Marathons

I'm running two marathons this year. I've never run a marathon, so I might be getting ahead of myself. At about 5 weeks into my training, I can safely say that I need to start lifting weights and stretching more, in order to keep my knees up to speed with the miles I'm putting in. It's not only a physical challenge, but a moral, psychological, and social one. We'll see how this turns out, but all in all, I am enjoying it.

Wet And Wild

Steve and I couldn't figure out where to spend our three day Memorial Day weekend. Not on the Front Range, not too far from Colorado... We had debated the Picketwire Canyonlands, in the vicinity of the Comanche National Grasslands. That area has some of the oldest dinosaur fossils in the world and would be fun to hike and camp. We decided, though, to head to Crested Butte with two other couples to hike, mountain bike and watch our friend Kris race in the Gunnisson Growler.

The weather forecast was rain, rain, rain. That's ok! Adventure! I love road trips because you don't have to worry about filling those ridiculously small travel containers of shampoo, pulling a deltoid because you refuse to check your luggage and haul it all through security, or cram your purse and laptop under the seat in front of you. Not to mention the planning part. On a road trip, there's minimal planning involved. You can shove your stuff in the back of the Jeep and take off. I'm especially lucky because I don't have to drive. Anyway, Steve, Schivonne, Kris and I shoved in our four mountain bikes, two tents, four mats, four sleeping bags, four backpacks, one cooler, numerous 6-packs of beer, four camping chairs, blankets, pillows, fly rods, and other camping necessities. Emphasis on shove!
So on the road, eating pasta salad and cookies, we sang songs and shared dark secrets. You can't do that on a plane - someone will inevitably hear you. It rained our entire trip down to CB, and was still raining when we arrived at our camp spot, at 10:00 p.m. We rolled up to our secret camping spot on National Forest land, right outside of Crested Butte. We were still excited about camping, completely dry, and didn't mind setting up camp and bearing with the weather. (Kind of like how you can always tell that a waitress is new - she's still smiling, eager to help, and happy to be there.) So we slid in the mud, slipped on corn lilies, and set up camp. It was still raining.

Corn lily.
Evening adventure. View from our camp spot. You can see the red dust that blew over the Rockies in early April.
Road up to our camp.
Saturday morning, oh my God, it wasn't raining. This turned out to be an anomaly, but it just makes everything seem so much brighter when it's not raining. We hiked the in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park that day. It rained off an on, but not enough to dampen our spirits. We were just happy to be outside. Steve and I had hiked the down the canyon over Memorial Day 2007, and camped at the bottom. That year, we started from the North Rim, which was easily accessible from the direction in which we arrived, around Paonia. This year we accessed the Park from the South Rim, the more traveled side. To hike down to the Gunnison River - usually a mile or two of actually hiking over at least 1,700 feet - you need a permit, a lecture on the dangers of hiking, a warning that you need to know how to self rescue, clear instructions to not poop in the woods, a thorough review what poison ivy is, and how you could and probably will die down in the canyon. We happily obliged - it's a filter process that keeps the other hoohas out of dangerous situations that would otherwise eliminate those opportunities for adventurers like us. We received our permit, spoke with the nice lady, and hiked down. It's not an easy hike, but it's amazing to be down in that canyon, on a River that was completely undiscovered until about 100 years ago. It's a very special place. Unlike two years ago, the poison ivy was mild and Steve didn't make me wash my face the second he saw me brush up against poison ivy.

Canyon view from the top.
River at the bottom, with the canyon walls


Poison ivy - beware!
Our two hour ride back to the camp site was peppered with casual comments along the lines of, well, what should we do if it's raining tonight? How are we going to cook our food? Will our tents be wet? Are there hostels in the area? All comments were non-committal, as if the person mentioning them didn't want to be the one who made the group go to a hotel, or didn't want to bail, but didn't want to be blamed for making the group sleep indoors and quit our adventure. We stopped at WallyWorld, bought some fire wood, a tarp, and hoped for the best, despite the fact that the rain was unrelenting. I know that people say that it's just water, it will dry, but whatever, when it's just water that's keeping you wet for a steady 48 hours, you start to evaluate your options, and wonder what the meaning of vacation is.

