Pine Cones

Greetings everyone! Imagine my surprise when I discovered that some of my freinds actually read this blog! More than one and less than 20, so heck that's pretty good...I admit I am not a regular writer. I love writing, but since my back got all crunchy, sitting for any length of time was extremely painful. Also Iam not a fast writer. I like to drink coffee, listen to polka and really think about what Iam going to say here. So it takes a little time, and I don't always have time.
But today I do!
This weeks adventure=
Making Pinecones



Here Iam standing at our Little Giant power hammer.This mighty machine was built back in 1900 ish. Making it the oldest thing in the shop next to myself and the Hubbinator. No it's true. My Uncle Max(saint Max) from Nebraska found this mighty beast and shipped it out to us , thus saving our shoulders from eternal tendonitis. It has a 25 lb blow, meaning if it were to hit your hand it would be very very painful and messy.
Iam operating it by stepping down on a bar at the base, this engages the the gears and tells the machine to hammer slow, fast or "Holy Hell who let the horses out?!!!"
Some sort of a power hammer has been in use by blacksmiths since oh...the iron age. The Hellenic Greeks used them(Hail Hephestus..) Water powered hammers and then steam powered hammers have been used to forge everything from plough shares to the giant cogs of the industrial revolution.
But for my humble use this week, I was forgeing 2 inch square solid bar into pine cone shaped blanks.
Before and After


After I bash the heck out of the square stock in the power hammer I take it to my anvil and shape it up. I could build a fancy forming die to use in the power hammer but I just didn't take the time. I also wanted to enjoy the hand forging, and practice my skills. So, from square, to a wedge shape, then I round it up to a pine cone shape.


Forging away

The corners getting rounded, all the flats need to be curved so when I chisel it will bite into the steel. All this is hot work. I usually don't wear a glove on my hammer hand, but thick steel radiates some monster heat..and frankly I got tired of it. The handsome shield behind me was built by our freind Bob, who is also a smith and wily craftsman.


The Pink Fist of Rohan
This is an utterly staged pictured to give you an idea of how I chisel the pine cones open. I heat them to yellow, swiftly place them in the vice, and using a curved chisel, "cut" out the petals of the cone. Iam not being ultra realism driven on this , but I do want them to look real-ish.
So I slowly work my way down the cone, turning it, cutting into it. Laborious as heck.- and if some other smith has a better 'n faster way then please send in your tips for consideration.

It was hotter than heck outside the day I started this. There I was, in my thermal shirt trying not to get a radiant burn from 1500 degree steel, sweating my arse off. Some people go to fancy spas and spend big bucks to be uncomfortably hot and sweaty. I get it for free!
The Results

Ta da!

A pine cone. Now I have to make four more, add the branches and pine boughs(another process) and add it all to a handrail. I know I grouse about being hot , sweaty, tired and all but when something turns out well it really is satisfying.
So tune in later to see the rest of it progressing. Hope everyones Lunasa was groovy, and the harvest is abundant for you all..

Hops hops hops! That "wicked and pernicious weed!"

Here it is, our glorious hop yard..well all 15 feet long plot of it.But it is our hop yard, all organic, Wassailed along with the apples in early January.
The handsome rooster stands proudly atop our Maypole, the garlands of mayday replaced by the deep green vines of Willamette and Fuggles hop vines.
They peek out of the earth around the end of March and every late August we cut the bines down, heavy with aromatic hop cones and haul it all to The Lucky Labrador Brewery
http://www.luckylab.com/html/story.html for an orgy of hop picking. We are not the only hop farmers (be it a tiny enterprise) to bring our hops. No this is a community affair.Folks bring their hops to the brewery and in a frenzy of pint imbibing and scratchy hop vine wrestling we pick the hops. We drink ale, we laugh, we celebrate a community harvest of itchy, scratchy goodness. Our hands become gummy with the resins, our hearts full of joy at being a part of something so ancient and good. Growing what we eat, growing what we drink. The magical brewers take our hops and brew it into a fresh hopped IPA. Crispy and bitter. Parking Lot IPA, as that is where we stand around barrels picking the hops. Out in the parking lot.
We have a lovely time.
Mmmm beer. Good beer.




