Anthropomorphic

With the seasonally appropriate colder temperatures finally moving in, we have had to confront our mouse issues. I wasn't all that bothered by the mice at first - they keep to themselves and stay out of the house. After all, even mice need a warm place to sleep during a cold night. But their boldness and growing numbers are getting bothersome, so I'm trying to find a natural way to deter them instead of killing them. (And by growing numbers, I mean maybe ten little field mice. We're not talking nasty city rats or total mouse infestation here, just to be clear. Still not that white trash, thank god.)

The other day I opened the empty garbage can out back to toss in a bag of garbage. When I lifted the lid I saw three little mice sitting in there, staring up at me with big, scared eyes and furry, shivering bodies. I couldn't imagine how they got in there. Surely mice cannot jump the four vertical feet required to catapult themselves into an empty 50-gallon can? But I couldn't see any other way. Apparently mice can jump four feet in the air, and that kind of freaks me out.

As I looked at the mice, I had anthropomorphic visions of Disney-fied mice dancing in my head, of three little mice stuck in a garbage can discussing how to get themselves out of their predicament, of Mama mouse wearing a kerchief and waiting nervously at home for her three lost children. I almost tipped the can over to let them free before I came to my senses. They are, after all, rodents and I suppose I shouldn't encourage them any more than I already have. Instead I shut the lid and went inside to call Chad.

Chad decided to leave the mice in the empty garbage can overnight (or maybe it wasn't such a conscious decision, maybe he just forgot about them). They froze to death, which is a rather humane way to kill a mouse, if you're going to kill one. At least we did not poison them or snap their necks in a trap. When I worked in a sign shop with a motley lot of working guys, they once trapped a mouse in a garbage can and shot at it with a nail gun. I was mortified. It was terrible and still makes me cringe when I remember it.

Homestead

It has been two years since we moved onto our current homestead. It was September 2005 when we moved in, and I had just found out I was pregnant.

When we claimed this land for our own we had to carve our yard out of thick, overgrown wilderness. That first year our entire yard was a sweeping scar of mud. It got so depressing for me that Chad went up to the front field and transplanted a small patch of its green grass outside the kitchen window. Now we have a huge yard bordered by a dry-stacked stone wall that Chad threw up in a few hours last summer. We also have a stone path leading from the driveway to the house that Chad made during that first September. It has since shifted and needs reworked, but I have fond memories of sitting on the porch steps and watching him heave the big flat rocks around in the dusky twilight.

Nature is encroaching on us now that our presence here has been established. We have a groundhog that lives under the shed and drives the dogs mad. We had a serious mouse problem over the winter, which I naively thought was kind of cute because even mice need a warm home for the winter. In spring, though, everything we had stored in the shed was stuffed with mouse nesting, and I found it in the corners of the closet, stuffed behind dressers and boxes. Maybe this year I'll get a cat and let the mice find different home.

Sometimes I get frustrated by all the things I still want to do around here, but I have to remind myself that only two years ago this was marshy, thorny, thick woods. We have come a long way since then, no matter what is still undone.

An Unexpected Environmentalist

There was a time in college when I would encourage passengers of my car to throw all their trash out the window. I would affectionately call my passengers "my little litter-bugs."

The person that I am now would beat that person up. I have become some sort of environmentalist. I hate to use that label because I hate being pigeon-holed into any one perspective. I mean, I do still shop at Wal-Mart and smoke cigarettes. That's why I say some sort of environmentalist. I am my own special breed.

I don't know why the change has come about. Maybe because I live a simple country life now. Maybe because I am a mother and now feel some sort of responsibility to preserve the earth for my daughter to enjoy. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, I find myself concerned about things that never used to worry me, like landfills and coal mines. I worry about how much trash I throw away and how long it will take to decompose. I plan on building an energy-efficient home with solar power and tank-less hot water heaters someday. I am contemplating switching to cloth diapers because I worry about the chemicals used in disposable diapers. Honestly, who knew I could be this person?