In any event, we pull up to our camp to my new best friend, rain/mud, and look at each other. What are our options? I'm not sure at what point we decide to stay, perhaps it was a gradual decision fueled by both ingenuity and beer, but we did. Steve and I replaced the large tarp that was under our tent with the new WallyWorld tarp (this turned out to be a bad decision, and was the impetus for our hostel stay the next night), and Steve put those dendrites to work! He created a shelter for us by stringing a tarp through a few trees, some stakes and the Jeep. It was a wonderful little dry spot for us. We were able to build a fire under the tarp, make dinner, set up our camp chairs and relax under the pitter patter of the rain on our tent. It was a wonderful adventure.

Steve, Schivonne and Cory under our temporary housing unit.
On Sunday, we woke early to drive down to Gunnison with Kris for his mountain bike race. It was a chilly, wet morning, but he was off, and the five of us sat in a coffee shop for two hours and read magazines. It was one of my most relaxing memories in recent months. I love the feeling of being away from home, with no obligations, just the freedom to hang out and not worry about the time. After a while, we drove to a spot where we thought we could both run (Steve and I needed to get in a 8-mile run for our marathon training) and see Kris race.

Run in, Kris done, we then stood around wondering what to do now. Our tents were getting wet (especially ours, due to the tarp switch out that allowed water to seep in), we were not warming /drying up, and we had heard about a nice little warm and cozy hostel up in CB. I called, bargained with the dude, and got us a 6-person, private room for $15/person. Not too shabby! We packed up our camping gear, shoved it all back into the car. At this point, we still hadn't used our mountain bikes. We lugged them all the way across Colorado, but it was too muddy to ride. We didn't want to ruin the trails.

The rest of our trip was warm. We drove up to CB, walked around, I bought a Hershey's Kiss halloween costume for $2.50 (here's a preview: http://tinyurl.com/l578md), ate delicious pizza, and conked out. We had been on an adventure all day! We still had to polish off some of the beer we lugged around, so we did that, watched Tommy Boy, and fell asleep in our warm hostel beds. If ever you're in CB and need an affordable, convenient, clean and accommodating place to stay, I would highly recommend the Crested Butte International Lodge and Hostel. It was cheap for us because of the off-season, but the prices are reasonable year round, you can cook in the kitchen, and it's just a fun way to travel. And, they have Tommy Boy on DVD. Here's the movie in a nutshell:

I got a D+! I'm gonna graduate!
You're right! You're not your dad! He could sell a ketchup Popsicle to a woman in white gloves!
It's called reading! Top to bottom, left to right... a group of words together is called a sentence. Take Tylenol for any headaches... Midol for any cramps.
Shut up, Richard.

Oh gosh, such a good movie.

Anyway, still too rainy to ride on Monday, so we decided to go home. Not before eating the fluffiest pancakes in the world! Go to the Paradise Cafe on Elk Ave for a delicious breakfast next time you're in Crested Butte. Just delightful! The last highlight of the weekend (aside from a drive through Tiny Town on the way home, which doesn't deserve more than these sparse words), we visited Peanut Lake, about one mile NW of Crested Butte. I saw Peanut Lake on a map, and since that's the cutest name for a Lake in the entire universe (try me), we had to visit. I would still call it Peanut Lake, but with an asterisk and an indication that it's somewhat anticlimactic, given the grandeur of a name such as Peanut Lake, and the small little lake that it was. It was very pretty, though.

I think that despite the rain, the lugging around of stuff and the fact that Peanut Lake could have been shaped into a more defined peanut, this was an excellent weekend. I was happy to be with friends, eat fluffy pancakes, enjoy Crested Butte and Gunnison again, drink good beer, find my next Halloween costume, and more importantly, not sit at a desk.

