Sky Blue

Isn't grief such a strange creature? A stealth pilot, a sneaky snake, a crashing wave. Last night, lying in bed reading, Handy Man decided he needed a little late night nourishment and grabbed his Easter basket of goodies. First he pulled out his chocolate bunny and offered it to me. I declined. Next, a Russell Stover caramel egg. Crash! I'm drowning.

The last day I sat at the hospital with Kaye, I brought her a treat- a Russell Stover's treat, a favorite goody to make her smile, smack her lips, smile at me and say, "Dat's good." But she refused it. I see that whole scene in my mind so clearly, like someone had videoed from across the room and now I'm watching. Her sadness, tiredness, lifelessness so obvious to me.

I get why people used to wear black for a year. Don't get me wrong, I have no plans, nor do I think it a good idea to be in a black mood for a year, but at least you'd be recognizable as a grief stricken person. Perhaps just a band on your arm. I don't know. Sometimes I tell Handy Man, "I'm just having a moment." When that sneaky snake wraps around my tear ducts, I don't want to have to explain why I'm suddenly in tears. I didn't mean to be, it is just very suddenly present. I don't need to talk, don't want a hug, don't need a thing but a moment. I am torn because in some strange way those moments comfort me- see, I haven't forgotten, she's very there in my mind's eye, in my heart. Otherwise, I don't want my moment to make the people around me uncomfortable, which it obviously does. Yes, I realize you aren't having a moment, perhaps you never do, but I am.

Well, anyway, a new day with the bluest sky.

I don't post faces of my school kiddos on my blog. However, this year one of my sweet little fourth graders is well known to me and his mama don't mind and he loves blog appearances. Today was a special day.

It was his eleventh birthday and the day we put the eggs in the incubator at school. He got to do the honors. The girls just happened to lay eleven eggs for hatching which I had failed to connect, but he did not and was excited to put all eleven in the incubator.

Then it was Poopie night and Great Uncle Tim and I met up to take the kiddos to enjoy a rare artifact- a playground with a swing. The kids loved swinging so high and the sky was so blue and beautiful.

Wow, he fits in this one.

And what did little three year old Miss Swee-Tee say after a couple of hours at the park, walking to the car? " Are we going to yours?" "Swing in the dolphin swing?" I do not know what it is about that dolphin swing.

We ran by the house and grabbed the eggs laid today and took them to school so Missy Swee-Tee could put them in the incubator as she has not been privy to this baby chick hatching before.

Lord willing we will head back to a incubator full of babies in three more Thursdays.

Oh, an e-mail from the mom of a former student (in tenth grade now ) who wrote to tell me that her son had to write about an event that changed his life and he wrote about his fourth and fifth grade teacher- me. So sweet.

I love me some blue sky days.

MLK Day

Wow, haven't posted in awhile. Mostly because I've just been working, working, working. My room and my upstairs needed a very serious taking apart and putting back together, which is about all the Handy Man and I have done for the last three weeks. We're getting there.

Today was a play day. I love me some three day weekends. With three day weekends I can actually manage a day of rest.

Today I went to Michael's, then to visit my handsome blue-eyed boy. Well, I guess that doesn't tell you much, as everyone of mine are blue-eyed, despite the fact that all their Papas are brown-eyed. Well, and they are handsome too.

Giddy-up and I had a long discussion about the differences in cylinders and rectangular prisms.

We also discussed finding the area of 3d and 2d objects. He was enthralled.

So relieved that he smiles now when I come in and I was able to hold and entertain him quite a bit today. He loves to roar like a lion and better still to eat. It is simply the sweetest thing ever when he signs and says, "mo." I told Rae-rae I didn't know if there would be much use in teaching him to sign as he is saying words as fast as he's learning the signs.

Rae-rae fixed us white winter soup and roasted chicken for a warm and tasty lunch.

And, wow, Gardener E. is fixing my supper. I feel so privileged.

Well, there was still a bit of work to be done today. I needed to clean Cluckingham Palace. Much to my dismay, there was a lifeless chickie girl on the floor of the coop. I decided to be a brave and dedicated farmer girl and bury it myself. I'm not particularly surprised that the older girls are giving it up. They have been busy and laid lots of eggs in their three years. What surprises me is it is different breeds. We've lost an Andulusian, an Australorp, a Silver Wyndotte and a Red Star now to unknown causes. I guess I would have thought different breeds had different life expectancies. I fear those new roosters have also caused a lot of undue stress for the girls. I won't make that same mistake again. I kept all of them, hoping I could find them a good home, since they are rare and beautiful. Sadly, no takers. If I can't find them homes this spring then chicken soup is back on the menu boys.

