Roach Races and a Cat who knocks on doors

Close to Russellville is a town called Roachdale. I always got the skeevies from the name of that town, possibly because ummm, I hate roaches. When I read or hear 'Roachdale' I see this big roach family chilling on a porch or something. It's really not pleasant. Imagine my face when I found out that in the town of Roachdale they have an annual fair, and the highlight of the fair is, get this... a Roach Race.

Yes. A race ran by roaches. Here's proof.

I can hardly handle this. They can't think of anything else to race other than a roach? I know, town name. I get it. But seriously. I saw a sign for it along a road somewhere, boasting the event... and for a second I wanted to witness this, but like I said it was just for a second. I'd never get through the door. Tamrha and a fair where everyone is stoked over a race of roaches will never happen. Any roaches I've ever seen are ran away from or whacked with something hard. NY'ers really try to not hang out with roaches, even though they might be more plentiful in NYC than in Roachdale, Indiana. We don't get out the roach race track. We call the Orkin Man.

I wondered if they painted little numbers on their backs because otherwise wouldn't they get their roaches confused? Apparently, they do. Do they use food as incentive? Then I wondered if they keep these things as pets. Bulk up the losers for next years race? They don't. They kill them with insecticide after the race. Now, I may not love a roach, but this is wrong. The town of Roachdale uses these insects for entertainment and then gases them? Is there not an agency I can call? Maybe I'll call PETA.

As for the cat who knocks on the door. This is my cat Stella. Previously you read about me being creeped out in the country at night and tacking blankets against the door and stuff. Well, I've overcome! Not so scared anymore. Although I about chocked on my tongue the other night when I heard, against the glass door at 11:30 at night a 'tap, tap, tap' sound. A perfect knock. Like a ring on someones finger tapping against the glass door. Either that of the pointy tip of a knife. I look up, and there's Stella, just looking at me with an expression that said, "Uh, hi. Can you let me in?"

She's lucky I didn't pee myself with fright. And because of her genius, I granted her entrance to my abode. But I did ask her to in the future scratch at the door like a normal feline.

Not all Farmers are created equal

Maybe I should say not all local food is created equal because this guy was no farmer.

Let me back up a minute and give you some back story. Back in NY, I bought raw milk and soy free eggs from free range chickens from a farm in PA. They dropped off weekly to places on Long Island and i picked up an order every other week. It was the best milk and the most delicious eggs ever. I did my research before leaving and located a few farms where I could buy a cow share and get milk here. I also looked into a few places where I could get eggs.

Apparently there are quite a few people who sell eggs because a lot of people have chickens. My sister in law Montica told Scott that she's seen people up in Crawfordsville that sell them. They put little signs in front of their houses to let you know 'we've got eggs for sale.' So, when I saw the little sign at the end of a driveway in Russellville, I was intrigued. Eggs right in town! How convenient!

But (there's always a but, right?) every time I passed by, I just couldn't stop. It was a bit of a messy yard and there was a dude always hanging out near or in the garage. It was just weird. So, I'd look at the little sign and drive on by.

What planet I woke up on today, I have no idea.

It's dinner time and I realize that I used my last three eggs in the cake we made earlier in the day. And I need an egg. I could use some milk for the chicken strips but an egg works a lot better. Its still three days until I go to the farm I hooked up with for raw milk and eggs and its not like I'm near a store to just run in.

Here was the thought that got me into the car to go to the little house in town:

"Stop being so judgmental. Just go get some eggs! How can someone screw up eggs?"

It's not that eggs can be 'screwed up' but they can be .... less than fresh.

I get there and the guy (who maybe is the same guy who likes to hang around the garage) is just getting home from work.

"Hi," I said. "Do you have any eggs today?"

"Eggs?"

"Yes, do you have any today?"

He's looking at me silently, and I just pointed at the sign at the end of the driveway. He tells me that he'll go check, and the boys and I wait. They discuss the possibly stray cats going through the basement window of a vacant house and soon the guy comes back with a dozen in hand.

"Here you go. You might want to check these. I don't know how old they are. My wife normally does this."

Yea.

I just stood there nodding my head. He doesn't know how old they are.
 

He doesn't know how old they are!! 

I'm sorry, but how do you give someone eggs and tell them that you don't know how old they are? To 'check them'. I mean, thanks for the heads up, bro... but how do I check them? Crack them open and see if they smell rancid?

I just took the eggs from this poor guy with barely a tooth in his head and drove home knowing that these eggs weren't even coming in the house. The carton was smelly, one egg had been broken and it looked like it had been that way for a while.

I understand you might have to wash an egg after you take it out of the chicken coup, but should they have white fungus growing on them!?

I don't think my leeriness of that place was me being judgmental. It was something else called ... Intuition. 

NY Stories ~ Dirty Santa

So, I'm missing NY a bit. Not that that's a shock. I was looking back on my posts the other day and my mention of feeling safe even in somewhat shady NYC areas made me start thinking of funny stories revolving around my time spent at school or living, or working, in the city. So I decided that on days that I've got nothing 'country' to report, I'll regale you and amuse myself with an old story straight out of New York City.