Steve at Peanut Lake.
A beautiful house in Crested Butte.

Spring, Summer, Fall Trips

This summer I think we're going to stick around Colorado, save for a few domestic trips, and take care of some crazy adventures that have been on our list. Notably:

- 4-pass loop hike in the Maroon Bells
- Mountain biking from Aspen to Crested Butte (via Pearl Pass)
- Mountain bike trip to Moab, and to Fruita
- Hiking 3+ TBD 14'ers to keep up with our yearly quota
- Cycle to New Belgium Brewery in Fort Collins
- Backpack in the San Juans (maybe after Tayler's graduation from Fort Lewis in May)
- Backpack the Aldo Leopold Wilderness around the NM/TX border
- Backpack the Picketwire Canyonlands (CO)
- Bike over McClure Pass (outside of Carbondale)
- Backpack Paria Canyon (CO)
- Hike Mt. Sopris (CO)
- Visit the Roan Plateau before it becomes a huge gas station

And more, I'm sure!

We'll take a trip to the farm in Illinois, head to the East Coast for a long weekend, and most likely spend many weekends in Carbondale/Aspen.

Swimming

I have been swimming twice a week, for what I figured has been six weeks. I think I have the perfect schedule - every Wednesday and Friday morning. This way, I don't have to worry about getting up at 5:45 a.m. right after a weekend, but by the time the mid-week rolls around, I don't have too much motivation left on evenings to work out, so getting it done in the morning is great. It took me 2-3 weeks to get back into swimming, so during that time I was mostly just swimming laps without any real thought to it. I've been able to improve my stroke and speed in that short time at least enough to dictate my pace, so I started doing sets, or what a humble beginner might call a set. 300's with 3x25 3 normal; 3x25, 1 fast, 2 normal; 3x25, 2 fast, 1 normal; 3x25, 3 fast. Then ladder down with the same sets in the opposite direction. I'm not that fast, so I can usually do the entire 600 set, a 10 minute warm up, 5 minute cool down, and 10-15 minutes of targeted stuff in 45 minutes. I did do another 300 set and part of a 4th this morning. The 3rd and 4th were with a floatie, which makes it so much fun. My goal is to do 4 sets, so 2 full ladders, or 1200m. Then I can learn a new set and mix it up.

There are some seriously fast and strong swimmers at the South Boulder Rec Center. I try to eyeball them underwater and pick up some tips.

I've been trying to run 2-3 times a week, and ski 1-2 times a week. I'd like to start cycling during the day, if anything just a 30 minute hill climb. It would be nice to be in shape to do some Xterras this summer...

Counting the Days... And a Weasel.

Last ski season, I think I got in about 25 days. Mostly at Copper and Aspen area, with a few days at Winter Park and Crested Butte.

After next Monday, I will have 14 days. I'm trying to do the math. Am I on track for another 25 days? I think that 25 days is respectable, what with a full time job, graduate courses, a flock of chickens to which to tend, and an otherwise booming (maybe a step below booming) social life. Right?

These are my ski days so far this year. I'm very excited about visiting Scott in Alta, UT this weekend for a 3-day powderfest.

1. Copper 12/6/08
2. Winter Park 12/14/08
3. Snowmass 12/25/08
4. Copper 12/27/08
5. Copper 1/3/09
6. Copper 1/4/09
7. Copper 1/11/09
8. Snowmass 1/17/09
9. Copper 1/25/09
10. Snowmass 2/7/09
11. Highlands 2/8/09
12. 13. 14. Alta woohoo

Why Copper so much, you ask? Because it's an all around good time, you can ski the entire mountain for days on end and be constantly entertained, there are challenging big mountain runs, powder stashes and endless bump runs, and you know there's more to discover, you just need to hike a little longer. And it seems to weed out some of the Front Range crows.

