So we have all these projects, and while we're asleep the projects get together, make crazy love and produce baby projects that grow up fast and become full-blown projects in no time.
Have I mentioned that I want a pony? Oh yes. Like a spoiled child, I want a pony, and my DH is humoring me. But first, we want to rearrange the dogs. Chase is doing great inside, but she really needs a safe place to run for extended periods of time. She can't be with the big dogs because she beats up on poor Brian, so that means the big dogs need somewhere separate to run.
Genius idea: the big dogs can roam the backyard and veggie garden and keep the deer out. So, step one, create a new goat pasture because the goats are running out of blackberries to eat (yay!) and step two, run a long fence along the road, then step 3 connect the long fence to the new pasture. Voila! The big dogs will have at least a half an acre of run, and no deer eating my roses or tomato plants anymore. Also, the raccoons won't have anywhere close to the chickens where they can take shelter. This is full of all good things.
When the big dogs are contained, I can start work on a new goat shelter, as the buck should really be separated from the does and besides, there might be a time when I want to separate the pony from the goats, and so they'll need separate shelters. Since we'll be building anyway, might as well throw on a new coop on one side and a potting shed on the back.
Then, I suspect I'll have to set up a bit more fence so that the pony has access to the ornamental parts of the garden but not the veggie garden, because I suspect the pony will find zucchini delicious. I also have to go over a list of plants potentially toxic to ponies and make sure that the pony doesn't have access to areas of the ornamental garden where I have toxic plants that I can't relocate.
I would have finished the fence along the road by now, but I had to reinforce the deck first for safety reasons, and I've got writing and design work to do.
Nothing to do around here but eat bon bons all day and daydream about ponies ....
Showing posts with label farm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label farm. Show all posts
Sunday, September 04, 2016
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Happy Birthday Skipper & Lovee
Sometimes big things come in small packages. Today I helped deliver Skipper, a little boy goat, black and white and full of cute, and Lovee, golden and full of adorable. It was about as nerve-wracking as you can imagine, with a young first-time mom, my first time attending a goat birthing, and with a cold draft shooting up through the barn door into the barn.
But, so much went right! First off, triple blessings: we went to check on the goats before going shopping and saw she was starting to deliver, it wasn't raining, and I had everything ready. Sweet!
When Skipper seemed stuck, with just his two feet showing, I massaged a tiny bit and he slipped right out.
Lovee had no problems being delivered.
Momma Ginger appears to be very healthy and happy.
No kids were rejected.
Although Skipper needed a little help warming up, nursing, and standing, once he got going he got stronger pretty quickly. I worried that we might lose him.
There are still concerns. Ginger has stepped on Skipper a number of times and doesn't seem to be careful about where she lays down. We're not sure how the rest of the herd is going to react to the newcomers (they're all locked out of the barn right now.) The last time we had the barn shut up, Ginger pushed her way out. I've reinforced the door, and she doesn't seem inclined to go anywhere, but if she does that again and the babies try to follow, they will be crushed.
We've had a racoon nosing around. It could kill the baby goats.
So, there are worries, but I think they're pretty traditional worries. Part of farm life is understanding that things don't always go well, and sometimes they go pretty horrifically. There's pain, sorrow, loss, grief and regret. Plenty to go around for everyone. But, we had a really good day today so far. In about twenty minutes we'll go check the goats again. Who knows what we'll find? With luck, two healthy baby goats and a content mother bedded down for the night, safe and sound.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Goat Drama
There's terror in the hills!
Okay, maybe not, but there's definitely nervousness, and anticipation.
One of our baby girl goats appears to be pregnant. Scandalous. I believe she was close enough to having 'made weight' if I count back the months that it should be safe, but we certainly didn't intend for or plan this. She's heavy in the body, but not wide, just ... low. And her udder is filling up. We've had cloud pregnancies before, so there's always a chance of that. But I have a feeling that it was just a matter of chemistry. Two young goats, falling in love, and despite massive disapproval and obstacles (two layers of fence between them) they somehow had at least one clandestine meeting and will be ecstatically happy parents. Maybe.
I'm really glad they had their BoSe boosters way back in a timely manner, and that I wormed them way back in a timely manner with a wormer that's safe for pregnant goats, and so forth.
At least the weather has been gorgeous. I don't have a lot of worries about finding a frozen baby goat in the field. That hasn't stopped me for keeping a close ear out for unusual bleats in the night. So far it's always been Thurston, our young buck, who I hear making odd noises when I go out. He's quite the vocal young boy. But one of these days ....
I hope that, assuming she's actually carrying a baby goat or three, that it will be an easy birth, and that we'll have a healthy kid. Or two. Or three. Because her mother and grandmother both often had triplets. Yikes!
Okay, maybe not, but there's definitely nervousness, and anticipation.
One of our baby girl goats appears to be pregnant. Scandalous. I believe she was close enough to having 'made weight' if I count back the months that it should be safe, but we certainly didn't intend for or plan this. She's heavy in the body, but not wide, just ... low. And her udder is filling up. We've had cloud pregnancies before, so there's always a chance of that. But I have a feeling that it was just a matter of chemistry. Two young goats, falling in love, and despite massive disapproval and obstacles (two layers of fence between them) they somehow had at least one clandestine meeting and will be ecstatically happy parents. Maybe.
I'm really glad they had their BoSe boosters way back in a timely manner, and that I wormed them way back in a timely manner with a wormer that's safe for pregnant goats, and so forth.
At least the weather has been gorgeous. I don't have a lot of worries about finding a frozen baby goat in the field. That hasn't stopped me for keeping a close ear out for unusual bleats in the night. So far it's always been Thurston, our young buck, who I hear making odd noises when I go out. He's quite the vocal young boy. But one of these days ....
I hope that, assuming she's actually carrying a baby goat or three, that it will be an easy birth, and that we'll have a healthy kid. Or two. Or three. Because her mother and grandmother both often had triplets. Yikes!
Monday, January 12, 2015
Goatie Poopie Dog
Today my DH and I spent most of the daylight hours working on the farm. How much did we get done? Oh, about 1 percent. Maybe. Hopefully.
The big project was getting gravel on the main paths that my DH uses to feed the animals every day. He has an unstable knee that won't see surgery until late spring, so traction is crucial or he'll tear what's left of the support system. He turned Brian and Finn, the Great Pyr puppies, loose in the upper pasture so that the goats would be on their best behavior. Then we got a load of gravel and went to work. He loaded up the wheelbarrow and ran it up and down the hill, while I cleared out the accumulated manure and old, slimy, moldy alfalfa that had turned into a disgusting slip-n-slide near the gate where we fed the boys alfalfa on the way to the shed where they got their grain. I slung pitchfork-fuls of this fragrant slop over the fence into a pile, to be delivered to the veggie garden later.
Meanwhile, Chase, the border collie mix, ran along outside the fenceline, following Rory up and down the hill and occasionally making a run at the fence in a lame attempt to scare the goats into running. At some point we stopped paying attention to her until Rory let out an oath of disgust. "Chase, no!!"
I looked over and guess who was playing in the pile of ick? Guess who had rolled in it thoroughly and now was covered in partially dry goat poop, mole hole dirt, and whose fur was stained green from rolling in rotted, piss-soaked alfalfa? Well, I can tell you this. It was not me.
Chase was so gross, so filthy that Rory didn't want to let her trot through the house to the bathroom, so he picked her up at the door and carried her straight to the tub.
Her white fur is now once again white, and her black fur doesn't look suspiciously olive-toned. Clean dog. She got a lot of exercise today, watching us work, so she's curled up in an adorable ball on the sofa. The way she's acting, she worked harder than any of us. And maybe she has.
We've had some beautiful days, with lots of opportunity to work outside. I hope Mother Nature keeps them coming. There's plenty more out there to do. Next time, though, I think I'll stage a second wheelbarrow outside the the fence right next to the goat shed to avoid future, ah, breaks to play.
