Hurricane Isabel and the Ladybug Tree

It was thirteen years ago today - no electric, no school, and faced with the cleanup from Hurricane Isabel, the strongest, costliest and deadliest storm of the 2003 Atlantic hurricane season. My daughters were 7 years old; we had a dog, but no goats. This was the wreckage of our sweetgum tree, heavily damaged by gusting winds from what had been a vicious Category 5 storm that wrought devastation all along the eastern United States.

Affecting 60 million people, Isabel caused 3.6 billion dollars in damage, the cancellation of 1500 flights, and massive flooding that left some areas without power for nearly a month. Fifty-one people died. Looking back, our family got off easy - we had electricity back a day later, and this was the worst of the damage. Yet all these years later, I still think about Isabel every September. The sweetgum tree survived, but we lost our ladybugs forever.

Fast forward to today, when the leaves from this tree are my goats' most favorite "self-serve" snack. They troll beneath its shady canopy, devouring each crunchy leaf that falls while carefully avoiding any oak leaves in the mix. And I tell them the story...

For about a decade after we moved here, we were fascinated each autumn by the arrival of thousands, maybe millions of ladybugs who annually blanketed the tree's entire trunk from the ground up. Each year the tiny creatures stayed maybe a week, just being there, then they were gone. With little knowledge about migratory patterns, we wondered - where had they come from, where were they going, was it the same ladybugs year after year who rested on this particular tree? Just like the start of school and the relief of cooler weather, the arrival of the ladybugs was an anticipated family event every fall.

Until Isabel. Expected around the time of the storm, the ladybugs never came. Not that year, not the next, not any year since. (Yes, I still check...) Casualties of the storm, or maybe, hopefully, just blown off course? Do they now frequent another tree miles, or states away? Perhaps in another yard, on another sweetgum tree, two little girls skip to the bus stop each morning and stop to greet the ladybugs.

Eat up, goats. Enjoy each succulent leaf. I may prefer a chocolate milkshake, but I do believe there is something special about the sweetgum tree.

Anti-sleep conspiracy?

Speaking of cats - well, we weren't, but I'll get to that...(and goats too)

Several nights ago the phone rang at 1:30 am - groggy and panicked I grabbed the cordless while my husband ran for the hall phone. A pleasant male voice greeted us.

"Uh, is Maggie there?" (Name changed to protect the innocent, or my daughter away at college)

"What?? No, who is this?"

"Well, we're working on a group project together, and I had a question..."

"THIS IS HER FATHER - " (Angry Darth Vader voice, lecturing her mortified classmate who somehow thought he had her cell number) And really, who calls at that time for any reason, even though it turns out she was at that moment awake and baking scones with her roommate...

Last month we were awakened by a pounding on the door at 3:30 am, greeted by a uniformed police officer holding a small yapping terrier. He had found this collarless dog wandering the street, and spying our fenced yard, thought it might be ours. Really?? At this hour?? And would we need six-foot fencing for a dog little bigger than my cat?? My husband noted later that we should be glad the officer asked, and didn't just drop the dog in the fencing. Look, Emerson, we got a new toy! Except, my goats are terrified of our pet cats...a dog in their habitat might transform them into fainting goats!

Fast forward to last night, again mid-sleep, when I suddenly woke to an awareness of something small and furry, with claws, creeping across my stomach. Shrieking, I leapt from the bed and flipped on the lights, only to realize (once I could breathe again) that the midnight creature on me was in fact merely my cat stretching out his back leg across my body. (In retrospect, I am probably safe from nocturnal rodents with a feline who sleeps nestled against me!)

Sorry, goats - no walk today. Mommy really needs a nap!!

Melon Madness

As sweltering summer months meander into crisp fall days, the goats thrive on more moderate weather. They love to cruise the yard and fill their bellies on crunchy fall leaves; they adore the hunt for forlorn rotted tomatoes and brussel sprouts in the abandoned garden. They appreciate more frequent walks now that their mommy doesn't seclude herself in air-conditioned comfort, and they call out to every passing school bus full of noisy children.

Good riddance, steamy summer - but we sure will miss the watermelon!

This year I convinced my husband to cut back on our usual overwhelming volume of labor-intensive, unappealing crops such as hot peppers, cabbage and green beans by the bushels. Instead, we expanded the area for melons (less weeding needed, and no effort picking for me because I apparently do not possess the innate skill to "thunk" a melon and determine prime ripeness. No complaints from me, since whoever picks also has to haul them up the hill, so I meekly acknowledge my deficiency in fruit-selection and avoid that section...)

Cantaloupe and honey-dew graced our breakfast table all summer, but it was the watermelon which truly thrived in the new system. By early August my husband was expertly picking three or four each day, and one sunny Sunday he heaved an entire wheelbarrow of ripe beauties up the hill. We shared dozens with family and friends, but the most appreciative recipients were always Em and Ellie, who eagerly slurped up the pulp and the juice before gnawing most of the rind. Red, yellow, large or small, those goats never turned down a juicy melon and spent most evenings with the sticky mess dried on their sloppy faces.

Oh Ellie, this is soooo yummy! It's such a good life, being a goat. Also, I'm planning to finish your half while you're distracted by that big yellow bus!