#carolina coop

[factcheckingthefords]

Richmond Farmhouse Exterior Inspiration for a large cottage white one-story wood gable roof remodel with a metal roof

[giftiaa]

Wood Exterior in Richmond Large country white one-story wood gable roof idea with a metal roof

[forcednihilisticsuicide]

Hawks still managed to kill every last one in the coop

North Carolina

[kedreeva]

I have had a pretty terrible last three days. Saturday I finally made the decision to replace my car, which I am deeply attached to and have had for the past 19 years of my life, and found a replacement down in North Carolina near my family. I planned to take one last drive with him to go down, and turn him in at the dealership, only to be hit by a truck hard enough to total my car yesterday. I'm a little banged up on my shoulder and sporting a pretty tender bruise to the side of my head, but I'm otherwise fine.

After dealing with all of that and arranging a flight down instead, I got a bad feeling about the birds and the Cold after checking the weather report that said it would get to -30 wind-chill last night. I went out to check on the birds again, only to find Indie on the floor in cold shock. I brought him indoors and spent most of last night up and down checking on him and slogging out into the cold to check on the others. Thankfully my own birds are all very cold hardy and are doing fine, but Indie is a higher Spalding, and seems to be far less cold tolerant.

Thankfully, he survived the night and warmed up, and has gotten steadier all day. At 7:30, about when the lights go off in the coops, he promptly decided it was bedtime, turned around on the tray table and tucked himself into bed so completely in the way that I also went to bed a few minutes later.

After some discussion with his owners, I cancelled my flight and rented a car, and I'll be taking him back. They VERY kindly offered to let me bring the girls I was going to breed him to down with him, and they will do the breeding there instead. This is a relief that means I won't have to deal with any peachicks this year, but I'll still hopefully be able to get a bs split leucistic pair from him and my own birds, possibly a trio.

My brother drove out and helped me unload the stuff I'd gone to get yesterday, which was mostly supplies for the birds, extra bedding to keep them warm, and the few personal things I kept in the car. Since I'm moving three birds including one adult male to the south, I'm just going to condense the pens into the barn, where they'll have more room to be indoors through this cold, and have better insulation and be easier to access for me. Of course, that means Stan and co are boarding in Bug's pen and Bug's been relegated to her baby cage for when she must be contained if we leave the house (though that's mostly because it's Too Cold, less because there are birds in her house)

Still big enough to hold her! Thankfully it shouldn't have to hold her long.

She's also extremely jealous I'm paying attention to Indie and not just her. She's been alternating between guarding me and sulking all day.

Anyway. Send some good vibes this way, 2024 has not been treating me very kindly so far.

[reepiblog]

"But the question is, Did John Brown fail? He certainly did fail to get out of Harpers Ferry before being beaten down by United States soldiers; he did fail to save his own life, and to lead a liberating army into the mountains of Virginia. But he did not go to Harpers Ferry to save his life. "The true question is, Did John Brown draw his sword against slavery and thereby lose his life in vain? And to this I answer ten thousand times, No! No man fails, or can fail, who so grandly gives himself and all he has to a righteous cause. No man, who in his hour of extremest need, when on his way to meet an ignominious death, could so forget himself as to stop and kiss a little child, one of the hated race for whom he was about to die, could by any possibility fail. "Did John Brown fail? Ask Henry A. Wise in whose house less than two years after, a school for the emancipated slaves was taught. "Did John Brown fail? Ask James M. Mason, the author of the inhuman fugitive slave bill, who was cooped up in Fort Warren, as a traitor less than two years from the time that he stood over the prostrate body of John Brown. "Did John Brown fail? Ask Clement C. Vallandingham, one other of the inquisitorial party; for he too went down in the tremendous whirlpool created by the powerful hand of this bold invader. If John Brown did not end the war that ended slavery, he did at least begin the war that ended slavery. If we look over the dates, places and men for which this honor is claimed, we shall find that not Carolina, but Virginia, not Fort Sumter, but Harpers Ferry, and the arsenal, not Col. Anderson, but John Brown, began the war that ended American slavery and made this a free Republic. Until this blow was struck, the prospect for freedom was dim, shadowy and uncertain. The irrepressible conflict was one of words, votes and compromises. "When John Brown stretched forth his arm the sky was cleared. The time for compromises was gone - the armed hosts of freedom stood face to face over the chasm of a broken Union - and the clash of arms was at hand. The South staked all upon getting possession of the Federal Government, and failing to do that, drew the sword of rebellion and thus made her own, and not Brown's, the lost cause of the century." -(May 30, 1881, Frederick Douglass, oration at the Fourteenth Anniversary of Storer College, May 30, 1881)

[kimberly40]

I know the feel of smooth bedrock beneath bare feet, and slimy green algae between toes in a gently flowing creek. I can still pick out the best crawdad holes, recognize a ginseng patch, and I’m not afraid to bait any kind of hook. I’m from a place where the whole family crams together at Grandma’s house for dinner. Golden fried chicken, dipped in puddles of gravy, with okra and fried cabbage, dripping with grease. The smell of morning dew, tobacco hanging in a barn, the foul and musty odor of a chicken coop and the way it feels to literally wash the mountains off your skin after a day in the hills, will all remain the perfume trigger points of my childhood.