The big project was getting gravel on the main paths that my DH uses to feed the animals every day. He has an unstable knee that won't see surgery until late spring, so traction is crucial or he'll tear what's left of the support system. He turned Brian and Finn, the Great Pyr puppies, loose in the upper pasture so that the goats would be on their best behavior. Then we got a load of gravel and went to work. He loaded up the wheelbarrow and ran it up and down the hill, while I cleared out the accumulated manure and old, slimy, moldy alfalfa that had turned into a disgusting slip-n-slide near the gate where we fed the boys alfalfa on the way to the shed where they got their grain. I slung pitchfork-fuls of this fragrant slop over the fence into a pile, to be delivered to the veggie garden later.
Meanwhile, Chase, the border collie mix, ran along outside the fenceline, following Rory up and down the hill and occasionally making a run at the fence in a lame attempt to scare the goats into running. At some point we stopped paying attention to her until Rory let out an oath of disgust. "Chase, no!!"
I looked over and guess who was playing in the pile of ick? Guess who had rolled in it thoroughly and now was covered in partially dry goat poop, mole hole dirt, and whose fur was stained green from rolling in rotted, piss-soaked alfalfa? Well, I can tell you this. It was not me.
Chase was so gross, so filthy that Rory didn't want to let her trot through the house to the bathroom, so he picked her up at the door and carried her straight to the tub.
Her white fur is now once again white, and her black fur doesn't look suspiciously olive-toned. Clean dog. She got a lot of exercise today, watching us work, so she's curled up in an adorable ball on the sofa. The way she's acting, she worked harder than any of us. And maybe she has.
We've had some beautiful days, with lots of opportunity to work outside. I hope Mother Nature keeps them coming. There's plenty more out there to do. Next time, though, I think I'll stage a second wheelbarrow outside the the fence right next to the goat shed to avoid future, ah, breaks to play.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Not Quite an Edwardian Farm
It's that overwhelming time of year when farm work goes completely nuts. You'd think that with the weather changing and everything going dormant, we'd be pretty much done for the year. Time for hot chocolate and some quality writing time, right?
I wish.
Because the animals are spending more time indoors in their various barns, coops and stalls, that means more cleaning. The cooler weather means everyone is eating more, too. That means more trips to the feed store, or alternatively, setting up the barn to store extra feed in such a way that the rats can't infest and spoil it. I haven't decided which route to go, which means I have some feed in a half-assed situation that is sort of okay, and some feed that I'll have to keep running down to the feed store to re-buy every three weeks or so.
Shorter days means fewer daylight hours in which to do this stuff. It was dark at 7pm today. And when I woke at 7am, it was pretty darned dim outside. Plus, I have a long list of things I want done before spring. Remember the anti-deer fence around the vegetable garden? Didn't get finished. Now there's a new-ish plan that hopefully will be better in the long run, but there are some potential issues that have to be addressed if the plan is going to work.
I've been watching BBC's Edwardian Farm, and it's actually helped me a lot as far as trying to sort out priorities and setting things up so that they'll work more efficiently (which means less work for me in the long run.) All technology has done has taken some of the back-breaking out of the work. The work itself remains the same. And since we don't have nifty things like tractors around here (or horses, alas,) then any and all insights that might help are very welcome.
The farm on the show is both simplified and more complicated, probably to make for more interesting viewing and to make sure that a lot of history gets some stage time that it otherwise might not. After all, in the end, the show is an educational venture first and foremost. It's been doing a splendid job, and I'm learning a lot from watching. Small details jump out at me, like the depth of turned earth when they're plowing to suit various crops, and how their schedules adapt to the seasons. They take advantage of every single moment of every day. That inspires me to attempt to do the same, or at least look at how I budget my time.
For a while I used to get up early so that I could work out and have some quiet time in which to write. Now I'm thinking about getting up early to try to get some of those farm chores that just aren't getting done often enough (like cleaning and repairs) as a form of exercise and using the remaining time before work to write. Gone are the days when I could do some chores after work. Even when I work 'early' there's too little daylight left by the time I get home to do anything except maybe race around and make sure the animals are all okay.
This all means that even when I retire, I'll still have more work than I know what to do with. Typical farm life. I love it, but there are times when I think about how lovely it would be to sleep in or have a day off. But I would miss my animals, and I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing. Good work, no regrets.
I wish.
Because the animals are spending more time indoors in their various barns, coops and stalls, that means more cleaning. The cooler weather means everyone is eating more, too. That means more trips to the feed store, or alternatively, setting up the barn to store extra feed in such a way that the rats can't infest and spoil it. I haven't decided which route to go, which means I have some feed in a half-assed situation that is sort of okay, and some feed that I'll have to keep running down to the feed store to re-buy every three weeks or so.
Shorter days means fewer daylight hours in which to do this stuff. It was dark at 7pm today. And when I woke at 7am, it was pretty darned dim outside. Plus, I have a long list of things I want done before spring. Remember the anti-deer fence around the vegetable garden? Didn't get finished. Now there's a new-ish plan that hopefully will be better in the long run, but there are some potential issues that have to be addressed if the plan is going to work.
I've been watching BBC's Edwardian Farm, and it's actually helped me a lot as far as trying to sort out priorities and setting things up so that they'll work more efficiently (which means less work for me in the long run.) All technology has done has taken some of the back-breaking out of the work. The work itself remains the same. And since we don't have nifty things like tractors around here (or horses, alas,) then any and all insights that might help are very welcome.
The farm on the show is both simplified and more complicated, probably to make for more interesting viewing and to make sure that a lot of history gets some stage time that it otherwise might not. After all, in the end, the show is an educational venture first and foremost. It's been doing a splendid job, and I'm learning a lot from watching. Small details jump out at me, like the depth of turned earth when they're plowing to suit various crops, and how their schedules adapt to the seasons. They take advantage of every single moment of every day. That inspires me to attempt to do the same, or at least look at how I budget my time.
For a while I used to get up early so that I could work out and have some quiet time in which to write. Now I'm thinking about getting up early to try to get some of those farm chores that just aren't getting done often enough (like cleaning and repairs) as a form of exercise and using the remaining time before work to write. Gone are the days when I could do some chores after work. Even when I work 'early' there's too little daylight left by the time I get home to do anything except maybe race around and make sure the animals are all okay.
This all means that even when I retire, I'll still have more work than I know what to do with. Typical farm life. I love it, but there are times when I think about how lovely it would be to sleep in or have a day off. But I would miss my animals, and I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing. Good work, no regrets.
Tuesday, September 02, 2014
Shelter
We built a new shed for our baby boy goaties! The days are growing shorter, which means young goat hearts are turning to thoughts of love. The baby girls are much to young to be mommies, so we had to separate our buckling, Thurston, from the others. Goats don't do well alone, so Gilligan, the wether we got at the same time as Thurston, will be keeping him company. And although goats are very hardy, they still need things like shelter, a source of fresh water, a small daily ration of grain, salts, baking soda, hoof trimming, stable spray when the flies get too bad, lice control, and daily health checks.
All the goats share a fence line, so they can still see each other and graze close together provided both groups are willing. In January we'll be able to put them all together again. In the meantime, every few hours or so, Gilligan and Thurston realize they're 'alone' and bawl. That usually gets the girls bawling back at them. I've had some short nights as a result.
There's one huge bonus to isolating two goats in the lower pasture. Thurston and Gilligan have been spending most of their time eating blackberries. They've really done a good job getting the brush down in a very short time. That whole section was starting to overgrow, and now it's reasonable again. I can foresee a day when the lower pasture is all grass like the upper pasture, and another large patch of this invasive weed will be eradicated. Yay!
In other news, we have at least three feral kittens living in and near the barn, and we're officially on chick watch, as it's getting close to time for some eggs to hatch. We just got a good tip about feed from our neighbors which will help our hatch-through considerably. Sadly, it may be too late for this group, but we're keeping our fingers crossed.
Stay tuned: we're going to try to trap the kittens so that they can be taken to the vet for shots, spaying/neutering, and a general health check. This is the plan, but they're sly little cuties and we may not be able to catch them. Wish us, and the kittens, luck.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Another Helpful Hint: Don't hurt yourself
My posts about retail life and small acre farming are my most popular subjects, so today I thought I'd treat you all to one of the more important safety tips when working in a farm environment.
