The Charm of Chickens



This is the last column I will write before heading south  to finally escape this winter’s horrendous snows and frigid temperatures.  I’ve picked a silly subject,, chickens, but it will be an easy one to write as I’m very familiar with these feathered friends.  My family had a flock of about 8 hens, and it was my job to fill the feeder, collect the eggs, put fresh hay in their nests and periodically clean up all the dropping from under their roost.

Each fall when the orchard just beyond the chicken coop began to drop its overripe plums and pears and apples, we would let the hens out to enjoy the feast.  One hen seemed to rule the roost, so to speak. She was very bossy, always chasing the others away from whatever fruit she found. I named her Greedy, painted her beak and toenails with nail polish and entered her in the West Hartford pet parade.  I think she won a prize as the most unusual pet, but I may be making that up.

When Hank and I moved to Locust Hill we bought six layers and discovered that if we gave them the shells from our once-a-year treat of a lobster dinner, a few days later we could enjoy an omelet deliciously flavored with lobster.  I’m not making that up. Those omelets were full of  the flavor of lobster.   Unfortunately when Hank’s doctor informed him that he had seriously high cholesterol and shouldn’t be eating eggs, we gave up on hens and started raising capons instead.

That fall the capons got fatter and fatter as Hank and I argued over who would pluck and gut them.  Neither of us minded chopping off their heads, but we both loathed these two smelly jobs.  One capon got so fat he became stuck in the small hole used to get in and out of the hen house.  Our friend Tibbie Robinson came to the  rescue, offering to do both jobs in return for two capons. These doctored roosters were truly ambrosial, but they were such a bone of contention in our marriage, we never got any more.

We did miss our feathered friends though, and a few years later, our friends the Taits, who hatch a dozen eggs for the local school each spring, offered to give us a handsome rooster.  I loved the idea of hearing a nice cock-a-doodle-doo every morning, but when I’d  picked out a colorful Banty rooster with fluffy feathers on his feet, Colin was so horrified that I wouldn’t take some wives for him that I gave in and took three ladies.

We named the rooster  Tarzan because his cock-a-doodle-doo sounded just like Johnny Weissmuller’s jungle call.  Sad to say, in less than a week raccoons had gotten all three females.  Tarzan, however, had apparently been smart enough to fly high up into a  pine tree.  We decided to rename him Celibate.  His escape from the raccoon s had taught him to always stay close to Eeyore, our donkey, and he lived for many years. 

No more columns until April as I am off to New Orleans with my three girls.  Let’s hope spring will have arrived by the time I get home and I can think about gardening again.

Snow and Sunflower Seeds

When I woke up at 5 am  one  morning  a week or so ago, the moon was as big and round as a soccer ball filling the world with a ghostly light.  A pristine white blanket covered  the entire world beyond my window as a swirl of snowflakes filled the sky. What a lot of snow!  

This is the sort of winter  we used to have every year, snow right up to the windowsills.  I loved all the snowstorms back then, but I don’t feel quite the same way now.  So much shoveling is hard on the back. Making a path so I can get to the barn to feed the sheep, another to get my cart full of firewood down to the house,  and one more to get to the guest house to water my camellia.

Did you ever stop to think what it would look like if all those dizzying flakes were colored instead of white? A soft pink might be pretty, but it might look sort of sticky like the spun sugar sold at the circus.  

Red snow?  What a frightening picture!  Just think if our winters were blanketed in such a fiery color.   I guess black snow would be even worse though.   We should all count our blessings that Mother Nature chose white.

I wasted quite a lot of time with such crazy thoughts,. Time to get up and feed the dogs and fill the bird feeder.  Since the bears discovered and destroyed all but one of my feeders,  the birds empty the one I still have just about every day. I hang a bag of suet  next to it, but  the only birds to bother with suet are the woodpeckers.  They hang upside-down with their tails bent and 
bobbing and pound away, impervious to headaches.

The hulls of sunflower seeds can be quite harmful to the soil and plants, especially pachysandra,  but the seeds themselves do no harm.  They find the soil just fine to start new seedlings in as the earth warms up in the spring.  As you might guess, that’s how this parsimonious old lady gets her new plants, They are unharmed by light frost. so I transplant them  in April to the north side of the vegetable garden.  My pole beans climb their sturdy stalks.  Both like soil that is sandy and slightly acid.

