I Learned My Lesson

Statement:  I have allowed my stubbornness to get the best of me.

When:  3:30 - Thursday AND Friday mornings

Where:  bedroom, bathroom (and other places that I’m not at 3:30 in the morning)

Who: - The Cats.  Specifically, Fry and Goblin

 

Yesterday morning we were jolted awake at the unreasonable hours of pre-dawn with a crash from the bathroom.  The (always closed) toilet seat makes a distinctive sound when pounced upon by a feline fiend.  It makes a similar sound when an aforementioned feline fiend knocks something down from the window above the toilet.  Of course I have plants and rocks there – things that are breakable.  I knew almost instantly what had fallen.  Nay, what had been knocked down with intention – a propagating pothos in a jar (newly refilled with water!) and a beautiful (and delicate!) Hindu rope plant in a heavy (and not cheap!) white ceramic planter with perfectly un-hydrated soil.  Thankfully, the plants were fine.  The pothos went back into the jar of water and I was able to temporarily stuff the delicate rope plant back into the chipped planter.  But, on the floor, under the basket that lives on the back of the toilet, IN the basket that lives on the back of the toilet, IN the toilet, and somehow even on the towels housed on the opposite wall, was a mess of what was quickly becoming mud.  I chose self-preservation and decided to sop up what water I could but would sweep up the dirt later in the morning (after my alarm) when it was hopefully more dried and not a muddy, streaky mess.  I went back to bed.  Goblin “helped” me clean up his mess by playing in the water and batting around the leca balls that had been dislodged from the soil.  He also supervised the sweeping later that morning while stationed ON the dust pan.  Such a good, helpful boy.

And this morning, in the unreasonable hours of pre-dawn my slumber was yet again disturbed, but this time it was the known thunks and plinks of tchotchkes being swatted down from the trinket shelf above my dresser.  This is where I could have made better choices.  I said a few unsavory things to the culprit (Fry) and demanded she get off my dresser.  She did not comply.  I decided that I was awake enough to go potty.  I could have, nay, SHOULD have stumbled into the kitchen to feed the swarm of cats.  Not one to reward poor behavior, however, I refused to do so.  I grumbled some non-affectionate things and snuggled back under the covers.  The Hound Girls were not disturbed by the commotion.   Just as I was drifting back to the comforts of early morning slumber – plink, thunk.  This time I again demanded that Fry remove herself from the situation.  Again, she refused.  I chucked my chapstick in her general direction.  She was unphased.  She smugly sat there, on my dresser, glaring at me.  I threw off the covers and had one foot on the floor before she scampered away.  This sequence happened probably 3 more times along with at least one more trip to the potty, maybe two.  I could have chosen to feed them at any point.  But no.  As my 12 minutes of sleep came to an end with the chiming of my alarm, Scott looked at me and asked if it wouldn’t have been easier to just feed them.

Yes.  Lesson learned. 

Follow Your Gut Not Your Stomach

For the risk of putting out bad karma there are a few things that need to be said regarding our recent trip to Fiesta Mexican Grill and Cantina in Oneonta. 

After a week of being home and not risking traveling too far for concern over the impending weather (that never came to fruition) we decided to have a nice afternoon lunch date.  Not just eating out after we ran some errands, but a trip made specifically to our destination in hopes of having a couple of cocktails and good food, and just basking in the love that we share. 

We really try to give places an honest chance before we write them off for good.  Let me backtrack a few years…  Our last trip was not a memorable one, except for the violent reaction to the obviously pre-made red dye #40 pomegranate margarita.  I can handle my drink, but while grocery shopping at Hannaford after our meal I was overcome with what felt like a binge drinking episode.  I was dizzy and nauseous.  I felt completely drunk!  The trip home was marked by periodic pit stops to orally relieve myself of the nasty concoction.  As I said, that was a few years ago.  After all those years we figured we would give it another shot.  There really isn’t much buzz from locals about the place.  A few of our friends have been and seem to have enjoyed themselves, so we thought, “why not?!”  We set off to try the only Tex-Mex restaurant in a 50 mile radius.  Here’s where the “follow your gut, not your stomach” comes in…  We saw the specials at The Autumn Café and decided to go there instead.  But, being a decent Saturday afternoon there was a wait.  A pretty substantial wait.  It’s obvious why The Autumn Café is always packed and with a waiting list – the food is real, fresh, and knowledgeably and creatively prepared.  We could have waited around walked around a bit (a lot), but instead decided to embark on our original destination.  Coulda, shoulda, woulda… hindsight is 2020, go with your gut…

We ventured to Fiesta Mexican Grill and eagerly went in.  We saw friends there and were able to responsibly chat with them for a bit before we sat down at the table we were given.  They spoke highly of both the food and the drink.  Good, my hopes were high.  There was a basket of chips and salsa waiting for us when we finally went to our table.  But then we waited.  And waited.  Our waitress finally came over to take our drink order.  She was a little older, and not knowing her circumstances made me feel kindness for her, hoping she’s doing this because she doesn’t want to be home and be bored, and not because someone of her age has to work extra hours or an extra job to make ends meet.  Either way – being a server should mean having a solid understanding of the menu and what is available from the kitchen.  It also means having a decent personality, or, at the very least the ability to fake it.  The salsa was tasty, but super mild.  It was good, but bland, so hubby asked if there was anything hotter.  The disinterested waitress suggested that he add the hot sauce from the table to the said salsa.  No thank you.  But, whatever.  Upon her return he asked her about the spicy red sauce he saw on the menu.  She said we would have to pay extra for that.  Ok, fine, but when we asked about something hotter the first time she never mentioned it, only saying that what we were given was the only salsa they had.  She brought “spicy red sauce” of course being a little dish of pico de gallo.  Moving on…

