The Un-Social Network

Remember when surfing the internet was a fairly solitary sport? I've been missing those pre-social networking days lately. As I wrote last fall, I'd gotten hooked on Pinterest and was happily pinning away, creating my own virtual moodboards. But the social networking aspect took over, and now it's only good manners to follow your Facebook friends' pins. Netiquette pressures threaten my once reclusive guilty pleasure. I no longer can pin just anything that catches my eye--I have to consider the fact that all my friends and acquaintances are going to see it. Case in point: regardless of your political affiliation, you have to feel sorry for Ann Romney who had pundits speculating about her (most likely innocuous) Anna Karenina pin on her Books Worth Reading board. Not that my pins contain any agenda or hidden messages. I just feel sorry for my followers who have to scroll through my pins of lavender, fall foliage, and cute animals...just like I have to scroll through my friends' pins of wedding dresses, baked goods, and kids' birthday party ideas.

On a separate but related note, I think it's creepy when an ad for a lavender conference pops up on Facebook immediately after I post a lavender pin. (Unfortunately, these invasive cross-marketing tactics work. I did click on the ad and register for the conference.) I can't help but suspect that Facebook not only snoops around my Pinterest boards, it also keeps track of my google searches. A few months ago, a relative had gout, and I looked it up on Wikipedia--exactly once. Now Facebook constantly suggests that I join gout support groups; the Facebook algorithm thinks that I'm a lavender-loving girl with gout.

Social networks, please don't judge a girl by her pins...or her google searches. They don't tell the whole story.

Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys

This past weekend I met up with my Six-Button Cowgirls to attend the National Western Stock Show in Denver. A highlight was the pro rodeo, which both fascinated and offended me. I don't like the idea of chasing, roping, and wrestling animals to the ground for sport. The team roping event was hard to watch, and I decided to head to the concessions during the tie down roping event. Those poor, poor cows! (While any entertainment at the expense of animals is sad, I have to admit that mutton busting is kind of funny: four-year-old kids (the human kind) clinging for dear life to sprinting sheep. I guess not all parents coddle their kids too much these days!)

The bareback bronc riding, saddle bronc riding, and bull riding was scary, but the cowboys' athleticism and courage (or perhaps foolishness) put my fear of riding into perspective. Thankfully, I don't ride a violently bucking 2000-lb. animal whose sole job is to throw me off. Even before getting tossed off, the cowboys take quite a beating to the back and neck. And after landing unceremoniously on the ground, the cowboys must avoid being trampled. Indeed, each cowboy's introduction is something like, "Next up: Ace Smith riding Death Warrant. Ace has suffered five concussions and had his spleen removed last year when he was stomped by a bucking bull." I'm not exaggerating; many of the cowboys have had multiple concussions and severe-sounding injuries. I sure feel sorry for those cowboys' mamas.

Common Ground and Common Sense

Saturday afternoon activities at Antlerstock included a discussion of heritage chicken breeds, a home wool processing workshop, and a horse skidding demonstration (using horses to move large logs). Around 5pm we adjourned for a couple hours and would reconvene later for a bonfire. I ventured into town--a blink-and-you'll-miss-it but quaint New England town, complete with the charming country church-and-steeple. Despite having only one coffee shop (which was closed for the day) and no other apparent restaurants, save for the one in the town's hotel, Main Street was home to a fabulous local bookstore. As I browsed the shelves designated for local authors, I was stunned to see that I owned many of the books. I guess authors living in Vermont really speak to me!

Finding not much else to do in town, I returned to the farm to help get ready for the bonfire. A pumpkin carving assembly line was in full swing--the Jack O'Lanterns lined the path to the bonfire. It was BYOHB--bring your own hay bale. We carried hay bales from the barn to the campsite, sat two to a bale around the crackling fire, and enjoyed ice cold local craft beer. Instruments were played, stories were shared. We eventually got rained out and fled to the cozy farmhouse for freshly-pressed cider, hot this time.

I called it a night around 10pm and drove back to my hotel in Manchester (another town with a fabulous local bookstore). I'm a nervous driver and the roads were narrow, winding, and dark. Heavy rain pelted the windshield. The speed limit was 55 but I was afraid to do more than 45. I wondered what I'd do if a car got behind me but, incredibly, not a single car followed me during the 40-minute drive!