Most birds prefer the black oil  type of sunflower seeds, but if you want giant flowers you should plant the Russian type which can produce large heads, often as much as 26 inches across.  Whatever their size, the bright yellow blossoms will follow the sun with adoring eyes from dawn to dusk, the bees will buzz lazily from one to the next, and before you know it, intricate patterns of black and white seeds appear..

When the seeds begin go ripen, the  bluejays  arrive.  One can’t blame them, but catching a flock of screeching jays pigging out on my garden produce is a little annoying.  They’re so greedy, swallowing a dozen or more seeds at once, hull and all, sort of like eating a banana without peeling it.  It always used to infuriate me until I learned that a bluejay is a little like a cow – once he's gobbled his fill, he flies off to some quiet spot, regurgitates his seeds one at a time and opens them  to get the meat.

When your sunflowers are full of ripe seeds, you should cut them off their stems and hang them up from a beam in the garage so neither birds nor mice can get them. It also gives them good ventilation as they’re very susceptible to mildew.   Once dry the seeds can be bushed loose from the head.  I usually give this job to the birds by taking the whole head and setting it in a hanging flower basket  hooked over the limb of a tree. 

Avocados

Have you ever eaten an avocado straight off the tree?  A truly fresh avocado melts in your mouth like butter.  My experience of eating that ambrosial treat occurred when Hank and I were on a vacation in the Baha in 1978.  After we returned home I bought one at the local grocery store.  So disappointing! I thought it was not only tasteless but sort of slimy.

 Nowadays avocados  from  the  supermarket aren’t that bad, a bit like comparing a store-bought tomato to a sun-ripened one from the backyard garden.  A few years ago someone told me that avocados have more potassium than bananas which I don't like.  She also told me  that if you put an avocado in your flour bin for several days it would have a much better flavor, so I thought I’d try it. Unfortunately I rarely make a cake  or thicken my gravy with flour. I totally forgot about the avocado, and once I remember, it was a big soggy mess.

Waste not, want not, so I decided to take the nut and make myself a house plant.  Have you ever tried that?  I have a book titled “Dictionary for Gardeners” that has a good definition of an avocado plant.  “As a bonus in every avocado, nature includes a free houseplant – a large nut that if balanced over a glass of water on toothpicks until it develops root hairs, and when potted will eventually become an uninteresting two or three foot tall plant that will never bear fruit.” That perfect definition really tickled my funny bone. 

Last Saturday when I was still trying to come up with an appropriate subject for this column, the  Wall Street Journal arrived and provided me with the solution – a long article on  avocados.  I was so relieved that once I’d read the first paragraph and learned that  Americans eat more guacamole  on Super Bowl Sunday than at any other time, I stopped reading and began writing this column.  

A mistake. The article, a full page and a half, is all about  the total mayhem going on in  Michoacan, the only state in Mexico certified to export avocados to the U.S. A violent criminal gang called the Knights Templar has been allegedly using extortion, kidnapping, rape and homicide against the avocado growers in the area.  

Burned trailer trucks and packing houses,  forced fees of up to $150 million a year demanded, avocado plantations taken over -  murder and rape by this gang seemed unstoppable. I didn’t think my readers would need to hear about these many horrors, and apparently  the Knights Templar have now been brought under controlled in most parts of the state.  

Local vigilantes, heavily armed, and assisted by federal forces are finally taking control of much of the area..  Just possibly the price of avocados will stop rising.  I guess I should have known the WSJ would have far more information about war than gardening. 

Winter Chores

   Since the outside temperature is eight below zero this morning, January 23rd, and this is the only warm room in the house, I am composing this column, even though it's not due until February. I've just finished my morning's winter chores that I do every day, and wondering how many of you faithful readers have a similar routine.

Thank goodness I’m not hung up with all these jobs year round. My days do not start like this in spring, summer or fall, just in the wicked winter.  Nowadays it starts when Coco, my new beagle, who sleeps in her crate all night, begins to howl.  If I’m unlucky, it can start as early as 5:30, a forlorn but loud barking that I have never managed to ignore. Today I was lucky.  The howling didn’t begin until almost seven.

When released, she and Clover immediately race outside, no matter what the temperature, which gives me time to turn up the heat and get their breakfast ready. Since Coco is on a diet  (she arrived very overweight) she is always frantic to eat and gobbles up her kibble by the count of barely six. Clover takes much longer to eat her kibble, and stands pathetically aside if I don’t stop Coco from dashing over to eat it for her.