Don't clamp the gate's Y latch on your finger.
I know, I know, everyone does it, but it's not safe. Not safe at all. We're all especially prone to do it when the wind is blowing and our fingers are numb and the gate doesn't want to shut because there's a ton of snow in the way. I pulled hard on the top part of the gate while I braced against the pole on which the Y latch would clamp onto. My finger was in the way. And in the thoughtless way that all folks do these things, I pushed the latch down first chance I got anyway.
It took off a chunk of skin, which hurts, as these things tend to do, but the thing I seemed to have forgotten about (as one does when working around a farm) is that when metal and metal are forced together by extreme external pressure, any bone and flesh that gets in the way squishes.
Fortunately it only bent the joint backward rather than breaking bone or snapping tendon. I talked to the gate for a little while, and then I squeezed my finger nicely for a while, and I admired the blood dripping onto the snow. That's always pretty. And then I went home, talking to no one in particular because I'm quite the Chatty Cathy when the mood strikes me.
So, the point is, no matter how tempting it might be to go the easy route, remember, don't close Y latches (or any other sorts of latches) onto one's own fingers even when you're in a rush or you don't want to be bothered with doing it right. I got off easy. Next time, I might cry.
And that would be bad. That's, like embarrassing. Way worse than pain.
Just don't do it. Be safe. And stay warm!
Don't clamp the gate's Y latch on your finger.
I know, I know, everyone does it, but it's not safe. Not safe at all. We're all especially prone to do it when the wind is blowing and our fingers are numb and the gate doesn't want to shut because there's a ton of snow in the way. I pulled hard on the top part of the gate while I braced against the pole on which the Y latch would clamp onto. My finger was in the way. And in the thoughtless way that all folks do these things, I pushed the latch down first chance I got anyway.
It took off a chunk of skin, which hurts, as these things tend to do, but the thing I seemed to have forgotten about (as one does when working around a farm) is that when metal and metal are forced together by extreme external pressure, any bone and flesh that gets in the way squishes.
Fortunately it only bent the joint backward rather than breaking bone or snapping tendon. I talked to the gate for a little while, and then I squeezed my finger nicely for a while, and I admired the blood dripping onto the snow. That's always pretty. And then I went home, talking to no one in particular because I'm quite the Chatty Cathy when the mood strikes me.
So, the point is, no matter how tempting it might be to go the easy route, remember, don't close Y latches (or any other sorts of latches) onto one's own fingers even when you're in a rush or you don't want to be bothered with doing it right. I got off easy. Next time, I might cry.
And that would be bad. That's, like embarrassing. Way worse than pain.
Just don't do it. Be safe. And stay warm!
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
Weird things Kamis do
Kamis are notorious for doing weird things.
This morning, this Kami got up at 6am so she could take down the hummingbird feeder (which she forgot to take in last night), thaw it, and fill it with fresh, warm nectar. She was very happy when the hummingbird showed up about an hour later to tank up.
Then she decided to take a look at her African violet seed pod. It was ripe! She danced a little happy dance, picked it, and then took a picture of it. This is what they look like:
She's really looking forward to planting the seeds and raising them up to be new african violets. She has a bunch. This one was probably fertilized by a fly. Since then, she's hand-fertilized several other blooms, and once again her plants are pregnant. It takes months for the pods to develop and ripen.
This may not seem all that weird until you realize that this Kami already has lots and lots of African violets. Yet she wants to make more. She will probably have to start giving some away.
Kamis have also been known to go out in their robe and slippers into the snow to take pictures of their cats:
This morning, this Kami got up at 6am so she could take down the hummingbird feeder (which she forgot to take in last night), thaw it, and fill it with fresh, warm nectar. She was very happy when the hummingbird showed up about an hour later to tank up.
Then she decided to take a look at her African violet seed pod. It was ripe! She danced a little happy dance, picked it, and then took a picture of it. This is what they look like:
 |
| African violet seed pod |
This may not seem all that weird until you realize that this Kami already has lots and lots of African violets. Yet she wants to make more. She will probably have to start giving some away.
Kamis have also been known to go out in their robe and slippers into the snow to take pictures of their cats:
 |
| Wizard in the snow with cute paw prints |
Kamis also take delight when their chickens do weird things, like lay miniature eggs:
 |
| Tiny chicken egg, laid 2/2/2014 |
They'll even take pictures of said weird eggs early in the morning for a blog post. It's a good thing when Kamis have others, especially Rorys, take care of them because they may be too silly and weird to survive on their own.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Eggses! And cooking eggs in cast iron
Our new chickens are laying! As you can see, the eggs are a nice blue-green color. They're slightly smaller than the eggs Beatrice and Sophie lay, but they're just as yummy and the yolks are exactly the same size. Three of them make the perfect omelette.
I now have a favorite egg dish that I make most mornings for breakfast:
3 eggs
1 tbsp oil
pat of butter
1 mushroom
1 section of green pepper, chopped
1 thin slice of onion, chopped
1/4 celery stalk, finely chopped
1/2 of a roma tomato, chopped
1/2 cup of mixed cheeses (I like smoked gouda and cheddar)
salt & spices (I like salt, pepper, dill, and a tiny bit of curry)
bacon blue cheese dressing by Lighthouse or your favorite creamy dressing
1 tortilla (preferably the princess-y kinds like the blue corn flaxseed by Mission)
Optional: guacamole or chopped avocado, chopped lettuce, sliced olives
Heat a cast iron pan on medium heat. Warm the tortilla and set it aside on a warm plate covered with a paper towel. Add the oil to the pan and sauté the mushrooms, green pepper, celery and onion until the onions are transparent. If you like, you can lightly salt the veggies. While the veggies are cooking, beat the eggs with the seasonings. Add the butter to the pan. When the butter is melted, pour in the eggs and turn the heat down. Let them cook for a bit and then scramble. When the eggs have mostly cooked through, add the tomatoes and the cheese. Heat to desired consistency. If you like melted cheese but don't like browned eggs, you can cover the pan. The tomatoes and cheese will heat through very quickly. Dress the tortilla with bacon blue cheese dressing. Add optional ingredients to the tortilla. Roll the eggs into the tortilla and enjoy!
Because time is often short in the mornings, when I want this for breakfast I chop the ingredients on the evening before, usually when I'm making salad. The mushrooms, peppers, celery and onion go in one snack-sized ziplock bag, the tomatoes (sometimes salted and with a splash of balsamic vinegar if they're not very ripe) in another, and the lettuce and olives in a third bag. It'll keep for a couple of days so you can make more than one morning's ingredients at once. We usually keep grated cheese on hand, as we have two sets of the fabulous cheese grater/grated cheese storage plastic combo sold at IKEA. It allows us to create custom blends of grated cheese that we use on salads, eggs and sandwiches.
It's a pretty rich breakfast burrito, but the benefits of having mostly-fresh ingredients and cooking a high-protein meal from scratch outweigh the fat and cholesterol contents. It seems like the more home-cooked meals made from scratch I eat, even if they're classic bad-for-you items, the better I feel, and the more pre-processed, factory-made meals I eat, the worse I feel. I also seem to gain weight when I eat ready-made meals as opposed to scratch, home-made meals, even though the calorie content is probably higher with the scratch meal.
By the way, cast iron will act like a non-stick pan if you let it do its thing. I preheat the pan for a reason, add the oil and the butter at those times for a reason, and let the eggs cook a bit before I mess with them all for the same reason. The eggs won't stick (much) to the pan if you keep that oil hot and don't scrape too much. Using a wooden or bamboo spoon helps. When you're done cooking, clean the cast iron right away while it's still hot and the eggs should come right off. If they don't, put some water in the pan and leave it on the stove on low heat while you eat. When you're done, turn the burner off, run the wooden spoon around the pan to separate the remaining egg from the pan and rinse using a clean sponge under very hot water. Lightly oil the pan and put it back on the burner, which should still have some residual heat. Wipe out the pan after a few minutes with a paper towel until it feels dry but is still dark with oil. If you do this faithfully, you never have to use soap in a cast iron pan.
