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The Stylish Gardener

Minnie Pig

5/1/2018

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Meet Miss Minnie...our newest--and noisiest--addition to the farm! Minnie is an 8 week old Juliana mini pig, and she loves cuddling under the covers, rooting at the pillows (and anything else she comes across), and slurping down runny oatmeal.

But who doesn't? You outta hear her squealing with delight when I pour that runny stuff into her food bowl.

Or have you already? She is pretty loud at feeding time.

As soon as she sees me walk into the kitchen she starts squealing like a stuck pig, and then when she gets her food, she furiously shoves her snout down into it and starts making the loudest slurping sounds I have ever heard in my life.

Aside from when I get to the bottom of my Cree Mee drive-in marshmallow milkshake, that is.

But I try to only eat those in private...it's slightly embarrassing to do it in public.

​Minnie, on the other hand, has no shame.

Pigs. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them...

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Unless your name is Thomas the Cat.

Tom isn't quite sure what to make of Minnie, but she sure likes him.

Join the crowd, Minnie. We all like Tom...he's a "cool cat" kind of kitty. Just be sure to give him some space...


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And a kiss on the forehead every now and then.

Nobody could resist that!

And I hope I'm next.

​
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Sheba the Queen

12/27/2017

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My sweet Splash Orpington hen, Sheba, is so givin. And so reliable, too. No matter the weather, she lays a lovely sage green egg for me almost every day.

Today was was no exception, even though it was an exceptionally cold day--12 degrees was the high temp! And for some reason when it gets that cold, I have an uncontrollable urge to get outside and experience it.

Yep. I'm an odd duck.

An odd duck who love chickens. Which is why, in the freezing cold 12 degree weather, I was outside having an impromptu photo shoot with the queen of the coop, Sheba.

Well what else is there to do when it's that cold?

Oh...that's a good point you have there. Cuddling up on the couch in comfy pajamas snuggled under a cozy blanket and binge-watching the new season of The Crown certainly is another option.

And certainly a more normal option too. But the normal path isn't always the most common one we take around here.

​Take Will, for example. Today he played the part of photographer while wearing a t-shirt, karate pants, and house slippers. And while shivering and shaking so much it's unbelievable that the camera was able to focus.

For what it's worth, I did tell him to put on a coat, but for some reason he didn't take me seriously. Couldn't have been because at the time I happened to be dancing around the front yard holding a fresh egg in one hand and cradling a panic-struck chicken in the other while not-so-subtly practicing a few poses from my old modeling days. (Notice I said "days" and not "years"--It was a short-lived experience, mainly because I was too short for the experience!)

Anyhoo...You think he'd be used to this kind of stuff by now. Or maybe that's the problem.

Either way, he snapped a few photos as Sheba and I struck a few poses...



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I call this Sheba's supermodel pose. She looked straight at the camera, cocked her neck, and stuck her chest out like she was ready for her close up, Mr. DeMille.
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But she quickly lost interest, and I had to do a little sweet-talking to get her to keep going. "Aww, such a pretty girl, you're doin' such a good job, sweet little chicky, just look at the camera, you can do it...". You get the gist--all the normal things you say to your pet chicken during a routine photo shoot.
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And this is the part of the photoshoot where I realized that I forgot to put on any makeup. Apparently I wasn't quite ready for my close-up. But Sheba was, so just focus your attention on her please. She looks stunning! Or stunned. One or the other...

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Either way, Sheba's the queen of the coop, and no queen should be without a crown. And since I could almost technically be called the queen mother, I got a crown too.

​And then since it was freezing outside and our photographer could no longer feel his fingers, we called it quits and went our separate ways. Sheba scurried back into the coop and jumped into the cozy straw-filled nest box, and Will and I skedaddled back into the house and made ourselves a cup of Queen Elizabeth's favored East India Company Orange Pekoe tea, courtesy of my sister's recent trip to London.

And then I put on my comfy pajamas, curled up on the couch, snuggled under a cozy blanket, and started binge-watching the new season of The Crown.

See...I do occasionally do normal things.

Especially when it involves anything royal!


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Roosters and Reminiscing

11/5/2017

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There's no limit to the crazy-looking creatures I surround myself with. Although for the record, I myself am not crazy-looking, and I'm certainly not just plain crazy.

If you know something different, just humor me, please. It does wonders for my ego.

​And I think my afternoon visit to the new hoop house-turned-chicken coop did wonders for these crazy-looking roosters...or maybe it was the cracked corn I scattered on the ground.

Either way, I'm taking all the credit for ​brightening up their day. And while I was taking all the credit, I took a few photos, too...​


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This guy didn't quite know what to think when I sat down right in front of him--and right on top of the corn pile.

I think that sideways glance says it all. Something ​like, "Excuse me lady, you're sitting on my dinner."

I could see it in his eye...and I heard it in his voice as he let loose a loud "cock-a-doodle-doo" in a quietly irritated tone.
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So I got to my feet and let the boys have at it. 

After all, I don't like it when somebody sits on my dinner either...or steps on my birthday cake just before my tenth birthday party, but clearly I've forgiven my sister for that unfortunate event.​

Clearly.  Although how she managed to step on my cake is beyond me, and why my mother decided the floorboard of the car was the best place to put the cake while we drove to the party at Grandma's house is beyond me too.

Oh boy.  There's just no way of knowing when these traumatic memories are going to pop up.​  Give me a minute while I try to shake this off...

Here--while I'm shaking, you watch the roosters scratching and pecking...​
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Oh that was nice. (The roosters, I mean, not the reminiscing of the infamous cake-crushing incident.)

What's also nice is how well the roosters have cleaned up and cleared out this ground. You'd never know by looking at this area now, but it was a mess of overgrown grass and weeds just a few short weeks ago. ​
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That was when my husband decided to actually build the hoop house, which is basically a plastic-covered tunnel that you plant a garden inside of in order to extend the growing season into the colder months.

He had it up in no time at all, and ​then it was time to figure out how to clear the ground and improve the soil inside.

That's where the roosters came in. These fellas were extras and not really needed for breeding purposes, so we thought we'd give them something else to do...like spend the winter in the nice warm hoop house, scratching and pecking up all the grass and the weed seeds, and fertilizing the soil at the same time.​

So far so good! Everybody's happy--the roosters are happy to have a project to work on, and my husband and I are happy that we don't have to work on that project. All we have to do is move those guys out before spring, till up the soil, and plant the seeds​.

And try move past the saga of our childhood.​

Or at least I do. And I'm fine now--really. I'm an adult. ​

And so is my sister, and despite that one accidental dessert-related disaster, she really is a lovely person. A lovely person who will still love me after reading this post, I'm sure of it. After all, I'm sure I did something equally as traumatic to her when we were growing up...although nothing seems to come to mind right now.

Oh well, I'll just pretend I was a perfect sister.  It suits that ego of mine just perfectly.​​

​

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Egg Obsessed

5/28/2017

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I really thought I was done hatching eggs for a while.

But really, I should know better than to actually voice that thought. Because just as soon as I said it out loud, I got an offer I couldn't refuse...from someone who in no way could have heard me make the actual statement, but who has a habit of randomly surprising me with offers I can never ever in any way even think about refusing.