           

The next chore is to empty the wood stove’s ash tray, usually overflowing with the previous day’s ashes.  The tray is much too small so it must be done daily. Donning  my coat, boots, hat and mittens, I head out with the dogs to the front meadow with the tray, making sure the wind is in the right direction as I dibble out the ashes. 

Then it’s up to the sheep  barn to fill the manger with a broken-up hay bale for my flock of four.  Intrepid doesn't think much of hay and always blatts, begging for Graaaaaain!  In the days when we had pregnant ewes, we gave  them grain every day in the winter, but this frugal farmer thinks just a couple of big scoops a week is sufficient. 

Next chore is to fill the garden cart with a big load of firewood from the long shed. This job used to be sort of fun, piling the wood  tidily into the cart, but since John has split all the limbs of the dead walnut and  maple that were both cut down this fall, it is pure frustration.  There’s no stacking these awkward pieces of firewood.  But I’m not complaining.  How many sons-in-law would be happy to split that much wood on their day off?

Pushing the garden cart down to the house is still easy as the snow is pure fluff, but first I go over to  check out the guest house where some of the house plants I  recently wrote about live and thrive on the cool temperatures of a solar-heated building.  The first year after Hank died, I didn’t know enough to drain the water pipes so they all froze.  Now I bring up a gallon of water from the house to water the plants each week, but  today I  just wanted to check my camellia.  I guess it was too scared by today’s temperatures. It still hasn’t opened even one  of its fat buds. 

As I wheel my load of firewood down to the house, Coco and Clover race ahead,  waiting to get inside, and soon are both basking in the sunlight of the living room.  Lucky dogs!

 I, on the other hand, still have chores, the next one, bringing in the bird feeder to be refilled, This isn’t usually needed every day, but I only have one feeder, my other two destroyed by bears several years ago, and the freezing weather has  turned the birds into serious gluttons.  Besides dozens of titmice, chickadees and sparrows, I even  have two brave goldfinches fighting over the seeds.

OK, time to fill the wood box. Years ago Hank built a wood box on wheels that sits next to the wood stove, so if I push it to the front door and hook the door open with a coat hanger, filling the box is easy.  I  just try to forget how sloppy it looks with all those crazy-shaped logs.  Then I roll it back to its place by the wood stove and hopefully remember to replace the empty ash tray.

Before I remove coat, boots, hat and mittens, I fill the bird feeder and hang  it back up.  Then it is time to clean the glass of the wood stove’s window which is always black with soot. There’s no need to do this job, but aesthetically I find it worth the effort, and fortunately I have a wonderful glass cleaner called  Fireview made by Spray Nine that gets 90% of the window clean with ease. The rest  I scrape off with a razor blade.

Next chore is to get  a fire started, a job that took many failed attempts before I learned how to open the drafts, fill the stove with enough rumpled newspaper and a pile of kindling so the fire wouldn't fizzle and die. 

Once the fire is roaring and the room begins to get toasty, it's time for a cup of coffee and a relaxed reading of the rest of yesterday's Wall Street Journal.  

Have I bored you to tears?  This column was so easy to write, I hope you’ll forgive me.  Before the day is out I assume I will  get the camera and take a few pictures, and if necessary,shovel some snow   I hope your winter chores are less time-consuming than mine. 

Houseplants

It’s hard to think about gardening when the temperatures dip down to zero every other day, but I finally came up with a solution – Houseplants! I’m anything but an expert on this subject. Almost all of my houseplants are just common foliage plants. They sit in their pots for years without doing much of anything, but they add much needed greenery  to various corners of the house.

Foliage plants require much less care than houseplants that produce flowers. Most can survive with very little light.  Philodendrons are a perfect example. The ones  pictured above live in the upstairs bathroom, and only get sun from a small north-facing window.  They were given to me by daughter Tam in 1988 when she moved from NY to New Orleans and have never been repotted.  Think of that – 25 years!

What houseplants need is water.  A deep container that can be watered from below is best, as it easy to overwater from the top.  Smart gardeners choose a specific day of the week to check whether their plants should be watered.  

