Home Alone . . .

Hello everyone, this is Elizabeth!   

The weather here has gone from snowy and cold, to warm and wonderful.  My family has taken a motor home trip to the coast for a few days; the sea air should bring them all home refreshed and ready for spring.  I had a call from dad this afternoon, he said they have a site right next to the beach and the weather is "good," which I choose to translate as perfect.  He did have one complaint; sadly, it isn't quite windy enough to fly the kite Rachel took with them.  While they are gone, I get to hold the fort down here . . . alone; not something I've had to do very often . . .

At 21 years of age, you would think I'd have spent more significant amounts of time alone.  Actually, a more accurate statement would be staying home alone.  When I was sixteen the whole family minus me went on a week long trip to Yellowstone and Mount Rushmore.  I stayed because the trip conflicted with the start of some classes I wanted to take at the local JC, and then I wasn't really alone as I had a grandparent living nearby who was chauffeuring me to and from school and spending parts of the day with me.  But this time, three days, two nights, just me.  It is not as scary as I remember, I learned the first time round that the house likes to creak and groan for no apparent reason, but this time I have a new fear . . . Bob the Rooster!

I hate to admit it, but that rooster scares me!  I am perfectly willing to scoop poop, gather and wash eggs, and even lock them in at night, but letting them out in the morning is a whole different task.  Normally dad lets them out in the morning, and when he is away Rachel fills in; as I have yet to convince dad to invent the automatic chicken coop door (wouldn't that be cool!) I have to do it.  You think after a long restful night’s sleep Bob would greet the person who lets him out with some appreciation, instead he generally crows, chases after the hens, and then charges the person who just released him from confinement.  Bob has had a beef with me ever since that fateful flea powder treatment followed by several de-spurring sessions; then again it could be from the time I hit him with a golf club . . . well, he started it!  Whatever it was, I keep my distance.  So I have adapted a series of steps to successfully let out the chickens without confronting that rooster.

Step 1) Arm oneself, I find a broom or umbrella are the best protection (not a golf club!)
Step 2) Set up the plank and unlock door.
Step 3) SlideopendoorshovedoorontoroofturnandRUN!
Step 4) Pray you did step three correctly or else you will have to go back and fix whatever didn't work.

Only when I reach the pathway to the house do I turn and make sure the chickens are successfully pouring out of their coop, you could say it is my "Sleepy Hollow Bridge."  So far this has provided freedom from conflict with that pompous bird, but I still hold out hope for an automatic door someday.

Have a nice weekend everybody!

P.S. Sorry for the lack of pictures, the family cameras also went to the beach :)