And that's how I ended up with these...
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I heard that gasp. I'll give you a moment to compose yourself...

Ready? Ok, these eggs are some of the darkest chicken eggs on the planet, delivered right into my hands straight from the coop of some of the most elite-ranking French Black Copper Marans chickens ever to roam the earth.

See why I couldn't turn them down? And you don't even want to know what these can sell for.

Or maybe you do, since I know that you and I tend to think alike. So think "three figures" with a dollar sign in front of them.

Yep. I said three. So no, I didn't fry them up for breakfast; I stuck them right into that very incubator that I had just previously decided to shut off.

I do make a smart move every now and then.

And now I have the possibility of hatching some very cute and fuzzy chicks out of these captivatingly chocolate brown eggs so that then I can raise them up to give me even more of these devilishly dark-shelled delights.

I know you can't see me right now, but I'm literally quivering with excitement...which is why I'm kind of glad you can't see me right now.

Apparently it's my turn to compose myself. And I'll get right on that...mainly so I can get right back to staring at the incubator. Gazing expectantly at that warm styrofoam box, eagerly anticipating the first faint peep and the first peek at the cute little creatures pecking their way out into the world is just too much to resist.

I'm not sure, but I may be slightly obsessed. I'm sure you'd never know it by looking at me...

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This is as composed as I get. Especially when I'm holding extremely rare, deliciously dark, fantastically fertile eggs!

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Simply incredible!

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Oliver, The Olive Egger

2/12/2017

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Winter is usually the quietest time on the homestead, but this year it seems extra loud.

Might be just me, or it could be all the roosters I have scattered around the farmyard in various breeding pens, coops, and even some makeshift cages in the greenhouse.
Yep. It's the roosters making all the noise. It seems being cloistered away with a few choice hens does wonders for their masculinity, and they have no problem letting the world know they are each finally ruling their very own roost...and procreating like crazy.

Sorry. I'll leave the chicken-breeding details to your imagination from now on. But I will say that it does happen to be the main event around here, and Oliver, my devastatingly handsome Olive Egger rooster, happens to be the top dog...or top cock, I guess.

Oh boy. Sorry again. It's a technical term, I promise.

Moving on...so Oliver belongs to a breed of chicken called Olive Egger, categorized by the ability to lay an egg with a olive green shell. And for those of you who are not so familiar with chicken-keeping, only the hens do this, not the roosters.

Your welcome. And just because Valentine's Day is rounding the bend, here's another helpful little tidbit: I love you.

Your welcome again. Apparently love is in the air...and in the coops.

Ahem. Soooo, Oliver is the product of a cross breeding between Chester Copperpot, my French Black Copper Marans Rooster, and Edie, one of my Easter Egger Hens. The Marans breed lays a dark brown egg, and the Easter Eggers eggs are blue-green. Crossing the breeds creates a bird that should produce an olive-colored egg, hence the name Olive Egger.

Makes sense, right? Well let me complicate it a bit more, because there's more than one way to skin a cat.

Wait, what?!! Where did that come from?!! Just for the record, I would never, ever skin a cat. Good grief! I should've gotten more sleep last night...but with all the roosters crowing at all hours of the night, sleeping happens to be a bit difficult right now.

Anyways...you can also get an Olive Egger by crossing any other dark brown egg-layer with any other blue or green egg-layer. Which is how I got Lib, Mag, and Ceycil, my Olive Egger hens. This trio (named for my locally infamous three "old maid" great-great aunts) are a combination of dark brown egg-laying Welsummers and blue egg-laying Cream Legbars.

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Ok, enough with all the genetics. What I really wanted to tell you is that Oliver, Lib, Mag, and Ceycil are now one big happy family, peacefully pecking around in their new pen inside the nice-and-cozy greenhouse while the weather roller-coasters up and down on the other side of the glass windows. Oliver is strutting around like he's king of the coop (and rightfully so), the ladies are laying like crazy, and I'm furiously sticking those eggs in the incubator like the crazy, sleep-deprived woman that I am.
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And, those pretty olive eggs are now hatching. Yippee! What's emerging is exactly what I expected: Cute little chicks. Cute little chicks who should eventually lay even deeper-hued olive eggs that will look so pretty in my egg cartons along with all the other tasty farm-fresh eggs I'll bring to the farmer's market this summer!

Oh, it's so nice to think about summer when we're smack dab in the middle of winter. Certainly helps me get through the cold days...and nights, too. Especially since I'm awake a lot more lately.

I bet the neighbors love me...and my roosters. Yes, love is in the air--and boy is it noisy!

Ahem.



​
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February 11th, 2017

2/11/2017

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Royal Visitors

10/5/2016

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My pretty zinnias just got more majestic.

A royal visit has that effect sometimes, especially when it's from a monarch like the one ​Will pointed  out to me the other day.  He noticed it fluttering around the zinnia patch despite the crazy winds one afternoon, and he knew exactly what it meant...
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The Monarch caterpillars had morphed! 

We spotted this fella several days before in the most unexpected place--on the Bronze Fennel plant.  

I didn't know they liked to eat Bronze Fennel.  Or maybe he was just after that fly perched on top of the flower head...

Nah, I'm pretty sure monarchs are vegetarians. 

Anyway, we were surprised to see him there because just across the yard is a patch of milkweed, which from what we understood, is their favorite plant to munch on.  Yet there were no caterpillars at all on the milkweed. 
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But they were all over the fennel. 

In fact, they weren't the only ones on the fennel.  It was a hot spot of activity that day...
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There were Mud Daubers...
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Honeybees...
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A spider eating a fly...

Hey, I wonder if that was the same fly I saw earlier...

Okay, let's not dwell on him.  Here's somebody else to dwell on...
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Or at least keep an eye on--a red wasp.    Eek!  This fella might even merit a few prayers for safety.
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Looks like somebody else had the same thought.  

Praying mantises are so devout.  They pray constantly! 

And also, they creep me out.  But I do like that shade of green he's wearing.​

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His friend could use a little sprucing up, though.  That brown is kind of drab.  

Although, I can spot this guy better than the first one, so maybe the boring color is better. 

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Either way, I'm glad I could provide a habitat for all these creatures, from the mundane to the majestic.

It's nice to know that as my zinnias are putting on their final display for the year, they are also fueling the monarchs for their long  journey to Mexico, which by the way, is where zinnias originally hail from.

I love that!  Sometimes the world just makes too much sense.​​  ​

Hmm.  Maybe nature isn't as random as we've been told...​now there's a thought!

​
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Sleeping Tom

5/8/2016

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I used to love cats, back when I was a little girl with long red pigtails and freckles dotting my nose.  But it was that very nose that finally caused me to give up my obsession--it wouldn't quit running. And sneezing...and itching.

And my eyes wouldn't stop itching either and watering and blurring and everything else that went along with feline-fueled allergies. 

So cats became a thing of my past, as did so many other things as I emerged from childhood and grew into adulthood.

But it's funny how circular life is.  And when my son became increasingly adoring of the kitties at grandma's house, and the mice became increasing fond of the cozy spaces in my house, I made an executive decision...​

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 Meet Tom. 

Tom arrived several months ago after a thorough vetting process that went something like this:

    Me:  "Hey Will, next time you're at Grandma's house, pick us out one of those kitties." 
   