We ordered the “tapatizer” bacon wrapped jalapeno poppers.  They were presented to us with creamy Italian dressing as the dipping sauce.  Italian dressing?!  And maybe because she was still thinking of our request for a spicier salsa brought a mini Corelleware bowl of the original salsa with the freaking hot sauce mixed in!  During this time we did get our drink order.  I asked for a house margarita with light salt.  I was excited.  I love a good margarita and our friend had just told me how good they were!  I don’t know what the hell landed on our table, though!  I have never had a fizzy margarita on the rocks.  There was something off with it.  It just didn’t taste right – so I had to send it back.  We didn’t drive 40 plus minutes to be let down this early on!  The waitress, which we realized was also making the drinks brought a new margarita and proclaimed that she made it from scratch because their house mix does have some fizz to it.  Oh my goodness.  I wasn’t about to send back a second margarita, so I did manage to slurp it down even though it was too sweet and again, just not quite right.  About this time we got a call from the lovely and gracious hostess at the Autumn Cafe.  There was a table ready if we still wanted it.  Oh, if only we had waited!  Our lackluster meals took forever to get to us.  We were pretty depleted and feeling sorry for ourselves by the time the food did arrive and the lack of any actual taste drove home the fact that we should have followed our gut and not even come.  I did make a plea when I ordered my burrito for NO CILANTRO.  I said I understood if it was mixed in with some things and I would survive, but please please please no garnish or extra cilantro on anything.  Well, there were plenty of chunks of the devils ass weed sprinkled on the burrito under the perfectly melted cheese.  The burrito came to me swimming in a lake of green sauce.  Not what I expected, but sometimes it’s okay to be surprised.  I had just never seen a burrito served as this was.  Hubby’s meal was very basic with no yummy juices or sauces on the over priced fajitas.  I actually had to go ask the waitress for a plate for him to prepare his fajitas as I was sure she wasn’t coming back to us any time soon.  We were asked if we wanted another round of drinks and as sad as it was, I had to quickly decline having another margarita.  I don’t think I’ve ever had to turn down a second margarita.

I can handle mediocre food when accompanied by good service.  i can tolerate mediocre service with outstanding food.  Neither applied in this case.  Having spent many years as a server I know what the scene is like, but I also know how to be attentive and intuitive – my tips always reflected that.  I’m not one of those falsely generous people that will tip well no matter what.  No.  I had to work my ass off for the good tips I got.  Be decent.  Ask questions.  Do what you can to make an obviously unpleasant situation better.  Do better.  I tip according to service – and I do prefer to be generous. 

We enjoy eating out.  We enjoy good food prepared with good ingredients.  We expect pride to be taken in the preparation and the delivery.  To say we were disappointed would be an understatement.  We were left feeling more than frustrated, maybe just short of anger?  Maybe the anger should stay directed at ourselves as we’re the ones that did in fact not listen to our gut to begin with. 

A Morning On the Hill

  A nice, cool and breezy morning.  It would have been nice to sleep in, but instead I got right up and paid a visit to the early morning damp garlic.  We're getting close to cutting our ramps, so it's important to keep the garlic as weed-free as possible to allow the last burst of bulb growth to have the most umph.  
  I did not even take the time to make myself coffee, also I did not take the time to feed the cat.  This was apparently a problem.
  Scatt usually comes to the gardens with me.  He's my little garden buddy.  In the early years when he used to care he would even scare away the snakes for me.  Today, though, I feel like he came to the garden just to yell at me for not feeding him before starting my morning.  Sensing that I wasn't going to drop what I was doing to trek back in just to feed him, the jackhole resigned himself to staying with me.
  While weeding I noticed Scatt licking himself, or maybe eating grass - I wasn't sure, but it was repetitive and almost frantic.  Then I realized I smelled a sicky-sweet smell.  "What weed was that?" was my first thought.  It was a familiar, not unpleasant, but somewhat unsettling smell.  While those brief thoughts were bouncing around in my noggin it occurred to me that Scatt was absorbed in his fetish of licking ANTS!  The little shit was licking ants!  I had observed him doing this only once before and was easily able to redirect him.  This time, though, it was all about the ants!  I had to physically remove him from the spot.  He proceeded to flop down next to me on my garden towel, purring as loudly as Scott's rototiller.  He continued to flop back and forth, whoring himself for any attention I would give him.  He tried again to go back to the ants and again had to be removed.  
  My conclusion- my sweet little kitty boy was flying high on an ecstasy type trip!