If you let the pan sit, though, you can later boil it with water in it, and then use a little soap, some elbow grease, or even an SOS pad to take care of the dried food in the pan. You might go down to bare metal in the process ... don't worry. Then oil the pan and put in a warm oven or on a burner set to 2. Very lightly oil it. Leave it on the burner until the oil begins to brown to the bottom of the pan. Wipe with a paper towel. Add a little oil to a clean part on your paper towel and wipe the pan with it. You'll notice a kewl pattern forming on the bottom of the pan as the oil seasons the bottom of the pan. Keep wiping with fresh (thin) layers of oil and continue to season the pan until the bare metal areas have darkened somewhat. Before you put the pan away, make sure that there's as much free oil wiped away as possible so that it feels dry and has a satin, not glossy, sheen, and please let it cool first. Over time, if you're good to your pan, it'll be a uniform black and will be shiny, but not greasy.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Yay Chickens! And Seeds!
We've had some progress in our flock combining efforts. Well, efforts may be a strong word. Ever since they were out of quarantine, we've let them do whatever they want, and whatever they want has meant pretty much that they avoid each other.
Until now!
My DH has been feeding them at the same time every day, which has encouraged Sophie and Beatrice to come down to the coop because the new chickens get fed before them. And voila! They still don't roost in the same place, but I'm hoping that will change soon.
And then ....
The rooster finally started crowing the other day. He's so proud of himself! So I'm hoping that we'll have fertilized eggs come spring, and maybe even a batch of chicks if the little black hen gets broody. That would be so awesome.
In other news, I finally made my seed order from Territorial Seeds. Here are the veggies:
Armenian Cucumbers, Cherry Buzz Tomato, Chinese Pac Choi, Cube of Butter Squash, Flash Collards, Gold Nugget Winter Squash, Helda Pole Beans, Improved Dwarf Siberian Kale, Lemon Cucumbers, Planet Peppers, Kosmic Kale, Red Ace Beets, Stupice Tomatoes (from the former Czechoslovakia!), and Winter Luxury Pumpkins.
In the flower department I have:
Cheyenne Spirit Echinacea mix, Mow-No-More Flower Mix, Rosa Romantica California Poppies, Sunseed Sunflowers, and Unwin's Striped Butterfly Sweet Peas.
Whew! I'll probably pick up some fava beans from our favorite Middle Eastern grocery store, and nasturtiums and some main-season tomatoes from BiMart. Beyond that, I'm set!
Except.
The deer fence isn't around the garden yet.
Argh! I can just imagine them foraging their way through my lovely garden again this year, slaying my plantings with large-eyed, big-eared, adorable glee. I told my DH what I'd like him to do for the next stage, and the next time the weather is good and he has some time, he will make it so. Thankfully, realistically, it will be late May or early June before I dare put most of my treasures in the ground. The pac choi, collards, kale, and possibly some of the flowers are the exception. Everyone else will have to wait until the soil is nice and warm. Sometime mid-February, I'll put tomatoes and peppers into seed trays, and maybe start some flower seeds to, and we'll go from there.
It's all very exciting. I think this is going to be a good year. Of course I always think that when I start planning, but I'm getting better at this every year. Here's to hoping!
Until now!
My DH has been feeding them at the same time every day, which has encouraged Sophie and Beatrice to come down to the coop because the new chickens get fed before them. And voila! They still don't roost in the same place, but I'm hoping that will change soon.
And then ....
The rooster finally started crowing the other day. He's so proud of himself! So I'm hoping that we'll have fertilized eggs come spring, and maybe even a batch of chicks if the little black hen gets broody. That would be so awesome.
In other news, I finally made my seed order from Territorial Seeds. Here are the veggies:
Armenian Cucumbers, Cherry Buzz Tomato, Chinese Pac Choi, Cube of Butter Squash, Flash Collards, Gold Nugget Winter Squash, Helda Pole Beans, Improved Dwarf Siberian Kale, Lemon Cucumbers, Planet Peppers, Kosmic Kale, Red Ace Beets, Stupice Tomatoes (from the former Czechoslovakia!), and Winter Luxury Pumpkins.
In the flower department I have:
Cheyenne Spirit Echinacea mix, Mow-No-More Flower Mix, Rosa Romantica California Poppies, Sunseed Sunflowers, and Unwin's Striped Butterfly Sweet Peas.
Whew! I'll probably pick up some fava beans from our favorite Middle Eastern grocery store, and nasturtiums and some main-season tomatoes from BiMart. Beyond that, I'm set!
Except.
The deer fence isn't around the garden yet.
Argh! I can just imagine them foraging their way through my lovely garden again this year, slaying my plantings with large-eyed, big-eared, adorable glee. I told my DH what I'd like him to do for the next stage, and the next time the weather is good and he has some time, he will make it so. Thankfully, realistically, it will be late May or early June before I dare put most of my treasures in the ground. The pac choi, collards, kale, and possibly some of the flowers are the exception. Everyone else will have to wait until the soil is nice and warm. Sometime mid-February, I'll put tomatoes and peppers into seed trays, and maybe start some flower seeds to, and we'll go from there.
It's all very exciting. I think this is going to be a good year. Of course I always think that when I start planning, but I'm getting better at this every year. Here's to hoping!
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Animal Stories Pt. 1
Lately I've been bumming around the house when I'm not at my day job. If I'm not writing, I'm doing art, if I'm not doing art, I'm designing stuff, if I'm not designing stuff I'm reading about art, writing or design. Sometimes I'll do housework, garden, or go for a walk when I get stir crazy.
Anyway, my DH has been taking care of the animals for months now, with me picking up the odd day here or there. I do like having a vacation from it, but I miss my animals. I hardly see them except at a distance. It's good, though, because if I kept at it, he wouldn't have come in from outside with a subtle smile lighting his eyes. He turned around in place to display himself. "Any chicken poop on me?"
He had a dirty shoulder. That's about it. "Nope."
"I got the little black hen to sit on my shoulder. Had to shoe her down after a while. She eats out of my hand now too. Won't let the other chickens get near. And that rooster? He's a big chicken." He smiled and I laughed. "He starts to come closer, and she looks at him, and he moves away again." My DH made a coy gesture with his head. "Like, sorry, I'll go over here now."
"She's the big boss," I agreed. "Does Sophie still come down sometimes?" Sophie being our mean silver-laced Wyandotte.
"Oh yeah, every day at 3 o'clock she's there, and she won't let any of the other chickens into the shed until she'd done. Did you know that the little black hen can fly, like five feet higher than the roof of that shed? She did that when they had a chicken tiff."
"Wow." None of our other birds are capable of that kind of air. The best Beatrice can do is the top of the highest fence post, about six and a half feet. "I hope they all form one flock. It'll be good for them."
We talked more, mostly him sharing micro-stories about the animals, me listening. With me doing the grunt work day job and my DH freelancing, we've changed roles in a lot of surprising ways. This sharing of animal stories after he's had a day of working outside is fast becoming one of my favorites. From where I sit, it looks like he's loving it too, loving our farm and all the crazy critters on it. They're not outstanding or unusual animals, except in this: they know us. Now that they know him better, he and I share something new through them, a new connection in our lives after over twenty years together.
Thanks, little black hen.
Anyway, my DH has been taking care of the animals for months now, with me picking up the odd day here or there. I do like having a vacation from it, but I miss my animals. I hardly see them except at a distance. It's good, though, because if I kept at it, he wouldn't have come in from outside with a subtle smile lighting his eyes. He turned around in place to display himself. "Any chicken poop on me?"
He had a dirty shoulder. That's about it. "Nope."
"I got the little black hen to sit on my shoulder. Had to shoe her down after a while. She eats out of my hand now too. Won't let the other chickens get near. And that rooster? He's a big chicken." He smiled and I laughed. "He starts to come closer, and she looks at him, and he moves away again." My DH made a coy gesture with his head. "Like, sorry, I'll go over here now."