Mister Rooster..
High atop our 25 ft. plus Maypole stands Mister Rooster. Mighty in his plywood glory, symbol of masculine fertility, he has weathered wind, rain and recently an awesome lightening storm..(actually after a huge strike right over the house we thought we lost him, but no, he survived old Thor's wrath!)
The hops have reached his eye, and since this was taken he is now wreathed in green. Little tendrils of vine reaching out to grow even higher if they could



Hop Cones to be=Burrs
Look closely at this picture...see the teeny tiny little "burrs on the light green bit? Those are baby Hop cones. Yep. Hop cones.
They start life as side shoots , that quickly turn into little burrs resembling burdock burrs.
By the end of July these will be full fledged hop cones. Like fish scales they lie one on the other. They grown up to three inches in length, and at the end of August they are sticky with resin.
Hop cones are the female reproductive parts of the plant. Hops are also related to another plant known for it's relaxing effects, Cannibus Sativa...Yes it's true. Would I lie?
For more scientific and other info refer to this groovy link, where I got the title quote above=
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hops
And if your feeling daring and might want to try your hand at growing your own =
http://www.freshops.com/

Ya see the thing is, there is a world wide hop shortage. many factors are involved, but it is a fact that hops are precious commodity at present. Worth their weight in gold..as it were.
Well..all I know is it makes me happy to watch them break through the earth in spring, grow like crazy all summer and in the fall we harvest them to brew good ale.
Here's to the hops! Here is to tradition! Here is to the folk who grow what we eat and drink!

Here piggy piggy...

Wild Boar

Here he is a wild boar that I forged up three years ago, and only now hung up on the smithy wall.
I love Wild Swine, and I know they are pain in the butt to farmers, yes they are over running the vinyards of France and Germany but I like them still.
They were also sacred to my ancestors, so much so that they wore boar crested helmets into battle, see link=
http://www.wiganarchsoc.co.uk/content/News_Letters/news005.htm

I made this for the fun of it, a rare thing. Working in the forge is almost always for paying clients these days. I don't make the time nor have the time to just be an "artiste".
Too many other things need doin around here.

Thistle gate

Thistle Gate in Situ
A few posts back , there is a gate drawing in chalk on our shop floor=Here is the gate coming together. It has taken way too long to get this gate built, partly due to other projects, and also to the challenge of engineering as you go, being challenged by every job to learn new skills and be a clever monkey..
The deceptively simply loop at the bottom of the pattern was not as simple as it seemed.
Steel or iron will bend to your will, but that's the problem too. It will bend were you "tell" it to bend. If there was a mistake on your part working out the steps to forming whatever it is you're wanting to form.
From forging a flower to bending an 8 foot loop there is a logical(well, sometimes) path of how to make something.
"If I want this then I have to do A before I can do B.."
This process of deconstruction to construct is part of creating ironwork, and a behavior that I and most blacksmiths I know engage in when we are out in the world. We can't help we, we look at ironwork and try to figure out how it was built...
"Look at those gates, they must have had to put the twist in first and then slid the picket in after, and then riveted it" Says the Hubbinator to I.
"Yeh, but look at this, " Says Me, " they obviously forge welded this to this.." Etc..
It's kind of wacky, but we can't help it, we like to figure things out.
Which leads me to the Jig of Mordor=



The Jig of Mordor
It took me several days of fussing, cussing and thinking to come up with a forming jig(a thingy to shape metal with, used when you have many of the same shape to make)
In fact is was truly a pain in my ass, and nearly ended my marriage. Yet, here it is, a big loop that accurately reproduces the same loop with curved ends. Looks so innocent sitting there doesn't it? So simple, how could this be so hard?
Well, it has to do with my fuzzy chalk drawing, the design itself being very precise, and and no room for wiggle at all in the way the peices fit together. The first jig was a tad too big, thanks to my fuzzy drawing which got tightened up.
The loops are made out ten foot lengths of steel, that must first have a curve put into them at the ends, then wrapped around the jig to make the loops. They have to be exactly the same or the eye will be drawn to any dissimilarity in the piece. The design is Art-Deco, and very clean.