To kick these 'NY Stories' off, I'll tell you about... Dirty Santa.

Fall '93 or Spring ' 94
7Th Avenue and 28th Street

I'm living on 27th Street and 7th Ave., attending The Fashion Institute of Technology where I'm studying Photography (and later Display & Exhibit Design). My room mate is this awesome chick originally from Wantagh and later from Kansas City, Missouri, Dawn. We're headed up to a drug store on 30th and 7th, maybe it was a Duane Reade., I don't know.

But anyway. We're walking up 7th and there's this old guy shaking a cup on the west side of about 28th street. I think Dawn or I may have tossed him some money. He had long gray hair, big long gray beard, pretty much a hot mess, but he was homeless, you know. As we walked away, Dawn said to me, "He looks like a dirty Santa."

I had to agree.

So, we walk up a few more blocks and cross 7th Ave. to Duane Reade and do our shopping. I think we were buying hair stuff. Or maybe lipstick. Whatever, we bought something. Now, there were two doors to get into this particular store. One faced 7th Ave., the other faced 30th Street. Since we need to walk back down 7th, we go to that door. As we are about to walk through, with Dawn ahead of me, out springs Dirty Santa! He literally jumped into the door way and started shouting at Dawn. "I LOVE YOU, WOMAN!! I LOVE YOU, WOMAN!"

The two of us scream at the top of our lungs. It might be a busy Manhattan store on a busy avenue across from Madison Square Garden, but who's expecting to see an old man, with more agility than you'd think one would have at that age and being homeless, land infront of you screaming out his love? Yeah, you'd scream too.

She flew backwards into me and then the two of us put it in reverse, ran through the door on 30th street and took off across 7th Avenue with Dirty Santa still screaming "I LOVE YOU, WOMAN!!"


Every time I give someone money on the street, I've got to think of this guy. I'm sure he's passed on by now. Rest In Peace, Dirty Santa. I hope you have all the lovely women a dude could ask for!

Question- Does this qualify as a Tarantula?

 

This little treat was sitting by the old sink next to the washing machine in the basement the other day.

I went down to do some laundry and I saw it sitting there, just hanging out. This thing made that spider with the green fangs that I caught when we first got here look like a teddy bear. I knew I had to get a photo for emphasis, and I put the bottle cap there for perspective.  Aren't I helpful?

The thing barely moved when I put the bottle cap next to it. Just a slow shift, as if it was making room for the bottle cap. I took the picture, started the laundry cycle and told the spider to scram. I really don't want to kill these things. When i see them, I get creeped out... but I also think of my coven sisters, Lorraine and Hillary and I really can't kill them! How do I kill a creature connected to the goddess Athena and Arachne too???? (Arg!!!!!)

Fast forward about 15 minutes and I hear the rinse cycle on, so I run down to toss in some fabric softener. So exciting, I know. I get down to the stairs to see that the hose to the washing machine is no longer in the sink (its an old house. This is the way we roll here) but on the floor, and all the water getting sucked out is now on the floor too. All of it is running towards the drain by the shower (that's another post) but the tarantula is still sitting on the sink edge.

There's no way in hell I'm ducking under that ledge to get a hold of the hose with that thing sitting there. So I said, "Sorry, girl. You need to take a hike!" and I knocked it off the ledge. It hit the water and then climbed up onto a piece of wood that got knocked to the floor. And it just sat there. No running away, no crazed dance as it tried not to get killed. It just sat on the wooden life preserver and continued chillin' out. I had this thought that it was like an old dog, too tired to do anything more than just sit around. 

I'm kinda glad I didn't kill it. I haven't seen it in a few days, and that's good. But it better not be resting up some place, getting ready to pounce when I go collect the laundry tomorrow. If that thing comes at me I won't be held responsible!

I'm starting to develop a tick

I am. And it'd driving me crazy. I'm flinching and smacking myself every minute or so because I always feel like something is biting me. Well, something is often biting me (there are these hateful little flying bugs that bite and make mosquitoes look like teddy bears and I HATE them!) but not always. However, I feel it.

Can there be ghost insects?

Last night I saw the biggest ant I ever saw in my life. The biggest. I could have sat at a table and had tea with it. It thought it was going to creep across the floor without me seeing it... but I smashed that thing with a piece of shelf. It was like I was driven to kill. There was now way I could let it live. It gave me a twitch till I went to bed.

After smashing that bug I really wanted to go live someplace else. I want the bug sightings to stop. Please stop.

I don't think I can do this farm thing.

Because mouse traps don't upset me enough already

Earlier in the day of The Snake Wrangling Adventure, I had a horrifying mouse experience.

Let me set the stage for you:

Me, sitting in my living room, open laptop signed into Skype awaiting my first training chat (going to be a Doula Trainer for my certifying organization, Childbirth International!!). Still a bit sleepy at a few minutes to 9 am, in my jammies. Kids are playing upstairs. All seems normal.

