Baa Baa Black Sheep


The Shetland Lambs of 2013 are arriving, gorgeous and healthy. Three mamas are relieved and contented, grazing and nursing.

The count is 3 ram lambs, 3 ewe lambs with 3 ewes left to deliver in the next week or so.

So much fuss with installing our lamb-cam, much enjoyment of remote viewing, sharing the view with our friends of the farm… and in the end, two mamas delivered in the run-out, out of view of the camera entirely.

We came upon them immediately after delivery and had to make a judgement of who belonged to whom because there stood Maggie & Ruva with 4 darlings at their feet.  They sniffed and licked left and right and seemed indiscriminate.  Quickly we paired them up with our best guesses so that we could ensure everyone would get a proper meal and not be left out in the cold.  Maggie was behaving as though she was ready to abandon one of them.  Who knows?  Maybe she singled and Ruva tripled?  Anyway, they’ve each got, and are nursing, two beauties.  Nikki then lambed 4 hours later and delivered two more gorgeous bundles of wool.  Fortunately we were on the scene then because Pansy, Nikki’s sister, was in the stall with her and SO eager to snatch the babies.  We ushered Pansy out and away from the new lambs with as little intrusion upon Nikki’s laboring as possible.

Pansy, Lily & Winky await, not patiently.  Perhaps Mother’s Day will bring them special gifts?

I hope so.  I’m a bit tired.

But elated.

Nikki's little Shetland ewe lamb & Farmer Tam enjoying a gorgeous Vermont May day

Nikki’s little Shetland ewe lamb & Farmer Tam enjoying a gorgeous Vermont May day

May Day


When I was a girl, my mother and my grandmother taught us to pick any of the blooming flowers available on May 1st and tie them up into little bouquets.  My sister and I would harvest the early daffodils, woodland violets and trout lilies from the woods.  Sometimes there would be spring beauties.  Of course we would pick dandelions.  In my younger years, in Los Angeles County, California, there was no end to the choices.  But in the Berkshires of Massachusetts, on May 1st, the offerings were slim.

My sister and I would then sneak around the neighborhood, lay the bouquet on the front stoop, knock loudly on front doors and then run like the wind to hide.  We’d watch, secretly, while the door would open and someone would peer out, then down, and pick up the bouquet.  Often we would come out of hiding, giggling, and wave hello before heading to our next hit.  It was thrilling!

In our very rural Southern Vermont neighborhood, my own children did the same, collecting nearly the same types of bouquets, and then I would accompany them as they snuck around the neighborhood.  It was harder to get away with being sneaky in such a rural setting.  When you arrive at someone’s home in these parts, there are usually warning dogs that announce your arrival, or you’ve been walking a distance in the open which makes it easy to know you’re coming.  It’s not quite the same in a more thickly settled area.  However, my kiddoes would find a tree or a bush to hide behind, not realizing our dogs were giving them away near their retreat.

Delighted neighbors would find their bouquets and call them out, though it took a year or two to “train” these folks.  At first when the kids hid May-baskets, people didn’t understand what was going on.  One neighbor suspected foul-play, what with the knocking and the hiding and all of that!

My kids didn’t care.  They found the gifting to be as exciting as I had as a child.

Today there will be flowers dropped off for friends, but I don’t know if there’ll be hiding or not.  We’ll see!

My wish for you is that you can find a way to celebrate and enjoy a spring tradition, be it age-old, or something new for you and yours.

Happy May Day!

May flowers

Northeast woods in May – Trout Lilies & Spring Beauties

By the dawn’s early light


Farm report from Arkansas today, folks.  Our amazing Char is holding the fort down in Vermont and has just let me know that there are no lambs yet, the chicks are growing and adorable, peafowl are getting along, Cricket got into some chocolate cake (a bit, before she was able to pry it from his jaws), and she’s got her work cut out for her to collect up some hens that are being sold tomorrow.  She texted me this a.m .with “I forgot and left the chickens out last night.  Now what?”  Chickens do not always want to be caught, in case you didn’t know.