Will:  "Okay."

And that's how we ended up with Tom.  In hindsight, I could've been more specific in my directions, like that we needed a female, since they tend to be better mousers, and that the cat should show some signs of initiative, i.e. energy...

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Pretty much just the opposite of Tom. 

But he is irresistibly cute.  And incredibly loving, sweet, and tolerant...even to those belonging to the rodent race.​

Hmm.  That didn't play out like I'd hoped. 

​On the plus side, it did force me to find another way to deal with those persistent pests, which in turn, lead to the creation of my new Peppermint Rodent Repellant.  And it's working great!

So now we're all happy--me, Will, Tom.  Even my husband seems okay with the situation.  The only ones who aren't so pleased are the mice!

And I'm okay with that.​

So once again I've been reminded that things don't always work out like I planned...
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Sometimes they work out better.​

Tom may not be the best mouser or the most energetic kitty in the world, but he sure has made Will one of the happiest boys in the world.

And, as a mother, that means more than anything else.

​Even if I do need an allergy pill every now and then!
​
  
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Spring Chicks

2/6/2016

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You know I love rare heirloom animals, and most of the animals I raise are both rare and heirloom.  But every once in a while I end up fascinated with a breed that is not necessarily an heirloom, but none-the-less rare, and in addition, very interesting.  

This just happens to be the case with my new spring chicks.


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These fellas are sure cute, but there's actually something quite special about them and how they came to be.  Here's how the story goes:

There is an unusual type of black chicken that has recently risen to popularity, described as Fibro Melanistic, meaning the black pigment present in their genetics is so strong, it permeates throughout the bird's body--even into its bones.  These birds are not only ebony black on the outside, but on the inside too!  As you might expect, this unusual trait makes them coveted by breeders worldwide, and by default, also makes them extremely expensive--up to four figures! 

Definitely out of my price range.  Or so I thought...
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Ogye Yeonsan Chickens courtesy of Fibro Farms
Funny things happen sometimes when you're least expecting them, and such was the case for me late last summer when I got a phone call from my best-est breeder buddy who just happens to be on the leading edge of this Fibro Phenomenon. 

Don't take this the wrong way, but I love it when he calls me.  My husband is fully aware of this, and he's fine with it.  Really.

I love these phone calls because it usually means something chicken-related and very exciting is about to happen, and this time was no different. 
My buddy had hatched a plan, and after hearing his ideas and having no desire to question the authority of an expert, I quickly agreed to it. 

To make a long story short, within a few hours I was the proud owner of a few Ogye Yeonsan fibro melanistic roosters whose job it was to breed with my Lavender Orpington and Isbar hens.  The eventual offspring would be a black-bodied bird with lavender feathers, and a black bodied bird that would lay a blue egg, respectively.  In the ever-evolving world of rare chicken breeding, these creations might eventually be quite desirable. 


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Jumping ahead to mid-January of this year, when I finally had time to concentrate on this effort, I gathered and set several eggs in the incubator, and waited to see what would happen. 

Three weeks later, while passing by the incubator on the way to the laundry room, I heard a faint peeping coming from inside.  Inside the incubator, not the laundry room, just to be clear. 

Anyway, I peeked through the top window of the incubator and immediately forgot all about the laundry.

Because this is what I saw...

How exciting!  You see why I forgot about the laundry, although later I did have to explain to my husband why he had no clean pants to wear to work.  Having the video helped me out, though--it's always good to have proof to back up your stories.

I filmed the entire hatch for this particular chick, but since it took him almost an hour to emerge, I've shortened this clip down to the most exciting part.  It's still over ten minutes long, but if you have some free time and aren't feeling squeamish, then check it out. 


Goodness, that wore me (and him) out!  What a feat of nature, though. 

After resting for a few hours, he recovered quite nicely.  Here he is, all cute and cuddly...


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He was soon joined by several other chicks, and as we speak they are all living it up in my mud room in an old aquarium-turned brooder. 

Here are a few of his friends:


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This fella looks a lot like his daddy--black all over.


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And this little lady looks more like her mama, with hints of lavender in her fuzzy feathers.


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And then there's this crazy chick, who looks a bit like both parents and who thought it would be funny to stand in the feed jar and show me his hiney. 

He was right.  It was funny.
There are eleven chicks so far, and there are more still hatching.  The colors vary on each of them, but this is to be expected since it takes a couple of generations to stabilize the characteristics we're aiming for.  But the good news is that I'll have plenty of sweet little chicks hatching out this year, and eventually they'll mature into some pretty incredible chickens. 

Oh the fun of farm life!  And newly hatched spring chicks make it even more so, even if technically it is still winter.  Who cares what the calendar says!
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A Bull-eautiful Day

8/30/2015

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We have a summer tradition in my family that goes back many years. When mid-August rolls around, we head toward Sedalia, Mo for a day of fun at the Missouri State Fair.  The morning is spent browsing through the livestock buildings, the afternoon eating our way through the food stands, and the evening spinning, shaking, and splashing away on the midway rides.

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Here's the only photo I got of us this time, and it's clearly at the end of the day--the long, sweltering, exhausting but wonderful day.

If you aren't aware, mid-August in mid-Missouri is hot, not to mention humid, and this year was no different. Let me just say right here that I don't always look my best after walking around in 90 degree heat for 10 hours straight.  But you don't either, so let's call us equal and move on.



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And move on we did--this year breaking tradition because Will couldn't wait til dark to ride the rides. Off to the midway we went, and the first thing the boys jumped in was the Spinning Apple.  We just can't seem to resist produce--especially if it's a life-size replica of our favorite orchard fruit.




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And then came the bungee jump...


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And the water ball...


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And finally the Ferris Wheel.  After which the heat started to go to our heads (I'm sure standing in line on a sizzling metal platform while temperatures--and the passengers already aboard--soared around us had nothing to do with that), so we headed to the spots I'd been itching to get to all day: the poultry building, the agriculture displays, and the large animal barns. 

You may have noticed I have no photos of any of this...I believe I mentioned the 10 hours spent walking around in the 90 degree heat.  To put it simply, it's exhausting.  And it made pulling my phone out of my pocket to snap pictures seem like a monumental task.  Although I had no problem gulping down several fresh-squeezed lemonades.  Go figure.

Darn it. I'll do better next year.  But let me tell you what I saw: Chickens galore (including a gorgeous Blue-laced Red Wyandotte), rare ducks and geese, freshly shorn sheep, plump pink piglets nestled up to their monstrous momma, the finest cattle in the state, and the famous Clydesdale pulling team, of which the lightest member weighed 2,ooo lbs. Pardon my stating the obvious, but that's an entire ton! Holy horsetails!

The Clydesdales were massive, as was our day.  By the time 10 pm rolled around we were walked out, worn out, and almost out of cash.  We headed toward the exit gate hoping to catch the trolley to the parking area, but then fate intervened.  There, right beside the gate, was the very animal I've been hoping to cross paths with for several years.  It's extremely rare, slightly dangerous, and far too exciting for me to resist jumping on the back of. 

You heard me.  And my husband had the presence of mind to whip out the camera and snap this shot...