I tried that once, but I didn't last long. I managed to kill several of my ficus vines when they were young before  I realized they were as thirsty as alcoholics, needing a drink every day, especially when sitting in a sunny spot.  After all these funerals, Hank built a tall wooden box lined with rubber  he had left over from a roofing job for the next new seedling I'd bought. 

 If you’ve never grown Ficus Pumilla. you should try one as they’re quite easy to grow. Most little seedlings bought from a nursery will sometimes sit for several months without doing a thing, so don’t get discouraged.  These are the male branches, but eventually the females appear.  It turns out that male branches just sit around all day doing nothing, while the females climb the walls.  Hmmm.

A nice deep container works pretty well, but Hank’s second solution was even better.  He designed a planter to sit on top of the toilet tank.  It’s nothing but a bread tin with a hole in the bottom, so when the ficus roots get long enough to reach through the hole they have a continuous supply of water. This ficus has thrived for years, sending its vines all the way to the ceiling.  

 The big yellow pot pictured below holds just the right amount of water, only needing to be refreshed once a month. I had to have this room repainted after Hurricane Irene blew its roof off in August 2012.  The painters just yanked the ficus right off the wall, so I had to cut it back to almost nothing. Those vines are ones that have climbed up since then.

The container pictured below was one daughter Tam made when she was in first grade.  I found it so appealing that I tried using it as a container for  half a dozen different plants,  but it didn't hold much water. If I watered it too much, the funny-faced creature actually cried.  I tried a variety of plants in it, but none survived. I’m ashamed to admit that my final solution was to use plastic flowers!

My pride and joy is a white camellia that lives in the guest house, which is solar-heated and ideal for this cool loving plant.  It blooms each January,  but unfortunately right now its buds aren’t quite ready to open.  Luckily I had a photo of last year’s blooms to show you.  Everyone who sees this plant thinks it must be a gardenia, but they soon discover those handsome white flowers have no smell.

The reason I thought of writing about houseplants today was because I saw one blooming several weeks ago that I could not believe.  Have you ever seen a Christmas cactus like this?

My friend Angie owns this magnificent specimen  It was raised originally by Elisa Becket, and is probably even older than Angie. Isn't it amazing!  

As I've already admitted, I am not an expect on houseplants. I have half a dozen books on the subject in my library, and I read a few of them for the first time last week, and found most of their suggestions very obvious.  So, my apologies,  I'm afraid you learned more about containers for your plants than the care and feeding of them today.  

What a Vacation!

Ah, it was such a nice white Christmas here in New England,   I hope you all enjoyed it as much as my dogs and I did.  

Unfortunately we now must get through a month that is cold and  bleak,  its only  accomplishment the January thaw that gives us a tiny taste of spring.  Hank and I always tried to manage a vacation at this time of year - lying on a  warm sunny beach in the Caribbean instead of shoveling snow and starting the wood stove each morning. 

This January  I will be right here on Locust Hill where today's temperature is 11 below zero!  So I  thought  you might enjoy hearing about  a nice warm vacation Hank and I took many years ago, not in the Caribbean, but in South Africa! It was by far the most exciting vacation we ever took, but it was back in 1995 which may be a little risky as my memory for things that occurred more than 15 years ago will undoubtedly be limited. Fortunately  I have pages of photos to hopefully fill in the gaps.

Unlike taking a safari in hopes of seeing elephants, lions and other exotic jungle animals, we chose to rent a comfortable cabin in Kruger Park where it was guaranteed we'd see not just elephants and lions, but giraffes, impalas, wart hogs, ostriches – you name it -  by driving around the park in our car. 

Sad to say, I've just discovered this is no longer allowed. You ride everywhere in large tour buses. In fact from what I've just read on the Internet, I would hardly recognize Kruger Park at all. Nowadays the accommodations are very fancy  and so are the prices. 

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised about the tour buses, since two seconds after we entered the park we were confronted by a very large animal with marvelously curly horns who stood in our path aggressively stamping his hoof.  With our Field Guide to African Wildlife still in a suitcase, we had no idea what kind of beast this magnificent specimen was.

As I  got out of the car to retrieve the field guide, I heard a loud voice say “Please get back in your car!”  and whirled around to see a large uniformed man pointing at the sign I hadn’t seen. “NEVER GET OUT OF YOUR CAR.”  After much embarrassment and many apologies on my part, the ranger explained the dangers and kindly stood guard while I rummaged through the suitcases for the field  guide. He then found me a photo in the field guide of the Greater Kudu, who by then had disappeared.  We never saw another Kudu, but the field guide had a nice  picture.

