Gifts

Fall has rather abruptly arrived here -- it tends to be that way in this area of the country. Last week we were having gorgeous days of mid-60s weather and warm sunshine; this week, it's downright chilly and near-freezing every night. The fall colors are becoming lovely, and this morning I was considering the lovely presents of the season around me on the homestead:

We get between 7 and 11 of these beauties each day -- for all the effort of dumping some feed into a hopper, filling a water dispenser, occasionally re-laying some straw or wood shavings, and making sure the chicken-run fence is secure. Small cost for such lovely oval gems.

A pumpkin from our garden. Once again, this beauty was almost effortless -- we planted the seeds, made sure the sprinklers ran every other night or so, and watched the vines trail and climb all over the shop. The children picked six of them on Sunday, and now they march down the porch steps, looking officially autumnal.

And then there's this Rome apple I got from our local farmstand this morning. It's 13 INCHES in diameter. If you ordinarily have such gorgeous apples, I can only assume your address includes the word Canaan. And I don't have to buy it from a store (as if a store would have such a lovely apple) -- it comes from people I know; people who know my family; people who grow their produce without pesticides; people who support the local economy; people I meet at the armory when we go to welcome the local National Guard home from tours of duty abroad.

How can I be so blessed and fortunate in the ordinary everyday?

love, kristin

Chicken Dinner

Hilary (and other committed vegetarians who read this blog), you may wish to plug your ears! (I guess that would be "shut your eyes.")

We took our meat birds (Cornish Crosses, if you wish to know) to be slaughtered this last week. The dual-purpose birds (i.e., good for both meat & egg-laying) won't go for another few weeks or so. And of course we'll be saving about a dozen birds for eggs only -- our hen house is really not large enough for any more adult birds to room together comfortably.

We had planned to do all the slaughtering ourselves, but experienced bird-dispatchers kept hearing the numbers involved (in the Cornish case, only 7) and saying, "Oh, you do NOT want to do all the set-up for a slaughter operation for that few birds! Don't do less than 50 at a time."

Furthermore, I found that Phinney Hatchery, the local place through whom we got our chicks, will do the slaughtering for you -- for a princely (get ready) $1.95 per bird! Wow, am I more than ready to let them do it for THAT price! So Monday night, Scott kindly caught all the meat birds for me, parceled them out in our two large dog kennels for the night (they aren't supposed to eat the night before their big ... um ... event), and the next morning I drove them into town. The workers at the Hatchery picked them up out of the kennels as smoothly and casually as anything -- no clumsiness like when I try to catch one! Two hours later I came back to a lovely box of plucked, dressed birds.

I thought I might be a little squeamish about eating birds we had raised -- that I might find it difficult, or like I was eating a "pet." But I found this not to be so. I had known from the beginning that this was the end plan for these birds--they never were my pets, always something I treated as livestock. I also felt that, as someone who does occasionally eat chicken, it's much more honest of me to be willing to see the process (well, ALMOST all the process) that to just pretend like they someone how raised from birth as tiny chicken tenders in cling-wrap. It also satsified me to know that their life (although, ahem, short) was full of good food, clean water, plenty of room to run, scraps from the garden and kitchen, sunlight, etc.

The children were remarkably unscathed by the process. Emily was enthusiastic about it from the time they were chicks. Mara has no idea what's going on here. Steven was briefly bothered, and wanted to know if they "ran around and squealed" when they were killed. I explained about the slaughter process, and the fact that the hatchery goes to pains to make it as quick as possible. I also reminded him that chicken McNuggets (which he thinks quite the luxury) were made of ... chicken. Just like the ones we raised. And I assured him that he certainly did not need to eat any of the chicken if he did not wish to. He fell too quite happily.

We roasted one chicken that evening. I have to admit it was the juciest thing (even minus all the injected saline) I've ever cooked. Not to mention tender and flavorful. I think it's worth it.

love, kristin

How Does Your Garden Grow?

The rosemary and chives (yes, I know I should de-flower them, but I LIKE the purple blossoms, and I'll do it in a bit, OK?) in the garden, with the irises and peonies behind.

Whew. I've never had a spring quite like this one in terms of business. I feel like I'm racing wildly trying to catch up. Not necessarily stressful, just extremely busy. I'm always amazed when I realize it's Friday AGAIN, and a whole new week has gone by. I'm ready for the comparative slowness of summer -- the kids are done with school by next week, and I have a test to do and final papers to grade the week after that, and then ... on to canning, gardening, camping, etc. Still busy, I guess. But it's a different kind of busy. One where it doesn't matter if you're late, and you work more with your hands, doing the same thing over and over, in a rhythm. It's a lovely change. Here are some pictures of what's growing around the Cherry Tree Farm:

Peonies are my very favorite flower. These bushes are starts from Scott's grandparents' farm. The current owner was kind enough to call the family before he had to dig them up during a renovation and ask if the family would like to save some. Wasn't that so nice?




The chicks have changed dramatically! I do believe we have ended up with some roosters -- I didn't exactly grow up as a real farm girl, but this one in the top photo looks a lot more like Frank than Frances to me!