"She's the big boss," I agreed. "Does Sophie still come down sometimes?" Sophie being our mean silver-laced Wyandotte.
"Oh yeah, every day at 3 o'clock she's there, and she won't let any of the other chickens into the shed until she'd done. Did you know that the little black hen can fly, like five feet higher than the roof of that shed? She did that when they had a chicken tiff."
"Wow." None of our other birds are capable of that kind of air. The best Beatrice can do is the top of the highest fence post, about six and a half feet. "I hope they all form one flock. It'll be good for them."
We talked more, mostly him sharing micro-stories about the animals, me listening. With me doing the grunt work day job and my DH freelancing, we've changed roles in a lot of surprising ways. This sharing of animal stories after he's had a day of working outside is fast becoming one of my favorites. From where I sit, it looks like he's loving it too, loving our farm and all the crazy critters on it. They're not outstanding or unusual animals, except in this: they know us. Now that they know him better, he and I share something new through them, a new connection in our lives after over twenty years together.
Thanks, little black hen.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
To 'Have' a Backyard Chicken
I used to be one of those people, who, when they see chickens or a llama, or whatever living critter, say "I would like to have that."
Okay, I'm still one of those people. I'd still like to have some more goats. (I'm crazy that way.)
But now I know what it really means to 'have' animals. Like chickens.
See, I don't 'have' chickens. I am a slave to the chickens. I feed them, dust them for mites, change their water, clean out their enclosure, etc. Which is good and fine on nice days when I'm feeling up to it. It's not so much fun when it's freezing and windy and the waterer is frozen solid and I'm running a fever with chills and a stuffy nose and a sore throat that feels like it's bleeding and on fire at the same time. Luckily I have very few of those days. But I can't skip taking care of my birds even for one day, especially on those horrible days, because if I skip their care on a bad weather day, the chickens will have no water or food when they're most vulnerable. Most people don't think about it, but food heats you up. Calories in the blood help maintain temperature. If they're hungry, they're cold. If they have no water, they're dehydrated, and chickens dehydrate very quickly. If they try to get water through snow, they'll chill even more quickly. They'll be more prone to disease, infection, digestive or vent ailments, frostbite ... the list goes on and on.
All this adds up to suffering. It would be my fault because they're domesticated animals and they depend on me. Human beings bred them to be this way, and so human beings now provide for them.
Same with the goats. Same with the dogs and the cats, though they're a bit easier to take care of as their stuff is all inside the house or in the garage. I can take care of them in my pajamas. No such luck with the chickens and the goats. If there's snow, I'm hiking in it. If there's ice, I'm skating on it. If there's rain, I'm out there in my mud boots holding my hat on my head, wishing I had a free hand for an umbrella.
A friend of mine with horses and I got to talking and I mentioned that I used to play with Barbies, but the Barbies weren't the focus of my play. I had Breyer horses, some really gorgeous ones, and the Barbies were slaves to the horses. They took care of them, groomed them, very occasionally rode them but mostly the horses had adventures and the Barbies were there to take care of the tack.
That's how it really is, my friend told me. Somehow as a small child I discovered the truth in my play.
I read an article in the paper today about how backyard chicken owners are now discovering the harsh reality of keeping chickens, including the fact that the birds stop laying after about three years ... but live to be twenty years old. They put ads in the newspaper. Anyone want my old hen that stopped laying? She's pretty and sweet and follows me around like a dog.
The answer is no. Hell no I don't want your old chicken that doesn't lay. If I'm going to keep a chicken, I want a young one that I can raise from a cute little chick and that follows me around like a dog and who lays for me. If I choose to keep her past her laying years it's because I've developed a bond and I want her for keeps. And if I don't want her for keeps, because she's my responsibility (and because I care about her) I will give her a quick, clean death.
Some of these people turn birds loose in parks or toss them into a random neighbor's dog yard because they don't want to pay for the feed, take care of the birds, or do the decent thing, which is to kill them quickly. Better to eat them, or if you can't bear to eat your pet, bury her rather than let her be savaged by an animal or hit by a car or die from starvation and exposure.
Thus, rescue societies were born. But they're overwhelmed. What are they supposed to do with these birds? The very thing that the owners should have done in the first place. The owners are deferring responsibility because they didn't think ahead and can't face the consequences of their choices. They want the problem to just go away. Well, it doesn't just go away.
Do you really want to 'have' a chicken?
It's great if you like them. I like them. I like to watch them chase each other and hunt for goodies, and I like to carry them around, and I like their eggs and the funny noises they make when they're mad and happy and sleepy. It's great to want fresh eggs. It's okay to be crabby about taking care of them if you decide to become a slave to the chicken. But please, please, as you would (hopefully) consider carefully before adopting a dog or a cat or a rabbit, think carefully about the commitment you're making, and plan for the future. Chickens don't live as long as parrots so you probably don't have to put them in your will should you decide to keep your hens past their laying age out of gratitude for the eggs they provided and because you're fond of them. But be realistic. Will you be okay with your decision a decade down the road?
Abandoned birds don't just vanish into the atmosphere. There's nothing natural about dumping a domesticated animal in someone else's backyard. A chicken is not like a wild animal that can fend for itself. Chickens might be able to scrabble for food for a while, but they have no good defense against dogs, coyotes, or raccoons, none of which kill 'clean'. And they're really not good in the weather. Their ancestors once were. Human beings bred a lot of their survivability out of them in the process of making them bigger, meatier, and faster layers.
Whatever happens to abandoned birds is seldom better than simply slaughtering them. Presumably you want chickens because you like them. I like them too. If you like them, don't let them suffer in utter terror until something kills them. Please don't add to the growing problem of abandoned backyard chickens in urban areas. If it gets much worse, chances are that cities will stop permitting backyard chickens altogether, and that would be a shame. That spoils it for everyone. Backyard chickens are great for responsible owners who take care of them and share the fruits of their hobby with friends, families and neighbors. They're great for pest control, and they're fun. Sometimes they're like pets, and sometimes they're more like the wild birds that people like to feed and watch through their window. Some of them are really, really beautiful birds. Let's keep them around in our suburbs if we can. And if you see someone who's struggling with the backyard chicken thing, remember, offering help and advice is going to go over a lot better than berating them for having a noisy mess or for dumping their bird over your fence so your dog can pin it and slobber on it until it dies of shock. If you can't approach someone, maybe leave some educational materials on their doorstep (usually your local extension service has lots of free stuff) or contact the Humane Society. They're the experts when it comes to education and intervention.
Thanks!
Okay, I'm still one of those people. I'd still like to have some more goats. (I'm crazy that way.)
But now I know what it really means to 'have' animals. Like chickens.
See, I don't 'have' chickens. I am a slave to the chickens. I feed them, dust them for mites, change their water, clean out their enclosure, etc. Which is good and fine on nice days when I'm feeling up to it. It's not so much fun when it's freezing and windy and the waterer is frozen solid and I'm running a fever with chills and a stuffy nose and a sore throat that feels like it's bleeding and on fire at the same time. Luckily I have very few of those days. But I can't skip taking care of my birds even for one day, especially on those horrible days, because if I skip their care on a bad weather day, the chickens will have no water or food when they're most vulnerable. Most people don't think about it, but food heats you up. Calories in the blood help maintain temperature. If they're hungry, they're cold. If they have no water, they're dehydrated, and chickens dehydrate very quickly. If they try to get water through snow, they'll chill even more quickly. They'll be more prone to disease, infection, digestive or vent ailments, frostbite ... the list goes on and on.
All this adds up to suffering. It would be my fault because they're domesticated animals and they depend on me. Human beings bred them to be this way, and so human beings now provide for them.
Same with the goats. Same with the dogs and the cats, though they're a bit easier to take care of as their stuff is all inside the house or in the garage. I can take care of them in my pajamas. No such luck with the chickens and the goats. If there's snow, I'm hiking in it. If there's ice, I'm skating on it. If there's rain, I'm out there in my mud boots holding my hat on my head, wishing I had a free hand for an umbrella.
