, “Found it… no wait, sorry, guess not.”

It probably didn’t help that I spent a good half an hour taking pictures of a frog I found by the garage. Because it was the first frog I’d ever seen in Northern Minnesota, and gosh darn it I was going to document it for posterity.

We fed the moving crew dinner, since by that point they were looking a little stabby, then we pitched in and got everything unloaded and in its proper room. Once they left, we released the kitties to explore their new digs.

What are the odds that all five of them would end up crammed in the tiny space underneath the basement stairs? The only space in the entire house that’s only accessible via an 8″ opening?

We were able to coax all of them but Thing 2 out with some tasty tuna. Thing 2, however, was well and truly stuck. It was 20 pounds of cat crammed in an area the size of a shoe box. He started having trouble breathing, since he was trying to get out and couldn’t. Gene ended up having to tear the stairs apart to reach him. (No worries, Thing 2 is fine and healthy and happy, and loving his new home now!)

So ya, that was our move. Welcome to northern Minnesota!!!!

Have you ever had the kind of day where everything you touch somehow goes wrong? The kind that has you looking skyward and yelling, “Really?” It all started when I had a horrible nightmare about 5 minutes before my alarm went off at dawn. I’ll spare you the details, but after I told Gene about it he said I wasn’t allowed to watch The Walking Dead anymore.

So I’m already mightily creeped out when I stumbled into the yard to do chores. Imagine my horror when I looked in the pasture, only to find Woolimina lying on her back with all four legs stuck straight up in the air. If you were going to prank someone with a cartoon looking fake dead sheep, that’s exactly what it would look like. The only thing missing was giant “X’s” over her eyes. I screamed her name, and was so relieved when her head moved. She’d somehow gotten stuck on her back, so I had to physically roll her over. (Which wasn’t easy, by the way. She’s a bit of a Large Marge now.) After stumbling around for a few minutes, she headed straight to her food bowl. So that crisis was averted. I did some research, and apparently sheep can just … get stuck like that. Especially if they’re standing on a slope. I guess that’s why they get sheared on their backs, it makes them shut down. Thank god I’m a helicopter farm mama and found her right away, because if they don’t get turned right side up fairly quickly it can be fatal.

Now fast forward an hour to the email I sent my boss snarkily asking if we were still having our virtual phone meeting because he was 15 minutes late, which I sent approximately 7 seconds before realizing I’m the idiot who wrote it on the calendar wrong and it’s next week. Turns out it was a good thing I didn’t have a meeting, because I looked out the window just in time to see Porkulous The Persistent’s butt disappearing into the chicken coop. I had to wake up poor Gene early so he could fix the fence before going to work. And just as Gene sat down to eat his breakfast, Porkulous the Powerful ripped an entirely different fence panel down, then stampeded off with a snort of delight. Needless to say, Gene was almost late to work.

So then I decided to take the dogs for walk, since I had a doctor appointment in town and would be gone for the afternoon. I knew it was cutting the time close, since I needed to leave in 30 minutes, but I figured we’d just go to the end of the road and back. Chupi picks that moment to have a potty catastrophe, which necessitated an immediate bath. And a good bit of speeding to make the appointment on time.

And when I got home? You guessed it. Porkulous the Pesty was out and about again. I had to call our neighbor down to help rebuild the fence. And by help, I mean I stood around and watched him while he fixed it. I was too busy fending off the 300-pound, mud drenched, happy bundle of joy that decided he wanted cuddles. Again. Which set an official record, by the way. I went through every single pair of jeans I own, and our washer smells horrible.

But you know what? None of that matters, because today was awesome! Harvey came back!!! After a months-long bunny bender, he finally came home. He must have been fairly happy to see me, because he rammed the back of my legs from behind. I was ecstatic to see him, even though his sneak attack brought back fleeting memories of my earlier nightmare. He looks amazing – he’s just as fat if not fatter than when he left, so he’s been living the good life out in the woods. He demanded Wheat Thins, of course, and I ended up giving him about a quarter of a box. I also gave him a plate with a selection of his favorite treats – welcome home Harvey!!! You were missed.