I’m in Northwest Arkansas to cheer on as my son Jody & his teammate David represent Virginia Tech at the FLW College Fishing National Championship Tournament on Beaver Lake.  This has been another exciting opportunity for Jody, for his team, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.  Because he graduates this spring, the clock is ticking on his college career in an outdoor sport that he’s been passionate about since he was 2 years old.

There are a couple of college fishing tours out there and FLW is a well-oiled machine when it comes to running these events.  TIME Magazine will be here tomorrow, local newspapers, media of all sorts, television airings….they work harder and harder with each season to celebrate these hard-working kids, environmental ethics, and elevating the sport of competitive fishing in an increasingly sedentary world.

I feel selfish this week, being away during lambing and all… Have I always yearned to visit Northwest Arkansas?  Sorry, no, but now that I’m here, I’m taking in the beauty of the Ozarks, the culture, the friendly people I’ve been running into.

Plus, I get to be with my kid, whom I am crazy about.  It’s dark and early when we start the day.  However, when those boats are heading out into the breaking dawn, it is gorgeous, exciting, freezing, and a unique crazy that I get to be a part of.

AND

I sang the National Anthem at the Day 1 Weigh-in in Rogers, Arkansas.

No worries, I won’t be signing any record labels and moving off the farm.

It’s been a dream of mine to sing the National Anthem at Fenway Park for as long as I can remember.  Yesterday, our beloved Red Sox‘ game was cancelled because of the unprecedented lock-down in Boston. I found myself in a gifted position, and in the midst of my nerves, sang it strong for all the right reasons.  I can’t wait to get home and tell the sheep all about it.

What I used to project "O Say Can You See" over background construction noise :-)

What I used to project “O Say Can You See” over background construction noise :-)

Duck, Duck, Egg!


The Blue Runner Ducks are laying again.  Finding their eggs scattered willy-nilly about their duck coop since the beginning of March has been both a blessing and a curse.  I’d have to lay on my stomach every morning and crawl into their low-roofed abode, stretching and reaching toward the corners to harvest the precious cargo.  Then wriggle backwards out, still on my stomach, so that I wouldn’t slam my head on the top of the doorway.

I found a tool a couple of weeks into this new daily chore, and pulling the eggs out in the basket of a garden cultivator meant I was spared the (reeking) immersion.  However the long handle would awkwardly slam and jab the coop or me or get tangled in the mesh garden fencing outside -just another little annoyance that I seemed not to master.

This past weekend we pulled the roof off the coop, purged it of the very sodden & soiled (translation:  disgusting) bedding, refreshed it with pine shavings, and in a corner right next to the doorway, placed a pile of straw bits.

Just as I’d hoped, the gals created a stunning nest for depositing the daily golden eggs.

I love how animals communicate.

Indian Blue Runner Ducks' eggs

Know anyone looking for duck eggs? Hands down they are the best to bake with, and also make gorgeous decorated Easter Eggs.

Haikus along 81


Just back from a visit to my son in Virginia for a few days.  Mommers had  loaded up the car with frozen Shepherd’s‘ Pies, Turkey Soup, Beef Barley Soup & Pot Pies for college-kid’s freezer, a few birthday presents & a cake(well, it was actually a trifle.)  Headed south for 11 hours of driving with Abe and bestowed the goods upon the birthday boy. Had a really nice visit, got to guest-star on his & Jesse’s Schultz’ podcast show, took a great hike up to Cascade Falls of Western Virginia, laughed our heads off watching Seinfeld episodes (a requirement for a class he’s taking), and outfitted his kitten, Smallie, with a halter to train him for potentially being walked on a leash someday.

Doesn't everyone bring their stand mixer to visit their son?

Doesn’t everyone bring their stand mixer to visit their son?