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That right there is a mechanical bull, folks.  I haven't seen one for at least ten years, not since the last time I was in Forth Worth at the world's largest honkytonk, Billy Bob's Texas Cafe.

Incidentally, that's also the last time I saw Willie Nelson live and in person.  Which was right after I slammed into his harmonica player while pushing my way though the crowded saloon.  Neither of us saw that coming, and his reaction was faster than mine--he put a hand on each of my shoulders, lifted me straight up, and abruptly set me down out of the way.  Apparently I interrupted his beeline to the stage--which was inherently more important than my beeline to the bull, so I'm not holding it against him.  In fact, I bypassed the bullriding that night and gave The Redheaded Stranger my full attention...it was the least I could do after my scuffle with his sidekick. But I digress, so let's get back on the road again--to the State Fair, that is.

Since there was no country music legend (or random band member) to deter me this time, there was no way I wasn't getting on this bull.

After frantically digging around in my pocket (and Geoffrey's pocket and William's pocket) to scrape together enough cash to live my dream, I gleefully climbed onto that ferocious creature.  (I'm not afraid of wild animals. Especially when there's a sweaty and slightly bored-looking carnival worker at the controls.)

I was determined to make it 8 seconds, but let me just say, I was secretly hoping for longer.  And let me also just say that if I didn't have a bum shoulder and hadn't just spent ten hours hiking around the fair grounds in that 90 degree heat, sky-high humidity, and glaring sun, I would still be hanging onto that bull.

What was that?  You're starting to sound like my husband.  I know that smothered chuckle/cough all too well.  Try to keep your thoughts to yourself, please.  I need to finish my story.

Soooo.  Because I still love you (and because I know you need to see it to believe it), I uploaded the video to YouTube.  So you go ahead and enjoy the show...I gotta go put some ice on my shoulder.


Here's the link...

(And just for the record, it was a record ride at 22 whole seconds.  Take that Ty Murray!!)

I think I've found a new career.


And also, here's some photos of the little squirt who followed my ride with a better one of his own! 
Kids.  You gotta love 'em...even when they show you up.



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The Turkey Thief

7/9/2015

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A funny phrase came out of my mouth this morning:  "Hey, you Turkey!  Those are mine! ".  Now, before anyone has a chance to accuse me of blatant name calling, let me just clarify exactly who I was shouting at:


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Now you see why I called him a "Turkey"?  What else would you call one of my heirloom Bourbon Reds?  Now let me show you what he was doing that inspired my outburst:


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Yep.  He was stealing blackberries. 

Alright, let's be honest--I don't think he really knew he was stealing.  After all, Bourbon Reds are excellent foragers (which is why I raise them), and since they've been given free reign to free-range anywhere on the homestead, it's only natural that he would be drawn like a magnet to the abundantly appealing fruit blanketing the blackberry brambles. 

I guess I'm not the only one who can't resist gobbling down a ripe blackberry.

I know I've previously discussed my greediness concerning blackberries, so let me just quickly say that generosity is not my first response when faced with a situation like this.  I think you might agree if put in my position, so let's just get you there right now.  I'll set the stage:

It's a calm, beautiful morning on the homestead.  The sun has just crept over the horizon, and its rays are cascading over the blackberry patch; The vibrant fruit practically glows in the early morning light.  You are peacefully ambling along the path through the brambles, picking the plump dark berries dangling from the tips of the red clusters and gently dropping them into the basket on your arm.  The sounds of country life surround you: an occasional crow from a rooster, the tall grasses rustling in the breeze, the squeaks from a pair of bickering squirrels.  A busy bumble bee zooms past you as you round the bend of your own private "Garden of Eden".  Then suddenly your harmonious world is abruptly shattered when you come face to face with a real-life berry poacher, caught red-handed (or red-feathered) in the act of berry-thieving. 

Startling, isn't it?  You figure out your own response.
After my initial outburst (which by the way, didn't phase that tricky turkey at all), I did my best to calm down.  I think he noticed, because he took a few steps in my direction and gave me this look:


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My heart softened a bit.  I thought he was trying to communicate with me, maybe even trying to apologize, but it turned out he was just moving into position to do this:


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Now I've raised turkeys on the homestead for about a decade, and I thought I'd seen all their moves: strutting, dancing, waddling, flying... but I've never until this moment here seen one jump straight up. 

But listen, I know all about doing what you have to do in order to get to that one irresistible glossy ripe berry. 


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And the best berries always seem to be just out of my reach too...even when I stand on my tippy toes and stretch my neck out as far as it will go. 

Hmm...this turkey and I might be more alike than I thought.  I get where he's coming from.

Now that I think about it, I believe I may have discovered a kindred spirit right there in the blackberry patch this morning--and it seems perfectly fitting that it's an auburn-hued one with a belly full of berries! 

Hey, instead of "two peas in a pod", I think I'll call us "two berries on a bramble"! 

I like it, I really do.


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Gardening for Chickens

4/4/2015

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I've had so much interest in "Gardening With Chickens" since I began presenting workshops on the subject that I thought it might be fun to hit some of the highlights of the presentation right here on the website.  One of the concepts I discuss (and one folks have been fascinated with) is gardening for your chickens.  It's a simple concept, and when you really think about it, it's an extremely practical one too.

I love growing a garden for my family to eat from, and a while back I realized that we were not the only ones who could benefit from the harvest...
The flock adores sharing the bounty, and that works out great for all of us.  Here's why:

  • Growing extras in the garden for the flock cuts feed costs.
  • Eating a diet rich in leafy greens, herbs, and other produce improves the chickens' health.
  • I feel a bit more justified about planting way too much in the Spring.  (I can go a bit overboard!)


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I free-range my flock the majority of the time, but I have a coop and attached chicken run that I can keep them contained to when necessary--like when the panther passes through in the Spring and Fall.  Most of the time my chickens are out in the yard and field chasing bugs, pecking at the weeds, and picking at the grass.  This foraging tendency is natural to them, and it helps them get diversity in their diet.  It also helps in that I don't have to buy nearly as much feed for them, and I'm all about saving money. 

I boost this savings by planting a few extras in the gardens that the chickens can benefit from, like all those nutrient rich leafy greens--kale, arugula, and chard are some of my (and their) favorites.  I also have fruit trees they can glean fallen fruit from and berry canes they can forage beneath.  The latter two are particularly beneficial to me simply because the chickens clean up any bad fruit and berries that have dropped, and that's one less task for me!


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Most of us know the health benefits of eating fresh, raw fruit and veggies.  And humans aren't the only ones who need these power-packed foods in our diet.  Chickens can and will survive on the complete commercial packaged feeds available at farm stores (and there's nothing wrong with feeding them this), but to me there's no comparison between them eating packaged feed and eating fresh produce.

Leafy greens provide a plethora of nutrients and antioxidants, and are a wonderful "fuel food".  They provide us and our flocks with the energy and fuel our bodies need to stay active and in good health.  Herbs have many beneficial qualities, too, and I like to toss excess basil, rosemary, thyme, and mints into the run and let the flock feast away.  Basil has antibacterial properties, rosemary & thyme aid respiratory issues, and mints are cleansing with the added benefit of being rodent deterrents.  Using these and other herbs are a nice way to feed and care for my flock naturally--and tossing a few edible flowers in adds a little spice to the mix!


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I don't know about you, but when Spring planting season rolls around I tend to go a bit crazy with my plantings.  I plant way too much of everything!  And then when harvest season arrives I end up exhausting myself trying to pick and save every last bit of the bounty.  But the last few years I've learned a different way of doing things.  Don't get me wrong--I still over-plant, but I just don't stress out about getting it all harvested.  This is because I've discovered that my chickens love to help out with the task. 

Any extras I get when I'm out gleaning from the garden go straight to the flock--who is usually hovering at the garden gate, begging for a freshly harvested treat.  And when the greens start to bolt and turn bitter and I don't want to eat them anymore, I know who feels differently.  The chickens consider them a buffet--and a tasty one at that.  I toss the harvested plants, roots and all, to the flock and watch them gobble up what would otherwise have been thrown in the compost pile.  

I mentioned before about how my flock cleans up the fallen fruit from the trees and berry canes.  Not only does this solve the problem of my having to harvest every last fruit on the branches and vines, but because the chickens don't mind eating rotten fruit, they clean up a mess that would otherwise cause a stink and draw in additional pests.  I get what I want from the harvest, and they get something too. 

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Gardening for my chickens has been such a blessing to me and my flock that I can't imagine doing things any other way now.  The burden of a massive harvest has been removed, the health of my flock has improved, and my wallet is slightly heavier these days.  Plus, gardening for my chickens makes me feel one step closer to living that sustainable life.  There's something to be said for doing the best you can with what you've been given, and in this case, I feel confident that I'm doing just that.  

And believe me, that hasn't always been the case.  Sorry to burst your bubble--I know you think I'm perfect.  Probably because I keep saying I am!  (Wink, wink.)


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Snow Birds

2/19/2015

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Will and I have been having a lot of fun the past few mornings.  We've been peeking out through our frosty window panes at the backyard and it's feathered inhabitants, who (unlike us humans) don't seem to be fazed at all by the winter weather.

I used to worry about my mismatched flock of geese and ducks, especially during the colder months.  I can't count the times I'd rush out with fresh warm water and scoops of high protein feed because I feared they were in desperate need of it.  They weren't. 
They didn't appreciate it at all, and even went as far as actually turning up their noses...bills, I mean. 

After freezing my tail off time after time all because I was afraid their tails would do just that, I finally realized they were fine without me.  In fact, they seemed to like the winter weather!  They'd rather bury their beaks deep into the snow drifts and root around for a frozen blade of grass than eat the bowl of cracked corn staring them in the face.  They'd happily gobble down big gulps of icy snow instead of dipping their beaks in the bucket of warm water I religiously hauled out every day.  
And their shelter, which I'd carefully wrapped with insulating Mylar to trap heat and block drafts?  They wouldn't even set one webbed foot in it.  To my amazement, they preferred to spend the nights huddled together beneath the big maple tree, rejecting the nice straw beds I prepared for them and instead nestling down amongst the tangled, snow covered roots. 

I was confused at first at this behavior, and a little bit frustrated.  For goodness sakes, if somebody babied me like that, I'd eat it up!  But I guess that's what separates the birds from the broads.  They are, after all, farm animals.  (I'm not, just to clarify.  No matter what you've heard.)  And no matter how domesticated they are, they still have that natural survival instinct.  They are basically self-sustaining creatures, equipped with an unbreakable survival-of-the-species urge that surpasses any human effort I can dish out.  They automatically know what they need, and they prefer to find it themselves...without any help from me. 

Once I finally accepted this fact, I was thrilled.  I love anything low-maintenance, and that was exactly what these birds were.  Far be it for me to argue!  Especially when the wind chill is below zero, several inches of snow are covering the ground, and the sun seems to be hiding out on the other side of the world.  In situations like this, I'll just stay inside...thank you very much.  And Will and I will keep right on peeking out the window.  On our side of the glass, it's nice and cozy.  On their side, not so much.  But still, everybody is happy and the world is a better place.  At least on this little snow-covered homestead!

P.S.  And I think the snow is pretty...unless it's yellow.  Happy Winter!


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Winter Eggs

1/9/2015

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Winter is a difficult time for all the residents on the homestead, especially the animals.  No one in their right mind would argue that fact.  I've never been accused of having my right mind, but even this lefty knows that winter--with its frigid winds, cold dry air, and occasional blanket of snow--doesn't offer the most comfortable weather.  Especially if you live outside.

If you're a farm animal (which I'm not, just so you know) this time of year is basically a test of endurance.  Production of any variety all but ceases when survival mode kicks in, and I don't mind at all.  Except when we're talking about egg production.  I do like my fresh eggs. 


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But we can't have it all.  Until after the Winter Solstice, that is.  Let me explain...

When a female chicken reaches adulthood, around 5 months old, she'll begin laying an egg every 26 hours or so.  This means that one hen = 6 eggs a week, with some variation based on breeds and age.  The hens rely heavily on daylight to maintain this production level, so when the daylight hours get shorter, production wanes.  There's usually a point when no eggs are layed, and this break can last for several weeks. I spend those several weeks eating store-bought eggs.  But then the winter solstice comes along, the length of daylight gradually increases, and eggs slowly start appearing in the nestboxes.  
 

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Just before Christmas--and right after the December 21 solstice--I spotted my little Isbar hen nestled in a freshly strawed nestbox.  When I checked back later, I discovered that she had left a sky blue medium-sized egg behind for me. 

Hallelujah!  Christmas came early!  Don't worry, I do know that the real meaning of Christmas doesn't involve eggs.  But there may have been chickens involved that night--Jesus was born in a manger, right?  Well, anyway, at this very moment during the height of Christmas season, I knew that another season was upon us--Winter Egg Season. 

I'm fairly sure that "winter eggs" is a self-explanatory term, but if you haven't had your coffee yet, here's the definition--they're eggs layed during the winter months.  These eggs, although much appreciated, are not quite the same as eggs gathered during the rest of the year.  Mainly because the hens diet during the warm months is based heavily on what they forage:  bugs, worms, weeds, etc.; and that makes their yolks practically glow bright orange.  In the winter, their foraging options are limited, and they depend primarily on the rations I feed them.  The eggs produced during these cold months differ in that the yolks are still orange, but just a bit paler than the rest of the year.  Oh well.  



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We don't mind at all.  It's just so nice to have fresh eggs.

Having said all this, there is a way to manipulate the egg-laying cycle.   I could heat the coop and keep a light on continuously, and this would trick the hens into laying eggs year round.  But I don't want to trick my hens.  (My accidentally leaving the chicken shed light on after feeding my birds doesn't count here, even though it happens occasionally.  I'm human, and forgetful.  And usually very cold.) 

I like that my chickens pass through normal phases depending on the seasons, and I believe allowing them to do this produces a healthy, well-adjusted bird.  Some even say it can extend their life span, and I think it can definitely extend their laying years.  I have several older hens who still produce eggs regularly, despite having past an age when laying should've, according to research, already ceased. 

So, even though my decision to raise my chickens naturally means that I buy store-bought eggs for a few weeks each winter, I'll live.  And so will my chickens.  In fact, as I said before, they may even live longer because of it.  Happy, healthy chickens is my goal...and to me, winter eggs are just a bonus!

Now if I could only keep them from freezing solid!


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Bolt, the Busy Border Collie

12/11/2014

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I've never in my life seen anyone as desperate for a job as is Bolt, our Border Collie.  I'd call him the hardest-working member of our household if I didn't already hold that title.  And I'm holding on tight to it.  Just don't tell my husband, the title is kind of self-appointed.

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Bolt was named by my son, who as a toddler was obsessed with the animated dog movie, Bolt.  (Just look at that sleepy head!  Will, not Bolt.) 

On Christmas Day 2009, when a little black and white ball of fur burst forth from a big box tied with a red bow, my son promptly named him Bolt.  Little did we know how fitting that name would be, because as he grew so did his energy level. 
He's like a bolt of lightening--quick, fast, and uncontainable.  His swiftness and stamina are unmatched on our homestead, and when all the rest of us have collapsed in a heap of exhaustion, Bolt is still raring to go.   

Border Collies are known for these abilities.  In fact, the American Kennel Club calls them "the workaholic of the dog world".  They are widely considered to be the most intelligent of dog breeds, and their athletic abilities combined with their intense, commanding gaze make them the ideal livestock herding dog.  


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Here's that famous stare.  You cannot break his focus once he gets like this.  Go ahead, try. 

It didn't work did it?  Told ya.  That intimidating "eye" allows him to control even animals twice his size.  It's an ability that sure comes in handy around here, and Bolt uses it to his best advantage.  He's a dog of many talents.

He can catch a Frisbee in mid air, track down a lost chicken in no time flat, and race the mailman's truck down the driveway as if he were a Greyhound training for the dog track.


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One of his lesser appreciated talents is photobombing.  I have to shoe him out of every photo I'm taking of the garden, if I notice him in time.  He's so fast, he can slip right into the frame before I realize he's there.  And he's always staring down something in the photos.  Usually it's a chicken or a goose that's standing just outside the picture frame, paralyzed in place because of that intense gaze. 

As I said, he's laser-focused.  Thank goodness, because nobody else around here is.  We can be kind of a laid back bunch.


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Here's another example of that canine photobomber.  See his tongue hanging out over there at the left?  He's just praying for those pigs to break loose so he can chase them all over town.  I'm praying the opposite.  I'm so glad the Lord prefers me, at least most of the time.


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And here he is, keeping watch over the chickens.  I sometimes have to lock him out of the chicken yard, because he tends to herd them until they drop.  His energy is endless, theirs is not.  I learned this the hard way.

He looks kind of sad, doesn't he?  That's because I had just kicked him out of the backyard for over-herding the geese.  It was feeding time, and he was so eager to work that he kept moving them around as they were trying to eat. 

I hate to eat and run, and so do they.  I decided it was break time for Bolt.


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There is no animal on our property that escapes Bolt's attention.  Even the guinea pigs get herded around, whether they like it or not.  They lean toward "not".


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Bolt makes no distinction between humans and animals.  He keeps everybody in line, even Will.  This one I'm glad about.  It makes me feel better knowing I have a pet who cares about my son's safety just as much as I do.  I have no doubt that Bolt would even take on a bear to protect Will, which means a lot to me since we've had several bear sightings near our property. 

The most extraordinary thing I've ever seen Bolt do, though, happened a few years ago.  I had some newly hatched chicks inside the warm greenhouse, and I had gone in to feed them.  Bolt, of course, had followed me in the greenhouse that morning and watched me as I took care of the chicks.  When I finished and turned away, Bolt didn't.  I was busy watering my seedlings when I noticed Bolt quickly plunge his head inside a bucket of rain water that was near the chick cage.  At first I couldn't figure out what he was doing, but then he raised his head out of the bucket, walked over to me, opened his mouth, and gently lay a water-soaked chick at my feet.  Unbeknownst to me, a chick had escaped while I was feeding them, and it had fallen into the bucket.  I hadn't noticed, but Bolt had.  Nothing escapes him.  And nobody was going to drown on his watch.  Amazing. 

Bolt and I have certainly had our run ins throughout our years together, but I never fail to marvel at his depth of intelligence, his moments of extreme compassion, and his excellent work ethic. 

But I have a thing for smart, caring, hard-working farmhands.  Especially when I can pay them in dog food...and belly rubs!

I think he's a keeper.  Now let's go play some fetch!
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Pumpkin-loving Pig

11/14/2014

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I just love heirloom pumpkins, and so does our pig. 

I love them because they are so unique looking and they taste great.  She just loves them because they taste great.  Pigs don't care about appearances.

I'm not talking about you, Miss Piggy.  You have impeccable taste.  Just ask Kermit.

Anyway, I had some pumpkins and squash leftover after our pumpkin sale at our town's annual Harvest Festival, and my pig and I have since made great use out of them. 

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I used several of them as decoration to add a little fall atmosphere around the homestead...

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And the rest I stored in our basement that we're slowly turning into a root cellar.  The constant temperature in there keeps them protected from the freezing temperatures that have suddenly settled around our part of the world, and it preserves them for months on end.

Let's just take a minute to appreciate the beauty of my pumpkin shelf.  I can't express how happy this shelf makes me...and my son, too.  
He's actually the one who inspired the whole basement-to-root cellar-transformation. 

It all started with him watching too many episodes of Doomsday Preppers.   He became simply obsessed with food storage, and he started talking constantly about having enough emergency supplies stored up. 

Thankfully, the pumpkin/squash shelf has satisfied him for now.  I guess he's decided that if the world comes to an end, we'll survive on heirloom squash and pumpkins. 

Sounds fun. 
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But what's even more fun is that every once in a while we pull a squash off the shelf and toss it to the pig.  And that makes her squeal with joy.  It's very entertaining.

We don't get out much.

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Look how happy she is!  And look at that squash-covered snout.  She's like a kid in the candy store--if the candy store sold squash seeds, which is her favorite snack.

What's interesting to me, though, is that she can't seem to break open the pumpkins on her own to get to those seeds.  I find this a bit strange, because the strength of the jaw muscles of a pig is similar to the strength of the biceps on the Incredible Hulk.  Really. 

I guess the rind is just too thick for her jaws to get around.  They don't open that far.

So I have to give her a head start...
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I raise the pumpkin high over my head and then throw it down as hard as I can.  This causes it to burst open enough so she can get her snout inside to where all those tasty seeds are hiding.

I have a confession to make:  The squash in the above photo didn't actually make it inside the pig pen, and I'll tell you why.

It's a variety called "Green Warty Thing", and it's renowned in the heirloom squash world as one of the most elite baking squash in the world.  I have an abundance of these in my cellar, so I really thought it would be okay to toss one to the pig. 

I was wrong.  Just after the photo was taken I started having second thoughts about sharing my precious bounty with a member of the swine family.  And I started daydreaming about all those lovely pies I could make from this one beautiful squash.  Hmm.  Pig vs. Pie...

I decided to make a pie.  I brought the squash inside the house and set it on the table, then I went into the kitchen to grab the knife to cut it.  But when I turned back around with knife in hand and saw how lovely my squash looked setting on the table, I just couldn't cut it. 

(Ba-dumt-dum.  Cue the cymbal crash.  Hope that didn't go over your head...)

