"Sweet Dreams are made of this..."

The gear arrives on site, brought by "The Bee Man"

More than three years ago, before we moved to Montana, the dream was planted in our oldest daughter's heart to pursue beekeeping as a hobby.  If I remember correctly, she mentioned it casually in a conversation one day.  That week, I grabbed a book from the library for her — "Beekeeping for Dummies", I think (though she's certainly no dummy).  From that point on, she began a voracious appetite for knowledge about bees... an "independent study program", if you will.  So naturally, upon arriving in these wide open spaces, she wanted to take the plunge and acquire a colony of her own, ASAP.  Being big fans of local honey, the Dear Bride and I agreed we would help her pursue the matter, in God's timing.

As it turned out, we have become acquainted with a wonderful family with much experience in the the Bee-o-sphere (among many other skills like canning/preserving, gardening, etc).  The Dad is someone I also happen to work with at my job with the Martin City Water District, near Glacier National Park.  Anyway, to make a long story short, this "Bee Man" (not his real name, of course :-) has hooked us up with his supplier, and our adventurous daughter now has her own colony!

The two boxes with the removable frames inside, will make up Emily's hives.  The other box — the screened one with the can of sugar syrup in the middle — will be discarded once the colony is transferred to the hives.

The queen was lucky enough to get her own little "travel suite" for the journey, which the workers are quick to cluster around

Look closely... the queen inside the box has a green dot on her back, indicating that she's young, and ready to do her job.

Getting ready to shake them in

The stragglers need a little more persuasion

Mama and the girls look on...

Emily is fearless!  :-O

Looks like the girls want to join F.B.K.A....

"Future Bee Keepers of America"  :-)

"If you build it, they will come."

 The next day, we went to check on "the ladies" to see if their queen had situated herself... She had!  The weather was cold and breezy, which helped calm the hive, it seemed.

Congratulations, dear daughter.

Ransacked!

Yesterday, I used the word "ransacked", and my 4-year-old daughter ("Little Miss") asked me,

"What's ram-sapped?"

I explained to her that it's when someone breaks into your house, and leaves a big mess, while looking for something to steal from you.  (One of my favorite little mental games is trying to break down complex words or ideas into a sentence that even a 4-year-old could accurately understand.  What can I say, it keeps me occupied.  ;-)

Well, that same afternoon, it became obvious that our garden had been "ram-sapped"!  You see, yesterday was, in the words of Winnie the Pooh, a "very blustery day".  Apparently our deer netting had blown down at some point in the last 24 hours, and our all of our kale, carrot tops and some of the outer leaves of our red cabbage were stripped bare by some wild and reckless herbivore. Even some of the parsely was gone... I guessed that devious creature wanted to have sweet breath after such a bountiful feast.  So, we pulled the carrots -- a fine lot of orange, yellow and purple specimens -- pulled the worst-hit cabbage and prayed that the kale plant, with its stalks intact, would continue to grow more leaves.  Yes, it is the end of the growing season, and the nights here are dropping below freezing, consistently, but the kale has been thriving in spite of the cold, and was producing some very dark, sweet leaves that we were thoroughly enjoying.  We'll see what comes of it all.

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Saturday, November 9th will be "hunting day" with my 14-year-old son (the "Man Cub").  I've read that the cattle on a thousand hills belong to our Great God... I'm hoping he'll bring one or two near to our muzzles, for a harvest.  Should we be blessed in such a way, I'll post pictures here.

Have a blessed day, and remember, "my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus."

Skill of the day -- Squirrel Pole

Right up front, let me just say a few things:

1. I prefer eating the conventional meats (beef/chicken/pork) as much as the next guy.
2. When given the path of least resistance, I'll probably take it, same as anyone.
3. I did not grow up on a farm, in the backwoods or in a third-world country.  I'm a Southern California native, who has taken up residence in NW Montana for the past 2 years.
4. I have never eaten squirrel meat, so I don't know how it tastes -- but I'm curious.
5. I have eaten wild rabbit, which I have hunted, dressed and cooked myself, on more than one occasion.
6. If you are offended by people harming furry little forest creatures, please stop reading now.
7. Always practice safe trapping and hunting habits.
8. I believe there's room enough for all of God's creatures... right next to the mashed potatoes.