By the time we’d signed in and found our cabin, we’d probably seen a dozen different animals -  herds of impalas and wildebeests,  zebras that danced across the road in what Hank called "their silly pajamas,"  and our first glimpse of a giraffe!  

Our cabin was very simple, one room with table, fridge, sink, two beds, plus a bathroom, and a porch with chairs and a grill for cooking.  We’d stopped at the store which offered a limited supply of food and bought a pound of hamburg and some fruit, so when we got the grill tooled up, Hank opened the hamburg.  As you can see, it turned out to be a package of sausages!

Despite a 14 hour plane ride to Johannesburg and the long drive to the park, we got up at dawn the next morning as we’d been given directions to a nearby watering hole where we could see a large variety of animals at the start of the day.  We sat in the car and gaped as one variety of exotic animal after another appeared.  

A group of six giraffes, my favorite of all the animals we saw,  were already clustered at the water’s edge.  Our parked car didn't disturb them at all, but they took turns between drinking and keeping guard for each other, as being down on your knees with your front legs spread wide (how giraffes manage to drink)  is a dangerous position to protect oneself from attack. It’s also hard on a giraffe’s blood pressure. 

Fortunately giraffes need very little water, only drinking every two or three days as the acacia leaves (their favorite food) contain plenty of moisture.  There were no young calves in this group.  When a calf is born it falls a good six feet to the ground, but is up and walking within just a few minutes. 

Besides these marvelously tall creatures, there were wildebeests, definitely the homeliest animals in the park, plus many zebras and other four-footed animals we couldn't identify, but no elephants, a big disappointment for Hank.  What topped off the morning was the sight of a mother hyena who arrived at the far side of the water hole with her seven cubs, unfortunately too far away for a good photo. but we had no trouble getting this unusual turtle we later learned was a leopard tortoise!

  

As we headed back to our cabin we passed a dozen termite nests that looked like tepees, put together with rocks and dry sticks. We never saw any termites, and eventually found out they were the insects who had constructed these weird houses. 

 Of course we saw dozens of  birds, but I'm afraid neither of us were bird experts.  The birds I enjoyed seeing most were the ostriches, grotesquely uncoordinated creatures, unable to fly properly, or even walk with any dignity,  but very amusing to watch.  We also saw two big black hornbills with bright red heads flapping their huge wings in an obvious fight over the female who complacently watched them from a safe distance. 

One day we saw a huge collection of birds' nests similar to those of an oriole. We finally spotted the bright yellow birds who were busy building the nests, one right-side up and the other upside-down. They made soft hissing noises as they worked. We later learned they were golden masked weavers, famous for their ability to construct such intricately woven nests.  

I think it wasn't until the third day that we finally  saw our first elephant, so enormous it took my breath away.  

Thank goodness we’d learned not to get out of the car, as this giant proceeded to stalk right into the road and stand directly in front of the car, flapping his enormous ears and trumpeting loudly.  He looked as if he would soon charge us and crash the windshield. 

When he finally finished trumpeting he reared up on his hind legs, gave one more angry bellow, and much to our relief, stalked back into the jungle.  The photo below is  not of Hank and me, just one I found on the Internet,  but it gives you an idea of what that experience was like! And the reason Kruger Park no longer lets its guests drive their own cars!

We saw plenty of elephants after that, once even a huge herd which included at least three babies all trying to keep up with their mothers.  We also saw monkeys every day, some brown, some black, some sleek, some furry.  It was always such fun to watch their acrobatics  that we forgot to take any pictures of them. 

The most beautiful animals we saw were the impalas, who usually travel in a flock.  They are incredibly graceful and delicate,  their brown coats  short and glossy with immaculate black markings on their faces, backsides,  just above their hooves and on the tips of their ears. Only the males have horns, handsomely curved.

The only way to see lions in tghe park was to take a tour bus in the early morning.  We shouldn't have bothered as what we saw was not even worth a photo - one lion sprawled out asleep in the middle of the road  and another one just standing there yawning.  Below is a photo I took of Cape buffalo taking an afternoon nap.  We also saw resting hippos and crocodiles in the river.

