I have several chicken coops in my backyard, all housing different types of chickens.  They all vary somewhat in size and design, but each follows the basic set up for the traditional coop. There's one, however, that's different from all the rest.  It's called the Chicken Tractor. 

A chicken tractor is basically a coop on wheels.  This handy-dandy concept is not new, but it sure is useful to homesteaders like me.  I'm sure there are commercial models available, but we made ours from some scrap lumber, extra chicken wire, and some salvaged metal panels.

It's obviously homemade,  but it works great!

I use the chicken tractor mainly for my Cornish Cross, which is the specific breed of chickens I raise primarily for food for our family.  These chickens are sometimes referred to as "meatbirds".  They are heavier and move more slowly than the other breeds that I free-range, which means they are more susceptible to attack.  In order to give them the constant access to fresh pasture that my other birds take for granted, I put them in the tractor. 

But they don't start out there.  Let's back up a minute....

Usually when it comes to raising chicks, I like to hatch out some from my own adult breeding stock.  However, since Cornish Cross genetics are closely guarded by a select group of breeders who are the only mortals privy to the exact genetic codes used to create this poultry line,
I have to purchase the chicks. 

Oh well, that just means I get to make a trip to the hatchery.

On a side note, I find these mysterious Cornish Cross breeders fascinating.  In my mind I envision a secret society who holds elusive meetings in revolving locations, and who's leaders dress in feathered robes and greet one another with secret handshakes and cackling chants.  The meetings are filled with enshrouded followers in beak-like masks pledging their life-long loyalty to the group by crowing like a rooster, pecking like a hen, and occasionally laying an egg. 

I could go on, but I won't.  At least now you know what it's like in my head. 
Did you just roll your eyes??!!  I saw that.

This is how the freshly-hatched chicks look when I pick them up at the hatchery.  The chicks are cozy and cute in their wood chip-filled box, and they're surprisingly content.  And then I go and disrupt them...

They can't live in that cardboard box forever, so I take them out to my chicken shed and transfer them to my brooder box, which I found on the side of the road.  It's just a wooden box on legs, and I added an old floor grate on top for a lid.  I get it ready before I head to the hatchery, so it's pre-stocked with feed, water, and a nice warm heat lamp.  This makes the transition smoother for the chicks, and they seem to adjust well.

The chicken tractor is great because it allows birds inside to free-range while still containing and protecting them.  It sits close to the ground so the birds are always on pasture, meaning they can get to all the yummy creepy-crawlies living in the soil, and also snack on all the fresh grass they want.  I also supply them with some all-natural feed, and of course, I stock their waterer with rain water from the barrels.  I like "clean" food, and by raising our poultry this way, I can actually taste the difference in the end.

Cornish Cross are a heavy bird, and they generally don't fly or roost at night.  That means there's no need for roosting poles inside the tractor.  The birds are quite content to bed down in the straw near the back of the pen, where the walls and roof are solid.  They feel safer huddled up where they're not completely exposed to the elements and nighttime prowlers. 
I don't blame them.

Every-other day we move the tractor onto fresh pasture.  Okay, my husband moves it.  But I could do it if I had to...I'm so glad I married him.

He just grabs the rope that's attached to the front and gives it a yank, and the wheels start rolling.  He moves it forward slowly, giving the chickens inside time to move with the pen. 

Bolt, the Border Collie likes to help with this task.  He circles the tractor and barks out commands to the birds inside.  He sounds like this, "Ruff ruff, ruff ruff.  Ruff ruff ruff ruff." But I'm pretty sure it translates to "Left right, left right. Keep it movin' folks.". 

I actually think his technique works.  It seems to keep them on their toes, and we haven't had any casualties so far.

Once the tractor is in the right spot, we reset the feeder and waterer and let the chickens get used to the new area.  They get pretty excited when they realize they have fresh grass to peck at, but it doesn't take them long to settle down.  These birds have a reputation for being quite "leisurely", and it's pretty clear they've had enough action for one day!

When I was a kid, my Granny and Grandpa Howser lived in the countryside in a basement house with a massive garden behind it, and another smaller garden in front of it.  The front garden was full of all sorts of vegetables, but the back garden is where they grew their potatoes.  I remember it well, mainly because I hated that potato patch.  Here's why:  Every summer about the time it got to be too hot to do anything but jump in the creek, my mother would load us kids up in the car and head toward Granny and Grandpa's house--to dig potatoes. 

