That'd be me...dead brain. I literally have to think about keeping my eyes focused. If I don't everything gets blurry. 

Mama is processing chicken. I can't claim to have been of much help other than washing a few canning jars and getting a couple jars into the canner. I mean, if you're not counting the fact that I gutted all of the 106 chickens that were butchered last week. 

Anyway, back to the dead-brain...I guess it's the killers. I've been so spotty on them recently that it seems every time I return to them (usual dosage), I crash. Big time. When the S's were here last week, I took my killers and ended up being more of a bump on a log than an engaging conversationalist. *Note to self: Next time you're off your killers...don't go back on them while company is here. Also...don't up the dosage when company is here. Probably have the same idiot problem. :p

In addition to the killers, we as a family have started a new, three month (at least) parasite cleanse. Ewww...gross...right? I don't know. The deal is that hopefully, the ridding of parasites will speed up the mold and Lyme destruction. I hope. I look forward to being better...........

Well, at least I know that the killers are still working for me...I can't talk straight. 

Until next time...I'm glad you can't see all the misspelled, dyspraxic typos I've made in this very short post.

Day Two of the Chicken Butchering spree. We'll be taking the day off tomorrow partly because Daddy has to be gone. 

Anyway, we butchered 31 birds yesterday and concluded today with 35. I actually killed a couple of them this morning as I went ahead and got started while Daddy got Grandpa up. (I was supposed to, but when I went in both he and Grandma were asleep so I left....)

But...after two days of gutting chickens (66), my hands are a bit tired and stiff. I really felt that when I sat down to actually play my guitar for the first time in, I am ashamed to say, probably months.

In good news, while my ankle is still a bit swollen, I can actually bend it tonight (it was really swollen and painful last night--to such a degree that Katherine threatened me with the crutches!). Also, it doesn't hurt unless I push on it...but it's starting to itch. The last time I had bee stings...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. What an itch!!

Hopefully we can get the rest of the chickens butchered in the next week. Mama worked all day at freezing and canning the ones we dressed out yesterday. Tomorrow will probably, Lord willing, be spent in processing the ones we dressed today. 

I appologise for my chopping, boring writing...I'm struggling with writing anything interesting again. It'll get better eventually. :)

Daddy and I are butchering chickens today. (So, why are you on the computer??) It's lunch break and poor Katherine, who doesn't feels so well, is busy fixing it. So far, Daddy and I have butchered eleven birds--the contents of the "Small Teepee" (yes, each 'tractor' has it's own nickname). We're moving on to the Yurt after lunch. I think I had 26 in that one originally but a couple of them died or were killed by Mr. Possum, so I don't know the exact number.

However, to further clarify the title...we had visitors for the past two days!! The S's stopped to see us on their way home from visiting relatives in a nearby state and, as always, it was a delight to have them! We fed them and poured hot tea down them and took them over to our new shop. Would you believe it? Mrs. S ended up fixing us up a stack of hand towels with the crocheted tops that can easily hang from a bar. :) They really are pretty.

Anyway, at some point yesterday afternoon, even though I felt rather blah and drugged (I don't like going into the Dollar General due to all the chemical fragrances that assault my poor system), I went out to check my bees...and to show them off of course. ;)

I didn't take the time, or effort, to change out of my skirt into a pair of pants and just slid my feet into my cowboy boots (my usual footwear). Bad decision. A bee got into my right boot and pumped the inside of my ankle full of poison. Yee. 

It hurts and I'm gimping about without bending my ankle as much as possible. I doctored it up with plantain salve and essential oils and taped a pad over it before socking up this morning. But...we have chickens to butcher and it's a beautiful day for it so ignore it and work! :) 

Lunch is about done...so I'm off. 

Forget the Battle Hymn of the Republic...first time I remember hearing this song, I watched my Dad try not to cry. He was one of these guys. His paratrooper days are some his proudest (just watch him when he talks about jumping). He almost got killed on his last jump...

HOOAH! Paratroopers are the awesomest dudes--ever. (I'm much to chicken to ever jump out of a perfectly sound airplane.) 

Sorry if the language offends anyone. 

We got there just in time to catch the first battle of the two for the day. The first battle the Confederates won and the second the Yankees won, as it was a depiction of the two-day Battle of Five Forks.