As I was saying...my need to display beautiful produce instead of eating it won out.

Darn it!  After all those years in therapy, I thought I had worked past all that...

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So I threw caution to the wind and created a nice seasonal display, which then made me hungry for pumpkin pie.  Go figure.

So I went back down to the basement, grabbed another Green Warty Thing, and brought it to the kitchen. 

But something happened along the way.  
I decided to see if I could balance it on my head.

What?  Don't tell me you don't balance strange objects on your head.  Everybody does it.

I was actually kind of proud of successfully balancing a 20lb squash on my 10lb head.  Unfortunately my joy was short lived.  Immediately after the squash came down, I realized I had a pressing need for a bottle of Ibuprofen. 

Which promptly put an end to my pie-making plan. 

I should have just fed the silly thing to the pig to start with.   Hindsight, right? 

Oh well, everybody makes mistakes.  And some people make pies...just not me.

But there's always tomorrow!
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Holy Gander!

10/5/2014

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Our Sunday mornings are generally reserved for church, but a few weeks ago Will and I decided to spice up our sabbath.  It was the last day of the Fall swap meet at Jacob's Cave Meadowlands, and it was our last chance to buy the stuff we'd spotted and passed up the day before.

This massive four-day event happens thrice a year, and we don't miss a one--we're there so much, we even ended up in their commercial!  It's bigger than ever now, this time I even saw a tour bus pulling in!  All thanks to our appearance, I'm sure.

Vendors come from miles away to hawk their goods, and
buyers flock to the event to scour through booths filled with everything from hens to Harleys, and apple presses to emus.
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Yes, I said emus.  This one was on a leash, but he was very friendly.  A bit prehistoric, but nice enough.  Although I'm pretty sure he was plotting his escape.  I saw that look in his eye...
But emus weren't on our shopping list this particular morning; bull horns were.  This was what Will had decided he desperately needed, and I desperately agreed.  Mainly because I'll take any excuse to go back to the swap.

My plan was to grab the bull by the horns...correction: grab the bull horn, and make it back home in time for church.  My husband had looked at me skeptically when I announced this plan, but he kept his mouth shut.  That's why I love him. 

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And so we found ourselves at the swap, racing through the maze of aisles at warp speed, sweeping past booths filled with antiques, tools, and turkeys, and finally skidding to a halt at the bull horn booth...except it wasn't there anymore.  Yep, the vendor skipped out early. 
Drat! Foiled again!  

Not really.  Will simply shrugged his shoulders, turned to the next booth, and promptly bought something else equally cool.  Kids are great.

And then I turned around and spotted something even cooler.  Something I'd been coveting for ages--a Toulouse Goose.   It's the quintessential fairytale french goose pictured in European storybooks and nursery rhyme illustrations, and it just happened to be sitting right in front of me.

Oh boy!  Literally.  It really was a boy--or a gander, in goose terms.  And I wanted him. Yet the clock was ticking and time was running out.  His owner must have noticed me noticing because he said, "I'll sell you that gander for $15." 

And that's when it all went south for the winter.   I was almost late for church, yet I knew in my heart that I couldn't pass him up, especially at that price.  My only question was, "How on earth would I get him home?".

The goose guy was undeterred by my question and quickly produced a big box and a roll of duct tape.  So, I fished $15 out of my pocket and bought a goose. 

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And this is how we got my elegant, old-world, storybook goose home.  In a cardboard box. 
We got quite a few sideways glances as we packed him to the car, and I'm pretty sure I heard chuckling from bystanders as we crammed him in the backseat.  We just smiled and waved...

And then I pealed out of the parking lot and put the pedal to the metal.  I figured God would overlook my speeding, since the road I was on was paved with good intentions.  Wait, I think that's the wrong road.  Never-the-less,
I could hear the church bells ringing as we screeched to a halt at the churchyard with seconds to spare.  We scrambled out of the car and scurried in the back door as quiet as church mice (if the church mice were smothering giggles) as the congregation sang Amazing Grace. 

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We did our best to act normal, even though we were well aware that we'd left a goose taped in a cardboard box sitting in the backseat of our car.  Of course, my husband suspected something was up.  He gave us the once over from the pulpit as we sneaked into the empty back pew--did I mention he's the pastor?  But thankfully he's a laid-back one, because the look he shot our way was one of amusement.  At least as amused as you can look while leading a group of church-goers in the final verse of that beautiful bittersweet hymn!

As the dust settled on our adventure, we settled in for a good sermon.  And afterwards, we took our new goose home, turned him loose in the yard, and thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon. 

It was much calmer than our morning!
Amen.
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Cleopatra, the Egyptian Goose

9/19/2014

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Every farm animal has it's own personality, and some are more pleasant than others.  Take Cleopatra, our Egyptian goose, for example.  She was a gift given to me by a dear friend earlier in the year, and I was intrigued by her from the beginning. I immediately named her after the famous Egyptian ruler, and soon found out how fitting the name is.  Not only is she strikingly beautiful, but she's very much a tyrant. 

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Egyptian geese typically rule their territory with an iron fist (or wing) and will often run off any other waterfowl that's not their own kind.  Cleo succeeded in running Jackie Chan, our Chinese Gander, off her pond the very day we brought him home.  My husband had to pick him up at the neighbor's house the next day.  We had to pen him up in the backyard with the Cayuga ducks for a while until we could convince him to stick around.


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Jackie Chan and the Cayugas became fast friends, and I think it made Cleopatra a little jealous.  When I decided it was time to turn JC & the ducks loose from the pen, they would waddle happily around, with Her Majesty silently watching them from a distance.  Each day I noticed her creeping closer, her eyes never wavering from the trio.  Occasionally she'd flap her wings
and hiss. 

I think she was trying to get noticed.  We've all been there. 

But Jackie Chan and the Cayugas simply ignored her, and eventually she gave up the dramatics and began to graze along with them--can't beat 'em, join 'em.  Now I find them all waddling along together, nibbling the seedheads off my too-tall grass and gobbling up any rotten pears and tomatoes they can find. 
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Don't get me wrong, Cleo's still Empress of Waterfowl (at least she thinks she is).  She's clearly the one ordering her loyal (but ambivalent) subjects around the barnyard, but I think she's realized how nice it is to have some company while she's at it. 

