A Bicycle Ride for Two

Early this morning while hanging out with Poppy, I had a train of thought that went like this, "I guess I'll give the kids Baca toast* for breakfast. Except we're out of honey. I could go get some from the honey stand down the road. Seems stupid to drive such a short distance, though. Hey, I could ride the bike."  

So when A. woke up, I told him I was going to ride the five miles to get honey. Cubby was the only boy awake at the time, and he begged to go. I couldn't refuse.

This was the darkest photo ever, which I only semi-successfully managed to lighten in editing.

Cubby's photography skills are obviously much better than mine. (Although I do not know why I look so short and squat in this photo. Maybe because I'm downhill of the photographer?)

It was a perfect morning for a bike ride: 60 degrees and sunny with a light wind. This road is very rural, with hay fields and woods all along the way. We only saw three cars the whole 40 minutes. The 2.5 miles to the honey stand are slightly uphill, but then the whole way home is coasting downhill. Cubby was so happy to be with me, I couldn't be disappointed that my solo bike ride had become a bonding experience. 

He dropped the following gems at different times on the ride:

"We're really free now! Just you and me--no Charlie, no Jack, no Poppy crying . . ."

While coasting fast downhill, "We're really leaving our worries behind now! Even they can't go this fast!"

And at the very end, where the slope is steepest and we were really whipping right along, "I don't know why, but for some reason today I feel the need for speed."

And there's the speed demon himself, clutching his prize.

When we got home, Cubby actually elected to have cinnamon toast rather than Baca toast, so I guess the trip for honey was unnecessary. In this case, however, it was definitely the journey and not the destination that mattered.

* Baca toast is toast with peanut butter and honey. It's named for my dad--given the moniker "Baca" by the first grandchild--who frequently has this toast for breakfast. It's a weekend treat at our house, given its drippiness and likelihood of requiring a change of clothing.

Poor Old Pincushion

Yesterday morning Jack, Poppy, and I were just returning from our walk when I heard A. exclaim, "Oh no! Mia got into a porcupine!"

Oh no, indeed.

Not only had she encountered a porcupine, she apparently tried to bite it. I know this because she had at least two dozen quills all over her nose and inside her mouth. She couldn't close her mouth, and she was dripping saliva and blood all over. It was gruesome.

It got a lot more gruesome when A. started pulling the quills out and the blood started coming faster. I pulled out a few that were in her feet, and I was shocked at how thick and stiff the quills were, as well as deeply embedded. My previous experience had been with removing cactus spines from our dog in Arizona. This was much, much worse.

After a few minutes trying to remove them ourselves with hands, tweezers, and pliers, I asked A. to just take her to the veterinarian in the village. He put her in the car and took off, not even calling first. Three hours and $80 later, Mia was back home and weaving drunkenly around as she worked off the last of the anesthetic.

And through all of that, she didn't make a single sound or try to bite. Still the best dog.

She appears to be fully recovered this morning. I think she's learned her lesson about porcupines. I just hope she doesn't encounter a bear next.

Aaaaand, BREAK!

Cubby and Charlie have a particularly late spring break this year. Perhaps the administration at their school was delaying in the hopes that there might be some actual spring weather for the break. If that is the case, they succeeded.

Behold, many pictures of my children outside. In short sleeves. It's a springtime miracle.

Although, yes, that is snow behind Jack. It is still the north country, after all.

Overheard during this porch picnic from Cubby: "Now this is what I call living." I hope he's always so easy to please.

Poppy is withholding judgment on her voluminous sunhat. The finger's pretty good, though.

Tiny retirees on the teeter totter. Someone get these kids a stylist.

Please just ignore my finger in the corner and instead marvel at the sheer energy displayed in this picture. And then imagine that energy in real life, all day, every day. That's life with lots of little boys.

The way I'm standing makes this the least flattering photo of me ever taken, but I'm posting it anyway because the mountains (we went to the Adirondacks today) are so pretty. And I need to get over myself.

It's supposed to start raining tonight and continue for most of the rest of the week, but at least we got a little bit of real spring during spring break. We'll take it.

Snow Monkeys

They Never Listen

I took the boys to the dirt road yesterday for some mandatory outside time*. They had so much fun climbing the giant snow banks, sliding on the ice, and throwing chunks of snow at the stop sign that they begged to go again.

So I took them after school today.

This time Cubby made up a game called "Survive in the Wilderness," which involved running around on top of the snow banks, pulling down wild grapevines, and plotting how to build a treehouse like the one in The Swiss Family Robinson.