I loved my grandparents, but oh how I hated to dig potatoes.  It was back-breaking work done in brain-melting heat.  Us kids were miserable, and I can vividly remember standing in the sweltering summer sun in that dry dirt patch that seemed to go on for miles and vowing (like Scarlett O'Hara) that as God as my witness, when I grew up, I would never dig potatoes again.

I broke my vow.  It's funny how things change.  Now I love to grow potatoes, and I don't really mind digging them either.  I think it's because I've figured out an easier way to do it. 

Here's my secret:  I use raised beds, and I stagger my plantings. 
This is a photo of my potatoes planted beside my leeks (the blue-green spiky leaves). The raised beds allow me to plant deeply and closely, allowing for a large harvest in a small space. 

I plant three times a year so I always have potatoes throughout the growing season, and I don't have to harvest them all at once.  Hallelujah!

When the plants flower and start to die back, it's time to harvest.  So I grab a bucket and a shovel, and go at it.  Some potatoes are easy to unearth just by pulling the plant up out of the loose soil in the beds.  I do this first, and then I start digging. 

I gently press the shovel into the soil and slowly pry upwards.  It's really amazing to see the pretty red potatoes rise to the surface this way.  Red Pontiacs are my favorite variety because they taste great at any size, they store well, and again, they're pretty.  The red skins make them easy to see when you're digging, too.

Even Will volunteers for the task, and unlike me as a child, he really seems to enjoy it.  He also knows how wonderful they taste, fresh from the garden.  Here's why:  The sugars in a fresh potato start to convert to starch as soon as they are harvested.  The longer they're stored, the more starchy they become, and the less flavor they have.  A fresh potato is so sweet, moist and creamy, there's absolutely no comparison to be made with a store bought potato.

The fresh potatoes go in the bucket, most of which will be stored in the basement where the climate is great for keeping potatoes for long periods of time.  I first pick through the potatoes and remove any that are blemished.  These are fine to eat in the immediate future, but they'll rot if stored long-term. 

I also let the potatoes sit in the sun for a day or two to "cure" them.  This allows the skins, which are paper thin and easily rubbed off when first dug up, to toughen up so the spuds can endure storage better.  Then to the basement they go, unwashed, of course.  The dirt adds a protective layer against moisture and bacteria, and it helps prevent them from rotting mid-winter.

Finally, I bring inside the smaller, immature potatoes (called "new potatoes") and the blemished ones.  I stash most of them in my potato drawer, but I can never resist washing off a few and serving them for dinner.  In fact, we usually spend the next week gorging ourselves on dishes like fried dill potato salad, smashed potatoes, peas and new potatoes, creamed potatoes...there's no end to the recipes!  And there's no comparing the flavor of these fresh spuds with store bought ones.  You just have to taste them to believe it.  And if you don't agree, then fiddle-dee-dee.
I'll think about that tomorrow!

This year I was a bit late getting my garden mulched, but better late than never, right? At least I got it done before the hot weather kicked in.  And because of that, I sailed right through those heat waves and dry days without having to drag out the garden hose.  I love mulch.  It makes my life so much easier.

Here's the freshly mulched garden.  I mulch everything--planting beds and paths.  I think it makes the veggie patch look clean, organized, and much more appealing.  And the mulch kills the weeds, keeps the plant roots cool and moist, and eventually breaks down to feed the soil.  Who could argue with that?

Here's how it looked before the mulch came along.  Full of weeds!  I just can't stand to see it this way.  Quick, scroll on down.  Now's not the time to dawdle!  

I hate pulling the weeds, so I prefer to smother them.  A few layers of newspaper will do the trick.  I use enough to keep the sunlight out and kill the weeds.  A few well-placed stones will hold the papers down on a windy day, or a spritz of water works, too. 

It may look like I'm putting trash on the garden, but the newspapers break down along with the mulch, and the earthworms love it.  Did you know earthworms are good for the garden?  Okay, that's an understatement.  But we can chat about that later...