Sunday was clear and crisp--a perfect autumn day. Back at Antlerstock I conquered my fear of botulism at the canning workshop! If nothing else the skills I acquired over the weekend will keep me from accidentally (1) burning down the house while soapmaking with lye, (2) poisoning the family with improperly canned vegetables, and (3) felling a tree onto the roof.

The weekend concluded with a field trip to the Common Sense Farm, an organic farm and commercial soap-making enterprise run by a somewhat controversial religious community. The folks have that Amish-look--stoic-looking men with beards and glasses, women and little girls in long dresses with kerchiefs around their heads, long-haired little boys with pony tails. I had some pre-conceived notion that they would be serious and quiet, but it turns out that--shocker--they are just regular people with a normal sense of humor. They didn't proselytize; they talked animatedly about farming, not religion. They were gracious hosts and served us delicious tea made from herbs from their 6-acre herb garden, sweetened with honey from their hives, on their rolling 100-acre farm. The family herbalist introduced us to the various herbs that she grows to address health issues in their community. (It was unclear whether they completely eschew western medicine--my impression was that they prefer natural cures but don't prohibit modern medical treatment.) We toured their immaculate barn to see their chickens, goats, and sheep.

We also toured their soap shop, which is in a beautifully converted barn. The lovely--and very modern--offices were formerly horse stalls. As the story goes, when their community decided to set up shop (literally) in this barn, Estee Lauder/Origins provided the financial backing. The relationship ended in 2001 after the Labor Department found a 15-year-old changing a lightbulb in the soap shop. Origins, although sympathetic, didn't want any controversy. While community living with a factional religious group isn't really my thing, I enjoyed this glimpse into their farming and soap business. I don't know enough about the group to judge whether their tenets are untenable. All is I know is that, despite vastly different backgrounds and beliefs, we found some common ground. Perhaps family farming is the great equalizer, several of us mused.

I had to depart for the airport after the field trip. Jenna, the amazing host of Antlerstock, refused to let me go without a small Mason jar of homemade chili "for the road." I said my goodbyes and might have shed a tear or two in the car as I thought of leaving this lush and pastoral paradise with wonderfully unpredictable weather to return to dry, dusty, monotonously sunny southern California.

What Do You Do at Antlerstock?

What goes on at Antlerstock? Well, the easier question to answer might be, "What doesn't go on at Antlerstock?" The first workshop on Saturday was woodlot management/lumberjacking. I had planned to attend the concurrent cheesemaking class, but I decided to step out my comfort zone and try something completely new. I'm so glad that I did! We started with some good old-fashioned competitive axe throwing. The axe was quite a bit heavier than I expected. After multiple throws, I still couldn't hit the target. The guys seemed to get the hang of it after just one throw. Our instructor hit the bullseye every time. We learned how to use an axe, bow saw, and chain saw. We learned about general safety, notching (replacing the 45-degree notch with a 90-degree notch, based on Swedish forestry methods, has reduced injuries by 30%), back cuts, and escape routes. We felled two large trees. Guess what? Lumberjacks wear chaps.

Next up was Chickens 101. We learned how to construct a brooder and care for chicks, pullets, hens, and roosters. I was fascinated by how easy it is to immobilize a squawking, flapping, frantic chicken: just hold her upside down and she'll fall into a zen-like trance immediately.

Lunch was social affair. I was still full from the quiche (farmstead eggs, broccoli, Vermont cheddar, and of course homemade crust) that was served before the first workshop, but I managed to scarf down the BBQ pork from Flying Pig Farm (the BBQ sauce was made from farmstead honey and maple syrup harvested by Antlerstock attendees), potato soup from Firecracker Farm, and a piece of homemade apple pie...okay, if I'm being honest, two pieces of apple pie! We shook apples from the trees into a sheet and dumped them into the cider press. I held my mug under the spout while someone else cranked away. About 15 of us sat in front of the cozy woodstove and chatted like old friends while others stayed outside and carved pumpkins. The weather was delightfully fall-like: a comfortable 60 degrees with occasional sprinkles.