A friend of mine with horses and I got to talking and I mentioned that I used to play with Barbies, but the Barbies weren't the focus of my play. I had Breyer horses, some really gorgeous ones, and the Barbies were slaves to the horses. They took care of them, groomed them, very occasionally rode them but mostly the horses had adventures and the Barbies were there to take care of the tack.
That's how it really is, my friend told me. Somehow as a small child I discovered the truth in my play.
I read an article in the paper today about how backyard chicken owners are now discovering the harsh reality of keeping chickens, including the fact that the birds stop laying after about three years ... but live to be twenty years old. They put ads in the newspaper. Anyone want my old hen that stopped laying? She's pretty and sweet and follows me around like a dog.
The answer is no. Hell no I don't want your old chicken that doesn't lay. If I'm going to keep a chicken, I want a young one that I can raise from a cute little chick and that follows me around like a dog and who lays for me. If I choose to keep her past her laying years it's because I've developed a bond and I want her for keeps. And if I don't want her for keeps, because she's my responsibility (and because I care about her) I will give her a quick, clean death.
Some of these people turn birds loose in parks or toss them into a random neighbor's dog yard because they don't want to pay for the feed, take care of the birds, or do the decent thing, which is to kill them quickly. Better to eat them, or if you can't bear to eat your pet, bury her rather than let her be savaged by an animal or hit by a car or die from starvation and exposure.
Thus, rescue societies were born. But they're overwhelmed. What are they supposed to do with these birds? The very thing that the owners should have done in the first place. The owners are deferring responsibility because they didn't think ahead and can't face the consequences of their choices. They want the problem to just go away. Well, it doesn't just go away.
Do you really want to 'have' a chicken?
It's great if you like them. I like them. I like to watch them chase each other and hunt for goodies, and I like to carry them around, and I like their eggs and the funny noises they make when they're mad and happy and sleepy. It's great to want fresh eggs. It's okay to be crabby about taking care of them if you decide to become a slave to the chicken. But please, please, as you would (hopefully) consider carefully before adopting a dog or a cat or a rabbit, think carefully about the commitment you're making, and plan for the future. Chickens don't live as long as parrots so you probably don't have to put them in your will should you decide to keep your hens past their laying age out of gratitude for the eggs they provided and because you're fond of them. But be realistic. Will you be okay with your decision a decade down the road?
Abandoned birds don't just vanish into the atmosphere. There's nothing natural about dumping a domesticated animal in someone else's backyard. A chicken is not like a wild animal that can fend for itself. Chickens might be able to scrabble for food for a while, but they have no good defense against dogs, coyotes, or raccoons, none of which kill 'clean'. And they're really not good in the weather. Their ancestors once were. Human beings bred a lot of their survivability out of them in the process of making them bigger, meatier, and faster layers.
Whatever happens to abandoned birds is seldom better than simply slaughtering them. Presumably you want chickens because you like them. I like them too. If you like them, don't let them suffer in utter terror until something kills them. Please don't add to the growing problem of abandoned backyard chickens in urban areas. If it gets much worse, chances are that cities will stop permitting backyard chickens altogether, and that would be a shame. That spoils it for everyone. Backyard chickens are great for responsible owners who take care of them and share the fruits of their hobby with friends, families and neighbors. They're great for pest control, and they're fun. Sometimes they're like pets, and sometimes they're more like the wild birds that people like to feed and watch through their window. Some of them are really, really beautiful birds. Let's keep them around in our suburbs if we can. And if you see someone who's struggling with the backyard chicken thing, remember, offering help and advice is going to go over a lot better than berating them for having a noisy mess or for dumping their bird over your fence so your dog can pin it and slobber on it until it dies of shock. If you can't approach someone, maybe leave some educational materials on their doorstep (usually your local extension service has lots of free stuff) or contact the Humane Society. They're the experts when it comes to education and intervention.
Thanks!
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Birds of Other Feathers
My new birds are settling in. By that, I mean I'm managing the ongoing stress as best I can while they figure out that their new home is not the most horrible place in the world.
And here's the new rooster, Argent. I like that argent means silver and also sounds like sergeant without the s. He's mellow but not a pushover, and when he finds his feet, or beak, or wings, or whatever, I think he'll get along with Sophie, my pain-in-the-butt silver-laced Wyandotte hen, just fine. At least as well as I can get along with her. She's always sneaking up on my and zinging me at the top of my thigh/base of my cheek. She favors the right side. Dang, I'm tender there, and she knows it! Anyway, Beatrice, my American Araucana/Buff Orpington mix, gets along with everybody. If it were just her, I could throw them in together with no worries. Except, well, you're supposed to quarantine new birds. They don't have the same immunities and bugs as my local birds, and by local I mean my farm. The neighbors probably have a completely different mix of bugaboos that their birds carry and are immune to. Despite knowing this, I keep my birds all in the same coop overnight because there's no other safe place to put them, and then they're separated during the day.
And, because these things happen, we have a rat problem right now. Still working out how to get rid of the one under the coop without endangering the chickens. Thinking ....
Other than having to get up at first light every day to check on the birds, distribute feed and separate the flocks, this has been pretty easy going so far. The birds are stressed, of course, and I worry, and every day seems to bring a new challenge, but they're totally worth it.
The day I went out to take pics of them happened to be sunny, which meant all the pics of the black hen turned out really cruddy. I'll get her on a cloudy day sometime. Until then, here's the splash hen, who has yet to have a name stick to her. She's sweet, and destined to live at the bottom of the pecking order, poor thing.
And here's the new rooster, Argent. I like that argent means silver and also sounds like sergeant without the s. He's mellow but not a pushover, and when he finds his feet, or beak, or wings, or whatever, I think he'll get along with Sophie, my pain-in-the-butt silver-laced Wyandotte hen, just fine. At least as well as I can get along with her. She's always sneaking up on my and zinging me at the top of my thigh/base of my cheek. She favors the right side. Dang, I'm tender there, and she knows it! Anyway, Beatrice, my American Araucana/Buff Orpington mix, gets along with everybody. If it were just her, I could throw them in together with no worries. Except, well, you're supposed to quarantine new birds. They don't have the same immunities and bugs as my local birds, and by local I mean my farm. The neighbors probably have a completely different mix of bugaboos that their birds carry and are immune to. Despite knowing this, I keep my birds all in the same coop overnight because there's no other safe place to put them, and then they're separated during the day.
And, because these things happen, we have a rat problem right now. Still working out how to get rid of the one under the coop without endangering the chickens. Thinking ....
Other than having to get up at first light every day to check on the birds, distribute feed and separate the flocks, this has been pretty easy going so far. The birds are stressed, of course, and I worry, and every day seems to bring a new challenge, but they're totally worth it.
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
When the Coyotes Sing
Misread of the day: Urban Wine, for a second, looked like Urine Wine and I thought, ew, what?!
A long-haired, pure black (doesn't have any sun-faded brown areas even!) kitty has been dumped in our neighborhood. It's not feral. I can't get close to it, but it understands domesticated kitty concepts like food comes from houses. It's also been in our house (I think) eating from the kitty food bowl.
Here's another plea that will not reach the right ears. Please don't dump your kitties in the countryside! Yes, most of us will feed these animals but our own cats will fight with them, and if they get injured, there's no way to get them to the vet. Also because they're so skittish and scared, we can't take them inside at night and they will inevitably be eaten by coyotes.
After I noticed it around for a few days the kitty, which I believe is female, disappeared for a couple of weeks and I thought damn, I guess that's it. But now she's back. My son is calling her Oops for the moment.
The coyotes sing at every sunset very near our house. And often during the night they yip and cry while they tear apart and share whatever kills they've managed to snag. One of these times, it will be Oops.
Every morning now I wake up and wonder if Oops will come up to the deck to snatch a quick meal, or if we'll never see her again.
Sigh.
A long-haired, pure black (doesn't have any sun-faded brown areas even!) kitty has been dumped in our neighborhood. It's not feral. I can't get close to it, but it understands domesticated kitty concepts like food comes from houses. It's also been in our house (I think) eating from the kitty food bowl.