Then there's this odd species that's shown up ... wait a minute!!







And the garden beginning to really look like a garden with:
Chard







Lettuce







Green Peas







Corn (if this crop doesn't produce well this year AGAIN, I
think Scott will throw himself in the canal!). The black stuff on the
sides is landscaping fabric to keep down the weeds.








Well, friends and neighbors (as my mother says), that's what's growing in our garden and around the homestead (excluding Steven, who grew a solid inch between January and March ... and probably another one by now). How about you? love, kristin

Mama, There's Snow on the Trees

This time of year really is beautiful in the valley, and particularly around our house. The cherry trees have been in full bloom for the last week or so, and they are just heavenly. The post title comes from a comment by Steven as we drove into our driveway a few evenings ago -- and the trees do look snow-covered. If you step outside the "green door" (our house, like any good farmhouse, has three outside doors) -- the closest one to the orchard -- you can immediately hear the humming of the bees in the blossoms. About two weeks ago our local beekeeper brought a few boxes of bees in to put in the middle of the orchard, and they'll be there for another couple weeks or so. They're essential to the pollination of the blossoms. This year, the weather is perfect for them -- it's been warm and sunny, and not too windy. The bees have been so active we're finding them in our back garden, sampling our flowers. That's an excellent sign, and we're very happy to have them doing a bit of garden work for us, too!

It's like magic to go stand in the middle of the blossoms, listen to the humming, and feel as though you're in the middle of Kilmenny of the Orchard. Spring is so nice.

love, kristin

Buh-GAWK!

They've arrived! 25 chicks ... well, 24, since one died on the way ... actually, 23, since one died night before last after everyone else apparently slept right on top of him. I've never before realized the true meaning of the phrase "a head like a day old chick." It's not really meaningful until one actually OBSERVES chicks of that age -- oh, and it's not a compliment.


It takes the little buggers approximately 2 nanoseconds to walk right through their freshly cleaned water dispenser, leaving woodshavings floating in it. Then they get down to dragging all their feed out of the feeder and leaving it strewn about. Then they all decide to crowd to the same place at the same time -- up against the wall of their little pen. Someone is inevitably getting squished by everyone else, but can't figure out what to do about it. The idea of moving seems not to occur!



But they're really dreadfully cute, and for some reason, fascinating to watch ... I could sit there and watch them pip about for ages. I've attached some pictures for your viewing pleasure -- none of them very good. No one would hold still. The golden/red chicks are either Plymouth Reds or a meat cross we got (which name I cannot remember). The dark ones are either Wyandottes or Arcaunas. It's hard to tell without looking at them in real life. And then, I append a picture of James, one of our two cats. He is not out in the shop with the chicks, though he would dearly love to be. He is our resident mouser -- he's caught 3 so far, just in two years, and entirely as an indoor cat! Our (cyber)resident cat-lover, Lady Eloise, reminded me that I was remiss in a previous promise to post pictures of James & his brother Max. Max, however, is being recalcitrant, in a feline sort of manner.

love, kristin

Chicken Update (We Are So Out of Hand Here)

Remember when I said, "We are getting eight chicks?" Hah. That was before the later stages of Mad Chicken Disease appeared in our brains. There are just so many cool breeds out there, and we are trying to raise/produce more of our own food, and Mom (Mom Bergman, I mean) is always up for any project you can think of (I love that about her) ... the upshot is we have ordered ... um ... 25 chicks. Stop laughing.

We'll raise 10 for eggs, and kill 15 this fall, with part of them going to Mom & Dad Bergman (I suspect we might smuggle one down to Mom Fry, too), part of them going in our freezer, and a couple going to whatever other poor saps we wrangle in to help us do the dirty work. I had just finished saying to Scott, "Fine. But I refuse to do the actual executions. I'll clean and pluck, but I can't actually kill them," when Emily broke in very calmly with, "Mom. They're chickens. Why are you so squeamish? I can't wait for fresh chicken dinner!" She is the weirdest combination ever of super-sensitive and ultra-practical. On the other hand, I think it's downright unfair to be someone who's willing to eat meat in its final, clean, tidy form but go all self-righteous about how it's not "nice" to do the dirty-work part (yes, I'm working on that part of myself!).

Anyway, Scott's been working like a fiend on the chickenhouse. We have discovered a direct correlation between him working on said project and the commencement of sleet and/or snow. (We are having such a strange spring.) Here's some recent proof of progress. The "box" on the side is how you can get the eggs without going inside the chickenhouse -- you lift up the little "roof". The chicken run will be on the left side of this picture, going around the north side of our garage/workshop. The chickenhouse has room for 12 full-grown chickens to roost and lay -- so we will have plenty of space for our 25 small ones; plus, there is an "addition" deal that can be built on if necessary.

Yesterday, the kids and I drove out to see some friends of ours who have two two-week-old bumper lambs they are bottle-feeding and raising. They (the lambs) are cute as heck (not to say the friends aren't cute!). Still, I think I'll stop at chickens for now.