The next step is to spread straw or wood mulch over the papers.  Wood mulch looks great, but I like the look of straw in a vegetable garden.  Plus, it's what I had.  It was either make a trip to the store for wood mulch, or grab a bale of straw from the barn.  The barn was closer.

I have some banty hens who live in and around the barn, and they like to hang out on the straw bales.  Sometimes I even find a nest of eggs hidden beneath a bale!  If I were a banty hen, that's where I'd make my nest too.  But I'm not a banty hen, and there's a garden waiting to get mulched, so.......SCAT, banty hens!  I need those bales.

Once I got all the straw down, it was just about finished.  If I had used wood mulch, it would have been finished.  But straw is kind of fluffy, and it needs packing down.  I don't ever do that.  I just give it a few days and a rain shower or two and it settles right down on its own.  

Lucky for me, I finished just in time for a rain shower to hit.  I stood on the back steps, watched the rain pack down the straw for me, and admired my handiwork.  I may have patted myself on the back.  Don't tell anyone.

Years ago there was a thriving orchard on our homestead.  That was before the years of neglect came along, and way before we ever moved in. Most of those fruit trees have died out, all except one large Comice pear tree in the front yard.  It not only survived, but it's healthy, happy, and very productive.

Here it is in bloom in early Spring.  We've been slowly pruning it back the last few winters, but you can see we still have a lot of work to do on it.  Even so, it doesn't seem at all bothered by the sucker branches reaching for the sky.  It's produced buckets of pears every year we've been here no matter what we do or don't do to it.  I like trees like that. 

After the blooms fade the little green pears begin to form, and by mid-summer they've really taken on their shape.  About this time, a rosy blush starts to appear on the sunny side of each pear.  That's when I really start to notice how loaded the tree is.  Especially when I'm sitting in my lounge chair beneath the tree and a ornery squirrel tosses one down on my head!  They do that. 

Pretty soon late August rolls around, the pears start falling on their own, and every bird we own starts hanging out beneath the tree looking for a snack.  That's my cue to grab the baskets and the ladder and climb up the tree. 

Hey, check out my comfrey growing around the trunk of the tree.  It's supposed to be a great companion plant for fruit trees, but it seems to be the one who's benefiting.  It's gotten huge! 
Ok, back to the pears...

Before I go crazy tossing pears in the baskets, I test a few just to make sure they're ready.  Pears can be deceiving, so the timing has to be perfect when you pick them if you want quality fruit.  Here's what to look for:  the pear stem easily breaks off the branch when the pear is handled, the base of the fruit is firm when gently pressed on, and the pears are light-green with a side blush.  See the yellow one with brown splotches (2nd from left)?  It's over-ripe.

Pears ripen from the inside out, so if the fruit is slightly soft on the outside, it's very ripe inside and needs to be eaten immediately.  My son is happy to help out there.  Any pears that are just plain mushy go to the pig, who's also happy to help out.

We climb as far up in the tree as we can to hand pick the best pears.  Those will be the ones we store long-term.  Any that fall to the ground and get blemished go in a separate basket to be stored short-term or be made into pearbutter.  Mmmm...pearbutter.

It never fails.  I always forget to take a basket with me when I climb the ladder.  Glad I wasn't naked, 'cause my shirt came in handy.  Works out sometimes.

See anything different in this photo?  Look at him eying the pears up on the branches.  He's such a good helper.  Probably because he really likes pears.  

It sure doesn't take long to fill a basket.  This was after about five minutes of picking. 
And that includes the time it took me to climb down the ladder and unload my shirt. 
Again, glad for the shirt. 

We ended up with about 150lbs of pears.  This is just one of the baskets, and it weighs 40lbs by itself!  Can you tell I'm struggling to hold it up?  I'm trying to look composed...and stylish. 
Oh well, ya can't win 'em all...

...and check out the consolation prize!  It was delicious.

One of the features of our property that I immediately fell in love with was a massive wild blackberry patch down by the pond.  I've always preferred the taste of wild blackberries over the tame variety, and I have fond memories of heading into the woods as a child to feast on the wild blackberries growing on my parents land.  I often wondered about transplanting a few wild bushes up closer to my garden, and two falls ago I finally did it.  They survived the winter and thrived the following summer, but since blackberries only form on second year canes, I knew it would be another year before they fruited.  All winter long I've kept a close watch on the patch.  And this spring I was rewarded with beautiful new sprouts, healthy growth, and even some blossoms on the canes.  I soon realized that it was time to rein them in, and the best way to do that was to stake them along a fence.  Here's how the process went...