We are people who are proud of our heritage, who have soft hearts for these mountains and sharp tongues for anyone who tries to belittle our homeland.

I’m proud to say Appalachia is my home, my heritage, my past, my present, and my future.

(Photo of Briar Rose Farm in Madison County, North Carolina

[shipwreckedwithcaptainmarrow]

Apologies for the absence over here on Tumblr, I've just been so insanely busy since the release of my book. It's odd how the writing process sees you cooped up and lackadaisical, and you have time for things, and book's progress just goes on and on. But after it comes out, things change. Since the book's launch in late September I've - - Setup Author booth at Cedar Key Pirate Invasion (Florida) - Setup Author booth for Launch Party in Goose Creek (South Carolina) - Setup Author booth at Old City Pirate Day in St. Augustine (Florida) - Setup Author booth at Colonial Faire and Muster at Wormsloe (Georgia) Now I've got my upcoming confirmed plans over the next 3 months: - Pirate Educational Display at Fort Dorchester (South Carolina) - Pirate Educational Display and Author booth at Wilmington (North Carolina) - Pirate Educational Display at Fort King George (Georgia) - Pirate Educational Display and Author booth at Powder Magazine (South Carolina) - Author booth at Penumbra renfair in St. Augustine (Florida) - Pirate Lecture and Book Signing at Museum of Coastal Carolinas (North Carolina) And my unconfirmed plans over the next three: - Author table at The Pirate Store, St. Augustine (Florida) - Author table at Starbucks, Mt. Pleasant (South Carolina) - Educational Display or Author booth at Ponce DeLeon Inlet Lighthouse (Florida) - Pirate Lecture at Wormsloe Plantation (Georgia) - Educational Display at McLarty Treasure Museum (Florida) Events confirmed for later in the year: - Author booth at Panama City Pirate Invasion (Florida) - Pirate Educational Display and Author table at Feast of the Pirates (North Carolina) ... So I've been busy, and all of this above is still yet to happen soon. My calendar is filling up. I still have more contacts to follow up on, and other events for the reenactment crew, like potentially Huntington Beach (South Carolina). Can't believe I'm a "professional pirate," and have made such a name for myself, but I'm definitely thankful for all the friends and notable contacts amid the educational fields I've made along the way that's making this possible with my book release. I know its already been a long post, but I just wanted to say that I wish I still had the time and umph to keep up with all of my various social medias. Both Instagram and Tumblr have fallen a bit to the wayside while Facebook has remained my primary - its just historic sites and museums all have Facebook pages, but not tumblrs for example. So I've had to prioritize what I've needed to do to get to this point. Still, I'll try and toss up a few more posts and not neglect the site here so much. Hope you guys understand.

[dreamsweet]

Help Carolina Waterfowl Rescue!

Hi everyone, I know a lot is going on right now, and there are plenty of people and organizations who are struggling and need help, so I'm only asking this of people who are really able to.

Carolina Waterfowl Rescue is a non-profit in my area that focuses on rehabilitating more than just waterfowl, honestly, pretty much any animal you can think of that's not a cat or dog can receive treatment or care there. They're one of very few places in the entire country that does the kind of work they do, and people drive from out of state to bring animals to them to receive care. You might have heard of them when a few years back, Jeffrey Dean Morgan adopted a donkey and emu from there!

Their ultimate goal is rehabilitating and releasing the animals back into their natural habitats, but CWR is the permanent home of various birds, snakes, lizards, you name it, with disabilities that wouldn't otherwise be able to survive in the wild.

Running the rescue is expensive, and CWR has experienced their lowest donations in years due to Amazon cancelling the Smile program and Facebook eliminating the ability to make monthly payments (and also withholding suspicious amounts of donations to nonprofits, apparently). Unfortunately, CWR is at risk of shutting down after over 20 years of helping animals in need.

If you're able to, please donate to CWR! I'm in no way personally affiliated with them through employment or volunteering, I just donate to their Patreon. CWR is a 501(c)3 nonprofit and all donations are tax-deductible. Please reblog if you see this!

Network for Good - Rebuild the Roost

A donation-matching campaign through the end of 11/28/23 to rebuild the chicken coop that CWR keeps for its chickens!

Network for Good - Haven for the Raven

A donation-matching campaign through the end of 11/28/23 to build a permanent habitat for the corvids that live at CWR!

Network for Good - Serenity for Swans

A donation-matching campign through the end of 11/28/23 to perform critical repairs and maintenance to the pond at CWR that their resident swans live in!