  I finally got the jackhole settled down and continue my task of weeding the garlic.  Just short of frantically, Scott calls me to the chicken coop - HURRY!  FAST!  My mind is racing and I'm trying to keep my short little legs from tripping over the fencing, clumps of weeds, dogs, other chickens, and goodness knows what else between the garden and the chicken coop - at the complete other side of the property.  Before I could get my stumpyness to the other side of the homestead I implored hubby to use his words, "what's going on?!"  "Baby!" is the only response I get.  Being the ever-emotional husbandry pragmatist I am, I ask, "dead or alive?"  Thankfully and miraculously his response was alive!
  I say miraculously because the wee little chickie was out of the cozy little crate nest I had made for Mama.  The little poop-head could easily have gotten too chilled and died, got eaten by any of the other chickens in the coop, or, as hubby opened the coop door, trampled to death by the dozens of eager chicken feet waiting to get out.

We ogled and ahhed over the little cutie and got it nestled back in under Mama's warm and safe fluff.  I did pick away the tiniest bit of shell on it's emerging sibling.  And, in fact by the time I secured the holes in the door of the crate, worked a little more in the garden, and took a bit of a break to write a little, the next wee little chickie had hatched.

  Today was a good day.  
  

Masterpieces

Masterpieces from our friend Jim Seymour. We all seem to have a little extra time on our hands right now, but Jim is spending his time better than most!

From top then clockwise: 

Fluffy - the half blind almost 8 year old rooster rooler of the front yard special needs chickens

Lucky - our incredibly spoiled, toe missing, first house chicken, addicted to cheese doodles and gin

Bunny - another front yard special needs chicken that is no longer special needs, the most indignant and entitled hen you could ever meet, one hell of a garden buddy with no tolerance for the dogs' shenanigans 

  

        and of course our magnificent goatie girl, Morgan Marie

A Flock Story

Hector, the Good Boy

Our chicker peckers free range on most nice days.  They're usually very good at staying close to home.  There is, however, a small inner-flock gang of delinquent hens that does like to wander down to the road.  The road has the allure of winter's snowplow debris build up that makes for a delightful dust bath.  Our road has been a little busier than usual with bored people out for a Sunday drive, of course on a Tuesday afternoon.  I get it, they want to get out of the house and ride around.  We do the same thing.  The difference is that we go slowly and are respectful.  Unfortunately, the fools tooling around on our our dead end road fly by kicking up the dirt and dust, and probably wouldn't have time to stop for lounging chickens.  So, because of this, I try my best to keep our girls out of the road.  When I notice them lollygagging around chitting about goodness only knows what, I let loose my signature call of 'snacker-doodle-do!'  They come running.  They usually come running.  Almost all of them usually come running.  But, one hen in particular has been deaf to my pleas this Spring, the allure of a good dust bath obviously more important than following the flock.  I call and the good girls come running followed by their dutiful roosters... except for Blondie Mama.  Blondie Mama, I could see, was busily preening all by herself in the road near the end of the driveway.  I called again, just for her.  Nothing.  I looked at our newest flock member, a beautiful large white yearling rooster, Hector, and asked him to go get her.  I'm thinking to myself, yup... I've lost it, asking my boy to go retrieve his girl.  What happened even surprised me!  Instead of coming to the porch stairs to have a snack with the rest of the fluff-butts, Hector makes his way to the end of the driveway and scoots the stubborn hen all the way back up!  "What a good boy, Hector!  I cannot believe you just did that!" I exclaim as I try to give a reward snack just to him.  He kept his distance, keeping a watchful eye on the girls as they scratched and pecked for the last of the seed treat I tossed for them.  What a good boy, Hector, you belong with this flock.

Mud.  That’s where we’re at - Mudville, NY.  Season - mud, mood - mud, dogs’ paws - mud!  The calendar says Spring, but really, it’s just mud!

Soon, though, my dear, sweet, super-zealous husband and I will be arguing about how, when, and where to plant our hundreds of dollars worth of seeds.  To make a point here, we do not yet have a greenhouse.  You better believe that’s on our short list of to-dos!  Our greenhouse will be a work of reclaimed, reused, and repurposed splendor!  But, because we do not have the splendorific greenhouse yet, our precious little seedlings, the ones that won’t be directly sown, will occupy all available, and some not yet available horizontal surfaces in our teeny tiny little cramped home.

    My aforementioned dear, sweet husband is an over-er.  He has a tendency to over-tighten, over-plan, over-anticipate, over-think, over-plant… and this season over-order.  Seeds are usually sold by weight, not by a set amount.  Because of that I could only guesstimate the actual number of seeds we have to contend with.  I’m not going to do that.  That would make my head hurt!

    We have always had a jam-packed beautiful garden, but I’m more than a little worried about where all these seeds of bounty will find a place to call home, to lay down their reaching little roots.  

    Some soon-to-be seed starts will certainly require more sun than others.  And, what about the climbers?  We don’t have enough trellising to accommodate all the climbers - but shall I say, yet.  Where will they all go?

    I draw the plots. I label the plots.  I agonize over what should go where and why.  My partner, my solid and strong (muscled and willed) gardening man has already made up his mind where everything will go - probably before the actual seed order has been placed. Nope, I have to have all the varieties laid out in front of me.  I have to know what I’m working with.  I have opinions on what should go where.  Sometimes, sometimes my garden-partner will listen to me.  We usually have great results when he does give in and do things my way… but then, of course, it was his idea all along!

Cheers and Happy Planting!

Go With the Flow

  Each of us would benefit from remembering to go with the flow.  All of it.  Even what we, at the time, may perceive as a nuisance. 