It wasn't the biggest reenactment I've been to (Chickamauga was that). I'd classify it at about a upper-middling amount of reenactors. There were more Yankees than Confederates, but that is to be expected considering where we are. ;) Overall, the professionalism was a bit higher than that which I am prone to bemoan in the Florida groups (primarily Hardee Corp), so that was a positive. 

For the first battle, we were situated right behind/beside the Confederate artillery (if you know us, you know that we love the artillery so much so that I joke that I need to marry a man with a cannon). There, I saw a sight I had never seen before at a reenactment--mortars. Now that was pretty neat! They had two of them. :)

After the battle, we girls meandered off to stroll through sutler row. And guess what? We didn't buy anything! I saw a pretty cream parasol that I liked...but I decided against dropping $35 for it. I really would rather have an A-frame tent and cooking gear for over the fire--which according the pricing I did would cost about $300 for the bare-bones set up. I'm pretty sure we can make a tent for cheaper than we could buy one (depending I guess on the price-per-yard of tent canvas).

After that, we slid into the presentation tent and caught the tail end of President Jeff Davis' talk. (I later saw a man who looked more like Davis than the impersonator did.)
When he was done, we stuck around for the "Meet and Greet the Generals" session. There was Lee, Stuart, Heath, Grant, Sherman, and Custer. The Custer impersonator, while he looked like Custer, was quite a bit older than Custer was when he died at Little Big Horn. I did not stand up and rail at General Sherman when he informed the crowd that he would be quite willing to answer any questions concerning his March to the Sea. I kept my mouth shut and wrinkled my nose up a little bit I think.

 By the time the generals were done speaking, I was hungry. Not even a self-important General Sherman could take away my appetite, so we went to the car and had some lunch. We did manage to locate a food vendor with coffee so we got some coffee afterwards. It was pretty decent for mid-western vendor coffee. 

Then...we went on a search for a doctor to talk to. Savannah and I, at any rate, have both been wanting an actual impression and nursing is something that is a "legitimate" persona. 

First we stopped by the Confederate surgeon. He essentially told us that he doesn't actually do much any more (besides which he only does two reenactments a year) and told us to go talk to the Yankee doctor--who really is a doctor. 

Biting the bullet, we headed for the Union camp across the field. And there we met Dr. Fred.

I plowed into a semi-ramble-esque spiel and by the time we mosied off about an hour later, we had been invited to come back and help after the second battle (Graybacks as we are) so we could see what we thought of it. As it turned out, I was the only one who actually did take up the offer. Savannah had a headache and Katherine wasn't overly keen on the idea of helping without first watching.

We headed back to the battle field when we heard the crash of artillery fire starting back up and shortly after we got there, Savannah loaned me her apron and I handed off my hat and reticle (a purse, y'all ;D) and head toward the Yankee camp.

I pitched right in after receiving a very few instructions, taking off the "wounded's" gear, trying not to take of noses and ears in the process, of course.

We ended up with five or six patients total, if I remember correctly--five "amputations" (one of whom "died" under the knife), and one bullet extraction. But...I'll go into more detail because to me this was the highlight of the day.

Our first patient was a foot amputation, the lad in both these pictures. (He healed pretty well, by the way...I danced a waltz with him that evening.) While I little taller than I, he probably weighs about the same or a little less and was the easiest to manipulate and hold down. When it was time to get him on the table, I went to where he was laying in the shade and hauled him up bodily under the armpits and slung his arm around my neck and helped him over and up. He got "put to sleep" and so didn't kick much. I had the dubious honour of being towards the spectators and thereby being the one to whom Dr. Fred handed the amputated "limbs" (plastic dummy limbs!); my job being to toss it into the bucket just behind the rope. 

Dr. Fred asked me at one point, "Are you going to faint?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Okay...my last nurse fainted."

I don't know if that was an actual fact or if he was in character...I couldn't tell. He's pretty good.

I cannot remember the exact order of the operations, but the big red-head who had the "simple" procedure of a bullet extraction, lay to one side moaning his sympathy for the others, "Don't cut his leg off!" I thought it added a unique touch. He would later assist in getting our dead boy of the table. 

We took off three or four legs and one hand. The hand was the last, but I'll put his picture here before I get to the best of the lot.

Some of our amputees lay still and didn't play the part too enthusiastically. One struggled a little bit and due to his size only, I was constrained to lay myself across his legs. (I was situated toward their feet. There was a man who dealt with the torso.)

But, the best of the lot...