The biggest concern for me at the moment is our food. With the recent outbreaks of food poisoning in our national food distribution chain, it's hard not to be concerned about what we are eating. Add to those concerns the amount of fossil fuels burned to move our food around the country, and the amount of toxins released by the trucks, and the amount of preservatives we consume unknowingly - well, suddenly it all concerns me.

But my concern about our food is something I can actually do something about right now, which is refreshing and encouraging. For produce, meat ,and eggs, I hope to produce much of what we need ourselves or buy fresh from local farmers. We will be planting a manageable garden this year - our first year we planted way too much and it got out of control and we had a lot of waste. And, hopefully, we will finally be able to get some chickens this summer. Large scale chicken farming is creepy business, and chickens raised properly produce much healthier eggs and meat for us to eat.

Producing our own food is kind of a passion for me right now, the chicken thing especially. I have read Living with Chickens by Jay Rossier cover to cover a few times. At one point, I was excited to go to bed just so I could read it, like it was a gripping novel with a surprising plot line.

Trailer Trash

I live in a trailer. Sometimes I still cringe a little bit when I say that. However irrational it may be, I still fear the association between trailers and white trash.

When I tell people I live in a trailer, I always make sure to add on the part about us having 14 acres too. At least I'm not captive in a trailer park with a dirt yard, right? I think my trailer insecurity may also be why I am a little bit crazy about cleaning. I live in a trailer with no less than two Pit Bulls, but at least it's a clean trailer on a lot of land.

I go crazy when shit begins to pile up outside the trailer. Broken down cars, bags of trash, these are the lawn ornaments of white trash! But now that I live in one, I understand why things seem to overflow onto the porch and into the yard: there is simply no room to store your stuff inside.

Currently, my front porch is decorated with a stroller, an ExerSaucer, a box of stuffed animals, Chad's fishing gear, a bag of fabric, and the stainless steel dog food can, along with the picnic table, grill, and chair. (edited 5/3/07 to add: And now seven full-sized vinyl windows to be installed in our trailer.) White trash who? (edited 10/31/07 to add: Finally, my porch is devoid of all non-porch items! Hurrah for my victory!)

There are benefits to living in a trailer, believe it or not. The absolute best thing is the thin, cheap roof. Tonight the roar of rain and thunder was so loud and felt so close that I couldn't hear the phone ringing. It was lovely.

Animals

In anticipation of today's freezing temperatures and snow, we spent yesterday outside enjoying the last bits of sun.

I took Ella to my mom's farm to see the horses for the first time. My mom kept saying "Most kids are afraid of the horses so don't make her touch them if she doesn't want to." My mom, sometimes she is too cautious. Ella was not the least bit afraid, and the first thing she did was squeal in delight and stick her finger's in Little Guy's nose. There was so much activity - horses sticking their heads out of the stalls, my mom shoveling shit, Kim getting the grain buckets filled, Jack the dog rooting around the piles of muck for dropped horse treats. Ella's head swiveled this way and that, trying to keep track of it all. It was a good time.

If there is only one trait that my daughter inherits from me, I hope it is a love for animals and the natural world. Animals bring me such joy, whether it is the turtles emerging from their winter homes to sun themselves on rocks in the swamp, or my mom's big warm horses sighing contentedly as they eat their dinner. I have felt a kinship with animals my whole life, and a connectedness to the beings and rhythms of nature that has kept me grounded. I hope Ella grows up feeling that same sense of being rooted in the natural world around her.

Twinkle

A few nights ago, I stood outside smoking a cigarette in the crisp, cold night, still surrounded by so much crunchy snow. I happened to glance up and see the stars and it felt like the first time I have ever seen stars, it was so dramatic. My breath caught for a moment as I watched the sharp, hard points of clear light twinkle over and among the bare black trees. It was completely quiet, completely still, just me and the world over my head.