After lunch I headed to the soapmaking workshop where I finally overcame my fear of lye. I've avoided lye by making glycerine soaps, but let's face it. Glycerine soaps are lame. The big kids make real soap from lye. We donned safety goggles and masks, and by the time the workshop was over, I felt confident that working with lye requires only basic safety precautions--you just avoid inhaling it or splashing it in your eyes.

Sheep 101 was a treat and reaffirmed my hopes and dreams of having sheep of my own very soon. They're gentle and a manageable size and have a calming effect. Unsurprisingly, bottle-raised lambs are extraordinarily affectionate as adults. Although most busy farmers feel some dismay when forced to bottle-feed a lamb who was rejected by its mother, I secretly wouldn't mind the time drain one bit. (And I just know that the Wrangler would let me bottle-feed the lamb in the house, although probably in the mud room.)

There's still loads more to tell, but I suppose that this has been enough for now. I'll write about the Saturday evening and Sunday activities tomorrow. Teaser: we took a field trip to a commune for the herbalism workshop.

Born To Pin

I'm always behind the times when it comes to technology or cyberspace. (Do people even use the word "cyberspace" anymore? See what I mean?) For this, I'm unapologetic. My average monthly cell phone usage rarely exceeds 20 minutes--long live the landline! We have one or maybe even two iPads now that I think of it, but it's/they're gathering dust somewhere in a closet. It takes me a couple minutes to send a one-line text and I NEED COMPLETE SILENCE while I do so. I'll never Twitter. And GPS? Seems sneaky. So you get the point. I really should have been born in the 19th century.

Accordingly, please excuse me if I'm a bit late to the game here, but one of the Six-Button Cowgirls just introduced me to Pinterest, and I'm officially hooked. If you're like me and not in the know, there was a good article in the San Francisco Chronicle today that will give you the gist. In short, Pinterest lets us create online idea boards and share our additions. It's a great way to get inspired or simply catalog your own thoughts. I'm so excited to step into the now! I can stop keeping the huge binders of ideas that I've been compiling since the '80s. Yes, the '80s. Binder No. 1, completed at the tender age of nine, is filled with tips from Teen magazine for decorating your locker and bedroom, as well as photos torn from Town & Country magazine depicting glamourous equestrians at their country homes. (I did indeed subscribe to the patrician Town & Country as a middle-class fourth grader living in a banal suburb in the Midwest.)

I'm also a big fan of mood boards, a staple from the Wrangler's ad agency days. He stills brings home black foam core boards for me. I tend to jump from one big idea to another, so to keep me on track, he'll help me find photos to make a mood board about a particular idea, e.g., farms. (I do realize that such pastime is popular with both (a) creative genius ad execs and (b) five-year-olds.) At any rate, I now can create these boards online with just the click of my mouse--no glue, scissors, or magazines required. I don't even have to upload photos. When I see something I like on the web, I just click a "pin" button.

Can't. Stop. Pinning.

Go Nuts

The Wrangler and I had to make a Big Box Store run to the 'burbs on Saturday to pick up various supplies, which got me feeling a little down. I love our farm and the small towns nearby, but I'm not too keen on some of the large surrounding cities: traffic, crowds, scrappy strip malls. I do realize that I'm starting to sound OLD. Perhaps tranquility, peace, and quiet age us faster than noise and chaos?!

Today the Wrangler and I got our country groove back by taking a scenic 15-minute drive down Old Castle Road to the Bates Nut Farm. The 100-acre ranch and general store is probably the closest you can come to something like my beloved Vermont Country Store here in Southern California. The drive was incredible. Winding roads lined with coniferous trees (reminiscent of my native Minnesota), with "peeks of peaks" in the distance. As much as I'd like to bemoan the dusty, dry ranches of northern San Diego county that are so unlike the lush green rolling hills I dream of, I'm struck by the beauty in this desert landscape.