Many times here I've mentioned my beloved Aunt Lois and Uncle Berry. When Uncle Berry became so fragile and disoriented last year, their son Randy moved in to take care of him and keep him home for his remaining days. He has stayed on caring for my Aunt Lois. He went into the hospital this weekend with a bad case of pneumonia. It appears that there may be more wrong and he's in need of our prayers.

Dear Me

Saturday, whilst trying to make sweet with baby Gideon, some gigantic beastie flew out of the yard, right past the window to the kitchen roof. We ran out to see. It was this huge hawk. The chickie girls were strangely absent, though caterwauling to beat the band. Thankfully no chickie girl was shrieking from said beastie talons necessitating me breaking my neck trying to climb a roof or tree to save a terrified girl. When we saw him spread his mighty wings and fly off into the wide blue yonder, we went back to sweet talking the baby. Later, quite a bit later, when Rae-rae was leaving Handy Man laughingly called me to the porch where he found seven hens huddled under a chair- still. They must have really been scared. I've experienced hawks flying over, but never had one come into the yard. My fearless guard dog had escaped and was being fattened at the neighbors.

I think upbeat posts are lots more fun, but I have to admit I'm feeling anything but upbeat. I just haven't adjusted to "back to work" yet. I have almost three times the students I had last year and I leave everyday feeling like there was just not enough of me to go around. Really scary since let's be honest here, there is a lot of me. I've never been a "read the text, answer the questions at the end" kind of teacher. If they miss something, then I think we need to figure out why, not just give a bad grade and move-on. I've always been able to manage, but I don't feel like I'm doing a very hot job this year. I typically go in at seven, come home at six, still with work undone.

Today I left early. Kaye is in the hospital again. When I walked in she started telling me about her afternoon, tearfully. In this long journey (two and half years now), there have been less than a handful of times where she's been left to deal with tests on her own. Pete had a dentist appointment and basically they came and got her and she was out of her room in tests all afternoon. They had to do a Doppler test and MRI on her foot. The first test was fine she said, but the second test didn't go well and she felt someone was mean to her because somehow she wasn't doing what they wanted. I just don't even know how to express the despair and broken heartedness I feel for her. She's there because likely there is gangrene in her foot, along with her usual host of other things. I simply cannot grasp that a person with enough intelligence to use an MRI can't see they are dealing with a brain injured person, who cannot communicate clearly and doesn't always understand directions. Why the hell do they have charts if people can't read them and respond appropriately. I was furious.

I asked the nurse to please find out where she was and what happened. The records showed that the first test went fine, just like Kaye told me, and the next test couldn't be completed because the patient wouldn't cooperate. Perhaps the giver of that test wouldn't be very cooperative when their painful toe that is rotting off was being messed with. I was very polite, as it wasn't those nurses fault, but expressed my dismay and requested that it be investigated further. I reminded them that when she is anxious, it is to be treated before continuing with testing. Kaye felt vindicated that I had gone to bat for her.

I can't help but think of all the poor people who don't have a Pete or sisters who love them and try to take care of them.

So, prayers for my Kaye are appreciated, as always.

Farm Living is the Life for Me

Okay, so this is the last playdate post.

Just a last peek at a glorious day. We all had so much fun!

I always wonder how much about playdates the kids will remember.

Syddie said, "This is a farm." Well, not quite, but it might give you an idea of the way raising animals works. Ms. Shel MaBelle was much braver aroundthe critters this week.

You know on a farm you have to have lots of tractors. Ol' Henry has loved tractors since he hatched out. Drummer Boy had a tractor I saved. It's the one in the very front. That has always been the go-to tractor on playdate. I have two sweet friends who are big into yard sales and keep me supplied with tractors. Baby Boy joined the tractor play.

BJ thought he would play awhile too.

Tractors aren't just for grandboys. I love this picture of Miss Bugg, totally absorbed in her play. Isn't dirt an awesome thing?

When the tractor work is done, time to take care of the livestock.

My goodness, girls with curls and chickie girls galore!

Ms. Shel wasn't even intimidated by the rooster.

Well, as usual, Big Al surrounded by a clutch of girls.

Remember those rare eggs I hatched five weeks ago? There they are.

Oh, sweet Merry Thumper.

Before heading home Buttercup asked, "Can I pick the eggs?" In the coop, doing some egg picking. She wanted to keep the eggs she picked, so she did.

Pappy has to spend a minute with his boys before they head home.

No, it didn't blow up a big storm and hail. Auntie SuZQ brought marshmallow shooters and shoot they did. Well, most playdaters were pinging tiniest softies off their cousins, Antebellie was consuming the puff balls at an alarming rate. Alas, that happens when they are so busy, everyone forgets snacks. The best playdate ever and it only took five days to get it all told.

