Welcome to My World

Farm life. Ah, it's a beautiful thing. Except when it's a totally gross thing, which it is quite often. I'm not going to spend too much time musing over the two items described below. I did, however, think it was only right that I share my new-found wisdom with you. You're welcome.

Since corn is one of Weldon's favorite topics and an area of his expertise, he has taught me quite a bit about it since I came to the farm. Years ago he showed me corn that looked even worse than depicted in the following two photos.

 

Eeuuww. Gross.

Yes, this is corn. But you don't see a lovely cob, do you? What you're seeing is smut. Here is the definition of smut from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: any of various destructive diseases especially of cereal grasses caused by parasitic basidiomycetous fungi (order Ustilaginales) and marked by transformation of plant parts into dark masses of spores; also :  a fungus causing a smut.

So, imagine my horror when just last week Weldon was telling me about some visitors who came to the farm to see if he had any corn for sale. He explained that the garden corn was all gone, but there was still lots of field corn. They walked into the fields to check it out and, when they saw the smut on some ears, they were ecstatic. "This is a delicacy in Mexico. Is it for sale?" Weldon told them they could have the smutty corn.

I still get shivers up and down my spine when I picture the black, rotten, moldy stuff. But it turns out that the "delicacy" is only a delicacy before it hits the rotting stage. When it's "good" to eat (I use the term loosely), it looks like this:

Mmmm. Yummy.

We call it smut, but it's also known as Mexican Truffles or Corn Truffles ... or Raven Scat. It's similar to mushrooms, and they're not so bad, are they? I took a tiny little piece of the corn truffle, and it tasted a little like corn. Weldon sampled more than I did, but an itty-bitty nibble was enough for me. You can discover more fun facts about smut on the website Eat the Weeds. There are even a few recipes for the brave of heart.

Next: yesterday's discovery. I was coming in from feeding the cats and kittens and saw a strange blob, seemingly hanging on the side of the house. I didn't stop to investigate, but hurried in to get my camera. I went back outside and approached the wall very cautiously. What the heck? At first I thought it was a baby snake ... hanging by a "thread" along the bricks?? Can't be. But what?

Eeuuww. Gross. Two slugs getting it on. That's just disgusting. (Sorry, God.)

Eeuuww. Gross.

And then they slithered contentedly up the wall. I have no idea where they went or where he or she or they will have their darling little slugs. I suppose I'll meet them in the garden next spring.

Welcome to my world. Eeesh. I've got shivers.

You're welcome.

It Takes a Village

Frankie was born last spring, so now it was her turn to have babies of her own. She had them, but I didn't know where until I heard kitties squalling on Sunday, June 14. I followed the pathetic cries and found four little ones behind this piece of tin.

I feed a whole passel of cats and kittens inside this shed.

I brought them to Mama, who was inside the shed, but she didn't take much notice of them. Over the next two days, she moved them from one place to another, and it didn't seem like she was taking good care of them. They had that hungry cry whenever I came to feed the other cats.

Tuesday evening, I was elated to see them nursing mama.

Unfortunately, they were trying to attach themselves to Grandma Freddie. That didn't last long.

Seen from above, the four babies and Mama Frankie. Frankie is just as black as her mom Freddie, but the flash makes them all look rather washed out.

Wednesday morning and evening, Pat and Weldon skimmed cream from the cows' milk and gave it to the babies. Honestly, I didn't feel like trying to keep them alive. I had lots of things on my calendar and I figured they'd all die anyway. Who wants to deal with that crap?

But, I caved. On Thursday I started giving the little ones kitten milk replacer, morning and evening, via a little syringe. They eagerly sucked it down and, within two days, their yowls were replaced with gentle kitty squeaks.

Cap'n Jack taking a syringe of milk.

I went to give Frankie's babies their milk on Saturday day night. No Frankie. One baby. I called and hunted and called some more. Nothing. So, I gave the little one two or three syringes of milk and went home.

Sunday morning, mom and all four babies came to greet me! Monday evening, Mom and two babies. Tuesday morning, Mom and two babies. Tuesday evening, Mom and two babies. My hunting was futile and my sweetest kitty-cat voice didn't avail. BUT ...

When I continued to the hay barn to feed the cats out there, I was surprised to see Rosemary coming around the bales from the rear of the barn. Hmmm. She didn't usually hang out in the hay barn. She hadn't been "lucky" with her very recent batch of babies, but she had previously proven herself adept at kitty-snatching. As she ate, I walked through the barn. "Where are the kitties? Come on, babies. Where are you?"

I had almost reached the back when I saw little Heddy waddling my way, and there came Tippy. Happy tears ran down my cheeks as I picked them up and snuggled them. Since Rosemary had milk and Frankie wasn't doing so well in the nursing department, I decided to let them stay where they were. Perhaps Rosemary's thievery will pay off this time.

This is Frankie, mother of four.

These are the two who are still with her: Cap'n Jack and Barbossa.

Here's Rosemary with Frankie's other two babes:

Heddy and Tippy

Tonight Pat lay on her belly to look under the pile of lumber where Rosemary has settled in with her adopted babies. And what to her wondering eyes should appear? Four more kittens! We're guessing they belong to LaPli, since she was the only other cat hanging around back there. I checked her undercarriage and she seems to have milk, so maybe she's sharing with Heddy and Tippy, too. The village continues its magic.

Untold Stories

Last month had too many stories and not enough time to tell them. I'm posting pictures, including captions, and you can make up a story. Have fun!
 

Irises

An enemy has done this.

Has anyone seen Mom?

Fragrant

Flashy

Festive

Before

After

Hmmm. Maybe?

If I can move all this junk ....

Aha!

In the carport.

In the big shed.

Found?

Rescued?

The End

A Wee Little Man

"Did you see the sycamore tree this morning?" Weldon asked.
"Sycamore tree? We have a sycamore tree? Like Zacchaeus climbed?" I was full of questions.
"I don't know about that, but it is a sycamore tree."
"Well, I'm gonna walk on over there and see if I can climb it."

I had noticed this tree before, but didn't know it was a sycamore.

With every step I took, the tree got bigger and bigger. I was amazed. This is not your wee-little-man's tree.

There's no way I can climb this monster. What's the deal? Time to do some investigating. The sycamore tree that Zacchaeus climbed belongs to the nettle family. Below is a photo of the sycamore (Ficus sycomorus) that grows around Jericho. Thanks to Ferrell Jenkins for his photo and information.

Wouldn't this be a great tree for us wee little ones to climb?

The American sycamore (Platanus occidentalis) is what we have in North Carolina. According to Wikipedia, these trees can grow to over 100 feet tall and five to six feet in diameter. Here are a few more pics from the farm.

From a distance.

Tall. Really tall.

The most interesting thing I learned is that the bark of the sycamore tree can't stretch, so as the trunk grows, the bark flakes off in big chunks. You can see the evidence of that in the next photos.

These pics were taken in early April, so I'm guessing the weird fuzzy things in the next photo is the "fruit" that hangs on through the winter. And the little bud-like things might be ... buds?

My walk out to the sycamore tree was amazing. I couldn't climb the tree, but I saw the handiwork of God ... and even more so as I learned a few facts about the tree. Such a marvel. The cows like it, too.