-Then there was the butting of the heads between blacksmiths, the pressure of looming deadlines, a few stressful days .. well..you get the picture.
We prevailed and now the gate is ready for it's hinges and lock plate.
Can't wait to get it out of here!

Poppie heaven

Here they are.The lovely poppy seed poppy.
Every year I await their bloom, and this year the huge plants that self seeded from last year have burst open in a riot of crimson, burgundy, and pink. An Art Nouveau dream.

They are sown by the wind, scattered by my wanderings through the garden. This year they are over 4 feet high, the nodding heads heavy, the ruffled leaves like the skirts of Belle Epoch ladies.
I can't help but think of them as fancy women from a late Victorian Paris nightclub, can-can on the stage, absinthe in their glasses.
In the late summer harvest the seeds for baking, sprinkled on Ukrainian braid, baked in sweet poppyseed cake. Their culinary uses tie me to the centuries of Slavic women who used them as medicine, in cooking and for sacred offerings.

And I love them for their beauty.

It's Hot!

The month of May started cold, with hail, and snow, and lot's of rain. We were wearing sweaters last week this time. But not now. The current temp. is 91 degrees. The wind blows hot, the plants are drooping in the sun. Great for my hops which if you watch them, are actually growing an inch an hour. They love this weather. I do not. Sure I am a big fat wuss when it comes to heat. Some of my family comes from the sun drenched islands of Dalmatia on the blue Adriatic. My olive skin and long nose attest to this fact, BUT the other half of my family come from places that produce freckled, fair skinned folks. Britain and central Germany.
So while I love the warmer weather once it hits 80 Iam hot, bothered and sweaty.

Meanwhile, Iam crawling around on my knees doing a layout drawing for a gate. It's an art deco piece, for a truly lovely 1920's era manse. This is actually a pleasant job to work on , as the shop floor is cool, and Iam in the shade. But next week it's back before the fire, hot or not.

Friends ask us if we work when it hits 100, as it can here in the summertime. Well, yes and no. We work until we can't stand it, or we work in the early morning, take a break, and then return.
I know that blacksmiths all over the world where it is much hotter, work in far worse conditions temp wise. The ancient Greek and Roman artist's portrayed Vulcan/ Hephaestus in little more than short kilt and sandals as He worked. Or nekkid those naughty Hellenics.
Drawings of more mortal smithies show the men working nearly naked, and in 100 degree weather I can see why one would be tempted.

The thing is I stopped wearing shorts in the shop after I had a yellow hot peice of steel slip out of a vice and land on my leg. Ouch. I still have the scar.
So I prefer to roast away in long pants and leathers now.
Oh well back to the sweat box, and more drawing.

Avalon

Spring is springing here at the forge. The robins are busy jousting one another out on the front fence. The male flickers are up early to drum out a tune on the roof. The testosterone is flying out there, and the girl birds look slightly wary of it all. All this groovy energy has me thinking and feeling about the things that make me feel vital in life. The elements of this earth walk that bring me joy, energy, passion and stoke my own inner fire.
One of those things is muscic although Iam not an MP3 geek. I am too cheap, and can't figure out how to burn a cd to save my life.
But I do dig internet radio, and praise to the odd free download. I can listen to music I like, over and over if Iam so inclined. Music I loved ages ago, music obscure, weird folk songs. Or New Wave hits from the 80's...
Like Roxy Music's "More Than This" or "Slave to Love".
I dug Roxy Music's album Avalon so much I wore out my cassette tape of it. Yes that's a cassette tape children, we had them back then, I even had a "Walkman". They have some in the Smithsonian museum if you want to see one. Along with a few Victrolas.
The thing is, if Iam having a crappy day in the shop my favorite 80's hits can bring me out of it.
Madonna especially. "Material Girl" or "Like a Virgin"..There I admit it.

