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A day off work is never really a day off

Today is a Pro-D Day, which means no school for the kids, no work for me. I fell asleep last night excited about sleeping-in (I don’t want to brag but I am an excellent sleeper), the kids were equally excited to sleep-in (I may have passed my excellent sleeping skills on to my daughter). Of course, you all know what happens on sleep-in days. I was awake bright and early. The horses were galloping around and their thundering hooves was as good of an alarm as any. They’re not small horses and the pasture is beside my bedroom, I could probably feel the pounding of their hooves before I heard it. The sound of running horses is always a reason to leap out of bed and check that the gates were still closed. Luckily they were only playing with each other! Galloping, biting, rearing, kicking, striking, being magnificent and 100% contained in their pasture. But I was now fully awake and ready to tackle a few of my morning farm chores.

The boys: Banjo, Guinness and Taurus.

I fed the boys their breakfast and headed over to my chicken “duplex”. I had my flock separated, 15 on one side and 22 on the other side, until last night when my son and I moved the “chicks” (they’re now 7 weeks old and need more space) into the smaller side of the duplex. I wanted to let the hens out into the run early now that there are so many hens on one side. I opened the door to the coop as I looked up into the nearby Elm tree and there perched at the top is our new friend from yesterday, a massive Bald Eagle.

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner.

Yes, he is magnificent. Yes, he is majestic. Yes, it is really, really cool that he is so close. Yes, I could watch him all day. And yes, he wants to eat my chickens. After a quick count of my flock, I am missing one of my beautiful new Bovans Brown pullets. Usually I count them every night but I forgot to last night, fingers crossed that she missed curfew and found somewhere else to sleep but Mr. Eagle is suspect #1.

My sweet Bovans Brown pullets.

I spent about 15 minutes in the run with my chooks, talking to them and counting them, watching Mr. Eagle. I managed to spook him out of the tree and watched him soar through the back field.

I hope, for my flock (and my cat’s) sake, that he finds a river full of delicious fish and never comes back.

I headed back into the house, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher and tuned off my 7:15 a.m. alarm.

Time to put on a pot of coffee, it’s going to be a long day.

Meg

Once a farm girl, always a farm girl.

Follow my farm adventures on Instagram @once_a_farm_girl

April 13, 2018
When your Productivity Impediment becomes your best gardening co-creator

There’s a Facebook meme that has caught my eye – moms asking their kids questions about the mom, gleaning a pint-sized reflection back at themselves. Of course, I wanted to try it and see if I could elicit wry, wise, candid or hilarious insights from my 4 year old. But he wouldn’t play along. He has inherited an aversion to anything overly contrived or calculated from his dad, so shut me down immediately.

“Hey, I have a question for you. What is one thing I say to you often?”

“I don’t want to answer your questions right now,” he advised.

So much for a little bit of insight on how I’m holding up on the job.

Then one day, while Grandpa was staying with us, Kidlet came home from town and announced: “I got you a surprise.”

Not for my birthday or any kind of occasion. Nothing that smacks of contrivance, or expectation. Just random and spontaneous.

Over the course of Grandpa’s 12 week stay, this happened four times.

The first, the surprise was a peppermint Ritter’s bar. I’d bought one earlier that winter, and put it in my pocket for skiing. I shared a square with him, and I guess that made an impression.

A few weeks later, he gave me a bottle of cherry red nail varnish. Way louder and more, um, red, than I would have chosen, if I were to ever choose to paint my nails. And yet, there it was, oozing wth genuine intention and sweetness. He painted both our feet the next day.

The next time that Grandpa was catering dinner, he offered that they had a special dessert. Callan had picked it. “It was all him,” shrugged Grandpa. Peppermint choc chip ice-cream. My favourite! My husband hates peppermint, so we never select this. Never. But once, when I took Callan to the gelato place in Squamish, two years ago, that’s what I got, and I shared with him. And he remembered, and told Grandpa that’s what he wanted to pick.

“That’s my very favourite flavour,” I told him, when it was pulled out of the freezer.

“It’s not mine,” he says. “It’s too sweet for me.”

At the very end of February, the last gift came. Just before Grandpa, his best co-conspirator, returned home and he was back to going shopping with people who did not indulge his whims and wants.

Callan walked in the front door, yelling, “Help me Mum! I’ve got full hands.”