It’s official – fall is here. Watermelon treats have been replaced by pumpkins from the garden, which Gene helpfully throws off the deck so they blow apart in an explosion of yumminess. The only one who isn’t fond of pumpkins is Porkulous the Picky, ironically enough. Apparently there is something pigs won’t eat. He is doing well, and growing quickly. Big enough to break out of his pasture area repeatedly, actually. He digs his snout under the hog panels, then yanks his head up with sufficient force to drag the t-post out of the ground. It’s hard to be mad at him, though. He gallops around the yard with such gleeful abandon, making cheerful whuffling noises and running from one interesting thing to the next. I’ve taken to letting him out for an hour or so to explore the pasture, and he wanders back into his pen once he’s sure I’ve put a few treats in his dish.

He has a fondness for apples, so every time one falls off one of the trees, I give it to him. Even though the trees are young, we’ve gotten quite the bumper crop. And I was ecstatic to see we got our first two pears, even though they’re approximately two inches long. Perfectly formed, but the size you’d find in a dollhouse. I’m assuming they’ll be more properly sized next year. But the most exciting harvest this year without a doubt is the pineapple. After two years, it’s finally ripe! It was also on the small side, but so tender and sugary and delicious. And I get to brag that I’m eating locally grown pineapple. How many folks around here can say that?

Most everything has been harvested from the garden now, so I opened it up for the chickens and ducks to rampage through. The Brussels sprouts are the most popular, especially with Woolimina. She can skeletonize an entire stalk within minutes. As soon as they’ve eaten everything, I’ll shut them out again and plant the cover crops for the winter. The only real failure this year was the delicata squash. For some reason, it never ripened. Apparently I got it into the ground too late. It looks beautiful and cheerful, but insides it’s colorless and tastes really bland. But it won’t go to waste – I cut them in half and give them to the chickens. Squash seeds are one of their favorite snacks.

I’m already looking forward to what I’m going to plant next year. I’ve tentatively decided the shining star of the garden will be leeks. I got absolutely addicted to making potato leek soup this summer, and rapidly used up all the ones I grew. So next year I’ll need several more rows – at least. And we’ll need way more potatoes. I also discovered that kohlrabi is amazing when you roast it with olive oil, salt and pepper. I grew a ton of it, thinking I could sell it with my other produce at the market down the road. But apparently its bright purple, slightly squid-ish appearance frightens people. Good thing I like it so much! The carrots were a big hit, though, so I routinely sold out of those. I’m particularly excited about a variety I found to plant next year – they’re black! The seeds are from India, called Pusa Asita black carrots. It’s a new open-pollinated variety that’s jam packed with anti-oxidants, plus apparently it stains everything purple. How cool is that?

Dang, this summer is going fast. I can’t believe it’s been a month since I last posted! But in my defense, summer is my busy season… Perhaps the most exciting news is we have two new guinea chicks!!! I’ve been letting the broody hens (of which there are many) sit on the guinea eggs, since it makes them happy and most of them don’t ever hatch. I have to admit, it’s incredibly fun to gather them up after a month or so, then hurl them into the woods and listen to them explode. Way more entertaining than firecrackers, although just as lethal if you’re standing nearby when the shell cracks. I’m surprised the smell doesn’t scorch the earth.

Every once in awhile though, there’s a fertile egg in the mix. I was sitting in my office one morning when I heard that distinctive plaintive cheeping that can only mean one thing – a cute little fuzzy bird is somewhere out there, and it’s sad and lonely. So naturally I got out there as fast as I could and found a very confused, just hatched guinea chick wandering around in front of the coop. I’m amazed he made it out of the nesting box, but I quickly reunited him with his adopted mama. I moved little Stephano, White Mama (I ran out of creative names the day she hatched), and the rest of the eggs into the garage brooding facility, where little Giuseppe hatched the next day.

