Thought for Food

I turned on the TV at 3 a.m. last night during a bout of insomnia. Not having a book I am currently reading, I am thankful that our local PBS station usually has some interesting programming on in the wee hours of the morning. This time, it was a show about Herbert Hoover. As usual, the show was filled with photos from the time, and one in particular caught my eye. Someone was holding a poster printed with these words:

Food 1. Buy it with thought 2. Cook it with care

 

Curious, I did a search on the internet and found an image of the poster at this site.

These were printed up by a department of the U.S. Government during WWI. Crazy, huh? I don't think the big agricultural businesses would look kindly upon the government doing something like that these days.

Thrown for a Loop

There's nothing like getting your day waylaid by unexpected events.

 

 

Last week, we lost two chickens to some predator. One was a laying hen, and the other was my favorite young rooster. He was pretty: golden brown and grey with a beard. He wasn't shy, always clambering in my way when I was trying to feed the chickens, which could be a little annoying, but I could easily pick him up and he wouldn't struggle to free himself from my hold. It's nice to have a nice rooster around.

 

A week before this tragedy, one of Chris's friends had offered us a rooster. He liked the roo, but having a crowing bird in a neighborhood wasn't working out for him. I wasn't too sure about the deal, since we had plenty of roosters of our own. But when my roo got killed, Finley was pretty torn up about it, so I thought this rooster might work out after all.

 

We went to pick him up last Friday, and when I saw him, I was in shock. This boy was a beast. I mean, he was BIG. I was hoping for a roo that Finley could handle, but if he was nice enough, I supposed it would be alright. His name was Big Papi, named after David Ortiz, the baseball player. The kids were excited about having a new rooster around.



 

Big Papi settled right in. He established himself above the other roosters, though I got the feeling the hens didn't like him much. Most nights, he refused to roost in the big coop with all the other chickens, and Chris had to moved him off the tractor to a perch in the stable. (We don't take kindly to animals pooping on our tractor.)

All was fine until today. I was out hanging up the laundry, when Z came outside. She made it halfway to me and the clothesline, when all of a sudden, Big Papi up and pecked her leg. Now, sometimes, a chicken will peck at your clothes or toes if it looks like there might be something to eat, but Z was wearing nothing that looked like chicken food, and there was nothing stuck to her legs that might even suggest food. Maybe this chicken was just dumb, I thought. I made sure Z wasn't too traumatized, then went out to finish hanging up the laundry.

A few minutes later, Big Papi came wandering over. He sidled right up to my feet and took a peck at my shoe. Nothing to eat there, buddy, I thought at him. Then he pecked it again. And again. I slid to the side; he pecked at my shoe laces. I was starting to get annoyed, when all of a sudden, he backed up, fluffed up, and charged my leg. I shoved him off, and with his next charge, as I was trying to kick him away, I fell backward onto the ground. Cuss words flew from my mouth (the ground is not where I wanted to be at this point), and I scrambled to my feet, then managed to get one solid kick on him when he charged again. He finally backed off, and I went inside, shaking with the adrenaline rush.

It's a good thing I don't know there the shotgun and buckshot are (if we have any). He might be dead.

So now I have wasted a good hour trying to catch the (insert nasty word here) to lock him up so we don't have to be afraid to go outside.

It sucks to be bullied. Even if it is by a chicken.

Storage, Organization, Yada Yada

Little things make a lot of difference.

Back in Nashville in the stairwell off the kitchen, I had installed a wooden strip on the wall with clips and nails that held the broom, mop, duster, etc. There were also shelves just the right height and depth for cleaning supplies and stacks of rags. All this was hidden behind a bi-fold door I could close to keep them out of sight. It was perfect. I wish I had a picture of it.

For two years now, in this trailer, the broom has been shoved in the corner of the kitchen along with the mop, duster, Swiffer, play mop, and play broom. Always tangled and falling over amid weeks worth of dust-bunnies, it was a, well... The word that came to mind to describe the situation is not appropriate for this blog.

Yesterday, I finally did something about it.

It may not be hidden, but (hallelujah!) this makes me so much happier.