OK, now that that's out of the way...

Today, I decided to try my hand at making a "Squirrel Pole" trap. Of course, I used "found" materials: a ratty old 2x4 and some old electrical wire.  The wire sheathing was a nice shade of "forest brown", which I figure will serve to camouflage the snares.  Apparently these type of traps are supposed to use several of these "nooses" down the length of the pole, but I was feeling lazy, so I only used 2 -- top and bottom.

Why in the world would I want to trap -- let alone eat -- a squirrel or two?  Well, there are a number of reasons:

1. Squirrels are plentiful, and generally very healthy.  They're everywhere!  They're also "cage-free" and "free-range", fed on natural fruits and nuts.  From what I understand, most states (at least mine) don't require any licensing or "tags" to hunt or trap squirrels.
2. Trapping is silent, productive and (mostly) free.  Nothing attracts unwanted attention like even a single gunshot, even from the humble .22 rifle.  If we ever find ourselves in a situation (like during the Great Depression) where many, many families only had food on the table if they could hunt/trap/gather/grow it themselves, I want to be prepared to feed my family without having to rely on whether or not the grocery stores' "cellophane-wrapped meat packs" were available.  While hunting can be effective (if one is skilled at it), it requires constant maintenance for the duration of the hunt.  Trapping is more efficient in that (a) you can re-use your "ammunition" (traps);  (b) you can effectively harvest from several places all-at-once, thereby increasing your take; and (c) you "need not be present to win", so to speak.  Set the trap now, check on it later -- even 24 hours later, if the weather is cold.
3. Squirrels are very easy to "process".  They are much, much easier to handle (field-to-freezer-to-table) than are deer, elk or any other larger game.  Heck, my 7-year-old daughter could skin & gut a squirrel... and probably will, at least once, if I have anything to do with it.  (Yes, that is one of the requirements of growing up in my household: getting exposed to dressing wild-caught game, large and small, on land and in water.) 

There are probably many more reasons to familiarize yourself with the hunting/trapping of wild food sources... what do you think?  Leave a comment below, and let me know about your experiences.  I'll let you know what ever came of my modest attempt at squirrel trapping, ASAP.

Have a productive day!
Psalm 24:1

Venison Report

WARNING:

If you are a member of PETA, I apologize in advance for offending your sensitivities.

Now that that's out of the way...

This morning the three wanna-be deer slayers (My two oldest children and I) went over to our friends' house, who had graciously offered us one of their deer, a buck with a mere 4" of antler on his cranium.  When we arrived, the animal had already been expertly eviscerated, decapitated and elevated by his hind legs:

Now let me just brag right now on a couple of young gentlemen, whom our family is proud to know.  Matthew, I believe, is about 13.  He's the lad responsible for our family's recent motherlode of meat.  He dropped that buck in his tracks with a shotgun slug, right out in his own backyard.  Handy.

Then there's his older brother Daniel, who seems to live-and-breathe hunting-and-skinning.  At 14 years old, the way that guy wielded a skinning knife and a sawz-all was downright impressive:

With the skills these guys have, it would have been easy for them to make sport of our inexperience.  But the best thing about Matthew and Daniel is that they have been diverted, by loving and wise Christian parents, from the trap of cruel and thoughtless peer pressure so pervasive in public education.  These guys have been taught to show love and respect at all times, and they wear such qualities like badges of honor.  They were glad to be able to help us out, without needing so much as a word of oversight from their father (who was occupied nearby).

Hats off to young people like this everywhere (including my beloved children), who will undoubtedly bring hope, healing and provision into this broken world, in Christ's Name.

The Deer-Slayers??

