My Home in Snow, 1965-66, with Extra Comment

Yesterday’s post had a picture of the house where I grew up.  If you look closely at the picture, you see that the date stamp is August 1966.  But the picture is a snowy one.  August – snow – what gives?

We were raised in a home where both parents had experienced the Great Depression.  Things lasted a long time.  We got our money’s worth from a roll of film.  Things weren’t wasted.  If you had seen my father’s shed, you would have seen what looked like a collection of the ages.  There were jars with small bits of hardware, screws, nuts, bolts, you name it.  There were odd pieces of equipment and metal parts.  Tools and things of every sort.  And my mother was the same.

Thanks to Mom for saving all these pictures!

My Home In Snow, 1965-66

The East Side

This photo differs a bit from the one posted yesterday.  My mother at one point was all about storm windows.  She finally got her wish. 

Barely visible to the right of the photo is the bumper of a car.  I think this might be the Desoto, the most embarrassing vehicle that any young girl had to ride in.  It was all hump-backed-looking, a gray behemoth on wheels.  The worst part was that the back doors opened the wrong way.  When mom dropped us off at elementary school, I remember getting out of the back seat as fast as possible and closing the door quickquickquickly so that maybe nobody would notice that the back doors were completely wrong and mortifying.  That tactic fooled no one. 

The Desoto is parked under a pine tree.  My father said that it was just a field pine, but I thought that it was a wonderful tree.  Our swingset was under this tree, and then later when the swingset was no more, I made a swing out of a board with a hole drilled through the middle for the single rope to pass through.  The rope end that went through the hole was tied off into a giant overhand knot, and the other end was tied to a stout branch.  I spent many happy hours on that, the best swing in the world.

My Home in Snow, 1962

The East Side

Eubanks Family, 1930 Census

Here’s a little follow-up post about those dressed-up Eubanks folks that I wrote about yesterday.  While I was in class this afternoon, I pretended to follow along with the power point presentation while I was actually searching the ancestry.com records.  The PPT was about inventory, and I understand inventory and the power it holds, so I was conducting an inventory count of some of my ancestors, so at least that is my excuse.

I found that Gertrude Webb married J. C. Eubanks.  The census was dated April 4, 1930, which just tickles me to no end because that was the same month that the photo of James and Kathleen was taken.  What a fun coincidence.  Anyway, Kathleen is only 15 in the picture, and James “JimmyEubanks” is 10.  J. C. is a salesman for a butcher company, and he and his parents were  born in Alabama.  Kathleen and JimmyEubanks were both born in Kentucky.  Gertrude of course was born in Tennessee, as were her parents. 

I updated my ancestry.com account with the picture of Kathleen and JimmyEubanks.  If you have never been to ancestry.com, you need to go.  Go, look, share!

Dressed-Up Eubanks People

Kathleen & James

This brother and sister are my mother’s 1st cousins.  Their mother was Gertrude Webb Eubanks, and one of her sisters was my mother’s mother.  (By now everyone knows that Mom’s mother was Ruth Webb Packett, if you have been paying attention.)

They lived in Knoxville, TN.  Since there were other folks named James in Mom’s family, everyone referred to this James as “Jimmy Eubanks”, but we all said it like it was one word “JimmyEubanks”.  He went on to become a professor at the University of Tennessee.  He also whittled and painted little birds as a hobby, which was an amazing talent considering that he had rheumatoid arthritis.  My memory of him was in a wheelchair, like a wise little bird himself, with his head cocked to one side, smiling at the world in spite of his infirmity.  I did not know Kathleen, but I can see that she was a snappy dresser.

The back of the photo

The back of the photo is stamped with the date of April 17, 1930.  I thought we were having a depression then, but these folks seem to have been doing alright, and now I’d like to know more about their circumstances.  (Edited on 2/7/2010: see the post for them on the 1930 census)

And why are they dressed up, posing for a photo in the springtime?  Why, it’s EASTER!

There’s a Hoe in the Hood (Parents, that is code)

Somebody's hungry

The construction on the slutty cat bedroom was finished about mid-January.  A week-and-a-half ago, Sugar and I walked out the side gate to see what was happening in the woods at the cat station.  What was happening…. was X-rated.

Marcellene and an unidentified male were enjoying the day on the ground next to the dormitory.  Another unidentified cat was curled up in the dormitory W-A-T-C-H-I-N-G.  And waiting his turn.  Sugar and I stood, frozen in surprise, and I for one was speechless.  Sugar was not.  He exhaled, “who is that copulating?”  The cats separated, and I said, “that’s Marcellene, and I’ve never seen the other cat before, and who’s in the dormitory?”

The two males slunk off, like boys caught with their pants down, and continued to give backwards glances at us, and of course at Marcellene who was still enjoying the day, thrashing on her back.  (Here’s a handy link to estrous behavior in cats, should you so desire to obtain that knowledge:  http://vetmedicine.about.com/od/pregnancybirthincats/f/Cat_estrus.htm)  It was mesmerizing, watching her roll side-to-side, oblivous to us. 

Sugar said, “I believe that I could just go pick her up.”  I reminded him that she was a feral cat, and that I had gotten close to her at the feeding station, but had not been able to touch her, but, what the hey, go for it.  He walked slowly towards her, and got within three feet, standing over her while she still continued doing the hoochy-coochy.  Suddenly, something in her disconnected, and she went into startled mode, looking at him with a horrified look.  She shot off into the woods, and we were left standing there like we had just awoken from a bad dream.  Did that really just happen?

Fast forward to Sunday, January 31.  We find our heroes, Sugar and YoursTruly, heading out the side gate to the cat station.  And there’s our girl Marcellene at the feeding station.  Apparently, her physical condition gives her the munchies, and she’s eating cat food like she’s in a contest.  I hustle after some smelly canned cat food (humans call it tuna), and I bait the trap under the feeding table.