Wheeeeeeee, It's Here

I love me some good ol' summertime now. Don't misunderstand. I would love it a tad bit more if it were 82 degrees instead of 95, but still.

The mean rooster bid us a sad farewell on Sunday. It is so nice to be able to take care of chicken business without Caillou, Handy Man or Arwen having to stand sentry. Our little chickie babies are growing and entertaining us daily. Each morning we move them out to the chicken tractor. I bring them worms-hysterical, wood sorrel and oats and yogurt. Caillou and my big girls are jealous and have to come poking around, even though I fed them a treat first-rotten chickens. I'm actually glad for that, as it acquaints them with the new kids on the block a bit more.

I was able to get all my corn planted in the down garden and Handy Man got his planted in the up garden. We've toted seven wheelbarrows full of mulch to various flowering spots in the yard. Finally, Handy Man was able to till the rest of both gardens, so I'll get in a few more things that I'm not likely to harvest until September, but we'll enjoy it when it comes.

I picked a bag of lettuce this evening and enjoyed a delicious supper of pan seared salmon with mango salsa, pan seared asparagus and a yummy salad- so very summery!

I sorted through all my gramerling shoes and clothes to be sure I have a few changes for everyone. Mostly, I stick them in a play swimsuit as soon as they get here. They don't seem to mind a wet swimsuit and dry quickly.

I loaded the playdate basket with old towels, wash cloth, wipes, diapers, white tee shirts (the other go-to outfit for play), bug stuff, bandaids and blankies. I laid out items for play next Tuesday including my favorite fairy book, When the Root Children Wake Up, items for creating our own root children, and of course some edible fairy dust.

Yes, it's feeling like summer to me.

What makes it feel like summer to you?

Saved by the Dog

So, yesterday was the last day of school. I love to teach. I love the kids. I start the year full of ideas and excitement for what the year holds in store. Like a new fluffy dish cloth, I research and read and plan and soak up new ideas that I squeeze back out to my eager students. We do a ton of work, art and fun. By yesterday at 3:15, I felt like one of those dish rags that come out of the washing machine in pieces. That's it folks, no more, all done, tired, weary, finished!

Then, because some folks have to be out for a PD on our last teacher day, we had to have our "End of Year," meeting after school. Yes, you heard correctly. After every last bit of patience, ideas and goodwill had been put through the wringer and had come out on the other side in pieces, I had to talk about themes, and schedules and on and on and on, for four hours. I came home in a foul mood to say the least.

Good news! I slept well and returned to the scene of the crime this morning to retrieve my new chickie babies and bring them home. First, I stopped and introduced them to Arwen. She stuck her head in the bucket, as if to count them, then was no longer interested. Much earlier in the spring I planted the chicken tractor with wheat and chickweed, so I let them play in the sunshine and tasty treats most of the day.

I played in the yard, planting, planting and planting. Before my last bit of energy was spent, I decided I'd best return the wee babes to the coop. Now if you've ever raised chickie babies you know they run from you. I was catching them fairly easily in the small tractor and putting them, three at a time in a bucket, and transferring them to Cluckingham Palace. Of course, I'm trying to be calm, singing Amazing Grace. They are not impressed by my peaceful demeanor and hymn chanting and squawk their tiny heads off. When I put Holly, so named by my class, in the bucket, she climbs right on another chick's back and flies out of my bucket and the tractor into the VERY BIG chicken yard. Time for Keystone Cops!

Thankfully, as she is running full force along the fence line, Arwen the Wondergirl is running right along side her on the outside of the pen. I'm trying one trick after another, but am not catching Miss Holly. Finally, I get her cornered and pray I can grab her when she sticks her head through the fence. By now my heart is pounding, I'm dripping sweat and envisioning a lost Ameracauna. Oh, I'm also yelling, "Arwen, don't let her out! Don't eat her either!" God love that dog, she sticks her face right up the chicken, who is half through the fence, as if to say, "I double dog dare you to go another step." This terrifies the poor chick into submission and she plops her feathered hiney down in the dirt, and I pick her up.

Disaster averted, thanks to one faithful, smart dog!

Little Work, Big Reward

It was time.

Daffodils are up, seeds are ordered, the day dawned warm and sunny, and Cluckingham Palace was stinky.

Time to clean the coop.

Most every week, I turn over over the pine/poop bedding, clean the water container, check on the nest boxes, but today was the big overhaul.

The girls loved being out in the sun and dusting themselves whilst the Handy Man and I dismantled their apartment.