I couldn't find a picture were you could actually see his face, but I was working on removing a shoe and sock when I looked up as they were bringing him off the battlefield. I looked straight into his face, making eye contact. I glanced down, head reeling. Looking back up, I had to agree with my first impression and my brain was going, "It can't be...for one, the uniform is the wrong color!" In all it took about three takes for me to seriously convince myself that that WAS NOT brother Andy. It wasn't--and he isn't even related (I asked him later if he had cousin's by that last name...nope.) 

At any rate, our Andy-look-alike was the most realistic. He moaned...he thrashed...he quivered (I'm not kidding)...and he died. I don't know if that was his play or if he had been pre-instructed to die, but it was seriously a sobering experience. The doctor's couldn't get him to revive and I just stood there watching, my hands still on his leg. I helped carry him off and lay him to one side of the doctor's tent where he stayed until things were winding down. 

I made sure to catch him before he escaped and (in addition to asking about possible cousins), told him that he had made the experience more real for me. He said, "Sorry..." and I responded, "No. I appreciate it. Thank-you." I'm not sure he knew what to do with me, but I wanted to let him know that I did appreciate it.

At some point during operations, I had glanced over my shoulder to see both sisters watching. I didn't look for them again until I was done...only to find that they were no where in sight. They had taken my purse with them (and thereby my cellphone) and I admit, that while I wasn't scared, I was a little anxious. It was a big enough event and I didn't know if they'd gone to wander through the camps or what. I decided I'd head for the car in the chance that that was where they had gone. 

I was over half-way through sutler row when I passed a Confederate soldier. I blinked and gave him a second look (I had yet another double-take that day, but I'll get there...three in one day is excessive :D). Turning about I asked, "Cyrus?"

"Yes?"

Anyway...as it turns out, it was a fellow from church that I had yet to actually be introduced to, but knew who he was.

He had seen us earlier too and recognized us, but wasn't quite sure, so he had kept to himself. Anyway from there on out, we all spent the remainder of the day together. He and I walked to the top of the hill talking and when the girls finally did show back up, they joined in and then we all went to supper together...and talked some more. 

After supper as it got dark, we headed back up the hill to watch the artillery night fire, which I had never seen before.

I'm pretty sure that they put some sort of color/fireworks in with their powder because some of it was blue and pink and shot out rather like fireworks...but it was spectacular. The mortar fire was particularly cool because you really got to see the arc.

As the firing ceased, Cyrus reached into his holster and pulled forth his side arm. We had been talking about guns a little bit earlier...and I guess I sounded like I knew what I was talking about because of how he framed his question as he extended the revolver to me.

"Since you're the expert, do you know what this is?"

I think I laughed and made some retort along the lines of not being an expert (since I'm not, just an enthusiast) and took the gun. I had to do most of my looking via my finger tips since it was dark. I asked if it were a Colt...no, a Remington. But essentially rather like a Colt SAA. He then asked me what caliber it was. Savannah stuck her finger down the barrel and guessed, ".45". I shook my head, not that anyone probably could see it and said, ".44". "Yep." I then went into my know-it-all phase and blurbbled about how they didn't use .45 much at that point. Most service revolvers were in .44, I think, but some were in various other calibers too.

Cyrus then asked if I'd like to fire a few caps? 

You kidding? Seriously. Lemme at it! (Um, no I did not say that; I was a little more polite than that....)

Between first my cell phone's glow and then with Katherine's little flashlight, we lighted it up so that he could see to remove the cylinder. I then got to put the caps on the nipples and then he put the cylinder back in and we strolled off to a place where the three girls each got a two-shot go. There was no powder so it didn't go "boom" but just snapped with a little spark. One of Savannah's shots was a dud. I like the way the thing handled.

From there, Cyrus took us to meet some friends of his (General Heath being one of them) and we now have a standing invite to camp with them anytime. (We need a set up!!!! Ahem...) They pointed out some things that ladies can do...nursing...seamstress...camp cook....washer woman...

Oh, General Heath asked if we were Union or Confederate and I immediately answered "Confederate" and he reached out cheerfully, "Confederates!" and gave me a hug then moved on to my sisters, "Group hug!" It was humourous. They are Christians, of the non-doctrine type (which is, honestly, a bit of a laugh since doctrine simply means "teaching", but we girls just kept quiet on that front), so rather what we were looking for.