Just not at her pond...she still won't allow them to get close to it!  Like a true queen, she only swims alone.
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Hog Heaven

8/29/2014

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Hogs are a great animal to have on the homestead.  Young hogs are referred to as pigs, and babies are called piglets.  We usually raise one or two pigs a year because they are so useful to us.  They provide natural pork, fertilizer for the compost piles, and even some manpower--or pigpower in this case.   Homesteaders of long ago knew all this, and so they used their hogs wisely.  They didn't have the benefit of the modern machinery we know today, so when they needed to clear an overgrown area, break up the soil, or even pack down a seeping pond, they'd just send in the hogs.  The hogs would do what they do best--root around.  Hogs love to eat grubs, roots, and other treats hidden deep in the soil, and they will stop at nothing to find them.  This can be disastrous if they decide to root for grubs in the garden, but it can really come in handy in the right situation.   Using an animal's natural instincts to get my work done is right up my alley, and they're always happy to lend a helping hand--or hoof.  Cloven hoof in this case.  Actually, their snouts are the most helpful part of their anatomy.  They use them like shovels to dig out their snacks.  I've gotten distracted again, haven't I?  Back to my story...This past winter I put a piglet in a moveable "chicken tractor", and I used her to clear a large area full of grass clumps and compacted soil.  I just moved her around every so often, gave her some supplemental feed, and made sure she had plenty of water.  By springtime the grass was cleared, the soil was turned over, and the grubs were gone.  It sure saved me a lot of work, and it gave her something useful to do all winter.   I love it when a plan comes together! 
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Rare Isbar Chickens

8/22/2014

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    One of the rarest breed of chickens on the homestead is the Isbar (ice-bar).  This breed hails from Sweden and was developed in the 1950's by a catholic monk.  They've only been available in the United States since 2011. 
    The birds are a smaller breed, but larger than a bantam.  The most coveted feather color is called "blue", which is in reality a shade of slate-gray. Our birds are Blue and Splash (white with large gray specks).  They love to free-range and are quiet birds, although sometimes a bit skittish.  The hens lay a beautiful green egg, and on my farm, are very broody.  They seem to have a special bond with their chicks, too.  I've often found their offspring nesting right along with the mother even after maturity. 
    Our Isbar flock is small right now, but that won't be the case for long if the broody mothers keep on hatching chicks.  We'd like to eventually make some fertile eggs available to other rare-breed chicken lovers, too.  That's further down the road for us, but right now we simply enjoy having this very rare breed roaming around the barnyard. 

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American Bresse

7/4/2014

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By now you probably have realized that I have a bit of a chicken obsession.  I raise several breeds of chickens, and I can't seem to stop adding more.  I've recently become fascinated with a rare meatbird called American Bresse (rhymes with dress).  The Bresse chicken hails from eastern France and is considered by food connoisseurs to be the most exquisite tasting chicken in the world.  They have become a French (and American, now) patriotic symbol due to their bright red combs, strikingly white feathers, and slate blue feet.  France is so proud of them that they have placed them under protective law and very few are available outside of their native region.  However, there are a few flocks that have recently made it to the United States.  They were renamed American Bresse to distinguish them from the French line, and I've managed to get my hands on a pair of them.  My plan is to build a flock and eventually use them as my main line of meatbirds.  I'll be able to raise them humanely, allowing them to free-range, eat from the garden, and drink from the rain barrels.  I even plan to grow some crops specifically to feed them!  I can't wait to see how it all turns out.  I'm still quite a ways from seeing all this come into fruition, but a girl can dream.  I'll let you know how it goes.

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Peafowl

6/12/2014

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The most beautiful creatures here on our homestead have to be the peafowl.  Their exotic coloring and fancy feather patterns will take your breath away, especially when one of the males decides to strut his stuff.  Peafowl have a tendency to be more aloof than the other farm animals, but that's just fine with me.  I got them because I wanted to add another element of beauty to our homestead, and they certainly do that as they roam elegantly throughout the gardens.  Right now though, they are in their pen.  Peter, our oldest and first peacock, got lonely all by himself during mating season and decided to wander into town.  I kept telling him there were no pretty peahens to be found in our tiny town of 200 people, but since our farm sits just at the edge of town, he couldn't resist cruising on in to see for himself.  After someone dropped him off for the fifth time, he went on lock-down.  Then we found him a girlfriend, Mary, and let them get to know each other for a while.  Finally came the day when I accidentally bought another peacock, Paul, at an auction.  He went into the pen, too, and they've all adjusted just fine (see my blog post 11/14/13 for more on them).  This spring I plan to turn them all out, and let's hope they are content enough here on our twelve acres that they won't have to go to town.  I don't think the townspeople care much for those squawking 5AM mating calls...

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The Chicken or the Egg

5/11/2014

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Farm fresh eggs are a must on our homestead, and to get fresh eggs you have to have chickens.  I have quite the collection of chickens roosting in my coops, but each one is there for one specific reason--egg color.  Yes, I pick my chickens based on the color of egg they lay.  My Americauna eggs are blue, my Isbar eggs are green, my Lavender Orpington eggs are pink, my Barnevelder eggs are chocolate brown,  my French Marans eggs are coffee colored, and my American Bresse eggs are creamy white. It's important to say that the color of the egg doesn't change the flavor, but it sure makes for a pretty nest of eggs. One of the most satisfying chores I do each day is gather these eggs, and when I reach into the nest box I can easily tell who was up early and in laying mode by the colors of the eggs I find.  I also know who to keep an eye on if I don't get a certain color for a few days.  Sometimes I'll notice a hen hovering over a nest full of eggs or nestled down in the same nest for a few days straight.  This usually means she's gone broody, and depending on the time of year, I sometimes let her go ahead and hatch them out.  It means I won't get a pretty egg from her for a few weeks, but the fun we have watching little chicks scurrying around more than makes up for it.   Oh what a joy it is to raise chickens.  I must confess, chickens are my absolute favorite farm animal.   But shush! Don't spread it around.  I'd hate for any of the other animals to hear me say that.

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Bourbon Red Turkeys

4/3/2014

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I tend to gravitate toward heirloom anything, and that includes animals.  Bourbon Red Turkeys fall into this category.  They came out of the Kentucky Bluegrass Region known as Bourbon County in the late 1800's and are known for their rich flavor.  Yes, we eat our turkeys.  But until that time comes, they're free to roam the property, gobbling up grass-hoppers, worms, and any other critter that crossed their paths.   They wander through my gardens and fields, as natural as can be--although graceful wouldn't be the best way to describe them.  They tend to be somewhat awkward, and they certainly forget their manners come feeding time.  Despite that, they live the good life for as long as they're here.  Which is my goal for all the animals on our homestead--and for me and my family, too!

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Lavender Orpingtons

2/19/2014

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I just love to watch my farm animals wander through the homestead, especially the chickens.  I have quite a few breeds running around here, and thanks to my friends at Rock Ridge Farms Rare Chickens, my collection now includes Lavender Orpingtons!  It all started with a brainstorm during a snowstorm.  Last year while snowed in yet again, I consoled myself by dreaming up new garden plans.  I decided that when spring hit, I would expand my lavender patch to the slope below the barn.  I was brainstorming ideas for the design, when it hit me.  What's the perfect accessory for a lavender patch?  Lavender Orpingtons, I say!  I immediately knew who could help.  I called up Mr. Rock Ridge himself and explained my situation.  And before I knew it, I was the proud owner of a flock of stunningly smokey lavender beauties.  When spring rolled around, I got right to work planting the new lavender patch.  It's had a year to get established, and if all goes as planned, I'll have my Lavender Orpingtons wandering through it by early summer.  I'm so excited, I think I'll squeal with delight!

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    The Inside Dirt
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    The Animals...

    I love farm animals.  There are plenty of good reasons for this: they provide food, income, fertilizer, pest and weed control...they can even till my garden for me!   But what I really love is having odd farm animals just wandering around.  I like to just sit and watch them happily scratch, root, or strut about--doing whatever comes natural to them.  Sometimes it gets a little crazy, but they're such a big part of the homestead equation, I can't imagine not having them. 

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