All the nest boxes came out, along with food and water containers, the ladder to the high roosts, and all the bedding. All thousand pounds of brown gold compost was trucked to the garden by the wheelbarrow load. Everything that could be was scraped, then scrubbed with bleach water, rinsed and sunned. Handy Man and I are exhausted.

I did a lot of research before setting up chicken keeping. I read books and looked up stuff online and perused a number of blogs. I think all that research paid off. My goal was to use whatever we already had that would suffice, and purchase things that would serve us well in the long haul.

You know there are only about a million things out there for chickens. We cleaned out the old shed for a coop. Built nesting boxes from scrap wood. Made the roost from old bed rails. I read about making feeders from buckets. Luckily for us, my nephew was employed in a bakery at the time and could provide lots of buckets.

You know those big ones that are full of flavored Crisco and sugar, with the only redeemable quality being the taste. Let's don't mention the unredeemable quality of making us fat as wee suckling pigs. I digress.

Anyway, it said to drill holes in the bottom sides, screw a flowerpot tray on the bottom and wha-la. It works great. These buckets have held the chickie girls food for two years now. I also read that you can make the water bucket in a similar way, but the lid would have to seal for it all to work well. I didn't want to trust something as important as water to an iffy set-up, so I went with a three gallon waterer. It too has served us well.

The only thing we've changed is to add a bit of a front to the nest boxes. My girls like their privacy whilst producing and cardboard stapled to the front doesn't last too long, so the Handy Man fixed them up.

It was a lot of work, but it is such a good feeling to get it done. With the addition of fresh chips, dried herbs from the garden, and the roost bottoms turpentined, it even smelled good. One day of BIG work for a year full of golden treasures, for which we are thankful.

My thankfulness includes

-sharing a fun hobby with my help mate

-knowing my new grandboy is growing healthy and strong on eggs from happy, healthy hens

-smiling from my friend's report of lower cholesterol after chickie girl gifts

-sighing that the curmudgeonly custodian can be gifted with something that brings him some joy

-having the perfect contribution to my son's diet

-watching Bean eat them with eagerness and enthusiasm

-having the opportunity to bear a gift that is always appreciated

-feeding my garden with awesome compost

-waking every morning to the freshest breakfast available

I love when a plan comes together- Praise the Lord!

My Heroine

It's been awhile since I've done much chicken talk. The girls are laying well, with exception to the Easter-eggers. Not a single blue/green egg since October. We have twenty-one hens and get between 8 and 12 eggs a day.

It's hard to believe it's been two years since I first ordered the chickie-girls. It was an exciting time.

Then I asked the kids to check their sources and find me a dog. 1st Lt. found Arwen on Craig's List.

As is my usual wont, I worried myself sick over whether she'd be the Palace guard, or Palace predator. You might remember the one dreadful incident where she played with Jetta and Pap's Girl like they were squeak toys. Jetta didn't live through that game. Pap's Girl did, and continued to be quite partial to the Handy Man, but she succumbed to some unknown chickie-girl ailment last fall. Alas, we were broken hearted. Arwen has turned out to be a wonderful Palace protector. Actually, she'd be perfect, if the neighbor hadn't decided she's half his.

Today, I was trying to change the water when that hateful rooster Silver King came after me. Arwen raced in the pen and pounced him, then turned and walked away. Silver King decided he'd best leave me be. Ahh, my heroine.

So, it's been two years and Handy Man, the pooch and I have managed this chickie-girl thing pretty well. Time to shake it up. I felt the need to try and hatch some rarer types of chickens, so now I'm looking forward to eggs coming in the mail. These eggs will be quite colorful, from blue to chocolate brown.

It's a little risky, mail-ordering eggs. It's even more risky than a box of chocolates, cuz at least you know you are going to get chocolate, regardless of the center. The eggs, however aren't guaranteed to hatch, much less be hens. I'm not much of a gambler and nearly gave up on the notion. Finally, (after a Handy Man push, "Oh for Pete's sake, order the eggs")I decided since I don't generally drink, smoke, or gamble, I would give this a whirl, one time. So, I'm already praying over those eggs that aren't coming until April 11. If it happens that they all hatch out, I'll be looking for good home for a few of them. You interested? They are very entertaining and you can't beat the benefits-yummy!

Much Ado about Not Much

I am beginning to feel like I'll never get through all the cleaning left from redoing the living room floor. Yesterday, I tackled the playroom and then cleaned up all the yard toys, and put them away for winter. Bean and Bugg were spending the night. I'm not sure they were too happy about it. I'm not quite as much fun by Friday's end and when there's much work to do. I knew it was likely to be my last warm day outside and I was woefully behind getting the yard toys cleaned and bleached and put away. The kids are so accustomed to their time here being all about them. They are a little shocked and not too happy to find "no" in Gramerly's vocabulary, but it happens. Finally, they got into cleaning my car and rinsing the toys while I did the bleach water part of the toys. All's well that ends well when Pappy gets on the roof to get leaves out of the gutter and lets you play on the flat tin roof-good times.