I was fine with the snow bank climbing, but I told them not to go into the snow in the woods on the other side of the banks. It's too deep, I said. You'll sink in and get stuck, I said. And then I'll sink in when I have to go over the bank to get you out, I said.

I bet you can guess where this is going.

Sure enough, Cubby went over the bank and sank down in the snow, getting his foot jammed under a tree branch so he couldn't lift it out. He yelled for Charlie to bring him a stick, which Charlie obligingly did and promptly got stuck himself.

So then I had to wallow my way through snow up to my waist, shore myself up on a bush so I didn't sink in all the way, dig their feet out, haul them up, and boost them up the bank and back onto the road. And then I had to wallow back, getting stuck myself and having to dig myself out.

When I got back on the road, I announced the walk was over and it was time to go home.

Some day they'll learn I do know what I'm talking about and they should listen to me, right?

Yeah, sure. Fat chance.

* The rule I have lately been enforcing is they have to go outside every day for the same length of time as the cartoon they watch (currently Tailspin) right before bed if they want to watch it. That way, I know they'll get at least 23 minutes outside--which means I get 23 minutes when they are not inside with me--and it often turns into much longer. Clever, yes?

Enter Wind, Stage North

The snow actually coming down from the sky has slowed, but not stopped. Now the wind is howling, which means drifting, and a lot of it.

The front steps are under there somewhere.

School was delayed for two hours this morning, though I'm not sure that's enough time to dig out from this. Especially because the wind isn't supposed to stop for days.

Thankfully, everyone slept in this morning. Well, everyone except Poppy. Let's not be silly. She was awake at 5 a.m. 

We had lots of bonding time before the next child emerged at 7 a.m. That was Charlie, who informed me he had caught Cubby's cold.

He is thoughtfully keeping his distance from the baby, but it's only a matter of time before I'm suctioning her nose out again.

His insane behavior this morning, however, tells me he's not at death's door, so both he and Cubby are at school. A. very nicely shoveled a path through the drifts so they could get to the road to catch the bus. 

So now it's just me and the tiny crew. And the drifting snow.

Slogging Along

Hey, look! It's March 14th! Must be time for an enormous, depressing snowstorm!*

Sigh.

Although we don't really expect spring on the Canadian border in March, that's still an unpleasant sight to wake up to. Kind of over it.

Mia thinks so, too. To my knowledge, she has yet to leave the porch to take advantage of the latrine area A. cleared for her.

I can't blame her. I wouldn't want to squat in a foot of snow to pee, either.

It's still snowing now, and is supposed to continue all day. Cubby and Charlie of course don't have school, so Cubby decided to make everyone eggs for a second breakfast. They went through ten eggs between the three boys.

All that snow makes for a powerful appetite.

Meanwhile, Eczema Baby continues to demand satisfaction for her own powerful appetite.

She also continues to grow her cheeks at a rapid pace.

And that's the news from the frozen snow globe that is our house. Over and out.

* Although, thankfully, not as big as last year's apocalyptic March storm that also, interestingly, started on March 14th.

The Mid-Winter Refrigerator and Pantry

I sometimes joke in the summer and fall that we're working on our winter provisions. It's only half a joke, though, because there always comes a time in winter when, due to weather, illness, and other things (ahem, newborn baby), I don't get to a grocery store for a couple of weeks. At least. At such times, I rely on the freezer, the pantry, and the immortal vegetables, i.e., cabbage and carrots.

This is what my refrigerator looked like yesterday:

At least there's a gallon and a half of milk in there for the sacred coffee.

There was also plenty of lamb broth (in that big pot on the top shelf). But everything else was pretty scarce. That carton of eggs had all of two eggs in it. The produce drawers contain a single lonely carrot (see? I knew I shouldn't have been so generous with the snowman noses), two apples, maybe ten clementines, four lemons, and half a head of cabbage.

The refrigerator door was looking similarly bare:

But at least there was still a little of the Special Sick Child Orange Juice for the sick child (Cubby) who had to be picked up at school yesterday after a relapse.

A. did go to the dairy store yesterday to get more milk, plus cream and eggs. But that's it.

The freezers have plenty of meat still, but only half a bag of peas and the last bag of green beans from the garden. Not much help in the produce department.

There are still several jars of applesauce, though, plus some jars of tomatoes and sauerkraut.

And a bag of potatoes. No more squash, though. I already ate the entire banana box full. Should've gotten a second one.

