Missing Child in Northern New Hampshire

Law enforcement has asked that this photo be shared everywhere. Celina Cass, age 11, is missing from her home in West Stewartstown, New Hampshire. She was last seen on Monday, July 25, 2011, around 9:00 p.m. Celina is described as five feet, five inches tall, weighing about ninety-five pounds, with hazel eyes and waist-length brown hair. She was last seen wearing a pink shirt, a pink pullover, blue shorts, and shoes. If you have any information about her disappearance or whereabouts, please contact the New Hampshire State Police at 603-846-3333 immediately.

This kind of tragedy hits especially hard in small towns like ours, where everyone knows everyone, and neighbors still wave when they pass each other on the road. West Stewartstown isn’t a place where children just vanish—it’s quiet, close-knit, the sort of community where people still leave their doors unlocked and kids ride bikes down Main Street until the porch lights come on. That’s why Celina’s disappearance has shaken the entire North Country to its core.

Post Script: August 1, 2011 – After a massive search effort involving local law enforcement, state police from several states, Fish and Game officers, the FBI, Border Patrol, volunteers from across the region, and even the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the news we all dreaded came this morning. Divers discovered Celina’s body in the Connecticut River, just half a mile from her home.

There are no words big enough for this kind of heartbreak. A child is gone, and a family—and a community—has been forever changed. Please pray for comfort and strength for everyone touched by this unimaginable loss. And pray, too, that those responsible for this terrible act are brought swiftly to justice.

Tonight, hug your children a little tighter. For Celina, and for every parent whose heart now carries an empty space where laughter used to be.

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©2011 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm

My Birthday Bouquet

My birthday bouquet arrived today from my sweet hubby — and he even remembered that I love yellow flowers. There’s something about that color that feels like bottled sunshine: cheerful, hopeful, and impossible to look at without smiling. The mix of tulips, daisies, and roses is just perfect, and I may or may not have rearranged them three times already trying to decide which angle looks best on the kitchen table.

On the little note card, he wrote that he’s taking me to my favorite restaurant Saturday night. Yum! Just reading it made me grin. And before you wonder why he wrote it instead of telling me in person — it’s because he’s away for work, as usual. He’s gone Monday through Friday, out there keeping the wheels turning while I hold down the fort (and the goats, and the chickens). But knowing him, he probably stopped to pick out those flowers after a long day (or just made a phone call to the florist). That’s love right there — the quiet kind that shows up in details.

He retires at the end of this year, and I can’t wait. After all these years of phone calls, emails, and “goodnight” texts, we’ll finally be in the same place all week long. Of course, I’m realistic enough to know how that goes. We might end up one of those couples who text each other from opposite ends of the couch. But that’s fine with me — it’s still together.

For now, I’m just enjoying my beautiful bouquet and thinking how lucky I am to have someone who still remembers my favorite color after all these years. Love doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it just shows up on your doorstep — in a vase full of yellow flowers.

 

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©2011 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm

Flat Out Of Luck: Farm Life Doesn't Always Go According to Plans

Some days don’t just go sideways—they veer into a ditch, set up camp, and start roasting marshmallows.

It started like the perfect morning. Sunlight pouring through the windows. Birds doing their little Disney chorus thing. I actually thought to myself, “Well, isn’t this lovely? Today’s going to be a good day.”

Cue the record scratch.

I stepped outside and there it was—a tire that had clearly given up on life somewhere around 3 a.m. Not a slow leak. Not a subtle sag. This thing was flatter than roadkill on I-93. Aggressively horizontal. A crime scene in rubber.

It sat there like an air mattress the morning after camping—wrinkled, useless, and impossible to revive. No warning, no farewell hiss, not even a dramatic pop for flair. Just slumped over like, “I’ve been holding your sorry self together for too many years, lady, and I’m DONE. Figure it out.”

So, instead of my tidy little to-do list and that smug, get-stuff-done satisfaction, I got a pop quiz in “tire triage.” Which, for the record, involves kneeling in gravel while the wind tries to sandblast your face, balancing a jack that sounds like it’s been crying for help since 1998, and muttering words you wouldn’t say in front of your grandmother.

I haven’t crouched that long since I was elbow-deep in a goat birthing situation. And let me tell you—both experiences involve heavy breathing, regret, and the faint hope that someone will arrive to save you.

The jack was, of course, hiding. I finally found it buried under the back seat, keeping company with a fossilized French fry and what I’m 80% sure was once a map of Ohio. We’ve never been to Ohio, which means either the car’s been sneaking off without me or I’ve been storing roadside garbage for sport.