Speaking of going through and cleaning and pitching, I recently inherited the little bunny tea set pictured above from another friend's cleaning craze. I let Buttercup use it for a tea (milk) party. She had a big time with Pappy helping to pour and Raggedy Ann looking on.
In addition to some pumpkin volunteers, I planted a Japanese squash, Futsu and Queenland's Blue. Supposedly, when chickens eat the seeds, it prevents worms. The Japanese one is so orange, it's almost red. The orange eaters around here love it grilled (blek). I haven't tried cooking the other two, as I primarily grew them for the girls to have a fresh snack throughout the winter.
The area where I planted the Futsu received the most chicken poo compost and produced, by far, the most fruit. This was the first haul, and last week, after frost killed the vine, I harvested 22 more. They are stored in the back of the palace for winter munching. This was from my only two little seeds that sprouted. Guess it's good all ten didn't take, or someone would've had to hack us out of here like Sleeping Beauty.

I took the Futsu and Queensland Blue to Bean's first grade and did a compare/contrast with a pumpkin. Then we made our own little squash patches with cookies and icing, and candy.
Do you know what this is? My mom tried to grow them when I was little because her granny always grew them. I've tried several times, but this year finally got a little crop of them. I think they were successful because it was so hot and dry.

Sqqueeeze

Like one more attempt to get the last bit of the toothpaste, I've tried to squeeze the last of summer from these chilly autumn days.

The past two weekends I've entertained family and a few friends with the last of my garden. Pesto and fried green tomatoes are a burst of sunshine, through trees nearly bare, that feel summerly and so deliciously green on my tongue. Oh, basil and tomatoes, I will miss you so!

The time swings itself back, leaving us little time for outdoor play after this week, so the gramerlings and I packed a quick picnic and headed to a park that still has those terribly dangerous devices known as swings. I pushed and pushed until the sun began to set and chilled us all the way through. I'm afraid it is time to bid farewell to summer.

Last evening I had the privilege of attending an author talk at the library. Greg Mortensen, of Three Cups of Tea fame just impresses my socks off every time I see him or read about him. It simply amazes me what he has been able to accomplish.

Poor Pap's girl finally gave it up. We miss her littlest sweet self.

A few more pictures of the last warm playdate.

A troll? Sea monster?

Pods and seeds are endlessly fascinating.

Life and Death at Cluckingham

Did I say I love chicken farming? If I said that, I meant it, mostly. There are however parts that are quite distasteful. There's all the poop (not that I ever tried to taste any, don't misunderstand), and the smell, which is all I ever heard about when I brought up the subject of chickens. None of that really bothers me. I hang the herbs I grow in the palace, we use a fan all summer, and I scrap all the poo off and turn it over every week. I actually like that job a lot. So it doesn't get too stinky. I love that my gramerlings will know how all this works. I love sharing eggs with people and never ever having to run to the store for some. I like the difference in the plants grown in that brown gold I haul out of the palace. But it's the end of animal life that is very distressful to me.

Pap's girl, pictured above, is the second chicken to develop a problem of some sort. With the first chicken, Jetta, also an Andelusian, the problem she developed was an eighty pound white fur ball puppy named Arwen, who mistook her for his squeak toy. Arwen has since chosen to get treats and toys from all the neighbors in a 2 mile radius and no longer bothers chickens, unless they try to eat her food. She will chase them and pull out a tail feather as a warning. I digress.

She is called Pap's Girl, because she has always only had eyes for Handy Man Pappy. What you see in the picture is typical behavior since we got her. She always comes right to him, coos and clucks softly and wants him to hold her. Though we held and messed with those chickie girl princesses all the time, she's the one and only one to do this, and it's only Handy Man.

Well, she's ailing. She obviously has nothing that can be found on anything I've searched because it's gone on for a month and everything I read said she'd be long gone already.

She stopped laying eggs in the spring. Then she started walking a little off balance, then so off balance she couldn't walk. We brought her in and nursed her and in a couple of days she was fine. We let her out, same thing again.

So, she's been in a cage by herself for two weeks and doesn't try to move that we can tell.

Why the cage? Well, in addition to just her being sick in general, nature will take its course if we left her with the girls. If she fell and wasn't able to move, they would peck her to death. Ugly barnyard truth. Also, if a predator happened by and Arwen was busy being stuffed with snacks at the neighbors, she wouldn't be able to flee and there would be no fierce dog to protect her.

