by Bebe and Sissy Fenstermaker

Looking out at the yard from the screen porch is a pleasure these mornings. Everything has perked up with the encouragement of recent rains. There are so many plants blooming that I believe this place can almost be considered a garden in the old-time meaning of the word.

I just heard the rain crow sending its nock-nock-nock call through the air's freshness. He has had more to say since the showers. During the summer drought he was mighty quiet. Is it the recent moisture that prompts him to call or something else – food, a mate - I don't know?

Maybe I'll receive an answer over time, maybe not. I'll leave the theorizing to those fervent people who like to tell me all about my land while standing on it for the first time.

Our life friend Johnny Neill of Carlsbad , NM has just been bitten by a brown recluse for the seventh time. Seven times! He must hold a record. Get over it soon, Johnny, and think about leaving those spiders alone.

Johnny's mother Teda Neill lived for many years in Ft. Davis but has now moved to Carlsbad . Teda has just turned 93 years young, and you wouldn't know it.

She was one of our mother's dearest friends, and we consider her the sage of West Texas . Teda was the Children's Services representative for all of West Texas for many, many years and, as a result, knows every nook and cranny of the region and all its inhabitants, old, young, rich, and poor.

All she treated the same; there is no one kinder to people than Teda. She also knows baloney, too, and how to deal with it. Over ten years ago, because she was acutely aware of its need, Teda started Casa Hogar, a home for children in need in Ojinaga , Mexico . She still sits on its board and continues her good work. Happy Birthday, Teda.

We have a new farrier. Our neighbor Stevie insisted on introducing us to Arnold because the angle of our horses' hooves has been too flat. They haven't been balanced over the middle of their hooves; they have been shuffling along on elongated toes at a slouchy grade. Now their toes are rasped off and the backs of their hooves are being encouraged to lengthen.

The point is to bring the horse's body into balance over the middle of its hoof. It is much the same as keeping your dog's toenails clipped so that it can walk properly on all its pads. Too long and the whole animal has to walk back on its heel, placing it out of balance, not to mention giving it bad alignment throughout the body.

Arnold is from Austin and is Norwegian. Both his parents are from Norway , and his sister moved back to that country after growing up in Galveston . Arnold has a wonderful bumper sticker on the back window of his pickup which reads: “Capitalism, predatory phase of human development.”

On his second visit he brought a book about Tibetans for us to read. He has many Tibetan friends, both in Austin and in Chicago , and he has met the Dali Lama. He is a gentle soul but on his last visit our horses did not seem to grasp that picture.

Both threw their feet around and acted as if they were being mistreated. Mistreatment is not Arnold 's thing; he whinnies and snorts right along with them, giving every indication that he is on their side. He spends a lot of time considering each hoof individually, looking at it from all angles. When he finally shoes he works with skill and patience.

So, it was galling to have the horses acting so badly, and that evening I had a talk with them to let them know how lucky they were that Arnold is willing to work with them. I pointed out that they have been given quite a special opportunity and that they should respond positively when they see him again.

This spring's chicks are growing and growing but still no eggs. Actually, there has been one, two days ago, and it was double-yoked. So finally, a pullet egg.

The old hens moved to Primarily Primates almost two months ago and I ran out of their eggs a month ago. It's been an agonizing wait for a true egg. The organic, free range ones from the grocery store cannot compare with home grown eggs. I'm tired of pale yellow scrambled eggs that absolutely have to have chipotle salsa on them in order to have any flavor. Even the dogs know the difference.

The new young hens and their rooster have pleasant personalities and the whole chicken yard seems at peace. Peaceful, that is, after the guineas have been turned out for the day. Over thirty chickens are group-bullied by two 12-year-old guineas who have been at it for years. The dogs bark continually at chicken squawks until I throw the tormentors out of the chicken yard.

Update: I'm sad to report there is only one guinea now. One night a snake grabbed one of the two and it died a day later due to its injuries. Just before that happened a rat snake got a little too ahead of itself in the chicken house. It gobbled too many pullet eggs (that's where they were disappearing!), then whizzed out of the chicken nest but got caught in chicken wire.

My horror on the discovery of that was equally matched by the odor de muerte. I gave up on any removal attempt because the episode was too old, so to speak. For days I gave the area a wide berth and felt sorry for the poultry. Now I'm back to gathering the one or none pullet egg a day and lying in wait for the other snake.

When one is being watched, it is spooky. I finally discovered why I kept having that feeling. Coyotes. One afternoon the guineas set up quite an alarm. Bebe and I looked down over the rock wall and saw a coyote following them.

We hollered and it turned and moved away. The guineas also turned and started following the coyote, fussing as they went along. The next day, Sienna led me to a dead fawn. I was impressed with the neatness of the area. Not one scrap of the animal was being wasted.

Bebe Fenstermaker

The ‘job' had occurred within the yard. That afternoon, Sienna's barking alerted me that they were or had been back to the carcass. I took a pistol and shot into the ground in the direction the coyotes had come from. That night they moved the remains anyway so not a shred of evidence was left. The evenings since have been interrupted with Sienna's barking and me going out to check around each time. The routine is repeated several times a night.

Fall is definitely in the air. Not by any great amount, but something is different about the air and the ‘feel.' The temperatures are hot. What makes them a different hot? Maybe the breezes, maybe the longer nights. Even early in the morning I find I am reaching for a sheet to throw over my feet, and I turn the fan off, too. We had some scattered showers in the area, some even hit here. After about two months of no moisture and yellowing vegetation all has reversed and the countryside is again green.

A couple of weeks ago we visited long time friends in Fredericksberg. They decided to move there from North Carolina rather than to San Antonio. I think they have made the right choice. They wasted no time settling in, and have met almost all the residents. They are enjoying the move back to Texas.

Sarah is already volunteering at a clinic, and Tommy is in charge of walking Paddington, their Welsh Corgi. Actually, I bet the latter two are busy scheming. Just what, no one could say for sure. We enjoyed a wonderful visit and lunch followed by a tour of town looking for a likely future home.

Sissy Fenstermaker