The Bates Nut Farm has spacious--and dog-friendly--picnic areas under shady trees, and hospitable ducks, geese, sheep, llamas, and goats. The ostriches and miniature donkeys are, perhaps, of the grumpy sort, as they are kept a bit beyond reach. The pumpkin patch opens in late September, so I know where I'll be getting my pumpkins this year. But next year, I'll be getting them from my own patch.

Follow the Herd

This year at the Mountain Sky Ranch a few of us assisted with round-up. Actually, real cowboys don't use the term "round-up" anymore; they call it gathering. Four of us, including a wrangler, rode slowly into a pasture to locate unbranded calves and their moms in a herd of hundreds of cattle. The goal was to move each pair into a separate pasture for vaccinations and branding--without startling the herd. If the cattle are riled up, the entire herd runs to the far end of the pasture. When you ride slowly through the herd, the cattle don't mind you much.

Each cow and calf has a tag in its ear with a number, and the mom's number is the same as her calf's number. We had a list of five numbers to look for. For example, we had to find pair 331. We spotted calf 331 and then searched for its mom. The moms usually aren't too far away from their calves, but they're not always easy to find.

When the four of us sort of circled calf 331 on our horses, the other cattle moved away but the mom bawled for its calf. We allowed the calf to run to its mom, and then we rode in a wide circle around the pair to guide them into the other pasture. The moms always looked for a hole in our circle to escape through and sometimes made mad dashes for freedom. A bit of a scramble would ensue as we tried to cut them off. Other cows followed the action, and we clucked them away. When we had a mom and calf near the gate, the wrangler rode over to open the gate and the mom resigned to her fate. At that point, the cow willingly walked through with her calf in tow.

We identified, separated, and gathered five pairs; one pair at a time. About midway through, a soft rain fell but we paid no mind. It took us a little under two hours, but it seemed like 10 minutes.

Day Trip

The Ortega Highway

The Ortega Highway runs from San Juan Capistrano here in south OC and winds east through the Cleveland Mountains and several national forests and state parks. It descends into the Lake Elsinore valley in Riverside County, and then continues on into the Palm Springs area. The approximately 45-minute drive over the pass and down to the I-15 is gorgeous this time of year. Yesterday the Wrangler and I headed over to Temecula, which is about an hour and 15 minutes (without traffic) from Laguna Beach, and I enjoyed the ride despite getting a little queasy from the curves and twists. Our mission: to check out some sheep-friendly residential areas.

We did find a cute equestrian community just 10 minutes from Old Town Temecula. After touring a property, we couldn't resist a stop in Old Town to visit the Temecula Lavender Company, the charming retail store for a small lavender farm in Temecula wine country. I picked up some lavender soaps and lotions. Around the corner is the Temecula Valley Cheese Company. We were served a delicious aged cheddar from a woman who makes her own gouda and has a prominent "I love cheese" tattoo on her bicep, with which the Wrangler was fascinated.

"Is that permanent?" he asked our cheesemonger.

"Yep," was her gruff reply.

"Then I guess you are all in," he observed, with admiration.

And THAT ... was AMERICAN IDOL!

I'll admit that I've been an Idol fan since Season Two. I wouldn't say that I'm a huge fanatic, but I do watch it faithfully. Shows air twice (and sometimes three times) a week, from January through May, so it's a big time commitment...I hardly know what to do with myself in the off-season. After Simon left and J-Lo and Steven Tyler were brought aboard as judges for Season 10, I had decided to part ways with the show this year. But curiosity got the best of me, and I started watching the audition shows in January. And what do you know--I got hooked again. Hey, it's good, clean, family fun.

Last week I was thrilled to learn that I'd finally scored Idol tickets for tonight's results show. The Wrangler was considerably less enthusiastic about the idea of attending, but he focus group-tested the idea among some coworkers. The idea tested through the roof--everyone told him to go. And so we headed up to Hollywood this fine afternoon, dressed to impress (as we were instructed). We checked in around 2PM and were seated around 4:30PM. The show, which is aired live on the east coast and in the midwest, began at 5PM Pacific Time.