So, the conundrum- I didn't name or take as a pet the recent rooster of Sunday's post, yet I cannot leave Pap's Girl to a getting pecked to death fate. This is the part of farming I don't like.

Though I must say, on the other hand, watching my sons and grandson with that rooster situation was most endearing and entertaining.

1st Lt. had read and copied in color the exact steps you take to make the rooster's end as painless and non-traumatic as possible. Bean wanted to experience the whole process, which all of us wondered about. Drummer Boy wanted to help.

No matter how old I grow, I can say for a certainty that my greatest joy in life still is watching my children enjoy themselves. So, hope I don't disappoint you too much when I say I had to suspend the reality of the rooster, and laugh at the antics of my grown children.

In order to carry out this near painless demise, one has to catch the rooster.

My sweet boys make plans on the fly- all the time. Plans that include my house, or dinner or an evening, or Handy Man's tools or presence, without filling us in on all the details. I was not warned of the BIG EVENT until I'd let the girl's out of the palace for the day.

Two grown men running round and round my house and chicken yard chasing a rooster was hysterical. I am so sad I didn't video it. Then their cry of triumph when they captured the two pound critter, amusing to say the least.

I had asked Handy Man to please take care of business way away from the palace, so it didn't attract any unwanted guests.

I waited at the bottom of the hill with Bugg and Buttercup for a bit, then walked them up the the site. It hadn't been long and it was all over and all boys were beaming at the success of the plan.

Last night, their efforts fed them.

If we're going to eat chicken, as most of us do, then I think you oughta know how it all works. I don't want my gramerlings thinking that fluffy white all breast of chicken finger just falls from the sky. I want them to ask why it's a bit tougher and not so much white meat when it comes from Gramerly's. I want them to ask how those chickens are raised.

So, all that to say, Pap's Girl and Sunday Dinner, were much enjoyed and well cared for in the time we've had them. And we'll stick with Pap's Girl, as long as she wants to hang around.

Too Much Testosterone at the Palace

Well, it look's like it's arrived. Time to bid a sad farewell to the rooster population now inhabiting Cluckingham Palace.

One of the spring chicks is a rooster and all three summer babies are fighting and sprouting stunningly jewel tone feathers-roosters all.

I passed the word around, but couldn't get any takers. It isn't fair to the chickie girls to have to deal with so many roosters chasing them.

If 1st Lt. and Drummer Boy can catch them, they'll be someone's chicken dinner before the week is out.

Sorry, I don't do photos of rooster killings.

And the Floor Goes On and On and On

The flooring is all in now.

The stain is Colonial Maple.

Now finish, buff, finish, buff, finish, buff- done. A lot of hard work for the men folk.
The spring babies are laying. Does anyone want to start chicken farming? I'll supply a rooster and two hens?

Miracle- Kaye saw the vascular surgeon today and he reports that oxygen is now reaching the toes.

Hallelujah!!! This may mean that the toes will heal inside out. While the most of me is rejoicing, a part of me wonders why in the world it takes so long to get anything done. I cannot keep my mind from wandering how much pain they would have saved her and mental anguish on Pete's part as well as the rest of us, if the artery had been opened six weeks ago when Pete started bringing it to their attention.

Uncle Berry is responding quite well physically, but not so much mentally. He should be moving to a nursing home.

Thank you for all prayers.

Futsu Squash

Somewhere I read that pumpkin seeds prevent worms in chickens. I don't think you have to worry too much about chicken problems when they're well fed and watered and not too crowded and allowed to range, but why take the chance. Last year the school where I work had "Trunk or Treat" and something that involved a lot of pumpkins. I mentioned in passing that if they had any extra pumpkins to sit them by my door instead of tossing them. Um, little did I know I'd have to call Handy Man to come with the truck to haul them all home. We stuck them in the shed and the chickie girls dined on fresh pumpkin nearly the whole winter long.

This year I decided I'd try a couple of different types of squashy, melony things, since we were having an up garden and a down garden. I chose things that advertised a thick skin, hoping to keep some again throughout the winter. I know this type of plant is a nutrient suck, so I dumped a lot of chickie compost where I planted the futsu seed. There were only about ten seeds in the pack, so you can imagine my disappointment when only two seeds germinated. Note to self- no more futsu seed from this company. Again, little did I know. Am I sounding like a broken record? If all ten seeds had germinated in that lovely chickie compost, we'd be having to chop our way out of the house every morning.
This picture was taken about three weeks ago. The bush you see is several feet out of the garden where the seeds were planted an it's grown many feet beyond that and way around the left, entirely blocking the garden entrance. It's half again as big now, has nearly covered the raspberry patch and half way through the garden. I found one futsu that was completely flat on one side where the down garden bunny was gnawing it. I picked it and gave it to the girls. Later, I discovered it hadn't been touched. Great, I have a horizontal Jack in the Beanstalk plant and nothing to eat the fruit-well, there was the bunny. When I looked closer, I realized poor bunny did not make it all the way through to the meat and seeds, so I set about to pry that puppy open so the girls could try it. It took stinkin' forever to get through that hull. When I finally did, the girls loved it and now it's just a withered shell. I'm wondering if these squash would keep even longer than winter with that thick shell.