From there we moved onto the ball. I insert this next photograph here because I want you to look at the fellow on the far left with the chin hair, curled mustache, and glasses. He was my third double-take of the day. I saw my cousin Philip standing over there...and it wasn't of course. This guy is a bit shorter and Philip really is a little more handsome...but still. I would end up dancing the Haymaker's Reel with him after he took both me and the girl on the other side of him down the line during the Hat Dance--twice. :D (The first time, I confided that "I butcher chickens and bake 'em real good, too." The second time, I grinned, "I can shoot too!" His response to that was funny because he laughed and said, "That's good enough for me!" Some guys are real flirts during that dance, but he didn't seem to be one of those...)

Okay, that was seriously out of order, basically starting at the end rather than the beginning....but I was not asked to dance by any Confederate that evening. Naturally, I danced with them in passing during the mixers but each and every request to dance came from a man in blue--be he the sweet older gentleman (I'd guess he was in his 70's) to the young foot amputee. I had to ask him if he'd had his foot amputated earlier because with his dress uniform, hat and glasses on, he looked a little different. :D I helped him out with his waltzing (greenhorn teaching greenhorn. Mm-hmm...been there, done that several times now.) We both enjoyed ourselves in the process though, so that is what really mattered--that and we didn't actually run anybody else over. :)

Savannah got flirted with by one of Cyrus' unit mates...yup. 

There was a particular family/group of persons that were very loud and obnoxious and I didn't really like them...but somehow ended up in their sets twice for both the Virginia Reel and the Haymaker's Reel. In the Virginia Reel I kept running into my partner during the Do-si-do...I think it was partly because our set was spaced too closely, but also because he was a bit beefy. Oh well. It happens. I got over feeling odd about it a long time ago. :D 

Usually the dances are the highlight for me at reenactments...but Saturday it was my nursing experience--even if I was helping out the Yankees. I beg of you, my dear Confederate friends, do not rib me too hard (Cyrus already did that, thank-you). I wanted to "test the waters" so to speak and see if it were an option that I would really like to do and it served it's purpose. Any of y'all want to reenact a medico??? 

It was a great day...and I look forward to whenever "next time" is...

My typing is a little awkward today...due to the bee sting on the inside of my left wrist (the poor bee got pinched under my watch band yesterday).

Today was Butchering Day #1. I really don't know how many Butchering Days there will be...or how soon the next one will be, but we (meaning Daddy and myself) emptied one coop over the course of the day. All twenty-six birds were rooster, except one. I forgot to weigh the one I popped in the oven for supper, but it was one of the lighter ones anyway. 

Neither Daddy nor I were moving with the greatest alacrity today, so it took most of the day to get the birds done. We pretty much butchered in batches of five seeing as we only have five of the killing 'cone' sacks. The vinegar bottles are too small, but the sacks are a little loose. At least one of the birds managed to trash his way out .

Daddy, as usual did the killing, scalding, and running the whiz-bang chicken plucker, while I caught the birds and dressed them. It's a good system and we get along at a sufficient rate. I managed to keep up and so didn't have a couple of plucked birds waiting on me as has occasionally happened in the past. 

Once we got done, Daddy did most of the clean up while I got the chicken into the oven and then started on the feeding routine. Daddy helped me move the coops (actually, to be more honest, I should say that I helped him) and before I started feeding I move twenty birds from the paddock (attached to the brooder coop) and out onto the grass. Did they ever squawk at me!! Anyway, once I got that done I fed all the chickens (I had skipped their third afternoon feeding today being up to my elbows in chicken innards) and watered the grass where the coops had been sitting. 

Now...about supper...that chicken is starting to smell pretty good if I do say so myself...

The last few days I have been rather glad that I don't weigh 100 pounds....or I might have blown away. The wind has been honking and Fall is here. I love Fall. I don't know if it's because I am a Fall baby or not, but it's true. Not too cold, but chilly enough for sweaters.

​Yes...it's that time of year again...I'm embracing my European heritage with a vengeance. ;)

My poor chickens are being blown about and eating and eating and eating and...nevermind. Suffice to say, I feed them six times a day and I think that they would eat more. We go through a 50 pound sack of feed a day, give or take.

I have spent a great deal of time working up apples this week...and once I get my dishes washed I'll be back at it (oh, yeah...after I feed the chickens, of course). I've canned 12 quarts so far, with only one not sealing. There's another couple already cooked down, but I need at least another two crock pots full (of uncooked apples) to get enough to can a third batch.

Weebly has messed with my editor again, so I'm having to get re-acquainted with were a few things are...anyway...I have to run!