PayPal @waterfowlrescue

Venmo @cwrescue

Cashapp $cwrescue

Amazon Wishlist

[froody]

You might have had a crazy cat lady as a grandma but my grandma was a crazy chicken lady. She had chickens most of her life. This was before having pet chickens were a thing. Growing up in the early 2000s, she had around 75 semi-feral chickens living in the area around her 1960s ranch style house in the middle of nowhere. There was a small coop but the chickens mainly laid eggs wherever they wanted. In old tires in the yard, in flower pots, on the porch furniture, on the derelict farm equipment. Did I mention this was the middle of nowhere North Carolina and that we are a little trashy? Anyway, they’d sometimes roost in the trees outside of the room I was sleeping in. The roosters would start crowing at 5:30. I mean, I loved it. The animal husbandry was atrocious looking back on it. Grandma didn’t have the heart to process the chickens because they were her pets. She feed them, collected the eggs and maintained them but never butchered them. My Great Aunt Jane would sometimes but after she died, the chicken population just maintained itself somehow.

[scampoliditesto]

L’Incompreso

Da ragazzo mi sentivo incompreso. Mi rendevo conto di dire spesso cose che non interessavano ai miei coetanei, oppure di ascoltare dischi che venivano rimossi dal piatto con una smorfia dolorante, come se l'ascoltatore si fosse schiacciato i coglioni sedendosi malamente sulla sella di un motorino truccato. Ma l'apice del disagio lo ho raggiunto tre anni fa nel reparto cessi di Villa. In pratica, ero lì con Laura e stavamo scegliendo il bidet per la casa nuova. Io facevo prove approfondite, mi accovacciavo sui sanitari esposti, li riposizionavo nello showroom, mimavo con la mano il gesto di portare il miscuglio di idrogeno e ossigeno verso il culo sagomato da anni di libri e videogiochi. «Ho il femore troppo lungo!» dicevo a Laura. «Ci cacciano via!» ringhiava, malcelando l'imbarazzo in una smorfia divertita. Allora io mimavo con l'indice destro la distanza tra muro e ano, non credo ci sia un termine tecnico, una quota standardizzata vitruviana, insomma, introducevo questa misura a supporto del fatto che avessi le gambe troppo lunghe e che, quindi, da seduto parte del culo sarebbe uscita dal bidet. «Lo voglio stondato e attaccato al muro: fa cagare ovale e con i tubi a vista.» Questa era la risposta che ottenevo in cambio di complessi ragionamenti trigonogometri. E quindi dicevo che no, lo spazio non si può comprimere, cioè magari si può andando alla velocità della luce, però, ecco, non è che per lavarmi il culo io possa ogni volta compiere un salto nell'iperspazio. E dopo discussioni estenuanti, una specie di trattativa tra lei, signora, e io, ambulante affaticato sotto il sole, la spunto. La spunto sulla forma ma il prezzo da pagare è quello di scegliere un bidet che aderisca perfettamente al muro e non lasci intravvedere all'occhio umano tubi, manicotti e leveraggi.

E insomma, racconto questo per dire che oggi mi sono fatto il bidet e dopo che ho finito, tiro la levetta per far defluire l'acqua e si rompe. Tuc. Tuc, fa l'asticella cromata e io la guardo mentre sono seduto a cavalcioni del trabicolo di porcellana. Fisso il muro, poi il pernetto, e infine abbasso lo sguardo e vedo il piccolo specchio d'acqua sotto le mie cosce. Quindi mi alzo, impreco e comincio ad aggeggiare con le dita sul tappo per provare a rimuoverlo dalla sua sede, sede rifinita in maniera millimetrica, nemmeno fosse l'ingranaggio di un Rolex. Dopo dieci minuti mi arrendo. Mi arrendo e corro in cucina. Apro un cassetto ed acchiappo un coltello e torno nel bagno con la speranza di poter usare la lama per far leva sul tappo. Mi tuffo nell'acqua ma l'acciaio è troppo spesso: non ci passa. Il tappo rimane al suo posto, fiero del suo ruolo, una specie di oligarca in un mondo di porcellana e sa-la-madonna quali resti della mia umana ingegneria.

Dopo aver provato una teoria di oggetti, cito a memoria, un cacciavite, uno stuzzicadenti, la lama di un cutter e la tessera della Coop, mi cade l'occhio verso il lavandino. Vedo la soluzione. La vedo e mi compiaccio, addirittura ringrazio dio di avermi fatto scienziato, di avermi donato la possibilità di avere idee utili per tutti tranne che per me stesso. Glu, glu, glu. L'acqua defluisce! Acchiappo con due dita il pistone che dovrebbe alzare il tappo e dare una via di fuga all'acqua e lo tiro. Basta pochissimo e tutto ritorna a funzionare per la gioia del Signor Pozzi e del suo socio Ginori.

Esattamente quattordici ore dopo, sono seduto al Mac che lavoro. È tardi, non so più cosa fare per arginare le scadenze, in pratica sono assorbito dal fallimento professionale quando sento urlare. «Carolina, lavati i denti!» sbraita Laura. «Non posso!» «L-a-v-a-i-d-e-n-t-i!» «Ma come faccio?» urla l'Exogino con parte del mio DNA. «Ho detto che ti devi lavare i denti!» «Non trovo lo spazzolino.» E quindi inizia una rissa madre e figlia, una roba tipo tour dei Genesis quando Phil Colins e Bill Bruford se le suonano sulle note di The Cinema Show. Laura usa l'arma finale: «Adesso viene tuo padre!» Mi alzo sapendo che, ogni volta che vengo invocato, la mia autorevolezza diminuisce, come se il mio essere padre fosse regolato da un'immaginaria barra di energia che niente e nessuno può ricaricare. 