  For this instance the flow of which I speak is accepting and knowing life is not coming to an end because the goat ate our new nursery purchased basil plant. To be fair, the goat didn't completely eat the basil baby, just gave it a nibble and must have decided to move on to something else.  Regardless, it was enough of an herb-eating scene to draw the attention of darling husband. 
 
  Mister Mild Mannered is easily irritated by the goat.  Even though he does worry about her and she adores him, her very existence grates at this core. 

  Thinking that his heavy Mennonite made straw broom is the natural antagonist of chickens and goats alike, out he marched to save the seedling and banish the goat back to her pen.  I guess this would be a good time to mention that we allow Morgan, the goat, to free-range during the day when we're home.

  Funny how they, (you know, "they" I had drinks with "them" just last week) say "everything happens for a reason..."  It may be a hard sell to some, but I'm pretty much on board with it.
 
  Here's how we flow:  Because, if we hadn't gone on our seasonal trip to the nursery and bought more than we needed we wouldn't have left the flats of plants on the hood of our car...  If I hadn't let our goat-girl out to free-range she wouldn't have nibbled at the basil.  If she hadn't nibbled at the basil, darling husband wouldn't have rushed off the porch with his broom of banishment.  And if he hadn't rushed off the porch (and me following to help guide the un-banishable goat) we would not have heard the rustling in our otherwise babbling brook.

  If we had not been there, right there at that very moment, we would not have seen for the first time ever in our creek a sleek and stunning pair of beavers!

  We watched them effortlessly glide through the shallow water and around the rocks, under the road through the culvert and into the deeper water.  They circled around a couple of times, slapped their tails at us and continued to ease on down the creek.

  I don't know where they came from, or where they were headed.  But, I know that I am grateful they graced us a visit, however brief.  I had never seen beavers this close before - they were so elegant.  I could almost feel the love they had for each other.  This is a memory of gratitude and abundance that will stay with us for many years to come.

Thank You Meaties

Today, twenty-six large white beautiful birds will lose their lives for us.
 
We are so grateful to have them provide for our family.  They have been loved.  They have been well cared for.  And, they are appreciated. 

I don't even want to sully their existence or my reverence for today, but I don't want to forget either.  A part time neighbor, almost in the old-lady category stopped down, thankfully while I was gone.  Upon seeing our meaties, as we so lovingly call them, in our front yard, she commented to my much- more-tolerant-than-me husband that it was like a concentration camp for chickens.
 
That hurt.  Had I been there I would have had to walk away.  But, this is what I would like to have been able to tell her:  We have given these chickens the best life they could possibly have, given their breed and reason for being bred.  They have been pampered with green grass and yummy treats, plenty of water and ample space, shade from the sun, and a secure coop at night.  Every night when I put them to bed I would thank them and tell them they were loved.  It's true.  They were with us but a few weeks, but we loved them.  Loved watching them, loved caring for them.  We loved watching them grow.  These meaties were as happy as any bird could be I suspect. 
 
Our ten year old daughter understands why we raise our own birds.  She loves chicken.  And she loves chickens.  This little child understands where her food comes from.  I would hazard a guess that she's more in touch with where her food, and food in general, comes from than most adults out there.  Almost-old-lady-neighbor being no exception.
With that, I guess we can only feel badly for the majority of people that are out of touch with their food.  If this old lady thinks that our healthy happy chickens represents a concentration camp, can you imagine if she saw how supermarket and food industry chickens (and beef and pigs and and and) were raised?!
 
Our freezer is stocked for well into the Spring with big, plump, natural chicken.  There are no mystery substances pumped into them, no antibiotics lingering in the carcass, no broken bones because of inhumane or improper handling and slaughter.  Every single time we pull one of our own meaties from the freezer we send up a thank you.  Our lives and our hearts are filled with appreciation for these dear creatures. 
 
And, you know what - they actually taste like chicken!

Chicken Care and Essential Oils

A week ago I noticed one of our Littles, CJ, a summer 2013 hatchling, had a bad gash under her wing.  Of course it was from one of the stupid boys.  I brought her to the porch and gave her a nice treat while I rinsed out the wound with saline solution and then applied Vetericyn spray.  She seemed fine until today when I saw that the ouchie seemed deeper and as I poked around a little it started oozing.
 That was it - no oozing in the coop.  And, and I knew this couldn't be good - she was limping.  I brought that sweet baby immediately into the CCCU, (Chicken Critical Care Unit) - aka, our bathroom.  I have a fully stocked chicken first-aide kit that includes all the regular essentials and just this morning my new shipment of Young Living Essential Oils came in.  I knew it was time to break out my brand new bottle of oregano oil. 

Sweet little CJ was such a good patient!  She sat on a towel on our bathroom counter and let me dig and trim and clean.  There was quite a lot of ickyness that needed to be debrided.  She was calm and still the whole time - until I rinsed the gaping hole with sterile saline solution.  This wound was bloodier than any of the others I have dealt with.  Once I was able to see better I realized why my little hen was limping - her bone was exposed!  I don't know yet if the infection has progressed to the bone or if it is just really uncomfortable. 