The studio looked just as I'd imagined, although it was much smaller than I expected. It was fun to see the judges, Seacrest, and the contestants in person. At the risk of sounding like a starstruck 'tween, I'll say it was simply a fabulous show! I just read a recap describing it as the most exciting results show EVER, and I must agree! We got our groove on during the surprise live performances by Stevie Wonder and Jennifer Hudson. (The Sugarland performance was pre-recorded; we all just sat and watched the video on monitors. It was a little weird.) We witnessed an elimination shocker, and we were stunned by the truly dramatic save by the judges.

After the show, we waited out the rush-hour traffic on the 405 with a stop for dinner in Little Ethiopia on Fairfax. We arrived home in time to re-live the glory by watching the recorded show (which airs at 8PM here), freezing the frame to point out our tiny, blurry faces in the nosebleed seats. Indeed, we are so blurry that I don't think this counts as our 15 minutes of fame.

Slide Down My Rain Barrel

The Wrangler and I learned how to build a rain barrel today at the Ecology Center, and we might be able to put it to use as early as Monday--there is rain in the forecast. Harvested rainwater is a great source of high-quality water for the garden. Here in Laguna Beach, it's an especially good means of reducing the storm water runoff that ends up in the ocean. As a general rule, a 1,000-square foot "catchment area" (i.e., your roof) yields 600 gallons of water per inch of rain. My rain barrel is a 55-gallon recycled food-grade plastic drum (with no harmful BHT), which I estimate will be filled after only an hour or so of moderate rain.

Constructing the rain barrel was extremely easy. It's just a matter of having the right tools. There are only four steps: drilling a hole in the lid, which will be positioned beneath the downspout of the rain gutter; using silicone caulking to attach a piece of screen under the hole (to keep out mosquitos and debris); inserting an overflow spout; and installing a spigot for the garden hose or watering can. The Ecology Center provides more detailed instructions on its website.

Getting Started

I'm making my way through the Sheep Home Study Course that I'd mentioned a couple weeks ago. It's part of the Pipestone Lamb and Wool Management Program started 39 years ago as a pilot program jointly funded by the National Sheep Industry Development Board and the Minnesota Department of Education. For approximately $170, I received a package of 14 lessons and quizzes. I could have opted for the online version of the course, but I'm an old-fashioned gal at times and prefer the hard copies. (No Kindle or Nook for this cowgirl).

The course is designed for commercial sheep producers. I know this because the first lesson, "Getting Started in the Sheep Business," suggests that I start with 40 to 50 head of three- or four-year-old ewes. Clearly, my instructors are envisioning an operation somewhat larger than my huge flock of two miniature lambs. Nonetheless, I'm getting a lot of out this course so far. I don't think it's possible to be over-prepared for shepherding.

Provisions

Last night we headed to the Bruery Provisions, a specialty beer, wine, cheese, and charcuterie tasting room in Old Town Orange. Provisions is the retail offshoot of The Bruery, a small craft brewery founded by Patrick Rue, the brother of our good friend Casey. Since its opening in 2008, the Bruery has racked up a ton of industry awards and flattering mentions in the New York Times, GQ, Esquire, Playboy, Forbes, Gourmet, and Draft.

Provisions is a charming and welcoming place, from the artful displays to the Rue brothers' beautiful woodwork and hand-crafted touches. Beer flights (samples of five different brews) range from $3 to $10. The top-notch cheese and meat plates took me back to DC and the posh politico hotspot conveniently located in my law firm's building. We young lawyers would drift in after work, feast on proscuitto and fancy cheese, and keep an eye out for Condi. The cheese and meat plates at Provisions, while just as discerning and delicious as those at my old happy hour hangout, are a fraction of the price.

It is truly inspiring to see someone take a passion and, with hard work and talent, turn it into a successful business that hasn't lost any of the original heart and soul. Cheers!

Sheep School

Sheep grazing at 3-Corner Field Farm, a stop on our Great Cheese Farm Tour last fall

When I learned of a spectacular sheep seminar in Minnesota, I couldn't help but think of all the songs and sayings about "going home." How wonderfully circle-of-life to find that a community college in my home state boasts one of the most well-known sheep management programs around. In addition to the four-day "sheep camp," Minnesota West Community and Technical College in Pipestone, MN, offers five online sheep management courses, sheep farm tours, a lambing short course and bus tour, and a 14-lesson home study course.