Last night we had venison, potato soup, and cabbage. Tonight we're having sausage, pasta with tomato sauce, and that last precious bag of green beans. Tomorrow we'll probably eat the last of the peas and cabbage, and then I really, really, REALLY have to get to a grocery store. Really.

Let's just hope we don't get an ice storm or something, or we'll be reduced to nothing but canned tomatoes and sauerkraut, like our pioneer forebears.

Thrift Is Ever My Watchword

On Saturday, the boys made snowmen. It was all very classic and wholesome, and of course, required carrots for the snowmen's noses.

Though I think Jack was quite right to ask why snowmen have carrot noses. Why not a stick? I do not know why a carrot is the only acceptable nose for a snowman, but it definitely is. So I provided three carrots for snowman noses.

But not without some inner complaining, because that's just a waste of carrots. They freeze, obviously, when shoved into a snowball, and what good is a frozen carrot?

It's not as if we were going to starve without those three carrots, though, so I handed them over with nary a word, in support of wholesome childhood activities.

Then, this morning, as I was throwing various things into the large stockpot to make lamb broth for A. (he drinks it throughout the day as a hot beverage alternative to tea or coffee), I remembered the snowmen and their noses. So instead of getting a carrot from the refrigerator, I went outside and retrieved one from the snowdrift where it landed after its snowman host was demolished*.

Frozen carrots are fine for broth, and this small thing provided a very satisfying start to the day. The rest of the day may go to hell--particularly since at least half the family has again succumbed to a cold, including me and Cubby, who is staying home from school--but at least it started with a small and satisfying triumph.

We take our victories where we can get them.

* Of course it was demolished. Wrecking the snowman is almost as much fun as making it. If you're my sons, that is.

Sleep Deficit Ahoy

You know it's getting bad when you have to literally open your eyes with your fingers in the morning.

Babies are fun.

In other news, it is currently 56 degrees and raining. Freaky. That will change to ice, then 6-10 inches of snow, then below zero temperatures, and all within the next 36 hours. Whee!

Winter is also fun.

We have plenty of milk for coffee though, so we can ride the storm out. If only I could sleep through it like a bear.

Fat chance, Mama Bear. I need my milk, too.

Happy Friday, my lovelies. 

The Downside to a Thaw

The January thaw has commenced. It got above freezing yesterday for the first time in many, many weeks. Hooray!

Except . . .

I noticed a spot on the bedroom ceiling last night that looked suspiciously like a leak. I pointed it out to A.. He agreed that it hadn't been there before, then walked out of the bedroom and got dripped on by another leak in the living room. Further scrutiny revealed several places where water was coming through the ceiling.

Part of the ceiling upstairs is paneled. That was where the drips were coming down. In the places where the drywall was getting wet, there was just a wet spot.

A. went up into the attic and found that the entire underside of the roof was covered in ice, which was now melting.

Swell.

I notified our landlady, though there doesn't seem much to be done about it. The dripping has mostly stopped, so she just asked that we let her know if it gets any worse.

The upside is that this is not our house, so any water damage is not our problem. Yay for renting.

Another upside is that our furnace is still working.

Plus, our plow guy showed up with his front-end loader to clear the enormous snow drifts from our driveway, thus ensuring Jack's entertainment for the morning.

Better than TV.

You know you live in a place with Serious Winter Weather when your plow guy uses earth-moving equipment to clear snow.

This means we'll have a(nother) giant mountain of snow waiting for Cubby and Charlie when they get home from school. Let the good times roll.

Because Everything's Relative

Cubby and Charlie spent some time this morning running around looking out of windows at the spectacular drifts of snow and whining about not being allowed outside.

It was 15 below zero with a windchill of 40 below zero. No, children, you may not go outside. I try to be at least a little bit of a responsible parent, you see.

I did promise them, however, that they could go out when the wind and temperature had moderated a bit.

At noon, when Jack was down for his nap, I looked at the weather station and saw that it was nine below zero with a windchill of 25 below zero.

Seems moderate to me! Out you go, kids!

I sent them to the mailbox to get the mail, which accomplished three things:

1) It got them out of the house,

2) It saved me from having to go out there to check the mail, and

3) It meant I now have two new DVDs of DuckTales for them to watch later, because the mail included our next Netflix delivery.

I only let them stay out for eight minutes, because of the very real danger of frostbite, but at least they got out to climb 10-foot drifts for a little while. I'm pretty sure those drifts won't be melting anytime soon, which means lots more outdoor fun in the future. When the weather is bit less life-threatening, that is.