Here's another plea that will not reach the right ears. Please don't dump your kitties in the countryside! Yes, most of us will feed these animals but our own cats will fight with them, and if they get injured, there's no way to get them to the vet. Also because they're so skittish and scared, we can't take them inside at night and they will inevitably be eaten by coyotes.
After I noticed it around for a few days the kitty, which I believe is female, disappeared for a couple of weeks and I thought damn, I guess that's it. But now she's back. My son is calling her Oops for the moment.
The coyotes sing at every sunset very near our house. And often during the night they yip and cry while they tear apart and share whatever kills they've managed to snag. One of these times, it will be Oops.
Every morning now I wake up and wonder if Oops will come up to the deck to snatch a quick meal, or if we'll never see her again.
Sigh.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Cute and Fluffy
I found out today why the cats sometimes race up to the house all puffed up.
I feared it was coyotes.
I suspected that it was another feral cat roaming around nearby.
I also suspected it might be the neighbor's dog, a small, friendly sort that actually doesn't mind cats but our cats don't know that. All they know is that it smells bad.
I always looked and never saw anything.
I thought it was odd that it seemed to happen at all hours of the day, rather than just dusk and dawn, when most of the predators are out and about.
But today, while walking in the garden with The Poop, she got all puffed up and stared and I saw it.
A bunny.
An adorable, wee little bunny.
Turns out there was another bunny, too. It ran when I scared the first, terrifying bunny away after multiple coaxings for The Poop to 'go get it' did nothing but make her sit down with her back still mostly arched and her tail still completely puffed up. The second bunny, which she also hadn't noticed, took off after the first one and made The Poop retreat back toward the house.
Yes, I know that bunnies can actually be pretty fierce and that they have wicked claws (all the better with which to dig into your intestines, my dear) but still. Seriously? The bunny is half her size, and she's a very small kitty.
The one that really baffles me is that Wizard is scared of the bunnies too. He's like four or five bunnies-worth of muscle.
I guess they've watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail too many times.
Oh well. That just means that I have to put up a tighter fence around the garden.
I wonder if the bunnies laugh as the kittehs run away in terror ....
I feared it was coyotes.
I suspected that it was another feral cat roaming around nearby.
I also suspected it might be the neighbor's dog, a small, friendly sort that actually doesn't mind cats but our cats don't know that. All they know is that it smells bad.
I always looked and never saw anything.
I thought it was odd that it seemed to happen at all hours of the day, rather than just dusk and dawn, when most of the predators are out and about.
But today, while walking in the garden with The Poop, she got all puffed up and stared and I saw it.
A bunny.
An adorable, wee little bunny.
Turns out there was another bunny, too. It ran when I scared the first, terrifying bunny away after multiple coaxings for The Poop to 'go get it' did nothing but make her sit down with her back still mostly arched and her tail still completely puffed up. The second bunny, which she also hadn't noticed, took off after the first one and made The Poop retreat back toward the house.
Yes, I know that bunnies can actually be pretty fierce and that they have wicked claws (all the better with which to dig into your intestines, my dear) but still. Seriously? The bunny is half her size, and she's a very small kitty.
The one that really baffles me is that Wizard is scared of the bunnies too. He's like four or five bunnies-worth of muscle.
I guess they've watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail too many times.
Oh well. That just means that I have to put up a tighter fence around the garden.
I wonder if the bunnies laugh as the kittehs run away in terror ....
Friday, August 03, 2012
Sometimes, Fun Things are a Chore
Another animal day.
First off, woke up and looked for Carey on the deck, like I do every morning. No Carey. It's really hard to keep my hopes up when I hear the coyotes cry all night.
Then, deer, not once but twice. They savaged my super-expensive ($2.45 for only 25 seeds!) broccoli, but I didn't see that. What I did see was a doe with her spotted fawn helping themselves to our apples. Which was fine, and actually really cute. We have more apples than we know what to do with this year. There's really only so much applesauce, apple pie, apple tart, apple juice, baked, fresh, and caramel and/or candied apples a person can eat, you know. They did a nice job of picking the fallen ones first, before moving on to the ones hanging from the tree branches. How nice. Every time a car or truck went by, the doe would look annoyed and the fawn bounced around or dashed like mad for cover. They left, and then returned for more after about an hour.
Last but not least, the suicidal baby robin. I tried to save it. Really I did. The girl and I chased it around until I caught it and put it up in our big trees. It should have been able to hop and half-ass fly from branch to branch all the way back up to the nest.
But, of course, when I went back out to change the sprinkler, there it was. The Poop was stalking it. She ran for it at the same time I did. She dropped it because I yelled at her at the same time that one of the parent robins dive-bombed her. The Poop jetted for the edge of the tree's dripline while I dutifully put the stupid, spotted thing with not enough flight feathers or tail to fly back into the tree. All the cats were then banished to the house.
If it's still alive when we get home, and on the ground again, we might have a guest for a week or two while it finishes fledging out.
Wildlife. Ugh. Didn't I used to marvel at it when I was a child? Actually, I still do, and it's neat that we get to experience this up close most of the time. Sometimes, though, it makes me a little crazy.
Monday, July 09, 2012
Weeds, Tea and Soup
The garden is growing really, really well. Too well, in some cases. Can you have too much bok choi? Apparently so. Sadly, the goats don't like it, which I find weird, but useful in that the deer haven't bothered it at all. I guess I have to eat faster. Something to think about--bok choi, when cooked, forms a nice, not-too-thick gel. It might be a good ingredient for soups. If an experiment comes out all right along those lines, I'll post about it.
Anyway, I noticed something that produced a duh moment for me.
I have areas in my garden where not just the plants, but the weeds are positively huge. It made me realize that the places that have small weeds are under-fertilized. Sooo ... when I put the beds to sleep (heh) in the fall, when I put down my homemade fertilizer and cover things over, I can put extra in the places where the weeds are really pitiful, and less where they're gargantuan.
Not that I'll have weeds, of course. Everything will be perfectly manicured and weeded by then.
But if I did have weeds, I could totally use them as a gauge for how much fertilizer to put down. Aaaand, the beauty part, if I overdo it in the fall, its not going to burn my veggies because I won't have any in the ground at the time. It'll have time to mellow for many months before I plant again. Remember, though, if you add amendments in the fall, if they're super water soluble, they'll just wash away into the soil too deep for the plants to reach them in spring, so either protect against rain or just wait until after your seedlings sprout in the spring. Don't fertilize when you plant seeds. It messes them up when they germinate. If you must, scratch the fertilizer in at least six inches, preferably farther, away from your seed line.
Speaking of fertilizer, I have a scary bucket of chicken poo waiting by. I haven't decided what to do with it. It's super hot, and only partially composted. I'm tempted to spread it between the smallest of my zucchini plants and maybe make tea with some of it to water with around the fruit trees. Chicken poo is awesome fertilizer, but you have to be careful. It burns, baby, burns! There's really no way to measure how hot it is, so I'll have to guess. In cases like that, it's good to remember that you can always add, but you can't take away the damage from too much once it's done. It's not like too much salt in your soup, where you can stick in a couple of celery stalks or add potatoes to fix it.
Soup again. I must be craving it. I think I'll make soup for dinner tonight.
Watch out for the weather. Stay hydrated in hot spots, and look out for lightning. We had an incredible lightning storm just east of us. It sounded like fireworks show off in the distance, and for a while I thought that's exactly what it was, a post-4rth show, until I looked out the window. Often there were multiple flashes at once. We don't usually get that kind of weather around here. I was very, very glad I could appreciate it at a distance instead of being directly under it. It must have been terrifying. Here's the weather report for it. Photos here. BTW, it takes three to four hours for me to drive from my home to the worst-hit areas of the storm, but I saw the closest edge of it quite well from our deck.
Anyway, I noticed something that produced a duh moment for me.
I have areas in my garden where not just the plants, but the weeds are positively huge. It made me realize that the places that have small weeds are under-fertilized. Sooo ... when I put the beds to sleep (heh) in the fall, when I put down my homemade fertilizer and cover things over, I can put extra in the places where the weeds are really pitiful, and less where they're gargantuan.