We skied Aspen last weekend, no new snow (the reported snow was delayed every day for 4 days, and it finally started snowing at 2 p.m. on Sunday), but we were able to find some pretty fun runs up high, and hidden powder in the trees. We hiked the Highlands Bowl on Sunday. A 45 minute hike and the best run of the day. We hiked up the top of that ridge in the picture above (from much further below), and skied down on skier's right, to the left. These pictures come up dark, which is frustrating.

But the BEST PART OF THE WEEKEND was our encounter with a very special mountain species I'd like to call the long-tailed weasel, or ermine. Wildlife biologists also call it that. Steve and I were skiing down the the Hanging Valley headwall on Snowmass (sidenote - I measured the slope angle of the run with my trusty iPhone, which was about 48 degrees) and got down to a wooded area. Suddenly, Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, comes flying out of a tree bank and across the slope headed for a another tree. But wait! He has a prisoner! Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, was carrying a dead bird in its mouth to stash away! But who are those fools lurking in the background? Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, is scared. He freezes. Intruders! How dare they enter my dead-bird lair! He races back to the tree bank, but No! Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, drops his bird! He must retrieve it! And before those dirty scoundrels have restored by peace with their departure! Ah ha, not too fast, Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, we thought. We knew he was hiding in the bank, and needed to get his bird back. But we wanted some free wildlife entertainment. So we skied slowly to the tree, and just waited quietly. After 30 seconds, Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, pokes his head out on each side of the tree, frenetically, as if resigning to the fact that we are there, and mustering up his speed to reclaim his fowl and be on his way. He creeps toward us, then jets away, creeps toward us, then jets away again. I'm loving this. Not to demean Waldo the long-tailed weasel, or ermine, but he's very cute. And spry. So finally he shoots back toward his bird, and picks it up, and drops it in his hole, wherever that may be. And he emerges from the tree bank again, birdless, and ran back up the hill. It was very exciting.

The picture is what he (or she, I guess) looked like. At first, we thought it was a ferret, but at lunch, we couldn't find anything about a ferret of that coloring on the internet (courtesy of iPhones). Then Steve thought it was perhaps a mink, so he googled Aspen mink. And of course, the first 100 google entries were advertisements for mink coats in Aspen. Then, we visited the Wapiti Wildlife Center at the top of Elk Camp (which I would highly recommend, next time you're skiing snowmass - awesome wildlife info), and discovered that it was a long-tailed weasel, or ermine. My next post is going to be about the long-tailed weasel, or ermine. And I'd like to give a big shout out to Waldo, long-tailed weasel, or ermine.

Bacon Wrapped Sausage Wrapped Bacon

I am going to make mixed bean chili to bring over to Joe and Vanessa's Superbowl party. I asked Steve if this sounded good to him - yes. I then asked him if he wanted to bring anything - pause. He answers with Bacon Explosion. Bacon Explosion. That's it. Steve loves bacon. I know that a lot of people love bacon, but Steve probably loves bacon more than you. I really thought he was pulling my ham hock, because all he said after that was bacon wrapped in sausage, then wrapped in bacon. He mumbled something about the New York Times, and I told him he was lying.

Hold the phone! He was serious! I should have known. Steve knows all the news, all the time, and he reads the NY Times - which featured the Bacon Explosion - on a hourly basis. I'm a simpleton, I like bacon, a piece of bacon, alone, but this looks like a serious bacon explosion could happen in my mouth, and I think I'd like it. Read about the "massive torpedo-shaped amalgamation of two pounds of bacon woven through and around two pounds of sausage and slathered in barbecue sauce" aka bacon explosion: Take Bacon. Add Sausage. Blog.

If I am Going to Get Ice Cream Headache, I at Least Want to Eat Ice Cream

I've been trying very hard to be consistent in my workouts/training, so last night, Steve and I layered up, covered our ears and extremities, and went for a run. We didn't get out the door until almost 7 p.m., because we literally could not put down our iPhones. I had just talked to Chaat about new applications, and was busy downloading them. Steve was busy taking pictures of himself with a furled brow.