Anyway, I got the spare on. I survived. The tire. . . not so much.

The soundtrack to my morning? Picture muffled grumbling, the groan of a rusty jack, and the faint sound of my will to live rolling down the driveway.

But hey—I got the tire changed. I still made it through the day. Because sometimes life goes flat. . . and you fix it with grit, sarcasm, and just enough air to keep going.

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©2011 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm

Skunked: Livestock Guardian and Farm Dogs OK, But the Yard? Not So Much

In the grand scheme of things, the two things I'm thankful for this morning may seem trivial to the general populace. But you fellow homesteaders, as well as dog owners, will totally relate, I'm sure. 

The first thing I'm thankful for is dogs who convinced the skunk that was heading toward the meat chickens, to change direction. They further convinced the skunk that a late night chicken dinner wasn't in its best interest. This is not an open-all-night KFC drive-thru, or in this case, walk-thru. After all, that's why we have dogs - 2 Great Pyrenees livestock guardians, and 2 English Shepherds who provide backup as needed.

I can picture the whole episode - poor skunk is out for a late night stroll, meandering across the lower pasture, and smells chickens. Oh, yummy chickens. Live chickens. Juicy chickens. Young, tender, 4 week old chickens. And in it's vast experience it realizes that these chickens are concentrated in one area - a chicken pen! What luck. To have all those live, juicy, tender, young chickens in a cage, on the ground no less, just waiting for a beautiful skunk, such as itself, to pop open a corner of the chicken wire, slip inside, and have a captive audience so to speak. Then, out of nowhere these huge white beasts come crashing up to the fence, barking and snarling, bent on eating said skunk for their late night snack. And what's even worse, there are 2 rust colored beasts right behind them, obviously with the same vicious intentions. Now really, what's a poor defenseless skunk to do? These snarling, viscous beasts can, without a doubt, run faster than the skunk, are much larger, and definitely have bigger teeth. The poor skunk has no choice, turn and spray in the direction of said beasts. 

Which brings me to the second thing on my thankful list. A fence that kept the dogs away from the skunk while it was making that very wise decision to seek dinner elsewhere. The dogs obviously intercepted the skunk while it was still a suitable distance from the fence and weren't close enough to get sprayed. While my yard was very potent for a while, it was definitely preferable to having to bathe 4 dogs in tomato juice. You might say that the skunk got skunked!

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Farewell, Old Friend: A Heart-Dog's Passing

They say a “heart dog” is the one that changes everything — the one who fits so completely into your life that you can’t imagine it without them. For us, that was Indy.

Our old Weimaraner wasn’t just smart — he was brilliant. He knew at least two dozen commands and carried them out with military precision. He could open and close doors, put dishes in the sink, and even clean up his own toys. If I dropped something — keys, a glove, a pen — I’d just shine a laser light on it, and Indy would trot over, pick it up, and deliver it proudly. That trick alone saved me the day I dropped my keys under the porch. He was a dog who made himself useful — and he knew it.

But even the smartest dogs have their moments. Being a hunting breed, Indy was very interested in my chickens, who were safely fenced off — at least until one particularly reckless hen decided to fly over into the dog yard. Indy, seeing an opportunity to demonstrate his retrieving skills, gently (well… mostly gently) grabbed her, carried her through the dog door, and marched straight into Jim’s mom’s room to present his “gift.”

The only problem? His mouth wasn’t exactly soft. By the time he deposited her on the bed, the chicken had expired — much to his satisfaction and my mother-in-law’s horror. Indy stood there beaming with pride while she half laughed, half cried. He couldn’t understand why his fine hunting performance wasn’t being properly appreciated with honors.

That was Indy — loyal, brilliant, endlessly devoted, and unintentionally hilarious. The house feels emptier without him, but the memories — oh, they still fill every room.

Farewell, old friend. You left us better than you found us.

"Every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life, gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are." ~~Author Unknown~~

I've had a very busy life. Every since I was a pup I've had lots of work to do.

I've learned lots of lots of things to take care of my family.

There were children to keep warm.....

The whole yard to patrol.....

Friends to make......

Dinner to catch.....

Dinner to eat.....

Smiles to capture.....

Children to keep clean.

Under my watchful care children flourished, a family was kept safe, and a home was filled with my love.

Indy - (Gunmettle's Independence Day) 5/4/98-7/13/11.

You will be loved and remembered forever. Well done, faithful friend.

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©2011 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm