Things we did during easter PART TWO

In Hungary, male visitors at Easter are given decorated eggs and/or money/chocolate. As I promised, here's the description of Easter eggs - the way we do them:

You need:
fresh, intact eggs
the outer tough and dark leaves of 5-6 onions (may use the onions to make a French onion soup)
a medium sized pot
water
fresh leaves of plants gathered from the garden/forest/roadside - (smaller and more delicate leaves are better)
an old pantyhose, cut into 10*10 cm pieces
rubber bands
a small cup of water
a clean table
grease
serviettes
some detergent and a sponge to clean up the grease
fresh kitchen towels

Method of preparation as displayed by DH and my 8 yo daughter:
-
Step 1 (not pictured)
Put the onion leaves into the put with a sufficient amount of water and bring it to the boil.
-
Step 2.
Make fresh leaves and cup of water available.
Select a leaf and rinse it in the cup of water.
Hold an egg and place a leaf on the surface.
Add as many leaves as you wish, carefully holding the egg so as not to break it and not to let the leaves fall. Any 8-yo can do that trick.

-

Step 3.

Have a small piece of pantyhose ready.

Pull it tight with two hands. With your third hand, place the egg into the sack you've just created.

-

Step 4.

This is the most difficult part. Using a rubber band, wrap the pantyhose around the egg to make a package. Do not break the egg, nor let the leaves slip off.


-
Step 5.

Place the egg with the pantyhose on into the boiling water, which has been already given a nice color. Did I just say nice? You decide.

Let is boil for like 5 minutes.



-

Step 6.

Remove eggs from water. Remove pantyhose and rubber band from eggs. You are not supposed to break the shell. Let the eggs dry until all dampness disappears.

-

Step 7. Optional.

For a final touch, you may want to add some shine to the eggs. Dip your fingers into some grease and put a tiny(!) amount of it on the surface. Rub it gently over the shell with a help of a serviette.

-

Step 8.

Enjoy the endproduct, and gather whoa-s from visitors.

different perceptions

Last weekend, Ello has posted a videoclip she found funny.

Having read the comments, I think I was the only one who did not care much about it.

I know that people have a different sense of humor. Not everyone likes jokes about the dead for example, or jokes that include bad language.

But there's more to that - I think there are cultural differences, too.

To supply my theory, I have only one example. Which is not wuite supportive, but let's see.

Everytime my DH goes abroad and/or into a group of people, where politics is a debated issue, he discharges one of his favourite jokes (read above).

He found that all people living in any of the countries that had been occupied by the former soviet regime find it hilarious. They laugh, but it is also an ironic laugh. He also found that if the same joke is told to anyone outside said regions, no laughs depart the lips of the audience. Only a slight 'wow, that must be funny' is expected.

I let you read the joke.

Please tell me your reaction. Was it funny, sardonic, sad, perhaps? Or anything else that enters your mind.

****

The inhabitants of the forest are informed that the bear has created a 'death-list'. The death list contains names of animals and those who are listed will be personally killed (and eaten) by the bear itself.

The wolf is really scred, too. He decides to meet the bear in it's cave, asking about the list.

He enters the cave, calling out to the bear: Is there really a list of death, of great bear?

Oh yes growls the bear.

Am I on the list, my bear?

The same growl comes as a response.

Would I be killed, too?

The bear growls and catchtes the wolf in the same instant, garbs him and kills him instantly.

Another day, the fox becomes scared, too. He also desices to visit the bear.

Am I on your death list? the fox asks in a small voice.

Yes.

Will I be killed?

Yes, comes the quick answer and off the fox's head goes. The fox is eaten by the bear the same minute.

The other day the rabbit find himself wondering about his own fate. He decides to go up to the cave and ask the bear.

Am I on the list, bear?

Yes, comes the mighty roar.

Is it possible to remove my name from the list, bear?

Yes, answers the bear, and deletes 'Rabbit' from the list.

***

I have a family, so I am disabled PART2

Dear readers,
it seems that my words were unclear.

A very unfortunate situation indeed, for I have asked for some thoughts, co-operation and brainstorming. I think you were about to give it, but were hindered by my not-so-clear introduction.

Allow me to have a tabula rasa in this subject.

---

I volunteer at an organization (I recently quitted - another story). Each month this year members and volunteers organize a special evening. Each month is focused on one of the disabled group of people.

If you think of the circle of 'handicapped' people, please think about it in a broader sense. Those who have some serious physical disability (like having no sight for example) are clearly handicapped. The mentally challenged are also. Their place and potential in life is limited, right?

There are the homeless, the poor, the list is endless.

---

It seems to me that somehow, everyone is handicapped in some way. But I DO think it's another story. Well, I have to learn to keep my mouth shut.

---

Okay, here's the organization.

Each month.

A disabled group.

It's October.

The subject is 'family'.

---

Sometime in the spring, it was 'women/women with kids'.

Do you see how they fit into the category of handicapped?

I don't know about your circumstances, but in Hungary a woman gets less salary than a man in the same position in the very same firm.

Women are supposed to work PLUS do all the cooking AND housekeeping and be that lovey-dovey wife, while not being acknowledged for all those tremendeous efforts they usually do for the sake of the family.

---

Feminism put aside, October is about FAMILY.

I don't know about your circumstances, but in Hungary there's no such a thing as tax by families. We have things like a long maternity leave (for 1,5 YEARS after the baby is born the mother receives 75% of her last salary), a monthly childcare allowance paid by employers.

It may all sound nice, but money-wise that's just about it.

There are 3 of us who are doing this project.

We have the assumption that FAMILY as such is decaying.

---

I don't know about your circumstances, but apart from the XXth century, FAMILY in Hungary used to mean the co-living of generations. Children grew up hard working, yes, that is one side of the coin, BUT they were surrounded not only by their grandparents, but in most cases, by their grand-grandparents as well. Sometimes the very old had to work, too, but they were also there to tell stories, fables and ease any pain the young met.

---

Where are those (grand-) grandparents now?

Where is a normal family now?

---

And now, about the word ROOT - that stirred up my kind readers the most.

In the Hungarian language, root (gyökér) refers to

1.) the part of a plant that is within the ground. It is to supply the plant with nutrients and water, right?

2.) quite metaphorically, the very same word refer to one's family.

If you come to think about it was your parents (and grandparents) who have made you come to alive, and they did supply you with all the necessary elements to make you become of what you are now. I'm speaking, as I more often than not, BOTH in the physical, psychological and mental sense. I mean all the three aspects. If one's adopted, one got the body from his real parents, but all the rest must be coming from the adoptive parents, right?

Without a root, a plant dies.

And so do humans without a family.

Anyone disagreeing?

There.

---

Now, the word gyökér (root) has undergone a change in the past few decades.

From being a neutral word, it became a negative judgement about one's mental capacities. A synonim for being dumb, inarticulate, incoherent, unintelligent, ignorant. Thanks Thesaurus, I love you.

I remember when in highschool I was taught the word 'g-a-y'. It was just an ordinary word for me, nothing more. (Special punctuation is for search engines. Or rather, against them.)

Later on I was informed that it had other, very specific connotations attached to it.

Would I, in my right mind use the very same 3-letter word to describe someone who's happy?/animate?/colorful?/bright?

No way!

---

So the word gyökér (root), which used to have a nice feeling around it, for it referred to something nutritive, familiar (I'm playing with words here, people), desireable... Now people see the word as something negative.

I believe in the power of words.

Why else would I be writing this?

If we attach meanings to words, there'll be meaning within them.

---

If we think the very word 'root' is undesireable, then sooner or later we'll begin having the same ideas about the meaning BEHIND the pure combination of four letters. (root).

My hypothesis is that derogating the word 'root' means derogating the meaning behind it, too.

This event will NOT be a linguistic lecture for sure.

It is just an example.

We have started to consider our 'roots' as something negative.

I think this is a TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

---

I love this word: mistake.

For me it means that we mis-take. Choose something falsely.

(Did I mention I was conservative, btw? Perhaps, to mainstream liberalists like those in the leadership of that women's organization my ideas will mean nothing.)

I think that's enough.

Tell me to shoot myself.

Liver

At the beginning of July, I wrote about how I make our bread. It's not that I never buy bread in shops, but most of the time what we eat as bread, is what I make and bake in the regular oven. At present we do not have a home-made oven. But I think this sentence needs a 'yet' at the end.

At the end of that post I promised to write about what comes on top of the bread.

Here we go.

Liver spread. I've heard that some people find eating the inner parts of an animal disgusting. If you are one of those, skip this entry, but please inform me about the situation. I am not a fan of inmeats, but I like liver-spread. And since I don't trust those sold in shops, I prefer to make my own.

Ingredients:

- liver, fresh, sliced or chunked (I do this here with chicken, but I think swine liver works quite nicely as well)

- onion, finely chopped (about half the volume of liver)

- bacon, finely diced (about a quarter of the volume of the liver)

-salt (according to taste)

- some seasoning according to taste. (I suggest marjoram, oregano, basil, black pepper, chopped garlic, parsley leaves, a combination of these, or anything else you like.)

- water (depends on how thick you would like the spread to be)

- oil (not really much)

Preparation:

1. Sauté the bacon in oil. When almost all its fat comes out, add the onion.


2. Sauté the onion until translucent.

3. Add liver. Stir frequently until all the sides of the liver chunks are turned brown. Soon enough, the liver will release some water and you don't really have to worry about the spread being burnt, but eventually, you'll have to add some water to the mix.

4. When the whole thing turns brown, cook for about 20-25 minutes. Stir from time to time. Make sure not to burn it.

5. When it is ready, use a mixer and make a smooth creme.

6. Store in a fridge/deep-freezer. What you put in the fridge must be used within the next 2-3 days.

Writing Exercise - two entries and a question

Chris has another writing exercise. The word count limit is 250; with a theme inpiration being ' A rose is but a rose'.

Check her site and feel invited to write your own entry, too. Below are my two entries - hope you enjoy both.

*******************

I’ve just arrived at the park, when a man hailed and popped into the backseat. The car slightly creaked. The passenger was not heavy, but his movements were somewhat clumsy. The smell of aftershave advanced trough the air towards me. Looking into the mirror, I smiled and nodded at him.
To the National Stadium, please. – His voice was trembling.
The engine buzzed and we were soon heading West.
As it was a sunny afternoon, I had the sunshields turned down, but still I was squinting from the brightness that entered my cab.
Are you a football fan?
He startled and shied.
This afternoon’s expected to be a big final between the Devils and the Stars. Have you heard about that?
Actually, I am to meet someone there – he finally said.
That was when I noticed the white rose beside him.
Oh, ladies do like roses, don’t they?
With shaking hands, the man loosened his tie and said nothing.
Finally, the car pulled along. Hardly waiting for a stop, he gave me more than a usual tip and was opening the door and began making his way toward the building.
He was running for a few steps and then abruptly halted and slowed his pace. His fingers run through his hair.
This was when our eyes meet. The rose was still there on the backseat.
I got out of the car and handed it over to him.
Have a good afternoon and good luck!
He was barely 20.

************

The above photo goes off to Beth, who requested me posting a photo of ivy. Here you go, Beth.

************

A rose is but a rose #2

He was barely 20 and freshly rejected.
His hands were clutching to the thorns so tightly that little red rivulets have begun making their way towards his wrist down on the inside of his palm. He took no notice, though. His heart was bleeding, too.

I do not wish to see you anymore.
The way home seemed longer than usual. He took a detour towards the old bridge.
The water was troubled. Waves chased each other and the level was high.
Yellow leaves were blown into the stir – they danced on the surface and were drown in before a gasp of air, leaving soft bubbles a-floating.

I do not wish to see you anymore.
He took the rose and placed it on the railing. The wind began rolling it, too, but he positioned his fingers on the stem. The velvet petals were shaking in the cold.
Mist was creeping out from among the bushes.

I do not wish to see you anymore.
He took a petal, put his lips upon it and let it fall. It whirled and began descending. When it hit the bottom, the river took it peacefully. It was nowhere to be seen in the next second.

I do not wish to see you anymore.
Another petal. The veins run like little roads, drifting disorderly in an abandoned land. He took off all the petals and collected them into his left hand. He saw no directions and his mind was empty. He was simply following the rose.

*****************

Oh my, this was the first time I killed my protagonist. To think about it, I find it strange that I have been waiting so much to do so. I mean I wrote some material and this is the first death. Hmm.

YOUR TURN:

Question 1. How many of your characters have died, because you wanted them to die?

Question 2. Which of my entries did you like more? 'none' makes an eligible answer, too, but in that case, constructive support of such answer is definitely required.

Edible mushrooms

Jason posted a photo about a mushroom they usually gather in the forest and eat. We also have chicken mushroom in our forests, but that is really rare over here. The video says it is found on dead logs and occassionally on alive trees. I, on the contrary have never seen this species but on standing and alive trees.

Here are some photos of those mushrooms we collect over here.

Here's the first. Sorry for the quality. It's called Liver mushroom in Hungarian, and it's Latin is Fistulina hepatica. The English name, Beefsteak Fungus is also a good name for this species. It makes a very good stew. (I'm sorry to note but the photo on Wiki is just horrendous.)

This photo below was made in 2004, when we collected quite a range of wild mushrooms in the nearby forest. The largest one in the basket is a Macrolepiota procera, or a Deer's shank Mushroom in Hungarian, but I'm sure everyone knows the Parasol Mushroom. Also pictured are some white Button mushrooms, and some Lepiota leucothies, the Smooth Parasol aka Woman on Motorcycle (isn't it the funniest name ever to a mushroom?). The Hungarians simply call it Stubble Mushroom. These species are excellent in soups, stews, stir-fries and go well with sauteéd potatoes as well. In the years 2006 and 2007, we have found a wonderful species growing right in our garden. It is called Giant puffball in Hungarian and English. I make a finger's width slices of it, cover them in flour, beaten eggs and breadcrumbs and deep-fry it in oil. Yummm.

Other fairly frequent mushrooms we collect include the Gray Funnel (Hungarian), Clytocibe/Lepista nebularis (Latin), and the Blue Funnel/Wood Blewit/Lepista nuda, the Judas's Ears Fungus / Hirneola auricula Judae. I use the latter, crispy mushroom in soups. the other two are great in stir fries or basically, with any sort of meal.

Yup, that's all I could come up with for a new entry. Your ever misoriented friend, SzélsőFa.

clearing all up - or messing again?

In a post about my relationship to writing in English and the problems and joys it involves I had a sentence that left my careful readers unimpressed. Rightly so, for it was not written with the greatest care plus it was quite long. Funnily enough, the entry was about expressing one's ideas in a different language, about making one understood, about matching one's ideas with one's physical life.

The sentence:

Thinking shapes one's attitude towards life and when the net of thoughts just does not fit the net of actions one is to encounter on a daily basis one feels uneasy - at the very least.

Now, before I start handing out some explanation, let me kindly remind us all, that 1.) I am not a linguistic expert and 2.) it was a sentence in a context. If you have not read the original entry, I advise you to go back and read it (again).

Now, with a slightly dead-brain - oh my, I do have to allow myself to declare to be tired and out-of-my-bests, I do have to learn doing this, so...

The entry was about how writing English leads me to thinking English - I bet that is all clear for us... If you are to gather your thoughts and pour them into words, you ought to have them in the same language. Otherwise your thoghts get lost and/or tangled inbetween translation. I learned translation and I also learned that it never means putting the equivalents of the words (in the other language) into the same order as they were in the original language. Translators must feel the text as a whole, must get the whole idea behind the lines.

If one keeps thinking using one special language in one's head - that is ok. That is just about everyone does in the world. Not a big surprise. It's one's original language. Or so it must be, I suppose. Basically this is the same language one uses to communicate with the people around.

If one has a language in the head, but has to use another one for getting around in the outside of the head that must be a burden. Ideas in the head, feelings arosen within are all connected to a language, but when these must be shown to the outside world, translation has to step in. And there comes the uneasiness I referred to - for it is nice to be able to translate all those things, but wouldn't it be nicer to NOT HAVE to translate them at all?

Languages on the other hand, do have an influence on one's mind. It's a sort of an egg-hen problem - you know, the which was first type of problem. Some languages are see things and events of the world as a part of a big scheme, therefore their sentences are chiefly made up of coordinate clauses. Was it a bunch of people that had this vision that made up such a language or was it the language that formed the people?

Oh my, I feel like I'm getting lost in my sentences again...If anyone has followed me until this point, well, have my congratulations...

Some other languages (or bunch of people - see how I try to avoid mentioning words like 'nation') prefer order above all, for the system is more important, the relationship between thing is more important than the WHOLE scene in general. These languages are filled with sub-ordinate clauses for example. When the sentence clearly defines the role of one particle in relation to the other.

If you're still with me, have my sympathy....

Let's suppose one is coming from the big scheme language, with her mind set to thinking in generalities, with her mind seeking the role of a particle within the big scheme - let that be me, to be honest...

Take this someone into a world of subordinates and she'll find it hard at first, not that really hard at second and... She begins writing and thinking in this language, things are changing within her brain...yet she still lives in the same environment...where all the members of her family and all the friends she can get in real touch with are thinking the same 'old' way - at the same time she has entered into friendly relationships with people on the other language...

Okay, I'm lost.

I'd rather be cleaning up the hen house.

I'm glad to have you as friends.

And I might return with my ideas on the subject, but now... not now.

*headed for the chicken house - supplying animals with fresh hay* Is there anything better in the world then gathering hay and spreading it over the floor of the house?

Do you have to write anything and read anything and learn anything at all? When you can make animals happy and make yourself feel needed by such simple deeds?

Oh, my.

I'll be posting a reference to the state I've been recently - and the way I found some way out :)

by your help again, of course...

See? I can't, I just can not tear the two apart. But at the moment, it does not bother me.

Thanks for listening.

I guess this was just as much incomprehensible as the original sentence I started with.

Wasn't it?

Tell me - Have no mercy on me - be honest.

writing in English - to Beth

UPDATE:

since Blogger ate my precious photo, I decided to put music here instead. Music by Jane Siberry. Matches my current mood. How good is that, to find a music that suits you.

If I got it right, Beth, commenting on the piece of path revealed below, asked about the difficulties of producing such *pretty* fragments of writing in a language that is not someone's basic/mother one.

(Basically, I am overwhelmed by the encouragement and praise I get for the things I write. This one from Beth is no exception to that.)

Now, this question is a good one.

As you probably know, I started writing this blog in Hungarian, but when I noticed I had international visitors I decided to enable them to communicate with me by letting them know about me and my feelings. So, I had to switch to English.

Writing in English allows me to improve my knowledge of this second language. Sometimes I translate Hungarian prose or poetry by my own and some of my friends help me upgrade these translations.

When I was a teenager I wrote some *coughs* poetry in Hungarian. After due consideration, one might say that some of my English *poems* are better than those I wrote back some 15-20 years ago in my own language. Why? Another mistery. I realized pretty early that I don't measure up to the Hungarian poets I admire. That's when I stopped writing in Hungarian.

Blogging somehow developed into a combined writing. I decided to mirror my soul and spiritual path here. At present, 'Forest thoughts' is the place where I let my graphomaniac self freely out. I shared one of my *poems* just recently with a highschool girlfriend of mine and I remember the shame I felt when I confessed that I wrote these in another language. She said she did not mind it and liked that thing anyway :) She was kind to me I guess.

Writing in English involves thinking English and here come the difficulties.

For it results that at times it makes me feel detached, at other, schisophrenic, at some insignificant others still, a genius. These latter do not last very long, though - don't get me wrong, please :)))

And to answer my friend's question - it is easy, for it entertains, educates and inspires me. I love finding matching photos to mood-inspired writings and some of my writings were inspired by photos, too. Also, it is very hard because you can not always be sure about the meaning and what your selected words convey to the reader. Will s/he get the same impression? Will my range and pick of words and expressions mislead him/her? If I tailor my inner self to a language how will it affect my outer life, that is my life when not writing?

In fact I have come to a point where writing in English has started taking its tolls on me. And in not a good way. And that is sad. For I like writing. And writing in English, too.
For the past days I have been considering giving blogging up. Or giving up writing. Or giving up writing in English. Thinking shapes one's attitude towards life and when the net of thoughts just does not fit the net of actions one is to encounter on a daily basis one feels uneasy - at the very least.

Beth, was this answer satisfactory?

For those who are concerned, and for the time being, I decided NOT to give up either blogging, or writing. But I will have to work out the things for me.

for the weekend

I'm supplying your hunger with more chicky photos. Here, enjoy

At the top (beheaded): Inky, on the second row: Ball and Seed, and the second beheaded animal is Icecream. They just keep growing and starting to find their place and role in the big flock. They are about 4 weeks old now. Industrial chickens are slaughtered at week 6 for a juicy meat. Our ones simply do not reach that desired weight. Guess why. They never get anything besides green fodder, some bugs they dig out from the soil, water and seeds of course. The natural, almost organic management keeps them going at this pace. Let me tell you nothing about how that desired weight is gained, then. See them running in our back garden! Aren't they a herd?

They still keep following their mother... Note Inky, who's almost completely black and has a slender figure. We assume this to be a pullet and also that she genetically is a daughter of the hen. Also pictured in the photo are Cloud, Ball, Icecream, Caramel, Seed and Mouse.

But look here! There's a mismatch of colors. There is a cream fluff under a hardened brown surface! Yes, that is Snowflakes, baby to the late dear Snowball and his/her brooding mother, Eagle.

And I saved this for the last: A two old Turken delight. This coloration will turn barred later on.

Bye for now!

Eurovision 2007

UPDATE to MELLY

This is the song Ruzsa Magdolna sang at the Eurovision contest - with English subtitles. Go YouTube. Go Magdi!

And this is the Hungarian-speaking original clip. A well-done clip with a twist. Enjoy.

On request: love and love

This is a post I am quite late with. I promised working on it to Anniina but I'm sure it will please those of you out there also, who have an appetite for linguistics and hidden meaning of words.

Let's set up definitions love type1 and type2. Type1 is for a love that is between married couples and in general, between a man and a woman. Some more 'up-to-date' persons might add some other combinations to the list, but this is my blog. Type2 however is something one usually feels towards his/her children, God, friends, fellow beings - provided that said person has any of those.

In the Hungarian language there are two words for the feeling(s) that the English compounds as 'love'. These are nouns and I admit, that if we need the verb form, the verb is the same for both feelings.

The English says:

'I love you' - and upon circumstances and speakers the reader/listener decides whether it is love type1 or type2.

The Hungarian says:

'Szeretlek' - and the situation is the same, although the Hungarian, being an agglutinative language, needs only one word for what the English uses three. But that's not my point. Not now.

But behold, when it comes to nouns.

The English says:

'love' - and one decides whether the speaker/writer refers to type1 or type2. Is it a love between a man and his dog or his womanly partner? between friends or very good friends?

The Hungarian on the other hand, says:

'szerelem'- for type1

'szeretet' - for type2.

Most of our original words have their own roots and thus, one (who's not brainwashed enough) might dig into words in search of something treasured - and usually there is a find to excavate for.

You might have noticed that both of our nouns start with 'szer' and end up differently: 'etet' and 'elem'. Got that, right?

'szer' is a very difficult word to describe - even for most Hungarians it has lost its original meaning. We still have this root, though in words like 'szerszám' - meaning instrument, utensil, tool. In which the 'szám', means 'a piece of'. And also in 'szervez' - meaning 'to organize'. In which the 'vez' - might be a shortened form for 'leading/leader'.

I conclude 'szer' being a noun that refers to something that is not really physical, but essential. If you perform a ritual, you participate a 'szer'. Think of the English (though Latin-derived) ceremony. See the 'szer' at the beginning of the word?