Not that I'll have weeds, of course. Everything will be perfectly manicured and weeded by then.
But if I did have weeds, I could totally use them as a gauge for how much fertilizer to put down. Aaaand, the beauty part, if I overdo it in the fall, its not going to burn my veggies because I won't have any in the ground at the time. It'll have time to mellow for many months before I plant again. Remember, though, if you add amendments in the fall, if they're super water soluble, they'll just wash away into the soil too deep for the plants to reach them in spring, so either protect against rain or just wait until after your seedlings sprout in the spring. Don't fertilize when you plant seeds. It messes them up when they germinate. If you must, scratch the fertilizer in at least six inches, preferably farther, away from your seed line.
Speaking of fertilizer, I have a scary bucket of chicken poo waiting by. I haven't decided what to do with it. It's super hot, and only partially composted. I'm tempted to spread it between the smallest of my zucchini plants and maybe make tea with some of it to water with around the fruit trees. Chicken poo is awesome fertilizer, but you have to be careful. It burns, baby, burns! There's really no way to measure how hot it is, so I'll have to guess. In cases like that, it's good to remember that you can always add, but you can't take away the damage from too much once it's done. It's not like too much salt in your soup, where you can stick in a couple of celery stalks or add potatoes to fix it.
Soup again. I must be craving it. I think I'll make soup for dinner tonight.
Watch out for the weather. Stay hydrated in hot spots, and look out for lightning. We had an incredible lightning storm just east of us. It sounded like fireworks show off in the distance, and for a while I thought that's exactly what it was, a post-4rth show, until I looked out the window. Often there were multiple flashes at once. We don't usually get that kind of weather around here. I was very, very glad I could appreciate it at a distance instead of being directly under it. It must have been terrifying. Here's the weather report for it. Photos here. BTW, it takes three to four hours for me to drive from my home to the worst-hit areas of the storm, but I saw the closest edge of it quite well from our deck.
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Morning Wake Up
I had one of those moments yesterday morning, where you wake up and realize you'd forgotten something very important and now there was no way to make up for it.
I cleared out the fridge of leftovers that I knew no one would eat. Lamb pot roast I'd forgotten to freeze went to the dogs. They of course gorged themselves and then promptly got sleepy-eyed, though no one went so far as to actually nap. Eggshells, coffee grounds and banana peels for the roses. They love that. Easy enough to tuck it under the mulch. And then I took some leftover rice, quinoa and a few cooked veggies out to the chickens, and realized that I hadn't shut them in.
I called to no avail. I saw no sign of them. I walked around the lower pasture with a sinking feeling, looking for the telltale bits of wings and legs and feathers everywhere. No sign. But no sign of them around either pasture, either.
I dumped the leftovers--if the goats got into it it wouldn't hurt them--and slogged back to the house. I had to get ready for work. I told the boy that if he found the bodies to please bury them. I felt about 4 inches high and fifty feet wide, creeping along like some vile fungus into the car.
And that's when I saw them. They were bright-eyed and looking to me for their morning snackies.
You can bet I shut them in last night.
I didn't have time to raise chicks this year. If I lost my dear biddies, that would be it for eggs, for stroking their smooth feathers while they spread their wings and tucked their legs waiting for the attention, no more carrying them tucked in one arm like a baby, and no more giggling with the girl as she gets one to perch on her arm with the declaration that this was redneck falconry in action.
But they're still here. It's a very good thing.
I cleared out the fridge of leftovers that I knew no one would eat. Lamb pot roast I'd forgotten to freeze went to the dogs. They of course gorged themselves and then promptly got sleepy-eyed, though no one went so far as to actually nap. Eggshells, coffee grounds and banana peels for the roses. They love that. Easy enough to tuck it under the mulch. And then I took some leftover rice, quinoa and a few cooked veggies out to the chickens, and realized that I hadn't shut them in.
I called to no avail. I saw no sign of them. I walked around the lower pasture with a sinking feeling, looking for the telltale bits of wings and legs and feathers everywhere. No sign. But no sign of them around either pasture, either.
I dumped the leftovers--if the goats got into it it wouldn't hurt them--and slogged back to the house. I had to get ready for work. I told the boy that if he found the bodies to please bury them. I felt about 4 inches high and fifty feet wide, creeping along like some vile fungus into the car.
And that's when I saw them. They were bright-eyed and looking to me for their morning snackies.
You can bet I shut them in last night.
I didn't have time to raise chicks this year. If I lost my dear biddies, that would be it for eggs, for stroking their smooth feathers while they spread their wings and tucked their legs waiting for the attention, no more carrying them tucked in one arm like a baby, and no more giggling with the girl as she gets one to perch on her arm with the declaration that this was redneck falconry in action.
But they're still here. It's a very good thing.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Silly Farm Stuff
Cute mental picture of the day, if you like chickens.
Beatrice, the buff orpington, and Sophie, the silver lace wyandotte, excited about strawberries.
I had about five strawberries leftover whose skins were starting to get dark and they were becoming unappetizing. Not to the chickens, though! They spear them and then run around with the strawberries stuck to their beaks before shaking them off.
Beatrice wasn't as thrilled as Sophie, for whatever reason. She kept checking out different strawberries, as if hoping that the promise of all that red wonderfulness would pan out to something bigger. She kept reacting to eating a bite with an expression I swear said, "Really? That's it?"
I've been getting only one egg a day. Comparing eggs, it looks like the biddies are alternating. They both seem healthy. I think it's the on-again, off-again weather. After a couple of days in the 70s and 80s, we're back to the 60s and rain.
My tomatoes were terribly disappointed. Their leaves looked very disapproving when I checked on them this morning. Maybe even judgmental, as if the rain were my fault. If they could have pointed at me, I'm sure they would have.
Beatrice, the buff orpington, and Sophie, the silver lace wyandotte, excited about strawberries.
I had about five strawberries leftover whose skins were starting to get dark and they were becoming unappetizing. Not to the chickens, though! They spear them and then run around with the strawberries stuck to their beaks before shaking them off.
Beatrice wasn't as thrilled as Sophie, for whatever reason. She kept checking out different strawberries, as if hoping that the promise of all that red wonderfulness would pan out to something bigger. She kept reacting to eating a bite with an expression I swear said, "Really? That's it?"
I've been getting only one egg a day. Comparing eggs, it looks like the biddies are alternating. They both seem healthy. I think it's the on-again, off-again weather. After a couple of days in the 70s and 80s, we're back to the 60s and rain.
My tomatoes were terribly disappointed. Their leaves looked very disapproving when I checked on them this morning. Maybe even judgmental, as if the rain were my fault. If they could have pointed at me, I'm sure they would have.
Monday, March 12, 2012
To peep or not to peep
It's almost chick time.
I both love and hate raising chicks. They're a lot of trouble, but they're also a lot of fun, and sooo cute! Too bad that they poop and peep all day and most of the night.
After the various massacres, we have two very good hens left. We guard them very carefully. I could stand to have a rooster again, I think. I still have hopes that one of the hens will turn out to be broody.
For commercial considerations, hens have had broodiness bred out of them. When a hen sits to hatch her eggs, she stops laying, and she's sort of a nuisance because she'll resist any attempt to collect those eggs she's sitting on. So I completely understand why farmers bred it out ... and yet it's a problem for those of us with little bitty farms who would rather have the hens raise the chicks than to do it ourselves. Commercial places that bother with raising chicks do it with an incubator that automagically turns the eggs and keeps them at the right temperature. When the chicks are born they're transferred to carefully temperature-controlled rooms with automatic feeders and waterers and stuff. Me, I've got a heat lamp, a 20 gallon aquarium, and my office (which is tiled--easier to clean up than the rest of the house.) It's a mess.
I'm seriously considering skipping it this year. And yet ... I'd love to have green and blue eggs again, and maybe a rooster. Who knows? Someone in this batch might be broody ... hopefully not somewhere in the field where she and the eggs will get snatched by a raccoon ....
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