Just the other day, I head that same frantic chirping, this time coming from the garage. Turns out we had a hen sneaking in there and laying eggs in the corner. And then apparently sitting in there for a month, busily hatching out eggs. Makes me wonder what else is living in there. But anyway, as soon as the rest of the eggs hatch out I’ll be moving that new family into the other half of the brooding box. I really don’t want a bunch of chicks roaming and cavorting all over the garage. It’s bad enough when Woolimina sneaks in there to eat hay and scares the heck out of me when I wander out in the morning to get something out of the freezer.

In other news regarding adorable critters, Porkulous the Precious is only getting cuter as he gets bigger. Usually that’s not the case, but he’s a rare pig indeed. Since it’s been in the 90s for as long as I can recall, I put a deeper pool in his fenced off area. It’s got about a foot or so of water in it, and he loves it. He’ll lounge in there all day, and when I fill it up he plays in the stream of water. He also taught himself how to blow bubbles with his snout, which is just about the cutest thing ever. I can’t wait for Gene to see him do it, because I’m sure the heart-warming sight will change his mind about that whole “I’m going to get me some tasty bacon come October” nonsense he keeps going on about.

After a few weeks of absolutely zero fiddler crab sightings in our tank, I headed back to the feed store to procure a few more. I was thinking that adding a few more more might convince the other two to be a tad more social. And really, one can never have enough crabs.

The normal aquatics guy wasn’t there, so I was helped by a sweet younger guy that unfortunately had an almost debilitating crab phobia. Every time he swooped in the tank with his net, the crabs would angrily scatter while waving their claws at him, and he’d visibly shudder. Every once in awhile he’d actually catch one, but it would jump out of the net and cause him to simultaneously jump away from their tank. After about 20 minutes, he decided it would be okay to skirt the company rules and let me just reach in and grab whichever ones I wanted.

I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for crustaceans, but I fully admit that when I came home and swapped out the filters in the tank, I screamed like a little girl when Luigi came lurching off the top of the filter and onto my hand. Apparently he’d climbed up the filter hose and decided it made a fine home. Plenty of algae to eat, a dry spot at the top of the filter box, tons of privacy… everything a crab could want in a living space. At least now when he disappears again I know where to look first.

But Luigi isn’t the only critter to come out of hiding around here. Now that I’ve started running the sprinkler in the evenings, I’ve noticed a huge increase in the number of dragonflies darting around the farm. I love to watch them hunt, and apparently they enjoy playing in the sprinkler. So do the robins and gold finches. They exhibit so much gleeful abandon when I turn it on that I don’t even grumble when it takes me close to three hours to haul it around the yard.

Ceri, on the other hand, takes her sprinkler love to the extreme. We were so worried she was going to drown herself that we bought one especially designed for dogs. Of course, the box is covered with cute pictures of puppies playing in the water, but it definitely brings out the puppy in our 100-lb Shepherd. I’ll turn it on for her during the hottest part of the afternoon, and she would play for hours if we let her.

As long time readers might recall, there have been a fair number of epic battles on the farm to date, include the Winged Ant Situation of 2011, the Aphid Wars of 2012, and the Great Horsefly Annoyance of 2013. And in the 8 years we’ve lived here, I’ve never had to bring in professional reinforcements. Until now.

I was too scared to photograph the wasps. Enjoy some sunflowers instead.

It all started on a bright sunny day. A little too hot, but I wasn’t complaining – the heat is good for the corn. As I watered the grapes, I felt something crawling on my hand. Being the seasoned farm mama that I am, I just nonchalantly tried to shake it off without actually checking what it was. That’s when the burning started. And the screaming. The yellow jacket clinging to my palm didn’t give up until I scraped him off with the garden hose. Lucky for me, Gene knew how to make a poultice out of meat tenderizer that sucked all the venom out of my hand, and kept my whining to a minimum.