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Into the Mountain Laurel Grove – this must be gorgeous in the springtime

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Jody & Abe alongside one of the pools on the hike to Cascade Falls

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Smallie with his new halter -conditioning him to wearing it so that Jody can take him on walks eventually.

On my way north again, I seemed to be churning out the haikus.  If you follow me on Facebook, you may know that I’ve a penchant for haikus and often craft them to describe our latest happenings.  They’re not necessarily great haikus -none to compare to my friend Kelly, a haiku-goddess, that originally inspired me. Nonetheless, here they are:

  • Bluebird morning skies
  • Crisscrossed tic-tac-toed contrails
  • Short term graffiti
  • Skyscraper-tall poles
  • Posting roadside signs aloft
  • Shout “Pick me! Pick me!
  • Weigh Station ahead
  • Big Rigs line up for the scales
  • Keeping their shoes on
  • Tri-Cross plantings grow
  • South of the Mason Dixon
  • Wait…where’s Calvary?
  • Silos, corn cribs, cows…
  • Rude billboard interruptions;
  • “Adult Store Exit”
  • Cop must be ahead
  • Brakes light up like dominoes
  • Pious drivers creep
  • Lebanon, P A
  • Cow pond with basketball hoop
  • I’d like to see that!
  • Road food makes no sense:
  • Chai & pastry breakfast, lunch,
  • “Bugles” for dinner.
  • Turbine sentinels
  • Spinning Schuylkill County breezes
  • Coal Miner Angels
  • Adirondacks rise
  • 2 & a 1/2 hours North,
  • then east to V T
  • Familiar north woods
  • Relief replaces fatigue
  • Snowy, colder, Home.
  • Billboard pollution:
  • You don’t miss it at all if
  • Home is in Vermont.
  • Heart Warming Welcome Home

    Heart Warming Welcome Home

 

Weathering the weather


Whether the weather be cold,
Or whether the weather be hot.
We’ll weather the weather,
Whatever the weather,
Whether we
Like it or not!

(You all knew this little rhyme from childhood, right?)

Only 5 below this a.m. and the report on the barn critters is that Shetland Sheep are impervious to cold weather, horsies have frosty muzzles, hens have turned tail, ducks are tucking in and the goats NEVER enjoy the windchill.  Indoor pets have been enjoying luxurious sunny naps on the couches, yet spring into action to run around in the brisk outdoors whenever there are chores to be done.  I’ve been dosing on Vitamin D & lots of hot tea to help with the deep-winter slow down, getting excited for what is around the corner.

Enjoy the cold day photos from the farm, thanks for popping by!

January 24  Sunrise in Shaftsbury

January 24 Sunrise in Shaftsbury

Wethers weather the weather

Wethers weather the weather

Cold Ducks - thrilled with the extra hay I gave them this morning

Cold Ducks – thrilled with the extra hay I gave them this morning

Rear View of our little white leghorn - she peeked out into the cold, cold morning and then turned around fast to go back into the coop!

Rear View of our little white leghorn – she peeked out into the cold, cold morning and then turned around fast to go back into the coop!

Nite Nite enjoyed peppermints this morning

Nite Nite enjoyed peppermints this morning

Izzy had a frosty muzzle, too, but not too frosty to enjoy some peppermints after her breakfast.

Izzy had a frosty muzzle, too, but not too frosty to enjoy some peppermints after her breakfast.

Games on "Goat Rock" helps the girls to forget the cold for a bit.

Games on “Goat Rock” helps the girls to forget the cold for a bit.

Today: Life is cold…and awesome


chilly waters

cold, cold Battenkill

The daily race was on. I fed a bunch of pets, poured cups of coffee & cocoa, packed lunches, taxied north and back to deliver Char to school, attempted a tank fill-up with $3.56 (which gets you a little over a gallon of gas), taking photos here and there along the way. Back home, in the warm kitchen, I chit-chatted with the downhill skiing crew that was preparing to depart in the 11-below January cold. I moved hay and water, herds and flocks, and cuddled with wooly sheep. After sweeping the barn, I realized I was about to be late for a funeral for a friend.