The mournful meowing got my attention. My cat Morighan, who last summer was insistent on catching butterflies and bringing them to me (hello transformation!), comes out of the kitchen and into the living room. On to the floor she drops something out of her mouth and continues the weird meowing. Because what she dropped is obstructed my the table, I stand up to look at what's got her so emotional. And there in the middle of the floor is not only a mouse but a mouse with its head in a mouse trap. I thought it was alive because its paw moved and my heart broke.

I was more disturbed by this than anything with the snake.

My recurring 'oh my gods' brought the kids down from upstairs. Their appearance snapped me out of my panic and I ran to the kitchen to get paper towels because, you know, paper towels come in handy for just about anything.

Picking up the trap with the mouse hanging out of it, I headed out the front door with kids in tow. I realized the mouse was in fact deceased and for that I was grateful. Last thing I want to do is torture a creature.

We left it outside under a tree. Then Aidan started to cry, so we sat down in the living room and we asked the Goddess to take the mouse to heaven and help it come back as a baby mouse someplace far off in the woods, away from any people. He was comforted by that. I was too.

I had to laugh about Morighan later though. It was like she was claiming the kill. "I didn't kill it, but look! I carried it up the stairs and gifted you with this beautiful treasure! Don't you love me?"

Yes, Morighan, I do love you. But let's leave the dead rodents in the basement, 'k?

Wild Kingdom

So, I came home from my mother-in-laws where we were swimming this afternoon, and I went to head down the basement to put some laundry in the dryer. Good thing I left the light on down there, because this is what I saw at the bottom of the steps (Lori, close your eyes!).... 

 

Yep, there was a snake in the basement sitting in the tiny puddle (country basements do that), just chilling out. 

I said, "Oh. Hello."

I'm not a snake hater. Actually, I like snakes. I've always wanted one as a pet, but I'd be really sad to give it dead mice and there are no vegetarian snakes. That's why I had an iguana. Just this past May the kids and I played with some snakes at the Beltane fest Brid's Closet hosted up near Cornwall, NY. So, when I saw this snake squatting in my basement, I thought of those Beltane snakes. My only real concern was whether it was poisonous. My luck, I'd be all, "Hello snakey! You so pretty! Wanna be friends?" And then it would bite me and I'd die of venom poisoning. 

I also had to consider that as a Votary of Hekate, that snakes are sacred to Her. I wear a Hekate pendant designed by Janet Farrar that has snakes on it. Hekate is said to be serpent girdled, and snakes woven through Her hair. In the Prayer to Selene (which was probably really a prayer to Hekate), a line goes, "You are steely-blue with serpent-scales, O serpent-haired and serpent -girdled One." Also, while in Christianity as well as some other pagan religions and cultures, the snake has negative connotations, it also has positive symbolism such as healing, regeneration, fertility, and transmutation. 

I had to do right by this creature.

I tried to call Scott to find out if Indiana even was home to any poisonous snakes, but he didn't answer. So I walked over to Darren's where the kids had just gone. Our conversation went something like this: 

"Hey Darren, tell me about the snakes around here."

"Oh, we've got little garden snakes, black snakes. Stuff like that."

"So, what do you think one should do when there's a snake in their basement?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope."

"There's a snake in the basement?"

"Yep."

"God, I hate snakes."

I asked him if maybe I should just leave it alone and maybe it would go away. We considered this for a minute - or rather 5 seconds but when he mentioned, 'what if it gets upstairs' I knew that ignoring it wouldn't be the way to go. I like and respect you, Snakey... but you probably shouldn't be slithering around the joint.

We were going to have to catch the snake. 

Tools used:

-fishing net

-towel

I opted to add the towel because I used to use a towel to toss over our iguana when I had to wrangle him back to his cage. He was super strong and would spin like an alligator. That was always fun.

So, with the fishing net and the towel, the two of us with the boys watching went into the house and peered down the stairs. Snakey was now hanging out by the dryer.

"I gotta be fast," Darren said. "Because that snake is going to be fast."

A couple of deep breaths, and instructing the boys to clear a path for the escape route, we counted off and he went for it. One drop of the net and he had it under it. However, scooping it into the net would be hard, plus it had holes in it. That's where the towel would come in handy. 

He held it under the net, but told me, "I really don't want to grab that thing."

"I'll do it. Gimme that towel."

We did the hand off and just at that moment the snake found its way out from under the net. I had to grab it before it wiggled away and into hiding. 

First lunge and bam! I got it. It tried to swing around to bite me, but I've watched enough Surviorman and Man vs. Wild, and even garnered some tips from Jungle Bob when he'd make a visit to the bookstore with all his exotic, scaly friends back on LI to know that you grab a snake close to the head and not the tail.

With snake in hand, we all ran up the stairs cheering and headed out the door! The boys marched alongside me taking on some of the pride and acting like mini snake wranglers (tough faces and growls of mini-manhood galore) and I let the snake slither into the grass near the woods. 

Darren congratulated me with, "You're a country girl now!"

Maybe I'm adapting to this after all. ;)