 I mixed a butt-load of non-pain relief (that's VERY important!) triple antibiotic ointment with one drop of oregano oil.  I applied the TAO into the gaping hole.  With this much damage to the flesh I knew I wanted to cover it for a couple of days to help regain it's suppleness.  On a plain square piece of gauze I loaded coconut oil and one more drop of oregano oil and covered the wound.  Finally I wrapped sweet little CJ with an odd shade of pink vet wrap. 
She's now resting quietly in the shower on a nice fluffy towel.  She'll eat but isn't interested in drinking too much.  Even though she has trouble getting around, and being held seems uncomfortable - I think she's going to be just fine.  She's alert and bright.  Happy healing CJ!

Penelope... Where Are You?!


What a morning!

One of our favorite girls, Penelope, a Partridge Rock from our original flock, was not in the coop last night. We looked everywhere we could in the dark. It got dark and cold pretty quickly last night. What happened? We had not heard anything out of the ordinary. Though life with chickens is seldom ordinary, one does become accustomed to their day to day racket.
                      We do free-range our chickens. Our back yard has a massive amount of tall grasses and weeds. So much so that I guess we really can't call it a yard - truly more like the back forty. Ok, so the back six! Anything could come through the tall brush or along the creek, snatch a chicken and be gone. But, that just didn't seem likely. We have been lucky. Luckier than I would have thought. We haven't lost any flock members to predators since our first month of novice chicken-keeping last year. (knocking wood!)

I was in a fowl mood last night. I was mad and sad that one of our good girls was gone. As grumpy as I was I still had hope. I asked the chicken deities for mercy on my sweet girl. When I did sleep, my dreams were pretty wacky. I don't like loss. Not that anyone does actually like loss, but I take even the smallest loss sometimes too much to heart. Well, maybe except that time I sent a poor songbird to her death... of course I feel bad about it, but mostly I laugh about the incident. For now I'll just say that it involved my "saving" this poor little bird. And my cat. Yeah, the cat was there too.

Anyways, ever-hopeful, I checked each window at first light. I kept checking windows. While the coffee was brewing I decided to take a quick check outside. Still in my bathrobe, with no socks and leaky hiking shoes, I did a inner perimeter search. Nothing. I was chilled and shivering and cranky. I came back in and continued with my morning routine.. for about 12 minutes. I got dressed and took a last swig of coffee. Hubby could feel my urgency and followed suite. We got bundled up and fitted ourselves with our re-con gear. Me, a long stick. Him, his 410. We were ready for whatever we found. We searched and searched. We searched for well over an hour. So, after searching high and low, up and down the stream bed, in and out of the briars, under the cars and buildings, we decided to come back to home base.

We let the chickens out of the chicken coop. We were hoping against hope that somehow, maybe, we had missed her during head-count last night. No such luck.

We stayed out with our feather-babies for quite some time - admiring their antics and lamenting the loss of our beautiful hen, all the while planning our course for revenge. Yeah, yeah... critters gotta eat, too. But, we're not getting into that discussion now.
 
Soaked and chilled we decided to come back inside to finish our now cold coffee. Thankfully, before I had gotten too far into the warming up process I remembered that the chickens needed more water. So, I filled the gallon water jug and back out I went.
 
Like nothing had happened, like no sleep had been lost and like no hour long search had been mounted, like we hadn't been calling Penelope's name all morning long - there, happily scratching away in front of the porch steps, was Penelope. What the hell?!

I guess if a chicken doesn't want to be found, a chicken won't be found!

Lessons - Over Easy and Learned Hard, With A Side Of Regret

This has been a day filled with death - some intentional, some not. 
First thing this morning we dispatched two male Cayuga ducks.  They were originally intended for meat anyways, but we finally got up the nerve to do the deed.  I helped hubby.  Thankfully he doesn't need my help when he butchers the chickens, but he needed me for this task.  These boys were the roughest on the girls, so we made the decision that they would go first.  Now we watch the flock and decide on the next two.  It's amazing how quickly the new pecking order is arranged.  But, I can say that the duck yard is much quieter today - much more relaxed.

So that was the intentional death.

Because we are very caring and empathetic people we did not want the other critters outside when the task was being rendered.  And so, we left the chickens in the coop a little longer than usual.  I wanted to go out in the middle of the night to check on the pipped egg, but I didn't.  This morning I knew that I couldn't get into the coop without letting everyone, or at least a majority, out - so I didn't check on the pipped egg.  I figured that a mama that was so committed to sitting on her nest for nearly a month was going to be a good mom.  I found out I was wrong.  There should have been 4 eggs under her - there were only three.  One of those remaining three eggs was actively hatching.  When the broody hen saw me looking at it she pecked it very hard - several times.  She pecked it hard enough to startle me.  I grabbed it and ran to the house.  Luckily we still had the heat lamp up from a couple of other chicks that hatched just over a week ago.  I put the hatchling safe in the old refrigerator crisper on the wine rack.  Yeah, that's how we roll around here...

Throughout the day, even interrupting our garlic harvest, I went to the coop to check the status of the other eggs.  Another one had pipped.  I should have grabbed it right then and there - but I didn't.  Oh that hindsight - twenty twenty I'll tell ya!

After relaxing a bit on the porch, actively resisting the urge to go out to the coop every 5 minutes, I did finally do another chick check.  Too late.  Ten minutes too late?  Five minutes too late?  There it was - a tiny and wet little black chick.  Dead.  The poor thing was pecked to death by the broody hen. 