Effettivamente, Carolina ha ragione. Mentre mi gratto il mento ammetto, facendo finta di niente, che lo spazzolino non è più disponibile. «Più?» dice Laura «Più,» dico io. Per chiudere subito la questione, dico che aveva le setole rovinate, anzi, rincaro la dose e aggiungo che bisogna insegnare a nostra figlia a non masticare lo spazzolino. Ma Laura dice che era nuovo, che era diventata scema a trovarlo a forma di giraffa azzurra. «Lo avevo lasciato appiccicato allo specchio, pa'» dice mia figlia. «Proprio qua,» fa Laura indicando l'alone circolare. Mi vedo riflesso nello specchio e capisco di essere spacciato. Ma poco prima di darmi per vinto, mi ricordo di un tizio con cui ho lavorato. Mi ripeteva sempre: "Luca, bisogna sempre dire la verità, perché la verità può essere aggiustata." Allora "aggiusto" il corso degli eventi e, guardando madre e figlia, dico che è successo un incidente e che ho dovuto buttare via il simpatico dispositivo odontoiatrico dotato di ventosa. «Sei un mostro» urla Carolina. «Sei impazzito?» fa coro Laura.

Balbetto e dopo qualche istante ammetto che mi serviva per risolvere un'incomprensione del passato. E quindi spiego alla mia famiglia che non riuscivo a stappare il bidet e che ho usato la ventosa piazzata sul culo dello spazzolino per afferrare il tappo sepolto da acqua e residui pubici. Dico che lo ho fatto a fin di bene, insomma, che lo ho fatto solo nella speranza di tirare via il tappo dalla sede, dalla sua cuccia pure troppo perfetta per quanto ci è costata. «Domani risolvi questa storia» dice Laura. «Come sempre,» dico io mentre vedo madre e figlia che si allontanano senza salutare.

La mattina successiva, giro mezza Genova per cercare uno spazzolino con ventosa. Alla fine lo trovo e, anche se costa una cifra folle, lo pago e lo porto a casa. «Non mi piace,» fa Carolina e aggiunge «ormai sono grande, uso questo» e intanto brandisce un affare di plastica con sopra scritto OralB. Allora ripongo lo spazzolino nel posto segreto dove tengo il mio senso di incomprensione e tutti gli aggeggi che mi ricordano che, alla fine, ho sempre ragione.

[doberbutts]

Thinking of my post about what an actual mauling by dogs looks like and how we forget just how terrifying of a mid-sized predator dogs (in general) are until this happens and then we seek to blame superficial things like breed or training rather than understand that this is normal predatory behavior and that domestication was supposed to stop this.

A woman in South Carolina was mauled by a pack of three dogs and has lost both of her arms, part of her colon, part of her esophagus, part of her scalp, and may also lose at least one of her legs and some pieces of her trachea and skull. The dogs were consuming her as they tore pieces off of her. There is evidence that she tried to fight them off as long as she could until they got her onto the ground and pulled her into a ditch. A witness was able to scare the dogs off of her by firing his gun, at which point she was air-lifted to the hospital and has been in constant surgeries since as the doctors race to stop the spread of infection.

The dogs were owned by someone who reports that a few months earlier they had broken into his chicken coop and killed all of his chickens. They then also attacked a man who was hospitalized, and 11 of his dogs were voluntarily relinquished to animal control. The remainder were allowed to freely roam on his unfenced property without a leash, and despite knowing that his dogs had just nearly killed someone they were still uncontained and unrestricted when police rolled up to arrest him and take the dogs into custody. He apparently wanted to have the dogs destroyed but his girlfriend talked him out of it saying they just needed training. It’s worth noting that he’s also earned a rabies citation, meaning at least one of the dogs seized was not UTD on its rabies vaccinations.

I will reiterate that I do not care that two of the dogs in question were pit bulls. I think any individual dog that is responsible for a mauling like this, that are actively consuming human flesh, have zero place in our world. We domesticated dogs to prevent them from killing and eating us. There is no place in a domesticated species for this kind of behavior. The dogs ate her arms and her legs and her stomach and were tearing the flesh off of her skull and trying to rip her throat out and tbh if these dogs aren’t euthanized by the end of this court fiasco then I will have lost all hope for the general public and lawmakers having even a basic understanding of dog behavior.