It could not have been more than 5 degrees out. It had snowed lightly all day, but there was no ice as the temps did not rise high enough to melt the snow. Our minimum run time is always 30 minutes, which usually ends up conveniently being our maximum on nights and in cold weather. We braved the cold to run up the street, down the high school and back to our house - 30 minutes of fast running, an ice cream headache and frozen chin for me, and frozen beard and eyelashes for Steve. It was worth it, and made our ancho-roasted chicken that patiently roasted at home while we ran, all the more worth it. Consistency is key - exercise and food!

Another chilly day today, -2 as I write. The chickens are hopefully warm enough, their light is on and it seems to be warm enough in their house to keep the water somewhat thawed. I fed them cornmeal muffins, apples, chives and spinach this morning, as a thank you to them for continuing to pop out eggs in sub-zero temps. Woop woop chickens!

Winter Weekend

I'm looking forward to this weekend. The weather's back to normal January temps. Tonight, Schivonne, Kris and I are going to the Winter Brew Fest in Denver. A chance to taste seasonal beers and try new things. I really love tasting new beers, especially in small doses, where you can just move on. I think around 25-27 breweries will be there. Some of my favorites are Avery, of course, Deschutes, Rogue, and Stone. I love most microbreweries, actually, but I am not usually a huge fan of their high production/money maker beers. An example would be Fat Tire. Tastes gross. I prefer their small batches that might not make as much money, but that experiment with different flavors and represent the craft of brewing.

Steve gets back to Las Vegas tonight, so that'll be good way to finish the evening!

I'm not sure what we'll do tomorrow. I'm sure we'll spend the day doing something either productive or fun, or both, together. If it doesn't snow, I'd like to either mountain bike Marshall Mesa, maybe go for a hike locally, go climbing, or even go snow shoeing up in Rocky Mountain National Park. I went running yesterday pretty high up, and there was still snow on the ground, despite four days of 60+ temps. So there might be too much snow to hike. I'd also enjoy going for a long run (I've been wanting to run the entire Mesa Trail for a long time), then going to the movies. One boring but necessary task is to clean the garage. Now that I think about it, though, it's in my best interest to to stay on good terms with Steve, especially after his long week of travel, so maybe we'll put that off. I can't get to the 12+ bikes we have in there over all the other crap - there has to be a better solution to our garage arrangement (and by the by, if you're interested in buying a fridge, range, oven or hood, make me an offer). We'll see about all that stuff!

We're going skiing with Ryan and Sarah at Copper (or Winter Park, if the mood strikes) on Sunday. There's a 40-60% chance of snow in the high country through Sunday, so cross your fingers for powder. Hoo ha meadows!!! If I can get my act together, I'd like to make a beef stew to have for lunch that day. I'm tired of the lunch fare at Copper and would rather have something hearty and homemade. I found an easy and good looking recipe in my Earthbound Farm cookbook that I can make in my new Creuset crock pot.

Looking forward to the weekend!!! Two more hours..

Putting the F-U-N back in C-A-R-E-E-R

I've been meaning to post this thought for a while, but didn't want to make it seem like I wanted to change my career. I don't. I like my job and the its overarching objectives. Who knows what I'll be doing in 10 years, but for now, this works.

But I always wonder, how do you make a career? Is it ever too late to create a career? Does it need to begin after college, and end with retirement? A career is essentially a set of building blocks in the same overall direction, but do you need all of those building blocks in order to make the next step? Can you carry over any of them in order to move in a different direction? Basically, can you be doing the same thing for 5-10-20 years, then pick up and attempt to start a new career? Is it ever too late? If you're 31 and somewhat enjoying what your job entails and where you're going, but always have a longing for something different (which you can define, just don't know how to reach), have you wasted around 8 years of your life in another direction? What if you make an uneducated guess and take the first job that comes out of college, and end up sticking with it, just because it would take too much effort to go backwards, for 40 years? Is it worth it? Any why don't Americans generally support the "gap" year either between high school and college, and college and "life," to help us become who we truly want to become? I think that many of us would not be facing these challenges if we just slowed down and reprioritized.