Cubby came in grinning and exclaiming, "That was GREAT! This is the best day of my life!" And Charlie, not to be outdone, proclaimed that it felt as warm as summer outside.

Sure. Crazy kids.

This Moment by the Numbers

Current outdoor temperature: 11 degrees below zero

Current windspeed: 19 miles an hour

Current windchill: 35 degrees below zero

Current indoor temperature: 67 degrees above zero, because of . . .

Current working furnaces: 1--HOORAY!

Current children home from school: 2

Current household members sleeping: 3 (Jack, Poppy, and A., who is sick)

Current cups of hot cocoa being consumed: 3

Current number of marshmallows in the cups: 6

Current number of dogs in hibernation mode: 1

An Update, a Photo, and a Confession

Update: The furnace is currently working. Hooray! But not because the repair guy (who didn't show up until 7 p.m. yesterday) found anything really wrong with it. There was a little ice in the intake pipe and he pointed out a dirty air filter that we can change. Other than that, and filling the tank to create more pressure, there was nothing for him to do. It started working when the temperature got above zero. So we have to just cross our fingers that those small things will be enough and it won't stop working again when it gets to 25 below zero this Friday.

Also, no one else has gotten the stomach bug yet, so we are currently--and mercifully--vomit free. I'll give the credit to the pork.

And now, a photo:

Three boys, two shirtless, and all practicing karate in the living room? Welcome to my life.

That was taken during the Christmas Break That Will Live In Infamy. I had the brilliant idea of finding a karate lesson for kids on YouTube in a desperate attempt at distraction. It worked for a few minutes, before Charlie declared it was boring and he wanted one with more action. Meaning I think he wanted to watch more Bruce Lee. Hence the lack of shirt. I believe when this photo was taken, they were learning to block. Cubby was really into it. Too bad there are no martial arts classes around here.

And finally, a confession: We were running very low on milk yesterday. A. was planning on going to the village to pick up his mail and get some milk, but then it started to snow quite heavily and unexpectedly. He didn't want to drive if he didn't have to, so he didn't go. I took stock of the amount of milk left (about a pint), calculated how much I would need for my coffee in the morning . . . and gave the kids water with their dinner. 

Yes, I totally hoarded milk from my children. Their bone development isn't going to suffer because of one afternoon without calcium. Without milk, there can be no cafe au lait. And without Mommy's cafe au lait, there is no joy in the world. 

The end.

New Year, Strike the Happy

Short version: Our furnace stopped working consistently yesterday, and it got to 15 degrees below zero last night.

Thankfully, there's a propane stove downstairs that will actually heat the whole house to relatively comfortable temperatures, but it was colder upstairs than downstairs, so A. and I slept on the fold-out bed in the downstairs room where the fire is. We put Poppy's bassinet right next to the fire. The other kids all sleep downstairs and we left their doors open so they could get enough heat.

This all would have been fine and dandy (sort of), except for the fact that Poppy was crying and fussy and keeping everyone awake. Also, she kept throwing up. She spits up quite a bit anyway, but this was straight-up throwing up everything she was eating. She was obviously sick.

Jack had been complaining all evening of a tummy ache, so I was expecting something dire in the near future.

Sure enough, Jack woke up at 11:15 p.m. while I was trying to comfort a crying Poppy and promptly threw up in his bed. A. changed his sheets and pajamas and put him back to bed. I gave up on being in the warm room downstairs and brought Poppy upstairs* to stay in the bed with me in the hopes that everyone else might be able to sleep.

It was a New Year's Eve that will live on in our memories, to say the least.

A service guy is coming out today to look at the furnace, and we're crossing our fingers that he can actually fix it.

After some Internet research, A. is afraid the problem is simply that propane doesn't work properly in the temperatures we've been getting. He's getting his kerosene heater in working order as a back-up heat source, because it's supposed to get to 27 degrees below zero on Friday.

Now we'll just hope that our New Year's Day pork, greens, and black-eyed peas bring us our health, wealth, and happiness sooner rather than later. In the form of a working furnace and no more vomiting children.

Happy New Year, my lovelies. Cross your fingers for us.

* It was 62 degrees upstairs, so it's not as if it was life-threatening up there. It's just that she had to be next to me in the bed to be warm enough to sleep, which means I don't really sleep. But at least five of the six people in the house were sleeping. 

Christmas, Coming At You

The tree: before.