[sharkface-daydreams]

I was recently reminded of Fic Rec lists and got the urge to make one, and since it’s Tucktober and Dr. Love could use a little love, I thought I’d try to put together a fic rec list of Tucker-centric fics. (Might do some for the upcoming character months if I’m feeling up to it :D)

This list is going to be a bit of a mix of things I have bookmarked, friend recs and trawling AO3 looking for older works that don’t get much love today. If you don’t see something you think should be on here, please reblog and add it! I did my best but am only one person and my energy is limited. :)

Here’s the listing format for your convenience:

Title (link) | Author | Rating (as per AO3) Ship/Characters | Warnings/relevant tags/info (AU, graphic violence, smut) Completed Y/N | Word Count Summary

Heavy Weather | Shir_Khan | Rating: E Church/Tucker | Modern AU, Natural Disasters Complete | Word Count: 28,841 Summary: Given that Church and Tucker only interact once a year when storm season rolls around, they’re really closer to acquaintances than actual friends. But if Church is going to spend days at a time cooped up with another person, he prefers it to be someone he won’t end up strangling, and that’s slim pickings.

An Ace Or Two In Space | LilRadRidingHood | Rating: T Tucker/Wash | Temple of Procreation fic with a twist One-shot | Word Count: 980 Summary: The Temple of Procreation didn't work on either of them, but it ends up bringing them together anyway.

giving up the ghost | eggstacy | Rating: T Tucker, Some Tucker/Wash | Major Character Death, AI Hallucinations/Unreality One-shot | Word Count: 2,879 Summary: Tucker got a lot of judgment through his life and that didn't change when he joined the military. Getting transferred into this fake-ass simulation war might've been a demotion on paper, but meeting the first person to call him out without thinking less of him for it made all of the humiliation worth it.

Bitter Pill | Goodluckdetective, Hinn_Raven, RenaRoo | Rating: M Tucker/Wash | Graphic Violence, Time Travel AU, Bad Future Complete | Word Count: 38,735 Summary: During the war, Tucker goes missing. Ten years later, he shows back up again. Chorus is on its last leg. His friends are either dead, captured or scattered. And Tucker is still Tucker.

Machine Learning | Cosmobot | Rating: T Tucker, Church | Emotional Hurt/Comfort One-shot | Word Count: 4,597 Summary: Tucker has some things he needs to say. Church has some things he needs to hear. Neither of them particularly want to talk about it, but they do anyway. Sort of. There's maybe more yelling involved than there should be.

Gone | RysingSun | Rating: M Tucker | Graphic Violence, Child Neglect One-shot | Word Count: 7,278 Summary: Needing to access a MacGuffin, Tucker is sent through some of his most difficult memories. No matter how scared and alone he feels, his friends are there for him when he comes out the other side.

Too Quiet | InfernoTornado | Rating: T Tucker, Carolina | Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drinking One-shot | Word Count: 5,030 Summary: Tucker wants to finally have that drink he talked about having with church... but Church is gone, and he doesn't want to do this alone

Green Team - And Cunningham Fell | ShyChangling | Rating: M Tucker, Green Team | Canon Death, Canon-Typical Violence One-shot | Word Count: 1021 Summary: Tucker never wanted this. Tucker never wanted to be the damn leader of any one. Least of all... when it comes to this.

Enough, Enough | Eggstacy, saltsanford | Rating: M Tucker, Blue Team | Graphic Violence, Torture Complete | Word Count: 46,403 Summary: The mission is a disaster, of fucking course, because they hadn’t had enough of those in recent years.

[magnoliamyrrh]

sooo, updates on what could have easily been one of the most outrageous and important international criminal & corruption cases of the 21 century which weve heard suspiciously little about; you know, despite this being some of the most batshit insane crap to come to light in our lifetimes:

The Paris prosecutor's office confirmed to ABC News that Brunel was found dead in his prison cell around 1 a.m. local time at La Sante Prison.

The prosecutor's office declined to confirm those details of Brunel's death.

In December 2020, Brunel was charged with rape of minors over the age of 15 and sexual harassment -- a crime in France.

Epstein Victim Who Testified Against Ghislaine Maxwell Has Died—and Her Family Wants Answers

Carolyn Andriano, a victim of sex-trafficker Jeffrey Epstein whose testimony was crucial to putting away his accomplice Ghislaine Maxwell, has died.

There was no obituary or funeral service after she died earlier this year, and police in West Palm Beach, Florida, opened an investigation into her death. After The Daily Beast reached out for comment, police spokesman Mike Jachles told us that the investigation was concluding and that Carolyn died of an accidental overdose.

The 36-year-old mother-of-five had planned to start a new chapter in North Carolina, at a new house with a fireplace and half-acre lot with a chicken coop. Carolyn and her husband, John Pitts, had purchased the property just weeks before she was found unresponsive in a West Palm Beach hotel room on May 23.

Before her death, “she was ecstatic,” Carolyn’s mother, Dorothy Groenert, told The Daily Beast. “She was all set up for a whole new lifestyle.”

The way Groenert sees it, some things about her daughter’s overdose don’t make sense, and she wants cops to investigate further.

“It shouldn’t be closed,” Groenert said of the police investigation. “I begged them, I sent them numerous messages. I’ve asked for them to make meetings, contact me, and to no avail.”

Carolyn was one of four victims to testify at the Maxwell trial in December 2021, telling the jury that the British socialite had groped her and routinely scheduled her “massages” with Epstein, who molested her up to three times a week until she was “too old” for him at age 18.