Camping in Funny Clothes in the Snow

Camping in funny clothes in the Snow
Here Iam attempting to look like an explorer. I only need to be pointing off into the distance...
Actually, my buddy Wolf Woman snapped this when I was trying to take a breather.
It is pure conciendence that I look so posed, and heroic-ish. A testimony to her skill with the picture box.
This was taken high up on a volcanic ridge we named Bobcat ridge.
A couple of weeks ago the Hubbinator and myself met up with some groovy freinds for a good old fashioned Fur Trade Era rendezvous. Check out this page for one of the big rondies to see what it's about =http://www.rockymntnatlrendz.com/
or our local event http://ppr.eddiespicer.com/Current/
The gathering we attended is a smaller affair, and is not a completely primitive event. Primitive meaning every person has to be in period attire, no modern nothing. Period. Tents made of canvas, clothes made of linen and wool and cotton, no rubber soles on them shoes either. Or you will be asked to change them. What seems like a pain in the ass is really a good thing, because you are transported back in time, and can get a sense of what life was like before..before this place was even a country. It is a history nerds(that would be me) dream come true.
But this event we attended two weeks ago is just a small local event. It is not primitive, more a camp out with black powder rifles , archery, and some of us in historical clothing.
You can wear polar fleece if you want to, but our camp will call you a pilgrim, or worse a tourist.
The location is deep in the high desert of Central Oregon, in a place called Millican. Horse Ridge is the actual site. It is a gorgeous place, juniper trees, sage, amazing red rock outcrops.
Coyotes howl at night, and so did we.



Warm inside the Tent
Our camp consisted of several good freinds, all re-enactors of some kind.
We had us , Wolf Woman, Mother Hen, Blonde Bear and Two Girls the fur traders. The nights were cold, so cold, but most of us have woodstoves inside our canvas tents, so there was a good warm and cozy place to escape the cold. Days we spent hiking in the warm sunshine, nights laughing by the fire.
A good amount of bullshitting did occur..

Fire and Ice
Those are not "orbs" in the above pic, that's a snowflake.
When we arrived at the site on thursday we found Wolf Woman building an elaborate stone fire back for our fire pit. She and MotherHen were yarding in big lava rocks to build it, filling the cracks with mud. They constructed while we set up our camp, and in no time they had the project done.
It was a work of art, and labor of love. Most of all ingenious.
It worked so well radiating the heat, that when the snow storm hit friday night we all stood out by the fire. The gently swirling falling flakes began to pile up around us, but we were warm and happy at the hearth.

Silence
The next morning I awoke and crept out of bed to see the entire world transformed into a snow scape. The sky was just turning a rose color as the sun came up behind the eastern foothills. All was still, and magical. The camp is ours, and inside the tent the Hubbinator is making coffee because he is so sweet. Soft fluffy white snow everywhere, the flakes sparkled in the dawn. I walked down the trail to explore, but the scent of bacon cooking in Wolf Womans tent lured me back to enjoy breakfast with the camp. Later that day we went for a long hike in the new snow, and that was when the pic of me on the rocks was snapped.
It was a good relaxed weekend with great freinds. We packed up on Sunday, reluctantly I might add, and returned to civilization.
It was like a tonic being out there having fun, I can't wait for the next adventure!

What I do of a Day

My life is not the glamor filled orgy of fun and romance many think it is, what with being an arteest and all. Oh no. Sure it's fun to create ironwork that will grace and adorn our clients homes. The satisfaction of seeing them happy, or even elated over the finished work. I enjoy the creative aspects of being a blacksmith, but when you get right down to it, it's work. Like any other job, trade or such. There are days when the work is hard, fussy, dirty, annoying or just a plain old pain the ass. Did I mention tediously repetetive?
Then there is the on going tendonitis in my shoulder, the tendonitis in my elbow, and the cold concrete floor that turns my feet into ice blocks. Until oh, June.
The above pic is of Me self grinding away on welds for the tree project. They first part of the panels have already been installed, they turned out wonderfully, but there are so many steps involved in their production it's easy for me, with the short attention span, to be done with them in my mind. Really done , as in "Please No more trees! Can't I move on to the next project now? I swear I'll be good!!!"
Still, Iam working as an artist and for that Iam grateful. Although it would be nice to be a glamourous movie star, heck, I'd take independently wealthy eccentric who travels alot! that'd be fine too.
Back to the trees....