Just talked to Kaye. She if feeling a little better. I tried to tempt her to ride out here if I fixed her some fried green tomatoes-no luck. Her procedure is at 5:30 am on Monday morning. Which means poor Pete will have to get her up and about at 4 o'clock. Love their hearts, as my Aunt Lois would say.

Crazy School Days and Stuff

Today was the first day with students. My class is very small this year and if the first day is any indication, we're off on the right foot. I think this is going to be a little class of prayer warriors, as we are going to adopt three people going through cancer treatment. I'm hoping for a pretty laid back year. I'm not to used to those.

The rest of our county is in a tiz. After dropping students off at daycares, grandparents and sitters for years, they suddenly decided to stop. Most folks didn't discover that until this week. So not only does elementary get out an hour earlier, 2:20, they have no transportation to caretakers ( including my first grade grandboy). Buses are full with 75 students to a bus and hour long bus rides in the 100 degree heat. Our tax dollars at work.

Usually my return to the classroom marks the end of gardening days. Oh, we keep eating it as long as we can find something, but there is no time for caretaking. The garden goods this year have been unusually delicious. I have so enjoyed the bounty.

Over the weekend I made salsa. Mine with sweet peppers and Handy Man's with a habanero he grew in the "up" garden. Wonderful, that's all.

When I was finished, I took the scraps out to the girls. Mama Yellow Chick Awesome had the babies out. She started bringing them out of the coop when they were only about ten days old. About gave me a heart attack. Then at two weeks, she brought them out of the chicken yard. We've been so blessed in the 14 months we've been on this chickie girl journey. No evil has befallen any girls while ranging around the yard. Well, except for poor Jetta, who did not survive baby Arwen's, "Play with the Squeak Toys" game.

Yellow Chick Awesome is very protective. We are not allowed near those babies. Handy Man said that this afternoon during a pop-up storm, she puffed all up and gathered them under her. She's been fascinating to watch. I really prefer her parenting to me having to worry over them.

"Watcha eating Mama, can I have some, huh, can I?"

Ahh, then there's Pap's Girl, who better be glad she's his girl, as she hasn't laid eggs in a long time. She's in love with him.

Our baby boy BJ is due any minute. Please pray with me for his safe arrival.

Beautiful Garden Bounty

The garden and chickens are in full production and I feel as if most every meal is fit for a Queen. Eggs from happy chickie girls, heirloom tomatoes, pesto from my jungle basil and cold-pressed olive oil, cucumbers, fried corn, well you get the idea.

I'm afraid I fall victim to hurrying and will run by a fast food place just to save time. Of late, I can't wait to get home, and will make two trips to be able to partake of sumptuous garden fare for lunch-so very fine.

Handy Man and I spent the morning clearing a path through the small deep dark forest in preparation for our Civil War Reenactment on Playdate. At ten thirty I was soaking wet. It is so, so hot. Well, at least we know there are no evil ground bees to contend with on the battle grounds.

So, what does your garden grow?

I was asked for the Gak recipe. It is colored water ( 1 tablespoon), mixed with white glue (1 tablespoon) and borax solution. It's easiest if you get a jar with a no spill lid and add the borax to hot water until it no longer dissolves. Stir two tablespoons of that into your water glue mix and waa-laa, Gak. Put the lid back on the solution, out of reach of wee folk and it's ready for another day (after shaking vigorously). Borax is a laundry additive and can be found in the detergent section of major grocery stores. It is an irritant, so use caution with littles. In my classroom, the students use safety goggles.

Babies

Friday was Bean's turn to spend the night. I took him and Raina to the science center all evening. On Saturday morning he and I gloved up and headed to Cluckingham Palace with shovel for me and scraper for him in tow.

All the compost piles now have fresh fuel.

I have hatched chicks myself, had them sent through the mail, but this is our first experience watching Mama do her job. As expected, it was love at first sight for Bean and this little one. He knows the fate of chickies who become roosters. He said, "Oh, I hope that yellow one is a girl, cause I'm going to name her "Sweetie."

Yellow Chick Awesome's feathers stay fluffed out in back all the time she has the babies out for a stroll. I don't know if it's a warning-"Keep your distance people!" It could be so they see her easily and can fly under fast.