She had confided in Maxwell and Epstein about her history of being sexually abused as a young child (by a relative at age 4) and of her family’s struggles with addiction. This emboldened the sick high-society couple to groom her and even attempt to bring her to Epstein’s U.S. Virgin Islands compound. “I told him I was only 15 and I couldn’t leave,” Carolyn said of Epstein.

...... now listen 🧐 maybe epstein did truly kill himself in jail (apparently his suicidal willpower and bad vibes was strong enough to shut off video cameras for just that night) and maybe these two died by their own hands too but BOY OH BOY there sure seems to be A LOT OF DEATH surrounding ONE OF THE MOST HIGH PROFILE SERIOUS SHIT INTERNATIONAL CASES TO HIT THE PUBLIC IN THE HISTORY OF EVER

[kedreeva]

Well, this weekend I took a hazardous trip to get my new car and bring Indie home.

Sunday, after totaling my jeep, I got home to find Indie in hypothermic shock. All of MY birds were fine, thankfully. I brought him in and warmed him up in increments overnight, but he couldn't go back out into the cold, and couldn't stay here if it was going to be cold, so I made the decision to bring him back to his home early. GRACIOUSLY, his actual owners said if I brought the hens I would have bred him to down, they'd do the breeding for me.

Thursday I rented a mid-size SUV. There was only one available whose trunk space laid flat, and when I went to leave with it, they sent me back and gave me a newly-arrived return, some Mazda that was an absolute NIGHTMARE of a car. I drove it home, packed for the weekend, and prepped the trunk space for Birds.

Friday morning, I was up at 5am taking care of some stuff and making sure I was awake enough to drive. I ousted Sark from bed around 7 and he helped me load Arcana, Eclipse, and Indie into the back of the car, and Aris and her two babies into the barn with Polaris. I set off for North Carolina, but with a MASSIVE snowstorm moving in over West Virginia, and snowstorms having plagued the north east, I would be taking an extended trip down- from Detroit area to Knoxville, TN, before going over to NC.

Almost 17 hours later, I got to Indie's home. We left the birds to sleep in the car since they were already cuddled up, and I went inside for a 5 hours nap.

Then it was up again, moving birds into their coop, and I was back on the road another hour to return my rental, an hour to get to my mom and dad's, a brief break there to hang out, and then!! an hour to the dealership to pick up my new Jeep. I had my previous one for 19 years, 300k miles on him, so this is... going to be an adjustment, but it seems like he will be fine. I have named him Sheet Cake. He is white outside, and tan inside, absolutely terrible colors, and smushed flat compared to my Liberty.

Went back to my parents' for the night, played Pokemon GO with the for a while (anyone wanna be my mom's friend? she needs more people for a quest), and zonked out around 9pm. And BACK UP around 7, so I could make the 12 hours drive back home yesterday. MUCH more pleasant ride, in the Jeep than it was in the Mazda. The lack of birds wasn't terrible, either.

Bug was ECSTATIC to see me, she got left behind with Sark. I snuck away like a thief in the night, so she woke up and I was just Gone. When I walked in the door she froze and stared at me for a long second and then lost her shit, throwing herself up on stuff and doing the excited flappy-wing duck down. I sat her up on her perch and she beeped and beeped and beeped as I gently scrubbed her face and neck. It's not like she has a hard life when I'm gone, Sark is here to hang out with, he gives her fresh food meals just like I do, he cuddles just like I do, but it's just not the Same.

Anyway, it's good to be home.

And now that I have a white Jeep... it's time to find some Jurassic Park decals for him.

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Like A Dream (Like A Plan)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Three: Innocence Retained

Summary: For once in her life, she would like to have done something. But at the same time, she’s just grateful that she doesn’t have to worry about it anymore. The problem got taken care of, no matter who came out of it a hero.

A/N: Another early update because I have no self control and no concept of what day it is anymore! 🤗 The ramps (or wasti) that Zenie refers to near the end of the chapter are a type of wild onion that are popular in the southeast.

Warnings: mentioned animal death

Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

North Carolina, 1938

Stars shine brighter on cold nights. Zenie has noticed this several times throughout her life, on nights that she’s spent lying on her side in bed, staring out the window at the dark world on the other side of the glass.

Being out under the stars is different. They look so close that she feels like she could reach up and touch them. It’s a beautiful distraction.

Her hands are cold. Summer nights have a reputation for bringing a chill with them, and this one with its dazzling stars and enormous moon is especially so. But Zenie has to remain vigilant as she watches the chicken coop. Even with the cool ground freezing her legs. Even with the stars calling to her from above. She has to watch and be ready. She readjusts her grip on Matthew’s old rifle and sighs through her nose.

All her vigilance is for nothing. All her practice shooting down old bottles from the fence so that she could defend the chickens against whatever kept leaving pawprints and scratch marks on the door of their coop doesn’t amount to anything.

She trudges back into the house the next morning, sore and cold and exhausted, and with nothing to show. Well, that’s not true – she has the live chickens, but it’s not like she did anything for them. Not really.