As much as it drives me crazy, living in this lousy trailer is kind of a good thing. It is making me aware of little things that I can plan for in the new house. For example, there will be a drawer for the girls' hair supplies in the bathroom. Can you believe there are no drawers in the bathrooms of the trailer? It's maddening. But you can be sure that the vanities we install will not be drawerless.

Aside from the promise of one day moving into a house with better closets, there is another thing that gives me hope and encouragement on those days when I am really struggling with the clutter of the trailer: Sheri's blog. Sheri is an amazing woman who has a business helping people organize their lives. Not only can she tell you what to do to help get control of things, she can show you how we think about stuff that affects the way we deal with it. And when she writes posts like this one (click to read), it makes me want to stand up, shout 'YES!' then go conquer some clutter.

Upstairs Build-out

Chris and I have been having fun this weekend working on the framing for the kids area upstairs. It's pretty exciting, and I wish I could give you (whoever you are) a good idea of what it's all like, but this is probably the best I can do without you coming for a visit...

Zivah is sitting directly above the stairs in what we are calling "The Reading Cubby." I am standing in front of the doorway to Finley's future room, and Joe's will be right next to it on the right. Across from Zivah and the open space in front of the reading cubby is the bathroom. I can't tell you where the secret passageway is. That would be giving away the secret.

Everyone Needs a Little Crazy

The story goes, if I remember correctly, that Susie and Harry found Petey on the side of the road, dirty and naked and needing a home. So they picked him up, gave him a bath and some clothes, and adopted him into the family. Susie and Harry's kids were grown by this time, so thank goodness they found Richie to keep Petey company. Petey and Richie went everywhere with Susie and Harry... on errands, camping...

I remember having mixed feelings about all this. Petey was a Cabbage Patch Kid, and for all intents and purposes, Susie and Harry (full grown adults, may I remind you) were committed to pretending that Petey and Richie were real. On one hand, this was really entertaining. On the other, this felt crazy. Really crazy.

Fast forward twenty years, and here I am, sending a text to my brother, letting him know that one of my chickens had gone missing: "I figure she might have gone looking for her abducted sisters [the chickens I gave to him]. If she shows up at your house, let me know."

What is wrong with me?

Is life really so tiresome that sometimes we need to make it more entertaining? Yes. So forgive me if once in a while I slip into The Land of Make-Believe. Just don't let me stay there for too long.

What Do We Have Here?

Sometimes it take a while for a city slicker like me to catch on.

I went to roll up the hose just now, and found an egg on the ground by the ducks' water pan near the spiggot. Now why in the world is a chicken laying an egg in the wide open?

 Furthermore, it's shaped a little funny and looks really dirty for a chicken egg.

I'm sure some of you are smarter than I am and already had this one figured out. The ducks have started laying. I stepped on an egg that was buried in the hay in the chicken coop saeveral days ago, then found another on the floor a few days later. I was wondering while it wasn't layed in the corner in a neat little bowl of hay as chickens normally do. Well, duh.

A Chicken Tractor...

for my urban farmer brother.

A month or so ago, when I was really sick of the chickens getting into my garden and pecking my tomatoes and overwhelmed by the herd of hens that pestered me whenever I went outside, I had an epiphany. I could give some to my brother, Mark! In the past few years, he has started gardening and beekeeping in earnest, and thought he might be interested in chickens. I knew he was pretty busy, but if I could get a chicken tractor for him, maybe he'd be up for it, and I could get rid of a few chickens!

So I weaseled my mom into paying for the materials, and weaseled my wood-working brother, Mike, into helping me build the thing, hopefully in time for Mark's birthday. I hope they don't hate me, because, of course, it probably took more time and money that we had anticipated. But then it always does, doesn't it? But we got it finished, and Mark is as giddy as a school girl. Saturday, we deliver the chickens to their new home.

(Note: Chicken logo designed by graphic designer extraordinaire, Nate Perry, who has a line of sportswear and other things available here.)

First Day of School Pics

 Today was the first day of school. (Woohoo!) Finley is in 3rd grade, and Opie, I mean, Joe is in 1st.

Turkeys!

It's been a while since I've seen a large flock of turkeys hanging around the farm. This year, I've really only seen one or two hanging around here and there.

But this morning! I looked out into the fog and saw a flock of 25 or more, and among them... two albinos!