I'm debating whether to head to Pipestone this summer for sheep camp, which is described as "intense" and a combination of lectures, group discussion, and visits to two outstanding sheep operations. Sheep camp promises to help me define my vision and build a practical plan to achieve my goals. The only problem? It is held in July. I will have had my little lambs for just a month by then, and I suspect that I'll refuse to budge an inch from my babies. And so I'll mull this over for now. In the mean time, that 14-lesson home study course is sounding awfully fun.

Tidepool Tidings

Last weekend we walked down to the beach with our little nieces and checked out the tidepools, which are the pools of water left behind when the ocean waters recede at low tide. The pools are in the hollows of rocks or between rock piles, and in them we often see hermit crabs, snails, sea anemones, mussels, and sea urchins. Our tidepool guidebook puts sea creatures in six categories based on how easy it is to find the critters. While hermit crabs are in the first category (easy to find), octopuses and sea stars are in the sixth category (hardest to find). How lucky we were to find an enormous sea star. I'm not one for lounging on the beach or playing in the water, but I do love the tidepools.

Some Light Reading

A Rocky Mountain Christmas

We're home after our fourth consecutive Christmas in Denver. It wasn't a white Christmas this year, but the pets, nieces, and nephews provided plenty of holiday cheer. We timed our road trip perfectly. We had impeccable driving conditions, but a massive snow storm closed the major interstate roads on our route just one day after we arrived home.

While in the Denver area, we toured the Celestial Seasonings tea factory in beautiful Boulder. The tour, which includes a stop in the infamous peppermint room that makes your eyes water, is an olfactory (pun intended) treat for all, but it was especially interesting to me since I've replaced soda with tea as my beverage of choice. I stocked up on holiday teas--peppermint, gingerbread, chai, and even sugar cookie-flavored tea.

We also headed downtown to the aquarium, which has an impressive collection of species--sea horses, sharks, jellies, and even a tiger. I lobbied to conclude the visit with lunch in the aquarium restaurant but was shot down. Seems that the others felt weird about feasting on a platter of calamari just steps away from the giant octopus tank.

We took a little driving tour of some equestrian communities mixed in with cookie-cutter suburban subdivisions. I loved the tidy ranch homes with horses, goats, and chickens grazing peacefully in the yards, Pike's Peak looming in the distance, and a comforting Target, Borders Books, and stadium seating multiplex just five minutes away. (Because who am I kidding? I love suburbia just as much as I hate it.)

Upon our return home, I was thrilled to find that our gorgeous Noble Fir still is very much alive and kicking. There are no signs of dry needles, and the tree is drinking 1/2 a pitcher of water a day. At this rate, the tree may be around for Valentine's Day. I can't send a thriving tree off to the wood chipper.

Mind Your Own Beeswax

Today the Wrangler and I headed over to the Ecology Center in San Juan Capistrano for the beeswax candle-making class. The Ecology Center is in a bright, airy farmhouse built by Pony Express rider Joel Congdon in 1878. Five of us gathered in the pleasant farmhouse kitchen to learn how to melt and pour beeswax. Yes, it's as easy as it sounds. The beeswax from a local hive looks lovely and natural and smells like fresh, delicious honey. I couldn't help but feel ashamed of the unnatural and probably toxic sparkly and fake-scented candles I have around the house. Pouring votive and mason jar candles takes just seconds (and about an hour to dry), and dipping tapers is oddly therapeutic--like kneading bread. I can't believe I haven't been making my own candles. Well, that is going to change.

I remember my dad making candles by melting old candles in a coffee can. When I told him about the class tonight, he introduced me to another candle project--ice candles. Apparently, if you pour the wax over a cup of ice, it creates beautiful candles with lots of small holes.

The best thing about this activity is that if you somehow mess up or aren't happy with the candles, you can just re-melt the beeswax and try again.