I managed to stave off the excited hordes until 6 a.m., at which point they rushed upstairs to look in their stockings.

And then there was a candy break.

This year there were Nerds Ropes in their stockings. Do you know about these? I didn't, until A. bought one once at a gas station like two years ago and the kids have been talking about it ever since. They're these chewy candy ropes--kind of like a Twizzler--that's covered in Nerds.

They're absolutely revolting. In my opinion.

But Christmas is all about making dreams come true, so Nerds Ropes in the stockings it is. And then they all ate them. At 6 a.m.

Even A. got one and ate it right away. The perfect accompaniment to coffee, apparently.

Poppy didn't get one. She got a couple of diapers in her stocking, and doesn't look pleased about it. But at least she was crying in a festive outfit!

After they started their Christmas sugar consumption, the present opening began. The first gifts to be opened were Lego sets from my parents. Cubby opened his and shouted, "HOORAY! This is EXACTLY what I wanted!"

High five to SuperNana.

They went downstairs immediately to start dumping out tiny pieces and building ninja bases. Or whatever they are.

When I sent my dad this picture with a thank you e-mail, he wrote back, "I thought your life needed more tiny pieces on the floor." Yeah, me too.

They got lots of other things from relatives, and played with all of it. At 10 a.m., when they were all still in their pajamas and had consumed almost all of the candy from their stockings--along with one of A.'s famous gigantic omelets--I announced that there was one more present, but it was outside and they had to get dressed to play with it.

My brother sent the sled. Good call, Arizona Uncle.

Shortly after this, the snow started falling more heavily and the wind picked up. So now we're having an arctic Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all of you from all of us.

Kids in the Kitchen for Christmas

The first day of the kids' Christmas break from school yesterday was a real doozy. 

After very little sleep the night before, I was less than enthused to make breakfast in the morning. So I let the boys do it. Specifically, I had Cubby fry eggs and Jack and Charlie on toast duty.

Cubby actually can make eggs if I supervise and remind him to, say, put butter in the pan before he cracks the eggs. You know, so he can actually flip them rather than scraping them off the pan. Jack and Charlie can make toast if I cut the bread and take it out of the hot toaster. Basically, they press the button down and spread the butter.

But they did manage to mostly make breakfast. And it killed half an hour of a very long day.

A. did get Cubby and Jack out to the woods for an adventure before the freezing rain started. It continued almost all day, resulting in what the weather people referred to as "a glaze" on top of the existing snow.

Cozy.

I have no qualms about booting my kids outdoors in almost any weather, but I do draw the line at freezing rain. That's just miserable. So they were inside almost all day.

At 11 a.m., in an attempt at distraction, we made egg nog. We had all the ingredients, and Charlie and Cubby loved the egg nog we bought for them at the store last week. I did not love the ingredients, so I decided we should just make some ourselves. 

We used this recipe, except we didn't chill it, because you try telling a three-year-old he can't immediately consume whatever he just helped to make.

It was really good. And there were minimal smackdowns over who got to measure, stir, and crack eggs. Hooray.

Oh, and I also didn't add the bourbon. I didn't have any, or else I would have been very tempted to doctor up my own glass.

After dinner, in response to a comment by Charlie that he wanted to watch karate movies, A. showed them a montage of Bruce Lee fight scenes on YouTube. They were, predictably, enthralled, though Charlie asked quite reasonably why the guy had to have his shirt off all the time. 

I had never noticed that, but Bruce Lee does indeed almost always have his shirt off. Perhaps to make him immediately recognizable in a crowd of other high-kicking men.

Anyway. 

Also predictably, the watching of kung fu was immediately followed by the practice of kung fu downstairs, which is when I heard Charlie ask Jack, "Are you ready to fight a five-year-old with no shirt?"

No shirt=bad ass, obviously. 

In fact, they all took off their shirts and donned their long underwear bottoms, in their best attempt at kung fu attire. It was really funny, and it kept them all entertained until Charlie and Jack collided and cracked their heads. 

Then it was bedtime and I made the dough for cinnamon rolls in the morning*.

They didn't help me with the dough, but in the morning the early bird got to help with assembly.

And he had just the apron for the job.

So that was a good start to the day.

Unfortunately, A. determined yesterday that the exhaust system in the Honda was leaking, resulting in exhaust in the car. Which means we do not want to transport our small children in it. And we can't all fit in the Subaru unless one of the adults just sits in the cargo area in the back. 