'szer' is a ceremony, during which on can practice rites and his/her beliefs.

Now, let's get back to the back of the loves, type1 and2.

'elem' - (noun) means particle, component, piece of, factor, unit.

I conclude that this addition makes 'szerelem' (love, type1) something of a ritual that is part of a higher ceremony.

'etet' - (verb) means to feed, to supply one with food. (on a side note: 'itat' - (verb) means to supply one with water...pls note the t-t's in both verbs)

Following my logic towards the creation of Hungarian expressions, this turns 'szeretet' (love, type2) to a rite that nourishes. A sequence and package of events and feelings that leaves one fed and comforted. It is inevitable if one is to live and develop.

Your turn: can you name any other language, be it real or fictional, alive or long forgotten, where the same phenomenon exists? And if your native language is not English, please inform me/us about the word for love. And love.

I set my mind not to bother you with pronounciation, as that's not the main issue here. However, if you are interested in how to say aloud these Hungarian words, just go ahead and ask me.

on request: Ornamental fowls

Good Mr Schprock asked me about what ornamental fowls were. I am not a specialist - I am unsure if I wish I were....

We started keeping hens for the eggs and a rooster for the hens. I know that today eggs are produced in big factories and I assume most of the hens have never seen a rooster in their whole miserable life. If you have not YET watched The meatrix, I command thee to do so.

* * *

Welcome back.

Feeling any better?

The notion that 'our bodies are what we eat' is beyond question for me. It's not that I always eat organic, but I strive to eat healthy. But let's go back to the animals.

We started keeping old species for they are supposed to be sturdier and although they produce less (either in meat or in eggs), they are easier to keep.

For those who are a bit unfamiliar with hens, according to the terminology of meat industry, there are meat-type, laying-type, and double purpose varieties. And there are the old ones (the traditional species) and the ornamental types.

Here comes a brief history of our stock:

Our flock is quite mixed. We started with 4 Transylvanian Turkens (aka Naked Necked). 3 hens and a rooster. Since the neighbours complained for the noise, we had to give the 'old' rooster away. So, a Japanese pair joined us - a hen and a rooster. Later on, we bought 2 meat-type hens. Unfortunately, due to a repeated attack from a mart, three hens and two chicks died. And finally, we switched the Japanese roo for a nice Hungarian Barred one. With him, we also bought a nice black hen. And just recently, we have bought a Satsumadori hen. Now there are 5 hens and the Roo.

We keep them for the eggs and now (hush!) we are hoping for come hatching to come. It seems that our little Japanese hen has started brooding.

And now let's speak about ornamental animals.

They are kept and bred for their beauty. Usually their use is not that much important. The tendency is high in dog breeding, resulting in some awful, pardon me, beautiful and completely useless, pardon me, totally ridiculous breeds. Breeds that can not be born naturally, can not open their mouth and/or eyes without the surgeon's knife, breeds that are opt to various and sometimes serious diseases just because some lunatic breeder, pardon me, goal-oriented enthusiastic lover of animals has decided that health comes way after looks.

Back to poultry.

Ornamental fowl include, but not limited to pheasants and swans - if you think of very large, well designed and kept gardens. Acres of carefully managed green grass, bushes and trees for the ecosystem, spotted with these wonderful, really big birds... Oh, yes.

But for those who do not own a manor, there is the chance of keeping smaller beauties.

I'm sure the Internet is fully loaded with the pictures of them. I suggest reading Feathersite, where ornamental hens are listed alphabetically.

Here comes a selection of photos I found the most beautiful. All photos are from Feathersite.

The first two pictures depict Turkens - they are NOT ornamental, but the writer of this blog loves them: Buff coloured Turken chicken. Did you know the breed got its name for people thought they were crossed with Turkeys? The thing is that of course they are NOT. Bare-necked animals are much easier to pluck and they appear to have much fewer feathers in other areas of their bodies, too. The Turkens are fun to watch. Older hens resemble old ladies with a little cap on their wrinkled necks.