Turkey Showdown On a Lonely Road

"Is that a dog?"

Recently we took a disposable camera in to have the contents developed. This camera has been knocking around inside our truck for just about a year now.
We had forgotten what was on it, and so our curiosity was happily surprised when we took a peek at the pictures contained therein.
There was the odd assortment of pictures from a Viking reenactment we attended. A Mountain Man campout last Feb. in 17 degree weather...But wait! At the end of the roll were three special pictures.
Could it be?
Yes..I had forgotten we took photos of him.
Yet here he was, in all his glorious might, Mr. King of the Road.
Standing tall and challenging everyone to a fight who dare cross his path on that lonely stretch of road. It all came back..
We , The Best Freind, Hubby, and I, on a lovely day in early spring, were out for a drive in the country.
The back roads are the best to view the flora and fauna, to find an old farm to admire. Maybe stop and take a stroll. We were cruising down (well, if 25 MPH can be called cruising) a particularly lovely farm road, when my Friend said
"Hey, Look at that dog in the middle of the road! Isn't he odd looking?"
I was in the back seat, so I had to lean forward between the seats to get a better view of the "Dog" who was standing tall in the middle of the road, apparently prepared to stop all traffic.

"Yeh, he is really weird looking.. He isn't going to get off the road it looks like." says I.
The Dog was now marching about, back and forth, making an odd sound.

"No.." Says The Hubby. "That's not a dog..." Drawing closer He brought the truck to a complete stop about 10 feet from the "dog", who was in actuality a Tom Turkey. In full territorial display challenging our truck to a duel. It was spring after all, and this was His stretch of road.


"You Shall Not Pass!"

We sat in the truck, listening to his manly gobbling. He strutted quite impressively all the while, puffing up, flexing his wings and dragging the tips of his feathers on the ground to make a
loud, ruffling sound. After a few minutes of this the Hubby decided to roll the truck ever so slowly forward. We watched as Mr. Turkey moved aside, puffing up to what I assumed was full parade dress for a turkey. It was then that the Hubby saw the cause of Good Sir Turkey's display of manhood.

"His Lady Fair"
A lady turkey stood down in the ditch beside the road, her plumage of red and cream was quite lovely, she was pretty as far as turkeys go..I suppose. Mr. Turkey was digging her, enough to stand down a Nissan truck.
The Hubbinator snapped some pics of the lovely couple while we marveled at Mr. Turkeys bravery, and hoped that Mrs. Turkey was sufficantly impressed with his virility.
We drove off to enjoy the rest of our drive, I assume they made lots of little turkeys last spring.
We have decided to try and find the road again, to see if He's still king of the road.

Wassailing and colds

The wassailing went marvelously. Thirty some people marched out into our orchard, singing and shouting. We gathered around in a circle as the night began to creep in. The earth beneath our feet was muddy and squishy after weeks of rain. Happily, the rain held off all afternoon as folks gathered to celebrate the Capricorn birthdays and to wassail our trees.

We made toasts, and drank wassail. Each person taking a drink of the mulled ale, then shouting
"Wassail!"
To which the gathered friends responded
"Drink hail!"
Everyone drank a draught, the wassail bowl carried around the circle. When the last person drank, that would be me Frauklug, we all let out a great cheer. Then off to the warmth of the house, to enjoy a lovely feast by the fire. Some hung out beside the bonfire in the back yard, others stayed inside. Laughter and good cheer all around. It was a glorious good time had by all.