Flying out of my coveralls and into a wool coat, I threw a beret on to cover my unbrushed, unwashed hairdo, hoping no one would notice my pajama top if I put a nice scarf around my neck.

When I got to Denise’s funeral, I was indeed about 5 minutes late. The funeral parlor gent greeted me so kindly and assured me I wasn’t late at all, escorting me to my seat. Right behind Denise’s family.

It began with a eulogy by her 22-year-old son- same age as my eldest. He broke the ice with “Well, this sucks” and then, of course, after the tension was eased, shared the most poignant speech I ever want to hear a 22-year-old boy give for his 50-year-old mom. Sean’s job has him arriving home at a variety of times and in the last year, he and his mom had a ritual of sharing a cocktail on the porch at possibly all hours after work. Sean wanted us to remember Denise’s good humor, smiling love of life by playing “It’s 5:00 Somewhere“,(Alan Jackson & Jimmy Buffett version), and of course, we all sang the chorus together in high spirits.

Curiously, though I’d never met her, I was seated next to Denise’s best friend “Tammy.” When she stood up to speak, I was dumbfounded. For years, Denise had told me about her best pal, the “Southern Tammy” (I am her “Northern Tammy”), and here I was, finally meeting her, in a funeral parlor. Isn’t that just life, people?

Cassie is Denise’s 17-year-old daughter, good friend to my own 17-year-old daughter. She stood and spoke with so much courage, so much beauty. I know Denise was beaming upon her. Cassie announced, “I’m going to sing you a song now. A song that mom and I used to sing together…I never understood, though, why mom would start crying at a certain point. Now I know.”

After she paused to check her tears, blow her nose and have a sip of water, she stood up and, as clearly and passionately as if she’d sold a concert hall out, sang The BeatlesIn My Life“.

There were more words we filled in the time together to try to make the celebration of Denise’s life fitting.

I thought I had it all together, I thought I’d be o.k.. When Cassie sang “The Parting Glass” at the very end, well, that was my undoing.

On my way home, I decided I’d freeze my arse off in a cemetery. It had the right sobering effect.

Robert Frost lived in my hometown here in Southern Vermont. He’s buried in Bennington in the Old First Church cemetery. I thought I’d go find him to say “hey” and “It’s cold today, Bob.”

In small town Vermont we are not always on guard. I left the car idling alongside the church, purse and all in the front seat, and headed into the snowy forest of tombstones. Frost’s grave is a shortish hike from the road. Downhill. At some point I realized maybe I should’ve turned the car off and locked it, and so I hurried along.

Thought my lungs would explode with the sharp, cold air while I hustled. I arrived frozen at Frost’s grave. It was good to bawl. I’m all good now.

Life is awesome, folks. All parts of it. Thanks for the lessons, Denise.

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Cemetary in Old Bennington, VT

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Old First Church, Old Bennington, VT

Happy Christmas!


Runner up to the Winter Solstice as my favorite time of the year is Christmastide.

We have fresh snow out there this morning. I enjoyed watching my kitties tiptoe about the front stoop at about 3:30, and by 5:00 their prints were filled in again.

Just finished prepping a goose which I’d bartered from “Garden of Spices” in Greenwich, NY, where I get help processing my turkeys. I rubbed it with a plethora of zest from oranges, limes and lemons, as well as various other spices and salt. My sticky-bun dough has risen, hallelujah, it has risen indeed. I’m starting to hear showers and footsteps, so there are just moments to go before this morning quiet is dispelled.

My favorite gifts? Last evening, my daughters and I presented music at our church’s candlelight service and it is always rich being able to share that kind of work with them. Old friends and new friends have been making many appearances. My kids are all home from college. The hens are laying again. The sheep and horses are frisky & healthy. There’s snow on the ground.

