It appears as though the Schiller orchard’s going to change hands after 87 years.  That’s an awfully long time to own something!  My dad cleared the land in 1930 and planted the first crop, which would’ve been cantaloupes, water melons, tomatoes and cucumbers.

Eventually he moved into a variety of fruit trees, like peaches and prunes, and finally it was all apples.  When I grew up I had my favourite gnarly old trees in the orchard, and then Luke and Nicky did, too.  It was sad when every single one of them was pulled out and burned in place.

That was because Washington State grows such huge amounts of apples they can dump them on us for pennies, and so apples weren’t worth growing.  Eleven years ago mom took advantage of a government re-plant program and had the whole place re-planted in peaches, prunes, cherries and nectarines.  Back to the old.

It’s now a very high-producing young orchard, and has been brought into excellent shape by our neighbour Teunis who leased it from mom.  We’ve known him all our lives and of course he knew dad well.  So he was so surprised and thrilled when a red delicious apple tree poked up amongst all of the newly-planted trees.

Last year he said it had five apples, but this year he gave mom a box of probably 30 of them.  He said be sure to tell the new owner he can’t tear out that brave tree.  Teunis pointed out the heat of the ashes as they raked them over the Earth.  I said well that’s dad for sure!  He was quite tenacious when you think of the effort to clear that raw land.

But we have to move on and face reality given mom’s 92 and neither Freddie nor I want to become farmers at our ages.  Certainly none of the kids want to do it, so it’s going to be sold to someone who wants to farm and that’s what dad would want.

Here’s another surprise. Ira turned out to be Iris.  You’ll recall I got two “male” kittens, yet one stayed kind of small and I wondered what the heck.  Then I finally got wise and checked their privates and sure enough, I have brother and sister cats.  George is very affectionate and adorable, but Iris is a bit standoffish.

Some nights both of them sleep with Louie and me, and some nights they’re off someplace else.  They’re almost like Siamese twins in that they do everything together.  It’s so cute when they’re both in the litter box peeing in tandem.

Tonight’s Halloween and I’m going to have to turn off most of the lights and hide as I didn’t buy any chocolate bars.  I just can’t trust myself with 96 tiny chocolate bars, knowing I often don’t get any children at all.  Louie’ll bark and bark as they’re knocking, and I’ll just have to mentally absent myself from the whole scene.

Anyway that shouldn’t be hard as I’m mentally absent a lot of the time anyway.  I’m mostly in some richly-detailed fantasy world and quite happy there.  So the reality and stress of the orchard negotiations have been wearing and annoying.  However it appears to finally be settled.

The kittens, George and Ira, have basically destroyed the main floor of the house.  I e mailed this to Gitte, another cat fanatic, and she said it’s just a phase, they’ll get over it.  So I just have too remain calm as I right plants and scoop the dirt back in, get the vacuum, and clean every few hours.

As there’ll just be four of us for Thanksgiving dinner, mom, me, Freddie and Wendy, I thought a roasted chicken might be a good idea.  Mom and I aren’t crazy about turkey, so this might be a nice alternative.  I’ll still make stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and have cranberries.

But for fun, I’m going to try a roasted Brussels sprouts, red onion, apple and bacon side dish.  As well I’m going to make diced yams tossed with honey and baked.  We’ll see how these new concoctions turn out.

Something I made at Christmas and loved is rum mousse.  It’s decadent and rummy and lovely after a heavy meal.  But just in case, I’m also making two pumpkin pies, a la The Joy of Cooking as their recipe is nice and low in sugar, yet delicious.  This can be served with dollops of whipping cream to keep us in a good mood.

Due to the dry weather I had no honey this fall because there was nothing for the bees to forage on by late August onward.  So I started feeding them with jars of sugar syrup, and soon will wrap the hives and get them ready for winter.  It’s fine, as my honey extractor’s still not repaired, so what I would’ve done with more honey I don’t know.

Being the lazy person I am, and not having the extractor, I scrape tablespoons of honey and honeycomb right off the filled frames I’ve stored from the early summer harvest.  It fills the room with fresh pollen scents when I open the lid, and I love to eat the “nectar of the Gods” by the tablespoon.  Imagine my weight.

Recently Superstore had little boxes of 10 figs for $10 and I must’ve had 30 figs on my little tree this year.  Isn’t that great?  I have to overwinter it in the garage, then transplant it next spring as its container is way too small.  Imagine next year’s bounty.

But between the figs, bees, kittens, adult cat and dog, I’ve come to the realisation my dream of chickens is going to have to just remain that.  I noticed I was constantly wondering if the kittens were happy, or if Mango was upset due to the interlopers.  I’d sometimes feel sick inside and realised someone like that doesn’t need chickens.

Because then at night, instead of worrying if the bees are warm enough, I’d have to add the chickens to that.  Young cats are often picked off by the coyotes, and I know chickens are a worry given the raccoon family that lives under my cedar hedge.  Isn’t it upsetting enough to wonder how George and Ira will fare?

So this Thanksgiving I’m very thankful for coming to terms and knowing my limits.