What's the catch?

She was really interested in the food in the trap but not so interested that she would actually go into the trap.  And this is the step in the process that usually fails in trapping the cat.  They just won’t go in the trap.

Go to the other end of the trap, Marcellene!

In the picture above, she is checking out the food.  I want her to go to the other end of the trap and enter there.  Once in, she steps on the trip plate on her way to the food, and the door slams shut.

She would not cooperate and go into the trap while I was there with the camera.  I covered the trap with a towel, making it look less threatening.  Even so, I was sure that we would not catch her, and that in about 60 more days, there would be a litter of kittens.  About 7:30 PM, I went out to check the trap, expecting to see Mr. Possum again. 

And she’s in the trap!

As of today, she has been spayed.  She was not pregnant (though not for lack of trying), but greatly in heat.  She will stay at the vet for a few more days to recuperate, and I’ll release her this weekend back at the feeding station. 

And she will be hoe no mo.

Marcellene: "It's really not like that. I was going to marry them, er, him."

The Slutty Cat Bedroom

Waterfront property at the Swamped! Plantation

A few weeks ago, the exiting vet asked if I wanted a large shelving unit and some assorted roofing materials for the feral cat project.  Do I?  My heart be still.  We dragged the shelving unit through the woods to a high spot, and then added a roof of sorts. 

Crazy cat woman Linda worries about outside cats, in particular two cats named Mommy and Daddy that she was feeding daily behind the Zaxby’s chicken restaurant near Beaufort.  Well, Linda was moving to another state, and she asked if Mommy and Daddy could join my colony.  The more, the merrier, especially since these two cats were already vaccinated, speutered, and ear-tipped.  That was last May.

With this cold snap we’ve been having recently, Linda has been extra worried about her “Mommy and Daddy”.  How do they stay warm?  Do they have places to hide?  What do they do when it rains?  I’ve explained to her that there are old houses, sheds, well-houses, even an overturned rowboat roundabout my shabby little hood, providing multiple places where feral cats can go.  Now we have an extra-special cathouse in the hood.

The solution

Our solution is the slutty cat bedroom. 

Nothin' could be finer than to be in Caroliner

The shelving unit was some kind of free-standing contraption.  We have contraptionized it even more.  Each end sits upon a horizontal vinyl fence post to elevate it, allow for air circulation, and to prevent the whole thing from sitting in standing water.  The giant snowstorm that everyone else got last weekend was a giant rainstorm here.  Good thing we have installed the special elevating system.

The roof is a section of metal roofing sitting on a framework of 2 x 4’s and 1 x 6’s.  It looks a bit like a UFO sitting in the woods, but the extra-wide overhang keeps the sleeping area completely dry.

The southeast side

The orientation allows for morning and afternoon sun to shine into the slutty cat dormitory.  Sugar, as always, figured out a good way to secure the whole unit together with the materials we had on hand.  Then he added the bonus.  A bale of hay! 

Cat nests in the hay

The following day after we finished the cat dormitory, I went into the woods with the camera and found little rounded nest-like areas in the hay where the cats had spent the night.  The slutty cat dormitory was a success.

No one left a tip for the management.

Now when Linda asks about the cats again, I can say that they have an entire freaking Holiday Inn. 

The things I do to try to measure up.

Gratuitous Gerbil Photos

Squeezably soft

Jopty’s little enclosure got fresh bedding yesterday.  I gave him a paper towel cardboard roll, cut into three pieces, and I hooked his blue pipe to the hole in the shelf.  He loves to tunnel through the blue pipe, both going up and down.  He also made a cozy little nest with the bedding.  I understand the use of the term “rat’s nest” even better than before. 

Jopty: "I love fresh cardboard. I'm a recycler."

Happy February!

This post is a public service to all who need a calendar.  Consider this your Christmas present.

I had this great idea last year.  I was going to make calendars with old family pictures, like the example above, for everyone in my family for Christmas presents, even though we don’t generally send family presents among the siblings.  Did anyone get theirs yet?  Didn’t think so.  I haven’t made them yet. 

I started printing a set.  I even bought the special paper.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  Seems like it took half an hour to print one month.  And the way the program is set up, it prints December first, then November, etc.  You get the idea.  I stared at the printer and could see my ink level dropping, with my x-ray vision looking right into the heart of the machine.  Cancel the print job.  Couldn’t I please just get January, then February, etc.?  I promise I’ll print one each month for all the siblings and then mail them pronto.  The machine just shook its little ink cartridges at me and said, “Take it or leave it.”  I left it.

So.  Y’all print your own stinkin’ calendars.

The Gerbil is Named! So Let It Be Written!

Mr. Gerbil: "Hmmm, I wonder what my name will be??"

Niece Kari, the brilliantest of all the brilliant ones, has submitted name suggestions from her family for the little Gerby.

Sophie: Yada
Abby: Pastaloista (sounds like hastalavista) or palmopalmo
Ollie: Oliver or Jack or The Rat from Texas
Gilli: The Flying Rat or Alex or Texas or Itunes or Kariann
Christian: Freddy or Jeffrey or Jordan or Timmy
Kari: Smokey
Keith:Birdcrap
*****
So. It’s hard to choose from such clever submissions. I decided to take the first letter from the suggestions and make a word from the letters, kind of like a demented Scrabble. Much appreciation goes to the submitters of names beginning with vowels. After careful arranging and disarranging, I came up with (insert drum roll here)… POTTY!
Oh dear. Sounds like Keith knew how this was going to play out.
Let’s try again! And this time we get JeffreyOliverPalmopalmoTexasYada!
Sorry Keith and Kari. Smoky Birdcrap was too much for me to deal with.

JOPTY: "Thank you for my name!"