Advent, leading up to Christmas, is so much about hope, so much about how I live my life. Christmastide is a joyful season, and though there are moments in every day that we have a thought of a loved one that isn’t with us anymore, oftentimes, sorrow is deeper during the holidays.
So it is, a time steeped in significant sentiment. For me, I take every ponder as a gift. Blessed to have love in our lives, blessed even when we lose our loves because of how we can carry on for them, in them, with them in spirit.

Holiday greetings from all of us at the farm!

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Christmas Card 2012

Eine Kleine Bee Swarm


First off, weighing heavily on my mind and heart this weekend is the fact that I haven’t seen my white peacock, “Figaro”, for two days.

Where are you, Figaro?  Please come home soon.

Such a Sunday.  This morning we attended a concert given by youth at a summer music camp in the Carriage Barn of the historic Park McCullough House in North Bennington.  My two daughters are violinists and one was there as a camper, the other as an assistant staff member.  So lovely to see them playing side by side in the sea of young faces.  ”Eine Kleine Nacht Music” and “Allegro -from Brandenburg Concerto #3 in G” were featured by their ensembles and I thought they were perfectly performed.  I always say that I have to pull them off the ceiling after orchestra nights, and this week’s practicing and performance yielded no exception.

Dear Julietta, a friend of the family’s, arrived for an afternoon of assistance on the farm.  She is an extremely hard-working young woman and interns in Rupert, Vermont at “Merck Forest” which focuses on sustainable agriculture and living.  She loves to come to our place and visit while weeding, tending the animals, working in the kitchen or just about anything.  She makes amazing biscotti, by the way, and today brought a recipe which featured her own homemade candied orange peel.  I ate almost all of it.

Following a lunch of scrambled eggs with chives and cheddar, we weeded the vegetable garden.  Julietta weeds like a fiend. I’d love to employ her every day and reveal the true Eden that is beneath the jungle-growth around here!  Let us just say that a dent was made.

While I ran a very brief errand, my bees swarmed.  Yes, they up and swarmed.  And flew away.

I arrived home and the fam announced that my bees had just gone. Over. There.  Over.  Those.  Trees.  Over.  Those.  Woods….gone.

Where are you honeybees?  Please come home soon.

It was one particular swarm, not all of my bees, thankfully.  I had just been saying to Julietta before I drove off that we would tend the bees after the garden work because I was afraid they were outgrowing their boxes.  My son had called it the day before, saying “Mom, I think the bees are going to swarm.”

“Swarm in July, let ‘em fly” is what the farmers say.

So they flew.

By the way, this implies that if you catch the swarm and are able to rear them, then they’re not likely to develop and put up enough stores before winter to keep them through.  So maybe even if I had caught the swarm, I’d not have any more of a success story.  Just trying to comfort myself.

Julietta and I donned bee suits and dove into the other hives, adding honey supers to the industrious, removing old feeders from some that had drained their stores, and adding brood boxes to others that were growing so well.  We spent over an hour fussing over the honeybees and in our fussing found some honey-rich comb that had been attached to one of the hive tops.

Lastly, we scraped the wax comb and honey onto some platters and picked them over, removing the honey-drunk bees, so that we could harvest a bit for ourselves.  We spent at least an hour painstakingly removing each little gal, trying to spare their lives as we did so.  We collected three quart jars of comb and honey and came inside for the evening to dip salted popcorn into the dregs on the platter for a snack with a cup of tea.

And that, my friends, is the way to top off a full and glorious weekend.  August is around the corner and my youngest turns 17 on Monday.  Good friends from out-of-town are dropping by on Tuesday, 50 pies will have to be made and delivered Thursday through Saturday,  A friend that is hosting a round-table discussion on localvores at a nearby t.v. station has invited me as a guest on Wednesday and another wonderful photo-journalist friend is coming to follow my daughters and I around the farm on Thursday as she works on what is called “Farm Woman.”