I brought them some tasty treats after cooking and cleaning out the frig yesterday. I was surprised that she came out to see what I'd brought. She inhaled a berry then ran right back to the babies. I gathered up a couple of pieces, some egg shell and a little piece of stale cornbread, and took them into the coop for her. She would pluck off a piece of the bread then make some chickie girl noise and all the babies would peck it from her beak. This went on for sometime. Then she grabbed the egg shell and made a different noise and babies never attempted to take it from her. I thought that was so interesting.

When snacking and strolling is finished, she digs down into the pine chips, fluffs up and they disappear underneath her.

God surely created an amazing world!

Harvest and Hatching Time

Handy Man and I have been working hard on our gardens this summer- mine in the side yard and his up on the hill. Let me just say that chicken poop is a good thing. It's been years since we harvested enough corn to put some in the freezer. This is blanched, cooled, dried and ready to be bagged up for the freezer. I know when cool weather heads back around (if it indeed does), we'll be enjoying a tasty garden treat.

Yellow Chick Awesome decide to start brooding in the favorite hen nest box-one that is about five inches off the floor. Since it was the favorite, it was full of eggs when she went broody. She's been sitting eleven eggs for nearly three weeks. Handy Man found her under the box with a chick (two actually, I didn't discover until later) and another hen in the box on all the eggs. So, I took the box off the wall and put it inside of a cardboard box. She clucked happily and climbed right in. I put her babies in with her. A third one had just hatched, but she wasn't showing it any interest. We'll see what happens there. Some of this chickie girl stuff isn't quite as fun as other parts. Poor thing. I think the new babies hopped out and when she went after them, another girl hopped on, and then she was left to defend and protect the two under the box, or fight for her spot in the box. It is just always something isn't it? Thank the Lord one of the babies is yellow, cause that's the only kind of chick Bean is interested in.

In other happenings, Ol' Mother Hubbard's surgery was successful. The doc said it was the largest separation of muscle he had ever seen. She is mighty uncomfortable, but otherwise fine.

Please continue prayers for my friend Big D as a PET scan on Monday will determine the course of further treatment.

Also, my niece Laurie's husband Anthony is ill and in the hospital, though the source of the problem is unknown. Praying, praying, praying.

Accountability

I like flowers of all kinds, including roses. For the 20 something years I've lived here, I've tried to grow roses. I put them in the back, in the garden, in the front, in raised beds and nothin' much to show for it. I asked people what they did and got all kinds of advice, used epsom salts, pesticides, fertilizers and so forth. I got cheap roses and expensive roses, tea roses and old roses- phtttt-nothin'.

Once a friend a I were visiting Stream Cliff Farms and their roses were so lovely. I told my friend that she would be my accountability partner, and if these roses didn't make it, no more roses for me-ever! I bought two roses. About the only place I hadn't tried to grow them was on the right side of the house (if you're looking at the house, not in it), where there is a strip of lawn between the house and woods. The woods had about overtaken an old rock garden left by the previous owners, so I decided I'd move the rocks closer to the house and make a bed.

Until this time, I had only gardened on the left side of the house, where the garden area is large and at the bottom of a big hill and has this great looking loamy soil as far as I can dig. Handy Man was gone that weekend, camping I think. "No big deal, I'll dig the rose holes myself." I know you are supposed to go deeper and wider and fill it with all sorts of good things. Believe me I know, I'd been doing it for years.

Umm, who woulda guessed that the right side of my house would be a completely different environment from the left side. I barely chipped out enough rock to get holes big enough to cram the roses in. No fancy stuff for these gals. Yeah, look at them. I almost never bother with them at all except to whack off some of there giantness when spring rolls around.

I am so very sorry you can't smell this little beauty as her fragrance is divine! I still have never bought another rose. I am going back to Stream Cliff Farm in a couple of weeks, and one might be calling to me.

Speaking of these roses, they house something I've been curious about a long time. We have bluebird boxes at home and at school. I know a bluebird nest, chickadee nest, house wren nest -love them, house sparrow nest- destroy them, and a robin's nest. Today at school, as a matter of fact, I was able to show my students some just hatched chickadees and they were enthralled.

Anyway, I've never seen a cardinal nest. I've found this odd, because we have a lot of them and I sure spend a lot of time poking around trees and bushes.

Guess what I found in the rose bush.

Can you see it hidden there?

She lined it in plastic. Birds nests fascinate me.

In other fowl affairs, my kiddos incubated and hatched five chickies about three and a half weeks ago. They had enough of the brooder ( the chickies, not the students-they would have kept them forever), so we brought them home to the coop today.