The only hitch in my giddy up was the cold I could feel creeping on. My day started with that odd, stuffy feeling. The first sneezes, that you hope are just from using the dusty shop-vac ..but then the sort of dizzy, sleepy feeling kicks in. More sneezing. In your heart you know, it's a cold coming on. No mistaking.
So I hoped no one noticed I sounded more congested as the evening wore on, or that I disappeared to lie down for a bit while party went on. I tried to be brave, but around 9pm I had to go to bed. The cold won, so I just let it go and run it's course for four days.
The little cold bugs seem to be done now, and that's fine. Time to get out in the shop, where I have not been for a week.

Yuletide and wassailing

Hey ho!
Well, Yule came and went, the Solstice was glorious, friends and family gathered to celebrate. Ma and Pa arrived to celebrate this year, and stayed for 8 days.
We had a bonfire on the Solstice proper,with feasting and making merry until late into the evening.

Then came the build up to Christmas day, shopping , running around trying to get everything done before the big day. Geez!
My daily walk kept me sane, and my shitty back at bay.
All turned out just fine,with all the shopping done, family having a great visit, and the goose cooked.
We had a wonderful Yule, the pudding of infamy turned out excellent. Almost had a little pyrotechnic excitement when the brandy I was only warming burst into flames a bit prematurely, but hey, that was all part of the show!
Note to self=I need to forge up a special ladle for next years fun..one that keeps the warmers hand far away from the flames.
The family departed, New Years arrived, and here we are.
Time for the Wassailing of the orchard this upcoming weekend, and our annual birthday party for the Hubby, known as the Capricorn party.
We have it turns out , many, many friends who are all born under the sign of the Goat. So the Husband decided to pitch a big whing-ding for all of them, "It's just a practical idea, and saves money." Spoken like a true Capricorn says I.
We all troop out to the orchard, singing, hooting, making noise, and ask for the orchard to be fruitful and wake up the land. The children hang toast in the branches of the apple trees, and we pour out mulled ale onto the ground. After that we all retreat to enjoy the evening around the bonfire.
I hope this year it snows, that would be lovely.
Wassail, or "Good Health to you!"

Creativity

Things are chuggin along on my latest project. The tree panels take about three days each to complete, and sometimes this sort of production work gets , well...boring. I'm standing there waiting for a piece of steel to heat. I'm staring into the fire, listening to the roar of the blower. It is almost trance inducing. That's when I feel the urge to draw, or doodle on my work table. Or the floor of the shop using a piece of soapstone chalk.
Usually it's birds, horses, trees, little scenes from nature.
Like the wolf over there on the left.
So I think that the waiting trance opens up my mind to being able to just draw. Without any self criticism, or worry "it's not good". My chattering left brain shuts up long enough to let the creative right side have at it.
Sometimes when I sit at my drawing table with a fresh sheet of paper laid out before me, I choke up. Mind foes blank, I get fidgity, can't come up with a thing.
I once read that this was called "Fear of the white page", something artists and writers both experience, it seems to be a part of the creative process. Pain in the butt is what I think.
It's just so hard to set aside a time to draw for pleasure. If it isn't for work I somehow feel guilty at drawing just to draw. Iam happy for my spirit, my heart, for my sanity the art comes out anyways.

Yuletide cometh..

Yuletide is coming, the days are short, dark by 4:30 ish. We have had plenty of frosty nights, and even snow. Okay it didn't stick down here by the river, but it did show up long enough to get me excited about the season.
I love Yule.
Yuletide for me is about tradition, family, and ritual.
Ritual is important to me , especially the culinary rituals of holy days.
Take Christmas pudding.
It is so simple yet so involved. I gathered all the ingredients, figs, cherries, almonds, etc..weeks ago. I beseeched my favorite butcher for his best suet, the good kind. The hard white suet that is almost fluffy when you grate it.
I bought organic barley wine and thick black stout. I gathered everything together along with the biggest bowl I own, then I asked my dearly departed Grandmothers for guidance and got started.
It all went well, the Hubby came in and gave it a good stir for luck. We shared a big smooch to add extra oomph to it. Then into the pot it went to steam away. After coming in to check on it every so often it seemed done, at the appointed time.
So now it's all cooked and wrapped up neatly, awaiting dinner on the big day.
Next up are all the German cookies..chocolate pretzles, hazelnut spritz , crescents, shortbread...
But tommorrow is more smiting of steel..baking is later this weekend.
Wassail!