And he offered me a bag. And inside the bag was a pack of jiffy pots, for starting seeds.

And I was gobsmacked.

Four years I’ve spent floundering in the garden, trying to push aside my desire for things to be neater, more orderly, more productive. Just breathing when he crawled around in the dirt, getting completely filthy. When he ate the soil. Just breathing when as a toddler, he pulled out all the little white stakes neatly labelled with what had been planted. Or when he carefully planted the seeds all in a pile on top of each other. When as a three year old, he ate my first precious strawberries before they had a chance to ripen and then spat them out, “not ready” (yeah, I could have told you that), or when he stomped through the middle of the garden and squished a few seedlings just as they were getting started. I would breathe and say to myself, this is a place for fun. This is not a place for stress. Let him have fun. Let him learn. Let the garden be chaotic and messy and full of squished plants and failures. And love. Most of all love.

And here he was, at the onset of spring, bringing me pots to get our seeds started in.

“Are you heartbroken?” he asked, at my sudden quiet.

“Well, heartbroken means you’re so sad that you’re heart breaks. I’m kind of the opposite. My heart is overflowing.”

“It’s the same thing,” he says.

“No babe, it really isn’t. My heart is very happy.”

All the time I’ve been wasting in the garden, letting him play and enjoy it and not worrying about whether it’s productive or not, has actually turned out to be quite productive after all.

I have a collaborator. A co-creator. A fellow grower. A little nurturer.

(He also, lest this seem like a portrait of a perfect life, is obsessed with weapons, taught the 4 year old neighbour her first curse-word – “fucker head” – was so silly at karate last night that the entire group was disrupted and I apologized to sempai three times, and is really yet to master the art of saying sorry. Works in progress we are. And yet…)

I couldn’t be more heart-full. And grateful. For what is growing out of the mess and chaos and cycling seasons of our life.

April 12, 2018
Food and Feelings: Spring Rolls

In July of 2012, I moved to Pemberton. I followed my heart from Vancouver to the magical town of Pemberton where my then-boyfriend (now-husband) lived. I fell in love with the town. How could you not? The only problem that I had when I moved to town was that I had no friends. I did meet a few people through Shayne but I quickly developed three new friendships: Amy, Pauline, and May.

I love Chinese food. One of the first places that Shayne took me in Pemberton was to Centennial Café and I had such a great experience. I also fell in love with the Centennial experience and the ladies there got to know me and my “regular order.”

Whenever I would go in to get takeout I felt immediately welcomed with open arms. Because I like to eat my feelings, when I was feeling sad I would order Chinese food. I mostly did this because I knew that when I went to pick it up I would be greeted with smiles and compliments from my three new friends.

A lot of us had our favourite things to order and I was a huge fan of the deep fried spicy tofu, ginger beef on chow main and spring rolls. In my opinion, those spring rolls were to die for. Sometimes I would go there just for an order of spring rolls. They were so good that there was a 100% chance that I would burn my mouth when eating them because I didn’t have the patience to let them cool down upon arriving at my table.

After being a regular for a few years I graduated to being greeted with a hug. It’s like I was ordering spring rolls with a side of hugs and I loved it.

I’m bummed out that they closed down. Aren’t you? I get it. It was time to retire/move on. The owners worked really hard and deserve to retire and I’m excited for them.

I went for two last meals there (the last-last one was for three spring rolls). After moving here, I would always joke that I had five friends in town and Amy, May and Pauline were three of them. Those ladies, those memories, and those spring rolls will always be a part of my Pemberton story.

April 10, 2018
Farm Series: A photo essay by Kevin Arnold

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Kevin Arnold is a commercial and fine art photographer based in Pemberton, who fits in a little farming on the side.

Follow him at https://www.instagram.com/kevinarnoldphoto/

April 7, 2018
How spring taught the farmer that she was meant to be a farmer, before she realized it herself.

Like most non-farmers, I used to assume that nothing really happens on a farm during the winter.

It took me around 5 years of working on one to realize that might not be true.

In my case, during the early years of adult farming, I was able to slide back into my city life with no farm obligations once markets ended and the crop was sold out in October. Mom and dad were doing whatever needed to be done. Feeding chickens? Reading about farming? No idea. I was off the payroll. November, December and January were excellent months to live in the city and have an inside job.

Spring in the city however, was depressing. It arrived early, starting with the first smell of dirt in February. While the farm itself was still safely covered in an un-farmable mixture of snow, mud and ice, each year my body felt the arrival of spring more strongly and it became more excruciating to have city obligations.

In March, the cherry blossoms, crocuses and daffodils lined my bike commute and I would arrive very distracted indeed. April came with the awareness that potato planting time was just around the corner and my work quality slipped even further. I quit, probably mere moments before I was fired, earlier and earlier every year.

I was unaware of the strength of spring. I wasn’t quite familiar enough with the process of farming to recognize how it was pulling my attention back to the farm.

Today, I get it. In fact, this very day I get it. And I got it powerfully one month ago, on March 1^st standing in the farm yard, surrounded by snow and mud, with the sun gaining the upper hand on the clouds, and its warmth on my cheeks that was strong enough to reach my bones.

For that day, I felt spring, and with it, the inexorable pull to get to work.

It’s still quite easily ignored, as the list of jobs that can reasonably be done given the muddy, snowy, rainy freezing and puddling conditions of March will be very short for weeks yet. Nonetheless, the process has begun, and I now get to enter the flow gradually. The key at this time of year is to do all the tasks available, as the snow recedes and the mud dries up. They are not many, but if they are not done, they will be added to an ever-growing list and before long, they will drop off the bottom of it. That’s exactly how we develop stress on a farm.

I understand this now; I didn’t then. That doesn’t mean the compulsion to get to work wasn’t upon me. It was there alright, and it made me really cranky. While most people I knew in the city greeted spring with buoyant cheer, I became depressed, and couldn’t wait to get out.

By year four, with the February sun streaming in through the office windows, I knew I was not going to make it much longer. At that time, I was pretending to be an Administrative Assistant in the head office of the big natural food store in town. I sat at the front desk fielding phone calls and health care plan administrative details. It wasn’t absolutely terrible: I got to organize all kinds of things and had worked on a few interesting projects for my boss- the friend who always had to almost fire me.

Although still not able to articulate the effect of spring on my psyche, I was certainly no stranger to it by then, and I noted the arrival of spring with weary resignation. Instead of doing the work I was paid to be doing, I found myself planning another bike trip. By March I was well into it, in Australia, having a wonderful time. Bike touring noted as a very effective distraction.

The city charade was abandoned in year 5. I still needed something to do in January, however, so I babysat my uncle’s cattle ranch while he took a holiday. There was certainly no issue with spring depression symptom triggering because it was minus 40 most of the time. I learned a thing or two about isolation up there.

That February at the farm was glorious. Sunny every day, tiny little jobs to do here and there, and the freedom to move gently into the farming season. I still didn’t know very much about what I was doing, but at least I was doing something. And that’s half the battle.

April 2, 2018
Telling the Bees of the Legend of Lisa

I asked Pemberton’s bee-keeping community if there was anyone interested in contributing their know-how and passion to Traced Elements. Jennie Helmer put her hand up, and offers this first post, of bee-keeper wisdom, in dedication to Lisa Korthals.

This community has lost one of the most-loved, revered, and all-around rad women this grateful town has ever seen. Pemberton will not soon forget the beauty, grace and strength that was Lisa Korthals.

When I heard the unimaginable news of her death, I sat in stunned silence. Thinking of all the broken-hearts aching in our town. I imagined Lisa’s beautiful smile and her effortless love of all things related to family, friends, wheels and skis.

Eventually I went to sit with my honey bees, to tell them the story of Lisa’s life and death.

I sat on the old wooden fence beside the bees. I built this fence to wrap around their hives. It was designed to give them flying space while I sip tea and watch them zip in and out of their little hive-homes. At times, I’m able to mark the changing days by the various shades of yellow pollen stuffed gently into their legs. In the early Spring the pollen is a brilliant, neon yellow, later it turns a dusky orange.

Today it is an intense burst of yellow, as I sit and tell the bees of Lisa.

The “telling of the bees” is an old-world tradition, where bees are informed of important moments in their keepers’ lives. In Celtic myth, bees were regarded as having great wisdom and acted as messengers between worlds, able to travel to the Otherworld bringing back messages from the gods.

I told the bees the tale of the warrior woman who has died in the unforgiving and indiscriminating arms of the mountains. I told the bees of Lisa’s family, of her phenomenal soul-mate Johnny with his gentle smile, his bravery and unimaginable strength. I told the bees of her son Tye who embodies Lisa’s spirit, who is a kind soul and an amazing ski racer, and who is building into his own legend at such a young age. And of lovely Chris, Lisa’s brother whose spirit she kept alive with stories and photos.

I told the bees of her daring ascents, her tenacious descents, and the beautiful places she’d been in this world. I told the bees of the other female ski guides in the area whose souls were crushed on this day, whose worlds would never be the same again. A remarkably close group of strong women, they are the queens of an industry where female ski guides are revered, iconic and so undeniably safe in every choice they make in the mountains. This should not have happened to one of them.

I shared with the bees that the hearts and minds of our community are devastated and tattered and torn. I asked that the bees find these hearts, and gently give them strength to keep breathing and moving and smiling; and then I asked that if they could find Lisa, could they let Lisa know that we will hold sacred her memory, that her family will be loved and cared for and that she will never be forgotten. If they could also stay a bit longer by her side, I asked, could they tell her that we’ll see her in the mountains, on the trails, and everywhere in-between.

As I told the bees, they told me: be still, be strong, be comforted, be kind, be love in this life, live like the Legend that is Lisa.

April 1, 2018
Why Everyone Should Have Backyard Chickens
With Easter here, I thought it fitting to talk about the true supplier of eggs. Bunnies get all the credit this time of year, but we all know we have chickens to thank for the ever so versatile egg. Although they may not be filled with chocolate there is not much that beats a fresh scramble with eggs that were laid that morning.

6 years ago we made the decision to invest in chickens. Specifically, laying hens as opposed to meat birds or roosters. We were renting a house up the Meadows where we were cultivating 1/4 acre plot of land as a veggie garden. On the property was an empty chicken coop that hadn’t been used since our landlord kept a few birds many years before. It was a little rundown and being used as storage but we emptied it out and fixed it up. We have since then moved to Reid Road and were fortunate enough to be able take our chickens with us.

To be honest I didn’t have the greatest memories of chickens. I remember getting chased around the yard by an angry hen and being pecked at by mean-looking rooster. Maybe we lucked out, maybe it’s the breed or maybe there is something to be said for raising your day old chicks but we have some of the friendliest birds. They LOVE to be petted, picked up and they are not afraid of people, dogs or cats. We let them roam free for most of the day and then when the sun starts to set, they retreat back into their coop and we lock them up for evening. I thought there would be a lot more chasing and wrangling involved but they seem to know where their home is and enjoy staying there (that or they know where their food is!)

Roaming freely around the yard.

It was a bit of a life adjustment and took a bit of getting use to caring for birds – cleaning the coop, collecting eggs every day, filling feed and ensuring clean water – but the benefits quickly outweighed the work. In six years of owning chickens, I think I’ve only purchased eggs from elsewhere once. We usually have eggs to spare and either sell them or share with friends and family.

Olive deciding wether or not to share. Petey the dog and Dr Gre the cat coming to check out what’s happening

Here is my list of benefits to keeping laying hens:
- They compost for you! I keep a scraps bowl in my fridge and every morning bring it to the birds. Carrot peels, the tomatoes I forgot about and are now stinking up the fruit bowl, the stale bread that’s about to mould, aside from a few items the chickens will gladly eat it all. (We do not feed our chickens any dairy or meat products. There is also a list of fruits and veggies to avoid feeding your chickens such as citrus, grapes and mangoes)
- They are incredibly entertaining. Have you ever watched a chicken run? It’s like peaking into the Jurassic age. And if you have children, chickens are a fantastic source of entertainment. Have you ever tried to catch a chicken that does not want to be caught? Well, kids will try for hours!
- Not only will you waste less food (feeding your birds scraps) but the grocery stores will also waste less food. Did you know that at the Pemberton Valley Supermarket you can pick a banana box of the grocery store’s unsellable fruits and veggies? For $2 you can pick up a chicken box filled with an assortment of items that are perhaps a little too ripe or bruised but the chickens aren’t picky, in fact they are thrilled to see that box coming their way.
- You know exactly where your food comes from. You know the living conditions of these birds and you know exactly how long the eggs have been sitting on your fridge shelf. This was a huge one for me. There are companies that advertise “free range” or “free run” by giving their birds an additional amount of space and a minimum amount of time spent outside but at the end of the day we just can’t really know how these birds spend their existence. (Of course, in Pemberton we are so fortunate to get access to eggs from trusted farmers, so I am speaking more to what is available at the grocery store.)
- There is something so rewarding in caring for a creature. There are many reasons we keep pets, it has been shown that cuddling a pet can reduce stress, loneliness and anxiety. Chickens are no exception! Plus if you’re not interested in having indoor pets, chickens are a great alternative!
- Chickens help keep the bug and slug population under control. If you do keep a home garden chickens can play an amazing role as a natural insecticide.
- EGGS! Oh yeah! When was the last time your dog left you a tasty treat? Chickens are fabulous, you feed them, they feed you!
An example of the contents of a chicken box from the Pemberton Valley Grocery Store

When is comes to the coop there are so many amazing and innovative plans available online but here are a few essential features that every chicken coop should include:
- Waterproof roof
- A secure structure with a raised floor. Ensuring there are no holes that a mouse could fit through
- Ventilation grills
- Window(s) for ventilation and natural light
- Nesting boxes
- A roost of sorts
- Lockable door
- Fenced run using either chicken wire or galvanized wire
- Heat lamp
- Waterer
- Food dispenser
- Electric fence (optional but recommended)
There are a few different options when choosing which laying hens to get and where to get them from. We are very lucky in Pemberton. Through the Animal Barn you can place an order for “ready to lay hens” meaning these chickens have been sexed and then the hens raised until a week or two before they are ready to lay.

Another option is to get “day old chicks”. There are a couple hatcheries in the Vancouver area that offer both sexed or unsexed day old chicks and you can expect your hens to start laying around 6 months.

The last option and my least favoured is to purchase day old chicks and have them sent through the mail. I won’t go into any detail on this one.

We opted for day old chicks and we drove down to the Little Red Hen Hatchery in Abbotsford and picked up ten of the cutest little “Easter Egger” chicks. Easter Eggers are a breed of hen also sometimes called Americanas and they lay pastel coloured eggs sometimes blue, green, white and pink.

Since then, we have purchased ready to lay hens through the Animal Barn and adopted a few stragglers around town that needed a home. We’ve grown our brood to 20 hens, each one adding its own personality to the dynamic. It was 6 years ago that we invested in laying hens and I can’t imagine my life without these feathery friends!
March 29, 2018
New puppy = new cake recipe!
I think I mentioned in my first post that I have a love of baking. I don’t get to bake very often though as that would mean eating it all afterwards, but for visits with friends or special occasions I can make an exception. Well, those two things just happened to collide this past weekend.

You see, this week my husband and I drove up to Fort St. John, and back, to collect our new puppy. And yes, before you ask, we do both believe in #adoptdontshop but the breed we love is not regularly found at a shelter and we did research our breeder and were satisfied that they were not a puppy farm. Besides, he is a cutie.

And so, for this occasion, it seemed appropriate to bake a cake to take round our friends house while introducing them all to the new puppy. Plus I wanted another excuse to try my Bundt tin!

I had saved several Bundt cake recipes on Pinterest but this One-Bowl Chocolate Buttermilk Bundt Cake seemed like just the right thing and looked very appetizing in the pictures. I hoped my version would look, and taste, as good.
Ingredients
Cake

3 cups all purpose flour

2 cups sugar

2/3 cup cocoa

1/2 tsp salt

1 tbsp baking soda

2 large eggs

1 1/4 cup low fat buttermilk (or standard will do)

1 cup vegetable oil

1 cup boiling hot water

1 tbsp vanilla
Glaze

1 cup sugar

1/3 cup cocoa

1 tbsp cornstarch (I used 2 tbsp to make the glaze a bit thicker)

1 cup boiling hot water

1 tsp vanilla extract

¼ cup butter
Directions
Cake

Preheat your oven to 350F.

Thoroughly grease a bundt pan and then sift cocoa powder over and set aside.

Add all cake ingredients to a large bowl and mix until well blended using a hand mixer.

Bake for an hour (check at 50 mins) or until the cake springs back when touched lightly with a finger.

Remove from oven and let cool completely before frosting.
Glaze

In a medium saucepan, whisk together the sugar, cocoa, cornstarch and hot water.

Cook, stirring often over a medium heat until thickened slightly.

Remove from the heat and add the vanilla and butter, and stir until the butter melts.

Set your cake over a rack with something to catch all the drips and then pour the frosting over the cake.

Let the frosting set a little before adding sprinkles.

Let set for at least an hour before eating and enjoying.

I was very happy with the results. It took minutes to put together and everyone really seemed to enjoy it, even going back for seconds (which is good as it meant less to take back home with me). Oh, and everyone loved the puppy too!
March 28, 2018
Discover Chef David Wolfman’s award-winning cookbook for CookBook Club April 26

Save the date for 26 April’s Cook Book Club. We’re exploring Chef David Wolfman‘s award-winning new book, “Cooking with the Wolfman.”

Dubbed the “Godfather of Indigenous Cuisine”, Chef Wolfman is a classically trained Chef, Culinary Arts Professor at George Brown College and the executive producer and host of the 17 year strong television show (on APTN), Cooking with the Wolfman. Born in Toronto, Wolfman thinks of his mother’s territory in Xaxlip, just north of Lillooet, as “home” – he does homage to her, and indigenous cultures of the Americas, with this cook-book – a how-to, recipe book and collection of stories, all rolled into one.

Check out the copy on display at Stay Wild Natural Health.

There are some game options, fish options, and plenty of baked treats to try out.

Chef Wolfman says that if you are a fan of eating local, or eating sustainable, eating “indigenous” will be right up your alley.

“I always say local, sustainabie and indigenous is synonymous with each other. The direction I see us moving into – heirloom tomatoes, churning our own butters, making our own stocks, growing our own herbs, using all of the herb, using everything, so we’re not actually wasting food – it’s like we’re going back to what one elder told me are ‘the old ways’ – making sure we don’t take more from the earth and that we’re conscious of the earth.”

But whatever your food philosophy, or buzz words, or preferred cuisine, Wolfman’s belief aligns perfectly with what Cook Book Club is all about:

“The end goal is that we sit together and eat together and tell stories and love the company. That is all.”

So, make a plate, bring a date.

Cook Book Club is a PLUS ONE event, so if you’ve prepared a dish to share, bring a friend with you. Maybe you even want to prep your dish together, or share the cost of ingredients…

New for April’s Cook Book Club, we’ve adopted Signal Hill Elementary’s School Lunch Program as our charity of choice, and will have a donation dish at Cook Book Club for whatever cash-or-coin contribution you’d like to make.

March 27, 2018
Nidhi Raina’s Kushari Crowd Pleaser

Kushari is a vegan Egyptian dish originally made in the 19th century. Influenced by Indian cuisine such as khichdi (lentils and rice) and Italian macaroni, kushari was sold on food carts, and evolved to a restaurant staple. It’s honest worker–food and is still served in roadside stalls and restaurants all over Egypt. This is Nidha Raina’s version.

Ingredients:

2 large yellow onions sliced

1 cup brown lentils

1 cup brown rice

1 tsp ground cumin

1/2 cup olive oil

6 small cloves garlic

1 tsp roasted cumin

1 tsp salt

1/2 tsp cayenne

2 Tbsp vinegar

1 cup tomato 🍅 sauce

1 medium chopped tomato

Mint 🍃 to garnish

Method:

1. Cook lentils in water with half tsp of salt.. Simmer till it’s tender on medium low heat.

2. Cook the brown rice in two cups of water and a pinch of salt on medium heat till all the water is absorbed.

3. Crisp fry the sliced onions in 1-2 tbsp oil in a 🍳 and set aside when done.

4. Prepare sauce in a saucepan on medium low heat. Heat 2-3 tbsp oil and add garlic, cumin, salt and cayenne followed by vinegar. Add the tomato 🍅 sauce and cook on low heat for ten minutes. Add 1/4 cup water 💦 to thin the sauce if needed.

5. To serve, place the rice on a small platter. Top with lentils and garnish with onions, freshly chopped 🍅 and fresh mint. Serve the sauce warm on the side.

Serves 2-4 small portions

This recipe is even better as a leftover. To add more levels chop kale, spinach, or sliced mushrooms and enjoy it next day! This recipe originated in Egypt 🇪🇬 and I find versions of this in both east and west!

March 26, 2018