I am grateful for my husband and son’s hard work in putting up new fencing (attempt Number 8 this summer) to keep the goats in their new pasture, for fat chicks and turkey poults becoming fatter and for layer hen and peafowl eggs in the incubator developing.  I’m thrilled that the Faverolle chicks were introduced to the 3 week old hatched out hens and they’re fast friends in the little coop.  I’m satisfied that deliveries of pies and zucchini chocolate cakes were made and the last of the eggs was used up in a Gingersnap recipe this afternoon.  And I’m feeling very fortunate for an outing yesterday to the Historical Society to take in a pretty fantastic writer’s workshop, presented by a local friend, inspiring me for SOMEday…when I may write more formally…

So many blessings, so many blessings.

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Following


the pond

It’s like this: one day you’re strolling down your driveway to take the littles to picnic and fish at the pond, untangling Mickey Mouse rods and reels, helping small hands to fashion daisy chains, and the next you’re motoring down the Blue Ridge Parkway with the last of the three kids to take in college visits and to cheer on your eldest’s college team in the 2012 BASS Carhartt College Series East Super Regional tournament.

A peek at the world of college anglers will have you curious.  I’m willing to guess that they are a misunderstood lot, imagined as not more than camouflaged and spitting and gassing up guzzling motors that belch exhaust.  My son is trying, as President of his Bass Fishing Team at Virginia Tech, to help promote the image of college fishing in a more positive light.  He’s working as a high school mentor, he’s writing and speaking when and wherever he can, all in an effort to share his passion and find support and recognition for a growing sport.  His dream is to be a Professional Bass Angler and if I worked as hard and as long as he does at this, I’d hope to be rewarded some day.  But the odds against the elements, the blessed science of fishing in itself and the fierce competition against excellent fishers nationwide makes it an extreme challenge, as well as the not-so-small matter of the required resources to support such an endeavor.  Attracting sponsors is nearly a full-time job to help keep you on the water, doing what you love.

Glamour-mom, along for the ride on a February trip to North Carolina to cheer the fishermen on in freezing weather. Most of the time, the wind and the weather like to contribute an extra challenge to the sport. Some of the time, the weather is ideal!

I happen to have the distinct pleasure of being an insider, knowing the teammates on a personal level and learning about their finer traits.  They’re considerate and polite, helpful and conscientious.  They’re hard-working and intelligent, many of them working part to full-time jobs in addition to studying History, Economics, Pre-Med, Wildlife and Fisheries Science, and Environmental Science, among just a few of the disciplines they devote to when they’re not on the water.  They’re outdoorsman, all, and spend their time on the water, in the woods, kayaking, hiking, hunting, farming, building.

I had a babysitter come when Jody was 3 years old and my other two children were an infant and toddler, so that I could spend some one on one time with him and do something, just the two of us.  He only wanted to go outside and walk in the woods.  That told me everything I needed to know about what was special to him.

Abe doesn't mind an 11 hour car ride to see his boy fish!

When you’re following the tournaments, you’re up at 4a.m. scrambling eggs, pouring coffee, throwing sandwiches in sacks.  You arrive at the lake at 6a.m. to hold your hand over your heart with a hundred college kids doing the same while the “Star Spangled Banner” is broadcast across the marina.  You wave homemade signs and yell “Go Hokies!” as the boats “blast off” from the launch, heading out across the water for 8 hours of fishing.

devoted sister cheers the team on at 6a.m.

Evan and Mike usually kayak, but they rigged this aluminum boat up with a cooler for a live well, complete with aerator

as soon as dawn breaks, the launch begins

And it’s an old line, but an accurate line, when they say “it’s called ‘fishing’, not ‘catching!’” because after solidly casting for that long, these anglers are thrilled to have 4 or 5 fish in the boat in their live well.  The fish are in a LIVEwell, too, which means they are meant to be kept alive and well until after the weigh-in.  Then they are released back into the lake.  If the fish die, they lose points.  This conservation practice is important to the anglers and my son has been catching and releasing his entire life.