An amazingly accurate movie, as far as I’m concerned.

The next morning, I was out watering again since the temps were going to soar to almost 100 degrees. I wasn’t all that worried since yellow jackets aren’t exactly rare beasties in July, so it wasn’t so surprising I’d disturbed one. But when I watered the grapes again, this time I heard a most disconcertingly loud buzzing sound from the other side of the raised bed. When I slowly peered over the top of the grapevines, I was horrified to see the entire ground moving. It looked like a scene out of The Swarm – no exaggeration. There were hundreds of them, all staring at me. At least, I assume they were staring at me. I was too busy running away to notice.

Thank god for Google – I was able to find a wasp removal expert within minutes. I called the number, and he agreed to come out within the hour. I think my screaming “Save me from the beeeeeeees” the minute he answered the phone probably contributed to his sense of urgency. It was fascinating to watch him suit up and go to work, armed with an industrial sized Shop-Vac and a steely determination. I was going to contribute to the carnage by bellowing, “This time it’s personal, die wasps die!” but my words wouldn’t have had much impact considering I was hiding behind our truck the entire time.

Turns out there was a fairly substantial nest, complete with disgusting larvae, buried underneath the grapes. After taking the nest out and destroying it, he unsuited, then went back to vacuum up the stragglers. When I asked him why he wasn’t afraid of getting stung, he told me that killing off all the guards “demoralized” the rest, so they didn’t even try to defend themselves. Apparently my “get it off me” dance was just adding to the wasp’s self esteem, and that’s why I got stung so many times. Today I only saw a lonely yellow jackets buzzing around, and I made sure to let them know I’ve got the bee guy on speed dial.

For my 40th(!) birthday, Gene finally relented on his “edible plants only” stance and he and Bess Bess installed a huge butterfly garden in the front yard! It’s beautiful, complete with watering, feeding, sheltering and basking stations – everything a butterfly needs at every stage of development. The yellow and black swallowtail has relocated from the back deck to the front yard, and was quickly joined by three happy bumble bees who spend the vast majority of their day buzzing from bloom to bloom.

Naturally I’ve already taken hundreds of pictures, even though it’s a little unnerving to stand close by when the bees zip right by your face in their haste to do some pollinating. Bess Bess did a ton of research on how to set it up, and decided on planting everything in huge swatches of color. It’s going to be gorgeous once everything grows up.

In other news, I dragged Bess Bess to Petco with me to find some live plants my fish tank, and we brought home an African Butterfly fish (in keeping with my birthday theme). He’s really cool – he hangs at the top of the tank all day, and eats live insects.

The feeding schedule has proven slightly problematic, since according to the internet he either eats several times a day, or requires “heavy feeding” twice a week. Either way, that’s a lot of bugs. Since I’ve never backed down from a challenge, I’ve taken to prowling around the gardens with a huge fish net, trying to swipe bugs out of the air. When I stalk any wayward flies that blunder into our house, I’ll even add a whispered audio commentary, just like the other famous hunters do on all those shows Gene watches.

While there’s no lack of bugs around here, finding suitable sacrificial insects is tough. I refuse to feed him any beneficial insects, like dragonflies, bees, or butterflies. Likewise, anything cute and adorable is spared, like ladybugs and those bright blue walking sticks. So that pretty much leaves wasps and flies, and since the last thing I want is for an angry wasp to escape my net on its way to the tank, that pretty much leaves flies. I’ve since learned the hard way that flies can survive being dunked underwater, but at least chasing them around the house is good exercise.

I’m not the only fearsome predator out hunting dinner – in other amazing news, my preying mantis egg sac hatched! They’re already huge, I saw one yesterday that was about three inches long. I was watering the strawberries right by the greenhouse and happened to spot her hanging from a leaf. They have incredible camouflage, and I love the way they sway back and forth while they wait for something juicy to wander within striking distance.