Below is a photo of a six-day-old black Turken chicken. The breed originates in Transylvania. We (our family) would like to keep more of these (at present we have only one white hen, called Lepke, Butterfly) - for it is a part of our national heritage. As they are local here in the Carpathian basin, they are accommodated to the special climatic and fodder conditions of the territory. Let's stay with Turkens, but move on to ornamental: Introducing the Frizzle Turken. Frizzle is a quality of feathers. It makes the plumage look like fur. A bit stupid idea, in my book, but they attract many by the visible softness of their outfit. This is a white chicken here. And now here's the Satsumadori, of which breed we also own a hen. We call her Sas (Eagle) -for her looks. This is a flock, with a rooster at 8 o'clock. The rest are hens - although the one at 3 o'clock might be a young cockerel...

Allright, now let's see what else I found appealing:

1.) The Brahmans, oh, well, those enourmous animals. These are HUGE. This is a hen - do I I have to add anything else?

2.) The Sebright - the 'chicken that looks like a dove'. This below is a Silver Sebright. They are pretty creatures with a petite frame. I don't trust them being able to push out an egg of 'legal size', though. They are nice to watch, but I doubt their usefulness. I'm sorry to all Sebright lovers out there...

3.) The Wyandotte - they seem to be a healthy medium, with an average sized body and shape. But the colors! My eyes! they are wonderful. The first is a Columbian - a special coloration.

This is a Golden Laced Wyandotte hen with chickens.

This here is called Silver Laced Wyandotte. A rooster.

And finally, a Brown Porcelain Wyandotte hen with chicks. I love how it resembles some wild animal.

on request..well not really, but I'm sure you'll like it

because you'll see some more photos of Hungarian caves.

The location is Tapolca, a small town living mainly on health and weekend tourism on the Northern side of Lake Balaton. As it is raining today here where I live, let me enthrall you with a photo made by someone on a rainy day at Lake Balaton. Credits go into thin air.

Enjoy the seemingly endless silvery surface and the pattern of coulds above. I wish I was there right now. Is it me, being so obsessed with what I see and imagine here in this picture or you find it just as much amazing, too?

So, the story of the Tapolca cave goes like this: A local man back in 1903 wanted to burrow a well in his property. Surprise, surprise, he found the cave! Let me introduce it to you - with the help of some internet-based material.

The Tapolca cave is about 4 kms long. Some 2,5 kms of it is open for visitors. But here's the twist in the plot, literally speaking :) Visitors go aboard boats! Here's some proof for your inpatient minds:

This is our family, my husband at the oars in a white tshirt, two boys behind (one of them being mine), and at the rear end, in a blue sweater it's me...with my daughter in my leap.

Now, back to some scientific and personal facts:
Although most tunnels are created by the hot water, there are dry parts as well. The wet part is accessible by boats, the fee is not very high. One boat takes 5-6 persons and then off you go into the wild - too bad that the journey does not last more than 25 minutes. You are on your own within and under the Earth - and the water is so mind-blowingly clear - you can see the bottom, which is like 4-5 metres away.... It is said that one species of fish (Phoxinus phoxinus L.) lives here in the cave, mind you, I have not seen any. But I was overwhelmed by the desire to take off my clothes and have a good swimming inside. I did not swim however... I was not alone...

So, the cave is famous for its special climatic conditions. With its relative humidity bordering 100%, and a relatively constant 14-16 degrees centigrade annual temperature the cave is suitable for curing asthma, allergy and other respiratory diseases. One of the braches of the cave has been used as a hospital since 1925. Below is a map of the tunnel system.

Above are other visitors.

The water comes partly from outside and partly from hot springs, which are located 300ms below the surface. This results in a reliably stable water temperature. Be it summer or winter, the water is 19 degrees centigrade.

The water system of the cave, at one part is connected to an 'outside' lake, called Lake Mill (Malom-tó). It's water is just as crystal clear and thus attracts visitors. Below are some duck over Malom-tó.

All photos, except the one that includes me, and that of Lake Balaton were made on 28-30 May, 2006 by me.