I have so many emotions whirling throughout me right now, but I may be able to sum it up by admitting that I did call that beautiful yellow hen Broody Mama.  Now, I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm sad.  Mostly, I'm disappointed.  Now I just call her broody hen.  I feel betrayed.  

Believe me, I keep my rose-colored glasses safely locked away.  I'm sorrowfully realistic.  But this hurts me.

I guess all I can do now is rejoice in the little wonder that is drying off and fluffing up in my living room.

Here I am on our porch drinking my coffee.  I got a late start this morning, but I figure that's okay every now and then.  I love our porch.  We get such a nice breeze, and it's usually at least a few degrees cooler than in the yard.  This is my little sanctuary.  The rest of the house is a mess, but my porch table is tidy and flower-filled. 

The duck babies (now 8 weeks old) are enjoying some front yard time to themselves before the big ducks are let out.  The chickens are still in the coop for another hour or so.  I'm hoping my girls will give me a few more eggs today.  I spoil them, but they have been stingy with their eggies.  Maybe they're irritated at having all the new babies around.  I don't know if they've been producing wild hen-fruit, or if production has just been low.  Keeping them in the coop may reinforce the proper laying habits.

Lately, I much prefer the company of my feather-babies.  The kid has been quite difficult this summer.  So far, honestly and sadly, it has not been a great summer vacation.  Don't get me wrong, it's not all miserable...  I think Emma-Kid, now 8 years old, is learning how to navigate her own emotions.  She needs more "play-dates," but they're hard to come by where we're at.  We chose to not put her in the Summer Enrichment program through school because it makes for such a long day.  She needs to be able to chill out and not be so scheduled.  We're not full schedule people.  I miss my baby.  She seems so angst-ridden, but she's only eight?!  I want my happy little turd back!  One of the most frustrating sides to this is that she doesn't even realized how snotty she's being.  I may go on a few day strike of whatevers and sures, distance myself a bit.  Maybe.  I'm really not sure what direction to go in, but I know that I need to do something to help us get over this funk! 

...snuggled in bed next to my kid in my old bedroom with a laptop, a chicken magazine, a red wine spritzer and pomegranate dark chocolate... what a nice way to end the day! 

November 26, 2012

So I had the chance to try out our new Chicken First Aid Kit yesterday! And now my left hand and part of my forearm is a really pretty blueish-purpley color – thanks to Dr. Naylor's Blu-Kote. I had looked out the bathroom window and saw that one of our Buff Orpington girls was all bloody. First I made sure I was wearing a suitable chicken-tending shirt and went out to give the girls a snack. Of course it was super easy to snag Little Miss Buff with a bag of Happy Hens dried meal worms in my hand. I'm glad I wore a crappy old t-shirt because as soon as I picked her up she shook her head to clear her nostrils of the blood and boy did it fly! Her whole head and face were covered in partially coagulated and frosted blood. It's hard to really see what's going on until they're all cleaned up, but I could tell it wasn't going to be that bad. I got out the ugly old curtain I use as a drop cloth / work area and sat down with our girl. Darling Hubby brought me a bowl of nice warm water and a wad of paper towels. First step – clean up and assess the damage. Getting the dried and crusted blood out of her nostrils was the most time consuming part. She was such a good and patient patient. And it didn't hurt that she knew that I had the bag of Happy Hen treats sitting right next to me. Even as I was cleaning her up she kept bleeding. As I had figured, though, the situation was not that serious. Her comb was the only affected area. Man, they can bleed! I had corn starch on my list to add to my chicken first aid kit, but as of yesterday afternoon I had not yet added it. I asked Darling Hubby to bring me some – he brought me the whole container, which now is part of the chicken first aid kit. Because I had already been handling the chicken I did not want to cross contaminate so now I'll just need to restock our pantry with corn starch. I had not had the opportunity to apply corn starch to a chicken's comb (or any other part for that matter) before. I wasn't really sure what to do, so I popped open the Chug bottle that we keep it in and dumped out a little pile on the ugly curtain. I pinched a bit and patted it on the hen's comb. I'm amazed at how quickly it stopped the bleeding! But, because it was still an open wound I wanted to apply the Blu-Kote to keep the other girls from pecking. Applying Blu-Kote by yourself to a squirming chicken's head is no easy feat. After several unsuccessful attempts to cover Heddy's eyes with the paper towel I said forget it and just used my hand to guard her against the spray. Yup, it is blue!

A post from November 16, 2010 that never got posted...

Saturday evening. I don't feel like I've gotten much done at all today. And you know what - I'm okay with that! I did scrub our bathroom. I just have to finish the toilet and the shower walls. Emma even helped me scour the shower floor. I love a kid that wants to help.

A couple of years ago (that sounds weird to say in the context of Emma) the kid wanted to help me vacuum the bedroom. No problem, here you go! It happened to be a brisk, but sunny beautiful day. So, I sat myself down in our bedroom window seat and soaked up the rays like a kitty cat. Oh, yeah - and I had a glass of wine in my hand. Scott walks in as Emma is on her hands and knees with the vacuum hose and I'm basking in the sunny warmth sipping on some Cabernet. Yeah, life is good.