Granny is gliding about the kitchen when Zenie comes in through the screen door. She’s got eggs and bacon already on the table, and she immediately pours a cup of coffee that she hands to Zenie with a smile.

“Ma, Zenie shouldn’t have coffee,” Mama says as she removes a tray of fluffy biscuits from the oven. “It makes her all shaky and distracted.”

“You mean more so than usual,” Marilyn quips. She holds out her own mug and kisses Granny on the cheek as she fills it for her. When Zenie sticks her tongue out at her, she returns the gesture before smiling, ever prim and proper, and taking her seat at the table.

“She needs to get warmed up,” Granny insists. “Poor child looks half frozen.”

Zenie tries to sip the coffee. She can’t taste the bitterness of it for how hot it is. “Yeah, and all for nothing. I watched all night, and nothing ever showed up.”

Marilyn passes Zenie the plate with the biscuit that she’s just buttered. “Whatever it is, it’ll probably be back soon.” She gives Zenie that look she always has when she’s teasing – a barely restrained half-smile and eyes that are full of laughter. “Guess you’ll just have to become nocturnal and stay out there every night, Zee. Gosh, I sure will miss seeing you.”

“Ha ha,” Zenie deadpans around a mouthful of biscuit.

The sound of an engine rumbling pulls their attention toward the window. Outside, gravel pops and snaps as a truck pulls up in front of the house.

Conversation ceases as all four of the women in the kitchen immediately make their way over to the door, crowding around to see who gets out of the truck. Mama is already pushing the door open when Zenie’s father calls out from the other room.

“Who is it?” he asks over the sound of the radio. “Who just pulled up?” His chair never creaks, signaling that he’s making no move to get up and come check himself. “Lily, who’s outside?”

The three McGlamery women and their matriarch are already out the door, tuning out his questions the way that they’ve all learned to tune out the sounds of his loud radio broadcasts over the past year. By the time that Dr Dills from next door is shutting the door of his truck behind him, they’re already in the yard, the screen door shut behind them, separating the two worlds.

“Good mornin’!” the doctor chirps.

“Good morning,” they all echo.

Mama steps forward. “It’s nice to see you, Dr Dills. How are you this morning?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he says with a smile. A big smile that’s a little obscured by the curls of his white beard. Zenie has always liked their neighbor, because he seems to always be in a good mood and seems to mean what he says. He’s sturdy, both in his physical build and his demeanor, and his forearms have tan lines from all his afternoons out in his field. It doesn’t seem likely that he’ll ever just give up and wilt away like some people’s fathers.

“Just wanted to drop in and let y’all know that a fox tried to get into our chicken coop last night,” Dr Dills continues. “Daniel managed to pop him. Don’t think anyone has to worry about that little menace anymore this summer.”

A fox! That’s what’s been trying to get the chickens. And the one night that Zenie had been determined to put a stop to its tricks, it decided to try its luck next door instead.

Well, she tells herself. At least I won’t have to spend another night out in the cold.

“Good,” Marilyn bites her lip and clasps her hands behind her back as she nods. “Good for Danny. He must be pleased.”

Dr Dills laughs, loud and jovial. “Oh, he is! We’re not likely to hear the end of it for the rest of the summer.”

“Thank you for letting us know,” Mama says. Zenie and Marilyn echo her appreciation and Dr Dills smiles.

“No trouble at all. I’ll see y’all later. Take care.” They head back inside when he backs out of the driveway, Zenie’s father’s questions about who was outside punctuating the sounds of tires spitting gravel as their neighbor leaves.   

Mama immediately begins fixing a plate to take to her husband. She pats Zenie on top of the head as she leaves. “Still be careful with the chickens, please. Watch them carefully when you let them out. The fox might not be the only one after them.”

“I will,” Zenie promises. Following them around the yard and catching them when they try to wander too far is nothing compared to sitting on the ground in the cold all night, staring at one fixed spot, waiting for something to happen.

“Darn, I was so looking forward to having my own room,” Marilyn sighs, even though there’s a grin on her face. “Hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

“Oh I am.” She can’t contain her smile. She tries to hide it with her coffee cup when she says in a quiet, sing-song voice that’s supposed to mimic her sister’s, “Danny must be pleased.”

It’s a miracle that Marilyn doesn’t resort to murder then and there – probably only because Granny is about to take her seat on the other side of the table. She does snatch the biscuit out of Zenie’s hand, though, putting it back on her own plate and giving her a sharp look that cannot mask the embarrassment on her face.

There’s a special sense of satisfaction that comes from intentionally upsetting a sibling. If she weren’t already, now Zenie really is pleased.

The smell of moist dirt being turned up is one of the best in the world. It reminds Zenie to enjoy the few months when the earth comes to life and she can enjoy her time away from school, outside and content.

“Oooh, look at these,” Granny says, holding up some of the plumpest ramps that Zenie has ever seen. She tosses them into her basket. “We’ll use those tonight.”