The odds of getting the Honda fixed during this holiday week are pretty low, so we'll be sticking around at home. We're supposed to get 6-8 inches of snow tomorrow, and then the temperature is going to drop waaaay down. Like, below zero almost all week.

So if you need me, I'll be here with four sick little kids, huddled in the house and cooking.

Maybe we'll just have eggs and toast for every meal. Then they can make it themselves.

* I used this recipe. Cubby said he wished he had twelve thumbs, so he could give it twelve thumbs up. They are pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

'Tis the Season

For snotty children and Christmas concerts, that is.

Yes, all four of my children are hacking like lifelong smokers and dripping at the nose. Mucous season has definitely arrived*.

On the cheerier side, we got to go to the school today to watch Charlie sing "The Reindeer Hokey Pokey." He didn't look quite as enthused as the rest of his classmates, but at least he went through the motions.

Cubby's group sang "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," complete with hand motions that included pretending to punch themselves on the line "Deck the halls with boughs of holly." Get it? So charming.

We bolted immediately after Cubby's performance, due to a toddler and a baby who were exhibiting signs of imminent meltdown. Thank goodness the concert starts with the youngest ones and ends with the oldest, so we only had to corral Jack and Poppy for half of it.

It's currently snowing, and we're supposed to get anywhere from six to twelve inches. White Christmases are definitely not in question here, at least.

I forgot to get office supplies for the children's stockings this year, but I did get some small bags of Doritos, so I think we can be sure of a merry Christmas.

How's your holiday preparedness level, my lovelies?

* This morning at 4:30, when I was up with Poppy for the third time, I was singing in my head a version of  "All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth" that went, "All I want for Christmas is a full night's sleep." Four-thirty a.m. is a fun time to be in my head.

I'm Choosing to Focus on the Positive

It started snowing lightly about an hour ago, and I was looking out at the gently falling snow thinking happy thoughts about Christmas-y weather and cozy houses. Then I came across this photo that A. took last year, in November.

Not happy. And will for sure happen sometime in the coming months.

Thankfully, there are plenty of happy things to focus on inside the house, too.

Like smiling babies. Doesn't get much happier than that.

Happy Friday, my lovelies. I hope you're finding the happy wherever you are.

The North Country Larder

This morning I had to confiscate a rubber bracelet imprinted with "Jesus Loves You," because it was being treated as a giant rubber band projectile by my precious little gifts from God.

Jesus loves you, but not when you try to take out your brother with a Sunday school bracelet.

Anyway. That has nothing to do with the rest of this post, which is all about a beaver. Or rather, about another beaver*.

And here it is, with its eventual consumers.

That photo, by the way, is totally staged. Jack is holding a trap, which he is not normally allowed to handle. Cubby is holding a hatchet, which he is normally allowed to handle but which doesn't play any part in the trapping of the beaver. And Charlie didn't even go to check the trap, instead just running out for the photo op when the real trappers returned with the rodent and then going back into the warm house to continue building with Tinker Toys. He's holding the trap setting tool. What a fraud.

Anyway again.

Now that A. has trapped another beaver, I am required to make beaver tacos again. I can do without them, personally, but the kids love them. Like LOVE LOVE them. They talk all the time about the beaver tacos we had last year, so of course, when they saw this beaver, they were all, "YAY! Beaver tacos!"

A. and I are less enthusiastic. Beaver meat is okay, but it's awfully . . . red. I know that sounds weird, but it's really, really red, in an almost disturbing way. Kind of like liver, and man, I really hate liver.

No matter, though! It's not about me. A. did all the cutting and trimming of the meat for me, so all I have to do is cook it. Which I did by putting the meat in some water to come to a boil, and then forgetting it was on there when I took Jack down for his nap. I came upstairs to a stove covered in boiled-over beaver juice.

It is about as appetizing as it sounds, yes.

I got that cleaned up, though, and now have the meat successfully simmering gently on the stove. I also have a grouse in the refrigerator to cook. A. shot it when he was deer hunting. Grouse I can wholeheartedly recommend. They taste like really good chicken.

Beaver in the pot, grouse in the refrigerator. It's a northwoods kitchen for sure.

* I just realized I never responded to a person in the comments of that post who asked if we have a lot of beavers in our area and what kind of trap A. uses. The answers are: There are a TON of beavers here. A. is trapping them at a neighbor's hunting cabin, where there are so many that the cabin is in danger of being submerged in the ever-expanding beaver pond. And the traps A. uses are instant kill traps set under water, so they're very humane.