We live in the country and we have mice. It doesn't make us bad people, it just makes us people with mice. Those little bastards got into our bathroom vanity drawers and demolished the toilet paper. I have an unusual attachment to toilet paper. I must always have plenty on hand, or, as my Mom would snicker - a back-up supply. Get it, back up...

For me to open that drawer and see shreds and shreds of paper in little piles mixed with tiny little oblong poops - well, not a nice way to start the day! That, I vowed would be my first order of business for the day - that is, after my first order of business was finished...

I cleaned out and then cleaned both drawers - not the bottom, for some reason the little bastards don't seem to bother that one. I re-organized and really cleaned the contents of each drawer and then moved onto the sink and counter.

Last week (a terrific way to start a Monday) I lost an earring down the sink drain. It was a pretty blue baked glass post earring. Scott had gotten them for me as an anniversary gift at one of our last Grass Roots festivals. For those of you that don't know, Grass Roots Festival of Music and Dance in Trumansburg, NY is where we met and fell instantly in love. So, yeah, I was pretty irritated first thing Monday morning. Being in the plumbing business I decided that I had enough experience to take apart part of the drain to retrieve the earring. Scott stopped me from doing that. We did take apart the pop-up assembly and pulled the pop-up out of the sink. I heard the earring go "plop" into the bottom of the S-trap as I lifted the drain. The earring was gone, but we were introduced to this horrible, icky globby thing hanging off the end. Yuck!! I instantly threw that in the garbage, but did not want to take on the challenge of re-assembling the drain first thing Monday morning.


Once the sink and counter were decluttered and cleaned thoroughly with Clorox Green Works spray I decided it was time for a break. Luckily...

the next day...

Luckily is where I stopped writing at 9:30 last night. Now, with all the chaos in the house and the overly distracting smell of bacon cooking, I have no idea what came next. I cannot even seem to remember what I did after the thorough bathroom cleaning.

My goals are pretty simple for the day. I totally plan on being an underachiever today. If I can get the toilets cleaned and my laundry put away, I'll be a happy camper. I miss camping.

The child's mouth has NOT stopped flapping since she woke up at 7:30 this morning. I'm not exaggerating - it has not stopped! She's in her little tent right now and has said "Mommy" for one reason or another about 47 times! Believe me, I usually love it when I hear that most beautiful little voice utter "Mommy." But, today it's more about "Mommy, you ruined it! Mommy, you wrecked it all! Mommy, you didn't do it the right way! Mommy, there's a fly on my doll! Mommy, will you cover me up? Mommy, there's something really wrong with Daddy's camping bag - Mommy, I think you should see this! Mommy, I told you not to put my hair up!"

Even while I was typing all this, along came another barrage of "Mommy's"

I don't think I'll be drinking orange juice with my breakfasty-lunch.

I CAN'T SLEEP!!

Almost 4am Monday morning. I do have to go to work in a couple of hours. Emma has a "free" day today. Because the school only used one snow day they're giving the kids a few freebies. Friday was a conference day so turns out they get a 4 day weekend!! She needs it. I was pretty much useless for the last several days due to a horrible horrible headache and today was just a rough parenting day. We were busy outside with a couple of friends trying to get the chicken coop together. Of course she wanted to be involved, and I wanted her to be involved, but it just didn't work out... I guess that I'll just leave it at that. Darling Hubby (and cat) are sound asleep in bed, the Kid fell asleep on the couch watching Twilight (she LOVES vampires!) and the dog is sound asleep in the chair. We don't normally let the kid fall asleep on the couch, but tonight was just one of those nights. I went to bed early to read a book my Mom gave me - Jimmy Buffett's Swine Not. So far pretty cute. I fell asleep reading and when Darling Hubby came to bed at 2am he turned the light on and I'm pretty sure started a conversation with me - though he claims otherwise. So, of course he was able to go right to sleep with no problem at all and two hours later here I am...

Emmaisms

• I'm in the middle of a crisis! as said while sitting at the dinning room table with Oma, Papa and us (Mommy and Daddy) waiting for and urging the bloody loose tooth to fall the hell out already as we're trying to get out the door to go on a quick Mennonite Bulk Food Store shopping trip before getting back early enough to go on a boat ride.

• A girl could get used to this! as said on Granny Kathy and Bill's boat while lounging - literally, lounging on the back cushion with her bathing suit, sunglasses and sun hat on and eating from a snack bag of chips. Note to readers - I caught a fish!

• This is going to be so yummy it's like a million angels dancing in my mouth! as said while preparing a somewhat disgusting concoction of dessert snack with our visiting neighbor-daughter. Ingredients included but not limited to: bread, mini-marshmallows, tiny pretzel sticks, yogurt covered raisins, gummi bears, Ritz crackers. I should have, but didn't break out the Hershey's Chocolate Syrup, honey, maple syrup and whipped cream!! Maybe next time!