Last Saturday, my oldest kids and I got our first taste of deer hunting.  Now I had shot, dressed and cooked wild rabbit back in SoCal, but I never had to don camouflage to do so... pretty much just watched out the backyard.  In fact, for the first 40 years of my life, I had never hunted anything.  (Fishing, yes, but never hunting.)  But in the last few years I started to awaken to just how metropolitan my existence had been, heretofore, and to how necessary it will likely become for me to become adept at procuring and processing my family's meat supply.  Hence, my interest in hunting and trapping what seemed to be the most plentiful game in North San Diego County -- rabbits.

But now, I was in Big Sky Country.  Deer country.  Elk country.

I started to think about how super-gnarly it'd be to go out an bag some animal that weighs more than I do.  So, as soon as the ink dried on my Montana driver's license, I took these two great kids (my oldest kids, in the pic) and my dear bride and signed us up for Hunter Education.  A few months later here we were, out with some local friends, on the lookout for whitetail west of Marion.  The weather was fine, and the "rut" (the mating season) was nearly at its peak, so I'd been told.  So by all accounts, it was reasonable to expect a fair amount of deer sightings... easy pickings, right?

Well, not so much.  (I know, I was probably ridiculously naive about the whole process.)  Notice something conspicuously absent from our picture?  (And no, I'm not referring to my son's hunter-orange vest.  He had it off only in transit from one hunting site to another.)  Turns out a couple of us only saw a couple of deer way off in the distance, toward the very end of the day... to far to go after, so late in the game.  So it was with no small sense of disappointment and frustration that we closed out the day empty-handed.  Since the season ends this Sunday, I was mentally preparing myself for a freezer devoid of venison this year.  I was gearing up to learn as much as I could about making next year's outing more productive.

Then, my friend Dave (who took us out last Saturday) called me today, saying he had an extra deer he was willing to give us: we just needed to come over and cut it up into pieces small enough to get home. So it turns out that we'll get the "processing" experience before the "procuring" part.  The hand of Providence can work in peculiar ways, sometimes.

More pictures to come, next time...

Frenetic Blogging Fricassee

 

Here's a new recipe: I like to call it...

"Frenetic Blogging Fricassee"

• 1 lb. of scattered thoughts
• 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep (maximum)
• 1 Allergy Pill
• 102 Pictures of my current Dream
• 2,376 Projects that need starting... or finishing
• 1 anticipation of pizza and ice cream on Fathers' Day

Mix well and sit in bed with a computer in your lap.  Serve promptly.

Anyway, I'd love to be coherent and concise, but I can't, so I hope I don't scare anyone off.  Here goes...

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We have been spending lots of weekends working hard (probably harder than some of our kids would like) to gather all three acres'-worth of "firewood" that's been laying all around the property.  One of our favorite meals in the Airstream that has become our "base camp" is Macaroni and Cheese and Wienies (or "MacWienies", as I've heard it referred to).

 Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here are a few...

At the entrance

Showing off their walking sticks

Studying the local flora

We love Montana in the Spring!

Hoping to build a "starter garden" just to the right (South) of the shed, using its roof to catch rainwater for irrigation.

(Unfortunately, my dear Bride was behind the camera for these shots.  Oh well.)

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Looking forward to doing some boating this weekend, with Grandpa and Grandma, maybe out to Whitefish Lake.

I miss the presence of some dear family and friends back in SoCal.  I so wish they could be here, to see all of this breathtaking beauty.

Both my PC's battery and my body's "battery" are running low.  Please leave a comment if you're so inclined.  Looking forward to hearing from you!

--Ric

What's Next?

(View from the top of The Homestead)

Yesterday, my dear bride and I celebrated our 19th year of marriage.  I don't have to tell you what an incredible person she must be to put up with yours truly for nearly two decades (longer, if you count our entire relationship)... if you'd like details on the kind of woman she is, look up Proverbs 31:10-31.

When we first began our life together, we both had the seeds of desire for "Wide Open Spaces".  And as long as we lived in the city, dog-gone-it, those seeds just would not stop sprouting, in our minds.  So, while still living in Metropolis, we dreamed about our Homestead:  40 acres of half-timbered, half-pastured land, with a year-round creek running right next to our home site.  We'd build our log-home from the trees on the property (without so much as making a dent in the forest's aesthetic appeal), and live happily ever after.