Zenie would have accompanied Granny anywhere this afternoon. She likes spending time with her, and it’s aways nice to get her all to herself. But digging ramps – or wasti, as Granny tells her they’re called in Cherokee – is a real treat, because it gets them away from the house for a bit. In the small patch of woods behind the barn, it’s just the two of them, and Zenie feels like she can speak freely, secrets and thoughts spilling easily from her lips without consequence. They’ll have to go back to the house eventually, but Granny will fry the ramps up with some potatoes, and it will feel like a delicious consolation prize.

With a sigh, Granny sits back on her heels and looks up at the sunlight filtering down through the canopy of trees above them. She sets down her shovel and carefully lowers herself to a seated position. The smile she gives Zenie is warmer than the summer weather.

“Can I ask you something?”

Zenie pauses with her shovel halfway in the ground. It doesn’t sound like she’s in trouble. Still, sometimes her father has started lectures with that sentence, so she can’t be sure.

“Hawa,” she says, partly because she knows it pleases Granny when she makes an effort to speak Tsalagi, and partly because she hopes that might soften the blow of whatever is about to be said.

As if she can read her thoughts, Granny assures her. “You’re not in trouble, I promise.

“I was just thinking about the fox. I know you care about those chickens. You were so determined to protect them. Are you disappointed that Danny Dills got the fox and not you?”

Is she? She’s a little upset that she stayed up all night in the cold and didn’t get to prove herself. She’d like to have something to prove her devotion to the safety of the chickens. For once in her life, she would like to have done something. But at the same time, she’s just grateful that she doesn’t have to worry about it anymore. The problem got taken care of, no matter who came out of it a hero.

“Ayoheli,” she admits. A little.

“Hmmmm.” Granny tilts her head, studying her. After a pause she asks, “Do you think you could have done it though?”

“Done what?”

“Killed the fox. Do you think you could have done it?”

Zenie sets down her shovel and thinks long and hard about it. She’s never killed an animal before. Her father used to take Matthew hunting, back before everything went sour, but even then it was strictly a boy’s activity – no girls allowed. She would like to think that she would have been willing to do it. She can picture squeezing the trigger . . . but she doesn’t know how she would feel after that.

“I think so.”

“You do?”

She reconsiders. “I wouldn’t want to kill one for fun, like when our dad used to take Matthew hunting. But if I had to protect my chickens, I think that I could do it.”

“Hawa.” Granny nods. She shrugs. “I was just curious.”

“Why?”

Her grandmother shrugs again. “You’re an incredibly loyal girl, Zena. I think you would do almost anything for those you care about.” She shifts her weight, leaning closer, like she’s going to tell Zenie a secret. “Just remember to take care of yourself. Sometimes that’s who you really have to stay loyal to.”

Nothing bothers the chicken coop for the rest of the summer. Zenie gets to pass her nights warm under her blankets, safe in her room while they’re safe in their coop. There is no more discussion of foxes and what might have been. Yet some nights when Zenie can’t sleep, she stares out the window and thinks about Granny’s question.

If it really came down to it, could she pull the trigger?

[sesame-sim]

BOOK - The Color of Water (by James McBride)

Andrew and Rosa McBride are the great-grandparents of the author James McBride and they are the parents of 4 boys (thus far). On Thanksgiving, the family skipped out on breakfast and lunch so that a more lavish dinner could be had. Andrew and the two older boys were up before the sun, their holiday spirits making them quick going about their chores. Not a peep of complaint was heard. Charlie pumped the water. He fed and cleaned the goat and sheep too. French gathered eggs, fed the chickens, and cleaned their coop, shiftily avoiding eye contact with the one that would be killed for their grand meal. Their father chopped firewood and changed the hay in the animal manger. Third son, Lacey, was too young for chores. He kept his mama company inside the house to make sure she didn’t get things done too quickly.

Dinner was warm and wonderful. In addition to the chicken, there was milk from the goat, 3 eggs, and some root vegetables that had been stored for winter. It had taken many struggles to arrive at their current level of self-sufficiency. They were doing well.

Rosa’s heart was satisfied to see her husband have another heaping plateful after all the rest of them had retired their bellies for the evening. To cap it all off, that day baby Edmond had laughed for the first time when his papa came in from the cold and tried to pick him up. Those icy fingers sure have a funny tickly feeling!

A look at their home which is in Copperdale. Aside from your standard Henford and Chestnut Ridge, this is a pretty great lot for a small farming family. There's fishing right next to them too. The old-timey secluded vibe is on point here as long as you DON'T TURN THE CAMERA AROUND AND SEE THE FRICKIN' FERRIS WHEEL.

BOOK SYNOPSIS - Memoir about James McBride’s upbringing as a biracial son in a family of 12 children interwoven with the story of his white Jewish mother.

NOTE - There is a document showing that Andrew McBride was a farmer in North Carolina so I've started my sim versions of them as farmers as well, though I've probably made their home still too large for those times. I felt I needed to bc they still have 3 more kids coming!

BOOK TIME/PLACE - 1888, somewhere in North Carolina

MY SAVE TIME/PLACE - Sim Year 50 / Sim Day 5702 / Winter D17 / TUE / Copperdale

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