I'm not sure about all this. Maybe it's that changing a career mid-life requires time, effort, and risk, which many are unable to take. For many reasons - family, location, financial, etc. I guess you can have anything you want, ever, if you are able to take the risk and work hard.

The Trout Whisperer

Schivonne, Kris, Steve and I spent the weekend in Carbondale, to ski, hang out with my parents and get out of dodge. Steve and I skied Snowmass Saturday. The snow was iffy, but it was around 25 degrees all day, enough to compensate for the the lack of fresh snow, and we were still able to ski our favorite Snowmass spots - Campground, Long Shot, Cirque Headwall, Hanging Valley Wall. I had my K2 Burnin' Luvs and Steve his Volkls AC40s. It wasn't the best day for our powder skis, and it was awesome to have an excuse to take those other skis out and go fast.

Anyway, the four of us had dinner at Ella on Saturday night, where Schivonne and Kris got married in September and right next to my parent's store on Main Street in Carbondale. I think The Kitchen in Boulder and Ella are my two favorite restaurants in Colorado - simple, creative, delicious and local food with reasonably priced wines and approachable, down to earth staff. Three of us had the mixed grill special - elk sausage, rack of lamb, salsify puree, mushrooms, and huckleberry sauce - and Kris stuck with his favorite, fancy mac&cheese with truffles. I'd love to make my own sausage. All I need is a sausage maker attachment for the KitchenAid. That's going to have to wait though. I need to appreciate my Christmas kitchen gadgets before I spend more money.

Now for the best part!!! On Sunday, we went for a walk along the Roaring Fork River. The RFR is a direct tributary to the Colorado River, and the spot where we walked had a bunch of diversions, adjoining streams, riparian vegetation and wildlife. Steve had an adventure bee in his bonnet, and set off on all sorts of crazy adventures, including trout whispering (the Cesar Milan of trout - ask him about the time he caught a live trout with his hands) and crawling through tunnels. It was all hilarious. The two videos below are of Steve both whispering to trout (in addition to the picture at right), and crawling through a random tunnel in search for the lost ark (hang in there with the tunnel video - it's funny).

Houdini Hens

Last word on chickens for the day.

When it's sunny or warm out during the day, I let the chickens out into their run under the deck. It's fenced off with chicken wire and gives them space to run and peck around in the dirt. When I'm working, I can get up, walk down the hall, and check them out by looking through the window. I just got up to make sure they were ok, and I only saw one chicken in the run. I was hoping to see three. Not one. (Pearl was relegated to the tractor because she was being pecked at.) The other two were nowhere in sight. This had happened to me before, during the summer, when the wind had blown open the door to their tractor and stayed open most of the night. I walked into the shower one morning, opened the window to check on them in the backyard, and saw that the door was open, with no chickens in sight. I could only imagine where the chickens were and was certain they were gone forever. At that time, I didn't know that chickens rarely roam too far from their home. I rushed out of the shower, threw on some clothes, and raced down to the backyard. The chickens were all there, in the covered part of the tractor, staring aimlessly at the open door. I was both amused that they didn't even think to leave, and relieved that they hadn't flown the coop. Pun! Anyway, so I run outside today, again, and Murtha (Houdini #1) is just eating grass in the backyard. She escaped, but probably figured that in this case, the chance of eating grass in the backyard is the same as the chance of venturing out and becoming roadkill. I leave her there in search of Sid (Houdini #2). No where in the backyard. Not in their house. Crap! I realized that I had left the fence door that leads to the front yard from the backyard wide open and reluctantly walked to the front yard, in search of my feathered friend. Our front yard is about 20 feet across, and separates our house from a pretty busy road. I walk out and of course she's there, just staring at the road and eating grass. I'm sure people walking along the sidewalk saw a random chicken. I had to chase after her in the front yard, and ended up pinning her up against the wall - the only way I could grab her.