Well, it seems our Provider has revealed His own set of details.  Like, "Move to the country FIRST, by faith, and watch for Me to unfold the remaining details."

After nine months of getting our footing in NW Montana (the first 3 months, we lived in a tent — no joke), and after much prayer and consideration, we have resolved ourselves to purchase (from a dear relative) three+ acres of gently-sloped, well-timbered land in Whitefish.  Not "pasture land", in the purest sense.  No creek.  No electricity yet.  However, with the provisos offered in the deal (no interest on the loan and free rent in an adjacent home for the duration of our construction, among other providential features), it woud be foolish and discontented to pass it up.  We'll be planning and building our home as frugally as possible, with an eye toward warmth and dryness.  :-)  Though we have not yet entered into the official (legal) agreement, we have begun, by faith (and with the land-owner's permission) to clean up the deadwood around the property, cutting it and sorting it into either "firewood" or "construction material".  All the kids are excited to help, and we have had many a picnic there, building up sweat equity.  Here are some pictures of our work, thus far.  Enjoy!

Ric the Tanner, part 2 (NOT FOR THE SQUEEMISH!)

(Warning:  If you are a card-carrying member of PETA, please know that I did not harvest this animal.  She had already met her unfortunate demise before our acquaintance :-)


For those interested in how that bearskin is coming, here are some pictures.

(Scroll down for the slideshow)

WOS-dom

There's a thread that seems to run through a life lived among wide-open spaces (WOS).  The WOS-man (or -woman) knows how to hunt most wild game, and has the trophies to back up the claim.  He has an assortment of hand-made trout lures, which he uses every spring off the banks of the [insert river name here].  He has the ability to deal productively with every season of the year -- snow or shine.  Spent more than half his days on the back of a horse, or driving a John Deere, or some other studly activity.  The WOS-man owns a 300-acre ranch at the base of the Northern Rocky Mountains, which has been in his family for 4 generations.  He can survive anything, build anything, learn anything and be trusted.  Makes his (very lucrative) income by being his own boss.  Above all and in all and through all, he honors his Maker by living a life of wholehearted faith, simplicity and humility.

Well, as much as I want to be the WOS-man, I'm not there yet.  And given the legacy that I was born into, I may never be.  But that's OK.  Because you can't attain WOS-dom living in a large Southern California city.  You have to pull up stakes and move.  And even then, it may not be possible for you.

But it just might move your children toward WOS-dom.

Yes, they can learn to hunt!  (--Together with you, of course.)  They can learn to fish and plant and grow and build and sacrifice and save and dream and lead.  And by you having the faith to trust God's promises (in places like Joshua 1:9), you can bring about A Different Legacy, for generations to come.  And faith can change the course of history, one generation at a time.

(Thanks for sitting in on my little pep-talk to myself.  :-)

A day that will live on in infamy...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I took one step closer to being a true Montanan today:

I hit a deer.

Yessirree, just doing my morning commute on state highway 2, breezing through God's country, awake and vigilant... and under the speed limit, mind you.  (There's no greater deterrent to speeding, like the thought of hitting Bambi at 75mph.)  Suddenly, from the brush on the right, out she jumps -- characteristically oblivious to her impending doom.

I brake.  I swerve and honk.  I curse (in German, so it doesn't count).  She pauses, and I think I may escape this one.  But nooooo, she just continues on her merry way, and THWOP!! -- gets slammed against the starboard bow of the good ship Sienna.

I groan.  I mumble something about canine offspring.  I pull over to assess the damage.  Hmmm... no blood, no guts, no hair... no dent, no broken glass... (I look back, expecting a twitching victim) -- no deer??  I guess (I hope) she just got a little car-spank, and scuttled back off to the forest, to brag about how close to death she came.

I breathe a sigh of relief and drive on, gratefully humming an old worship song about a deer & water.

Thank the Lord for little miracles.