Hay Fever

I made five trips to the barn between Friday night and Sunday afternoon. I had a riding lesson on Friday evening and then returned later with the Wrangler to decorate Francie's stall for the holiday stall decorating contest. I didn't win, but I had an interesting time trying to think of sturdy, all-weather decorations, affixing them to a stall door, and keeping them out of the reach of a very curious horse. It was a chilly 46 degrees at 9PM on Friday, and we could could see the horses' breath as they peeked out of their stalls. Each horse was strapped into a thick winter coat.

I had another riding lesson on Saturday morning and then headed back for the barn holiday party. (I brought my cake pops, which actually turned out!) We made one trip today for the stable's Holiday with Horses event. The barn hosted a small-to-tall breed introduction (from miniature horses and wild ponies to Arabians and Fresians) followed by an impressive jumping demonstration with Grand Prix-level jumps. In addition, the stable hosted a natural horsemanship presentation (where the rider guided her horse through an obstacle course with no bridle), a Western cutting demo (with a flag on a pulley system substituting for cattle), and a dressage performance. Someone brought her pygmy goats in elf costumes. Perhaps next year I will bring my sheep in snowman costumes!

Head of the Class

Now that I can sit comfortably and use my arm again, I'm back on the workshop circuit. This month and next I'm taking a series of Backyard Skills classes through the local Ecology Center. First up: a pine needle basket weaving class. Although I have to raise an eyebrow at the class description's proclamation that weaving with natural materials "awakens us to the intricate and inextricable web of life we are all woven into" and "opens our hearts to feel gratitude for the gifts of the earth" (uh...okay...), I do think it's cool that we'll be making something useful with locally harvested pine needles. Next up is a beeswax candle making class whose description simply mentions that beeswax candles burn clean and much longer than candles derived from petroleum. Nothing about the "intricate and inextricable web of life" here, thankfully.

"Hey, do you want to take a couple classes with me?" I asked the Wrangler.

"What kind of classes?" He sounded cautious. The poor man never knows what I might have up my sleeve, and he has learned the hard way. The yoga for dogs class comes to mind.

"A pine needle basket weaving class and a beeswax candle making class." I braced myself for a "no-thanks-go-with-a-girlfriend" type of response. I was pleasantly surprised when he promptly agreed.

"Sure. Sounds like the kind of classes I took in college."

Ah. I sometimes forget that my artist husband is open to a fairly wide range of creative experiences. Since he's game for so many things, we've done a fair amount of crafty-type activities together, like the watercolor tide pool class and the marine mammal sculpture class.

This here is one lucky cowgirl.

A Prerequisite Pursuit

Back in college, I was this close to choosing a geology major (because geology rocks, hee hee). The only thing that came between me and my mineralogy was the prerequisite physics course. As I recall, the required physics class began at some ungodly hour, like 7AM, several days a week, for two full semesters. Even then, I had the good sense to know that a 7AM commitment was utterly unrealistic for me. It probably was more like 8AM, but even so. And this, my friend, is why I decided to pursue a career that did not require early morning physics labs.

But here I am years later embarking on a delightful new hobby, English horseback riding, only to be faced with another dreaded prerequisite: yoga. Well, concurrent requisite is more accurate. And it's not exactly required. It's merely recommended for flexibility, balance, and core strength--traits possessed by good riders.

Eghh. Yoga? Really?

I know everyone does yoga these days (if they're not doing pilates), especially here in California. I just personally hate it. Call me old-school, but there's something about a room full of strangers exhaling hot breath all over the place, bending into unattractive positions, and flashing their bare feet with dirty soles. I can't even think about bikram yoga, which is done in a room that's heated to a minimum of 105 degrees. I'm not at all a germaphobe but...ewww. I looked into private yoga lessons, but they cost about as much as the riding lessons. The Wrangler is so not one of those stereotypical husbands that throws fits when the wife spends a little dough, but when I casually mentioned adding private yoga lessons to the mix, I did get a lecture of sorts on not wasting money. Apparently, smelly group lessons are the, as the Wrangler says, "non-stupid" option for someone who may be a wife, and who may live in Orange County, but who is not one of the Real Housewives of Orange County.

But I can't let my fear of group yoga stand in the way of good horsemanship. Yoga isn't a physics lab, and group lessons won't be that bad. They can't be that bad. I just hope they aren't at 7AM.