Fullmoon...

The full moon is enormous. Last night was our Thanksgiving day dinner, so my best buddy Mdm. Sandra was over to share in the orgy of food. She has just recently moved into my town, and so we are once again neighbors. Moving is not easy, but she needed the change, I for one am thrilled she's here, even if she sometimes wonders "What in the hell have I done!"
Anyways, right at sunset we stepped outside to call the Hubbinator in for dinner when we both saw the amazing full moon. Or near full, as tonight is the actual big event.
The sky was lavender, and blue. Pale and cold. The vapour of our breathe hung in the still air, all was quiet.
There in the sky, silvery white hung the moon. We stood there together for a moment, awed by it's glory, in a silence of shared joy.
Then we both began to get cold.
But before we trotted back into the warm house, I told her how happy I was that she was there to share in the moment, and she agreed. We hugged, and got all choked up like the sentimental ninnies we are.
We laughed for being so sappy, but it really was cool moment.
We have known each other for almost 20 years. Maybe it is more than twenty now, I forget. Being able to share in a silent moon gazing is one of the many reasons why she is my best friend.

I hope everyone is enjoying this glorious full moon.

Rats

We love the turning of the seasons here at Weisshirsch forge. Each season brings with it specific events that we look for.
Spring =the hops come up, Ospreys return to nest.
Summer=The berries ripen, and the hops keep coming up, and up..
Fall= Harvest the hops. Ospreys leave for Mexico, the Norway rats move in.

I was standing at my welding table, preparing to lay in a bead when a movement caught my eye. I turned my head and watched as a rather bold Norway rat sauntered ever so casually across the shop, and ducked behind a pile of sheet metal. Bold as day.
Oh great!Either it's sick, or has been around here so long it's unafraid of humans. Either reality is not good. I walked over to inspect , and could not find the rat.I did see a hole. This means they are moving in for winter, in the walls, between the sheetrock and the metal siding. All that nice, warm pink insulation to burrow in. A lovely cafe/compost pile outback, the odd snack left out on the work bench. Rat heaven. It's like going to a fancy lodge in Aspen for the winter.

A few weeks ago we suspected there were rats moving into our basement.
The cats had begun staking out the cupboard under the kitchen sink, and the compost bucket was looking a bit rifled through.
So Hubby went into the crawlspace/basement and left poison packets. He also blocked off the gap around the sink pipes so any rats could not get back into the compost.
After a few days the cats stopped holding vigil at the cupboard,so we figured the rats were no more. The draw back is that someone has to go into the basement and fish out the bodies.

So they are also setting up home in our shop, and this is not okay.
We can kill them off, but there are a million more out there waiting to take their place. It's more like keeping them at bay.
Time for a good terrier.

Worky worky work..

Work! I don't sit down to blog much, and the main reason is work. That and my back killing me if I sit. Oh did I mention the back injury? Well, it seems two of my discs are trying to eject themselves into my spinal cord. That explains why Iam in pain 99% of the time. Degenerative disc disease, which is a nice way fo saying I'm wearing out.
Oh well, life goes on. Work eats up my energy, and at the end of the day Iam too exhausted to write, or rather to be clever.
What's new? Iam currently building/sculpting hazelnut trees. Big 8 foot long trees, for the handrails on a porch. 12 panels of them.Due by the first of December, they are lovely. BUT the deadline looms...
I dream about them, or rather not meeting the deadline, and awake feeling a dreadful terror..and my back hurting like hell.
I have net hard deadlines before. I can only do my best.
One thing though, this fall has been gorgeous. The trees are amazing, I stand in my shop door and am in awe of the trees, the sunlight pouring through the yellow leaves, the red maples , all of it. They lift my spirits, and I forge ahead.