Weigh-ins are anxious times.  You’re looking to see that everyone got off the water safely.  You’re checking their expressions as they stand in a long line under a canopy with special bags for holding their fish. Your heart is in your throat while they’re at the staging, lifting their catch out to be scaled. You’re cheering for your team when they’ve done well, you’re disappointed for them when they’ve had a tough day.  You’re curious and intrigued to hear them as they’re interviewed. You’re excited for them when they’re posing with their ‘lunkers’ and grinning for the cameras.

coming in off the water on Day 2

Abe gets to jump on board at the end of the day while Jody & Pat take their fish out of the live well

lining up for the weigh in

Jody and his teammate Pat with their Day 1 bag

David & Mark for 2nd place

Nick & Clay for 3rd

After these regional events, the teams go on to national events where the competition is stiffer, the event is longer, and the winnings are bigger.  Last year they’d been represented by Jody and his teammate to fish in the FLW Nationals, another college bass fishing tournament sponsor, on Kentucky Lake. This year, running concurrently with the regional tournament, Virginia Tech was again represented and placed 5th overall!

Jody was 4 years old when we stopped at Dailey’s Pond in Shaftsbury, our home town, to fish for trout on a June afternoon.  This little pond is stocked by the gravel company strictly for kids 12 and under to fish in.  He prepared to cast his lure into the pond and an unfortunate backlash had a treble hook firmly entrenched in his little noggin.  I tried not to create too much of a fuss, though I was plenty concerned, and we dashed to the doctor’s.  It was Dr. Judy’s first fishing lure to remove and she ended up having to borrow pliers from the janitor!  Nurse Ellie gave Jody a nice shot of Novocaine in the top of his skull and that was more painful than anything for him.  It made for a great story, but from then on we instilled the “hats on for fishing” rule.  Ironically, when he was in Kentucky last year, within 15 minutes of setting out, his partner, Carson, promptly caught him in the side of the head with a full steam cast that knocked Jody to the deck of the boat, all caught on film from the camera boat riding alongside!  He saw some stars, that I recall, but in a few minutes, with a little Neosporin, he was back on his feet and the two of them brought in a bag large enough to place 4th that day.

What a pleasure it was for Charlotte and I to host some of the team over the past few days and then to get out on the lake with my son Jody & his tournament partner, Pat, for our own glimpse at some of their favorite hot spots from the 2 day event.  There is nothing quite like drifting about serenely when the temperatures are in the 80s and the breeze and water keep things comfortable.  The guys kept us entertained as they coaxed their fin-ny friends out of the beds and stumps and onto their hooks and into the boat.  I cannot even begin to write technically about the art and sport of bass fishing, never mind angling in general, but I have learned a lot through the years and Jody puts it all out there in writing for his blog following on Jody White Fishing.  He and Pat had a tough tournament, personally, though the team was represented really well with two Virginia Tech duos placing second and third for this particular event.

Being a fan of my kids means that I find myself in concert halls, hockey rinks and mountain lakes a mere 11-14 hours away, by car.  It means chaperoning in South Africa and Mahanoy City, Pennsylvania.  It means hours spent over the cookstove, frozen feet on winter ponds for ice-fishing birthday parties, road-trips to pick up pet hedgehogs,…I am a blessed mom and though I don’t always know the answers to parenting, I have never regretted my vocation.  Let the good times roll!

Two great fishermen, Jody White & Pat Snellings, President & V.P. of the Virginia Tech Bass Fishing Team on Smith Mountain Lake

The bass were fairly flying into the boat on the day that we went out just for the fun of it!

Pat with a good-sized largemouth on one of his first casts.

Just a few of the tools of the trade.

Osprey nests were everywhere at Smith Mountain Lake. It was so much fun to watch them fishing, too!

Jody & Pat, showing us where the lunkers were hiding.