Summer-Time Happenings

Oh, summertime... I had a gloriously unproductive day today. It was an unscheduled day off at the recommendation of my boss. He doesn't want me to overwork myself and thereby be more difficult to deal with. Yeah, I'm a problem employee. Tee hee hee. My boss is looking out for me, I'm hoping that I'm doing the same for my kid... I want her to have enough down time and not always be on the go go go. But, Emma is in a summer program through the school. This summer the program runs like a regular school week, so needless to say the child is whooped when she gets home. I'm almost second guessing our decision to send her, especially since our neighbor's daughter is visiting for a month. The same month that Emma is in summer program. I know it is important to spend time socializing - and E certainly needs to work on her socializations, but at what cost? At the end of the school year we were given a classmate directory. It lists all the kids in the whole grade with their phone numbers. We have yet to set up a play date with anyone. I feel like the weekdays are too short once she comes home and the weekends are our time together as a family. I guess I'm going to have to give in and give up a bit of our together-time for the sake of giggling little girls! Oh, giggling little girls... is there any better sound than two little girls talking and giggling about my goodness only knows what?! Earlier the girls (Emma and visiting neighbor-daughter) were playing with the Magic 8 Ball. Emma hasn't quite gotten the point of it yet. Her first question for it tonight was "why do we die?" C'mon kid, you're six - you don't need to be so transcendental yet - though you do come by it honestly. I explained to her that it is really more for yes or no type questions, so her next questions was, "will I enjoy my bloodbath tomorrow?" WHAT?! I asked her if that really was what I heard her say and, what?! She explained that because she is a vampire she needed to take a bloodbath so she could go outside during the day. But of course my sweet precious baby girl - I totally get it... You see, both of her front teeth fell out withing a week of each other - so of course her fangs are exposed now. During the course of a normal conversations she'll stop and say "oh yeah, and hisssss." She's very at ease being a dark child of the night. I guess she's doing just fine!

Spring Has Sprung!

At last Spring has sprung! What a wonderful whirlwind week! We got the kid back from Oma and Papa on Easter Sunday. She had been at their house for a full week - since last Sunday when we left her there after a weekend stay. Jazzy's bloodwork came back nice and clean and even. Scatt, not Scott (a funny story) got neutered and had his nose flap removed. Finally being able to work outside and in the gardens! Leftovers with the neighbor. Things have been hectic, but so, so good! We must every single day be thankful for what we have. Be thankful for what we have and don't pine over what we don't. I am so in love with our little family and so appreciate our life. I just read a blog from one of our photographer neighbors that worked on a photo shoot for a very premature baby. My goodness. He is so so tiny. I was in tears looking at the photos of a sweet family that I don't know. I may not know them, but I know mother's love. I had to go check on our little sweetie pie. She had her pj top off (because it was too warm)and was pretending to be asleep while watching Gummi Bears.

Later That Day...

...and later that same day a somewhat loudish ruckus in the living room... The response to my usual mom-ish type question was, "nothing for you to worry about!" You know, I'm not even sure what that ruckus was from. Maybe by that point I was just a tad worn out / worn down? Rewind to this morning, not too early... Daddy had to go to work and Emma was snuggled in watching some pretty crappy Saturday morning cartoons. Having already demolished a bowl of cereal, she was good to go for quite some time. Twenty-seven minutes later I woke up realizing that I was in the middle of a game of peek-a-boo. My darling girl made a beautiful little "wake-up" card for me. She's been making me cards on the weekends for some time now. I, of course, have kept them all. After a round of hot choco-coffee (me) and hot chocolate (her), the kid was off and running. Well, not literally, as it was a pretty biting and dreary day. Not long after her breakfast she was hungry again. She decided on a pear. She likes pears. At first she asked me to cut it up in tiny pieces, but then realized that there was a greater probability of her loose top tooth coming out if she ate it whole. As she was nearing the core she proclaimed the presence of seeds! Seeds! Yes, pears grow well around here. That is exactly why the kid rushed off to get a dixie cup and a paper towel. The dixie cup was too small, so in an adorably frantic voice she urged me to get her a bigger cup. Please! Not an exasperated "oh, pu-leez" from me, but a very courteous "please" from the wee one. As courteous as she could be in her frenzied state, anyways... We just happen to have a good supply of the kegger cups on hand for yearly seed starting. That was perfect. So, with seeds, paper towel and cup in hand she went into her bathroom to get the seeds started. The paper towel was moistened. Moistened in terms of a six-year-old-water-baby means sopping wet. We drained off the excess water and wished the seeds well... AND THEN ... And then came one of my worst parenting moments to date... The cat was in her arms and as she was closing her door she asked if she and Scatt could have a little tea party. I told her that he probably wouldn't like it, but "what I didn't know won't hurt me." What?! Did I really say that?! And, to make matters worse, I was on the phone with my Mom at the time - there is a witness. I know better than that. I do know better than that! Scatt finally broke free and hid under the table. Our day continued somewhat uneventfully for about 18 minutes. I realized that there was an eerie calm in the house. A friend of ours told us, even before Emma could walk, that we should worry when it was too quiet. This was probably the best piece of parenting advice we received! So, with the precarious quiet still looming, I creeped into her bathroom to find her sucking on her old pacifier with drool running down her chin. She was drooling because of the orange vampire teeth she was wearing. The not-so-smart cat happened to walk by at that point; wearing a green scarf and a yellow baby doll dress. Emma decided maybe the vampire teeth and the pacifier were a bit much and that maybe the cat would enjoy the pacifier more... here kitty kitty kitty! The cat was not impressed when the kid pinned him down and tried to stick the pacifier in his mouth... Snack Time - cherries and coffee? No. You really do not need coffee and I don't happen to have any cherries on hand. Thank goodness Daddy will be home soon!