The first step was gathering up the T-posts, fence post driver, wire, and most importantly, my gloves.  I can't work without my gloves.  And since I don't buy any new materials unless I absolutely have to, everything I used was recycled.  I found several steel posts that were about the same length, and two rolls of woven wire that were kind of kinky, but they still had some life in them. 

I'd planted the bushes just below and parallel to the garden fence, so my plan was to follow that line with the new support fence.  Fortunately the ground was soft from previous rains so the posts sank into the earth without hitting any stones.  Quite the accomplishment if you know anything about Ozark terrain!  Once the posts were in, I strung the wire between them, pulling it tight and looping around the posts as I went. 

I wasn't sure if the used wire would be long enough to stretch the entire length of the blackberry row, and I got a little nervous as I approached the last post. But low and behold, I had just enough wire to reach it!  I pulled it tight and twisted it securely around that last post, and then I started on the next strand.  Once I got that one secured, I turned my attention to the debris pile blocking the path between the blackberries and the garden. It was fairly simple to clean up since it was just leftover material from when I built the garden pallet fence earlier in the year. 

The next step was to weave the fruiting canes and the new growth in and out of the wire strands.  This brought the canes up from their natural arching positions and turned them into a wall of blackberry bushes.  The effect was much better than I expected.  It streamlined the shrubs into an organized line and lifted the unripe berries off the ground.   Now they could soak up the sunshine, the air could circulate better around them, and I didn't have to worry about them wallowing around in the dirt.   

And here's the finished product.  Blackberry fence on the right, garden fence on the left.  Once I finished the project, I realized how much of an improvement it was.  Now, when the blackberries ripen, all I have to do is walk down the path and pick as many berries and I want.  I don't even think I'll have to bend down to get them!  It sure beats fighting through the overgrown mess of a patch that's growing down by the pond.  Although, who am I kidding?  I know I won't be able to keep myself away from there.  If there are blackberries growing on my land, I am compelled to pick them.  There's no way to stop me!  Even the thorns don't faze me.  Neither does the heat, or the weeds, or the snakes... 

Next stop is the chicken coop, where the Lavender Orpingtons are kept.  I always show up with a scoop of feed, but as soon as I open the door they hop down off the perch and race past me.  I guess the lure of fresh spring grass and bugs is too hard to resist!  And I even fancied up their coop so they'd enjoy their time in there better.  Oh well...

Here's the fun thing about my morning.  I usually have broody hens sitting on nests this time of year, and when the chickens scatter out to the yard, I peek in the nest boxes to see if any eggs have hatched.  This was the sight that greeted me the other morning!  Five newly hatched lavenders still wet behind the ears, catching the breeze--and a quick snooze!

Finally I make my way back to the house, pausing under the arbor to scoop out some dog feed.  The dogs make the rounds with me, herding the chickens, barking at the pig, chasing the ducks, and even snacking on the spilled feed!  Once they get their real breakfast, I step back into the house and get my own.  Then my day really starts rolling...

I've spent the last few years restoring the original homestead garden that, unfortunately, had been used as a dump by the previous owners.  My efforts have been concentrated on cleanup and rebuilding of the soil, with minimal attention to the aesthetics of the area.  But, with the soil finally in great shape, it's now time to focus on dressing up the garden.  I'm leaning toward a French kitchen garden design, with garden boxes, a wooden fence, and maybe even a fountain.  This week, I decided to build the garden fence after I found some wooden pallets among our collection of salvaged materials.  The fact that I'm a gardener, not a builder did cross my mind, but I figured my husband could fix whatever mess I created.   I had no plan in mind, I pretty much just made it up as I went.  Here's how the project unfolded... 

There's a lot of chores to be done in preparation for the arrival of spring, and the burst of warm weather this past week gave us opportunity to do a few without freezing our toes off!  Here's a peek at some of our late winter clean-up chores.  We still have plenty to do, but I feel a little better knowing we crossed a few tasks off the list!