Anyway - Houdini #2 is in the house, about to lay an egg (she was doing her butt sit ups right before she disappeared, so I figured it was time), Pearl is in quarantine due to the peck, and Houdini #1 and Tayler are chilling in the run. I secured the run a bit better than last time. And I'm behind on my work.

Chicken 911

Chickens are pretty amazing. They don't have much going on - lay egg, eat food, drink water, poop, sleep for 12 hours a night, peck irreverently, act like you're important, hop, wake up neighbors. Surprisingly, though, they have two-bit memories and are sometimes inherently cannibalistic, without ever remembering that they are. My opinion is that this is mostly due to temptation and opportunity, rather than lack of food or desire to actually eat their kin. It happens irregularly in our little flock. A hen might be shooting for a piece of corn on the ground, but mistakenly pecks on another hen’s talon, draws blood, and Eureka! Blood! Where the hell did that come from! Yesss!! I love it! Must peck more after my celebratory hop! Then, of course, the hen that's getting pecked might not know what's going on, she might think it’s another hen’s talon, and she starts picking at herself. Basically, chickens are attracted to blood, regardless of where it's coming from. It's like Hannibal Lecter meets Patty Hearst.

The girls could very much eat each other alive, with no real perception of what they're doing. It makes me sad, but they’re farm animals after all. They’re not too worried about it. For all they care, blood is better than the expensive feed we throw their way. Farm fresh refreshments. Regardless of what those bird brains want, Steve and I don't like it. We've researched this and it's perfectly normal for hens to pick at each other sometimes, so we're not worried about having unstable or idiot chickens. Our saving grace is that, again, they're dim (albeit lovable). They don't remember much beyond what they just put in their mouth. So we try to prevent the hens from picking at each other further by removing the evidence. We take the hurt hen aside, clean out her wound with iodine, apply neosporin with a swab, and bandage it up with sticky, self-adhesive athletic wrap. The wrap works best as it's breathable, looks like chicken skin, and sticks well so the hens can't pick it off. Plus, it covers up the blood and the hens don't remember that they've ever tasted blood in the first place.

Only Murtha and Sid really start the picking, usually Pearl and Tayler. It started with Tayler, but she started sticking up for herself, so they moved on to Pearl. Pearl is the kindest, and somewhat of a nurturer, so it might be that she puts up with it as long as the others are happy. She was wounded again this morning. I spent 30 minutes cleaning her wounds and bandaging both of her feet. It's difficult to hold a chicken under your arm and clean, treat and bandage her. Not impossible though. The trickiest part is bandaging her talons while allowing enough space between the "toes" for them to spread apart and provide balance. I'm convinced that they have few, if any, feeling or nerves down there, so she stays relatively calm while I hold her and clean her wound. M. Poncelet, Chicken Talon Wrapper. It's all good now.

I took some pictures of the hens, and their bachelorette pad. Steve spent many a weekend and weeknight perfecting the pad as to provide for maximum space, warmth, dryness, dry food, water, a nest and perches (for sleeping). I think they're happy there. They even have a window. Some people spend 40 hours a week with no window. They also have an outside run (about 48 square feet under the deck) where they run around, get all sorts of sunlight and fresh air, and eat dirt. (And a chicken tractor, a moveable house on the grass – mostly for summer.) I love those little hens! They're just so funny. Despite the gore.

Looking forward to Tuesday

Non Sequiter









15 Time Magazine Obama Covers (Gawker)

Hoo Ha Meadows

Steve and Scott hiking up to our favorite powder stash at Copper Mountain. No hoo ha's allowed.

What would you do if you could do anything?

Go skiing all winter in Alta?
Get your scuba driving certification and travel around the world scuba diving?
Build a carrot farm in Mali?
Go learn a new language?
Go to cooking school and open a restaurant?
Build a 2,500 sqft treehouse?
Raise goats?
Start an eco resort in Brazil and give away free vacations?


The Colorado Powerball lottery is up to $149,000,000.