A pretty scary creature you wouldn’t care to meet on a dark night is the one we met on the road one afternoon, a wart hog.  Isn’t he something! He never moved a muscle, obviously wanting us to get a perfect photograph.

Tired of seeing all these exotic animals?  I certainly got tired  putting together this column, and was very sorry to learn about all the changes in Kruger Park. How lucky that we went 18 years ago!

Christmas Trees

Have you picked out your Christmas tree yet?  Last week I read an article about three new species of evergreens being raised in this country as Christmas trees,. Two are originally from the mountains around the Black Sea, the third from the mountains of  South Korea. All three are considered superior in their ability to last many weeks without losing their needles.

The Nordmann fir, Abies  nordmanniana, has strong branches, a statuesque shape and retains its needles for as long as a month.  The needles have silvery undersides that can create a “two-tone flash” when brushed.  The Turkish fir, Abies bornmeulleriana, is similar to the Nordmann in shape, but smaller, and has deep green needles. 

The Korean fir,  Abies Koreanna, has silky needles with  silver-white  undersides that can also create  the “flash,” as well as producing a nice lime fragrance.  The picture in the article made this species look pretty much like most Christmas trees, but when I went on the Internet I saw huge cones on all the Korean firs that hadn’t even been mentioned in the article.

Unfortunately not many Christmas tree outlets in New England stock any of these fancy new trees yet.  They are all pictured on the Internet, however. and can be ordered on line.  I assumed they'd all be pretty expensive, but actually found that the Korean Fir costs only $7.95 and could be shipped for free.  Alas, it turned out to be only 2 feet tall, root and all,  not exactly a great tree for Christmas.    Hopefully by next year we’ll start finding all these new species available here in the East.

As you might suspect,  our family has never had a store-bought Christmas tree., chopping down a variety of evergreens from our own woodland over the years.  Nowadays I walk around the sheep pasture each December and usually  find a nice baby cedar to be my Christmas tree. 

I've always decorated my tree with nothing but tiny lights and hand-crocheted stars my friend Edna Ford made for me many years ago, but when I got them out two days ago I found they'd gotten badly discolored.  I can bleach them, but since I'm headed to NYC this Christmas to be with Bridget and John and the boys, I think I'll just skip  having a tree  this Christmas. 

The most attractive Christmas tree  I’ve ever seen was created by my friend Henny Mead. The Meads' tree was always a live tree that could be planted come spring.  It was decorated with tiny white lights,  small bouquets of baby’s breath, and a dozen white feathered doves that looked so real you almost thought they'd fly away any minute.   

When I began asking friends about their tree decorations, I  was amazed at the infinite variety of ornaments they used,  but there was no variety about who did the trimming.  Husbands were allowed to string the Christmas lights, but that was all.  Just about every wife had experienced seeing their husband throw handfuls of tinsel at the tree.

 Besides the standard glass bulbs, tinsel and lights,  carved figures, strings of cranberries and popcorn, seashells, and heirloom ornaments were mentioned, but the most unusual decoration was  a labor of love by my Hungarian friend’s wife who always tied dozens and dozens of his favorite Hungarian candies on the tree which George continually snitched until the tree no longer had any decoration at all.

I get very nostalgic when I remember my grandparents' huge Christmas tree. It was always decorated with  real candles in beautiful leaded candle holders.  My cousins and I all loved this tradition because  every year the tree caught fire, causing lots of screaming and excitement and rushing around for buckets of water. The fire was always doused long before any real damage was done. It would be fun to continue that tradition, but I don’t know which cousin inherited the candle holders.

 Besides the standard glass bulbs, tinsel and lights,  carved figures, strings of cranberries and popcorn, seashells, and heirloom ornaments were mentioned, but the most unusual decoration was  a labor of love by my Hungarian friend’s wife who always tied dozens and dozens of his favorite Hungarian candies on the tree which George continually snitched until the tree no longer had any decoration at all.

My real favorite has always been the decorations on my grandparent’s huge Christmas tree,  real candles in beautiful leaded candle holders.  My cousins and I all loved this tradition because almost every year the tree caught fire, causing lots of screaming and excitement and rushing around for buckets of water. The fire was always doused long before any real damage was done. It would be fun to continue that tradition, but I don’t know which cousin inherited the candle holders.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah  or whatever you feel like celebrating.  Oh, and Happy New Year. My next column won't appear until 2014.